#in the reality of their situation means makes it worse

[maxdibert]

So we’re just going to ignore the emotional abuse Sirius faced at home and reduce him to a privileged ‘rebel without a cause’ acting out solely because of his family’s values? Go off, I guess?

Well, I always say it’s not the same to cry in a Ferrari as it is to cry when you can’t make ends meet, but I’ll choose not to be cynical this time and respond in good faith.

When exactly is Sirius supposed to have been abused? There’s no canonical evidence to suggest he suffered abuse as a child, and his bad relationship with his parents began only after he was sorted into Gryffindor. If we add to that the fact that he spent most of the year away from home and was one of the kings of the school while he was there, what exactly is his tragedy? That his mother was a piece of work? When he talks about his parents in OotP, he implies that his relationship with his father wasn’t particularly bad, as Orion didn’t play a significant role in the family dynamics—Walburga was the one in charge. There’s no indication that he suffered any kind of physical abuse or was deprived of anything beyond scolding and protests from his mother. In fact, they never kicked him out of the house—he chose to leave.

And he left because he had options. He had just inherited a massive fortune from his uncle Alphard and could go live with the Potters, who were loaded. And he did this at 16 years old. So, again, what’s his big tragedy? A bad relationship with his mum for four years? Four years during which he spent around 9–10 months out of 12 away from home in an environment where he was king of the world?

Sirius had Hogwarts as his refuge; he could escape his bad family dynamic. The school wasn’t just his safe space—it was his playground. On top of that, he had friends, was popular, and nobody dared to lay a finger on him. And when he chose to leave home—because he could, because he had money and a wealthy friend’s house to crash at—he went to a place where no one was going to harm him or do anything to him.

Comparing his situation to Severus’s, who was physically and emotionally abused from childhood, whose household was so destitute he didn’t even have proper clothes to wear as a kid, and who didn’t find refuge at Hogwarts but instead found a hell that was just as bad, if not worse—thanks, in large part, to Sirius—is just a complete detachment from reality.

Sirius had a safe space and an escape at Hogwarts. Severus didn’t. Sirius had friends, popularity, and wealth to fall back on. Severus had nothing. Severus couldn’t leave his abusive home because he had no financial means to support himself and no friend with millionaire parents willing to take him in.

Sirius’s issues and personal struggles don’t even amount to a fraction of what Severus endured. And this wouldn’t even be a point of contention if it weren’t for the fact that Sirius actively went out of his way to make Severus’s life miserable. That safe space Sirius had at Hogwarts? That could have been Severus’s safe space too. But it wasn’t. And it wasn’t because of Sirius.

So I’m very sorry the rich boy social justice warrior wannabe had a bad relationship with his momma, but, Kim, there are people dying out there.

[alphaketoglutaricacid]

As much as i think toshiros complicity is based in his cowardice I do kinda get why he didnt talk to tade about what he thought abt how she views her retainership. Like even if he had that conversation like what could she do other than nod and smile—the power differential between them is huge. I feel something that plays into his conflict aversion is that if he did get upset or hit someone its not like they could hit back without serious consequences. But also he’s been raised in an environment where his comfort has always been prioritized above other ppls wellbeing and he def chooses the easier route A Lot. Like the fact that instead of genuinely engaging w whats going on w izutsumi and tade he ignored all his retainers, let maizuru handle it, and went on some two year spring break dungeon crawling whatever like words cannot describe what an abdication of responsibility this was. That instead of working w his party he went off on his own w his retainers bc he just didnt want them to know he was a noble that much (granted he also didnt think laios was cut out to lead which tough but fair) like cmon man…. But i do think his fight w laios was good for him even tho it was a shitty bitch fight when they rlly shouldve been helping their party revive ppl bc he could have a conflict on equal footing w someone. His whole life hes viewed himself as someone w no power (and the ways this is false esp on the island) but i think in the dungeon he realized he genuinely has a responsibility to his retainers n his actions led to them following him into something really dangerous when they had no dog in this. But also it seems as an attempt to reciprocate, he does seem to have become very observant of other people beyond what is normal bc he doesnt speak much. Culture plays into his clash w laios but i think the fact he’s grown up being so closely observed and in turn closely observes others plays into it too. But its fun how hes always toeing the line between being a spoiled brat, being too passive bc of his own lack of agency, n also that hes genuinely intelligent and has thought a really long time about power.

I think it also gets at why marcilles plan to equalize the races by making their lifespans the same was doomed to fail and also highlights how she can only view other ppls oppression thru her own suffering—that theres always going to be differentials in power that are difficult, but you have to interact meaningfully w them rather than running from them. A simple world w easy solutions like that would be bloodless and false, no?

[nientedal]

Usually I just save stuff like this to my drafts until I calm down but you know what, fuck it, I'm done.

Any so-called leftist who refuses to recognize that our options right now are "genocide abroad, progress at home" and "genocide abroad AND genocide at home" and that there is a significant difference between those two options is cordially invited to eat shit and die. We do not have time to entertain your anti-voting hopeless nonsense. A future in which we are able to move towards less death will always be preferable to the one in which we can't, and if you smug, sneering little clowns sacrifice that future on the altar of your own self-righteousness because you're too high on your own farts to realize how far up your own ass you are, I genuinely hope you fucking drown. Specifically, I hope you drown in the blood of the people who will die all over the world as a result of your bizarre refusal to work towards a future that doesn't include ethnic cleansing.

This is the United States. We sell war, here. I don't know how so many of you are only just now figuring that out, but you better get over your shock like yesterday because we are out of fucking time. We ran out of time when Reagan took office if not long before. You think not voting will improve any of this?

Keep calling, keep writing, keep screaming. Governments everywhere are (slowly) beginning to listen. Democrats are (slowly) beginning to listen. But Republicans never will, and if they seize power again next year (which they will absolutely do their damned to attempt), everything will be so, so much worse for everyone, everywhere. The work is slow and painful and imperfect but it will only get done if we show up and do the work, so keep calling, keep writing, keep screaming-- and when the time comes, you show up and vote for the future that lets us build a better tomorrow instead of just choking to death in the steaming shitpile of today.

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

i cannot possibly understand extreme sex negativity or extreme sex positivity. like. there's no nuance the way you people do it...

[jasmancer]

god this fucking sucks.

[arolesbianism]

Yet another beautiful day to have the Maxwel tag blocked (can't see half of the posts in the Wendy tags)

[pepprs]

june 27th give it up for june 27th

[seafoam-taide]

I love love love my dear Entropy I think about her all the time I love her <33 I have to write about her she is always in my thoughts. Don't click these tags open unless you really want to read them there is . There's lots. THERE WERE TOO MANY IT KILLED SOME OF THEM. WHY DIDN'T IT TELL ME TAG LIMIT I KEPT TYPUNG !!! That's so sad and I can't even put the rest that I typed up here bc I forgot it already because my brain fucking sucks. Whatever whatever whatever rahggg beams Entropy thoughts directly into your brain you know exactly what I mean now

[administer-distractions]

.

[butchclericbeast]

Man, ill see the voting vs not voting arguments on my dash and I dont know how to explain that at this point that the chances of Biden winning the election are so grim that at this point its just a matter of preparing for the worse, and that the blame for that is not people who are disillusioned or who hit a breaking point on voting for someone carrying out a fucking genocide, but on the democrats for throwing an election that should've been the easiest fucking win on earth down the toilet by consistently abandoning and making fools of their own base. Like it's cooked!! We are arguing over nothing!! Im sorry if you're placing all your eggs on a candidate that is so shit that he's probably going to lose to a CONVICTED FELON it's not on the voters to save that situation.

And even then, like, if you did wanna save that situation it's not a matter of arguing with people on the internet its about calling and writing the dems every day being like im not voting unless you change your candidate. Im not voting unless we stop funding this genocide. Or being a part of an uncommitted vote movement like Michigan. That's a million times more productive than the vote blue no matter who bullshit. I'm sorry friends there is no voting blue no matter who-ing our way out of this and you all sound delusional still harping on that. Reality has moved far past that.

Start tapping into your local networks and engaging in ways to support your community bc things are about to get bad and the dems are not going to protect anyone.

[sadlazzle]

sometimes i rlly wanna ask my mother if she thinks my hearing is as bad as hers bc i KNOW she is not saying half the shit she does knowing i can hear every fucking word

[forhappysake]

We're Okay

A/N - Guys idk where this came from. I guess I'm just feeling emotional and inspired.

Content - After JJ admits her decade-long love for Spencer, you and your boyfriend have to have a conversation to calm both of your doubts and fears.

Warnings: spencer reid x fem!reader, season 14 spoilers, anxiety, mentions of typical BAU-level crime stuff, fluff at the end

You walked in the door slowly, cautionary even; afraid the smallest noise would bring reality crashing down on you. The car ride home had been completely silent, as neither of you bothered to turn on the radio. Spencer shuffled in behind you, the click of the lock making you wince as you did your best to avoid his gaze. You stripped off your coat, throwing it over the couch before walking straight into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind you. 

As you started the shower and stripped off your clothes, the evening’s events rushed back into your mind. Being involved in a hostage situation with an unstable unsub was one thing. JJ being held at gunpoint was worse. However, as if all that wasn’t enough, JJ admitting her decade-long hidden love for Spencer was the final nail in the coffin. As you climbed into the shower, you did your best to let the water wash away the thoughts running through your head. 

Unfortunately, your attempt was unsuccessful. As you dried off and wrapped yourself in a towel, your mind raced. You’d been dating Spencer for nearly a year and a half. The two of you had just recently moved in together. Having known him and JJ for at least half a decade, you knew they were close, but you never would have guessed this was coming. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way she did. If so, what did this mean for your relationship?

After stalling in the bathroom for so long that goosebumps dotted your freshly dried body, you mustered up the courage to slip out of the bathroom and into the bedroom that you shared with Spencer. As you walked across the hallway, you could see his silhouette sitting on the living room couch, head bent forward. You couldn’t tell if he was reading or in deep thought, but you decided that either option was better than the alternative: trying to have a conversation. 

You snuck into the bedroom, gently turning on the bedroom light and letting your eyes adjust to the warm glow of your room. You meandered to the closet, pulling out a simple t-shirt and shorts to sleep in. Slipping into your pajamas and stealing a glance at yourself in the vanity mirror, you noticed one of the many images covering the tabletop. 

A framed photograph from less than a year ago of JJ, Will, Spencer, and yourself with the boys on a weekend hiking trip. You felt a pang of guilt in your chest and wondered if Will had any idea what was going on in JJ’s head. You shook the thought away, reminding yourself that you had bigger problems of your own to deal with. You turned back to the bed, sliding under the covers and turning off the light. Despite your distress, you were exhausted and you found yourself losing track of time and drifting off to sleep in mere minutes. 

*  *  *

You awoke to the sound of the bedroom door latching shut. You rolled over, blinking your eyes open in an attempt to sneak a peak at your bedside alarm clock. You’d already been asleep for three hours and Spencer was just now coming to bed. It was well after midnight, and you knew that meant he had been up thinking about something. You figured it would be best not to push the subject after everything that had happened. 

With your eyes shut, you waited to feel the familiar sensation of Spencer climbing into bed. Instead, you felt his weight at the foot of the bed, as if he had perched himself on the end. You tried not to think much of this and did your best to fake sleep. However, it soon became apparent that Spencer was on to you. 

“I know you’re awake,” he said gently. His voice was gruff from the hours he’d spent in silence. Spencer waited before speaking again, “I think we should talk about what happened.” 

There it is, you thought. Your stomach sank as your eyes fluttered open. You rolled over to face him, leaning up on your arms. It was then you noticed that he was still in his suit. His unkempt hair fell over his eyes and you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the disheveled man in front of you. “Alright,” you relented, still refusing to meet his eyes, “what do you want to talk about?”

Spencer rolled his neck, tension evident in his movements. “I want to know how you feel about what was said earlier,” he said. For the first time in hours, you met his eyes, trying to gauge his sincerity. You found no signs of dishonesty, so you fell back on the bed, letting out a dramatic sigh. 

“I don’t know, Spencer,” you groaned. “I definitely was surprised. I definitely wasn’t thrilled.” Spencer nodded, moving some hair away from his eyes as you spoke. “But,” you started again, “it’s not like we can go back and change it now.” 

He reached an arm out, putting a hand over the covers on top of your knee. “I know,” he whispered, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

You scoffed a bit at his sincerity and his innocence, meeting his eyes once more. “And how do you feel about it?” you asked. 

Spencer bit his lip in thought. You could tell you had caught him off guard with the question, and he seemed to be calculating his response. “Can I be honest with you?” he said. 

You raised your eyebrows, the nervous feeling in your stomach intensifying. Is this where he tells you he feels the same way and leaves for good? You pushed your thoughts to the side. “Always,” you whispered.

He sighed, laying back on the bed so he was next to you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and you wanted nothing more than to curl into his warmth. You knew this wasn’t the time, so you held yourself back and held your breath, awaiting his response. 

“First, I was confused,” Spencer explained, eyes locked on the ceiling. “I haven’t thought about JJ like that in over ten years. Frankly, I never knew she thought of me that way, so I was caught off-guard.” 

So he did have a crush on her at one time, you thought. You were ready to close your eyes in defeat, to slip off the bed and out of the apartment and never come back when he cleared his throat. 

“But then,” he started once more, “I had a quick epiphany of all the moments she’d gone out of her way for me, and I could understand where she was coming from.” You turned to look at him, watching his eyes scan the ceiling as he tried to come up with his next statements. 

“And?” you asked, prompting him to continue. 

“And then,” he continued your previous statement, “I was terribly appalled.” 

Your head, which had turned to the ceiling, snapped back in his direction. You felt your eyebrows raise and your jaw drop open a bit in surprise. “Appalled?” you asked, confusion evident in your expression. 

“Appalled,” Spencer echoed, sitting up on the edge of the bed once more and looking back at you. 

“Why?” you asked. 

Spencer shook his head, looking around the room. “I’ve been thinking about that for the last couple hours, and I’ve come up with a lot of reasons,” he mused. “I know she was in a tight place, but Will deserves better than that. The boys deserve better than that. But aside from them,” he leaned over on the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours, “I couldn’t stop thinking about what you must have thought. I was so afraid of your reaction and of losing you.”

Despite your evident emotional state as tears pooled in your eyes, you tried to play it off. “Spencer, this isn’t about me,” you reminded him. 

“Yes,” he said, lying next to you, “it is.” Spencer ran a hand through his hair, pulling some curls out of his eyes. “Everyone knows how much I love you. I know how scary something like this can be. But you have to know that I have no idea where this came from and that anything JJ and I had died, on my end, long before I ever met you.” 

You glanced over at him, the sincerity in his voice had moved you to believe him. For a moment, you forgot about JJ and Will, the boys, and the implications of her words. You offered his fingers a small squeeze. “So we’re okay?” you asked in a tiny voice. 

“More than,” Spencer whispered. 

He rolled on his side to face you and you mirrored his actions. He wrapped his arms tight around your body, the textured material of his suit jacket pressed against your cheek. A gentle kiss was pressed to your forehead and you found yourself falling back into sleep. After several minutes passed, you felt Spencer’s voice rumble through his chest for a final time before he succumbed to sleep: “Ever since I met you,” he mumbled, smoothing some stray hairs away from your face, “it’s always been you.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Reader being Jason or Dick's girlfriend, who doesn't know about their double life, casually blurting out that she was never a fan of Batman and Robin or that she prefers Superman and the whole family is offended. 😭

I was tired and failed to realises that this came out a bit like a crack fic in the end but I’m sure you won’t mind…hopefully.

Jason: honestly has too much fun shit talking Bruce to you, especially when you didn’t know the man that you were shit talking as well as he did.

He just found it funny hearing you say with your full chest in front of his family that you prefer the Man of Steel over the Dark Knight.

It sends his entire family in disarray and chaos and Jason was thriving off of it immensely. He does not help the situation at all and would wholeheartedly make things worse for the sake of having something to talk about later.

Dick was borderline catatonic as Duke and Steph were trying to bring him back to reality.

Alfred excused himself from the room.

Damian was sharpening his dinner knife. Menacingly.

Meanwhile Tim was pulling up a long winded power point presentation about how statistically Batman was better than Superman. (In every possibly way, you’re just hating.)

That’s literally the title of his presentation.

‘Did he have this prepared in his free time or?’ You’d ask Jason who shrugs.

‘Let the boy have hobbies peanut, it’s not like he’s got anything better going for him right now.’ He replies, thinking that he should start coming to family dinners more if this was the end result.

Bruce might’ve looked the calmest out of everyone but internally he was cursing out Clark for stealing his future in law. He knew preferences exists and didn’t hold it against you, but currently he was in a disagreement with Clark over a recent mission and it had become a thing where the entire family didn’t dare speak or utter Clark/Superman’s name during this sensitive period.

Once Dick comes back to the land of the living, he’s practically hanging off of you screaming, ‘WHY?!’

Jason has to get involved and remove his brother off of you before he potentially scared you away from future family dinners, even though he himself barely attends any, but the moment you entered his life he wanted you to be more involved with the people in his life that cares about; whether he’d like to admit it or not.

‘They don’t hate me do they?’ You asked Jason by the end of the night, genuinely worried that his family might not like you after tonight.

Jason, noticing this, grabs your hands and grips them tightly in his and gives you a reassuring smile. ‘Babe I’m sure as shit they like you, I mean I’ve never seen them react like that before and if they didn’t like you, they would let you know immediately.’ He tells you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. ‘Besides, weren’t not a vocal bunch when it comes to our emotions. So seeing them get all up in arms over you preferring Superman and trying to persuade you into thinking otherwise was a highlight for me.’

‘Really you think so?’ You leant into him, still not fully convinced and needing his comfort more than anything.

‘Oh yeah. I’m for certain chipmunk. I think I even heard Bruce curse Clark under his breath once or twice.’ He tells you, pressing a kiss to your head as he holds you close.

‘But why? It’s not like they work with Batman, right?’ Your curious words caused Jason to stiffen and his breath to hitch as he tried to find the words before blurting out the first thing that came to his head. ‘No, they’re just…really devoted fans of Batman and Robin. So you could say that preferring Superman over them is a personal insult to them.’ He said, hoping you’d buy the lie, he genuinely didn’t want to subject you to the whole vigilantism so early on in your relationship.

