#and then there’s that flicker of a moment at the end he hears her say that she wants to be there for him like he’s always been there for he

[cameronsbabydoll]

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

WARNINGS — honestly this chapter is sorta messy and angsty. we introduce her family in this so yup! rafe and ward are icky and low key sexist. it’s sorta sad honestly

The decision isn’t sudden. Not really.

Rafe has always known you belong to him. That was never up for debate. But lately, something in him has shifted. It’s in the way you settle against him at night, how your hesitation fades a little more each time he reminds you that you’re his. It’s in the way your eyes flicker with uncertainty whenever you think about a life outside of the one he’s carved out for you.

That’s how he knows it’s time.

Marriage isn’t a question. It never has been. You were always going to be his wife—Rafe just needed to decide when.

And now, it feels inevitable.

There’s no hesitation when Rafe steps into his father’s office. He’s already made his choice, and Ward—he’ll understand.

Ward barely looks up from his paperwork, but something in the way Rafe moves—the quiet confidence, the deliberate drag of his fingers along the desk—makes him glance up.

"I’m proposing," Rafe says simply, dropping into the chair across from his father.

Ward exhales, leaning back slightly. "So, you finally decided."

No congratulations. No unnecessary sentimentality. Just a statement of fact.

Rafe smirks. "Wasn’t much of a decision. She’s already mine. The ring just makes it official."

Ward swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid shift before lifting it to his lips. "She’ll be a good wife. Sweet. Malleable."

That word again. Malleable.

Rafe lets it settle in his chest, a slow burn of satisfaction.

"She’s already playing the part," Ward continues. "I saw the way she looked at you at dinner last week. She’s starting to understand."

Rafe nods, pleased. That’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

Ward eyes him over his glass. "Have you told her yet?"

Rafe’s lips twitch. "No need."

His father smirks, shaking his head. "Just like your old man."

—

Rafe doesn’t go alone to buy the ring.

He could have. But this is a power move—staking his claim—and he wants witnesses.

So he brings two of his business partners with him, older men, men who already have wives tucked away in mansions, women who know better than to challenge them.

The high-end jewelry store is quiet when they step inside, the kind of place where you don’t browse—you buy.

A jeweler greets them with a polished smile, hands neatly folded. "Looking for something in particular, gentlemen?"

Rafe doesn’t hesitate. He gestures toward the glass case filled with massive diamonds, pristine cuts, stones meant for women who exist only to be admired.

"Biggest one you have," he says smoothly, adjusting his watch.

The jeweler chuckles, his gaze flicking between the three men. "Shopping for a proposal?"

Rafe smirks. "More like a reminder."

The man lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t ask questions. Instead, he unlocks the case and pulls out a ring—obnoxiously expensive, a diamond that catches the light in a way that demands attention.

Rafe picks it up, rolling it between his fingers. It’s perfect.

His business partner chuckles beside him, sipping the espresso a store attendant handed him the moment they walked in. "Never thought I’d see Rafe Cameron settle down."

Rafe just exhales through his nose, handing over his black card without a second thought. "Not settling," he corrects. "Just making sure she knows what she is."

The other man hums, amused. "And what’s that?"

Rafe pockets the ring box and smirks. "Mine."

After securing the ring, they head to an exclusive bar, tucked away in one of the nicest parts of town. The kind of place where the drinks don’t have prices on the menu and the waitresses wear diamonds bigger than their salaries.

They settle into a booth, the conversation easy, familiar.

Jason, who’s been married for over a decade, raises his glass. "So, when’s the big moment?"

Rafe shrugs, swirling the bourbon in his own glass. "Soon."

Patrick smirks. "She know yet?"

Rafe chuckles. "She doesn’t need to."

Jason whistles, shaking his head. "Damn. And here I thought you’d at least ask."

"Not a question," Rafe says simply, taking a sip. "She already knows she belongs to me. This just makes it official."

Patrick laughs, knocking back his drink. "Shit. Poor girl doesn’t stand a chance."

Rafe just smirks.

Because no, you don’t.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

The morning starts with a message from Rafe.

Rafe: Be ready by 10. They’ll pick you up.

Your stomach twists when you open the attached itinerary.

A dress fitting. A manicure and pedicure. A facial. A blowout.

Rafe spoils you often, but this… this feels different. This feels meticulous.

Your best friend is already waiting when you step outside, practically bouncing on her heels. "Okay, seriously—what’s the occasion?"

You force a small smile. "I don’t know. Rafe just planned it."

She frowns slightly. "He didn’t tell you why?"

You shake your head.

Her expression falters, but she doesn’t push.

And maybe that’s why you love her—because even when she notices the things you refuse to, she doesn’t push.

By the time you get home, you feel like a doll—your hair in soft waves, your nails polished to perfection, your skin practically glowing.

Rafe is waiting when you walk in, leaning against the kitchen counter, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

His eyes sweep over you, slow and possessive.

"Perfect," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

Your stomach twists.

Then he pulls something from his pocket—a small velvet box.

Your breath catches.

He flips it open, revealing the biggest diamond you’ve ever seen. It’s blinding. Overwhelming.

"Rafe—"

"You’re gonna marry me, angel," he says smoothly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stare at him, lips parting. "I—"

His smirk deepens. "That wasn’t a question."

He takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger before you can even process it. The weight of it feels final.

"You’re mine," he murmurs, bringing your hand to his lips. "Now and always."

Your heart pounds.

Because deep down, you know—

This was never a choice.

—

You don’t know how long you stand there after he kisses your hand, staring at the ring like it’s something foreign, before you excuse yourself from Rafe by saying you’re going to take a bath.

The ring feels foreign on your finger, too tight even though it fits perfectly.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing yourself.

This is supposed to be a dream come true.

Then why does it feel like something’s slipping through your fingers?

Your phone sits on the counter, the screen lighting up with familiar notifications—family group chat messages you haven’t opened in weeks, a missed call from your mom you never returned.

You hesitate.

Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you press call.

It rings twice before she picks up.

"Sweetheart!" Your mother’s voice is bright, too bright—like she’s already moved on from whatever reason she called before. "I was just thinking about you! It's been forever. Are you eating enough? Getting sleep?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. "I—yeah, Mom, I’m fine."

"Good girl." The words are automatic, like she’s talking to a child. "You know I worry when you don’t check in."

You grip the counter. "I just…" You hesitate. "Rafe proposed."

Silence.

For a second, you think the call dropped.

"Oh, honey, that’s wonderful!" she gushes. "I knew he would! He’s such a sweet boy, taking such good care of you."

Your stomach twists. "I—I don’t know if I’m ready for this."

She laughs softly, like you just told her you’re scared of the dark. "Oh, baby, don’t be silly. It’s just nerves! Every girl gets nervous before a big change."

"No, I mean—" You shake your head, frustration bubbling up. "Mom, I don’t even know if this is what I want—"

"Shh, sweetheart, don’t overthink it. You always get like this."

Like this.

Like you’re being dramatic. Like you’re just scared and not thinking clearly.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

"Mom, I just…" Your voice wavers. "I don’t know if I can do this."

"You can, baby. You just need to stop worrying so much."

You open your mouth, but she’s already moving on.

"Oh! You know who you should talk to? Your brother. He always knows what to say."

Your blood runs cold.

"Mom, no—"

"I’ll tell him to call you. He’s so good at giving advice—he's always been the level-headed one, you know that."

You know what that really means.

Your brother, the golden child. The one who always did the right thing, who never needed to be reminded how to behave, who never worried about his decisions.

Unlike you.

"Mom, please," you whisper. "I don’t need him to—"

"Oh! Even better—we’ll come visit! We can celebrate together."

The floor feels unsteady beneath you. "Mom—"

"I’ll call your father, we’ll set a date, maybe next weekend? Oh, we’ll bring champagne!"

"I don’t—"

"You should be excited, sweetheart," she interrupts, her tone patient, correcting. "This is the happiest time of your life."

The words land like a stone in your stomach.

"We’ll see you soon, baby."

The line goes dead.

And you stare at your phone.

You should’ve known better. You should’ve known that your feelings wouldn’t matter, that your uncertainty would be brushed aside like it was nothing.

Like you were nothing but a silly little girl who would fall in line eventually.

Tears well in your eyes before you can stop them.

You press your palms against the counter, sucking in a breath.

But it’s not enough.

Your shoulders shake, silent and uncontrollable.

The ring feels heavier than ever.

Before you can even wipe your tears the door creaks open.

Rafe is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you.

His gaze flicks to your phone, then to your red-rimmed eyes.

His smirk suddenly fades.

"That was your mom?"

You swallow hard, nodding.

His jaw clenches.

He already knows.

"You tell her you were happy?" His voice is low, but there’s an edge beneath it—one that makes your skin prickle.

You hesitate.

And his gaze darkens.

"You are happy, aren’t you, angel?"

His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

Your lip trembles. You want to say yes, but the lie is stuck in your throat.

His grip tightens, just a little. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you that, he’s the only one who listens.

The only one who really sees you.

Your breath shudders out.

"I—I don’t know."

His gaze flickers.

Then, slowly, his lips curl into a smirk.

"You’re just overwhelmed, angel." His voice is soft, coaxing. "They don’t get you like I do. No one does.”

Your chest tightens.

"You trust me, don’t you?"

You don’t know how to say no.

So you just nod.

His smirk deepens.

"That’s my good girl."

[underthepomegranatesdome]

In his arms

pairings: Sylus x MC

synopsis: He was her Savior. And she was the only one who could keep him from falling apart. But fate had never been kind, pulling them closer only to tear them apart.

notes: Late to the "Tomorrow's Savage" but still hope you guys enjoy the ride~

warnings: slightly contained content from Sylus’s Innocent Birdcage

tag: fluff & angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, praedator!sylus

wc: 4.545

WHENEVER SHE HEARD THE SOFT, rhythmic sound of running water from the bathroom in the early morning, she felt relieved. It meant last night was another peaceful night. There was no ambush while she was sleeping, or Sylus’s frenzy had gone. He had a habit of taking a shower every time he woke up and whenever the frenzy ended, as if scrubbing away the remnants of the beast crawling inside him.

She lay nestled in the lingering warmth of their shared bed, unwilling to open her eyes or move just yet. Memories of the past few years suddenly flickered through her mind like a film reel. Back then, she was just an orphan who lived on the streets and fought tooth and nail for her survival. No, not only her. Most people here in the Southern District had to do so. Stealing. Running. Hiding. Repeat. That was how they stayed alive.

Then she met Sylus.

There was a Praedator attack on the day they met, which was the worst thing that could happen here. Though the Northern District was no stranger to violence, this was completely different. The radioactive leak from EVER GROUP’s labs many years ago transformed many citizens in this city into “Praedator”, the monstrous, ravenous creatures who knew nothing but violence when their “frenzy” came. And they bit someone, there was no going back. No cure. No salvation. The best thing that one could do for them when they lost their mind to the frenzy was to give them a bullet right into their heart to end this miserable life forever.

She was bitten by a Praedator on that day. 

That memory haunted her sleep for many nights. Every time she closed her eyes, she found herself back on that street again. The air was filled with the stench of blood and terror. The sound of howling Praedators and screaming crowds were so vivid as if it happened right next to her. Amidst that chaos, she could still hear it, the voice of the Praedator who bit her. His voice echoed in her mind, making her flesh crawl. His nails sank into her flesh, his teeth piercing her shoulder like a sharp knife. She didn’t remember exactly how she managed to escape from him, but she could still remember the burning on her skin and the pain that shot through her veins.

You will become just like us. 

Her nightmare always ended the moment she saw Sylus tending his wounds at that abandoned pharmacy. She would wake up right then, drenched in sweat. Walking mindlessly on the cold floor with her bare foot, letting the chill seep into her skin, was one of many methods that she used to anchor herself in reality. And when those methods weren’t enough, she went to Sylus.

No matter how many times they moved, the layout of their house never changed - two bedrooms with a living room between them. And no matter how late it was, she always found him there. Sylus would sit on the couch, half-shrouded in the dim glow of the floor lamp, thoroughly maintaining his gun. His hands were always busy, assembling and disassembling the weapon at a steady pace. It must be the result of years of practice. Sylus barely slept at night. Maybe anyone who had lived on edge for years, with danger lurking around every corner, would be just like him. Old habits die hard. 

She would sit beside him with her knees drawn to her chest—just being near him made her feel at ease. He didn’t have to say a word. None of them talk during that time. Sometimes, she turned on the TV, scrolled through channels, and gradually fell asleep before noticing.  His familiar figure was enough to chase the nightmare that haunted her away.

Sylus had never turned her down, which made her bold enough to ask him to share a bed with her. In the beginning, it was only on nights when the nightmare was so overwhelming that she could not calm down, even sitting next to him.  

The first time was the hardest. After that, asking became easier, and she started asking more often. Not just on the worst nights. Not just when she couldn't differentiate between reality and her nightmare. Just because. Without either of them realizing it, sleeping beside each other had become a habit—one neither was willing to break.

His senses were incredibly sharp, even in his sleep. Hence, every time she jolted awake from a nightmare, he always knew—and he always had a way to lull her back to sleep. Sometimes, he would tell her the story of the sorceress and the dragon in the valley of Datura flowers. Other times, he would simply hold her in his arms, whispering soothing words as if they were spells.

No matter the method, it always worked. Ever since they started sleeping beside each other, the nightmares seemed to come less often.

The sound of water stopped, followed by a soft creak of the bathroom door. 

Sylus stepped out of the bathroom, steam curling around his sturdy figure. His silver hair was still damp, a few stray strands falling carelessly over his forehead. Droplets of water traced along his muscular body before disappearing beneath the tower draped loosely around his hips. 

“Haven’t you seen enough, little dove?” He smirked, ruffling his hair with another towel before tossing it onto a nearby chair.

“I was afraid that you drowned in there.” She scoffed and rolled on her back.

“Is that so? Don’t miss me too much then.” 

“I won’t.” She stretched, pushed the blanket aside, and sat up. “That’s a waste of time. Finding a new one is a better option.”

“A new one, huh?” He chuckled, repeating her words. “Very tempting, but I'm afraid you won’t have that chance. At least for now.”

Sylus walked over to her bedside, leaning down just enough to close the distance between them. Her heart pounded as if it were about to burst from her chest when their lips were almost touching. He always loved teasing her like this. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Mister, is that a threat?” She whispered.

“It's a promise, my lady.”

Before she could reply, he sealed her lips with his. Their hot breath mingled, sending a shiver down her spine. This time, there was no teasing in his kiss, only burning desire - raw and unrestrained. Slow yet demanding, his lips moved against hers, claiming her with every move. His hands slid from her waist to her back, pressing her against him, like the way the predator held his prey.

She ran her fingers through his hair, playfully teasing the damp strands. His breath brushed against her skin—hot, intoxicating. The space between them had dwindled to nothing, so close that she felt as if she could hear his heartbeat, strangely mesmerizing. Her senses dulled, her mind slowed, and the only thing she could focus on was him.

When she was about to lose herself to his kiss completely, he suddenly pulled back, his lips barely brushing against hers. The warmth from his touches was still lingering on her skin. 

“Have you thought about the standards for the new one?” His voice was low and husky.

Her cheeks burned, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest as if she had just been caught red-handed. This man always knew how to tease her. This man always knew exactly what to say to get under her skin. She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him away to create space between them. She took a deep breath and got off the bed.

“Let’s go out.” Her face held a serious expression.

“Oh?” Sylus raised a bow, clearly amused.

“It’s Azure’s Echoe day. And spending this whole day at home is a waste of time.” She crossed her arms, standing on her ground. 

“Are you asking me on a date?” His lips curved into a subtle smirk as he studied her.

“D-Don’t overthink it.” She quickly looked away, avoiding his gaze. “It’s just I’m bored and…”

“Forty minutes.” 

“What?” She blinked.

“Thirty.” He corrected himself, turning toward his closet. “Aren’t we going on a date? We should get dressed then.”

This man was always unpredictable like this.

***

Compared to the Southern District, the Northern District was a heaven on earth. 

There were two things in this district that the Southern District could never have: peace and security. Even though this was not her first time here, she couldn’t help but be amazed by the lavishness of this district.

Skyscrapers stood tall, packed closely together, their glass surfaces shimmering under the gentle sunlight. For a fleeting moment, she almost believed the entire city was made of crystal. The latest model cars cruised along the streets, their LED underglow casting vibrant neon hues onto the pavement. Pedestrians strolled along the sidewalks, their hands full of shopping bags, mostly luxury brands.

She and Sylus rarely had a day like this. Since they first met, their life had always been full of dangers. It felt strange, almost unreal, to have him walk beside her, their fingers entwined loosely. They looked like any normal couple on Azure’s Echo Day as if they belonged here.

The shopping mall in the center of the Northern District was the last destination on their journey. 

The automatic door slid open as they stepped inside, greeted by a faint, charming scent of roses mixed with the sweetness of pastries. In mid-air, a floating billboard hovered effortlessly, its holographic shifted between advertisements for Azure’s Echo Day’s exclusive collections, from jewelry, perfumes, and dresses to all the luxury this city offered. 

Every store inside the mall was decorated with fresh flowers and ribbon, mostly in shades of white and blue. Mannequins from the high-end boutiques dressed in limited-edition collections for the day stood under falling holographic rose petals. In the glass displays of the jewelry stores, the gemstone-encrusted pieces looked even more mesmerizing under the lights. 

Each time her eyes paused on certain pieces, Sylus bought it. A pair of ruby earrings, a delicate bracelet with a heart-shaped charm, even a ridiculous crow plushie with a white scarf she only glanced at for a second.

“You don’t have to buy everything I look at, or you might burn through your entire retirement savings.” She huffed.

“Oh, too bad, my hand slipped. Are you worried about me, sweetie?” He chuckled, tapping his card against the POS machine. “Besides, feel free to test whether you can spend money faster than I made it.”

She glared at him but hugged the crow plushie he placed in her arms tightly, burying her face in its soft feathers. Somehow, this plushie looked just like him, especially the grumpy expression. Sylus always had this expression when he thought she was being reckless.

“Hm… Thinking about that, we may need to return the plushie.”

“Forget about it. Don’t touch my Mephie.”

“You named it already? Interesting.”

Many shops offered special promotions for couples on Azure’s Echo Day. Among the countless vibrant advertisements, one caught her eye. A glowing liquid cascaded into the heart-shaped molds on the floating holographic screen. After the chocolates were removed from the molds, they emitted a soft, subtle glow before being arranged in a box tied with a pink ribbon. The shimmering message above them was catchy: Melt in love. Capture your sweet moments with us.

“Interested?” Sylus noticed immediately.

“A little…” She hesitated, crafting things like that had never been her strong suit.

“Let’s go, then.” Before she could protest, he had already seized her hand and led her toward the chocolate-decorating workshop. 

She sighed, letting him pull her along.

***

The workshop was held at a booth on the third floor of the shopping mall. The space was decorated in soft pastel tones, perfectly complementing the romantic atmosphere of the day. The sweet aroma of chocolate, vanilla, and other ingredients filled the air.

Long wooden tables were neatly arranged, each set with vibrant aprons, a bowl of melted chocolate, and a tray of decorative toppings—candied orange slices, crushed nuts, dried strawberries, and a few other embellishments she couldn’t quite name.

In Linkon, it was tradition for couples to make chocolate together on Azure’s Echo. According to legend, if they shared the chocolate and kissed under the mistletoe at midnight, their bond would last forever. That was likely why the workshop was bustling with couples today. They stood around the wooden tables, laughing freely as they experimented with different molds and decorations.

With the guidance of the instructor, their chocolates were soon completed. After carefully packing them into separate boxes, the two left the booth and continued their outing.

Upon returning to the first floor of the shopping mall, her attention was immediately drawn to a small café near the entrance. Compared to the other shops, it looked rather simple, even somewhat unremarkable. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t noticed it when they first arrived.

Sylus didn’t object when she tugged on his hand, silently suggesting they stop by.

The scent of coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked pastries. Above them, mistletoe hung from the ceiling—a quiet reminder of Azure’s Echo traditions. The soft glow of warm lighting bathed the space, adding to its romantic charm.

They chose a table by the window, offering an unobstructed view of the plaza outside. Neon lights from the advertisement boards cast vibrant, shifting colors onto the glass. Sinking comfortably into the plush seat, she immediately opened the two chocolate boxes they had made earlier.

Does a man who excels at everything truly exist? She wondered as she looked at the two boxes of chocolate. They had been made with the same ingredients and followed identical steps, yet the results were worlds apart.

One box was filled with flawless chocolate pieces—elegantly decorated and neatly arranged. The other… well, it had its charm. Some pieces were slightly misshapen, others bore decorations that strayed a little from their original design. Still, they looked quite cute and were edible.

She clicked her tongue, stealing a glance at Sylus, who was calmly inspecting their handiwork. He was annoyingly good at everything—from shooting to cooking, and now, even making chocolates. Was there anything in this world that could challenge him?

“What’s with that frown, little dove?” His deep, husky voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Why are you even good at making chocolate? It’s irritating,” She muttered, frowning.

He chuckled, leaning in slightly. “You know, my job requires a sharp eye and steady hands.” A teasing glint flickered in his eyes as he studied her. “Let’s make a deal. Two of mine for one of yours.”

“Tch, you’re just looking for an excuse to eat my chocolate.” She turned to him, her expression showing nothing but disinterest in his offer.

“Oops, caught me.” Sylus didn’t look the least bit guilty. Instead, he casually plucked a piece of chocolate from her box and popped it into his mouth without hesitation.

“You…” She tried to find a retort, but before she could, Sylus had already taken another piece from his box.

“Open your mouth.”

“You know, I can eat my chocolate just fine,” she said, doing her best to resist the temptation of the chocolate in his hand.

“But where’s the fun in that? Besides, they all belong to you anyway.”

She hesitated for a moment before finally accepting the chocolate from Sylus. The sweetness, blended with a slight bitterness, melted on her tongue, bursting into rich flavors. As someone with a sweet tooth, she could never resist treats like this.

Sylus watched her with a gaze full of fondness as she savored the chocolate. Now and then, he would throw in a teasing remark, clearly amused whenever she fired back at him. Though he could be a little annoying at times, she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed these peaceful moments—being at ease with someone she cared for, without worrying about the dangers that constantly lurked around them.

What more could she possibly ask for?

The shrill sound of the fire alarm suddenly rang out, drowning the romantic Valentine’s melody playing throughout the shopping mall. Overlapping voices filled the air—announcements blaring over the speakers, the crash of shattering glass, panicked screams, and the sharp cracks of gunfire mingled with the guttural snarls of predators. A dense, murky fog of unknown origin rapidly consumed the space, carrying a pungent chemical scent—sickeningly unpleasant, yet strangely familiar. People scattered in all directions, desperate to escape the clutches of the monsters lurking in the chaos.

She trembled, feeling as if all the strength had been drained from her body. Images from her nightmares clashed with reality, the two bleeding into each other until she could no longer tell them apart. Her breath came in rapid, shallow gasps, her heart pounding wildly against her ribs, squeezing her chest with unbearable pressure. Her fingers dug into Sylus’s arm, clinging to the last shreds of her consciousness, willing herself not to be swallowed by the darkness threatening to consume her.

She heard him call her name. Amidst the deafening noise, his voice cut through—steady, familiar. A lifeline pulling her back from the abyss. He was here. He was still here. This time, she wasn’t alone.

Lifting her head, she met his pomegranate-red gaze. Though the trembling had subsided, the lingering tightness in her chest made every breath a struggle. Her grip on Sylus remained firm as if to anchor herself in reality.

“Look at me,” his steady voice commanded.

She swallowed hard, locking eyes with him and forcing herself to follow his lead. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat. Slowly, the crushing weight of panic loosened its grip on her. This wasn’t the time for weakness. She reminded herself of that. Her hand, still clutching his arm, loosened before gliding down to the firearm strapped to her thigh. The cold touch of metal cut through the fog in her mind.

The snarls of the predators grew louder, their shadows closing in from all directions, eyes glinting with bloodthirsty malice. She lifted her gun with steady hands, aiming directly at the creature lunging toward them. Her finger tightened on the trigger, and the bullet tore through its skull. The beast collapsed in a lifeless heap.

She was no longer the helpless child unable to protect herself. She was stronger than that.

“How do you want to end this date, little bird?” Sylus leaned toward her, his tone carrying an amused lilt.

“Shall we dance a waltz?”

***

Once again, she found herself back on the familiar streets of the Southern District—still the same chaos filled with terrified screams, gunfire, and the guttural growls of the predator. The streets were empty. No one was there. Just her, the Praedator, and their endless chase.

She ran with all her strength, ignoring the searing pain in her shoulder.

The pharmacy was just ahead. If she could make it there, she would be safe. This nightmare would end. Relief surged through her, pushing her legs to move faster.

Or so she thought.

The moment she stepped inside, chains of unknown origin suddenly coiled around her knees, yanking her down. She crashed onto the floor, pain jolting through her body. Frantically, she struggled, trying to free herself, but the more she fought, the tighter the chains constricted.

Panic clawed at her mind, drowning out all rational thought. The only thing she knew was that the predator was getting closer.

His shadow stretched across the floor.

He came.

She didn’t dare lift her head. Her body trembled uncontrollably. He was here. And this time, there was no escape. The darkness loomed closer, accompanied by the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps and a low, menacing growl.

“Won’t you help me?”

The familiar voice made her freeze.

Sylus.

She lifted her gaze, and instead of the monstrous figure she had expected, she saw him. His crimson eyes reflected her own tear-streaked, fear-stricken face. She wanted to say something—anything.

But no words came out.

***

Her back was drenched in sweat. Reaching under her pillow, she searched for the familiar feel of her gun, the cold metal grounding her, helping her steady her breath. The nightmare had returned once again.

The silence from the bathroom was unsettling. A sudden wave of unease surged through her. Could it be that Sylus’s frenzy hadn’t passed yet? No, that couldn’t be. His frenzy never lasted beyond a night—at least, not recently.

Yes, Sylus was a predator.

Sometimes, even she forgot that fact because he was so good at keeping himself under control. But lately, his condition had been worsening. Ever since he started taking suppressants, the frenzies had become more frequent, each one lasting longer than the last.

That strange scent she had picked up yesterday—it was the smell of the Frenzy Enhancer. That was why the ones at the mall had been so uncontrollably violent.

Sylus hadn’t been spared from its effects either.

The signs had been there from the moment they escaped the mall. His body had burned with feverish heat, his breath had turned shallow and ragged, and his eyes had clouded over. The moment they returned home, he had wordlessly turned and shut himself inside the guest bedroom. 

She knew he was fighting to keep his mind from being completely overtaken. She also knew he didn’t want her to see him like that. He didn’t want her to witness the monster lurking within him breaking free.

But she couldn’t bring herself to abandon him either.

Standing outside his locked door, she had tried to come up with countless reasons to stop herself from going in. Sylus didn’t want her to see him at his worst. He didn’t want to risk hurting her. He didn’t want her putting herself in danger.

In the end, she had chosen to return to her room.

She had tried to sleep, hoping that by the time she woke up, everything would be back to normal. But the moment she drifted off, the nightmare had been waiting for her—like it had never left. She never should have asked him to go to the Northern District today.

She bolted upright and swung her legs over the bed, her feet hitting the cold floor as she rushed toward the hallway. Once again, she found herself standing in front of his door. But this time, she didn’t hesitate.

The door creaked open the moment she laid a hand on it, revealing the dimly lit room beyond. She stepped inside.

The weak glow from the floor lamp in the corner was enough to illuminate the scene before her. Sylus was slumped against the iron bars of the cage in the center of the room. Heavy chains bound his legs and one of his arms. He had once told her that the cage—and the chains—were his way of keeping the monster inside him at bay. His clouded garnet eyes locked onto her the moment she entered.

“Won’t you help me?” His voice was hoarse, just like in her dream.

She swallowed hard and took slow, measured steps toward the cage.

He was in worse condition than she had imagined. Black veins snaked up his throat and arms, stark against his pale skin. His wrists were covered in scratches—evidence of his struggle against the frenzy. His breathing was heavy, and uneven.

She had never seen him like this before.

Without a second thought, she unlocked the cage and stepped inside. The last chain lay before her. She picked it up and hesitated for only a moment before meeting his gaze. Not once did his eyes leave her as she moved. The sharp clang of metal against metal shattered the silence as he tightened his grip on the chain.

“The suppressants…” Her throat felt dry.

“Hmp… Looks like they’re no longer effective on me.” He let out a dry laugh, his voice dripping with mockery.

The clanking of chains grew louder as he began to rise to his feet. Instinctively, she tightened her grip on the chain in her hands. Sylus tilted his head slightly, his gaze darkening, becoming more feral. It was as if the beast inside him was starting to take control.

The urge to run flashed through her mind.

No, she didn’t want him to succumb completely to the monster within.

Suddenly, Sylus lunged at her. 

She dodged, her hands tightening around the chain. But he didn’t stop. He came at her again, faster, more relentless. If not for the shackles around his legs slowing him down, he would have caught her by now. The third time he pounced, she seized the fleeting opportunity—throwing all her strength into locking the final chain around his free wrist.

A sharp clink.

Both his hands and legs were now bound. The force of his movements sent him stumbling backward. She immediately retreated a few steps, putting distance between them. He was the one who had once taught her that even a hunter needed to ensure their safety before facing their prey.

“You scared?” His lips curled into a smirk. “Your idea of ‘help’ is heart-warming”

Sylus took a slow step forward. She instinctively stepped back. Her back hit the cold metal frame of the cage. She looked between him and the chains restraining him. The shackles were pulled taut, the cage door still open. This was her only chance to escape.

Snap!

The sudden sound of breaking chains shattered all her hopes.

There was nothing left to restrain him now.

She hurriedly turned to run, but Sylus immediately caught her wrist, yanking her back. His hands clamped around her like a vice, leaving no room for escape. His scorching breath brushed against her neck, followed by a sharp sting as he bit down on the curve of her ear.

This was no longer the man she knew.

She struggled, waiting for the slightest moment of distraction to break free. But Sylus gave her no such chance. He shoved her onto the cold floor, pinning her wrist above her head with one hand. Lowering himself slightly, his garnet eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint, reflecting her panic-stricken face. Her entire body was trapped beneath him.

"Sh…Now you will never fly away, my little bird."

***

She had no idea how long she had been lying there.

The only thing reminding her that she was still alive was the dull, aching pain spreading through every inch of her body. She wanted to scream, but no sound escaped—her throat burned raw. But she was still breathing. Perhaps it was sheer willpower that had carried her through.

Heavy, uneven breaths lingered in the air. It wasn’t over yet.

She knew now—this was no longer the man who had once saved her from danger all those years ago. That person was gone. What remained was something cruel, something ruthless. The monster had finally broken free.

And it was all because of her.

So she had to be the one to put an end to it.

***

The warmth that once held her close was gone. Now, she was alone in this sinful, unforgiving world.

[sweetvoidstuff]

Bound by Fate, Chosen by Love I Part 2

Jungkook x Reader I Werwolf x Witch I Fated Mates I Slow Burn I Strangers to Lovers I Supernatural Romance I Protective Jungkook

Summary : A witch bound by duty. A werewolf bound by instinct. When fate intertwines their paths, they must decide if love is worth defying expectations. Hunters threaten their people, forcing them to fight side by side. As tensions rise, so does the pull between them—soft moments turning into something far more intense. A quiet invitation, a lingering touch, a whispered question that changes everything. In the end, choice matters more than destiny. But with danger still lurking, will they have the chance to choose each other?

Word Count: 42K

Masterlist

A/N: Well, I wanted to post this as one, but Tumblr won’t let me… so I’ll be posting Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 back to back. Sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy it!

Part 1 / Part 3

"No!" His roar shook the trees, his wolf raging against his skin, furious and desperate.

You were gone.

And he couldn’t reach you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook slammed his fists against the invisible barrier, his claws unsheathing as he tried to rip it apart. The magic repelled him viciously, sending a sharp current of energy up his arms, but he didn’t care.

You were in there. Alone.

The sound of battle raged around him—clashing metal, snarling wolves, the cries of the wounded—but all he could focus on was the barrier in front of him. He listened desperately, trying to pick out your voice, your movements, anything to tell him you were still fighting. Still alive.

But he couldn’t hear you. Couldn’t see you behind the smoke.

