#there's so many more chapters but these were the first ones that came to mind

[doestarkey]

summary: sneaking onto drew’s phone after a gnawing suspicion of him cheating on you

the age gap between you and drew had always lingered in the back of your mind, quietly eroding your confidence in the relationship. no matter how much you tried to push the thought aside, it left you questioning—doubting. if it was a concern for you, surely it was for him too… right?

at twenty one, you were still navigating life—balancing college, exploring career paths, meeting new people, and experiencing things for the first time. drew, on the other hand, was in an entirely different chapter.

he had everything already figured out—a thriving career as the ceo of a globally recognized company, financial security, a beautiful home, and the kind of life experience that only comes with time. and, of course, there was the attention.

women—his age—throwing themselves at him, drawn to his success, his confidence, and the effortless charm that came with being an attractive man in his late thirties. women who seemed like they belonged in his world more than you ever could.

so what made you any different?

late nights at the office became a routine for him. he explained it all—overtime, project deadlines, the occasional presence of a coworker or two in the building. you never questioned it.

until one night.

maybe it was real, or maybe it was just your own insecurities manifesting into something tangible. but as you washed his suit, you could have sworn you caught the faintest trace of perfume that didn’t belong to you.

it gnawed at you. the doubt, the fear. until, finally, you caved to the one thing you had sworn to yourself you wouldn’t do.

as he slept beside you, you carefully reached for his phone on the nightstand, your fingers hesitant but determined. the screen lit up, illuminating your face in the dark. you tried once. twice. a third time—

“it’s your birthday.”

his voice was soft, laced with sleep, yet fully aware. he lay on his side, head propped up on one hand as he watched you, offering the password without hesitation. a quiet reminder of the trust you were on the verge of betraying.

a lump formed in your throat, but you pressed forward. as the phone unlocked, you combed through everything—messages, photos, calls—desperate for proof of something that didn’t exist.

and there it was.

nothing. no betrayal. no late-night secrets. just the overwhelming weight of guilt settling in your stomach.

silently, you turned off the phone and handed it back to him, unable to meet his gaze.

drew chuckled, taking the phone and placing it back on the nightstand before reaching out, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“feel better now?” he asked, voice calm, understanding.

you didn’t answer, just stared at him with a deep frown, the shame too heavy to put into words.

“it’s okay,” he reassured you softly, though there was a hint of hurt in his voice. “but talk to me, baby. why’d you do that? what did i do that made you go through my phone?”

“you didn’t do anything, i just—” you hesitated, frustration bubbling up. how could you explain this without sounding irrational?

his head tilted slightly, reading you with ease. “been in your head too much, thinking things you shouldn’t?”

you nodded, exhaling shakily. “i just got scared… you’re always working late, and there are so many women—women your age—”

drew let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “that’s what you’re worried about? women my age?”

you pouted, not finding the humor in it, but his smile only grew.

“baby, if i wanted someone my age, i’d have them. but i don’t. i want you. age doesn’t change that.”

the sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. “i’m sorry, drew,” you murmured, burying your face in your hands as embarrassment burned tears into your eyes.

“hey, none of that,” he whispered, pulling your hands away before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against his bare chest. “c’mere.”

you clung to him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, your sniffles the only sound in the quiet room.

“m’not upset with you, sweetheart,” he promised, one hand threading through your hair as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“why not?” you mumbled into his skin, the warmth of him grounding you.

he chuckled. “because i know you didn’t mean any harm. just promise me that next time, you’ll talk to me instead, yeah?”

you nodded against him, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “i promise.”

“good.” he sighed, his arms tightening around you. “now, let’s get some sleep.”

“i love you,” you whispered.

“i love you too, baby.”

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 2

Hii! Here is the second chapter. I will post the chapters when the next one is either 50% or 90-100% ready, based on how long it has been. Hope you enjoy!

previous<< Chapter 2 >>next(tbc)

Breakfast became awkward as soon as you shyly walked in, hunger beating the desire to stay hidden in your room- in hindsight, maybe you should have. They were chatting so eagerly, laughing. You wanted that too but as soon as you peeked through the door the noise stopped. It was like the first day of kindergarten. Lonely, your palms were sweating with anxiety, and- and you missed your mom.

You tried introducing yourself to Richard, but you were met with a hum and one singular glance, no interest from the older boy, your supposed brother. Bruce- you’d rather him not look at you at all. It was like he was trying to read your mind and dissect it.

By the time you had it in you to speak again, to try and create some bonds, it seemed like they couldn’t get away fast enough. They both looked so tired. You’d think they would have taken their time. Your eyes meet Alfred’s icy blues once the room is empty.

“Do they hate me?... Did I do something wrong?” Alfred’s whole body flinched at the question, unseen by the untrained eye. The old man felt pity, a bit of guilt for the way he, himself, acted. But the mask of indifference he’s been trained for years to keep took its place once more.

With a gentle hand, he did his best to soothe her worries. Bruce could never hate a kid, Alfred was sure… He hoped he was. Alfred shook his head- no, he shouldn’t doubt his child- Master Bruce. He shouldn’t doubt Master Bruce like that. He knows better. The old man cleared his throat. “Here, young miss. Master Bruce wanted you to have this. Just like Master Dick has.” His explanation of what and how to use the little black card and the modern phone came just as quickly as his try at making connections between the two kids.

“Giving a kid unsupervised access to so much money and the internet sounds like a bad idea.” Your mumbling made Alfred’s lip twitch. It was and he said as much, but it was what Master Bruce wanted, and what he wanted he got… usually.

And with that, Alfred left too. You understood why he left; he seemed to be the only employee. Taking care of such a big house all on your own must take all day, and to have to cook as well… Poor man, Bruce mustn’t like him very much either. He was old, ancient to your five-year-old self, maybe you could help with something.

After finishing your meal, you take the dishes and carefully put them in the sink. You wanted to wash them but sadly, the counter was taller than you. Instead, you focused on cleaning the table and pushing the chairs back into their place.

Bruce must have gone to work, and Richard to school. Your brows furrowed and your lips stuck out in a pout. You were supposed to go to kindergarten. Neither of the adults seemed worried about that, and you didn’t know how to get there either, so it must be a deliberate choice. Maybe it was closed. Or maybe they forgot.

Your feet carried you across the manor, from the withered garden to the many floors of the cold house, relying on the whispers from the shadows to know what door you can open, and which way you should go. They were leading you in a specific direction, you knew, but what else could you do but listen? Not like you had anything else to do or anywhere to be.

You stopped as soon as the shadows stopped whispering. The overlapping murmuring going silent made the room feel colder, and yet your amazement at the object before your eyes filled you with the warmth and hope you needed to survive another day. It was a simple thing, a painting.

A couple, a woman sitting on a chair and a man standing tall beside her. The position on any other would seem imposing, controlling even, but the hand on her shoulder wasn’t gripping her. It was a tender caress of care that reflected in the man’s face as a gentle smile and his eyes fixated on the woman, his wife. The painter did a great job of portraying the love and softness the man held for his beloved, as they did for the warmth in her smile and mischievously happy gleam in her eyes.

She was beautiful, full of life. Her dress was silky white. Must have been painted on the day of their wedding. She was the perfect picture of elegance as beautiful, shining pearls adorned her neck and the bottom of her dress, and yet… Her eyes seemed as sad as they were happy. She probably missed her mami too. You couldn’t imagine marrying someone and leaving your mom, but then again, you’re young and idealistic, dreaming of things that cannot be anymore.

You sat there for what felt like hours, taking in every little detail you could. You wanted to do this, to paint, to draw, to have your art hung for generations to see. Maybe you could fix the garden as well. Make it a beautiful background for your art, and a little something to make you feel useful. Now… how do you get back to your room?

The shadows seemed to giggle at how your demeanor soured once you realized how lost you actually were. Nevertheless, once they had their fun, they led you back to where you needed to be, gently nudging your tired little self back into the walls of your room. All that walking exhausted you so much, a nap was long overdue- you were sure they’d wake you up for lunch or dinner.

They never did. You woke up at one in the morning, more tired than when you went to sleep, and ten times hungrier and colder. Maybe they didn’t have dinner? The trash in the bin and half-chopped veggies in the fridge told a different story. It seems you’ll have to fend for yourself once more.

Tag List: @bat1212

[unacknowledgeable]

I LOVE UR SK READER SO MUCH!! they're so fascinating, i totally picture them as this charming lovely old thing who's barely holding it together omggg... the NV!love interest is so cool too,, i'd love to see if and how the reader's tolerance for NV increases. i do wonder though, cass is pretty observant, wouldn't she see atleast a little through y/n? like a short glance at least?

“Charming lovely old thing” is a perfect way to describe readers' general demeanor for their day to day life. I mean, for most of your formative years you were raised by a 60 year old man and until high school the closest thing to a friend was a man 3 times your age, who was also friends with your father… yeah you definitely don't have enough fingers to count how many times you’ve been called an “old soul” by cheek pinching grandmothers in chunky jewelry, smothered in the heaviest of perfumes. (At least, you don't have enough of your own fingers)

Your idea of “casual” wear is probably more akin to business casual, half because you wouldn't let yourself be caught dead not looking perfectly put together for Gothams tabloids and because Alfred really hammered his sense of proper style into you at a young age. You reek of old money lmao. 

 As for Cass, you actually moved out before she came to the manor, so you honestly never had a formal introduction, despite being the same age. The both of you are hardly ever at the manor at the same time (mostly by your design, you have access to Bruce's trackers) so the chances for her to get the drop on you are slim. She’s never seen when you're actually relaxed, you’re always on guard when you visit the manor, (you can only ignore Alfreds requests so often before he starts to get worried) 

So while she’d be able to see through most people, she's never been in a room with you long enough for your mask to slip. Basically, If you don't act suspicious, then she won’t be suspicious. (it also doesn’t hurt if you don't feel guilty about your activities either) it's a very thin line you're treading. But, you have years of practice evading calculated eyes by blending in with the wallpaper and sinking into the background of your family's chaos, and the risk just adds to the game.

Of course, with the family's sudden shift of attention towards you, and your facade of calm crumbles more and more with each passing day, she’ll notice that she was definitely reading your demeanor wrong, which will fuel her own obsession as to how you were able to hide from her in the first place. Her first instinct will be to be worried FOR you, not wary of you, because at this point, you being up to any majorly dangerous or illegal activities hasn't crossed any of their minds. Yet. 

Unrelated to the ask, but y’know how most serial killers have a name given to them by the public, like the zodiac killer, jack the ripper, etc? 

Yeah… so I wanna give the SK!Reader one, sense I’m getting more indepth with this and for when I finally start writing full chapters.

I have a few lined up and I'll probably make a separate post listing them, but if anyone has any ideas let me know, lol. Otherwise y’all are stuck with my lackluster naming skills.

~Masterlist~

[universitypenguin]

Chapter 31

Summary: Princess slowly recovers from her brain injury. Nguyen refuses requests for an interview, leaving many lingering questions hanging over the case. Lloyd makes a rash decision. 

Word Count: 3,175

Masterlist

Warnings: Depiction of healthcare settings and brain injury recovery.

Chapter 31

Sunlight filtered in through the casement window of the rehab center and warmed the back of your neck. You sat on the edge of a chair and focused on the buttons of your sweater. First, tilt the button to the side…slip it through the hole… your fingers trembled as you fastened the top button of the cardigan.

“Very good,” the nursing assistant said.

You hated her bright, cheerful tone. It was more suited to training a puppy than addressing an adult. The worst part of it was that the assistant appeared to be even younger than you. For some reason, that rubbed salt in the wound.

“How about you try the next button?” she coaxed.

It was on the tip of your tongue to refuse and say you liked it better with only the top button fastened, but you knew that statement would wind its way back to your occupational therapist before breakfast was served. So, with unsteady fingers, you began to work on the second button.

Dressing on your own was a victory in itself. A month ago you’d graduated from a hospital gown to your own pajamas. This month you’d reached the greatest pinnacle of success possible in a place like long-term rehab: wearing real clothes. It was a huge improvement over being tethered to beeping machines in a sterile white room at the far end of the hall, which was where you’d started your rehab journey before being slowly downgraded through the different levels of care at the center.

The weeks you’d spent in the ICU were hazy, and your memories of that place were colored with an intense feeling of frustration.

Those feelings came back in full force when the nursing assistant spoke. “Good job!”

Your eyes flicked toward her, and your lip curled up in one corner. It was rude, but controlling your emotions—and facial expressions—was still a work in progress. While in the ICU, you’d learned there was a term for that condition: emotional lability. Basically, it meant that your feelings were intense and volatile. Emotional regulation was a natural state for you, something you’d learned so young it was almost an innate ability. Not having that skill post brain injury was a new experience—an unpleasant one.

The nursing assistant went to the bathroom and collected your makeup bag while she rattled off your morning schedule and filled you in on who was coming to visit you today. Lloyd would be here in the afternoon, and so would your mother and Vivian.

You took the makeup kit and carefully unzipped the bag, mindful of your movements. It took focus to keep your hand steady, applying the correct amount of pressure. Everything was slow these days, and it was hard not to slap the makeup bag off your lap and scream. Or maybe cry. You’d spent quite a bit of time alternating between both reactions, but at least now you could button a sweater. Hopefully, the results would compound, and you’d finally get your independence back.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“You’re saying we can take her home?”

Lloyd cut through the long-winded social worker’s analysis, stating what he’d understood.

The social worker clasped her clipboard to her chest. “Provided there are no stairs to navigate and she has someone available to assist her during the day. She’s made significant progress, but there are still areas where she’ll need support—particularly with fine motor tasks and spatial awareness. It’s not ideal for her to be alone for extended periods.”

Lloyd glanced at your mother. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. Vivian, her hand resting on her pregnant belly, which was just starting to show, shifted uncomfortably. The tension in the room was palpable as the practicalities of Princess’ care weighed on everyone’s mind.

“There’s a bedroom at my house on the main floor,” Lloyd said. “There would be no need for her to deal with stairs.”

Your mother frowned. “I don’t want to impose. You’ve already done so much.”

“It’s not an imposition. It’s what makes sense. She’ll have the space and the supervision she needs.”

Vivian hesitated, glancing between them before she finally spoke. “Mom, there’s steps leading up to my house. Your guest room is in the basement. Neither of us could take care of her. Not safely.”

The doctor nodded. “Given her current limitations, Mr. Hansen’s home is better suited for her recovery. She’ll have outpatient therapy here at the rehab center three times a week, but I do think she’ll make more progress in a less regulated environment where she can relax and practice the therapy skills at her own pace.”

“She would,” your mother was quick to agree.

It was true that you’d reached the end of your patience with the structured routines of rehab. The daily therapy sessions made you cranky, not because you didn’t want to make progress, but because you resented constantly being told what to do and it was hindering your improvement.

“Then it’s settled. She’ll come home with me.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Getting you discharged took three days. There were requirements to fulfill, like having a hospital bed installed in the guest room and arranging for in-home therapy equipment to be delivered. Lloyd handled it all with efficiency. By the time the paperwork was signed and your belongings packed, you felt more like a package whose delivery required a team of logistics experts rather than a human being.

The ride to Lloyd’s house was quiet. You spent it in silence, hoping that you’d start to feel like you were reclaiming your independence at some point along the journey. When you stepped into the guest room and came face to face with the hospital bed that had replaced the luxurious queen bed that used to dominate the space, you wanted to sit down and cry. This didn’t feel like a stop on the way back to normal. It felt like the rest of your life would be spent fighting for every zipper to unzip and every button to fasten.

“Princess?” Lloyd spoke from behind you as you stood in the doorway to the guest room.

“Did you put the bed in storage?”

“It’s downstairs in the basement. The hospital bed is just temporary, I promise.”

He wrapped his arms around you and the solid mass of his chest pressed against your back. “You know, graduating from rehab calls for a celebration.”

You snorted derisively, unable to stop yourself.

Lloyd released his hold on your waist and turned you around by the shoulders to face him. You lowered your gaze, but he took your chin and tilted your head up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…” you broke off and closed your eyes. “I’m sorry. Thank you for doing this. I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he pressed.

Your eyes filled with tears, and you shook your head, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

“Come here.”

You sank into Lloyd, sagging against him, and soon the front of his shirt was soaked with tears.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said again when you’d cried yourself out.

This time you forced yourself to put the emotions into words, even though it was harder to express yourself that way now. Everything was harder now.

“I was thinking that celebrating couldn’t involve me eating because I can’t use most silverware right now. I imagined myself trying to cut a bite of food, and then I felt… upset. We can’t go out for martinis because I can’t drink on my medication. If we went somewhere I’d just get tired and fall asleep, regardless of the fact that I’ve had three naps today. I’m just feeling… hopeless. I’m sorry.”

Lloyd’s lips brushed your ear. “You are not hopeless. In fact, you’re the furthest thing from it.”

You bit your lip and choked down another sob.

“Luckily, my celebration doesn’t involve eating or drinking or going out. In fact…”

The rustling of tissue paper had you lifting your head from his chest. He’d reached around you to pick up a gift bag from the dresser beside the door. It was bright red and stuffed on the top with silver paper.

“Open it.”

You tore out the paper and dug into the bag to find a velvet box. It was large, surprisingly so. Definitely bigger than any jewelry box you’d received for your birthday or a holiday. Instead of trying to open it yourself, you handed it to Lloyd.

He lifted the lid of the case and revealed a pearl choker nestled in the middle of the silk-lined box.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Want to try it on?”

In answer, you turned around so he could access your neck.

The cool weight of the pearls settled against your skin as Lloyd fastened the clasp. You reached up instinctively, your fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the choker. It felt elegant and timeless. For a fleeting moment, you could almost forget the hospital bed dominating the room or the tremor in your hand as you felt the jewels.

“Perfect,” Lloyd murmured. He slid off the bed and stood to face you, inspecting the necklace. “It suits you.”

You looked in the mirror above the dresser to see your reflection. The pearls caught the light from the window, gleaming against your skin, and for the first time in ages, you felt like you recognized the person in the mirror. It wasn’t exactly the same person as before, but you weren’t as different as you’d thought you’d become.

“Thank you,” you said.

Lloyd smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. You wondered at the expression and then your own smile faltered at the realization that perhaps he was seeing the same thing you were—the lack of similarity between who you were before, and now.

“I thought you deserved something beautiful after everything that’s happened.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers still tracing the pearls. “It’s perfect. I love it.”

“That’s all I care about,” Lloyd murmured.

There was something on his face you couldn’t figure out, but you could sense there was more to this gift than just what he’d said. Unfortunately, your brain was too tired, and a headache was forming in your left temple. You promised yourself that you’d puzzle it out later, but right now your body was too tired, your brain too fragile to process anything. His words hung in the air between you, their weight heavier than the necklace.

“You need a nap, don’t you?” Lloyd asked.

“Mmmhh.” You rubbed your left temple, sighing. “I’m sorry. I’m not very much fun right now.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll celebrate once you’re fully recovered. I promise. Now go to bed. I’ll tuck you in.”

“Tuck me into my hospital bed,” you grumbled.

“Suck it up,” Lloyd said, smirking when you pouted.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Weeks turned into months. The hospital bed in Lloyd’s guest room became a distant memory as grueling physical therapy sessions eventually turned into real progress. At first, the exercises were agonizing, breaking you down before you could rebuild. Small victories marked the way—cutting food without fumbling, fastening buttons without trembling, ascending stairs without clinging to the railing like it was a life preserver. Each milestone was hard-won, but by the time you were cleared to return to work, you’d reclaimed most of your independence.

In January, stepping into your office for the first time since the accident felt like slipping into a favorite coat that had been left hanging in the closet too long. The fit was the same, the fabric still warm with familiarity, but there was a stiffness to it now, a faint scent of dust that made it feel a little less like home. The hum of voices from down the hall, the rustle of papers, and the faint smell of coffee grounded you. Flowers waited on your desk, accompanied by a card signed by the paralegals. For the first time in months, you allowed yourself to hope for a normal day.

Lloyd had seemed genuinely pleased to see you thriving, but the shadow you’d glimpsed in his eyes the day he gave you the pearl choker lingered in your mind, like a storm cloud on the horizon. In the four months since Shun Nguyen’s arrest, Lloyd had been busy with new cases and relentlessly pursuing an elusive interview with Nguyen, who was now a full-time resident at the Keen Mountain Correctional Facility. Despite Lloyd’s weekly requests, Nguyen refused to break his silence. 

Meanwhile, you’d been preoccupied with therapy and the slow crawl back to normalcy. Lloyd’s caseload meant he’d been working long hours, during which your mother or sister had stayed at the house. The gaps in your time together had felt like mere coincidences rather than anything more significant, but tonight’s dinner was meant to change that. You were back at work and that meant you wouldn’t just have your normal routine back, you’d also have Lloyd again, too.

The French restaurant near Logan Circle was dimly lit, its ambiance all soft candlelight and muted conversations. The semi-private booth Lloyd reserved offered a semblance of intimacy, but the space between you felt heavier than usual. He picked at his coq au vin, while you tried to fill the silence with stories about your first day back at work, therapy, and plans for the weekend. His responses were polite but distant, each word carefully measured.

“I’m proud of you,” Lloyd said abruptly, cutting into your rambling story.

You blinked, caught off guard. “For what?”

“For everything,” he said, setting his fork down. His gaze locked with yours, and for a moment, the shadow you’d seen before was unmistakable. “For how hard you’ve worked to get back here. For everything you’ve overcome.”

Your heart swelled, but before you could respond, he sighed, the sound heavy with regret.

“I wanted to wait to do this,” he began, his voice low. “I wanted to do it differently, but if I keep putting it off, it’ll never happen. And I can’t keep avoiding it.”

A chill ran down your spine. “Avoiding what?”

Lloyd’s mouth tightened as he looked away. His voice, when it came, was calm but unyielding. “We’ve been holding onto something that’s run its course. There were a lot of extenuating circumstances, and after what happened to you in September… you needed support. But this relationship was never meant to last this long or become so… involved. It’s not right.”

“Not right?” you asked, disbelieving. “You mean it doesn’t feel right to you.”

His face betrayed nothing. “It’s not about how it feels. It’s about what’s best for you, for both of us. We can’t keep pretending those are the same thing.”

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “What are you saying? If you’re breaking up with me, just say it. Don’t dance around it.”

Lloyd was maddeningly composed. “I care about you, but this relationship isn’t working for me. And it’s not working for you, even if you can’t see that yet. I can’t give you what you need—what you deserve. And I don’t want to keep holding you back.”

“This relationship is over. That’s what you’re saying,” you said. “You invited me to dinner to tell me this?”

“No, I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” you hissed, your voice low to avoid drawing attention. “Don’t tell me you care about me and then say you can’t give me what I need. That’s bullshit, Lloyd. I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

“We need to be realistic about what our future looks like.”

You scowled. “It sounds like you’ve already decided what it looks like.” 

“Think about it. Right now I’m forty-one and our physical relationship is good, but what happens in ten years, when I’m fifty-one? In twenty years?” Lloyd shook his head. “You might be attracted to me now, but when I’m sixty and my age starts to show, that’s another story. It’s going to happen sooner than you think, so ending this now is for the best.”

“What about when I’m in my forties? Will you be attracted to me?” 

“Forty is way different than sixty. Trust me, I’m in a lot better shape now than what I’ll be when I’m sixty. My expiration date is a lot earlier than yours, for looks, energy, and time.” 

“That’s ridiculous!”

“I’m sorry,” Lloyd said, his voice firm. “This is my decision and I need you to respect it. Please.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The ride back to your apartment passed in a blur. That night, you lay in bed, the scene at dinner replaying on an endless loop in your mind. By the time the sun broke through the blinds, you’d given up on sleep. You showered, dressed meticulously, and spent an hour perfecting your makeup to ensure no trace of the night’s turmoil showed on your face.

At the office, the cheerful bouquet on your desk felt like a cruel joke. The hollow ache in your chest burned with an intensity you couldn’t ignore. You felt like an open wound, raw and exposed. Unable to bear it any longer, you climbed the stairs to the top floor. Outside the patent department, you checked your watch. Ten minutes to seven.

The door swung open behind you. Bishop stepped in, brushing snow from his lapel. His brows lifted at the sight of you standing outside his office.

“Princess? How are you? How’s your second day back? You’re here early. Is something wrong?”

You drew a deep breath. “I would like to resign,” you said. “Effective immediately.”

Bishop froze, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. “Princess, I hope this isn’t about Lloyd. Let’s talk about this—come into my office.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Your words came out clipped, final, but you couldn’t stop the sting of tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. “I just… I can’t do this anymore.”

He sighed, motioning for you to sit down in one of the chairs in front of his secretary’s desk. “Look, I get it. Things have been… difficult. But you’re one of the best researchers I’ve got. What if we found a way to make things easier for you here? A different role—less overlap with Lloyd’s team? How about working for Andy? He’d give his left arm to have you on his staff.” 

The offer was tempting, but every fiber of your being rejected the idea of staying at Bishop & Howard. “I appreciate that,” you said, “but this isn’t about Lloyd. It’s about me. I need to go.”

His frown deepened, but he nodded. “If that’s your final decision, I won’t stand in your way. Just know you’ll always have a place here.”

You rose to your feet and extended your hand. Bishop clasped it firmly, his grip tinged with the same reluctance that lined his face. No matter how much it hurt, this was the right decision. You knew Lloyd too well to hope that he’d change his mind and if you didn’t walk away, you’d never heal.

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Bishop.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Next Chapter - Coming Soon

Masterlist

Tag List: see the replies

[ceiling-karasu]

I had a dream about the Ray Bradbury story All Summer in a Day (because a plane dripped water on me while I was trying to doze in my assigned seat?? Just decided to ignore that at least we were finally ON the plane at that point). That one where humanity has bases on Venus, and it rains all day except for the one time every seven years. Anyway, the classmates lock a girl from Earth in a closet because they think she is making things up about this 'sun' thing.

Which later somehow started making me think of Dalnim living in a small apartment by himself, but some misunderstandings make his classmates think he was living under a local bridge. Then one entire week, it rains super hard, and starts flooding rivers, and some of the classmates freak out and lock Dalmin in a school closet over night/the weekend 'for his own good,' on the idea that they don't want Dalmin to fall asleep and get swept away to drown. Which only increases everyone's misunderstandings of one another.

But yeah, in the dorms sounds nice! Plus, work-study programs where he and everyone else can find out about the archives and photography. Maybe Sena is a guest lecturer one day.

I don't know much about what high schools are like nowadays. I remember 7 classes, but some days you had to rotate (class A M-W-F at 10 am, class B T-Th at 10 am), so it was technically more.

I just wound up writing about Tokgasi because parts of Lightning Rod were starting to focus on the aftermath of Aekku's secret document. Like, was everyone caught in one swoop, or did some of the agents notice others getting captured and run off somewhere? And why is the Tokgasi group named after this one individual? Has he done operations like this before?

Personally, I am also kind of obsessed with Field Mouse Number 8.

We see that he was apparently not chosen by Aekku, but is still away on a mission somewhere. Why was he not chosen? Where is he? Will Mulmangcho disguising as him have repercussions? If he is a field mouse/dormouse, and was actually known reasonably enough around the base that Mulmangcho could disguise as him without anyone asking questions, then he was probably close to Commander Jogjebi like the other field mice. Which means he could be off on a spying mission somewhere as part of Jogjebi or the Special Forces' groups. If Commander Jogjebi is gone, what would that mean for his mission if he is on one?

Yeah, maybe the past parts are good to have first. They are entertaining to read, so far.

The layout would be for the farmhouse villa in Lily Bell. Technically I have it all written out in the story, so the details are already there and I can take some liberties. Nothing really seems to contradict itself, but making an actual schematic is hard. I'll have to do it by hand. But, I have figured out I can make something by hand, upload it, and then trace over something in another layer and hide the first layer. So that's nice. Less worried about merging layers and more annoyed that sometimes I can't use the fill function in certain sections anymore after random periods of time. I am learning to use layers when I make clothing, though.

I kind of wish I could have gotten to know my grandfathers, but they both passed away young due to issues with heavy smoking.

I was thinking 'beauty and gracefulness' for Nayeon, for reasons that will come out much later. But yeah, at the moment, they are just not letting Nayeon figure out the truth about Jollin, since her interest in helping the neighbor distracts her from missing her parents, I guess. Plus, she would be bonding with someone who is also missing their parents, from everyone else's perspective.

It wouldn't have been only a simple reference. I was planning on writing more chapters involving perspectives from Geumsaegi, Juldarami, and Flower Hill and their search/investigations to figure out what happened to Bamsaegi. Which would have included a lot of dredging the ocean floor for a bit, and secret internal investigations. So a bit of a duel story going on there. But a soft romance just seemed disrespectful.

Thank you very much for the feedback! It means a lot to me. Although I think the amount of research you put into your own stories is great as well! And you are way better at the naming conventions and Hangul than I could ever be.

Something I did while I was waiting for class.

I don’t know if she would be a new character of mine. But if she was, she would be working as an archivist or doing something based around culture. Idk. She isn’t a character I would place in OFP since she wouldn’t be a solider. She would have been exempted.

The quality came out a bit wonky

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (6)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 10.8k

Warnings: mentions of murder, death, blood, knives, dead parents; crying; self blame; injuries; fever; tension; worried!Bucky

Author’s Note: I came to notice that the word counts in my chapters differ significantly from one chapter to another. I apologize if this is weird for you. Hope you enjoy! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

There’s a new kind of silence between you now.

It extends and winds itself into the trees, wrapping around unsaid words like an ivy branch.

This is not a natural silence and not the kind that felt almost comforting a day ago. It’s prickly and tense and laden and you hate how restless it makes you feel.

Each breath you take seems deafening, each movement you make achingly deliberate, and every moment of eye contact is a crack of electricity with no set destination.

Turns out, Bucky has been angry at you.

And he has chastised you for joining the fight in the first place.

But not in the way you’d expected.

You had braced for it. For venomous flames sprouting from his tongue. Ready to take anything he might throw at you.

You anticipated a different kind of anger, one that was intense and vocal, manifesting through harsh words and direct blame. Your stomach was a knot of anxiety, hands clenching.

The guilt has been bubbling within you ever since hurling that dagger, and you were ready for his rage to pour over it like oil on flames, transforming it into an intolerable blaze.

But Bucky didn’t give you that.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t even raise his voice.

It was slow and withdrawn, enough to expose the sharp rocks underneath. If anything, he sounded worn. The kind of worn that digs itself deep into a man’s soul.

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed,” he said, voice rather quiet, flat but somehow heavy. His hand has scrubbed over his face in a rough movement, as if trying to erase a hurtful memory of you standing there like the helpless girl you were, blood running over your temple. “You didn’t help. Didn’t even know what you were doin’.”

His words hurtfully slipped deep into your mind. Not because they were cruel, but because they weren’t. He didn’t berate you for stepping in, didn’t accuse you of foolishness. He simply sounded tired. Like someone who’s seen this before. Like someone who didn’t have it in him to carry the weight of your recklessness on top of his own.

