#hates his guts wants Nothing to do with him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starkeyslibrary · 3 days ago

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STILL YOURS

sypnosis: When Rafe Cameron left chasing bigger dreams, he never thought he'd lose her along the way. Years later, fate — and one reckless basketball game — brings them back together, but old scars make second chances harder to earn. They aren't the same kids who once promised forever — but maybe this time, love won't have to wait.

pairing: you x rafe cameron

word count: 8.7k

basketballplayer!rafecameron x nurse!reader

Rafe Cameron was feeling himself.

Fresh off a win, city lights glittering outside the stadium, adrenaline still buzzing in his veins. The crowd loved him. His bank accounts loved him. And he loved the way people looked at him - like he was invincible, untouchable, something more than human.

Especially tonight.

After the game, his teammate Jordan had taken a nasty hit - nothing too serious, just some bruised ribs but enough that the team doc wanted him checked out at the nearest hospital just to be safe.

Rafe came along for the ride, mostly out of loyalty, partly out of boredom.

He strolled into the ER with his hoodie up.

And then he saw you.

Across the room, standing at the nurse's station, scrolling through a chart. Hair up in a messy bun. Scrubs hugging your curves. Smirking at something the nurse beside you said - that quick, sharp smile he remembered like a goddamn punch to the gut.

Rafe froze.

No fucking way. You? Here?

The girl who used to patch up his scraped knees and roast him for missing free throws?

The girl he hadn't seen in years, not since he blew out of your shared hometown without looking back. He didn't even think. Didn't stop to question it.

He strode across the room like a man possessed, cocky grin sliding onto his face like armor.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, leaning an elbow on the counter, blocking your view. "If it isn't my favorite nurse."

You looked up, a polite, professional smile already in place, the kind you probably gave to every annoying patient.

Than you actually registered who it was.

Your eyes flickered over him - tall, broad-shouldered, tattoos snaking up his arms and then flicked away like he was nothing special.

"No visitors past this point" you said crisply, barely glancing at him.

Rafe blinked.

You knew exactly who he was. He could see it. You just... didn't care.

And holy shit, if that didn't make something tighten painfully in his chest.

He laughed, flashing that grin that usually had people tripping over themselves.

"Come on, you don't even say hello?" he teased, voice low, coaxing. "It's me, baby."

You raised a brow. "Baby? You been dropped on your head recently, Cameron?"

Jordan, behind him, choked on a laugh. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath. "I like her already."

Rafe ignored him, laser-focused on you.

"You work here?" he asked, folding his arms, tattoos flexing. "Since when?"

You shrugged, flipping a page in the chart, completely unfazed. "Since I decided I deserved better than small-town bullshit."

He grinned wider, loving and hating how you didn't fawn over him. "Better than me, you mean."

You looked him deadly in the eye. Cool. Flat. Deadly.

"You were never on the list."

Jordan wheezed in the background.

Rafe's smirk faltered, just a hair, but he masked it with a low chuckle.

Damn, you were good.

You turned to Jordan without missing a beat. "You the one with the bruised ribs?"

"Yeah," Jordan said, still grinning. "Not broken though, right?"

"Probably just bruised," you confirmed, professional now. "But we'll do a quick scan to be safe. Come with me."

He stood there, reeling.

For the first time in a long, long while, Rafe Cameron didn't know what the hell to do.

FLASHBACK TO WHEN IT ALL FELL APART

It wasn't always like this between you and Rafe.

There was a time, back before the fame, the pressure of being an NBA star, and the endless media coverage - when you were everything to him. Well, almost everything. You'd grown up together, inseperable, sharing secrets and dreams of what the future could hold. He'd never been the cocky athlete, just Rafe, your best friend.

But as soon as he got drafted, everything started to shift. It was gradual at first. Small things, like his texts coming fewer and farther between. The way he started cancelling plans, promising to make it up to you and never doing it. But you didn't think much of it at first - he was busy, right? He was going to be famous, and you were happy for him.

Until one day, you realized that the only time he reached out was when he needed something. When it wasn't about you, it was about him. His schedule, his career, his life. Your texts and calls started going unanswered for days, sometimes weeks. It wasn't like the old Rafe. The one who'd always made time for you, who'd showed up when you needed him.

It happened after that last phone call. The one where you'd finally had enough.

"Rafe, we need to talk," you said, your voice tight with frustration.

It had been a month since you'd last heard from him, and now, you were standing in your apartment, staring at his name on your phone screen as it rang for the third time that week.

You loved him. You did. But he wasn't the same anymore. You weren't even sure you liked the person he was becoming.

You hit "answer" and put the phone to your ear, heart pounding with anticipation.

"Hey," his voice was thick, like he'd just woken up. "Sorry I missed your call."

"Yeah, well, you've been missing a lot of calls lately," you shot back. The frustration in your chest was starting to boil over, but you were trying to keep it cool. "It's been weeks, Rafe. Weeks. And I haven't heard from you once. You know, you could've at least tried to reach out."

There was a pause on the other end, like he didn't really know how to respond. Finally, he spoke again, his tone quieter. "I know. I've been... busy."

"Busy?" you laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "That's all you've got for me? Busy? You're busy being a superstar, and I'm supposed to just sit around and wait for you?"

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, sounding defensive. "It's just... everything's changed, Y/N. I didn't think you'd understand."

“No, I don’t understand,” you said, your voice rising now. “You used to make time for me. You used to care about me. But now? Now you’ve got a hundred people demanding your attention, and I’m just some background noise. I’m not gonna be a part of your life when it’s convenient, Rafe.”

You could hear him sigh on the other end. "It's not like that. I just... I didn't want things to change, but they have. I didn't mean to push you away."

“Well, you did,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “And now it feels like I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

There was a long silence, and for a moment, you thought he might say something — something that would make it better. Something that would make you believe he cared. But then, the truth of it hit you. The truth you’d been avoiding for weeks.

He wasn’t the same Rafe anymore.

The next few days were a blur of heartbreak and anger. You tried to reach out to him again. Texts. Calls. But each time, it felt like a slap in the face. His replies were short, delayed, or non-existent.

And you couldn’t help it. You felt yourself slipping. The Rafe who used to be your best friend, the guy who told you everything, had disappeared. And in his place was a stranger who only remembered you when it was convenient.

The final nail in the coffin came when you saw the pictures.

It was late one night when you scrolled through your social media feed, your heart already heavy from the way things had been going. You should’ve known better than to check, but there it was: Rafe, front and center, surrounded by his new teammates, flashing that signature smirk that made every camera in the room snap photos.

And there was a girl beside him. Pretty, tall, blonde, all smiles, laughing up at him like she was the only person in the world.

You stared at the picture for a long time. The caption was simple: "The squad’s all here. Couldn’t have made it without these guys."

But it wasn’t the picture that stung. It was the realization that Rafe had already moved on. He was already living the life he wanted, and you weren’t even a blip on his radar anymore. The girl in the picture wasn’t you. It never would be again.

That’s when you made the decision.

You stopped calling. You stopped texting. You stopped waiting.

You moved on.

LATER

He waited.

Of course he waited.

Sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room, cap pulled low over his eyes, ignoring the people sneaking glances at him.

He waited until you finally walked back out, clipboard tucked under your arm.

Rafe shot up, following you down the hall.

“Hey, Y/N,” he called, catching up easily. “Hold up.”

You kept walking.

He grabbed your wrist – gently, spinning you to face him.

You glared up at him, unimpressed.

Now, standing in front of him - the man who once meant everything to you - you had to fight the urge to crumble. Your heart was still scarred from the way he'd slipped away so easily. The way he'd left you in the dust when he got what he wanted, like you didn't matter.

"I didn't know you were here," Rafe said, voice quieter but still laced with that trademark arrogance, like he couldn't quite believe you'd slipped past his radar.

"Yeah, well, you didn't exactly make a habit of checking in." You replied harshly, arms crossing over your chest.

He took a lazy step closer, and even though the fluorescent hospital lights weren't exactly forgiving, he still managed to look good enough to ruin a life. Hoodie still up, cap pulled low, but his eyes burning into yours like you were the only person in the room.

You raised your chin, refusing to let him rattle you.

"You were busy," you added with a shrug, the casualness in your voice undercut by pounding of your heart. "Busy being Rafe Cameron: NBA star, city legend, certified heartbreaker."

He chuckled low under his breath, the sound rich and smug. God, he was annoying. God, you hated that part of you still loved it.

"You forgot devastatingly handsome," he said with a wink, stepping even closer.

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. "Must've slipped my mind."

Before he could answer, Jordan limped out of one of the side rooms, a grin splitting his face when he spotted you both.

Jordan was cleared. He was fine.

"Hey, Y/N", Jordan called, patting his side. "You fixed me up good. Still breathing. Thanks."

You offered him a smirk. "Miracles happen every day."

Jordan laughed and clapped Rafe on the shoulder. "You ready, man?"

"Yeah," Rafe said easily, but he didn't look at Jordan. His eyes were glued to you.

Jordan noticed, and with a knowing smirk, he started hobblin toward the exit on his own. "I'll be in the car," he called over his shoulder, not even bothering to hide his amusement. "Try not to get kicked out."

You shook your head. "Your friend's gonna need another trip here if he keeps playing wingman for you."

Rafe grinned, undeterred. If anything, he looked even more pleased.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, voice dropping a little lower, just for you. “Won’t be the last.”

You opened your mouth to shut him down, to remind him exactly how badly he’d screwed up – but he beat you to it.

“I am not giving up,” Rafe said, and suddenly, there was steel under all that cockiness. “Not this time. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

You stared at him, heart thudding.

“You say that now,” you said, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “But give it a week. Maybe two. You’ll be back to your busy, superstar life. Just like before.”

He smiled – slow, lazy and infuriatingly confident.

“Yeah?” he said, cocking his head. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”

You huffed a laugh under your breath, because goddammit – he was so annoying. And so gorgeous. And he wasn’t backing down.

“You’re impossible.” You muttered.

He grinned wider, reaching out to tug gently at a loose strand of hair that had fallen from your bun.

“And you’re beautiful,” he said, bold as hell. “Still the best thing I’ve ever seen in this city.”

You glared at him. “Flattery’s not gonna work.”

He just chuckled, stepping back like he had all the time in the world. Like he already knew the game wasn’t over. Not even close.

“See you around, Trouble,” he said, backing toward the exit, hands in his pockets, cap low over his eyes again. “And don’t bother changing your number. You know I’ll still find you.”

Trouble.

He hadn’t called you that since you were kids – back when you’d drag him into late-nigh adventures, when you’d dare him to climb fences and sneak into the empty gym just so you could shoot hoops under the stars.

Back when you were his whole damn world.

And with a cocky salute and a wink, Rafe Cameron disappeared through the ER doors. Leaving you staring after him, heart pounding, pulse racing and a very, very dangerous smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

A FEW DAYS LATER

You figured he’d get bored.

You figured he’d move on.

He was Rafe Cameron, after all, the guy who had an attention span about as long as a TikTok video and an ego big enough to feed a whole village.

You were wrong.

It started the very next morning.

A knock at your door – way too early, interrupted your sad attempt at sleeping in after a night shift.

You opened it, bleary-eyes and wearing old sweatpants, expecting Amazon or a neighbour or maybe some aggressive Girl Scout.

Instead?

A huge, obnoxiously gorgeous bouquet of flowers was waiting on your doorstep. Roses, lilies and some wildflowers you didn’t even know the names of – so big you could barely see the delivery guy behind them.

There was a card tucked into the mess of blooms.

You rolled your eyes but snatched it up anyway.

In his messy, familiar scrawl, it read:

“Since I never properly apologized for being an idiot. This is step one. Step two’s gonna be way more fun. – Trouble’s #1 Fan.”

You let out an involuntary laugh – a real one, before quickly thanking the delivery guy and slamming the door, cheeks burning.

Cocky. Arrogant. Bastard.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

Everywhere you went – the hospital, the little coffee shop near work, even the damn gym where you took your pilates classes – he showed up.

Always casual. Confident. Always looking at you like you hung the damn stars.

At work, he started showing up with Jordan – who, for some reason, seemed way too amused by all of it.

Jordan would limp into the ER, milking his injury for all it was worth, while Rafe would lean against the wall like he had all the time in the world, cap pulled low, hoodie half-zipped, giving you that stupid, heart-melting smirk.

"You sure you don’t need to check me out, too, Trouble?" he’d call, hand pressed to his chest dramatically. "I think my heart’s bruised."

You didn’t even blink. "You think you have one?"

Jordan almost collapsed laughing.

Another time, you spotted him across the hospital cafeteria, holding a smoothie cup in both hands — the kind the nurses always fought over when the shifts got long — waving it at you like a bribe.

You tried to ignore him.

You really did.

But every time you turned around, he was there — cocky, relentless, unbothered.

And somehow... underneath it all, sincere. Every flower, every smoothie, every shameless wink — it chipped away at you, little by little.

LATER THAT NIGHT

Loss. You should’ve been used it by now.

It came with the job, you knew that. Sometimes you fought like hell and it still wasn’t enough.

But tonight... it hit different.

The patient had been young. Too young.

One minute you were laughing with them, promising they’d be fine. The next, you were watching monitors flatline while doctors shouted and hands moved too fast to make a difference.

You stayed until the family came. You stayed until the room was cleared. You stayed until the hospital felt like it was swallowing you whole.

And when your shift finally ended, you dragged yourself out into the dark parking lot — bone-tired, heart heavier than it had been in months.

You didn’t even see him at first.

Not until you reached your car, fumbling your keys, and a voice cut through the night.

"Baby."

You turned sharply, breath catching.

Rafe.

Leaning against the hood of his own car a few spaces away, cap low, hoodie zipped halfway up, hands shoved in his pockets — like he’d been waiting for hours.

He pushed off the car slowly, crossing the few feet between you.

And for once... he didn’t smirk.

He didn’t crack a joke.

He just looked at you — really looked — and somehow, he knew.

Your throat tightened painfully.

"I’m fine," you said automatically, wiping at your face even though you weren't sure if there were actual tears yet.

"Bullshit," he said quietly.

You laughed — a hollow, broken sound — and shook your head.

"Not everything’s a game, Rafe."

"I know," he said.

He reached out, hand hovering — not grabbing, not pushing, just offering.

And for once, you didn’t shove him away.

You let him cup the side of your face, rough palm gentle against your cheek.

"You don’t always have to be the strongest one, Trouble," he murmured. "Not with me."

Something inside you cracked at that — sharp and aching.

Because you remembered, now.

This was why it hurt so much when he left all those years ago.

Because even then — arrogant, reckless, stubborn — Rafe Cameron had always made you feel seen. Made you feel safe.

Even when you hated him for it.

You leaned into his hand, just barely, letting your eyes flutter shut for one brief second.

Just breathing.

Just feeling.

And when you opened them again, he was still there — still steady, still waiting — blue eyes locked on yours like you were the only thing that mattered.

"I’m not giving up on you," he said, voice low and certain. "You can hate me. You can run. I don’t give a shit. I’m still gonna be here."

Your heart twisted so hard it hurt.

Goddamn him.

Goddamn him for making you want to believe again.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes.

"You’re such a pain in my ass," you whispered.

Rafe just grinned — that stupid, heart-aching grin — like he was proud of it.

He let his hand drop slowly from your cheek, but he didn’t step away.

Instead, he tilted his head toward the parking lot behind him.

"Come on," he said. "Let me drive you home."

You opened your mouth — to protest, to tell him you could handle yourself — but the exhaustion caught up with you all at once, weighing down your limbs, your chest, your heart.

And the truth was...

You didn’t want to be alone tonight.

You nodded once, silent.

He exhaled softly — almost like he’d been holding his breath — and led you to his car without another word.

The car was warm and quiet, the faint hum of the engine filling the silence.

He didn’t blast music like he usually did. No cocky rap songs. No show-off playlists.

Just the soft buzz of the heater and the occasional swipe of the windshield wipers.

You stared out the window, watching the city blur past in a mess of neon and rain-slicked streets.

After a minute, you felt him glance over at you.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low — not the teasing, cocky tone he usually used — but something careful. Gentle.

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening in your lap.

"No," you said honestly. "Not really."

You half-expected him to make a joke, to deflect, to do something Rafe.

But he just nodded, hands loose on the steering wheel, giving you space to breathe.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked, quieter.

You hesitated.

And then, for some reason you couldn’t quite explain — maybe because it was dark, maybe because you were tired, maybe because it was him — you started talking.

You told him about the patient. About how helpless you felt. About how no matter how many times it happened, it never got easier.

He didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t offer dumb advice.

He just listened.

Really listened.

When you finished — voice thick and raw — he was quiet for a beat.

Then he said, simply, "I'm sorry, Trouble. You didn’t deserve that kind of day."

You blinked fast, staring hard out the window so he wouldn't see the tears trying to burn their way free again.

Another few blocks of silence stretched out between you — but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was... safe.

"You know," he said after a while, glancing sideways at you with a half-smirk, "if you ever get tired of saving lives, you could come be my personal trainer or something."

You snorted. Loudly. "Yeah, because coaching your lazy ass to do two push ups is really gonna heal my emotional trauma."

He laughed — a real, full-body laugh — and you found yourself smiling despite everything.

"There she is," he said softly.

You shook your head, biting back a smile.

"You’re unbelievable."

"I know," he said easily. "But you love it."

He pulled up to your curb and put the car in park, but didn’t kill the engine.

Neither of you moved.

You fiddled with the strap of your bag, suddenly nervous.

"Thanks for the ride," you said finally, voice small.

He reached over, his fingers brushing yours lightly — a barely-there touch, but enough to ground you.

"Anytime, Trouble," he murmured. "You don't have to do everything alone, you know."

You opened the door, stepping out into the cool night air — but before you closed it, you leaned down slightly, meeting his eyes across the cab.

"I’m not ready to forgive you," you said, honest and sharp.

"I know," he said — steady, sure. "I’ll wait."

Your heart twisted painfully.

Stupid Rafe Cameron. Stupid loyalty. Stupid beautiful, reckless, infuriating boy who somehow still knew exactly how to get past your walls without even trying.

You closed the door without another word and hurried up the steps to your apartment — refusing to look back.

But you didn’t have to.

You knew he stayed parked there for a few minutes longer, engine rumbling softly in the night, watching over you until your light switched on upstairs.

Just like he always used to.

Just like he promised he would.

THE NEXT MORNING

You were exhausted when you finally stumbled into bed last night, still reeling from everything — the patient, the parking lot, Rafe.

You thought maybe you’d dream about it.

But instead, you woke up to your phone buzzing loudly against your nightstand.

You groaned, burying your face in your pillow, but finally cracked one eye open enough to check the notification.

1 New Message: Unknown Number

Your heart stuttered.

You opened it.

Rafe Cameron: Hope you’re free tonight, Trouble. Left you a little something downstairs. Wear it loud. Front row’s waiting for you.

Your stomach dropped — in a good way — as you sat up quickly, shoving the blankets off.

You padded down the stairs to the lobby of your building where the sleepy concierge waved you over.

“There’s a package for you,” he said, lifting a sleek black box.

Your name was scrawled across the top in familiar, messy handwriting.

Inside: — Two front-row ticket to tonight's game. — One official jersey.

Not just any jersey. His jersey. Cameron. #10. And tucked between the folds of fabric — a tiny handwritten note:

Thought you might need something to wear when you’re screaming my name.

Cocky, arrogant, infuriating.

You laughed — actually laughed — shaking your head.

God, he was impossible.

You wore the damn jersey. (Over your loudest protests. Your best friend practically forced you into it.)

The crowd was insane, energy buzzing through the stadium as you slid into your seats right on the court line.

Your friend nudged you, smirking. “Bet he’s showing off just for you.”

You rolled your eyes.

Right as Rafe jogged onto the court — hoodie peeled off, tattoos on full display — he glanced toward your section.

Caught your eyes instantly.

Grinned. Winked. Winked.

And the whole stadium erupted like he just hit a three-pointer from half-court.

Your face burned as you sank lower into your seat, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

He played like a man possessed — quick, reckless, cocky as hell — and you hated how your heart raced every time he scored, flashing a grin like he knew you were watching.

But then late in the third quarter, It happened.

Rafe drove toward the basket, got clipped mid-air, and hit the court hard.

The whole stadium gasped.

You shot to your feet before you even realized it.

Trainers rushed onto the court. His teammates circled him. And you — heart hammering against your ribs — could only watch helplessly.

He sat up after a few tense seconds, rubbing his knee, wincing — but waved off the stretcher.

Still, he limped off the court, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Stubborn idiot.

Your friend grabbed your arm. "Stay calm. He’s fine. You know he’s a cockroach."

You wanted to laugh. You wanted to scream.

You wanted to see him.

As soon as the final buzzer blared — the win barely registering in your brain — you bolted toward the tunnels, trying to push through the crowd.

Security immediately stepped in, blocking your path.

“No entry, miss.”