His wolf howled inside him, tearing at his control, demanding to be set free. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his pulse hammering against his ribs like it wanted to break free. He was losing himself to the panic, to the raw, mindless fury of being separated from you.

"Get out!" he snarled, slamming against the magic again. "Let me in!"

It didn’t budge.

Jungkook roared, his nails raking against the air, muscles coiling like he was ready to rip through anything that stood in his way—except there was nothing for him to tear apart.

Hoseok appeared at his side, looking grim and out of breath. "Jungkook!"

Jungkook barely heard him. He struck at the barrier again, but it was like fighting the wind, like trying to claw through something untouchable.

"Jungkook!" Hoseok shouted again, voice sharper. "This is wasting time! We can’t do anything while the binding is still in place!"

Jungkook snapped.

He whirled on Hoseok, eyes wild, his voice a broken snarl. "I can’t leave her!"

Hoseok’s brows furrowed. "No one is saying we’re leaving her, but right now—"

"I can’t leave her!" Jungkook nearly howled, his hands shaking as he clenched them into fists. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his words tumbling out like he couldn’t contain them anymore. "I need her, I—it hurts—I need to get to her—I need to see her—I have to—"

The sheer desperation in his voice made something flicker in Hoseok’s expression. His mouth opened slightly, his sharp mind already piecing it together.

Then Jungkook all but blurted it out.

"She’s my mate!"

Silence.

Hoseok went rigid. His eyes snapped to Jungkook’s like he was confirming something he never expected to be true. "Mate?"

Jungkook was breathing hard, his entire body wound so tight it felt like he might snap apart. But there was no time to say anything else.

Because the binding cracked.

The invisible barrier let out a splintering sound, a sharp ripple of energy, before shattering like glass.

And as the magic fell, the black smoke that had consumed the area collapsed to the ground, vanishing as quickly as it had come.

What remained was something entirely different.

Jungkook’s breath stopped.

There, in the center of the clearing, stood you.

Between two dead hunters.

Their throats had been slit, their bodies covered in deep, precise cuts. And you—you—were drenched in blood.

Your own wounds painted your skin, fresh gashes on your arms, a dark stain soaking through the side of your clothes. Your fingers were tight around the handle of a dagger, the same one that had ended them.

You looked like something out of a legend.

A bloody, beautiful force of nature.

And then your eyes found him.

Jungkook was on you in seconds.

The moment your eyes met his, something inside him snapped—like a leash breaking, like floodgates bursting open. One second, you were standing in the middle of the carnage, chest rising and falling from exertion, blood dripping from your fingers. The next, you were in his arms.

Jungkook crashed into you, wrapping you up in his strength, his heat, his everything. His grip was tight, almost desperate, arms caging around your body like he was afraid you’d disappear the moment he let go.

A choked sound left his throat, somewhere between a growl and something softer, more broken. His grip was firm, his entire frame vibrating with the force of his emotions.

"Fuck—" His voice was raw, almost unrecognizable. His fingers dug into your back as he pulled you impossibly closer, his entire frame shaking. "Fuck, you’re here—"

He was shaking.

He was breathing you in.

You barely had time to react before you were completely engulfed by him. He buried his face in your hair, his breath shuddering against your temple, inhaling so deeply it was as if he were trying to absorb you. Like he needed to be sure you were real. That you weren’t just another cruel trick of fate.

His body trembled against yours, muscles coiled so tight they felt like they might snap. His breathing was frantic, labored, but his hold on you was steady. Unyielding.

But his touch never felt anything but welcoming to you.

"Jungkook—"

Your voice was quiet, uncertain, but the moment you spoke, he growled. A low, visceral sound that rumbled deep in his chest—something possessive, something feral. His arms tightened even further, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your head, tangling in your hair as if grounding himself.

"Don’t—" His voice was strained, shaking with too much emotion. "Don’t ever do that again."

You blinked. Holding onto him as well. "Do what?"

"Disappear." His breath was hot against your skin, his lips brushing your temple, your cheek, as he whispered, "I couldn’t get to you. I couldn’t hear you. I couldn’t—" His voice broke for half a second, but then his grip hardened. "I lost my fucking mind."

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, pressing against something fragile.

You felt the same.

For all your strength, for all your wit, for all your skill, you’d felt that sharp terror when you realized you had been separated from him. You hadn’t feared for yourself—you had feared for him. Had hated not knowing where he was, if he was safe, if he was alive.

And now, standing here, feeling the way he clung to you, the way his body still trembled slightly, you knew.

He had felt it too.

"Jungkook…"

You lifted a hand, fingers hesitant, but then you placed it gently against the side of his face. His skin was warm beneath your palm, warmer than it should be, like he was burning from the inside out.

He let out a sharp breath, tilting his head into your touch like it was keeping him together. His heartbeat thundered beneath your fingertips, so loud you could feel it through his throat.

"You’re here," he murmured, almost to himself. "I have you."

There was a terrifying amount of relief in his voice.

Your thumb brushed against his cheekbone, smearing a streak of blood—his? Yours? You weren’t sure. But neither of you moved to wipe it away.

Jungkook’s hands flexed against your back, like he was still fighting the urge to crush you into him, to prove that you were real. That you weren’t going anywhere.

"I’m here," you whispered. "I’m okay."

It was only then that you felt the tension in his body ease—just a fraction. He exhaled sharply, the sound almost like a growl, but when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were dark.

Wild.

They flickered over your face, down your neck, to the bloodstains on your clothes, to the dagger still clenched in your fingers.

Jungkook inhaled again, slow and deep, the scent of iron and sweat and you filling his senses.

You looked like something out of a nightmare.

Or a dream.

Standing tall between two dead hunters, blood streaked across your skin, eyes sharp and unyielding. But now, standing in his arms, something in your gaze softened.

And it wrecked him.

His lips parted, like he wanted to say something—something important. But before he could, another presence stepped forward.

Jin.

His expression was careful, the little girl in his arm, but his eyes held something almost knowing.

"We should move," he said gently. "We’re still vulnerable here."

Jungkook snarled at the interruption, but he didn’t let go of you.

Jin sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I get it, believe me," he muttered. "But this isn’t the time or place."

Jungkook hated that he was right.

Reluctantly, he exhaled through his nose, his hold on you loosening just slightly. But he still refused to let go completely.

"Can you walk?" he asked, voice quieter now, but no less intense.

You nodded. "I’m fine."

He scoffed. "You’re bleeding."

"So are you," you countered.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he still didn’t let go.

Instead, he pressed his forehead against yours for the briefest of moments, eyes squeezing shut, his grip curling tighter once more.

Then, with one last deep inhale, he finally—finally—stepped back.

But not far.

The hunters had been pushed back. The village still stood. The wounded were being tended to. But the battle had taken its toll – it wasn’t as bad as the first time but still.

Jungkook was still running on pure instinct, every muscle in his body screaming for him to stay close to you, to never let you out of his sight again. The memory of you disappearing into that black smoke, trapped inside a barrier, alone with two hunters, still gnawed at him like a festering wound.

But before he could reach for you again, before he could reassure himself that you were really here, another voice cut through the aftermath like a blade.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

Jimin.

You barely had time to turn before he was storming toward you, his fury rolling off him in waves. His usually composed expression was twisted in frustration, his eyes dark with barely restrained anger.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" he demanded. "Do you have any idea how reckless that was?"

Jungkook’s hackles rose instantly.

Still raw from the near-loss of you, still strung tight with unspent rage, he snarled before he could stop himself. "Watch your tone." His voice was sharp, dangerous, his instincts flaring at anyone—even your guard—challenging you. "She handled herself well."

But Jimin was not backing down. He whipped toward Jungkook with all the fire of someone who had held his tongue long enough.

"Oh?" Jimin snapped. "And who the fuck do you think trained her to do that? Who do you think made sure she could survive something like this?"

Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat.

"You think you’re the only one who wants to protect her?" Jimin continued, stepping closer, his voice lower now, but no less sharp. "That you’re the only one who panicked when she disappeared?” Jimin pointed a finger at you. “Yes, I saw that!” With this he looked back at Jungkook. “You don’t even know half of what she’s capable of."

Jungkook hated the way his anger faltered.

Because Jimin was right.

Jungkook had watched you take down two men with nothing but a blade, had seen the way you wielded magic like it was second nature, had felt the strength in you that refused to bow, refused to break.

You had done all of that without him.

Because you had been trained. Prepared.

And the realization—that someone else had been the one to prepare you, to teach you how to survive—left Jungkook momentarily speechless.

Jimin didn’t wait for a response.

"You want to act like you’re the only one who can protect her? After 3 days of getting to know her?" Jimin huffed, shaking his head. "Get in line. Or, actually, be there!"

Before Jungkook could even think of a counter, Namjoon’s voice cut through the tension.

"Enough."

The pack leader’s voice was steady, but the weight of authority behind it was unmistakable.

"The hunters may be retreating for now, but they will regroup," Namjoon continued. "We need to tend to the wounded before we discuss anything further." His gaze flickered between Jungkook and Jimin before landing on you. "Now that I assume – your guard is here, I trust you’ll focus on healing the injured."

It wasn’t a question.

Then, Namjoon turned to Jungkook, nodding toward the treeline. "I want you to push the hunters further out. Make sure they don’t try anything again."

Jungkook’s shoulders stiffened. "No."

Namjoon narrowed his eyes. "That wasn’t a request."

"I’m not leaving her." Jungkook’s voice was final, firm, and borderline defiant. He knew he was overstepping, that challenging Namjoon in front of the others wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t care.

He had almost lost you once today. He wasn’t taking any chances.

Tension crackled between the two men like lightning before a storm.

Then, Hoseok stepped forward, arms crossed. "I’ll go," he said, cutting through the standoff. "I’ll take the squad and push them back while Jungkook plays bodyguard." His tone was laced with something unreadable.

Jungkook almost snapped at him, but Hoseok was already walking away, gathering the others to carry out Namjoon’s orders.

For a moment, Namjoon looked like he wanted to argue further. But instead, he simply exhaled sharply and muttered, "Fine."

With that, the conversation was over.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Hours later, when the wounded had been treated and the village had settled into an uneasy calm, the leaders gathered in what remained of the main hall.

You stood among them, posture steady despite the exhaustion creeping into your limbs. You had been thinking about this since the moment you realized the hunters would return.

"We need to strike first," you said, voice even. "Waiting for them to attack again is only allowing them more time to regroup and strengthen their numbers. If we don’t move soon, we’ll lose the upper hand."

The response was immediate.

"Absolutely not," Namjoon countered. "Going on the offensive would put our people in even greater danger."

"Agreed," Jin added, arms crossed. "Right now, we’re barely holding the village together. We can’t afford to stretch ourselves any thinner."

Jungkook remained silent.

You pressed forward. "That’s why we don’t do this alone."

That got their attention.

"What do you mean?" Jin asked warily.

"An alliance," you said firmly. "Between the wolves, my coven, and the devil settlement."

The room fell silent.

"Absolutely not," Hoseok said flatly. "The devils would sooner rip out our throats than help us."

"That’s a misconception," you countered. "My coven has been trading with them for years. They’re not all evil—just as we aren’t all monsters."

"You expect us to trust them?" Namjoon asked skeptically.

"I expect you to trust me," you said. "They want the hunters gone just as much as we do. If we unite, we can strike before the hunters rebuild their forces. We can end this."

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, to your surprise, Jimin nodded. "I think it’s a good idea."

Jungkook felt his stomach twist.

Because of course you would push for this. Of course you would step up, strategize, lead. Because you weren’t just his.

You were so much more.

You were a leader.

And as much as Jungkook hated the hunters, as much as he wanted them gone, the thought of you anywhere near them again made his chest feel tight with something dangerous.

You had already proven you could handle yourself.

But that didn’t mean Jungkook wanted you to.

"You want to hunt them down," he said suddenly, his voice quiet but heavy with meaning. "Yourself."

You met his gaze head-on. "Yes."

Jungkook clenched his jaw.

He would kill every last hunter for you. Would burn their entire existence to the ground if it meant keeping you safe.

But the thought of you actively stepping into danger again made something in him rage.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

He would stand beside you.

Would fight for you.

Would die for you.

But he would never stop being afraid of losing you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Namjoon exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he leaned forward against the battered wooden table. "Even if we agree to this alliance," he said, voice measured but firm, "finalizing it with your coven and the devils will take weeks. That’s plenty of time for the hunters to strike again."

You nodded, already having expected this. "So, we’re on the same page about pursuing the hunters?"

Namjoon’s sharp eyes flickered with something unreadable, but after a moment, he inclined his head. "Yes."

The room went still.

Except for Jimin.

Because while everyone else wore varying degrees of confusion, Jimin merely leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, waiting for the next move.

"Then let’s talk business right now," you said, matter-of-factly.

Hoseok let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "What? You’re gonna teleport yourself straight to the devils or something? You might speak for your coven but also for the devils?"

You didn’t answer him. You only turned to Namjoon and waited.

Namjoon studied you for a long moment before sighing, as if already regretting this decision, and giving you a slow nod.

The second he did, Jimin was already moving, reaching into his coat and pulling out a small, shallow bowl. He placed it on the table before you with practiced ease.

Jungkook tensed the second he saw it.

And then—before he could react—you moved.

With swift precision, you grabbed a small dagger from your belt and sliced the blade across your forearm, allowing your blood to spill freely into the waiting bowl.

Jungkook jerked forward. "What the hell—?!"

But before he could reach for you, before he could snarl at you for hurting yourself—even if it was intentional—Jimin was already giving you a folded handkerchief that you pressed onto the cut.

It was so casual.

Like the two of you had done this a hundred times before.

Jungkook could only stare.

The ease with which you hurt yourself, the practiced way Jimin handed you something to stop the bleeding—like this was just another business transaction—made something ugly coil in Jungkook’s chest.

His mind was racing.

How many times had you done this?

How many times had Jimin taken care of your wounds?

How much blood had you given for other deals?

Jungkook clenched his fists, trying to push down the overwhelming urge to snatch the bowl away from you and smash it to pieces.

Then—before anyone could speak—you began to whisper.

The words that spilled from your lips were hushed, lilting, ancient. Your eyes now focused on the bowl, your fingers lightly touching the rim. The wolves around the room stiffened, ears straining as they tried to make sense of the murmured incantation.

Then—

A sound.

A soft, lilting hum, almost like a chuckle, coming from the bowl itself.

Then a voice, smooth and amused, filled the space, making every wolf in the room freeze.

"Ahh, Princess," the voice purred. "Long time no hear. How can I be of service to my favorite witch?"

Jungkook saw red.

"Cut the formalities, Yoongi," you said with a roll of your eyes. "We need to talk business."

"Oh, pushy," the bowl’s surface rippled as if the voice was laughing. "I like it."

Jungkook shot up from his seat, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. His thoughts were a whirlwind. His eyes darted between you and the bowl, his confusion deepening. The familiarity between you and the voice in the bowl unsettled him. But it was the nickname that stuck with him. Princess?

The thing in the bowl had called you that—like it was entitled to. Like it had a history with you that Jungkook wasn’t a part of. The rage bubbled up in him like a sudden storm, and he clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.

His fingers twitched, his wolf howling for him to grab the bowl and throw it against the fucking wall.

But before he could act, a hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

"Sit down," Jimin said flatly.

Jungkook snapped his head toward him, eyes flashing. "The fuck did you just say?"

"I said, sit down," Jimin repeated, his voice calm but laced with warning. "If you so much as touch that bowl, you’ll fuck up the entire connection, and then she’ll have to bleed herself again."

Jungkook froze.

His jaw locked, his body still thrumming with the need to do something, but the thought of you having to cut yourself a second time just to repeat this process made him swallow his anger.

Jimin watched Jungkook, his tone light but filled with an unspoken understanding. “It’s okay. Trust her.”

With a sharp inhale, Jungkook forced himself back into his chair, though every muscle in his body was still coiled tight.

Meanwhile, you were already launching into an explanation, filling in the devil—Yoongi—on everything that had transpired with the hunters. You made your offer clearly, without hesitation, knowing the weight of the request.

Jungkook was still seething, still struggling to contain the possessive rage that threatened to boil over.

Because you had a fucking devil calling you Princess.

Because you had just bled yourself without hesitation.

Because Jimin had handled it like it was routine.

"Yoongi," you continued, cutting off whatever response the devil might’ve had. "We’re in a delicate situation. We need your support. What do you say?"

A pause, and then the voice returned, its tone almost amused. "Oh, I like the sound of that..."

Jungkook couldn’t shake the feeling that something was slipping out of his control, something that had to do with you and these damn alliances. But it was too late to turn back now.

Jimin squeezed his shoulder, offering a faint, knowing smile, and Jungkook exhaled slowly, trying to reign in his emotions. His eyes never left you. You had a way of handling these situations that he didn’t understand, but he couldn’t deny the power you wielded. Even if it made him want to tear the room apart.

The negotiations stretched long into the night.

You, Namjoon and Jimin worked alongside Yoongi to finalize the necessary details, discussing everything from strategic plans to the logistics of setting up the spell that would act as a backdoor for Yoongi’s arrival. It was intricate magic, requiring precise preparation, and in the morning, you and Jimin would set the groundwork for it.

Jungkook hated it.

The longer you spoke about preparations and plans, the deeper the unease settled in his chest. He didn’t want to think about summoning devils or battle strategies. All he wanted was to take you home, make you rest, and ask you about the tea you had made that morning—that morning that now felt like a lifetime ago.

Maybe he’d try to make it for you. He wasn’t sure he’d get it right, but he’d try.

But, of course, nothing was that simple.

When the discussion finally ended, Namjoon turned to you with the same offer he had made before. "You’re welcome to stay at the pack house tonight, now that your guard has arrived." he said.

Jungkook wanted to cry.

Or punch something.

He had lost you so many times today. To battle, to duty, to Jimin. And now, even the night would take you from him?

Before he could protest, an unlikely voice spoke up.

"Jimin can stay at my place," Hoseok said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "That way, the wounded aren’t disturbed."

Jimin immediately scowled.

Everyone—including Jungkook—stared.

Of all people, Hoseok?

He had been the most resistant to you from the start. Had thrown suspicion and accusations your way like daggers. And yet, here he was, willingly offering a place for your guard to stay.

Jimin, for his part, didn’t look thrilled. "Seriously?" he muttered. "I get separated from her again?"

You hesitated for only a second before sighing. "I’ll be safe with Jungkook," you said simply.

Jimin pressed his lips into a thin line but didn’t argue further. He knew you could take care of yourself, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Jungkook’s breath hitched.

You were choosing him.

Jimin sighed but nodded, clearly unhappy about it. "Fine. But if you die while I’m not looking, I will kill you."

You snorted, amused. "Duly noted."

Jungkook finally, finally got to take you home

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The walk back to Jungkook’s home was quiet. The air was cool, the scent of pine and damp earth filling the night.

Jungkook should have felt relieved that you were with him, but his thoughts were a mess. Instead of walking beside you, his mind wandered ahead—imagining.

He’d let you bathe, let the warmth sink into your sore muscles. He’d make you tea—if he could figure out how you did it this morning. Then he’d wrap you in a blanket and sit with you, watching the fire crackle in the hearth, making sure you had everything you needed.

Maybe he’d brush his fingers over your wrist, tracing the cuts you had made, trying to understand how you could hurt yourself so easily when it made his wolf want to tear something apart.

He wanted to keep you safe.

And yet—

The second you stepped through the door, he knew none of that would happen.

Because instead of resting, you both ended up talking.

And talking turned to arguing.

It started with curiosity.

“You mentioned Jimin’s been with you for a long time,” he started, keeping his tone even. “How did you meet?”

You blinked, a little surprised by the sudden question, but answered easily. “Jimin’s family was close to our coven. He grew up around us, learned magic alongside me even though he wasn’t a witch himself. We’ve always looked out for each other.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “He’s like a brother to me.”

Jungkook nodded, processing the information. It made sense. Jimin was protective over you.

You sat on the couch, running your fingers through your hair, clearly lost in thought.

Then, after a pause, he asked, “And the Devil?”

Your expression softened in a way that made something in Jungkook’s chest tighten.

“Yoongi was different,” you admitted. “I met him when I was younger—when I first started learning about the world outside the coven. He was…” You trailed off, searching for the right words. Your gaze turned distant. “He taught me things no one else would.”

Something in the way you spoke—something fond—stirred an ugly, unfamiliar feeling inside him.

And he snapped.

"Why would the fucking devil call you ‘Princess, then?’" Jungkook snapped, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. "And you talk to him like he’s an old friend."

"Because he is, Jungkook," you countered, eyes sharp. "Yoongi has been an ally to my coven for years."

"An ally?" Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head. "He’s a devil. You act like he’s trustworthy, like—"

"Like I know him better than you do?" you shot back. "Because I do, Jungkook. Just because you don’t understand something doesn’t make it dangerous."

"That’s not the point!"

"Then what is the point?" Your voice was sharp, your arms crossed over your chest. "These are people I’ve known for years. Allies, friends—people I’ve fought beside, people I trust with my life."

Jungkook’s jaw locked. His hands clenched at his sides. "I just—" He exhaled sharply, struggling to find the words. “Because they’re not pack,” Jungkook shot back. “They’re not���” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “They’re not me.” His voice was raw, frustration bleeding into every syllable.

You blinked, stunned silent for a moment. Then, something in your expression shifted—your features settling into something unreadable.

Your expression twisted, incredulous. "How can you expect me to trust you over them?" You gestured wildly. "I’ve known you for days, Jungkook. Days. And yet you stand here, acting like I should take your side over people I have bled for—people who have bled for me."

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, something wild and desperate flashing in his eyes. "Because you should just know," he snapped, voice rising. "You should feel it in your bones, in your fucking soul. You should know you can trust me because—"

He exhaled sharply, hands shaking as he ran them through his already-messy hair. His head pounded, his chest ached, and before he could stop himself, the words tore from his mouth in a growl—

"Because you’re my fucking mate!"

The words rang between you.

Your breath hitched, your entire body stilling.

Jungkook’s own eyes widened, as if realizing only now what he had just blurted out. His breath came quick, his pulse pounding in his ears, and for a second—just a second—he looked like he wanted to take the words back.

But he couldn’t.

Because it was true.

And deep down, he knew you must have felt it, too.

You just stared at him, your lips slightly parted, your hands curled into fists at your sides. "What?" you finally managed, your voice quiet.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, raking a hand down his face. "You heard me," he muttered, pacing again, his movements jerky with frustration. "You’re my mate. My fated one. And that means I will never be able to just stand there and let you risk yourself like this. I can’t."

You shook your head, trying to process. "That—that’s not how this works, Jungkook. You don’t just get to claim me and expect—"

"I’m not expecting anything," he cut in, voice raw. "I’m telling you the truth. I will never force you into anything. I will never claim you if you don’t want me. This is just— It’s not something I can turn off. It’s not something I can ignore. It’s fate. And maybe you haven’t noticed yet, but my wolf has."

You let out a slow, shaky breath, running a hand through your hair. "I don’t—I don’t have a wolf, Jungkook. I don’t feel things the way you do."

It was meant to be logical, a fact as simple as night and day. But the second the words left your mouth, you saw the way he flinched, like you had physically struck him.

And you hated it.

"I didn’t mean—" You let out a sharp breath, frustrated at yourself. "That’s not what I meant."

Jungkook let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Then what do you mean?"

You pressed your lips into a thin line, heart hammering against your ribs. Because the truth was—

You did know.

The moment he arrived at your coven, you had known. When you locked eyes you felt something, when he trusted you without hesitation, when his voice was the one thing that cut through the haze of exhaustion, you had known.

You had felt it from the start.

"I didn’t think for a second that I couldn’t trust you," you admitted, voice quiet but firm. "Back when you came to us for help. I don’t know why—I just knew." Your throat tightened, your breath shaky. "I knew because I—"

You stopped yourself.

Because if you said it, there would be no taking it back.

And Jungkook?

Jungkook knew.

He took a step forward, close enough that his warmth chased away the cool air between you. His scent—earth and pine and something wholly him—wrapped around you like a second skin.

"Because deep down, you do feel it," he murmured, voice strained. "Maybe not like I do. But it’s there. I know it is."

You swallowed hard. "This is—"

"Too much?" Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah. Welcome to my fucking life."

You had no response.

Because as much as you wanted to deny it—

You couldn’t.

Not entirely.

Silence stretched between you, thick with everything unspoken. The weight of Jungkook’s confession still hung heavy in the air, and you could feel the tension radiating from him—like he was waiting, bracing for something.

You exhaled slowly. "So… what now?" you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before looking at you, his gaze dark and unreadable. "However you want," he said simply. "This—us—it’s not something I can change. But I won’t force anything on you. You get to decide what happens from here." His lips pressed into a thin line. "But first, we have the hunters to deal with."

Right. The hunters.

The reality of everything came crashing back all at once. The looming battle, the weight of the decisions you had made, the danger that still threatened the people you both wanted to protect.

Jungkook let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "I wanted to spend the rest of the night with you," he admitted, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Longing? "Just you and me. No war, no negotiations. Just… a moment."

Something warm curled in your chest.

"I would’ve liked that too," you murmured.

Jungkook’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. But before the moment could stretch too far, you cleared your throat.

"Maybe I should sleep at the pack house," you suggested. "Give us some space."

Jungkook’s entire body stiffened.

"No," he said immediately. The sharpness of his tone surprised even him. His jaw clenched, and he forced himself to take a breath before continuing. "I want you here. With me."

His honesty sent something warm through you, and you nodded slowly. "Alright."

A comfortable silence settled between you before curiosity got the better of you. "Tell me more," you said.

Jungkook raised a brow. "About what?"

"About werewolf customs," you clarified, shifting slightly to face him more fully. "About what a mate means to a wolf. Witches don’t have mates—not like this. We choose our partners. But for you, it’s different, isn’t it?"

Jungkook studied you for a moment before exhaling, leaning against the couch. "It’s… everything," he admitted. "It’s not just about attraction or affection—it’s instinct. It’s deeper than love. It’s knowing, in every fiber of your being, that this person is yours." He glanced at you, gauging your reaction. "It’s overwhelming. It’s terrifying. And once a wolf finds their mate… there’s no one else. Ever."

Your lips parted slightly, trying to wrap your head around the depth of it. "And if the mate doesn’t feel the same?"

Jungkook’s expression darkened slightly. "Then the wolf suffers," he said simply. "Some move on. Some… never do." His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. "But most of the time, a mate feels it too. Even if they don’t have a wolf."

Your heart stuttered at that.

You glanced down at your hands, turning his words over in your mind. It wasn’t something you had ever considered before—this idea of fate tying two souls together so completely. Witches didn’t have mates. Your people believed in free will, in choice. But…

You thought back to when you first saw Jungkook. How you had trusted him without question. How his presence felt grounding in a way you couldn’t explain.

Maybe he was right. Maybe, deep down, you had felt it.

The two of you talked well into the early hours of dawn. Jungkook told you stories about his pack, about how mates were revered, about the customs tied to finding and accepting one. You listened intently, asking questions, letting yourself get lost in the way his voice filled the space around you.

For the first time, there was no tension between you. No war, no life-or-death decisions. Just conversation.

Jungkook didn’t know when he started smiling.

It was late—far later than either of you should have been awake. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Having you here, talking to him, choosing to spend this time with him—it made something in his chest tighten.

But at the same time, guilt gnawed at him.

Because he had cost you important hours of sleep. And tomorrow—today—was going to be another long, grueling day.

He should have let you rest.

Instead, he watched as the first hints of sunlight crept through the window, and you—exhausted but still sitting beside him—hid a yawn behind your hand.Formularbeginn

Jungkook sighed, stretching his legs out and slumping further into the couch. “You need to sleep,” he muttered, side-eyeing you.

You smirked, leaning your head against the backrest. “So do you.”

“Yeah, well.” He rolled his shoulders. “You first.”

You snorted. “What, so you can sit here and watch me? Creepy.”

Jungkook scoffed, nudging your foot with his. “Not creepy. Protective.”

You raised a brow. “Protective would be making sure you go take the bed so I get to sleep right now.”

Jungkook immediately shook his head. “Nope. You take the bed.”

You huffed. “I’m fine on the couch.”

“Yeah, well, I’d be fine on the floor, but I don’t see you letting me do that.”

You gave him a flat look. “Jungkook, I am not kicking you out of your own bed – again.”

His jaw tensed, frustration flickering across his face before he exhaled sharply. Then, suddenly, a smirk tugged at his lips. “Fine,” he said, voice softer, lazier. “Then we both take the couch.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “That’s—”

Before you could protest, Jungkook was already grabbing the blanket from the armrest and tossing it over the both of you. He adjusted slightly, making enough space to accommodate you, but there was no denying how close you were now, legs brushing, warmth sinking into the air between you.

You sighed, shaking your head. “This is dumb.”

Jungkook hummed, his voice thick with exhaustion. “Shut up and sleep, witch.”

You had a retort on the tip of your tongue, something snarky and sharp, but you never got the chance to say it. The warmth of the couch, the blanket, the quiet presence of Jungkook next to you—all of it lulled you under far too quickly.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook was still beside you as you woke up only hours later, arm thrown over the backrest, head tilted slightly toward you. He looked comfortable—too comfortable.Formularende

You sat up groggily, reality settling in as the day’s tasks came rushing back to you.

By midday a wolf had just left the village, carrying a letter from you to your coven. It contained specific instructions on handling the hunters and aiding the pack. There was no time to waste.

Jimin was already at work, arranging the ritual space. You joined him, rolling up your sleeves. Jungkook, still shaking off his sleepiness, perked up when he realized what you were preparing.

“No blood, right?” he asked immediately, his tone sharp with concern.

You paused, then gave him a small, reassuring smile. “No blood.”

You stood at the center of the space, hands outstretched over the ritual circle. “This is a summoning spell,” you explained, more for Jungkook’s sake than Jimin’s. “It works by tethering a thread of energy from here—” you gestured to the symbols drawn on the ground, “—to wherever the target is. The mist acts as a medium, allowing them to pass through.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed. “Like a portal?”

“Not exactly.” You adjusted the placement of a crystal, the energy in the air shifting. “A portal creates a direct passage, forcing open a door. This is different. The mist calls to them. It gives them a way through, but only if they accept it. Which makes this a manageable spell.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, absorbing your words. Something about the way he listened so intently made your chest feel oddly warm.

Hoseok, who had been helping set up, raised an eyebrow at Jimin. “What’s with that reaction?”

Jimin smirked, clearly amused. “Because she explained it to him.”

Hoseok frowned. “And?”

Jimin threw you a knowing glance before replying, “Normally, she makes young witches fight for every scrap of knowledge. She doesn’t just give it away.”

Hoseok blinked, realization dawning. His gaze flickered between you and Jungkook. “Ah. So that’s why.”

Jimin nodded, now watching Jungkook with a shrewder eye. Hoseok, too, understood—especially after Jungkook had already blurted out in a panic that you were his mate.

Jungkook, oblivious to their shared look, frowned. “What?”

Jimin just smirked. “Nothing.”

Before Jungkook could push further, the preparations were complete.

“Alright,” Jimin said, stepping back. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You inhaled deeply, focusing as you murmured the incantation. A thick red mist curled from the ground, swirling and growing in intensity. The magic thrummed through your veins, pulsing with each word spoken. The mist thickened—dense, alive—and then—

Two figures emerged.

Yoongi and Taehyung.

The moment the red mist settled, Taehyung was moving.

"There’s my favorite witch!" he declared, striding toward you with an excited grin.

Before you could react, he grabbed you by the shoulders and ruffled your hair like an overexcited puppy, his large hands completely mussing it up.

"Taehyung!" you yelped, swatting at him. "I swear—"

He just laughed, unfazed. "Swear what?" he teased, tilting his head playfully. "That you missed me? Because I know you did."

You huffed, shoving him back, but there was no real force behind it. "I should’ve left you in that mist."

He only smirked wider, clearly enjoying himself. "And deny yourself my presence? Unlikely."

Jungkook, standing stiffly beside you, stared. His eyes flickered between you and Taehyung like he was watching something completely foreign unfold before him. His jaw twitched.

"Who the hell is this?" he asked bluntly, looking to Jimin for an explanation.

Jimin, already amused, leaned in slightly. "Taehyung," he said simply, like it was all Jungkook needed to know. "Annoying. Too friendly. Somehow manages to get on everyone’s nerves but still never gets left behind. Probably the worst person for you to be jealous of."

"I’m not jealous," Jungkook muttered immediately.

