#this isn’t triggering i don’t think it’s just a breakdown

[comfycozycrossfox]

no because i feel out of place just like 98% of the time. and if i don’t feel out of place YET, i’ll say something or do something or prove myself Different and Incorrect and then i’m an outsider suddenly. And it’s constant it’s every time i’m with a friend Group or at a Thing i just feel like i’m the odd one out and i should leave and that everyone else is thinking that too. I can connect with individual people in the group but i’m not gonna feel like a part of the group i’m not gonna feel like i actually belong there. i’m always an extra piece out of a finished puzzle. and i know why i think like this and that doesn’t help because it’s so fucking annoying that it’s still affecting me and i’m just like, tired of it, constantly. it feels like a weight on my chest just like. i could be totally fine and vibing and then i talk too much or i hear someone say something about me that could potentially be negative or someone looks at me weird or we figure out something that sets me Apart and i’m on edge for the rest of the time, wondering why i’m there at all. If i’m likeable at all. If anyone that interacts with me does actually like me, or if they’re just polite. because they were always so fucking polite until they weren’t.

[kimetsu-chan]

I’m gonna be out most of the day bc I’ll be helping my dad with a big shopping trip plus being out after, so I’m going to be super duper exhausted

I don’t do well in crowded or loud places in the slightest, I get woozy and tired and I feel miserable or like I’m gonna pass out, and if the shopping isn’t gonna make me wanna cry, the outing after will bc it’s gonna be packed with lots of noise and people

I don’t say this because I want to complain, I just wanna give a super quick warning that I might not be active tomorrow as well as today bc when I get exhausted, my mental health tends to decline as well ;-;

so- a bit of a warning that I may poof a bit (sorry! 😣)

[starbuck]

welp, the thing i have been dreading for literal years is happening tomorrow and i am. Unhappy, but thankfully calm, for the moment.

[kookiewithluv]

❥✿ ASHES OF A PROMISE ❥✿

• TITLE: ASHES OF A PROMISE

• PAIRING: Lycan king!Jungkook x Werewolf!Reader

•WORD COUNT: 15.3k

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

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

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

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

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

PROLOGUE MASTERLIST 02

CHAPTER 1: THE MATE'S LAMENT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

════════════════��══════════════════════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thats all! I trust that’s clear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was here.

Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But—"

"Leave!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you had no choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But hey, if you're sitting there thinking, "Wow, this is absolute garbage," you're not alone. I get it. I hated it too. So, feel free to tell me just how much you despised every single word of it. I mean, go on, rip it apart. I'm mentally prepared...sort of. Probably. Okay, not really. But let's pretend I am, and we can bond over how truly awful this was. Thanks for sticking around, though. You're a champ.

Taglist @freyaniobe @piercidh34rts @furioustrashlover @lola75111 @pitchblack0309 @whoa-jo @teeheewhy13 @gojoscumslut @emanyd @sassy-snassy @jksusawife @nnnnmmmuuiu @jiminismine4ever @runariya @btspurplesky

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt behind the cut; "Tim's free cloning lab". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Red Robin’s commitment issues are his own problem, not mine. I’ve got a schedule to keep,” Luthor replies dismissively, then knocks back the last of his hopefully-actually-a-protein-shake-and-not-Bane-venom-or-something and gets to his feet, picking up his tablet again as he does. He does not seem concerned to be alone in a lab full of sharp objects and computers with two only negligibly-restrained Bats. Admittedly Luthor doesn’t tend to seem concerned during literal multiversal apocalypses, but Tim is vaguely insulted on principle. A multiversal apocalypse couldn’t do any worse than uncreate Luthor and everything he’s ever done in his life, after all. He could tank his stock prices and drive up all his insurance rates, and then make him have to live with it. 

A little respect isn’t that much to ask, is it? 

“Wow, called out by the supervillain,” Steph mutters to him under her breath. “The Metropolis supervillain, even.” 

“I do not have commitment issues,” Tim mutters back to her. 

“Yes you do, the issue is you commit yourself to somebody and then become an insane person about them but never actually mention the existence of said commitment to them,” she retorts frankly. 

“I do not–” 

“When did you go for the red and black suit again and how long did you stick with it?” 

“. . . we’re in a supervillain lair in Connecticut, I don’t have to answer that right now.” 

“Oh, so you will later?” 

“So anyway, new supervillain trap, how’s that going for you?” Tim asks Luthor. Steph snorts at him; he ignores her and all her baseless, ridiculous, baseless accusations that are definitely not currently reading him for absolute filth. “All coming together nicely, no tech issues? Because we could troubleshoot those for you while we’re waiting for extraction, no charge.” 

“The chemical breakdown of the necessary stabilizer you missed when you were cleaning out my old labs is laid out in file B-2.13, speaking of ‘troubleshooting’,” Luthor mentions, and Tim . . . pauses. 

“‘Stabilizer’,” he echoes carefully, and then glances around the sunroom lab. The sunroom cloning lab. 

The sunroom. 

Ah. 

That is probably a connection he should've made, like . . . literally instantly, yeah. 

“Oh my god, do you think you can actually convince Red Robin to make you another–wait, why do you even want Red Robin to make you another Superman or whatever, you did it better than he ever did,” Steph says, squinting in bewilderment at Luthor through her mask. Tim’s much more insulted this time, even if it’s objectively true that Kon is objectively–never mind. Luthor just looks dubious. 

“I don’t want another Superman, there are already far too many of those running around and being an issue as it is,” he snorts dismissively, waving her off. “And I’m willing to provide a useful little resource or two, of course, but it’s hardly traditional to have to make my own grandchildren, now is it. Besides, Supernova won’t be as annoyed about it if they come from you. Though I did include some potential design notes for your consideration in the C folder, of course. Streamlined the tactile telekinesis a bit, for starters. It really didn’t come out as effective as intended, unfortunately.” 

“Of course,” Tim echoes, perfectly aware of that one time that Kon took apart every single gun inside the exact city limits of Los Angeles and nothing else without even meaning to, and also that one time last week when he very much did mean to disassemble a bomb immediately after its trigger mechanism had been tripped, and did it so fast that it didn't detonate. 

So as politely as possible, that makes Luthor’s use of the word “effective” slipped in there a little mind-numbingly terrifying to consider. 

More than anything else, though, Tim really hopes that he’s just gone insane and hallucinated all this, because otherwise he’s going to have to write all this down in a report, and Steph will not lie for him about this one. 

Case in point: she is currently laughing her fucking ass off at him.

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

Lesbian Pulp Breakdown #1

So I’ll be doing a talk and breakdown of this book.

Few things before going on, there will be spoilers but like there isn’t much of a plot to begin with. And be warned very triggering content after will be discussed.

Okay so this book is filled to the brim with problematic lesbian pulp stereotypes.

Firstly it’s written by a straight man and based on the context you can tell it was intended for a straight male audience.

However, despite that and despite it being published in 1965, some of the views on lesbians aren’t as bad as I thought they would be.

It’s mainly implied that everyone in the book accepts that lesbians are just lesbians because it’s how they are born and not from like trauma or anything. Which I wasn’t expecting at all!! And no lesbian dies at the end, or ends up with a man or gets sent to a mental institution.

Our main characters are Brandy, Claire, Edwin and Meta.

Brandy is teen lesbian of the story. Her actual age is never clarified though. She lives in Europe with her mother and goes to a rich boarding school until said mother passes away and she gets send to love with her father , Edwin.

Edwin is married to Brandy’s stepmother Claire, who is a 23 year old woman who admits early on she only married Edwin for the social status and to get money.

Lastly we have Meta. She is a woman who is well off and recently her uncle dies. She has to prove she is worthy of inheriting his estate by having a job, which she has never had before. So she gets a position as Brandy’s governess.

That’s the basic run down.

Based on the cover you would think the main relationship would be between Brandy and Claire. But after they both conspire to kill Edwin it’s actually Brandy and Meta that end up together ???? Even though there relationship started off SO toxic. A lot of abuse between those two.

While reading I made a list of all the bad things that happened in this book and boy is it a lot ☠️

- So much sexual assault

- Physical abuse

- predatory lesbian stereotype

- Using sex to manipulate people

- Body shaming

- Sexism

- Sexualising the idea of sexual assault

- Toxic and predatory relationships between women

- Unhealthy age gaps

- Wayyyyy too much heterosexual sex scenes

- Abuse of power

- Physical violence

- Homophobia/ homophobic slurs

So apart from the small little pockets of no homophobia around the end this book was a hot mess and I absolutely would not recommend it at all.

