#torn and twisted au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yogirl-willow · 27 days ago

Text

The Crimson Pact | Part 4

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance, hurt/comfort

A/N: Another chapter for my lovely readers! Thank you for the support! I hope you enjoy this one. <3 I'll also be cross-posting to AO3 now that this chapter is written.

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Part 4:

What They Would Give

The dream was silk and shadow.

Gold candlelight flickered across paper walls. A bipa hummed in the distance, low and mournful, each note a whisper from another life. Your bare feet pressed against cold stone floors, hem of your hanbok brushing the ground as you moved silently through the eastern wing of the palace. You knew this place. Knew every turn, every tile, every secret door the nobles thought you were too stupid to notice.

But you weren’t stupid. And he always knew that.

“Yeobo,” a voice breathed behind you—low, reverent, broken. You turned.

Jinu stood beneath the moonlight, hair tied back, royal silks stained with dirt. His face was young—so achingly young—but those eyes held lifetimes. They always had.

He reached for you, and when you didn’t flinch, his hand cupped your cheek like you were something made of music and prayers. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You smiled, teasing, like always. “Neither should you.”

He laughed softly. God, that sound.

“Did they find out?” you asked, voice quieter now. “About us?”

His silence was answer enough.

The dream shifted. You were in his private room now, tucked between scrolls and incense and the scent of him. He knelt beside you, watching as you dabbed the scrape on his hand.

“I’m not worth the blood you spill,” you whispered once. And he had looked at you like you’d torn open the sky. “Don’t say that.”

“Then don’t let them hurt you for me.”

Another shift. Rain pounded against palace tiles. The smell of smoke. The wail of women in the distance. He held you against his chest—his heartbeat frantic as yours slowed.

“Stay awake,” he begged.

But the poison was already in your lungs. You tried to speak, to tell him you weren’t afraid. That it wasn’t his fault. But all that came out was blood. And he had screamed your name like it would call your soul back.

The dream cracked.

You stood in the palace courtyard now. Alone. Wind howling. Your breath fogged before you. A mirror rippled in the dark—a still pool once used by concubines for beauty rituals.

You stepped forward. Looked in. And saw him.

Not Jinu.

Not exactly.

His face was his, but darker. Skin a cold hue of purple or blue- you couldn’t tell. Patterns twisted across his neck and flawless face like vines. They glowed a faint violet. His eyes—black and gold, molten and endless. Clawed hands. No blood on them—but you knew there had been. His silks were gone, replaced by flowing black garments that moved like smoke.

He looked up at you. And he smiled.

You screamed.

And woke up. Gasping, drenched in sweat, your sheets tangled around you like vines. Your breath came in sharp bursts. Faint morning light filtered through the blinds, soft against the sheen on your skin.

What the hell was that?

The memories weren’t yours. Couldn’t be yours. You’d never worn a hanbok. At least, not since you were a little girl. Never kissed Jinu beneath the stars or held his trembling hands in a candlelit room. So why did it feel more real than anything else in your life?

You sat up, pressing a shaking hand to your chest. Then—

Knock, knock. Your head snapped toward the door. A voice. Gentle. Familiar.

“Y/N?” Jinu.

You swallowed, heart still pounding. “I… I’m fine,” you said. Too fast. Too high.

Silence.

Then, “Alright. If you need anything… I’m right outside.”

You exhaled. Slowly. A beat passed. Your hand stayed pressed over your chest. But your thoughts drifted back—not to the kiss, or the palace, or even the blood.

No.

They stayed on that reflection. The patterns. The eyes.

Was that Jinu?

And more terrifying—

Why aren’t you scared of him?

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You padded into the kitchen wrapped in silence and Jinu’s hoodie.

The boys were already there—some seated, some standing—bathed in morning sunlight and the smell of eggs and something sweet. Pancakes maybe? Abby was at the stove, flipping something with surprising delicacy. Baby lounged in the corner seat, head resting lazily against the glass. Mystery sat curled up in his seat like a housecat, eating fruit with his fingers. Romance leaned against the counter, cradling a mug like it was a stage prop he was dramatically rehearsing with.

And Jinu—

Jinu sat at the head of the table, reading a folded newspaper like he hadn’t held you for hours last night, lips pressed against your forehead while your body trembled in remembrance. Before sleep had taken you into that haunting dream.

His eyes flicked up when you entered. “Morning,” he said softly.

You nodded. “Morning.”

You could feel it—the heat of their gazes, the air shifting around you like invisible fingers brushing your skin. There was a gentleness in their posture. A quietness. But also… something else.

Caution.

They were being careful with you. Too careful.

You sat down in the seat Mystery scooted out for you. His cheek brushed your arm and he inhaled like he was starved for it. Your heart did a small, weird flutter. You avoided Jinu’s eyes.

Did they know? Did they see? They were demons. They probably felt it. The bond. The kiss.

Your face burned as you accepted a plate from Abby, who set it down with too much force. His eyes flicked to your neck for half a second before looking away. You could feel the tension rippling through his shoulders.

Oh god. They did know.

Romance was the first to speak. Of course he was. “Sleep well, sweetheart?” he purred, voice warm and slippery. “You look flushed.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, stabbing your pancake with unnecessary aggression. “Just hot.”

“Hmm,” he said with a smirk, “I bet you are.”

You flinched. They definitely knew.

Your thoughts spiraled. One kiss. Just one. You didn’t even mean for it to happen. But now— Were you supposed to kiss them all? Were they expecting that? Were they mad?

A clatter drew your eyes—Baby had dropped his fork. He didn’t pick it up. Just stared at you, elbow on the table, jaw resting against his hand. His black eyes flicked down to your mouth.

You quickly looked away.

“I didn’t mean—” you blurted, then froze. “I mean. I… I don’t know what I’m doing. With any of this. With you. With the bond.”

A pause. And then Jinu spoke—gentle, but unshakeable. “You don’t have to do anything.”

You blinked.

“You don’t owe us anything,” he added, folding his paper. “The bond… it’s not a leash. It’s a thread. You pull when you’re ready.”

Mystery leaned against your side, nuzzling your shoulder. “We’ll wait,” he whispered, voice soft. “We always do.”

Romance tilted his head, smiling faintly—but there was something sharper beneath it. “We’ll be patient. But not passive. We still want you to choose us.”

Abby sat beside you, jaw tense. “You don’t have to split yourself up,” he muttered. “You don’t have to kiss anyone until you want to. Really want to.”

You stared down at your plate. Your hands shook. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you whispered. “It’s just… too much. Too fast.”

“No one’s hurt,” Jinu said. “We’ve waited four hundred years. We can wait a little longer.”

“You’re not gonna disappear again,” Mystery whispered, holding the edge of your sleeve like he was afraid you might.

“And when you do come to us,” Romance added with a sly glint, “we’d prefer it if it’s because you’re burning for us. Not because you feel guilty.”

You swallowed. Baby’s voice was last to join, quiet but absolute. “We’ve already had your soul. We want your heart now. The rest… can come later.”

You stared at them. Five monsters. Five men. All of them impossibly patient. All of them aching. And still willing to wait for you to fall in love again.

Your throat tightened. You nodded. “Thank you.”

Romance lifted his mug. “Anytime, darling.”

Baby smiled faintly. Abby grunted. Mystery purred. And Jinu just watched you with the softest expression you’d ever seen.

You took a bite of the pancakes Abby had stacked on your plate and paused. Your eyes widened. “Wait… these are actually good.”

Abby raised a brow. “What do you mean actually?”

Sheepishly, you stabbed another forkful. “I just didn’t expect a demon to know how to make pancakes.”

He scoffed, flicking batter from the spatula. “I’ve been alive for centuries. You think I wouldn’t know how to scramble an egg or flip a damn pancake?”

Romance leaned in, chin on his palm. “He’s particularly good with his hands, if you’re wondering.”

You choked. “I’m not—”

“I have a very diverse skillset,” Abby interrupted smugly. You rolled your eyes—but your smile faltered. Because just then, the warmth of the kitchen, the golden sunlight on the tile, the smell of syrup and coffee—it all fell away.

You remembered silk. And blood. And a flicker of something with glowing eyes staring back at you in a polished palace floor. Your fork paused halfway to your lips. “Hey… can I ask you something?”

All of them stilled. Jinu looked up from his mug. “Of course.”

Your voice dropped, uncertain. “Last night. I saw something. In my dream. It was… dark. I think it was you. But not you.”

Jinu’s fingers tightened slightly around his cup. The others were still. Tense. “I think… I saw your demon form,” you said softly.

Romance’s smile vanished. Mystery immediately tucked himself tighter against your side. Baby stared at you, silent and unmoving, his gaze like ice.

You looked around the table. “I just… What are you? What do you look like?”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Jinu sighed. “We’re not hiding anything from you.”

“We just…” Abby scratched the back of his neck. “We’re not exactly cuddly in those forms.”

“She’d still like me,” Mystery mumbled into his fruit.

“You don’t know that,” Abby grunted.

“I do.”

“We literally glow purple and get creepy marks all over our face—”

“She thinks they’re cool!”

“Your eyes turn gold like a cursed cat, bro.”

“She likes cats!”

“Boys,” Jinu said firmly, not looking up from his tea. They went quiet instantly. He turned back to you. “We will show you. In time.”

Romance’s voice was softer than usual. “You’ve already seen us in your dreams. But dreams are hazy. Romantic. We’re… not.”

“We don’t want to scare you,” Jinu said.

“I’m not scared,” you said too quickly.

Five sets of eyes landed on you at once. You shrank a little in your seat. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

Romance smiled sadly. “We’d rather you see us when you’re ready. When the bond is strong enough that you feel what we are before you ever have to see it.”

Jinu reached for your hand gently. “When you’re ready,” he said again. “And when you are… we’ll show you. All of us.”

You swallowed. Nodded. And returned to your pancakes, even though they didn’t taste quite as sweet anymore.

After breakfast, you’re slipping on your coat when a warm hand wraps gently around your wrist. You turn—and Jinu’s already pulling you into the hallway beside the kitchen, just out of view of the others.

“Jinu?” you ask, heartbeat stuttering. His touch isn’t rough. But it isn’t something you can ignore either. He says nothing for a moment. Just watches you in the soft light. His gaze flickers to your lips, then to your throat, then back to your eyes.

“I heard you wake up around five,” he says, voice low. “Your breathing changed.”

You blink. “You… heard me?”

“I always hear you.” His thumb brushes over your wrist, tender. Like he’s memorizing the pulse there. “Even in my sleep.”

Your cheeks flush, and for a second you look down—but Jinu lifts your chin with two fingers. “You didn’t come out of the room,” he says. “Did the dream scare you?”

You hesitate.

“It’s okay,” he adds, gentler now. “You don’t have to tell me. I just… wanted to see you before you left.”

“I’m fine,” you whisper. “Really.”

His eyes narrow like he doesn’t quite believe you—but he lets it go. For now. “I just needed to know,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “that you didn’t regret last night.”

Your breath catches.

Jinu’s face is barely an inch from yours now. His voice is like velvet wrapped in steel. “Because if you did… I’d find a way to make you forget the regret. I’d replace it with something else.”

You don’t move. Can’t.

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like it’s sacred. “I know I said I’d go slow,” he says, head tilting, “and I will. But when you kissed me—Y/N, I’ve waited four hundred years to feel that again. If you ever change your mind… just know I won’t stop you next time.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. And then—he leans forward. But he doesn’t kiss your lips. His lips graze your forehead, soft, reverent.

A mark. A brand. A promise. When he pulls back, his smile is small—but there’s fire behind it.

“Be careful out there,” Jinu says, brushing a loose hair from your face. “Don’t talk to anyone who looks at you too long.”

You raise a brow. “Is that a threat?”

“No,” he says softly. “It’s a warning. For their sake.” And then he lets you go.

But as you step out the front door, you feel it: his gaze burning into your back like a tether. Like he’s already counting the seconds until you return.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The morning air nipped at your cheeks as you walked beside Abby down the sleepy Seoul street. The hem of your coat brushed your knees, and your fingers were wrapped tight around the coffee Abby insisted you hold—even if you were about to clock into a café that sold twenty variations of the same drink.

“I still don’t get why you have to work here,” Abby muttered for the third time this morning, tugging the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder like it offended him. “You should be sleeping in. Eating fruit someone peeled for you. Or being worshipped. Like a normal girl.”

You glanced up at him. “A normal girl?”

“Well, a normal soulbound girl. Obviously.”

You snorted. “Not helping your argument.”

He didn’t laugh. Just walked closer, his frame blocking the wind like a personal fortress.

At the café, he waited until you stepped safely inside before crossing his arms and glaring through the glass like the windows were one sneeze away from shattering. You pretended not to notice.

By midmorning, the scent of caramel and burnt espresso clung to your skin, and the line was a manageable trickle. Mystery had popped in an hour ago to leave a pack of honey biscuits on the counter (“In case you didn’t eat enough.”) and Baby had passed by too—not entering, just lingering outside like a ghost in the reflection of the glass. You couldn’t be sure, but you thought he was watching your manager. You tried not to think about it.

Then, of course, there was Romance.

He swept in at 11:47, in sunglasses and smugness, murmuring something about how coffee tastes better when you're watching the love of your life make it. You’d rolled your eyes and told him to sit in the corner and stop causing a scene. He winked and obeyed.

Everything was going smoothly.

Until it wasn’t.

The bell above the café door jingled sharply—and something inside you prickled. The new customer wasn’t odd at first glance: young, tall, dressed like a college student. But there was something off. Something in the way he looked around the café, not like a customer, but like he was searching.

You stiffened. Then he looked directly at you—and smiled. Your stomach dropped.

He walked to the counter, but didn’t order. Just leaned in a little too close. “Y/N, right?” he asked.

You blinked. “Do… do I know you?”

“Nah,” he said. “But I know you. Been seeing your name around. Cute face, too. You’ve got fans, you know.”

Something about his voice scraped at your nerves. You took a small step back. “Sorry, you’ll have to order something if you’re not here to—”

“You smell different than I expected,” he said suddenly, nostrils flaring. “Sweeter. Almost... too sweet.”

Your blood ran cold. He wasn’t human. Before you could say another word, a deep growl split the air. And then Abby was there.

You didn’t see the door open. Didn’t hear him enter.

But suddenly, your coworker was shoved behind the counter, Romance was standing from his corner seat with eyes glowing faintly gold—and Abby had the stranger by the collar, slammed against the nearest wall with a crash that rattled the syrup bottles.

“You have five seconds,” Abby snarled, voice low and rumbling, “to explain why a low-tier, trashborn demon thought it was smart to walk within ten feet of her.”

The stranger choked on his breath, writhing under the hold. “I didn’t—I was just curious—! The scent—she’s—”

“You looked at her,” Abby snapped. “You spoke to her.”

“She doesn’t even know what she is—!” The air changed. Abby’s eyes darkened. Not just with anger. With promise. He leaned in, and his voice was a whisper made of knives.

“Then let me teach you what I am.”

The café was silent. Your coworkers frozen. Romance stepped between you and the others like a shield, hand on your lower back.

“Close your eyes, baby,” he murmured.

“Abby,” you called—panicked now. “Abby, stop.”

And maybe it was your voice that pulled him back. Or maybe it was the fact that the stranger was already whimpering, nose bloodied, eyes wide with terror.

Abby let him go. The demon crashed to the floor, wheezing. “Leave,” Abby said. “Before I finish what I started.”

The demon scrambled, vanished out the door with supernatural speed. And still Abby stood there, fists clenched, chest heaving. His eyes scanned your face. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. I think so.”

Romance brushed your hair back, but didn’t smile. “You’re not supposed to be seen. Not like that. Word’s spreading.”

“I’m… sorry,” you mumbled.

Abby looked like he wanted to punch something else. “Not your fault.”

Romance’s jaw tightened. “We’ll talk later.”

But something was clear now. Crystal clear. You weren’t safe. Even here.

And the boys? They’d burn the world to make sure you were.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The boys don’t notice them, but Huntrix watches.

Perched across the street from the café, tucked behind a rusted bus stop, Zoey chews on her gum like it’s the last sin in Seoul.

They see it all. Abby bursting into the café without a sound. Romance standing from his seat like a prince with knives in his mouth. Y/N, frozen in confusion and fear, wide-eyed behind the counter.

And then it happens. Abby slams another demon against the wall so hard the menu board rattles. Mira’s hand twitches toward her weapon on instinct—but she doesn’t move.

“She’s… still with them,” Mira says tightly, eyes fixed on the scene.

“Not just with them,” Zoey mutters. “They’re protecting her.”

“No,” Mira says, trying to convince herself. “They’re using her. Shielding their asset.”

Zoey shakes her head, frowning. “Then why did he just attack another demon? That guy wasn’t even hostile. Just sniffing around.”

“She’s human,” Rumi says softly, still watching. “I’ve scanned her three times. She’s not cursed. Not altered. No patterns. She’s… just a girl.”

“So why are five demons orbiting her like she’s the goddamn sun?” Zoey exclaims.

None of them answer.

Inside the café, the tension breaks. The intruder flees. Abby stays between Y/N and the rest of the world like her bodyguard—or her beast. They watch Romance reach for her shoulder.

They’re not acting. They’re not pretending. This isn’t manipulation. It’s something far more dangerous.

“They care about her,” Rumi says finally. “Or… they think they do.”

Mira scoffs. “Demons don’t care. They hunger. They cling to whatever they’re trying to own.”

Rumi stays silent. But her hands are white-knuckled inside her sleeves, fists clenched so tight they tremble. Because she’s seen something the others haven’t. A memory she wasn’t supposed to find.

Tucked deep in the bottom of a chest meant to stay locked—a yellowed letter, written in ink faded with age and smudged by something darker. She found it years ago, back when she was still trying to piece together who her mother really was. A letter written in a language she’d never been taught, yet somehow… understood.

A demon’s handwriting. The words bled longing. Grief. Worship. She remembered reading the last line over and over: “If I burn for you, let me burn.”

Celine never talked about it. When Rumi asked about her mother, Celine only told her the same thing every time: “She was a hunter. A good one. Until she got too close to what we kill.”

Back then, Rumi believed her. She had to. Celine saved her. Raised her. Trained her. Taught her to never trust a demon’s smile or a monster’s promise. But now…

Now she watches Abby hover by Y/N’s side, tension rippling under his skin every time a customer raises their voice at her. She watches Romance hover near like he’s her loyal shadow. She saw Jinu the other day—calm, regal, protective—glance at the girl like she’s a prayer he’s still waiting to be answered.

It doesn’t make sense. Demons don’t protect humans. Demons don’t get soft eyes and careful hands. Demons don’t love.

Except… maybe they do.

Jinu once told her—in one of their secret meetings, just the two of them, when she let her guard slip for one second—“Demons feel. Some of us wish we didn’t.”

She thought it was a line. Another ploy. But watching him now… watching them… She wonders if it was the truth. And if it is—if demons can really feel like this—then maybe her mother hadn’t been weak. Maybe she hadn’t been tricked. Maybe she’d been in love.

And maybe what terrifies Rumi the most is the look on Y/N’s face when the boys are near. Because it looks like recognition. It looks like longing. It looks… mutual.

And for the first time in her life, Rumi is unsure of everything she was taught to fight for.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Back at the apartment, the mood was sharp—too sharp.

The moment the front door closed behind you, the air thickened like static before a lightning strike. The boys didn’t say anything at first. They just stared. Watched you kick off your shoes, shrug off your coat. Watched the way your hands shook slightly when you went to pour water into a glass.

Then Romance stepped forward. “You need to quit,” he said.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Your job,” Jinu added, arms crossed. “It’s too dangerous now.”

You laughed, but it came out awkward and dry. “You’re all being dramatic. It wasn’t that serious—Abby handled it. I was fine.”

Abby stiffened beside you, jaw clenched. Jinu’s expression didn’t move.

“It’s the second time,” Mystery said quietly from the corner, curled on the windowsill. Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“Two days ago,” Baby murmured, arms folded and expression unreadable. “There was demon scent on the café’s back door. We didn't tell you. We thought it was just a scout.”

“I confirmed it,” Jinu said. “He was watching you. You never saw him.”

Romance’s eyes darkened, gold flickering like candlelight. “And now one tries to make contact in broad daylight. You think that’s nothing?”

You looked between them, suddenly very, very aware of how much you hadn’t been told.

“You’re not safe there,” Jinu said firmly. “Not when we can’t be around every second.”

You bristled. “Okay, but you are around. Literally all the time. I feel like I’ve got an army shadowing me every shift—”

“Because you do,” Baby said bluntly. “And it’s still not enough.”

You blink at him. “So I just… give up my life?”

Romance softens instantly, like he’s pulling back on a leash. “What he means is—we don’t want to see anything happen to you. That café’s a risk. You’re vulnerable there. You don’t need to be.”

You hesitate. And then—click—your mind makes a connection. Their protectiveness. Their control. And something that never quite sat right with you.

You lift your eyes. “...What happened to Jae?”

The question silences the room. Romance doesn’t miss a beat. He smiles gently. “Ah. The guy from the club?”

“Yeah,” you say. “He was weird, but you didn’t have to—what did you even do to him?”

“Nothing permanent,” Romance says smoothly.

Your gaze sharpens. “Romance.”

He smiles too easily, all charm and warmth stretched over something colder. “I offered him a very friendly warning. Abby may have been more… direct.”

You narrow your eyes. “Is he okay?”

Romance tilts his head, fake-thinking. “He probably won’t remember anything. A touch of glamour and a sprained wrist. Maybe a dislocated ego.”

You stare harder. “That’s not funny.”

“But it’s true,” he counters, smile curling. “And effective. He won’t bother you again.”

There’s a glint in his eye—something too smooth, too polished. Manipulation wrapped in silk.

“You’re lying,” you murmur. The air shifts.

“I told you,” Abby growls, stepping forward. “He touched you.”

You glance at his clenched fists. “What did you do to him?”

“He doesn’t matter,” Abby says flatly. “He was going to hurt you. I saw it. I felt it.”

“That’s not your call to make!”

“Everything about you is my call,” he growls. “Because I’ll do what you won’t. I’ll cross the lines. So you don’t have to.”

Your breath catches. You suddenly realize how close Abby is and the intensity of his stare.

“Okay,” Jinu says tightly. “Enough.”

Romance straightens his collar. “Let Abby calm her down. She’s overwhelmed.”

Jinu doesn’t argue. He just nods once at Abby and you sigh, letting Abby’s large frame usher you to your room. You wanted to have a word with him in private anyways.

Once the door was firmly shut, the four shared a knowing look with each other in the livingroom.

“She won’t quit on her own,” Romance says.

Jinu doesn’t respond. He’s staring out the window, pensive.

“She thinks it’s her choice. That’s adorable,” Romance continues with a bitter smile. “But this situation—it’s pulling demons to her like flies. They’ve always been curious, but now that they know where she is and that she’s real.” Romance sneers. “Their curiosity is going to kill them. And every one of them is a threat.”

Mystery’s eyes narrow. “You want to scare her.”

“No,” Romance says smoothly. “I want to guide her. Nudge her toward the life she deserves. One where she’s surrounded by people who love her more than air.”

“And you’ll decide how that looks?” Jinu’s voice is quiet. Dangerous.

Romance’s expression darkens just slightly. “You saw her a minute ago. She’s already cracking. All I’m doing is accelerating the inevitable.”

Baby finally speaks, voice a low echo: “What do you want us to do?”

Romance’s smile returns—cold and wicked. “Nothing direct. Just… let the pieces fall. Let the café fall apart.”

Jinu sighs and turns. “No fire.”

“No blood,” Mystery adds. “She wouldn’t like that.”

Romance raises a hand, smug. “Of course not. I’m not stupid. She’ll leave on her own. And when she does…” His gaze sharpens. “She’ll see that we’re the only constant.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Abby shuts the bedroom door behind him. Not with a slam—but with finality.

You don’t resist when he gently guides you toward the bed. He doesn’t say much at first. Just pulls you into his arms, into the warmth of his chest like it’s instinct. You don’t know if he means to, but his grip is tight. Fierce. His hand curls around the back of your head, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks too long.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he mutters.

“I know,” you whisper. You gaze at his arms that were wrapped tightly around you- the ones he’d use to inflict whatever violence necessary for your sake. Your eyes trail up his muscled limbs to his broad shoulders. There was a moment of silence before you spoke.

“I don’t get it,” you whisper. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“This…” You wave your hand vaguely. “Overprotective. Overbearing. Intense. It’s like you can’t breathe unless I’m under lock and key.”

“I can’t,” he says. Your heart skips. His voice is quiet. No teasing. No growl. Just truth. “I can’t breathe when you’re not safe.”

You stare at him.

“I don’t know how to do this slow,” Abby says. “I try, I swear I do. Jinu says wait. Mystery whines when I get too close. Baby glares like he’ll gut me if I scare you. But I see you, and all I wanna do is keep you close. Wrap you in my arms and keep every bad thing away. Rip this world apart if it even thinks of touching you.”

You don’t know what to say, so he keeps going.

“I wasn't always like this. Wasn’t always... this thing you see now.”

You shift slightly in his arms, but his hold keeps you anchored. He exhales sharply and looks away. Not because he’s ashamed—because the memory still burns. Your heart tugs at the expression on his beautiful face. Tortured. Pained.

“Two hundred fifty years ago,” he begins, “I was a general. Loyal to the court. Feared on the battlefield. A war dog for men in silk robes who never dirtied their hands.” You feel his fingers twitch against your back, like he’s gripping a blade only he can see.

“I bled for them. Killed for them. And the moment I became inconvenient, they left me to die in the mud. A spear through my gut. My men gone. My name forgotten.” His jaw tightens. You can hear the snarl he’s holding back.

“I would’ve died. But I begged. Not to the heavens—because the heavens never answered me. I begged whatever thing was listening in the dark.” He turns his face, voice like ash. “And Gwi Ma answered.” He’s silent for a beat. Your breath catches.

“I didn’t die,” he says bitterly. “But I wasn’t human anymore either.” You feel his body tense beneath you as he continues, slower this time. “I wandered. Fed on pain. Destroyed anything that looked like mercy. Until I collapsed outside a village. Thought maybe I’d die for real.”

He goes still. “And then you found me.”

Your heart stutters. His voice goes softer. Fragile, like something made of glass. “You were a healer. Young. Too good. Too gentle. You knew I wasn’t right. You saw the glow in my eyes, felt the heat in my skin—but you stayed anyway.”

Your throat tightens. “You stitched my wounds. You made me soup. You made me laugh. And I didn’t even remember how.”

His voice breaks. “You reminded me I used to be human. I think… you made me want to be one again.”

You say nothing. Just hold onto him tighter and let him tell you the story of how he came to be this way. You wished you remembered- like last night with Jinu. You wished you could share his pain.

“When bandits came, I snapped. I didn’t even think. I just—protected you. The village. Everyone.” A pause. “But I lost control. The fire… it spread.”

Your blood goes cold.

“You died in my arms, Y/N. Crying. You told me you weren’t afraid. That you knew I tried to protect you.” He swallows. “But that doesn’t matter. Because I still killed you.”

You feel his hand press flat against your back like he could memorize the shape of you all over again. He tilts his forehead to yours, voice raw and trembling.

“I’d die a thousand times before I ever let that happen again.” Abby’s voice is barely a whisper. “And so I’m sorry… if you think I’m too much. I just—” He swallows hard, jaw trembling. “I can’t bear the thought of failing you again. Of standing by while the world takes you from me a second time.”

His hand moves to your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye like he’s memorizing every freckle, every blink. “I’ve spent centuries reliving that moment,” he murmurs. “Centuries regretting every second I didn’t hold you tighter. Protect you harder. Love you more.”

You feel the weight in his touch—the devotion that borders on madness. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the world.

And maybe you are.

His arms are still wrapped around you. His heartbeat loud against your ear. You feel his chest rise and fall—deep, like he’s trying to calm a storm. There’s a long silence before he speaks again, voice low against your hair.

“…There’s something I want you to know,” he murmurs. “My name. My real one. From before.”

You lift your head, eyes searching his. He looks almost… shy. No—vulnerable. Like this is the final part of himself he’s never dared to offer.

“I wasn’t always ‘Abby.’ That’s just a stage name. I find it kind of funny actually” He chuckles lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You nod gently, your hand resting against his bare chest. “So tell me,” you whisper.

He swallows. “It was Haneul,” he says. “That was my name, when I was still human.”

Haneul. The sound lingers on your tongue like silk and smoke. You let it roll in your mouth before saying it aloud:

“…Haneul.”

He shudders.

It’s so soft, the reaction—so raw. His grip tightens around you instinctively. His lips part like you just breathed life into him. “Say it again,” he whispers. “Please. Say it again.”

You lean in, brushing your lips to his cheek. “Haneul.”

A sharp breath escapes him. His eyes flutter shut, lashes trembling. You kiss the corner of his eye, your voice barely audible.

“Haneul.”

He exhales like he’s unraveling, hands fisting into your waist to keep himself steady. To keep you close. Like the name is both breaking him and putting him back together.

You kiss the other cheek, so softly he nearly flinches from how much it hurts. “Haneul.”

And then—just before your lips meet his—you say it again. For him. Only him.

“Haneul.”

He snaps.

Abby—Haneul—surges forward and devours you in a kiss. It’s not gentle. It’s not tame. It’s a claiming, centuries in the making. His mouth slants over yours with aching hunger, hands pulling you into his lap like you belong there, like you’ve always belonged there.

You do.

And he kisses you like your voice saying his name was the only salvation left in the world. And maybe… maybe it was. He groans against your mouth, like the feel of you hurts.

His hands tremble as they cradle your face, your neck, your back—as if he still doesn’t believe you’re real. You feel his restraint—barely holding himself back, like if he slips for even a second, he’ll ruin everything. But it’s all so gentle. Worshipful. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loves you too hard.

His shirt comes off in a rush of movement, as if it was the last thing keeping him distant. You press your palms to his bare chest—warm, solid, steady—and he shudders beneath your touch.

He lowers you both to the bed again, but this time you’re tangled together. Your legs brush. His skin grazes yours and he gasps like it burns in the best way.

He leans in, lips brushing your throat. He murmurs your name there like a prayer. Like a curse. Like a lifeline.

“I’ll never let anyone touch you,” he whispers, breath hot. “I don’t care who I have to kill. I don’t care if the world calls me a monster. If it means keeping you safe, I’ll be all of it.”

You feel your heart trip over itself. It should scare you. But it doesn’t. Because when he looks at you, when he touches you like this… it doesn’t feel like obsession. It feels like truth.

