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cheolaholic · 2 months ago

Text

bound to you; jww

summary; With a subtle fire growing between two vastly different souls, are they doomed to surrender to a bond that binds them together? Or... are they exactly what each other need?

abo universe • mafia au • arranged marriage • fluff, smut, angst • hurt-comfort

pairing; jeon wonwoo x f!reader | wc; 22k | rating; 18+ explicit nsfw

contains; mafia boss! wonwoo, florist! reader, alpha! wonwoo, omega! reader, reader knows how to fight back/stand her ground even though she’s submissive, right hand man! woozi, beta! svt members (cheol, woozi, gyu, vernon & chan), mentions of JxW, wonwoo is unhinge but not too unhinged, woozi encouraging/supporting wonwoo to be more unhinged, wonwoo wears glasses, very subtle “where is my wife!?” trope, not really sure who fell first and who fell harder, unplanned pregnancy, the honeymoon scene is sweet AND nasty

mature/trigger warnings; dom! wonwoo, sub! reader, big dick! wonwoo, knotting, biting/marking kink, size kink, use of sex toys, g-spot stimulation, breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you do the nasty), mating press, implied sex marathon when reader is in heat, somewhat of an aftercare, reader is extremely horny when in heat, wonwoo doesn’t mind bcs he’s just as horny and has really high stamina, tummy bulge, creampies, squirting, that one business proposal scene, drugs (heat inducers, heat/rut suppressants), forced drugging, weapons (guns, knives, needles etc), abduction, violence (it’s a mafia au so, yea), mentions of miscarriage, etc

petnames; his (Nonu, Alpha), hers (Doll, Babydoll)

a/n; RAHH, new fic !! hope yall enjoy this because i sure as hell stressed over this fic way more than i should’ve- was also sick as i tried to finish this out and get it out (by its very overdued deadline rip) big thanks to rae ( @nerdycheol) and supi ( @supi-wupi) for beta reading and sharing their thoughts on it hehe ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

✨ support me by becoming a patreon (enjoy exclusive perks & content) OR tip me on kofi !! 💜 if you are unable to do so, you can also show support by reblogging your favourite works of mine !!

In this universe, there exists a city called Ashville.

A modern city that’s under the rule of an infamous Mafia family that’s been around for generations.

In this universe, each individual is born into one of three dynamics: Alpha, Beta, and Omega. These roles are usually found out before they become teenagers, typically around the ages ten to twelve. Not only do they dictate one’s instincts, but it also determines their place in the social hierarchy.

Alphas stood at the very top of the hierarchy, their presence commanding and unyielding. Known as protectors and leaders, their strength and resolve made them pillars of stability and order. They exude an air of confidence, their pheromones carrying an unmistakable weight that both enthralls and intimidates. An Alpha’s instinct could be a double-edged sword – their need for dominance paired with their sense of responsibility.

Betas occupy the middle grounds, acting as stabilizers so that the world doesn’t get thrown into a world of instinctual chaos. Neither driven by the dominating urges of an Alpha nor bound by the vulnerabilities of an Omega, they serve as the mediators. The voice of reason, if you will. Their neutrality is what makes them the glue that holds society together, but could also be the cause of its downfall if they were to commit treason.

Finally, the Omegas, whose roles are often misunderstood due to their vulnerabilities. They’re the heart of the societal order, their instincts centered on nurture, connection, and to a few, rebellion. They are similar to Alphas in terms of pheromones, but what set them apart would be that an unclaimed Omega’s pheromones could attract unwanted attention from unclaimed Alphas, drawing them in like moths to a flame.

Claimed Omegas would bear the bonding bite of their Alphas. But, in the event an Omega is without a mate, either by choice or tragic events; they are forced into prostitution. It is a sad reality and possible outcome to many. Hence, many Omegas forged paths of quiet defiance, proving that they too are strong without a mate.

Click.

"Can you, please, get a bit closer?" The photographer asks, practically begging at this point.

Wonwoo heaves out a sigh while your shoulders slump, tired from having spent the entire morning posing for your wedding portrait. While it was true that you were somewhat excited to have finally found your mate, let’s just say of all the possible occupations you’ve come up with, a mafia boss was not on that list.

Hell, not even the Jeon Wonwoo was on your list.

The mob boss takes a step closer, placing both hands on your hips and the photographer beams at the sight. “Yes, yes! Just like that!” he exclaims, pulling out his camera as he continues to snap more portraits. Wonwoo feels your body tense up from the close proximity so he leans in close to your ear. “Relax, doll,” he whispers, “You’re tense and you look terrified. Nobody is going to believe that we’re ‘in love’ if you keep this up.”

Click.

“I-I’m sorry,” you squeaked, the grip you had on the bouquet of flowers tightening slightly, “ ‘M just nervous…” “Oh, I know you are, doll.” Wonwoo turns his head slightly, nuzzling his nose into your hair and you let out a quiet gasp, “I can smell it. Do I scare you that much, hmm? Having second thoughts because your mate is the infamous mob boss?” He lets out a low chuckle when you shake your head profusely, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. “Keep your eyes on the camera, darling. Once this is over, you can go right back home.”

Click.

“Shouldn’t we make preparations for the ceremony?” you asked, “What about the cake? The venue? The–”

“Don’t stress your pretty head, doll,” Wonwoo says, giving your hips a light squeeze, “I’ve settled everything and your preferences have been taken into account, too. I’ll contact you for the cake tasting and venue checking.”

“And, it’s a wrap!” the photographer announces with a wide smile, “Thank you so much Mr and Mrs Jeon! I promise you won’t be disappointed with the results!”

You weren’t sure if the photographer was always this… enthusiastic with his clients. Or if he was holding himself back from pissing himself. ‘I’d be terrified too if the Jeons were my client…’

Not one soul didn’t know who the Jeons were. What started off as a small group of delinquents had eventually grown into one of the largest mobs to run Ashville. The man who started it all, Jeon Wonsoong, was a man who could send even the Devil running with its tail between its legs. While most mobsters were practically built on wealth, the Jeons’ were quite the opposite.

Jeon Wonsoong had built the mob of the Jeon family from scratch – from the literal blood, sweat and tears of his companions and oftentimes, those who had crossed him. The Jeons had their respect earned, not given on a silver platter. Many have mocked Wonsoong when he began building a name for the family – claiming that he was too ambitious, that he’d be better off as an underling.

They were the very same people he’s overthrown.

Just a mention of the Jeon family name was enough to drain anyone’s face of their colour.

Decades later, enter Jeon Wonwoo, the one and only beloved grandson of Jeon Wonsoong. Wonwoo already had the responsibilities of being the next mob boss ever since his mother’s pregnancy was announced. Wonwoo grew up watching how the “family business” worked, seeing his father fire bullets through heads after heads of rivals or anyone and anything that could be a threat to the family.

The poor boy was terrified at first but by the time his teenage years rolled around, he’s pretty much grown numb to the fear and squeamish feeling of seeing piles of bloodied dead bodies.

He’s watched the drug dealings, the smuggling – the most atrocious crimes or businesses known to man would be committed by the Jeons’, yet they would refuse to inflict any form of harm onto women and/or children for pleasure.

Wonwoo remembered bringing it up to his father when he was 16.

“Your grandpa is a family man, son. He’d never harm a child for the wrongdoings their parents have done – that’s why he takes them into the family and raises them to be his men.”

“What about crimes against women?”

“Crimes against women is unfortunately something that cannot be stopped, regardless whether or not the perpetrators are in a mob,” Wonsoong replies as he enters the room, one hand linked with his grandmother’s while the other held onto his walking stick, “We may be mob bosses, crime lords – whatever it is they call us, Wonwoo, but, causing harm to women and children for pleasure is a monstrosity I will not allow this organisation to ever commit. Your grandmother was assaulted for choosing me over some rich bastard – your uncles and I broke their arms, castrated them before making them kneel in front of her family to beg for forgiveness.”

“His heart is in the right place,” Wonwoo’s grandmother added on, “While being a mob boss or part of a mob gang is less than ideal for anyone, at least your grandfather shows some levels of decency as a human being.”

“So… in the scenario one of our members has assaulted, or caused harm to women or children in any way, what happens to them? Do they get their bones broken and then castrated?”

“That was back in the good old days, my dear grandson,” Wonsoong chuckled, “Now, they are battered and bruised, fingers cut, and castrated – before being shot thrice.”

Sure, it’s terrifying to have the entire nation’s economy in the palm of a mafia family.

Yeah, the occasional stumbling upon a body being dumped in certain areas could be traumatising. Hell, it even caused mass panic.

But, citizens soon learnt one saying, “Don’t cause the Jeons trouble, and trouble won’t find you”. A fancy way of saying, “If you don’t want to be the next corpse, don’t fuck with the Jeons”.

Because all the bodies found were individuals who have crossed them.

You stare at the wedding venue, brows furrowed as you take in the sight. You knew the Jeons had a taste for dark aesthetic, but you weren’t expecting the wedding decorations to be all black.

You weren’t exactly a superstitious person, but you did believe in the superstition that the colour black brings misfortune.

“Are the decorations up to your expectations, Mr Jeon?” the receptionist nervously asks, “We’ve followed the reference pictures and instructions you’ve given us.”

“Umm… Could I –” your breath catches in your throat when both men turn their attention to you. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, “Not to your liking, doll?”

“No! No! The decorations are beautiful and the venue itself is grand,” you began, “But… Could we add a little bit of colour?”

The alpha crosses his arms, “Colour? You want to add colour?” He gestures to the venue, “You do realise that everything here is decorated with intention, right? Black represents strength, power, control. It’s to show dominance –”

You cut him off, “This is my wedding, too. Don’t I get a say in this?”

Wonwoo’s gaze hardens at your interruption, clearly not used to anyone defying him; much less an Omega that’s his soon-to-be wife. He narrows his eyes, a way to get you to back down without being too dominating so as to not scare off the beta of a receptionist; but you stood your ground. The air thickens, charged with tension.

“A little colour won’t hurt this black theme you have going on, Mr Jeon,” you state, crossing your own arms and taking a step forward, “You can have all the power and control you want, but I also deserve a say in how this day looks because it’s also my day.”

The silence hangs between you both, the weight of your words settling in. The receptionist watches with a bated breath and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then Wonwoo shifts, uncrossing his arms and turns to the receptionist, “Accommodate whatever requests the missus has.”

The receptionist visibly relaxes, nodding quickly as he whips out his tablet and moves to stand beside you as you walk around the venue, listing out the changes you wanted done.

“I love the black roses bouquet you’ve lined up down the aisle, but please add in some red roses. Switch out the black ribbons on the vases for white ones; you can barely see anything!”

Approaching the tables, you pick up one of the black napkins that’s been folded into a rose. You turn to the receptionist, “I want all the black napkins gone. Replace them with a burgundy red.” The receptionist jots down every detail, his fingers moving swiftly across the tablet screen as you continue to inspect the venue. Wonwoo watches you silently, impressed as you move with purpose and an air of confidence – something he rarely sees in an Omega.

You stare at the chairs that are draped in black fabric. “Are we welcoming death? I get the whole idea of this wedding to let it be known that you’re a mob boss, but at least have something that shows you have taste.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at your bluntness before the corners of his mouth twitch into a small smirk. There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, but his gaze still holds a steady weight, almost as though he’s studying you.

“Taste…” he echoes, his voice low, as if contemplating your word. “This is a wedding, doll, not some fashion show.”

You gently graze your fingertips over the black fabric, “Exactly, a wedding. I get that this whole… dark and mysterious aesthetic is your thing, Mr Jeon, but at least have a bit of sophistication.”

You turn to face him fully, “I’m not asking for colourful flowers or for them to be placed everywhere or even pink ribbons. Just a little bit of refinement so it doesn’t look like a funeral.”

Wonwoo’s eyes narrow slightly, and he watches you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He takes a step forward, his hands shoved into his pockets as he peers at the receptionist's tablet. “You’re changing everything, aren’t you?”

You meet his gaze, letting out a shaky breath as you try to maintain your confidence, “Not everything. Just enough for it to… look more like a wedding.”

The air remains thick, but there’s no hostility; just a slow understanding that’s beginning to form. After a few seconds, the Alpha lets out a quiet breath and gives a slight nod. “Alright, doll. I trust your judgement.”

He turns and walks out of the venue, saying he has a business call he needs to answer. The receptionist turns his attention back to you, “What would you like to be done with the chairs, um… Mrs Jeon..?”

You give the receptionist a small smile, “You can call me Miss Park. I’m not yet married to him to be called Mrs Jeon.”

The receptionist chuckles nervously, “Not exactly a chance I would want to take, umm… Missus.”

“Hmm, I’ll accept that term. Back to the chairs – let’s switch the black fabric for a red fabric, similar to the napkins. Have a black sash tied into a bow at the back, is that doable?”

The receptionist nods excitedly, tapping away at the tablet as he realises his commission for this wedding may be enough to seal him a quick vacation. “Yes, of course it is, Missus! Would that be all?”

You take one last look at the venue, glancing up at the chandeliers, “Just soften the lighting and we’re all settled.”

That was approximately six months ago, which means it’s been six months since your marriage to Jeon Wonwoo became official.

Park ___. That's your name, that’s who you are.

A small corner shop florist that was everyone’s go-to for event planning or last minute flowers. Everyone knew you by your flower shop. They knew you by your smile. They knew you as "the flower lady who always got your back!”.

Never in a million years would you think that you’d now be known as Jeon Wonwoo’s wife. Jeon Wonwoo’s Omega. Jeon Wonwoo’s mate.

To be frank, you hated the fact that all your years of hard work were being overlooked now that you were married or bound to Ashville’s most nefarious and powerful mob boss.

Your name, once synonymous with ambition and independence, was now whispered in hushed tones, attached only to his. Your achievements, your sacrifices, all the blood and sweat you had poured into carving your own path no longer mattered. To them, you were nothing more than an Omega claimed by an Alpha who took whatever he wanted.

The weight of your new… identity settles on your shoulders in tons. You imagined several shackles were locked around your limbs, cold and unyielding. It didn’t matter that you had built a name for yourself. Now, you were just his.

And the entire city knew it.

You hated the look people would give you – some with fear, some with pity. Others had a look of cruel amusement, as though they were watching a wild animal realising its cage had no door. That the cage was its new home.

It made your blood boil. You weren’t some weak, whimpering Omega who would roll over and get all submissive at the mere scent of their Alpha. You fought to stand where you were. But damn it all, thanks to the stupid bind fate had planned.

Wonwoo sat beside you in the limousine, both of you having just left a dinner event that was hosted by one of Wonwoo’s allies that was meant to celebrate his wedding. Not both of your weddings, just his. The entire night, you had been paraded around as though you were nothing more than an extension of him – his Omega, his possession, his wife. No one toasted to you, no one acknowledged you beyond hushed whispers and fleeting glances.

You clenched your fists, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress.

“You’re upset,” Wonwoo states, his voice smooth and calculating, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint, amused smirk. “What’s bothering you, doll?”

“Don’t,” your tone came sharper than expected, so you took a deep breath to calm your nerves. Your voice was less hostile when you spoke again, “Don’t call me that, please.”

Wonwoo’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was something in his eyes – amusement mixed with the faintest hint of challenge. He tilts his head, studying you as if you were some artifact or priceless painting that’s been put up for display. “Don’t call you what?” he asked, his voice now softer, but the command in his words can’t be missed.

You swallowed thickly, trying to mask the storm inside you as you held your ground. “Don’t call me doll,” you repeated, this time with more conviction. There was a slight tremble in your voice, betraying the raw emotion you were trying to suppress. “I… I’m not a doll, or some object. I’m a person.”

Wonwoo’s remains unreadable, though the intensity of his gaze and his posture didn’t change. But, there was a subtle shift, a quiet acknowledgment in his eyes. “I see my Omega bites back,” he chuckles, his tone teasing but there was a hint of respect behind it. “I must say, it’s quite… refreshing… Or, entertaining, for lack of a better word.”

You frown, “Entertaining?”

His eyes scanned your face, but there was no mockery in his gaze. Instead, there was something more akin to admiration, though when it comes to Jeon Wonwoo, deciphering any of his words or looks was like trying to get pigs to fly. “Well, it’s not every day you see an Omega go head-to-head with an Alpha. Especially if the Omega is now under the Jeon Family.”

“I can play that pretty little housewife you’re picturing,” you mumble, releasing your clenched fists in favour of crossing your arms, looking out the window, “Just don’t expect me to be all pliant and submissive twenty-four seven.”

Another deep chuckle leaves his lips. Something about his words, about how he says you were the first Omega to not heel to traditions makes you feel oddly proud. It was clear he still had his guard up, but at least in this moment, you could tell he’s trying not to push your boundaries or you too far.

“Relax, babydoll.”

Hmm… Perhaps you could accept that pet name. It’s much better than being called ‘doll’.

His voice is less teasing but there was still that underlying sharpness. “You’re still you, despite what society says. That defiance you have there? There’s power in that. Not many dare to challenge the expectations placed on them. Especially Omegas.”

His words sunk in, not as an insult, but as an observation; a praise. It was one that left you feeling both uncertain yet strangely affirmed. It’s the first time in a while that someone, aside from your parents, recognised your rebellion, your defiance as something more than just a nuisance. Let alone an alpha like Jeon Wonwoo.

He reaches out a hand, finding purchase on your thigh. You tense at his touch, the heat of his hand sending a jolt of electricity through your body. But, you don’t pull away, feeling the warmth of his fingers through the fabric of your dress.

“I see that fire you’ve got in you, ___,” he continues, his fingers slowly tracing the curve of your thigh, “And it’s not just for show, too.”

Your tone came out sharper than you intended when you replied, “You think you can control that?”

A sly smirk tugs at his lips, “Control? It’d be fun to break you, sure, but… I quite like the idea of having a feisty Omega by my side. Believe me, babydoll, I know what it’s like to prove yourself to be seen and acknowledged. I had to do the same to prove it to my father and grandfather. You didn’t think I was handed this position just like that, did you?”

"I don’t doubt you had to fight for it," you say quietly. "But I’m not here for a power struggle. Not with you, not with anyone."

He shifts slightly, giving your thigh a firm squeeze. “Look, babydoll, I don’t expect you to bend over my desk or lap whenever I tell you to. But, I do expect you to listen to me when it comes to your safety or if you’re ever caught in the crossfire of my dealings. Is that understood?”

You meet his gaze, feeling a shiver run down your spine. The grip he had on your thigh had goosebumps rising, but the touch wasn’t just possessive; it was also protective. A silent reminder.

“I know you’re more than capable of handling yourself, babydoll. But being capable doesn’t mean you have to face every danger alone, and in my world, in my life, it’s not kind to the unprepared despite their capabilities to be able to stand up for themselves.”

You bite back the words you want to say, about how you weren’t some fragile porcelain doll. That you didn’t need him to look after you like you’re some helpless Omega –

“I’m not asking you to give up the control you have over your life. I can see as clear as day that you’ve been able to manage just fine without an Alpha.” Oh.

“What I’m asking from you is to trust me when it matters. I know this marriage is out of convenience, for the sake of the mating bond, but you’re not someone I’m willing to let slip through the cracks either. Not without a fight.”

His words pulled your defenses down just a little, but you still held on tight to the edges of your resolve. Perhaps it was because of the many judgemental and snide comments you’ve received from others, especially Alphas, in the past that made you want to argue with him. The way he speaks, so calm and measured, you were itching to fight back.

But, something in his eyes stops you. There was no sign of mockery, no superiority – just a raw honesty you’d never thought you’d see in an Alpha. Much less the one that practically rules over the entire city.

“I didn’t ask for any of this…” You voiced out, sounding quieter than you’d intended. “I didn’t ask for you to be my mate. I didn’t ask for you to try and protect me.”

While he doesn’t flinch at your words, there’s a shift in his posture, a subtle tense in his shoulders that tells you he isn’t completely unaffected by your words.

“I know, babydoll,” his tone now tinged with something that feels like understanding, “But, believe me when I say that I am not asking for your submission. I’m asking for your trust. If I wanted to control you, I would’ve made that clear six months ago.”

“Can’t believe those bastards had to wait six months to do this stupid party…” you mumbled, cheeks heating up as you realised you sound like a girl throwing a little tantrum.

Wonwoo chuckles, “Well, our schedules have been overlapping. I think they expected us to go on a honeymoon for a while.”

“Tch, as if I’d ever want to be on the same bed as you.”

“Moving back to the topic earlier, I’m not asking for a leash, babydoll,” his voice is low, almost soothing. “I’m asking you to let me stand by your side when the world gets too heavy. Because it will. And when that happens... I don’t want you to face it alone. All I ask for is your trust and to let me understand you.”

You’re unsure of what to say next, the weight of his gaze making it difficult to think clearly. You’ve spent almost your entire life resisting the idea of relying on anyone, but here he is, asking for something as simple as your trust.

The sincerity in his words linger, and for the first time, you wonder if you’ve misjudged the Alpha. Maybe he wasn’t like the others that were trying to force their way into an Omega’s life. Maybe he wasn’t looking to bend or break an Omega so they’d be solely dependent on their Alpha.

Maybe he too was looking for something different. Something that goes beyond fated bonds and forced relationships.

You look at him, and for the first time, you allow yourself to wonder if there’s a part of you that could trust him.

He pulls his hand away from your thigh, fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary, as if reluctant to break the contact.

“But, there’s clearly something bothering you, babydoll. C’mon, out with it.”

You hesitate, lips parting, but no words come out. You’re not sure where to start or if you even want to start. Part of you still wants to keep everything bottled up, to keep your walls firmly in place. But then there’s him, sitting beside you with that quiet patience, the intensity in his gaze softened just enough to make you believe he might actually care about what you’re about to say.

You shift slightly in your seat, arms tightening around yourself. “That… That Juyeon guy at the dinner…”

Wonwoo's expression darkens almost instantly, the warmth in his gaze snuffed out like a candle. His jaw tightens, and though he remains still, you can feel the way his entire body tenses at the mention of another Alpha’s name.

“And, what about him, babydoll?” His voice is calm, a little too calm. It’s the kind that you know he won’t like your answer.

You swallow hard, “He… The way he spoke to me…”

You sigh, “Look, I know it’s inevitable that people will start addressing by ‘title’ instead of my name. Wonwoo’s Omega. Wonwoo’s wife. But, I don’t like it being said in a condescending tone. The way he called or referred to me as Wonwoo’s little Omega felt as though I was just another weapon or gun you’ve added to your already large collection.”

You shift a little, the frustration simmering beneath your skin as you try to put your feelings into words. “I don’t want to be reduced to that. To just another thing you own. It’s already hard enough that I had to not cuss him out for trying to feel me up the entire time…”

Wonwoo stills.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Heavy. Suffocating.

The air between you crackles with something dangerous. His expression doesn’t change, doesn’t twist in anger or morph into something openly furious, but the sheer stillness of him is enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end.

“Say that again, babydoll” he orders, and though it’s barely above a whisper, it’s the sharpest you’ve ever heard his voice. “What did you just say?”

For a moment, you wonder if you’ve screwed up by making such an accusation or statement about his associate. But, you pushed on, “Juyeon… He kept brushing up against me on the table. Placing his hand on my knee, my thigh. He’d touch my back too when he had the chance.”

Wonwoo doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

But then, he slowly exhales through his nose, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as if trying to keep his composure.

“I see.”

Two simple words. And yet, something about the way he says them sends a cold shiver down your spine.

“Wonwoo–”

“Mingyu,” he calls out to the driver.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Tell Jihoon to pass a message to Juyeon. I’d like to have dinner with him tomorrow night. Just the two of us.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Wonwoo!”

“I told you I’d stand by you when it matters,” Wonwoo repeats his earlier statement, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “And this matters.”

You swallow, finding it harder to resist the pull of his words than you care to admit. The stubborn part of you wants to fight him, wants to tell him you don’t need his help, but you can’t deny how much relief it brings to know he won’t just stand idly as you get disrespected.

For the first time, you allow yourself to believe that he might actually be a good guy.

“You… run a clothing line?”

Wonwoo looks up from his desk, his eyes on you as you stand by one of the many shelves he’s lined up on the walls. In your hands was a photo frame with a photo of him and a blonde man standing side-by-side in front of a building.

“Is that very surprising, babydoll?” he asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Just because my family runs the mafioso doesn’t mean I have to just run that business.”

Behind the pair was a store with the sign J&W. Wonwoo said it’s a combination of their initials, a collaboration of some sorts. When you asked why he can’t just open one under his own name, his reply was simply, “You really think people would dare to set foot into a shop that’s under my name?”

“This man… Is he a business partner? Shareholder?” A shadow looms over you and tilting your head backwards, it sits comfortably against his broad shoulder. Wonwoo hums, “You could say that. He’s… I consider Jeonghan a friend and if you know me well or long enough, I don’t offer my trust easily.”

“I’m guessing that trust also applies to the hiring process of your bodyguards?”

You’ve counted a maximum of… six bodyguards during your stay at his mansion. Well, excluding his right-hand man, Jihoon, that makes five. “Some… unfortunate incidents happened when I was younger that started my trust issues.”

His voice drops just a little, one hand coming up to rest on your waist. You don’t miss the way his jaw clenches briefly before relaxing, as though catching himself before slipping too deep into memory.

“Jihoon and I have known each other since childhood. Family relations all that so it’s natural I came to trust him.”

“The others?”

“They’ve earned their place and my trust.”

You look down at the frame before tilting your head back up, raising it a little, “And Jeonghan?”

Wonwoo takes the item from your hand, as if examining it before handing it back to you. “Ah, Jeonghan…” A quiet chuckle slips past his lips, “Let’s say he’s a different story… I actually met him through Seungcheol, one of the bodyguards. You’ve probably seen him around – buff, kind of gray-ish hair.”

“The one that’s always butting heads with Mingyu?”

A flicker of surprise crosses his features, “So you’ve been paying attention.” Amusement laces his tone, clearly not expecting you to do so. You narrowed your eyes, “Well, if I weren’t aware of my surroundings, I wouldn’t have been able to survive this long until you showed up, can I?”

He gives your waist a firm squeeze, pressing a kiss to your temple, an action that catches you off guard. “I suppose you have a point, babydoll,” he concedes, voice low. “And I suppose it’s hard to ignore the two when they’re at each other’s throat.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, they’re not exactly subtle… Or quiet. It is interesting to see Mingyu surrender or lower his head, though…”

Wonwoo chuckles, taking the frame off your hands and setting it back on the shelf. “They’re both betas, but Seungcheol does have more of a… I guess more dominant nature. We’d suspected him of being an Alpha initially, but tests proved otherwise.” He adjusts the frame slightly before turning his attention back to you. “Still, that doesn’t stop him from acting like one.”

“And Mingyu just… lets him?”

The Alpha shrugs his shoulders. “Mingyu respects strength. He may not always like it, but he knows when to back down.”

You hum in thought. “And Jeonghan? Where does he fit into all of this?”

“He and Seungcheol go way back if I’m not mistaken. I don’t know the full details, but from what I’ve gathered and from what they’ve told me respectively, they used to work together before Seungcheol decided to have a change in career paths.”

Another squeeze to your waist, “Jeonghan… plays by his own rules. Always has.”

You frown slightly, clearly confused by his words. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a businessman,” Wonwoo says simply, though there’s something guarded in the way he says it. “And like all businessmen, he knows how to get what he wants.”

That doesn’t quite answer your question, but you know better than to push too hard.

“Is he dangerous?”

Wonwoo’s lips curl at the question, but it’s anything but a smile. “He’s charming, I’ll give him that.. And that makes him the most dangerous of all.”

A shiver runs down your spine. You don’t know if it’s from his tone or the way his fingers finally slide away from your skin.

The air in the mansion felt… different.

You couldn’t exactly put a finger on it, but it just felt as though there was a shift to your surroundings. Your heart was racing despite it being a calm and quiet day, Wonwoo was out discussing a fashion deal and majority of the staff in his mansion were given specific orders to not bother you unless needed.

Your heart was racing faster than usual, your senses were heightened in a way that made your skin feel alive – and not in a good way. It was in a way that made your head dizzy. It was subtle at first, a warmth curling in your lower belly, an uncomfortable tingle spreading across your limbs that makes your skin far too sensitive to the air around you.

You ignored it at first – or at least, you tried to.

The mansion was eerily quiet. The grand halls, lined with cold marble and towering windows. Despite housing the most dangerous mafioso and his bodyguards, it felt safe. But, it could be because of Wonwoo’s presence and his pheromones.

Now, each step you took felt heavier, every breath felt sharper, and the very air felt charged with something oppressive.

You knew this feeling. You had been trained to recognise it.

But it was too soon. Far too soon.

You’ve kept track of your heat since it was revealed that you were an Omega. You’ve made sure to take your suppressants on time to prevent any mishaps, never missing a single dose. Yet, despite your careful planning and discipline…

Could it be Wonwoo’s pheromones?

It had to be – your cycle wasn’t due for another week, give or take.

You pressed a sweaty palm against the nearest wall, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over you. It started as a slow burn in your veins, a heat that swirled in your stomach and spread outwards.

It was definitely your heat. You could feel it creeping up, threatening to consume you if you didn’t act fast.

“Missus..?”

Mingyu.

“Missus, you don’t look so well,” the Beta points out, taking a step forward.

It was times like these that you were grateful for Wonwoo insisting that his staff were Betas. Before you came into the picture, it was to ensure no crossfires ever happened between him and an Alpha staff. Two or more Alphas under the same roof with some kind of “power imbalance” could lead to a hostile environment, and Wonwoo prefers peace and quiet… despite the field of work he’s in.

After you came into the picture, Wonwoo would answer that he didn’t want any unclaimed or stray Alphas pouncing on his Omega.

Mingyu sniffs the air and his ears perk up as he catches a whiff of sweetness in the air. It was sweet like candy and he instantly knew what was going on. Thankfully, his training somewhat prepared him for scenarios like this, albeit it was catered more towards Alphas.

“Missus, do you have any suppressants?” Mingyu, taking a cautious step forward so as not to agitate you. You shook your head, letting out a small sniffle, “I ran out of them… I-I was planning to get them some time this week because it isn’t due for another–”

“Okay, well, I could text Boss to pick some up for you once he’s done with his meeting,” the giant suggests, reaching out a hand to steady you when he notices the slight wobble in your stance. “In the meantime, you shouldn’t be out and about, Missus… Let’s get you–”

“What’s going on here?” Jihoon, Wonwoo’s right-hand, interrupts Mingyu’s sentence. The tall beta freezes, his hand hovering near your arm but not quite touching. His jaw clenched, glancing over his shoulder, meeting Jihoon’s sharp, assessing gaze.

Unlike Mingyu, who was all warmth and concern, Jihoon carried an air of cold efficiency, his presence cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade. The right-hand man’s eyes flicker to you, his nostrils flaring slightly as he picks up on

Jihoon’s eyes flicker to you, nostrils flaring slightly as he picks up on what Mingyu already had. His brows furrow, and a barely-there sigh escapes his lips. “Shit,” he muttered, noticing the way you swayed slightly against the wall, trying to regain your balance.

Mingyu lowered his hand, deciding that it was best to keep a respectful distance from you. “Missus is having a bit of a… situation,” he said, his tone careful. “She’s early and ran out of her suppressants. I was gonna text Boss–”

“Call him.” The right-hand man’s voice carried an authority that was impossible to ignore. While his eyes softened just a touch as your discomfort, they still held that calculative gaze.

The tall giant was hesitant, his thumb hovering over the screen of his phone. Every one of Wonwoo’s staff knew that calling him while he’s in any sort of meeting was serious. Texting was discreet, something that could be swept under the rug or dealt with later. But a call meant urgency. It meant that Wonwoo would have to drop everything, no matter what he was doing, to deal with the situation.

But a look from Jihoon has Mingyu cursing under his breath, tapping the call button and pressing the phone to his ear.

“Missus,” Jihoo’s tone while still authoritative, was softer than before. His gaze flickered to your hands that were trembling at your sides and against the wall. “Give me your hand.”

You’re momentarily confused, blinking up at him then lowering your gaze to his outstretched hand. His voice carried a quiet but insistent command, and despite the overwhelming wave of hormones washing over you, you obediently did so.

“You’ll be okay,” Jihoon murmured, though it seems he was reminding you rather than comforting you. “All the staff here are Betas, I’m sure Boss told you that. Your heat won’t affect us so there’s no need to fear us jumping on you.”

His gaze returns to Mingyu who’s speaking on the phone. “Won’t be long before Boss gets back. I’ll take you back to your room.” You nod your head, though you weren’t sure if it was in response to his reassurance or because you knew that your legs couldn’t walk without someone guiding you.

The walk through the halls felt like an endless blur, the air thick with both the scent of your heat and the tension of the situation. Your heart pounded in your ears, your breaths coming in short, uneven pants. The mansion, usually cold, felt suffocating now.

You barely registered when Jihoon pushed open a door, guiding you inside the room. You entered without a second thought, freezing when the scent hit you.

This wasn’t your room.

Your body recognised it before your mind did – the faint traces of musk, crisp cologne, and something that was deeply ingrained in your instincts. Your entire being tenses as you realised exactly where Jihoon had brought you.

Wonwoo’s room.

You let out a whimper, the lingering remnants of the Alpha’s pheromones made your entire body tense. He wasn’t even here yet, and you were already drowning in him. You stared at the king-sized bed, your body wanting to sink into it, to bury yourself in the softness of the sheets that still held the imprint of his presence. But, the rational part of your mind knew better.

Your sluggish thoughts tried to fight through the dizzying fog, “Jihoon, this- this isn't–”

“I know, Missus,” he interrupts cooly, “But, I'm going to assume this is your first heat that's induced by an Alpha’s pheromones. It'd be best to get used to Boss’ pheromones – not just for your heat, but for your well-being too.”

“Well-being?”

With surprising gentleness, he guides you to the edge of Wonwoo’s massive bed, lowering you to sit onto the cool sheets. It was a stark contrast to your fevered skin. Your mind screamed for you to leave, to fight the Beta and make a run for it to your room – but your body betrays you as it reacts to the lingering scent of Wonwoo’s pheromones.

Before you can do anything, you instinctively crawl onto the bed, your fingers clutching at the sheets beneath you as you’re pulled towards the only source of comfort in your current suffocating haze. You somewhat collapsed onto the mattress, burying your face into it and inhaling deeply, a pathetic whimper slipping past your lips as your thighs clench with need.

Your fingers curled into the fabric, your entire body as the Alpha’s scent wrapped around you like a vice.

You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be reacting like this.

You should be fighting this, clawing your way out of this haze and demanding to be taken back to your own room where you can suffer through this alone. But your instincts don’t care for logic. Instead, you’re in Wonwoo’s room, trembling and desperate, drowning in a need so raw it leaves you gasping.

You hated how easy it was to succumb.

And then it happens.

A shift in the air.

A choked noise left your lips as his scent filled the room completely, no longer just a lingering trace but a full, undeniable presence.

You sit up immediately, turning your head back to the door behind you before you can even think. It was an instinct, your body responding to an unspoken command before your mind can even have time to process anything.

“Nonu…”

Wonwoo definitely broke several speed limits on his way back to base.

The second he saw Mingyu’s name flash across his phone screen – not a text, but a phone call – he knew something was wrong. He brought the device to his ear, nothing more than a clipped ‘Speak’. Once Mingyu announced ‘Missus is early’, he ended the call and left the meeting without a word.

He didn’t care who was speaking. Didn’t care about the confused stares or hushed murmurs as he strode out the boardroom.

The only thing that mattered to him was getting back to you.

He stopped by a pharmacy, picking up several bottles of heat suppressants and a few cooling patches before speeding the rest on his way home.

Wonwoo storms through the halls of the base, his coat thrown onto the couch, his tie loosened and his jaw set tight.

Everyone knew they had to stay the hell out of his way.

His staff, the Betas, moved to the sides, pressing their back against the walls as he passed. Nobody dared to meet his gaze, not even Seungcheol – especially when the Alpha’s scent was laced with irritation – thick and suffocating in the air.

Grabbing a bottle of suppressants and a packet of heat patches from the plastic bag, he tosses the bag to a nearby staff. “Chan, store the suppressants in the missus’ bathroom cabinet. Cooling patches go in the mini fridge for her skincare.”

Chan nodded quickly, following the instructions.

Approaching his room, Jihoon steps aside from the door and slips past him without so much as a glance back. There was nothing that needed to be said. The right-hand man had done his job. Now, it was Wonwoo’s turn.

He entered the room and his expression was unreadable as he took in the scene before him. His nose twitched as your pheromones had practically covered every corner of his room. Sensing his presence, he watches as you sit up on your knees, head turning back and making eye contact with him.

“Nonu…”

He hears your breath hitch as he draws closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate.

“You really are a handful…” His voice was smooth, almost lazy. But, there was something else beneath it, something dark. It caused a shiver to run through you. Whether from arousal or fear, you’re not sure.

