#I love the lightness and dynamic of the fist one

[icantdothistodaybruh]

It seems this year I have only two styles with no in-between what so ever, and looking at them in comparison is driving me insane just a lil bit

[tenwhiteandalusians]

so no one was going to tell me if i got literally one episode further tenax drops that he’s the one who saved scorpus from his mom’s pimp AND that he’s intimately familiar with scorpus’ dick when he was younger. guys. guys.

[secondpersonpoetry]

hi! heard the released “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call” (which i’ve seen you’ve heard live, if i’m not mistaken!!) this morning and i don’t know if there’s really a particular vibe/dynamic/ship hrpf-wise (personally haven’t yet been able to put my finger on it) that quite relates but the lyrics have been rotating in my head all day and i was wondering if you had any thoughts? hope you have a good one! <3

OH ANON HAVE I EVER SEEN IT LIVE!!! and the second that song came out i zoomed it straight into my fic playlist and unfortunately there are so many guys this could be. right now the one that's resonating is, of course, the golden boy and his haunted ghost themselves: mcstrome.

i am thinking about connor, specifically, after the stanley cup final. that game seven. how angry he was, how loud the silence when they told him he won the conn smythe. how close he's come before and again and again lost. there's nobody else to blame but himself. he's in the empty room and he knows why (1)

at!! your best!!! you were magic!!! oh, golden boy. connor the anointed, of course. at the very beginning of his career we always knew he was something special and who wouldn't have fallen in love with him? weren't all of us a little bit dylan strome in awe of the generational talent? we were all bathed in radiant light just by being in the vicinity (2)

don't even tell 'em that you know me breaks my heart (3). in terms of building a narrative i think i've said before there is a universe where connor/dylan were together before the draft and to protect both of them, dylan breaks up with him. connor says i love you and dylan says i don't. because he doesn't, you know? he loved connor. he loved davo. he can't be in love with connor mcdavid, first overall pick of the edmonton oilers. i'd rather be hurt forever than have to watch us try to make this work and destroy us.

and after connor mcdavid left the otters, dylan strome captained them to a memorial cup win. what a haunted home, eh? to be captain of the team you and your best friend were on, only now he's left you? don't call me to tell me about your rookie season with the oilers--we both know about your broken collarbone. don't call me to tell about becoming the youngest captain in franchise history when i stepped into the shoes of your captaincy here. don't call me. (4)

narratively: dylan's the one who broke connor's heart and his own but by god it wasn't easy. we both know what happened, you went first overall. please don't make this harder on me. please don't call.

this verse can be about the weight of dylan having to live up to connor's standards and always being measured by him. i would just like to bring up the connor stepping stone chart for absolutely no reason as well (5)

we are, at long last, at the potential future of now: dylan strome, happy, smiling, thriving on the washington capitals. connor, on the oilers. i'm not yours, dylan can say. haven't been for a long time. it took some time but i made this. please don't call and ruin this for me, stay out of my life. i don't want you or need you (6)

[p.s. this took a while because when i received this ask i was a) immediately possessed to write this verse by verse breakdown i had never thought of before and then b) immediately plagued by the idea of making you a little graphic (above the read more) and finally got to do it after banging out all the actual lyric thoughts two (?) weeks ago. emerging two and a half hours later from the fugue state of GIMP with 37 layers in this bad boy hope you enjoy!!!]

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Honeysuckle.

Pairing: Butterfly!Fae!OC x Reader.

Word Count: 4.2k.

Written For A Very Lovely Anonymous Commissioner.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Aphrodisiacs, Dehumanization, Unhealthy Relationships, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Borderline Monster-Fucking.

The moment you saw her, you knew that she had to be the most beautiful creature that you would ever see.

Her wings were what struck you first – about ten feet tall and five across, the upper arch curved downward to better complement the large, black splotches currently prying into you through the shadows of the unlit garden. Swirling patterns of orange and red danced across a rich, dusty sort of brown, while white framed the outer perimeter, standing out sharply against the dull foliage. Although you’d initially mistaken her for one of the large, nocturnal birds that’d taken to crashing into your sugar water dispensers in the early hours of the morning, it was clear that she was more or less a woman – her long, sculpted legs bent and tucked against her chest, the arch of her back clear even in the dim light of your lantern. What seemed like hundreds of thousands of braids cast in the same shades as her wings hung to her waist, a pair of furred antennae tangled among them, and domed eyes larger than your fist and blacker than the night sky stared you down, unblinking. It was only when your eyes met hers that you realized your own gaze must’ve been just as invasive, and found the will to turn your attention to more important things than her (admittedly, extremely strange) appearance.

Instead, you poured your energy into the only other thing you could think to do: speaking. Or, attempting to, at least. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” And then, after a sharp inhale, a steadying breath, “I—I’m staying in the cottage this garden belongs to. Are you hurt, or injured, or—god, do you even speak English?”

If she had any intention of responding, she didn’t plan to do so vocally. The creature—the woman remained where she was, utterly motionless, utterly silent. It was only when you hazarded a step towards her that she reacted at all, her wings fanning to either side as she—

Ah.

So she was hurt.

The position of her wings had hidden it before, but you could make out the cause of her distress clearly, now. From the uppermost tip of her left wing to the lowest curve stretched a jagged tear, as if someone had taken a knife to it. Instantly, a new irritation blended with your prior concern, but you forced yourself not to dwell. There were more important things to focus on, at the moment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you repeated, edging that much closer. When she curled further into herself, you paused, lowering yourself onto your knees and placing your lantern on the ground in front of you. “I understand, you’re hurt, and there’s not much I can do to help you, but—” Holding up one hand, you shoved the other into a pocket of your apron, fishing out a single, palm-sized peach. You picked it earlier, planning on eating it yourself, but you’d never been so glad to have forgotten a meal. “You… You like sweet things, right? Are you hungry?”

Tentatively, you held the peach out to her, and before you had time to process that she’d moved at all, a hand had lashed out and snatched it away. You watched with rapt interest as her lips slit apart and a pair of pointed fangs (her maxillary palps, you figured, although you couldn’t be sure) dug into the peach’s tender flesh, her curling tongue lashing out to lap at the flesh and lick up the juice dripping down her fingers. While she was distracted, you moved closer, kneeling less than a full arm’s length from her wings to better admire the way they fluttered with every little movement, seemingly indifferent to her injury. There were more details you hadn’t noticed – she wasn’t wearing any clothes, but her entire body was covered in a fine, brown setae that grew thicker around her neck and chest and thinned as it reached her face and hands. She had an extra pair of arms, too, currently crossed over her chest, tucked so neatly underneath their more expected counterparts that you hadn’t been able to see them at all from a distance. Despite everything, you found yourself smiling. “If you’re in any pain, I can help with that. And—And, if you’re sensitive to temperature, you’re more than welcome to spend the night inside, but only if you’d like—”

Your attention drifted back to her face, and immediately, you cut yourself off. Her gaze was trained not on you, but on the space behind you – more accurately, on your lantern, still where you’d left it on the grass. “Oh,” you muttered, laughing to yourself. She must’ve been more moth-like than you’d realized.

Taking it by the handle, you offered it up to her as well. “I know it’s not much, but there’s enough oil in it to last until morning. If you get cold, I can bring out some blankets, too.”

It was obvious she didn’t understand a thing you were saying, but still, she eyed the lantern wearily. After a moment, she raised the lower of her right hands, angling her fingers and flicking her wrist. As if by magic (most likely because it was, probably, by magic), a perfect ball of light appeared in her palm, stagnant for a moment before rising a few inches into the open air. Wordlessly, she held it out in your direction.

For a long moment, you were silent.

In the even longer moment following, you were also silent.

Finally, when you started to think she might lose interest in you entirely, you managed to spit something out. “C-can you do that again?”

For the first time since you’d stumbled onto her, you saw the corner of her lips quirk upward.

You spent the rest of that night watching a strange, ten-foot-tall butterfly woman conjure strings of light until the sun rose and you fell asleep in the grass.

And at the time, you didn’t know to be anything but relieved that, upon waking, she was still by your side.

~

She healed remarkably quickly – a near-transparent chitin film appearing over the missing portion of her skin within twenty-four hours of her initial appearance. Still, Leo (as you’d started calling her when you realized she could only express her own name through a series of swirling patterns of light and borderline inaudible clicking sounds) seemed to have little interest in leaving your cottage and even less in leaving your line of sight. It took her less than a full two days to start trailing after you as you did your daily work around your garden and the forest that surrounded it, less than a week to start knocking on your windows at night, pouting when you tried to explain the concept of sleep through a language barrier, and today, on your one month anniversary, you’d finally gotten her to come inside properly. Currently, she was poking through your bedroom while you worked at your desk, transferring a never-ending list of borderline meaningless statistics from your roughly handled field journal to more appropriate sheets and charts. Or, trying to work, anyway. Admittedly, it was difficult to take your eyes off of her.

And, as you heard something large and fragile hit the floor and shatter, you were forced to give up any pretense of attempting to. Sighing, you twisted around your seat and immediately found Leo, standing next to your bedside table, what used to be a lamp sitting in shattered pieces at her feet as she stared down at it with a hawk-like sort of vigilance. Her wings were tucked cautiously against her back, lips pursed in concentration. You could only shake your head, grinning as you sighed. She was smart, but curious, and painfully unfamiliar with anything remotely human. It was cute – just how little she seemed to know about you.

(You were aware, somewhere in the back of your mind, that your judgement around Leo was skewed. Mostly, you could chalk it up to scientific curiosity, not wanting to disturb a live specimen as it would act in its natural habitat and all, but even you knew there must’ve been something else to it, something more selfish. It might’ve just been her naivety. It was hard to get mad at someone who didn’t know she was doing anything wrong.)

Eventually, her gaze shifted to you. “Broken,” she said, assertively.

You couldn’t stop yourself from chuckling. She was getting better at your language, even if the words still sounded somewhat awkward on her inhuman tongue. “Very broken,” you agreed, waving her over to you. “I’ll clean it up later – have a look at this for me, first.”

Turning away from her, you fished a thick, leather-bound book out of the chaos that was your desk and opened it to a marked page. “I think you might be one of these,” you said, pointing to an illustration of a half-moth, half-man type creature. Admittedly, the written description lacked many her more other-worldly traits, but there were only so many types of butterfly people to choose from. “They’re supposed to be—uh, extra-dimensional, I think, which would explain your more supernatural abilities, but they’re kind of, um—”

“Hideous. Very hideous.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “That.”

She reached over you, one left hand resting on your shoulder while the other flipped through yellowed pages. She’d only been searching for a minute or so when she seemed to find what she was looking for, pointing decisively to an illustration of an extremely beautiful woman kneeling in front of a disemboweled man’s body, her mouth dripping with blood and one of her hands still buried inside of his torn-open chest. The caption underneath it read ‘Fae, neighbors, folk of the air’ in golden illuminated manuscript.

You pursed your lips. Fairies weren’t real, but this illustration did look a lot more like Leo than yours had.

By the time you looked towards her, she’d lost interest entirely, instead fiddling with a picture frame that’d previously been on the corner of your desk. In an instant, you felt your blood run cold. You could’ve sworn you’d hidden all your framed samples before inviting her inside, found every single pinned-up dragonfly, moth, and butterfly and stuffed them all into the deepest, darkest closet you could find. You couldn’t imagine how you would’ve felt – stumbling into an alien creature home only to find a miniature version of your own carcass nailed down behind a pane of glass. She must’ve been so afr—

The frame tilted towards you, and you managed to pull yourself out of your panicked spiral long enough to realize that she was not looking at a preserved insect, but a picture of your housecat – a cute one, too, taken while she was leashed on your patio, sunbathing on her back. You sighed, sinking into your chair and smiling up at her. “That’s Missy. I thought about bringing her, but she’d be a terror on the local wildlife.” And then, more hesitantly, “Do you have any pets?”

You couldn’t imagine Leo taking care of anything, but she seemed fond enough of birds ‘and other insects. Plus, if she did have a pet, it’d tell you something about where she came from – if she had a house, or migratory season, or there were other people with wings and antenna and a spare set of limbs lurking just outside of your peripheral. It was a good place to start, but she didn’t seem to understand the question – only pursing her lips. “…Pet?”

“Like, an animal that you take care of, that you love,” you started, gesturing vaguely, as if that’d make your point any more clear. “Most people have cats and dogs, but—”

“No cats.” Her wings fluttered, her gaze narrowing at the picture. “Big teeth. Sharp claws. Violent.”

“Got it, no cats.”  You slung an arm over the back of your chair. “It’s too bad. Missy was a good girl. You two would’ve gotten along.”

She seemed to think for a long moment, considering. Finally, as one of her free hands came to rest on the top of your head, she glanced towards you. “You are… pet?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “No, no, I’m a friend. Do you know what that is?”

If she wanted to answer, she didn’t seem to think of it as a priority. Her hand fell to your chin, another rising to cup your face entirely. Her thumbs traced over your cheeks as she smiled down at you, and with an airy laugh, you melted into her palms. “Good girl,” she cooed, her voice saccharine, her tony sappy. “Very good girl.”

It would’ve been a sweeter moment if you hadn’t heard the familiar sound of glass shattering at your feet, your picture frame dropped and discarded with just as little thought.

~

As far as you could tell, her wings were necessary for flight, but not actively a part of it. As the chitin film healed over entirely, the shape and color of her wings seemed to shift, taking on a luminescent green overtone, the eyes on the upper segments fading as their lower counterparts sprouted a pair of long, curling tails. Her fur and hair followed suit, and by the time she was able to get her feet off the ground, she was practically unrecognizable as the creature you’d first taken in. You were proud of her, even if you doubted she needed your support. Or, you wanted to be, at least.

Even after Leo had all-but recovered, she stayed nearby – rarely leaving your sight for longer than an hour. If you hadn’t been so curious, you might’ve been concerned. Butterflies were short-lived, migratory creatures. It wasn’t normal for them to stay in a single place for so long, not unless they were looking for a ma—

You were drawn out of your thoughts as you felt something light hit the top of your head – flower petals, you realized, as pieces of shredded coneflower and button bush trickled down into your lap. You tilted your head back, immediately finding Leo hovering about ten feet above you; tearing apart a handful of flowers petal-by-petal. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to – grinning as she motioned for you to follow her. You didn’t bother trying to resist, only pushing yourself to your feet and trailing after her.

She landed on the very outskirts of your property – where your garden met the forest proper. It took a few minutes of wading through foliage, but eventually, you managed to join her in her makeshift clearing.

The smell of iron hit you, first.

Not rot, but blood – fresh and metallic, strong enough to make you reel back. You almost stumbled, almost tripped, but a larger hand caught your wrist, trapping you where you were. You made no attempt to pull away. No, you were too focused on the—on the corpse in front of you, all blood-soaked feathers and broken bones and spilled viscera. It must’ve been a hawk, or a falcon, something with an absolutely massive wingspan and claws to match. Any other identifying features had been crushed, bent out of shape, or reduced to a fine, liquid pulp that was slowly soaking into the ground.

Your gaze flickered back to Leo, her grin just a touch more satisfied than it’d seemed, before. “Leo,” you started, forcing an unsteady smile. “I know we talked about pets, but—”

“Not a pet.” The correction was as swift as it was sugary. “A treat. A gift.”

Huh.

You didn’t remember teaching her that one.

~

It was more startling than you would’ve expected – waking up to the feeling of feather soft hands.

You guessed that wasn’t entirely true. They weren’t feather soft, and you should’ve known better than to say they were. Velvet would’ve been more a more accurate comparison, or satin – anything soft and rich that seemed to melt where it touched your skin. You couldn’t have been waking up, either, because that would’ve meant you were asleep, and there was no way you could’ve been asleep and staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom, feeling more exhausted than you ever had before. You would’ve liked to sit up, to see what was going on, but you couldn’t seem to move.

Leo was above you, straddling your waist. In her new form, she was practically iridescent – her wings reflecting the dull moonlight as if she was the one glowing. She was summoning her lights, again – drawing strings of silver drew drops with one hang while the other shaped them absentmindedly into a ring, one large enough to fit around your thigh. Or your neck.

For whatever reason, your mind was unwilling to linger on the thought.

She lifted her head every so slightly, her inky gaze settling on you. She was already touching you, one hand cupping your cheek while another brushed through your hair, but it took you longer than it should’ve to recognize just how warm your face felt, to put a name to knotted tension resting heavy in the pit of your stomach. You wanted to push her away, but your arms felt like lead at your sides, and— oh, she was already dipping down to your height, nuzzling gently against the top of your head before her hand found your chin, raising your head as her lips found yours.

It was less of a kiss and more of a prolonged collision, her tongue slipping easily past your parted lips, raking over your own with a measured kind of slowness. Her taste was as sweet as her voice, as her touch – all honeyed nectar and syrupy ambrosia and pure, liquidized sugar. It was beyond overwhelming. It was beyond euphoric. You were melting into her before you could so much as think about stopping yourself, letting out a fractured whine as you moved her lips sloppily against hers, as the tapered tip of her tongue hit the back of your throat and—

And you drew back with a sharp gasp, shuddering as you pressed yourself into your mattress. You shouldn’t be doing this. You couldn’t do this. She wasn’t an animal but god, she wasn’t far off.

“Leo,” you managed, trying to keep your tone gentle, soothing. If she heard, you couldn’t tell – her attention only falling to the crook of your neck, then the dip of your shoulder. “I—I’m not really sure we should be doing this, and I really wish you wouldn’t touch me, and—”

“Quiet.” Just like that, your jaw went slack, that sugar sweet scent intensifying and dulling any coherent thought you might’ve had to a numb, blank static. A deep, rumbling sort of reverberation sparked in her through as she nuzzled into your chest, her body slotted against yours. While one of her hands remained on your cheek, another found the hem of your dress, toying with the fabric for a moment before moving her attention to your neckline, instead. The first tug was gentle, experimental, but her impatience must’ve won over her curiosity; the sound of tearing material filling your quiet bedroom as a single, pointed claw traced a jagged line from the base of your throat to your midriff, the ruined fabric falling away without resistance. “Useless,” she muttered, half-under her breath. “In the way.”

It was an awkward position, her back arched, her wings clasped tightly against one another, but she didn’t seem to mind – her lips trailing over your collarbone, then the curve of your breast. You shut your eyes, but it would’ve been impossible not to feel her tongue lapping shallowly over your nipple. Your hands balled around the sheets as her lips wrapped around the sensitive bud, more of whatever awful substance she produced dripping down your skin, pooling on the flat plain between your breast, spreading a terrible sort of heat to everything it touched. She rotated between sucking and laving, a hand coming up to knead at the unassulted side of your chest with just a touch too much force to be for the sake of your pleasure.

You didn’t want to feel anything. You didn’t want to react. You didn’t want to, and yet, you couldn’t seem to swallow back the low, cracked moans and hitched whimpers spilling past your lips. Leo’s purring grew louder, her spare set of hands finding your hips as they bucked pathetically against nothing. It was almost a relief when she pulled away, lifting her head. Through your eyelashes, you watched her eyes narrow, lips pursing. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought she looked disappointed.

You tried to call out again, to tell her to stop, but your voice remained despondent as Leo repositioned herself, slipping into the space between your open legs. What was left of your nightgown as done away with entirely, and with a hand wrapped around either of your thighs, she bowed her head, her tongue dragging over the length of your clothed slit. Instantly, her expression brightened, and for the first time, you were forced to acknowledge the slow, viscous heat slowly leaking out from between your thighs, forced to listen as she hummed in delight and tore through your panties, the silk as easily defeated as your nightgown had been. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes as her tongue dragged over your now-exposed pussy, lapping up the slick staining the inside of your thighs. Her nose ground against your overly sensitive clit as she buried herself in your cunt, less focused on your pleasure and more dedicated to eating you alive – pointed teeth scraping against tender flesh as she ran the flat of her tongue over your entrance, refusing to let a single part of you go uncared for. Because she was caring for you, like a lover, like a nurse.

Like an owner.

You dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek with enough force to draw blood. She was not a lover, or an owner, and she wasn’t taking care of you – nothing about this could be called caring. You tried to snap your thighs shut, to pull yourself up, but the blunt tip of her prolonged tongue dipped into your entrance and it was all you could do to scream – the noise tearing out of your throat as something pathetic and miserable. If Leo noticed your agony, she wasn’t in a place to care, too busy curling her tongue inside of you, grinding against the clenching walls of your cunt and abusing every spot that made you shake and moan and drip. It wasn’t hard to see what she was motivated by, what she was chasing after, but knowing why she was doing this didn’t make it any easier to endure. You’d never be able to look at her again, after this. You wouldn’t be able to let her stay with you, anymore. You’d have to make her leave.

That was, if you ever found a way to.

You managed to get an arm underneath you, but it didn’t matter. Her unoccupied pair of hands clamped down around your hips, your thighs forced onto her shoulders as she straightened her back and threatened to fold you in half, all-but devouring your cunt with a renewed gluttony. Fuck. Fuck. Her tongue was too fast, too flexible; twisting inside of you, filling you entirely. The pressure on your clit, while not deliberate, wasn’t helping, and it was only a matter of time until you could feel your legs twitching where they were propped on her shoulders, until your vocalizations turned form moans to whines to muttering – all ‘stop’ and ‘no, don’t’ and ‘not there’, hasty and incoherent and humiliating. You couldn’t stop yourself, though.

You were starting to think you’d never be able to do much of anything ever again.

She didn’t stop when you came. You doubted she even noticed; her purring only growing louder, the movement of her tongue taking on a more wild sort of pattern. No, she drew back after you’d gone limp underneath her, your voice dying until those little, keening nothings were the only noise you could make. Distantly, you could feel your body being lowered back onto your bed, Leo shifting above you, then two fingers swiping over your cunt. You felt something prodding against your lips, and too exhausted to resist, opened your mouth. “Good girl,” Leo cooed, her inflection mimicking that of someone talking down to something smaller, something lesser. The taste of your own slick mixed with her saliva flooded your senses, as vile as it was saccharine. “Sweet, and pretty, and good. My good girl.”

Her head dipped, her lips finding yourself. This kiss was softer than her first, tender rather than hungry, lingering rather than desperate. As she held you there, you felt something wrap around your throat – cold as ice and soft as velvet. When you found the will to open your eyes, you looked not towards Leo’s expression, her dazzling smile, but to her right hand and the beaded silver cord tangled around it.

You didn’t have to guess what the other end was connected to.

“All mine.”

[rose24207]

When mom looses her cool

Summary: You finally snap after you catch your kids lying about a party and afterwards teach them a lesson about responsibility.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, Dad!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, lying

A/N: wow I haven’t post about the mafia Norris family for so long! Anyways Amelia is 17 and Jacob is 16! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The Norris household was usually a place of balance, despite the unconventional family dynamics. Lando Norris, the head of a vast, shadowy empire, had a knack for handling chaos with an iron fist cloaked in charm. You, his wife, were the gentler counterbalance to his commanding presence—a source of love and calm for the family.

But every calm sea has its storm, and this storm had been brewing for weeks.

Amelia and Jacob were no strangers to pushing limits. They loved to test boundaries, usually with harmless antics. However, this time they had crossed the line in a way that even Lando couldn’t immediately smooth over.

It began with a lie.

“We’re staying over at Olivia’s house,” Amelia had said casually at dinner the night before, her fork poking at her salad.

“Yeah, her parents are hosting a movie night for us,” Jacob chimed in, nodding a little too enthusiastically.

You raised an eyebrow but said nothing, trusting them. Lando, ever the observer, leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering between his children. “Just don’t get into trouble,” he said simply, his voice calm but laced with warning.

The kids had nodded eagerly, but their plan was anything but innocent.

Hours later, instead of watching movies under the supervision of Olivia’s parents, Amelia and Jacob found themselves in the middle of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was a full-blown underground rave, complete with deafening music, strobe lights, and an eclectic mix of people who had no business being there.

Jacob had been reluctant at first, but Amelia, ever the instigator, convinced him. “Come on, Jake! We’ll just stay for an hour. No one will find out.”

Famous last words.

Back at home, you were in bed reading, while Lando was reviewing some work on his laptop. A ping on his phone drew his attention. He frowned as he read the text.

“Security team flagged something,” he said, his voice calm but tight.

You looked up. “What?”

Lando held up his phone, showing a blurry image of Amelia and Jacob entering the warehouse. “That’s not Olivia’s house.”

Your blood boiled. For once, you didn’t feel calm or understanding. You felt betrayed.

“I’m going to call them,” you said, reaching for your phone.

Lando placed a hand over yours, his voice steady. “No. Let them finish digging their hole. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

“But—”

“They’re teenagers. They’re going to screw up,” he said, his tone even. “It’s how we handle it that matters.”

You took a deep breath and reluctantly agreed, but the anger simmered beneath your calm exterior.

The kids stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, looking worse for wear. Amelia’s eyeliner was smudged, and Jacob’s usually pristine hair was a mess. They clearly hadn’t slept much.

“Morning,” Amelia mumbled, heading straight for the fridge.

“Rough night?” Lando asked casually, sipping his coffee.

Amelia froze, the milk carton halfway to the counter. Jacob shot her a panicked look.

“Uh, no. Just stayed up late watching movies,” Amelia said, forcing a smile.

“Is that so?” you asked, your voice unusually sharp as you entered the kitchen.

Both kids turned to you, their smiles faltering. You placed your hands on your hips, leveling them with a glare that could shatter glass.

“Olivia’s house must have a rave room now,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

Jacob’s eyes widened. Amelia, ever the bold one, tried to play it cool. “Mom, it’s not what it looks like—”

“Oh, really?” you snapped. “Because it looks like my children lied to my face, snuck off to an illegal party, and came home thinking they could get away with it!”

Amelia winced. Jacob looked like he wanted to disappear.

“We didn’t mean for it to get out of hand,” Jacob tried, his voice small.

“That’s your defense?” you shot back. “Jacob, you could’ve been arrested. Or worse!”

Lando, who had been quietly watching from the corner, finally spoke up. “Alright, let’s all take a breath.”

But you weren’t done. “No, Lando. I’ve had enough of their reckless behavior. This isn’t just a mistake; it’s disrespectful!”

Amelia blinked, stunned. You rarely raised your voice. Seeing you this angry was new territory, and she didn’t like it.

“We’re sorry,” she said quickly.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” you replied. “You lied to us, put yourselves in danger, and then had the nerve to come back here and act like nothing happened!”

Amelia and Jacob were marched into the living room, where you laid out the consequences.

“No phones for two weeks,” you began.

“What?!” Amelia protested.

“And you’ll both be spending your weekends helping out at the community center,” you continued, ignoring her outburst.

Jacob groaned. “Come on, Mom, that’s not fair.”

“You’re lucky we’re not grounding you until graduation,” you shot back.

Lando, sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, finally chimed in. “Listen to your mother. She’s being generous.”

The kids fell silent, exchanging a glance. They had expected their father to be the hardliner, not you.

The silence in the house was palpable for the rest of the day. Amelia retreated to her room, while Jacob sulked in the den. Lando found you in the kitchen later, leaning against the counter with a cup of tea.

“You handled that well,” he said, his tone amused.

You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s good for them to see this side of you. Keeps them on their toes.”

“They need to understand that their actions have consequences,” you said, your voice softening. “I’m tired of them thinking they can get away with anything.”

“They’ll learn,” Lando assured you. “Trust me. They’re more scared of you than they’ve ever been of me.”

Later that night, Amelia knocked on Jacob’s door.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

She flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. “I can’t believe Mom yelled at us.”

Jacob sighed. “I know. I think I’d rather deal with Dad’s lectures.”

“Same,” Amelia admitted. “She was scary.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Amelia added, “Do you think we went too far this time?”

Jacob glanced at her. “Yeah. We screwed up.”

Amelia nodded. “We should probably apologize.”

“Yeah.”

The next morning, you and Lando were in the kitchen when Amelia and Jacob shuffled in.

“Mom?” Amelia began hesitantly.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“We’re sorry,” Jacob said. “For lying and…everything else.”

“We know we messed up,” Amelia added. “It won’t happen again.”

You studied them for a moment before nodding. “Thank you. But this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

“We know,” they said in unison.

Lando smirked. “Smart kids.”

You shot him a look, but your lips twitched in a small smile. Maybe, just maybe, they were learning.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hxxi3, @same1995, @amatswimming

[gokyrts]

Patrón!Carlos | C.S. 55

18+ | warnings: mentions of drugs, cartel politics, mentions of kidnapping, d/s dynamics, finger sucking, dom!carlos, unprotected p in v, spanking, oral (m receiving), slight degradation and humiliation, light ass play, dirty talk

Summary: you needed a favour, a favour only the leader of the local drug cartel could grant you, so you went to beg for it and you bit more than you could chew

Author’s note: MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM YOURS TRULY!! This is a gift for all my lovely supporters. if you’ve liked Mafia AU, you’re definitely gonna like this 🤭 welcome to Narcos AU with Carlos Sainz !

wc: 4.3k

Check out part two here and part three here !

In case you’re unfamiliar with the plot and terms of Narcos, here’s a little vocabulary with terms that are used throughout the story:

el patrón — (noun) boss of a drug cartel

sicarios — (noun, pl.) high ranking members of a cartel, armed, usually on motorcycles

DEA — (noun) drug enforcement administration; U.S. federal office tasked with combatting drug trafficking

The air outside the compound was still, heavy with the heat of late afternoon. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of laughter echoed, mingling with the crackle of a lit cigar. You sat alone, staring at the rim of your glass, swirling the amber liquid inside. The burn of it no longer registered—it had stopped doing that weeks ago. You hated this place. Hated the velvet couches, the chandeliers, the lingering stench of power and fear. But it had become your world.

Your sister was safe. That was what mattered. That was what you kept telling yourself.

Still, the memory of the first step you’d taken into this life clung to you like smoke, no matter how many times you tried to shove it away. And, as always, it returned unbidden:

The air was just as oppressive that day, tightening around your throat, pressing against your chest. But not nearly as oppressive as the gazes and words of the sicarios you encountered when you came to beg for a favor. Their eyes on you like you were a piece of meat delivered to their door.

“Move along, sweetheart,” one of them said, making your stomach churn.

“I need to speak with señor Sainz.” your assertiveness was a joke to them, seeing nothing more than a defenseless animal.

“Did you hear that?” he’d said, turning to the other guard with exaggerated mockery. “Little mama here wants to speak to el patrón.”

Their laughter had stung, but you’d swallowed your pride. This wasn’t about you. It was about your sister. It was about survival.

“Please,” you’d whispered, your voice cracking just enough to reveal the desperation in your chest. “It’s important.”

The sicarios had exchanged amused glances before one stepped forward, his expression darkening with a hint of suspicion. “Es importante, ah?” he’d asked, the firearm in his hands a reminder of who had control. “How so?”

Your fists had tightened, your body screaming to run, but you had stood your ground. “I need his help. My… my sister has been kidnapped.”

The two men exchanged a glance, this one colder, heavier. Without another word, they had stepped aside, opening the door to the building with a mockingly polite gesture. “Muy bien, let’s see what the boss has to say to this… little request.”

They had flanked you as you walked down the dim corridor, the echo of their heavy boots swallowing your lighter steps. The long hallway felt like a gauntlet, and each step seemed to draw you further into a cage you wouldn’t be able to escape. They led you to an unassuming door, another guard stationed outside. A brief knock sounded, a whisper you hadn’t caught, and then you were ushered inside.

