#beyond normal human bounds

[age-of-moonknight]

“Crusader,” Phases of the Moon Knight (Vol. 1/2024), #1.

Writer: Benjamin Percy; Artist: Rod Reis; Letterer: Cory Petit

[wizardlyghost]

look i'm no nerd supremacist, i'm aware that being a fuckin nerd doesn't make me better than everyone else and in many ways makes me worse. but also hearing someone say that nobody would ever want to read or could ever enjoy the silmarillion does make me despair a little bit.

[rosemaryhoney27]

Dont mess with our daughter

Wrath of the Fentons

Jason Todd had seen a lot of weird things in Gotham. Lazarus pits, immortal assassins, fear gas-induced nightmares—hell, he'd been one of the weird things, once upon a time. But watching a bunch of black-market meta traffickers haul a very pissed-off redhead into an unmarked van in broad daylight was quickly climbing the ranks of what the fuck moments.

She wasn't screaming. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Most metas—or normal people—would be terrified. Instead, this girl looked annoyed.

Jason had been tracking this particular ring for weeks. They specialized in kidnapping metas with "unique features"—horns, glowing eyes, animal traits, things that marked them as different. The bastards made a killing selling them off to the highest bidder.

The girl—Jazz, he caught one of the thugs saying—fit their usual type. Her hands, bound behind her, had faint green veins pulsing under her skin, as if something otherworldly coursed through her. Her eyes flickered a ghostly green before settling back into a sharp, human blue.

Jason knew that look. It was the look someone got when they were waiting.

For what? Backup? Did she have a tracker? A hidden weapon?

He was about to interfere when Jazz sighed dramatically and muttered, "You poor, poor idiots."

Jason didn't have time to wonder what she meant before his comms flared to life with a frantic Oracle.

"Red Hood, stand down—I repeat, do not engage—the girl's parents are en route, and—holy shit—these guys have no idea what they just did."

Jason frowned. "Parents? Who—"

And then he saw the tank.

It barreled down the street, mounted with weapons that absolutely should not be street legal, glowing green with ominous energy. The side of the vehicle had a logo painted in jagged white letters:

FENTON WORKS

The doors flew open, and a massive man in an orange jumpsuit leaped out, wielding what could only be described as an anti-aircraft cannon converted into a rifle. His wife followed, a visor covering her eyes, her sleek blue bodysuit glowing with strange symbols.

"JAZZ!" the man bellowed, aiming the cannon at the traffickers as if they were just another ghost to blast into oblivion.

"Hey, Dad!" Jazz called, still completely unbothered as one of the thugs tried to hold a knife to her throat. "You might want to be careful. They think I'm a meta."

"Oh, honey," her mom said, pulling out a gun that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi horror movie. "They won't be thinking anything in a few minutes."

Jason took a slow step back.

He'd seen Bruce handle hostage situations with surgical precision. He'd seen Dick talk down armed criminals with nothing but charm and a smile.

He had never seen two civilians go full scorched earth on a meta trafficking ring without so much as a plan beyond "rescue daughter, destroy everything."

The traffickers barely had time to react before green energy blasts tore through their van, their weapons, and the street around them. The sheer destructive enthusiasm was a sight to behold.

One thug made the mistake of aiming a gun at Maddie Fenton. She shot him with a glowing net that phased through his skin before electrifying him into unconsciousness. Another tried to run—Jack Fenton threw what looked like a modified bear trap, which snapped shut around the guy’s legs and dragged him back, screaming.

Jazz, still tied up, sighed as one guy tried to use her as a human shield. "You do realize that you're standing between me and them, right?"

The thug barely had time to consider his life choices before Maddie calmly shot him in the leg.

Jason, crouched on a nearby rooftop, slowly exhaled.

Well. The ring was definitely out of commission.

As the Fentons loaded the unconscious criminals into their highly illegal ghost-proof containment units, Jazz finally noticed Jason watching. She arched a brow.

"Hey, Red Hood, right?"

Jason, still processing, just nodded.

Jazz smirked. "You look like you're having a what the fuck moment."

Jason stared at the still-smoking wreckage of what used to be a human trafficking operation and then at the grinning, trigger-happy Fenton parents.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

[sweetvoidstuff]

Bound by Fate, Chosen by Love I Part 1

Jungkook x Reader I Werwolf x Witch I Fated Mates I Slow Burn I Strangers to Lovers I Supernatural Romance I Protective Jungkook

Summary : A witch bound by duty. A werewolf bound by instinct. When fate intertwines their paths, they must decide if love is worth defying expectations. Hunters threaten their people, forcing them to fight side by side. As tensions rise, so does the pull between them—soft moments turning into something far more intense. A quiet invitation, a lingering touch, a whispered question that changes everything. In the end, choice matters more than destiny. But with danger still lurking, will they have the chance to choose each other?

Word Count: 42K

Masterlist

A/N: Well, I wanted to post this as one, but Tumblr won’t let me… so I’ll be posting Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 back to back. Sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy it!

Part 2 / Part 3 / Epilog

The scent of blood clung thick in the air, mingling with the dying embers of the village’s fires. Jungkook stood at the center of the devastation, his hands clenched into tight fists, nails still lengthened into claws from the fight. Sweat and blood coated his skin—some his own, but not all of it. Far from it. His chest heaved as he struggled to steady his breath.

Around him, his pack moved swiftly—gathering the wounded, checking the fallen. They had fought hard, but the ambush had been unexpected. Hunters had found them.

Namjoon lay motionless on the ground, his usually strong and commanding presence dimmed by the severity of his wounds. Seokjin knelt beside him, pressing firm hands against a deep gash along Namjoon’s side, his face tight with worry.

“We can’t treat this here,” Seokjin said, his voice rough with strain. “The wound is poisoned, cursed, I don’t know. Normal healing won’t work.”

Fear clung to his words. If their Alpha, their leader, there friend died… there would be others to take Namjoon’s place—Jungkook and Seokjin among them. But so soon after such a devastating attack, a power struggle would only weaken the pack further.

Jungkook cursed under his breath. He knew what had to be done.

“The witches,” he said, the words tasting forbidden on his tongue.

Seokjin’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “You know it’s forbidden to cross the valley,” he murmured, voice low, as if even speaking of it would summon trouble.

“I don’t care,” Jungkook growled. “If there’s even a chance they can help, I’ll take it.”

The werewolves had always been wary of the witches who lived beyond the valley, deep within the hidden grove. Myths claimed they were descendants of the devil, that they meddled in dark magic. But Jungkook had never put much stock in those stories. The truth was, their kinds hadn’t mixed for centuries. Not enemies, not allies—just strangers who respected the unspoken boundary between them.

But he would break that boundary tonight.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The night was heavy with mist as Jungkook approached the village hidden within the thick embrace of the forest. The air hummed with a power he had never felt before—subtle but undeniable. The trees seemed taller, the shadows deeper, longer, as if the very land itself was old but alive. He shifted back into his human form as he neared the entrance, not wanting to provoke a reaction by approaching as a wolf.

Jungkook barely made it past the first set of dwellings before three hooded figures emerged from the darkness, surrounding him. Their movements were precise, silent, and before he could decide whether to fight or speak, one of them grabbed his arm.

“You will come with us.”

Jungkook didn’t resist. He went willingly—fighting would do nothing but worsen his chances. He was here to plead, not to battle. His people had suffered enough.

The witches led him through winding stone paths, deeper into the heart of their village. Eventually, they reached what looked like a grand council hall, its high ceilings glowing with floating candles, its walls lined with ancient symbols that pulsed faintly with power—none of which Jungkook had ever seen before.

At the center of the room sat an elderly woman, her hair white as snow, neatly pinned in a bun. Her wrinkled eyes held a sharpness that spoke of wisdom and experience. She wore a simple black dress, a dark brown knitted shawl draped over her shoulders, her presence both commanding and eerily calm. She spoke in hushed tones with someone seated beside her—someone who caught Jungkook’s attention for only a second before he was shoved forward, forced to his knees before the elder.

The old woman studied him with knowing eyes.

“A werewolf in our village is an unusual sight,” she said. “Why have you come?”

Jungkook took a deep breath, his voice steady but urgent.

"My pack was attacked by hunters. Our leader, Namjoon, is dying. The wound – we have no way to heal him, but your coven might. Please—I am asking for your help."

Hushed whispers filled the hall. The mere mention of hunters sent a ripple of unease through the gathered witches. A long silence stretched between them before the old woman finally sighed, shaking her head.

"I am sorry for your inevitable loss," she said, her tone laced with genuine sympathy. "But we will not spare a healer. Not when the risk is so high."

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides. Fury burned hot in his chest. "You would let someone die when you could save him?" he snapped. "What kind of magic do you practice if it lets you turn your back on those in need?"

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides. Fury burned hot in his chest.

Before anyone could say more, you spoke.

“I will go.”

The room erupted.

“You cannot!”

A man standing near you—clearly a guardian of some kind, given the leather tunic and sword at his hip—stepped forward in protest. His dark eyes flashed with barely contained anger. “You are to be the next coven leader! You can’t risk yourself like this.”

His voice, though laced with frustration, carried a melodic smoothness that could captivate anyone who listened. If Jungkook hadn’t had heightened hearing, he might have missed it.

The old woman beside you—your grandmother, Jungkook realized—looked equally outraged.

“We will not allow it,” she said firmly.

But you didn’t waver.

“This is not up for debate, Jimin, Grandma,” you said, voice unwavering. “If we don’t value life, then why teach me compassion in the first place?”

Your grandmother exhaled through her nose, clearly displeased but knowing she could not sway you. Jimin, however, wasn’t done fighting. He stepped even closer to you, his presence protective, his stance firm. Jungkook clenched his jaw, a sharp irritation flaring within him. It was unreasonable—he knew that—but the way your guard hovered so close to you made something in him bristle.

"Then I’ll come with you," Jimin insisted, his voice tight. "I will not let you go unprotected."

"The journey will take three long days on foot," your grandmother agreed. "Through dangerous terrain, and the risk of hunters seems high. If you leave at sunrise, you may have a better chance of avoiding them. I will ward you with protection.”

Jungkook forced his focus back to the conversation, though the irritation lingered beneath his skin. "We won’t be going on foot," he said. "In my wolf form, I can carry you. We’ll be way faster that way. My people… many were already at the brink of dead when I left for help."

Jimin’s expression darkened snapping at Jungkook at the suggestion, his lips pressing into a thin line. Jungkook could practically feel the waves of protest rolling off him. The idea of you leaving with a werewolf clearly did not sit well with him, and for some reason, that only aggravated Jungkook further.

You, however, had already made up your mind.

"Then we leave in an hour," you said, ignoring the tension between the two men. "I need time to gather what I might need—medicines, supplies, charms for protection." Your eyes flickered to Jungkook. "You should use that time to rest. You look like you need it."

Jungkook exhaled slowly, nodding. He wouldn’t argue. His body still ached from the battle, and if they were to travel fast, he would need his full strength.

Jimin wasn’t ready to back down. He stepped closer, voice edged with disbelief.

“This is reckless,” he argued. “You—of all people—leaving with a stranger? A werewolf? In the middle of the night?” His tone was sharp, laced with concern and anger. "Do you even hear yourself?"

Jungkook was on his feet in an instant. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation struck him—did they really think he would harm you? He had come here, humbled himself before your people, and still, your guard stood as if he were some mindless beast ready to strike. His irritation flared, but he pushed it down, focusing instead on what truly mattered.

Jimin moved swiftly, placing himself between you and Jungkook, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. The air in the chamber grew thick with tension, the silent challenge crackling like fire between them.

Jungkook squared his shoulders, meeting Jimin’s stare head-on. His voice was no longer just steady—it was unshakable.

“I swear on my life and the honor of my pack,” he declared, his gaze locking onto yours. “As long as you are with me to help my people, I will lay down my life before yours. No harm will come to you—not while I still breathe.”

The words rang through the hall like iron striking stone, unwavering and absolute. Jimin’s fingers twitched against his sword, his instincts screaming at him to remain wary. But before the tension could spiral further, your hand came to rest on Jimin’s shoulder.

It was a small gesture, yet Jungkook watched with silent irritation as the effect was immediate. Jimin stiffened, then exhaled sharply, lowering his hand from his weapon.

Jungkook pushed his tongue into his cheek, fighting the unreasonable annoyance curling in his chest. Why did it take you to calm him? Why did the sight of your hand on someone else—your trust in someone else—bother him? He shoved the thought aside, focusing instead on you.

You turned your gaze to him, your voice steady and sure. "I believe in the wolf standing before me."

The words settled deep inside him, quieting some of the storm in his mind.

"What is your name?" you asked. Voice gentle.

For a moment, Jungkook just looked at you. Then, finally, he answered. "Jungkook."

A small nod. "I am Y/N."

Your guardian pressed his lips together but said nothing more, stepping back begrudgingly. Jungkook ignored the strange sense of satisfaction that settled in his chest at that.

He would rest. And then he would take you with him—away from here, away from the witch who stood too close, and back to his people where he knew, without a doubt, that you were meant to be.

You watched as Jungkook was led to a quiet, secluded resting area, tucked just behind the stone walls of the ancient temple where he could rest and refresh. His figure was striking even in the fading light. His broad shoulders were slightly hunched, a subtle sign of the exhaustion that weighed on him, but there was an undeniable strength to his presence that couldn't be overlooked. Beneath the dark fabric of his tunic, his muscles shifted with each movement—taut, coiled, ready.

When his right arm flexed, the intricate tattoos etched into his skin caught your eye. Black lines, sharp and deliberate, curled around his bicep and stretched down his forearm, their design a seamless blend of power and artistry. They weren’t merely decorations; they were a story—one inked into his very flesh, speaking of battles fought, victories earned, and oaths sworn. There was a rawness to them, a quiet energy humming beneath each mark, as if the wildness within him had been woven into his very skin. You found yourself wondering about their meaning, about the stories they told. About what it might be like to hear him speak of them in that low, gravelly voice.

His steps were steady, though they carried a weariness, as if every movement he made was deliberate, measured. His raven-black hair, damp with the sweat of the day’s battles, fell slightly over his forehead in messy strands, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the sharpness of his jawline, defined and strong, yet softened by the tension that gripped him. His eyes, dark and intense, seemed to absorb everything around him, calculating each moment, each movement. They flicked over his surroundings with a restless energy that mirrored the storm raging within him. But despite the tension in his posture and the storm brewing in his eyes, there was something almost magnetic about him—something that made your chest tighten with a deep, instinctive need to help.

You couldn’t help but follow his movements with your gaze, a knot in your chest that you couldn’t quite explain.

You forced yourself to turn away, breaking the hold he had on your thoughts. There was no time for hesitation. Swiftly, you gathered what was necessary for the journey—water, herbs, bandages, protective spells small enough to carry. A few potions to ward off fatigue, perhaps, and to keep danger at bay. A change of fresh clothes. Your mind was already calculating what else you might need, but you didn't want to over-pack and burden Jungkook with the extra weight. You needed to travel light, to move swiftly.

As your hands worked with practiced efficiency, your mind wandered back to the way his gaze had lingered on you earlier, to the quiet intensity of it. And to the strange sense of steadiness you found in his presence.

A glance at the hour told you it was nearly time.

You changed into something more suited for travel—comfortable, form-fitting clothing, easily allowing for movement. No time to waste now. You gathered the small satchel and backpack with your essentials and moved toward the door.

When you found Jimin outside, he was pacing, his brows furrowed in agitation. As you approached, he stopped and eyed you critically. His concern for you was as obvious as his mistrust of Jungkook.

“Are you sure about this?” Jimin’s voice was low, his tone edged with uncertainty. “You can’t just trust a wolf pack, no matter what promises they make. They’re dangerous. This—this whole situation—it’s too risky. I don’t like it.”

You met his gaze head-on. “Jimin, I trust Jungkook. I don’t know why but I do. He promised to keep me safe, and I believe him.” You paused, watching the flash of skepticism in his eyes. “I won’t be alone. I’ll have him with me.”

Jimin’s jaw tightened as he shook his head. “How can you? We don’t know him! And I’m still coming with you. No matter what you say, I don’t trust any of this. Not the wolves. Not the way you’ve been acting... I’m not leaving you to deal with that on your own.”

You didn’t argue further. Jimin was stubborn, and you knew he would follow you regardless. But you could see the worry in his eyes—he was protective, and though you appreciated it, you had already made up your mind. With a final glance at him, you turned and strode toward the temple’s back entrance.

“Just tack us,” you said firmly. “We need to move quickly.”

Jungkook was already waiting in the clearing, the silver moonlight carving his silhouette from the shadows. He stood taller now, more at ease, though his eyes still carried the weight of unspoken thoughts.

As you approached, his sharp gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, it was as though time itself slowed.

“You’re ready?” he asked, his voice low, a soft growl underlining the words as he stood tall. His wolf was closer to the surface now, the tension of his form palpable.

“I’m ready,” you answered, nodding. There was no more hesitation, no more doubt. The air between you seemed to hum with an energy you couldn’t name.

You nodded. The space between you seemed to hum with something unspoken.

Jungkook exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Climb on after I shift. Sit between my shoulders—that will be the most stable. Hold on tight. I won’t drop you."

You nodded, preparing yourself to ride with him, Jimin stepped forward with a sharp glance at Jungkook. “I’m coming with you, too,” Jimin said firmly. “I’ll follow behind you—don’t think I’m just going to let you take her off with you, no matter what promises you’ve made.”

Jungkook’s gaze flicked briefly to Jimin, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. But there was no argument. He simply nodded, understanding the need for caution your people held, though it was clear he wasn’t thrilled about having Jimin follow.

Without saying another word, Jungkook began to shift. His muscles rippled beneath his skin as the transformation started. The air around you grew tense, and a low, resonating growl rumbled deep from his chest, even as his body expanded and contorted in ways that felt unnatural. You stepped back instinctively, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched him.

And then he was there—a massive wolf, his midnight-black coat gleaming under the moonlight. His sheer size stole your breath, a creature built for speed and strength, every movement fluid and deadly. His eyes, glowing with an ethereal green, a piercing intensity that seemed to look straight through you.

Jungkook’s form was stunning. His wolf was a creature of power and grace, exuding an aura of raw, unbridled energy. There was an elegant savagery to him, and yet, in his eyes, there was still something familiar, something that made your heart skip in your chest.

Jungkook’s gaze met yours, steady and unwavering. Slowly, he lowered himself, his body still, waiting. The weight of his presence was overwhelming, and you could feel it in your bones. Jungkook’s eyes softened as he studied you for a moment longer before his body tensed again. He let out a soft huff, almost as if in a silent communication.

You stepped forward, your heart racing as you placed your hand gently on his back. His fur was impossibly soft, but beneath it, you felt the solid strength of muscle. For a brief moment, a thought flitted through your mind—what would it feel like to touch him like this in a moment not marked by war and urgency?

You swallowed, pushing the thought away, and climbed onto his back. With a deep breath, you swung one leg over, your body steadying as you positioned yourself on his back. Jungkook’s massive form shudder and shifted slightly, adjusting for you. The moment you were fully settled, he rose slowly to his feet, making sure not to jostle you. His patience was unexpected, his careful movements at odds with his sheer size and power. His wolf was patient and aware, moving with a grace that belied his size. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath you.

Jungkook took a cautious step, testing your comfort level. You relaxed slightly into his back, gripping his fur more securely, and with that, he picked up his pace, moving forward with a slow, powerful jog. You felt his muscles ripple with each stride, his movements precise and fluid, the ground beneath you blurring as he gained speed.

The hours stretched on, the landscape shifting from dense forest to open plains. The journey ahead was marked by quiet but steady progress. As Jungkook's powerful form cut through the forest, the world around you seemed to blur with speed. The trees and the shadows that once felt imposing now seemed like mere silhouettes, passing by in the blink of an eye. His powerful legs pushed him forward with a grace that made the air hum around you. The moonlight filtered through the canopy above, casting pale beams that illuminated the path, guiding him as naturally as if the forest itself had parted to make way.