Jimin just smirked. "Mhm."

Before Jungkook could argue further, another presence stepped out of the mist. Unlike Taehyung, Yoongi moved with quiet precision, his sharp gaze scanning the area as if assessing the situation. He was far more composed, but the moment his dark eyes landed on you, something flickered in them—something knowing.

A slow, easy smirk tugged at his lips. "Missed me, princess?"

It was so subtle, so effortless, and yet it made you smile.

Yoongi had never been loud about these things, not like Taehyung, but you knew— you knew—he was just as happy to see you.

And Jungkook?

Jungkook did not like that.

His scowl deepened as Yoongi stepped just a little too close for his liking. Before anyone could say another word, Jungkook shifted— subtle, but unmistakable—placing himself firmly between you and them.

You blinked. "Jungkook—"

"Namjoon’s waiting," Jungkook interrupted, his voice clipped. He didn’t even look at you, too focused on keeping his eyes locked on Taehyung and Yoongi, like they were a potential threat. "Let’s go."

You sighed, but didn’t argue, motioning for the two arrivals to follow.

As you led the way through the village, Jungkook repeatedly— and very obviously—positioned himself between you and them, blocking their path as much as possible. First when Yoongi got a little too close, then when Taehyung slung an arm around your shoulders. Each time, Jungkook maneuvered himself into place like a shield, his body tense.

And finally, after the second time he tried to step between you and them, you had enough.

After your talk yesterday—or more like this morning—you understood why he was doing it.

So, before he could shift in front of you again, you grabbed the upper part of his shirt, your fingers curling into the fabric as you held him firmly in place next to you.

Jungkook froze.

His wide eyes flickered to yours, startled, his body tensing at the unexpected touch. But when you didn’t let go—when you kept him close on your own—his surprise melted into something else entirely.

A slow, incredibly happy smile tugged at his lips.

Taehyung, who had been watching the whole exchange with far too much interest, let out a low. "Oh?"

Yoongi, smirking faintly, arched an eyebrow.

Deciding to ignore them, you turned to introduce your companions properly. "This is Jungkook," you said, your fingers still gripping his shirt, much to his delight. "And that’s Hoseok." You nodded toward the older wolf, who gave them a nod. "They’re part of Namjoon’s pack."

"Namjoon," Taehyung repeated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "That the alpha?"

You nodded. "Yes. He’s the reason we’re here, actually. He’s injured, but we’re working on a plan to deal with the hunters."

Yoongi hummed, nodding in understanding, while Taehyung simply grinned at Jungkook, who still looked less than pleased with their arrival.

Finally, you reached Namjoon’s cabin. You knocked once before pushing the door open, revealing the alpha inside. Namjoon, despite his injuries, still held an air of quiet authority as he looked up from where he was seated.

Yoongi stepped forward first, his sharp gaze assessing Namjoon’s condition before giving a short nod of approval. "You look like hell," he commented casually.

Taehyung, not one to be outdone, waltzed in and immediately dropped into a chair, swinging his legs up like he owned the place. "So! What’s the plan?" he asked, looking between all of you. "How are we dealing with these hunter bastards?"

Jungkook, still standing beside you, crossed his arms, his jaw tightening.

Namjoon’s sharp eyes flicked toward Yoongi as he entered.

"Are your friends always this charming? – Anyway we don’t have time to waste," Namjoon said, looking between you and the two new arrivals, leaning forward with a grim expression. "The hunters won’t wait for us to be ready."

"Then let’s not waste time," Yoongi replied smoothly, stepping closer. "We need to find them first. I assume you don’t have a precise location?"

Namjoon shook his head. "No. Only scattered sightings—until now."

Jin got everyone’s attention.

"One of our guards was tracking the hunters' movements. He just returned 10 minutes ago with news—" His expression darkened. "—there’s a small camp. Five of them. Not their full force, but it means they’re setting up to stay."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

"Then we strike before they gather more numbers," Jungkook said, his voice firm.

"And before they realize we have witches on our side," Hoseok added. "They won’t be expecting that."

All eyes turned to you.

You exhaled, already forming a plan in your mind. "First, we need a detection spell. Something to track every last one of them."

Jimin nodded thoughtfully. "That’ll take time. We need to be sure we don’t miss any of them."

"I’ll handle it," Yoongi assured you all. "Once we locate them, we have two choices—kill them, or force them to leave."

Taehyung scoffed. "Letting them leave is a mistake."

Yoongi leaned back against the wall, his expression unreadable. "If we let them go, we risk them returning stronger and angrier."

"Exactly," Namjoon agreed, his tone heavy. "If we want to protect the pack, we finish this now."

You nodded. "Then my coven will reinforce the wolves. We can place spells of protection and strength on them. But only a few of my witches will join the fight directly."

"And the darker magic?" Taehyung asked, grinning. "You’ll need us for that. Right?"

You glanced at him, unsurprised but still cautious. "Yes. We need to lower their defenses."

"Good," he said, looking far too pleased.

Yoongi’s gaze flicked toward you, sharp and calculating. "What do you need from us?"

You hesitated only for a moment before answering. "Your magic can weaken them before the wolves even reach them, reinforce nature for us." Your fingers tapped against the wooden table, thoughts forming as you continued. "We can use their fear against them. Cloud their senses. Leave them vulnerable."

Yoongi hummed, seemingly satisfied, but Namjoon’s frown deepened. "And what about actual offense?" He leaned forward, bracing his arms against the table. "The wolves can’t be the only ones fighting. That puts us at too much risk."

Yoongi tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening. "With the spell she’s planning, she’ll be an offensive force herself."

Jungkook tensed beside you, his entire body stiffening. "Excuse me?"

You avoided his gaze, already bracing for an argument.

"Oh, don’t worry, puppy," Taehyung chimed in, grinning. "She’s not in any real danger. She’s just making herself immensely vulnerable."

Jungkook turned his glare on him instantly. "That is literally the same thing."

"No, no," Taehyung tsked, shaking his head. "Danger is when someone’s actively trying to kill you. Vulnerable means… well, if someone wanted to kill you, it would be easy."

"That’s not better!" Jungkook snapped.

You shot Taehyung a glare. "You’re not helping."

He simply smirked, entirely unbothered.

Jungkook looked back at you, his jaw clenched. "What kind of spell are you planning?"

You inhaled deeply, debating how to word it without sending him into another fit of frustration. "A blood spell."

Jungkook’s scowl darkened.

"Not that kind," you clarified quickly. "It’s not a sacrifice spell or anything sinister. Blood is life—it has power. This will deepen my connection to nature."

You glanced at Yoongi and Taehyung. "With their magic amplifying mine, we can shift the entire battlefield in our favor."

Namjoon exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "It’s risky."

"It is," you admitted. "But so is doing nothing."

Jungkook’s frustration simmered beneath the surface, barely restrained. He wanted to argue, you could see it in his eyes, but Namjoon spoke before he could.

"We move in three days." The pack leader’s voice was firm. "Jin, send another messenger to the coven. I want their best spells on my wolves." Namjoon looked at you while you simply nodded.

Jin nodded, leaving immediately to relay the message.

You pushed back from the table, tension coiling in your chest. The meeting was over. Plans were in motion. But as expected, Jungkook wasn’t letting you off that easily.

"We need to talk."

You sighed, already exhausted. "Jungkook—"

"Not now, pup!" Taehyung declared, suddenly grabbing Jungkook’s arm. "We need to talk to you first."

Jimin appeared on his other side, grinning. "Come on. You’re part of the team now. Time to get to know each other."

Jungkook scowled. "I don’t have time for this—"

"Too bad!" Taehyung beamed, dragging him away before he could protest further.

You barely suppressed a laugh, shaking your head as you left them to it.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook sat stiffly between Jimin and Taehyung, eyeing them warily. "Why do I feel like this is an interrogation?"

"Because it is," Jimin replied, far too cheerfully.

"Relax, puppy," Taehyung drawled, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "We just want to know who exactly has claimed our favorite little witch’s attention."

Jungkook stiffened. "I haven’t—"

"Oh, we know," Taehyung interrupted, smirking. "But you want to, don’t you?"

Jungkook glared, but Jimin leaned forward. "For real, though, you don’t have to worry about Yoongi and her. They’ve never been a thing."

Jungkook frowned, glancing between them. "She didn’t say that."

"Because she doesn’t think she has to," Jimin said simply. "Yoongi is… Yoongi. He cares about her, but not like that."

Jungkook exhaled, tension easing slightly in his shoulders. "Good."

"Buuuut…" Taehyung grinned devilishly. "If she ever gave me a chance, I’d absolutely take it."

Jungkook growled.

Taehyung cackled. "Oh, you are fun!"

Jimin just sighed, patting Jungkook’s shoulder. "You’re doomed."

Jungkook sat back against the couch, arms crossed as he stared at Jimin and Taehyung, both of whom were clearly having way too much fun messing with him.

"So?" Jimin prompted, tilting his head. "What’s your deal?"

Jungkook frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Are you always this intense?" Taehyung asked, drumming his fingers against the armrest. "Or is that just a side effect of being completely obsessed with our favorite little witch?"

Jungkook scowled, but Jimin snorted. "Oh, come on. You don’t even deny it."

"Why would I?" Jungkook muttered.

That gave Taehyung pause. "Oh?" He exchanged a glance with Jimin, his grin widening. "That’s refreshing. Usually, wolves fight against their instincts a little longer."

Jimin hummed. "So, what is it about her?"

Jungkook exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "None of your business." That was a lie—he did know. But putting it into words? That was something else entirely.

"Come on?" Jimin pressed.

Jungkook’s gaze drifted for a moment, lost in thought. "She didn’t hesitate to help us." His voice softened slightly. "Even when it put her at odds with her coven. Even when it put her in danger. She’s smart, stubborn, infuriating at times, but… she’s good."

Taehyung was watching him closely now, his teasing demeanor fading just slightly. "And you’re worried about what this means?"

Jungkook didn’t answer.

"You’re lucky, you know," Jimin said, nudging his knee with his own. "She’s not the type to do anything she doesn’t want to. If she’s here, if she’s helping—if she’s letting you in—it’s because she wants to."

Jungkook clenched his jaw, processing that.

Taehyung smirked, shaking his head. "And you growled at me when I said I’d take a chance with her. She’s already yours, puppy. You just have to stop being so damn broody about it."

Jungkook sighed, but he couldn’t stop the small, amused smile that flickered over his lips.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Elsewhere, you sat on a small wooden bench, a quiet bubble of peace in the middle of a chaotic day. Yoongi stood beside you, arms crossed, his sharp gaze scanning the treetops like he was listening to the wind itself.

"You’re quiet," he finally said.

You let out a slow breath. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous habit."

You huffed a small laugh. "Tell me about it."

Yoongi turned slightly, his piercing eyes now focused entirely on you. "It’s about him, isn’t it?"

You hesitated, then groaned. "I swear, you’re just as bad as Taehyung."

"I’m worse," he corrected smoothly.

You rubbed your temple, debating how much to tell him. But this was Yoongi. He always saw through you anyway.

"Jungkook said something…" You trailed off, exhaling. "He confessed that I’m his mate."

That caught Yoongi off guard. His brows lifted slightly, a rare sign of true surprise. "Did he, now?"

You nodded, avoiding his gaze. "And now, I’m just… lost."

Yoongi didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he sat beside you, his usual sharpness softened just slightly. "Witches don’t have mates, do they?"

"Not like wolves do." You sighed, rubbing at your arms. "Our connections aren’t… fated. We choose who we love, just like humans do."

"And yet?"

You bit your lip, glancing at him. "And yet."

Yoongi hummed, tilting his head. "You don’t have to have all the answers right now."

"Then why does it feel like I do?"

"Because you care."

That simple truth made your heart squeeze.

Yoongi watched you for another moment before offering something rare: reassurance. "If it helps," he said, "Jungkook doesn’t seem like the type to demand anything from you. He doesn’t strike me as the pushy kind."

You huffed a small laugh. "No, just the brooding, self-sacrificing kind."

"Ah." Yoongi smirked. "A perfect match, then."

You groaned. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The rest of the day passed in a blur of work. Between strategizing, sending messages to your coven, and preparing spells, there was hardly a moment to breathe. By the time evening rolled around, you had finally snuck away.

Jungkook followed your scent through the village, his wolf guiding him straight home.

His home.

And when he stepped inside, the tension that had been clawing at his chest melted away.

You were there.

Curled up on his couch, legs tucked beneath you, a steaming cup of lavender tea in your hands. The candlelight flickered softly, casting golden shadows over your face, your expression calm, lost in thought.

Jungkook took a slow breath. Something about seeing you here, in his space, made something inside him settle. His wolf preened at the sight—because this wasn’t just you visiting. This was you choosing his home as your moment of peace.

The realization made warmth spread through his chest.

You blinked up at him, startled. "Jungkook?"

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You scared the hell out of me."

You frowned. "What? Why?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "You disappeared. I couldn’t find you."

Your expression softened. "Jungkook, I just needed a moment."

He hesitated before slowly stepping closer. "You could’ve told me."

You sighed, shaking your head. "I didn’t think I needed to."

Jungkook sighed, too, but he couldn’t bring himself to be upset. Not when you were here, in his space, wrapped in the scent of tea and candle smoke. He sat beside you, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

You stared down at your tea, thoughts heavy. What Yoongi had said earlier lingered in your mind.

You don’t have to have all the answers right now.

You hated that he was right.

You weren’t even sure what you felt. There was something between you and Jungkook—undeniable, electric. Something that pulled at you every time you looked at him. But there was also responsibility. Your coven, the war ahead, the consequences of this attachment.

You chewed your lip, lost in thought, when Jungkook suddenly murmured, "Are you okay?"

You startled slightly, looking up. "Yeah, just thinking."

Jungkook smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. "Uh-oh."

You frowned. "What?"

"Nothing. Just… I didn’t know witches could think so hard."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. "Oh, shut up."

Jungkook grinned, proud of himself for pulling you out of your thoughts. But the teasing made something bubble up in you—an idea, a ridiculous impulse.

You swallowed, suddenly nervous. "Can I try something?"

Jungkook raised a brow. "Anything."

You groaned. "Don’t say that so easily. It’s nothing big, I just—" You waved a hand, suddenly rambling. "It’s fine if not, I just wanted to try, but it’s stupid and—"

Jungkook chuckled, cutting you off. "You can try whatever you want."

His wolf was delighted by how flustered you were, even if he didn’t know why. Jungkook watched as you opened your mouth, then promptly shut it, your nerves spiking.

Then, suddenly, you blurted, "Do you want tea?"

Jungkook blinked. "What?"

"Tea. Do you want—"

"No." His smirk widened. "You’re not changing the subject."

You huffed. Of course he wouldn’t let this go.

Standing abruptly, you motioned for him to stay where he was. "Fine. Sit exactly how I tell you."

Jungkook’s brow arched, amused, but he obeyed as you nudged him to sit back against the couch, adjusting his posture.

Then—before you could chicken out—you moved between his legs.

Jungkook stiffened. His entire body went completely still, not daring to move a muscle. His wolf’s ears perked up, entirely focused on you.

You, who had just willingly placed yourself this close.

Jungkook’s hands twitched, resisting the urge to reach for you. His heart pounded in his chest, but he didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to risk you pulling away.

But you didn’t.

You sat there, settling yourself between his legs, your back pressing lightly against his chest.

Jungkook swallowed hard, his breathing slow and steady—except it wasn’t steady at all.

Then, slowly, you let yourself lean into him.

Your head rested against his shoulder, your weight melting against him, trusting, solid.

Jungkook shut his eyes for a second. He barely felt real.

Then, quietly, awkwardly, you mumbled, "Is this… fine?"

Jungkook exhaled sharply, his voice rough when he answered.

"More than fine."

Jungkook barely breathed.

You were in his arms—willingly, trustingly. The warmth of you pressed against his chest, your scent filling every inhale. His wolf was practically preening, utterly blissed out.

And yet, Jungkook held himself perfectly still.

It was a battle not to let his instincts take over, not to pull you closer, not to bury his face into the crook of your neck and claim. But you had chosen this moment, had chosen him, and he would not ruin it by moving too fast.

So he waited.

And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, "Can I do something?"

You stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away. Jungkook could hear the way your breath caught, could feel the way your heartbeat picked up.

Then, slowly, you nodded.

But that wasn’t enough.

"Tell me," Jungkook murmured.

You swallowed, voice hesitant. "Y-Yes."

Jungkook felt his chest tighten at the uncertainty in your tone. Not fear—no, you weren’t afraid of him—but something else. Something raw.

This was new for you.

This closeness. This warmth. This happiness.

Jungkook understood, maybe more than you knew. He had lived his life never expecting to have a mate, never daring to hope. And now, here you were, in his home, in his arms, letting him hold you.

You felt right against him.

Slowly, carefully, Jungkook moved.

His hand ghosted over your side, barely there, before slipping around your waist. He felt you tense—your breath catching, your fingers twitching—but you didn’t pull away.

"Are we still good?" he murmured, voice low.

You nodded again.

Jungkook huffed a quiet laugh. "Use your words."

You hesitated, then forced yourself to say it. "Yes."

Jungkook let out a slow exhale, his fingers finally settling against your waist, pulling you just a little closer. The shift in position made the couch more comfortable for you both—his arm fitting snugly around you, your back resting more fully against his chest.

And stars above, Jungkook had never felt more at peace.

But he wasn’t done.

"Still good?" he asked again.

This time, you didn’t hesitate.

A soft sigh left your lips. "Yes."

Jungkook grinned against your hair, utterly delighted, nearly overwhelmed. His wolf rumbled its approval deep in his chest, barely restrained.

For a fleeting moment, a dark thought crossed his mind.

Claim.

The urge to sink his teeth into your skin, to mark you, to make it known that you were his, surged through him.

But he shoved it down.

He would never—never—do anything you weren’t comfortable with.

Right now, he wanted to sing, wanted to dance at the sheer joy of having you this close.

But then, a realization struck him.

You had said you wanted to try something.

This wasn’t just some passing moment.

This was you trying.

His voice was quieter this time. "This is okay?"

You shifted slightly, tilting your head against his shoulder. "This is fine."

And Jungkook smiled. He wanted to carve those words into stone. You were fine here. With him.

You were quiet for a moment, your fingers tracing absently over the rim of your tea cup. Then, hesitantly, you leaned into him a little more.

Jungkook felt his heart soar.

And for now, this was enough.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The warmth of Jungkook’s body, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it all wrapped around you like a cocoon. The weight of his arm around your waist should have felt suffocating, overwhelming, too much.

But instead, it felt… safe.

It was lulling you into something dangerously close to sleep, your eyelids growing heavier with every second you stayed curled up against him.

Jungkook, of course, noticed.

He hummed softly, the sound vibrating against your back. "You should go to bed, witch."

You groaned in protest, already anticipating the argument that would follow. "Not this again."

Jungkook grinned. "What? You don’t want to fight with me tonight?"

You huffed. "I’m too comfortable."

"I can just carry you over after you fall asleep." 

He chuckled at that, a deep, soft rumble that traveled from his chest straight through you, and you hated the way it made your stomach flutter. You realized, somewhat begrudgingly, that you liked his laugh. It was warm, rich—so full of something that made you want to hear it again and again.

And for a moment, you let yourself entertain that thought.

Then, in a rare moment of boldness, you teased, "Oh would you do that now? And then what? Just let me sleep like this? Or… would you change my clothes too?"

Jungkook choked.

His entire body went rigid behind you. "I—what?"

You smirked to yourself.

His reaction was instant, like you’d just set him on fire. He scrambled to respond, tripping over his own words. "I—No! I would never—That’s—"

You could hear the sheer horror in his voice as he tried, and failed, to find the right thing to say.

"I wouldn’t—I mean, I could—but I wouldn’t! Not that I don’t—" He groaned, clearly flustered beyond belief. "That would be completely indecent!"

You chuckled, amused beyond reason.

Jungkook stilled.

It was your laughter that did something to him.

His stomach clenched, his pulse kicking up. That soft, unguarded sound—so rare from you—made something shift in his chest.

His wolf preened.

You laughed because of him.

Jungkook exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "You’re going to be the death of me, witch."

"I’ll make sure it’s a slow death, wolf."

He groaned dramatically, making you laugh again, and stars above, he’d do anything to keep hearing that sound.

But then, more seriously, he murmured, "Come to bed with me."

You paused for a second too long.

"Fine. We can both sleep in the bed."

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard. "Wait, really?"

"Yes, but keep your hands to yourself, wolf."

Jungkook scoffed. "Please. As if I’d—"

You gave him a look.

He shut his mouth.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The two of you lay in his bed, stiff as boards.

Jungkook hated it.

You had just been curled up against him on the couch, warm and pliant, your scent wrapped around him like a dream. And now? Now you were lying miles away, stiff and awkward, and he hated it.

This was supposed to be good. This was supposed to be his mate in his bed.

Instead, it was excruciating.

Jungkook let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling. "This is weird."

"Yes."_

Silence.

More silence.

Jungkook sighed again. "I liked the couch better."

"Don’t start."

Jungkook turned his head slightly, glancing at you. You were staring at the ceiling too, arms folded over your stomach like you were afraid to move.

He exhaled through his nose. "This isn’t working."

"What isn’t?"

"This!" He gestured vaguely. "Us, lying here, pretending we’re not awkward."

You let out a long sigh, then turned on your side, facing him. "Then fix it, wolf."

Jungkook blinked at you. Then, before he could think twice, he said, "How would I?"

You hesitated, but your gaze flickered down to his arm, the inked patterns swirling over his skin.

"Fine." You reached out, your fingers hovering just above his forearm. "This one. What does it mean?"

Jungkook glanced down. "My tattoo? That one’s for my pack."

"And this?"

"Strength."

"This?"

Jungkook smiled. "My mother’s name."

Slowly, the tension started to melt away. The awkwardness faded, replaced with something softer, easier. You traced the intricate lines of his tattoos, and Jungkook told you their stories.

With each answer, each touch, you both unconsciously shifted closer. The space between you disappeared as your fingers trailed over his skin, his warmth seeping into you.

And just like that, the weight of the night slipped away.

Your voice grew softer, your movements slower. Sleep was pulling you under, and Jungkook felt it in the way your breath evened out, your fingers stilling against his skin.

And then, instinctively, unconsciously, you nestled into him.

Jungkook shifted, his arm slipping around you once more, tucking you close against his chest.

His mate.

In his bed.

Safe.

With him.

Jungkook closed his eyes, letting himself finally, finally rest.

Morning came slow and sweet.

The first thing you registered was warmth—the kind that wrapped around you, pressing close from all sides. A steady rise and fall beneath your cheek, a deep, even rhythm that made it nearly impossible to wake up fully. The second thing you noticed was the scent—earthy, woodsy, something distinctly Jungkook. And the third… the soft, lazy motion against your back, gentle fingers tracing up and down in slow, absentminded strokes.

Your sleep-addled brain barely processed it at first, too cocooned in comfort to do anything but sigh softly and snuggle further into the heat surrounding you. That was when the deep, content rumble reached your ears—low, pleased, almost like a purr, but unmistakably wolf.

Jungkook.

Your eyes fluttered open, the dim morning light filtering in just enough to reveal your current predicament.

You were tucked against his chest, completely surrounded by him. One of his arms was wrapped securely around your waist, the other curled under the pillow beneath your head. His face was buried in your hair, warm breath ghosting over your scalp, and—judging by the way he was still rubbing your back—he was very much awake.

You swallowed.

When did this happen?

You didn’t even remember moving in the night, let alone curling up so shamelessly into him. But judging by the content hum vibrating against you, Jungkook had no complaints.

Carefully, you tried to shift—only to be stopped by a low, displeased grumble.

You froze.

“…Jungkook?”

A sleepy hum.

You sighed. "Good morning."

"Mmm." He tightened his grip around you, pulling you flush against him.

Your brain short-circuited.

"Jungkook."

"Y/N."

"I need to get up."

"No, you don’t."

"Yes, I do."

"Mmm… No." He nuzzled further into your hair, voice thick and gravelly from sleep. "This is nice. We should stay like this. Forever."

You scoffed. "Forever?"

"Mhm."

"Jungkook."

"Y/N."

You sighed again, realizing he wasn’t going to make this easy. "I really need to get up."

"No, you don’t."

"I need to pee, Jungkook."

That got his attention.

For a second, you could feel his hesitation, could practically hear his brain trying to find a way around it. When you lifted your head to glare at him, he met your eyes with a slightly dazed look, blinking slowly.

Then, much to your horror, his expression shifted—like he was actually considering something.

"…Jungkook."

"Hmmm…"

"I swear, if you’re thinking about it—"

"I’m not—"

"You are—"

"Fine, go pee."

You rolled your eyes and shoved at his chest until he finally released you, a dramatic sigh leaving him as you slipped out of bed. As you disappeared into the bathroom, he flopped onto his back with a grin so wide it hurt.

Yesterday was progress, right?

His head and heart were all over the place, but you let him hold you. You let him keep you close. You woke up in his arms, in his bed, and—fuck—he wanted it to happen every single day.

His wolf demanded it.

But before you could reappear and head straight for the kitchen like he knew you would, Jungkook threw back the covers and got up first.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, feeling slightly more awake, the scent of food reached you first.

Your steps slowed.

Jungkook was in the kitchen.

You lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching as he moved. His back was turned, muscles shifting subtly beneath his shirt with every motion. His hands worked swiftly, efficiently—cracking eggs, flipping something in a pan, the quiet clink of dishes filling the space.

And for some reason… you got stuck there.

You weren’t sure how long you stood, lost in the sight of him.

Then—

"I can feel you staring at me."

Your breath hitched.

Jungkook smirked, eyes still focused on the pan.

You scowled, face heating up. "I wasn’t staring."

"Mmm." He hummed, clearly not believing you.

Determined to change the subject, you smoothly stepped next to him. "I’ll help."

"Nope." Jungkook promptly shooed you away. "Go sit. I got this."

You blinked. "But—"

"Sit."

He practically herded you toward a chair before turning back to the stove. With no other choice, you sat, watching as he finished up.

Soon, breakfast was set before you—simple but clearly made with care. You took a bite, chewing thoughtfully, then glanced at him.

"It’s good."

Jungkook nodded—but didn’t say anything.

He was still watching you.

You frowned. "What?"

Jungkook hesitated. Then, much to your surprise, his ears turned red.

You stared. "Jungkook."

Jungkook let out a slow breath, clearly embarrassed beyond belief. "It’s instinct, okay? To… watch you eat. To make sure you’re actually eating. To—" He clenched his jaw. "To make sure my mate is provided for."

You paused, your fingers lightly drumming against the table as you considered his words.

Then, instead of reacting with hesitation or resistance like you might have before, you reached for a piece of fruit from the plate between you and held it up to his lips. "Then eat with me."

Jungkook blinked, thrown off. His gaze flickered from your eyes to the fruit, then back again.

Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in and took a bite.

Something shifted in his expression—something soft, something relieved.

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need to. It was there in your actions, in the way you stayed, in the way you chose to share this moment with him instead of pushing him away.

Jungkook swallowed, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to say something. Instead, he exhaled, his gaze warm as he murmured, "You’re dangerous, witch."

You smirked, popping the rest of the fruit into your own mouth. "I thought you already knew that, wolf."

Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head. But this time, he didn’t look away.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The days leading up to the hunt blurred together in a whirlwind of movement. Between strategizing, preparation, and the constant presence of Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin—who found endless amusement in teasing and tormenting Jungkook—it was nearly impossible to have a single moment to yourself.

Jungkook, of course, was always within reach.

Somehow, in the middle of all this chaos, you and he had found moments. Moments where his hand would brush yours when you passed supplies to him. Moments where he would pull you aside, away from the noise, just to look at you. Moments where he would test boundaries, pressing a hand to the small of your back to guide you, letting his fingers linger a second too long, waiting to see if you would push him away.

You never did.

Every day since you woke up in his arms, something between you shifted.

You let him in, bit by bit.

And now, after days of endless preparation, the final hour had arrived.

The wolves, your coven, and the devils—Yoongi and Taehyung—were gearing up for the attack. Weapons were strapped into place, spells prepared, and the last-minute checks were being made. Namjoon and Yoongi were talking in hushed voices, and even Hoseok, who had been difficult with you in the beginning, now treated you as part of the pack.

But Jungkook—Jungkook was antsy.

You had already talked to him about this a hundred times. He wasn’t going to be by your side during the attack. It had been strategized to death, planned and agreed upon, and there was no changing it now.

But that didn’t stop him from trying.

His jaw was tight, his muscles tense, and his gaze kept darting toward you like he expected you to disappear the moment he looked away. You could feel his distress before he even opened his mouth.

Jungkook tried to steady his breathing, tried to focus on his task, but his mind wouldn’t let go of the conversation from the strategy meeting a few nights ago.

"She’s not in any real danger. She’s just making herself immensely vulnerable."

"No, no," Taehyung had tsked, shaking his head, smug as ever. "Danger is when someone’s actively trying to kill you. Vulnerable means… well, if someone wanted to kill you, it would be easy."

Jungkook’s fists clenched at his sides.

But what had made it worse—what had truly settled like ice in his chest—was that you hadn’t argued. You had only exchanged a glance with Namjoon and carried on. Like you had already accepted it.

And now, standing here, an hour before the attack, Jungkook couldn’t shake the memory.

Couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t right.

An hour before everything would be set in motion, with Yoongi and Taehyung preparing the spell to amplify your connection to nature, Jungkook came to you again.

"I can’t let you be alone."

That was all he said.

And you snapped.

"Jungkook," you said sharply, stepping forward. "I understand your instincts. I do. But I would rather all of you—every single one of my friends—stay home instead of risking your lives. But that’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works."

His jaw tensed, his hands flexing at his sides. "I just—"

"If you really want me to ever be more than just your mate, you need to trust me."

Jungkook’s breath hitched.

You saw it—the way your words hit him like a physical blow.

Just mates.

Like it was nothing.

Like the last few days hadn’t meant anything.

But you weren’t done. You stepped closer, your voice quieter but no less fierce. "If I want you as my partner—my freely chosen partner—and not just as my mate, I need to trust that you’ll live through this day as well. Do you think this is easy for me?"

Jungkook stilled.

Because he hadn’t thought about that.

You were a witch. Witches didn’t have mates. They didn’t have the kind of bond that wolves did. Sure, you felt the connection, but these past few days, you hadn’t been trying to understand it.

You hadn’t been staying close to him because of instinct.

You had been staying close to him because you chose to.

Jungkook felt like your words had punched the air from his lungs. His wolf howled in his chest, ecstatic at the realization, but Jungkook was conflicted.

Because now—now, you had given him everything he wanted and then ripped it away in the same breath.

He wanted you. As his mate, as his partner, as his everything.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and the only thing he could do—the only thing—was look at you.

"I will always come back to you."

His voice was rough, his words carrying a weight you didn’t fully understand.

Then, before you could say anything else, he grabbed the back of your neck, his grip firm but gentle, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

It wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t desperate.

It was a promise.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You hated this.

Hated that Jungkook wasn’t by your side. Hated that you had to fight him on this in the first place, that you had to push him away for the sake of the battle, for the sake of everyone involved.

It had been the right decision. The only decision.

But now, standing in your designated position, your fingers curled tightly around the hilt of your dagger, you couldn’t shake the fear clawing up your spine.

What if you never saw him again?

What if this was the last time you felt his warmth? The last time you heard his voice, saw the way his eyes softened when he looked at you?

The thought made your throat tighten, panic creeping in despite your best efforts to focus.

A dark presence appeared at your side, and you didn’t even flinch.

"Wow," Yoongi drawled, crossing his arms as he glanced at you. "I knew Jungkook was whipped, but this? This is something else."

You scowled. "Shut up."

Yoongi smirked. "No, I don’t think I will." He tilted his head. "Actually, you know what? You’re both whipped. Pathetically so."

You let out a slow breath, forcing yourself to unclench your jaw. "Yoongi—"

"You need your head in the game, Witch," he cut you off, his voice suddenly serious. "Jungkook will do his job. You need to do yours."

You hated that he was right.

Hated that he could see right through you.

But after a beat, you exhaled sharply, pushing down the gnawing anxiety in your gut. "Yeah," you muttered. "I know."

Yoongi’s smirk returned, but he didn’t push further. "Good." Then he turned, stretching out his fingers as power crackled around them. "Let’s go ruin some lives, shall we?"