It hurt more than anything he could have said in anger. There was something underneath the fatigue, something defeated, but also sharp. Disappointment, maybe - at you, or himself. Or fear. Or guilt. Or everything at once.

You braced yourself against his wrath, but instead, he gave you this hidden reprimand that left you feeling small.

It made you want to say something. Offer some sort of apology to soften the ache his words ignited in you. But the words stayed stuck between your heart and mouth. I’m sorry would have been so simple to say, but it didn’t feel like enough.

And so you just nodded your head to acknowledge you heard him. That you understood. Although you did not. Although your mind was a scrambled mess.

You saved him. You acted when you thought you had no other choice. When the alternative was losing him, and somehow, that felt more unbearable than the thought of taking another man’s life.

Yet, his words rang with truth. You didn’t know what you were doing when you started scrambling for that dagger on the ground. Nothing seemed logically possible. You just were desperate to act. Desperate to be helpful for once. But were you?

You saved him, but does he feel saved?

You only watched him as he turned on his heel, the line of his shoulders as stony as could be. He began to clear the area you stayed without another word, without a single glance back at you. Though he did keep you in his peripherals.

That’s when the silence started.

Because all you could do was sit there, unmoving, your thoughts a flurry of confusion and guilt and so many more twisted versions of those emotions.

The image of the man you killed still ticked in your head, counting the minutes you were leaving his metaphorical blood on your hands. It won’t ever stop counting. It will count you dead.

At one point, you forced yourself to rise and felt the heaviness of a tired body dragged down by a stinging stab at your side.

Bucky only tilted his head in your direction but didn’t meet your eye, continuing to tie knots, secure straps with his jaw set and clipped movements.

The routine of clearing your chosen sleeping spot for the night was basically the same as the last weeks but it felt so much more different today.

The river has been cold, shockingly so. The icy water irritated your skin, currents tugging at you as if meaning to pull you under. But it somehow grounded you in a way that nothing else had since the fight. Painfully so. It cleared a narrow path in your mind, through the wildly jumping and flickering memories.

You scrubbed at your hands, your arms, the hem of your dress, but no amount of washing could take away the feeling that still holds you captive. No scrubbing would be able to wash the blood from your hands because this is rather figurative. The metallic tang of it lingers in your nose. It will always stay.

Just like the sensation of that dagger slipping from your grip, its blade penetrating flesh, the extinguishing of life in a heartbeat. The frozen expression of shock and anguish cast over this man’s face.

Bucky washed himself as well.

You heard the faint click of metal, the soft rustle of fabric, and turned to him. He didn’t seem to care that you were only a few feet away, standing in the water with your dress on. Or maybe it was a deliberate decision not to move to another part of the river to clean himself. You weren’t sure.

But he did not so much as glance in your direction as he unbuckled his armor and pulled it off. He moved methodically. Not even thinking about it.

And then he peeled off his shirt.

Your breath caught, your fingers curling against the smooth stones at the river’s edge as you didn’t take your eyes off him. The faint moonlight that had illuminated the clearing earlier was gone, the silvery glow of the moon replaced by sunlight. And it painted his skin. It played with it. Each muscle of his torso and arms etched with stark definition.

But it wasn’t even the sheer strength of him, the building muscles that drew your attention. After all, you’ve seen him use them. You’ve seen them strain his armor across his chest.

It was the scars.

The crisscrosses over his chest, some jagged and irregular, others clean and straight as though left by a scalpel.

And then there was his left shoulder.

The scars there were different, deeper, more savage. The flesh around his shoulder and upper arm was tissue, cratered, and puckered, stretching away from the shoulder like the aftermath of some violent attempt to sever his arm completely.

It’s the thought - not the sight - that made bile rise in your throat.

And he didn’t even care about you watching. Maybe he didn’t even notice.

He moved toward the river without hesitation, stepping into the icy water as though it were no colder than a warm bath. His breathing was controlled, his muscles didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed detached, sterile. Movements so robotic.

And it reminded you of something. Or rather someone. A soldier. A soldier of the navy army. Your fathers. Yours. Rumlow did say he was a soldier once.

You should have seen it earlier. Should have noticed the similarities. Should have been able to recognize it in the way he carried himself. But it was clear to say that he no longer acknowledged himself as a soldier of your army. It was clear to say that the manners of the soldier in him were something he revolted against.

He crouched in the shallows, water lapping at him the same way it lapped at you but he didn’t pay much mind to the currents. He only cupped a handful of it to pour over his head.

You shouldn’t have been watching him. But you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

The beat of your heart was a crazy commotion in your chest. It was shock churning with embarrassment and another feeling you could not seem to identify. Or did not want to.

These scars are stories you couldn’t begin to imagine. Stories he hasn’t dared to share and probably won’t ever bother to tell. And still, there was something sacred about watching him so completely stripped of what always seems like two layers of armor, both literal and metaphorical.

His eyes were fixed on the horizon, on something far beyond the river, something far beyond this moment. The strength of his stare was palpable, as if he was seeing ghosts that only he was able to perceive. He looked tight-lipped, his expression unreadable. But there was something sitting on his shoulders as tangible as the scars that marred them.

One hard swallow and you felt your throat closing tight. There was intrigue in the jumble of unfocused thoughts surpassing the barriers of your mind, while your rightful feelings begged for the right words to come out.

How could someone bear so much and still keep moving? How could he carry all of this - whatever it truly is - and still find the strength to protect you, to shield you, to chastise you for risking yourself for him?

You thought back to the fight although you didn’t want to. The way he moved looking so deadly, how he stepped protectively in front of you without a moment’s thought for his safety.

Just who is this man? It is a question that has been plaguing you for some time now.

Not just the man who stood in that river, water coursing over his scarred body, but the man behind the scars, behind the silence, behind the bitterness that lingers around the peripheries of all he says and does.

He turned then. And the look that cut over you was making you heat up despite the cold water. There was no surprise, no embarrassment, no anything. Just a studying look that lingered a moment too long.

“Finish up. We should keep moving.”

And with that, he stood, water streaming off his skin, and moved to the bank to retrieve his shirt and armor.

Your cheeks remained burning.

And then you were trailing him again. Through the woods.

You walked in his shadows, his presence looming even when he didn’t speak. There was something tipped about him, something like restrained that made it seem like he was trying to keep himself together. The air brimmed between the two of you with a strange energy, a fraught tension that was an uneasy, almost elemental pull.

The ache in your side flared with each step, but you didn’t complain, didn’t utter a single word.

He checked on you more often than probably necessary, his glances quick but searching. Narrowing as they flicked to your wound.

Every time his eyes met your own they carried something thick, but when he looked away he seemed to leave behind emptiness as if he was turning the locks to prevent you from coming in.

And all he said were short commands, clipped and dry.

“Sit there.”

“Hold this.”

“Tell me if it hurts too much.”

You followed his instructions without protest, without question, because the look in his eyes left no room for argument. His tone didn’t invite conversation, but it was not cruel. It was not sharp. It simply was matter-of-fact, just like everything else about him. Practical. Precise. But aloof.

The tension between you felt like it was building something, but you didn’t know what. A confrontation, maybe. Or a confession. Or nothing at all. Maybe this was how it would be now - this silence, this distance, this shared yet separate burden.

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time you stopped to rest. He spouted an improvised campsite like every night - a small clearing, flanked by plump pines with their branches woven in dense roofs. The ground is mildly plush because of moss and littered with fallen leaves. Life seems to thrum in the forest around you, with crickets chirping and small animals rushing through bushes but it’s still muted by the tension yet to fold from the air.

Bucky set to work straight away, gathering firewood and checking the perimeter with sharp eyes.

You dropped your tired bones onto a decaying log, exhaustion pulling your shoulders down, mind not able to settle. You pulled your cloak tighter around yourself.

There was something about Bucky in this moment that felt unreachable. As though the man you had come to know - the man who shielded you with his body, who taught you to throw a knife, who hated seeing you fear him - was retreating. Pulling back into himself. And you hated that you didn’t know how to bridge the gap.

Your emotions swirled fiercely and unmanageable. It wasn’t just the guilty prick lying in knots in your stomach, but it was accompanied by fear and anger. Though you didn’t even know if it was directed at him, at yourself, or even the world that had shackled you into this lunacy.

When he finally sat in front of you, the fire crackling softly between you, you avoided each other’s eyes. Perhaps even each other’s presence altogether.

There was something feeling almost intimate, as though the firelight had drawn you closer even as the unspoken things between you kept you apart.

You thought about things to say that might ease the tension, but your chest felt too heavy to let any word come up.

And so you sat there, the firelight flickering in between, the forest shedding all its secrets in the dark.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or how you would face it.

All you knew was that the silence between you edged on being both a barrier and a bridge, and you didn’t know which it would become.

You sigh heavily. Relieving the day in memory and emotion.

The ground beneath you feels harder tonight, the ache in your muscles sharper, the wound at your side a constant throb you’re not able to ignore.

The forest floor is rocky, the thin carpet of leaves and moss providing little cushion against the roughness of the roots and stones pushing at you against your back.

You’ve been lying here for what feels like hours, though time has lost its meaning since the sun disappeared behind the horizon.

The night is thick around you, with the stillness broken from time to time by the faint rustling of branches overhead, stirred by a wind too weak to reach the forest floor.

You know he’s there, just a few paces away. His presence is profound. As tangible as the pain in your side and the sting in your pride. He is silent. Too silent. He isn’t sharpening his knife, a sound you’ve come to associate with him as much as his footfalls when he resigns to pacing at night.

But he doesn’t. He isn’t even shifting. The rustle of his movements absent in the hush of the woods.

But you know that he’s awake. You can feel it in the air between you. A vibration, almost imperceptible.

He’s lying there too, as still as you are, but his stillness is different. Alert. Vigilant. You don’t dare turn your head to check, don’t dare disturb whatever you hold between you.

You wonder, what he’s thinking, whether he’s still angry with you, whether he’s even capable of anger right now. He seemed so tired earlier, so worn down.

You stay with your back to him, trying to match his silence with your own shallow breathing so as to convince yourself you are not even there at all. That you’re somewhere else entirely. Anywhere else.

Maybe even the palace.

It comes back to your mind immediately in vivid detail. The soaring arches of marble halls, lanterns casting their diffused glow through the gilded walls, the cool and polished floor beneath your feet.

You picture your chambers, the bed that had always been too large for a single person but always felt too small to hold your restlessness. The bed you would give anything to climb into right now.

You can almost feel the silky and soft linen sheets against your skin, pillows downy and cuddling your head. Almost hear the palace life at night, the distant sound of guards patrolling, wind whispering through stained-glass windows.

You can almost taste the security of it, the confident certainty that tomorrow would come as it always had, with the same routines, the same expectations, the same smiles.

But the more you picture it, the more it mocks you. The differences are too sharp, too cruel, too much and it makes a lump rise in your throat. A knot that feels like it’s tied to the weight in your chest, tugging you further down.

You think bitterly about the irony of wanting the home you had once longed to escape more than anything now. You had believed freedom to feel bright and airy but it only ever feels disgusting and cold and everlasting.

Out here, beneath the sky, encased in a moon of brilliant enormity, you feel incredibly small, tender to your soul, and so unanchored to anything.

You feel lost. Lost in a way you didn’t think was possible. Lost in a way no map or compass could ever remedy. You thought you already were a lost soul as the princess in the castle but you’ve been so off the rails.

Your heart seems misplaced in the way it’s beating, uncertain where to send the blood. Your thoughts are darting like startled birds, too quick to catch but too loud to ignore. But all that resounds in your mind is the reflection of your desire extending infinitely into the emptiness you have yet to flee.

You stare at the faint pinpricks of light above, stars that barely break through the tangled mesh of branches. It is beautiful in its own way. So vast and wild. But tonight, even that feels like a cage. No. It feels like you are the only caged thing in it.

A faint heat blooms behind your eyes, the pain of too much thinking with nothing resolved.

None of this makes any sense. The freedom you thought you wanted came at a cost you weren’t prepared to pay. You have nothing but the clothes on your back and the man sitting silently behind you, watching the dark as if it might rise up and devour you both.

You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted to escape the palace and see the world beyond it. You thought you understood what that meant. Oh how wrong you were.

Your lips press together as a tear slips free. It seems to come out of nowhere, tracing a hot path down your cheek like a secret you need to keep. Your jaw tightens at the vulnerability you can’t suppress, biting on the inside of your cheek, pearling saliva in your mouth. Though the harder you try to will away new tears forming, the harder it becomes to hold them back from spilling over.

More wetness pools in the corner of your eyes. This is weak. You know that. And you hate it. Because he might hear it. He might hear you losing your mind. But you can’t let him. You won’t.

You shift slightly, turning your face toward the ground as though burying it in the crook of your arm might somehow hide it. From yourself. From him. From the forest.

The grief and guilt and helplessness all twist inside your chest like a knotted rope not so easily undone. You feel so utterly adrift, like a ship lost at sea with no stars to guide it home. And the funny thing is, there are stars. But they won’t steer you home. Because there is nothing like it.

Your shoulders shake ever so slightly with the effort of staying silent. You can’t bear the thought of him knowing, of him looking at you with those eyes of his and seeing your inner turmoil, hearing the sobs that tremble in your throat. It terrifies you. Bucky has his own demons. You’ve seen them in the way he moves, the way he fights, the way his gaze would drift past anything like he was seeing something else, something darker.

You swallow hard, letting the tears fall - silently enough you hope - leaving them to soak into the earth beneath you.

Clenching your fingers into the fabric of your cloak that hangs over you, you attempt to find stability in it.

Another wave of tears spill over and you bury your face deeper into the cook of your arm, pressing hard against your mouth to muffle the sound. Bucky can’t see you this broken and so far from the person you thought you were supposed to be.

You struggle to breathe through your grief, your inhalation raspy and shaking enough to make the ground underneath you seem to tremble. Telling yourself to quit crying and mend all your broken pieces of composure, but your tears keep pooling down your cheeks in hot trails. They nearly bleach the coarse fabric of your cloak and soak into the damp earth beneath your head.

You hope you are well enough hidden in your bubble of sadness, where no one, even yourself, is welcome to look too closely.

“Princess?”

It’s low, rough at the edges from disuse, yet somehow startlingly gentle. The sound hits you like the fresh air on a day of cold winds.

Your entire body goes cold, muscles locking up, stiff as if turned to stone. Even your shoulders freeze in place. But there are still tears falling from your eyes. They don’t stop. They never do when you need them to. You start clenching your teeth, shutting your mouth down so tightly with a bit of a bite so that you can actually feel the coppery taste in your mouth.

You don’t answer.

There’s a pause, long enough that you think he’s given up. Maybe he’ll pretend he didn’t see. Maybe he’ll let this moment pass through memory-

“Are you cryin’?”

It isn’t an accusation, nor is it dripping with the condescension you’ve heard from others who thought tears made you weak. There is curiosity blended with a softness that is unfamiliar for him, as if he is surprised by the possibility but not unkindly so.

You swallow hard and press your lips together to smother any sound that would give you away, despite the fact that he already knows you are crying.

It’s your self-esteem that demands you to be quiet, but your body betrays you with each shiver, each sharp hitch in your chest.

Bucky shifts behind you. The rustle of movement reaches your ears. It grates against your nerves, making you wish you could sink into the ground and vanish from sight.

You don’t know if he moves closer, or just sits up. But it seems he prefers not to intrude upon your delicate space.

A weary sigh. “How’s your side?” His voice is quiet.

You absentmindedly touch your side, where a mix of blood and sweat has dried into a sticky mess beneath the bandage Bucky put on earlier. A hot pulse runs through the wound, prickling like raw heat. But it hardly warrants any thought amid the other pains that eat away at you.

“It’s fine,” you finally utter, though your voice is hoarse and brittle, barely a whisper. You sniff out a sob.

“Don’t make me check it out myself.” His tone is almost light, close to teasing, but with a solemn undertone that squeezes your heart.

A soft huff escapes you more as breath than laughter. “You would not dare.”

“You sure about that?”

A beat of silence falls, and you realize with a strange sort of relief that he is trying to draw you out, to break through the darkness of your thoughts.

“I said I am fine,” you say softly, sniffling into your arm.

He doesn’t press you, but you hear him shift again, as if considering whether or not to take your word for it.

His next words sound closer.

“Good,” he says simply. “Don’t need you keelin’ over on me.”

There is an air of concern in the silence between you. You feel his charged eyes on you. They won’t leave you for a second. They burn you.

The pause continues to linger once more but he seems strangely patient behind you.

He lets out a long breath. “You never stayed down,”he states then, his tone somewhere between chastisement way too soft for him and admiration way too admiring for him. “Told you to stay back, but you didn’t listen.”

His words pass right through you, piercing to the core. His tone does not mean for his words to sting but they do. Your chest is buzzing brutally. So ruefully. Disgraceful.

You didn’t listen. You didn’t stay down. You tried to help, and look where that has gotten you - wounded, broken, and sobbing into the dirt like a child who wandered too far from home.

“I was trying to be useful,” you whisper, voice hitching slightly with your breath. A sob shakes your shoulders.

“Could’ve gotten yourself killed out there.”

“Why does it matter?” you murmur, voice cracking. A shiver whacks your spine. Your fingers clench around fabric. You inhale a wavering breath.

Bucky exhales sharply through his nose. More rustling behind you. “Well,” he grounds out somberly. “M’ supposed to keep you alive, not the other way around.”

You sniff. Then huff sobbingly. Vulnerability drops from your words like the tears from your eyes. “My mother is dead. It is not like she would know if you completed your debt.”

You didn’t think your words through and now they sit uncomfortably between the two of you. You still feel his eyes on your back. But if you regret those words, then why don’t you make the effort to take them back?

“I know,” he says after a beat, quietly, nearly softly. Almost careful. There is no rebuke, no anger. It’s a simple acknowledgment.

The wind sways the trees beside you, absorbing all the emptiness left by your words. You squeeze your eyes together tightly and then rub the two fresh tears away from your skin.

“But I would,” he adds after a long pause. His voice is deep, resolute and something in it tries to form an understanding within your mind.

There’s a pause again, thick with things neither of you can bring yourselves to say.

But then you break it with a shuddering breath.

“What did she do for you?” Your voice sounds barely louder than the leaves in the wind around you. You don’t dare turn to him.

Silence goes on for long enough that you believe he might not have heard you, or perhaps ignored you altogether. But you hear him adjust his position again behind you.

“What?” His voice is rough, hinting at uncertainty.

“My mother,” you clarify, though you are sure he knows. Your heart is a balled-up pain in your chest. It strikes you with every beat. “What did she do for you? To make you promise something so huge?” You don’t have to clarify that part as well. He knows what he promised. And you still wonder if he resents that promise, if he resents you for being the living embodiment of it.

Tightly wound energy buzzes around you, coming from him. Bucky is not in your line of vision but he feels gripped with tension.

An exhale sounds out. It is measured, careful even. But so heavy. Profound. Meaningful.

You don’t want to be pushy. But his past is a labyrinth you don’t have the map for and you are tired of getting lost in it. Tired of not finding a way out. Or to the very center of it. Depending on the exits you take. Depending on the dead ends you meet. Depending on how tight the walls all around are pressing in. Every path you take just doubles back on itself, each question about him folding into another.

“She was so good,” you acknowledge quietly. Maybe even to yourself. You need to get the ache off your chest with words about the loving mother you lost. To him or yourself, it does not matter. “She always looked out for people. She gave so much of herself. I used to think it was exhausting - how much she cared. But-” you swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “Whatever she did for you must have been huge.”

The longing in the hollow between your ribs is moving to the surface and colors your voice. You see her in your mind’s eye - the way she moved through the court with so much regal grace but stopped for even the lowliest servants. You miss the warmth in her voice when she spoke your name, as if it was the most important word in her kingdom.

A sob silently muffles against your arm as you press your face further into the ground. You just exposed yourself with this confession. Being so vulnerable and fragile by crying in front of him alone.

You would have believed him to brush it off. To lay back down with an annoyed sigh and ignore you and your drama altogether.

But even if you thought he might actually carry on this conversation, never would you have imagined it to be like this.

“I’m sorry.” His words resound so deep, carry so much weight that it catches you off guard. “For your loss.” He exhales a sound more felt than heard.

It’s the first time he has offered condolences. It’s the first time he acknowledges, really acknowledges the magnitude of what you’ve lost. And it’s genuine, remorseful in a way that makes something crack behind your ribs.

The sincerity in his voice stops your breath.

You turn then, unable to stay with your back to him any longer. The ground shifts beneath you as you roll over, blinking against the brim of lingering tears.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice delicate but earnest.

Your gaze captures his and it gets strong in the air. His eyes are dark and piercing, faltering now at the sight of your tear-streaked face. He works his jaw, muscles moving under tight skin as he seems to bite down on words he does not know how to say.

The discomfort glimmering in his expression is telling, but so is the gentleness hiding underneath. Something softer, something unspoken but unmistakable.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. All that there is, all that you feel is this glance held between you two, stocked with grief and understanding and something profound. Things that haven’t been there before.

And then, after his eyes study you for a while longer, intense and all, he breaks the quiet with a resigned sigh. As if he can’t believe he is doing what he does. “She saved my family,” he murmurs roughly, clearing his throat and avoiding your eyes. “My ma and little sister. Becca. Sent 'em away to another country. Made sure they were looked after, by trusted people.”

You don’t know what sinks in first, the surprise of him even telling you, or the revelation itself. But the knowledge strikes painfully inside you. Each beat of your heart bumps against a bruise you can’t see.

Words form and dissolve in your throat, swallowed before they can escape.

You take your time to organize your thoughts.

“Why were they in danger?” You know he probably won’t answer that. This is already more than you expected, more than you ever thought he’d share.

A hand moves over his face and he rasps out a sound resembling a cough. “They’re safe now. All that matters,” he says gruffly, shaking his head and brushing it off.

He doesn’t look back at you and you almost regret asking. Something swells in your throat. Maybe your next words. Maybe the meaning of them. “She never told me,” you stammer, hardly above a whisper, voice still laced with tears.

“She promised to keep it to herself,” he utters uncomfortably.

Your chest feels as if it might burst because of the jingling of pride and sorrow and pain all mixing together in a way that now has you unable to distinguish one from the other.

You take a second to listen to the leaves in the night breeze, followed by the crackle of branches settling deeper into the earth. But it seems rather drowned out beneath the thrum of your pulse, too insistent in your ears.

Shifting your gaze to the ground, you follow the uneven patches of dirt and scattered pin-needles with your eyes. You pull the cloak tighter around yourself, half to shield your shivering body against Bucky’s gaze and half to shield it against the cold.

Bucky’s presence in front of you grazes your skin and races into your nerves.

Turns out he did move closer to you while your back was toward him. He’s not in touching range, but close enough for you to feel the warmth emanating softly from him, an assurance piercing through the chill. It is strange and reassuring and terrifying in equal measures.

Your lips again begin to tremble and you press them together to stop the quiver before it betrays you further. But it’s no use. Your heart is beating too loudly, trying to outrun the revelations now planted within you.

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment. But his gaze rests on you. The fizzling tension in the air feels anything but hostile, but it cannot be categorized. It’s subtle and soft and also intense.

You inhale a shaky breath. The sound of your ragged breaths is unbearably loud. “I am sorry,” you ground out, voice rougher than wanted.

Bucky shifts. His brows run together in a furrow. His confused eyes meet yours before you avert them again. “For what?” he asks slowly, his tone gentle but curious.

Your throat constricts. “For everything,” you say, hating the way your voice shakes. Saying it like that is easier than pointing everything out one by one. You are sorry for being reckless, for getting hurt, for dragging him into your mess, for existing as the burden he was forced to carry.

There is a long moment of silence. Bucky’s gaze is fixed on somewhere in the woods, lost in thought, and then he exhales slowly. It drags his shoulders down. “Ain’t your fault,” he mutters heavily.

There is a soft quality sounding in his tone, like he is trying to be gentle though it doesn’t come naturally to him.

Tears prick your eyes again. You blink hard, willing them into submission, but you are losing. A tear rolls down your cheek - bright and warm against the cold air. It makes you flinch slightly, hating the display of weakness.

Bucky does not move away.

The world seems unfathomable wide and unmoving but at this moment, it is only you and him.

You begin to lift your hand to wipe the tear away, but Bucky seems to be faster.

His long and rough fingers touch your skin almost in a careful way. Calloused knuckles sweep across your cheek, followed by the pad of his thumb, wiping the tear away with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. The touch is fleeting but it is left burning on your cheek.

You freeze a little, not really knowing what to do about the intimacy of the moment or if you even deserve it. The ground feels harder beneath you. Almost like an unforgiving bed for your body, and that is nothing compared to the wound twisting inside your chest.

Bucky’s hand slips back to his side and you instinctively follow it with your eyes before looking back up at him. His shadowed and shifting blues hold your own in a way that keeps you from turning away. There is that softness attached to his expression.

You swallow, the lump in your throat giving you full determination to stay. You bite down on your lower lip in hatred of how it quivers.

“Get some rest.” It might as well be a whisper spoken only for you. “We’ll have to keep movin’ soon.”

And though you grant him with a nod, his eyes don’t leave you for another few heartbeats.

****

You wake up with the sun in your face and birds singing in your ears.

The brightness of the sun stings in your eyes, still slightly swollen from crying.

Taking a deep breath, you savor the refreshing and strong smell of wood and soil, the earthiness due to the damp ground and new pine.

You blink hard against the sharp light, gritting your teeth, eyes feeling grimy after what couldn’t have been more than a few broken hours of sleep. Your muscles feel stiff and sore like every morning and you carefully move them around on the rocky ground.

Awkwardly rolling on your side provokes a jabbing pain that comes from the wound and pours itself into the very core of your bones. So incredibly uncompassionate. Wincing, you grab hold of the bandaged wound. Bucky will probably be on you right away and make sure to change the dressing again. You dread it already. Not wanting to show an ounce of weakness in front of him again. The crying was enough quite frankly.

But then confusion creeps in. Your limbs grow fidgety. Fingers tapping. Feet shifting.

Because something feels off. It’s too still, too quiet in all the wrong ways. Birds are chirping, leaves are swishing, but those are not the sounds you are straining your ears for.

Where are Bucky’s footsteps pacing the perimeter? Where is the crackle of the fire he always stokes back to life before dawn? Where is his voice telling you to pack up?

You turn your head sharply in search of him, expecting to find him standing somewhere between the trees, sharp-eyed and alert the way he normally is. But he is not there.

Your heart slips into your throat and panic flares in its place. Sweeping your gaze back across the clearing, you let it slice the air for a glimpse of his broad form.

And then you see him.

Still on the ground.

The sight makes you pause. It feels wrong. Something prickles down your spine. He’s always up before you. Always. But it seems not today. And there’s got to be a reason.

Uneasily, you sit up, the bedroll crinkling beneath you. You look over at him worriedly.

Bucky’s brows furrow in deep creases onto his skin, conflict etched everywhere. His lips twitch, forming words that never quite make it past the threshold of sound. Sweat gleams on his forehead, catching the morning light in beads that glisten. A ghost of a shudder flicks through his body.

Your stomach knots. Bucky looks in pain. You don’t know what kind of pain it is. But there seems to be an emotional component, a sort that goes deep, almost like that of someone with a hunger reaching down to eat away at the very soul - life refusing to give him a break.

The groan that slips out of him is a tortured sound.

Instinct draws you closer before you can talk yourself out of it. Your hand hovers over his shoulder, indecisive. You wonder what he would want you to do. To wake him? To let him work things out by himself? You don’t know. You never know with Bucky. He bears his burdens quietly, a fortress with walls too high to scale.

Each breath that makes his chest rise and fall is labored and strained. His fingers curl into the dirt as though he is fighting something you can’t see.

But seeing him like this - so undone - makes an ache spread across your chest that you didn’t expect. He looks nothing like the unbreakable soldier who’s been your reluctant protector. The very man scolding, bandaging, and guiding you through nights and days of peril. Bucky this unguarded is unsettling you. But worrying you even more.

You fight the urge to comfort him with whatever is stressing him out in his sleep. But Bucky is not the man to take solace easily. So what can you do?

You hover there rather awkwardly, knees pressed into the earth, hands hovering at your side.

Branches around you sway like nothing is happening.

But your heart is racing inside your chest. Tension knots your shoulders, pulling them upward, closer to your ears.

“Bucky,” you whisper, voice as hushed as the rustle of leaves.

He doesn’t stir. Well, he does, but not to the sound of your voice. Muscles tic and shudder uncomfortably and his head lolls to the side, in your direction, but his eyes stay closed. He does not wake.

Your fingers twitch with the longing to smooth the furrow in his brow, to brush away the sweat that runs down his temple. But you stay rooted in hesitancy.

Your throat bobs with a swallow but the knot stuck there refuses to loosen.

Thorned thoughts and worries lie thick and knotted, climbing up the walls of your mind and scratching against them as you stay kneeling beside Bucky.

He groans again, shifting a little. And that’s when you notice something. A dark splotch on his right shoulder. You hardly even register it at first. But it spreads. And the color demands attention. A stark crimson, savage against the muted browns and greens of the world around and the dirty grey of his shirt.

Blood.

Your breath stutters painfully at the back of your throat. Fresh blood. He’s bleeding.

It leaks wetly through the fabric of his shirt, staining the edge of the brown armor strapped across his chest, discharging slowly but it only makes your pulse pick up. It spreads like ink dripping from a feather onto parchment.

For a moment, your brain is struggling to rationalize this. The forest tilts, and for an absurd moment, you convince yourself it’s a trick of the light. Shadows, perhaps, cast by the trees overhead. But shadows don’t glisten like that. Shadows don’t spread in sinister blooms.

A sharp jolt of fear grips your chest, spreading chaos through your veins. It makes them tremor and causes your skin to prickle with urgency.

Leaning closer, you try to get a better look, tracing the rise and fall of his chest. His brown armor is scuffed but intact, yet the dark stain has crept onto the leather straps as well. He’s hurt.

How? Why? He didn’t mention being hurt. Not once. There were not even signs, no grimaces or falters in his movements.

When he washed himself in the river the day before, you noticed the blood on him. But you assumed - god, you assumed - it wasn’t his. That it belonged to the fallen men. You were distracted. By the sharp lines of his scars and the story they told. By the bulk of his body - embarrassingly. You should have looked closer. Should have seen him getting hurt this way.

Questions collide in your mind, splintering and darting and tumbling over one another. And you hate that you can’t answer any of them. How could he have hidden this from you? Is this why he hasn’t woken up before you? Is this why he sleeps so restlessly, his body shivering and stuck in whatever nightmare grips him so tightly?

You basically let him down by assuming he’s inscrutable. How foolish. How silly. Because here he is, bleeding and in pain. Silently. Because of course, he wouldn’t tell you. Of course, he would shoulder the burden alone, just as he always does. As though his pain is something negligible, unworthy of mention.

Anger pikes beneath your worry. How dare he. How dare he be so reckless with himself after all the lectures he’s given you.

Goosebumps rise as a chill snakes its way down your spine. He looks so vulnerable like this, too much so for a man like him. You don’t like it.