“I’m not — he knows me! Rafe Cameron, we grew up together, I swear—” you said quickly, heart racing.

“Sure, sure," the guard muttered, already looking away.

You were about to lose it — Until a familiar voice called out:

"Yo! She’s good."

You whipped around.

Jordan.

He jogged over, flashing a grin. "Come on, Y/N. Pretty sure he's been waiting for you all damn night."

You sagged in relief, flashing him a grateful look.

Your friend squealed as Jordan casually threw his arm around her, steering her back toward the players' lounge with a wink.

You barely heard them — already jogging toward the locker rooms.

You hesitated outside the heavy door, nerves buzzing under your skin. This was dumb. He probably had trainers, doctors, managers — a whole parade of people taking care of him.

He didn’t need you.

You were about to turn away when the door cracked open.

And there he was.

Rafe stepped out into the hall, towel slung around his neck, hair damp, white tee stretched across his broad shoulders. His knee was wrapped, but he was walking — stiffly, carefully — and thank god he wasn’t seriously hurt.

He froze the second he saw you.

The cocky grin slid across his face like it was second nature, but there was something softer hiding underneath it. Something almost careful.

"Told you the jersey'd look good on you," he rasped.

You tried to glare — you really did — but your chest was too tight, relief crashing through you like a damn tidal wave.

"You scared the shit out of me, Cameron," you said, punching his shoulder lightly.

He shrugged, easy and casual — like it was nothing — but you saw the way his eyes clung to you.

Like you were something he wasn’t ready to let go of again.

You shifted on your feet, hesitating, then blurted it out before you could lose your nerve:

"Are you okay?"

The words were barely a whisper over the noise of the stadium still echoing down the halls.

Rafe’s smile tilted, slow and lazy — but his eyes... His eyes softened in a way that punched the air right out of your lungs.

He stepped closer, enough that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.

"Yeah," he said, voice rough. "I am now."

And the way he said it — low, certain, like it was the only thing in the whole damn world that mattered — made your heart break and heal all at once.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

It was just the two of you standing in that too-bright hallway, years of mistakes and missed chances hanging heavy between you.

Then he nudged your chin up with the back of his knuckles — soft, careful — and gave you that shit-eating grin you used to hate, but now... Now it just made your knees a little weaker.

"Come on, Trouble," he drawled. "I’m driving you home. Doctor’s orders."

You tried to roll your eyes, but it came out more like a breathless laugh. "You're not a doctor, Rafe."

"Good thing you are," he quipped, already steering you down the hall with his hand resting low on your back. "Means if I pass out behind the wheel, you can save me."

You snorted. "You're unbelievable."

He winked as he pushed open the side door leading to the players’ lot.

The inside of his blacked-out Mercedes was warm and quiet, a weird little bubble separate from the world.

You watched the city lights blur past the window for a moment, trying to get your heart to slow down.

"You sure you’re okay?" you asked again, voice softer this time.

Rafe glanced at you sideways, something serious flickering across his face.

"I’m good," he said. Then added, lower, "Better now."

Your throat tightened stupidly.

You shook your head, laughing under your breath. "So cocky."

"You love it," he said easily.

You opened your mouth to argue — but stopped.

Because honestly? You kind of did.

Loved the way he made you feel seen. Loved the way he didn’t let you hide behind your walls. Loved the way he was trying — really trying — even if he still did it with that reckless, arrogant Rafe Cameron brand of chaos.

The drive continued in comfortable silence until Rafe pulled off the highway. The gentle rumble of the engine and the hum of the city around you felt like a little private bubble.

“Uh…” Rafe glanced over at you, a little unsure. “I, uh, I was thinking... you wanna come over to my place instead? I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your mind, and honestly, I could use some company. Unless, you know, that’s too much or something.”

His voice trailed off at the end, but you could feel the tension in his hands tightening on the wheel.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the invitation. “You’re asking me to your place after all that... cocky, charming stuff?”

He gave you a look, the one that said don’t test me, but it was softer than usual. “Yeah. And if you say no, I’ll just drive you home, I guess. No big deal.”

You smiled, and maybe you surprised yourself more than you surprised him. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Rafe’s grin was back in full force as he drove toward his apartment, the city lights flickering outside like a trail behind you. Meanwhile, you couldn’t stop the excitement that curled inside you.

You hadn’t expected this — hadn’t expected the nerves and the awkwardness that hit you as you stepped into his apartment. It wasn’t anything like you remembered. No more leftover pizza boxes or half-empty beer cans scattered across the place. This was clean. Sophisticated. Almost like he was trying to give off a “mature” vibe.

You could feel Rafe's eyes on you as you took in the space. It was cozy, but minimalist. The kitchen was sleek, the furniture modern and dark, the walls adorned with framed art you figured he probably picked up on one of his international trips. He’d clearly put thought into it, something that made you feel like you didn’t really know the guy who’d once been so reckless with his life, so careless about everything that mattered.

He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch, throwing an arm across the back like he owned the place. His gaze flicked toward you, cocky grin in place, but there was something else there too — something softer.

“Make yourself at home, Trouble. Gotta warn you though, I’m a pretty bad roommate.” His grin spread wider.

You arched an eyebrow as you slid onto the couch beside him, the comfortable distance you used to maintain now completely absent. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, mixed with the fresh smell of his apartment. It was strange, this feeling of both familiarity and unfamiliarity all at once.

"Let me guess, you leave your dirty socks everywhere?" You smirked, trying to fall back into the old rhythm.

He chuckled, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. "I was gonna say I don't do dishes, but sure, I leave socks everywhere too."

You laughed, but your heart wasn’t really in it. There was so much you wanted to say to him. So much that you didn’t know how to say.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you glanced at him, trying to gauge where his head was. "You’ve changed, you know that?"

He turned his head, meeting your gaze, a small frown forming on his lips. "You mean for the better, right?"

You shrugged, leaning back on the couch as your eyes met his. "Maybe. It's just... I don’t know. You’re different now. But you still have that Rafe Cameron cockiness."

"Can’t get rid of that if I tried," he said with a wink. "And I’m not sure I want to."

His eyes softened, a glimmer of something deeper flickering in his gaze. The cocky front was still there, but now there was more to it — something vulnerable, something real.

You shifted, suddenly feeling more exposed than you had earlier that night. "I just... I don’t know how you do it. You left. No calls, no texts. Nothing. I had to move on, and you just... disappeared." The words came out sharper than you intended, and you winced.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a long breath and sat up, turning toward you. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Y/N. I never wanted to make you feel like you were... nothing. I was an idiot. I didn’t know how to handle everything back then. I thought distancing myself would make it easier for both of us.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands tightening in your lap. "It didn’t. I spent years wondering what happened, why you didn’t even try. And every time I saw you on TV, I hated myself for still caring."

Rafe’s expression hardened slightly, but he didn’t look away. "I get it. I was selfish. I didn’t want to drag you into my mess, and I was so consumed with the game... I pushed everyone away. You didn’t deserve that."

The air between you grew heavier, but there was something else too. Something you hadn’t expected. A quiet understanding. The gap between the past and the present was closing, but there was still a lot left unsaid.

He reached out slowly, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand — a soft, careful touch. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat growing. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed to hear that until now. It was like he was giving you permission to let the past go — permission to not carry that weight anymore.

But instead of responding right away, you just nodded, your hand still resting in his. "It’s... it’s okay. You’re here now. And I guess that’s all that matters."

For the first time that night, you saw the cocky edge fade entirely from Rafe's face. It wasn’t just an apology. There was something deeper there — regret, pain, maybe even longing.

He gave a small smile and pulled back a little, then grabbed the remote from the coffee table. “Wanna watch a game? Or... I don’t know, we could binge-watch something ridiculous?”

You snorted, a smile tugging at your lips. “Do you even know how to relax without a ball in your hand?”

His grin was wide and mischievous. “Not really.”

You didn't remember falling asleep.

One second you were side by side on the couch, half-watching some ridiculous show Rafe picked out, the soft hum of the TV filling the space between you. The next, the world blurred into darkness.

When you blinked awake, early morning sunlight was bleeding through the blinds, casting lazy strips of gold across the apartment.

And Rafe was still there.

Your head was on his chest. His arm was draped around you, loose but steady, like he’d just anchored you there without even thinking. His hoodie had ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of warm skin, and you hated — hated — how good it felt to be this close again.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

You could feel the slow, even rise and fall of his chest beneath you. You could hear the faint, steady beat of his heart.

It felt safe.

It felt dangerous.

You shifted slightly, trying to untangle yourself without waking him — but the second you moved, his arm tightened instinctively, pulling you closer.

"Where you going, baby?" he mumbled, voice rough and sleep-warm.

You froze, caught.

"I should..." you started, words catching awkwardly in your throat. "I should go."

His fingers brushed lightly up and down your arm, a slow, absent-minded touch that made your skin shiver.

"You don’t have to," Rafe said softly. No cocky smirk. No teasing. Just honesty. "You don’t have to run."

You closed your eyes, fighting the sting behind them.

He made it sound so simple.

Like after everything — the missed calls, the empty silences, the years of pretending you didn’t miss him — you could just stay. Like it was that easy.

"You don't get it," you whispered, voice shaking despite your best efforts. "You broke my heart, Rafe."

You felt him go still beneath you. Completely still.

And then he shifted — slow, careful — until you were looking at him.

His hair was a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep, but there was something raw in his gaze. Something that stripped you bare.

"I know," he said, voice low and rough. "And I'd spend the rest of my life trying to put it back together if you'd let me."

Your heart cracked wide open.

You shook your head, blinking fast. "You can’t just... say things like that."

"Why not?" he said, and there was no hesitation, no bravado.

Just Rafe. The boy who used to follow you anywhere. The boy you used to trust with everything.

"Because I might believe you," you whispered.

Silence stretched between you.

Then, so carefully you barely felt it — Rafe reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your jaw.

"I'm counting on it," he said.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it..

You weren' sure when it had shifted. When seeing Rafe everywhere stopped feeling like an accident and started feeling... inevitable.

It wasn't grand gestures. It wasn't sweeping apologies or dramatic confessions.

It was the way he kept showing up. Quiet. Consistent. There when you needed him. There when you didn't even realize you did.

A coffee left on the hood of your car after a brutal shift. A smoothie shoved into your hand after pilates with a lazy "you're welcome, Trouble."

A quiet presence leaning against his truck, waiting outside the hospital just to walk to your car.

You told yourself you were annoyed. You told yourself it didn't matter.

But somewhere along the way, the anger stopped feeling sharp. And started feeling a lot like hope.

Today, today he was pushing a little.

You were stepping out of the hospital after another brutal shift when you spotted him, leaning casually against his car, cap low.

He straightened up when he saw you, a lazy smirk pulling at his mouth.

You groaned immediately. "What now, Cameron?"

"Good shift, baby?" he asked, ignoring the bite in your tone.

You narrowed your eyes. "Don't."

He grinned wider, cocky and smug, but there was something softer under it. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels.

"So," he drawled. "Got plans tonight?"

You eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

Rafe shrugged, all casual arrogance. "Big game. Afterparty. Open bar. A table reserved. Could use a date."

Your stomach flipped.

You hated how easily he could still do that to you.

"Get Jordan to be your date," you said dryly, stepping around him toward your car.

Rafe matched your pace easily, his voice dropping low and teasing as he followed. "Jordan said he's busy. Something about your friend. Looks like it’s just you and me."

You threw a glare over your shoulder. "I'm not your backup plan, Rafe."

He caught your wrist gently, pulling you to a stop. Not hard. Not demanding. Just... there.

"You were never a backup plan," he said, voice quieter now. "Not then. Not now."

You stared at him, your heart hammering.

For once, he wasn’t hiding behind cocky jokes or stupid winks. He just looked at you — the way he used to, before everything got so damn complicated.

"Come with me," he said. "Tonight. No games."

You swallowed hard, the war raging inside you — old anger, old hurt, old love — crashing like waves.

But somewhere deep down, you knew...

You were tired of pretending.

Tired of lying to yourself.

Tired of pretending he didn't still have you.

You exhaled slowly. "Fine," you said, pretending to be annoyed. "But if you start acting like an arrogant asshole, I’m leaving without saying goodbye."

Rafe grinned, that cocky light flickering back into his eyes. "Wouldn’t dream of it, Trouble."

The bar was packed.

Rafe was still in his post-game clothes — black jeans, a hoodie zipped halfway up, cap tugged low.

You wore simple jeans and a leather jacket over his jersey, feeling oddly exposed but somehow right next to him.

People kept coming up to him — fans, random strangers — and he dealt with it all with lazy charm.

But his hand never left the small of your back.

Every time someone tried to pull him away, his fingers would brush your hip, reminding you: I'm still here.

And when Jordan finally showed up his arm slung around your best friend, who looked way too happy for someone who’d spent the whole night pretending she didn’t like him — Rafe leaned down, voice low against your ear.

"Wanna get outta here?"

The brush of his lips against your skin made your whole body tense.

You turned your head, your breath catching when you found yourself inches from his face.

“Where would we go?” you asked, voice lower than you meant.

His grin was slow. Dangerous.

"Anywhere you want, Trouble."

The air was cool and crisp when you stepped out into the parking lot. The noise from the bar faded behind you, swallowed by the night. You tugged your jacket tighter around you, feeling suddenly, stupidly exposed.

Rafe stayed close behind, just like he had all night — his presence a solid, steady thing at your back.

His hand brushed yours — light, casual, but not accidental. You knew him too well.

You reached his car and paused, the sharp scent of leather and cologne wrapping around you as he leaned lazily against the door.

He was looking at you — really looking — like he wasn’t in a rush, like he had nowhere else to be but here, waiting for you to decide.

"You're thinking too much again," he said, his voice low and warm, almost a smile.

You huffed a laugh, pushing a hand through your hair. "That’s rich, coming from you."

Rafe tilted his head, his cap casting a shadow over his eyes, but you could still see it — the softness. The patience. The want.

"You don’t have to figure it out tonight," he said, voice a little rougher now. "You don’t have to figure me out, either."

You stared at him, chest tight, heart stupidly loud in your ears.

Because he meant it.

For the first time ever — no games, no cocky smiles covering it up — Rafe Cameron was standing there asking for nothing but whatever you were willing to give.

No pressure. No demands.

Just... him.

And something in you — something tired and stubborn and scared — finally cracked wide open.

You stepped closer before you could think, before you could stop yourself. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

Rafe froze, his body going perfectly still — like if he moved, you might bolt.

You stared up at him, at the familiar tilt of his mouth, the blue of his eyes, the way his hands twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

And then — almost without meaning to — your hands found the collar of his hoodie.

You tugged him down.

Soft.

Careful.

Like you were remembering him all over again.

You kissed him — a brush of your lips against his, fleeting but so full of everything you’d left unsaid.

You pulled back barely an inch, breathing hard, heart crashing against your ribs.

And Rafe... Rafe just stared at you, dazed, stunned.

Like you’d just punched him in the chest.

"You’re dangerous, Trouble," he rasped, his voice wrecked and raw, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth even as something fierce and bright flared behind his eyes.

You smirked up at him, cocky and confident and shaking like a leaf inside.

"Payback," you whispered.

For leaving. For hurting you. For making you fall first.

You started to pull back — teasing, playful, in control again.

But he didn’t let you.

One of Rafe’s hands caught your waist, the other finding the side of your neck — big, warm, a little rough — and then he was kissing you back.

Deeper. Slower. Like he had all the time in the goddamn world to undo every bad thing he'd ever done.

You gasped softly into his mouth, your hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie as he kissed you like he was trying to memorize you. Trying to make up for every second he hadn’t been there.

The kiss broke finally, both of you breathing hard, foreheads pressed together in the dark.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you wanted to.

"You kill me," he whispered against your skin.

"You deserve it," you whispered back, but it came out more fond than cutting.

He chuckled low under his breath, that soft laugh that you hadn’t realized you missed until now.

Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you — really look — and god, the way he looked at you.

Like you were it. Like you always had been. Like you always would be.

“Come home with me,” he said quietly, almost like a question.

Your heart slammed against your ribs — because you knew he didn’t mean it in a reckless way.

He meant just this. Tonight. Simple. Safe.

Just you and him and nothing else.

You nodded once, biting your lip to hold back the smile that wanted to escape.

He exhaled a shaky breath like you’d just given him the world.

And when he opened the car door for you, slipping into the driver’s seat with one last, lingering glance your way, you realized maybe — just maybe — you were finally ready to let him have it.

Not all at once.

Not perfectly.

But piece by stubborn piece.

The way only Rafe Cameron ever could.

The drive to his place was quiet, a different kind of quiet this time. Not awkward. Not tense. Just full — with things neither of you needed to say out loud anymore.

When he pulled into the garage and shut off the engine, he looked over at you.

No cocky smirk. No teasing grin.

Just him. Open. Real.

"You sure about this?" he asked, voice low.

You smiled, small but sure. "Yeah."

That was all he needed.

Inside, the place was dim, the city lights spilling in through the windows. You dropped your bag near the door, kicking your shoes off. Rafe followed behind you, quiet, his hands jammed in his pockets like he didn’t trust himself not to reach for you too fast.

You sat on the couch, pulling your knees up under you.

He dropped beside you — close enough that his thigh brushed yours, but not pushing.

For a minute, neither of you spoke. The TV was on low — some mindless highlights from the game — but you barely heard it.

You turned to him slowly.

He was already watching you.

Always watching you.

"What?" you whispered, a tiny smirk tugging at your mouth.

Rafe shook his head, his grin soft — the kind he never showed anyone else. "You," he said simply. "Just you."

You felt your face heat, and you nudged him lightly with your shoulder. "You're gonna make me puke with all that sweetness, Cameron."

He chuckled under his breath, looking down like he was debating something. When he looked up again, his eyes were brighter somehow — rawer.

"I’m serious, Y/N," he said, voice rough. "I spent so long being a selfish asshole. Pushing you away. Chasing shit that never meant anything."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling loose — a picture of casual, except for the way his shoulders were so tense he looked ready to snap.

"And all it did was make me realize..." He swallowed hard, shaking his head like he hated how stupid he sounded. "I never stopped loving you."

Your breath caught — sharp and sudden.

He glanced at you — fast, nervous — like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going.

But you didn’t pull away.

You didn’t move at all.

"I still love you," he said, quieter now. "Probably always will."

You stared at him, chest aching, every part of you thundering.

Because this wasn’t some big, planned speech. This wasn’t him trying to win.

It was just him.

Simple. Messy. Real.

Exactly the way you needed it to be.

You shifted closer without even thinking, until your knees brushed, until you could feel the heat rolling off him.

Rafe let you, his hands twitching like he wanted so badly to reach out but was waiting — waiting for you.

"You’re an idiot," you whispered, voice trembling.

He gave a soft, crooked smile — a little helpless, a little hopeful. "Yeah. But I’m your idiot, if you’ll have me."

You stared at him — at the ridiculous, reckless, beautiful boy who’d broken your heart and then spent every day since trying to piece it back together.

And you realized — you weren’t scared anymore.

You nodded once, voice barely there.

"I love you too."

The second the words left your mouth, something inside Rafe broke — his shoulders sagging like he’d been holding his breath for years and finally let it out.

He leaned in, slow enough that you could have stopped him. You didn’t.

You met him halfway, your mouth finding his in a kiss that was soft and deep and sure.

When you pulled apart, both of you breathing hard, he rested his forehead against yours, grinning like an idiot.

"So," he murmured, voice teasing now but thick with something heavier underneath. "Is this where I ask if you wanna be my girlfriend?"

You laughed, breathless, curling your fingers in the collar of his hoodie. "You planning on making it official with a handshake or something?"

He huffed a laugh, nudging your nose with his. "Nah," he said. "Gonna keep kissing you until you say yes."

You smiled against his mouth, your heart full to bursting.

"Yes," you whispered.

"Good," he said, kissing you again, softer this time. "Because I’m not letting you go again, Trouble."

A FEW DAYS LATER

Hand in hand, you and Rafe walked down the crowded sidewalk, coffee cups in hand, the afternoon sun warm on your backs.

You caught people staring — double takes, whispers.

You didn’t care. Neither did he.

Rafe squeezed your hand a little tighter, like he knew exactly what you were thinking, and leaned down to brush a kiss against your temple without breaking stride.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t running anymore.

You were exactly where you were supposed to be.

With him.

Home.

#rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fic #obx season 4 #outer banks #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #outer banks rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #basketball player! rafe x reader #nba basketball #drew starkey

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mrsknowitallll · 1 day ago

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If I Ain’t Got You

Bo Chow x Black Plus Size Reader

Summary - You have an on again off again situationship going on with Bo Chow and you’ve grown tired of it, deciding to spread your wings and try out other suitors. After a date goes badly and he nearly loses you he decides he’s done with the games and wants to make you his once and for all.

Warning: Assault, Fighting/Violence, Foul language, Mentions of death, Gore, I think that’s it?