Thankfully you did take the bait as you muttered into his shoulder, ‘okay, I hope they know I meant no offence but it.’ Jason let’s our a laugh, holding you closer to him as he closes his eyes to savour your bodily warmth against him. ‘I’m sure they do sweetheart, they’re the smartest people I know and they wouldn’t let something silly this affect our relationship.’ He said softly. ‘Now let’s go home and cuddle up in bed together yeah?’

‘That sounds like a great idea.’ You replied.

Dick: pouty baby.

What do you mean you don’t like Batman and Robin?! What did Superman have that he didn’t?!

For as far as Dick was concerned he has the fatter ass between him and Clark. He’s done the research.

He’s leaning all of his weight into you and says under his breath. ‘Why does my love betray me so.’ Meanwhile you’re looking at his confused as to why he’s acting as if you’ve just destroyed his lively hood with a single sentence.

Duke and Steph were patting Dick on the shoulder, sharing their sympathies with the revelation made at the dinner table.

Alfred left the room…again. First Jason’s partner, now Dick’s? What a coincidence.

Jason immeditly calls you his favourite and talks about how you and his partner -who also prefers Superman- would get along great while shit talks Batman simultaneously, almost as though he has a personal gripe with him or something.

Damian is sharpening his dinner knife…again but even more menacingly.

And Tim was back on the PowerPoint presentation where he goes into excruciating depths as to why Batman was statistically better the Superman.

The family is once again dissolved into chaos and Bruce was sat at the head of the table, calm, cool and collected but internally cursing Clark out once again for stealing another potential future in law.

(Clark has sneezed approximately twice at this rate and was taking every test to make sure he wasn’t coming down with anything serious)

After all was said and done and you were getting ready for bed, you asked the question that had been on your mind the entire night; ‘Your family doesn’t hate me, do they?’

Dick chuckled as he held you against his chest. ‘No, they love you enough to almost start a war over the fact that you like Superman over Batman and they’re not exactly the most in tune with their emotions. So seeing them react the way that they did? Only proves that they do like you cutie.’ He says as he gives you a peck on the lips.

You pouted. ‘But why does it feel like I just attached their lively hoods? It’s not like they know Batman or Robin personally or work with them in any capacity.’

Dick froze, he -much like Jason- didn’t want to subject you with the whole vigilante thing just yet, he didn’t want to scare you off so soon into the relationship in fear of scaring you away forever. ‘Devoted fans act like that whenever you tell them that you don’t like the same person as them.’ Dick replied, rubbing his hand up and down your back. ‘It’s an issue that should be regulated and or addressed at least.’

You hummed in agreement. ‘Well besides that, I like yours family, they all look like great people to know that have your back when you’re in a tough situation.’ You say as you kissed the side of his neck, nuzzling your face into his shoulder, feeling sleepy.

‘They really are.’ Dick replied softly. ‘They really are.’

[peachesofteal]

Fix You

John Price/female reader 11k words - AO3 - story is set in Through Me (The Flood) but is an AU and can be read as a standalone. Tags: 18+ major character death, heavy angst, loss of a loved one. Grief. Overconsumption of alcohol. Explicit sexual content. Emotional hurt/comfort. Complicated feelings. Angry sex. Caretaking. Trauma. Tenderness. Reader is a widow.

John Price knocks on your door in the late afternoon.

When the doorbell rings, you slip the baby into her bouncer and rub Orion’s hair affectionately at the table where he’s scribbling away with some crayons.

You’re not expecting anyone, but you guess it could be Cami. Though she usually just waltzes through the front door after using her key.

But it’s not.

It’s John.

You’re silent in front of him, eyes wide. He’s holding a bag, a black duffel, still dressed for work, for battle, face pinched in despair. Your heart lurches. “What is it?” He peeks over your shoulder to where the kids are, preoccupied, happy.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“No,” you tell him sharply. “No, I- what is it? Where is he? How bad is it?” His eyes soften, and he whispers your name. You barely notice when he reaches over to close the front door, too busy cycling through every worse case scenario. He eyes the chairs on the porch.

“Let’s sit down.”

“No.” You’re going to be sick. “Just tell me. Say it.” There’s a long moment where your life plays out in front of you. The stretch of before, and after. John takes a deep breath.

“He’s gone.” Gone. Gone as in, missing? Gone as in, on a different mission? What does gone mean? Your confusion must be blatant, because he reaches for your shoulder. “He’s dead. I’m so sorry.” You jerk away and laugh. That’s all you can do. Laugh. Laugh at the absurdity. Simon's not dead. He can't be. That makes no sense.

“No, he’s not, he can’t be. I literally just talked to him, like three days ago. He said you guys were wrapping up, that you were done.” He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, he’s-“

“Stop. Don’t- don’t say that. He’s coming home. You’re all supposed to be home next week, he promised, he-“ Your mind is fighting something your heart already knows. “It’s not true.”

“We ran into a situation, there was-“

“Stop!” You back away, bumping into the railing. You’re shivering, sobbing, unable to catch your breath.

“C’mon,” he says gently, trying to guide you towards the chair, but you don’t budge. You can’t. If you don’t move from this spot, you don’t have to accept it. If you don’t move from this spot, you don’t have to move forward. You don’t have to live a life without him. You don’t have to walk inside and tell your son his father is dead. Your daughter won’t have to grow up without ever knowing him.

“Please.” Your voice cracks, and you stare up at him. “Please, it’s a mistake, it must be. It has to be. He can’t- He promised, he promised.”

“I know.” You shake your head.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I couldn’t save him, I-“ His voice breaks, and then you do, sobbing so loud you’re sure it can be heard over the hills. A scream is building up inside you, burning and itching to get out, and he tugs you forward, cradles a hand around the back of your head and pushes your nose to his chest.

When it finally breaks free, it echoes directly over John’s heart.

You’ll never understand how people can say funeral services are beautiful.

They’re not.

They’re agonizing. Devastating. The last screw in the finality of your new reality.

It’s only you, the kids and his team. That’s all he had.

“You’re everything mama. I love you so much.”

Orion’s barely old enough to understand. He asks when he’ll see his dad again, and your answer is traumatizing for your child, at best. Daddy’s not coming home, you tell him. Daddy’s going somewhere else now, somewhere better.

He’s dead.

You black out during the entire thing. There are words being said, by a priest, by Johnny, by John, flowers being thrown. Cami stands at your side, holding your daughter, the child who will grow up never knowing her father. Barely five months old. Occasionally you look over at her, blissfully asleep, and you feel envy. Envy of your own child, who will never know this loss. Who will never feel the pain of losing Simon Riley.

Someone asks you if you want to do the honors of dumping the first shovelful of dirt onto his coffin.

You laugh out loud.

What a ridiculous custom.

Johnny and Kyle exchange a look of concern, you ignore them. You know what they think.

“Let’s get you home.” John’s eyes linger on your face, their sapphire and gunmetal shine holding you captive for a second as you grapple with what he’s said. If you were more present, more aware in this moment, you’d probably say they were akin to the palest hydrangeas, the color of the shrubs growing in your own front yard.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, you’re not in any state at all, you’re just here, standing at the edge of the cemetery, staring at a mound of fresh dirt.

The dirt covering your husband.

Orion hugs your legs, trying to force his way between your knees. You’ve long tuned out the sound of his wails, unable to give him more, give him anything except your relentless grief.

You should be stronger, for them. Should handle this better.

There are a lot of things you should have done. Should have told him you loved him more. Should have been the one to hold his hand as he died. Should have made sure he wasn’t scared and alone at the end.

The gaping wound in your heart tears wider, and your knees buckle.

John wraps his arm around your shoulders, steadying you, shifting your weight into him, keeping you upright. Cami watches, gaze glossed over with tears, baby in her arms. Your baby. You and Simon’s baby. Orion cries louder.

“I can’t do this.” You whisper, to no one, to the wind-

But it’s John who answers. “You can.”

There are voices in the kitchen.

It’s late now, long after sunset, the day you buried your husband almost over. More and more of him slips away. You get farther and farther away from the last time you saw him, spoke to him, heard his voice with every second.

It aches, so you close your eyes instead and tuck the blanket under your chin, curled up with your nose in the couch cushion.

The kids are asleep. You’re hoping you’ll follow. Soon.

“-want us to stay?” It’s Kyle. He’s trying to keep his voice down but you’re only in the other room, on the couch, staring at the wall.

“No,” John assures him. “You guys go home. I’ll be here.”

“You sure? The kids… if she’s not feeling up to it, or needs help…” Cami’s voice is wet, still heavy with sadness.

“I’m here. I promised him.” There’s a long pause, and he clears his throat. “I’ve got her.”

You can’t dwell on them for too long, exhaustion of the day finally dragging you down, slowing your breathing and cutting off your consciousness, giving you a reprieve from the grief by sealing you away from it in your sleep.

“Mama?” Orion’s little voice calls for you in the dark, and you jerk awake. The baby is crying. Someone is knocking on the door.

“Hey little man,” your throat is raw, your voice not your own. His little eyebrows crease together.

He looks so much like him.

You glance around. You’re no longer on the couch but tucked away in bed, slippers placed neatly on the carpet, phone plugged into the charger. Odd, considering you fell asleep on the couch.

“You hungry?” He nods as you sit up and wipe the sleep from your eyes. “Alright, let’s have breakfast then. What do you think sounds good?”

“Waffles?” “Okay. Go wash up while I go get Nix.” And figure out who’s at the door.

“John.” His hands are in his pockets, beanie folded up on his forehead, and you don’t miss the way he evaluates you, crying, wriggling baby in your arms, still in your pajamas, Orion hollering about breakfast in the background.

“I wanted to come by and check on you guys.” Right. Of course. Come check on the widow. What if she can’t get herself out of bed? What if she’s too sad to take care of her kids? He grimaces and clears his throat. “You’re uh… you’re wet.” He inclines his head towards Nix, who is mouthing at your chest over your t-shirt. Shit.

“Oh, crap. Uh, come in. We were about to have breakfast. Well, not just about. Ry wanted waffles and I was about to start them,” you’re babbling down the hall, glancing at Orion in his booster seat at the counter, banging around a bowl and spoon like a little king waiting impatiently for his meal.

“’cle John!” He claps, and John smiles.

“I’ll start them for you while…” He trails off and you smile awkwardly.

“Thanks.”

Phoenix is an easy baby. She latches easily, eats easily, goes down to sleep easily. She’s a breeze compared to Orion at this age.

Small blessings, you guess.

Simon said it was you earned it, after Ry. You deserved it.

What did you do to deserve this?

“Mama sad.” Orion whispers, his mournful little voice the first thing you hear when you shuffle out of your room. Nix went down after a change and a burp. Easy.

“She misses your daddy,” John answers, “like us.”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip so hard it stings at the sound of his voice, dejected, depressed, palm finding the wall to stay upright.

The world tilts, falling out beneath you. For a second, you can see him. Standing on the other side of the counter, black sweatpants low on his hips, pouring some milk in Orion’s little orange cup, Nix cradled against him, stretched across his forearm. Simon laughs, licks his finger, and rubs something off the corner of Orion’s mouth.

You want to scream.

It’s a memory. Nothing else.

“.. okay?” John’s standing in front of you, head tilted, cupping your elbow. “You alright?” You raise your eyebrows, and he rolls his lips inward. “Sorry, course. You just… you looked a little sickly there for a minute.”

“Mama!” Orion yells, rocking back and forth to see you on either side of where John blocks the hallway. “Waffles!” You slide your hands down your shirt, Simon’s shirt.

“You made waffles?”

“Pre-mixed batter isn’t so hard. The lad was hungry.” Guilt simmers in the pit of your stomach, pinches your cheeks inward. “Hey, it’s okay. He was fine, jus’ a little impatient.” You nod, and he jerks his head back to the kitchen. “C’mon, I made you some too. And there’s fresh coffee.”

“Did you put me in bed last night?” You’re wiping down the countertop, some movie enrapturing your toddler in the background. He hesitates, and then nods.

“You were falling off the couch. Didn’t want you to brain yourself on the coffee table.” Your fingers curl around the mug, still warm to the touch, shoulders bunching beneath your ears before you forcibly relax them.

“Well, thanks.” I guess. An uncomfortable silence settles between you, questions evaporating on the tip of your tongue.

“I was going to head into town today for some groceries, can I get you anything?”

“Formula.” You blurt. “I can’t… we’ll need formula.” You don’t want to explain to him how it’s too much now, to breastfeed. How you won’t be able to handle it on top of everything else. How you think your milk will probably dry up anyway, bowing and breaking with the waves of your despair.

“What are you thinking about for dinner?” He scratches at the underside of his chin. The beard is overgrown, something you haven’t seen on him in a while, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

He’s grieving too. You know it.

You just can’t find it in you to care.

Something is weighing on John. Something is tied around his ankles, tethered to the sea floor, waiting to drag him beneath the surface. You see it. There’s guilt in the lines of his face, tension between his brows.

You wonder if there is blood on his hands.

“Why are you here, John?” You don’t intend to ask, but the words have a mind of their own and slip free.

“Wanted to stop by.” His voice is tight, rough like yours this morning. “Check in, see if you needed anything.” There are a million things you want to say, but words fail you. You don’t know how to tell him he should just leave, because nothing will ever be okay. You’ll always need something.

Simon.

Your husband.

The father of your kids. The man whose shirts are hung up in the closet. His paperback book still sitting open on his nightstand. His toothbrush still in the cup by the sink.

The agony you’ve managed to lock away for a few brief moments breaks free again, and you clap your hand over your mouth to muffle the heaving sob. John looks past you to where Orion still sits in front of the screen, mesmerized, and then takes you by the elbow to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, settling on the closed lid of the toilet, still choking on the lump in the back of your throat. “I told you, I can’t do this, I can’t. I can’t be without him, I don’t know how to be without him, I can’t-“

“Hey,” He’s crouched down, evening the height difference, looking at you with an expression so serious it quells your spiral for a fleeting moment. “You can do this. You have two beautiful kids who need you to do it for ‘em.” He hands you a square of toilet paper, and you wipe your nose.

“I want him back, John, I- I need him back.” You tuck your hands between your thighs, suddenly freezing, cold from the inside out.

“I know,” he murmurs gently, “I know you do.”

“There’s a lasagna in the fridge. Cami left it last night.” He’s tugging on his jacket, your handwritten grocery list from the fridge tucked in his pocket.

“Oh.” She’s texted you multiple times today, and all have gone unanswered. You don’t know what to say. “That was nice of her.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours after I take care of a few things and do the grocery run. You’ll be alright?” He’s treating you like glass. Like you’re a bomb primed to explode, big red letters counting down to an inevitable explosion. You manage to nod.

“Yeah.” The smile you give him is painfully fake, and you know he clocks it. “I’m going to hang out with the kids. Cuddle on the couch.” His smile is more genuine, but small.

“I’ll help you with dinner later.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” He turns to leave, but you call his name before he hits the door.

“John?” His eyes meet yours. Blue. Crystalline like the sapphire on your finger. You clear your throat. “Thank you.”

He nods.

John finds you catatonic on the couch one morning. Nix in her day crib, the one that’s a permanent fixture in the living room, and Orion perched in front of an old Disney movie for the hundredth time this week.

You’re failing. Failing your kids, failing as a mother, failing to keep yourself patched together.

You thought you’d be stronger if it ever happened. You promised him you would be, but the promises have turned meaningless, your integrity torn to pieces.

You can’t remember the last time you showered or brushed your teeth. You’re sure you smell.

At least the kids are clean. Dressed. Fed. You’re not a complete disaster, you guess.

Still, when John appears in your line of sight, brows knitted together with worry, you’re caught off guard.

“Oh.” You blink, his frown deepens.

“I was calling your name. Were you somewhere else sweet?” Sweet.

“Sorry, I was… lost in thought.” He takes you in from head to toe, you in all your grimy glory.

“How about you take a break?” Irritation ignites, and you grit your teeth.

“I’m fine,” you snap. “I don’t need help.” His arms cross his chest.

“It’s not a request. You’ve been wearing those sweatpants for four days. Get up, and get in the shower, or I’ll put you in myself.”

“Fuck off.” You hiss, and his eyes widen, surprised. How many people have surprised John Price? Close to none, you imagine.

“That’s enough.” He hauls you off the couch by your forearms just as Orion glances your way, little brain no doubt trying to understand the situation. “Be right back, bud.” John soothes him, and you seethe at how easily your son, Simon’s, nods and returns to his movie.

He’s gentle somehow, dragging you to the bathroom, but still forceful as he holds you by the elbow and reaches into the shower to turn the tap on.

The little fight that was inside you is gone. You wilt. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to the floor, fingers knotted together.

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” You’re sniffling, crying for the hundredth time in the last few days, and he rubs your upper arm.

“Nothing is going to be okay for a while,” he murmurs, “forever, even. But you’re not alone, okay?”

“Okay.”

The rest of the week goes too fast. You’re getting farther and farther away from it, from the moments when Simon was still alive in this world, when he still existed.

Desperate to slow it down, you don’t sleep. You sit in the kitchen and scroll through your phone, replaying the same videos over and over again, tears dripping down your cheeks. Grief is an emotion, but it’s a physical ailment too. It rots in your stomach and starves you. It aches between your ribs, so viscerally it’s like there is a knife twisted there, scraping against your bones, sawing between your muscle.

You take care of the kids in a daze. Feed and change Nix on autopilot. You give in to Orion’s every wish without a second thought, and he has waffles every morning. Chicken nuggets every night. Ice cream sundaes with too much chocolate syrup and a mountain of whipped cream. As much screen time as his little heart desires. You let him sleep in your bed, curled up in your arms, his little fist clinging to the neck of whichever shirt of Simon’s you’re wearing.

He can’t sleep in his own. He wakes up crying.

Cami comes over and stocks your fridge and freezer. She refills your tea canister. She vacuums the entire house. She feeds and changes the baby. You watch, listlessly, and when she’s finished, she squeezes your hand with a promise to be over again in a few days. You don’t have the words to thank her, so you don’t try. You want to believe she knows anyway.

John is the steady presence. He’s here, doing the dishes, making sure the three of you are eating, helping with the kids. He watches you shrewdly, careful.

A ticking time bomb.

One he’s afraid to set off.

It doesn’t matter how much they try to lessen the burden of living. How much they try to support you. They can’t change anything. They can’t stem the bleeding of your broken heart.