EDIT: I forgot to mention a wild part. So Brandy and Claire plan to kill Edwin so they can have all his money. They do this by having Claire have sex with him until his heart gives out. Which works ?? But then it turns out Edwin was a fraud and they lose all his money and because of that they break up and don’t want to be together anymore. Which is where Meta comes in and says she’ll take Brandy with her to be a live in companion and pay her for it. Absolutely wild.

[stardustizuku]

I’ve recently been thinking on why there’s people who interpret Kuro in such a drastically different way.

And something I notice is that you can easily tell how someone experiences the series, based on what they think of the GWA.

The way you interpret the Green Witch Arc is indicative of of how you have been interpreting the story so far, and how you’ll interpret it going forward

Generally, there’s two interpretations:

1.- The Reaction Ciel had to the mustard gas, are his true feelings coming afloat

2.- The Reaction Ciel had to the mustard gas, isn’t how he feels.

The first interpretation (and I’m really not trying to be mean about it this time) comes from a very, uhm, shall I call it Teenage-Like? mindset of how pain and trauma works.

I call it Teenage-Like, because I’ve seen it in mostly literature aimed at teenagers, be it fanfics or YA. It comes from an inability for teenagers to actually voice how they feel towards their parents. A helpless feeling of being ignored.

I don’t wanna point fingers but this is the basis of a lot of Self Harm tendencies (physical, emotional, psychological, or others like EDs or digital self harm) come from. A need for people to notice you are in pain. But because you feel like you cannot voice it yourself (or don’t deserve it, it can vary) you start to lash out. Put yourself in higher risks, to have someone find out there is something wrong with you.

So the moment the main character finally breaks down, or has a moment of weakness, it’s interpreted as someone finally being truthful.

This is how Ciel’s reaction is interpreted by the first half.

The mustard gas is simply a trigger of pain, that causes all of Ciel to unravel. He’s in pain right now, cause he’s always in pain. He’s avoidant to Sebastian, cause he’s always been scared of him. He doesn’t trust him. He doesn’t trust adults. Finny is the only one who actually cares.

This makes the fact that Sebastian ,essentially, slapped him to get him to react, come off as cruel.

The boy is finally being honest, and you just tell him he’s being childish? Horrible.

Obviously, that’s not my interpretation.

Okay so, what happens once you’re not a teenager? Once you don’t have an adult figure to take care of you? What happens once you start avoiding telling your parents the pain you’re in, not because you think they won’t care, but because they’ll care too much and get worried and you don’t want them to get worried?

You start to realize pain is not the end of the world.

While, when being a teenager, getting sick meant someone gets to take care of you and maybe notice you aren’t okay, as an adult getting sick potentially means - not going to work. Which means your won’t have money to buy food, which means you’ll probably go hungry.

So getting sick becomes less of a way to get away from the responsibilities you have, and more of a burden.

That’s why you’ll see, in media aimed at adults,mental breakdown less depicted as an opportunity to be honest, and more of a sickness that needs to be healed.

You can have a more honest and truthful conversation, while you are sound of mind. There’s no power dynamic between friends, like it would with adult figures and children. So this song and dance, isn’t necessary.

You don’t have to be sick to be understood. And your friends will rather try to help you, than understand you when you’re suffering. That’s the nature of adult relationships.

This is more or less the framing that comes from Ciel’s breakdown (in the second interpretation).

The Mustard Gas isn’t showing Ciel’s true nature - it’s showing Ciel at his most vulnerable. This means, not in his sound mind.

Saying things he normally wouldn’t, hurting people he normally would hold close, and clinging to people he generally would never try to get close to.

Simply put, it isn’t just “a bit of pain to make him unravel” but a “Ciel is getting psychologically tortured by a weapon used for chemical warfare”.

He’s past being honest. He’s having such a severe reaction, that he cannot function. He’s being tortured and broken, to the point he is no longer himself.

He isn’t being “truthful” he’s scared.

And fear can make you do things that, in your sound mind, you would never do.

The point is that, Ciel isn’t saying what he truly feels or being “honest”. It’s him scared out of his mind, saying everything and anything to make the fear stop.

And the biggest proof is how he treats Sebastian.

The fact that Ciel asks Sebastian to “go away” or “not come near” is perhaps the most glaring reason as to how badly this Gas messed with him.

I’ve said this before but to Ciel, Sebastian is a lifeline. He’s the only tool he has for his revenge. The thing that, even after he lost r!Ciel, he was willing to sacrifice it all to achieve.

And at this point in time, Sebastian is also the only emotional anchor Ciel has.

As far back as the second episode, Ciel has asked Sebastian to stay. Even when he’s having flashbacks, even when he’s having an episode. In fact, Sebastian leaving him is a great source of anxiety - since as seen in BoC in the Asthma Scene, without him Ciel feels powerless enough to die.

He feels more protected with him, because he KNOWS Sebastian will protect him and that Sebastian will follow his orders.

Again going with the analogy of a dog - He feels more comfortable having the chained beast by his bed, simply bcs others are trying to hurt him and the beast won’t eat him right now.

So him asking Sebastian to go away, is throwing away his biggest safety net for a surrogate for r!Ciel, just means he’s reverting to the mentality he had during the cult.

If Sebastian is constantly telling him “it’s okay, they can’t hurt you anymore, you’re outside the cage, you can do what you WANT”

Ciel clinging to Finny is him going “no, im staying in the cage bcs at least the cage is familiar”

And no matter what the first camp tells you, staying in the cage, trapped inside your pain ISNT the healthy option.

(We could argue Ciel’s need for revenge rather than healing is also unhealthy, but no one in the second camp would even call Ciel anything other than a villain in someone else’s story)

So, Sebastian slapping him and going “no, that’s not what you want”, isn’t as cruel as it would be in the first interpretation. Because as we see, he’s right. That’s not what Ciel wants. And it’s proved by the next scene where Sebastian talks to Ciel about what he truly wants.

Rather than Sebastian telling Ciel to “get over it”, it’s closest to a “snap out of it, something’s wrong”

This is further proved by the fact that, Sebastian first instinct isn’t to scare him. He does back away, he does try to wait and gently coax him. But Ciel literally cannot reason with him.

That small but significant difference in interpretation has wildly different outcomes in how you perceive both, the characters and the story.

If you pick the first, you’re reading Sebastian as an enemy. Someone who does not respect Ciel. You see his attempt to eat Ciel’s soul as a breach of trust, and proof that he doesn’t care for him.

But if you pick the second option, you see Sebastian as an ally. Someone who’s running out of time and ways to save Ciel. His actions, while crass, ultimately help Ciel. What he was trying to do, was help.

Yana, very clearly, wanted the second interpretation. However, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you it’s the only interpretation. People are free to pick and chose how they read the text, irrelevant of how little of the actual text they’re reading.

But I will say, picking the first is symbolic of a less mature way of thinking. Common on those who like to infantilize trauma and trauma responses. It’s the easy, safe and comforting way of reading the text. As I said, it’s common in those who want their pain to be acknowledged.

That reading of Kuro is one that speak to me, that you’re not really ready to confront pain. And someone with that mentality, is not someone who’s reading of the text I find particularly interesting. Sure, you can share it, I’ll never stop you, but know you’re speaking to me in an entirely different language. You’re interpreting the text so differently, that I don’t think it’s even the same text anymore.

Again, you’re essentially writing analysis on fanfiction. And I’m not all too interested in dissecting your own trauma sloppily painted over British Aesthetic.