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The battle started with a war cry—one that rang through the trees, shaking the very ground beneath your feet.

And then all hell broke loose.

The wolves, enchanted by your coven’s magic, moved like hellhounds. Their speed was blinding, their strength impossibly amplified. They tore through the hunters’ defenses like they were made of paper, claws ripping through flesh, teeth sinking into throats.

There was blood. So much blood.

The air was thick with the scent of it, the sounds of snarls, screams, and the clash of steel against claws filling your ears.

And then there were Yoongi and Taehyung.

The two of them were monsters in their own right.

Yoongi moved like a shadow, slipping between bodies with an unnatural grace, his power crackling around him like living electricity. He didn’t even need to touch them—every time he reached out, something broke. Necks twisted. Bodies crumpled.

Taehyung was no less terrifying. He laughed—laughed—as he ripped through the battlefield, moving like a predator among prey. He relished in it, in the carnage, in the way the hunters’ eyes filled with terror when they realized exactly what they were facing.

And through it all, Jungkook fought.

He was a blur of fur and fangs, fighting tooth and nail alongside Jimin. His coat was soaked in blood, his body covered in gashes that he barely seemed to register as he tore through the enemy.

But then—

He made a mistake.

A moment’s distraction, a split second of hesitation—

And suddenly, he was surrounded.

The hunters moved in with ruthless precision, weapons raised, aiming to kill.

Jungkook struggled, snapping and clawing, but they were coordinated, their weapons digging into his flesh, pinning him down.

He snarled, struggled harder, his muscles screaming in protest—

But in the back of his mind, one single thought rang clear.

He had broken his promise.

He wasn’t going to make it back to you.

He barely had time to process that thought before—

A tree trunk came flying through the air.

The impact was devastating. It hit one of the hunters dead-on, sending him flying—his body crumpling on impact. There was no way he survived.

The others barely had time to react before the sky split open.

A bolt of lightning, impossibly fast, impossibly precise, struck down from the heavens, incinerating every single one of them in an instant.

Jungkook barely had time to breathe.

Jimin skidded to a stop beside him, panting, eyes wide as he stared at the charred remains of the hunters.

Then, after a beat, he let out a low whistle. "Damn," he muttered. "She’s really pissed."

Jungkook blinked, his brain finally catching up.

You.

You had done this.

A spell from afar, a desperate act of protection—

You had saved him.

Jungkook exhaled, his chest aching with something overwhelming, something raw and real.

He didn’t have the words for it.

Didn’t need them.

Because right now, as he stood there, bloodied and breathless, there was only one thing he knew for certain.

You were still fighting.

And he had never been more grateful.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The battlefield stretched out before you, a violent canvas painted in blood and fire. From your position on the hillside, you could see nearly everything—the chaos, the brutality, the way the enchanted wolves ripped through the hunters like they were nothing. The way lightning danced across the field at your command, nature itself bending to your will.

It should have been exhilarating.

Instead, your heart ached.

Jungkook was down there. Too far. Too far for you to reach, too far for you to know if he was truly okay. And you had made yourself useless the moment you stepped into this spell.

The seven-layered pentagram beneath you glowed with pulsing, otherworldly light, ancient runes carved into the dirt drinking in the magic that bled from your veins. You had never attempted something of this scale before—not alone. But Yoongi and Taehyung had worked with you, weaving the spell into something unstoppable. Something powerful.

Your blood was a part of this now, woven into the spell’s very core. And as long as you remained inside this circle, as long as you poured everything into it—nature itself would rise to your command.

By your side, two wolves stood as your protectors.

They were older, past the days of war but not past their devotion to their pack. And now, to you.

You weren’t one of them.

But you were Jungkook’s.

They had seen the way his eyes lingered, how he hovered near you even when there was no need. How he bared his teeth at anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way.

And that was enough.

Namjoon had trusted them with this duty, and they had accepted it with pride. They were not Jungkook—who had recklessly thrown himself into danger not long ago—but they would keep you safe.

Because Taehyung had been right.

This spell, while not technically a sacrifice, would leave you vulnerable.

The moment you stepped out of the circle, you would be drained, magicless. Your body would struggle to recover. You had left out this particular detail when explaining it to Jungkook.

You shuddered, grateful he didn’t know.

He would have never let you go through with it.

And yet, even as you sat there, feeling the strain creeping into your bones, something inside you yearned for him. Ached to have him near, where you could be certain he wasn’t—

The scent of blood filled the air.

It wasn’t uncommon—this was war, after all—but this was different. This was too close.

Then came the snarl of pain.

The heavy thud of a body hitting the ground.

You turned, panic rising, just in time to see one of your guards collapse.

Dead.

Your stomach lurched.

And then you saw them—three hunters, standing just outside your protective circle, weapons slick with fresh blood.

"Found you," one of them sneered, his grip tightening on his blade.

Your breath came fast, mind racing. You could not leave this circle—not yet. If you broke the spell now, the entire battlefield would lose its biggest advantage. The wolves would no longer be enhanced. Nature would stop listening.

But you were defenseless.

The second wolf, your remaining guard, stepped in front of you, his lips curled back in a vicious snarl.

He was old. Slower than he once was. But he would fight for you with everything he had.

"You will not touch her," he growled.

The hunters only smirked.

You watched in growing horror as they closed in, the wolf lashing out, fighting, but he was losing. You could see it—he was outnumbered, outmatched, exhausted.

Your fingers curled into the dirt.

If you left the spell, you would be helpless. But if you stayed, you would watch him die.

You made your decision.

Drawing in a sharp breath, you reached for the runes, preparing to sever the magic—

A blur of black and crimson tore through the treeline.

A monster of fur and fangs crashed into the hunters, hitting them with the force of a battering ram.

And then—screaming.

Jungkook.

Jungkook, tearing through the first hunter’s throat before the man could even react.

Jungkook, ripping through the second like a beast possessed, his growls inhuman, raw and furious.

The third hunter tried to flee.

A tree struck him down before he could take two steps.

And just like that—

It was over.

You sat frozen, heart hammering as Jungkook stood before you, panting hard, his massive form covered in blood.

And then you saw it.

The wounds.

Deep gashes along his flank, his side, his shoulder. A long, nasty wound ran down his leg, staining his black fur crimson. He limped, shifting his weight carefully, but it was clear the injury was slowing him down.

None of them life-threatening, but bad. Bad enough to make any wolf fall back, to seek treatment.

But instead—

Instead, he had come here.

To you.

"Jungkook—" Your voice came out in a whisper, your throat tight.

He took a step closer, then another, though his leg trembled under the weight. His wild, golden eyes burned into yours.

"You should be down there," you murmured, searching his face. "You should be resting. You—" Your words caught as you finally let yourself feel it—all of it. The relief, the fear, the sheer overwhelming emotion of seeing him here, alive.

Jungkook huffed, his breath warm as it ghosted over your face. Then, slowly, he lowered himself onto his haunches, bowing his massive head to nudge your arm with his nose but not entering the spell.

You exhaled, a shaky, broken sound, your fingers itching to curl into the thick fur at his neck.

He had come.

He had kept his promise.

And despite everything—the battle raging on, the exhaustion creeping in, the danger still ahead—your heart felt light.

Because he was here.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Part 3

[runes-and-men]

There was a request about Angron accidentally killing his wife and then discovering that she is a Perpetual and later really killing her, but since I didn’t know how Tumblr works, I accidentally deleted the request by answering it in my draft. I'm very sorry, the req was anonymous, so I can't tag no one :(

TW: bad writing, gore, emotional suffering, death of major character (kind of), OOC.

Life with Angron had been difficult from the very beginning. Even now, he still didn't understand how a young, beautiful woman from a noble family could have willingly chosen to spend her life with a monster like him. Of course, you knew about his curse. Just like your family did. He saw the horror in your relatives' eyes when they looked at him, even though they spoke to him with courtesy and politeness.

There was no fear in his life greater than the fear of harming you.

Over time, he learned to sense when his curse was about to take control of his mind. He always managed to order you to be hidden somewhere beyond his reach, where he wouldn’t be able to find you and commit something horrific.

But one day, he forgot to warn you and his Astartes that an episode was coming. There’s no point in describing how you approached your husband, as you had done a thousand times before, simply to tell him something.

The conversation ended with you seeing, at the last moment, how his eyes filled with blood. You were already prepared to run, realizing that Angron had lost control. But your escape was cut short - he caught you by the scruff like a stray cat, wrapped his arm around your waist, and with a single, effortless squeeze, crushed your ribcage and spine. He killed you.

The madness left his mind instantly. The voices and screams in his head fell silent, and the pain vanished as if it had never been there. But that didn’t make anything better - because now he saw what he had done to you.

There was no point in describing how he tormented himself over your death. Once again, his curse had taken someone dear to him - a woman who, despite all the risks, had chosen to be with him, who had helped him fight off his madness, soothing him with her touch and voice. And now, you had paid for your love with your life.

When the moments of shock passed, Angron still couldn’t believe what he had done. How could he have forgotten? How could he have allowed your death to happen?

Your body, seemingly intact, lay in the middle of the vast, empty hall. Only upon closer inspection could one see the unnatural angles of your twisted arms and legs, the jagged protrusions of broken ribs and spine beneath your clothing, and the small pool of blood trickling from your nose - paired with your wide, unseeing eyes.

Then, Angron simply left the hall without even touching you - he couldn’t believe it had truly happened, despite fearing this moment every single time. He forbade anyone from entering that room. He didn’t want to openly admit that he had finally killed you; shame was far more unbearable to him than rage.

Someone would find your body days later, guided by the stench of rotting flesh. You would be carried away and buried. Of course, everyone would recognize Angron’s wife, but no one would say a word - to him or anyone else. They feared his wrath. And he…he would try to forget this pain, just as he had forgotten all the other losses in his life.

And then, as if you had come back from the dead.

The Astartes found you in one of the corridors, barely conscious, dressed in torn, blood-soaked clothing, whimpering quietly from pain.

That was when they had no choice but to tell the Apothecaries everything: how Angron had lost control, how he had killed you, crushed your body, and then left you in that empty hall to rot. Even the Apothecaries of the World Eaters couldn't completely hide the flicker of disgust that crossed their faces upon hearing this. But none of them would ever dare to rebuke their primarch for what he had done.

Shame and rage burned just as fiercely as the relief that you were alive. Angron didn’t know how or why. He had seen your lifeless body, had heard your last breath and the final beat of your heart. But he didn’t care why you were alive, and that was all that mattered.

Later, another revelation came to light: you were a Perpetual. Your genetic code bore all the markers proving that you weren’t Homo sapiens, but Homo superior - a different biological species altogether.

Angron listened to the news as if hypnotised. The words drifted through his mind slowly, barely settling amid the whirlwind of a million other thoughts and questions.

Too much had happened in the past week.

When you and Angron met for the first time after your resurrection, you told him what it had been like. The fact that you weren’t afraid and greeted your husband with a smile softened the weight of everything you were about to say.

It turned out that you had died from shock and asphyxiation a few minutes after Angron had crushed your body. You had seen the moment he realized what he had done. You simply couldn’t move or breathe. Your spine was shattered, your nervous system unresponsive. You had witnessed the panic and agony in his eyes. As you spoke of it now, you smiled, stroking his sweat-dampened cheek.

And then, about two hours later - or at least, that’s how it had felt to you (though in reality, days had passed) - you had suddenly awakened to searing pain coursing through your entire body.

At first, you regained the ability to breathe. Then, your sight and hearing returned. You had heard the cracking inside you, even though you still couldn’t move. Later, you would learn that it had been your shattered bones knitting themselves back together, the fragments aligning, torn muscles weaving themselves whole again. And all of it had been agony.

Then, you could move. Then stand. Then, walk into the corridor. And the rest - well, that part was obvious.

You spoke of all these horrors with a gentle smile, as if merely recalling the sadness of losing a childhood pet.

Angron had already lost all sense of understanding. He could no longer grasp what was happening.

He didn’t say a word - he just pulled you into a tight, crushing embrace.

And in his mind, he heard it again. The sound of your ribs breaking.

One horrifying realization cut through the chaos in his mind with absolute clarity: Killing you had instantly restored his sanity.

Before, whenever he committed something terrible, he only understood it afterward - when his consciousness returned.

But this time…it had been different.

This time, the cure had come instantly.

The unbearable bloodlust had vanished instantly - something no other method had ever been able to achieve.

[evorlaah]

JADED

PAIRING: non!idol!jay x fem!reader

Synposis: You’re caught in a complicated, emotionally exhausting relationship with Jay—neither of you sure if what you have is love or just a fleeting need, but you’re both too jaded to let go.

Warnings&genre: romance, drama, slowburn, emotional, fear of commitment, language, alcohol, angst angst angst angst (i know you guys are tired of the angst im sorrryyy. I think that’s it)

Word count: 20-30k

The sheets are cold when you wake up. Not surprising—Jay never stays the night. The scent of cigarette smoke lingers in the air, mixing with the faint trace of his cologne, something sharp and familiar. You exhale, staring at the ceiling, willing yourself not to think about last night, or the night before, or the countless nights where he slipped through your door like a bad habit you never learned to break.

It’s always like this. The quiet mess he leaves behind. The lipstick smudges on your glass, his cigarette butt in the ashtray he never empties, the ghost of his voice still lingering in the air. A distance of a memory.

You don’t know what you are to each other. You don’t ask, and he doesn’t offer.

But every time you tell yourself it’s over, that it should be over, he finds a way back in.

“Y/n, you know he’s no good for you.” Chaewons voice is firm but not unkind as she leans against your dorm room door, arms crossed, eyes filled with the kind of concern you don’t want to face. You don’t respond, just turn your attention back to the coffee in your hands, letting the warmth seep into your palms as if it could chase away the lingering cold Jay always leaves behind.

“I know,” you finally say, but even you don’t believe it.

Chaewon—sighs, stepping closer. “Then why do you keep letting him in?”

It’s a fair question, one you don’t have an answer to. Or maybe you do, but admitting it would make it real.

You swallow, forcing a shrug. “It’s not that deep.”

Chaewon gives you a look, one that makes your chest tighten. She knows you too well to believe that. “Not that deep?” she repeats, shaking her head. “Y/n, you look miserable. You barely sleep, you’re zoning out all the time, and don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you check your phone when you think no one’s looking.”

You hate that she’s right. You hate that she sees right through you.

“It’s complicated,” you mutter, setting your coffee down with a little more force than necessary.

“It’s not, though,” Chaewon counters. “He either wants you, or he doesn’t.”

Your stomach twists at her words. Because that’s the thing about Jay—he never says what he wants. He just shows up, and you let him. It’s a cycle, one that should’ve ended a long time ago, but every time you try to walk away, something keeps pulling you back.

And you don’t know if it’s him, or just the idea of him.

Chaewon watches you carefully, her expression softening. “You deserve more than this.”

You exhale, forcing a small smile, even though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe.”

She doesn’t push you further, just lets out another sigh before changing the subject. But her words stay with you long after she’s gone.

The next time Jay shows up, it’s past midnight.

You hear the knock before you see him, and for a brief moment, you consider ignoring it. Letting him stand outside, waiting, until he finally realizes that you’re done with this, done with him.

But when you open the door, he’s standing there, rain-soaked and breathless, looking at you like he belongs here.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Because you still haven’t figured out how to tell him he doesn’t.

“We need to talk about us.”

Jay’s eyes flicker with something unreadable, but he doesn’t move. He just stands there, rain dripping from his hair, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket like he’s bracing for whatever comes next.

“Us?” he echoes, a humorless chuckle slipping past his lips. “Since when has there been an us?”

The words sting more than they should. You knew they were coming, but hearing them out loud still makes your throat tighten.

“Exactly,” you say, stepping aside so he can come in. Because no matter how much this conversation needs to happen, you don’t want to have it in the hallway under the flickering dorm lights.

Jay hesitates, then steps inside, shaking out his damp jacket before tossing it over the back of your chair like he always does. Like he belongs here. Like nothing’s wrong.

But everything is wrong.

You close the door, leaning against it as you cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t keep doing this.”

He doesn’t look at you right away. Instead, he exhales, rubbing a hand down his face, like he’s already exhausted by this conversation. “Y/n…”

“No,” you cut him off. “I need you to listen.”

And for once, he does.

You swallow hard, gathering the words that have been sitting heavy on your chest for months. “I don’t know what we are. I don’t know if we’re friends or something more, or if I’m just—” You pause, forcing the lump in your throat down. “I don’t know if I even matter to you, Jay. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care. Like it doesn’t hurt when you leave every single time.”

His jaw clenches. “You think this is easy for me?”

“Isn’t it?” You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You come and go whenever you want. You never stay. You never choose me.”

Silence. The kind that stretches between two people who have been avoiding the inevitable for far too long.

Jay finally looks at you then, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—guilt, regret, something else you can’t name. “I don’t know how to be what you need.”

Your heart sinks. “Then why do you keep coming back?”

He steps closer, hesitant, like he’s afraid of what happens if he gets too close. “Because you feel like home.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Because it’s everything you wanted to hear—and yet, it’s still not enough.

You shake your head, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. “A home isn’t something you visit when it’s convenient, Jay.”

He flinches. And for the first time, you see it—the truth neither of you wanted to admit.

This was never going to work.

“I think you should go,” you whisper, voice barely holding steady.

He stares at you for a long moment, like he’s searching for something, some kind of lifeline to pull him back in. But you don’t give him one.

So he nods.

And this time, when he leaves, you don’t wait for him to come back.

“Seriously dude you can’t sit around on the fucking couch all day.” Heeseung says moving jays feet out of the way

Jay barely reacts, only shifting enough to let Heeseung shove his feet off the couch. He blinks at the TV, though he isn’t really watching—just staring at the screen, lost in the haze of last night. Or maybe the last few months.

“You look like shit,” Heeseung adds, dropping onto the armchair across from him. “And I mean worse than usual.”

Jay exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious, man. You’ve been sulking for days.”

Jay doesn’t answer. Heeseung isn’t wrong, but what’s the point in admitting it? He already knows why. He already knows who.

Heeseung sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Y/n, huh?”

Jay clenches his jaw, but that’s all the confirmation Heeseung needs.

“You messed it up.” It’s not a question.

Jay lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I always do.”

Heeseung studies him for a moment, then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So fix it.”

Jay huffs. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it is,” Heeseung says, shrugging. “Unless you don’t actually want to.”

Jay looks at him then, his expression unreadable. The truth is, he doesn’t know how to fix it. Doesn’t know if he even deserves to.

Heeseung sighs again, louder this time, like he’s already tired of Jay’s shit. “Dude, if you don’t want to lose them, do something about it. Sitting here feeling sorry for yourself isn’t gonna change anything.”

Jay swallows, his throat tight. Heeseung is right. But the problem isn’t just wanting you back. It’s knowing he’ll never be enough to stay.

Because that’s what this has always been, hasn’t it? A cycle. You let him in, he stays for a while, and then he leaves—sometimes because he has to, sometimes because he’s scared, but always because he convinces himself that it’s for the best. That you deserve better.

And maybe you finally realized that too.

Jay leans back against the couch, running a hand through his already-messy hair. His chest feels heavy, the weight of your words from that night pressing down on him like a stone.

“A home isn’t something you visit when it’s convenient, Jay.”

Heeseung watches him, expression unreadable, then sighs. “So what, you’re just gonna sit here and let them go?”

Jay doesn’t answer. Because if he does, he’ll have to admit that he doesn’t know

how to stop himself from doing exactly that.

You decided to go out for the first time in weeks. The air is crisp, the city alive with its usual hum of traffic and distant laughter. It feels foreign, stepping outside your apartment, like you’re intruding on a world that kept moving without you. But maybe that’s what you need—to remind yourself that life doesn’t stop just because your heart feels like it has.

Chaewon drags you to a bar, claiming you need to live a little, to stop sulking over Jay—though she doesn’t say his name. She never does anymore. You let her talk, nodding along at the right moments, pretending you’re fine. Pretending you don’t check your phone every few minutes for a text that will never come.

The bar is warm, filled with bodies and neon lights that cast everything in a soft, hazy glow. You nurse a drink you barely touch, letting the noise drown out your thoughts. But it’s hard when everything still feels the same.

And then, like some cruel joke, you see him.

Jay is here.

He’s leaning against the bar, a half-empty glass in front of him, his fingers tapping absently against the rim. He looks good—too good for someone who shattered you. But there’s something different, too. The usual confidence in his posture is missing, replaced by something quieter. Something almost hesitant.

You should look away. You want to look away.

But then he lifts his head, and his eyes meet yours.

And just like that, the air is knocked from your lungs.

The air between you and Jay is heavy, thick with all the things neither of you have said. You should look away, should turn your back and pretend he isn’t there. But you don’t.

Because despite everything, despite the silence and the distance and the mess of whatever you were, he still holds you in place with just a look.

Then, just as your lips part—whether to speak or to breathe, you don’t even know—a voice cuts through the tension.

“Hey, can I get your phone number?”

You blink, turning to find some guy standing way too close, a lazy smirk on his face. His confidence is almost laughable, like he’s already convinced you’ll say yes.

You don’t even process the question at first. Not when you feel Jay still looking at you. Not when you see the way his fingers tighten around his glass, his jaw tensing just slightly.

The guy shifts, waiting. “So? What do you say?”

You don’t answer. Not because you’re considering it, but because your mind is still stuck on the way Jay’s expression barely changes, except for the slightest flicker of something dark in his eyes.

Jealousy? Annoyance?

It doesn’t matter.

“Not interested,” you finally say, forcing a polite smile.

The guy huffs a laugh, “You fucking serious? Cmon you can’t turn me down like that”

Your patience is already running thin, and this guy is pushing it past its limit. You exhale sharply, leveling him with a look.

“I can, and I just did,” you say, voice steady.

He scoffs, running a hand through his hair like this is some kind of joke. “Oh, c’mon. You’re really gonna play hard to get?”

You don’t miss the way Jay shifts at the bar, his grip tightening around his glass. You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s watching, his entire body tensed.

“She’s not playing anything, so just leave her alone asshole.” Chaewon says arms crossed.

The guy snaps his head toward Chaewon, clearly not expecting the interference. He lets out an irritated scoff, shaking his head. “Whatever,” he mutters. “Not worth it anyway.”

You don’t flinch when he turns and stalks off, disappearing into the crowd. You’ve dealt with guys like him before—entitled, unable to handle rejection. It’s almost routine at this point.

Chaewon rolls her eyes. “Men are exhausting.”

You huff a quiet laugh, finally letting go of the tension in your shoulders. “No kidding.”

But before you can shake it off completely, your gaze flickers back to the bar.

Jay is still there. Still watching.

His expression is unreadable, but his grip on his drink is tight enough that his knuckles are pale. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, but the weight of his stare is heavy, almost suffocating.

And maybe the worst part is that you still feel it—that pull toward him, the way your body recognizes his presence before your mind can even fight it.

Chaewon follows your gaze, sighing when she sees who you’re looking at. “You cannot be serious.”

You swallow hard, tearing your eyes away. “I’m not.”

Lie.

The rain is relentless. It drums against the pavement, soaking through your jacket as you pull it tighter around yourself. You should’ve taken Chaewon up on her offer to call you a ride, but your apartment is only a few blocks away, and the cold is a welcome distraction.

Your shoes splash against the wet concrete as you turn the corner, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows. The night is quiet, save for the steady rhythm of the rain and the occasional car passing by.

And then you see him.

Jay.

He’s standing outside your apartment complex, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, rain dripping from his hair. He’s drenched—completely, utterly soaked—like he’s been standing there for a while.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intend, but you don’t take it back.

Jay exhales, tilting his head up to look at you properly. His eyes are dark, unreadable. “I don’t know,” he admits, and for some reason, that makes you angrier.

You take a step closer, the cold rain biting at your skin. “Jay, it’s late. And you’re—” you gesture at him, exasperated, “soaked. Go home.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

“Do you regret it?” The question hangs in the air, heavier than the rain. Your breath catches, fingers twitching at your sides.

“Jay—”

“Do you?” he asks again, quieter this time, but there’s something raw in his voice, something almost desperate.

You swallow hard, the cold seeping into your bones. You should say yes. You should tell him that all of it—the late nights, the blurred lines, the way he always leaves before the sun rises—was a mistake. That you regret every time you let him back in.

But you don’t.

Instead, you look at him, really look at him. He’s standing there, drenched and exhausted, his lips slightly parted like he’s bracing for an answer he already knows is going to hurt.

And it does hurt. Because the truth is, you don’t regret it. You regret that it was never more.

You inhale sharply, blinking away the rain clinging to your lashes.

“Yes.”

Jay doesn’t react at first. He just stands there, rain dripping from his hair, his breath coming out in short, uneven exhales. But you see it—the way his fingers twitch, the way his shoulders stiffen like you just knocked the wind out of him.

You should leave it at that. Should turn around and go inside, let the cold night swallow whatever this is before it becomes something neither of you can walk away from.

But Jay shakes his head, lets out a bitter, breathless laugh. “Bullshit.”

Your jaw clenches. “What?”

“You don’t regret it.” His voice is steadier now, but there’s something fragile in the way he looks at you, something close to pleading. “You never do.”

You scoff, turning away. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It does,” he cuts in, taking a step closer. His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the rain, but it stops you in your tracks. “It matters to me.”

Your chest tightens. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. He’s not supposed to fight you on this. He’s supposed to let you walk away, let you pretend like this—whatever this is—never meant anything.

But he doesn’t. He never does.

“You’re the one who always leaves, Jay,” you say, voice sharp, cracking at the edges. “You don’t get to stand in the rain and ask me if I regret it.”

Jay exhales, closing his eyes for a brief second before looking at you again. “I know.” His fingers curl at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. “But I keep coming back. And you keep letting me.”

You swallow hard, blinking against the sting behind your eyes. The truth is, you don’t know how to stop.

For a moment, neither of you move. The rain keeps falling, the city humming quietly in the distance, and somewhere in the mess of it all, you realize—you don’t know how this ends.

You don’t know if it ever really does.

But for now, you take a slow breath, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Come inside before you get sick,” you mutter.

And this time, when you turn toward the door, Jay follows without hesitation.

You grab a towel from the bathroom and toss it toward Jay, who catches it with one hand, his eyes still locked on you. The silence hangs between you, thick and heavy, as you both avoid saying the things that are sitting on the edge of your tongues.

He dries his hair off, his movements slow, almost reluctant, like he doesn’t want to break the fragile moment.

You stand by the kitchen counter, your hands gripping the edge, heart pounding in your chest. You can’t keep pretending that everything is fine, that it’s all just some casual thing between you two. But neither of you is brave enough to change it.

“You should’ve gone home, Jay,” you murmur, voice quieter than you meant it to be.

He doesn’t look up at you as he continues drying himself off. “I couldn’t.” His tone is almost too soft, and it makes your heart squeeze. “Not after… everything.”

You swallow, looking away from him, feeling the weight of the unspoken words hovering in the air. After everything. The nights he stayed, the mornings he left, the moments that should have meant something more but somehow slipped through your fingers each time.

Jay finishes drying off and sets the towel down, his gaze finally meeting yours. He takes a step forward, slowly, as if testing the distance between you two, and you can’t help but tense up. It’s a reflex at this point—when he gets too close, everything becomes harder to ignore.

“I don’t know what we’re doing anymore, Y/n,” Jay says, his voice low, raw. “I just know… I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You want to reach out, want to make it all better, but you don’t know how. You’re scared, and you know that he’s scared too.

“I don’t know either,” you whisper, your throat tight. “I don’t know what to do with all of this. All of you. All of us.”

For a moment, it feels like time stops. Jay watches you, his gaze so intense it feels like he’s trying to see through to your soul. The rain continues to beat against the windows, the only sound in the room besides your hearts pounding, both unsure of what comes next.

Then, slowly, he moves closer, his hand reaching out toward you, but he stops just short. “I don’t want to keep doing this, Y/n. If it’s not real… then I don’t want it. But if you want it… if you want us… I’ll stay.”

The offer is simple, but it’s everything.

You stand there, trying to make sense of the mess of emotions swirling inside you. This moment—it feels too important to let slip away like the others. And for the first time, you wonder if maybe you’re ready to stop running from it. To stop pretending that things don’t matter.

You reach out, your fingers brushing his. For a brief second, everything feels still, like the world is holding its breath, waiting for you to make a choice. You look up into his eyes and wonder if you’re brave enough to let him stay.

“What do you want, Jay?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

His answer is simple, but it’s all he’s ever needed to say.

“I want you.”

@evorlaah

[slozhnos]

i think the most heartbreaking moment in childish things is winn and kara’s conversation at the docks bc like “no, you don’t really need me.” bit hurts me so much every time

[hanniebaeee]

Pieces of Us

Chris Bang x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

Genre: Exes to lovers, second chance love, fluff, smut

Summary: Even a year after your divorce, you can't get over Chris. You keep seeing him all the time because you're co parenting your daughter, and you see that he's still the same man you fell in love with. And you both haven't moved on at all.

It’s late. Your apartment is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator, as you sit on the sofa, nursing a glass of wine when you hear the doorbell.

You find Chris on your doorstep, punctual as usual, holding your toddler, Mia, against his chest, her small body curled into him like she’s still a newborn.

Your heart does a funny little lurch. It must be the wine. Definitely the wine.

“She fell asleep in the car,” he whispers, stepping inside. He is still dressed in his formals, and your traitorous eyes drink him in.

“Rough day?” he asks softly, noting the wine and the way your shoulders sag.

“Something like that,” you mutter, gesturing to Mia’s room. “You can put her to bed.”

Chris nods, carrying her toward her bedroom. He emerges moments later, quietly shutting her door behind him. His gaze locks onto yours, dark and a little too comforting.

“What happened?” he asks, folding his arms against his chest.

“It’s nothing,” you say, but Chris raises an eyebrow.

“Bullshit,” he counters smoothly, sitting next to you on the sofa. “You know you can't lie to me.”

You roll your eyes but relent and say, “Work politics. Same old garbage.”

Chris winces, before he leans forward and says, “You’re too good for them, you know that, right?”

Those are simple words, but they hit harder than they should. You glance at him, something raw flickering in your chest.

“Oh please,” you murmur, looking away.

“What?” He asks. “It’s true.”

You don’t answer, reaching instead for the bottle of wine. Chris doesn’t stop you as you pour a second glass.

“Here, celebrate my failures with me,” you tease, trying to ease your own heart. “I don't feel like wallowing in self pity alone tonight.”

He snorts, shaking his head, but takes the glass.

“You're so dramatic,”

“And yet, you were married to me for five years,” you quip, with a grin.

The wine loosen you both faster than it should. Soon, you’re reminiscing about Mia’s first words, and the road trip to Busan where the car broke down, and you ended up making out in the car till Minho came to rescue you both.

“I miss this,” you admit quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Talking...and everything,”

You and Chris had been good friends before you both fell in love. It had been the most beautiful years of your life before things started falling apart.

He doesn’t say anything, but reaches out, his fingers brushing yours. It’s subtle, but it sets your heart racing. Like always. Even a year after your divorce, you clearly haven't moved on.

“I miss it too,” he finally says, his voice low. “All the time.”

“Please don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” you mumble.

He leans in, closer than he’s been in a more than year, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“You think I don’t mean it? You think I ever stopped wanting you?”

Your breath catches as he closes the distance between you. His lips hover inches from yours as he says, “I never stopped…”

It’s reckless, stupid, maybe even a mistake - but you don’t care. You let him close the gap, his lips crashing into yours, and everything you’ve been holding back spills over.

The kiss is messy and heated - all the pent-up frustration and longing coming crashing down. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you melt against him, your arms circling his neck. His lips move against yours desperately, like he is afraid to let go.

When you finally break apart, breathless and a little lost, Chris brushes a thumb over your cheek.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” you whisper.

“No. But it’s a start.”

It’s intoxicating - the feel of him, the heat radiating off his body. You both pull each other close again, his lips moving down your neck, leaving soft kisses.

But somewhere in between, reality raises its nagging head and you falter.

“Wait,” you murmur, pulling back slightly.

Chris freezes, his breathing ragged, as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“This is… reckless,” you whisper, though your heart won't allow you to let go of him.

He exhales sharply, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. “Y/N, I -”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice trembling. “I don't want us to mess up again.”

He gives you a look and you think he might argue. But then he sighs. He looks exhausted and a little heart broken. But he stands up and says, “You’re right. We can’t… not like this.”