Seven days after Simon’s funeral, you crack the bottle, the one you had shipped from the states, stupid expensive Kentucky bourbon, caramel colored gasoline.

The baby is asleep. Orion is exhausted from his day with Gaz and Cami.

You’re alone on the front porch, curled up in a blanket, the hood of Simon’s sweatshirt pulled over your head. The only light you have is the green glow of the baby monitor. Otherwise, it’s just you, the moon, and the stars.

The hoodie still smells like him. So do the pillows. His t-shirts. His side of the closet. It’s a blessing. It’s agony.

You drink directly from the bottle, though you should use a glass. Simon would chastise you for not using a glass. He would tell you to sniff it from the rim of a tumbler, and then laugh when your nose wrinkled.

You should use a glass, but you don’t. It’s easier to take big sips this way.

Truck tires crunch on gravel, and then the broad figure of John Price stands at the foot of the porch. “Hey.” You raise the bottle, expecting him to laugh. He doesn’t. The stairs creak beneath his feet.

“What do you have there?”

“Bourbon.”

“Kentucky?”

“The one and only.” You take another swig, baring your teeth when it burns. You shake it. “Want some?”

“Think you’ve had enough for both of us.” Ass. You bristle, anger boiling in your blood, but you’re too drunk to stay on track and unleash it.

“Why are you here?” It’s the same question you asked earlier this week, but you still don’t understand. He holds your gaze for a long time. The only thing you find there is devastation.

“I promised him.”

“You promised him what?” He rubs the back of his neck.

“This isn’t a good time for this conversation, let’s go inside-“ You don’t budge. You can’t.

“You promised him what, John.”

“I was there,” his voice is hoarse, and there’s a heaviness to it, an agony the two of you share. “And he knew. He knew we wouldn’t get him back in time, no matter how fast we landed a bird.” You can’t see, vision blotted out by your tears. You want to put your hands over your ears. You want to know everything single thing. The two sides battle, and your cheeks grow wet like your face is upturned in a downpour. “He made me promise to take care of you. To take care of the kids. Grabbed me by the front of my vest and asked me to swear. So I did. I swore. I swore and I’m not going back on my word to him. I never will.”

“You were with him.” You’re not sure you want to know, but you have to. You have to know every piece of him, even this. Even the end.

“Yes. I was with him at the end. He wasn’t alone.” You clutch the bottle against your chest, so tight you’re afraid it might break, shatter the glass into your fingers. It would hurt less than this.

“Was he scared?”

“No. He was only thinking about you. You and the kids. He wanted to make sure you were going to be okay, that was all he cared about. He dug the pocket square out of his vest and held it over his heart.” The sob breaks free and destroys the dam holding everything together. Your body shakes with it, the ugly noises coming from within you, the pain of losing the love of your life.

“You were supposed to keep him safe.” Your voice raises, the alcohol tainting your ability to be rational or stay quiet.

“I know-“

“Mama?” You jolt, turning to ice, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. John swears under his breath.

“Orion,” you croak. He’s stricken, holding his sippy cup, wide eyes focused on your face. “It’s okay, everything’s okay.” You try to reassure him, but his panic only increases, and you fail in the moment, unable to offer him comfort. John steps between the two of you and crouches.

“Hey bud.” He points at the sippy cup. “Need some milk in there?” Your son nods, trying to peek around him to see you. “How about,” John scoops him up, “we get you some more milk and get you back in bed okay?”

“I want mama.” His voice trembles. You feel sick and close your eyes, but the next thing you know there are little arms wrapping around your neck in a hug, your boy’s hair under your nose. You look up at John, his eyes red and his face tormented.

“Say goodnight and she’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

“I love you, little man,” you kiss him once, twice, before rubbing his back. “Let Uncle John get you some milk and put you back to bed, okay? I’ll be in soon.” Their voices disappear down the hall, and you twist the cap on the bottle.

Down the hatch.

“He looks like him.” Orion is rolling around in the living room, playing with his magnatiles while Nix is on her back, feet in the air, kicking at the play arch. John hums, stroking a hand over his beard. He’s finally trimmed, looking more like himself and less like a mountain man.

It’s a strange feeling, to see him and notice it looks better. Good, even.

“He does.”

“Guess we’re lucky, in that way. Having these little pieces of him.” Orion has his eyes, his shoulders too. They have the same smile, even some of the same mannerisms, and it hurts so much to think about how it will fade over time, how Orion will no longer be able to mimic his father. John steers your mind away.

“Can I help you with dinner?” “No, I’m okay. But… if you want to stay, you can.” He should, but you don’t say it out loud. You don’t admit to him or even yourself that you’ve become reliant on him, his consistency, the steadfast force in your lives.  Weeks have passed, and he hasn’t given up, no matter how hard you fight and fall apart. No matter how destructive you, the maelstrom at the center of your family’s life.  

“We all lost-“

“You didn’t lose anything!” You’re screaming, finger jabbed in his chest, pushing him backward. He lets you. He doesn’t flinch. “He was mine! He was mine, not yours. He was ours. Our son’s. Our daughter’s. He belonged to us.” You’re barely breathing, suffocating underneath your grief, fingers going numb. He reaches, but you step away, swaying on your feet. You whimper. “F-fuck.”

“Come here.” It’s not a request, not the gentle coaxing you’re used to from him. It’s a command from a captain. When you don’t, he strikes, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into his chest, hand at the back of your neck. “Breathe.” He rocks you side to side slowly, head down, rumble in his diaphragm soothing against your ear. “C’mon, you can do it. Big breaths.”

“I can’t.” It’s the same thing you’ve been saying over and over again. You can’t do it, you can’t do this, you can’t you can’t you can’t you-

“Yes, you can, you can. Try. I’m right here, I won’t let you fail. I promise.”

“John said you needed a break.”

“John doesn’t make decisions for me.” You snap, and Cami winces, triggering a tidal wave of guilt. “I’m sorry Cam. I… I’m having a hard time.” She rubs your shoulder.

“I know. It’s okay. You’re not going to offend me or push me away. I just want to help.” You sigh. “Let me take them for the night. You can catch up on some trash tv. Read a book. Take a bath.” She whittles you down, and you finally concede.

Except being alone is bad for you. It’s bad for your mind. It’s bad for your heart.

Hours later, John finds you in a pile of Simon’s clothes. You’re curled up, nose buried in cotton, skin swollen under your eyes. “Oh, sweet.”

“Go away.” You don’t even lift your head.

“No.”

“I don’t want you here.”  

“That may be but I’m not leaving you here by yourself like this.” There’s an empty bottle of wine buried in this pile somewhere, and he plucks it free by the neck. “Didn’t save any for me?” It’s supposed to be a joke. It falls flat.

“I didn’t want… I didn’t want to have to think.” “I know.” He pulls you into a sitting position, palm cupping your cheek. “It’s okay.”

“I can help,” he motions to the kitchen. “I know how good you are with rice.” His smile turns mischievous, bright blue irises sparkling in the low afternoon sun, and you glower.

“I’m not that bad.”

The sink gets clogged one afternoon.

You try to diagnose it yourself, scrolling through google results on how to DIY it, try standing on your own. You’ll have to get used to it; you guess. Being a widow and all.

The attempts last about thirty minutes. Just in time for your front door to swing open, little feet hauling down the hallway, your son breathless and excited to tell you all about his trip to the park with John and Gaz. John follows right behind, trying to remind him about Phoenix’s naptime.

He pulls up short at the sight of you next to the sink, a pile of tools in the bowl.

“I uh… it’s clogged.” His lips twitch into a half smile. “I tried to fix it; I thought I should try. You know since…” You still have a wrench in your hand, but Orion is tugging at your shirt.

“Here,” he takes the wrench, touch casual as two fingers of his wrap around yours. It’s innocent. It’s nothing. But here he is, fixing your problems. Selflessly again, helping you out.

You’re not sure where you’d be right now if he wasn’t around-

At the thought, guilt so violent almost makes you double over.

Cami and Gaz host a spaghetti dinner, and you leave the house for the first time in weeks, months even. Time is a thief.

There’s laughter coming from the living room when you open the door, Orion sprinting from your side to where his uncles and aunt are hanging out. When you cross the threshold, Nix cooing in your arms and a loaf of banana bread in your free hand, the voices screech to a stop.

“Hi.” Your enthusiasm is lacking, but you’re trying. You really are, even though this is all you can give. Cami smiles excitedly as John stands and crosses the room.

“Let me help you with that.” He grabs the bread, warm hand briefly settling in the middle of your back before it disappears, taking the baby bag off your shoulder. You breathe him in, cigar smoke and pine. It’s calming, somehow. Familiar. “You okay?” He knows how hard this is. Knows how you tossed the decision back and forth, unsure, uncomfortable. You did it for Orion, in the end. You can’t deprive him of his community, so you nod silently.

Cami pulls you into her arms, putting her finger in Nix’s fist and pressing her cheek to yours. “I’m so glad you came.” You manage a weak smile.

“Me too, I… it’s good to see you. And everyone. Ry was really excited.” You look past her to where Soap has him in his arms, moaning and groaning about how they’re nearly the same size.

You take a deep breath.

You can do this.

They tiptoe around you all night. It should bother you, but it doesn’t. You’re not ready for anything else. For stories, for meaningful conversation. Everyone keeps it light. They veer away from work. They treat you with kid gloves.

It’s fine, but it’s exhausting, trying to keep yourself under control. Trying to quiet the ringing in your ears, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

You almost manage it. But then someone slips up.

“- an’ that piece o’ shite. Simon was so pissed; I thought he was going to rearrange his face before he let him go.” Gaz laughs, you freeze. “He won in the end though, didn’t he? Always did, until-“

“Soap.” John cuts, and the table goes dead silent, as if they forgot. There’s a warm hand on your knee, but it’s not enough. Cami is shaking her head, blinking at him in horror, and Gaz glares. You stare down at a pile of peas.

“’m sorry,” Johnny whispers, stricken. “’m so sorry. I miss ‘im too, it helps… to talk about ‘im, ye know? I-“

“That’s enough.” John’s command is scathing.

You throw a quick excuse me over your shoulder as you make your way to the bathroom by the kitchen.

You try to breathe deep, but the oxygen doesn’t come as fast as you need it. You’re falling down the dern, despair filled hole that plagues your every waking hour. The reality you try to shove away, the fact that you’re here and he’s not.

Knuckles rap against the door. You undo the lock to come face to face with John, who steps inside and closes it behind him. You keep your gaze fixed on the floor, chest heaving. “Shhh,” he murmurs, pulling you close, “it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry.” He wipes the tears from your cheeks, tipping your face up.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Soap is oblivious sometimes.”

“It’s not up to me to tell people how to grieve.” He wraps you in a hug.

“It’s not, but he should treat you with respect.” You nod, drifting, trying to burn the words from your brain. You’re holding onto him. Clutching at his shirt, and he rubs a hand up and down your spine. It’s good. Warm, and comforting. You sink deeper, let him hold you, seeking solace. The strength you find in John.

You rest your cheek against his chest. “I’m so tired. I want to go home.” You whisper, and he smooths a hand over the back of your head.

“Okay. I’ll take you.” There’s another knock on the door, and you grimace.

It’s Cami. She has the baby on her hip, tears in her eyes. “I’m so-“

“It’s okay. Really. I’m just tired.” You’re lying, but you don’t have the heart to tell her the truth. She knows anyway. You never should have come. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“I figured. I packed some food to go, and Gaz has Orion at the door.” Your best friend, always so kind, so thoughtful.

“Thanks, Cami. I love you.”

“I love you too. Text me when you get home, okay?” She passes Nix into your arms, following her with a hug, and you press your face to her shoulder before pulling away.

“I will.”

It’s been three days since the dinner, despondency settling back into your routine like it never left.

The kids help, John too. They keep you focused. They keep you alive.

“An’ cookie!” John smiles. It’s the lips quirked to the side one, the gleam in his eye one, combined with his standard issue work hair and beard, thick cable knit sweater stretched across the firm weight of his shoulders. It’s navy. Complements his eyes.

A flicker of heat burns in your stomach, between your legs, taking you by surprise.

You’re staring. You’re staring and he looks away from Orion, meeting your eyes, a question forming in them until you clear your throat and glance away, focusing on the baby in your arms and the last of her bottle before trying to get Orion prepared for the end of his night.

“Come on little man, finish your dessert so we can get your pajamas on.”

“U’cle John help me.” His arms cross against his chest, and you give him a reproachful look.

“What do we say when we want to ask someone to help?”

“Please.”

“Yes, please. Good job.”

“Please ‘cle John?” John glances your way, hesitant, and you shrug.

“Sure, bud. Once you’re finished.”

The kitchen gets the final wipe down when John slinks out of Orion’s room, clicking the door shut softly behind him.

“Nix go down?”

“Easily. She’s never fussy. Sleeps like a dream. Thanks for helping with him.” There is a glass on the coffee table, and a bottle of wine. You meant to have some earlier but got distracted. “I was going to have a glass of wine and watch something, want to stay and hang out for a bit?” You love your kids, but only having a baby and a toddler to talk to all the time can get old fast, no matter how much you love them.

His fingers brush yours when he takes the second glass from your hand, and you swallow. Your throat is suddenly dry, and you shiver.

The movie is two hours long, but forty-five minutes and two glasses of wine in, your head starts to feel heavy, and your eyelids grow lazy.

“- want to go to bed?”

“No,” you sigh. Your head is quiet, and you’re curled up against something warm, drifting in the sweet space between sleep and waking, low volume of the tv murmuring in the background. “Gonna stay here.” The blanket is tucked around your shoulders, and you snuggle deeper, sagging into the cushions. You’re almost there, just on the cusp when you jerk. “Baby monitor.” You mumble, and a whisper traces an arc from your temple to jawline, touch so featherlight it’s hard to know if it was ever there at all.

“Sleep, dove. I’ll be here.”

“We were going to have another baby you know. He wanted another one so badly. Kept trying to knock me up every time he was home.” The ice rattles in your glass, and you cast a long look at the half empty bottle between the two chairs you’re in on the porch.

“He told me.”

“He did?”

“Mmm. Kept talkin’ about how you turned him into a caveman all the time.” You laugh. It’s real. A real laugh, something unbidden, releasing from your chest. John raises his eyebrows, and smiles.

“That’s how it was. He was always like that.” The stars are really bright tonight. They have been, ever since you buried him. You’re not sure if there’s less light pollution lately or if you’re just paying attention more. Sometimes you want to believe it’s something else entirely. If it’s a piece of him making them glow for you. Lighting up your sky. Wrapping you in a blanket of midnights, little collections of constellations in his arms. “They’re named after the stars, you know. The babies.”

“I know.” He sips his whiskey. “Orion the giant hunter, son of Poseidon, and Phoenix, rising from ash to be reborn.”

“Yeah.” You’re crying, again, and you wipe the tears away as quickly as you can.

“They’re beautiful names.” You don’t answer. There’s nothing to say, so the two of you sit there, side by side on the porch in silence until you break it.

“I’m angry at him. I’m so mad, he broke his promises. He broke all his promises and left me here. He left me.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose. He loved you so much.” You twist the ring on your left finger. It’s looser now, your inability to stomach most things starting to show. You wouldn’t have even noticed, or cared, unless John said something. ‘I promised I’d take care of you. That includes not letting you turn into a beanstalk.’

“He didn’t keep his promise.” There is the crux of it. All the promises made, only one kept. ‘Til death. Except he’s gone, and you’re still here.

Turning into a ghost.

“Can you hang out with the kids for a little bit tonight?” His brow pulls together, pinching in the middle, lines of his forehead wrinkling just bit, just enough to remind you of his age.

“Sure, everything okay?” Your eyes find your feet.

“I want to go to the cemetery.” His mouth opens, and whatever was going to come out of it disappears with his nod.

“Alright.”

You’re sick.

That’s the only way you can explain this, laying here on top of the plot, bottle of Kentucky bourbon in your hand. You’ve dumped some on the ground at the base of his stone, a toast of some kind, a sad, hopeless connection sitting one sided.

This is a special kind of agony. It’s the kind that wears you down. It makes you ill. It has you wishing you could dig up his coffin and crawl inside it. Sick. Rotting from the inside out.

“John’s kept his promise to you,” you manage another large swig, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “He’s always around. Helps with the kids a lot. Keeps us afloat. I guess he takes his pledges pretty seriously.” Another swig. This one leaks from the side of your lips. “I hate you, you know that? If you weren’t dead, I’d kill you myself. You weren’t supposed to leave us here. You were always supposed to come home. You promised.” You dig into the earth, dirt and grass compacting under your fingernails.

The night is dark and starless.

Figures.

You’d do anything to change this. Anything. You can’t carry it. You can’t bear it. It’s too heavy. Too much. For one moment, you’d like to not feel it, to not know the crushing weight of your grief. It follows your every waking minute. It follows you in your dreams.

When people die, there are always these fantastical stories floating around about their loved ones seeing a bird, or a cloud, or a rainbow. Some overwhelmingly positive sign leading them to believe the deceased is at peace.

It’s all bullshit.

There are no signs. There is no peace.

There’s only you, and the dead man you love in the ground.

It’s late when you make it home.

You probably shouldn’t have driven. It’s a short ride to and from the little graveyard on the hill, but you’re ashamed to have done it.

You know better.

“Didn’t hear you come in.” Your keys clang against the counter, forgotten as you turn to face him. The lie gives you pause. He knew you had come in. Simon never missed the sing of a door hinge, the latch of a window. You know they operate. How they function.

Still, you let it go. You don’t have the mental capacity to call him out.

He’s closer than you expected. Close enough you can smell him. It’s always the same, cigars and pine. Fresh needles fallen on the forest floor. He reminds you of it too in a way. The woods. Something about him, the way he fits into his sweater, the rough heels of his hands, like he’s felled a thousand trees and could go for a thousand more.

He’s got amber gold on the rocks in his hand, more whiskey. The ice has diluted it a bit, a thin watery film sitting on the bottom of the glass. You wrap your fingers around the rim and tip it to your lips. It burns. The clock ticks, the two of you breathe in and out. In and out.

“I can’t carry this.” You blurt, setting the glass down a little too hard. “I know you think I can… but I can’t. I’m drowning.”

“No one expects you to right now…” He’s talking, reassuring, supporting you, but there’s nothing except for his eyes. They’re the color of the ocean, the one you swam in the weekend Simon put the ring on your finger.