You settled into the rhythm of the journey, allowing yourself to simply experience the moment. The first part of the trip was uneventful, save for the occasional snap of a twig beneath his paws or the distant hoot of an owl. It was almost peaceful, the kind of serenity that seemed almost too perfect to last.

Jimin had fallen back, fast. As the hours passed and the night wore on, you couldn’t help but notice how steady Jungkook's movements were. Despite the urgency of his mission, there was something almost meditative about his pace. It wasn’t rushed, but rather deliberate, as though every step was carefully planned to ensure both of your safety. His breathing was steady, his heart beating in sync with the rhythm of his movements.

The landscape around you began to change slowly. The dense forest gave way to more open terrain, where the trees were spaced farther apart and the underbrush gave way to dry grass and wildflowers that swayed gently in the wind. The journey had already taken hours, but the night was still young. The stars above sparkled brightly, as if even the heavens had conspired to light the path ahead.

The pace never wavered. Despite the exhaustion weighing on both of you, the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s run, coupled with the cool night air, kept you energized. Occasionally you spoke softly to him, asking if he was alright, but each time, he simply grunted in response. A little later, Jungkook began to slow his pace. You didn’t protest. Your muscles ached, and your eyes were heavy, though your mind remained alert.

His muscles rippled beneath his fur as he lowered himself into a seated position, gently lowering you to the ground. You slid off his back, feeling the familiar earth beneath your feet. The forest around you was peaceful, almost too still, and you felt a brief, unsettling silence settle in.

Jungkook shifted back to his human form almost immediately, his movements smooth and deliberate. He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping for just a moment before he straightened, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

"We should rest," he said, voice rough. "You’ll fall off if we go any further."

"I can keep going," you protested, but even you weren’t convinced. Your body ached from the unfamiliar ride, your legs screaming in protest.

He gently shook his head." I need a break as well. I’ll take the first watch."

You nodded. You settled down beside him, trying to ignore the gnawing exhaustion creeping into your bones. As Jungkook moved into a watchful stance, his eyes scanning the surroundings, you finally allowed yourself to lean back, staring up at the sky.

In the stillness of the night, with the sound of Jungkook’s steady breathing beside you and the distant rustling of the wind in the trees, you finally allowed yourself to close your eyes.

Jungkook sat against the trunk of a tree, his sharp eyes flicking between the darkness of the forest and your sleeping form. His ears, still heightened even in his human state, picked up the soft rhythm of your breathing, the way it had finally evened out now that exhaustion had won over your wary mind.

You slept, oblivious to the war raging inside him.

A witch. His mate was a damned witch.

The bond was undeniable. The second you’d touched him, he had known. But did you? Or were you oblivious, unaware of the pull tethering you to him?

His fingers twitched, resisting the instinct to reach out. The need to touch you was maddening, but what would it change?

You shifted slightly in your sleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest impossibly steady, as if you weren’t lying beside a wolf who was questioning everything he knew about fate.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. There was no escaping this, no denying what had been set in motion. His jaw tightened as he tried to reason with it—as if rationalizing it over and over would make it more bearable. It didn’t.

He had heard of mates bonding outside their own kind. Shifters mated to humans, vampires, and even once, an old elder claimed a siren had been bonded to a wolf long ago. But never a witch. Not in any history he knew. And it had to be him.

Not only that, but you weren’t just any witch. You were someone important, someone powerful. You had defied your own coven, risked a lot to help his pack, and now, whether you knew it or not, you were his.

What did that mean? For him? For you?

Would you accept it, or were you like some humans, oblivious to the bond, requiring time—or worse, never recognizing it at all?

His fingers curled into the dirt, suppressing the urge to reach for you, to brush his skin against yours and feel the bond’s pulse again, just to be sure. But what was the point? The fact remained: you were a witch, and he was a wolf. And right now, you were his only hope.

Jungkook sighed, forcing himself to rest, even as his mind refused to quiet. Instead, he listened to you, to the even rhythm of your breathing, to the small, unconscious sighs you made in sleep. He hated how much it soothed him.

His attention flicked to Jimin. He didn’t want to be impressed with Jimin, but he was. The man had trailed you both far longer and closer than Jungkook had expected. His nose and ears should’ve caught Jimin falling behind immediately, struggling to keep up. Instead, Jimin had barely made a sound, his scent present for quite a while but never overstepping for the first two hours. That kind of skill wasn’t common, even among their kind.

Jungkook let the night pass, letting you rest as long as possible before the first streaks of gold kissed the horizon. He turned toward you, placing a careful hand on your shoulder.

You jolted awake, blinking up at him, eyes still hazy with sleep.

“Is’t’time to switch?” you mumbled groggily.

Jungkook shook his head, hiding a small, almost amused smile. “No, we keep moving. By midday, we’ll reach my village.”

You sat up quickly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before nodding. “A’right.”

Without another word, he shifted, his massive wolf form towering over you once again. You climbed onto his back, hands gripping his thick fur.

Jungkook took off, the forest blurring around you as he ran.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The closer they got to the village, the more the air changed. Jungkook smelled it before he saw it—the thick, coppery scent of blood, the acrid sting of burnt wood and fur. Even from a distance, his stomach twisted. The attack had been worse than he thought.

But there was no time to dwell. His pace never slowed, his focus never wavered. He didn’t stop when distant figures noticed him and called out. He didn’t stop when the pack members turned, some running to greet him, others frozen in shock at the sight of the stranger riding on his back. He didn’t even acknowledge the murmurs that rippled through the village as he raced straight to the Pack House.

He only stopped when he nearly slammed into the doors.

You jumped off his back just as he shifted, barely taking a second to regain his human form before grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. The scent of sickness, of suffering, was even worse in here. Bodies lay in makeshift beds, wolves in both human and shifted form, their wounds bandaged but still raw. A few heads turned, weak eyes barely registering his arrival before exhaustion pulled them back under.

He barely had a moment to breathe before a figure blocked his path.

Jin.

And beside him, Hoseok—whose face was twisted in fury.

“A witch?!” Hoseok snarled, stepping forward, his teeth bared. “You really left us to go get a witch! For all the problems we have, you thought bringing one into the mix would help?”

His glare snapped to you, and before he could move, before he could even think about lunging, Jungkook was there. His body moved on instinct, stepping between you and his furious friend, his own teeth bared in a low, guttural growl.

Hoseok froze. His amber eyes flicked to Jungkook’s face, the realization dawning like a slap across the face.

“No,” he breathed, barely above a whisper. His eyes darted between you and Jungkook, horror creeping into his features. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He just kept his stance firm, his growl deepening as his fingers twitched at his sides, ready to strike if necessary.

A moment of heavy silence passed before Jin sighed, rubbing his temples. “We don’t have time for this,” he muttered. “If she can help, she stays. If she can’t, then this argument is pointless.”

Hoseok didn’t look convinced, but he took a step back, his lips still curled in frustration. He shot you a final glare before turning on his heel. “If this backfires, it’s on you,” he snapped at Jungkook before storming off.

Jin exhaled heavily, looking at you with far less hostility but no less wariness. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

You didn’t hesitate. Instead of answering Jin’s wary question, you turned to him with crisp authority. “I need a lot of hot water, at least two sets of helping hands—people who will follow my orders without hesitation—and as many of your local healing plants as you can gather.”

Jin blinked, caught off guard by your sudden command. He hesitated for a second, clearly unused to being ordered around, but you didn’t give him the time to argue. “Get to it,” you said sharply, already moving.

You pulled your hair into a quick ponytail as you retrieved a piece of chalk from your satchel. With quick, practiced strokes, you began writing intricate symbols on the door behind you, then moved to the windows, murmuring under your breath as you worked. Protective runes, sealing wards, and cleansing scripts—each one carefully placed to strengthen the space around you, to keep the sickness from spreading and the darkness from lingering. Jungkook watched you with a furrowed brow, confusion flickering across his face, but he didn’t interrupt. There was something about the way you carried yourself—an unshakable presence that made even the strongest warriors in the room hesitate to question you.

Then, the work began.

The next several hours blurred together in a haze of movement and whispered incantations. You barely had time to think as you worked, your hands steady, your magic sharp. Jungkook remained by your side, assisting without hesitation. Whether it was holding down a thrashing patient, keeping pressure on a wound, or simply fetching what you needed before you asked, he was there. Others, however, were less trusting. When one of his pack members hesitated too long, questioning your methods instead of acting, you threw them out without a second thought. There was no room for doubt, no time for superstition. Every move you made was precise, every incantation purposeful, as if everything you did from the moment you entered was one long healing ritual. The tension in the room was thick, but you ignored it.

Hoseok entered once. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his sharp gaze watching and waiting for you to make a mistake. If you noticed his presence, you didn’t let it show. You had no time for petty pack politics—not when lives were on the line. Eventually, even he had to acknowledge that whatever you were doing, it was working. The air in the Pack House shifted. The stench of death and decay lessened, the oppressive weight of sickness lifting, if only slightly.

Jungkook had seen magic before—had fought against it, had learned to be wary of it. But he had never seen this. You moved through the room like a storm contained in human form, commanding not just the space but the people within it. Never had he seen a witch walk into a den of wolves and take control like the very air bent to their will.

It made his skin crawl.

Not out of fear. No, the unease twisting in his gut was something far more dangerous than fear.

It was recognition.

Because as he watched you move—commanding the space like you had been born to lead, unwavering even under the weight of distrust and still showing compassion—something inside him whispered the truth.

Mine.

It was infuriating.

Because you weren’t just any witch. You were powerful. Respected. Feared. And now, for better or worse, you were his mate.

The idea that fate, that anything, could have decided for him that a witch of all people was meant to be his mate. His future. The thought unsettled him. Witches and shifters did not mix. It was unheard of. And not just any witch, but you. The next in line to lead your coven if he heard right. Someone who, from the moment you had stepped into this house, had taken control with an ease that made his pack uneasy.

It made him uneasy.

By midday the next day, after working non-stop since the moment you stepped into the Pack House, much had changed.

Of the seventeen wounded, seven were finally strong enough to sit and speak—even Namjoon was coming by. Three had insisted on leaving, eager to return to help with the aftermath of the attack. But one life still hung in the balance—a child, their small body ravaged by a cursed weapon. You had done nearly everything you could. Every herb, every spell, every ounce of magic you possessed had been poured into saving them. Now, the rest was up to the child’s spirit.

But not everyone was willing to accept that answer.

“You saved the others. Why not my son?” a voice snapped from the corner of the room. It was a woman, her face drawn with exhaustion and grief. You turned slowly, your own exhaustion heavy in your bones, but your expression remained unreadable. “Magic is not a quick fix, it means sacrifice, it means willpower.” you said, your voice steady. “I have given him every chance, more would be reckless. Now, he must choose to fight.”

The words hung heavy in the air, met with silence and barely concealed tension.

“There has to be something more you can do! ” the woman demanded more from you, her voice sharp with grief and desperation, Jungkook felt the tension in the room spike. The mother’s pain was suffocating, but the Pack’s suspicion was heavier. It was clear what they were thinking. That you had chosen who to save and who to let die.

That you had let the boy suffer.

Jungkook stiffened, ready to step in, to defend you. But before he could, another voice cut through the space like a blade.

Hoseok.

His closest friend. One of Namjoons most trusted like himself. And the one person he knew would not let this go easily.

“Can’t,” Hoseok said, his voice low and sharp. “Or won’t?”

Jungkook stiffened, was about to snap—was about to remind Hoseok that you had spent the last day and night healing their wounded without so much as a break.

This situation was dangerous.

Hoseok wasn’t just questioning you—he was challenging you.

And yet, instead of backing down, instead of shrinking under the weight of an entire pack ready to turn on you, you moved.

Fast.

Around Jungkook. Right in front of Hoseok.

A bold, reckless move.

No one challenged Hoseok like that—not unless they wanted a fight. But you stood before him, meeting his glare without flinching. Your voice, when it came, was cold. Calculated.

For a split second, Jungkook forgot to breathe. For a split second, everything in him went tight—instincts roaring to life at the sight of you placing yourself between two wolves. He almost grabbed you, almost pulled you back, but you weren’t afraid.

Not of Hoseok. Not of anyone.

Instead, you lifted your chin and met his glare with something colder. “What would you willingly give to save the child?”

A beat of silence.

Then, a scoff. “What?”

You turned away from him, eyes locking onto the mother. “His name,” you demanded.

The woman hesitated, confused, but answered in a shaky breath. “S-Sunwoo, a-and I would give anything.”

The shift in the room was immediate. Tension coiled tighter, like a wire pulled to the breaking point.

Jungkook saw it—saw the way something flickered across your face at the name. It was gone in an instant, replaced by something unreadable, but it was there.

Hoseok noticed too, but he didn’t take it seriously.

“What, you think saying his name is gonna fix this?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You’re not a god, witch.”

The snarl in his voice was met with something colder in yours. “I never claimed to be.”

Then, before anyone could react, you grabbed Hoseok’s wrist.

Jungkook saw it happen in real-time, and yet, he still couldn’t believe it.

Your fingers locked around Hoseok’s wrist.

The entire room reacted.

Wolves tensed. Muscles coiled, teeth bared. A ripple of aggression spread through the Pack like a match to dry grass. Hoseok froze for a split second—shocked, furious—but before he could yank back, you pulled him forward, dragging him to the child’s side with an ease that sent a whisper of something dark through the watching crowd.

Jungkook was stunned.

No one touched Hoseok like that. No one dared.

And yet, here you were.

Gasps echoed around the room. The Pack’s unease morphed into outright hostility. Several wolves growled low in their throats, eyes flashing with warning, but you ignored them all.

You had everyone’s attention now.

“A miracle,” you said, voice laced with something ancient. Something powerful. “Fine! You’ll get a miracle. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You offered a gentle hand to Sunwoo’s mother, inviting her to take a leap of faith.

And she did.

Slowly, carefully, her trembling fingers found yours.

Jungkook felt it before anything else.

As you started to murmur, the air shifted. The words you spoke were unintelligible, a language he had never heard before. Even your breathing sounded melodic, weaving through the tension like a song long forgotten.

The magic curling through the room, thick and cold, the air turning sharp enough to taste. His wolf bristled beneath his skin, instincts screaming danger. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to stop this, to protect.

But he didn’t.

Because he didn’t know how to protect you from something you were obviously the cause of.

He swallowed down the urge to growl, but others weren’t as restrained. A ripple of unease spread through the pack, some baring their teeth, others shifting on their feet like they were fighting the urge to move.

Then the sky outside darkened.

Not like nightfall. No, this was unnatural—shadows stretching long where there should have been light, the temperature in the room plummeting.

Hoseok stiffened. “What the hell—”

He tried to pull away, but you tightened your grip. “If you move, the boy dies.”

The mother trembled. A dead silence.

Then—

A flash of silver.

Jungkook lunged, instincts overriding thought, but it was already too late. Before he could react, you had already moved.

The blade cut clean across Hoseok’s palm.

Not deep. Not fatal. Just enough.

Blood welled up on Hoseok’s skin. Another on the mother’s hand.

Then—

Yours.

The scent of it filled the air, sharper than the rest. Jungkook’s wolf reared in his chest, nearly throwing him forward, but he held himself back.

Your blood hit the boy’s skin, mixing with the others.

The second it did, the world lurched.

A pulse of magic ripped through the room, snapping against his senses like a whip.

Hoseok’s breath hitched, muscles locked like he was fighting something unseen. The mother gasped, eyes going wide as her fingers trembled in yours.

Jungkook fought the overwhelming wrongness of it all, his wolf howling in protest, instincts screaming—

Then you looked at him.

It was brief. A single glance.

But it was enough.

Because in that moment, as the spell took its toll, you knew.

For better or worse, he would be the one to keep you alive.

Then you collapsed.

His body moved before his mind caught up.

One second, you were standing—the next, you were falling.

Jungkook caught you before you hit the ground, his arms locking around you instinctively.

Dead weight.

Limp.

Too pale.

Too still.

For a single, horrifying moment, he thought—

No. No, you were still breathing.

Hoseok snapped out of his daze, golden eyes flashing with fury. “She—”

Jungkook could already hear it coming.

“Jungkook,” Hoseok growled, voice sharp with rage. “She attacked us! She—”

“Enough.” Jungkook’s voice was steel, sharper than fangs.

But the argument never even started.

Because behind them—soft, barely audible at first—a sound shattered the tension.

A sob.

The mother.

And then—

A small, shuddering inhale.

Jungkook turned just in time to see the boy’s eyes flutter open.

The Pack House fell into stunned silence.

Sunwoo was alive.

You had done the impossible.

But as Jungkook looked down at your unconscious form in his arms—too fragile, too vulnerable—he knew one thing for certain.

Whatever you had done…

It had cost you.

And now, unconscious in his arms, you were more vulnerable than ever.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Warmth.

That was the first thing you noticed as you slowly drifted back into consciousness.

Not the suffocating, burning heat of magic consuming you from the inside out, but something gentler. Something that cradled you rather than scorched. A soft, steady warmth, surrounding you like a cocoon.

You shifted, blinking slowly as your vision swam into focus. The ceiling above you was wooden, dark beams stretching across a thatched roof. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and something clean. Not sterile, but fresh—like newly laundered clothes, like herbs hanging to dry.

You inhaled deeply.

Bad idea.

Pain lanced through your chest, raw and sharp, like your ribs had been scraped raw from the inside. A low groan left your lips as you tried to push yourself up, but the aftermath of the spell was still weighing you down. Blood magic was always nasty. You had known it would take a toll, but even this was worse than you had expected.

The sound of movement snapped you from your haze.

A shadow shifted in the corner of your vision, and before you could react, Jungkook was at your side.

You blinked up at him, startled. He had moved fast, so fast you hadn't even registered it. His dark eyes were locked onto you, sharp and searching, but his touch was careful as he slid an arm behind your back, steadying you as you struggled to sit upright.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice low, unreadable.

You stared at him. Really looked at him.

His face was tense, jaw set tight like he was barely keeping himself from saying something else. His brows were drawn together, but the emotion in his eyes was harder to pin down. Frustration? Relief?

You swallowed, glancing down at yourself. You were covered with a thick, woolen blanket, the rough texture oddly grounding. Beneath it, you could feel the stiffness of dried blood clinging to your skin and gauze placed on the cut you forces on yourself.

“I am not dead?” you finally rasped, voice hoarse.

Jungkook blinked, momentarily thrown. “…Why would you be?”

You exhaled a weak, humorless laugh. “Well, I did cut two of your—what is it called? Mates? Pack friends?”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t let himself smile. “Pack members.”

“Right.” You frowned, trying to make sense of it all. “And they didn’t kill me in my sleep?”

Jungkook’s expression hardened. “No one was going to touch you.”

You searched his face, trying to understand. They had been furious with you earlier—cautious, wary, resentful of what you were – he had been. And yet, here he was. Sitting beside you, supporting your weight, his voice steady and protective.

“…Why?” you finally asked.

Jungkook’s jaw flexed, something flickering behind his eyes. “I swore to protect you, didn’t I? Not that you make it easy for me.”

You studied him for a long moment. He wasn’t lying. But something about the way he said it made you uneasy. Not in a fearful way, but because it felt… too certain.

Your gaze flickered around the room. It was small but cozy. The wooden walls were lined with shelves, neatly stacked with supplies—herbs, dried meat, woven baskets filled with folded blankets. A fire crackled in the corner, its glow casting flickering shadows across the space.

“You are in my home,” Jungkook told you, watching your expression carefully. “You were unconscious for a few hours.”

You exhaled. “Only hours? Lucky. I feared it could take days.”

Jungkook leaned forward slightly, his dark brows furrowing. “What did you do?” unsettled by your remark.

You sighed, shifting against the pillows. “A spell like that—one tied to blood and life—it doesn’t simply heal. It rewrites fate. But magic is never free. Something had to be given in return.”