A/N - Bo Chow appreciation cause that man is FINE, i’m going through the whole crew at this point lolll y’all tired of these fics yet?

"When you gone stop playing with me girl? I ain't too proud to beg y'know." Bo leaned into your personal space, strong smell of whisky on his breath.

"Don't you got a lady at home Bo? You can't have yo cake and eat it too, not with me." You placed a hand on his face, mushing him.

"Oh come on now you know me and that lady been done for a while. You the one I want why you keep doing me like that?" He grabbed ahold of your waist pulling you against him.

"Cause you like to play games and i don't. I'm a grown ass woman, too grown for a fuck buddy, you gone be with me you gone have to settle down, stop fucking everything that moves." You glared at him.

"Aww is that what you take me fo baby? Somebody that just goes around sticking it in every available hole?" He frowned.

"Bo go on now, I came here to have a good time not fool around, go mess with some of these other huzzys in here. Bartender, a refill please." You shook your glass.

"These other 'huzzys' ain't you, it's you I want." His lips ghosted over your ear.

His words caused you to shiver, arousal pooling in your gut causing your knees to go weak.

But you knew Bo all too well, it was easy to fall under his spell, all those sweet nothings he'd whisper in your ear turning you to mush, leaving you feinin for him, begging for it all for him grow cold afterwards, standoffish, distant. You never knew what his problem was but you weren't gonna be swept up into the mess again.

"Have a goodnight Bo." You downed your drink heading toward the exit of the club, waving goodbye to slim and the others.

He watched you go, disappointment washing over him.

He was just gonna have to do better, try harder. As much as he loved the thrill of the chase had grown rather impatient. It wasn't your fault it was his, he was the one that kept running, from what? He didn't exactly know. But he was done playing games, you were his and he wasn't gone stop till he got you.

You’re out on the town a few nights later shacking up with some guy you met through Annie, while he was a nice man, polite, gentleman like he didn’t appease you. He was just soooo boring.

He kept going on and on about some mill he inherited from his father, something about how all the upkeep was wearing him down not only physically but financially, and while you felt for the man, you really, really did, you didn’t wanna spend your night talking about work. You came out to have fun, to pretend like your problems didn’t exist, not be burdened with somebody else’s.

You stared longingly into Bo’s shop window as you passed. Was it bad that you wished he was inside? That you wished he’d come out and save you from this terrible date.. if you could even call it that.

As much as you’d hate to admit it, especially to Bo himself, you’d grown to love the man. No matter how many time the two of you fell out you always came running back as did he. You had spent many nights looking for someone to fulfill those desires, to scratch that itch, to love you like you needed, but nobody else seemed to fill Bo’s shoes, no matter how many guys you took up no one could compare and you hated that but at the same time it ignited something in you, a fire you didn’t care to tame.

You turned toward your date, ready to cut the night short when he kissed you all of sudden, causing you to freeze for a few seconds before you pushed him away harshly.

“What the fuck was that about?” You wiped your mouth roughly glaring at the man.

“I just thought..” He trailed off eyes lowering to his feet in shame.

“You thought what? Just because you took me out to dinner, brought me flowers that i owed you something? All you niggas act just alike.” You scoffed storming off.

“Girl get yo ass back here!” He grabbed ahold of your wrist snatching you up.

“You better get yo motherfucking hands off me or i swear ‘fore god.” You seethed.

He grabbed a switchblade from his pocket, placing it against your throat.

Any smart remark that you had quickly diminished.

“I spent my last on you, wined and dined your stuck up ass and you think i ain’t leaving hear with something? Oh you got me fucked up.” He began dragging you away.

Your eyes darted around pleading that somebody, anybody stop this but they all just stared cowardly, to fearful to do anything.

You couldn’t believe they’d just stand around and watch this man hold you at knifepoint, drag you off to god knows where and do god knows what with you.

Your eyes fluttered close, tears spilling from beneath your lids as you continued walk, the man’s arms wrapped around your neck, blade still pressed against your throat.

“I suggest you drop that and let the lady go.” A familiar voice spoke in front of you, the sound of a gun cocking.

“Bo.” You sighed in relief, body relaxing upon seeing his face.

He spared a quick glance at you, brows furrowing in worry, gaze softening.

“You come any closer and i’ll slit her throat.” The man’s grip on you tightened.

“Nah you wouldn’t even attempt to do that, cause if you did i’d have your brains splattered all over these country roads faster than you could blink.” Stack spoke lowly from behind him, gun aimed at the back of his head, a hint of amusement in his voice.

The man’s body stiffened in fear, dropping the blade immediately.

“S-stack i ain’t mean no harm i swear.” He turned around raising his hands in the air.

“Oh you meant every bit of harm when you put yo hands on my lil cousin.” Stack twirled his toothpick around in his mouth, his iron grip on his gun not faltering.

“And my lady.” Bo inched toward the man, gun aimed at his back.

You rushed over to him, arms wrapping around his middle tightly.

“Thank god you came when you did.” You whispered into his neck.

He kissed your forehead gently, free hand rubbing your cheek.

“Go wait in the shop for me.” He looked down at you, expression hard.

You knew not to argue, nodding rapidly before rushing off to the store.

“On your knees.” Bo commanded.

The man did as he was told, sobbing like a little girl, reciting scripture, but even god couldn’t save him from the wrath of the two men.

“You got this?” Stack spared him a glance.

“Absolutely, he messed with my woman, so imma take care of it.” Bo grinned devilishly.

“Baby you alright?” Bo rushed over to you practically tearing off the shop door.

“I’m fine, I’m good. What bout you, you okay?” You swatted at his hands grabbing ahold of his face.

He sighed deeply resting his forehead against yours.

“Be mine.” He whispered after a while.

“What?” You pulled back from him slightly to stare into his eyes.

“Be. Mine.” He repeated staring right back at you.

“Where all this coming from Bo?” Your eyes searched his.

“When I saw that man threatening you i just- I realized right then and there that i couldn’t imagine a life without you, that i wouldn’t be able to live with myself if i lost ya, be mine baby, no more games, be mine.” He peppered gentle kisses on your jaw.

“Okay.” You nodded.

“Yeah?” His eyes lit up.

“Yeah Bo i’ll be yours, no more games.” You giggled.

He shouted in excitement, picking you up and twirling you around.

He set you down, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the back.

“Where we going?” You quirked a brow.

“I gotta show my lady how much i love her, sometimes words just ain’t enough, and lord knows i love a little action.” He smirked setting you on top of a supply box.

He knew just what to do to get you going.

Tags - @eclecticblkgirl @alphabetically-deranged @sassymemoryelixir (Comment to be added to my tag list)

#sinners #sinners 2025 #bo chow #bo chow oneshot #bo chow x plus size reader #bo chow x black plus size reader #plus size reader #black plus size reader #plus sized reader #sinners fan fic

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matts-hersheys-kisses · 7 hours ago

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"beneath the surface"

-matt sturniolo

warnings: eating disorder, suggested anxiety/depression, angst, body image

(dream)- salvia palth

Matt was the quiet one. Not in a shy way—just quieter than Nick and Chris. Matt was the one who saw everything and said nothing, which made him dangerous in a different way.

So when he started watching her—really watching—she noticed.

She just pretended not to.

It started in October. Or maybe August. The days blurred together now, like smeared ink in a notebook you didn’t mean to cry on.

She had it down to a science: excuses, distractions, lies that sounded like truth. "Already ate" was her favorite. "Not hungry" came second.

And it was fine. It was under control.

Until the night she fainted in the hallway outside her math class.

She woke up on the nurse’s bed, nausea curling in her gut, and Matt sitting beside her, arms crossed, jaw tight.

"How long?" he asked. No greeting. No warmth.

She blinked. “What?”

"How long have you been doing this to yourself?"

Her stomach twisted, but it wasn’t from the lack of food.

“I’m fine,” she croaked.

He looked at her like she’d slapped him. “Don’t lie to me.”

She didn’t think Matt cared that much. He barely talked to anyone unless he had to. He never flirted, never partied, never even joked the way Chris did or lit up a room like Nick. He just existed—leaning against lockers, hoodie half-on, watching the world through tired eyes.

But suddenly he was in her world. Loudly. Fiercely. And he wasn’t leaving.

The next day, there was a granola bar in her locker. No note. Just that. The day after, it was a chocolate biscuit.

On Friday, it was him.

Leaning beside her locker, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“You eat breakfast?” he asked.

She hesitated. “…Yeah.”

“Cool. Eat again.”

He held out a muffin. Blueberry. Her favorite.

She stared at it, then at him. “Are you serious?”

Matt’s face didn’t change. “Dead serious.”

The thing about Matt was, he didn’t treat her like she was fragile. He didn’t say the right things. He didn’t pretend to understand.

Sometimes he got mad. He’d clench his fists when she lied. He’d walk away when she pushed him too far. Once, she caught him kicking the vending machine out of sheer frustration.

But he always came back.

Even when she told him to stop.

Even when she told him she didn’t deserve it.

The worst day wasn’t the fainting or the hospital visit or even spending lunchtime crying in the school bathroom until her legs gave out.

It was the day she told him she liked being empty.

Not because she wanted to hurt him.

But because it was the truth.

Because empty felt safe. Predictable. Quiet.

Because fullness meant guilt and failure and losing control—and she was already losing so much of herself, she couldn’t afford to lose that too.

When she said it, Matt looked at her like she’d admitted to murder. His mouth parted like he couldn’t believe she meant it.

She almost took it back.

Almost.

But she didn’t.

And then, after a long silence, he said, “That’s not living. That’s punishing yourself.”

She couldn’t look at him. “Maybe I deserve it.”

“No,” he said, instantly. “You don’t. God, you don’t.”

And then his voice cracked a little, like maybe he was breaking too. “You deserve more than this. You deserve to wake up and not hate yourself.”

Later that week, she tried.

Just a slice of dry toast. No butter. Just something.

Matt sat across from her, quiet as always. Not judging. Just there.

You don’t need this. You’ll ruin everything. You’re disgusting.

She swallowed one bite. Two.

Then pushed the plate away, stood up fast. “I can’t—” Her voice broke. “I thought I could.”

She turned toward the sink, shoulders tense.

Matt spoke, soft but steady. “It’s okay.”

She didn’t move.

“I didn’t come to make you eat,” he said. “I came so you don’t have to do this alone.”

Her breath shook.

“I failed,” she whispered.

“No,” Matt said, stepping close. His arms wrapped around her from behind, steady and warm. “You tried. That’s brave.”

She didn’t answer. But she leaned back into him, just a little, and let herself breathe—for the first time that day.

Nick and Chris knew. Eventually. But they handled it differently. Nick hugged her without warning one day in the hallway, tried to make her laugh.

One night, Chris found her sitting outside on the porch swing, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands.

He didn’t say anything for a while.

Just sat next to her, the swing creaking beneath their weight. A cool silence stretched between them, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.

Eventually, he said, voice lower than usual, “I used to think you were just quiet.”

She blinked, glancing over. “I am.”

Chris shook his head. “No. You’re hurting quiet.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “I should’ve noticed.”

She didn’t answer.

“I think,” he said, after a long pause, “if you ever stopped showing up, even just one day… it would ruin Matt.”

Her throat closed.

Chris looked down, eyes glassy now, his voice barely there. “And it would ruin me too.”

She didn’t cry.

Not then.

She didn’t know how to respond to Chris.

So she didn’t.

They just sat there, the porch swing creaking under slow motion, her eyes fixed on the cracks in the wood beneath them.

Eventually, he stood, ruffling her hair gently before walking back inside.

She stayed outside long after the door closed behind him.

Later, when the house was quiet and sleep felt impossible, she slipped into the kitchen to get water.

Matt was there.

Leaning against the counter like he’d been waiting.

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t mention her red-rimmed eyes or the untouched dinner still wrapped in foil.

He just opened the fridge, pulled out a chocolate milk, and set it on the counter beside her.

“I’m not hungry,” she murmured.

“I know,” he said.

She took it anyway.

Drank half of it in silence.

Matt stayed right there.

Matt always stayed.

On the days she ate, he’d sit with her. On the days she couldn’t, he’d sit anyway.

He never made her feel like a project. He never told her to “just eat.” He just existed next to her, like a constant she didn’t know she needed.

One night, she sat beside him in his driveway, knees pulled to her chest, hoodie swallowing her whole.

"I didn’t think anyone would notice," she whispered.

Matt looked over, eyes unreadable. "I notice everything about you."

Her breath caught.

He looked away, then back. “And I hate that you ever thought I wouldn’t.”

That night, he didn’t kiss her.

He just held her hand like it was the most important thing in the world.

And for the first time, she realised that maybe she wasn’t the only one breaking

if your struggling with an ed or anything at all, i'm here don't be scared to reach out 🤍

thank you for the suggestion ml

xoxo

-𝒜 💋

taglist - @hunyoucantresistme @angeliolo @chrepsi @imgoing-backto505 @ikyoudreamofme @iluvnicksturniolo @mattswrinkleton @shadowthesim237 @sturniolotripletlover @soplaap @emillionaireee @courta13

lmk if you want to be added/taken off the taglist x

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lanalace · 14 hours ago

Text

Our Last Hunt - Part 2

Yandere Caleb x Reader

[Chapter - 1]

Summary: Y/n made a mistake that changed her life forever. Once a fearless hunter of blood-sucking fiends, she is now becoming the very thing she once swore to kill. How can she live with herself? And how will her immortal brother—the one who raised her, trained her, and protected her react when he discovers she’s turning into a creature of the night?

Warnings: Manipulation, Murder, Dubious Consent, NSFW, Psedo-incest, Smut, Dead Dove Do Not Eat 🔞

Word count: 8.5k 🍏🍎

Chapter 2

The first thing Y/n registered was the insidious thrumming, a foreign vibration that pulsed through her veins, a sickening reminder of stolen life. Her skin still prickled where Caleb had touched her, a phantom sensation that sent a fresh wave of self-loathing crashing over her. She blinked against the weak morning light, disoriented, her limbs heavy and strangely energized all at once.

Fragments of the nightmarish feeding tore through her mind, the shocking heat of Caleb’s blood, like liquid fire scorching its way down her throat; the raw, involuntary moan that had been wrenched from him as her fangs pierced his flesh. The memory was a brutal violation, twisting her gut with revulsion. She had crossed a line so deep it was unspeakable, staining their bond beyond forgiveness.

‘I used him. I came grinding on my brother like an animal. I forced myself on him. My own brother. I let that— that thing inside me defile him.’ The shame was a crushing weight, suffocating her with guilt. She had crossed a line so unforgivable, stained their bond in a way she could never erase. ‘How can I even look him in the eye after that? I’m a horrible sister…’ She covered her face with her hands, it felt as if her life was falling apart again within the span of 24 hours.

‘Gege surely hates me. He probably thinks I’m some disgusting deviant after what I did. Ugh! How could I even do something like this?’ She whined, desperately wanting to disappear, have the bed swallow her whole so that she didn’t have to face him. Alas, that was impossible. ‘It’s all my fault for going out without gege. Now I’m this… monster. I hate it.’

In her distress, her tongue instinctively traced the subtle sharpness that still lingered where her fangs had extended. They were retracted now, thankfully, but the phantom ache was a constant, throbbing reminder of her new reality. And then there was the sound. A steady, rhythmic pulse, insistent and clear, emanating from the room next door. Caleb’s heartbeat. She could hear it through the wall, a horrifying intimacy, a constant testament to her irrevocably heightened senses.

The scent of freshly made rice and sweet aroma of braised chicken wings drifted under her door, a domestic normalcy that felt like a cruel mockery. ‘Caleb.’ He was up, moving, preparing food as if nothing monstrous had occurred between them. A fresh wave of shame, hot and searing, washed over her. ‘How am I going to face him? I don’t think I can…’

That thought was rendered useless because the moment it came, Caleb entered her room, carrying a breakfast tray with forced cheerfulness. He smiled, a gentle, nurturing expression that felt… calculated, his galaxy eyes holding a strange, unreadable depth.

“Morning, sleepyhead. I made your favorite.”

The sight of the familiar breakfast felt repulsive, despite the heavenly sight. It was now tainted by the memory of the night. ‘I don’t deserve his care.’ she lamented as she kept her head down, her hair falling in a way that exposed her neck to him.

Caleb’s gaze lingered on the bandage he’d placed on her neck after she’d passed out, his fingers brushing her skin with a possessive tenderness as he set the tray on her bedside table.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was soft, laced with concern. His hand felt warm on her chilled skin felt so good, she almost leaned into it. Almost. But she remembered her place and stayed still, allowing him to assess her wound. The brunette’s touch lingered a fraction too long, a subtle affectionate caress that made her skin crawl.

Y/n mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, as if to physically shield herself from him. “Tired. And… sick.”

He chuckled softly. “Of course, you are. Last night was… intense.” He paused, his gaze sharpening, as he replayed the events of the previous night.

“You were so close to losing control, Y/n. You’d have killed someone if I wasn’t here to… guide you. We’ve got to get a handle on things. You're going to need me now, more than ever.” The words were gentle, almost soothing, but the underlying message was a chilling assertion of his control.

“We?” She said, trembling. “You want to help me even after what I did?” Her whole body began to quake as tears fell from her eyes. Caleb’s brows furrowed as the familiar scent of salt cut through the air. ‘She’s crying?’

Without warning, he gripped her chin firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed her damp cheek, her beautiful crystalline eyes were glistening. “Meimei.” His voice was unusually tight. “What’s wrong?” He questioned her. ‘What could possibly be troubling you, little one?’

Y/n’s face scrunched up before a pathetic sob left her lips. “Why are you being so nice to me?” She cried, her voice raw with self-loathing. Before he could respond, she rushed out, “After what I did last night… I’m sorry gege. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you like that. I swear!”

Something inside Caleb snapped.

He hauled her small frame against his chest, wrapping his arms around her trembling body and holding her so tightly it was as if he could fuse them together. “You silly girl,” he murmured against her hair, rocking her gently. “I could never be mad at you. It’s not your fault. It’s just your biology now.”

His voice softened to a conspiratorial whisper. “What kind of brother would I be if I turned away from you in your time of need?”

He slid onto the bed properly, leaning back against the headboard, pulling her closer, cradling her on his lap like something precious. Something that now belonged entirely to him. ‘My sweet, naive meimei, of course you would blame yourself. Did you forget how much I enjoyed you that night?’ he thought bitterly. How easily she twisted the night into something shameful when, for him, it had been a revelation.

‘Only you would be more concerned about potentially upsetting me rather than the fact that you are now undead.’ He closed his eyes and rested his chin on top of her head.

“But I—I forced…”

“Ssshhh meimei.” He hushed her firmly, one hand stroking her hair, the other pressing her tighter against him. “Gege isn’t upset with you. You were hungry, that’s all.”

He tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. He wanted to touch her like he did last night, he hoped for it— wished to feel her needy body come alive for him again. Alas, with her current state, he will have to take things at a much slower pace than he anticipated. ‘At least she isn’t fighting my touch right now. This is enough.’

“For now,” he murmured into her hair quietly.

“But—”

”That’s enough, meimei.” Caleb said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. Y/n stiffened instinctively, understanding the warning. She knew better than to respond when he was like this. His voice softened a fraction. “I will never abandon you. Never.” He knew her well, knew that was really what she feared.

“No more crying, yeah?” he teased gently, wiping her damp cheeks with his thumb. “What kind of vampire cries?”

A broken laugh escaped her lips, small but real and Caleb’s heart swelled. He kissed the top of her head, a possessive gesture.

‘Soon,’ he promised himself. ‘Soon, you’ll realize I am the center of your world just as you are in mine.’

🍏🍎

A few weeks had passed since the turning. A semblance of routine had settled over Y/n's life, though it felt fragile, like a thin layer of ice over a deep, dark lake. Caleb was a constant presence, a concerned shadow hovering just at the edge of her personal space. He found endless excuses for casual touches – a hand on her shoulder as he passed, a lingering brush against her arm when he handed her a book. Small gestures, carefully calibrated not to spook her, but Y/n felt them nonetheless, each contact a subtle reminder of the intimacy they had shared and the chasm it had created within her.

To her relief, she could still enjoy human food. A warm bowl of ramen, the sweet tang of fruit – they provided a small measure of comfort, a taste of her former life— of normalcy. But it was just that: a taste. A snack. The gnawing emptiness, the true hunger, only blood could satisfy. And on that front, Y/n remained firm. She refused to drink directly from Caleb ever again, the memory of that night still a raw open wound.

Instead, he reluctantly poured his blood into a porcelain cup for her, a ritual he performed with a sigh, his eyes lingering on her lips with a frustrated longing. He was becoming more agitated as the days rolled by, though he hid it well. He treasured the forced intimacy of their feeding, a connection Y/n desperately tried to avoid. But his need to keep her alive, his possessive desire to be her sole provider, ultimately outweighed his displeasure. Still, it never stopped him from offering himself to her every so often.