[seeker-of-stories19]

Jaime & Khaji Da Headcannons

- Khaji makes a habit of naturally and even subconsciously adjusting Jaime’s body to make it more adaptive, it takes a lot of arguments and reminders for Khaji to stop giving him extra limbs and eventually they compromise on night vision and sometimes fangs/claws

- Khaji still secretly does it at night to pull Jamie’s blankets back up when he insists on sleeping in bed because he will kick them off if he gets hot

- Jaime only wears his Gotham law hoodie at home because he’s worried Khaji will destroy it and it’s his biggest comfort item

- There’s definitely an element of horror in having his body invaded in such a traumatic way, but oftentimes the thing that freaks Jaime out more is that it feels so right. He can’t remember and doesn’t want to imagine what his life would be like without Khaji Da

- Jaime routinely spaces out while talking to Khaji and literally won’t respond to his family. It freaks Bianca out a bit but Milagro and Rudy love messing with Jaime and totally take advantage of it to scare him

- Although one time Rudy jumps on him from behind and scares him so bad he gets electrocuted again, even though Khaji knows he’s not a threat they think Rudy deserves it for making Jaime scared

- After that they stick to hiding his stuff when he’s spaced out communicating with Khaji

- Jaime goes to ridiculously extreme lengths to hide the extent of his trauma because he’s terrified of having to explain what Victoria and Carapax did to him

- Eventually his family starts picking up on it and accommodating him without him asking about it, not coming up behind him, letting sit closest to the exits, not making him wear ties or anything tight around his neck

- It gets to the point where Jaime slowly starts venturing out of his room after panic attacks and nightmares, so he isn’t alone and his family learns that the best way to support him is just looking out for him and not asking about it

- Although there are definitely moments when weird things trigger Jaime and it makes them wonder why having stuff touch his neck causes him to lock himself in his room for hours or blast off to sit on top of a building somewhere

- Khaji is the only one who knows what really happened to Jaime on the island and they’re very protective as a result

- Jaime will absolutely have a breakdown if Khaji takes more than two seconds to answer him because he’s terrified of losing that connection again

- The longer they’re bonded the more Khaji learns about human emotions and experiences, eventually they’re able to contextualize the horror Jaime feels over their bonding and feel guilt for causing him pain. They still don’t understand it in truly human way but they know they hurt him a lot physically and mentally which goes against their purpose

- Jaime spends so much time and energy looking for clothes that won’t show off the bumps along his spine, definitely has to wear stiffer fabric than he likes so it lays somewhat normally

- There’s definitely a period where he tries sticking kinesiology tape over Khaji to try and make the shape less obvious because it’s too hot to wear long sleeves and they burn it off immediately

- Finally after months Milagro points out that if people ask he can just tell them it’s a back brace or some type of medical equipment which makes him feel very stupid for not thinking of it sooner

- He has a lot of scar tissue around where Khaji latched onto his spine even with the advanced healing because of the trauma it put on his body. He also has jagged scars all over his back and shoulders with some stretching down his arms and legs from the electricity since Khaji didn’t have enough resources at the time to heal him fully

- Definitely at least one occurrence where he scares a stranger half to death walking to his car at night because his eyes are glowing yellow

- Jaime saying we instead of I when talking about things, “We’re so tired” and “Gracias we appreciate it”

- Khaji is incredibly attached to Jaime as well, having bonded more intensely to him than any previous host and like Jaime they’re also terrified of being separated, although they know it is an inevitable part of their reality

- Jaime’s family being so confused by what a symbiotic relationship is and definitely asking some invasive questions on accident

- Jaime is sort of permanently torn between horror and affection toward Khaji, a constant tug of war between the violation of being forced to share his body and not truly have control over his body and choices and the fact that their connection feels undeniably right, the understanding on a level he doubts any other human being can comprehend experiencing

- But even on the bad days he doesn’t blame Khaji, they were simply doing what they were programmed to without any understanding of the pain or trauma it would cause

- And he knows they understand it better now and regret ever causing Jaime damage

- Clothes never stop being a problem, he ends up putting all the basics in an Amazon list and reordering a cheap wardrobe every couple months

- On nights he goes to events with Jenny or other nicer things he just prays he won’t transform and accidentally destroy his one suit

- Even though he can never convince Khaji to stop burning his clothes they always protect the necklace he wears of his fathers

- No matter how long they’re bonded Jaime still answers Khaji out loud sometimes, when he’s at home it just leads to some confusion and teasing but he gets some nasty looks in public for mumbling nonsense to himself or talking over people in conversations

- Clicking/chirping sounds when he’s happy

A/N I totally didn’t expect to get this many likes so thank you, maybe I need to do headcannons more often! Anyways please feel free to add to these in reblogs if you have any more ideas and use any of these that inspire you in your own stories! But if you do tag me or send me AO3 links so I can see!!!!!

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Okay, so this request got inspired by your post of how the Mercs react to Y/N telling them they have PTSD. Not sure how the situations go but what about a hurt/comfort Mercs x Y/N when they unknowingly, or somehow, triggered Y/N’s trauma?

Y/N knows they didn’t mean it but it’s scares them because Y/N doesn’t breakdown like THAT. Y/N tells them it’s okay, although they are triggered they find comfort with the Mercs because they make them feel safe. Mercs just being there for them, listening, and like asks Y/N to let them know if they need anything.

(It’s not often I see these kinds of requests with x reader/y/n stuff, but your post did make me smile a bit as someone with PTSD)

I understand your point of view. Thank you, by the way. I feel very alone in my struggles and it’s nice to hear i’m not.

TF2 Mercs Scare Y/N With PTSD On Accident

Scout:

- Oh.. Fuck. Immediately goes into panic mode because he’s a very empathetic person. You can see it on his face as he struggles to hold it together. He knows freaking out will only make this worse. (He’s less stupid than you think.) Watching you cower and breathe heavily is breaking his heart. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned that name.

- “Hey, whoa whoa, whoa, hey hey, relax. It— It was a different person! I was talking about someone different!” He pauses, trying to deduct a possible solution. The fact you’re telling him it’s fine is making him angry at himself. Why would he recklessly slip up like that in front of somebody so important?! He wants you to beat him up. “No, No. You need to like — beat the shit out of me for that. Don’t ever settle for less in a person. Like, actually, beat the shit out of me.”

- This is definitely causing some stares. Scout rarely at all takes accountability for his actions because of how on the defense he is. Seeing this side of him is uncanny. Scout takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into a big hug. Your face immediately meeting his chest. When he was a child, his mother would give him physical affection to subdue his panic attacks. This is the first thing that came to mind.

- “Easy, easy. Alright? That stupid shit won’t ever happen to you again. Not while I’m here.” He whispers in your ear. Running his fingers through your hair. Somehow, he comes rightly by his mother. He even forces himself to steady his breathing on behalf of you. He knows you’ll calm down eventually.

——————————————————————————-

Soldier:

- All it took was one disagreement. One. Single. Sideye from Soldier and you suddenly got transported into the past unwarranted. Your breathing became shallow and you felt like passing out. The impending doom was indescribable. At first you wanted to lash out and attack him for this. But Soldier quickly tilted his helmet up in alarm upon seeing your unexpected reaction. You had to kneel down.

- “Private?” He asked. His voice was more higher pitched than usual. The sight of somebody he loved breaking into pieces like janga blocks all so suddenly was shocking. He was briefly scolded and slapped to death by Medic for triggering your PTSD before, and you didn’t want that for him again. “It’s fine— I’ts fine—“ You said. “No, it fucking isn’t.” He answers.

- “It isn’t fine that you’re feeling this way. I’m going to go into your ear and fix that damn hippo campus or whatever, so help me god.” He said, his eyes full of despair as he knelt down beside you to hesitantly place a hand on your back and rub you. His answer was so unbelievably stupid you almost snapped out of it.

- “I’m sorry for glaring.” He said, sort of laughing at his own pettiness and shaking his head. He truly felt like gutting himself. As i’ve mentioned, Soldier knows full well what PTSD is. The world war did numbers on his comrades’ mental health. He’s seen people completely crumble under the weight of tragedy. “Sometimes it’s just the little things, isn’t it? One moment you’re in the present, and the next moment you stand on the hills of the battlefield overlooking the bloodshed, and you wonder: where the hell did we go wrong?”

- You sort of calm down at his attempt to soothe you. Crawling onto his lap and shoving your face into his uniform. Soldier allowed you to do this. A distant and exhausted look in his eye as he defeatedly fell back against the wall. “Did you feel that way in the war?” You mutter to him. Wondering where his knowledge came from.

- Soldier was still holding his rocket launcher in the other hand. He turned it to the side to examine it for a second. “Eh…” He muttered back. Noting the blood on the handle that was spilt earlier on the frontlines. “I’m just one of those war dogs whose mental strength rivals Zeno of citium himself, I guess.” He said sarcastically.

____________________________________________

Demoman:

- Immediately tries to distract you from the horrible things you begin to relive. Shoves you into your quarters and locks the door. Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have liked this, but he’s made it clear to give you your space. You sit on the edge of your bed, unsettled, whilst he peaks out the blinds of your window.

- “Datse’ sum wee ass birds sittin ow on the tree out there. Look at em, bloody fat roosters dey are.” He says, as you look away at the ground. He notices your lack of attention and sighs. Taking an abundance of alcohol into his mouth. “Hey look, ye wanna know sumthin?” He points his flask at you. “Lemme tell you sumthin about explosives.”

- “Once a landmine explodes, kablooey. Thatse it. No goin’ back. But yer brain ain’t like that.” He tells you, pointing at your head. Frustratingly, you roll your eyes “Why’d you bring me in here, Demoman? And — thanks but my fucking wounds are unfixable.” Your tone sounds more annoyed than you’d like it to be. But you couldn’t help it right now, you felt like your body was attacking itself.