Jungkook’s expression darkened. “And what did you give?”

You hesitated. That was the question, wasn’t it? You felt the price deep in your bones. You had rewritten the boy’s fate—tied it to his mother’s love, to the wolf’s strength, and to your belief in the old ways. It would keep him alive, for as long as all three remained. But how to explain it that it made sence?

Jungkook seemed to sense your reluctance, but he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face before speaking again.

“The boy woke up minutes after you collapsed,” he finally said. “His mother… she was beside herself. Crying, thanking you, thanking the gods.”

You nodded slowly. “And the rest of the Pack?”

Jungkook’s jaw ticked. “Weren’t as forgiving.”

That didn’t surprise you.

“Hoseok wanted me to kill you,” he admitted bluntly, watching your reaction.

You snorted, shaking your head. “That tracks.”

Jungkook didn’t look amused. “Namjoon woke up before it came to that.”

You straightened slightly. “The Pack leader?”

Jungkook nodded. “The Alpha” helping you jet again with the terminology of his people “He wasn’t happy about the blood magic, but he told me to stay with you until we could all talk. He wants answers.”

You let out a slow breath. That was better than you expected. “Then I suppose I should clean up before I meet him.”

Jungkook hesitated, his wolf bristling. You felt the shift in him, the restless energy rolling off him in waves.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, voice lower now, softer.

You met his eyes, really met them this time. Despite everything, there was something grounding in the way he looked at you—like no matter how much he didn’t understand you, he was still there with you.

“I will be,” you finally said.

It wasn’t a lie.

Jungkook studied you for a long moment, then nodded. Without another word, he stood and helped you up, steadying you when you wavered on your feet.

“This way,” he murmured.

He led you to a small adjoining room, where a simple wooden tub sat against the far wall, filled with water still warm from the fire. The room smelled of clean linen and dried lavender.

Jungkook hesitated in the doorway, his muscles still taut with tension. His wolf wasn’t at ease—not at all.

“I’ll be close,” he said, his voice almost a warning. “Call if you need anything.”

You nodded, and with one last, reluctant glance, he stepped away.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

When you finally emerged, fresh and wrapped in a black dress, Jungkook was waiting. His dark eyes scanned you once, checking for any lingering signs of weakness. But only found you stunning. Then, without a word, he gestured for you to follow.

The walk to Namjoon’s home was not a quiet one.

Some villagers greeted you with cautious nods. Others weren’t as welcoming.

A low growl rumbled in the chest of one passing wolf, his lips curling in an unmistakable snarl.

Jungkook was on him in an instant.

A single warning glare was all it took—the wolf backed down immediately, lowering his gaze. But Jungkook didn’t move until the threat had completely passed, his posture stiff as he resumed walking beside you.

By the time you reached Namjoon’s home, you could feel Jungkook’s closeness, his silent protectiveness pressing against you like a shield.

Inside, Namjoon sat at the head of a long wooden table. Beside him stood two men—Jin, whose gaze was neutral, and Hoseok, whose was not.

You took a breath, then stepped forward, bowing slightly. “Leader of the wolves,” you greeted with as much respect as you could manage.

Namjoon studied you for a moment, then nodded.

“Witch from the valley. Sit,” he said.

Jungkook, still hovering close, pulled out a chair. You sat.

Hoseok exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “So, we’re really trusting her now?”

You didn’t react.

Namjoon silenced Hoseok with a sharp glare before turning to you, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Regardless of what happened,” he said, voice steady, “you saved lives today. My life included. For that, you have my thanks.”

A small flicker of surprise crossed Jin’s face at Namjoon’s words, but it was gone just as fast. Hoseok, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to argue, but Namjoon’s authority weighed heavier than his temper.

Still, gratitude aside, there was something else Namjoon wanted to know.

“But that still leaves the question—why are you here?” His dark gaze settled on you, unwavering. “What brought you to us?”

Before you could answer, Jungkook shifted beside you. “Hyung, after the attack, after Jin told me that with our healing there wasn’t a chance for you and the others to survive…” He exhaled sharply, hands clenching at his sides. “I went and got help.”

Namjoon’s brows lifted slightly. “Help.”

“Yes,” Jungkook confirmed. His jaw tensed, the weight of something unspoken pressing against his ribs. He had found you. His mate. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—blurt that out. Not yet.

Namjoon, however, wasn’t interested in hearing the story from Jungkook. His attention remained on you, gaze steady. “And what about you?” he asked. “Why did you come?”

You met his eyes without hesitation. “Because I wasn’t going to sit back and do nothing when I could save a life.” There was no waver in your voice, no doubt. “More than that, our people—your pack and my coven—have an unspoken truce. A natural understanding. You know it as well as I do.”

The reaction to that was immediate. Jin’s lips parted slightly in surprise. Hoseok’s entire posture stiffened, his jaw going tight. Even Namjoon blinked once, as if processing your words.

“Your coven,” Jin repeated, carefully.

You nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, then smoothly changed the subject. “But I didn’t come here to debate history. I came here because you were attacked, and such attacks are never random. We need to talk about it.”

Namjoon leaned forward slightly, but before he could respond, Hoseok’s temper snapped.

“Oh no,” he growled, stepping forward, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “We’re not just moving on like that. You think you can wave your damned magic around, bind me to some spell, and walk away without explaining a damn thing?”

Jungkook’s body tensed beside you, ready to step in if necessary, but you didn’t seem the least bit rattled. Instead, you simply turned to Hoseok with a look that nearly belittled him. His misconceptions about magic, about what you had done—it was almost amusing.

But you didn’t explain. Not really. Not the way you had to Jungkook in his home, when you had taken the time to tell him why blood magic was what it was. Hoseok didn’t deserve that much.

Your silence only seemed to enrage him further. “If you could heal the kid that way,” he snapped, “why didn’t you do it from the start? Why not remove all spells while you’re at it?”

Your lips curved into something that was not quite a smile. “You’re under the impression that magic is a game, wolf.” Your voice was calm, but there was something sharp beneath it. “That I pick and choose on a whim. If I could take away all spells, don’t you think I would have? Or do you think I enjoy exhausting myself to the point of collapse?”

Hoseok opened his mouth to argue, but you didn’t let him.

“I came here to help,” you continued, voice steady. “But if my presence is such a problem, I can leave.”

Jungkook hated that. The very idea of you leaving made something raw claw at his chest. His wolf snarled inside him, restless, angry. But then you added something else.

“My guard has been following me,” you said, ignoring the way Jungkook’s entire body went rigid. “he’ll arrive within the next two days. That will give me a safe way back.”

Jungkook hated that more.

Because your guard meant one person in particular.

Jimin.

A cold possessiveness curled in his gut at the thought of you leaving with him.

But it wasn’t just Jungkook who disliked the idea. Namjoon exhaled slowly, considering you for a long moment before shaking his head.

“You’re already here. You saved too many of my people for me to let you walk out without proper thanks.” Namjoon’s voice was firm, final in a way that left no room for argument. Then, after a brief pause, his eyes flickered to Hoseok with disapproval. “But maybe we should talk without an audience.”

Jungkook tensed beside you, his shoulders coiling tight. He knew what that meant. He was about to be sent away. Away from you.

And he hated it.

His wolf snarled in protest, the very idea of leaving you unprotected—even with Namjoon—feeling like the worst kind of mistake. Rationally, he knew you weren’t defenseless, but rationality had never done much to quiet the instincts ingrained in his very bones.

But before he could argue, you spoke.

“Sure,” you said, tone as even as ever. “But I would like Jungkook to be present.”

Jungkook barely had time to register the words before a rush of satisfaction surged through him. If he were in his wolf form, he was sure his tail would have wagged like an idiot’s.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “You want Jungkook here?”

You nodded once. “My… guard entrusted his duties to him while we went ahead. If you trust him with what we will talk about?”

The corner of Namjoon’s lips twitched slightly, amusement barely concealed beneath his otherwise unreadable expression. Jin, who had been silent up until now, let out a quiet hum, something knowing in his gaze as he glanced between the two of you.

Hoseok, on the other hand, looked utterly disgusted.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me—”

“Hoseok.” Namjoon’s voice was sharp. A warning.

Hoseok exhaled harshly through his nose, but this time, he didn’t argue. He just folded his arms across his chest and looked off to the side, jaw tight with barely restrained irritation.

Namjoon turned his attention back to you, giving a single nod. “Alright. Jungkook stays.”

Jungkook swallowed back the irrational relief that flooded through him. He refused to acknowledge why the thought of being away from you had filled him with such tension in the first place.

As Jin and Hoseok moved, Hoseok was outright hostile. But Jin nodded in silent acknowledgment. Recognition.

You had saved many of their own.

And, whether they liked it or not, that meant something.

You weren’t leaving.

And neither was he.

The discussion with Namjoon had been more productive than you’d expected.

The Pack’s leader was measured, sharp, and wary, but he wasn’t unreasonable. By the end of the conversation, you had secured safe passage through the village under his protection. He had also agreed that your arriving guard—Jimin—would be granted the same privileges.

Of course, not all wolves would warm up to you overnight. Trust, especially among werewolves, was a hard-won thing. Some still viewed you with outright hostility, others with silent wariness. But Namjoon had made his stance clear. You were not to be harmed. And as long as Jungkook upheld his promise to keep you safe, you had no doubt that promise would be honored.

Then came the question of where you would stay.

Namjoon, ever the pragmatic leader, had offered you a room in the Pack House. It was logical. The Pack House was the safest place in the village, close to the highest-ranking wolves, the center of their power.

But before you could accept, before Namjoon could even finish explaining the arrangements—

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jungkook’s voice cut in, firm and decisive.

You blinked at him. Namjoon raised an eyebrow.

And Jungkook—well.

Jungkook realized what he had just said a second too late.

His ears turned red.

“With some wolves still hostile,” he quickly added, looking anywhere but at you, “it would be better if she stayed with me. That way, she wouldn’t have to deal with suspicious packmates glaring at her all night.”

There was a heavy silence.

Then—

Namjoon hummed. Amused. “Oh?”

Jungkook stiffened. “I— I just meant—”

“You meant that her safety is your responsibility,” Namjoon said, voice neutral but his gaze anything but. His eyes held something knowing, something that made Jungkook shift uncomfortably under its weight. “Good.”

Jungkook hated that look.

You, on the other hand, weren’t as flustered as Jungkook clearly was. Instead, you just tilted your head slightly, gaze lingering on him for a moment before nodding. “That’s fine with me.”

Jungkook swallowed hard.

Then came the next topic.

The hunters.

You had no doubt that the last attack had only been the beginning. If they had struck once, they would strike again. And when they did, both your coven and the werewolf village would be in danger.

Namjoon agreed.

Which was why you made your offer.

“I can ward the village,” you said simply. “Every protection spell I know, every barrier I can weave. It won’t stop a full-blown assault, but it will make it harder for them to get close without us knowing.”

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And what would you want in return?”

Your answer was immediate.

“A friendship.”

The room went silent.

You met Namjoon’s gaze without flinching. “Your people and mine don’t need to love each other. But we can help each other. Like now. Like this. When it matters.”

Something shifted in Namjoon’s expression.

After a long moment, he nodded.

“That,” he said, “I can agree to.”

With the terms settled, Namjoon and Jungkook had wanted to take you around the village to begin placing protection spells.

Except—

Your stomach had other ideas.

A quiet, traitorous rumble filled the room.

For a second, no one said anything.

Then—

Jungkook turned to look at you, blinking.

Heat immediately flooded your face.

You pressed a hand against your stomach as if that would somehow take back the sound, but the damage was done. Namjoon’s lips twitched in amusement. And Jungkook—

Jungkook grinned.

His wolf preened at the sight of your flushed face.

You cleared your throat. “Perhaps… a break before we start?”

Jungkook was already pushing up from his chair. “I’ll get food.”

Namjoon nodded. “Eat first. We can go after.”

And just like that, you found yourself following Jungkook to a smaller, more private space—a cozy, open room in the Pack House where food was often shared among the higher-ranking wolves. It wasn’t the main dining hall, where the majority of the pack ate together, but it wasn’t entirely secluded either.

Jungkook grabbed a plate and started piling food onto it—grilled meat, roasted vegetables, thick slices of bread. He moved with ease, almost unconsciously, as if he had done this a hundred times.

Which, you supposed, he had.

“You don’t have to serve me, you know,” you pointed out, watching him.

Jungkook didn’t even look up. “You just fainted a few hours ago. You’re eating.”

You huffed but said nothing as he handed you a full plate.

Then—before you could react—he grabbed a piece of bread and ripped it in half.

You stared.

“…Are you always this aggressive with your food?”

Jungkook paused mid-chew, eyes flicking to you.

Then he grinned, mouth still full. “Hmph.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched.

You sat down at one of the wooden tables, and Jungkook took the seat beside you—right beside you, not across, not with space between. His thigh was close enough to brush against yours, his presence a warm, solid weight beside you.

You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you took the first bite. The food was simple but good. Well-seasoned, filling. It grounded you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

Jungkook watched you, a small flicker of satisfaction in his expression.

“You like it?” he asked.

You nodded, swallowing. “It’s good.”

Jungkook watched you eat with a quiet, deep satisfaction.

It wasn’t just relief that you were eating after what you had been through. It was something older, something ingrained into his instincts, something wolfen.

You were eating his food.

Food he had picked for you. Food he had given you.

And you liked it.

A low, pleased hum rumbled in his chest, too deep to be entirely human. His wolf settled, tail-wagging levels of happy, as you took another bite, clearly enjoying the meal.

He knew, logically, that you didn’t understand the significance. That you weren’t one of them.

But in his world, in his nature, providing for a mate was instinctual. Offering food wasn’t just kindness—it was a sign of care, protection. It was a wolf’s responsibility. Making sure you had everything you needed, that you were safe and fed, felt more fulfilling than it should.

Jungkook glanced at your plate—mostly empty now—and felt a surge of satisfaction so strong it almost startled him.

You had eaten everything.

Jin, who had silently slid into the seat across from you at some point, noticed.

Noticed the way Jungkook was sitting a little too close. The way his eyes flickered with something warm and possessive. The way his body was angled protectively toward you, even though there was no immediate threat.

And Jin, being Jin, did what he did best.

He grinned.

Jungkook shot him a glare, but it lacked heat.

Jin just picked up a piece of meat and bit into it lazily. “So,” he mused, glancing between you and Jungkook, “you’re really staying with him, huh?”

You swallowed the last bit of food, nodding. “Apparently.”

Jin’s grin widened. “Interesting.”

Jungkook groaned.

After you finished eating, Jin pushed himself up from his seat, stretching. “Namjoon’s caught up with other things,” he said, “so I’ll be the one following you while you work on the protection spells.”

Jungkook immediately frowned.

You gave Jin a small smile, genuinely pleased to have him accompany you. “You’re welcome to come, but I should warn you—it’s probably going to be boring.”

Jin gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Boring? Do you not know who I am? I am the life of every gathering. I bring light to the darkest of days. I—”

“You talk too much,” Jungkook muttered, rolling his eyes.

Jin ignored him, grinning as he leaned slightly closer to you. “Besides, if I wasn’t there, who knows what kind of trouble you and Jungkook would get into all alone?”

Jungkook kicked him under the table.

Jin howled, clutching his shin. “See?! This is the treatment I get for trying to protect your reputation?”

Jungkook scowled, but his ears were turning red.

You just shook your head, standing up chuckling. “Let’s just go.”

Jin, still grinning despite the pain, followed with a smug expression. Then, after one last glance at your empty plate—Jungkook’s wolf practically purring at the sight—you set off to begin your work.

The afternoon passed in a blur of whispered incantations and flickering air.

Some spells were nearly invisible, their effects subtle and woven seamlessly into the land. Others were more obvious—the air shimmered in places where barriers strengthened, the light bending as if the very world was shifting to accommodate your magic.

Jungkook watched you with open awe.

He had never seen magic like this before.

Of course, he had always known witches could do things wolves could not. But witnessing it firsthand—watching you shape the world with your hands, bend energy with nothing but your will—was entirely different.

You were unlike anything he had ever encountered.

And the pack was beginning to see it too.

At first, they had simply observed from a distance, hesitant and wary. But as the day went on, some wolves grew bolder. A few approached, curiosity outweighing suspicion.

Jungkook was tense at first. He didn’t like the way some of the wolves hovered nearby, their eyes locked onto you as you worked. Even if they weren’t outright hostile, they were still watching—still wary, still uncertain.

It made his wolf restless. Protective.

But as the day stretched on, something began to shift.

At first, the wolves had simply observed from a distance, hesitant and cautious. But curiosity was a powerful thing, and eventually, it overpowered their distrust. A few wolves stepped closer, drawn in by the strange yet mesmerizing sight of your work.

Jungkook kept his stance firm, his expression unreadable, but Jin nudged him lightly.

“Relax,” Jin murmured under his breath. “Look at them. They’re not snarling. They’re not snapping their teeth. Give them a chance.”

Jungkook exhaled slowly, glancing at you.

You were so focused, so calm, tracing unseen lines in the air with your fingertips, murmuring soft incantations that made the very atmosphere flicker. Your magic left shimmering traces behind—sometimes invisible, sometimes shifting like heat waves. It was beautiful.

And, surprisingly, some of the wolves thought so too.

One finally stepped forward, hesitant but determined. “What… exactly are you doing?”

Jungkook stiffened slightly, but you only turned to them with quiet patience.

“I’m warding the village,” you explained simply, pausing in your work to meet their gaze. “Strengthening the defenses so if hunters come again, we’ll have early warnings and protections.”

The wolf frowned, shifting on their feet as if processing your words. Jungkook held his breath, waiting for them to sneer, to challenge, to reject.

But instead—

“…That’s good,” they admitted.

Jungkook blinked.

The wolf didn’t say anything else, but they stepped back, watching you work with less wariness than before.

Jin shot Jungkook a knowing look. See?

And as much as Jungkook hated to admit it, Jin was right.

For the first time since you had arrived, it felt like a small part of the Pack was beginning to accept you. And though Jungkook wouldn’t let his guard down completely—though he still watched every wolf that got too close—he allowed himself to breathe.

It wasn’t acceptance. Not yet.

But it was a start.

Jungkook felt something warm settle in his chest as he observed the shift.

You were changing things here.

For the first time, his pack was beginning to see you not as an outsider, not as a witch—but as someone helping them.

And then—

“You should stop.”

Your hands stilled mid-gesture as Jungkook’s voice cut through the evening air.

You turned to look at him, confused. “What?”

The sun was dipping lower now, staining the sky in deep oranges and purples. The air was cooling.

Jungkook’s jaw was tight.

“You should stop for today.”

You frowned. “I can keep going.”

“No.”

The word was firm.

Your frown deepened. “Jungkook, I’m fine—”

“You fainted earlier.”

The reminder sent a ripple of stubbornness through you. “That was from a blood spell, not this.”

“I don’t care.”

His voice was steady, but his eyes—

His eyes were intense.

Frustrated. Worried.

His wolf was pacing beneath his skin, restless. The memory of you collapsing, unconscious and pale, was still too fresh.

You hesitated.

He took a step closer, his expression dark and serious. “You’re not pushing yourself past your limit again.”

The protective edge in his tone caught you off guard.

Jin, standing a few feet away, watched with open amusement but said nothing.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Jungkook—”

“No.”

You huffed under your breath, muttering, “You’re worse than Jimin.”

It wasn’t meant to be a big deal, just an exasperated complaint, but the second the words left your mouth, Jungkook’s expression darkened.

Worse than Jimin?

Jungkook, was not amused.

“Worse than Jimin?” he repeated, voice flat.

You blinked at him, only now realizing what you had done.

Jungkook didn’t like being compared to Jimin. But even more than that, he didn’t like the implication behind your words—the one that suggested you needed someone to stop you, that you wouldn’t stop on your own. That you had the same reckless streak that Jimin always scolded you for.