You let your shaking fingers hover near the stained fabric. But you don’t want to touch it, don’t want to confirm what your eyes already tell you.

The blood is not gushing, but it is fresh enough. And the coppery scent tangles up cruelly in your senses.

“Bucky,” you mumble, voice unsure.

He does not respond to you. His brow furrows deeper.

This isn’t right. None of this is right. He’s supposed to be the one who knows what to do, who keeps you both alive and moving forward. He’s not supposed to lay here bleeding and shivering in the dirt, just another thing to bear without complaint.

The skin of your palm burns as your nails press into it. You won’t let him do this to himself. You’ve already seen too much loss, felt too much helplessness. And if he thinks he can just bleed in silence and carry on like nothing is happening, he is sorely mistaken.

Your breath snags, every single one feeling sharp, splintering on the way out. Erratic and barely controlled.

The fingers creeping towards him are trembling and hesitant. You don’t know if you should disturb him in this position. But the sweat running along his face practically makes you anxious.

His lips move to utter an incoherent murmur. The sound is hoarse.

Your heart stumbles. He’s never appeared so open, so unguarded, in a way that it feels disconcertingly intimate. Sharp lines and stern resolve are what should characterize him, never this mess of tension brought low by an injury and dreams you can’t see.

The heat of his skin makes you feel nauseous as your fingers lightly graze over his temple. His dark hair is damp and sucked to his forehead and you tenderly tuck the few sticky tendrils away. Carefully, you try to wipe away the sweat with the dark fabric of your cloak. Your movements are gentle but clumsy. Your hand is shaking. His skin is feverish. It makes you chew the inside of your cheek. You only touch him as lightly as possible as though the wrong pressure might cause him even more harm.

You put off your cloak and cautiously drape it over him.

And while doing that something sitting beyond him catches your eye.

You let your gaze drift in between the trees behind Bucky, to the soft green gleam of familiar leaves peeking from a tangled cluster of low ferns. You almost let out a gasp.

Your hand falters in its path across his brow, gaze fixed on the spot behind him.

It is a narrow plant with pointed leaves, faintly shining you in the eyes. Pale white and pink flowers with star-shaped petals tucked between the greenery are swaying with the breeze. Recognition sends your heart stuttering.

Lady’s Balm.

The name blooms in you, coming into your mind with so much meaning. You basically hear your mother whisper it to you through the trees as if she were right beside you.

You remember her leading you through the palace gardens, her palm pressed warmly against your back when she would bend low to show you this very herb, nestled along others.

She would brush her fingers over the soft petals while telling you stories about ancient queens who would carry sachets of Lady’s Balm into battlefields and about healers who would save lives with nothing but their knowledge of the earth.

You carried those stories in your heart, the wonder of them filling you with something akin to admiration and belonging.

A strange, giddy anticipation wells up inside you, picking its way through that heavy gloom that has been your unwanted companion for some time now. It feels so bittersweet.

You can help him. You can do something instead of simply sitting here, wringing your hands in uselessness. You can make a tincture, or at least dress his wound with something that might actually stave off the worst of it.

Purpose hums in your body, and you steal another quick glance back at Bucky to asses his situation before starting to go for the plant. The blood has stopped spreading, for now, darkening only the patch of fabric near the wound.

The relief of that is enough to make you rise to your feet, neglecting the protest of your muscles. The forest floor feels bumpy, though you cross it with some speed, heart racing out of urgency.

Dropping to your knees in front of the plant, you let your fingers caress the leaves just like your mother used to.

It is just like you recalled. Fragrant and earthy, with a faint bitter aroma that lingers on your fingers. You gather some leaves gently in your hands, heart thumping with an unusual mingling of excitement and hope, mindful not to damage the roots. The pedals tremble as you cradle them in your hand. The clean scent wafts upward.

Glancing around, you scan the undergrowth for more treasures. If Lady’s Balm grows here, there might be other herbs nearby - ones that could help with Bucky’s pain and fever. The thought propels you forward, breath quickening with hope.

There is a strange consolation, an off kind of reclamation of loss that is making its place within you. The palace gardens may be far behind you, out of touch forever, but the knowledge your mother gave you remains. It’s something linking you to her, to a past that wasn’t always filled with tears and sorrow.

You might not have the grandeur of the palace gardens at your disposal, nor the apothecaries who once served your family, but you have your mother's knowledge.

And the knowledge alone that you even are able to do something for him kindles a spark of resilience.

After a glance back at Bucky to see him still lying there, you get pulled deeper into the woods, walking through the bushes and trees to continue your search. Picking your way over crooked roots and patches of moss, slick with morning dew, you don’t try to rush yourself to be more aware of everything you might encounter.

The leafy arms of ferns brush your fingertips. The air clogs with dampness and smells of earth upturned.

Sunlight seeps through the trees in scattered golden shafts, each catching drops of water clinging to the leaves, making them glisten like tears.

Anticipating eyes dart over patches of greenery, intently looking out for familiar shapes and hues.

Then, your fingers graze a cluster of pale green leaves, serrated like tiny teeth.

Feverfew.

The small white flowers nod in all directions. You kneel, your heart lifting with recognition. Feverfew to bring down his fever. Delicately, you pluck a few stems and tuck them into the folds of your blue dress.

Wind passes through branches above you. You continue your path, walking deeper into the woodlands. Shadows grow longer and the air begins to get cooler.

Wild mint catches your eye next. Its aroma is sharp and sweet and you breathe it in with a sigh of relief. Mint is calming and cleansing and you swiftly gather the crisp leaves and stash them in your dress.

A mass of red clover blooms stand just beyond, brilliant petals contrasting with their surroundings. You remember your mother telling you about its blood-cleansing properties, transporting the energies of fight and rescue into one's body. A warrior’s ally she had called it with a smile. The soft blossoms graze your skin when you pick them.

Somberly, you notice that this is the first time in weeks that you actually hear her voice in your head. So sweet and kind. So clear in your mind.

You picture her kneeling in the place garden with dirt under her fingernails. A queen who never minded getting her hands dirty.

It has been some time since you thought of her in this way - not as a woman cloaked in velvet and responsibility, but as the woman who taught you to recognize healing in unlikely places. The woman who regarded plants and petals with the same respect she offered to diplomacy.

It’s a strange kind of thing connecting your past to your present. You never would have imagined that knowledge born in the meticulously tended gardens of the palace might come to use in the deep and untamed wilds. But now you are following in her footsteps.

There is something grounding about it. Each plant you recognize pulls you closer to yourself, where and who you once were before everything broke apart. You feel like it makes you no longer just a runaway princess, no longer just a burden Bucky has to drag around with himself. You can actually do something, however small, to care for him for a change.

The thought is a support as you plunge deeper into the forest, eyes skimming the underbrush. There is less sunshine now slicing through the foliage above, shadowing the trees around you slightly. Wildflowers juxtapose against the green with splashes of violet, indigo, and pale yellow.

Your gaze lands on another familiar plant, wide-leaved and glossy. Yarrow. A faint smile curves your lips. “For wounds,” your mother had said with that air of confidence, “to staunch the bleeding.” she made you memorize the shapes and uses of innumerable herbs, always patient, even when your attentiveness wavered.

You don’t know if she ever believed you could actually make use of that knowledge one day. But you’re beyond thankful that she taught you anyway. And well, perhaps, she even knew that you would leave the palace life one way or another. You just don’t think she imagined it the way it actually happened.

Crouching, you pluck a few sprigs, making sure to avoid trampling the grass around. The scent lingers on your fingers - sharp, almost peppery. You tuck the narrow into your pouch with the rest. The weight of it is reassuring against your hip.

The forest around you seems indifferent to your presence but generous with her gifts. And somehow you are in tune with that.

With each step, there are new herbs catching your eye. A patch of goldenrod dances under a shaft of light, bright plumes illuminated in it. The twisted tendrils of wild thyme cling to a rocky outcrop.

Your mother would have loved this place. The thought fills you slowly, almost carefully. But it does. She would have knelt right there next to you, her keen eyes picking out the smallest details, her hands sure and deft.

Something presses against the base of your throat. It’s thick and impossible to gulp down. You force yourself to concentrate. Grief is always waiting for a great moment to rise to the surface like the horrible thing it is. But you force yourself to concentrate. It won’t serve any purpose to help Bucky now.

Nevertheless, this connection to her brings some strange comfort - a reminder that she is not wholly gone. She exists in your memories, in the knowledge she gifted you, in your bones. And here within this wild beauty of the forest, you feel closer to her than you have in what feels like ages.

So much has been taken from you - your home, your title, your sense of safety - but not this. Stubborn as the forest itself, this little gift from your past remains in your possession. And for the first time in a long while, you hold onto it fiercely.

You sweep through the bushes, looking if there is something more you haven’t noticed yet. Secretly though, you want to float out of this moment, where the burden of the world and its demands soften thanks to the flying leaves and the scent of wild things.

But Bucky waits. His fever waits. The blood staining his shirt and the torn flesh underneath wait.

Lastly, you pick some pine needles off the ground in a hurry and turn with the herbs you already collected, your heart lightening but still troubled. The path back is not marked, but you know your way. You know because it feels like the forest is guiding you as ludicrous as it may sound.

And as you make your way back, you realize that this place of nature is teaching you something your old life never could. How to survive. How to care. How to fight for what matters.

Even if that fight takes place in a shadowy forest, with nothing more but leaves and hope as your allies.

“Y/n!”

You freeze.

“Y/n!”

The calls of your name sound frantic through the denseness of the forest. They bounce off the trees, becoming tangled in the wind.

“Princess, where are you?” Bucky shouts, alarm stirring in his voice. “Say something, come on!”

A startled breath lodges in your throat, making the sounds rising to meet his desperate shouts stay stuck, leaving you to stay silent.

Your hands tighten around the bundle of pine needles and leaves in your grip, knuckles blanching as you stay rooted.

Then there’s rushed movement behind the sound of cracking branches and the scrape of bark as he seemingly barrels through the underbrush without a care for stealth or his injury. There is fear in it. He does not weigh his words and steps carefully. He is in panic.

Your name resounds in the air over and over again and the urgency in it startles you.

The way he says - or rather screams - your name stuns you. It sounds strange hearing it this way. Not in idle conversation, not in teasing disbelief, but with a gravity that matters more than anything. He says it as though it’s the only word that matters.

Another crash rings out around you. It’s nearer this time. You can hear his breathing - raspy, harsh, and wild, as if he is racing through the forest without regard for where his feet are landing. You’re surrounded by leaves crunching and twigs snapping.

“Princess, come on, don’t do this to me!” His voice wavers and cracks. Dread marks his tone. “Y/n!”

You’re not sure if you remember to breathe. Your lips part, instinct telling you to call out to him, to assure him you are here, but you don’t know why he is so worried in the first place. The call stalls halfway up your throat, dissolving into silence before it can break free.

Your legs twitch with the urge to move, to step toward the sound of him, but they lock in place.

It’s like the world closing in around you, that pine and musty smell saturating your senses. Sun rays shatter down from the canopy, drenching leaves in crystalline gold. Speak, you tell yourself. Say something.

But then he already bursts through the brush, eyes wild, chest heaving breathlessly, and looking utterly disheveled. His face is flushed, and damp with sweat that makes some strands of dark hair hang onto his skin.

His crazed eyes lock onto you in an instant and you see the exact moment relief crashes over him, folding into something aching.

“Goddam it,” he exhales, stumbling forward. His voice is thick. “There you are.”

Before you can get a word out, he crosses the distance separating you with a few long strides. His hands find their way to your face, fingers rough but careful as they cup your cheeks. He tilts your head up, urging you to meet his eyes.

“Are you hurt?” he demands breathless. Sharp eyes are searching your face, your body, every inch as though expecting you to go limp in his arms any second. “God, please tell me you’re okay! Are you okay?”

You blink up at him. Baffled at this concerned display of him. Bucky’s thumbs slide over your skin, steadying you even as his own breath shudders. His eyes are so intense, they pull you in. Every second that passes without an answer from you seems to grate on him.

“I’m fine,” you reassure, voice as weak as you feel.

Despite your answer, his eyes won’t stop searching you. His hands won’t stop holding you.

“You weren’t answerin’ me. Why weren’t you answerin’ me? And what the hell are you doin’ out here? What were you thinking, huh?” His tone drops an octave. But despite the hardness of his his tone, there is something vulnerable in the loosening strength of it due to the persistent fear and concern lingering there.

Blood rushes through your ears, so loud, it becomes deafening. “I was looking for herbs,” you manage, lifting your hand slightly as evidence. “For you. For your wound.”

Bucky’s brow furrows, confusion slanting across his features. “Herbs?”

“For a tincture,” you explain softly, voice coming easier now. “To help with the fever. And the bleeding.”

He blinks, just staring at you for a moment, trying to comprehend. His thumbs swipe your skin absentmindedly. And then his gaze drifts down to the green bundle clenched against you. His expression rearranges itself - something tender slipping into the creased lines. A brief hesitation tugs at the corners of his mouth.

He lets his hands rest against your cheeks for a moment longer, reluctant to let go. You try not to like the feeling of them, but there’s nothing you can do because it feels actually really good. Grounding. You can feel the warmth of his calloused fingers, the tremor that hints of adrenaline still coursing through him.

“Scared the hell outta me,” he mutters hoarsely. “Woke up and you were gone.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” His fingers flex faintly against your skin at the sound of his name. “I did not mean to,” you add, guilt building for leaving him alone like this. “I thought you needed the rest. And I wanted to help.”

A tightness pulls at his jaw, muscles twitching beneath his skin. There is something fraught and substantial hanging in the air between you.

He considers you for a while. Lips part, but brows soften. He seems contemplative. At a loss for words for a laden moment. You hear his breathing balance out slowly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he starts, almost gently, voice softer now. But there is something suppressed in it - emotions he does not want to let in. “I don’t want you to go off alone, alright?”

You nod faintly, the smallest timid smile lifting the corners of your mouth. “I just wanted to do something.”

Bucky draws in a deep breath. The movement in his throat is slow, his adams apple jerking with a swallow, as if trying to push past something sharp.

His hands now retreat slowly from your face with a breath that shakes just a little and he looks almost nervous for a second. Bashful. But he does not take his eyes off you.

The sounds of his desperate calls for you recede to your memory. The tension is still there.

Bucky clears his throat and scrubs a hand over his face and into his hair, loosening the damp strands. Perhaps he is trying to banish the last remnants of panic. A hesitant gulp catches in his throat before he can compose himself. “Wake me up next time. Don’t matter what for. Just- just wake me up, alright?” he says gruffly, some of the tension bleeding out of his voice. There is a weariness instead, a seriousness that matches his exhaustion. “Don’t want you runnin’ off alone into the woods.”

Something hot coils in your chest. Your hands turn clammy around the herbs. You nod. “Okay.”

The pause stretches interminably between you, with neither of you moving. Maybe he acknowledges how far you would go to prove yourself useful - including yourself into a fight you obviously were not capable for, killing a man, stomping through the woods alone the very day after in search of plants that would help concoct a healing tincture.

The apparent concern he felt for you does not feel like it’s choking you. Rather, it creates room for something else - something not fully developed, but real.

“I am sorry,” you whisper, earnestly, meaning it in a way that spreads far beyond this moment.

He looks at you. There is a stillness to his expression, seeming to carefully guard his thoughts and emotions. “Just don’t do that again, yeah?”

You bob your head, eyes shifting to the ground for a moment, your heart still thudding in strange patterns.

Something seems to have fallen into place between you. Something discreet yet important enough to serve as a link that connects you both, tying you together in a way neither of you can comprehend as of now.

“Forests have secrets,” he said gently. “It’s practically what they’re for. To hide things. To separate one world from another.”

- Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld @mrsnikstan @melsunshine @hawkinsavclub1983

[ncillary]

Self Aware AU (Xavier)

Summary: You have the lowest Affinity with Xavier. The reason is because you feel bad for the Queen MC and vow to play only the main story for his path so that you can find a way to return him to Queen MC safe, sound and happy end.

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 [current] |

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"Xavier, you sleep well yesterday?"

"Well enough for today, sir." He joked.

The man gave him a hearty laugh, "Good. Today we'll continue some fast movement for the next chapter. Have fun in it and do be careful."

"Understood."

"Oh, how is your caretaker service going."

He turned to see Madam CEO was sitting near the crew. He rubbed his neck nervously. She chuckled.

"That's quite alright. Take your time. But the player could use some help once in a while."

He nodded.

She was his mysterious employer. His job was mainly on modeling the character's movement for the game they were creating. His swordplay skill shone with every precision.

He was proud of his work. But it was not fulfilling enough. Something amiss from his endless swirling of nothingness.

+----------------+---------------------------------+

"Hello, Miss. I wonder why you always sound sad whenever I'm around." He pondered to himself.

He was monitoring this one player when she was gaming as per Madam CEO's request. He didn't receive many requests from madam but when he did, he worked fast like a traveling light.

Until this recent one.

He could hear her but he couldn't see her. The first thought that came to mind was either his phone was having technicality issues or the game updates were bugging. He went ahead and did simple checking on his side including enabling her mic.

"No... wait... please..."

Rigid.

His every fibre was shaken after hearing her voice. The endless swirl spotted a light.

"Please don't make me waste my precious tic- *Tring* wait... 5 star?!"

"Xavier! Yes!"

She sounded super happy when she said his name. He wanted to hear more.

"Hik...Xavier..."

But she sounded super sad sometimes.

"From now on, I'll make sure to get you back to Queen MC and live your life to the fullest together on the promised planet."

He was confused. Thus, he finally took an interest in actually getting to know the game he was a part of.

+----------------------------+------------------------+

"I get why she said it like that but I'm not him. You're not her. Haaa... wish I could tell her that I'm right here."

He saw her gameplay has changed. She rarely partnered up with him for the last month. It might not be a big deal since it was just a game but he couldn't resist feeling dejected.

"Please just increase our Affinity. I'll be having better chances when you feel comfortable enough with me, my counterpart at least."

+------------------+--------------------------------+

"Xavier, you look listless." A staff member nudged him.

He nodded politely before helping around. They were setting up snow-theme decoration for the upcoming video. Wires and devices surrounding the decoration in the middle of them all.

"WATCH OUT!"

He darted swiftly like the light.

*CRASH!!!*

"XAVIER!"

"Don't move him."

"Call medic."

Panicked voices surrounding him. His vision was clear but his hearing was not so much. He could see the staff he saved was shaking as people tried to clear the path for medic. The staff was taken aside for slight bleeding on the leg.

He smiled.

+----------------------------+------------------------+

A month.

That was how long it took for him to be discharged. A month of not being able to care for his gaming partner.

"Haven't been able to force myself out lately. Do others have a higher Affinity with her now?"

His sullen mood was gone the moment he was finally able to lay his eyes on her. Her cuteness was catching up on pulling his lips. His happiness in seeing her made him glow.

"I want to hold her. Dance with her. Having her in the circle of my arms." He silently wishes.

+-----------------------------+------------------------+

It came true. The new birthday banner. His birthday banner. He blushed.

Brows furrowed, "I want her to know. No more secrets. What would be best to do it?"

He pondered innocently.

+----------------------+------------------------------+

He didn't think things through.

"Umm...Hello..."

Silent.

"-sigh- she passed out."

There will always be consequences from actions.

But he was determined to get at least a positive outcome in it.

"Her name. Her number."

He stared at his phone for the longest time just relishing in having her personal information. HIM. Not his game counterpart. HERS. Her own circle and he liked that he was slowly stepping in that circle.

[May we meet in the dream too. My star.]

"I miss you already, star."

"I want to meet you."

+----------+-------------------------+-----------------+

[Will you be opposed for sunbathing in the park?]

Read 12 hours ago

[You want to go for a picnic, instead?]

Read 3 hours ago

He sighed knowingly.

[At least you didn't block me like you promised.]

Read 5 seconds ago

[My star]

Read 5 seconds ago

[Xavier...]

He smiled.

[Took you long enough.]

Read

[XAVIER???!!!]

[Star. Can we meet?]

Read 46 minutes ago

He waited patiently for her.

*Bling*

[Sure. How about the library? We can find recipes together.]

He chuckled. Their first date was already on the point to tease him. As long as he could meet her, he'll be ready to pour all his heart on it.

[Sounds nice. I hope we can make it happen after reading it.]

Read

[Nice.]

She was a bit different on the few texts before they stopped messaging each other after planning the where and when.

"Maybe she's nervous as much as I did."

+---------------------------+-----------------------+

Stepping into the library, blue eyes scanning the crowd. She's nowhere to be found.

Yet.

Lights in the library seemed to give her a spotlight.

My goodness.

How can she glow as soon as she stepped in an hour after he was settling down. He was about to get up when he noticed it.

Another person next to her. A girl. Her friend, perhaps. She was calm compared to his star who was clearly anxious at the moment.

He blinked, "Right. Of course. She must be nervous about meeting me alone."

He waited for them to settle down on any empty spot before he approached them. He needed to be calm about this.

He quirked his eyebrow when he saw her friend leave her at the table and walked behind the numerous bookshelves.

Confused but guessing she wanted to give privacy to them while still being around. He nodded to the conclusion.

Great friend.

He saw she was fidgeting while looking around nervously as he walked silently opposite to her.

He sat a bit far on the six seaters to give her the comfortable space. She didn't notice him and he kept staring. Enjoying being able to see her personally with his own eyes.

No screen.

No more crooked image.

Just her.

His star.

She jumped quietly, hands clutching in front of her chest when she finally turned to him.

Smiling has become a new habit for him.

"Hi, star." Breathless greeting.

She closed her eyes.

Head lulling.

Brows furrowed. His brows.

"Oh no."

Her head in his hand, inches away from the hard surface of a table.

He gave a small laughed and sighed fondly.

"I hope you stop fainting on me, star."

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 [current] | 6 |

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

Masterlist Self Aware AU

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

[interdimensionalpancakes]

the main reasons why i ship coai

to me, coai/ shinshi is just the healthier ship, filled with trust, understanding, and mutual interests. it's also the one ship i can see lasting long term in the real world.

they are partners/ solve cases together: Ai likes when he rambles his deductions calling him a "sparrow" (file 713 & 714) and she isn't afraid to ask him for clarification if his explanations get too convoluted. He doesn't really need to help her understand the case, she can figure it out on her own most of the time (file 466-469, 656 [he smiled when he was listening to her deduction]) nor does she give up before she puts any effort into solving the problem first (file 548, 713). She actively contributes to his deductions and he always asks her if she has any ideas (file 287, 525, 664, 729). he can depend on her to stay calm under investigations (file 729, 870) and come up with plans to protect/ help the DB if conan can't be there (file 549, 817). she shares his same investigative curiousity and isn't a bystander, sharing her biochemist background to help shinichi's deductions (file 1098).

they help each other's overcome their weaknesses/ fears: her trust-issues & self-blaming tendencies (file 189-191, 344-346), his impatience & impulsivity (file 429, 475). they put each other at ease when it comes to being paranoid about BO members in public (file 287, 289, 359, 624, 680, 741 [he asked if she wanted to sleep over at the detective agency??], 775, 1006). As for the lies regarding the BO between the two, shinichi said it best in file 341: "[Haibara's] not as tough as she looks." They protect each other because if haibara tells conan about the BO he'll be impulsive/ wanting to attack them immeadiately and if conan tells haibara BO stuff before he resolved it, her trust issues would go on overdrive. Though it should be noted that haibara eavesdropped on some things, so she understands that conan's hiding things from her, by nature that she's the BO "traitor" she's hiding things from shinichi too.

they accept each other imperfections: they tease each other about being adults in a kid's body (file 515-517,724), shiho's age, his lack of tact, his tone-deafnesses, his relationship with ran, her fangirling higo, her aloofness/ sarcasm (file 680), etc. they can get angry with each other and they always apologize, while maintaining a healthy competitive relationship. she loves being able to challenge him intellectually such as telling him to guess her favorite song and the code in file 491, while he's always up for the challenge (file 200) since she knows that shinichi likes puzzles.

he always notices and likes when she smiles (file 275, 292).

shinichi is protective of her and she's protective of him (file 238- 242, 346, 429, 582, 624, 681, 824, 1070) but not in a possesive way & he doesn't need to be told to do so, it's automatic at this point. he promised to always protect her and he kept it.

shinichi always knows when shiho looks like she's going to run away. he always hopes that she doesn't but he always runs after her anyways just to make sure (file 289, 346, 437, 817).

he defends her family when other people make negative comments about them (file 425, 1072).

they share interests other than the BO (soccer, pop culture, animals, music, history, etc.) but they're individuals first.

their relationship has boundaries: haibara respects shinichi's feelings for ran / navigates her jealousy rather gracefully (file 313, 999,1000). conan doesn't probe further about her past with gin when she doesn't want to answer (file 242). they keep each other in check (file 242, 515, 1091). they never force each other to reveal secrets they're not ready to share (file 341) and she can tell when he's suppressing his emotions/ concerns (file 609).

they rescue each other even though they can rescue themselves without each other (file 755,817). she can guess where he'll be/ gives him a spare antidote (file 654) and he always has a plan to get her to safety (file 429, 824). haibara can predict conan's behavior and vice versa (file 289, 430).

side note: it's canon that ran ships coai (file 876), which is hilarious because ai ships shinran (mainly out of denial/ love bc she wants shinichi to be happy/ ran looks like her sister so she wants her to be happy, but this is a whole seperate discussion). also the DB always noticed a vibe between coai, especially ayumi and Mitsuhiko.

for those interested, there's a parallel to shinran: in file 887, haibara ai guessed conan's phone passcode correctly on the first try. whereas it took ran in file 483 multiple tries just to get it correctly. in non-canon movie 16th, conan saw ran's underwear and said 'white' out loud, in canon file 714, he saw haibara's underwear and also said 'white' out loud and he got defensive when she called him a pervert.

[sskk-manifesto]

Finally got around to watching ep 11 (´；ω；｀)

[screampied]

GOVERNMENT HOOKER ?! — GOJO & GETO ☆

ᡴꪫ headline. what happens when you’re the popstar too? even better question: what happens when you show up to a show with no panties thanks to your band mates gojo and geto?

wc. 6.0k

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo au, thrēesomes, semi-public themes, unprotected, fucking backstage, praise, dirty talk, geto showing gojo how to touch you, cucking, hair pulling, double penetratıon, size kink, manhandling, nipple play, oral (f & m receiving), gojo gets cancelled (again)

an. ignore alejandro that chapter never happened hahakdlf

popstar!gojo mlist

“um hello. if i wanted to watch you two make out i’d watch corn or something.” gojo pouts, scowl and all. he watches as his other bandmate—geto, the star bassist shove his tongue down your throat. he was so jealous, maybe having intimate relations with your two mates wasn’t the best idea but who cares, right?

“porn not corn,” you roll your eyes, pulling away from geto to stare at the popstar. gojo had the biggest frown on his face, he wanted some too. besides, it was about an hour before the show would actually start and he was bored out of his skull. he couldn’t help but roam his eyes all down your attire, the bedazzled rhinestones that stuck against the fabric, your fishnets, the way they effortlessly stuck against your skin. ���what?”

geto leans back with a desirable slouch, tangled knots of his hair falling against his broad shoulders before he hums. “oh, he’s jus’ jealous. he wants to kiss you too, princess,” and geto briefly unstraps his mic that was attached near his chin. “to be fair though, gojo doesn’t know the first step on pleasing women.”

“uh huh, and you do?” gojo glowers, purposely sitting right between the two of you. the both of you dramatically groan, the mood suddenly ruined from the spoiled popstar before he slings an arm around you. “h-hey, pretty.”

and his voice cracks— oops.

you giggle and it only makes gojo’s pout deepen. he mopes and you cup his face with a cheeky grin. “satoru, stop whining. if you wanted to touch me too, you could have just asked,” and with irises as azure as a blue day sky, they dilate. gojo melts from your touch alone, a thumb of yours strokes his left temple and his attention’s suddenly captivated. “do you want a kiss too?”

“y- yes,” he stammers, hearing geto snicker directly next to him. he glares, uttering a, “shut up,” and as his eyes focus back towards you, he subtlety glances at your foxy glossed lips that were cutely pursed. “i wanna kiss you, please..”

it was winsome in a way. out of all the times gojo kissed you, he acts like this was his first time. but in actuality,

he’s always been a bit addicted to you. you sort of came out of nowhere, he’s always been a well known popstar all around the world but with you, he’s had to share his spotlight. not that he ever really minded, gojo would always share if it was with you.

currently—the two of you were touring together, you weren’t as influential to the famed pop genre, but you had a bit of a fanbase yourself. you started about a year ago, gojo was a … secret fanboy of you back when the two of you first met. he heard your voice and knew he had to have you.

have as in, have you as an opener for one of his shows which then turned to many. and now, he’s on his highly anticipated world tour with you. die hard fans immediately wanted to know more about you as you started to make your mark in the industry.

whilst your lips gingerly press against gojo’s, he lets off a sweet harmonic moan.

you taste so sweet, honeyed even.

gojo’s always had a craving for sweet things, you’ve just helped him indulge in it further.

a tongue of his runs against your bottom lip. he sucks on it succinctly, tasting the syrupy flavor of lip gloss that bedaubs over your lips. he deepens the kiss by a mile—gojo brings two hands toward your waist, two thumbs swiftly rubbing against your sides as each tongue rummages through and through. a smile compresses against your lips as you make out with him, sucking on his tongue and he whines for more.

“he’s gonna fall ‘n love at this rate,” geto titters, prying his best friend off. gojo pouts once the kiss devestatingly breaks. a slippery concoction-like string of spit wrests away from each lips as gojo exhales deeply. geto leans in to kiss underneath your neck before speaking in a perky purr. “hm, we’ve maybe got a good… what—” and the bassist glances at the watch that sticks to his wrist. “forty minutes left?”

“hey, don’t hog her,” gojo grumbles, and they’re both practically fighting over you. geto smugly grins, lowering his head towards your thighs to nip more near your cobweb-styled fishnets. you lie back against the sofa as the two both stare at you with such lust piercing into their eyes. “you’re so pretty,” he puffs, a thumb of his stroking against your chin.

“toru, c’mereee,” geto slyly says, ushering him with two moving fingers. gojo gets beside him and they’re both hovering over you. leaning back against the cushioned furniture—you sprawl your legs out a bit, tossing off your high inched stilettos. “feel how wet she is for me— eh, i mean us.”

you were a bit wet, profusely wet after making out with geto previously for so long.

with his hands meandering all down your body in the process, his knee goes between your thighs every few seconds. your laced panties were merely stuck together against your skin—gojo feels himself pant once he notices the little dampened spot near the middle of the cottony fabric. “hurry up though,” you stammer. “kento’s gonna kill us if we show up late for another show.”

kento nanami being gojo’s stern manager,

“i got you, princess,” geto hums, grabbing ahold of your wrist. gojo however was quite eager, desperate to run his fingers near your soaked entrance. “satoru, don’t drool over her now. have some manners.” he teases, showing him how to skim his fingers against your now exposed clit. your panties were now pulled to the side and you gnaw on your bottom lip to suppress a few of your incoming moans.