Your ears are ringing. Your blood is hot, the alcohol rewiring your brain until it conjures wild ideas about an escape. Maybe you don’t have to carry it, for a minute. Maybe you can close your eyes and share it with someone. Share it with him. Just for a minute.

“John.” You whisper, still focused on his eyes.

“What is it?” You twist your fingers in his sweater, dirt from under your fingernails getting caught in the wool, and he tenses, confused. “Hey, maybe-“ No maybes. You swing onto your toes and drag him downward, pressing your mouth to his in a rush. He grunts, but the kiss lingers until he pulls away. “You’re drunk.”

“Yes.” You can’t place the look he gives you, mind too far gone. If you were sober, you’d say it was significant. He cups your cheek.

“Let’s sit down and-“

“No. John. Please. Help me carry it. Please.” Electricity crackles in the air, his hand sliding to your neck where he holds it firm with two fingers.

“We can’t. Shouldn’t. It’s just the grief, it’s-“

“Please.” You raise yourself back onto your toes, and though he’s dead still, he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t stop you as you kiss the corner of his mouth, beard brushing against your chin, and he doesn’t stop you when you find his lips again, parting your own, holding onto his shoulders.

He groans, hands drifting to your hips and digging into them, gripping you so tight, a pendulum swinging, pushing you away, pulling you back, until he gives in.

You’re kissing captain Price, for fucks sake. Your husband’s boss, his friend. One of the most important men in his life.

The betrayal burns.

This is wrong. So wrong, but there’s a wild piece of you that wants it. Likes it. The pieces that have taken solace in John have now turned to something else, something stronger, more vibrant.

It’s wrong. So wrong.

But in this moment, there’s nothing else but you and him and this decision. There’s no room for the other things that plague you.

It’s rough. You’re rough. He’s rough. You pin him against the kitchen counter, fumbling with his belt and zipper, sandpapered pads of his thumbs under your shirt and rolling over your nipples. You’re clumsy, disorientated, only saved when he spins you around and folds you over the cool surface. “Alright.” He murmurs like it’s just now kicked in what you’re doing, what’s happening in this moment, this sacrilege now staining you both. He kicks your feet wide, and rips your leggings to your ankles, tracing a line back up your thigh to shove his hand inside your panties and through your folds to push his finger inside you.

“Ah, John-” You hiss, arching your back, greedy for more, desperate for something, waiting and wanting, willingly going with him as he drags you to the floor, pushes you to your knees and bends you over, too big hand between your shoulder blades.  

He fills you in a single stroke and you cry out, slapping a palm over your mouth to cover your scream, stifling the moans that follow. It’s a stretch, one that burns, too much and too soon, but this isn’t meant to be slow. It’s not a treasure, a sentimental unfolding of passion. It’s grief. It’s loss. It’s nothing like love. “Christ.” He grits, pinching your ass. “You’re bloody tight, sweet.” You can’t respond, your free hand digs against the hard wood, scrambling for something to hold onto as he shoves his cock against your cervix. You’re going to come unreasonably fast, already clamping down around him, tightening with the curl of your toes. “Be nice and quiet for me now, angel.” He pulls you up by your chest, mouth hot at your ear as he reaches for your clit, pinching the swollen nub and then smacking it with an open palm, your shriek barely muffled by your hand. He’s speaking, but you’re not quite catching it, too distracted by the blinding light on the outside of your vision, sparks blooming into fireworks. “Oh dove, you’re coming,” his mouth is on your cheek, kissing, nipping, and you turn to steel, vibrating with the strength of your orgasm, pathetic whines ghosting over his neck as your head tips back. He coos, brushes a hand over your forehead. It’s comforting, sick comfort for a sick girl. “Good girl, Shh, I know, I know it’s a lot.” The peak crashes, and you twitch, pulsing around him, fingernails digging into his forearm.

He comes all over you. Puts you back on all fours and curses under his breath, holding you steady, gripping your ass cheek so hard it will be tender tomorrow. The ocean rushes in your ears and you start to drift away, post orgasm, post fuck, sweaty and sated as he paints you.

“Fuck honey-“

I’ve got a lot of cum for you, honey

Tell daddy what you’re doing, honey

Can’t get over how good you taste, honey

Feel how bad I want to be inside you, honey?

The tip of the knife jams between your ribs. It penetrates your heart. It shreds organ and bone until the injury is so catastrophic, the only fix is death.

The noise you make is more animal than human.

Honey, honey, honey-

You flinch and crawl away panicked. He’s calling your name but you’re deaf to it, drowning in Simon’s voice.

Simon, your husband, who was the last man inside you. Simon who called you honey, and sweetheart, and mama. Simon, who’s body is cold in the ground. Who’s ring is on your finger.

Honey, honey, honey-

You stumble to your feet and make it to the sink just before the whiskey and bourbon comes shooting out of your mouth.

Sick.

“Promise me-“

“Shut up Simon. That’s an order.” He’s got her embroidered pocket square in his fingers, stained in blood, crimson dotting out the constellations. The radio crackles, but it only confirms what they both know.

Simon has minutes. They need at least twenty.

He shakes his head. John presses harder on his abdomen, pointedly ignoring the river of red spilling out beneath his palms. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much human bodies bleed. It’s not like he’s usually sticking around to watch.

“John.” Simon’s free hand latches onto the strap of John’s vest and jerks it roughly, pulling him closer. “You swear to me, right now. Do it.”

“I won’t. There’s still time. Stop talking, you need the oxygen.” His lips crack into a smile, gaze already starting to fall away, and then snaps to, refocusing.

“Tell her I love her. And that I’m sorry.”

“You’ll tell her yourself, Lieutenant.” He shakes his head, fist tightening over that little square, dragging to his heart, the organ beneath the vest that’s beating too slowly.

“John. Swear it. Promise me you’ll take care of her. You’ll take care of them.” There’s blood trickling down his jaw now, flowing from his lips. “She’s strong, but it’s gonna be hard. She’ll need you. The kids will need you. Nix is only a baby, she can’t-“ he coughs, shudders, and then his brow furrows with determination. “They can’t grow up without a dad.” John’s stomach, already an open pit, now rips into a black hole.

“You’re their dad, Simon. You are.” His voice cracks.

“Swear.”

“No.”

“Swear to me!” Simon shouts in his face, blood spraying on his cheeks. Gaz is yelling at them from twenty-five yards away, but it doesn’t matter. There’s not enough time.

They stare at each for seconds that are really eternity. They’ve been together in this hell, in this job, for so long. Suffered and slogged and killed together for so long. Simon isn’t just his team member, he’s a part of his life.

A rabid fucking dog brutalized and beaten down, now a husband, a father, a leader in his own right.

John pushes away the memory of the day he met Orion. The pride on Simon’s face. The pure joy.

He would never deny him.

They hold on to each other’s forearms. It’s goodbye.

“I swear it, Simon. I will take care of them. I promise. On my life.”

“And you’ll tell her I love her.”

“I will.”

He should have stopped you.

Looking back, it’s hard to believe it happened, but it’s not hard to remember. Not hard to remember how you felt, scorching velvet plush around his cock, not hard to remember the sounds you make when you come, how your pussy twitches. Not hard to remember how beautiful you were in his arms, shaking and crying, holding tight to him as he fucked you as deep as he could.

And it’s hard to forget the horror on your face. The way you crawled away like a wounded animal. The hoarse sobbing that came after the vomit in the sink. The way your knees gave out. The way you told him to get the fuck out.

Help me carry it.

It’s survivor’s guilt. It must be. Or trauma bonding. He’s been here for you, for the kids. He’s held you and wiped your tears and scooped you off the floor.

Because it’s his duty.

Right?

He can’t deny there’s something wrong with him, though. There’s something wrong with the way he barked at Soap during dinner, something wrong with the way he let you curl up beside him with your head on his stomach the night you fell asleep on the couch. He just sat there, stroked your cheek, rested his hand on his shoulder.

The guilt builds. It’s compounding, and fueling the anger, the rage directed at himself.

How dare he? How dare he betray Simon like this? How dare he try to take something that’s never been his?

He walks it like a tightrope. It’s his duty. It’s a betrayal.

Duty. Deceit. Duty. Betrayal. An oath. A line crossed, again and again.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do except crush and pulverize this thing trying to bloom. He rips out it by the roots.

Though he knows as well as any, determined things always find a way.

You don’t even look at him, and it gets under his skin. It feels wrong. Everything is wrong.

“Orion is almost ready.” You say over your shoulder, already moving away from him and down the hall, running but you’re not being chased. He’s supposed to take the lad fishing today. Orion has been looking forward to it all week, and you, quite frankly, don’t have the energy.

He catches you by the elbow and you jerk away, lips pressed together and eyes down. “Look at me.” You shake your head, glisten of tears catching in the early morning light streaming through the windows. He says your name, as softly as he can manage, and you tremble.

“I can’t do this right now.”

“Do what? Talk to me?” He’s pushing, and maybe he shouldn’t.

“Yes.” You hiss, venom twisting your face into a mask he’s never seen before. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to talk about what we did.” Your voice cracks on the last word, and it hurts in a way he didn’t expect. He wants to agree. He wants to wipe your face and tug you into his chest. He wants to bury the guilt ripping through him and turn around. Walk out the door.

He’ll do none of it. He’s a man of his word, above all else.

“When you’re ready then.” He nods as if it’s nonnegotiable, and then saved from a rebuttal when Orion runs full speed from his room. You turn on your heel and storm away.

Fine.

He’s at your door the next night for dinner.

You stand in the frame, arms crossed, anger etched into your face. “I don’t need your help tonight.”

“You going to make me a liar then?” He snaps, patience thin. The anger dissipates, and it’s replaced by that same despondent, dead look in your eyes that’s been making him sick since the day he came to the door. “Make me go back on my word to him?”

“John.” You whisper his name with shaking hands.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” There’s acid on the tip of his tongue. It’s stringent, bitter like the soap his mum washed his mouth out with. He doesn’t know why, but it stings. You look up at him, eyes so wide, so sad, so lost, he has to hold himself back from dragging you into his arms. “It didn’t mean anything, dove. It was just us. Just between us. Just grief.”

“Just grief.” You parrot, tears dripping from the corners of your eyes and down your temples. He brushes them away, and you surprise him by leaning into it. You smile weakly. “We’re having pasta bake.”

A few days later, and there are loads of laundry on your couch when he walks in. You throw him a desperate look, piles separated into toddler clothes, baby clothes and your own. They’re mountains, nearly at your chest when standing.

“Get a little behind?”

“I’ve been a little tired, I guess.”

“Can I help?” “Sure, want to fold onesies?” You laugh a little bit, enough to crack your lips into a small smile. He likes it. Likes your smile. It reminds him of the one you used to give Simon, the way it would break across your face, sunshine in a patch of clouds. He’d nuzzle your cheek, your neck, holding Orion on his hip with one arm, and you with another.

He stills, holding a small yellow piece of clothing.

Your husband. Simon was your husband.

And he’s the interloper.

Swear to me-

I swear it-

I will take care of them.

His ears ring with the bells of remorse, the song of at the beginning of a procession.

“John? You alright?” He’s been staring at you this entire time, but not seeing you, just seeing the past, seeing Simon, seeing everything that came before these moments where he’s being torn in two. He nods, not trusting his voice, his words.

“Will you be here for dinner tonight?” He usually is. It kills two birds with one stone. He makes sure you’re functioning; he makes sure you’re eating. It’s never been a question of you caring for the kids. The worry has been about you caring for yourself.

He can’t stomach sitting down for a meal with you and Orion today, so he lies. “I have to get home and get some work done.” You’re surprised, and then disappointed. He sees it so clearly and chooses not to dwell on it.

He can’t stay. He needs to work this out of his system.

You’re sad tonight.

Some days are really bad days, and then some of them are awful, like these. The ones where you move from bed to the couch, feeding and changing and dressing the kids on autopilot. He calls them your sad days, because he doesn’t want to call it what it is. Depressed days, despair days, you’ve given up days.

Some of the days are better, but these are the worst. It gets ugly at night, when the anxiety and fear becomes too much, when the loss crashes down too quickly.

The house is quiet, and you’re curled up in the middle of the bed under a heap of blankets, staring at the wall. You don’t acknowledge him when he opens the door or slips inside, you say nothing when he sits on the side of the bed. He lays a hand on your shoulder. You don’t react.

“Did you eat today?”

“A little.” He strokes your cheek, backs of his fingers gliding over soft skin, trying to rouse you a bit more, and you sigh.

“Kids go down alright?”

“Fine. Orion is upset he can’t sleep in our,” your face twists, “my bed anymore. But I placated him with too much ice cream.” You manage a smile then, and he matches it.

“That’s good. Nothing he won’t do for some chocolate yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is small. “John?”

“What is it?”

“Do you think it will ever go away?” He smooths some baby hairs back from your forehead.

“I don’t know, angel. Eventually it will hurt less, I imagine. But the loss will always be there.” Your cheeks glisten in the dark, sliver of light shining through the crack in the door from the hallway.

“I’m glad you were with him.” He bites the inside of his cheek so hard he bleeds.

“I am too.” Your fingers curl around his.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” The ache in his heart is back, doubling the beat, blood churning all the way to his toes. “Will you stay?” He shouldn’t, but he folds himself alongside where you’re under the blankets and tucks your head into his neck.

“Yes, dove. I’ll stay.”

The next time it happens is filled with rage.

You’re a wild animal, a wolf starved, teeth bared and snapping, claws out.

But you beg him for it. You plead. You demand.

It’s just us. Just grief. Take it from me. Why should I be the only one carrying this?

It’s wrong as he takes you on the bathroom floor, cold tile under his knees, warmth of your thighs bracketed at his waist. You dig your nails into his back hard enough to break skin, and he pins them back, his forehead knocked against yours, sharing breath. Sharing grief.

He breaks you down eventually, pushing his cock so deep you wail, holding you firm with a hand on your hip. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to betray him, doesn’t want to take his place in a home that could never be his.

Still. He can’t stop. He can’t help himself. He lives for your cries, the way you tighten around him when you come, how your eyes turn into bright stars at your peak.

It angers him. He’s always been a man of control.

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes, fuck, t’s not… it’s just-“ He snatches your jaw, and you look away.

“Look at me sweet. Look at me and tell this is just grief.” You can’t. You don’t. Instead, he shoves his hand between your legs and rubs your clit until you come.

When it’s over, you cry.

“Is this it?”  He stares at Simon’s headstone. “Is this what you meant? Is this what I promised you?” Dead men don’t answer to anyone, ghosts don’t provide explanations. John replays those last moments in his mind, burning Simon’s face into his memory so he never forgets, so he never gets confused. He’s in another man’s place, a father and a husband’s place. 

It’s been days since he’s seen you. Cami visits in his stead, which is good for you, better. You need a friend now, not him. Not whatever this is. Not whatever he’s done to you or vice versa.

He claps a hand on top of the stone, the same way he’d do it to Simon’s shoulder.

“I promised on my life, but I didn’t promise this.”

You haven’t seen or heard from John in nearly a month.

It didn’t bother you at first since they were gone for work, but when Gaz opened the front door to greet you two weeks ago, you were surprised.

They’re back and he didn’t reach out.

Why? 

You miss him. It’s a shameful revelation, and a surprising one.

So much for the mourning widow.

“Mama, i’cream?” Orion is huddled between your legs, tugging on your jeans while you bounce Phoenix, trying to get her to settle before bed.

“No ice cream tonight baby.” His eyes well with tears, and the guilt hits you. Be strong. Don’t give in, you’re spoiling him too much.

“Let’s go get in bed and I’ll read to you, okay?”

“No! I’cream!” Your face crumples.

“Orion, please. I already said no. Now can you help mama and go get in your bed?” He flings his hands at your thighs, little face twisted up with rage.

Normally, you’re well equipped for the tantrums. It’s part of having a toddler, but tonight, it’s breaking your back. Wearing you down. You’re about to walk away, create some space, take a deep breath when the doorbell rings.

Literally saved by the bell.

Orion’s already running down the hall, bouncing on his toes as you open the door to see John on the other side. Weary. Weathered. “U’cle John!”

“Hey, bud.” He locks eyes with you, standing on the threshold, meeting your eyes unflinchingly. “Need some help?” You swallow.

“Come in, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Your mouth is on his, or his on yours, you’re not sure how it started. All you know is his arms are warm, and strong, and a safety net at the bottom of your life now, waiting outstretched for when you lose your balance on the tightrope.

“I know.” He does that thing where he cradles your face, stares into your eyes like he’s seeing an entire universe, one he’s never been to, a planet undiscovered, stars recently born and exploded across a night sky. “I know sweet, but- I can’t-“ It’s why he stayed away, he confessed earlier. Why he disappeared. It wasn’t fair, he knew that.

The guilt is crushing him. It’s crushing you.

“What’re we doing then?” It’s not right, whatever this is.

But his body pressed against yours, his arms holding you tight, it’s impossible to run from. Hard to hide.

It’s not just grief anymore. A hydra with a head cut off, two more born again from the wound. It's a flower blooming in a forest of ash, life finding a through the gash of a wildfire. A small, tiny, flame, desperate to burn.

“Just kiss me,” you breathe, mouths now millimeters away from one another. His chest heaves beneath your fingertips. “Just kiss me, John.”

“Daddy.” Orion pats his hand on the stone, little fingers digging into the engraving.

Husband. Father.

Your thumb finds the sapphire, rubbing the stone it in practiced circles, and Phoenix coos beside you, half buried beneath the wool of John’s jacket. “Ready to go home, little man?” You’re crouched behind him, holding him, kissing his cheek. This is a weekly tradition, the visit, and even in the dead of winter when it’s too cold for the kids, you never miss it.

Your commitment never wavers, your gold band a mirror to the one buried beneath your feet, an eternal tie to your husband.

‘Til Death.

You will never not be Simon’s wife, the mother of his children, his moon. You will never marry again. You will never have another child.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for a sunrise, a dawn, a new promise. An oath to John, though never formal or official in the eyes of the law, but true all the same.

The sun. The stars. The moon.

“Alright, we ready?” You press another kiss to your son’s face before scooping him up, taking one last look before nuzzling Orion’s face. “See you next week, Si.”

John lingers for a moment, a hand curled over the stone, fingers flexing into a squeeze. His eyes are distant, a world away, tangled up in the past for a long moment.