Your fingers slide into his hair, clutching like he’s the only thing holding you together. He leans into your touch like he’s starving for it.

“Say you forgive me,” he chokes. “Say I’m not too late.”

You meet his gaze—and it’s everything. Burning. Desperate. Holy. And so full of ruinous love it steals the air from your lungs.

“You’re not too late,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I’m here.”

And Abby—no, Haneul.

Haneul lets out a sound you’ve never heard from him before. A small, broken thing. A sob and a breath all at once. Then he kisses you again—deeper, slower, like the world’s ending and this is the only moment that matters. His hands press into your waist like he’s grounding himself there. Like you are his redemption. His punishment. His salvation. And for the first time in centuries… Haneul lets himself believe he might deserve to hold you again.

Your fingers ghost over his chest, and he shivers. The planes of his body are carved like stone beneath your hands, warm and trembling under your touch—as if you’re something sacred, something he never thought he’d feel again.

Your lips part from his only to trail down the sharp line of his jaw, to the tense muscle of his neck. You kiss him softly there, and he lets out a hiss through his teeth. It’s the kind of sound that curls heat through your spine. You don’t stop. You kiss lower, slow and reverent, letting your lips brush the warm skin of his throat. He tips his head back, helpless.

“Haneul,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his collarbone.

He groans. His entire body bows toward you like he’s being pulled by gravity. Like your voice is the only anchor in a world he no longer trusts. You trail your hands down the ridges of his chest, the faint scars of old wounds hidden beneath his skin. He watches you, eyes wild with devotion.

“I dreamed of your hands,” he whispers hoarsely. “I used to wake up clawing at my own skin because I missed the way you touched me.”

You kiss the center of his chest and feel his heart stutter beneath your lips. His hands slide beneath your shirt now, palms warm, reverent as they explore your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you. He ducks his head to your neck, brushes his lips down the slope of it—and then kisses the spot where your pulse flutters.

You gasp. And that’s all it takes.

A low growl tears from his throat and he bites—not hard, but enough to claim. Enough to make you gasp again, and this time his name spills from your lips like it’s the only thing you know.

His breath is ragged now, and his control is slipping. “Say it again,” he begs, lips against your throat. “Just once more.”

“Haneul,” you moan, and the way he shudders beneath you is almost violent. You feel the darkness curling at the edge of him—the demon just beneath the surface, the possessive, desperate thing that would burn kingdoms for you. But he holds it back.

His forehead presses to yours. Your breath mingles. Your chests rise and fall in perfect sync. His thumb brushes along your cheek as he cradles you like you’re made of glass and starlight.

His voice is low. Gravel and longing. “I’ll wait,” he breathes, fingers curling possessively around your waist. “As long as you need. But don’t think for a second I won’t claim you. One way or another, you’re mine.”

You stare at him. At the burn in his eyes. The way his body shakes beneath your touch—not from fear, but from restraint. Centuries of guilt. Of hunger. Of aching to be close and never having the right.

“I do want you,” you whisper, lips brushing his. “Just… not all at once.”

His eyes flutter shut. His jaw clenches like he’s holding back something feral. “Then I’ll take what you give,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “And I’ll make you crave the rest.”

He kisses your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth. Then rests his forehead to yours—your breath, your warmth, your heartbeat the only thing grounding him. And in that silence, in the hush of your skin against his, you feel the bond ignite again—hotter now, needier. A thread wrapped around your ribs, pulling tighter. Claiming.

No more running. Not from him. Not from this.

Just you. In his lap. In his arms.

Exactly where he’s always known you belong.

TO BE CONTINUED

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

A/N: Huahh Abby or (Haneul) got his turn! I wanted to give them each real names and not just stage names. I chose Haneul for Abby because it means “sky” or “heaven.” It’s poetic, gentle, and deeply symbolic. It's meant to tie into Abby’s protector nature — someone who once soared high as a general but fell and now claws his way back for the one he loves. His love is vast, all-encompassing, eternal — like the sky. And there’s an irony too: he fell from grace (heaven to hell), yet his name remains a tether to what he once was.

Let me know if you guys enjoyed this one! Comments, Likes, Reposts, I see them all and really appreciate all the support! Till Next Time!

Willa x.

───────── ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆ ─────────

Taglist: @faerie-soirxx @strayharmony943 @ibby-miyoshi-nerd @anonymousewrites @cottonheadedninnymugggins @apelepikozume @moonlight-rosevine @yepitsmesendhelp @lovely-maryj @nonetheartist @ateezswonderland @sarah22447 @zuhaeri @enerofairy @littlemissfix-itfic @meeeegaaan @luxylucylou @hornehlittleweeblet2 @natllo @levifiance @lavnderluv @the-sweet-psycho @shinebright2000 @weponxwrites @raineandcl0uds @loomindoors @bearb33 @iv-vee @realifezompire @jamaicanqueen007 @g-l-1-t-c-h-3-r @unsolicitedopal @candylandrules @sleepyamaya @miffysoo @scaranao @bloobewy @misdollface @chugjugg @arieslucy @yandereaficionado @vixyvlo @fanficriter @chirikoheina @limerenceisserenity @mel3484 @tommyinnit-kinnie @lovely-tulipp @airwolf92 @unadulteratedwizardrunaway @mjustag1rl @amercanfailure @casperleghosty @akira-yan @saltedcoffeescotch @storyteller-le @girlwiththegoats @sunoosmainchick @meridian-of-misery @qmabailor @yumekono @givecyrustheirflowers @irethepotato @imjusthereforthecake

#saja boys x reader #saja boys #kpop demon hunters #kpdh x reader #jinu x reader #abby x reader #mystery x reader #romance x reader #baby x reader #yandere #yandere saja boys #kpdh #jinu kpdh #kpdh x you #reverse harem #kdh #fic #The Crimson Pact

4K notes · View notes

dearmisshoney · 4 months ago

Text

flesh light & prone bones

synopsis. coming home from brunch, you expected an empty apartment — not to catch your cocky roommate mattheo fucking a fleshlight to the thought of you. curiosity turns to temptation, and you both realize toys could never replace the real thing.

pairing. roommate! mattheo riddle x reader

content/mdni. fem!reader, roommate!au, pervert!reader, cocky!mattheo, pervert!mattheo, implied gymrat!mattheo, fleshlight-fucking, assisted masturbation, voyeurism to participation, filthy teasing, praise, dirty talk, name-calling (sweetheart, baby), overstimulation, allusion to edging, spit play, cum eating, doggy-style/prone bone (?), headlock/slight choking, slight spanking, unprotected p in v!

word count. 3.6k

a/n. this one goes to @pizzaapeteer! she convinced me to write another matty fic! let me know what you think. likes and reblogs are appreciated

inserting the keys in the lock and turning them twice, you finally locked the front door. leaving them to dangle in the door, you slowly made your way inside your shared apartment with mattheo. you only stopped for a moment in the hallway, removing your shoes and the purse you’ve been carrying around your brunch date with the girls.

but not your wired headphones.

no, you’d rather keep those in for the time being, preferring to listen to any kind of music than to mattheo rambling about sports and the like. you weren’t even sure he was home; he had a really bad habit of keeping to himself the important information, disclosing only dumb details like how much his bench press has improved.

but as you make your way further into the apartment, you realize he is home. the opened cardboard box on the kitchen island, the ripped package, and the violently scattered foam bits were a clear indicator that mattheo was at home.

“this jerk never cleans after himself.” you mumbled underneath your breath, extremely quiet, and if it weren’t for the fact that you said these words, you wouldn’t have been able to hear them thanks to your loud music.

mattheo was not the perfect roommate. he was flashy, annoying, messy. he also seems to respect the concept of privacy only when it applies to him; if you try to count the times you’ve found him in your room like a pervert, you wouldn’t have enough fingers, hands and feet combined.

nonetheless, he was paying his share of the rent in time, and if you yell at him a bit, he does clean around as well.

curious as ever, you approached the box to figure out what mattheo ordered.

“kidney failure is written all over him.”

it was probably another gigantic container of protein powder, or creatine, or whatever powders he uses for the gym and his godly physique, as he likes to call it. mattheo has an entire lower kitchen cabinet dedicated to his fitness journey, so such purchases were not uncommon.

with all that in mind, the cardboard box seemed too small compared to his usual orders. the box was also a different shape than the usual huge square cube mattheo gets his supplements in. twisting and turning the package in your hands, your eyes scanned the surface for any sort of clue — a company name, a product name, heck, even a cringey motto about gym life.

but nothing.

the package was blank, discreet.

the foam chunks were of no help, and the shipping paper was torn to pieces.

“he really wanted what’s inside, huh?”

you might as well check the cabinet and see if a new container has been added. that way, the mystery will be solved quicker.

bending at the knees, you dropped down to mattheo’s gym stash and swung open the door. this cabinet was the only place mattheo kept all clean and organized, so you immediately realized no new product was added.

“what the fuck did he buy?”

muttering to yourself again, you raise from your position, prepared to investigate the torn paper. only to have your wired headphones latched around the cabinet knob and snatched out of your ears.

“ugh– this shi–”

“fuck, hmm, so good.”

now that your ears were no longer trapped by your headphones — which were now pathetically hanging around the knob — you could hear mattheo. and the nasty noises he was making.

he was loud.

“ah, ah, ah.”

his voice was low and raspy, and if it weren’t for the clear needy tone in his words, you would’ve said he was just having a bit too much fun with his video games.

that was not the case, however.

“s–so wet, damn.”

and with that, your brain short-circuits for good.

your entire body froze, one hand clenched around your knotty headphones, the other stiffing up by your side, clawing at the material of your shorts. you stayed like that for a few seconds, trying to process what the fuck you just heard.

maybe it wasn’t him. maybe it was porn, playing from his expensive speakers in his room.

yeah. yeah.

but no matter how much you tried to convince yourself, another guttural moan from mattheo shattered any sort of argument you could come up with.

that was him.

“tight as fuck, shittt.”

not only was mattheo home — he was very home, in his room, jacking off. owning the place and being as vocal as he liked.

“so good, so good.”

you wished to be angry and annoyed at him. you wished to slam your hand on the kitchen counter and yell his name to stop. you wished, you truly did, but something in you was fighting against these urges. something primal was itching at your brain, making your teeth bite into your lips, your hands clenching tighter.

something primal was itching at your stomach, making your tummy do a flip, your panties all wet.

“oh, baby, ohhh–”

you inhaled sharply, closing your eyes in an attempt to disconnect from the situation at hand and think straight.

i should just leave…

“ugh, damn.”

…pretend i heard nothing…

“it feels amazingggg.”

…and just take another walk.

“fuck, fuck, fuckkk…”

yeah, i can do it–

you thought you could fight back, but your entire resolve collapsed when you heard your name moaned by mattheo.

that deep, rumbling voice, grunting your name without any shame. again, and again, and again.

“that pussy would feel so much better, i just know.”

so raw and desperate.

completely discarding your headphones, you finally moved. but not towards the front door.

tiptoeing down the hallway, you crept closer and closer to mattheo’s room. the wooden floor was slightly creaking underneath your footsteps, but neither you, nor mattheo seem to pay attention to it. he was too caught up in pleasure, and you were too turned on to care.

“you’d be so warm and– fuckk–”

mattheo was rambling on his own, groaning your name from time to time and vocalizing his dirtiest thoughts about you. and as wrong as this was — eavesdropping on your roommate fucking his fist, there was no shame in you. quite the opposite: his nasty words shoot directly at your core, making arousal pool in your panties and stick to your weeping cunt.

his door was slightly ajar. the close proximity allowed you to bathe into the obscene wet sounds he was making, now clearly registering the rhythmic movement of his thrusts. it was wet, stickily so, the sloshing noises being a definite indicator of mattheo’s need.

the close proximity also allowed you to dip your head in and take a peak.

but you shouldn’t. everyone has sexual urges and it was wrong for you–

“sweetheart, please…”

your head instantly turned towards the crack of the door, the pet name practically latching onto your neck and twisting you around to finally see him.

and you gasped.

that was not a hand.

there was mattheo, sprawled on his bed, completely naked. upper body leaning against the headboard, head thrown back. lower body jutting up and down from the mattress, thrusting with urgency into a pale grey fleshlight.

your thighs clamped into one another, your tiny shorts riding upwards on your legs, seam digging into your clit. you did your best not to snake your hand down into your panties to touch yourself, choosing to use it to steady yourself against the door.

you knew mattheo was hot.

hot was an understatement, really. as much as you liked to make fun of his cocky attitude and his pride for his godly physique, you couldn’t deny it. mattheo riddle was attractive beyond compare, and seeing him in this position made you want to jump on him and fuck him to death.

“shit– to have that sweet cunt all to myself…”

he was high on lust, babbling to himself between moans, jerking that new fleshlight to a sloppy rhythm. his abs were flexing with every rock of his hips; his arm, strained from the pressure of tightly gripping the sex toy, was a sharp valley of muscles, scattered with protruding veins.

“will you let me have you, sweetheart?”

shit.

his voice, still sultry and lustful, now had an undertone of arrogance. his head, previously lolling back against the wall, was now upright — his chocolate eyes staring right at you.

he caught you.

and he was proud of that.

“ah– don’t ignore me, baby.”

you couldn’t answer. words got stuck in your throat, your brain refusing to cooperate. you could only focus on the lazy movements of his hand, now guiding the fleshlight up and down his cock.

his cock, so hard and stiff. drenched in precum and lube. his cock, so red and pulsing, throbbing against the inside of the toy and begging for more.

his chest was raising and falling rapidly, visibly affected by the entire ordeal. the tips of his curls were sticking to his forehead, skin all sweaty and slick. yet, mattheo seemed more composed than you were.

“after i’ve called for you so nicely…”

he smirked, dragging the toy all the way down to his base with a deep groan; sheltering his entire shaft into the poor fleshlight.

“…could at least help me out, sweetheart.”

he did it all intentionally.

it wasn’t like mattheo did not know you got home. he knew, and that urged him to masturbate even more.

you swallowed thickly, still unsure whether to step in or not. a part of you wanted to join him desperately; the other part was arguing for you to leave and cool off alone.

mattheo could see the storm behind your gaze. and he knew how to help you decide.

suddenly, he removed the fleshlight from his shaft completely, letting the sex toy fall from his hand somewhere on the mattress. letting you see the way his stiff cock escaped from its confinement, stood tall for a few seconds, then flopped to the side.

“you’re a manwhore, mattheo.”

it’s all you managed to say as you stepped into the room, removing your cardigan, and throwing it somewhere on his floor.

“you say it like it’s a bad thing, baby.”

he hissed between his teeth, brushing off your ‘compliment’ and focusing on your actions. removing your outer layer, you were now nicely standing in a cropped tee and the tiniest fucking shorts he has ever seen you wear.

and when you seated yourself next to him on the bed, his cock twitched against his thigh hard.

“what if i had guests, hm?”

your voice was condescending, mean. your gaze sharp and accusatory.

but that only turned him on more.

mattheo let out a short, breathy laugh, licking over his lips. your question was of little importance to him. his eyes were focused on you only, hypnotized by your entire existence.

“but you don’t.”

he was so shameless, so brazen. his gaze was dancing along your body, making a first stop on your perky tits, another on the exposed skin of your thighs.

even if you had guests, he wouldn’t have acted differently.

“pervert.”

you spat at him like you were disgusted by his behaviour, yet your hand drew closed to the sex toy and brought it back into the spotlight.

“who would’ve thought–…”

you grabbed the base of his cock without warning, eliciting a strangled moan from mattheo.

“–that you’d–”

gathering some of your spit, you let the liquid drip all the way down to his cock, hitting the throbbing tip and gliding down the side of his cock.

“oh, fuck, wait–”

“–get a fleshlight.”

positioning the fleshlight at the right angle, you dragged it all the way down. his hips buckled involuntarily, the sudden stimulation making his thighs shake.

“why not fuck a real woman?”

you began moving the toy slowly, guiding it up and down. twisting and turning your wrist with expertise, you tried to mimic the way mattheo was jerking himself off before your intrusion.

“oh my god, this is so hot.”

mattheo was still taken aback by the entire situation: not only did you join him in bed, you were now pumping his cock with this newly bought sex toy, making him writhe around his bedsheets.

“so easily pleased.”

you hummed, mocking the way mattheo was already succumbing to pleasure.

he tried to take charge again, raising his torso from the headboard, but you were quicker. with a hand on his chest, you harshly pushed him back down, causing him to drop even closer to the mattress than before.

“answer me, mattheo!”

your speed around his shaft slowed, now dragging the toy at an agonizingly low pace. seeing your roommate mattheo scrunch his face in both pain and pleasure was irresistible.

“t–they’re not you.”

“not me?”

you did not expect such an answer. but he seemed to have answered truthfully, so you reward him by speeding up again.

“ah, ah, ah, sweetheart.”

mattheo was gasping now, hips chasing every glide of the toy like his life depends on it. his eyes were blown-out, half-lidded, heavy with lust; his mouth parted, his lips glossy with spit.

he hated how much of an effect you had on him, but he couldn’t do much.

your hand did anything but falter. the wet suction of the fleshlight was echoing louder and louder between the two of you, almost harmonizing with mattheo’s moans. he was putty under your control, and that made your cunt throb hard.

“and is this toy me?”

you seemed almost mad that he’d compare you with a stupid inanimate object: your lovely lips formed a pout, and your eyes widened with pretend sadness. all of it to emotionally taunt and pester mattheo.

“i can’t fuck you.”

mattheo raised his tone, exhasperated by your little accusations. why were you playing dumb? you would never let him blow your back, so a fleshlight was the onl–

“who said that?”

“huh?”

“who said you can’t fuck me?”

you tilted your head mockingly, putting all your effort into squeezing the base of the toy harder. you wanted to make him cum, you wanted to make him shoot his seed deep into the fleshlight.

“oh, baby, baby baby–”

he was chanting pet names like a mantra, his fingers clawing at the sheets with desperation. his jaw was clenched, and the veins on his forearms were accentuated even more.

he was close. so close.

“c–can i actually fuck you?”

oh, he was so damn cute. such a big beefy guy, asking for permission, on the verge of tears.

“of course you can.”

mattheo did not answer that. only a long and loud groan left his lips, head digging against the headboard more and more. his body jolted once, twice, then shuddered hard as thick ropes of cum filled the toy.

you could feel the way the fleshlight became heavier with each passing second. you could also hear the slick squelches of it, louder and wetter, as you were still gliding it on his cock — milking him dry.

“give me all you’ve got!”

mattheo was done for. he looked absolutely wrecked, absolutely ruined — you loved it.

“f–fuck, no more, please.” he whined, tossing his head to the side from overstimulation.

you had no intention of stopping, really. but something about mattheo pleading to be released changed your resolve. so, with one final drag up his sensitive cock, you released him.

his cum oozed out of the toy in thick drips immediately, staining his crotch and abs.

“damn, you really filled it up!”

holding the toy up for inspection, you could see his release seeping more and more out of it. it was creamy and gooey, and it made you wonder how it tastes.

“oh, shut up, you–”

raising the fleshlight higher, you stuck out your tongue and allowed some of his cum to land on it. the salty taste spread across your mouth in an instant.

and instead of spitting it, you happily swallowed.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

mattheo witnessed the entire thing. his cock did too, hardening again against his abs.

“wanna compare it with the real thing?”

and there it was — an even deadlier proposal from you.

you did not even wait for his answer, certain he will agree. rather, you discarded the toy completely, dropping it on the floor, choosing to turn around and bend over for mattheo.

“want? i need it.”

you heard him barely mutter behind you, as eager as before. he retracted his legs from the mattress, allowing you the space to position yourself on your hands and knees for him.

“fuck, baby, your shorts are soaked.”

mattheo now had a clear view of the effect he had on you: your tiny cotton shorts were stained with a big patch of arousal, butchered up all the way into your cunt. heck, if he tried more, he could define the outline of your pussy through your clothes.

“c’mon, mattheo, fuck me!”

you mewled at him like a vixen, arching your back into him and shaking your clothed ass. you instantly felt mattheo’s rough hands cupping the fat of your behind, caressing the skin and even dipping his fingers underneath your shorts.

feeling around. exploring.

“mattheo, huryyyyy”

“shut up.” he growled at you, striking your right buttcheek in a sharp and swift motion. “let me admire you.”

he continued to roam his hands all over you, feather touches all over your skin — exposed or not.

but not for long, as his patience was wearing thin as well.

gripping the hem of your shorts and panties at the same time, mattheo finally dragged them down to your bent knees, exposing that warm and needy hole to his eyes.

“fuck, how could i assume–”

mattheo grasped the base of his cock and, stepping closer to you, he immediately brushed the tip of his cock across your folds, gathering and spreading your wetness around.

“–that i can replace you–”

just to torture you back, he pushed his shaft against your pulsing hole, applying enough pressure for you to feel him, but not enough to enter you.

“–with a mere toy?”

“please, mattheo…”

and there it was, you begging. exactly what he was waiting for.

with your sweet plea on your lips, mattheo finally thrusted inside of you. impatient as ever, he stuffed you full from the beginning, reaching the deepest part of your cunt and hitting that sensitive spot with his tip.

“fuck, it’s so hot.”

ah, you were stuffed to the brim.

“and your walls are sucking me in.”

you could feel every vein and ridge on his cock, pressing deliciously against you.

“loosen up, sweetheart. shit. i can’t move.”

and you did your best to listen, but your hungry pussy was sucking him in like a vice. with your cunt gripping tightly around his shaft, mattheo managed to pull out only halfway.

“i won’t last long, baby.”

and then he thrusted back in. hard. pushing your entire body forward and ruining any sort of balance in your upper body, you fell on the mattress face down.

“fuck, you feel amazing!”

“never keep this pussy away from me, you hear me?”

his rhythm was now constant, jutting his hips into yours at a desperate pace.

“i will have this pussy breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

mattheo's guttural promise echoed in your ears as his hips picked up the pace.

carnal desire was evident in the way he was pounding into you — with unrestrained force. your body instinctively arched more and more against him, wishing to never be separated from his body ever again.

the slapping sounds of flesh on flesh was the only prevalent sound, sometimes joined by moans, gasps and whines. your face was completely buried in the mattress, lips even biting at the bedsheets in an attempt to muffle some of your pornographic noises.

mattheo saw that and did not like it one bit.

“bad fucking girl!”

your entire upper body was lifted from the bed in one smooth movement, mattheo’s strong arms sneaking around your torso and neck. his right arm was gripping at your midpoint, steadying you.

his other arm, however, put your head in a nice meaty headlock.

“let me hear you, sweetheart!”

tightening his hold on you, his arm immediately flexed around your neck, pushing his hard bicep closer to your face.

“ah, mattheo.”

“yeah, baby. gonna cum?”

the new position allowed mattheo to reach even deeper, kissing your cervix with his aggressive thrusts. he was throbbing, ready to orgasm a second time that day.

“let me make you cum.” he whispered softly against your face, placing a half-peck on the shell of your ear.

and with that, he lowered his hand from your torso to your pussy, locating your pulsing nub and drawing fast circles on it.

“oh my god i'm–”

and he was too. his hips slammed faster and faster into your cunt, sloppily thrusting until the very end.

“don’t move!” he grunted aggressively in your ear.

mattheo could feel you spasming, trying to run away from him. but he had to fill you up. he had to cream your pussy for real.

“take it all, sweetheart. be a good fucktoy for me!”

and you couldn’t go against him even if you wanted to. his big arms were securely holding your body in place.

so you stilled your hips as best as you could, settling nicely into his body, allowing mattheo to paint your insides with his cum.

and make a big mess, just like he did with the fleshlight.

•••

“i am throwing away the fleshlight!”

“oh, so i did better than it?”

“you’re insane for even asking.”

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @downbad4reid, @cafechichay, @lov3notts

#~ 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘫𝘢𝘳 #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader #pervert!mattheo #roommmate!mattheo #gymrat!mattheo #slytherin smut #slytherin boys smut #smut #x reader #sub!mattheo

4K notes · View notes

allsteddie · 22 days ago

Text

Now let’s reverse their roles, shall we? Nurse!Eddie AU where Steve is a frequent patient in the ER Eddie works because he keeps getting himself hurt all the freaking time. Eddie can't help but worry about the guy.

First, Steve ends up there after he falls from a tree and breaks his wrist. When Eddie asks what happened, Steve shrugs.

“There was this cat stuck in the tree.”

Then, it’s the accident with the car door. Two broken fingers.

“Robin didn’t see my hand was still there when she closed the door.”

The third time, it’s a concussion because, somehow, Steve thought skateboarding after drinking half-a-bottle of whisky was a good idea.

“Robin dared me, Eddie. She said I couldn’t!”

“And now you’re here! She was clearly right!”

Then there was the time Steve bruised his ribs and hip when he pushed a little kid out of harm’s way and got run by a bike in their place.

And the time Steve twisted his ankle when he was out on a hike with Robin, Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle but didn’t tell them he was hurt because he didn’t wanna spoil their weekend. He walked more than five miles with a fucked-up ankle, the idiot.

And how would Eddie forget the time Steve came to the ER with his pretty face half-disfigured by bruises and so badly swollen his left eye was nothing more than a slit. His ribs were also cracked and the skin over his knuckles was torn everywhere. Steve had clearly been fighting.

“The fucking asshole was gonna hit Max, man. Not when I’m around.”

Eddie would’ve been endeared by the sweet admission if he hadn’t been concerned about the man’s labored breathing at the time.

All this to say that Steve’s presence in the ER is not something new. He’s always there; sometimes for stupid reasons like trying to save a cat stuck in a tree or after one of Robin’s dares goes wrong, sometimes because he’s such a selfless sweetheart that he often gets hurt while trying to help people out.

So when Eddie comes back from his break and sees Steve there in the waiting room, he’s not surprised at all. Steve still has the bandage on his right arm, from his last visit a couple of days before.

He is surprised when Steve opens his mouth and blurts a “Do you want to go out with me one of these days? ” before Eddie has the chance to ask what he’s doing there.

“Oh my God, are you getting hurt on purpose so you can see me?”

“What!?”

“Because if this is the case, stop doing that!”

“I’m not hurting myself on purpose! I’m just an idiot, I swear!”

But Eddie is not an idiot, so of course he says yes to going out with Steve.

Two weeks later, they are dating… and Eddie is bandaging the dislocated shoulder his boyfriend got from falling off the roof while cleaning the gutters.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve x eddie #steddie headcanon #my writing

2K notes · View notes

goobsgoobers · 5 months ago

Text

Shopkeep: You three can't keep looking at me like that forever.

Here, use this quick so I can see if you even lost that fake eye of yours. Might still be in there.

[[After a moment of thinking Goob darts towards Boxten]]

Boxten: I- I don't think he liked that idea...?

He's growling. I think?

It sounds a lot like what Scraps does.

Shopkeep: what?

He is a cat so it makes sense they sound similar-

That doesn't explain why he's hiding behind you! It's just a bandaid...

Its not like I pulled off a chunk of myself like Cosmo does!

Boxten: Cosmo does what?!

Wait- I thought goob was a dog... bear? thing??

The Bear hugs you know???

Shopkeep: you've got to be kidding...

Goob: Bandages feel weird...

Shopkeep: look, I'll explain everyone's biology later, just bring him back over here! Can't do anything from this far away.

Goob: NO!

#dandy's world au #torn and twisted au #dandys world goob #tat “shopkeep”#dandy's world boxten

25 notes · View notes

sillymommy6969 · 1 month ago

Text

𝓑𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒂𝒅, 𝓢.𝓛.

♱ 𝒚𝒕 𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒐; 4 times sophia laforteza couldn’t stake her claim, and 1 time she proves just who you belong to

♱ 𝒄𝒘; 7th member au!r, jealous!s, possessive!s, touchy!s

𝑪𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆, pt. one, two, three

𝓢𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒂’𝒔 𝟓 𝑨𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒕 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆ clip one: [ weverse live ] gnarly eats w/ katseye

“oh, come on, you’re saying you didn’t think about it like that? not once?” lara asked, gaze trained on you with a teasing glint flickering in her eyes. you rolled your eyes at her insistence, like you hadn’t denied the same question twice already--when you had first joined dream academy’s training camp, you and lara were roommates. it wasn’t quite as obvious then as it was now, but she loved flirting with you. and she wasn’t shy about it.

“oh, please, like you don’t flirt with every pretty face you see.” you bit back, lips quirking into a coy smile. like the tease you were, you couldn’t resist an arising challenge. “i know you. and i know you love a good chase, raja.”

and like the stud she was, lara couldn’t back down. she let out a sultry laugh, her head tilting down briefly, her eyes fluttering shut. when she glanced back up at you, she was beyond ready to play your game. “so you know you got a pretty face, huh?”

user01 it almost feels like i’m interrupting something

user02 “dinner’s ready” i yell as i lay on the dinner table

user03 rock paper these two definitely scissor

daniela let out a loud whistle, fanning herself. you sat near the right end of the table, and sat between you and the indian singer was the fan-favourite roommate pair.

manon waved her hands, swallowing the bite she had swirling in her mouth before gently shoving the two of you back into your seats. you giggled at the unsubtle twist of disgust in her expression, but fall back away from the two anyways.

“ya’ll better back up before i call hr.” she threatened lightly.

at the other end, the far right, of the table, those assigned comments duty had their attention torn away from the screens cradled in their hands, necks craned to watch the two members absolutely taking the fandom by the neck right then.

megan, though a little lost in the conversation droning on on top of the flooding comments on the livestream, laughed along with whatever joke or antic she barely made out. she peered down at the ipad, words speeding much too fast for her dyslexic mind, but it was hard to miss some repetitive replies:

user04 do they know it’s legal now (it’s pride month too)

user05 i knew there was sth off about you… YOU’RE GAY

user06 like we’re all surprised they’re always flirting bro

“haha--someone said, ‘these lesbians’.” megan read aloud, her eyes widened as she passed yoonchae the ipad.

sitting at the end of that side, sophia was awfully quiet. she hadn’t touched her food in a while, and who was supposed to be the loud, present leader, was now a mysteriously silent observer. she bit back whatever shit she wanted to say, to yell, at an unsuspecting, but nevertheless guilty, lara raj.

it wasn’t the first time she had made her attraction to you known, despite your apparent disinterest in pursuing anything with one of your best friends. still, she persisted. and god, there was nothing in the world that pissed sophia off more.