Carlos Sainz’s office had been every bit as ostentatious as you’d imagined. The room reeked of wealth: leather chairs, imported bourbon, and a portrait of the man himself staring down from the wall. But none of it had held your attention for long. Your gaze had locked onto Carlos the moment you saw him.

He’d been seated behind his desk, looking as though he owned not just the room but the air you were breathing. His expression had been unreadable, save for the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Before you could speak, one of the guards shoved you forward. “I’m not armed!” you’d snapped, your voice sharp with indignation.

The guard’s rough hands searched you anyway, brushing over your clothes with no effort to hide his smugness. Carlos, meanwhile, had leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, watching the scene like it was some form of theater staged for his amusement.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he’d said, his smirk widening as his gaze swept over you. “You seem to have a sharp tongue on you, señorita.”

You’d forced yourself to endure and once the guard was satisfied, you had been given the space to speak.

“I—I need your help, señor. They… they took my little sister. I don’t know who else to turn to.”

He hadn’t reacted at first. Instead, he’d reached for a glass, pouring himself a measure of whiskey with deliberate slowness. The sound of the liquid hitting the glass filled the room like a mocking echo.

“You came to ask for a favor?” he’d said finally, his tone light, as though you were discussing the weather. He hadn’t given you a chance to respond. “I remember you owing a favor to me, little one.”

Your throat had tightened. Of course, he remembered. A debt passed down from your father, inherited like a curse. You’d known the weight of it would crush you someday. You just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

“Sí, señor,” you’d said, voice cracking, fighting the urge to wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. “I still owe you. But I need this, please. She was taken by men from the other side. I-I don’t want them to hurt her or worse…”

Carlos had tilted his head, studying you as though you were some strange creature that had wandered into his den.

“So… you expect me to solve more of your family’s problems, sí?” His words were light, almost teasing, but the sharp edge in his gaze had made your stomach twist.

Your knees had felt weak, but you’d pressed on. “Please,” you’d said again, the word tasting like ash on your tongue. “I—I will do anything.”

At that, his amusement had deepened. The room had gone still.

“Anything…?” he’d repeated, his voice dropping just enough to make you shiver. One of the guards had snickered, but Carlos had silenced him with a click of his tongue. Then he’d mentioned for the guards to exit, leaving only the two of you in the room.

With deliberate slowness, he’d risen from his chair, rounding the desk until he stood in front of you. He’d been taller than you remembered, his presence overwhelming.

“Do you know what that word means, little one?” he’d asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you know what it costs to ask me for a favor?”

You’d lowered your gaze, the weight of his stare crushing you.

“I… I will pay the price,” you’d whispered.

Carlos had tilted his head, lifting your chin upward with surprising gentleness, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Careful,” he’d murmured, his tone soft but laced with warning. “There are men who would take this as an invitation...”

You’d stiffened, your skin crawling under his touch.

“But I’m not one of them…not today.” he’d stepped back with a smirk, allowing you to breathe again.

“Muy bien,” he’d said, returning to his desk. “I’ll deal with these men and bring your sister back. But… from this moment on, you’re mine. Your time, your life. When I call, you answer. No questions. No hesitation. Understood?”

You’d hesitated, just for a moment, but Carlos didn’t let you. His voice had turned sharp, cutting through your resistance like a blade.

“Understood?”

“Yes,” you’d said, voice shaking. “Yes… I understand.”

He’d smirked, satisfied. “Good. Go home, little one. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

…

You closed your eyes as the memory finished replaying, pressing the glass back to your lips, its contents dwindling fast. Anticipation brewed in your gut mingling with the expensive imported whiskey. He has called again and you answered, per agreement.

Over time you learned to ignore the hungry stares from his wolves, their sleazy whispers, and dirty hands adjusting their pants when you passed them in the halls of the safehouse. It made you sick. But this was part of the price you had to pay. The price you agreed to pay for the safety of your sister’s life, and the doom of your own.

“Princesita,”

Your eyes snapped open at his voice — smooth, silky, like the liquor you just downed. The familiar burning sensation returned, your body starting to smolder again. You swallowed the bitterness and turned on your hell, the dress you were told to wear flowing around your form.

Carlos regarded you with a long gaze, from the shoes you picked to wear, across your hips and waist, where the dress tightly hugged your soft curves, to your face, lingering on your painted lips.

He nodded in approval, beckoning you closer with a finger.

Teaching you obedience was his favorite, along with making you regret every life decision you ever made, but especially the deal you made with him.

His thumb found your bottom lip as you stepped closer, the red on your lips pulling him in like a bull following its toreador. The rough surface of his finger swiped over the carefully applied lipstick, smudging it and dragging it down your chin. A flicker of amusement appeared in his eyes at your ruined look, his favorite look on you. His thumb slid off your chin, leaving a light red stain.

Beautiful, he thought, before retracting his hand only to notice the smudge on his finger.

He pressed the thumb back against your mouth.

“Clean it.”

And your body burned, the whiskey in your gut the fuse and his command the spark. The finger was thrust into your mouth with zero patience, the taste of ash and metal hitting your tongue along the unmistakable sweetness of your cherry red lipstick. As much as the taste made you retch, it was addicting.

First lesson in obedience — do as you’re told.

Your tongue wrapped around the digit, swirling to catch the pad of his thumb and sucking it clean. Carlos rewarded you with a hum of approval, pressing down harder on your tongue, forcing your mouth to open up further.

Your jaw gave way, letting Carlos in on the sight of his saliva-covered thumb in your mouth, your tongue playing around with it. He pulled back, dragging his finger out of your mouth but not without wiping it slightly against your lip, enhancing the redness of it with a top coat.

“Good girl… good ruined girl.”

Heat pooled between your legs, forcing an involuntary hum from your throat. Weeks ago you would resist, deny, and deflect — you didn’t want him to notice, because he noticed everything — but his praise was like a switch flipped in your brain.

However, as fast as he praised, he also did the exact opposite.

“Go clean your face, I’m not letting you accompany me looking like that.” he spat, stepping aside so you could go wipe the mess he made on your face. The oval mirror in his office was nearly as familiar as the face you saw in it. The flashbacks were instant when you looked into it, images of him, of you, in positions he forced you into. Carlos liked making you watch, it etched itself in your memory better, he said.

You squeezed your thighs together as you wiped the ruined lipstick off of your chin, similar redness blooming on your cheeks. Carlos smirked knowingly, standing a few feet behind you. He could be in the background, not even touching you but your body was aflame for him, your mind playing tricks on you, triggers he put in your head setting off. You reapplied the lipstick, the phantom feeling of his finger on them almost making you miss the intimacy.

There was a knock on the door, signaling your ride was there. Armed guards escorted you to an awaiting car. A small convoy left the compound to ensure the patrón’s safety. A meeting with the other Narcos wasn’t something to underestimate. Light chatter took part in the car you were not part of. They didn’t need your opinion. You were there as a pretty face, nothing more, nothing less.

As you approached the hotel where the meeting would be held, the oppressive air started clawing at your lungs again. The delicate power balance you felt in the atmosphere was unnerving, ready to tip over in any direction. You and Carlos were patted down before entering. It was agreed that this meeting would be weapon-free. If anything was to go down, you’d be fighting with your bare hands.

The hotel was grand, smelling of the same filthy richness that Carlos’ office did. Your presence caught eyes. A woman, a pretty woman, here? Just as you learned to ignore the stares and comments of Carlos’ sicarios*, you avoided those of the other men, asking if you were lost or looking for a good time. The tension only heightened as you neared the entered the conference room and Carlos felt the need to remind you of your place. He caught you by the elbow, pulling you back against him, his lips against your ear. “You’re here to keep me company, not to speak. Understood?”

Your breath hitched, his voice, so close, sent shivers down your back. “Sí, señor.”

Carlos was satisfied enough with your response and let you go, stepping around you and opening the door. Your smaller form was hidden behind Carlos’ broad back as you entered, the other Narcos only catching sight of you as you walked along the enormous glass table.

Without looking up, you uttered a quiet ‘Buenos dias, señores.’ That was the only time you were allowed to speak.

Behind the clouds of smoke from cigars and cigarettes, the Narcos recognized a woman. They exchanged glances, whispers, scoffs but nothing you wouldn’t be used to already. Despite their visible disapproval, no one dared speak up.

Carlos sat at the head of the table, as he was the organizer of the meeting, leaving you a small seat behind him, just to further emphasize you were not part of the negotiations.

The meeting started but not much has reached your ears throughout, selectively more than not. The Narcos discussed new routes, skirmishes with the DEA, feuds over territory, nothing you could be a part of anyway.

You were picking on your nails when one of the older gentlemen mentioned the neighborhood you grew up in.

“…a possible lab location, routes go out here and through this way,”

His fat finger was pointing to a map, showing what in his mind was a new business idea the others would approve of. For a moment you were taken into your childhood home, playing with your sister on the front porch. It was nice, safe but you always saw men linger around, men who had DEA badges on their belts. Still thinking you were in your mind, you murmured. “Yeah, right into the DEA’s hands…”

Silence.

Feeling a full body chill, you looked up, slowly, each tilt of your head further revealed more shocked and angry expressions of the Narcos.

The man whose idea you challenged leaned back and looked at Carlos in disbelief.

“Carlos, who is this? Did you bring a secretary? Are you into females advising you now?”

Your heart nearly stopped, eyes widening as the weight of your little comment hit you.

“Why did you bring a woman into the meeting anyway? Now she’s thinking she’s one of us.” Another man sneered as all gazes turned to Carlos to watch his reaction.

Whatever he was thinking, one could not tell. His eyes flit briefly to you and then back, but you did notice his jaw clenching, a subtle show of his anger. But he masked it well, leaning back in his seat.

“She’s not one of us, but she’s right. Think about it.”

Carlos’ response had the Narcos stunned a second time that night. They turned to one another, murmuring amongst themselves, considering the situation. But no one was stunned more than you. He saved you…he acknowledged your opinion, among those he trusted the least but had to respect the most and vice versa.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly on alert and aware of what was being discussed. With bated breath, you watch the meeting conclude and the drug lords pour out of the conference room. Some regarded you with disgust, others with interest, some with caution but you would be in the meeting minutes of everyone who attended.

When the last of the traffickers left, the atmosphere of the room shifted. Carlos was quiet, too quiet for your liking. His fingers drummed against the glass table, the echo loud in the empty room. His head tilted to the side and you saw his jaw lock in place before he spoke.

“Are you the expert on routes now?” His tone was calm and cold, the kind that makes you want to huddle for warmth. It wasn’t a question for you to answer. A loud warning despite the pitch in his voice, but you knew this was more dangerous than if he’d yelled. “What did I tell you about speaking up?” his words had bite now.

“I-I didn’t mean to… I was just— you said I was right though! I grew up in that neighborhood! If you let them set up a lab there, the DEA would be onto them and you’d be the one cleaning up the mess.”

“Oh? You think you saved me?” he chuckled but there was no humor in it. “Do not think this is how you repay favors, little princess.”

You averted his gaze, the taste of forced submission bitter on your tongue. Your palms were sweating again and you had to wipe them on your dress this time. Carlos watched you, the intensity in his eyes threatening to light the fire inside you again and he knew.

The sound of the snapping of his fingers was loud in the room, making you look up at him again.

“Come here.”

First lesson in obedience — do as you’re told.

You got up on shaky legs, taking a few short strides to Carlos’ side. Your tongue swiped over your bottom lip in anticipation, catching the cherry red lipstick he had given you a taste of before.

“Over the table, princesa…”

The glass table felt cold over your thighs and stomach, the dress you wore riding up as you bent over in front of him. You heard him sigh, the sound filling you with more delicious uncertainty. You felt his large hand on the back of your thigh, the rough callouses contrasting against the gentle caresses he gave you.

“This room was full of men who would shoot you for even looking at them wrong…” He spoke with softness that made you almost comfortable against the table like this was a fatherly scolding. Except it was.

Smack.

His palm landed against the back of your thigh, forcing air out of your lungs.

“And you thought you could just come in and play queen?” Carlos continued, his voice dropping an octave as he pulled your dress up, revealing your bare ass.

Smack.

The handprint on your ass cheek stung, its red outline hot to the touch as he rubbed his fingers over it. You cried out as he delivered the next smack to your other cheek.

Your eyes squeezed shut with the force he used, an involuntary moan slipping from your lips. He fisted his other hand in your hair, pulling your head back. His lips were against your ear again.

“I have every right to throw you to them… to let them devour you till there’s nothing but bones… but,” he trailed off, a strange occurrence, stretching the moment and breathing fire to your insides.

“You’re mine.”

Your head landed against the glass table as he let go of your hair, the thud making you groan. His hands trailed back down, catching against the waistband of your underwear and pulling it down. You gasped as the cold air hit your soaked pussy, the undergarment landing around your ankles. Carlos grabbed at your ass cheek, squeezing and spreading you to him.

“Ah… I’m beginning to think you like this, princesa.” His tone was mocking as his index finger slid through the wetness making your hips jerk. Your neediness amused him, almost as much as your fear.

The clinking sound of his belt undoing only made you squeeze your thighs together, searching for friction despite how wrong it felt. But the smoldering need in your gut was stronger than your moral code. Your thighs spread slightly, welcoming him. You could hear a faint chuckle behind you, your willingness nothing short of amusement to Carlos.

He nudged the tip of his cock against your slit, coating himself in the slickness he was the cause of. Just like all those times before, Carlos didn’t wait, he took what he wanted. Always.

The first thrust pushed you hard against the glass table and stole air from your lungs. You never got used to his size, the stretch always stung a little, the force of his thrusts always left your hips aching the next day and you knew you’d be feeling the same later.

He hissed, forcing himself to the hilt before pulling back and in again, setting a steady pace. His large hands gripped your hips, keeping you pinned between him and the table. You knew there would be bruises, bruises you’d hide, bruises he’d expose. Regrets you’d have to face one way or another.

Carlos pressed one hand against the small of your back, making you arch, your ass pushing back against his hips.

“That’s it…that’s it,” he murmured, looking down, your ass bouncing off his hips a mesmerizing sight. As your cheeks spread further apart, his eyes fell to your tight hole, and Carlos felt an itch he could not help but scratch. His hand slid down, his thumb pressing against it, feeling you clench around him.

He growled, pressing a little harder, testing your reaction. When you whined and clenched again, he knew he found a sweet spot.

“Fuck, you like it, princesa? You like when I play with your tight little ass?”

Your insides were molten, your resolve and pride burned to a crisp. Even your unspoken protests evaporated right on your tongue from the heat. “Yes…fuck, yes!” you panted out, feeling the knot in your stomach coil.

Carlos grinned, his thumb staying where it was, relishing in your walls fluttering even tighter around him, pushing him closer to the edge. He picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force.

“Such a dirty little thing… you want it? Tell me you want it, princesa.” You knew he was getting close when his mouth spewed the filthiest words, looking to get off on your reactions.

Your tongue nearly lolled out of your mouth, the pleasure overwhelming your senses. You knew what he wanted to hear and you gave in.

“Please,”

Carlos bit his lip, groaning as you begged for him, the act alone making his cock twitch. “Again, let me hear you.” You felt his chest press against your back, pushing you impossibly closer to the table to the point you thought it would break.

“P-Please…” your voice was louder this time, enough to the man above you. He grunted in satisfaction, his pace faltering before he spilled himself inside you. His hips stilled, but the weight of him continued to bruise your smaller body.

Carlos took a moment before he pulled out, panting, the grip on your hip easing. Your knees bucked slightly with exhaustion and Carlos, thinking himself merciful, grabbed at your elbow, pulling you up. You looked up at him but the sight of the cunning smile on his face told you that this was far from over. He yanked you in his direction and you ungracefully landed on your knees, the impact making you whine. Carlos snorted with laughter, adoring the sight of your pathetic self beneath him. He stepped closer to you and you lifted your head to meet his gaze, instead, you were met with the sight of his still-hard cock, now glistening with your mixed juices.

“Clean it…” His bottom lip twitched slightly, along with his eyebrow, taunting you as he breathed deeply. He pushed your limits, used you to his heart’s content, all because he could. Each little request a test to see if you’d break and disobey. But the moment your lips wrapped around him, his hands were back in your hair.

“Fuck— good girl,” the overstimulation made him groan, tightening his hold on your hair. You licked at him obediently, the taste salty on your tongue. He revered in the skill of your mouth, praising it as you worked. Every gag made him coo in a mocking tone and when you pulled off, he didn’t hesitate to take the reins. He took hold of his cock, his other hand in your hair, and dragged it over your cheek, across your face, a sick grin spreading across his lips as he watched you squeeze your eyes tightly so none of the mess would get there. He knew the smell would cling to your sweet skin, that was why he did it. He pulled back to look at his work.

The sight of your makeup ruined, cheeks stained, now with the added smell of him on you. Perfect. Carlos grinned, moving to tuck himself back in his suit pants.

“Now, that’s a pretty slut. Come on, let’s go…”

…

want more patrón!Carlos? lemme know in my askbox!! I plan on writing more for this AU and would love to know your thoughts on it<3

2024 @ gokyrts . Do not distribute or translate my work on other sites.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Game of Control || NFL Player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

Summary: Your ex who plays on the opposing team taunts you, prompting Rafe to confront him, dominating him on the field; proving his protectiveness and love.

Warnings: noneee

Word count: 1,301

A/n: happy new year to those who celebrate ❤️

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

The roar of the stadium crowd reverberated through the tunnel, the excitement and tension of game day buzzing in the air. Your boots clicked against the concrete floor as you made your way toward the field where the Cowboys were set to take on one of their biggest rivals, the sequined blue and white uniform catching the fluorescent lighting.

It was your element—the energy of the crowd, the spotlight, the exhilaration of performing as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. Rafe was already on the field warming up. You'd caught his eye earlier during pregame routines, and he'd sent you a quick wink, a hint of the smirk you knew all too well. He thrived on the attention, your attention specifically.

But so did you in your own way—a dynamic that sometimes made your relationship fiery but always magnetic. Just as you were about to turn a corner into the light of the field, a hand reached out and grasped your arm. You froze, spinning on your heel to face the figure. “Y/n,” a voice said, too familiar and too unwanted. You froze for a moment before turning.

There he was—Ethan. Your ex. Tall, smug, and unfortunately wearing the rival team’s uniform. The bold colours of his jersey were a sharp contrast to the dim tunnel, and his smirk made your stomach churn. “What do you want?” you asked, your voice cold as you folded your arms across your chest. Ethan leaned against the wall, blocking your path with ease. “Relax. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” you deadpanned, attempting to step around him. He moved to block you again, his grin widening. “I see you’re still loving the spotlight,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery as his eyes roamed over your uniform. “All dolled up, shaking those pom-poms, stealing the show. Bet you like this, don’t you? Being the centre of attention.” You felt your jaw tighten, heat rising to your face, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was anger.

“Move, Ethan. I’m not interested in whatever this is.” “Come on, Y/n,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a faux whisper. “You always liked people watching you, didn’t you? I mean, why else would you stay with Cameron? Must be nice, being his little trophy.” You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to stay calm. Ethan’s words were a calculated jab, meant to get under your skin.

“You don’t know anything about my relationship, so keep your opinions to yourself,” you said firmly. “Oh, I know plenty,” Ethan retorted, his smirk growing. “Like how guys like him only care about what’s on the outside. Cameron must be loving the arm candy, huh? But hey, if you’re happy playing the part, who am I to judge?” Anger flared hot in your chest, but before you could respond, a voice interrupted, deep and dripping with fury.

“What the hell is going on here?” Both you and Ethan turned to see Rafe striding toward you, his jaw set and his eyes dark with barely contained rage. Clad in his Dallas Cowboys gear, he looked every inch the intimidating force you knew him to be on the field. Ethan straightened, his smirk faltering slightly but still intact. “Relax, Cameron,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Just catching up with an old friend.” Rafe didn’t even spare him a glance. His eyes locked on you, scanning your face as if to check for any sign of discomfort or distress. “You okay?” You nodded quickly, the tightness in your chest easing slightly at his presence. “I’m fine. He was just leaving.” Rafe’s gaze shifted to Ethan, his lips curling into a cold smile. “You heard her. Leave.”

Ethan held his ground, clearly trying to appear unfazed. “Relax, man. We were just catching up.” Rafe took another step forward, his height making the space between them feel smaller, more suffocating. “You don’t touch her, and you don’t talk to her. Ever again.” There was a long pause, the tension thick enough to cut. Ethan glanced between the two of you, then finally took a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

He brushed past Rafe, but not before throwing a final comment over his shoulder. “See you out there.” Rafe stood motionless, his fists clenched at his sides, until Ethan disappeared into the tunnel. When Rafe finally turned back to you, his expression softened, though the tension in his body remained. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice quieter this time.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, placing a hand on his arm. “Don’t let him get to you.” His jaw ticked, and you could see the battle waging in his mind. Finally, he nodded, but the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. “Go do your thing,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “I’ll take care of him.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already walking away, his broad shoulders tense as he headed toward the field.

~

From the sidelines, you could feel the shift in Rafe the moment the game began. He was locked in, his focus razor-sharp—but it wasn’t just about football. Every time Ethan touched the ball, Rafe was there, delivering brutal, bone-crushing tackles that sent the crowd into a frenzy. It wasn’t long before the tension between the two boiled over.

In the second quarter, after a particularly vicious hit that left Ethan sprawled on the turf, he shoved Rafe as he got up, muttering something under his breath. Rafe didn’t back down. Instead, he said something that was lost in the chaos of the game. But the expression on Rafe’s face said it all—this was personal.

The referees stepped in before it could escalate further, but the warning had been delivered. From that moment on, it was clear that Rafe wasn’t just playing to win—he was playing to make a point. Ethan looked rattled, and Rafe looked like he was just getting started.

~

After the game, you waited for Rafe near the locker room, your heart still racing from the intensity of the match. When he finally appeared, his jersey was streaked with dirt and sweat, his expression unreadable. “You didn’t have to go that hard,” you said softly, though your tone lacked conviction. Rafe stopped in front of you, his eyes locking onto yours. “Yes, I did,” he said simply.

You let out a shaky breath, your emotions finally catching up to you. “Rafe, he’s not worth it.” “He disrespected you,” Rafe said, his voice hard. “I’m not gonna let that slide.” Your heart ached at the protectiveness in his tone, but there was something deeper beneath it—a frustration, a vulnerability he rarely let show. “I can handle myself,” you said, reaching out to touch his arm.

“I know you can,” he replied, his voice softening. “But you don’t have to. Not when I’m here.” The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, without warning, Rafe pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. “You’re mine,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and raw.

“Nobody talks to you like that. Nobody.” You buried your face in his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart calm the storm inside you. “I love you,” you whispered, the words carrying every ounce of gratitude and affection you felt for him. Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to cup your face. “I love you too,” he said, his voice steady.

“And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. Always.” In that moment, the chaos of the game, the tension of the day—it all faded away. All that mattered was the two of you, standing together in the aftermath, stronger than ever.

[myownwholewildworld]

A DARK COMFORT ― a Boston QZ!Joel oneshot

series masterlist | ao3 pairing: Boston QZ!Joel x f!reader. summary: it is that time of the month and Joel helps you by fucking the pain out of you. a/n: joel is the type of man who loves his woman every day of the month and i will die on this hill. this is purely self-indulgent, sorry not sorry? as always, comments, likes and reblogs are much appreciated <3 take care! x warnings: 18+, mdni. pwp honestly. period sex. period blood. use of a menstrual cup. reader is dealing with period pain, cries a fair bit. cock as pain management. cockwarming. unprotected piv. creampie. mind the hefty age gap (reader is 19, joel is 56, oopsie). pet names (kiddo, daddy's girl, little girl, etc). daddy kink. dom!joel, sub!reader. ddlg dynamics. a bit of mean!joel too. a sprinkle of slut shaming. reader is a blank slate with no backstory, has hair. only reader's pov. no use of y/n. w/c: ~2.5k. divider by @\cafekitsune

You squirmed, pain radiating from your womb in all directions, your toes curling under the bedsheets and fingers tight into fists.

This didn’t happen every month, but when it did, it hit you like a motherfucking truck, almost rendering you unconscious. Your period could be a bitch sometimes, making you feel moody and restless. Like now. Your uterus had a mind of her own, wanting to escape and run free into the world. The pain was blinding, disarming you until you were a sobbing ball on Joel’s bed, desperately clutching at your lower belly, begging for this to be over.

But your cramps were not the worst part of it, no.

Your boobs were. They were so sensitive, the light brush of your bra hurt like hell. Heavy and swollen, they were extremely sore to the touch. Your nipples had tautened, buds painfully wrinkling — your areolas were so oversensitive it felt overwhelming. You couldn’t even touch them without tearing up.

“Kiddo?” Joel called from the living room, but you didn’t answer.

You were focusing all your energy on keeping the pain at bay, couldn’t think of anything else right now. So out of it you were, you hadn’t noticed Joel had entered the room until he sat beside you on the mattress.

“What’s wrong?” he husked, the palm of his calloused hand rubbing your back.

Your brows furrowed, the pain from your lower back momentarily chased away by his caress.

“I'm hurting real bad, daddy. My belly, my back, m-my boobs...” You whispered, pouting, trying to stop the tears.

“My little girl is hurting?” he tsked, his hand moving from your lower back to the swell of your ass. “Can’t have that. Let daddy help you, kid.”

Without voicing your agreement, Joel’s fingers hooked around the elastic hem of your pyjama pants and tugged at them whilst curled up on your side.

You writhed a little when your bottoms and underwear were pulled down to your ankles.

“Daddy... I-I’m on my period...” you sniffled, glassy eyes following the motions of his hands as he untangled the clothing from your feet and threw the items to one side.

Joel didn’t even flinch.

“So? I’m still gonna help. C’mere,” Joel palmed his lap.

You quietly obliged, sitting up on bed while pain shot in all directions. It was so intense it caught you off guard, bending over at your waist while you wailed and hugged yourself.

Joel stood up in front of you, scooping you up. Driven by pure instinct, you laced your hands behind his neck, holding on as he walked you both to the bathroom.

Once there, he put you down on the toilet bowl and coaxed your thighs apart whilst kneeling in front of you. You looked at him shyly, trying to press your thighs together, feeling really exposed right now.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel tutted at you, warm palms on your inner thighs as he pulled your legs further apart. “Nothing to be shy about, kiddo.”

As he spoke, his middle finger had found your clit and pressed it gently. But despite the softness of his stroke, it still hurt.

You hissed in pain, hips bucking up as you grabbed his shoulders, your nails leaving bloody crescent moons behind. You shut your eyes and tilted your face to the ceiling, mouthing a silent prayer.

Luckily he didn’t insist, and instead his fingers travelled further down until they found the removal ring of your menstrual cup.

When he started pulling, your eyes shot open, and your fingers wrapped around his wrist to stop him from removing your menstrual cup.

“Joel...” you mumbled.

This felt so intimate, so personal, you didn’t think your hormones could take it.

“Trust me, kiddo. It’s just blood. It’ll make you feel better,” he whispered in reply at the same time he tugged at the removal ring and the cup broke its seal.

The splashing underneath sounded vile, a stream of blood dripping from your hole until the water in the bowl turned a deep shade of red.

You looked away, ashamed right now of your own body. But Joel wouldn’t let you feel the embarrassment, his words reassuring.

“I’m here to take care of you, baby. Even when you’re all moody and giving me the silence treatment for no reason whatsoever,” he said while standing up to grab a towel and wet it under the sink. Joel then crouched down in front of you again and wiped your pussy clean delicately. “You gotta learn to voice your needs, kiddo.”

“I'm sorry I’ve been a bitch to you the whole day, daddy. I just... I don’t know what I need,” you sobbed apologetically, sweeping the tears from your cheeks.

“I’ll show you what you need, so next time you know to ask for it,” he replied matter-of-factly, throwing the cup and the towel in the sink. “Can you walk?”

You nodded and submissively followed him back to the bed. Still standing there, naked from the waist down and a white tee shirt covering your chest, you watched Joel make himself comfortable on the bed.

When he unzipped his jeans, his hard erection sprung free, slapping his lower tummy. Joel scooped up his balls too, spilling over the worn fabric, and then stroked his length a couple of times.

Your pussy gushed, and you were not sure if it was your arousal or period blood. The sudden contraction of your inner walls sent a shiver up to your abdomen, another cramp making your tear up.

“Sit on him,” Joel purred, extending a hand towards you to help you get onto the bed.

“But...” you hesitated, hugging your shoulders with uncertainty. “I’m dirty, daddy.”

“Sit. on. him,” he growled, punctuating every word. “Don't make me repeat myself again.”

Still hesitant, you accepted his hand and jumped onto the bed, turning around on his lap so you were straddling him backwards. Joel’s broad hands rested gently on your hips as the flushed tip of his throbbing dick flicked your clit. You bit down your bottom lip, eyelids brimming with tears again. It was just too much, so your pussy hovered over his manhood indecisively.

“You’re not dirty, little girl. It’s blood, ain’t nothing wrong with that,” he croaked, kissing your neck.

Joel guided your hips, wiggling them a bit until his cockhead hitched in your wet entrance. Slowly he pushed you down his shaft, your cunt eagerly swallowing him whole until he was fully seated inside you, his balls kissing your swollen pussy lips.

Your walls burnt as they parted to house him, a sting of pain shooting up your body again as you gripped Joel’s forearms for support. You sobbed quietly, feeling full to the brim.

“Relax, kiddo,” Joel muttered, peppering your neck with kisses.

You took in a big breath and leaned your back against his chest. Joel didn’t move at all, letting you get used to the intrusion until you finally calmed down, the pain dissipating with every passing second. A few minutes later as you cockwarmed him, your cramps were completely gone.

Joel’s hands roamed your body, massaging your flesh gently — your thighs, your hips, your lower belly. He was so delicate but still put the right amount of pressure on your muscles to slacken.

You let go of a throaty sigh when his palm pressed against your lower belly and remained there for what seemed to be a long time. The added pressure on your womb felt good, but felt even better because now the presence of his thudding dick in your pussy was staggering. The only thing you could think about.

You circled your hips, grinding on him, but his hands were quick to clasp on your hips and stop you right in your tracks.

“I said relax, don’t move,” he ordered from behind you.

You did as told, squirming a little but remaining still.

After a while, the dull ache in your womb was gone, but the one on your breasts and nipples became more prominent. Joel felt your restlessness and without telling him what you needed of him, both of his hands drifted up your frame and below the tee shirt until they gently cupped your underboobs.

You whimpered when the textile of your bra brushed harshly against your sensitive buttons.

“Get rid of the bra and the tee shirt, they are not doing you any good, sweetheart. The fabric is just gonna hurt your pretty nipples even more,” he advised, tone raspy.

Leaning forward a bit, you removed your tee shirt and the bra quickly followed after that, flying across the room as you slouched back again against him. The moment you did, Joel began massaging your boobs, gentle but firm squeezes moulding your flesh but completely avoiding the nipples.

At first, it hurt too, your prickly buds so painful it was almost unbearable. You whined again, but that didn’t stop Joel, who kept on kneading your breasts, working and easing the swell of your bosom slowly but steadily.

“M-my nipples hurt, Joel… It’s like they are on fire… It’s too much…” you sobbed, resting the back of your head on his shoulder, little breaths reaching your lungs as you hiccupped.

“They are so sensitive, aren’t they?” You nodded, eyes shut and wet. “I know, kiddo, I know. You poor little thing…”

His tone wasn’t mocking but tinged with worry. He did care about you, otherwise Joel wouldn’t be taking all this time to ease your pain, to soothe you. And it was working, because his cock, deeply furrowed inside you, was keeping the cramps away.