He steps closer, footsteps slow and deliberate. With each step he takes, a spike of awareness shot throughout your body. Your body reacts instinctively to his presence, knees pressing together in an attempt to soothe the ache inside your stomach. But, you knew it wouldn’t work.

Nothing did.

Not the cool sheets, not the distance that grew shorter and shorter.

By the time Wonwoo reaches the edge of the bed, your entire frame is trembling. He tilts his head to the side and exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“Nonu…”

Fuck. Your voice sounded so wrecked that the Alpha’s breath stuttered for just a second.

It sounded so needy, trembling with something raw that managed to slip through the cracks of Wonwoo’s self-restraint. His fingers twitched at his side before crossing his arms in front of his chest, the black button up straining slightly against his forearms and chest.

Your mind grew foggy as his scent grew thicker, wrapping around you completely. Before your mind could even process it, your body moved on its own – crawling to the edge of the bed to be closer to where he stood.

Wonwoo didn’t understand why Jihoon would bring you to his room (he does, he just doesn’t want to acknowledge it). You should be locked in your room, alone and away from him. Yet, here you were – right in the center of his personal space, clinging to the sheets like they were the only thing anchoring you to your senses.

The worst part of it all?

You looked like you belonged there.

He reaches out, cupping your cheek and tilting your head up. A small, needy whimper slips from your lips before you even realise. He orders you to stay still and you do, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. Wonwoo presses the pill to your tongue and the bitter taste barely registers past the haze in your mind.

“Swallow.”

You obey instantly, throat bobbing as you swallow the suppressant without protest. You opened your mouth again, showing him that you had done exactly as he ordered.

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened.

The fact that you took the suppressant without much fight should have relieved him, but it didn’t.

Because your lips trembled.

Because your pupils remain dilated.

You close your mouth, another whimper slipping free as you nuzzle your cheek into the palm of his hand that cupped your cheek. Both of you knew the heat won’t subside immediately, that it would take up to hours for the suppressant to actually kick in.

After a few moments, Wonwoo pulls his hand away and lets out a slow, measured breath.

“Good girl.”

Two words.

Just two simple words.

And yet, your entire body shudders.

His eyes darkened for a brief second before he stood to his full height, pulling his hand away as he took a step back. You whine at the loss of his hand against your kin, blinking up at him and Wonwoo swallows hard.

“Don’t.” His voice came out tighter than he intended, “Don’t look at me like that, babydoll.”

Like he was the only thing you needed.

Like he was the only one that could save you.

“Nonu, please,” you whined, “Make the pain go away.”

Wonwoon’s self-control snapped and before he could even think, he was on you. One hand came up to cup the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your head up.

And then he kissed you.

Hard.

It wasn’t soft and gentle.

It was desperate – a clash of heat and hunger, of pent-up frustration.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers fisting into his shirt and his grip tightened. Wonwoo presses his lips harder against yours as he swallows every whimper, every soft plea. Your heat was drowning him, making him forget every single rule he had set for himself.

He knew this was reckless. Knew that this could have dire consequences.

But when you moaned against his lips, the noise soft and needy, every ounce of logic flew out the window. His tongue slid against yours, deepening the kiss as if he was attempting to steal the breath from your lungs. His hands moved, sliding down your thighs and gripping them just enough to make you gasp again.

Wonwoo thinks he could still salvage what little control he had as he presses you deeper into the mattress – at least until he hears you whisper his name. The sound was soft, pleading – ruined, even. And he realises that it was already too late.

He’s gone.

“I’ll only help you this one time,” Wonwoo’s voice was low, dangerously low. He sounded controlled, but the way his hand gripped your thighs; the way his gaze dropped to your lips betrayed the inner turmoil he was facing. “Understood?”

You nodded immediately and he narrowed his eyes. But there was no mistaking the way your body arched towards him like it already knew what it wanted. His hands slid up your sides and under your shirt – his rough, calloused hands running against your smooth skin.

Just this once, he told himself.

Just tonight.

Just until the suppressants kicked in.

“Nonu!”

Fuck. The way you cried out so prettily for him had him curl his fingers deeper inside you. He was supposed to be in control, not let his instincts take over. But, damn it, the way you begged his name in that desperate, pleading tone had him losing focus.

Truth be told, Wonwoo always had a distaste for the heat and rut cycles. They were messy, primal; a reminder of how little control he had when it came to instincts like this. His body screamed for release, for dominance, but discomfort clawed at his mind.

But, God, the way you reacted to him. Every touch, every whine of his name, it ignited something he couldn’t deny.

Your back is pressed against his chest, the fabrics clinging to your skin damp with sweat and fever, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you could feel was how good his fingers were working inside you – skillful and relentless.

The fabrics between you only intensified the ache. Your night shorts were thrown somewhere into the corner of his room, the shirt somewhat bunched around your hips while Wonwoo, still fully dressed, sat behind you with his back against the headboard. His chest felt warm against your back, the steady breaths he let out betraying the tension vibrating through his body.

You keened, one arm thrown back to hold the back of his neck in an attempt to ground yourself. “Nonu…” You whimpered, voice cracked and ruined. “N-Need more. Please, I–”

“I know,” he growls against the side of your neck, voice strained. His lips brushed your skin, not quite a kiss, but the warmth made your entire body shudder. “I know, babydoll. Your poor pussy needs more, right? Your heat has you all hot and aching, doesn't it?”

His free hand rests on your waist, anchoring you against him as his fingers curled again – this time slower, as though he’s searching for something. “She’s begging, babydoll. Dripping and sucking my fingers in like she knows who she belongs to.”

A sharp gasp leaves your lips and Wonwoo feels your body tremble. Your legs try to snap shut and he whispers into your ear, “That the spot?”

You nodded, back arching as his fingertips continue to bully your g-spot. You could feel him pulsing hard through his pants, pressed flush against your ass. Every clothes rut of his hips against you has you crying out – needy, frustrated.

Your thighs are trembling violently now, the tension coiling deep in your gut and it was ready to break. Wonwoo continues to stimulate that spongy spot, his fingers working to open you up with expert precision. “You’re close, aren’t you, babydoll?”

You could only nod, not trusting your words as your mouth parts to let out a high pitched moan as your body surged towards the edge. He presses his fingers until they’re knuckle deep inside you, curling up right against that spot as his thumb circles over your swollen clit.

“C’mon,” he rasps into your ear, “Cum for me.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up.

White hot pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your vision blurs and your entire body seizes as you cried out, body jerking against the Alpha behind you as a gush of wetness spilled over his hand and soaking the sheets beneath you.

Wonwoo doesn’t move. Instead he holds you tighter, hands still resting between your legs but his thumb circles your clit in a manner that was meant to ground you. You're gasping and shaking in his arms, hands trying to push at his wrists, desperate but weak. You aren’t sure if it was overstimulation or if you wanted him to give you more.

His voice was low, full of something far too tender for the way his heart was racing – for the way he’d always acted. “Good girl. Did so well for me.”

Wonwoo looks down at you only to be met by you looking up at him, eyes glassy and lips parted in a silent plea. You were flushed and panting in his lap, slick coating his fingers.

Despite his distaste for these cycles, he knew he’d do it again.

He hated how much he realised he loved this, how he could pull those sounds from you.

But, he loved how he was the only one who could pull those noises from you.

Loved how you trusted him through it.

Wonwoo carefully pulls out his fingers, ready to move you back to your room – then you whimper out his name like it was a prayer meant just for him.

“Babydoll,” he growls lowly, voice rough and filled with warning. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Yet you did.

Maybe it was the scent of your heat. Maybe it was the way you clung to him, silently begging him. Maybe it was the way that nickname you called him rolled off your tongue like he was your God.

He’s quick to have you pressed against the mattress, hips flushed against yours as he finally gives in to the carnal pull. You hear him fumbling with his belt and the sound of his zipper coming undone. The sudden shift in the situation knocks the air straight from your lungs.

One moment he’s cradling you in his arms, the next you’re sprawled beneath him; his hands on either side of your head to not just keep himself up, but to keep you right where he wants you.

Where you need to be.

You gasp out his title – not his name or that cute lil nickname you just gave him, but his title. Your eyes fluttered shut as your fingers claw into the bedding, silently begging for him to just fill you up.

And he does.

In one thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and savours the way you cry out to him, body arching as your pussy clamps down on him.

He leans over you, chest pressed against yours, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “Feel that, babydoll? That’s me shaping your pussy so that it only knows how to take my dick.” He pulls his hips back, just until only his tip remains inside before slamming forward, making sure you feel him in your womb. “Wanted me to fuck you? Well, I’m gonna give it to you.”

A needy sob escapes your lips as he sets a punishing pace; and he chuckles lowly, hot breath against your neck. His lips part and he bites down on your neck, hard, claiming the spot with a bruising mark. You gasp, the sting sending a jolt of pleasure through your core, causing your pussy to squeeze him tighter.

Wonwoo growls, hips stuttering for just a moment before he thrusts even deeper, harder – making sure your walls remember every vein, every inch.

“My sweet Omega,” he grunts against your skin, voice rough and possessive. His tongue darts out to soothe the bite. You mewl, feeling the imprint of his teeth as though he was trying to brand you as his.

Your hands scramble for purchase, settling on his back and your nails dragged down his back as he fucks you through every tremble, every whimper.

“You like that, dontcha babydoll?” he sits up, knees digging into the mattress as his hands grip your hips so tightly you were sure it’d start to bruise. All you could do was nod, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes.

“C’mon, babydoll,” he coos condescendingly, one hand sliding up your body to wrap itself loosely around your throat. He didn’t apply any pressure, just letting it sit there as a reminder of his control, his claim.

And it was like a switch flipped.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips, back arching off the mattress as more slick drips out of your pussy, creating a white ring of cream around the base of the Alpha’s cock.

You didn’t mean to react the way you did, and Wonwoo felt it.

The way your walls clenched around him tighter, the sudden wetness coating where your hips met.

“Oh?” his tone was dark with approval, “You like that?”

“S-So good, Alpha,” you choked out, mind growing hazy from your heat and the pleasure, “Love.. Love it so much! Feels s’good!”

His thrusts grew rougher as something primal took over. He removes his hand from your throat, sliding it down your body to rub tight circles over your clit. Your back arches as a sharp cry tears from your throat, body trembling uncontrollably. Slick gushes out from your pussy as you squirt again, drenching his shirt and milking his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, hips stuttering at the milking compression of your cunt. “Shit, I’m close, babydoll. And you're gonna let me fill you, isn’t that right?”

You nodded through the haze, words slurred by pleasure, “A-Alpha!”

That was all it took. With one final thrust, Wonwoo buries himself to the hilt as his cock twitches inside you as he cums deep inside you.

The room was thick with the scent of your heat and sex, but all Wonwoo could hear was the sound of your soft, uneven breaths – body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure, barely conscious of anything except for the way he filled you to the brim.

He stayed buried inside you for a moment longer, reluctant to leave the warmth of your creamed pussy. But when he hears your soft whimper, noticing the way your body twitching from oversensitivity, he’s snapped back to reality.

Wonwoo groans as he carefully pulls out, a groan escaping his lips at the sight of his cum spilling out from you – coating the insides of your thighs and dripping onto the sheets beneath you. You whimper at the emptiness, at the sudden cold air on your overheated skin.

He doesn’t say anything, only tucking himself back into his pants and stands up.

For a moment, you thought he’d leave you in his room – maybe even go as far as to sleep in one of the guest rooms.

But then, you hear the faint rustling of the plastic bag before the mattress dips beside you.

Wonwoo leans over, gently brushing away the sweat-damp strands of hair from your forehead. You can barely keep your eyes open, the heat and aftermath pulling you under.

Then, coolness.

A soothing, mental chill spreads over your fevered skin as he places a cooling patch on your forehead. You let out a shaky breath, weakly reaching out for him.

Wonwoo takes them in his.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice no longer holding that sharp or commanding tone. Instead, it sounds softer. “I’ve got you babydoll.”

His other hand adjusts the sheets around your body, tugging the blanket up to your waist after retrieving your night shorts from the floor. He made sure your legs weren’t tangled, made sure you were comfortable.

You blinked up at him sleepily, cheeks still flushed a shade of red and lashes slightly damp. “Please stay, Nonu…”

He freezes.

For a moment, the only sound was his breath, still a little uneven. You could tell he was torn between his old habit of keeping you at arm’s length and giving into his instincts.

Without uttering a word, he eases under the covers beside you, gently pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, strong and warm, as he nuzzles his face in your hair. “Of course, babydoll. You’ll sleep easier if I’m here.”

Wonwoo never stays. Once he’s made sure you’re in good hands, he'd leave.

But, tonight wasn’t like the others.

Tonight, he stayed – not to keep his distance, but to keep you close.

Tonight, he stayed to protect you.

His.

You felt it then– the way he held you. Not like a favour, but like someone claiming what’s his.

Weeks after that incident during your heat, you and Wonwoo went on with your lives as though nothing had happened. The mansion returned to its usual rhythm – quiet mornings, the hum of the electric kettle.

Wonwoo buried himself in work, occasionally checking up on you as per his mother’s command, occasionally picking you up from your flower shop instead of leaving it to Mingyu. They were… small efforts into making the marriage look less of a business arrangement, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

You busied yourself with your own work, too. But, you’d still go grocery shopping and prepare meals for the people of the mansion (which frankly, was a task you overestimated because cooking for 6 people proved to be a difficult task). They’d thank you, of course – you went through all the time and effort – it’d be wrong for them not to appreciate it and clean up after themselves.

However, you were careful to not let yourself brush against the Alpha for too long. Nor would you let your thoughts drift back to the night where tangled limbs and breathless whispers once filled the space.

While you both went on with your lives, acting as though nothing had happened – there was a subtle shift in the air.

Mingyu was the first to notice it.

Being one of the bulkier guards, he had been stationed at the mansion to keep an eye on things during your off days. It was a simple routine he took a liking to – he gets to have a nice conversation with less scarier missus and it was considered low stake.

That morning started out no different than the others. You passed him in the hallway, offering a soft habitual “Morning, Gyu” as you balanced a basket of laundry against your hip. He nodded in return, returning the smile and his eyes followed you until you turned a corner.

His nose twitched as he picked up the smell of something… sweet. Like the first bloom of spring in the middle of winter.

It was far too faint for it to be a heat cycle, but it still lingered in the air.

Mingyu couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. You looked the same, moved the same. But there was something different about your aura.

Wonwoo only noticed the sweetness of your pheromones once Mingyu brought it up.

He’d pause a little longer when he passed you in the hallway, fingers twitching just a little when your scent clung to the couch after sitting on it for hours. His jaw would flex when you leaned over him to grab something from the kitchen shelf.

Yet, he didn’t say anything.

Neither did you.

You hear the door open just past midnight.

Muted voices. Heavy boots.

You catch a whiff of the faint, metallic tang of blood and turn your head towards the front door.

Wonwoo was the first to enter, as always. His expression is calm, unreadable. His coat hung open, dark with flecks of something you didn’t need to guess. Jihoon followed close behind, quieter than usual. His shirt was stained too, though he’d slug his jacket over his arm to conceal most of it.

He looked… calmer. The tiredness in his eyes were evident, but he didn’t have that frenzied look he always had. There was no smirk, no offhand remarks about which body part he sliced off, where he left it or if he convinced Wonwoo to break every bone of their rivals.

You stayed curled on the far end of the couch, a soft blanket on your lap with a book in hand. “Hi, boys. Long night?” You asked, tone casual but laced with something warmer

“Hey, Missus,” Jihoon responds, brief but polite. “Kinda.. But, we got it under control.”

He disappears down the hallway without another word, tugging off his bloodied gloves. Wonwoo follows a beat later, slinging his coat over one shoulder, a faint dark red smear on his jaw. “Have you had dinner, babydoll?” His voice was oddly warm.

You nodded your head, “Gyu made some aglio olio with steak. There should be some leftovers in the fridge for you.”

Wonwoo nods in response. He continues to stand there, looking at you like he was still figuring out he’s supposed to get used to coming home to this – to you.

You look back at him, and he notices the subtle way your nose wrinkled at the scent clinging to his nose, how your fingers twitched against the cover of the book you’re holding.

“I’ll go shower,” he mumbles, voice lowering. It almost sounded like an apology in disguise.

He walks up the stairs, halting momentarily to look back at you. That scent of yours still hangs in the air – sweet, distracting. Wonwoo stands there for a few more seconds before disappearing in the halls of the house, leaving silence and a rising heat in your chest.

He reappears moments later, now in a loose shirt and pyjama pants – looking more like a sleep-deprived graduate student than a man capable of unspeakable violence. He heads towards the kitchen and you follow him, feet quiet against the hardwood floor.

The house felt too big at that moment, the silence stretching between the walls like it was listening. The Alpha doesn’t say anything, just moving with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times – opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of chilled wine. It was like he belonged in the silence.

The overhead light pooled golden over him, catching in the soft fall of his hair, the sharp line of his jaw. The loose fabric of his shirt clung to the curve of his shoulder, just barely damp from the shower he just took, and you caught yourself staring – longer than you should have.

“You’re not gonna eat what Gyu made?” you asked, breaking the silence between you both before it could swallow you whole.

Wonwoo didn’t look back at first, popping the cork with one clean motion and pouring himself a glass with a kind of ease that spoke about how often he did this – like he was numbing or avoiding something.

“It’s cold now,” he answers, voice quiet but not dismissive. The wine filled his glass with a smooth swirl of deep red.

Then, without a word, he reached for another glass.

Not for wine.

He filled it with water from the chilled filter on the fridge, the sound soft and steady in the stillness of the kitchen. He sets it down on the counter near you and you blinked. There was no eye contact nor explanation, but the gesture settled somewhere deep in your chest.

You take a step closer, fingers brushing against the cool glass as you pick it up. “Thanks..” You take a sip and set it back down, leaning against the counter with your arms folded loosely. “But, just because the food is cold means it’s bad.”

“I’m not hungry.”

You watch him bring the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before setting it down with a soft clink. His gaze lingered on the dark liquid, as though he was contemplating something.

“You didn’t even look at the plate,” your voice wasn’t accusatory, it was just gentle – just there.

Wonwoo lets out a breath, not exactly a sigh. “Didn’t need to.”

The silence that followed felt different – it felt tighter.

Then, without thinking, you moved a little closer. Just enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. Just enough for your voice to come out quieter when you asked, “Do you ever let yourself take a break, Nonu?”

Wonwoo’s jaw tensed. He doesn’t look at you when he answers, “I take a break when I sleep.”

“You barely sleep…”

You see a flicker in his eyes – you touched something.

He knew it.

You knew it.

But he didn’t run from it, at least not this time.

“Then I guess I don’t stop,” his reply was low, maybe a little bit more honest than he meant it to be.

You stood there for a beat, the glass cool in your hands – the silence wrapping around you both like a blanket that was too heavy to shake off. Your eyes dropped to the way his fingers held the wine glass, knuckles still faintly pale from tension. The condensation on your own glass trickles down your fingers, as though it was trying to ground you in the moment.

“Are you hurt anywhere, Nonu?” The question came out softer than you meant it to be – it sounded warm and it lingered in the air. You didn’t look at him directly, just watching the condensation slide down the side of his glass.

“No.”

It was clipped. Cold. Dismissive.

The kind of answer that was meant to end the conversation before it could even start. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. Of course – you weren’t supposed to ask. You weren’t supposed to care – not like that. Not out loud.

He didn’t move at first. Just standing there, knuckles pale against the glass as his eyes locked on some distant point past the kitchen tiles. The silence stretched, heavy and humming, until he sniffs your sweetness in the air again. The sweet scent relaxed his posture, his shoulders dropping just a little and his grip around the glass loosened.

You watched him carefully, heart thudding in your chest and your voice caught before you even knew you were going to speak again.

“Can… Can I sleep with you tonight, Nonu?”

The words hang in the air, delicate and trembling.

It was too soft to take back. Too honest to ignore.

His fingers stilled around the glass, the sound of the fridge humming filled the silence that followed. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it had. Your heart thudded in your chest, loud enough to drown out the quiet.

Wonwoo stares at you, his expression unreadable. His eyes seemed darker tonight, shadowed by something you couldn’t quite place a finger on. He looked tired – not just physically-bone-deep tired, but it was like the world had taken a little more from him than he was willing to admit. Whatever he and Jihoon did out there, it still clung to him like smoke.

“Trouble sleeping lately, babydoll?” His voice was surprisingly soft, low and quiet like he didn’t want to wake the others in the house.

You nodded, looking at the glass in your hand. “The air’s been… weird lately. A-And, it’s hard to sleep without you lately.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the glass, voice barely above a whisper – shaky and raw, “I-I don’t know why but it is… Especially when you’re gone.”

He was still staring, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look up – not when you knew his expression is all it takes to undo you.

Another beat of silence.

One second.

Two.

Then, you hear a quiet breath escape him. His glass clinks on the counter as he sets his drink down.

His voice was soft, “Come on, babydoll.”

His response caught you off guard. When you looked up, he was already turning away, walking toward his room – but his pace was slower than usual. As though he was waiting for you to catch up to him.

Your heart flutters, warmth flooding your chest even as your legs carry you forward. Wonwoo doesn’t say anything when you slipped into his room behind him, the bed dipping under your weight. The mattress sighs softly when you settle in beside him – it wasn’t the first time you shared a bed, but it was the first time you asked to.

You lay on your side, back facing him as you clutched the edge of the blanket like it was the only thing anchoring you. Wonwoo doesn’t move for a while, but you could hear his breathing – steady, though it was a little too measured to be natural. Awake. Thinking.

Maybe regretting this decision.

Your throat tightens, tears brimming in your eyes as you start to overthink.

But then, quietly, just barely there, you feel the blanket shift. The mattress dips again, and your back feels warmer as his body inches close. It doesn’t touch, though it was there.

There was a beat of silence, the tension in the air so thick that you could feel it pressing against your skin.

Then, slowly his arm slips around your waist. It was slow enough to almost break you. Your breath hitches, but you don’t stop him. You don’t move, letting yourself sink into him. His hand rests lightly on your stomach, not in a possessive manner; just there, offering you a grounding presence.

“I don’t sleep well because I worry of the danger you’re in by being my mate,” he murmurs, voice almost buried against the back of your neck. “Not when I come back from that kind of work. Not unless I know you’re safe.”

You close your eyes, something in your chest tightens at the vulnerability in his voice, a kind of raw honesty he rarely ever let slip.

“I am safe, Nonu,” you whispered, “With you.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his arms wrapped themselves around your waist, the way his forehead lightly brushes against your shoulder… It was enough.

You didn’t say another word. You didn’t need to.

Sleep came slowly that night, but this time – when it did, it came easier.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks, neither of you woke up alone.

Wonwoo stayed late at the office one night. The quiet hum of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows did little to distract him from the glow of his screen or the dull ache that was beginning to form behind his eyes.

Numbers blurred, reports repeated themselves – he was going through the motions, more out of habit than necessity.

His phone buzzed. His mother.

“Mother?”

“Wonwoo,” her voice was soft, but there was a certain sharp edge to it. “You’re working late again?”

“I am,” he said flatly, not annoyed – just a little confused as to why his mother was calling him.

“Go home, Wonwoo. Be with your mate. She needs you.”

The words stung more than it should have.

“She has Mingyu and Chan looking after her–”

“She doesn’t need them, Wonwoo.” Her voice firmer, “She needs you. Her Alpha.”

“What’s this about, Mother?”

“It’s hard for me to explain this over the phone, Wonwoo. Just… Just go home and be with ___, okay?”

The line disconnects before he could respond. Staring at his phone, his thumb hovers over the redial button, demanding answers.

He never got the chance.

His phone rang again – this time, Mingyu’s name flashes across the screen.

It was never a good sign when his men called him.

He picks it up on the first ring. “What?”

“Boss– Wonwoo– fuck,” Mingyu’s voice was shaking, breathless. “Where are you? Missus is gone. The door was busted in, Chan’s unconscious near the stairs and– fuck– there’s blood.”

The words don’t register at first.

“She’s gone.”

Wonwoo froze in his seat, phone pressed to his ear – Mingyu and Seungcheol shouting on the other end. Something about getting Chan medical help for a GSW to his abdomen. The office lights hummed quietly and everything around him felt… wrong. Too still. Too normal.

It was so… eerie.

Blood. Mingyu said there was blood.

“How messy is the place? How’s Chan?”

He finally stands up from the desk, papers fluttering off his desk, forgotten. His grip tightens around the phone until his knuckles whitened.

“It’s bad, Boss. This place is trashed, fuck.” Shuffling can be heard before Mingyu speaks up again, “Chan said she fought. Oh fuck, one of the guy’s face is clawed off.”

“Gyu!” Seungcheol’s voice rings through the background, “We got a survivor! Tell Wonwoo to come back quickly!”

Mingyu didn’t need to relay the message, already hearing Wonwoo starting up his car.

The Alpha’s jaw clenched so tightly that it started to ache. A sound clawed its way up his throat, something raw and ragged. But, he swallowed it down. “How long ago?”

“About an hour. Maybe less. Cheol and I went out to get some groceries and when we got back, we found the place like this.”

“Chan and Vernon?”

“Chan’s wound up pretty bad, but he’ll be okay. Vernon’s helping Cheol prepare the bastard that survived.”

Wonwoo exhales through his nose. He feels sick. His body wants to move, to run, to destroy something – but his mind was spiraling, trapped in the memory of your last interaction. Cold, casual and detached. Like you were just a roommate. Like he hadn’t felt the way you cling to him during that heat. Like he hadn’t felt you snuggle up close to him when you both fell asleep in the same bed weeks after.

He should’ve listened to his mother.

He should’ve come home.

“Make sure that bastard lives until I get there,” he ordered Mingyu, voice now low and lethal. “Tell Jihoon to get his switchblade ready.”

He ended the call and drove through the streets. The engine roars to life like it felt his fury, the sound tearing through the night as he shot out of the compound. Tires screamed against the pavement, and the city blurred past him – buildings, lights, the occasional flash of red as he burned through the intersections without hesitation.

You were his.

And someone had taken you.

He was going to make sure he’d put an end to those bastards.

Your head pounded.

The room swayed as you blinked awake, wrists bound behind your back and there was a coppery tang in your mouth. A single overhead light buzzed above you, like a spotlight focusing on the main lead, and the rest of the space was swallowed in the shadows.

Concrete walls. Damp floor. Industrial. Underground? Maybe.

You shifted, testing the restraints. You could move, but it’d take some effort to break free from them. Then you hear it.

Footsteps.

You stilled, keeping your head low as several men stepped into the room. You didn’t recognise their scents. They weren’t of anyone familiar to you. They weren’t Wonwoo.

One of them circled you, stopping somewhere behind you. “She’s smaller than I thought…”

“Yeah, but she’s feisty,” came another, his voice sharper. “Don’t let her face or size fool you. Bitch fucking bit me when we took her in. Had to knock her out to make things easier.”

One knelt in front of you, just out of kicking distance but you held back. “You’re awake.”

“Such amazing observation skills,” you snorted, blinking the haze from your vision. “What gave it away? My eyes being open or the fact that I’m glaring back at you?”

It was a shame they didn’t laugh.

“If you’re smart and behave, maybe we’ll go easy on you.”

You scoff, “Please, if you were smart, you’d know you made a grave mistake the moment you busted my front door in.”

The figure leans in slightly, expecting fear but all you offered was a tilt your head. “So, what’s the plan? Some kind of ransom? Revenge?”

The masked man tilts his head, brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re not exactly acting like a scared little Omega.”

“Yeah, funny thing about that – I bark and bite. If you assholes think you can–”

Smack.

A sharp slap landed across your cheek as you were mid-sentence. The sting flared, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you take a deep breath and straighten your posture, licking the copper from the corner of your mouth. “Oh, my bad…” your voice was low, “But you really should’ve known better than to think I’d be the damsel in distress type.”

There were at least three of them when they returned after leaving you alone for hours. They still wore those black face masks, as if that was supposed to scare you.

One carried a metal case and the other cracked his knuckles, another move that was meant to scare you. But what was scaring you the most was how terrible their intimidation tactics were. You sat upright the best you could, back straight against the wooden chair, chin lifted like you hadn’t been bound for hours. Like you weren’t aching in places you hadn’t known could ache.

They didn’t speak at first, only opening up the case. Silver tools gleamed under the low light.

You arched a brow. “Wow. Dontcha think that’s a little dramatic? What happened to just asking nicely?”

One stepped forward and backhanded you, hard. Your head snapped to the side, cheek screaming from the impact, but you refused to give them the satisfaction of crying out in pain.

“Tell us everything you know about the Jeon clan,” demanded the man that opened the metal case. “Security. Other bases. Codes, if you know any.”

You spit at his face.

They didn’t like that.

The first hit was to your stomach – brutal and deep, knocking the breath from your lungs. Then another to your ribs, then your face again. You lost count after five, maybe six.

Still, you didn’t scream.

“Damn, this bitch can take hits.”

Pain blurred the edges of your vision, but you clung to consciousness with everything you had. You thought of Wonwoo. Of how he looked at you when you didn’t think you were watching. Of how he subtly showed his affection thinking you wouldn’t notice.

You thought about how furious he’d be if he were to see you in the state you were in. Wonwoo’s mother had previously mentioned their stand on crimes against women, how if their own had even a strand of hair plucked, the perpetrators would face dire consequences.

When they paused, panting like they’d been doing real work, one leaned in and grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugging on it hard. “Last chance. Talk.”

The smile you gave had one of them flinching. Not because of how badly beaten up you looked, but because it bordered on the line of a psychotic smile.

“The Jeons don’t break, and neither do I. We fucking burn.”

These bastards sure as hell loved leaving you alone. Though you’d consider it to be a mistake on their end.

Your body was wrecked – ribs aching, lip split and bruises were already to form everywhere. But you were still breathing, still alive and that was enough.

You tilt your head back, blinking up at the ceiling through the haze of the pain. Blood dripped down your chin, but your hands were slick now – whether it was from blood or sweat, you couldn’t tell. You twist your wrists again, angling against the metal cuff just the way Wonwoo had shown you during one of his late-night, paranoid self-defense lessons. “If they bind you with steel, look for tension. Give it slack, then break it where it’s weakest. Everything has a weak point.”

It hurt like hell, but you kept going. The metal bites deeper into your skin before it snapped.

You stifle a gasp as the cuff breaks loose with a sharp clink. Your left wrist was bleeding freely now, but you didn’t waste a second. You made your way to the door, and to your surprise, it was unlocked. Either they didn’t you’d try, or they thought you couldn’t.

You slid out silently, stating low. You hear footsteps and muffled voices somewhere down the hall. Realising you needed a weapon, you decided to find their weapons storage. Your head spun, but you pressed forward and duck into the first door you saw.

Luck must’ve been on your side because it led you exactly where you wanted.

Guns were lined up on the tables, the overhead lighting making it seem more ominous than it already was. Your fingers shook as you picked up a semi-automatic handgun – sleek, back, loaded. Wonwoo’s voice echoed again, “Don’t ever hesitate to shoot. That gives them a room to attack. You pull the trigger the moment they come into view.”

You hear footsteps approaching and pressing your back up against the wall, breathing through your nose, waiting. You hold the gun close to your chest, and when the masked man steps inside, you don't hesitate.

Bang.

He dropped like a sack of potatoes, the sound of the shot echoes through the hallway.

There was no going back now.

Shouts echoed down the hall and you made a run for it. Turning a corner, you came face-to-face with two more men. They hadn’t expected you to be armed, by the time they noticed the gun in your hand and reached for theirs, you had already pulled the trigger.

You ran past their motionless bodies, trying to figure out where you were. The layout and interior – you knew you were in some kind of warehouse. Then you smell it – the night air, you were close to an exit.

You burst through a door, grunting in pain from the sheer force you had put on your shoulder to get the damn thing to open. Your knees almost gave out, the adrenaline making your hands shake.

You kept the gun raised, every shadow looked like another threat.

But you didn’t stop.

Not until you were safe. Not until you got back to Wonwoo.

But you weren’t able to get far.

The alley had opened into a dead-end loading yard and your heart dropped the second you saw the rusted fence, the padlocked gate.

A black van screeched to a halt behind you. You spun, gun raised – but hands grabbed you from both sides before you could even aim. You bit, clawed and kicked, but there were too many. They slammed you face first down onto the ground, a heavy knee to your back following. Your cheek scraped against the pavement and the gun slipped out of your hand.

“Hello, ___.”

You froze, your blood went cold.

Juyeon.

You turned your head enough to see him step into view. His suit was stained, fingers missing from both hands – four gone entirely with pink scars crusted where they’d once been. He flexed what was left, grimacing slightly as if the sight offended him.

Wonwoo had done that. You knew it because Jihoon had told you – how he encouraged your Alpha to cut off the fingers on his left hand so they were more… symmetrical.

“You fucking bastard,” you spat, “I’ll have them dismember you–”

His laugh cuts you off. “Still got some fight in you, I see,” he mused. “That’s what my men meant by you’re no ordinary Omega.” He crouches down, eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. “But you’re more useful to me if you shut the fuck up.”

You snarled, bucking under the weight holding you down. One of his men shoved your head back down as Juyeon took out a syringe from his suit. The liquid was thick, glowing a faint blue under the alley lights.

“You know what this is, little Omega?” he asked conversationally, “The labs call it Phase Nine. It’s new. Not on the market nor the black market.”

You went still.

“It’s a liquid heat inducer that’s designed to have your primal instincts override your rationale. It could even break bonded cycles.”

You thrashed, “Don’t you fucking touch me with that! I swear I’ll–”

“Hold her,” Juyeon ordered.

“No!” You kicked wildly, but the hands clamped down harder.

“I said hold her!”

You screamed when he jabbed the needle into your neck and depressed the plunger.

A cold, burning sensation spreads through your veins like ice catching on fire. Your limbs trembled violently and your lungs burned with every breath you take. You heard Juyeon chuckle as darkness begins to swallow your vision.

“Take a little nap,” he whispers, “And when you wake up, your body won’t resist anymore.”

You wake to the sound of voices – low, mocking laughter. Your head throbbed, and your body felt… wrong. It felt as though weights were chained to your body and your head felt fuzzy. The heat inducers were still coursing through your veins, but you fought the haze, clinging to the remaining sharpness you had in the chaos of your mind.

You feel the fire burn from inside out, every nerve in your body screaming for release.

The door to the room opened and Juyeon stepped in, his fingers twitching where they were still missing. He wore that sharp, predatory grin on his face and how you wished you could slap it right off of his face. His presence was suffocating and the pheromones he was releasing stank up the room so bad you wanted to throw up.

You gritted your teeth and pushed yourself up from the cool, concrete floor. Your limbs felt like lead, but you couldn’t let him get close.

Only Wonwoo could touch you.

Not this disgusting bastard.

He notices the faint fight in your eyes and pauses, a cruel smile crept onto his face as he observes your struggle. “Shit, you are a tough one to break. Lucky for me I got more of those inducers to break you.”

He takes another step forward and your body tensed. “C’mere, Omega,” Juyeon coaxes, his voice so syrupy that it twists your stomach the wrong way. “Let me help you with that heat of yours, yeah? I’ve got something far better than the inducer you’re desperately fighting. Something real.”

You growl, throwing your body into him. Your actions startled him – he hadn’t expected you to fight, not with the drugs clouding your senses. But you didn’t need to be at your best. You needed to make him understand that you were more than just an Omega.

You got a punch in, a brutal hook to his jaw and knocking him back. Juyeon staggered, but he didn’t fall. His men moved, one lunging towards you; but you managed to catch his wrist, twisting it behind his back with a vicious snap, making him grunt in pain.

Another went for your throat, but you kicked up, shoes hitting him in the stomach that had him doubling over, gasping for air. It’s a shame you weren’t wearing your heels, would’ve left a mark on the bastard.

You moved again, a blur of motion and rage. You weren’t thinking nor did you care, you only had one goal – to survive.

Another man reached for your arm. You spun, elbowing him in the face then slamming your knee into his ribs. He staggers, gasping for breath. You were covered in sweat, heart pounding as your body rebels against the inducers.

One of Juyeon’s man was quick enough to grab you from behind, pinning your arms to your sides. “That’s enough,” Juyeon sneers, wiping the blood from his mouth. He grabs another syringe from the table, the liquid inside glowing a sickly blue. “You want to fucking fight? Fine. Let’s see how long you’ll last.”

You hissed, struggling against the man holding you, but the inducers were still tearing through you. The heat was unbearable, your vision swimming in and out of focus. You were starting to lose control.

“Fight all you want, sweetheart,” his voice was mocking as he approached with the needle. “But you’ll break eventually.”