“Hey,” you call softly, extending a hand. “let’s go home.”

[mylight-png]

You know how I know that the anti-Israel hate is deeply rooted in antisemitism, and not just "social justice" or whatever people are calling it right now?

Let me tell you a common situation I encounter:

So, being a college student away from home, I don't have a car here. This means that if I ever need to go anywhere, I need to get an Uber or Lyft or something along those lines.

I always tuck in my Bring Them Home tag, magen david, turn my "am Yisrael chai" pin to the inside of my clothes, etc. I hate doing it, but I have heard of violently antisemitic drivers, and I'd rather not risk it, considering I'm alone in the car with them.

Every time, I call my mom. It makes me safer to have someone on call. And every time, she makes the same two recommendations.

The first is to put in an address of a neighboring house for pickup, because the house I live in has my landlord's car out front, and his car has stickers in Hebrew on it.

The second is, if asked where I'm from, to say Russia. I don't get asked where I'm "really from" unless I'm with my parents usually (they both have strong accents). But it's a warning my mom repeats every time anyway. The choice of Russia isn't random, I was raised fluent and can back up the claim if need be with random knowledge. But I have never been to Russia, except for the airport once to catch a connecting flight to Israel. I was, however, born in Israel, and I've been there multiple times (unfortunately not since 2014 though). So to say I'm from Russia is a lie, and to say I'm from Israel is the truth.

Both are countries at war. Russia, unlike Israel, actually started the war. Unlike Israel, Russia actually does have a history of colonialism, genocide, imperialism, and worse.

So why is it safer for me to lie about being from an aggressor country than to tell the truth about being from a country caught in a war it didn't want?

Antisemitism. Anti-Russian hate crimes globally didn't spike, Russian women haven't been raped as "justice" for Ukraine. Russian businesses weren't commonly vandalized simply for being from Russia. Meanwhile, all of these things were done to Jews as a result of a war Israel did not start.

If this global response to the war wasn't antisemitism it would be equally safe or unsafe for me to give either answer.

But in reality, it's safer for me to lie about being from Russia than to tell the truth about being from Israel.

That's how I know it's antisemitism.

[kookiewithluv]

ASHES OF A PROMISE

• TITLE: ASHES OF A PROMISE

• PAIRING: Lycan king!Jungkook x Werewolf!Reader

•WORD COUNT: 15.3k

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

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

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

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

•a/n: Hey, everyone! How’s it going? I hope you’re all having a blast! So, here we are—Chapter 1 is finally up, and let me just say, it’s a masterpiece of disappointment! Honestly, I think I might hate it even more than the prologue, which is saying something because that was basically my attempt at literary self-sabotage. I’m pretty sure you’ll read this and wonder if I’ve lost my mind—or my talent, if I ever had any. But hey, if you end up hating it, I totally understand; I’ll just be over here, crying in a corner and contemplating my life choices. So, enjoy this train wreck of a chapter… or don’t, because either way, I’ll be doing the same!

PROLOGUE MASTERLIST 02

CHAPTER 1: THE MATE'S LAMENT

You pressed a trembling hand against your chest, the ache inside sharper than any wound. What did this mean? What had you done to deserve this crushing weight?

The thought pierced through you like a knife, and a ragged sob tore from your throat, scraping the walls raw as it escaped. Your whole body shook with the force of it. How could someone so beautiful be so cruel? How?

Maybe you didn’t deserve any of it. Any of the love.

Your spiral was interrupted by the soft creak of the door. Startled, you lifted your tear-blurred eyes just as a small figure stepped inside. Her footsteps faltered as soon as she saw you, eyes wide and doe-like, her breath catching in her chest. One hand gripped the doorknob, knuckles white, while the other clenched into a tight fist at her side. She hesitated, before she finally let go of the door, letting it close with a soft click.

"Luna," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

She took a step toward you, then another, her deamnour unsure, almost hesitant, as if the space between you and her was filled with something fragile, something that might shatter if she came too close. Her small frame seemed to shrink even more as she neared, her shoulders hunched as if the weight of the moment was too much to bear. In three careful steps, she stood in front of you, shifting her weight from one foot to the other like she wanted to leave but couldn’t. Her fingers nervously twisted the fabric of her sleeves, her gaze flickering to your tear-streaked face, then away, unable to hold it for too long.

"Hi," she started again, her voice hesitant, as if unsure of what to say, what to hold back. You could see the confusion in her eyes, flickering across her face as she tried to make sense of her own presence here. She didn’t look like a maid or servant, nothing about her carried that air. Her gaze flitted around the room, nervously taking in everything but you—never you, not for longer than a fleeting second.

"His Majesty mentioned you were injured... and insisted someone should tend to you immediately?" Her words came out like a question, not a statement. Her eyes finally, really, landed on you, sweeping over your body as if searching for visible wounds. But you said nothing, offering her no comfort or explanation. You could see her stiffen, her shoulders drawing up, tension coiling through her body. Her fingers twitched at her sides, clenching and unclenching. Was it anxiety? Or was she angry? You couldn’t tell. Angry at you? Angry at the situation?

She stood there, rigid and uncomfortable, like she was trying to hold back a storm raging inside her.

"You don’t... you don’t look physically hurt," she said at last, her voice faltering despite the firmness she was trying to inject into it. Her tone was small, unsure, like she was afraid of overstepping.

"I’m not," you replied, finally breaking the silence. She let out a soft, breathy exhale, her lips parting slightly in relief. For a moment, the tension seemed to leave her body, but only briefly. Her hands still shook as she moved closer, taking a seat beside you on the bed. She tried to appear composed, confident even, but her worried eyes betrayed her. They darted over your face, as if searching for something she didn’t quite understand.

Her posture was straighter now, but her fingers were knotted together in her lap, betraying her own emotions, she was feeling. She was doing her best to stay in control, but the way her hands trembled gave her away.

You didn’t understand what had her so on edge, not fully. Maybe deep down, you knew, but you didn’t want to acknowledge it. You could feel it—the pull. You were her Luna, and her wolf was bound to you, connected in a way she couldn’t resist. She was loyal to the core, and now that you were hurting, her wolf could feel it all. It was written in the way her breath hitched, in the tightening of her jaw, in the way her hands trembled despite her outward composure.

Even if you didn’t know her exact role within the pack, you could tell she was someone important. The weight of the connection was pressing down on her, forcing her to share the burden of emotions that weren’t her own. She had no choice in the matter—her wolf was loyal, whether she wanted it or not. And here she was, sitting beside you, a silent, anxious witness to the pain you carried inside.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her left hand landing on your shoulder with a slow, soothing touch. But the question felt hollow to you—meaningless. Even she knew the answer. It was as if she didn’t want to hear the truth, didn’t want to face it. She wanted the lie. She wanted you to say you were fine, that everything was manageable. But you couldn’t.

“No,” the word slipped from your lips in a breathy whisper, unplanned, unwelcome. It was already out before you could pull it back, and the floodgates opened. “I’m not.” You shook your head slightly, your voice cracking as you turned to her, eyes wide and raw. “Nothing’s okay. Nothing!” The confession ripped out of you, trembling and desperate, like a wound finally exposed.

She didn’t hesitate. She pulled you into her arms, wrapping them tightly around you, holding you like she could shield you from everything that had broken you. Her embrace was warm, her hands gentle as they pressed against your back, but it still didn’t reach the cold emptiness inside. You were like a traveler lost in a winter storm, seeking shelter but finding nothing, standing on an endless, frozen street with nowhere to go. The comfort she offered felt distant, as if you were too far gone to feel it.

"It will be okay," she murmured into your hair, but you knew better. You weren’t naïve. You had seen the truth—felt it. How could it ever be okay when the weight of everything had already crushed you? There was no hope, only more pain ahead. You could feel it in your bones, in the ache that refused to let go.

“I am sure of it,” she continued, pulling back slightly to look at you, her hands gently wiping the tears from your face. Her touch was tender, but her words stung. “You’re his mate, Luna. He’ll come around. You just have to hold on. Don’t cry, please. My wolf… she’s going crazy.”

Her voice broke, and you realized it wasn’t just her trying to comfort you—it was her wolf, the pull of the bond making her feel everything you were going through. Her desperation was palpable. At least she was here, trying, when the one person who should have been with you had left you to cry alone.

You nodded, your head bobbing violently, avoiding her eyes. You didn’t have the strength to argue, not now. You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, the sleeve of your white dress smudging black as your mascara mixed with the salty wetness. But the tears wouldn’t stop. They just kept coming, rolling down your cheeks as if they had a life of their own, and you were powerless to hold them back.

“Come, let’s go.” She stood up, brushing her hands nervously over the front of her gown, before turning to look back at you. Her soft, innocent eyes locked onto your face, but you didn’t move. You just stared up at her, perplexed and still too disoriented to understand.

“What happened, Luna?” Her voice was gentle, almost coaxing.

“Go where?” you asked, blinking slowly, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Oh… to your room,” she said, her voice wavering with uncertainty. Her fingers twisted around the edge of her sleeve as she spoke. “His Majesty told me to prepare it for you.” She hesitated, watching for your reaction, her gaze flickering from your face to the floor, as if unsure whether she should continue. “He chose it himself,” she added, more hesitant now, her words hanging awkwardly in the air.

The statement only deepened your confusion, and your brow furrowed. You had known he wouldn’t let you stay with him in his room—that much had been clear. But why did he bring you here in the first place? What was the point of it all?

“Then why did he bring me here?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, your voice sharper than you intended. It was absurd, the way he had toyed with your heart, made you feel vulnerable, only to discard you like you were nothing. What was he thinking?

The girl fidgeted, her hands wringing together nervously. “I fear only His Majesty holds the answer to that, my Luna,” she whispered, casting her gaze down, avoiding your eyes, as if she could feel the weight of your frustration, your confusion.

“But why not here?” you asked, your voice soft but insistent, as your instincts clawed to keep you rooted in this room. His scent still lingered, that familiar mix of ocean water and coconut, wrapping around you like a lifeline. It was strange, undeniably so, but to you, it felt like home. Your body refused to let go of what little remained of him here, as if holding onto it might somehow ease the ache in your chest.

The girl shifted on her feet, her eyes wide as she struggled to find the right words. “Luna, this is the royal chamber,” she began, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides.

You frowned, glancing around the room. “Isn’t the whole palace royal?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion. You finally rose to your feet, taking in the grand space around you. It was beautiful—majestic, even. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but admire it. A part of you loved this room, wanted to stay here just a little longer.

“That’s true,” she admitted, her voice hesitant. “But…” She trailed off, biting her lip as if weighing whether she should continue. You looked at her, curiosity sparking in your eyes, though the confusion still lingered. “This chamber… it’s reserved for the king and queen. They stay here after the mating ceremony with the pack. It’s tradition.”

She was speaking quickly now, as if nervous about how much she was revealing. Her feet shuffled anxiously beneath her, her gaze darting from you to the door. “What tradition?” you asked, stepping toward her, your voice edged with frustration.

She hesitated, wringing her hands before finally speaking again. “The first time the king brings his mate here, it’s only to…” She paused, glancing up at you, clearly uneasy. “To mate. If they don’t, they must wait for two full moons before… before they can try again.”

“Huh?” The word fell from your lips, flat and disbelieving. It made no sense—if this room held such significance, why would he have brought you here only to leave you feeling like you didn’t matter? You stared at her, trying to piece together what was happening, but the more you thought about it, the less it made sense.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair as the weight of it all pressed down on you. Nothing about this felt right, and yet here you were, standing in the middle of a hall staring at a room that wasn’t meant for you—not yet, at least.

“Luna, please walk ahead,” she urged softly, a hint of panic creeping into her voice. “If His Majesty finds out you were walking behind me, he will have my head. And… well, my mate being the royal general probably won’t help much in this case.”

You blinked in realization, your mind connecting the dots. Her mate… Neil. The royal general. You remembered their story well—how it had caused an uproar just a few months ago. She was an omega, and he was a powerful, high-ranking general. It was unheard of, taboo even, for someone of his rank to mate with someone so low in status. But Neil had fought for her, tooth and nail, defying tradition for the love of his mate.

Back then, when you heard about their story, it had filled you with hope. You had dreamed of a love like that—someone who would fight for you, who would stand by your side no matter what. But now, you weren’t so sure. You had the king himself as your mate, but did you really have him? You had everything… and yet, nothing.

As you nodded at her request, you moved forward through the empty halls, your feet heavy with each step. The silence between you both felt oppressive, weighed down by unspoken questions. One question above all lingered in your mind, echoing with every step: Why did he bring me here?

Everything had seemed fine at first. But as soon as you reached the royal chamber, something had shifted in Jungkook. His whole demeanor changed—cold, distant, like he didn’t want you at all.

Your thoughts churned as you walked, your hands brushing against the fabric of your dress, your fingers absently tracing the delicate embroidery. You remembered the way his jaw had tightened, how his eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite place—anger? Fear? Disgust?

“Luna, here we are,” Patricia announced softly, her voice warm and welcoming as she opened the door to your room. It wasn’t as grand as the royal chamber, but it had a certain charm. The crimson walls immediately caught your attention, the color soothing and familiar—it was a shade you loved.

Patricia stood by the doorway, a hopeful glint in her eyes. “Do you like it, Luna?” she asked, her voice bright, almost chirping with excitement. She clasped her hands in front of her, shifting slightly from foot to foot, clearly eager for your approval.

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you glanced around the room. “Yes,” you replied, your gaze settling on a vase in the corner. Its intricate design and deep red flowers seemed to echo the mood of the room. “It’s lovely.” You turned back to her, your smile softening, but something felt off. “Thank you…” You trailed off, realizing you didn’t know her name, despite spending so much time with her.

She giggled, the sound light and carefree, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You can call me Patricia,” she said, her tone almost teasing.

“Patricia…” you repeated softly. She smiled wider, pleased with your response.

“Well, Luna,” she said, stepping back toward the door, “I’ll leave you now. You should rest.” Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, as if she wanted to say more but thought better of it. She turned to leave, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Are you heading back to the gathering?” you asked, your voice catching just slightly as you remembered the night’s events.

Patricia paused, glancing over her shoulder. “No, it’s over.”

“Over?” you frowned. “But wasn’t it important?”

She shrugged, her tone light, dismissive. “Not really.”

Her casual response left you with more questions than answers, but before you could say anything else, Patricia moved toward the door, and the only sound that escaped your lips was a quiet, “Oh.”

Patricia’s voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the moment. “Please excuse me, Luna. My mate must be waiting for me,” she said gently, her voice tinged with warmth as she spoke of her mate.

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and watched her leave, the soft click of the door sealing you in the quiet room. Alone.

You slowly made your way to the bed, your body heavy with exhaustion. Just as you were about to lie down, you paused, realizing you didn’t have anything comfortable to wear for the night. The realization hit you like a dull thud in your chest—Patricia had taken care of everything, yet this one detail, your clothes, had been forgotten.

You let out a long, tired breath, shoulders slumping as you gave in. "What could I have done, anyway?" you muttered to yourself. There wasn’t much choice left now. You flopped onto the bed, the mattress soft beneath your weight, cradling your tired body.

The room was bathed in a soft silver glow, the moonlight filtering through the open window. Its light danced gently on the floor, casting a peaceful glow over the room as you reached over to turn off the switch. The curtains fluttered, brushing softly against the windowsill, swaying with the rhythm of the cold night breeze. Each gust sent a shiver through the room, a subtle reminder of the world outside, yet it felt so far from where you lay.

You stared out of the window, eyes tracing the outline of the moon hanging bright in the dark sky. It was beautiful, breathtaking even, but your mind was elsewhere. Too much had happened in the past few hours, too many changes for you to grasp. Your life had flipped upside down in the blink of an eye, and you still didn’t know if it was for better or worse.

Your chest tightened with the weight of everything—the uncertainty, the confusion, the aching loneliness that sat heavy inside you like a stone. The whirlwind of thoughts swirled in your mind, twisting and turning, never settling long enough for you to catch your breath.

You didn’t even realize when your eyelids began to droop, when the tiredness finally pulled you under. Your last thought, tangled and blurry, was of him—of the cold distance between you, of the things left unsaid. And then, sleep claimed you, taking you away from the chaos, if only for a little while.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

“Luna,” a soft, melodic voice broke through the fog of your deep sleep, coaxing you gently. You stirred, rolling to your side, trying to escape the harsh sunlight now streaming through the windows and landing directly on your face.

“Luna, wake up,” the voice came again, more insistent. You groaned, forcing your eyes open, blinking against the light. Patricia was standing beside your bed, crouched slightly, shielding you from the sun with her body. Her lips curved into a smile when she saw you stirring, and she backed away as you groggily sat up, rubbing your eyes.

The groan in your throat grew louder as you tried to shake off the heavy weight of sleep, your body protesting. "What time is it?" you muttered, rubbing at your face, a wide yawn slipping out before you could stop it.

“Seven,” Patricia replied, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion as a giggle escaped her. She didn’t seem to understand why you were asking.

“Seven?” you repeated, eyes widening. “It’s so early!” you whined, dragging out the words as you slumped back against the headboard.

Patricia’s eyes went wide in shock, her mouth hanging open as if you had said something utterly ridiculous. “What?” she nearly yelled, making you flinch. Realizing she’d startled you, she quickly apologized. “You must be teasing me,” she said, her voice softer now, though still filled with disbelief.

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “Why would I do that? Why are you so shocked?” you asked, slowly crawling out of bed, stretching your stiff limbs as you yawned again.

“Luna, it’s past seven, actually,” Patricia said, her tone matter-of-fact as she crossed her arms. “Everyone here wakes up at four!”

Your mouth fell open, and you froze mid-stretch. “Four?” you repeated, staring at her as if she had just said something in another language. "You're joking, right?"

She shook her head, her eyes wide with sincerity, clearly baffled by your reaction. You stood there, at a loss for words, trying to process the absurdity of it all. Four in the morning? That was barely even night!

“Why?” was all you could manage to ask, your mind racing with disbelief. You wanted to scream, “What the hell do you guys do at four in the morning?”

“It’s just how it is here,” Patricia replied, her voice calm now, though her eyes were still fixed on you with a hint of curiosity, as if trying to understand your reaction. “Just bath and get ready. His Majesty wants to meet you.”

