#and it isn’t possessiveness. it’s bitterness. bitterness and hurt. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kookiewithluv · 5 days ago

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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 @kookiewithluv . 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.

#kookiewithluv #ashes of promises #bts ffs #bts ff #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fiction #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook bts #jungkook bangtan #jeon jungguk #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you

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yanderenightmare · 11 months ago

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Ryomen Sukuna

TW: NSFW, yandere, suggestive noncon, possessiveness, Sukuna in general

gn reader

Sukuna gatekeeps you – has you in a chastity belt anytime his cock isn’t inside you.

It’s an archaic piece – made from the mouth of some extinct beast – sharp ivory canines making for a painful entry if anyone dared try.

The key is also gatekept. Close on his person – actually – inside his mouth – one that appears on his body with the small ornate item lying on the wet bed of his tongue.

He’s strangely giddy when he puts it on you – and when he takes it off – chuckling a bit with a small smile – something playful and perverse glinting in his garnet eyes. More than the obvious arousal – you think he’s happy to assert his ownership.

His habits seem more possessive than protective – like a dragon coveting treasure – lovesick for his jewel and paranoid over someone robbing you from him.

When it’s bad, when you’ve done something or said something that unnerves him, he’ll even put you on a leash and have your legs shackled, too. He doesn’t take kindly to defiance. You’re his pet – and when you forget it, he doesn’t hesitate to remind you.

But he doesn’t hurt you. He has no interest and feels no need to exert pain on something that’s so far beneath him. Fighting you would be a joke at best – and would only result in your death at worst. And you both know this – it’s always been painstakingly clear.

He only levels you with a look – his expression jaded – annoyed – but almost a little bit saddened as well. As though he realizes that no matter how he domesticates you… he can never make you stay out of your own will.

He doesn’t know why that bothers him. It shouldn’t. You’re but a fickle soul among other fickle things at his mercy – your life so trivial it might as well be meaningless. And yet, looking at your face, feeling your touch, hearing your voice…

He’d thought the bitter taste of loneliness would be washed off over time, but it seems the bite never dulls – only deepens its teeth. And you are his only solace.

So he needs to keep you. Whether you want it or not – be it by collar and fear – you belong to him.

#yandere sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna jjk #ryoumen sukuna #jjk sukuna #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna ryomen #yandere sukuna #yandere ryomen sukuna

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ahhhwomen · 8 months ago

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Eternal Slumber.

Vampire Empire

Part 5

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: This is kinda just a filler chapter while I work on requests (if anyone else have any feel free to drop by my inbox), so it may be a little while until part 6, that being said, enjoy lovelies!

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), death, suicidal ideation Minors DNI 18+

Summary: They say a taste of death can change a person forever. However, they never take into consideration, that maybe, that’s the only thing coating your tongue on a regular basis.

Word Count: 2k

Taglist

There are tiny spikes of ice against the metal, almost like a layer of fuzz over the orange rust. It creeps into every crevice, the metal bars groan and creak, and the water, frozen inside some of the weaker spots, bursts and tears apart the material.

The cold was affecting everything.

You stare at the metal hook responsible for keeping you in place. The concrete around it is dented and smoldering. With a microscope, it would look like a mountain falling apart. Stone by stone.

It wouldn’t take much force; you ponder if you could release it with just a weak tug. You probably could, but you don’t bother.

Your body sinks lower, and the concrete scratches against your stomach. Red welts burn in displeasure as the friction reawakens the former punishment. It’s as if the weight of your body has doubled overnight, you can’t keep yourself up.

It’s hard to breathe.

It’s hard to stay awake…

The cold was affecting everything.

Including you.

You glance out the window with meager eyes. The trees pass by faster than you can keep track. Your head pounds, and you want to rest.

Just for a moment-

A gruff voice disturbs your peace for the hundredth time.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep.”

You had been lying in your enclosure all day, preserving your movements for only necessary situations. You wanted to dream it all away, but you knew you shouldn’t.

With both your nose a fresh pink and fingertips a bleak blue there wasn’t much to do other than to study your surroundings.

Your eyes glide over the same small details you have stared at for years, though there was a beauty to your misery, every corner and prickle of this place glittered against the slim beam of light from the hallway. The golden gleam reflected like sunlight against the ice, however, where you lay chained and tense under your red lamp, it felt more like a mockery.

With a sigh, you looked over to the empty shackles, frozen to the ground opposite of you. Your muscles burn as you grip the ground firmly and attempt to lift yourself up. Your arms shake in effort, your nails grinding against the pavement, but you can only manage to push upward for less than an inch.

Then a light thud echoes as you fall back down.

You’re so tired…

Your eyes slip closed for a second, there are a select few in the hallway that whine and growl, and you try to shift your focus onto them. Their hoarse voices screech against your eardrums, and you can’t help the grim expression as you listen to their cries…

There were more yesterday…

Of course, it was a given that this place took away some hope, but you know that isn’t the reason the numbers of distain more than halved overnight.

The rag over your lower half shifts away from you with every minuscule movement, it slides against your bottom, and slowly, the grime and dirt settled within the flimsy material slather itself against you as it leaps the final length and falls off.

It’s almost as if it knows you are too tired to move it back.

You are so sick of this place.

The cries are silenced as you hear the familiar thunder of shaking keys.

With a bitter glance to the other side of the room, you pity yourself; if you had any strength left, you would wrap the chains around your neck and hang yourself.

You huff in annoyance as the redhead shakes you vigorously yet again.

You can feel a swift, but gentle, slap on the back of your head. The redhead’s hand taps against you, her palm making quick contact with the greasy hair.

At your whining Wanda voices her opinion, “Don’t start with me, I told you not to fall asleep.” The powerful woman’s annoyed voice wraps around your lingering headache. Her calm tone was more like a booming against your forehead.

Shifting under the red leather, you whimper even more. The heating blasting towards you feels strange. Hot air sifts around you, almost like a tunnel of wind directed solely at your slumped frame. A noise, a mix of a hoarse cough and a weak cry, can be heard as Wanda shifts her own heat toward you too.

Realizing you won’t back down on your bitching, Wanda retrieves her hand with a roll of her eyes and refocuses on the road in front of her.

Trees and livestock pass by in a blur, there are tiny speckles of muck and dirt against the expensive windshield. Snow sits snug in the more stubborn corner of the window, small flacks forming a pile unmovable by the front wind.

Goosebumps prickle Wanda’s skin, the bite of winter making its entrance this early must really do a number on places like the shithole you´re from.

The car lifts for a moment as one of the bumps rustles the lambo, you shrink in on yourself, your pale skin retreating to hide under red leather. The redhead’s foot pushes downward harder, the exhilarator vrooming as she frowns.

Wanda doesn't even know what possessed her to take you, but if she left you there, you would surely be dead by the end of the day.

Natasha was always far better at understanding humans, however, given the little bond you two have, she is unsure how the other redhead will react to your current state. She glances at you in her peripheral, your lips are tinged blue, same with your fingertips and toes.

You don’t even shiver, and Wanda passes another stop sign with no regard. Shivering is a good thing; it means your body is aware you are cold. No shivering is bad, like really fucking bad.

Her hands tighten against the steering wheel, the skin between her rings and knuckles, clamp and squeeze in an irritating pinch.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that if you aren’t yet hypothermic, it won’t be long until you are.

With a sigh, Wanda reaches over to settle the jacket more tightly around your frame.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive to the house, Wanda makes it in seven.

Natasha frowns, and the smell of burned vegetables invades her senses. With an irritated scrunch of her nose, the redhead goes to trash yet another pot of attempted soup.

The goo of estranged ingredients jiggles unsettlingly at the top of the trashcan as Natasha pours the substance out. The ring on her left pointer clinks against the pot as she places it back on the stove.

She can never get it right.

With a huff, the redhead pulls out her cell phone, her hand wraps around the silver piece and she goes to find her messages. Her thumb makes quick work of checking on Wanda yet again, the pad of her finger taps the screen rapidly, the remains of her failure smudges against the glass, and Natasha cringes.

Her unread reply to Wanda’s previous questions remains the same, wiping her hands and phone off with the kitchen rag, the redhead walks over to her preferred room of leisure.

The clacking of her heels hitting the flooring is dampened as she steps onto the carpeted part of their little den.

A soft glow illuminates the living room, and the tenseness of her shoulders lessens as she lets the orange hue wash over her.

Plopping herself on the green couch she reaches over to her purse, the case reports she needed Wanda’s thoughts on lying on the very top. The paper brushes against her fingers, the white sheets threatening to tear as Natasha's nimble fingers search through the mess lower down.

She is just about to read them over again, when the familiar rumble of her wife’s car, pulls into their parking lot.

Shifting the gear stick, Wanda finally manages to park, your shuffling and whining had certainly not been helping. She can see her wife waiting for her by their door, but Wanda knows she is going to have to wait a moment longer.

You sit beside Wanda, your body wringing and shifting, you feel hot, and sweat rolls down your forehead.

The black belt meant to secure you through the drive feels more like a restraint as you push your shoulders against it. Bone threatens to pop out of the socket as the strong treads hold your weight back with ease, the pressure against your bruised body does little to deter you.

Wanda tusks, “Stop that.” Her hand reaches over to you and unfastens the belt, “Calm down baby, we are already here.”

Wanda pauses.

She scrunches her eyes, her left hand tightening the hold against the steering wheel.

Wanda doesn’t do nicknames, or sweet ones anyways, not unless it’s her wife.

Yet, the nickname had slipped without a second thought.

She has little time to think about it however, the sound of weak banging calls out to her, the redhead’s attention shifts and she groans in annoyance as you have now moved on to trying your luck against the metal door.

Your fingers run along the interior of the door, the pounding in your head makes it hard to see, and everything blends together in a mess of colors and sounds. You try to feel your way to the handle, but only expensive patterning can be felt as you try gripping the handle.

“You can never make it easy for me, can you kitten?” The redhead mumbles to herself.

The black tinted windows stop anyone from seeing what is happening inside Wanda’s car, but the taller woman can see Natasha shifting uneasily at how slow her usually effective wife is being.

With a sigh, Wanda rolls up the sleeves of her blouse, the silken material gliding and scrunching at the crease of her elbow.

In an attempt to settle you, if only for a moment, Wanda presses her right hand flatly against your chest. With a controlling movement, she pushes up and down to signify a breathing cycle more suitable than your erratic one.

She holds her unoccupied hand against your thigh, rubbing it up and down gently. The friction does nothing but alarm Wanda further.

Knowing she can’t turn around now, Wanda steps out of the car, your scent leaking out into the chilly wind outside their estate.

The shift in Natasha’s behavior is one not entirely surprising yet distinctively fascinating as the smell of your cold blood clings to the inside of her nose.

The taller woman moves to your side of the car; she secures you tightly in her arms. You try your best to squirm out of her hold, your hands clawing against Wanda’s covered biceps, but with how tired you are it’s little use.

You slump into the redhead’s body. Her leather jacket forces you even deeper into the scary woman’s embrace.

Realizing there is no winning this, you finally fall into the deep exhaustion that lies beneath your skin.

Natasha stands as still as a statue. Every muscle within her expands and contracts, but she can’t move.

Until she can.

At a young age she was taught that every choice one makes has consequences, every decision she has ever seen through in her life has been planned to the very tee before any move was made. She never “vamped out”, she never made a mistake, and every notion of her life was just how she planned for it to be.

Why, because Natasha knows restraint.

Your limp body lies seemingly lifelessly in Wanda’s hands.

Natasha doesn’t think.

The weight of your slim body is removed from Wanda faster than even she can comprehend, her leather jacket that was lying close to her chest, just as you were, is now gone, just like you. For a reason she cannot explain, anger bubbles beneath the exterior of the older woman as she watches Natasha carry you to the house.

With a speed unchallengeable Wanda stands just behind her wife. Her hands wringing the material in front of her in a firm grip, the black fabric is soft inside her clutch.

Holding her back by her jacket Wanda questions her wife, “What are you doing?” her anger lingers within her tone.

Enough so that any other day Natasha would stop dead in her tracks, today, however, was not one of those days.

The thick fabric of Natasha’s suit slips from nimble fingers as Natasha rips herself away from the redhead. With a blank face, she turns toward her wife, two prominent canines peeking out between soft lips.

“She is freezing to death.”

Taglist:

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@tobiaslut

@esmeseasle

@skittlebum

@tia-thesimp

@maximilfsworld

@leenasayeed

@scarlethexelove

@itsalwaysskorpioszn

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@adelareys

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@ichala

@thalia-is-not-ok

@lovelyy-moonlight

@wandamaximoff-simp

@opossumking03

@confidant-thoughts

@delivery-bird

@esouliie

@geydumbbetch

@dorabledewdroop

@mousetheorist

@herwagonempathkid

@mommysfavouritegirl

@auroraromaximoff

@roman0ffsheart

@morganna-la-faye

#wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #vampire!natasha romanoff #vampire!wanda maximoff #dark!wandanat #Vampire Empire

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hattiewritesalot · 6 months ago

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am i allowed to cry?

Eris Vanserra x fem!reader

Summary: After a particularly harsh punishment from his father, Eris is left choking on his own emotions, and the guilt that comes with them. Pain is weakness, until it comes to his mate, Y/N. Set before the events of ACOTAR

Warnings: parental abuse, mentions of Beron 🤢, lots of angst, lots of hurt/comfort. unedited lol

A/N: I’ve had this idea in my head for ages and I figured I should finally write it (title is from guilty as sin by Taylor Swift)

———————————————————————————

Eris’ shaking hand clutches at the cloak he’s wrapped around his aching form, stumbling and limping back to his chamber, desperate to get somewhere private before, Cauldron forbid, any of his brothers see him.

The lashes on his back sting with the force of a thousand needles, the prickly pain curling around his spine and puncturing his muscles.

They’ve never hurt like this before. Maybe he’s getting weak.

Eris Vanserra would rather die than be known as weak, but right now? With gory gashes up his back? With bitter tears pooling at his lashlines? With a broken heart to match the shattered fragments of his childhood? He’s nothing but weak.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

He’s a dishonour to his family, to his court, to his people- to his mate. His precious mate, with her soft hair and sweet smile. She’s always been too good for him. His father himself had uttered it under his breath the moment he’d introduced Y/N to his family.

He hopes she isn’t in their chambers.

He hopes she’ll never see this weakness that has possessed him.

He shoves the heavy door open, eyes darting around the vacant room. Thank the Mother, Y/N must still be on her evening trip to the library. He moves quickly, tossing the bloodstained cloak on the floor, and turning towards the mirror.

The pale skin of his back is torn, the crimson of his blood coating just about every inch of it, covering the splashes of freckles and old scars.

Eris can’t control the tears that start to trickle down his cheeks.

This is dreadful. Not the gashes, those he’s used to. But the tears. He’s not allowed to cry. When did he become so weak!? When did he let himself become so susceptible to the raging emotions that have taken hold of his soul? When did-

“There you are, I was wondering when you’d be back-“ Y/N walks out of the bathroom, a bright smile on her face, but she’s too quick for him to hide.

Her face falls. She sees the blood. She sees the wounds. She sees the tears.

She sees the weakness.

Eris can’t speak. The only thing that comes out of his mouth is a loud sob.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

But then, her gentle voice fills his ears, and her hands cradle his face, lips kissing away the tears on his cheeks. “You’re okay.” She murmurs. “You’re gonna be okay, honey. I’ve got you.” He sobs harder. She fetches a cloth, hastily soaking it with cold water, and starts to swipe at the blood on his back, letting him bawl into the crook of her neck like a baby. “I’ve got you. Let it out, Eris. You’re allowed to cry.” No, he’s not. He’s weak. Weak, weak, weak-

“You’re so strong, baby.” She whispers.

…what?

“You’re so strong, so brave. You’ve been holding this in for so long.” She kisses his hair, continuing to gently wipe the blood away. “My strong mate, I love you so much.”

“No-“ He chokes out. “No. I’m weak.”

“Why do you think you’re weak, Er?”

He frowns. Isn’t it obvious? “I’m crying.”

“You just got beaten by your father. I’d be surprised if you weren’t crying.”

“But still, I shouldn’t be crying. I shouldn’t be weak.”

“I cry. Do you think I’m weak?”

He gapes at her. “N-no-“

“Exactly. Case closed. You’re not weak either.”

He’s silent for the next ten minutes while she treats his wounds. He watches her pretty face, pondering what he did to be so lucky to be her mate.

When she’s done, she pulls him down on the bed with her, positioning him to lie on his stomach between her legs. She twists his red hair in her fingers. “So strong.” She repeats. And the heir to the Autumn Court says nothing, nuzzling his nose into his mate’s neck. If she thinks he’s strong, then by the Cauldron, he supposes he is.

———————————————————————————

i am an eris vanserra stan first and then a person

#eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris vandaddy #eris x oc

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doumadono · 20 days ago

Note

(EMERGENCY Request (because I don’t know if the other came through or if Tumblr ate my ask.)

Can I have some Izuku, Shouta, and Shigaraki comforting reader after she revealed that she had been sexually assaulted by a close family friend?..

(Because the above happened to me, and now the idea of being intimate with someone makes me cry and freak out and feel ill.)

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

Tomura Shigaraki

Shigaraki listens with a chilling stillness as you speak, his entire demeanor darkening with each word. His expression goes from steely focus to pure fury, hands clenching tight enough to make his knuckles whiten as you recount what happened.

He doesn’t try to comfort you right away; instead, his eyes narrow, filled with an intense, dark energy that you’ve rarely seen before. He lets you finish, then speaks in a low, almost dangerous tone: “Tell me who did it.” There’s no doubt in his voice, only absolute conviction.

Shigaraki doesn’t ask twice. He wants a name, wants to know every detail, not to wallow in your pain but to turn it into a target — one he intends to take down personally.

