#I fucking loved every second of this chapter

[gukcnt]

۶ৎ SHADOWS OF OBSESSION [5] —

“I’m not good with words. Never been. I’m a rough bastard, always will be—scarred, fucked up, with a past that’ll never leave me. But you… you’re my light, my reason, my everything. I don’t do soft, don’t know how to be gentle like you deserve, but I love you, petal, more than I thought a man like me could love. You made me believe in shit I thought was for fools—love, hope, a future. Marry me, angel, be mine, forever. I’ll fight every day to be the man you deserve, to give you a life that’s clean, that’s yours.”

pairing: criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre: criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, angst, fluff

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, angry!jungkook, hurt!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, protective!jungkook, hard dom!jungkook, heavy emotional turmoil, guilt, fear, past trauma, moments of emotional healing through physical and verbal assurance, hurt/comfort, confrontation, redemption, mutual vulnerability, fear and insecurities, possessive love, obsessive devotion, emotional reconciliation, rebuilding trust and love after betrayal, trauma processing, love declaration, frequent crying, reflection joy, pain and relief, protective instincts, guilt and regret, hope and renewal, established relationship, slice of life, domestic vibes, violent confrontation, protective standoff, police innervations, lots of anger, proposal scene, career and character development, stress, anxiety, violence, stalking, physical restraint, emotional outbursts, tattoo symbolism, ring symbolism, heated arguments, soft reassurances, nicknames and endearments, pleading and begging, silent communication, tearful apologies, several mentions of blood and scars, emotional care, intimate kissing, making out, physical connection, possessive touching, body contact, cabin sex, unprotected sex, several sex scenes, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, creampie, intimate love making, trauma bonding during sex, emotional sex, body worship, hickies/marking, bruising and biting, sweat and arousal, tattoo kink, oral sex (f. receiving), cunnilingus, breast play, nipple sucking, nipple biting, breast spanking, eating out, face sitting, face riding, tongue fucking, clit stimulation, sum swallowing, fingering, pain from pleasure, crying from pleasure, spanking, clit spanking, d/s dynamics, degradation, dirty talk, praise kink, name calling (use of "slut" and others), g spot stimulation, chasing, arousal from fear, public sex, against a tree and forest floor, hair pulling, doggy position, rough sex, restraining, cnc, physical and emotional connection during sex, angry sex, body caressing, rose petal play, jungkook uses a rose to tease her, backshots, missionary position, loving sex, slow and deep thrusts, messy makeout, lip biting, mentions of lip bleeding, burning pleasure, oral sex (m. receiving), cock palming, cock sucking, face fucking, riding, love declarations during sex, healing through sex, passionate and celebratory sex after proposal, pinned down, mentions of sex on the beach, several mentions of aftercare, romantic and soft aftercare

wc: 24.8k

a/n: This is the longest chapter I’ve ever written, and I don’t regret a second of it. I adore the SOB couple so much, they feel like home to me. Writing this final chapter was so hard for me, and I spilled so many tears knowing it’s the end of their story. They’ve endured so much, and giving them the happy ending they deserve means everything to me. Jungkook’s transformation is especially dear to me because his growth proves that love can change anyone, they’ll fight their demons and become better for their person. His journey has been heartbreakingly beautiful and I’m so proud of him. To my incredible readers, thank you from the bottom of my heart for staying with me until the end. Your love for this couple and my writing has meant the world to me. This journey wouldn’t have been the same without your support and encouragement. Though this marks the end of their main story, it’s not goodbye. I’ll be sharing drabbles of their future, so keep an eye out ! <3

series m. list | main masterlist

۶ৎ

The hospital was a battlefield, its sterile corridors awash with the acrid scent of antiseptic, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the frenetic pulse of urgency. The emergency room was a cacophony of chaos—monitors shrieking, doctors barking orders, the rhythmic thud of footsteps against linoleum. Jungkook lay sprawled on the gurney, a broken warrior, his body a canvas of devastation from the boxing match he’d chosen to lose. His chest, once a fortress of muscle, was a bruised ruin, the tattoo of your name stark against his pallid, blood-streaked skin, each letter a silent vow now teetering on the edge of oblivion. His pulse was a fragile thread, a faint whisper beneath the clamor, his life seeping away with every labored breath. Blood pooled beneath him, a crimson halo, his face swollen, lips cracked and pale, his dark hair matted with sweat and gore. The defibrillators hummed, their charge a low, ominous drone, and when they shocked his heart, his body arched, a marionette jerked by invisible strings, his chest heaving but his eyes remaining stubbornly closed, as if he’d already surrendered to the void.

You stood at the edge of the fray, a medical assistant thrust into a waking nightmare, your scrubs crumpled and stained from a grueling shift, your hands trembling like leaves in a storm. Your eyes locked onto Jungkook, and the world narrowed to the sight of him—your monster, your love, your everything—slipping away. His tattoos, roses and cages and your initials, gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, a map of his obsession, now fading with his life. Your heart shattered, a visceral crack that echoed in your chest, your breath hitching as tears streamed down your face, hot and relentless, carving paths through the grime on your cheeks. Your knees buckled, but you forced yourself forward, pushing past the doctors, their voices a distant hum, your focus singular, desperate. You clutched his hand, cold and heavy, the calluses rough against your skin, and your sobs tore from your throat, raw and guttural, a primal sound of grief and love.

“Jungkook, please,” you whispered, your voice a broken plea, your tears falling onto his hand, warm against the chill of his flesh, mingling with the blood that stained his knuckles. “Don’t you dare leave me. Fight, damn it. I can’t live without you!” Your words were a lifeline, thrown into the abyss, your voice rising, cracking with desperation. “You’re my everything, you bastard! I ran because I was scared, but I’m here now, and I need you. Please, Jungkook, come back to me!”

Memories flooded you like a tidal wave, each one a blade slicing deeper. His rough kisses, bruising your lips in the cabin, his tongue claiming you with a hunger that set your soul ablaze; his desperate apologies after your kidnapping, his voice raw, his eyes haunted as he begged for forgiveness; the way he’d fucked you, slow and deep, his cock stretching you, his eyes burning with a love so fierce it terrified you. You’d fled to save him, to free him from the weakness you’d become, but now, watching him fade, you knew you’d never survive his loss. Your love was a wound, bleeding and raw, a fire that consumed you, and the thought of a world without him was a void darker than death itself.

You gripped his hand tighter, your nails digging into his skin, your voice a scream now, echoing over the monitors’ wail. “I love you, Jungkook! You hear me? I love you, and I’m not letting you go! Fight for me, for us, please!” Your tears soaked his arm, your body shaking, your heart a drumbeat of terror and devotion. The doctors shocked him again, his body jolting, the monitor flatlining for a agonizing second, and you screamed, a sound that tore through the room, “No!"

In his semi-conscious haze, Jungkook drifted in a liminal space, a dreamlike tapestry of memory and hallucination woven with pain and love. The world was a fog, his body a distant weight, but your voice pierced through, a beacon in the dark. He saw you—the first night you’d saved him, your hands trembling as you stitched his bloodied arm, your eyes wide with fear but fierce with determination, his rude snarls met with your stubborn kindness. He saw you in his hoodie, oversized and soft, your body trembling in his arms as he fucked you, your moans a symphony he’d never forget. He saw you leaving, your tears falling, your voice a whisper of apology, and now, he heard you, your pleas a distant echo, your touch grounding him. “Angel,” he thought, his mind sluggish, his heart stuttering, “you were always there, saving me, even when I didn’t deserve it. You’re my light, my fucking salvation.”

He remembered your innocence, how you’d helped him despite his cruelty, his obsession growing like a wildfire, consuming him until you were his everything. Now, you were here, your voice a lifeline, your love a tether pulling him back from the abyss. “I can’t leave her,” he thought, his soul clawing at the darkness, his will igniting, not for himself, but for you. His heart stuttered, a faint beep piercing the silence, the monitor flickering back to life. The doctors exhaled, their hands steadying, stabilizing him, his pulse weak but present. He remained unconscious, his body a fragile shell, but he was alive, anchored by your love, your voice, your touch.

You collapsed against him, your sobs softening, your hand still clutching his, your tears soaking the sheets. “You’re still here,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your heart a fragile thing. ”Jungkook, I’m never letting you go again.” The room quieted, the chaos fading, but your vigil had only begun, your love a flame that would burn through the darkness, refusing to let him slip away.

The recovery room was a hushed sanctuary, its walls a sterile white that seemed to absorb sound, leaving only the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. The air was thick with the sharp tang of antiseptic, mingling with scent of medical equipment, a constant reminder of the fragility of life within these confines. Jungkook lay in the hospital bed, his body a map of healing wounds, his chest rising and falling with shallow, labored breaths. The tattoo of your name, inked in bold, dark lines across his heart, stood out against his pallid skin, a stark contrast to the fresh bruises fading into yellows and purples. New tattoos adorned his arms and shoulders—intricate roses with thorns curling around your initials, a locked cage with delicate chains, each a silent testament to the month he’d spent without you, each a scar of his love and pain. His face, once fierce and unyielding, was softened by unconsciousness, his lashes casting long shadows on his cheeks, his lips parted slightly, as if whispering to a dream only he could see.

You sat in a hard, plastic chair beside him, your body aching from days of relentless vigilance, your eyes heavy with the weight of sleepless nights. Your scrubs were wrinkled, stained with coffee and sweat, your hair pulled into a messy bun, strands escaping to frame your face, damp from the tears that never seemed to stop. Your hands, usually steady from your medical training, trembled as you adjusted the IV drip, ensuring the saline flowed smoothly into his veins. You checked his bandages, your fingers brushing the gauze over his ribs, careful not to press too hard on the tender, healing flesh beneath. The room was cold, the air conditioning a constant chill against your skin, but you barely noticed, your focus consumed by him—by the man who’d claimed your soul, broken it, and now lay fighting to return to you.

You leaned closer, your chair creaking, the sound sharp in the quiet. His hand rested on the bed, calloused and scarred, the knuckles still raw from the fight that nearly took him. You took it in yours, your fingers tracing the lines of his tattoos, the ink warm under your touch, as if his love still pulsed through them. “Jungkook,” you murmured, your voice a fragile thread, thick with emotion, “do you remember the cabin? The first night we went there, with the fairy lights and all my favorite snacks?” A tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light, and you laughed softly, the sound bittersweet. “You were so proud, showing me everything. I was scared, but you made me feel… safe, in your own way. I miss that. I miss you.”

Your voice cracked, and you pressed his hand to your lips, kissing the rough skin, tasting salt and sorrow. “I was such a fool,” you whispered, your words trembling, “thinking I could run from you, from us. I thought I was saving you, but I was just tearing us apart. Look at you now, fighting because of me, because I broke your heart.” You sobbed, your shoulders shaking, your tears soaking his hand. “Please, Jungkook, come back. I need you. I need your voice, your touch, your stupid smirk when you call me petal. I love you, and I can’t do this without you.”

The monitors beeped steadily, a cruel reminder of his fragility, and you leaned your forehead against his hand, your breath hitching. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in, the weight of your guilt a stone in your chest. You’d fled to protect him, to free him from the weakness you’d become, but you’d only plunged him deeper into darkness. Now, you were his lifeline, as he’d called you, and you’d pour every ounce of your strength into pulling him back. You adjusted the blanket over him, tucking it around his shoulders, the fabric soft but worn, its pale blue a stark contrast to the vivid ink on his skin. You checked his chart, your eyes scanning the numbers—blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen levels—each a fragile thread tying him to life.

The nights blurred into a haze of exhaustion, your body screaming for rest, but you refused to leave. You slept in fits, your head resting on the edge of his bed, your hand never leaving his. The hospital was a world of its own, the corridors echoing with distant footsteps, the soft murmurs of nurses, the occasional wail of a siren outside. But here, in this room, it was just you and him, your love a fragile flame battling the darkness. You brought a small lavender candle from home, lighting it on the bedside table, its flickering glow casting warm shadows, its scent a faint echo of your apartment, a reminder of the life you’d shared. The candle’s wax dripped, pooling on the table, each drop a silent prayer for his recovery.

“Jungkook,” you said one night, your voice hoarse, your eyes burning from tears and fatigue, “remember when you took me on your bike? The wind was so cold, but you held my hand, made sure I was safe. I felt free, for the first time, with you.” You laughed, a broken sound, your fingers tracing the rose tattoo on his forearm, the petals intricate, the thorns sharp. “You’re so strong. You always have been. You fought for me, for us, even when I didn’t deserve it. Now fight for yourself. Come back to me. I’ll be here, always, your petal.”

Your feelings were a tempest—devastation for the pain you’d caused, guilt for the scars you’d left on his heart, love that burned brighter than ever, and a longing so deep it carved hollows in your soul. You missed his gruff voice, the way he’d growl “petal” with that smirk, the way his hands, rough and calloused, would hold you like you were the only thing that mattered. You missed his kisses, fierce and claiming, his body pressed against yours, his cock stretching you, his love a fire that consumed you. Every memory was a blade, cutting deeper, but you clung to them, to him, refusing to let go.

You stood, stretching your aching muscles, and checked his IV again, your fingers brushing the needle site, ensuring it was secure. You adjusted the oxygen mask over his face, the plastic fogging slightly with each breath, a small sign of life that kept you anchored. You wiped his brow with a cool cloth, the fabric damp, the motion tender, your heart aching with every touch. “I’m so proud of you,” you whispered, your voice breaking, “for trying to be better, for stopping the killing, for all those tattoos you got for me. You’re not a monster, Jungkook. You’re my love, my everything. Please, wake up. I need to tell you, need you to know.”

The candle flickered, its flame dancing, and you sank back into the chair, your body heavy, your heart heavier. You took his hand again, your fingers intertwining with his, your thumb brushing the tattoo, its delicate but unyielding, a symbol of his need to keep you close. “I love you,” you said, your voice a vow, your tears falling, your love a beacon in the dark. “I’ll wait, Jungkook, as long as it takes. You’re my home. Come back to me.”

You rested your head on the bed, your eyes closing, your hand never leaving his, the monitors beeping, the candle burning, your love a silent prayer that filled the room, a promise that you’d never let go, no matter how long the vigil, no matter how deep the pain.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly, casting a cold, clinical glow over Jungkook’s prone form, his body a map of scars and survival. His chest, rose and fell with agonizing slowness, each breath a fragile thread tethering him to life. The monitors beeped in a steady, monotonous rhythm, their green lines a lifeline, their sound a heartbeat in the silence. Outside, the world was a blur of distant voices and hurried footsteps, but here, time was a thief, stealing hope with every second he remained unconscious.

You sat by his bedside, your body a study in exhaustion. A face etched with worry, love, and a guilt that gnawed at your bones. Your hands, aching from work, trembled as they hovered over his, afraid to touch, afraid to hope. The room smelled of him—faint traces of cigarettes and musk clinging to his skin, a scent that was both comfort and torment, a reminder of the man who’d claimed your soul. The chair creaked under you, its plastic cold against your thighs, grounding you in this moment, this purgatory of waiting.

Weeks had passed, each day a battle against despair, your heart a battlefield of love and fear. You’d cared for him relentlessly, your medical training a shield, your love a sword. You’d changed his bandages, the gauze stained with the story of his wounds, checked his IVs, the clear liquid a lifeline, recorded his vitals with a precision that belied the chaos in your chest. You’d talked to him, your voice a soft, steady stream, weaving memories, apologies, promises. But he hadn’t stirred, his face still, his lips pale, his dark lashes a stark contrast against his ashen skin. You’d traced the lines of his tattoos, your fingers ghosting over the roses, the cage, the blooming rose on his shoulder, each one a vow, a wound, a piece of you he’d carried through his pain.

This morning, the air felt different, charged, as if the universe held its breath. The monitors quickened, their beeps sharper, more insistent, a subtle shift that sent your heart racing. You leaned forward, your breath catching, your eyes locked on his face. His fingers twitched, a faint, almost imperceptible movement, like a leaf stirring in a breeze. His eyelids fluttered, the motion delicate, vulnerable, a crack in the armor of his unconsciousness. “Jungkook?” you whispered, your voice a trembling thread, barely audible over the hum of the machines, your hand reaching for his, your fingers brushing his knuckles, rough and warm, a lifeline in the storm.

His eyes opened, slow, heavy, the dark irises a galaxy of pain, love, and something feral, untamed. They locked onto yours, piercing, searching, as if seeing you for the first time, as if you were a dream he feared would fade. His breath hitched, a ragged sound, his chest shuddering, the tattoo of your name rising with the effort. “Angel,” he rasped, his voice a gravelly whisper, raw from disuse, thick with emotion, each syllable a battle won against death. His gaze held you, fierce, unyielding, a fire that burned through the haze of his pain, his love a tangible force, wrapping around you, pulling you into his orbit.

You sobbed, a sound torn from your core, your hands flying to his face, your palms cupping his cheeks, feeling the rough stubble, the warmth of his skin, the reality of him awake, alive. Your thumbs brushed his cheekbones, tracing the faint scars, the bruises fading into yellow, your tears spilling, hot and relentless, dripping onto his skin, mingling with the sweat on his brow. “Jungkook,” you choked out, your voice a broken melody, “you’re awake. Oh God, you’re here.” Your body shook, relief a tidal wave, crashing over the rocks of your fear, your love a flame that refused to die.

He blinked, slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours, their depths a storm of love, hurt, and anger. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking, his lips parting, his voice rising, rough, jagged, a blade honed by pain. “You left me,” he growled, his words a slow, deliberate accusation, each one landing like a blow, cutting through the air, through your heart. “You fucking broke me, angel. I was ready to die out there, thought you’d be free of me, better off if I was gone for good. You should’ve let me bleed out, let me be nothing, out of your life forever.”

Your sobs grew louder, your chest heaving, your heart shattering under the weight of his words, his pain. “No!” you cried, your voice raw, desperate, echoing in the small room, a plea to the universe, to him. “Don’t say that, Jungkook! I can’t live without you, I can’t breathe without you. I thought I was saving you, thought I was setting you free from me, from the mess I made of us. But I was wrong, so wrong, and I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry I hurt you.” Your tears fell like rain, soaking his hospital gown, your hands clutching his face, your fingers trembling, your love a wildfire, consuming you.

His hand moved, slow, weak, but determined, gripping yours, his fingers rough, calloused, his strength a shadow of what it was but still there, still him. His eyes blazed, dark and fierce, his voice a low, guttural storm. “You’re my everything, angel,” he said, his words fierce, raw, a vow carved in blood and bone. “I tried to be better, stopped killing, got these fucking tattoos, worked out until I couldn’t feel anything, all to numb the pain of you gone. But nothing worked, nothing could replace you. I love you, and it fucking kills me that you ran, that you thought you could just disappear.”

You leaned forward, your forehead pressing against his, your breaths mingling, your tears mixing with his sweat, your voice a broken whisper. “I love you too, Jungkook,” you said, your voice trembling, your heart laid bare. “I thought I was protecting you, but I broke us both. I’m your angel, always, but you’re mine too. You saved me, in your dark, twisted way, and I need you, more than I’ve ever needed anything.”

His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your hand, his eyes darkening, his voice sharp, cutting. “You didn’t save me, petal,” he snapped, his anger a live wire, sparking in the air. “You hurt me, tore my fucking heart out. I’m like this, broken, bleeding, because of you, and I hate it, but I love you more. Don’t you ever fucking leave me again, you hear me? I’ll chase you to the ends of the earth, angel, and I’ll drag you back.”

You nodded, your tears falling, your voice steady despite the shake, a vow to match his. “Never,” you promised, your lips brushing his, soft, trembling, a seal on your words. “I’m yours, Jungkook, forever. I love you, and I’ll never run again.”

He pulled you closer, his hand weak but insistent, his lips meeting yours, a kiss that was soft, desperate, tasting of salt and love, of pain and promise. His breath was warm, ragged, his stubble scraping your skin, his love a fire that burned away the shadows. “You’re my angel,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick, his eyes burning. “Always saving me, even when I’m a fucking monster. I don’t deserve you, but I’ll be damned if I let you go.”

You shook your head, your hands sliding to his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair, damp with sweat, the strands longer, wilder, a testament to his month of agony. “I didn’t save you,” you whispered, your voice breaking, your heart aching. “I broke you, Jungkook. You’re here, like this, because of me, and I’ll spend my life making it right.”

He scowled, his eyes flashing, his voice a low growl, cutting through the beeping monitors, the hum of the hospital. “Don’t you fucking say that,” he snapped, his anger a storm, his love a shield. “You’re the only good thing in my life, petal. You’re my light, my reason, and I’d rather be broken by you than whole without you. I love you, and I’ll fight, I’ll live, for you.”

You kissed him again, deeper, your lips trembling, your love a vow, your tears falling, sealing the moment. The room faded, the monitors, the hospital, the world, and it was just you and him, two fractured souls finding each other, refusing to let go. His hand slid to your cheek, his thumb brushing your tears, his touch weak but grounding, his love fierce, eternal, a flame that would never die.

The hospital room was a cocoon of muted light, its walls a pale blue that seemed to absorb the weight of Jungkook’s recovery. The air was heavy with the faint musk of his skin and medicine, a reminder of the man who’d once been a storm but now lay tethered to machines. The monitors beeped in a steady rhythm, a heartbeat echoing his stubborn will to live, their green lines a fragile promise of his survival. Jungkook’s bed was the center of this universe, its crisp white sheets a stark contrast to the chaos of his battered body. His chest, inked with your name, rose and fell with shallow breaths, each mark and bruise a story of his love, his pain, his fight to be better for you.

You were his constant, a shadow by his side, your medical assistant scrubs wrinkled from days of wear, their soft blue fabric clinging to your frame. Your eyes were rimmed with exhaustion, dark circles carved beneath them, your lips chapped from whispering to him through sleepless nights. Your hands, once trembling with fear, now moved with purpose, adjusting his IV drip, checking the bandages that wrapped his torso, their gauze rough against your fingertips, the faint metallic tang of blood lingering where it had seeped through. You recorded his vitals with meticulous care, the pen scratching against the chart, your handwriting shaky but precise, each number a tether keeping him here, with you.

The room was small, the window letting in slivers of dawn, the light catching dust motes that danced like ghosts in the air. Outside, the world moved on—cars honking, birds chirping—but in here, time was measured in his breaths, in the soft clink of medical tools, in the rustle of your shoes against the linoleum floor. You brought him his favorite foods, the aroma of ramen and grilled beef filling the room, cutting through the sterile chill. You fed him with a plastic spoon, your hands steady despite the ache in your arms, your eyes locked on his as he took each bite, his lips parting slowly, his tongue brushing the spoon, a flicker of his old hunger in his gaze. The beef was tender, its smoky flavor a comfort, and you smiled, small and fragile, when he managed a weak nod, his throat working to swallow.

His healing was rapid, his body a testament to his strength, the muscles under his skin taut, his scars fading to silver lines that crisscrossed his tattoos like a map of his battles. But his spirit was raw, his anger a smoldering ember, his love a wildfire that burned through his pain. One evening, as the sky outside bled orange, he gripped your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands, pulling you close until your foreheads touched, his breath hot against your lips, smelling faintly of the mint gum you’d given him. “I love you, angel,” he said, his voice a low growl, rough from disuse, his eyes dark pools of love and hurt. “You’re mine, always, but fuck, you broke me. You saved me again, and I hate that I need you this much.”

You cried, your tears hot, sliding down your cheeks to drip onto his hospital gown, the cotton soft but thin, revealing the hard planes of his chest. Your hands clutched his shirt, the fabric bunching under your fingers, your nails digging into the material as if you could anchor him to you. “I know I hurt you,” you whispered, your voice cracking, thick with guilt, your breath hitching. “I hate myself for it, Jungkook. I thought I was saving you, but I was selfish, scared. I love you.”

He kissed you, hard and desperate, his lips chapped but warm, bruising yours with a hunger that spoke of months apart, of nights spent screaming your name into the void. His tongue pushed into your mouth, tasting of mint and need, his teeth grazing your lower lip, a sharp sting that made you gasp, your body pressing closer, your breasts soft against his chest, the gown a flimsy barrier. “You’re my angel,” he growled, pulling back, his eyes blazing, his hand still in your hair, tugging just enough to make you whimper. “You keep saving me, even when I’m a fucking monster. But don’t think I’ve forgotten, petal. You ran, and it gutted me.”

You shook your head, tears spilling, your hands sliding to his face, your thumbs brushing the stubble on his jaw, rough and prickly, a reminder of his rawness. “I’m so sorry,” you choked out, your voice trembling, your heart a fractured thing. “I thought I was protecting you, but I was wrong. I need you, Jungkook, your darkness, your love, all of it.”

His scowl deepened, his grip tightening, his voice sharp, cutting through the quiet. “You fucking destroyed me. I’m lying here, weak, because of you, because I let you in, let you make me feel shit I never wanted. But I love you more than I hate it, and that’s the worst part.” His words were a blade, slicing through you, but his eyes softened, a flicker of vulnerability, his thumb brushing your cheek, wiping away a tear, his touch gentle despite his anger.

You nodded, your sobs quieting, your voice steady despite the ache. “I’ll never leave again,” you promised, your hands sliding to his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart under the tattoo of your name, the ink warm, a vow etched into his flesh. “I love you, Jungkook. You’re my everything, my man, my monster. I’m here, always.”

Sometimes, you slept beside him, curling into the narrow hospital bed, your body pressed to his, the mattress creaking under your combined weight, the sheets cool against your skin. His arm wrapped around you, heavy, possessive, his warmth seeping into you, smelling of hospital soap and his musk, grounding you in the chaos of your guilt. His breathing was a soft rhythm, his chest rising against your cheek, the tattoo of your name a pillow under your skin, a reminder of his claim. He woke often, his eyes finding yours in the dim light, his voice gruff, scolding you when he saw your exhaustion, the bags under your eyes dark as bruises. “You’re killing yourself for me, angel,” he snapped, his hand cupping your face, his thumb rough against your cheekbone, his eyes blazing with worry and anger. “Stop it. I need you alive, petal, not some fucking martyr.”

You shook your head, your voice firm, your hand covering his, your fingers soft against his calluses. “I can’t stop,” you said, your eyes burning with tears. “I need to take care of you, Jungkook. I owe you that, after everything. I can't rest.”

He growled, his grip tightening, his voice a low roar. “Fuck that. I don’t want you breaking for me. Sleep, angel, or I’ll tie you to this bed myself.” His threat was half-serious, his eyes dark with love and frustration, his lips brushing your forehead, a soft contrast to his words.

He hated other doctors touching him, his eyes narrowing to slits, his voice a dangerous growl when they approached with needles or bandages. “Only you,” he said, his hand gripping yours, his fingers bruising, his gaze locking you in place. “I don’t trust them, petal. Don’t leave me, not even for a fucking minute. I can’t lose you again.” His fear was raw, a wound that hadn’t healed, his body tensing, the monitors beeping faster, a warning of his agitation.

You cried, your voice breaking as you scolded him, your hands clutching his arm, the muscle hard under your fingers, his tattoos a canvas of your shared pain. “Why did you do it, Jungkook?” you demanded, your tears falling, your voice rising. “Why did you let them beat you? You could’ve died, you idiot! You think I could live without you? You’re everything to me, and you threw it away!”

He smirked, weak but defiant, his eyes glinting with a spark of his old fire, his hand brushing your hair, the strands soft against his rough skin. “Thought you’d be free of me,” he said, his voice low, rough, his thumb tracing your lip, the touch sending a shiver through you. “But I heard you, angel, calling me back. I’m here because of you, because I love you, even when I hate what you did to me.”

You sobbed, your head falling to his chest, your tears soaking his gown, your voice muffled. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your hands clutching him, your love a desperate vow. “I’ll never let you go again.”

He chuckled, soft, pained, his hand stroking your back, his touch gentle, his love fierce. “Petal and angel,” he murmured, his voice thick, his nicknames a claim, a vow. “You’re both, always. You’re so close to being a doctor, angel. I’m fucking proud of you, you know that? My girl, saving lives, saving me.”

You smiled through your tears, your heart swelling, your voice soft. “I’m not a doctor yet,” you said, your hands tracing his tattoos, the ink warm, a reminder of his devotion. “But I’m yours, Jungkook, and I’ll save you, every time.”

He kissed you again, slow, deep, his lips soft but possessive, his love a fire that burned through the sterile air, warming the room, grounding you both. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice raw, his eyes burning. “My angel, my everything. Don’t ever fucking forget it.”

You nodded, your tears falling, your love a vow, your hands entwined, your hearts beating as one, the hospital room a sanctuary, a battlefield, a home where you fought for each other.

You were running late today, the city’s arteries choked with traffic, the honks and screeches of cars a grating symphony outside your taxi window. Your heart pounded, a frantic rhythm, your fingers clutching the edge of your scrubs, the fabric damp with sweat. The delay was a betrayal, a violation of the unspoken vow you’d made to Jungkook—to never leave his side, to be his anchor in the sterile purgatory of his recovery. You pictured him in the recovery room, his body still healing, his chest inked with your name, his dark eyes searching for you, and your stomach twisted with dread, a cold knot of fear that you’d failed him again.

Miles away, in the hospital’s recovery wing, Jungkook stirred, his senses sharpening in the absence of your presence. The room was a clinical cage, the walls a pale blue that mocked the warmth of your lavender scent. The monitors beeped, a steady pulse, but to him, they were a countdown, each tick a reminder of your absence. His bed was a prison, the sheets crisp and cold, the IV line tugging at his arm, a thin tether to life he resented without you. He reached out, his hand groping for yours, expecting the soft warmth of your fingers, the gentle press of your palm, but found only air, a void that ignited a spark of panic in his chest. His eyes snapped open, wild and dark, scanning the room, the empty chair beside him a silent accusation. “Angel?” he rasped, his voice rough, cracked from disuse, his throat dry as sandpaper.

The nurse at the station, a young woman with a clipboard and tired eyes, glanced up, her pen pausing mid-note. “Mr. Jeon, you need to stay calm,” she said, her voice clipped, professional, but it was gasoline on the fire of his fear. Jungkook’s heart lurched, his pulse spiking, the monitors shrieking in protest. “Where is she?” he growled, his voice rising, a low rumble that vibrated through the room like a storm gathering strength. He tore at the IV, the needle ripping from his vein, blood welling in a crimson bead, the pain a fleeting distraction from the terror clawing at his soul. “She’s gone, isn’t she? She fucking left me again!”

His rage erupted, a volcano of fury and despair, his body surging upright despite the stitches pulling at his side, the bandages around his ribs tightening like a vise. He swung his legs over the bed, the floor icy against his bare feet, the tiles slick with the faint sheen of hospital polish. He grabbed the metal tray beside him, the instruments clattering—scissors, gauze, a thermometer—hurling it against the wall with a deafening crash, the metal denting, the contents scattering like shrapnel. “Where is she?” he roared, his voice a primal bellow, echoing down the corridor, rattling the glass partition of the nurse’s station. His fists clenched, his knuckles white, the new tattoos—a blooming rose, your initials—stark against his flushed skin, a map of his devotion now twisted by betrayal.

Doctors rushed in, their white coats flapping, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of orders. “Restrain him!” one shouted, a burly man with a stethoscope swinging like a pendulum. Two orderlies lunged, their hands grappling for Jungkook’s arms, but he was a beast unchained, his strength fueled by panic, his muscles rippling under his hospital gown, the fabric tearing at the seams. He shoved one orderly back, the man stumbling into a cart, vials shattering, the sharp scent of alcohol flooding the air. “Don’t touch me!” Jungkook snarled, his eyes black voids, his chest heaving, his breath ragged. “I need her! She’s gone, and you’re keeping her from me!”

The nurse dialed security, her fingers trembling, her voice shaky. “Room 312, now!” she barked into the phone, her eyes locked on Jungkook, fear flickering in her gaze. He staggered, his vision blurring, the room spinning, the walls closing in like a tomb. He clutched the bedframe, the metal cold and unyielding, his heart a war drum, his mind a battlefield of memories—your tears when you’d left, your voice begging him to live, your hand in his, grounding him. “Angel, where are you?” he whispered, his voice breaking, a plea to the void, his body trembling, glistening with sweat.

Outside, you sprinted from the taxi, the hospital doors hissing open, the lobby a blur of faces and fluorescent glare. Your sneakers squeaked on the polished floor, your breath burning in your lungs, your heart a frantic bird caged in your ribs. You heard the commotion before you saw it—shouts, crashes, Jungkook’s voice, raw and desperate, slicing through the sterile hum of the hospital. “No!” you gasped, your legs pumping, your scrubs clinging to your sweat-soaked skin, your hair escaping its bun, wild and frantic. You rounded the corner, the recovery wing a war zone, nurses scattering, a doctor barking orders, and there he was—Jungkook, towering, feral, his hospital gown half-torn, his fists raised, his eyes wild with terror.