“shut up, s-suguu,” he scoffs, a thumb of his ghosting down your swollen slit. gojo’s already mesmerized, oh, you were sopping wet. it should be a crime to be this drenched. although— he’s a bit timid on what to do next. gojo leans right between your legs, planting a soft kiss near the inner crevice of your legs. “m-mmh.” he coos out, the scent of your arousal immensely pouring into his nostrils. you were so addictive, he barely even had a taste of you and he already wanted more.

“she’s pretty isn’t she,” geto whispers and as you look down, they’re both right between your thighs. greedy, you knew they’d probably share. geto playfully sinks his teeth into your thigh before he trails his face up. he creates a single licking trail against your folds and you moan. gojo watches, the direct spot he licks against was your sweetened clitoral hood. “get her wet, like this,” and his long black lashes close. the warmth of geto’s tongue already makes your back arch. he’s gentle yet precise—he slurps you for a few more moments before a stubby thumb of his prods inside of your pulsating clit. after a few quickened seconds he pulls away, furtively smiling at gojo. “can you do that orrr do i gotta hold your hand?”

“oh fuck you, man. i can eat pussy.” gojo glares, and their banter was always so entertaining to watch.

you giggle, seeing gojo’s annoyed frustration before the bassist gets up to stand. you glance up at him—he’s towering over you, immediately you lick your lips at the sight of his skin tight jeans.

oh, how they perfectly stuck against his skin, quite literally skin tight. he had such a big bulge already poking out, his zipper wouldn’t even zip fully. geto’s fly was proudly open, he hums to himself as he sees your eager hands paw against his pants. with a big hand grabbing onto the crown of your head, he cheeses. “hmm, you want a taste of somethin’ too, huh? need me to train those pretty vocal chords before the show?”

you nod, but his hand snakes its way to cup onto your chin. “words,” he purrs, a thumb peeling down your bottom lip. you moan once you feel gojo starting to lay his tongue flat against your cunt, relishing in your precious flavor. he’s already drooling over you, making you ten times more wet. gojo was gonna order something before performing—but eating you out was cheaper, and far more tasty than his original craving dish. “tell me what that throat wants, pretty.”

as you’re pursing your lips to speak, you moan at the way gojo’s right between your legs, teeth of his playfully gnawing near your thighs whilst he’s buried face full into you. “w- want your cock,” you mewl out with pretty polished eyes. geto’s jeans, the bulge was all pressed against your face— he yanks down his pants only to rub your face against the printed fabric. “suguru, need it.”

“fuck,” he grunts, feeling how you voluntarily roll out your own tongue, flicking it against the edges of his boxers. his bulge, it leaves you with a non-taste in your mouth, your legs start to quaver from gojo’s tongue. the popstar’s eating you out as if he’s haven’t had a good meal in years. he’s cutely moaning into your cunt, feeling the growing strain in beneath his briefs himself. geto delicately grabs a fistful of your hair before he raises a brow. “teeth, pull ‘em off with your teeth. we won’t use our hands today, baby.”

with a pout, you comply—leaning in, the pointed areas of your canines latch onto his underwear. its stretchy. you whine, reaching a hand down to touch yourself but gojo lightly smacks your hand.

“girl, ‘m eating.”

geto giggles, watching the pout on your face only squeeze against your expressions tighter. as you’re peeling his boxers down with your teeth, slowly, his thick cock springs out. it’s so big, and of course—gojo pauses to take a quick look himself. his jaw faintly drops at his best friend’s hefty size, and as he’s staring—geto catches him gawking before he sneers.

“oh, you’re lookin’ like you wanna suck me off too, satoru,” and he hums once he feels your tongue lick against his leaky base. “don’t be ungrateful, popstar. your meal’s right in front of you.”

“s-shut up,” he grumbles, feeling a sudden wave of heat wash against the entirety of his face. gojo goes back to sliding his tongue against your sensitive nub, listening to your sweet whimpers. you’re barely able to hold still. in the background, all that could be heard was the clamorous sounds of chants and screams—the audience, awaiting for their beloved satoru gojo who was currently occupying his own vocals between your thighs. he was never once to complain, the softly padded cartilage part of his nose swipes against your folds and your tummy zealously caves in. he licks you in all the right spots, licks that gradually turn into deep, sloppy sucks. “m-mhm, so sweet.”

“heyy,” geto whispers, craning your head to stare back up at him. as you’re met with the thickness of his shaft standing tall right in front of your face, you lean in to kiss the very tip of his frenulum. he groans, the outer parts of his abs clenching in pleasure. he couldn’t wait to feel the very inside of your throat, the tightness, the sheer warmth. with your tongue exploring everywhere—every specific spot, tracing the outline of his size, you whine.

with plump, spit-glossed lips—you dangle your jaw down a bit, preparing to take him inside. “good girl. no slobbin’ on it, okay? you don’t wanna be a messy girl this time, do ya? not before a big show, yeah?”

you reply with a subtle head nod, your sweet lips happily opening around his ample fat cockhead.

“yeah? you want me to really throat train you, that bad huh. warm up that pretty diaphragm?” geto sighs, his darkened arch brows lowering once you start to slowly sink your throat down onto his excited length. geto’s barely a few inches in and you feel a sudden pulse race down his dick.

so cute, geto keeps his eyes on you the entire time—occasionally, his eyes detour from you to gojo. he was already lost in your pussy as if it was a maze he’d never escape from. gojo’s all underneath you as you sit over him on all fours. his tongue had already located everywhere—his tongue making its metaphorical mark in every secluded area inside of your wet folds.

you were melting, muffled moans started to spew out of your mouth from gojo’s tongue and the sudden bitter taste of geto’s pre-cum.

sweet, yet bitter..

three perfect words to describe geto’s taste— it lives on your tongue for a long time before you start to lower your mouth down on him. it’s a tight fit at first, you can already feel a few sloppy remnants of your own saliva trickle down the sides of your lips. “ah,” you gasp out, grazing the tip of your tongue over the fat crown of his dick. a taste you wanted to always savor. you moan, feeling geto sneak a hand down to pry a bit more between your already openly exposed legs. he’s almost all the way down your throat before you start to suck him off. he’s so thick that you merely gag from the first few thwacks his tip makes against the roof of your mouth.

“wider for me. lay out that tongue, yeah,” and a thumb of his traces against the curvature of your lips. you can’t help the drool that’s starting to trickle down near the very corners of your mouth. you whine, feeling that pang of a throb welt within your folds from gojo’s slurping. he was in fact, a messy eater. he couldn’t help it, especially with how sugary you taste for him, the more his tongue traverses throughout every part of your walls, the more he craves for more. he yearns for more of your taste. gojo prods two fingers against your slit before running them down, whining himself from his poking boner that’s grinding against the sofa. geto pulls his dick out to smear his dripping tip onto your lips—only to then shove it back in. you breathe through your nose before you start to suck again. timelessly, geto’s hitting against the back of your throat with ease.

gojo’s tongue already has you feeling a sense of numbness in your toes, wiggling it was little to no use. you eagerly wanted to touch yourself but each time you’d even attempt, he grabs your wrist so you won’t distract him from his meal.

gojo was dead set on making you make a mess on his tongue. “m-mph,” you’d gasp out in a muffled manner, geto’s firm grip on your hair makes your eyes merely roll into its backing depths of your cranium.

the bassist gives you a sweet head pat, shoving you all the way in before pulling you out, your nose tickles against the curled black pubic hairs that glue against his skin and he grunts. the perfect throat for a singer. after this, he was sure you’d be hitting high soprano notes like his loser best friend of a popstar in no time.

in which you were though, as you’re still perfectly on all fours with your mouth occupied and gojo directly propped underneath you, eating out your cunt like a starved man. you gasp, a sudden feeling of agitation leaking into your arousal.

it was approaching,

with the abrupt twitch of geto’s brows, he was coming the same time you were. “s-shittt,” he swallows, the ball stuffed in his throat, known as the adam’s apple. it occasionally shifts inside of his neck continues to move as he lets off guttural moans. with the way your tongue teasingly glides across his sensitive slit, he’s steadily preparing to shoot such a whopping load down your throat. “good girl, gonna make me cum, gonna make me c-cum with that pretty tight throat, yeah.”

geto’s low voice judders a bit, he’s that close that he almost starts to spasm.

with a concise bite on his lip, stopping himself from drawing blood—he leers down at you, a thumb of his stroking your lip. you were a mess, amounts of your own drool seeping down the corners of your lips before he wipes it away. “c’monnn, cum with me pretty, make a mess on that loser’s tongue for me.”

“fuck you s-suguru.” gojo grumbles, the rapid tempo of his tongue having you start to feel all kinds of pleasurable feelings. your legs had already gave out. two hands of gojo’s grip against your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before you clench against his mouth. whilst gojo’s goading at you with his tongue, again—geto’s cock reaches all the way to the roof of your throat. your tongue dances against the prodding veins that coats his dick once more before within seconds, he shoots out.

he’s still got a hand cupped over your head. the leather of his glove on his right hand tugs against the hairs of your scalp as he’s emptying a gooey volume down your tongue. “ugh, ‘s it. so much i’ve been savin’ so much for you,” he pants, lengthy strands of his hair continuing to block his view of vision in his face. as geto’s abs tenses, the minute you taste the viscous spurts of his bitterly sweet cum, it slowly starts to drizzle in your mouth.

it pours down your throat like the niagara— not even seconds later and you finish also, body twitching and overcoming with the hypnotic feelings of ectacsy and fucking salaciously lewd nirvana,

as you rut your hips against gojo’s face a few more times, he grips your hips whilst you come undone. he groans, the tent in his pants practically poking through his designer ‘toru briefs that costs well over four hundred dollars. but leave it to the popstar to spend his money on pretty boxers, blue too, his favorite color.

geto inhales a single breath, nostrils flaring all up before he wraps a hand around his length—finally pulling it out of your mouth.

he had a sheepish grin while he stares at you being laid back against the couch, slouching, and that’s when he huffs, a thumb poking your cheek to open it. “l-let’s see that tongue,” and he rubs his swollen tip against the edges of your tremoring lips. you swallowed, lolling out your pink, needy tongue and gojo sits up to see also. he couldn’t help but feel a tang of jealously, he wanted your attention. “mhm, good girl. nice ‘n clean, swallowed it all ‘n didn’t waste a drop,” and his eyes peer towards gojo who had a cute scowl on his lips. ah, he was already starting to feel left out. “satoru, kiss her.”

“uh? don’t tell me what to do, i was gonna do that anyway,” he pouts, his pretty eyes rolling back.

such sass, geto snickers at him before he kneels down to bring you up close to him. gojo cups your face, inching his wet lips toward you before he presses his own against yours. you moan, feeling the popstar’s hands wander through your dazzled blouse. with the taste of yourself still residing on his tongue, you grow addicted immediately.

a hand of his ghosts around the back of your neck, pulling you close and another hand of his ghosts between your spread open thighs. “grind against me, y-yeah, fuck,” he whines, feeling you already rub against his body. gojo’s a sloppy kisser too. the moment his tongue delves into yours, tangling with your own, he starts to feel volumes of his saliva dribble out from his mouth.

messy, a perfect way to describe the popstar. he’s had plenty of action throughout his life— it usually comes with the fame, but he’s never felt like this with someone like you.

sure, this was probably all counts of unprofessionalism but he didn’t care. you didn’t care either. geto, well … he was just geto.

“princess, keep grindin’ against him like that ‘n you’re gonna make him cum through his sweats,” geto chortles, pulling you off of him to press his own lips against you. gojo grumbles, watching his two band mates make out — oh, it was just something about your taste that made them both so drawn to you. they were driven to your lips, to your taste, to you in general. like moths to a flame. geto’s kisses were more passionate and sincere, he wraps a hand around your neck gently, a thumb caressing the passageway of your throat whilst he starts to suck against your tongue. with lips crashing amongst each other, he parts your legs open just a bit more before he departs away. “can never get enough,” and he hums to his best friend with a wry grin. “satoru, aw. what? are ya mad at me?”

“i was kissing her, man.”

“more like swallowing her face whole, come on baby-”

as they continue to bicker right in front of you, gojo leans back against the couch and geto props up directly behind you. he yanks down his sweats from last minute rehearsal and you hover over him in preparation to straddle him.

“satoru, you’re pouting.” you point out, cupping his face. indeed he was, cute pink bottom lip sticking out and he’s about to melt at how hot you look on top of him.

“it’s because he’s gonna live up to his other stage name as a two pump champ.” geto yawns,

gojo glares, desperately wishing to wipe that sly smirk off of geto’s face. then again he wasn’t exactly lying. the popstar’s known for a lot of things but most importantly—he was known for being the two pump champ, how he could barely last a few solid minutes inside of a girl before he completely spazzes out, finishing prematurely.

that only happened sometimes,

according to gojo.

“i’ll fuck you,” gojo bleats.

“what?” geto smirks.

“i said fuck you.” gojo corrects himself, barely even comprehended what he said the first time.

“yeah? maybe later.”

“stop flirting,” you roll your eyes, lifting yourself a bit on top of gojo. feeling geto’s hands suddenly cling onto your waist, you let out a soft murmur. “can i take you both?”

in a hoarse whisper, geto sneaks a few kisses against your collarbone. “are you asking, princess?” and his touch alone sends you a plethora of shivers everywhere. you lean back against his chest, still straddling gojo before biting your lip—replying with a subtle nod. “ah, ‘toru she wants to take us both. got enough energy for that?”

he shoots him daggers and the bassist only grins.

“f-fuck, jus’ . . hurry up. ‘m fuckin’ hard,” he swallows, his own fingertips brushing against the very curvature of your rocking hips.

white strands of his hair practically binding against his forehead. he’s undoubtedly hard, feeling his breathing slow down a bit as he looks down. your wet cunt was all swollen and preparing to be destroyed by them both. you weren’t even sure if you could take them both at the same time time—but where there’s a will, there’s a way,

you were far too pent up to even think about tonight’s show. your throbbing only increases before you get a hold of gojo’s length. he’s more thin with a lot of inches while geto’s more thick and bulky. just picturing the mere image of them both stuffing you full has your panties in a twist. speaking of panties— they were still leisurely pulled to the side of you, not bothering to take them off fully.

“you’re so fuckin’ hot,” gojo mewls out, his voice sounds more like a whine than anything. it was a contest between the both of you though — who was the most louder. gojo satoru or your pussy, he couldn’t help it. his whines only continue to ring across the small, claustrophobic room the further you take them both. “that’s it, yeah. jus’ keep those pretty eyes down h-here.”

a shaky breath cuts out from gojo’s lips as you feel him start to gradually sink inside of your cunt.

you moan almost immediately, holding onto his thighs whilst geto’s right behind you, following the same. you’re straddling gojo and taking him from the front and also taking geto from behind. the entirety of your pussy was lukewarm, it makes gojo already start to spasm—a familiar candied texture lingers in his mouth, his saliva that trickles inside before he can eventually swallows. you’re so tight at first, the grip you have against them both does wonders..

if it was anything though, gojo would take pussy over publicity any day.

you felt way too good. it doesn’t take them long before they both start to bottom out inside of you. geto nips a few kisses near the outer areas of your collarbone—he could never get enough of your taste, both of them couldn’t.

you were sweet like candy, gojo always did have a sweet tooth after all. as they’re both easing their ways inside of your slick entrances, you slump back against geto’s chest. “fuck, ‘s right. nice ‘n slow baby. takin’ us both so well.”

the stretch was purely appetizing—your cunt instinctively squeezes down against them, clamping.

as you start to jerk your hips forward with them being all the way in, you feel geto’s hands slither its way inside of your dazzled blouse. near the very skirts of the fabric, he fondles against your neglected breasts, giving them a nice firm grab. the tips of his soft padded thumbs strum against your nipples and you whine. “f-fuck,” you moan out, your hips rutting against them both in harmony—in perfect sync. even the sofa’s producing a tune of its own with the constant repetitive creaking. with geto’s hands still roaming against your body, it trails down to your chest and near your tummy. he cunningly grins once he feels the written lines of his signature displayed on your body. his signature—earlier, you’d ask him to write his name on you and he was more than happy to oblige. the musk of the strong scented sharpie wafts through the air, his fingers slew against the neatly written words that spelled out ‘suguru’s favorite’ in bold.

as you’re riding gojo, he takes a peek himself at your exposed abdomen and he grunts under his breath. “fucker.”

“someone mad?” geto fake pouts, poking fun at his best friend and that only gifts him a glare.

you continue to grind your hips against them, feeling gojo’s touch gently caress the lower parts of your body. the blaring roaring chants outside of the room near the arena only gets louder. like most of his shows, it was pretty packed. gojo’s always getting sold out shows of around thousands of people just to see him perform live.

but oh, did his precious little fangirls hate your guts.

they didn’t just hate you, they loathed you.

they loathed how you just randomly came into the picture, how you came out of nowhere and started opening up shows for him. everyone always wanted in on the scoop though. who were you and just why was gojo so obsessed?

where there’s gojo’s intimidating length—there’s geto’s deliciously fat girth. you couldn’t pick out just who was stuffing you deeper, you felt everything all at once. you’re unwaveringly moving your hips against them both and your cunt’s squelching out such pleasurable symphonies. “ugh,” gojo groans, dragging your hips back and forth against him with his hands. you’re so pretty like this, the view he’s got of you just riding him makes his dick twitch inside of you. you’ve never felt so full, with both guys already bottomed out—you almost struggle to barrel in both lengths at first. “k-keep ridin’ me like this ‘n i’m gonna cummm.”

you’re working your hips against them both—geto still has his hands attached to your chest, gently seeping his teeth into the juncture of your neck. his tongue was so warm, he flicks his moving muscle against the piercing marks he’s left you on your collarbone.

so sweet..

with each hole, it’s both getting its fair share of fullness and every flavorsome inch you’re taking your mouth watering. it salivates quickly and not before long—you feel yourself convulsing from each of them. you feel a palpitating pang surge underneath your thighs as you bounce against them both. the couch suddenly shrieks in unexpected dismay at the piles of weight slamming against the furniture each second.

“relax, easy easy,” geto purrs against you, licking near the outer shell of your ear. you moan, his hands starting to feel elsewhere before he rubs a few circles against your folds. you gasp, your body jolting in response. the stimulation was almost too much to bare—too good, combining both shafts, you felt the fullest one could ever be.

within seconds, they’re both buried to the hilt.

you pierce your teeth into your bottom lip before you start to rock. gojo stares at your body—the cute halfway pulled up blouse that was shimmering in the light. once all pretty and neat, now wrinkled and practically ripped to shreds all thanks to the tight grips of the two stars. gojo loudly whines, a hand of his sticking to your hips like velcro before he starts to yoke your hips further into him. “goddamn, s-so warm, jus’ askin’ to be stretched by us both, fuck ‘m not gonna last.”

“like i said, two pump champ.” geto whispers, broad hands of his own clinging to your backside.

his best friend gives him nothing more but a glower again as you’re taking both of them from each hole. the stretch lasts for a good while, your gummy textured walls squeezes against them before you feel a sudden coil burst. so good, the way your hips roll and throw back against them was so hot. the recoil—geto’s personal favorite part. he loves to give your ass spanks as you continue to jerk and jostle against them both. bodies on bodies on bodies—gojo grunts lowly as he brings a hand to play with your ignored tits. a thumb of his grazes against your unclamped bra that was just barely shielding your soft plump mounds.

“f-fuck,” you moan, rocking your hips repeatedly, the chants from the area only grows louder until it’s a deafening roar. time was merely up but you could care less. the hot warmth of geto’s breath brushes against your skin as he slides his tongue against your neck. he loved to dig his pearly whites into the depths of your skin, giving you a playful nibble. he does all that only to kiss against the new marks that print into your skin. he wants more of you. “s-stretchin’ me out s’good.”

as you’re being mushed with them both — your breaths start to become more heavy and irregular.

wet, your cunt sloshes and sloshes from each movement and it’s so lewd. you’re jerking back and forth until the sofa’s squeaking out pretty melodic moans of itself. you’re sopping wet, you reach down to touch yourself and geto grabs your wrist. “nuh uh,” he coos against your ear. “this pussy’s for my hands only, baby.”

“and mine..” gojo pouts.

“yeah, no,” geto chimes, hearing your cute grumble before he touches your swollen cunt for you. “mmm, such a wet girl. can’t believe you were really gonna perform with a pussy this soaked. my my.”

gojo’s losing it underneath you—his face flushes before he’s dragging you quicker and quicker against him. sharp exhales leave from his lips and it’s not before long that you and him were both getting close—geto shortly following too. it only takes about a good few minutes before that familiar pool stirs into the deep abyss of your obscene heat. you felt a good parcel of nerves trigger all over you’re body and you can’t stay still. with your mouth hanging open, geto’s continuing to rub circles against your throbbing clit.

“c-cum, ‘m gonna cum,” you whimper pathetically, feeling the honed edge of his hips strike into you at a more hasty tempo. geto can’t keep his hands off you, they both can’t keep their hands off of you.

the minute you feel the fat head of gojo’s dick broach against that particular spot. you’re seeing all types of unnamed stars in your blurred vision.

it’s here, you’re long awaited orgasm—almost, it’s at the very tip of your tongue again, the very edge.

with the way your pussy’s responding to them both, you’re dripping like a spigot — not even caring that you’re coating each of their dicks with your saturated juices. “make a mess baby,” geto whispers, a hand wrapping around your throat as your ass pressed up against him. “cum on our dicks, yeah. ride satoru ‘till he fuckin’ whines.”

the pace only quickens—gojo lies back with his head already thrown back in defeat. “i’m gonna fuckin’ die,” he whimpers, his pulsing dick at its very peak. it feels so good for him that it almost hurts. gojo spanks your ass a few times for encouragement, feeling the tightness of his jaw clench down before he feels you wring around his crazed shaft. “h-hah, that would make a good track title. ‘m gonna fuckin’ dieeee.”

“s-shut up.” you moan, slinging your arms around the popstar. one glance at him and he’s already pussy drunk.

rightfully, you lean in to kiss him as you finally cum. as expected his tongue parts inside of you sloppily, masses of his famous saliva cascades down the sides. he was nothing but a mess for you. as you’re slowing your hips down, both of them approach their own individual releases. gojo’s hands run everywhere on your body, you shudder from his touch whilst you feel geto’s hips piston itself forward. your toes grow limp as you’re finally becoming undone—gojo follows as they’re both driving the thickness of their cocks into your slick, needy entrances.

as your legs lie flat, the both of them end up finishing at the same time. it’s so much, you’re feeling yourself get dumped and it’s already starting to overflow. gojo’s filling you from the front and geto’s taking care of you from behind. “easy, rock against him like that, yeah,” he hushes you, easing his thumbs against your hips in tiny little circles to calm you down. it’s trickling into you in such a slow way, gooey velvety portions of cum oozing its way into your pussy. it’s loud too, squelch after squelch reverberating throughout the entire room that it develops its own vibrato..

“touch her, ‘toru,” geto continues, latching his tongue against the miniature bite marks that press near your neck. the popstar was worn out despite it being just a few minutes. with heaving pants departing from his lips, he brings his hands to feel against your waist, your breasts, and back down between your legs. “she did so good for us,” and he kissed the top of your head, speaking in a rasp. “gonna perform with all this this cum stuffed inside, baby?”

“y- yeah,” you whine, feeling geto abruptly pull out to where you’re just bestriding gojo now. you take a quick glance down and your panties weren’t there anymore. you sigh, you really liked those. back to gojo—his dick that was still twitching inside of you grows flaccid and he whimpers at the faint jittery motion of your hips. “fuck, we don’t have to perform. can’t satoru just cancel the show?”

“and get dragged on twitter? heh, girl no..” gojo swipes a hand across his forehead as he’s still spilling such amounts inside of you. it’s a mess, the once flashy white sofa was all ruined with nothing but a salacious mixture of soaked liquids.

speaking of though,

as gojo’s catching his final breaths with you still hovering over him, he pulls out his phone. his sheepish smile turns into a look of horror once he opens tmz. skimming his eyes against the blue-lit screen, his lip tremors as he reads the bold red and black text. “famous popstar satoru gojo, bassist suguru geto and new opening singer heard screwing … backstage?”

geto deadpans and you furrow your eyebrows, getting off of him. “how?”

“idiot still has his fuckin’ mic on.”

gojo’s eyes widen as he stares in his peripherals at his mic. not again, and indeed it was very much on and operated. you could hear the echo grow louder from the arena just a few feet down now that it was against his lips. then it hits you, the ongoing chants from outside weren’t happening anymore. now, it was just pure booing. he uses two fingers to bring his mic up to the side of his mouth before switching it to autotune. “oops. no refunds….?”

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: I | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child. 

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 7,213

—  warnings: strong language, mention of death, mention of murder, mention of loneliness, mention of blood, several mentions of abortion, and crying

—  author’s note: here it is the first chapter of this series! <3 i’m actually very excited about this entire universe, i’ve been working on it for a little while already & i’ve been taking my time to write each part 🤗 the beginning is inspired by Jane the Virgin and the Flash as they are both my favorite shows �� i hope you’ll enjoy this part & don’t hesitate to let me know what you think 😊  

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Chapter I: when worlds collide

SERIES MASTERLIST | next

Sitting in your car, you’ve been looking blinkingly at the windshield, hands trembling against the steering wheel. For ten whole minutes, you’ve been frozen like this as if moving would shatter the fragile sense of calm you’ve barely managed to hold together.

Your life is about to drastically change; you know it deep down.  

“The deed is done,” you whisper to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, and your reflection in the rearview mirror catches your eye. You look exhausted, your eyes wide and glistening.

For two years, this moment has been building. You have thoughtfully considered having a child on your own. At first, it was just a random thought that crossed your mind, a curiosity born on one of those quiet, lonely moments where life felt both too much and not enough. Then, you deeply thought about it. The idea rooted itself deep within you, anchoring into something raw and tender: a longing to create a family on your own terms. 

After much research and consideration, you decided to go for it.

Many people couldn’t understand your choice, but honestly, you don’t give two shits about others’ opinions. What did matter to you was the support of close family and friends.

Felix, the man who raised you after your parents were stolen from you, proposed to accompany you to the fertility clinic, but you gently declined his offer. This was something you wanted to do by yourself. Well, you just came alone to be inseminated. Other than that, he has been by your side every step of the way.

He helped you to go through the countless donor profiles, and every document needed for this adventure of yours.

The process was a bit long and emotionally draining. The first steps were more like an evaluation, mostly for the clinic to understand your reasons and ensure you’ve deeply thought about all the aspects. Having a kid alone isn’t just about fulfilling your dreams but also about building a life for a child.

Once you’ve successfully completed those steps, you had to choose the donor. There were a lot of choices; it was like going grocery shopping. You were handed a catalog of potential donors with their medical histories and first names. It felt odd to be choosing the progenitor like this. After going through every profile, one of them stood out.

Following the donor selection, your cycles and hormone levels were tracked. When all was good, you’d get inseminated on your ovulation period, which technically is happening this week.  

So, ten minutes ago, you walked out of the clinic after being artificially knocked up.

If your egg is fertilized, in nine months, you’ll welcome your very much desired baby. A tiny human who will call you mom. You already picked the names, one for a girl, one for a boy. You simply can’t wait to welcome a tiny human in your life. Hopefully, the life of your baby will be better than yours.

You lean your head against the steering wheel, closing your eyes as the ghosts of your past surface.

Twenty years ago, your life was turned upside down when a terrible murderer put an end to your parents’ lives. Nobody ever found him or her; it’s like the person completely vanished into the night. That person left behind a little girl with questions nobody could ever answer and scars nobody could understand.  

Since you didn’t have any family left, you were raised by your father’s best friend, Felix. Over time, he became like a second father to you. Even though you were full of anger when he took you over, he stayed by your side and helped you navigate this sad reality; one where your parents weren’t part of anymore.

His daughter, Lexi is your age. You were already so close, and living under the same roof brought you even closer. She’s your super best friend, almost like a sister today. A smile grows on your face as you think of her. Your life would have been a nightmare without her.

Lexi was the first person to be aware of this desire to become a single mother. She even pushed you to do it as soon as you could, and she has encouraged you like nobody else. She also helped you select a donor; she even made fun of the names of some of them.

Your phone buzzes; the name and picture of Lexi appearing on the screen.

“Hi,” you say when you pick up.

“Soo,” she says. “How did it go?”

“Good, I guess?” you say with clear hesitation. “The doctor just inserted a thin catheter, looked at the screen, and said it was done,” you explain. “Now we just have to wait.”

Waiting is now the worst part, especially since you decided not to take any pregnancy test until the next appointment. Meaning, you have to wait two full weeks.

“Let’s hope the donor’s little swimmers are good ones,” she says.

While you always wanted to have a kid, Lexi never wanted one. You and her are total opposites but that’s what helped create such a strong bond between you. “Yeah, let’s hope for that,” you smile.  

Two weeks later

A couple of days ago, you took a blood test, and now, you’re in the waiting room, patiently waiting for the doctor to call you up.

These past two weeks, you’ve been internally battling to take a pregnancy test. It’s been hard to fight the urge to discover beforehand if you’re expecting or not. On your way to the clinic, your heart was beating extremely fast with nervousness. Even the music playing in the car didn’t seem to calm you down.

Even though you’re extremely nervous, a part of you knows. You can’t explain it, but you feel it deep down. Two nights ago, you were lying in bed completely exhausted after an intense day at work. The rhythm of your heartbeat was rocking you to sleep. Amidst the thrum of your own heart, you swear you could hear a faint, smaller, and quicker rhythm.

You instantly opened your eyes, scanning the room. The sound wasn’t coming from outside. It felt like it was inside you. You stayed perfectly still, listening to that tiny sound. That night, you were rocked to sleep by that new rhythm.

The morning after, as you caught your reflection in the bathroom’s mirror, something felt off. Your brows furrowed as you noticed your own scent was different. It felt like it was mixed with somebody else’s scent, but it wasn’t as strong as yours or any other living human. It was extremely odd.

After a little while, the doctor says your name, and with shaky legs, you walk to her office. Your heart is beating at a very crazy pace, ready to burst at any moment. This is so stressful; it feels like time is moving so slowly.

“Hello yn,” the doctor smiles at you while you’re entering the room. “How have you been feeling?” you now take a seat.

“I’m good, thanks,” you smile back at her.

She sits down at her desk and takes a look at her computer.

“So, did you take any pregnancy test?” she asks.

“No, no,” you answer. “I wanted to keep the surprise for today.”

“I see,” she looks again at her screen before taping on her keyboard.

She seems to quickly read something before her smile widens. Your heart is going completely crazy. It really makes you nervous, and you try to mentally prepare yourself to receive the bad news as well. It’ll definitely break your heart but you’ll try again.  

This entire process is quite expensive, but the payment can be spread out over time rather than made in one shot. With this first payment, you have the right to three attempts. If pregnancy isn’t achieved after those attempts, you’ll have to go through another round and pay for additional attempts.