Your hands were still unrestrained, and in that final moment of desperation, you grabbed an old pipe that lay on the ground. You swung it with all your might, hitting the nearest man across the skull. He collapsed with a sickening thud, and you barely had time to register the victory before Juyeon was on you again.

Your body was trembling, soaked in sweat as blood was smeared across your face and hands. The pipe clattered to the floor beside you, slick with someone else’s blood. Juyeon stood across from you, staggering as his face twists into something monstrous. The second that syringe slipped from his grasp during your scuffle, it shattered across the cement.

“You little bitch,” he spat, pulling out a switchblade from his pockets. “You think you’ve won?”

You didn’t answer, hands scrambling for the gun from one of his men on the floor. Your hands shook, but you raised the weapon anyway. Just like Wonwoo taught you.

Never hesitate when it comes to your life.

Juyeon takes a step forward and you pull the trigger.

Bang.

The scream that tore out of his throat was inhuman.

He dropped to his knees, clutching his crotch as the front of his pants soaked red. He writhed, gasping and cursing through clenched teeth. It wasn’t a clean shot, but you didn't want it to be.

Your hands were still trembling as you kept the gun trained on him. “Never… Never underestimate an Omega. Especially me.”

The door slammed open behind you. Boots thundered in, guns drawn and you hear voices yelling commands.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

You already know who it was.

“Clear the room!” Seungcheol’s voice echoed like thunder. “Get the Missus to safety and lock up any survivors!”

Vernon was quick to reach you, kneeling beside you as his hands tried to gently guide the gun down. “Hey, Missus…” he said quietly, “You’re okay now. We’ve got you.”

But you couldn’t bring yourself to lower the gun. It was as though you feared that if you did, Juyeon would get up.

Then you smelled him.

Wonwoo appears through the smoke of bodies, his eyes immediately locking on yours. The sight of you, his mate – bloodied, shaking and bruised – had him on his knees by your side in the blink of an eye. Sure, you were alive; but you were hurt.

He doesn’t say a word, only pulling you into his arms and holding you like you were the last thing in the world that mattered. You didn’t even realise how cold you were until Wonwoo wrapped his arms around you.

His warmth crashed into you like a wave, and what very little strength you had left was gone as your body collapsed into his. You could feel the way his body shuddered as he held you, his breath ragged against your hair, like he hadn’t been breathing until that moment. His hand held the back of your head, fingers tangling in your messy hair like if he let go – you’d disappear.

“I’ve got you, babydoll,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’ve got you now.”

You dropped the gun.

And finally, your body let go.

Wonwoo carefully knocks on the door, a way to announce his presence before sliding it open. His eyes meet yours and his shoulders slump when you give him a small smile. “Hey…” was all you managed to say before his giant stature envelops you in a tight embrace. The Alpha nuzzles into the crook of your neck, a quiet whine leaving his lips as he takes in your scent. It’s grounding, calming – proof that you’re here, safe, and his.

You melt into his warm embrace, your hands instinctively finding their way to his broad back. His tense muscles slowly relax under your touch, his soft whines turning into soft hums of contentment.

“I… I was so scared,” Wonwoo admits, “Scared I couldn’t find you, couldn’t reach you in time… I –”

“Nonu,” you call out softly, one hand moving up to comb through his dark locks, “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He nods and pulls away, the crease in his brow not fully gone. “Yeah, but… I can’t help to think of the worst case scenario of what could’ve happened had we gotten there any later… ___, the doctors said you were practically battered. There’s even still traces of that heat inducer in your blood.”

You shudder at the memory of having the liquid injected into you, Wonwoo tightening his hold on you. “They didn’t touch you did they?”

“Well, it depends on what you mean by touch..?” It was more of a question than a statement, “They didn’t put their dicks in me if that’s what you’re wondering. I was drugged up and a little woozy, but I managed to fight them off until you guys showed up.”

“So, they did touch you,” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to your template. “I’ll deal with those bastards once I head back.”

He cups your face in his large hands, his eyes scanning your face as if committing every detail to memory. “How are you feeling, babydoll? Feeling any better?”

You manage a faint smile at Wonwoo’s concern, your fingers brushing gently over the back of his hand where it cradles your cheek. “I’m feeling better,” you murmur, though the ache behind your ribs and the lingering exhaustion paints a different story. “Just… Just need to pee real quick…”

Wonwoo looks hesitant, but he nods, reluctantly removing his hand from your face.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and push yourself up, determined to manage the short walk to the bathroom without assistance. But the moment you stand, a sudden jolt of pain rips through your lower abdomen. You let out a strangled gasp that makes Wonwoo instantly alert. Your knees give out before you can even call out to him.

You clutch your stomach as your body crumples to the cold tile floor.

“___!” Wonwoo is quick to drop to his knees beside you, arms wrapping around you before you hit the ground. “Babydoll, hey, what’s the matter?”

“It hurts,” you wheezed, eyes squeezed shut as another wave of pain twists through you. “Nonu, it… My stomach hurts.”

He feels his heart shatter at the sight of you writhing in pain, his arms tightening around your waist as he gently tries to ease you onto his lap. “Fuck, okay. I’m calling the nurse–”

“No, don’t go,” your breath was shallow, hand clutching the fabric of his shirt tightly. “Stay. Please.”

“Shit, shit… I’m here, babydoll. I’m not leaving.” Wonwoo’s voice is firm but trembling, his free hand fumbling for the call above him. He presses it repeatedly, urgency written all over his face. “Nurses! Doctors! We need help in here!”

He cradles you closer, rocking you slightly as if trying to soothe you through the pain. “You’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs over and over, lips brushing against your forehead. “I’ve got you, babydoll.”

Moments later, the door bursts open and nurses rush in. Wonwoo doesn’t let you go, not until they gently urge him aside to check your vitals and prepare to move you. Even then, his hand never leaves yours.

And when they wheel you away for tests, his gaze follows you – haunted and fierce – already blaming himself for letting you get off the bed in the first place.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Jeon… It seems you had a miscarriage.”

The words hung in the air. The silence that followed felt suffocating, like a weight pressing down on your chest. Wonwoo’s and your mother wrapped their arms around you in an instant, offering you comfort; but everything felt so… distant. Their voices were muffled and the doctor’s face was blurred as the word ‘miscarriage’ echoed in your mind.

Your hands instinctively moved to your stomach, as though you were trying to hold onto something that was no longer within reach.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo’s tense body stood behind you as if he were a statue that’s freshly carved from stone. His emotions were frozen in place and his silence was louder than anything else in the room.

Suddenly, the pieces began to fit in place.

Why his mother kept nagging him to return home instead of doing overtime in the office.

Why his father kept urging him to look into a bigger home.

Why his mother and mother-in-law kept visiting you while he was away.

Hell, that even explained why Jihoon was more tame.

You were pregnant.

Pregnant with his child.

Your mom and Wonwoo’s mother tried to comfort you with soft reassurances murmured in your ear, but they couldn’t pierce through the thick glass that’s been erected around you. Your mom’s hand stroked your hair, a gesture that was meant to soothe you. But it only reminded you of the ache, of a loss so sudden that it felt as though a piece of you had been ripped away.

Wonwoo’s shaky voice brought you back to reality, “How… How could this have happened? W-When– How long has she been pregnant? She wasn’t displaying any symptoms or even showing!”

The doctor shifts, looking at the clipboard in his hand. “Mrs Jeon was around… seven weeks into the pregnancy. It’s not uncommon for the symptoms to be minimal, especially in the early stages. We suspect that what Mrs Jeon had experienced was a cryptic pregnancy, where the pregnancy goes undetected or unnoticed.”

You feel the Alpha shift his gaze from the doctor to you. “Seven weeks…” His voice was laced with confusion and guilt as he tries to recount every moment he’s spent with you, searching for signs he might have overlooked. He runs a hand down his face, resting it over his mouth as he mutters, “Fuck… No wonder your scent was sweeter…”

“As for what could’ve caused her miscarriage… We can only assume that it was due to the recent… uneventful incident that the Missus has experienced. The emotional, mental and physical distress coupled with the absence of an Alpha must’ve increased her stress levels to a point where it significantly affected her well-being.”

The doctor lowers his head in condolences and exits the room. Both yours and Wonwoo’s parents left soon after, deciding to give you both some privacy.

“Nonu…” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your broken voice seemed to crack something within him and his rigid frame finally moved. Wonwoo sinks down to his knees in front of you, his hands hesitantly reaching for yours. He held them gently, and despite his warm touch, you could feel the tremble in them.

“Babydoll…” You finally forced yourself to look at him, and the sight added another weight to your already heavy heart. His jaw was clenched as his lips were parted slightly, his lips trembling slightly while his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He’s quick to cup your face when you sniffle out his name again, wiping away the tears that began to spill from your eyes.

“No, no, no…” he murmurs, wiping away your tears. “Don’t cry, babydoll… This isn’t your fault, yeah?”

His tender words only made the tears fall harder. The pain in your chest was unbearable, and the sound of his voice made it harder for you to hold yourself together. You shook your head, “N-No… Nonu, it was my fault. I-I should’ve been more alert or at least aware as to why I was –”

“Hey, hey…” He interrupts gently, “Don’t do this, babydoll, please. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You didn’t know, and even if you did, this is something out of your control.”

His thumb continues to stroke your cheeks, wiping away the endless tears that streamed down. “B-But… I-I should’ve.. hic… told you that I wasn’t feeling… hic… like myself.. M-Maybe i-if you’d known, you could’ve –”

Wonwoo presses a gentle kiss to your lips, leaning his forehead against yours once he pulls away. “Babydoll, please, don’t blame yourself… I… I should’ve been a better husband… I shouldn’t have just left you all alone again after your heat. I shouldn’t have kept my distance from you thinking it’d be a good decision… I should’ve been paying more attention to you, been home with you..”

His confession made your heart ache further. You reached up, your hands trembling as they covered his. “No, Nonu… Please, don’t say that… You've been the perfect husband and –”

“Babydoll, I wasn’t there to realise something was up. Our parents knew it before we did and –”

“We could… We could try again, right..?” Your voice was shaky, filled with uncertainty and carried a weight as though speaking it out loud could shatter what little hope you were clinging to. Wonwoo’s breath hitches, his eyes carrying the same raw, aching vulnerability you felt.

“Oh, babydoll…” he whispers, his lips trembling as he pecks your lips, “Of course we can. We can try as many times as we want, but that’s for when you’re ready – when we’re ready. Right now… Let’s… I… Let me make sure you’re okay.”

You nodded, hands moving from covering his to clutch the fabric of his shirt; as if holding onto him would stop the pieces of your heart from falling apart any further. “We’ll try again,” you echoed, voice trembling but filled with a quiet determination. “When we’re ready.”

Wonwoo hums, tilting his head to the side so he could capture your lips in a tender kiss. His lips moved against yours gently. It was soft, unhurried, and full of unspoken promises. When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours once again, and his hands move to cradle your face, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks.

Snow muffled the world outside the cabin, layering the landscape in a blanket of silence and softness. The fire crackled lowly, casting shadows on the wooden walls and painting flickers of gold across the thick blanket tangled around your legs.

It’s only been days since you left the hospital, body still aching quietly – your ribs would hurt just a little when you breathed in too deeply, you could even feel the stiffness in your limbs when you moved too fast. But here, tucked away in the mountains with no one but Wonwoo, the pressure to be okay all the time faded just like the hush of falling snow.

Wonwoo sits beside you on the edge of the bed, his presence warm and steady. He’d just come back from gathering more firewood, snow melting in his hair and a few flakes clinging stubbornly to his coat. You watched him shrug it off, mouth watering at the way his muscles ripple under the thick sweater as he crossed the room to tend to the fire.

God, he looks so good you just wanna pounce on him.

He returns to the bed, slipping under the covers with you like he belongs there – like he’d always been there. One of his arms snakes around your waist, drawing you against his side with practiced ease, careful to not press too hard against you.

He smells like warm cedar, a touch of pine, and that deep, grounding Alpha musk that seeps into your senses like a balm. He exhaled softly, rubbing slow circles into your hip with his thumb.

“Is it too cold?”

You shake your head, almost purring into him. “Not with you here.”

Wonwoo’s expression softens, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Good. I was worried it’d be… well, something you wouldn’t like. The snow, the isolation…”

“You picked it for a reason,” you whispered back, nuzzling into his chest. “It’s quiet up here. I like that.”

He held you closer, his heart beating steadily beneath your cheek. “I needed us somewhere no one could reach. Just for a little while.”

“Because I’m still healing?” Your voice was smaller than you meant for it to be.

“No.” His answer was immediate. “Because I need time with you. Alone. Not shared. Not interrupted. Just… us.”

You hum, closing your eyes and letting yourself be embraced by the most fearsome man of the city. In this moment, where the world was blanketed in snow, where nothing existed but the steady beat of Wonwoo’s heart and the feel of his body against yours, you were safe.

“Nonu?”

Wonwoo looks down, still curling against his side beneath the blanket, hand pausing on your waist. “Yeah, babydoll?”

You hesitated, feeling your pulse thudding against your ribs. You feel the warmth of his body pressed against yours and the subtle way his scent thickened the longer you laid together in the quiet cabin. Maybe it was the isolation, or the cold outside – or maybe it’s just him.

The sense of safety he gives.

You swallowed, “What… What do you think about knotting me?”

Wonwoo stills, his hand splaying wider on your waist as a means to ground you in place, as though you’d float off if he didn’t. He leans down slowly, brushing his nose against your cheek. “Are you asking me if I thought about it?” his voice is now laced with some darker, thicker. “Or if I want to?”

Your face burned, and you tried to look away, but his hand caught your chin, gently coaxing you to meet his eyes. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then lower, and back. “You know I’ve thought about it, babydoll. Especially that time during your heat, but I had to stop because we were still getting used to each other.”

��What about now?”

His voice drops, “You’re still healing. Not now, okay?”

You let out a shaky breath, “I feel okay, Nonu. Better. And… I want it. I want you”

His hand tightened slightly at your hip, not enough to hurt, but just enough to let you feel the echo of what he was holding back.

“You sure, babydoll?” he asks quietly, “Because once I do that, there’s no going back to pretending I don’t need you. I’m going to be all over you, y’know?”

You reach for your Alpha, fingers curling into his sweater, voice barely steady. “Then let it.”

For a moment, Wonwoo just stares at you. And then the alpha in him stirred – quiet and hungry – as he shifts to hover above you, mouth grazing yours. “My feisty Omega can’t help but to be all soft for me now, hmm?” his voice was rough with barely checked restraint and it was enough to have you dripping. His breath ghosts over your lips, his nose brushing yours as his eyes darken. “Always biting back, but the second I touch you like this…”

His hand slides down your thigh, his touch possessive and curls it under your knee, spreading you open just a little more before pulling down the pyjama pants you were wearing.

“...you melt.”

Your breath catches, fingers curling into his sweater as heat coils low in your belly. Wonwoo wasn’t just teasing, he was marveling.

“Oh, babydoll,” he continues, enjoying the way your thighs tremble when his cold fingers trail up the skin of your bare thighs. “I’m going to bury myself in you and let my knot swell so deep that you’ll forget where I end and where you begin.”

“You’ll take good care of me, right, Alpha?”

Wonwoo groans softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll take good care of you, my sweet Omega.”

He kisses you slowly, soft at first – the deeper, hungrier, like the dam had cracked and he could finally taste what he’d been starving for. His palms slid down your sides, memorising every curve, every shiver. He doesn't rush, deciding to not strip you out of the sweater you were wearing to keep you warm.

Pulling away just enough, Wonwoo slides off his glasses and settles them aside on the nightstand. His eyes, dark and intense, were focused entirely on you. The familiar weight of his gaze sent a shiver up your spine. It was as though without the barrier of his glasses, he could see straight through you.

“You’re so beautiful, babydoll,” he murmured, breath brushing against your lips before he kissed you again, deeper, like he couldn’t stop himself. He groaned against your mouth, the soft drag of his lips against yours. His fingers traced the line of your jaw., down your neck and over the curves of your body, like he was committing the shape of your body to memory.

You let out a shaky whimper, hands trembling as you reached for him, tugging him closer. His entire being invades your senses, filling the space between your bodies as his kiss grew more intense, more desperate. You can’t help but respond to his hunger with your own, pulling him closer against your body.

You barely registered the way Wonwoo moved, only the warmth of his body that left yours for a moment. You hear the quiet click of the drawer opening beside the bed. Your voice wavered between surprise and something breathless, eyes widening just a little as your Alpha pulls out a slee black toy from it. It gleamed in the firelight, deceptively elegant. It wasn’t flashy, obviously neither you nor Wonwoo liked flashy. It was plain black, smooth, curved, and obviously meant for one purpose.

"You brought a vibrator on our honeymoon?"

Wonwoo shrugged, “More like Jihoon and Mingyu told me to. They’re… invasive to say the least.”

“How did they even know we’d be doing this?”

Wonwoo gives you a dry, amused look, like you’d just asked why the sun rises. “They’re nosy and overconfident. Honestly, since that night of your heat and when you’d ask to sleep with me, Mingyu said he can smell some kind of budding romance.”

You stared back, “That’s… That’s not a real thing, right?”

He shrugs again, “God knows. Jihoon just enables him. I have a feeling they packed it themselves when I wasn’t looking.”

A pause.

“You don’t check your luggages?”

“They probably hid it under my clothes.”

You snort, “I’m surprised it even made pass customs.”

Wonwoo chuckles, “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing they’ve smuggled through airport security.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Do I even want to know?”

He tilts his head like he’s genuinely considering it. “Probably not.”

You stare at the vibrator in his hand, “So… What use is this to us and did you at least sanitise it?”

Wonwoo sits back on his heels, the firelight casting him in gold and shadow as he pushes the sleeves of his sweater up to his forearms. “Of course I sanitised it, babydoll. As for what use, I’m sure you have that figured out.”

You let him part your legs slowly, his eyes instantly dropping to your wet cunt. He caresses your thighs, coaxing them wider and when his scent changed, thickening with quiet arousal, your body responded like it knew what was coming.

“I’d consider my knot to be big,” he said, voice low and even. “It’s gonna take more than just my fingers to open you up.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He eases two fingers into your cunt, tongue darting out to wet his lips when your breath gets stuck somewhere between your ribs and your throat. The drag of his knuckles felt cruel, like he wanted you to know exactly how he’d take you apart.

When he pushes in a third finger, you whimper. The stretch burns at first, before it fades into a more consuming ache. Your hips buck instinctively, his hand on your waist kept you pinned down like you were nothing more than a body to be used.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, shifting closer so his lips brushes against your jaw, “You keep clenching like that and I’m going to think you like being stretched out like this.”

His fingers curled again, and you choked on a cry.

“Atta girl,” he praised, smiling against your skin.

The air was heavy with the smell of sweat, arousal, and something more dangerous. You were trembling underneath him, not just from pleasure but from the oppressive weight of his presence, the way he looked at you like you’re something fragile yet can’t help but want to break you at the same time.

Every curl of Wonwoo’s fingers leaves you breathless, the coil in your lower belly growing tighter. “You’re dripping, babydoll,” he says flatly, drawing his hand back just enough to spread your wet folds with two of his fingers before plunging them back inside. “You’re making a mess and I barely touched you.”

With one final curl of his fingers, your back arches involuntarily as his fingertips press hard against your g-spot over and over. “C’mon, babydoll,” he murmurs, voice filled with arousal. “Cum for me.”

Your body obeys, a loud cry of his name tearing through your throat as your body seizes, pussy walls fluttering around his fingers. Your nails dig into his arm, thighs trembling around his wrist, and all you can do is ride it out as he coaxes every last tremble from your body. He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, breathing hard, and sweat sticking to your skin.

Only then does he ease them out, slowly. He lifts his slick covered fingers to his lips, tongue flicking out to taste you as he keeps his eyes on your ruined expression with a dark glint.

“You taste sweeter than I thought,” he mumbles. Leaning down, he presses a gentle kiss on your lips before spreading your thighs again. “Gimme one more and I’ll knot you, yeah?”

He turns on the vibrator, the black toy humming to life. You watch with wide eyes as he brings the toy to your slick, pulsing entrance. The moment the curved tip presses inside you, your hips jerked. It zeroed in on that spongy spot deep inside you, making your vision blur and your thighs tremble.

One hand keeps your hips still while the other begins to move the toy inside you. Your breath stutters, back arching as the toy presses up and in, vibrating relentlessly against your gspot. Your legs twitch, thighs trembling as you try to squirm away from the intense pleasure, but Wonwoo won’t let you.

He keeps you in place, spread open while he grinds the toy mercilessly against your gspot, your pulsing walls clenching and unclenching around it rhythmically. Slick, wet sounds fill the room, echoing between your moans and the relentless hum of the vibrator. Your knuckles turned white as your hands clutch the sheets, the coil in your lower belly tightening up again.

“Nonu!”

“Gonna cum again?” he asks, voice low and taunting. He pushes the toy deeper and your vision goes black around the edges. A broken sob claws its way out of your throat as the pressure becomes unbearable. “C’mon, babydoll. Show me how greedy this pussy is. I want you soaked for my knot. Wanna feel you gush all over me.”

He twists the vibrator just right, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit and your body convulses around the toy. A loud cry rips from your throat, sharp and raw as your pussy squirts, hips arching off the bed – drenching his wrists, the toy and the sheets beneath you.

Wonwoo groans, eyes dark as they lock on the way your body submits to him so beautifully. “Fuck, babydoll” he breathes, tossing the wet vibrator aside. “You’re ready to take me now. Gonna stretch you around my knot just how you’re meant to.”

He doesn’t even bother to wipe his hand, sliding them under your thighs and guiding them around his waist, lowering himself over you. You can feel the heat of his cock, flushed and heavy, grinding his length against your slick folds. “Gonna knot you so good, babydoll. Fill you so full that everyone who smells you knows you’re taken.”

You lick your lips at the weight of his knot that’s already swelling at the base. You lock your legs around his waist, heels digging into the curve of his back pulling him closer.

That was all the permission he needed.

Wonwoo lines himself up, holding back a growl as the blunt head of his cock bumps against your clit. His jaw clenches, holding back a guttural growl as he pushes in, inch by inch. Your eyes flutter shut as he stretches you, your slick walls sucking him in greedily.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grits out, kissing your jaw. “So fucking wet. Pussy feels so warm that I could die happy right now.”

You whimper, back arching as he bottoms out, his knot pressing against your entrance. He rolls his hips experimentally, letting you feel every vein of his cock, the way his cock drags against your soaked, swollen walls.

His head dips to press his mouth against the curve of your jaw, your throat. “Taking me so well. Fuck, you feel so good.”

His hands tighten on your thighs, pushing them up so your knees are pressed against your chest, angling your hips just right so he can sink even deeper. His leaking cockhead bullies your sweet spot, making you cry out with each thrust.

“Feel how deep I am, babydoll?” He slides a hand between your bodies, pressing down on your lower belly. You moan at the pressure, nails scratching down his clothed back and Wonwoo starts to roughly thrust into your sloppy cunt. The drag of his cock against your walls sends aftershocks through your twitching body.

Wonwoo groans loudly, biting down on your shoulder – not hard enough to break the skin nor the sweater you wore, but enough to have your wet walls squeeze around him. “Shit, babydoll. Your pussy tightens up when I bite you. You like that, huh? Like it when I mark you up?”

You can’t answer. You’re shaking and gasping, all thoughts wiped out by the way his leaking cockhead grinds into your cervix with every thrust, body starting to bounce from the sheer force.

He presses down on your belly again, palm flat and firm. The pressure makes you clench reflexively, his eyes focus on the way your pretty cunt is stuffed snugly around his dick – entranced with the way your puffy lips coat his thick cock with your sweet cream.

“Nonu,” you whine out, feeling a jolt of electricity run up your spine when his abdomen rubs against your clit. “Please! Want your knot!”

Wonwoo growls, forcing his knot past your rim with one brutal thrust and stretching your pussy wide. You cry out in pleasure and pain, nails digging into the fabric of the sweater that he thinks you’d shred it into pieces. You feel it pop past your entrance and lock inside you, your vision going white.

He pulls out halfway only to slam back in, so addicted to how tight and wet you are around him. He loves how your gummy walls are taking his knot, how the lewd sounds of skin slapping and the wet squelching of your pussy fills the cabin. Wonwoo’s thumb finds your clit again, rubbing it hard and fast; grunting in approval when he feels your arousal drip out your stuffed cunt.

“N-Nonu, ‘M gonna cum!” you moan, head thrown back against the pillows as he fucks you harder into the mattress.

“I know, babydoll,” he murmurs, “Can feel your pussy milking my cock.”

Your walls flutter wildly against him. His knot throbs, snug and swollen inside you, ready to fill you up. “Cum for me, my Omega,” he groans into your neck, planting wet kisses as he chases his own climax. “Make a mess on my cock.”

Your orgasm slams into you, white, hot and all-consuming. Your entire body convulses underneath him, pussy creaming his dick. Wonwoo curses under his breath, hips jerking as your pulsing walls trigger his own release.

“Take it,” he pants, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he spills his cum deep inside. Ropes and ropes of hot cum flood your womb, and you mewl as your mind wanders back to the first time he filled you up.

Your Alpha stays buried inside you, knot locked tight as he releases your legs, hanging them over his forearms. One hand has a possessive grip on your hip while the other rubs your overstimulated clit in slow, teasing circles with just enough pressure to make you jolt.

He grinds his hips against you, knot fully lodged inside you. It’s said that Alphas cum more than they usually do when knotting their bonded mates, and sure enough, Wonwoo was indeed filling your pussy with load after load of his hot cum. Not that you were complaining though. You happily take every drop he gives you with a blissful smile.

The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting the room in a dim amber. You’re still lying beneath Wonwoo, still stretched wide around his knot, both of you soaked in sweat and slick. You could still feel him twitching inside you, some of his cum slipping past the tight sleeve of your cunt around him.

He releases his hold on your legs so he can bury his face into your neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin, teeth nipping over your scent gland. His voice was soft when he praised you, “My babydoll did such a good job at taking my knot.”

His hands slide under your sweater, caressing your body in gentle touches. You both stay like that until his knot deflates. But, your body hasn’t had enough yet. Your hips shifted without thinking, instinctive, needy.

Wonwoo chuckles when he feels it, pulling back to look at you – his eyes dilated and darker than before. “You still want another round, babydoll?”

You bit your lip, squirming just a little as your walls flutter helplessly around his girth. “Well, you’re still hard, Nonu~”

His grin is wolfish, but there’s a glint of fondness in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. He hums, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel the slow drag of his length still nestled inside you. “That’s ‘cause your greedy little pussy won’t let go of me.”

He leans down again, pressing a kiss just below your jaw, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin. “Keep squeezing me like that and I’ll knot you again, babydoll.”

You purr, bucking your hips up to meet his.

Wonwoo hisses, shifting his weight and hooking his forearms beneath your knees. In one swift motion he folds you in half, sinking his cock deeper into your pussy. He kisses you hard, tongue sliding against yours as he pounds your soaked cunt, thick cockhead repeatedly knocking against your cervix so hard it knocks the breath right out of your lungs too. You gasp into his mouth, body starting to tremble from the stimulation.

“Fuck,” he moans, “Pussy still so fucking tight. Look so fucking hot full of my cock.”

You cry out when you feel his knot start to swell inside you again. You can only moan and cry as he keeps hammering his cock into your sensitive hole. “Bet you’d take every load I give you, huh? Stuff you so full you’ll be dripping for days.”

Your head lolls back against the pillows, lips parting in a breathless moan. You feel everything – the stretch of his knot forcing you wider, locking you in place, the way his cock drags along your swollen walls.

“Nonu–” you whimpered, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. “Full! Too full–”

“But you can’t help but to want me to fill you again,” he groans, gripping your hips with a bruising grip. He shifts the angle of his thrusts, feeling him in your guts as his thick cock pummels into you relentlessly. Wonwoo groans when he feels your pussy constrict around him again. “Ohh, fuck, babydoll. You gonna cum again? Gonna squirt all over my cock like the needy little Omega that you are?”

You can’t answer, the only sounds leaving your lips are your filthy moans. You wail every time he drives his dick in and out of you, grinding his thick knot right against that spongy spot inside you until you reach another climax.

Your whole body seizes as you cum hard, the air being punched out from your lungs. You gush around your Alpha, liquid splashing between your thighs – soaking his sweater and the sheets beneath you. Wonwoo is mesmerised by the sight of you squirting all over his cock, how your eyes screwed shut while your sweet cries filled the room.

“Fucking hell, babydoll,” he growls, throwing his head back as he feels his own climax approaching. “Squeezing my cock so fucking good.”

The milking compression of your walls around him, clenching and unclenching around his knot, like your body was begging for him to creampie you was what drove him right to the edge. With a loud roar of your name, his whole body goes tense. His fat cock twitches and throbs inside you, flooding your already wrecked cunt with spurts of his hot cum. His knot swells further, making sure to keep your soaked pussy filled to the brim.

You cry out, nails digging into his forearms as you feel droplets of his cum drip down your thighs. Wonwoo groans when he feels your walls flutter around his length, grinding his hips slowly to try and push his cum deeper.

When he releases your legs from the mating press he had you in, you let out a moan of relief. Your muscles are barely able to hold up after being held up in that position for so long. Your thighs fall limp on the bed, trembling, and slick with sweat and a mixture of your bodily fluids.

Wonwoo doesn’t move, his cock still buried inside you as he continues to release more ropes of thick cum, coating your walls. He places his palm flat against your belly again, right over the small swell of where his cum is filling you – where his knot is. Then he presses down on it.

You gasp, your entire body jerking.

Your cunt tightens reflexively, milking his cock for more of his cum, and he groans at the squeeze. You whimper, eyes glassy, and droplets of tears cling to your lashes.

Your body goes limp beneath him as Wonwoo hovers above you, back hunched as he tries to come down from the delicious high he had just experienced. He’s still sheathed inside, cock still pulsing, his cum sloshing inside your pussy that he can already feel it dripping down your thighs.

But, fuck, the way you were tightly holding onto him – his pretty Omega all wet and stretched and stuffed to the brim, it had his instincts just snarling beneath the surface.

“Shit, babydoll,” he murmurs, voice thick with pride and affection, “Knotted you twice and you’re still squeezing me like you want a third.”

You let out a shaky chuckle, looping your arms around his neck. “I might,” you whisper, giving him a dazed smile.

Wonwoo shakes his head, “You’re insatiable.”

When he leans down to pepper kisses to your throat, you whimper out his name. “Shh, I got you, babydoll. Let’s wait til my knot deflates before we do anything else.”

You hum, clinging to him as your legs weakly wrap themselves around his waist, body still trembling from pleasure and emotions.

And as the snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the surrounding world in white, you and Wonwoo stay tangled together in the heat of the cabin, arms holding each other like you’d never let each other go.

taglist @livelaughloveseventeen @mrsjohnnysuh @luvjichang @peachytokki @arusio @wooingmandy @scoupsonlycherry

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satsugo · 9 days ago

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୨୧ sent to kill the beast haunting the woods, you find him instead — and he’s not interested in letting you leave unclaimed. mlist.

werewolf!bakugo is the kind of beast who doesn’t just take — he claims. oral, knotting, marking, possessive af energy. hope you enjoyed the chaos, sweetness ♡ reblogs and screams in the tags are always welcome.

bakugo katsuki x reader

minors do not interact. this piece is intended for 18+ audiences. contains the following: non-human (werewolf) smut, aggressive behavior, rough sex, knotting, oral (fem receiving), possessive language, threat kink, marking, predator/prey dynamics, slight dubcon vibes, minor clothing destruction.

The woods were quiet. Too quiet.

No birdsong. No wind. Just the heavy press of fog curling through the trees, thick enough to choke on. You’d tracked the creature for days — claw marks too large to be bear, snarls that echoed past midnight, livestock torn apart in seconds. Whatever it was, it didn’t just kill. It hunted.

And now… so were you.

Silver-tipped bolts. Moon-oil traps. Knife strapped to your thigh.

You were ready.

Until a voice snapped the air behind you like a wire pulled tight.

“You’re a long fuckin’ way from home, sweetheart.”

You spun, arrow drawn — but too late.

A blur of muscle, heat, and red eyes slammed into you, knocking the bow from your hands. You hit the ground hard, breath gone, the weight of something inhuman pressing you into the dirt.

Claws. Fangs. Broad shoulders and wild ash-blond hair.

You’d expected a beast.

But he was also… a man.

Sort of.

His grin was all fang and cruelty. Blood still wet on his jaw. His bare chest heaved above you, warm and streaked with dirt, his pants low on his hips, claws twitching at his sides.

“Another hunter,” he growled. “How cute.”

You kicked. He caught your ankle in one hand — tight.

“Feisty,” he muttered, dragging your leg higher. “Too bad you smell like fear. That ruins the taste.”

“You’re the one that’s gonna be dead,” you hissed, grabbing your dagger.

He slapped it away with a snarl. “No weapons. Not anymore.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Just fucking kill me then.”

He laughed — dark, low, teeth flashing. “Kill you?”

He leaned down, nose brushing your cheek, inhaling deep.

“Nah,” he rasped. “You smell like mine.”

You froze.

“Don’t play dumb,” he snarled. “You came out here lookin’ to die or get fucked. Which is it?”

Your lips parted — to scream, to curse, you didn’t know — but then his mouth was on yours. Hot, rough, consuming.Tongue forcing past your lips like he had every right to it.

You bit him.

He growled, bit back — hard enough to draw blood.

“I like you,” he snarled. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

He yanked you up like you weighed nothing, pressing you to a tree. Bark scraped your back, but all you could focus on was the heat of him, the way his hands tore at your clothes with no patience, just raw need.

“Gonna mark you,” he growled. “Right fuckin’ here.”

His claws dragged down your thighs, leaving red streaks that burned. Your pants were gone in seconds. He shoved his nose between your legs and moaned.

“Fuck, you're already wet.”

You hated the way your hips twitched. The way your body betrayed you.

He noticed.

“Thought you came out here to kill me,” he sneered, dragging a claw up your inner thigh. “You sure don’t smell like it now.”

Then his mouth was on you — hot, fast, tongue lapping like a beast starved. He groaned against your cunt, buried his face deeper, arms locking around your thighs as you writhed.

“Stay still,” he snarled, voice muffled. “Wanna taste every fuckin’ drop.”

You cried out, legs trembling, grinding against him before you could stop yourself.

“That’s it,” he grunted, licking up your slick. “Give it up. Gimme what’s mine.”

You came hard, head thrown back, whimpering into the trees.

But he wasn’t done.

He stood, undoing his pants, cock thick and leaking — twitching with need.

“I ain’t gentle,” he growled, pressing the tip to your entrance. “You want soft, go find a human.”

Then he slammed in.

You screamed — from the stretch, from the burn, from the size.

He didn’t give you time to adjust. Didn’t want to. His hips pistoned into yours like a beast claiming a mate, hands gripping your waist so tight you’d bruise.

“You feel that?” he panted. “That’s mine. My cock. My fuckin’ cunt. Say it.”

You moaned, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Say it, or I’ll knot you right here in the dirt.”

“Yours—fuck—yours!”

He snarled, burying himself deeper. “That’s right. Gonna fill you up. Gonna leave you leaking and marked and mine.”

You came again — hard, crying out, body convulsing around him.

And when he came? It was with a roar, claws digging into the tree behind you, knot swelling as he locked himself deep inside your soaked heat.

You sobbed — overwhelmed, trembling.

He stayed there, panting, eyes wild and red as he licked sweat from your throat.

“You’re not leaving this forest,” he said softly.

“Why?”

“Because now…” he whispered, nose pressed to your pulse, lips curled into a grin. “…you belong to the fucking beast.”

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7s3ven · 1 year ago

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NOBODY’S SON, NOBODY’S DAUGHTER. luke (pjo) pt 1

PART 1 > PART 2 > PART 3 > PART 4 (last pt)

( master list )

IN WHICH… Y/N L/N, after spending a decade at Camp Half-Blood, still remains unclaimed. Luckily, Luke is there to keep her company as her good friend. And to, perhaps, provide a bit more.

“I’m in the wind, you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.”

( follows the show - kind of just a oneshot bc i’m bored )

Warnings : fighting, violence, a little too much of a description about injuries

—

Nobody had been this excited about a new kid since three years ago, when a H/C-haired girl showed up holding a Harpy’s head. The new arrival had slain a Minotaur, which Clarisse wasn’t too happy about. She was convinced he was a liar.

Y/N sat in the Hermes cabin, closely inspecting her empty juice box. She had waken up an hour ago yet her good friend, Luke, still woke up earlier. She always wondered where he went in the early morning. Perhaps to get some sword training in before the day started. He was, after all, the best swordsman in camp.

The rays of sun poured through the window, bathing the wooden floor in light. A few of the Hermes kids groaned, knowing Luke would burst through the doors any second and force them to get up. He always did when the sun rose.