One evening, the familiar hunger gnawed at Y/n. Caleb approached, his eyes holding a familiar, possessive warmth. He offered his wrist, a silent invitation.

Y/n recoiled slightly, shaking her head. “No, gege.” Her voice was firm, despite the tremor in her hands.

Caleb’s brow furrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “But, little one, the direct way is the best for young vampires.”

“Please,” She interrupted, her gaze fixed on her hands. “Just… just put it in a cup for me.” ‘I can’t do that again. I can’t bring myself to… to bite him like that. It felt so wrong.’

Caleb sighed, a long, drawn-out sound filled with frustration. “You know I don’t like that, meimei...” He hated it, in fact. It lacked the intimacy he was craving. ‘She’s pushing me away. Doesn’t she understand what we shared?’

“I know,” Y/n mumbled, still avoiding his gaze. “But… I can’t help it. Please, Caleb.” She pleaded with him. Y/n wished to keep her relationship with him as siblings. She couldn’t bear to damage it any further. ‘I feel so ashamed. Every time I look at his neck… I just remember…’ Though his neck had healed up immediately, the memories still linger.

He relented, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine.” He turned away, a hint of wounded pride in his posture. He returned moments later with a small, ornate ceramic cup filled with his blood.

“Here.” He offered it to her, his eyes searching hers. ‘She’s making this so difficult. Doesn’t she realize this is for us?’

Y/n took the cup grateful, her fingers brushing his. Even that small contact sent a jolt of unwanted awareness through her. She drank slowly, the coppery liquid satisfying the immediate craving but leaving a hollow ache in its wake. It wasn't the same as drinking directly from him. It lacked… ‘It’s enough. It has to be enough. I won’t let myself… need him like that.’

Days turned into weeks under Caleb’s watchful eye. He had long reported Y/n’s death to the guild, a necessary lie to protect their secret. But the past had a way of resurfacing.

One afternoon, as Y/n read, a sharp knock echoed. Caleb’s usual calm shattered. The door burst open, revealing Dalton.

“Caleb, I heard about Y/n. So sorry for your loss, brother.” Dalton began, his gaze sweeping over the living room before landing squarely on Y/n, who froze, the book clattering to the floor. His eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed with suspicion. “Y/n? But… Caleb said…”

Y/n shot up from where she sat. Her mouth opened to explain, to lie, she wasn’t sure. But her panic was evident. However, she never got the chance.

Caleb moved faster than she could see. One second Dalton was standing. The next, he was writhing on the floor, a terrible gurgling noise escaping his ruined throat. Caleb straddled him, hands blood-soaked, face twisted in something that wasn’t human. It wasn't the controlled precision she knew from their hunts. This was raw, untamed savagery. He kicked the door closed, his hand shot out, fingers like steel claws, and clamped around Dalton’s throat. Dalton gasped, his eyes bulging in terror as Caleb lifted him off the ground. A sickening crunch echoed as Caleb twisted his neck with brutal force. Dalton’s body went limp, his eyes staring blankly.

Y/n screamed, the strangled cry escaping her lips. She had seen Caleb kill before, but never like this. The sheer speed, the unrestrained violence… it was terrifying. ‘Oh my god. What did he just do? Dalton… he just…’

She backed away, hands flying to her mouth, heart hammering out of control. Caleb had ripped the life from Dalton with brutal, casual precision as if breaking a rabbit’s neck. Like it meant nothing to him.

It was horrifying.

They had hunted together for years. She had seen Caleb kill—but never like this. Never so… savagely.

Caleb turned to her, his chest heaving a heavy sigh, his eyes blazing with a primal protectiveness that bordered on madness. “It had to be done, little one. He couldn’t know. He would have told others. I had to protect you.” He dragged Dalton’s lifeless body towards her, his grip surprisingly gentle now. “Now, you need to feed. Practice control.”

Y/n stared, paralyzed with horror. She had hunted alongside Dalton over the years. He was a good man, a dedicated hunter. Her gut twisted. She remembered Dalton’s stupid jokes around the campfire. His family photos. His rough, easy laughter. But now he is just gone. And Caleb was the one that ended him. So brutally. Caleb let his control slip entirely, his features contorted in a primal rage. He couldn’t allow Dalton to reveal her secret, to threaten their carefully constructed isolation. He had to protect her.

Dragging Dalton’s lifeless body towards Y/n as if it weighed nothing at all, Caleb’s eyes, still blazing with a feral intensity, softened slightly as he looked at her. “He can’t tell anyone now, meimei. It’s for your own good.” Caleb approached slowly, crouching beside the body, his voice low and coaxing. “You need to practice, little one. To learn to control it. It’s better if it’s someone you know. Easier.”

He positioned the body before her. The scent of freshly spilled blood was thick and cloying, triggering an instinctive hunger. He gently took her hand, guiding it towards the still-warm flesh of Dalton’s neck. The scent of Dalton’s blood, freshly spilled, hit Y/n’s heightened senses. It was sharp, metallic, and undeniably enticing in a primal way. Her fangs descended instinctively, a horrifyingly natural reaction. Yet, revulsion warred with the burgeoning hunger. She knew this man. He had a wife, two young children. She couldn’t do this. Looking at Dalton’s still face, the vacant eyes… “How can you say that?”

‘I knew him. We hunted together— laughed at his terrible dad jokes around the fire. He had a family waiting for him to come home.’

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head vehemently. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Caleb’s expression hardened. “You have to, Y/n. It’s the only way to learn.” He coaxed her, his hand on her back, gently urging her forward. “Just a little. For practice. If you won't drink from me, you won’t know how to properly restrain yourself.”

“That will lead to deadly mistakes. It will land you on the guilds radar. You need to learn.”

‘She needs to understand her new nature. And she needs to rely on me.’

Tears streamed down Y/n’s face as she reluctantly leaned down. “I’m sorry Dalton. I’m so sorry...” She whispered before sinking her teeth into someone she once considered a comrade. The blood smells sweet, but the moment it hit her tongue, it tasted wrong. It tasted metallic and bitter, almost rotten compared to the rich sweetness of Calebs.

She covered her mouth with the palm of her hand and tried to swallow, her stomach churning. ‘It’s not the same. It’s… disgusting.’ She gagged, her body rejecting it. Bile rose in her throat, and she vomited, expelling the tainted blood and even the small amount of Caleb’s blood she had drunk earlier. It was barely palatable, a grotesque imitation of what truly satisfied her. Caleb watched from behind her with a strange mixture of concern and something akin to triumph in his eyes. Even after everything was out of her system, she still retched a few more times before collapsing, her body wracked with shudders.

Caleb was there instantly, gathering her into his arms, his embrace tight and possessive. Though the state she was in tugged at his heart, hating to see the one he converted in sure dire need of care. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips with satisfaction. ‘It was a hard lesson to learn but a necessary one. You won’t deny me anymore, will you meimei?’ He pulled her closer, nuzzling the top of her affectionately as he walked down the hall.

Caleb carried her into his bedroom with slow, deliberate steps, as if the simple act of holding her was something sacred. The heavy curtains sealed the world outside, leaving only the two of them cocooned in twilight. Y/n trembled in his arms, her body weightless, her mind fraying at the edges from hunger and horror.

He set her down on the bed, lingering over her longer than necessary, his hand cradling her cheek. His thumb brushed the hollow beneath her eye, tracing the fragile skin there.

“You’re too weak,” Caleb murmured, his voice low and thick with something more than concern. “No cup this time. You need it fresh. Direct.”

Her heart twisted violently at his words. She shook her head weakly, trying to push herself back, but he caught her wrists in one hand, pinning them gently against the bed. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting hot against her ear.

“No more running, little one,” he whispered. “You need this. You need me.”

She tried to turn away, tried to close herself off—but Caleb was relentless. His body pressed flush against hers, a heavy, possessive weight, his thigh slipping between her legs, anchoring her. His free hand slid up the side of her neck, tilting her face back to expose her mouth, her fangs, her desperation.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathed.

Without giving her time to protest, he bent his head, baring his throat to her. The strong column of his neck pulsed just inches from her lips, the scent of his blood saturating the air between them—rich, dark, utterly intoxicating.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the pull. But hunger gnawed through her self-control, stripping away every barrier she had left. Her fangs ached. Her breathing quickened. Her entire body strained toward him before she even realized she was moving.

Caleb’s hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull, and with a low, commanding growl, he pulled her mouth against his neck.

“Now, meimei,” he ordered, voice trembling with restraint. “Drink.”

Her fangs sank into his flesh with a soft, wet sound. Caleb’s entire body jerked, a harsh, guttural sound tearing from his throat. His hand tightened in her hair, the other sliding down her spine, fingers splaying against the small of her back, pressing her even closer. His blood flooded her mouth—hot, thick, perfect.

Y/n moaned against his skin, the sound raw and broken. Shame and desire twisted inside her, a vicious tangle she couldn’t unravel. Every swallow sent heat blooming through her veins, spreading outward until even her fingertips tingled. Caleb’s blood didn’t just feed her—it claimed her, seeping into every crack and hollow space inside her soul.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice rough, wrecked. He shifted his hips, grinding her deeper into the mattress, keeping her caged between his body and the bed. “Drink, little one. Take everything you need.”

His free hand roamed her body in slow, possessive sweeps—tracing the line of her waist, skimming the curve of her thigh, sliding up her back to bury in her hair again. Every touch was a brand, a silent promise: You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.

Y/n clung to him, lost in the heat and closeness and the dizzying pleasure of his blood on her tongue. Caleb tilted his head back further, baring more of his throat to her, surrendering completely. His breathing was ragged, his muscles taut as if he were barely restraining himself from doing more—taking her, binding her even tighter to him.

When she finally wrenched herself away, gasping for air, her lips were stained crimson, her hands fisted tightly in his shirt. Caleb cupped her face, his eyes dark and feverish with a hunger that wasn’t just physical.

“There’s my good girl.” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “You see? No one else can satisfy you. Only me.”

He kissed her temple, then the corner of her mouth, slow and reverent, tasting his own blood on her skin. His body still pressed hers into the bed, his hold firm, inescapable.

Y/n shivered beneath him, overwhelmed by the bond coiling tighter between them. There would be no escaping him now. No pretending she could survive without him.

And deep down, a part of her— the part that still remembered the terrible, aching loneliness of her new existence and didn’t want to.

🍏🍎

Caleb carried her into the bedroom with slow, deliberate steps, each movement imbued with a strange reverence, as if the simple act of holding her broken form was a sacred rite. The heavy curtains sealed away the outside world, plunging them into a suffocating twilight that mirrored the darkness engulfing Y/n’s mind. She trembled in his arms, her body achingly light, her thoughts fragmented by the gnawing hunger and the lingering horror of Dalton’s death. Yet, a heavy silence clung to her, a refusal to voice the terror that coiled in her gut.

He sank onto the bed with her still cradled against his chest, the mattress giving way beneath their combined weight. He shifted, trapping her between his body and the plush mattress beneath her. His hand, surprisingly gentle, slid down the side of her neck, his thumb stroking the frantic pulse with a slow, possessive intent that sent a shiver of dread through her weakened body. Her pale face seemed to shrink within his grasp, almost lifeless.

“You’re so weak, little one.” Caleb murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated against her ear, thick with a possessive undertone that belied his concern.

“No cup this time,” he breathed against her temple, his voice deepening, roughening with a raw urgency. “You can barely move. You need it fresh. Direct.”

Her heart lurched violently against her ribs, completely unwilling even in this dire state. She shook her head weakly, a pathetic denial. Putting her hands against his broad chest, she tried to push herself away, but his grip tightened, one hand snaking around her wrists, pinning them gently but firmly against the soft fabric of the bed. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting hot and possessive against her ear, stealing the air from her lungs.

“No more running, little one,” he whispered, his voice a silken command. “You need this. You need me.”

The words were a chilling echo of her own desperate thoughts, twisting her dependence into something sinister. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need him this way, that she could drink from a cup but her throat was so dry, it felt as if someone rubbed it raw with sandpaper. She couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her lips as his words, it was all she could muster.

She tried to turn her face away, to burrow into the pillow, to create some semblance of distance, but Caleb was relentless. His body pressed flush against hers, a heavy, suffocating weight that stole her breath, his thigh slipping between her legs, a subtle invasion that anchored her to him. His free hand slid up the side of her neck, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of her jaw, tilting her face back to expose the vulnerable line of her throat, her parted lips, the faint, tell-tale lengthening of her fangs, her raw, undeniable desperation.

“Let me take care of you.” he breathed, his voice a low caress that felt like a brand.

Y/n squirmed weakly beneath him like a trapped animal. She was fighting against the inevitable, she knew, trying to turn her head away from the suffocating nearness of him but Caleb’s fingers tightened on her chin, forcing her to meet his determined gaze. The violet galaxy depths of his eyes held an intense hunger that mirrored her own desperate need. The strength in his touch was undeniable, not overtly cruel, just a reminder of his control. He wasn’t asking; he was claiming.

“Don’t fight me, little one.” he said, a low growl vibrating in his chest, a primal sound that sent a shiver of fear and a reluctant stirring of something else through her weakened form. “You know, you can’t.”

Without giving her fragile mind a chance to resist him further, he made a shallow, deliberate cut on the side of his neck, the bead of crimson welling instantly, a stark invitation. He bent his head, baring his throat to her, the strong column of his neck pulsing just inches from her parted lips, the intoxicating scent of his blood saturating the air between them, filling the dark room with an irresistible lure. She shudders violently, desperately wanting to taste him again.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, a silent scream trapped in her throat, fighting the primal pull that threatened to consume her. 'I can't... I'll lose control again. But... I'm so weak. And he... he smells so good!’ Her body trembled, a traitorous warmth spreading through her limbs. Her mouth opened, lip trembling as her fangs ached with need, her breathing quickened in shallow, ragged gasps. Her entire body strained toward him, an instinctual surrender that bypassed her conscious thought, shame a distant whisper against the roaring hunger.

Caleb’s hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull with firm tenderness, and with a low, commanding growl that resonated deep within her bones, he pulled her mouth against his offered neck.

“Now, meimei.” he ordered, his voice trembling with barely contained annoyance at her continued refusal. “Drink.”

A broken whimper escaped her lips, tears scalding the corners of her eyes as she obeyed, her body moving with a desperate will of its own. Her fangs sank into his flesh with a soft, wet sound that echoed in the suffocating silence of the room.

Caleb’s entire body jerked, a harsh, guttural sound tearing from his throat, a mixture of satisfaction and something else, something akin to pleasure. His hand tightened in her hair, anchoring her, the other sliding down her spine, fingers splaying against the small of her back, pressing her even closer, molding her body to his. His blood flooded her mouth—hot, thick, perfect, a stark contrast to the vile taste of Dalton’s.

“Ah~ That’s it.” He groaned, his voice rough, wrecked, a tremor running through his body as he restrains himself from taking her this second. He shifted over her, seating himself fully between her thighs, his cock grinding up against the insistent heat of her core through the thin layers of her clothes, a blatant invasion that made her gasp.

“Drink, little one. Take everything you need.” His other hand tightened on her captured wrists, keeping them pinned above her head in his large grip.

The heat of him, the weight of him pressing down on her, the suffocating closeness, the intoxicating scent of his blood was a sensory overload to her depleted body. A blurring of pain and pleasure, of fear and a desperate, unwanted desire consumed her.

Y/n gasped, the hunger clawing at her insides now a maddening beast. It wasn’t just thirst, no. It was physical desire and it was tearing through the last fragile threads of her resistance. She was doing so good by ignoring the way Caleb was touching her.

‘Please… no. Not now.’ Her own body was betraying her, a traitorous warmth spreading through her limbs. A shameful wetness pooling in her panties as she moaned prettily under him as he continued to roll his hips against her. She was about to cum and by the way he picked up the pace, he knew she was too.

Y/n stiffened, her body pressed tightly against him as her hips jerked repeatedly, using him to ride out her orgasm. ‘So good. So good!’ She couldn’t speak, only drink and with each pull from his neck, she sealed her fate. Y/n was no longer of sound mind. Now, a very persistent euphoric fog clouded her mind, stealing her will to do anything but respond to her body’s needs.

Caleb smirked. He felt it, felt her final, silent surrender. A low, triumphant growl rumbled deep in his chest and released her from his hold when her body went limp. ‘This is how it was always meant to be. She needs me like this.’ He had her right where he wanted, happily feeding, wet, needy and so pliant for him. He bent his head further, exposing the strong column of his neck, offering her lips more of him. The scent of him intensified, rich, metallic, utterly addictive. A siren’s call she never had the strength to ignore.

When she finally pulled her mouth away, fully satiated, her lips slick with his blood. Her hands fisted tightly in his shirt, clinging to him as if he were the only anchor in a terrifying storm. Her eyes were blown, unfocused, a blood-drunk haze clouding her vision. Caleb cupped her face with blood-smeared fingers, his eyes dark and feverish with a hunger that went far beyond feeding.

“There’s my good girl.” he whispered, his voice thick with affection, pressing his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. “You see? No one else can satisfy you. Only me.” She didn’t respond. He knew she would.

“Tell me what you need, meimei.” he breathed against her ear, his teeth lightly grazing her lobe, dragging a low, involuntary whimper from her throat. He chuckled, bucking his hips against hers, earning him a louder, sweeter moan from her and she raised her hips to meet his. “Need more? Gege will make you feel so good.”

A weak mewl caught in her throat as Caleb pulled her in for a kiss. It was he twisted his hips against hers, the grinding pressure a blatant violation that sent a jolt of unwanted sensation through her weakened body, pulling a desperate, broken sound from her lips. Her gums itched as she nibbled her lip, instinct had long overridden fear, shame— everything.

“Still thirsty?” he asked, his voice tight with anticipation that sent a shivers down Y/n’s spine. She wasn’t, in fact she was full, her hunger for blood gone. She wanted something else, craved something more and he could feel it.

“I taste that good, huh?” He chuckled.

“Gege, I… need more.” She begged.

He guided her mouth back to his bleeding neck, his hand tangling in her hair, holding her in place, a controlling caress. Y/n didn’t hesitate to take from him again as she bit down again.

The reaction was immediate, violent. Caleb’s entire body shuddered, a raw, broken groan tearing from him, a sound that spoke of both exquisite pain and a twisted pleasure. His grip on her captured wrists tightened briefly before he released them, his hands flying instead to her hips, squeezing hard, dragging her hips up into his, a blatant demand.

He rocked against her hard as she drank. Quick, hard claiming thrusts made his breathing ragged with each movement. He was going to cum.

“Ah~ just like that.” he gasped when she licked his neck, refusing to let the trailing crimson go to waste. His mouth found the sensitive line underneath her jaw, pressing desperate, open-mouthed kisses against her blood-tinged skin.

“So greedy, little one.” He chuckled, a low, possessive sound, the tension pulled taunt in his body.

His hand slid under her shirt, splaying across her bare lower back, dragging her even closer, skin to heated skin, blood mingling with blood. His fingers dug into her flesh, not hard enough to inflict pain, but enough to leave her trembling, aching for a connection she both craved and loathed.

With one final thrust, he came with a long, torturous groan.

“Good girl,” he rasped, his thumb wiping a smear of his blood from her cheek, a possessive caress. “My good girl.” He kissed her then—messy, desperate, a brutal mingling of blood and breath and a terrifyingly possessive hunger.

“But I’m far from done with you.”

Caleb barely gave her a chance to breathe before his lips were claiming hers again. Rough and unrelenting, the metallic tang of his blood stained both their mouths. He kissed her like a starved man and when he finally pulled back, a strand of saliva and blood connected them.

Without a word, he dragged her shirt up over her head, baring her to him. Her tits bounces from the suddenness and her pert nipples quickly became erect from the slight chill of the room. He took in a breath at this sight.

“Beautiful.”

He cupped the succulent mounds of fat in his hands, palms flattening over every inch of newly exposed skin before squeezing them, committing her to memory, claiming her body by touch alone.

He lowered his head, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her throat, pausing to lave his tongue over the bite mark, tasting the bits of dried blood that lingered on it. As his mouth focuses on her neck, his fingers circled and flicked her nipples, pulling and twisting just the right way to have her trembling with need for him.

Y/n whimpered beneath him, her fingers clutching helplessly at his shoulders. Every touch, every sweep of his tongue over the wound sent jolts of electric pleasure straight to her core.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Caleb whispered against her skin. “The bond pulling tighter? You’re meant to be mine, little one. Meant to need me.”

He nuzzled against the bite, pressing his lips reverently to the broken skin, then bit down just enough to reopen it — not to feed, but to taste. His tongue darted out, catching a bead of her blood mixed with his own, and he growled low in his throat, shuddering with barely restrained need.

“No one else.” he said hoarsely. “If you ever drink from another… I’ll feel it. I’ll know.”