“You have to go.” You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

He stares at you for a long moment, then he nods.

“Right. I’ll… I’ll call tomorrow to check on Mia.” he says, clearing his throat.

You nod, biting your lip to keep it from trembling. Because this feels even harder than the first time.

“Goodnight, Chris.” you whisper.

“Goodnight,” he says, his voice rough.

As soon as he’s gone, the tears you’ve been holding back spill over. You sink onto the couch, your face in your hands, and you cry until your throat is raw. You missed him. And you still hate yourself for letting this happen.

It starts with a look. It always does.

The next time Chris comes by, it’s late again, Mia’s tiny backpack slung over his shoulder, and her hand clutching his tightly as they walk to your door. You try to play it cool, standing in the doorway with your arms crossed and a polite smile fixed on your face.

But then he looks at you and the air shifts.

“Hi,” he says, his voice lower than it needs to be, his gaze lingering on your mouth.

“Hi,” your voice shakes but it's soft.

Mia is already running into her room, way too excited to get to her new playset, and Chris watches her for a moment, before his gaze settles on you.

And then there are no words exchanged as his hands grab you towards him and he's pushing you against the kitchen counter, kissing you.

You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth. His hand slips down your back, cupping your butt before pulling you flush against himself.

“Is this going to keep happening?” you ask breathlessly, as he kisses down your neck. Past your collarbone. Down your chest. His face is buried in your breasts, before he kisses them over your t-shirt.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding on to him, and you gasp as he bites your nipple over the fabric and a dull pleasure courses through your body.

“What?” he murmurs, his lips back on yours again.

“This,” you say between kisses.

He kisses you again, rougher than before and says,

“Tell me to stop,” he says, and his hands cup your cheeks, gazing into your eyes.

You don’t. You can’t. Instead, you pull him closer, your bodies so familiar with each other.

It becomes a pattern after that. Anytime he comes over - whether he’s dropping off Mia or picking her up - it happens.

Sometimes it’s rushed and frantic, like the time he cornered you in the kitchen, your lips colliding as the coffee maker sputtered in the background. And other times, it’s slow and sweet. Especially when he knows you're a bit down or you're having a bad day.

You don’t talk about it. It’s easier to pretend this is just an outlet, a way to scratch the itch that never seems to fade.

You tell yourself this is only because he's the only man you've been with for so damn long. You two had married so young. You hate thinking about it.

So you don't. But deep down, you know it’s more than just sex. But you’re not ready to acknowledge it. Neither is he.

Friday evenings with Minho are sacred. He's your best friend, your big brother, your pillar of support. The one person who held you up during your separation from Chris. The only person who knows that you still loved him with everything in you.

Minho brings take out, you both talk, watch a movie, sometimes two. And fall asleep on each other because obviously, you both were the laziest besties in the world.

You've been trying to tell Chris to leave, but he is busy pounding into you. You stand with your hands grips the kitchen counter as he thrust into you from the back, his hands holding onto your hips tightly.

“He's gonna be here any minute!” You hiss, and Chris moves faster, and more rough. You try not to moan as waves of pleasure hit you, and you clench so hard around him, he's shuddering with his release.

“Fuck-” He groans, pressing his face against the back of your neck before slowly pulling out of you.

You both clean up and look somewhat presentable when the doorbell rings. You sigh because Minho will see right through you.

And he won't let you live this down. Ever.

You glance at Chris before opening the door. And Minho steps in already ranting about his day and he stops in his tracks when his eyes land on Chris.

Well that's a first - Minho being at a loss of words.

You freeze, your cheeks burning, while Chris awkwardly shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Hi, Minho,” Chris says, giving him a quick nod.

Minho doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looks between the two of you, his lips twitching in amusement, before slowly smirking.

“Hey, Chris.” Then, he strolls further inside saying, “Don’t mind me. I'm just here for my niece.”

He disappears into the living room, leaving you and Chris standing there like a couple of teenagers caught doing something bad.

“I should, uh, get going,” he says, though he doesn’t move.

“Right, yeah,” you stammer, smoothing your hands over your skirt nervously.

“See you on Sunday,” he says, opening the door.

“See you,” you manage, your heart racing again, and Chris flashes you a smile before leaving.

The moment the door shuts, Minho reappears, a wicked grin plastered across his face.

“Soooo…”

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” he says, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “You’re clearly fucking Chris freaking Bang and you want me to not start?”

“Minho,” you warn, making a beeline for the living room, and he follows you with that menacing grin still in place.

“So, when exactly did this ‘we’re just co-parents’ arrangement turn into ‘we’re fuck buddies again’?”

“It’s not like that!” you protest, though your face feels like it’s on fire.

“Uh-huh.” He says, starting to plate up the food. “You two were totally not flushed and guilty. Try again.”

You bury your face in a throw pillow.

“Linooooo stopppp!! It’s complicated.” you whine.

“It always is with you two,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You’re like Ross and Rachel, except somehow more frustrating.”

You peek out from behind the pillow, glaring at him.

“We’re not -”

“Don’t even think about saying you’re not into him,” Minho interrupts, pointing his chopsticks at you. “I know you, Y/N.”

You open your mouth to argue but immediately close it, because he's stating the obvious and there is no real use of denying it.

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to jump your ex-husband, at least warn me so I can avoid walking into it.” Minho smirks, leaning back smugly.

You groan, throwing the pillow at him. He dodges it easily, laughing as you sink further into the couch, hands covering your face.

“Seriously, though,” he says after a moment, his tone softening. “Are you okay? I mean, this whole Chris thing… are you sure about this?”

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know. I love him, Minho, and I swear I tried to move on…but, everytime I look at him…he's the same person I fell in love with. He's not a monster. He's a great father. He's a good friend. And.. and I don't even know why…” Your voice cracks a bit as you struggle with your thoughts. “Then we talked, and it’s like… like nothing’s changed. But everything has changed, and it’s so… messy.”

“Messy’s okay. You deserve to be happy, Y/N. Whether that’s with Chris or someone else.” he says softly. “If you're sure, then go for it.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like to be honest with Chris. To let go of the pride and the fear and just… try again. Because God, you really want to.

Sunday arrives, and Mia is up early, ready for her day with her daddy. She even picks out her favorite toy to take along with her and insists on wearing the sparkly dress she knows Chris loves.

When Chris texts, you think it's to let you know that he's on his way. But it wasn't.

Chris: Hey, something came up. Can we reschedule Mia’s time for today?

You blink at it for a moment, heart sinking slightly. You don’t question it - life happens, after all. But Mia doesn’t take it as well.

“Daddy’s not coming?” she asks, her lower lip trembling and her little shoulders slump in disappointment.

You kneel down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

“No, sweetheart. He’s just busy today, but we’ll see him soon. How about we have a girls' day instead?”

She looks up at you with big tear filled eyes.

“Girls' day? With Mommy?” she asks, and you nod, pulling her into a tight hug.

“That’s right. Just you and me. Let’s make it special.” You say, kissing her cheek and getting on with it.

You spend the afternoon indulging in ice cream, shopping for new art supplies, and of course, toys. You also take her to an indoor play area that she loves, and by the time you get home, Mia is falling asleep in your arms.

You carry her to her room, tuck her into bed, and she’s out within minutes. Pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, you step out of her room.

The apartment falls into a quiet, peaceful lull. You wash up quickly and sit in front of the TV, hoping to watch an episode of that show you've been trying to watch for a while now. It's not exactly easy with a toddler around.

But around fifteen minutes into the show, you hear the sound of the doorbell. You open the door, and there stands Chris, holding a small box in his hand.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low, as he meets your gaze. “I'm sorry about today. I brought her favorite cupcakes.”

Your heart does a little flip at the sight of him.

“That’s sweet of you.” you say, “But she's already asleep.”

“Oh…I was hoping to see her before....ah,” Chris says with a little sigh.

You give him a small, sympathetic shrug.

“It's okay, she can eat them tomorrow,” You say with a smile and step aside to let him in.

He nods, stepping inside and setting the box of cupcakes on the kitchen counter. There’s disappointment in his eyes and it stirs something deep inside you.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” he says, and it feels like he’s apologizing for more than just missing his day with Mia.

“It’s really okay. Mia missed you, but we still had a good day. She was really happy.” you tell him.

Chris’s gaze lingers on you a moment too long before he says,“I feel like I keep letting you both down.”

“Chris, please don't say that,” you reply, giving him a small smile. “We know you’re doing your best. I know you’re trying.”

He nods, though he doesn't look completely convinced.

“So,” you say, trying to keep it light, “I’m about to have dinner… want to join me?”

It’s an innocent enough invitation. Casual. Polite. But the way he looks at you gives you an idea of what's about to happen next.

Chris takes a step forward, his hand gently cupping your cheek, and then his lips are on yours. The kiss deepens almost instantly and he pulls you closer, your bodies pressed together.

You stifle a sob, and Chris is quickly pulling back to look at you, tipping your chin up to see you better.

“Baby, please don't-”

“I love you-”

There is a moment of silence - Chris's eyes soften as he watches the tears fall. You can't believe you just said that. But this whole thing was getting more and more difficult to manage. The constant need to be close to him. Waiting for the days he spent with Mia, just so you could see him.

And then he's kissing you again, mumbling a hundred ‘I love yous’ you against your lips, and the next thing you know, he's scooping you up in his arms and carrying you towards your bedroom.

He closes the door gently (so that it doesn't wake Mia), and places you on the edge of the bed, kneeling down in front of you on the floor.

“Baby, I never stopped loving you. And there isn't a day where I don't regret letting you walk out of my life… we could've handled things better…and everytime I came here for Mia, I wished you would just ask me to stay. I selfishly wished that you wouldn't move on.” he says, his voice soft and his touch even softer as he placed his hands on your knees.

“I don't think I can ever love anyone like I love you. If you give me another chance, I promise I'll not let you down. I'll spend every day of the rest of my life proving to you that you're my everything… and I will be here for you, always.”

You nod and tears falling more rapidly now, and throw your arms around Chris's neck, and he wraps his arms around your waist, his face pressing against your neck as he holds you close.

“I love you, baby I'm sorry-” You cry, your arms tightening around him. “I didn't know what to do…the baby, the job, there was so much noise, and I wasn't well…I'm sorry I didn't see that you were suffering too-” you hiccup through your tears.

You feel his hand moving up and down your back in an attempt to comfort you.

“I know baby, I'm not mad. We were both suffering. We were both hurt. But we're here now.” Chris whispers.

“I love you, I want you back. Please don't leave me again-”

Chris kisses you again, stealing your breath away.

“No more crying over me ok?” He says with a soft smile. “I'm not going anywhere…I love you and Mia so much, I am going to be here-”

More kisses follow and you move back into the bed, and he follows, both of you pulling at each other's clothes.

He trails his lips down your neck, and it feels like the world outside your bedroom might as well not exist. His hands glide over your skin, gentle, but just as desperate.

You can feel the way he trembles against you, the way his breath catches as your hands move down his chest. And then when he slips inside, as gentle as ever, you can't help but cry, because as beautiful as the moment feels, you realize just how miserable you have been without him.

Chris moves slowly at first, and you close your eyes as the pleasure builds. He peppers so many kisses on your lips and neck, like he can't kiss you enough.

His fingers work on your clit as he moves, and soon your body shudders as your orgasm ripples through you. You moan softly, and it obviously has him crashing down too.

You don't let go, because truth be told, you're afraid he's going to leave. And tonight? You don't want him to. Actually, you don't want to see him walk out that door ever again.

And Chris isn't planning to, because he holds you just as tight, promising softly that he'll be here when you wake up in the morning. And you let your eyes fall shut, trusting him.

You both decide to take it slow, for Mia's sake.

Chris doesn’t officially move in, yet, but his presence is…undeniable. There are more of his things around the house, and more than anything else, it's the way Mia’s laughter grows louder every time he walks through the door. You’ve caught yourself smiling more too - wide, genuine smiles you hadn’t worn in ages.

You love watching him help Mia with her bedtime routine, fixing squeaky hinges around the house you’ve ignored for months, and finding every excuse to stay a bit longer.

And Minho? Well, he’s having the time of his life.

---

One Friday evening, you’re all gathered in the living room. Chris is helping Mia build a tower with her blocks while you sip wine and half-listen to Minho’s dramatic story about his latest “date gone wrong.”

“And then she said she didn’t like cats. Cats, Y/N. Can you imagine the nerve?” Minho says, gesturing wildly with his chopsticks as he digs into the takeout he insisted on bringing.

“Oh my God” you say, laughing as Chris adds, “Sounds horrible, but maybe try not to bring home every stray you find?”

“Don’t think I don’t see you trying to steal my best friend away. Again.” Minho narrows his eyes, pointing at Chris.

“Jealous, Minho?” Chris quips, and Minho scoffs, leaning back dramatically.

“Of you? Please.” Minho says. “But whatever this setup is, it's sure looks promising.”

You freeze mid-sip of your wine, while Chris raises an eyebrow.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask.

“I’m just saying, for exes, you two sure look cozy.” Minho grins, and your cheeks burn, as you try not to look at Chris.

“Minho…” you warn.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m rooting for you,” Minho says, winking before turning back to Mia. “Besides, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll adopt Mia. Because you two are idiots. And we're done dealing with you. Sorry, not sorry.”

Mia giggles at the mention of her name before getting back to her game.

---

Later that night, after Minho has left (eyeing you mischievously because Chris was still there) and Mia is asleep, you and Chris are clearing up the kitchen.

“You know,” he says, his voice low, “Minho isn’t wrong.”

“About what?” You ask, glancing at him, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

“About us. About this.” Chris says, leaning against the counter and folding his arms.

Your heart skips a beat as you gaze at him, watching him push off the counter and walk towards you.

The towel slips from your hands as his fingers brush against your cheek, and his lips land on yours.

It’s slow at first, warm and tender, but it doesn’t take long for it to snap and you're both pulling each other closer. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your body responding to his touch like it always has.

He pauses, his forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath.

“I love you,” he says, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose.

“I love you too,” you admit, and he smiles, his dimples making an appearance and your heart races as you reach up to run your fingers over it.

He kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring every second of it. And at that moment, this doesn't really feel like a second chance.

It’s the beginning of everything you’ve ever wanted.

The smell of pancakes fills the house as sunlight filters through the kitchen windows. Chris stands at the stove, a spatula in one hand, flipping golden-brown pancakes onto a plate. He’s wearing his usual gray shorts and a fitted black T-shirt. His hair is messy, a sign that he’s only been up for about twenty minutes, and he’s humming softly to himself as he works.

Mia sits at the table, still in her pajamas, happily coloring into a giant coloring book. This is such a dream. You lean against the counter, sipping your coffee, watching Chris with a faint smile that you haven’t been able to shake since he stayed over last night.

For the first time… in a very long time.

And then, the doorbell rings. You frown, setting down your coffee.

“Expecting someone?” He asks and you shake your head, walking to the door and opening it to find your mum standing there, a purse slung over her shoulder and a smile on her face.

“Mum?” you say, blinking in surprise.

“Surprise, sweetheart!” she says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. Wanted to see my girls, and I brought muffins!”

She holds up a bakery bag, grinning, then stops dead in her tracks.

Her gaze falls on Chris, who’s just turned around from the stove, spatula still in hand, his expression frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh,” your mom says.

There's silence for a second before Mia screeches, “Grandmaaaaaaaa!!!”

Your mum picks Mia up, pressing a kiss to her cheek before asking if she could play in her room for sometime. Mia pouts, but runs off with a muffin.

Her eyes narrow slightly, taking in how casual Chris looks, his messy hair, and the way he just seems to be part of the scene.

“Good morning, mum,” Chris says smoothly, recovering faster than you could've thought.

He smiles, dimples flashing, as he asks, “Pancakes?”

Your mum raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying his innocent act. She folds her arms, looking at you.

“Y/N… what’s going on here?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you start, suddenly feeling like a child again.

“Mhm.” She gives you a look that says she doesn’t believe you for a second. “You’re telling me it’s normal for your ex-husband to be in your kitchen, making pancakes, looking like he just rolled out of bed?”

“Technically, I did just roll out of bed,” Chris says, unable to resist.

You shoot him a glare, but he has already turned back to the stove, hiding a smirk.

“Y/N?” Your mom’s eyes narrow further.

“It’s… kind of...,” you say finally, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Yes?” she prompts, looking from you to Chris and then back at you. You think she's going to give you a nice big lecture about responsibility. But she lets out a sigh, her posture softening.

“You know,” she says, her tone gentler now, “I always thought the two of you were good for each other. When you got divorced, I was shocked and devastated - for you, for Mia.” She pauses, her eyes locking with yours. “But if you’re giving this another try… I just want to make sure you’re happy, sweetheart. That you’re doing this for the right reasons.”

“I know I messed up before. I know I hurt your daughter. But I love her. I always have, and I’m doing everything I can to show her - and Mia - that I’m here to stay. I realize that I need them more than they need me…so yeah,”

Your mum’s gaze softens as she studies him, and then she looks at you.

“And you, Y/N? Are you happy?”

You glance at Chris, who’s watching you with that steady loving gaze that’s always made you feel safe and sure, and you nod.

“Yeah, Mum. I am.”

Your mom smiles, stepping forward to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Well, then. I suppose I’ll have to stick around for breakfast. Those pancakes smell amazing.”

Chris grins and gets back to work, and your mum nods, making her way in to properly greet her granddaughter again.

Just as she disappears, Chris slides up beside you, his hand brushing yours as you start setting the table for breakfast.

“That went better than expected,” he murmurs, his voice low.

“You’ve always been her favorite, you know.” You glance at him, your lips twitching into a smile.

He smirks, leaning in just enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Good to know I still am.” He pecks your lips quickly before getting back to work.

You roll your eyes, but your smile lingers as your mum comes back with Mia in her arms. And you all sit around the table and enjoy breakfast.

It’s chaotic and imperfect, but it's home. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like everything is exactly where it’s meant to be. All the scattered pieces of you finally fit.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @satosugu4l

[lovemomhatepolice]

i'll make it fit - rafe cameron

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pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: sexual overtones, established relationship, fingering, teasing, unprotected sex (PROTECTED YOURSELF), this damn tiny polo!!, English is my second language!, NO SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4

belonging: NO NUT NOVEMBER!

type: totally smut (this is the first time i've written something like this, which has practically no plot at all, just sex itself. keep my fingers crossed that it didn't turn out badly!!!), small plot but really small

word count: 1,8k

summary: rafe cameron likes things too small for him.

more content: obx masterlist, rafe cameron masterlist

Mornings in Tannyhill were mostly quiet. Since Ward Cameron was dead and his entire family had moved to a house in the Bahamas, it was quiet there. Hearing of Sarah had disappeared - she was probably somewhere with her friends, again putting her life at risk, nothing new. And the only one who lived there was Rafe, who had taken over the company from his father and decided to return to the “old garbage.” Well, and you lived there too, by the side of your beloved. You couldn't have dreamed of a better life.

You were awakened by the bright rays of the sun, which rudely crept through the slightly parted curtains into your shared bedroom. You dragged yourself lightly and glanced at the clock, which was on the bedside table and, as usual, was making that unbearable sound.

After muttered under your breath, you slipped out from under the warm quilt, which, to say the least, wasn't all that necessary - after all, it was summer. But by the fact that you were in just a lace petticoat, it definitely enveloped you with a warmth that was missing.

You didn't know what time it was, but by the fact that Rafe wasn't next to you, you knew it was probably after nine o'clock. You didn't have to look for him for long, because as soon as you stepped out into the hallway from your bedroom, you heard his voice. You looked out the balcony door, which was gently open, and smiled at the sight. Rafe, in a freshly stitched buzzcut, was sitting on the couch talking on the phone. In front of him on the coffee table he had papers spread out and a laptop in which he was busily tapping something. As soon as he noticed you he sent you a slight smile, but he was so engaged in the conversation that he did nothing more. And you couldn't be passive, after all, he was wearing a beautiful blue and damn tight polo that exposed his perfectly shaped biceps. You laughed quietly, seeing him nervously tweak them as they rolled up higher and higher each time, not covering as much of his arm as they should.

Despite his serious tone on the call, his eyes would flicker toward you every few moments, his smile softening just enough to let you know he was glad you were there.

Not one to resist temptation, you decided to have a little fun. You strolled over to him, moving slowly, letting your fingers trail along the back of the couch as you circled around to where he was sitting. Rafe’s eyes darted up, narrowing slightly in a silent warning.

You didn’t make it easy for him. With a mischievous smile, you leaned over and whispered into his ear, "That polo looks a little tight, don’t you think? You might need help taking it off later."

“Uh, yeah… sure,” he said to the person on the other end of the call, clearing his throat as if to regain his composure. “Send it to the office, they'll take care of it,” he muttered, hanging up.

You moved your hands over his shoulders, gently massaging them. Rafe put the phone down on the table, closed the laptop and leaned his head against the back of the couch, looking at you.

“You know what you're doing, huh?” he parroted under his breath.

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, letting your breath tickle his skin. “Just trying to make sure my man relaxes after handling all that business.”

“And what am I supposed to do with you?” he muttered, covering yours with his hands. “Whatever you want,” you muttered, going down with your palms on his chest. “Oh, but this polo is really too small for you.” Rafe laughed under his breath and gracefully helped you past the couch so that you were now standing in front of him, between his legs. You were in just a white lace slip that didn't cover much underneath, so Rafe could immediately see your hardening nipples.

You let out a soft laugh as Rafe’s strong hands gripped your thighs, pulling you effortlessly onto his lap. You straddled him, your knees sinking into the plush cushions of the couch on either side of his hips. The way he looked up at you—like you were the only thing in the world that could hold his attention—sent a warm rush through your veins.

"So needy" He muttered, stroking your hair and putting it behind your ears. “Who would have thought that you would beg for my attentions so much?”

“I'm not begging,” you muttered, swallowing your saliva loudly.

You could have sworn that in that moment Rafe heard your loud heartbeat. And even though you had been together for more than a year, he continued to trigger the same feelings in you. “No?” he asked ironically, his hand touching your pussy, which was covered only by a thong. “I would say something else.”

“Rafe,” you muttered, gently pushing your hips out to meet him as his nimble fingers pressed your clit harder. “So wet,” he mumbled, moving your panties aside and nimbly sliding his ring and middle finger into you.

You brought your face closer to his and grabbed his jaw, bringing your lips together in a sweet kiss. It was still quiet around you, the only things you could hear were the birds and your moans, drowned out by your boyfriend's mouth.

His thumb moved to your clit, the touch was light, teasing, his fingers tracing slow circles that sent tingles up your spine. And his fingers didn't stop moving up and down, each time hitting the exact same spot. Rafe knew what the fuck he was doing, he always knew how to make you in heaven in a moment by his precise movements. He knew your body like no one else, just like you knew his.

“Cum for me, baby,” he said, moving his lips to your naked neck. You felt you were close - Rafe did the same, following the feeling as you pulsed on his fingers. You didn't have to wait long until your body shook with pleasant and familiar reflexes, and you came on his fingers, burying your head in his neck.

Rafe took his fingers out of you and put them in his mouth, sucking on them. Oh this sight and Rafe in his damn tight blue polo, was something too strong for you to go through. You moved against his lap, letting him know that this was not what you wanted. “Still eager, huh?” he laughed throatily, but you didn't have to wait long. Rafe always knew what you needed and you got it right away. "You taste so good, baby"

“Rafe please,” you muttered, clasping your small hand over his large cock, which was getting harder and harder under you. “Anything for you,” he muttered, quickly getting rid of his pants.

Without much warning, he entered you. Slowly at first, because you knew very well that he was big. And even after so many times together, you continued to feel a slight discomfort at first. But Rafe always made it fit. He couldn't resist your tight pussy, which was even screaming for his attention. “Fuck, tight as ever,” he whispered, correcting himself on the couch so that you were more comfortable. “But don't worry, I'll make it fit.”

And as he said, so he did. With agility, he began to move inside you, making both of you nothing but moaning messes.

“Wait, I want,” you said, putting your hand on his chest. On that damn sexy polo. “Oh, a princess wants to take control?” he laughed under his breath, catching you under the thighs, but as if on cue he stopped moving inside you, making you feel again how big he was inside you. You groaned involuntarily, but didn't give in. You moved nimbly on top of him, practically taking him out of your pussy every now and then, and then lowering yourself all the way down again.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Rafe groaned, his head falling back against the couch, exposing the strong line of his throat. His eyes were hooded, his lips parted as he watched you, completely entranced by the way you were moving, the way you were making him feel.

You could tell he was trying to hold back, trying to let you set the pace, but the way his fingers flexed against your skin told you just how badly he wanted to take control.

“Not yet, Rafey,” you muttered, moving even closer to him. “You deserve the best. Especially, when you're in that slutty polo"

You increased your pace, but Rafe couldn't stand it anymore either, and came against you, entering your pussy from below. At that moment your bodies were merging at the perfect moments and places, so you were already not far from orgasm. And with that, he captured your lips again, his kiss rougher this time, more urgent. There was no more teasing now-just the raw, unfiltered need that always simmered between you both, threatening to spill over the edges.

“I'm so close,” you whispered into his mouth, clamping your pussy against him every so often. “I know, baby, I can feel it,” he muttered into your mouth, gently biting your lip to reach inside again. "Mmm, so good for me"

Rafe grabbed your buttocks and with even more force began to pound his cock into you. Your tongues fought for dominance, and your hands couldn't find room on his body, clamping down on the collars of his shirt.

"Shit" he murmured into your lips, feeling as his cum shot into your pussy, making quite a mess.

Not much later you too reach climax, clenching around his dick. Exhausted, you leaned on his shoulder kissing his neck. Rafe stroked your back, still calming down after the orgasm that hit you surprisingly hard this time. You felt him smiling over your shoulder, so you shared his happiness, smiling too. You moved your head off his shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes now. He was still inside you, so every movement, made quiet sighs come out of your throats.

“What's so funny?” you asked, stroking his jaw and kissing the corner of his mouth gently.

“Maybe I should wear that tight polo more often, just to find yourself in your tight cunt again?” he laughed lightly, returning your kiss.

“Oh shut up, asshole,” you muttered, lowering yourself on top of him once more until he groaned and settled his head on the back of the couch, pulling you against him.

A/N: I know there's a lot of Rafe or Drew here lately, but I swear, when I see this man, I feel so ungodly that oh jesus, i hope you enjoyed this

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[novascharms]

no thoughts, just rafe eating his study-till-i-drop girlfriend out to help her destress :)

the gentle knock on your door barely registers. "mom, i'll eat later tonight," you call out, voice clipped but trying to stay calm. it’s the third time you’ve said it, and the second you hear the door open, frustration prickles at your already frazzled nerves.

except it’s not your mom—it’s rafe. he stands in the doorway with his gym bag slung over one shoulder. “later tonight, huh?” he murmurs, an easy smirk tugging at his lips. with a gentle thud, he drops the bag just outside your door and steps inside, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot.

for a moment, your stress falters. the weight in your chest shifts, replaced by something lighter—relief, maybe even the hint of a smile. but it’s fleeting. you shake it off, glancing back at your biology book. “i have a lot to do,” you mutter, your tone softening despite yourself. “how was practice?”

he doesn’t answer immediately, just walks over to your bed, sits down, and kicks off his shoes. when he finally speaks, it’s in that low, casual drawl of his. “sweaty.”

you glance up and notice it now—his slightly damp hair curling at the ends, the faint sheen still clinging to his skin, and the subtle, clean scent of soap that lingers between you.

when you don’t respond, his brows pull together slightly, and he shuffles closer to you. instinctively, you tuck your knees to your chest, resting the weight of your textbook on your thighs to give him space.

“you should eat,” he says, his voice quieter now, laced with something tender. “you’ve been at this all day.”

he’s probably right, but the thought of pausing—of stepping away when you’re so far from finished—feels impossible. your pen moves almost mindlessly across the page as you scribble out another note, your lips parting to respond. but before you can, your notebook is snatched from your lap in one smooth, effortless motion.

“rafe,” you snap, reaching for it immediately. he holds it just out of reach, his grin soft but teasing.

“rafe, i’m not joking,” you warn, leaning forward. before you can try again, his lips meet yours, cutting off your protests with a kiss.

“you’re gonna burn out,” he murmurs against your mouth, his tone gentle but firm.

you pull back slightly, just enough to glare at him, though the frown on your face is more instinct than true frustration. “you haven’t even seen me during exams,” you mutter, the memory of those sleepless, frantic weeks flashing briefly in your mind.

“not looking forward to that,” he says with a quiet chuckle, still pressing faint, featherlight kisses to your lips.

you don’t stop him this time. instead, you find yourself watching him—watching the way his face softens as he leans into you, the way his eyes flicker between yours and your lips, the way his touch feels so deliberate, so careful.

“want me to help you destress?” he asks softly, his voice low and warm.

you blink at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “help me… destress? how?”

his hands trail down your legs, his touch light and teasing. “you had tights on this morning,” he notes, almost absentmindedly.

you nod slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “they weren’t staying up… i took them off.”

his gaze lowers, and before you fully register what’s happening, his hands are gently parting your legs. your breath hitches as the air shifts between you.

he starts slowly, pressing soft, lingering kisses to your thigh, his lips warm against your skin. you let out a deep, shaky sigh—a sound that seems to rise from an exhaustion you hadn’t even realized you were carrying. each kiss feels deliberate, a quiet offering of care and something deeper, something unspoken.

he works his way lower, inch by inch, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your thighs until he pauses. his eyes lift to meet yours, and his voice comes soft, almost reverent. “can i?”

you nod, breathless, unable to form words. the need simmering in his gaze feels like it could burn right through you, and the anticipation makes your skin hum, every nerve alive and aching for his touch.

his eyes drift down to your cunt that you know is drenched right now, before he’s even done something and the thought of him having you this undone before he’s even touched you is really sad.

when he tugs on the sides of your panties, you freeze for a moment—quiet realization of what’s about to happen and for a second, you’re afraid, afraid of something this new. his gentle eyes are immediately finding yours. “you trust me?” he asks and you know the answer is yes because you say yes without even thinking about it.

“good cause i won’t hurt you, sweetheart..” he’s lightly tugging on your panties, pulling them over your legs until they’re at your ankles and then he’s tossing them to the side. they’re simple white cotton ones and you find yourself wishing you atleast had those sexy, lacy ones.

“you promise?”

“cross my heart,”

he’s properly buried between your thighs now and the first lick along your folds has you gasping and fisting your freshly washed sheets. “you’ve got the prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen, baby..” when his tongue flicks against your drenched cunt, you let out a moan that is downright embarrassingly loud. before the noise can travel, rafe’s hand is flying to cover your mouth and you’re left muffling against his palm.

“as much as i’m dying to hear you moan my name, that’s a risk we can’t take right now, hm?” he murmurs and you assume that’s a sign that he’d go easy on you, you assume that since your parents are currently two floors below you and rafe cares about what they think, he wouldn’t go overboard.

you assume wrong.

“rafe!” you cry out against his palm, head tilting back as he shoves his tongue between your lips. your back is arching off the bed as your one hand holds onto his wrist that’s covering your mouth while the other is gripping rafe’s hair for dear life.

you were completely under the impression that the way his tongue was kissing and flicking your hole and folds was the pinnacle of all of this and you could imagine yourself cumming from just that in the next five minutes.

but then he’s licking from your hole to your clit and the moment his tongue makes first contact with your clit, your eyes fly open and your brain goes completely fuzzy.

“that’s it, baby, lemme make you feel good..” he’s muttering, mouth still right on your clit and you can hardly focus on his words, can hardly focus on much else but the pleasure that seems to be intensifying with every second that passes, “p-please..! i’m..i—“ you’re stuttering, eyes glossy in this almost fucked out state and you’re not even sure what you’re trying to say, what you want. you want something, need something.

“i’ll take care of you. i got you, babygirl.” you want to move, want to push against his mouth or push your hand against the back of his head to pull him in but your body feels too weak. all you can do is let out these muffled, shaky cries against rafe’s palms as he ate you out like it was his very last meal.

your whole body is trembling, a thin sheen of glistening sweat covers your forehead and you swear you can see stars right on the ceiling of your bedroom. rafe’s tongue is relentless, tirelessly lapping and licking at your clit, sucking it into his mouth and you’re losing focus, can’t think straight anymore. your eyes are rolling back as you attempt to push your mound against his lips.

you shudder when the pleasure only intensifies, “gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” rafe’s murmuring against your clit and you’re nodding frantically, “mhm! m’ gonna cum…gonna c-cum..!” you know it’s coming, can feel something pushing against you, pushing you over the edge and you’re about to spill.

rafe doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, just devours you no matter how hard you’re pulling on his hair because you’re about to cum and it’s gonna be all over him and the humiliation of that would kill you.