“Jungkook!” you cried, your voice a lifeline, cutting through the chaos like a beacon. You rushed to him, your arms wrapping around his waist, your body pressing against his, the heat of his skin searing through the thin gown, his heartbeat a thunder against your cheek. “I’m here, I’m sorry, I didn’t leave!” you sobbed, your hands clutching his back, your fingers digging into the hard planes of his muscles. “Traffic, it was just traffic, I’d never leave you again, I swear!”

He froze, his rage stuttering, his arms hesitating before crashing around you, his grip bruising, his breath hot and ragged against your hair. “I thought you were gone,” he whispered, his voice a broken shard, his body trembling, gleaming with sweat and fear. “I thought you left me again, angel. I can’t—fuck, I can’t lose you.” His hands roamed, desperate, clutching your shoulders, your hair, your face, as if proving you were real, his fingers leaving faint marks, his love a storm of need and terror.

You sobbed, your tears soaking his gown, your hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing the bruises under his eyes, the stubble rough against your skin. “I’m here,” you promised, your voice firm despite the shake, your eyes locked on his, wide and pleading. “I love you, Jungkook. I’m yours, always. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Your lips trembled, your heart aching, the weight of his fear a blade in your chest, your guilt a tide pulling you under.

He kissed you, desperate, his lips crashing against yours, bruising, tasting of salt and panic, his tongue claiming, his teeth grazing. “Don’t do that to me, petal,” he growled, his voice raw, his grip tightening, his body pressing you against the bedframe, the metal digging into your back. “I was dying without you, thinking you ran again. I’d burn this fucking place down to find you.” His eyes were dark, haunted, his love fierce, his fear a living thing.

You clung to him, your hands trembling, your breath hitching. “I’ll never leave,” you whispered, your voice breaking, your tears falling. “You’re my everything, Jungkook. I love you, I’m here, I promise.” Your fingers traced his jaw, the stubble prickling, the warmth of his skin grounding you, the scent of his sweat and hospital antiseptic a strange comfort.

The doctors hovered, wary, their voices low, but Jungkook ignored them, his world narrowed to you, his angel, his petal. He sank back onto the bed, pulling you with him, his arms a fortress, his breath steadying, the monitors calming. “Stay,” he murmured, his voice soft, his eyes heavy, his love a vow. “Don’t leave me, angel. I need you.”

You nodded, curling into him, your head on his chest, the tattoo of your name warm under your cheek, the steady thump of his heart your lullaby. “I’m here,” you whispered, your voice steady, your love fierce. “Always.” The room quieted, the chaos fading, the hospital a distant hum, your love a flame that burned through the fear, binding you together, unbreakable.

A few weeks later jungkook got discharged from the hospital, the forest road to Jungkook’s cabin was a winding vein through the heart of the wilderness, the air thick with the scent of damp pine and earth, the trees towering like silent guardians under a sky bruised with twilight. The motorcycle’s roar faded as Jungkook cut the engine, the silence pressing in, heavy with the weight of your shared history. You clung to his waist, your cheek pressed against the warm leather of his jacket, your heart a tangled knot of relief and trepidation. The cabin loomed ahead, its weathered wooden walls a fortress of memories—his darkness, your softness, the love that had both broken and bound you. Its windows glowed faintly, a beacon in the encroaching dusk, the chimney trailing a thin wisp of smoke that curled into the violet sky like a whispered promise.

Jungkook helped you off the bike, his hands lingering on your hips, his calloused fingers grazing the thin fabric of your hospital scrubs, now stained with antiseptic and exhaustion. His touch was both possessive and reverent, his dark eyes searching yours, their depths a storm of love, anger, and unspoken fears. The forest was alive around you, the rustle of leaves a soft chorus, the distant hoot of an owl a mournful note in the symphony of the night. You shivered, not from the chill but from the weight of his gaze, the way it stripped you bare, exposing the raw ache of your soul.

Inside, the cabin was a paradox—a sanctuary steeped in his rugged essence and softened by your lingering presence. The air was warm, heavy with the scent of aged wood, whiskey, and the faint musk of cigarette ash that clung to Jungkook’s skin. The floors creaked under your steps, each groan a memory of nights spent in his arms, of whispered confessions and desperate touches. The furniture was sparse but deliberate—a worn leather couch, a heavy oak table, a fireplace where embers glowed like dying stars, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls. Your influence was everywhere: a pastel throw blanket draped over the couch, a stack of your medical textbooks on a shelf, a delicate lavender candle flickering on the mantle, its scent weaving through the cabin like a ghost of your presence.

You noticed the changes immediately—the broken remnants of his rage, the shattered mugs and splintered shelves, were gone. The cabin was pristine, the chaos of his grief meticulously erased, as if he’d poured his pain into restoring this space for you. A vase of wildflowers—delicate lupines and vibrant fireweed—sat on the table, their petals trembling in the draft, a quiet offering from a man who spoke love through actions, not words. Your throat tightened, your eyes stinging as you traced the edge of the vase, the cool glass grounding you against the flood of emotions.

Jungkook stood behind you, his presence a wall of heat, his breath uneven, his hands clenched as if fighting the urge to pull you close or push you away. “I fixed it,” he said, his voice low, rough, like gravel underfoot. “Everything I broke… I couldn’t stand seeing it, knowing you’d come back to this mess. I wanted it to be right for you, angel.”

You turned, your eyes meeting his, and the raw vulnerability in his gaze stole your breath. His face was a map of scars and shadows, his jaw tight, his lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes—those dark, endless pools—held a fragility you’d rarely seen. “You kept it for me,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your fingers brushing the wildflowers, their softness a stark contrast to the hardness of his world. “All this time, you believed I’d come back.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a mix of love and pain. “I had to,” he said, his voice cracking, each word a wound. “You’re my fucking everything, petal. I cleaned this place, kept your shit, because letting it go meant letting you go, and I couldn’t. I’d rather die than lose you again.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks, hot and relentless, your heart aching with the weight of his devotion. You stepped closer, your hands trembling as you reached for him, your fingers grazing the coarse stubble on his jaw, the warmth of his skin a lifeline. Your tears soaking into his shirt as you pressed yourself against him. “I see it now, everything you did, everything you kept, and I’m here, I’m yours.”

He gripped your arms, his fingers bruising, his eyes blazing with a fierce, desperate love. “You don’t get it, do you?” he growled, his voice raw, his breath hot against your face. “You didn’t just break us, you fucking shattered me. I was a ghost without you, angel, a dead man walking. I kept your books, your candle, those damn flowers, because they were all I had left of you. And now you’re here, and I’m terrified you’ll run again, because I can’t survive it, not again.”

You sobbed, your hands clutching his shirt, the fabric rough under your fingers, the scent of him—cigarettes, musk, him—flooding your senses. “I won’t run,” you promised, your voice steady despite the shake, your eyes locked on his. “I love you, Jungkook. I saw you dying, and it killed me. I’m your angel, your petal, and I’m never leaving you again.”

His eyes softened, his grip loosening, but his hands slid to your face, cupping your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You’re my home,” he said, his voice thick, his love a vow etched into every syllable. “I tried to be better, petal, for you. Stopped killing, got tattoos, anything to keep from breaking. But it’s you, always you, that keeps me whole.”

You found his diary on the table, its leather cover worn, the pages thick with his handwriting, ink smudged with tears. You opened it, your breath catching as you read his words, raw and jagged: "I love you, angel. You’re my light, my reason. Every day without you, I’m dying, breaking, and I don’t know how to stop. I’d beg, fall on my knees, anything to have you back." The words were a knife, cutting through your defenses, and you cried, your tears soaking the pages, your heart swelling with love and guilt. “You wrote this,” you whispered, your voice breaking, your fingers tracing the ink, the paper soft under your touch. “All this time, you poured your heart out for me.”

He stepped closer, his hand covering yours, his touch warm, grounding. “You told me to write,” he said, his voice low, his eyes haunted. “Thought it was stupid, but it kept me sane, petal. Every word, every tear, it was for you. I love you, and it fucking burns, but I’d burn forever if it meant you’d stay.”

You set the diary down, your hands shaking, and turned to him, your lips crashing onto his, a desperate, searing kiss, your tears mingling, your love a fire. “I’m staying,” you whispered against his lips, your voice fierce, your heart laid bare. “I love you, Jungkook. You’re my everything, my rough, beautiful man. I see your heart, and it’s mine.”

He kissed you back, his lips bruising, his hands roaming, his love a storm. “You’re mine, angel,” he growled, his voice thick, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer. “I kept this place for you, every fucking thing, because you’re my home. Don’t ever break me again.”

You nodded, tears falling, your hands clutching his face, the stubble rough, the warmth of him grounding you. “Never,” you promised, your voice steady, your love a vow. “I’m yours, Jungkook, forever.”

Your eyes caught the stack of bucket list items—rare books bound in leather, their pages yellowed with age; a box of exotic chocolates, their wrappers glinting in the firelight; a first-edition novel you’d dreamed of, its cover embossed with gold. They were treasures, meticulously collected, each one a piece of your dreams he’d guarded like sacred relics. You touched them, your fingers trembling, the textures—smooth leather, crinkling foil, soft paper—overwhelming you with the depth of his love. “You kept these,” you whispered, your voice breaking, your tears falling onto the novel, the ink blurring under your touch. “You made my dreams real, even when I was gone.”

He stood behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. “I’d do anything for you,” he said, his voice raw, his love fierce. “Every book, every chocolate, it was me holding onto you, petal. I love you, and I’ll keep every fucking dream of yours alive, as long as you’re mine.”

You turned in his arms, your hands sliding up his chest, the new tattoo catching your eye—a blooming rose on his shoulder, its petals vivid, its thorns delicate, a symbol of your return, your growth together. You kissed it, your lips soft, your tears salty, the skin warm under your touch, the ink a testament to his love. “This is for me,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your fingers tracing the petals, the texture raised, the colors vibrant. “You marked yourself for me, again.”

He growled, his eyes dark, his love possessive. “You’re in my skin, angel,” he said, his voice thick, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Every tattoo, every scar, it’s you. I’m yours, petal, and you’re mine, forever.”

You kissed him, slow, deep, your lips trembling, your love a vow. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice steady, your heart full. “You’re my home, Jungkook, and I’m never leaving again.”

He held you, his arms tight, his love fierce, the cabin a sanctuary, a promise of a future forged in pain and love. You applied medicine to his wounds, your hands gentle, your fingers brushing his tattoos, kissing each one—the rose, your initials, the cage, the blooming rose. The salve was cool, the scent sharp, your touch a balm to his scars, his eyes softening, his voice low. His grip tight, his love a vow. “I’ll never let you go.”

His anger lingered, a shadow in his eyes, his hurt a wound that hadn’t fully healed. One night, his voice rough, the firelight casting shadows on his face, his tattoos glowing like embers. “I’m trying to forgive you, petal, but it fucking hurts. I see you, I love you, but I remember the empty bed, the silence, and it kills me.”

You whimpered, your hands clutching his, the calluses rough, the warmth grounding you. “I know,” you whispered, your voice breaking, your tears falling onto his skin, warm and wet. “I hate myself for it, Jungkook and I’ll never hurt you again.”

He pulled you close, his lips brushing your forehead, his voice soft, his love fierce. “You’re my angel,” he said, his eyes burning, his heart laid bare. “You hurt me, but you saved me too. I love you, petal, and I’ll fight for us, always.”

The cabin was your haven, its walls a testament to your love, its air thick with the scent of pine, whiskey, and lavender—a blend of his darkness and your light, a promise of a future you’d build together, brick by brick, kiss by kiss, vow by vow.

The night was a suffocating shroud, the forest a labyrinth of shadows that pulsed with an almost sentient malice. The air was dense with the musky scent of damp earth, crushed pine needles, and the sharp, scent of an approaching storm, clinging to your skin like a possessive caress. You’d slipped from the warmth of Jungkook’s bed, your throat dry, your body restless, driven by a restless itch you couldn’t name. The blush-pink cotton nightie you wore was a gossamer veil, so flimsy it was nearly translucent, molding to your curves like liquid silk, the hem skimming your upper thighs, your nipples hardening into tight, aching peaks against the cool air, starkly visible through the sheer fabric. The cabin’s kitchen was a dim refuge, bathed in the moon’s ghostly silver glow that spilled through the window, casting jagged, claw-like shadows across the wooden floor, cold and unyielding beneath your bare feet. You reached for a glass, your fingers trembling with an unspoken unease, the silence of the forest a heavy, oppressive weight, broken only by the soft, rhythmic drip of the faucet as you filled the glass, the water’s icy bite a jolt against your palm.

In the bedroom, Jungkook stirred, his calloused hand reaching for the soft, warmth of your body, expecting to find you curled against his chest, your lavender scent anchoring him. His fingers met cold, empty sheets, and his heart lurched, a primal fear igniting a volcanic rage in his veins. His eyes snapped open, black and feral, his chest tightening as he sat up, the air stripped of you—your softness, your breath, your essence. Fury erupted, a molten surge, his muscles tensing. He’d restrained himself for weeks, caging the feral need to fuck your pussy raw, to claim you so utterly you’d never dream of leaving, but tonight, the beast within him broke free, its hunger a ravenous, untamed force. “She’s gone,” he growled, his voice a low, guttural snarl, the bed creaking under his weight as he surged to his feet, his anger a living, breathing entity, his slightly long hair tied in a messy manbun, rogue strands framing his scarred, furious face.

He stormed into the kitchen, his footsteps heavy, shaking the wooden floor like an earthquake, his presence a roiling storm cloud, his muscles bulging under his tight black shirt, his tattoos a stark contrast against his tanned skin. You froze, the glass slipping from your hand, shattering on the floor with a piercing crack, shards sparkling like jagged stars in the moonlight, the sound a violent tear in the silence. His silhouette loomed, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his eyes black voids of fury and desire, his manbun fraying, strands falling wild, his scars and tattoos painting him as a demonic warrior, both terrifying and intoxicating. “Angel,” he said, his voice low, dripping with venom and arousal, each syllable a dagger slicing through the air, “where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

You gasped, your heart pounding like a war drum, your body trembling with a volatile mix of fear and excitement, your pussy throbbing, a slick, molten heat pooling between your thighs, your nipples painfully hard, straining against the thin fabric. “I—I just needed water,” you stammered, your voice small, quivering, your wide eyes locked on his, the suddenness of his anger a shockwave, his gaze igniting a fire in your core that burned with shame and need.

“Run,” he commanded, his voice a guttural growl, his eyes blazing with predatory intensity, his body radiating dominance, the air crackling with his rage. “Run, petal, or I’ll make you scream for mercy you won’t fucking get.”

Your breath hitched, fear and arousal flooding you like a tidal wave, your pussy dripping, your legs trembling, your skin flushing with a feverish heat. You didn’t think, didn’t pause—you bolted, your bare feet slapping against the cold floor, the cabin door slamming behind you with a thunderous bang, the night swallowing you whole. The forest was a nightmare of shadows, the trees towering like ancient, twisted sentinels, their gnarled branches clawing at the starless sky, casting jagged, monstrous silhouettes that seemed to writhe and leer. The ground was treacherous, littered with sharp twigs, slick leaves, and hidden roots that snagged at your feet, the cold earth biting into your soles, sending jolts of pain up your legs, your skin prickling with each sting. Your nightie fluttered, barely covering you, the fabric catching on branches, tearing slightly with a soft, ripping sound, your breasts bouncing with each frantic step, your heart a frantic drum, your breaths ragged, tearing from your throat in sharp, desperate gasps.

The air was sharp, heavy with the scent of moss, rotting wood, and the electric promise of rain, pressing against your exposed skin, your hair whipping wildly, strands sticking to your sweat-slicked face, damp with the forest’s humidity. You glanced back, your eyes straining through the suffocating darkness, the moonlight barely piercing the dense canopy, but he was a phantom, his presence a suffocating weight, his slow, deliberate footsteps crunching faintly, a predator’s taunt that echoed in your bones. You couldn’t see him, the shadows swallowing his form, and that absence was a terror that coiled tighter around your heart, your pussy clenching, your arousal a shameful pulse that coated your inner thighs. “Jungkook,” you whispered, your voice a trembling plea, your fear spiking, your body alive with a primal need that made your thighs slick, the scent of your arousal mingling with the forest’s musk.

You stumbled, your foot catching on a gnarled root, your hands scraping rough bark as you steadied yourself against a tree, the coarse texture biting into your palms, leaving red welts, your chest heaving, your breasts rising and falling, your nipples throbbing, your skin flushed with a mix of cold and heat. You darted behind a massive oak, its trunk wide and unyielding, the bark rough against your back, digging into your spine, your breaths loud, almost obscene in the silence, your breasts heaving, your pussy aching, your arousal a betrayal that coated your thighs. The forest held its breath, the silence a heavy, oppressive force, the only sound the faint rustle of leaves in the wind, the distant, mournful hoot of an owl, and the relentless pounding of your heart, a staccato rhythm that seemed to echo through the trees.

You thought you’d lost him, your body trembling, your skin prickling with goosebumps, your fear a living thing, but then—strong arms seized you, a vice-like grip around your waist, lifting you like a rag doll, your cry sharp, piercing the night, your body weightless as Jungkook threw you over his shoulder, his muscles hard, unyielding, his scent—cigarettes, musk, raw, unfiltered rage—flooding your senses, a heady assault that made your head spin. You trembled, your hands clutching his back, your nails digging into his shirt, tearing the fabric, your pussy dripping onto his shoulder, leaving a wet, glistening stain, your fear and excitement a intoxicating cocktail that made your vision blur. “No escaping me,” he growled, his voice a raw, guttural snarl, his grip bruising your thighs, his manbun loosening, strands falling wild, framing his furious, black eyes. “You think you can run, angel? I’ll chain you to my fucking bed, fuck you until you’re screaming, until your pussy’s so full of me you’ll never think of leaving again.”

You whimpered, your voice shaking, your tears falling, hot and salty, soaking into his shirt. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your body trembling, your arousal a shameful fire, your pussy clenching, your fear a pulse that matched your racing heart. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Jungkook, please—”

He slammed you against the oak, the bark rough, scraping your back, leaving angry red welts that stung like fire, the pain a sharp contrast to the molten heat in your pussy, your cum dripping down your thighs, pooling on the ground. His mouth crashed onto yours, an angry, ravenous makeout, his tongue invading, thrusting deep, claiming every inch, his teeth grazing your lips, drawing blood, the metallic taste mingling with his cigarettes and whiskey, his lips bruising, his growls vibrating against your mouth, a primal sound that made your pussy throb. His hands roamed, possessive, leaving hickeys—dark, angry marks blooming like violent flowers on your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders, your chest—his teeth sinking into your skin, sucking with a bruising force, your gasps loud, your body arching into him, your nipples aching, your pussy glistening, your thighs trembling with need. “You left me,” he snarled, his voice a jagged blade, his hands ripping your nightie, the fabric tearing with a violent, shredding sound, the pieces fluttering to the ground like broken dreams, leaving you naked, exposed, the cold air biting your skin, your breasts heaving, your pussy swollen, slick, dripping, a glistening invitation in the moonlight. “I should’ve fucked a baby into you, petal, made sure you were tied to me forever, your pussy so full of my cum you’d never fucking run.”

You gasped, shocked, his words a brutal mix of anger and desperation, your pussy clenching, your heart racing, your tears falling, hot and relentless. “Jungkook, no,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your hands clutching his shirt, your nails tearing the fabric, “I’m here, please don’t say that—”

He growled, his eyes black voids, his body hulking, his muscles rippling under his torn shirt, his tattoos vivid in the moonlight, his manbun fraying, strands falling wild, his demonic presence both terrifying and intoxicating, his dominance a force that made your pussy drip, your shame a fire that consumed you. “You broke me,” he said, his voice raw, jagged, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, bruising, his nails leaving crescent marks that stung. “I’m gonna punish you, angel, teach you a goddamn lesson you’ll never forget. You’ll feel my anger, my love, my fucking cock until you’re begging, until you’re so fucked out you can’t think of running again.”

His mouth descended on your breasts, his lips sucking with a savage intensity, his tongue swirling, lapping at your nipples, his teeth biting, tugging, the sensitivity a white-hot agony, your cries sharp, piercing the night, your moans broken, desperate, a symphony of pain and pleasure. “Jungkook” you sobbed, your hands clutching his hair, pulling, strands slipping from his manbun, your body arching, your nipples throbbing, red and swollen, glistening with his saliva, your pussy aching, a pulsing inferno that made your thighs slick with cum. “It’s too much, I can’t—”

“Take it, you filthy little slut,” he grunted, his voice gruff, his anger a tempest, his love a twisted, consuming vow that branded you. “You’re mine, petal, and you’ll feel every fucking second of this punishment.” He spanked your breast, the sting a searing explosion, a red handprint blooming like a wound, your scream echoing through the forest, the pain a lightning bolt that shot straight to your pussy, your cum dripping, pooling on the ground, your shame a fire that burned hotter than your desire. He didn’t listen, his hand moving to your other breast, spanking again, the slap wet, your nipple stinging, swollen, your cries desperate, your body trembling, your arousal a betrayal that coated your thighs, the scent of your cum thick in the air. “Look at these tits,” he growled, his voice degrading, his lips sucking, biting, leaving marks, his tongue flicking your nipples, the sensation a molten torment, “so fucking needy, swollen for me, begging for my mouth, my hands, my fucking cock.”

He pushed you to all fours, the forest floor a brutal canvas, rough and jagged, leaves and dirt grinding into your palms, sticking to your sweat-slicked skin, your knees scraping against twigs and stones, the pain a sharp, burning contrast to the throbbing, molten heat in your pussy. Your body was naked, vulnerable, utterly exposed, the cold air biting your skin, your breasts hanging, swaying, heavy with arousal, your nipples hard, glistening with his saliva, your pussy swollen, glistening, dripping, a slick trail snaking down your thighs, pooling in the dirt, the scent of your arousal a heady musk that mingled with the forest’s decay. “Look at you,” he snarled, his voice dripping with degradation, his hand gripping your hair, pulling your head back, your scalp burning, your neck arched painfully, your moans loud, broken, your throat raw. “A dirty little whore, dripping for me, begging to be fucked like a fucking animal in the dirt. You missed this, didn’t you? Missed my fingers, my cock, my fucking rage owning you.”

His fingers plunged into your pussy, three at once, the stretch a brutal, burning fullness, a fiery invasion that made you scream, your walls clenching, spasming, your arousal soaking his hand, the wet, squelching sounds obscene, echoing in the silence, a lewd symphony that made your shame burn hotter. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he growled, his voice thick, his love fierce, his anger a blade that cut deeper than his fingers, his knuckles grazing your walls, the friction a molten torment. “This pussy’s mine, petal, and you’re gonna take every fucking inch of my punishment.” He thrust his fingers, hard, fast, curling, hitting your g-spot with merciless precision, each thrust a jolt of electricity, your screams raw, your body rocking, your pussy gushing, your slickness a hot, slick flood that coated his hand, dripped down his wrist, the scent of your arousal intoxicating, overwhelming. “You’re so fucking tight,” he said, his voice raw, his fingers relentless, scissoring, stretching you, the burn a delicious agony, “clenching around me like a needy slut, begging for my cock to wreck you.”

You sobbed, rocking on his hand, your moans loud, a desperate litany, your voice breaking, your tears falling, hot and salty, soaking the dirt, mingling with your cum. “Yes,” you whimpered, your voice trembling, raw, your pussy throbbing, a pulsing inferno, “I missed you, Jungkook, I’m sorry, I love you, please, fuck me—” Your words were a plea, a surrender, your shame a fire that consumed you, your arousal a betrayal that made your thighs quiver, your pussy clench, your cum a relentless flood.

He spanked your ass, the slaps sharp, brutal, a searing explosion of pain, your skin burning, red handprints blooming like violent flowers, your cries loud, piercing, a raw, animalistic sound that echoed through the forest, your pussy clenching, your tears streaming. “Count, slut,” he growled, his voice thick, his hand relentless, each slap a thunderclap, your skin stinging, your ass red, raw, throbbing. “One, two, three, four,” you sobbed after each spank being delivered, your voice shaking, your pussy throbbing, your slick dripping, your shame a fire that burned hotter with each strike, your body trembling, your arousal a shameful pulse. “Good girl,” he grunted, his hand moving to your pussy, spanking your clit, the wet, sloppy slaps echoing, a lewd, obscene sound, your cries desperate, your clit throbbing, swollen, a pulsing knot of agony and pleasure, your cum gushing, soaking his hand, pooling in the dirt. “Five, six, seven, eight,” you sobbed, your voice raw, breaking, begging for mercy, “Please, Jungkook, I can’t take it, I’m sorry, I’m breaking, I’m yours—”

“No fucking mercy,” he snarled, his voice raw, his fingers plunging deeper, faster, the wet, squelching sounds a filthy chorus, his other hand spanking your ass, your pussy, the slaps wet, relentless, a brutal rhythm that made your screams a symphony of pain and pleasure, your cum a hot, slick flood that coated his hand, dripped down your thighs, the scent of your arousal thick, intoxicating. “You ran, petal, and now you’ll feel what it did to me, how it fucking ripped my soul apart,” he growled, his voice a jagged vow, his fingers curling, hitting your g-spot, your pussy spasming, your cum a relentless torrent, your shame burning hotter than your desire. His mouth descended, sucking your pussy, his tongue fucking you, thrusting deep, a slick, hot intrusion, his lips clamping around your clit, sucking with a savage intensity, the wet, slurping sounds obscene, your moans loud, a desperate crescendo, your climax building, a tidal wave ready to crash. He lapped at your slit, his growls vibrating against your pussy, a primal sound that made your walls clench, your cum a hot, slick flood that coated his lips, his chin, the scent of your arousal a heady musk that drove him wild. “So fucking sweet,” he grunted, his voice thick, his tongue relentless, swirling, thrusting, his lips sucking, tugging, your clit throbbing, swollen, a pulsing knot of agony and pleasure, “I missed this pussy, missed tasting you, missed fucking owning you.”

He stood, his cock hard, thick, pulsing, the veins prominent, bulging, the tip swollen, leaking precum, a glistening bead that caught the moonlight, his tattoos gleaming, his body a hulking, primal force, his dominance a force that made your pussy drip, your release pooling in the dirt. He ripped his shirt, the fabric tearing with a violent, shredding sound, his chest bare, his muscles rippling, glistening with sweat, his manbun loose, his hair wild, framing his furious, black eyes, his scars a testament to his battles, his rage, his love. He fucked you from behind, his cock stretching you, a burning, searing fullness, the intrusion a white-hot agony that made you scream, your walls clenching, spasming, your slick soaking his cock, the wet, squelching sounds a filthy, obscene symphony that echoed through the forest. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled, his voice raw, his love fierce, his anger a vow that branded you, his cock pounding, the head hitting your cervix, a sharp, bruising pain that mingled with pleasure, your pussy gushing, your walls fluttering, your cum a hot, slick flood. “This pussy’s mine, angel, and you’re gonna take every fucking inch until you’re screaming, until you’re so fucked out you can’t think of running,” he snarled, his voice degrading, his hand pulling your hair, your scalp burning, your neck arched painfully, your moans loud, raw, a desperate litany, your throat raw, your tears falling.

“You like this, don’t you?” he growled, his voice dripping with venom, his hand spanking your ass, the sting a searing explosion, your skin burning, red and raw, throbbing, the slaps echoing, a brutal rhythm that made your screams pierce the night, your pussy clenching, your cum dripping, pooling in the dirt, the scent of your arousal thick, intoxicating. “Getting fucked like a dirty little whore in the middle of the forest, your pussy dripping, begging for my cum to fill you up,” he grunted, his cock thrusting, the wet, slapping sounds a lewd chorus, his balls slapping your clit, a sharp, electric jolt that made your pussy throb, your slickness gushing, your thighs slick, trembling. “You’re such a needy slut,” he snarled, his voice thick, his hand pulling your hair harder, your scalp burning, strands tearing free, “clenching around my cock, milking me, begging for me to wreck you, to fuck you until you’re broken.”

“Yes,” you sobbed, your voice raw, your moans desperate, a broken, pleading crescendo, your pussy throbbing, a pulsing inferno, your cum a relentless flood, your thighs quivering, your body shaking, “I love it, Jungkook, I’m sorry, I’m yours, please, fuck me harder, I need you—” Your words were a surrender, a plea, your shame a fire that consumed you, your arousal a betrayal that made your pussy clench, your cum a hot, slick torrent that coated his cock, his balls, dripping to the ground, the scent of your arousal a heady musk that drove him wild.

He growled, his thrusts relentless, brutal, his cock stretching you, a burning fullness, the head pounding your cervix, the pain a sharp, bruising edge to the pleasure, your screams echoing, your body shaking, your cum gushing, a hot, slick flood that coated his cock, your thighs, the dirt, the scent of your arousal thick, overwhelming. His hand spanked your pussy, the slaps wet, sloppy, a lewd, obscene sound, your clit throbbing angrily, swollen, a pulsing knot of agony and pleasure, your screams raw, desperate, your cum a relentless torrent, your shame burning hotter than your desire. “Take it, you filthy little girl,” he snarled, his voice raw, his cock thrusting, the wet, slapping sounds a filthy chorus, his balls slapping your clit, a sharp, electric jolt that made your pussy throb, your cum gushing, your thighs trembling, your body shaking. “You’re gonna take every fucking drop of my cum, petal, until your pussy’s so full you’re leaking me for days, until you’re so fucked out you can’t walk, can’t think of anything but my cock owning you.”

You came, your pussy clenching, spasming, a blinding, shattering climax, your moans broken, a raw, animalistic scream that echoed through the forest, your cum a hot, slick flood that coated his cock, his balls, dripping to the ground, your thighs slick, trembling, your body shaking, your shame a fire that burned hotter than your pleasure. He kept going, his thrusts brutal, relentless, his cock stretching you, his cum spilling deep, a hot, pulsing flood, a claiming torrent that filled you, branded you, your second climax crashing, a blinding wave that left you trembling, your screams raw, your begs a litany, “Please, Jungkook, I can’t, it’s too much—” He roared, his cum pulsing, a relentless flood, his cock throbbing, his love fierce, his anger a fire that burned through you both, sealing you together in the dirt, the leaves, the night, the scent of your and his release mixed together, the forest, a primal, intoxicating musk that lingered in the air.

He pulled you into his arms, your tears soaking his chest, your body trembling, your apologies soft, your voice breaking, raw, “I’m sorry, Jungkook, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I love you, I’m so sorry—”

He shushed you, his voice soft, his love fierce, his arms tight, his manbun loose, his hair wild, his eyes burning with a love that consumed him, his chest heaving, his tattoos vivid against his sweat-slicked skin, glistening with rain and sweat. “I love you, petal,” he said, his voice raw, a jagged vow, his heart pounding against your cheek, “Don’t ever fucking run again. You’re mine, angel, and I’ll destroy the fucking world to keep you.”

Rain fell, cold and heavy, a relentless cascade, the drops stinging your naked skin, a sharp, icy bite that made you shiver, your hair soaked, clinging to your face, your tears mingling with the water, your body trembling, your exhaustion pulling you under. He lifted you, your limbs limp, your head against his heart, its steady, thunderous beat a lifeline, his scent—cigarettes, musk, rain, sweat—grounding you, his warmth a furnace against the cold, his muscles rippling, his tattoos glistening, his scars a testament to his battles, his love. The forest was a blur, the trees swaying, their branches creaking, groaning, the rain a curtain that veiled the world, his steps sure, deliberate, as if he owned the night, the storm, the very earth beneath his feet. You fell asleep, completely dependent, your body his, your heart his, the rain a lullaby, his arms a haven that carried you through the darkness.

Back in the cabin, he carried you to the bathroom, the air warm, humid, scented with lavender, cedar soap, and the faint, lingering musk of his release clinging to your skin. He set you in the tub, the water hot, a steaming embrace that enveloped you, soothing your bruises, your spanked skin, your aching muscles, the heat seeping into your bones, chasing away the chill, the water rippling, reflecting the dim light, your hickeys, your welts, your red, raw ass glowing under the surface. His hands were gentle, a stark contrast to his earlier rage, washing your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp, untangling knots, his touch careful, reverent, over your hickeys, your red welts, your spanked ass, his fingers gliding, soothing, the soap’s slick foam coating your skin, bubbling, the scent a soft counterpoint to the raw musk of your arousal. He washed your body, his hands gliding with soap, lingering on your breasts, your nipples, still swollen, sensitive, his fingers circling, teasing, your thighs, your pussy, still throbbing, slick, his touch soft, worshipful, his eyes burning with love, tracing every mark he’d left, every curve of your body, his breath hitching, his love a vow. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft, raw, his love eternal, his gaze drinking you in, “Even when you drive me fucking insane, angel, I love you.”