His hand slipped between her tights and her underwear, cupping her sapping wet cunt firmly through the thin barrier of her panties and groaned. ‘So fucking wet for me.’

“I’ll feel it.” he rasped, pressing his fingers against her clit, circling it gently, dragging a desperate moan from her lips. “Your body…your blood… everything belongs to me now.”

Caleb slid her panties to the side, wetting his fingers with her slick before plunging two long, thick digits within her. Y/n gasped and let out one of the prettiest, airy sounds he had even heard. It went straight to his dick, twitching and hardening in an instant. Coupled with how incredibly tight her leaking hole is, he would surely be unable to hold back the moment he was fully inside of her.

“Like that?” His voice held a smile as he began to fuck his fingers into her. She cried out, taking everything he was giving her with broken moans as he stroked her, scissoring and stretching her unused pussy. Caleb’s fingers found the small patch of flesh that felt different from the rest of her, changing the angle, he targeted it, focusing on pulling another orgasm from her.

Y/n squealed, gripping his shirt and looking at him with confusion and pure ecstasy swirling in her eyes.

“That good, huh?” Caleb grinned wickedly, feeling her tighten and squirt a little as he doubled down on his efforts. His fingers moved at an inhuman pace and thankfully she was dripping for him, allowing for him free reign to do so.

“I can feel you clenching around my fingers so much, little one. You wanna cum for me? Cum for gege?” He teases, speeding up, bullying that soft spot in her. In an instant, she came, squirting and convulsing. Her silent scream didn’t go unnoticed by him as he stared at her pretty little face with a shit eating grin and he removed hand from between her legs. He was so impressed he was able to make her squirt. He licked his dripping fingers, sucking them clean as if he couldn’t enough, making the most lewd sounds she had ever heard. ‘Does she even know how good he tastes?’ He thought as he licked the corner of his mouth, swallowing the last bit of her.

“That’s two, meimei. Think you can go again?”

He didn’t need to wait for a verbal response as he saw her surrender in the way her body shuddered. The subtle loosening of the tension in her muscles, the soft whimper she couldn’t choke back as he watched with her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

He felt it, just as surely as he tasted her blood on his tongue.

And it broke the last fragile tether of his control.

A guttural growl rumbled from deep in his chest as he pushed her back, forcing her down onto the bed. His body loomed over hers, caging her in, his hands spreading her thighs wide without asking, without hesitation. He was granted the mouth watering sight of her slick covered coral pink folds.

“Fuck, look how pretty she is. Were you expecting this?” His voice breathy as he admires the clean shaven, slick glistening rose petals. Truthfully, he knew she didn’t but he could not help teasing her. He lowered his face between her plush thighs.

Caleb tongue, ever so gentle, licked the strip of her drooling slit. His eyes nearly rolled back from the sweetness as he moaned in delight, savoring her taste on his tongue. Y/n soft gasp arching her back away from his hot tongue.

Caleb narrowed his gaze and in a split second, “Don’t even think about it.” his hands wrapped around the fat of her thighs dragging her back to his waiting mouth. His lip latched onto her tiny bud, circling it and sucking hard as the slick intensified. Y/n’s back arced off of the mattress, her body trembling within his hold as he pinned her hip to the bed.

“Be fair, meimei. I’m thirsty too.” He voiced muffled as he tried to drown himself in her leaking cunt. She didn’t protest when he did, doing her best to stay still while he continued his ministrations. Y/n’s hands shot out to tangle in his locks, pulling his face close.

Caleb was in heaven. He always knew she would taste good but this far surpassed his imagination. He released her reddened bud, swiping his tongue from her opening to back to her clit, once, twice, before teasing her little clit with the tip. He moaned, the sound reverberating through her core making whimper with need. He kept teasing her like that, enjoying the way her body writhed of his tongue, her little flinches before she rolls her hips forward, offering more of her dripping cunt for him to feat on.

“Gege… pl-please…!” She tried moving her hips, her body racked with need. But Caleb held her down so effectively that she couldn’t move her hips an inch.

He paid her no mind, taking his time devouring her at his own pace. He could tell she was close by her incessant mewlings and by the way her legs were trembling in his hold. He lapped at her opening, collecting her pooling essence on his tongue and drinking her in. ‘Fuck… she taste so good.’ Caleb mentally cursed, before burying his face into her folded.

He had a prominent, raging hard on, wanting to replace his cock with his tongue. However, he retained himself, he was a patient creature, he would finish his delicious meal before indulging further. His tongue digging into her core, lapping at her velvety walls as he curled his pink muscle, earning him a high pitched squeal from her while he shoveled her juices into his hungry mouth.

Y/n came violently on Caleb’s tongue, back arched and legs quaking, shaking the bed beneath them. Her finger pulled roughly at her brother’s silky hair. He grunted from the light pain but his tongue didn’t stop his assault as he fucked her tight hole with it through her orgasm. He kept at it, ruining her until she laid there, panting and flushed all over.

He pulled back to get a good look at her, her chest rising and falling as she huffed in exhaustion. He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as pride filled him. Licking his lips clean, savoring the remnants of her release before wiping the rest of his slick shined face with the back of his hand. He was tempted to keep going, to eat her sweet little pussy 2 or 3 more times just for his own pleasure.

“You taste absolutely divine. I can’t tell whether I like your cunt or your blood more.” He muse, his eyes gleaming with amusement. Y/n said nothing, she didn’t even hear him, her ears were ringing from the rush of her orgasm. All she could do is suck in air and gaze up at him with half open eyes.

Caleb chuckled to himself, realizing she was far gone. He stepped off the bed, ridding himself of his clothes in the span of a second before returning between her legs, eager to finally become one with the woman he desired. He covered her body with his own, his face mere inches from her as he leaned in for a soft kiss.

“I am going to take you now.” He stated plainly.

”Take me?” Dazed out of her mind from the aftermath of cumming and still high from his blood.

“Yes, little one. I am going to fuck you into the mattress until you re full of me. And then, I’ll do it all over again. I’m not going to stop until my name is the only thing you can remember.” He smiled deviously. Normally, he would never be this crass but he knew she couldn’t fully comprehend anything he said so he spoke his mind.

He wasted no more time, nuzzling her neck affectionately, leaving open mouth kisses trailing down her neck as he gathered both her wrists into one of his much larger hands, securing it while using the other to stroke his impressive length. Caleb’s member sat heavily in his hand at 9.8 inches one and as thick as her wrist. ‘Thank goodness you are already turned, if not, this would hurt you immensely and I’d have to stop here.’

The warm blooded hybrid glided his stiff cock along her over sensitive folds. A shiver him, releasing a breathy sight at the feel of her warm, wet petals soaking the underside of his cock. He bit his lower lip, stifling the next sounds he continued to move along the lips a few more times. Deeming his length wet enough, he pulled his hips back, lining up the mushroom head with her entrance, he grasped Y/n’s jaw, forcing it open.

“Drink from me, Y/n. Pleasure yourself as I take from you.” He says as his hand slips to the back of her neck and forces her teeth into his neck, one again. They both groan in unison, Caleb throwing his head back before sinking both his fangs and his dick in one foul swoop, moaning loudly around the column of her throat.

This snapped Y/n out her lust filled haze momentarily. She squealed and whimpered, tears falling around from the corner of her eyes. She tried to dislodge herself from his neck, feeling the brain fog coming back the more his blood seeped into her mouth. To no avail as Caleb’s hand held her firmly, pressing her face harder the more she tried to struggle.

Y/n glance over to him, panic evident in her eyes. He felt her stare but ignored it, liking and sucking along the skin in his mouth with fervor. He pulled back slightly before slamming into her again, hitting her cervix hard. He couldn't stop himself from grunting and whimpering near her in pure bliss from her tight snatch constricting around him so hard.

Caleb released her from his neck and withdrew from her as well, sitting back on his knee’s. His pupils were dilated, black almost completely consuming his violet irises and he sat back to look down at her with a love sick smile gracing his features.

“You’re so tight— so hot— Ah~!” He moaned pathetically when her cunt spasmed, trying every which way to adjust to his length. He looked down, gaze focused on the place where his dick is plunging in and out her pussy. The site of a pink tinged ring forming at the base of his cock made him dizzy with excitement.

“Gege… we can’t! Wake up!” She seethed through clenched teeth, she was in great discomfort but also great pleasure. Y/n tried her best to fight off the effects of his blood, but she was losing fast. She couldn’t even force herself to struggle with the way her body began to relax for him.

“Still want to fight, little one?” He chuckled, caressing her warm cheek.

“That’s ok. Gege is just gonna have to fucked the resistance out of you.” He grinned as if he just won a first place prize.

With that, he used his free hand to grip her waist and began to fuck her, setting a brutal pace. Y/n’s back arched, mouth agape’s and unable to vocalize her feelings at her brother rammed into her repeatedly, stealing her breath away.

It didn’t even take a full minute for the pleasure to envelope her completely. Caleb smirked down at her when she attempted to match his pace, raising her hips to meet his every thrust.

Loud slaps filled the room as skin met skin, his hips meeting hers in a rhythemantic symphony. It felt unbelievable intoxicating, having her so willing to fucking him back so desperately, her blood, wet on his tongue and her drinking from him anytime he coaxes her to. It was the epitome of euphoria. He could die in this moment and would not complain.

Y/n came without warning, wrapping her legs around him and pulling his hips flush against hers. “F-fuck..!” Caleb came a little, her cunt clamping down around him, milking him for his seed. His thrusts faltered for just a moment before deepened his strokes, fucking her into the mattress just as he promised with renewed vigor.

Y/n whined, completely spent and sore. She didn’t want to keep going anymore— she couldn’t but Caleb continued to ram her swallow flesh, his tip bullying her poor cervix open.

She tried to twist away, trying to resist the tide of heat and hunger that was beginning to build again as Caleb rushed over her g-spot with every move. Caleb only growled, low and dangerous, pinning her hips with bruising force as he fell over her body again.

“Don’t run from me.” he snarled into her ear. “You’ll only make me chase you. And when I catch you…” His teeth grazed the shell of her ear, sharp and threatening. “I’ll mark you so deeply you’ll never forget who you belong to, just. Like. Right. Now.” He punctuated every word with a sharp thrust.

His mouth returned to the wound on her neck, suckling gently, coaxing another slow trickle of blood, savoring it with obscene pleasure. Every pulse of her heart fed directly into him, connecting them in a raw, visceral loop neither of them could break.

Y/n sobbed, half pleasure, half in shame. Caleb squeezed her hips hard, rutting into her like a wolf in heat. He needed to cum. Every fiber in his being screamed to fill her up, marking her as his so that she can never deny his love for her ever again.

“I’m close, meimei. So, so close.” He grunted out.

“Give me one more. Just..mmm~ one more. Let’s cum together.”

His hand that was on her hip moved to her engorged clit, using his thumb to circle it quickly, trying to match the speed of his hips. Y/n choked and tried to wiggle away again.

“To-too much. Too much, Caleb, please!” His dick dug impossibly deeper into her watery cunt, not allowing her to move away. He was too far gone to hear her out, not that he could stop himself, not when he’s this close to coming with her most precious girl.

“Be good. You can take it.” he growled, his voice rough with primal hunger. “You pretend you don’t want this. But I can feel you.” Dragging his nose along the line of her jaw, inhaling the scent of her arousal that coated the air thickly.

Caleb whimpered like a pup, hips stuttered and as he pistoned into her sloppily. After three long and hard thrust, he came inside her, grunting out her name as a blinding white light obscuring his vision. His orgasme trigger hers as her body betrayed her, arching into him, seeking more contact, wanting to be full of him.

Y/n collapsed on the bed first, the corner of her eyes darkening as she willingly succumbed to it, fainting beneath him. Caleb fell onto her, panting into the junction of her neck as he tried to ready his breath. Once he did, flipped their bodies, making sure to keep his cock warm inside her, laying her upon his chest. He could feel his cum leaking out of her and trailing down his dick but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

Caleb sighed in content, wrapping his arms around his lover in a warm embrace. ‘For the first time in my life, I finally feel truly happy. Satisfied. I finally own you.’ He queened her. ‘After all these years, you are finally mine and now, you can’t hide it. Can’t pretend it didn’t happen.’ He thought to himself as he placed a kiss on the top of her head before drifting into a blissful sleep, knowing five things truths that ensure it would be restful.

‘There is no undoing this.

There is no hiding from the truth of their connection.

There is no going back to what they once were.

She is mine now, body and soul.

And I would never, ever let her go.’

#love & deepspace #love and deepspace #caleb x you #caleb x reader #caleb x y/n #xia yizhou #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #yandere caleb #love and deepspace smut #Caleb smut #caleb x mc

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ceyanabbiolo · 3 days ago

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CONTRACT // C.S [09]

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

warnings: argument, kissing, slightly suggestive

wc: 6474

Chapter 9: Your mine

The hotel room was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from my laptop screen and the faint glow of Milan’s skyline outside the window. It was around 6 PM, and I was nearing the end of my third day here. The same routine had played out every single day: checking up on the businesses, making sure the factories were running smoothly, handling emails, meetings, and reports. The usual grind.

I could’ve gone back to Boston today, but I decided against it. Another two days of peace, at least.

The hum of a Celtics game played in the background, but my attention was elsewhere. My phone buzzed, and an unknown number flashed on the screen, followed by a single notification: one image.

I didn’t think much of it at first. Probably spam. But something in my gut twisted, and before I could talk myself out of it, I opened the message.

My blood ran cold.

It was a picture of my fiancee, sitting on a couch next to some fucker at a party.

Too many questions were running through my head.

Who the hell is that guy? Never seen him before, and he was way too close for my liking. What the hello was she doing at a party? When was this? Where the fuck was she now. Why was she even there? She hates parties.

I didn’t waste a second. I pressed the call button.

One ring. Two.

Then the call connected.

"Hello?" Her voice was dripping with sweetness, fake as hell.

"Who the fuck is this?" I snapped, my voice low and sharp, the anger already bubbling inside me.

She let out a laugh, slow and smug, like she knew exactly what she was doing. "Relax, Chris. It’s Hailee."

Of course, it was her. Of fucking course.

I clenched my jaw so hard, it hurt, trying to hold back the anger that threatened to spill over.

"You’ve got ten seconds to explain what the hell you want before I block your number," I growled, every word coated in venom.

She laughed again, unfazed. "I just thought you’d want to know what your sweet little fiancée has been up to while you’re off playing businessman. Didn’t realize she was still so... friendly with old flames."

My stomach turned, an unfamiliar protectiveness taking over. I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table.

"You don’t know shit about her," I said, my voice low and lethal, each word dripping with warning.

"Maybe not," she purred. "But from what I remember... You don’t exactly like being made a fool of, Chris."

I scoffed, the anger inside me growing by the second. "Listen…" I let out a breath, trying to steady myself. "We hooked up a few times. That’s it. It was nothing more than a mutual arrangement. I made it clear to you, Hailee. It was purely beneficial, and you know that."

“I'm just looking out for you, Chris,” she said sweetly.

I didn’t have the patience for this. I didn’t need her twisted words any longer. Without another thought, I ended the call.

I threw my phone onto the bed, frustration coursing through my veins like poison. My eyes darted to the clock — it was nearly 6 pm in Milan, meaning it was noon in Boston. Aurora should’ve been awake by now.

I didn’t waste any more time. I immediately dialed Ana, the housekeeper. The phone rang twice before she picked up.

"Hello, sir?" Ana answered with her usual calm voice.

"Ana, where’s Aurora?" I asked, my tone sharp, not bothering to hide my irritation.

"Oh, Mr. Sturniolo, she and her friend came in late last night, sir," Ana responded, her voice soft but respectful. "They’ve been sleeping since about 3 am, I believe."

I felt a wave of irritation wash over me. "So, they came back that late?" I pressed. "Was there any sign of her doing something... out of the ordinary before they went to bed?"

Ana hesitated for a moment before answering, "Not that I noticed, sir. They were both fine when they came in. I didn’t hear any disturbances."

I could feel my jaw tightening. This wasn’t sitting right with me. "And what about this morning? Did Aurora seem different at all?"

"She seemed... fine, sir," Ana said carefully. "I haven't spoken with her directly today, though."

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to keep my cool. "Alright, Ana. Just... keep an eye out, please. Let me know if anything changes."

"Of course, sir. I'll let you know."

I hung up, still seething. Something didn’t add up. I had half a mind to fly back to Boston that instant, but I needed answers from her — real answers, not from some cryptic photo or Hailee’s taunting. I would wait until I saw her face-to-face. When I did, she’d be explaining everything.

I paced the hotel room, each step making the tension in my chest feel worse. The anger was like a thick fog, clouding my mind and making it hard to focus. I hadn’t expected this. Not from her. Not from my fiancée.

The image of Aurora, sitting on the couch with some guy—someone I didn’t know—kept flashing in my mind. I didn’t recognize him, and it pissed me off even more. She looked too comfortable with him. She laughed. Her body language. It was too much.

I could feel the knot in my stomach tightening with each passing second. I didn’t know who the hell this guy was, and frankly, I didn’t care. What pissed me off was that she was there at that party, out with someone like that while I was stuck here, doing work that was technically already done. The meetings, the reports, everything—it was finished. But I wasn’t finished. Not with her.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Lila, my assistant, barely giving it a second thought. The phone rang twice, and then her voice came through, calm and professional as always.

"Yes, Mr. Sturniolo?"

“Cancel everything,” I snapped. “I’m done here. Get me on a flight back to Boston, ASAP. I want to be home by midnight.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “Sir, but your last meeting isn't until—”

“I don’t care about the damn meeting. I’m done,” I cut her off, my frustration building. “Get me a flight. Midnight. No excuses.”

I could practically hear her sigh on the other end of the line, but she didn’t argue. “Understood. I’ll have the arrangements made.”

“Good,” I said, my voice sharp. I ended the call and shoved the phone into my pocket.

I wasn’t wasting any more time here. Work was done. There was no reason for me to stay in Milan and brood over things.

I stormed around the room, packing my things quickly, as if the sooner I got on the plane, the sooner I could figure this all out. I didn’t even know what I was walking back home, but I had to get there. I couldn’t just let this go.

I couldn’t let her be out there, in a situation like that, with some random guy I didn’t know. Whatever the hell was going on, I was going to find out. And she was going to answer for it.

I headed for the elevator, the anger simmering inside me, knowing that when I got back to Boston, I was going to have one hell of a conversation with Aurora.

It didn’t matter if Aurora and I weren't in love, but it sure as hell mattered how we both acted if this engagement was to seem real.

An hour went by in a buzz, and by 7:30 PM, I was seated in my jet and taking off.

I calmed myself by letting myself believe Aurora had a rational explanation for all this, and praying that the photo of her at the party didn't get sent to anyone.

The jet touched down just after 1:00 AM Boston time.

By the time I made it through the airport’s private exit and into the black SUV waiting for me, my blood was at a full simmer. Every wasted minute between Milan and Boston had given me more time to overthink, more time to get pissed off.

The drive home was a blur. I barely registered the empty streets or the cool October air seeping through the cracked window. All I could think about was Aurora — and the fact that the woman I was supposed to marry was out at some fucking party, sitting next to some random guy, while I was halfway across the world.

The gates opened slower than I had patience for, but I forced myself to stay calm. I parked, grabbed my bag, and walked up the driveway. Every step felt heavier.

As soon as I pushed the door open, a soft glow spilled from the living room.

I stilled.

Someone was awake.

Quietly, I set my bag down in the foyer, shrugging off my jacket. My steps were soundless as I moved toward the light.

And then I saw her.

Aurora was curled up on the couch, barefoot, wearing one of those oversized sweaters she loved. A thick book was open in her lap, her hair falling around her face as she turned a page, completely unaware of me standing there.

Something sharp twisted in my chest.

She looked so fucking innocent sitting there — like she hadn’t done a damn thing wrong.

I clenched my jaw, forcing the emotion down. I couldn't afford to let her looks cloud the situation.

"Aurora," I said, my voice cutting through the silence.

She jumped, her head snapping up. Her eyes widened when she saw me — surprise flickering across her face, then confusion.

"Chris?" she said, setting the book down. "What— you’re back?"

I nodded once, stepping further into the room.

"Yeah," I said coldly. "Trip’s over."

I watched her closely — the way she shifted, the way her hands nervously tugged at the sleeve of her sweater.

"You didn't tell me you were coming back early," she said, her voice softer now, guarded.

"Didn't feel like there was a point," I replied, my voice sharp. "Seems like you were keeping yourself plenty busy while I was gone."

Her mouth parted slightly, confusion flashing in her eyes.

"Chris, what are you talking about?"

I crossed my arms, the anger barely held back now.

"You want to explain why I got sent a picture of you all cozy next to some guy at a party?"

Her face paled.

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. I just waited, and the longer she stayed silent, the harder it was to pretend I wasn’t already pissed off beyond belief.

Her brows pulled together, genuine confusion flashing across her face.

"What guy?" she asked, her voice small but laced with honest bewilderment.