- “NAH. You ain’t. y’know why?” He knocked on his own head with his flask. “See this thing er’? this thing can mend itself. Unlike an arm or leg. OR AN EYE.” He made sure to put emphasis on that last part for some reason as he spoke it to the ceiling. Tavish still kept his respectful distance as he paced around the room. “Isn’t that just my luck? Enough about dat, tho. Look at ye! Just look at ye! You’re here. Despite those aforementioned metaphorical landmines goin off! Isn’t that crazy? There’s so much space in between what happened and whatse to come. Dont be impatient with yerself. I’ll follow you through this dense forest. Okay? You go there and then you’re there, and once you’re there, you’re there and then you’re there. Y’know? I’ll get you there.” He’s clearly drunk but this somehow helped. You watch him clear his throat and unsteadily sit down in a chair. Sitting in silence with you.

—————————————————————————

Engineer:

- Engineer is an adult. He has (mostly) mastered the art of keeping calm on behalf of a panicking person’s sake. “Hey now…” You hear that thick, creamy drawl behind you. What had triggered you was a loud noise in the server room followed by the crashing of metal echoing off the walls. Engineer happened to be nearby. “That was all me, sorry for the scare pardner.” He tilts his hard hat in respect. He must’ve heard your yelp.

- As you sat cowering against those old computers, tears flooding down your cheeks, Engineer approached you like he would an injured stray kitten. Slowly kneeling down, a refusal to make any sudden movements. His wrench in the other hand had a dent in the adjustable jaw. “Was tryin’ to tinker with somethin’ and some shit fell onto the grating. Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you.” He said. Tilting your chin up to admire your face. Even as you were caked in tears and sweat, he still found profound beauty in this.

- He was making an effort to lie. The wrench had traces of dark red blood on it. Your eyes peaked over his shoulder and you caught a glimpse of an enemy spy’s shoes just behind the mess of computers. Engineer was a good liar. If it weren’t for the dead spy beyond him then you would’ve believed his comforting lie. It wasn’t the spy you were scared of though.. The noise did it all. “Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you.” He whispered again. “It’s alllllll in the past.”

- voooooOoshh. Yeah, figures :/

- “Would you excuse me for a sec, darlin?” He planted a kiss on your forehead, whipping around as he stood up and bitch slapped that same enemy spy with his wrench. Watching him slam against the machinery and lie bleeding on the ground. “Dead ringer, seriously?” He asked. “je te déteste.” (I fucking hate you.) The enemy spy choked out. You felt slightly better afterwards. Knowing Engineer would be able to protect you before anything could truly occur.

—————————————————————————

Heavy:

- Offers to beat the shit out of anybody who triggers your ptsd. TO DEATH. He comes pretty close to doing so a bunch of times. Scout had unintentionally done this and he couldn’t walk for a week afterwards. Heavy was pretty certain he crushed some of his spine. So imagine his dismay when your vacant eyes couldn’t leave a poster on his wall. He knew that stare anywhere — in fact — he had that disconnected stare before.

- Heavy snapped you out of your momentary dissociation by ripping the poster down and crumbling it up. “Heavy did not like that book anyway…” He said, frowning as he threw it away in the trash bin next to his bed. “Come. Do not look at things that remind you. Not good for health.” He beckoned his large hand over to his bed and you laid down next to him. Instinctively cuddling into his chest to try and even out your breathing, But your agony was evident. He could feel your heart practically bursting out of your chest.

- “fetal position.” He instructed you. You did so, hugging your entire body. It was then he took you into his arms and applied light pressure. He had learnt to do this from a Russian psychology paper. Your pain was quickly dying down after this. Who knew being squished to death would help so much? The lingering feelings of dread would remove themselves from you in record time. Normally it would be hours or even days. Every time this happens, he’ll use pressure therapy to aid you.

- If you dislike that type of stuff, he’ll read you a children’s book. For some reason those always helped him. Maybe even take you into the main lobby area to sit down with the boys and listen to their conversation. The white noise of their stupid conversations is distracting, and the presence of friends is always comforting.

——————————————————————————

Pyro:

- :((((((((((((( Looks completely fucking devastated.

- They’re quite reasonable. Immediately asks you what triggered you, and how they can keep you away from it. They’re patient and observant. Especially if you’re incapable of answering them. Their senses will eventually find the object, smell, or word, etc that had caused this in the first place. Silence to Pyro is always louder than words. They make quick work of the issue.

- They tell everybody on the team about this. (Which takes a while by the way because nobody can fucking understand them.) And go into huge detail about why they shouldn’t have/say certain things around you. Nobody’s allowed to rudely question them or else somebody’s belongings are going up in flames.

- Speaking of setting people on fire.. People aren’t allowed to call you a faker either. This happens way too often. How stupid can people truly get? Said people go missing after a week or so and the Tuefort police can never find the body. Every time this happens, you know who to blame. For some reason you also find out later down the line that several power classes were working in cooperation with Pyro’s murders. Thanks guys.

- If present in their room, they’ll bring a bunch of their plushies over to you and cover you in blankets. Watching old kid’s movies with you to make you feel better. This especially works well if you sfw age regress to cope with ptsd. Will 100% be your caregiver.

—————————————————————————-

Sniper:

- God dammit fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck why didn’t he just shut his big mouth and die god dammit fuck fuck fuck he wants to die FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK NOOO WHY DID YOU GO SILENT

- It was the way he said something that got you. It sounded too familar to you-know-whatsit. You were in his sniper nest when this happened. He took his eye from the scope to see you on the floor holding your chest and trying in vain to control the breathing issues you were encountering. “SsShit!” He hissed angrily at himself, getting up and sitting next to you on the floor. He didn’t even make a move to touch you. He knew how horrible things could feel in moments like these. It wasn’t until you returned the favor by leaning your head against him did he put his arm around you.

- “Sniper, I feel like throwing up..” You say, nausea symptoms setting in. He didn’t have any medicine with him other than painkillers, so he made room for you to lay your head on his lap. Putting his hand on your head. “Easy now. This’ll pass.” He whispered. It was moreso his crazy low voice that began calming you down. Jesus christ he was trying so hard not to blame himself right now.

- He was right though. It was important to believe him. This’ll pass too. It always does. You weren’t in that horrid space right now and the nest was dead silent minus the chirping of song birds outside. He remained on guard the entire time you rested on him. His eyes looking at the door, then the hole he peeped his gun through, then the door again.

- He said nothing the entire time. What was there to say? Your past had been eroded. He had no excuses nor complaints. Not even a single question. Sniper was purposefully making himself soundless to aid your recovery process. Every so often when you twitched, and started breathing heavier than normal, he’d rub your scalp in response. This is how he comforts you during a flashback most of the time. Allowing you the bliss of silence and touch.

—————————————————————————-

Medic:

- HUH???? Wait a second.. fast breathing, wanting to self harm, panicking like you were about to die, and other familiar symptoms? Oh. He knew right away what this was. Time to make sure.

- You were screaming in the corner of his lab, cowering and on the verge of pissing yourself. It was awful. It was god awful. Probably the worst one you’ve had this year. Heart palpitations and all. Your vision was blurry and you couldn’t focus. Medic knelt down in front of you with an incredibly serious expression across his face. Lifting his finger up and watching you — or at least you trying — to follow it. Some other mercs were nearby watching this go down in slight horror. They had no clue what you struggled with or why you were acting like this. You felt like you were surrounded by a bunch of idiots once again who were too stupid to fathom your experiences.

- “What’s wrong with Y/N, Doc?” Soldier asked. He had the faintest idea of what it was but he didn’t want to assume. “Hm.” Medic answered bluntly in response. He didn’t even look at soldier as he dismissed everybody with the aggressive shooing of his hand. Waiting until everybody left to talk to you.

- He took you gently by the shoulders. “Y/N, look at me.” He instructed. You thrashed a bit and struggled to do so. It was hard to not feel intimidated by all this. “The year is 1971. You’re you. You’re here. The stuff that happened, it happened a long time ago.” He said. When it didn’t ground you enough he made you repeat your age, and the date.

- “It’ll happen again!” You exclaim, “It’s happening again!” You scream in retaliation. Medic shook his head calmly. “No, it is not happening again. You have a brain injury mien schatz—“ He was cut off by your terrified yelling. You clung to him for dear life and desperation and he clung back just as hard. He was kind of thankful nobody was here to witness this.