Once you’ve shared what you’re comfortable with, he reassures you in his own way, his voice softening, though his gaze remains fierce. “They’ll pay for this. No one does that to you. Not without consequence.”

Unlike most, Shigaraki doesn’t shy away from your pain. Instead, he encourages you to express every ounce of anger and bitterness, letting you know that you have every right to be furious, to feel however you need to feel. “Don’t hold back,” he says, his hand resting over yours, grounding but strong. “Let it out. Let it fuel you.”

His form of comfort is protective, almost ruthless. He speaks of revenge openly, as if it’s the only option worth considering. He’s fixated, promising you repeatedly, “I’ll make them feel everything they made you feel — and worse.”

When it comes to physical comfort, he’s careful. Shigaraki isn’t the most openly affectionate, but if you’re willing, he holds you close, his fingers grazing your shoulder, tracing light circles down your back. His presence is steadfast, a quiet strength, and the promise is clear: he’ll keep you safe, no matter the cost.

Once he has the name of the person who hurt you, he doesn’t rest. He goes out alone, no second thoughts or hesitation, tracking the perpetrator down with a dark resolve, finding them under cover of night.

It’s quick and merciless. He locates them, doesn’t give them a chance to speak or even see what’s coming. In a single, decisive movement, his fingers make contact, and within seconds, they’re reduced to nothing but ashes. A quiet, terrible satisfaction settles in his chest — he’s done what needed to be done. Justice, his own way.

That night, Shigaraki returned to the base of the League of Villains very late, and there was a shift in his energy that you felt the moment he walked into the room. His gaze was dark, almost unreadable, yet there was an eerie calm in the way he settled beside you. His fingers, usually fidgeting with nervous energy, were still, resting against his knee as if he’d finally found his focus, his purpose. He looked at you, eyes intense, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

Finally, he leaned in, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “It’s done,” he said, his hand resting on yours, his touch grounding. “They’re gone. They’ll never hurt you again.”

You could see the satisfaction in his expression, the way his eyes glinted with a dark triumph as he watched you, waiting for your reaction. He didn’t need thanks, didn’t expect it; he’d done this for you, because no one else had. Because he would destroy anything that dared to harm you. "Tomura...."

Tomura’s fingers traced over your knuckles, his gaze unwavering. “Shhh, it's okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, fierce and possessive. “And anyone who thinks of hurting you… well, they’ll end up the same.”

Shota Aizawa

Shota doesn’t say much initially, allowing silence to settle around you both so you don’t feel rushed to fill it. His presence is steady and dependable, and he radiates a calm, quiet strength.

His eyes are intense, focused on you in that careful, unblinking way he has when he’s deeply engaged. There’s no judgment, no pity - just a readiness to listen and understand.

Shota waits until you’re finished speaking, then offers a grounding observation: “You’re strong to have carried this alone. You didn’t deserve any of it, and it was never your fault.”

He lets you know that you have the right to feel whatever you need - anger, grief, even numbness. Shota doesn’t try to solve your pain; he respects that healing is complex and that he’s there to support, not fix.

Touch, he knows, is delicate. If he senses you’re uncomfortable with it, he respects that boundary completely. But he does offer simple gestures - a hand on your shoulder, a gentle brush of your hair - giving you the choice to lean into his warmth or keep your distance.

Aizawa is a man of action, so he makes sure you feel safe around him. He talks about boundaries, offering reassurance that he’ll take things at your pace. He’s honest but tender, letting you know he’ll be patient, however long it takes. And on the nights when you finally drift into peaceful sleep beside him, he quietly searches for every piece of information about the person who hurt you. They may think they got away clean, but they’re dead wrong.

When the words finally spill out, they feel jagged, raw, tearing through the silence like an open wound.

Aizawa doesn’t flinch; he absorbs each word, each broken pause, with an intensity that’s almost unnerving. His gaze is steady, dark eyes fixed on you, taking in every detail, but he doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he stays close, his silence a constant, a reassurance that he isn’t going anywhere, no matter how long it takes for you to finish.

Once the last word leaves your lips, you glance up at him, half-expecting him to pull away, to offer you some hollow phrase that makes him feel better but leaves you feeling even emptier. But Shota stays, his expression unreadable except for the faint tightening around his eyes, the only sign that your pain has struck something deep within him. Slowly, he reaches out, his hand resting on your shoulder, his touch feather-light, as if he’s afraid you’ll break under too much pressure. “You didn’t deserve any of it,” he says finally, his voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. “This doesn’t define you. It’s something that happened to you, not something that’s a part of you.”

The silence stretches, but it’s a comfortable one, an invitation for you to say whatever you need, or to say nothing at all. He’s patient, letting you lean into him, his hand finding yours and holding it gently, giving you the control to pull away if it becomes too much.

When you finally let yourself press into his side, his arm wraps around you, steady, grounding. He doesn’t say much after that; he just sits with you, his hand slowly tracing soothing circles on your back. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels safe, like an anchor holding you steady in a sea of uncertainty. “Take all the time you need,” Shota murmurs, his voice low, his lips close to your ear. “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. If you need space, I’ll give you that too. Just know that I’m here. For all of it.”

Izuku Midoriya

Izuku’s heart nearly breaks the moment you confide in him. He listens, fully attentive, and doesn’t interrupt - not even to ask questions. His eyes are soft but steady, and he nods as you talk, a subtle affirmation that he’s here with you, every painful step.

He doesn’t rush you to say more than you’re ready to. Izuku senses when you need a pause, his hand on yours, rubbing gentle circles on your knuckles to ground you.

He tells you, without hesitation, that it wasn’t your fault. Izuku’s voice is firm, sincere, as if he needs you to feel it in your bones. He keeps his words simple, gentle. “If it hurts to talk about this, we don’t have to. But I’m here, I’m here whenever you need me, no matter what.”

Izuku understands if physical touch feels overwhelming, so he asks permission before hugging you. “Can I… hold you? Only if you’re okay with it.”

He offers support rather than solutions, respecting that this healing is on your terms. He suggests getting some air together, or maybe some tea, but he doesn’t push anything. You can feel how deeply he cares without feeling pressured to act a certain way.

Izuku reassures you that whatever feelings come up - fear, sadness, anger - are okay, and he’s here for all of them. He promises he’ll protect you, but it’s not a hollow vow; it’s one he fully believes he can keep.

Izuku sits beside you, close but not encroaching. He waits, letting each word hang in the air as you reveal what happened, the details heavy between you, until finally, you fall silent. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes - anger, sadness - but it’s tempered by an overwhelming gentleness as he reaches for your hand, his touch featherlight.

“You didn’t deserve any of it,” he says, voice low but certain. “And it wasn’t your fault. No matter how it might feel.” His words sink in, the conviction in his voice wrapping around you, settling deep in the space where shame and doubt often linger. His gaze is steady, unwavering, as he adds, “This doesn’t change who you are, not to me. You’re still you, and nothing - no one - can take that away.”

You sob quietly.

There’s a pause, a heartbeat, and then he hesitates, eyes softening as he reaches hand out to wipe off your tear. “Can I hold you?” he asks gently, his hand still on yours, warm and ready but not pushing.

When you nod, he shifts, pulling you close into his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a way that feels protective, solid. The quiet thump of his heartbeat against your cheek is steady, grounding, and his fingers stroke your back in slow, soothing motions.

“You’re allowed to be hurt,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice thick with emotion, “and you’re allowed to take your time, however long you need. But you don’t have to go through this alone.” He holds you a little tighter, his breath warm against your forehead as he whispers, “I’m here, and I’ll be here, always."

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xzaddyzanakinx · 5 months ago

Text

Not That Kind of Guy

Part Seventeen: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink(Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, public/semi-public, spitting, cumplay, nude vids/pics, masturbation, oral, PIV, dick piercing, forced orgasm, bondage/blindfolds, biting/slapping/spanking/cutting, rape kink, NONCON/DUBCON/CNC, Somno, blood, knife, GEN. SMUT [All possible tags listed, all may not apply] warning: suicidal ideation no smut this chapter sorryyyy

Info: the boy is going through it. [diary entries from Ani {dates are odd but I promise it’ll make sense later}] extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

September 9th, 11:53 pm

Anakin immediately reacted to your sudden, startled jolt. The gasp you’d inhaled had him momentarily concerned you may have hurt yourself in some way, it sounded pained and although he wasn’t sure what it could’ve been, that didn’t mean he could dismiss the idea entirely.

”You okay babydoll? What happened?” He asked, setting aside his Xbox controller to give you his full attention.

”Yeah!” You squeaked, nodding your head quickly, though your movements were perceived as slow by you. “Yeah, just uh, one of those weird ‘almost asleep but suddenly I’m falling’ things.”

”Oh…” He nodded, relaxing a little bit. “Do you need me to get you some water or something? That kind of thing is stress induced you know.”

”Yes.” You swallowed hard, fighting a lump in your throat that just refused to diminish. “I know, uh I think maybe I’ll just go to the bathroom.”

“Well, alright.” He said, giving you a critical once-over before waving you off and returning to his game.

Scurrying off to the bathroom in the most awkward way you possibly could, you shut the door with a bit more strength than anticipated, causing Anakin to call out and check on you. One forced ‘all good’ later, you were sitting on the closed toilet lid with your head in your hands. The initial panic was beginning to fade now that you’d removed yourself from the situation, making room for fear to frost over your skin and halt your critical thinking.

Ghost could be anyone, logically you know that. So there is no reason to fly off the handle and accuse someone you care deeply about of committing many, many crimes. There isn’t any way for you to peacefully have such a conversation without it feeling like an attack. In the event you are wrong, such an assumption would no doubt spell the end of the one and only stable, loving relationship you’ve ever had.

If you’re right… well.

But you’re not. Of course you’re not, how could Anakin be capable of some of the things, any of the things Ghost has done? He’s a gentle giant, the guy who would rather scoop up spider in his bare hands to set it outside instead of squashing it. He makes you feel special and adored, your moments with him are calm and caring. He’s practically the polar opposite of Ghost.

Ghost has his moments, few and far between, where he is more than the mask. The moments when he’s less grey and more moral. Less animal and more man. He’s what you’d expect a jar of licorice would be like personified. The candy no one likes, the one that gets over looked and outright hated on. But the people who actually like licorice, they defend it until their dying breath and it seems like you’ve become quite fond of the bitter sweetness and the tough to chew exterior. Once you get past it, it’s really not so bad. Just like Ghost.

you shook yourself out of the stupor you were in, standing up to turn on the sink and splash cold water on your face, hoping to startle some sense back into yourself. After patting the sensitive skin dry, you pulled out your phone and promptly brought up your own contact info, dialing the number to call Ghost. It rang, once, twice, three times before disconnecting. He had hung up on you.

He had never hung up on you before this moment. While you knew he had every right to ignore you, perhaps never even speak to you again… you couldn’t let this go. So you tried again and again and-

‘What do you want?’ The text chimed through just before you could hit the call button one last time.

‘I think we should talk soon.’

’Why the fuck do you want that? You’re calling me this late for that? You should be groveling for forgiveness.’

‘This is me groveling?’ You audibly huffed at his response, waiting for him to send a follow up or not.

‘You can do better than that. I’ve seen you beg for cock, you know how to grovel.’ He responded.

‘Does it matter?’

’yes.’ Was the simple reply, short and sweet and read in his voice he uses when he snaps at you.

‘Nevermind.’

’fuck off.’

’Really?’ Outwardly scoffing at the text when it popped up on your screen.

‘Oh no, did I hurt the baby’s feelings?’

‘I should be meaner.’

‘But I won’t.’

Three texts in a row, three texts all containing completely different tones. Sarcastic, irritated, and ‘pissed but i still love you’. You thought about replying, started typing out a message but erased it, only to do it again. Finally you decided against replying at all, turning off your sound and putting the phone back into your pocket, flushing the toilet for appearances sake and running the water again.

You planned to head back to the living room, but saw that Anakin was cleaning up… sloppily, but still. He was straightening out the throw pillows and blankets, returning his controller to its spot beside the tv and pushing all the stuff on the coffee to one side, then calling it finished.

“Anakin. Are you alright?” You asked, standing in the entryway to the very short hall.

“Yes.” The word short and clipped.

“You sure?” Your voice was meek, timid, as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t want to sound… nit-picky or anything; it’s just that your cleaning habits seem to have changed and I know how you are about having a clean space.”

“The first thing you say to me after coming back from the worlds longest piss is ‘hey why’s your house messy?’ Really?” He scoffed, his eyes flickering down to your hands, your pockets.

“I don’t mean it like that.” You frowned, your eyebrows pinching together in a show of frustration. “I’m just worried that’s all, you never leave stuff like this, especially before bed.”

“No, no.” Anakin waved your half-apology off like he didn’t care to hear anymore from you. “Don’t you worry, I’ll get right on it.”

“Hey, it’s late. Don’t-“

“Shut up alright? Just… just go to bed.” Anakin snapped, shooting a glare over his shoulder at you.

“Did you just tell me to shut up?” You asked quietly, your face morphing into something resembling disappointment. He’d said that to you jokingly plenty of times, but this time, you knew without a doubt he meant it. The way it was delivered spoke volumes to how he was feeling.

Anakin sighed, turning around to run both hands through his hair and ruffle it up frustratedly. His arms crossing over his chest tightly, clenching his fists with his jaw set firmly, the muscle rolling beneath the skin when he gritted his teeth.

“I am sorry.” He said enunciated every syllable, almost looking through you rather than at you.

“Is it because of the pill?” You asked, meaning only to understand the situation better, though causing it to worsen.

“What an astute observation baby!” Anakin sneered, throwing his hands up frustratedly. “Wow. Now if only you could poke your cute little head a bit farther out of your ass. Yeah?”

“What do you mean?” Questioning him didn’t seem like the best option currently, but what else were you supposed to do?

“It… it really doesn’t matter.” He grumbled, spinning away from you to walk toward his kitchenette. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll feel better if I clean up. I’ve just been so stressed.” He hissed the last word, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Can- will you let me help at least? It’ll get done quicker.” You offered, trying to be helpful might distract him and you from everything else.

“No.” He sighed, his hands laced behind his head, his shirt riding up just a bit as he leaned backward to stretch. “No, I want to do it. Just go to bed. Please?”

“Kisses?” You asked quietly, clasping your hands in front of you awkwardly.

“Yeah, yes of course.” Anakin softened, coming toward you with open arms and an odd expression on his face.

Pretty, clear, sapphire eyes rake over your visibly anxious body. He seemed stuck between barreling past you to lock himself in the bedroom, scooping you up to hold and console you, maybe even smacking you if you spoke a few more tart words.

He did none of those. Instead he gingerly touched your face and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, his expression unchanging in an uncomfortable way. His gaze piercing straight through you, burning upon entry and icing over at the exit. The muscles all relaxed save for the few pulling the corners of his mouth downward in a subtle frown. You hated it when he went blank like this, his emotions were completely unreadable, his skin taking on the properties of stone to stay cemented in place. A physical example of someone taking brick and mortar to their heart and mind.

“C’mon. I’ll put you to bed.” He said softly, nodding toward the closed bedroom door.

Turning the handle and pushing the door open, he led you into the cozy space that you were so hesitant to enter earlier. You braced yourself to have your fear confirmed, thinking you may find a hair band that didn’t belong to you, a false eyelash, the scent of someone new on your pillowcase. But as you walked to your side of the bed, stepping over a few stray clothes in the floor, you surveyed the nightstands, his was uncharacteristically crowded with cups and a collection of gum wrappers, yours was just the way you left it.

Technically, your ‘nightstand’ was really just half of his dresser. What wasn’t occupied by his large and ever growing hoard of shiny chains and oversized jewelry, rings, belts, wrist cuffs and the like; was home to a few of your things. It was mostly just for convenience sake, you did live just across the hall. All you really needed here was a little pink basket with your name sharpied on it that he’d bought for you containing all your ‘girlish possessions’.

Hair bands, bobbi pins, a scrunchie and a large hair clip tucked away in a small, clear plastic case that lay at the bottom of the basket. He even got your brand of mascara, concealer, foundation, blush and lipgloss in a cute heart shaped makeup bag. Among the other items he’d gotten for you were a hair brush, perfume, deodorant, a phone charger, your very own reusable water bottle (so you’d stop crawling over him and chugging his water at 2:00am), and a pink shark plushie that only slept in his bed when you were there.

You’d added your own items of course, your favorite shirt of his, some clean underwear and a pair of shorts and socks. Sometimes you just can’t be bothered to walk across the hall for such trivial things. It’d be nice to have a drawer like he has at your place, but the poor boy has so many clothes the things hardly close at all. So your basket serves you just fine.

After grabbing the charger and scrunchie you climbed in bed, already in pajamas. Already in pajamas. You moved from the mattress like you’d been burned, searing, scorching guilt licking at your palms to make them sweat. Anakin had been to distracted by picking up his dirty clothes and tossing them in the laundry basket tucked inside his closet to notice your knee-jerk reaction to the reminder that you were still in the clothes, still in the panties, that Ghost had lovingly peeled off your lustful flesh.

The panties that still had a little wet spot in the crotch, the ones he’d taken off just before your confession. The ones he threw at you in grieving anguish as he left you behind for the night. Thank the gods for those extra clothes, you grabbed them and swiftly went across the hall, passing a befuddled Anakin who watched you as you walked with purpose to the bathroom.

You couldn’t sleep next to him in that sinned in fabric. Even if he was being a complete ass, he didn’t deserve that kind of disrespect. So you freshened up and changed clothes, rolling the dirty ones into a tight ball as if it’d squeeze out some of the shame before you tossed it in his laundry basket. Tying up your hair loosely to keep it out of your face, you brushed your teeth and then returned to the bedroom, opening the closet and dropping the clothes into the laundry basket without a second glance.