You sniffed, your hands clutching his, your fingers trembling, your voice breaking, your tears falling into the water, rippling the surface, mingling with the soap, the scent of lavender, a soft, lingering musk. “I love you too,” you whispered, your heart full, your body trembling, your voice raw, “I’m sorry, Jungkook, for everything. I’m yours, always, I swear.”

He kissed you, slow, deep, his lips soft, tasting of rain, whiskey, and the faint, lingering musk of your release, his tongue gentle, exploring, a soft dance, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your tears, wiping them away, his love a warmth that seeped into your soul. “Forever, petal,” he said, his voice raw, a jagged vow, his eyes burning with a fire that warmed you deeper than the water, his love eternal, unyielding. He dried you, his towel soft, warm, wrapping you like a cocoon, carried you to bed, his arms tight, his warmth sealing you together, a vow that would never break.

The cabin nestled in the heart of the forest was a cocoon of warmth, its sturdy log walls steeped in the scent of pine and the faint, lingering tang of cigarette smoke that clung to Jungkook’s presence. The fire in the stone hearth crackled, casting a golden glow that danced across the room, painting flickering shadows on the polished wooden floor. The air was thick with the comforting aroma of cedar, mingling with the subtle sweetness of your lavender perfume, a fragrance that had become as much a part of the cabin as the creak of its beams. Your plush toys—a pastel pink bunny, a cream-colored bear—sat propped on a shelf, their button eyes glinting in the firelight, softening the cabin’s rugged edges. Your books, dog-eared medical texts and worn novels, were stacked on a small oak table, their spines cracked from late-night reading. A single hair tie, soft blue and stretched from use, lay coiled on the armrest of a leather chair, a quiet testament to your presence in this once-brutal space.

You sat on a thick woolen rug before the fire, your knees drawn up, a mug of chamomile tea cradled in your hands, its steam curling like a lover’s whisper against your skin. The mug was chipped, a relic from Jungkook’s sparse kitchen, but its warmth grounded you, a small anchor in the storm of emotions that churned within. Your hair fell in loose waves, catching the fire’s glow, each strand shimmering like spun gold, and your eyes, still shadowed from sleepless nights at the hospital, held a quiet resilience, a determination to mend what you’d broken. Jungkook sat across from you, his broad frame sprawled in a worn armchair, his black t-shirt stretched taut across his muscular chest. His hair was longer now, tied back in a loose manbun, a few rebellious strands framing his rugged face, his jaw sharp, his eyes dark and fathomless, burning with a love so fierce it bordered on pain.

The silence between you was heavy, not with tension but with the weight of shared history, a tapestry woven from blood, tears, and love. The fire popped, a log splitting, sending a shower of sparks upward, and you flinched, the sound too close to the chaos of your past. Jungkook’s eyes snapped to you, his body tensing, his hand twitching as if to reach for you, but he held back, his fingers curling into the armrest, his knuckles whitening. “You okay, petal?” he asked, his voice low, rough, a gravelly caress that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, your lips trembling, your eyes meeting his. “Just… the fire,” you murmured, your voice soft, fragile, like glass on the verge of breaking. “It’s loud tonight.”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his gaze piercing, searching your face for the truth. “Don’t lie to me, angel,” he said, his voice sharper now, laced with a quiet anger that wasn’t directed at you but at the world that had hurt you. “You’re still scared, aren’t you? Of me, of this, of everything we’ve been through.”

Your heart clenched, your fingers tightening around the mug, the ceramic hot against your palms, grounding you in the ache of his words. “I’m not scared of you,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears pricking your eyes, hot and stinging, threatening to spill. “I’m scared of losing you again, Jungkook. I’m scared of what we do to each other, how we love so hard it hurts, how it breaks us.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of love and fury, the firelight catching the storm in his gaze. “You broke me,” he said, his voice raw, jagged, each word a blade cutting through the air. “You left me, petal, and I fucking shattered. I tore this place apart, screamed your name until my throat bled, and you weren’t here. You think I’m scared of losing you? I’m fucking terrified, angel, because you’re the only thing keeping me human.”

Tears fell, tracing hot paths down your cheeks, pooling in the hollow of your throat, your breath hitching as you set the mug down, the clink against the table loud in the quiet. “I know,” you whispered, your voice breaking, your hands trembling as you reached for him, needing to bridge the distance. “I hate myself for it, Jungkook. I thought I was saving you, thought I was your weakness, that you’d be better without me. But I was wrong, so wrong, and I’ll spend my life proving I’m here, that I love you.”

He surged forward, dropping to his knees before you, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your tears, his touch rough but tender, a contradiction that defined him. “Don’t you dare say you’re my weakness,” he growled, his voice thick, his eyes blazing, the fire casting shadows that danced across his scarred knuckles. “You’re my strength, angel, my reason. I stopped killing for you, got ink instead of blood, tried to be a man you could love, not a monster you’d fear. But it hurts, petal, knowing you ran, knowing you thought you had to.”

You sobbed, your hands clutching his wrists, your fingers tracing the rose tattoo, the petals vivid, each one a silent vow. “I love you,” you said, your voice fierce, your heart pounding, the words a lifeline in the storm. “I love the monster, the man, all of you. I ran because I was scared of how much I needed you, how you made me feel alive in a way I never knew. But I’m here now, Jungkook, and I’m not running again.”

His breath hitched, his eyes softening, but the anger lingered, a shadow in his gaze. “You better not,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, his hands sliding into your hair, gripping gently, anchoring you to him. “Because I’ll chase you, angel, to the ends of the fucking earth. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and nothing—not your fear, not my darkness—will change that.”

You leaned into him, your forehead against his, your breaths mingling, warm and unsteady, the fire’s heat wrapping around you like a second embrace. “I’m yours,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your lips brushing his, a ghost of a kiss. “Always, Jungkook, even when it hurts, even when it’s messy and raw and terrifying.”

He kissed you, slow, deep, his lips soft but demanding, tasting of whiskey and longing, his tongue tracing yours, a claim that seared your soul. The kiss was a vow, a promise to weather the pain, to hold onto the love that bound you. You pulled back, your eyes locked, your hands sliding to his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart, the tattoo of your name warm under your palm. “You’re my home,” you said, your voice steady, your love a fire that matched the one in the hearth. “No matter what, I’m here, for you.”

He smirked, a flicker of his old defiance, but his eyes were soft, his voice gruff. “Damn right, angel,” he said, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer, his warmth grounding you. “You’re my light, my fucking salvation. I’m a rough bastard, always will be, but for you, I’m soft, petal. Only for you.”

You laughed, a soft, broken sound, your tears falling anew, but these were tears of love, of healing. You curled into him, your head on his chest, the fire crackling, the cabin a haven, its walls holding the echoes of your pain and your love. The rug was soft under you, the fire’s warmth sinking into your bones, and you talked, your voices weaving a tapestry of memories—the night you’d stitched his wound, your hands trembling, his eyes dark with pain; the bike rides, the wind in your hair, his presence a shield; the roses, pink and delicate, a symbol of his obsession, now a vow of his love.

“I thought I hated those roses,” you admitted, your voice soft, your fingers tracing the rose tattoo on his arm, the petals intricate, each one a memory. “They scared me, made me feel hunted. But now, I see them, and I see you, Jungkook, loving me in your own way, even when I didn’t understand.”

His hand tightened on your waist, his voice rough, laced with regret. “I scared you,” he said, his eyes haunted, the firelight catching the storm in his gaze. “I was a fucking animal, stalking you, taking your things, leaving those roses. I didn’t know how to love, angel, not like you deserved. But I learned, for you, because you’re worth it, worth every fucking scar, every tear.”

You kissed his chest, your lips brushing the tattoo of your name, the ink warm, a vow etched into his soul. “You’re worth it too,” you whispered, your voice fierce, your love a fire that burned away the shadows. “You’re not just a monster, Jungkook. You’re my hero, my love, my everything. I see you, all of you, and I want it all.”

He pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you, his breath warm against your neck, his love a storm that held you close. “I love you,” he said, his voice raw, his words a vow. “I’ll fight for you, angel, every day, to be the man you need, not the one who breaks you. But don’t ever fucking leave me again, petal, because I can’t survive it.”

You nodded, your tears soaking his shirt, your heart full. “I won’t,” you promised, your voice steady, your love a flame that would never die.

The fire burned low, the cabin quiet, the forest outside a silent witness to your love, your pain, your healing. You held each other, the rug soft, the fire warm, your hearts beating as one, a fragile peace forged in the crucible of your shared scars, a love that would endure, fierce and unbroken.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the heavy curtains, casting golden slivers across the hardwood floor. The air was warm, thick with the promise of peace, but a tension simmered beneath, a remnant of your shared wounds, your love a tightrope stretched over a chasm of past pain. You sat on the couch, a medical textbook open on your lap, your fingers tracing the pages, your mind drifting to Jungkook’s healing scars, his fierce love, the way his eyes softened only for you.

The world shattered with a crash, the cabin door splintering inward, wood shards flying like shrapnel. A man loomed in the doorway, his silhouette a hulking menace against the fading light, his face scarred, his eyes glinting with malice. The gang member, a survivor of the crew that had kidnapped you, held a gun, its barrel a cold, gleaming threat, the metal catching the sunlight in a cruel wink. His boots thudded on the floor, each step a violation, the air turning sour with the stench of sweat, gun oil, and old blood. His lips curled into a sneer, his teeth yellowed, his voice a low, venomous drawl that sent ice through your veins. “Jungkook’s little pet,” he spat, the gun trained on you, his gaze raking your body, your soft sweater and jeans suddenly feeling like no armor at all. “Thought you could hide, huh? Time to finish what we started.”

Your heart seized, your breath catching, your body trembling as you stumbled back, the textbook falling, pages fluttering like wounded birds. The cabin, your haven, was now a trap, the walls closing in, the air heavy with fear. Your eyes darted to the kitchen, where a knife lay on the counter, too far, too useless against the gun’s cold promise. Memories of the dark room, the man’s hands, the blood, flooded you, your knees buckling, your voice a whisper of Jungkook’s name, a desperate prayer.

Jungkook was there in an instant, a storm of muscle and rage, his body a shield as he stepped between you and the intruder. His black t-shirt stretched taut over his broad shoulders, muscles coiled, his fists clenched. His eyes black with fury, a predator unleashed. The air crackled with his presence, the scent of cigarettes and musk sharp, grounding you even as fear clawed at your chest. His voice was a growl, low and lethal, vibrating through the room like a warning shot. “You touch her, you die,” he said, his words a blade, his gaze locked on the gang member, unyielding, unafraid.

The man laughed, a harsh, grating sound that scraped your nerves, his gun steady, his scarred face twisting with contempt. “Weak,” he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re nothing without your knife, Jungkook. Gone soft for this bitch, huh? Pathetic.” He stepped closer, the floor creaking under his weight, the gun’s barrel glinting, a serpent ready to strike. “I’ll take her, finish her slow, make you watch.”

Your heart pounded, your hands shaking, your voice breaking as you grabbed Jungkook’s arm, your fingers digging into his skin, warm and solid under your touch. “Don’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your eyes wide with fear, not for yourself, but for him. “You’re not that man anymore, Jungkook. Please, don’t kill him. I can’t lose you to that darkness again.” Your tears fell, hot and silent, your body pressed close to his, your lavender scent mingling with his musk, a fragile tether in the storm.

Jungkook’s body tensed, his rage a living thing, his breath ragged, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground audibly. The cabin seemed to shrink, the walls pulsing with the heat of his anger, the air thick with the promise of violence. His eyes flicked to you, a flash of pain, of love, cutting through the fury, your plea a chain holding him back. “Angel,” he growled, his voice raw, his hand brushing yours, a fleeting touch that grounded him. “I want to rip him apart for you.”

The gang member sneered, his gun inching closer, the click of the safety a deafening snap in the quiet. “Do it, then,” he goaded, his voice a taunt, his eyes glinting with sadistic glee. “Show her the monster you are. She’ll run again, you know she will.”

Your sob broke free, your hands clutching Jungkook tighter, your voice rising, desperate. “No, Jungkook, you’re more than that!” you cried, your tears soaking your cheeks, your body shaking. “You’re my man, not a killer. Please, for me, don’t do this. I need you, not the blood on your hands.”

Jungkook’s eyes burned, his body trembling, his rage a wildfire battling your plea. He moved, faster than thought, his hand snapping out, disarming the man with brutal precision, the gun clattering to the floor, a hollow thud against the wood. He tackled the gang member, his strength overwhelming, pinning him to the ground, his fist raised, his knuckles white, the air thick with the scent of sweat and fear. The man struggled, his curses muffled, his face pressed to the floor, his scars stark against his flushed skin. Jungkook’s breath was a growl, his voice a raw, trembling vow. “You don’t touch her,” he snarled, his fist hovering, his eyes blazing with a fury that could burn the world. “You don’t fucking breathe near her.”

You knelt beside him, your hands on his back, your voice soft, urgent, your tears falling onto his shirt. “Jungkook,” you whispered, your fingers trembling, your touch a lifeline. “You’re better than this. I love you, all of you, but I need you to choose me, not this.”

He froze, his fist shaking, his eyes flicking to yours, the storm in them softening, his love for you a beacon in the dark. He lowered his hand, his grip tightening on the man, subduing, not destroying. The gang member gasped, his struggles weakening, his voice a broken curse. Jungkook’s voice was low, lethal, a promise to the man beneath him. “You’re lucky she’s here,” he said, his words ice, his eyes cold. “I’d have torn you apart.”

Sirens wailed, distant but growing, a neighbor’s call piercing the forest’s silence. The police stormed in, their boots heavy, their voices sharp, cuffs glinting as they dragged the gang member away, his curses fading, his gun confiscated, a relic of a failed revenge. Jungkook stood, his body shaking, his breath ragged, his eyes haunted. He turned to you, pulling you into his arms, his grip bruising, his warmth a shield against the cold fear still gripping you. The cabin smelled of pine, of him, of you, the air heavy with the aftermath, the floor littered with wood shards, the textbook lying forgotten, its pages crumpled.

“I wanted to kill him,” he admitted, his voice raw, his eyes searching yours, pain and love warring within. “I saw him point that gun at you, angel, and I saw red. I wanted his blood, his fucking life, for daring to threaten you.”

You cupped his face, your hands trembling, your tears falling, your voice breaking. “You didn’t,” you whispered, your thumbs brushing his cheeks, his stubble rough under your touch. “You’re my hero, Jungkook, not a monster. You chose me, chose us, and I love you for it, more than you’ll ever know.”

He kissed you, fierce, desperate, his lips bruising, his love a storm. “I’d burn for you, petal,” he said, his voice thick, his arms tightening, his body a fortress around you. “I’d kill, die, anything to keep you safe. But I didn’t, for you, because you’re my fucking world.”

You sobbed, your heart full, your voice soft. Your tears soaking his shirt, your lavender scent mingling with his musk. “I love you, Jungkook, rough edges, darkness, all of it. We’re free now, together.”

The cabin stood silent, the police gone, the gang member a fading threat, the air settling, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting the room in a warm, forgiving glow. You held each other, your love a flame that burned through the shadows, a vow that no intruder could break. The forest outside whispered, the trees swaying, the world moving on, but in that moment, it was just you and Jungkook, your hearts entwined, your scars a testament to a love that defied the dark.

The cabin was a haven bathed in the amber glow of the hearth, its flames casting a dance of shadows across the rough-hewn walls, their flicker a silent hymn to your shared survival. The fire crackled, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to sync with the thud of your heart, each pop and hiss a reminder of the life you’d clawed back from the jaws of fear. The confrontation with the gang member still clung to you—the cold glint of his gun, the venom in his sneer, the tremor in your bones—but Jungkook’s choice to subdue rather than kill had woven a fragile thread of hope, a promise that your love could forge a path beyond the blood and chaos of your past.

You stood by the bed, your cotton dress a soft ivory, its fabric so thin it seemed to shimmer in the firelight, the delicate straps slipping off your shoulders to reveal the smooth curve of your collarbone, the dress clinging to your breasts, your waist, your hips like a lover’s caress, outlining every contour with a reverence that made your skin flush. The firelight painted you in hues of gold and shadow, catching the tear tracks on your cheeks, turning your eyes into pools of molten amber, their depths raw with relief and lingering fear. Your hands trembled, your fingers twisting in the hem of your dress, the fabric cool against your heated skin, your breath hitching as you stepped toward Jungkook, drawn to him like a moth to flame.

He stood before you, his shirt unbuttoned, the edges parted to reveal the sculpted planes of his chest, his skin taut over muscle, marred by scars and adorned with tattoos that told your story—your name in bold, possessive script over his heart, the blooming rose on his shoulder, its petals unfurling with a fierce tenderness, a new addition that marked your return. His dark hair was a wild tangle, strands falling into his eyes, which burned with a love so intense it felt like a physical weight, pressing against your chest, stealing your breath. His scent—cigarettes, musk, the faint tang of sweat—wrapped around you, grounding you, a reminder of his presence, his survival, his choice to be yours.

Your breath shuddered, your hands shaking as you closed the distance, your fingers brushing his chest, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cool air, the tattoo of your name a living pulse under your touch, its ink seeming to throb with his heartbeat. “I thought I’d lose you again,” you whispered, your voice fracturing like glass, tears spilling down your cheeks, hot and heavy, their saltiness sharp on your lips, soaking into the coarse fabric of his shirt. “That gun, his voice… I was so scared, Jungkook, but you didn’t kill him. You chose me, chose us, and I can’t—” Your words broke, a sob tearing free, your body trembling as you pressed closer, needing his solidity, his heat.

He caught your face in his hands, his palms calloused, their roughness a delicious contrast to the tenderness of his touch, his thumbs sweeping across your cheeks, smearing your tears, his eyes locking onto yours with a ferocity that made your heart stutter. “I’d tear my own heart out before I let anyone hurt you,” he said, his voice a low, guttural rumble, each word vibrating through your core, resonating in the hollow of your chest. “I wanted to rip him apart, angel, to paint the walls with his blood for daring to threaten you. My hands itched to break him, to make him scream, but I heard you, your voice, begging me to be better. I did it for you, petal, because I love you more than my rage, more than my darkness, more than my own fucking life.”

You sobbed, your hands clutching his shirt, the fabric bunching under your fingers, pulling him closer until your bodies were flush, your breasts pressing against his chest, your nipples hardening through the thin dress, the friction sending a jolt of heat to your core. “I love you,” you choked out, your voice thick with emotion, your tears wetting his skin as you pressed your lips to his chest, kissing the tattoo of your name, the ink warm, alive, a vow etched into his flesh. “You’re my everything, Jungkook. I don’t deserve you, not after running, after breaking you, but I can’t live without you.”

He growled, a low, possessive sound that vibrated against your lips, his hands sliding down your neck, your shoulders, his fingers hooking under the straps of your dress, peeling them down with a reverence that belied the hunger in his eyes. The fabric slipped, pooling at your feet with a soft rustle, leaving you bare, your skin flushed, glowing in the firelight, your nipples pebbled, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on your curves. His gaze raked over you, slow, deliberate, drinking in the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the soft flare of your hips, the dark curls at the apex of your thighs, your pussy already glistening, the scent of your arousal sharp, intoxicating, mingling with the fire’s warmth. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice thick, his eyes darkening, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, a predator’s hunger tempered by love. “You don’t get to say you don’t deserve me, angel. You’re my light, my reason, and I’d burn the world to keep you safe, to see that smile that owns my soul.”

His words were a lifeline, pulling you from the abyss of fear, and you melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair, the strands coarse, damp with sweat, tugging gently to ground him. He lifted you, his hands strong, reverent, cupping your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving faint marks, a claim that sent a thrill through you. He laid you on the bed, the sheets cool against your back, their crisp cotton a stark contrast to the heat of your skin, the firelight painting your body in shifting patterns of gold and shadow, your breasts rising with each ragged breath, your pussy throbbing, aching for him.

He hovered over you, his shirt slipping off, the fabric whispering to the floor, revealing the full expanse of his chest, his tattoos a map of devotion, each line a story of pain, love, redemption. His muscles flexed, his skin taut, scarred, the blooming rose on his shoulder seeming to pulse in the firelight, its petals a mirror to the hope in his eyes. “I need to feel you,” he said, his voice rough, his hands trembling as they traced your body, his fingers brushing the delicate arch of your collarbone, the soft weight of your breasts, the curve of your stomach, each touch a prayer, a vow. “I need to know you’re here, petal, that we’re alive, that we made it through that hell. I almost lost you again, and it’s tearing me apart, fucking gutting me.”

You nodded, tears streaming, your hands reaching for him, pulling him down, your lips meeting in a kiss that was slow, deep, a collision of need and tenderness, like the first sip of water after a drought. His tongue explored your mouth, tasting the salt of your tears, the sweetness of your love, his breath warm, mingling with yours, his stubble grazing your chin, your cheeks, a delicious scrape that sent shivers cascading down your spine. The kiss deepened, grew hungrier, his teeth nipping your lower lip, drawing a soft gasp, your tongue dancing with his, a rhythm as old as your love, as new as this moment. “I’m here,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling, your hands tugging his hair, the pull sharp, grounding him, anchoring him to you.

He groaned, a sound that rumbled from deep in his chest, his lips trailing down your neck, kissing the frantic pulse that thundered under your skin, his tongue laving the hollow of your throat, the salt of your sweat sharp on his taste buds. His hands cupped your breasts, their weight perfect in his palms, his thumbs brushing your nipples, hard and sensitive, the peaks darkening under his touch, your gasps soft, high, filling the cabin like a melody. “So fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe, his lips closing over one nipple, sucking with a gentle pressure, his tongue swirling, flicking, the sensation a white-hot spark that shot straight to your core, your pussy clenching, your arousal pooling, slick and warm, the scent rising, musky, intoxicating. He lingered, his teeth grazing the tender bud, a soft bite that drew a moan, your back arching, pressing your breast deeper into his mouth, your fingers digging into his shoulders, nails leaving crescent marks on his inked skin.

He moved to your other nipple, his hand rolling the first, wet and slick from his mouth, his fingers pinching lightly, the dual sensations making you writhe, your moans louder, more desperate, your pussy throbbing, the ache almost painful. His tongue laved, his lips sucking, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet, the fire’s crackle a counterpoint to your gasps, your body a live wire, sparking under his touch. “I can’t do slow,” he admitted, his voice raw, his eyes lifting to meet yours, a flicker of vulnerability in their depths, the firelight catching the sweat on his brow, the strain in his jaw. “I’m a rough bastard, angel, always will be, wired to take, to claim. But for you, I’m trying, because I’d die for you, petal, just to see you at peace, to see that smile that fucking owns me, that makes me feel human.”

You sobbed, your hands cupping his face, your thumbs tracing the scars on his cheeks, the ink on his neck, your love a tidal wave crashing over you, drowning your fears. “I don’t need slow,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the tears, your eyes burning with truth. “I need you, Jungkook, all of you, rough edges, darkness, everything. Love me, please, make me feel alive, make me forget the fear, the gun, the pain.”

He growled, a sound that vibrated through your bones, his hand sliding between your thighs, his fingers parting your folds, finding your pussy drenched, your clit swollen, throbbing under his touch. He rubbed slow, deliberate circles, the pressure perfect, your moans rising, your hips rocking instinctively, chasing the pleasure, the firelight glinting off the slickness on his fingers, the scent of your arousal sharp, heady, filling the air. “You’re so fucking wet,” he murmured, his voice thick, his eyes darkening, his fingers slipping inside, one, then two, stretching you, your walls clenching, gripping him, your gasps sharp, the intrusion a delicious burn. “This pussy, angel, it’s mine, always has been, always will be, made for me, for my fingers, my tongue, my cock.”

You nodded, tears falling, your voice breaking into a whimper. “Yours,” you gasped, your hands clutching his shoulders, your nails digging deeper, leaving red trails on his skin, a claim that mirrored his. “Love me, Jungkook, please, I need you, need you so much.”

He kissed you, deep, desperate, his lips bruising, his tongue claiming, his fingers curling inside you, brushing that sweet spot, your moans muffled against his mouth, your body trembling, your pussy soaking his hand, the wet sounds lewd, intoxicating. He withdrew his fingers, slick and glistening, and licked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours, his groan low, primal, the taste of you a drug he’d never quit. He positioned himself, his cock hard, thick, the veins pulsing, the tip flushed, leaking precum that glistened in the firelight, brushing your entrance, teasing, the anticipation a fire in your veins, your pussy clenching, aching to be filled.

“I love you,” he said, his voice raw, his eyes locked on yours, his love a vow as he pushed inside, slow, deliberate, inch by agonizing inch, stretching you, filling you, the sensation intense, a burn that bordered on pain, then melted into pleasure, your pussy clenching, gripping him, your moans loud, echoing off the cabin walls. His cock was heavy, hot, the veins pulsing against your walls, every ridge a spark, every thrust a claim, his pelvis brushing your clit, the friction electric, your gasps sharp, your body arching, seeking more.

He moved, his thrusts deep, passionate, each one a declaration, his hips rolling with a rhythm that spoke of restraint, of love, his cock hitting deep, brushing that sweet spot, your walls fluttering, your moans a crescendo, your love a tide pulling you under. His hands roamed, one cupping your breast, his thumb rolling your nipple, pinching lightly, the sensation sharp, shooting straight to your core, your pussy tightening, your arousal dripping, coating his cock, the wet sounds obscene, primal, filling the air. His other hand found your clit, his fingers rubbing in time with his thrusts, the pressure perfect, your moans louder, more desperate, your hips rocking, meeting his, the dance of your bodies a symphony of need, of love.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, his voice thick, his thrusts steady, deep, his cock stretching you, filling you, your pussy a vise, your climax building, a coil tightening in your belly. “My angel, my petal, you’re everything, my reason, my home, anything to keep you mine, to feel this, you, us.”

You sobbed, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, your lips brushing his ear, your breath hot, your voice shaking. “I love you,” you whispered, your tears falling, your pussy tightening, your climax so close, a wave cresting, ready to break. “You’re my home, Jungkook, my forever, my everything. Don’t stop, please, make me yours, always.”

He groaned, his thrusts faltering, his control fraying, his fingers relentless on your clit, your nipple, his cock driving deep, the firelight dancing across his tattoos, his sweat-slicked skin, his eyes burning with a love that consumed him. “Come for me, angel,” he said, his voice raw, his love a command, a plea, his fingers circling your clit faster, his thumb pinching your nipple, his cock hitting deep, your walls pulsing, your moans a scream, your love a fire that burned through you. “Let me feel you, petal, let me know you’re mine, that we’re alive, that we’re forever.”

You came, your climax shattering like glass, a wave crashing, your pussy clenching, pulsing, gripping his cock, your moans broken, high, echoing in the cabin, your body shaking, your thighs trembling, your arousal soaking him, dripping onto the sheets, the scent musky, potent, mingling with the fire’s warmth. Your vision blurred, stars bursting behind your eyes, your tears falling, soaking his chest, your love a tide that swept you away, leaving you gasping, trembling, your heart pounding, your body his.

He followed, his groan loud, primal, his thrusts slowing, his cock pulsing, his cum hot, thick, spilling deep, filling you, each pulse a vow, a claim, his hips jerking, his breath ragged, his love sealing you together, a bond unbreakable. He collapsed onto you, his weight grounding, his arms wrapping around you, his lips kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your tears, his breath warm, his scent enveloping you, cigarettes, musk, love. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice soft, his hands gentle, stroking your hair, your back, his tattoos vivid in the firelight, your name a beacon on his chest. “Forever, angel. I love you, more than life, more than anything.”

You curled into him, your tears falling, your heart full, your voice a whisper against his skin, your fingers tracing his tattoos, the blooming rose, your name, your love a vow that echoed in the quiet. “I love you too,” you said, your voice steady, your breath warm, your body soft, yielding, your love a flame that burned bright, unyielding, eternal. The fire crackled, the cabin a home, your survival a celebration, your future a promise, your bodies entwined, your hearts one.

After a few months: the seaside town was a sanctuary of salt and serenity, a world apart from the blood-soaked chaos of your past. The air was thick with the briny tang of the ocean, carried on a breeze that rustled the tall grasses lining the dunes. Your small, whitewashed house perched on a low cliff, its weathered shutters creaking softly, the windows flung open to let the sea’s rhythmic pulse fill the rooms. The walls were adorned with driftwood art you’d collected on morning walks, and the floors, worn pine, bore the scuffs of your new life together. Outside, the waves crashed against jagged rocks, their frothy roar a constant hymn, while gulls wheeled overhead, their cries sharp against the endless blue. The town itself was a patchwork of cobblestone streets, quaint shops with faded awnings, and fishermen hauling nets under the golden haze of dawn. It was a place untainted by your history, a canvas for your rebirth.

You’d enrolled in medical school, your dream reignited, the lecture halls filled with the hum of ambition and the scent of old books. Your days were a blur of anatomy texts, clinical rotations, and late-night study sessions at a rickety desk by the window, the sea’s murmur your companion. Jungkook had found his place as a boxing coach, his instincts—once honed for violence—now channeled into molding young fighters. The gym was a cavern of sweat and leather, the air heavy with the thud of gloves on bags and the sharp tang of liniment. His voice, gruff and commanding, echoed off the concrete walls, guiding his students with a precision that belied his rough edges. Yet, his eyes softened when they caught yours, a silent vow that this was for you, for the life you were building.

Your home was a tapestry of your shared existence. The living room held a sagging couch draped with a quilt you’d bought at a local market, its patchwork vibrant with blues and corals that mirrored the sea. A small kitchen, cluttered with mismatched mugs and a perpetually steaming kettle, smelled of coffee and the herbs you grew in pots on the sill—basil, thyme, rosemary, their earthy scents mingling with the salt air. Your bedroom was a haven of soft linens, the bed creaking under a heavy knit throw, the pillows still carrying the faint musk of Jungkook’s skin. A bookshelf groaned under the weight of your medical texts, a quiet testament to your intertwined lives. The house was alive with small rituals—morning coffee shared on the porch, barefoot walks along the shore, evenings spent with you reading aloud while Jungkook watched you with his dark intensity, his rough hands brushing against your skin.

Jungkook’s struggles were a shadow, his urges to break, to destroy, simmering beneath his newfound purpose. Some nights, he’d pace the porch, his boots heavy on the weathered boards, his fists clenched, his eyes distant with the ghosts of his past. “I want to smash something,” he’d confess, his voice a low growl, the words catching in his throat like gravel. You’d step into his orbit, your hands soft on his chest, your fingers tracing his muscles. “You’re stronger than that, Jungkook,” you’d murmur, your voice steady, a beacon in his storm. “We’re building something real here, something good.” He’d exhale, his breath hot, his arms pulling you close, the tension bleeding out as he buried his face in your hair, your lavender scent grounding him.

Coaching was his salvation, each session a release, his fists finding purpose in mitts and pads rather than flesh and bone. He’d return home, his shirt damp with sweat, his hair tousled, a faint smile tugging at his lips when he saw you at the stove or curled up with a book. “They’re getting better,” he’d say, his voice rough but proud, speaking of his students, their progress a mirror of his own. You’d smile, your heart swelling, knowing each punch he taught was one he didn’t throw in anger, each lesson a step toward the man he wanted to be for you.

His love for you was a wildfire, fierce and unyielding, but it was tempered now, shaped by the legal money he earned, the pride in his work, the life you shared. He’d saved for months, every paycheck a sacrifice, until he could afford the engagement ring—a simple band of white gold, a single diamond catching the light like a captured star. It was no blood money, no taint of his past, but a vow forged in sweat and hope. He planned the proposal with a care that belied his gruff exterior, his hands shaking as he hid the ring in his jacket, his heart pounding with a fear he’d never known—not of death, but of you saying no.

The proposal was on the beach, the sunset a blaze of crimson and gold, the sky streaked with violet, the waves a relentless symphony crashing against the shore. The sand was cool under your bare feet, gritty between your toes, the air sharp with salt and the faint decay of seaweed. You wore a loose sundress, white cotton fluttering in the breeze, your hair loose, curling softly from the humidity, your skin kissed by the sun. Jungkook stood before you, his black shirt rolled to his elbows, his tattoos vivid against his tanned skin, his hair slightly longer, tied back in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame his sharp jaw. His eyes, dark and burning, held a vulnerability you’d rarely seen, his hands fidgeting, the ring box heavy in his pocket.