“Me?” You pointed incredulously at yourself, your index finger hovering in the air as disbelief washed over you. Why would he want to see you, especially after everything that had happened last night? A cold sensation crept through your bones, traveling up your spine. You took a shaky breath as your wolf stirred at the back of your mind, sensing the mere thought of your mate. She hadn’t spoken to you since last night, and you had been too wrapped up in grief to even consider reaching out.

“Yes. I also brought you some clothes.” Patricia gestured to the edge of the bed, where a beautiful red satin dress lay. You nodded silently, trying to calm the swirl of emotions in your chest. As you took two hesitant steps toward the bathroom, you froze, suddenly unsure.

Patricia seemed to read your thoughts. She pointed to a door on the left side of the room, and you nodded gratefully, giving her a small smile before darting inside.

The bathroom was nothing short of breathtaking, with marble tiles and a large shower that seemed to beckon you. You didn’t have time to admire it, though. You quickly turned on the shower, letting the water warm up as you glanced at your reflection. Your heart raced, knowing you needed to hurry.

As the water cascaded over you, you joked aloud, “If I bathe any faster, I might just become a fish!” You scrubbed yourself quickly, wishing you had more time to enjoy the luxury, but the thought of Jungkook waiting propelled you forward. “Okay, speed bathing, world record, here I come!” you teased, rinsing off and turning off the shower in a rush.

With a swift motion, you slipped into the red dress. It hugged your figure perfectly, accentuating curves you didn’t know you had, the fabric silky against your skin. You spun around, admiring your reflection for a brief moment before your thoughts turned back to the meeting. You took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom.

“Luna, we’re already late!” Patricia knocked impatiently on the door, her voice pulling you from your trance. The aroma of food wafted through the air, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, but it felt too early for you to consider eating.

“Luna, here, have something before we leave,” she urged, holding out a plate as you emerged.

“I’m not really hungry,” you replied, shaking your head slightly, feeling your stomach churn in nervous anticipation. Patricia’s gaze narrowed slightly as she assessed you for a moment, then she took your hand gently, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I suggest you eat. Believe me, you'll need it," she said, her tone firm, emphasizing the word need. Although hunger wasn't gnawing at your stomach, her earnestness made you feel the weight of her words. You quickly found yourself nibbling on whatever was piling up on your plate, each bite more rushed than the last, as if the food would somehow fortify you for what lay ahead.

After you gobbled down the last bite, you shot up from the bed, the urgency in her demeanor making your heart race. Patricia had gone from bouncing on her tippy toes to sitting next to you, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap, her nervous obvious. You felt her eyes on you, a silent request pushing you to eat faster without her saying a word.

“Let’s go,” you finally said, your voice steady despite the nerves bubbling in your stomach. She nodded vigorously, her eyes brightening as she stood and led the way out of the room.

“Where are we really going?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

“To your his majesty's study room,” she stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You could only blink in her as she sprinted down the hall. You followed her, feeling a bit like a lost child trying to keep up with an overly eager parent.

“Luna, please walk beside me, not behind me,” Patricia said, glancing over her shoulder, her voice tinged with silent frustration. You noted how her fingers twisted together, betraying her emotions.

You quickened your pace, taking two long strides to match her side, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you caught up. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to lag behind,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, though a small part of you understood her worry and frustration.

Soon, you found yourself standing in front of a closed door, a chill of apprehension creeping down your spine. Patricia halted, taking a deep breath that seemed to stretch in the air, oppressively. You watched her knuckles turn white as she knocked, each rap echoing through the silence.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

A gruff voice came from behind the door, “Come in.” As she pushed the door open, she gestured for you to enter first. You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing in your chest, then nodded and stepped inside.

As you crossed the threshold, the moment felt surreal. Your wolf stirred at the sound of his voice, an unsettling mix of yearning and pain washing over you, but the overwhelming grief she carried held her back. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows that danced around the edges, but your focus was solely on him. Jungkook sat behind a massive desk, his dark eyes locking onto yours the instant you entered. They seemed to deepen, filled with an intensity that made your stomach drop, and a cold, menacing smirk crept across his softly thin lips.

You felt your heartbeat quicken as you approached him, each step a battle against the swirl of emotions inside you. His brow arched as you stood before his desk, a silent provocation hanging between you. The weight of his gaze bore down on you, and you had to fight the urge to bare your neck to him.

From your left, you caught a glimpse of Patricia standing close to Neil, their heads bent together as they whispered something to each other. Neil gazed at her with an expression that made your heart ache—adoration shimmering in his eyes. Their fingers intertwined behind their backs, a quiet intimacy that made your chest tighten. You couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, for the warmth of shared affection, and it tugged painfully at your heartstrings. You wanted that too.

With a determined look, you turned back to Jungkook, narrowing your eyes in defiance. He was still watching you, a predator relishing the hunt, and his smile widened at your glare. His lips stretched slightly before he caught himself, the playful facade melting into a serious demeanor. You noticed the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something mingling with intrigue in his gaze.

"What urgent business made Your Majesty summon me here?" you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm. The taunt in your voice hung in the air like an electric charge, sparking a reaction in him. His expression shifted, a flash of irritation crossing his face as he absorbed your words, but he quickly masked it.

“I appreciate your time. There’s an important matter I wish to discuss with you—one that requires your attention.” His tone was unnervingly calm, as if your irritation were merely a nuisance to be brushed aside. It ignited your anger further.

“What matters?” you demanded, your voice edged with defiance as you crossed your arms, refusing to back down from his piercing gaze.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his expression unreadable. “Now that you are here, and this will be your home, it is time to leave behind the ways of your old pack. There are rules you must follow, and you shall learn them in due course,” Jungkook stated, his voice steady, but the words hit you like a slap.

You straightened your spine, glaring at him. “And, may I ask what rules I need to follow?” The irritation in your voice was clear, though you fought to keep it even.

“First, you’re not allowed to leave the palace without my permission,” he replied, his tone calm and unwavering. The calmness only ignited the fire of rebellion inside you.

“What? You’re serious?” You narrowed your eyes, your hands curling into fists. “That’s absurd.”

“very,” he said, brushing off your defiance as if it were a passing breeze. “Second, you won’t form close relationships with the staff or pack members. And third, you're not to attend pack meetings.”

“You’re isolating me,” you accused, each word sharpened by the rising heat of your frustration. “Do you hear yourself? You can’t possibly expect me to follow this nonsense.”

“You’re also restricted from certain areas of the palace, especially the the royal chamber.”

“Is this just another way to keep me locked up like one of your pets?” you spat, sarcasm dripping from your words as you crossed your arms.

Jungkook’s eyes flashed with a brief flicker of irritation, but he masked it quickly. “You’ll present yourself formally at all events. And you’re not to mention our mating bond to anyone.”

Your laugh was bitter, mocking. “This is pathetic. Do you hear yourself? You want me to pretend to be your perfect little queen while you strip me of every ounce of dignity.”

His expression didn’t change, which only fueled your anger more. “You’ll follow a strict schedule, including etiquette lessons, and as I said, no physical training.”

“No physical training? You can’t stop me from fighting.” You took another step forward, daring him to try. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“I just did,” he replied coolly, eyes narrowing as he looked down at you. “You're not to challenge me in front of the pack. You will dress appropriately, as befits a queen."

You clenched your jaw, a white-hot rage bubbling under your skin.

“You’ll attend all royal ceremonies, whether you want to or not. And there will be no emotional displays in public,” he continued, his voice like iron.

You advanced on him, fury swirling in your veins. “And what if I do?” you dared, eyes gleaming with defiance. “What if I make a scene? What if I let the whole pack see exactly how you treat me?”

“There will be no physical intimacy between us, unless I say otherwise.”

That statement landed like a blow. For a second, you couldn’t respond, your heart hammering in your chest. But you recovered quickly, your lips curling into a sharp, humorless smile.

He remained unmoved. “You will not voice your opinion on pack matters, nor will you challenge the council.”

Your eyes burned with a fierce light. “I’ll challenge anyone I damn well please,” you snapped, stepping even closer. “You can make all the rules you want, but I'll do what I wish.”

“Thats all! I trust that’s clear?”

“Crystal clear,” you growled, sarcastically, your fists shaking with the need to lash out. “But don’t expect me to just obey like one of your trained wolves.”

“patricia will accompany you back to your room,” he said, gesturing toward Patricia, who stood dumbfounded, her mouth agape, her eyes darting between you and Jungkook.

“Ye-yes, Your Majesty,” she stammered, clearly as shocked as you were.

She stepped closer to you, grabbing your hand and tugging gently as if to coax you away, but you couldn’t help throwing daggers at Jungkook with your eyes.

“Luna, please,” Shina pleaded, pulling at your sleeve.

But you weren’t done. Not by a long shot.

You turned sharply, locking eyes with Shina, who was pale and clearly terrified, but before she could speak, you whipped around to face him one last time. “I’m not your possession, and I never will be. One way or another, I will make my own choices.”

His lips twisted into a tight smile. “We’ll see,” he said, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

“I guess we will,” you shot back, your voice steady, daring, as you stormed out of the room, Patricia scrambling to follow.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, the floodgates of your emotions burst open. “He is a bastard!” you yelled, the words echoing through the room. Patricia’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in shock as she darted a nervous glance at the door.

“Luna, he can hear you!” she hissed, but your anger had already ignited a fire within you, consuming all rational thought.

“I know!” you snapped back, a defiant spark igniting in your chest as you started walking like some deranged animal.

“Wait!” she called, scrambling to catch up to you. “Where are you going?”

“To my room! Duh!” you exclaimed, rolling your eyes as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s on the other side,” she said, pointing right with an urgency that made her look almost comical. “And don’t say ‘duh!’”

“Whatever!” you shot back, heading in the direction she indicated, arms swinging at your sides.

As soon as you reached your room, you let out a primal scream of frustration, your voice ricocheting off the walls. You began to roam the room, while Patricia watched you with concern, her brow furrowing.

Just then, a sharp knock interrupted your spiral. You turned to Patricia, who nodded at you, her eyes wide as if to say, “Brace yourself.”

“Come in!” you called, trying to sound nonchalant, though your heart raced.

The door swung open, revealing Shina, the beta female, stepping inside with a bright smile. “Shina, FINALLY!” Patricia exclaimed, relief flooding her voice. You felt a flash of offense bubble up inside you—was it really that bad with you?

Shina let out a light laugh before turning her gaze to you, offering a small nod. “I’ve been told to serve as your etiquette teacher,” she said, executing a playful curtsy that made you giggle. “We’re going to have so much fun!”

You couldn’t help but smile back at her eagerness, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Fun? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“I thought she would be provided with a real teacher,” Patricia chimed in, throwing Shina a side-eye that was dripping with sarcasm.

“Are you doubting me?” Shina asked, feigning offense, a hand on her hip, her expression a mix of mock indignation and amusement.

“No, of course not!” Patricia replied, forcing a sweet smile that barely hid her skepticism. “I’m just doubting your etiquette. Do you even have any?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. You’d never seen Patricia like this; she was usually a bundle of nerves. But now, a smirk played at the corners of her mouth.

“Excuse me?!” Shina gasped, placing a hand on her chest in mock horror. “I’ll have you know that I can differentiate between a salad fork and a dessert fork!”

“Yeah! And, I eat water. But seriously, why you?” Patricia asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. Shina simply shrugged her shoulders, a nonchalant gesture that only fueled your suspicions. You knew the answer all too well: he didn't want anyone to know you were his mate—just the people who had to be in the loop.

“Shall we start?” Shina asked, breaking the tension as she clapped her hands together. Patricia flopped down onto a nearby chair by the window, her movement unceremonious as she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, be ready. But let me warn you, she’s the same woman who once called the duke ‘Dukie.’”

“Don’t mind her,” Shina said, waving her hand dismissively as if brushing away a fly. “She’s just a whiny ass.”

“I heard that!” Patricia shot back, her voice sharper than a knife, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“I wanted you to hear it,” you chimed in, stifling a laugh at the bickering.

“It’s fine then,” Patricia said, crossing her arms defiantly, her chin tilted up as if she were accepting a challenge.

The two of them were practically squabbling like an old married couple, and you couldn't help but feel amused. Shina leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, Luna—”

“Call me Bee,” you said, cutting her off as a genuine smile breaking through the heaviness in your chest. The nickname, a sweet remnant from your mother. Since her death, no one had used it, and it stung to remember how alone you felt without your wolf at your side after Jungkook had left you. It was as if a gaping void had settled in your mind.

“Are you sure?” Shina asked, glancing at Patricia, who wore an expression of surprise that mirrored your own.

“Yes,” you affirmed, nodding your head fervently.

“Okie!” Shina chirped, bouncing on her feet.

The next few hours dissolved into a whirlwind of laughter and playful jabs from Patricia as Shina animatedly imparted lessons on royal protocol and warrior ethics. You found yourself gasping for breath between fits of giggles at their banter, the absurdity of their comments lightening your mood. Shina was undeniably fun, and you noticed how Patricia relaxed, the rigid lines of her discipline softening in Shina’s presence.

“Finally, we are done!” you screeched, flopping onto your bed like a rag doll, your limbs sprawling out. Patricia, who had been perched on the edge of the bed for what felt like an eternity, looked over at you, a mix of concern and amusement on her face.

“Bee, that wasn’t very queen-like—” she began, her tone teasing, but you shot her a playful glare.

“Shut up!” Shina interjected, her laughter ringing out like a bell. Patricia merely shook her head, a smile breaking through her feigned exasperation. You found it funny how their relationship worked; Patricia was the serious one, and Shina was the carefree one. You couldn't help but wonder how the two of them got along so well in a world that felt so strange to you.

“Bee, now we gotta go,” Shina said, her voice dropping slightly as she held out her hand to Patricia, their fingers interlacing.

“Where?” you asked, a flicker of disappointment gnawing at your insides. You didn’t want them to leave. They had become your lifeline, distracting you from thoughts of Jungkook and the confusion he left behind. Without them, the looming silence would creep back in, suffocating you to no end.

“I’m sorry, Bee, but we have urgent matters to address,” Shina said, her smile tinged with sadness. “But you can come with us if you want to,” she added, her expression brightening as hope glimmered in her eyes.

You nodded eagerly. “Yes! I want to come!”

The three of you made your way out of the room, and a big smile spread across your face. Life in your old pack had been tough, each day a struggle to find your place, but it was different here. Despite Jungkook’s coldness and the constant feeling of not being enough, you were grateful for the friendship blossoming around you. You didn’t know if Patricia and Shina considered you friends, but you sure did. Patricia still maintained a hint of formality, but you sensed she’d warm up eventually, just like Shina had.

“Where are we heading to?” you asked, glancing between the two as they shared a conspiratorial look, excitement dancing in their eyes.

“To the training field,” Shina answered, her voice light and cheerful. She looked at you with a soft smile that made her cheeks flush. “she is the general’s mate, so she is responsible for training the female wolves.” she said pointing at Patricia, as she also blushed for the reasons unknown to you. Her shyness was endearing, but the way her smile faded a bit as she added, “And we also need to train,” hinted at the challenge ahead.

Unfortunately, Jungkook had forbidden you from training—an order that left you feeling more like a caged bird than ever. You didn’t understand why he loathed you so much; his harshness felt like a wall between you. But deep down, you knew this couldn’t last. You couldn’t keep stewing in sadness and anger while he remained a closed book, hiding his emotions from you. You needed to confront him soon; you needed your mate, and he needed you, too, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“Oh! So you mean you’re going there to train and not to eye-fuck the beta?” Patricia piped up, her voice teasing, a wide smirk lighting up her face and a laugh bubbled from your throat.

Shina’s eyes widened in mock horror, her mouth forming an exaggerated “O.” “Patricia! You can’t say that! We have to keep it professional!” She feigned scandal, a hand pressed dramatically against her chest, yet the laughter dancing in her eyes betrayed her.

“Professional? Please!” Patricia rolled her eyes, flicking her hair over her shoulder with a flourish. “The only thing you do professionally is blushing every time beta Kian walks by! I am like woman, he is your damn mate. Get a grip!”

“Oh, and what about you, Miss ‘I Can’t Stop Staring’?” Shina shot back, playfully bumping her shoulder against Patricia's as they walked side by side. “If I recall, you nearly drooled on Neil the other day!”

“Hey! He’s just so—” Patricia started, her cheeks flushing a deep red, “—dreamy! I can’t help it!” She huffed, crossing her arms defiantly but couldn’t hide her smirk.

“Dreamy? More like a heartthrob disaster waiting to happen!” Shina retorted, throwing her head back in laughter, their voices filling the hallway with warmth.

“Will he be there too?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly as both of them paused their bickering to focus on you. Shina’s eyes lit up with a knowing smirk that made your heart race, while Patricia's expression softened, a hint of sympathy in her gaze. She smiled gently, but it didn’t reach her eyes as she whispered, “Yes.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of her understanding hanging in the air. Patricia knew the ache of longing all too well; she had fought her own battles to be with her mate. Neither of you spoke further on the subject as you continued walking toward the training ground. It felt like a long trek, the palace sprawling before you.

As you entered the training field, the chaos hit you like a wave. The air buzzed with energy as female wolves sparred, fists flying in a flurry of movement. Grunts of exertion and the thud of bodies colliding filled the space. It was a sight to behold, but not the prettiest—some faces were twisted with concentration, others were flushed with effort, while some were twisted in pain.

Shina and Patricia quickly motioned you to take a seat in one corner, a quick nod from Shina signaling for you to stay put while they dashed off to change into their training gear.

You took a moment to absorb the scene before you. The female wolves fought with determination, their bodies glistening with sweat under the warm sun. The breathy grunts hanging heavy in the air and... you wanted to join too.

Yet, as you sat on the sidelines, you felt a pang of frustration at Jungkook’s orders. Why had he insisted you stay away from training? You glanced toward the empty side of the field, the male wolves’ training area—silent for now, but you knew they would be there soon. Would Jungkook be among them? Your heart raced at the thought, and your wolf stirred again.

Soon, both Shina and Patricia came sprinting toward you, their bodies clad in sleek training gear that hugged their athletic frames. Shina practically leaped into your space as she exclaimed, “Bee, she will measure the performance of them all! You can wait here while I go help her.” The brightness in her eyes was contagious, and you nodded in agreement, feeling a little like a lost puppy trying to keep up.