The doctor mentioned that usually, it takes about three to six attempts to achieve a successful pregnancy. Hopefully, you’ll get pregnant within those first three tries. You’re not entirely sure you’ll be able to afford another round of insemination.   

“Well, it looks like it only took you one try to conceive,” she informs you.

And right there, your heart bursts with joy. There’s indeed a little human being growing inside you. You’ll become a mother in nine months. You can’t believe it.

A little tear runs down your face as you hear the good news. It’s such a relief. You won't have to worry about coming back for another round.

“That’s good news,” you clean the tear on your cheek.

“It is indeed,” she says. “In four weeks more or less, we’ll plan an ultrasound to confirm the embryo’s implantation and check for a heartbeat,” she adds.

Well, you’ll still get worried about that because maybe until there, your baby will not survive. But you need to remain positive. No need to start stressing about it; you promised yourself that you’ll try to remain calm the entirety of the process and pregnancy so you’ll offer a great beginning of life to your baby.

“I’m very hopeful everything will go well because both you and the donor are in good health,” she says.

“Let’s hope for that,” you answer.

You then proceed to schedule the next appointment in four weeks. You can’t hide the immense smile on your face. This is the best news you got today. Nothing else will ever be possible to ruin this day.

When you leave the clinic, you instantly call Lexi.

“I AM PREGNANT!” you scream with excitement.

“Yeeeah,” she screams as well. “I’m going to be an aunty!” she adds.

“I’m so relieved that this first attempt was successful,” you admit.

Once you get inside your car, you touch your belly to caress it.

“That baby is so lucky to have you as a mother,” she says after. “And even more lucky to join our family.”

For sure, your family will extremely love this baby. It’s such a desired baby, and everybody has been so excited.

“They’ll be so loved,” you reply.

“There’s absolutely no doubt,” she says. “Dad will be so happy about this news; he’s been so excited to become a grandpa.”

Felix has expressed lately that he couldn’t wait to welcome a baby and become a granddad. This man has raised you for twenty years, and you consider him as a second father. There’s no doubt that your baby will see him as their grandfather even if, biologically speaking, he isn’t.

When you hang up, you stare into the void for a couple of minutes. In this moment, you wish your parents would be here. They would have been so happy to become grandparents, but they won’t be by your side for this new chapter of your life.

They are also the reason why you’re doing all of this. Since they passed, there’s been a tremendous emptiness inside you that even the love of Felix couldn’t fill in. This void stems mostly from the fact that you were left alone when they were killed. You’ve been feeling so lonely since then.

Throughout your life, you tried to fill it with relationships but they all failed. As far as you can remember, you wanted to follow the traditional path to build a family. However, it never worked out. Then, one day, you saw a brochure about single mothers, and you’ve been thinking about it since then.

You’ve seen motherhood as a role that will fill this emotional void you’ve been carrying for years. Plus, you’ve also seen it as a way to finally control your life. Twenty years ago, someone decided for you what your life would become. This wasn’t fair.

And you also want to give your baby the life you never got. You want to give them a loving family that won’t disappear the second the parents die. Outside of your parents, you didn’t have a family. Based on what Felix told you, your grandparents were against your parents' relationship so they moved into another city to live freely and build a family.

Life hasn’t been fair for you, but you want to make it fair for your baby.

Two weeks later

The clinic called you this morning to urgently come in the afternoon, only making you grow concerned during the day. You kept wondering what the reason for such urgency would be. Did they notice something when they did the blood test? Did they get the wrong blood test? Are you even really pregnant? 

However, you’re a hundred percent sure you’re carrying a life inside you. You haven’t had the ‘normal’ early symptoms yet, but you can feel your baby inside you. The faint heartbeat can still be heard, and there’s still that subtle scent interwoven with yours.

For the past two weeks, you’ve repeatedly inhaled this new scent, almost to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. Most of the time, you wondered if it wasn’t something like blood, sweat, or the smell of your new shampoo. It was definitely an earthly one. One that only a human can possess.

Once inside the clinic, you’re instantly installed in the doctor’s room. Your heart is crazily beating inside your chest; you’re so nervous right now. Seconds later, a man joins you in the room.

At first glance, you’d think he is the CEO of a huge company. He’s fully dressed in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, his hands casually placed in his pants pockets. This man is extremely charismatic; something about him draws you in.  

The man looks at you while frowning, his eyes moving from your eyes to your belly. By reflex, you cover your stomach with your hands. He’s making you uncomfortable with his intense stare.

He has a very strong bestial scent, it predominates his cologne. Everything about him is imposing, even the way his heart beats; it’s so calm while yours is completely erratic. The man’s eyes are clued on you.

The doctor arrives right after and closes the door behind her. Her face is quite serious; she even seems concerned.

“Miss y/l/n,” she takes a seat at her desk. “Mister Jeon,” she looks at the man behind you. “Please take a seat.”

The two of you sit down next to each other with apprehension. You can hear his heart beating a little faster, but he remains extremely calm on the outside.  

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. The doctor pauses, giving you time to absorb the gravity of the statement. Her tone is gentle, but at the same time professional.  

The sterile, cold walls of the room seem to close in around you as the doctor’s words pierce through your thoughts.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” your breath is caught in your throat, your hands trembling. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

Your eyes look at the man sitting next to you. All you can see in his eyes is the same disbelief that reflects your own. So, this is your child’s father.  

Many questions cross your mind, but they remain unspoken, lodged in your throat.

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

You desired nothing more than being alone in this adventure; you didn’t want a present father. That was the whole point of a donor. Now, you know the father of your child, and he’d probably like to be present.

For the past months, you went through a series of questions regarding the fact that you’ll raise your child alone. They asked you many times how you’d explain to your child that they don’t have a father. This now feels like a complete waste of time.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment’s costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

Those words seem so heavy and yet, they represent the reality of the choice you now have to face. A knot tightens in your stomach at the thought of undoing something you wished for so long. The baby is now growing inside of you, you’ve got used to falling asleep with their tiny heartbeat. The only thought of not having it anymore breaks your heart beyond comprehension.

Right now, everything—your carefully constructed plans, your hopes, the small life growing inside you—seems to be slipping through your fingers.

Mister Jeon is silent beside you, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He seems as stunned as you, but you can’t help but think that there’s something else there too. Something deeper and darker.

You ignore if he’s thinking the same thing as you, but you can feel it: the strange twist of fate pulling you both into an unknown world, one you both hadn’t planned for.

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

Time seems irrelevant now. There’s a choice you need to make; a choice you didn’t expect to face. You swallow hard, your heart racing inside your chest. Your hands caress your belly through your shirt while you only hear the baby’s fragile heartbeat.

This isn’t supposed to happen. This can’t be real.

Jungkook’s face went pale as the doctor’s words sank in.

“There’s been a mistake,” she starts saying.

Just like you, the room’s white walls feel suffocating, the air thick with a tension he can’t shake. A mistake. His mistake. He tried to avoid this situation. He was supposed to go through surrogacy to guarantee a child that would uphold his lineage. His werewolf lineage, pure and untouched by human blood.

“There was a mix-up with the sample…” the doctor’s words hang up in the air like a death sentence. “We were supposed to inseminate you with the donor sample you selected. We still don’t know how but you got inseminated with Mister Jeon’s sample.”

His eyes quickly look at you, and he notices how much you’re shaking. It seems like you’re in a more devasted state than he is.  

“We truly apologize for our mistake,” she says. “We were totally aware you both wanted to have a child alone.”

Jungkook blinks, trying to absorb what is happening. A human child. Nonetheless, his child. Having children with humans isn’t just a personal choice; it’s a fundamental rule of the werewolf society. The very foundation of his power as the king depends on the purity of his bloodline. To break the rule is to risk everything.

He knows better than anyone what happens to the werewolf-human hybrid kids together with the parents. They are killed by the pack. Being a king doesn’t make him the exception to the rule. If this pregnancy goes to full term, not only will he be killed, but the baby and the lady sitting next to him will too.  

You didn’t ask for any of this. You don’t deserve to die because of a mistake. 

His gaze filled with frustration and panic moves toward you once more as his pulse quickens. He wanted control over the situation. He never intended to father a hybrid child. And now, not only is he involved in this pregnancy, but the child is going to carry his blood mixed with human genetics. God only knows what can happen to this kid, genetically speaking.

“We understand the nature of this situation. We will refund the totality of the treatment costs. We can also terminate the pregnancy if you both wish.”

‘This can’t be happening’, he thinks.

His eyes move back to the doctors, his hands clenched into fists. The thought of the entire werewolf community learning of this is unbearable. And what is his mother going to think of this?

She was the first person to support him in this surrogacy journey. She knew how important it was for him to have a child as soon as possible because he’d been struggling to find someone with whom he’d mate. Having an heir is the first thing a king should do to ensure the legacy.

Now, he’s about to have a child with a human. That’s not possible. This child won’t have a pure bloodline, this child can’t ever be an heir.     

“You still have some time to decide, of course,” the doctor’s voice is still very soft.

The idea of termination seems dreadful, but the possibility of a hybrid child heir seems even worse. His responsibility as king, and the traditions that have been in place for centuries don’t allow for such breach. To raise a kid with human blood would mean instant disgrace, not only for him but for his entire family. How could he even be respected after this?

His entire world is slipping through his fingers. His position as king is now in jeopardy. This baby will destabilize the entire werewolf community. Nobody will respect him and will only see him as weak. Weak for having a human child.

There’s no going back. His mind tries to find a solution to fix this, or how to undo this. The idea of raising a child with a human—no matter how much it is his responsibility—is unthinkable. He never desired this and hasn’t even considered it. He has been so focused on maintaining his bloodline that the idea of a mistake happening never crossed his mind.

Your presence beside him destabilizes him beyond comprehension. He can see the confusion in your eyes mixed with disbelief. You can’t comprehend the extension of this entire problem. You can’t even comprehend the danger of mixing bloodlines, because you aren’t a werewolf.

Jungkook stands in silence for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts. Terminating this pregnancy isn’t something he desires, but having a child with a human is simply impossible. His heart beats too crazily, and he can hear yours beating just as fast. His heart and duty are pulling him in two different directions.

Finally, his eyes meet yours. His voice is soft but it carries a heavy weight. “We need to decide. This affects both of us.”

After what felt like an eternity, you both leave the room completely shaken up by the news you just got. How could this be happening?

As you’re both walking in the clinic in the parking lot’s direction, none of you dares to speak. You’re a complete stranger to Jungkook. All he knows is that you’re a human carrying his child. 

“I can’t have that child,” he finally breaks the silence.

His words cause you to stop.

“It’s too early for me to consider terminating this pregnancy,” you admit. “I need time.”

Jungkook understands your perspective. It’s not a decision you lightly take, especially if you’ve come to this clinic to have a child. It’d be completely absurd to abort after going through this entire process.

“Of course,” he says. “But I want you to know my point of view.”

You nod, understanding his perspective as well. This is such a horrible situation. Jungkook wanted to have an heir while you simply wanted to have a child on your own. On top of that, he doesn’t look like the donor you selected.

“So if I decide to keep it, would you be out?” you ask.

Jungkook considers your words. There’s a possibility that the baby could still exist, but he wouldn’t be part of their life. He’d still be losing because he wants a child, but at least this way, his position wouldn’t be jeopardized, and no one would get hurt or killed.  

“It’s possible,” he honestly answers.

You nod once more. Even though he decides not to be part of his child’s life, he’d still know that he has a kid somewhere. He wouldn’t have any trouble finding you; he already knows your smell, and he has the means to find you.

“Okay,” you say.

Jungkook watches you take a pen and paper from your purse before writing something.

“This is my phone number,” you hand him the piece of paper. “In case you change your mind or take a decision.”

The man takes the piece of paper while you give him a small smile. You start walking away, his eyes following you until you disappear inside a car.

In this situation, he definitely would like to ask his mother for advice, but he can’t. He already knows the answer she’ll give him. ‘This baby can’t exist.’ And she’s right, but he can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy. It’s your body after all.

In the eventuality that you decide to proceed with the pregnancy, he guesses he’ll let you be a mother alone and pretend like this kid doesn’t exist.

You’ve spent the last two days crying in bed. The conversation with the doctor and this mysterious Mister Jeon has been playing over and over in your head. You can still picture everything so clearly; the white walls of the doctor’s room, the apologies from the doctor, and Mister Jeon’s piercing gaze.

‘There’s been a mistake,’ ‘There was a mix-up with the sample,’ the words still echo in your mind.

You’ve been trying to make sense of how such a monumental mistake has happened. But nothing seems to make sense. The clinic did this; the clinic took control over your decision. This chapter of your life was about you gaining control, but once more, someone decided for you. It’s been making you angry.

You’re furious at the clinic and their negligence. You trusted them with your project of building your own family. However, they decided otherwise.  

But underneath that anger, there’s another fury; one directed to yourself. You were so focused on having a child on your own terms that you didn’t stop to consider the what-ifs. You didn’t stop to consider that something might go wrong. And now, you are here.    

You’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours now, your mind trying to find a solution. Do you keep this baby? Do you terminate the pregnancy?

This choice feels impossible. It feels like no matter what your life will completely change.  

But deep down, you somehow feel some kind of relief. Because when Mister Jeon—this intense and charismatic man—said there was a possibility he’d walk away, that he’d leave you to raise this child alone, you felt lighter.

His potential absence is appealing. It aligns with your original choice, to be a single mother. A choice where your child is yours, and yours alone. But then, there’s also a possibility where he stays, or that he comes back later. What would happen then?

You press your hands against your face while a guttural growl leaves your lips. This is so damn frustrating. This should be simple. Because now, you’re left wondering what you want. Do you want to walk away from this and stick to the original plan? Or do you want to embrace this chaos, and see where this might lead?

Your hands slide down to your stomach, caressing it while you hear again the tiny heartbeat. This sound comforts you which makes you close your eyes.

For now, you don’t have any answers to all your questions. You’re not even sure you’ll have them tomorrow. For now, you’ll let yourself breathe. You’ll let yourself feel. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the answers.  

The sound of your phone ringing pushes you out of your own thoughts, informing you that you received a message. You sit on your bed before grabbing the phone on the nightstand. You received a message from an unknown number. By curiosity, you unlock your phone to read it. To your surprise, it’s the famous and mysterious Mister Jeon.  

From unknown: hi miss y/l/n, this is jeon jungkook, the father of your child. i’d like to meet you to discuss the matter. would you be free tonight?

Your heart hammers inside your chest, ready to burst at any second. He contacted you sooner than expected. You were thinking that you wouldn’t hear anything from him for at least a week. You thought you’d have more time to make a decision before meeting him. Now, it seems you don’t, and that you’ll have a very interesting conversation with him tonight.

With shaky hands, you start typing your answer.

To unknown: hello mister jeon, we could meet tonight

When you press ‘send’, you stare at the conversation, waiting for an answer. Mister Jeon responds instantly to your message, proposing to meet in a town square. You accept the suggestion and quickly go to your clothes cupboard to pick up an outfit.

The man seems very impressive, and you want to be presentable. He’s after all the progenitor of the life growing inside you.

A couple of hours later, you take the road to the meeting point. Surprisingly, you’ve remained calm for the entire drive. Driving is actually the only thing able to calm your tormented soul. Whenever you go through something very intense, you just drive to clear your mind.

However, since this pregnancy thing, even driving hasn’t been able to help you out. You tried to drive yesterday, but it only made things worse. So it definitely surprises you that you’ve been able to clear your mind before meeting Mister Jeon.

When you arrive, he’s already there waiting for you. He’s not wearing a suit, quite the contrary. His outfit is only made of a grey sweater with a blue pair of jeans. His hair isn’t perfectly pushed back as it was two days ago. It feels like you’re meeting a completely different person.

When he sees you, he stands up. As he does so, you notice he holds a box in his right hand. It’s a small one, but it still intrigues you.

“Good evening, miss y/l/n,” he says.

“Good evening, mister Jeon,” you say back.

His presence is still very imposing, but the fact that he isn’t wearing a suit anymore changes it a bit. He seems more approachable than he was in the clinic.

“Please call me Jungkook,” he offers you a small smile.

It’s the first time you see him smiling, and it feels like a very warm one. Beneath it all and in the midst of the city noise, you can perceive his heartbeat. It’s quite rapid which makes you tilt your head. Is he nervous?

“You can call me yn as well,” you smile back at him.  

“I’ve brought you a box with some pastries,” he hands you the box. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

Your smile grows wider at his simple but heartwarming gesture. This wasn’t expected, but it lightens the mood. Jungkook seems to be a nice person which contrasts with the cold and unreadable person he seemed two days ago.

“Thanks,” you say while grabbing the little box. “You didn’t need to,” your eyes look up at him.

After that, you both sit down on the bench he was on before you arrived. By the way he rubs his hands on his tights, you can tell that he’s a bit nervous. You try not to overanalyze him, because you know your mind will go crazy, full of questions.

“What is happening is really crazy,” he admits with obvious nervousness. “I never imagined things would go this way,” you nod.

Jungkook looks everywhere, except at you. It seems like he isn’t brave enough to face you, almost like a teenager confessing his love.

“As I told you two days ago, I can’t have this child,” he finally speaks. “I really would love to, but I’d put the three of us in danger.”

Your heart starts beating rapidly. What does he mean by ‘putting you in danger’? Does he come from a crazy family? Is he part of the mafia? This is scaring the hell out of you.

“We didn’t know each other up until two days ago, and you don’t deserve to be put in danger because of a stupid mistake the clinic did,” he seems angry when he mentions the mistake. “But I can’t force you to terminate the pregnancy, it’s your body, and it was also your wish to have a child. I can’t take that away from you.”

It kind of surprises you how respectful he is. Any other man in his position could have forced or paid you to put an end to this pregnancy. It’s really admirable.

“In case you want to keep going with it, I just want you to know that I’ll step away, and I will never come back to reclaim a role I refused from the beginning.”

You wonder what the reasons behind his decision could be. This man desired to have a child but is now refusing to have one with you because of a mistake.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know what to do,” you admit.

His piercing eyes finally look at you. For a split second, you can swear that they were red. Red like blood. This destabilizes you, and you furrow your eyebrows. You’re not sure if you’re being delirious or if this is real.

“I wanted to become a mother, but not like this,” you continue, still destabilized by what you just saw. “So it leaves me wondering what I should do. But if you walk away, I’ll be more tempted to keep the baby because, in the end, it’ll go as I planned.”

In an unexplainable way, this man puts you at ease. It feels like you can confess how you truly feel about this situation without being judged by him. This man exudes serenity which draws you even more to him.

“I get that,” he says.

For a brief moment, you only look at him while your heart peacefully beats in your chest. His dark eyes stare right into your soul, and it feels like the world completely stopped. There’s just the two of you. But Jungkook breaks the contact, looking in another direction.

“If you decide to keep the child and need any financial help, I can give it to you,” he speaks.

This man definitely seems like a good guy, and you wonder even more why he’s walking away from this.

“I won’t,” you answer. “I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t have any means to take care of the baby.”

For sure you need financial stability to be a single mother, and you would have never embarked on this adventure without having it.

Jungkook runs his fingers through his fluffy hair, avoiding still your gaze. “Can I ask why you want to become a single mom?”

The question catches you off guard. You weren’t expecting this man—this stranger—to be interested in you.

“I didn’t have an easy life and I grew up without my parents,” you confess. “Motherhood was something I aspired to have in my life since I’m very young, and I’ve desired to give to my child everything I didn’t have. No matter if it was with someone or alone.”

Your eyes shift from Jungkook to the square full of people. It’s never easy to express out loud and to a complete stranger why you embarked on this adventure. Mentioning your parents is actually never easy; even after all this time.

Suddenly, you feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you in complete silence. For once in your life, people’s heartbeats and scents don’t suffocate you. You can hear and smell them, but it’s like it doesn’t matter.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve had those developed skills. You can hear stuff from afar, and you can strongly smell people’s natural body’s scent. Since it’s kind of ‘normal’ to you, you got used to it; but sometimes, and especially when you’re in the middle of heavy crowds, it suffocates you. It becomes simply too much.

This is something you never told anyone, too scared to be judged. Undoubtedly, people would say you’ve gone crazy due to the trauma of losing your parents. Not even Felix or Lexi knows about it. They just think you’re agoraphobic.

However, lately, you’ve been trying to go to some crowded place to overcome this suffocating feeling. You ignore why you’ve been doing it, but you’ve been doing it. It’s still too much, but today, next to this complete stranger, it doesn’t feel like it.

“I’m sorry you lost your parents,” he whispers.

You turn to look at him to offer him a little smile.

“Thanks,” you mumble. “Can I also ask you why you’re doing this?” you dare to ask.

Jungkook nods before looking away once more. It definitely looks like it’s hard for him to hold your gaze.

“In my world,” he starts saying. “I have heavy responsibilities, and having a child is one of them. But I can’t have one with anybody. I’m very limited in who is the biological mother so that’s why I can’t have one with you.”

You almost feel offended by his words. In which kind of world can’t you be the mother of his child? It’s completely crazy!

“Oh,” you simply say.

“You could have been the surrogate…” you can hear some kind of chuckle. “But never the progenitor.”

“It’s seems like a tough world.”

His eyes look again at you; you can see that he seems to hesitate with the answer.

“It isn’t,” he finally says. “But it is with me.”

Obviously, he carefully chose his words.

“Well, I hope you’ll find the right mother for your child,” you offer him once more a little smile.

“Thanks,” he smiles back at you.

The two of you look back again at the people walking in the town square. They are walking around you, ignoring totally what you’re going through, what tough decision you have to make. They ignore everything about you, just as you ignore everything about them…  

“I’m sorry about all of this,” he adds.

“It’s not your fault,” you answer. “It’s the clinic’s.”

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the people walking in front of you. His heart is racing and piercing through your ears. He’s even more nervous than he was before, and it concerns you a bit. But you don’t say anything, too afraid to scare him off if you reveal you can hear his heartbeat.  

“Yn…” he starts. “There’s something you need to know,” his voice is deep and low at the same time. It’s so low that it almost drowns out by the distant chatter of people passing by.

You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing. “Okay,” you whisper.  

Jungkook takes a deep breath, his jaw tightening before he exhales. His eyes don’t meet yours immediately, but when he does, there’s an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“When I said my world is different,” he swallows with difficulty. “I don’t mean it in a metaphorical sense. My world, my reality is not the same as yours.”

You frown even more, confusion plastered all over your face. You’re definitely incredibly confused. How could his world be different than yours? You live on the same planet, and breathe the same air. How could it be not the same?  

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook gets closer, his voice dropping even lower, barely audible. However, you still hear it perfectly.

“I am not entirely human, yn.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You stare at him while waiting for him to elaborate. However, Jungkook just stares at you, waiting for your reaction.

“What do you mean by ‘not entirely human’?” you tilt your head.

For a couple of seconds, he doesn’t speak, almost as if he’s scared to reveal his true nature to you.

“I’m a werewolf.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore. It leaves you wondering if this man is of sound mind. Right now, you’re slightly concerned about his mental health, and the future of your child, if you keep them.

Your first reaction is to laugh, dismissing his words as if it is some kind of twisted joke. But the look on his face tells you that he’s deadly serious. This isn’t a joke.

“A werewolf?” you repeat to make sure you hear it well.

Jungkook nods. He looks tense and he maintains his deep glance on you.

“It’s why I can’t have this child,” he starts to explain. “In my world, bloodlines matter. Werewolf bloodlines are sacred, and the continuation of my lineage isn’t just about having a child. It’s about having the right child with the right kind of mother.”

The weight of his words crashes over you like a tidal wave. You stand up, your hands running through your hair. Your mind is spinning, and your pulse thunders in your ears. This is something you definitely weren’t expecting to hear today.

Werewolves? You’re carrying the child of a werewolf?

This sounds like it comes straight from a fantasy movie.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you whisper to yourself but Jungkook hears it.  

“I didn’t want you to be dragged into this world, but you deserve the truth.”

You keep your back turned to him while you cross your arms against your chest.

“This is something you need to consider if you decide to keep the baby.”

At his words, you freeze. Instinctively, your hands down move to your stomach. Jungkook’s eyes follow your hands.

“Is this…” your voice trembles. “Is this a viable child?”

If you want to keep going with this pregnancy, you need to know if this baby can survive.

“There wouldn’t be any reason why this child wouldn’t survive because of mixed blood,” he stands up and gets close to you. “But as they grow up, they’ll develop werewolf abilities. And, one day, they’ll probably turn into one. It’s pretty unpredictable, though. There’s never been a human-werewolf hybrid before.”

Damn, this is leaving you speechless. How can this be real? Werewolves are supposed to exist in movies, not in real life.   

“This is insane,” you rub your hands on your face. “This can’t be real.”

Jungkook steps closer. His presence is grounding but nonetheless overwhelming.  

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” you demand, your voice filled with panic.  

Before you can blink, he gets even closer to you. He’s in front of you in an instant, his hand gently grabbing yours. Your eyes look down at his hand as you notice it changing. His fingers elongate, his nails sharpen into claws, and the texture of his skin turns into something more beastly. Slowly, your eyes look up, and what you see completely freezes your body.  His eyes glow a deep, predatory red, and there’s something undeniably wolfish about them.

You take a step back while setting your hand free. As you do so, Jungkook shifts back, his hand returns to its normal form, and his eyes fade back to a human form. The transformation is so quick that it almost feels like you imagined it.

“So what happens now?” you ask.

Jungkook’s gaze softens at your words.

“That depends on you, yn.”

Please note that the taglist is closed

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 8 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 6.2k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

A blood curdling shriek rang through the house, jolting Carter from her restless dreams.

She sat straight up in bed, heart racing as she looked around the dark room, head so heavy she could barely remember where she was or how she got there.

In her hungover mental fog, she pieced it together slowly. She was at the beach house, in her room, it was early, she drank so much last night and Topper said -

“OH MY GOD!” 

Another sharp scream came from downstairs, and her heart rate spiked all over again. She pulled the fluffy comforter around her shoulders and hurried out of the room, quiet on the stairs as she nervously approached the source of all the commotion.

When she saw what was inducing Sabrina’s shock, she doubled back, hiding around the corner so they couldn’t see her. Her stomach churned with bitter loathing, and something else even more nauseating…

She dropped the blanket and rushed to the half-bath off the house’s entryway, doubled over the toilet bowl as last night’s poor choices continued to haunt her.

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Rafe drove faster than he had before your interrupted rendezvous, seeming not to want to drag this adventure out anymore. You eyed him nervously from the passenger seat, searching for words that weren’t coming to you. 

Tongue tied and exhausted was not how you wanted to begin this…whatever this was between you. Rafe had given you words, so many of them, back on the beach and all he asked in return was a simple yes or no.

Are you my girl?

No four words had ever felt so heavy. The shitty part was, you wanted to say yes. At the sound of his breathless question every cell in your body was screaming yes! I’m your girl! I’ve always been your girl! 

But then there was that pesky piece of self preservation that cemented itself in your heart all those years ago and didn’t plan to give up any time soon. 

He looked so disappointed when you couldn’t give him a quick and easy answer, his chest now deflated and shoulders sunken as he drove the rest of the route home. Despite your lingering hesitation, you felt like you needed to give him something, needed to lift the frown that was settled on the lips you had tasted so many times this morning.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“For what?” He asked.

“I’m…slow,” you began, “it takes me a while, y’know? To find the words. I’m not like you, I don’t know how you came up with that speech in less than a minute.”

Rafe laughed, confusing you.

“What?”

“You think I came up with that speech in a minute?” He chuckled, “I’ve been practicing it every day since senior year of high school.”

Your heart clenched at the endearing thought of him in front of the mirror, driving to class, taking a shower all while rehearsing what he’d say if you ever gave him the chance.

“Oh,” you tucked your hair behind your ear.

It was infuriating, your complete inability to get a grip on your own thoughts and feelings around him. It had always been this way. You were well-spoken and sound-minded, until this one person was in your atmosphere, his presence your own personal kryptonite.

To be fair to yourself, it wasn’t just your own weakness for him that had caused you to build such high walls. When you were kids, he sometimes made you feel this way on purpose. He used to have fun watching you get flustered, just the right amount of flirting to send you into a tizzy, only to leave you spinning like a top with no one to stop you.

You truly tried to leave the past behind, burying it somewhere back in the sand on the beach. You reminded yourself that the Rafe of your memories was not the one sitting next to you right now. But that might just be the problem, because at least you knew that Rafe, you knew exactly what he would do next.

If he grabbed your hand, you knew he was about to drop it. If he said something sweet, you knew he was about to say something passive aggressive. If he acted like he loved you, you knew he was about to act like he’d never met you a day in his life.

But this Rafe, this new one, was completely unpredictable. Wild and dangerous in his apparent affection for you. How were you supposed to know what he did next wasn’t going to hurt? He was right about what he said on the jet ski - you won’t know until you give him the chance. Easier said than done.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he offered after you’d been quiet for a long time.

“This week has just been…” trying to come up with one word to describe it felt like a futile task.

“Overwhelming?” Rafe tried to help.

“Surprising,” you countered. “I’ve never been good with surprises.”

“You like to know what’s coming next,” he nodded, once again displaying a deep knowledge of you that you never knew he possessed.

Like he could read your mind, his arm stretched across the small divide and his palm, warm and soft, settled on your thigh, a single soothing stroke to let you know he’s still here, he’s still yours. The feeling of his skin touching yours was like aloe vera directly on the burn.

With a grateful smile, you leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath as he steered you home.

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Carter padded down the hall, stopping three separate times, trying to decide if she should just go back to her own room. But the sight of her frantic texts to you still saying “delivered” and not “read” was too concerning to ignore.

She opened Topper’s door without knocking.

He was sitting up against his headboard, typing feverishly on his phone. At the sight of her, he clutched his duvet cover, pulling it up higher over his nearly naked body.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” 

“Please, like I haven’t seen it all before. Like I didn’t see it yesterday,” she rolled her eyes.

“Oh okay, so you do remember. Based on the way you were acting last night I thought maybe you’d forgotten we’d ever been together,” he snipped at her.

“I don’t want to talk about last night,” she waved him off, dismissing his complaints flippantly, “are you aware of what’s happening downstairs right now? Of who is happening downstairs right now?”

“Yes, I saw her pull up,” he returned his attention to his phone and his frenzied typing.

Outside his cracked open door, Carter heard Kelce, Tom, and a few others come barreling up the stairs, chatting about the recent arrival.

“Be so fucking for real, did you invite her?” Carter said, attempting to lower her voice.

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but you do this thing where you think you’re whispering and you’re actually not,” Topper informed her.

“Topper…”

“No, I didn’t invite her.,” he answered. “Actually I was about to ask if you did.”

“Why the fuck would I do that? I hate her.”

“Wow alright, hate's a strong word, Carter, maybe calm down a little.”

Ever since their knock-down-drag-out at the club last night, the arguing that was usually playful and lighthearted had an edge of actual bitterness to it.

“First of all, if you ever tell me to ‘calm down’ again, I’m going full Lorena Bobbitt on your ass. Second of all, you need to go down there and tell her to leave,” she flicked her hair behind her shoulder and held her chin up as she bossed him around. He hated that despite how mad at her he was, he fucking loved it.