Anakin was laying face down across the foot of the bed with his arms limp at his sides, lifting his head to rest his chin on the blankets when he felt your weight subtly pushing down against the soft memory foam. His eyes flickered a shade lighter than before at the sight of you, though they quickly returned to the flat, unfeeling eyes you rarely saw.

“Why’d you change?” He asked, his voice rumbling tiredly in his chest.

“Just… wanted to feel clean before bed I guess.” You answered, looking down at your lap where your hands rested palms up.

“Clean.” He scoffed, nodding his head. “Okay.”

“What?” You snapped at him, irritated by his tone or perhaps feeling a bit agitated by being questioned on such a sensitive topic.

“Nothin’ sweetheart.” He sighed, giving you a lopsided, half-hearted smile. “Let’s get you to sleep.”

You didn’t verbally respond, not pleased with his response or the way it was delivered. Simply pulling up the covers to your chin while Anakin situated himself atop the blankets with an arm tossed over you, groaning because he realized the lamp was still on. So he rolled to his side of the bed, reaching out with his right arm to pull the chain. He audibly hissed as though the movement hurt him, turning your head to watch as he rolled back over with a scowl on his face. Not one of anger, but one of swallowed pain.

“You okay?” You asked softly, shifting to face him as his left hand snuck under the blanket to lace his fingers with yours. There was just enough light filtering through the open bedroom door for you to see the annoyance flash over his features.

“I’m sore.” His tone flat again. “Pulled a muscle or something I think.”

“I can rub your back if you want?” You offered quietly, reaching out to gently feather your fingers over the fabric of his tshirt.

“Appreciate the thought darlin’ but I don’t think it’d help. It hurts to touch.” He said, a genuine appreciation in his voice. It was nice to hear some real emotion from him, it relaxed you, knowing he might be coming out of whatever emotional episode he’d fell into.

“I’ve been putting Arnica on it.” He added, scrunching and wiggling his nose like it itched.

“Arnica? Like the stuff for bruises?” You asked confusedly.

“No.” He said sharply, rolling his eyes. “I mean, yes but no. It helps with swelling too.”

“Oh,” You nodded, taking his word for it to avoid anymore upset. “I’m sorry, I wish I could help.”

“Well, you can’t.” He said. You didn’t take it as a jab, although the words fell hard from his lips, you knew he probably just meant it as a matter of fact statement, so you nodded in acceptance.

“Are you coming to bed soon?” You asked, trailing your fingertips over his forearm.

“Once I get everything picked up.” He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Listen… today has been a train wreck, I have been a train wreck. I really am sorry.” He whispered, true emotion finally shining through in both his words and his expression.

“It’s okay. It’s just a bad day. Everyone has bad days.” You said softly, looking at him with sympathy. “I haven’t helped the situation I know.”

“I could’ve handled it better.” He sighed.

You shrugged. “Let’s not play the blame game. No one wins that one.”

“True.” He gave you a small but meaningful smile accompanied by a squeeze of your hand.

“Will you wake me when you come back?” You asked, your eyelids getting heavy after Anakin’s release of emotion, it calmed you, knowing he wouldn’t be going to bed upset.

“Sure, why?” His eyebrows knitted together as he smoothed out a loop in your loose ponytail.

“Just cause.” You said quietly, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. “I want to know you’re here.”

“Cute.” His voice affectionate as he let out a little chuckle. “I love you too.” He whispered.

“I know.” You nodded, still unable to say it.

You just couldn’t. You couldn’t before, you definitely can’t now. You’d already confessed it to someone else, someone who you probably should’ve ran from, got a restraining order against and begged until they locked him away. But that’s just love isn’t it? It makes you do crazy things.

Crazy things like betraying your dutiful and loyal partner with lustful trysts that should’ve never happened. Wild things like getting railed more times than a two dollar whore in the span of 24 hours by two separate men, one of whom being completely anonymous. Your sister would be appalled if she ever discovered that you were fucked with so little respect that you’d been sliced open and loved every second of it. In actuality, you wouldn’t mind doing it again.

All the things love tricked you into doing, you continued to allow and you would do so until the idolatry buried you alive.

Insanely deranged things like killing a man. Your panicked shooting indirectly causing another’s death by your lover’s hands. Perplexing things like the remorse fading in less than a day, the grief of extracting a human’s soul like that should’ve haunted you for life. But if it weren’t for your fear of being caught, you might’ve forgotten it by now.

Even if you could let those words slip through your soldered lips, you’re not sure that the barbs on your tongue would stop you from confessing more than just your love.

Or is it even that?

What if it’s not love and simply security and a devotion to the stability Anakin provides? What if you’re taking advantage of his kindness and trust in you, using him for the best of his qualities and his unwavering faith in you? Could you be so cruel and callous, is it possible you may feel indebted to him in some way and your heart is misinterpreting that for love?

Maybe it’s your subconscious, your self-preservation trying to crack through the deliberately placed cage in your mind. The dank corner of your mind where you squirrel away unmentionables, undesirables and guilessly horrid thoughts and memories. These days it’s getting fuller and fuller, the barrage of incoming files seemed never ending. The curator inside must be struggling, grasping at the iron bars in hopes to come out with only a few paper cuts. If just one of those bars bend, a flood may come running out and you’re positive that sort of unloading might turn you toward madness.

Diary Entry: September 9th

You’re finally asleep. God I wish I knew about your sleeping pills. Then I could’ve just popped one between those soft lips and you’d have went to sleep so much faster but you haven’t told Anakin you take them. I felt like I had to wait for hours, staring at your pretty face. I loved the view of course, however I didn’t love the way your lip kept twitching like you were upset as you were falling asleep. You’re still upset.

You’re just going to have to get over it. I won’t do it again. It was a moment of weakness and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t take it back anymore than I can’t make the memory of it go away. One pill. That’s all. Forget it.

I cleaned everything up. I even scrubbed the kitchen floor just to get some tension out. I’ve ruined my scrub brush, the bristles are all bent out of shape now.

When I went to check the bathroom and see if anything needed tidied up, I noticed my drawer hadn’t been closed properly, I know I didn’t open it. So it must’ve been you. Nosy bitch.

Well. I need a new hiding spot. Or maybe it’s just time to let that shit go. It’s not like I need twelve pair of panties and the other little trinkets I’ve stolen from you. I can take things and not have to hide it anymore.

——————————————————————————

Diary Entry: September 9th continued

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I never knew what i was doing but now i just feel like I’m paddling through shit creek with my bare hands and a wooden barrel for a boat.

My world is falling apart and I have no one to pray to because my goddess is just as rudderless as I am. How did i fuck up so badly and how the hell am I supposed to fix it when I just keep making it worse? I feel like I’m losing it, actually, truly losing it. I need guidance and the one person who has always been able to give me that is more lost than I am. I’m not meant to be a leader.

How can I bring you back from the dark when you are my light?

Is it even possible to atone for the things I’ve done or should I do worse and hope it cancels it out? Obviously I won’t try that because you can’t really get much worse than what I’ve done without doing some truly heinous things. See? I am capable of listening to the voice of reasoning I so often ignore.

You ignore yours too. I know you do or else we never would’ve made it this far. I used to think it was because you’re just a fucking idiot. I’ve come to the understanding that you are willfully ignorant.

I can’t even blame you. I can’t, not when I’m the one who set us up for this. It’s my fault and I’m just waiting for the window of your soul to chop me in half like a guillotine the next time I try to crawl through. You gave me such a slim opening and I was barely able to wrench myself away in time to only lose a few metaphorical fingers. The me inside my mind has yet to staunch the flow from the loss.

I know now why you won’t say it. Because you did say it. Just not to me, not to the me I made for you. I don’t know how to feel… relieved maybe, but I can’t help imagine it’s a bit unhealthy. For you I mean. I’m perfectly fine being the way I am, though I never meant to share the worst parts of me with you. Despite knowing, witnessing, participating in such a thing; you still chose to tell Ghost you loved him before you told Anakin.

I don’t know what to do with that information.

Then, you went and confused me even farther and denied me the only organic opportunity to tell you who I am. I’ve already shown you. That was the whole point of continuing all this. I could’ve stopped when we started dating but I didn’t because I didn’t want to. I realize now, you didn’t want me to either. You’ve seen the me I curated and molded into perfection. The me that you deserve. You’ve always had the option to take him and leave the rest behind but you still haven’t and I can’t foresee a future where you will.

Do you love Ghost because he is real? Is he real? Am I?

Have I always been him and never Anakin? Sometimes I think yes. Others I wholeheartedly believe I made them both just for you. Deep down i know its not true, I know who I am. I am an undeserving man. It doesn’t matter what way you spin it,. It doesn’t matter how many me’s I create, I will never be good enough for you. You know that, don’t you?

Can you tell that it’s a half-truth? Is that why you can’t tell me you love me? You know there’s something missing, it’s an incomplete file. Whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve known all along that I’m a fraud. You’re the only one. Other than my mother of course and don’t you dare make some sort of Freudian joke, that’s just clichè.

You are the only person I haven’t been able to fool. Further proof you are who I believe you to be. A goddess. They have some sort of ‘all knowing’ ability, yes? I’ve compared you to the Greek’s Artemis and her sister-goddess Diana from Rome, Goddess of the hunt. And hunt you have, even on those wobbly legs of a fawn. You hunted, hungry to learn and grow until you’ve turned into the beautiful, powerful doe I knew you were destined to be. My Doe. My Goddess.

You wanted to see me and you did. So why wouldn’t you let me tell you?

Are you afraid? I am.

I’m so afraid I tried to numb myself. Though like the savior you’ve become so good at being, you saved me from myself again. How is it that you can appear at just the right moment? I would’ve taken that second pill had you not come out to stop me. I might’ve even taken all your sleeping pills. Because I am afraid, and what do cowards do when they are afraid? They take the coward’s way out, it’s called that for a reason.

Diary Entry: September 10th

I hate lying to you. I hate hiding things from you.

I hate myself for doing that. I know I didn’t have to but I felt like I did.

I hate myself.

Diary Entry: September 13th

God I’m so fucking frustrated. Why are you being like this!? I don’t deserve this. You tell me you love me, you stop me from showing you my face, and I got pissed so I left. I gave myself blue balls but I’m going to blame you for it because it’s your fault after all.

We’ve kissed, we’ve touched, you’ve straddled my hips and rubbed your warm, wet panties all over my boxers but you won’t let me fuck you. You won’t let me make love to you. You won’t even let me get a finger beneath those pretty panties that I paid for.

There’s only so much my hand is capable of.

What are you afraid of? Telling me you love me? Probably. Last time you fucked someone it slipped right out. What a shame it would be for you to say it to me again.

Date

September 15th

You scrubbed at yourself in the shower, contemplating the man troubles that have plagued you ever since that night you finally made up with Anakin. He’s been grumpy, overly asshole-ish and so unbearably stubborn for the past few days that he’s on thin ice, holding a heat gun over the weak spot. Nothing you say seems to help but it also doesn’t seem to hurt, so you’ve been in a perpetual game of hot potato. As long as you keep going around the circle you won’t get burned.

Ghost hasn’t spoken to you in over a week and you’re beginning to think he may never make an appearance again. He hasn’t left a message, a note, a gift. He hasn’t even been inside your apartment. Ghost had never ever been so neglectful. It’s to the point that you might call and report him missing if you were certain of who he was.

The cameras in your home had been so well hidden that you didn’t think you’d ever find them, turns out they’re pretty easy to spot when theyre low on battery and the damn thing flashes red while you’re trying to sleep. You had always assumed he had a camera in your room, but to have it confirmed and see that it’s directly above your bed… was one of the more uncomfortable aspects of the odd relationship between you.

It was so tiny you couldn’t believe that it actually functioned as a camera. You plucked it from the hiding spot on your ceiling fan and put it in your jewelry box along with all the other things that Ghost had left for you. It was kind of entertaining, like a weird game of eye-spy to see if you could find the others now that you knew what to expect. You hadn’t found them yet, but you knew it wouldn’t take long for the rest of them to need charging too.

Oddly enough, it made you a little sad to think that he might’ve stopped watching. You always imagined that when or if Ghost ever left your life that you’d be relieved. If you would’ve told the terrified mouse who’d woken up to a stranger with a knife all those months ago… that she’d be sitting in the shower floor mourning the loss, well, she’d send you to the fifth floor without hesitation.

You’d wracked your brain over and over again, grasping at any idea that seemed remotely plausible in hopes that you’d conjure up some elaborate plan to fix everything. No grand scheme had revealed itself yet, aside from faking your death and moving out of the country, but Luke would hold a grudge against your faux corpse. You had promised that he would be allowed to die first because he couldn’t bare the idea he might outlive you.

Luke.

Maybe it was time to tell Luke. You wouldn’t have to share all of it, you could even lie a little, make it less rapey and more romantic. Sans murder and add a dash of sweetness. It’s not like you’ve lived a single day of your life for the past few months without telling a handful of lies a day. What’s a few more?

Maybe you should threaten warn Ghost first. As a courtesy of course. He should know if you’re planning on spilling your guts to your best friend, it’s only fair. What’s Ghost going to do? Roll up to Luke’s apartment and duct tape your mouth shut? No.

You sighed, stepping out of the shower, half expecting to see Ghost sitting on the sink again, unfortunately he was not. Unfortunately.

You didn’t have time for this. You didn’t have time to mope about, you’re a girl with a job that you neglected for days on end and they were kind enough not to fire you. So long as you were okay with being on probation; you were of course. Finding another stable job in a city like this on such short notice would be nightmarish. Thank the gods you’re their best waitress.

Ever since you returned to work, Sara has forced you to wear a ‘trainee’ badge and all your regulars have bullied you endlessly for it. Those little old men may seem sweet and harmless but the moment they find something to poke fun at they turn into a pack of jackals. Today you’d be back to serving them coffee sans the trainee badge of shame. Unless of course you are late.

Hurriedly dressing in your uniform and fixing yourself up enough to be presentable, you sprinted out the door and down the steps, quick walking to your car. You’d be late if you leisurely walked to The Bluebird like you normally did. You’d made a habit of parking right next to Anakin’s vehicle, so you had to walk past it everytime you climbed in to yours. You’ve not used your car since you returned from your weekend getaway and Anakin’s car hadn’t been there when you arrived.

You hardly glanced at it anymore, being so used to seeing it there. It always looked the same. He always parked it the same, always backing it in to the spot. So you weren’t expecting anything different when you bent down to pick up the quarter next to his driver side door. It must’ve fallen out of the overflowing change cup he kept in the door pocket.

You smiled, seeing it was face up, taking it as a good luck sign. You needed some good luck, so you picked it up. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed something different about Anakin’s car. The tire.

Dirt. Real dirt. Not the city street gunk or the sand and gravel mixture in the back parking lot of The Cerulean. It was dark earth and grass, trapped in the grooves of the rubber. Where had he gone that he might’ve needed to drive over actual dirt?

——————————————————————————

“Hey doll.” Anakin’s deep voice appeared suddenly to your left, his hand on your back as he walked past you to take a seat at the counter while you finished up taking your table’s order.

You gave him a smile and trudged off to the kitchen, clipping the order slip to the line above the stovetop. As you came back out of the kitchen, you shoved your pad and pen back into your apron pocket, surveying your tables to make sure everything was as it should be before you stopped to talk with Anakin.

“What’s up Ani?” You asked, leaning on your elbows against the counter.

“Huh?” He raised his eyebrows, tonguing his labret piercing distractedly while he picked at his nail polish. “Oh, uh I just wanted to come say ‘hi’ before I had to go to work.” He said, giving you a little smile, his eyes not quite meeting yours.

“What’ve you been up to today?” You asked, turning around to get him a Pepsi, watching the liquid pour out and bubble up in the cup.

“What’ve you been doing?” He countered, taking the glass from you hesitantly, looking you over like he was searching for something.

“Just been at home and here.” You frowned, unwrapping a straw and popping it in his drink for him.

“Got plans or anything after work?” He asked, taking a sip through the straw.

“No? Sh-should I? Did I forget something?” You asked worriedly.

“Mm-mm.” He shook his head, eyes flicking down to his drink and back up to you. “No I just want you to stay at my place tonight.” He said quietly.

“But you work tonight.” You said, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

“I’m aware.” He said with a snort, looking at you with a flat affect.

“I- I mean I’ll definitely stay.” You nodded. “I just guess I’m surprised.”

“Why?” He asked, curling up his top lip.

“I don’t think I’ve ever stayed at your place when you’ve been at work before.” You said, tilting your head to the side.

“You haven’t.” He confirmed, unfolding a napkin in front of him and laying it flat, ripping off tiny pieces.

“Well, first time for everything then huh?” You smiled, hoping to break him from the reeking attitude he was carrying around with him.

“Come out to my car with me.” Anakin wasn’t asking, not even instructing. He was demanding.

“Oh-okay just a second.” You nodded, walking toward the kitchen doorway. “Vigo! Anakin is here, I’m gonna take a break.”

“Yeah sure.” Vigo waved you off, tossing a towel over his shoulder before he flipped on the tap and began washing his hands.

You turned on your heel and expected to see Anakin sitting at the counter where you left him. Though as you untied your apron and tossed it under the counter, you scanned the diner and saw him nowhere. Instead, he was already heading out to his car, the ‘Open’ sign on the glass door of the restaurant swinging back and forth just proved he pulled it open with more force than necessary.

Peering through the glass as you approached the door, hand out to push it open, you spotted him leaned against his car with his arms crossed. His head down, staring at the blacktop beneath him until he jerked to the side, sensing your presence growing nearer.

“Get in.” Anakin opened the drivers side back door for you and gently ushered you inside. A big contrast to the gruff tone he spoke with.