His jaw clenched. “That supposed to mean something?”

You hesitated. “It means you’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?”

Jin snorted. “You are being a little dramatic, Jungkook.”

Jungkook shot him a glare, but it lacked real heat. Then he turned back to you, his sharp eyes searching your face.

“Stop pushing yourself,” he said firmly.

You exhaled, dragging a hand through your hair. You hadn’t even done that much. But something about the way he was watching you—like you were one wrong move away from collapsing again—made it impossible to argue.

You exhaled slowly. Then, finally, you gave in. “…Fine.”

Jungkook’s shoulders relaxed just slightly.

You hadn’t noticed how tense he had been.

Jin snickered. “Didn’t know you were this bossy, Jungkook.”

Jungkook ignored him.

Instead, his gaze softened as he looked at you. “Come on. You’ve done enough for today.”

And just like that—before you could argue further—he reached out, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, tugging you gently in the direction of his home.

You let him lead you.

And behind you, Jin’s grin only widened.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook didn’t let go of your wrist the entire walk back.

It wasn’t until you stepped inside his home—until the door shut behind you, sealing you both in the quiet warmth of his space—that he realized it.

His body tensed. His grip slackened.

And then, as if burned, he let go.

Too fast. Too abrupt. He had been so preoccupied with keeping you close, with making sure you didn’t push yourself too hard, that he hadn’t thought about what he was doing. About what it meant.

His whole body tensed as he stepped away, putting deliberate distance between you. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking near his temple, and you could practically see the war waging inside him. Something unsettled flickered in his eyes, like a question he wasn’t willing to ask.

His heart pounded in his chest, restless and uneasy, his wolf scratching just beneath the surface, urging him to pull you close again. To feel that warmth, that connection.

But he didn’t.

Because that would be reckless. And selfish.

You hadn’t chosen him. Hell, you might not even know.

Jungkook swallowed, his throat bobbing, before his gaze snapped away. "You should take the bed."

You turned to him, one brow arching. "What?"

"You heard me." He gestured toward the small but comfortable-looking bed in the adjacent room. "You're still recovering. Take the bed."

You blinked at him, then let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, absolutely not. You should take the bed. This is your home."

"It's my home, which is why I'm saying you should take it."

You crossed your arms, leveling him with an unimpressed look. "I'm a guest. Guests take the couch. That’s just common courtesy."

"And hosts take care of their guests," he shot back, expression firm. "That’s just common sense."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You’ve already taken care of me enough."

"You passed out from that spell earlier," he reminded you. " And then spent the entire day working." He took a slow step closer, voice dipping into something softer. "You need proper rest."

"So do you."

Jungkook exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling smug for a moment—until you saw the way his ears had turned pink.

Jungkook didn’t care about himself. He cared about you.

And that realization made something unfamiliar twist low in your stomach.

Still, you weren’t about to let him win so easily.

"You’re taking the bed," he insisted.

"I’m taking the couch."

"You’re so damn stubborn."

You smirked. "Thank you."

"It wasn’t a compliment."

"Sure sounded like one."

Jungkook let out a low, frustrated groan, rolling his eyes skyward like he was asking the moon for patience.

This shouldn’t be such a big deal. It was just a bed. But the thought of you sleeping out here on the couch while his bed sat empty didn’t sit right with him. Not at all. You deserved comfort. Safety. The best he could offer you.

And…

And if he was being completely honest, part of him liked the idea of you sleeping in his bed.

Because then, when he went to sleep later—when he laid his head on the pillows and inhaled deeply—your scent would still be there, woven into the fabric, lingering in the space around him.

His wolf purred at the thought, tail practically wagging.

He swallowed thickly, pushing down the surge of want that threatened to rise to the surface.

"You’re taking the bed," he said, tone final.

You huffed. "No, I'm—"

Jungkook growled.

It wasn’t loud, wasn’t threatening—but it was warning.

You froze for half a second, eyes narrowing at him, then sighed. He was serious about this. And honestly… you were exhausted. The last two days had taken more out of you than you wanted to admit. The thought of sinking into a real bed instead of stiff cushions… well. That was tempting. And if Jungkook was going to be this insistent, you might as well accept the offer.

"Fine," you muttered.

Jungkook barely contained his victorious smirk.

Then, before you could change your mind, he turned toward the small storage space in the corner, pulling out a spare blanket for himself. "Good. Now go to sleep."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you turned and headed toward the bedroom, the scent of pinewood and something distinctly him wrapping around you as you stepped inside. It was simple but comfortable—neat blankets, a small table near the window, and pillows stacked against the headboard.

It was undeniably his space.

And you were about to sleep in it. You already had, but now you would do so on your own.

And as you walked past him, heading toward his bedroom, Jungkook couldn’t help but glance at you—at the way your presence fit so easily into his home, like you belonged here.

Like you belonged with him.

His chest ached.

He turned away before he could think about it too much.

Tomorrow. He’d think about it tomorrow.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook woke up to the soft sounds of clinking utensils and a faint hum of a melody he couldn't quite place. The smell of something warm and comforting filled the air, making his stomach grumble, even though he wasn't quite awake yet.

He blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light streaming through the small window. For a moment, he was disoriented, not fully sure where he was. But then the memory of the night before came rushing back—everything from the blood spell to your stubborn insistence on taking the couch. And now, here you were, in his kitchen, cooking.

He rubbed his face and pushed himself up, wincing slightly at the soreness in his muscles from the events of the last few days. His eyes fell on you, bent over a skillet, the faint sound of sizzling filling the silence between the two of you. You were humming lightly, focused on your task, completely at ease in his space.

The sight of you so comfortable, so... at home, made something warm stir inside him. He couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. This—this felt like peace. Like everything had settled into place. His mate, in his kitchen, cooking breakfast.

A low chuckle escaped him, and you turned slightly, catching the sound as you noticed him. His gaze met yours, a mix of amusement and something softer, unspoken, in his eyes.

"Good morning," you said, your voice calm and steady, though there was a hint of playfulness in your tone.

Jungkook stretched, his muscles protesting, but he ignored it. "I didn’t realize I was the guest here," he teased softly, trying to keep the mood light. "Shouldn't I be the one making breakfast for you?"

You didn't look up from the stove as you replied, your voice warm but firm, "I'm fine. The breakfast will be ready soon."

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, watching you with a mix of amusement and admiration. There was no winning with you. "What kind of tea are you drinking?" he asked, a change of subject to keep the conversation going.

You paused for just a beat, considering whether you should tease him or not. Your eyes flickered over to him, and with a knowing smile, you said, "Lavender. I hope it’s okay I used yours. And something from the herbs I brought along. It’s meant to help with fatigue."

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but the soft laugh that followed was immediate. "Of course it’s okay. You don’t have to ask, you know." He stretched, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and a smile tugged at his lips.

You gave a small, appreciative smile, then turned your attention back to the tea. As you listed the herbs you had brought, Jungkook raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of curiosity and something like suspicion.

"What exactly did you bring?" he asked, his voice teasing. "Are you making potions instead of tea?"

You met his gaze and couldn’t help but laugh lightly. "Nothing that extreme," you teased back, though there was a glint of something serious in your eyes. "Just a blend to help with your energy levels. It’ll give you a little more balance."

"You should try it," you said, your voice gentle as you poured him a cup of tea and passed it to him.

As his fingers brushed yours, a strange, electric feeling ran through him. It was subtle at first—just the briefest of touches—but it sent a jolt of warmth straight to his chest. His heartbeat quickened, his breath catching as the sensation seemed to settle deep inside him. It felt like home, like peace had washed over him.

You froze for a fraction of a second, the weight of the moment hanging between you, but neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved.

Jungkook’s breath faltered as he glanced down at your fingers, now both holding the cup in your hand, feeling the lingering warmth of your touch still dancing along his skin. His wolf stirred restlessly, but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to break the silence.

He wanted to. He wanted to ask you if you felt it too. But he couldn’t.

You finally broke the moment with a soft, steady exhale, your fingers retreating slowly as you handed him the cup. The air around you felt heavier, charged, but neither of you acknowledged it.

"Do you like it?" you asked, your voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

Jungkook chuckled, though a small part of him still wondered what other strange remedies you had hidden among those herbs. He took a sip of the tea, letting the warm liquid settle over him. He couldn’t deny it was soothing.

"It’s good," he murmured, looking at you with a playful glint. "Maybe you should just make all my tea from now on."

For a moment, you both stood there, silently sharing the quiet of the morning, the tension between you simmering just beneath the surface. Jungkook glanced at you again, wondering if you knew what had just passed between you. Wondering if you could feel it too.

But he didn’t ask. And you didn’t say anything more.

The air hummed with unsaid words. With possibilities neither of you was ready to confront.

Yet.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook was still watching you when the sharp knock at the door made you both jump slightly, shattering the fragile moment between you.

Jin’s voice carried through the wood. “Jungkook, open up! You too, witch, I know you’re in there.”

Jungkook groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hyung, it’s too damn early for your nonsense.”

“Too early?” Jin scoffed. “Half the pack has been awake since dawn. Now open the door before I break it down.”

You exchanged a glance with Jungkook, who rolled his eyes before getting up and swinging the door open.

Jin stood there, arms crossed, looking entirely unimpressed. His sharp gaze flickered over you before settling back on Jungkook. “The pack house needs you both. Some of the wounded need another check, and others specifically asked to thank the witch who healed them.” He gave you a pointed look. “Try not to look so surprised. You did save their lives.”

You shifted, pushing your tea cup aside. “I don’t mind helping,” you said after a pause.

Jin nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”

The walk to the pack house was quiet, though Jungkook stuck close to you, his presence steady beside you. The moment had been disrupted, but you were almost grateful for it—because the longer you spent with him, the harder it was to ignore the lingering dread creeping in. The moment you finished here, you’d have to leave. Jimin was expecting you back home. And the thought of walking away from this place, from Jungkook, left a weight in your chest that you weren’t ready to unpack.

At the pack house, things quickly became busy. You checked over wounds, reinforced healing spells, and even brewed a potion for revitalization—something to help the injured regain their strength faster. Some of the wolves you’d treated were hesitant at first, still wary of a witch in their midst, but others, grateful for your help, actually sought you out to thank you.

Jungkook remained by your side the entire time. Whether it was intentional or not, you weren’t sure, but you could feel him—his presence, his gaze, his silent reassurance. It made it easier to breathe, even as your mind churned with thoughts you didn’t want to face.

Jin stayed behind at the pack house as you and Jungkook left to continue warding the village. You had just reached the edge of the territory when another familiar voice cut through the air.

“You really have no shame, do you?”

Hoseok.

You turned just in time to see him approaching, his expression unreadable but his tone laced with irritation.

Jungkook immediately tensed beside you.

“I’m busy, Hoseok,” you said evenly, refusing to let him get under your skin.

“Oh, I can see that,” he said, eyeing the way Jungkook stood close to you. “Busy playing house with our second-in-command?”

Your jaw clenched, but before you could say anything, Jungkook moved.

He stepped between you and Hoseok, his posture rigid, shoulders squared. “Watch it,” Jungkook warned, voice low and dangerous.

Hoseok raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “What? I’m just wondering when exactly we started trusting witches so easily. Or is she just an exception?”

Jungkook’s muscles coiled, his hands clenching into fists. “I don’t need to explain anything to you.”

Hoseok scoffed, crossing his arms. “Right. Of course not. Just like you don’t need to explain why you’re acting like she’s more important than the pack.”

The accusation sent a sharp wave of tension through the air. You could feel the way Jungkook’s anger crackled beneath the surface, restrained only by a thin thread of control.

“I swore to protect her,” Jungkook said, his voice quiet but firm.

Hoseok’s expression darkened. “Why?”

Jungkook’s grip tightened at his sides. “Because she could saved us.”

Hoseok took a slow step forward, looking past Jungkook to meet your gaze. “Did she? Or did she just do what was convenient for her?”

That was the final straw.

Jungkook lunged first.

The impact was sudden, raw. The two of them crashed to the ground, rolling through the dirt as fists flew. Hoseok wasn’t weak, but neither was Jungkook—especially not when he was this furious.

You barely had time to react before they were locked in a vicious struggle, growls ripping through the air. Jungkook fought like he had something to prove, like he was defending something that went far beyond just you being a witch in their territory.

Because this wasn’t just about the pack anymore.

It was about you.

And though Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it—to himself or to anyone else—he wouldn’t let anyone talk to his mate like that.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook barely had time to process his own fury before he was moving. His body acted before his mind could catch up, instincts taking over in a single, explosive movement.

One second, he was standing between you and Hoseok, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles ached. The next, he lunged.

The impact was immediate—bone and muscle colliding with raw force. They hit the ground hard, rolling through the dirt as the force of Jungkook’s tackle sent them skidding across the clearing. A snarl tore from Jungkook’s throat, his wolf dangerously close to the surface.

Hoseok wasn’t weak. He recovered quickly, twisting his body mid-roll to break free from Jungkook’s grip, and in the next heartbeat, he retaliated.

A fist shot out, catching Jungkook just under the ribs, but it wasn’t enough to make him back down. If anything, it only made him more determined.

Jungkook shoved back, hard, knocking Hoseok onto his back before pinning him down with a knee to his chest. His breath came heavy, his heart pounding in his ears, but he barely noticed.

"You don’t get to talk about her like that," he growled, voice rough with warning.

Hoseok scoffed beneath him, gritting his teeth as he struggled against Jungkook’s hold. "So that’s what this is about?" he spat. "Not the pack, not the safety of our people—just her?"

Jungkook’s grip tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of Hoseok’s shirt. "She saved us," he bit out, his tone lethal. "She saved Namjoon. She saved me. And you still act like she’s the enemy."

Hoseok’s eyes flashed, his own anger simmering beneath the surface. "She’s a witch," he snapped. "You don’t just forget centuries of bloodshed because of one act of kindness."

Jungkook’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. "And you don’t blame someone for things they didn’t do."

A tense silence stretched between them, their harsh breaths the only sound in the air. The pack house wasn’t far—others would have heard the commotion by now. But neither of them moved, neither willing to be the first to back down.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Jungkook saw you take a small step forward. You weren’t afraid, not of him, not of Hoseok. But there was something in your expression—something wary, something uncertain.

And it made Jungkook’s fury deepen.

Because you shouldn’t have to look at his pack like that. You shouldn’t have to defend yourself every time you turned around.

His fingers twitched against Hoseok’s collar, but he forced himself to release his grip, shoving himself back just enough to let the other man breathe. Hoseok coughed, rubbing his chest as he sat up, but his glare didn’t waver.

"She doesn’t belong here," he said, his voice lower now, but just as sharp.

Jungkook’s hands curled into fists at his sides. "She belongs wherever she wants to be," he said firmly. "And if she chooses to be here, then that’s her choice. Not yours."

For a long moment, Hoseok didn’t reply. He only stared at Jungkook, then at you, as if weighing something unspoken. Then, with a heavy exhale, he pushed himself to his feet.

"This isn’t over," he muttered, brushing dirt from his clothes.

Jungkook didn’t look away. "It is for now," he said, voice cold.

Hoseok cast one last glance between the two of you before turning on his heel and walking off, his posture stiff with lingering tension.

The second he was gone, the air between you and Jungkook shifted.

His shoulders were still taut, his body wound too tight, but when he turned to look at you, something softened in his expression.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges.

You blinked, caught off guard. "I—yes," you said slowly. "You didn’t have to do that, you know."

Jungkook exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, I did."

You studied him for a long moment, something unreadable passing through your eyes. He was still tense, shoulders squared, fists flexing at his sides like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the fight.

Your gaze flickered down to where Hoseok had landed a solid punch just under his ribs. A faint shadow of pain crossed his face before he schooled his features again.

"Are you alright?" you asked, tilting your head slightly. "That hit looked like it hurt."

Jungkook scoffed, shifting his weight. "It’s nothing."

You frowned. "That’s not an answer."

His lips twitched, but when you stepped forward, reaching a careful hand toward his side, he stiffened. Not because he didn’t want you close—but because the moment your fingers brushed his shirt, something in him nearly unraveled.

"Should I take a look at it?" you asked, voice softer now. "Just to make sure it won’t bruise too badly?"

Jungkook swallowed, throat bobbing. He should say no. He knew he should. But you were standing so close, the scent of lavender and something warm filling the space between you, and for some reason, he didn’t want to move away.

He wanted to say yes.

And that terrified him.

But before he could answer, the sound of footsteps broke the moment, distant but approaching. His jaw clenched as he turned his head, knowing it was probably another member of the pack coming to check on the fight.

You took a small step back, hands dropping to your sides.

"Later, then," you murmured.

Jungkook wasn’t sure if you meant the check-up or something else entirely.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook barely had a moment to catch his breath before another set of hurried footsteps approached. A younger wolf, barely past his first shift, skidded to a stop in front of them, panting.

"Jungkook," the boy gasped, eyes darting between you and the beta. "Alpha Namjoon needs you. Now."

Jungkook’s entire body tensed. "What happened?"

The boy hesitated, glancing at you, before lowering his voice. "There’s been movement near the eastern border. Strangers. We don’t know if they’re hunters or rogues, but Namjoon wants you there."

A growl rumbled deep in Jungkook’s chest. His instincts screamed at him to stay—to keep you within reach, where he knew you were safe—but the pack came first. And if there was a threat near their borders, he couldn’t ignore it.

His gaze snapped to you, his brow furrowed in hesitation. "You go stay with Jin," he ordered, voice rough. "Don’t go anywhere until I get back."

You sighed, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I’ll be fine, Jungkook. It’s just for a moment."

He didn’t look convinced.

You stepped closer to Jungkook, voice lowering. "Really, go. Your pack needs you. I’ll be right here with Jin when you get back."

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. His wolf didn’t like this—not one bit. But he forced himself to nod, eyes lingering on you for a second longer before turning away.

The moment he disappeared into the trees, you went to find Jin. It didn’t take long for you to find him and tell him why you were without Jungkook.

"You know," Jin mused, leaning lazily against a tree. "I think that might be the first time for Jungkook to hesitate to follow an order."

You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes. "He’s just protective."

Jin hummed, looking at you with a knowing glint in his eyes. "Oh, sweetheart. That’s not just protection. That’s something else entirely."

You opened your mouth to argue—but then closed it again. Because deep down, you knew Jin wasn’t wrong.

And that realization was almost as terrifying as the thought of Jungkook being forced away from you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The minutes stretched longer than you expected. Jungkook still wasn’t back, and though you weren’t worried for your safety, you couldn’t shake the unease creeping in. Jin, ever the social one, kept you occupied with stories about the pack and his long-standing friendship with both Jungkook and Namjoon.

“You know, Jungkook wasn’t always the brooding, silent type,” Jin mused, leaning against a tree. “When we were younger, he was the first to pick fights, but not out of aggression. It was just his way of proving himself. Namjoon always had to drag him out of trouble.”

You smiled faintly, picturing a younger Jungkook, all wild energy and untamed defiance. “And you? Were you the responsible one?”

Jin scoffed. “Me? Absolutely not. I just had the best excuses to get us out of trouble.” He smirked, then his expression softened. “Jungkook’s loyalty is fierce, though. If you have him on your side, he’ll never let anything happen to you.”

You hesitated. “I know.”

Jin watched you for a moment before changing the subject. “Hoseok, by the way? I have a theory about why he’s been so difficult with you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

Jin chuckled. “He doesn’t trust outsiders, sure. But it’s more than that. He thinks you’re going to take Jungkook from the pack.”

You blinked. “What?”

“He sees how Jungkook looks at you,” Jin continued, voice casual but sharp with meaning. “Even if Jungkook doesn’t realize it yet, Hoseok does. And he’s scared of what that means.”

Your lips parted, a denial forming, but before you could say anything—

A sharp whistle tore through the air.

Then, chaos erupted.

Shouts and growls filled the village as figures clad in dark clothing emerged from the tree line. Hunters. Again.