“I’m gonna touch them, alright? Might hurt a little first, but the pain will go. Okay?” he husked and you shook your head yes. “Daddy’s girl is so good, so strong. Just push through the first sting of pain and you’ll be fine.”

The moment his thumbs flicked your nipples, you hummed in pain, squeezing your eyes shut, your nose wrinkling with effort as your top teeth sank into your bottom lip. You even stopped breathing as Joel pressed gentle circles on your sensitive, taut nubs.

“J-Joel… God… They hurt so bad… Please make it stop,” you sobbed and begged, tears running down your warm cheeks.

“Shhh, it’s alright… Deep breaths, baby,” he coached you by inhaling and exhaling loudly so you would follow his lead. “Attagirl, keep going.”

When your breathing stabilised, Joel covered both of your nipples with his palms, fingers gently digging in your meat as his hands moved in circles, rubbing your painful buttons until they were warmed up and soft again. You sighed heavily, the pain slowly disappearing whilst his rough palms smothered your nipples.

Finally, you had no pain at all. Your womb felt tight warming his girthy cock, squeezing him sweetly, and your boobs, although still swollen, were like putty while Joel cradled them. With the pain gone, now there was room for something else — a warm pulsing in your core, commending you to look for the final release that would wipe out any background ache.

“You’re ready now, aren’tcha?” Joel gritted out, biting your shoulder as his cock pulsated between your vibrating walls. “My little bitch’s in heat. This is how you deal with it, kiddo. You just need my cock ruining your pussy and then you’ll feel better.”

You squirmed in agreement, moving your hips in circles on his lap. Suddenly your skin was extremely hot to the touch and your pussy was clamping down around his girth.

“Daddy, please,” you implored, your clit burning with desire now.

“I don’t appreciate how moody you’ve been today, so much fucking attitude. You gotta behave better than this,” he scolded you, gripping your breasts tighter. “I’m letting it go this one time, but next I won’t be as understanding. Got it?”

All the gentleness he had showered you with until now was gone, anger simmering under the surface of his skin. You could feel it irradiating from him.

You were so overwhelmed, so horny now, you couldn’t reply.

“Use your words, kiddo. I want to hear you apologise,” he snarled, one hand releasing your boob to travel down your chest until it reached your puffy pussy. Joel rubbed your clit and you screamed, seeing stars behind your eyes. “Speak.”

“Yes, daddy. I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry. I’ll behave better next time I’m in heat. Please forgive me,” you beseeched, feral with lust.

“Good girl,” his fingers left your clit and clutched your unattended breast again. “Now bounce on me. Make me come.”

You didn’t need any further instructions. With the push of your knees, you began bouncing on him while Joel cradled your breasts. Your drenched pussy was so wet with your arousal and your own blood, the squelching sounds lasciviously filled the room. You jumped on his shaft as fast as you could, his mushroom head kissing your cervix every single time, sending you over the edge to the point where your eyes were constantly rolled back and your agape mouth drooled.

The whole thing felt sinful, but so damn good. So good, a few minutes later you were both coming. Joel’s warm spent filled your pussy to the brim as he moaned behind you uncontrollably, your cunt clenching around his circumference to milk him completely dry. Your own climax hit you like a brick wall as you fell to the abyss of your pleasure, heaving like a maniac.

Joel’s rugged breathing told you you had met his expectations, his hands gently roaming your body again. When you came down from your high, you leaned forward to unplug your gushing opening, but Joel’s hands on your hips stopped you from doing so.

“No, kiddo. Stay where you are. You don’t want the pain to come back, do you?”

“But the blood…” you trailed off, looking down to where you were joint like mating dogs.

Dark blood pooled on his empty nuts, mixed with the slick of your shared arousal. A red trickle ran down his thighs, staining the bedsheets underneath. Now that the haze of pleasure had dissolved, it felt ungodly, dirty, shameful even.

“How many times do I need to say it? Don’t worry about the fucking blood,” he sneered, slightly exasperated with you. But you couldn’t help yourself.

Your bottom lip trembled with his reprimand, the hormones rushing through your system with free will.

Joel sighed, hugging you until your back was resting on his chest again, his cock still plugging your opening.

“Don’t cry. Sorry, kiddo,” Joel nuzzled your cheek before kissing it. “I know this is your first time with period sex, but it’s been good, hasn’t it?” You nodded shyly, looking at him askance. “If you ain’t hurting now and feel satisfied, don’t worry about anything else.”

His words calmed you again. Joel was right. It’d been good — more than good, if you were to be true to yourself. The pain you had been suffering for hours was now a ghost of the past all thanks to Joel.

“Thank you, daddy,” you hushed, tilting your head in an invitation.

Joel bowed down, his tongue meeting yours, wrestling until you were out of breath. When the kiss broke, you giggled.

“Don’t mention it, kiddo,” Joel replied, his hands finding your breasts again to massage them as you cockwarmed him.

[coddda]

Everyone knows that Light and L matched each other's freak but I think their dynamic in the musical (the Japanese ver specifically) is underrated. Like it's not super different from canon but they just had this extra edge of Violence that we never quite saw from the more methodical and careful mindgames in canon death note and I think it's great. Like, yes, they did declare in canon that they will bring each other to justice, yes L says he wants to send Kira to his execution, but in the lyrics of the musical they both outright say multiple times that they just want to straight up Kill each other. It's direct the whole way through. There's more mutual contempt. This game is about nothing more than simply being the first one to Kill the Other (they actually use the word "殺し合い" (koroshiau) or "to kill each other" to describe their game (translated as "murderous ... game")).

(Sidenote but all those references about wanting to send each other to Hell?? Beautiful)

Yeah this is a battle of justice and ideals, yes that clash is a key part of their final confrontation at the end of the musical, but throughout their duets (or even songs like The Game Begins where they're singing by themselves) there's this near singleminded desire to just fucking End each other. It's fucking Raw and it's great.

Also THIS FUCKING SCENE?? THIS SCENE FROM SECRETS AND LIES. Iconic. Actually Insane. My jaw dropped. Light looks like a crazy bitch it's beautiful.

Um. Also. Obligatory Playing His Game (yknow the gay sex song) lines dump. It basically says everything I just said above in like 9 lines. You see what I mean right.

In canon they're playing a game of mental chess, trying to use everyone around them to finally catch the other as their end goal, but in the musical you really do feel like all they see is each other. They would probably beat each other to death with their fists if it came down to that. Idk they're just so excited and fired up about their little game in the musical and it's so unhinged and fun and special and I love it. It's like the writers for the musical decided to kick their murderous intent up a couple notches and the result is absolutely Beautiful.

I also think that the intensity of their rivalry in the beginning just makes the wind-down of The Way It Ends soo much better. It's such a good contrast to their previous duets where they try to sing over each other (Secrets and Lies & Stalemate) or with each other but basically at the top of their lungs (Playing His Game). It feels like there's both a quiet mutual understanding but also an underlying disappointment that the game is finally over. In canon, L's death Is instead the peak of their game, the moment he gets confirmation that Light is Kira is the exact same moment that he dies. In the jdrama it's almost sudden, how L dies, after the quiet moment has already passed. But in the musical L's death, ironically, Is the one quieter moment in their game. Their peak was the game itself. It was Secrets and Lies and Playing His Game. But the end of the game in the musical is not a victory, it's just (as L says) the end of everything they'd been wanting up until this point.

Uh. Fuck it. Clip from the Kenji Urai version because I just love his delivery here. His tone just goes so well with the silence and the sound of the clock ticking. You see what I mean right.

Their rivalry in the musical may have been more shortlived but like Damn they were really enjoying every second of it. They were truly insane about each other until the very end. (Like despite everything I just said about the ending it was still unhinged as fuck. Light Making L Shoot Him and then Making L Shoot Himself with L's Own Hand?? Holy shit man. What the fuck /pos)

Musical Light and L your game might've been shorter but you'll always be famous <33 Please never inflict what you had on anyone else ever please stay in hell forever thank you

[parkitrighthere]

ASHES OF A PROMISE

• TITLE: ASHES OF A PROMISE

• PAIRING: Lycan king!Jungkook x Werewolf!Reader

•WORD COUNT: 23.6k

• GENRE: Paranormal Romance, Dark Fantasy, Smut, Slow burn, Fluff (?), Tragic Romance, Grumpy X Sunshine(?), Royal au

• TRIGGER WARNING: The following content contains themes of emotional distress, manipulation, rejection, and verbal abuse, including emotionally charged arguments and hurtful dialogue that could be distressing. There are references to violence, power dynamics, and trauma. Additionally, there are moments of self-doubt, intense emotional breakdowns, and interactions involving possessive and hostile behaviors. Please proceed with caution if these topics are sensitive or triggering for you.

• SUMMARY: You were a hopeless romantic, dreaming of a mate who would love you as fiercely as you loved him. But when you finally meet your mate, you discover he’s no ordinary wolf — he’s the Lycan king, the alpha of all alphas. Worse, he neither wants you nor is willing to reject you, leaving you trapped in a loveless bond in his kingdom. As queen to a king who resents you, the mate bond grows stronger, making you more vulnerable with each passing day. Now, you must break through the walls around his heart and make him love you, because staying in this bond without love is unbearable, yet leaving isn’t an option he’ll allow.

• a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @parkitrighthere. The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support.

PROLOGUE 01 MASTERLIST 03

CHAPTER 2: BITTER BONDS

The warm rays of the sun scrambled into your room, filtering through the thin curtains and casting streaks of light across the walls. One fell directly on your face, jarring you awake. You stirred, groaning softly as you turned your face into the pillow, but the persistent sunlight won. Squinting, you opened your eyes, only to immediately shut them again, wincing as the brightness stabbed through your eyelids. With a tired sigh, your hand rose to shield your face, your fingers pressing against your temples as if to push away the dull ache lingering behind your eyes.

The sunlight bathed the room in gold, but it might as well have been pitch black.  The sun’s glow felt hollow, incapable of touching the cold void within your chest. You stared blankly at the floor, your shoulders slumping forward, the weight of exhaustion—mental and emotional—pulling you down. The exhaustion wasn’t just in your body—it was in your bones, your mind, your very soul.

Pushing yourself up, you sat on the edge of the bed, your feet brushing against the cold floor. Your shoulders slumped, weighed down by thoughts you couldn’t silence, and your fingers curled into fists at your sides. It was a new day, but it didn’t feel like it. There was no hope. You didn’t want to be here. Not in this room, not in this life. Every cell in your body ached to escape, to run until the memories, the pain, and he couldn’t catch you. You wanted to run. Far away. From this place. From yourself. From everything.

Dragging your feet, you moved towards the washroom, each step slow and reluctant. Inside, you came to a halt in front of the mirror. For a long moment, you just stood there, gripping the edges of the sink. Your knuckles whitened as your fingers tightened, grounding you against the sight before you.

The woman in the mirror looked back at you, but she wasn’t you—not anymore. Red-rimmed eyes, swollen and glassy, looked out from a face streaked with old tears. Your lips quivered, tightening into a thin, bitter line as the taste of grief and shame flooded your tongue.

It wasn’t the face of someone who had found happiness. It was the face of someone who had been drowning for too long, someone who had forgotten how to breathe. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill again, but you blinked them away, your jaw clenching so hard it ached.

Who was she?

The woman in the mirror, with her defeated eyes and trembling lips, disgusted you. No, not disgust. It was something worse—pity. You hated the downheartedness that stared back at you, hated how small, how broken, you looked. Your lips pressed together, trembling before you forced them still.

You released the sink and let your arms fall to your sides, but they felt too heavy, lifeless. A harsh laugh escaped your lips—sharp, bitter, and hollow. Your reflection laughed with you, her lips curving in a way that mocked you. How could you not feel this way? You had every reason to. And yet, you told yourself not to. To push it down, to ignore it. Your teeth clenched at the irony.

What good was a heart if all it did was remind you you’re alive to feel this?

 The woman in the mirror wasn’t just tired—she was hollow, her spirit stripped bare. Her shoulders slumped forward, her head bowed slightly, as if the weight of her own reflection was too much to bear. The defeat in her eyes mirrored your own. You looked down, gripping the edge of the sink so hard your fingers began to ache. Why wouldn’t you feel defeated?

Since you were seven, all you’d ever wanted was a mate—someone to love, someone who would love you back. Every she-wolf dreamed of a mate who was strong, powerful, the kind of male who could rule the world with a flick of his hand. But not you. Never you. All you ever prayed for was someone who would love you with all their being. Someone who would breathe for you, as though you were the air in their lungs. Someone who couldn’t imagine a world where you didn’t exist. All you ever asked for was love.

And what did you get?

The strongest mate alive. The Lycan King, Jeon Jungkook. A bond forged by the moon goddess, not by love, not by affection. The kind of bond others envied, but for you, it was solely pain.

Your breath hitched as you thought back to the war, to the day your parents were taken from you. Their faces flickered behind your closed eyes. After their deaths, you had no one. No arms to hold you, no soothing voice to tell you it would be okay. Yet, you didn’t let yourself fall. You kept your head high.

Even when Alpha Sebastian slithered into your life with his venomous charm, trying to force his affection onto you, you didn’t break. Not when he found cruel ways to punish you for rejecting him, nor when the whispers started. The pack blamed you for Luna’s death, saying it was your fault that Alpha Sebastian had stopped caring for his mate. She lost faith in their bond because of you, they said. She lost her life because of you.

 They called you an abomination, a curse, a living punishment from the Moon Goddess.

But even then, you held on.

 you’d held on to hope.

But now?

The word left a bitter taste on your tongue now. The woman in the mirror, with her tired eyes and trembling shoulders, didn’t believe anymore. You lifted your hand, brushing it over your face as if you could wipe away the emptiness.

 Your voice cracking as you stared into the reflection. “Is this what I waited for?”

Your chest heaved as the questions clawed their way out of you. Love and expectation—they were inseparable. You’d given your heart to the idea of a mate, to the promise that the Moon Goddess hadn’t forgotten you. And now? Now, that belief felt like the cruelest lie.

Love, like everything else, had betrayed you.

"Bee?" A soft, calm voice called from the other side of the door. "Bee, you in there?"

You froze, your grip tightening around the cold edges of the sink. It was Patricia. Her voice, usually gentle, carried a fragile note now—worried, uncertain. The sound of it made your throat tighten and the urge to cry hit you like a crashing wave.

But you wouldn’t.

You couldn’t.

Not anymore. What was the point of shedding tears for someone who had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t care? His words from yesterday replayed in your mind like a haunting echo. Each syllable was a blade, dipped in venom, slicing through your heart in the cruelest, slowest way. You had heard him, all of him—his disdain, his indifference, his utter denial of everything you were.

You inhaled sharply, trying to ground yourself. Crying over someone like him felt like a waste. Someone so cold, so void of love for you, someone who found your very presence displeasing. The thought alone made your chest burn with humiliation.

"Bee?" Patricia called again, her voice more hesitant this time. A soft knock followed, breaking the silence of the small bathroom.

Your lips parted, trembling slightly as you forced the words out. "Yeah," you rasped, barely above a whisper. The sound of your own voice startled you—hoarse, dry, as if it had been scraped raw.

You knew why. You’d cried all night.

You swallowed thickly, pressing a trembling hand to your throat as if to soothe the ache there. Patricia would hear you, you were certain. She always did. Mated to the royal general, a powerful Lycan, her senses were sharper now than they ever had been. Before her bond, she’d been no stronger than a human. But the mate bond had changed her, as it did all she-wolves who were bonded to stronger males.

Your hands gripped the sink tighter, your nails digging into the porcelain as your head hung low. You hated thinking about it. About how everything—the bond, the strength, the connection—was supposed to mean something.

It was laughable.

You blinked, your eyes stinging as Patricia’s words barely registered in your mind. Jungkook’s face flashed before you, his piercing gaze filled not with love or warmth, but disdain. How could he look at you, his mate, his one and only, with such disregard? How could he reject everything you were, everything you could offer him?

What a cruel joke.

Mates were supposed to complete each other, to offer a bond so deep, so intimate, that no other connection could compare. Your nails scraped against the sink as your hands dropped, hanging limp at your sides. Tears welled in your eyes again, blurring your reflection. You swallowed hard, your jaw clenching as you pressed your palm to your chest. The pain there was suffocating, but you forced yourself to push it down.

"Oh," she said softly from the other side of the door, the sound dragging you from your thoughts. Her tone was light but carried an edge of hesitation, almost as if she were reluctant to disturb you.

"Actually," she continued, pausing briefly, "I was sent here to escort you to breakfast. The others are just about to start, so I’m supposed to ask you to hurry… but truly, take as much time as you need." Her words were soft, kind, her voice as soothing as a breeze on a stifling day. Patricia’s sweet nature was one of the few things you found comforting here. She wasn’t intrusive, just gentle.

There was a faint rustling sound as her footsteps retreated from the door, but the faint scent of lavender and mist lingered. It curled around you like an invisible ribbon, letting you know she hadn’t left the room. No, she was likely perched on her usual spot—the chair by the window, quietly watching the pack.

You sighed deeply, staring at the fogged bathroom mirror for a moment longer before shaking yourself out of it. There wasn’t time to wallow anymore. You moved quickly, showering with cold, hurried motions, scrubbing away the remnants of tears and exhaustion from your skin.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, dressed and somewhat composed, Patricia rose from her chair. Her movements were fluid yet unhurried, her head turning to meet your gaze. There was no judgment in her eyes, only a calm understanding. "Let’s go," she said softly, stepping toward the door with you following close behind.

Once in the hallway, she glanced at you and added, "Please walk ahead."

Her voice was still kind, but there was a subtle shift—a hint of annoyance beneath the surface. It caught you off guard. Patricia was always so patient, so unwavering in her gentleness, that the change in her tone made you hesitate. You nodded quickly and stepped forward, keeping your head low. The air between you felt slightly tense now, a faint pressure that made your shoulders sag further.

The truth was, you didn’t blame her. You’d been here for two days, and all you’d done was cry in your room. The grand halls and towering structures of this unfamiliar place were still foreign to you. You hadn’t even explored the parts of the estate you were allowed to wander. Most of your time was spent avoiding everyone, drowning in your own thoughts.

The silence between you stretched as you walked, Patricia trailing just a step behind. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye. Her expression was neutral, but there was something about the way her arms were crossed loosely in front of her and the way her lips pressed together that made you think she was holding back.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to," you said softly, walking beside her, your steps light but hesitant. "I seem to forget..."

“It’s fine, Bee,” Patricia interrupted, her voice steady but her posture slightly tense. She glanced at you, her sharp gaze unwavering. “But remember, you can’t afford to forget things here.” Her hand brushed against the fabric of her dress, a nervous gesture she quickly masked by straightening her posture. “Life in the palace isn’t like your pack. The smallest misstep can turn into a crime faster than you’d think.��

Her words carried weight, but it was the way her lips pressed into a thin line that made you pause. She exhaled quietly, as if debating whether to say more, before her eyes softened with a flicker of understanding.

“I know,” she said, her voice lowering, “because I was once where you are. I know what it’s like to come from a place where trust and loyalty is a given. But here?” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, her breath warm against your ear. “It’s not the same here.”

Her tone sent a shiver down your spine, but before you could respond, Patricia straightened abruptly, her expression now unreadable.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“We’re here,” she said, her tone flat as you both entered the dining hall.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Your mate. Your king.

Your heart leapt into your throat, beating too fast as your eyes locked with his. The world around you seemed to blur and fade as your body reacted before your mind could catch up. A rush of warmth flooded your face, shame clawing at you for still caring so much when he had made it clear how little you mattered.

 How could your body betray you like this? After everything, how could it still react to him this way?

 The subtle shift in his body was almost imperceptible, but you saw it. His jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffened, and then… His eyes flashed yellow.

It was brief—a flicker that lasted no more than a heartbeat. But it was enough to make your stomach twist. For a fleeting moment, his expression crumbled. There was something there, something raw. Sadness? Guilt? But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

The hardness returned to his features, his eyes now cold and distant. You stared at him, your thoughts racing. Had you imagined it? Surely, you must have. Why would he ever feel anything for you? Emotions were a luxury he’d never shown, especially not toward you.

Your heart ached at the memory of his harsh words, his refusal, the way he’d made it abundantly clear that he neither desired you nor wanted you that you were nothing but an obligation.

You forced yourself to look away, biting the inside of your cheek until the metallic tang of blood filled your mouth. This was your reality, and no matter how much it hurt, you had to accept it.

Patricia walked gracefully to her mate, her fingers brushing against his shoulder as she took her place beside him. You followed her steps hesitantly, your heart pounding as you aimed for the empty seat next to her.

But before you could sit, a voice—low, gruff, and tinged with barely restrained anger—cut through the air. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Your head snapped up, your breath hitching as you met his gaze. Jungkook. His dark eyes bore into yours with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine. His jaw was clenched, the muscle there twitching as he fought for control. You swallowed hard, feeling exposed under his scrutiny.

You wanted to act clueless, to feign innocence, but deep down, you knew exactly what he meant. His wolf, restless and simmering with frustration, was furious at your attempt to distance yourself. And yet, the anger you saw in his eyes didn’t seem directed at you—it felt like it was aimed inward.

Before you could respond, Neil’s calm voice broke the tension. “Luna, please sit here.”

Neil, gestured toward the seat beside Jungkook. His tone was gentle but firm, a quiet firmness in his words. It was the first time he had addressed you directly, and it caught you off guard.

You glanced at Neil, noting the warmth in his eyes as they flickered briefly to Patricia. His love for her was unmistakable, a bond so strong it almost hurt to witness. You’d always admired him for it, envied it even.

For a moment, defiance sparked in your chest. You wanted to refuse, to argue, to push Jungkook’s buttons just as he had pushed yours so many times before. But as your gaze shifted around the room, you saw the quiet anticipation in the faces of those seated at the table. This wasn’t the time for petty defiance.

Your shoulders slumped, and with a quiet sigh, you turned toward the seat beside Jungkook. Fear clawed at your insides as you took your place next to him, the scent of him making your heart twist painfully.

He didn’t look at you at first, but you could feel his attention like a physical weight. His presence was smothering, his gaze burning into the side of your face. You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress.

“Could you please not stare?” you asked, your voice strained but steady.

Jungkook blinked, his head tilting slightly as if considering your request. Then, to your surprise, he nodded and turned his gaze away.

The absence of his attention left a muted ache in your chest, one you couldn’t explain. You bit your lip, frustrated with yourself, with him, with everything. What did you want from him?

Your stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, breaking the silence. Your eyes widened in mortification as you instinctively placed a hand over your stomach. Slowly, you raised your gaze, feeling heat rush to your face as every pair of eyes at the table turned to you.

Kian, sitting across from you, grinned broadly, his amusement clear. “Well, someone’s hungry,” he teased, his tone light and playful.

Neil chuckled softly, leaning forward slightly. “Luna, you seem quite famished,” he said warmly. “Let’s call the maid to serve you, shall we?”

"Eat." The word left Jungkook’s lips like an order, firm and without room for argument.

You glanced at him, startled, and whatever faint smile had been tugging at your lips vanished. Your eyes darted to the plate he had pushed toward you—his plate, laden with food that he had been served.

For a moment, you just stared at it, confusion knotting your stomach. What was he doing? Why?

Jungkook’s jaw was tight, his face unreadable, but his actions screamed louder than words. Your chest tightened as the realization settled in—this wasn’t just about food. Among wolves, this act, this gesture, was intimate. Deeply so. A male sharing his plate with his mate was a declaration, a way of showing care and devotion. It was a prideful, loving tradition.

But here? Now? With him? It felt like a cruel mockery.

Your throat dried as you sat frozen, your fingers twitching against the edge of the table. The food, no matter how beautifully plated, felt like poison on display.

"You’re hungry, aren’t you?" His voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, calm and steady, but his sharp gaze pinned you in place.

You wanted to lash out, to demand answers, to scream at him for the impossible game he seemed to be playing with your heart. But instead, you bit the inside of your cheek and looked away, your nails digging into your palm beneath the table.

"I am," you whispered. Your voice barely carried over the tension that hung between you, and you knew he’d caught the bitterness hidden beneath it. Your fingers reached out, shaky, as you took the fork and scooped up a bite of food. The silence around the table was deafening as you brought it to your mouth.

The moment the food touched your tongue, a wave of nausea rolled through you. It wasn’t the taste—it was good, perhaps too good. But the knot in your stomach tightened as you swallowed. Your chest ached, your emotions teetering between hurt and anger, sorrow and frustration.

The maids arrived, placing plates in front of him as the others had already begun eating. You focused on your own plate, determined to finish as quickly as you could. You were practically swallowing your food, each bite feeling heavier than the last. The sooner you finished, the sooner you could escape.

But his gaze. God, his gaze.

It bore into you, unwavering, a mix of amusement and something else you couldn’t place. Anger simmered in your chest, like molten lava threatening to erupt. Why couldn’t he just look away?

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, his movements deliberate, his jaw tightening as his eyes remained locked on you. He wasn’t just watching; he was studying, dissecting every little movement you made.

You felt heat rise to your face, not from embarrassment but from pure frustration. Your grip on the fork tightened as you shoveled the last bite into your mouth.

When you finally set your fork down, you realized you hadn’t eaten any faster than the others. Taking a deep breath, you stood, your chair scraping against the floor as you pushed it back and you turned on your heel and headed for the door. But just as you stepped outside, a hand clamped around your arm, firm but not painful. The electric zing that shot up your arm told you exactly who it was before he even spoke.

“Wait,” Jungkook said, his voice low and commanding.

You stopped but didn’t turn to face him. Your body stiffened under his touch, the tingling sensation spreading like wildfire. You clenched your teeth, willing yourself to stay calm.

“What do you want, Jungkook?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. You finally turned to meet his eyes, and there it was—something flickering in them. Frustration? Guilt? A plea for something he’d never admit aloud?

He stood there, frozen in place, his gaze locked on you as though the weight of his unspoken words was crushing him. His lips parted slightly, but the only sound that escaped was a shaky breath, faint and unsteady. His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate movements, as if he was trying to summon the courage to speak.

His hand, warm and firm around your arm, trembled almost imperceptibly. His fingers tightened, not out of aggression but as though he was anchoring himself, trying to keep you from slipping away. His boba eyes, wide and glistening, drifted down to where his hand rested against your skin. For a moment, he seemed utterly captivated by the contact, the conflict in his expression so raw it almost startled you.

You followed his gaze, your eyes drawn to the place where his touch burned, not with fire, but with something far more complicated. Was that guilt? Was he finally regretting what he had said—the wounds he’d inflicted on you, on your pride, your soul, your very essence?

Your heart ached, but it wasn’t for yourself. No, it was for him. For the man who looked so lost in his towering, intimidating frame. But you bit back the tenderness rising in your throat. He didn’t deserve it. Not yet. Not after everything.

Jungkook let out a slow, trembling sigh, his eyes lifting back to yours. And in that moment, your breath caught. There was something there, something raw and unguarded. Vulnerability. Pain. Hope.

You hated it.

No, you hated yourself for how it made you feel—for how it cracked the armor you’d built against him. You wanted to deny it, to run from it, but the truth burned in the back of your mind. You’d step into the monster’s den again and again if he asked you to.

“I…” His voice cracked, barely audible, and he looked away, his lashes casting soft shadows against his cheekbones. His jaw clenched, then relaxed, his lips moving as if silently rehearsing the words he couldn’t seem to say aloud. “I just wanted to…”

“To what?” you snapped, cutting him off. The sharpness in your voice masked the vulnerability bubbling inside you. You crossed your arms, pulling yourself from his grasp, his hand falling limply to his side.

He flinched, but he didn’t back away. His shoulders slumped slightly, the perfect, confident facade slipping just enough for you to see the man beneath the alpha.

“I just…” he began again, swallowing hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed, the motion almost painful to watch. “I just want to talk.”

“Talk?” You laughed, the sound sharp and bitter, slicing through the heavy silence like a blade. “You think there’s anything left to say? After all you’ve done, after all you’ve said? You made yourself perfectly clear, Jungkook. You don’t want me. So why pretend now?”

He flinched, his shoulders stiffening as your words hit him like a whip. His jaw tightened, and his hand curled into a fist. “You think I’m pretending?” His voice was low but defensive, the anger in his tone sparking like a flame trying to catch.

“Aren’t you?” you shot back, your arms crossing tightly over your chest. You held your ground, even as his presence loomed larger, more controlling. “Why am I even here, standing before a king who’s never once truly wanted me?” His brows furrowed, and his lips parted, but no words came. Frustration rippled through him, his clenched fists trembling at his sides.

“You’re my mate,” he said finally, the words laced with a mix of gloom and desperation.

“Am I?” You laughed again, colder this time, the sound devoid of warmth. “Or am I just convenient, something to acknowledge when it suits you? Because the rest of the time, I’m nothing more than an obligation, aren’t I? Something forced on you, something you resent.”

“It’s not like that,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. His voice was soft, uncertain, as though he didn’t believe the words himself.

“Don’t lie to me,” you snapped, your voice cracking. You took a step closer, forcing him to meet your eyes. “I’ve lived through your silence, your indifference. You meant every single word you’ve ever said, Jungkook. Don’t you dare stand here and tell me otherwise.”

His head lifted, and his eyes, wide and panicked, locked with yours. There was a crack in his carefully built facade, a flicker of vulnerability that nearly made you falter. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Oh, but you did,” you cut him off, your voice trembling despite the steel in your tone. “I thought—stupidly, I thought—you sent me there because you felt guilty. That maybe, somewhere in that cold, unfeeling heart of yours, there was a shred of care for me. But no. It wasn’t guilt, was it? You didn’t want the council to find out. That’s all it was. Heaven forbid anyone know the king has a mate. Heaven forbid you’d ever risk anything for me”

His lips parted as if to protest, but no sound came. You took a shaky breath, willing yourself to stay composed, even as your heart splintered anew. “Tell me, Jungkook. Am I really that unlovable?”

His face twisted, anguish written across his features. “No… no, no,” he stammered, his voice breaking. He reached out as if to touch you, but his hand hovered in the air, uncertain and trembling. “Just listen to me—”

“Then say it,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but steady as a blade. “Say what you’ve been holding back, Jungkook.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he took a step closer. His chest heaved, and his fingers twitched at his sides, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, a sweet, melodic voice pierced the moment.

“Jungkook?”

His body froze. His head turned toward the source, blocking your view as his broad shoulders shifted. Your stomach twisted. You didn’t need to see her face to know who it was. But then, to your bitter satisfaction—or dismay—you didn’t have to wait. She stepped into view, her movements graceful, like a predator perfectly aware of her power. Elizabeth. The council head’s daughter. Her soft, golden curls framed a face so beautiful it could have been painted by the gods. And yet, all you could think was, What is she doing here?

She stood beside him now, her hand brushing lightly against his arm as she smiled. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears as you fought to keep your expression blank. The question burned in your mind, louder than anything else. Why is she here? At the palace?

“Jungkook,” she whispered, her voice soft but deliberate, and you felt as though the ground beneath you had split open. Why was she calling your mate by his name? No one did that—no one was allowed to—unless they were bound to him by blood or he had given them explicit permission. Your chest tightened as a swarm of questions filled your head. Why would Jungkook let her? Were they close? How close?