- He only pulls away to take a deep breath and you instinctively mimicked him, holding it for a few seconds as he counted and then let go. You synced up your breathing with his and after what seemed like forever, the repeated breathing exercises were slightly helping. He had his latex glove on your chest the hold time to make sure you were doing it. Weakness took over you and you threw yourself into another hug. Wanting to be carried by him.

——————————————————————————-

Spy:

- Spy has flashbacks too but they’re less aggressive than yours. He had trained himself to stay composed by suppressing it, and he’d rather not make the same mistake with you. For a spilt second, one could easily mistake his stoic posture as you cried there in his chair as complete indifference. But he felt things far from that. You had dumped all this stuff onto him out of nowhere upon entering his quarters because you were sick of being quiet. It boiled over then and there like a volcano.

- “Hmph.. So it seems once again someone has been failed by a worthless system. Pour l'amour de Dieu.” (For god’s sake.) He angrily snuffed out his cigarette in his ash tray. Crushing it for good measures. His righteous anger was filling the entire room with dread. Spy wasn’t pleasant when he was mad. You made your posture smaller in an attempt to look innocent. You did not want to face his wrath.

- “What is this?” He asked you curiously. “It is not you I am angry at. It is the inept incompetence of those around you.” He sat in his chair adjacent from you. He wanted better for you. So much better. After a moment of silence and Spy rubbing his temples he finally spoke. “I have learnt.. Many languages. In none of them do I have the words for just how angry I am that you suffer this way.” He admitted. Looking at his gloved hands. It was rare he was so vulnerable like this, so it immediately peaked your interest in-between sobs.

- “Perhaps words aren’t enough to describe how even you feel. Yes?” He asked. You were trying to nod in response but you couldn’t focus hard enough to do so. The pain was too much. There was a look in Spy’s eye that suggested he knew that. “Come sit on my lap, let me lull you to sleep.” He offered, holding his arms out.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I saw somewhere (here on Tumblr but I don't remember from who) that the creator of Dreamtale apparently wanted Driller to become canon at some point. And, I gotta say, I don't think that relationship would be healthy for Killer.

Here's my thing, Dream is very focused on helping his brother and getting his brother back. And Killer is a paranoid fucker who for very good reason thinks everyone is out to use him.

How would Dream ever be able to convince Killer that he isn't using him to get closer to Nightmare? How would he ever convince him that his kindness and affection don't have ulterior motives?

With Color it's a lot easier because Color isn't really affiliated with Nightmare in any way. Like, I don't think he'd leave him to die if he found him injured somewhere, but I also don't think he'd be going out of his way to try and help him. And definitely not as publicly as Dream does.

Like, how could Killer ever truly feel safe in that relationship? And that's without considering the fact that power corrupted Nightmare, but he started as Dream's twin. Meaning that Dream theoretically has just as much capacity to become corrupted as Nightmare did. And he's powerful (of course, Color himself isn't weak, but, again, his powers are further removed from Nightmare's), would Killer wanna risk ending up trapped simply under a different apple twin? I mean, maybe, he doesn't exactly have that many self preservation instincts. But would he be truly happy with that choice?

I also don’t think it’d help Dream either. Dream is constantly on the move, keeping ahead of Nightmare, trying to keep that last golden apple safe. He cannot provide the stability Killer needs because everyone else is always pulling him in different directions and his duty as the Guardian of Positivity would understandably be placed above Killer. It is important.

Color isn’t exactly known for staying in one spot either, but he is consistent and committed to Killer in a way Dream simply cannot afford to do. Not at the cost of everyone else, Dream has a lot of responsibility, or at least he may feel he does. I wouldn’t doubt he struggles to maintain a “work” and personal life balance, whereas Color does not have this type of responsibility to the Multiverse.

The only responsibility Color has to anyone or anything except Killer is the six human souls. Aka six dead children he has absorbed and will spend the rest of his life taking care of, alongside Killer. This will be a terribly exhausting thing and huge responsibility, and Color understands that, but he’s willing and able to take the commitment. And he has friends to support and help him.

Would Dream be able to handle it or understand when Killer is cued or triggered? Would he be able to understand when he refuses to eat, or manipulates, or acts out, when killer tests and pokes and prods at him. Would he be able to understand willing vs conditioned submission, would he be able to understand dissociation and fawn responses.

Would he rely on his empathy abilities far too much when doing so won’t get him nowhere with Stage 2, and could potentially have effects on Nightmare’s own emotional conditioning of Killer.

Would he be able to understand how killer can be a threat to himself or others—his desensitization and comfort with violence and self mutilatation. Whenever Chara starts whispering and Killer starts feeling watched, judged.

A sense of impending doom if he doesn’t do what Chara wants. A sense that it’ll all be Reset if he doesn’t keep up the Deal, and none of this will matter in the end.

Would he be able to understand the pure intensely of Stage 1’s emotions—which could lead to self destructive breakdowns when he feels like he doesn’t deserve kindness or happiness or safety or even the right to exist.

Stage 4’s inclination towards self destruction at any sign or fear of being restricted from fulfilling the Deal, any sign of failure—which while inevitably happen because Dream cannot allow Killer to go around killing people.

Would Dream be able to understand why Stage 4 will feel it has to—wants to—die if it can’t kill people or destroy worlds—because that wouldn’t make sense to anyone, but that’s what it looks like from the outside.

Stage 4 wouldn’t explain what’s going on internally—it would think Dream should already understand if he’s a handler, or that it is unimportant that he understands if hes not a handler—so long as it’s done.

Would Dream be able to accept Killer as he is without feeling the need to look for something “good” in him all the time. He’s afraid of Killer when he’s in Stage 2—even him going to touch him caused Dream to get scared.

Killer has hurt Dream before, and doesn’t feel remorse and I’m sure Dream can sense that—but he keeps looking for something “positive” and “good” in Killer.

Color doesn’t really care if Killer is good or not, he doesn’t need him to be—and he didn’t need to sense any positive emotion from Killer to tell he needed help or is capable of change or is secretly a “good person” deep down.

Killer asked for help, he asked to be saved, and so Color is helping and saving. He expressed a desire for change, a want to get and be better—but more importantly, that he wanted out.

And of course, Killer will think Dream is trying to use him to get to Nightmare. Stage 2 always does think of himself as something for others to use—a tool, a weapon, a resource.

But whereas Color can easily argue back that he really doesn’t gain any benefit from helping Killer besides a friend and a feeling of happiness/purpose, Dream will always have a benefit from trying to save Killer.

Save Nightmare, find out more about Nightmare, use Killer against Nightmare, take Killer off the field and away from Nightmare’s grasp so he cant be used as a weapon against the Multiverse. These are all noble goals that anyone would understandably have, but to Killer—it’s still using him.

Color is in position to uniquely challenge Killer’s worldview and the time and resources needed to dedicate to him. Dream has a lot more going on, a war to win. A brother to save. People to protect. The poor man will be running himself into the ground taking on more than he can handle.

{ @stellocchia }

[chaifootsteps]

This is probably completely wrong but I remember when I first saw Ozzies I thought Blitzø was mad for a different reason. When he watches the illusion of Stella and Octavia walk away from stolas and fizz put him in the chair. He grimaces at stolas as if he’s genuinely disgusted with him for betraying his family. This is a guy who desperately loves his own family and would die before betraying them, with fizz being a grim reminder of that. He says “we don’t get rid of family” right from the beginning. But Stolas doesn’t care about that. The best he gives Via is “I know it’s a lot”

Outside the car when stolas says “Octavia is away with her mother this weekend so we could (have sex)” it’s one of the triggers that pisses blitzø off. But maybe it was me projecting, because when stolas sounded genuinely happy that Octavia was away because she isn’t permanently living in her own home anymore, so he could be alone with Blitzø I wanted to punch him. It just reminded me of Via saying that it doesn’t feel like home anymore because he ruined it.

Idk I wish I could write Blitzø because him being so family oriented while stolas is so sex and work oriented would be such an interesting conflict. It’d be a much deeper layer to him being upset with stolas too, especially because at the end of that night he looks at his photo of him his mom and his sister and that breaks him. He’d say “well if my daughter had to leave our home every weekend I’d be too busy doing anything i could to win her back to cuddle with a hooker. So why don’t you just call your kid for a change instead of sending me your booty calls. See you next full moon, boss.”

Apparently they’re having stolas do that now, prioritise his family, but it’s taken a year, two mental breakdowns from his daughter, and a full on rejection by Blitzø for him to start it. The shot where Blitzø is tugging on stolas’ arm and stolas pulls away to clench his fist in determination, it looks so fucking goofy because the roles have been utterly reversed.