Your stomach lurched. Jin’s posture changed instantly, his easygoing demeanor vanishing as he grabbed your wrist. “Stay close.”

Chaos erupted almost instantly. The pack members still recovering from the last attack scrambled to evacuate the children and elderly while others shifted mid-run, lunging toward their attackers.

You nodded, but already, your thoughts raced. Not because you feared for yourself—you could handle this. But because Jungkook wasn’t here. If he were, you’d at least know he was safe.

The battle broke out in full force. Wolves, still recovering from the last attack, fought through their injuries to defend their home. Children were ushered away, their cries blending with the clashing of steel and snarls of wolves mid-shift.

You moved quickly, helping where you could. Spells left your lips, defensive barriers flashing to life, potions thrown to heal the wounded. Jin fought beside you, sharp and ruthless.

Then, in the chaos, you lost him.

You turned sharply, searching, but before you could find him, movement caught your eye. A hunter—a man clad in dark leathers, blade gleaming—rushed toward a small girl with pigtails, frozen in fear.

You didn’t think. You moved.

One hand grabbed the child, the other reaching into your pouch. As the hunter’s blade swung down, you twisted, pulling the girl with you, and hurled a vial of shimmering powder at the attacker’s face.

He screamed, clawing at his eyes, stumbling back in agony barely missing you.

But before you could react further, the unmistakable sound of crystals shattering on stone sent a cold dread through you.

Two glimmering stones landed behind you, their shards glowing faintly.

Binding Crystals.

A barrier flared to life, sealing you inside a confined space—cut off from the rest of the pack.

Two hunters were with you.

"Looks like we caught ourselves a little witch," one sneered.

You exhaled slowly, grounding yourself. "Stay exactly where you are," you murmured to the girl. "And close your eyes."

The hunters chuckled. "You don’t seem to understand your situation."

A small smile curved your lips as you reached into your pouch once more. "No," you said calmly, pulling out another vial, this one filled with a thick, black inky liquid.

"You don’t understand yours."

With a flick of your wrist, you uncorked the vial.

Black smoke poured out instantly, thick and unnatural, swallowing the space whole. The hunters cursed, stumbling back as the darkness consumed everything in its path.

And then—

Jungkook arrived.

He and his patrol burst onto the scene just in time to see the last of you disappear into the smoke.

Not one, but two hunters with you.

Rage, cold and absolute, filled him.

"No."

Without thinking, he lunged toward the barrier—only to be thrown back violently, skidding across the ground as the magic repelled him.

"No!" His roar shook the trees, his wolf raging against his skin, furious and desperate.

You were gone.

And he couldn’t reach you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ Part 2

@somehowukook

[retiredteabag]

*slips into view and drops scene*

Lol me just imagining reader who doesnt say when shes cold, only to have Sukuna reluctant to leave her until shes warmed up.

oh yeah...I like how you think

masterlist

While it is true that he is able to create and manipulate fire in 'divine flame' attacks, Sukuna's natural body temperature lies far outside the realm of what is considered normal for a human.

Beyond that truth, The King of Curses had an unparalleled stature, his anatomy was unlike that of anyone you had met. His body generated more heat from the moving that unavoidable mass then most portable gas heaters back home.

You, however, were not blessed with the warm nature that he carried with him. On winter nights, you could find him sitting quietly on the estate's engawa, a loose kimono covering little of his form. Comfortable as ever.

To him, you were that of a bird, bound to the weak nature you were born into, a meek, trembling human. And though true, he favored you more than any other servant, you would not dare image yourself worthy of requesting more than what had been given you.

You were a grateful person, truly; it was simply difficult to recall this fact about yourself when you are currently unable to control the wracking jitters that seem to permeate even through to your bones.

The estate was always far too cold for your taste, but your taste is not the kind that need be accommodated. So all that time ago when you replaced the bathhouse maid, you knew you would die before you messed up the job.

Namely because you did actually know your life was on the line, and inversely because the sudatorium nature of the room was more comforting than hardly anything else offered in the whole of the grounds.

You shook, not from the cold all those nights ago, but from the fear of the man before you in the scalding water.

But as time bled away and Sukuna took notice of you more, your needless fear eased. Still, even now, it was strange to speak so informally to your King.

"Your fragility is a curious thing to observe."

You steeled yourself as Sukuna rose from his position before you. You were wrapped in layered robes but the chill would not leave you be. Ashamed suddenly, as you were at how repulsed he must find himself, watching you, unable to withstand such temperatures.

You shift on your feet, "I...have a larger surface area for cooling." You clear your throat, knowing he is observing you, feeling those eyes, ceaseless eyes, “This provides more opportunities for my body heat to dissipate into the environment." You make a show of your hands, explaining why perhaps your inferior nature was so different from his own.

He rolled those very eyes and grinned. No, smirked. The King of Curses smirked. This near smile almost caused the chill in your being to fade. Almost.

"You must be careful to not be caught outside in such conditions." He came close, one large hand, all-encompassing, came to lay on your head.

Heat seemed to spread from this fraction of his body. You had the sudden and completely inappropriate desire to fall to the floor and lay upon him as a feline might wrap itself in pockets of sunshine.

Blood pumped in your ears and your hands came to touch your cheeks.

Another of his own came and curled behind your neck, before you even felt the touch, you noticed the air surrender to his intensity. "Careful indeed." He whispered.

Little things such as this were the events you would tell yourself to ignore. Your heart, or pride might grow too large, and that is no position for a servant to themselves in.

"I must be off, Lord Sukuna." You did not wrap your palm around his wrist, although it took great fortitude not to.

You made no effort to move from him, and he made no effort to free you from himself.

"Tell me of your discomfort before I become displeased with you." One very large finger slides down the path of your spine and the heat that emits from the single digit is undeniable. You shake from the sensation, but it seems the King misunderstands.

You hold all of his attention, and he holds all of you. His stare is intense, and something else. He looks so confused at the creature that is you. Determined to end the suffering of such an inferior being. The critter in his palm.

He had never felt this way before.

And for the second time, due to this very man, you had never been so warm.

[tritoch]

the warrior of light as a game-breaking force of violence

there's a moment, relatively early in dawntrail, that establishes succinctly how out of place the warrior of light (as the savior of eorzea and main character of four successive final fantasy game plots) is in what is essentially the story of fresh new final fantasy protagonist wuk lamat. and it sets up quite nicely how the framework of fantasy video game conflict pulls the warrior of light forever towards violence as the expansion goes on.

spoilers through 7.0 follow

consider wuk lamat's kidnapping and rescue. bakool ja ja holds his blade to wuk lamat's throat, taunting you. his lackeys line up against your party in neat little ranks suspiciously reminiscent of a classic final fantasy encounter screen.

and it simply does not matter to the warrior of light. you stride right through their combat setup because you are beyond that by now. the warrior of light has absolutely no respect for the "we are about to do ATB combat" lineup. the camera even jumps the line for you in one continuous rotating shot, crossing the axis of action as though to emphasize through the disruption of visual convention how far outside the game's boundaries you are.

this is how far you are above the problems of dawntrail's first half. you cannot even be bound by the normal rules of cinematography and video game combat. everyone else here lined up for a good old-fashioned scrap and the warrior of light said haha nope actually. i'm going to stroll through here like a god of war astride this tiny battlefield. your henchmen cannot even raise a hand to me. i don't even have to engage in violence directly anymore. my mere presence is enough.

in fact, not only can bakool ja ja's henchmen not raise a hand to you, he's not even worthy of your direct intervention. he kidnaps wuk lamat and steals her keystones and frees valigarmanda and kidnaps hunmu rruk and none of it warrants the warrior of light so much as raising a finger. he's wuk lamat's recurring villain, that's not your problem. you're just here to take in the scenery.

zoraal ja spends his whole life aspiring to be thought of as his father's equal and a worthy successor to the dawnservant as the "resilient son." all it takes for gulool ja ja to acknowledge you as a warrior on his level is like a five minute sparring match. the acknowledgement from gulool ja ja that zoraal ja hungered for his whole life and would eventually go full cyborg supervillain to get via regicide is something the warrior of light receives casually in a throwaway line after their level 93 solo duty on the way to more important plot conversations.

it really seems for a second, in the first half of dawntrail, like you are strong enough and the problems simple enough for this to be a clean and easy adventure. bakool ja ja? power of friendship'd. mamook? successfully reintegrated, no worries about the crimes against humanity. rite of succession? handily won. nothing can stop you. even duty finder queue times have been conquered: you can do all your duties with trusts now.

all of which only makes it better when the second half has sphene ask you and wuk lamat directly: could your strength have been enough to save alexandria? could you have found a different way?

i know some people get very annoyed we don't intervene in the gulool ja ja fight. now personally i think if you see arthur and mordred squaring up it's rude to intervene, but beyond that, it simply wouldn't have mattered. by the time zoraal ja's forces arrived in tuliyollal, alexandria and tural were already on a collision course and doomed to conflict. your hands alone could never have averted this conflict. sphene was always bound to do what she did—and certainly a gulool ja ja without his reason would not be any more inclined to peace than wuk lamat and koana were.

there's a great little moment just before living memory where estinien, champion at reading the room, is like "okay so if thancred and i stay here that frees up you up, aibou, to do what you do best and save the world and have epic fights. woo!!!" and immediately afterwards you basically have to apologize to alisaie because part of the sort of unspoken premise of this whole trip in the first place was that you were, finally, not going to plunge into mortal peril to save the world. you were finally going to take it easy. you were finally done with that. and she has to sort of ruefully be like nah it's fine bro. i was trying to get you to take it easy and not do insane risky world-saving violence. but y'know these things (interdimensional invasions) happen.

by the time you reach the very last trial, all pretense that the warrior of light could have ever been beyond these problems has vanished. you were, very emphatically, not strong enough to hold onto all that was dear without sacrifice. gulool ja ja and otis and cahciua died. yyasulani was irreversibly changed, physically colonized and culturally decimated by another dimension. you systematically shut down each part of living memory, and all its friendly, charming, loving ghosts, with your own hands. with your own clicks.

not even the vaunted strength of the warrior of light is enough to overcome sphene's inexorable logic of conflict. and so, in the end, she plucks you out of the crowd and says, explicitly for reasons of your strength, that you are going to have to do a boss fight now. you are going to have to kill her and you are going to have to do it in a proper 8-on-1 trial, and she forces you to affirmatively state that you understand you're going to kill her.

did you think you were above it all? did you think you could get away from here with your weapon undrawn, with your hands clean? that for you and you alone the logic of conflict comes undone? wrong. wrong. wrong.

your strength cannot redeem you, says sphene. your friends cannot make these sacrifices for you. if you would play the hero then you must play the hero. no half-measures.

back to the duty finder with ye.

[witchesverse]

please, don't.

pairing: agathario x reader

summary/request: you're an inexperienced witch who tried to stop her coven from executing agatha. after agatha kills them, rio appears, and that is how you meet the loves of your life. once you and nicholas die, agatha and rio part ways, only to see each other on the witches' road.

content: character death, getting shot, blood, crying, begging, angst without a happy ending.

masterlist

a/n: erm so im not entirely sure if this what u wanted but this is what i wrote anyway :> icl this is not what i normally write so if it sucks that's why lol

1693

The forest was typically quiet, the only sound being the running of water and the chirping of a bird. You loved the quiet, though. After living in a busy, loud village for most of your life; the quietness was peaceful. Plus, it gave you a chance to practice your witchcraft without someone screaming in your ear about it. But, it sometimes got lonely.

So, when you heard the loud screams and cries of a woman, it peaked your curiosity and you crept towards it.

One half of your brain was blaring alarm bells. This could easily be a trap that you were foolishly walking into. But, the other half of your brain told you that there could be someone in danger and you couldn’t not help them.

Your eyes widened. There was a group of women standing around a small stage with a woman tied to the pole in the center. The scream must have come from her.

“You stole knowledge above your age and you practiced the darkest of dark magic.” One of the women spoke. “You will be executed for your crimes, Agatha.”

Even before you started practicing witchcraft, dark magic had always been an interest for you. You had dreamt of learning dark magic and becoming a powerful, twisted witch. Now, this was your perfect chance to learn dark magic and your teacher was about to be executed. 

You couldn’t let that happen.

You were positive that these witches had centuries of witchcraft on you, but that didn’t stop you from throwing an attack spell at them. You impressively managed to hit 3/6. The three witches that you hit fell to the ground and squirmed in pain.

Unfortunately, you were blasted into a tree by one of the other witches. You groaned. You felt like all your bones had been snapped in half. 

Two witches lifted you to your feet and dragged you in front of the oldest looking witch. She was angry.

“Who is this pathetic excuse of a witch?” She asked.

“The hell did you just call me?” You roared. “I’ll snap your fucking neck.”

Your threat was empty. You had never inflicted such damage against a person, but you hated being called a ‘pathetic witch’. You preferred the term ‘inexperienced witch’ or ‘baby witch’.

“I’ll deal with her after this.” She waved her hand and you were dragged to a tree, hands bound behind your back with magic.

You couldn’t believe it. You had lost your chance of learning dark magic and now, you were probably going to be killed. That is beyond embarrassing.

You flinched as Agatha was blasted with six beams of magic. Normally, that would kill a person immediately, but she didn’t die. She screamed in pain but with horror, you watched as their blue beams turned purple and they had the life sucked out of them.

Their lifeless bodies slumped to the floor. “Holy shit.”

Agatha sighed, stepping down from the stage and looking contently at the dead bodies of her coven members. You accidently snapped a twig underneath your foot as you moved towards her, causing her attention to snap to you.

“You tried to save me. Why?” She asked.

“You’re unique and that interests me. Not many witches practice dark magic anymore and I want you to teach me.”

Suddenly, you felt an uncomfortable and cold feeling wash over you. You glanced around the forest until your eyes landed on her.

“I must say, that was quite the performance.” 

The woman moved towards Agatha and you. There was an unsettling feeling about her - something not human. 

“And you are?” Agatha questioned.

“Rio Vidal.” She bowed dramatically. “And I think we’re going to make a perfect team, baby.”

1815

You scowled and crossed your arms. You had been trying to successfully do this spell for the past 5 months, but you haven’t been able to. It frustrated you that you couldn’t do it.

Agatha kissed the top of your head as she walked past you. “You’ll get it at some point, sweetheart.”

You noticed the basket of fresh strawberries in her hand. “What’s that for?”

“We’re having a picnic.” Your eyes lit up and she smiled. “Come on. Grab your coat, it’ll be cold.”

You walked for 20 minutes until the thick trees faded and you walked into an opening. It was beautiful. You followed the trail of flowers that led to the edge of a cliff, the strong smell of wet grass and salty seawater combined with a nice breeze made you smile.

“There are my girls.” Rio sat cross-legged on one of the cushions on the picnic blanket and smiled at you. She patted the cushion in the middle and you sat down.

There were different types of fruit, baked goods, and drinks spread around the blanket.

“When did you plan this?” You asked.

Agatha sat next to you and placed her hand on your thigh. She always put her hand there; she said it made her feel at peace.

“A few weeks ago.” She answered, grabbing a grape and popping it in her mouth. “We figured you deserve a reward for doing so well in your learning.”

You kissed both of their cheeks. “Thank you.”

For a while, you talked and ate with them whilst looking out into the ocean. You excitedly pointed out every marine animal you spotted in the waves, which caused Rio to spew facts about them. After being around since the start of death, she had many nerdy facts about animals.

Once the sun had started to set, you became sleepy. Your head was resting in Rio’s lap and she scratched lightly at your scalp, lulling you to sleep. Agatha sat with her head resting against Rio’s shoulder and they quietly talked.

You sighed happily. Sometimes you thought about what your life would have been like if you didn’t try to help Agatha. You wouldn’t have met Agatha and you would’ve first met Rio once you died. 

Suddenly, there was a loud scream.

You all stood and became very aware of how exposed you were in the opening. There was silence for a few moments, then there was another scream and a gunshot.

“You need to go.” Rio shoved Agatha and you towards the forest.

“What’s going on?” You couldn’t hide the panic in your voice.

“Witch hunters.”

Your heart dropped. Lately, there was an uprising in witch hunting, but you thought that you lived far enough from a village that there was no risk. Clearly, you were wrong.

Agatha grabbed onto your wrist and dragged you through the forest. You shook in fear with each gunshot and scream you heard. Even though your girlfriend was Death, death still scared you.

“Oh, and what do we have here?”

You froze and Agatha cursed loudly, shoving you behind her. A man stood in front of Agatha with his gun pointed at her with a sick, twisted smile on his face.

He pulled the trigger.

You don’t even know how your body reacted that quickly, but you managed to step in front of Agatha and took the bullet straight through your heart. You dropped to the ground, blood spurting from your chest.

Agatha screamed and blasted the boy with her magic, leaving a blazing hole in his stomach. His lifeless body collapsed. 

“No, no, no.”

Agatha turned you on your back. There was blood dripping from your mouth and your chest. She couldn’t feel a heartbeat.

“Agatha.”

Rio stood next to her.

“Shut up, Rio.” She snapped. “Please, shut up.”

“Agatha.” She said more sternly. 

Agatha shook her head. “You can stop this. Bring her back to life.”

Rio sighed and crouched next to your body. She tried to brush your hair out of face but Agatha slapped her hand away.

“Do not touch her.” She spat. “You bring her back to life or you don’t fucking touch her, do you understand me?”

Rio stood, her face emotionless. She stared at Agatha, almost like she was waiting for Agatha to change her mind, but once she realised there was nothing more she would say, she left.

1887

Agatha cried out in pain and leaned on a tree for support. After carrying her child for 9 months, he was finally ready. With tears falling down her cheeks, she prepared herself for birth. 

She was finally going to meet her boy. 

Then, she saw the familiar figure.

“No, please.” She cried as Rio stepped towards her. “My love, please don’t do this to me again.”

Rio didn’t reply.

“You took Y/n from me. Please give my boy, I need him.” She begged. “I will hate you forever if you do this.”

Rio swallowed. “I can only offer time.”

And so she did. Agatha birthed a healthy baby boy who she named Nicholas, and he lived for six years until Rio took him. Once again, Agatha’s heart broke and she was left alone.

2026

Since the death of Nicholas and yourself, Agatha and Rio weren’t in contact. Agatha hated her with every fiber in her body. Rio, on the other hand, missed and craved Agatha with every fiber in her body.

So, when Rio was summoned to The Witches’ Road, the exact place where Agatha stood, they both felt strong emotions.

“Agatha,”

It was quiet, besides the occasional snores from Alice. If you were there, you would have considered it to be peaceful and relaxing. 

“I know you’re awake, Agatha.”

Rio carefully stepped over the sleeping bodies and sat in front of Agatha. She rolled her eyes when she saw that Agatha had her eyes shut, pretending to be asleep.

Rio flicked her forehead. “I want us to talk.”

Agatha glared at her and sat up. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Rio grabbed Agatha’s collar and tugged her forward. Agatha tried to recoil but Rio kept her close. 

“Yet, there is.” She insisted. “They wouldn’t want us to be like this. Y/n would want us move on and continue living the perfect life that we had.”

“Don’t say that. You have no idea what they would want.” Agatha scoffed.

"Do you seriously think that Y/n and Nicky would want us to live with anger and hurt for each other?"

Agatha didn't respond.

Being this close to each other, Rio noticed small details about Agatha’s face. There was a small scar under her left eye that hadn’t been there before, and she wondered where she got that from.

“It broke my heart to take both of them from you. I did not enjoy watching you cry and beg, but-"

Agatha cut her off. “Once we get off The Witches’ Road, I do not want to see your face again. I want you to leave me alone, do you understand?”

Rio felt her heart break and she blinked back tears. She released Agatha from her grasp and stood. If Agatha truly didn’t want to see Rio’s face again, she would respect that, no matter how bad it hurt her.