Her slender hand rested on his arm, her fingers brushing against the dark fabric of his sleeve like it belonged there. Her lips curved into a gentle smile as her eyes searched his face, her expression calm and confident, while Jungkook—your mate—stood frozen under her gaze. You watched, your heart pounding as he stared at her, his usual unreadable mask slipping into something that made your stomach churn. His confusion was evident, but there was something else—something that looked a lot like fear.

Why does he look like that?

“Liz?” he whispered, his voice hoarse and uncertain, as if he were speaking to a ghost.

And just like that, your blood turned to ice.

Liz. He called her Liz. Not Elizabeth, but Liz. A nickname, intimate and familiar, meant for someone important, someone special. Your chest constricted, the ache so sharp it felt like a blade pressing against your ribs.

No. No, that can’t be right. That’s not what this is. It can’t be.

“What... what are you doing here?” he asked, his tone soft in a way you’d never heard before. His voice, his words, carried a tenderness that twisted the knife in your chest.

She smiled again, tilting her head in a way that made her golden curls shimmer in the light. Her beauty was undeniable, ethereal, and you felt… small. Insecure.

“What... you’re not happy to see me?” she teased lightly, her voice lilting as she took a step closer.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” a voice interrupted, and you turned to see Kenji stepping forward. His sharp, formal demeanour was laced with tension as he bowed slightly. “I asked her to wait, but she insisted—”

“He’s not angry, Kenji,” she said, cutting him off mid-sentence. Her voice was sweet, yet there was an edge to it, like silk concealing a blade. She smiled, tilting her head slightly, her golden hair cascading over her shoulder as she turned her full attention to Jungkook. “You know I don’t like waiting.”

Her words, her presence, her unwavering focus on Jungkook—it all set your blood ablaze. Her sole fixation was Jungkook, as if the rest of the world had faded into the background. And him? He wasn’t saying a word.

Your heart twisted painfully as your gaze darted between the two of them. She stood too close, her delicate fingers brushing his arm as though it were second nature. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t push her away.

Why isn’t he stopping her?

Your fists clenched at your sides as the fire in your chest burned hotter. Oh god, was this jealousy? You hated the way it crawled up your spine, the way it took root in the pit of your stomach and gnawed at your insides. No, you told yourself. She could just be a friend. People in their ranks always circle each other, allies forming alliances.

But friends didn’t touch like that. Friends didn’t stand so close that their breaths mingled.

And worst of all, Jungkook was staring at her—not with the cold detachment he reserved for most, not even with the exasperation he often directed at you. No, his eyes were soft, filled with tenderness and something far more dangerous: familiarity. Your throat tightened as you watched him, pale and nervous, disoriented even, yet still holding a quiet care in his gaze for her.

He had never looked at you like that.

The thought struck like a dagger to the heart. Had all his distance, all his resistance to you, been because of her? Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you fought to keep your composure. Maybe you were imagining things, reading too much into gestures and glances, but how could you not? You weren’t asking for much—just the attention, the care, the love that should have been yours. Instead, here she was, getting everything you never had.

The fire in your chest threatened to consume you. You wanted to scream, cry, claw at your skin to rid yourself of the jealousy coursing through your veins. But you didn’t. Instead, you stood there, fists clenched so tightly your nails bit into your palms, forcing yourself to remain still when every fibre of your being wanted to tear her away from him. “Who is she?” she asked, gesturing toward you with an air of casual interest. At her question, Jungkook visibly flinched. His face, already pale, drained of any remaining colour. His lips parted as though to respond, but no words came. He looked... trapped.

You met his eyes, silently pleading with him to speak, to say the words that would solidify your place in his life. Tell her, you thought. Tell her I’m your mate.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked away from her, his dark eyes locking onto Kenji. “Escort her back to her room,” Jungkook said, his voice cold and clipped.

You blinked, stunned by the sudden command.

Relief swept over you in a tidal wave. She was leaving. She would be gone.

A small, hesitant smile tugged at your lips as you dared to hope—just a little—that maybe you had been wrong. Maybe your insecurities had twisted something innocent into something sinister. You looked at Jungkook, your heart still heavy but softening.

He chose me, you told yourself, guilt creeping in for doubting him. I should trust my mate.

“Luna, let me escort you back to your quarters,” Kenji said, stepping toward you, his tone gentle but firm. His words slammed into you like a blow to the chest. The real meaning sank in, and it crushed you. He wasn’t sending her away. He was sending you.

“What?” Your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper. You blinked at him, not trusting your ears.

Kenji’s eyes softened with guilt, but he didn’t back down. “Please,” he murmured, his voice low and almost pleading. Your gaze snapped to Jungkook, desperation bubbling up in your chest like a volcano ready to erupt. You wanted to march up to him, grab him by his collar, and demand answers. But the weight of it all—the confusion, the betrayal, the pain—was pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

“Luna?” Elizabeth’s soft, lilting voice broke through the tension like a knife. She turned to Jungkook, her brows furrowed in confusion, her lips parting slightly. “Why did he call her Luna, Jungkook?”

There it was—a flicker of panic in her otherwise composed demeanour. You caught it in her eyes, the way they widened for just a second before she masked it with feigned curiosity. Even Kenji froze at her question, his jaw tightening as though he’d been caught in a trap. You scanned their faces—Elizabeth’s curiosity, Kenji’s guilt, and Jungkook’s growing tension—and the pit in your stomach churned. They all knew something you didn’t.

“Liz!” Jungkook barked, his voice sharp but edged with something you couldn’t quite name. “We’ll talk in my quarters.” Before she could respond, he grabbed her wrist and started dragging with him. She stumbled slightly, clearly caught off guard, but she quickly regained her balance and pulled against his grip, wincing as though it hurt.

Your stomach clenched at the sight. She’s leaving. The thought should have brought relief, but it didn’t. Her gaze remained locked on you, her eyes swirling with emotions you couldn’t decipher—curiosity, jealousy, maybe even fear. And you? You couldn’t look away. You hated her, and it wasn’t just her beauty or elegance or the way she carried herself. It was something deeper, something primal.

“Luna,” Kenji said again, softer this time, and you turned to him instinctively. His expression was a careful mask of professionalism, but his eyes told a different story. They were apologetic, almost pleading.

“Please,” he said again, motioning for you to move.

For a moment, your feet refused to move, rooted to the ground by the storm of emotions raging inside you. All you wanted was to go to Jungkook, grab him, and demand answers—answers to this, to all the questions that haunted your sleepless nights. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you forced a tight, bitter smile onto your face and nodded at Kenji. You saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes; he knew how fake it was, but he didn’t call you out on it.

You turned on your heel, your heart heavy and aching, and started walking toward your quarters. Kenji followed closely behind, his presence like a shadow you couldn’t escape. With every step, your chest tightened, and your mind raced. You wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something, anything, to release the storm inside you. But all you did was keep walking, each step feeling heavier than the last. By the time you reached your room, your hands were trembling. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, your breath shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

Kenji paused in the doorway, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he bowed his head slightly. “Luna,” he said softly, and then he closed the door, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You stood there, staring at the closed door, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to hold yourself together.

You paced back and forth in your room, your bare feet padding against the cold floor. Your heart pounded in your chest, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. You needed answers, and you needed them now. Shina would come. She was the only one who might make sense of this mess. You rubbed your sweaty palms against your dress and exhaled shakily. The faint, sweet scent of honey wafted through the air, and your head snapped toward the door.

She was here.

You strode to the door, wrenching it open, only to find the hallway empty. The guards stood motionless, their eyes trained ahead. But the scent—it was unmistakable. It was her. Your nostrils flared as it grew stronger, as if pulling you toward something.

And then you saw her. Shina rounded the corner at the end of the hallway, her movements fluid, her hair catching the dim light. She smiled when her eyes landed on you, a warmth in her expression that only made your chest ache more. It hit you like a punch to the gut. You’d smelled her from that far away. A shiver crawled up your spine. That wasn’t normal. You were just a regular werewolf. How was this possible? God, it wasn't good.

“Were you… waiting for me, Bee?” Shina teased, her grin playful as she closed the distance between you. “Never thought you’d miss me this much.” The moment she was close enough, you grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room, shutting the door with a forceful thud.

“Whoa! What’s going on?” she asked, her brows knitting together as she scanned your face. She reached up to touch your forehead, her fingers cool against your heated skin. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t,” you muttered, swatting her hand away. Your voice was low, clipped. “I’m not some fragile thing, Shina. I don’t get sick.”

She tilted her head, studying you with sharp, calculating eyes. “You look off,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re acting like it.”

“Ha! Funny,” you snapped, pacing away from her.

“Bee,” she called out, her voice softening. “You’re acting… strange. You look like you haven’t slept all night.” You spun around, your movements jerky, your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

“Oh, sure. Because it’s so easy to sleep these days.”

Shina sighed, her shoulders sagging as she shook her head. “You know you’re impossible to talk to when you’re like this.”

“Like what, Shina?” you shot back, your voice rising. “Go on. Say it.”

“Like you’re…” She hesitated, the words hanging in the air. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she exhaled sharply. “Like you’re miserable.”

The word hit you square in the chest, knocking the breath from your lungs. She wasn’t wrong. You were miserable. But hearing it said out loud—especially by her—only deepened the ache.

“What’s the issue, Bee?” she asked, her voice quieter now, her eyes searching yours.

“If you know me so well,” you bit out, crossing your arms over your chest, “guess.”

She raised a brow, unimpressed. “Guess? No thanks. You’re a little terrifying when you’re like this.”

“Shina!” you snapped, the word ripping from your throat before you could stop it.

“For God’s sake, Bee,” Shina said, exasperation seeping into her voice. Her arms fell to her sides, palms up in frustration. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it. Don’t make me stand here, tiptoeing on pins and needles. I can’t read minds, and I sure as hell don’t have a crystal ball.”

Your gaze flicked to her, your jaw tightening as you swallowed hard. The words clawed at your throat, but doubt tangled with them. Should you even bring this up? Should you ask about her? The small, stubborn voice in the back of your head whispered not to—that there could be a reasonable explanation for Elder Mathew’s daughter being here. Maybe she was a political guest, maybe she was just a friend, maybe Jungkook didn’t care about her presence. But the desperation simmering in your chest drowned out reason. You needed answers. Closure.

“Do you…” You hesitated, your voice barely audible as you forced yourself to meet her eyes. “Do you know that Elder Mathew’s daughter is here?”

Shina blinked at you, her expression neutral as she walked toward the window, turning her back to you. “Yes,” she said simply, her tone too casual. Your fists clenched. Why did everyone love staring out that damn window? It was as if they thought the glass could shield them from the weight of your questions.

“And?” you pressed, stepping toward her, every muscle in your body tensing.

“And what?” she said lightly, though you caught the slight hitch in her voice.

“Why is she here?”

“How would I know?” she replied with a forced laugh, but her faltering smile betrayed her.

“Don’t play games with me.” You strode forward and grabbed her arm, spinning her to face you. Your eyes burned into hers, demanding honesty. “You’re the beta female. Of course, you’d know.”

Her brows furrowed, and her lips parted as if to argue, but then she shot back, “And you’re the Luna, Bee.” Her words were sharp, cutting through the space between you. She inhaled deeply, her shoulders rising and falling as she steadied herself. “That… that doesn’t mean I have all the answers you want.”

“Doesn’t it?” Your grip on her arm tightened slightly before you let go, stepping back with a bitter laugh. “But Kian would know. He’s your mate.”

Her jaw tensed. “And what if he does?”

“Then you do too,” you said, your voice low, almost a growl.

“Fine!” Shina snapped, throwing her hands up. “I do. Now what?”

“Tell me!”

“I can’t!” she shouted, the frustration in her voice matching yours.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“This isn’t my choice, Bee!” she said, her voice cracking. Her eyes shimmered, her expression torn between guilt and helplessness. “I don’t have a choice here.”

“Shina, please,” you pleaded, the crack in your voice betraying the desperation you felt. “Patricia isn’t here—”

“She wouldn’t tell you either!” Shina interrupted, taking a step back, her gaze darting to the door as if she wanted to escape.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not my place to tell you, and you…” She paused, her breath catching. “You might not want to hear it.”

“But I need to hear it!” you snapped, your voice breaking as your hands trembled at your sides.

Shina sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging. “Please,” she whispered, her voice softening. “Don’t put me in this position.”

Your knees buckled slightly, and you gripped the edge of the table for support. “But, Shina… I need to know. If I don’t, it’s just this… ache that won’t go away.”

“I get that,” she said, her voice thick with sympathy. “But, Bee… if you really need answers, maybe… maybe it’s time you ask the one person who can give them to you.”

Her words hung in the air, pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake. She was right. You knew she was right. You and Jungkook needed to talk. But how? Every time you tried, it ended in a fight, his sharp words cutting deeper than he could ever know. You weren’t some emotionless being—his denial stung more than you could admit. And yet, despite everything, you were growing fond of him. The mate bond or not, your feelings for him were creeping in, uncontrollable and unrelenting. Shina’s voice broke the tense silence.

“Bee?” she called softly, her eyes searching yours.

You blinked at her, your breath hitching as the ache in your chest deepened.

“It will be alright,” she said, her voice soothing. “I’m certain of it. You don’t need to worry. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

Her confidence should have reassured you, but it didn’t. It only made you feel… empty. Because there was only one person whose words could soothe you now, and his never had.

None of you said anything for a long time, the silence hanging heavy in the air. You both just stood there, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. Her eyes never left yours, but you could see it—pity, guilt, and empathy swirling in them. Beneath it all, there was the unmistakable pull to escape. You could feel it in the way her shoulders tensed, in the way her eyes darted away for just a split second before locking with yours again. She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be put in the position you were putting her in.

But you weren’t going to press her anymore. There was something in her that told you it wasn’t the right time, that she was holding back for a reason. You didn’t want to make it worse. Maybe it was just easier to let her leave. You had your own questions now, and you would find answers another way. Jungkook could give them to you.

The next few hours dragged on in a haze of words you didn’t care to hear. Shina told you about Lycan history—bits and pieces you hadn’t known before. You’d heard of the first Lycan, the child of the moon goddess, who’d mated with humans, creating the werewolves. But what she told you was darker, heavier than that. How the first king had been executed for falling in love with a human. A king—dead, for something so simple. So heartbreaking.

But, despite your usual curiosity, you couldn’t focus on her words. They were just noise now. You could feel the pressure building in your chest, the knot tightening. You could see the way Shina looked at you—her eyes moist with unshed tears, a half-hearted smile twisting on her lips. It was like she was carrying the weight of a centuries-old tragedy.

“Guess tragedy follows all Lycan kings,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze flicking away from yours as if the words were too much to face.

“Maybe…” You spoke absentmindedly, the words coming out flat, like they were from someone else’s mouth. “Maybe things could get better. One day.”

Shina’s smile faltered, and she shook her head, her lips pressing together. “He’s dead,” she said, the bitterness in her voice surprising you both.

“Huh? No. I—” you stammered, but then her expression shifted, a deep, resigned breath escaping her as she looked at you, the pain clear in her eyes.

“I think it’s time for me to leave,” she said, her voice steady but her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the door.

“Training?” you asked, though the word felt like it was too light, too hollow.

“Yeah,” she said, a nervous smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. She was already moving toward the door, her footsteps quick, as if she couldn’t wait to get away from the moment. “I’m leaving now. You rest.” She rushed out of the room, her shoulders stiff, and you just stood there, watching her go. The door clicked shut behind her with a finality that made your stomach drop.

You scoffed softly, frustration bubbling up inside you. Why the hell was she in such a rush to leave? It didn’t make sense. You stood there, your body frozen, a part of you wanting to go after her, to ask if you could come with her, to avoid having to face Jungkook. But deep down, you knew that was just an excuse. You both needed space—time apart. She was uncomfortable in your presence, and you were too bitter to feel anything but resentment.

But there was something more pressing than any of that. You needed to talk to him. And you couldn’t keep running from it.

You drew in a sharp breath, straightening your back with determination. The bitterness in your chest, the ache that had settled there ever since the night you came here, had to be dealt with. You had to know the truth. You weren’t going to hide from it anymore.

With a deep breath, you started walking toward the prince’s chamber. The hallway seemed endless as your feet moved on their own, each step heavier than the last. The closer you got, the tighter your chest felt. You didn’t know what would happen, but you knew you couldn’t back down now.

But as you reached the door to Jungkook’s chamber, something stopped you. Two guards stood in front of the door, their postures rigid. They didn’t even glance at you, but there was something in their stance that made it clear: you weren’t going in.

Your confusion mirrored on your face, your brows furrowing as you looked between the guards. Why weren’t you allowed in? You had been here before, not once but twice, and never had anyone stopped you. It wasn’t like they’d ever welcomed you, but they’d never blocked your way either. You glanced at the guards, silently asking them why they were forbidding you now. What had changed?

The taller one, the one who usually looked the least amused by your presence, met your eyes briefly. His gaze was unreadable, but his posture remained firm. Without a word, he subtly shook his head,

"His Majesty is currently engaged in vital matters, and we have strict orders not to let anyone in," one of the guards said, his voice calm, his stance stiff and unwavering. His expression was a wall of stone, giving nothing away. His words lingered in the air, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Vital matters? The phrase gnawed at you, sending a ripple of unease down your spine.

You swallowed the knot that had suddenly formed in your throat and steadied your breath. "Could you please tell him I wish to speak with him?" You tried to keep your voice even, though there was a flicker of desperation hidden beneath. Surely, he would make time for you. You hoped he would.

"My apologies, but I can’t do that," the guard replied, his tone unyielding. He glanced toward the other guard before continuing, "I suggest you return at a later time, or we can inform His Majesty once he’s available." His words felt like a cold dismissal, a door slammed shut without even a hint of hesitation.

You nodded, though the movement was mechanical, like your body was on autopilot. You turned on your heel, ready to walk away, but then something tugged at you—an itch in your mind, a question you didn’t quite mean to ask. Before you could stop yourself, the words were out.

"Who is His Majesty with?"

The guards exchanged a brief glance, their eyes flashing with something unreadable. The taller one shifted his weight, his jaw tightening. There was a hesitation, a subtle shift in his stance, but he answered nonetheless. "Lady Elizabeth."

Your stomach twisted violently, and for a moment, everything in you froze. Lady Elizabeth? The words hit you like a slap, raw and unanticipated. The world around you blurred for a split second, your heartbeat hammering in your chest. You didn’t say anything. The silence that followed felt heavy, suffocating. Without a word, you turned away, your feet carrying you down the hallway, though you had no idea where you were going.

Your mind was a storm, a muddled hurricane of confusion and pain. Fear wrapped itself around your chest, squeezing, making it hard to breathe. There was a choking sensation in your throat, as though someone was gripping it, holding it tight. You didn’t know why, but the fear felt overwhelming, as if your very soul was suffocating. The words kept echoing in your mind: Lady Elizabeth...

You tried to push the feeling away, but it lingered, gnawing at you. The bitterness in your heart was now coupled with an ache so raw it almost felt physical. I don’t care. I don’t care who she is, you told yourself, but it was a lie. The truth was there, and you could feel it sinking in—your chest tight, your breath shallow. You weren’t sure where you were headed, but the corridors seemed unfamiliar, and yet somehow, you kept walking.

It was beautiful here—almost breathtaking. The walls were adorned with intricate designs, the colours soft and warm. But it was untidy, too. The air smelled strange, heavy with the scent of something that made your stomach churn. Testosterone. The sharp, overwhelming smell of unmated males, young and restless, filled the space, clinging to the air like smoke.

You took a few more steps, your feet dragging, as the feeling of being utterly lost gripped you tighter. Where am I? You glanced around, but the hallways were empty, no one in sight. The churning in your stomach intensified, an urgent voice in the back of your mind screaming at you to run. But… where? You didn’t know.

You stopped, standing in the middle of the corridor, your heart racing, trying to calm the madness inside you. Get it together. You can’t be lost. But the panic rose, clawing at your insides, tightening around your chest. You couldn’t breathe. The walls seemed to close in. The feeling of being trapped overwhelmed you.

"Luna?" A voice broke through the haze, sharp and clear. Footsteps followed—heavy, purposeful.

You whipped your head toward the sound, the relief flooding through you so quickly it made your knees weak. Kenji.

"What are you doing here, Luna?" Kenji's voice was sharp, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in every inch of your form. His brow furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line, a clear sign of concern. His demeanour was exacting, shoulders squared, and his body instinctively positioned between you and the hallway.

"You shouldn’t be here," he added, his words firm, but there was something softer in his voice, like a silent plea for you to turn back.

You understood his concern. This part of the palace was different from the calm halls you were used to. The air was thick, soaked with the sharp, unmistakable scent of young wolves—uncontrolled, brimming with energy, their scent strong and raw. You could smell it yourself, a thick, musky mix of testosterone and unease. You didn’t need to ask him. It was clear.

The juvenile Lycans, especially the young males, were unpredictable. Their tempers were short, and their instincts fierce. Aggression simmered beneath the surface, barely contained, and it only took the slightest provocation to unleash it. These boys weren’t just troublesome—they were a force of nature, unpredictable and dangerous in ways you had never experienced before.

"I… I lost my way," you whispered, your voice faltering slightly as you tried to steady yourself.

"Come," he murmured, his voice low but reassuring, pulling you from your thoughts.

You looked at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, though it felt small compared to the heaviness in the air. "Kenji?"

"Yes, Luna!" His eyes widened, his expression softening when he caught the lightness in your tone. He seemed almost flustered by your smile, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as he glanced down at you. There was something undeniably endearing about him—his loyalty, his protective nature—and in that moment, it felt like a warmth in the cold.

"Why does this place look… like a storm passed through it?" you asked, your voice still soft, though now filled with curiosity. You couldn’t help but notice the mess—furniture slightly askew, papers scattered.

Kenji’s gaze flicked toward the mess, his face tightening slightly. He didn’t seem surprised by your question, though he didn’t look thrilled either. "Young He-Lycans stay here. It’s their den," he said flatly, offering nothing more. The way he said it made it clear that there was no need to explain further—like the messy state of the room was simply part of the process.

You nodded slowly, understanding the unstated truth. But you couldn’t help but feel the sharpness of the atmosphere pressing in on you. The wildness of the young wolves felt tangible in the way the space seemed to pulse with energy, like the storm Kenji had mentioned was never quite over.

"Where are we going, Kenji?" you asked, looking up at him, the unease still gnawing at you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Kenji halted in his tracks for a moment, as if your question had caught him off guard. His eyes widened slightly, and his lips parted, like he was struggling to find the right words. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, but it was quickly replaced with a firm resolve. "To your quarters," he said, his voice steady but with an undertone of something softer—something protective.

"I… do-don't want to go there," you whispered, your voice small and uncertain, a nervous tug in your chest. The thought of returning to your room, alone in the quiet, filled you with dismay. You felt trapped in a place where you didn’t belong, surrounded by no one but void. The weight of loneliness pressed against you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to face it.

Kenji paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you, his lips parting as if he were about to say something. "What?" he asked, his voice gentle, but there was a flicker of concern in his gaze.

"Where were you headed, Kenji?" you asked, the words escaping before you could stop them. You needed something to focus on, something to distract you from the heaviness in your chest.

He shifted, his expression thoughtful for a brief moment before he spoke. "The stables," he murmured, almost to himself. The way he said it was so casual, but not to you.

"Horses?" you asked, your eyes widening, the excitement bubbling up inside you. A smile stretched across your face, wide and genuine. "I didn’t even know Jungkook kept horses."

Kenji’s eyes flicked to you, his posture hardening for a brief second. "They’re mine," he said matter-of-factly, his voice holding a hint of delight.

"Oh!" was all you could manage to say, the excitement racing through your veins. It was a small thing, but it felt like a chance at freedom, at doing something outside of the suffocating walls of the palace.

"May I come with you?" The words slipped out before you could second-guess them, the thought of the horses too tempting to ignore. You could feel your heart quicken, and your hands twisted together nervously, but the smile that pulled at your lips wouldn’t fade.

Kenji hesitated, his eyes flickering from you to the hallway ahead, as if weighing the consequences. His brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might say no. But then he looked at you again, his gaze softening. It wasn’t much, but there was something there—a flicker of understanding, of empathy.

"Please. Please, please, please, Kenji," you pressed, your voice pleading now. You felt the excitement bubbling up like an unstoppable force, your body leaning forward, almost daring him to turn you down.

Kenji looked torn, his lips pressing together in a thin line as if he were still unsure, still unsure of you, of whether it was a good idea. But after what felt like an eternity, he finally relented, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course, Luna. But… don't tell no one," he said, his expression still a mixture of caution and something softer—something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes flicked over you, as if trying to make sense of the sudden shift in your demeanour. You caught the wariness in his gaze, like he was watching you closely, waiting for something.

But you were too excited to care. You barely registered the way his eyes lingered on you or the tension in his posture. All you could focus on was the idea of the horses, of getting away from everything for a moment. You followed him through the palace. The hallways twisted and turned, unfamiliar and confusing, but Kenji moved with ease, guiding you through the maze.

Finally, you stepped out into the fresh air, the weight of the palace behind you. The cold breeze brushed against your face, and for a brief moment, it felt like a release. The stables were just ahead, the smell of hay and earth filling the air, mixing with the scent of the horses you could already hear shifting inside.

"It’s... small," you said, your eyes scanning the stables, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled in your chest. Kenji shot you a look, a silent question in his eyes—Are you being serious right now?

You smiled at him sweetly, shrugging it off as if it were nothing.

"I only have two horses!" he responded, sounding a bit defensive. The way he said it made it clear that he had his reasons for the small stable, though you weren’t sure what they were.

"Oh!" was all you could muster, though the realization didn’t seem to change your excitement.

"Yeah!" Kenji added, a slight tilt of his head as he looked you up and down. There was something playful in his gaze, but it was too forced—like he was trying to be sassy but failing miserably. The awkwardness made you chuckle quietly, and it was almost endearing.

You both walked further into the stable, the scent of hay and earth filling your nose, when you saw them—two stunning horses. One was sleek and jet black, while the other was a rich, deep brown. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight. The black one was breathtaking. His coat shimmered in the light, and his eyes seemed to pierce through you. You took a step forward without thinking, your hand reaching out, eager to feel the smoothness of his coat beneath your fingertips.

But as you moved closer, the horse bared its teeth and snorted, a high pitched squeal rumbling from deep within its chest. You froze, instinctively pulling back as your heart leapt into your throat. Kenji was at your side in an instant, his hand gently grasping your elbow, guiding you away from the horse.

"Luna?" he whispered urgently, his voice low but with an edge of concern. You turned to face him, your heart still pounding in your chest. His gaze was soft but grave, and there was a hint of disbelief in his eyes. "Why…?" he asked, almost as if he were trying to understand.

"I—I just wanted to touch him," you stammered, your face flushing with embarrassment.

Kenji raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting in an almost disbelieving smile. "He’s wild."

"Well, you might have told me that sooner!" you snapped, the frustration of your failure making your words sharper than you intended. You crossed your arms defensively, but your eyes were still on the black horse, who was now eyeing you warily from the corner.

"Couldn’t you tell?" Kenji’s tone was soft but teasing, as though he couldn’t believe you didn’t sense the danger.

"I got excited!" you huffed, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. You were embarrassed, yes, but you couldn’t help the rush of excitement you had felt. The adrenaline from the near encounter still buzzed in your chest.

Kenji shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "He’s dangerous," he said, his voice firm, but there was a gentle amusement in his tone, as though he were trying to ease your fluster.

"Fine, I got it!" you said quickly, brushing it off with a small laugh. You were still processing the intensity of the moment, but Kenji wasn’t giving you time to linger.

"Go, try on that one. He’s gentler." Kenji gestured toward the brown horse with a wave of his hand, as if to shoo you away from the black one.

You walked cautiously toward the brown horse, whose calm eyes met yours without hostility. His coat was soft and warm under your touch, and as you stood beside him, he nuzzled you gently. The feeling of his breath against your skin was soothing. You couldn’t help but smile, a contented sigh escaping your lips as your fingers ran over his mane.

It had been days since you had been outside like this, away from the walls of the palace. Sure, you had gone shopping, but it wasn’t the same. Being here, in the fresh air with the horses, felt more like freedom than anything you had experienced in a long time.

The open blue sky stretched above you, dotted with soft clouds, and the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over everything. The cold breeze ruffled your hair, and the mud squelched beneath your bare feet as you shifted your weight. It felt so real, so grounding, like a connection to something wild and untamed. Even though you were still inside the palace walls, it was the closest you had felt to truly being outside. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the peacefulness of the moment wash over you.

Kenji and you had spent quite some time in the stables, feeding the horses and talking, the tension from the palace slowly ebbing away. But now, as you walked back toward the imposing walls of the palace, that sense of ease seemed to slip through your fingers like sand. You felt relaxed, yes, but that weight of confinement pressed back against your chest as the palace loomed closer.

Kenji escorted you to your room, but stopped just outside, as if unsure whether to enter. His hesitation was clear, but you didn’t push him. You simply nodded, grateful for the brief escape. The door clicked shut behind you, and as the silence settled, you couldn't help but feel the shift in your own mood. The familiar heaviness of your room creeping back in.

You walked across the room, your footsteps soft against the floor, and sat in the same chair Patricia always claimed when she visited—just beside the window. You couldn’t help but gaze outside, the familiar view stretching out before you. The setting sun painted the sky in rich purples and fiery oranges, the light so soft it felt almost like a dream. It should have been beautiful, and it was—but it also tugged at something inside you. A hollow ache in your chest that you couldn’t ignore.

For the first time, you realized how truly trapped you felt here. You weren’t a prisoner, exactly, but now you understood the full weight of what it meant to be stuck. You missed the small things. The people. The pack. The freedom you used to have. The flying birds in the distance, the shifting clouds, the pack members wandering without a care in the world—they were free. You were not.

You wanted to shake it off, to push the emotion down, but it swelled within you, a sadness that tightened your throat and clouded your thoughts. Why hadn’t I appreciated my old life more? you wondered, a lump rising in your throat. Your pack, your life—it was messy, chaotic, sure, and you had felt alone, maybe even hated by some. But back then, there was a freedom to it. It was yours, even if no one else understood or cared. You were free, and you had hope, however small it seemed. And now… now everything was out of your control.

"Do Patricia feel the same?" you muttered to yourself, barely aware of the question slipping from your lips. You didn’t expect an answer, but it hung there, thick in the air, a reminder of how alone you felt. Maybe you were being dramatic, maybe emotional, but right now, the melancholy crept so deep inside you, painting everything around you a dull blue.

The quiet only made it worse. The silence in your room was thunderous, overwhelming. Peace? Peace was the one thing you had never been able to hold onto in your life. It had always been about chaos. Your entire existence had been a swirl of turmoil and now, even here, it felt no different. Then, as if the universe had decided you hadn’t been suffering enough, the door creaked open. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Jungkook.

The Lycan king. The one who had made everything in your life more complicated than it needed to be. If it had been any other time, you might’ve been relieved—or maybe you would’ve felt excitement at his presence. But not now. Not tonight. Tonight, you had found a sliver of calm, and now it was slipping through your fingers as he entered the room, his steps slow and measured, like a predator stalking its prey.

Your gaze didn’t shift from the window, though you felt his presence fill the room, heavy and undeniable. The tension in the air thickened, and your pulse quickened. Were you mad at him? Maybe. Did you want to talk? Not really. Did you want him here, standing in your room? Absolutely not.