As expected, Luke kicked the door open. “Good morning!” He exclaimed, as energetic as ever. “The new kid’s coming today so get up and start cleaning! I’m mainly talking to you guys.” Luke sent the group in the corner a stern look and added, “Y/N, you’re fine.” He pointed at her with his usual boyish grin.

Lately, Y/N had been sleeping in Luke’s bed while he slept on the floor. They took turns switching. Lying on the ground for more than a decade now wasn’t good for the back.

After all this time, Y/N was still unclaimed. It usually took a week or less. Y/N was a prime example of the Gods above ignoring their children.

“He’s the one who killed the Minotaur, right?” Y/N questioned as Luke collapsed onto his mattress, partly to annoy Y/N who was sitting on it. The H/C-haired girl scoffed and playfully rolled her eyes, yet she couldn’t contain the amused smile on her face.

“Yeah. He can join your little monster slaying group. Let’s hope he gets claimed because I can’t deal with a boy version of you.” Luke teasingly grinned while Y/N scoffed and slapped his shoulder.

“You love my company.” She uttered, rolling her eyes.

Luke’s friends snickered to themselves. “More like he loves you.” One whispered to another.

“What’s his name again?” Y/N asked, tilting her head to the side. “Was it… Tom?” Luke stared at her in disbelief before lightly snorting.

“You’re way off, Y/N. Stop thinking, you’ll hurt that tiny brain of your’s. Just do what you do best; sit still and look cute.” Luke ruffled her tidy hair, turning it into a bird’s nest again.

Y/N flung a pillow at him, and glowered at the Hermes boy. “I’m going to kick your ass in capture the flag.” She threatened, poking his shoulder. Clarisse, out of all people, was her best friend. So naturally, she teamed up with her.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, princess.” Luke lightly shoved her which caused Y/N to gasp in disbelief.

“Don’t push a lady, Luke!”

The other campers, already used to their antics, just chuckled. “Hey, love birds!” One of the unclaimed kids exclaimed. “Get a room!” With her smart she was, Y/N assumed she was Athena’s child.

Y/N and Luke liked to play a silly game where they guessed which camper belonged to which godly parent. It was fun. Luke was never wrong until the day he tried to guess Y/N’s.

A year ago, he guessed Aphrodite. His explanation? Because she was charming and she had a certain aura that followed her. And because she was pretty. That was the only time he was wrong because Y/N never ended up in a cabin.

“So, what do you think of the new kid? Which cabin?” Y/N asked as she and Luke walked outside. He shoved his hands into his pockets, laughing.

“Tough call. I haven’t even met him yet. Apollo, maybe?” Luke shrugged and frowned. “I’ll tell ya my guess when I see him.”

“I’m guessing… Poseidon.” Y/N uttered, earning a light snort from Luke.

“No way. Is that your confirmed guess? Being a child of Poseidon would mean being a forbidden child.”

The game had a few rules.

One. You can only take a single guess and once you confirm it, you can’t change it.

Two. You can’t ask the kid you’re talking about. Luke considers that cheating. You can only observe them.

Three. No asking Annabeth because she’s always right.

“I guess. It’s not like I ever win, right?” Y/N laughed, grinning at Luke. He stared at her for a moment before returning her bright smile.

“I know we don’t usually make bets, but if your guess turns out right, I’ll willingly give up in the next capture the flag game after he’s claimed.” Luke puffed out his chest, certain Y/N wouldn’t win.

“And if you win?” She asked, arching an eyebrow.

“You give me your strawberries.” Luke had an obsession with strawberries that everybody, even the gods above, knew about.

“You’re on, Luke.” Y/N held out her hand with her lips curved up into a teasing smirk.

“Good luck, princess. Looks like I’ll be taking all your strawberries.” Luke ran his tongue over his teeth, already being able to taste the sweet, red fruit in his mouth.

He walked off, playfully winking at Y/N. Clarisse, who saw the whole conversation go down, hurried over to Y/N. “Looks like you and lover boy have a bet going in.” She smirked, raising both her eyebrows. “You two are cute together.”

“Don’t mess with me, Clari. We’re just friends.” Y/N rolled her eyes at what her friend was suggesting. She had been friends with Luke for three years now and she had known him for even longer.

“Are you just friends… or you want to be more?” Clarisse leaned forward with that taunting glint in her beautiful eyes. Y/N groaned, shoving her away. Clarisse simply laughed. “Come on, princess.” She mocked.

“Oh, come on, Risse.” That was a horrid nickname given to Clarisse by an Apollo boy who seemed to be obsessed with her.

“Shut up!” Clarisse exclaimed, eyeing Y/N up and down in disgust as if she was the Apollo boy. “You know how I feel about him!”

“And you know how I feel about Luke.”

“Yeah… but do you?” Clarisse tilted her head to the side before her gaze flickered to something, or rather someone, behind Y/N. “The Minotaur kid is out.” She grumbled and sharply clicked her tongue.

“Great. I can see if my stupid guess was correct.” Y/N glanced over her shoulder, watching the boy walk beside Chiron. His hair was curled, much like Luke’s, and blond. Clarisse had wandered off in the midst of Y/N’s staring, but she didn’t mind.

Suddenly, the boy lifted his head. His eyes clashed with Y/N’s, and he almost jumped at how intensely she was staring at him. Y/N merely smiled before turning away.

“So, what do you think?” She asked Luke as they walked towards the Hermes cabin side by side, their shoulders brushing against each other.

“Hard to say for now.” Luke replied. Y/N looked at him and he stared back before the pair burst into quiet laughter. Just locking eyes could make two friends find anything hilarious.

“I assume you’ll take him under your wing? Good luck.” Y/N nudged him with her elbow, which seemed to be a normal gesture between them.

“Thanks, princess. See ya.”

Y/N turned around, almost crashing into a disoriented Percy Jackson. He seemed jumpy and panicked. Of course, how couldn’t he be? He had just unknowingly killed a monster and his mother had been taken.

“Hi. The first day is always rough. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Y/N muttered to him before she passed by.

She didn’t stick around to hear Chiron announce him. She sighed, wandering aimlessly around the camp. She saw Clarisse talking to her siblings. Y/N had always wondered what it was like to have siblings you could relate to. What did it feel like to understand each other? To go through the same difficulties?

The Hermes cabin was comfortable and friendly enough but it wasn’t the same. She wanted to feel what a true family felt like, or at least was supposed to.

As Y/N had expected, Luke was the first to talk to Percy.

“I’m Luke.” He introduced himself to the boy after the rocky start to their conversation.

“Percy. Hey, uh, who was that girl before? The H/C-haired one?” He questioned, clearing his throat.

“Y/N. She’s nice most of the time the time but a pain in the ass during capture the flag.” Luke chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. I’m just kidding. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

“You guys seem close.” Percy uttered, remembering the way Luke looked at Y/N when they talked.

“Yeah. She’s my best friend. Unfortunately for me, her best friend is an aggressive Ares kid.” He grinned, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Feel free to lie down anywhere. Just don’t get too close to Y/N. If she’s having a monster dream, she kicks in her sleep.”

One of the campers across the cabin groaned. “I know how that feels. The bruise lasted for weeks!” The others burst into laughter while Percy hurriedly made a mental note.

Avoid the pretty girl when she sleeps.

Percy was lucky that Y/N, who lay on the floor a few feet away from him, wasn’t having one of her infamous nightmares. He couldn’t say the same for himself, though.

Percy sat up, panting and sweating. He looked around, realising where he was. Birds chirped in the distant and he could hear the faint sound of chatter through the wooden walls.

“You okay?” Luke asked.

“Super.” Percy sarcastically responded.

“We all have them here, you know.” Luke clicked his tongue and sighed. “Intense, reoccurring nightmares. That’s normal here. Take Y/N for example. When she first came here, no one wanted to get near her while she slept. Girl’s a bloody good kicker.”

Percy lightly chuckled while Luke smiled. “The daydreams and ADHA and dyslexia are normal too. Demigods just process reality differently than humans do. For the first time in your life, you’re just like everyone else.”

“So, are you also…” Percy trailed off, not wanting to sound rude to his first friend at camp.

Luke found his hesitation amusing. “Am I unclaimed? No. Hermes is my father.”

“And Y/N? Is her father also Hermes?”

Luke scrunched up his face like he had just eaten a sour lemon. “Oh, no. Heck no. Y/N’s unclaimed… still. She has been for a while.” The brunette pressed his lips into a thin line as he gazed at Y/N, who was laughing with Clarisse.

“Why hasn’t Aphrodite claimed her? I mean, she looks the part.”

“That’s what we’re all asking ourselves. We all thought she’d be Aphrodite’s kid.”

Boys and girls flocked towards Y/N like she was a muse. It was no secret that out of all the campers, Y/N stood out the most. There was something unique about her, how she always hung around the aggressive Ares kids like she wanted to be one of them.

She was a tough opponent but a little too soft for Ares’ liking.

Too gentle for Ares but too angry for Aphrodite. She was constantly stuck in the middle. It almost seemed like no god or goddess wanted her in their cabin because she had proved herself over and over again.

��How long has she been unclaimed?” Percy inquired. Kids before him had asked that very same question and every time, they were never ready for the answer.

“A decade.” Luke replied, “She’s been here for a decade. Last year, there was a stupid rumour going around that she was fully mortal but that doesn’t make sense. If she was, she wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“Why so long?”

“Nobody knows.” Luke shrugged. He had wondered that too. And he could see how it was weighing down on Y/N. The unclaimed kid was what campers referred to her as. They used her as an example of what not to do.

“Will she ever get claimed?”

Luke hoped she would. For her sake. He knew how she felt about not having a related family of her own. For now, she was satisfied laughing over silly tales with the Hermes kids.

“So, where does she go during the day? She disappeared yesterday and today.” Percy tilted his head to the side, not being able to spot Y/N anymore. Luke paused. It was uncommon for him to not have an answer to everything.

“I… don’t know. I assume Clarisse and her go somewhere.”

“Probably swimming in the lake.” Grover said, overhearing the two’s conversation.

It was scorching during Summer at Camp Half-Blood. Most stayed in the shade while an occasional kid or two tended to the plants. So it would make sense that Y/N would go to a lake to cool off.

Luke left Percy in the company of Grover and made his way towards the Lake in the middle of the forest. As Grover guessed, he found Y/N and Clarisse and a few other Ares kids swimming in the water or sitting on the nearby rocks.

“Hey, Y/N, your lover boy is here!” One of them exclaimed. Y/N, from her spot in the middle of the lake, glared at him. She huffed before swimming over to Luke, easily heaving herself onto shore.

“Hey, Luke, ready to make your guess yet?” She asked, grinning up at him. “Or do you wanna swim?”

“My guess is definitely not Hephaestus.” Luke said as he sat down in front of Y/N. His gaze flickered to her new swimsuit. “New bathing suit?”

“Yeah. Miya got it for me.” Miya was a child of Aphrodite and favored Y/N quite a lot.

“Ah. No wonder it’s so…” Luke hesitated, “Revealing.” He tried to act like a gentleman but his cheeks flushed every time he even looked at Y/N.

“One more day until I kick your ass.” Y/N laughed as she sank back into the water, returning a moment later with her hair dripping wet and her face shining in the sunlight. She looked effortlessly angelic.

“Are you sure you’re ready to handle Y/N again, Luke? She almost beat you last time.” Clarisse snickered as she floated on her back.

Luke scoffed. “Keyword. Almost.” It was true that Y/N had almost beaten him in his own game of sword fighting but that was because she was becoming increasingly more distracting.

Gone was the shy and quiet kid who always trailed behind Clarisse. With every passing year, Y/N became more headstrong and, well, beautiful. That’s why it was so hard for Luke to keep his feelings to himself now. Even Clarisse could see through his facade.

“I’m ready to make my guess.” Luke finally announced, catching Y/N’s wavering attention. She arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “My guess… is Demeter. I met the kid and he seems gentle. A soft and kind soul.”

“Nice. I guess we’ll find out soon.” Y/N’s guess was nothing but a joke and she’d end up laughing if she was actually correct.

“Join me for a little swim?” Y/N asked, reaching out to tug on Luke’s shirt. He sighed while Y/N merely smiled. A moment later, he gave in. Luke lifted his shirt over his head while Y/N stared at him a little too shamelessly for her liking. Some of the Ares boys teasingly wolf-whistled which made Luke chuckle.

He jumped into the lake, practically tackling Y/N and taking her under with him. “Luke!” She yelled, hitting his shoulder when they resurfaced.

“Oh no. The married couple is fighting again.” Zyra, Clarisse’s half-sister, said. She and Clarisse shared a knowing grin.

“They’re so whipped.” Clarisse whispered, subtly swimming away to give the two more space.

It was the day Y/N had eagerly been waiting for. Perhaps her favourite day at Camp. Capture the flag day.

Clarisse handed Y/N a spear. “I got it fixed for you.” The brunette said. During the last game, Y/N’s spear had broken. She was forced to fight with half of it after that.

Y/N adjusted Clarisse’s armour, ensuring that it was tight enough before putting on her own helmet.

“You’re gonna love this.” She overhead Luke say to Percy as they passed by. “Camp-wide mock warfare. All glory to the victors. Annabeth’s the head counsellor. She’s led our team to three straight wins.”

Y/N looked away, giving Luke the perfect chance to gaze over at her. “Y/N and Clarisse lead the other team. Clarisse is rather… impulsive, though. Y/N’s come up with some good plans but Ares kids always go off the rails.”

“What’s the deal with you and Y/N anyway?” Percy suddenly switched the topic, much to Luke’s surprise. “I mean, you guys say you’re just friends but you’re always looking at each other. And talking. And you stare at her like she’s your world. Sometimes I wish I could look at someone like that.” Percy sighed while Luke was left speechless.

Luke cleared his throat and shook his head. “Let’s just… focus on the game.”

The conch shell blew. Y/N stood side Clarisse, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Heroes, it’s time.” Chiron announced. “The game begins. The first team to retrieve the opposing flag and return it across the river shall be the victor. As always, there will be no maiming and no killing. I trust these rules will be respected.”

He subtly glanced over at Clarisse and her cabin.

“Let the games begin.”

There was twenty minutes until the next conch shell, which meant game-on. Normally, Clarisse and Y/N would pair up and hunt through the woods for the first few hours. But Clarisse had a different idea this time.

“Good luck.” Y/N said to her friend, slinging her spear over her shoulder. Y/N split up with the rest of her team, taking with her small portion of campers.

“We follow Clarisse’s plan this time. We’re the last defense meaning that if the blue team manages to get through, we fight like our lives depend on it.” Y/N said as she gripped her spear tightly.

“What are going to do?” Someone else asked.

“I’m going to…. look around.”

Luke grunted as a sword piercing his upper arm. He easily disarmed his opponent and kicked them to the ground.

“We give up.” The red leader grumbled, wincing as their brushed their fingers over his cuts.

“I wanna move quick. Straight through the woods for their flag.” Luke uttered.

“Y/N and Clarisse hunt in those woods for the first few hours, you know that. They’ll cut us down.”

Luke grinned, shaking his head. “Annabeth has a plan for Clarisse. And Y/N, as always, is mine. Don’t worry about her.”

“Last time I didn’t worry about her, she almost chopped my head off. By accident!” Chris loudly exclaimed, shoving Luke. Unbeknownst to the pair, Y/N was watching from above in the trees, hidden by the thick leaves.

She skilfully hopped from branch to branch, sliding down in front of her teammates. “The blue team is coming. They got past the other defences. Get in position.” Y/N hid behind a thick tree branch, panting and listening carefully for the sound of Luke’s voice.

She heard a twig snap and peeked her head out slightly to see Luke, Chris, and the rest of their small team. Y/N looked up, signalling to her friends above that it was almost time.

The moment Luke, who was leading the pack, stepped right where Y/N wanted him, she revealed herself. “Now!” She shouted, raising her spear and striking Luke. He easily blocked her attack.

“Thought you could ambush us, princess? Nice try.” Luke chuckled, pushing Y/N back.

“I’d say that it worked just fine.” Y/N retorted, lunging at Luke again. She pinned him to a nearby tree, holding the blade of her spear to his throat.

Chris grabbed Y/N by her shirt, pulling her back. Luke swung his sword at her but Y/N simply ducked to avoid the blow.

She tried to run off to help her teammates but Luke blocked her path. “Where do you think you’re going?” He uttered, playfully furrowing his eyebrows.

Y/N scoffed, kicking his ankles. She pointed at spear at his chest, poking it ever so slightly. “Ready to give up, Luke?”

“In your dreams.” He rolled over, latching onto Y/N’s arm and pulling her down with him. Y/N yelped, quickly scrambling up before he could grab her again.

She looked around at her surroundings, finally understanding what Luke’s plan was. It was to keep Y/N away from her team so that Luke’s could take them down. That left Y/N solely alone, standing between the flag and the blue team.

She panted, glaring at Luke. “Bring it on, Luke.” She muttered, holding up her spear. Luke was the first to make a move. He jumped at her, swinging his blade. Y/N dodged it and blocked another attack from Chris.

She quickly lowered her head, tackling another Hermes kid. Y/N rolled across the floor, swiftly standing up. “You won’t be getting near that flag on my watch.” She kicked Luke and whacked Chris. One of the Athena girls launched herself at Y/N, gripping onto her leg.

Y/N shook her off but the girl’s weight caused her to topple over. The bits of debris grazed at her skin. Chris swung his sword, slashing at Y/N. The blade cut her lower arm and blood welled up from the slit.

Quietly groaning, Y/N heaved herself up. She lightly swayed, unbalanced and a little weak. “Like I said,” She murmured, “You aren’t getting that flag.”

Y/N blocked every attack and blow aimed her way but she was getting slow. She could barely lift her weapon fast enough to stop Luke from successfully landing a hit.

Everything was becoming too overwhelming as she struggled to keep up. It was all a fast blur filled with weapons violently clashing against each other and shouting.

Up above, thunder crashed and lightning flickered through the darkening sky. Rain poured down, drenching the campers.

The thunder got louder and the lightning brighter as the seconds passed until nobody could ignore it. A harsh flash of lightning hit a tree nearby, setting it alight.

“Y/N, watch out!” Luke shouted, reaching out. Strings of electricity rippled around Y/N as a burning tree branch fell towards her. Luke sprinted towards her, dropping his sword in the process. He tackled Y/N, shielding her from harm’s way.

She groaned as she hit her head, black dots swirling around in her vision. She felt numb and her head lolled to the side as she heard shouts of victory followed by gasps of surprise.

“Y/N L/N has been claimed by Zeus, the king of Gods and the God of thunder and ruler of the sky.”

#percy jackson series #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #luke castellan x you #one shot #percy jackson fanfiction #demigods #romance #zeus #greek mythology #roman mythology #annabeth chase #grover underwood

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ninus9607 · 2 months ago

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One and only - Agatha Harkness

Pairing(s): Agatha Harkness x Female! reader

Word count: 14K

tags: l content: Dark Romance, Forced Marriage, Manipulation, Abuse, Smut, Angst, Praise Kink, Magic, Passionate sex, Fluff and Smut, Magic Strap, creampie, dirty talk, 18+,

AN: The story contains elements of abuse, manipulation, graphic sexual scenes, Mental and emotional trauma. Also, I hope u guys will like it, it's my first ff in second pov

The rich aroma of sage and honey hung in the air, wrapping in ghostly fingers around the flickering candles perched on stone walls. With its shelves loaded with books so old that their spines had cracked and flaked with age, the Harkness estate's study was a temple of ancient power. But none of it mattered at that time.

The cool, steady voice of her mother filled the room as Agatha Harkness stood straight in the middle, her purple power pulsing beneath her skin, threatening to spill over.

"Agatha, you are a disgrace."

Evanora's words poked Agatha like a sharp sword, cutting her too many times to flinch now. The elder woman stood tall beside the fireplace, her long black robes brushing the floor like trailing shadows, her gray-streaked hair tied securely, and she looked harsh and strict.

"I built this coven. I kept it through war, fire, and abuse," Evanora said, her eyes narrowing like sharpened glass. "And you... You waste your gift chasing petty distractions and self-serving rebellion."

Agatha's jaw narrowed. "I have never wasted a damn thing," she said, her voice frosty. "Everything I've done, from studying spells to fighting battles, has been for this coven. For Salem."

"For yourself," Evanora said strongly. "For your personal pleasure. You think I didn't notice it? The way you push past the limits of your power, ignoring the advice of your elders. You're careless. Wild."

The muscle in Agatha's cheek trembled. "I'm powerful."

"And power without control is dangerous," Evanora warned. "You walk the edge of ruin, Agatha."

"I can control myself just fine," Agatha hissed, blue magic blazing at her fingertips. "It's you who can't stomach the thought of me not bending to your perfect little plans."

"I will not debate this," Evanora said, the air in the room sizzling with restrained energy. "You are of age. Your name will be called upon before the council. You will take a wife. Or a husband. I do not care. You must form a connection that strengthens the coven's future, or you will be passed over."

Agatha's lips twisted in disgust. "You'd rather marry me off like a bartered sheep than let me lead as I am?"

"You forget yourself," Evanora warned her, her tone low and deadly.

"This coven is based on tradition. About alliances. On peace. A leader without a relationship with others is weak. Salem cannot afford weaknesses. Witches are once again fighting a frigid world. We cannot rely just on strength. We must integrate ourselves into the fabric of this town. Through the bloodlines. Through marriage."

"I would rather die alone than be bound by expectation," Agatha said.

Evanora gave a bitter, humorless chuckle. "You speak like a child, high on the fantasy of liberty. You think the world will let you go unclaimed? That you'll carve out a space based just on power? You are powerful, yes, but you are still a woman. A witch. If you don't anchor yourself, the world will take everything from you."

"I don't need an anchor," Agatha hissed as the air around her vibrated and the candles flickered furiously. "And I don't need your approval."

"No," Evanora answered gently, with a bitter and satisfied tone. "But you need the coven. And this coven would never follow a lady who can't even commit to another."

Agatha moved closer, her pulse pounding in her ears. "So what?" You'll marry me off to the poor soul you believe would control me? Watch me choke on a loveless marriage to guarantee your own tradition?"

Evanora responded calmly, "I will do whatever is necessary for Salem. As you will, or you will not lead."

The room fell silent, packed with years of unspoken pain, unmet expectations.

Agatha's voice fell, shaking with suppressed anger. "I will select. But it will be my decision. Not yours. Not the council's."

Evanora's eyes narrowed. "You have until the next full moon."

And then, as if to wrap up the argument, Evanora turned and exited the chamber, her robes murmuring against the stone floor.

The huge oak door slammed shut with a shocking crash, leaving Agatha alone with the pounding in her chest and the faint aroma of sage and strength....

The morning started like any other.

Cold.

Anxious.

You walked gently across the dark kitchen, the floorboards groaning beneath you. The hearth had long since gone cold, and you knew better than to waste wood without permission. Your fingers moved rapidly to grab the little packets of dried tea leaves your mother had set out the night before.

"You better sell every single one of those," your father's voice shouted from behind you, gruff and sharp as a needle. You tensed and held the basket to your chest.

"I will," you said, your gaze fixated on the floor.

"What was that?" He yelled and stepped closer. You noticed the bitterness of last night's alcohol on his breath.

"I will," you replied loudly, your voice trembling around the edges.

His hand came down hard on the table next to you, causing you to flinch.

"I don't send you out there to laze around like a worthless little thing. Do you hear me? No tea left by dusk. And don't you dare return with less money than yesterday. Bitch."

You instantly nodded, knowing you shouldn't debate. Your mother sat calmly at the table, eyes downcast, hands busy stitching, never meddling or saying.

"Get out of my sight," he muttered and turned away.

You snatched up the basket and slipped through the doorway, the cold morning air hitting your skin like a slap. You took a deep breath, the scent of frost and woodsmoke a sharp contrast to the weight of the house behind you.

You wouldn't cry.

Not out here.

Not where people could see.

So you straightened your shoulders, wiped your sleeve across your face, and started down the path toward the market square.

By the time you arrived, the market square was already full of activity, with the sound of voices echoing through the cool morning air. Sellers promoted their products, the aroma of fresh bread and roasted meat mixed with the minerals of wet straw and herbs. Villagers walked between sellers in groups, sharing gossip as easily as coins.

You located your normal location near the square's edge, where the sidewalks broke and plants sprang between them. It wasn't much, certainly not as busy as the main stretch—but it was far enough away from the worst of the stares and sharp tongues.

You placed your basket on the aged wooden box you used as a temporary table and began arranging the small bundles of tea. Lavender, chamomile, and mint. All were neatly wrapped with rope and marked in your mother's cramped handwriting.

"Tea for aches, tea for sleep," you shouted gently, barely heard above the noise of the market.

A few passing ladies gave you sympathetic glances, some pitying, others uncaring. A hunched old guy talked you down to half price on a bunch of lemon balm. You let it go without protesting. You didn't really care about the currency. You simply wanted to be done before the sun went too low, and your father's comments turned into punches.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and looked at the crowd.

That is when you noticed her.

A dark-haired woman near one of the nicer stalls reviews a package of herbs with casual authority. She wore rich blue leather, which only the village's witches dared to wear so publicly. Her posture, the way the other villagers parted like water around her, showed that she wasn't just anybody.

You have seen her before.

Agatha Harkness.

Everyone in Salem recognized her name.

And for reasons you couldn't explain, your heart gave a little kick in your chest when her eyes flicked up and landed on you.

When her eyes met yours, you instantly shifted your look, showing that you were busy rearranging the little bundles of tea. Your fingers stumbled over the rope, becoming clumsy all of a sudden.

Why is she looking at me?

You felt her presence before seeing her, a slight change in the air as she arrived. A scent of mint and something deeper, like rain-soaked dirt, surrounded you.

"Good morning," said a quiet, silky voice that sounded exactly as you expected.

You swallowed hard, raising your gaze just slightly. Agatha Harkness stood in front of your stand, one eyebrow lifted and the corners of her lips curled perilously near to a grumble.

"G-Good morning, Miss Harkness," you said, your voice a bit faint, and the words stuck in your throat.

Her glance swept over your small appearance, stopping at a little bundle of lavender and petals of roses. "I'll take this one."

Your fingers trembled as you grabbed it up and carefully wrapped it in a scrap of cotton. "Miss Harkness, it's good for sleep. A-and to calm the nerves."

"Is that so?" she said, her gaze causing your skin to tingle. Not rudely, but interested, as if you were something she hadn't expected to find.

You nodded and handed her the package, your hands brushing against hers for just a second. It sent an odd warm sensation up your arm.

Agatha put the Pine (money) into your hand, significantly more than the bundle was worth, her fingers lingering for a beat longer than necessary.

"Keep the change, sweetheart," she said, and your breath caught at her affection.

You barely thought to thank her as she turned, the dark velvet of her cloak catching the early light as she walked away and vanished into the crowd. But not before returning your stare with a quick glance back over her shoulder.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

You had no idea why, but something told you this wouldn't be the last time you saw her.

You returned home as the day came to a close and the sun began to set. When you pushed the door open, the home smelled like old ale and wet wood. The light from outside just broke through the crooked doorway, and your stomach squeezed as it usually did when you crossed the border between market freedom and home.

Your father had already fallen into his normal chair beside the fire, a bottle in hand, his face red and bad. Your mother barely glanced at you as she sat stitching in the corner, her fingers working mechanically and her eyes blank.

"Well?" Your father growled, stretching out his rough hand.

You quickly went into your dress pocket and took out the money. The material felt too heavy in your hand now. You knew well than to hesitate, yet your fingers remained closed for a heartbeat too long.

He noticed.

"The hell are you waiting for, girl?" He snapped, his voice heavy and garbled.

You were shaking and placed the money in the palm of his hand.

His sleepy eyes counted them, and a frown formed on his face. "Where's the rest?"

"That's all of it," you muttered, your gaze fixed on the floor.

Without warning, his hand slammed into your cheek. The power of it knocked you back, searing the skin where his palm had impacted.

"Lying little wretch," he hissed. "Do you think I don't know your tricks? As useless as your whore of a mother."

Your mother didn't say anything.

You didn't wait long enough to see if there was another hit coming. You ran to your little room in the back of the house, closing the door behind you with shaky hands and leaning your back against it while your chest heaved.

The sting on your face hurt, yet you did not weep. You had stopped sobbing long ago.

Instead, you closed your eyes and thought about her.

The way Agatha Harkness had looked at you like you were something worth seeing.The touch of her fingertips brushing across yours. The velvety lilt in her voice as she called you sweetheart.

An odd aching started in your chest, foreign and delicate, yet it was enough to make you forget where you were for a short while.

You curled up on your small bed, fingers ghosting over the mark on your face, and mumbled her name as if it were a secret you weren't willing to share with anybody.

"Agatha..."

And for the first time in weeks, you fell slept.

The morning sun had barely passed the trees when your father yelled at you to go. A basket full of nicely wrapped tea bundles hung heavily on your hip as you ran down the old road to the market square. Your cheek still ached from yesterday night's hit, but you'd learned not to waste time on things like that. There was no point in it.

The market was busy as usual, with sellers shouting out their products, kids racing between stalls, and the aroma of new bread blending with smoke from neighboring hearths. You returned to your normal area by the well and gently placed your basket, arranging the small cloth bags of dried herbs and flowers.

"Two for Pine," you said to people walking by, keeping your head down and your voice mild.

It wasn't long until a familiar face drew your attention.

It's her again...

The second-most powerful witch in Salem. Daughter of Evanora. Everyone knew her name, and you'd never forgotten her captivating face from yesterday. She walked through the crowd with the relaxed attitude that you admired, her black hair falling in waves down her back.

You tried not to look, but when she turned towards your stall, your breath caught.

"Good morning," Agatha said, her voice silky as silk and readily heard over the market's clamor. Her blue eyes ran throughout your small desk.

You gripped the edge of your basket. "G-Good morning, Miss Harkness."

The corner of her mouth rose. "Selling tea again today?"

You nodded rapidly, avoiding her gaze as heat crawled up your neck. "Y-Yes, Miss. You can add dried lavender, chamomile, or peppermint if you want."

Agatha's eyes remained on you, not the tea. "I'll take some lavender."

Your palms shook as you grabbed for the bundle. "T-Two for Pine, miss."

Agatha dropped a silver coin into your palm, greatly beyond the asking price. "Keep the change."

Your fingers curled around the penny, and your heart beat like a scared rabbit's. "T-Thank you, Miss Harkness."

She smiled, and for a moment, it wasn't the cold smirk the villagers gossiped about. It was warm. Almost tender.

"I'll see you again," she murmured, and then she was gone, swept back into the crowd like a dream you weren't sure you'd truly had.

And she did..

She showed up every other day, without fail.

Always dressed in deep-colored dresses, her presence was dominant but never cruel. She'd stand by your stall, buy something she didn't need, and leave you with much too much money for it. At first, you believed it was an accident. Then, be nice. Then something else you wouldn't dare to mention.

She spoke to you more on each visit. Casual conversation about the weather, local gossip, and the aroma of your tea.

You began searching for her.

Agatha returned one day, with clouds hanging thick in the sky. Her hair was tied back loosely, and she wore a deep violet shawl across her shoulders. You gave her a careful grin, your heart skipping like it usually does now.

"Afternoon, Miss Harkness," you said, your voice light as the wind.

She cocked her head and studied you. "Afternoon, my dear."

The nickname stunned you. Nobody has ever called you anything like that before.

"I brought a new combination today," you explained, holding out a little packet.

But Agatha did not reach for the tea. Instead, her gaze tightened, concentrating on the small darkening developing over your cheekbone - a bruise you'd done your best to cover up.

Her hand reached out before you could react, her fingertips brushing against your skin with such care that you felt a thrill down your spine. "Who did this to you?" she said, her tone low and dangerous, unlike her usual mocking.

You tensed. Panic rose in your chest.

"I—I tripped," you said hurriedly, looking down at the basket you were carrying. "Fetching a drink this morning."

Agatha remained silent for a long, painful beat. You could feel her eyes piercing into you, and her hand lingering on your face.

"Clumsy thing, you need to be more careful," she said quietly, but her voice was tight and strained, and you swear you saw her jaw quiver.

"I'm fine," you quickly added, thinking that was enough. "Truly, miss."

Agatha said nothing else, only dropped the usual pine into your hand and took her tea. But as she turned to leave, she cast a glance back over her shoulder, blue eyes smoldering in a way that made your breath catch.

"I'll see you soon, my darling," she said softly.

And she did. Every other day. Always.

You hadn't meant for it to happen.

Falling in love, you mean. Except for what is written in your romance novels, you have no idea what love is.

It started with a sparkle, a quick look across the marketplace, a kind comment when no one else was willing to offer one.. She was everything you shouldn't even look at, let alone talk to. But she continued to be there each day.

You were waiting for her there.

You convinced yourself it was nothing at first. She liked your work, purchased your tea blends, and gave you a smile that made your cheeks flame and your stomach turn. Her voice was like smoke curling in your ear, and she always called you a beautiful girl.

However, it went past that.

She saw you. Not in the manner that others did—as a servant girl, a tool, and an insult to her family. Another object caught her eye. You hardly recognized it yourself.

Her visits became a way for you to mark your days. You would wake up every other morning with a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe Agatha would visit your stand once more today. Even if your outfit was made of the same faded fabric as usual, you would take extra time to smooth it and put the bundles of herbs and teas. Even if your face still had the faint traces of your father's anger, and your fingers hurt from work.

Then she would show there, tall, graceful, and with a sparkle in her eye as if she knew a secret you would never hear. She would always laugh softly and tell you to just call her Agatha, but you would fumble your words and keep calling her Miss Harkness.

However, you were unable to. Not quite yet. Not when she was feeling so far away.

At first, when you didn't even know what love was meant to feel like, it wasn't love. However, it was something. A feeling of warmth in your chest. A glimmer of hope in an otherwise dismal and frigid world.

And it built slowly without anyone noticing.

When you boiled the water for your family's meals, you thought of her, wondering what her house would look like and whether she drank tea at night like you did, in peace and quiet. You were curious about the sound of her laugh when she wasn't hiding it in public behind her palm. If she had ever spoken to someone as gently, cautiously, and kindly as she did to you.

You held on to those times. Because your mother's nasty words and your father's anger dominated the rest of your life. To empty nights spent gazing at your small room's ceiling, to bruises that blossomed on your skin like dark blossoms.

And it had been harsher than normal tonight.

When you got back from the market, he was drunk, and your small supply of cash wasn't enough to calm him down.

He snatched them out of your fingers and hissed, "Useless. Not even able to retrieve what is due. You foolish girl, you'll starve us before winter arrives."

"I sold everything, I swear," you whispered quietly, your stomach tightening and your voice little and harsh.

"Shut your mouth," he said, standing so quickly that the chair scratched against the floor.

You flinched before you even noticed his hand move.

The impact was sharp, splitting across your cheek and hurting you instantly. Your head snapped to the side, and the metallic taste of blood sprang to the corner of your lips. You never cried in front of him.

"Sit down," he said, pointing a shaky, calloused finger toward the table. "Now."

You hesitated for a few while, and your mother stepped from the shadows of the room, her face strained and cold. If she had ever protected you, she had long since stopped doing so.

"Do as your father says," she demanded.

You sat.

The silence that followed was deep, with the only sound being the flickering of the single candle on the table. Your mother cleared her throat.

"There's news," she announced. You'll be married by the end of next week."

The words didn't land correctly. For a time, you simply stared at her, as if you had misheard. "What...?"

She talked without looking at you, her jaw taut. "Jonas Mercer made an offer. "A decent sum for a girl like you."

Bile rose in your throat before you could control it. Jonas Mercer. A man twice your age, brutal to animals, and said to have beaten his last wife to death. You'd seen him at the market, with his eyes fixed on younger ladies and his teeth yellowing at the edges.

"No," you answered, your voice weak but clear. "I won't marry him."

Your mother's eyes sprang open, narrowing into sharp daggers. "You'll do as you're told."

"I won't," you shouted out, shaking your head and heart pounding. "I'd rather die."

It happened so quickly that you barely saw it coming.

Your father was on you in a split second, his rage like a hurricane breaking free. A hand in your hair, pulling you out of the chair, his fist pounding into your stomach, side, and jaw. You landed hard on the floor, gasping for air and feeling sorrow in every nerve.

"Ungrateful little bitch," he said, standing over you, his breath smelling of alcohol. "I'll beat the defiance out of you yet."

You did not wait for the next hit.

Your body moved somewhere between pain and fear. You climbed up, stumbling toward the door, your father's shouts following behind you as you ran into the night.

The cold air hit your face, and the town lamps blurred through your tears as you hurried past the town square, the baker's home, and the market stands that would be empty until morning. Nobody called after you. Nobody cared.

You didn't stop till the forests swallowed you completely.