“rafe! s’ too much!” you gasp and somehow, rafe knows just what to do, just which way to flick his tongue because not a moment later, your toes are curling, fingers tightening in his hair, back arching off your sheets and you’re coming all over his face, slick gushing out as you cry so loud he has to stuff your mouth with his fingers to keep you quiet.

he only removes his fingers after a second and then he’s rising up from between your legs while you lay there, head on your pillow, in this almost dream-like state, trying to catch your breath.

“all good?” his voice is soft, slightly out of breath but steady compared to your shallow pants. you nod, still catching your breath, as he leans over and grabs a tissue from the box on your nightstand. his movements are slow, careful as he cleans you both up, the gentle press of the tissue against your skin making you hyperaware of the moment.

it’s only when you shift slightly that your eyes flicker downward, catching the unmistakable bulge in his sweats. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, and you sit up slowly, your movements hesitant. “you—”

he follows your gaze and shakes his head immediately, cutting off your words before you can finish. “nah, don’t worry about me,” he says, his tone easy but resolute. he leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips grounding you even as your thoughts spin.

still, your eyes drift back to him, lingering a second too long. the idea settles in your chest, insistent and new, and before you can second-guess yourself, your hand starts to reach for him.

he catches your wrist gently but firmly, halting you in place. “no.” his voice is low, the single word laced with finality. his thumb brushes against the delicate skin of your wrist as he holds it, his gaze steady on yours. “go eat.”

you blink up at him, torn between frustration and a quiet determination. “i want to help you,” you murmur, your voice soft but unwavering, the words carrying more weight than you intended. your eyes meet his, defiant, even as your pulse races.

he exhales a small laugh, tilting his head until his forehead rests against yours. his lips brush yours, featherlight, a whisper of contact that leaves you yearning for more. “not today,” he says softly, his voice dropping to a near murmur. “go eat.”

his words leave no room for argument, but the tenderness in his tone eases the sting of his refusal. reluctantly, you shift off the bed, your legs unsteady as you make your way toward the door.

snippet from 'teach please me' series.

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 | Emperor Geta x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Emperor Geta takes a liking to you but ends up with far more than he bargained for.

author's note | full blame on @hauntedhowlett. also don't look at me and tell me that man doesn't have a mommy kink, he does.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!geta, dom!reader, mentions of spousal/child loss, brief mentions of pregnancy, subtle mommy kink, lactation kink (titty suckin' hell yeah), oral (f receiving), use of sweet boy/good boy, unprotected piv

word count — 4.2k

A widow, a mourning would-be mother—naive amongst your youthful glaze, the softness in your features as you stare down the two brothers from across the long, crowded table. It has only been a fortnight now, but your face proves entirely unsuspecting.

This meeting was about you—not of your late husband, not of legality or current issues to address, but your qualification to have a spot amongst men. Most were unaware of your puppetry with your late husband and his place in the senate—an older man triple your age that had brought you for a price.

Easily to manipulate, easy to convince.

“There is no place here for a mockery like this,” An older gentleman with stringy, greying hair chirped up from his seat, fist tucked under his wrinkled chin, eyes carefully examining your figure, licking his split, dry lips, “she is young—negotiate a price with her father and—”

“He is dead,” You state flatly, a piercing glare shot down the line toward the spoken male, seemingly ticked by the sound of your voice, expecting submissiveness, “And I will assure the price is one you will never afford.”

Caracalla, as aloof as he was, seemed to snicker at that. A high-pitched cackle that slips from his lips as Geta raises a brow, his mouth hidden behind his curled fingers, opposite hand spread out wide on the arm of his throne.

“I am well versed,” You address both of the emperors directly, “Educated—my husband would be displeased to hear me say this, but he was not the smartest man. I have lost more than just him, but I am not here to beg.”

There was no love lost, fortunately. He wasn’t a good or bad man, only a man. He frequented brothels often, voiced his displeasure when you weren’t serving him correctly, and only forced a child upon you because of societal standards. It was distressing, still deep in your own grief as you avoided the deadlocked stares from the surrounding men, praying that one of the two young emperors would have a soft spot, or even a weakness. 

You would find it, if needed. But, Geta’s amusement was a comforting sign. 

The same man, displeased with your presence, grips hard enough at his wooden cane that it starts to crack, “Better yet, force her to work in the brothel. Plenty of use for you there,” His gaze switches from the head of the table to you, nodding his head with a triumphant smirk.

“As I am sure your wife would love to hear about your visits,” There’s a collective tenseness, both of hands gripping the table and men shifting in their seats, eyes flickering back and forth between the volleying conversation, the dueling man’s face going slack, “do not act surprised, you keep company of men with loose lips, be thankful one of them has died with the rest of your pitiful secrets.” 

Geta clears his throat then, sharing a brief moment with his brother as they nod in unison.

“I will consider this,” He begins, tongue swiping along the inside of his bottom lip, “given the suddenness of—”

“Your highness, do not fall victim to her deception, she is—”

“If you value that head of yours,” Geta’s words are biting, quick, “you will not interrupt me when I am speaking.”

He’s highly temperamental, the dagger he’s spent twirling in his hand for the past several minutes tossing lazily against the wood as he flicks a hand up dismissively, “Get out of my sight,” He excuses them all, aside from his finger pulling like it was held on a string to aim in your direction, “you—stay.”

You’ve just resigned yourself to death, surely.

–

The wine is dark, staining his upper lip as he drinks, clunky rings tapping against the glass of his cup as he passes you off a cup of your own. He had his own private quarters, opposite of his brother and hidden down a long, trailing hallway, an office-like room attached to his quarters.

You weren’t going to defy his command as unsettling as it felt, his glittering and colorful robe dragging against the tile floor as you stood silent, a comfortable distance away. 

Your dress was unbearably tight, back straight as an arrow while your shoulders ached, but you didn’t waver, didn’t slouch. Your breasts spilled over the fabric, barely covered by the shawl draped over your shoulders, signs of motherhood that had yet to dissipate. You cleared your throat, shuffling quietly on your feet. 

“I do not like nervousness,” Geta announces, turning his head over his shoulder as he swivels his body to lean against the edge of the desk—the room was clearly unused, aside from now. 

“I am not nervous,” It wasn’t that at all, rather an uncertainty. 

“Drink,” He suggested, nodding his head toward your full glass, “it will help.”

He doesn’t seem to believe you and you defy his order further, traveling toward him to rest the glass against the desk, hands settled at your stomach as you look at him, his eyes carefully tracking your movement as he sloshes the wine around in his mouth, a fingertip trailing the rim before he mirrors your actions.

“G—your highness,” You begin indecisively, “forgive me for sounding…selfish, but is there something you require? Do I serve a purpose being here?”

“What are your current living arrangements?” He asks suddenly, fingers curled around the edge of the desk, tilting his head in question. 

“I am living under the selflessness of a senator’s wife—though, if he knew, it would not be welcomed with open arms,” Geta is aware of your steadfast gaze, rare that you ever looked anywhere but his face, not the usual roaming nervousness he had become acquainted with.

“Ah,” He chuckles, “If I may pry—well, I am…is it—”

The man who had challenged you earlier with a wife too gracious for her own good.

“Yes, unfortunately.” 

Geta contemplates—he wasn’t against you having a voice within his council, aware that it wouldn’t be well-met, but there was a way to ensure safety and submission; he's learned to mold and shape to achieve what he wants at the lift of a finger. It was a mix of power and practiced manipulation. 

“You will relocate here, to the palace,” He informs, “as an extra measure and because I am fond of your…bite,” His mouth upturns in a lazy smirk, “you will be well cared for here, I assure you.”

A man who was far too fond of his toys, you notice the glint in his eyes as soon as his expression morphs. Greed; he could have everything and even that wouldn’t be enough. 

It was only minimally amusing, his confidence. 

And within a few hours and a few snaps of his fingers, you were set up comfortably in your own room, a pleasant conversation with his less than stable brother and the obedient monkey perched on his shoulder—he was endearing, but visibly paranoid. 

You refuse the help of the servants as you attempt to retire for the night, brow furrowed in frustration as you reach unsuccessfully for the tied string of your dress, resilient and stubborn in your unwillingness for help as you curse to yourself, half a second from ripping the fabric in half before the door to your room is opening quietly, creaking on it’s hinges. 

“I assure you, they are here for a reason,” Geta remarks fondly, the faint fire of the candles lit around your room painting him in a warm glow, softening an unusually rigid man, he approaches without a word as you relent, hands curling around the edge of a nearby chair, his hand working methodically along the knotted fabric at your back, a few minutes passing before he’s tugging it loose, a breath of relief slipping beyond your lips.

Geta takes a few steps back, ringed fingers interlocked behind his back as he watches you expectantly, watching quietly as you turn with your arm clutching the fabric to your chest, hair loosened, your face relaxing into a natural scowl.

“Do you require anything of me?” You ask, curious of his lingering presence but not feeling threatened or undermined—shockingly, he seemed unsteady. Unsure. His confidence failed him for the first time in his young life, “If there is…something you would like to address, I will listen.”

“When did you marry?” An odd start, but you answer with ease.

“Fifteen—he promised my family wealth, it was a simple trade. They died not long after. Tuberculosis, or so I was told,” You shift from one bare foot to another as Geta’s lips pull together in a narrow line, “You know, we are not much different.”

That grabs his attention, his eyebrow raising in a silent question as you approach slowly, arms crossed over your chest now, holding the fabric in place, “Coyness is unbecoming, Emperor.”

“Enlighten me,” Geta replies, his restless hands finding their way over the collars of his robe as he tightens it around himself, joining him near the end of your bed—a strange thing to claim; this entire room, yours. 

“If my math proves me right, we are of the same birth year,” You begin, “—those men, your advisors, they severely underestimate you and Caracalla. They are scared of you, yes. But, if given the chance, they would strike you down without a thought,” He turns his head, blinking away a sour expression, feeling particularly bare despite his state of dress.

Your gaze was powerful, intense, even Geta could not handle it.

“I am trying to say that I understand,” You clarify, tilting your head to catch his eyeline, reaching out slowly to provide a comforting touch, hands curling around his wrist, “not that I understand your role and the burden it carries, but being young and overlooked. I have felt that, I still feel it.”

He’s never been approached so openly—though he prefers the proclivity of men who bow down without question, his psyching was always searching for something more. A poor boy without love, or meaningful relations. You offer a soft smile as he turns his head to you.

“You came here for a reason,” You remind him, “—make it clear.”

His eyes follow the steady rise and fall of your chest, your fingers curling over the rough, coarse lining of the dress as it pushes your breasts up, his tongue trailing along his bottom lip in a wordless hunger.

“Did you plan to force yourself upon me?” You ask curiously, his face flushing with embarrassment, “Or, perhaps, hope that I would be charmed by you?”

“It is rare that I am denied,” He explains, like a petulant kid preparing to be denied their favorite toy, “—but, you are not mine.”

“I belong to no one,” You clarify, “I am not a whore, or a servant. We are…equals, yes?”

“Not entirely,” Geta counters, still donning the crown on his head—more subtle than the formal one he wears around, a delicate band of gold leaves adorned with gems, “but, it seems—”

You smirk slightly to yourself as you reach forward with one hand, plucking the band gently from his hair and tossing it aside to the bed, fingertips trailing down to his chin as you tug his face to look at you.

“You need not put on a performance for me,” You comfort him, his features softening as his eyes flicker toward the crown, “it is as simple as just asking, Geta.”

At level ground, it feels more appropriate. If he wanted your head, he would have it.

Eagerness invades his mind, clawing forward as his palms form to your neck, jaw, lips pressing against yours with impatience, a hum of hunger laying in wait in his throat. For a second, you allow it. Indulge in the simplicity of desire that has been long forgotten, sighing fervently against his mouth before you’re taking grip of his robe and forcing him back, his eyes blackened with lust and his mouth open, blinking with confusion.

“Ask me,” You demand him, “I have allowed so many in my life to take, not this. Not you.”

Geta clears his throat hastily, closing his mouth, gathering the immense willpower it took to listen, comply, “May I—may I kiss you?”

You nod, a grin spreading across your face as he lunges forward eagerly once more, held back by your surprisingly powerful grip, unaware of how your dress had shifted down, held up solely by the body contact against Geta, chest to chest.

It was teasing, taunting him with the ability and control you had over him, lips grazing against his testingly as he laughs too, a quiet and joyous noise as you finally let him have it, arms wrapping over his shoulders as his own hands roam down your sides, around your back and down your side, squeezing a hand at your thigh and bringing it up, high enough that it can rest at his hips, his fingers kneading into the exposed skin near the slit of your gown, toying with the delicate skin that he could reach.

You revel in the neediness, an intense feeling of want washing over you, his nose following the lines of your face as they nudge at your chin, forcing your head up as his kisses trail down, spit slicked lips pressing into your skin, bodies separating as you dress falls, as bare as he under his own robe, plump breasts pulling his eyes down, a slow blink and an instant flick up towards your face.

“Seems the effects of motherhood are taking their time to dissipate,” You admit, his fingers twitching at the sight of them, “If that is an issue we can end this he—”

“No,” He growls, “it—sorry, it is not.”

You reach for his hands quietly, his gaze following your direction as you cup them over your breasts, the heavy weight of them in his hands, the gentle squeeze that would otherwise make you wince but instead has your thighs clenching together. Geta was practically salivating at the sight, mesmerized by the fullness and warmth, his thumbs rubbing carefully over your hardened nipples, a small opaque drop of liquid painting his finger.

You grab his thumb suddenly, shoving his hand away at the sight.

“Despite a loss my body continues to provide,” You explain, “ It is not a lot, but it lingers.I have tried…everything to will it away.”

“Why?” Geta asks, looking up at you with newfound curiosity.

“It is not ideal, you see—”

“Who has told you this?” Geta pesters, watching the liquid drip down his finger before he brings it to his mouth, “I see no issue.”

Your nose twitches in uncertainty, his fingers trailing an abstract pattern into the underside of your breasts, around the side, admiring, “I have always been curious,” Geta admits, his voice trailing as you slowly guide yourself to sit on the bed, the emperor following in suit as he kneels against the edge of the mattress between your open thigh, “did he appreciate your body for everything that it was?”

“He was barren,” You admit, “He liked my mouth on his cock and that was all. He did not care for much else or my pleasure at that, he was much too inadequate anyways.”

He doesn’t address the glaringly obvious admittance—a much longer story for another time that neither of you cared for at the moment, “May I?” He asks politely, his hot breath ghosting over your chest as you nod, his mouth latching onto your skin in an instant.

It starts at the center of your chest, face buried between your breasts as he pulls his robe open, aided down by the push of your hands, his alabaster skin contrasting the plum sheets, his knee rising briefly to push into the sheets as you catch a glimpse of his cock, hanging heavily and intimidating in its size, anticipating of the stretch if you allowed him so far. 

His tongue follows a planned path, along the underside of your breasts and around your nipple, grazing over the pebbled skin with the subtle taste of sweetness seeping into his taste buds as his lips wrap around and such, the faintest push of teeth in your skin as his eyes peer up at you, your brow furrowing in delight at the sudden shock to your cunt, nothing like you’ve felt before.

You did not know pleasure like this, a fair trade. It was a shock to the system. 

He’s looking for acknowledgement, trading off to share the same care to the other breasts, his free hand trailing to the side of your face and under your neck, cradling you with a gentle touch as the hand on your breasts curls around and squeezes, sucking gently at your breasts as his head tilts into your comforting touch, your opposite hand turning as you run your knuckles alongside his jaw.

“Sweet boy,” You praise, “is that what you wanted?”

As if he hadn’t been eyeing you the entire meeting, breasts squeezed together as you leaned daringly over the table to argue with your aggressor, quenching the hunger all day with a steady diet of wine and the assorted fruit placed around the palace, always within reach, watching you quietly. 

He nods slightly, distantly, as he’s focused on his current task.

“Geta,” Formalities forgotten by now, his eyes widened as you stare at him, rising on your elbows with a waiting expression, “have you lost your tongue?”

“It would—it would seem I have not,” He chuckles with a knowing smirk, swiping his tongue around your nipple in a circular motion, “I am pleased, yes.”

He shifts his arms around you, curled fists landing in the sheets beside your head, his cock sliding against the inside of your thigh as he settles to his knees, a fresh flush to his chest as he admires your state of nakedness, trailing two wondering fingers from your chest to your pelvic bone, a slow dance in the low light of the room.

You nudge his hand away, “You are eager,” You note with a fond tone, watching as began to lean into you, eager to capture your lips once more, but your fingers are pressing over his lips before they reach their destination, shaking your head in disapproval, “I have ideas for better use of that mouth, Emperor.”

He pulls back with grin, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip as you filter your fingers through his ginger hair, curling your hand over the back of his head as he bows, settling on his belly with his cock trapped between the sheets, slowly his nose buries into the coarse curls, his tongue dragging down the seam of your pussy.

Geta can only liken it to a taste of the divine, or the closest he would ever reach, settled between your open legs with a mission to please, to satisfy. And for the first time in his life—serve someone other than himself. Normally he would bark at the informality of things, only allow his given title, a strict instruction of a bowed head and obedience, but he finds himself bending to your rule and dropping to his knees, if you demand.

“You have your wits and sharp tongue,” He hums against your cunt, a delightful noise slipping out as you tug at his hair, “I suggest you put them to good use.”

As he does, you find yourself drifting.

He is precise, thorough—which is not at all expected from a man of his status, or any man, really. They were never concerned with the pleasure of anyone but themselves, but Geta has proven you wrong in many ways as undesirable as his ruling may be. 

You only cared for your life anymore, witnessing how delicate it could be when it came to everyone around you.

He likes to watch, too. It isn’t at all surprising, eager for praise he brings you to a quick and intense, but fleeting orgasm. It swells in your stomach, the heat pooling before it explodes, hearing the satisfied groan as he licks you clean, murmuring a shaky, “Good–good b-boy,” as you force yourself to catch your breath, allowing him to climb his way back up your body with the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, both of you sighing into the shared space as your foreheads meet and Geta was completely at your control, awaiting your next command.

“Are things often like this?” You ask curiously, “Is this what you seek?”

Domination; someone to submit to.

In a daze, he shakes his head, lips parted slightly.

“Do you enjoy that I make you feel this way?”

He smiles, sated, nodding in response.

“I want to feel you,” It was a whispered request, his eyes searching your face—again, even just the nudge of his cock between your folds was enough to make you tense and you find your own fingers drifting between your legs, dipping inside of you as he looks down, mesmerized as you guide his hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around his as you work together in tandem.

When his brow draws together, you guide him inside of you, staving off his impending orgasm.

“Slow,” You instruct, hands traveling to grip his face, nodding his head between your hold, “You are…quite large, I am not used to that,” Geta seems to find a surge of confidence at that, leaning forward greedily to capture your lips, his teeth dragging along the fleshy skin as he angles his and pulls back slowly, entering you at the same pace despite the impatient shake to his body, eager for more, “slow—slow, look at me,”

“You’re obedient,” You praise, “far more than I expected.” 

“My brother likens you to a goddess,” Geta notes, the odd timing sending you into a gentle snort of laughter, “I must say I agree, you are mesmerizing.”

“I prefer Caracalla not be a topic as your cock is buried inside of me,” You retort with a kind smile, his own morphing into a frown of concentration as your knees hike around his hips, encourage him to lean his weight against you as he rocks his hips, a gentle rhythm that is drowned out by the sounds of the city at night.

His itching impatience grows tiresome, gripping desperately at whatever skin he could reach, pitiful moans of pleasure inked into your skin with the silent plea of more—please, more?

“Make me come once more,” You urge him, “and take what you need.”

It was all he needed to hear, taking the opportunity to slip out of you as he guiding you toward your stomach, guiding one knee up toward your chest as he hovered over you, turning your head to face him as he pushed his cock back inside of you, your walls fluttering around him in satisfaction of being filled again. 

There was a perfect view of the sky this way, a small alcove open to the night breeze, stars twinkling against the contrasting colors of midnight, “It is beautiful,” He begins, not admiring the same sight as you, a shakiness to his voice as he pumped his hips at a nearly unbearable pace, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you.

He’s panting into your skin, a feeling you’ve experienced in plenty of other circumstances, with a well-versed ability to separate yourself from your body as men chase their pleasure, but with the emperor, it was a different experience.

A cacophony of small whimpers followed by an utterances of words you’re not sure he or his brother have spoke often, “Please—-please, may I—“

The gravity of the situation flips as you realize your mistake, giving a man with far too much reach and power any type of influence over you, your brain searching for a way to counter his plea as you turn your body, arm wrapping around the back of his neck as he shakes with his impending orgasm.

Words are lost, unable to speak before he’s pulling out of you, the drip of his warm seed coating your skin, the tight grip at your chest loosening in an instant.

Thank the gods, you pray silently. 

“I apologize,” He breathes heavily, bottom lip swollen and red from the mutilation of his teeth, chest flushed bright and burning, “if—if I scared you.”

He uses his discarded robe to clean you up, unthinking of the consequences as he leaned back to stand, fully nude as he extends his hand in wait, beckoning you closer.

“Scared me?” You challenge, curling your hand into his own as he pulls you up, legs bracketing his thighs as your hands come to rest against his abdomen, staring up at the emperor. 

“Your bark is quite frightful,” He admits, “I can only imagine how you would rip me apart had I gone too far,” His words trail, a softening to his voice as he curls his hand around the side of your face, a gentle gesture.

“Would you like that, Geta?” You ask with a creeping suspicion, a smirk spreading across your face, “For me to rip you apart?”

A man of such power, unrestrained and chaotic—shrinks.

Almost too shy to admit it.

“Careful, my lady,” He warns, “I am still a ruler of Rome, such disrespect is—”

“Punishable by death,” You confirm, “but, you promised me safety, yes?”

Geta nods silently, watching the slow crawl of your fingers up his chest before they grab his chin, your thumb smoothing over the dimpled skin, his lips pulling apart in a shaky exhale.

“And I am sure a good boy like you will keep that promise?”

[augustinewrites]

“what’s on these?” megumi asks, holding up a box of memory cards.

cleaning day always unearthed all types of lost and forgotten items. sometimes it was clothes long forgotten in you and gojo’s closet, other times it was the kid’s old books or toys. you knew every inch of your little apartment, so most times you could identify any mystery items that came up.

“i don’t know,” you hum, plucking a card from the box to inspect it a little more closely. the only hint as to what’s actually on it seems to just be a date.

2006

…and it’s in gojo’s handwriting.

curious, you pop one into the video player and turn on the tv. the kids join you on the couch, clearly eager to entertain any distraction from your cleaning crusade.

when the screen flickers to life, a familiar courtyard comes into view.

you can’t help the gasp when haibara comes into focus…but then you see satoru standing standing across from him, arms spread out.

“who is that?” megumi asks, pointing at haibara.

you think of the bright smile of the boy still lingering in the edges of your memory and tell him, softly, “an old friend.”

“suguru!” gojo shouts, looking towards the person holding the camera. he’s all messy hair and wide smiles, exactly how you remember him in his youth. “make sure you get this one!”

geto grumbles about how he’s paying attention, and suddenly you remember exactly what this is.

“ah, these are from when yaga would make us record ourselves practicing cursed technique application,” you explain as a haibara lines up a shot with a pencil.

the pencil hits gojo in the face, gifting him a small cut on his cheek. “ah, shit!”

behind the camera you can hear nanami and geto laughing as haibara apologizes profusely, and shoko comes over to practice her healing. you come over too, holding a cloth.

“don’t pout,” your younger self says, reaching up to wipe a thin trail of blood from his cheek. “you’ll get it next time.”

as soon you turn away, you hear geto snicker and the camera suddenly zooms in on gojo’s face.

he’s blushing.

“ugh,” you hear him groan behind the three of you, finally finished cleaning the bathroom. “are we done cleaning yet?”

“we’re taking a break!” tsumiki tells him, as megumi pops another card in.

gojo ignores megumi’s protests, stealing the spot on the couch next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a smirk. “move your feet, lose your seat.”

tsumiki, angel that she is, moves over so her brother can sit on your other side as the video starts.

this time, gojo is the one recording, holding the camera out so it’s pointed at his own smiling face. “haibara versus nanami, round one!”

you feel your boyfriend stiffen beside you, looking over to see an odd look on his face. “oh, fuck—”

“jar,” megumi says flatly.

he glares at the kid, and is about to get up when you stop him. “wait! i want to watch this!”

he slumps back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he groans dramatically. ignoring him, you watch the fight play out, which ends with haibara whining whilst in a headlock.

you hear geto’s murmured commentary off camera as nanami releases his classmate, expecting the video to zoom in on the victor.

but it drifts a little to the left, where you’re laughing with shoko on the sidelines.

“so obvious,” geto scoffs. the video wobbles for a moment before being pointed directly at the tips of satoru’s shoes, then ends abruptly.

when you glance over at satoru, he’s pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as if they can hide his pink cheeks.

the next videos are similar. memories of your past viewed through a different lens, showing you things you’d never picked up on when you were living them.

some moments you watch with an aching heart. like when suguru leans close to you and makes a joke at satoru’s expense, or when you reach up to ruffle haibara’s hair.

(moments with cherished friends proving that the grief of losing them never got any lighter as you moved forward with your life, but at some point you’d just gotten used to carrying the weight.)

but what might be most interesting is seeing yourself in satoru’s eyes.

his focus, whether he was the one holding the camera or not, always seemed to drift to you. for all the times he’d denied crushing on you in your early years, the camera proves otherwise.

the way he peeks at you shyly as you fix your hair before a fight.

the way he reaches out instinctively whenever you’re knocked backwards.

the way he smiles brightly whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.

the way your gaze would occasionally meet his, and his smile seemed to come naturally.

“okay, that’s enough for tonight,” satoru announces, shutting the tv off and shooing the children away. “go clean your rooms, you freeloaders.”

you stand, looping your arms around his neck before he can run away. smiling, you gently pull his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch.

“hey! those are gucci—”

you shut him up with a kiss, feeling the way his lips curve upwards against yours. “i love you, you know that?”

blue eyes meet yours, the pensive look he’d been wearing melting into something a little softer. something reserved for you. “you’re obsessed with me, i know.”

you simply laugh, letting him dip down to give you another kiss.

(because you’d had his heart in your pocket long before either of you had realized.)

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖: 𝕌𝕟𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕕

𝙳𝙸𝙻𝙵!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: age gap, swearing, older!rafe, drinking, reader is a senior in college, choking, unprotected p in v, kissing, handjob, cum play, spit kink, bathtub sex, changing positions, soft!rafe

📖 based on an ask from @starkeysprincess : ooo ok ok for kinkmas what about college!reader who babysits single dilf!rafe’s kids & she’s stressed cause of finals coming up (totally not self indulgent hehe) and he helps her destress 🩷

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

You sit cross-legged on Rafe’s plush leather couch: textbooks, sticky notes, pens, and crumpled flashcards littered on the marble coffee table. You blink fast, widening your eyes the next moment, trying to stay awake and on task, willing your eyes to stay open.

Your eyes flicker to the baby monitor, watching Mr. Cameron’s daughter, Winnie, fast asleep. The camera pans over to the next bed, Rory doing the same. Throwing your head back, you breathe deeply, soaking in that little win. At least I have the kids under control.

The week before winter break was always brutal, but this semester felt next to impossible between tests and papers. Five finals in three days…

You tear your planner out of your backpack, jotting down a new study schedule, feeling the pen tremble in your hand—watching the ink scribble and stray from the regular pattern.

I haven’t slept well in days… My stomach has been in knots, my muscles aching, and my head pounding. This week can’t end soon enough.

Shit. Your phone glows with a new notification, but the time catches your eye. Midnight… I still have a couple of hours left, at least. You pull your laptop, open the essay that you have been working on, and check the page count. “Fifteen pages… Twenty-page minimum… What the hell,” you whisper, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration.

A lump forms in the back of your throat. You swallow hard, refusing to let the tears burning in your eyes spill over. It’s just school. It’s only school… Don’t break down. Not here… Not in his house.

The front door clicks open, jarring you from your thoughts. Your body freezes, fingers quickly lifting to your waterline to clear any tears that dare break. Rafe Cameron… Kook King and Kildare royalty. The man who somehow manages to be intimidating, yet incredibly charming. He’s devastatingly handsome… Fuck, he’s so hot.

Your pulse quickens as you hear his designer loafers shuffle down the hall, echoing through the foyer. Mr. Cameron darkens the doorway a moment later, loosening his tie with one hand and checking his phone with the other.

His toffee-colored hair is tousled— not as sleek as when he left. His large biceps are hugged with a crisp white button-down shirt; suit pants snug enough to show you just how fit he is. “Y/n,” he greets you warmly, lighting up at the sight of you. “How were they?”

"They were great," you manage to say, voice wavering slightly with nerves. “Uhh-Umm… They fell asleep right on time. Rory’s jammies are on backward. He said, ‘The buttons push on his tummy.’ I tried, I swear,” you laugh lightly.

“I know you did,” he smiles as he nods and scratches his five o’clock shadow. His gaze lingers a little longer than usual. “What about you? Are you okay? You look…" he pauses, choosing his words carefully, “… a little stressed. I hope you don’t take that the wrong way. You look beautiful, just stressed.”

Your cheeks warm up at his compliment and his attention; Rafe’s focus never falters. Yours does as your heart flips, your gaze taking refuge in the mess before you to ease the tension, embarrassment quickly filling its place. “Just finals,” you say with a weak laugh. “Five exams in three days. I still have to drive back to campus. I need a shower… And, I have to study… a lot, a lot.”

Rafe’s eyebrows pinch together—his muscular arms cross over his strong chest, the man leaning casually into the doorframe. “You goin’ all the way back to campus?”

You bite your lip and nod. “Yeah, I’ll be alright… I babysit for the Thorntons on a date night and always drive back super late…”

He shrugs his shoulders, looking back at you. "You don't have to," he responds. "Drive back, that is. You can stay here if you’d like if you’re more of a morning person. You can stay in one of the guest bedrooms, watch TV, study, and shower. Or, you can just sleep… Fuck, you look like you’ve been workin’ way, way too hard.”

Your lashes flutter at his offer. Stay the night? Here? You replay to his sweet words again. This place was luxurious… Rivaling any resort on Figure Eight—but this was Rafe Cameron’s house.

“I don’t want to impose,” you babble, catching him waiting for your answer.

”You wouldn’t be,” he tilts his head slightly as a smile plays on his pretty lips. “Seriously, I insist.”

Your shoulders unwind, the stress you were feeling lifting slightly just knowing that you could spend that extra time studying instead of driving; you could spend the night in a cozy bed instead of your cramped apartment. "I really appreciate it, Mr. Cameron,” you breathe.

“Please… Call me Rafe,” he encourages as he rolls up his shirt sleeves, heading toward the sink. ”Go on,” he drawls. “S’gettin’ late. There are two rooms at the end of the hall. You can pick whichever one you’d like.”

You gather your things and head upstairs, your heart still racing. Reaching the end of the hall, you look both ways; each room equally stunning. You glance back at the first option, catching a glimpse of a large bathtub in the mirror.

Shutting the door, you discard your belongings on the bed and quickly undress. You stroll over to the tub, running a bath, adding a heavy spoon of lavender-scented bath salts. As soon as it hits the water, the smell swirls with the steam, wafting around you. You sink into the bubbles, letting out a sigh of pure bliss.

Your body relaxes for the first time in days, melting into the tub.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

”Y/n?” Rafe calls for you from behind the door, his voice husky and deep. “Do you need anything to eat? I should have asked earlier. I apologize.”

Your heart pounds in your chest just knowing he’s outside the door. “I’m fine. Thank you,” you respond sweetly, tucking your lip between your teeth, a part of you wishing you would have said ‘yes’ so he would’ve come back.

”A drink?” He asks. “Wine?”

Your cheeks burn from your giddy smile at the offer. “Wine sounds great. Thank you.”

A few minutes later, there’s another knock. Rafe cracks open the door, his large hand wrapped around the glass, setting it gently on the marble counter, his handsome face still hidden behind the door.