He took your hands, his calluses rough against your soft palms, his grip firm but trembling. The sea roared behind him, the gulls silent now, the world narrowing to just you two. “Angel,” he began, his voice gruff, catching on the edges, his throat tight with emotion. “I’m not good with words. Never been. I’m a rough bastard, always will be—scarred, fucked up, with a past that’ll never leave me. But you… you’re my light, my reason, my everything.” His voice cracked, his eyes glistening, and you felt tears prick your own, your heart swelling, your breath hitching. “I don’t do soft, don’t know how to be gentle like you deserve, but I love you, petal, more than I thought a man like me could love. You made me believe in shit I thought was for fools—love, hope, a future.”

He dropped to one knee, the sand shifting under him, his hand pulling the ring from his pocket, the diamond glinting in the dying light. Your gasp was soft, your hands flying to your mouth, tears spilling down your cheeks, hot and unstoppable. “Marry me, angel,” he said, his voice raw, fierce, a plea and a command. “Be mine, forever. I’ll fight every day to be the man you deserve, to give you a life that’s clean, that’s yours. I’m still obsessed, still possessive, but I’m yours, say yes, petal, please.”

You sobbed, your knees buckling, and you sank to the sand before him, your hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing the tears that fell from his eyes, a rarity that broke you. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking, your love a tidal wave. “Yes, Jungkook, I’ll marry you. I love you, rough edges and all, scars and all, forever.”

He surged forward, kissing you, fierce and possessive, his lips bruising, his tongue claiming, the salt of your tears mingling with the sea’s breath. His arms wrapped around you, crushing you to his chest, his heart pounding against yours, his love a fire that consumed you. “You’re my only girl,” he growled, his voice thick, his breath hot against your lips. “You helped me find myself, angel. I was lost, a fucking monster, but you saw me, loved me, saved me. This ring—it’s not just a promise, it’s a chain, tying you to me, and I’ll never let you go.”

You laughed through your tears, your hands clutching his shirt, the fabric soft under your fingers, his warmth grounding you. “I don’t want to go,” you said, your voice steady despite the shake, your eyes locked on his. “I love you, Jungkook, more than I can say. You’re my home, my hero, my everything. I want this—us, forever, by the sea, building a life that’s ours.”

He slipped the ring onto your finger, the metal cool, the diamond sparkling, a vow etched in light. He kissed your hand, his lips lingering on the ring, his eyes burning with obsession, love, a possessiveness that thrilled you. “Forever, petal,” he said, his voice low, a vow that echoed with the waves. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, till the sea dries up, till the stars fall.”

You stood, the sand clinging to your dress, your hands intertwined, the sunset fading to twilight, the first stars piercing the sky. The waves crashed, the world spun, and you were his, a horizon new and boundless, a vow sealed in salt and starlight.

The seaside house was a cocoon of intimacy, its whitewashed walls bathed in the golden flicker of a dozen beeswax candles, their flames swaying like tiny dancers, casting intricate shadows that writhed across the room. The air was heavy with the briny, salty tang of the ocean, carried through the wide-open windows, mingling with the rich, molten scent of candle wax and the delicate, almost sinful perfume of pink roses strewn across the bed. Each petal was a velvet caress, vibrant and soft, their hue a vivid blush that stirred memories of Jungkook’s stalking days, now reborn as a testament to your eternal bond. The rhythmic crash of waves outside was a primal heartbeat, syncing with the thunderous pulse in your veins, the sound weaving into the very fabric of the moment, grounding and wild all at once.

You stood by the bed, your soft white dress a whisper of fabric, so sheer it was nearly translucent in the candlelight, clinging to the lush curves of your body. The dress outlined the gentle swell of your breasts, the taut peaks of your nipples pressing against the fabric, the dip of your waist, and the inviting flare of your hips. The engagement ring on your finger—a simple band of white gold with a small, radiant diamond, earned through Jungkook’s legal toil—caught the flickering light, its sparkle a tiny supernova, a physical manifestation of his fierce, possessive love, a vow that tethered you to him forever. Your skin was warm, flushed with anticipation, the air cool against it, raising goosebumps that tingled with every breath.

Jungkook was a vision of raw, untamed masculinity, his black shirt unbuttoned and hanging open, revealing the sculpted terrain of his chest, each muscle carved as if by a sculptor’s hand, his skin a canvas of scars and ink that told a story of pain and devotion. His tattoos gleamed in the candlelight: a rose on his forearm, its thorns sharp and intricate, curling around your initials on his wrist in a delicate, almost tender script; a locked cage on his ribs, stark and unyielding, a symbol of his need to possess you; and a blooming rose on his shoulder, its petals unfurling, a vibrant ode to your return, your shared growth. His dark eyes burned with a love so intense it was almost feral, his jaw clenched, his lips parted, his breath ragged, a low rumble in his chest. His hair, slightly longer and gloriously unkempt, fell into his eyes, a few strands catching the light, giving him a roguish, dangerous allure that made your core tighten with need.

You stepped closer, your bare feet whispering against the cool, polished hardwood, the sensation grounding you even as your heart raced. Your hands trembled, not from fear but from the overwhelming tide of your love, a tidal wave that threatened to drown you in its depth. This man—rough-edged, obsessive, beautiful—was yours, his love a fire that both consumed and sustained you. “Jungkook,” you murmured, your voice a soft, trembling caress, thick with emotion, the word a prayer, a plea, a vow. “This ring… it’s more than I ever dreamed. You’re my everything, my forever.”

He closed the distance in a heartbeat, his presence a storm, his hands cupping your face with a reverence that belied his strength, his thumbs brushing your cheeks, rough yet tender, the calluses scraping lightly, sending shivers down your spine. His breath was warm, scented with the faint musk of his skin and the lingering bite of whiskey, his eyes searching yours, drinking you in. “You’re mine, angel,” he growled, his voice low, gravelly, laced with a love so fierce it was almost a threat, his lips hovering over yours, close enough to feel their heat. “This ring, these roses, this fucking house—it’s all for you, petal, always will be, but for you, I’d rip my soul out and hand it over. You’re my eternity.”

Tears welled in your eyes, hot and stinging, your heart swelling until it felt too big for your chest, your voice breaking as you spoke. “I love you,” you whispered, your hands clutching his shirt, the coarse fabric a contrast to the searing heat of his skin beneath, your fingers digging into the hard planes of his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. “I was so scared I’d never have this, that I’d lose you forever. But you fought for us, Jungkook, and I’m yours, always, in every way.”

His lips crashed onto yours, a slow, deep kiss that was both a claim and a surrender, his mouth soft yet insistent, molding to yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing them open, delving inside to taste you, a slow, sensual dance that drew a moan from your throat, the sound muffled against his mouth, vibrating through you both. The kiss was a symphony of textures—his lips firm, his tongue slick and warm, the faint scrape of his stubble against your chin, the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of your shared breath. Your bodies pressed closer, your breasts soft and yielding against the hard wall of his chest, your nipples hardening, aching through the thin dress, a silent, desperate plea for his touch. Your hands slid up, tangling in his hair, tugging gently, the strands silky yet coarse, anchoring you to him.

He pulled back, his eyes black with desire, his voice a raw, primal rasp. “Get on the bed, petal,” he commanded, his tone a heady mix of worship and dominance, his hands guiding you with a gentle push, the ring on your finger glinting as you moved, a beacon of his possession. You sank onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight, the roses brushing against your thighs, their petals cool and velvety, a sensual whisper against your overheated skin, stirring memories of that night you’d touched yourself with one, believing you hated him, now a cherished, intimate secret you both held. The scent of the roses was intoxicating, floral and rich, blending with the wax and sea air, wrapping you in a cocoon of desire.

Jungkook knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours, his hands deftly peeling the dress from your body, the fabric sliding over your skin like a lover’s caress, pooling at your feet, leaving you bare, your skin flushed a soft pink, glowing in the candlelight. Your breasts were full, heavy with need, your nipples tight, pink, and aching, standing proud against the cool air, your pussy already glistening, the slickness catching the light, a testament to your arousal, your body a canvas for his worship. He inhaled sharply, his breath hitching, his hands trailing up your thighs, the calluses scraping, the sensation electric, igniting sparks that raced to your core. “Fuck, angel,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe, his eyes raking over you, drinking in every inch, his fingers trembling slightly, betraying the depth of his need. “Look at you, naked and mine, with my ring on your finger, my name on my chest. You’re a fucking goddess, petal, and I’m gonna worship you forever.”

Your blush deepened, your shyness a soft veil, but your love emboldened you, your hands reaching for him, your fingers tracing the chiseled contours of his chest, the tattoo of your name warm and alive under your touch, the ink a vow etched into his very being. “I want to mark you too,” you whispered, your voice a shy, trembling confession, your cheeks flaming, your lips brushing the rose tattoo on his forearm, the petals vivid, the thorns sharp, your tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin, leaving a faint, rosy hickey, a delicate claim that made your heart race. “One day, I’ll color these tattoos.”

He growled, a low, primal sound that vibrated through you, his eyes blazing with a mix of lust and adoration, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving faint imprints, a possessive mark. “Can’t fucking wait, angel,” he rasped, his voice raw, thick with emotion, his love a wildfire that consumed him. “Mark me, claim me, paint me with your love. I’m yours, petal, every fucking inch.”

Your lips trailed lower, a slow, deliberate exploration, kissing the hard ridges of his abs, the scars that whispered of his battles, the taut skin of his stomach, each touch a vow, a promise. Your hands tugged at his pants, the fabric rough, the zipper cold against your fingers, freeing his cock, a magnificent sight—thick, pulsing, the veins prominent, snaking along the shaft like rivers, the tip swollen, glistening with precum, a pearlescent bead that caught the candlelight, shimmering like a jewel. It was intimidating, a perfect blend of beauty and power, the heat radiating, the scent musky, primal, intoxicating, making your mouth water, your pussy clench with need. You wrapped your hand around it, your fingers barely meeting, the skin silky yet firm, the pulse beneath a living thing, his groan a low rumble, his hips twitching, his control fraying at the edges. “Fuck, petal,” he growled, his voice a guttural prayer, his eyes locked on you, dark and wild, “that shy little look, those hands—you’re gonna fucking destroy me.”

Your confidence wavered, a flutter of nerves, but you leaned in, your lips kissing the tip, soft and tentative, your tongue swirling, lapping at the precum, the taste salty, rich, a heady essence of him that made you moan, the sound soft, needy, vibrating against his cock. Your pussy throbbed, slick and aching, your arousal pooling beneath you, a wet spot on the sheets, your body betraying your desire. You sucked, your mouth stretching wide, the stretch a delicious burn, your tongue teasing the sensitive underside, tracing the vein, your hand stroking the base, your other hand cupping his balls, heavy, warm, the skin soft, your fingers exploring, rolling gently, coaxing a louder groan from him, his head tipping back, his throat exposed, a vulnerable, beautiful sight. “Angel,” he rasped, his voice raw, breaking, “you’re so fucking good, so perfect, my sweet little petal, sucking me like you were made for it.”

His hands fisted in the sheets, his knuckles white, but he couldn’t hold back, his control snapping like a taut wire. He pinned you down, his body a furnace over yours, his cock brushing your thigh, hot and slick, leaving a trail of precum, the sensation making you gasp, your hands clutching his shoulders, your nails digging, leaving crescent marks. His mouth crashed onto yours, a messy, desperate makeout, his tongue plunging, tangling, a dance of dominance and need, his teeth grazing your lower lip, tugging, the faint sting blending with the heat, your moans loud, swallowed by his mouth, your bodies a tangle of sweat and desire. The roses crushed beneath you, their petals sticking to your skin, their scent rising, floral and heady, wrapping you in a sensual haze, a reminder of your shared past, now a sacred memory.

He grabbed a pink rose, its stem firm, the petals lush and cool, and ran it over your body, the sensation a shock of pleasure, your skin prickling, your breath hitching, the petals gliding like silk, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “Remember this, petal?” he murmured, his voice a dark, seductive purr, his eyes glinting with mischief and love, the rose brushing your collarbone, a slow, deliberate caress, tracing the curve of your breast, circling your nipple, the petal teasing the tight, sensitive bud, making it pucker further, a sharp jolt of pleasure shooting to your core, your moan high, needy, your back arching, pressing your breast into his touch. “You fucked yourself with my rose, angel, thinking you hated me, moaning my name in that sweet little voice. Now you’re here, loving me, and I’m gonna make you scream with it, make you mine all over again.”

You squirmed, your blush deepening, a flush that spread from your cheeks to your chest, your voice trembling, a mix of embarrassment and desire. “Jungkook,” you whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets, the cotton cool and soft, the rose trailing lower, brushing the soft plane of your stomach, dipping into the hollow of your navel, a ticklish, intimate touch that made you giggle, then gasp, your hips twitching. It teased the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the petals cool against the heat, your legs spreading instinctively, your pussy exposed, glistening, the slickness shimmering in the candlelight, a silent plea for him. He ran the rose up and down your slit, the petals slick with your arousal, coating them in a glossy sheen, the sensation overwhelming, a delicate torture that had you gasping, your hips rocking, your pussy throbbing, your need a living thing. “Please, Jungkook,” you begged, your voice breaking, raw with desperation, your love a fierce, burning flame, “I need you, I need you now.”

He tossed the rose aside, its petals falling like confetti, and lifted you, his hands strong, sure, positioning you over his cock, your pussy hovering, the heat of him radiating, the tip brushing your entrance, a tease that made you whine, your hands on his shoulders, your ring glinting, a beacon of his obsession, his eyes fixed on it, his voice a raw, possessive growl. “Ride me, angel,” he said, his eyes burning, a dark inferno of love and need, “show me you’re mine, show me you’ll never fucking leave me again.”

You sank down, his cock stretching you, the burn exquisite, a delicious fullness that made your walls flutter, your pussy clenching tight, the intrusion a perfect blend of pain and pleasure, your moan loud, keening, filling the room, echoing off the walls, blending with the waves outside. His cock filled you, the veins pulsing against your walls, the tip nudging your cervix, a deep, intimate claim that made your body tremble, your slick coating him, easing the slide, your pussy a glove for his desire. His groan was primal, a guttural sound that vibrated through you, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging, leaving bruises, his control absolute, guiding your movements, setting a rhythm that was both worship and conquest. “Fuck, petal,” he growled, his voice thick, ragged, his eyes locked on your breasts, bouncing full and heavy, your nipples hard, pink, begging for his mouth, his tongue flicking out, a hungry promise. “Look at you, bouncing on my cock, my ring on your finger, my name on my chest—you’re a fucking vision, my perfect angel, mine in every goddamn way.”

You rode him, your hips rocking, your pussy sliding, the friction intense, a molten heat that built in your core, your moans soft, needy, a litany of his name, “Jungkook, oh, Jungkook,” your voice breaking, your hands clutching his chest, your nails scraping, leaving red lines, a map of your desire, your love a vow etched into his skin. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, the motion hypnotic, your nipples grazing his chest, the sensation sending sparks to your clit, your pussy throbbing, your arousal dripping, coating his thighs, a slick, intimate bond. His thrusts met yours, hard, deep, his cock hitting your sweet spot, a spot only he could find, each hit drawing a scream, high and desperate, your body shaking, your climax building, a tidal wave ready to crash. “I love you,” you gasped, your voice raw, your tears falling, your heart laid bare, “I’m yours, Jungkook, forever, always.”

He thrust up, relentless, his cock driving deep, the angle perfect, your pussy clenching, your walls fluttering, his hands gripping your ass, his fingers spreading your cheeks, a possessive, primal claim, his groans loud, animalistic, his love a fire that consumed him. “Come for me, angel,” he growled, his voice raw, breaking, his eyes locked on yours, a dark, endless pool of love, “let me feel you, let me know you’re mine, let the fucking world know you’re mine.”

You came, your climax a shattering wave, your pussy convulsing, a tight, pulsing grip around his cock, your cum gushing, coating him, dripping down his shaft, pooling on his thighs, a slick, warm testament to your love, your scream loud, raw, echoing through the house, blending with the waves, a primal symphony of your union. “Jungkook!” you sobbed, your tears falling, hot and heavy, your body trembling, your heart bursting.

He came, his cum hot, thick, a torrential flood that filled you, spilling deep, claiming every inch of your pussy, his groans loud, a guttural roar that shook the bed, his hips jerking, his cock pulsing, his love sealing you together, a bond unbreakable. “Fuck, petal!” he rasped, his voice thick, breaking, his hands gripping your hand, the ring glinting, his obsession flaring, a dark, possessive tide that surged through him. “This ring, this hand, you—you’re mine, and I’ll fill you up, get you pregnant, tie you to me forever, so you can never fucking run again.”

You giggled, a giddy, breathless sound, your heart fluttering, your cheeks pink, your face hiding in his chest, your lips brushing the tattoo of your name, the ink warm, a vow etched into his soul, the sensation grounding, intimate, a silent promise of your future. “Soon,” you whispered, your voice soft, shy, your love fierce, “I want your baby, Jungkook, want everything with you, forever.”

He pulled you close, his arms a steel band, his breath ragged, his voice raw, thick with emotion. “You’re my angel,” he said, his eyes burning, a dark, endless fire, “my petal, my fucking girl. I’m not soft, never will be, but for you, I’ll try, I’ll burn, I’ll live. I love you, forever, always.”

You kissed him, slow, deep, your lips soft, molding to his, a kiss that was both a vow and a prayer, your tongue teasing, your breath mingling, the taste of him—salt, musk, love—filling you, grounding you. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the tears, your heart full, your ring glinting, “my rough-edged love, my home, my eternity.”

The night stretched into infinity, your bodies entwined, the roses crushed beneath you, their petals sticking to your sweat-slick skin, their scent lingering, a floral embrace, the candles burning low, their flames flickering like your love, fierce and eternal. The waves crashed outside, a relentless rhythm, the ocean singing of your union, your love, a vow that would never fade, a fire that would light your way forever in the heart of your seaside haven.

The beach stretched endlessly before the small seaside house, a canvas of golden sand kissed by the frothy edges of the ocean, the waves a ceaseless symphony of whispers and roars. The sunset bled across the horizon, a tapestry of crimson, amber, and violet, painting the sky with a fierce, fleeting beauty that mirrored the love burning between you and Jungkook. The air was warm, salty, carrying the tang of seaweed and the faint sweetness of distant wildflowers, a breeze that tangled your hair and caressed your skin like a lover’s sigh. You walked hand in hand, your bare feet sinking into the cool, damp sand, each grain a tiny anchor grounding you to this moment, this man, this life you’d built from the ashes of your past.

Your white sundress fluttered against your thighs, the soft cotton catching the light, its hem damp from an errant wave that had chased you earlier, laughter spilling from your lips as Jungkook had pulled you into his arms to save you from the tide. The engagement ring on your finger glinted, a delicate silver band with a single diamond, modest yet radiant, a symbol of his love earned through sweat and redemption, not blood. Your hand fit perfectly in his, his calloused fingers rough yet gentle, the warmth of his palm a promise that he’d never let go. His black shirt was loose, unbuttoned to reveal the expanse of his chest. New scars marred his body, faint silver lines from his boxing days, each one a story of survival, of choosing you over the darkness.

The sky deepened, the last rays of sunlight catching the edges of Jungkook’s face, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint stubble that shadowed his cheeks, the piercing intensity of his dark eyes. His hair, slightly longer now, was tousled by the wind, a few strands falling across his forehead, softening the rugged edges of the man who’d once been a monster. He walked with a quiet strength, his shoulders broad, his presence a shield against the world, yet his gaze was tender, reserved for you alone, a look that stripped you bare and held you whole. The ocean’s rhythm pulsed in time with your heart, each wave a heartbeat, each crash a declaration of the love that had survived blood, betrayal, and absence.

You paused, your toes curling in the sand, the cool water lapping at your ankles, sending a shiver up your spine. Jungkook stopped beside you, his hand tightening around yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, a silent question in his touch. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his, and the world fell away—the waves, the wind, the fading light—leaving only the two of you, bound by a love that had defied every odds, a flame that burned brighter than the sun sinking into the sea. Your heart swelled, a tide of emotions—love, gratitude, awe—flooding you, your breath catching as you saw the same emotions mirrored in his gaze, raw and unguarded, a vulnerability he’d only ever shown you.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice soft but fierce, carrying over the ocean’s roar, a vow as eternal as the waves. Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears, not of sorrow but of a joy so profound it ached, a love so deep it felt like a wound and a healing all at once. The ring on your finger seemed to pulse, a heartbeat of its own, a reminder of the promise you’d made on this very beach, when he’d knelt in the sand, his voice gruff, his hands trembling, offering you his heart.

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, his gaze burning with a love so intense it stole your breath, a fire that consumed and cherished in equal measure. He stepped closer, his free hand cupping your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, catching a tear that slipped free. His touch was warm, grounding, a contrast to the cool breeze that swirled around you, lifting the hem of your dress, tugging at his shirt. “I love you, angel,” he said, his voice raw, thick with emotion, each word a blade carving his truth into the air. “You’re my everything, petal. My light, my home, my fucking forever. I was nothing before you, just a shadow, a beast. You made me real, made me feel, and I’ll spend every damn day proving I’m worthy of you.”

His words pierced you, a sweet agony that tightened your chest, your tears falling freely now, hot against your skin, salty on your lips. You leaned into his touch, your hand covering his, pressing his palm closer, needing the weight of him to anchor you. “You’re already worthy,” you said, your voice trembling, your love a fierce declaration. “You’ve always been, Jungkook. You fought for me, for us, when I was too scared, too broken. You’re my hero, my heart, and I’ll love you until the stars burn out, until the ocean dries up.”

He groaned, a sound of longing and devotion, and pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing onto yours, a kiss that was both desperate and tender, a claiming and a surrender. His mouth was warm, tasting of salt and whiskey, his tongue tracing yours, slow and deep, as if he could drink your soul and keep it safe within him. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tangling in the open edges of his shirt, brushing the rose tattoo, the inked petals warm under your touch, your name a sacred script beneath. The kiss deepened, your bodies pressed close, the heat of him searing through your dress, your heart pounding against his, a shared rhythm that drowned out the waves.

The sand shifted beneath you, soft and cool, as he lowered you to the ground, his arms cradling you, his body a shield against the world. The sky above was a velvet expanse, stars beginning to prick through the twilight, each one a witness to your love, a constellation of your journey. The ocean roared, its voice a chorus, its spray misting your skin, a baptism of salt and freedom. You lay back, your dress fanning out, the sand molding to your body, Jungkook above you, his eyes locked on yours, his love a flame that warmed the night.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low, reverent, his hand trailing down your side, catching the hem of your dress, lifting it to reveal the soft curve of your thigh. His fingers were gentle, worshipful, tracing patterns only he knew, each touch a vow, each caress a prayer. “My angel, my petal, you’re everything good in this fucked-up world. I don’t deserve you, but I’ll never let you go, not again, not ever.”

You reached for him, your hands framing his face, pulling him down, your lips brushing his, soft, lingering. “You deserve everything,” you whispered, your voice thick, your love a tide pulling you under. “Scars and all, darkness and all. I love every part of you, the rough edges, the soft heart, the man who chose me over everything else.”

He kissed you again, slower, deeper, his hand sliding under your dress, finding the warmth of your skin, his touch igniting a fire that burned through you. The sand was cool against your back, the air heavy with salt and desire, the waves a steady pulse that matched the rhythm of your breaths. His fingers found the edge of your panty, slipping beneath, his touch reverent, his love a sacred act. “I’ll love you forever,” he said, his voice a growl, his eyes burning. “Through every storm, every fight, every damn day. You’re my eternity, angel, and I’m yours.”

You arched into him, your moans soft, your body yielding, the sand shifting, the stars watching. “Forever,” you whispered, your voice breaking, your love a vow that bound you to him, to this moment, to the life you’d chosen. “I’m yours, Jungkook, always. My hero, my love, my flame.”

He entered you, slow, deep, his body merging with yours, the sand cradling you, the ocean singing, the stars a canopy above. His thrusts were gentle, passionate, each one a promise, each one a homecoming. Your hands clutched his back, nails digging into his skin, leaving marks that claimed him as yours. The rose tattoo glowed in the fading light, your name a beacon, a vow that would never fade. Your climax built, soft, overwhelming, your moans mingling with his, your love a symphony that drowned out the world.

“I love you,” you cried, your voice raw, your body trembling, your climax crashing, a wave that carried you both. He followed, his groans loud, his love sealing you together, his warmth filling you, his heart beating against yours. You held him, your tears falling, your love a flame that burned eternal, a light that would never die.

You lay there, entwined, the sand soft, the waves a lullaby, the stars a blanket above. He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering, his voice soft. “You’re my miracle,” he said, his eyes shimmering, his love a vow. “I was lost, angel, a monster, a shadow. You found me, saved me, loved me. I’ll spend my life making you happy, petal, giving you everything, because you’re my forever.”

You smiled, your heart full, your voice steady. “You already do,” you whispered, your hand tracing the rose tattoo, your name warm under your fingers. “You’re my home, Jungkook, my flame, my love. We’re free, together, and nothing can take that away.”

He pulled you closer, his arms a fortress, his love a fire that warmed the night. The ocean roared, the stars shone, and you walked hand in hand, the rose tattoo glowing, your name a permanent vow, your love a flame that never died, burning bright against the darkness, eternal, unbreakable, yours.

۶ৎ

taglist: @chaelvrx @satisfied18 @kari-l @koocreampie @luvs4jjk @gyeomibearr @likecrazy22 @universallywizardkoala @reallygenerouskoala @elmarimochi9513 @moodytangerine @kelsyx33 @minewlove @sincerelyhonestlyemma @jkhoneybun @backshotsforlana @wintaemoonjen @ermno97 @jjeonjjk7 @flutterguk @lovejkmilitarywife @yoongtism @brokebitch-101 @koooobi @happyhamburber789 @rotten-angeldreams @chillssssss @multifanxtvshows @babyitscoldoutside @slut4jeon @lively-potter @existentialzaddy @bighitfics

[rottenraccoons]

Okay. Here's the thing. I tried SO HARD not to simp over Oleander. He was somehow simultaneously both the reason why I was interested in Obscura and the reason why I avoided it for months at first. I just fucking knew that the moment this motherfucker opens his mouth and speaks, I'd be completely hooked and I was NOT ready to accept that. Now I'm completely obssessed with him and I love him and he's literally my desktop wallpaper and if he doesn't marry me this instant, I'll explode into a thousand pieces. I need to gently wrap my arms around him and tell him that I genuinely care about his well being but I also need to kick him under the table again cause he's an ass and I hate him but I also love him. Why did you have to make him so cool? Why did you feel the need to create something that will take over my brain for the next ten months? I'm gonna spend the next two years rotating him in my head every single second and I completely place the blame on y'all (affectionately)

Anyway, rambling over. I'm not going insane I promise. Amazing game, can't wait to see what comes next. Have some trash. Bye bye

So I write for Oleander and I gotta say, thank you so much nonny!! ❤️

Making Oleander intolerably attractive to the point it's a little annoying was one of my main goals in designing him, so it's pretty gratifying as a writer to hear that I've done my job well. Hopefully you find him just as annoying and attractive in Chapter Two!

(And there's a fair chance you've noticed, but just in case you haven't, here's a tiny fun fact from his chapter: if you kick him under the table, he'll let Vesper introduce themself as much as possible afterwards. Otherwise, he'll continue introducing them himself. This trend will continue in Chapter Two.)

[alexispunkkk]

in the house of my father

♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰

god only knows chapter 1

- warnings: religious trauma + so much guilt, struggles with purity, toxic/complicated family relationships, blasphemous themes, death in family, grief, smoking, kissing, (no smut this chapter), age gap attraction if you squint but not much happens here

- summary: the repressed preacher’s daughter comes back to town, carrying with her immense religious guilt after growing up in the church.

- word count: 3.3k

- author’s note: ahhhhh first chapter of this fic and im so fucking excited!!!! so happy to finally be making a series and i hope yall enjoy 💋💋💋💋

If you learned anything growing up as the preacher’s daughter, it’s how to be watched. 

Not looked at, but watched. Measured, judged. Eyes on you at all times, from quiet women who were taught to smile and men who think they know what God wants. You’re in a constant state of being weighed against a God you’ve never met, or at least you don’t think you’ve met. Who lives in your head, your closet, under your bed, behind your eyelids when you sleep. A constant reminder given to you by your father, by the cross nailed up above your bed and the one strung around your neck.

They started calling you “blessed” before you knew what the word meant, saying it in Sunday school like a promise. You had entire psalms memorized before reaching the age you learned to ride a bike. It’s set in your blood, set in the little marks on the back of your thighs from the church pews. 

The lord is your shepherd, but he never managed to follow you out of this estranged place. God loved you, but not enough to save you. 

Your daddy helped build the church with his own hands, laid the foundation while your mother was pregnant. His sweat is now fixed into the wood and the scripture forever set in the nails, or in his brain. Imprinted. He told you God spoke to him on hot Texas nights, the nights when the air was still and the crickets continued to blare and keep the town up. 

If your childhood taught you anything, it’s that love comes second to obedience. The lord is everything. The notion was engraved in your brain by the ripe age of six when you began first grade. 

And the truth is, you used to believe it. Or at least you always tried your best to believe: prayed the way you were taught, on your knees with a soft voice and clean hands. God never seemed to answer. Or maybe he did, and it sounded too much like your father’s voice to feel like genuine love. 

He didn’t feel like love, but more like a nagging weight hanging on your shoulders.

The town’s sweetheart, preacher’s daughter, and God’s little lamb. You wore white, especially on Easter, sat with folded hands and the softest smile the lord would ever see. Said grace, never missed Sunday school. A good girl. 

But you hoped, maybe, just maybe, the communion wine would drown you one day. 

Eighteen. You packed up and left for college, begging to leave this god awful town behind for at least a couple of years. Not quite sure where you’d end up, but hoping it was far, far away. With less dust, a louder city, maybe, loud enough to drown out the thoughts trumpeting in your head and alerting you that you weren’t a true baptist. You didn’t try hard enough to believe. You simply couldn’t be saved.

You stopped attending church. Stopped thinking about heaven. Even stopped calling your father every weekend–now a distant memory you tried with the best of your ability to push back and replace with the college kid lifestyle. The silence that followed didn’t even feel like guilt, but relief. A break from that damned church being forced onto you every day when you woke up. 

Hymns traded for headphones, soon picking up cigarettes not only to feel grown. The people there didn’t know you by your last name. Hell, they didn’t even know your last name: it didn’t matter in college. There, you weren’t just the preacher’s daughter.

Sure, you packed your bible, told yourself you’d put it to good use. But by the time you were exposed to the new world you’d never gotten close to experiencing, it was quickly forgotten in the drawer next to the bed in your dorm. 

The cover reading The Holy Bible soon was picking up dust and ended up stampeded by a variety of other items that certainly would be regarded as sinful on the sacred pages. Things that would make your daddy sick at the sight of. Cheap lace panties only to be worn under dresses, broken lipsticks and a pack of condoms–yet to be opened. 

The first time you kissed a stranger, the guilt finally got to you. Nipped at you, gave you true pain and fear you couldn’t seem to recognize. You let him take you home from a party, he didn’t ask your name, and you didn’t offer. 

Hand slipping beneath your shirt, all you could think of was the old Sunday school books you’d color in, your father and the other children sitting next to you. Soft pastel crayons and the sad-eyed saints on the pages. 

This boy was different. Your last name didn’t matter, he didn’t know you used to help with prayer circles, you’d lead choir at Christmas time, or that the first time you’d been touched by a man that wasn’t your family was when he was anointed you with oil on your forehead and swore he heard the voice of God when he laid his hands on you. 

He kissed you like you were a body, not your father’s name. And you just let him.

You didn’t cry after. You felt like it, but you didn’t. You laid on your bed in the dark, fingers splayed out over your stomach as you waited for something to feel inside of you. Something to split, to help you understand the gap between heaven and skin. Nothing.

It might seem reassuring, maybe something to give you a sign that you were really as pure as you were meant to be, growing up in such a sacred household. But no, it was worse. Feeling nothing meant that nobody was watching, not even Him. 

That was the night you entirely stopped praying. 

The only thing remaining was the cross hung around your neck at all times, more as a reminder of the girl you used to be, the girl who your parents tried to raise. Of the girl who believed love came second and was earned through suffering. Who didn’t know that wanting could also be holy. Who was more confused and guilty than anything. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The call came on a Monday on your walk home from your first class, and upon seeing it was your father, you let it go to voicemail. 