I didn’t move. My arms stayed crossed, my stare locked on her. "Don’t play dumb, Aurora."

She blinked, like she was scrambling to piece things together. "I... I was at the party with Jen ," she said slowly, searching my face. "We danced, we ate— I don't—"

Then something clicked. Her face shifted.

"Wait... are you talking about Mason?" she asked, like the idea was ridiculous.

Mason.

My jaw ticked. The name meant nothing to me, but just hearing another man's name come out of her mouth made something snap inside me.

I took a step forward, my voice low and sharp. "Who the fuck is Mason?"

Aurora’s eyes widened slightly, taken back by the bite in my tone. She held her hands up like she was trying to calm me down.

"Nobody," she rushed out. "He’s no one, Chris. Just some guy I used to know from high school. He sat next to me for like two minutes — that’s it."

"Used to know?" I repeated, my voice rising. "And he just shows up at some party you're at while I'm out of the fucking country? And you're sitting there with him, like it’s a damn reunion?"

She flinched.

"It wasn’t like that," she insisted, her voice trembling with urgency. "I didn’t even want to talk to him. He just showed up and started talking. I barely said anything back."

I let out a humorless laugh, running a hand roughly through my hair, trying — failing — to calm the rage boiling under my skin.

"You think that makes it better?" I snapped. "You think it looks better that you’re just sitting there letting random assholes get cozy with you while my back’s turned?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away fast, standing her ground.

"I wasn’t being cozy with him," she said fiercely. "I didn’t want him there. I didn’t even want to be there! Jen convinced me to go, and I was sitting alone when he came over. I didn't invite him!"

I stared at her, breathing heavily, Fuck…I didn’t want to be the reason she gets a panic attack.My fists clenching at my sides. I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her so bad.

But that fucking photo kept flashing in my mind — her, looking too pretty, sitting there while some guy sat way too damn close.

"You shouldn’t have been there to begin with," I bit out. "You shouldn’t even have given anyone the chance to get near you."

Aurora’s lips parted like she wanted to argue — but she stopped herself, swallowing hard instead. Her voice came out quieter. "I just wanted one normal night."

Normal. She still didn’t get it.

"You’re not just some rich girl anymore, Aurora," I said, my voice ice-cold, every word deliberate. "You’re mine, whether you like it or not. It doesn’t matter what you think or feel. To the world, you're already my fucking wife. And I’m expected to act like your husband, to handle you, to control everything about this — because that’s what they all see.”

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy.

"You’re a grown woman, Aurora," I said, my voice laced with frustration, the tension still heavy in the air. "And I really fucking wish your father hadn’t put you in this position. But here we are." I paced, my hand running through my hair, the anger simmering beneath my skin. "I hate that it comes off like I’m trying to control your life, but the reality is, we have to accept this shit, whether we want to or not. This is our life now. And you don’t get to just ignore that."

Her face crumpled slightly, like she didn’t know whether to be angry or heartbroken.

But I didn’t back down.

Not this time.

Aurora took a shaky breath, stepping toward me like she could somehow make me understand if she just got close enough.

"I would never," she said, her voice breaking. "Chris, I would never do something like that to jeopardize this. Especially not with him. I hate Mason."

I didn’t move.

"I don’t care how it looked," she rushed out, desperate. "I wasn’t sitting there enjoying it. The second he came over, I froze up because I didn’t even know how to react."

That caught my attention. My eyes narrowed slightly. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

She swallowed, her throat bobbing. Her hands fidgeted at her sides.

"I... I don’t want to get into details," she stammered, her voice wavering as she tried to backpedal. "Everything that has to do with him happened a long time ago."

"Tell me," I demanded, my tone cold and unyielding. The weight of the words hung heavy in the room, and I wasn’t giving her an inch until I had the answers I wanted. “I’m trying to understand”.

I looked at the hesitance on her face, before she seemed to finally crack.

"He’s not some old friend," she muttered. "He was cruel to me. He humiliated me... made my life hell back then. Seeing him again just brought it all back. I didn’t know what to say. I didn't even want to be near him."

Her voice cracked, and for the first time tonight, my anger faltered — just slightly.

But I still couldn’t erase the image from my mind.

"You could've left," I said coldly. "You could've gotten up and walked away."

"I know," she said quickly, her eyes pleading. "I know that. I just— I was stunned. I wasn’t thinking straight. And then Jen came back and I went to her. I didn’t stay with him."

She blinked rapidly, like she was trying to keep it together in front of me.

"You have to believe me, Chris," she whispered. "I don’t even look at anyone else."

For a moment, it was just the sound of our breathing filling the space between us. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, her fists clenching so tight her knuckles were white.

I stayed silent, my chest heaving, the war inside me tearing me up — anger, protectiveness, and something deeper I wasn’t ready to name yet.

I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face.

"Why?" I asked, my voice low but sharp. "Why was he cruel to you?"

Aurora flinched like I’d struck her. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly looking smaller under the weight of my stare.

She hesitated, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. "I... back in high school," she said slowly, her voice tight, "I liked him. Stupid, I know. He pretended to like me back. Asked me out in front of everyone. Told me to meet him at some restaurant."

She looked down at the floor, her fingers digging into the sleeves of her sweatshirt.

"I waited for an hour," she whispered. "He never showed. And then some girls from school—" she choked out a bitter laugh, "they showed up instead. Poured coffee all over me. Laughed in my face. The next day at school, Mason told everyone it was a joke. That no one would ever actually want me."

Silence clamped down between us, heavy and suffocating.

I felt like something inside me cracked.

The image of her — younger, humiliated, alone — made my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

I stared at her, feeling rage burn hotter in my veins than anything else tonight.

"It wasn’t just that day, there were several other things that happened with him and you think I would ever even look at him that way?" she said, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes glistening. "I don’t care about him anymore, but it weighs on me Chirs, I hate him. I hate everything he did to me."

My jaw locked so tight it hurt. I didn't know whether I wanted to go find this Mason prick and beat the shit out of him, or pull Aurora into my arms and promise her no one would ever humiliate her again.

Maybe both, but I stayed where I was, my body rigid, my mind racing.

I didn’t have emotions. I didn’t feel comfortable. But hearing her say all that — seeing the way she shrank under the weight of it — made something deep and ugly claw up inside me.

"You should’ve told me," I muttered, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.

She shook her head quickly. "I didn’t think it mattered anymore. It was years ago. I didn’t... I didn’t want to seem weak."

Weak. God, she had no idea.

There wasn’t a single thing about her that was weak.

I stared at her for a long beat, my heart hammering against my ribs, my anger still simmering just below the surface — not at her, but at the entire fucking situation. At that prick Mason. At Hailee. At myself for not being there tonight, for leaving her vulnerable to people who didn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as her.

"You’re not weak," I said, my voice low and certain. "Don’t ever say that shit again."

Aurora’s eyes widened a little, surprised by my tone. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but then closed it again.

I took a breath, forcing some of the rage back down. I needed to get a grip. This wasn’t the time to explode.

"You’re not going to any more parties without me," I said firmly, stepping closer. "I don’t give a shit if it was innocent. I’m not letting some asshole even think he can get close to you again."

Her lips parted slightly, clearly taken aback by the sharpness in my voice.

Maybe it wasn’t just the tone that threw her off. Maybe it was the intensity—the raw possessiveness that I couldn’t hide. I was done pretending it wasn’t there.

She gathered herself quickly, her posture stiffening, as if trying to protect herself from whatever was swirling between us. “So what? You cut your trip short to come and talk to me about this party?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

I shot her a glance and got closer.

“Yes,” I towered over her. “Yes, did.I may have not taken this seriously at the start, but one thing I take seriously is business, and you are very much my business, Aurora”.

I watched her face redden and her pulse quicken.

“You still didn’t need to cut the trip short,” she said, her voice softer now. “I was doing fine.”

I scoffed, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. “Yeah, clearly.”

She let out a long breath, her frustration palpable. “Who sent you the photo anyway?”

I hesitated for a moment, weighing whether I should tell her the truth. But what was the point in lying? I couldn't hold this back forever.

“Just someone I used to mess around with,” I muttered, hoping that would be enough.

Her brow furrowed as she processed the information. Her eyes flickered to mine, confusion crossing her face, before something seemed to click. “Hailee?”

The name hit me like a punch to the gut.

I froze, my pulse spiking. “You know her?” I asked, disbelief creeping into my voice.

Aurora’s gaze softened, her lips pressing together in a thin line.

“I met her yesterday at the party,” she said, her voice steady, though a touch of something... bitter lingered in her tone. “She was... around. We talked for a bit.”

I raised my eyebrow, “what did she say to you?”

I watched as she looked away, clearly uncomfortable, but trying to maintain her composure. “I met her yesterday at the party,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with something darker, something... bitter. “She was... around. We talked for a bit.”

I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. “What did she say to you?”

Aurora hesitated for a moment, before looking back at me. “She just said you two used to be close.”

The unease in her voice was undeniable, and I couldn’t help but let a sly smile tug at the corners of my lips. I stayed quiet though, letting her finish.

She shifted, clearly trying to process everything. “I’m just curious,” she started, her eyes narrowing a bit. “You mentioned you don’t do relationships, but she said you guys had something going on.”

I stepped closer, closing the space between us. “I don’t do relationships,” I said, my voice low and firm.

Aurora’s brow furrowed slightly as she processed my words. She raised an eyebrow. “And your... relationship with Hailee?”

I paused, taking in the look on her face. There was something almost fragile in her expression, like she wasn’t sure where this conversation would lead. I watched her closely as I continued.

“It was purely physical,” I said, my voice measured, deliberate.

Aurora blinked, clearly taken aback. She looked genuinely surprised—though, there was a hint of confusion in her eyes. “Oh...Oh, I see. Like... sleeping together?”

I nodded, watching her carefully. I could feel the tension shift in her. She was uneasy now, the energy between us was different than before. She was trying to process what I’d said, but something in her was rattled.

“Why does that bother you?” I smirked, sensing her discomfort, but enjoying the way her guard seemed to be slipping.

Aurora quickly shook her head, her voice quick and defensive. “No—no, I’m just asking.” She laughed nervously, but I could see the flush creeping up her neck.

I hummed in amusement as I stepped even closer, my hand coming to rest gently on the back of her neck. I tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at me.

“You’re blushing, ma,” I said softly, a teasing smile playing on my lips as I closed the remaining distance between us.

Her breath hitched, her eyes locking onto mine. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—something uncertain, but maybe something more. Something she wasn’t ready to admit, but I could feel it in the air between us.

“Were you guys really close?” she asked again, her voice a little tighter this time. “I mean, outside of… well, the bedroom, I guess.”

A teasing grin tugged at my lips. “Are you jealous, Aurora? Your cheeks are pink.”

She quickly looked away, her eyes flickering with something she was desperately trying to hide.

“Why would I be jealous?” she snapped, but the uncertainty in her voice gave her away.

I leaned in closer, dropping my voice to a near whisper. “I don’t know. Maybe because you care more than you’re willing to admit.”

I stepped in until her back pressed flush against the wall, her breathing shallow. The air between us practically crackled.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” I said, letting my gaze fall deliberately to her lips before meeting her eyes again. “You think about it, don’t you?”

Her chest rose and fell a little quicker, her eyes darting to the side.

“Think about what?” she asked, voice soft — almost too soft.

“The kiss,” I muttered, my voice rough against her ear. “The way your body reacted to me. You think about it when you’re alone, don’t you?”

She swallowed hard, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched the edge of a nearby shelf. I caught the moment she faltered, the moment her defenses slipped — even if she tried to hide it by shooting me a glare.

“You’re not fooling me,” I said, my mouth brushing her ear, the words a low threat and a promise all at once.

She didn’t answer — she didn’t have to. I could feel it — the way her body leaned toward me without even meaning to.

I slid my hand into her hair, gripping it just tight enough to pull a gasp from her lips.

"You can pretend all you want," I murmured against her mouth, "but your body’s betraying you, ma."

The last shred of my self-control snapped when I caught the look in her eyes — wide, vulnerable, and begging without a single word.

Without another second of hesitation, I crushed my mouth to hers, kissing her fiercely, claiming her like I'd been dying to. She gasped into me, and I took full advantage, deepening the kiss, pressing her harder against the wall until there wasn’t an inch of space between us.

My hand gripped her waist, possessive, grounding her to me as she trembled under my touch.

I didn’t stop there — I let my mouth trail sloppily down her jaw to her neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin. I heard her breath hitch, then a soft, desperate moan escape her.

"Chris…" she whispered, breathless, the sound of my name almost wrecking me.

My hand slid up, cupping the soft curve of her breast through the thin fabric. My mouth tugged at the V neckline of her sweater, my lips dangerously close to exposing more. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her chestline, the temptation gnawing at the last of my sanity.

I should stop. I knew it. But the way she submitted to my touch — the smell of her skin, like fresh roses — drove me insane.

Her small hand gripped my arm, grounding herself, but not pulling away.

I pulled back just slightly, searching her face. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her hair a beautiful mess, and her eyes — wide, vulnerable, uncertain — locked with mine.

I kept her pinned lightly against the wall, our bodies pressed together. “Did that feel like business to you, ma?” I asked roughly, my thumb brushing her waist.

The blush crept up her neck again, warm and unfiltered. She shook her head shyly, her voice caught somewhere in her throat.

I exhaled sharply, trying to reel myself back.

Reluctantly, I stepped away — but kept a hand on her waist, not ready to let her go completely. I dragged my eyes down the faint marks I'd left along her collarbone and smiled,

“Go to bed,” I said, my voice low, a bit softer now. “It’s really late.”

She blinked up at me, still dazed, then nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Yeah… it is,” she whispered, picking up the book she had earlier, clutching it tightly to her chest as she made her way down the hall.

But just before she disappeared, I called out.

“Aurora.”

She paused, turning back, cheeks flushed, lips parted slightly.

“Yeah?”

I held her gaze, serious now, needing her to understand.

“To answer your question,” I said slowly, “just know... I’d never cut work short for her, or for anyone of that matter. So no, we weren’t close.”

I caught the realization flicker in her eyes — then turned and disappeared down the hallway into my room, needing a cold shower and my own hand to deal with the ache between my legs she left behind.

The next morning, I woke up later than usual — closer to eleven. I hadn’t gone into the office; as far as everyone knew, I was still in Milan.

Dragging myself out of bed, I expected to find Aurora in the kitchen, maybe eating a bagel or picking at something. Instead, I walked into the dining room to see both my brothers shoveling down the food my chefs had laid out.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “What the fuck are you two doing in my house?”

“Wow, real warm welcome,” Nick said around a mouthful of pancakes.

Matt snorted into his drink, trying not to laugh.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a can of Pepsi from the fridge.

“Heard you cut your trip short,” Matt said, taking a slow sip of apple juice. “Why?”

“Finished early,” I said, keeping my voice casual.

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Finished early? Since when do you not milk a whole week out of those trips?”

“Didn’t feel like it this time,” I muttered, popping the tab on my drink.

Nick exchanged a look with Matt as I cracked the Pepsi open.

Matt leaned back in his chair, glancing toward the hallway. “Where’s your girl?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Mind your business.”

Nick smirked around a mouthful of pancakes. “Touchy.”

Matt grinned. “Didn’t say anything. Just asking where she’s at.”

“She’s sleeping,” I said shortly, popping the tab on my drink. “Or reading. I don’t know. Why do you care?”

Nick shrugged innocently. “Just making conversation, man. You don’t gotta bite our heads off.”

Matt snorted into his juice. “Yeah, God forbid we ask about Sleeping Beauty.”

I shot him a warning look, but before I could tell him to shut the fuck up, Nick leaned forward on his elbows, studying me way too closely.

“So you finished early in Milan?” he said, dragging out the words. “Didn’t feel like hanging around? Since when?”

I took a long sip of Pepsi, not answering right away.

Nick smirked like he already knew the answer. Matt raised his eyebrows, exchanging another look with him.

"You," Matt said slowly, grinning, "cut a trip short for a girl?"

I slammed the Pepsi can down on the counter a little harder than necessary.

"Drop it."

Nick held his hands up in mock surrender, but the smug look never left his face. “Hey, man. Whatever you say.”

Before I could tell them both to get the hell out, soft footsteps sounded from down the hall.

Soft footsteps padded down the hallway.

Aurora.

Wearing a loose pair of light grey pajama set. Her hair was slightly damp, pushed back from her face like she’d just washed it, her skin fresh and glowing from her skincare.

As soon as she stepped into the dining room, her eyes landed on Matt and Nick — both frozen mid-bite, staring at her like they'd seen a ghost.

Aurora blinked, clearly caught off guard by their presence. She shifted her weight awkwardly, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“Uh...hi, morning,” she said hesitantly, giving them a small, awkward wave with the hand not holding her mug.

Matt just blinked at her.

Nick nearly dropped his fork.

I bit back a smirk, watching the whole thing unfold.

She looked so damn cute like this — sleep still clinging to her, skin soft and dewy, voice a little raspy from just waking up. She didn’t even have to try, and somehow it made it even harder not to stare.

Aurora shuffled toward the coffee pot, her cheeks flushing slightly as she turned her back on them, clearly trying to pretend like this wasn’t awkward as hell.

Nick leaned toward Matt and stage-whispered, "Is it just me or did Chris just smile?"

Matt answered just as quietly. “Real big. Like some Disney prince shit.”

I shot them both a death glare. Matt pretended to cough. Nick suddenly found the butter on his pancakes very interesting.

Turning back to Aurora, I kept my voice low, just for her. “You eat yet, ma?”

She blinked, a little startled by the nickname in front of my brothers, but shook her head.

Nick elbowed Matt under the table. “Ma?” he mouthed dramatically.

She glanced over her shoulder at me, flushing a little, and shook her head.

I pushed out a chair. “Sit.”

She obeyed without a word, sliding into the seat beside mine, her knee brushing against mine under the table.

Nick watched the whole thing like it was the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen in his life. Matt, for once, had enough sense not to say anything.

But even I could see it written all over their faces: They were never gonna let me live this down, and for the first time, I didn’t give a fuck.

“So Aurora”, Matt started. “how are you?”.

I shot Matt a quick glance, narrowing my eyes slightly. What the hell was he getting at with his line of questioning?

Aurora met Matt's gaze, offering a soft smile. "I'm fine," she said, her voice gentle but steady. "How about you?"

"Good, good," Matt replied, nodding thoughtfully. "How are you finding everything here so far?"

Aurora’s smile never faltered. "Everything’s been okay," she said, her tone polite, as if carefully measuring her words.

Nick then chimed in, breaking the quiet tension. "You're a design student, right?"

Aurora nodded. "Yeah. I am."

A strange silence hung in the air for a moment, like everyone was waiting for something more, but no one quite knew what. The awkwardness was palpable, and I couldn’t help but find the whole situation oddly amusing. I leaned back in my chair, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips, watching the way they were trying to make small talk, as if they weren’t fully sure of what to say to her.

"I have to get going," Aurora said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have some things to do. Enjoy."

She stood up from the table, her movements graceful but just a little too quick. I could tell she felt out of place—she didn’t like being the center of attention, especially under my brothers’ watchful eyes.

She glanced at me, a brief, almost uncertain look. I gave her a small nod, letting her know it was fine. Without another word, she disappeared down the hallway, and a few seconds later, I heard the soft click of her bedroom door shutting.

The second she was gone, Nick leaned forward, dropping his fork with a loud clatter against his plate. "Bro," he said, smirking. "She’s cute."

Matt snorted, reaching for another pancake. "Way out of your league, too."

I shot them both a dry look. "Don’t start."

Matt held up his hands innocently. "Just saying. She’s...different. Not what I expected when you said you were getting married."

Nick nodded, mouth full. "Yeah, like, she’s actually nice. Thought you'd end up with some stuck-up heiress."

I took a long drink of my Pepsi, ignoring the way they both stared at me like they were waiting for a reaction.

"Arranged or not," Matt said, nudging Nick, "you lucked out, man."

I stayed silent, my jaw tight.

Matt leaned back in his chair, eyeing me. "You like her," he said bluntly, like it wasn’t even a question.

Nick laughed under his breath. "Yeah, you definitely do. Never seen you look at anyone like that."

"Cut the shit," I muttered, tossing my empty can of Pepsi into the trash. "It’s not like that."

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Sure it’s not. You were basically eye-fucking her the entire time she was sitting here.”

I shot him a glare. "Watch your mouth," I said, my voice low, protective without even meaning to be. "I was just making sure she was comfortable. You idiots were making her uncomfortable."

Nick held his hands up, grinning. "Hey, we're just saying. It's new seeing you like this. Mr. 'No Relationships' acting like a fucking husband already."

I leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over my chest. "I’m being respectful."

Matt smirked. "Respectful? Bro, you looked like you were two seconds away from dragging her back to your room."

I gave him a sharp look. "Matt. Don’t talk about her like that."