Holy shit...we talk a lot about ways that scene could have gone and "reason you suck" speeches Blitzo could give Stolas, but I think this one might be the most in-character yet.

I read it in his voice, actually clapped a little. God, if only.

[fangsforiris]

Hi! Hope you're doing good!

I'm just wondering if you could write headcanons for Shu with a reader who is afraid of touch, but becomes more touchy the more they get closer to him? I'm terrified of people touching me unless I'm close to them lol. Thank you so much!!!

-‘๑’-

Shū Sakamaki's Reaction to Reader Who's Afraid of Touch

-‘๑’-

Hi Anon, thank you for the ask!! I'm doing well, I hope you're also doing great. Sorry about the wait, I was a bit busy!!

Considering how I also am not as comfortable with people touching me, I see myself in this a bit!!

Hope you enjoy and like the way I categorized this.

TW!! Self-harm, Self-Destructive Tendencies

Word Count: 1331 Included Topics: Once you enter the house, When you pick him, Breakdown in the Bathroom, & Once you both get comfortable.

-‘๑’-

Once you enter the house:

🍯  Shū wouldn’t be as caring at first, especially if you weren’t close with him beforehand. 

🍯  After all, you just got here. No person would want their personal space invaded right on contact. He knows he wouldn’t. 

🍯  It’s expected even, when learning that your new ‘roommates’ are anything but. 

🍯  You’re in a house of vampires with little to no regard for your health and well-being for crying out loud. 

🍯  Shū’s apathy really shines here. He doesn’t care. And isn’t going to change his mind about that. 

🍯  He’d assume that you weren’t taking kindly to the unprovoked touches and gropes, as per many.

🍯  After all, you aren’t the first. 

🍯  Of the many Sacrificial Brides* that have stepped foot on Sakamaki property, he’s just about seen everything. 

🍯  Seeing as Shū’s the oldest, he’s seen many come and go. Similar behaviours are a likely occurrence to get accustomed to. 

🍯  Meaning he’s ready for when you get used to their daily shenanigans. 

🍯  (Until you reach your expiration date, that is.) 

🍯  And not that he cares for your ‘readiness’ on the matter.

🍯   Especially, considering how you’re only starting to be integrated within a house of vampires. 

🍯  As territorial as they are, Shū understands the need for personal space, considering how he prefers his own. 

🍯  (He hates when any of his brothers test his patience, specifically regarding his own time to himself and his want for nobody to touch his being.) 

-‘๑’-

When you pick him:

🍯  He didn’t see that coming. 

🍯  I mean, he knows that the brides choose whoever they think will become their knight and shining armor in this murder mansion, but him? Seriously? 

🍯  But coupled with his knowingness for his good looks, he also gets how looks can be deceiving. 

🍯  Shū would only start to get blood from you on the second, maybe early third week of the choosing. 

🍯  He’s the type to not bother with you, and thus spare a blind eye to his brothers who constantly harass you. 

🍯  Which in turn, definitely triggers your sensitivity to touch. 

🍯  In fact, it would take a breakdown in the bathroom for him to question. 

🍯  He’ll start to notice more whenever he takes blood from you. 

🍯  Considering how he aims to tease, he’d notice the twitches and sharpened breathing from his small traces of the skin.

🍯  But don’t, not even for a second, take Shū for a fool. 

🍯  He’s highly perceptive. If not the most out of his brothers. 

🍯  After all, he’s always watching. So he most likely started to get what it was that kept bothering you from the start.

-‘๑’-

Breakdown in the Bathroom:

🍯  But back to the breakdown. You had a breakdown in the bathroom. Cliché I know.

🍯  But not just any bathroom, it happened to be one of the many that Shū entertained his antics in. 

🍯  TW!! So, whilst you’re on the ground, dragging your feet on the cold marble tile whilst you scratch at your arms and attempt to peel the skin off of your face due to the overstimulation of it all… he’s there. 

🍯  TW!! But not in the bathtub. To your shock he’d stand near the doorway, watching as you hyperventilate, progressively tearing more skin and doing more harm. 

🍯  Shū would admittedly not know what to do in the heat of the moment. 

🍯  Like he knows… but for you to go that far, that’s a bit much. Especially since he didn’t exactly sign up for this sort of thing. 

🍯  But he’d be good help. He’d comfort you. 

🍯  And surprise. He's great at comforting. 

🍯  You wouldn’t think so at first, but when seeing you on that floor, blood starting to pour and stain your fingers… It reminded him of himself. 

🍯  He would never admit that though. 

🍯  Shū would go up to you and crouch next to you on the left. 

🍯  He’d whisper, calling your name in that sickly gentle tone. Sweet like honey which snapped you out of your hazardous thoughts, 

🍯  The way his voice echoed in the room, with a certain front of vibrato and depth would force you to focus on him and only him. 

🍯  In that moment, boy were you glad that his voice had such an effect on you. 

🍯  He’d coax you into stopping your self-harm and stay grounded with him for the moment. No matter how long it’ll take, Shū promised (he promised!) that he’d stay by your side. 

-‘๑’-

🍯→  “Y/N, breathe with me. Slowly, I am not going anywhere, alright?”

🍯→  You’d look at the blond, watching you carefully with those azure eyes of his. He didn’t waver, and that made you feel… secure. The most secure and.. safe.. that you’ve ever felt in the house of horrors upon entering. 

🍯→  Whatever this was, you obeyed. You obeyed the siren’s call as it led you to placing remedy on your aching arms, and pick yourself up off the marbled floor where you washed away your tainted hands. 

🍯→  There was an unspoken trust that lingered in the air. The type of trust that made you realize that perhaps giving your heart away to the monster was… alright. Especially if it meant having the shadow of the house in your every darkened corner. 

🍯→  You wouldn’t realize when he left, a mutter escaping your lips confirming the suspicion, “Thank you… Shū.”

-‘๑’-

🍯  This made even him pause for a moment. After all, why did he care? You and him aren’t anything. And this was a one off thing, he just chose to be seemingly nicer than his usual because… 

🍯  When he can’t find a reason to justify his actions, he’d leave it at that. Not wanting to delve deeper into his own complexities. 

-‘๑’-

Once you both get comfortable:

🍯  After that moment in the bathroom, it confirmed everything Shū needed to know. 

🍯  He cared. At least to a degree of wanting to step in and help. 

🍯  That moment officially defined your current and future standing. And suddenly, Shū wasn’t as indifferent. 

🍯  Sure, he was still his lazy self, but he started to get ambition, drive even. 

🍯  Something in him switched, like a light bulb lit up. 

🍯  No matter how much he wanted to deny it, he cared. In his own little way. 

🍯  You two have been hanging out more, enjoying each others presence as you two bring the one thing the other is missing. 

🍯  For Shū, he brings the soft, gentle nature when it comes to your stance on personal space. One that he’s fine with obliging to, considering how he feels the same way. 

🍯  In fact, Shū’s the type of person to loathe touch and any affection that can come from others, but secretly he craves it, cherishing it when it may only come to him in his dreams. 

🍯  For you, Shū likes the quiet nature, the calamity you both present whilst being in accordance for what you both seek. 

🍯  It’s nice, knowing how this companionship is to work out if you both have a fine line basis. 

🍯  As time goes on, you two are comfortable. 

🍯  Small adoring touches is what Shū will provide as you two lay on his bed, cuddling. He’d trace shapes and letters on your thighs and lower back, whilst watching as you lean into the touch. 

🍯  He’d keep one arm around your waist, pulling you closer as he would place his head on the crook of your neck, breathing in all that is you. 

🍯  The calm, tender moments such as these is what would shockingly make your relationship the most long standing out of everyone’s. 

🍯  The mutual respect would be a defining factor, which in turn would elicit a few reactions from others but you two wouldn’t care. 

[bicheetopuff]

I mean, I am a multishipper so I both like Izu/Ocha and Bkdk (and some other ships, lol). Izu/Ocha has some cute moments and a nice bond, but in the overall narrative, its obvious Bkdk is on a whole another level. I think the majority of these ppl, especially dudebros in the fandom, are triggered by the reality and therefore lashing out against queer ppl for supposedly ''taking away their precious straight marriage endgame''. They wanted an ending like naruto, deku had to be your average shounen character with superpowers and a woman by his side, ochako had to birth his kids, etc. Nvm that naruto's that very plot choice made the series so ridiculous at the end.

Izuku and Ochako have great moments and I genuinely adore their friendship and I think they’re very important to each others respective arcs. That being said, I agree that bkdk are on a whole other level, whether you ship them romantically or not, and I feel like you have to actively ignore it in order to avoid acknowledging it since it’s so in your face from just the first few chapters. There’s only so many excuses you can make in order to say that they don’t love each other in some way.