“Yes sir.” You rolled your eyes, speaking sarcastically. It didn’t seem like Anakin thought it was just a good natured jab. Rather, he reacted like it was a personal attack.

He firmly grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked it as he climbed into the back seat behind you. He let go just as quickly as he gripped it, wordlessly splaying his fingers across your scalp to apologetically massage your scalp.

“What the hell was that for?” You scowled, batting his hand away from your head.

“We haven’t fucked since you came back,” he said, ignoring your question. “I want you to fuck me.”

Your jaw dropped through the floorboard of the car and shattered on the pavement beneath. Watching him unbutton and unzip his jeans, more comfortably spreading his legs and leaning back, his hands laced behind his head with a grunt. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes, waiting expectantly for you to make your move, but you were simply speechless, frozen in place.

“Hello?” He snapped his fingers in front of your face to get your attention. “If you’re gonna sit there with your mouth open at least put it to work.” He scoffed, grabbing the back of your neck with one hand, pulling out his already hard cock with the other.

There was a split second of hesitation on his part, pausing like he realized what he was doing, suddenly coming back to consciousness after being possessed.

“Princess… I’m so sorry, y-you don’t have to do anything.” He turned his head to you revealing his paling cheeks as he quickly released the back of your neck from his rough hold, only to be shocked by the lustful gaze staring back into his worried eyes.

“Th-that was hot.” You squeaked out, melting into submission.

“Wait- really?” He asked, eyebrows pinching together in shameful hope. His hand hovering over the nape of your neck as if waiting for permission.

“Y-yeah, yes.” Swallowing thickly, cautiously sliding off the backseat and onto the carpeted floor to kneel in front of him.

“Sweetheart, no.” He shook his head, a mask of remorse passing over his features. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”

“Anakin.” You said quietly, “please shut up.”

“O-okay.” He nodded quickly, suddenly timid, so unlike that man from just seconds earlier.

You lowered your head without another glance up at him, moving to swirl your tongue and suck on the silver ball of his jewelry to slight push and pull the metal through the piercing before taking his cockhead between your lips.

You were too busy to notice the absolutely wicked, deriding, straight up unsettlingly evil grin eat away at the faux timidity he’d painted on his pretty face.

Diary Entry: September 17th

Is there a word for when you kind of feel bad about something because you know that you should, but you don’t actually feel bad about it? If there is one I’d like to know it. It’d be perfect for this. It’s exactly how I feel.

I don’t think I’m obligated to actually feel any sort of ‘remorse’ in this situation though because it’s not really my fault. Even if it is… it’s only indirectly. After all the excitement life has finally slowed down enough for me to notice I’m out of my meds. Have been like for a few days.

So, apologies for being a total jerk, but also no I’m not apologizing because I don’t believe you mind it. I think you just don’t like it. You don’t like facing what you already know to be true. Kind of like when you rearrange the magnets on the fridge. You get so used to seeing it one way that you hardly pay attention. But the moment you move ‘em around its like you’re looking at a brand new fridge every time you walk past it. It just jumps out at you.

Same fridge, same magnets. Same me, more Ghost, less Anakin.

Diary Entry: September 20th

Why does life have to kick me in the ass, why won’t it just pucker up and kiss it? I have a nice ass. You’ve said so.

I can list a hundred things that I would rather be doing this week, a thousand if I tried really hard. I would prefer to shove my hand in a manual meat grinder than go back to that stupid fucking doctor.

My mother makes her weekly FaceTime call and turns it into a game of twenty questions.

I know exactly what she was trying to do, fishing for information, trying to see how much I knew. She did the same thing when that murder on campus happened. It wasn’t me. The guy who did it was caught and locked up, it was a senseless crime. The poor kid didn’t do anything but stand in the wrong spot at the wrong time. Just because I live near the campus, doesn’t mean I’m involved. Except for this time.

I don’t do senseless crime. I’m not stupid.

‘It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a call from your doctor honey. Did you take me off the information release? You know you can’t do that Anakin, it’s mandatory.’

‘Your prescription hasn’t been filled, you haven’t taken it in over a week! Don’t lie to me!’

Fucking fine. Alright. I love the woman but Christ alive she gets on my goddamn nerves. Now I have to go back to the shrink because I didn’t call and request my meds to be refilled and I didn’t try to pick them up when they were ready. Apparently if you’re three days late to the CVS pharmacy they put your crazy pills back and hold them hostage. Some policy shit about controlled substances.

My mom watched the news and thought to herself ‘hmm, it’s been alittle while since I’ve questioned my son’s sanity.’

Have I not done enough to prove I’m capable of being a functioning member of society? The state says I have. Why can’t she do the same? Officials have signed off on my ability to be normal and surprise! I have ‘maintained mental stability’ and ‘reintegrated into society’.

They’re over it. Why can’t she be?

I mean for fucks sake, she was used to it. Those doctors and nurses who loved to sedate me while I was in that state school weren’t and they forgave me a million times quicker than mom did. I would’ve gotten grounded for months if she had been the one to find out I was stealing meds and reselling them. It’s not my fault they padlocked it with a big clunky thing from the 90’s. A toddler could’ve picked that lock with a spoon, but they trusted a school of delinquents not to capitalize on it? All they did was give me a time out in the bad boy box for a week. It was like a vacation, no classes, no people, no gym.

They expected me to be upset about that? Please.

The only thing I didn’t think I was going to get away with there was the whole therapy-chicken fiasco. My refusal to apologize definitely didn’t help. But when you live in the suburbs majority of your life you aren’t exactly accustomed to a fucking rooster thinking the sun is coming up at 4:00 am. I already had to deal with sharing a room with a chronic masturbator who snored and grease-trap McGee who thought axe body spray could substitute for a shower.

Adding chickens into a coop directly outside my window was the tipping point. A state official who believed caring for animals could be therapeutic almost cost me my graduation. Out of all the animals they could’ve chosen, they picked chickens.

They only lasted a week before I got fed up and wrung their necks like a washcloth.

But I’m an adult now. I’m a big boy, making big boy choices and one of those choices was to stop seeing my doctor. I would’ve kept up with my pills, however, I was busy following my girlfriend to the lake when I got the ‘prescription ready for pickup’ text.

I probably don’t even need them anymore anyway. I’m fine. But now if I don’t get my ass in there for an appointment with Dr. Bullshit I’ll have to get reevaluated through the court and have to see that little bitch ass man-boy I hit with a table. I can’t have that. Not when everything is perfect in my life.

Except for the stuff that’s really horribly terrible.

Appointment: date: September 28th 3:30pm

September 15th 8:23pm

Seconds after unlocking your front door, you flopped down face first onto the couch. Dropping your belongings onto the floor below you with a thud, you had no intention of moving until absolutely necessary. You just wanted to rot. Not because you wanted to die per say… its just that you wouldn’t mind feigning dead for a while and if you just so happened to perish while playing the part of a corpse; well it wouldn’t be so bad. It’d be way easier than living the life that you’ve found yourself in.

Everything had been so undeniably awful lately that the joy had been sucked out of even the smallest things that made you happy before. Like the nice old lady who gets coffee and a slice of cake for lunch, she’s so cute and small and she always leaves a peppermint as part of your tip. It always made you smile, always gave you a warm feeling in your chest, but today was different. Today the gesture made you feel hollow.

Since he left, it’s all you can think of.

——————————————————————————

9:52pm

After peeling yourself away from the comfort of your couch, you showered and ate a dinner fit for royalty: microwave stir fry rice. Then you dragged yourself across the hallway to Anakin’s. For reasons yet to be revealed you were dreading your time inside his place alone. The air felt heavy and stale as you walked through the space, into his living room. It was always like this when he was gone, like the apartment never fully ‘wakes up’ until he steps inside.

It’s odd, feeling like the room you’re in is in a state of dormancy. Yet, it’s not the cause of your hesitancy to stay here tonight, while he’s away. No, you’re hesitant because Ghost he usually visits on nights Anakin is at work. What if he shows up and you’re not there? Will he make an appearance here? Will he think it’s your way of saying you don’t care if you see him or not?

Worse still, could the hesitancy stem from that little voice trapped deep in the recesses of your mind? The one you’ve ignored every time it’s been able to rip the gag from it’s mouth?

The rope of dread wraps tighter and tighter around your neck each moment you’re here alone. No amount of distraction has been able to cure the itch, the burning, nagging itch to get up and search. Is that what he wants? What if he’s been here?

Are there cameras here too? That’s something you’ve never even considered before and the thought makes you feel ill. It’s one thing to have your own privacy breached, but Anakin’s… that’s unfair to him and it’s already gone past ‘innocent’ watching. The camera in your bedroom has surely caught things no one else should’ve seen and that knowledge has begun to haunt you.

He’d been watching you have sex. With him. With Anakin. He had hours of footage, a thousand thoughts crossed your mind at the realization. But only a few were significant enough to take note of. If he’s been monitoring your bedroom activity… why was he only upset about the time you and Anakin had sex in the living room? He was so angry about it, so angry he wanted to roleplay stabbing you. He cut you while he pounded you from behind.

Why hadn’t he been that jealous about every other time? Probably to spare you the embarrassment of knowing the camera was right over your bed. It would be stupid of him to reveal that sort of information, then he wouldn’t have all those videos, perfect for blackmail, presumably great amateur porn. He wouldn’t… would he? He killed a man.

Men?

So it’s not out of the realm of possibility that he might’ve been saving all that up in case he needed it. He did say he’d send those pictures to Anakin if you didn’t behave. That’s blackmail. That’s a threat.

Or maybe, he’d done something even worse. Ghost… could he have…? No. He’s too possessive. He wouldn’t try to make money off of you like that. Would he? Despite laughing off the thought, your phone suddenly appeared in your hand, thumbs working of their own accord to check any and every explicit website you could find using the tags ‘ghostface’ ‘masks’ ‘hidden camera’ ‘blindfold’ ‘gagged’ ‘knife’ and anything else you thought it might’ve been labeled under. Scroll after scroll you squinted your way through countless video thumbnails, all the big sites were clean as far as you could tell.

OnlyFans? Maybe. He’d make way more on a site like that than he would on a larger porn site. Right? Wouldn’t it be considered… niche content? So you searched there, preview and profile pictures of so many people popped up. Maybe it’s not as niche as you thought. The idea that others may be interested in something like that was slightly comforting and only a tad infuriating.

These people might not be your Ghost; but they shared his face. And, they had hundreds if not thousands of people watching them.

It shouldn’t bother you as badly as it does, but you can’t help it. Maybe his own possessiveness has started to rub off on you, because the thought of someone else watching a man in the same mask as Ghost… almost felt like cheating.

Realistically, he could be any of these men.

You could be looking at him right now along with whoever else is online and you’d never even know it unless you saw yourself pop up on the page. But then you’d have to subscribe to **every single one** of these profiles. You might waste your time scrolling through videos and never finding what you were looking for.

Because… realistically he probably isn’t one of these men.

“Enough.” You groaned, fisting your hair on both sides of your head, then pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes.

Finally you got up and made popcorn, sitting yourself in front of the living room tv for a bit of a wind-down before bed. It would be hours before Anakin got home, X-Files was calling and you just had to answer. So you restarted it and settled in for a binge. The familiar theme washing over you in a nostalgic sort of way, late nights passing by on the projector of your memories.

Luke and you in his twin bed, comforter bundled around you as you sat huddled together, crosslegged in the soft glow of the tv and his small spaceship nightlight. Too old for ‘kid shows’ and too young for horror movies, so you found the next best thing: Goosebumps for grown ups.

His parents were fancy enough to have a DVR to record shows, allowing the two of you to rewatch your favorite episodes whenever you pleased. So long as his father didn’t record over them to catch the newest episode of American Idol.

Isn’t it odd how we so often return to the comfort of childhood in times of uncertainty? Clinging onto the old things that were stable even in the forever changing world you grew up in. Every night without fail, re-run after re-run of X-Files would play on channel 72. All night long.

Now you didn’t have to wait until 8:30pm. You could watch it whenever you wanted, or needed. The latter was true in this case. You want to believe. Just like Mulder. But, Scully is reasonable and you needed to be reasonable. An inkling isn’t proof, a feeling isn’t fact. Cold, hard evidence doesn’t lie. But your mind, your heart, your eyes and ears… are not as trustworthy as you might like to think.

You only got through two episodes before you stood up and sat your bowl of neglected popcorn aside.

“Skeptics are often the best detectives.” You mumbled to yourself, a very paraphrased quote from the show.

You’d come here to snoop once already and had found nothing. No evidence. But now you wondered if you may have been searching for the wrong things, in the wrong places.

“What would Scully do?” You thought.

You found yourself slipping into the role you once loved to play alongside Luke. You’d be the voice of reason to his fantasy world of the paranormal, when he’d come up with ‘cases’ for the two of you to solve. Only this time you would be playing both parts.

You’d started off toward Anakin’s bedroom when your phone buzzed, pausing just before passing the threshold into the space, you pulled your phone from your pocket and saw a text waiting to be read.

‘Do you miss me that bad?’

Ghost.

Unsure of whether to answer or not you freeze in place, staring down at the screen. He’d ignored you for what felt like eternity, now he was returning with a snarky comment about your internet searches. He can monitor your search history but he can’t say ‘hello’ for a week?

Your thumbs poised over the keyboard, a million jumbled words fighting for their chance to make an appearance in your quick witted, equally snarky, sarcastic-

‘Yes.’

‘Liar.’ The response came through the very second your phone showed that your message had delivered.

Your face heated up, how dare he call you a liar? After everything you would’ve thought he might know better. You chose not to entertain the comment, knowing it would only make Ghost think he’d successfully gotten under your skin. Even though he had, he wasn’t entitled to that information.

‘Your cameras are dying.’

‘I don’t need them anymore.’ The text finally appeared after several bouts of typing, erasing and retyping occurred on Ghost’s side of the conversation.

He doesn’t need them. At least he didn’t say he didn’t want them anymore, because that would imply that he didn’t want you anymore. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you hoped it meant he had something else planned, not simply that he had lost interest in watching your day to day activities.

It was a sobering concept; the idea that you may be losing his attention. Is it worth it to even try to find out? Will the answer just hurt you more than the not knowing? You suspect it might.

So you turned off your phone. No more googling, no more texting. Just searching. With X-Files to keep you company, you walked around the living room to carefully lift every item in the room. Each little trinket inspected and every backing to his picture frames removed, the couch cushions lifted, unzipped and felt up. Scooting every piece of moveable furniture away from the walls and pushing it carefully back into place. Anakin was peculiar about his things, if you misplaced something by even a centimeter, he would notice.

If you weren’t so angry at Ghost, you might’ve thanked him for the ‘take a reference picture’ before moving someone else’s things trick. It was no wonder you didn’t notice him being inside your house for so long. He really was good at what he did.

But you were angry. Angry at him, at yourself, at Anakin. But you were furious at the invisible wall that kept you from searching Anakin’s room. Every time you approached it, your mind thought up some excuse for why you weren’t finished looking elsewhere. There’s only so many logical hiding places and you were suddenly determined to find them all before moving open to the more… illogical ones.

Cereal boxes. Ice cube tray. Dishwasher and the dishwasher pac container. The fabric along the bottom of the couch. Behind the mounted tv. In the trash cans beneath the trash bag. The water tank of the coffee pot. His shoes.

You even re-checked the bathroom after remembering you never found out what was keeping that drawer from being fully opened. Turns out Anakin beat you to it and got it out of the way, so when you opened it, you removed the drawer completely to find that there was nothing there and never had been. If there’s nothing there, there must be nothing in his room either.

And suddenly, that invisible barrier dissolved.

“Oh you’ve gotta be fuckin’ joking.” Anakin laughed humorlessly, seeing his text deliver green. He tossed his phone onto the crate beside him, annoyedly pulling the cigarette from between his lips with pinched fingers and flicking the ash on the ground.

”What?” Trevor asked, pressing his back to the brick wall, enjoying a slow sip of whiskey.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” Anakin grumbled, raking a hand through his hair.

“Oh come on now don’t give me that shit.” Trevor scoffed, scuffing his shoe against Anakin’s. “I’d like to think I know you well enough to know when you’re royally ticked off.”

”Trev. You don’t ever wanna see me royally ticked off.” He chuckled, deep and gravely from the back of his throat. “I’m just… irritated.”

”You’ve been barreling around the bar for the last week like a bull in a china shop.” Trevor said pointedly, taking a gulp of his whiskey. “I didn’t think anyone would ever beat April’s broken glass record but you’ve fuckin’ smashed it.” Trevor snickered at his own joke, clearing his throat anxiously when Anakin didn’t laugh along with him.

”Seriously man, I’ll help you out if I can. Just say the word.” Trevor shrugged, feeling an awkward silence that he hadn’t shared with Anakin in quite some time.

”This isn’t something you can help with.” Anakin sighed, shoving his phone back in his pocket and rubbing his palms over his jeans, smacking his knees before standing up and tossing his cigarette butt into the designated coffee can.

”Girl trouble?” Trevor guessed putting both his hand palm up in front of him.

”When isn’t it girl trouble?” Anakin groaned, rubbing his face. “My girl, my mom, the fucking cat. Even the damn cat is being weird with me.”

“Well, what’d you do?” Trevor asked curiously, not trying to pry to hard.

”Oh you know.” Anakin shrugged, a smirk on his lips. “Went on a murderous rampage, girlfriend caught me snorting some special K, didn’t give the cat a treat, told my mom off over the phone.”

”Shit, anything else?” Trevor laughed, standing up as well to follow Anakin inside.

”Beat up a middle aged man, mugged a gas station attendant, robbed said gas station, stole a motorcycle, spray painted a few buildings, busted up a change jar, fucked your mom.” Anakin listed off on his hand, turning around with a grin on his face after the last ‘transgression’ left his lips.