Matt just rolled his eyes, clearly not taking me seriously. "Didn’t say anything about her," he said lazily, picking up his fork and poking at his pancakes again. "For an arranged thing, it’s not bad," he added with a shrug.

Nick nodded. "She's sweet. She didn’t even roast us for showing up uninvited."

"She’s used to it," I said without thinking. Then realizing how that sounded, I added, "High society bullshit. She’s been around it her whole life."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but still. She's... real. Not fake like the other rich girls."

"Don’t call her a rich girl," I snapped before I could stop myself.

Both of them froze for a second—then broke into matching grins.

Matt whistled low. "Man’s in deep already."

I shook my head, pushing off the counter. "You two need to get out of my house."

Nick laughed. "Not until you admit you like her."

"Not happening," I said, walking past them. "And wipe those stupid looks off your faces before I throw you out myself."

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS HERE!

[a/n: ya'll i think I should start with the mega juicy stuff soon. Hopfully new chapter soon! like & reblog. mwahh] – ceyana

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #fanfic

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snorlax-zz · 23 hours ago

Text

𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗮𝗺𝗲 - 𝗝𝗞

Pairings: Jungkook x f!Reader

Genre/Tags: mafia! Jungkook x borderline psychopath! reader, exes to lovers, slow burn, angst, sexual themes, fluff, dark, violence, obsessive behaviour, psychopathic behaviour, detailed gore, bloody, twisted love, just sensitive content warnings.

Word count: 5k+

A/N: I hope this is not too boring or anything. MDNI

index | ch-1 |

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2 : ʜᴇʟᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ʙʏ ʜᴜʀᴛ

Jungkook looked at his phone with wide eyes, his hands gripping the phone tightly. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck" He chanted, his chest tightening due to anxiety clawing it's way through.

What the fuck was that? Why were you so out of it? Jungkook's soul shivered at the thought. You almost sounded-

Insane.

This was not the person he loved, a dawning realisation that maybe she had meant when she said-

"I promise you, this me—? She will be dead."

He shook his head, his fingers gliding over the keyboard as he hurriedly searched for your recent activities. It was unnerving to see that your locations were mostly near weird places. You hated crowded areas, yet your phone's past locations were near those areas. You hated seafood, yet your phone showed a few places that reeked of seafood smell.

Something that you couldn't tolerate at all.

How did Jungkook miss all of this? How long had it been since you were waiting for him, but he never came because he thought you were safe? And the only person he trusted you with ended up betraying him.

Jungkook wasn't dumb. It never took much time to join the pieces to see the bigger picture, yet he missed the most important part.

You.

His eyes watered when he recalled your voice; you hated violence, yet you were there for him. He quickly dialed a number, his legs bouncing in anticipation but his voiced laced with betrayal when the phone line connected.

"You fucking bastard. I am going to rip you apart-"

"You don't have to, baby brother. Seems like your ex is already on that path."

The phone beeped. Not giving him a chance to understand, reply or just do anything.

His eyebrows furrowed at his older brother's words. His hands itched to do something. The restlessness was making him uneasy. He kept squirming, his mind telling him to take it out, punch something, hurt something..

Feel something because he felt like a fucking teenager who couldn't process his emotions. He didn't know which emotion to give in? Anger? Betrayal? Love? Confusion? Or that gut-wrenching guilt of it all that he should have never left?

His phone pinged, his fingers working before his mind did. His hands trembling when he saw the photo-

The man was almost naked, his clothes gone, but those wounds. No mercy. Multiple stabs everywhere but his eyes bored at the one that was on the dead mean's cheek, as if someone painfully twisted the knife in there.

Such bloody fucking sight. The hair on his neck stood when he saw the next picture.

You left me, but I won't.

It was almost untangible with all the blood written on with, but he got the message, and he almost didn't want to believe it was you who did it. But then what was that squelching noise? That laugh, which didn't resemble any of yours he has ever heard.

He threw his phone away, trying not to gag at the image that kept recurring in his head. He searched for the CCTV footage in his house.

Access denied.

"What the fuck?" Jungkook fumbled with the keyboard, typing all types of passwords, but nothing got him access.

Was his device restricted, or was this a new security thing? The more he looked at his screen, the more he realised that he must have done something to you because you knew a lot about his deals, his connections, his future plans, and all his files.

"Never said a single word. Kept you safe like you promised me you would keep me."

Jungkook yelled in fury, throwing his phone away. His fingers gripped his hair tightly, almost ripping it apart. His eyes unfocused as he tried to imagine just what they had done to you.

His world wasn't forgiving. It was no place to leave someone as innocent as you. "I shouldn't have-" He mumbled, rocking himself back and forth. He was going to kill his brother.

Not only kill but tear him apart until he wishes death on himself with each breath he takes.

But most importantly, he has to find you. With a newfound purpose, he forced himself to get up. His shaky hands were dialing numbers left and right. A plan was forming inside his head.

"I am so so so sorry." He choked out in a whisper.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The lights flickered when you stepped out, as if nature acknowledged your freedom.

Your freedom.

It tasted foreign on your tongue. You didn't even imagine yourself getting out of this situation at all. If anything, you wanted to die as soon as possible, but not before you made everyone miserable. Not when you are finally out. There was this invisible buzz in your head, in your eyes, in your hands, and it was seemingly increasing with every minute passing by.

You looked at the man who helped you walk through the street, his shaky hands trying to form a grip on your figure to prevent you from falling off.

"Yeonjun, I will fucking kill you if you don't move fast enough" The man yelped in fear when you glared at him. His grip on you tightened as he moved fast.

Yeonjun was scared shitless when he walked into the room and saw the mess you made. He hadn't expected you to do anything. Not when he had only heard good things about you. But right now, it felt like he was with someone who wouldn't hesitate to rip his head off.

It was not about overpowering; it was about the way you behaved. So irrational. The knife lodged in his shoulder told him everything he needed to know. The same knife that he had given you. You didn't even hesitate to stab when he refused to help you.

The scene replayed in his head, you writing that note on the wall with a smile. It was unsettling because not only were you writing with someone's blood, but you also had that loving smile but there were layers to that smile. If he ignored the setting they were in, anyone would be convinced that it was just a girl writing a message for her lover.

Yeonjun dragged you to his car, far away from the house. Slowly helping you into the passenger seat. You grabbed his collar, pulling him closer to you.

A similar memory of you doing this to Jungkook creeped into your mind. Your jaw clenched at the memory. Your eyes softening a tad bit that seemed to catch Yeonjun's attention. His gaze locked to yours. Your fingers trembled just a bit but you didn't like it.

That pity look. The one that Jungkook gave you too. One that made you feel like you are capable of nothing. You fucking hated that look.

Your fingers curled around the bloodied knife before swiftly taking it out. Yeonjun yelped in pain, his hand flying to his shoulder.

"What the fuck did you do? Fuck!" Yeonjun yelled, and the knife that was supposedly stopping the bleeding was out. You pushed him away from you, cleaning the knife on the already bloodied clothes you took from the guard you killed.

"You felt better with the knife in you?" You asked nonchalantly, ready to put it back where you yanked it. Yeonjun shrieked at the metal tip touching his wound, backing away before closing your passenger door.

"Deranged woman. What the fuck" He cursed under breathe. Regretting all his decisions yet he found himself beside you in the driver's seat. His throat tightened when he saw you staring at him.

"Say your goodbyes" He heard her say and for a moment, Yeonjun saw his life flash before his eyes. He heard you chuckle, the tip of the knife tracing his jaw.

"That's the look I want" You whispered in a hoarse voice, nicking him with your knife before settling back into your seat but your grip on knife remained tight. Yeonjun wasn't blind to see that you were going through an inner turmoil.

The voices in your head started to overlap. What were you really doing? Why was your head being so cloudy all the time? It felt like something was constantly pulling you into void. It was hard enough to not give in to everything that was going on inside your mind but that one question-

Will Jungkook still love you?

The question has bugged you for as long as you remember after being kidnapped. Not only do you not know how you currently look, you also don't know if you can be the one he fell in love with.

The moment those ropes snapped you didn't think much. You fought because you had to. You were desperate and so fucking scared because it was the only chance.

Your mind was in a constant blur, still not able to process that you are outside. It felt unreal. Too unreal as if it was just in your head. Was it all in your head? Have you finally passed out and this is all a dream?

"Fuck" You whisper out, your fingers anxiously clawing against your scars. Reopening those wounds. It was funny how you hated the idea of that method but now it became the one which kept you grounded to reality.

The feelings in you sat heavy. Why were you not able to feel guilty of killing someone? Where was that panic when you let it sink in that you literally stabbed the man so many times even after he died. Your lips twitched a little when you felt yourself slipping.

"Take me to Jungkook" Yeonjun choked on air, his eyes wide. You looked at him, your cold hands picking on your dried wounds that made him wince in pain.

It looked disgusting from his point of view. Your fingers aggressively tried to peel off the hardened layer of dried blood that had turned black. He could already see the hints of new blood seeping, the tips of your nail painted bright red when you kept on picking it.

He looked you in the eye that just looked away instantly. Your body completely turning away from him. "I can't" He visibly flinched at the speed of your eyes snapping towards him. Whatever softness he had witnessed in your eyes vanished, he could tell from your body language that if he said one more thing that meant pulling you and Jungkook apart.

He would be shredded in pieces.

"I can drive ya know. Trying to keep both of us alive by making you useful" You calmly said but your eyes spoke the rage you were feeling. Yeonjun could feel your intentions just through those words.

Your patience ran thin, and you were already feeling yourself passing out. After getting out, you had almost chugged 2L of water all together, then vomited it because your stomach was not used to it at all. But you felt your senses draining away. You didn't allow yourself to slip too far into unconsciousness, scared of what they would do once it happened.

You wanted Jungkook to be there to catch you. But if he couldn't come to catch you, you would just fall where he can.

"Please." You whispered, your eyes already blurring from tears. You just wanted to be with Jungkook at this point. If you had to beg for it, then you would. You craved his love, the way he gently held you- a feeling that you can't remember anymore. Your chest tightened at the sudden anxiety of being away from him.

"Please, Yeonjun, I can't live without him. Kill me now or take me to him." You begged, choking over your words.

You felt like a newborn baby who was separated from her mother. A gush of feelings rushed over you, your heart yearning to see Jungkook more than ever. That warmth. That love. Those hands that once promised you to keep you safe forever.

You choked out a sob, your hands trembling when the betrayal starts to sink in. How he didn't come to save you. How you chanted his name everyday, crying, begging to anyone to leave you, to not hurt you. How you tried to keep your screams inside your throat but it was too painful-

until it wasn't.

until it stopped hurting together.

until the name of your lover was only a wish that you thought would never be granted.

But here you were now, a second chance. So what if he betrayed you? So what if he didn't come? You can go to him, you WILL go to him because you love him. You will prove to him that you love him.

You sobbed, shaking your head subtly to push back the possible resentment you may harbor towards Jungkook. Those thoughts mean nothing to you.

Yeonjun quickly started his car and he floored the gas pedal. A breakdown- it was good, good that you still had feelings left. The ones where you weren't thirsty for blood.

But he didn't know how long before you acted blindly over it. Maybe killing him in the process. He definitely didn't want that.

The ride was insufferable for you. You occasionally heard Yeonjun gag, no surprise to you since you smelled horrible as fuck. You were surprised that he hadn't vomited after being this close to you for so long.

You did when that horrible smell around started to build up. But now you could barely smell anything. Nothing felt new, nothing felt good. But you still rolled down the windows a little, pressing yourself further into seat to spare him from gagging.

Yeonjun looked at you as if you had just grown two heads. It was somewhat offending-

Just because you killed a man doesn't mean you can't act thoughtful. And you had to kill anyways. Why was he surprised? Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.. why was he scared of you in the first place?

You did stab him but that was because you had to otherwise he wouldn't take you with him. Other than that, it's not like you would kill him so what was their to fear you? Was he scared of the pain you would inflict on him?

A scoff left your lips. "Coward." You muttered, your fingers mindlessly tracing the edge of knife.

Yeonjun paid no attention to you, driving as fast as he could to get to Jungkook's address that you provided him with.

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"Your brother’s been moving quietly in the background, cutting off your support. He started small. First, he pulled out his share of the illegal gun trade without you noticing. Then, he convinced some of your suppliers to back out, making it look like a bad investment. He’s been working with some of your own men behind your back."

"So, what, he’s been slowly bleeding me dry, one deal at a time? I can't believe all of this has been happening for years!" Jungkook slammed his fist down on the desk, scattering some of the files on the ground from the force. His mind constantly drifts back to you. He needed to get to you as fast as possible, but he couldn't do anything without a plan.

Every second away from you was a thorn that pierced his heart deeper. He wanted to come to you instantly, but he couldn't. He needed a plan; he knew he couldn't act on impulse, but god, his eyes were already stinging from frustration, guilt, and desperation.

"He’s been planting his own guys as lower-level enforcers, slowly moving them into key positions. They’ve been intercepting your shipments and rerouting them to warehouses you don’t even know exist."

"Where the hell are these warehouses? I want names. I want addresses." He ordered, his eyes re-reading the financial status- the manipulated one. It wasn't just about betrayal, he was being cornered and slowly stripped from his power. A deeply calculated one at that. Jungkook huffed in frustration, a plan that has been build for years won't be easy to counter.

"We tracked one of them down. It’s just outside the city, near an old shipping yard. Another one is tied to a series of legitimate front businesses he’s been running through his 'associates'. But there’s more." Jungkook clenched his fists, biting his lip hard. All of this was going too fast for him. His brain was unable to process the priorities.

If his empire fell to his own brother by betrayal, it meant risking everyone he loved, everything he built, but then there was you-

Either way, he needed to take control. Maybe people were right, he had gone too soft, too understanding. A betrayal from his own blood was fucking embarrassing.

"Your brother’s been buying off your alliances, Kook. People you trusted—guys you fought with for years. They’re either backing him or they’re making deals on the side. We’ve already lost a few of them to him. His influence is growing."

"I’ll burn everything he’s built. No one fucks with me like this and gets away with it." He firmly stated, his voice wavering due to the intensity of his own emotions. Eyes unfocused as he imagined a very gruesome scene in his own head. One that he will make sure comes alive with his own hands.

"You’ll need more than just brute force, Kook. We’ve got to play smart."

"We’ll need to break those alliances, but how?"

"We know some of his closest partners are starting to feel the heat. They’re looking for a way out. We can apply pressure. Create doubt. If we take out a few of his key supporters, make them fear for their own safety, we can destabilize his network. If they see his weakness, they’ll flock to us."

"We move fast, then. Take out his strongholds, disrupt his shipments, and hit those suppliers. We’ll-" The sudden knock on the door jumped both men. Their hands instantly reached out for their gun. The silence covered the entire room, their footsteps steady and silent.

Jungkook raised his brow, his eyes pointing at the door. "Cover me" He mouthed, while crouching and walking in case someone decides to shoot through the door.

Jungkook hastily looks through the keyhole, his breath hitching at the sight-

A man that looked out of his wits holding you against his body. His wide eyes patiently waiting for the door to open while you traced the knife against his features. A lazy smile playing on your lips.

"I can feel you standing behind it." Your voice stabbed his heart, his breath restricting. A sharp pain settling inside his chest.

He couldn't believe his eyes, was it really you? His gun fell on the floor, his hands quickly fumbling with the lock and a frustrated grunt leaving his lips.

His heart pounding, his thoughts racing at all the million scenarios running in his head. The door finally opened and Yeonjun pushed you instantly into Jungkook's arm.

Jungkook stumbled a little at force, his hands instantly wrapping around you. "Please don't let her out of your sight." Yeonjun squeaked out before running back. Slamming the door of their apartment.

"Fuck-" The stench made it's way through his nose, gripping his senses but he didn't gag.

No- he couldn't even if he wanted to. This was your pain, your smell, the way you suffered.

You slowly pushed yourself back, holding in the tears. A dreaded feeling is settling in your stomach. Why was this not feeling the same? Why didn't it bring the warmth you had hoped for? Did he change-

Your heart stuttered, your eyes clouded, and sweat broke on your forehead. Your hands clawed at his body, gripping his clothes tightly while you buried your head into his chest. Jungkook's eyes furrowed, his arms tightly wrapped around, but somehow you felt..

different to him.

"No, no, no. Please.. P-Pl'ease. I just want-" You choked on your sob, your nails digging into his biceps while your body fidgeted restlessly.

"Hey hey. It's okay. I am here. I am here. I am here. Shh." He gently rocked you in his arms, trying to calm you down. It was breaking his heart to see you like this. So broken. So different. But, he had to be strong for you.

So much was going inside his head he felt like he was going insane. Jungkook has never felt fear this deep, so gripping that it instantly racked his brain empty.

"I am sorry. I am so sorry. Don't-" Your body trembled hard, all the torment for months finally hitting you altogether. All those chants, mantras to keep you awake, are finally losing their spell over you.

Jungkook tugged you even closer to him, fully crushing you under his hug and you felt it. A little but you did. That warmth, That love and it was enough. You could fall.. for now.

Your eyes fluttered closed, your entire body limping instantly in his arms. Jungkook swiftly picked you up as if he knew you would pass out. His eyes finally watering at your sight, the smell making him almost gag, but he won't. Not when it was you. Not when it was because of him.

He hated how light you felt in his arms. How your face was carved in jagged lines across your cheek, your lips, and nastiest of all-

The one that ran from your forehead to your left cheek through your nose bridge and very close to your eyes. It was messy and deep. The area around it was swollen, and the dried blood turned all black. The wound was deep and jagged as if someone reopened it again and again.

"What have they done to you?" He whispered, his tears falling aggressively. His heart was squeezing, slowly being ripped out of its place the more he looked at you. His mind still rejected the fact that this was real. You were real, and you were hurt.

His eyes raked over your body. Your legs were dirty from dried blood, he could see some blood clots sticking to you. His hands trembled. "No.. They didn't. Did they let you bleed through your.. your-?" His words stuttered, not able to say it out loud. As if it were a sin to even say it. How cruel were they to let you bleed through your periods without care? How did you even feel during that time.

He quickly settled you against the tub. His entire body shaking so much that his hands slipped a few times before he was finally able to turn on the faucet. He made sure the water was warm, his mind racing through what kind of bath will relax your body.

"Hoseok Hyung" He shouted from the bathroom. His voice cracking in between as the tears flowed continuously. The panic was getting to him. He quickly checked your breath, a small relief that you were still breathing but it did nothing to subside his panic.

"Oh my god" Hoseok muttered under his breath, unable to hide his gag when he walked closer to Jungkook. He tried to hide but he couldn't.

The moment Yeonjun pushed you in Jungkook's arms, the smell had Hoseok gagging immediately but he knew how sensitive it was so he removed himself from that scene immediately but he couldn't now.

"I-I don't know what do. They.. They let her-" Jungkook's body shook, the scene becoming more clear on your torture.

He sobbed loudly like a small baby. Almost wailing when he couldn't even bear the pain of thinking what had happened to you. Hoseok looked at him in shock. Had he not witnessed this himself, he would have laughed at anyone who would have told him that Jungkook cried.

Jungkook had never cried. Not when his grandparents died. Not when his parents had a car accident and were in ICU for a long time. Not when his left index finger was slowly and painfully snapped in half, the flesh hanging off but not completely severed.

But here he was. Tears spilling freely, his shoulders shaking and struggling to breathe. "Jungkook" Hoseok called, his hands gently patting the younger's hands.

Hoseok finally saw your conditions, his own gaze dropping at the floor unable to look at you anymore. He had known you for few months but never would he have imagined, something like this will happen.

His hand dropped to Jungkook's shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "I will call the doctor till then just run her a warm bath. Clean off the wounds, I will leave the first aid outside the bathroom door. She will be okay. She is strong." Hoseok stepped out, closing the door behind him gently.

"Fuck" He whispered after shutting the door, his mind replaying your state again and again. It really was nasty. The scar on your face, your extremely matted hair that needed to be cut because there was no other option. His gaze couldn't even reach below your neck without wanting to throw up.

Hosoek quickly dialed a number, his foot tapping against the floor impatiently as he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

"Jimin. It's an emergency. And please bring a female nurse with you."

Meanwhile, Jungkook slowly took off the bloodied clothes. His eyes overlooking the multiple stabbed wounds on it. "Oh baby" He sobbed out, his fingers gently brushing over your naked frame. Assessing your injuries-

And they were nasty. Your ribs poked out, your stomach extremely flat and caved in. Your collarbone protruded so much, he was scared that it might actually rip out of your skin.

He hissed at scars over your ribs, your collarbones. His hands gently but shaky ran over your collarbone. His birthday carved into your fucking skin like a tattoo except he could tell it was not tattooed.

"I promise you. They won't live. Not after what they have done to you. They will pay for it and not even death will give them peace." He whispered, his hands taking off the towel that was hanging in the nearby hook and covering you.