But there he was, unmistakable, his presence overwhelming. You could smell the faint traces of the stables on yourself, and it made you wonder—Did he know I was there? His eyes flickered to you, and then to the window where you had been gazing out.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even look at him, though you could feel his eyes on you, reading you like a book. His gaze was soft, but his body language? It was tense. His stance was too demanding for someone who had walked in so casually. You could sense his discomfort, his awareness of your silence. But you didn’t say anything.

You were tired of talking, of pretending. You just wanted a moment to breathe, a moment of quiet that was yours. Even if only for a few more minutes.

Without a word, he moved to sit on the edge of your bed, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he were afraid to spook you. You smirked at him, shaking your head, the bitterness in your expression cutting sharper than words. He stilled, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. It was clear he didn’t like it.

“I heard you insisted on seeing me,” he said softly, his voice smooth but probing, his gaze steady as he studied your face. The words fell from his lips so gently it took you a moment to realize he was actually speaking to you.

 “Yes, I did,” you replied, barely looking up. Your voice was small, quiet, almost drowned out by the heavy silence in the room. “But… you were busy.”

“Busy or not, I’m here now.” His tone was firm, but there was a hint of something else beneath it—an attempt at reassurance. “I came as soon as I could.”

“How very gracious of you,” you replied, a faint, hollow laugh escaping before you could stop it. “Finally, I’m worth a fraction of your time. I suppose I should be honoured, Your Majesty.” The sarcasm in your voice was biting, but it wasn’t enough to mask the pain underneath.

His lips pressed into a thin line, his poise undaunted. “Must we do this?” he murmured, his voice low and steady, though his eyes flickered with something—annoyance, perhaps. “Is there a reason for this tone?”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” you said, the title dripping with venom. You straightened in your chair, meeting his gaze with a cold, practiced civility. “I wouldn’t want to waste your time with my… petty concerns.”

His jaw tightened for a brief moment before he exhaled sharply. “I’ve told you—call me by my name.”

You tilted your head slightly, your brittle smile more painful than any scream could’ve been. “But why should I? That’s all I am to you, isn’t it?” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Another subject. Another burden.”

Something in him shifted. His shoulders tensed, and his eyes flickered with an emotion he didn’t bother to hide. He flinched, but the rest of his face was unreadable as he looked away.

“What is it that troubles you?” he asked finally, his voice softer now, hesitant. It was like a hand reaching out but not quite daring to touch. His eyes searched yours, tender and careful, and for a moment, it made your heart stutter. It almost felt real.

“Nothing that I’d burden Your Majesty with,” you replied, though the lump in your throat begged you to say more. You looked away, unable to face him any longer, unable to let him see the tears threatening to spill.

He sat in silence for a moment, the tension between you thick and unbearable. Then he stood, moving toward you with slow, deliberate steps. You watched him, unable to look away, your body betraying you even as your mind screamed at you to turn your head.

And then, he did something you never expected.

He knelt.

Right in front of you.

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, the air left your lungs. His sudden vulnerability caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure if it terrified you or pulled you deeper into his orbit. A soft, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips—a rare sight, one you hadn’t seen before. It made your heart trip over itself.

“Is this about yesterday?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. The words were so soft, yet they hit you with the force of a storm.

Your expression shifted, hardening as you quickly looked away. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him that yes, it was about yesterday, but it wasn’t just that. It was everything. Elizabeth. The loneliness. The weight of being here. But instead, you said nothing. Silence wrapped around you like a shield, protecting you from saying too much.

He sighed, and before you could pull away, his hands reached out to gently take yours. His grip was firm yet tender, and the touch sent warmth flooding through your chest, filling the cracks you’d been trying so hard to hide. Butterflies? No. This was more. It was as if a whole zoo had come alive in your stomach.

“I didn’t know you were there,” he whispered, his voice soft but resolute.

“It doesn’t change much,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The words stung, but they were true. It didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want you—not really. You couldn’t ignore the nagging thought that this care, this attention, wasn’t because of him, but because of the mate bond. It was forced. Not real.

"I know, I hurt—"

"Oh, you don’t," you cut him off, the words sharp and bitter. "You think you do, but you don’t know how it feels."

You broke the fragile moment, the one you hadn’t even fully tasted before it slipped away.

You pulled your hand from his, the coldness of the empty space between you settling deeper than you expected. He reached for you again, but you flinched back, shaking your head, unable to let him touch you anymore.

His eyes darkened, a flicker of frustration and hurt crossing his face. “why..? You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head as the hurt bubbled to the surface. “That’s what you call it?” The words burned as they left your lips, raw and unfiltered. “You’ve locked me out so many times, made it painfully clear that I mean nothing to you. I’ve stood by, waiting for something—anything—that might make you see me. But every glance you throw my way feels like a dismissal, like I’m nothing more than a burden you can’t shake. I’ve tried to be strong, tried to hold on to whatever scraps of love you’re willing to give, but it’s never enough, is it? So why am I still here? Why do you keep me close if I’m just a reminder of something you don’t want? I don’t understand. If I mean so little to you, if I’m nothing more than a weight dragging you down, then why can’t you just… Reject me?”

For a moment, his expression hardened, something sharp flashing in his eyes—a warning, a challenge. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by something darker. He stood, towering over you, his presence as commanding as ever. “Because you’re mine,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

The words hit you like a blow. “Yours?” you echoed, your voice cracking as you stood, trembling under the weight of everything you had been holding in. Your chest tightened, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “You don’t get to claim me when it’s convenient. I’m not a possession you can put on a shelf, to keep or discard as you like.” You took a step closer, your eyes boring into his, hot tears stinging the corners of your vision. “I’m just a fixture here, aren’t I? Bound to you, but always kept at a distance. Never to be seen, never to be named.”

You forced a shaky breath, but it caught in your throat. “And then you left me in the hallway and leave with her,” you spat, voice quivering with hurt, “and I’m supposed to just sit here, waiting, smiling… pretending that it doesn’t rip me apart.” Your hands flew to your temples as if trying to physically hold yourself together, but you couldn’t stop the flood of words pouring out.

His expression barely shifted, his face a mask of unreadable calm. It infuriated you. “Is it about Elizabeth?” he asked, his tone soft, almost placating, but there was no fire, no urgency—nothing close to what you wanted from him.

“Yes. No,” you snapped, the contradictions tearing at you. Your voice grew louder, more erratic. “It’s not just her—it’s everything! It’s you, Jungkook. You keep me in the dark and expect me to just… endure it.”

“She means nothing,” he said, taking a step closer, his voice dropping into something softer, almost tender. His words made you falter, a spark of relief flickering deep in your chest. But it wasn’t enough—not anymore. If she meant nothing, then why had he left you standing there? Why hadn’t he pushed her away? And why was she even here?

“Nothing?” you echoed, a bitter laugh slipping past your lips. “If she’s nothing, then why won’t you tell me the truth? Why won’t you just let me in?” You crossed your arms over your chest, turning away from him as a fresh wave of doubt and pain coursed through you.

The accusation hung in the air like a dagger. His jaw tightened, and for the first time, his carefully guarded mask cracked. His hands clenched at his sides, and his gaze darkened as he took another step closer. "You won't understand and I can't make you"

"Then, it's your chance. Make me understand."

His lips parted, but no words came out. His shoulders sagged, his head dipping slightly as if he couldn’t meet your gaze. “I told you before,” he finally said, his voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the silence. “I’m not capable of love.”

The words shattered something in you. You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and pained. “Not capable of love?” you repeated,

“Not capable… or just not willing?” you demanded, stepping closer to him. Your voice rose but stayed fragile, trembling under the weight of your emotions. “It’s easier, isn’t it? To hide behind your walls, to pretend you’re somehow unfeeling, while I stand here breaking myself for you? I’m hurting, Jungkook, and you’re the reason why. Can’t you see that?”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened as he turned his head, refusing to meet your eyes. His hands hung stiffly by his sides, clenched so tightly you could see the veins on the back of his hands. “You don’t know me as well as you think,” he muttered, voice low and cold.

You laughed bitterly, a hollow sound that cracked in the air. “Then tell me!” you said, your voice breaking with desperation. You took another step toward him, your hands trembling at your sides. “Tell me what it is I don’t know. Tell me why you pull me close one moment and push me away the next. Tell me why I’m here at all if you feel nothing.” Your chest heaved with the effort of holding yourself together, but the dam had already broken. “Tell me why you’d rather leave me in agony than set me free,” you said, your voice quieter now, trembling with raw emotion.

“Enough,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked down, the usual sharpness in his gaze dulled, his shoulders tense but sagging under invisible weight. “Stop… please.”

Your heart clenched at the crack in his voice, but you pushed past it. “No,” you said firmly, shaking your head, the tears in your eyes blurring his figure. “You don’t get to silence me now.” You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as your vision swam. Hot tears spilled over, streaking your cheeks, but you didn’t look away. “Why don’t you let me go, Jungkook? Why do you make me stay, to suffer, if there’s nothing here for me?”

Your voice faltered, a sob catching in your throat. “Why am I here? Why can’t you just… let me go?” The words came out barely audible, your hands lifting helplessly before falling back to your sides.

He stepped toward you, closing the distance. His dark eyes locked onto yours with a fiery intensity, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. “I won’t let you leave,” he said finally, his voice low and rough, like a vow etched in stone.

You stared at him, searching his face for something—anything—that could explain the torment in his eyes. “You won’t… or you can’t?” you shot back, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair. You felt like you were unravelling, your heart splintering with every second that passed. “Tell me, Jungkook—if it’s not love, then what is it? Pride? Control? What do you want from me? Why should I stay?”

His breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling with restrained intensity. For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes burning with something raw, something untamed. “You’ll stay,” he said at last, his voice soft but laced with possession. His hand reached out as if to touch you but stopped midair, his fingers curling into a fist. “You know that as well as I do.”

You shook your head, a bitter laugh breaking free from your throat. It wasn’t humorous—it was hollow, aching, raw. “So you’ll just keep me here, then? Trapped, waiting, while you go on pretending I don’t exist?” Your voice cracked, the pain slipping through despite your best efforts to hide it. You clenched your fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as if the sting would ground you.

“Don’t,” he warned, his voice low and sharp, but there was something underneath—something fragile, barely masked. His hands were trembling, ever so slightly, his fingers twitching as if unsure whether to reach for you or stay where they were.

“Don’t what?” you whispered, your voice shaking like the fragile thread you clung to. You took a step closer, daring him to look at you. “Don’t leave? Don’t walk away from this mess?” Your chest heaved as your words tumbled out, the crack in your voice betraying you. “Tell me, Jungkook, how am I supposed to keep holding on when you’ve given me nothing to hold on to?”

For a fleeting moment, something crossed his face—a shadow of regret, or maybe pain—but it vanished so quickly you weren’t even sure it had been there. His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I never asked you to hold on,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. His gaze flicked away, but the weight of his words hit you like a blow. You scoffed, shaking your head as the pain spilled over, raw and cutting.

“No. You just kept me close enough to stay under your thumb,” you said, stepping back. Your arms wrapped around yourself, a futile attempt to hold yourself together. “Close enough to keep me hoping, waiting… praying that one day you’d look at me and finally see me.”

His head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His expression hardened, sharp and unyielding. “And you think leaving will change that?” His voice was low, almost dangerous, and he took a step toward you, his presence overwhelming.

“I think,” you said, your voice trembling but steady enough to make your point, “that maybe it’s the only way I’ll be free.” Your throat tightened, but you forced the words out. “If I walk away, at least the pain might stop.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—fear, maybe—but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a fierce, unrelenting glare. He took another step closer, towering over you now. “No. You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his voice as sharp as a blade.

His words pressed down on you, suffocating, leaving no room to breathe. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unbearable.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do, then?” Your voice broke, soft and raw, the question barely louder than a whisper. “Just stay here… loving you, hating you, breaking for you… until there’s nothing left of me?”

His expression wavered, just for a moment—his brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly as if to speak. But he said nothing. Instead, he stood there, watching you, his hand reached out pulling you closer from your wrist. You saw it then—the way his eyes lingered, desperate and longing, but something refused to let him reach for you.

“You’ll stay,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less firm. It was softer now, but the possessiveness in it sent a shiver down your spine. “Because you’re mine. No one else’s. And you’ll never escape me. Not like this.”

He stepped back abruptly, releasing your wrist with a sharp, angry motion. You barely had time to process the emptiness his touch left before he turned on his heel. The door slammed shut behind him with such force that the sound rattled through your bones, echoing in the now-silent room.

You stood there, frozen in place, staring at the closed door as if it held all the answers you’d never get. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, each beat louder than the last. When you finally moved, it was slow, heavy, as if each step dragged you deeper into the void.

“And if I’m yours,” you muttered under your breath, your voice barely audible even to yourself, “then why am I always alone?”

Your legs carried you back to the chair by the window. You sank into it, folding your legs beneath you as you gazed out at the world. The sky was dark, the faint outline of the moon barely visible through the haze. You sat there, unmoving, staring out as if the answers lay somewhere beyond the horizon.

But no tears came. Not tonight. You didn’t have any left.

Time slipped by unnoticed. You didn’t know how long you sat there until the soft knock on the door startled you. The maid stepped in, hesitant, her hands clasped in front of her. A short while later, a tray of food appeared in your room, placed on the table without a word.

You ate mechanically, the food tasteless on your tongue. Each bite felt like an obligation, a necessity to keep going. When the plate was empty, you set it aside, lying down on the bed with a heaviness in your chest you couldn’t name. The ache in your ribs burned—not sharp, but slow and deliberate, like embers soldering beneath your skin. It had no name, no essence, only a relentless existence that refused to be ignored. You closed your eyes, the feeling sinking deeper as sleep pulled you under—a restless, empty escape.

The next morning, you woke with a heaviness lodged deep in your chest, a weight that refused to be ignored. It sat there, unmoving, like a stone pressing against your ribs. With a deep sigh, you pushed yourself up and trudged to the bathroom, your feet dragging against the cold floor. The mirror reflected a face you barely recognized—eyes dull, lips pressed into a flat line, exhaustion etched into every line and curve.

Late again. Well, late by their standards. You weren’t entirely behind schedule; it was just that this place seemed to move at a pace faster than you could keep up with.

Breakfast. You knew it was time. You hurried through your routine, splashing cold water on your face as if it could wash away the lingering fog in your mind. Not today. You weren’t going to let him or his damn thoughts weigh you down. That selfish, arrogant piece of a so-called king could go to hell for all you cared. He didn’t want to open up, didn’t want to tell you what was going on between him and Elizabeth. And he definitely didn’t want you anywhere but locked up in this suffocating prison he called a castle.

And… Screw him.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the clock on the wall taunted you with its ticking, but you ignored it and made your way out of your quarters, heading toward the dining hall.

The atmosphere shifted the moment you walked in. All heads turned briefly before snapping back to their plates, except for two. You clenched your jaw, your heart thudding as you felt their gazes on you.

You moved to your usual seat beside Jungkook, your footsteps firm despite the tension coiling in your stomach. His presence radiated heat, and you could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face before you even sat down. The maids moved quickly, placing plates of food before you, the clinking of dishes breaking the otherwise suffocating silence.

You picked up your fork, stabbing at the food, but the hunger you’d felt earlier had evaporated. The air was choking you, and your thoughts were wild, scraping at the edges of your sanity like claws on stone. It felt like something was peeling your insides, slow and deliberate, leaving you raw and exposed.

You could feel his stare—intense, possessive, and utterly suffocating. It was rare for him to look at you like this, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected. His wolf wanted you, even if he didn’t. His body would always be drawn to you, no matter how much he tried to resist. You could justify his gaze, explain it away as instinct, nothing more.

But her.

Elizabeth’s stare was another matter entirely. Her gaze lingered, sharp and probing, cutting through the room’s heavy air like a blade. It settled on you, unwavering, making your skin prickle and your breath hitch.

Why was she staring?

The question gnawed at you, but you couldn’t find an answer. Her gaze was too much, too piercing, and it made you acutely aware of yourself—of the way your fingers gripped the fork too tightly, of the way your shoulders tensed as if bracing for an attack.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the plate in front of you, but the food blurred as your thoughts spiralled. Her stare burned into you, more than curious, more than observant—it was deliberate, calculated, like she knew something you didn’t.

You shifted in your seat, your knee brushing against Jungkook’s under the table. He stiffened, his gaze snapping back to his plate, but the tension in his body didn’t ease. His fingers tightened around his knife, his knuckles white, as though he was barely holding something back.

The silence was unbearable. The clatter of utensils and the soft murmur of others around the table felt distant, muted, as if you were trapped under a glass dome with only the two of them—him and her—bearing down on you.

But the bigger question—the one gnawing at you like a relentless itch—was why the hell was she still here? Elizabeth’s presence was a thorn lodged in your side, a reminder of every unanswered question and every hollow excuse Jungkook had thrown your way.

“You’re not eating anything.”

Ah, the devil himself had finally chosen to speak. His voice, low and measured, cut through the suffocating silence like a blade. Your fingers froze mid-motion, the fork in your hand hovering above the untouched food. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his.

Jungkook was watching you, his dark eyes simmering with something unspoken—guilt, worry, or maybe a cruel mix of both. But you couldn’t be sure. You were never sure with him. Jungkook was an enigma wrapped in barbed wire—rarely kind, always distant, and painfully unpredictable.

Sometimes, he made you feel like he cared, like there was a sliver of hope buried in the chaos of your bond. Almost. But the illusion always shattered, leaving you with sharp words and deeper wounds. His sweetness twisted in your gut now, bitter and hollow.

Your chest tightened. The urge to speak burned in your throat—to lash out, scream, mock him until he felt the same raw, aching void he’d left in you. You wanted to hurt him, to make him feel heartbroken, alone, unworthy, unlovable.

But you couldn’t.

Your fingers curled tightly around the fork, knuckles white as you swallowed the anger and heartbreak clawing its way up. Instead, you stared at him, your throat thick and eyes glassy, the tears threatening to spill but refusing to fall. No, not anymore.

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered, your voice soft but firm, every bitter word swallowed and dead in your chest.

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped lower, tinged with something almost pleading. “I can feel it.”

Your chest constricted, your jaw tightening. Of course, he’d pull the mate bond card now. Of course, when it suited him.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked, his tone cautious but probing, as if he wasn’t sure how close to the edge you were.

You let out a humourless laugh, the sound sharp and brittle. Slowly, you set the fork down, your movements deliberate as you finally looked up at him. The sarcasm rolled off your tongue, bitter and cutting. “Perfectly,” you said, your lips twisting into a tight smile. “With the graciousness your Majesty has shown me, how could I be anything but?”

The words hit home. You saw it in the way his shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightening. His gaze faltered for a moment, as if the truth of your words had knocked the air out of him.

Good. Let him feel it.

You leaned back slightly, your arms crossing over your chest as you held his gaze, your own eyes sharp and unrelenting. For a second, his mask cracked. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no words came.

"I…" Jungkook stammered, his voice breaking the thick tension that hung in the air. But honestly? You weren’t interested. Not until he finally acknowledged you as his mate and kicked Elizabeth out of the picture. You knew, deep down, that he told you she meant nothing—but you didn’t believe him. If she meant nothing, then why hadn’t he told her you were his mate when she asked? Why take her somewhere private and leave you alone?

"I… am sorry."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. Did he just apologize to you? Jungkook never apologized. He was the Lycan king. Apologies were beneath him, or so you thought. Sure, the night before he’d knelt before you, but that had been a moment of private vulnerability—raw, between just the two of you. It felt like something personal, something for mates. But this? Apologizing in front of so many people? It felt different. Public. It made everything real in a way you hadn’t prepared for.

You sat there, frozen, as the shock washed over you. You never knew Jungkook could do something like this. To you, he had always been distant, proud, untouchable. To see him apologize so openly, to show this kind of humility in front of everyone—that was something you had never imagined.

Kian almost choked on his tea, and Shina quickly patted his back, trying to calm him. Even Neil sat there, wide-eyed, dumbfounded. You could barely process the scene unfolding in front of you. Was this real? Was he really saying sorry?

“I never meant to—”

“Junk—” Elizabeth’s voice sliced through the air, cutting him off. Her hand landed on his bicep, the soft pressure of her fingers an all-too-familiar gesture. She was trying to stop him, trying to shield him from the embarrassment she thought he was suffering. You hated it. You hated her for it. You hated that she had the right to touch him. You’d barely ever touched his biceps, and you were his mate.

“Not now, Liz.” Jungkook hissed, his voice low, laced with annoyance.

A sickening wave of satisfaction washed over you. You couldn’t help it. Watching Elizabeth falter, her hand still on his arm, left you with a twisted sense of pleasure. It wasn’t that you wanted her to suffer, but for once, she was the one who was embarrassed, not you. And it felt good.

Maybe… maybe there was still hope. A maybe you weren’t sure you could trust, but it was something. The “what ifs” flooded your mind. You couldn’t stop yourself from hoping, but deep down, you were afraid to. You had too many “maybes” in your life already. Your mind told you to have faith, but your heart screamed that he didn’t care. And for now, you wouldn’t give him the chance to prove you wrong.

Jungkook didn’t finish his sentence. And neither you nor anyone else spoke a word. The table grew quiet as everyone awkwardly shifted, unsure what to say next.

You timidly picked at your food, your appetite lost to the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. Jungkook’s gaze never left you. You could feel the weight of it, pressing against your skin like a hand on your chest. He wanted to speak. You could feel it in the air. But why should you care? He was so reluctant to even acknowledge you as his mate. Let him stew in his silence. You didn’t need him to say anything.

You stood up, brushing past him without a second glance. Every part of you wanted to scream, to shout at him for making you feel so small, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t going to let him see how much his lack of effort had hurt you.

You walked back to your room, the space around you growing colder with every step. The silence in the hall was deafening, only broken by the echo of your footsteps. You didn’t wait for anyone. You couldn’t. The emotional drain weighed too heavily on you. He was the one who had caused it, but maybe you were to blame too. You had expected too much from someone who wasn’t even willing to do the bare minimum.

As you reached your room, you collapsed onto the bed. Your body felt heavy, your heart aching with exhaustion. The weight of the day, of the constant tension, pulled you under. You didn’t want to cry anymore, but you had nothing left. You’d given everything to someone who wouldn’t even meet you halfway. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your breathing shallow and ragged.

Get over it. The voice in your head was sharp, relentless. But your heart wasn’t ready. How could it be? How could you keep going when all you wanted was for him to just see you? For once. Just once.  

You thought it would be a good idea to wander around the palace, especially since Shina had told you she wouldn’t be available today due to pack business. Everyone seemed busy, but you didn’t seem to have anything to do. You hadn't shifted in days, and there was a strange, restless itch building inside you, gnawing at your insides. You could feel your wolf pushing, demanding freedom. It had been too long. You needed to shift, even for just a few minutes, or else things were about to get ugly. You had no doubt your wolf would force it, and when that happened... it wouldn't be pretty.

You pushed yourself off the bed and walked out of the palace, the cold air feeling sharp against your skin. You didn’t know the palace grounds all that well, but you figured you’d stick to the parts you were familiar with—just enough to avoid getting lost. Soon enough, you found yourself at the training field, watching the warriors move with precision and grace. The thud of fists against the pads and the sharp crack of kicks against wood echoed in the air. You could feel the heat of their movements, the raw power and skill radiating off them, but you were stuck on the outside looking in. How much you wished you could join.

You stood there, eyes tracing the motions, and for a moment, it felt like your body might shift without your permission. You needed this. But...

"Luna?" The soft, familiar voice called from behind you, interrupting the swirl of thoughts in your mind. You tensed, shoulders stiffening, and turned around to find Neil standing there, a casual grin on his face.

"What are you doing here?" He chuckled lightly, his voice warm, but there was something in his eyes that made you want to shrink away.

"Nothing," you replied quickly, your words fumbling, "I— I was just wandering around."

Your gaze automatically flicked back to the training field, your chest tightening as you watched them move. The warrior’s bodies flowed like water, each punch, kick, and lunge so fluid. How much you wanted to be part of it.

“All are so good,” you muttered under your breath, a smile tugging at your lips, even though it felt like it was stuck there—forced. "Wish I could join."

Neil watched you for a moment, his expression shifting, softening. He glanced at the warriors before his gaze returned to you. “Why don’t you talk to His Majesty?” he suggested, his voice thoughtful, almost too casual for the weight of his words.

You felt your chest tighten at the mention of Jungkook. The thought of speaking to him… It sent a wave of unease crashing over you. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck. You thought about it for a long time, but no matter how much you wanted to try, the fear of what might happen if you did kept you rooted to the spot.

"I should probably leave,” he muttered, “They must be waiting." With a small nod, he turned and walked away, the light sound of his footsteps fading as he left you standing there alone with your thoughts.

You wanted to speak to Jungkook. You really did. But after everything that happened last night, after the fight that left your heart aching and your mind spinning, you weren’t sure if you had the strength left. You had so much to say—so many things building up inside of you, but each time you thought about it, your chest tightened. The words felt heavy, impossible.

What was the point, anyway? The few moments of affection he’d shown you were quickly overshadowed by the coldness in his words, the brutality that cut deeper than you were willing to admit. Mate or not, you were nothing more than an obligation to him. And that was the bitter truth.

You no longer knew how to even begin, let alone find the strength to confront him. You were tangled in your own feelings, drowning in uncertainty. You didn’t know if you could handle more of his indifference, more of his careless cruelty. The thought of facing him again felt suffocating. Every step forward only seemed to lead to another moment of doubt, and you weren’t sure you could survive it.

But there was something in you that knew, deep down, if you wanted to join the training, you had to speak to him. You had to.

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling with the weight of it. Your palms were clammy, your heart thudding against your ribs as you pushed yourself to move. Every step you took felt heavier than the last, but you kept going. The passage to his quarters was short, but with each step, the air around you seemed to grow thicker, your mind louder.

As you reached Jungkook’s quarters, you felt a strange mix of relief and dread. No one stopped you this time. You were finally close enough to knock when, unexpectedly, you heard her voice—the one you dreaded. Elizabeth.

“Jungkook, why won’t you answer me?” Her voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable edge to it that made your stomach twist. You stopped, your hand hovering near the door. She’s here? Why can’t she just leave him alone?, you thought. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as frustration burned inside you. Why was she always around your mate?

His voice followed, calm but firm, “Liz, I don’t owe you an answer.”

Your feet were frozen, but a sudden urge to leave washed over you. To turn around and run, back to your room, to hide away from everything. But then, you reminded yourself of why you came here. You had to face him. You had to stop letting her get to you.

You pushed the door open quietly, stepping inside. The soft creak of the door echoed in the silence. Two pairs of eyes snapped to you instantly. His—calm, unreadable—yet there was a subtle shift in his posture. Relaxed, but you could see the faintest sign of something softer in his gaze. He was not mad? But her—her eyes burned into you, cold and hard. You could almost feel the chill radiating from her.

Jungkook sat in a leather chair, papers scattered across his desk. She stood, poised but rigid beside him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The way she stands, so close to him...

You shifted uncomfortably, but before you could even greet him, Elizabeth spoke up, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose knocking is just too old-fashioned for some people.” Her words felt like a slap to your face. Why is she like this? What have I ever done to her?, you thought.

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to snap back. But before you could respond, Jungkook’s voice cut through the tension, softer but firm.

“Liz, could you please leave us alone for some time?” he asked, his words so gentle, it almost felt like he was speaking to a child. But she didn’t want to go, you could see it in the way her lips tightened, the way her hands clenched at her sides. Still, with a final, almost spiteful glance at you, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

The door clicked softly as it shut behind her, and for a split second, it felt like you could breathe again. "Don't stand. Sit," Jungkook said, his voice low but commanding, his eyes still locked onto you. The intensity of his gaze made your knees wobble, but you refused to let him see it. You lowered yourself into the chair across from him, trying to ignore the way your heart raced under his piercing stare.

“I’m sorry. I should have knocked first,” you murmured, your hands shaking slightly as you folded them in your lap, not daring to look up at him.

“Don’t care,” was all he gave you, his voice flat and distant, like he couldn’t care less about you barging in. His focus shifted to the papers in front of him, his fingers grazing over the edges as he scanned them. The nonchalance in his demeanour unsettled you. Why is he so calm?

You watched him for a moment, his steady hands flicking through the pages, not sparing you a second glance. It was so easy for him, so effortless. You couldn’t understand it. Why does he seem so unaffected by all of this? But you weren’t here to wonder about his behaviour. You came here for something. You came here to speak your mind. Taking a deep breath, you straightened in your seat, forcing your voice steady, even though your heart was pounding in your chest. You could do this. You had to.

"I want to join the training—" you started, but Jungkook didn’t even give you the chance to finish.

“No,” he cut you off, his voice low and final. His hand didn’t stop moving as he scribbled on the paper in front of him, the sound of his pen against the paper somehow louder than your heart pounding in your chest.

You blinked, taken aback. “No?” you repeated, a frown pulling at your lips.

“No” he confirmed.

“Just like that?”

He didn’t look up. His gaze was fixed on the papers before him, unflinching, unmoving. “Just like that.”

The words stung. You felt your jaw tighten, a rush of heat rising to your face. How can he be so dismissive? You took a deep breath, trying to rein in the frustration bubbling up in you. “Why not? It’s important to me.”

“Because I said so.” His tone was cold, matter-of-fact, as if this was something he dealt with every day.

Your teeth ground together, your fists clenching at your sides. This is not happening. You could feel the anger building in your chest, but you swallowed it down, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “So that’s it? I don’t get a say?”

“That’s correct,” he murmured, not even sparing you a glance. His pen continued to move across the page.

You felt your hands tremble, and you fought to keep your composure. This is ridiculous. “I trained every day in my old pack. It’s not like I’m asking for something impossible, Jungkook.”

“It’s not happening,” he replied, his voice almost too calm. His eyes didn’t leave the paper, the brush of his fingers against the document so effortless it made you feel invisible. “It’s for your own good.”

You let out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to let your frustration spill over. For my own good? A bitter laugh nearly escaped your lips. You pressed your lips together, shaking your head. "For my own good? Since when have you cared about my own good?"

At that, a faint twitch of his jaw betrayed his calm composure, but he quickly masked it with a deep breath, keeping his attention on the papers. “Since always,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re my Luna, my Queen. I’d be reckless to let you get hurt.”

The bile in your throat rose, and for a moment, you thought you might snap. Luna? Queen? And… his? You swallowed hard, pushing it down. Riling him up would only make things worse. You needed to remain patient. If he wants to play this game, fine. Let’s play it.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Jungkook!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air, the frustration evident in every fibre of your being. “I’ve trained for years. I am not a porcelain doll. I’m capable. I’m not going to trip over my own feet!” You stood up, your chair scraping loudly against the floor as you stormed over to him, your fists clenched at your sides.

“Good to know,” he replied, not even flinching, his eyes still glued to the paper in front of him. “Still a no.”

You leaned over the desk, your body tense, staring him down with fire in your eyes. “What, you don’t think I can handle it?”

“Oh, I think you’re perfectly capable,” he said without missing a beat, his tone still annoyingly calm. “But again, no.”

You let out an exasperated breath, throwing your hands up in the air again. This is insane. “Are you even trying to understand how important this is to me?”

“Of course,” he said, voice level, as though this was a simple conversation about the weather.

“And yet… no?” you huffed, hands dropping to your hips as you struggled to keep your composure. You let your shoulders sag for a moment before you softened your voice, changing your approach. “Jungkook… please?”