“How does that job possibly fall on me?” He scoffed.

“Aren’t you Mr. Team Rafe-and-my-sister? Don’t you want to get rid of the reason they stopped talking in the first place?” She reasoned.

“I’m not gonna tell her she can’t be here,” he shut her down. “It’s not my house, and it’s really none of my business. Or yours.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, “oh yeah? Then who are you texting so much over there?”

“I’m just giving him a head’s up,” he shrugged. “She should probably know too.”

“And you’re just assuming they’re together?” She snarled.

“Puh-lease,” he rolled his eyes, “did you see them at the club last night? There’s no way they didn’t hook up.”

She wouldn’t accept it, couldn’t, even though she knew somewhere deep in her gut that he was probably right. 

When Rafe still didn’t answer any of his texts, Topper sighed heavily, “fuck it, I don’t care if I’m cockblocking, I’m calling him.”

Before he could dial, the house shook with the slam of the front door. Carter and Topper hurried out to the hall and hesitated at the top of the steps. Your lone voice carried up to them, talking to no one in particular as you muttered, “un-fucking-belivable.”

Carter actually did whisper this time, “I think it might be too late for that…”

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The feeling of Rafe’s hand, warm and steady on your thigh, as he drove the rest of the route home was so nice and comforting, you let yourself slip into the possibility that this could actually be it. Maybe you really could just leave the past behind you, maybe you really had finally found each other and it could just be simple like this.

But your fantasy didn’t last long.

Rafe parked in the spot across the street that you had taken Carter’s car from a few hours ago. Even when he turned the key and cut the engine, he didn’t remove his hand from your leg. 

“You ready?” He sighed.

“For what?” You questioned, eyeing him curiously, his face serious as he looked down at the site of his hand on your skin.

He shook his head like he didn’t know the answer himself, “reality, I guess.”

You placed your hand over his, smirking at the sight of your fingers encompassing each other’s, wanting so much more from these hands and truly believing you’d have all the time in the world to enjoy them. 

“Bring it on,” you gave him a small smile.

“He leaned across the center console and dropped a deep kiss to your lips, causing you to sigh into his mouth. All the times you imagined kissing him, you never thought such a rough-around-the-edges guy would have such soft lips. You felt like you might be able to spend forever with them on your skin.

When he finally pulled away, you reached for the handle of your door, beginning to open it, but Rafe reached across your body and pulled it shut again.

“What are you doing?” You asked in surprise.

He smiled that perfect, dimpled grin of his, “extra credit.”

You giggled as he hurried to climb out of the driver’s side, hurrying around to your door and opening it with a chivalrous flair.

“Wow,” you beamed, accepting his hand as he helped you down from the tall vehicle. “You weren’t kidding about trying to be a gentleman.”

“For you, I’ll be anything,” he flirted.

Despite your best efforts not to, you blushed, the red hue on your cheeks deepening when Rafe kept your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours as you walked back to the house. It was the first time he’d held your hand out in the open like this, where anyone could look out from the windows of the beach house and see the two of you together. It was foreign to you, his public display of affection, and yet it felt so right. You couldn’t help but wish it hadn’t taken this long.

“Can I ask you something?” You said quietly.

“Anything,” he squeezed your hand assuringly. 

“Why didn’t we do this a long time ago?” 

Rafe’s face fell slightly, watching his feet as they made less and less forward progress on the sidewalk, until he came to a full stop. The question was mostly meant to be lighthearted, a tease really, but his solemn reaction made your stomach twist with concern.

“I…” he started, voice unsteady, not meeting your eyeline, “I don’t know if I should tell you this but -”

You never knew what he wasn’t supposed to tell you, because before he could, a sickeningly familiar voice called out from the front porch.

“Hey guys!”

Head snapping toward the sound, you looked up, and there she was, as stunning as ever in that same signature everything-you’re-not-ness. 

Cassie Bryant.

Her face was adorned with a glistening smile, yours was noticeably not. Everything in you sunk, including the corners of your lips, completely unable to hide the way your heart dropped six feet under the ground at the sight of her.

She was somehow even more golden and glowing now than she was back then. Glossy blonde hair flowing down her back like a waterfall of silk. Her perfect, blemish free skin glowed in the early morning light. Her big, round Disney Princess eyes quickly found Rafe and flicked over your joined hands, clocking the way they were folded together in unmistakable intimacy.

It happened so quickly, and yet it felt like years worth of hurt and heartache compacted into one small moment. 

At the sight of Cassie on the porch, Rafe dropped your hand.

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Surely, any minute now, a camera crew would pop out from the bushes and announce that you were being Punk’d.

Or maybe it’d be the Mythbusters:

The myth? That you can actually heal from your childhood trauma with just four years of painstaking hard work. Well, we’re about to prove that all of that can be unraveled in the span of 72 hours! Also, we will be using your heart as our crash test dummy. Myth busted!

You didn’t look over at Rafe, couldn’t bear to watch the way he pulled his body away from yours, ever-so-slightly, almost imperceptibly. But you could feel it all the same, and you were sure she could too. 

Before Cassie could say anything else, the front door opened behind her, Sabrina stepping out of the house and taking in the unfolding scene on the lawn.

“Oh shit,” she laughed, “this is awkward!”

It’s like her main goal in life was to find new and creative ways to make your bad moments worse.

“Is it?” Cassie asked, seemingly unaware of the cause of Sabrina’s laughter. “We were just saying hi.”

She caught your eye as she said it, a polite but knowing smile on her lips. You realized with shock that she absolutely knew what was happening and was trying to make you feel better about it. You should just be grateful for the unexpected kindness, but something in you was suspicious. The Cassie you knew would’ve jumped at the chance to embarrass you, and she would’ve loved the way Rafe was treating you like you had the plague.

Plus, her taking pity on you, acknowledging the way Rafe had just hurt you, was somehow worse than her just being mean to you. You’d rather she go back to that.

“Y’all having a good trip?” She asked you and Rafe when the silence had lasted just a little too long.

You looked to Rafe, waiting for him to answer, begging him silently to say something that indicated that you were in fact having a good trip…together.

But he just said, “it’s been cool. Weather’s shit, though.”

“Yeah that’s what Sab told me, but I got a few days off my internship so I thought I’d come hang with y’all,” she said, eyes on you as she spoke, like she owed you an explanation.

“Well, welcome, then,” you smiled a polite smile that didn’t meet your eyes.

“You ready?” Sabrina asked, linking arms with Cassie, thick as thieves. 

“We’re going into town for some brunch if you guys want to join,” Cassie offered.

“That’s okay, I need to check on Carter,” you declined, all eyes turning to Rafe for his response.

“Uh yeah, I’m good here, th-thanks,” he stuttered, so awkward and shaky, a completely different person from the guy who was delivering monologues and sweeping you off your feet just a few hours ago.

Cassie just smiled politely once more as Sabrina pulled her into the car. As they drove off, you stood wordlessly with Rafe on the front walk, your chest completely hollow. You mustered some nerve and finally looked at him, head tilted, a completely unamused smile tugging your lips.

“Weather’s shit?” You repeated his words back to him.

“Look…” he began but didn’t finish the thought.

You just laughed humorlessly, shaking your head at him as you stormed off toward the house. Rafe stood frozen for a moment, kicking himself mentally and begging his brain to catch up with the moment, finally rushing off after you, but not able to before you slammed the door in his face.

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Carter and Topper exchanged nervous glances at the sound of you stomping into the house. 

They slowly and quietly settled on the top step, sitting forward to listen in as the front door opened and closed again, Rafe’s voice echoing through the house.

“Wait…” he said, following after you as you marched further into the house toward the kitchen.

You didn’t stop, “No, go ahead, you should go to brunch with her. Don’t let me keep you from a good time.”

“Wait, let’s just talk,” he pleaded.

“I’m too tired, Rafe,” you rejected him. “I can’t do this right now.”

“So you’re not even gonna let me explain?”

At the top of the steps, Carter and Topper simultaneously held their breath as they listened, both jumping as Kelce’s voice startled them, “what are we listening to?”

“Shhh,” Carter waved her hand at him, motioning for him to shut up.

Kelce plopped himself between them on the top step, shuffling a bit so they’d make room for him. He listened in, picking up your and Rafe’s raised voices quickly.

“Oh shit,” he barely whispered, “trouble in paradise already?”

“Dude shut up,” Topper cut him off.

Soon, Maddie, Tom and Jack joined the little huddle on the top step, each cluing in on the source of the entertainment in their own disruptive way before being shushed by the group and eventually sitting. You continued your argument with Rafe, completely unaware you were performing in front of a live studio audience.

“You don’t need to explain,” you told him, trudging down the front hall toward the kitchen. “I know exactly what just happened because it’s happened a thousand times before. What I don’t know is why I’m even surprised.”

“Come on,” he caught up to you, stopping you in your tracks as his large frame rounded you. “It is not the same as it used to be.”

“It’s exactly the same,” you side-stepped him, walking into the kitchen and dropping Carter’s keys on the counter. “I mean jesus Rafe, it’s the same fucking person! I can’t believe I’m here again, it’s like I’m having a nightmare where I’m back in high school. Next thing you know I’m gonna walk into homeroom and I realize I’m completely naked.”

“Sounds more like a dream to me,” he smirked, trying to flirt.

You just blinked back at him, your sharp eyes cutting straight through his head.

“Do you think this is funny?”

His smirk dropped, snatched right off his lips by your ice cold tone. Good. You’d been waiting years to wipe that shit eating grin off his face. 

Something new was rising in your chest, knocking out the embarrassment and sadness with a closed fist, a fury long buried coming back with a vengeance.

“I thought all that shit was behind us, over and done.” Rafe reached out towards you but you stopped him with your own rough grip, lowering his hand away from you and dropping it like he’d dropped yours.

“Oh, it’s fucking done alright, so fucking done,” you spat.

 “You’re really gonna let ten stupid seconds ruin everything that’s happened between us? You’re not even gonna give me the benefit of the doubt. You really think that little of me?”

“It’s literally only been two hours, and you’ve already lied to me once and pushed me away the second someone saw us. And you wonder why I'm having a hard time saying yes to being with you? It’s because I fucking can’t trust you, Rafe!”

“I don’t know what else I can do to show you I’m different,” he threw his hands up in exasperation. “This is so fucking unfair.”

“Are you being fucking serious right now?” You stepped towards him as you snapped at him. “You’re actually pissed at me?”

“Yeah, I am!” 

“Why?”

“Because I lost my best friend!”

Everyone on the top of the stairs winced, air sucked from the room when Rafe raised his voice at you. For all his flaws and mistreatment, he had never raised his voice at you before.

“Oh shit,” Kelce whispered.

“Shhh!” Carter and Maddie hushed him in unison, everyone leaning in a little closer to hear how you’d react. But you said nothing. They couldn’t see the widening of your eyes, jaw locked tight as you gave him space to follow up on his outburst.

“Do you really think it didn’t hurt me when you just up and stopped talking to me back then?” He took the space you gave him and slowly unpacked the hurt feelings he’d buried for years. “I know I was a dick, I shouldn’t have taken advantage of how you felt about me, I shouldn’t have strung you along. But when that shit went down senior year and you just ghosted me, I wanted to talk to you and make it right. I tried, but you blocked me out, you went from talking to me every day to radio silence without giving me a single explanation. That fucking hurt. And you’re doing the exact same thing now, not even giving me a chance to explain things. So yeah, I am a little pissed. I’m pissed that you’re just gonna throw it all away again over nothing.”

He waited for your response with baited breath, prepared for you to yell, or cry, or do something. But you gave him nothing, mouth closed in a tight line as you turned on your heel and walked further into the kitchen, lifting the coffee pot from its home and filling it in the sink.

He watched your back as you scooped the grounds into the filter and turned on the machine. Minutes passed and you remained silent, hands on the counter, looking out the big window towards the ocean while the coffee brewed one drop at a time.

Finally, after eight cups had dripped into the pot, you spoke.

“How was prom, by the way?” You turned to face him, the edge of the marble countertop digging into your waist as you leaned back against it, hands crossed in hostility over your chest. “I never asked.”

Rafe’s gaze fell from you almost instantly. He didn’t have to ask why you were bringing this up, the ‘hell hath no fury’ look on your face dragging the memory forth from its carefully hidden spot in the back of his brain. Nothing made him feel like a jackass quite like that memory, and based on the mocking curve at the corner of your lips, you knew it.

The memory used to keep you up at night. 

For a full year after it happened, it was like a fire poker bent into the shape of regret and shame was branding your heart over and over. 

Now, the burn was healed over, still calloused and red at the edges, but you’d done your best to cover the scar tissue in the healing balms of self-love and lots and lots of therapy. Still, it was the moment in your life you were the least proud of.

You’d thought it was gonna be you. Really, earnestly, completely delusionally, you believed when he asked for your help with his grand prom-posal that it was all a playful ruse to ask you to be his date. You stayed up all night, decorating three different poster boards with glitter glue so he could pick the one he liked best. You bought out all the battery-powered candles at Michael’s - he said he’d pay you back, he never did. You waited with him in the park until the sun set, giddy with the hope that he’d drop the ruse and pop the question any minute.

“What will you do if ‘she’ says no?” You attempted to flirt.

“I guess I’d just have to take you.”

Every muscle in his body flinched at the memory and the white hot regret he felt every time it replayed in his head.

The kid who said those words was such an asshole. Standing here in the kitchen, looking down at you, the love of his goddamn life, and facing the possibility that he might lose you for good, he wanted to ring the idiot’s neck.

Because he hadn’t asked you. He made you watch while he asked her. And he didn’t even give you a ride home from the park.

Fuck, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he was you, either.

Rafe felt about two feet tall, looking back at you with absolutely nothing to say. He was relieved for a second when you opened your mouth to speak first, until he heard the words.

“You don’t understand. The voice in the back of my head, the one I’ve spent years trying to silence, the one that tells me I’m not enough, that I’ll never be enough…it’s your voice, Rafe.”

He grasped desperately for a reply, but there were no words in the English language that made that statement any less devastating.

“Maybe that’s not fair,” you continued before he could come up with anything, “but I don’t think I have control over that. I don’t know how to undo it, if it can be undone. So those ten seconds that just happened out there? They’re  not nothing to me. When you dropped my hand at the sight of her, I felt like I was that stupid teenage girl again, giving my whole heart to the one person who knows how to break it. Blind and foolish and desperate for you to notice her. I don’t like that girl.”

You made it through the whole speech with a steady voice, up until the last sentence. Your voice cracked on those words, your heart doing the same as you pictured your younger self. The one who would sit on her bed for hours, rereading the texts she sent him and praying he’d reply.

Thinking about that version of yourself, you weren’t sure if you wanted to hug her or slap her. Surely, she’d hit you right back if she saw what you were doing now, potentially pushing away the boy she loved more than anything, finally having him within your grasp and letting him slip right through.

At the top of the stairs, unbeknownst to you, Carter was picturing that girl, too. She would roll her eyes at you back then, using sarcastic comments like “are you sure Rafe even knows how to read?” to mask her truer concern; that he could but he wouldn’t, and the heart you wore on your sleeve would end up crushed again. Even now, she couldn’t protect it, couldn’t save it from reaching out to this boy who did nothing but break it.

Frustration welled inside her, the absolute powerlessness to put an end to this cycle that hurts you feeling like a dark cloud over her head. The anger manifested into hot, watery tears gathering on her lash line. Without permission, one slipped through, rolling down her cheek slowly.

Topper caught the whole thing, and despite their fight and his resolve to freeze her out until she apologized, he couldn’t stop his hand from reaching out and stroking her cheek softly, wiping the tear away with a gentle swipe of his thumb.

They shared a look so full of unspoken words and tender emotions that they almost forgot about the conversation in the kitchen, until Rafe’s voice cut through the moment and pulled them from their silent reconciliation.

“Are you okay?” He asked you after you’d been silent for nearly a minute, trying desperately to compose yourself.

“Yes, that's all just a lot. I’m processing,” you sniffled.

“Take your time,” he said, pulling out one of the high back stools from the counter and motioning for you to sit in it.

Your body was so exhausted, even your stubborn anger at him couldn’t stop you from accepting the offer. You slumped on the plush stool, folding your arms on the counter and resting your chin on them.

“How do you like your eggs?” Rafe asked.

“Is that a pick-up line?” 

“Nope, just a question,” he said as he opened the high cupboard and pulled out a frying pan.

You tried to remind yourself you should reject his offer to feed you, you should storm out, you should tell him where he can put his frying pan…but you were hungry. And so tired.

“Sunny side up,” you answered.

He nodded and got to work cooking you breakfast, eggs and bacon sizzling on the stove, Rafe close by with a spatula in hand, silent as he stirred and flipped. You rested your head on your folded arms, eyes half-closed and brain sleepy, watching him. 

If you blocked out the last twenty minutes, you could pretend this morning was your real life, could let yourself imagine it really was all this simple and pleasant and sweet; he’d cook you breakfast, you’d make him coffee, and you’d kiss until the sun rose.

At the top of the stairs, Kelce stood and started descending, before Carter reached up and grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?” She whispered.

“I’m hungry!” He whined.

“You can’t go down there,” Maddie scolded him, “give them some space.”

“Are we just gonna stay up here all day?” Tom complained as he and Jack stood to join Kelce’s crusade into the kitchen.

“Everybody sit down!” Topper whisper-yelled. “Give them five fucking minutes, you’ll all survive. You can fuck off back to your rooms if you want but no one’s going down there.”

Carter couldn’t help the heart eyes she made at him, surprised and delighted by his show of aggression in your defense.

Kelce groaned as he backed back down, Tom rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up as he trudged down the hall back to his room, Jack following with a huff.

“Kelce, I have a granola bar in my purse, c’mon,” Maddie offered, leading him towards her own door.

Alone again, Topper and Carter looked at each other for a long, quiet moment.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

“I know,” he mouthed back.

She scooted towards him, nuzzling into his side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple.

Downstairs, Rafe was done with your meal, scooping it onto a plate and sliding it to you across the counter.

“Thank you,” you sat up and began nibbling at a slice of bacon.

Rafe took the stool next to you with his own plate of food. You sat in silence for a while, only the sound of forks scraping against porcelain and the occasional “can you pass the salt?” between you.

Between bites, you rested your head on your arm again, nearly falling asleep.

“I’m so tired,” you mumbled sleepily.

“It’s been a long twenty-four hours,” Rafe agreed, taking a sip of his coffee.

“That’s an understatement,” you snorted, sitting up again and finishing the last bite of your eggs.

“What about…the next twenty-four hours?” He asked quietly.

You took a deep breath, the smile falling from your face as you considered the question underneath his question. You didn’t answer him right away, hopping down from the stool and collecting your plate and his, carrying them to the sink. Rafe was quick behind you, arm reaching around and pulling the dishes from your hands to lay them in the sink. His hand rested on your waist, turning you to face him, pulling you in. Reluctantly, and without returned tenderness, you let him.

“Rafe, I can’t…” you said sadly.

“Please just talk to me,” he pleaded, hands running up your arms and resting on your shoulders. You shook your head, blinking away fresh tears as you pulled away from him.

“It hurts too much, Rafe,” your voice cracked. “As great as the last few days have been, you can’t see that being close to you hurts me. I worked so hard to get over you. So this isn’t me throwing it all away, this is me protecting myself. Protecting what I’ve spent years rebuilding.”

“So what, that's it then? You’re just gonna go back to school and pretend this never happened?” The pain in his voice was palpable, and you cursed the part of you that wanted to reach out and make him feel better.

“I don’t know, Rafe,” a small tear slipped through, gliding slowly down your cheek.

“You’re just gonna stop talking to me, stop thinking about me?” He continued desperately.

You looked up at him finally, searching his face, nodding sadly.

“I’ve done it before.”

Hurt flashed in his crystal blue eyes, flinching like your words had burned him. “You didn’t…you don’t…think about me?”

“No,” you told him honestly, another tear joining the one before it. “Never. Because if I let myself think about you, I would’ve fallen apart. I’m not strong enough, I would’ve run to you, and every time I did that before, you’d let me down.”

“What about yesterday? What about this morning? Just think about the beach, everything was so good, it can be that way now…”

He reached out and cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing over the tears as he pulled you in toward him, kissing you out of sheer desperation. Like maybe if you tasted his lips, it’d transport you both back in time, back to the beach, back when he’d done and said everything right. 

You allowed him to take you there for just a second, before the incident on the front walk flashed in your mind again, the pain of rejection like a knife to your gut. You pulled away from him quickly, side stepping him and moving to the other side of the kitchen, creating as much distance between you as possible.

“No, no, you can’t just kiss me and act like what just happened with Cassie didn’t happen,” you shook your head rapidly, wiping your tear stained streaks with the backs of your hands. “I can’t do this right now, I need some time to think.”

It required fighting every impulse he had, but he didn’t push, didn’t close the space between you, didn’t try to regain the control he was so used to having. He just sighed deeply and nodded, eyes low.

“Okay, well let me know when you’re done…thinking.”

With one last longing look at you, he stepped away to the basement steps, stopping at the top and turning halfway toward you.

“Oh and that girl? The one who gave me her heart? For what it’s worth, I like her. Always have.”

With that, he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

Carter and Topper could hear you approach the bottom of the steps. Carter stood first, fully ready to greet you and grill you on everything that had happened since you last spoke. Topper could see all her questions and comments written on her face. He grabbed her hand and squeezed gently, stopping her before she marched down the stairs towards you. She looked at him in surprise but understood quickly as he gave her a slight shake of his head, whispering, “give her some space.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, allowing him to lead her quietly down the hall and into his room.

Your footsteps were heavy on the stairs, body aching. Your brain was so fried you couldn’t even pick one thing from the morning to focus on, like the part of your brain that processes events was temporarily out of order. So you stopped trying to think and just let your feet carry you to your bed, crawling under the covers in your clothes, falling quickly into a restless slumber.

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In your dreams, you were back in the kitchen with him, shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence as you did the dishes together. Rafe washed and you dried. 

Only, it wasn’t the beach house kitchen, it was one you’d never been in before. And in that dream-state way of knowing something you don’t actually know, you were sure it was a kitchen the two of you shared, sometime in the distant, unwritten future.

(chapter 9: part one)

a/n: I'm so sorry, I had to do it.......also the prom thing may or may not be based on a true story and I may or may not have cried writing it....

also I’m sick and tired so I didn’t edit much sorry for typos!

please note: the taglist for this series is closed. For updates when I post, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

friendly reminder that writers live off of reblogs, don’t forget to feed your faves! 💘

[caramelkoo]

before we shatter — jjk [one]

genre : established relationship, idol!jungkook

word count : 6k

summary : dating an idol is fun, they said. having a family with one is fun, they said. Until you're falling face forward because of your reality. A reality where Jungkook dreams of a future and a reality where your own future is collapsed.

chapter warnings : nsfw, strong language, mature content, fluff, so much angst, smut, talks of infertility, clit sucking, fingering, Jungkook worships her, dirty talk, doggy style, reader is in so much pain i love her sm, fall vibes <33, gift giving as a love language, pussy slapping with his d, big dick energy, jungkook is desperate. that's about it please mention if i missed anything.

read part two here

a/n : based on this ask so thank you anon for coming forward and giving me a chance to write this. i also wanna mention that im no doctor so please forgive me if i didn't do the topic of infertility justice. the second part gives more clarity in their case so please be kind to wait. enjoy and im v v grateful for you. you're so loved.

When you were a child, barely five, an orange butterfly came flying outside your front door. Your mom told you about it since she saw it first causing your entire face to instantly light up like the fourth of july.

An inexplicable joy filled your whole body making your day ten times better, not that you were having a bad one. A five year old can’t have a bad day whatsoever.

After you were done chasing it around, secretly hoping that it would land on your nose just the way they show on television, you had to let it go and head back inside. 

Oddly enough the next morning you saw it again, this time it was not flapping its wings like it had last night, instead it was sitting on the window beside the door. Quiet and still. 

You, ever so curious, had to ask your mom about it. “It might find comfort there,” she said. 

Up until you met your boyfriend you had spent the majority of your time wondering where your comfort place is, what is that one place where you can just be yourself and not pretend to be some stoic woman. A place which lets you cry whenever you want but also replaces those tears with wide smiles and loud giggles. 

Turns out, it’s your boyfriend’s arms. 

It’s true. Jungkook with his kind, sparkly bambi eyes and bunny smile stole your damn heart a few years ago and is not willing to give it back. Although you can’t complain, in a world where people can’t seem to find the one for themselves, the angels up there granted you a guy every inch a gentleman. Safe to say it’s not one like one of those titular relationships you've come across. 

He’s your solace, a roof where you can safely just about exist. 

He heals you.

Dating an Idol comes with several perks, the biggest one of those being dealing with the huge amount of selective criticism. You feel hurt, of course, but when you’re with Jungkook, they are nothing but words behind a pixel. A pain that only lasts momentarily. 

This pain though, is not as mundane. This one is making your stomach twist in apprehension. You’ve lost the count of how many deep breaths you’ve taken.

“I’m afraid this is a case of infertility miss _____” the doctor says, earning your attention.

You’re not able to form a word, however that does nothing to stop your subconscious mind from screaming, I knew it.

Being stupid enough to think you were well prepared to hear her say this, you mustered up the courage to enter the four walled white space which, at that time, didn’t feel as narrow as it does now. It’s almost as if it’s closing up on you.

Only after you sat before the woman in white coat and bad news, did you realize how gut wrenching this actually feels.

You face her with a weak smile, one that doesn’t actually reach your eyes, “Are- are you sure you’re not mistaken?” 

Dr. Ana leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. The move itself tells you more than you need to. “Miss _____, I know it’ll be hard for you to come to terms with this but I suggest you try. I would also like to tell you, and I hope I’m not overstepping, but you can always go with adoption. The options are endless.” 

Your throat feels awfully dry and you gulp. “Thank you uh, can I ask you for a favor?” 

“Anything”

“If you happen to cross paths with Jungkook, please don’t mention anything about this to him.” 

Dr. Ana flashes you a kind smile, “Of course not ____. It’s your personal matter. I wouldn’t dare.” 

“Thanks a lot.” 

With one last nod you excuse yourself from her office. Your phone buzzes inside your pocket and you take it out, seeing Jungkook’s number stare up at you. 

“Hey” 

“Hey, my love. Are you busy?” His voice nearly brings tears to your eyes. It also brings up a question. Will he act the same towards you after you tell him where you are and what you just heard? Will his voice be filled with the same amount of excitement and affection for you? 

“No, honey. I’m actually at my sister’s place. She was craving some alone time with her husband and asked me to babysit Coco”

You can visualise him awing already. Jungkook has grown attached to your sister’s daughter a little too much. His bond with Coco is just so bright it makes you wonder if they happened to be an actual father and daughter duo in the past life. They’re both full of beans and it’s a delight to see them both together. 

He chimes, “Ah my little Coco bean. Is she near? Let me hear my angel.” 

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try to come up with any transitory excuse that doesn’t make you run for the hills. “She’s sleeping right now. Made me work for it but I managed to settle her down” 

Jungkook moans from the other side of the line and you mentally curse yourself. Not only are you lying through your teeth but also using your innocent niece as a pawn. From the day you began dating Jungkook, you’ve not looked at any other man. For the first time now, you have this nagging feeling as though you’re cheating on him. 

“Well, alright next time then. When are you coming back home?” 

“As soon as they do. Do you miss me already?” I tease.

“Pfft me and miss you? Impossible” 

You gasp, the audacity of this boy. “How rude!!”

Your goofy boyfriend dares to chuckle, “I carry you with me everywhere I go, love. It’s hard to miss someone who’s this close to you every time of the day.” 

It doesn’t take you long to grasp what he is referring to. The heart shaped bracelet rests proudly on his wrists and the man had refused to take it off ever since you gifted it to him. A sense of longing already creeps up in your heart, twisting it until you run out of breath. 

Your chest expands as you fill it with much needed air, “Listen, honey I’ll give you a call soon yeah? I think Coco has woken up and I must go check if she needs something,” you fake a chuckle, “You know how she gets when she’s irritated” 

“Oh yes of course. Promise to give me a call soon?” 

This time the smile on your face is genuine, “I promise” 

“Give Coco a kiss for me. I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

There’s a heavy weight on your chest as soon as you hang up the call. Maybe it has always been there. So, for a couple of minutes you just stand there in the hallway of the hospital taking in the sterile smell and worrisome patients, praying that the highest power up there gives you one last chance so you could try and fix what’s been ruined.

The commotion around you does nothing to overtake the voices in your head and sadness fires through you as you feel like you’re burning your boats. Despite all of that, you pray for one last time, this time for again being strong enough to let go. 

Let go of your happiness.

Let go of your salvation.

Let go of your comfort.

Let go of Jungkook.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

You click the door shut behind you, hanging the coat on the rack. You’re not even done turning around when a muscular arm wraps around your abdomen and you’re pulled back against a taut chest. 

“I missed you” his voice is muffled against your jumper.

You run your palms over Jungkook’s forearm, stopping to interlace your fingers with his.The way his hands fit with yours is adorable to you as if they were made to do so. The bracelet on his wrist is cool against your skin and you smile. “You know what’s funny? This guy I talked to earlier said it’s impossible for him to miss me” 

He rests his chin on top of your shoulders, cheeks warm against yours. He has grown out a stubble which makes him look manlier for some reason and you can’t stop caressing it with your fingers whenever you cup his face.

“You’re talking to other guys?” If you hadn’t known Jungkook better than himself, you would have missed the pout of his lips when he said that. 

You turn your face and place a sloppy kiss on his cheekbones, “Only my favourite guy in the whole world.” 

He breaks out in a toothy grin and holds your gaze. “You’re my favourite girl too but I think you already know that.” 

You nod but the pang of guilt is still lingering in your heart. “Still love hearing it.” 

Jungkook releases you from his embrace and walks back, rounding the kitchen counter until he’s holding up a large bowl. “Ready for our fall ritual?” 

Jungkook and you have been using your mum’s recipe to bake chocolate chip cookies every fall and while you enjoy baking with him, the thing that you take the most pleasure from is his face when he munches on the first cookie.

It’s one of your favorite sights ever. It takes quite a bit of effort to bake them but hell if you wouldn’t do it all over again just to see him close his eyes and moan like it is the best thing since sliced bread. 

You join him behind the counter and look around. From the way the batter has already been prepared you suppose he’s been at it for a while. There are some chocochips in a small bowl across from you with some cranberries next to them because he knows you like them in your cookies. 

“You don’t ever forget about the cranberries, do you?” 

“Nope. They’re your favourite plus if you eat well, I can eat you well– ouch,” he jumps, “What was that for?” 

You offer him a glare which does nothing to stop the smile threatening to break out of your lips, “Behave” 

His face inches closer to yours, “Now honey don’t be acting like I didn’t give you the best orgasm this morning” 

Oh well, how can you forget about that? Ninety nine percent of the time you love waking up in his arms while he’s the big spoon but there’s that one percent where he wakes you up with his head between your legs, sometimes with his face under your shirt sucking on your nipples. Indissoluble passion within him. His ability to satisfy you with his mouth alone needs to be studied because god if you don’t crave more and more. 