The forest was deep and dark, and the aroma of grass and damp dirt lingered on your neck. You ran until your legs failed and fell to the chilly, leaf-strewn ground. The sob that tore through you was ugly and brutal, and it made your entire body shake.

You curled up on yourself, hands sinking into the dirt, tears blinding your vision. Every inch of you hurts—especially your ribs, face, and heart.

Your body was still shaking.

The cold had gone into your bones, but neither the night air nor the damp ground below you made your teeth crack. It was terror. The deep, burning horror sat in your chest like a stone, making it difficult to breathe. Your fists were gripped so tightly that they pained, and your nails dug into your palm.

You barely noticed the sound of footsteps at first—soft, fast, and getting closer.

"Sweet mercy," a voice breathed, and you recognized it despite your haze. Warm and rich, with a keen edge of worry.

Agatha.

You raised your head, your eyesight unclear; the woods blurring around her as she dropped to her knees beside you. She was not wearing her regular cloak, but rather a modest dark dress with her hair flowing about her shoulders. And she was really attractive. Beautiful enough to make your heart throb, even when it was broken.

"Y/N," she muttered, her voice so delicate that you felt something crack. "Are you hurt? May I touch you?"

You attempted to speak, but your throat felt tight, and no sounds came out. The world swirled, and your hands trembled furiously in your lap.

Agatha's eyes softened, and she slowly reached out, hesitating just as her fingertips touched your skin. "It's alright, sweetheart," she said quietly. "I won't hurt you. I promise. Simply breathe for me, sweetheart... just like that."

Your chest tightened, and a sob caught in your throat.

"Good girl," she said softly, the warmth of her magic touching against you like a summer air, calming and comforting. You felt it wrap around your heart, calming the frenetic beat and releasing the knot in your stomach. It wasn't harsh; it was kind, like a hand smoothing out raw nerves.

She waited until you stopped shaking before slipping her arms beneath you without saying anything more.

Without saying another word, she slipped her arms beneath you after waiting for your trembling to subside.

You should've protested. You should have been ashamed of your situation, but you were too worn out and too empty of self-worth. And there was something about her touch that made it impossible to resist—steady, wary, as if she was worried you might break.

Agatha took you up as if you were weightless and held you to her chest, whispering, "Got you, my love."

The aroma of her, which included smoke, wild herbs, and a darkly sweet scent, filled you as your face leaned against the crook of her neck. You hadn't felt so secure in years.

She spoke in small things you couldn't quite understand as she carried you through the trees. "Safe now, never again," and "mine to keep safe" are other examples. As she moved toward the northern parts of the coven's grounds, the forest behind you disappeared and the night air became warmer.

The tiny residence she took you to was nestled away close to the woods, half-hidden by ivy and blooming flowers, and you hardly noticed it. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled the door open, burning the fire inside and filling the room with the aroma of lavender.

Agatha gently placed you on a soft bed, stroking your cheek with her fingers.

"Sleep now," she said, her voice heavy with something you couldn't name.. "When you wake up, I'll be right here."

...

The first thing you noticed was the warmth.

It wasn't the bitter cold of the forest ground or the stuffy heat of your family's little cabin. As if it were a second skin, this was delicate and kind. You heard the steady crackle of a fire in the distance and the subtle smell of herbs and lavender.

You woke up with a dull ache behind your eyelids and pain in other parts of your body that you had not previously noticed. You didn't open them for a while. Your fear of what you may see was too great.

Then you saw that there was no yelling. No angry voice yelling your name, no door slamming, no squeak of heavy boots.

Just silent, as well as comfort.

You opened your eyes.

The space surrounding you was little but beautiful in a way you had never experienced. The walls were lined with bookshelves, glass vials, and bundles of drying herbs, and the windows were lace-curtained, letting in the morning light. You reclined in a broad bed with soft, heavy covers that had a subtle wildflower scent.

You were hit by panic like a lightning strike.

Where—?

The world spun around you as you pulled yourself up too quickly, and you let out a frightened cry.

"Easy, easy, it's me."

You froze at the voice.

Agatha Harkness was seated on a chair by the fire as you turned toward it, your pulse thumping.

Her hair was somewhat messy, as if she hadn't slept, and her coat was slung across the back of it. In her palm was an unfinished cup of tea. Her eyes, however, sharp, storm-dark, and unusually tender, were what made your stomach turn.

Your voice broke, "I- Where-where"

"You're safe," she whispered as she put the cup down and got to her feet. She didn't come closer. Not yet. "You're at my house. You were hurt. Last night, I found you in the forest."

The memories of the yelling, the slap, the pain that was spreading over your body, and the way your feet had taken you without thinking about it came flooding back in pieces as you swallowed hard. Then arms. Warmth. Lavender.

Your throat tightened as you attempted to speak.

Agatha seemed to understand.

She pointed to a little table close by and said, "Would you like some water?"

She came across the room, pouring a cup from a ceramic pitcher after you managed a slight nod. She didn't allow her fingers to touch yours when she passed it to you with both hands.

The cool water reduced the itchy feeling in your throat.

After a while, you murmured, "I... I'm sorry," with a tone full of shame. "Miss Harkness, I didn't mean to bother you."

Something harsh flickered over her face as her brow folded. "There's no trouble with you," she stated confidently. "And enough of that bullshit from Miss Harkness. Call me Agatha."

Your fingers tightened around the cup as you paused. "—I should not to be here. I need to go before..."

"No." It was a kind yet firm word. At that time, she knelt before you and kept a respectful distance. "Y/N... explain what happened."

It hurt in your chest. Your throat ached from the words.

"I-I made a mistake," you whispered. "I didn't have enough market money. And my-" you stumbled, turning your head away. "My dad was drunk. That's how he gets. Likewise, my mother said she was planning to sell me. For money, marry me off to an old man."

Your heart was pounding in your ears, and the room seemed too tiny.

You concluded, "I ran," in a voice so little you barely recognized it. "I ran, but I had no idea where I was going."

Agatha's eyes remained kind despite her tense jaw.

You explained, "I can't stay," but your tone lacked conviction.

"Yes," Agatha murmured, her voice so low it almost seemed like a promise. "You can."

Then, slowly, as a sunrise, she reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. A spark of ancient terror made you shudder before you could stop yourself, and her hand stopped.

She said, "I will never touch you unless you wish it, I will never hurt you. Not right now. Never."

It was you who spoke first, your voice barely a whisper. "But my father - "

"You're not going anywhere," she replied softly, but there was steel beneath it. "Not until you've eaten. And I heal you're injury"

With only the sound of the odd humming of wind against the window and the gentle crackle of the fire, the room had once again become calm. Agatha gathered a cloth and a tiny bottle of something sharp and scented and walked about with a wound, strained intensity.

She went back to kneel in front of you again, and you sat there shaking.

She said, "This will hurt," but her voice sounded tighter than usual, as if she was struggling to maintain her cool.

Her fingertips touched your cheek, and you hardly nodded, your skin tingling with heat. Despite the harsh taste of whatever cure she applied to your broken lip, the cold, soothing towel was comforting.

Agatha, however, was not checking the wound. She has her eyes on you. At your skin's black bruises that are already growing. At your jaw's tiny handprint that is still there.

Her expression flickered darkly, something raw and terrifying.

Her voice was so low that it seemed more like a growl than actual words when she whispered, "I'll kill him."

Your breath caught.

Before you could respond, Agatha was on her feet, swishing her skirts over her boots and pacing the room like a hurricane that was hardly controlled.

She said, "I'll bleed him dry for this." He, as well as your mother, for allowing it. I need to burn their house to the ground. Allow the smoke to strangle them."

With one hand snapping out, she whirled toward the firebox, and the fireplace's flames responded by flaming higher and licking violently at the stone. Her face was painted in a wild manner as the shadows moved over it.

Your voice cracks as you croak, "Miss!!"

Her breathing was heavy now, and her anger was pouring from her like fire, as if she hadn't heard you. As if in response to her anger, the wind outside rocked the glass.

"I'll rip his miserable throat out," she growled. "Before I burn him alive, I'll make him beg." No guy touches what belongs to me. No one is supposed to hurt you."

Her final word hit you like a spark to dried wood.

You weren't scared, even though a part of you should have been. Not her.

She then slowly glanced down at your hand gripping her and the tears in your huge, terrified eyes. Her own eyes grew softer, the fire in them fading as if you burned out the blaze with only your trembling hand.

In contrast to the anger that had raged just a minute earlier, she was careful and kind as she leaned back down and cupped your cheek.

"I apologize," she muttered. "I scared you."

With tears streaming down your face, you shook your head. "No, I just said that they will harm you if you go to them. Or worse. The whole village would come for you."

Agatha laughed bitterly. "Let them try."

However, she sighed and softly leaned her forehead against yours when she noticed the fear in your eyes.

Her voice was more tightly controlled now, but the danger still pulsed under it as she said, "I won't leave you. Never. But tonight, I won't hurt him. For you."

You gave a weak nod.

She touched your face with her thumb. "I swear on my bloodline, Y/N, that he will regret the day he ever breathed again."

An odd warmth grew in your chest despite the terror and the lingering sadness.

That was the first time someone had ever spoken for you.

"Come," she said softly, rising to her feet again. "You need food. And rest."

Later that day.....

The cottage was quiet now, save for the soft, steady crackle of the fire and the occasional sigh of wind against the old wooden shutters. You were lying on Agatha's bed, tucked under the thick blanket, breathing comfortably and slowly for the first time, the tension that had wrapped your tiny body fading into restless sleep.

A big leather-bound book was open in Agatha's lap as she sat close by on her old sofa, one leg curled under her. As she read, she hardly noticed the words, but the yellowed pages caught the shifting light, the writing symbols shining faintly.

Her eyes were drawn to you repeatedly.

To your cheek's bruises. The delicate shadows your lashes create on your skin.

The knock on her door was barely noticeable before it pushed open.

Evanora, towering and strict in dark midnight-blue robes, pinned back with silver hair and her keen gaze scanning the room like a predator, entered without asking for permission, as she always did.

Behind her, the door clicked softly shut.

Agatha tensed, putting the book down and putting it away. "Mother."

Evanora's lips curved in dislike as her eyes fell upon you, sleeping peacefully and exposed in a stranger's bed.

Evanora grumbled, "A village girl," and stepped inside, her gown's hem rustling over the flooring. "Like some reckless, lustful idiot, you bring a village girl into your bed."

Agatha's mouth tightened. "Leave her alone."

"She isn't connected to us. She is nothing." Evanora's eyes glinted, and her speech was as sharp as a knife. One day, Agatha, you will be in charge of this coven. Don't bring it into shame by taking in strays you see crying in the forest.

Agatha raised her back and stood up. "She's not stray."

Evanora smiled icily, without humor. "So, daughter, what is she to you? A pet? A pet? Don't assume that I'm unaware of your years of avoidance. You will get married, I told you. And you'll make the decision. Or the coven will never be yours."

At her sides, Agatha's hands rolled into fists. "I've made a choice."

Evanora's eyebrows raised, arching. "Oh?"

With her heart racing, Agatha's eyes briefly shifted to you before returning to her mother.

"Y/N," she murmured yet firmly. "Her or nobody."

The room became silent.

After a long, horrible time of staring at her, Evanora laughed sharply and cynically.

"That filthy girl?" She growled.

"Jonas Mercer is the owner of that girl. They promised her. His father is wealthy, as you are aware. The village as a whole gains from the agreement. She was sold by her parents for three acres of land and a silver bag."

Agatha's voice was low and trembling with controlled rage as she answered, "I don't care. I want her."

"You cannot have her!" Evanora snapped. "Would you give up your future for that girl? You'd be ashamed of our coven for some scared slip of a thing that couldn't fight back?"

"I would burn this whole village to the ground before I let another hand touch her," Agatha responded, her voice dead calm. "I would see Mercer's bones ash at my feet before he so much as looks at her."

Evanora's nostrils widened, the air between them thick with tension, and magic crackled slightly, like a storm barely kept back.

"You are reckless," Evanora yelled. "Selfish. I should expel you right now."

"Then do it," Agatha replied, stepping forward, her chin raised. Her purple magic pulsing, "But I will still take her with me. Title or not."

For a long time, the only sounds were the fire crackling in the hearth and the slow, steady rise and fall of your sleeping breaths.

Evanora clinched her jaw. She raised her shoulders with slow, toxic calm.

"Very well," she responded last, her voice icy. "If you wish to be bound to a peasant girl, so be it. I'll pay her parents a visit in the morning."

Agatha's eyes narrowed. "If you hurt her, I swear—"

"Don't worry," Evanora cut her off. "The arrangement will be done. And she'll belong to you. Let's see if you're still so brave when you bear the consequences."

With one last look of disgust in your direction, Evanora turned on her heel, her gown billowing as she swept from the room.

The door shut sharply behind her.

Agatha exhaled, her shoulders slumping for the first time since the argument began. She crossed the room in two strides and knelt by the bed, brushing a lock of hair from your sleeping face.

"I saved you my love, you will be safe with me," she whispered, a promise more than a word.

......

The morning began cold and gray, with the mist still clinging to the ground like a restless spirit. Evanora Harkness walked through the village with the kind of confidence that split crowds without saying a word. The market women dropped their heads, the men moved aside, and no one dared to catch her eyes for more than a moment.

She made her way to your family's cottage, a little old structure on the edge of the forest. The door creaked open before she could knock.

Your mother stood in the doorway, her face tense with tension, and her hands wringing a dirty apron. Under her, your father lurked in the darkness, with a dark, hangover fury hidden under bloodshot eyes.

"Lady Harkness," your mother said, lowering her head.

"Let us not waste time with welcomes," Evanora whispered, her voice hard as glass. "You've got a daughter. Y/N." "She—she's not here," your mother remarked, looking back with anxiety. "We don't know where she is, she ran away."

"She's in my daughter's home," Evanora stated. And she will be returned. But the terms have shifted." Your father scowled. "The deal has been completed. Mercer paid an enormous price for her." "And you'll return it," Evanora said coldly, removing a little velvet packet from her sleeve and putting it onto the table. It landed with a heavy clink of silver. "With interest. That girl is now part of my family."

Your father opened his lips to argue, but Evanora raised her palm, a small shimmer of magic visible at her fingertips. He became silent.

"Do you realize what it means," Evanora said, her tone cold, "for a Harkness to claim a wife? She will bear a child from our bloodline. Heir to my coven. Her bloodline, no matter how lowly, will be linked to ours. The child will be a powerful witch."

Your mother turned pale, her lips twitching. "M'lady, we didn't know. We didn't realize she was important."

"She will be. Or she'll break trying," Evanora murmured, her face as cold as stone. "You'll welcome her home today. There are no questions. No beatings. No warnings. And Tomorrow, you'll convey her safely to church. Fail to do so..." She let the threat hang in the air like a storm cloud. "I'll not tolerate disobedience."

Your parents swallowed hard and nodded.

Then she lifted her hand, curling her long, pale fingers slowly and methodically.

A glimmer of dark violet power ignited at her fingertips, twisting and swirling down into the air before her. Threads of silk appeared from nowhere, weaving together in the empty space. Layers of midnight blue and deep wine-red velvet mixed with beautiful lace, as if brought from another realm.

Before your mother's wide, startled eyes, a bridal gown appeared, floating between them.

It was breathtaking, and clearly witch-made. The bodice of this dress was tight and gorgeous, the neckline royal and extravagant, and the sleeves were long and pure, with delicate stitching that sparkled like starlight. The skirts were thick with leather and lace, trailing mist-like edges along the floor and reflecting the pale light like water.

A veil of soft, invisible silk floated beside it, bewitched to move freely.

Your mother gasped and backed up a step. "M'lady..."

Evanora's voice was low, icy, and final.

"She'll wear this when the vows are said."

Evanora left without saying anything else, the wind stirring her dark cloak behind her.

The sun had already begun to set behind the trees when Agatha eventually took you to the edge of the woods. The air was heavy with the aroma of wood and moist dirt, and for the first time in years, you weren't terrified of the incoming darkness.

Agatha softly cupped your cheek, sliding her thumb across the reddening bruise behind your eye. Her face softened in a manner it rarely does in front of others, an expression of unsaid emotion sitting beneath her eyes.

"Go home, darling," she muttered. "Only for tonight. Everything will be okay shortly. I promise you."

You wanted to believe her. Gods, you wanted to. But your stomach twisted all the time.

"Thank you, mis- Aggie."

She leaned down, laying a gentle kiss against your temple, her touch lingering for too long. "Tomorrow... things will be different."

You nodded, but you weren't sure why the words made your heart accelerate. You turned, her eyes resting on your back the entire way down the straight road.

When you stepped through the crooked gate of your family's cottage, it seemed as if the air itself had fallen apart.

Your father was already so drunk that his face was red and sweating, and the smell of stale ale clung to his clothes. His voice rang out across the small room as soon as he laid eyes on you.

"Where the hell have you gone, little whore?! Do you think you can just disappear and make a fool of me?!"

You flinched, automatically bracing for what was to come.

But before he could reach you, your mother's hand came out, seizing his arm and stopping him mid-swing. She spoke up for the first time since you can remember. "Leave her be," she murmured, her voice firm and her mouth drawn in a thin line. "Not tonight."

Your father snarled and jerked his arm free, but did not attack. Instead, he vomited on the floor and stormed to the back of the cottage.

Your mother did not glance at you. She pointed firmly to your room. "Get inside. Now."

You obeyed, your heart hammering and your hands trembling so much that you struggled with the latch.

Once inside, you heard the lock turn on the other side.

"Don't even think about runnin'," your mother's voice warned through the door. "Wedding's tomorrow at first light. You'll do what you're told, or gods help you."

You stood there, staring at the rough wooden walls, your pulse hammering in your ears.

It was then you saw it.

Laid across your narrow bed — a dress.

Your throat clenched, and tears stung your eyes. You moved closer, your fingers brushing against the material. It seemed surprisingly sensitive to the touch, as if it hummed with some old magical ability.

And suddenly you couldn't take it any longer.

You dropped into the bed, your clothes crushing beneath you as you curled up against yourself. Silent, racking sobs ravaged your body, your tears seeping into the thin cotton.

Your eyes are heavy, and your body is sore from the night's disturbed sleep. For a few brief seconds, you forget what day it is. You forget the bruises on your skin and the pain in your chest.

Then the door unlocks.

It's your mother. Her face is unreadable as she walks inside, clutching a bundle of white fabric. She does not speak. No yells, no insults, and no slaps. Just silence. It almost gets worse. You swallow hard while sitting up in bed.

"Get up," she mutters,

"Put it on," your mother says, her tone icy and distant.

You swallow hard, attempting to calm yourself. You wanted to say no. You wanted to shout that this was not your life and that you had no option, but your mother's glare silenced you.

You grasp the dress with shaky fingers and stand, moving mechanically as you pull it over your head. The cloth fits you perfectly, as if it were made just for you – and you know it was.

She checks you out when she's finished. Her eyes narrowed, as if she were looking at something of value rather than her own daughter.

"Don't make a scene," she says quietly and sharply.

She doesn't wait for a response, instead grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the door. Her grip is tight and stubborn. You're her property now. You can feel it in every tug and step. She leads you out of the room and into the house's frigid corridors.

The village awaits you.

You move through the streets like a ghost, and people turn to gaze, their eyes filled with sorrow, curiosity, and apathy. You keep your gaze on the sidewalks, focusing on each step. Every part of you wants to run away, scream, and be free. But you don't. You still think of her...

The path leads you out of the village to a clearing near the coven's sacred grounds. The air feels dense, as if something ancient is poised in the balance, waiting. As you go closer, the sounds from the crowd become more audible. Their whispers blend with the rustle of the trees, but nothing compares to the beating in your chest.

You take a deep breath, your hands shaking slightly as your mother pushes you ahead through the crowd. The weight of the gown bears down on your shoulders, as if it is attempting to drag you back into the darkness, back to a life you never wanted.

As you enter this location of the church, your gaze naturally moves toward the group of people. The town has come together, their murmurs filling the air like a swarm of insects. You attempt to avoid looking at the faces, but your sight is drawn to one in particular.

An older man stands in the back of the group. His features are sharp, his face furrowed with age, but it's the way his eyes glitter that draws you in. He's the one. The one your parents promised you to. The one who will transport you from this painful life to a fate of awful silence.

Your stomach churns. You can barely breathe, your thoughts reeling with the realization that this is it. This is your fate. This is the man you should marry. Your legs feel weak, but your mother's grip never relents.

You glance up at the altar, your heart beating in your chest. The priest stands there waiting, his eyes devoid of emotion.

But when you take the final steps, something changes. He did not move.

At the altar, you don't see the man you were expecting. Instead, there is a woman. A woman dressed in dark, flowing robes that shine with a strange, mysterious sparkle. Her presence fills the air with electricity and life, like a storm. As you get closer, you notice a shift in the atmosphere, a touch of magic so strong it almost knocks the air out of your lungs.

Confusion floods your mind. Your eyes lock onto the figure, but you can't make sense of it. This isn't right. This isn't who you were promised to.

And then, as you draw nearer, the woman turns to face you, her eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity that makes your breath catch.

Agatha.

You freeze, your heart stopping in your chest as you finally process what you see in front of you. She stands there, majestic and powerful, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a midnight halo. You're not sure what to say or how to feel. The entire universe seems to tilt on its center as the knowledge flows in.

The crowd is strangely silent, waiting for anything, anything. Your mind is racing, with confusion swirling around you like a hurricane. This...is not possible. Agatha?

But she's standing at the altar, waiting. For you.

Your breath hitches, your pulse quickening. How can this be? You were told it would be the old man. That was your fate.

But now, now it's her.

Agatha steps toward you, her expression softening, but there's a glint in her eyes. A glint of something powerful, something determined.

"You look beautiful," Agatha says softly, her voice wrapping around you like velvet.

She holds her hand out, her fingers brushing against yours, sending a shock of warmth through your body. You want to pull away, but you can't. You're frozen, caught between disbelief and something else you can't quite grasp.

"You're not alone," Agatha whispers, her gaze never leaving yours. "I will always protect you. You belong to me, now."

As the priest continues the ceremony, when you gaze into Agatha's eyes, you can't help but feel safe. She is not the old man. She is nothing like the life you feared.

You take a long breath, your confusion melting into something gentler, even reassuring.

"Do you, Y/N, take Agatha Harkness to be your wife?" The priest asks, his voice faraway as you stand on the verge of something unknown.

"Yes," you whisper. "I do."

You two head back to Agatha's house following the ceremony. It's calm, silent, and almost unbelievable.

Agatha detects your nervousness as you stand in the room staring at her. She puts her loving, cautious hands on your shoulders.

"Y/N, you don't have to do anything tonight. There is nothing you don't want. This is your choice. If you are not prepared, I will not force you. I want you to understand that." You hesitate, wondering how to feel. Part of you expected you to fulfill your marriage duties. But Agatha's words, her compassion, trigger a change within you. The strain you've been carrying has eased slightly.

"But we're married now, and that doesn't mean more than what you're comfortable with. I don't care what tradition tells me. I care about you. And if you're not prepared, that's fine. We'll take it one step at a time, I promise.

Her replies, both compassionate and stern, relieve the tightness in your chest. You nod, feeling both relieved and guilty. You wanted to be the kind of wife that Agatha deserves.

Agatha drew back slightly, stroking a stray lock of hair from your face, her soft touch making your throat narrow.

"You should take some rest, sweetheart. It has been a long, harsh day for you."

You nodded, tiredness sinking into your bones. Without saying anything, Agatha led you to her bed, with the sheets smooth and inviting. She did not follow you in, but instead stood by your side, her eyes gazing over you like a silent protector.

As you lay down, the weight of everything you'd endured started to slip away. You pulled the covers around yourself, the scent of lavender and something distinctly Agatha surrounding you.

You turned your head slightly on the pillow, catching her silhouette in the dim candlelight.

"Thank you, Aggie," you whispered, your voice fragile but sincere.

For a moment, Agatha stilled, her face softening with something unbearably tender. She reached out once more, her fingers brushing through your hair in a lingering, careful stroke.

"You never have to thank me, my sweet girl. Sleep now."

Weeks slipped by.

Days in the Harkness family had settled into a quiet, regular pattern. You still weren't used to the softness of the blankets, the way the air smelled of herbs rather than damp wood and sour ale, or the fact that no one yelled commands at you the moment you woke up. It was confusing in its own way.

Since the wedding. She hadn't forced herself into your space or touched you unless you reached for her first. In the nights, she'd sit near the fireplace, a worn leather book perched on her lap, and you'd pretend not to notice her as the firelight painted her face in gold and shadow.

It wasn't long until she began courting you properly, as if from an old story you'd forgotten you ever believed in.

She brought you flowers from the forest's edge, wild lavender and gentle white blossoms you couldn't identify. She placed them at your bedside in the mornings, while you were still sleeping. She'd returned home from coven meetings with modest gifts: a smooth stone shaped like a heart, a charm to ward off nightmares, and a ribbon in your favorite color — but you'd never told her what they were.

She would sometimes suggest that you walk with her through the market, her hand brushing against yours, but never taking it unless you allowed her. The villagers gazed, but no one spoke out against it. Nobody dared. Agatha Harkness was not a lady to mess with. And her power was always ready to protect you.

It was nearing midnight as you moved lightly into the sitting room, the house gloomy but for the faint glimmer of the fireplace. You'd been unable to sleep yet again. Your thoughts were too loud and jumbled, drawing you into memories you didn't want to remember.

When you spotted her, you came to an abrupt end.

Agatha sat on the floor near the hearth, knees crossed and sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Books were lying all around her like fallen leaves, their pages shining softly in the darkness. Her fingers glided through the air, sketching delicate, ancient patterns that you couldn't identify. Between her palms, a brilliant globe of purple light shifted.

Your breath caught. You'd never seen magic like this.

Sure, you'd heard whispers in the village about witches, about Agatha herself feared, respected, untouchable, but this was... beautiful.

Agatha turned her head slowly. Her eyes weren't icy or keen like others'; they were gentle, shining softly in the firelight. "Couldn't sleep?" she said, her tone low and slow.

You shook your head, looking at the spot where the magic had been. "What was that?"

"Just practice," she murmured, running her fingers through her hair. "A basic spell. Pretty but useless."

"It wasn't useless," you blurted before you could stop yourself. "It looked like... like starlight."

That garnered the tiniest grin.

"Come here," Agatha urged, stroking the rug next to her. "I'll show you something better."

She raised a hand, palm up. "Give me yours."

You nervously placed your hand in hers. Her skin was warm and solid, and her hold was steady.

"Close your eyes," she instructed. "And don't let go."

You obeyed.

You let out a gasp as you opened your eyes.

The ceiling had disappeared above you, leaving only a swirl of stars and galaxies that glowed faintly in the emptiness above. You gazed, jaw open, pulse pumping. It seemed like you were sitting beneath the whole cosmos.

You turned to her, dumbfounded.

Agatha only gazed at you, her face inscrutable. "Not real," she whispered quietly, "but it feels nice, doesn't it?"

You simply nodded, unable to respond.

The stars had faded hours earlier, yet neither of you had moved far from the rug in front of the fading fire. The warmth of the room had long ago faded, replaced by the significant silence of the night. You sat cuddled alongside Agatha, head against knees, sleepy yet unwilling to leave her side. Something about her presence made me breathe better.

You sneaked a look at her, the way the flickering fire threw shadows on her face.

You did not intend to say that. The words came out quietly and uncertainly. "Aggie, can I... would you mind if I slept in your bed tonight?"

She carefully turned her head, focusing those keen blue eyes on you. For a minute, you worried whether you'd gone too far, but then the edges of her mouth twisted into something deeper than a grin - satisfaction. As if she had been waiting for you to ask.

"I was wondering when you'd finally say it," she said softly, her voice velvet-dark. She stood silently, giving you her hand. "Come, pet."

You allowed her to pull you to your feet, your fingers little against hers. She said nothing else as she guided you through the shadowy halls of the mansion, your bare feet brushing against the cold floors. The only sound was your quiet breath and the odd groan of wood.

When you reached the bedroom, Agatha paused, glancing at you over her shoulder. "You're sure?"

You swallowed and nodded. "I just... don't want to be alone."

This seemed to satisfy her. "Good," she murmured, standing back so you could climb into the bed. The covers were still warm from earlier, and you snuggled beneath them as Agatha snuffed out the final candle with a flick of her fingertips.

The room went into darkness.

A minute later, you felt the bed sink as she slid in next to you. The mattress moved, her presence a hefty, constant weight alongside you. You pulled slightly as her arm wrapped around your waist, bringing you back into her chest, hard, possessive, and without hesitation. She did not seek permission this time.

"I love you, you're mine now," Agatha whispered against the back of your neck when she thought you were already asleep...

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the worn path as you made your way back to the house, the small basket in your arms filled with herbs Agatha had asked for. It was quiet, save for the crunch of dry leaves beneath your shoes. Birds sang in the trees, the scent of lavender clinging to your fingertips.

For a time, you almost forgot about the sharpness of this world—Evanora's imposing presence, the overpowering anticipation that hovered over the Harkness name. Things were gentler with Agatha. Warmer. She had smiled that morning, kissed your wrist after you had accidentally burned it, and called you her darling in that deep voice that made your chest hurt.

You didn't want to go out, but she pushed. But she insisted. Said you needed the air.

And now, as you reached the home, a voice pierced the silence like a knife.

"Agatha, you are a disgrace to our bloodline. You were born to lead, not grovel for the affections of some worthless village girl."

"I married her because I wanted to," Agatha said next, her voice gruff and furious. "Because for once in my wretched life, I chose something for myself."

Your heart hit as you drew closer, sliding through the partially open door. The voices were coming from the sitting room. The air within crackled with magic, dense and repressive, and despite your impulses to run, your feet refused to move.

"Do you believe you can quit your duty? Are you willing to sacrifice our family's future for love?" Evanora spat the word with hatred. "She is a waste, Agatha. "A mortal girl with nothing to offer but a beautiful face and empty hands."

"I'll kill you if you touch her," Agatha hissed.

The rage in her voice made you blush.

"I don't care," said Agatha, her voice low and threatening. "I married her because I love her. I chose her."

"Love? Do you believe love will rescue you when the coven comes for your head? When will your family vanish because you failed to fulfill your duty? You've spent months playing at home with a local girl rather than completing your vows. There is still no heir."

"I'll never force her," Agatha growled. "She isn't cattle to be bred for power."

Evanora laughed coldly and without amusement. "Then you leave me no choice."

"Either that girl carries a Harkness child by the end of this season," Evanora shouted, cutting through the room like a blade, "or this marriage will be annulled, and she'll be wed to Mercer before the harvest moon."

Mercer.

The man your parents promised you to. A vicious, heavy-handed thug with yellowed teeth and a sneer that made you shiver.

You hugged the basket to your chest, feeling as if the walls were closing in. Your heart struck so fiercely that you believed you'd pass away.

"I'll kill you before I let you touch her," Agatha hissed.

"Get out of my house," Agatha spat, her magic crackling like thunder against stone.

You did not sleep that night.

The words you'd overheard echoed continuously in your brain, each one heavier than the previous. Your chest discomfort was no longer due to dread. It came from something else—something piercing and rigid. You were not foolish. You knew what Evanora wanted. What the entire town most likely murmured about behind your back.

And you were aware of the consequences of leaving this decision in the hands of others.

Agatha loved you. You could tell it by the way her eyes softened as you talked, and how her touch lingered on your skin, as if she were trying to remember you. But you also knew she'd never accept what wasn't freely offered, that Evanora would rather burn the earth down than give you both peace.

Perhaps you can take charge of it yourself.

The next morning,

You sat up in bed, the aroma of lavender and smoke clinging to the blankets where Agatha had held you all night. You could sense her absence. The home was silent, but not in a scary manner. It seemed like the quiet before the storm, and you wanted to go into it.

Maybe it was time to quit being a terrified little girl.

Perhaps it was time you created your own storm.

You crossed the room to the closet, your fingers brushing across the row of dresses. Stiff. Modest. Boring like the muddy streets of your former home. But there was something else at the further end, almost hidden.

Dark blue dress. Soft to the touch, the sleeves hung barely off your shoulders, and the neckline plunged scandalously low. You didn't remember seeing anything there before, but maybe Agatha left it for you.

Your lips formed a little, evil grin.

It was perfect.

You put it on, the silk clutching your waist and dropping like nightfall on your body.

The kitchen smelled of rosemary and garlic, and the steady simmer of a stew warmed the house. You went between the counter and the stove, humming quietly to yourself, your hair loosely pulled back out of your face. And let it fall over your shoulders in beautiful waves.

You waited for her.

And, as if called by your thoughts, the front door creaked open, the gentle click of boots against wood signaling Agatha's arrival.

You didn't glance up immediately, pretending to be overly involved with the soup, mixing it gently.

Then you felt her.

The usual electric tug in the air, the storm that always accompanied her. The way your skin prickled and the hairs on your arms sprang up, as if the room knew she was around.

"Well, well," her voice rang across the room, thick and black like spiced wine. "Look at yourself, little housewife. Are you attempting to kill me, or do you truly not understand what you're doing?"

You turned, letting your hair fall over one shoulder, pretending innocence. "I'm making lunch."

Agatha's eyes swept over you, the corner of her mouth twitching into a grin. "Mm. Is that all?"

"I thought you might be hungry," you replied quietly, looking at her with wide eyes.

"Oh, I am," she said softly, crossing the room.

Your heart quickened with each stride she took, the air thickening as she closed the gap between you. She came to a halt behind you, her hands bracing on the counter on either side of your hips, enclosing you.

Her breath felt warm on your neck as she leaned closer.

"You shouldn't play these games with me, darling," she whispered, the danger in her voice sending a rush straight to your gut.

"I'm not playing," you said, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted.

Agatha giggled darkly, her fingers ghosting over your arm, leaving a trail of fire behind them. "Liar."

You swallowed hard, your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Her eyes clouded. "What are you doing, my wife?"

You slipped down the counter, your bare feet touching the chilly floor. You swallowed hard, collected the ragged pieces of your bravery, and moved closer to her.

"I heard you," you whispered.

Agatha's eyebrow twitched. "What?"

"I heard you and your mother the other night." Your throat clenched, but you pushed the words out. "This is about the marriage. About the heir."

Her stare became sharper, and something menacing flickered in her expression.

"I... I know you didn't ask for any of this," you said, your voice quivering. "I know you're angry. You have every right to exist. So—" you drew a breath, your stomach churning, "if you still want to, if it'll help you, you can have me."

Agatha's lips parted, surprise on her face.

You met her stare, your heart racing in your ears. "I won't stop you."

For a short moment, the entire room stood still.

Then her expression turned feral, with a dark, greedy smirk curving at the corners of her mouth.

"You really don't know what you're offering, do you?" She mumbled, her voice low and harsh, like thunder rolling in the background.

"I don't care," you muttered. "If it's you… I don't care."

That is all it took.

In a blur, her arm was around your waist, and before you could blink, you were tossed over her shoulder with a startled gasp. The world tilted as she carried you down the hallway, her hand gripping your thigh possessively.

"You had your chance to stop me, love," Agatha growled, her voice a dark promise in your ear.

With a flick of her wrist, she slams the bedroom door shut behind you, magically locking the lock into place.

She places you on the edge of the bed, and for a little minute, everything is calm, except for your rapid breathing and the storm of something unknown in her black eyes. Agatha steps once and then stands before you, her fingers twitching at her sides.

"I need to hear you say it," she says, her voice low and harsh, "If you want this, if you want me..." I need to hear it from your own lips. There are no tricks. No lies. "You do not owe me anything."

You raise your gaze to hers, speaking softly but steadily. "I love you, Aggie."

She stiffens.

"You're the only thing in my life that's ever made me feel like I wasn't nothing," you say with a whisper. You make me happy. And I-I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know how to be a perfect wife, but I know I want you. If you will have me."

For a moment, you believe she stops breathing. Her jaw clenches, and she speaks with a growl. "I should leave you alone. I should do better than this. But, God help me, I can't."

She rushes you quickly, her hands holding your face with such tenderness that it almost tears your heart. "I swear on my magic and my life. I will never touch you unless you want to. I will never hurt you. Do you understand what I am saying?"

You nod, your eyes hurting from tears you don't want to wipe away. "I want you, Agatha. I am not afraid. Not of you."

A shaking sensation passes through her, something dark and wild in her gaze melting for the first time since you met.

"Then you're mine," she murmurs. "In every way that matters."

You lift a hand, your fingers trembling as they curl around her wrist. "Kiss me," you whisper, your voice breaking on the words. "Please, my love."

Her lips crash against yours, and it’s nothing like you imagined. She tastes like magic, like dark forests and old secrets, like something forbidden you never want to stop craving.