He arched an eyebrow, glancing up at you with a hint of amusement. His lips twitched in a smirk that made your heart flutter with irritation and something else that you were in no position to acknowledge. “Very polite. Still no.”

You bit your lip, a small flare of embarrassment mixed with your growing frustration. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Fine. If he wanted to play stubborn, you could do that too. You stoop up, darting around his desk. You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a softer, more coaxing tone. “Come on… it’s not like you can’t handle me in training, right?” Your breath brushed against his cheek, and you saw a brief flicker of something in his eyes, but it was gone before you could read it.

His hand paused, just for a second, but then he pushed his chair back with a sharp scrape. You almost stumbled forward, catching yourself just in time. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his voice low, yet entirely unaffected. “No doubt I could handle it,” he murmured, his eyes already back on his papers. “Still no.”

You narrowed your eyes, frustration mounting. I’m not giving up. You lowered your voice again, your tone soft but undeniably sultry, the words slipping from your lips like silk. “I’d love to see you train too. I know you’re incredible with your strength… your precision…” You crouched down to pick up the paper that had fallen from his hand, your movements slow and deliberate as you locked eyes with him. You swore you saw something darker flicker in his gaze, but he blinked it away, a mask of indifference quickly settling in.

He arched an eyebrow, glancing at you briefly, the barest hint of a smile curling his lips. But then he just went back to his work, unfazed. “Glad to know you appreciate my work ethic,” he said flatly. “Still a no.”

Your stomach churned with embarrassment. You’d never felt this exposed in your life. What the hell am I doing wrong? You clenched your fists, the urge to scream gnawing at you. You had never met someone so infuriatingly unyielding. You wanted to tear your hair out. No. You wanted to tear his hair out.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” You hissed, your voice low with frustration, your nails digging into your palms. “Some have said so,” he replied, his voice laced with a quiet amusement. The barest hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips. He didn’t even bother to look at you as he scribbled something on the page. “Glad to see you agree.”

You ground your teeth, tapping your fingers impatiently against the edge of his desk. “What if I just show up anyway?”

“You won’t,” he replied, a soft chuckle escaping him. “You’d follow the rules.”

“Don’t bet on it,” you muttered under your breath, barely stopping yourself from grabbing one of his papers and crumpling it just to get his attention.

He shrugged nonchalantly, eyes still glued to the paper. “Suit yourself.”

You groaned, sinking back into the chair with a frustrated huff, slouching as you glared at him. This is unbelievable. “Unbelievable.”

“Glad we’re in agreement,” he said, his voice smooth, still not looking up from his papers.

“Oh, you’re insufferable!” You practically shouted, your fists clenched, every inch of you vibrating with the need to scream.

He shrugged again, entirely unbothered by your outburst. “That’s what they all say.”

You stared at him for a moment, chest heaving with anger. “So that’s it? You’re not going to consider my feelings at all?”

He sighed, an exaggerated puff of air escaping his lips. His eyes briefly flicked up to meet yours, and you saw the faintest glimmer of something—amusement, Delight, impatience?—before he wiped it away, giving you a look of fake patience.

“I am considering your feelings, sweet mate,” he said, each word deliberately slow. “Which is why I’m saying NO. End of story.”

Your chest tightened as his words hit you like a physical blow. Without another word, you spun on your heel, stalking out of his study. Every step felt like you were carrying the weight of the world, the anger, the frustration, the sheer helplessness seeping into your every movement. You didn’t get far before you heard him call out, his voice oddly casual.

“Don’t forget to shut the door.”

You resisted the urge to shout back, your fists clenched at your sides as you walked away. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to scream or just throw something at the wall to get his attention. But you kept walking, each step filled with the same frustration that made you feel like you might just lose it. How could someone be so frustrating?

You couldn’t understand if it was him being impossible… or if you were just terrible at this. Either way, you hated it. You hated everything about this.

You needed space—anything to escape the frustration that clung to you like a second skin. You wandered into the garden, the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers doing little to calm your racing thoughts. Your feet moved with no real direction, just the need to be anywhere but near him.

You felt the familiar itch beneath your skin, a restlessness that only came when you hadn't shifted in days. Your body felt tight, like a coil wound too tightly, ready to snap. You needed to get out, to find somewhere open, but Jungkook's control over every inch of your life kept you locked inside. It didn’t matter that you weren’t restricted from shifting. Without his approval, you couldn’t leave the palace.

You kicked a small pebble from the path and watched it soar through the air, landing with a soft thud on… him. Great, today just gets better, you thought bitterly. The worst part? It hit someone and you were already mortified enough. You froze, eyes wide, as the man began walking toward you.

“Luna.” Kenji’s voice was low, his tone holding a touch of amusement. “You could have just called my name, you know. That's not how you call people.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him, the irritation still simmering beneath the surface. There was something so infuriatingly cute about his serious expression when he spoke.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” you muttered, not meeting his gaze.

Kenji raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a playful smile. “You didn’t?”

You just shook your head, staring down at the ground, trying to avoid his eyes.

“What’s got you looking so down?” he asked, his voice softening. He wasn’t the type to press for answers, but something in your posture must have given it away.

“Nothing, really,” you said, but the words felt hollow. You hesitated, then added, “Actually, I want to join the training too, but Jungkook won’t let me.”

Kenji tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “His Majesty must have his reasons.”

You forced a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. His words hit something raw inside you, making your irritation burn even hotter. You clenched your fists at your sides, the annoyance seeping into your features. “I get it, but… why are you taking his side?”

He chuckled softly, clearly not catching the edge in your tone. “You look scary when you do that,” he said.

“Do I?” You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a pointed look.

Kenji nodded slowly, but the smirk never left his lips. You exhaled sharply, trying to steady your breathing. “I just want to train. Is that too much to ask?”

Kenji laughed, the sound light and easy. “You’re cute when you whine.”

Your cheeks flushed, heat rising under your skin. You hated how it made you feel, but you didn’t have the energy to fight it. He sobered quickly, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was listening. “If anyone heard me say that and told His Majesty, he’d have my head.”

“Jungkook doesn’t care,” you muttered, but the words felt empty. You didn’t even believe them anymore.

Kenji chuckled, shaking his head. “You have no idea, Luna.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing.

Kenji just shook his head again, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Nothing.”

“Alright, I’m heading back now,” you said.

“Please let me escort you,” he offered, the hint of concern back in his tone.

You shook your head, irritation creeping back into your chest. “I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” Kenji said, still unconvinced. “I’m just worried you’ll get lost again.”

You froze, the memory of your last misadventure flashing in your mind. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you shot him a glare. “I don’t get lost,” you muttered, a small growl slipping out.

Kenji’s laughter echoed around you, carefree. “Why are you looking at me like that, Luna? I mean, it’s perfectly normal to get lost. Even I do sometimes.”

You hated that he was trying to make light of it. Was he genuinely trying to make you feel better? Or was he just poking fun at your expense? You didn’t have the energy to figure it out. Instead, you just glared at him, biting your lip to keep your irritation in check.

Without saying another word, you turned and started walking toward your quarters, your steps quick and deliberate. Kenji called after you, but you didn’t respond.

You sank into the chair by the window, staring out at the world outside. The soft orange glow of the setting sun filtered through the trees, casting long shadows over the garden below. People passed by, lost in their own lives, oblivious to the tangled mess you were caught in. For the first time in a while, you felt a semblance of peace. The day had been quiet—calm, even. A rare moment of reprieve. Progress, right?

But that fragile calm shattered the moment the door to your room creaked open. You didn’t even have time to register the movement before you turned, and there she stood. Elizabeth. Your heart dropped into your stomach as shock froze you in place. What was she doing here? In your room? Your space?

"I believe I don’t need to introduce myself," she said, her voice smooth, confident. But there was something sharp beneath it. Her eyes—red-rimmed, dark with pain and something colder—never left you. Her gaze was like a weight, bearing down on you.

You swallowed, unable to form words as she took a step forward. "You’re probably wondering why I’m here," she continued, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Or perhaps the real question is... what exactly is my connection to your mate?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You blinked, your pulse picking up. What? You couldn’t keep the shock from showing on your face, and she noticed. She chuckled softly at your expression, that mocking, knowing look still lingering in her eyes.

"I’ll tell you, though we both know he won’t," she said, her voice dipping into a taunting tone. "Tell me, Luna… how old are you?"

The word Luna felt like a slap coming from her, and you clenched your fists at your sides, a tightness in your chest that wasn’t just from her words. It was something darker, something you couldn’t quite name. You bit your lip, trying to hold it together. But then she asked again, her voice sharp, pulling you back to the moment.

“Twenty-five,” you whispered, barely above a breath.

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied you. "Yes. And as we both know… we typically find our mates around…?"

“Eighteen,” you responded, your voice almost distant. The numbers didn’t matter. What mattered was what she was saying. Where was this going?

“Right. By eighteen,” she murmured, a bitter edge creeping into her voice. "And yet… he hadn’t. Not until now."

You felt a coldness creeping over you. You already knew the next part, but hearing her say it out loud made your stomach turn.

"I… don’t have a mate," she continued, her voice soft but edged with an anger that made your skin prickle. "I’ve never had one. Mate-lessness is a cruel fate, but it happens."

A part of you wanted to feel sorry for her, but the rest of you was on alert. You knew exactly where this was going, and it sent a cold shiver down your spine.

She paused, taking a breath that sounded too controlled. Her eyes flicked back to you, the anger sharpening in her features. “For years, my father believed that since Jungkook had no mate… perhaps he and I could…” Her voice trailed off, but the bitterness was clear. You didn’t need her to finish that sentence.

"Then… my father found out Jungkook still hadn’t claimed anyone." Elizabeth’s smirk was all mockery now, as if she’d won some silent battle. "It seemed like everything was… in place."

You felt heat rush to your face, a sick, simmering anger rising up from deep inside. Jungkook. How could he do this? How could he let them believe that there was a chance? The rage roiled in your chest, but you swallowed it down, focusing on her words. You clenched your jaw, pushing it down. The rage bubbling up inside you was almost too much to control. How could he do this? How could he disregard you so easily, so completely? You had never felt smaller. To know that Jungkook hadn't told Elder Mathew the truth—it felt like a slap in the face. Even after knowing what Elder Mathew was thinking, he still choose to hide the truth. Jungkook had allowed him to continue believing there was a chance for his daughter to claim him. Your breath hitched as the bitter sting of betrayal tightened its grip on you.

Humiliated.

That was the only word that seemed to capture the feeling. You felt your chest tighten, your hands trembling as you fought to hold it all together. He didn’t even have the decency to tell me.

"I never knew he had a mate," she said softly, her gaze softening only for a second. But there was something else in her eyes now—something darker. Envy. Disdain. Hate. It was all there, hidden beneath the surface.

“Well, you know now,” you said, your voice steady even though everything in you was screaming to lash out. She tilted her head, her lips curling into a thin smile.

“Yes. He told me himself,” she said. There was something cold in her words, and for a split second, you felt your heart skip a beat. The idea of what Jungkook could have said—it burned at you, but you wouldn’t ask. You couldn’t ask.

"what did he say?" well, here you go…

 “He said that he couldn’t betray the bond,” she said, her words hanging in the air like a weight you couldn’t shake off. It felt like the ground beneath you cracked open, but you didn’t fall. The ache in your chest was quiet at first, like the first stirrings of a storm. It settled in your bones, the truth spreading, too cold to ignore.

You exhaled slowly, the words settling over you. The bond. The very thing that kept you tethered to him, kept you bound to this cruel fate. He couldn’t betray the bond.

For a second, it almost felt like the weight of it all lifted, like you could breathe again. But then reality slammed into you—the truth of it. He couldn’t betray the bond. but... what about you? All he cared about was bond not you, never you. He hadn’t claimed you. He’d hidden you. Hidden your bond like it was something to be ashamed of. The words she said, even if they were tainted with bitterness, felt like a cruel mirror, reflecting the truth you were too scared to face.

The ache in your chest grew, gnawing at you. He might not have betrayed the bond, but had he chosen you? Or were you simply his obligation? He hadn't said he loved you. Nothing of the sort—just that he couldn't betray the bond. The bond? What about you?

"That's why I’m here," Elizabeth said, her voice steady, but there was an edge to it—something dark lurking just beneath the surface.

You frowned, a chill running down your spine as you tried to piece together her meaning. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes met yours, sharp and unwavering. She stood up and took a step closer, but you didn't move. Her gaze pinned you to the spot, as if daring you to look away.

"I wanted to meet you," she replied, though the way she said it sent a shiver crawling up your spine. “But don’t misunderstand. I’m not here to give him up.”

Her words cut through you like a knife, each one slicing away at the delicate control you’d been trying so hard to maintain. Your heart plummeted. The truth of her meaning was as sharp as it was clear. All the sympathy you might’ve felt for her dissolved in an instant, replaced by a wave of anger so sudden it left you gasping for breath.

“Jungkook and I, we’ve always been close,” she continued, her voice softening just enough to carry a twisted, sickly nostalgia. "Since we were children. I have always loved him. I was there when he grew, when he… changed.” Her eyes drifted away from yours, her expression softening for just a moment as if remembering something from the past, but it quickly turned cold again. "I have loved him in ways that... no one else can understand."

She paused, and a bitter smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Her lips were twisted, but her eyes betrayed her—bright and sharp, yet full of something unshed. Tears, you realized. She was trying to hide them, but you could see it—the faint trembling of her bottom lip, the way she had to blink harder to push them back.

“When I turned eighteen,” she whispered, her voice hollow, almost broken, “I prayed to the moon goddess every night to make him mine.” The words spilled from her like a confession, but the way she spoke—slow, measured—made your stomach turn. She was too used to this pain. Too used to wanting something she couldn’t have.

"But then, when I found out he wasn’t my mate…" Her voice cracked just slightly, and she paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. She forced herself to breathe, but you could see the fury flicker in her eyes, burning brighter than before. "I cried for days. And when I realized I had no mate... I started praying again."

Her gaze locked onto you, her eyes darkening as she leaned forward, just an inch. The air between you crackled with tension. She didn’t have to say it. You already knew what came next.

“This time," she murmured, her voice dripping with a sickly sweetness that made your skin crawl, "I prayed he’d never find a mate either."

You swallowed hard, your breath coming out in a tight, controlled hiss. This woman… Your mind was racing, your pulse thundering in your ears as the words burned their way into you.

“I know it’s selfish," she continued, the twisted sweetness in her voice turning darker, more possessive, "But I have loved him my whole life. And that won’t change, mate bond or not.”

Her face twisted again, but this time, the expression was different—something darker. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pulled into a twisted, almost feral smile. She took a step closer, the coldness in her gaze making the distance between you feel vast and suffocating.

“I want him,” she said, her voice low and filled with an unsettling certainty. “And I will have him.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and you felt every fibre of your being coil with anger. Your breath caught, the tightness in your chest making it hard to speak. She didn’t even flinch as she delivered the final blow.

"You came all this way just to tell me that?" you managed, your voice dangerously calm, though every muscle in your body was tense, coiled and ready to snap. You looked at her, fighting to keep your tone neutral, but the bitterness inside you was clear.

Her lips curled into a smug, almost predatory smile as she tilted her head, like a cat toying with a mouse. She knew how much it hurt.

“I thought you deserved to know,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. "Better than letting you think it would all be... behind your back."

Your jaw clenched, the taste of her words souring in your mouth. You fought to keep the sting from showing on your face, but it was impossible. How dare she?

“How... thoughtful of you,” you replied, each word laced with barely restrained sarcasm, your voice sharp enough to cut through the tension thick in the room. The anger simmered just beneath the surface, but you held it back, for now.

She laughed, but it wasn’t a real laugh. It was bitter, mocking—sharp enough to tear at your heart. The sound echoed in your chest, twisting something dark and tight inside you. The anger bubbling inside of you now felt different. It felt like fire, something raw and uncontrollable. You didn’t even know you were capable of feeling this much.

 You stared at her, praying the moon goddess would take pity on you and just make her leave. Because if she said one more thing, you knew you’d lose it. You could already feel it—if you didn’t get her to go, the rage inside would break free, and that wouldn’t be very queen-like, would it?

Her presence felt like a weight on your chest, suffocating, like she was pressing down on your very soul. You couldn’t stand it. The way she stood there, smug and triumphant, was like a slap to your face. You didn’t enjoy this—this taunting game—but you knew why she was here. She had two reasons, you realized, as her eyes locked onto yours, cold and calculating.

One: She was hurt, feeling banned. She had finally lost something she never truly had, but in her mind, she thought it was always hers to take. The delusion had kept her going for so long, and now that it was gone, she was miserable. Two: She wanted you to feel what she felt. Every ounce of pain, every scrape of loss. The feeling of something just slipping out of your grasp, like you were so close to holding it and then poof—gone. She wanted you to understand the ache of not belonging, of being left behind, the ache of being left with nothing but empty hands.

And, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you understood. You felt the same. The pain, the coldness from your own mate, the way he barely seemed to see you—It hurt. It burned in a way you weren’t prepared for.

But then a darker thought crept into your mind, a fear you hadn’t allowed yourself to face before. What if Jungkook didn’t want you? What if he never would? He had made it clear, time and time again—he didn't care. He was cold, indifferent to your presence, to your pain. You were nothing to him.

You could feel the tremor of fear crawling up your spine, tightening your chest. He told her that he had you, but he wasn't ready to accept you. He might not have wanted her yet, but how long would that last? Sooner or later, he had to choose. He would have to.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, the thought burning in your mind like a brand. Your heart was hammering in your chest as the realization hit you—he might never choose you, not because of the  her, but because he simply didn’t care enough. But, the mate bond wouldn't let him choose her.

Was there anything you could do?

There was no choice for you. No real choice, was there? Stay here and let the fear drown you, or fight. Fight for him. Fight to make him see you, make him feel for you, even though every inch of you knew he wasn’t ready for that. You took a shaky breath, your hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the threshold of the window, in front of you.

Fight.

You had to fight.

But how? How could you make him fall when all you had was your hope and a burning need for something that might never come?

You didn’t have a choice anymore. You couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t let you. And, you couldn’t let her have your mate.

And so, standing there, torn between rage and fear, the only thing you could do was make your choice.

Let me know how you feel about it—love it, hate it, whatever, I’m all ears! Text, asks, comments, dramatic rants, or even a drabble request—anything goes. Character asks? Open too! So, send something my way if you want. No pressure, though. (But maybe just a little pressure?)

Also, a HUGE thank you for reading it. If you liked it or reblogged it, just know I love you. Like, a lot. You're the MVP of my little corner of chaos.

[callsigns-haze]

His Shadow: The beginning

This Is Chapter 1 (masterlist)

Azriel, secretly juggling his responsibilities and personal life, maintains a hidden relationship with YN, who works at a pleasure house in the Hewn City. She was his light, his love, his passion. Yet being his darkest secret is a hard role because life in the Hewn as a young female isn't the easiest as the two of you hold an even dark secret yet to be told...

Pairing: Azriel x reader

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Discussions of parenthood and the challenges associated with it, including postpartum experiences.

The Inner Circle noticed the change in Azriel almost immediately.

It started subtly. A missed meeting here, a late arrival there. At first, they chalked it up to his duties as the spymaster, knowing full well how deeply he was entangled in the shadows of Velaris and beyond. But as the days turned into weeks, Azriel’s absences grew more frequent, his presence more elusive.

Cassian was the first to voice his concern. “Anyone else noticed how Azriel’s been… disappearing?” he asked, frowning over the rim of his glass. They were gathered in the River House, the warmth of the hearth doing little to dispel the chill that had settled in the room.

Rhysand exchanged a glance with Feyre, his brow furrowed. “I’ve noticed,” he admitted. “But every time I reach out through the daemati, he’s always quick to assure me everything is fine. He’s been more secretive than usual, though.”

Mor, who had been unusually quiet, leaned forward, her eyes shadowed with worry. “I tried to ask him directly last week. He brushed me off, said it was nothing, just more work than usual. But… he looked exhausted, Rhys.”

It was true. When they did see Azriel, it was only for brief moments. He’d sweep in, dark circles under his eyes, his normally impeccable leathers rumpled as if he’d been up all night. He would give them a tight smile, exchange a few clipped words or go to his nephews, and then vanish again into the night. Even his shadows seemed quieter, more subdued, clinging to him like they too were weighed down by something unseen.

Feyre couldn’t shake the image of Azriel from her mind—the way he’d barely touched his food the last time they’d all sat down to dinner together, the way he’d flinched when Mor tried to touch his arm. There was something wrong, something deeply troubling, and it gnawed at her.

“I don’t like this,” Feyre said softly, her hand resting on the swell of her abdomen. “Azriel never lies to us, but it feels like he’s hiding something. Something big.”

Cassian’s hand clenched into a fist. “I’m going to drag him here if I have to. We need answers.”

But when Cassian did confront Azriel, it was like trying to catch smoke. The spymaster simply shrugged him off, his face impassive, his hazel eyes cold. “I’m fine, Cass. Just busy.”

“You look like death warmed over, Az. What’s going on?” Cassian pressed, frustration bleeding into his voice.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, shadows curling protectively around him. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

And that was the end of it. No matter how much Cassian prodded, how much Mor pleaded, how much Rhys tried to subtly pry into his mind, Azriel remained a stone wall. Implacable. Unyielding. Denying every question with the same cold, tired detachment.

It wasn’t until one particularly stormy night that Feyre finally cornered him. Azriel had returned to the River House, drenched from the rain, his normally sharp wings drooping with fatigue. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his face gaunt, his eyes haunted.

Feyre intercepted him at the door, blocking his path with her small frame. “Azriel,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “We need to talk.”

He looked at her, and for a moment, she saw something flicker in his eyes—something like guilt, or maybe fear. But then it was gone, replaced by that cold, impenetrable mask. “There’s nothing to talk about, Feyre.”

She didn’t move. “Please, Az. We’re all worried about you. You’re hiding something, and it’s tearing you apart. Let us help.”

For a long, tense moment, he simply stared at her, the rain dripping from his hair onto the polished floor. Feyre held her breath, praying he would open up, let her in, let someone in. But then his shoulders slumped, and he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Feyre. But I can’t. Not yet.”

And with that, he slipped past her, leaving her standing in the doorway, her heart heavy with a growing dread.

Whatever Azriel was hiding, it was tearing him apart. And if he didn’t let them in soon, Feyre feared it would destroy him.

The Inner Circle was united in their concern, but despite their best efforts, Azriel remained a ghost in their lives, always on the periphery, always slipping through their fingers.

It was Rhys who finally voiced what they were all thinking, his voice a low, worried murmur as they gathered in the dim light of the sitting room. “Whatever it is… it’s only a matter of time before it comes crashing down on him. And when it does, he'll open.”

They nodded in agreement, but a shared, unspoken fear hung heavy in the air: would Azriel let them catch him when he finally fell?

---

Dinner at the River House was usually a time of comfort and camaraderie, a rare moment when the Inner Circle could gather without the weight of the world pressing down on their shoulders. But tonight, the atmosphere was tense, the usual warmth replaced by a cold, uneasy silence. The kids played outside as the adults sat.

Azriel sat at the far end of the table, his plate barely touched. He pushed the food around absently, his mind clearly elsewhere. His face was shadowed, his eyes distant, and the weariness that had been growing in him for weeks was more pronounced than ever.

Feyre noticed the way his gaze flicked to the windows, as if he was counting the minutes until he could leave. Cassian and Mor exchanged worried glances, and Rhysand’s brows drew together in a frown.

They all felt it—the growing distance, the secrets he was keeping. But tonight wasn’t the night to push him further. Not when he looked so close to breaking.

“Azriel,” Feyre said gently as the meal drew to a close, “You barely ate. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Azriel looked up, his expression neutral but his eyes giving away his exhaustion. “I’m fine, Feyre. Just tired.”

Cassian opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Azriel stood, the movement abrupt. “I need to go,” he muttered, already turning toward the door. “There’s something I need to take care of.”

“Az—” Rhysand started, but Azriel was already halfway out of the room.

“Goodnight,” Azriel tossed over his shoulder, his voice a distant echo as he disappeared into the night, leaving the Inner Circle staring after him in stunned silence.

Outside, the cool night air hit him like a wave, clearing some of the fog from his mind. Without pausing, Azriel unfurled his wings and launched himself into the sky, the wind whipping through his hair as he flew faster, higher, needing to escape the concerned looks, the unspoken questions, the suffocating worry.

He flew over the glittering city of Velaris, its lights twinkling like stars reflected in the Sidra River. But he didn’t linger. He angled his wings and veered away, heading towards the mountains, towards the darkness that loomed just beyond the city’s borders.

The Hewn City was a stark contrast to Velaris, a place where shadows reigned and light was a rare commodity. Even from the sky, Azriel could feel the oppressive weight of the city, the malice that seeped from its very stones. But he didn’t hesitate. He descended into one of the darker parts of the city, where the narrow alleys were shrouded in perpetual twilight, where even the bravest of souls dared not tread.

Azriel landed silently in one such alley, the shadows welcoming him as an old friend. He folded his wings and moved quickly, his footsteps barely a whisper on the cobblestones. The buildings here were ancient, their facades cracked and worn, their windows dark and uninviting. But Azriel knew exactly where he was going.

At the end of the alley was a narrow staircase, worn smooth by centuries of use. He climbed it swiftly, his heartbeat quickening with each step. When he reached the top floor, he paused, gathering himself. Then, with a deep breath, he pushed open the door.

The apartment was small, barely more than a single room with a bed pushed against one wall and a fireplace that cast a warm, flickering glow across the space. But to Azriel, it was a sanctuary. A place where the world’s troubles fell away, where he could be someone other than the Spymaster of Night Court.

And there, in the center of the room, was the reason he kept coming back.

YN, his love, his secret, his everything, was standing by the window, bathed in the soft light of the fire. She was smaller than him by far, her frame delicate, her own scars glowing, her features soft and kind in a way that was the exact opposite of the harshness of the world he knew. Her eyes, so full of warmth and love, lit up when she saw him, a smile spreading across her lips.

But there was a reason Azriel had never mentioned her to the Inner Circle, why he kept this part of his life hidden even from those he trusted most. YN worked under one of the pleasure homes in the Hewn City, forced into servitude under the command of the Hewn City’s lords. It was a dark and cruel existence, one that Azriel despised with every fibre of his being.

The idea of the Inner Circle knowing the truth—that the woman he loved was bound to such a place—was unbearable. He had seen too much darkness in his life, and the thought of exposing YN to the judgment, pity, or even the well-intentioned attempts to “rescue” her from that life, filled him with dread.

But here, in the quiet of this small apartment, she wasn’t the servant of cruel masters. She was just YN, the woman who had captured his heart despite everything, who had chosen him despite the four hundred and fifty years that separated them.

And in her arms was their newborn son, Knox, a tiny, perfect symbol of the life they had created together despite the odds.

The infant was only two weeks old, a small bundle of life that had already become Azriel’s anchor. Knox was asleep, his small, peaceful face a reminder of all that was good and pure in the world. Azriel’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of them.

This was why he disappeared every night. This was the secret he guarded so fiercely, the reason for his exhaustion, his distraction. This was the life he had built in the shadows, away from the eyes of the world.

YN walked over to him, her steps light and sure. “You look tired,” she said softly, reaching up to touch his face, her fingers brushing against the dark circles under his eyes.

“I am,” Azriel admitted, his voice rough with emotion. He let her touch ground him, pulling him out of the dark places in his mind and back into the light of her presence. “But seeing you… seeing him… it makes it all worth it.”

YN’s smile was soft, her eyes filled with a love so deep it made his heart ache. “You’re pushing yourself too hard,” she whispered. “I told you that if coming here after work is too much stay in Velaris for the night.”

Azriel closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, savouring the warmth that radiated from her. He knew she was right, but the weight of his responsibilities, the need to protect them, to keep them safe from the dangers he faced daily, made it hard to let go. “I just want to keep you both safe. And need you,” he murmured, his voice breaking.

YN reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, her touch gentle but firm. “You already do,” she whispered against his mouth. “Just being here, being with us… that’s all we need, just as much as you need us.”

Azriel wrapped his arms around her, careful not to disturb Knox, who slept on, blissfully unaware of the world’s troubles. He held them both close, feeling the tension that had been coiled inside him begin to unravel. In this small, hidden room, in the arms of the woman he loved and with his son safe in her embrace, Azriel finally allowed himself to breathe.

For now, the shadows could wait. Here, in the warmth of their love, he was home. And this home is just the beginning of their secrets...

Let me know if you'd wish to be tagged! Comments and reblogs are really appreciated!

[jayparked]

𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈𝓎 | 𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓊𝓃𝑔 | 𝓂

snippet: Then, looking into your eyes, he speaks firmly, “Before we begin, let’s establish some ground rules.”

pairing: lee heeseung x female reader

genre: smut, pwp

au: roommates, f2l

rating: explicit/18+, minors dni

word count: 4.3k

warnings: there’s a deep conversation about feelings, love confessions (YUCK)

sexual warnings: masturbation (female receiving), mutual pining, begging, rule making, dirty talk, non penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), body worship, light foot worship, the entire thing is based off getting reader off, heeseung doesn’t get off  :( , heeseung is kinda bossy, praise kink, heeseung calls reader babygirl, overstimulation, .001% of aftercare, moaning, hair pulling, marking, punishment kink?, dom/sub dynamics, orgasm…guilt?...sorry

The frustration builds quicker than you wanted, the groans coming from your mouth slipping out louder each time you feel your body give up on itself. You’re too god damn horny, but your body is too tired to properly masturbate.

This is probably the fifth time now that you've attempted to get yourself off only to abandon ship seconds after. Your muscles ache and sleep calls to you. Despite this, every time you try to just sleep it off, the aching, painful throb from your clit keeps you awake.

It takes everything in you to keep yourself from throwing a tantrum like a toddler.

The clock now reads just after three in the morning; you let out one last frustrated breath. It comes out louder than you intended, the grunt rising in pitch before you can even stop yourself.

Moments later, your shirtless, sleep-drunk roommate opens your door, rubbing his eyes with one fist as he holds himself up with the other hand gripping the doorway.

“Are you okay or whatever? I keep hearing groaning and other weird sounds,” Heeseung sighs, slight annoyance laced in his tone.

Your eyes are wide with embarrassment as Heeseung’s sleepy eyes jolt awake as he finally sees you.

You’re laying on top of your comforter completely naked with one hand still draped across your womanhood.

Heeseung shifts his body against the door frame, the moonlight now highlighting down his face. The shadows of your air-guided drapes chase that light, new depths illuminating across his nose and cheekbones. You’re not sure why your brain is trying so hard to think of metaphors and similes, anything to compare Heeseung to, but none of them do him justice. It would be too easy to blame it on the lack of sleep. Then again, you’ve never truly let yourself look at him in this way before and it’s killing you that you can’t read the expression on his face.

In this moment, you realize you have neither fight nor flight instincts as you lay frozen in your bed, nothing willing you to cover yourself or hide from your roommates gaze.

Heeseung’s tongue pokes out of his mouth, moving slowly against his bottom lip as his eyes flick frantically from your body to the wall across the room. Raising a hand to cover his mouth, he clears his throat and brushes his thumb against his bottom lip to wipe away the remnants from his tongue.

Clearing his throat once more, his shoulder relaxes against the doorframe, his body now leaning in a very casual nonchalant way, his eyes continue to debate where to look. “Wha-whatcha doing there?” He immediately turns his body away from you after speaking, facing the wall as he aggressively rubs at the nape of his neck, his other hand back up to his mouth.