They dashed away toward the combat pit, and you watched as Patricia's voice rang out like a bell, instantly commanding attention. “Listen up, everyone!” she called, her tone firm yet encouraging. The warriors immediately fell into line, forming neat rows as Shina moved among them, dividing them into teams with an air of authority that surprised you. It lasted only a moment before the clashing of fists and feet began, filling the air with a rhythm of combat.

You leaned back against the cool wall, eyes wide as you observed the spectacle. The warriors displayed impressive skills, each move fluid and powerful. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of inadequacy—there was no way you could compete, even against the weakest here. This was the royal pack, after all, and they were warriors forged from years of dedication and strength.

Still, you found a sliver of enjoyment in the chaos. Watching them fight was far better than sitting alone in your room, staring at the walls that felt like they were closing in on you. And soon the other training area began to fill up. You spotted Kian entering first, his presence commanding. Shina’s eyes lit up, practically sparkling as she stared at him, her focus wavering. “Shina, focus!” Patricia called out, exasperation lacing her tone as she tried to bring her back to reality. But Shina’s gaze kept drifting back to her shirtless mate, who seemed completely oblivious to the effect he had on everyone around him. Kian was not just hot; he was undeniably hot hot, the kind of hot that drew attention without effort.

You let out a soft chuckle at their antics, but then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of a dark figure emerging from the shadows. Your heart skipped a beat as a chill raced down your spine. The air around you shifted, crackling with an intense energy that sent heat biting through your bones. A deep, primal desire ignited in your core, wrapping around your heart like a vine.

He was here.

Jungkook.

You turned your head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of him without being obvious, and there he stood in the farthest corner of the training ground, shirtless. Jungkook's eyes were locked on you, igniting a fire deep within your chest. His jaw tightened, and his brows furrowed in a way that made your heart race. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only his intense gaze that set you ablaze.

With a deliberate slowness, he strode toward the combat pit where Kian waited, a devilish glint flashing in his eyes. Neil, the general, stood off to the side, focused on the other male warriors, a commanding presence that left no room for doubt. But all you could think about was Jungkook. Your breath hitched as he casually began to unbutton his white shirt, each button giving way one by one, exposing more of his chiselled torso. You let out a low whine before you even realized it was your wolf reacting to the sight of him.

Out of all the times for your wolf to make her presence known, she chose now? But who could blame her? Your mate was standing there in low-hanging trousers, his bare skin catching the sunlight and highlighting the contours of his muscles. The sight was intoxicating, and a primal urge surged through you as your wolf growled in your mind, a low rumble of frustration mingling with desire.

“Look at him, Bee. He is so hot,” she purred, her voice sultry and teasing. “Bee, why doesn't he want us?” You could feel her longing vibrating through your very being, making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

As Jungkook and Kian circled each other in the pit. Kian lunged first, throwing a sharp right hook aimed at Jungkook’s jaw, but Jungkook sidestepped with lightning speed, barely lifting an eyebrow in acknowledgement. Kian was quick to recover, spinning on his heel and throwing a swift jab to Jungkook’s ribs, but it was met with nothing but air. Jungkook had already ducked low, his body moving like it had anticipated the strike long before it happened.

Kian came in harder this time, eyes blazing with determination, throwing a barrage of punches. Jungkook dodged the first few easily, his movements fluid, then caught Kian’s wrist mid-punch with a grip like iron. For a second, they stood there, locked in place, the power struggle evident. Jungkook's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening just enough for Kian to wince.

Without warning, Kian yanked his arm free, pivoting low and sweeping Jungkook's legs out from under him. Jungkook hit the ground hard, but before Kian could press the advantage, Jungkook rolled out of reach, popping back up to his feet with the same effortless grace.

Kian charged again, this time aiming a vicious uppercut. Jungkook ducked just in time, feeling the brush of Kian’s fist pass over his hair. Jungkook countered immediately, his fist slamming into Kian’s gut with a dull thud that echoed in the pit. Kian grunted, staggering back a few steps, but he didn’t go down.

Jungkook didn’t let up. He stepped forward, driving his elbow into Kian’s side, a brutal strike that sent him stumbling to his knees. For a moment, Jungkook paused, chest rising and falling steadily, his eyes locked on Kian. It was like he was waiting — giving him a chance to get up, to fight back. There was no malice in his eyes, only dominance.

But Kian wasn’t finished. He sprang up, swinging wildly, desperate now. Jungkook blocked the punches with ease, his forearms absorbing the blows like they were nothing. When Kian threw a wild hook, Jungkook sidestepped, grabbed the back of his neck, and yanked him forward. They collided, chest to chest, Jungkook’s lips curling into a smirk as Kian struggled to free himself from his grip.

In one smooth motion, Jungkook twisted and slammed Kian to the ground, hard. Kian gasped, the wind knocked from his lungs as he hit the dirt with a heavy thud. Jungkook loomed over him, his knee pressing into Kian’s chest, pinning him in place. The fight was over — Jungkook didn’t need to say a word. His body, his presence, declared victory.

He stood slowly, letting Kian catch his breath, but his gaze never once wavered. He rolled his neck, muscles flexing as he looked down at his fallen opponent, then turned away without another glance.

Your heart sank, disappointment washing over you like a wave, leaving you breathless. Your wolf, however, was undeterred.

“He doesn’t even looked at us,” she sulked, her voice a mix of longing and frustration.

As you watched him turn away, the heat in your core only intensified as you unknowingly pressed your legs together. Your gaze lingered on his retreating figure, every step he took echoing in your chest. You couldn’t help but think of how strong he was, how much power he radiated, and how desperately you wanted to be close to him.

The combat pit was still bustling around you, but all you could see was Jungkook, the way he carried himself with a confidence that made your heart race. “Why won’t you look at me?” you thought, frustration bubbling within you as you watched him leave.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink, you found yourself wandering back to your room. Shina escorted you, but you could sense her eagerness to leave as she still had to bath and wash away the sweat of training. After a brief goodbye, she left you alone, and the silence settled heavily around you.

At night dinner came and went, delivered by a maid who whisked in and out with a tray of food that you barely touched. The sheets cool against your skin felt nice, but sleep eluded you. Tossing and turning only brought frustration, and after hours of restless thoughts, you resigned yourself to the fact that tonight would be a long one.

With a deep sigh, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood, the cool floor grounding you. You stepped out into the empty halls of the palace, the quiet amplified by the vastness of the space. The air was thick with a stillness that made every sound seem sharper.

As you walked, your eyes drifted over the majestic paintings that adorned the walls. Each one was a reminder of the lineage that loomed over you. You paused before a portrait that caught your attention—a striking depiction of Jungkook’s father, the late Lycan king. His strong features were chiseled in a way that demanded respect, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for Jungkook. He had lost so much at such a young age, thrust into a role that should have belonged to a father, a king. You could only imagine the weight of that responsibility, the expectations that came with it.

Taking a deep breath, you continued down the hallway. The corridor opened into the royal garden, where the moon hung high in the sky, casting silvery light over the landscape. You stepped outside, the cool night air wrapping around you like a soothing balm. The moon was full, its glow reflecting off the petals of the flowers and illuminating the leaves of the trees.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the serenity wash over you. This was the time when werewolves felt most connected to the world, to each other, to the wild magic that flowed through your veins. You could feel the pull of the moon, urging you to embrace your true nature.

As you gazed up at the night sky, a sense of calm enveloped you. The moon was a reminder that even in darkness, there was beauty to be found. You longed to share this moment with Jungkook, to let him see the side of you that yearned for love and understanding. The thought made your heart flutter, igniting a flicker of warmth within you.

“What brings you here?” The voice came from behind you, deep and resonant, causing you to turn around, startled. There he stood—Jungkook, the moonlight casting a silver halo around him. For the first time since you met, his expression was calm, devoid of the anger and confusion that usually clouded his features. In that moment, he looked almost ethereal, and you felt your heart race.

“Nothing,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “I wasn't able to sleep, so I was just wandering around and found myself here.” You shrugged, your hands fidgeting nervously at your sides.

He motioned for you to follow him, and without hesitation, you fell into step beside him. The soft crunch of gravel underfoot was the only sound accompanying the stillness of the night as he led you deeper into the garden, the fragrant scent of blooming flowers enveloping you both.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” he asked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Indeed, your majesty,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper. The night was enchanting, each star twinkling like diamonds against the velvet sky, but an unsettling feeling clung to you.

Suddenly, he halted, turning to face you, his gaze intense. His eyes widened slightly, and the soft pout of his lips drew your attention. “You can call me by my name; you’re my mate,” he stated, a hint of authority in his tone, as if there was no room for argument. Before you could respond, he resumed walking, leaving you momentarily stunned.

His words, sweet yet loaded with expectation, he himself was unable to fulfill, left a bitter taste in your mouth. A sharp retort bubbled on your tongue, a protest against the very idea that he could command you so easily. But instead of voicing your anger, you chose silence. You swallowed hard, forcing down the instinct to lash out. Instead, you fell in step behind him, your heart racing, a storm of emotions swirling inside you.

As you walked, the tension hung heavy in the air, a force that wrapped around you both. His broad shoulders were relaxed, yet you could sense the underlying power that radiated from him with each step. You stole glances at his profile, the way the moonlight danced along his sharp jawline, the faint shadow of stubble framing his lips.

You soon found Jungkook stopping, settling down on the soft grass beneath him. He motioned for you to join him, but you shook your head, a sudden shyness washing over you. “I can’t sit on the ground,” you said, gesturing toward your clothes. “It’s expensive.”

A flicker of confusion crossed his features. “What do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, his dark hair catching the moonlight.

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I come from a low pack. We don’t wear things like this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never owned anything so fancy.”

For a moment, you braced yourself for his reaction, expecting him to laugh or make some snide remark. Instead, to your astonishment, he shrugged off his coat, laying it down on the grass. “Here,” he said, his voice steady. “Sit on this.” He extended his hand to you, palm up, inviting you to take it.

Your heart raced as you hesitated, then slowly placed your hand in his. A low, breathy moan escaped your lips as a tingling sensation flooded through your body. His eyes widened for a brief moment, and you could see the flicker of surprise before he masked it, helping you lower yourself onto his coat.

“It feels nice,” you murmured, your heart pounding. The warmth of his hand lingered in yours, and you didn’t want to let go. “Is it really okay?”

“It’s just a coat,” he replied, though the intensity in his gaze suggested otherwise. “I’d rather you be comfortable.”

You sat there for what felt like an eternity, the silence stretching between you. Finally, you decided to break it, curiosity nudging at you. “So… what’s it like being a king?” As soon as those words skipped your lips you internally cringed, this was embarassing, you wanted to take, but not like this.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. There are expectations, duties—lots of politics.”

“Sounds boring,” you said, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Do you ever get to do anything fun?”

He smiled, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Occasionally. But mostly, I have to focus on the pack. It’s a lot of responsibility.” His tone turned serious, and you could see the weight of his role pressing down on him.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” you asked, tilting your head, trying to gauge his reaction. “Being king and all, with so many people around but no one really understanding you?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, looking away into the distance, his jaw tightening slightly. “But I have people I trust.”

You didn't said anything after that and a calming silence enveloped the two of you, as peaceful as the soft glow of the moonlight overhead. Unable to resist, you broke the stillness, once again. “Jungkook?”

“Hmmm?” His voice was low and gentle, his eyes fixed on the moon, reflecting a light that felt almost ethereal.

You hesitated, then spoke with a mix of hope and vulnerability. “Do you know… when I was young, I always dreamed of dancing under the moonlight with my mate.” You paused, gauging his reaction as the words hung in the air, thick and heavy. "Do you dance?" You couldn't help but ask as you braced yourself for the rejection.

His gaze shifted from the moon to you, and for a moment, the world around you faded into insignificance. “No,” he admitted softly, the vulnerability in his voice surprising you. But then he added, “But I might,” and something in his tone sent shivers down your spine, a hint of something deeper glimmering in his eyes.

Your heart raced as you felt a warmth blooming in your chest, something dark yet lovely igniting within you, making your pulse quicken. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, and you couldn’t look away from him.

Without warning, he rose to his feet, extending his hand towards you. You smiled brightly, your heart soaring at the gesture, and without hesitation, you grasped his hand. The familiar tingling sensation surged through your body, igniting a warmth that spread from your fingertips to your core.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting, and you felt your breath hitch as you stood beside him. He gently pulled you closer, his other hand resting lightly on your waist, guiding you into a slow sway.

But as the dance slowed, reality crept back in, and he gently pulled away, his hand still clasped around yours. “I should escort you back to your room,” he said, his tone shifting back to that of the king, though the warmth in his gaze lingered.

You nodded, a hint of reluctance creeping in. “I guess it’s late,” you replied, your heart still racing from the dance.

As you walked side by side, the silence was comfortable. Jungkook led you back through the garden. When you reached your door, he turned to face you, his expression softening once more. “Goodnight,” he said, a hint of something deeper in his voice.

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you replied, you wanted to reach out, to pull him back, but instead, you simply smiled.

As you closed the door, you made your way to the bed, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The cool sheets felt inviting against your skin as you slipped under the covers, your heart still racing from the dance and the fleeting touches. You closed your eyes, as you smiled softly. Maybe, just maybe everything was finally falling back to it's place. You were not to lie, you liked Jungkook and mate bond was thickening every second every minute, it was only strengthening your feelings and was making you more vulnerable to him. And, who are you to deny the truth that you desperately needed that doe eyed king. You let your thoughts drift, a soft smile spreading across your face. In the quiet of your dreams, you found him again, lost in a world where he was as desperate for you as you were for him. You dream of him, you dream of him dreaming you as desperately as you were dreaming of him.

In the middle of the night, you jolted awake. The room around you glowed with dancing shadows, moonlight slipping through the curtains like whispers, casting silver patterns on the walls. You blinked, it was past midnight and you were unable to go back to sleep.

Cocooned in warm sheets, you took a deep breath, the scent of something sweet and salty wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

You quietly slipped out of bed, the soft pad of your feet brushing against the cool floor. For a moment, you stood frozen, unsure of what to do, scanning the darkness that enveloped you. Your instincts kicked in, sharpening your senses as you stepped out of your room, the shadows swallowing you whole. Each step felt instinctual, as if an invisible thread tugged at your heart, beckoning you forward. It was a magnetic pull, calling your name, compelling you to follow like a desperate devotee.

Suddenly, you heard a low murmur. It was coming from a room. You hesitated, knowing you shouldn’t intrude, but that voice broke something inside you. With trembling hands, you slowly opened the door, and the sight before you shattered your heart.

There lay Jungkook on his bed, thrashing about, his face twisted in distress as he murmured incoherent whispers. His brow was furrowed, and his lips trembled, as if he was fighting against some unseen torment. You didn't even realised you had come all the way to price chamber. You rushed to his side, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Jungkook,” you called softly, reaching out to gently shake him. “Wake up.”

His eyes flew open, wide and confused, the fear in them piercing through the haze of his nightmares. For a brief moment, shock flickered across his face, and then he froze, taking in your presence.

“Why are you here?” he rasped, his voice hoarse and raw.

“I heard you,” you whispered, your heart racing.

"What were you doing tiptoeing around my room?" He practically screamed screamed at you, pushing you away.

"N—no. I—I wasn't," you said, shaking your head trying to reach out to him.

Anger flashing in his eyes. “You think you can just come in here and play the savior?”

“Jungkook, what? What are you even say? I just wanted to help!” you pleaded, stepping closer, desperate to reach him.

“Help? You think you can help? You think you’re the solution to my problems?” he sneered, his expression hardening. “I hate you! You think this is love? I will ever love you? Never!”

The pain in his words felt like a physical blow. “That’s not fair!” you cried, your voice shaking. “I’m not trying to intrude. I just want to—!”

"I don't care," he growled, glaring at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think you can understand what it’s like to be me? To have everyone around you suffer because of your existence?”

You felt your heart sink further, but you were unable to understand his words. It was like they were written in a foreign language and although you did know the alphabets, were unable to make sense of a whole sentence. “I’m not trying to do anything! I’m here because I care about you!”

“Care? Is that what you call this?” he shouted, his voice rising with frustration as a low whimper left your throat. “Oh! Sweet mate, do you really think a weak voice and sad eyes would help you? Do you think you get to be all fragile now?”

Tears stung your eyes as you fought to hold them back. “But I merely intended to help!” you insisted, desperate for him to see the truth. “You don’t have to push me away!”

“Why would I want you around?” he hissed, his gaze piercing through you. “You’re nothing but a reminder of everything I can’t have, everything I shouldn't have, and I’m here to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

With each word, your heart broke a little more, the weight of his rejection crushing you. “I thought... I thought we, toge—,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Together?” he echoed, his voice dripping with scorn. “You think that’s what this is? You’re wrong! The moon goddess has cursed you, and now you have to deal with it."

"But—"

"Leave!”

Without another word, you dashed down the hall, the world around you blurring as you pushed the door to your room open and locked it behind you. Sliding down against the cool wood, you let the tears flow freely. You couldn’t believe this was happening. For years, you had dreamed of having a mate. After losing your parents at such a young age, you had felt all alone. Life had been hard, but the thought of having someone to love, cherish, and adore had kept you going. But how had it all come to this? After praying to the moon goddess for years, you finally had a mate, and he didn’t want you. Was it true what your pack members always said? Were you really cursed? Were you really destined to be nothing but an abomination?

Now, it felt like you truly were cursed and unlovable, an abomination. You called out to your wolf, reaching for her, but she felt so distant, drowning in the loss of a mate she never really had. Jungkook’s words echoed in your mind, and the pain of his rejection was nothing compared to the hollow ache of losing your wolf.

“Please,” you begged again, your voice cracking, but silence filled the empty corners of your mind. A shrill sob escaped your throat, a sound of desperation and grief. You cried, each sob tearing through you as you let the waves of sorrow wash over you. You cried until you couldn’t anymore, until your tears ran dry, and exhaustion pulled you under like a heavy blanket.

Finally, the weight of it all became too much, and you fell into a deep slumber, your heart still aching but momentarily free from the torment of reality.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

"Bee." A soft voice pulled you out of the fog of sleep, nudging you back to consciousness. You groaned as the sunlight filtered through the window, the brightness bouncing off the walls and stabbing your eyes like tiny needles. You turned your head away with a low whine, squeezing your eyes shut tighter against the overwhelming light.