His voice always shared the same sound as the town: hollow, sun-bleached, left out too long in the heat to shrivel up and go to dust. You expected the usual, asking meaningless questions about school and reminding you about the church, giving you information about the town you’d simply rather not listen to.

Not today, though. His voice was slightly shriveled, softer than you were used to hearing over the phone. He didn’t cry, your daddy was never one for crying. Just said the words before ending the voicemail.

“Hey, sweet girl. I know I already called you yesterday. You didn’t pick up.” 

It would make you feel less guilty if he sounded upset about it, but the blank tone in his voice whenever he reminded you of your absence always seemed to hit you in the heart like a truck. He continues.

“Uh, it’s your Uncle John. He’s gone.” 

The two sentences were split by an awkward cough, a correction of his voice. Silence for a moment.

“Funeral’s Saturday, your room’s still here and put together if you wanna come. I didn’t know if you’d want to.” 

Your uncle was the first man to treat you like you weren’t just a creation for God, he’d hug you without quoting scripture and wouldn’t always be preaching at you. Fuck. A genuinely good man in a pitiful town that you have to call home. And you can’t name many men like that.

As terrible as it’d make you feel, you almost didn’t go. Going means seeing all the figures that you’ve spent nights crying about in your college dorm, everything from your childhood that tortured your later years coming back as if it's nothing.

But not going was blatant disrespect to your late uncle, one of the only men in the town you actually had some respect left for. So, you grabbed a suitcase and tossed in the necessities: toiletries, a few modest outfits for your seemingly brief return to Texas, a funeral dress. 

Preparing for the airport, you had the nagging feeling you were forgetting something. You forced yourself to recheck your bag at least three times, thinking it’d be a basic item–deodorant, toothpaste, socks? Everything was there.

The feeling lingered but you brushed it off for a bit, throwing your shoes on and tying them the way your daddy taught you. Bunny ears. One loop through the other, pulled into a tight knot.

You opened the damned nightstand drawer, the one that carried all forms of guilt, and the feeling finally dropped at the sight of your old bible hidden under a couple of old napkins and a bottle of Zoloft. Even though you were in a rush to get out to the airport, you took the time to finally sit down and look at it, hoping it’d take a bit of the weight off of your chest before seeing your father and the church again.

The surface was–obviously–incredibly dusty, but it looked the same. It was the same old copy you’d been given after your baptism, at such a young age. You were a daisy fresh girl then, with no guilt or sense of doom following you around.

The thought had you sitting for a moment. Fingers tracing down the bonded leather that’s creased over the years, over the lettering on the cover that you used to swear by. It was a horrible feeling and genuinely had your heart hurting for the first time in months, the first time since the day after your first kiss.

And for once, you swore you might’ve felt Him looking down on you.

But, opening it would be too much. Seeing the little underlines from your favorite pen as a child and notes written in the margins during Sunday School would make your heart heavier. Flying already makes you anxious, and the weight of reading through your bible right now wouldn’t ever help with that. Not anymore. 

The flight was rough. The drive from the airport to your childhood town was worse.

Smelling all the old scents–rust from fences, stale cigarette smoke everywhere in the air–it lingered as a constant reminder of your childhood in the church. The old wooden pews and the leather of hymnals, stretched fabric of you and your cousin’s best Sunday dresses. 

You passed by the baptismal river, the church-run thrift store run by your old elementary school teacher that’s full of Bibles and nearly broken toys. The Sunday school, farmhouses with broken shingles on roofs and chickens out back. The funeral home you’d be attending tomorrow, your old highschool, trailers with Virgin Mary statues in the front. 

The buildings sit still, watching you and judging like all the women in town do. Paint peeling in strips, the church bell groaning uncomfortably. The memories aren’t pleasant, your spine stiffening the second you pull into the old gravel driveway of your childhood home. Haunting, not comfortable, pressing down on you like guilt. 

From the outside, the house appears innocent, neat. White clapboards scrubbed over time by the sun, and the old porch that wraps around the front. You used to sit out there with your daddy and uncle on Sunday afternoons. 

Flag out front and fresh roses delivered on the steps, but with thirsty and brittle grass. Windows that catch light in a way that unsettles you–just so you can’t see what goes on inside. 

The door creaks like you remember, the floor following suit. And almost enough to scare you, your father was waiting in the kitchen for your arrival. He didn’t feel the same, though, more like a stranger. Unknowable, unrecognizable, like a celebrity in your own home. 

He greeted you like one, too. Of course, he tried his best, but the awkwardness spilled over and the air was tense–it’s been two years since you’d seen him, and you always seem to ignore his calls now. The only thing on you that reminded him of the little girl he once knew was the cross dangling around your neck. 

Your clothes were different. Your scent, your hair, the lipstick you’d chosen, everything. Not so much the town’s little angel, not coming off as God’s sweet creation, but just a girl. One he doesn’t recognize. 

“Hi, Angel.” 

His voice was softer, even more so than it sounded on the phone. Clothes more casual than the robes and vestments he’d have on on Sundays back then–a simple flannel and jeans. Fitting more in with the other men in town. A few in particular came into your mind. 

Your arms met his, and you were soon wrapped up in a hug that brought back feelings you hadn’t felt in a while. Maybe the lord. Maybe simple love. Maybe being home, feeling childhood. You don’t really know.

“Hi, daddy.” 

You mumbled, giving him a weak smile and pressing a soft kiss to his now withered and wrinkled cheek. Your hand came up to hold the cheek you’d kissed, shaking your head.

“Room’s clean.” Was all you got in response. He didn’t ask how you’d been this time, didn’t pay any mind to the way your dress now fit above your knee. He couldn’t pick up on the cigarette lighter in your bag. Nothing. Like you’re a stranger in another pew.

And somehow, it hurt more than the other times you’d heard from him and he did nag you about these things. You almost wanted him to notice something, to pick on you. It’d at least make you feel more at home/ 

There was a strange and hollow mercy in the silence he offered you–a grace you seemingly hadn’t earned again. Your stomach twisted, the same way going to church as a teenager would make you feel, back when forgiveness felt like a failed test. 

You feared his judgement in the past. He’d certainly say something about the length of your dress or your makeup. But now, you’re fearful of his indifference. Guilty. If he wasn’t picking you apart, was he noticing anything? Were you worth noticing? Is He noticing? The absence of shame this time isn’t as peaceful as it once seemed. 

It was like the funeral was all you’d come for. And yes, it was the only reason you came, but a part of you wanted your father to want you there for more of it. You don’t know if you even want that, but the little baptist girl inside of you is aching. 

You nod once and let go of him, shaking your hand off and grabbing your bag–making sure nothing sinful were to fall out. How he’d react if he saw cigarettes in your bag, you didn’t know, and you surely would never want to find out. You don’t see him until the next morning.

The walk to your bedroom brought you a little more peace. The creaks in the floorboards remembered you better than your own father seemed to. The Bible verses framed on the wall, the old air lingering that brought you back years. And for the first time in months, a scent hit you that reminded you of someone else in town.

Someone like your uncle–a man who never reached or treated you as some darling of God. Treated you like a human girl, not just under your father’s name. The first man to catch your eye the next day at your uncle’s service.

He stood towards the back of the church, one hand resting in the pocket of his worn button-down suit jacket and the other rubbing his thigh. He’d never usually dress like this, you know that. But for the sake of the funeral of a good man, he swapped his usual rugged look for a more respectful outfit. 

You were used to heavy boots that complimented the look of his broad shoulders. Hands that look like they’ve done years of work–carpentry. Like he works with them, like he smells like Marlboro Reds. A sharp face, both softened and withered by the sun over time. Deep lines carved into his brow, as well as a scar on his right temple. 

The graying in his beard would dull most men, and it’s gotten more grey than since the last time you’d seen him. But on him, it made him look more real. Like he’s aging on purpose. Dark and steady eyes, not exactly cold, but highly watchful. Like he’s untrusting, not letting a certain something out. 

When you stepped inside, his gaze finally moved from the ground up. Just for a second. At you. Like you’re the only one to draw his precious attention.

And it hit you like fucking thunder. Joel Miller was looking at you. You’ve changed since he’s seen you, grown up. Not a teenager anymore, but a woman. In a black dress, a grown body.

His gaze didn’t display any lust, not yet. But recognition, curiosity, maybe. Something old, low, and almost aching. Aching like his back now–you’re not the only one who’s grown older. He was in his mid thirties when your mother and father had you, and he’s known you ever since. Held you as a baby. Was there for your baptism, for the performances you put on as a child at church every Christmas. 

He’s fifty-six now and feeling as if your name on his tongue would still taste and feel like that little girl he used to know, the one you used to be. But his eyes showed that you weren’t her. He didn’t recognize you.

Not in the same way your father didn’t recognize you, no. In his own way. Your father saw through you, like a verse no longer needed. No comments or even a flicker of recognition in his eyes that matched yours, just polite distance and a kindness reserved for strangers–maybe even sinners not deserving of saving. Like you seemed too far gone to him. 

But Joel. His gaze lingered, not sliding over you. Not long enough to be too obvious or come off as creepy, just enough to feel. He paused, shifted. Trying to place you, not from memory but from instinct. 

To Joel, you’re not returning to town. Other women and neighbors whispered and stared when they saw you enter the church after a couple of years of absence. Judged. Joel, on the other hand, saw it as an entrance. As someone appearing, not returning as the same little girl seen only as her father’s daughter. 

You felt doubly unseen. By the man who helped conceive you, raise you. And by a man in town who is now even more of a stranger. Who you haven’t thought of in months, but now is rushing back. It’s dangerous, and now’s the time you definitely feel like God is choosing to watch–in this church after years of not attending, surrounded by people you used to consider family. 

You looked away first, reaching up to your neck to toy with the little cross displayed over your pretty collarbones. The chain you often subtly tug at to try and hang on to the remnants of religion still lingering in that head of yours. 

Your father used to tell you that God moves in mysterious ways, but you’d never expect Him to look like a hardened man who smelled like whiskey and sin. Now you felt like you had something to repent for.

[nhmkhnh]

#SERIES—02 ──── CHAPTER—01

i choose you to fill the void.

pairings: dom!top!vi x sub!bot!fem!reader

author's note: writing this while listening to slowed songs! btw, enjoy, my girls!

rating: explicit (minors & men dni) | words: 1.5k list: post-breakup angst (both vi and r) ;; bar hookup ;; rough sex ;; strap-using (r. receving) ;; messy.

masterlist / janitor ai / c.ai / carrd

1 | 2 | 3

♫ fill the void [slowed].

the pit smelled like blood and sweat and burnt metal.

vi sat on the edge of the ring, jaw bruised, hands still raw under the wraps. her head hung low, forehead gleaming with sweat, black hair damp and clinging to her temple. a bottle sat in one hand. the other shook just slightly — from the adrenaline, maybe. from something else, more internal, more dangerous.

she hadn’t called caitlyn in weeks. hadn’t thought about her. not really. not unless you counted the way she still smelled her on the pillow sometimes. the way she still looked for that fucking blue coat in every crowd.

but tonight — tonight felt different. tonight she wanted to forget everything. and you? you walked in like the perfect distraction.

you were sitting at the bar when vi found you.

something about you was all wrong. wrong for this place, wrong for this night. soft eyes, glass of something too sweet in your hand. a sadness to your smile, but your lips were still glossed.

she clocked you instantly. you weren’t from around here. you didn’t belong. but neither did she anymore.

you looked up — and fuck, the way your eyes met hers across that smoke-thick room?

it made her forget her name for a second.

you offered her a half-smile. it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

vi moved like she was pulled by a string. sat down next to you. didn’t speak.

you looked at her busted lip, the blood on her knuckles. “rough night?”

she huffed. “could say that.”

you looked like you wanted to say something more, but your mouth just closed on a breath. you looked down at your drink instead.

“someone fuck you up too?” she asked — more honest than she should’ve been.

you laughed softly. “you have no idea.”

vi’s eyes didn’t leave you. “wanna get outta here?”

you blinked. “what?”

her voice was low. tired. dangerous. “you heard me.”

you should’ve said no. you should’ve asked her name. instead you nodded.

the walk to your place was quiet.

not awkward — just heavy. the kind of quiet that swells with all the things neither of you wanted to say out loud.

vi’s fingers twitched at her sides the whole way. she wasn’t used to this. she wasn’t gentle, she wasn’t slow — and you? you looked like you should be wrapped in silk, kissed tenderly, held all night.

but she wasn’t here to make love. she was here to forget.

and when you opened the door, smiled like you weren’t sure this was a good idea, and said, “do you want a drink?” she was already pushing you against the wall.

vi’s kiss was all tongue and teeth. she groaned like she’d been starved, like your mouth was the only thing keeping her sane.

you whimpered, fingers gripping her shirt like you needed her closer, needed something to anchor you in the storm she brought into your home.

“fuck,” she muttered against your lips. “you taste good.”

you tried to answer, but she was already moving — hands sliding up your shirt, palms hot and rough over your ribs.

you gasped. “vi—”

she froze. “how’d you—?”

you gave her a shaky laugh. “you're vi, right? i’ve seen you fight.”

something flickered behind her eyes. something haunted.

“is this—” you started, breathing uneven. “is this just because you’re angry?”

vi pressed her forehead to yours. “i don’t know what the fuck this is.”

and then she was kissing you again — harder. hungrier.

you didn’t remember how you got to the bedroom. just the way her hands never stopped moving — rough, needy, greedy.

your shirt hit the floor. then your bra.

vi’s mouth dropped open. “holy shit.”

you flushed, arms instinctively curling around yourself.

she grabbed your wrists. gently. “don’t.”

you looked up.

“you’re beautiful,” she said. like it hurt her to admit it. like it was some kind of confession. “you’re so—fuck.”

she shoved you back onto the bed.

and you let her.

she kissed down your stomach, fingers already tugging your shorts and panties down in one go.

your legs trembled.

“you good, baby?” she asked, voice surprisingly soft.

you nodded. “please.”

that was all she needed.

her mouth was on you in a second. tongue hot and firm, licking through your folds like she was making up for lost time. like you were her last meal.

you cried out, hands flying to her hair.

vi groaned against you — like the sound of your moans turned her on more than anything else in the world.

“keep makin’ those sounds,” she muttered, breath hot against your slit. “wanna hear every fuckin’ second.”

your thighs clenched around her head. she gripped your hips tight, dragging you closer to her mouth.

“god—vi—fuck—”

her tongue found your clit. pressed, circled, sucked until you were a writhing mess.

she didn’t stop until your legs were shaking and you were whining her name like a prayer.

you came fast — hard. a high-pitched cry and a flood of wet heat on her mouth.

vi moaned, tasting you. you felt her hips grind against the bed.

she didn’t stop.

you were still catching your breath when her fingers slipped into you. one first — thick, slow, curling. then two.

your mouth dropped open.

“yeah,” she rasped. “that’s it. take it.”

you did. you let her fuck you open, moaning, gasping, begging for more.

her thumb brushed your clit and you arched up with a sob.

“please—”

vi’s eyes darkened. “please what?”

“please don’t stop.”

she grinned. “wasn’t planning on it.”

her fingers thrust deep, relentless. the stretch made you ache, but the heat building in your core was worse. delicious. maddening.

“you’re so tight,” she groaned. “fuck, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

you couldn’t even speak. could only nod, whimper, beg her with your eyes.

vi leaned down, kissed your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. bit a mark into your shoulder.

“gonna fuck you all night,” she growled. “till you forget his name.”

you gasped. she wasn’t wrong. you hadn’t even thought about him since she touched you.

vi moved faster.

“gonna fill that pretty pussy,” she muttered, hips grinding into the mattress. “make you cum over and over ‘til all you remember is me.”

you came again. harder this time. loud. shaking.

she held you through it. pressed kisses to your cheek, your chest, your shoulder.

“you’re perfect,” she whispered. “so fuckin’ good for me.”

when she finally stripped — when you saw the broad, tattooed expanse of her back, the curve of her hips, the harness she’d already strapped on —

your breath caught.

you opened your legs for her without a word.

she cursed under her breath. “goddamn.”

she lined up the toy, thick and slick from your arousal, and pushed in slow.

your head dropped back with a moan. “oh—fuck—vi—”

she gripped your hips. “you okay?”

“yes—keep going—please—”

she snapped her hips.

you cried out.

she set a brutal pace — hard, deep, like she was trying to bury something inside you. like if she fucked you hard enough, she’d forget what love used to feel like.

your nails dug into her back. she hissed but didn’t stop.

“you feel that?” she panted. “how deep i am?”

“yes—yes—”

“you gonna cum for me again?”

you nodded, desperate.

“then fuckin’ do it.”

you screamed her name when you came. third time. mind blank. body limp.

vi’s rhythm stuttered. she rutted into you with a groan, chasing her own high, even if it was only in her head.

she collapsed over you after — breathing hard, mouth against your neck, heart pounding like she’d run miles.

you lay still beneath her. bruised, fucked-out, glowing.

neither of you said a word.

the silence stretched.

you broke it first. quietly. “do you feel better?”

vi didn’t look at you. “no.”

your throat tightened. “me neither.”

she rolled off you. lit a cigarette. stared at the ceiling.

you watched her chest rise and fall. watched the way her jaw flexed when she exhaled.

you knew this was just a moment. a desperate, messy thing. you didn’t expect softness from her. not tonight.

still… you wanted something. anything.

you rolled closer. pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “can i see you again?”

vi’s eyes closed.

she didn’t say no.

she just kissed you slow. sad.

and whispered, “let me stay tonight.”

you nodded.

maybe the void would still be there in the morning.

but for now, you filled it.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Another great chapter!

I love every second of her struggling with her inner voice and being scared as fuck from the new reality, it feels like to be her while she wonders if Joel is sincere or not.

And the kind of ambiguous way Joel is, the way he doesn't want for her to interact with anyone and especially Maria and that sometimes subtle and sometimes violent way he has to treat her and to keep her tied to him... I'm not entirely sure I can trust this man, you know? Or her, for what's matter. Both of them are kind of fucked and our mind often plays tricks on us to make us believe what we want to believe and what is best for us, to protect us.

(It's not the same thing but this particular aspect made me think of the first seasons of The Affair and how fascinated I was to see how her and his perspectives on everything that happened between them changed radically)

The constant alternation of wanting to be his and wanting to run away and go back to where she was safe is heartbreaking and yet so good to read.

Smut is always so hot I could combust 🥵

I really hope Pudding is fine, snuggling somewhere safe and warm in the house, I miss that little guy 🥹

Hungry Man

Chapter Two: God The Animal

Series Masterlist | Chapter One

Chapter Summary: “…made me think about what it would be like if God the animal bit me with his razor-sharp fangs. God has huge poisonous fangs and he loves to bite people who follow the rules. If you follow the rules, God's going to kill you with his long teeth ; and I love knowing that.”

warnings/tags: DDDNE, smut, overstim, extreme dub con, coercion, lying, dubious ethics, Mister-man being sneaky as hell, reader is struggling, hearing voices.

a/n- hello, this chapter is mostly smut but with lots of little things important to the story. I hope you all enjoy <3

Mister opens the front door of his home for you with his hand pressed gently into your lower back. The smell of him hits you, like you hit the ground after falling out of the rafters– how many days have even gone by since then?

That happened yesterday– earlier this morning, technically. 

That doesn’t even make sense and you refuse to process that information because it’s ridiculous. That all happened days ago, maybe even weeks ago. You are actively fighting the memory of being inside your favorite, most safe and special place less than twenty-four hours ago. 

Why did you ever stop fighting him?

He adds weight to his touch on your body, and carefully forces you inside. Your feet shuffle along the hardwood floor just inside the entryway, his warm hand guiding you. 

The door closing makes you shudder, and a cold sweat beads at the nape of your neck. His house looks like a normal house. It looks like a house you would have seen before the outbreak, before the loss of everyone you had ever known. Before the infected, the terrible living conditions in the quarantine zones–  before the real monsters emerged from the rubble of what was civilized once. 

Mister-man’s house looks… 

Safe. 

It does look safe. It looks warm, inviting, and familiar. It’s like you’ve been here before and know your way around even though you’ve never once stepped foot inside a house in almost 12 years. The closest you’ve gotten was a dry goods storage shed the raiders used to lock up shelf-stable food products. 

Look at you, been in two houses today and you’re perfectly fine. 

They’re all trickin’ you, and you’re fallin’ for it.  

There is a fireplace and it's already lit, keeping the house nice and warm. There are stairs that lead to a second floor, and you wonder what’s up there before your eyes wander into the kitchen area. 

Joel lets his hand fall from the small of your back. “Y’like it?” He shrugs the coat off his shoulders and hangs it up on a coat rack by the door.

You shrug your one working shoulder silently as he stands in front of you to unzip your jacket. Your eyes don’t meet his, they can’t right now because they’re too busy taking in everything else. 

Joel slips your coat off carefully and hangs it up beside his, “Go on and take a look around. Get familiar with it all,” he motions for you to keep walking, go further. 

Curious feet carry you deeper into his home to inspect what Mister-man has. “Where is Puddin’?” You still don’t look at him, you just keep wandering and taking in the sounds of the logs crackling in the fireplace and the texture against your fingertips as you brush them along the wallpaper. 

His kitchen is uncluttered and smells like it’s been cleaned recently.

Make a mess. Ruin his things. Burn it down. 

“Somewhere ‘round here. Hidin’ probably.” Joel explains from behind you. “Makin’ a mess, I’m sure.” 

Puddin’s probably gone. Ain’t ever gonna see him again.

“Where’re ya’ thinkin’ he might be?” Your blood pressure rises at the thought that you’ve been lied to, that Puddin’ isn’t here and was let go in the woods shortly after you left with Maria. 

Or worse. 

The dining room smells like him too, and you wonder if there is a part of the house that doesn’t. His table is big enough to seat four and all the chairs match. There is a china cabinet with nothing in it. A few decorative pictures and knick-knacks on the wall. 

It’s a normal house. The bad ones didn’t look like this, or Maria’s. 

Traps don’t always look like traps. Tricks don’t always feel like tricks. 

“I dunno. I ain’t really pay attention to where he ran off too when I let him off leash,” Joel sighs while he follows behind you only two or three paces. You can feel his eyes boring holes into the back of your head. 

You suck your teeth rapidly several times and then call out, “T’mere Puddie-boy. T’mon,” you call in a high-pitched voice. He doesn’t come running to you like he normally would, but he’s probably just as scared as you are in a house. Puddin’s never ever been inside one!! You try not to think about it– just hope that Puddin’ is hiding, and will come out soon. 

The kitchen opens up into his living room where the fireplace is. You can see the door that leads outside where you and Mister-J had just been standing just a moment ago. 

Run. 

The couch faces the fireplace, and there is a wooden rocking chair with an overstuffed cushion to sit on adjacent to it. 

A nice place for you and Joel to sit and talk. 

Which is exactly what you wanted in the first place. All you wanted was someone to talk with, not at, or to, but with. Someone who would show interest in the things you wanted to show them, and that was Mister-J. 

“Do you wanna see the bedroom?” He asks as the backs of his fingers ghost against the curve of your ass. “Finish what we started earlier,” he adds, an octave lower than just a moment ago.

You do want that. 

Mister and his incredible cock, his large, strong hands that grip you and pull and pinch your skin while he thrusts into you. His facial hair scratching at your inner thighs, warm and muscular biceps and forearms wrapped around your middle. 

You turn to face him, eyes finally darting up to meet his gaze. “Do I get to sleep there,” you pause, expecting him to start laughing at you for having such an absurd thought, but he doesn’t, he’s quiet and waits for you to keep talking. “...or do I have a different room– my own room?” 

Somehow, for whatever reason, you want both. You want to sleep with Mister and also, have your own room away from him to go to whenever you want. 

Just like at the mall. 

The idea that you could have both makes your heart skip a beat.

He’s not goin’ to give you shit. 

With the way he’s acting, you’re not so sure about that. 

He looks slightly amused, but not annoyed, and then he slips his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, using it to pull you closer into him. “You can sleep with me,” he leans in until his lips are almost pressed against yours. His and your breaths mingle momentarily before he says, “I could make up the other room for ya’,” he growls and kisses you quickly. “I’d rather ya’ sleep with me though,” he finishes with another kiss, but this one lingers a moment longer than the other, and there is force, and pressure that hadn’t been there with the first. 

It feels like there is something behind the kiss, but that doesn’t make sense. There isn’t a word you know to describe what it feels like because it’s foreign. It makes you shiver– the little hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up. 

It’s all a trick. Just wait ‘n see, stupid girl. 

You stare at him inquisitively during the entire interaction, “Whaddya doin’?” You tip your head to the side and wrinkle your nose, one eyebrow raised after a minute of trying to learn his unspoken, untranslatable language silently in your head. 

It feels foreign because it’s new, no one has cared about you in a long time. It doesn’t feel normal, but it’s okay.

Joel snorts, shakes his head once and then grabs your right hand, pulling you gently in the direction of the stairs. “Gonna show you the bedrooms,” he’s explaining as the two of you climb to the second floor. 

You ain’t ever leavin’ this house again. 

That sweet voice is laughing at you, almost cackling. It feels horrible to be laughed at, especially by the voices inside your head. The ones that got you into this mess in the fucking first place. Without that sweet and lighthearted voice, you might not have done the things you did out in the woods. That voice was your courage, your enabler, the one who told you that you could do anything. 

Thought you could, sug. Guess I was wrong... 

You’re only human, honey. 

The hallway upstairs is dark, and long and feels more ominous than you expected it to. Part of you is screaming to turn around and leave, the other part of you is morbidly curious about the outcome if you stay. So you freeze, yank your hand out of Joel’s and stay glued to the spot at the top of the stairs. 

Mister whips around, his stance looks like he half expected to take off running, knees slightly bent and arms twitching like he’s ready to grab you. But he relaxes when he sees you standing still, your one working arm wrapped around yourself. 

“Why’s it so dark?” You ask nervously, glancing around for the light switches on the wall but you see none. 

Mister glances up, and then points to the ceiling. 

Your eyes follow, and notice the broken light fixture above you. “Oh.” 

There isn’t a sense of urgency, which you’re surprised about. You expected him to rush you, to want to get you into a room as quickly as he could. Instead he moves slowly like the snails that lived on the banks of the river near the mall. 

“You scared of the dark or somethin’?” 

You can’t tell if he’s taunting, or playfully teasing, or being serious. Nothing really makes sense anymore– one side of you is pulling towards the stairs again, itching to get to the front door; not before lighting Mister-man’s house on fire. 

The other side of you, the side closest to Joel feels like it’s magnetized and he’s your polar opposite. It’s hard to escape the draw that is Mister-J and his half-smirks and deep voice, the way his arms feel wrapped around you. 

“I ain’t scared,” you lie sassily, the words stitched with apprehension. “Just can’t see where m’goin’.” You are frightened by what could be hiding behind these doors in the darkness.

Probably a lil prison just for you– ‘n Tommy helped him fix it all up for ya’. 

That is a possibility. This wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve been tricked by someone being kind to you. Mister-man and his nice tone, and his kisses. His sultry voice talking about fucking– he absolutely might be trying to trick you. 

You wait for some reassurance from the dark voice– but it doesn’t come. 

Stupid girl. Why did you ever stop fighting him?

Mister snaps his fingers in front of your face and it makes you flinch. 

Instinctively, your right hand swats his fist away but he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you close to him again. 

“Where were ya’ just now?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. His grip on your wrist tightens as you try to pull away. 

His question confuses you because you haven’t moved from this spot since you got to the second floor. Before you have more time to think about what he could mean, he adds on more words that continue to puzzle you.

“You do that a lot,” he adds as he begins to take steady but deliberate steps backwards, further into the darkness, closer to those mysterious doors. The void starts to envelope Mister, the shadows licking and dancing across his face as he pulls you further down the hallway. 

It’s ya’ last chance, Sug. 

It’s hard to breathe, and Mister-man is crowding your every sense. His once welcoming, comforting smell is now overwhelming and makes your mouth hot. Saliva pools under your tongue and you can’t remember how to swallow. 

Gotta make a run for it. 

Where is the dark voice!? You need it now more than ever to calm these nerves, to make this boulder in your stomach revert back to the pebble it was only moments ago. 

You just have to trust, honey. 

Can’t trust not one thing, not nobody. ‘Specially not a Mister-man. 

There are too many sounds inside your brain, and too many feelings happening in your chest. Your heart and lungs and everything else hidden behind ribs, tendons and flesh have been replaced with a hive of angry hornets. You’re buzzing, and in the worst way. 

“Hey,” Joel’s voice sounds like it’s so far away, like it could be coming from the atmosphere. 

The sound doesn’t grip you, or pull you back from floating away from him. The darkness is suffocating; too much and taking over. 

Joel watches you slip further and further away, his eyes adjusting to the dark quicker than yours. He’s more accepting of the things hiding in the dark than you must be. Joel isn’t afraid of the dark. He’s afraid of what he can see, once a brain processes something– it has to work hard to get it out– and some memories are etched so deeply that they never leave no matter how hard the brain works.

Some memories are never forgotten.

“Hey,” Joel cups your face with one hand, your chin resting on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. Your brow crinkles, but you don’t respond otherwise– you don’t see him and you’re not trying to. You’re disappearing back inside of yourself and it’s strange the way it happens so fast sometimes. “Hey!” He tries again. This time he lets your wrist go, and your arm falls limply to your side and dangles there. 

Joel snaps rapidly in your face. 

You flinch and retract from him, trying to free your face from his grip but he holds you tight enough to keep you from backing away. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t–” you’re mumbling, barely audible. “I can’t, I sh-should, I won’t, I want to. I c-can’t. I ca-can, can’t.” 

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” He wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you close to him. Two stumbled steps and you’re crashing into him; he has to hold you upright as your legs betray you like a newborn foal’s would. 

“Trust him. I can’t trust him-” You’re on the verge of tears. Your eyes are wet, red and distant; looking right at Joel, but not truly seeing him. 

He doesn’t know where you are inside your head, or what you’re putting yourself through, what you’re forcing yourself to relive. “Trust who, babydoll?” He knows. He knows before you tell him, he can feel it dripping out of your pores in the form of a cold sweat. He needs to hear you say it, though. He needs to hear your sweet, soft voice say it. 

“Ca-Can’t trust… anyone,” you snivel quietly. “‘Sp-specially not a– a M-Mister-man,” you’re hiccuping now, unable to catch your breath. 

Joel comes to a stop with his back against something solid, he keeps you held against him with the arm still around your waist, the other slips behind him and he searches blindly for the doorknob. “That ain’t true. You can trust Mister-man. He ain’t ever gonna hurt ya’.” 

The door opens, and light spills out into the dark hallway, illuminating your terrified face and bleary eyed stare. 

The light snaps you out of it, the light brings you back to him, but you stiffen and push your right hand against his chest, brows pulled together angrily. 

“Get off me! No, no, no, no, no!” Your once sadly sweet voice is now deep and angry, eyes once again, looking right at Joel but it’s like he’s not even there, looking at someone else possibly. “Get off’a me! Don’ fuckin’ touch me!” You shriek. 

Oh, someone is gonna be hearin’ all of that– wonder what they’ll be thinkin’...

His body reacts before he can think about what else to do, how else to calm you down. Joel spins you around in his arm and then slaps one hand over your mouth as you continue your loud protesting. 

Whatever was holding you together, snaps… and violently. Your arms punch and flail in every direction, legs kick and slam into his shins as he drags you further into his room. 

Joel is too old for this, too tired to be dealing with this shit. “Enough’a that,” he’s straining as he’s pulling you closer to the bed. “

From behind his palm your loud muffled objections are now only his to hear. 

You know what she needs. You know what’ll make her your pliant lil pup. 

The back of Joel’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he sinks down into it, bringing you with him. Joel presses the side of his mouth to your ear as he pushes himself further up the bed with his boot clad heels until his back touches the headboard. “Here we go,” he murmurs to you as he settles. His palm still rests over your mouth, his other wrapped around your waist.

You sob silently behind his hand, your fists are pathetically punching against his thighs and hips in protest, body slowly going limp in his grasp. 

Wonder when the last time she slept was…

He feels like that’s slightly condescending- you’re not a baby that needs a nap to stop being grumpy. He knows that you’ve been through things that have traumatized you, that have helped shape you into who you are today– good and bad. 

“Hey– ya’ sleepy? Need a good night’s sleep next to Mister?” He mumbles against the side of your face. 