”I should’ve seen that one coming.” Trevor huffed shaking his head. “Tell your mother I said ‘nice tits’.”

”Oh fuck right the hell off.” Anakin snorted, shoulder checking Trevor into the wall as they re-entered the bar.

”Yessir,” Trevor tipped his imaginary hat and spun on his heel. “Next time i see you, I’ll be calling you son.”

”Just don’t ask me to call you daddy.” Anakin shook his head, faking a right and smacking his left cheek lightly before running off behind the bar.

——————————————————————————

September 16th 3:13am

Anakin left the bar after his shift that night, feeling a little bit lighter. His mind a little less foggy and a little more organized. He jogged up the steps to his apartment and almost walked in, his hand on the door knob in preparation to unlock it.

It was as if the other side of the hall was calling to him in a way he hadn’t experienced in a while. That same strong urge that had lured him into your life in the first place, he knew you were waiting for him, but it couldn’t hurt to make you wait just a tad longer, right?

Slowly he turned and switched keys, unlocking your door and stepping inside he flipped on the light switch and went about collecting the rest of the cameras he had so painstakingly set up all that time ago. Lining them up on the dresser in front of your bed just before taking all the little things he’d left, all the notes, and lining them up in chronological order from one edge of the dresser to the next, ending the sequence by taking off his centipede ring and placing the bullet he’d carved for you in the center of it.

He carefully plucked your hairpin from the jewelry box and held it for a moment in the palm of his hand, tracing over the delicately carved lines. He’d looked for so long, searched everywhere just to find it and you’d never worn it. He understood of course, he could understand the reasoning behind not wearing it. But keeping it tucked away in your jewelry box seemed like a waste of it’s beauty, a waste of what it represented for him. So, just like he stole it from that antique shop, he stole it back from you.

Anakin stood back as he slipped the hair pin into his pocket, looking down at his handiwork. It was satisfying to see it all laid out like that in front of him. Like a nice little history exhibit of your time together. It brought a small smile to his lips, a happy one, one that was real and genuine, proud.

He hadn’t planned this, he used to plan everything so carefully, so far in advance. He’d been running on instinct and the free feeling he got when he decided something on the spot for a while now. It felt nice to break from the mold he’d created for himself when it came to you, not so much when it involved murder. Anakin wasn’t a man who would admit to be scared about just any old thing. Scared of losing you? Absolutely he would admit to that. But scared of prison? No, he’s too tough for that.

Which is why he was blaming his tears on you and you alone. Despite his happy smile, he sniffed back salty droplets that graced his cheeks, unaware he was even crying until he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the dresser.

He was well aware that he’d been sloppy. There were so many things that didn’t make sense at that crime scene and he was hoping that the police were stupid enough to believe it was all due to that poor kid’s hysteria. Anakin was smart enough to know that the police wouldn’t share any information that was valuable, if they had suspicions anyone else was involved. They’d wait and bide their time, gathering evidence and luring the suspect into a false sense of security.

He was paranoid, so, so, paranoid. Rightfully so.

None of the boys he’d left alive turned up that way, which in all reality made it a little easier for him. There’d be no witnesses and no one to point the finger at a real life Ghostface. Two of the boys had bled out, the other died from a stress induced seizure and choked on his own tongue. Anakin supposed that might be a reasonable reaction to being zip tied to two dead guys that had fallen over on top of you. He knew he should feel bad, he did, just not for what he knew he was supposed to.

He felt bad for himself.

——————————————————————————

September 16th 3:46am

You were on your hands and knees, using your phone flashlight to search under all the furniture in Anakin’s room. You even lifted the mattress, took out all the drawers in the dressers and nightstand, even checked the pockets of the clothes hanging in his closet. The suitcase at the top of his closet and the shoes at the bottom.

You gave up searching after you picked up a candle and turned it over, why in the world would you be checking a candle for anything suspicious? You were beginning to believe you were just horribly paranoid, rightfully so, you’d just aided and abetted and murdered not too long ago.

So you cozied up in Anakin’s bed and started watching the X-Files that you’d switched over into his room’s tv for background noise. Now Scully and Mulder had your full attention.

It was a good episode, a string of strange unsolved murders. Mulder had a theory that would connect these murders to ones that had happened several decades before. He was convinced they were committed by the same man despite the time passed between them. He even found matching finger prints to prove his theory, yet Scully was still unconvinced. That was until the culprit came after her, breaching her home’s defenses by squeezing through the air vents.

You jolted upright so quickly it made your brain feel as though it spun on an axis. With your phone in hand you went about the apartment, checking each air vent. It would be a perfect hiding place for anything really. You would’ve never even considered it had it not been for the X-Files. Your palms sweat with anxious anticipation, each one you checked meant you were one closer to finding, or not finding whatever it was the Anakin may or may not be hiding.

You saved the one in Anakin’s room for last, assuming if he were to have hidden anything it would probably be there. You were just about to shine your light through the slats of the vent when you heard the front door open, in a moment of panic you shot upright to your feet, your phone gripped tightly in your fingers. Your face the picture of guilt as Anakin rounded the corner, his face twisting from surprise to confusion.

”What’re you still doing up doll?” He asked, looking at his watch, “It’s almost four.”

”I couldn’t sleep.” You said quickly, realizing the phone flashlight was still on, you tapped the button the turn it off but your fingers were so sweaty you had to wipe them on your shirt before you could properly use the touchscreen.

“What are you doing?” Anakin asked, walking forward as he watched you struggle, “Looking for something?”

”No! Why- what makes you think that?” You asked, your eyebrows knitted in concern.

”Uh,” He pointed to the phone in your hand and watched as you tried and failed to feign a gasp of realization.

”Oh! Right, I could’ve sworn I heard a mouse in here, I was just about to look.” You said, gesturing to the air vent. Anakin took the phone from your hand and flicked the flashlight back on. Kneeling on the ground to look for you.

”Are you that afraid of mice?” He asked with a slight laugh, looking over his shoulder at your pink cheeks.

”No, not really.” You shook your head, “I- you just startled me when you came in I think.”

”Well I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to. I thought you’d be asleep.” He said, coming up off the ground and handling you your phone back. “If there was a mouse, he’s gone now.”

“Oh well that’s good then.” You sighed, nodding as you looked down at the vent again. He would’ve acted strangely if he had something down there… wouldn’t he have?

“Whatcha watching?” He asked, nodding toward the tv where a new episode had begun.

“Oh, it’s the X-Files.” You said with a slight smile, crawling back up into the bed. “You’ve never watched it?”

“Yeah I have, It’s been a long time though.” He said, leaning on the door frame and looking you over, taking his time as though he were looking for something. He was giving you a smile that seemed almost wistful, like he was sad about something.

“C’Mere babydoll. I don’t wanna get bar germs in the bed.” He pushed off the door frame with his foot, sauntering over to you, placing his hands on the side of the bed. Waiting patiently for you to come closer, his eyes seemingly soaking up every square inch of skin on your body. He smiled softly, cupping your cheeks in his hands to hold your face lightly and gaze down at you before moving in for a slow and loving kiss.

When he pulled away, he scratched the top of your head with his large hands, raking his fingertips through your hair. Guiding your closer again by the back of your head so that he could place a kiss to your forehead and pat your cheek.

”I’m gonna get clean.” He said, walking to his closet and stripping himself bare, tossing his clothes in his laundry basket. He turned to wink at you, biting the tip of his tongue with a big grin.

It made you blush, seeing him standing there so confidently and so comfortable in front of you. But the thing that made you bite your lip was the way his cock twitched, growing harder right before your eyes just because he was naked in front of you. He could see the lust, the admiration for him and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t an ego boost. He’d also be lying if he denied how much it flattened his heart when you looked away, not shyly. Purposefully. Anakin hid his small frown well, looking down to the side and ruffling up his hair with a tight lipped expression as he turned two the dresser to get a clean pair of boxers.

”Oh my god!” You gasped loudly, the sheets and blankets rustling as you made your way over to Anakin from where you sat on the bed. He nearly jumped out of his skin at your exclamation, turning around with wide eyes.

”What?” He asked looking around and down at himself in search of whatever had made you react so strongly.

”What the hell is this?” You asked, roughly grabbing him by his upper arm to spin him around and inspect his shoulder and back. He’d told you he had hurt himself, but he never let on like it was this bad. This was absolutely no pulled muscle.

“God this looks awful Ani!” You ran your fingers over the tender and multi-colored bruise on his right shoulder. “What happened?”

”Fuck.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes with the pointer finger and thumb of one hand. “It wasn’t a pulled muscle.”

”No shit? Really? I had no idea.” You said sarcastically, gesturing to the obviously painful bruise.

”Don’t.” He turned around, finger pointed at your face while his eyes stared down at you with darkened eyes that sent a shiver down your spine. He took a breath, closing his eyes again and when he opened them, a little bit of the light you’d grown accustomed to seeing shown through once more.

”I got in a fight.” He said simply, swallowing hard as his adam’s apple bobbed. “Just a scuffle at the bar, trying to break up an arguement. Just didn’t want to worry you princess.”

”I don’t appreciate being lied to over something so minuscule.” You scowled.

”You don’t? Oh, I had no idea.” He sneered, his voice sharp and clipped. “Sorry for trying to be mindful of you and your feelings. I didn’t think it would help our situation any, you know because you locked yourself away for a few days?”

You stepped back, the scowl fading slightly into something more sensitive. It was obvious you’d upset him, abundantly clear actually. The way he responded not only made you feel guilty for not considering the reasoning behind his lie, but also dredged up the guilt from the irony of your own words.

“I’m sorry.” You said quietly. “I should’ve reacted better, I was just- it worried me.” You admitted, walking over to pull him in for a comforting hug.

”It… It’s alright.” He sighed softly, nuzzling the top of your head to inhale your scent. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

”I understand.” You nodded, even though you didn’t really. He’d been acting so unpredictably as of late that it was starting to worry you in more ways than one.

“Do you?” He asked, the tone of his voice making it sound less like a question and more like a tease, though his eyes suggested it was serious.

”I think maybe you’re just really stressed or… or maybe something’s bothering you?” You ventured carefully not wanting to upset him again. “You’ve been acting different.”

”You haven’t spoken to my mom. Have you?” He asked, his eyebrow shooting up as he spoken.

”What?” You asked with a bit of a confused laugh. “No, I haven’t.”

He studied your face, searching for deception hidden beneath you confident denial and he was pleased to find none. He monitored your phone, he could hear you conversations, but you were aware of that and he was worried you might’ve found a way to bypass all his precautions.

”Okay.” He nodded. “Sweetheart, I’ve got- I need to… you know what? I think we should probably have this conversation after I put some pants on.” He said stepping back and giving you a smirk at the blush on your cheeks.

”R-right, I forgot.” You said, biting your bottom lip and allowing him to leave the room to shower. The second he closed the bathroom door you moved so quickly to the vent along the baseboard of the wall that you thought you might’ve given yourself rug burn on your knees when you dropped down to check it for yourself.

Empty.

Part Eighteen

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwars @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes-blog @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141 @hopesworlld @lonaah @guiltycherries @syralix @doblasftcisco @demieyesore @hemmoxloser

THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

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shroomi1e · 1 year ago

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❝ closer to me ❞

sampo + jing yuan + gepard + blade

summary: attractive ways they pull you closer / get your attention

cw: gender neutral, no phys description of reader, mostly fluff but blade's has a hint of spiciness

a/n: finals had me in a chokehold ya'll😭 also i'm in the middle of moving across the country so yeah that's been fun... safe to say i won't have much time for writing since i haven't had time for literally anything. have this in the meantime though

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sampo : by your belt loop

the belt loop is a classic, maybe even overdone, but it’s something that just screams “sampo”

it doesn’t matter whether you’re chatting with friends or alone with him in one of the dark alleys of belobog; sampo always wants you close to him. sometimes it’s to see your cheeks turn pink, and other times it’s to pull you away from danger.

especially when you’re up and about above the surface, where cars and trains criss-cross each other when the traffic is busy. if you’re standing a bit too close to the edge to the sidewalk while a car is passing by, his first instinct is to put a finger through your belt loop and pull you closer to him.

but other times it can be possessive. not the burning envy and jealousy that often leaves a bitter aftertaste, but the light and teasing possessiveness that sampo often displays. especially when you’re chatting with the others in belobog with your lover right behind you.

he watches your interactions fondly, but you’re acutely aware of the way his fingertips lightly run along the waistband of your pants, subtle enough for the others to not notice. he even leans forward just a few inches, his breath teasing the shell of your ear.

and his finger hooks through the belt loop, but he doesn’t do anything right away. he wants you to wonder when he’ll pull on it, to watch you stumble over your words as his finger plays with the small piece of fabric hanging off of your pants.

once the time is right, the cat pounces, and sampo tugs you backwards so that the back of your head gently bumps against his chest. he holds in a smug chuckle at the way you squeak, your body stiffening at the sudden gesture.

“ah, r-right, we needed to be somewhere. i-isn’t that right, sampo?”

sampo doesn’t give you an answer, opting to give you a smug smile laced with feigned innocence. you hurriedly wave goodbye to your friends and walk away, much to their confusion. even as you lightly slap his arm, all your lover can do is chuckle. after all, you do look quite cute with your arms crossed, lips in a pout and your cheeks pink.

“don’t do that, it’s embarrassing…”

he quickly hooks a finger into your belt loop again, this time the one on the side. the tug is slightly harder, not enough to surprise you too much, but enough to make you stumble into him. he catches you by putting an arm around your waist, his gloved fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. he leans down, his lips grazing your ear.

“but you love it, don’t you? don’t lie to poor old sampo here, you’re gonna hurt my feelings!”

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jing yuan : by your chair

jing yuan honestly thinks these meetings are a bore. perhaps even unnecessary. his chin rests on his palm, his eyelids drooping as they grow heavier and heavier. he hears words, but they only go in one ear and out the other. the only thing that’s keeping him awake is your occasional pinches to his thigh when he’s about to fall asleep.

and when he subtly glances towards you, all he sees is your stern expression, an eyebrow raised as a warning for him to stay awake. he’s promised to stay awake for today after missing multiple important meetings… but he can’t help it that he’s so bored!

he almost looks like a kicked puppy, sad that his owner won’t play with him. the least you could do is to entertain him, but alas, it seems you’re rather focused on the affairs of the xianzhou luofu. your eyes are fixed on the papers in front of you, your hands politely folded in your lap.

but jing yuan is determined. he’s promised to stay awake, so he will, but not without having his own fill of your attention. at first his hand starts on your knee. you give him a quick glance but don’t think too much of it.

his fingers drum against your knee, tugging on the fabric of your pants. when you shoot him a questioning glance, he gives you a small smile, silently asking for your attention. he’s hoping that maybe you’ll put your hand on his knee as well, maybe even hold his hand under the table. not to mention you’re sitting way too far away from him for his liking. but he also knows that you wouldn’t be shaken so easily.

upon receiving no reaction, his fingertips reach out for yours. jing yuan gives you puppy-dog eyes. c’mon, i’m so booored…

the way you narrow your eyes at him says it all. you’re the general here. stay focused while we’re on the job, will you? his pout deepens, a small sigh escaping his lips. is it so wrong to want your affection?

jing yuan’s had enough. his hand moves from your leg to the chair you’re sitting on, and as if you weighed nothing, he yanks your chair closer to his until you’re right next to each other. your shoulder bumps against his, your knees touching. the screech of your chair against the floor was loud enough for others to notice, much to your dismay… but your lover seems rather happy now that you’re sitting side-by-side.

you’re startled, to say the least. everyone in the room gives the two of you a quizzical look, but jing yuan thinks they should be used to it by now. the two of you are lovers, right? what’s wrong with him wanting you to sit a bit closer to him?

and with a victorious smile, he puts his arm over your shoulder and continues to listen to what his coworkers have to say. your wide eyes and parted lips don’t go unnoticed, but he could always attend to that later. (he still fell asleep btw)

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gepard : slight tugs on your fingertips

gepard often has a hard time voicing his needs. on the battlefield, he’s always firm and assertive, ensuring that the silvermane guards do their respective jobs while also staying safe. but whenever he’s around you, his voice catches in his throat and his words come out in jumbles. while he has no trouble leading his comrades into battle, gepard often finds it difficult to ask for something as simple as holding your hand.

maybe he’s going out on a walk with you on a rare day that he’s free, or perhaps he wants your attention while you’ve been chatting with a friend you ran into while out and about. gepard doesn’t have to courage to simply grab your hand and hold it, so he instead holds your fingertips in his hand, giving it slight tugs.

“geppie, you know you can always just hold my hand or hug me, right? there’s really no need to ask every single time.”

he swallows a lump in his throat, and his first instinct is to apologize. “i- er, sorry… i’m just not really sure how to ask.” gepard wasn’t lying though, he genuinely isn’t sure how to ask. does he just grab your hand? should he still ask out of courtesy? what if you don’t want to hold his hand?

his hands are much bigger than yours, and it almost seems like he’s scared of hurting you with how gently he tugs on your hand. but still, the gesture is noticeable enough for you to catch on, and you eventually learn to know what he wants just from that small tug on your fingers. when you respond by looking at him with curious eyes or by intertwining your fingers with his, gepard feels a sense of relief knowing that you understand.

it’s gotten to a point where your lover always tugs on your fingertips before asking for something. of course, gepard always follows it up by shyly whispering in your ear or stumbling over his words. but it’s a way to let you know he wants something from you, even the smallest things.

whether he wants to hold hands, a hug, a kiss, or even for you to just look at him, it always starts with that tiny gesture. he’ll do it while you’re in the kitchen cooking something for him before hugging you from behind. he’ll do it while you’re walking side-by-side as a silent way to ask to hold hands. and he’ll do it on late nights when he’s tired, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips in a silent request for a kiss.

he still wishes he could be a suave, cool lover that can smoothly ask for a kiss or maybe even just kiss you outright. but gepard is a gentleman through and through, and every kiss, hug, and held hands will only be followed by his gloved hands tugging on your fingers.