“‘lara shooting her shot for all of us’,” megan continued reciting, “‘the way they’d make the hottest fucking couple is absolutely gnarly’--oh my god, it’s like a thirst box in here.”

sophia sulked, unwilling to take the ipad when yoonchae offered. she crossed her arms, leaning back into her seat as you all raged on about the intense support a hypothetical relationship between you and lara had managed to gather. every comment read aloud fuelled her irritant more. it was almost out of character, for somebody as vibrant a spirit as sophia, and a blind person could have noticed it.

user07 holy fuck if looks could kill sophia’s going on death row

user08 lara better wrap it up before she gets jumped

user09 when the loud ones go quiet yk shits hitting the fan

“what even happened back then?” daniela questioned, her fork hanging off her lips as she turned to you. mid-bite of the bowl of ramen in your mouth, you hummed. “i remember lara would like completely change her personality whenever y/n would come in a room or like join a conversation. it was so funny, like, everybody would make fun of her for it ‘cuz, like, what?”

“oh my god, when emily would give me the most obvious, unslick look when you would come up and talk to me. she was itching to say something every time,” lara groaned.

“really?” you giggled, “i hadn’t noticed… but now that you mention it, i do remember dani saying something about it.”

“yeah, she was so down bad, bro!” megan added, her infectious laughter tearing through the room. “so annoying.”

user10 i love the no pr training they just expose themselves

user11 we got lara’s love confession before a new comeback

user12 guys why is sophia so pressed this is sending me

upon a mindful nudge from daniela, you glanced to your left. sophia was sitting stiffly, her jaw drawn tight, trying to keep her smile from looking like a grimace. you knew that look. and you were praying she wouldn’t combust on live.

lara called your name softly. “no, but seriously. if i had made a move back then, who knows what would’ve happened?”

you shrugged, chuckling. who did know? perhaps way back during dream academy days, that version of you would have loved to shack it up with your indian bandmate. you rolled your eyes, flashing a tempting grin. you eased her subtle try at hitting on you. “oh please, you would’ve been rejected so fast.”

sophia leaned forward suddenly, her voice breaking the mold for the first time in what felt like eons. it came out a little sharp for her own taste, “yeah, well. good thing you didn’t.”

all eyes landed on their leader. the live silenced for a moment.

“sophia, you okay?” you asked, one brow raised. as bad as it sounded, you enjoyed lighting her fuse. it was entertaining.

“mhm,” sophia said, too quickly. “just... it’s super crazy.”

lara let out a low snort, jumping at the chance to poke fun at her usually composed leader. “what, jealous?”

sophia opened her mouth, then shut it. she reminded herself of the multiple cameras trained on her every move right then. she smiled, a sarcastically faux smile, but a smile nonetheless. you were familiar with her mannerisms well enough to know she was just itching to snap back, the slight twitch in her eye was more than enough of a hint for that. oblivious to the radiating vex from the filipina, you tilted your head, lost.

"please," she muttered, trying to sound unimpressed, laughing the jab off like a joke. "like i have anything to be jealous about."

user13 oh baby who is you this ain’t fooling nobody

user14 sophia try not to kill lara for being a dipshit challenge

user15 omg she’s feeding the n/nphinz agenda well

lara raised a brow in challenge. “possessive, much?”

“me? no,” sophia said curtly, exhaling deeply through her nose. she ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head. “see, i know y/n likes me better, i’m her… best friend. she’s mine, see?”

you wet your lips, catching sophia’s eye. you noticed the sharp, jagged edge of her smile. still, you couldn’t help the playful tug seeping through the smile that hung on your face. “you would have been shut down too. sorry, fi, no special treatment.”

user16 i would never socially recover from a public rejection

user17 she did NOT even stutter lmao poor sophia

user18 imagine having a face card so lethal you reject sophia

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆ clip two: [ vlog ] angel city fc pride match w/ katseye

sporting the custom jersey, your name ironed across your back, you stood amongst your bandmates as seven pairs of feet stepped out onto the lush green field of angel city fc’s stadium. clutching your hand tightly, sophia lead you to stand sandwiched between all the other members. you waved and beamed up at the thousands of fans shrieking down at you.

your camera team followed you closely, documenting every little detail of this momentous occasion. sometime between the staged welcome and being lead to the stands where your seats were reserved, you had lost sophia’s clutch, and wound up in daniel’s instead. the latina, occupied by her surroundings, hadn’t even noticed when she grabbed your hand, tracing patterns over it as she added to megan’s story for the cameras.

you have never thought twice about it--daniela was a very affectionate person. but that didn’t mean others haven’t.

“mahal, come ‘ere,” sophia suddenly called from behind megan. your hand tugged away from daniela’s, who was still deeply engrossed in conversation about the double date story megan and lara had insisted on gate keeping from the fans.

her hands found your back, warm hands palming the soft skin of your hips, tucking your shirt into your bra the way it was.

then, her hands grabbed your hips firmly, pulling you down into her lap as her arms encircled your waist securely. her chin found your shoulder, her breath fanning your collarbone. you yelped, a little breathless as you ended up on her lap, legs entangled awkwardly, faces inches apart. you wondered what had gotten into the sweet, composed sophia you usually saw. like the eyekons have pointed out multiple times online, she had been acting awfully protective of you. it was odd.

“sophia,” daniela chuckled, “what’s going on there, hon?”

you felt her arms tighten around you when attention suddenly fell on the two of you. it squeezed a gasp from you, your hands finding hers clutching onto your stomach.

“nothing,” she grumbled, “just getting comfortable…”

daniela and megan shared a look, but upon seeing your dazed focus, they decided it wasn’t worth pissing off sophia.

throughout the game, you were engaging with fans and bringing a lively energy to the game. when sophia had eventually let you go, by the hand, megan dragged you over to some fans waving you over. she was entrapped by the labubu outstretched from the woman’s hand, cradling it as she squealed. you giggled, thanking the fan as megan picked and probed at the fanged creature on its keychain.

“y/n, i got one for you too!” she called, pulling a gold-furred (your assigned colour) one from her bag and holding it out.

“oh my goodness,” you gasped, taking it carefully. the corner of your lips pried from ear to ear as you glanced back up at the woman. “thank you, pretty girl. can i give you a hug?”

upon her very enthusiastic agreement, you stepped onto one of the seats in front of the stands, reaching up to wrap you arm around her neck tightly. the fan spared no time, encircling her own around your frame as she squealed into your ear.

just then, you heard a tsunami of fanfare plague the stadium.

megan’s hand continuously thrusted against the back of your shoulder. it took you a second to pull away from the hug, your head snapping back at the hawaiian at her persistent abuse. but she had her eyes set on something else, much further, and much higher. her arm hung high, finger erect and pointing high at a reflective, and very pink screen on the jumbotron.

mounted with animated hearts floating up the screen, pixelated frills lined the big heart. across the top sprawled big, bubbled letters: “KISS CAM!” framed in the centre of the heart was the fan and a familiar katseye member, your name on display as the screen delayed the shock on your face.

you glanced over at the younger for support, wordlessly pleading for a solution. but come on, it was megan.

“just do it.” megan encouraged, urging you towards the fan.

you cleared your throat, watching as the fan and her friend recorded the screen in excitement. you wagged a finger at her, cheekily tugging at your lip with your teeth as you stepped back onto the seat against the stands. you could see it took everything in her to contain the ecstasy coursing through her veins, but she digressed. you gently cupped her cheek, pursing your lips to plant a soft kiss against the other. the camera zoomed in on the mark staining her cheek, which was quickly masked by the faint shade flushing to her defined cheeks.

“oh my god, this is fucking crazy!” she slurred, drunk on you.

you laughed, clasping your hands together and blowing a kiss towards the cameras. and suddenly, soccer wasn’t the reason people were cheering throughout the crowd anymore.

you bid the fan farewell, thanking them once again for the gifts as you made your way back towards the seats assigned just for you. the kiss cam went to another few people in the stands, but none as captivating as yours.

“looks like you’ve made someone’s day,” manon chuckled when the two of you got back to the group. she pointed at the stands, where the fan had fallen back, her friend fanning her.

“or ruined someone else’s.” daniela mumbled, nudging your elbow. you could feel sophia’s sour expression from there.

a possessive hand grabbed you by the waist, pulling you back down into a warm lap. she didn’t say a word, not even a sound, but you could feel her through her grappling fingertips. she was silently praying the kiss cam would land on your group just so she could get a piece of you for herself. alas, no such luck.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆ clip three: [ vlog ] lounging w the laforteza’s | katseye

it was no surprise when somebody would make their affections for you apparent, sophia had grown accustomed to it. could she blame them? you were katseye’s golden girl, everybody’s favourite in one way or another. though she liked having you under her arm, she knew she had to share. it wouldn’t be fair for people to not be able to enjoy the pleasure that was you.

when katseye were in the philippines for showcase week, the laforteza’s generously offered to host the girls for dinner the very first night. the week leading up to your flight, sophia was absolutely buzzing, eager to jump at the opportunity to go home and see her family. it made your heart swell.

“my mom’s going all out, y’know, she’s got so much food, i think we’re all about to implode.” sophia said to the camera, “man, i can’t believe you guys are all gonna be in my house, with my pets, my brothers… that’s insane.”

“yeah, yoonchae squared.” the maknae giggled.

“wait, didn’t bailey have a massive thing for y/n?” megan snorted, nudging the filipina with her elbow. you chuckled, beside megan, who was wedged between you and sophia in the middle row of the van. behind you, lara poked her head through the gap between you and megan’s, humming. “oh, yeah, and he’d come drop things off for sophia during dream academy all the time when your family visited.”

sophia had nearly forgotten about that. her eyes narrowed, reminiscing back to watching her brother become a flustered mess when y/n would come around during their da days.

“yeah, maybe he’s still into you.” manon teased, reaching back and poking you from the passenger seat up front.

“i’m sure he’s moved on from it,” sophia interjected, slicing through the playful atmosphere in the car. “it’s been months.”

“guess we’ll find out,” lara mouthed to the camera.

each of you got a suffocatingly tight embrace the moment you got out of the car. sophia’s parents spared no time ushering you all inside, the camera crew trailing closely behind. the boys stood, holding onto the pets by the front door, greeting and welcoming you all as you entered. as you stepped inside, you saw bailey’s demeanour change. he straightened his back, and held his head higher. he gave you a polite smile, offering a hand to help you through the doorway.

“oh! thanks, bailey,” you said, “it’s nice to see you again.”

his cheeks flush a darker shade, leaving his position by the door to walk you towards the kitchen. “it’s nice to see you.”

“thanks for having us, we’re super excited to be here and get our filipino friends together.” you joked, earning a tight chortle from the boy. the cameraman filming you two shot you a cheeky grin, which seemed to blow right past bailey’s head.

“yo, bails, mama’s asking for you to help with the food.”

the two of your heads snapped towards the doorway, sophia’s stern expression on her face. which was odd, considering the filipina had always had a soft spot for her brothers. which you wouldn’t have been able to tell, from the way her stern gaze was burning holes in the older boy’s head.

he gave you a smile, “i’ll talk to you later then. excuse me.”

when he stopped in front of his sister, expecting her to moved, she didn’t. he awkwardly squeezed past the slim gap.

“come on, fia, bullying your brother already? it’s been five minutes since we got here.” you shook your head, rubbing the sides of her arms teasingly. “the poor guy looked so scared.”

“i’m not bullying him. he’s being a creepy weirdo.”

something about the way sophia seemed to have to ward her own brother off was very jarring to fans. the vlog seemed to do wonders as clips of sophia’s undying possessive energy over you throughout the entirety of the dinner were posted. still, like the polite, game-loving gal you were, you refused to stay away from the boy. he was just being nice… and you could never be as mean to a friend as sophia wanted. world 3 - sophia 0.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆ clip four: [ tiktok ] keeping up w katseye (@katseye)

(inspired by eve and clara reading bet fanfics on tiktok)

“okay, the good thing is, i think we won’t get flagged as easily if we do it here.” you explained to lara, who scrolled through the wattpad catalogue on her ipad hesitantly. you skimmed the comments eyekons were making, ushering you to read them by affirming your suspicions. “yeah, see? as long as we don’t show any porn up in here, we should be totally fine.”

user01 NO WHY THE FUCK WOULD YALL DO THIS

user02 yeah we ain’t ever getting another comeback after this

user03 fuck save yourselves we cooked fr lmao

user04 someone hide the kinky shit from them please lord

you and lara settled on a story eventually, which, you were much more interested in reading the ones with ridiculous descriptions, but by popular recommendations in the comment section, you decided on a “katseye x ceo trope” one instead. and with a theatric clear of her throat, lara was ready to start you guys off. and you couldn’t help but smirk.

“--‘she walked across the room with a certain confidence to her. a certain authority. it was almost… intoxicating.’” lara read, her voice dropping to a low, sensual tone. she gave the phone a narrow-eyed glance, “okay, they’re saying you’re serving an intoxicating aura. i mean, not lore accurate, but okay.” you swatted her in the arm, clicking your tongue. she snickered, holding up the ipad. “stop! i need to get into this, okay?” she cleared her throat again. “okay, wait, i think you should play yourself. i’ll tell you when to speak.”

user05 omg there’s no way they’re reading xxx

user06 LARA CHOSE A FUCKING LAFORL/N FIC WTF

user07 it was nice knowing ya’ll i’m kms after this

“--‘if there was one thing y/n couldn’t tolerate in her office, it was an arrogant attitude. lucky for her, her boss was cockiness strapped in tight purple stilettos--sophia laforteza.’ oh my god, wait, what? i didn’t know this was a you and sophia one.” the indian said. “hold on, ya’ll told me this was a katseye fic.”

you tilted your head, a small smile crept onto your lips. as lara scolded the fans in the chat, you skimmed ahead of the book.

user08 omg the smirk… this is it for me… i need it tattooed

user09 laforl/n deniers been real quiet in here huh

user10 THE SMIRK???? Y/N L/N YOU’RE A FREAKY MOFO

“okay, stop yelling at eyekons and keep reading!” you urged, clinging onto lara’s arm. you pursed your lips, feigning irritant as the older sighed, adjusting the ipad in her hands.

“--‘her employees would say y/n ran kats co. like a military unit. she was the hard-hitting strict boss. just the mere mention of her name could have the water boys quivering in their shoes.’” lara couldn’t contain her loud laughter at this inaccurate description of you. rolling your eyes at her amusement, you grabbed the tablet from her. “wha--hey!”

“you’re getting distracted! we’ve barely gotten through two paragraphs.” you shrugged, “i’m going to speed this up. i’ll be myself and when i tell you, you do sophia’s parts.”

user11 really channeling that strict boss energy rn babe

user12 omg i’ve read xxx they’re abt to be so traumatized bro

user13 WHAT THE FUCK SOPHIA’S IN HERE

“--‘y/n grabbed the stack of files sitting before her in the conference room. she dismissed her subordinates. i was so sick of incompetent men running the company to the ground. most times she was glad they had to report to her, if it were up to them, kats co. would’ve gone bankrupt already.’” lara couldn’t help but shake her head at how immersed in the story you were, not even sparing the live a glance. “‘they answer to her, but there was only one person y/n answered to.’”

you pointed at lara, who leant over to catch where you stopped. quickly, she pulled her voice higher, imitating the seductive edge sophia carried in her quieter tone.

“‘where’s my eea report for this month, l/n?’” the indian purred in your ear, an exaggerated smoulder on her face.

“‘the idiots in finance fucked the numbers up.’ i replied,” you continued, you switched to a grumpier tone, “‘i swear, i’m going to fire that excuse of a man sitting in that executive chair.’ sophia sported a smug smirk on her face, strolling over to the head of the table, where y/n sat. she leant against the table, crossing her arms. she looked down at her, like she always did, but this time, with a playful glint in her eyes.”

“wait, should i act this out?” lara asked. you agreed, and she propped herself up to rest on her knees, before leaning against the wall behind you. she looks down at you, imitating every action described in the story. you giggled at her getting immersed in her role. “‘i don’t like playing games, ms. l/n. if you keep messing up, i’ll assume you’re doing it on purpose.’”

your nose scrunched in light cringe at lara’s faux ‘sexy sophia’ voice. nevertheless, you continued.

“‘why, laforteza? do you think that little of me?’ y/n says, but like she had anticipated what she was going to say, sophia scoffs, smirk still evident on her face.” per your instruction, lara’s lips spread into a smirk. “grabbing her chin, sophia bit her lip, like she was craving more than just that little bit of contact. but she had to remind herself that they were sat in the conference room, where anybody could walk in.”

lara grabbed your chin gently with her hands, and you nearly double over in hysteria as the two of your gazes met.

user14 i can’t keep doing this my fingers are cramping

user15 they’re really taking advantage of the no pr rule

user16 wetter than ever or whatever billie said

“oh my god, you guys are freaky bitches.” lara chuckled, fingers still around your chin. you were oddly comfortable where you sat, unwilling to tear your chin away. your eyes rolled to read the comments, hooded and blinking slow.

user17 not ya’ll ignoring sophia’s crash out comments lmao

sophia<3 yo back up doing this on live is crazy

user18 the unbothered energy for their leader is so n/nlarz

sophia<3 don’t make me ban you guys from going live

you couldn’t help but smirk wider at the filipina’s words, knowing this must’ve gotten her blood boiling. you turned your head, glancing up at lara with glossy eyes and fluttering lashes. “should we ask eyekons if we should keep reading? or should we leave some of this to their wild imagination?”

the older chuckled, “well, it sounds like sophia doesn’t exactly approve. i don’t think we can read the next part aloud anyway.”

#n/nlarz was trending on tiktok for a bit after that live. with edits to clips of the two of you going viral one after another. it was safe to say your marketing team couldn’t be more grateful for the unhinged method of promotion, but it was bringing incredibly attraction to gnarly’s comeback schedule.

still, perhaps not everybody was as happy with your actions.

sophia<3 oh you guys are getting house chores tn

sophia<3 lara raj don’t make me do something ill regret

sophia<3 why are you guys encouraging this i’m disappointed

sophia<3 y/n mahal stop testing me please

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆ clip five: [ leaks ] coachella 2025 hard launch?

𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒍? katseye’s y/n and sophia caught getting too close for comfort at jennie’s coachella set

by: lexi storm | tmz | april 20, 2025

amidst romance rumours, katseye bandmates, sophia and y/n, seemed to have taken on addressing the hearsay by getting touchy-feely at kpop star, jennie’s coachella set.

in a video posted early this morning to @popbase, the bandmates were caught on camera being extremely close and personal--and fans are spiralling into a frenzy as rumours of it all being “platonic affection” has been seemingly debunked.

*attached bad-quality video of you two*

the now-viral 30-second clip, allegedly taken after the group’s april 13th performance in chicago, shows sophia with her arms wrapped around your waist tightly from behind. the two of you were heavily accessorized, but fans could not miss the way you were whispering back and forth. sophia kissed up the back of your neck, and you threw your head back to rest it against her shoulder. an intimate gesture some were calling, “gf core”.

later in the video, you turned around to encircle your arms around sophia’s neck, and the filipina could be seen beaming from ear to ear as you mouthed the lyrics to slow motion.

just before the clip ends, sophia leant in to press a soft kiss against your lips. her ringed hands sliding across your heaving midsections as the two of you melted into each other. it was safe to say this was much better than any soft or hard launch you could ever post, and though the video quality might be just a little too low, it was hard to mistake your distinct visuals.

the hashtag #laforn/n has started trending within hours.

user01 girl wbk that ain’t no friendly pose who you fooling

user02 i fucking knew it since paris fashion week

user03 ogs have been on this train since their da days

user04 quick! everyone act surprised!

past clues? this isn’t the first time these two have been linked. in february, fans noted they wore identical “couple” rings during katseye’s press tour for their debut ep, soft is strong. and just last month, y/n posted a photo during their pit stop in new york fashion week of dinner with a city view, table set for two, captioned, “happy valentine’s day to all of you my loves <3”--and sophia liked the it within seconds, followed by a now-deleted comment that simply read: “happy valentine’s mahal”.

during katseye’s iheartradio feature in the philippines for their “touchdown in manila” fan showcase, when asked about their “onstage chemistry”, sophia laughed and replied with, “guess we just connect really well offstage… some people you don’t have to rehearse with to be in sync.” y/n turned bright read and sipped on her coffee in silence. suspicious much?

so far, there has been no official statement from either sophia, y/n, or katseye’s management. a source “close to the group” told tabloid today: “they’re just really close friends. everyone in katseye is like family… [sophia and y/n] just have a special bond. on whatever basis, please respect that its their privacy.”

sure, girl. way to make a pr statement sound more stupid.

meanwhile, fans continue dissecting old concert footage, looking for signs they missed. there has been a bundle of clips compiled into a series called, “subtle and secret”. one clip from a tokyo show in october shows y/n subtly wiping lipstick from sophia’s lips and cheek backstage.

whether it’s a deep “friendship” or the pop world’s next power couple, one thing’s clear: sophia and y/n are more than just bandmates. and if the video leak is any indication, katseye’s popular vocal duo share more than work behind the scenes.

got tea on the katseye girls? slide into our dms @tmzofficial

𝒂𝒏; low and behold… i’m back. i’m trying my best to write faster but i like quality over quantity. hope you guys enjoyed!

𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒙𝒙

#katseye #katseye x reader #katseye imagines #sophia katseye #sophia laforteza x reader #katseye sophia #sophia laforteza #sophia x reader

1K notes · View notes

spideyjimin · 6 months ago

Text

Bloodlines entwined: II | jjk

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

— pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader

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

— rating: 18+

— words: 6,210

— warnings: mentions of grief, death, abortion, murder, breakup, and heartbreak, nervousness, and strong language

— author’s note: soooo this second chapter is basically the base for all the upcoming chapters. you’ll that it implements many important points, and i’m actually very excited to see your reactions 😬 it wasn’t an easy one to write as i couldn’t reveal everything straight away. hope you’ll like it & thanks a lot for your support on this series 🫶🏼

taglist is closed!

Chapter II: hearts in conflict

SERIES MASTERLIST | previous | next

Jungkook paces back and forth in his living room.

Since he was informed of the clinic’s mistake, he’s been torn apart between his duty and his heart. He’s been desiring to become a father for a while now, and he’s been more desperate since he became a king.

Having a child is also part of his responsibility since he needs to ensure his bloodline. Consequently, he needs to have a child with a pure werewolf. The clinic had a list of the eggs they could use. It was simple.

Now, a human was fertilized by his material, and there’s a hybrid child on the way. As a king and a werewolf, he can’t have this child. Hybrids can’t exist; it’s the rule. Nobody will ever take him seriously if their king doesn’t even respect the rules.

His eyes then fall on a family picture. That picture was taken five years ago, when his father was still alive. Even if he passed away two years ago, it’s still extremely hard for Jungkook to deal with his grief. He got used to it, but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.

Jungkook wonders what his father would have done if he was in this situation. Would he have pushed for the pregnancy’s termination? Would he have walked away? Or would he have stayed and raised the baby?

Then, he remembers the one time when a werewolf fell in love with a human. The human got pregnant, and his father discovered it. He exceptionally showed mercy to the couple and spared them, but they had to terminate the pregnancy and part ways.

Jungkook’s father kept a close eye on them to ensure they wouldn’t get back together discreetly. Jungkook remembers how he felt back then; he thought that his father was way too nice. They should have been killed like it was done in the past.

His father then explained to him how things are never black and white. There are also grey areas. The werewolf in question was one of the best in the pack so killing him would mean putting the pack in danger. He had to make a decision, a difficult one. So, he decided to show some mercy. He knew that in return, the werewolf would be grateful.

His father was right. That werewolf never crossed the line again, but he also never got married or had any children. Deep down, Jungkook knows that he never stopped loving the human.

But if his father was in his shoes, he believes that he would have never accepted a hybrid to exist. Especially one that carries his blood.

Jungkook rubs his hand on his face with frustration. Stepping away seems to be the right decision, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like it. He’s not supposed to encourage you to keep the baby, and he’s also not supposed to desire to have this baby.

There has never been a hybrid.

Jungkook is also curious to see what a hybrid is like and how this kind of pregnancy goes. When a werewolf gets pregnant, all her abilities are enhanced. It’s like she gets even more powerful to give everything to her child. It’s really mind-blowing. He got to see it firsthand with his sister; she’s currently pregnant with her fourth child.

But you’re a human and the baby won’t fully be a werewolf. So, everything will be different. He wonders if this baby will be born as a human and develop way later on their werewolf side. There are a lot of unknowns because people are always killed when this type of pregnancy is discovered.

This entire situation is frustrating.

The man growls before shifting into a wolf and disappearing into the woods next to his house. Jungkook wants to escape his ‘human’ thoughts, he wants to forget that this is all happening.

Running in the woods has always been his escape. He adores the smell of nature, the air running through his face, the feeling of the soil under his paws, and the way his mind only focuses on that and nothing else.

Following his father’s passing, he disappeared into the woods for days. It helped him process this new reality; it gave him time to grieve his father in silence before endorsing the heavy role of being a king.

However, this time, even being a wolf doesn’t change anything. His mind pictures a little child running next to him; a child he’ll train to be a perfect wolf. This child is actually growing inside your stomach right now, but that kid can’t exist.

Jungkook is also aware that with time, wolves have this growing urge to have children. He has reached that peak, and it’s why he’s been going through this whole process of having a kid. There’s also the ‘natural’ aspect which means having sex, but he can contain that part for now.

On top of that, he’s also looking for his soulmate. The person with whom he’ll mate for life. In the werewolf community, when you choose your partner, you stay with them until your last breath. When you find them, apparently, you know it.

His parents and his sister have already described how they felt. When you meet your person, you instantly feel like you’re one person. You’re connected in all aspects. It seems weird, and until you don’t find that one person, you won’t ever understand it.

Jungkook sometimes feels like he’s never going to find his person, and sometimes, it feels like a suffocating feeling. His community expects him to find his queen, to give a queen to the werewolves. But he wonders what will happen if he never finds her.

One thing is for sure, he’s single with a human child on the way. His life couldn’t be more chaotic than that.

Even though he won’t ever make part of his child's life, he’ll protect you no matter what decision you make in case anyone ever finds out about this.

Later in the day, his sister, Dohee appeared with her three children at his place. Since she’s in the last trimester of her pregnancy, she doesn’t do much, so she randomly shows up at her brother’s place as if he doesn’t have anything to do.

However, Jungkook adores to be around his nieces and nephew. He simply loves kids, and he would never mind being interrupted by children. He’ll never admit it, but he also loves to have his sister coming. They have a very strong bond.

“How’s the big wolfy king Jungkook doing?” she says while entering his office, and he rolls his eyes.

His sister never stops teasing him, but it’s the way she shows her love.

“Always making fun of me, wolfy princess,” he claps back.

The kids run to hug him. Since they are small, they hug his legs.

“Uncle Kookie,” they scream with joy.

These three little humans are the only ones who have the right to call him ‘Kookie’. His other family members also have the right, but he’d prefer ‘Kook’. ‘Kookie’ sounds childish.

“Hey, monsters,” he greets his nieces and nephew while ruffling their hair.

His sister has two daughters, Hana and Yuri, and one boy, Hwan. She’s expecting a second boy, and she said it’d be the last kid she’ll have. Four pregnancies in seven years are more than enough, those are her words.

“Can we go to your garden?” Hana, the oldest asks him.

Jungkook nods and the kids disappear as rapidly as they stormed inside the room. They like to play around in what they call his garden. It actually is the woods, but if they want to call it ‘garden’, Jungkook will be the last person to correct them.

“So, mom told me about that surrogacy thing…” she takes a seat while caressing her pretty big bump. “Care to explain why I heard from her instead of you?”

Jungkook can see in his sister’s eyes how concerned and sad she is. He can only understand her; he’d be hurt if he discovered something this huge by their mother.

“Don’t know…” he whispers. “My mind has been all over the place lately.”

Dohee nods. “A lot has been going on,” she murmurs.

For sure, as a king, things aren’t easy. There are a lot of responsibilities, and whenever things get rough, he has to decide.

“Yep,” he adds.

Jungkook sighs before falling on his desk’s chair. His fingers run through his hair while he closes his eyes. He’s already been thinking too much about your insemination.

As she sees her brother, Dohee now gets worried. The surrogacy journey should be a happy one; it’s one that’ll allow him to have a family. She knows how much he craves to become a father, and the council has also put a lot of pressure on him even if Jungkook will never admit it.

“What’s going on, Kook?” she asks with obvious concern.

Jungkook doesn’t know what to do. Does he reveal the truth to his sister? Or does he pretend that nothing is going on? For sure, he needs to vent to someone. His sister might be the one who could hear him without instantly bringing the “bloodline purity law”. She’ll see the problem for what it truly is.

“I sought the help of a well-known clinic that has helped a lot of werewolves,” he opens his eyes to face his sister’s gaze. “It was supposed to be simple; I chose the progenitor, gave them the sperm, and they only had to implant it in a human surrogate,” he explains.

Dohee carefully listens to her brother, very intrigued with what he has to say. She can see the despair in his eyes. It breaks her heart to see him like that.

“But they called me like five days ago to tell me they made a mistake…” he looks away, not able to reveal the truth while looking at her. “They swapped up the samples and they inseminated a human with my sperm.”

Her eyes widen at his words. That’s an unbelievable news! How can a fertility clinic make such a huge mistake?

“That’s a hell of a mistake!” she directly says.

“I know…” he whispers before looking again at his sister. “The thing is that the woman was there to have a baby on her own. I met her the other day to discuss this whole situation,” he tells her. “The clinic suggested to terminate the pregnancy if we desire it. I told that woman that I couldn’t have the baby and why I couldn’t.”

“You told her you’re a werewolf?” Dohee cuts him off.

“I couldn’t do otherwise! She was embarked in this world by a stupid mistake. She needed to know,” he almost screams at his sister.

“Tell me you convinced her to terminate the pregnancy,” she begs her brother with a firm tone.

When Dohee notices the non-reaction of her brother, she instantly understands the extent of the situation.

“Jungkook…” she says.

“I can’t tell her that, Dodo,” he says while closing his eyes. “I can’t force her to do that, it’s her body.”

Now, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Her brother is in a hell of a situation. This is way too crazy!

“I told her I’d walk away if she keeps the baby,” he confesses. Both of them open their eyes to look at each other intensely. “But I don’t know if I can do that…” he admits.

She can understand her brother’s perspective; having a child is such a joyous thing. But there’s too much at stake, and she doesn’t want to have her brother killed because of this. It will only create chaos. Thankfully, they have two other brothers, and the Jeon family will remain as the ruling family. But their image will forever be destroyed. How could the other packs and even their own respect them anymore?