You melt into her, fingers grabbing the neck of her robes, bringing her closer, craving more. Her mouth moves over yours with practiced ease, her tongue gliding over yours in a way that weakens your knees and twists your stomach most evilly. The warmth of her magic swirls around you like invisible threads, tingling your skin.

She groans into your lips, as if she's been craving this, for you, for far too long. Her hands slide down to your waist, grasping you tightly, then lowering again to your hips, pressing you hard against her. The pressure of her body on yours makes you shudder.

You can scarcely recognize your own voice as you moan, "Aggie..."

Her lips leave yours and trace down your neck, teeth scraping sensitive flesh, causing your breath to catch. She says against your throat, her voice low and strained, "Do you have any idea what you are doing to me?"

You are unable to respond because you believe you have never felt this level of yearning before.

Agatha leans back, eyes black, nostrils dilated, her thumb brushing across your swelling lower lip. "Tell me something," she says, her voice like silk scraped over a knife's edge. "Have you...? Have you done this before?"

Your stomach flips. You shake your head, your cheeks blazing hot, your voice gentle yet confident. "No… you're the first."

Agatha hovers over you, one hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. "I need you to tell me one more time," she murmurs, voice low and steady, though you can hear the strain in it. "This is what you want, dove. Say it. Tell me to stop, because if you don't know, I am not sure if I can stop myself later."

You reach for her hand, fingers lacing with hers, grounding yourself in the warmth of her skin.

"I don’t want you to stop," you whisper, voice cracking on the words. "I want this. I want to be yours."

When her lips leave yours, she speaks so softly you barely hear it. "You’re mine now. Only mine."

And you don’t even hesitate when you nod.

"Yes, Aggie. Always yours."

She groans softly at the sound of it, dipping down to kiss along your throat, leaving warm, lingering marks in her wake. "Good girl."

Agatha’s mouth is everywhere warm, possessive, and maddeningly slow. She starts at your throat, lips brushing softly before her teeth catch your skin, sinking in just enough to leave a mark. You gasp, arching beneath her, and she hums against your skin like she’s savoring the sound.

When her lips touch your chest, you shudder. She teases you at first, with gentle, delicate kisses on the tops of your breasts, her tongue shooting out to taste your skin before her teeth scrape your skin, leaving another mark. It's as if she's marking you, claiming you with each touch.

"Aggie," you murmur, your fingers running into her hair.

She grins darkly at your skin, her voice low and gruff.

And then her mouth closes around one of your nipples, her tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out. Her other hand slides down, teasing between your thighs, finding how soaked you are for her.

"Good girl," she murmurs. "Look at you… so ready for me, so perfect."

The sensation of her lips and fingers is overpowering, and when she goes on to your second nipple and tortures it with the same tenderness, you can feel yourself breaking apart.

Every kiss, bite, and muttered phrase of possession propels you higher, your body arching into her, craving more and wanting her.

"Come for me," Agatha says gently, her magic whirling around you, increasing every touch and pleasure. "Just now. Let me have it." Her fingers slowly stretched you in your pussy, and her thumb made circles on your clit.

And with one more sharp, perfect bite just above your heart, you shatter, crying out her name as your body trembles, wave after wave crashing through you.

"You’re so beautiful like this," she whispers,

She’s holding you close, one hand stroking along your back while the other traces idle patterns over the marks she’s left on your skin.

But the question has lingered in your thoughts since you overheard her argument with Evanora about heirs and children. And now, with your body wrapped around hers and your heart secure in her embrace, you finally speak it.

"Aggie… how does that even work?" You ask quietly, turning your head up to look at her. "How… how would I have your child?"

Agatha's lips twist into a slow, knowing smile, and her hand brushes the hair away from your face. "Curious little thing," she says, her voice full of softness.

Your cheeks burn, but you refuse to look away. "I… I just wanna understand."

She sighs gently, almost as if she is affected. "Witches," she says, her voice a bit softer now, fingers stroking across your stomach, "have methods. We are not bound by the same rules as humans. Magic allows us to accomplish things that men could never think of."

Agatha continues, her palm resting possessively on your belly: "I'll create a spell. A creation. A means to implant a kid within you, my child. Witches can conjure it as a blood-enchanted strap. It will not be just any child, Dove. It will carry my strength. My bloodline. A Harkness heir."

When you pull back just enough to whisper, your voice is shaky but certain. "Do it."

Agatha freezes. You see the exact moment her control shatters, her eyes flashing a brilliant, unnatural violet as magic flickers in the air around you.

But just as her hand starts to move, conjuring what you called for, you exclaim, "Wait!"

Her brow furrows, the light in her eyes flashing. "What is it, love?" She whispers, her voice scratchy, as if she's barely holding on.

You bite your lip and grab for the hem of her clothing, speaking softly. "I just want to see you," you say, cheeks flushed. "I don't wanna be the only one like this."

For a moment, something in her face softens—the sharp, deadly Agatha gives way to something more human, more vulnerable. Without saying anything, she stands, the cloth dropping from her shoulders and pooling about her feet, revealing her to you.

You nod, swallowing hard.

And then, with a wave of her hand, the air thickens with energy, and the spell forms between you- a smooth, enchanted creation of her magic, warm and pulsing like it’s alive, like it knows its purpose.

She leans down, brushing her lips over yours again. "If it hurts… You tell me."

You nod, trusting her.

When she finally pushes inside, the stretch makes you gasp, a sting of discomfort blooming sharp and bright. Your hand clutches at her arm, and Agatha immediately slows, cupping your face. "Look at me, my love, it's going to be okay, it will hurt just for a moment..." she murmurs, her voice low and so gentle it makes your heart ache.

You force yourself to relax, breathing her in, and the pain fades beneath the warmth of her touch, the possessive tenderness in her eyes.

She moves carefully, tenderly, her lips never far from your skin, murmuring soft things you can barely catch, words in ancient tongues, a promise in every kiss she leaves along your throat.

The room fills with the sound of your mingled breaths, the soft crackle of candles, and the steady pulse of magic in the air.

Agatha looks at you with hungry eyes, lips parted, and blush rising to her cheeks. Each time your body clenches around her, her control gets worse, and her motions become harsher, more pressing.

Your hands run up her arms, claws pressing in slightly as you cling to her, a moan escaping when she brushes across a location deep inside you that causes your mind to spin. Without thinking, your legs raise, wrapping tightly around her waist and drawing her in even further, pushing her to fill you in a way that makes your entire body tremble.

Agatha moans, the sound is low and damaged. "Fuck, sweetheart." You have no idea what you are doing to me."

You moan her name, and the last thread snaps.

Her mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping along your pulse as she starts to move harder, deeper — not rough, but relentless, like she’s trying to carve herself into your very bones." S o fucking tight for me," she growls against your skin. "Made for me, weren’t you?"

You can’t form words, just a breathless moan as your hips roll to meet her.

"That’s it, my sweet girl," she coaxes darkly. "Take it. Gods, look at you — so beautiful like this, spread open for me, begging without a word."

Your head tips back as a sharp wave of pleasure curls in your belly. You can feel it building, pulling you closer to a ledge you didn’t even know existed.

Agatha notices, of course she does — her hand trailing down to circle your clit, teasing, coaxing, commanding. "Give it to me again," she growls, voice rough with need.

The pressure snaps, and you cry out, your entire body tensing around her as the orgasm crashes through you. Agatha’s name tears from your lips like a prayer and a plea.

Agatha moans at the feel of you clenching, burying herself as deep as she can, panting against your ear. "So perfect for me," she whispers, her voice shaking.

"Fuck… gods, " she gasps on your neck, tightening her fingers on your hip and pushing in deep, plunging herself to the hilt. The raw, frantic shout that comes from her chest is nothing short of wild, and you can feel it, the quick rush of cum inside you, her power lighting bright and electric in the air as she overflows into you.

Your own breath stutters as you feel the weight of her claiming you entirely.

You can feel her pulse hammering madly in her chest as she breaths hard, the last shudders of her orgasm resonating throughout her being.

When she finally moves, it's to carefully draw away with a hiss of softness, her hands hugging you as if you were delicate and fragile. You flinch slightly as the pain settles in, and she immediately murmurs small apologies against your lips.

"Did I hurt you?" she says, pulling a moist strand of hair away from your face.

You shake your head, the pain deep within you searing yet delicious, the warmth in your chest unnaturally full. "No… it was… it was amazing."

Agatha’s face softens in a way that makes your heart ache. "You were perfect," she murmurs, kissing your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

After the tempest of your emotions had gone and you were lying wrapped in Agatha's arms, the silence between you two was as comforting as the calm after a thunderstorm. The air felt warmer, and the stress from the previous events disappeared.

You lay there, your heart still beating from everything—her touch, the sheer intensity of it all.

You shifted slightly, resting your head against her chest and listening to her heartbeat. Your fingertips stroked little, languid circles on her skin, providing comfort for yourself.

"Aggie?" Your voice was quiet and almost hesitant.

She hummed in answer, her fingers gently caressing your back, the gentle touch making your pulse skip a beat. "Hmm?"

You bit your lip before asking, your words seeming somewhat more vulnerable than you intended. "How did you find me that night? I mean, you knew where I was and came for me. But, how?"

Agatha was silent for a moment, as though she was considering her answer.

"I've been watching you for a while, love," Agatha said softly. Her fingers stopped moving as she turned to face you, her dark eyes examining yours with an unreadable look.

"Not stalking you, not in the way you might think." She chuckled softly at the concept. I noticed you for the first time when I saw you on Market Street.

"I couldn't let you get caught up in something that wasn't right," Agatha said, placing her hand on your back and comforting you. "I knew you weren't happy with your family and what they wanted from you. And I knew I had to protect you, and if I knew what they've been doing, I would have had you earlier."

You felt her words sink deep into your chest, sparking something inside you. She saw through everything, even when you couldn't see it for yourself. You bit your lip, experiencing a strange combination of feelings, but largely a sense of safety, as if you weren't alone anymore.

"You've been looking out for me?" You whispered with a small tremble in your voice.

Agatha’s gaze softened, and she nodded slowly.

"I’m glad you did," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. You pulled her closer, pressing your lips to her chest as if trying to anchor yourself in the moment, in her. "I didn’t know… I didn’t know I needed you."

Agatha kissed your forehead, her lips lingering there as she held you close.

Two months later...

You had been feeling off for several days.

It wasn't noticeable at first: a hazy heaviness in your stomach, some exhaustion, and a flutter of sickness in the mornings. Agatha became concerned when the simple scent of fresh herbs turned your stomach. When you brushed it off, Agatha went to get the one person you didn't want to see: Evanora.

You're sitting by the fireplace when she appears, her presence as piercing and cold as ever, magic lingering behind her like a thick perfume. You swallow hard as she walks across the room with the kind of elegance that makes you feel like a child again, sitting there in your simple dress.

"Well," she replies curtly, standing over you with her eyes narrowed. "Let's see what we have here."

You look at Agatha, who stands stiffly by the doorway, her expression a mix of concern and defensiveness.

"Mother, if she's unwell, we should

Evanora raises her hand, silencing her daughter with a look. "I'll be the judge of that."

Without asking, she brushes her icy fingertips on your temple, mumbling ancient words beneath her breath. The power seeps into you, causing a slight tugging sensation deep within your center, like something stirring in the darkness.

Your stomach tightens, and you almost draw away—but something in her look shifts. The hard, judgmental frown softens only slightly.

"Well, well," she purred, her voice far too pleased. "Finally. It seems the little witch is carrying. How delightful."

You froze. Carrying? It didn’t make sense. Not at first.

And then, as the words sank in, the weight of it hit you. You were pregnant. Pregnant.

"I… I am?"

Evanora’s eyes flicked to Agatha, a sly, self-satisfied smile curling at her lips. "Yes. Two months along. Congratulations, Agatha. It’s about time."

"You’re… carrying my child," Agatha whispered, as if the words were a prayer, a promise.

Evanora's voice cut through the tenderness like a razor.

"Well, this is all very touching," she remarked, her voice full of hate. "But there is still work to do. You have to protect the child, Agatha. I'll plan the rituals. The family line must be secured."

Agatha's palm clenched around yours, her countenance hardening as her eyes shifted to Evanora. "I will not fail. I'll protect them."

Evanora snorted, producing a nasty, mocking chuckle. "Will you? Will you succeed, or will you keep being pathetic, darling? " She returned her stare to you, and the cruelty in her eyes was undeniable. "As much as I hate to say it, you are now a useful girl. And that child will hold the key to everything."

"Mother," Agatha said, her voice quiet but sharp, a warning laced in it. "Enough."

When she returned her gaze to you, her face softening once more, you saw the true warmth, the love that had driven her this far, the love that would keep you both safe.

"I will protect you," Agatha whispered again, her voice fierce, possessive, and full of promise. "Always."

AN: OKAY WOAH THIS IS MY LONGEST FF I EVER WROTE! I HOPE U GUYS LIKE ITTT AND DON'T FORGET TO WRITE ME YOURR FEELLING ABOUT THISSSS <3

#marvel #fanfic #wlw #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader

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steviewashere · 1 month ago

Text

One Day I Am Gonna Grow Wings

Rating: Mature CW: Implied/Referenced Domestic Abuse, Alcoholism/Alcohol Abuse, Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Depression, Minor Suicidal Ideation, Implied/Referenced Cheating (But Not on Anybody Important; You'll See), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Vomiting Tags: Post-Canon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post Break-Up, Past Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Drunk Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Self Esteem Issues, Negative Self Talk, Self Hatred, Steve's Current Girlfriend Sucks, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Steve Harrington Is Not Okay, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug (And Gets One), Defensive Steve Harrington, Worried Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Comforts Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Hopeful Ending Title is from "Let Down" by Radiohead

💔—————💔 He doesn’t know what changed—it’s the same night he goes through. Drink until he’s swaying and slurring and warm. Climb into bed with someone—anyone. And then make a run for it in the morning; raging headache, aching teeth, and all. He finds a party and crashes it and keeps crashing it until he gets his end goal—a person in bed with him—or somebody realizes he doesn’t belong there and throws him out by the scruff of his neck.

The drinks are in his system. Everything around him blurring and tilting on its side. He’s not sure who he’s looking at when he reaches for them, when they touch him and coo at him. Whoever he’s bumped into treats him with a sweet sort of care he hasn’t had since—

No, he tells himself, don’t think about him tonight.

Rescinding memories of brown eyes and freckled soft cheeks, Steve nearly upchucks on his own sneakers. But the stranger is holding his face now, surely pasty and sweaty, and leading them down a seemingly endless hallway, right into the deep darkness of somebody’s unclaimed bedroom. The mattress is soft. This stranger’s fingers are softer as they help him toe out of his sneakers, yet leave him to struggle with his jeans. Whoever they are, they’re respectful—too respectful, if you were to ask Steve; he needs to be fucked, rough and unkind and brutal until he’s choking and sobbing on emotions, until he’s smacked a little loose and left in the wake of his own sore desires; he’s supposed to be treated like dirt—at least he thinks.

Steve’s tucked under the blanket. A cool washrag draped over his sweat beading forehead. Laid on his side with a trash can placed conveniently along the side of the bed. In a bleary whirlwind, he watches this stranger set out a glass of water and some Advil. And then he’s left on his own—the party now died out beyond the bedroom door, and the stranger disappearing behind it.

He tosses and turns and chokes himself with the duvet.

Then—

Birds are chirping outside, but the curtains are drawn tight. The bedroom is partially familiar, yet completely new all at the same time. He recognizes some of the bands on the wall: Metallica, Judas Priest, and he believes Accept—though that one’s a toss-up considering how faded all these posters are. There’s laundry strewn about the space, cigarettes in a full ashtray, a leaning tower of tapes. Some amps and chords and—

Eddie. He’s in Eddie Munson’s fucking room.

Hastily, Steve darts for the nearest container he can find—the tall kitchen garbage can from last night. His throat burns, pinches, and expels the contents of whatever he found. It’s all sour, though, so it’s not like he can pinpoint what exactly he got into. Some heavy alcohol, for sure, since he doesn’t remember climbing into this bed. His nostrils flare and sting, breath choking out between harsh, wet gags. When he finally pulls back from the opening of the can, he’s unsure how long he was out of it.

The bag is…decently full and the smell is atrocious and his whole mouth tastes like bile. He heaves for breath, chest moving up and down in harsh, painful builds. His stomach cramps around nothing, phantom things as if to punish him. And when he reaches up to scratch his cheeks, he’s met with his usual rough skin wet with tears. Great, he thinks, I’m sobbing like a baby in my ex’s bedroom. Such a cool guy thing to do, Steve; really outdid yourself this time, Steve.

Somebody knocks on the bedroom door, pushing it open with a soft click of the doorknob. “You doing okay?” And that’s…

That’s Eddie’s voice. Raspy from smoking, yet still soft around the edges. He’s looking through the gap of the door. Big brown eyes, shiny in the dim light, his hair all the same wild though healthier looking around him, and his face full of honest concern.

Steve takes a deep breath and traces the ache of it in his heart and his lungs, down to his toes. “Puke,” he says, “I puked, ‘m sorry.”

The door opens further. Eddie steps inside. Tall and broad and healthy. His skin no longer pale, now tanned gently from the recent early summer sun. He still looks concerned, eyebrows wrinkled down his face, mouth pinched. Softly, “You don’t have to apologize, Steve. I put the can out just in case. You were…you were really out of it last night.”

He sniffles. “I drank, like, a lot…”—swallows the last dredges of bile still stuck like velcro to his throat—“…I think.”

“Your breath smelt like alcohol pretty strongly,” Eddie says—gentle, always so fucking gentle, “I’m not shocked you don’t remember.”

Steve shrugs. “Guess I was too wasted.” That’s been happening a lot more, he doesn’t say, sorry if that worries you. He reaches for the glass of lukewarm water on the nightstand, takes a gentle sip to test if he can stomach it, and then downs the Advil when he decides it’s safe. “I usually know my limits. Must’ve gone a beer too far.”

He watches Eddie roll words around his mouth like marbles. His tongue clearly working over his teeth. Arms pulled tighter to his chest. “I didn’t invite you last night,” Eddie states, “and you harassed a good amount of my guests.”

“I’m sor”—

“Why did you come over?”

Owlishly, Steve blinks. “I don’t…I don’t know. Think I had been walking around and saw the full house and then…and then…I—Now I’m awake in your bed, man, I don’t know.”

Eddie blows out a long, loud breath. “Steve, that’s not good. That’s pretty fucking dangerous.” He covers his mouth with his ringless left hand. Worried. “You…fuck…you look terrible, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that. You fuckin’ broke up with me, you don’t get to call me that.”

When Eddie blinks, he blinks as if ridding tears from his eyes—which he must’ve been, since his next breath in is a nasally, bubbly sniffle—and then he concedes with a nod. “Okay, fine, I won’t call you that.” He tilts his head. Analyzing Steve like he is so prone to do. “Does this happen a lot? You go to random parties and get shitfaced?”

“It doesn’t happen that often.”

Pressing, “How often, Steve?”

Agitated, he sighs. “I don’t know! Fucking…probably three or four times a week? I’m not always drinking, though, so it’s fine!” He scoots the sloshing garbage can away from himself, stomach twinging at the sound, and collapses back into Eddie’s mattress. Usually, he can leave by now, but it seems like he’s trapped. He’d rather die than be here. Prickly, “Can I go home yet or are you gonna keep pestering me about stupid shit?”

Eddie crosses the room and takes a seat at the foot of his bed. For a moment, his left hand falls away from his face, hovering above the mound that Steve’s feet are making in the blanket—and then he hesitates. And then he hangs his hands between his spread knees. Careful. “I called Robin,” he says, “and she told me you haven’t been living with her for a few months now. If you really want to go home, that’s fine, but I’d like to know where this home is just to make sure you get there safely.”

“Why do you care? It’s not like you’ll ever need to know.”

“Steve, don’t get avoidant on me. Robin also said she was worried, and since she is, now I’m worried.” Eddie clicks his tongue against his teeth. Gapes his mouth, floundering for a few beats like a suffocating goldfish. He looks away as if the sight of Steve physically pains him. Then, “This isn’t you and I know it isn’t. Even if we aren’t together anymore and you wanna spout some shit at me about how this isthe real you or whatever, this isn’t the person Robin is friends with. What’s going on, man?”

He rolls his eyes. “Dude, just because I’m twenty pounds overweight and drink every once in a while doesn’t mean something’s wrong. I just don’t live with her anymore. It’s fine.”

“If things were fine, then nobody would be worrying over you. I know you’re not dumb, but I seriously don’t know why you’re acting like it. Can you at least tell me where you’re living so that I can give you a ride”—

“My girlfriend’s, okay? It’s my fuckin’ girlfriend’s apartment. She wasn’t home last night and I took advantage of that. It’s seriously not that big of a deal.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “You were trying to get laid at my fucking party last night! That’s more than just taking advantage of a free night, Steve. You’re actively cheating on”—

“She deserves it,” Steve snaps, “if you knew her, you’d get why I’m doing it. Guess I’m just too chicken shit to break things off.”

“What the—what do you mean she deserves”—

“Can I use your shower? I think I got barf on myself. Think it’s on my clothes, too.”

Sighing, Eddie relents. Pastes a sarcastic grin on his face. Slaps his hands together. Dramatic. “Yeah, fine, whatever. But we’re talking about this afterwards. Robin was basically on the verge of tears, man. I promised her that I’d figure out what was going on.”

With a final roll of his eyes and a steaming huff, Steve mutters, “Fucking whatever.”

——— When he’s fresh out of the shower, Steve finds that his clothes have been changed out for some of Eddie’s. A plain pair of grey sweatpants and some scrappy Metallica t-shirt, the logo’s barely hanging on, peeling on the outlines. He wears them even if something lurches inside him. And, even stupider, he brings the collar of the t-shirt up to his nose and inhales. It’s clean based off of the faint scent of lavender, but there’s still an underlying layer of musk and sweat and tobacco. Something rich and so completely Eddie, it makes him want to run wild.

He hasn’t been in Eddie’s vicinity since the break up.

It wasn’t an amicable break up. He had been holding on, fingernails deep into the skin and fat of their relationship’s body, but Eddie had been slowly giving up. Stepping back, so he had said. That he couldn’t watch Steve destroy himself; it hadn’t been the alcohol yet, it was the wallowing and the wasting, the unemployment bouts and his irritable episodes and the whole…sneaking around and smoking weed and lying to Eddie’s face about it and then getting explosive when pestered and then—

Steve was a wreck.

Is a wreck.

Before they ended things, Steve had been spiraling. Down the drain kind of spiraling. They started things where he was merely stagnant water in a rusted sink and, well, then he went down from there—which was somehow possible. He didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand, so he’s explained time and time again to the people around him: Robin, Dustin, Nancy, and most importantly Eddie. It’s just that he didn’t know how to relax anymore. And the fact that his parents had finished offloading him from their lives. And that everybody around him kept moving on to bigger and greater things.

And then there was him. Plain Steve with his minimum wage job. Which, everybody told him that it was fine. That he shouldn’t be beating himself up so hard over what kind of job he’s got. Though, these were the same people that were starting college or joining more clubs or entering internships and apprenticeships. Steve was just there, in it. After bad shifts, he leant on a lit joint; before a bad shift could even start, he was excusing himself with a joint in his pocket. He smoked in his car, he smoked on the porch, he smoked in the bathroom. Every night, it felt like, he caught himself choking on all the shit he was full of; caught himself breaking into pure hysterics, sobbing and crying and clawing. When Eddie tried to comfort him, Steve could swear that it felt like his world was closing in, and every time he’d back away from the arms and the kisses and the soft words—if he didn’t, he feared he’d tear his own skin off in an attempt to escape. And that’s what it was all about—escapism. He wanted an out, so he made his own exit. The smoking and the bickering and the crying were just force of habit.

He was miserable.

…Is miserable.

Once out of the bathroom, Steve follows his nose towards the kitchen. Eddie’s at the stove, scrambling up some eggs, over-frying the bacon. He makes himself sit at the dining table. Because he knows this is Eddie’s way of confrontation.

“So…” Eddie starts. “There’s a girlfriend.”

Steve swallows around phantom bile and chunks. “Do we have to talk about her?”

Eddie shrugs. “Feels like maybe we should, don’t you think? ‘Cause if this is a case of, like, you’ve fallen out of love with her, I can give you a few pointers on how to, y’know”—

“Oh, fuck you, man,” Steve spits. “That’s so completely uncool of”—

“Okay, okay…I’m sorry. Obviously you’re not up for jokes, I should’ve known better.” He sighs, clicks the burners off, and putters around one of the cabinets, clearly stalling. “But there’s something about this girl. And whatever it is, it’s got you cagey and on the defense immediately…and I feel like it has something to do with what you were getting up to last night.”

A plate clunks down in front of Steve. Full with cheesy eggs and crisp bacon. There’s also a steaming cup of black coffee—no creamer or sugar in sight—just as he likes it. Deep within him, a timid creature lurches again, pressing and purring up against his ribcage; he juts his fingers between his ribs in an attempt to stab it.

“Does Robin know about her?” Eddie asks.

Steve gives a half-assed shrug. Takes a bite that overwhelms his cheeks. Not a word.

“I’m going to take that as a no.” Across the table, Eddie sits in his own chair. Hands clasped together. Leaning over the surface as if interrogating. He supposes that’s what this is. “And if Robin doesn’t know, then I’m going to assume that nobody knows. The only reason you told me is because I prodded enough. Which…that also tells me you’re…you’re isolating yourself again, aren’t you? Not talking to everybody else?”

He chews his food slower. Keeps his stare down at the plate. Grips his fork a little tighter when his hand starts to shake. “I see them,” Steve lies.

Eddie doesn’t buy it—evident in the click of his tongue, the huff of his breath. “Nobody’s seen you. You’re being secretive about this girl’s place. You don’t even fucking like her and”—he gasps, big and breathy and taking all the air out of the room with it—“are those…”—and then Eddie grabs at Steve’s left wrist, tugging at his arm until his bicep is on display—“…Steve, oh my god!”

Though he could pull back, hide what Eddie’s already clearly seen, Steve is stuck—not frozen, but stuck. He hides his face by continuing to stare down. “It’s not what it looks like, Eds…Eddie, come on”—

“Who did this? These are finger imprints, Steve. Who the fuck did this to you?”

Embarrassingly, Steve’s eyes fill with tears. He yanks at the grip, but no shot. “Ed—please, come on, just let it go”—

“Steve”—

“Stop!” And Eddie lets go with a muttered apology. Steve curls his arm against his chest. Now would be a great time for a drink and the floor to open itself. For now, though, he slumps in his seat. “You already got the answer, okay? Just drop it. It’s not important. And it’s not…I’m not…it’s not something to worry about.”

The room completely quiets.

He doesn’t pick his fork back up.

And his face isn’t cooperating the way it should. Instead, it’s hot and embarrassed. He’s crying, too, which doesn’t bode well for whatever conversation is ahead.

“Steve?” Eddie calls softly, “can you look at me?”

Fighting every instinct that tells him no, he begrudgingly looks up from his lap. Can’t make direct eye contact, but whatever glimpse Eddie gets seems to satisfy him.

Murmuring now, “Is she hurting you?” Eddie asks. “You don’t have to say anything, you can just…just give me a visual.”

Steve sniffs. Croaky, “Y-yeah. But…but it’s fine, okay? We just get into arguments sometimes and I say the wrong thing and she has to—She still…we still cuddle and have sex and stuff and she…she tells me she loves me.”

“Sweetheart”—Steve shoots Eddie a quick glare—“sorry…I know I shouldn’t—Just because she’s nice sometimes doesn’t mean you deserve any of this. You understand?” When he doesn’t give an answer, Eddie sighs. “Does your girlfriend know where Robin lives?” Steve simply nods. “Okay…okay. How about where I live?”

Subtly, Steve gives a quick shake of his head. It’s not supposed to be like this—this overwhelming sense to hide; the way Eddie knows that even Steve was too weak to fight back. You can’t think like that, he tries to tell himself, Eddie doesn’t think like that. Eddie love—“No…I don’t…we don’t talk about you. She, um, she doesn’t support that…that kind of…stuff? Last time I tried to talk about anything to do with”—he clutches his arm tighter to his chest, can trace the exact place a fracture had lasted for months—“she made sure I knew that I chose her.”

Something twisted flashes over Eddie’s face. Paling him. Sickening him. “Steve,” he says horrified, “that’s awful.”

“But she loves me,” Steve is quick to amend, “so it’s fine that she doesn’t like that part”—

“None of this is okay,” Eddie firmly interrupts. “Not a single bit of it, do you hear me? She’s hurting you. She is isolating you from your friends. She is hiding you, Steve.” He crosses his arms again, hard against the table, enough to shake it. “I’m not taking you back there. I am not putting you in that situation again.”

Scrambling, Steve whips his head straight up. “Eds, no, c’mon…it’s…it’s fine, okay? Seriously. I…I can take care of myself, swear. And it’s not like she’s hurting me that”—

“Do not finish that sentence, Steve Harrington. I mean that. I really fucking mean that. You know, just as well as I do, that what you’re trying to tell me is horseshit. Pure shit.” Eddie bites into his bottom lip, staring off beyond Steve’s shoulder for a moment. Contemplating a million things, it seems. But then his stare goes back to normal, watery and miserable. His voice wavers. “I have a pull-out in my spare room. It’s usually the space I use to write and record, but I’ll let you use it. There’s a million blankets in my hall closet. I make a mean plate of breakfast. No rent. No chipping in on utilities.”

“I can’t just take advantage of you, Eddie.”

“You wouldn’t be. Steve, in no way, shape, or form are you a burden to me.”

Steve shakes his head and drops his stare back to his lap. “You know that’s not true,” he says quietly, “I was falling apart before her. I’m falling apart during her. I’m just gonna fall apart again after her. And I can’t…Eddie, I can’t put you through that again.” He sniffs. Rolls his lips against his teeth, tries to stop himself from crying—to no avail. “I know, okay? I know that I…I fucked us up so bad before. You had every fucking right to leave me. I was miserable. I was sick. There was nothing motivating me—not even you…not even Robin—just nothing. I was lying to you. I was stealing your weed. I was…I was terrible, Eds. I’m a”—

“Don’t you dare”—

“I’m a terrible person, Eddie. I am. I know it.” Steve shorts a sob. It sprays loose against his forearms. Chokes him at the base of his throat. “If I was good, then this kind of bullshit would stop happening to me. If I was a good person, then I’d be able to hold a job or make something of myself. If I could just get myself together, maybe my parents would love me…not more, but maybe again? And I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t be in this mess!

“I wouldn’t be like a fucking sponge that just absorbs everything around it. That’s all I do. I swear to God, that’s all I do. Everything negative just gets stuck in me and it has nowhere to go but out and so I get bitchy and mean and I argue and I do stupid shit and I—I’m a complete fuck up, okay? I’m not going to bring that into your space. I’m not gonna let you realize that again.” There’s drool and tears and snot mixing over his face. Heat in his cheeks. A tremor in his hands. Quietly, “My life is nothing but a black smudge. I don’t think I know who I am without all the…the alcohol and weed and cigarettes and mindless, dumb sex. I don’t know who I am without being awful. I shouldn’t be here like this…I shouldn’t be here. A part of me feels like I should’ve died down”—

Without saying anything, just a sharp scrape of his chair, Eddie gets up from his spot at the table.

This is it, Steve thinks, he’s gonna grab me by my neck and toss me to the curb.

He’ll slice Steve open and let him be flayed for the whole world to see—his stupid stained lungs and his gnarly liver and his constantly bloated insides; the hairline cracks along his heart and the purple bruising surrounding it; how much of him is missing, what parts remain diseased. He’s a decaying corpse, really. Molding and marbling right at Eddie’s table.

There’s heat along his left side. Not touching him, but something close.

Eddie crouches down, knees popping with the effort. Hushed, “Stevie, can you look at me?” He doesn’t know how to stop listening to this voice, but he knows how to obey. It’s a different sort of seeing when Eddie looks at him—not the bare naked kind, more so like he’s worthy, like he doesn’t have to die to be realized. “There you are,” Eddie breathes. “I want to give you a hug, is that okay?”

Instead of answering, Steve leans himself into Eddie’s chest. Right where he used to cozy up. Lets himself fall. And Eddie catches him. One hand in his hair. An arm thrown across his back. It’s the only embrace he’s felt in what seems like eons. It’s the warmest thing he’s had aside from the alcohol in his system.

He doesn’t know what else to do but sob. Cry and cry and choke and choke and choke and give in. Lean into the wailing, the exerting, the marking. Give himself over to full temptation: the art of letting go.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Eddie whispers, stroking Steve’s hair, “we’re gonna eat our breakfast and I’ll wash your clothes and we’ll divvy out the blankets for your bed. And if you need anything—anything at all”—he chokes at this part, voice warbling again, tears wetting the top of Steve’s head—“you can come find me. And I promise you, Steve, I’m not gonna be mad and I’m not gonna take anything out on you and I will just let you be.

“‘m right here. And so are you.

“And we’re gonna…shit…we’re gonna get you through this. No matter how long it takes.”

Over Eddie’s heart, where it still beats against Steve’s lips like it did under his clumsy hands, he asks, “And if it takes forever?”

“Then we’ll take forever.

“You’re gonna get to where you need to be.

“And you’re gonna be you again.” Eddie swallows. The sound vibrating through Steve’s skull. His heart, his pulse, the wheezing of his breath. His steady hold. The warmth in his palms. All of it embraces him. As if it’s factual, Eddie goes on to state, “You are a good person, Steve. You’re just gonna take some time to realize that. And that’s okay.” A promise, “You’re gonna be you.”

The end is so far away. His greatness. This conceived idea of him.

He doesn’t know what’s to come.

But he takes the first step.

Steve breathes deep, no longer tasting bile, no longer choking on words, no longer crying.

He breathes out and lets go.

💔—————💔

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #angst #hurt/comfort #read all content warnings

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evilminji · 2 years ago

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(O.O ) The PONDERING is back!

You know Walker?

One of the Zone's literal ACAB? We are shown in one episode, that real world items? Against The Rules(tm).

Now, that COULD just be HIM being An Asshole? But let's be real! Unlikely. Rules/Laws get made for a REASON, generally. Usually because someone ruined it for everyone by being an asshole. Taking things too far.

You start OUT with the obvious Rules. Like "Don't Tear the Zone Apart." And "No Genocide of Literally Everything Forever You Fighty Little Assholes" but over time? You have too add stuff. Like "George is Forbidden to use the fax machine and he knows why" and "Ice Lairs and Fire Lairs have to be X distance apart AND YOU KNOW WHY"

And? IS there a central Governing body, regulating the Zone Rules? Nope! Pariah's in nappy time! BUT the manic, Iron fisted, Obsessions of THE LAW across time and space are sure willing to step up and help keep order. It... KINDA works!

And they MOSTLY have the same-ish Rules!

Like NO FUCKIN LIVING WORLD STUFF. Because? To GET such contraband? You'd have to break containment of the Zone, go THROUGH a random ass natural portal, that may or may NOT be safe, may or may NOT ever RECONNECT to the Zone, to literally terrorize the unsuspecting living souls (assuming you can FIND any), on the other side, JUST to drag that shitty candy bar back home.

Leaking ectoplasm the whole time. Poisoning the air, land, and sea. Making NEW ghosts where there might not have been any. Effectively making you their deadbeat parent. Which is premeditated child abandonment. And you DEFINITELY didn't PAY for those objects. Thief.

So, NO. No Living World Shit.

BUT!

Like city states! The Area of influence each Law Man(tm) has? While wide and sprawling? Does NOT perfectly mesh together like puzzle pieces! There ARE dead zones. Lawless, "unclaimed" areas.

Which? Are not so unclaimed.

For just as The Law has it's Obsession? So too, has the Underworld. Shaddy casinos and auctions. Black markets run like street fairs. What some Ghost Weed? They can hook you up, man. Vinnie over there was a Runner during Prohibition. He knows where ALL the classy joints are.

He can hook you up with some REAL nice Living World collectibles.

From All Over.

And? I bet it's that LAST bit? That REALLY sparks Danny's interest. He saved the guy from the GIW, who may or may not have busted him trying to... uuuuh... LIBERATE, some fine scotch for the bar back Zone side. Who's to say, really? Regardless, Vinnie? Pays his debts, you here.

Beside... the feral little gremlin kinda scares him. Good quality to have, no question, but maybe cool it with the biting? You don't know where they BEEN. You'll get a disease.

Now... all you gotta do, see, is... *mutters* *map scribbling* *bad idea enabling*

Which? Constantine! League Members of your choosing! Like a field trip from hell! Some how in the SINGLE shadiest den of Obvious Criminals you ever did see. The sky is green and they aren't in their dimension anymore. Circle up! NOW. Young Justice shoved to the INSIDE of the circle, adult heros on the outside.

Constantine? Knows where they are and wishs he didn't. He... he's not sure he CAN get them back. Going to try obviously. But no one panic. Don't show fear. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING. Start walking.