There’s still people saying that they’re toxic and they hate each other and I just genuinely don’t understand why they don’t just drop the story. Doesn’t it get exhausting having to force yourself to turn a blind eye to the most important relationship in the story? Like what’re you getting out of it when their relationship sets up basically every major theme in the series in some way? Without one or the other, mha wouldn’t have happened and it would’ve been incredibly boring, bffr.

I really do think they ignore it and try to convince themselves to hate Katsuki because it conflicts with their heteronormative ending that they want so badly from a shonen manga… which is funny cuz isn’t they exactly what they accuse the shipping community of doing? Accusing people of hating Ochako/being a misogynist for the sake of our ships?

Like, what’s more misogynistic? Acknowledging Ochako as her own character and actually paying attention to her character arc and seeing that izuocha happening would’ve been kind of insulting to her AND Himiko considering everything she went through to realize that she wants to live and love as she pleases without external factors telling her what to do? Or, wanting Ochako to confess her feelings in the middle of a mental breakdown and for Izuku to say “omg I’m in love with you too!! :D” despite there being no romantic development between them but they get married and have kids anyway despite the fact that heroes with kids has been portrayed as a bad thing in the majority of the story…

If bnha had a Naruto ending I think I would’ve auctioned off all my mha merch and deleted my blog while trying to erase the story from my memory. I probably would’ve actually cried. Because, like you said, it’s a ridiculous ending, and it just would’ve completely negated Ochako’s entire arc, not to mention the fact that it’d make Shigaraki targeting and killing Katsuki literally mean nothing. Like, I’m sorry but if izuocha was meant to happen, Toga and and Ochako would’ve been pulled to UA instead of the other way around and Shigaraki would’ve targeted her instead. I SAID WHAT I SAID

[heaven-s-black-box]

Notes-General Miyuki & more

Return to File

Recovery date: September 17th, 2024

Description: Gotcha gotcha! If you're comfortable, can you do nsfw headcanons like when they're in a relationship for Miyuki, Mochi and/or Mei

Includes- Aged up Character

Notes: Recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contributions. I will say this was actually really difficult, but it was also kind of interesting. That is to say, I'm not sure how I feel about it (the execution, not the prompt itself)

Back to directory

Miyuki Kazuya

A tease, but not a brat

The kind to put his hand in your back pocket and when you point it out says “it’s an accident” but doesn’t move

Runs his mouth, always teasing about the face you’re making or your reactions

Praise him, he shuts up so fast

At least at the start of your relationship, eventually he gets used to the praise and you consider buying him a gag

Until then, oral keeps him pretty quiet

Giving, I mean, when receiving this man is loud

I think it’s pretty agreed upon that Miyuki deserves to be taken care of

He also does not like giving up control, DO NOT restrain him

That’s the easy way out and he will tease you

Instead wine and dine him, draw a nice bath for the two of you, and then treat him to a night of praise and ecstasy

Assuming he doesn’t fall asleep before you get that far, sometimes he just needs a night of pampering

In the same vein, likes showering together; would love to try shower sex but is terrified of injury

Like, I feel like he’d be pretty adventurous with sex if he wasn’t worried about hurting himself and not being able to play baseball

He pulled a muscle once and almost had a breakdown (you know, the kind where you know you need to flex the muscle but it feels like that’ll rip it in two?)

Miyuki just needs someone to care for him, if you can do that he’ll do just about anything for you

Kuramochi Yoichi

Great stamina, I mean it is Mochi

Strikes me as someone who likes his hair pulled

Also seems like he’d fluster pretty easily

He’s a tease, but he does not take teasing well

“Would you shut up?” “That’s not what you were saying last night”

He goes red

I think he also likes trying out new positions

Kind of like Miyuki where he wants to be adventurous but is kind of afraid of injury

But he’ll start suggesting something and then realize that it’s probably not the best idea

Someday, he tells you

I can see him being pretty romantic, not a huge tease

The amount of times you two have been play fighting and it’s turned into a makeout session and escalated?

You have damn near ruined wrestling for him, and it’s entirely his fault

Discovers sex is a much more interesting way to work off excess energy than swinging a bat, and he has a ton of excess energy

Seriously, once after a really bad game he did 100 swings after and then chased you through your house into the bedroom and fucked you, hard

He didn’t get on base once that game, like I said, bad

Bonus points because it means he’s not over exerting himself

Kuramochi needs someone to match his energy and playfulness, and even if you can’t always keep up he’s more than happy to cuddle up with a videogame

Narumiya Mei

Be surprised, he’s such a brat

And a pillow Prince

I could totally see him trying to pretend you’re doing things “wrong”

But you can also see the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek to stay quiet

Narumiya Mei not running his mouth? A baffling concept

Don’t get me wrong though, he still runs his mouth

Like I said, he’s a brat

He also doesn’t ask for sex unless he’s suuper pent up

He just, riles you up until you catch on

Also, not necessarily NSFW, but he walks around shirtless a lot if he knows you’ll stare

To quote Deadpool “Put your greasy tits away you preening slut”

Anyways, I don’t think Mei ignores is partner’s pleasure by any means

Will, on occasion, treat you like pillow royalty but there has to be a trigger

Like jealousy/ the fear that he’ll lose you

And even though he’s a brat, sex isn’t always rough

Honestly I don’t ever see Mei out growing his overconfident facade and that bratty streak of his

But, as he outgrows his insecurities they become less abrasive in his day to day life

[nburkhardt]

Other Parts: One, Two, Three, Four.

(Small trigger warning for overdose, not completely accurate I don’t think but still gonna warn) NOW, onto the fic! ~

The Plan? That’s fucking boring

Eddie Munson’s Way of Making the Sun Shine Brighter?

The End of Michael Wheeler?

Eddie’s Totally Put Together Plan? What a stupid fucking stupid title!!

(Title is still a work in progress)

Self reminder: do not in any way, say the word ‘asshole’ within hearing range of Steve. ALSO do not use any references to royalty or anything relating to being dumb.

Step 1:

Find out the reason why Michael Wheeler decided to be a total dickwad and call Steve an asshole. Yelling really comes out if it’s a dumb fucking reason.

Step 2:

Let the brats know that they are to stay away from Steve for at least a week to think about why he reacted the way he did. Don’t mention the breakdown, only say what is necessary.

Let Steve know about this part (double underlined)

Step 3:

Corner Dustin Henderson and Robin Buckley separately. Find out why they weren’t too concerned for their supposed best friend.

Hint to them what’s going on?

Step 4: most important

Comfort Steve !!!! Make sure he knows you’re in this for the long haul. Make it known you are not leaving him.

Help him open up a tiny bit more. Do not overwhelm him!!

Step 5: necessary for step 4

Hand holding, nicknames and reminders. Maybe cuddles ONLY if he’s up to it!!

Step 6: Step 2.0: (written over with a line harshly up the page connecting to step 2)

Shut up anyone who even dares to say The Word to Steve. Teach self to not say it anymore. Give a crash course to everyone in Hellfire that they were unknowingly being bullies. This step be after step 1? Maybe step 2?

~

Eddie glanced at his notebook and smiled. All morning he’s been writing out this plan. It wasn’t settling in his head whatsoever with his overactive hyper way of thinking, it was never going to come together.

He woke up only after a few hours of actual sleeping, he tossed and turned with images of a heartbroken Steve flashing in his dreams. At one point he jolted awake when a particular flash included Steve just silent and emotionless, like he wasn’t there anymore but he was breathing and that was absolutely terrifying.

Eddie has seen something similar like that look before and it wasn’t pretty either….

—

A recently turned twelve year old Eddie is frozen in the doorway. His face is pale, near white as he stared at his mom.

Charlotte Munson is slumped on the couch, nearly no emotion on her face. Her eyes glazed over, only half way open. Her mouth is parted in a dazed smile, the usual warmth in her face is completely and utterly gone.

Her hand is clutching a tiny bottle and there’s a bottle of vodka on the table.

Even in his frozen state, it doesn’t take long for him to figure out what is happening. Her chest is slow, he can tell she’s breathing. Only just enough but the glaze in her eyes isn’t clearing up; her eyes are actually slipping shut more.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, doesn’t know how long she’s been there either.

Eventually, someone knocks and breaks the spell.

He’s told later on that she overdosed, but he already figured that out. He watched it happen. Two weeks later he’s shipped off to Uncle Wayne’s, promised to be cared for and he makes a silent vow to never take too much or to mix anything, ever.