She’s scared of what this all could generate. Even if he walks away, a part of him will stay around. She knows her brother too well. Somebody will eventually discover about this hybrid kid, and the council will be informed right away. They will show no mercy to execute him, and their own pack will as well make sure a traitor is killed. The poor woman will face the same punishment, and she didn’t ask for any of this.

“She’s hesitating and she doesn’t know what to do yet,” he adds as he notices her sister doesn’t say anything.

“If you step out, you really need to,” she explains. “You can’t check her up nor this child to make sure nobody ever finds out about them.”

There’s a possibility that nobody ever finds out, but Jungkook has to completely walk away to truly protect them.

“This child can’t ever know who his biological father is otherwise they could claim the heir title due to being your firstborn.”

That’s an aspect Jungkook never considered. This child could indeed pretend to the throne if they wanted, even though it would never be accepted by the other packs.

“This is what I can advise you, big bro,” she adds.

“Thanks, Dodo,” he answers. “I really needed to speak about this with someone.”

She offers him a little smile before they change the conversation’s topic.

A week has passed since Jungkook told you about his secret. Since then, you’ve been doing everything to not think about it. You’ve not even thought about what you’ll do with the child growing inside of you.

You don’t want to face the truth. There’s a werewolf universe; one that your child will be a part of. What will you do if you keep them? Will you be able to face their werewolf side? Will you ever reach out to Jungkook for help?

There are so many questions, but you don’t want to think about them. All you desire is to forget about all of this.

Today, you’re meeting Felix at a cozy café. It’s your usual Thursday meeting. It’s been like that since you moved out, and you’ve been grateful to have these moments with your father. However, for today’s meeting, you’re feeling kind of nervous. You know he’s going to raise questions about your pregnancy while you don’t even know what to do.

“Sweetheart,” Felix welcomes you with a hug.

You hold onto him like you’re holding on for dear life. Now that you have him in front of you, it reassures you beyond comprehension. It feels like you can let go of whatever is going on in your head.

“Are you okay, angel?” he asks.

He breaks the hug, takes one step back, and looks at you with evident concern.

“Not really,” you admit.

The two of you sit down; worry never leaving his eyes. Felix has noticed that you’ve been distant these past few days. He didn’t say anything because he thought that you needed time and space to deal with the pregnancy’s early days. He still remembers how his late wife was when she was pregnant with Lexi.

Now, he realizes that there’s something more. He can tell it by the way you respond and how tired you look.

“What’s been going on?” he says the second you’re both sitting.

You bite your lower lip, deeply thinking about what you should say. There’s absolutely no way that you’ll reveal the werewolf universe, he’ll never believe you.

“The fertility clinic made a mistake,” you finally say.

He furrows his eyebrows.

“They swapped the donor sample with somebody else’s sample,” you continue. “That man turned to the clinic to have a child through surrogacy.”

So far, Felix doesn’t really understand where the problem is.

“The thing is that the clinic contacted us both to inform us of the mistake, so I’ve met him, and it destroyed the entire plan,” you rub your face with your hands. “I felt like I lost control of my life all over again.”

Now, he understands everything. Since you’ve lost your parents, he’s seen how you’ve been trying to gain control over your life. But you’ve been struggling your entire life. This thing of being a mother alone felt like you were gaining control.

“They will refund the treatment and suggested we could terminate the pregnancy.”

Felix believes that it’s the least the clinic could do to compensate for their mistake.

“The father said he doesn’t want the child but doesn’t want to force me to abort, so it’s really up to me…” you feel like you’re about to cry.

The sixty years old man lets you speak without interrupting you.

“It’s such a difficult decision,” you admit. “I thought having a baby on my own would be simple… but nothing about this seems simple anymore. I’ve stepped into something I can’t control.”

He nods, understanding your dilemma. All he can do right now is to reassure you, because he can’t choose for you. That decision is yours, and only yours. At least, that’s the thing you can control in this entire situation.

“You’ve always been strong, yn,” he says. “You’ve faced so much loss, but you’ve found a way forward. There’s no need to figure everything out today.”

You’d like to think that it’d be as easy as Felix makes it sound. There’s a legal limit for abortion; you can’t spend weeks wondering what to do.

“But time is running, and I can’t hesitate forever.”

Your father figure smiles at you while grabbing your hands.

“I know, but I trust you. I don’t doubt you’ll find the answer on time.”

You smile back at him. Even though his words are comforting, they don’t really help. You don’t know what to do with the life growing inside you. A life that you can hear and feel. A life half human and half werewolf.

“Sometimes I feel different,” you start saying with hesitation.

You can’t reveal the true nature of Jungkook, but you’d still like to speak a bit about it with Felix. Maybe he’ll be able to reassure you about it.

“Like there’s something beneath the surface that I can’t put into words,” you continue. “And it scares me.”

This entire situation scares the hell out of you. There are so many what-ifs…

“Whatever this is, yn, trust yourself. You’ve never been alone. Lexi and I have always been by your side through this entire process, and we’ll remain until the end,” he reminds you. “I’m sure you’ll find your way through this.”

You’ve always admired the way Felix trusts you and encourages you also to trust yourself. It has never been easy for the past twenty years, but he’s been the light guiding you through every tough moment. You’re lucky to have him, and you’ll forever be grateful that he took you over after the passing of your parents.

“You’ve inherited your parents’ strength; they left everything behind to offer you a proper life, and even though they didn’t get to see you become the woman you are today, you’ve grown far away from that family that never wanted you.”

Being reminded that your grandparents disapproved of your parents’ relationship and your existence breaks your heart. You would have loved that things were different. You would have loved to meet them. You don’t know anything about your family. You don’t even know where your parents originally are from.

You know Felix and your parents have been trying to protect you, but you’ve always wanted to discover the truth, to understand why your grandparents didn’t want your parents to be together. You ignore so many things, but you haven’t been able to discover anything about your parents’ past. Whatever happened, it’s like it was erased.

And you also are a hundred percent sure that your parents’ murder is related to this family story. You don’t know how, but you feel it in your guts. When you think about it, it sends shivers down your spine because there’s a tiny possibility that your grandparents killed your parents.

“Did you ever meet my grandparents?” you dare to ask.

Your entire life you’ve hesitated to question Felix about the family issues. It wasn’t his place to know about it and reveal it to you.

“No,” he answers. “I met your parents after they left their hometown.”

You nod although you aren’t fully convinced about that. You don’t say anything else. Your parents are a touchy subject with Felix; he lost his friends after all. It mustn’t have been easy for him too, especially since he took you over.

“Thanks, Felix for your support,” you smile at him.

Felix squeezes your hands with a bright smile on his face. There’s no doubt that this moment has reassured and comforted you a lot. Now all you have to do is face the situation and really think about what you’ll do.

On your way back to your apartment, you could swear you felt Jungkook’s presence nearby. It’s not logical, not even remotely possible. However, every fiber of your being screams ‘he’s here’. You walked slower as your eyes scanned every corner and alley, looking for someone that isn’t there.

You paused at a streetlight, slowly turning around. He’s here. You’re certain of it. But where? How? You pull your jacket tighter around you, shake your head, and start walking. Even though you’re getting closer to your apartment building, the feeling doesn’t fade. It clings to you like a second skin. You’re not scared, not really. If anything, you feel protected as if someone is watching over you.

As you step into the lobby of the complex building, the feeling slowly starts to fade away. But even as you stand in the elevator, you can’t shake the sensation. You felt him; you know you did. And it terrifies you just as much as it comforts you.

Once inside your apartment, you directly walk to your couch after removing your coat and shoes. You sink onto it as you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding back. Nothing really feels normal anymore. Everything is just different now.

You wrap your arms around yourself to kind of protect yourself. You must admit that you’re a bit scared of what the future might hold for you. There’s a baby growing inside you; one you deeply desire, but that baby is linked to a world you never knew existed two weeks ago. And it’s a baby whose father doesn’t want them.

Your right hand snails down to your stomach as you think about this child. You’ve spent so much time dreaming about this. About holding a tiny life in your arms. About creating a family that felt yours. But this? This isn’t what you planned.

However, you can hear Felix’s words inside your head. He’ll be there for you; he’ll support you in whatever decision you make. You know that you won’t be alone in this process. You’ll have him and Lexi, and your friends too.

And there’s Jungkook…

You shake the thought away. He was very clear; he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want you. You feel a bit sad for him. He wanted a child otherwise, he wouldn’t have sought the clinic’s help. And now, he has a child with a human which is completely forbidden in his world. It mustn’t be easy for him too.

As you caress your stomach, trying to comfort you and the baby, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you want to keep the baby. It’s not a definitive decision, not yet. You still doubt it, and there’s still some fear within you related to this whole werewolf thing.

But for the first time since the clinic’s mistake, you feel like you’re slowly leaning into a choice. It doesn’t feel like you’re still completely torn apart by the two choices. It’s still an uncertain choice. But it’s yours.

Tonight, it’s been hard for you to properly sleep. You’ve been turning in your bed, trying to find the right position to sleep. But none of them seems to be the right one. The city light picking through the curtains seems also not to help you. It feels like the world doesn’t want to let you sleep.

On top of that, when you close your eyes, your mind instantly goes to Jungkook. You relive again the moment he revealed his true nature; you see again his intense gaze on you and how his eyes turned red.

“Why can’t I stop thinking about him?” your voice is barely audible in the silence of the room.

Your hands move down to your stomach for the millionth time today. Whenever you think about Jungkook, you’re reminded of the life growing inside you. A life that wouldn’t exist without him.

You end up giving up and sit up, your back leaning against the headboard. You look around, your room is a complete mess, just like your mind. A couple of weeks ago, while looking at your bedroom, you were thinking about how it would change once you become a mother.

Now, you’re facing a reality where werewolves exist. A reality where Jungkook rejected the baby. A reality where you still don’t know what to do. And it feels like it’s crushing you. It feels like all this constant thinking is suffocating you, like the city noise.

But then, subtly something changes.

A warmth starts spreading through your chest. It’s like when the sunlight breaks through the heavy grey clouds. It’s like receiving a hug from a loved person. It’s reassuring and comforting. You close your eyes, your eyebrows furrowing as you feel the same presence as earlier today. However, this time, it’s not physical, but it feels real.

It’s Jungkook.

You can’t explain it, but you know. You’d like to say that you’re going crazy, but it doesn’t feel like it. You feel his presence, and you don’t know how.

“Jungkook,” you whisper while opening your eyes.

From afar, Jungkook is sitting in his study, looking at the forest through a large window. His expression is tight, and his jaw is clenched. He’s been more than ever nervous and stressed.

Suddenly, a very faint whisper of his name brushes against his mind. His eyes widen slightly as he feels something, or should he say, someone. He then closes his eyes to feel this sudden connection.

For a brief moment, he swears he can feel you. He can feel your confusion, your exhaustion, but also your strength. He takes deep breaths, trying to push away whatever this is. He isn’t supposed to feel any of this with a human. He isn’t supposed to be connected to a human.

But it seems like nothing makes sense anymore.

There are many things that aren’t supposed to exist or to make sense, but everything shifted the second you came into his life.

As the sensation fades away, he runs a hand through his hair while you wonder what the heck just happened.

Jungkook’s eyes look at the moon peeking through the clouds. It’s a beautiful moon even though it’s not the full moon yet.

“Mister Jeon,” his footman enters the study room. “Yuna is waiting at the door, she’d like to speak with you. Do I let her in?”

The king hesitates for a couple of seconds, but then proceeds to let her in. He wonders what she’s doing here, and he’s very curious to know about it.

Yuna, his ex-girlfriend arrives quite rapidly and with a lot of grace. She’s still as pretty as he remembers, it’s like she didn’t change in over a year. His heart starts pounding rapidly in his chest, making him wonder if he still loves her. Undoubtedly, he isn’t unaffected by her.

Jungkook stands up and she bows to him once in front of him. “Your Majesty,” she says.

It’s weird to see her doing that; it’s the first time she ever does it. When he became a king, she was his girlfriend, and he refused to let her bow to him even though they weren’t equals. To him, it didn’t make any sense for all that. However, today, she represents nothing to him. She’s just a simple werewolf.

“Yuna,” he firstly says. “What brings you here?”

“You’ve been avoiding me, Jungkook,” Yuna is draped in an elegant coat, and Jungkook can see a red dress beneath the coat.

Jungkook sits back down on the chair, rubbing his temple. Of course, he’s been avoiding her because she’s his ex. It wouldn’t make sense to run after her, especially when she’s the one who walked away in the first place.

“I’ve seen it at The Bloods’ gala, the council monthly meeting, and last full moon,” she adds.

The further he is from her, the better he feels. But it’s nearly impossible. She’s the descendant of one of the most ancient families of The Bloods’ pack. Her family is powerful, but definitely not as powerful as Jeon’s family. Both families share a history, but that’s it.

“What did you expect?” he asks.

A year ago, she walked away, and Jungkook didn’t fight for her. When he became a king, he had to navigate this entirely new role while coping with grief. Yuna was kind of obsessed with the possibility of her becoming the next queen and mother to the future heir. She wasn’t there when he needed her.

Instead of navigating this together, they isolated themselves. She was constantly complaining about the fact that he wasn’t paying any attention to her. She desired the power he could grant her, but she felt like she didn’t matter. She felt unloved and unfulfilled in the relationship.

So, she walked away, and he let her go.

Jungkook thought that it was for the best. It simply was too hard for him to deal with everything, and his role absorbed all the pain he felt when she left. It was a five-year-long relationship, he still loved her even though his love changed over time.

“Well, at least, a simple ‘hello’,” she answers before crossing her arms against her chest.

Yuna never imagined things would turn out like this when she left. She deeply regrets what she did, and she has been contemplating for a while to win her king back.

“Unless I have to, I’d never come to you to say ‘hello’,” he instantly snaps back.

Without asking for permission, she takes a seat on the couch near her. She seems infuriated but doesn’t let it break her shell.

“There are rumors…” she murmurs. “Saying that you’ve been busy, trying to secure the lineage.”

Over the past months, a lot of rumors have been circulating about him. Some are saying that he’s with someone, others that he’s engaged, and others stating the truth—that he’s been trying to have a child. As usual, he hasn’t said a damn thing.

“Well, those are only rumors,” he answers, trying to hide away any expression that might betray him.

For a split second, his mind pictures you smiling. A smile he caused when he handed you the small box of pastries. Technically speaking, you’ve secured his lineage.

“I believe them,” she says. “I knew how much you wanted a child, and you’re a terrible liar,” she adds. “Now, I’m left wondering if you’re doing this through surrogacy or if you really got someone pregnant.”

“Yuna is definitely smart,” Jungkook mumbles to himself. It has always impressed him how intelligent she can be when something gets her attention. This seems to be a hot topic for her.

“And if someone is pregnant, it might mean that you’re seeing someone.”

A smile appears on his face, his eyes looking right through hers. She’s way too curious about this, and he definitely wants to leave her wondering even more. But this woman could find you if he leaves her in the dark, and that is something he can’t let happen. He has to protect you from his world.

“Maybe, it’s neither option,” he answers.

She narrows her eyes as if she’s trying to see which option is the correct one.

“If it’s none of them, then I can help you with that.”

Jungkook instantly laughs; this woman is beyond crazy. She can’t come back just like that. Their relationship died a year ago so there’s no turning back. Plus, making her the mother of his child would give her the power she tried to have when he became a king. Jungkook isn’t that stupid.

“You can keep it to yourself,” he says. “I don’t need it.”

If they were still together, they would most probably be expecting a baby. Or they would have already been parents.

“And if you only came to throw me that bullshit, you can leave,” he adds. “I’ve more important things to deal with.”

Those last words profoundly hurt her, but again, she doesn’t show it. She stands up and walks closer to him before bending down, her lips near his ear. Surprisingly, this closeness doesn’t make him shiver like it used to.

“It’s just the beginning, baby,” she whispers. “You won’t get rid of me so easily.”

She presses a kiss on his cheek before vanishing. Jungkook closes his eyes, a deep breath escaping his lips. This is the last thing he needs right now. He already has so much on his plate, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with his ex.

“What did I do to deserve all of this?” he whispers.

With his eyes closed, his mind gets lost in visions of your face. They appease him in an unexplainable way. Nobody has ever had such an effect on him—even less a human. He doesn’t really know what to do. Maybe for now, it’s best to simply ignore all of this.

However, he wants to make sure that you’re safe. He’s scared that Yuna might discover you and put your life in jeopardy. If she ever finds out about you, she’ll do everything in her power to give you the same treatment previous humans had in the same situation. Death.

Jungkook totally ignores your address, but he’s a king and a werewolf. He could find you by your smell or if he asks someone to look for you. Well, being honest, he has already done some research about you. He wanted to discover who you are. Wanted to know who the mother of his unborn child was.

He shifts into a wolf before running through the forest. He could have run through the city, but people would see him which is risky. Although some werewolves do that, he’s the king. He can’t make any reckless move. His world needs to be protected; he made an oath when he succeeded his father.

Once he’s near your place, he shifts back to his human form and walks up until he’s near enough to see you through the window. Based on his research, this is the place of a certain Felix, a man who took you over after the passing of your parents. He’s the man that truly raised you.

His gaze finds you quite rapidly. It seems that you’re in a living room animatedly speaking with two men and a woman. One of the men seems to be in his fifties-sixties so he’d guess it’s Felix. The girl he’d say that it’s Lexi, Felix’s daughter; she looks a lot like him. The second man seems to be a complete stranger. Maybe a friend or something like that.

Jungkook checks the surroundings to make sure nobody— especially a werewolf— is around. As he realizes you’re safe, a strong wave of warmth crashes over him. He’s really scared that something might happen to you because of the little life growing inside you. A life whose little heartbeat he can hear.

Since he met you in the clinic for the first time, he’s been hearing that faint heartbeat. He’s also been able to scent the baby’s smell; it’s kind of human, but not entirely. He knew from the first second that it was his child, but he also knew there was something off. It wasn’t just about the baby, it was also about you. Your scent is different than any other human.

But the only thing he found strange about you is the fact that he couldn’t find anything about your parents. Outside their life here, there’s nothing from before. It’s like they never existed before. It’s definitely odd.

Despite all of that, hearing his child’s heartbeat reassures him. Deep down, since the beginning, he’s been hoping you’d keep the baby. His baby.

Suddenly, you look out the window. Under a streetlamp, not too far away, you notice someone looking in your direction. For a very split second, you feel scared, but you’re suddenly reassured. Even though you can’t see the person’s face, you know who it is. You can feel his presence. It’s Jungkook.

You get a confirmation when his eyes take a red wolf form. The exact same form when he partially shifted into a wolf.

Jungkook, on his side, can swear that he saw your eyes turned to a blue color. A deep blue with something wolfish about them. It happens so fast, but he knows what he saw. After all, it seems that you’re not human. You’re a werewolf. And it changes everything now.

please note that the taglist is closed!

#bts #bts fanfic #bts imagine #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #jungkook angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bloodlines entwined #bloodlines entwined: chapter 2 #spideyjimin

1K notes · View notes

cosmicmunsonwrites · 6 months ago

Note

MORE MEAN!RAFE PLEASE!!! Maybe leading from the last ask and it’s him being the desperate one and she’s just scared of him now but she still loves him or smth idk lols

even when you pushed me away

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — stalking

summary — rafe somehow finds you after you frantically ran away from home.

authors note — this is a continuation of my mean!rafe series. it is in my rafe cameron masterlist under “au’s” if you’d like it read it as a series instead of a standalone. thank you guys for all the love with this au, it means the world to me. please request more!!

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

“why are you here, rafe?” you asked, your voice firm and unwavering even though you were slightly terrified and cowering behind your half-opened front door. “how did you even find me?”

he shook his head and brushed it off. “why am i here? because you just got up and left. no note? text? a call? nothing,” he explained calmly. “why? and where is all your stuff?” you bit your bottom lip nervously and stared at him. to your surprise, he looked genuinely confused. “did i do something?”

you almost laughed. did he do something? was he serious? “you should leave. i don’t want to talk to you,” you stated while beginning to close the door.

he lunged forward quickly and pushed back on it slightly, not enough for you to be scared that he was going to force his way in or anything like that, but just to keep you from shutting it in his face. “please, baby. i jus’ wanna talk to you. i want you to come home. i wanna know why you left in the first place.”

your resolve was beginning to slip. he was being so sweet and his eyes were all glassy like he was going to cry. “rafe, i don’t want to talk to you. i can’t,” you said a little more forcefully.

his bottom lip trembled slightly and he stared at you with wide eyes. “why not? what did i do wrong? if its about not spending enough time together, i promise i’ll change. i’ll clear my schedule for the rest of the week and we can spend every second of it together. jus’ please, come back home.”

“it’s not about that,” you replied. you wanted to leave with him so desperately. he sounded so torn and sad and it was beginning to make your heart break for him. “you’re not a good person. i can’t get mixed up with that.”

a tear slipped down his cheek as the realization set in. “baby, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered softly before talking a step closer to the door. you threatened to close it, narrowing the gap between you and him. that made him take a step back instantly. “please. jus’ come home and i’ll explain. i promise you. no lying, no bullshit. i’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

you felt your nose begin to sting and tears pool in your waterline. “i can’t, rafe.” you quickly shut the door and twisted the lock. a loud bang sounded on the door and you instinctively jumped back as you sobbed.

“open the fucking door!” he shouted angrily. you could hear his voice tremble before he began to repeatedly bang on the wood. “open the door!”

you slid down the wall and curled up into yourself, letting the tears call and the ugly cries escape your mouth. you’d never seen this side of him and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t terrify you to your core.

“baby, please! i’m begging you to open the door. i just want to talk to you,” he said, his voice slightly muffled through the barrier. “i need to talk to you. i need you to know that i’m not a bad person. please.”

you were pretty sure you were past that point now.

#gracies asks and requests 💌#gracie writes rafe cameron 🌺#obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #outer banks #outer banks imagine

1K notes · View notes

sixeyesonathiel · 20 days ago

Text

wanted: dead or wed

chapter one: sweet thing with a switchblade

pairing — cowboy satoru x bandit reader

synopsis : satoru’s just passing through—dust in his lungs, a bullet wound in his side, and no intention of staying anywhere too long—when you crash into his life like bad luck with a pretty face. you’re trouble from the start, all sharp looks and sharper secrets, but he’s never had much self-control when it comes to danger dressed like desire. what begins with blood and bad timing turns into something else entirely—something he can’t name, can’t escape, and sure as hell can’t walk away from. you’re the last thing he needs, but the only thing he wants, and if that makes him a fool… well, he’s been worse.

tags -> wild west au, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, dubcon elements, forced proximity, captivity, power imbalance, morally ambiguous character, horny at first sight, feelings later, toxic dynamic at first, eventual healthy relationship (i swear), gojo satoru is down bad, slowly falling into domesticity, eventual smut, eventual fluff, banter, unresolved sexual tension, other additional tags to be added

wc — 8.4k | series m.list | gen. m.list

your scream cuts through the desert air like a blade through silk.

satoru’s hands tighten on the reins without conscious thought, his mare luna already wheeling toward the sound before his mind catches up. dust kicks up around them in russet clouds, the sun beating down merciless and white. he’d been riding for three days straight, his thoughts circling like vultures around the deed folded in his saddlebag—his mother’s house, waiting for him like a grave he’s not ready to visit. but a woman’s scream? that’s different. that’s immediate. that’s the kind of thing mama would’ve skinned him alive for ignoring.

his spurs dig into luna’s flanks and she responds like lightning, her hooves drumming against the hardpan earth. the wind whips through hair that catches light like spun glass, wild and pale against the endless blue sky. sweat dampens his shirt beneath the leather vest, salt stinging where it meets the dust caked on his skin. he can taste the desert on his tongue—grit and heat and something metallic that might be his own blood from where he’d bitten his cheek that morning, trying to stay awake.

through the scrub brush and twisted mesquite, he spots you.

and christ, you’re beautiful.

even terrified, even with dirt streaking your cheeks and tears cutting clean tracks through the grime, you’re the kind of beautiful that makes a man forget his own name. your dress is torn at the shoulder, fabric clinging to curves that make his mouth go dry despite the heat. there’s something about the way you’re positioned—sprawled but not quite helpless, your ankle twisted at an angle that screams pain but your spine still holding some invisible thread of steel.

behind you, two men with guns drawn. standard issue bandits by the look of them, all beard and bluster and eyes like dead fish. one’s got a hand twisted in your hair, yanking your head back to expose the vulnerable line of your throat. the other’s got his barrel trained on your temple, finger hovering over the trigger with the kind of casual threat that makes satoru’s jaw clench.

“help!” you cry, and your voice cracks just right—desperate but not quite broken, like you’re holding onto hope by your fingernails. “please, they’re gonna kill me!”

satoru’s already moving, luna’s hooves throwing up clouds of red dirt as they thunder into the clearing. he swings down from the saddle with fluid grace, his duster coat billowing around him like dark wings. his hand finds the grip of his colt without thought, muscle memory carved deep by years of staying alive in places where hesitation gets you buried.

“no worries, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice carrying that easy confidence that’s gotten him out of more scrapes than he can count. “i’ve got you.”

the first bandit—scraggly beard, vest that’s seen better decades—shifts his aim toward satoru. mistake. satoru’s already moving, his body flowing like water around the muzzle flash. the bullet whines past his ear, close enough to feel the heat, and then his own gun is speaking. clean shot, center mass. the man drops like a stone.

the second bandit doesn’t even get the chance to scream. satoru’s on him in two strides, his blade sliding between ribs with surgical precision. blood blooms across the man’s shirt, dark and spreading, and he crumples with a wet gurgle.

satoru turns back to you, already reaching for his bandana to clean the blood from his knife. “you hurt, darlin’? they lay hands on you?”

but you’re not looking at him with gratitude. you’re looking at him with something else entirely—calculation. focus. the kind of look a predator gives prey before it strikes.

that’s when he sees it. the flash of metal in your hand. the way your body coils, all that supposed helplessness melting away like sugar in rain. time slows to honey-thick molasses as you lunge forward, your blade aimed with deadly precision at the gap between his ribs.

clever girl.

the steel slides home with a whisper, parting flesh like it was made for it. fire explodes through his side, white-hot and immediate, and he can feel the warmth spreading across his shirt. but even as the pain hits, even as his own blood starts to paint his fingers crimson, he’s almost impressed. almost.

“well, shit,” he breathes, looking down at where your blade has found its mark. the shock in your eyes is almost comical—like you can’t quite believe you actually managed to stick him. “you really had me going there, sugar.”

that’s when they emerge from the treeline. a dozen men, maybe more, whooping and hollering like demons fresh from hell. your backup, he realizes. the real trap. he’d been so focused on playing hero that he’d walked right into it, led by his cock and his conscience in equal measure.

“guess i’m the fool here,” he says, and there’s something almost conversational in his tone. almost amused. because fools don’t last long in the west, and satoru’s been breathing desert air for more years than most men see in a lifetime.

the first wave hits him like a tide of violence and stupidity. guns blazing, knives flashing, voices raised in bloodthirsty chorus. and satoru? satoru becomes something else entirely. something that moves like liquid death and strikes like divine judgment.

his revolvers sing their deadly song, muzzle flashes painting the desert in brief, brilliant light. bullets that should have found their mark bend around him like they’re afraid to touch him, deflected by forces that don’t have names in any language spoken by mortal men. one bandit charges with a wild scream and meets satoru’s fist instead, the sound of breaking bone sharp and final in the desert air.

another tries to flank him, blade gleaming in the dying light. satoru catches his wrist, twists until something snaps, and sends the man’s own knife sliding between his ribs. the scream cuts off abruptly, replaced by the wet sound of punctured lung.

through it all, satoru moves like he’s dancing. coat tails spinning, hair streaming pale as moonlight, those impossible eyes bright as winter stars. blood seeps through his shirt where your blade found its mark, but it doesn’t slow him. if anything, it seems to fuel him, like pain is just another kind of music and he’s conducting the orchestra.

one by one, they fall. screaming. bleeding. dying.

when the smoke clears and the last echo of gunfire fades into the endless sky, satoru’s still standing. breathing hard now, finally, sweat mixing with blood and dust on his skin. his glasses are gone, lost somewhere in the chaos, revealing eyes that burn like cold fire. unnatural. divine. hungry.

and you? you’re staring at him like he’s the devil himself, pressed back against a gnarled tree with your hands shaking and your face pale as bone.

that’s when he hears it. the sound of hoofbeats, fast and fading. your so-called partners, fleeing like the cowards they are. leaving you behind like yesterday’s garbage.

“they left you,” he says, and there’s something almost gentle in his voice. almost. “after all that acting, they just... left you.”

he can see the moment it hits you—the betrayal, the abandonment. your face crumbles for just a second before you school it back into defiance, but that second is enough. satoru’s always been good at reading people, at seeing the cracks in their armor. it’s kept him alive this long.

“fuck you,” you spit, and he laughs. actually laughs, the sound rich and dark and entirely too pleased.

“oh, sweetheart,” he says, closing the distance between you in two long strides. “we’re just getting started.”

his hand shoots out, fast as a striking snake, and clamps around your wrist. you yelp as he yanks you upright, slamming you back against the tree. bark digs into your spine, and his face is inches from yours. close enough to see the gold flecks in those impossible eyes, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“you gonna scream again, darlin’?” he rasps, tilting his head like he’s studying you. like you’re something fascinating and dangerous and worth taking apart piece by piece. “go on. give me another show.”

his free hand slides down your waist, slow and deliberate, fingers pressing through the fabric of your dress like he’s mapping territory. claiming it. his breath ghosts across your jaw, warm and sharp with the copper taste of violence.

“but first,” he says, voice dropping to something low and dangerous, “you’re gonna pay for trying to fool me.”

his grip tightens. his smile deepens.

“and sugar, i charge interest.”

the ride to his mother’s house is torture in more ways than one.

every bounce of luna’s gait sends fire through the wound in his side, but worse—so much worse—is the way you feel pressed against him. soft curves and angry heat, your body rigid with tension and something else. something that makes his pulse quicken despite the blood loss. despite the pain. despite every rational thought screaming at him to get you secured and stop thinking about the way your ass fits against his hips.

you’d fought like a wildcat when he’d hauled you up and thrown you over his saddle, all claws and fury and threats that would’ve made a saint blush. but now you’ve gone quiet, probably plotting your escape. he almost hopes you try. it’s been too long since he’s had a proper challenge, and something about you—the way you’d played your part so perfectly, the way you’d looked at him like he was death incarnate—makes him think you might actually be worth the effort.