“You can come in,” you call. The door moves fast, then slow, creaking open. Rafe steps inside with a bottle of red wine in hand. Maybe he was hoping for this all along? Perhaps he was just going to set it down on the nightstand?

Rafe walks over, his steps smooth and deliberate, resting the glass in your hand. You lift it to your lips, smiling before sipping, relishing the taste for a moment before letting out a dreamy ‘thank you.’

“You work too hard,” he says softly as he walks away, leaning back into the counter. He looks back at you; genuine concern painted all over his face as well as a glow of admiration.

Your lips draw to the side, nodding in reply, but your mind is clouded with Rafe’s praise so that you can think of a reply.

“Feels good?” He asks, and you nod, your wide, doll-like eyes drawn to the devastatingly handsome man. “You like that?” He asks as he steps closer, gesturing to the bath.

“Yeah,” you smile as you look up at him.

“You can stay over anytime you’d like, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” you whisper as you tilt toward him. “I’d like that.”

Rafe leans down, lowering himself eye-level with you, his beautiful blue eyes dancing at the waterline, your gorgeous breasts half-hidden under the suds. “You should take more breaks, princess. “It’d be good for you-” Acting before your mind, you grab his shirt and tie, tugging him closer, his lips finding yours for a deep kiss. Your heart races as he deepens the exchange, pulling you closer, causing the water to slosh out of the tub onto his white shirt.

You gasp in surprise, looking down at his muscular body, the white linen clinging to his skin. You race for his buttons; and Rafe for his tie between messy kisses and panting breaths. Your eyes widen as he takes off more and more clothes, tossing them messily to the floor; the air charged between the two of you sparks flying when your lips meet again.

”This okay, princess?” He pants hungrily between kisses.

“Yeah,” you mumble, sucking on his tongue before swirling yours.

“What do you need from me, baby? Tell me what you need.”

“You… Just you, Rafe,” you whimper, feeling as he smiles against your lips. Your fingers stroke the underside of his thick cock, making him moan into his mouth; his breaths choppy as you wrap your fingers around him, rubbing with the cadence of your kiss. Your fingertips ghost over his swollen tip, making him seethe through his teeth before biting your lip.

“M’gonna make you feel good, sweetheart. Yeah? I’m gonna help you relax. But you need to tell me what you want from me” he groans as your other hand cups his balls, rolling slowly.

His abs muscles flex as you toy with his cock, the older man bucking into your hand as he bites his lip. Your eyes widen at the sight of him—finding yourself at a complete loss for words seeing him like this.

Rafe’s fingers tighten on the tub's edge, knuckles turning white. The blood in his cock starts to pump harder as he moves closer and closer to his climax.

The blues of his eyes start to fall, lids growing heavy as his breathing grows deeper. “Let me see your face, pretty,” Rafe pants, cupping your chin with one hand, fisting his dick with the next. You open your mouth, not sure where he wants it, body buzzing from the low rumbles of his moans and praise. “Fuck,” the word falls from his lips as you feel his warm cum land in ropes on your cheeks, lips, and tongue. “Look at you… Shit,” he groans.

Rafe doesn’t loosen his hold, moving closer instead, gliding his warm tongue along your skin, cleaning up your face, keeping your lips popped open with his grasp, but you wouldn’t dare close it. He spits in your mouth; his climax landing on your tongue. “Swallow it, baby,” he whispers against your lips, gentle yet commanding, sending chills down your spine.

Before you can’t think, Rafe moves you through the water, resting you on his lap to face him, chest to chest. Your hands rest on his broad body, the two of you breathing rapidly together. Rafe reaches for you, wrapping his big arms around your waist—lips latching onto the sensitive spot on your neck.

“Fuck me, Rafe…” Those are the only three words he needed to hear, pulling you exactly where he wants you again. You hold your breath, swathing your arms around his neck, nails clawing into his massive shoulders as you bury yourself in his neck, whimpering as you take every inch.

“Just like that… Just like that, princess,” Rafe huffs, tossing his heavy head back at the feeling of you. You rest your hand on your stomach, feeling him deep. “And look at you takin’ it all, baby,” he drawls as he takes his turn nestling himself in you, taking a hold of your hips to urge you to rock against him.

Water starts to move around you, crashing against the back of the bath; rolling over the edge. "That's a good girl,” he moans as you tighten your walls around him, moving at a slightly quicker pace.

Rafe raises his hand, wrapping his ringed fingers around your throat, squeezing before pulling you to his lips. The two of you start moving with each other as the pressure builds inside, just seconds away from coming undone in each other's arms.

”Bounce for me,” he mumbles as his gaze falls just like before, eyes stealing glances as your plush tits move, soaked in soapy water.

Rafe hands sneak up your back, cupping the tops of your shoulders, shifting himself on top. You cry out in pleasure, voice bouncing off the walls of the bathroom as he fucks his dick deep.

”Cum for me,” he whispers, and you do. Your perfect pussy fluttering around his throbbing dick as he empties himself deep, filling your cunt with his cum. Your body becomes one with the water and him, lips mirroring his as you come down from your highs together.

“Two more nights, princess…” He pants between passionate kisses. “You’re comin’ back here tomorrow night… N’we’re doing this again. Promise me… I just want to take care of you…”

You smile against his lips, living in the afterglow of your pleasure. “I promise.”

[lowkeyren]

BUT YOU BELONG TO ME!

in which — some jealousy headcanons / scenarios for our favourite luofu men!

featuring — dan heng, blade, jing yuan (separately) x gn!reader

wc: total 1.8k, from req: here!, they're so silly goodbye, march + fu xuan cameo ;) reblogs w comments are appreciated, please enjoy!!!

#DAN HENG

look me in the eyes and tell me dan heng wouldn’t be the “i'm jealous, but i don’t wanna show it” (but it’s so PAINFULLY obvious that he’s jealous) type, you can’t.

definitely amusing to watch him play it cool, cus he has nothing else going on in his brain when you’re within 10 metre radius from him. 

honestly it would have to be quite specific situations if he ever gets jealous because he likes to keep you close by his side as often as possible. dating or not, he would have some sort of protective instinct —always making sure you’re secure and cared for. (and yes of course march teases him for it, he never admits it though.)

dan heng tries to focus on the book in his hands, but his mind refuses to make any sense of the words on the page —at least not when you’re standing so close to boothill. (too close for his liking anyway)

the cyborg sits at the opposite end of the couch where dan heng was, while you deftly adjust a compartment of his, engaging in small talk as he makes lighthearted jokes with you. dan heng hears your laughter ring out; the laughter that he adores so dearly, the laughter that never fails to warm his chest, and the laughter he wishes he was the reason for instead.

his eyes flicker up from the page to sneak a glance at you, the way your hands glide over boothill's body churns an ugly feeling, twisting in his chest. he shifts in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the unease remains.

his focus on you is suddenly shattered by a loud voice that belongs to no other than march, "dan heng, if you grip that book any harder, you might tear off a page." she stands in front of him, hands on her waist. 

“the way i am holding my book is perfectly fine, now if you will, i must get back to re—”

“oh c’mon! we all know your ass is not actually reading that book!” he raises an eyebrow, and march only rolls her eyes in response. “it’s literally upside-down.” she teases, unable to hold back a chuckle. 

dan heng glances down at the book in his hands, finally noticing the upside-down text, to which he quickly closes the book and puts it down. "maybe i was just testing your observational skills.”

march shakes her head, "yeah right… just admit you’re too busy staring at them!”

“no i’m n—” he begins to protest but is interrupted when you suddenly appear in front of him. “staring at who?” you tilt your head curiously, and he can only hope that you don’t hear the loud thumping of his heart. 

march giggles as she runs off to who-knows-where, he silently curses her for leaving him in this predicament. he manages to regain his composure, though his cheeks retain a faint pink hue. “ahem, anyway…” he trails off when you sit down next to him, your thighs brushing against each other.

alright you can’t keep doing this to him. he’s not a cyborg but it certainly seems like he’s malfunctioning at that moment. (though he doesn't mind if you have to “repair” him next; he considers it far preferable to having your hands on boothill anyway.)

#BLADE

this guy REEKS of jealousy. 

he gets jealous over anything —saying “good night!” to an acquaintance? well unfortunately, i don’t think they’re going to be having a very good night; a friendly smile from a passerby? the sudden chill in the air accompanied by his sharp glare is enough to make them rethink their life decisions. 

and the worst part? he knows it. he's aware of how irrational his jealousy can be, but that doesn't stop the surge of possessiveness that washes over him.

(deep down, he just wants to feel secure in your attention and affection, but it’s true that his jealousy sometimes gets the better of him.) 

blade’s “things to get rid of” list exponentially grows with each passing day, ranging from general items he sees no use of, to addresses of people who have wronged you in the past. 

but there’s one item on the list that stands out from the rest, the one item he can’t seem to bring himself to get rid of, no matter how hard he tries.

37. “blade plushie”

okay but what kind of website is “stellaron hunters fan merch for sell.com” anyway? since when do they have a fanbase, and why did you have to buy a plushie of him, of all things? 

he shoots daggers at the plushie sitting on your bed, on his side of your bed. while he can't always be by your side, surely there's no need for an inferior replacement?

blade sits down beside you, discreetly moving the plushie out of the way. just as you turn to reach for it, he wraps his arm around you and snuggles up to your side; you immediately pause at his affectionate gesture; his hair brushes against your neck as he buries his face into it.

“blade.. what are you doing?” you turn your attention to him, much to his delight. 

“why not spend more time with the real deal instead of… that.” he tightens his grip around you, at this point he isn’t even trying to hide his jealousy (over a plushie lmao) anymore. 

"you mean mr. edgelord...?" you barely manage to stifle your laughter as blade shoots up beside you. doesn’t hurt to tease him for a bit, right?

“what did you say… “edgelord”?” he scoffs, his face twisting into a scowl. he can’t believe you gave that thing a nickname, how ridiculous. he makes a mental note to get rid of it asap. 

“yeah, what about it? jealous that he’s better than you?” you smirk, leaning in close to his face. perhaps you’re enjoying his expression of pure bitterness a little too much, who knew such a handsome face could look so hilariously indignant? 

his eyes twinkle in amusement, before closing in the distance. “hah, never.” his tone tinged with a touch of possessiveness that he can't quite hide.

“really? you seem like you’re about to kill it.” you wrap your arms around his neck, his expression softens for just a split second, but you’re able to catch it anyway. “would you please spare mr. edgelord if i give you a kiss?”

he doesn’t respond with words; he presses his lips against yours, gently cradling the back of your head. (you quickly turn mr. edgelord to face the wall before blade pulls you away)

maybe he’ll spare “it” for another day or so, just don’t let him catch you hugging “it” in your sleep again, alas you want “it” to suffer the same fate as the others on his list.

#JING YUAN

hmm our beloved general… well he trusts you, and believes that you won’t do anything rash; but on the other hand there are just some things that neither of you can control, whether it’s letters sent in to ask for his hand in marriage or admires trying to sweep you off your feet (before he can). 

though not many people would approach you once your relationship goes public, given that he’s the general and all. but imagine him before the two of you became official, clinging to you to fend off your admirers, and the expression on their faces when you shake your head, denying that you’re dating at all. 

“as for the situation at cloudford— general, are you even listening?” fu xuan furrows her brows, and crosses her arms, clearly annoyed. “ah my apologies lady fu, please keep going.” jing yuan only flashes a half-hearted smile at her before glancing over to your direction again.

you feel a pair of eyes boring into your back, undoubtedly jing yuan’s; but you pay it no mind, choosing to focus on the discussion at hand. his grip on his teacup tightens when he sees the foxian talking to you leans closer to catch your words. fu xuan raises an eyebrow in concern, unaware but still sensing the rising tension; his eyes visibly twitch the moment their hand brushes against yours.

“lady fu, let’s reschedule our meeting for another time. i believe i have some… important matters to attend to.” jing yuan rises up from his seat before fu xuan can reply, swiftly making his way towards you.

you’re startled by the sudden feeling of jing yuan’s arms around you, his chest pressing against your back, as he places his chin against your head. “sorry to interrupt, what’re you two discussing about?” the foxian is taken aback by the general's sudden appearance, and especially by your current position with him. 

“n-nothing general!” the foxian seems to hesitate before continuing, “if it isn’t rude to ask, are the two of you…in a relationship?” jing yuan’s face lights up with his usual lazy smile, but this time it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

your eyes widen in surprise as he presses his lips against your nape, you shiver at his touch, a rush of warmth spreads across your cheeks. you should deny it, to say that you're not in a relationship at all, but you can't bring yourself to. instead, you divert your gaze from the foxian, hoping to spare yourself any further embarrassment.

“go on, tell them.” he whispers lowly so that only you can hear him. this bastard, you’re going to give him a stern talking to after this..! “sorry to cut this short, please excuse us.” you give a polite nod before pulling the general away.

two days later, as you’re walking along the streets of central starskiff haven, you come across a group of people gathered around a stall. curious, you head over to check out what’s happening. —you’re absolutely mortified to discover stacks of articles detailing recent events of you and jing yuan.

“breaking news! the general is secretly married?!” / “the truth behind general jing yuan’s relationship status” / “rumours confirmed: a detailed guide to the general of luofu’s relationship saga”

well at least the pictures of you and jing yuan got your good side… and your bad side, and your “i definitely did not sign up for this” side. and oh look, there’s one of you dragging jing yuan by his ponytail too, how wonderful, you’re definitely purchasing that one. 

but yeah no, you’re not beating the allegations after this. 

masterlist

[rafeandonlyrafe]

only you, always

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, cheating, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex

you would never admit it out loud to anyone, but a twisted part of you likes when rafe cheats on you. its a dark truth, one you wrestle with every time it happens.

it's always when he's blackout drunk or high at a party, usually a combination of both. it's often when you're fighting or on a “break”. like last week, when your blowout argument ended with rafe slamming the door behind him and stomping out into the night. you were quick to hear that he made out with some girl at kelce's party. the pain lasted until the next day when he showed up back home, disheveled and tear-streaked, clutching a bouquet of flowers.

“i fucked up.” he croaked. 

you just stared at him until he fell to his knees, blue eyes rimmed with red as he pressed his forehead against your stomach. “please don’t leave me. i can’t lose you.”

the cheating hurts you every time, but rafe coming back crawling and crying, begging your forgiveness and worshiping you for the next few weeks always makes up for it.

“hi beautiful.” rafe kisses at your cheeks, a week having passed from your fight and his infidelity, the tension replaced with the warmth of his lips against your skin. 

“hey.” you smile, running your fingers over his face, stubble gracing his cheeks as he hasn't shaved for the last couple days, preferring to spend every waking moment with you instead as if he’s afraid you might slip away.

“i love you so much.” rafe leans in and kisses the tip of your nose this time, then your forehead, before dropping down to your lips.

“i don't deserve you.” rafe whispers before kissing you again.

“you probably don't.” you giggle, rolling on the bed so you're fully on top, pinning him beneath you. 

“i said i was sorry.” rafe pouts.

“and i forgave you.” you shake your head, your voice gentle but firm, realizing you probably shouldn't make fun of the situation, but humor feels safer than vulnerability.

“it won't happen again.” rafe says. it always does, yet he always promises it won't. maybe as you both grow older and more mature, both stop drinking and fighting so much, it will really be over, breaking the cycle. at least this time it was just kissing some random girl instead of sleeping with her.

you knew what you were getting into when you began dating rafe. he came with a wild reputation and an even wilder past. practically everyone in your friend group had a one night stand with rafe, but you didn't mind, because he chose to come back to you, not anyone else.

“what are you thinking about baby?” rafe asks, watching the emotions flicker over your face.

“just how good of a boyfriend you can be.” you answer with a small smile. 

“yeah?” rafe smirks, his head tilting to the side as a mischievous look flashes over his eyes. “do you want me to show you just how good of a boyfriend or do you want breakfast first?”

“you first.” you say quickly. “and then bacon and eggs.”

“scrambled or sunny side up?”

“scrambled of course.”

rafe grin grows, hands moving against your bare skin. “just like im about to scramble your-”

“allllright.” you cut him off before he can finish his joke, laughing as you roll off of him.

“no come back.” he pouts, pulling you back against his body, molding his chest to your back as he spoons you.

“you're so ridiculous.” you chuff, though your voice betrays the affection simmering beneath the surface.

“ridiculously in love with you.” rafe counters, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. he just had you last night, but he's already craving you again, missing the feeling of your bodies pressed together in the most intimate way.

“you're extra corny this morning.” you hum out.

“sorry.” rafe chuckles. you love that he's only like this around you, and only when he's just cheated. he turns into a dopey lovesick puppy until the need for your forgiveness and guilt wears off and he's back to his normal self.

rafe places his hand on your stomach, circling around your soft skin, each movement sweeping lower every time, deliberate and teasing.

“rafe.” you whine, eyes shutting as he begins to dip into your underwear with every gesture. 

“mhm.” rafe hums. as much as he likes to tease you, he wants to pleasure you more. his hand dips all the way into your underwear, fingertips coming to your clit.

he knows your body so well, exactly what to do to drive you crazy, every touch sending electricity through your body. his strokes over your clit are gentle, occasionally purposely missing to rub lower towards your entrance, like he's teasing where he's going to be later. it’s a dance you’ve done a hundred times before, but it never gets old.

“that feels so good.” you moan out, not even realizing that your eyes had fallen closed. rafe moves his other hand so it's under your body, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as he sculpts himself around you, other hand cupping your chest.

“mmm.” you hum, feeling rafes hardness pressing against your bum as his fingers stop teasing your clit, rubbing intensely now with the purpose of getting you wet and open.

“oh, baby.” rafe moans as you reach behind your back, hand cupping over his underwear, squeezing at his length through the fabric.

“fuck me. please.” you begin to move your hips, grinding yourself against his hand.

“be patient.” he tsks, fingers pinching at your nipple before going back to cupping your breast.

“unfair.” you pout, but decide two can play at that game, bringing your hand underneath his waistband to stroke up and down his cock.

you can't see rafes face, but you're sure his expression just shifted to one of pleasure.

his hand delves further between your legs, finger circling around your entrance only once before pushing into your cunt, making you moan loudly.

“fuck yes.” you rock your hips again, this time back against rafes crotch, your hand still moving up and down his cock.

“god, i can barely wait.” rafe groans, finger moving faster inside of you, building you up as quickly as he can.

“stop waiting then.” you move your hand, turning onto your back, rafes hand maneuvering to still fuck into you. “come on, rafey.”

you know once he sees your pout he can't resist, not when he's still making things up to you.

“god, that face kills me.” he presses a quick kiss against your lips before moving, pulling your underwear down and flinging them off the bed before disrobing himself.

you grin as rafe doesn't even bother to ask how you want him, instantly lying himself over top of you and lining up his cock with your entrance.

“i love you.” you press a kiss against rafes cheek as your arms loop around his shoulders.

“i love you.” rafe echos back, connecting your lips that quickly develop into moans as he pushes inside of you, engulfing his cock in your heat.

rafe knows he doesn’t need to give you time, already used to his cock being sheathed inside of you. he begins to swing his hips in an even rhythm.

your fingertips dig into his shoulders, pressing into his tanned skin.

“nobody even gets close to you.” rafe groans as you tighten your cunt around him every time he pulls out to thrust back in.

“its only you.” rafe continues as he drops one hand between your bodies, placing his thumb against your clit as he rubs to the rhythm of his thrusts. “only you.”

you can't help that smile that stretches across your face. you don't give a shit if it's only you, as long as he continues to fuck you like this and treat you like a queen.

“faster, rafe.” you pull his chest tighter against yours, your nipples pressing against his skin, stimulating them with his every movement as he speeds up.

“c-close.” you whine.

“me too.” rafe grunts in agreement. “gonna cum in you, yeah?”

“yes.” you nod rapidly. “yes, please, please, please, rafe.”

your head is swirling with the overwhelming pleasure as rafes thumb presses against your clit just as his cock is thrust deep inside of you. it's enough to throw you over the edge, back arching up into rafe as you moan loudly, legs shaking as you feel him lose it to, his moans loud in your ear as he pumps into you.

“fuck, b-baby, y/n.” rafe groans as he finishes, making sure you get every last drop inside of you.

rafe drops himself to the side of you, the mattress bouncing as you both become slack against the sheets, hearts beating fast and chest rising and falling rapidly.

“i really do love you baby.” rafe says, his voice soft and slightly hoarse. “im sorry i always fuck things up.”

“you don't, though.” you move so you're resting against rafes chest, snuggled against his side. “you make mistakes but you always come back and make it right, that's all i ask for.”

you hear rafe sniffle and you know he's holding back tears, always extra emotional after a reconciliation, as if hes purging himself from the guilt.

“ill go make you some breakfast now if you wanna get dressed.” rafe slides quickly off the bed, keeping his back to you as he pulls his underwear back on.

“why would i get dressed if i want you to fuck me again after breakfast?” you tease, your lip quirking up.

you see rafes hand raise to his face, and you know he's wiping at his cheeks, but you give him time to collect himself, secretly happy only you can make him act like this.

“alright.” rafe turns around, his eyes still glossy but filled with adoration as he bends down to press a kiss to your forehead. “bacon and scrambled eggs and then ill fuck you on the table, then in the shower, then ill take you shopping and fuck you in the dressing room.”

“perfect.” you grin.

[rafayelxsylusho]

the jealous fic series is sooo good! can’t wait for the sylus one

I almost forgot about my man. Thanks for reminding me!

Hope you like it!!

How the LADS men fu€k jealousy out of you.

TW: SMUT

***There is a quote from a book that some of you have probably read before, I just really wanted to use it in one of sylus fics😊😊***

Sylus 🐦‍⬛

You had been looking forward to surprising Sylus at home, craving some much needed alone time with him after recent missions that kept you apart. However, once you got to his place you found the house quiet and empty. No sign of Sylus anywhere. A flicker of concern began to rise in your chest as you wandered the halls, calling out his name, but only the echo of your own voice greeted you.

You found Luke and Kieran in the study, engaged in their usual antics, lounging on the plush leather sofas, having a lively discussion that ended abruptly when they noticed you.

"Look Kieran, our favorite hunter came to visit," Luke drawled. "Here to see the boss man, y/n?"

Kieran sat up and offered you a genuine smile. "Boss isn't here at the moment," he explained "He's been called away to attend a rather important auction tonight."

"Auction?" you asked, frowning. "What auction?"

Luke leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The big one. The one everyone's talking about. The one boss has been prepping for all week."

You try to recall any mention of an important auction Sylus had spoken of, but as much as you rack your brain you come up empty. It's not like him to keep something like this a secret from you. A flicker of concern crosses your face as you wonder why he wouldn't have mentioned it to you directly.

"So, when will he be back?" you asked, trying to sound casual even as you felt a flutter of disappointment at his absence.

Kieran shrugged. "Hard to say. These things can go on for hours. Days even. Depends on how stubborn the other bidders are."

Luke snorted. "And how determined Sylus is to win."

You find yourself waiting for Sylus to return home from the mysterious auction. The hours tick by, and to pass the time, you decide to engage in some friendly competition with Luke and Kieran. The three of you spend the next couple of hours engrossed in a highspeed, adrenaline pumping videogame.

In between races, you raid the well stocked kitchen, returning with an array of tasty treats and Sylus' prized collection of gourmet chocolates.

As the night wears on you can't help but glance at the clock more frequently, wondering what's keeping Sylus. A regular auction should have ended by now, and while he is known for his meticulous attention to business dealings, this delay is starting to feel a bit longer than usual.

You decide to reach out to Sylus. You pull out your phone and dial his his private number, the one reserved for emergencies and urgent matters. After a few rings, his deep, smooth voice fills your ear.

"Y/n, what is it?" his tone unusually distracted. It's clear that he's in the midst of something important, his words clipped and hurried. The sound of muffled voices and distant commotion can be heard in the background, hinting at a crowded and chaotic environment.

"Hey, I'm at your place with Luke and Kieran," you explain, trying to keep your own voice casual despite the unease you feel. "I've been waiting for you to come home. Is everything alright?"

There's a pause, and you can almost hear the gears turning in Sylus' mind as he considers his response. "Yes, everything's fine," he says at last "This auction... it's taking longer than expected. Complications arose with a few of the other attendees." He sighs, and you can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, a telltale sign of his exasperation and stress. "I'm doing what I can to wrap things up, but it may be a while."

Your heart skips a beat as you hear a woman's voice, a stranger's melodic tone. The woman's words are muffled, but her term of endearment "Sylus darling" rings out crystal clear through the phone speaker.

You stiffen, gripping the phone tighter as a flurry of unwelcome thoughts and emotions wash over you. A cold, sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach, and you suddenly feel like an intruder in the intimate moment.

"I apologize, kitten, but I must go," Sylus says abruptly, his voice tight and strained. "I'll deal with this and be home as soon as I can. Wait for me" With that, he ends the call, leaving you staring at your phone in stunned disbelief.

"Shit, was that Ira?" Luke asks looking at Kieran.

Your head snaps up as Luke's question hangs in the air, a sense of confusion etched on your face. Kieran, noticing your expression, quickly elbows Luke to silence him, shooting him a warning glare.

"Shh, don't be an idiot," Kieran hisses under his breath, though not quiet enough that you don't hear him. "You shouldn't go around throwing around names like that without knowing for sure."

Kieran clears his throat, his expression turning somber as he sees the confusion and hurt in your eyes. "Ira is just an old business partner of Sylus," he explains carefully, choosing his words with deliberate precision. "They have a history together, but it's all about work. Nothing more.

Unable to shake the sense of unease in your gut, you eventually make your way upstairs to Sylus' bedroom, hoping to find some sense of comfort and familiarity in the space that has become so closely associated with the man you've come to love so deeply. You curl up on the plush, king-sized bed, inhaling the faint scent of Sylus' cologne that still lingers on the silken sheets. As exhaustion finally overtakes you, you drift off to a fitful sleep, your dreams fragmented images of Sylus and the unknown woman, their figures intertwined in ways that make your heart ache with a painful, jealous fervor.

When you awaken sometime later, the first light of dawn just beginning to peek through the curtains, you reach out instinctively for Sylus, only to find the space beside you cold and empty. You check your phone, hoping for a message or a call, but there is nothing.

You know you can't stay here, not like this, not with the way your mind is racing. The feelings inside you threaten to consume you, jealousy, anger, and a deep, abiding fear of losing the man you love.

As you zip up your backpack, the weight of your decision to leave Sylus' place feels both heavy and necessary. You take a deep breath and make your way back to your apartment.

Once inside the familiar confines of your own space the memory of Tara's camping invitation surfaces, and you realize that the solitude of the city may be more than you can bear in your current state of mind. Without hesitation, you pull out your phone and dial Tara's number, praying that she hasn't already made other plans or filled the available spots on her trip. She answers on the second ring, her voice bright and cheerful.

"Hey, Tara," you say, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. "I know I already declined the camping trip, but... I've changed my mind. If the offer still stands, I'd love to join you and the team this weekend."

There's a brief pause on the other end of the line, and you can almost hear the surprise and delight in Tara's voice as she responds. "Of course, y/n! You're more than welcome to join us. I'm so glad you changed your mind," she says warmly, her words a balm to your battered soul. You thank Tara profusely, already feeling a weight lift from your shoulders at the prospect of escaping the city and the thoughts on your mind.

During the trip Tara and the rest of the team were wonderful hosts, ensuring that you were kept busy and distracted with hikes, campfire stories, and hearty meals. As the night of the trip wears on you lose yourself in the simple joys of the outdoors, the smell of pine needles and woodsmoke, the distant hooting of an owl, the warmth of your friends gathered around the flickering fire. Slowly but surely, the tightness in your chest begins to ease, and the painful thoughts of Sylus and the mysterious woman start to recede.

By the time the weekend draws to a close, you feel a sense of calm wash over you, the fresh air and company of your friends having done wonders to clear your head. The feelings of jealousy are still there, lingering in the back of your mind, but they no longer threaten to consume you as they once did.

As you step into your apartment in the late afternoon, the familiar scent of home envelops you, offering a sense of comfort and security that you desperately crave. The weight of the weekend's emotions and the long journey back to the city have left you exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Without hesitation, you make your way to the bathroom, eager to wash away the grime and weariness of the past couple of days. As the hot water cascades over your skin, you let out a sigh, allowing the steam to fill your lungs and cleanse your mind.

You linger in the shower for longer than necessary, the heat of the water soothing your aching muscles and helping to melt away the lingering tension that has taken up residence in your body. By the time you step out, your skin is pink and tingling, and a sense of renewed energy courses through your veins.

As you towel yourself dry, you remember the need to charge your phone, which had died during the camping trip due to the lack of a reliable power source. You pad out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of damp footprints on the hardwood floor as you make your way to your backpack. Fishing out your phone from the depths of the bag, you plug it in and watch as the screen flickers to life, the dim glow illuminating your face, the phone chimes and you take a deep breath before unlocking the screen. The anticipation of seeing Sylus' name among the list of notifications makes your heart race in your chest, a mix of hope and dread swirling within you.

As the messages load, you scan the list of senders, your eyes widening as you realize that there is not a single one from Sylus among them. You set your phone down on the kitchen counter, the glow of the screen illuminating the darkened room as you rummage through the cabinets for a glass. The house feels strangely quiet, a stark contrast to the lively chatter and laughter that filled the campsite just hours before. As you fill your glass with cool, refreshing water and take a long sip, you can't help but let your mind wander back to the memory of Sylus' curt goodbye and the sound of that woman's voice, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth that even the cold water can't wash away.

You set the glass down with a heavy sigh, your reflection staring back at you from the darkened window above the sink. In the dim light, you can see the weariness etched into the lines of your face, the shadows beneath your eyes a testament to the restless nights, and just as you're about to turn away from the window, a sudden movement outside catches your eye. You lean closer, peering out into the darkness, and your heart leaps into your throat as you see a tall, familiar figure standing beneath the dim glow of the streetlamp.

It's Sylus.

He stands motionless, his dark silhouette unmistakable even at this distance. He seems to be looking directly at your window, though you're not sure if he can actually see you through the darkness and the reflection on the glass. You take a tentative step back from the window, lots of questions race through your mind. What is Sylus doing here? How long has he been waiting? You freeze at the sound of a knock, your heart leaping into your throat as a wave of panic and adrenaline surges through your body. The knock comes again, more insistent this time, the sound of Sylus' fist against the wood unmistakable.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart as you make your way towards the door. You pause for a moment, your hand on the doorknob, and take one last steadying breath before turning the knob and pulling the door open.

"Sylus," you say, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. "What are you doing here?"

Even in the dim light of the hallway, you can see the intensity of his gaze, the crimson eyes that seem to pierce right through you, seeing straight into your very soul. He's dressed in a dark shirt and pants, his hair slightly disheveled, as if he's been running his hands through it in agitation.

"Hello kitten" Sylus murmurs, "how was your trip?"

"It was fine," you say shortly. "How did you know I went on a trip?"

Your mind races as you wonder how Sylus could possibly know about your last-minute decision to join Tara and the others for the weekend. You didn't mention it to anyone. So how did he find out?

Sylus leans against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space. He looks tired, you notice, the lines around his eyes a little deeper than usual. But there's a intensity to his gaze, a fierce focus that makes your heart skip a beat.

"I have my ways," he says, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips "The real question is, why did you leave without telling me?" His voice is low and smooth, but there's an hint of frustration beneath the calm exterior. 

"Come in," you say softly, stepping back to allow him entry. As Sylus steps into your apartment, you can't help but feel a shiver run down your spine, his broad shoulders brushing against the doorframe as he moves past you.

Sylus turns to face you, his crimson eyes searching yours in the dim light cast by the single lamp you left on before your trip. He looks different in the low light, softer somehow, the harsh angles of his face gentled by the shadows. But there's still a intensity to his gaze, a fierce determination that makes your heart race in your chest.

You stand there, clutching the towel tightly around your body. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of the emotions that have been building for days.

"Well? Are you going to invite me to sit down, or are we going to stand here all night?" There's a undercurrent of impatience in his voice, a frustration that belies the casual tone.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry, and gesture towards the couch. "Of course, please, make yourself comfortable," you say, the words sound too formal to your own ears.

You turn to head to your bedroom, suddenly feeling the chill of the air on your damp skin beneath the thin towel "I'm going to change," you say over your shoulder, not looking back at him as you make your way to your bedroom.