[anixvl]

LAB RAT! || P.J

pairing: labrat!jay x fem!reader

synopsis: A successful creation of your manic scientist of a father, Jay’s kept on-the-low in your large estate. Unbeknownst to the secret romantic relationship between you and him, you’re obliged to sneak around and risk it all to see each other.

genre: sci-fi romance, forbidden love, fluff, smut

warnings: smut, cursing, jealousy (on both sides), possiveness, open ending, idkkk

wc: 3.5k

a/n: This was soooooo post-poned and rushed bc I just had so many other ideas & frequently lost motivation. This is a finished draft! I promise I'll get to writing better ones! :(

It was the year 2002 when your father reached his peak in biotechnology. Obsessed with the creation of life and the ability to create something far advanced than a mere human, fascinated him. Within the same year, with endless hard work and dedication, he achieved the impossible. The creation of the first bionic superhuman through illegal experimentation and testing. Donated from birth, Jay was the first successful test subject. Ever since, your father has kept him close by and under the raider from the government. A year later, you were born, and so both of you were raised together under the same roof, yet resided in different subdivisions of the huge mansion. you were strictly prohibited to see or to speak to him without authorization. Not that it stopped you, anyway.

Life continued normally for you outside of your house. Jay wasn’t allowed to go out the first 10 years of his life without supervision, he was homeschooled and busy with your father’s schemes. Jay’s bionic abilities all resided in his brain: telekinesis and intellectual advancement. He had no trouble getting by. It wasn’t only until the age of 14 that he was allowed to step foot outside the house on his own.

He knew he had nowhere to run, anyway. He had to come back home or else the implanted switches, by father, in his body would immobilize him and malfunction his ability to keep his bionics under stable control. He was, as much as he hated it, a labrat.

By the time he was an adult, he was beyond filthy rich. He worked for father, using his intelligence and telekinetic abilities, he was able to make off a civil living off of it. As he grew older, father got him a license, ID, a bank card, and all federal concepts he would need as an adult. Things to make him feel like a real, normal, person. Yet, it was never enough to let him fully leave. He was bound to your family and his predestined duties. It's what he was made for.

Though, It wasn’t the only thing that persuaded him to stay.

“Y/n,” someone softly whispers in your sleep.

you stir in bed, softly groaning as you wake up. your eyes flutter open, looking around your spacious room. The moon lit up your room beautifully through the balcony doors. you sit up, facing the figure at the edge of your bed.

“Jay? What are you doing here?” you whisper.

He shakes his head, gently caressing the side of your face.

“I missed you,” he frowned, analyzing your face in admiration. A face he’s never tired of seeing.

you had been gone for a week, sent to your aunts home in Italy. With not much to communicate, all you could do was wait till you came back to see him.

“I was going to find you after I slept, I was just so tired from the plane ride back,” you explained, overlapping your hand over his. you lean into his touch.

“why didn’t you call?” He asked, crawling closer to you.

“I was going to but I was really busy with my aunt,” you replied, scooting back cautiously.

He towered over you, eyeing you like prey, “Ah, I see. Busy.”

“I should’ve called, i’m sorry,” you look up at him, gripping onto his shirt.

He leans onto his rested arm beside your head, used as support. He leans in to kiss you, slowly, almost punishingly. your eyes shutter close. your hands roam around his soft skin, feeling him.

“Who’s Jake?” he asks, devouring your neck with wet kisses.

your mind becomes fuzzy at the stimulation, it’s hard to focus.

“H-How do you know about him? He’s my aunts friend son,” you reply, shakily.

Soft moans escape your lips at his roaming hands over your burning body and his trail of kisses lowering.

He bites at your collarbone, “Were you with him the entire week?”

you softly whimper, in pain and pleasure. your eyes are shut closed.

“Just for a few days,” you confessed, “whenever his family came over to my aunts.”

He harshly captures your lips once again, slowly sliding his hand under your shirt. He takes your breast in his hand, fondling it. you moan against his lips.

“Did you like being with him?” he asks, his eyes piercing through yours. The lights flickered.

you shake your head insistently, “Of course not, why would I?”

He grinds the tent inside his pants in between your legs. The barrier of mere fabric overwhelming the throb between your legs.

“I saw the pictures of you and him on the news, it's quite the talk now,” he stated, unintentionally ripping your shirt in eagerness to take it off.

you open your mouth, about to protest.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” his mouth takes in the bud of your sensitive breasts, “fuck, i’ll buy you as many as you want.”

you moan, lacing your fingers within his hair. He leaves wet kisses down to your stomach. He looks up at you as he places his hands on the hem of my shorts. you nod, reassuringly. He takes them off, sliding his hands down your soaked panties. He spreads the wetness of your cunt onto his fingers.

“Such a good girl, you’re so wet for me,” he takes off your panties, positioning himself in between your legs.

His mouth meets your cunt, taking a wet lick. He groans in satisfaction, wrapping his strong arms around your thighs, locking his face into your cunt. you cover your mouth from the involuntary sounds.

“Jay, what if someone hears us?” you shakily whisper, your legs quivering in pleasure.

He quickly glances at the door, the lock forcefully moving in place with just a look.

“There. Your dad left on a business trip, don’t worry,” he mumbles, focusing his attention back to between your legs.

Lewd, wet, slurping noises and soft moans fill the room.

“fuck, jay, im going to cum,” you whimper, your body trembling as it approaches its high.

He teases you with kisses onto your folds, causing you to squirm in eagerness.

“Jay, please,” you pleaded, he takes his pants off.

“Please, what?” he taunted, “use your words.”

“I need you,” you exhaled.

His thumb wipes off the precum from his tip, positioning his throbbing cock between your wet folds.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he affirmed, pushing into you with one swift thrust.

you shudder in pleasure, gripping onto his arms. His pace is slow and sensual, his gaze unwavering onto your expression. Your expressions and lewd sounds just makes his cock harder inside you. His mind trails back to your aunts pictures, his grip tightens.

“Why’d you smile at him like that?” his face flinches in pleasure, a subtle anger in his words and thrusts.

He leans down to devour your neck as he continues to thrusts deep. your nails dig deep into his back. your mind feels melted and your body is burning up in desire.

“Don’t smile like that to anyone but me,” he groans.

your insistent moans and the sound of skin slapping against each other fills your room.

“Jay,” you manage to say, “what’s up with y-you?”

He continues to leave sloppy kisses and love bites all over your collarbone and neck, his pace unwavering. His lips move beside your ear.

“Don’t go anywhere anymore,” he whispers in a low voice, “stay right here, with me.”

you lace your fingers through his hair and fist it, causing him to quicken his pace. you grip onto his hair, hard, incoherent words spilling from you. He let out a grunt, his hands moving to your calves to force them up over his shoulders. Ensuring his control over your body, every sound, every part of you, every breath, is his. The new position caused his cock to reach deep within you, your eyes rolling back over each one of his thrusts. Your breath was rigid and unsteady.

“Say it,” he demands, his pace mercilessly pounding into you.

“Say you’ll stay here with me. No one else,” his voice strained with groans.

“Yes, yes,” you breathe out, feeling a knot begin in my stomach.

“I won’t go anywhere. I love you, Jay,” you replied, your voice shaky.

He hums in response, satisfied. He groaned as you tightened around him, taking a hold of your wrists and pinning your hands down beside your head, interlocking your hands with his.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he grunted, “keep doing that.”

He kisses you, harshly. His thrusts become demanding, you struggle to kiss him back. you clench around his cock, the feeling in your stomach becoming intense by the second. He bites down on your neck, silencing his frequent grunts, getting louder and louder the more you clench around him.

“Jay, I’m—” you whimper, approaching your high.

“yeah?” he pounds into your cunt mercilessly, “you’re going to cum on my cock?”

you nod, whiny moans in response.

“Fuck,” he exhales, his grip onto your skin tightening.

You reach your high with a final cry, your body trembling from the electrifying bolt. A warm, filling, substance spurts deep within you following your orgasm. Jay continues to thrust within you, riding out each others high. Panting, he drops next to you, exhausted. His strong hands reach to grab you by your waist, pulling you into his warm bare chest. You immediately melt into his embrace. He plays with a strand of your hair, his breathing steadying. Your eyelids feel heavy against his warmth and strong embrace.

“I missed you,” Jay whispers, softly.

You chuckle, “you already said that.”

“I’ll say it many times and it still won’t be enough,” he replied, pulling away a bit to catch your gaze.

“I love you,” you state, gently.

“you already said that,” he teased.

You narrowed your eyes at him. He chuckles at your pouty expression.

He leans down to kiss you, softly and lovingly.

“I love you too,” he replied, drawing small circles on your skin amidst caressing your cheek.

His big hands travel all around your body, feeling every curve and feature about you like a precious artifact. He grips onto your ass, a low chuckle released from his lips as he pulls you closer to him. He buries his face in your neck.

“No one else can have you,” he mumbles against your skin, “you’re mine.”

You let out a happy sigh, relieved to be in his arms after time apart. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

The next morning, you woke up reaching for his warmth but was met with his absence. Your eyes blink open, sitting up, alarmed. You look around your room, hoping to find him here. You’re quickly met with disappointment. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“Jay?” You call out softly.

No response.

You get up from your bed, walking over to your open balcony. The doors are cracked open, a familiar voice is heard from outside. You approach it cautiously, listening to the familiar voice and his conversation. You watch Jay on the phone through the cracked doors of the balcony.

“Is that really what you want? It’s never been a thought to you before, so why now? I don’t want to do it,” he spoke, his expression stern and irritated.

A faint voice is heard on the other line, Jay pinches the temple of his nose in distress.

“I don’t even know her,” he replies, “does she even know about me? who I am? what I am?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, you step closer in curiosity. What could he be talking about? who’s “her”? And why does he look so distressed?

“Do I have any other choice? There must be another way,” he adds, sighing.

His expression seems angrily defeated, as he brings his phone from his ear into his sight. The phone call has ended. He turns around, catching you at the doors. His expression falls.

“What was that about?” you ask, examining his face.

“You’re awake. How’d you sleep, love?” he dismisses your question, walking back into the room.

He steps closer to you, cupping your face with his hands. He leans down to kiss your lips, softly.

“Jay, who was that?” you retract, searching into his eyes for a sign of truth.

He avoids your gaze, sitting at the edge of your bed. You cross your arms over your chest, worriedly.

“What is it, jay?” you step closer, “you’re scaring me.”

“It was your father,” he confessed, looking down at his hands.

“He…”

“he what?” you ask, anxious by the second.

“He wants me to marry the daughter of his business partner. He says it will be beneficial to us,” he explains, looking up to meet your heartbroken gaze.

Your breath catches in your throat, your legs threatening to betray you. You falter, Jay quickly launches forward to stabilize you.

“Y/n,” he looks at you worriedly, holding onto you.

“Jay, you can’t marry her. I wont let you,” you rambled, desperately holding onto his arm as if he were to disappear if you let go.

"I won't let this happen, I'll talk to father," you stated, determination coursing furiously through your veins.

Tears clouded your vision, reality was slowly setting in. It was bound to happen, an icebreaker in your relationship. You just didn’t think it would be so soon.

Jay shakes his head, wiping away your tears.

“I won’t marry her or anyone else,” he gently reassures, “not if they’re not you.”

You sniffle, feeling your heart warm at the thought. Marriage, you and Jay. Something you’ve dreamed of since you were just a young girl. You truly cannot imagine anyone else you’d want to spend the rest of your life with if it isn’t Jay.

He signals behind you with a soft expecting smile. You look behind your shoulder, confused. In middle air, floats a small black box. You turn around, walking towards it. You lift your hands to reach for it. You momentarily look at Jay, who's smiling at you proudly. You open the box carefully, your eyes slightly widen.

"Jay, this...?" you place a hand over your mouth in disbelief.

Inside the box displayed a beautiful diamond ring.

He walks over to you, "It's for you, love."

Jay takes the ring from the box and grabs your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger. He stares at your hand, arousing him in so many weird ways. It was a mark, a symbolism that showcased his profound love and claim over you. Your heart surges in happiness, feeling utterly shocked. You stare at the shiny ring, admiring its beautiful qualities.

"Oh Jay...When did you get this?" You ask, in complete awe.

"A while ago. I just...didn't want to seem too pathetic for buying you a ring so early into the relationship," he explained, sheepishly looking away.

That thought settled into your mind; Jay has been in love with you for so long. Pathetically, irrevocably, inevitably, in love with you. Body and Soul.

"Where's yours?" You frown.

He lifts his hand up, revealing a silver ring onto his finger.

"Right here, my dear," he reassures, a sly smirk onto his handsome face.

Your eyes immediately lighten up, finding happiness in the shared connection you and Jay now have. His heart skips a beat at your expression. It quickly disolves all his self-restraint.

He leans in to kiss you, tenderly and slowly.

Your stomach turned at the thought of someone else being able to kiss Jay.

“Don’t think about it,” he mumbled against the kiss.

“Stop reading me,” you complained, remembering his frustrating genius abilities and the way he can spot-on read your thoughts and feelings just by watching you. Studying you long enough, examining.

“Can’t help it, love,” he smirked, scooping you up in his arms and taking you to your bed.

He lightly sits down first, holding you in his lap.

You immediately welcome him, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. You need to feel any sort of his warmth against your skin. To prove he’s still here, still yours.

He leaves hot kisses over the hickeys he left on your neck last night, his hands traveling down to your hips. He grips onto you tightly, grinding your hips back and forth onto his growing member. You shift your head, giving him opening to attack your neck with more love bites. Your breath becomes rigid as you close your eyes, taking in every touch he leaves on your burning skin.

His hand goes under your shirt, brushing the side of your waist. He kisses your collarbone, engraving the feeling of your skin under his fingertips. He looks up at you, a glint of desire in his eyes. Breathless, your hips continue to rock against him, muffled moans threatening to intensify. You tug at his sweats, urging. He lets out a low chuckle before lifting himself up slightly to slide his sweats off. You follow him, taking your shorts off. You climb off him, placing yourself inbetween his legs. His eyebrows raise in amusement, caught in surprise. You were way more insistent than usual.

He eyed you intently as you slipped his boxers off. His cock popped out, hitting his stomach.

“You’re gonna suck me off, love?” he taunted, with a low voice.

You dont reply, you simply take his cock with your hand, a string of spit falls onto his tip. He lets out a shaky exhale. You take him in your mouth, only partly. He brings his hand to lift your face up to him by your chin, he caresses you softly as you suck him off. He holds his grip onto your face, maintaining eye contact as you take his cock deeper. His face flinches in pleasure, beads of sweat forming onto his forehead.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he growled, “don’t fucking look away.”

The lamp from your nightstand starts flickering intensely, a reflection of his immense uncontrollable feelings. You suck him further, his cock hardening as it hits the walls of your throat. He mumbles phrases and curses under his breath. His hand caresses the top of your head, occasionally fisting your hair. You manage to somehow keep your eyes on Jay, afraid of the consequences you'd face if you provoke him. Your eyes sting, hot tears falling at the corner of your eyes from him fucking your throat roughly. Your supply of oxygen is cut short, you push against his thighs. He curses under his breath, pushing you further onto his member at the feeling of his orgasm approaching. With a loud gasp from you, Jay lets you go. You sit onto the floor, panting. He leans over to grab you by your waist, his strong hands quickly taking your panties off. He lifts you onto his lap once again, this time rubbing his twitching member onto your wet folds. You whimper, gripping onto his shoulders. He slowly lowers you onto his member, gripping onto your ass as he forces you to take him all in.

your mouth falls agape, lacing your fingers within his hair.

“Fuck, jay…” you moan, savoring the feeling of his cock thrushing past your walls.

You look at him intensely, obscene thoughts accumulating in your mind at the sight.

It doesn’t matter who he marries, he’ll end up face deep between your thighs at the end of the night. His cock filling you up, his marks all over your skin.

Those lewd thoughts aroused you even more, your moans becoming more frequent.

You continue riding his cock, your breath becoming rigid and hot. He throws his head back, one hand tightly onto your ass and the other onto the bed to support him.

"Shit...just like that," he groans, "keep riding my cock, baby."

Your breasts mimic your bouncing movements onto his twitching cock. You hold onto him, your face buried into his neck. You bite him, leaving marks all over his soft skin. The light bulbs explode. Jay thrusts his hips upward into you the moment he feels you clentch around him. A loud gasp escapes your mouth, feeling your orgasm approach. He kisses you roughly at the sight of your sultry expression. You squeeze your eyes shut as your orgasm washes over your body. Jay grunts loudly soonly after, his warm seed filling you up. Your body trembles as you both lay onto the bed, hands interlocked. Both of your gazes rest onto the matching rings you share. A immense, peaceful, feeling lingers within both of you.

He buries his face into your hair.

"I love you, Jay."

"I love you too, Y/n."

You both knew the consequences and trials you were bound to face, but none of that mattered. As long as you had each other, nothing could change what you both shared.

Inseverable destiny.

[starleska]

Here to talk about the little cricket (?) dude you've been talking about, Lux I think his name is? Anyway I haven't seen such a accurate rubber hose character since cuphead and little fella is really cute! (Since he's from Dr Who I assume he's malignant in some way? Idk I don't really plan on watching it, I just wanted to comment.) Anyways, he's super charming and expressive, I like having him all over my dash :]

hahaha YESSSS gosh i am so happy that folks are so excited about Mr. Ring-A-Ding | Lux Imperator, even if they aren't fans of the show!! i'm biased as a long-time Whovian, but the episode Lux really is the best one we've had in ages, so i'd recommend it wholeheartedly 😉 let me give you a little bit of lore re: our new toony cricket fellow!! massive spoilers for the episode Lux and an ongoing plot in Doctor Who, so only read if you're interested 🥰 i hope this'll be useful for any newcomers who are interested in starting Doctor Who as well!!

HUGE LORE DUMP BELOW:

so!!! the basic premise of Doctor Who is: the Doctor is an alien called a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey. he travels the universe through time and space in his 'spaceship', the TARDIS (stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space), and his almost always looks like a battered-up police box. he often travels with 'companions': usually human (though sometimes alien!) sidekicks who help him solve space/historical-related mysteries. when the Doctor dies, he can 'regenerate': his body changes, saving him from death and giving him an entirely new appearance. currently, we are on the Fifteenth Doctor, played by the brilliant Ncuti Gatwa 🥰

now back in 2023, we received three episodes for the show's 60th anniversary, and things changed hugely. as the Doctor regenerated into his Fourteenth version, he somehow came back with a familiar face: that of David Tennant's Tenth Doctor (perhaps one of the best-known iterations of the Doctor). this is because of the return of a character who hadn't been seen since the 60s: the Toymaker, a godlike entity who rules over games 👀

The Toymaker's introduction started a shift for the show, which was almost always strict sci-fi, into a more fantastical, rule-bending realm. the Toymaker turned out to be a member of The Pantheon of Discord: a collective of gods whose powers are beyond the laws of physics and nature. normally, The Doctor faces off against sci-fi monsters and antagonists, but the Pantheon are far more powerful, and not bound to typical rules (though they do have their own). there are a few members we know are in the Pantheon (The Toymaker, his child Maestro, the God of Death Sutekh) and some we speculate are in the Pantheon (the fourth-wall breaking Mrs. Flood), but the episode Lux finally confirmed our newest Pantheon member: Mr. Ring-A-Ding, AKA Lux Imperator, the God of Light 😱 in-universe, Mr. Ring-A-Ding is a character from a 1930s-era cartoon inspired by Fleischer Studios, Disney's then-competitor (and the inspiration for games like Cuphead!). however, Lux Imperator possessed and brought to life Mr. Ring-A-Ding's form by travelling on moonlight into a movie theatre set in 1950s Miami, where he climbed out of the screen and sealed the movie-watchers into celluloid film. when the Doctor and his current companion, Belinda Chandra, end up at the theatre, Mr. Ring-A-Ding (as he is calling himself) shows up as a smaller, physical manifestation of a living cartoon, and pretends to be innocent...but he quickly reveals his true form as Lux Imperator 🙈💖

after some completely crazy fourth-wall-breaking shenanigans wherein Mr. Ring-A-Ding | Lux animates the Doctor and Belinda, trapping them inside of celluloid film, he reveals his new desire: to use the Doctor's regeneration energy and build himself a body. this is because Lux craves light, but has always been trapped in the dark. having seen it on a film in the movie theatre, Lux wants to use the power of the atom bomb to unleash the most devastating light of all. it's pretty insane 😂

and the end of the episode is...the Doctor exposes Lux to sunlight, which causes him to grow infinitely large and...dissipate, into space? along with light itself? we have no idea. it's utterly mad, but SUCH a great watch!!! so to answer your question: yes, he definitely was malignant at first, but he kind of gets one of the nicest endings i've seen for a Doctor Who baddie in a while? he's just chilling up there in space now, twinkling along with the stars. that's wonderful 🙈💖 tldr; Mr. Ring-a-Ding is both the name of a 1930s Fleischer-esque cartoon-character in-universe, and the name adopted by Lux Imperator, the God of Light. if you're confused, don't worry: that's all part of the Doctor Who experience 😂💖

[spr1ngpvrinbwunnie]

Hay hay haayyy

May I ask if we can get a follow up to the Harley Sawyer+obsessed reader but the reader follows through the bigger body initiative?(Mainly a large tarantula toy that’s durable definitely not based off of my oc,,,)

Where the reader became part of the bigger body Pre-the Doctor VHS and was normally stable and still performed tasks well like being able to perform as a psychologist for the staff and even the toys themselves but still retains a level of obsession with Harley that the only reason they’re this stable and not haywire is bc of that man

Meanwhile Post-the Doctor VHS they slowly go insane finding out what the staff, Leith especially, did to Harley and losing all sense of sanity that when the Hour of Joy came, they slaughter anyone who was involved with Harley. Just losing sense of who they once were in favor of protecting him

Pre-The Doctor VHS (Before Everything Went to Hell)

You, a Product of the Bigger Bodies Initiative

You were part of the Bigger Bodies Initiative, but unlike most, you turned out stable—a rare success.