“you can stop planning,” he says conversationally, his voice rumbling through his chest and into your back. “wherever you think you’re gonna run, i’ll find you.”

your only response is to dig your elbow into his thigh, and he grins despite the pain. despite the way his shirt is stuck to his skin with drying blood. despite the fact that he’s probably losing his mind, because no sane man would be this entertained by a woman who just tried to kill him.

luna’s hooves drum against the hardpan, steady and sure, carrying them both toward a destination he’s been avoiding for months. his mother’s house sits on the outskirts of a nothing town called redemption, all faded paint and memories he’s not ready to face. but it’s isolated, which is what he needs right now. isolated and empty and far enough from civilization that no one will hear you scream.

the thought sends heat pooling low in his belly, and he has to shift in the saddle to hide his body’s reaction. you feel it anyway—the way his muscles tense, the way his breathing changes—and you go even more rigid against him. like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. invisible.

“easy there, darlin’,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “i can feel you thinking. it’s giving me a headache.”

you flinch at the contact, a full-body shiver that he feels more than sees. interesting. he files that reaction away for later, along with the way your breathing hitches when he speaks and the way your hands clench into fists when he touches you.

the sun is setting by the time they reach the house, painting the sky in shades of rust and gold. it’s worse than he remembered—sheets over furniture, dust thick as snow, windows so grimy they barely let in light. the garden his mother had tended with such care is nothing but weeds and regret now, the white picket fence weathered to gray.

“home sweet home,” he mutters, sliding you down from luna’s back. you immediately try to bolt, just like he knew you would, and he catches you around the waist before you can take two steps. your body slams back against his chest, soft and warm and trembling with barely contained rage.

“uh-uh, sugar,” he says, his arm tightening around you. “you’re not going anywhere.”

your pulse is racing under his fingers, a frantic rhythm that matches the way you’re breathing. fast and shallow, like you’re fighting panic. like you think he’s going to hurt you in ways that don’t involve bullets or blades.

“what do you want?” you demand, and he can hear the fear threading through your anger. you think he’s going to force himself on you. the thought should disgust him—his mother raised him better than that, taught him that real men don’t take what isn’t freely given. but instead, it makes him wonder what you’d look like beneath him, all that fight turned to desperate need.

the house looms before you two, full of shadows and silence. the porch creaks under their weight, old wood groaning like it’s protesting this reunion. satoru hesitates at the door, one hand resting on the knob, his breath shallow.

“she always hated leaving it locked,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. he turns the handle. the door swings open with a low moan, like it’s waking from a long sleep.

inside, dust motes dance in the last rays of sunlight, and the air smells like lavender and loss. his mother’s presence is everywhere—in the lace curtains she’d sewn by hand, in the photographs lining the mantel, in the rocking chair where she’d spent her last days waiting for a son who’d been too much of a coward to come home. her ghost lingers in the wallpaper, in the creak of the floorboards, in the quiet hum of the house settling back into itself.

satoru steps over the threshold and doesn’t breathe for a moment. his fingers trail the side table by the door, where her gloves used to rest. his eyes flick to the photo near the hearth—her smile caught mid-laugh, dust blurring the frame. he swallows.

“don’t touch anything,” he says, voice tight.

you say nothing, but your eyes sweep the room like a threat. like you’re already planning which window you’ll break when the time comes.

he pushes the guilt down, locks it away where it can’t touch him. there will be time for that later. time for apologies to ghosts and promises to women who can’t hear them anymore. right now, he has more pressing concerns.

like the way you’re looking at him—calculating, measuring, searching for weakness. like the way your tongue darts out to wet your lips when you think he’s not watching. like the way his body is responding to your proximity despite the pain, despite the blood loss, despite every reason this is a terrible idea.

he turns toward you then, the dying sunlight painting his face in copper and shadow.

“strip,” he orders, and watches your face drain of color. the word hangs in the air between them like a loaded gun, heavy with implication and threat.

he drinks in your reaction like fine whiskey—the way your eyes go wide, pupils dilating with terror. the way your hands fly to your chest, protective and futile. the way your breathing goes shallow, like you're drowning on dry land. beautiful. absolutely fucking beautiful.

“please,” you whisper, and something in his chest tightens. something that feels dangerously close to conscience, but he's having too much fun to stop now. “please, i—”

“now, now,” he drawls, taking a step closer. close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes—those impossible eyes that burn like winter frost touched by flame. close enough that he can see the pulse hammering at your throat, fast and frantic. “don't look at me like that, sugar. like i'm some kinda monster.”

but he lets his gaze rake over you slowly, deliberately. lets it linger on the curve of your breasts, the way your dress clings to your waist, the smooth line of your thighs. lets you see him looking. lets you feel the weight of his attention like hands on your skin.

“you think i'm gonna hurt you?” he asks, and his voice is soft. conversational. like he's asking about the weather instead of the fear painting your face pale. “think i'm gonna hold you down and take what i want?”

you flinch at the words, and he has to bite back a groan. the way terror looks on you should be wrong, should make him feel sick. instead, it makes him want to see what other expressions he can pull from you. what other sounds.

“the thought's crossed your mind, hasn't it?” he continues, circling you slowly. predatory. hair like spun starlight catching the dying light from the windows. “big, scary man like me. isolated house. no one around for miles.” he pauses behind you, close enough that his breath ghosts across your neck. “bet you can already feel it, can't you? my hands on your skin.”

you shudder, and he knows he's hit the mark. knows you're imagining exactly what he wants you to imagine. your body betrays you—the way you lean away from him, the way your hands shake, the way your breath catches when he speaks.

“stop,” you whisper, but there's no real force behind it. you're caught between fear and something else, something that makes your pulse quicken for reasons that have nothing to do with terror.

“stop what?” he asks, moving back into your line of sight. “stop telling the truth? stop making you think about what it would feel like?” he reaches out, fingers barely grazing your cheek. “stop making you wonder if you'd like it?”

the slap comes fast, sharp, and he catches your wrist before you can pull away. his grip is gentle but immovable, and he tsks softly.

“now that's just rude,” he says, but he's grinning. “here i am, being a perfect gentleman, and you're trying to mark up my pretty face.”

“gentleman?” you spit, and there's fire in your eyes now. anger burning through the fear. “you're sick.”

“maybe,” he agrees easily. “but i'm also patient. and i do so enjoy watching you squirm.”

he releases your wrist and steps back, putting space between you again. the absence of his touch is almost as unsettling as the presence of it, and he can see you struggling to recalibrate. to figure out what game he's playing.

he watches your face for a long moment, drinking in the terror, the way your mind is clearly spinning through every horrible possibility. the way you're looking at him like he's already got his hands on you. like you can feel phantom touches burning across your skin.

his eyes drop to your mouth—your lips parted with quick, shallow breaths. soft. probably sweet. definitely something he wants to taste. the impulse hits him like lightning, sudden and electric, and before he can think better of it, he's moving closer.

one hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin with surprising gentleness. the other braces against the wall behind you, caging you in. your eyes widen, confusion replacing terror as he leans in, and christ, you smell like dust and fear and something uniquely you that makes his head spin.

“what are you—” you start, but the words die as he gets closer. close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from your skin, close enough that your breath mingles with his.

his eyes—pale as winter sky, bright as lightning—flick down to your mouth again. back up to your eyes. down again. he's so close now that he can see the tiny flecks of gold in your irises, can count your eyelashes, can feel the way your body trembles with each ragged breath.

“just wondering,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, “what you taste like.”

and then he's leaning in, closing that final distance, and you—

you close your eyes.

the realization hits him like a physical blow. here you are, terrified and trapped and completely at his mercy, and you're tilting your face up to meet his. your lashes flutter against your cheeks, dark and delicate, and your lips part just slightly in unconscious invitation.

beautiful. so fucking beautiful it makes his chest ache.

for a heartbeat, he hovers there. a breath away. close enough that he can feel the warmth of your skin, can smell the salt of unshed tears and the sweet scent of your hair. close enough that all he'd have to do is lean forward just a fraction more and he'd be tasting you, claiming you, taking what he wants because he's always been impulsive as hell and you're looking at him like—

like you want him to.

but something stops him. maybe it's the way your hands are shaking. maybe it's the memory of his mother's voice, telling him that real men don't take advantage. maybe it's the fact that you just tried to kill him and he's not sure if this is surrender or strategy.

whatever it is, he pulls back.

just a fraction. just enough to break the spell.

and then he laughs.

the sound is rich and genuine and entirely too amused, echoing off the dusty walls of his mother's house. it's the kind of laugh that makes you feel like you're missing the punchline to some cruel joke, and your eyes snap open, confusion and hurt flashing across your features.

“didn't peg you for the type to fall for a man that fast,” he says, voice dripping with mock surprise. “you must be real easy, darlin'.”

the words hit you like a slap, and he watches the progression of emotions across your face—confusion melting into embarrassment, embarrassment burning into rage. your cheeks flame red, and you look like you want to disappear into the floorboards.

“you—” you start, voice thick with mortification, but he's already moving away, putting distance between you again.

“what exactly did you think i was asking you to do?” he continues, reaching into his saddlebags and tossing you a bundle of clean clothes. the fabric hits your chest and you catch it reflexively, still staring at him like he's lost his mind.

“strip,” he repeats, voice dripping with mock innocence. “as in, take off those filthy rags and put on something clean. you know, basic human hygiene?” he tilts his head, studying you with those impossible eyes that seem to see right through you. “what did you think i meant?”

the realization hits you like a physical blow, and he can see the exact moment your brain catches up to what just happened. the way your eyes widen further, the way the color in your cheeks deepens from pink to scarlet.

“you're filthy,” he continues, his grin widening as he watches you struggle with the whiplash of emotions. “and you smell like horse. there's a washbasin in the kitchen, pump's out back. get cleaned up.” he pauses, letting the moment stretch. “unless, of course, you'd prefer to stay dirty. some folks are into that sort of thing.”

“you—you bastard,” you stammer, and your voice is thick with humiliation and fury. “you did that on purpose.”

“did what?” he asks, all wide-eyed innocence even as his eyes glitter with amusement. “asked you to change clothes? seems pretty reasonable to me.” he leans back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “can't help it if you've got a dirty mind, darlin'. and apparently a weak spot for pretty faces.”

the look you give him could melt steel, but there's something else there now. embarrassment that goes bone-deep, rage that makes your whole body tremble, and underneath it all, something that might be wounded pride. like you can't believe you fell for it. can't believe you actually thought he was going to kiss you.

can't believe you wanted him to.

“what's the catch?” you ask through gritted teeth, clutching the clothes to your chest like armor.

“no catch,” he says, and for once he's not lying. “just can't have you stinking up my house.” he pauses, then adds with a wicked grin, “and if you need help with any buttons or laces, just holler. i'm real good with my hands.”

you clutch the clothes tighter, and he can see you trying to decide if that was another threat or just more of his twisted sense of humor. the uncertainty in your eyes is almost as entertaining as the fear was. almost as satisfying as the way you'd looked at him when you thought he was going to kiss you.

“the kitchen?” you ask, voice barely controlled.

“through there,” he says, nodding toward the doorway. “and sugar? don't even think about running. i told you—i'll find you. and next time, i might not be so generous.”

you take a step toward the kitchen, then pause. turn back. there's something in your expression that he can't quite read—calculation, maybe, or the beginnings of a plan. or maybe just the desire to salvage some dignity from this train wreck of a conversation.

“you think you're real clever, don't you?” you say, and there's steel in your voice now. fire. “getting me all worked up like that.”

“worked up?” he echoes, and his grin turns predatory. “is that what we're calling it? here i thought you were just scared of a little soap and water.”

the blush that spreads across your cheeks is beautiful, and he files the image away for later. for when he's alone with his thoughts and his hand and the memory of the way you looked at him like he was going to devour you whole. the way you'd closed your eyes and tilted your face up to his like you wanted him to.

“go on,” he says, shooing you toward the kitchen with one hand. “get cleaned up. and take your time—i'm not going anywhere.”

you disappear into the kitchen without another word, and he's left alone with the ghosts and the dust and the sound of his own breathing. but also with something new. something that feels like anticipation, like the moment before a storm breaks.

through the doorway, he can hear you moving around. the creak of floorboards, the splash of water, the rustle of fabric. his imagination fills in the details, and he has to adjust himself in his pants because apparently nearly dying hasn't done anything to dampen his body's reaction to you.

especially not after that moment. that breath of space where you'd looked at him like you wanted to be kissed. where you'd closed your eyes and leaned into him like you trusted him not to hurt you.

like you wanted him to hurt you in all the right ways.

the wound in his side throbs with each heartbeat, a reminder of how close he'd come to dying today. how close he'd come to never making it home. but now he's here, in his mother's house, with a beautiful woman who tried to kill him washing herself in his kitchen.

it feels like the beginning of something dangerous and necessary and entirely too tempting to resist.

left alone, satoru feels the house settle around him like an old coat, all creaking wood and familiar ghosts. sunset bleeds through dusty windows, painting everything in shades of copper and regret. his wound throbs with every heartbeat, a steady reminder of how close he’d come to meeting his maker today. how close he’d come to never seeing this place again.

satoru grimaces, his jaw clenching as he shrugs off his duster. the movement pulls at torn skin, and he lets the leather fall to the floor in a heap of dust and regret. his shirt comes next, pale fingers working the buttons with practiced precision despite the tremor in his hands. he hisses through his teeth as the fabric pulls against torn skin, broad shoulders rolling to ease the sting. the cotton is ruined—dark with blood and dirt, beyond salvation. like most things in his life, really.

he catches his reflection in the mirror above the mantel and almost laughs. he looks like hell—chest streaked with blood and grime, muscles tight with tension, that deep gash just beneath his ribs still weeping red. there’s a bruise blooming across his shoulder where someone’s fist had connected, and scratches on his arms from the scrub brush and flying bullets. he’s all sharp edges and bad decisions, and somehow he’s still breathing.

the pump out back protests when he works the handle, rust flaking off like old skin. his forearms strain against the stubborn metal, tendons standing out beneath sun-weathered skin. the water runs brown at first, then clear and cold enough to make him curse. he soaks a cloth and presses it to the wound, biting back a groan at the sharp bite of pain.

through the kitchen window, he can see you moving around. shadows and glimpses of skin, the sound of water splashing. his imagination fills in the details—the way you’d look bent over the basin, soap sliding down your spine. the way his shirt would hang loose on your frame, the way it would smell like him when you put it on.

christ, he’s losing his mind. getting stabbed and then kidnapping your would-be killer—his mother would’ve boxed his ears for this kind of stupidity. but then again, mama had always said he had a weakness for lost causes and pretty faces. looks like death hadn’t changed that particular character flaw.

“how long does it take to scrub off a little betrayal?” he mutters, pressing the cloth harder against his ribs. the bleeding has slowed but not stopped, and he can feel exhaustion creeping in around the edges. blood loss, probably. or maybe just the weight of this godforsaken day finally catching up to him.

he glances toward the kitchen again. still no sign of you. maybe you’re plotting another escape attempt. maybe you’re just taking your sweet time to spite him. either way, he’s got nothing but time and bleeding wounds to keep him company.

the sound of bare feet on wood floors makes him look up, and then you’re there in the doorway, and his brain promptly forgets how to function.

you’re wearing his shirt—way too big, sleeves rolled sloppily up your forearms, the hem brushing mid-thigh. his pants are tied at your waist with the cord he’d tossed you, bunched and folded but somehow still managing to cling to your hips. your hair’s damp, sticking to your cheekbones, and there’s a smear of soap behind your ear that he wants to lick off.

barefoot and clean and wearing his clothes, you look like trouble. like the kind of temptation that gets good men killed and bad men redeemed. like something he should run from if he had any sense left.

the moment his gaze lands on you, it sticks. travels from your bare legs to the way his shirt gaps at your throat, to the pulse point he can see hammering beneath your skin. the corner of his mouth lifts in appreciation, and his eyes—pale as winter sky, sharp as fractured glass—drag over you with undisguised hunger.

“well, don’t you clean up nice,” he drawls, voice rougher than he intended. his head tilts slightly, studying you like a predator contemplating prey. “almost makes me forget the whole stabbing part.”

you roll your eyes, but he catches the way you shift your weight from foot to foot, the way your hands fidget with the oversized sleeves. your chin lifts in defiance even as heat creeps up your neck. “you bleeding out yet, or just fishing for compliments?”

he nods toward his side, where crimson is still seeping through his makeshift bandage. his smile turns lazy, dangerous. “come take a look. unless you’d rather finish what you started.”

you hesitate for a beat, teeth worrying your lower lip, and he can see the wheels turning behind your eyes. calculating. weighing options. then you sigh, roll your eyes again, and walk over with that purposeful stride that makes his pulse quicken. your bare feet make no sound on the wooden floor, but he tracks every step.

“sit,” you command, and there’s something different in your voice now. less fear, more exasperation. your hands find your hips, pushing the oversized shirt tight against your curves. “if you pass out, i don’t wanna drag your corpse.”

he settles into the chair with a grunt, spreading his legs wide and leaning back. the position puts you between his thighs when you step closer, and he doesn’t miss the way you tense at the proximity. doesn’t miss the way your breath catches when you get your first good look at the damage. his eyes—moonlight and mischief—never leave your face.

“you gonna patch me up or spit in it first?” he asks, tilting his head to watch your expression. his voice drops to a murmur, intimate in the dusty air.

“you deserve worse,” you mutter, but your hands are already moving, peeling away the blood-soaked cloth with surprising gentleness. your fingertips brush his skin, and he watches the way you flinch at the contact, the way your pupils dilate despite your scowl.

“you keep saying that, sugar, but your hands are shaking.” his voice is silk and smoke, and he leans forward slightly, invading your space. close enough that he can smell the soap in your hair, the lingering scent of his own skin on his clothes.

“i’m just trying not to punch you again.” your jaw clenches, but you don’t pull away. if anything, you lean closer, your breath ghosting across his chest as you examine the wound.

“cute.” the word rumbles from his throat, and his smile turns wicked. his fingers twitch against his thighs, fighting the urge to touch.

you shoot him a look that could melt steel, your eyes flashing with fury and something else—something that makes his blood sing. but you don’t pull away. instead, you lean closer, studying the wound with the kind of focus that speaks of experience. too much experience for someone who should be playing tea parties and picking wildflowers.

“it’s not as bad as it looks,” you say finally, and there’s something clinical in your tone. professional. your fingers trace the edges of the wound without quite touching, and he can feel the heat of your palm against his skin. “missed anything vital. you’ll live.”

“disappointed?” his voice is barely above a whisper, and when you glance up at him, he’s close enough that you can see the flecks of silver in his eyes, the way his pupils have blown wide.

“jury’s still out.” your words are breathless, and he watches the way your tongue darts out to wet your lips. watches the way your gaze drops to his mouth before snapping back up.

he chuckles, and the sound makes you glance up at him. for a moment, something passes between you—recognition, maybe. understanding. like you’re seeing past the blood and the bravado to something real underneath. the air between you crackles with tension, with the kind of heat that has nothing to do with the setting sun.

then you’re moving again, cleaning the wound with careful precision. your touch is gentle but sure, and he finds himself watching your face instead of what you’re doing. the way you bite your lip when you concentrate, leaving tiny indentations in the soft flesh. the way your lashes cast shadows on your cheeks. the way you hold your breath around blood like you’re trying not to breathe in the memories.

“they took you young, didn’t they?” he murmurs, and you flinch like he’s struck you. his voice is soft, almost gentle, and that makes it worse somehow.

“you don’t know shit about me.” your hands still for a moment, trembling against his skin before you force them to keep working.

“no,” he agrees, voice soft. his fingers twitch, wanting to touch your face, to smooth away the pain he can see etched there. “but i know the look.”

you don’t respond, just keep working. but he can see the tension in your shoulders, the way your movements have gone rigid. the way you’re holding yourself like you might shatter if he says the wrong thing. he’s hit close to home, and part of him wishes he hadn’t. part of him wants to take it back, to let you keep your secrets and your walls.

but the other part—the part that’s always been too curious for his own good—wants to dig deeper. wants to know what made you this way. what turned a girl who should be worried about dress patterns and sunday socials into someone who can patch a bullet wound without blinking.

“there,” you say finally, taping down a strip of cloth with more force than necessary. your movements are sharp, efficient, but he can see the way your hands shake slightly. “try not to get stabbed again before it heals.”

he hisses through his teeth at the tight binding, but he’s grinning. his eyes crinkle at the corners, and there’s something almost fond in his expression. “you enjoy hurting me, don’t you?”

you step back, and there’s something almost like a smirk playing at your lips. your arms cross over your chest, pushing his shirt taut against your curves. “a little.”

“if you were trying to kill me, sugar, you should’ve aimed for the heart.” he pushes himself up from the chair, movements fluid despite the pain. he’s tall, broad-shouldered, and when he stands this close you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

“if i wanted your heart,” you shoot back, chin lifting in challenge, “i’d have to dig through a whole lot of ego first.”

he throws back his head and laughs—really laughs, the sound rich and warm in the dusty air. his throat works, and you can see the way his chest moves with each breath. “christ, you’re mean. i like that in a woman.”

“lucky me.” you turn away, but not before he catches the flush creeping up your neck, the way your breathing has gone shallow.

you finish cleaning up, fingers smudged with his blood, and step back like the sight of him disgusts you. it probably does. he’s shirtless and scarred and grinning like a fool, all sharp angles and dangerous promises. muscles shifting under skin that’s marked with violence and time. but there’s something in your eyes when you look at him—something that isn’t quite hatred.

“don’t suppose you’re a good little housewife who makes dinner after a long day of stabbing,” he says, pushing himself up from the chair with a grunt. every muscle in his body protests, but he forces himself to move. weakness is invitation, and he’s not ready to show you any more of his throat than you’ve already seen.

you scowl, but he catches the way your gaze drops to his chest, to the bandage wrapped around his ribs. “don’t suppose you’re the type who says thank you either.”

“thank you,” he parrots, drawing out the syllables with a smirk. the words taste strange on his tongue, foreign after years of taking care of himself. his head tilts, and those pale eyes study you with renewed interest. “now shut up and eat.”

he saunters to the saddlebag by the door, muscles shifting under skin that’s still damp with water and blood. his movements are deliberately casual, calculated to draw your attention. he can feel you watching him, and he makes sure to give you a good show. broad shoulders, narrow waist, the kind of confidence that comes from knowing you’re dangerous and not caring who knows it.

the canvas pouch hits the table with a soft thud, and he settles into the chair across from you. inside the bag: two strips of smoked jerky, a handful of stale crackers, dried apple slices, and a tin of beans that’s probably older than you are.

“gourmet,” you say flatly, poking at the jerky with one finger. your nose wrinkles slightly, and he finds the expression endearing despite himself.

“better than whatever rot you were cooking with your friends in the woods.” he tears into his own piece with sharp canines, and you can’t help but watch the way his jaw works.

you sit across from him at the rickety kitchen table, and he’s struck by how domestic it feels. no plates, no cutlery, just fingers and attitude and the kind of tension that makes the air thick as honey. he tears into the jerky with his teeth and watches you eat like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“careful,” he says, tone easy but eyes sharp. his fingers drum against the table, pale and long and stained with his own blood. “i counted what’s in there. you pocket anything, i’ll know.”

“you counting how many times i sigh, too?” you chew deliberately, jaw working in a way that makes his mouth go dry.

“yeah. and so far, it’s insufferable.” his smile is all teeth and trouble, and he leans back in his chair like he’s never been more entertained.

you chew louder just to piss him off, and he smiles around a mouthful of cracker like he’s never been more entertained. this is what he’s been missing—someone who gives as good as they get. someone who doesn’t flinch when he shows teeth.

“so,” he says, leaning back in his chair. his arms cross over his chest, and you can see the way the muscles in his forearms shift. “what’s your real name?”

“what’s it matter?” you mirror his position, and he doesn’t miss the way the movement makes his shirt gape at your throat.

“might be nice to know what to carve on your headstone.” his tone is conversational, but there’s steel underneath. his eyes never leave your face, cataloging every micro-expression.

“optimistic, aren’t you?” you lean forward slightly, and he can smell the soap in your hair again. it’s maddening.

“i’m a planner.” his voice drops to a murmur, intimate despite the threat.

you snort, and the sound is almost fond. almost. your lips curve in what might be a smile if you weren’t so determined to hate him. “you plan on killing me?”

“haven’t decided yet. depends on how entertaining you are.” he tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “and so far, you’re exceeding expectations.”

“and if i bore you?” there’s challenge in your voice, in the way you hold yourself. like you’re daring him to try.

“then i guess we’ll find out how deep the well out back really is.” but his tone is almost playful now, and there’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. something that looks dangerously like affection.

you should be scared. should be begging or bargaining or trying to run. instead, you’re sitting there eating his food and trading threats like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like you’re not afraid of him at all.

maybe you should be.

maybe he should be afraid of you.

the thought sends heat spiraling through his chest, and he has to look away. out the window, the sun is setting properly now, painting the sky in shades of violence and promise. soon it’ll be dark, and then there’ll be nothing but you and him and the ghosts in these walls.

“finish up,” he says, pushing back from the table. his movements are fluid, controlled, but you can see the way he favors his injured side. “it’s getting late.”

“what, no dessert?” you lean back in your chair, and the movement makes his shirt ride up slightly. he notices. of course he notices.

“if you’re good, maybe i’ll let you have some of the whiskey i found in mama’s pantry.” his smile is sharp as broken glass, and his eyes—pale as frost, dangerous as winter—never leave your face.

“and if i’m bad?” your voice drops to a whisper, and there’s something in your tone that makes his blood sing. something that sounds almost like invitation.

he grins, and it’s all teeth and trouble. his head tilts, predatory and pleased. “then i guess we’ll have to find other ways to entertain ourselves.”

you don’t respond, just watch him with those clever eyes as he moves around the kitchen. he’s checking windows, making sure the latches are secure. his movements are purposeful, efficient, but you can see the way he’s favoring his injured side. the way he moves like a man who’s been hurt before. making sure you can’t slip out in the middle of the night and leave him bleeding in his mother’s house.

“you don’t trust me,” you observe, watching the way his shoulders move beneath scarred skin.

“would you?” he glances over his shoulder, and his smile is sharp as a blade. there’s something almost admiring in his expression, like he appreciates your honesty.

“probably not.” you stand, and the movement makes his shirt shift around your thighs. he notices. he always notices.

“smart girl.” the words are rough with approval, and he has to turn away before he does something stupid. like reach for you. like forget that you tried to kill him just hours ago.

he moves through the house with purpose, checking every possible exit. the window in the bathroom—locked. the one in the room next to his—latched tight. the one in what will be your room—secured with a chair propped under the sill for good measure.

you follow him like a shadow, bare feet silent on the wooden floors. he can feel your presence behind him, warm and dangerous and entirely too distracting. when he lingers by your door, you glare at him from the bed like a hissing cat in a too-big shirt. your legs are curled under you, and he can see the way his shirt has ridden up to expose the curve of your thigh.

“if you lock me in,” you say, voice flat as a blade, “i will break a chair through that window.” your chin lifts in challenge, and there’s fire in your eyes. promise and threat all rolled into one.

“just keeping the wildlife out, sugar. and by wildlife, i mean you.” his voice is honey and steel, and he leans against the doorframe like he has all the time in the world. like he’s not fighting the urge to step closer, to see what you’d do if he did.

he informs you flatly, voice taking on that authoritative edge that brooks no argument: “you’re in the room across from mine. don’t bother trying the front door—barred it already. pump’s out back if you need to wash that filthy mouth.” his eyes drop to your lips as he says it, and you can see the way his jaw clenches.

you bristle at the casual dismissal, at the way he’s arranging your life like you’re a doll in a dollhouse. your hands clench into fists, and he can see the way your breathing has gone shallow. “and if you’re thinking of running,” he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper, “just remember—i don’t miss twice.”

your response is to slam the door in his face, hard enough to rattle the frame. but not before he sees the way you bite your lip, the way your eyes flash with something that might be excitement. he chuckles, low and pleased, and heads to his own room. the sound of your frustrated cursing follows him down the hall, and he finds himself grinning despite the exhaustion weighing down his bones.

his mother’s room—his room now, he supposes—is exactly as she left it. lace curtains and faded quilts, the smell of lavender and old roses. he strips off his boots and settles onto the bed with a grunt, every muscle in his body screaming for rest. the sheets are soft against his skin, and he can still smell your soap in his hair.

but he doesn’t close his eyes. instead, he reaches for his revolver, checks the chambers, and places it within easy reach on the nightstand. old habits die hard, and he’s not about to let his guard down just because you’re pretty and wearing his shirt.

through the thin walls, he can hear you moving around. pacing, maybe. plotting, probably. the floorboards creak under your feet, and he finds himself mapping your movements. three steps to the window, pause, four steps to the door. back to the window. back to the door. he can picture you in his mind—barefoot and furious, his shirt hanging loose around your thighs as you plan your next move.

you’re caged, and you know it. caged and furious and probably scared, though you hide it well. he should feel guilty about that. should feel something resembling remorse for taking your freedom, for making you a prisoner in his mother’s house.

but all he feels is anticipation. like the moment before a storm breaks, when the air goes electric and everything holds its breath. like the moment before a gunfight, when time slows and the world narrows to a single point of contact.

he stares at the ceiling, listening to your restless movements, and mutters: “what the hell have i brought into my mother’s house.” his voice is rough with exhaustion and something else. something that sounds dangerously like want.

but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. because he knows damn well what he’s brought home. trouble. temptation. the kind of woman who stabs first and asks questions later. the kind of woman who wears his clothes like armor and looks at him like she’s trying to decide if he’s worth the trouble.

and he’s never been more awake.

the house settles around them, full of shadows and secrets and the promise of tomorrow. somewhere in the distance, a coyote howls, and the sound makes him think of freedom and wild things and the way you’d looked at him when you thought he was going to die.

soon, he’ll have to decide what to do with you. soon, he’ll have to figure out if you’re worth the trouble you’ll undoubtedly cause.

but not tonight. tonight, he’s content to listen to you pace and plan and probably curse his name. tonight, he’s content to drift between sleep and waking, one hand on his gun and the other pressed to his wounded side.

tonight, he’s home. and for the first time in months, that feels like something worth protecting.

taglist: @sleepykittyenergy @caffine-exe

taglist is open, comment on the masterlist if you want to be added <3

#gojo satoru #gojo x female reader #gojo smut #gojo fluff #gojo x reader smut #gojo x reader fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk series

689 notes · View notes

gukcnt · 2 months ago

Text

05 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

a criminal's obsession with a shy medical student starts a passionate mix of desire and darkness. As their worlds collide, secrets get exposed and possession turns into love. In a world filled with betrayal and the weight of their own pasts, can they find a way to survive together? or will their twisted bond ultimately destroy them both?