It’s been something that’s been eating away at him for days. Since he broke the news to you about Harley Quinn and Joker, and how their love wasn’t what you thought it was– you had skipped out on him. 

For almost a week you had been gone, or hiding somewhere that Joel couldn’t find you. There had been nights in the mall that he had sworn he could feel you there with him, but you weren’t in the bed or even the mattress store at all. You were avoiding him, and that made him feel two things. 

Furious. So angry that he was sure the next time he saw you– he was going to kill you no matter if it took his life too. How could you just leave him with no weapons? No extra supplies, a fucking opossum to look after. Where the fuck did you run off to? 

He felt something else too, but he’s still not exactly sure what it was; he wasn’t just furious, something else was woven into the fibers of that anger, and he just couldn’t identify its origin- or reason. 

He kisses the top of your head as he adjusts the two of you to sit more comfortably, with you in his lap rather than just laying between his legs with your back pressed against his stomach. 

Now with your back against his chest, his legs pinning yours between together gently. “You gonna be a good girl for Mister? Remember where we’re at?” He rubs his hand across your stomach slowly, moving it up to tease the valley between your tits and then over your collarbone before repeating the motion back down your body. “Ain’t no one gonna hurt ya’, or get ya’-- not while I’m here, ok?” 

With scrabbling fingers starting to grip his jeans under your thighs, you nod your head slowly, and Joel removes his hand over your mouth. You don’t tell or scream, or start to fight him, but you don’t make any other sounds or move at all. 

Joel wasn’t sure what to do now– he honestly hadn’t really expected all this to happen. He had expected you to explode once you found out how many people were really in Jackson, he expected you to act crazy once the patrol people found the two of you. He had expected you to fight when Maria and Tommy wanted to split the two of you up. 

He thought once he got you inside, through the front door– he was in the clear. If you were going to fight him again– it should have been outside his house. 

Now he’s got you back, and he had planned to fuck you into this mattress, make you love him again and then, just keep you preoccupied enough until you forgot about the mall completely. 

“Whaddya need from me?” He whispers, continuing his slow tracing movements across the front of your body, the tips of his fingers brushing along the waistband of your jeans mindlessly. He’d give you anything you asked for. 

There is only the sound of both of you trying to steady your breathing, trying to slow your hearts pounding. He can feel yours with his hand every time he moves it across your chest, and he knows you can feel his thudding against your back. 

“W-Wanna–” you hesitate, and you’re trembling against him now. 

Joel has to push the unprovoked rage down because you haven’t said you wanted to go back to the mall yet, but he knows you do. It’s all you said on the way here, and if you start asking again after the deal he made with you– he’s going to lose it. 

“What? Wanna what, babygirl?” His hand moves down one thigh and then back up, over your jeans covered mound, down the other thigh– an addition to the pattern he had been tracing before. 

The trembling turns into full on shaking, he half expects you to start crying again, but he brushes the backs of his fingers of his other hand across your cheek gently, and he tips your head to the side, and leans forward to look at you. 

“What’re you shakin’ for?” 

Your eyes meet his, watery and red still, chin trembling softly. “Wanna know you’re not mad at me,” you say it fast, high pitched and strained, face twisting as the tears fall. “That you’re not trickin’ me ‘n aren’t ever gon’ let me go outside again, ‘n keep me all chained up—” you choke back a sob as Joel wipes the tears off your face, not saying a thing. “Th-That you didn’t hu-hurt Puddin’ or let him go–” 

Joel interrupts you, “I wouldn’t ever hurt Puddin’,” he shakes his head and shifts forward an inch more when your sobbing takes over, the words no longer coming out. He wonders if you even heard what he said, or if you’re being sucked back into your own head again. “Puddin’ is here in the house somewhere. Probably in the basement– I’ll go look for ‘em if that’ll make ya’ feel better,” he offers. “Would seein’ him make you feel better,” he asks over your crying. 

You’re trying to reel it in, piece yourself back together. You nod, sniffling. Joel pinches your nose together gently, clears your nostrils and wipes his hands on the back of his shirt. Your eyes meet again, “Yeah, that would make me feel a lil better,” your voice wavers, still unsure of the situation around you. 

Joel hooks his index finger under your chin so you can’t look away, “I don’t wanna do any of that stuff to ya’,” he shakes his head from side to side. “Brought you back with me so ya’ could see what this place was like,” he rubs his thumb under your plump and worried bottom lip. “See that it ain’t like where you came from,” his eyes can’t help but flicker down to your pout before he’s back to looking into your eyes. 

“What if I don’t like it?” 

“I told ya’ what would happen if ya’ didn’t like it– but we haven’t even been here two hours,” Joel gives you a knowing look. 

Your body shrinks back into his and your bottom lip starts to tremble again. 

“You gotta give it a chance– a real one. Gotta try– ‘cause why?” He raises both eyebrows at you and waits. “What’re you gonna make a good effort for?

You blink once and then drone back to him, “‘Cause the only way Mister-man will love me is if I try.” 

The deal makes complete sense to you. There wasn’t a thing that didn’t make sense. You still feel wrong as you speak the works back to him monotonously. “‘Cause the only way Mister will love me is if I try.” 

‘Cause it ain’t ever gonna fuckin’ happen. He’s never gonna love you. 

He was never going to love you at the mall, he couldn’t love you there. 

Joel waits for more, waits for the rest as if you maybe had forgotten the most important part of the deal. 

“And if I really don’t like it…” you trail off and wait for him to produce a collar with a lock on it, and a chain that attaches because you’re not sure if he meant it. It felt too good to be true. “We can go back.” 

Joel looks proud, his eyes are crinkled at the corners, and he’s got his familiar half-smile that warms you from the inside, out. “Good girl,” he gives your chin a gentle pinch before he leans back against the headboard and pulls you into his chest again. “You wanna go look for Puddin’ with me?”

The idea of being in here alone, where he might lock the door on you once it’s shut– trapping you inside for however long he wants. 

This whole time you had been in this room, fighting to be free, accepting your horrendous fate– whatever it may be– being comforted by the man you had assumed to be your captor. 

He is your captor– are you fuckin’ thick?

His room looks normal and clean, it looks like something you’d see out of a catalog from the mall when you first got there. A nice comforter with corresponding pillowcases. Two bedside tables with matching lamps sitting on both. The walls were painted a familiar beige that made you feel small, and helpless for some reason. 

Mister slides his hands down the front of you, exploring you, feeling you. Everything about it makes your head spin. 

“We could go look for ‘em later,” he murmurs suggestively in your ear as he palms your tits over your shirt gently. “Never got my chance t’finish makin’ you feel good earlier.” Mister’s accent drawls on as he continues to grope and squeeze at your chest with insistent fingers. 

When you had been ambushed earlier by the group of patrolies, Joel had been trying so hard to calm you down in the only way he knew how– to make you feel good. 

All the emotions from the day- from possibly losing Mister-man, thinking you were going to die, then being dragged through the woods on a leash and being zapped to shit every time you tried to make a run for it, or fight him- boiled over right as the lights from the settlement or compound, or whatever it was fucking called, started to show in the distance. Then you fell apart. 

Joel was just trying to put you back together. 

Trying to trick you, play games with your head. 

Mister presses his mouth against your neck, one of his massive hands sliding down your stomach and to the waistband of your jeans. “Just like makin’ you feel good,” he murmurs as his fingers slip between your skin and the fabric like he’s practiced this before. The pads of his ring and index finger trace the seam of your cunt slowly.

Your head lols back against his shoulder, legs instinctively falling apart as he dips those same two fingers into your entrance. “I know,” you’re whispering with a dry mouth, nodding in agreement. Your eyes flutter while he slides his thick digits into you slowly. 

The both of you groan in unison at the way your body molds around him as he pushes deeper, the “Might be the only thing I know how t’do right anymore,” he almost growls into your ear. His forearm grips you around your torso, his hand still cupping and pawing at one of your tits as he holds you close to him. 

You groan in displeasure as he withdraws from inside you, turning your head to look up at him with your brows pinched together. “What’re ya’--”

Mister’s lips crash against yours, and his mouth opens; his tongue licks at the inside of your cheeks the minute you part your lips like he’s late for an appointment. Then he’s moving between your legs, hovering over you, leaning you back gently against the pillows. He pulls away from the kiss and looks at you with dark, blown-out pupils that make his eyes appear almost completely black. His chest is heaving, and so is yours as you try to catch your breath, but he’s staring at you like he could tear you apart piece by piece. 

He’s going to. Sink his fangs into you and rip you open.

Silently, his deft fingers pop open the button on your jeans, and his calloused hands push them down your thighs, and then he pulls them off your body completely. Now you’re bare– exposed to him from the waist down. He still says nothing while he takes in the sight of you like this, his knuckles ghosting along the inside of your thigh as he trails it up towards your core.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he speaks quietly, almost so low you can barely hear him while he gazes down between your legs. “She’s mine,” his eyes flash up to yours as two fingers find their place buried inside you, his thumb rubbing lazy circles around your now throbbing clit.

You respond with a quiet moan, and a slack jaw as he curls his fingers up towards your stomach, against that perfect spot nestled inside of you that makes you warm everywhere. Everything is right and incredible, and there isn’t anything that could make this bad– not one single thing. 

That’s why he’s doin’ it– so you feel like this. Tryin’ to trick ya’, ‘n you’s fallin’ for it. He’s poison.

Mister thrusts impossibly deeper, jolting you, almost pushing you backwards with the force of it, demanding you to look at him, really see him while he pulls back and then thrusts forward again. “You heard me?” He questions as every muscle inside of you tries to keep him inside of you. 

“Wha–” 

He doesn’t let you finish. He pushes the heel of his hand against your clit while he curls his fingers rapidly inside of you, “I said,” he leans forward and braces one hand against the headboard just above your shoulder. “This pretty pussy is fuckin’ mine,” he growls and switches back to plunging his fingers into you again, as deep as he can. 

It’s so hard to keep your focus when he’s making you feel so fucking good, your eyes close as the pleasure closes in on you- but Mister lets out a loud, sharp whistle that makes them snap open. 

He’s shaking his head already, a mischievous smile on his face. “Nuh-uh. Y’know better– you look at me,” he pulls his fingers from inside you once again and sucks them into his mouth. 

“M’sorry,” you whine quietly, desperate for his touch, desperate for that release that you’ve been denied for so long. Mister chuckles as he laps and sucks at his digits, ravenous for your taste. “She’s yours– you’re right. She is.” You nod in agreement as you babble.

Mister releases his fingers with a loud, wet pop and then reaches for his waist. “Oh, I know she is,” his belt jingles as he gets it open and he pulls his zipper down. “Needed to make sure you know,” Mister pushes his jeans to mid-thigh, watching you watching him in amazement as he lets his hard, angry looking cock slap against his lower stomach. 

Your mouth starts to water at the sight of him, every vein is throbbing, and the dusky skin of his shaft now red and the tip of him is almost purple and drooling. 

All for you. He’s yours, too. 

“S’all for me?” The blood is pounding in your ears, and your eyes flash up to catch him nodding at you. 

One of his thick hands grasps the base of himself and squeezes tight. He settles on his knees, your legs draped over either of his thighs as he scoots himself closer to you. His voice rumbles in your ear as he slaps his shaft against your folds, and you feel how thick and heavy– how ready he is for you. 

What he says doesn’t register. How could it when you’re watching him drag is cock up and down your slit, coating himself in your slick. He rocks his hips back and forth, the friction on your clit is delicious and you arch your hips up to meet him. 

Joel uses his free hand to hold your hip, and he squeezes, digging his fingers into your skin. “Y’aint fuckin’ listenin’ to me,” he barks at you, halting his movements and pushing you back down into his bed. 

Your eyes meet him once again, and he’s unreadable- he’s not exactly the same man you met in the mall. There is something new, something unknown about him now. It’s like he’s taken a mask off and you recognize his voice and his touch but you don’t know him anymore. “Sorry–”

Mister stares at you while notching himself at your entrance. “No need t’be sorry,” he breathes out as your aching hole flutters around the tip. “Just listen to Mister,” he pushes in a fraction of an inch and you’re not sure if he’s teasing you, or trying to make it last longer. 

A sigh leaves you as the burn from the stretch settles inside you, the pain mixed with the pleasure. The pleasure mixed with every other emotion. All of it is so good. “M’listenin’ now,” you nod your head, fighting the urge to look down at where you’re joined. 

Joel nods his head in approval, and rubs circles on your hip with his thumb. “You’re mine,” he rasps out as he pushes forward again. “All of ya’.” He lets go of the base of his shaft and uses that hand to hold your other hip. He pulls you against him while thrusting into you, and bottoms out. 

You let out a loud, filthy groan as the tip of him kisses your cervix immediately. Your right hand reaches for him, wrapping around his wrist as he keeps his grip on your waist. “Oh f–fuck.”

He is perfect. 

“All mine,” he grunts and holds himself inside of you, allowing you to adjust to his size, to mold to him like you always do. “Ya’ hear me that time or do–” he cuts himself off with a low groan as he pulls back an inch and then pulls you back down onto his shaft. 

“H–heard ya’,” you moan, nodding back at him in additional confirmation. “I’m yours.” Your walls clench around him, body reacting to the idea of being his. A new, wet wave of arousal coats his cock while he’s still inside of you. 

Joel snickers, feeling your immediate ratification leaking around him. “Oh ya’ like that, babydoll? Like bein’ mine?” He growls pridefully, his hips picking up speed. 

You barely recognize that you’re a real person when he’s inside of you, when he’s close to you like this. Everything makes sense while also meaning nothing at all. As long as Mister is here, as long as he wants so badly it feels like he needs you. “Uh-huh,” you babble, eyes finally closing and resting back against the pillows. “L-Love it.”

Joel leans over you, bracing himself on one forearm, “Yeah… I know,” his other hand keeps its grip on your hip as he continues his crescendoing pace, fucking you open for him and dragging the defined ridge of his cock against that spot– that place only he knows how to reach and touch over and over again. That place that makes you breathless and leaves you sometimes sobbing underneath him.

Tonight you’re moaning loudly, on the verge of potentially being too loud– but no more tears, no more fear inside of you. It’s just Mister making you feel like you’re weightless: he is the source of all your pleasure and you’ll never find a feeling like this again without him. 

Joel presses his temple against yours and you feel him; slick with sweat and warm like the day you met at the tail end of the summer last year. “Feel so fuckin’ good,” he half whispers, half grunts into your ear.

The room’s filled with the sounds of his ragged breathing and skin slapping against skin. There is something primal about the way he’s touching you tonight. His teeth graze the skin of your cheek, and then he nips at you, pinching the skin hard enough to make you whimper.

His hips never falter, sawing back and forth, cock slamming into you like this is a punishment, like he’s angry with you, like he hates you– “S’my turn,” he murmurs with his lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “Take care of ya’,” he grunts as his hips snap into yours, punching the air right out of you. “Keep you safe now.”

His words resonate with you, almost doing more for the intense coiling in your belly than the feeling of him inside you. “P-Please don’t stop,” His sentiments do more than the way he hitches your leg up on his shoulder and suddenly reaches parts of you that feel devastating in the most incredible and blissful way possible.

“S’my good girl,” he pants into your ear at your pliability. His deep voice praising you has your walls clenching around him. “Fuck,” he groans breathily, feeling you flutter around him. 

His hand leaves your hip and slides it between your bodies to rub circles around your clit again, slow but deliberate, meaningful and precise movements that have your back arching off the bed. Ministrations he’s learned that you like– and remembered them so he can make you feel this way over and over again. That tight, hot ball of goodness is growing in your lower stomach, and it’s tearing desperate, ragged noises out of you that you didn’t even know you could make.

“Don’t stop– Don’t stop,” your right hand slides up the curve of his shoulder and behind his neck before your fingers card through the thick mess of gray and brown curls. His voice is going to push you off the precipice. 

Mister incredibly increases his speed and you worry for a moment that you’re going to be fucked up the headboard behind you until you feel his hand on the top of your skull, sliding down to cup your head close to him. 

“Talk– please t-talk,” you plead airily against his neck. “Don’t stop talkin’.” 

Joel presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, his hips hammering into you still. You can feel him grinning against your skin for a moment before he pulls his chest away from yours. He holds your leg against his torso. He suddenly looks like he’s in pain, but the grimace disappears from his face just as quickly as it had shown up. 

“You–” You’re about to ask if he’s alright, if he wants to switch positions but he Mister cuts you off. 

“Shut up–” He rasps, hand exploring your thigh and shin, lips pressing into your ankle. It’s a familiar picture. He kisses you there whenever he fucks you like this. 

At the mall sometimes he would bite you there, nipping at the bone, and then the sensitive skin on the top of your foot before he pulled out to finish on your belly.

Tonight it’s different. Everything in the room feels charged– ready to zap you dead if you touched anything but Mister. He’s grounding you, keeping you safe right now. 

“Lil pup needs me, huh?” He sounds like he’s teasing you, but the words go right to your core and you clench around him again, tighter and more rapidly your walls flitter and constrict. 

You let out a pathetic whine because yes, you do need him. That scares you and makes your cunt throb at the same time. 

“Say it,” Mister continues his touch on your sensitive clit, rubbing in faster, sloppier circles. It doesn’t matter how precise his touch is anymore because you’re so close. 

Everything inside of you is taught and ready to explode. “Y-Yeah,” you pant nod your head rapidly.

“Need what?” Mister purrs deeply, seemingly already satisfied by the fucked-out look on your face, or the actual, desperate need behind your eyes that has been building for him and him alone. His thumb rubs furiously around your nub, his leaking tip pushes so deeply inside of you that you swear you can feel it in your stomach. 

Your mouth hangs open silently as your impending orgasm shoots sparks from your lower belly to the rest of your body. 

Joel’s palm connects with the side of your thigh hard enough to hear the smack echo off the walls of his room. The sting settles into your flesh, and you bite your bottom lip to suppress a whimper. 

“C’mon– lemme hear your pretty voice say it” Mister’s voice is low and demanding– just what you needed to tip you over the edge. 

Your chest heaves, and you sob loudly, “Need you, need you, need you!” Everything is hot, and good- your legs twitch as the waves of pleasure crash over you again and again. The stress and the worry that had been building up a hard shell around you being eroded away with each broken moan that leaves your raw and tender throat. 

Mister-man doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop his brutal pace he set. He instead begins to rub your clit rapidly with four stiff fingers. “Atta girl” he growls into the side of your calf. Then he sinks his teeth into you. 

“Oh fuck–” you groan, letting your head fall back against the pillows again as the bliss courses through all the nerves and veins you have. “Oh my god,” you keen loudly, back bowing off the bed dramatically. 

Mister sucks on the spot where he just indented marks of his teeth into your skin. His tongue laves at the sore, tender skin like he’s hungry for your taste. “S’right– so fuckin’ pretty when you come on my cock,” he’s grunting, fingers working feverishly over your clit to bring you there.

Your shoulder hurts as your arm moves so you can try and sit up on your elbows to watch him, but you don’t care– it’s not nearly as bad as missing out on the view of him splitting you in half, watching the way you obscenely stretch open for him. You whimper at the sight.

Mister’s forehead is damp and his hair clings to it, the column of his throat is red and also stippled with beads of sweat that drip down behind the fabric of his flannel shirt. His forearm holds your leg close to his chest as he rests his head against the side of your foot, gazing down at you. 

He’s handsome and loves to make you feel good. 

It’s all a trick. 

It doesn’t matter right now if it’s a trick, or if he’s genuine with why he’s doing what he’s doing- it feels so good– teetering on the edge of being too good. Too much. All at once it hits you like a tsunami. 

“Ok, ok, ok, ok!” You’re squealing and half trying to crawl away from him, but he holds you tight by the thigh and keeps up the speed of his fingers on your clit, his thrusts pummeling you into near blurry vision. 

He doesn’t care, he loves this, loves to see you like this. He whispered it to you once late at night in the darkness of the mattress store after he made you feel good over and over, again and again. Mister just chuckles at your useless, and half-hearted begging and his thrusts slow, but each one is deep and touches the furthest parts inside of you. 

It’s going to happen– your legs are shaking and your fingers dig into the sheets below you to hold on to something because it feels like you’re about to float away and explode all over again in such a different way. 

Joel grunts again, his thrusts becoming more erratic and clumsy, his fingers dip into the flesh of your upper thigh and you watch his knuckles go white. “C’mon– know ya’ got one more in there for me.” His voice is strained and you can tell he’s close too. 

And of course you have another one for him, you always do and he knows it. He knows how to draw it out of you and make you gush. 

The only sound you can make is a strained whimper as you come again, this time all over his lower stomach and pelvis. Joel groans loudly, and keeps his fingers strumming your clit rapidly while he knocks your leg off his shoulder and pulls out. 

He strokes himself with his free hand a couple of times, chasing his own release now that he’s given you more than you could ask for. He drags the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, looking down at you with hooded eyes. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he groans again, his fingers finally give you some much needed relief as they leave your clit. The pad of his thumb presses into the top of your slit and he pushes up– pulling you taught as he rubs the tip of his cock against your red, puffy and swollen lips. He moans loudly, hips bucking forward, fucking his fist as he splashes his cum against your cunt. 

You watch in fascination and adoration as he rubs the head up and down as he throbs with each release. He milks himself, and coats the outside of your pussy in his spend before he gives the side of your thigh another slap, gentler and more appreciative this time. 

“You stay there,” he pants softly, and begins to crawl off the bed. 

All the good feelings leave you immediately and fear rips through you again, “Where ya’ goin’?” You ask, scrambling after him, hissing loudly when your shoulder screams in protest. 

Joel turns around, already stuffing himself back into his Jeans with his finger pointed at you sternly. “I said stay there,” he’s firm when he says it, and gives you a look to match. 

You stifle the whine that builds in your throat as he stares you down– unblinking as he waits for you to lay back down. “You comin’ right back?” You ask, settling yourself back into the soft pillows behind your back. 

Joel nods silently, and heads into the bathroom attached to his bedroom and disappears. 

Then you are all alone in his room.

You hear the water turn on, and then off and he’s back in the doorway, his shirt partially unbuttoned with one hand still working on it and then a wet washcloth in the other. 

“Open’em,” he orders gently, much more gentle than he had been only a moment ago. His tone is inviting, and calming– caring. 

You let your legs fall apart, and Joel looks up at you, catching your eye as he rubs you clean, not too rough and careful of your oversensitive parts. 

“Thank you,” you whisper to him, blinking slowly in admiration of his handsomeness, even with his messy hair and scratched face and black eye. That you gave him. “Sorry for hurtin’ ya’,” you add just as quietly even though you mean it. 

Joel shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head softly. “Know you didn’t mean it.” 

You nod your head, “Was just a lot goin’ on, ‘n I got all confused–”

“S’like you didn’t even see me,” he starts, finishing undoing the buttons on his shirt. “-but you were lookin’ right at me.” He’s done cleaning between your legs and tosses the washcloth into his hamper. 

You feel the embarrassment crawling up your chest and neck– growing behind your cheeks. There isn’t anywhere to run to, or to hide. There isn’t a distance far enough away that Mister can’t reach you now, and that’s terrifying. 

“Almost like you went somewhere else entirely,” he keeps talking as he pulls his flannel off, leaving him in a white t-shirt. “Did it earlier out in the hall.” He gives you a look, like he knows but he doesn’t really understand. “Where do you go?”

If only he knew.

Try and explain it to him. 

He’ll think you’re crazy. Crazier than he already thinks you are. 

You avoid his eyes, and look for something to cover your lower half with instead. Joel notices and goes to his drawer and tosses you a pair of his boxers. 

“I had pants from–”

“We are very grateful for Maria and her charity but you don’t need it– don’t need her clothes, or her help. I’ll getchya everything you need, don’t worry ‘bout that.” He shakes his head as he watches you struggle to put the boxers on with one hand, and laying down. 

“She was just bein’ nice–”

Joel cuts you off again, “She was very nice to let you shower ‘n borrow some clothes, yes.” He agrees with you, but you can tell there is more to come. And you’re right. “I’m fully capable of gettin’ you everything you could need, and so we don’t have to take nothin’ from Maria and her donation box–” he pauses for a moment and sighs. “--when it could go to someone who really needs it. Ya’ don’t really need it.” 

That sounds very nice of Joel, very kind and protective– but there doesn’t feel like there is any truth to his words. It’s confusing. 

Something in your brain is itching to ask why Maria doesn’t like Mister and why Mister doesn’t seem to care for Maria. But you don’t. You keep quiet and just nod your head. 

“Do you wanna come with me ‘n look for Pud?” Joel asks, pushing his hair back away from his face with one hand. He looks tired, and you feel badly for him– feel badly for how you had treated him the last week before the raiders came. 

“We can wait ‘till the mornin’ if you wanna go to sleep,” you offer softly, scooching over to one side of the bed to give him room. 

Joel’s eyes flick between you and the space next to you and he sighs softly. “I know seein’ him would make you feel better- probably sleep a lil’ better too,” he rubs the back of his neck, eyes drifting back to you after a second. “He’s here. I promise I didn’t leave him– or hurt him…” Joel shakes his head. “I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that to you or Pud.” 

Those words sound genuine. He means it, and you know he’s telling you the truth and that warms something inside of you, eases some of the ache and tension. 

“‘Kay. Can ya’ help me–” You don’t even have to finish before Joel is reaching over and helping you unclasp the sling your left arm is still in. He helps side your arm out, and then he unbuttons the shirt you have on. 

“Got a shirt you can wear t’bed,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing against the curve of your tits as he slides the flannel off of you. 

He tosses the shirt you were wearing down to the floor with the jeans and heads back to his dresser. He comes back with a plain black tee and helps you slide it on as painlessly as possible. 

“Ready?” He asks, crawling into bed beside you– sleeping on the wet spot you made like it’s his preferred sleeping method. 

You nod at him, and push the comforter down with your feet and let him cover the both of you back up. He turns the light off on his bedside table, and reaches over doing the same to yours. 

When you sleep with Mister, you normally curl up into his side and he wraps an arm around you– but tonight that hurts and you opt to lay on your back. 

He’s next to you, throwing an arm over your waist and draping his leg over one of yours, pulling you close to him gently. “This good?” He asks softly in the dark. 

It’s more than good– but you still feel dread buried deep within you and it’s clawing its way through the fleshy parts inside. “Yeah,” you turn your head and press a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“If you try ‘n run away– I’ll come lookin' for ya’,” he whispers, kissing at your jaw as you turn your head to look at the ceiling. 

“I know,” you’re quiet like he is, running your fingers along his forearm. 

“And you won’t like what happens when I find ya’.” 

tag list: @probablyreadinsmut @lilac-boo @pedrospookie @ghoulettesinspace @itwasntimethatdidit40 @itsokbbygrlbutworsethistime @baronessvonglitter @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @joelmillerisapunk @pastelpinkflowerlife @tateypots @toxicrecs @the-orange-tabby-cat @gothcsz @almostempty @cubiclehoe @codenamekitten @shivispunk

^^ please let me know if I forgot you or you want to be added!!

[pronounrespector]

I don't think I'll ever get enough of violet handing different leaders of Navarre their asses every couple chapters

[tinyfantasminha]

Chapter 7 spoilers

Diasomnia Episode ● 7 - 53

[poetryqueer]

planning document must be going well I just said the words “explaining the endurance of Platonism could be the life I’m living” to myself. Alone. At 2:30am. Because yeah. Could be.

[readingiskeepingmegoing]

How I felt at the start of the chapter.

How I felt by the end.

I gave Stacia a tight smile as Joe spoke up, “We just wanted to check in and make sure Alec is keeping his distance?”

It Joe who's getting the redemption arc? Hmmmmmm, I find this idea potentially acceptable.

Dieter: I can’t do it today. I’m sorry. I tried, but I can’t.

He didn’t look at me as he walked over to sit his things down on a nearby chair. I could tell he was taking deep, controlled breaths as he turned to face me. He kept his head down, wringing his hands together as he approached.

This is so sad 😞 I just want to give him a cuddle and tell him it will all be ok.

He shook his head, “I don’t wanna talk about it. We have a job to do. That’s what I’m here for. I’ll keep it professional, as requested.”

😭😭😭

I was slower to leave, reaching my car about five minutes or so after he had left. I was surprised to find that he was still in the lot. He didn’t move to leave until I was in my car with the door shut. I guessed there were some habits that he wouldn’t be giving up.

He still needs to make sure that she is safe, no matter how badly his heart is hurting 🥺

It wasn’t the first time I had accidentally hit him in some way while dancing, but it was the first time he almost dropped me because of it.

They moved to follow me, but I stopped them, reaching to remove my mic pack. “No. It’s better if you don’t come. Just…lemme talk to him in private, please.”

Read the room, boys. They really don't need an audience.

He was shaking his head now as he stared at the ground, “No. I’m never dancing with anyone else. I can’t.”

Oh god, that hurts to hear him say that!

He gave me a deadpan stare, “Are you fucking serious right now? You preach about believing people can change and giving them second chances when you won’t even give me the first one. You’re too fucking scared to even try. Meanwhile you gave that abusive asshole how many chances? And I can’t even get one to prove myself to you. I’m never gonna treat you the way he did. I care about you too much to do that.”

Oh Dieter 🥺🥺🥺

I wanted to scream the same sentiment from the roof tops, but I was too fucking scared. Admitting to those feelings was giving him too much control. It would mean that I was letting him in. All the way. And I still wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.

Gah! Kat, if you won't talk to Dee, speak to a therapist, or your sister, just somebody. I completely understand why you have issues. It would be weird if you didn't, but pushing away the best thing that has ever happened to you is not going to make them go away.

He took a step toward me, his eyes boring into mine as he continued. “You can choose not to believe me if you want…but I need you to know that’s where I’m at. I’ve never said those words to anyone in my life. No one has ever made me feel this way. That’s how I know it’s real. It’s not some bullshit on set hookup. It never was. I knew you were it for me at the beginning of our first rehearsal and that’s never gonna change.”

He just told that for him it was essentially love at first sight 😭

Evan rubbed at the tops of his thighs and sighed, “Well, since I’m not supposed to discuss any of this with you, I definitely didn’t tell you that he’ll forgive you and that he does understand that part. Not that we’ve had in-depth conversations about it or anything…”

I can absolutely see Evan’s exasperated expression as he sits through an impromptu therapy session 😂

So, I feel like I can confidently say that he has changed. I see it…this is his best…and I worry less and less about it as time goes on. He’s committed now and he’s been doing so fucking good. I have no doubt that if you continue to be in his life, I’d never have to worry again. I’ve never seen him like this…with anyone. Trust me when I say that man is devoted to you in every way. You won’t have to worry about him sliding back into his old ways.”

Kat is his one, and only 🥹 She makes him what to be better, not only for her but for himself too.

Kat hadn’t even given me the first chance though. Not really. She had decided to nope out of it before I even had a chance to fuck things up. The worst part was, I couldn’t really blame her. I never felt worthy of her. Deep down I knew it was too good to last.

No, no, no! This hurts too much 😭 I know that he is in shock,and that's making everything thing heightened, but it breaks my heart that he feels that way.

That frustration reached a boiling point while we were filming on Thursday. I almost dropped Kat. If I had, she surely would have gotten hurt, which made me hate myself even more for how ridiculous I was being. She almost got hurt, because of me. It was just too much.

🥺🥺🥺

Looking back, I wasn’t proud of how I reacted in that moment. Somehow the old Dieter busted loose from his confines and decided to show his ass for a minute. That’s when I knew that I needed to step away. I was slipping.

That shows just how far he has come, that he can see he's unravelling.

What happened after that wasn’t my proudest moment. I drove to Evan’s house and essentially had a meltdown on his couch. He did not know how to handle that situation because it was a first.

While the thought of Evan’s complete confusion makes me giggle no end, can we take a moment to appreciate that Dieter went to Evan instead of backsliding and finding a dealer. I am so proud of him!

It was weighing on her, but I reasoned that it was because of how hard I was taking it. Not because she loved me back.

But she does! She really does, and she's going to tell you, the second she gets out of her head.

It made it hard to catch my breath. For the first time in weeks, I found myself wanting alcohol, just so I could get through this. I hated myself for it.

No! You don't do that Dieter, you've come too far to backtrack to the bad old days now. Think of Zee. She would be pissed.

She sighed, “It’s not really tampering. The bottom two will still be the same. I just need to give them a little wakeup call so that they get their shit together. Another week of this and they’re gone…and fucking Alec will still be here. What do you think that’ll do to ratings? Especially if word ever gets out about what he actually did to her…”

Wtf? 👀

Sneaky

I was packing up my bag when movement by the door caught my attention. Any excitement that I might have had was quickly deflated when my eyes locked with Anika’s as she came sashaying into the room like a predator ready to pounce on prey.