“Oh...you know...just trying to sleep.”

There’s a brief silence- minus the light flapping of your window curtains. That, and the mental beating you’re giving yourself for trying to joke about the situation at hand. There is no hiding it. You’ve been caught red-handed.

Literally.

“Y/n…” Heeseung warns, the moonlight shifting in a way that now illuminates the tense muscles of his back. 

Your heart pounds loudly within your chest. You’ve seen Heeseung shirtless thousands of times. So why is this the first time you’re realizing just how sculpted his body actually is? 

Shutting your eyes tightly, your brain moves at hyper-speed trying to figure out what to do or say next. A million scenarios flood in and all you want is to pick the option that lets you keep your roommate and not have to live with exploding embarrassment for the rest of your life.

You’re about to open your mouth and just say the first thing that comes out, no matter how brainless it may be. Perhaps brutal honesty will help you out in the end. But Heeseung beats you to the punch.

“Do you...do you need help?” His back is still turned to you so you can’t read his expression, but you can’t help but notice the way his back muscles tense.

It takes you a moment to register what he’s said. You’re finally able to move your hand away from your cunt and you slowly sit up and lay your back against your headboard, grabbing one of your pillows and hugging it tightly to your chest.

“I guess talking about it might help even though you and I have never really talked about this kind of thing before. Have you ever just been so horny and tired at the same time but you’re unable to do either of those things? I’ve been struggling for hours now trying to sleep but I can’t sleep because...you know, and then when I try to do that I’m just too tired to actually do it right and-”

“No, I mean-” Heeseung cuts himself off with a sigh, quickly followed by a slow intake of air, puffing his cheeks out as he releases it and turns towards you. He pauses, still averting his eyes before he steps towards your bed. Determination and bravery are written all over his face, despite the fact that he’s still trying to respectively not look at you.

Sitting at the foot of your bed with his body facing the door, Heeseung takes a moment before turning his head towards you, his dark eyes looking directly into yours.

“I can help you.”

A few more moments of silent eye contact passes before you finally understand what he’s trying to suggest.

“Oh...OH!” You can’t help but gasp with widened eyes as it finally clicks in your head exactly what he’s offering to you.

“Wouldn’t that,” you gulp, your face feeling painfully warm, “wouldn’t that make things weird? Between us?”

Heeseung’s jaw is tight, his muscles jutting forward as he breaks eye contact and looks back towards your bedroom door. “It doesn’t have to be weird,” he says softly, “...if you don’t want them to be. I mean, I can honestly say I haven’t ever...you know, not thought of you in this way before.” He lets out another long puff of air, knowing he’s being confusing with his words, hand grasping at the back of his neck as he tries to massage the tension away.

You feel embarrassed and flattered and excited all at once. Your roommate of three years, best friend of over ten years, has admitted to thinking of you in a sexual way.

Heeseung lets you think for a moment. But it only allows you more time to realize that you can’t feign innocence here either. There was that major crush you had on him in high school or the time you walked in on him in the shower. There’s definitely been a handful of times where he’s crept into your thoughts while you were with someone else or even times when you were alone.

There are a million things that could go wrong if you accept his offer.

Or, a million things that could go right.

“Okay,” you say bravely, moving the pillow away from your body, “please, help me.”

Turning his head slowly, Heeseung finally looks at you, really looks at you, his eyes roaming every inch of your body slowly. He inhales, his jaw clenching once more as his gaze falls upon your uncovered chest.

Then, looking into your eyes, he speaks firmly and slowly, “Before we begin, let’s establish some ground rules.”

Gulping slowly, you nod your head, trying not to think about the lack of friction going on below.

"Rule number one," Heeseung starts with a smirk, "you don’t get to touch me." 

"What?-"

"Nuh, uh." He interrupts you, holding up his pointer finger as he shakes his head, his fluffy brown hair swooshing over his eyes. Without looking, he picks up your bare feet and pulls you towards him, placing your legs over his lap as you now lay flat on the bed. His hands start to roam over your calves and down to your toes. His fingers are just barely lingering over you to the point of sending chills throughout your entire body. The touch of his skin on yours alone is sending the signals in your body into overdrive. That mixed with the tiredness you're feeling, it's making it nearly impossible to think straight or stay focused on the words he’s saying.

"I've been thinking about a night like this for a long, long time. Respectfully, of course," he adds quickly, looking back at you and giving you a soft smile. "I never wanted to do anything to ruin what we have. But damn, I really can't deny it. I've thought about making you cum over and over and over again so many times it was like a movie constantly replaying  in my mind." Heeseung continues to stroke your feet and legs sensually as he speaks. It takes everything in your power not to pounce on him.

Instead, you bite your bottom lip and close your eyes, resting your arms on your stomach, letting the deep grumble of Heeseung's voice soothe your body along with all the places he's trailing his fingers on.

“Anyways,” he says with a quirk of his eyebrow, “back to our rules.”

His domineering tone sends chills throughout your body again and you try your best to ignore the white noise ringing in your ears. 

“Rule number two: you can’t cum unless I tell you you can.”

The urge to question him again is strong, but his stare makes you shut your mouth tightly.

He knows the question is hanging off the tip of your tongue, you know that he knows. Instead of throwing you a bone, he sits there smirking at you, sitting on his high horse while also looking like he knows the punchline to the joke you’ve been waiting to get.

Finally, he beckons you closer, his pointer finger slowly enticing you in. You sit up slowly, your legs still in his lap. As soon as you’re close enough to see the dark flecks in his eyes, he leans in himself until his lips are hovering just over your ear.

“And I can be a very patient man, baby girl. We can be here all night until you finally get it right and do what I say.”

Admittedly, your first instinct is to laugh, the sheer shock of his words not fully settling in. But then, after a moment, you can tell just how much his words affected your body; your legs feel shakier, the core of your womanhood pulsates quicker, and you start to feel the dripping of your arousal moving down your thighs.

It only makes sense that your childhood friend, the love of your life, would also turn out to be the kinkiest person you’ve ever met.

It only makes sense.

“Okay...yes sir.”

The smugness on Heeseung’s face only increases.

“Good girl.”

“Are there any other rules...?” It still feels odd talking to your best friend about this. But it’s all worth it when you notice the growing tent in Heeseung’s sweatpants

Heeseung gets off the bed and moves closer to you, his hands behind his back. He appears so nonchalant and unbothered, almost like he’s ignoring the fact that he’s sporting the hardest erection he’s ever had in his life. 

It makes you nervous in the best of ways.

Removing one hand from behind his back, he places it on one of your knees, caressing your flesh gently before pushing it to the side, spreading your legs open wide to expose your dripping cunt. He nods his head with approval, biting his bottom lip hard as his eyes sweep slowly up and down over your entire naked body.

It feels like the room’s temperature went up another ten degrees.

Heeseung dips his hand lower, hovering over your cunt. Each time it looks like he’s about to touch you, your vagina pulses with anticipation, only for Heeseung to deceivingly pull away at the last second.

“Please, Heeseung…please touch me, I just want to cum, I can’t take this anymore. I’ll do anything!”

With a slight chuckle, Heeseung humors you, leaning his body down closer to yours and dips one of his fingers down, lightly petting the tops of your folds.

The small touch makes you shiver, your hips bucking up towards his hand. The amount of juices he accumulates on his fingers in a short amount of time exposes exactly how needy you feel. 

“Only because you asked so nicely.” And with that said, Heeseung's fingers glide past your folds with a heavenly amount of pressure, soaking in your sweet juices. Your head falls back against your bed and you wish you could sink in deeper; into the bed, the room, into him. He's murmuring something in your ears, but your mind is too focused on what's happening to your body, there's not enough mental capacity in there to comprehend words at the moment. The urge to reach out to him and feel his skin against the palm of your hand spurs deep in your chest, but not strong enough to act upon. Instead, you let your eyes flutter shut, sighing blissfully as he continues to massage and soothe your bud.

Heeseung continues a slow, sensual pace, one that you could arguably fall asleep to. It feels like every stress cell in your body slowly floats away with every stroke of his fingers.

"Just like that? Hmm?" You hear him say.

"Hmm?" You manage out, your voice sounding weak and far away.

"I just didn't think you would react to me that quickly. Or intensely."

You open your eyes and look at him. Heeseung is propped up on one elbow, his hand cradling his jawline. His other hand continues to make brushstroke movements in between your folds. He looks at your vagina with wonder, and like he has something more to say.

But you're too tired and enjoying him too much to ask.

Moments later, Heeseung is picking up speed, beckoning your undoing.

You don't feel ready to give up the warmth you feel with his touch, not ready to reach the top and climb back down.

You can’t take it anymore. The pressure building is too intense and you need something sturdy and stable to hold onto.

Screw his rules.

Grasping onto Heeseung's shoulder, your fingernails dig into him as you bite down on your bottom lip, fighting desperately at the orgasm crashing down on you.

"There you go, baby. That's it. Come undone on my fingers." Heeseung's sweet demeanor is long gone as he watches you with sinful eyes.

A small moan leaves your lips as you let go; your legs shake vigorously underneath Heeseung's grasp and you feel the painful twist of a muscle spasm deep in your hamstrings.

Short gasps are all you can manage in response, your mind feeling more awake than before.

And in that brief pause between ministrations, your mind increases its speed tenfold, your thoughts now clearer than ever.

This is your best friend you're laying in front of. The same guy you used to collect bugs with when you were younger, the same guy you were embarrassed in front of when he found out you started wearing a training bra.

And you just came in front of him.

"I'm so sorry, Heeseung!" you cry out, sitting up quickly and burying your face in your hands as you fight back hot tears from falling down your cheeks. "We can forget this ever happened."

Heeseung is quiet behind you as you imagine yourself shrinking into a spec of nothing.

Then, tenderly, his hand is on top of yours, coaxing it away from your face. And you let him do it.

Heeseung holds your hands in his, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles before whispering, "Did I do something wrong?"

Immediately you want to scream no, but your words catch in your throat as you look at him. Heeseung’s bottom lip is jutting out slightly and he's avoiding your eyes as he continues to try and comfort you. And then you remember that this isn’t some random stranger. You know him. You know him more than anyone, hell, sometimes you know him more than you know yourself. And right now, this Heeseung in front of you is just as embarrassed and emotional as you are.

"No," you say bravely reaching out to press your palm to his cheek, turning his face towards yours, "I don't regret it at all. I'm sorry, I just-" you sigh and lean back, struggling to find the right words to say while fighting against your own embarrassment, "-I just never thought we would get to this point. And to hear you say all those things you were saying? I just don't understand. Why didn't you ever tell me? Why me to begin with?" That's when you realize where all of this insecurity of yours is coming from. Heeseung has been with gorgeous people in the past, gorgeous, successful people. And the thought of him liking you? It must feel like a step down for him.

But the way his face softens as he sighs, bringing your hand back up to his face, has you second guessing your initial judgment of him.

"It's always been you, Y/n. Ever since we first met. How could I ever for a second not want to be with you? You're my best friend, the person I go to for comfort. And because of that, I was always afraid to tell you about my feelings. Because just being in your life as your friend and your roommate, that was more than enough for me. And this doesn't have to go anywhere if you don't want it to be. But…truthfully, I want it to go somewhere. Hell, Y/n, I want to be with you. But if you don't want to be with me like that? I'll be okay."

His words swirl around your body, not quite processing into complacent thoughts. There are about a million different emotions coursing through your veins, and each one is battling to come to surface. 

It feels selfish, the position he’s put you in. Because now, it’s all on you. Your choice will determine how your relationship with Heeseung changes forever. And, let’s be real, no matter what happens after this moment, things will never be the same. The weight of that realization is pushing you down into the mattress you sit on. You’ve avoided thinking about your best friend in this way for so long it’s hard to tell if what you’re feeling has always been there or just here temporarily, clouded by the high of a mind-blowing orgasm.

On the other hand, there’s excitement, joy, happiness, relief all bundled into one giant heart floating around you. Your best friend, the person you’ve been attached to for over a century now, is confessing his feelings for you.

It’s time to be honest with yourself.

You’ve been in love with him this whole time.

Heeseung waits patiently while you figure out exactly what to say, playing with your fingers and tracing unknown shapes across your hand in the meantime.

You’re too tired for words, too tired for thoughts, too tired for almost everything it seems. 

Well, everything, except…

You lean forward slowly, placing your weight on your hands as you close the space between you and Heeseung and place a tender kiss on his lips.

Heeseung sighs and closes his eyes, putting your hand over his heart and completely melts into your touch.

How could you not do the same?

All of the tiredness, all of the frustrations from before Heeseung entered your bedroom, it was all worth it to get to this moment. And you’d go through it every night for the rest of your life if it meant you got to kiss him just like this.

The kiss deepens quickly, your mouths moving with an intensity you’ve never experienced before. Without thinking, you let your body take full control, not second-guessing any natural movement. So you let your hand find its way to the nape of Heeseung’s hair, delicately pulling at the ends until his neck is forced back and a moan ripples through his throat. It was so unexpected and out of character, but you like having this control.

It doesn’t last long, though. Heeseung quickly comes to his senses and knocks you onto your back, pushing you with one hand on your chest. He chuckles low and menacingly, his eyes staring deep into yours.

“What did I say about touching?” His voice is so low you swear you can feel it rumbling in your chest.

Heeseung doesn’t allow you enough time to answer. Before you can even open your mouth, his tongue is attached to your lips.

But not the lips on your face.

Your eyes immediately roll back as his tongue writes beautiful nothingness against your cunt and you desperately want to reach out and grip his hair again. Thinking there’s a possibility he wouldn’t notice, you reach and tangle your fingers in his locks. Almost immediately, your hand is batted away with a low warning growl from Heeseung as he continues to work his tongue against your sensitive bud. You groan in protest, but obey, somehow able to restrain yourself and settle for gripping the sheets instead.

The tongue movements start slow, but it seems you’re not the only impatient one here, despite what he may have said earlier. Heeseung picks up speed as he laps up your juices, his hand snaking up to insert a few digits inside you. His other hand is gripping one of your hips, his entire forearm pressing against your pelvic bone, holding you into place. His grip on you only seems to make your body want to shake more.

“You that close already, baby?” Heeseung lifts his head up for a moment, your juices glistening on his mouth, cheekbones and the tip of his nose. It seems like a sight you would only have in your dreams. It’s hard to believe this is happening in real life.

“Answer me,” he commands, eyes narrowing, but there’s a tinge of softness behind his words.

“I can’t help it.” You pant out, “Been building up all these years now. I could have come just by you touching my shoulder.”

Heeseung chuckles at this, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“You can cum whenever you want, baby. I’m not going to stop you,” he says casually.

Almost...too casually.

But you don’t think twice, you’re too tired to think twice. Quiet moans slip past your lips and Heeseung takes that as his cue. His fingers move faster, scissoring inside your body as his nose brushes against your clit.

It’s almost too easy to come undone.

White hot heat spreads throughout your body as everything around you starts to shake. Heeseung is watching you with careful eyes as you orgasm the fastest you’ve ever orgasmed in your life.

Your breathing only gets heavier as you come back from your high. But then, a blissful pain makes your thigh muscles jolt, a new wave of uncontainable cries escape you.

“I said I wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to cum,” Heeseung devilishly proclaims, his fingers moving faster than ever inside you, “but that didn’t mean I was gonna stop.”

Your eyes shut tight as you pull at the sheets gripped tightly in your hands, too afraid to speak because of the moans you’re currently swallowing back. Small whimpers make it out as you desperately try to focus on anything other than the torture you’re going through.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby,” Heeseung coos, focusing almost all of his attention on your clit now. “Let it all out. I want to hear that pretty voice of yours. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

There are no logical thoughts left in your brain. All you know is that you’re desperately exhausted and it’s taking too much of your energy to fight against the natural cries your body wants to release as this overstimulation continues.

So, you let go.

“Fuck!” you finally cry out, your chest rising and falling quicker than ever as the moans release deep from within you, “That feels so good! I’m gonna come again- I’m gonna- I’m gonna-”

A small scream is all you can manage as the pressure in your core finally releases. You thought your previous orgasm was intense? Nothing will ever be able to top this one.

“Damn that was fucking sexy.” Heeseung stands and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Your legs are still trembling and it feels like every muscle in your body is frozen in place. Warm liquid coats your inner thighs and drips down onto your sheets.

“Did I just…?” You ask with shock. Heeseung chuckles and nods his head, walking towards your door. He pauses with one hand on the doorframe, looking back at you with a proud smile.

“Hell yeah you did. Have you ever squirted before?”

“No, never,” you whisper, but Heeseung is already out of the room. Your eyes flutter shut, sleep threatening to finally take over.

Heeseung returns with a towel, throwing it so it lands right beside you.

“Goodnight, babygirl,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“Wait!” You call out just as he reaches the doorway. “What about you?” You point at his very obvious erection.

Heeseung waves you off casually, “We’ll have plenty more nights of fun in the future. But for now, sleep. Don’t worry about me.” He winks. “I can take care of myself just fine. Get some rest. Goodnight, Y/n.”

Before Heeseung even closes the door, your eyes are shut, sleep finally welcoming you into its arms.

a/n: thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed :] if you did please reblog and leave a comment!

© all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, translate, or repost. jayparked 07/30/24

[lupinmoonlight]

Too Full

Masterlist AO3

Summary - Remus pumps you full and tells you to hold it in for the rest of the day. Literally. (1,590 words)

Tags - rough sex, dom/sub dynamic, dom remus lupin, sub reader, cum kink(?), age gap, porn without plot, praise kink, lots of "good girl", light humiliation kink, my grammar, not proof-read.

Notes - Guys this is absolute filth I don't know what else to tell you. I'm embarrassed. I made up this silly scenario at university today. I'm sorry if this is a mess. I wrote this in 2 hours, barely proof-read it, and English isn't my first language. Good night now!

The parchment in Remus' hands blurred at the edges. Numbers swam before his eyes - Order safe house locations, patrol schedules, supply caches. None of it seemed to penetrate the fog of his mind. All he could see was the flash of a silhouette pinned beneath him, hear the echo of a moan. Your silhouette. Your moan. 

Your relationship was a secret. It was a raw, passionate love, born out of desperation and need. Remus knew it was almost unhealthy, the way he craved you, needed you, but he couldn't help himself. You were his escape, his forbidden sanctuary in a world gone mad. 

His focus on the parchment was shattered, his thoughts consumed by you. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips. He was aching to be with you, but the house was always bustling with Order business... until it wasn't. For a delightful moment, the attention wasn't on him, the members too busy, too taken with their own tasks. 

He didn't need to say anything. He just took you by the hand and you knew. The moment the door to his bedroom slammed shut behind you, he warded it. His need was immediate and overwhelming. He was already rock hard, his erection straining against his trousers evident. He wasted no time, spinning you around and pushing you face down on the bed, hiking up your skirt with an urgency that bordered on madness. 

"Remus," you gasped, your voice muffled by the mattress. 

"Shh, sweetheart," he growled. "I can't wait any longer. I need you. I need you now." 

He hastily freed himself, his erection throbbing with need. The sight of you, face down and hips raised, made his cock twitch almost painfully. He tugged your panties down, just enough to give him access, and positioned himself at your entrance. He pressed hip tip against you, feeling your warmth, and pushed into you with one swift thrust. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips firmly. 

You whimpered, your body trying to accommodate his size. "R-Remus..." you gasped, your fingers clenching the sheets. 

He stilled, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your hips. "Easy, love," he murmured. "Take a deep breath. Just relax for me. You can take it." 

You nodded, your breathing evening out as you adjusted to him. "That's it, good girl," he praised as he felt you relax about him. Once he felt your ease, Remus began to move, his thrusts slow and controlled. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you back to meet his movements. 

"That's it," he groaned, his pace quickening. "Take me. Take all of me." Each thrust was powerful, demanding, driven by a need that bordered on feral. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugging it back, making you arch back into him. "God, you feel so good wrapped around me." 

You moaned in response, your body yielding to him. "Remus..." you whimpered. 

"Such a good girl...taking me so well." 

Your body shuddered with each movement, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. "I can't...Remus, I..." 

"Yes, you can," he growled. "You can take it. Let go for me." 

You cried out, your body trembling violently as you reached the edge, clenching around him. 

"That's it," he murmured, his grip on your hips painfully tight. 

He could feel himself nearing the edge too, his control slipping further with each thrust. "I'm close," he warned you, his voice strained. "You're going to make me come. Ah...fuck. I'm going to come inside of you." 

He thrust into you one last time and held himself as deep as he could, his hips bucking as he released inside you, a loud moan escaping his lips. "Yes...you feel so fucking good," he groaned, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm. He stayed inside you for a while, his cock pulsating, lazily thrusting a few more times to prolong the sensation. 

Eventually, he slowly withdrew, his breath still heavy, his hands caressing your back. "Are you alright?" he asked softly. 

You nodded, your cheeks flushed. 

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pulling you up and turning you to face him. 

"I want you to do something for me." 

"What is it?" you asked, still breathless. 

"Don't clean up," he said simply. "I want you to stay like this, full of me, all day." 

Your eyes widened, a deep blush spreading across your cheeks. "Remus..." 

He chuckled softly as his fingers traced random little patterns on your skin. "Yes, love. You will do as you're told, aren't you?" 

"Y-yes, Remus," you responded, eager to please him despite being embarrassed. 

"What a good girl," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Now, let's tidy up a bit so we can head back. We don't want the others suspecting anything, do we?" 

"No, Professor," you teased. 

"Careful, love," he warned playfully. "You might just get me started again." 

"Maybe that's what I want," you replied innocently.

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. "You're insatiable." 

He helped you adjust your clothes and gave you one last, lingering kiss before leading you out of his bedroom like nothing had happened. 

Only a few hours later, you felt the undeniable sensation of Remus' essence running down your thighs. Your face flushed a deep crimson, and you immediately sought him out. You made your way to the dining room where the Order was gathered for a meeting. You waited at the doorway, your eyes wide and pleading. Remus' eyes traveled your form, pausing briefly at your thighs, and he immediately understood. 

Maintaining his composure, he stood smoothly. "Excuse me for a moment," he said calmly. 

He followed you to the study, closing the door behind you. "What is it, love?" he asked, although he already knew the answer. He wanted to hear you say it. 

You hesitated, looking down in embarrassment. "Remus...it's...running down my thighs," you admitted. 

His eyes darkened with desire at your words. He lifted your skirt slightly, exposing your slick thighs. "Aww," he cooed, his tone both mocking and affectionate. "Is my little girl too full?"

Your face turned an even deeper shade of red, and you looked away, flustered. "Remus, I-"

"Hush," he interrupted. "Let me see." 

You stood still, your heart pounding in your chest as he lifted your skirt further up, giving him better access. He took out a handkerchief and began wiping you clean, his touch light and gentle. "You need to try and hold it in a bit longer, love," he murmured.

"But, Remus, I can't-"

"No," he said firmly. "You will do as I say. Can you do that for me?" 

"Y-yes, Remus." 

"Very good," he whispered. "Now be a good girl and hold it in. I'll take care of you after the meeting." 

You nodded again, his words going straight to your core. "I'll try." 

Remus smiled, kissing your forehead. "That's all I ask. Now, go back to what you were doing." 

Remus watched you go before composing himself and returning to the meeting, his demeanor as calm and collected as ever. 

"Sorry for the interruption," he said smoothly, taking his seat. "Where were we?" 

You kept to yourself for the rest of the day, mostly focusing on staying still, desperate to please Remus. As evening finally fell, Remus discreetly took you back to his bedroom, closing and warding the door behind you. 

"Show me," he instructed. 

You hesitated for a moment, your cheeks flushed. Slowly, you lifted your skirt, revealing the sticky mess that had accumulated throughout the day. Remus hummed appreciatively at the sight, his eyes darkening. 

"My, my...looks like I've made quite the mess down there," he whispered. "You've done so well, sweetheart. I'm very pleased with you," he praised. 

You could barely hold still under his gaze, feeling exposed. 

"Now, let it out," he commanded softly. 

You went to protest, thoroughly embarrassed by the idea. "But, Remus, I can't just-" 

"I said, let it out," he repeated firmly. 

You bit her lip, your eyes darting nervously, but you obeyed him, relaxing your muscles. Remus watched with satisfaction as the evidence of your intimacy slowly began to trickle down your thighs.

"Good girl," he murmured. "You're doing so well." 

Your face burned with embarrassment, but you felt a strange sense of pride for following his instructions, for pleasing him. 

"That's it, just let it out," he soothed, his hands gently rubbing your hips. "How did you feel today? Sitting around the others knowing you were full of my seed?"

"I-I felt like I was...yours," you let out almost too quietly. 

"That's right, love. You're mine. Say it." 

"I'm yours, Remus." 

"Such a good girl for me," he praised. "You've done so well today. Now, let get you cleaned up properly." 

He led you to the bathroom, helping you undress and stepping into the shower with you. He washed you gently, his hands moving slowly, caring, possessive, gentle. 

"You've been so good," he murmured. "You did exactly as I asked." 

You leaned into his touch, feeling utterly safe and cherished. "I just wanted to please you," you whispered. 

"And you did. You've pleased me very much," he replied, his hands gently massaging your shoulders. 

After you were both clean, Remus dried you off with a soft towel, his movements slow and deliberate. He led you back to the bedroom and tucked you into bed, joining you under the covers. 

"You need your rest," he said softly, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "You've done enough for today."

[aurorawritestoescape]

TABLE FOR THREE

Joel Miller x f!reader x Dave York || 3,2k

Summary: you’re having a great time on your date but a man from your past interrupts it and makes it…better?

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, mfm, not specified age gap, dom/sub dynamic, infidelity (reader’s, in the past), manhandling, daddy kink, praise kink, size kink, degradation, slut shaming, m!oral, cum eating, mutual masturbation, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie, light spanking, voyeurism, exhibitionism (they don’t get caught),mention of violence, pet names (baby, kitten, babygirl, sweetheart). Pics are for the mood only, reader has no specific physical descriptions.

A/n: this is filthy, y’all. Big thank you to an insanely talented writer @bonezone44 for inspiring me with this post. Smooching and hugging @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and screaming about this story with me. Love you all, hope you’ll enjoy it!💖 dividers by @saradika-graphics

PT 2 WHO’S YOUR DADDY? || MASTERLIST

Your boyfriend Dave and you are having dinner in your favorite restaurant. Your regular booth is tucked in a corner, hidden from the prying eye of the other guests. You two love coming here because you can enjoy each other without being seen, thanks to the tall backrests. Now you’re laughing, kissing and Dave’s hand is resting on your upper thigh, barely covered by your short skirt. His thumb is caressing your soft skin and your mind brings you back to the night before when he was railing you while you were sucking on the thick finger and moaning like a whore.

Suddenly a man plops on the seat in front of you with a smug smile.

Joel fucking Miller.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ you repeat in your head as your heart freezes.

“Hello, sweetheart. Knew it was you. Saw you in the window passing by.”

He motions somewhere to the right of you and you inwardly curse his sharp eye.

“Want to introduce us, baby?” Dave asks with a cold tone in his voice and throws his arm around you in a possessive gesture.

You clear your throat and say as calmly as possible while panic twists your stomach.

“It’s Joel Miller, my— ehm, old friend.”

Joel chuckles, “Well, if old friends fuck like rabbits and live together for 3 years then I guess I’m that.”

He keeps laughing as you’re boring your eyes into him.

“Joel is my ex,” you admit, highlighting the last word with an expression of disgust on your face.

“Ex?” Dave repeats, narrowing his eyes and taking in the man sitting in front of him — older than him, much older than you, a broad torso under a worn out denim shirt, a big fist resting on the table and by the look of it, the man works with his hands. Joel seems to be calm and confident, but judging by the way you tensed, the break up wasn’t pleasant.

“Would never imagine you with a guy like that, sweetheart,” Joel says with a smug smile.

“And what guy am I?” Dave’s voice is coated with steel.

“Not like me, pal. I’m a simple working man, and this one always went for sweaty dirty men like me. You’re all suited up,” his piercing eyes slide to you and he asks, “Shootin’ out of your league, sweetie?”

“Fuck you,” you bite back and Joel smirks. You wanna slap his face so much but Dave takes your chin between his fingers, turns your head to him and looks into your eyes. His gaze under the furrowed brows scares and excites you.

“I’ll handle it.”

“Ok, Dave,” you mewl with a little nod and return your eyes to your troublesome ex.

“It’s her business who she dates. And mine. I guess your relationship ended badly, and I’m sorry, but shit happens, man. Move on.”

It’s so hot how calm he is and you feel your core burn with desire.

Dave pulls you closer to him with his arm still resting on your shoulder and rubs your collar bone with his thumb. Joel’s eyes follow his movements and he rasps,

“Don’t be sorry for me, pal. I’m fine now but ya gonna get burned if you don’t drop this slut.”

“You motherfucking piece—,” you sit up ready to start a fight but Dave’s hand, that a second ago was caressing your skin, flies to your throat and he pushes you back to the seat, not squeezing your neck but holding you seated by his side.

He shushes you and you can’t help but gush.

It’s a usual thing for him to be rough with you in bed, you love the way he manhandles you, breaks you every time you fuck, little by little, making you his. But he has never shown this side of him out of the bedroom. The idea that he’s so dominant with you around people sends electricity of arousal through your body.

With widened eyes you see Joel’s lips twist in a satisfied smile and anger burns your insides with a scolding ire. Only your boyfriend’s steady voice slightly calms you down.

“Joel, you seem like a reasonable man. What would you do if some asshole interrupted your date and started calling your girlfriend a slut. What I would probably do is break his jaw and then his legs.”

Not losing his smug smile, even after hearing your boyfriend’s threat, Joel raises his hands in front of his chest and explains,

“I don’t want any problems with you— it’s Dave, right? I’m doin’ you a favor. Givin’ you advice. Keep away from this minx. She’s good to look at and great to fuck but she’ll use you and then sleep with half of your crew.”

You curse and Dave puts his palm over your mouth. It’s big and warm and you feel your panties soak more.

“Crew?”

“I work in construction. I found out this bitch had slept with half of my team. Married guys, single. She was a hungry slut and I don’t think anything changed.”

He laughs and you try to take Dave’s hand off your mouth but he grabs your wrists with his strong fingers and keeps your hands on your lap.

“Sit still and let me listen, kitten. Or daddy will be angry.”

You swallow loudly, as your nostrils flare and pussy aches. Only your eyes can move now, darting between the two men.

“I like you, Dave, you have her under your thumb. I was too soft and kind with her. And women like her don’t appreciate kindness.”

Joel’s eyes shift between you and Dave as he continues, “Don't tell me you haven’t noticed. ‘s her nature. Her needy cunt always craves a fat cock. And oh boy, she always knows how to find it.”

You growl under Dave’s palm and he tightens his grip in warning.

“Shh,” he whispers in your ear and then turns to Joel with his eyes narrowed.

“I believe you.”

You hum in protest, wriggling in Dave’s steel embrace, and he takes his hand off your mouth.

“Dave, don’t listen to him, he’s just jealous.”

Joel chuckles, shaking his head.

“You can’t deny the truth, sweetheart. I caught you with a guy’s dick in your mouth, my friend’s dick. And then I beat the truths about your affairs out of the others.”

You glance at Dave with scared eyes but he isn’t looking at you. His pensive gaze is set on Joel.

Then he turns his face to you and blood freezes in your veins.

“I did notice how you looked at the waiter just now, kitten. And that bartender. I know you gave him your number.”