You blink, once twice thrice, “You’re incorrigible” 

He lets out a cackle at your flustered face as you wonder when you will stop blushing like a fool around him. It’s been years and he still makes you feel like you’re wrapped up in a ball of jitters. Jungkook leans back and straightens up. He plucks the apron from the counter before coming up behind you. “Hold your hair up for me” He demands. 

You grab a fistful of your hair and lift them up as he settles it on your neck before tying the knot at your back. With one last kiss on the back of your neck he joins you. 

“How long has it been since you began making this?” 

“Not long ago. Thought I’d wait for you to come back home and then continue”

You watch him add the chocochips into the dough. His tattoos are barely visible behind the cozy sweater he’s wearing. At the risk of sounding like a hypocrite, Jungkook with his perfect physique and gorgeous face looks good in everything, more so naked, but nothing triggers your cuteness aggression more than him wearing a fluffy knitted sweater, believe it or not. One which you knitted at that.

He pulls your attention away pausing your little drooling session, “How’s Coco bean doing?” 

A sudden urge of getting close to him creeps up and you sneak between the counter and him, hugging him as you nuzzle your face in his chest. He smells like cinnamon. He places a gentle kiss on the crown of your head before resting his chin there. 

“You smell so good” 

“Thanks and she’s as chaotic as ever. Nailea bought the cutest pair of pyjamas for her,” you look up at him,  “She looked like a loaf of bread when they made her wear it.” 

“No way. Should we buy her another one of those?” he pulls back, barely able to hide the excitement on his face.

“You’re gonna spoil her” 

“Damn right I will and if you call this spoiling, wait till I get one of those made by me.” 

There it is. 

If Jungkook wasn’t so fond of children, would it have been easier for you to cope? You do realize that you’re a stone’s throw away from losing him for once and for all. In the old days you heard somewhere that it takes a strong man to save to save himself and a great man to save another.

You want to be that brave person who saves him from lifelong loathing and regret towards you.

This turning point in your life gives you two options, one where you can hang by a thread and bite your tongue while you continue your life with him, another where you set him free. The latter one wins and you, however, lose. 

“Hey you went silent there. You okay?” He cups your cheek with one hand, his thumb grazing your cheekbones so gently you try not to cry. 

You nod and flash him a smile. Or at least you try to smile and detach yourself from him. “Perfect. Let’s get those cookies baking shall we?” 

Jungkook keeps looking at you with an expression which tells you he’s trying to search for something, but you try not to give anything away. Yet.

He gives you a look, his eyes sparkling under the low light in the room,

“Wait here for a second i’ll be right back” 

“Where are you goi-”

“Just a second. Don’t move” His voice trails off as he goes further into the bedroom. A minute later when he comes back, there’s nothing different about him except the sneaky smile on his face. He walks towards you and grabs you by the waist as he sits you on the counter. Your hands instantly clutch his shoulders for support. 

“What is happening, baby?” You mumble, clearly in a fog. 

He says nothing as he gets down on his knees. Taking a hold of your right leg, he places it on his thigh. You swallow.

He looks up, clashing his eyes with yours, “You ask too many questions, do you know that?” 

Seconds later he’s taking something out of his jogger pocket and a cool sensation brushes your skin. You peek down, curiosity finally killing the cat as you see a silver anklet adorned by a pink stone in the middle of it embraced around your ankles. 

His name is a whisper on your lips, “Jungkook”  

He gets up, facing you as he stands. But not before pecking the anklet as well as your skin. His face which earlier was eerie, now entirely soft. 

“Mom sent this for you.” 

You don’t hold back tears this time, letting them run free. You glance at the jewellery again as it shines under the light of the kitchen lamp. The pink stone glares at you as if it knows you’re not worthy of such a valuable item. 

“It’s beautiful”

He gently wipes the tears away,

“It’s just the beginning, love. I’m not gonna stop until I see a band wrapped around your finger. I feel too lonely being the only one there.” 

You playfully smack him on the chest, a giggle slipping free. With a tired shake of your head you admit, “This is overwhelming” 

“What is?” he asks,

“All of this,” you keep your gaze on him, sniffing as you continue,“Your little acts of service, your love, your presence and now this gift. I feel like I’m taking too much not giving enough” 

Your throat feels too tight, as if someone is just cutting off your air supply when you should be feeling free in his arms. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows tense as he reaches for you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear he tries to reassure you, “Don’t say that. I hate when you question your worth,” he pecks the back of your hands, “These hands feed me, hold me when I need them to, give me warmth, gentle touches”,

His lips find both of your eyes next as you close them, feeling his soft lips on them,

“These eyes tear up with happiness every time you listen to me in the studio”,

Your ears follow next, “These ears tolerate my snoring”,

Then your lips, “And this mouth, my favourite, whispers ‘i love you’ to me every morning, leaves kisses on my skin, screams my name and most importantly, forms the loveliest smile when I make you happy.” His eyes are oh so gentle as he says this. 

You’re about to respond when his phone buzzes on the counter next to you. Your heart stops. Fuck is it Dr. Ana?

To your surprise, it’s Jimin’s number on the screen.

“Pick it up, honey. It might be important.” 

His thumb presses on the red button as he declines the call, “I’ll talk to him later. My girlfriend comes first.” 

Neither of you say a word as the room gets filled with a comfortable silence. The cookies are long forgotten, your eyes doing all the talking. Even if you try your hardest you’re not sure you can say anything which is remotely justifiable of what he just said to you.

Jungkook is so much more than meets the eye, he’s vulnerable, he’s empathetic, he’s loving. His eyes shine the brightest when he’s happy about something and you’re so full of contempt about the fact that eventually you will be the one to snatch away that shine. This hornet’s nest is going to ruin me, ruin him. 

“I wanna kiss you so bad” He whispers, leaning closer but you stop him with your palms on his chest.

“Wait, I-I want to talk about something” 

His voice is downright pleading when he says, “Later baby. I’m fucking gonna die if I don’t take that mouth right now. Please?” his breath touches your bare lips. 

Feeling a flutter in your chest you nod and he leans towards you, hand cupping your lower jaw as he touches his lips to yours. Softly at first, then his pace quickens. Your hands grab his sweater as you pull him even closer, deepening the kiss. His moan echoes followed by your own as you both lose yourselves in each other. You let go of every menacing thought and just focus on the taste of his lips. 

He pulls back slightly, taking a deep breath as he fills his chest with air. Those beautiful lips are pink and swollen from the heated kiss you just shared with him. Getting rid of the sweater, he tosses it aside as his eyes sparkle with amusement.

Without wasting any time he begins nibbling at your neck, slightly biting onto it as your hands run over his back. He’s so beautiful it takes your breath away. Not to toot your own horn but you have the most gorgeous boyfriend and you’re not ashamed to show him off. 

His lips ghost over your nipples from over your high neck top and you groan.

“Jungkook, please” 

He pulls back with a smug look on his face, “Please what ____?” 

“Please fuck me. I need your cock so bad.” 

“Yeah? Is that what my girl wants?” 

At this point your body is thrumming with anticipation and desire as you watch him move his hands closer to the waistband of your pants. His hands pause when they meet the lace material, his pupils dilate. 

He smiles, “It’s the one I gifted you. Were you hoping for this huh?” 

Your lips stretch into a smile. You hadn’t particularly hoped for this, no, because your relationship with him is not just based on physical pleasures. You guys have sex of course, but it’s not the prominent part of the bond you share. It’s more than that. The lace lingerie set was gifted to you by Jungkook on a random day. It was one of those quote unquote just because gifts. 

“What do you think?” you ask, giving him a quick kiss. 

He grabs you by the back of your neck and holds you there for a moment before leaning back and looking straight into your eyes. “I think you should lose it or else I’ll ruin it” 

You gasp, swatting him on the bicep. “Don’t you dare. It’s my favourite pair”  

Without preamble he picks you off the counter making you wrap your legs around his waist. You both are so close it takes your breath away. Chest to chest, groin to groin, face to face with lips inches away from each other’s as you share a breath. 

He walks into your shared bedroom as you clash your lips against his, pulling his lower one between yours, earning a groan out of him. You both are downright feral, letting your hands run over every area of each other’s body. Jungkook’s hands grabbing your ass, yours pulling on his hair lightly before trailing down his chest, pausing on his pecs. 

When you reach your bedroom, he sits himself down with you on top of his lap. Your hips move forward and you hiss as your still jean clad pussy brushes his cock. He’s so hard you wonder if he’s close to coming already. 

Rough hands scrape over your back, hips, down your thigh before they finally settle on either side of your waist, gipping them tightly but also with a hint of gentleness. One thing you admire about your man is that he doesn’t treat you like a fragile woman, he knows you’re strong and you’ll not break if he’s rough with you. 

Jungkook pulls back from your lips.“Fuck honey, you’re such a goddess. Look at this body. I still can’t believe I get to call you mine” 

You shake your head, totally under his spell. “I’m the lucky one here, baby. You have no idea how lucky I am.” 

His hand brushes over your ass before he dips it inside your pants, reaching your already soaked pussy as he pushes a finger inside you. This earns a whimper from you as you tip your head back. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, ____. Want me to show you how lucky I am?” He takes the finger out before pumping it back again. You moan as his other hand gips the nape of your neck and he brings his mouth to your neck, biting on it. 

“Oh my god” you cry, seeing him suck the finger clean and face forming an expression filled with the deepest level of satisfaction as he closes his eyes. 

Setting his eyes back on you, he sighs, “This isn’t my first time tasting you, honey. But it gets better every fucking time and I find myself craving you an unhealthy amount, you know that? Do you know how crazy I am for you? Could eat you out everyday and wouldn’t need anything else to feel full.” His words send a shiver down your spine. “You’re my favorite meal.” 

He pushes three fingers back inside with a slight force and you let out a scream, arching your back. He takes one nipple into his mouth and gives it a long suck, letting it go with a loud pop. 

“Oh yes, just like that. Suck it again, baby” You beg and he does exactly that as he takes the other sensitive bud into his mouth. 

You’re not sure if you have been this vocal about your needs with anyone before him. Not that you dated a lot, for a person who’s a hopeless romantic to the core you’ve always found yourself waiting for the right one. Additionally, you believed your body to be as sacred as a temple. Surely there had to be a guy somewhere who would treat it as such.

Then, enters Jungkook who not only was out of your league metaphorically but literally. He lived miles away from your place so there was not a chance you could have let anything take place between the both of you. But as they always say, the heart wants what it wants. To put it briefly, there was chemistry, a connection you didn’t want to lose.

Strong fingers pump into you. In and out, in and out. “You’re so wet. What do you say? Should I lick you clean?” 

“Yes, ah oh my goodness that’s sooo good” you toss your head back, slowly grinding against his hands. 

He wraps an arm around your waist, lifts you off his lap and tosses you back on the bed. Keeping his eyes still locked with yours he gets rid of his jogger, letting his cock spring free.

It bobs and you lick your lips, already wanting to take it into your mouth but you know for a fact that he wouldn’t let you do that, not because he doesn’t want you to but because he wants to give you the highest amount of pleasure first. As he always does. 

Jungkook lets out a shaky sigh as gives his cock a pull, his eyes running over your whole body. Up and down then back at your face again. You’re still not fully bare in front of him while he’s standing there, all in his glory. 

“Lose the pants” he commands. 

You immediately slide out of them and toss them on the floor somewhere. He grabs you by the hips, jerking you to the edge of the bed as he sinks down on his knees. Spreading your legs wider he releases a breath. Warmth touches your wet pussy and you prop yourself up by the elbows to look at him. 

You need to look at him if you want to stay sane, have to feel him with you here. Shivers run through you even by the thought of not being able to feel him and this ever again. This might as well be your last day on this god awful planet from the way the ache in your chest keeps on increasing. It makes a home there, not letting you entirely forget about the eventualities. 

“God you’re dripping, honey” 

“For you” you admit.

Hot and wet kisses are left to the inside of your thigh and your hands find the back of his head as you grip it lightly. 

His head lifts up, his eyes finding yours, “Don’t hold back,____. Grip it as tightly as you want to. I don’t want any hesitations because when I fuck you, I’m not going to be holding back. You hear me?” 

A desperate moan leaves you, and he rewards you by kissing your pussy. Keeping his eyes on you, he doesn’t give you a chance to whine out your needs before his tongue is licking a single line up your clit.

He moans and gently tugs on your clit. “Such a perfect cunt” 

You push his head against your pussy and rock forward, chasing your orgasm. 

“Feels so good, feels so perfect, baby” you murmur.

Just when you’re starting to feel the climax incoming, when Jungkook suddenly grabs you by the waist and flips you, so he’s lying down and you’re on top. Then, he grabs you by the back of your neck, pulling you for a heated kiss. 

He pulls back, “Sit on my face, my queen” 

Your eyes widen and you hesitate, but you don’t want to. You wanna let go, knowing you’re lucky enough to get something like this in this lifetime, so you give in. He hoists you up by the hips, positions you over his face and pulls you down. His warm breath feels like a soft whisper against your pussy. 

You cry out in pleasure as soon as his tongue dives deep inside you, squeezing your tits in your hands. Grinding against his face, you close your eyes and just… feel. Feel the heat, feel the emotions, feel the intimacy, feel the ache in your chest.

A thought crosses your head and you wonder if you’re doing something wrong, something selfish. Touching him like this and getting consumed by him feels like you’re doing nothing but ruining him. 

He sucks on your clit with sheer eagerness and desire, pulling you further down so you’re putting your weight on his face. Concern perks up and you look down, trying not to crush him but it seems like he couldn’t care less. 

“Let go, honey. Just focus on my mouth.” 

Let go. God, how bad you hate those words. They feel like acid in your ears. 

“Keep going, Jungkook. Don’t you dare stop” you cry out. 

Soon enough you’re aching your back, cunt pulsing against his lips as you come. He swallows every single drop as if he’d die if he doesn’t and leaves you in awe. You slump, letting your body relax.

Much to your amusement, he doesn’t give you enough time to relax before he’s turning you over until you’re on your knees. Hot passionate kisses are placed on your sweaty back, pulling a gasp from you. 

“What a fucking sight. I wish you could see how stunning you look right now and it’s all because of me, isn’t it? This glistening back, this wet cunt,” he strokes a finger down your pussy, “It’s all because of me and you dare to call yourself lucky?” 

You catch a sight of him stroking himself over your shoulders and your breath quickens. 

His abs are glistening with sweat and his chin still has your cum on it. 

He smirks, “Like what you see, honey” 

“You’re beautiful” 

His eyes soften, letting his hands drop from his angry and already leaking with precum cock, he grabs either side of your hips and lines himself against your needy pussy. You let your head drop on the mattress and clench your fist, preparing yourself for him. He gives your cunt a slight slap with his cock before filling you in, groaning as he goes deeper.

You moan, “Fuck baby. That’s so deep.” 

“You’re so warm, honey. You feel like home” he thrusts again. 

His hands grip yours, and he covers your body with his own, still thrusting inside with rough movements. His chest feels warm and safe against your back as it fills you with a deep sense of safety, protection and love.

You match every thrust of his with your own, moving your hips backwards. Your tits are getting equal attention from him as he pinches the two sensitive buds between his fingers. 

You both chase your high with you screaming out his name and him whispering yours like a prayer. He gives in one last thrust before he’s coming inside you, his teeth biting on your shoulder. You’re following him soon as you grip the bed sheet tighter in your fist, moaning as you come. 

Before you collapse, he pulls you upright and lets his cock slide out of you. His fingers push his cum inside your throbbing cunt, making your stomach twist in pain.

You murmur. “I love you” 

His lips stretch into one of those lazy smiles you love so much. “I love you too, my precious girl. Now, do you wanna sleep or go make those cookies?” a sloppy kiss is pressed on your forehead. 

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you pull him on top of you, “Should we save those for later? I really wanna cuddle” 

He presses a soft kiss on the tip of your button nose, “Sure. Let me clean you up first. You don’t have to move an inch, just relax.” 

Minutes later he’s coming back with a bottle of water and a bowl of marshmallows. You bite back a chuckle when you look at his face. There’s such a deep crease between his eyebrows you’d think he’s trying to win a game of uno or something. 

But it’s short lived when he places the items on the nightstand and gazes at you, his eyes having the same funny look they had earlier in the kitchen.You try to summon your most unbothered and good natured grin but it doesn’t do shit to stop the electricity from running through your blood. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, biting your lip.

An uncertain laugh slips out of him, “I don’t know. I’m- God, I really don’t know but I have this weird feeling that something is not right.” He begins cleaning you up but you can’t shake the feeling of nervousness and anxiety away. 

You know for a fact that he’s right. Something is not right, in fact nothing is right. 

He peeks at you from between your legs, “Hey, what is it that you wanted to talk about?” 

The air whooshes out of your lungs. Should you come clean? Is it the right time? 

You huff a tight laugh. “It’s nothing actually. Can we talk about it later?” 

When he’s done cleaning you up he places a small kiss on both your knees and stands up. Offering you a nod, he says, “Whenever you feel like it. I’m not going anywhere” 

Yet. He’s not going anywhere yet. 

You grin, “I wouldn’t let you” 

He lets a laugh slip out as he walks inside the bathroom. Then, he comes back, settles himself beside you and brings you closer by wrapping his arm around your waist. His feet find yours as he touches the anklet with them. 

“Let’s sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up” he promises. 

Morning comes quickly as the sun casts its glow on your sleepy yet excited eyes. Holding out a hand, you try searching for your boyfriend next to you, but a slight sting arises in your heart when he’s not there. You open your eyes, adjusting to the sunlight. 

Although, you hoped you did not wake up, you hoped death consumed you in your sleep because the person across from you is a total stranger. A stranger whose eyes are misty and mouth is pulled down in deep frown, a sunflower bouquet in one hand and the other one holding a blue file so tightly you can see his knuckles turning white.

Jungkook holds out the file to you, “How long were you planning to hide this from me,____?” 

For the first time in your life, you hate your name. You hate how bitter it sounds coming from his mouth like this.It has always been “____, you’re my everything,” “I love you,____”, “_____, you mean the world to me”.

Acid bubbles in your stomach at his words, and you can’t help but sob. You wonder if the butterfly was preparing you for this day. If she could talk, what would she have said to you? 

The words that leave him next might as well be daggers in your chest, "Tell me, honey. Is it the important thing you wanted to talk about but held back just to get a good fuck out of me?"

@fluttershy-vanilla @theyysam37 love you pookies. enjoy <3

[kabuki-writes]

Interlude || The Prize Of A Father's Pride

chapter: 5 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: General Acacius is forced to tell his daughter, that she will soon marry Emperor Geta and become Empress of Rome - a trade, which saved her life and that of her family, but at what cost?

warning(s): angrsty themes | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: We already reached chapter 5 !?!??! Hell, yes! And we're getting further and further. So before this whole plot picks up a little more speed, i thought a small interlude feat. Acacius would be a nice little treat. The next chapter is going to be longer again.

word count: 1.7k

You stood in the archways that led to the inner garden of your family's home. The curtain of the night had already laid itself upon the sky, when you'd reached it, the haunting grin of Caracalla and the words about your father were still on your mind. He had given you no answer on why you should thank the General, and it didn't sound like it was even something to thank him for either. It was more like whatever it was it was about to benefit the Emperors. Yet you knew your father and despite him never speaking it out loud - you've noticed how much he despised the royal twins.

The night was quiet and the villa was softly illuminated by the torches, which the slaves always lit up as soon as dawn came. Your mother knew about your whereabouts, that you went off to the theater with your friends Cicero and Lydia, nothing out of the ordinary. That you met the Emperor Caracalla during your night out was neither planned nor hoped for and yet the time you'd spend alongside him in the royal box still lingered in your head. Should you tell your parents? Maybe it was best to keep it in the shadows, as you didn't want them to worry more than necessary about you.

But when you approached the garden, you heard the quiet sobbing of your dear mother from the distance. You were on your way to your rooms, yet you couldn't ignore something like this, so you stopped beside a pillar and looked down to the inner courtyard with its beautiful pond and the many plants that provided shade during the summer months. You saw between the palm trees, cedars and bushes how your mother kneeled in front of your father, while he hold her in his arms as if something terrible happened - as if someone died.

You were not able to stand it any longer without knowing what happenes, so you stepped out and made yourself noticable.

"Mother? Father? What happened?", you asked quickly, but when Acacius raised his head to look into your direction, there was nothing but pain and suffering in his eyes. The way his eyes were locked on you made your heart sink down to your feet as it was crystal clear that it might have something to do with you. "y/n...", he began, but got disrupted by the sobbing of your mother. "Tell her, Acacius! Please, you need to tell her!"

It broke your heart to see your mother in that state, huddled together and in tears. But what was even worse was the news your father would tell you right in that very moment: "y/n, you... i am sorry," he started and clearly struggled to find the right words. You've never seen your father like this. "I gave my consent to a marriage between you and Emperor Geta."

Your eyes widened and your face went pale in an instant as you froze in your position. "What do you mean?", the trembling words fell from your lips. A marriage?!

"You will marry the Emperor," Acacius repeated, his voice clear but racked with pain. And after a couple of long minutes it finally hit you like an arrow right into the heart. Your breath becme quicker and you had to sit down on one of the stone benches. In this moment you were not even able to bare the sight of your parents, while the realization kicked in. No tears came from your eyes, in fact, it even surprised your own father how you took the news. But the depiction of stoicism came at a high cost, as you clearly had to fight within you against the urge to just scream.

And your father knew that. He knew you better than anyone, you were always his sun and stars, the one person beside his wife to which he tried to come back every single time when he went off to war. Slowly your mother came back to her feet with the help of her husband, but her usual soft face was covered in tears and her eyes were swollen and red as she looked at you. "What have you done, my love... ? You need to be honest with y/n, please... i beg you. She needs to know," she whispered with an urgency in her voice and even a small amount of anger.

Your eyes ripped themselves from the pond in front of you, staring at your father, who looked at you like a broken man. "He threatened to kill you and your mother, it was the only option... trust me, i would've never agreed to it otherwise. May the gods damn me for my pride, that i thought i would be able to put them down together with the senate. It was a plan that is nothing more than dust and ashes now." Acacius rushed to you and took your hands into his, pressing them tightly as if he feared you would fade away if he didn't. "I can never forgive myself to put you into a position like that, y/n," he whispered, and for the very first time, you witnessed the fear in your father's eyes. And he feared for you.

But all those words disappeared in your ears, as you tried desperately to numb the anxiety within you. Now the words that Caracalla said to you made sense and they echoed in your head once more. Nonetheless how could you hate your father for this? You knew he did it for the sake of the people, he always fought for Rome and never for himself. This was the way he was and you would've never wanted it to be otherwise. Yet you were now the one to bear the consequences of your father's actions, a sacrifice. For the first time in your life, you were the one to protect this family... and you wanted to take this risk. Not that there was an option anyways.

So you took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in your throat, while you stood up from the bench and looked your father right into his eyes. "There is nothing we can do about it, don't we? The die is cast and we have to live with the consequences," you said, even though your voice was cracking for a moment before you took one hand of your mother and one of your father, pressing them gentle and in a reassuring way, even though you still saw how much they suffered. You were their only daughter after all and even if it wouldn't be the Emperor, a marriage always called for a daughter to leave her parents behind. "Please... i don't want you to look at me like i am already dead", you whispered with a hint of desperation as it hurt you even more that your own parents still treated you like they had to protect you from this world. If fate wanted this to happen, then you would find your way through it.

"I will marry him. If that will save my own life and yours then be it", you said again, while ran down your mothers cheeks once again as she hold your hand in ache. She said your name before her voice stopped. But in that very moment, your father stepped in and pulled you into a tight hug, holding you for a long moment that felt like an eternity. Acacius blamed himself entirely for all that was happening and in this very moment, he promised to himself that he will find a way to get you out of this situation. There was still hope, if he was able to be careful enough.

"You're my daughter, y/n... i know you will not lose yourself in this, i know it...and i will always be proud of you, no matter what...", he mumbled in reassurance, trying desperately to fullfill your wish not to treat all of this as it was your clear funeral. That wouldn't be right, he knew that too. You would live on, but at what cost?

"How much time do i have left?", you suddenly asked, while you slowly removed yourself from your father's arms. Right now the whole situation was still so unreal for you, even though you knew this will change soon enough. The brows of your father furrowed as he took your mother's hand to hold her and give her something of the strength he'd recovered - at least a bit. "Sadly Emperor Geta made sure not to waste any time with this: He expects the stipulatio (engagement promise) tomorrow, a celebration will happen at the palace to announce it publicly... and then the formal wedding will take place in two weeks, still in Juno to avoid that bad luck falls onto your union."

"As if the gods would grant him luck with a forced marriage like this," your mother mumbled, while she tried her best to wipe away her tears and regain her posture. "There are not even enough sheep in all of Rome that he could sacrifice for this..." She was still pale like a corpse due to this news, but at least she was able to regain her anger again despite the helplessness.

Your fingers buried themselves into the fabric of your pale blue toga as you recollected your thoughts. There was no time left, no real time. But did you expect it to be otherwise? In a way, a lot of women would envy you for this opportunity. Marrying an Emperor meant that you would rise up to be an Empress alongside a God, nothing was more noble and meaningful. Men fought wars to earn power and honor, women needed to take a different path in this world, marrying and bearing children - only to be sidelined by history nonetheless. You didn't want to face the same fate. And in the end you were still your father's daughter through and through, carrying the family name like a ritiualistic armor.

“Whatever anyone does or says, I must be emerald and keep my colour," you whispered a quote and your father instantly got it. With an understanding nod, a weak smile appeared on his lips.

"Marcus Aurelius...", Acacius noticed right away as it was a quote from his 'meditations' which your father had given you to read. It helped you now more than ever and the same could've been said about Acacius as well.

_________________________________

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[euphoria-looney]

I Got You On My Radar, Soon You're Gonna Be With Me, "Strategy" By TWICE

Creds to @dollywons for the dividers

This will have a lot of POV switches so get ready 😀

(This has a mother!darling and a daughter!darling, and they are separate from the reader- unless you decide they aren’t 😍😍)

gn!reader (if I accidentally make them seem too feminine, I’m sorry 😞)

Next chapter I'm going to make [name] crash out but not for the reason you think (hopefully not the reason you think)

So Much More.

Pt. 1 Pt.2

Alfred's POV

I couldn't say if I have a favorite among the Wayne family. I've served them for years even now in my old age. Left my own child, Julia, to train to be at my side, servicing the Waynes.

If you had to ask me to narrow down who was my favorite though, it would have to be young master, [name].

They aren't trained to be assassins, vigilantes, or even able to tame feral animals, instead, they excel in normal activities. I remember the first time they approached Master Burce, eyes that had stars glow in them. They wanted to invite Master Bruce to a ballet recital. They danced with such grace and perfection that many had asked them to continue the said sport. Professionally.

However, they had no time to spare as they raced down to see me, looking around frantically, and excitedly, it hurt my heart to see their eyes dim down so quickly after finding out that unfortunately none of their family had come.

Undeterred, they kept trying figure skating, football (soccer), and volleyball. They'd try the music pathway once they noticed sports didn't work. They excused the absences starting with opera since "opera was boring and easy anyway; maybe instruments are more interesting." They tried the violin, cello, organ, and harp. Still nothing.

Of course, it wasn't just these events that the family missed out on, it was also their birthdays, trophy events, everything. I could only try to support them on the side.

They were a gifted child, one, that had a fire burn so brightly. Till it wasn't.

They never stopped doing the activities, but you could tell they no longer cared if the family attended. I'd go and make excuses for them, and they would brush it off.

Then it seemed they had that fire extinguished when Lady [M/D] and Misstress [D/D] came into the picture.

I could only do so much as I wasn't their personal butler.

Then a day ago was their graduation. I believed I could make it, but the circumstances were too busy and important to go to the graduation. So, today, I hope I can make it up with cupcakes. Today is their birthday.

Imagine, my surprise when they started crying, how I felt such guilt, was it the missed events, or even bigger, the graduation?

None of that. They only said how thankful they were for me. I tried to spend the rest of the evening with them, but it just ended up with me being called to see [D/D] with a new animal. I didn't want to leave them.

I had to though, that is my duty as a butler. To serve my masters.

Another perk about [name] though was how understanding they were.

I should've seen the signs.

A smile and nod gave me all I needed to know that they were going to be okay if I left.

After a long day, I went back to my quarters, to see an envelope.

Sealed in wax with a Lotus flower imprinted on it.

Opening it up and reading the contents made numerous thoughts run rapidly in my mind.

Dear, Alfred

I can only hope this news doesn't affect you in any way. I simply couldn't find it in my heart to tell you in person. I'll be leaving the manor. I've left many things in my room that I hope you mind leaving in there. I don't want years of my work to go down the drain, as you see they hold memorial and sentimental value to me.

That's beside the point, Alfie, you mean the world to me. I don't think I could've made it this far without you. There were days I thought of quitting. Seeing your approval was enough for me to keep pushing myself. Alfie, you are the most capable person I've ever seen in anything. This is why I know my disappearance will help you more by taking the unneeded burden off your shoulders.

Alfie, I hope that when I make a name for myself, you will still look at me with such fondness that makes me feel like a child again, clinging onto you like my last hope, as you always have been. Take of yourself, as that is the most important thing about this message. You matter too much for me to ever forget or let go of you, whether it be through memory or anything else.

With love and appreciation,

[name] [last name]

I re-read that letter, over and over again.

True to their words I never saw them again, but they were wrong about one thing.

They were never a burden on my shoulders. Far from it. They felt like- my child, I raised them up and felt proud of the achievements they managed to get on their own.

I knew I had to understand. It was their choice. One that I didn't want to respect. I wanted to drag them back, but with no leads, how does one even do such a thing?

My only choice was to read their entries and watch recordings they did for themselves to look back on.

But that doesn't do the trick, does it?

I'll find a strategy to bring you back young master, I promise.

Journal 7th

(Entry #1)

I'm going into the 7th grade this year. Honestly, everything sucks. I wish to give up. Alfie has been busy since those two new people came into the house. They seem that they don't want to be here. Honestly, relatable.

Alfie tries but he can never understand me. (GUYS THIS WAS THEIR EMO PHASE, it's so unrealistic 😭)

I have to go, I have an ice skating competition to go to.

(Entry #45)

How is this fair!!! This is so sickening.

I've tried everything and what do I get?! NOTHING.

NoW I'm writing all sloppy! Forget it who says I even need their dumb attention!

Here comes waltzing in this mother-daughter duo!

"Oh~, I don't want you guys"

"But we're obsessed with you!"

WELL SCREW ALL OF YOU GUYS.

SIGNING OFF,

[name] [last name]

Journal 9th

(Entry #1)

It's been two years since [M/D] and [D/D] have entered the manor.

Despite what I wrote somewhere in my old journal, I don't hate them. If anything I feel pity for them. They do something that the family doesn't like and it is like their babies that did something wrong.