Oh no! Dee doesn't need to deal with her. Go away Anika

She was smiling again as her hand settled on the back of my neck, “You know, something to take your mind off things…off Kat. I can make you dinner…or do other things…”

Bloody hell! She's shameless! Have some class Anika.

I gave her a crooked smile and laughed nervously, tilting my head back as she suddenly leaned in, her hand pulling my head forward as she crashed her lips against mine. Everything about it felt so wrong. I honestly felt like I was going to be sick as I pushed her away just in time to see Kat’s back walking toward the exit.

An hour later, I found myself sitting at the bar of a local tavern, staring at a full tumbler sitting between my hands.

I paused just before putting the glass to my lips and turned to find the last person I ever expected sitting beside me. Lana. She had a sly smile on her face as she eyed me.

👀👀👀

I never thought it possible, but Lana Thompson officially had my full attention. My drink was forgotten as I turned to face her fully, “What do you mean the job you were hired to do?”

This has Stacia’s paw prints all over it.

You told me to go get you a coffee during a break. I think you called me ‘sugar tits’ somewhere in the middle of that demand too?

That is such a Dieter line 🤣

She smiled, “Now, Imma need you to go get your girl and fix this. Please. I’m a massive Dieterina Stan and I cannot stand to witness this mess any longer.”

Lana is redeemed!

I shrugged as I held in my smile, “Cranberry juice.”

🤣🤣 Good boy!

She shook her head, “You may be sober, but the chaos demon lives on…”

Always 😂

I squeezed her a little tighter, “Don’t worry baby girl, Imma figure out how to get your momma back.”

Our sweet Dieter and Kat are struggling, but they are limping along and trying their best. Are we shocked they were even able to rehearse? Are we shocked they had a shitty performance?

Quite surprised they managed to rehearse, such as it was. But I'm not surprised at all that they had a shitty performance. Their connection, both physical and emotional, is what makes them such good dance partners, and with it all going g haywire, it makes sense that they would struggle to connect for the dance.

Speaking of the performance, are we mad that Joe let Stacia fudged the bottom three results? Stacia obviously isn’t a fan of Alec…does that get her any brownie points? 😂

I'll let them off this time, but only because she doesn't want Alec to win. I'll allow her 1 brownie point. Stacia has the potential to earn more, but she needs to work for them.

And then we got Evan and Lydia coming in for a save. Do we think they should be getting in the middle of all this? Also, I love Evan. I just needed to say that.

Yes, they absolutely should be getting involved.

At this point, I'd be suggesting that the two of them lock Dieter and Kat in a room and don't let them out until everything is resolved.

Any chance of a Lydia-Evan friendship developing? I feel like they would get on well.

Now for the elephant in the room…Lana. How do we all feel about her now? Still hate her? Conflicted? Love her? I need to know your thoughts.

Pleasantly surprised. I wasn’t expecting any of that. I feel bad for her having to put up with Alec, but it was for the greater good. Redemption complete.

I know the chapter title says it will be the Quickstep, but I may switch it up to the Lambada, just because. We shall see.

The Lambada, you say? I'm listening, I'm interested.

Kat gets scolded by her sister.

Lydia will give it to Kat straight. And hopefully make her see sense.

Are Lydia and Dieter going to start building their own friendship? I would kinda love that.

Kat tends to her plants with thoughts of Dieter on her mind.

Plant Mama thinking about Plant Daddy 🥹

Dieter does another Instagram live

I can't wait!

Serious conversations are had

I have high hopes for reconciliation.

We finally find out what the song was that they danced the Viennese Waltz to

🥺

Closed Position: Week 9 (Jazz)

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition, Dancing with the Stars, would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble. 

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on the show to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo. 

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

Chapter Word Count: 12.3K

👉 Fic Warnings: Sexual tension, mutual pining, angst, so much smut (we get a little dom and sub Dieter, intimacy, use of a sex toy, sex acts in public, spanking...really it's all too much to list here - it's Dieter, use your imagination), spicy language, themes dealing with intimate partner violence (not by Dieter), past alcohol abuse, past drug abuse, and shitty parents. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Cat dad / plant dad Dieter comes with his own warnings.

Chapter Quote: "You’re not trying to fuck me too, are you?”

Kat’s POV

I stood staring at my puffy eyes in the mirror, now all cried out after a sleepless night alone in my own bed. I sighed, wondering if Dieter would even show up for this morning’s scheduled production meeting. The thought made me feel sick. I didn’t know what to say to him or if he would even speak to me. I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t as I now realized how the things I said must have sounded. I was treating him like everyone else had, by not believing in him and taking his sobriety seriously. That wasn’t my intention. The problem was me, not him. However, I didn’t know how to make him see that without it sounding like I didn’t trust that he had changed. Truth be told, deep down, there may have been some doubt driving it all and I just didn’t want to admit it. 

I puffed air out of my cheeks as I pulled my tank top off, my eyes dropping to the marks left by Dieter’s mouth on my breast. The memory of our Sunday morning exploits filled my thoughts. The way he knew me and my body without me ever having to say a word. How every second we spent together was filled with intimacy unlike anything I had ever experienced. This is why it was hard for me to understand why my mind was telling me that it was superficial and circumstantial. 

I reached for the braid in my hair, pulling out the tie before working my fingers through it to loosen the strands from their confines. Dieter had been doing this for me. It had quickly become one of our morning rituals. My fingers didn’t feel the same as his. He wasn’t standing behind me, catching my gaze in the mirror with a smirk on his lips - and it was my fault. It was then I realized that I had given him everything, body and soul, and he still held those pieces. I knew that I would never get them back and I didn’t know how to handle it. 

I could feel the tears threatening to fall again, but somehow managed to shake them off as I stepped into the shower. I stood there for a time, allowing the hot spray to run down my face and hopefully calm the swelling caused by my emotional state. I felt like a mess, but eventually settled into a hazy numbness that I knew would be needed to get through the day and probably the next four weeks. 

I soon found myself walking toward Television City Studios without even remembering how I got there. The whole morning was a blur. I paused outside the door, allowing my eyes to scan the lot for Dieter’s car but I didn’t see it. I sighed in frustration, realizing I probably needed to have an excuse planned for Stacia and Joe in case he didn’t show up. 

As I sat waiting, my leg bounced incessantly. My eyes shifted between the clock on the wall and the entry door, anxiously awaiting Dieter’s arrival. When one of the young PA’s came to call me back for the meeting, he still hadn’t arrived. I nodded and stood to make my way to the conference room. When I entered, Stacia and Joe eyed me before their eyes trailed toward the door. 

Stacia was the first to speak, “Where’s Dieter?”

I opened my mouth to respond but was cut off before I said anything.

“I’m here,” Dieter called from the doorway as he rushed in to take the seat to my right. “Sorry, I got held up in traffic.” 

I exhaled a shaky breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding. I chanced a glance in his direction. He was staring straight ahead at Stacia and Joe, not even bothering to acknowledge me. He was wearing a hat and sunglasses. I could just make out his creased brows as his jaw tightened. My eyes drifted down, noticing the rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was shallow, like he was having trouble catching a breath, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he kept a stony expression fixed on the two people sitting across the table from us. I noticed he had one hand fisted on his thigh, clenching and unclenching, no doubt leaving fingernail imprints on his palm as he did so. 

I had to force myself to look away, my gaze now settling on Stacia and Joe who seemed to be watching us in silence. They were clearly already sensing the awkward energy between us. Stacia’s head tilted to the side, “What happened to you two last night? You weren’t there for the bottom three announcements.” 

Dieter’s head turned toward me, that stony expression still on his face. I glanced over at him, but I couldn’t read him without seeing his eyes. I found myself wishing he would take those fucking sunglasses off. 

I cleared my throat, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t feeling well. I uhh, got sick.” 

Stacia’s left brow ticked upward, “Are you still feeling ill? Do we need to get someone else to step in this week?” 

I shook my head, “No…No, I’m fine now. I think it was something I ate.” 

Her eyes shifted between us. She definitely didn’t buy that. The tension between us was too obvious. There was no hiding it. 

“Everything still going well between you two?” she asked. 

I rubbed at my temple nervously. I didn’t know how to answer that. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Dieter said. His voice was gruff. Raw. Like he had just woken up, except there was an undertone of something else. Sadness maybe? He didn’t sound very convincing, and it made my chest ache. 

They didn’t question it further, but I knew that they knew something was wrong. I could see it on their faces as they went through the motions of going through this week's routine. We would be doing Jazz, for which I was thankful. It was less intimate and would allow us to have some distance from each other. I didn’t pay any attention to the costume sketches. I stared at the pages without seeing them as I nodded in approval. I couldn’t even remember what the song of the week was as they wrapped up the meeting. 

Dieter inhaled a deep breath and stood, not hesitating to head toward the hallway as Stacia asked me to hang back for a moment. Dieter glanced in my direction, gnawing on the inside of his cheek before he stepped out of the room. I gave Stacia a tight smile as Joe spoke up, “We just wanted to check in and make sure Alec is keeping his distance?”

The question caught me off guard. Alec was the last thing on my mind at the moment. I managed a nod, “Yeah…he’s keeping away. I’ve not had any issues with him.” 

They both gave me tight smiles and nodded. “Good. Let us know if that changes, please,” Joe replied. 

“Yeah, of course,” I agreed before standing. “Anything else?” I asked. 

They shook their heads, and I took that as my cue to leave. As I said my goodbyes, I could feel their eyes on me until I was out of sight. Dieter and I had almost certainly set them into a tailspin with this development. 

When I got to the lobby, I scanned the area for Dieter, but he was nowhere to be found. I knew it was wishful thinking, but he had come to the meeting. Hopefully he would come to rehearsal, too - give me a chance to clarify what I was feeling. I needed him to know that it wasn’t him. I needed to make him understand that much at least. 

I left after that, my eyes still surveying the lot for him as I got into my car. He was long gone. I puffed air out of my cheeks as I decided to go pick up a quick lunch. I settled on fast food, realizing nothing looked appetizing as I stared at the menu board. I ended up with a grilled chicken sandwich that I didn’t really eat. I mostly just picked at it and nibbled on a few fries. I hated wasting food, but I just couldn't stomach it. I felt too disgusted with myself. I threw a handful of fries out for the waiting birds, then threw everything else in the trash. 

After watching the birds devour the fries for a few minutes, I headed toward the dance studio for rehearsal. Dieter wasn’t there. I tried to ignore that twisted feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me he wasn’t coming, but it was hard. That feeling intensified with each passing second. 

After twenty minutes, I decided to pull up our song to keep myself occupied. The song was called One Heart. I lay there on the floor with my eyes closed, thinking through possible choreography for the week while trying not to pay attention to the lyrics about a breakup and all the things left unsaid between two people. The producers really did have an unsettling ability to choose songs to fit the mood of the week. 

Thirty more minutes passed, and Dieter was still a no show. I grabbed my phone to check if I had any messages. Nothing. He was almost an hour late. He wasn’t coming. I fought back tears at the realization. I don’t really know what I expected. I probably would have done the same thing if I were him, but I at least would have told him I wasn’t coming. I opened my messenger app and found his name. 

Me: Are you coming to rehearsal?

I watched as the indicator immediately changed to “Read”. The three bubbles began bouncing indicating he was typing, but then stopped. This happened several more times before his reply finally came through. 

Dieter: I can’t do it today. I’m sorry. I tried, but I can’t. 

The tears that I had been holding in, finally slipped free. He didn’t have to say it. I could read between the lines. He was hurting. Because of me. I sat staring at the wall for a beat, forcing myself to feel the self-inflicted pain that I deserved. I wiped the tears away, then glanced back down at my phone. Hopeful as I typed out a reply. 

Me: It’s ok. We can pick it up tomorrow.  

I waited, watching the bubbles bounce, pause, then start again. 

Dieter: Yeah, maybe. 

Well, it wasn’t a no, and he didn’t tell me to fuck off. So, maybe it was a small win. 

Instead of going home and licking my wounds, I stayed at the studio and worked on our routine. I did still have a job to do after all. It would be better to have something started than nothing at all. 

I damn near had our entire routine planned out as I sunk into bed that evening, worn out and aching from pushing myself to go through it the best I could without a partner. Even though my body was tired, my mind was not. It was another restless night. 

On Wednesday, I awoke feeling like my body was twisted in a knot. Everything hurt, but I persevered - taking a scorching hot shower and loading up on anti-inflammatory pain relievers. It helped enough to make it bearable. I felt almost human as I walked into the empty dance studio. To pass time, I began stretching. The anxious feeling quickly returned to the pit of my stomach, that fear that Dieter wasn’t going to show again. If he didn’t show today, I wasn’t sure if we would make it through this week. 

An hour passed, and I lost hope. I wasn���t about to sit here for the full seven and a half hours if he wasn't planning to come. I took a deep breath as I reached for my phone. 

Me: Just checking in…are you coming to rehearsal today?

It was marked as read almost immediately. I waited at least ten minutes before his response finally came through. 

Dieter: Yes. 

I suddenly felt nauseous. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to see him, but I didn’t really have a choice. We still had a job to do. 

Twenty-five more minutes passed, and he still hadn’t shown up. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as I walked into the hallway and peered out the windows into the parking lot. I was surprised to see his car sitting in the front row. He was still in the driver's seat with his head leaned back against the headrest, not moving for several minutes. 

Eventually, the door opened, and he stepped out. He stood there, staring toward the building as he raked a hand down his face. He sighed heavily as he leaned against the car and shook his head. Then he turned, sinking back into the driver’s seat. His feet were still planted on the pavement as he placed his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. I knew I shouldn’t be watching him, but I couldn’t help it. Some part of me needed to see this. To see what I was doing to him. 

I wanted to go to him, but I didn’t feel like that would be the right thing to do. I didn’t want to send mixed signals because I still felt like we needed some space so that I could figure my stuff out. It wouldn’t be fair to string him along if I wasn’t sure what I wanted. 

His hands slid upward, pushing his hair away from his brow. He sat with his hands on his head, staring at the pavement for what seemed like forever. He puffed air out of his cheeks, then finally stood. He turned to grab his phone, keys, and water bottle out of the car before walking toward the entrance. I took a deep, calming breath as I headed back to our assigned studio space. 

It was several minutes before he finally entered the room. I assumed he had to give himself one last pep talk beforehand. He didn’t look at me as he walked over to sit his things down on a nearby chair. I could tell he was taking deep, controlled breaths as he turned to face me. He kept his head down, wringing his hands together as he approached. 

Now that I was seeing him up close, without his sunglasses, I could see how tired he looked. He had dark circles under his eyes and his face looked puffy. His hair was a mess, like he had run his fingers through it a million times. His patchy beard was more scruffy than normal, sticking out in all directions. I wanted nothing more than to hug him. 

He finally raised his head, looking everywhere but at my face. That hurt more than I realized it would. 

“Dieter, I…” I started, but he held up his hand to stop me. 

He shook his head, “I don’t wanna talk about it. We have a job to do. That’s what I’m here for. I’ll keep it professional, as requested.” 

My heart was pounding in my ears. I was not expecting him to handle it like this. 

“Can I just…” I began again, but he cut me off. 

“No. If it’s not about the routine, I don’t wanna hear it.” 

I sighed, accepting defeat. I could see the pain in his eyes, and it was killing me. I didn’t know what to say that would take it away. I realized there was nothing I could say to him right now that wouldn’t make it worse. 

“Ok. Let’s go over what I have so far then. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.” 

We got to work. The undercurrent of tension never ceasing as we went through the motions. Everything between us felt negatively charged. The dancing was different. Our connection fragmented. We no longer moved as one. It was messy, causing frustrations to rise as we both struggled through it. 

When our rehearsal time was up, Dieter didn’t linger. He grabbed his belongings and told me to have a good evening and quickly exited the studio without a second glance in my direction. I was slower to leave, reaching my car about five minutes or so after he had left. I was surprised to find that he was still in the lot. He didn’t move to leave until I was in my car with the door shut. I guessed there were some habits that he wouldn’t be giving up. 

I woke up on Thursday feeling just as shitty as the day before. I wasn’t taking care of myself, and my body wasn’t happy about it. Add that to the loneliness I was feeling and the sadness over Dieter and it made for a bad morning.

Not to mention that it was filming day, and I was absolutely dreading it. After how it had gone the previous day with Dieter, I wasn’t sure how things were going to appear anywhere remotely close to normal. I knew it would be obvious to anyone watching that something was off between us. 

Dieter and I arrived at the dance studio close to the same time. The filming crew was already nearly finished with setup, so we got started with our stretches. There was no helping each other stretch or playful banter between us like there normally was. We were silent and avoided eye contact. It was already setting the stage for the massive blow up to come. 

I could tell from the glances that the crew were shooting at each other that they were picking up on the weird vibes. It wasn’t like they were hard to miss. Things started off cordial between us, much like the previous day. However, it was clear there were lingering frustrations with the routine. Dieter was having a hard time focusing and picking up the steps. It was Jazz, not the typical ballroom stuff, so it did make things a little more complicated. I knew he was better than this though. I knew it was because his mind was on other things. 

Three hours in, we were both still fumbling through the routine. We were completely out of sync and tripping over each other. The more I pointed out his mistakes and tried to correct them, the more frustrated he got. In turn, causing him to make more mistakes. I really wasn’t trying to pick on him, instead trying to stay focused on the choreography since we had cameras on us. 

For the first time ever, we started bickering. The escalating tension was evident and only encouraged the camera crew to stick around longer than they normally would have. We were slowly turning into a ticking time bomb, arguing about everything aside from what we really needed to talk about. 

It all finally came to a head as we practiced a lift. He didn’t lean his head back like he was supposed to as he hoisted me upward, which resulted in him getting knocked in the face by my knee. It wasn’t the first time I had accidentally hit him in some way while dancing, but it was the first time he almost dropped me because of it. 

He scrambled to catch me just before my face smacked the ground, managing to gain control at the last second and set me down carefully as he let out a loud groan. His mic pack came unclipped from his waistband and banged against the floor next to my head as he turned away rubbing at his lower back. I reacted quickly, knocking it away before it swung at me. It was still hanging from the cord, dragging behind Dieter as he walked in a wide circle, pushing through whatever pain he was feeling. 

“Are you ok?” I asked.

His eyes cut toward me, anger flashing in them in a way I had never seen. “No, I’m not fucking OK. I almost dropped you and I think I pulled something.” 

His harsh tone made me flinch, surprising me more than anything. I watched as he turned to continue his pacing, then nearly tripped over the mic pack that was still trailing after him. He was clearly at his limit as he reached for the cord to lift the pack into his hand. Then he shocked us all by yanking the wire loose from his shirt and slung the whole thing toward the wall with enough force that it broke into several pieces. He promptly turned on his heel, muttering obscenities as he walked through the double doors, leaving us all in stunned silence. 

All eyes eventually turned to me. I sucked in a sharp breath, realizing that the whole incident had been caught on camera. Fuck. 

One of the crew asked me what was going on. So, I gave the best lie I could come up with in the moment. I shrugged, “We’ve been going nonstop for nine weeks. We’re tired, we’re old, and everything hurts. It’s just taking its toll.”

I finally stood from where I had been sitting on the floor, “I’ll go check on him.” 

They moved to follow me, but I stopped them, reaching to remove my mic pack. “No. It’s better if you don’t come. Just…lemme talk to him in private, please.” 

They relented, hanging back as I moved out to the hallway. I glanced around, but didn’t see him. His phone was still lying in the studio, so I didn’t think he had left. I decided to check outside, which is where I found him leaning against the side of his car. He had one arm wrapped around his torso, the elbow of the other propped on it as he rubbed at the crease between his brows. His entire body looked tense, coiled tight and waiting to explode. 

I approached him cautiously, not even really sure of what to say because this obviously wasn’t about the rehearsal. I settled on, “Is your back OK?” 

He scoffed, “Yeah…but I can’t do this. I can’t keep doing this. It’s too much for me.”

I sighed, “So, what? You’re just gonna quit?”

He shrugged, “It would be better than torturing myself.”

I felt like he had just knocked the wind out of me. I shook my head, “No, I’ll just ask to have someone replace me. You deserve to finish.”

He was shaking his head now as he stared at the ground, “No. I’m never dancing with anyone else. I can’t.” 

I let out a humorless laugh, “I’m sure it wouldn’t take you long to get over it if you got a new partner. Dancing has a way of doing that.” 

He scoffed, the hint of anger that I saw flash in his eyes earlier was back. “You have no right telling me about my feelings. I know what I’m feeling, and I know it’s real. You’re a hypocrite and a coward for believing otherwise.”

It was my turn to scoff, “Excuse me? How the hell am I a hypocrite and coward for trying to be honest with you about where I’m at emotionally?” 

He gave me a deadpan stare, “Are you fucking serious right now? You preach about believing people can change and giving them second chances when you won’t even give me the first one. You’re too fucking scared to even try. Meanwhile you gave that abusive asshole how many chances? And I can’t even get one to prove myself to you. I’m never gonna treat you the way he did. I care about you too much to do that.”

I stood with my mouth agape, not even sure how to respond. He wasn’t wrong, I hadn’t really given him a chance. And deep down, I knew my choices were being driven by fear, but that didn’t mean my worries were any less legitimate. 

“Dieter…it’s not that simple. This is complicated for me…and I just need…”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out in a rush. 

“time…what?” I was convinced I heard him wrong. 

His dark watery gaze was almost owlish as he stared at me, “I said, I’m in love with you…Kat.”

I felt paralyzed by his words. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I just stood there peering up at him in disbelief. He looked deflated when I didn’t say anything in return, and it crushed me. I wanted to scream the same sentiment from the roof tops, but I was too fucking scared. Admitting to those feelings was giving him too much control. It would mean that I was letting him in. All the way. And I still wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.  

He took a step toward me, his eyes boring into mine as he continued. “You can choose not to believe me if you want…but I need you to know that’s where I’m at. I’ve never said those words to anyone in my life. No one has ever made me feel this way. That’s how I know it’s real. It’s not some bullshit on set hookup. It never was. I knew you were it for me at the beginning of our first rehearsal and that’s never gonna change.” 

I could feel the tears pooling in my eyes. I wanted to close the distance between us, tell him I was sorry and wrong and beg him to forget everything I had said, but I couldn’t. The fear was still holding me back and somehow escalating to crippling levels with his words. 

When I still didn’t respond, any remaining hope he had seemed to fade from his eyes. The crease between his brows was deeper than I had ever seen as his lips set into a tight line with a slight downward turn. He nodded, seeming to take my lack of response as his answer. 

He reached into his pocket for his keys as he turned, opening the car door to get inside. I somehow managed to catch my breath and find my voice, “No, wait. I…just need time, OK? That’s all I’m asking for.”

He paused and sighed, not bothering to look my way as he responded. “If that’s all you can say to me right now, then I think I know where I stand. I just wish you would admit it.” 

I shook my head as the tears fell freely, “Dieter…no. That’s not…”

He didn’t even let me finish before he got into the car, shutting the door and starting the ignition without another glance in my direction. I could see the pain etched on his face as he backed out of the parking space and disappeared from my sight.

Without warning, a sob burst from my chest. I was fucking this up so badly and I didn’t even fully understand why. He was doing everything right. He made me happy. I felt safe with him. We were amazing together. Yet, I was still holding back. His past did worry me, but he hadn’t given me any reason to doubt that he had changed. He couldn’t help that his past behavior lingered in the minds of others who now judged him incorrectly. I knew that, yet I was still letting it warp my feelings about who he was now. I knew most of this confusion and fear was being caused by Alec. I may have removed him from my life, but he was still controlling it - controlling me. I hated myself for allowing it. 

Once I finally pulled myself together the best I could, I had to go back inside and tell the film crew we were done for the day. Internally I was fuming because I knew Stacia and Joe would find out about everything that just happened before I even stepped foot inside my house this evening. 

I didn’t linger, I was packed up and out the door before the film crew. I realized Dieter had indeed left his phone, so I grabbed it to take with me. When I got home, I unlocked it to find Evan’s number so I could let him know that I had it. I was surprised to discover that the wallpaper was a picture of me cuddling Zee. It was one I hadn’t seen. I wasn’t even sure when he had taken it. It had me feeling teary eyed all over again. 

(More good stuff after the images. Click to enlarge.)

I opened his contacts, shocked that he didn’t have many numbers saved. He wasn’t lying when he said he cleaned out his phone. It only took me a second to scroll down to Evan’s name to get his number. 

After firing off a text to Evan, I opened Dieter’s photo app. I knew I shouldn’t, but curiosity got the best of me. He had an album called ‘Things to Remember’ that jumped out at me. It had random screenshots of quotes and recipes. There were also pictures of his Oscar, plants, Zee, and me. So many pictures of me that I didn’t know he had taken. It made me feel warm, causing my heart to race. 

I wondered why he had these specific pictures in this album. Then I realized, aside from the quotes and recipes, it was a collection of moments he wanted to remember as they were - as he saw them. Just quick snaps of time to hold onto, almost like he expected them to disappear. Or like he needed a reminder that they were real. I wondered what he thought about when he looked at them. Did each one stir a specific emotion that he didn’t want to forget? It was the only thing that made sense.

Some of the pictures seemed so random. The first that stood out was me lying snuggled in his bed with my bare back exposed and bathed in sunlight, hair fanned out around my head. There was another of me in the kitchen, wearing nothing but his t-shirt as I made dinner. Another of me deep in concentration as I worked to carefully prune one of his plants. There were so many of me and Zee. I couldn’t help smiling as I looked through them, each one a reminder of how happy he made me. This was what I needed to focus on. Not all the static and noise from everyone else. 

I turned my attention to screenshots of quotes. A couple of them made my heart clench in my chest. Especially the two most recent ones that were dated from the previous day. 

“The sensitive suffer more; but they love more, and dream more.”

“I wanted you to see the mess and still find me worthy of love, to tell me that you could still love me anyway.”

I sighed, wiping away a few stray tears as I locked Dieter’s phone and put it on the table. Of all the ways I could have hurt him, this was the worst one. I wasn’t even sure if I could fix it if I wanted to. 

A short time later, I received a text from Evan saying he would be by to pick up Dieter’s phone and drop off some of my things. The thought of Dieter removing traces of me from his home hurt. I couldn't blame him though. I probably would have done the same if I were him. Especially if he was hurting as badly as I now realized he was. 

When I opened the door, Evan didn’t greet me. Instead, he pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. I gave him a nervous smile and motioned for him to come inside. He came halfway into the entryway before spinning on his heel, holding out a tote bag in offering.

“Dieter wanted me to drop this stuff off. He thought you might need it while wallowing in self-pity...” He paused, gasping dramatically before continuing. “I mean…he didn’t say that last part. I did. Except I’m not allowed to talk to you about it.”  

I gave him a tight smile, “I probably deserved that. It’s fine.” 

His eyes surveyed me from head to toe before he finally said, “You look as shitty as he does. I don’t understand what happened…why it’s still happening… Can’t we just apologize to each other and live happily ever after? Because I need happy Dieter back. Sad Dieter is a pain in the ass to deal with.” 

I could see why Dieter liked Evan. He really was no nonsense and had a way with words. I guess you have to when you’ve essentially been Dieter Bravo’s babysitter for half his life. 

I sighed, “I’m sorry you're stuck in the middle of this. This isn’t…It’s not what I intended to happen. I really just wanted to press pause so I could have a minute to think…to process everything that’s happened…to make sure what we’re feeling is real.”

I moved to sit on the couch. Evan trailed behind and joined me. His face was empathetic as he took in my words.

“Dieter isn’t wrong. I’m scared. I’m feeling a lot of things, and I don’t really know how to process it all. A lot of it is new…and after what I’ve been through with my ex, it’s hard…to…I dunno. Let someone else in? I guess? I’m not really sure. I’m still trying to understand it myself.” 

Evan rubbed at the tops of his thighs and sighed, “Well, since I’m not supposed to discuss any of this with you, I definitely didn’t tell you that he’ll forgive you and that he does understand that part. Not that we’ve had in-depth conversations about it or anything…”

I gave him a sad smile. He really was just as ridiculous as Dieter sometimes. 

He paused, pulling his lips back as he sucked air through his teeth. “I’m also not telling you that it’s ok to worry about his sobriety and past behavior. It’s a natural human response, especially with his history. I do it every day. I saw his slow spiral and I’ve seen him at his worst. So, I feel like I can confidently say that he has changed. I see it…this is his best…and I worry less and less about it as time goes on. He’s committed now and he’s been doing so fucking good. I have no doubt that if you continue to be in his life, I’d never have to worry again. I’ve never seen him like this…with anyone. Trust me when I say that man is devoted to you in every way. You won’t have to worry about him sliding back into his old ways.”

The tears were falling again. This really was something I needed to hear. It helped smother my dumpster fire of thoughts just a little bit. I also didn’t feel as guilty for letting those things get to me. 

“Thank you, Evan. That does hold some weight coming from you. I appreciate you not telling me.” 

He smiled, “Can I give you a hug? I feel like you need a hug.”

I laughed, a genuine laugh and nodded. He gave me a real hug. Not a measly lean in and pat on the back. It was firm and warm, the kind that friends share. I was thankful for it. 

When he pulled away, he cleared his throat. “Now, I am supposed to tell you that Dieter will be at rehearsal tomorrow. After a mini meltdown he called Lenny and begged to leave the show, but Lenny won’t let him…Actually, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part. Whatever. Anyway, he’ll be at rehearsal. I hope you two can figure this out. Call me if you need anything, yeah? Even if it’s to not talk about any of this.” 

I gave him another sad smile as he picked up Dieter’s phone from the table and stood to leave. It hurt to know that Dieter did try to get out of the show, but at least we still had time to figure things out. 

After all, time was the only thing I was asking for. 

Dieter’s POV

This week had been literal hell for me. I spent Monday night blaming myself. I knew that something was going on with Kat. I could sense her pulling away. I had told myself not to push her and to give her space, only offering support when she needed it. In the past, that had worked. It had been what she wanted. So, I stayed the course this time, trusting that she would talk to me about whatever was bothering her when she was ready. That’s where I had gone wrong. I should have pushed harder. Perhaps if I had, she wouldn’t have spiraled in such an epic way. 

I never would have dreamed that she had reached the point of effectively ending things in this way. She said she needed time, but her reasoning for it was a punch to the gut. It hurt like hell to know that she didn’t believe in me, especially after the bullshit she said about believing in second chances. Sure, I’ve had my fair share of second chances as far as my career, and let’s be real - continuing to be alive. Kat hadn’t even given me the first chance though. Not really. She had decided to nope out of it before I even had a chance to fuck things up. The worst part was, I couldn’t really blame her. I never felt worthy of her. Deep down I knew it was too good to last. 

And just like that, my self-hatred spiral was back in force. After staying up most of the night I decided that I could manage it and push through. Put a pause on things like she asked and go back to being professional for the sake of the show and my career. My resolve was already faltering when I left for our production meeting on Tuesday. I ended up driving in circles around the studio for at least twenty minutes before I dug up the courage to park and go inside. The timing ended up working out, being called to the conference room as soon as I walked in the door. 

If I had come early and been forced to make small talk with Kat beforehand, I wouldn’t have made it through the meeting. I barely made it through as it was. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at her without nearly bursting into tears. Having to sit next to her and hear her voice was bad enough. 

When the meeting was over, I exited the room like the building was on fire, but not before catching a quick glimpse of Kat. I realized she looked just as tired and broken as I did. I wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and tell her it would be OK, but I knew that wouldn’t go over well. Truth be told, I didn’t know how to act around her now. I was never going to be able to pick up where we left off before New York. It was impossible. Too much had happened between us for that. Those thoughts only seemed to ramp up my anxiety about the situation and turned me into a wound up, bumbling mess. I knew I couldn’t go to rehearsal like that. I tried, but I couldn’t do it. I felt like such an idiot over the whole thing. 

With great effort, I somehow managed to get it together enough to show up for rehearsal on Wednesday. Though I probably would have been better off not going. Things between Kat and I were tense. Broken. We absolutely could not get on the same page. I knew most of it was my fault because I couldn’t focus. It hurt too much to be near her. I couldn’t even look at her directly without my bottom lip quivering like a fucking child. 

It didn’t take long for the frustration to set in. I was slowly falling apart, and I knew it. The more I tried to get it together the worse things got, and it was pissing me off. That frustration reached a boiling point while we were filming on Thursday. I almost dropped Kat. If I had, she surely would have gotten hurt, which made me hate myself even more for how ridiculous I was being. She almost got hurt, because of me. It was just too much. 