You shake your head, opening your mouth to protest, but he interrupts you.

“Joel isn’t lying. I can tell.”

“He is! I didn’t …”

“Enough!”

You immediately shut your mouth, as soon as Dave slightly raises his voice. He trained you well after all.

“Fuck, good job, man. Look at her. So obedient but still a little feisty.”

Dave smirks and you see pride in his eyes when he hears your ex’s words.

“And she knows how to take cock, huh?” Joel looks at you, adjusting a bulge in his jeans.

You’re glaring at him but your mind bursts with images from your past, him pounding into you, his huge cock stretching you so deliciously and then pumping you full of his thick cum. His skilful fingers could make you explode in minutes and you’d never forget the way he ate your pussy. Dave is perfect in bed but Joel was unforgettable.

“Look at ‘er, she’s probably creamin’ right now, the way she’s starin’ at me.”

Dave smirks darkly and looks you over.

“Let’s find out.”

With that he shifts in his seat, slightly turning his big body to you, and his hand on your thigh slides up and under the hem of your skirt.

“Dave”, you breathe in sharply, widened eyes looking at him.

“Shh, baby, I’m just gonna check.”

His hand pulls your skirt up and he sees your black lacy panties. Joel grunts and leans forward placing his big hairy forearms on the table so he could see what Dave is doing.

Your boyfriend’s thick fingers slip under your panties and you blurt out,

“I’m wet because of you, Dave.”

“Is that so, kitten?” Dave asks but doesn’t look at you. His dark gaze is set on your clothed cunt as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing you to his and Joel’s eyes.

“Fuck, Dave, you’re the man,” Joel praises your boyfriend and you see hunger in the older man’s eyes. You’re so turned on right now, you know you’re dripping.

Dave tsks when he spreads your folds apart and your cunt blooms for them - your clit throbbing, skin glistening with your slick. The cold air hits your pussy and you softly moan.

“Dave, people could see,” you whine and try to close your legs but Dave’s hand stops you and you feel his lips at your temple when he says, loud enough for Joel to hear,

“Let’s ask your old friend to sit next to you and cover you from the passers-by. Will you feel more comfortable, baby?”

You glance up at Joel and though you hate his guts, you can’t deny that you want the fucker.

You nod and Joel’s lips stretch into a wide carnal grin.

He gets up and you salivate at the sight of the huge bulge in his jeans. You desperately want to see his cock, touch it, lick it, su—

Dave interrupts your thoughts, shifting to the side and pulling you with him to make room for Joel. The seat is meant for two people and when Joel plops next to you, turning to you a little, your body gets sandwiched between their huge frames. You feel so small, so helpless around the two men and your clit twitches as the arousal floods your core.

With your pussy still out in the open, you glance at Joel when he wraps his arm around your waist and fans your cheek and chest with his hot breath. The familiar scent of cigarettes, whiskey and Joel's musk hits your nose and you quietly whimper.

“Missed me, babygirl?” He’s leaning to you and you move away, pressing your body closer to Dave.

Your boyfriend reads you like a book. He knows that you’re acting skittish but it’s just a facade. You want it, you want them both.

“Baby, you did wrong by Joel. I think we need to apologize. How about we let him play with your pussy? Daddy won’t be mad, I promise.”

You look into Dave’s eyes and see that he’s not lying.

“Ok, daddy,” you purr and Joel barks a laugh.

“Told you she always wants it. Our little slut.”

You bite your lip hearing ‘our’ but Dave shakes his head.

“She’s mine, Joel, don’t forget that. But I see that she hurt you, and you have a right to punish her. Use her however you want.”

Joel throws him a nod. “That’s fair.”

With that his big calloused hand cups your pussy and slightly squeezes it. You look at Dave as he watches your ex’s hand touch you and his blown out eyes send another surge of wetness into Joel’s palm.

“I missed your sweet cunt, babygirl,” Joel whispers in your ear while his middle finger slips between your folds and he prods your soaking entrance.

“Fuck, she’s so wet, Dave. I remember how she used to soak me, her slick was fuckin’ everywhere. Wonder if she tastes the same.”

You see his finger leave your pussy as he brings it to his mouth and licks it clean.

Dave groans and you moan, watching Joel taste you.

Suddenly you feel a slap on your pulsating clit and you jerk, crying out a little too loudly. You cover your mouth with your palm, scared that the people will notice what the men are doing to you but Joel and Dave only chuckle.

“I fucked her last week in a changing room and she moaned like a little slut but now she’s all embarrassed.”

“I loved it about her. She looks so innocent but when you get her going… fuck, she jus’ loses her mind at the sight of a cock.”

You feel your cheeks burn but Dave doesn’t give you a chance to wallow in your delicious shame and inserts two thick fingers into your wet hole.

You moan his name and he kisses your cheek, before he begins sliding them in and out of you in steady rhythm, whispering obscenities in your ear,

“My little slut,” “bet people can see us”, “you don’t care, right?”, “I know you’d make us fuck you right in front of everyone”, “play with our cocks, baby, c’mon.”

When you hear his command, your hand immediately darts to his bulge and you hastily unbuckle his belt with one hand, open his dress pants and pull out his stiffening cock out of his boxers.

“Don’t forget about your friend, kitten,” Dave rasps, spreading his legs wider, and you unzip Joel’s jeans and take out his already hard manhood.

Their cocks are exposed now and standing at attention, both gorgeous, long and thick. Joel’s is a bit girthier, but you salivate looking at both of them. You can’t deny it, you have a great taste in men.

You spit on your hands and grab Dave’s member with your left hand and Joel’s with your right. They both grunt, when you start sliding your hand up and down their throbbing cocks and you revel in the sense of control they’re giving you. Their slits are leaking on your skin and you glide your palm over their fat tips, gathering their precum to make the cocks wetter.

You’re a mess yourself, the seat under you is getting slippery because of the juices seeping out of your pussy, thanks to your boyfriend’s fingers.

Joel is softly growling, watching your hand pump his cock and Dave working your cunt. “Fuck, I missed you so much, babygirl,” he admits and grabs the neckline of your top. He tugs it down exposing your naked breasts, your perked up mipples and Joel takes one between his index finger and a thumb and shakes his hand up and down. You whimper at the pain that swiftly morphs into pleasure while your tit is bouncing. Joel hunches down and takes it into his hot mouth, gently sucking on it. Your hand flies to run through his hair and your eyes flutter shut, as your climax approaches.

“Come for us, kitten. Soak my fingers,” Dave orders and Joel pushes you over the edge when his fingers find your pulsating clit and he swirls it with his pads while his mouth is still latched on your puffy nipple. Both Dave and Joel are playing with your cunt and soon you’re writhing between them, as waves of euphoria are lapping at your body. You try not to scream but it’s almost impossible, so you bite your lips till you taste blood, desperately trying to hide your ecstasy from the people in the restaurant.

When your orgasm subsides and you slump in your seat, breathing heavily, Joel’s mouth leaves your breast and their fingers part from your messy pussy.

You languidly stroke their cocks, feeling them thrum in your hands.

Dave turns your face to him and kisses you, licking into your mouth, claiming you as his in front of the other man. While your lips and tongues are caressing each other, you hear Joel almost moan from the pleasure your hand is giving him and you part from your boyfriend to whisper,

“He’s gonna come soon, daddy.”

“Want his cum, kitten?”

You nod and he smiles.

“Sit on my cock so I can fill you up. And give your mouth to Joel.”

“Yes, daddy.”

You fix your top and Dave helps you to sit on his stiff member. You both moan at the sensation but Joel curses at the absence of your hand on his ready-to-explode cock.

When you lean down, bringing your mouth to his length, the older man coos, “what a good little slut. Want my load, babygirl?” You look up at him and breathe out a sultry ‘yes’.

“C’mon, milk our cocks, kitten,” Dave commands with a light slap on your ass and you clench around him, making him grunt.

You take Joel’s manhood in your mouth and it’s like those years apart didn’t happen. The taste of his skin, the shape of his cock are so familiar you moan, thinking how much you missed it.

Dave slowly rolls his hips into you, holding your hips with his strong hands and his length slides in and out of your clenching wet hole. You feel the second climax build fast, so you move your hips up and down to make him fuck you harder.

“Man, you did wonders with her. She’s such an obedient little slut now,” Joel praises your boyfriend as their cocks are filling your body from both ends.

“It’s a work in progress, but she’ll be a good girl in no time.”

The way they talk about you like you’re not here, like you’re not pierced on their hard cocks is so delicious that after one hard thrust from Dave, you explode, unravelling on your boyfriend’s manhood as your moans are muffled by your ex’s fat length.

Your trembling body sends the men over the precipice, and Joel starts spurting his warm cum in your mouth and you drink it, hungrily slurping till the last drop. As soon as you’re done swallowing your ex’s load, Dave pulls you up by your shoulder and presses you tight to his body, wrapping his arm around your waist, the other hand splayed on your chest. You feel warmth in your core as his manhood is pulsing inside your pussy and filling you up with his big load. Joel tucks his softening cock back in his jeans, watching your boyfriend’s balls draw up and pump you full while your hole is stretched around his girth.

When Dave stops coming, he carefully lifts you up and quickly pulls back your panties. You sit back down between the men as Dave softly kisses your lips in gratitude and then orders you,

“Don’t spill a drop, baby. Want you to soak your little panties through.”

“Can I see?” Joel asks the younger man, not you, and Dave gives him a short nod.

Joel brings his hand to your pussy and pulls on the band of your underwear. He peeks inside, seeing the creamy cum coat the gusset and your puffy folds.

“You're so fuckin’ hot, babygirl. Did so good for us.” Joel mumbles in your ear and you glance up at him with a little smile. You can’t deny it, you loved this fucker.

As if reading your mind, Joel shoots you a wink and looks at Dave again.

“Was nice meeting you, Dave.” Then he takes a card out of his wallet and puts it on the table.

“If you wanna share the progress, training this one,” he nods at you, “give me a call.”

Then he gets up, adjusts his bulge and leaves the restaurant.

Thank you for reading!❤️ Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic, it motivates me to write more filth for you, lovelies!🩷🌸

Pt 2 Who’s your daddy? || Masterlist

Main tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag

Also tagging the ceo of the Dave York agenda @janaispunk 😘💕

If you'd like to be tagged in the series or in anything else let me know!💕

[mercurycft]

‘𝐓𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 (𝟏) - 𝐋.𝐖

## reader x leah williamson (childhood friend) !!

happy new year pookies!!! i hope you all had a lovely festive season whatever you celebrate, and if you don’t i hope u had a lovely nice break away from school, work or life for a few weeks! hoping 2025 brings lots of health, happiness and love to us and our loved ones!! did i listen to 'you could be happy' by snow patrol this entire time? yes. bit of a long one! buckle up! enjoy this, love always — RGx

this IS a christmas themed fic! <3

pure fluffy flirting, unfinished business hints, angst, rough family-dynamic and parent / child relationship, hinting at past experiences with leah & r, childhood memories.

4.3k words.

PART 1 - christmas eve.

"you promised you would be here for christmas this year!" you shout down the phone, fingers clenched so tightly around the device your knuckles begin turning white.

"y/n, don't act like a brat. your father and i work very hard and you know how important our work is to us!"

"i know that mum, but you promised!"

"well there's nothing that can be done now! it's too late!"

"its only an hours drive mum!"

"well it's not happening y/n! and that is final!"

"so you would rather stay in london and work, rather than spend christmas with your daughter? her first christmas back in the country?"

"don't turn this into a big thing, it's simply how life works sometimes."

"whatever. merry fucking christmas."

"don't you dar-"

you don't hear the end of the sentence before the phone call is ended and your phone is laid screen down on the table in front of you. you pace beside the dining table and your eyes meet the piles of presents you had laid out for them, all labelled and wrapped with love. you feel a bitterness that you know all too well course through your stomach and rise through into your throat with an acidic burn.

it riles you up until you're rushing towards the front door, angrily zipping your coat up and shoving your keys into your pocket. you slam it behind you and begin out into the rain, feet stomping with no real purpose but to blow off steam. the rain is aggressive paired with the harsh winter wind, but you're too focused on the millions of thoughts racing through your mind.

memories of christmas past hit you deep in your chest, stinging and stabbing like a vicious blade. the teenage years you spent begging for your parents to be there, to want to spend time with you. the smaller, more confused version of you that would stay awake on christmas eve but not to hear for santa, instead to hear for their keys jingling through the house.

it only fuels the fire behind your eyes and the pain in your veins. so you walk, and keep walking.

you don't, or can't, catch your breath the entire time. allowing the heavy rain to beat against your skin as you keep walking. you pass the familiar streets and houses, all decked out with festive lights and decorations of joy, but you don't stop. keeping your eyes on the concrete, your vision still blurred by tears. the cold is harsh against the skin of your face and hands, so harsh it's almost oppressive. beneath your coat, your outfit is impractical for the weather, but you don't care.

you fight against the rain as you haul through the town, head tucked down and determined to push through it - which has only gotten heavier and is now beating against your skin like bullets and seeping through the fabric of your coat and onto clothes.

the hours leading up to this blur into a pile of madness in your mind, and you don't realise where your body has carried you until you're standing outside her door. bell already pressed and chest heaving to recover from the brisk pace you managed to keep up through the storm. the roof of the porch providing you with a much-needed break from the rain. it feels familiar, the same as it did all those years ago.

you stand still, clenching your jaw and fists in an attempt to still the chattering of your teeth and the shaking of your limbs as the cold finally catches up to you.

a shadow approaches after a few moments, and you hear the muffled laughter as they move towards the door. the door swings open after a second, and she's not there. instead, her mum stands on the other side of the threshold. a santa hat sat perfectly on her head, you can see the warmth in her cheeks from her familiar smile - though it falters when she meets your eye. her previous look is replaced with one of concern, her brows furrowing and eyes widening as she takes you in.

"amanda," you manage to whisper when you look at her. eyes pooling with tears once more. the realisation of your presence hitting her like a ton of bricks. "im so sorry to just turn up, but i didn't know where else to go and i just kept walking and then i was here and i-" you ramble out a string of words that just barely make sense until you feel her pull you into the warmth of the house.

"y/n, love, breath." she says softly, rushing to push the door shut with her foot as her arms move to unzip the drenched and practically useless coat from around you. she lets it fall to the ground with no regard for the carpet and moves to wrap her arms around your shaking body.

you relax into her embrace and continue attempting to drag deep breaths through your nose and into your lungs while mumbling an array of apologies. suddenly you're no longer an adult to her, you're the same child that would rush around after school to yank leah into the garden to play football. the same child she opened her home to countless times when your parents were away.

"y/n, sweetheart, you need to breathe," she says with more conviction this time, bringing her hand to your back to coax a deeper breath and attempt to warm the skin simultaneously.

you stand against her for a few minutes, until your breathing slows to a manageable pace and you can fathom words again. her hand still drags across your back as she lifts her head to turns it in the direction of the living you.

"bubba, can you come here?" the muffled conversations get louder when a door opens and then shuts with a small thud, and footsteps approach you both in the hall.

"what you doing out here mum? we're about to get uno out.." her voice falls quiet. "y/n?"

you turn to face her with tear-stained cheeks and a weak smile.

its been years, enough to forget and move on. but the look on her face has you cursing yourself for being away for so long, and you know that she hasn’t. she hasn’t forgotten. the way her eyes melt when they meet yours tells you everything you need to know. you go speak at the same time, but your voice is weak. it breaks and cracks and she falls silent, brows furrowed with concern as she shuts the front room door behind her, keeping this moment to herself and confined to the small room.

"they're not coming. no one is coming and I don't expect you to do anything, i haven’t even had a chance to settle in properly- but i didn't know where else to go." you breathe a shakey breath, it's quick and shallow but enough to fuel your next sentence. your voice breaks once more, and your shoulders fall into themselves as a low sob raises from your throat again. she makes her way across the small space between you and catches your cold frame with hers, arms wrapping tightly around you "no one is coming," you sob into her chest.

amanda leaves with a pat on your back to go find you some clothes to change into as the pair of you stand there for a few minutes. you feel small beneath her, her chin resting on your head as it lays against her chest.

"why didn't you call? i didn’t know you were back, i could've come to get you," she whispers,

"i left my phone at the house, and i just started walking, and then i was here im so sorry,"

"stop apologising. you know mum loves a guest, especially you." she jokes softly, and you feel her shoulders rise with her smile when you let out a breathy laugh against her.

after a little while, amanda comes back with a change of clothes and a fresh towel, pushing them towards you and gesturing her head up the stairs. "go and take a nice warm shower, then put these on love. that'll get you warmed up."

you reach out take them hesitantly, then pull your arms back by your side. "i'll make my way home in a minute amanda, thank you though-"

"you absolutely will not." she says with typical mum raised eyebrows, pushing them back to you "now go,"

you smile weakly and take them from her, "thank you." you whisper as she waves you off and up the stairs. you turn back to face them from the top step, both of them still watching on.

“just like old times, eh love?” amanda adds with a wide smile.

━━━━━━━━━━

the shower feels like heaven, the warmth spreading across your skin and warming you right to the bone. you take in the few moments of serenity the warm water gives you, allowing your eyes to close and your muscles to relax. you let your mind wander, let it drift away from the sad and harsh reality that has become your life. you use leah's shampoo to wash your hair, recognising the smell immediately and allowing yourself to laugh that she has used the same brand since you've known her.

once you're out you brush your hair, letting it fall down your back as you pull on the clothes amanda had pulled out for you. you recognise an old pair of leah's pyjama bottoms and a smile in acknowledgement of fond memories breaks across your lips.

you make your way back down the stairs a little later, feeling refreshed from your new-found warmth and comfier clothes that lack the ability to stick to every inch of your skin.

the house is the same, and the years feel like they melt away from you. you hesitate outside the door to the front room, a small smile on your lips at the house of laughter from the other side. you reach a knuckle to announce your presence before you open it and enter.

everyone is in their respective spots: david and amanda on the sofa, with leah at their feet sprawled across the carpet; her cousins surrounding her. you feel fourteen again, leah’s clothes still hanging from you in all the same places. you share a smile with everyone, holding up your hands in a make-shift surrender. “apologies for gate crashing, i still like to make an entran-” you don’t manage to finish before jordan and jacob, leah’s cousin and brother are up and wrapping their arms around you hurriedly - tugging you to the floor.

it doesn’t feel different, or strange. you fit back into the same place you left off all those years ago. you play a few rounds of uno with leah and her family, and drink countless cups of tea. amanda always made the best one, even when you were young, so you make use of her skill. it’s nearing 9pm when you finally decide its time to remove yourself from the bubble you’ve been in- and into the hallway beyond the front room.

you try to quietly and quickly slip your still wet coat back onto your frame, but your silent antics are interrupted by leah’s voice.

“where you running off to?” she asks, leant against the small table on the wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

“just getting out of your hair,” you reply, smiling small. “thank you for letting me in, even just for a few hours. it was fun.” you turn back around to zip up your coat and begin dressing again.

“you don’t have to go yet, y/n,”

“i’m sure all of you have so much left to do in prep for the littles tonight so i’ll see you-”

“i mean it, you’re welcome to stay for a bit,”

“plus its christmas, who wants a stranger in the house at christmas?”

it’s as if you’re having two different conversations, at the exact same time. each of your voices overlapping and interrupting - unable to hold steady rhythm. as you speak you pull on your trainers one by one, not really paying attention to the words leah is saying, instead focused on your mountain of excuses to cut the visit short. it isn’t until you hear her voice drop, to barely above a whisper, that you process what she is saying.

“y/n!” her normal voice, calm and collected, snaps you out of your own mind. “please. stay.” its low and quiet, but loud enough for you to hear across the space between you. you whip around to face her, her eyes locked on you and her breathing steady.

“what?”

“stay.”

"leah," you start, head tilted. "i couldn't do that,"

"spend christmas with us," she pauses for a beat, eyes searching yours and your features. "with me,"

you feel like you somehow have managed to travel back in time, transported to the exact moment all those years ago when you told leah you were leaving. you remember how her face fell in the exact same way, how her hands twitched as she fought against the urge to reach for you and keep you with her forever, how she couldn't choke back her tears when she begged you not to go.

the same guilt and pain you knew all too well began to spread through you again, starting in the tips of your fingers and receding up your arms until it sat dormant in your chest.

"i can't." you whisper, unsure whether to yourself or to her.

"you can," she replies anyway. "i already spoke to mum, and to dad, and everyone else. we want you here."

"why?"

"because i'd rather you be here, with us, with me, than alone when you wake up on christmas morning."

you fall into silence, or silence full onto you, you're not sure. taking a deep and quaking breath that trembles through your lips.

you don't say any words, instead, just unzip your coat and slip your shoes off. pushing them back beside the drawers against the wall and hanging your jacket back onto the hook. you turn to face her with a small smile.

"okay."

she lets out a breath you didn't know she was holding and moves to embrace you, you melt into her arms and breathe with her for a few moments. "i would've looked like a real tit if you said no," you both share a laugh. not a small or pathetic breathy one, a proper laugh. a laugh that almost has you snorting like you used to.

"you look like a tit anyway," you add, as you both make your way back into the front room. you don't think twice as you walk towards amanda and david, who sit with their eyes fixed on the tv as an episode recap of eastenders begins to play. you lean between them both, wrapping your arms around the pair of them. it takes them by surprise for a second, before their arms are around you too.

everyone spends the next half hour all huddled around the tv, beside leah. more-so on top of leah. you share the armchair in the corner of the room, your legs on her lap and head fallen on her shoulder. breathing deeply with your eyes closed tight. you don't think you're asleep, too aware of your surroundings to be sleeping properly. but you're calm, very calm.

laughter from the floor is what makes you open your eyes and adjust to the lights again, met with leah's eyes as she nudges you with her shoulder. "alright sleeping beauty?"

"sorry, i didn't even realise i fell asleep," she shakes her head in response, dismissing your apology. "can you take me to mine in a minute, le?" the nickname slips out without you realising, but she doesn’t react.

“thought you said you would stay?”

“i am, i just want to go and get some stuff so that i can actually look nice tomorrow,”

“you always look nice,” she says lowly, looking back out to the distracted room. you roll your eyes, shaking your head at her and lifting a single brow as if to push her to answer your question.

“yes, go and get your shoes on and we’ll go now,” you smile to thank her and rise from the chair beside her.

"where are you two off to?" david asks as you walk past.

"just going to y/n's to grab her stuff to stay over,"

"well, don't be long, love actually will be on soon!" amanda replies excitedly, which david replies to with a roll of his eyes.

━━━━━━━━━━

whilst in your house, you took a moment to look at the presents beneath your tree. to look at the gifts you had accumulated through the months in hopes your parents would have the same childlike joy on their faces christmas morning as you once did. you considered leaving them, maybe shipping them off to their london house for them to enjoy alone. but deep down you knew they didn't deserve it. they didn't deserve the effort you had made for them.

you let your fingertips run across the presents, the new appliances and products you bought for your mum and dad alike. your fingers then fell to the labels you had added. you twisted the tag in your hand, reading the words you had written with love. you let it sit in your palm, dazed by the pain of your parents' missing presence.

"i'm sorry they're not here, y/n." you hear leah speak from behind you, leaning against the kitchen island.

"i'm not," you begin. "i'd rather spend it with people that give a shit anyway,"

you let your fingers wrap around the tag, slipping the attached string out of the piece of tape which was securing it down and screwing it into a ball. you did this to all of the presents, taking each of the tags one by one and removing them until they were left in a pile beside you. you took the presents, piling them into bags you had instructed leah to get from a cupboard in the kitchen.

"be a shame to let perfectly good presents go to waste," you said with a small sigh as you carried them over to your front door, making sure to grab your phone and pop it into your pocket.

you're gone and back in less than an hour, with a bag packed of clothes, your own pyjamas as well as everything you'll need for tomorrow and maybe another night in the williamson household slung over your shoulder and two large bags packed with presents in either hand. leah trailed behind from the car with an additional bag of gifts in her hand, helping you through the door and placing them on the floor.

you stand there for a minute, staring at the bags below you, leah locking the door and placing her keys in their spot before she joins you. standing shoulder to shoulder with you, in a comfortable silence. you feel her fingers brush the back of your own when she lets her arms relax on either side of her body.

"i'm glad you're here,"

"you were the one convincing me to stay,"

"no, i mean here, back in england."

you draw in a breath. "me too." her fingers brush yours again, this time she allows her pinky to link with your own. her hands warm against the chill of yours. "im sorry i left,"

"yeah, me too," she replies lowly.

you stay there for a bit, lost in the forgotten comfort of her and her presence. it feels right, normal. no anxiety or awkwardness. so you bask in the stillness with her, away from prying eyes and the events of life that came before this very moment. you enjoy the hush of the hallway together, standing still, pinkies intertwined. you don't know what to say or to do, so you don't do anything or say anything. you just breathe, together.

"come on then," she says quietly breaking the silence after a minute or so. "we better put these presents under the tree, santa's orders,"

you cant help but laugh at her, and nod along to her words. picking up the bags and pushing them through into the front room, leaving the moment to fester alone in the four walls of the hall. jacob and his family had already made their way to the spare bedroom, and jordan and hers had made their way home - so when you walked back into the living room, only amanda and david remained waiting for you both.

"what on earth is all that!" amanda asks from the same position as when you left, eyeing the bags in your hands.

"presents," you push them to the floor and begin taking them out of the bags.

"y/n, you didn't have to do that love." dad says, shaking his head at you.

"i know, but i would rather give them to people who deserve them. i'd rather you guys have them, and use them and appreciate them." you say, rarely looking up from the gifts as you place them into piles, suddenly too aware of the eyes on you. "it's not a big deal, and i don't want to make it one. christmas isn't about that. but i hope you guys will take them, and enjoy them. just think of them as a thank you, for all you've done for me over the last decade." you say the last bit through a laugh, and finally look up to them. each of them looking back at you with nothing but love in their eyes.

"oh, y/n," amanda says softly, waving you over to them both, which you do - pulling yourself up off the floor and to stand in front of them. you don't get a chance to say anything to add to your previous point before amanda's arms are around you for what feels like the hundredth time tonight alone. "i am so, so happy you decided to stay." she whispers for only you to hear, then pulls away. "and to be honest i was sick of leah barking on about how much she missed you," she says in jest and gets up to walk to the kitchen, "every bloody day," which makes you laugh.

david juts his hand between you, and you take his in yours. "welcome home, y/n love." he says, pulling you into a dad-like hug before following his wife into the kitchen.

the living room was a picture of warmth and cheer, the soft glow of the christmas tree lights casting a gentle hue over the neatly wrapped presents beneath it. the smell of pine mingled with faint smell of tea through the house, you turned to survey the room around you - including leah.

"i feel bad that i haven't got you anything," she says, looking at you from her spot beside the tree.

"this is enough,"

"what do you mean?"

"i mean this, being here with you, with all of you."

the four of you spent another hour awake, watching the rest of love actually and chatting about life. catching up on the years missed from either side. when the fill finally draws to a close, amanda and david say their goodnights and head up to bed, leaving you and leah downstairs on the sofa. the room was lit with nothing but the lights from the tree, and the tv.

you yawn, so large it makes your eyes water and turn to face leah. "you can go up to bed, don't let me keep you down here." you say to her, snuggling your head into the pillow beside you for comfort.

"you not coming up?"

"i can sleep on the sofa leah, its fine."

"but what about santa?" she teases, poking you.

"im fine down here, really."

"come up with me," she speaks whilst trying to find the remote that has somehow disappeared. "it wouldn't be the first time we're shared a bed,"

"i know that," you roll your eyes, stomach flipping with the thought of sleeping beside her.

"then come to bed," finally, she finds the remote and shuts off the tv. her words spoken as if they are final, causing you to sigh.

"fine."

you work together to lock the doors and turn off the lights, then make your way upstairs. so now, you find yourself tucked into leah's childhood double bed. laid stiff as a board beside her as she flicks through netflix for something to fall asleep to. it shouldn't feel different, you've been here, in this exact position a thousand times. but it does, it feels so different that it's blinding. the sound of your heart in your ears is deafening, but you try your hardest to ignore it.

she asks what you fancy absentmindedly, unaware of the way your stomach swills when she speaks. you tell her to pick whatever she wants, unable to process a proper answer in your current state. you try your hardest to swallow your anxiety, to not draw attention to the way your body lays entirely still next to her.

she hands you the remote after she has chosen, in case you want to change it. you don't, instead you smile and put it onto the dresser next to you. you feel her shuffle to get comfy, then she's facing you, hands tucked beneath her head and chin.

"stop freaking out, y/n." she mumbled with a sickening smirk.

"im bloody not,"

"liar."

"shut up,"

"lay down and i will,"

"oh i have not missed this,"

"lay down then,"

"yeah i will,"

"come to sleep,"

you roll your eyes at her persistence, nothing has changed. you have probably had this conversation a thousand times in the years you have known her, and you know better than to try and fight it. so, you turn to put your phone on charge and then turn back to her, mirroring her position.

"goodnight, leah."

"goodnight, y/n."

"merry christmas,"

━━━━━━━━━━

oh em gee i hope you all enjoyed part 1!! part 2 will be released soon! (hopefully)! lots of love! x

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Cod BF/GF Scenario

Bringing your boyfriend/girlfriend to Sephora (or a cosmetics store because of course my third world country doesn't have Sephora)

Characters Included: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Valeria Garza, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Nikolai Belinski, Philip Graves.

Reader is described to be shorter than all Characters.

And yes I'm aware that some of these scenarios have the same characters because I thought they fit more than one.

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

A/n: Hii! Lia here, these past few weeks have been so freaking brutal on me lovelies but I wanted to write this to feed you guys <3 (Also, this is a 2.5k like special since I just reached it AHHHH)

My rules for requests and characters I can write for

Disclaimers/Warnings: None, OOC???, pure fluff haters be warned.

His arm is just perfect for swatches, lots of space, he lets out a deep chuckle whenever you take his muscular arm and compare the swatch side by side to your face to see if the color would match you. He fakes being annoyed but definitely doesn't mind that you drag him around, adorable dynamic between you being tiny dragging a big burly man around, in the lip product isle no less.

Characters: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Alejandro Vargas, König.

Is the sweet boyfriend who saw your eyes light up the moment you saw the store and offered you to go in, again doesn't mind if you use his arm for swatches. Looks at the products that they think will look good on you and sometimes picks up a thing or two for you to try and will definitely do that fist thing that guys do whispering a silent "yes!" of accomplishment (this thing), they're so proud of themselves when you like the item they picked out.

Characters: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Alex Keller, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Gary "Roach" Sanderson.

Goes with you because they like seeing you all dolled up, will pay attention and know when you're using a product that you bought with them during the shopping trip even if that was a few weeks back. So pretty for them that it triggers their possessiveness just a bit.

Characters: John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Valeria Garza, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, Nikolai Belinski, Philip Graves.

Would tease you about liking these kinds of things but would silently admire you from your shared bed while you put skincare or makeup on, sometimes they use the skincare on themselves secretly and you'd just wonder why your skincare products are getting empty a lot quicker.

Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Alejandro Vargas, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Nikolai Belinski, Philip Graves.

Doesn't want to be there but seeing you liking those things amuses them, will secretly buy something behind your back that they think would look so pretty on you and leave it on your vanity for you to find and will smirk if they find you using in a few days later.

Characters: Alejandro Vargas, Valeria Garza, Keegan P. Russ, Makarov. (For my delulu Makarov lovers ( it's so OOC though ahaha)