His hands gently nudged your limp hand, a small gasp leaving his lips when he realised your left index finger was awkwardly tilted towards right. He didn't even know what to feel anymore?

Every wound of yours was a mock to him. You had suffered because of him. Because of your love for him. He had thought leaving you would be a good choice. But how could he forget that it was not that easy.

"I am sorry. You were right. I was selfish to think that I was doing everything right. That letting you go was the right choice. I couldn't have been more wrong and I hate that, I hate that it costed you." He whispered, his eyes flicking to the water in bathtub.

He closed the faucet. Slowly picking you up, the towel sliding off your body. He gently put your body in warm water and he could feel your body relaxing instantly. As if it was craving it for years. He looked at water slowly turn red by every minute when the blood started to dissolve in it. All the dirt and everything floating on top.

His own eyes widening in horror as the water turned more red by every minute that he had to drain it and wait for the bathtub to fill again.

But the blood would just keep coming, as if it's tied to you now. A warning perhaps.

He massaged your limbs, gently scrubbing off the dried dirt, blood off. He chanted sorrys to you, not even stopping for second yet it wouldn't be enough.

Nothing in the world would be enough to erase this.

And it was killing him. You are his first love. You had done nothing but been always there for him. Through the highs and lows. He was so in love with you. Your love story always felt like a blessing to him. But, now it was tainted with blood, with scars and with memories he can never replace.

"I am sorry"

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"Jungkook" Jimin called out, a serious look on his face while he removed his gloves.

Jungkook looked at Jimin with teary eyes, his breath stopping as he waited for the next words.

"The wounds are infected from how much they’ve been reopened over and over again," Jimin said, adjusting his glasses and shifting his weight.

"Although there aren’t any major life-threatening injuries, the infection needs to be closely monitored. We have to act quickly to prevent sepsis." Jimin informed, pushing back his glasses while he looked at his clipboard then at Jungkook.

Jimin hesitated a little to say his next words, not knowing how to exactly put them without breaking the younger.

"Her face… it's hard to even look at her injuries. That deep scar from her forehead down to her cheek… it's not just the skin. The tissue underneath is damaged. The infection is spreading fast, and that kind of trauma could permanently distort her appearance if not treated. The nerve damage might affect her facial expressions or movement long-term, and there's a 99% chance it will end up as a nasty scar."

Jungkook’s breath hitched, his teeth scraping over his lower lip constantly.. He had already noticed the disfiguring scar, but hearing it from Jimin made it feel all the more real.

"She also has a fractured left index finger—look at the angle of it. She’ll suffer permanent deformity and pain every time she tries to use her hand." He sighed, looking at the clipboard before meeting Jungkook’s eyes again. "And that’s just one of many injuries."

Jungkook’s eyes watered. His mind was reeling, unable to process the full extent of what had happened.

Jimin spoke again, his tone gentle but firm. "She’s severely malnourished and dehydrated. Her body is practically running on empty. The weakness, the fatigue she’s feeling—her muscles, her organs—everything's slowing down. She’s going to be in so much pain just trying to recover from this. I can't even begin to imagine how long it’ll take for her to regain some strength, and even then, there's no guarantee she’ll fully recover."

Jungkook’s throat tightened, his heart pounding as he thought of how light and fragile you had felt in his arms.

Jimin continued, not holding back. "She has a UTI from the neglect... that’s why her periods stopped. The lack of access to basic hygiene... she's been deprived of so many things, Jungkook. She’s been left in a state of constant torment. Her body is shutting down in ways we can’t even see yet." He grimaced. "She’s fighting to survive, but she’s hanging by a thread."

Jungkook nodded slowly, his body wracked with emotion. He could feel the weight of Jimin’s words pressing down on him, but there was more to come.

Jimin took a deep breath, and his voice softened. "I’m not going to sugarcoat this. She’s also at risk of lasting psychological damage. If what we’ve heard is true, if she really killed that man... there’s a chance her mind won’t be the same when she wakes up. No one goes through something like this and comes out unchanged. She’ll likely experience trauma that could alter her mental state. The psychological scars are just as deep as the physical ones."

Jungkook’s hands were shaking now, his eyes glued to the report, even though his mind couldn’t comprehend what it all meant.

Jimin stepped closer, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "I’m going to check in on her regularly, but you need to understand: recovery is going to be long. Her body will reject even the smallest amount of food at first, and it could take weeks for her to even get the strength to sit up on her own. She may not even remember everything that happened. But whatever you do, Jungkook, don’t overwhelm her when she wakes up. Don’t force her to relive this trauma. She needs time. And her mind... it might not be the same as before."

Jungkook’s voice cracked as he asked the question that had been on his mind. "When will she wake up?"

Jimin looked at him gravely. "Not anytime soon. Her body needs to heal first. She’s too weak. Even if she wants to wake up, her body can’t handle it. The trauma she’s been through will keep her unconscious longer than you might expect."

Jungkook nodded, his mind racing, but his heart sinking with each new revelation. The thought of you waking up, not remembering, or remembering and not being the same, was too much to bear.

Jimin gave him a final look, his expression filled with empathy. "I’ll come by every morning and night to do regular checkups. But for now... focus on her recovery. Don’t try to push her. She’s been through hell, and she’ll need time, so much time, to come back from it."

"Or not." Something he muttered under his own breath.

Jungkook’s grip on the paper tightened, his tears threatening to spill again. He couldn’t think of what to say, his mind too clouded with the overwhelming sense of helplessness.

As Jimin turned to leave, he paused by the door, casting one last look at you. "I’m sorry, Jungkook. I really am."

All of it seemed like a bad dream to him but who was he to say it? His couldn't even bring himself to imagine how you would have felt.

He couldn't help but feel a little selfish when he thought if you still loved him.

But he didn't know it, did he?

The person who was going to wake up killed herself so her love could live.

UPCOMING :

Jungkook looked at you, his eyes widening in horror. Your hands were stained blood red, a color that was now your comfort. That calmed the turmoil inside you but created one in him.

"What did you do?"

"Just wanted to show you that I am not her." You mumbled, wiping your bloodied hands on your clothes — but you never let go of the knife.

"What happened to you.. I-"

"What happened to me?" You snapped, a breathless chuckle tearing from your throat. "I went insane."

You tapped the tip of your Swiss knife on your forehead, the action made Jungkook step closer to you, but you instinctively shot him a warning look.

"What happened to me is that all I see is red Jungkook. This buzz isn't going away. It's in me. It's in everything I do-" You stopped for a moment, your knife slowly grazing over your chest. You heard the noises in your head getting louder, the torture, the hope that you so falsely hung onto to keep yourself alive.

"I will never leave you, Jeon. My entire soul is you. I am just a body, not a home anymore."

23 notes · View notes

lettertoelxse · 2 days ago

Text

"Wishes Don't Come True (Except When They Do)" — a bkdk oneshot

Katsuki doesn't really believe in birthday wishes or maybe he does… but he's greedy when he makes them either way.

Available to read on AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64999198

CW: 🔞 making out, frottage

Birthdays are kinda strange.

People say they’re special but they’re mostly just weird because you do a bunch of shit that you don’t normally do.

When he's little they’re loud and filled with family members he knows well and not-so-well. Cousins and the neighborhood kids come to play. Izuku hangs the closest (that part isn’t strange at least), holds onto his arm excitedly when they bring out a cake on fucking fire. Then there’s the weirdest part.

They say to blow out the candles and make a wish. Well a wish is supposed to be something you want. So he wishes to be a hero. He’s greedy though, so he also throws that his parents got him that All Might action figure he asked for into the wish.

He’s a kid so he can’t be a hero yet, and his parents got him a different All Might figure than the one he asked for (which he still likes), but obviously wishes don’t work.

…

In middle school they’re still fucking loud, even though he fights his parents on the idea of a party.

He pushes away family members that want to pinch his cheeks and scoffs at others who complain about his crappy attitude. Some people from school come over. They just eat cake and play games.

Izuku isn’t there, but he mutters a quiet, “Happy birthday,” to him in the hall. He does it every year, long after the term ‘friend’ becomes a silly title to describe something that never existed long enough to actually be anything tangible. He doesn’t realize he’ll miss the words when they’re gone.

When they tell him to make a wish this time, he knows they're useless. Wishing will never get him anything that he could work for, and it can't bring someone something that they weren't born with. So he doesn't wish when he blows out the candles.

…

In high school it becomes the complete opposite. He spends his birthday at the beginning of what's technically his second year in the quiet of his dark room, flipping through news articles on his phone and jotting down coordinates. He doesn't even have any idea what the date is besides the red numbers on a piece of paper counting how many days it's been since Izuku left.

How many days Izuku has been on his own.

There are papers with scratchy notes of all the things he wants to say. They're crumpled and scribbled on and some divulge into mean and angry ramblings. The rain outside makes him hate this time of year. Especially when he knows there’s someone out there wandering in the cold all alone. He tugs at his hair and throws written letters at the wall. It's dreary and silent. And his birthday passes.

He wishes to find Izuku safe.

…

He thinks his third year will be the same.

He expects it to be quiet but in a different way this time. His classmates revel living in a world where they’re not waiting for something to jump out of the shadows at them. In some ways he feels the same, there’s a part of him that is grateful to be alive for another birthday. Another part of him is greedy, feels a gnawing in his gut for something more. Not for his birthday though.

His parents call him and make him promise to come home to celebrate on the weekend and that’s fine. It’s nice. He doesn’t expect a knock on his dorm room door and teary eyes that sparkle like emeralds.

Izuku blubbers a mess of sad nothings, “I didn’t want to bother you, I thought you might’ve left, I missed it last year. I’m so sorry. Happy birthday, Kacchan…”

He does his best to soothe him, but it’s not really his strong suit. All he can do is pat the other’s shoulder and try to convince him that everything’s fine. But broken words make him buckle to Izuku’s outpour of emotions.

“I’m just glad you’re still here Kacchan.”

The wetness in his own eyes catches him off guard, has him pulling Izuku to his chest. He holds Izuku close with his one arm in working condition and hugs him for the first time in who knows how fucking long, because he knows exactly how he feels. To just be grateful to have the other. “I’m glad you’re here too, Nerd.”

His birthday is quiet, but in a gentle way.

In a whispered promise between two people who have been friends—or something else that doesn’t really have a name—for their entire life. Two people who have been together for so long, it’s hard to imagine any other possibility.

He wishes that he can be good to Izuku this time.

…

He learns that birthdays can be different no matter what point of life you’re in.

His next one is loud and lively, like they were when he was a kid. His classmates make him come to a get-together now that they've graduated. They have dinner and sing to him. He finds that he actually doesn’t really mind it that much, especially when Izuku is by his side and holds onto his arm while he blows out his candles.

He doesn’t hate the idea of making a wish anymore, but he also can’t think of anything grand to ask the universe to grant to him. So he wishes to have another moment like this again.

…

The following year his birthday is on a weekday.

He makes plans to meet some friends on the weekend and to go to dinner with his parents, but he spends the day working a long patrol shift. He thinks he’ll go home and rest, and the day will come and go. Instead, when he finishes his shift and exits the agency building he finds a familiar head of fluffy green hair waiting outside.

Izuku nearly drops the bag he’s holding on the sidewalk covered with cherry blossoms when he sees him. “Kacchan, happy birthday!”

Katsuki leans close to peer in the bag. “What’re you doing here, Nerd?”

“Um well, Kirishima told me you were working. I thought you’d maybe be busy with them or something, but he said you weren’t doing anything." Izuku snaps his mouth shut mid ramble and looks at him with hopeful eyes. He says softer, "So I figured it was late and you probably didn’t have dinner yet… Or cake.” He held up the bag with a shy smile.

“Didn’t ya have classes today?”

Izuku shrugs and nods. “Well yeah, I did.”

No sense of self preservation as always, forever putting everyone else first. Katsuki sighs, “I figured you would be busy.”

“Not too busy for your birthday!”

Katsuki knows better than to argue with him on something like this (and he’s maybe a little bit happy that he came) so they go back to his small apartment together, spend most of their night eating and watching a movie. The comfort of his company is soothing. Katsuki savors it.

At some point Izuku gets up to bring him the small cake with a candle burning on the top. He laughs when Katsuki begs him to not make him sit there while he sings the entire song, but he does agree and tells him to just make a wish then.

Katsuki searches bright eyes that watch him patiently. He’s a little too far away even though there’s not much space between them on the loveseat sofa.

There are things Katsuki wants.

He wants to be a hero, wants to be a hero with Iuku, wants to own an agency alongside him, wants to finish this damn suit he’s been working on even though the end seems so far out of reach. He wants all of it and then some.

He’s greedy.

But Katsuki has plans for these things, some long and with no finish line in sight, but plans nonetheless. Hard work can get him all of them. He’s certain of it. And a wish won’t change that.

But there’s one thing that maybe he wishes for. That he longs for. He feels a little dirty asking the universe to grant it to him, but it’s the one thing in his life he’s not exactly sure how to work for. One thing that he hopes, if only a little bit, would for once just naturally sway in his favor.

So he looks into green eyes with freckles and plush lips. And he wishes.

The room is only lit by the dim lamp beside the couch. “What did you wish for, Kacchan?”

He keeps his gaze locked with the other’s. “You know the rules, I can’t tell ya.”

Izuku leans closer, with a curious glint sparking in his expression. “You think it won’t come true?”

He shrugs, honestly thinks it probably won’t either way. His hands twist together in his lap.

Scarred hands set the cake aside on the coffee table without looking away. “C’mon, please tell me? I wanna know what Kacchan wants more than anything.”

He shrinks away when Izuku presses closer. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Everyone wants something,” Izuku reasons.

Izuku leans so close that Katsuki can feel the heat from his body, and his walls crack a little. He lifts his head again to look at him. He doesn’t think he can say it out loud even if he wanted to.

Surprise washes over Izuku’s expression and then something else he can’t read.

He whispers into the small space between them with an alternative, “I’m glad you came, Izuku.”

His gaze narrows but he nods. “Me too.” His fingers brush over Katsuki’s wrist, slow and gentle. “I wanna spend more birthdays with you.”

He swallows the words rising in his throat.

Me too, more than anything.

His breath is warm when he leans closer still, other hand sliding over Katsuki’s shoulder. “What do you want, Kacchan?”

He threads his fingers into the front of Izuku’s university sweatshirt and tugs him a smidge closer.

You. You. You.

Fuck he wants—no needs—Izuku more than he needs air to breathe right now. (He's pretty sure he's not getting oxygen anyway.)

Izuku moves like he can read his mind, inches closer until their chests touch as he pushes Katsuki back against the couch.

The sound that escapes from his throat is way closer to a whine than he'd like to admit, but Izuku basks in it, a smile playing on his lips. “Can I grant your wish, Kacchan?”

His voice is small, not certain that he really wants Izuku to hear it. “Please.”

He does hear him though, and it's all the confirmation he needs. Izuku closes the distance between them to press their lips together. It's soft and sweet like the icing on the forgotten cake.

It's gentle and exciting like small hands on his arm while singing happy birthday. It's like a promise to show up every year, every day no matter what happens. It's like relief to know Izuku is here with him and not anywhere else. It's comforting and safe like being enveloped in a long overdue embrace.

It's hopeful and exciting because he wants this, wants Izuku to stay close and keep being by his side. And after all these years Izuku wants to be close to him too.

It’s like coming home.

His lips move against Katsuki's like silk. They touch and brush against every inch of them like he's tracing the shape and curves and making a permanent imprint of them. Katsuki chases them when they stray too far to the corner of his mouth or when the touch becomes too featherlight, unwilling to let go of this feeling.

His heart flutters like strong beating wings in chest at the closeness and the absurdity that this is all really happening.

When Izuku moves above him, his body is pliant, just for him. He shifts to straddle Katsuki with his knees on either side of his hips and hands gripping his waist—adjusts him so they both fit. He still clings to the front of Izuku's shirt to make sure their lips stay together. He nips and pulls when he tries to separate for a moment. There’s a soft, amused huff against Katsuki's lips once he’s situated, then he licks once. Twice.

Katsuki meets him the third time with parted lips and a twisting pull at his shirt to get him closer. Like the sweetheart he is, Izuku complies, explores and tastes Katsuki like he might disappear if he doesn't do it right this second.

And he moves in closer, closer, closer.

Katsuki gasps when Izuku's hips press to his own. A piece of the puzzle he didn't really realize was missing. His heart hammers in his chest like it means to break through his ribs. It feels like a lot. Izuku covers every inch of him like waves crashing over his body in the ocean. Sparks crack on his palms without warning.

He retreats his hands from the front of Izuku top with a fearful coil in his gut, but Izuku only laughs breathily against his lips, thinks it's a lighthearted threat instead of an involuntary reaction.

He looks so good, so hot, with his eyes half lidded and a string of spit connecting their lips. From the way Izuku's eyes search his face, he thinks he must look as dazed as he feels. “Kacchan is so pretty.”

He doesn't get to voice his surprise because Izuku kisses him again like his life depends on it, tongue pressing to his and teeth biting at his lips. His hands are still held limply in the space between them. A warning to Izuku sits unsaid in his throat, so he just clenches them into fists, but he doesn't expect the drag of Izuku rolling his hips down against him, slow and purposeful.

His breath stutters and his hips buck forward to press closer. There's sparks popping in his closed palms but it feels like his whole body is going to ignite from the way his ribs creak and give into the pressure from his heart.

Beep.

Izuku's entire body freezes at the familiar notification sound for Katsuki's heart alarm. His eyes are wide in shock when he grabs the forgotten phone on the table urgently.

“Izuku.”

There's already tears brimming in green eyes as he looks at the notification. Katsuki is certain that it's a heart rate warning, which isn't really that big of a deal. At least not anymore, not like when it was imperative for him to keep his heart steady until he was fully recovered. It always freaked Izuku out though, especially when he was the one reminding Katsuki to calm down when he got too worked up.

“Hey, I'm fine.”

His fingers grip the phone tighter, not listening.

Katsuki grabs Izuku's wrist holding the phone to get his attention. “Come back, please.”

Finally green eyes lift to meet his again and it only takes a moment before relief covers his features. He looks over Katsuki’s face and then his hands, watches the rise and fall of his chest. A realization dawns on him. “I did this to you.”

He's is ready to assure him that he did nothing wrong until he catches the smirk pulling at Izuku’s lips.

“I make Kacchan’s heart race,” there’s a teasing mock to his tone.

He presses his palm to his eyes. “On second thought, you can go.”

Izuku whines, “No…” There’s a pause before he speaks a little more seriously, sincere. “What did you really wish for?”

Katsuki risks a peek at him through his fingers. “What do you mean?”

“When you blew out your candle.”

Katsuki wrinkles his nose. “You, Nerd. Where the hell have you been for the last seven minutes?”

Izuku blinks like he wasn’t expecting that. “I just didn’t think that was really… You couldn’t think of something more—I dunno.”

“It’s the only thing I don’t know how to work for.” He has to avert his gaze when he forces out the truth.

A chaste kiss presses to his lips suddenly and Izuku whispers against them, “That’s because I’m already yours. Always have been.”

His throat is too tight to form any coherent words.

“I guess that means you wasted your wish.

What an absurd thought, an awful notion to even consider.

Fingers card through Izuku’s hair and slide to the back of his neck to tug him closer into another soft kiss. “Never. I’ll keep wishing for this for the rest of my life if I have to.”

“Hm. This.” Izuku presses his lips to Katsuki’s and then to his jaw, cheek, temple, nose, peppering kisses all over his face. He only pulls back when Katsuki gets antsy and shakes his head a little to stop him.

They’re silent for a long moment, just rejoicing in each other. The warmth shared between them. All the moments, good and bad, that led to this one. The way the world seems to have spun for how ever many fucking billions of years, just so they could be together right now.

The feeling swells to something overwhelming in Katsuki. He has to say it or it’ll rip him open by force to lay the truth bare. The silence is broken, “I love you, Izuku.”

Tears finally fall from green eyes that have been shimmering in the dull light. Always such a fucking cry baby. But Katsuki’s vision blurs as Izuku cups his cheek and whispers a vow back to him, “I love you so much.” He wipes at the wet falling on Katsuki’s cheek with the back of his hand and then kisses it like he’s going to make the pain of a wound go away. “Happy birthday, Kacchan.”

He’s so happy and feels so content beneath Izuku’s gentle loving touches.

But he’s greedy.

He leans up to kiss one of Izuku’s tears away and he makes another wish on it. It’s not a birthday candle but he knows it’s at least twice as special. So he asks whatever wish granter apparently exists out there to grant him one more. Just this once.

He wishes for every birthday to feel like this for the rest of his life. To have the most special person in the world’s eyes on only him. To feel loved. To feel like coming home.

Because maybe wishes come true sometimes.

#my works #dkbk #bkdk #bkdk fic #fanfic #bakudeku #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugou #mha #oneshot #bkdk fanfic #ao3 fanfic #izuku never misses another birthday again

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