Looking back, I wasn’t proud of how I reacted in that moment. Somehow the old Dieter busted loose from his confines and decided to show his ass for a minute. That’s when I knew that I needed to step away. I was slipping. 

I wish I had just left as soon as I went to the car. I knew Kat would come looking for me. I knew she would confront me. What I hadn’t expected was my sudden outburst telling her how deep my feelings really were. It wasn’t the time for it, but I think part of me thought it would make her realize that I was all in for this. Maybe she would see how ridiculous she was being and say everything was going to be OK, but that’s not what happened. She just stood there staring at me like I had three heads and said nothing. 

I felt like I had made an ass of myself. I regretted it the second the words left my mouth. However, there was some part of me that was happy it was out there now. At least she knew where I stood, and she could do with it as she pleased. The fact that she didn’t seem to reciprocate the sentiment was hitting me hard though. I would have been better off not knowing. 

What happened after that wasn’t my proudest moment. I drove to Evan’s house and essentially had a meltdown on his couch. He did not know how to handle that situation because it was a first. Realizing I had left my phone at the studio, I made him call Lenny so I could beg him to get me off the show. I offered to fake an injury if need be. I wasn’t above it at this point. Lenny’s response was that I needed to put my big boy panties on and that I needed to learn to deal with the consequences of my actions and stop dipping my dick where I work. He wasn’t wrong, but this was different. It was Kat. Not some random hookup. 

Evan followed me home after that and put up with my manic frenzy to gather up Kat’s things so that they were out of sight. I couldn’t handle seeing the traces of her in my house. It hurt too much. I needed a clean slate so I could reset. Otherwise, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do this. 

Kat had apparently texted Evan to let him know she had my phone. I shoved him out the door with a bag of her things and gave explicit instructions not to discuss any of this with her while he was there to get my phone. He looked completely exasperated as I slammed the door in his face. 

I stayed up pretty much the entire night, alternating between snuggling Zee, plant care, and painting. I couldn’t shut my mind off and felt the need to keep busy, so I didn’t turn to darker methods of coping. I finally fell asleep as the sun was rising, but it wasn’t for long because I had rehearsal. 

I slept through my alarm and ended up being an hour late. I was in a bad mood as I made my way into the studio, firing off a quick bullshit response about scheduling conflicts to Dr. Smith’s questions about why I was a no show for my therapy session this week. 

When I entered the studio, Kat looked torn between being pissed and empathetic. I knew I looked like shit. I hadn’t even bothered to wash all the paint off my hands before I left the house. She looked like she was about to say something that I wasn’t really in the mood to hear, so I cut her off before she could get the words out.

“Let’s just stick to the topic of dance, please. I don’t think we really need to discuss anything else at this point.” 

I still couldn’t look at her, not directly. It was torture. Instead, I looked past her, focusing on the wall at the back of the room as she nodded. We got to it after that. I somehow managed to shut my mind off, going completely numb as we worked in mostly silence. The only words shared between us were about the routine. 

Saturday and Sunday rehearsals went pretty much the same way, except I somehow managed to show up on time. Not that I was feeling any better or was able to get any rest. I was just going through the motions. Existing really. Shutting everything off was the only way I could get through this without turning to old habits.

That doesn’t mean that I didn’t feel the distance growing between Kat and me. I felt it every second of the day. I knew she felt it too. I could see it in the way she looked at me in those few instances I managed a quick glance at her face. It was weighing on her, but I reasoned that it was because of how hard I was taking it. Not because she loved me back. 

Monday, I woke up feeling anxious, not knowing how the day was going to go. I knew this show day was going to be different and I was dreading it. I arrived at the studio at my usual time. Kat was there as well, which meant we were first to go through camera blocking. It was obvious that we were still not on the same page, both of us making several mistakes on each run through. When we were finished, she gave me a few pointers. Then she disappeared. I assumed she went to her dressing room or maybe to do her final costume fitting. 

It felt strange not having her by my side. Others seemed to notice her absence as well, giving me odd glances as I passed by. The whispers started when I showed up for hair and makeup alone. No one would ask me directly, but I could hear the hushed murmurs wondering where Kat was. It definitely didn’t help my sour mood and I’m sure the scowl on my face was only fueling it further. It was a ruthless cycle. 

After having a quick costume fitting, I headed to the main ballroom for our dress rehearsal. It was the first time I had seen Kat since camera blocking. We had somehow managed to successfully avoid each other all morning. She looked beautiful as always, wearing some sort of pink fringe thing that looked amazing against her glowing skin. Her face told another story though. She looked tired and sad. I was suddenly worried she hadn’t been taking care of herself like she should. I hated myself all over again for being the reason behind it if that were the case. 

I walked over to stand next to her, waiting for our turn. She briefly glanced up at me before turning her gaze downward toward the floor. I inhaled deeply, trying to keep my composure. Everything about this felt wrong and I hated it. 

Minutes later, we were called up to go through our routine. On the first run through, I took a wrong step and nearly tripped over her. They made us start over. The second run through went a little better, but the minor mistakes were still happening. We were both making them. This led to more whispers among the cast as we exited the ballroom. 

We both went back to our respective dressing rooms after that. Kat walked ahead of me, not looking back as she closed the door behind her. I rubbed at my face, puffing air out of my cheeks as I passed her door to go to mine. This really was fucking torture. 

I sat alone in my dressing room after that. I felt lonelier than I ever had, to the point that it was making me sick. This space didn’t feel the same without Kat in it. There was a layer of nervousness there too. I knew this performance would not be one of our best. The competition was down to six couples. It’s not like we had a lot of room to be fucking up at this point. I knew this could be the one that got us voted off the show. Part of me almost welcomed that outcome so that I could get away from the stress of it all. The other part worried it would be the last time I would see Kat and didn’t want it to end. 

Before I knew it, we were being called to the staging area for the show to start. I found a spot to watch the show from, trying not to pay attention to the odd looks as I stood alone. I eventually sensed Kat’s presence. She appeared beside me, arms hugging her body as she watched the opening performance. The air felt charged between us, but not in the same way it usually was. It felt thick and suffocating. It made it hard to catch my breath. For the first time in weeks, I found myself wanting alcohol, just so I could get through this. I hated myself for it. 

We were soon called to take our places as this weeks behind the scenes footage played on the screens. They were definitely playing up the drama I had caused. I hadn’t really considered how that was going to look to the audience or thought of a response if asked about it. It made my anxiety ramp up just a little bit more. For the first time in days, I met Kat’s gaze fully and held it as we took our places. I could see the worry in her eyes. She knew this wasn’t going to go well as much as I did. 

And it didn’t. 

There were no smiles between us as we danced. Just concentration and disappointment as we powered through our screw ups. We had a hard time staying in sync, even getting off rhythm a couple of times. It wasn’t a terrible performance, but it wasn’t a week 9 performance. I looked like a rookie in my first week with messy footwork and bad timing. 

When we finished, all I could do was shake my head and let out a controlled breath as I followed Kat over to the interview area. They of course asked me what was going on this week. I followed Kat’s explanation of being old and tired and tried to laugh it off. The judges were not impressed. They tore the performance apart and expressed their disappointment, making sure to let us know this wasn’t the time to drop the ball because the remaining couples are going to be tough to beat even when we were performing at a high level. My stomach sank, convinced that tonight would be our last night. They gave us two sixes and two sevens, which was higher than I was expecting. However, it was the lowest score of the night. 

Through all of this, Kat stood silently beside me with her hands clasped in front of her. Her eyes seemed to be fixed on something in the distance. She looked like she was completely disassociating. After they read off our scores, she crossed in front of me to exit the stage, pinching the bridge of her nose as she went. My chin dropped to my chest as I followed behind her. 

Production Control Room

The production control room was buzzing with activity as the staff worked to certify audience and viewer votes before time to announce the bottom three couples. Stacia and Joe sit impatiently waiting for the results. Both are frustrated by the turn of events with Dieter and Kat. While the drama from rehearsals was definitely setting social media ablaze with speculation, they knew there was a real danger their star couple could be voted off the show after such a lacking performance. When the results are handed over to the two executive producers, they are shocked, but relieved to find that Dieter and Kat placed third in the group of six. 

Stacia sinks back into her seat in relief but is contemplative as she eyes Joe. She begins writing the results down on the card that is to be delivered to the host, but Joe grabs her hand to stop her progress as he gives her a pointed look. “What are you doing? We agreed to never tamper with the results…”

She sighed, “It’s not really tampering. The bottom two will still be the same. I just need to give them a little wakeup call so that they get their shit together. Another week of this and they’re gone…and fucking Alec will still be here. What do you think that’ll do to ratings? Especially if word ever gets out about what he actually did to her...”

Joe pulled his hand back, staring at Stacia in thought before nodding for her to continue. Stacia finishes writing in Dieter and Kat’s name and passes the card off to a production assistant to run the results down to the host. 

Now all they can do is sit back and wait to see if this play has the intended effect. 

Dieter’s POV

When we were called to the stage for the bottom three announcement, I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. I didn’t have a good feeling about this. We ended the night with the lowest score from the judges. The only hope I had left was that the Dieterina Stans voted to keep us around for a little longer, but I wasn’t confident about it. 

As the host began calling off the couples that were safe, I could feel my anxiety going up another notch with each name that wasn’t ours. Before I knew it, they were announcing the names of the bottom three couples - which included Kat and me. Then they cut to commercial break. I had to work double time to keep myself from falling apart. I knew this wouldn’t just be the end of our time together on the show, but maybe even the end of whatever I was trying to work toward. She would have no reason to see me after this. She might not want to. 

In the midst of my internal spiral, I felt a hand slide against my arm. I glanced down to see Kat’s fingers lacing through mine. I peered over at her, she was staring at me with tears in her eyes. I had to look away, or else I was going to lose it. That didn’t stop me from giving her hand a reassuring squeeze as the on air indicator flickered back to life. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but it gave me some hope that maybe this wasn’t over. 

We stood tightly gripping each other's hands as we waited for the next name to be called. I held my breath, damn near passing out before they finally called out our name as being safe. Kat and I both let out a sigh of relief, both of us smiling in each other’s presence for the first time in a week. 

As we exited the stage, Kat seemed to get emotional. I asked her if she was OK, but she waved me off as she exited to the hallway. I raked a hand down my face, unsure of how to proceed after the moment we had just shared on stage. I decided to follow after her, assuming she had gone to her dressing room, but she wasn’t there. 

I sighed, as I looked around the hallway that was slowly filling with cast members. She was nowhere in sight. So, I decided to go to my dressing room and wait. After changing out of my costume, I hung it outside the door for pickup and purposefully left the door open so that Kat would know I was here. 

I was packing up my bag when movement by the door caught my attention. Any excitement that I might have had was quickly deflated when my eyes locked with Anika’s as she came sashaying into the room like a predator ready to pounce on prey. 

I sighed, “Anika, is there something I can help you with?”

Her lips curled upward as she spoke in a sickly sweet voice, “I just wanted to see how you were doing after that. Seems like you had a rough night.” 

My brows furrowed, “I’m fine. It’s not a big deal.” 

She moved to stand in front of me with a look of concern, “Are you sure? You seemed pretty upset out there. I thought maybe we could go grab some dinner and talk about it.”

Fuck. Here we go. I gave her a tight lipped smile, “That’s nice of you to offer, but I’m waiting for Kat.” 

She gasped, seeming shocked. “Really? Well, I saw Kat leave.” 

My face fell. There was no hiding my disappointment. I realized maybe I was an idiot for hoping. The hurt and pain at that realization settled into my chest and squeezed hard. Anika moved in closer, placing her hand on my arm. I stared at it, not really sure how to react. 

“You know, we could just go back to my place and hang out…if you need a distraction.” 

Her hand began to slide up my arm just as I raised my head to meet her gaze, “Huh?” 

She was smiling again as her hand settled on the back of my neck, “You know, something to take your mind off things…off Kat. I can make you dinner…or do other things…” 

There were a few seconds that I actually considered the offer - suddenly craving the rush and distraction I knew it would give me, but I quickly dismissed it because I’m no longer that person. I gave her a crooked smile and laughed nervously, tilting my head back as she suddenly leaned in, her hand pulling my head forward as she crashed her lips against mine. Everything about it felt so wrong. I honestly felt like I was going to be sick as I pushed her away just in time to see Kat’s back walking toward the exit. 

“Fuck,” I huffed out in frustration. “You know what Anika, I’ve tried being nice and letting you down easy…but I’m just gonna say it. I’m not interested. Not now. Not ever. So, I’m going to need you to leave this room and never step foot in it again.” 

She scoffed, “Geez, you don’t have to be such an asshole about it.”

I let out a humorless laugh, “Well, you’ve caught me at a bad time, and you just royally fucked things up for me. So imma need you to go. Now.” 

I watched her stomp out of the room. Once she was gone, I ran toward the exit to find Kat, but she was nowhere in sight. I leaned back against the exterior wall, trying my hardest to keep it together. There was no coming back from this and I knew it. I knew how that had to look. Kat would never believe anything I had to say. 

An hour later, I found myself seated at the bar of a local tavern, staring at a full tumbler sitting between my hands. I was officially at the end of my rope and heading for a spiral if I didn’t pull it together within the next few minutes. As I moved to take a sip from the glass, someone sat down beside me. 

“I really hope I’m not about to witness Dieter Bravo fall off the wagon.” 

I paused just before putting the glass to my lips and turned to find the last person I ever expected sitting beside me. Lana. She had a sly smile on her face as she eyed me. 

“I know you had a bad night, but I promise that shitshow is not worth compromising yourself over.” 

My lips tugged upward as I sat the glass down, I couldn’t help it. “It’s ironic that you’re the one coming to my rescue. You’re not trying to fuck me too, are you?”

She snorted out a laugh, “Absolutely not. What kind of person do you take me for? I’m not a cheater.” 

There was something almost sarcastic in her tone. It took me by surprise. “Speaking of cheaters, where’s Alec? Do I need to be concerned about my safety?”

Her face fell slightly, “No, you don’t need to worry about that. Not tonight. I’m sure he’s off fucking someone else for the evening, which suits me just fine. He’s a shitty lay.” 

I chuckled, “Yeah, I’ve heard. So, all is not well in paradise I take it?”

Lana rolled her eyes, “It was never paradise. I’m just doing the job I was hired to do. As soon as the show’s over, I’m heading to London for filming with hopes of never laying eyes on Alec Balaska again.” 

I never thought it possible, but Lana Thompson officially had my full attention. My drink was forgotten as I turned to face her fully, “What do you mean the job you were hired to do?”

She had a grin on her face that could rival the Cheshire cat, “Dieter, surely you know there are strings being pulled behind the scenes?”

I nodded, “Of course, but I don’t actually know the details…”

The bartender came by, and Lana took a moment to ask for a glass of water, which shocked me. Then she turned to me, leaning in slightly before she spoke.

“Obviously you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone because if Alec finds out…well…I’d rather not be on the receiving end of that. Anyway, there was a last minute scramble with casting when you insisted on being partnered with Kat. The only reason they let it happen was because I agreed to make moves to split Kat and Alec up. They paid me extra for it. I mean…fucking the guy wasn’t part of the deal, but it was the only way I could get any sway over him. I had originally planned the paparazzi pictures out, so he would look like the asshole and not Kat. I hadn’t planned on her seeing what she saw. I do actually feel like shit about that…”

I was stunned by this news. It was completely unexpected. “Why did you need him to look like the asshole?”

She chuckled, “Isn’t it obvious? They wanted to clear the way for you and Kat to get together without any backlash. You two are the fan favorites this season. It was apparent from the first week. They’re giving the audience what they want…a love story where the underdog gets his shit together and gets the girl, along with amazing dancing. The way I see it, I did you two a favor. I was happy to do it too. Kat deserves better than what she had. He was an asshole to her.”  

I stared at her for a beat, trying to process everything she was saying. I should probably be  mad over the lengths Stacia and Joe were going to in order to manipulate us all, but I couldn’t be. The chance to have Kat in my life was a win in my book, but I had totally fucked it up. 

“So, you're OK being labeled a homewrecker then?” I asked. 

She gave me a sad smile, “You know how it is, especially when your career is on the downward slope…even bad press is good press. Besides, if anyone cares to ask me…he told me that he and Kat were over. How was I supposed to know he was lying?”

She shrugged with a mischievous glint in her eye. I laughed, “Ahh, well played then.” 

The bartender set the glass of water down in front of Lana. She took a small sip before turning her attention back to me. “So, what’s going on with you and Kat? From the looks of it after New York, I thought everything was going well.” 

I sighed, “I’m not even really sure. She asked to put a pause on things until the show is over. I guess it was too much, too fast. I mean, we did just kind of jump into it. She sort of insinuated that she’s having a hard time with my past, like maybe…she doesn’t trust that I’ve fully changed. I thought she was the one person who was giving me a fair shot, ya know? It really hurt to hear it from her. So, I guess we’re just trying to sort through our feelings.”

Lana’s lips set into a tight line, “Have you told her how you really feel though? Or are you being the typical idiot male and dancing around the topic of big feelings.”

My brows furrowed, “Excuse me?”

She laughed, “Have you told her you love her?”

I blinked at her a few times, “Who ever said that I’m…”

She rolled her eyes, “Fucking hell. Both of you are idiots. It’s obvious. Everyone can see it. You both do a shit job at hiding it.”

I puffed air out of my cheeks, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ve been told that a couple of times…But to answer your question…yes. I sort of told her in the middle of my meltdown earlier this week. It wasn’t my best moment. I admit, the delivery could have been better.”

Her perfectly sculpted brow arched, “And? What did she say?”

I laughed humorlessly, “She didn’t really say anything. She just stared at me.” 

She snickered, “You two really are idiots...Look, it probably took her off guard. Stunned her a bit…especially if her head is a mess of emotions. I’ll be honest, I don’t know how bad things got between her and Alec, but I do know she was making him go to therapy, anger management, and AA meetings. Now, he wasn’t actually going because he doesn’t care enough to fix himself…but if she was making him do all that, I know it had to be bad. They were together for a long time. Being with someone like that for that long…it’s a serious mind fuck. It makes you doubt yourself…doubt your worth. I’ve been where she’s at, so I get it. I don’t think it’s so much about you not changing as it is about her feeling like she’s not enough to make you happy. And when addicts aren’t happy…what do they do? Go back to old habits. She’s been made to feel like she’s a burden and unworthy of being loved…like she’s the problem. I don’t really know anything about your past, but given your chosen coping mechanisms, I’d wager that you know a thing or two about that?”

I nodded, letting her words settle in. I hadn’t really considered things from this angle even though I should have given my past. It somehow made the hurt I was feeling less painful because I realized Kat was hurting in her own way too. In a way that I completely understood. After talking with Evan, I realized a lot of this was because of Alec, but I had been missing the most crucial parts. 

“It’s possible that Kat is struggling to understand what she’s feeling. Being abused physically, emotionally…it really warps your sense of self. It’s confusing and it takes some time to work through. I think if you can be strong enough to give her the space to do that, she’ll come around. In the meantime, be there for her. Support her. Show her how you’re really feeling…don’t make it more complicated than it needs to be because at the end of the day…it has nothing to do with you.”

Fuck me. Lana was right. I was handling this completely wrong. I sat staring at the full tumbler in front of me again, suddenly feeling lost and unsure of how to proceed.

Lana took another sip of water before smiling, “You know…you probably don’t remember this. We worked on a movie together many moons ago. I was just starting out…playing a barista for one scene. I remember being completely repulsed by you that day…you were such a fucking ass.”

My gaze shifted back to her, my brows furrowing as I searched my memories. I shook my head, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember this...”

She laughed quietly, “No, I don’t think you would. I’m pretty sure you were stoned out of your mind. You told me to go get you a coffee during a break. I think you called me ‘sugar tits’ somewhere in the middle of that demand too? Then I told you to go fuck yourself. Another crude joke followed. You had completely forgotten about the interaction by the time the film was rolling again.” 

I rubbed at the crease between my brows, “Yeah…I know I was a dick back then. I’m really sorry…”

She cut me off, “I’m not looking for an apology. My point is…I see you. I’ve been on the periphery of your spiral for years…I’ve seen it at parties, at award shows…you’re not that person anymore. Anyone who can’t see that is fucking blind or they just don’t care to. I can tell you’ve turned into a good person. Someone worthy of Kat, so don’t let those doubts get to you, OK?”

I felt a lump forming in my throat. Of all people, Lana fucking Thompson got it. The whole situation. I had to clear the lump before I could speak, “I actually appreciate that. Thank you.” 

She smiled, “Now, Imma need you to go get your girl and fix this. Please. I’m a massive Dieterina Stan and I cannot stand to witness this mess any longer.” 

I barked out a laugh but quickly sobered. “That may be easier said than done. I really fucked up tonight. I doubt she’s ever gonna speak to me again.” 

Her brows knitted together, “What the fuck did you do now?”

I sighed, “Anika invited herself into my dressing room after the show and kissed me. The door was wide open, so I’m pretty sure Kat saw it. After I pushed Anika off, I saw Kat walking away.” 

Lana gasped, “Fucking Anika. I swear she is nothing but trouble.” She shook her head, seeming deep in thought for a moment. “Look, just…do what I said. Kat will come around. I know it. This thing with Anika will sort itself out.” 

I gave a dismissive laugh, “Yeah…I guess we’ll see about that.” 

She gave me a pointed look, “Yeah, we will. Now…you need to get out of this place before it ends up all over TMZ tomorrow. As a matter of fact…”

She reached for the tumbler in front of me, then put it to her lips and took a big gulp of it. She jerked it away from her mouth as her face scrunched up in disgust, “Ugh, what the fuck is that?”

I shrugged as I held in my smile, “Cranberry juice.” 

She gave me an admonishing look, “You could have warned me…and here I was thinking it was some sort of mixed cocktail.”

I snickered, “It wouldn’t have been funny if I told you.” 

She shook her head, “You may be sober, but the chaos demon lives on…”

I couldn’t help it, I cackled over that. “Ehh, I’m more like a mischief maker these days. The chaos demon was my past life.” 

She laughed as I stood from my seat. “Well, Lana, it’s been…an educational evening. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m happy I ran into you. Thank you.”

She gave me a genuine smile, “Anytime. Let me know if I can help with anything.”

I nodded, giving her a small wave as I made my exit. 

I went home after that, feeling slightly better about things. If only the Anika thing hadn't happened. That was my biggest obstacle at the moment. I laid down on the sofa, welcoming Zee for a cuddle as I considered my options. Once she settled on my chest and began dozing off, I grabbed my phone. I had a text from Marc asking if I was doing OK after how things had gone tonight and offered his ear if I needed to talk. I appreciated the sentiment and told him as much, promising to get together to grab lunch or dinner soon so we could chat. It would be nice to have a distraction for a little while. 

Then I opened Instagram. I was expecting the worst, but I actually had a lot of positive and encouraging comments from fans. It definitely helped the bad mood a little. Then I opened my DMs, realizing I had a message request from someone named Lydia Brown. I was intrigued, so I opened it. 

“Hey Dieter, this is Kat’s sister. If you ever tell her I sent this, I will not speak to you again. 

Anyway, I talked to her earlier right after the show aired. She’s kind of a mess right now, but I want you to know that she is in love with you. She told me as much. She just doesn't know how to process everything right now. Please don’t give up on her. She’s getting there.” 

I huffed out a breath, “Yeah, and I bet you didn’t hear about my latest fuck up yet.” 

I tossed my phone on the coffee table and wrapped my arms around Zee, scooting her up closer to my face so I could bury my nose in her fluffy fur. She groaned in protest but rolled over to rub her head against the scruff of my chin before she began purring. 

I squeezed her a little tighter, “Don’t worry baby girl, Imma figure out how to get your momma back.” 

Next: Week 10

✨ Here is a fun little Jazz video to go along with this depressing chapter that really didn’t focus on dancing at all. It was all about the angst this time. Sorry. 😬 

A/N: Good afternoon/evening my lovelies! I hope you are doing well after all the angst. So much happened in this chapter worth discussing. Our sweet Dieter and Kat are struggling, but they are limping along and trying their best. Are we shocked they were even able to rehearse? Are we shocked they had a shitty performance? 

Speaking of the performance, are we mad that Joe let Stacia fudged the bottom three results? Stacia obviously isn’t a fan of Alec…does that get her any brownie points? 😂 

And then we got Evan and Lydia coming in for a save. Do we think they should be getting in the middle of all this? Also, I love Evan. I just needed to say that. 

Now for the elephant in the room…Lana. How do we all feel about her now? Still hate her? Conflicted? Love her? I need to know your thoughts. 

How do we think this is all going to play out? How is Dieter going to get his woman (and Zee’s momma 🥹) back after that whole Anika debacle? 

Come scream at me about it all! I wanna know your thoughts. 

Coming up in the next chapter…

I know the chapter title says it will be the Quickstep, but I may switch it up to the Lambada, just because. We shall see. 

Kat gets scolded by her sister. 

Kat tends to her plants with thoughts of Dieter on her mind. 

Dieter does another Instagram live

Serious conversations are had

We finally find out what the song was that they danced the Viennese Waltz to

Lastly, In case you missed it... new fic in the works. 

That’s all I’ve got for today. 💜Mysty

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[alstroemerian-dragon]

alright. its time. ive put it off long enough, and i need to stop procrastinating.

i have finally posted some of my danganronpa writing.

its the first chapter of two, and this fic is likely the only one in the series its in, for the au its for, that will Not be explicit. so if you just want to read about hajime and fuyuhiko in their late 20s in a non ultimate au being Abnormal about each other and not about them being. well. Adults. with each other. and also chiaki. then this ones for you.

if you want the sex tho dont worry its coming. eventually. its just needs the context first

im gonna go get my husband from work and then smoke weed and pass out. good night everybody

[hopeworth]

words that permanently alter your brain chemistry and it’s from a fuckimg. sns fic. i loved you when i left you the first time, the second time, and every time after that. and when i leave you again, i will love you.

[theodoravery]

ended up deleting the love is blind game app. i had such high hopes given how good thth was this year, and it had so much potential at the beginning, but for weeks now the chapters being released have sucked. a lot

[kisskissgotohell]

it might need a reread once the full official tl comes out but i gotta say. based on one read, guardian (novel-only) did not feel like it actually went anywhere. it's like the novel equivalent of those posts where you learn something and the next reblog immediately refutes it. neutral experience.

[0fps]

grace just shot up to being one of my fave characters in zzz she is so unhinged LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[chillhypocrite]

The fact that kids nowadays want ao3 to be censored— guys. Guys. Where is your sense of adventure? When I was 12, and homeschooled, and had unlimited internet access on my second hand laptop, all I felt upon discovering ao3 was unmitigated joy. A whole platform where people can be fucking weird and post toe-curling novel-length diatribes about ANYTHING. How beautiful is that?

And then you, the reader, can just jump in and post your own weird shit? And people might comment just to say “nice job!” Or “where the fuck is the next chapter” on your 20k coffee shop FNAF AU? Bro. Them’s the little things that make the internet worth anything.

Ao3 is so beautiful. I love scrolling past indescribably disturbing descriptions. I love knowing they have a place to be posted. I love knowing that, should I feel the urge to indulge, I can do so with no repercussions.

Mi familia. Mis amigos. Por favor. Take a step back and be grateful that not every facet of creativity has been locked behind an algorithm.

[shadowtraveled]

"mithrun is the only real monsterfucker in dungeon meshi" is objectively the funniest bit you can get out of his everything, but in all seriousness i think his attraction to his love interest is deliberately overstated—and that makes sense, because romantic jealousy is a classic and digestible motive, which is explicitly what kabru was aiming for in condensing mithrun's backstory, and also because until chapter 94, mithrun wasn't willing to admit to the true nature of his desires.

but because romantic envy is both classic and digestible, it probably isn’t a unique enough or complicated enough desire to tempt a demon’s appetite. mithrun’s wish, as far as we can figure from kabru’s reduced retelling, was to have a life in which he had never become one of the canaries, and that carries like 3857 implications and desires within it. that’s delicious. his love interest acts as sort of a red herring to his motivation for making it, though. (side note: i'm saying "love interest" here because, keeping in mind that i barely speak japanese on a good day anymore, "想い人" is something i'd usually take as just kind of an old-fashioned and romantic way to refer to a lover, but in context i wonder if both the connotation of yearning and the vagueness are intentional, and i think this phrasing gets those aspects of it more effectively. anyway.)

mithrun considered his love interest to be untrustworthy. there was a minute where i thought that comment might be about a similar-looking elf (yugin, one of his squad members), but comparing the two…

the "sketchy" arrow is definitely referring to the elf we know as his love interest—the bangs go toward her right, she only has the one forehead ornament, and, most notably, her ears aren't notched.

every time she’s given a full-body depiction in his dungeon, she’s drawn as a chimera, with the body of a snake from the waist down. (side note: the “what if a dungeon has chimeras before reaching level 4?”/“then the dungeon lord is unstable” exchange just being mithrun grilling his past self alive is so funny. he’s so. but anyway) there are a couple things about this.

first, the snake part of the chimera appears to be modeled after some species of coral snake mimic

which, in the biology-for-fun manga, i… doubt is a coincidence, especially with the added context of the “untrustworthy” comment. the dungeon’s conjured illusion of mithrun’s love interest was a harmless copycat of a venomous original. for whatever reason, he felt this person was a threat and made up a "safe" version of her to be in a relationship with, and while it’s definitely possible to be attracted to or even love someone you find to be toxic and/or intimidating, when you take that into consideration alongside the configuration of her body, you get some interesting implications.

which brings us to our second point: if we assume that mithrun was not in fact fucking a snake, then sexual attraction, at least, was so far removed from his idea of a relationship with this person that he did not even bother to keep her dungeon copy human enough to maintain the illusion of the option of a sexual relationship. this is somewhat echoed in the depictions of their interactions, which also imply a frankly unexpected romantic distance. she kisses his cheek and he doesn't seem to react; she's at the edge of a narrow bed with only one set of pillows, on top of his blankets while he's underneath them.

the kiss is particularly interesting because it seems to contrast the text. kabru's narration tells us this was everything mithrun could have asked for, but mithrun is there looking unreadable to pensive, likely because this is right before the panel that makes it clear things in the dungeon are beginning to go wrong.

walking through this backwards for a minute, we have the physical barrier of his bedding and the spatial separation inherent in a bed made for one person, the emotional barrier of his mounting anxiety getting in the way of his ability to enjoy the affection he sought, and... the snake, which historically carries the connotation of temptation, yes, but also mistrust, barring physical intimacy. okay. ok. if a dungeon reflects the mentality of its lord, all of this might suggest that mithrun was not able to have any real desire for a relationship with this person. his unwillingness to be vulnerable or let another person in was insurmountable. but in that case, why was she such a focal point that she remained to the end, after his dungeon had stopped creating iterations of his friends to come and visit him? why would he get so upset over her meeting with his brother that he became lord of a dungeon about it?

well. mithrun's brother was also interested in her, probably genuinely. and mithrun had to win.

you have an older brother who your parents completely ignore, probably in part because he is chronically ill/disabled and almost definitely in part because he received a ton of recessive traits that resulted in rumors that he was an illegitimate child. you are aware, most likely because those same parents fucking told you, that you actually are an illegitimate child. but they keep you around because you had the good fortune of looking just like your mother. what can that possibly teach you but that you, like your brother, are disposable?

it's utterly unsurprising that mithrun, under these circumstances, developed a pathological need to be better than everyone around him. people don't keep you otherwise. i'd argue this is also why he says he looked down on everyone he knew while milsiril claims his dungeon reeked of feelings of inferiority—he sought out people's worst traits and prioritized them in his mind to protect his already extremely fragile sense of self-worth, and all the while he tried to be as likable and high-performing as he possibly could be. his parents disposed of him anyway, but even then he tried to keep up the performance. he was kind to everyone. he never once lost to a dungeon.

when he saw his "love interest" meeting up with his brother, what he saw was himself being replaced by a person his parents had always treated as worthless, and if that was what they thought of the child they'd kept, what value could anyone possibly see in the bastard they'd given away to die? mithrun and kabru tell the story like he wanted to win this unnamed elf's heart, but it was never about being with her. it was about cementing his worth, proving that he didn't deserve to be thrown away.

and so it's particularly cruel that his demon discarded him, too. but maybe it's also particularly gentle that, in the end, there was someone who refused to even consider giving up on him.

kui laid it out in three panels better than i could hope to.

yeah. it's love. you wanted to be loved, even when the only way you were able to understand it was through the desire to be wanted, and you wanted that so badly that the idea of being consumed felt like the promise of finally mattering to someone.