"Bee?" The voice was closer now, more insistent. You blinked your eyes open reluctantly and saw Shina crouched beside you. Concern was etched deeply into her face, her brows furrowed, lips pressed in a thin line. Her hand reached out, gently gripping your arm, and she slowly helped you sit up from the cold floor.

"Why were you sleeping on the floor?" she asked, her voice gentle, though her worry was unmistakable. Her eyes, wide and searching, bore into yours, trying to find an answer you weren’t ready to give.

You blinked at Shina, still dazed, feeling like you were floating in a fog. The memory of last night twisted in your chest, squeezing tighter with every second that passed. His words, so sharp and cold, cut through you again, making it hard to breathe. You had tried to push them away, but the hurt clung to you, pulling you down.

"Bee, what happened?" Shina asked again, her voice low but urgent, her grip on your arm growing tighter. Her eyes searched yours, wide with worry, but you could barely meet them. You tried to speak, to say anything, but your throat was tight, and the pressure behind your eyes made your vision blur. She was so close, her concern so raw and real, that it only made you feel more fragile. You felt like you could break at any moment.

The weight of it all pressed down on you—her worry, the memory of his cruelty—and you felt the tears threaten to spill over. You blinked them away quickly, refusing to let them fall, and forced yourself to speak.

"I'm okay," you murmured, though your voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. It wavered, weak and uncertain, but you straightened your shoulders, trying to sound firm. Shina's eyes softened, her lips parting as if she wanted to argue, but she held back. Instead, she nodded, though you could tell she didn’t believe a word.

"Right..." she said, clearing her throat. "Ahrm, I came to call you for breakfast." She tried to sound cheerful, but there was a hesitancy in her voice, the usual bounce missing.

"Breakfast?" you repeated, like the word itself didn’t make sense.

"Yeah," she nodded, motioning toward the bathroom. "You should get ready."

"Oh." You nodded slowly, as if on autopilot, and grabbed the yellow dress sitting on the edge of the bed. Shina had bought it for you, and you knew it meant something, but the significance felt distant now. Your body moved without thought, heading to the bathroom like it was just another day.

Inside, you let the water run hot, scalding almost, trying to feel something other than the ache that had settled deep in your chest. The steam wrapped around you, clouding your vision, but it couldn’t chase away the storm swirling in your head.

When you finally stepped out, Shina was waiting, her smile soft but cautious. “Bee, you look pretty,” she said, handing you a small box wrapped in delicate paper.

You took it, staring blankly at the box in your hand. "What’s this?"

"Jungkook asked me to give it to you." Her eyes flickered with something—excitement, maybe—but you weren’t sure. You nodded, barely acknowledging her as you tossed the box onto the bed without a second glance.

"I’m not opening it," you said flatly, your voice cold and distant.

Shina hesitated, her lips parting to say something, but she closed them quickly, offering a half-hearted nod. "Okay... Let's go."

The walk to the dining hall was quiet, too quiet. Shina glanced at you from time to time, but you were lost in your thoughts, diving deep into the darkness that had settled in your heart. Last night had been a dream—Jungkook had been so kind, so sweet, so real. For the first time, you had believed there might be a chance. But the way he had pushed you away so harshly afterward… it shattered everything.

“Bee, this way,” Shina said, guiding you through the doors and into the hall. The massive dining table stretched out before you, with Jungkook seated at the far end. His eyes were focused on his plate, avoiding your gaze entirely. Kian sat beside him, his arm casually dropped over the table. The other seats filled quickly with Neil, Patricia, and several others you barely registered.

Shina nudged you gently into the seat beside Jungkook, her smile forced, trying to ease the tension. "Come on, Bee. It’s just breakfast. Nothing too dramatic, right?" She chuckled awkwardly, but it fell flat in the heavy air. She glanced at Kian, who gave her a small, supportive smile, but you could tell even she felt the weight of Jungkook’s presence, of his silence.

You sat stiffly, your back straight, eyes locked on the table in front of you. Jungkook’s hand gripped his fork tightly, knuckles white, but he never looked your way. Not once.

Shina, trying to break the ice, leaned forward. "Bee," she started, forcing a grin, "Why don't you try pancakes? It's really good. Right, Kian?" She wiggled her eyebrows at Kian, trying to coax a smile out of you.

You glanced at her, offering a weak, polite smile, but your heart wasn’t in it.

Kian smirked, shaking his head. "Yes, this beautiful beside me loves pancakes!."

Jungkook’s fork clinked against his plate, the subtle sound sharper than it should’ve been. His jaw clenched, and for a second, his gaze flickered to you, something raw and almost vulnerable flashing in his eyes before he quickly looked away.

You felt the knot in your throat tighten, but you swallowed it down, refusing to let it show. There was no apology, no acknowledgment, just silence.

"Bee?" Shina’s voice broke through the fog, her hand gently resting on yours under the table. Her touch was warm, grounding you in the moment.

You blinked, shaking your head slightly. "Yeah?"

"Do you want me to take you out after breakfast? You know, just the two of us? We can talk... or not talk, whatever you want."

Jungkook’s shoulders tensed, his breath catching for just a second. But still, he said nothing.

You met Shina’s eyes, her genuine worry for you reflected in them. You gave a small nod, even though your chest felt heavy. "Yeah, sure. I’d love that," you whispered, your voice barely holding together.

Jungkook shifted beside you, his fork clattering against the plate as he finally spoke. "You guys should probably go out. Take Patricia with you too." His voice was steady, but cold, distant. He still didn’t look at you, directing his words toward Shina.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it. The sound made him go rigid, though he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. It was ridiculous, really, how he could be so close yet feel so unreachable.

Breakfast ended in uncomfortable silence. You stood up quietly, your chair scraping the floor as you excused yourself. Jungkook’s eyes followed your movement for a fleeting moment, but when you looked back, they were fixed on his plate again.

Alone, you made your way back to your room, each step feeling heavier than the last. You lingered by the window, staring out at the world beyond. It was strange—Jungkook suggesting you go out, as if it made any difference. As if letting you walk through town would somehow patch the holes he left in you.

But of course, he didn’t care. He made that clear last night.

A knock echoed through your room, loud against the silence, snapping you from your thoughts. Reluctantly, you crossed the room and opened the door to find a man in a black uniform standing there, his posture rigid.

"His Majesty has assigned me to escort you outside the palace, for your protection.," he said with no introduction, his tone all business. The man was imposing—broad-shouldered, with a no-nonsense expression. He didn’t waste time on pleasantries. "Please, come. Beta female is already waiting."

You nodded, not really knowing what else to do, and followed as he motioned for you to walk beside him. His steps were measured, precise, and soon you were outside, seated in a car heading who knew where. Kenji, as you later learned his name was, drove with Shina beside him, her usual chatty demeanor subdued, while Patricia sat next to you in silence.

"Kenji, stop by The Velvet Pheasant," Shina said, her voice firm but distracted, not even glancing at him.

"Sure, beta female," he replied, his deep voice steady as he turned the wheel. The car came to a smooth halt outside an extravagant boutique, the kind that screamed prestige from the way it gleamed in the afternoon sun. The building’s grand façade loomed over you, polished and perfect, and you felt a wave of reluctance wash over you.

Stepping out of the car, Patricia told Kenji to wait outside, and he responded with a curt nod and a surprisingly warm gummy smile. You followed the girls inside, feeling the cool air hit you as soon as you entered. An older woman rushed toward Shina with surprising speed, her arms flung wide for an embrace.

"Shina, you’ve completely forgotten about me. Don't come to visit aunt anymore" the woman cried, clutching Shina tightly. "I haven’t seen you in ages! I even asked your mother, and she just said, 'Oh, you know Shina is busy these days.' Busy, huh?"

Shina stiffened in the woman’s arms, her face scrunched up in what could only be described as pure agony. You stifled a laugh but quickly regretted it as the woman released Shina and turned toward you and Patricia, her sharp eyes locking onto you.

Before you could react, Patricia shoved you forward and darted toward Shina, leaving you in the crosshairs. The old woman’s grip was strong, pulling you into a hug that felt more like a bear trap than a greeting. You could hear the two girls giggling behind you as they escaped her clutches, leaving you alone at her mercy.

For what felt like hours, you were trapped in a whirlwind of fabric, as Shina and Patricia pulled you from one section of the boutique to another. Dresses, shoes, accessories—Shina practically bought the whole store for you, her way of making the day brighter despite everything.

As the sun began to set, you all piled back into the car, exhaustion settling in. Kenji, who had been nothing but stoic all day, had softened slightly, sharing small bits of conversation with you along the ride. He was one of the royal warriors, you found out—highly respected, and one of the deadliest. Yet, despite his fearsome reputation, there was a kindness to him that you hadn't expected. You also found out that he was yet to find his mate.

The drive back to the palace felt quieter, more solemn, and the closer you got, the heavier your chest became. The fun you’d had during the day was slowly slipping away, replaced by the cold reality of where you were heading. You stared out the window, watching the world outside blur past, feeling the tightness return to your throat.

As the palace gates came into view, you couldn’t help but sigh, the happiness from earlier fading entirely. You didn’t want to go back. You didn’t want to face him again.

But you had no choice.

The car rolled to a stop, and with a deep breath, you stepped out, the weight of the palace settling back on your shoulders.

You stepped out of the car, the weight of the day pressing down on you. The girls had already been swept up by their mates, leaving you alone with Kenji, who gently helped you with the bags. His kind smile softened the growing pit in your stomach, but even Kenji, as sweet as he was, kept his distance. When you reached your room, he handed you the bags, his hands lingering for only a moment before he stepped back, eyes cast down.

"I can’t enter," he said, almost shy. "It’s not right to be alone with an unmated she-wolf."

You nodded, appreciating the respect, even though it only reminded you of your isolation. “Thank you, Kenji,” you murmured.

He gave a small wave before disappearing down the hall, leaving you to the quiet hum of your empty room. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing the silence.

You tossed the bags onto the bed, your eyes drifting over to the box you’d been avoiding all day. That damn purple-wrapped box. With a sigh, you grabbed it, tearing off the wrapper without care. Inside, nestled in velvet, was a delicate heart-shaped necklace, the same shade of purple that always reminded you of him.

But instead of the warmth it once might have brought, a bitter taste rose in your throat. He thought this would fix everything. That after the things he said, the coldness he showed, a necklace could make it all go away? Your fingers tightened around it until your knuckles turned white. The bastard knew—he knew—how much it meant to you when you told him you’d never owned anything expensive. And now, it felt like a cruel joke, like he was throwing your words back in your face.

Without thinking, you stormed out of the room, the necklace clenched in your fist. Your feet carried you down the long corridors to his chambers, each step fueled by the fire burning in your chest. You didn’t care who saw you, or how fast you were moving. You just needed to see him, to confront him.

As you reached his door, hand raised to knock, the sound of voices froze you in place.

"No," Jungkook’s voice boomed from behind the door, the rage in his tone making your breath catch. "I refuse to be tied to her. I didn’t choose this. I don’t love her. I don’t want any of it."

The necklace almost slipped from your grip, the metal cutting into your palm as your heart cracked.

"You need to understand, Kian," Jungkook continued, voice harsher now, "I’m not willing to do this."

"But even the elders want this," Kian replied, his voice softer, almost pleading. "Today, you were lucky she wasn’t here, but how long can you really hide her from the world? One day, you’ll have to accept her."

"Never," Jungkook spat, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Kian's next words were too quiet to make out, but they were followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps heading toward the door. Panic surged through you, but before you could move, the door swung open.

There he was, standing before you—Jungkook. His face paled when he saw your tear-streaked cheeks, his eyes widening in shock. His lips parted as if to say something, but the words died in his throat.

He reached out, the apology already forming on his tongue, but you didn’t wait to hear it.

Without a second thought, you hurled the necklace at his chest, the metal clinking as it hit him and fell to the floor between you. His eyes flicked to the necklace, then back to you, his expression one of helpless guilt.

But you didn’t wait for an explanation. Your feet carried you away, heart pounding, vision blurred by tears. You didn’t stop until the corridor twisted out of sight, and even then, the weight of his words echoed in your mind, breaking you all over again.

As soon as you got to your room, you sank to the ground, your body trembling as you wrapped your arms around your knees. Hot tears streamed down your face, each sob tearing through you like a knife. A different ache settled in your heart, a hollow emptiness that expanded with every breath you took, leaving you feeling more lost and abandoned than ever.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Jungkook sat rigidly in the chair beside the window, the moonlight spilling over him like a soft embrace, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrow in his brow. Shadows danced across his face, mirroring the chaos swirling within him. He stared out into the darkness, eyes unfocused, lost in thoughts he couldn’t bear to confront. The silence in the room was suffocating, thick with unspoken words. A soft knock broke through, and he turned slightly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Come in.”

Kian stepped inside, his usual calm demeanor replaced by an unsettling gloom that weighed on him like a storm cloud. He crossed the room slowly and settled into the chair beside Jungkook. The air thickened with the weight of their unspoken fears.

“What brings you here, Kian?” Jungkook asked, his tone flat, gaze still trapped in the shimmering night sky. He could feel Kian’s eyes on him, probing, searching for answers.

“Why would you do that, Jungkook?” Kian’s voice trembled, breaking the stillness like a fragile glass shattering. He leaned forward, his brow knitted in worry. “why are you doing this? How could you sit here like this? Like nothing happened? She is your mate. You can’t just push her away like that. That’s not how things work, especially not with a mate bond.”

At the mention of you, Jungkook’s gaze snapped to Kian, sharp and defensive. The flicker of vulnerability quickly masked by anger. “What about her?” he demanded, an edge creeping into his voice, the tension coiling tighter in his chest.

“Shina told me Luna has been crying since evening.” Kian’s words were low, heavy with concern, sinking into Jungkook like stones in water. A silence enveloped them, punctuated only by Jungkook’s ragged breaths, as the gravity of Kian’s words settled in.

“Why?” Jungkook found himself asking, the question slipping out before he could stop it, though they both knew the answer. A suffocating heaviness settled in his chest, a mix of guilt and soul crushing swirling within him like a tempest.

“Jungkook, why not just accept the bond? Why—” Kian started, but Jungkook cut him off, frustration bubbling over. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes glinting with an intensity that betrayed his inner turmoil.

“She scares me, Kian,” Jungkook admitted, his voice tight, his jaw clenching as he turned away again. “She’s everything I—” He stopped himself abruptly, the words hanging in the air, unfinished. His fists clenched on his lap, the muscles in his arms tensing as he fought to maintain control.

“What?” Kian pressed, leaning forward, desperate to understand. “Everything you what, Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s face hardened, eyes darkening as the vulnerability retreated behind the walls he had carefully constructed. “Forget it,” he snapped, his voice cold. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Kian shook his head, frustration boiling beneath the surface. He leaned closer, his voice growing intense. “Love hurts above all, but we must never cease to do it. It’s painful, but you can’t run from it, Jungkook.”

“Love?” Jungkook scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him, but it sounded hollow. “It’s not meant for me, Kian. I hurt everyone. I’m my father’s son, after all.” He leaned back, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, shutting himself off from Kian’s words.

“You’re not him,” Kian insisted, leaning forward, voice filled with passion. “You’re not your father, and she isn’t your mother. She won’t leave, and you won’t end up like him. Jungkook, don’t let bad memories of past ruin the possibilities of your future.” He reached out, almost as if to touch Jungkook’s arm, but hesitated, sensing the emotional wall between them.

“That’s the problem with memories, Kian,” Jungkook said, his voice dropping to a whisper, eyes darkening. “They never go away. They stay with you, and they eat you alive. I can’t forget, and I can’t love.” His words were cold, final, as if sealing his fate.

Kian’s frustration boiled over, his hands clenched into fists as he tried once more. “It’s not just about you, Jungkook. It’s about her too. You can’t keep pushing her away—”

“Leave, Kian,” Jungkook said, his voice sharp, commanding. His back straightened, the gesture almost regal, but the pain behind his eyes betrayed him.

“But Alpha—” Kian’s protest faded as he sensed the finality in Jungkook’s tone. He sat back, his shoulders slumping, disappointment and worry etched into his features.

“I said leave,” Jungkook repeated, turning his back to Kian, the room growing colder as the shadows deepened around him. The moonlight faded into darkness, mirroring the hollow ache in Jungkook’s heart.

Kian stood up slowly, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the conversation. He glanced back at Jungkook, his face tight with concern. “I just hope you don’t regret this, Alpha,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of finality. Without waiting for a response, Kian walked to the door, the soft click of it closing behind him echoing in the heavy silence left in his wake.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

"Luna, for how long will you keep crying like this?" Shina's voice was gentle, laced with concern as she knelt beside you, offering a plate of food. She watched as you stared blankly at the untouched meal. Tears streamed down your cheeks, an endless waterfall that had begun with the dawn.

“Please, eat something,” she urged softly, but you could only shake your head, the words lodged in your throat like a stone.

“Why? Can’t he just accept the bond, Shina? Why?” Your voice cracked. Frustration bubbled within you, mingling with the heartache that had you feeling hollow.

Shina placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, but you shrugged it off, the gesture feeling too heavy to bear. “Please leave, Shina,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

She hesitated, searching your face for a glimmer of hope, but all she found were shadows of despair. “No matter how much love you give to a bird with broken wings, it won’t ever make it believe it can fly,” she said, her voice quiet yet firm, her eyes filled with empathy. “And even if it did, isn’t it just death, Luna?”

Her words wrapped around you like a cold shroud, leaving you confused and raw. You opened your mouth to respond, but the weight of her statement silenced you. She rose slowly, the sadness in her eyes mirrored by the heaviness in the air, before she turned and walked away, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You stared at the food plate, your heart aching with the reality of it all. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in as you fought to suppress the next wave of tears. Each breath felt like a struggle, the silence around you amplifying the sorrow that threatened to drown you.

Okay, so first of all, if you’ve made it this far, wow, congrats on surviving whatever mess I just threw your way. I mean, let's be honest, this is probably one of the most questionable things you've ever had the misfortune of reading. And for that, I truly, sincerely apologize—well, kinda.

But hey, if you're sitting there thinking, "Wow, this is absolute garbage," you're not alone. I get it. I hated it too. So, feel free to tell me just how much you despised every single word of it. I mean, go on, rip it apart. I'm mentally prepared...sort of. Probably. Okay, not really. But let's pretend I am, and we can bond over how truly awful this was. Thanks for sticking around, though. You're a champ.

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