You gasp as you feel Sylus' strong hand grab the back of your neck, his fingers curling around the damp skin and pulling you gently but firmly towards him. The sudden contact sends a jolt of electricity through your body, your heart stuttering in your chest as you find your back pressed against the firm wall of his chest.

"Sylus," you breathe out "what are you doing?"

His other hand comes to rest on your hip, his long fingers splaying across the curve of your waist, holding you firmly in place. You can feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of the towel, the warmth seeping into your flesh and making your pulse race.

Sylus leans down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear as he speaks, his voice a low murmur. "I couldn't let you walk away without getting an answer first," he says, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me, kitten, why did you leave without telling me? His grip on your neck tightens slightly, not enough to cause pain, but enough to make it clear that he has no intention of letting you go until he gets the answers he wants. You can feel the tension radiating off him, the coiled energy of a man on the brink of losing control. It both frightens and exhilarates you, the power he holds in his hands, the way he can make you feel with a single touch.

"Sylus, please," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you try to pull away from him. "Not like this. I can't think straight when you touch me like this."

Sylus chuckles darkly, a low, rumbling sound that you can feel vibrating through his chest pressed against your back. His fingers tighten briefly on your hip before releasing you, only to trail slowly up the curve of your side, his touch feather light and teasing. "Like what, kitten?" he murmurs in your ear. "I haven't even touched you yet, not the way I want to. Not the way you need me to."

His hand reaches the side of your breast, his fingers grazing the swell of it through the damp towel. You can feel your nipple tightening in response, betraying your body's desire for his touch.

"Tell me why you left, y/n," Sylus demands, his voice hardening with impatience. "And don't lie to me."

You take a shaky breath, Sylus' proximity and touch making it hard to focus on anything else. "I...I needed some time to myself," you admit "To clear my head and think things through."

Sylus' hand stills on your breast, his fingers curling possessively around the soft mound. "Think things through about what?" he asks, there is something dark and dangerous lurking beneath the smooth surface of his voice.

You swallow hard, knowing you can't avoid the conversation any longer. "About us," you confess, the words falling from your lips "About what this...thing is between us. I didn't know how to handle it, so I left."

His lips brush against your shoulder, the ghost of a kiss that makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. You can feel the heat of his breath, the dampness of his tongue as he traces the curve of your collarbone. "Tell me, kitten," he breathes against your skin, "is this what you needed to escape from? Me, touching you like this? Wanting you like this?"

His hand slides down your arm, his fingers intertwining with yours. He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"Because if it is, I can make it so much worse. Or so much better," Sylus promises darkly "All you have to do is say the word, sweetie."

"Who is she, sy?" You whisper, words barely audible but you know he heard you. Sylus' teeth graze the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips curling into a smirk against your flesh. He knows exactly what you're asking, but he's in no hurry to answer, not when he has you like this bare, breathless, and at his mercy.

His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of your skin, the dampness of the water that clings to you. "You know, for someone who needed to clear their head, you seem awfully focused on her." Sylus' hand slides down to your waist, his fingers splaying possessively over your stomach. The evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your backside as he holds you close.

"Ira is someone I knew from my past. We were discussing a mutual investment opportunity. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about."

"Is that so?" you ask, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Sylus chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. He nips at your neck again, a little harder this time, sending a jolt of sensation straight down your spine.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, kitten," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. "But I must admit, it's...intriguing. Seeing this side of you, the side that wants to claw and scratch and mark what's hers."

He spins you around to face him, his hands gripping your hips tightly. With a sharp tug, he yanks the towel down, baring your breasts to the cool air of the apartment. Your nipples pebble instantly, peaks tightening under the sudden exposure and the intensity of Sylus' gaze. His hands slide up your ribcage, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, teasing the sensitive skin. You can feel the calluses on his fingers, the evidence of his power and strength, the way he could take you and claim you and make you his. His hands still on your breasts, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he holds you in place. His gaze snaps up to meet yours, his eyes blazing with an intensity that steals your breath away. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, filled with raw emotion.

"What makes you think I could ever look at another woman the way I look at you?" Sylus asks "Do you have any idea what it's like, y/n, to be consumed by someone, to have them under your skin, in your blood, in every fucking beat of your heart?"

He leans in closer, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your own. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the power and the hunger that he keeps leashed, barely contained. His eyes flash with a mix of anger and pain, his grip on your breasts tightening almost uncomfortably. His voice drops to a low, fervent whisper "I've waited lifetimes for you, kitten, dreaming of the day I could hold you again, touch you again, make you mine again."

His thumb brushes over your nipple roughly "And this is what I get in return? You, running from me, doubting me?" Sylus' voice rises, the anger and the hurt bleeding through every word. His eyes darken with a predatory gleam, a smirk spreading across his face as he sees the fear and excitement in your eyes. His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, his voice a low, sinful purr. "Go ahead, kitten. Run. See how far you get before I catch you." Sylus' hand slides down to your ass, squeezing the flesh roughly. "Run, If I catch you, I fuck you"

The dark promise in his voice sends a thrill of fear and anticipation down your spine. Acting on instinct, you wrench yourself out of his grasp and turn to run, your bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor as you race up the stairs to your bedroom. You can hear Sylus' footsteps behind you, his long strides eating up the distance between you. Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you reach the top of the stairs. You don't look back, you don't dare to see if he's close.

Just as you think you're about to reach the safety of your bedroom, you feel Sylus' Evol envelop you. An unseen force lifts you off your feet, strong and unyielding, pulling you back towards him. You let out a startled yelp, your hands grasping at the empty air as you're lifted higher, your bare breasts bouncing slightly with the movement.

"Sylus!" you cry out, a mix of fear and excitement lacing your voice. You're suspended in mid-air, towel no longer wrapped over the lower half of your body, your legs kicking futilely as you try to find purchase on the carpeted stairs.

"Did I say you could run that far, kitten?" Sylus' voice comes from behind you. You feel his presence looming over you, the heat of his body, the power radiating off him in waves. "I told you, I'd catch you. And now, I'm going to claim my prize."

His hands grip your bare thighs, his fingers sinking into your soft flesh as he hoists you over his shoulder. He carries you effortlessly, as if you weigh nothing at all, his steps never faltering as he walks towards your bedroom. You find yourself staring at his back, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the way his shirt stretches taut over the muscles beneath.

When he reaches your room, he kicks the door open, the wood slamming against the wall with a bang. He carries you inside and with a few more strides, he reaches the bed and tosses you onto it, your naked body bouncing on the mattress. You land on your back, your breasts heaving as you catch your breath. Sylus looms over you, his crimson eyes glinting in the low light, a smile playing on his lips. He takes in the sight of you, sprawled out and bare before him.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, your heart pounding as you watch Sylus remove his clothing. He starts with his tie, yanking it off and tossing it carelessly to the side. His fingers move to his shirt buttons next, undoing them one by one with deliberate slowness, as if he's savoring the anticipation of revealing what lies beneath. As he shrugs off his shirt, your breath catches in your throat. The dim light from the hallway casts shadows across the planes of his chest, highlighting the defined muscles, the sculpted abs, the V that disappears into his pants. You remember how his skin feels beneath your fingertips, the heat of his body pressed against yours, and your core clenches with sudden, desperate need. His hands move to his belt next, undoing the buckle with a sharp tug. The leather slips from his pants, falling to the floor with a soft thud. He undoes his fly slowly, inch by inch, until finally, he's shoving his pants and boxers down his long legs. He kicks them off to the side.

Sylus stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You've seen me like this before," he says softly, his voice rough with desire. "But I don't think you've ever really seen me. Not like I want you to see me." He crawls over you, his large frame covering your smaller one as he settles his hips between your thighs, the hard length of him pressing against your core. His hands come up to frame your face, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones, tilting your chin up to force you to meet his intense gaze.

"You should know very well that I adore you," Sylus murmurs, his voice low with emotion. "There is no love purer than mine" His eyes search yours, the intensity burning into your very soul. "But right now," he continues, his voice dropping an octave, turning dark and dangerous. "Right now, I'm going to fuck you like I hate you." His grip on your face tightens, his fingers digging into your skin.

Before you can process it he's thrusting forward, burying himself deep inside you. A scream tears from his throat as he hilts himself fully, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. "FUCK!" Sylus roars, his voice echoing off the walls of your bedroom. At the same time, a scream of pleasure and surprise rips from your own throat, your back arching off the bed, "SYLUS!" you cry out, your voice breaking on a moan as he stretches you, fills you, completes you in a way that feels so right and so perfect.

For a moment, he stays still, buried deep inside you, his heart pounding against your chest, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. Then he starts to move, withdrawing until just the tip of his cock remains inside you, only to slam back in with a powerful thrust. "Oh god, Sylus!" you cry out, your voice hitching and breaking as he drives into you again and again. Your nails rake down his back, leaving red welts in their wake as you cling to him, your body rocking with the force of his thrusts.

He feels your legs wrap tightly around his waist, your ankles locking at the small of his back. With an approving growl, he sits back on his knees, bringing you up with him. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he changes the angle of his thrusts, now driving up into you from below. "Fuck, just like that," Sylus grunts, his voice filled with lust. "Hold onto me, kitten. Wrap those pretty legs around me tighter." His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he pulls you down onto his cock, meeting his upward thrusts with a force that steals your breath away

You can feel every thick, hard inch of him as he fills and stretches you, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his length. The new position allows him to go even deeper, his cock kissing your cervix with every powerful thrust. You throw your head back, a silent scream of ecstasy on your lips as the pleasure builds and builds inside you. Sylus knows your body intimately, understands what buttons to push, what touches will send you flying. And right now, he's determined to draw this out, to make this last as long as possible. He wants to feel you come undone around him again and again, wants to hear you scream his name until your voice is hoarse and raw. So he restrains himself, ignoring the desperate pleas of your body as your hips buck and writhe against his, seeking more friction, more stimulation.

He keeps his hands on your hips, holding you, preventing you from chasing your pleasure. His hands avoid your throbbing clit, his lips and teeth avoid your aching nipples, even as they map your neck, your collarbone, the sensitive skin behind your ears.

"Please, Sylus," you whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, your nails scraping his scalp. "Please, I need..." You can't even finish the sentence, too lost in sensation, too desperate for release.

"I know," Sylus murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "I know exactly what you need, kitten. But I'm not going to give it to you. Not yet." He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, a twist of his hips that has you seeing stars. "You're going to come on my cock when I say you can come on my cock," he commands "And not a moment before."

Sylus uses all his strength to drag your hips down his length with brutal force. Your body is no longer your own as he manhandles you, using you for his pleasure. Each powerful thrust drives the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping, your tits bouncing wildly with every slam of his hips against yours.

"Fuck, your cunt feels incredible," Sylus growls, his eyes wild and fevered as he watches your body jolt and quake with his relentless pounding. "So fucking tight and wet and perfect. Made to take my cock". Your mind starts to go hazy, your thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm as he fucks you.

"Sylus!" you scream, your voice raw and broken as he rails into you. "Sylus, please, I can't...I can't..." But your protests only seem to spur him on, his thrusts growing harder, faster, more demanding.

Sylus leans in, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh at the top of your breast, marking you. He bites down hard enough to make you cry out, the mix of pain and pleasure short circuiting your brain for a moment. As he releases your skin, he laves the reddened mark with his tongue, soothing the sting.

"Do you want some help, kitten?" Sylus murmurs, his voice a low against your skin. He rolls his hips, grinding his pelvis against your aching clit, giving you a momentary respite from the relentless pounding. He waits for your response, his eyes glinting with a dark, knowing amusement. "Yes? No? Maybe so?" His tone is playful, taunting, as if he knows exactly what your answer will be. He reaches in between your bodies, his fingers find and circle your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, pushing you to the very edge of ecstasy. Your hips buck wildly against his hand, seeking more, craving more.

"Yes, Sylus," you manage to gasp out" Please..please..please.." Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin.

 "That's my good girl," he purrs, rewarding your submission with a hard thrust. "Now, come for me, kitten. Come all over my cock. Let go, y/n . Give yourself to me completely."

With that command, Sylus leans down and drags the flat of his tongue over your nipple, the wet heat sending a shock of pleasure through your body. At the same time, his fingers pinch your sensitive clit, rolling it, tugging on it, giving you the direct stimulation you've been aching for. The dual sensation is too much for you to withstand. Your body seizes up, back arching in a semicircle, as a intense orgasm crashes over you. "SYLUS!" you scream, your voice echoing off the walls, as wave after wave of ecstasy radiates out from your core, consuming you entirely. Sylus buries himself deep inside you once again, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he also finds his release. "Fuck, y/n , fuuuuuck!" his hot seed erupting from his cock and painting your insides. You can feel every twitch, every spurt of his thick come as he fills you up. Sylus' hips jerk and stutter, grinding against yours as he rides out the waves of his intense climax, pushing his seed deeper with every movement.

He collapses on top of you, his muscular frame blanketing your smaller one, pinning you to the mattress. He's still buried deep inside your fluttering, over sensitive heat, his softening cock plugging you up, trapping his seed inside you. His breath comes in harsh, ragged gasps as he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he comes down from his intense high. He takes a moment to marvel at the utterly debauched picture you make, hair mussed, skin flushed and slick with sweat, your bodies still joined intimately.

"I can adapt to any location and call it home, as long as I'm willing" Sylus murmurs, his voice low and intimate "but now I have a condition" His eyes bore into yours, the crimson depths swirling with unreadable emotions. "If you are not there then I'm not interested. "This," he gestures vaguely at the bedroom, but you know he means more than just the physical space, "means nothing without you in it."

Sylus' hand slides down to rest over your racing heart, feeling it beat against his palm. "You are my home, my haven. The one constant I crave." His voice drops to a fervent whisper, heavy with unspoken emotion. "So that condition is you must be there. Always. Or I will not settle for anything less."

[sinfulspencer]

Twisted fantasy

Prompt: Reader asked her boyfriend Spencer to dress up as Ghostface and he obliged.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: light dom/sub dynamic, dom!Spencer, sub!Reader, dirty talking, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, hair pulling, breath play, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie

Words: 4.1k

A.N.: Thank you to @vampireids for beta-reading this!

“I can’t believe I agreed to do this.”

I could hear the faint sound of Spencer pacing around the room on the other side of the door, along with grunts as he tried to put on the tightest pair of black trousers I had managed to find. 

When October started, I knew it was time for me to make my demand. Even though I had no reason to complain about the many different ways Spencer and I celebrated Halloween, I had one more fantasy to fulfil. Just a little idea that had been stuffed inside my brain for too many years. 

I knew Spencer wouldn’t have denied me anything, so I wasn’t surprised to find a Ghostface mask in my Amazon cart a few days after our conversation.

“You did it because you love me!”

Spencer huffed and I saw the lights flickering inside his bedroom. “I don’t have to prove my love to you by wearing a Ghostface mask.”

“No, but it would certainly be a nice thing to do!” 

The door opened with such force it smacked against the cold wall. I took a step back and I almost collapsed to my knees when Spencer walked out. 

I couldn’t even see his eyes, but I knew he was hiding that damned cocky smirk he had on his face every fucking time he understood what was going on in my brain. It wasn’t difficult to imagine, because I knew exactly how my face looked at that moment. 

Spencer looked absolutely stunning in total black. 

The shirt was tight on his chest and his sleeves were rolled up at his elbow, making him appear even more delicious to my eyes. His waist was perfectly hugged by those tight black trousers he didn’t want to wear, but did it for me, and his thighs made me want to drop down on the floor and nibble all over him. 

And then, of course, the Ghostface mask. 

Sure, it wasn’t the real Ghostface with the black cape and whatever, but it didn’t matter.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” Spencer asked.

His eyes were covered, I could barely see the outline underneath the mask, and that turned me on more than I could describe. I could barely think straight. And his voice… shivers ran down my spine. 

“Damn,” was all I could say. 

Spencer chuckled in amusement, but the sound of his laugh was toned down by the mask covering his mouth. I had no idea why the outfit turned me on more than I could explain to myself, but it did - and I was glad we had no parties to attend that night, because I wouldn’t have let him leave his house.

There was something inexplicably exciting in not seeing his face, but allowing him to touch me as he pleased. 

I had every right to drag him back into his bedroom and use him for my own pleasure, finally making my fantasy come true - and also put an end to my miserable desire for my boyfriend. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Spencer asked again.

I whined, staring at him. “Why, do you want to ask me out on a date?”

Though I could not see Spencer’s face, I knew that he was smirking. He was enjoying this probably as much as I was, which made me happy. 

“Maybe. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

I took another step back to admire every inch of my boyfriend and sighed. I covered my mouth with a hand when Spencer leaned on the doorstep of our bathroom.

“You never told me your name.”

He didn’t move from where he was standing, but I was squirming either way. Spencer hadn’t laid a finger on me yet, but I was ready to jump on him at any minute. 

“Why do you wanna know my name?”

“I wanna know who I’m looking at.”

Spencer opened his arms so that I could look at every detail, but before I could say anything to him he grabbed me by the waist. He pulled me closer to his body and I gasped, pressing both my hands on his chest.

I was sure that my eyes were in the shape of hearts. I had never felt this turned on before in my life, not even during our first time together and the first time we slept in the same bed - which led us to fuck on basically every surface of his bedroom.  

“You look like you’ve seen a Ghost.”

I brought both my hands on his chest, grasping his shirt. I was positive my eyes were shining, staring at my boyfriend like a starved woman in front of a delicious buffet. After all, Spencer looked like a snack and I was craving something sweet. 

“You’re so fucking hot.”

Spencer leaned closer to me and I struggled to look at him, or at the mask. His hands moved from my waist up to my neck, forcing me to keep my eyes on him the whole time. I hated that I couldn’t really see him, but that turned me on either way. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand your obsession with this mask but if it turns you on this much” Spencer dug his fingers into my waist, “I will wear it every night.”

I slid my hands up his chest, tugging on the black tight shirt. “I could eat you.”

“That’s my job, darling. Let me eat you.”

And who was I to deny such a thing?

Spencer helped me to lay down on the bed with my hips on the edge of it, trembling with anticipation. It didn’t take long for him to spread my legs with his large hands, admiring the already wet spot on my panties. 

“Already wet?”

Despite his face being hidden by the mask, I could feel the smug grin just forming on those damned plump lips. 

“Shut up.”

Spencer ran his hands all over my thighs, dragging my panties down my legs. He threw them somewhere and quickly brought his thumb over my clit, massaging it so slowly that it almost made me cry. Spencer knew how much I hated teasing, but he loved it so much - probably more than sex itself. 

“My sweet girl. Shouldn’t you be scared of me?”

A part of me wished I could be able to see his face, but the irrational part of me thought the mask was incredibly hot. I didn’t know what part of my brain was attracted to it, especially if it was worn by my FBI boyfriend, but still - I was thankful that Spencer brought my fantasy to life.

“Fuck, just finger me. Please?”

Spencer hummed, teasing my entrance with his finger. “Should I?”

“I’ll be good for you. Please?”

I whined under his ministrations, following the rhythm of his hand as soon as his index finger slipped deep inside of me. I knew Spencer could never deny me anything and him wearing that fucking mask was the proof of it. 

The squelching sound of my wetness against Spencer’s palm made me shiver as I gripped the bedsheets underneath me. His finger brushed against my sweet point and I found myself gasping for hair when Spencer’s other hand pressed down on my throat. 

I was caged between his slim body and the soft mattress underneath me, spiralling in warm pleasure that washed over me. My toes curled and I felt myself drifting off to that state that I craved each time I was underneath my boyfriend’s body. 

Spencer was staring down at me, I could feel it even though I couldn’t see it. He squeezed my throat again with his fingers, digging them into my skin - I was going to have bruises the next morning, but did I truly care? 

“Always such a good girl for me. Look at you.”

Spencer’s condescending tone made me clench around his finger and he quickly added another one, stretching me out gently as my wetness coated him. The more he squeezed my throat, the more I could feel my soul disappearing from my body and the pleasure taking control of every inch of me. 

My knuckles were white and my whole body was tensing underneath Spencer’s, his fingers working in and out of me at a quick pace that rendered me breathless. His hand was still pressing down on my throat. 

It was difficult to explain the state of peace I felt myself drifting off to, but I felt like I was floating above air. The white clouds caressing my skin ever so gently while my body was carried far away. The lack of oxygen made it easy for Spencer to gain control of me, my body and every sensation that he brought me with his fingers inside of me and his thumb on my clit. 

“You wanna come for me, my special girl?”

His voice was loud and clear in my ears, but I could not find the strength or the will to answer him. I just stared at him with my eyes wide open, gripping his forearm to release some of the tension that I felt building within my body. 

“The last time you were this turned on, was when you saw me shooting with my gun. Should I pull that out?”

My whole body was trembling as his fingers quickened their pace inside of me, making a mess all over the bedsheets - I could feel my own wetness and Spencer’s saliva dripped down between my thighs. 

“Spencer, p-please.”

Spencer didn’t waste any time in cooing at me. I knew that if I ripped that mask away at that specific moment I would’ve found a sly smirk on his lips - and God, did that fucking turn me on. 

“You can’t speak, my special girl? Too stupid to think right? To even speak right?”

When he pulled his fingers out of my wet cunt and removed his hand from my throat, I gasped for air and stared at the ceiling with a shocked look on my face. I was not expecting him to remove all the sources of pleasure at once, but somehow it turned me on even more. 

I knew what was about to come. 

Spencer’s leather belt came undone quickly as he adjusted the mask on his face.

“I need to be inside you. Now.”

Spencer didn’t need to announce what he was about to do to me because I knew it; I had a feeling that everything was turning him on too much, I could feel it in his hands and the way his grip was so firm on my thighs. It felt like Spencer was trying to anchor me to a moment, to a feeling, to the promise of giving me an amount of pleasure that would keep me satisfied the whole night.

“Please,” was all I could whisper.

Spencer grabbed my forearm, forcing me to sit up for a moment. My head was spinning so hard I barely registered my shirt being removed as Spencer left me completely naked in front of him. He was still all dressed up, despite his shirt being slightly crumpled. 

I didn’t know why, but knowing that he was still dressed while I was naked made me even more desperate for the man in front of me. And Spencer knew it as he pushed me down on the bed again. 

He grabbed my ankles and dragged me closer to the edge again, while he pushed his breeches down enough to free his waist. 

“So desperate for me, aren’t you?”

I whined, not really in the mood for more teasing. “You have no idea.”

“I’ll take good care of you now, my special girl.”

I closed my eyes and reclined my head back, waiting for Spencer to just end my misery and give me exactly what I was aching for. My thighs were trembling, my lips were quivering and my heart was beating so hard against my ribcage - if we were silent, I would’ve heard it echo through the walls of our bedroom. 

And then, a second later, I felt Spencer’s cock teasing my entrance. I gasped at the delicious feeling, immediately looking at my boyfriend - that fucking mask was preventing me from seeing his pretty face, but didn’t it look fucking perfect on him. 

“Just fuck me, Spence. Please!”

I supposed Spencer didn’t like the tone I used as I spoke to him, because he leaned on top of me and grabbed a handful of my hair. He pulled on it so hard that it brought tears to my eyes, but I wouldn’t have changed it for anything in the world - it felt deliciously good. 

Spencer must’ve noticed the tears. 

“Oh, are you crying?” he asked, his voice dangerously sweet, “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Spencer tightened his grip on my hair and tugged on it again, forcing me to get up from the bed. He was controlling me through the painful grip he had on my hair and I swore I had never felt his fingers keeping me close to him so harshly before. I didn’t know if the mask had switched something inside of him, but I did not complain once. 

The fine line between pain and pleasure was subtle, and Spencer was allowing me to ride it. 

Spencer used his free hand to bend me over the bed without laying on it, while the other was still tangled in my hair. I had no idea what Spencer had in mind, but I was ready to follow him through everything - hoping that he would just fuck me at someone point. 

“You’re dripping. Are you enjoying what I’m doing to you, my special girl?”

His voice was so fucking hot.

I nodded my head, hissing when he pulled my hair again. “Yes. Always.”

Spencer moved his free hand down between my thighs, slowly bending over with his chest pressed to my back, and found my entrance again. He slowly sunk his ring and middle finger inside of me, not finding any resistance, and started fucking me again. 

I wanted his cock inside of me, not his fingers, but I remained quiet. 

Struggling to breathe and with my thighs trembling, I moaned his name and leaned my head on the soft pillow on top of the bed. His fingers disappeared inside of me as my wetness coated his palm, dripping onto the bed sheets.

“My special girl,” he pressed open-mouthed kisses all over my naked back, “Am I making you feel good? You like my fingers fucking your aching cunt?”

I saw stars when I heard him speak in such a dirty way and my body reacted as I clenched around his fingers. Spencer must’ve felt it because he chuckled, the sound of his amused laugh muffled by the mask - I was tempted to just take it off and throw it away.

“Please…”

My brain was dizzy, I could not form a coherent thought. All I could think about was just Spencer fucking me with his fingers, with his cock, his hands all over me, bruises and bites decorating my skin. 

I was desperate.

Spencer couldn’t care any less, though. He enjoyed the loudness of my moans, the way my body trembled each time his fingers bottomed out, the squelching sound of his palm against my weeping cunt. 

Spencer curled his fingers, pressing his digits on that spongy spot inside of me, and I found myself almost crying from the amount of pleasure my body was forced to experience. My legs were on the verge of giving out and my hands gripped the bed sheets so hard my knuckles became white. 

Still fucking me with his fingers, Spencer took off the mask and threw it somewhere - I saw it flying on the ground and I almost laughed. Spencer bit the skin between my shoulder blades - one of my favourite places he’d bite. The sharp pain radiated through my body immediately and I whined his name, pushing my hips back to reach his.

“Spence… please.”

His cock pressed against my thigh, but his fingers were relentless. All I could think about was the stabbing pleasure that his cock would’ve brought to me - how wet I was for the man behind me, how desperate I was to feel his balls slap against my buttocks each time he thrusted into me. I was out of my fucking mind with neediness and Spencer was basking in it. 

“Do you want my cock, my sweet girl?”

I nodded my head, my tongue felt heavy in my mouth. The pleasure was building slowly but steadily in the pits of my stomach, my trembling thighs an obvious sign of that. 

“You can have it, then.”

Spencer removed his fingers all at once and I groaned, disappointed but not surprised. His cock rested heavy on my inner thigh before he dragged it through my wet folds, coating it. I knew that he was admiring the sight and how much I was squirming because of him - Spencer was a sucker for my devotion and my obsession for him. 

“Give it to me. Please?” I begged

Spencer cooed, biting the back of my neck again. “Want it all inside of you? Want me to paint your walls with my cum?”

I nodded with my eyes closed, feeling tears of frustration pricking at each side. “Yes. Yes, yes.”

Spencer tapped the tip of his cock against my clit, then teased my entrance with it. He slipped in for a single second and I thought my whole world exploded. The pleasure flashed behind my eyes, but disappeared as soon as Spencer pulled away. 

My hands were twisting the sheets. “Fuck!”

Behind me, Spencer laughed at my pathetic complaint. It wasn’t a fun laugh, it wasn’t a cute laugh. No, it was a cruel laugh that reverberated through every inch of my body and turned me on more than it should have. Spencer sounded exactly like Ghostface, if it even made sense. 

“So desperate,” Spencer whispered in my ear, biting my earlobe, “Such a whore for my cock.”

I protested again with another whine and Spencer pushed his cock inside of me again, but removed it as soon as I wiggled against him. Each time I would move, he’d pull out - and that made my heart tremble in my chest. He was teasing me so cruelly, without a care - but I didn’t blame him. 

Spencer put on a mask for me. I deserved to be tortured a little.

“Oh, stop crying,” Spencer grabbed my hair again, pulling it hard, “I fuck you every chance I get, you’re not going to die if I don’t fuck you now.”

Actually, he was wrong - I was a hundred percent positive that I was going to die if Spencer wasn’t going to fuck me rough, hard and fast in less than five minutes. I wanted to answer him, to beg him again but the tone he used did not admit any talk back. 

I stayed quiet, simply wiggling my hips in order that he’d just give in to his own desire. 

“Good, be quiet for me and I’ll give you my cock.”

Spencer used his free hand to caress my waist, dragging his fingers over the curves of my buttocks. His other hand was still gripping my hair, but slowly loosened his grip until he brought both hands on my hips. 

And when he finally pushed his cock inside of me, meeting no resistance, he started to rock his hips at a painfully slow pace. I didn’t know if Spencer wanted me to die at that moment, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of having me cry because of him - despite the hot tears streaming down my face. 

“That’s my sweet girl. Your cunt feels so fucking good.”

I clung to the bed sheets with both hands, trying to meet his hips but Spencer stopped me. He didn’t say anything; instead, he enjoyed the way my body sucked him in so fucking good that his soft whimpers echoed through the walls of our room. I knew that Spencer loved to watch how my body reacted to his touch, to his painfully slow thrusts and I let him - there was nothing better than knowing he was turned on because of my body.

“Please, please, please.”

No other word came out of my mouth. 

Spencer started thrusting into me slightly faster, but not fast enough to make me come. It was a slow torture that I knew he was basking in - and what made it even more frustrating for me was the light slaps that he gave to my buttocks.

“Feels so good, sweet girl.”

Spencer muttered to me, caressing my buttocks before slapping both with his palms. Over and over, I could feel my skin become hotter and I wiggled away each time he struck me - it hurt, but I enjoyed it far more than I should have. 

When I felt myself losing the train of thoughts running through my mind, Spencer reminded me that he could read me like a book and he picked up the pace of his thrusts. I barely had the time to fix the position I was in because Spencer started to pound into me harder and harder. His balls were slapping against my buttocks and his hands were digging into my skin, leaving bruises that I would admire for the next few days. 

“Take me so fucking well. So proud of you, sweet girl.”

My knees were sore as they scraped against the bed sheets, but I wasn’t going to complain. I kept my mouth shut and leaned my forehead on the pillow, stretching my back with my arms gripping the headboard of our bed.

Spencer moaned at the sight and his thrusts became even harsher. I knew he was desperately close, I could feel it in the tension of his chest pressed to my back and the quick gasps that fell from his lips. 

“Wanna cum?” he taunted me. 

I nodded, my lips twitching into a smirk. “Yes, please. Make me come, please.”

Spencer seemed determined to make me cum first, his left hand still dinging into the soft skin of my waist. His right hand moved between my thighs and his thumb pressed over my clit, eliciting a long unexpected moan. 

“Show me how good I’m making you feel, sweet girl,” Spencer whispered in my ear, his voice low, “Cum on my cock like the whore that I know you are.”

My toes were curling, the pleasure becoming intolerable. Every inch of my body trembled because of his ministrations; I was a puppet in his skilled fingers and Spencer knew it, as he finally pushed me off the edge of my desire. 

With his left hand Spencer pushed my head into the mattress, cutting off the air supply as he buried his cock deep inside of me - I felt him breaching my cervix and it hurt, but Gods. 

I did not want Spencer to stop. 

I needed that pleasure to keep coming in waves through me as it exploded over and over again. I had no idea if I was breathing, I had no idea if I had died and went straight to Hell. 

Spencer groaned in my ear, a sound that I wish I could’ve recorded, and I felt his warmth fill me up deeply. More tears fell from my eyes as I struggled to lift my head up, exhausted and trembling like a leaf in the middle of a storm. I did not expect to have an orgasm so earth-shattering.  And I did not expect Spencer to take off the mask like that, with a disrupting anger that did not belong to him. It was endearing and incredibly hot. 

I collapsed onto the bed with Spencer’s body on top of mine, his lips peppering my back with light kisses. 

“Sorry about the mask.”

I hissed when he pulled out of me, the sudden loss stinging. “Fuck the mask.”

Spencer chuckled at my response. “But I thought you loved it.”

“Oh, I do,” I replied, rolling on my back, “But I love seeing your face way more.”

He got off the bed and went straight to the bathroom, bringing me a warm washcloth so that he could clean himself off me and then himself. I was too weak to move and my thighs were still trembling - I wouldn’t have been able to walk to the bathroom without waddling. 

“Right, so I should keep the mask on in the beginning and then take it off.”

I nodded my head, sitting up on the bed. “That’s a good compromise. Next Halloween I’ll bring one of your fantasies to life. Deal?”

Spencer scratched his chin with his fingers, humming. “I’m not really sure if I want to fuck a character from a movie or a book, though.”

“Okay, then I’ll dress up like myself.”

He chuckled, laying back down beside me. “Oh, that I love.”