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blade : by your neck

the first time it happened, you were surprised. flabbergasted, even. the most conventional way to pull someone in for a kiss would be to either lean in close to them or hold onto their waist to pull them closer. but the last thing you expected was for blade’s fingers to gently wrap around your neck and pull you closer to him for a kiss.

his grip was soft, barely applying pressure to your neck. but it was still firm enough to lead you closer to him, close enough for your lips to meet his. and when the kiss broke, you stared at him with wide eyes. blade isn’t sure why you’re surprised, though. all he did was pull you in for a kiss, what seems to be the problem here?

even when hugging you, his hands don’t pull you in by your hips or waist; one hand is always on the back of your neck to bury your face into his chest. his bandaged fingers smooth over the nape of your neck, idly drawing patterns on your skin as he holds you close.

blade finds that his hands naturally want to touch your neck. he likes feeling the shallow thumping of your pulse against the pads of his fingers, wondering if his heart beat in the same rhythm as yours.

when he comes home from his duties, he’ll often find you sitting at your desk reading or attending to your hobbies. you can barely hear his feet pad against the floor as he approaches you from behind. you’re still not aware of his presence looming behind you, subtly looking over your shoulder to see what you’re doing. and before you know it, you feel a hand place itself on the base of your neck. you don’t fret though; you know exactly who it is from the feeling of the bandages wrapped around his hand.

“hi, blade,” you’d greet him gently. but your eyes remain fixed on your book. not him. that seems to be a problem.

“hm,” is the only reply you get. blade’s thumb rubs against the side of your neck affectionately, his fingers still gently wrapped around your neck. his hand moves further to the side of your neck so that his thumb can press against the underside of your chin. he tilts your head back, pushing your chin upwards so you can look at him while he’s standing behind your chair.

his hand moves up to hold your jaw, his thumb playing with your lower lip. you wait with a bated breath as if you know exactly what’s going to happen. and the moment your eyes flutter shut, blade leans down to meld your lips with his.

once the kiss is broken, he playfully drums his fingers against your neck. “mm, that’s better.”

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i was giggling and kicking my feet while writing blade's part ngl

#hsr #honkai star rail #sampo #sampo x reader #hsr sampo #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan hsr #honkai x reader #gepard #gepard landau #gepard x reader #gepard hsr #blade #blade honkai #blade hsr #blade x reader #hsr fluff #hsr headcanons

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lil-binuu · 4 months ago

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˖⁺‧₊𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

PART II ₊‧⁺˖

Resolving things with Elias

1290 words

part 1

buckle up for the ride!

“Hey.”

You turned around, a key in your hand as you closed up the cafe.

“Elias, hey.”

You hadn’t spoken to each other in a couple days. You understood that Elias needed to take a break after the argument. You both needed to.

You hadn’t reached out to him at all, you thought it would be better to let him take as much time as he needed without bothering him. Still, you hoped he knew how sorry you were.

“How was work?”

“Uh, Good… How were your lectures?”

You spoke slowly. Almost trying to process the conversation that was so different from your last. Almost trying to savour the conversation as it might be your last.

“Yeah, good. I- I wanted to talk to you. Wanna ride?” He gestured to the motorcycle behind him.

“Sure.”

There was something in you so relieved to see Elias. He seemed okay; that meant he hopefully was. If he’s willing to speak to you, does that mean he’s willing to move on?

The bike ride with Elias was the most comfort you had since the argument. But there was still a pit in your stomach as you wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head against his back.

You wanted to hold him so tight but you knew that if you did, you might not be able to let go.

He stopped at a park. You had come here before to stargaze together. A moment so sweet that it made your tongue bitter at the thought of it never happening again.

Taking a seat at a bench, admiring the orange streaks across the sky.

“How have you been?” He asked earnestly.

“It’s.. “ You stopped yourself. You couldn’t lie to him. “It’s been.. tough.”

Elias nodded.

“Same here.”

He reached out a hand.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be anymore.”

His palm grazed the top of your hand. Threading his fingers to intertwine with yours.

You met his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I have serious feelings for you and I made a mistake by holding them back. But I don’t want to let one mistake screw everything else up.”

His eyes didn’t break away from yours for a second.

Elias continued, “You hurt me. Seeing you flirt with someone else, that hurt. I mean, you told me that I was being possessive-”

“I didn’t mean it.” You cut in.

“I know. And I also know that you didn’t do it to hurt me. You did it to get my attention. The only thing I want to know is, why didn’t you just talk to me?”

Why?

Why didn’t you talk to him? Why did you go out of your way to get close to someone just to make the person you like jealous? Knowing that it could hurt him?

To be honest, you didn’t even know.

“You know you can talk to me right? It’s important to have conversations about us, about committing to each other and about a future together.”

Wait… are you kidding me?

Was Elias really going to sit there and tell you it was your fault for not initiating a conversation when he didn’t either? He was the one who let you believe he wasn’t even serious about you and yet it’s your fault for not addressing it properly?

“You were doing the same. You were also avoiding those conversations with me. You made me think that you were just messing around and wasting my time.”

“Wasting your time? You think that being with me is a waste of time?”

“Elias, I’m not ‘with’ you. I’m just here. It’s been.. how many months of sleeping together? And yet we haven’t even moved past the ‘talking stage’.”

Elias was silent for a moment, breathing heavily. This was clearly not how he wanted the conversation to go. But you had to talk about things. You were sick of just burying them and pretending they didn’t matter.

“I.. I wanted to ask you to be my partner. Make things official…. But this isn’t how I wanted our relationship to start…”

“I’m sorry, Elias, I really am, but I can’t just forget these feelings and pretend I didn’t feel them just because you decided to man up and ask me to date you.”

“Man up? Y/n, I’ve always wanted to date you, I just wanted to make sure that what I was doing was right and that you wanted it as well.”

“And by doing that..” Your voice grew softer as the emotion began to fill your throat and well up in your eyes. “You made me feel like I wasn’t good enough for you. Like- Like you were just waiting around to get rid of me because I wasn’t what you wanted in a partner or..or something..”

You looked away from Elias. Leaning back and looking out at the darkening sky.

Neither of you said anything, your confession hanging in the air and dampening the space between you.

His hand that once had retreated, came back to rest on yours.

“I’m sorry you felt that way.”

You looked back at him, tears burning your eyes.

“You mean ‘I’m sorry I made you feel that way’?”

Elias pulled his hand away from yours, becoming defensive.

“No, I didn’t make you feel that way, you felt that way by yourself-”

“Well I wouldn’t have felt that way if you made me feel like I was actually worth something in your life.”

“Oh like how you made me feel like I was controlling and toxic? That I was possessive, and jealous all while you were flirting with a stranger in my face!”

You both fell silent again.

“I don’t know what I was thinking..” You said softly.

“Yeah, and I don’t know what I was thinking by bringing you here.”

Elias got up, and walked around the bench towards his motorcycle.

“So you’re just gonna walk off like last time? Leaving things unresolved so that in a couple days you can show up and we can argue again?”

“Get on the bike. I’m taking you home.” Elias had lowered his voice. He was done arguing.

You got up, frustrated.

“And leave again? Where will you run off to? To sleep with your side-piece?”

Elias stopped, putting his helmet down, and stepping closer to you.

“I’m not the one who flirted with someone else.”

You didn’t say anything.

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t worried about you.”

You said in a mutter, not even sure if you wanted Elias to hear you.

It didn’t matter anyway, you didn’t get a response.

The bike ride was different than before. Earlier, you had wrapped your arms around his waist and hoped you two could work things out for the better. Now, you wrapped your arms around his waist and felt nothing but empty.

When Elias pulled up outside your apartment building, you went straight in, not saying a word to Elias.

“What are you doing?”

You asked as you noticed him on the stairs behind you.

“I’m making sure you get in alright.” He replied.

“I didn’t know you still cared.”

“I never said I didn’t care.”

“But you made me feel that way.”

Elias sighed heavily, a pang of emotion hitting him. It was the little arguments that hurt the most.

And the truth is, he knew you were right. He had been so absorbed in everything else that he put his relationship with you on fucking standby.

“Fine then.”

He turned around, walking back out the building. You made it clear you didn’t want him there. That was all he needed to leave.

He pulled his helmet back on and revved the engine.

He almost didn’t hear your scream.

note: i promise i really tried to make it fluffy and romantic and make them work it out but it’s just not in me guys >.<

#zsakuva #sakuverse #elias x reader #zsakuva elias #yes part 3 is on its way #thank you my loves for being so patient #sorry about the cliffhanger lol

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rikosseen · 24 days ago

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Triplet Eugene x Reader: Irreparable damage

Platonic | Anon ask | Slight angst

Ryuhei is agitated at the Chairman's demand. They were so close to catching Gun, yet the priority was securing the health of Eugene’s closest subordinates; you, Mandeok, and Yuseong.

“I’ll handle the rest. So please Ryuhei.”

The blonde ends the call, sighing with aggravation as he hits the killswitch on his bike. He sits on the wet asphalt before calling for a clean up and medical crew. While bitterness pricks his skin to listen to the Chairman, Ryuhei couldn’t help but feel pity towards the 3 unconscious bodies lying beside him. Couldn’t help to feel pitiful at the graveness in Eugene’s tone of voice when he desperately asked to bring the three of you back safely.

Manager Kim glances at the Chairman through the rearview mirror of the car. The boy’s head hung low, and his fingers were vigorously shaking. At times like this, it’s easy to forget that Eugene isn’t some evil mastermind, but instead, a vulnerable, young teen who doesn’t want to lose those important to him. Manager Kim can see the boy muffling his cries at the back, and tries to mouth words of reassurance to him. However, none of them get through to Eugene. His head swirls with images of broken body parts, open wounds, and perhaps a soon to be dead body. The last thought makes his breath hitch, and the young Chairman tries to direct the energy from his pent up worry to taking down Gun and Charles Choi. The quicker he does so, the sooner he can check up on you three. But is it truly worth it? Just how badly hurt is everyone?

The air is thick, with the scent of rusting iron circling it.

“I told you.”

Yuseong quietly fiddles with his cap, crouching beside Eugene to look at your battered body. He leans into your arm, trying to seek physical reassurance. Reassurance you can’t give.

“I told you this would happen,” Eugene continues, gripping his hair. His voice laces anger, and it cracks. He wasn’t mad at you, of course. How could he ever be? You were just as precious to him as Yuseong and Mandeok were. Rather, he was infuriated with himself for letting things turn out how they did. Mandeok lay on the bed beside you, breathing irregularly. His eyes slowly open, but for the meantime, he doesn’t want to make his consciousness known to Eugene so as to not make him worry even more.

They all stare blankly at you, scanning the several twisted limbs and cuts that Gun had induced. Bits of flesh stick out, and there’s puss build up everywhere. Your face is all swollen, unrecognisable. The sight makes their throats constrict. Gun Park.

Mandeok clenches his eyes tight, silently apologising for not protecting you when you were right there, just barely out of reach. Maybe if he’d been faster- Maybe if he had tried harder-

“I’m sorry,” Mandeok tries to sit up, but winces as pain courses throughout his body. Eugene’s attention turns to him, but the chairman can do nothing except shake his head.

He didn't want to cry in front of Yuseong. He didn’t want his brother to feel as if you wouldn’t ever wake up again. No. You’re just resting. That’s right.

So please. Please, please, please.

Please open your eyes.

I won’t be so foolish as to put you in danger ever again.

Eugene grabs hold of one of your hands, and uses the back of it to cover his face. They’re so cold. As if no life possessed your body anymore.

He silently mutters into them, hoping, praying that you’d miraculously be all better. However, Jinyoung already warned that your recovery would be a long and lengthy one. That even after treatment, the damage Gun Park had done would permanently scar and cause a hindrance to even the most minute of tasks to you.

Please, a miracle. Please, I'll do good from now on. Just please.

Tears stream down your hand, and Eugene suppresses his cries once more, turning around so Yuseong doesn’t see him.

“I’ll fix you, no matter what it takes. I’ll make sure you recover. We can’t live in this dream without you. I can’t”

#Eugene x Reader #lookism #lookism x Reader #platonic #platonic x reader #Yuseong #Mandeok

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wishesunderthestars · 1 year ago

Text

Eunoia // Ch. 25

eunoia (noun): beautiful thinking, the possession of a well-balanced mind, which exhibits goodwill and kindness

Pairings: Hybrid! BTS x reader

Summary: You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job.You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognision, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness isn’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut

Word Count: 9.2k+

Warnings: past abuse, past sexual abuse, cursing, past violence, mentions of blood, panic attacks

Masterlist

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Trained in waking up early and pulling all-nighters because of filming, you were used to witnessing the sun rise. Usually, you didn’t pay it much attention. The sun rose every day and you had other more important things to do than watch it go through the same motions. You were rushing to leave, making coffee and answering texts on your phone or you were too tired to do anything other than go straight to bed and close the blinds.

You had forgotten how beautiful it was, how the quiet of the early morning glowed in soft orange. Only you and Seokjin were awake, snuggled up on the large white couch on the balcony on the main floor. Your feet were laying on his lap and his arm was wrapped around your waist.

You had woken up early, fading images of the red ballroom and empty eyes haunted your sleep as much as you tried to bury them during the day. Thankfully, Jimin hadn’t been there when you had woken up, drenched in sweat and grasping wildly at the sheets to remind yourself that you were at the Castle. That it had been more than a week since you had been in that ballroom.

It would go away. It had to. It was over. Nothing happened to you. You would get over it.

You got up, stretched your sore muscles from all the walking the previous day and put on some music to take your mind off the long green dress and paddle numbers, and started your day. No one else was supposed to be awake so early in the morning but when you went to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee, Seokjin was already there, mixing pancake batter with a large wooden spoon.

Putting your arms around him, you had watched him work until he sent you away, claiming that you were distracting him. It wasn’t your fault that his neck looked in desperate need of kissing and that your mouth had trailed downwards subconsciously. Since you weren’t wanted in the kitchen, you went outside to the balcony to savor the sharp air before the sun appeared on the horizon.

Seokjin joined you soon with two cups of coffee. “It feels like a mug of hot coffee would be more appropriate, but the weather’s too hot,” you had joked.

He had made your favorite iced coffee in the way too-expensive coffee machine you had purchased when you first got the house. Another one of your impulsive purchases. But it was worth it. It made some of the best coffee you had ever tasted. The only coffee above that was made by a small coffee shop nestled in a quiet alleyway in Paris. The perfect amount of milk and sugar, not too sweet and not too bitter.

You were both a little tired from your little trip to the lake. A sweet kind of pull in your chest, not easily noticeable. You had returned as the sky grew darker and had ordered takeout for dinner, which you enjoyed spread around the garden. Surprisingly, almost everything in the baskets had been devoured during your time at the lake. Alice had been reluctant to leave but you had promised her that she was welcome to visit you again soon. She had hugged each of you tightly—even Yoongi, who didn’t seem to mind at all—and promised that she would be back to play more.

“She’s a little hurricane,” Seokjin said. He was glowing with the sunrise stroking his face. “She reminds me of you a little. Was that what you were like when you were little?”

“I was never that cute,” you joked. Your aunt would argue but while Alice was a hurricane, sweeping up everyone in her way and winning them over, you had been a nightmare, difficult to handle, not listening to anyone, and independent to a fault. “Or that social. I would like to believe that I contributed a little to the shaping of her personality but honestly, her parents are both amazing. They raised her really well and she was already incredible to begin with. She will become a much better person than me.”

He looked down at your legs resting on his lap. “That will be hard. You are probably the best person I know.” He shrugged as if what he said didn’t matter, as if it didn’t make flowers bloom in your chest.

You caressed his cheek, prompting him to look at you. “That might be a little worrying but thank you. You are one of the best people I know too. Shhhh,” you quieted down his protests. “If you can say that about me, I can say that about you.”

“I haven’t done anything special. Nothing like you. You-”

“Stop that.” You laid two fingers on his lips and he obediently stilled them under your touch. “First, you don’t have to do anything special. Who defines special either way? Some of the kindest, most loyal, amazing people I know show these qualities in small ways, that doesn’t make them any less special. Second, who says you didn’t do anything special? Who was there for Jungkook when he distanced himself from everyone else? Who cooks for us every day and takes care of us? Who is always trying to cheer us up when someone is feeling down? Who-?”

“Enough, enough,” he interrupted you, shaking his head. His human ear and cheeks were stark red at all the praise. “I know I’m amazing, that’s enough.”

You laughed and captured his lips in a kiss. Warmth, more comforting than what the sun could provide, filled your insides as you tangled your fingers in his soft hair. He opened his lips for you and you slowly explored the inside of his mouth. You had always enjoyed kissing but nothing compared to the kisses you had shared with your hybrids the past few months.

Lazy mornings were rare for you. There was always one reason or another to be running around the house in a hurry to leave or lock yourself in your office. You were hostage to an endless need to always be productive. That’s what mornings were for. Maybe you had been completely wrong because this one was one of the best mornings you had ever experienced.

Seokjin heard the footsteps on the stairs before you did, turning his head around to watch Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon climb up. You called for them and Jungkook and Jimin ran to you, squeezing themselves between you. Namjoon followed laughing and sat down next to Seokjin, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

Hoseok, Yoongi, and Taehyung appeared soon and Seokjin left to go plate the breakfast and bring it to the balcony. You didn’t eat on the balcony often, mostly because of the low table that made it a little uncomfortable, but no one wanted to move. Jungkook and Namjoon went with Seokjin inside to help but when you moved to do the same, Jimin wrapped his arms around your waist tightly and wouldn’t let you go.