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre — criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, lots of angst, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, angry!jungkook, protective!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, trauma and recovery, tension, violence, graphic descriptions of murder and gore, several mentions of blood, torture, kidnapping and captivity, panic attacks, fainting, mentions of injuries, domestic intimacy, care and nurturing, helping the other shower, he helps her heal from trauma, lots of crying, emotional vulnerability, he almost cries for her, guilt and self-hatred because he blames himself, nightmare, oral sex (f. receiving), making out, hickies and marking, bruising, breast play, nipple play, slight mentions of blood during sex, body worship, emotional sex, eating out, clit stimulation, face riding, tongue fucking, cum swallowing, hair pulling, overstimulation, dual stimulation, slight anal play, rimming, cum play, aftercare

wc — 8k

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

Your senses made their way back to you with agony. Your head throbbing in pain, reminding you of the hit that caused you to lose your consciousness.

You laid on a cold, dirty floor, it was hurting your spine and the surface smelled of something sticky—dried blood, perhaps.

Or worse.

The metallic smell of blood clung to your tongue along with the thick, suffocating smell of the air in the room.

It was hard to even breathe.

Your wrists and legs burning, they were tied with a rope that has been digging into your flesh and the knots were tight enough.

Each movement sending a fresh jolt of pain through you.

Your shirt was torn at the shoulder, damp with sweat dirt, clinging to your bruised body.

The room was dark with barely any light, the walls were thick enough that no matter how much you screamed, no noises would escape it.

You pressed your cheek to the floor, wanting even a little bit of comfort.

But it did nothing to quiet the fear in your chest.

At whats about to happen.

Each of your breaths came out in gasps as you tried your best not to panic, chest heaving as tears streamed down your face, whimpers escaping you.

Your sobs raw, echoing in the silence but you knew that no one could hear you, the walls wouldn’t let anyone hear you.

You were all alone.

No one will come.

Your throat aching, voice gone from hours of screams that ended with jungkook's name, a plea.

To the only man who’d ever made you feel both terrified and alive.

In a way no one could.

Your body trembled uncontrollably, skin coating with goosebumps, and the scent of—sweat, blood—giving you a nauseous feeling.

You curled into yourself as best as you can with your bound knees and hands, trying to make yourself smaller.

Invisible, safe.

But there's no safety in here.

Memories of jungkook flood your mind, each one a knife to your chest.

His rough hands, calloused and warm, caressing you, dark eyes, softening only for you.

Always just for you.

“You’re mine.”

He'd growled as he claimed you, both your body and heart.

You needed him.

The thoughts of him made the room feel cold and scarier and you never realized until now exactly how much he made you feel safe in his own twisted way.

That now you have started craving the monster

Who'd stalked you.

Something you couldn’t deny and he was your only hope right now that he’d come before it was too late.

That he’d save you.

You started rocking slightly, trying to calm yourself against your racing thoughts.

Trying to distract yourself from all the dark thoughts that explained what can happen to you.

The ropes dug deeper, blood trickling from your wrists and you bit your bottom lip trying to muffle the cry of pain.

The wound on your head swollen, hurting further.

“Who are you?”

“Why are you doing this to me?!” you sobbed.

Trying to communicate with the man who’d taken you but it was mostly at the universe for having such faith like this.

That bound you to a life of danger.

To a man like jungkook.

“Just let me go!”

All you were greeted by was silence. No matter how much you cried or screamed.

Your throat dried and hurt further, heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst.

You saw jungkook in your mind—the way he’d kiss you with a hunger, hold you to him possessively.

jungkook would come.

He had to.

“I need you.” you whimpered.

Your voice small and childlike.

“I’m so scared, jungkook. I need you to find me… please.”

۶ৎ

jungkook moved through the city with wrath, each step of his predatory.

A cigarette between his lips, its burning tip the only glow in the dark

His dark intense eyes scanning everywhere he could, always alert.

Always hunting.

But tonight the hunt was different. It wasn't for blood or revenge—it was for you.

He was used to you now, your presence easily numbing the chaos of his life. Your apartment felt like a part of his as well, a place where he could forget about his sins.

If only for a moment.

He’d slip inside silently, sit by your bed, watching you sleep, the way your chest rises and falls, lips parted.

Sometimes he’d join you under the sheets, his rough hands careful not to wake you, your warm small body providing him comfort in a way that was almost healing.

You were his weakness, his obsession and he craved the quiet moments with you.

Where he could pretend he wasn't a criminal.

When he could imagine a world where he deserved you.

That’s exactly what he did that night when he told you he would come back for you after dropping you home from the bike ride.

His fingers worked the lock of your apartment, opening the door with a click. He stepped inside expecting the familiar warmth of your place.

But the moment he entered.

Something felt different.

The air felt eerily wrong, like the softness of you usually clinging here was gone.

There was this unusual smell that knotted his stomach.

Your books, usually stacked with care were scattered all over the floor. The chair in the kitchen was on the floor.

Almost like someone kicked it in a struggle.

jungkook's breath hitched, cigarette falling on the floor.

Forgotten.

The absence of your presence giving him a hard time to breathe.

And then he saw it.

A smear of blood on the floor.

It was small, but to jungkook it felt like that small smear was consuming everything else, his heart pounding loudly.

A rage overcoming him so fast it felt like it would burst.

Someone had taken you.

He roared loudly, a sound from deep inside him, raw and animalistic. His fist slammed into the nearest surface—a glass from the counter—shatters.

Cutting his knuckles but he barely felt the pain.

Blood dripping onto the floor, mixing with yours.

“I’ll fucking kill them all.”

He snarls.

“Anyone who dared to even touch you… they—they’ll beg for death, I'll make sure of it.”

His hands shook not from fear but from the need to find you.

He paced, mind filled with images—your trembling form, scared eyes and even the thought of you getting a bit hurt drove him crazy.

“You’re mine,” he growls.

“No one takes what’s mine.”

His laughter in the empty apartment was almost maniac.

A promise.

“They’ll pay for it for every tear you shed, for every pain you feel.”

“I’ll burn this city to find you.”

The room spun, the walls felt like they were closing in on him and he knew the way your softness was gone from the apartment exactly the way his last bit of humanity was gone.

No mercy left in him.

“I’m coming for you, baby,” he whispers.

“Hold on.”

۶ৎ

The jacket around his body was splattered with the blood of several of his victims, some his own, some not.

But he barely gave any thought to it.

His entire mind and being surrounding with anger.

Too much of it.

Consuming him.

His phone had been a constant, as he went through all his contacts, every bastard who owed him a debt.

“Find her.”

He barked, grip so tight on the phone it felt like it would break under his white knuckles.

“You’ve got one hour before I make you pay.”

His words full of violence.

He then went into an abandoned house, not leaving any place undiscovered, any possibility of where you might me.

His eyes going everywhere, searching all the corners as if you might just magically erupt there.

Your soft voice calling for him.

He was scared, for the first time in his life.

Very scared.

He wasn’t scared when his life was threatened by enemies or when he was almost at the brink of death.

But now he was scared.

Scared of losing you, scared of what might happen if he was too late.

Because he'll never forgive himself.

All his phone calls were giving him nothing—just shaky apologies or silence.

Each failure increasing his fury.

After his most recent call of no success, he lost it. He flung the phone to the wall, breaking into several pieces from his force.

“Fuck!” he screamed.

His fist slammed into the wall again and again, paying no attention to the blood.

Anything to ground himself.

But this fleeting pain was nothing compared to the pain of losing you. Your absence feeling like a wound that no blade or gun could make him feel.

He sank to his knees on the ground, hands tightly fisting his hair. Blood smeared his face as he ran his hands on his skin, fingers trembling as he lit a cigarette.

He saw you in his mind—your eyes wide with trust for him, lips parted whispering his name and the way you traced his scars with such gentleness.

A touch he never allowed anyone to get near to.

He wanted you back, needed to cradle you in his arms, needing to know that you are okay and you are fine.

He wanted to fuck you with a gentleness, hear your needy noises, feel your touch that warm his stone heart.

His biggest fear had come true—you were hurt, taken.

All because of him.

The realization tightening his throat with anger and guilt.

As much as he wanted to kill the one who’d taken you, he wanted to kill himself for being the reason for your suffering.

He’d let you become his weakness, for his enemies to take advantage of.

He stood, body shaking.

“They’ll pay.”

He gruffs, thirsty for blood.

“Each. And. Everyone. I'll rip them apart myself.”

His eyes burning, not with tears—he’d forgotten how to cry—but with a fire of his rage and the need to find you.

In two days, he’d stormed into also every hideout of his enemies, knife and gun in constant use.

And there was too much blood.

Everywhere.

His cruelty chilling even the hardest criminals.

“Where is she?” he roared.

His knife pressing into a man’s throat, blood already beading.

“Tell me or you’re done!”

The man sobbed, mumbling apologies and Jungkook's patience snapped.

Just like that.

His knife plunged inside the man's throat, taking his life in an instant.

He killed without hesitation, without any feeling, each kill a step closer to you.

Or so he told himself.

Each kill more brutal than the last one, his hands always coated with blood, like it wouldn’t go away.

He smoked through packs of cigarettes now, the nicotine helping him against the ache in his chest, even just a little bit.

In his pocket he carried your black hair tie with a pink bow. He’d stolen it from your wardrobe.

And now it was his anchor.

His proof that you were alive and that he’d find you.

He’d clutch the tie in his fist, whispering your name, like a prayer, to keep the darkness and his sins from swallowing him whole.

“You’re okay.” he’d murmur

The words a lie he forced himself to believe.

But with every passing hour, his hope seemed to fade.

“I’ll tear this fucking world apart,” he vows.

“until you’re back in my arms”

The beast in him unleashed and nothing, no amount of power can stop him.

Until you were found.

۶ৎ

The dark room felt like a prison now, your entire body bruised with red marks all over.

You didn’t even want to think of the throbbing pain of your tied wrists and legs, blood dried there.

Your head feeling dizzy and you were almost numb now, no longer having any energy to scream or do anything.

You just lay there pathetically.

Your stomach empty and hurting, no food or water had been offered since you'd been thrown here, your throat drier than ever.

Every gulp ache you, tears drying on your cheeks, cracked lips trembling.

The thought of jungkook came to you.

“jungko—”

Your voice breaks, no longer having the strength as you feared the worst.

Feared that he might not come or never find you.

That you’d die here.

All alone

Whenever you were on the brink of losing consciousness again, his face would be there.

“You promised…”

You croaked.

All your thoughts got interrupted when you heard the locked door creak, your heart jumping out of your chest.

Your body jerked upright despite all the pain you were facing.

The man who’d taken you stood at the doorway, his eyes glinting with a hunger.

His smirk shook you.

You scrambled back, as best as you could with your bound legs, nails scraping the ground, leaving bloody trails.

Your strength barely there, but the instinct to survive drove you, breaths coming out in panicked gasps.

“Getting bored.” he drawled.

He steps closer, shadow falling over you as you looked at the knife tucked into his belt.

“Kept you like a rat in here, but… that’s no fun, is it? time to play little girl before I send your body back to your boyfriend.”

You gasp, tears spilling down your face, blurring your vision.

“No.” you choked.

Your body trembling so hard you thought you might lose balance.

“Please don’t touch me… no, jungkook he—he won't spare you—”

The words were like a shield—anything to keep the stinking man away from you—but the words wouldn’t do anything.

You'd soon lose courage.

The man laughed, a guttural sound, kneeling before you.

“jungkook?” he mocked.

His hand shot out, grabbing your chin, fingers digging into your bruised skin and you let out a broken whimper.

“That piece of shit’s probably dead already, bleeding somewhere,”

“And now I’m gonna enjoy breaking you.”

He grins manically.

You kicked, needing to muster all your energy for your bound legs to move and it connected in his stomach.

Weakly.

His eyes flash with rage and his hand come up, slapping you across the face, the pain exploding.

Blood fills your mouth as you coughed, mixing with your tears.

You collapse, cheek pressed to the hard ground, your sobs loud and broken.

“please”

You whispered, voice barely there.

He came over you, hand reaching and grazing the exposed skin in your torn shirt and you screamed, bile and disgust erupting in your throat.

Your body trying to curl away unsuccessfully.

“No one’s coming.” he growls.

His hand still hovering, ready to rip your shirt

“Scream all you want.”

His hands reach your throat, pinning you to the ground and you thrashed, vision fading.

The world felt like it was closing in and you were giving up, closing your eyes, ready to break.

When suddenly

A loud screeching tore through, the sound loud enough to make the man move away.

jungkook stood there.

He was unrecognizable, wild, eyes pitched black.

No trace of the man who’d kissed you with such tenderness, who always said your name with such softness.

His hair messy with sweat, there was blood all over his body.

“You touched her,” he snarled.

“You fucking touched her!”

He moved faster than you could breathe, grabbing the man by the collar.

jungkook's strength inhuman.

Lifting the man like a rag doll, the man's glare faded and a look of terror took its place, his lips part to speak but jungkook gave him no chance to even blink.

No chance to beg.

His fist connecting with the man’s jaw, the crack of the bone loud, with blood smearing all over jungkook’s face, the walls.

As he went on and on.

The man’s head snap back, teeth breaking but jungkook didn’t stop his relentless punches, each one barely dimming his anger.

Each one for causing you pain.

“You think you can hurt her and live?” he hissed.

His eyes filling with madness.

Another punch

The man's nose crumpled, blood splattering everywhere, his groans were turning into wet gurgles of blood.

His weak defenses were nothing compared to jungkook's wrath.

jungkook's anger was consuming him, everything else faded as his fists worked.

The man's face soon turning into a pulp of flesh and bone.

Unrecognizable.

A scene of gore.

You screamed, voice breaking as you soon felt the panic attack crash over you.

“jungkook!” you cried.

Your chest heaving as you hiccuped, head dizzy.

The blood was everywhere.

Too much.

And it felt like it was drowning you and the bloody scene in front of you with all the wet stuff coming out of the unrecognizable man's face had your body shaking.

Your stomach twisting as you dry heaved, throat burning. You backed out into the corner, sobs loud and broken, a desperate plea for it to stop.

For him to stop.

jungkook didn’t hear you.

Didn’t see you

His entire focus was on the man who'd dared to touch you, he kept punching and kicking even after the man's body stopped moving.

His body lifeless.

Jungkook dropped the man, drawing out a knife even though he was already dead.

“You’ll feel every second of this.” he whispers.

He plunges the knife into the man's chest, blood spurting. He stabs again and again, the man's body jerking with each hit.

His insides spilled—blood, flesh and organs—pooling on the floor and it was overwhelming.

Your throat raw, heart pounding.

His eyes were empty.

His soul gone.

He stabbed the man until he was nothing, the knife falling from jungkook's hand as he stood there panting, chest heaving, but the glare still there.

Your vision blurred soon, the world fading.

The horror was too much for you and the darkness was overtaking you, could barely breathe, the weakness of your injured body taking a toll on you.

A whimper left you brokenly and you soon collapsed, senses slipping away.

His bloody face the last thing you see.

۶ৎ

The world snapped back to you with a jolt, nose filling with a familiar, comforting scent—cigarettes and musk.

Something that uniquely belonged to jungkook

But your heart pulsed, thinking you were dreaming of being back in his arms and you immediately sat up.

You were in a bed, the dark sheets soft against your bruised skin, cradling your body like he would.

Your breathing slowed.

He found you, he did.

Before it was too late.

But the memory of the room and the man clung to you—its disgusting smell, the cold hard floor, and the ropes cutting you.

You whimpered, hand flying to your head, tangling your fingers in your hair, wanting the nightmare of what you went through to go away.

Where’s jungkook?

The room around you dimly lit with fairy lights, strung all around the cabin because he knew you loved them so much.

Yet the safety was barely felt by you, terror still in your whole form.

You hugged yourself, torn shirt clinging to your damp skin. Your lips trembling with the lingering taste of blood from where the kidnapper hit you.

A sob came out of your mouth.

You were safe, you told yourself—surrounded by jungkook's world.

But the panic was soon taking everything away, bringing you back into the hell you were in and you couldn’t shake the fear, thinking that you were still trapped.

Still alone.

That man can kill you any moment.

The door creaked open and you froze, breath hitching.

There he was, jungkook.

Whose presence you were yearning to see for so long.

His shirt clung to his muscular frame, still carrying the stains of blood from his brutal kill of the kidnapper. He couldn’t fully wash himself, but his face and arms were free of blood.

His bruised hands at his sides, trembling from a barely contained emotion.

He saw you awake, his entire body stilled, breath catching.

“You’re here.” he breathes.

His voice breaking, like he cannot believe you were actually here, awake and in his bed.

Safe and protected.

His pained voice broke the last of your restraint and you let out an agony filled cry.

In an instant he was on you, crossing the room in long strides, arms pulling you to him, crushing you to his chest so tight you couldn’t breathe.

His grip grounding you to reality.

You didn’t care that his hold hurt, the blood from his shirt smearing on your skin.

You bury your face in his chest, inhaling him, a scent that was home and safety for you.

Yet love in its most twisted way.

Your hands fisting his shirt as you pulled him closer, almost tearing the shirt in the process, needing to feel all of him.

To know he was here.

Your sobs muffled against his chest, tears soaking his skin as he held you close, even tightly if that was possible.

He rocked you slightly, face on your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses there, all while he shushed you.

Trying to calm you, his heart pounding against your chest and you felt him shaking as well.

His voice the gentlest it has been since you were taken.

You felt a mix of everything.

Relief and need.

“I’m sorry.” he rasped.

His lips brushing your hair, breaths shaky.

“I’m so fucking sorry, petal. I should’ve been there.”

“I hate myself—fuck, I hate this… I hate that you’re hurt because of me.”

He rambles, each of his words lacing with a desperation you’d never heard from him, his weakness laid bare for you to see.

His body trembling constantly as if he was fighting to hold himself together from the guilt he was facing.

Your nails dug into his back.

“I thought… I thought I’d never see you again.” you whispered

New tears stream down your face.

He pulled back just enough to cup your face with his calloused hands, so gently as they cradle your cheeks.

His thumbs brush away your tears, smudging the blood clinging to your skin, from your injuries.

His eyes locked on yours, his own pain mirroring yours.

“I missed you,” he growls.

Voice almost choking.

“Every second without you was hell. I searched for you everywhere. I killed for you, I bled for you and I’d do it again because I’ll kill anyone who touches you—or even thinks of you.”

He says, fiercely.

“No one will ever hurt you again.”

His words a vow, making you forget about all your fears until you only wanted him. He went forward, lips crashing onto yours, the kiss desperate and bruising.

A mix of tears, teeth, and tongue.

Your knees getting weak at his familiar taste once again, mouth hot as he was almost trying to eat you alive by kissing you, sucking on your split lip.

The pain barely felt against the heat knotting in your stomach.

He groans into the kiss like he cannot get enough, hands sliding down your body, gripping your hips and thighs.

As if making sure you were real.

That you were okay.

You broke the kiss gasping, his forehead pressing against yours as your heart raced, both breathing the same air.

“Don’t leave me.” you whined.

Your hands bunching his shirt once again.

“Never”

He swore, voice rumbling as his lips brushed yours.

“You’re my everything, baby, my fucking soul.. I can never let you go.”

A promise.

Exhaustion pulled at you, body spent from the toll of fear and relief. Your eyes fluttering close, sobs quieting to soft whimpers and your head rested on his chest.

His heartbeat against your cheek felt like everything after being apart for so long.

He holds you tighter, lips pressing to your forehead and wherever he could reach, each kiss his apology for letting this happen to you.

Wanting to protect you, to keep you.

You fell asleep in his arms, body curled into his, his warmth shielding you against everything you went through in the past few days.

His scent grounding you and for the first time since the kidnapping, you felt safe and loved.

Even if it was in the arms of a monster.

۶ৎ

You stir after sleeping for long moments in jungkook's chest, his strong arms holding you.

He wore a black t-shirt now, he changed while you were sleeping, freshening up.

The air inside his cabin was soothing with the mix of the smell of hot chocolate he made for you, so you can have it once you wake up.

He didn’t want to wake you up, knowing that you needed rest after all you have gone through.

But he has plans before that.

While you were slowly getting back to consciousness from sleep, he picked you up in bridal style, taking you to the bathroom.

jungkook set you down, gently on the tub's edge, hands lingering on your waist as his fingers traced your ruined shirt clinging to you.

Your breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as you held onto him.

His t-shirt was damp with his sweat and you gripped it tighter, knuckles whitening, afraid to let go.

Afraid to slip back into darkness again.

Leaving the comfort of the room triggered you again.

Your body was full of aches—bruises turning purple, the dried blood on your wrists and legs still clung from where the ropes dug.

He kneels before you, dark eyes searching yours, his jaw clenched as he looked at your condition and he wanted to kill that man again even though he was dead.

Torture him, but do it slowly, taking his time.

Make him scream, cry for mercy and beg for death.

That jungkook won't allow.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs.

His voice thick with emotion, caressing your waist.

“I’ve got you, my baby… no one's touching you again.”

You let out a whimper unknowingly, a sob leaving your lips.

“I thought… I thought I’d die in that room, jungkook.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw as his hands tightened on your hips.

“I’m sorry.” he said.

Voice breaking.

“I shouldn’t have ever let that happen. I shouldn’t have left you alone that night. I—I’ll never forgive myself, never.”

His eyes glistening with unshed tears and the sight shook you, seeing the criminal who kills without a second thought.

Was so close to breaking for you.

He reached for a soft cloth, dipping it into the warm water, jungkook made sure to pour some drops of lavender oil on the water and the smell cleared your mind.

He brings the cloth to your arm, touch deliberate as he wiped away the dirt and blood, carefully revealing the skin beneath.

Full of scars.

His breath hitching and he had to grip the corner of the tub to control himself, it was almost like he was facing all the pain of you went through.

He kept his eyes on your face, making sure he wasn’t hitting any sore spots, his brows furrowing every time you winced.

The cloth was warm against your tender flesh and he traced the curve of your elbow, your wrist, his hand moving gently despite his usual roughness.

You sighed at each swipe, body relaxing under his care, eyes falling closed.

“You’re too good for this,” he rasped.

As he moved to your other arm, gliding it over your skin.

“Too fucking pure for someone like me. I don’t deserve to touch you, not after I let this happen.”

The words cutting him deeper than any blade could and you opened your eyes, seeing the agony in his gaze.

His self loathing present, a lot more than his anger.

“Stop.” you whisper.

Voice steady but trembling slightly.

“You saved me, jungkook… you came for me and that’s enough.”

He shook his head, a bitter smile on his face, dipping the cloth in the water again.

“It’s not enough,” he says, huskily.

“It’ll never be enough. I’d kill every last one of them, and yet it still wouldn’t be enough.”

You remain quiet, answering with your silent tears, your heart breaking as he moved to your legs, lifting one gently, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind your knee.

The cloth followed as he washes away all the dirt and blood stuck there, almost washing away the memory of the ropes that had bound you.

The water and his touches felt like a caress, easing the ache in your body and you hummed.

A sound of relief that made his eyes flicker with something soft, breaking through the storm in his gaze.

He lingers on a bruise above your knee and his lips part, a shudder running through him at your cry of pain, tears filling your eyes.

“Shhh… it’s okay, petal,” he breaths out.

If only he could erase all your pain, erase how much of a big failure he was.

Your shirt was next and he hesitated, eyes meeting yours.

Seeking permission.

Because he knew you were going through a lot and he would never do anything you didn’t want.

Your comfort comes before anything.

You nodded, heart pounding and he helped you take the shirt off along with your bra and panties, his movements careful and precise, keeping his eyes on you.

You were left bare, vulnerable, goosebumps arising all over your skin.

His breath caught, eyes darkening not from lust but with a fierce protectiveness, as if you were a fragile thing.

He was unworthy to touch.

He dipped a fresh cloth into the water and began to wash your torso, the cloth gliding over your shoulders, between your breasts.

Each movement slow.

His hands tremble slightly, showing the emotions he was keeping beneath.

“You’re beautiful.” he whispers.

As he traced the cloth over your stomach, making you shiver, your lips parting in a hum.

“Even with the bruises, you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen… I hate myself for letting anyone touch you.”

Your chest tightened as you grip his hand, stopping his movements so that he could focus on you.

“jungkook, don’t,”

“I’m here. I'm alive. Because of you.”

He didn’t respond, couldn't, his focus on your body as he moved the cloth to your back, warm and soothing, lightly massaging you.

He washed every inch, it felt like he was cherishing you and you knew his actions spoke a lot more.

When he reaches your face, he was gentler still, your eyes focusing on his dark ones.

And you knew.

You saw the love there that he always resisted because he can deny it as much as he wants, but you saw it so vividly in his eyes.

The cloth brushes your cheeks, wiping away the tear stains and the blood on your split lip. He lingered there, thumb grazing the cut and you leaned forward instinctively, desperate.

Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

He froze, eyes closing tightly. The kiss was a spark, a gentleness in his hardened heart and he leans into it, his forehead resting against yours.

The cloth forgotten in the water.

“You can’t do that.” he murmurs.

Voice pained

“You can’t be like that with me. I don’t know how to take it, sweet girl.”

“No one’s ever… no one's ever touched me like you do.”

His breath shakes.

“Then let me.” you say.

Your lips brush his skin, tasting the salt of his sweat as the sweetness of the moment makes both your hearts race.

He pulled back, hands cupping your cheek before he reached for the shampoo, a floral scented bottle you recognized from your own apartment.

One he must've brought to make you feel at home

In his place.

He pours it into his hands, the familiar smell filling the bathroom. His fingers worked it into your hair, massaging your scalp with a tenderness that made your breath catch.

You were melting into a puddle under his ministrations.

He then tilted your head back, rinsing it with a cup of warm water, the liquid falling over you, taking all your aches and fears away.

Rinsing the final soap suds, his thumb brushes your back.

“I’ll die before I let anyone hurt you again.”

You nod, tears falling, believing him more than you believed yourself and he continues pouring water over you.

Washing you and calming you thoroughly for long moments.

He wraps you in a soft towel once he's done, making sure to turn on the nearby heater so you won’t get a cold.

He carries you to bed, his grip tight as if you’d vanish, eyes never leaving yours while you are almost falling asleep in tiredness, contented from the shower

His entire heart was there in his eyes alone.

So yours.

۶ৎ

The next few days the cabin was filled with warmth of jungkook's relentless care, your presence had completely etched itself in his place.

Like it was your own home as well.

Plush toys on the shelves, books stacked in piles, your hair ties and skin care products on the nightstand—all the things jungkook brought from the apartment, but the majority of them he bought for you separately.

Because he knows all your preferences by heart.

All your things seem very different in the roughness of his place, two completely different worlds, but they aligned perfectly

Like they were meant to be.

You were completely engaged in jungkook's world of blood and it binds you to the man who'd become your everything.

jungkook was your shadow.

Even now.

His dark eyes followed you, not with the predatory hunger you’d once feared but with a desperation as if you might disappear if he blinked.

He moves with purpose, scarred hands gentle as he prepared your favorite meals, each dish a love he couldn’t voice.

He fed you by hand, fingers brushing your lips and your heart never seemed to stop fluttering at his insistent care and attention towards you.

He treated you like you were a fragile thing he needed to look after.

Each bite—mashed potatoes, garlic and chicken that he has memorized religiously since you loved them—was a step towards healing.

In order to get your old self back and get over the trauma.

He also bathed you daily, each shower washing away the bits of your fear, leaving you soft and feeling good.

He never pushed, never demanded, his need for you something he kept away carefully, though you saw it in the way his jaw clenches.

The way his eyes darken when they linger on your curves while giving you a bath or when you cuddled him too closely wearing nothing, felt your hard nipples press against him

۶ৎ

One night the darkness overcomes you once again and you wake up gasping.

The nightmare knocking the breath out of you.

And seeing that you were in the comfort of jungkook’s bedroom and not inside that filthy room, did little to calm you as you imagined the man’s hand, the blood.

You were choking on your cries, a sob leaving you, chest heaving, hands trembling as you clutched the sheets.

jungkook was there in an instant.

His arms pulling you to him

“I’ve got you.” he mutters.

Straight to your ear, trying to get you out of your breakdown.

“You’re safe, petal… I’m here, right here.”

You hiccup, clutching his hair as he murmurs comforting words in your ear.

“Please…” you croak out.

And he got the message immediately with one single plea of yours, knowing that you want him, that you want him to make you forget about the misery.

You wanna get lost in him.

All this time he held back, never making any first moves, wanting to take things at your own pace but now that you were begging him, he couldn’t deny

Because he wanted to be the only one who scared you, even in your nightmares.

No one else.

His lips crash against yours with a force that stole your breath, his taste filling your mouth, making your head spin.

He kissed you like he was starved, tongue entering into your mouth, claiming all over your mouth as his teeth grazed your lower lip until you whimpered.

The sound swallowed by his mouth.

His hands cup your face, wiping away your tears, anchoring you to him as the kiss deepened with tongues fighting each other with your gasps.

Your heart pounded, forgetting about everything along with the nightmare at the heat of his mouth and the press of his body.

He pulls back, breathing heavily, dark eyes looked at you.

“I can’t lose you,” he growls.

“Not again. Never again.”

His lips soon started trailing down your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin below your ear, his teeth sinking, making you moan.

The sting turned into pleasure.

His hands started roaming, sliding under the oversized shirt you wore—his shirt—pushing it up and throwing it somewhere in the room to bare your skin for him.

You were his goddess and he wants to worship you.

He kissed your collarbone, leaving his hickeys everywhere, his own breaths uneven as you arch into him.

“So fucking beautiful.” he hums.

His chest vibrating against you as his hands cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples that were already hard and aching from his touches.

He rolls them slowly and deliberately.

“jungkook!” you mewled

The sound high and needy in the quiet room.

Your nipples were something he could never get enough of, always begging for his attention and he couldn’t wait any further, lowering his face and took one into his mouth.

His tongue swirling, sending a shiver down your spine. He sucked around the bud and the suction was enough to draw a cry from you.

Your hands tangling in his hair and pulling.

“Mhhh, ohh—”

Your voice cracked, body trembling as the sensation was almost overwhelming for you. He grazed the bud with his teeth and you let out a broken gasp.

Hips bucking against him once again seeking friction, your pussy clenching around nothing.

He paid the same attention to your other nipple, tongue flicking as his hand kneaded your other breast, weighing it in his palms and marveling at how perfectly it fit his hands.