Despite your transformation, you retained enough humanity to continue your role as a psychologist for both the staff and the toys.

However, your obsession with Harley Sawyer became your anchor—the only reason you remained stable was because of him.

💉 Why?

Maybe the procedure left you physically enhanced but mentally vulnerable, needing a fixation to keep you sane.

Maybe Harley was involved in your transformation, and your mind twisted that into loyalty.

Or maybe you were already obsessed, and the procedure only cemented that devotion on a deeper, almost primal level.

How Harley Sees You at This Stage

He’s intrigued. You’re functional, unlike most of Playtime Co.’s experiments, and you don’t turn on him.

He recognizes that your mental stability is directly tied to him, which gives him a sense of control over you.

But deep down? He doesn’t trust anything Playtime Co. has tampered with—including you. He keeps you close, but there’s always an analytical distance.

Post-The Doctor VHS (After Harley’s Transformation)

The Breaking Point: Learning What Happened to Him

When you find out what Leith Pierre and the staff did to Harley, something snaps inside you.

The only thing keeping you stable is gone, and your descent into madness begins.

No longer bound by corporate rules, no longer concerned with psychology or rationality—you become something else entirely.

The Hour of Joy: Your Vengeance Begins

During the Hour of Joy, when everything in the facility collapses, you turn on anyone who had a hand in Harley’s fate.

You slaughter Playtime Co. staff, one by one, making sure every single person involved in his transformation suffers.

You’re no longer acting as a psychologist. You’re not even a rational being anymore. You are a monster fueled by devotion and revenge.

What Harley Thinks of You Now

He recognizes that your breakdown is because of him—and for the first time, he isn’t the one pulling the strings.

He sees you as something beyond human now, just like himself.

The difference? He lost everything against his will—but you willingly gave yourself up for him.

Maybe that unnerves him. Maybe, in a twisted way, he accepts you as the only thing in this facility that is truly "his."

Your journey is one of devotion turned into destruction—starting as a stable but modified human, staying functional only because of Harley, and then completely unraveling once he’s taken from you.

By the end, you’re not his lover or his partner—you’re his guardian, his monster, his shadow. And anyone who tries to take him from you? Dies.

[sanjisboyfie]

yandere luffy headcanons

HAS BEEN LIVING IN MY BRAIN FOR A BIT TOO LONG it needed to be on the interest for everyone to see

yandere ! luffy . . . does not like at all when people eat up too much of your time, it really, really ruins his mood. he's seen people on the islands you've visited be really attracted to your charisma and it really pisses him off. he doesn't even want to imagine someone else coming into your life and being more important than him. no matter how angry he gets about it, though, he won't blame you. he'll blame the other person.

he's making unsatisfied noises at how long you've been standing and talking to the old lady about the prices of the goods. to him it was too boring to be conversing about it for so long, but now he was also getting annoyed with how attentive you'd been to her.

"let's go! let's go! let's go!" luffy began berating you for staying there for so long, trying to tug you away from the old lady.

"ah, he's quite lively isn't he?" she didn't seem bothered by his behavior, but luffy was bothered by her comment.

"you're takin' up too much of our time, old lad-" a hand clamped onto luffy's mouth before something rude could properly leave luffy's lips.

you bowed apologetically to the woman and dropped beri into her hands and took your share of the groceries.

"yay, thank god," luffy sighed, draping himself over your shoulders to increase skinship, "let's just go back to the sunny, please!!!"

yandere ! luffy . . . very clingy, beyond the normal bounds of that word. he feels as though it's only right that he should be practically living in your skin. he's your portable human backpack, wrapping his arms around your neck and legs around your waist. he also accidentally found out it was the perfect way for him to spy on you and whatever you did. he'd be watching with an attentive gaze at the tasks you do, who you talk to, etc. and he loves it. all he has to do is rest his chin on your shoulder and then he gets to see everything you see? he loves it.

yandere ! luffy . . . who definitely has zero concept of what manners are when it comes to people besides you. he doesn't really care if the person he's talking to thinks his tone is rude or brash, they're not you so it doesn't really matter to him how he speaks to them. he just looks at them as if they're weird for demanding more respect from him and then he blatantly refuses to give it to them. why should he respect other people that aren't you? that's weird...

yandere ! luffy . . . asks the most invasive questions, with an innocent smile on his face too. another thing he does with an innocent look is threatening people, wayyyy too casually.

"do you want me to kill them?" he grinned, laughing to himself - as if the idea would be funny. the person he was referring to was some woman that was shooting her shot with you. she was smiling ear-to-ear and gently asking if you'd like to spend time with her, somewhere quiet. luffy overheard as he was sitting behind you and whipped his head around, looking her up and down.

"luffy!" you'd scold him, chopping down on his head at the threat. he didn't pay your words any mind though, a displeased look on his face.

"she's interrupting our time together, though," luffy whined, pointing a finger at the woman who was now more baffled than bashful, "you! don't think you'll get away with this! i'll beat you up!"

"luffy! stop!!" you defended the poor woman, but she had already ran away in fear.

"good, she's gone! c'mon, have some of this meat!"

yandere ! luffy . . . places his strawhat on your head knowing that it makes everyone that interacts fear for their life. the hat has become an image associated with the intimidating captain and the destruction he brings to enemies that step in his way. also it makes him happy, fuels a possessive desire in his soul.

yandere ! luffy . . . doesn't really know exactly what he wants in terms of a relationship with you because he just isn't informed or has experience in that stuff. but ! he does know he wants you, completely. he wants you and will not stop striving for you until all of you is his to have, own, and keep. (emphasis on keep because you won't ever be leaving him)

[jessamine-rose]

˖⋆˚♱ଘ Angel’s Tears ଓ♱˚⋆˖

*cries* I thought I was done with Church AU after Priest! Dottore yet here I am with more unholy ideas. Welp, Guardian Angel! Capitano x Nonbeliever! Darling, here we go (；ω；)

Tw:: yandere, psychological trauma, blood, violence, death, religious abuse, MDNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 3.8k words under the cut ♡

♡ From the moment of their creation, angels are classified into the Nine Orders. This hierarchy determines their roles in Heaven and Earth, with higher ranks assigned greater levels of power and authority. A special exception is The Strongest Angel, an individual who is neither a Seraph nor an angel from the First Sphere. Rather, the moniker belongs to Il Capitano, the leader of the Powers.

♡ The legitimacy of his title has never been questioned. As a warrior angel, Capitano’s purpose is to vanquish evil. He is the chivalrous knight in bloodstained armor, the nigh-invincible being who strikes fear into the hearts of demons, the ever-righteous angel bound by a paradoxical duty to partake in violence for the sake of everlasting peace.

♡ It is in a small town in Mondstadt, following his victory over a legion of demons, that Capitano encounters you. It is the hour of mass yet you are nowhere near the Church; rather, you have taken sanctuary in a secluded meadow. A book sits on your lap, not a religious text but a tale of dark fantasy. There is a saintlike quality to your countenance, an air of melancholy as delicate as the flowers which surround you.

✿ ⚘

The moment Capitano appears before you, all peace leaves the meadow.

No, this isn’t right. It is normal for humans to feel fear in the divine presence of angels, yet he is donning his human guise. Nonetheless, as soon as his shadow touches your form, you look up and suppress a shriek, your face losing its veil of apathy.

So what exactly did he do wrong?

For your benefit, he remains rooted to his spot. Clarity comes in the form of your gaze flitting to your book, its title printed on the cover in conspicuous letters, the whispers which leave trembling lips.

“I…I can explain! This book—it’s just fiction! There are no real curses or spells inscribed in the text; it doesn’t promote any form of blasphemy!”

Ah, now he understands. You weren’t afraid of him.

Carefully, Capitano takes a step forward and raises his hand in a calming gesture. A gentle expression adorns his false face.

“Be not afraid.”

✿ ⚘

♡ It doesn’t take long for him to understand your wariness. A glimpse into your soul, paired with your quiet explanation, tells the story of an orphan raised by the Church. Only, your Church is one of many founded on distorted beliefs, of violence preached in the name of a cruel god. As a result, your upbringing was marked by strict rules, corporal punishments, and sermons which painted the image of a hopeless child with a weakness for temptation.

♡ Knowing this, Capitano can’t fault you for forsaking God and your Church. Still in his human guise, he promises his silence and leaves the meadow. But once he returns to Heaven, his first course of action is to apply for a position as your guardian angel. It is an easy process—while that role is typically reserved for the lower ranks, there is no shortage of humans in need of spiritual guidance and protection. He only questions why an angel wasn’t assigned to you when you were in greatest need of one.

♡ Henceforth, Capitano becomes a recurring character in your life. Every week, he visits you in the meadow. When you ask for his identity, he claims to be a progressive believer from another town. But rather than enlighten you with the true Word of God, he simply keeps you company and indulges your “vices,” leading to hours spent reading together. Beyond those meetings, he also watches over you to ward off any demons or humans seeking to harm you.

♡ From your end, you slowly warm up to your mysterious companion. He is a man of few words, but his actions always convey a sense of kindness. And despite his faith, he genuinely respects your beliefs and accepts you as you are. At one point, he even gives you a special gift, a quill pen of exceptional quality. The feather, pure white with a soft radiance, must have been sourced from a rare bird of prey.

♡ Over time, however, something changes. Capitano can’t deny that the faults lies with him. His visits, his constant thoughts of you, the ever-blurring line between want and duty…nothing of his behavior can be attributed to an angel’s inherent love for humanity. If that were the case, his love wouldn’t beget heartache. His love wouldn’t beget the temptation to harm others, rooted not in the name of justice but for your own safety. His love wouldn’t beget lust, guilt, dishonor, desires so sinfully evocative of his own fallibility.

♡ The truth is, you were never in need of spiritual salvation. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, what Capitano saw was a pure soul—a good person unlikely to commit evil nor fall into true temptation. Moreover, he knows that your sin of disbelief is forgivable unlike your Church’s sins of violence. That so long as you remain as you are, your soul will not be denied paradise, albeit in a realm of Heaven beyond Capitano’s jurisdiction. So why is he incapable of leaving your side?

✿ ⚘

“I had a long, long dream. I dreamed that you and I met again in the pure white world that we created.”

As you read the final line, your gaze leaves the book and returns to Capitano.

“What did you think of the story?”

Your shoulder brushes against his own, a tempting sensation. It is all he can do to remain still, to think against seeking out more of your touch, to remind himself that your close proximity is a mere necessity for your current activity.

The left side of the book, bearing the story’s ending, rests in your left hand. The other side is held in Capitano’s right hand, a blank page devoid of hope for a happy ending. When he turns the page, you seamlessly catch it under your thumb to show the next page.

Who knew of the casual intimacies imbued in the act of reading together?

“It was a well-written novel,” he says simply. “Though her sins tarnished her honor, Rosalyne’s sacrifice was an act of love. Her loss did not hinder her faithfulness to Rostam.”

“I feel the same way,” you muse. “Now I understand why this book was banned centuries ago. Forbidden love between angels and humans…it certainly goes against what the Church taught us about angels. I have to give the author credit for their imagination.”

It’s just the two of you again, this time in the library. At the start of winter, you invited Capitano to your workplace. There, in your greatest show of trust, you brought him to a secret room dedicated to texts banned by the Church for promoting “blasphemy.” Fantasy, erotica, anti-Church publications, first editions of censored books, stories which merely deviated from the Church’s popular depictions of spiritual beings.

Molten Moment belongs to the last category. Little do you know that it was based on a true story, that the author had really formed a pact with a demon called La Signora. Capitano himself is mentioned in the story under his true name.

He was one of the few angels who noticed the changes in Rosalyne’s behavior. She used to be a Throne, an angel with no connection to Earth nor humanity. Yet by some twist of fate, she laid eyes on a brave knight from Mondstadt and began to meet him in her human guise.

He was the first to hear of Rosalyne’s sin, that being she saved Rostam’s life during a battle. It was a direct violation of God’s orders: Angels and demons may influence humans, but they are forbidden from directly altering a human’s lifespan.

He was a silent witness to Rosalyne’s descent. She fell from Heaven, burned by her own flames, yet she had never appeared more ecstatic. In the following years, she married Rostam and lived a happy life with him on Earth.

He was the last to recognize Rostam’s soul at the pearly gates, forever separated from his fallen lover. Such had been Rosalyne’s divine punishment, worsened by her knowledge of this possibility. But what else was she to do? To let Rostam know of her true nature? To drag his soul down to Hell, where he’d be subjected to an eternity of undeserved suffering?

Capitano is no fool. As he read Molten Moment, he began to understand Rosalyne’s sin in a new light. Half the time, he couldn’t even concentrate on the text, his human eyes repeatedly drifting to your intense reading expression.

He closes the book, leaving it in your sole grasp. But before he can stand up from the sofa, you scoot closer and lean your weight on him. The book is placed on a nearby table, forgotten.

“Do you mind?” you whisper. Your right hand, empty since the prologue, traces his left hand.

A moment of silence precedes his response. “You may.”

Wordlessly, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. A gesture of intimacy, an unspoken confession. Yet as he savors your touch, Capitano wonders if you would harbor the same level of comfort around his true form.

He doubts it. As a Power, he bears an inhuman appearance on par with that of his superiors. It is his true image which has earned him the title of monster by witnessing humans.

Still, he allows himself to indulge in the blessing that is your oblivion. When you look into his two human eyes, there is a soft light in your gaze wholly free of fear.

“Spring is coming soon,” you mutter. “I can’t wait to see the flowers again. Come to think of it, there’s a variety of narcissus which grows only in late spring. It’s very pretty.”

Against his better judgment, Capitano strengthens his grip on your hand. “Shall I take it as an invitation to resume our meetings in the meadow?”

“Sure.” That is when you look up, a small smile adorning your face. “And if you can’t visit for whatever reason, I’ll pick a bouquet and preserve it for you.”

For once, Capitano is rendered speechless.

Rarely do you ever smile. Even to him, you retain your listless disposition—whether it is out of habit or lingering distance, he has yet to discern your reasons. But that is what makes it all the more special, those few instances when he is beholden to your expressions.

He wonders if this is what humans feel in the divine presence of angels, when they are borne witness to all things holy and beautiful.

Your smile is a phenomenon reserved only for the worthiest of souls. And in your grace, he has never felt more undeserving.

✿ ⚘

♡ At the end of winter, a religious war is authorized by the Church of Mondstadt. Shortly after the news reaches your town, Capitano informs you that he will be busy with “work.” He says it during another reading date, featuring Heart of Clear Springs. Before leaving, he kisses your hand and gives you a kind smile. There is a sad look in his eyes, but you don’t inquire further.

♡ In late spring, your town is attacked. With the entire area under fire, from your home to the meadow, you find yourself running back to the sacred building which you’d avoided for years. After all, though the enemy soldiers belong to a different denomination, they still worship the same god as you. In the present, the church is the only place on Earth where you can claim asylum and pray for your survival.

♡ Except every entrance is locked, including the doors to the orphanage. As the army reaches the town square, all you can do is bang on the front doors and beg to be let in. From inside, you can hear the voices of the people that luckily attended mass before the invasion. Some tell you to hide elsewhere, others beg you for forgiveness, a few sound like the nuns and caretakers who tormented you in the past.

♡ Before you can think of another sanctuary, a soldier strikes you. Pain…it has never felt more intense. Through your fading consciousness, you register your body falling and your head hitting the concrete. Blood pools from your forehead and trickles down the steps of the church, tainting it red.

♡ Life flashes before your eyes in a blurry sequence. The static images of God, sermons and bruises, unanswered prayers, people who never believed you or simply didn’t care. A birthday celebrated with your departure from the Church. Sanctuary found in the library followed by the meadow. Yet the numbness remained, each day bleeding into the next in a gloomy haze. In all those years, did you ever feel God’s love?

♡ It doesn’t matter at this point. A small part of you wonders if you should have retained your faith, continued your prayers, sought out salvation in the safety of your solitude. At least then, at the hour of your death, you wouldn’t be confronted with the fact of your humanity. The primal fear of death, the spiritual fear of ending up in Hell no matter Capitano’s reassurances.

♡ Capitano…where is he? Weakly, you call out to him but he doesn’t appear. Of course, why would he? You should feel thankful; it means he is probably safe, wherever he is. Still, you can’t help but wish he were here—if not to save you, as he has done by simply keeping you company, but to comfort you one last time. And those are the thoughts which plague you in your final moments, an unheard prayer on the tip of your tongue.

“I pray that we meet again, myself and the first person who truly loved me.”

♡ ______ died on a cloudy day, one of many people persecuted in the name of God. After the Church was destroyed and its followers slaughtered, their body was buried in a mass grave that once flourished with nature. There was a poignant quality to their countenance, an air of distress as transient as the flowers planted above them.

♡ At least, that is how your story ends from the perspectives of the survivors. But to the angels and demons who witnessed the destruction of your town, your death was only the end of a chapter in your life. In their eyes, Capitano had been present all throughout, an invisible witness to your death, absolute in his refusal to perform an unauthorized miracle.

♡ He remained by your side until the light faded from your eyes. That was when he took notice of the bouquet of narcissus clutched in your hand, tainted with blood despite your feeble efforts to save his gift. A soldier approached your corpse, intending to drag it down the steps for burial; but before they could touch you, Capitano appeared before them.

♡ It was only for a brief second, but the soldier drew back and cowered in fear. In the following days, they were haunted by the memory of the angelic figure who appeared outside the Church of Mondstadt. Or more precisely, the monster who prayed over a bloodstained corpse and took a bouquet of ruined flowers out of their grasp.

✿ ⚘

From the moment you wake up, all peace leaves the meadow.

What happened? Your memory comes back in hazy fragments—death, darkness, blinding light, pearly gates, ethereal figures. Most vivid is the sensation of strong arms and soft feathers, a familiar warmth which accompanied you throughout your journey.