“No, you are staying with me!” he exclaimed and proceeded to bury his face in your belly, purring.

Hoseok looked at you in amusement and you shrugged your shoulders, used to Jimin’s antics by now. The three of them took one of the other two couches while the five of you remained squeezed in one. Yoongi looked adorably rumpled from sleep, messy hair and heavy eyes, the stark opposite of Hoseok, who was wide awake and energetic as usual. Taehyung wasn’t the statue he was the first few days but he remained perfectly kept and quiet.

You filled your plate with three pancakes and your favorite toppings and dug in. The conversation returned to your trip to the lake.

“When can we go again?” Jungkook asked, chewing his pancakes with passion.

You cut another piece of your pancakes. “You can go whenever you want, it isn’t that far from the house.”

He pouted. “I meant all of us together.”

“That’s… a little harder,” you said. “I’m back at work next week and I have a full schedule. You can go together though. John and Alice could join you even if I’m not there.”

Jungkook’s bottom lip stuck out even further. “It isn’t the same without you.”

“If there is a day I finish work early, I might join you.” You could barely drag your feet back home most days after work and the trek to the lake would feel like hell, but you would try for them.

Namjoon seemed to know exactly what you were thinking. “You are too tired after work for that. After working for so many hours we can’t expect you to trek down to the lake. You come back after the sun has set or just as it’s setting, it would be exhausting for you to walk for half an hour down to the lake in the dark and then in an hour or so walk back again.”

You wanted to protest but you knew he was right. Although your work wasn’t physically demanding, you spent long hours on your feet, instructing the actors and the crew and checking in with different departments. By the time you were home even dragging your feet to the garden for dinner was a struggle.

You reached for Jungkook’s hand, rubbing your thumb in circles to soothe him. “We’ll figure something out, yeah? If I take a day off–When I take a day off,” you corrected yourself, “we can do something fun. We could go to the lake or we could do something else. Los Angeles is full of places to visit and activities to try.”

Jungkook seemed to think about it for a few seconds before perking up and asking if you could visit a gallery he had seen on the internet. You were quick to agree as Jimin joined as well, asking you about all the places he wanted to visit. You had told them before that they were free to go out without you anywhere they liked, you had printed their papers just in case so they could have them in case the Hybrid Services asked any questions, but they had yet to step further than the Castle grounds and the forest alone. John could also accompany them but no one had taken you up to your offer.

As you were finishing breakfast your phone started ringing. One of the producers of Six of Crows was calling.

“Sorry, I have to take this one,” you said, answering the call.

You ended up having to go down to your office to look up some files on your computer. As the premiere date approached, you would be getting more calls like this. Post-production was finished by now and the movie was nearly ready to be shown on the big screen but there were still a few tiny details that needed fine-tuning.

Ending the call, you checked your emails since you were already in front of your computer. You would probably go to the studios later in the day to speak with a few members of your team on the Raven Cycle project. You wouldn’t stay long but it meant that you had to schedule your day around it. Your break hadn’t ended yet you were already overwhelmed with work. Your to-do list stretched on and on, seemingly endless.

Your back and neck were getting stiff because of all the sitting and lounging around. You should start doing some exercises again. During your break, you had only been to the gym once and it was only two floors down. You should get back into the habit but you were great at finding excuses not to go. You were too busy, too tired, too preoccupied.

There was a knock on the door. You looked at the time at the bottom right corner of your computer screen and realized it was four hours later.

“Come in,” you called. You rolled your neck and heard the little pops. You desperately needed some exercise. And a massage. And an improved posture probably.

Hoseok opened the door with his elbow as he carried a tray inside your office. “I come bearing gifts,” he said with a wide heart-shaped smile. It was like the room instantly brightened. If the sun was personified, it would be Hoseok.

“What have you brought me?” you asked, making space on your desk for the tray. You had to look through some of your old files and they covered most of the surface. You stacked them into piles quickly, to be organized properly at a later time.

“Jin made fruit salad and we have some leftover muffins from yesterday. Jungkook made the juice, it’s banana and cherry!”

The fruit salad was a mix of mango, strawberries, watermelon, blackberries, peaches, and berries. A vanilla muffin was next to it and a tall glass of juice. “Everything looks delicious. Thank you.”

You moved to grab the fork and winced when you pulled on your stiff muscles. Hoseok’s smile faded. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry,” you were quick to say. “I’ve just been sitting in this chair a lot these past few days and my back is complaining. Really, that’s on me.”

“I…” He hesitated for a moment. “I could give you a massage if you’d like. I’m not a professional but I… I used to give massages to my past owner often. He was an idol so he danced and performed a lot and I had learned from masseurs how to do it. I could do that for you if you liked.”

“You don’t have to. It’s just a stiff back, it’ll go away when I stop sitting all day.”

A massage sounded like heaven at that moment but you could do without it. Giving massages could be tiring and Hoseok didn’t have to do that just because you had bad posture and had stopped going regularly to the gym. If you really needed it, you could pay a masseur to come to your house. It seemed silly so you never did, but you could.

“I want to,” he said eagerly, his tail standing at attention. “I can make you feel better, I promise. If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

You searched his face for any sign that he didn’t actually want to do it but you found nothing. “Okay, then. I would love a massage right now.”

“Yay! I will do my best,” Hoseok promised. “Let’s attack those muscle knots! Gently of course.” You giggled as he came to stand behind you. He pretended to crack his fingers before settling them on your shoulders. You were wearing a shirt with spaghetti straps and his hands were warm on your bare skin, which buzzed in anticipation. “Lean forward a little. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

He dug his fingers on either side of your neck and you had to bite your lip to stop a very embarrassing sound from slipping out. It sent a current through your whole body like you went numb to everything except the feeling of his hands on you. He kneaded your muscles, progressively adding more pressure. You closed your eyes, your body relaxing, losing some of the tension.

“That feels good,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I told you.” You could hear the satisfied smile on his face even though you kept your eyes closed.

One by one, your strings unraveled and your body felt lighter, as if you could float away if he pulled his hands away. He worked on the knots on the back of your neck and around it before he moved on to your shoulders and shoulder blades. You had received massages before–you had visited spas with friends on several occasions–but this felt different. You forgot about work and all the things you had to do, all the million little things that were hanging over your head, and for a moment you let yourself relax.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

The forest was still, bracketed by the almost black of the night. There were no lights that Yoongi could see coming from inside, even though you said there were multiple holiday homes around the lake. The Castle stood alone, like a real castle guarding the forest.

Hoseok was humming along to a pop song that was playing on his phone, it was at a low volume so his humming was almost as loud as the music. It was late into the night, everyone in the house having already retreated to their rooms. Yoongi didn’t care much about the song, it was generic at best. The vocals weren’t great and the beat was the same beat that every song used this summer with a little tweaking. But Hoseok liked it so he didn’t say anything.

The fox hybrid was sprawled on his bed, his eyes half closed as he moved his head to the music. His silk nightshirt had ridden up to expose a sliver of smooth tanned skin and Yoongi’s eyes kept being drawn to it.

“Anything interesting out there?” Hoseok asked. Yoongi shrugged. “You have been standing there for half an hour. Don’t look at me like that, you have.”

He raised his eyebrows, doubting that it had been that long, but moved away from the balcony door, sitting down on his bed. “It’s the same every night.”

“And you still look every night.” Hoseok turned off the music and stretched. His shirt rode up higher.

Yoongi looked down at his hands. “It’s calming. There is something about the trees and the lake, being away from the city. It’s quiet.”

His ears picked up the soft shuffling before a weight dipped into the bed next to him. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Has it really been only five months since we’ve been here? Less than that? I can’t imagine living in the city again, too much noise.”

Yoongi had lived his whole life in cities, he was used to their noise and the way it never went away. The sound of cars and motorbikes, people talking and shouting. It was never quiet. Not the way it was out here.

He wanted to tell Hoseok that he would never have to live in the city again but he couldn’t. On one hand, your job could lead you anywhere and Yoongi had a feeling that wherever you went, they would follow you, just like Virginia. On the other hand, although some part of him insisted that this was permanent, that this life they had built here wouldn’t be taken from them, he knew that the world wasn’t so kind. Sometimes, he stayed up at night thinking about it while Hoseok dreamed. He gazed at the forest to remind himself that they were still here, in this small paradise on earth, and then contemplated all the ways this could end. His mind wasn’t kind to him on those nights.

“Virginia was like this too,” Hoseok continued. “I miss it a little. The countryside was pretty and the house too. Almost like a fairytale. Do you think we’ll go back again?”

Hoseok’s hand was fidgeting on his thigh and Yoongi grabbed it to still it. “Maybe. She will have to film another season after this one. If this show is as successful as they say, there will be a few more seasons to come. They built sets and everything there.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Hoseok scooted closer to him and laid his head on his shoulder, their hands intertwined. “Do you think she will rent the same house? I want to go back there. It felt like home.”

Yoongi refrained from telling him that wherever he was, it felt like home. It was something someone more expressive than Yoongi would say, instead he said, “We can ask her. I don’t think she’ll mind. If it isn’t booked at the time, we could stay there again.”

“I’ll recruit Jiminie, she can’t say no to him,” he said, nuzzling closer to Yoongi’s neck, almost scenting him.

“She can’t say no to any of you.”

Hoseok hummed, his breath warming Yoongi’s skin and the scent of cinnamon tickling his lungs. “She wouldn’t say no to you either. If you ever asked her for anything.”

Yoongi didn’t know what to think about that. If he believed it. Yoongi had been trying to do better, trying to be a better person than he had been at the beginning. He would hate himself if he ever put you through what he had before. He would be making it up to you for his whole life. He wasn’t the same as the other hybrids, the same courtesy shouldn’t be extended to him.

Hoseok’s lips brushed his neck, light as a feather, and Yoongi shivered at the touch. Scenting each other wasn’t something new, they had been doing that since they escaped the ring. Before that, they would brush their wrists together through the bars of their cages, longing for the small comfort of each other’s scent. After Yoongi had disappeared, Hoseok had been touching and scenting him more as if he was afraid that he would slip through his fingers.

Some nights, Hoseok would crawl into his bed in the middle of the night and cling on to him. “Stay,” Hoseok would say. He didn’t tell him what his nightmares were about, he didn’t have to.

Yoongi vowed to himself to never leave him again. He would bite, scratch, and kick his way to him if he ever had to.

He had a lot to regret about that first month. He hadn’t only hurt you, he had hurt everyone else too. His own nightmares persisted, leaving him clutching the sheets, with his back to Hoseok, staying deadly still so he wouldn’t wake him up. So no one would know that those days still haunted him even though he wasn’t the one who had suffered.

In some of his dreams, the hybrid ring got to him before you did and punished him for escaping, before stabbing an injection in his neck and hauling him to the ring for one last fight. In others, it was Hoseok that they took and those were worse. They found him when he was looking for him and Yoongi could do nothing to stop them, voiceless with his feet rooted to the floor.

In some rare ones, he never made it out of the house. Namjoon threw him against the wall and held him there, looking more like a vengeful god than the real Namjoon. His sharp teeth gleamed viciously as he sunk them into Yoongi’s neck, breaking the skin and ripping out everything that was keeping him alive.

Hoseok pulled back, his eyes searching Yoongi’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Thinking.” Of course, Hoseok would notice his thoughts spiraling. Yoongi had mastered hiding all emotions from his face but Hoseok could see right through any masks he crafted.

“You looked a little lost there for a moment,” he said, drawing closer to him again. “You can talk to me, you know.” He spoke almost jokingly but he couldn’t hide the tendrils of hurt in his voice. “I know you like to keep some things to yourself… But I’m here for you. I would never judge you, I swear.”

Yoongi was a coward. After his talk with Jimin, he had been planning to tell him everything but he kept putting it off. It was never the right moment, it could wait.

“I know,” Yoongi said quietly, squeezing Hoseok’s hand. “I want to tell you. I think you deserve that after everything.”

Hoseok frowned. “It isn’t about what I deserve. I just want to know so I can help. So I can understand you better. Nothing you say can ever change the way I see you. Nothing. You were there for me when I thought my life was over, that everything was over. You saved me, Yoongi. I would have died in there if it hadn’t been for you. I would trust you with my life. But sometimes, when you don’t tell me things—important things—it makes me feel like you don’t trust me at all.”

Yoongi’s heart gave a terrible bang. “That isn’t true. I trust you. I trust you more than anyone. I trust you more than I trust myself. It’s just… It’s hard to tell you when I want to forget.”

“I understand,” Hoseok said, his gaze falling on their joined hands on Yoongi’s lap. “But I don’t think you can forget either way.”

“You’re right, I can’t. And I never will.” It was too big, too cruel. For worse or for better, it had changed who he was to his core. He was who he was because of what had happened to him and Jimin. He had met both Jimin and Hoseok because of that monster. “But I want you to know now.”

So he told him everything. He detached himself from his words and numbed his feelings, because he was afraid that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He started from the beginning, from his first owner to the terrible end. He couldn’t look at him as he spoke, focusing on their connected hands. Hoseok’s scent soured until Yoongi could barely recognize it. But he had to power on.

When he was finished, Hoseok shot up, wrapping his arms around him impossibly hard and buried his face in Yoongi’s neck. There was wetness brushing against his throat and Yoongi only hugged him tighter.

“I’m sorry.” Hoseok’s voice was breaking and Yoongi hated that he was the cause for it, even though it was better this way. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” He brought his wrist to Hoseok’s neck, gently scenting him. They both needed it. “You saved me too. You saved me, Hobi.”

And sleep claimed them like that, wrapped up in each other with dried tears on their cheeks.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

Taehyung lay still in his bed, not making a sound. Phantom pains spread over his body, squeezing and squeezing until nothing was left of him. His head was loud but the sounds were muffled as if he was submerged underwater.

The room was illuminated by the soft light from the lamp next to his bed. He left it on every night. It was the same pattern, his nightmares not allowing him to rest more than a few hours at a time. There were new ones now. Ones of the red ballroom, the people in the chairs turning into monsters and dragging their claws all over his skin. You stood among them in your green dress, watching as it happened, your face empty.

Taehyung opened his eyes. He could see the forest from his room. He had never been to a forest before coming to the Castle, had never even seen one. It was majestic, the dark greens and browns, the way the branches reached towards the sky. Upwards and upwards.

He closed his eyes again. His tears had long dried when sleep swept him away again.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

Your heartbeat rattled your chest as if being chased by an invisible force with no escape. You swallowed down the bitterness in your mouth and willed the sharp images of your nightmare away. They were so clear, the red curtains and the shiny floors. The taste of the expensive champagne and the hors d’ oeuvre on your tongue. Long dresses swayed at your vision's edge, silk, velvet, and satin. Steady hands held guns aimed at you, they went off with a terrible scream. You woke up.

You were awake. You were in your room in the Castle. You were safe.

You tried to calm down your erratic breathing. Jimin was sleeping next to you and the last thing you wanted was to wake him up in the middle of the night and worry him. Clenching your teeth, you silently counted each breath. Were your hands shaking? They felt like they were shaking.

One, two, three.

Slower. Try slower.

Did your hands stop shaking? You gripped the fabric of your nightgown.

One, two–

A sleepy voice calling your name disturbed the murky waters of your mind. “Are you okay?”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. It was over. You were in Los Angeles. You were fine. Nothing had happened to you, no one had questioned you. You had gotten out. You were fine.

“Did I wake you up?” you asked. Your voice sounded weak even to your ears.

You heard the sheets rustle as Jimin moved closer. “Can I hug you?”

In the darkness of the room, you couldn’t see him well, only the shape of his body. “You don’t have to ask.”

“You are shaking.”

Were you? So it wasn’t just your hands. Another deep breath. Force your muscles to relax like the pieces of a machine.

“I am okay now, don’t worry. Come here.” You opened your arms and Jimin crawled into them, hugging your waist and laying his head on your collarbones. “Go back to sleep, kitten.”

Jimin shook his head. “Not if you don’t. What happened?”

“Just a bad dream, it was nothing.” The lies tasted bitter on your tongue. Were they lies though? It should be nothing, it shouldn’t be haunting you like that. Nothing had happened to you, you reminded yourself as if you repeated it enough times maybe the nightmares would go away. “I just need a few minutes to forget it.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Maybe that could be better than forgetting,” Jimin said.

But forgetting was the goal. Or at least getting rid of the nightmares that shouldn’t still be happening. It was over and you were okay. You were okay. There was no reason to worry Jimin, not when you weren’t the one who had suffered. You got dressed up, drank some champagne and made small talk. It wasn’t the end of the world.

“You don’t have to worry about this, it’ll go away on its own.” You run a hand up his back to comfort him. “My brain is just playing tricks on me.”

Jimin’s hand sought out your own and intertwined your fingers. He was quiet for a few moments before speaking, “Is this about the auction?”

You stilled. He couldn’t have known. You hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. And what right did you have to complain about it? You composed yourself. “How did you guess?”

“You have been… different since you came back. You have been lost in your head. I know you are tired and it’s hard with Taehyung now but you can talk to us if you want to. It must have been really scary.” He drew closer to you, gripping your hand tighter.

“I wasn’t alone. I had John there with me.”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t scary,” he whispered. “We were scared for you. We thought– We trusted you but we were scared.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair and rubbed behind his cat ears which you knew would relax him. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay. Taehyung is here now.”

Regardless of how many nightmares you had and the tightening in your chest whenever you saw the color of blood. Regardless of the constant fear of being discovered that would never go away. You could never regret what you had done. Not for a moment. Just thinking of Taehyung in that man’s hands evaporated any doubts you had about your decision.

Jimin nosed softly at your collarbones. “We love you. It’s okay to be scared, you can share it with us. You can share it with me.”