Like they were made for him specifically

“Always so sensitive for me.” he grunts.

His voice muffled against your skin, looking up at you with dark, possessive eyes.

Your moans grew louder as he continued, each touch of his driving you crazy, your clit was throbbing relentlessly, pussy wet and slick.

Your panties soaked and clinging to your folds.

He goes lower, brushing over your stomach, his tongue licking over the scars of your wounds, some were fading and some fresh.

Almost like he was trying to etch his mark in them somehow, make you forget about the pain.

His devotion making it hard for you to breathe.

You pant, eyes half lidded, gripping the bedsheet.

His tongue suddenly hit a ticklish spot in your stomach, making you giggle, then moan, the sound caught in your throat as he nipped the skin.

His hums a noise of approval at your pleasure, turning you into a squirmy, needy mess

His deep voice unraveling you.

Every single time.

He slowly parted your thighs, eyes meeting yours to see if there was any discomfort, but there was just need.

Too much of it.

So he took off your panties, wetness sticking to them.

His fingers were gentle as he spread you open, pussy bare and glistening under the fairy lights, folds swollen, clit pulsing harder under his gaze.

The cool air making your senses even more heightened, your breath hitching at the way he looks at you, eyes turning back from hunger.

His jaw ticking, control barely there.

“Oh fuck… look at you.” he says, huskily.

His hands keep your thighs spread, thumb brushing the sensitive skin near your folds, making you writhe.

“So damn wet all for me.”

He doesn’t give you a moment to think, lowering his head, breath hot against your pussy and you tense, heart thudding in anticipation as you fist the sheets.

His tongue flicked out slowly, licking the entirety of you from top to bottom, ending with a lick around your slit to collect your arousal.

“Hahhh, oh gosh, jungkook.”

Your hips raise on their own, the sensation catching you off guard after not being with him for so long and it was almost new to you.

He ate you out with no breaks, tongue lapping at your folds, all his strokes long and you trembled, your noises coming out.

Loud and unbroken.

The wet sounds of his mouth on you fill the room, his eyes locked on you, watching all your reactions, your gasps and the way your mouth remains parted.

Brows drawn together in ecstasy.

He sucks your clit, capturing it between his teeth, drawing a scream from you.

“Ahh—”

You shook, hips bucking as your hands pulled his hair tight enough for him to groan, but the pain encourage him further.

The vibration and his pace were making you feel dizzy with pleasure.

“Please.” you sobbed.

Your body shaking, overstimulated with the pleasure pain and you couldn’t escape from his rough hold.

His tongue fucked you, sliding inside your pussy, curling and thrusting, mimicking the way he would fuck you with his fingers or his cock.

It was too much.

Overwhelming.

Your pussy clenching around his tongue, desperate for more and more.

He snarls, his hands gripping your thighs harder, fingers leaving bruises you’d cherish later.

“I missed this so much… fuck, you taste so good,” he huffs.

Some of your arousal dripped on his chin and neck, but he didn’t mind it, instead it drove him crazier.

“Could eat this sweet cunt forever.”

He suddenly teased your rim, a new sensation that had you letting out a startled sob and moving away instinctively, but he held you tighter in place.

“Shhh, just relax and focus on me.” he coos.

It was a new sensation..

His thumb circling the tight, untouched ring—the pressure light, something you never explored or touched before—and exploring it with him sent a thrill through you.

He makes you feel alive, always giving you new experiences.

And the touch felt weird at first, but you soon started moaning and mumbling expletives you didn’t understand from how good it felt.

Your body tensing as he pressed just enough to slide a bit of the tip of his thumb inside, not fully in, but enough to make you feel it.

To make you want more.

“Just relax, baby.” he whispers.

His thumb was teasing, circling, teasing, but barely entering inside, all while his tongue lapped at your clit, and the dual stimulation felt like a torment, and you couldn’t hold back.

Digging your face in the pillow, biting into it.

Your shaky screams and drawn out whines were a chant, body a quivering mess as your hips rocked towards his mouth, chasing the pleasure.

Your pussy and your hole fluttering under his touch.

His teeth graze your clit again, this time hard enough to make you let out a loud scream, and he soon soothed the poor swollen nub with his tongue.

His thumb finally penetrating you fully.

And you broke.

That’s it.

You saw stars behind your vision as your orgasm crashed over you, your voice aching with the scream of his name, scratching his shoulder with your nails.

Your cum coats his tongue, chest almost showering it in him and he growls loudly, satisfied.

A sick grin on his lips.

“jungkook. jungkook.” You called out for him.

He guides your hips making you grind on his mouth, making sure you ride out every last wave, while he drinks your essence like it’s a rare thing that gives him life.

You pant, breasts heaving all while he didn’t stop, tongue lapping every last drop, drawing out your release until you were sobbing, oversensitive.

You mumbled nonsense, pushing his head away.

He pulled back and the state of him with your arousal and sweat clinging to him made you shy instantly, feeling shameless enough to do it.

You can't believe what he turns you into, as you look away, pressing your face in the pillow.

His chest was heaving, eyes satisfied as he doesn't let you look away, not liking it when you hide from him, your eyes met his still panting.

“That’s my girl.” he purrs.

His hands stroke your thighs, soothing the marks he’d left. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, his breath warm and brushed against your pussy, making you gasp.

You closed your legs with a pout, he hums out a chuckle, happy to see you back in your old state, no longer thinking of your past.

“Only I get to make you come like that, only I hunt your dreams.”

His voice turns serious.

You were spent, your body heavy with exhaustion—this time with a promise of good sleep.

Your heart full.

The nightmare was gone, disappearing at the back of your mind.

jungkook was about to get up to bring some tissues to clean you up and get water for you to drink, but you reached for him, hands weak.

“Stay.” you croon.

Eyes heavy as your body sank into the bed, he never had the heart to deny you.

So he laid beside you, arms wrapping around you.

His arms a cocoon for you with the smell of his cigarettes and his clean male smell.

Your haven.

You fall asleep to his words, the last thing you hear before you fall into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

His words a vow

“No one else, petal. Just me.”

────

taglist: @wintaemoonjen @minewlove @chaelvrx @nanisblogg @slutology00 @kelsyx33 @furioustrashlover @jjeonjjk7 @kooever @svnbangtansworld @xcviis @asyr97 @ttanniett @bratzdaull @yunhoswrldddd @jeonzll @endlesslysassy @elmarimochi9513 @fangirl-coco-goddess @lisax-30 @moodytangerine @taetaecatboy @katwiththatrat @yikes-ukiyo @minimoninini @lachimolalajeon @flutterguk @snuglymalicioussea @nellbyy @l4yl44 @captainengineer-trixie @cristy-101 @universallywizardkoala @kookxin @mageprincess7 @satisfied18 @existentialzaddy @strawberryberrygirl @tranquilreign @honeybearmin @melooooosusupp @thvflowr @granataepfelchen @cherricherryy @tatamicc @minghaosimp @kooko009 @clrwonuu @withmuchluv-tannie

567 notes · View notes

fallenbratfiction · 3 months ago

Text

safe haven ~ dark! joel x f!reader

pedro's masterlist

A/N: Joel won the dark fic poll, so of course I had to deliver! I'm cooking up ideas for cap for the people who voted for Sam.

warnings: outbreak au, dark! joel, age gap (reader is early twenties), naive, daddy kink, use of "daddy", its kind of fucked up, dubcon, stockholm syndrome, manipulation, joel wants to keep reader all for himself, isolation, sexual themes, fingering, piv (unprotected), cockwarming, twisted ending.

✧ minors dni with me or my blog. i am not responsible for your consumption.

✧ do not repost, copy, or translate my work

⟡━━━━━━━━━━⟡

The world had already ended by the time he found you.

You were barely more than a shadow under a collapsed porch—mud-streaked, starving, shivering in a torn sweater three sizes too big. Too thin. Too young to be alone.

Joel had blood on his hands and rot in his heart, but when you looked up at him—wide-eyed, scared, and silent—something broke in him.

Not snapped. Bent.

Bent toward you.

“You got anyone?” he asked, voice low, graveled with loss.

You shook your head. Lips trembling. Arms wrapped tight around your knees like they could still protect you.

He should’ve walked away.

Should’ve left you to die like everything else.

But instead, he held out his jacket.

“Come on, now. Ain’t safe out here.”

You didn’t trust him—not really. But your body moved before your brain did. Because the truth was, you wanted to be saved. And something in his eyes said maybe—just maybe—he needed to save you.

That night, he made a fire and gave you half his rations.

When you fell asleep beside him, curled into his coat, he didn’t sleep at all.

He stared at the flames. At you.

He looked at you and it reminded him of Sarah.

He holds you when you cry. Wraps his body around yours when the nights get cold. Keeps the world out and teaches you to shoot, to cook, to survive. You become his purpose. Not survival. You. And it soothes something inside him—because protecting you makes him feel useful. Human. A father again.

At first, he calls you “kiddo.” “Darlin’.” Maybe even “sweetheart.” He brushes your hair gently. Kisses your forehead after nightmares.

But one day—you wear something tighter. A shirt that he found for you that fit just right. Or you bend over, and his eyes linger.

And he hates himself for it.

Fuck Joel, she's jus a kid.

But you’re not. Not anymore. Not in this world. And the way you look at him when you smile? Like he’s everything? It ruins him.

He starts watching you sleep. Waking up hard and angry at himself. But he never touches. Not yet.

You start clinging to him more. Your fear of the outside, of strangers, of losing him, grows stronger than your curiosity.

You ask for help with everything.

“Can you cut this for me?” “Will you stay in bed a little longer?” “You won’t leave me, right?”

And Joel drinks it in.

He begins doing everything for you, taking control of little things, such as choices, meals, and even what you wear.

“Too short.” “You don’t need to talk to them.” “C’mere, baby. Sit on Daddy’s lap.”

At first, it’s a joke. A test.

“You want me to call you what?” you ask, laughing.

“Just once,” he says, soft but intense. “Say it.”

You don’t mean it. Not really. But your voice wobbles when you whisper:

“Daddy…”

His breath shudders.

And that’s the moment it snaps.

“You belong to me, baby. Say it.”

From that night on, it’s over.

“Daddy” stops being a game.

He corrects you when you forget. He praises you when you say it right. He fucks you slow and deep and calls it "taking care of you."

He tells you no one else would understand. That the world wouldn’t get this.

But you do.

Because he kept you alive.

Because he loves you.

Because he calls you “his good girl” and touches you like you’re holy.

“Say it again,” he growls, voice low and husky, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His grip is bruising on your hips, dragging you back against him, slow and filthy.

You’re trembling, hands clawing at the bedsheets, chest flushed, brain fogged with nothing but heat and him. “D-Daddy—”

“Louder,” he snaps, and you whimper as his hand wraps around your throat—not tight, just enough to make your body jolt, to keep you right where he wants you.

“Daddy,” you sob this time, and he purrs low in approval, thrusts turning punishing.

“That’s my girl. My good little thing,” Joel murmurs against your neck, voice honeyed and venomous. “Look at you. Cryin’ on my cock like you were made for it.”

And the worst part?

You were.

Your body’s still shaking—legs tangled in the sheets, throat raw from sobbing his name while he took you apart, slow and deep and relentless. You’re curled into his chest, the air thick with sweat and quiet ruin. His hands are still on you. One tangled in your hair. The other stroking your thigh like he’s grounding you. Claiming you.

And then he says it.

Soft. Like a secret he’s never spoken out loud before.

“I love you, my baby.”

You freeze.

Not from fear.

From confusion.

Because he says it like a threat.

“I fucking love you,” he says again—louder this time. His grip on your thigh tightens. “I shouldn’t. I tried not to. God knows I tried, but look at you…”

He tilts your chin toward him.

“Cryin’ for me. So fuckin’ perfect, so good for me. You think I can live without that now?”

Your breath hitches.

“You ruined me,” he whispers, kissing the tear on your cheek. “And I ruined you too, didn’t I, baby? I know I did. I see it in your eyes.”

He smiles at you, staring deeply into your eyes.

“You belong to me. You love me now. Even if you’re scared to say it.”

You shake your head—barely—but he shushes you, pressing your forehead to his.

“You don’t gotta say it back. Not yet. I’ll wait. But you will. One day you’ll look at me with tears in your eyes and you’ll beg me not to let go.”

And then, quieter. Almost reverent:

“That’s the kind of love I give you, baby. The kind you can’t survive without.”

He pulls you close again, kisses your temple like a prayer.

You’re crying again. You’re not sure why this time.

But you don’t pull away.

Time passes, the world deteriorates further, and you're still in that cabin.

Everything is different now.

He’s softer now. Not gentle—never gentle. But softer. Possessive in a domestic way.

He brings you breakfast. Wipes your mouth with his thumb. Tells you to wear the sweater he likes because “you look so sweet in it, baby.”

He won’t let you do chores that could hurt you. Won’t let you carry your own rifle.

“That ain’t your job anymore,” he says one morning as he laces up your boots for you. “Your job’s to stay here. Be safe. Be mine.”

He touches you all the time. Even when you don’t realize it.

A hand on the small of your back. A palm on your thigh while you eat. Fingers in your hair when you’re reading.

You could run.

You should. You know that.

The keys are on the table. The gate's unlocked. His pack is by the door. He left it there for you to see, like a test. Like he wants to know.

Your fingers brush the doorknob. But they shake.

And you remember the way he touched your face the other night. After everything. The blood, the shouting, the other man’s body. Joel held you so gently then. Called you his baby. Kissed your knuckles like you were fragile porcelain he’d die protecting.

“Ain’t nobody ever gonna love you like I do, sweetheart,” he said, lips against your temple. “You know that, don’t you?”

And fuck—you do.

So you turn.

You don’t open the door.

You walk back. Barefoot. Quiet. Straight into the bedroom where he’s waiting in bed, already shirtless, already watching. Like he knew.

It’s not graceful—more like a quiet surrender. Your knees press into the mattress on either side of his hips, trembling a little, breath hitching. And he just watches you. Doesn’t touch you yet. Doesn’t move.

You think he’s going to say something—call you crazy, ask you why you came back when you could’ve been free.

But instead, Joel exhales slowly and opens his arms.

You melt into them, and his hands slowly move down, you let him grip your thighs like property.

“Thought you might leave,” Joel murmurs, gaze heavy, voice almost… disappointed.

“Why would I?” you whisper. “This is where I belong.”

His breath hitches.

Then—pride. Dark, bone-deep satisfaction crawling over his face as he cups your cheek and smiles.

“Attagirl,” he says.

You kiss him before he can say anything else. Before you change your mind.

He pulls you close—tight. Like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip for even a second.

“You scared me,” he mutters into your hair, voice rough with something that sounds like grief. “When I didn’t hear the door slam. When I saw you standin’ there… fuck.”

“I know,” you whisper.

And you do know.

Because he doesn’t just fuck you like he owns you.

He holds you like you’re all he’s got left in a world full of rot and ruin.

His hand slides up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, holding your chest to his, and he presses his lips on your forehead.

“You’re mine, baby,” Joel says, more to himself than you. “Always been mine. Nothin’s gonna hurt you now. Nothin’s gonna take you from me.”

“I don’t want to leave,” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. His pupils are blown wide, but there’s something dangerously soft behind them.

“You stay,” he murmurs, brushing your cheek. “I’ll give you the world. Or burn it down for you.”

You nod.

And Joel kisses you—slow, deep, claiming. Like a promise sealed in smoke and ruin.

You don’t know if it’s love or something darker.

By now, the emotional dependency had rewired your thinking.

You tell yourself he's rough because he cares, that no one else would protect you like he would. When you get scared by his yelling he's quick to switch. — he holds you, kisses you, whispers how sorry he is.

And you let him. Because deep down, you need him just as much as he needs you.

When you please him, you're rewarded. He shows you his soft side, gentle touches, affection, softness, he bathes you and plays with your hair, braiding with his rough, calloused hands.

But when you pull back, when you get scared or begin to doubt or defy him, he takes control immediately, reminding you who you belong to.

“You did so good, baby. I knew you’d come back to me.”

Just because you don’t want to leave him doesn’t mean you’ve stopped dreaming of light. Of normalcy. You don’t tell him about the dreams.

You don’t tell him about the ones where you’re sharing dinners with other people. Where there’s laughter in the room, where the air isn’t heavy. Where you and Joel live somewhere better—a place with windows that aren’t barred and doors that don’t need locking. Where he can finally rest with both eyes closed, because safety isn’t just a word he growls at shadows.

You don’t tell him you dream of a community. Not to escape him— But to give you both a life that doesn’t feel like a slow, quiet war.

You’re eating lunch together, his palm resting heavy on your thigh. The only sound is chewing—slow, deliberate, echoing louder than it should.

“You’re quiet, doll,” he says, pulling you from whatever place your mind had wandered to.

“Hmm?” You blink up at him, dazed.

He’s watching you now. Stern. Focused.

“What’s got you so quiet?” His voice softens just enough to make it worse. “Tell Daddy.”

You shake your head and glance back down at your plate.

“Nothin’. Just… remembered something.” You keep eating like that’s the end of it, hoping he won’t push.

“So you’re not gonna tell me.” It’s not a question.

The silence that follows isn’t comfortable. It’s not shared peace or understanding.

It’s intentional.

Cutting.

A silence that presses on your chest, that needles at your ribs. A silence that guilt-trips you into talking—not because he demands it, but because he knows you will.

Because he’s done this before.

And he’s waiting.

Because Joel always knows when there’s more.

“I thought about living in a QZ,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps chewing, slow and steady.

“We could go together. Somewhere safer. Be part of a community… maybe even make friends.”

You risk a glance at him. Still nothing.

“I miss that,” you admit, voice thinner now. “Having neighbors. Sitting on a porch and saying hi to someone who isn’t just passing through or dying. I miss that feeling of… of belonging.”

Your eyes glisten, betraying more than you mean to. You think of your best friend—gone now. Think of what life looked like before the world fell apart. Before Joel.

“I heard there’s a QZ not far from here,” you add, trying to make it sound light. Hopeful. “They’ve got houses. Real ones. Nice. Comfortable. Safe.”

Still, he chews. Silent.

And you know he heard every word. You just don’t know which one he’s going to punish you for.

"No"

“Joel, listen to me,” you say, hopeful—naive, maybe, but desperate. “This QZ’s different. They’re safe—there’s clean water, patrols, actual houses. We could have something like—like a life again. Real people. Safety. I could meet—”

His palm is still on your thigh—but heavier now. Not tender. Just there. Anchoring you.

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks.

“You think we’re not safe here?”

You freeze, fingers curled around your fork.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He finally looks at you. Not angry. Not even frowning. Just watching.

Waiting.

“You said safer,” he says evenly. “More comfortable.”

You open your mouth. Close it.

“Better than this,” he continues, voice low. “That’s what you meant, right?”

You shake your head quickly. “Joel, no— I was just talking. Just thinking out loud. I didn’t mean it like—”

“You miss people.” He cuts you off softly, like he’s stating a fact. “Neighbors. Friends. Community.”

You nod. Hesitant. The truth is still clinging to your throat.

“Right.” He leans forward now, both elbows on the table, his hand still firm on your thigh. “And what am I?”

Your stomach twists.

“You’re everything,” you whisper.

He hums like he doesn’t believe you.

Then—quiet again.

“So why are you dreamin’ about leavin’ me behind?”

You blink. His voice cuts sharp and final through the air, slicing your sentence in half.

“Joel—”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

He’s already standing. Pacing. Breathing hard.

“It’s not safe,” he growls. “You think these people give a shit about us? About you? You show up alone in a dress like that, and they’ll eat you alive.”

“I wouldn’t be alone. I’d be with you.”

“That’s worse.”

You freeze. His eyes are wild—panicked, almost. Not rage. Not yet. Fear wrapped in fury.

“Joel…” you try again, softer this time. “We could have friends.”

That’s when he snaps.

“No. No goddamn friends. No strangers. No guards with rifles pointed at our backs, sayin’ it’s ‘protocol.’ It’s a fucking trap. All of it.”

You flinch. He notices. His jaw tightens.

“Baby,” he says next—but it’s a command, not an endearment. “I keep you safe. Not them. Me.”

And then softer, the venom curling into honey:

“You wanna laugh again? Sleep through the night? You think any of that comes from a bunch of clean streets and empty promises? Nah. It comes from me. Always has.”

He steps forward. Takes your face in his hands. Eyes you like you might disappear.

“I know it hurts,” Joel murmurs. “But we don’t need them. You’ve got me. That’s all you’ll ever need.”

Lunch ends with the sound of your chair scraping back hard against the floor. You don’t say anything.

You just stand, walk off, and slam the bedroom door behind you.

Joel doesn’t move right away.

He doesn’t follow.

Just sits there for a moment, chewing the last bite of food like nothing’s happened. Like your words didn’t land deep.

Then, calmly, methodically, he starts clearing the table.

Picks up your fork. Wipes down the plate. Stacks everything in the sink.

You can still hear him, faintly. The clink of dishes. The slow turn of the faucet. His footsteps measured as he moves through the house like he owns every inch of it—including you.

Because he does.

He’s not rushing.

He’s giving you time.

Time to settle. To cool off. To come to your senses.

You don’t speak to him for hours. You don’t meet his eyes. You don’t even look at him.

Later, in bed, you lie with your back turned, curled tight around your pillow like it’s armor. He lies awake behind you, unmoving, barely breathing. The silence is louder than any fight you’ve ever had.

You don’t cry out loud.

Just quiet, soft sniffles you try to hide in the fabric. But he hears them. Of course he does.

Finally—his voice, low and hesitant in the dark:

“Baby…”

Nothing.

“Baby, talk to me."

You clench your jaw.

He sits up, leans over your form, fingers twitching at his side like he wants to touch but doesn’t dare.

“I know you want that. I know it must be nice—to imagine makin’ friends, feelin’ normal. You think I don’t want that for you?”

Your breath hitches as you listen to him, still not looking.

“But we can’t risk it. Not when we’ve got safety here. Not when we’ve got… us.”

You still don’t turn around.

So Joel tries again, voice raw now—exposed.

“If somethin’ happened to you out there—if you got hurt, or taken, or worse—I’d burn the whole goddamn world down. You know that, don’t you?”

You close your eyes.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” he says next, quieter. “I get scared sometimes. And when I get scared, I get… mean. You know that, too.”

A pause.

“But I need you with me, baby. Not dreamin’ about leavin’ me behind.”

You shift.

Not fully turning. But enough that he sees your face. Tear-streaked. Pouty. Sad.

“I wasn’t leaving you,” you whisper. “I just wanted… more. For us. For me.”

Joel’s throat works around something like guilt. Or grief. Or panic.

He cups your cheek.

“You have more,” he says softly. “You’ve got me.”

He holds your face in both hands now, calloused thumbs brushing over your tear trails.

“You wanted something better,” he murmurs. “I know. I know, baby. And I made you feel small for dreamin’ of it.”

You don’t respond.

“I just—fuck. I get scared when you start talkin’ about things I can’t give you. About people I can’t protect you from. You think that QZ’s safe, but I’ve seen what people do behind clean walls and pretty speeches.”

Still, no response from you.

“I’m not perfect, baby. I know I’m not easy. But I’ve kept you alive. I’ve given you everything. And you still wanna test that?”

You’re allowed to want things. You’re allowed to dream...Just dream with me. Not without me."

You inhale shakily. His voice—that voice—is like a drug, slow and sweet, curling around your ribs until it numbs the hurt.

“You don’t gotta forgive me right now,” he whispers. “But I’m gonna show you why I’m worth it.”

He leans down, kisses the corner of your mouth. Light. Hesitant. His hand strokes your arm, tentative at first, then firmer as you don’t pull away.

You don’t kiss back.

But you don’t stop him either.

He moves lower and removes your panties, gently separating your thighs. Your breath hitches when his tongue makes contact with your clit. His lips wrap around it, kissing and sucking before he laps his tongue across your folds. He looks up at you, checking if you've given in yet.

You're fighting the urge to whimper, not wanting to let him know how easy he's got it.

He introduces one of his fingers, and you move your body, your legs spreading, touching the mattress like a butterfly position, allowing him easier access to you. It's involuntary, a second nature.

He continues to lick your pussy, fingering slowly and deep and soon enough you break. Your back lifts off the bed in pleasure and a whimper escapes you.

Joel kisses your inner thigh while his fingers continue inside you, working through your orgasm. You're too distracted to hesitate or fight back.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your skin. “And I’m yours. That’s the only world I care about.”

Soon, you're shivering and letting out soft moans, and he knows he has won you back.

Once he's done with you he pulls you into his lap gently, your legs over his thighs like a bridge he's rebuilding piece by piece and slowly you let yourself soften against him and rest your cheek on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you shielding you from a world you don't know and will never do, all thanks to him.

"I love you."

You say softly, almost like a whisper, finally giving in.

He knew you'd say it sooner or later, you'd reciprocate it.

"Say it again."

"I love you, Daddy"

⟡━━━━━━━━━━⟡

✧ reblogs, likes & comments are deeply appreciated ♡

✧ do not repost, copy, or translate my work

515 notes · View notes

yogirl-willow · 24 days ago

Text

The Crimson Pact | Part 6

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

A/N: Thank you all for reading the Crimson Pact! Here's another update that gets the plot rolling. :) I tried to tag everyone I could, but I also know tumblr only allows like 50 or so- regardless I still tried so I hope it works!

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Part 6:

Where the Bond Burns

Darkness wraps around you like a heartbeat. Then comes the fire. Not heat—but memory. It floods your mind in violent waves. Too vivid to be a dream. Too tender to be lies. Too painful to be anything but real.

Smoke. Screams. Blood in the dirt. You're barefoot, standing in the center of a razed village, the winter wind biting at your cheeks. Charred thatch and broken beams litter the ground around you, glowing red with the last embers of a fire that’s stolen everything.

“Haneul!” You don’t think—you remember. His name rips from your chest.

You see him ahead—taller, broader, armor torn and covered in soot. His blade drips crimson. His expression is hollow. Around him: corpses. Bandits. Soldiers. Villagers. Men he once fought alongside. Men who dared to touch you. He turns—his eyes blazing.

“Haneul!” you call again, running to him. But someone yanks you back.

“Get her away from him—he’s cursed!”

You scream. Thrash. Soldiers hold you fast. Haneul sees it. The way you’re dragged. The way your arm twists in their grip. His scream splits the sky. “Don’t touch her!” he roars. “She’s mine!”

His sword flashes. You try to break free—but they overpower you. Your last memory of that life is his voice breaking through flame. His face wild, streaked in blood and grief.

“She’s mine!”

The village dissolves. And now—

A silk-draped room. It’s evening. You're in a candlelit room now—pillows, gauze curtains, perfume in the air. Your body sinks into cushions as laughter spills from your lips. A hand brushes your hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering.

“Seoha,” you whisper, dizzy on love. He’s beside you. Shirt loose. Mouth soft with affection. He kisses the inside of your wrist, slow and lingering.

“Run away with me,” he says, voice low. “We’ll vanish. Just us. You love me more than this... don’t you?”

Your smile fades. Your heart aches. “I can’t,” you breathe, trembling. “My family—my name—”

His expression cracks like porcelain. You reach for him, frantic, already regretting the words—but he pulls back. Stands. Shadows crawl across his face. His eyes are wounded. Distant.

You feel the air change. The soft warmth turns bitter. Cold. The candles gutter out.

The world shifts, vanishes like smoke and you feel the biting cold of the ground beneath you. Your body lies still on the floor, draped in bridal silk. Pale. Fragile. Your throat marked by red, too much red. Throat slit. A flower wilted before bloom.

Seoha is bent over you, hands shaking, blood on his mouth from where he tried to kiss you awake. He sobs—not loudly. Not like a man. But like something primal breaking apart. “No…” he chokes. “No, please. You promised me. You were mine. You chose me—”

He clutches you tighter, his tears slip onto your skin—silent, shuddering, like confessions too late. His grip turns bruising. Desperate. Like if he holds you hard enough, time might rewind. Like the blood staining your silk will fade.

But it doesn't.

The room stays still. Too still. The soft rustle of curtains. The faint clink of ornaments. A life continuing… without you in it. He rocks you in his arms. Once. Twice.

"Wake up," he whispers. "You said you loved me." Your head doesn’t tilt. Your lashes don’t flutter. "You said you were mine."

His breath hitches. The world doesn't burn—but something deeper does… inside him. A split down the center of his soul. He presses his mouth to yours—one last time. Still, he holds you. Still, he doesn't let go. Not even when your body cools beneath him.

You wake with a sound caught in your throat. A gasp. A sob. A name—no, two names—

“Seoha…” “Haneul—”

You jolt upright. The world is red. Not fire, not blood, but something deeper. Your vision is soaked in crimson and grief. The aftershock of lives you didn’t live—lives you lost. Your chest heaves like something’s been torn from it. Your ribs ache from a scream that never made it out. Your heart heavy with so much pain.

Next to you, there’s movement—fast, frantic. Romance—Seoha—bolts upright, his hand catching your arm before you can tip forward and clutching you to his chest. “Y/N—” His voice is wrecked. “What did you see? Tell me—did something happen? Tell me baby-”

He’s already cupping your face, thumbs trembling against your cheeks. “Please say something. Please. You’re scaring me—”

But you can’t speak. The grief is too big. The pain is too old. Your lip wobbles. Then the doors burst open like a dam breaking. Haneul arrives first, barefoot, breathless, eyes blazing with panic. Jinu right behind him, followed by Baby and Mystery, all drawn by the invisible tether of your soul to theirs. All five look like they’re in agony just seeing you there—not okay.

You look up at them and break. You hurl yourself into Haneul’s arms. His hands catch you instantly, anchoring you to his chest like he’s done this a thousand times in a thousand lives.

“I’m here,” he breathes into your hair, voice rough with emotion. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you—don’t cry like that, please don’t cry like that.”

You release another painful sob as you cry into his chest. It hurts. Jinu drops to his knees beside you, taking your hand in both of his, kissing your knuckles like they’re holy. “She’s remembering,” he says softly. “She’s remembering what happened.”

Baby’s fists are clenched. He looks like he might punch through the wall. Or the sky. “Who did this to her?” he growls, but the rage is hollow. Useless. “Who made her feel this way?”

“No one,” Mystery says, almost inaudible. “It’s us. She’s feeling us. And their pain.”

Seoha shifts behind you, pulling you into his lap like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t wrap every limb around you. His face is ghost-white, his chest bare, still heaving from the terror of waking to your pain. “I thought you were dying,” he says. “God, I thought you were leaving me again.”