Not to mention Damian is always monitoring [D/D] at school and it doesn't help that not even the soundproof wall can block off the sound of Mr. Wayne and [M/D].

It's worse at home than before the family would be busy off doing whatever vigilantes do.

Also, it didn't take a while to find that out. As a kid, I thought they were playing dress-up without me. We'll ignore that though.

Anyway, now as soon as their done doing whatever they're to save the city they rush home to smother those two.

I'm starting high school soon. Slowly I'm changing my style so my hair, and clothing. The hoodie phase was... something.

Anyway

Yours truly,

[name] [last name].

Closing the entries, my thoughts are once again interrupted.

"Where's big sibling [name]?" a child/teenager approached me.

This would be [D/D] with a python on her shoulder.

"They're gone, young mistress." I kneeled down to her height.

"Gone?" The tone was menacingly, annoyed. You could hear the python hissing in agreement with his owner.

[D/D]'s POV

I hated how this family held me in such a possessive and obsessive way, but now I think I understand them.

How could I not when staring at [name]?

My precious sibling. If anything I do have something I appreciate this family for, but if I told them they'd probably annoy me even more, they ignored [name] allowing me to be their one true sibling.

They were special compared to everyone else in this whole world.

It sucked every second, moment, that I didn't spend with them. They give the best cuddles anyone could ask for, and they smelled so good.

I also liked their room, it was so ethereal sometimes. Mostly because they were in there but also because they had customized it perfectly, the decorations. I loved the figurines, the Hironos and Smiskis, the most.

However, the most important thing was the scent.

Did I mention that?

When I had first met them it had been a week since I got kidnapped to this god-awful place, I kept getting smothered and needed to just- get away from it all.

I felt so overwhelmed.

Then they walked in front of me, in this, from what I had assumed, abandoned hallway. It freaked me out and I asked what they were doing in this hallway as I was guessing that his hallway would be closed off or something.

"What are you doing here?! Did one of the freaks send you!?" I directed my anger at them since it would only make sense why I'd encounter them.

"What are you talking about? This is my 'wing' of the house, my room is right over there." They had made a confused face at me.

I felt embarrassed but I shook my head not believing them.

"Are you making this up? Listen as much as I don't want to admit this the only people who are living here are my family and Alfred, the only butler. You certainly can't be a part of this family with that attire, and not once has anyone mentioned you." I looked at them up and down.

"I get that a lot, well not really, I don't talk to anyone other than Alfie." Alfie?

"I'm [name] [la- Wayne. I think I'm older than Duke, so I'd be older than you. We don't really interact..."

"Oh, so you're my sibling." Weird her reaction was normal meeting me... "Well don't bother me like the rest of them." I stuck my head up, glancing at them, which wasn't as they were taller than me by a lot."

"The rest of them?"

"Yeah, they're so annoying, you're cool, for now. But they constantly bother me, going on and on about how I'm their precious little sister, boasting their love to me, notice all the jewelry? That's from them." I rolled my eyes.

"Oh." Their tone had changed seemed distance and the way their eyes sharpened, I didn't even notice.

"You know, I like you, you're perfect, want to hang out?" I batted my eyes at them. Something I wouldn't do in front of the others, they just gush over it.

"I'm busy." They answered shortly, already making their way out.

That made me frown.

"Busy? Doing what? I could join you."

"I'd rather you not, I have a performance to do and have no time to waste."

After that moment I would notice them more and more, that even a second not seeing them felt like my world was dying just to be fixed seeing them at the library. They Looked So Cool!

Flipping through a book, typing faster than my eyes could track, and their note-taking, gosh, that handwriting.

Just to be dragged away by that annoying pest, Damian, he'd be like "Good, you're in the library, I have a bunch of books that we can read together.

No, Damian, I don't want to.

I think I also grew on them, a wee bit.

Not to mention, my pets loved them, even more than they loved me sometimes, ungrateful 🙄.

Then one time, I wanted to skip school, and I knew none of the family would let me, even my mom! She would let me do anything to spite the family but not this, as she deemed education important.

So I maybe, sorta, kind of took [name]'s phone number at one point and called them up.

Damian wasn't near me at the moment. Thank Christ, since we attended the same school, same grade, and everything.

They showed up, sighing, they looked so cool with their windbreaker jacket, those s0ny headphones, the pants, the shoes, and that cool instrument case on their back!

They told the principal that they were my babysitter. Like c'mon, we're siblings. Signed their name really fancy and took me in the car.

One of the best memories as they allowed me to watch them practice at their school as long as I didn't bother them.

So I'm a bit peeved at the news I received today from Alfred.

"Gone?" Seems Copperhead agreed.

My head was reeling as a few days passed and my mom seemed to notice (so did everyone else but who cares about them)

I'll have you on my radar soon, my sweet-hearted [name].

"Honey, is something wrong?" She showed concern.

"Of course not, darling-" Father got cut off

"Not you, [D/D]."

"[name] up and left me" I could feel myself deteriorating even more at that sentiment I just said.

"They what?!" Mom seemed to explode at that moment. Her aura suffocating.

[M/D]'s POV

I had no choice; it was by some coincidence that I bumped into Bruce again. In some way, he tricked me, more like manipulated me into marrying him.

It was hard to adapt, of course, it was, somehow my daughter got used to it quicker than me, every time I did something simple one of the kids, those poor traumatized kids would ask to help me. At first, I didn't mind but they did become overbearing just like Bruce.

Don't get me wrong, they've somehow wormed their way into my heart even that dang handsome Bruce, which makes me show signs of Stockholm syndrome, but therapy is not something I need right now.

Though, they could never top [name].

They reminded me of the woman I met through Bruce, and how she was perfect.

So when I found out that she had a child, I couldn't be even more excited to meet her child, [name].

Even though they had no supporters, even one speck of some kind of light kept them going.

I love my daughter [D/D], but she gave up on doing anything used to being spoiled. That just makes me want to spoil her more though.

[name] did many things. I got an invitation to an ice skating competition. Alfred had handed me two tickets.

"Master [name] would appreciate it if you came to her competition, Lady Wayne." Alfred bowed before leaving."

"Woah!~ [name] ice skates?" [D/D] had stars in her eyes.

"Would you like to attend, sweetheart?" I patted her head.

"Anything to get away from home! Though one of my siblings will bother me again." [D/D] pouted.

True to her words we were delayed to the competition.

The sight that we witnessed though, well, I couldn't even describe it.

"Woah~! They did it! They did the triple axel!"

"Okay, but we all know they could've done a quad axel."

"Shut it, Coral, you got disqualified in figure skating when you were 5 years ago, you don't even know how to figure- much less ice skate anymore."

Apparently, the Axel move was one of the hardest moves to pull.

As they made their way off the podium and to Alfred, they smiled understandably as he made excuses for the Wayne household.

"Congratulations [name]!" [D/D] cheered, it made their smile drop for a moment, I didn't notice though, too enamored by their frame.

"Yes, congrats, I didn't know you had such a talent for ice skating." I gave them a bouquet of roses, which I have to thank that dang Bruce for, or else I would've had nothing to give them.

"Figure skating, but thank you." She accepted the flowers before motioning to Alfred that they were going away.

I was going to stop them, but my phone was getting flooded with messages, and when I looked over [D/D] phone was no different.

"Ah! So annoying! I didn't even get to say bye to [name]!" [D/D] had ruffled her hair out of agitation.

Year after year, my schedule got busy and I could never see them that much.

So tell me why, why in the world did my world have to crash and burn during this dinner that seemed to be perfect.

It even had scallop butre.

"Honey, is something wrong?" I was concerned. [D/D] had been in a bad mood all week.

"Of course not, darling-" Bruce got cut off by me.

"Not you, [D/D]."

"[name] up and left me"

"They what?!" I slammed my hand on the table.

"G-gone? What in the world are you talking about, angel?!" I tried to reason.

"They moved! Left! No one knows where though!" [D/D] cried shoving a piece of food into her mouth. Damian scolded her and tried to pat her back before getting his hand slapped away.

"Calm down." Dick went over to calm [D/D] down and Cassandra went over to rub my arm to console me.

"[name]? Darling, who is that." He chuckled, in that stupid possessive way, which would've made me drop this but this was his child!

"Your child! Yours! Remember! The one that has all the trophies!?"

"Trophies?" Tim chimed in.

"don't worry mom, They aren't that many trophies I've earned," Jason added in.

For god sake you pricks! Are any of your names, [name]?!

"I think they are referring to [name] [lastname], masters." Alfred brought out the dessert, his thoughts seemed to also be clouded.

Realization seemed to hit, starting off with Bruce and then spreading.

Who cares about them though.

Don't worry [name], soon you're gonna be with me.

Guys were already making our schedules for next year and being an academic weapon I am I signed up for all Ap.

Junior year is going to kick my ass.

Also

“I can write descriptions”

“Well I can write dialouge”

Man, I can't do either, unless… 😏 y'all beg to differ/j

Jk I feel confident on my writing, I just need validation 👁️🫦👁️

@cozmie @nxdxsworld @overcaffeinatedfreak @strwberryglass @leiiasurez

(Guys why is my taglist not working 😞)

[foreverdolly]

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 4 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

there is a mild noncon scene in this chapter. read at your own risk or skip past it.

word count: 5.2k

← previous chapter | next chapter →

In that strange place between waking and sleep- that's where you currently existed. You made a home there, wading through the waters of confusion as the events of last night came flooding back to you. At first none of it felt real. It was all a dream. . . it had to be. 

But there was a foreign warmth beside you and something heavy weighing down on your chest, and while your limbs were numb with sleep you could still register that it wasn’t you. Not your arm. 

Not your warmth. 

So you opened your eyes and joined the land of the living once more. 

The mornings on Caladan were lovely. Light filtered through your curtains regardless of the frequent overcast, the sprawling farmlands vibrant and oh so alive all around you. Your childhood home was all blue-grays and greens. The halls smelled briney- slightly citrus during the spring and summer months. The air was always humid, despite the chill; moisture clinging to your skin and clothes. 

Feyd’s room was slate gray and black, slightly bigger than the one you had been sleeping in since your arrival on Giedi Prime. The air was acrid, the scent of iron so heavy in the air that it almost tasted sweet on your tongue. It was on your palate now, nearly causing you to gag when you took in a deep, steadying breath. 

You had wanted to go home the second you stepped foot on the industrial planet, if only because you despised change. You wanted your family, your horses, your ocean-side view. Now, looking back at how childish your home-sick reasonings were, you couldn’t help but feel naive. 

Not one, but many, had conspired against you. They had hopes that their pale prince would cut his losses and grow bored of you, but took it upon themselves to rid their hallowed halls of your presence. Anger began strumming through your veins, begging for release. 

You did not let the feeling take shape. Acting on hate alone would be your undoing, you knew that. Yes, you were not as strong as some of Geidi Primes weakest warriors, but you made up for it with your. . . inherited gifts. 

Your hand flew to your neck, hissing when your fingertips made contact with the tender skin. You groaned, your larynx screaming at protest. Did this mean. . . 

No. 

No, no, no.

You sat upright in bed, Feyd groaning as his arm was flung off of your chest due to your haste. Unable to process the reality that he had been touching you so casually, you instead focused on the fact that the noise you had just emitted sounded choppy. Garbled. Useless.

“My voice,” You started, eyes widening to the size of saucers as the words reached your ears. It was exactly as you feared. “I can’t use it.” 

You could barely speak normally, let alone be able to manipulate the Voice. How long would it take your throat to heal? A few days? A week? A month? It had only taken two days for a few of the Baron’s men to plan out their attack. Who knew when they would try to strike again? You were a sitting duck and you refused to die like this. 

“You won’t need it.” Feyd’s deep voice sounded beside you, the sheets rustling as his muscled body rolled over on the plush bed. 

You tried in vain not to be distracted by his naked chest- by the planes of perfectly toned abs and the swell of his biceps as he stretched them above his head. It was gross to be attracted to him; disgusting, really. 

Even in the light of day- if you could even call the murky gray that came in through the blinds light- the shadows seemed to pool around the bloodthirsty man. He wore them like a second skin. Had become them and learned to wield them at will. 

His face was once again spotless, no blood to be found on him from last night's activities. He had been utterly soaked just a few hours ago. It had dripped down his sword arm, his nightshirt clinging to his chest and shoulders. . . and he had washed it all away down the drain like the lives he had taken meant nothing. 

And it probably didn’t mean a damn thing to a man like him. Someone so used to reaping souls and shattering lives. 

Your chest swelled as you turned to face him, scooting as far back on the bed as you possibly could. When you had fallen asleep he was lounging on the couch. He must have slipped into bed once you were asleep, outwardly lying about the fact that he would put distance between the two of you. 

“I am not safe here.” You spat out, your broken voice still dripping with venom. 

He seemed bored, as if your worries were unfounded. “I will cleave the heads off of anyone that even looks in your direction.” He said simply. Not a threat but a crimson stained promise.

Gone was the starry eyed girl who saw nothing wrong with the galaxy. Your innocence had been stripped from you the second that the man’s hands had found their way around your throat. Your body finally seemed to register pain now that you were fully awake. Your back felt like hell- a purple bruise no doubt marring your skin where it had connected with the heavy dresser. And your cheek? You brushed your fingers over that spot next. It felt hot under your touch. 

“I can protect myself.” That was a lie. You could taste the horribly constructed fib on the tip of your tongue and it was bitter. Impossible to stomach. 

Feyd sat up on his elbows then, looking over your face. His eyes hardened on your cheek, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth when his eyes started to dip lower. How was it possible that anyone expected you to ever grow used to his presence? His eyes on you felt like a hot brand. You attempted to flinch away from him as his hand reached out for your neck, but he touched you anyway. 

“I should have savored that kill. Taken my time.” His voice was still gravely from sleep, but the anger was clear on his face. 

Seeing you like this, for whatever reason, enraged him. You didn’t want to know why. . . at least you told yourself that. A man like Feyd couldn’t possibly care for anyone and you doubted that he would ever be capable of such an emotion. 

“Do you truly take joy in murdering others?” You couldn’t understand him. There was no common ground between the two of you. He was a complete mystery to you. 

They hadn’t even been your deaths, and yet here you were, feeling torn about all of the blood that had been shed. Feyd had killed seven men last night. Were you really worth all of that? 

“I’m culling the herd,” He sat up then, his eyes sparking with a sick sense of delight that had your stomach roiling. This sounded like the ramblings of a madman.“They were weak, body and mind. Disobedient soldiers should always be purged. They were a disease, and I treated them as such.” The corner of his lip tugged up into a small smirk, as if he was reliving the moment that his blade cleaved through flesh and bone. 

“You went overboard on my behalf.” They would hate you more now. Those guards no doubt had loved ones, all of whom would be gunning for you now. 

“Would you rather I left them all alive? Given them a small slap on the wrist?” He was leaning in now, as if being closer to you would give him a better understanding of where you were coming from. 

The sheets wrapped around your limbs, acting like restraints as you tried to back away from him and his intimidating presence. You couldn’t help but feel as though he was sizing you up, questioning whether he could swallow you up in one bite. His eyes, lidded with sleep and hazy with something you couldn’t quite discern told you that he would eat very, very slowly. Your fingers twitched at your sides, his eyes narrowing as though he could smell your fear in the air that the both of you now shared due to your close proximity.

“No,” You hated that you were agreeing with him. “They would have found another way to kill me. I just hate that you had to make such a show of it all.” I hate that I couldn’t kill them myself. 

Who were you to decide if someone lived or died for their crimes? And yet. . . you were glad that they were dead. You couldn’t find it within yourself to feel sorry for them. They got exactly what they deserve, so why did you feel so awful about it? 

Because the “old” you would have begged for their lives to be spared. That sweet, innocent girl would have abhorred the blood and gore, which begged the question: who did that make you now? Has this place truly changed you so intrinsically in a matter of days? You hated the idea that you were adjusting to the environment. It terrified you.

Feyd could see the anger churning behind your wide eyes, no matter how hard you tried to mask it. You were beautiful like this, so accepting of his nature. . . and yet you still fought him. Still fought this. He adored you for it. Loved you for it. There it was again- that word. He let the phrase sink into his bones, settle inside of his chest. 

‘I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Look at what I can do for you. Let me kill again for you. Let me prove my worth. Let me have you. Let me taste you. Let me devour you until there is nothing left.’ 

He was so close now that the heat and smell of him was clouding your mind. Much like the smog outside, he was poisoning the air around you. The sheets tightened around your legs as you tried to kick them off of you, hellbent on escaping the bed and dressing for the day. You were starving, sore, and in desperate need of another hot bath. You still felt dirty after last night, like the stains hadn’t been completely washed away. 

He was looking at you with those eyes. God, his eyes. . . they were blue, bottomless pits and you were sinking. . . drowning. You found it hard to breathe while he was looking at you like that. He was assessing you with a heated gaze that unwillingly set your insides ablaze. His hands were suddenly on the sides of your upper thighs, the insides of his wrists brushing against them. You could feel skin against skin, your thin nightdress doing nothing to shield you from his touch. 

“You wanted them dead, I can tell.” And he smiled at that, a genuine one full of misplaced mirth. 

“I don’t want anyone to die.” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, so heavy that you suddenly found it hard to speak. 

“I didn’t take you for a liar, little Atreides.” His head tilted to the side as he licked his lips. He was so close to you that his tongue nearly brushed against your parted lips. 

And then he was pulling away, his warmth being ripped away from you far too quickly. Feyd left you on the bed as he sauntered over to his closet, unabashed of his half naked body- almost as though he was proud to show it off to you. His broad shoulders, toned back- it was well earned. It was the body of a warrior- of a killer. 

You had to remind yourself that he was a murderer, tearing your eyes from him. It was almost as though you couldn’t get enough oxygen. Your lungs ached as you realized that he had practically siphoned it out of the room with his commanding presence. 

He terrified you down to your very core. It was as though he was seeing your soul for what it truly was. . . 

And it was as black as his own.

The Na-Baron’s hand against the small of your back felt more like a collar than anything. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was how you appeared to others now, like nothing more than a pet. It was a silent show of ownership, as were his hardened eyes as he turned his head to glare at each and every guard that passed in the hall. Their familiar uniform had your knees buckling and your hands shaking. He must have felt those tremors, for his fingers tangled themselves into the fabric of your shirt, like he could anchor you to him. ‘You’re safe with me,’ the gesture seemed to say. 

The floor had been wiped clean of last night's massacre and it was almost as if it had never happened at all. You wished that you could delude yourself into believing that it hadn’t, but your aching bones were a constant reminder. An Atreides did not belong here. 

The distance that you craved was not something that Feyd seemed keen on granting. When you had finished bathing earlier, your skin scrubbed raw, you had found him lounging back against the bed, eyes trained on the bathroom door. His presence was stifling, as were the halls of this strange empire. They appeared to be tightening around you, reminding you of your lack of freedom. 

A canary in a gilded cage. 

“I’ve been filled in on the events of last night,” The Baron said as a way of greeting when the two of you found your way into the dining room. “You had your fun it seemed, nephew.” He didn’t sound angry, which was good you supposed. Then again, he didn’t sound very approving either. 

Feyd paused for a split second in the doorway, his lips pursing in confusion. You recalled him saying that the Baron always ate his meals in his own quarters. Your throat bobbed as Feyd’s hands urged you further into the room. Suddenly you were no longer hungry. Like a child, you wished that you could dig your heels in and refuse to make your way any further inside. While his nephew scared and confused you, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen was an absolute waking nightmare. From his pale, unattractive face to his plump, gluttonous build- even his eyes seemed completely void of any light. Your quivering worsened because you knew, even if Feyd wanted to keep you alive for whatever reason, that he would not disobey his beloved uncle. You would never expect that of him. If the Harkonnen wanted you dead. . . then so it shall be. 

“It was very enjoyable.” Feyd said simply, sitting down in the chair directly beside you. 

The Baron, at his spot at the head of the table, felt miles away. He was assessing the two of you, his gaze bouncing from your form and then to that of his nephew. It wasn’t until Feyd placed his arm over the back of your chair that he finally smiled. It looked more like a sneer than anything else, and all at once you wished to punch those teeth right out of his skull. His ill treatment of your father would never be forgotten, forced marriage or not. 

“You two look. . . close.” He concluded, folding his hands in his lap as he sat back. His dark robes hugged all of the wrong places- he was greed in the flesh. 

Feyd didn’t say anything, but he did lean in closer. It occurred to you that he was acting almost like a shield between you and his uncle. All at once your shaking stopped, your eyes flickering up to meet his face for the briefest of moments before you finally looked down at your plate. Again, the food did not appeal to your appetite. There were no fresh fruits or vegetables. Everything was brown, beige and white. The meals here were void of any color or variety and you found it fitting. 

“We slept together last night, as it should have been from the very beginning.” Feyd said, no room for arguments. His tone was final- absolute, even in the face of the one person that he answered directly to. 

Your cheeks were suddenly blazing hot as you realized how easily his statement could be misunderstood. Your lips parted, as though you could defend yourself and set the record straight, but the Baron was already nodding. He didn’t care either way. You were sent here to procreate, afterall. What the two of you did or didn’t do meant nothing to him. As the daughter of Duke Atreides you were nothing more than a pawn- a bargaining piece at best. Your blood boiled as you stabbed your fork into whatever meat had been served. It was all you could do not to brandish the small serrated blade that laid beside your plate and shove it through one of Vladimir’s overly assessing eyes. 

“I just thought that she might have wanted her own space before the ceremony,” He started, gesturing towards you. It was as though you weren’t even in the room at all. “But I’ll make sure that her things are brought to your room.” 

You did want your own space. Desperately. This whole situation felt wrong, and yet you were helpless. A few more days in your own room was nothing, really. Not when the two of you would be sharing a room for the remainder of your lives. 

“It’s our room.” Feyd corrected, using his free hand so that he could take a sip of his drink. 

His arm brushed against the back of your neck as he leaned forward ever-so-slightly so that he could place the cup back down on the table. The brush of his skin against yours sent a chill down your spine. 

“Very well. Your shared room.” And the Baron seemed pleased.

The cogs started turning in your head as you stared at that expression on his face. Was that gloating that you sensed?

He looked as though he had won. 

It would make no sense at all for the Baron to be so concerned with the status of your relationship, and yet there he had been, smiling as if he had bested you. Did he know something that you didn’t? It would be dangerous to voice the thoughts that you were having- unwise. Feyd was sure to take his uncle’s side on everything. At the end of the day you were little more than a warm, wet hole to breed. . . right? 

Your skin crawled, your breathing growing more and more shallow as the seconds passed. What would your mother do if she was put in a situation like this? The urge to talk to her was stifling, and yet you were here alone. You had no allies here. You had been left to your own devices. 

“You aren’t going to beg me to train with you today?” Feyd asked from the open door of the bathroom. 

He’d left it wide open while he changed, as if he was daring you to gawk and stare. You were too busy panicking to even care that he could very well be naked mere feet away from where you sat on the bed. The Baron was guilty of something, that you knew with certainty. You bit down onto your lower lip, staring blankly ahead at the wall as you became more and more consumed by your frightening thoughts. 

“What are you thinking about, little one?” His voice was right beside your ear and you jumped back, staring wide eyed at where he was kneeling before you. 

He stared up at you expectantly, waiting for you to tell him what currently had you so quiet. His uncle had been unusual at breakfast, more so than Feyd was used to. The Baron was a busy man, and the last thing on his agenda was to eat with his nephew and his bride-to-be. He was cautious, and yet he didn’t want you to know. He would handle your safety from now on, even if that meant going against those that shared the very blood that pumped through his own veins. 

The expression on your face had him leaning closer. You were so meek. . . so fearful. The need to protect you was overwhelming. How could someone ever want to hurt you? His eyes flickered over your bruises for the one hundredth time that afternoon, rage settling like lead in the pit of his stomach. 

“I’m thinking. . .” You started, eyes becoming glassy. “That I was sent here to die.” 

Feyd, for the first time in his life, felt helpless. He did not know how to calm you down. The man didn’t know the first thing about comforting someone, but the thought of leaving you to your own devices and panic had a gasp escaping his throat. 

“Do you not believe me when I say that I will protect you? Have I not proved myself?” Actions spoke louder than words, or at least Feyd had always believed that, and yet you didn’t seem to understand what he was trying to say. His actions weren’t enough. 

“You’re protecting me because you have to. I understand that well enough, but that doesn’t mean that something won’t happen. You are the enemy Feyd. My enemy.” You spoke with so much conviction and looked at him like you hadn’t just gutted him. 

Feyd felt as though you had physically slapped him across the face. The chase was fun, but this. . . this wasn’t you acting hard to get. This was you drawing a very clear line in the sand. You didn’t like him and perhaps never would. And maybe it made Feyd even more despicable than anyone ever thought possible, but part of him did not care. You could fight it all you wanted, it did not negate the fact that you belonged to him. It did not negate the fact that he cared for you. . .

Cared so deeply that it had him questioning whether or not he had ever really known joy or a true sense of belonging before now. 

“I am not them.” He rasped out, knowing that you’d understand exactly who he was implying. 

He was not like the others. He never had been. He had a penchant for cruelty and a talent for killing, but he would never hurt you for sport. He knew of Harkonnen men that battered their women simply because they could, but the mere idea of putting his hands on you made him want to sink his blade into his own chest and twist. How could he ever explain that to you? Put his emotions into words when you knew so little about him? How could he tell you that he’d been dreaming of you since he was a child? Vivid, prophetic dreams that left him lonely and impatient. 

“But you are.” There was a strange glint in his eyes that had your words leaving you in a breathy whisper. You were being vulnerable with him. Showing him your worst fears and letting him know that you currently had no more aces up your sleeves. The Voice was useless to you right now, and no matter how skilled you were in combat, it would mean nothing if you were up against an entire planet of people that wished you dead and silenced. You had kept the fear bottled in for three days now, and you had no one to confide in. 

You would regret this, you knew it with a surety that nearly had you choking on a sob. This information could be used against you. He’d make sure that you met your end the second that you birthed him an heir. . . 

So why did he look offended by your words? 

His plush lips parted, blue eyes widening for a second as he fully comprehended what you had just uttered to him. Having you as his would be sweet, yes, but it paled in comparison to the idea that you would eventually care for him in the same way that he did for you. It lit a fire inside of him, and he didn’t understand how to make you see. 

Feyd needed you to open your eyes and understand that he was not your enemy. He was the only person on all of Giedi Prime that was absolutely, without any question or doubt, on your side. He would burn the entire planet to ash if he had to. He’d serve his uncle’s heart on a silver platter and let you eat your fill if it meant that you would come to understand his level of utter devotion. 

You blinked and suddenly you were on your back, a small grunt escaping you as his calloused palm pushed against your chest, too fast for you to even register. He was on top of you, straddling your hips. The weight of him on top of you had your teeth clenching, your traitorous body reacting in a way that sickened you. Civilizations had worshiped at the feet of long forgotten Gods that weren’t half as beautiful and cruel as Feyd-Rautha. 

“You are my wife-” He started to speak, but you were quick to interrupt him, refusing to back down. 

“Not yet.” You seethed. 

Feyd couldn’t help but want to fight you on that, to challenge the unnecessary bite in your tone. If you were so hellbent on treating him like an enemy then so be it. He’d push you to a breaking point. He’d make you love and trust him. He’d show your true enemies such cruelty that you’d have no reason to doubt his convictions. 

And before he could reign in his emotions, before he could feel any guilt, he was lurching forward. Long fingers tangled themselves into your hair as his lips pressed against yours. Unyielding, he dominated your mouth, teeth sinking into your lower lip. He needed to taste you- your mouth, your blood. 

Sweat, tears, slick. He wanted all of it on his tongue. 

The years spent waiting and biding his time had been worse than he realized, for the second his lips pressed against yours he found it hard to stop himself. The need that coursed through him now was more powerful than anything else he had ever experienced. You yelped against his mouth in pain, trying your hardest to flinch back at the sharp pain in your lip. The mattress and his unyielding grip on you kept you from moving even an inch. He took advantage of that small sound, his tongue lapping at the roof of your mouth lazily, the salty iron of your own blood invading your senses. 

And he was everywhere. His weight was on top of you, his arms on either side of your head, his fingers buried in your hair- and you couldn’t get away. You tried bucking him off, hands grabbing at his training shirt so that you could try and pry him off of you. The muscles in your arms strained as you pulled, thighs quivering as you tried your damndest to flip him over onto the bed. You would not kiss him back. 

No matter how badly your instincts were telling you to give in. That voice in the back of your head was loud, but the sound of your own pounding heart in your ears drowned it out. Your body burned as he slid his hips down slightly, changing his angle so that he could grind himself against you. The friction sent a jolt of what felt like lightning shooting up your spine. It took all of your self restraint not to moan into his mouth, which would no doubt motivate him to push this even further. 

You felt him. All of him, even through all the layers of clothing that separated the two of you. He was hard, to what must have been a point of physical pain, over a mere kiss. His lips were unexpectedly soft on yours, far softer than the very few men that you had kissed in the past. They moved languidly against yours, and you wanted to be disgusted by the fact that he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. 

You hated the part of you that craved this. You could deny it all that you wanted, but the dull ache between your traitorous legs told you what your mind could not: a sick part of you wanted this. Maybe it was the very same part of you that had wanted those guards dead. 

You should hate him. You wanted to hate him. You needed to hate him. 

And then his hands were sliding down the back of your neck, his lips sliding down the base of your throat- 

“Stop! Feyd, stop!” You finally found your voice, sucking in a breath of air. You felt dizzy, and yet your body was more alive than it ever had been. 

Traitor. You were a traitor to your family. 

He sat up then, eyes glazed over, his thick lashes casting shadows on the tops of his cheeks in the dim lighting. 

“Do you hate me?” He panted out, voice thick with an emotion that you couldn’t quite place. It was as if he could read your mind. 

“Yes.” You lied. This lie was even harder to swallow than your last for whatever reason. Maybe it was the heady look in your eyes or your swollen, well kissed lips. . . but Feyd knew you weren’t telling the truth.

“I’ll fuck you until you want me,” And his harsh, horrible words didn’t quite match the tender way he cupped your cheek. “And then you’ll want me so badly that you’ll love me.” 

He got off of you then, forcing himself away from you before he made a mistake. Today was not the day to claim you, not with the previous night so fresh on your mind. He would figure out a way to apologize for his loss of control later. For now he needed a change of scenery, preferably one that didn’t have a bed. . . or a couch. . . or a table. . . or a counter- 

“Pig,” You spat in his direction, quickly fumbling to straighten out your now wrinkled clothing. 

“Your training clothes are in our closet. Put them on.” He was still breathing heavily, pacing around the room with his hands on his hips. His cock was straining against the confines of his pants, begging him to turn around and finish what he started- make good on the promise he just made to you. 

“Are you crazy?” You screamed at him, lurching up from the bed as though you were going to attack him. 

Slowly he turned to face you, his features twisting into something that looked a tad bit like forlorn yearning. 

“Yes,” And he nodded, not denying the fact. “Yes I am.” 

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