Danny? Loading up the speeder~ Christmas gifts for daaaays~~☆ Everyone is Salty but respectful, cause anti-ghost tech meant they couldn't steal it. They did TRY. But... fair play, kid. Nice ride.

Only? Right before he gets in to leave? Some vibrating blur shoots over? Talking fast and followed by an older blur? Oh hey, humans. Like... ALIVE humans. Sup?

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @nerdpoe @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #justice league's very bad no good just awful road trip #danny does some Crime Shopping #at the Crime store #he got alternate dimension boy band stuff for Jazz #his mom's getting this cool lazer sword #dcxdp #minji's ponderings

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wordsfrombudha · 2 months ago

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The Sociability of Moon Nakshatra Natives (Pt. 1)

The Moon is the Graha of social exchange and emotional absorption. It governs the instincts that draw a person into family, community, or even romance. In Jyotiṣa, it represents the emotional mind or manas, which seeks comfort, security, and resonance with its surroundings. The Moon does not process through logic but through response, forming itself around its environment like water into the shape of its container. It reflects how a person bonds with others, adapts to the emotional tone of a space, and maintains internal stability through external connection. Its expression appears less in spoken decisions and more so in intuitive adjustments. The Moon shows how a person regulates themselves through others, tapping in to how they feel their way through life going off of their subjective experiences.

Moon nakshatras approach community through the lens of emotional contrast. There is usually a sense of isolation, melancholy, or being an outcast/outsider. The feeling of not fitting in or being at odds with their emotional environment becomes the reason they seek refuge by connecting with others who carry a similar sense of being (very often Jupiter or Sun natives). These nakshatras form bonds between people who might not belong anywhere else, but who, together, create a space of shared understanding. It is a kind of loyalty formed by mutual recognition arising from emotional anomaly. It is something about their emotional response pattern that is askew from the dominant tone of the environment that acts like a signal. It selects for resonance, drawing in others whose experiences carry the same tonal dissonance. Connection is found in shared divergence, and the bond becomes specific, exclusive, and sometimes obsessive.

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The way moon nakshatra natives form bonds is telling. Most of the time, they are not actively seeking to join some type of tribe. Rather, it is just something they encounter as a result of unavoidable proximity or situational obligation, things that forcefully challenge their isolationist tendencies. They find themselves in situations where they cannot keep their emotional distance, and their necessity for connection to feel secure forces vulnerability and loyalty where they would otherwise resist it. Many stories involving moon natives romanticize being an outsider or “different" because it is precisely through feeling like a wallflower that people on the same wavelength are drawn to one another. The group becomes a reflection of their own experience, resulting in a strange feeling of home they didn’t expect.

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The individuals that adopted into these groups are usually what I like to refer to as the "unclaimed one." They are defined by potential without direction, sensitivity without expression, and power without context. Their identities are dormant, not completely hidden but still not yet fully activated. These character are poised, standing at the threshold of transformation, almost as if they are waiting to be called into something greater they do not yet know. They have no fixed identity, socially, emotionally, or functionally. They exist in a state of ambiguity. They exist in a state of aloof pause, and this gives them an air of mystique. They have not yet fulfilled a role as part of the group, yet they carry something special or “weird” that everyone around them can sense. They are usually desiring something that gives them new hope or zest for life, but they are not doing anything about it. This makes them seem passive or lost at first. It is almost like they are waiting for something or someone to come along and anchor them. The key here is that moon natives start out as being apart from others, but not yet against them. They are not antagonistic or antisocial as a default. They want to belong, even if they do not fully admit it. They yearn for a sense of home and emotional contentment, but it comes from a place of past insecurity, so they are initially resistant, owing to their fear of being hurt, hurting others, being judged, or being abandoned again. There is something tender in this distance, however. They have not closed the door to connection; they simply have not found the right one to walk through yet and fear choosing the wrong one. Deep down, all they want is to feel loved and praised, but by opening themselves up, they become vulnerable to where others can sense and potentially exploit that vulnerability. It is what makes them compelling to both allies and antagonists, drawing in allies and enemies without them actively seeking any out.

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They usually possess a skill, instinct, or intelligence that has not yet found its context. The rookie in the boy band has the voice or charisma but has not yet been given the spotlight. The transfer student has raw talent but has not yet been trusted with the game. What makes this power compelling is its subtlety because it tries to stay hidden, emerging only under pressure or through a slow process of revelation. But once revealed, this capacity shifts the entire dynamic around them. Their presence in a group alters its dynamics. At first, they bring imbalance or confusion, but after a while when they start to open up again, their new group celebrates them. Moon natives are catalysts, individuals who compel others to adapt, expose hidden dynamics, or create a shift from the norm, challenging internal stability. They destabilize the group (or the person, if it is just one individual they are connecting with) simply by being part of it.

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I came up with a way to differentiate the stage of evolution or emotional progression these natives go through, so here is a guide on what to look for and what these things are that I am noticing.

The first stage of psychological development can be called the stage of perceptual isolation. In this stage, a person feels different from others and misunderstood by those in their immediate circle. Moon natives are highly sensitive, emotionally open, and expressive from birth, but this sensitivity is rarely protected or encouraged. It’s actually very weird the way I see it manifesting. The world almost always punishes them for their strong emotionality or difference in perception. Often, it is dismissed, criticized, or targeted. When this happens through bullying, abuse, neglect, or repeated rejection, the person begins to shut down and close themselves off emotionally. To protect themselves, they detach from the world. Their new inner world feels safer and more manageable than the reality outside. It becomes a space where they can express feelings freely and imagine relationships that offer the understanding they lack in real life. Over time, this retreat increases their sense of isolation. They begin to feel fundamentally separate from others, as if no one truly sees them or understands them. This is also one reason as to why they love magic, fantasy, illusion, hobbies, etc.

(The writer of Perks of Being a Wallflower is a moon nakshatra native) https://youtu.be/n5rh7O4IDc0?si=Srq2jA83aihYN9Uj

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The second stage of evolution is what I like to refer to as the initial baptism by brotherhood. This is the most volatile stage. Eventually there will be someone who breaks through their initial stupor of sorrow or solemnity, usually through intensive assertion or pursuit. At this point, the moon native discovers or realizes they are being absorbed into a new group, and this causes a reaction of confusion followed by intense euphoria from feeling accepted, which leads to an extremely strong bond being formed—brotherhood. Identity is shaped through shared emotional experiences, such as suffering, feeling at odds with others, obsession, play, love, war, or what have you. This phase is defined by emotional entanglement and the dormant potential for mutual recognition. It is the moment of impact, when someone enters a new world of physical closeness, emotional chaos, connection, purpose, mission, or shared goal/passion that binds them together. It is not something they sought out, but something that sort of just happened to them by trial or by fate.

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The third stage is decision. This is where the bond solidifies but individual reservations start to surface. Roles within the group begin to take shape. Everyone gets summed up as being something to the group, such the protector, the wild card, the heart, the strategist, etc. Their identities are no longer just their own. The dynamic becomes ritualized and self-reinforcing. If a new member finds accepting and adapting to the new social hierarchy challenging, then they may start to question or undermine the group's authority and cohesion. In certain scenarios, these people are excommunicated from the group. In others, they are sort of put in their place and made to follow their assigned role. In most cases, however, they assimilate and start to instinctively open back up emotionally.

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The third stage is immersion. This phase can last for a time and will sometime feel like a golden era. At this stage, they start to trust their group more than anyone else in the world and will do anything for them. They’ve gotten past their need to feel isolated, and the group becomes an emotional home, a moral compass, and sometimes the only reason for existing. There is little individuality here. Everything becomes relational, based on one’s loyalty, dedication, and love to the group. If everyone is fine with this, then it could in theory last forever, but that is not realistic. Even if no external force threatens to disrupt the group's harmony, moon men are changeable by nature and so will eventually invite their own issues sooner or later.

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The third stage is ensuing fracture. Eventually, something breaks. A loss, a crisis, a fight, a betrayal, a natural drifting apart, or an external event that forces a separation will cause the group to lose its stability. This is a psychic rupture, not just a logistical one. It sets the point for the end of emotional fusion and the beginning of existential disorientation. The pain it brings is the disintegration of identity because their sense of self was strongly entangled with the group. It gives the moon native an intense feeling of abandonment. This phase can be explosive or eerily quiet. Sometimes a group member walks away. Sometimes the group dissolves. Sometimes they are torn apart by external violence even. But it always leaves the protagonist unmoored. In better circumstances, people grow apart with less violence or conflict, and there remains a lingering attachment that is not entirely erased, similar to how you might view a distant family member or an old friend you no longer keep in touch with. The more common function of this stage is usually trauma though. Something traumatic happens that burns bridges and creates a divide in the structuring of the group.

The fourth stage is isolation, haunted by the self. This is where we meet the classic lone wolf archetype. The feeling of otherness returns, and even if they are part of other groups going forward, they never quite “fit.” This is very common to sun men as well, but sun men just like to be alone because they feel they do not need attachments. For moon men, this lone wolf mentality is different. They need people and may even try to connect, but they are not able to in the same way others are. Their solitude is understood to be caused by the fracture with their older group or connection(s). They are not alone by choice, but it starts to become a coping mechanism that they push people away. The man walking alone through the desert, the one trying to find something lost to them, the one who avoids emotional attachment to what is new was once someone else. They were once part of a group or relationship bound to each other through intense love and brotherhood. This following phase of isolation is defined by control. Emotional restraint becomes their armor, but something remains beneath the surface. A flicker of memory. A quiet regret. An unconscious longing to feel again. A hope that they might return to what was lost and find out if the pieces can still be held together.

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The fifth stage is reconnection or a new spark. The lone wolf devoid of connection encounters a meaningful bond once more. A new group, a protégé, a familial or romantic figure, or a familiar mission/goal/desire that demands trust binding people together despite initial resistance. They do not want to be part of a new group, and they are still trying to push people away, but it is like they are forced to anyway. There is growing tenderness in this renewed attempt as they learn to let go of their previous engagements from long ago to embrace new ones. It is like reincarnating into a new family. It is new vulnerability that has been earned. They still may resist at first, but something deeply human comes to the surface, flickering with new promise. This phase is not always redemptive. It can end in relapse, deeper isolation, or even death, but it reveals that even in their silence, they are still shaped by the memory of their past connections and future hopes. Beneath the frozen exterior, they are still just that same kid who wants to express themselves and please those they love.

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https://youtu.be/Ide2cn8Wruk?si=YtPh35uDZCYlQOoJ

#astrology #spirituality #occult #vedic astro notes #vedic astro observations #vedic astrology #analysis #media analysis #zodiac #nakshatra #jyotish #Youtube

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mahowaga · 4 months ago

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THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT FOR THE BEAU IDÉAL OF IDIOCY | N.K. — TASK #1

SUMMARY: you're supposed to be in the stands, eating snacks and talking strategy with your friends, enjoying watching the three champions battle for the triwizard cup. you're not supposed to be entangled in what seems to be your own personal (hell) triwizard tournament.

PAIRING: ravenclaw!nanami kento x hufflepuff!fem!reader | mc’s best friend yu haibara CONTAINS: hp x jjk au, (friends who are) idiots to lovers, romance, fluff, crack, profanity PLAYLIST: the course of true love never did run smooth WC: 4.1k WARNINGS: none, just reader fumbling, but it somehow works idk

series masterlist | previous | next

— TASK #1: HOW TO LEARN TO DANCE WHILE MAINTAINING THE FACADE THAT YOU CAN

Let’s have a rundown: there’s the Toji incident, the Forbidden Step incident, and then Sukuna basically telling you to go with the flow and stop being over the top with everything.

If you are ever able to get your hands on some kind of memory erasing spell, you already know what you’re removing from your brain.

Unfortunately for you, you don’t have access to such magic, so you have to make do with the options at your disposal: dealing with your problems head on. (Disgusting. Yuck. 0/10.)

Alchemy is an elective you selected during your sixth year at Hogwarts. You’re lucky enough to be able to take it, since the school only holds the class if there are enough students who want to study it. Currently, the class has a total of ten students, but you’ll take what you can get. It’s one of the few subjects that actually interest you, being something of a composite subject of three other core classes. Plus, you sometimes get to blow things up, which is a win in your book.

Due to the limited number of students, the class is held with everyone regardless of their house.

It’s mostly Ravenclaws, a couple of Slytherins and then you from Hufflepuff. No Gryffindors, sadly. (You don’t know why you instantly think of Utahime from Gryffindor and wonder why she doesn’t take Alchemy. Actually, you know exactly why you think of her - it’s because Kento is in the same class with you and your brain, for some reason that eludes you yet again, has somehow decided that he is as close as ever to Utahime and therefore they must be taking all of their classes together. Flawed logic is a pain.)

Yeah, that’s right. Nanami Kento takes Alchemy with you. (With you is an overstatement. He’s never noticed you in class before and he most definitely won’t start now. The Yule Ball is no excuse for him to lose focus.)

To be completely honest, you expect it to be way more awkward when returning to classes after the Toji incident, but the buzz and excitement that comes with the Yule Ball is enough to overpower that of your humiliation. (Thank you, Yule Ball, even though it’s the reason you almost landed a couple of hits on Toji’s pristine face.)

The only person whose opinion you really care about right now is Kento. There’s no way he hasn’t forgotten about everything that happened, and now even more so because he’s your date to the Ball.

The whole thing makes your head ache. This boy had basically turned himself into your date without you asking, blaming that cursed tie as the reason why.

Having class with him is going to be the worst thing that has ever happened to you, which is saying something, considering your recent string of misfortunes.

You walk into the classroom with your textbooks in your hands, braced against your chest. You’re slightly out of breath, having gotten lost deep in the dungeons before you’d found your way to the room.

There’s an unclaimed spot in the corner that you make a beeline for. It’s a bench for two, but no one ever sits next to you unless they’re late to class and it’s the only seat they have access to, so you place your textbooks on the empty seat and sit down.

The pair of Slytherins behind you are talking about the professor. You hate to admit it, but you eavesdrop, and it turns out they’re saying something about the professor not being able to make it to the class today - allegedly.

“Is that true?” you ask, turning around in your seat.

One of them, a girl with blonde hair whose name escapes you, nods. “I heard it from one of the prefects earlier.” She shrugs. “He might still make it, though, you know how he is.”

Yes, you do. Your Alchemy professor would show up to class even if he’d just lost an arm and a leg. (Anything for that paycheck, right?)

You turn back around and scan the room. Most of the students are already there, seated and talking to each other about the Triwizard Tournament and the Yule Ball. None of them seem to care about you being rejected by Toji in public, and you exhale with relief. At least you have this, some semblance of peace.

There’s fifteen minutes before the class starts. Everyone’s there except for Kento. You assume he’s out doing Head Boy things. Handling some aspects of the Yule Ball and the second task has to be a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. His and Utahime’s and the other prefects’.

He’s never late, though, and when there’s ten minutes left, he walks in, looking as prim and proper as always, his textbooks hanging at his side. He surveys the room, searching for a seat.

You avert your eyes, opening one of your hefty books and pretending to read. You’re not worried about him sitting next to you, he never does, but rather making eye contact with him. You’re just not mentally prepared for that just yet. You also don’t know how to break it to him that you don’t know how to dance. You’re going to end up doing an awful shuffle at the Ball and he’s going to stand to the side pinching the bridge of his nose.

Oh, right. You need to find someone to teach you how to dance. You don’t dare to ask Haibara, because knowing him, he’ll probably rope Kento into it. You can’t exactly ask Sukuna, either.

You’re just going to have to do this on your own - a solo endeavor. (You’re also going to have to lie to Kento, which will prove to be a feat of its own seeing how well he can see through you. That’s a problem for you in the future.)

There’s a shuffle of feet and when you look up, Kento’s picking up your textbook from the seat next to you and placing it on the table.

What’s going on?

He’s doing it like it’s a normal thing, like this isn’t completely out of left field. He’s focused on placing his books on the table and doesn’t look at you until he’s comfortable in his spot.

Your elbows are brushing. You pull your hands down to your lap, the back of your neck prickling with heat.

He turns to you after fussing about his textbooks and quill and ink. “Good morning.”

It’s like your tongue is tied. Your linguistic skills are failing you exponentially.

No. You refuse to embarrass yourself in front of him for the umpteenth time. You don’t want him thinking his date to the Ball is a total clown who specializes in buffoonery.

“Good morning,” you say, and your voice shakes a bit with the effort. You hope he doesn’t notice, but the corner of his lip quirks up ever so slightly and you’re gone. You’re done for.

Usually, this would be the end of your conversation with him. That’s how you have been speaking to him for the past year, ever since Haibara had introduced you to each other. Just a simple greeting and then you both draw the line. A thick line.

The staircase had been a situation that had the both of you playing jump rope with said line. It was nerve-wracking and exhilarating at the same time, with a splash of stress (what if you say something idiotic and he just stares at you?). A part of you, the masochist, likes the stress that comes with conquering the unknown. The logical part of you hates it and wants to stay in your little bubble of comfort.

It’s silent for a while, the hum of the rest of the class taking up the space that has grown between the two of you.

You let your mind run wild. You want to dwell on the fact that he’s willingly sitting next to you despite having never done so before, but right now your focus is elsewhere: your number one enemy. Dancing.

You just don’t want to bring him any shame. He’s your date for reasons that are beyond you, but it’s clearly a choice he’s made, and you’d hate to ruin everything by being inept.

Maybe you should ask him for help.

No. That’s an intrusive thought. It’s a really bad idea. (Obviously.)

You shoot him a glance. He’s looking down at his textbook, reading through today’s chapter before the professor comes in - if he’s even showing up today. A few strands of his light hair escape his neat part and fall over his forehead. He doesn’t seem to notice, but you do, because he looks so effortlessly amazing. Sometimes you wonder why it always seems like there’s someone in the background holding a bright light over him to make him look even more ethereal.

(It’s probably your own delusions painting him to be some kind of angel with light shining down upon him every hour of every day. That’s what he looks like through your eyes, but then again, you’re totally biased.)

You look away before he notices you staring.

Back to the problem at hand - finding someone to help you get better at dancing. The obvious answer is Kento, right? He’s your partner (watch yourself), you mean, date, and you’re going to be the one dancing with him so logically you need to know how he moves to be able to co-ordinate yourself.

You make up your mind. You’re going to ask him.

You take a deep breath and brace yourself. You’re going to ask him.

Another glance at him. You hate to disturb him while he’s clearly studying during the only free time he has, but this is important (it’s not that serious).

You’re going to ask him.

You’re going to-

He turns to you, catching your gaze like a deer in headlights. “Do you think we should practice the waltz?”

Shit.

“What? No,” you say quickly. (You wish the gallows were a thing again because that’s where you want to be right now.)

You chide yourself for lying, but you couldn’t do it. You had to save your dignity.

He nods. “You’re right,” he says, almost sheepishly. “You probably don’t need to practice.”

You try to search for any jabs in his words, but it seems like he’s being sincere, which makes you feel even worse, because now you’re wondering if he asked because he wanted to practice himself.

You can make it right. (By lying. Great idea. Kids, lying is bad.)

“Um, actually,” you start, clearing your throat to get his attention back, since he’d turned to his book again, “you’re right, I think we should practice. I haven’t, um, done a waltz in a while, so I’m a bit rusty.”

He smiles. “Sounds like a good idea.” Then he adds, “I have no idea how to dance, so you can teach me.”

Your face drops.

Well, now you’re both screwed.

One of the defining traits of a Hufflepuff is honesty. Up until the Great Hall incident, you’d thought you were a model Hufflepuff student. Now, you can barely keep up with all the white lies (lying about being able to dance is not a white lie) you’ve told. Helga Hufflepuff would have you booted from the house in the blink of an eye. You have to start being honest. Dishonesty is not a good look for you or your house.

You need to start telling him the truth before everything blows up in your face.

You and Kento agree to meet at the music classroom on the fifth floor to practice dancing. Being Head Boy means he gets to bend some of the rules, and one of them is being able to wander around late at night.

So it’s settled, the music classroom at midnight, where he will see that you are way out of your depth and drowning in deceit.

(This is like the blind leading the blind.)

You get to the classroom, a fairly large room with stone walls and stone floors, music stands and stools, a drum kit and a piano in the corner of the room. There’s a conductor’s stand in the center of the room, and everything else curves around it as if it is the center of the universe.

“Okay,” you mutter, setting down the boombox you’d brought along on one of the stools. You wring your hands together nervously, thinking about how you’re going to approach this. You’ve made up your mind (we all know how that worked out for you last time) to tell him the truth. If he ends up hating you, it’s instant curtains for you. You’re done.

A part of you wonders why you didn’t just tell him you can’t dance earlier, but adrenaline can be similar to alcohol, in that it is liquid courage and you just felt like you could live a lie. You’re still hoping you have some splendid dance skills inside of you, just waiting to be unleashed.

Kento seems to be running late. Great, it’s a headstart for you. If you can get a few steps down then maybe you won’t look so hopeless in front of him.

You pull out the book you’d borrowed from the library: Dancing for Dummies: Expanded Edition. It was a choice between this one and the standard Dancing for Dummies. You think the expanded version is going to be of more help to you.

Before you can open the book to page one, the door opens and Kento walks in, looking a bit worse for wear.

He flashes you a shy smile as he removes his robes and drapes it over a stool. He dusts his hands and walks over to you.

For a moment you simply stare at him. The lighting in the room is scarce, not a single candle or bulb in sight, the only source being the moonlight bleeding through the glass panes of the windows. The light scatters across the uneven stone floors. The beams of drowsy pale light settle on his face. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, his lips slightly parted from exhaustion, and his hair has had a disagreement with him and now some of the strands have fallen onto his forehead. He doesn’t seem to care, though.

He loosens his blue and silver tie and rolls up his sleeves, all the while maintaining eye contact with you. It’s as if he knows you can barely look away when he catches your gaze and uses it to his advantage.

“Are you ready?” he asks, holding his hands out for you to take.

Your stomach begins to protest, and not because of dinner. Now’s your chance to tell him the truth.

Tell him.

You take a deep breath and hold up the book. This is going to be a very, very horrifying experience; getting to see that smile on his face wiped off instantly, replaced with a hardened glare while he says something like, Do you think I’m a joke?

Oh, the very thought sends a shiver down your spine. You wish you were a hermit crab, then you could crawl into your little shell and run away. But you’re dedicated to the cause. You can’t disgrace your house, nor can you continue lying to someone you really care about (did you hear something?). You’ve read enough books to know what happens when fictitious statements keep piling up until it detonates like a nuclear bomb.

(As embarrassing as it’ll be to tell him the truth, you kind of don’t want a literal bomb on your hands.)

You purse your lips. How should you go about it? It doesn’t help that he’s waiting for your response patiently, despite his very obvious exhaustion.

Okay. Here goes your pride.

“Kento,” you start, lowering the book and scratching the back of your neck, avoiding eye contact, “I don’t actually know how to dance.”

You force yourself to face him. You should at least have the decency to look him in his eyes while you deconstruct the very image of yourself you’ve created just for him.

At first, it seems like he doesn’t hear you. Then it seems like he’s processing your words slower than usual, almost like his RAM is overloaded with whatever else he’s got going on in his pretty head. (What?) Then, after what seems like centuries, he reacts.

He raises both his brows (here it comes) and tilts his head to a side, his arms dropping to his sides. It almost looks like he’s giving you the thousand-yard stare. You hope that isn’t the case.

You twist your hands together, biting your lip. You’re waiting for him to say something, anything - you just need to know how he feels.

Finally he lets out a small bark of laughter. Your eyes widen. He’s laughing. You’ve just told him you lied to his face and he’s laughing. (Do you have a crush on some sort of psychopath?)

“Are you serious?” he asks, trying to stifle his laughter. He shakes his head as he puts his hands on his hips. He’s hitting you with the disappointed dad stance, and yet it’s as if he’s amused by the whole thing.

Your inability to tell what’s going through his head is going to give you palpitations. It’s not looking too good for your cardiac health right now.

You nod slowly. “I’m being serious.”

This just seems to make him smile even wider. He runs a hand down his face, his little chuckles muffled. His shoulders are shaking now.

You’ve broken him. That’s it. You’ve shattered Nanami Kento, Head Boy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, into smithereens. Oh, there’ll be hell to pay for sure.

“Why?” He tries to sober up, though his lips are still curled up. He’s stopped laughing, though it seems like he’s fighting himself to not let it out. You find it endearing and you want to say something but you bite your tongue, because this is neither the time nor the place. He leans forward. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Well, well, well. If it isn’t the consequences of your own actions.

You swallow hard. There’s a plethora of reasons, a whole library of them, actually, and if you had more time you’d take a leisurely stroll down the aisle of the library until you found a book that explained everything to a T. But you don’t have the luxury of time.

“I just didn’t want you to think any less of me than you already probably do.” You focus on the unevenly cut stones embedded into the floor, tracing the grout with the toe of your shoe. Looking into his inquisitive eyes is a no-no right now.

His reply is soft, like comfort wrapped in a whisper. “I actually think very highly of you.”

You look up slowly, and you almost gasp at how close he’s come. Once again, you are both inches away from each other, except this time you’re not buried inside of a step’s organs and have the option of stepping back to create distance.

You don’t. (Bold.)

“You don’t have to say that.” You hold his gaze for once in your life, feeling a rush of power as you do it, but he isn’t one to back down.

He arches his brow, and now he’s closer than ever - less than ten inches, no doubt. His eyes flick down to your lips and then back to your eyes and you hate the way it makes your body react viscerally. You feel as if someone’s shot you with a taser, the way your every nerve ending is alight with attraction and tension.

He nods once. “I know,” he says, his voice low, “but it’s the truth.”

(Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here. You need a fan.)

You shake your head quickly, putting a hand on his chest to put some distance between the both of you. You can’t think straight - whatever he’s doing, it’s messing with your head. It’s tearing apart the equilibrium you’ve tried so hard to maintain: you admiring from afar, him being, well, him and going about his life. This? This isn't a part of your plan. None of this is.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm?” He glances down at your hand on his chest and his hand twitches at his side. You pretend not to see it.

You gesture between the two of you frantically. “What is this?”

Answers. You need answers and you need them now.

“Us?” he asks innocently.

You scoff. “There’s no us.”

He presses his lips into a thin line. “Why not?”

He’s really going to make you spell it out. Fine. “Because- because you’re out of my league.”

It feels good to get it out, but it also feels weird to admit it aloud. It’s always been something you’ve known deep down and never thought you’d ever need to say it to anyone, let alone him.

He knits his brows together, leaning back. “Who told you that?”

Is he being for real right now?

“I have eyes.” You widen your eyes as if to emphasise your statement.

He looks away quickly, then meets your eyes again. It’s as if a fire has been lit inside of those hazel eyes of his, the way they burn into yours like a brand.

He runs a hand through his hair, his other hand braced on his hip. “I’m just the Head Boy,” he says, spreading his hands. “That has nothing to do with me wanting to be with y-” He stops and coughs, his eyes wide for a millisecond, a sliver of fear flashing through the fire. “It has nothing to do with me wanting to be your date.”

Your mouth is wide open. “Just the Head Boy?” You throw your hand up. “You must be out of your mind.” And he is, you’re convinced he is. He’s doing all of this to be your date to the Yule Ball. He’s way too dedicated.

He exhales sharply and crosses his arms tightly. The tension between the two of you is beginning to tighten. Soon enough, if one of you cut it, it would snap with a loud twang and send the both of you flying right out of the window.

“Says the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team,” he murmurs under his breath, looking away. His jaw is tight.

You swear your eyes would bulge out if they could. This boy isn’t making any sense. He really isn’t. “What does that have to do anything?”

Satisfaction crosses his handsome features. He looks smug. “What does being Head Boy have to do with anything?” he counters.

(Oh, he’s got you. You’ve been gagged for the millionth time. You can never catch him lacking.)

“You’re a real piece of work, just so you know.” Your lips curl into a pout as you cross your arms and turn away from him.

He seems to find this sweet, because when he reaches for your shoulder and turns you back toward himself he’s smiling, his eyes sparkling again, the fire dimmed down to ashes and soot. (It’s like he goes through emotions in the blink of an eye, and you’re having a hard time keeping up. Mentally, you’re still on the part where he says he’s just the Head Boy.)

“I’m well aware,” he says, tilting your chin up. Your skin tingles from the contact, and you can’t move, petrified into place (no Basilisk needed) by his courage to make a move.

Wait. Is he making a move? Your guts threaten to melt into a puddle. This is too much for you to handle, but you have to press on - if you don’t, you know you’ll regret it tomorrow morning.

He pulls back, and reaches for the book in your hands. He scoffs at the title but opens it nevertheless. He’s so nonchalant, acting as if he hasn’t just raised both your blood pressure and your heartbeat in the span of five minutes. (You don’t know if you should be elated or not - this is your crush, making moves on you, and you’re acting as if Medusa’s just turned you into stone, perpetually frozen, unable to process anything that’s happening despite having dreamt about this happening since the day you’d first laid eyes on him.)

Maybe you just need to sleep on it.

He pulls you out of your stupor by holding a hand out. “Shall we start practicing together?”

You gulp, looking from his hand to his face, brightened by the moonlight, his hair turned white, glowing like a halo. Finally, you take his hand, and he pulls you close. You hold your breath at the proximity, of being pressed against his chest, of his fingers laced with yours. He’s cradling the book in the crook of his other arm, reading it out aloud as you find your footing.

You raise your head to look at him. He’s already peering down at you, a look of endearment meant just for you.

Hm. Dancing mightn’t be so bad if it’s with him.

A/N: thank you for tuning in! i hope you enjoyed this chapter, because there's more to come! (art by elitamasan on X)

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bruciemilf · 2 months ago

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There's such. An obscure feeling knotting up in my throat when I think of Megatronus and what he could’ve been.

Imagine an AU where they meet, even briefly, when Dee was a sparkling? Before icons eroded into history?

Normally, sparklings aren't enrolled into labor so young, — However. Iacon laws apply to Iacon citizens.

Certainly not to Kaon bastards, as Sentinel so generously puts it.

Thinking about tiny Dee running through huge peds, carrying more energon cubes than his body can sustain.

His chassis burns with exhaustion and his servos ache, but he's felt what Darkwing’s massive backhand can do if deliveries aren't completed at his speed.

As expected of his unfortunate luck, he collides with a purple mech. “Oh! I'm sorry, sir! I didn't mean to— honest! Please —”

“Are you alright, sparkling?”

D-16 knows this voice very well. Miners play it on the news receiver almost all the time. It comes by rarely, very, actually, but evading fame hasn't made it any harder to admire him. Not for him.

“…Megatronus Prime?”

He can only theorize Megatronus returned from a mission. He always prefers to help soldiers in action, not speech.

But there's something extremely weird, in the way he gently retrieves the cubes from Dee’s arms into a single hand.

“Allow me to help. You shouldn't be on your own. Are your guardians nearby?”

Thankfully, his voicebox regains the ability to speak. “I…Don’t have guardians, sir.”

There’s almost a shame. Being unclaimed. No identity or history or footprint to follow home. Kaon boys learn young.

There's no heavy judgment on Megatronus’ plate, masked but not guarded, nor pity in his vocals. Simply a saddened understanding. “No?”

“No,” anyone would feel small next to a Prime. D-16 felt even smaller. “I’m— from Kaon. Sir.”

He prepares for the heavy sentence of rejection. It does not come. Judging by the slight twitch in the other’s optics, Megatronus smiles under the battle mask.

“Me too. Shall I walk you back home, then?”

“Um— to the mines, sir.”

“Mines. Interesting.”

He invites Dee to ride on his shoulder. He accepts. He talks for the whole entire walk, too excited to contain himself. He's not told to stop.

#Im SOBBBINGG #megatronus when he meets a tiny chatty sparkling on a random Tuesday:#it’s free son #I think he's such a gentle giant. SENTINEL WHEN I CATCH U SENTINEL #transformers #transformers one #tf one #d 16 #megatronus prime #megatron #writing #text post

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noturfavartist · 4 months ago

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Reveck's Monster, Viktor's Muse

Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends, Riot Games, 2021) Core Relationship: Reader x Viktor, romantic/queer-platonic Genre & Disclaimers: Hurt/Comfort, Friends to lovers, Third person (you/your pronouns used), contains discussions of plastic surgery/mutilation, self-image issues, body horror, Dehumanisation - Reader is effectively a riff on Frankenstein's monster with alterations to fit the Arcane worldbuilding. Take care of yourself and read at your own discretion <3 A/N: Round two baybeee - I finished reading "Under the Skin (Canon)" by Michael Faber and had an idea to make a oneshot inspired partially by that and by the main concept of "Frankenstein" by Mary Shelley :)) also very likely out of character behavior from Viktor here but 1) I've never written him before and 2) what can I say? I'm gay for this man, leave me alone- the ending might also be a bit crap, I might rework it another time when I have more brain power

Corin Reveck never hid what you were from you and always opted to act like that fact was a gift - a small mercy only he could afford you after everything you've been through despite the problems it's caused you. As virtuous as you're sure it is to be honest and as glad you were to know what you were now without having to dig through the ruins of your past to find what you can only assume is ashes now, you could never bring yourself to share that sentiment. Reveck only knew so much about what happened before you'd been sent to him, but everything he did know he had shared; you'd been caught up in a fatal accident, Reveck had found your unclaimed "remains" and decided that you were perfect for him to "save" with his experimental procedures that he had been developing to save his daughter. You were missing limbs and had other severe injuries that required grafts and "donated" - or stolen, more realistically - limbs. The main issue was that he'd failed to realise you were still alive, and it wasn't until after that he realised he had not actually cured you of death but just prevented it with Shimmer and surgery. He very clearly held some resentment for you over that.

Unfortunately, your saviours honesty came with a level of brutality that you never seemed to really get used to. You were his experiment, his creation; something he created with his own two hands, but still nothing more than a by-product on his venture to something far greater. He never let you be deluded into believing that you were his child or a replacement for the daughter he was trying to save, but sometimes you almost wished he would - to have some dignity whenever you needed a shot of shimmer, or some actual care when you needed to be stitched back together or have a limb replaced to keep up with the growth of what was left of your original body. Everything was cold and clinical, all hard facts and blunt reminders that you and Reveck weren't one in the same. He was still human, but you weren't; you were hardly even the same person you were before he found you, now something more akin to a machine created from spare parts and running on a specific cocktail of chemicals to stop you from falling apart. You were more creature than human in his eyes, and that's what he drilled into you for the entirety of your time under him.

Eventually, that treatment came to an unexpected end when you met Viktor, and that end was an extreme shock to the system because he was absolutely enamoured with you. It was purely scientific at that point, of course - there was no real documentation on projects like you, he had never even considered it a possibility to effectively construct a human being over again by using almost completely organic parts instead of mechanical prosthesis. You still remember the odd expression on his face; he was curious, as anyone would be, but you also recall the awe on his face. He had looked at you like you strung the stars in the sky, silently tilting his head to take in every detail of your skin; each freckle and blemish, each visible vein, and scar, and bruise, and stitched up joint, and his adoration never seemed to falter. He looked at you like you were a piece of art, and it was strange and new to you... After Viktor finished that conversation with Reveck, he'd actually returned a few days later and convinced him to allow you to move to Piltover with Viktor for the sake of further study. It took some debating, but Reveck did eventually concede and let you go.

That's the long and short of how you got to where you are now; you'd been in the lab with Viktor up in Piltover for about two years now, and Vikor was treating you in an extremely different manner than Reveck. He treated you like a person - when you spoke, he listened and responded, he didn't poke and prod at you like you were an animal in a cage, he helped you when you needed it, and he even went as far as helping you indulge your newfound interests as you gained a better sense of the world around you again. Naturally, the two of you grew close given that you spent near enough all your time together, but even with all the empathy he extended to you, there were still just some walls you couldn't fully break down. It wasn't Viktor's fault, really - after all the alterations that had been made to your body in the name of saving your life, you found it hard enough to look at yourself so the idea of letting someone else gawk at the mess of what was left created an awful pit in your stomach. He'd tried to coax you into discussing the issue more than once when he'd asked to check your stitches to ensure they were healing properly, but you had shut down the conversation immediately and promised to check them yourself.

One morning, you'd found an issue with some of the stitches in the back of your shoulder and were struggling to repair the stitches on your own. In your struggle, you'd lost track of time and failed to realise you were late going to the lab and noticed too late that Viktor had come to find you. You startled when Viktor walked in on you shirtless and trying to stitch yourself up, but Viktor seemed unfazed by the scene.

"Jesus, Vik, learn to knock-!"

"Sorry, sorry, I was just wondering where you were... What are you doing?"

"Just-... Routine maintenance," You mumble with a shrug, going back to the task at hand. Viktor waches you in silece for a few moments before moving into the room and sitting beside you.