“I’m not scared,” you said. It didn’t matter that it sounded like you were lying to yourself. “It’s over. It’s been more than a week since it happened. I’m the last person who should be having nightmares over it.”

“Why are you saying that? It must have been terrifying.”

You took a deep breath, the red bleeding into the darkness. “It was easy to blend in. It was like so many of the parties and galas I have attended. I was the guest of honor, no one suspected anything. I wasn’t the one–”

You cut yourself off before you uttered the words but both of you knew. Silence fell between you. You wished you could fall asleep again but sleep was so far away.

“Do you feel guilty?” he asked quietly.

“For what?” You were confused. Why would you feel guilty? You had done your best, probably more than anyone in their right mind would do.

Jimin gave a small shrug, bringing your joined hands to your chest. “You just sounded like it. Like you felt guilty for having nightmares about it. You don’t have to be. You are here and you are okay but– But you could have not been.” There was fear in his voice and it hurt.

You held him closer and squeezed his hand. You were there now and you wouldn’t be going anywhere. His breath warmed your bare skin. You weren’t alone anymore, you had seven people to think about when you made decisions. You had a home and you would fight to get back to it every time.

“Let’s go to sleep, kitten. We’ll dream better together.”

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

After your short break, your return to work was uneventful. A few more days would have been nice but time was moving fast and there were a lot of things to do. On your first day back, before you had left the house Jimin and Jungkook got teary-eyed saying goodbye to you. Going back to work was hard for you too after being used to staying at home with them, but you would fall into your usual routine soon enough.

Your work was a big part of who you were, returning to the studios was like returning home in a way. The cast and the crew greeted you warmly with hugs and pats on the back. Will handed you a pack of papers and you made your way together to the reading room. You would be doing a few read-throughs to get the actors familiar with the characters again and work through a few knots in the script.

It was the same way it had been, waking up at the crack of dawn and returning when the sun was descending in the sky. The hybrids clung to you in any way they could while you were home. At breakfast and dinner, there was always someone touching you, Jimin sitting on your lap or Namjoon holding your hand or Jungkook hugging you from behind. They missed you and you missed them too but there was little you could do.

In the quiet of the night when most of the hybrids had retired, you asked Hoseok how Taehyung was adjusting. The answer was always the same. Hopeful but disappointing as well—guilt ate at you for feeling disappointed when you knew Taehyung was doing his best.

The story of the Raven Boys unraveled during the days and the nights. Your copy of the script was overflowing with red ink, underlined lines, and writing in the margins. It was shaping up to become everything you had envisioned and more. And you were happy. But you also missed spending more than a few hours at the Castle.

You could invite them to join you for filming and spend a little more time with them. However, you had a one-track mind while you were working and you couldn’t provide the attention they deserved. Often, you got too lost in your work. You could feel it now, clouding your mind and blending the days into a string of numbered scenes and takes.

It was a blessing that one week into filming, you finished early, just a couple of hours after lunch, and instead of staying and obsessing over the smallest details like you were prone to doing, you packed your backpack and returned home. John drove you back with instructions to relax and not think about work until the next morning. You didn’t mind listening to him.

“I’m home,” you shouted after opening the door. Due to their sensitive hearing any hybrid on the top two floors would hear the door opening, you liked to let them know it was you so they wouldn’t worry. You had wanted to surprise them so you hadn’t texted that you were coming back.

Jimin and Hoseok were the first ones to rush to the living room. Jimin fell into your arms with practiced ease and buried his face in your neck.

“Surprise,” you said, ruffling his blond hair.

He purred in contentment. Hoseok also joined the hug, his fluffy tail wrapping around your legs.

“Are you staying?” Jimin asked, his eyes shining with hope.

“I am. We finished early today so I’m all yours for the rest of the day.”

Jimin cheered and held onto your hand, following you into the kitchen where you poured yourself a glass of homemade lemonade from the fridge. A book and a few notebooks were spread over the kitchen island and you took a closer look at them. You recognized the textbook as one you had bought a few years ago during your first visit to Seoul for the press tour of one of your Oscar-winning films. You had read through the first few pages on the plane back to LA and when you had arrived you had placed it on the shelf that housed all your language-learning books and never picked it up again.

“Are you learning Korean?” you asked Jimin, scanning the awkward handwritten Korean letters in the pages of the notebook.

Flustered, Jimin didn’t look at you as he replied, “Hoseok is helping me. I thought I could communicate better with Taehyung if I knew a bit of Korean but it’s really hard.”

“He’s doing really well though,” Hoseok interjected with pride. “He is getting good at reading Hangul and he knows a few basic phrases too. He is learning very quickly.”

Jimin shrugged, his cheeks getting adorably rosy. “I have a great teacher.”

Hoseok cooed at the younger hybrid while you flipped through the pages of the textbook. You recognized your handwriting on the first few, you had written down a few questions you had so you could look them up later, which didn’t happen. Now, the answers were written underneath your questions in blue ink. The next pages were marked in both Jimin’s and Hoseok’s handwriting, there were notes in the margins and between lines and little doodles of flowers and butterflies.

Footsteps climbing up the stairs prompted you to let go of the notebook. Jungkook came running through the kitchen door and threw himself at you, nuzzling into your neck. You planted your feet on the ground and caught him just in time before you both went flying back.

“You’re back,” he whispered. He was bouncing on his feet, his excitement contagious.

“We finished early so I packed everything up and rushed back,” you said. “Has it been that long since I was back at a normal hour?”

Jungkook nodded resolutely and you couldn’t help but giggle. The truth was that it was the first time you were finishing early since filming had started again. The first week back was the busiest since you had to review everything, redraw most of the plans, check in with every department, and generally when you weren’t actively filming you spent them running around the studios like a headless chicken.

You should get a day off as soon as you could. For a workaholic, you missed being at home with them too much.

Namjoon and Seokjin were the next ones to appear at the kitchen door. Jungkook still hadn’t let go of you so they were content to leave twin kisses on your cheeks while teasing the bunny hybrid.

“Is Yoongi with Taehyung?” you asked, noting the absence of the two hybrids.

“They are in the garden,” Namjoon said, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Yoongi has been lounging in the sunlight since we finished lunch.”

“He’s starting to gain some color, he looks less like a ghost these days,” Seokjin joked. “Sometimes I think he is more cat than Jimin is.”

You laughed with them before your attention was drawn back to the textbook. It was hard learning a new language, you knew that very well. It could take years to reach a decent level depending on your dedication and the language itself. You remembered Alice suggesting you should learn Korean to communicate better with Taehyung. Jimin was doing just that without anyone asking him to and by the handwriting on a good chunk of the textbook, he had been doing it for some time.

Namjoon also took an interest in the textbook but he already seemed to know that Jimin had been studying the language.

“I would like to learn to,” he said. “I didn’t have to chance to learn another language in the past and it would be beneficial if we could communicate with Taehyung in his mother tongue. Maybe it would get him to open up more.”

Seokjin nodded. “I think it’s a good idea. I would like to learn a bit of Korean too.”

“I could teach you a few things,” Hoseok offered. “But I’m not a teacher, I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. I can teach you a few words or phrases but”, he glanced at Jimin with a guilty look, “we are having some trouble with grammar.”

“That makes sense,” you reassured him. “It is very different speaking a language, especially when it’s your mother tongue, and teaching it to someone else. That’s why there are university courses for it. It’s a difficult job. But if you really want to learn Korean, I could find you a teacher who specializes in it. That way Hobi would have less on his plate as well.”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “Really? Can you do that?”

“Of course, I can,” you said. “I can find the best Korean teacher in Los Angeles and I can ask them to come here so you won’t have to go to the city. I’ll have to provide transportation of course. How does that sound?”

“Amazing,” Jimin cheered and hugged you again. “Thank you, thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

The least because you couldn’t do the same. You didn’t have the time or the energy to learn another language when most of your day was taken up by your work. During the days you were at the studios and at nights often you had to retire to your office to answer emails and revise scripts before going to sleep. The best you could manage would be to learn a few basic phrases but that wouldn’t be helping anyone.

The arrangements for the teacher were easy. You didn’t have to look long on the internet and after a few calls you had found the perfect candidate who was more than happy to make the trip to the Castle three times a week and stay for three hours to teach the hybrids. You added a very generous bonus for her trouble.

Before finalizing the contract, you talked with Hoseok about an idea you had.

“She could help Taehyung with his English as well. A couple of hours a week could help a lot,” you suggested.

Hoseok was on washing duty after dinner and Taehyung had gone to his room for the night so it was the perfect opportunity to talk to him about this.

“It’s a great idea, if he wants to. I do my best but… I don’t think I’m helping on this,” Hoseok said, scrubbing a plate with the sponge. Foam was everywhere.

You rubbed his arm soothingly. “You’re doing amazing. Much better than I could have hoped for. But I know it’s hard for you and I wish there was a way to help you. I’m sorry I can’t do much.”

Hoseok shrugged, bubbles rising above the dishes. “You are doing the best you can, given the situation. You have already done more than anyone would have expected of you.”

Laughter floated in from the living room. You smiled through your exhaustion.

“Ask Taehyung about the teacher, okay? And tell him it’s your idea, not mine. I don’t want him to accept because I am the one asking.”

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

Jimin ran down the stairs, laughing wildly. Energy coursed through his veins and urgency pushed his legs to run faster and faster. He felt like a nymph in Land of the Gods, running through their trees, their hair flowing like an enchantment and laughing and laughing. He didn’t look at his pursuer, he knew who he was and it only filled him with delight.

The rooms blurred as he passed by, never losing his footing. He emerged in the garden and the sun kissed his skin, the fire inside him burning hotter in the heat. The green stretched around him and for a moment, he got the crazy desire to go into the forest and get lost there, underneath the shade of the tall trees. He wanted to dance and drink and eat juicy fruits between the trees like the fae in the stories you told them yesterday night.

Maybe one day.

Instead, he rushed to the stairs that led down to their room. The footsteps behind him were getting closer and he pushed himself to go faster, flying down the stairs.

There was nowhere else to go now and he paused in front of their bed. It was enough time for two hands to wrap around his waist and tackle him on the mattress. He resisted a little, just for show, before wrapping his own arms around broad shoulders and laughing some more. He felt like a child, in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

“You can’t escape from me,” Jungkook said, hovering above him.

“I didn’t try,” Jimin replied, running his hands over his shoulders and up the sides of his neck. “Bunnies are supposed to be fast, aren’t they? But you only caught me when I had nowhere else to go.”

Jungkook leaned into his touch. “I would have caught you anyway. You couldn’t run forever. Now you’re mine.”

He lowered himself until their bodies were merged together. He sniffed at Jimin’s neck, taking in his scent like he had done so many times, before rubbing his nose and his cheek over his scent gland. Jimin couldn’t stop the purrs that escaped him as his body melted. His hands tangled in Jungkook’s hair, who made an appreciative sound.

The scent of pears and gardenias was everywhere, it was deliciously overwhelming. He could almost taste the sweetness and tanginess of the pears on his tongue.

He tugged on Jungkook’s hair before he could lose his mind. “My turn.”

Jungkook arched his neck back to allow Jimin to scent him. He quickly found his scent gland and buried his face there. He closed his eyes and a garden bloomed behind his eyelids.

Jungkook’s scent was so sweet and it was mouth-watering combined with the pack’s scents. He could smell his own scent there and Namjoon’s scent of summer rain and pine trees was enveloping everything. The aroma of honey buns and sweet milk glazed over them like sugar and notes of cinnamon and sandalwood pushed through. If he looked for it, he could detect your scent, naturally fainter than hybrids’. Greedily, he searched for two more scents but he could only get the impression of dark chocolate. He might have imagined it.

“I’m happy,” Jmin whispered like it was a secret. There was the irrational fear that if he said it any louder, he would tempt fate to take it back.

“I’m happy too,” Jungkook said, laying his head on Jimin’s chest.

Jimin tangled his hands in his hair and massaged his scalp, he was rewarded with a pleased sigh. “It’s like everything has finally fallen into place. I’m not sad anymore. I didn’t realize how sad I was until I wasn’t. Even when I was happy, I was sad too. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to.” Jungkook caught his hand in his and brought it to his mouth, placing kisses on the back of it. Jimin’s heart fluttered with the wings of thousands of butterflies. “All that matters to me is that you aren’t anymore. I only want you to be happy. I know it isn’t possible to be happy all the time but I want us all to be happy. Together and happy.”

“Together and happy,” Jimin repeated quietly.

Every time he was was with Jungkook like that, his mind strayed. It went to all the possibilities, all the could-have-beens and the what-ifs. What would have happened if Jimin wasn’t a coward, if he hadn’t run away? If he had told you what had happened before, would he have been braver? Did Jungkook feel the same after everything that happened? Did he still want to kiss him?

His bunny was so beautiful, his soft dark brown ears that flopped against his hair, his cute nose and large eyes that held the galaxy inside them. Everything about him was beautiful and Jimin loved him so much he could burst. He wasn’t sure if it was right to love him like this, to want to kiss him and hold him like lovers did but he trusted you when you said that it was okay.

Lost in his thoughts, he tugged lightly on Jungkook’s hair, who let out a sound that lit a fire inside him. It was a moan, Jungkook had moaned.

His cheeks growing red, he looked at Jimin like a deer caught in headlines. “I’m sorry! I didn’t- I shouldn’t-”

“Jungkookie, it’s okay.”

“No, no. I’m sorry,” he continued quickly. “I don’t know why I did that. I’m-”

“Jungkook,” Jimin said more firmly. “It’s okay. Really. I didn’t mind. You… sounded good.”

“Good?” Jungkook asked confused. And his eyes, how could his eyes hold so many stars inside them?

Slowly, Jimin tugged at his hair again. “Yeah, good. I liked it.”

“Oh.”

They looked at each other and the world faded around them. There was only them, them and the heat brewing between them.

“Do you-” Jimin looked away. He couldn’t just ask him like that. But what else could he say? “I love you, I love you so much. I never want you to forget. Anything that may happen, I’ll still love you.”

“I love you too, you know I do. You are my Jiminie. I would do anything for you.” He bit his bottom lip and Jimin wished he was the one doing it instead. “Did something happen?”

“No, I just wanted you to know,” he said, cupping Jungkook’s face. His skin was the highest quality of silk and satin under his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so difficult, so… scarred.”

Jungkook’s hand covered his and his gaze was unyielding, it didn’t allow him to look away. “Never apologize for that. Never. You aren’t difficult, you are incredible. You are strong, stronger than I could ever hope to be. Your scars don’t define you. I met you with your scars and I love you with them all the same. I don’t care if I have to be a little more careful or if I have to hold you a little closer sometimes. Just being close to you is all I need.”

There was a stinging behind Jimin’s eyes. “My baby,” he said like a prayer. An invisible thread pulled him closer to Jungkook until only a breath separated them. “Can I kiss you?”

“Kiss me?”

Jimin hated the doubt and the fear in his voice, he grieved that he had been the one to put it there. “I want to, I promise. It’s okay, I talked with Y/N. I’ve been so stupid. I want to kiss you so much, baby.”

“Please. Please, kiss me,” he said, voice breaking.

Their lips came together softly. There was no rush, no harshness, only love and patience. He was warm, warmer than he had ever felt. He was safe in Jungkook’s arms, hidden away in the Castle, in their home. Sweetness coated his lips. He might not deserve this, might be too broken for this but he never wanted to let go.

Two tears rolled down his cheeks. Catharsis.

Jungkook pulled back in panicked haste. “Did I hurt you? Did-”

Jimin let his tears run their course down to his neck in favor of cupping Jungkook’s face. “You could never hurt me. They’re happy tears. I’m very happy.”

The tension in Jungkook’s face eased and Jimin pulled him closer again. As he kissed him, he tasted love and freedom. He tasted of healing.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

The grand piano stood by the glass wall in the living room, polished until the black surface reflected the light like a mirror. It was a thing of beauty, a gem dipped in luxury to decorate a rich household. For Yoongi, it was so much more.

It was a few hours until you would be back home and the sun was setting behind the forest. The lights were off in the living room and it was painted in the red, gold and pink of the sunset. You would be back later than usual, the filming schedule was packed for the day and after that was done you would visit the headquarters of the production company. You had told them to eat dinner without you.

Yoongi’s fingers flew over the black and white keys. He closed his eyes and focused on the music. Each note was a bright light in the darkness behind his eyelids. It was easy to get lost in the music, in the feelings it evoked and in the pictures it weaved.

He heard it when Taehyung arrived. He didn’t speak, gave him space to go away if he wanted or simply listen in silence. The melody grew more tender.

Taehyung didn’t go away, he drew closer. He hesitated before sitting on the bench next to him, leaving a small space between them. The song blended into the next one and the next one until the familiar stiffness spread over Yoongi’s fingers and he stopped.

Outside, the reds and golds had turned into purples and deep blues. Yoongi would have to turn on the lights soon.

“Do you want to try?” Yoongi asked when the silence stretched and Taehyung didn’t seem to find the words he was looking for.

Taehyung looked at the piano in quiet wonder. “Can I?”

He was so young and it made Yoongi furious that some bastards had carved the innocence and joy out of him. He wanted to find the monsters who had done this to him and tear them apart limb by limb.

His long fingers hovered over the keys. “How?”

“Just do whatever feels right.”

Taehyung pressed the keys one by one at first, the faint lines of a smile appearing on his face at every new sound. Progressively he got braver, pressing keys together and creating disjointed melodies.

“Together?” Taehyung asked shyly.

Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Please comment and reblog it motivates me to keep writing

#bts #bts x reader #bts hybrid au #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #jungkook x reader #hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #taehyung x reader #seokjin x reader #poly!bts x reader #bts poly #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bts hurt/comfort #bts angst #fluff

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