You’re shaking uncontrollably. “I saw you,” you whisper. “Both of you.” Your eyes lock with Haneul’s. “I saw you burning. Bleeding. Screaming for me.”

Then with Seoha. “And you… holding my body. I was dead. And you—you were breaking.”

Every boy in the room stills. There’s a silence thick enough to choke on. “I felt everything,” you whisper. “Your heartbreak. Your love. It hurt so much, I thought I was going to die with you.”

Abby presses his forehead to your temple. “I’d die every lifetime if it meant I got to hold you again.”

Jinu kisses your wrist. “You’re here. With us, baby. That’s all that matters.”

Baby’s hands shake as he kneels in front of you. “Don’t ever cry like that again. I’ll kill the world if it makes you cry like that.”

Mystery crawls in beside you, head pressing gently to your shoulder. “We’re with you now,” he murmurs, “and we’ll never leave again.”

And then… Seoha. He turns your chin to face him. His eyes burn. “You think I’m afraid of losing you?” he whispers. “I’m not. Because I won’t. I won’t. Even if I have to tear the heavens open and drag you back from them.”

His lips graze yours—not yet a kiss. Just a whisper of devotion. “You died in my arms once,” he says. “I’m never letting you out of them again.”

And suddenly— They’re all touching you. A thumb brushing your cheekbone. A hand on your back. A kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your collarbone. Your jaw. Your hands.

Worship, in the form of fingertips and lips. Possession, in the shape of tenderness. You’re overwhelmed. Soft sobs slip free—but not from pain this time. From feeling too much.

Because you’re not alone. Because you’re loved so deeply, it’s terrifying. Because the grief you inherited belongs to them, and they’re trying—desperately—to kiss it all away.

You lean into it. Into them. They hold you tighter. You are theirs. And they are yours.

And for a moment, that’s enough. Even if it shouldn’t be. Even if you know—deep down—something darker is still coming.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

There’s a difference between the six of you as the day begins. Something in the air shifts—softer, but heavier. Like the weight of too many emotions pressing on fragile glass.

After you’d cried yourself back to sleep, they hadn’t left you alone. Not for a second. They kissed you until your lashes fluttered shut, until your breathing calmed. Until your pain dulled beneath their whispers and vows.

But today… they had to leave. Just for a few hours. Idol obligations, they said. Interviews. Meet-ups. “We’ll be back before you even miss us,” Haneul had teased, planting a kiss behind your ear.

At first, the silence is peaceful. You sit in the studio, sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains as you try to lose yourself in paint. But your hands— Your fingers tremble slightly. The brush wavers. You blink. Colors blur on the page. A wave of heat rolls through your chest.

“Ugh,” you mutter, pressing your wrist to your forehead. “Maybe I skipped lunch…” You feel dizzy. Strange. Not sick—just… wrong. Like your body isn’t fully yours.

An hour passes. Then two. You drink water. Open a window. Try humming to yourself. But nothing helps. Your skin feels too tight. The room feels too small. And something in your ribs aches—not like illness, but absence. Like being stretched too far from something you're not meant to live without.

“What the hell… I thought the bond symptoms had subsided…” you grumble in frustration. It was so strange. You had felt normal when they left the other day. By the fourth hour, your breath starts to hitch. You lie on the couch, curled up in one of Mystery’s oversized hoodies, trying not to cry. And then—finally—

The front door opens. Footsteps. Voices. The moment you hear it—you bolt.

“Y/N?” Jinu calls out, stepping into the hallway.

But he doesn’t get another word in before you launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around his neck, legs clinging to his waist like a koala. And immediately as you breathe in his scent, you start to feel better.

“Whoa—” he stumbles slightly, catching you with practiced ease. “Miss you too, baby.”

Haneul bursts out laughing behind him. “Damn, give us five seconds to drop our bags!”

“She’s not messing around,” Seoha murmurs, smirking, eyes dark with something more than amusement.

But it’s Mystery—last to enter—who freezes in the doorway. His nose twitches. He steps closer, gaze flicking over you. “You were sick,” he says. Not a question. “But not anymore.”

You blink, still clinging to Jinu’s chest. “How did you—?”

“You don’t smell right when we’re gone. You smell wrong.” His expression is tight. “Like something’s pulling you apart.”

“I just felt weird,” you whisper. “Shaky. Hot. Like… I couldn’t breathe unless one of you walked in the door.”

They all go still and exchange questioning glances. Jinu kisses the top of your head. “You’re okay now.”

“No,” Baby says. “She wasn’t.”

Seoha hums, stepping behind you to run a hand down your spine. “It’s the bond getting stronger. A flare up. That’s all.”

“Sure,” Mystery says under his breath. “The bond.” It should be more stabilzed now. He wonders to himself. So why is she having flare-ups?

But his eyes stay on you—watching the way you bury yourself deeper into Jinu’s hold. Watching how the tension in your body bleeds away as they gather around you again, like wolves circling a den. He sees it before the rest of them do. You aren’t just missing them. You need them. Not emotionally. Physically. Spiritually.

Later that day, you’re curled up on the couch, sketching lazily as the boys come and go around you. Music plays low from the kitchen.

Baby flops beside you, long legs sprawled, arms behind his head. His fingers trail across your wrist—just a touch, light as breath. And suddenly—

The colors around you sharpen. The lines of your drawing look too crisp. The air crackles faintly, like a TV left on the wrong channel. You flinch, breath catching. “What was that…?”

Baby raises a brow. “What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. I’m probably just—overtired or something.” But your heart is pounding. There’s something alive in your blood. Something that doesn’t belong to you.

That night, the boys cook dinner—galbi and japchae sizzling on the stove, the air thick with spice, garlic, and warmth. You’re chopping vegetables at the counter, sleeves rolled to your elbows, hair tied up in a messy knot. For once, it feels almost normal. Like you're a person again. Like you still live in a world that follows rules.

Seoha brushes behind you—too close, always too close—and passes you a spoon. His hand lingers a second longer than needed, fingers grazing yours. The second your skin touches his—

The stove erupts. Flames leap like claws from the burner. Not a flicker. A flare. Fierce. Bright. Hungry. You flinch. The knife clatters onto the cutting board. Everyone stills. For one perfect second, silence tightens the room like a wire pulled taut. Haneul steps forward, slowly. “That’s not the stove.”

Jinu doesn’t take his eyes off you. “It wasn’t broken earlier.”

Seoha doesn’t move. His hand stays on yours, calm—too calm. “She’s okay,” he murmurs. “It was just a flare.”

“From what?” you whisper, pulse skittering. They don’t answer. Not immediately. Then Jinu speaks, voice soft but heavy: “She centers us.” He swallows. Adds quieter—almost like it hurts to admit it: “Too well. Too completely.”

Mystery moves in from the hallway, his eyes already glowing faintly. He doesn’t come closer—just inhales, deeply. “…She smells like equilibrium,” he murmurs. “Like home.”

Your heart stutters. You take a step back. The boys don’t let you. Seoha slides behind you again, arms wrapping lightly around your waist. Haneul stands at your side, fingers brushing your wrist. Baby tilts his head from across the kitchen, watching you like a predator sizing up something that already belongs to him.

“Soulbond’s getting stronger,” Baby says, voice amused. “Cute, huh?”

You let out an uneasy laugh, your smile only slightly unsure. Because under your skin, something curls tighter. Thicker. This isn’t just a bond. It’s a root system. A fire line. A storm surge. Something old is waking in you—and whatever it is, it’s bound to them.

And they know it. You can feel it in the way they look at you. Reverent. Possessive. A little afraid. Not afraid for you. Afraid of losing you. Afraid of what they’d do if that balance—you—was ever broken.

“Hey,” Jinu says gently, moving closer. “Don’t run from this. Whatever’s changing… it’s not hurting you. It’s anchoring us.”

“I don’t want to be an anchor,” you whisper.

Seoha presses a kiss behind your ear. “Too late.”

And all around you—five demons in human skin, eyes glowing soft with need, obsession, love—they just watch you.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

“No.”

“Please.” You plead with the best puppy-dog eyes you could muster. “I don’t want your fans suspecting anything or posting about me.”

The boys had brought you along to their variety show. A result of your sickness when they were away yesterday. “I’d rather die than have you sick again because of me.” Baby said this morning with a grumble before forcing you to get dressed.

Such events had lead to now, as you watch the five of them stare at you like you’ve grown a second head. Haneul crosses his arms. “That’s literally what disguises are for.”

“I won’t go far,” you insist. “I’ll stay in the mall right next to the building. You can check on me between segments. I just don’t want so many eyes looking at me and suspecting anything… and with the way you guys act, that’s bound to happen.”

“What do you mean?” Jinu asks.

“She means how none of us can keep our paws off her.” Seoha smirks. “Fine. But behave.”

Baby begins to protest. “But-!”

You smile, triumphant. “I will. Promise!”

He glares at you.

Twenty minutes later, you’re sipping warm broth at a tucked-away ramen stall in the back of the upper floor food court—alone, but not quite free. You know they’re watching. Mystery’s familiar warmth lingers like a phantom near your ribs. Jinu's voice still echoes in your ear: “Don’t go anywhere unfamiliar.”

So naturally, when the air turns colder—too cold—you go still. Your breath fogs, though the mall is heated. The hairs rise on your arms. And then—

A figure sits across from you. No footsteps. No sound. Just is. An old man. Not old like human elders, but ancient. His eyes don’t reflect light. They drink it. His suit is formal, black and gray, timeless in a way that doesn’t belong in this century—or any. You freeze, chopsticks mid-air.

“I see why he’s… intrigued by you,” the man says, voice smooth like rusted metal. He takes a deep breath and lets out a smile that chills you to the bone. “You taste like paradox.”

“…Excuse me?”

He doesn’t blink. “You’re tethered,” he murmurs. “To five fractured souls. A full hand’s worth. I’ve never seen it before.”

You grip your chopsticks. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he cuts in softly. “But it’s not finished. Not yet. That’s the dangerous part.” he chuckles in amusement. “The old fool doesn’t know what he’s just done to himself.”

Your stomach turns cold.

“He suspects. But he doesn’t know. Not yet. Your bond is rare. Raw. Unfinished. It could collapse. Or… become something eternal.”

You swallow. “Who suspects what now? And what do you mean, tether?”

He tilts his head. Slow. Exact. Like measuring a blade before it slides between ribs. The demon before you didn’t bother answering your questions. “I once had a friend,” he says. “Smart. Loyal. Desperate. He wanted what you are becoming.”

Your breath catches. “What happened to him?”

The man’s mouth twitches into something like pity. “He failed.”

“Why?”

“He tried to force what should only grow. He tried to anchor love with power. To make a bridge out of obsession. But the soul he bound to wasn’t strong enough. She was never the foundation.”

Your heart stammers. “She couldn’t bear it?”

“She unraveled.” He says it like poetry. Like eulogy. “She died screaming. And so did he.”

You feel it in your bones. The truth. The horror. But what shreds your spine is the feeling that this isn’t a warning—it’s a mirror.

The old demon smiles. “Be careful, child. You are something rare. Not quite human anymore. Not yet divine. If you’re not careful, they’ll tear you in five.”

Your breath hitches. “Who are you?”

He ignores the question. Instead, he leans forward, eyes pale and burning. “There will be a price,” he whispers. “Always. The question is not if you’ll pay it—” His breath brushes your cheek. “—but whether you choose to.”

You jolt back— The lights flicker above. Your ramen is untouched. Your body is shaking. Something cold coils in your spine. You don't realize you're gripping the edge of the table until your knuckles burn.

Who is this demon? And what in god’s name is he talking about?

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Back in the studio, the audience claps. The host jokes. The boys are seated on two couches for the show. Abby fake-laughs at something that didn’t land.

But Mystery’s head snaps up. His whole body goes rigid. The camera catches it—just for a second. The host frowns. “You alright there, Mystery?”

Abby shoots him a glance. “He’s been feeling sick today,” Jinu says smoothly, stepping in. The host makes a sympathetic noise. “Aw, poor guy.”

But Romance has already frozen. Baby’s eye twitches. They feel it too—you. Your fear.

Mystery doesn’t say a word. He walks offstage right in the middle of the taping. The crowd gasps. Abby forces a laugh. “We told him not to eat six boiled eggs before a shoot.”

Laughter bubbles. Cameras roll. But the boys go cold inside. Because something just reached you.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Mystery’s feet are soundless on the tile as he enters the upper floor of the mall. His eyes are darker. Sharper. Not quite human. And then he sees you.

You. Sitting at the corner stall. Shaking. His heart drops. A growl rises in his throat. And then he sees him. The Old One. Still there. Still smiling. Mystery’s body shifts—just enough for his nails to blacken. Fangs graze his lower lip.

“Step away,” he snarls.

The demon raises a brow. “The beast comes.”

“You scared her.”

The old one stands. Unbothered. “I told her the truth.”

Mystery stills. “You think I won’t rip you apart in front of civilians?”

“I think,” the demon says lightly, “that if you do, she’ll burn faster.”

That stills Mystery. A flicker of fang. A twitch of the claw. But no strike.

“You don’t want her revealed, do you?” the man hums. “Not yet.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

The old demon smiles, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Ah, I see. Even you don’t know.”

“Know what?!”

The old demon chuckles. “But you can feel it, more than the others… the ‘bond’” he stretches the last word like it’s a joke he’d just made.

Mystery growls at the mention of the bond, eyes growing protective, angry. He goes to take a swipe and then, like smoke curling from a candle—the demon vanishes. Mystery rushes to you. You collapse into his arms the moment he reaches you, clinging so tightly it almost hurts. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” His voice is lower than usual—closer to a growl. “We’ll talk later. I’m getting you out of here.”

He carries you from the mall with a hoodie over your head, your ramen left behind, your pulse still racing.

He carries you for a few minutes and then there’s a flash. It’s quiet. Still. Only the wind and the sound of water lapping the rocks. He’s brought you to a secluded park just beyond the city—hidden and safe. You have no idea what’s going on. How you got here so fast. Fear still gripping your thoughts.

He sits you down on a wooden bench, you on his lap as he cradles your form protectively. Finally—

“What did he say to you?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I don’t understand. Something about his friend, and that I’m becoming something, and to be careful not to tear apart, A choice-” your voice is shaky, trying to remember all you could after such a situation.

Mystery’s arms wrap around you tighter. “Okay, okay, baby…” he shushes and rocks you as a way to soothe your rapidly beating heart. But in his eyes—beastlike and broken—something ancient and possessive sparks.

You lean into his chest, listening to the low rumble of his breath, the occasional thud of his heartbeat, the way his arms tighten each time you twitch. Finally, your voice comes—hoarse, quiet. A whisper more than a question. “Who… who was that?”

Mystery stiffens behind you. For a second, you think he won’t answer. Then—

“An Old One,” he murmurs. “Older than me. Older than any of us.”

You pull back slightly to look at him. “Like… a demon?”

He nods, slowly. “More like… a ghost of the first demons. They don’t take orders. Even Gwi Ma doesn’t command them. They don’t usually come out of hiding unless…”

“Unless what?”

His jaw flexes. His eyes are darker now, less gold—more like molten obsidian. “Unless something’s changing.”

You swallow. The air feels too still. The wind too quiet. Mystery brushes a hand over your arm, almost absentmindedly. Like he’s grounding himself.

“He knew things,” you whisper. “He said things I didn’t understand. About… tethering. About bonds.” You look up at him. “Do you know what he meant?”

Mystery’s eyes lock with yours. And you’ve never seen him look so helpless. “No,” he says honestly. “I don’t. I swear, little one. If I did… I’d tell you.”

You study his face. Every line of sincerity. Every flicker of confused concern. He truly doesn’t know. “But he scared you,” he adds softly. “That’s enough. I should’ve been there.”

“It’s not your fault,” you say, but your voice trembles.

Mystery pulls closer. His hands slide up your spine. His nose presses into the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply—shuddering. “You smell better now,” he murmurs, a little too possessively. “Not like fear anymore.”

You try to calm your heartbeat, but his tone wraps around your nerves like a snare. “He shouldn’t have touched your peace,” he growls. “He had no right.”

You rest your head against his shoulder, the thrum of anxiety still vibrating in your chest. He nuzzles your temple. “You’re mine to scare. Mine to break. Mine to fix.”

You blink. “Mystery—”

“I won’t let them take you,” he says simply. “Not Gwi Ma. Not the hunters. Not the Old Ones. Not even fate.”

Your breath hitches.

“But I don’t know what you are,” he admits. “Only that you’re… ours. The piece we were missing. The reason we’re even still sane.”

You close your eyes, the river whispering nearby. Something deep, quiet, ancient curls in your stomach. Not fear. Not anymore. But not comfort either. Something’s shifting. And it has a name. You just don’t know it yet.

The silence stretches again, soft and heavy. Water ripples faintly beside you. The breeze carries the faintest scent of pine and memory. Mystery shifts. You feel it in the way his arms tighten around you—not possessive this time. Not protective. Just… needing.

“I’ve never told you,” he murmurs, “what you were to me. The first time.” Your breath catches. His voice is rough—barely more than a growl smoothed by sorrow.

“You weren’t like this then. You were smaller. Weaker. Human in every way. But you were kind. You sang when no one else did.”

You blink slowly, his breath warm near your ear.

“Three-hundred years ago. It was the Sick Season,” he continues, voice low. “That’s what they called it. The people in your village. They thought the illness was punishment. Or a curse. The priests said prayers. The elders said nothing.”

His fingers stroke your arm absently, grounding himself. “Your siblings were coughing. You didn’t cough yet. So you walked into the woods one night with a lantern and begged the sky for help. I don’t think you expected an answer.”

He exhales. A shaky, fond sound. “But I came. As fog first. Then fur. Then form. And you…” His throat closes. You feel the tremor in him. “You weren’t scared.”

You blink, heart fluttering. “I should have been,” you whisper.

“No,” he says immediately. “You shouldn’t have. Because you saved me first.”

He tilts your face to meet his eyes—molten gold, wide and wet with something too ancient for tears. “You gave me a name,” he murmurs, half-laughing. “A silly one. I didn’t even know what it meant. But you said it like it mattered. Like I mattered.” His mouth brushes your forehead. His eyes closing in content and fondness. “You had called me Hwimori, saying I moved like a whirlwind. However, over time you shortened it…”

Your eyes flashed a crimson as a memory flooded back into you. You uttered his name with a soft gasp of remembrance. “...Hwi”

You felt him purr beneath you and his grip on you tightened at the sound of his name on your lips. He shook slightly as if he might break — because no one’s called him that since you… “Yes…” he breathed a laugh of disbelief. “That’s what it was…”

You clutched on his sweater tightly, burying your nose in his neck. He sighed in content before continuing. “You fed me crumbs. Apples. You made up songs about the wind. You thought I was just a lonely fox. And I was. But then you… you looked at me like I wasn’t.”

You swallow, throat burning. Mystery presses his forehead to yours. “I didn’t understand death. I didn’t understand why you were singing less, sleeping more. Your hum faded, and I thought I could fix it by keeping you warm. By staying. By loving harder.” He shakes his head slowly. “But love couldn’t stop it. You died with your hand in my fur.”

You flinch. His arms tighten around you. “They dragged me away. I bit them. Changed shape by accident. I didn’t know how to be anything but yours, and they took you anyway.”

His voice breaks now—hoarse, unsteady. “They called me cursed. A beast. And maybe they were right. Because after that, I couldn’t go back to what I was. I couldn’t even remember how.” He closes his eyes. “My grief broke me. My body. My soul. I lost you, and I never stopped howling.”

Tears sting your lashes.

“I wandered for years,” he whispers. “Villages. Mountains. Cities. I learned how to speak. How to walk on two legs. I waited for you. Hoped for you. Even when I forgot your name, I remembered the sound of your laughter.”

You let out a choked sound. His fingers catch it, tracing your jaw. “I didn’t know pain until you stopped singing,” he says. “And even now, even here—centuries later—you hum in your sleep, and it quiets the monster in me. And why now I sing… for you.”

Your voice is a whisper. “I remember… the vision. You curled against my legs.”

“That was real,” he says. “It was the first time I ever felt warm.” Another pause. This one tender, terrible. “They said I was a demon. That I shouldn’t feel. But I did. Because of you. You made me feel—so I became something that could feel you back.”

You shift in his lap, cupping his cheeks with both hands. His eyes flutter shut. His breath shudders. “They said I was a beast,” he murmurs. “But I only ever wanted to be yours.”

You kiss his cheek. He makes a sound—raw and startled—like he’s been starving for it. Like the feel of your lips is too much and not enough. His breath hitches, sharp, and you hear it break in his throat.

“You touched me,” he whispers hoarsely, “and I called it forever.”

Your heart cracks. He’s shaking again—not from fear, but from something deeper. Centuries of ache coiled tight in his chest. Something caged too long. His nose brushes yours, his lips just shy of your mouth, and his hands are trembling against your waist like he’s terrified to want this.

But you do.

So you close the space between you. You kiss him. And everything stops.

You taste the reverence in it—how he doesn’t quite believe it’s real. The shudder that runs down his spine is almost violent. His breath catches like his lungs are learning how to fill for the first time. Like his body never understood how to live until now.

He kisses you like someone who’s never been touched. Like someone who’s wandered lifetimes in thirst, and your mouth is the first drop of water he’s ever found. His hands fly to your back, your waist, your neck—like he needs to feel every inch of you, as if skin-to-skin contact might keep you from vanishing.

He kisses like a soulbeast, not a man. Like instinct. Like prayer. Like his entire existence was a howl that only just found its answer. You pull back just enough to breathe—but his lips chase you, his forehead resting on yours as his chest heaves.

“I’m here now,” you whisper.

His scarred mouth twitches, almost like a smile, but it’s broken. Fragile. Wounded. “I know,” he chokes. “And I’ll never—” His voice cracks. “Never let them take you again. I swear it. I swear—”

“I know,” you say, and kiss him again—quieter this time. Like a promise. And this time, when you curl deeper into his arms, you feel it. The tremor in him stills.

For the first time in three hundred years, the beast stops trembling.

────────── ⚘ ────────── The air ripples. A breath. A blur. And then Mystery is there—materializing in the middle of the apartment with you in his arms.

“I didn’t know demons could teleport…”

The moment your feet touch the ground, five shadows surge forward.

Jinu’s already halfway across the room, tie loosened, eyes wild with tension. Seoha and Haneul shoot up from the couch. Baby’s pacing like a storm about to break, jaw clenched, fists flexing and curling. The bond in the room is a live wire—buzzing, seething, flaring.

You barely have time to exhale before they close in. Arms wrap around you from all sides. Jinu’s hands cup your face. Haneul holds you from behind, burying his face into your neck. Seoha presses his forehead to your shoulder. Baby—Baby doesn’t touch you at all. He stands just inches away, vibrating with barely restrained rage, like one wrong word might shatter the floor beneath you.

“You’re okay,” Jinu murmurs, breath shaking. “You’re really okay…”

“I felt it,” Haneul breathes. “The fear. Your fear.”

“You were burning,” Seoha whispers. “The bond flared so hot I thought I’d combust.”

“I told you,” Baby snarls, teeth bared. “She never should’ve left our sight. I told you.”

“Baby—” Jinu starts, but he cuts him off.

“No. No more of this.” He steps toward you finally, eyes glowing faintly. “You think I’m dramatic? Obsessive? Fine. But if anything—anything—had happened to you, I would’ve burned that entire building down. You hear me?” His hand trembles as he reaches out and presses two fingers to your wrist. “I’d obliterate everything.”

“Baby…” you whisper.

He exhales sharply and pulls you into his arms. “I wasn’t angry,” he mutters against your hair. “I was scared.”

You feel it. All of them. Their fear. Their restraint. Their absolute fury at the thought of losing you again. Seoha sinks onto the couch, dragging you with him. The others follow—pressing close, limbs tangled, the kind of closeness only soul-starved creatures know.

“What happened?” Jinu asks, voice controlled, but his eyes are pure flame.

Mystery doesn’t flinch. “An Old One,” he says. “He was waiting for her.”

The room stills. No one speaks. Mystery continues, voice low and gravelly. “He didn’t hurt her. But… he knew something. Said strange things. I got her out before I could kill him.”

You lean against Jinu, your body finally remembering how to breathe. “He said…” You close your eyes. “That He suspects something. That my bond is unfinished. That it could become something eternal. Or collapse entirely.”

“He?” Haneul asks. You nod and mutter softly, “I think… I think he’s talking about Gwi Ma.”

Jinu stills. Seoha leans forward. “Did he say what it meant?”

You shake your head. “Only that he had a friend. A demon who tried to force a bond like mine. And that… it tore his lover apart.”

Silence. Jinu’s hand tightens where it rests on your thigh. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe. But you feel it. In the bond. In his bones. A flicker of something like recognition.

“Jinu,” Seoha says, frowning. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Jinu says too quickly. Liar. He knows something. Just not enough to say it out loud. Not yet.

Maybe he doesn’t believe it. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s because the story he heard—the fable of a demon who tried to tether a human soul and failed—always felt like a fairytale. A cautionary myth whispered by demons about the cost of unnatural love.

But now… You’re sitting in front of him. And it doesn’t feel so mythical anymore.

“I’ll find him again,” Mystery mutters darkly. “The next time he speaks to her, I won’t hold back.”

Haneul’s eyes glint with the same promise. “We should’ve gone with you.”

“She wouldn’t have felt fear if we were there,” Baby growls. “She wouldn’t need to feel fear again if she just stayed with us.”

“I wasn’t trying to be reckless,” you whisper. “I just wanted to—”

“You don’t get to be reckless,” Seoha says, not unkindly. “Not when you belong to us.”

You flinch slightly. Not from his tone. From how much you don’t flinch at the possessiveness anymore. They’re all quiet for a moment. Then Jinu softens. His hand brushes your hair behind your ear. “You’re tired.”

Mystery lifts you again before anyone else can move. “I’ll take her.”

There’s no argument. The boys each kiss your head goodnight, lingering longer than they usually do. Mystery carries you to bed like you’re breakable porcelain. Like you're the center of the world and he's afraid you might shatter. You lie down, and he tucks you in, brushing your hair back with fingers that still shake. You touch his wrist.

“I liked the name,” you whisper. “Hwi.”

His throat tightens as he smiles softly. He nods. Then curls beside you, arms locking around your waist. He buries his nose in your hair. Your scent as an anchor to his very being.

You fall asleep like that. In the arms of the beast who once guarded your grave. And once your breath evens, he slips out of the room.

The boys are waiting in the living room, the lights dim. No one speaks for a long time. Finally, Jinu says, “There’s a chance—just a chance—that she’s becoming something.”

“Something?” Haneul repeats.

“A… tether,” Jinu murmurs. “But it’s just an old myth. A story.”

Baby’s eyes narrow. “What kind of story?”

Jinu leans back, staring at the ceiling. “One where a demon tried to bind a human soul too tightly. To keep them. Forever. Without the need for Gwi Ma’s intervention. It didn’t end well.”

Seoha’s voice is ice. “And if this isn’t a story?”

“Then she’s not just bonded to us,” Jinu says slowly. “She anchors us.”

Mystery- Hwimori snarls low in his throat. “What do you mean? She’s already ours. What more can she become?”

Jinu doesn’t answer. But the word echoes in his mind. She could become the anchor. Not just to us. To everything.

He couldn’t say that now. Not without further proof. But every one of them is thinking the same thing. If she is becoming something more— They’ll burn heaven and hell before letting it take her away.

TO BE CONTINUED

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

A/N: Yayy Mystery backstory! His past is a bit different from the other boys. His origins weren't human. He was a soul beast that corrupted after your death - which explains his deep senses and connection to you. Because he was a spirit, the name Hwimori fit more as it was one given to him by you (and also not a human name). Hwimori is the name of a Korean rhythmic pattern used in traditional Korean music. It's known for being fast-paced, spiraling, and intense—like a whirlwind. And so the name Hwimori pretty much embodies the chaotic grace of a spirit-beast born from instinct, emotion, and ritual. Like the rhythm, he is relentless, spiraling around you, driven by feeling more than logic. You shorten it to “Hwi,” turning something wild and sacred into something personal and tender.

───────── ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆ ─────────

Taglist: @airwolf92 @akira-yan @aleclockwood @amercanfailure @animal-and-flower-lover @anisimp @anonymousewrites @apelepikozume @arieslucy @ateezswonderland @atl4ntxc @badbishsblog @bearb33 @bloobewy @booknerd2004 @candylandrules @casperleghosty @chirikoheina @chugjugg @cloudfxvrs @cottonheadedninnymugggins @crustypatatos @dragongirl642 @enerofairy @ezri261 @faerie-soirxx @fanficriter @ffcfffr @g-l-1-t-c-h-3-r @girlwiththegoats @givecyrustheirflowers @gwinamlvr @h3110-dar1in9 @hi-itsmee28 @himikoquack @hornehlittleweeblet2 @ibby-miyoshi-nerd @imjusthereforthecake56 @insane-scientist @insomniacfigure @invinciblewaffles @irethepotato @iv-vee @izzieg3987 @jamaicanqueen007 @jamerlynn @justanerd1 @lavnderluv @letsmakethingsclear-ididntask @levifiance @limerenceisserenity @littlemissfix-itfic @littlepotaaatosimp @loomindoors @lovely-maryj @lovely-tulipp @lovelymelon @luxylucylou @maniacalism @meeeegaaan @mel3484 @meridian-of-misery @miffysoo @misdollface @mitsuakashi @mjustag1rl @moonlight-rosevine @mossy-luna @mshope16 @natllo @neuvilletteswife4ever @nonetheartist @perfectlywingedflower @permanently-tired-pigeon @pleasantlyspookycreation @pookiei-bookie @poptrim @procookie2007 @qmabailor @quantumorquanta @raineandcl0uds @realifezompire @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @saltedcoffeescotch @sarah22447 @scaranao @shadyplaidwagonmuffin @shinebright2000 @sin-for-jin @sleepyamaya @sollum @soy-soi-si @spiderset @sra7riddle-malfoy @starlight100 @storyteller-le @strayharmony943 @sunoosmainchick @tenaciouskittenpuff @the-sweet-psycho @tommyinnit-kinnie @udejoenrlddo @unadulteratedwizardrunaway @unsolicitedopal @venommie @vi1326 @vita-nire @vixyvlo @weponxwrites @wpdarlingpan @yandereaficionado @yepitsmesendhelp @your-favorite-god @yumekono @zuhaeri @angelfuzzy2

3K notes · View notes