"Let me help - you can't reach," The observation is blunt, though not unkind as he reaches for the needle in your hand to coax you into handing it over.

You relented with a sigh, looking down as you allowed him to take over and stitch up the joint for you. You're surprised by the tenderness and care he takes with you - you'd never been handled so gently before, feeling the warmth of his skin as he uses one hand to close the suture while the other rests on your shoulder with his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. The new treatment is almost overwhelming, and instead of causing the usual pit in your stomach and bile in your throat when it comes to medical procedures, instead it makes your face feel hot and causes a lump in your throat.

You're both silent for a few long moments before you're startled by a new sensation - the gentle press of a pair of lips against your shoulder just above the stitches and scars that marred your skin. You look back over your shoulder at the man sitting behind you with shock, listening to his quiet mumble as you struggle to find your own words.

"You are beautiful, you know that...?"

"Vik, you- What-? No, I'm... I'm not,"

"You are..."

"Vik, what has gotten into you?" You near enough choke on the words as you force them out, giving Viktor a perplexed look. As you speak, you see him put the needle and thread aside once he finished the process before his hands move to rest on your waist.

"There has to be something wrong for me to be affectionate with you...?"

"It's just... not what I expected," Viktor only responds with a hum, pressing another tender kiss to the back of your neck as his hands wander over your sides. "... No explanation...?"

"Do I need more of one than I already gave?"

"I- Vik, that wasn't a real reason-"

"Fine then," Viktor gives a light chuckle against your skin. "Maybe I just want to."

You open your mouth to argue before you feel more tender kisses that send a shiver down your spine as you suddenly find yourself at a loss for words and unable to really argue with him... You supposed there was no harm in just enjoying it while it lasted, right? You sigh again and shake your head, your body relaxing and leaning back against Viktor slightly as his arms wind around your abdomen.

"You sure that's all it is? This seems... random,"

"I'm sure,"

"Alright... I'll take your word for it," You allow your eyes to drift closed as you feel Viktor press his face into the crook of your neck and lean closer to you, his chest flush against your back as you lay one of your hands over his. You feel Viktor press more kisses to the side of your neck and have to take a deep breath to avoid making any embarrassing sounds in response. "Never took you for the touchy type..."

"I'm usually not... you're just an exception,"

"Why...?"

"You just... are," Viktor shrugs before moving to turn you around, and you comply as you shift into a more comfortable position and feel Viktor raise his hands to cradle your face. You look up at him to see him staring at you with a look of unrestrained adoration, and all you can do is stare back as you take in the warmth of his skin and the sound of his soft breathing. "You're perfect..."

"I-... I'm not, Viktor... I'm-" The words get stuck again, and you feel an odd discomfort rise in your chest while your eyes burn and fill with tears. "I'm a monster..."

"I don't think you are..."

"Look at me, Vik, I-"

"I am looking," Viktor's insistence is firm, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he speaks, but his expression of affection never falters. "and you're not a monster, you're perfect as you are..."

You let out a shaky breath as you close your eyes again, unsure of how to argue with Viktor when he's being so sweet to you as you feel the tears in your eyes begin to spill. Viktor gently tugs you closer and holds your face against his shoulder to encourage you to press closer to him, and you comply. Your body near enough goes limp in Viktor's hold as you enjoy affection for the first time in a long time. A soft sob is forced from your throat when you feel Viktor press more kisses to the top of your head.

"Why, Vik...?" You mumble into his shirt, voice shaky. "Why're you being this sweet...?"

"Because I love you... I thought that much was obvious," He laughs a little, as though the question was absurd, and all you can do is grip the back of his shirt and lift your head to lean into the sweet kisses.

Viktor smiles and leans down to kiss your lips, and you return the smile as you return the kiss. If there was anyone that could make you feel whole again, it seemed to be Viktor.

#viktor league of legends #viktor arcane #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #Arcane #self insert #fluff #hurt/comfort #dunno how to feel about this #I'm in the worst pain flare 😭😭#medicated at least <3

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botgal · 1 year ago

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Update on AB 3080 and AB 1949

AB 3080 (age verification for adult websites and online purchase of products and services not allowed for minors) and AB 1949 (prohibiting data collection on individuals less than 18 years of age) both officially have hearing dates for the California Senate Judiciary Committee.

The hearing date for these bills is scheduled to be Tuesday 07/02/2024. Which means that the deadline to turn in position letters is going to be noon one week before the hearing on 06/25/2024. It's not a lot of time from this moment, but I'm certain we can each turn one in before then

Remember that position letters should be single topic, in strict opposition of what each bill entails. Keep on topic and professional when writing them. Let us all do our best to keep these bills from leaving committee so that we don't have to fight them on the Senate floor. But let's also not stop sending correspondence to our state representatives anyway.

Remember, the jurisdiction of the Senate Judiciary Committee is as follows.

"Bills amending the Civil Code, Code of Civil Procedure, Evidence Code, Family Code, and Probate Code. Bills relating to courts, judges, and court personnel. Bills relating to liens, claims, and unclaimed property. Bills relating to privacy and consumer protection."

Best of luck everyone. And thank you for your efforts to fight this so far.

Below is linked the latest versions of the bills.

Below are the links to the Committee's homepage which gives further information about the Judiciary Committee, and the page explaining further in depth their letter policy.

Edit: Was requested to add in information such as why these bills are bad and what sites could potentially be affected by these bills. So here's the explanation I gave in asks.

Why are these bills bad?

Both bills are essentially age verification requirement laws. AB 3080 explicitly, and AB 1949 implicitly.

AB 3080 strictly is calling for dangerous age verification requirements for both adult websites and any website which sells products or services which it is illegal for minors to access in California. While this may sound like a good idea on paper, it's important to keep in mind that any information that's put online is at risk of being extracted and used by bad actors like hackers. Even if there are additional requirements by the law that data be deleted after its used for its intended purpose and that it not be used to trace what websites people access. The former of which provides very little protection from people who could access the databases of identification that are used for verification, and the latter which is frankly impossible to completely enforce and could at any time reasonably be used by the government or any surveying entity to see what private citizens have been looking at since their ID would be linked to the access and not anonymized.

AB 1949 is nominally to protect children from having their data collected and sold without permission on websites. However by restricting this with an age limit it opens up similar issues wherein it could cause default requirements for age verification for any website so that they can avoid liability by users and the state.

What websites could they affect?

AB 3080, according to the bill's text, would affect websites which sells the types of items listed below

(b) Products or services that are illegal to sell to a minor under state law that are subject to subdivision (a) include all of the following:

(1) An aerosol container of paint that is capable of defacing property, as referenced in Section 594.1 of the Penal Code.

(2) Etching cream that is capable of defacing property, as referenced in Section 594.1 of the Penal Code.

(3) Dangerous fireworks, as referenced in Sections 12505 and 12689 of the Health and Safety Code.

(4) Tanning in an ultraviolet tanning device, as referenced in Sections 22702 and 22706 of the Business and Professions Code.

(5) Dietary supplement products containing ephedrine group alkaloids, as referenced in Section 110423.2 of the Health and Safety Code.

(6) Body branding, as referenced in Sections 119301 and 119302 of the Health and Safety Code.

(c) Products or services that are illegal to sell to a minor under state law that are subject to subdivision (a) include all of the following:

(1) Firearms or handguns, as referenced in Sections 16520, 16640, and 27505 of the Penal Code.

(2) A BB device, as referenced in Sections 16250 and 19910 of the Penal Code.

(3) Ammunition or reloaded ammunition, as referenced in Sections 16150 and 30300 of the Penal Code.

(4) Any tobacco, cigarette, cigarette papers, blunt wraps, any other preparation of tobacco, any other instrument or paraphernalia that is designed for the smoking or ingestion of tobacco, products prepared from tobacco, or any controlled substance, as referenced in Division 8.5 (commencing with Section 22950) of the Business and Professions Code, and Sections 308, 308.1, 308.2, and 308.3 of the Penal Code.

(5) Electronic cigarettes, as referenced in Section 119406 of the Health and Safety Code.

(6) A less lethal weapon, as referenced in Sections 16780 and 19405 of the Penal Code."

This is stated explicitly to include "internet website on which the owner of the internet website, for commercial gain, knowingly publishes sexually explicit content that, on an annual basis, exceeds one-third of the contents published on the internet website". Wherein "sexually explicit content" is defined as "visual imagery of an individual or individuals engaging in an act of masturbation, sexual intercourse, oral copulation, or other overtly sexual conduct that, taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value."

This would likely not include websites like AO3 or any website which displays NSFW content not in excess of 1/3 of the content on the site. Possibly not inclusive of writing because of the "visual imagery", but don't know at this time. In any case we don't want to set a precedent off of which it could springboard into non-commercial websites or any and all places with NSFW content.

AB 1949 is a lot more broad because it's about general data collection by any and all websites in which they might sell personal data collected by the website to third parties, especially if aimed specifically at minors or has a high chance of minors commonly accesses the site. But with how broad the language is I can't say there would be ANY limits to this one. So both are equally bad and would require equal attention in my opinion.

#california #kosa #ab 3080 #ab 1949 #age verification #internet safety #online privacy #online safety #bad internet bills

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olivialau · 8 months ago

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Shadow's Embrace Ch. 31

Sukuna x Reader

Notes:

This story unfolds in the Jujutsu Kaisen world, set in a slightly altered universe where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel distinct from Itadori Yuji's body, making him a separate entity.

BEWARE THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT!!!

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

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CHAPTER 31 - A Foolish Human Gesture

Before you knew it, Sukuna had your lips caught in another punishing kiss, his fingers trailing slowly from your nape down to your collarbone, nails scraping across your skin and leaving red stripes that pulsed with heat long after he’d moved on to mark the next unclaimed part of you.

Whenever he finally broke away—for a rare, fleeting breath—he didn’t stray far. He dipped his head beside yours, his forehead pressing against the jagged wall behind you. He was close enough that you could feel his hot breaths fanning over your ear.

And every time he paused like that, he whispered the same thing to you—crafty variations of the same cutting sentiment.

“I loathe you, woman.”

“You’re a plague,”

“A stain on my existence,”

They were insults he ensured you couldn’t return during the brief moments you struggled to catch your breath because— just as you replenished enough oxygen to speak—he stole it away again.

He reveled in that small torment; it was undeniably amusing to him to keep you from getting a single word in.

His lips brushed past your jaw, and you could feel them curl into a smirk against your skin before he made you swallow down every cocky retort you dared to think of saying in return.

Though with this particular kiss, it seemed he had exhausted every bare patch of skin he could mark on you with his nails.

And that simply wouldn't do...

Right now, Sukuna was a conqueror possessively surveying his newly claimed lands, but forever unsatisfied and wanting more. So, with his tongue still tangled with yours, he gripped the collar of your plain black shirt. You flinched as he ripped the fabric down the middle, exposing your bra adorned with delicate lace that perfectly cupped your breasts.

In the heated friction of the kiss, the shirt’s short sleeves gradually sĺlipped down your arms until the whole thing fell to the ground. And Sukuna eagerly seized that chance to claim the newfound flesh, working his claws down the supple skin above the trim of your bra, before sinking them into your flanks.

With a particularly harsh pinch at your side, you flinched and accidentally bit down—on Sukuna's tongue.

Oh no.

He let out an angry growl and pressed down harder, causing you to yelp against his lips before he broke away. He wiped the lingering spit that dripped down the corner of his mouth and glared into your eyes for a tense heartbeat.

You knew that look all too well and expected him to throw another nasty insult at you, but instead,

he threw—you—literally, to the floor.

You hit the rough gravel with a thud, small stones digging uncomfortably into your bare back. Before you could push yourself up, he was on you again. His knees pinning you in place, caging you, and his mouth back on yours with the same hungry intensity.

Maybe it was the cold, damp ground, or the cool breeze ghosting over your stomach, or perhaps the way Sukuna’s fingers tangled in your hair with a satisfying tug...

But a chill rippled down your spine, sending goosebumps skittering across your skin.

And not just goosebumps.

Your nipples, too, perked up with the shiver, pressing insistently against the soft fabric of your bra. Yet that softness did little to muffle the jolts of tingly pleasure that shot through you each time Sukuna’s hard abs pushed into your chest, intensifying the treacherous friction.

It was so—so hot. But you had to keep a sliver of focus, at least enough to control the pull of cursed energy so it wouldn’t overwhelm you.

Fortunately, your training had been paying off; it didn’t take nearly as much effort as before. Or... perhaps ‘fortunately’ wasn’t quite the right word, as that ease allowed you to sink into the moment a little too deeply.

You pulled Sukuna’s hand from your hair and guided it down your neck all the way to the lace of your bra. You felt his jaw clench, but he eagerly accepted the invitation.

Though he didn’t particularly like being directed by a mere human—he’d overlook it... just this once.

His hand was so big it covered your entire breast, and he let no time go to waste as he squeezed down—anything but gently. It kind of hurt, actually, but you were so desperate to be touched that the pleasure drowned out all the pain.

He kneaded your breast through the fabric with such vigor that you could feel the movement of each individual finger, pressing and flexing before digging even deeper. Every squeeze rough enough to have you squirming beneath him, as soft gasps—silent pleas for more—escaped your lips, barely muffled against his mouth.

It was as if Sukuna couldn’t do gentle; everything he did was rough and overpowering. Like it was his nature to dominate, to scare away.

But on you, it seemed to have the opposite effect; It pulled you in, leaving you wanting more.

So when he pulled away from your lips out of nowhere, and his hand stopped moving, you felt incredibly deprived.

He hovered just above your mouth for a moment, crimson eyes locked onto yours, before he suddenly ducked down and tugged at the band of your bra.

When it didn’t come loose—what did he expect?—He flicked his finger and with a swift cut of his dismantle, the band snapped, and your bra fell open, leaving your boobs fully exposed, in the dim eerie light.

You barely had time to process the shock before he dipped his head, and his mouth latched onto your nipple. It was a level of intimacy you’d never expected from the King of Curses, and your cheeks flushed the most vibrant shade of pink.

At first, he just sucked, his warm mouth shielding your nipple from the chilly air with a delicious pull that made your back arch and your needy hips grind up against him. But then he stuck out the flat of his tongue, dragging it across your sensitive peak, flicking up and down...

You couldn't help but whimper.

The sound was embarrassing to say the least but it did make you realize that with his mouth finally elsewhere, you might actually get a word in before things spiraled beyond your of control.

“Sukuna, um, I’m not sure this is—ah!”

He bit down, right on target, his sharp corner teeth grazing the tender skin around your nipple. You winced, pushing a hand against his head to shove him away, but he only growled, the sound vibrating against your eager bud.

When he looked up at you, his hair a hot mess, he seemed wholly unimpressed.

“What now, brat? Playing reluctant after you were writhing and begging for me to touch you here?” He emphasized 'here' with a sharp pinch to your nipple, forcing you to bite down on your tongue to muffle the dirty moan threatening to escape.

But when you dared to open your mouth again—you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to stop.

The truth was, when he’d pulled away, the sudden chill felt so profoundly lonely that you realized you didn’t want this to end here... not that you'd ever say that out loud.

So, a lousy excuse would have to do.

“Uh, it’s… these rocks on the ground,” you stammered. “They’re, um, digging into my skin. Kind of hurts, so—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna lifted himself up and, in one swift motion, hoisted you over his shoulder. He did it with so little effort... it was as if you weighed little more than a feather to him.

The view of his back—his flexed scapula and the smooth line between the thick bands of muscle disappearing into his waistband—was, admittedly, exquisite. But the position itself felt, well... a bit demeaning.

Suffice to say, you were not entirely pleased.

You squirmed and wriggled all the way to the door and up the stairs, protesting at every step. “Hey, put me down, Sukuna! I’m serious!”

Until—halfway up—Sukuna finally seemed to tire of your feeble protests. He let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Tsk. Fine, then.”

The arm holding you in place relaxed and dropped to his side, and your heart plummeted as you felt yourself slipping down his shoulder. The unforgiving edges of the stairs taunted you from below, and you scrambled at his back like a cat dangling from a ledge, nails digging into him as you held on for dear life.

But just as your hand slipped—and you were pretty sure you saw said life flash before your eyes—he caught you, hoisting you back into place.

You let out a sharp gasp of relief, followed by an indignant snap.

“What the hell? You nearly dropped me!”

Though you couldn’t see his face, you were absolutely sure there was a smug smirk on it when he purred over his shoulder.

“Oh? As I recall, you were the one begging me to let go. I wouldn’t have minded watching you tumble down—seems quite a fitting end for an insolent brat like you.”

But you felt that smug smirk vanish just as quickly the moment he reached the top of the stairs. His steps faltered, and a cold breeze swept over your bare back, hitting you with the chilling realization that—

Oh. Right.

The door was in splinters.

Sukuna’s grip tightened, his forearm pressing down until you could hear your ribs crackle under the pressure.

“That blue-eyed bastard did this?” His voice dropped to a lethal whisper, each word a reproachful reminder that he was far from done with Gojo... or you.

“I'll make sure you'll regret denying me the pleasure of snapping that twig in half.”

You gulped, but that was the least of your concern now; the higher priority was the fact that your boobs were on full display for everyone passing by this block to see.

“Aah, Sukuna, just move! I'm half-naked!”

Sukuna let out an irritated grunt but he did move—into his bedroom, to be exact.

He slammed the door behind him, and with a less-than-gentle motion, he threw you onto the silk sheets...

At least the soft mattress was a better place to land than the cold, rocky floor of his domain.

Straight away, Sukuna planted himself back on top of you, yanking your boots and shorts off and tossing them aside like they were a pesky nuisance.

You wanted to protest, to remind him of the unwritten rules for handling a woman gently, but when you felt his hard bulge press against the thin, damp fabric of your panties, those thoughts quickly left the room.

All that remained was the heat of the moment...

And the two of you picked up right where you left off.

His head was back between your tits, his wet tongue trailing down the curve of your skin before it swirled around your nipple. There was no discernible rhythm, no practiced technique—but that only heightened your senses, leaving you in neverending suspense.

You couldn't suppress the excited twitches nor the way your hips pressed up against him with every flick and drag of his tongue.

And Sukuna clearly enjoyed every little reaction out of you, because the corners of his mouth curled up with every moan and quiver.

He reveled in the sight of you squirming; he always had. But now, as you writhed under his eager touch and the warmth of his tongue, rather than the force of his fists and his cruel taunts—

That was a new kind of ectasy to him.

His hand slid up to grope your other breast, fingers sinking into the soft flesh before he moved over to you nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers.

Who would have known he could do stuff like that with those nasty claws and that foul mouth? It was quite unexpected, and you couldn’t help yourself from prodding, realizing you had one thing in common with Sukuna: you liked getting a reaction out of him too.

“Ah—it’s surprising that you’re so—hng!—busy with your mouth...” you managed through heavy breaths, daringly locking eyes with him.

“After you told me that kissing is a stupid gesture that only brain—nngh—less pigs bother with.”

Safe to say, Sukuna did not like that tone.

He sat up, and your gaze zeroed in on the twitch of his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. Then, he locked eyes with you and smirked in the most wicked and perilously filthy way.

“How foolish of you to remind me, you idiot woman... Shall we get to the real fun then?”

Oh god. That was not your intention.

Sukuna grabbed your hips, yanking you close against him. His fingers slid down the edge of your panties, and with a merciless tug, he ripped them away.

You clenched your thighs together in embarrassment, but it was futile; His eager hands, veins popping with anticipation, had you spread open again within seconds.

He looked at your soaking pussy—really looked—as if he were drinking in the sight, and you couldn’t recall ever feeling this self-conscious about anything. But you didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on that feeling long before the next disaster struck.

His thumb swiped away the line of drool pooling at the corner of his mouth, dripping down at the thought of ravaging your glistening cunt. Then that same thumb hooked around the band of his pants, tugging them down to finally free his aching cock from its confines.

And fuck. It was an absolute monster.

Bigger than any you’d ever seen before, and you audibly gulped. A nervous sweat broke out on your brow because there was no way that would fit—not without proper preparation.

But before you knew it, Sukuna had already lined himself up at your entrance. You could feel the throb of his tip against your folds, and suddenly, a wave of fear washed over you. Not just because of its sheer size, but because; what if history repeated itself?

What if Sukuna gave you a little more of him again, just to take it away and ignore you—abandon you?

You couldn't let that happen. There was no guarantee that this time would be any different.

Right when he bucked his hips and pushed the very head of his cock inside, you drew your legs up and kicked him off.

“Sukuna, stop!" you yelled at him. “I don’t want this if it means you’ll go back to ignoring me right after. If it means that the moment your mind catches up with your body, you’ll yank yourself away and pretend I don't exist for days on end.”

Sukuna dragged a hand over his face, fingers digging into his forehead, fuming that you dared bring this up right as he was about to ravage you. With a barely contained tremor, he released his grip on his cock, his nails moving to bite into the sheets beneath him like he was trying to anchor himself to sanity.

Not once had the King of Curses ever thought he’d pull back from fucking someone because of their feelings. Yet here he was, peering at you through the slits of his fingers, hearing you out instead of reducing you to a sobbing mess beneath him.

Your voice quivered as you shifted to sit up, finally asking the question that had been haunting you for days.

“Why... why did you do that last time? Why did you suddenly pull away and disappear?”

Sukuna let out a hiss as he let his hand drop from his face to tug his pants back into place. “I'm not apologizing for anything, brat. So abandon such ridiculous notions.”

You slammed your fists into the silk pillow, unable to hold back from raising your voice.

“I’m not asking you to apologize, am I?! I just want to know why... you hurt me, you know?” Your gaze drifted downward, not really expecting a real answer from him. If anything, you thought he’d up and leave, because he hated when you acted like this—weak and vulnerable, like a pitiful human.

So it surprised you when his shoulders tensed and his gaze... his gaze, it didn't drop—no, it burned into the sheets with an intensity that could have set them aflame.

“Tch. That kiss... I felt sick. My face burned, and my chest felt like a vice squeezing tighter with every second I was stuck at your lips.” A sound somewhere between a snarl and a laugh tore from his throat, as if his own words disgusted him more than anything.

“When I pulled back it was no better, every breath like swallowing shards of broken glass—” He cut himself off, teeth bared in a grimace that could have been mistaken for one of his cruel smiles if you hadn't spent so long studying the subtle differences.

“And then the most revolting irony struck me.”

You stole a glance at him, trying to gauge where this was going, but it was impossible—his palm was pressed against his face, as if he couldn't bear the thought of you seeing him like this. As if acknowledging your presence during this admission of weakness would be the greatest insult to his pride imaginable.

“I had become exactly like that spineless fool in the film,” His voice dropped to a low whisper.

“Just as horribly cursed. I was so disgusted, I could’ve burned a whole village to the ground right then and there—”

A film?

Wait... that romance movie you'd been watching?

Was the King of Curses actually admitting that he felt like some lovesick male lead? No. This had to be some kind of fever dream. You pinched yourself, but the sharp sting confirmed that this was all too real.

Your mouth opened and closed many times before you finally managed to find your voice.

“So... why did you ignore me then? After?” The question came out softer than intended, and you immediately cursed yourself for sounding so hurt.

Sukuna took that opportunity to finally lower his hand, and revert to his usual—scary—self. You made it so easy for him with your utterly stupid questions and your quivering voice.

“Use that pathetic excuse for a brain, woman,” he spat.

“I am the King of Curses. Did you really think I’d welcome such revolting feelings?”

With a low growl, he raked a hand through his hair, irritation flexing his shoulders as his gaze shifted to the side. “I'll admit, avoiding you proved… ineffective.”

“If anything, it only made you fester in my mind more persistently,” he hissed through the gaps of his clenched teeth.

You were speechless, staring blankly ahead. This was everything you'd wanted to hear, yet hearing it left you completely shook...

And in your daze, you missed the way his gaze drifted back to you, tracking slowly and intently over every curve of your body. It was only when his signature smirk returned to his lips that your eyes refocused, catching his hungry stare.

“Perhaps... if you're going to plague my existence either way—” he was back on top of you in an instant, his massive body casting a shadow that swallowed your tiny frame whole.

“—I might as well go back to doing what I do best: taking what I want, when I want,”

His weight sank you deeper into the bed, and a shiver ran over you as he caught your hands and pinned them against the pillow. The calloused pads of his fingers traced your wrist until he found your pulse point, pressing firmly against it to relish the frantic beat of your heart beneath him.

He let out a raspy chuckle, nudging your knee with his own as he whispered against your ear with a taunting breath.

“Now, spread your legs.”

God, this was dangerous.

Yes, he was Sukuna—the King of Curses, the embodiment of evil—and yes, every survival instinct screamed at you to get away. But there was something maddeningly irresistible about the way he wanted you, of all things.

Besides, weren’t you technically forced to obey his commands? Or was that just the dumb excuse you’d tell yourself to justify your desire?

Slowly, you nudged your knees apart, but with each inch, uncertainty crept in.

If you gave yourself to Sukuna completely, only for him to discard you afterward, could you recover from it? Or would you be left shattered, in undignified pieces for falling into his trap so easily?

Caution fought against the rising heat between your legs until it finally won over your rationale; You couldn't go through with this.

You squirmed beneath his body, trying to break free and get away. But he was so massive; it was like trying to move a mountain with your bare hands.

“Fuck, get off!”

Increasingly agitated at your feeble attempts, Sukuna's eyes burned with anger, but weirdly enough his smile only seemed to widen, revealing more and more of the white of his teeth.

Finally, when you managed to wrench one hand free, he slid his body up, pinning your arm down with his knee—and his entire weight above it.

He hovered just over your chest and his free hand tangled in your hair, yanking your face toward his crotch, inches away from the thick bulge in his pants.

“After riling me up like that, you'd better fix this, woman. I don't care how you do it. But you will do it.”

Ugh, he really wouldn’t let this go, would he? And to be fair, being so close to his cock—literally feeling the heat radiating off it—you had to admit you’d been aching to know what it felt like.

So... maybe there was a compromise here.

You looked away, half in disbelief that you were letting yourself get involved with the most dangerous being you’d ever met in such a way. But—

“Okay, I’ll… take care of it. So will you get off me?” You mumbled barely audible.

You glared up at him with a sharp warning in your eyes. “But no sex, Sukuna. I swear to god, if you put that monster anywhere near my thighs, I’ll kill you.”

He let out a grating cackle and finally released you, inching backward and lifting his weight off your arms.

“Kill me, hm? I’d like to see you try, little sorcerer.”

You pushed yourself up across from him, and rubbed your thumb over the bruises forming on your arms. “Im not kidding.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes and casually leaned back, legs spread, his gaze urging you to fulfill your promise to take care of it—

of him.

But a wave of nerves hit when you realized that to 'take care of him,' you would actually have to touch him—there—on your own initiative.

It was terrifying, so nerve-wracking that your heart raced with enough force to make your hand bob with each beat as you slowly reached out.

At least Sukuna's attention was drawn to your nervous shakes instead of your eyes—if those judging slits had landed on your face, you probably would have died of embarrassment.

With a final push of courage, you leaned forward and grabbed his cock through the thick of his pants. He flinched ever so slightly as you began to slowly move your hand up and down, testing the waters.

Every swipe up emphasized just how impressive his size was; his length seemed to go on forever.

But with every stroke down, you couldn’t shake the overwhelming realization that you were jerking off the fucking King of Curses.

Sukuna’s gaze was locked on the movement of your hand, never straying, which allowed you the chance to sneak a quick peek at him. But the sight was thoroughly disappointing; his expression was as unbothered as always.

If anything, he looked bored.

And lo and behold, right at that moment, he let out a weary grunt and swatted your hand away—not harshly, but enough to leave you confused and a bit stung.

“What?” you asked, trying your best to hide behind your lashes. But he ignored you, too busy fumbling with his pants.

And before you knew it... his thick cock sprang free, slamming against his stomach with a loud thwack.

“Here,” he growled, grabbing your hand and wrapping it around his length, his palm completely enveloping yours. He squeezed tight, almost painfully so, muttering under his breath with an air of irritation.

“Don’t be so gentle; it’s grating on my nerves,” he said, retracting his hand and tilting your chin upward with a hooked finger.

“Have you looked at it properly? It won’t break, you coward.”

He casually leaned back on his hands, his cock twitching, urging you to continue.

God. He was such an arrogant dick. But lucky for him, you’d never shied away from a challenge... in fact, it lit a small fire within you.

With a firm grip, you began to move; your fingers gliding along his length as you familiarized yourself with every ridge and vein. Experimenting at the top, where you paused to rub your thumb in slow circles around the flushed pink head.

You didn’t dare pause for long, though; because the impatient throb of his cock and the even more impatient quirk of his mouth told you that you were moving far too slowly for his liking.

So, you picked up the pace, pumping up and down his shaft, finally managing to coax a few drops of precum from the tip, which made it easier to slide your hand along.

But with this speed and pressure came an impossible test of endurance.

After a few minutes, the muscles in your arm began to ache. You shifted the angle of your wrist, trying to find some comfort, but nothing felt right anymore, and you were panting from the effort.

Ugh, this was awful. Shouldn’t he be the one huffing and puffing?

You looked up at him, forcibly unfurrowing your brows to mask your frustration.

And there he was, staring at your efforts with barely any enthusiasm, that cold, agitated look in his eyes, the prominent vein on his forehead nearly threatening to burst.

When he let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh, you snapped.

You stopped your hand dead in its tracks, glaring at him with such intensity that he had no choice but to meet your gaze.

“Can you at least pretend it feels good?”

Sukuna arched a brow at your bratty tone and the sudden cessation of your efforts, but then let out another sigh—or maybe more of a grunt—as he broke away from your stare.

“I knew this was ridiculous. How's a measly hand supposed to satisfy me? How can you pigs be content with this?”

The nerve—you were about to snap at him again, but your words caught when he suddenly shifted, flipping you onto your side. The bed creaked as he let his weight drop into the mattress behind you, his rock-hard abs pressing into your back.

You felt his throbbing cock nestle between the cheeks of your ass while his fingers trailed up your leg until they landed on your hips and sank into the tender flesh.

“Hey! What are you—” You yelped at the sudden advance, but Sukuna wouldn’t hear you out, not this time.

“Ah, shut up, brat. I’m not putting it—” with a forceful thrust of his hips, he nudged his cock between your thighs, “in.”

It was hot and pulsing—and with that one buckle he'd miraculously managed to brush his thick head against your clit in a way that made your whole body jolt.

It didn’t stop there...

His hips began to rock at a restless pace—no 'easing into it', no. Just a domineering, impatient rhythm that picked up with each thrust as he fucked your thighs.

Not a shred of regard for the fact that you were still trying to catch your breath from jerking him off.

But you couldn't protest because—with each merciless slam of his hips against your ass, his cock slid over your soaked folds, grazing that same spot again and again, sending waves of pleasure through you.

Before you knew it, you were clenching your legs together. The juices that leaked from your cunt working as the perfect lubricant for his cock, coating your thighs as the room filled with wet, lewd squelches.

His hand slid up to your breast, fingers digging in with an eagerness that would no doubt leave a nasty bruise. And if that, somehow, wasn’t enough to leave a mark, then Sukuna made sure that the sharp edges of his nails left etchings in your flesh.

It stung so deliciously that a cry escaped your lips before you could stop it.

But one little cry wouldn't do it. Not for Sukuna.

He hooked his knee over your leg, pulling you closer, squashing your cheeks against his pelvis and ensuring your thighs squeezed him all the way to the base.

“Sukuna… ah… not so rough,” you managed to mewl through heavy breaths as your folds grew puffy and sore from the friction.

With a half-assed effort you even tried to push his knee away for a moment of reprieve. But his grip was unyielding, keeping you pinned against him as he continued his brutal pace.

“Hm, brat’s giving orders now?” His voice rasped against your ear, dark and husky.

“This is punishment—for promising to 'take care of it' and failing so miserably.”

You wanted to snap back, but any attempt at a retort dissolved into helpless whimpers and gasps, your mind dizzy from the overwhelming sensation of every ridge and vein of his cock sliding past the sensitive endings of your nerves.

You couldn’t explain in words how grateful you were to yourself for standing your ground on the no-sex thing.

Sukuna was like a feral beast, driven purely by instinct—topped off with limitless endurance and that ridiculous strength he felt no guilt unleashing upon you as he pounded into your thighs again... and again... and again.

And let’s not even get started on the size of that weapon... If it had been your pussy instead of your legs, he would have utterly destroyed you.

Sukuna's voice pulled you from your haze, as you struggled to focus on anything other than the electrifying heat and pressure building low in your stomach.

“You’re trembling,” he hissed between thrusts.

“Control your cursed energy, fool. Was all that effort training you a waste of my time?” He nudged his head against your ear, whispering so close that the hairs stood up at the back of your neck and your pussy throbbed.

“Or will you show me some competence for once?”

For him you'd try to focus—to concentrate on the flow of energy. Even now, you wanted to prove yourself; maybe more than ever, you wanted his praise. But the two of you seemed intertwined into an indistinguishable mess of energy.

It was impossible to untangle, and so you could only pray he’d finish before you fainted from the intensity.

“I... I can’t,” you murmured, voice muffled into your own arm.“It’s too much,”

At that point you gave up—surrendering to the pleasure even if Sukuna groaned against your neck, clearly irritated by your human fragility.

But something kept him from dragging this out and pushing you over your limit—he wanted you conscious to witness how thoroughly he'd mark you. To make you understand the consequences of infiltrating his thoughts, of making the strongest being in existence dependant on a mere mortal.

He bared his teeth and flipped you over to your stomach, his movements growing more erratic as he rutted against your thighs and clawed at your ass.

This new angle brought a whole new bliss and you were damn near losing your mind now... The walls of your cunt clenching together, aching to be filled, the heat in your stomach spreading to your whole body until even the tips of your ears burned up.

Instinctively, you arched your back, pressing into Sukuna's hips.

And that was when his own groans broke loose, low and raspy, louder with each thrust—sounds that were more animal than human. His pace picked up, even when you hadn't thought it possible.

Your face pushing deeper into the pillow with each plunge between your legs, muffling the desperate, shameful sounds you couldn't possibly suppress.

It burned when the sensitive flesh of your thighs and ass began to glow a deep red from the repeated impact.

And you could feel his cock pulse, on the verge of bursting as he bent over you, pressing your body into the mattress and yanking your head back so he could see your face, a moaning, drooling mess.

“Now this,” he rasped, leaning down to capture your expression as he drove his dick so deep between your thighs that his balls slapped against them.

“Is a foolish human gesture, I can see the appeal of.”

With another harsh roll of his hips, he let your head fall back into the pillow, dragging his tongue along the curve of your neck, savoring the taste of your sweat-slicked skin.

It was those words, followed by the feel of his wet tongue lapping at your neck—the head of his cock, drenched in your juices, swiping past your clit once more—

that pushed you to your orgasm.

“Hng.. Fuck,”

Your whole body tightened up as the heat in your stomach rolled into shockwaves of pleasure, your world narrowing in to the muffled sounds of your own moans and the rhythmic spasms of your cunt, your fingernails digging into the sheets.

Sukuna could feel your legs lock around him even tighter as you came undone, your thighs twitching when he overstimulated your clit, showing no mercy as he kept his pace steady.

Your needy little cries into the pillow—the pillow that was no doubt as soaked as your pussy, just with tears and spit—were the most enticing sounds he’d ever heard.

His hot breath hovered at your ear, every rough exhale fanning over your skin when his groans grew louder, gradually shifting into uncontrolled grunts at shorter intervals.

Until his hips jerked a final time, slamming into your flesh as a deep, guttural sound tore from his throat. His cock twitched and hot ropes of cum spilled over the inside of your legs, reaching all the way to your stomach.

With a few extra thrusts Sukuna made sure to spread it all around, properly coating you in his mess before finally pulling away.

He traced a finger along your thigh and smirked at the sight he’d left behind.

“I keep discovering more things you’re good for, brat. Pestering, cooking, fucki—brat?”

He nudged your legs, which had already crumpled onto the mattress, but you were barely conscious, his words fading into scattered syllables after the overwhelming rush of his cursed energy and the most mind-blowing orgasm you’d ever had.

You were so out of it you might have heard your own snore set it—or maybe that was just Sukuna’s disappointed growl as he realized your body had gone limp.

Whatever it was, you were too drained to care.

Sorry, Sukuna. Just a little nap…

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THANKYOU for reading bby's <3 Hope I fed y'all well this chapter 🥺

Also wanted to clarify that the gaps between chapters are a lil longer because, well, the chapters are twice as long lol. So I hope I'm forgiven 🙏

Taglist: @sukunasthightattoos , @tomiokasecretlover , @6demonize6me6 , @blindbabycadder , @domainofmarie , @marcoschuitmaker , @geniejunn , @chanaaaannel , @nessca153

If you want to be added to the taglist, so you don't miss any updates, please let me know in the comments or with a private message. Thankyou!

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