—

Shaking his head out of the memory, he looks at the paper again before jumping out of bed to get dressed.

He doesn’t understand or know why his brain decided to be so fucked up and marge the images of his mom and Steve together, but he was jolted awake by it and has stayed awake since.

Now that his plan is laid out on paper for him to visibly see, he feels more confident in this. Before all his head could come up with was ‘Protect Steve’ flashing around as if it was a neon sign.

Grinning to himself, he grabs his notebook and his pencil plus a highlighter. Erasing the crossed out titles before writing down:

Sunshine Protection Squad (he also drew a tiny sun next to it)

It’s not exactly a good title for what this is, but it’s actually the perfect title. Simply because it’s what he is now. He is Steve’s protector and hopefully, for as long as possible. He’ll wear it with pride and scream it from the rooftops if Steve would like that, maybe get a tattoo imagery of it; he’ll remember to ask before doing such.

Steve has always been the protector and never the one being protected. It’ll be a change for him and Eddie knows this, but he’s ready for the challenge to prove it.

To prove that Steve is worth protecting. Even if it’s against his own friends.

~~

I'm going to end it there, i think the stopping point is pretty good. Plus it means I can switch either back to Steve or get into the party. I had a blast coming up with the writing of Eddie's plan. It would be even better if tumblr allowed underlining in the text. (wrote most of this in my notes app and it looks so dumb and perfect lmao) btw if anyone has any tips on how to write any of the party members please send them my way!

taglist: @zerokrox-blog, @piningapple, @i-wanna-combust, @stevecarrington, @henderdads, @fiore-della-valle, @eddiemunsonswife, @mixsethaddams, @momotonescreaming, @ajamlessbaby, @novelnovella, @flustratedcas, @thelastwalkingsoul, @hellfire1986baby, @manda-panda-monium, @xo-blairej, @freyaforestafay, @princessstevemunson, @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring, @sapphirecobalt-1, @stevesworldxx, @jonathanbyersbbg, @fromapayphone, @anzelsilver, @adaed5, @koyislosinghismind, @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit, @bornonthesavage, @seths-rogens, @xwildangel, @mightbeasleep, @y0urnewstepp4r3nt,

@saphhicwitchbitch, @m-chmcl-rmnc, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @steddieassheg0es, @didntwant2come, @itsfreakingbats, @stranger-poets-society,

[yuri-is-online]

Same Anon here that dropped that mess of an angst post lol. Maybe I should find some name for myself if this becomes a regular thing.

There are a lot of valid points there. For as lightly as the story treats everything, wow this would be messed up irl. But I digress, I personally can see this potentially taking a much darker route. I don’t know if you’re comfortable talking about this so TW: Brief mention of suicide

I imagine Yuu to just bottle everything up for the aforementioned reasons of being seen as weak for expressing any of their emotions only for it to all come out in one big mental breakdown. I think it would be quite poetic for Yuu’s breakdown to be more of a quiet self-destructive thing just to contrast the showy, outwardly destructive nature of the overblots. I always thought it could be some spur of the moment decision to just end it all out of sheer hopelessness and a thoroughly crushed sense of self-worth. I just can’t see a teenager handling a burden this heavy very well. Whether or not Yuu survives could be up to how dark you want to go.

Also if it isn’t too much, I would like to see that post about the boys’ individual reactions to Yuu running away sometime. But I’m aware you only write for a few at a time so…

previous post

You are more than welcome to give yourself a name! I don't have any named annons so you are free to choose anything you like, and make regular appearances if that is what you wish. While I try to only write for a few characters at a time, I don't mind doing a bullet point type post with my thoughts on the boys reacting to Yuu running away sometime, but I need to think as part of me wants to write something sappy and romantic, while the other part wants to focus more on Yuu and their character. I could do both I suppose (￣ω￣;)

I'm fine with talking about suicide, but since it's a sensitive subject I am going to place my thoughts under read more and tag it so if it is something you, dear reader, are triggered by you needn't see more than you are comfortable with.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, discussions of suicide and depression, isolation, abandonment, and missing persons. This also kind of takes a trip into theory town I am so sorry annon. Please do not interact with the words below if you do not wish to think on such things.

I want to start out by saying that when a person is depressed it is not always obvious, even if they are contemplating suicide. We don't have a complete understanding of what drives someone to kill themselves because we can't ask people who have. I do think there is an element of assuming that either the world or you will be better off if you are dead; which I would like to stress simply is not true, but you are not evil for struggling with that feeling even if people try to make you feel like you are.

Yuu's breakdown being "more of a quiet self-destructive thing," as you stated dear friend, would be extremely poetic. To me it highlights the disparity between Yuu and the overblot boys. They have power and are able to hurt others to try and make themselves feel better, Yuu has next to none and is only able to hurt themselves.

Crowley mentions that there is counseling available to all NRC students, assuming the school follows real life laws we can assume the Professors are mandatory reporters. If Yuu shows signs of depression or self-harm, they will be required to report that and recommend Yuu for counseling, but the thing about therapy is that it's not a one size fits all solution. The patient needs to accept that they have a problem and, perhaps more importantly, trust their therapist otherwise you won't benefit from the treatment.

That's assuming that a counselor would even understand how to treat Yuu in the first place, there's a lot going on with their situation and while I could see a good therapist taking it very seriously, there's only so much they can do, which brings me to my sort of sticking point with this and why it took me so long to answer your ask.

Why in the hell is Yuu in Twisted Wonderland in the first place??? "Because they're Alice" ok sure but what does that like actually mean. I don't want to derail this into theory town but I keep thinking about the translated lines Crowley mutters to himself when calling Yuu a beast tamer that doesn't appear in the text box... something about how they look more like they are meant to be eaten by the beast than tame it.

There is a part of me that feels like Crowley wants Yuu to feel isolated and despondent about their chances of getting home, like he needs them to be accepting of their death and convinced it's the only way they will be useful. Something to do with Grim and that big Chimera at the beginning of the game, in the light novel there is someone telling Yuuya to take their hand but they can't move to take it, all they can do is stare up at the big monster and it's evil grin (if i remember correctly)

Anyway all of that to say I can see two sorts of scenarios leading to Yuu trying to harm themselves.

Route A: Summer

As was correctly pointed out in these tags on the original post, I think Summer would be the worst time for an actively depressed Yuu. If they have been seeing a counselor, they will likely not be available over the summer months, Crowley didn't take us on vacation with him the first time so there's no way he'll do it now, and everyone has their own families to get back to.

They only have Grim and the Ghosts. And while Yuu might love them, they technically belong here. Yuu does not. The lack of other friends bothering them means Yuu has time to think good and hard about where they are. And who they left behind.

I like to listen to Dateline while I work sometimes and one of the things that always gets to me is how little closure people feel when someone goes missing, even if they find out what happened to them. If Yuu is missing in their world and their family loves them... they just have next to no chance of ever finding that out. Ever.

If Yuu has a bad relationship with their family, or none at all, they probably start feeling like they are going insane. They have nothing worth going back to really, to the point that people would probably encourage them to see being in Twisted Wonderland as a good thing, a chance for a fresh start. But it has been anything but.

Summer would be a good time to run away, it's easier to be homeless in the Summer, plenty of places need part time help anyway, and Yuu can make a clean break from the school before anyone notices they're gone.

It's also a good time to decide you want to die. By the time your friends come back they will have already gotten used to life without you anyway.

.... i could see this making grim overblot tbh. He blames the school for taking Yuu from him and by the time everyone returns he is there. Waiting. The consequences of their actions given form.

A monument to all their sins.

Option B: Sacrifice

So back to theory tangent.

Grim and Yuu are one student. Crowley treats them as such, but what if he-

Or whoever the real final boss is

Need them to actually be one student.

So they approach Yuu, offer their sympathies. Tell them they know why Crowley cannot send Yuu home.

"Because you came here by dying, don't you remember? These events you have seen, all your misfortunes and troubles, they've all been like one big dream. What a terrible fate you've met... but no worries. I know how to set you free."

The strange masked man places his hand on your shoulder and guides you to the mirror. You see your reflection in it, for the first time you idly realize, hair spread out on the pavement with a halo of blood spatter about your sleeping head.

"You needn't be scared." the man's voice is calm, soothing even, so much so that you almost believe him when he says

"You've died once before, after all. You know exactly what it feels like, it will just be like going to sleep."

Sleep sounds good, even if you have just gotten done fighting to stay awake, so very good you nearly miss the creature's wicked grin spreading mockingly across the reflection of your peaceful face.