As for your current surroundings, you are in a meadow so beautiful that it brings to mind the Garden of Eden. Flowers of every variety bloom across the scenery, some out of season. The sky is bright, sunless, a canvas of multiple colors. There are no other signs of life.

Internally, too, something feels off. A nearby pond provides a glimpse of your reflection—white garments, gold scars in place of your fatal injuries, your disoriented countenance. If this place is what you think it is…shouldn’t you feel at peace, happy even? And why are you alone?

Your gaze lands on a patch of flowers. Pure white, perianth petals, cup-shaped coronas…the same type of narcissus which grew in your favorite meadow. The flowers point in different directions, as though searching for a sun that does not exist.

“You are awake.”

A shadow touches your form, engulfing you in darkness. It bears a large, unrecognizable shape but such details evade you as you recognize the voice behind you.

“Capitano!” Immediately, you turn around, only to gasp and suppress a scream.

The person before you…can you even call him human? He is incredibly tall, to the point that you must crane your neck to see his face—assuming there is one beneath his iron mask. His body is clad in silver armor, stained blood in some places. A halo, shaped like a crown of thorns, shines behind his head.

But what shocks you are his wings. A single pair covered in radiant white feathers and eerily dark blue eyes. Each eye seems to glow with an uncanny aura.

Dark blue eyes with a striking resemblance to Capitano’s. What more for his long black hair and his solemn manner of speaking?

It doesn’t make your revelation any less unsettling.

“Capitano.” Your voice comes out in a nervous whisper. “Is it really you? You’re a…”

“An angel,” he confesses. He takes a step back, widening the distance between your bodies. “I ask that you pardon my appearance. Such was my sacrifice—for my true form, in all of its monstrosity, to be my sole image.”

His human face comes to mind, along with the kind gaze you fell in love with.

You feel the weight of multiple gazes on you. “What do you mean?”

“Is this realm to your satisfaction?” he asks. “I beseeched God to create a special paradise for you, cut off from the rest of Heaven. The price is that your capacity to feel negative emotions remains in this realm…though that is preferable.”

Preferable? How so? Right now, you can barely process what he is telling you. You are dead. Your companion is an angel. Your soul is in paradise, but not exactly.

After everything you’ve been through, you were still deemed worthy of a place in Heaven.

“I am sorry.”

Capitano’s voice brings you back to reality. He has never sounded more serious, emotional, repentant. And when you look up…

Is he crying?

Most of his eyes remain open, focusing on you with a fervent stare. But others are downcast, as if unable to face you. And a few appear glossy, blinking back iridescent tears.

“I am truly sorry.” He bows his head in shame, wings folded. “What I did to you was cruel, an absolute injustice.”

You don’t know which eyes to make contact with. “You—”

“It must have been painful,” he continues. “Even if I were to justify my actions, the truth lies in the fact that I tolerated your suffering for my own selfish desires. And that is why I ask not for your forgiveness, knowing I am the one at fault.”

Silence. In light of Capitano’s confession, all you can do is stare at him and comprehend the weight of your situation. What exactly are you supposed to feel, knowing his betrayal? Knowing that regardless of your feelings, you have nowhere else to go in the afterlife?

Yet despite it all, your prayer came true. The two of you were able to meet again.

And that is what compels you to take a step forward, to come closer until you are standing in front of him. “Hey, it’s…don’t cry.”

A delicate sensation blesses his wings—your hands carefully tracing his feathers to wipe away his tears. Several eyes widen in surprise, but all he can see in your gaze is sympathy.

“I’ll admit, it was painful,” you tell him. “Dying alone. But maybe it’s…better this way. If I survived, I’d have to deal with the loss of my home. And who knows what kind of living hell the other Church would’ve put me through?”

Above all, Capitano is the only person whose love you can believe in.

Hesitantly, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. The next words to leave your lips are spoken with certainty, bringing fresh tears to his eyes.

“I’m sure it was an act of love on your part.”

His reaction is sudden, incurring your surprise. But all you can do is surrender to Capitano’s embrace, allow his free arm to hold your waist and pull you closer to him. His wings wrap around you, caging you in soft feathers and eerie blue orbs.

“Capitano?” You can only look up at him, peering into the contents of his mask.

…It’s like staring into an abyss, a night sky dotted with twinkling blue stars. But in the absence of a human likeness, his words express what a face cannot.

“Never again,” he vows, “shall I allow harm to befall you. That is a promise.”

The hand on your waist moves upwards to caress your face. His touch is light, more hesitant than his previous gestures.

“You need not serve God nor partake in fruitful labor like the other souls in Heaven. All I ask is that you rest, indulge yourself, enjoy this paradise to the fullest.”

A flower is pinned to his armor, right above his heart. You recognize it instantly—a narcissus in full bloom, stained with your blood.

“If you desire a flower, it shall grow at once. If there are any books you would like to read, they shall be brought to you shortly.”

What was the name of that variety again? Narcissus triandrus. Angel’s tears.

“If you are in need of my presence, I shall appear before you, so long as I am not in the midst of battle. And should you ever desire the opposite, I can promise my distance.”

When Capitano looks into your eyes, all he can see is his own reflection. Whatever emotion colors your gaze, it casts his true image in a compassionate light.

“I shall do everything in my power to bring you joy for all of eternity. Such will be my penance.”

“...All right.” With that, you close your eyes and lean into his touch. He feels warm, comfortingly familiar. “I’ll trust you on that.”

Rest in peace, ______.

Think not of your mortal body in the beginning stages of decay.

Think not of your tormentors who are paying for their sins in Hell.

Think only of eternity with your beloved savior.

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

Aahhhh it's done....this idea turned out much heavier than expected, but I'm glad that I was able to write this!! I hope you all cried over enjoyed the story of Angel! Capitano and his damsel. They were truly a delight to write for~

Tag a Capitano enjoyer!! @diodellet @navxry @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @harmonysanreads @mochinon-yah @oofasleep @micchikari @whispereons @thescribeoflostmemories

[melliemell]

AAA OK, requesting Fyodor x his Mexican girlfriend, and how'd he'd spoil her, treating her like a princess. Mixing that with his Russian culture, And sharing cultural traditions/behavior and food,

I hope you like it! this was a wild ride of figuring out fyodor's character better

Fyodor Spoiling his Lover HC

The thing is… Fyodor’s emotions are a heavily guarded thing. He’s very unlikely to let his guard down enough to actually feel romantic emotions, instead opting for control of the situation to the smallest detail.

Man’s obsessed with predictability. Emotions are certainly anything but that.

Having said that, if Fyodor finds you of any convenience for his plans, well, he is completely willing to play the role of a loving partner far beyond your expectations.

Get prepared for chaos unleashed, babe.

Fyodor’s sense of normal human behaviour has long been discarded somewhere in between the centuries of his long life. And he does have a flare for the dramatic at times, so you’ll have to excuse him if he considers buying out an entire restaurant for your night out to be within reasonable etiquette. 

“A quiet, peaceful place to spend time with you is very dear to me, although I do apologize if it’s a bit over the top,” he’d say, smile in place as he regarded you with no true remorse whatsoever. Maybe a bouquet of flowers would win you over; he’d try to be more reasonable with that… this time.

And let’s never forget that statement from Asagiri that Fyodor’s the type to buy an entire country for his sweetheart. He’s generous like that. 

Fyodor’s quite traditional in his courting as well. He’s aware that it’s expected of the man in the relationship to take care of his partner; all the way from providing for them to ensuring protection (and he does have to be mindful of that, knowing how many people want him dead in particular). 

Fyodor’s a man of constant planning and action so staying in one place is rarely ideal. And keeping someone satisfied when you can’t be around them often enough brings about a challenge. So in comes his quite mindful gift-giving.

You see, he’s gotten very good at observing people to the point it’s barely any effort to understand their inner workings and desires. The moment he has you pinned down as an individual–he’d do and say exactly what you want of him just so he can have you wrapped nicely around his finger as you fall harder for him. 

Fyodor’d be perfect… until the moment you’ve run out of use for him. The mask would fall very quickly and with no remorse behind it. 

Unless…

Here’s the deal–Fyodor is a very tough nut to crack. Sorting through all the layers of deception and perfectly built walls of indifference will be one of the hardest things to pull off. 

But the man under all that would be so worth it. The loneliness that’s bound to reside within him would be the saddest thing to finally lay your eyes upon.

It’s likely you’ll barely even notice you’ve managed to get him smitten.

He won’t indicate in any way something has changed at first, being his normal self and keeping up the princess treatment as a safety measure.

But he’ll find himself coming up with more and more plans for getting you to move around with him. There will be notes of a possessive streak there, like trying to keep your favourite toy with you everywhere; that’s definitely what Fyodor’d be telling himself at least.

He’ll be quite unsure why he’d feel the need to call you sweet things in his mother tongue. It is certainly a romantic gesture, yes, but it had never crossed his mind before? But the sound of it now felt pleasant to his ears and seeing your confused but still smiling face every time brought an unexpected warmth to his chest. He’d hold onto it for hours, staring off at the ceiling instead of his computers. Just… thinking. 

Like opening a door to his inner world; the things that brought him some sense of familiar comfort. 

It won’t be long before he has you in the kitchen, trying his best to at least make you remember maybe one of his soup recipes from home. Extremely patient about the whole process, not really caring if it ends up botchered. So long as he keeps getting that same feeling of warmth inside.

Won’t even bat an eye if you tell him you miss home. Would find a way to readjust both of your schedules (you have the exact same one at this point, he’s not even ashamed) so you’d be flying back in no time. Rest is good for the mind after all.

Be warned–this man is not built for warm weather. Fyodor’s one afternoon walk away from a literal heat stroke. Mindfulness is cautioned.

Mexico has not been one of his typical destinations, but he’d be quite appreciative of the openness of the people there. 

Will absolutely not leave you out of his sight though, no matter what. Unfamiliar places are best left explored with caution, even if you reassure him you’d probably not have any problems here. He’d only nod understandingly, completely intending on doing as he planned either way.

Man’s stubborn, can’t change that.

So long as you went unaware of a few things here and there–all was going to be good. He’d sooner blow an entire nation up than let anything happen to you.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Forty Six - Ideas of Failure

Part Forty Five

———

The term astronaut was initially used sometime in 1929, but became in regular use circa 1958. It derived from the Greek words “Astron” and “Nautes” which translate to star and sailor a piece, which initially defines them as star sailors.

To be an astronaut, it was initially defined as a person whose profession is to travel beyond the Earth’s atmosphere. Further defined by NASA to be, all who have been launched as crew members aboard NASA spacecraft bound for Earth’s orbit and beyond. 

They are trained, equipped, and deployed by a given human spaceflight program to serve as a member of the given spacecraft, usually based on research reasons. 

Over five-hundred people from thirty-six countries have reached one-hundred kilometers or more in altitude from the Earth’s surface, placing them at least in low Earth orbit. Before the start of the Arcturus missions, twenty-four people had traveled beyond low Earth orbit, with only three of those twenty-four doing it twice. 

It was not expected for those a part of Arcturus, mech suit pilots, to become astronauts initially. For them to merely be passengers aboard the space faring vessels carrying their suits, but that became evident to be nothing but a fantasy. 

To be trained to be a NASA certified astronaut, the prerequisites initially just involved military grade jet test piloting and engineering prowess. They typically take twenty months of overall training to prepare for life as an astronaut. 

Mech suit pilots of Arcturus’s various missions are not considered full astronauts, as they are missing critical training, but they have reached many significant requirements. 

—

Everything was grey, they’d never noticed how grey the non-sentient shuttles were till now, when everything felt grey. When grey was standing out like red to them.

A shuttle-ride hadn’t been this tense since their first days on the planet. When they were still getting used to each other, when there was limited understanding and constant translation errors. The distinct other feeling falling over them all then, trying not to think of the distance between them and home either. Now, they were sitting towards the back of the shuttle, trying to not draw attention to themselves. 

Grey and horrible in appearance, fresh welds holding them together, and systems struggling to maintain basic protocol. The engineers on Earth would have heart attacks with the states of their suits. Unable to help but scratch lightly at one of the fresh welds, frowning with the shift in visor brightness.

The gentle sways of the shuttle was hardly a relief either, not like it normally was, as they sat together. Unable to disconnect yet, unable to relax. They wouldn’t be able to rest till they got back to the apartment and that was just dragging them further down. It was miserable and their friends were avoiding them like the plague. Well, except for the precious few, but they were always the exception.

Each mech was covered in gore beside the ones who’d gone underground. Though Mirage and Bluestreak were once again the exception, having it on their arms at least. Even Ironhide had some, though he kept picking at it as his eyes flicked towards Sunstreaker. Who was sitting between Bluestreak and his brother, slumped down a bit. Blue’s hand was holding him in what looked like a painfully tight hold, and Sides had his head on his brother's shoulder, visor dimmed as dark as it would go without disconnecting. They looked miserable.

The misery continued, with Breakdown sat by himself, picking at his welds with a slightly tilted head. Anyone that could read human body language could tell he was very upset, likely frowning, but with comms still down it was impossible to tell for sure. But he chose to sit by himself, across from them, deep in thought and brooding. Maybe it was because Knockout had made to sit with him before having to return to his duties, maybe not.

Mirage’s head was leaned against Hound’s shoulder, the fresh welds on him having turned from grey to a near silver before they’d shift back to his familiar blue. It was something they all had found interesting initially, the way Cybertronian’s healed. The nanites do half the work sometimes. Hound was struggling to not move, an arm rested lightly around Mirage and Mirage's hand on the gap in his plating like always, their anchor. He didn’t want to move or disturb the poor mech, who’d stumbled through the alleyways to find him. 

Jazz and Prowl were sat nearby, with Jazz practically curled into Prowl’s side while the mech attempted to seem like he was working. That his focus wasn’t entirely on Jazz and how the pilot was feeling, rather the tablet in his hands that had scrolling information. Maybe he was focused on both, but the quick glances down at Jazz were too frequent. His tight EM field kept flicking out with the slightest hint of worry.

Everytime it did, Bluestreak would look up, his own lashing out with worry and fear before settling back down.

They were shattered in a way that no cybertronian had seen before, the humans had seemed so indestructible, lonely in their power, but strong. Homesickness might plague them, but their will was stronger than that, facing down the enemy without a second glance back. Pilots were the best at destroying Quintessons, so seeing them in this broken state was jarring.

Of course they still almost single handedly handled the problem, but now, command would be glad only a few mecha saw the state they were in.

Heroes were meant to be shining metal and indestructible, something out of a sparkling-tale, polished and refined by time. Time was something that the pilots did not have. 

—

Iacon from this high up almost looked normal, not at all like a massive attack had just happened so close to the center of the city but it was just visible from the window. To the right a little and he’d have to lean on the glass to see it, bit the remains of that city block were an open wound on the planet.

Before, none of them would have been able to guess where their bar was, tucked between tall buildings. One of the last remaining structures of a bygone era. Now it was obvious, just to the right of where the crashed ship had been, one of the places being circled by seekers. 

It was impossible to rest, even disconnected and staring, it would be impossible to sleep, even as exhausted as he was. 

He would give it the night, sitting in the window and staring down at Iacon from their apartment. Patrols shooting across the sky and marching through the streets. With a blanket around his shoulders, Hound just kept staring. The others were still cleaning up, whether themselves or their suits, the cleaning process always took the longest.

Gore needed to be scrubbed then disposed of safely, as it did on Earth, but here their solvents destroyed it much easier than the colorful soaps they had back on Earth. His suit had been by far the worst, so he got the first crack at it, though slightly better practiced than the others. 

Getting to shower first after his suit was clean was probably the best part of it, even if scrubbing at his suit while wearing the assistance suit was the worst part. Visor fogged up from the hot water and solvent, scowling at the peeling paint on his gloves, even as his suit was in a worse state. 

Poor Sunstreaker had been next, but Hound had taken the time to help him where he could. Now, most of the suits were drying and those who weren’t asleep were lounging. Aside from Bluestreak and Sunny, who were priming the suits in the bathroom. New paint would be needed before they could go on another mission. 

Perched in the window, he clutched at the water pouch in his hands as they shook. Every bit of home felt further and further away with each passing moment, half the pilots were asleep and the rest were grieving in their own way. Closing his eyes, he sighs deeply, leaning his head against the window.

His eyes fluttered back open in the bright sunlight, blinking against it painfully as it nearly blinded him. Everything was cast in a yellow glow, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white. Out the windshield was the interstate, stretching on for miles, to the right was the last of the rolling hills before falling into the valley, and to the left was the pacific coast mountains.

It was home. 

Sighing slowly, he looked around and his throat tightened painfully. It was his dad’s truck, the one he’d stupidly wrapped around a tree before he’d even got his license, the one he’d ridden in back in 1984 as a baby. 

Looking around again, he shifts uncomfortably, “Okay, okay.” He had no idea where he was going, couldn’t remember getting in the car in the first place. It wasn’t like he drove around often on Earth, the car he had was stupidly expensive and the gas even more so.

A lawn ornament, his father had called it once, but it had meant something to him. His connection to the past, before cars became a dying commodity, before gas had become a government controlled resource. Off-shore oil rigs dying out faster than the dodo-bird. 

God, California only looked this beautiful from a car though. 

How the hell had he gotten here? Scratching lightly at his implants, his throat tightened again, his aging implants would only last another generation or two of suit upgrades, then he’d be shunted aside like Kup. Shifting on the overly plush seat, he watched a sign for the split go flying past.

San Francisco, continue straight on I-580. 

Interstates weren’t even well tended anymore, mostly used for government transportation. So much of the population had moved into city centers to stay protected. 

The Bay Area was nearly constantly under attack, no one was really supposed to be living out there but there was enough work to keep the desperate there. Hound tightens his grip on the wheel, he’d been at one of the many battles of the bay, they were never easy.

After another moment, the radio crackled to life, trying to whine into existence. For a moment, he thought about letting it play, before turning it off. 

There wasn’t going to be anything to hear out here, not in the ag country, all that was out here was farmland trying to grow enough food to feed the country. Shaking his head a bit, he tries hitting the brakes instead, needing to get out for some air. 

Except the truck doesn’t stop.

It speeds up.

So he kept slamming his foot against the brakes, holding it to the floor, “This useless piece of junk always wanted to kill me.” Trying to crank the window open, it breaks off in his hand. Trying to unbuckle, it pulls him back against the seat. For a moment, he felt like he was suffocating.

The visor of his helmet was always painfully tight, tearing it off his head, he gasps for breath. Kneeling on the lab floor, he tore the connector away from his newly placed implants, they were bleeding down his neck like a nosebleed. Constant. Too much.

Digging his fingers against the floor, he tried to stand, his knee going out from under him and slamming into the tiles, as water hit him like a gunshot. Sending him sliding across the floor while he struggles for breath. The only thing visible was a mask with a glowing yellow light. 

He was jolted back awake, though now the apartment was silent, deadly silent. Pulling at his shirt lightly, Hound tried to breathe evenly. He was clammy, drenching in sweat and shivering. Across the room from him Bluestreak was sleeping on the couch, which probably meant it was really late. 

Though looking out the window he could see the distant sun rising instead, not late, early.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep but he was glad in a way that today had gotten here quickly. Leaving his blanket behind, his body ached as he dragged it to the ladder, lightly tossing his water pouch down before climbing down.

The door to the bedroom was closed, which meant most of the pilots were probably still asleep, if not Prowl. 

Padding over to the bathroom, he grabs up his helmet, holding it for a long second and staring at it. It took him a second to push up the visor before moving into the bathroom and grabbing up his gear. 

—

Autobot Headquarters, he almost paused with a sad smile that even he had picked up the term, Iacon Central, was as big and beautiful as it always was. Imposing in the skyline and bustling more than normal as emergency housing was being sorted and dealt with. The line was long and almost wrapped around the block.

The sun was still coming up, but the city was coming alive as the day started, though Cybertronian’s didn’t need as much sleep it seemed like most had taken the night off because of the attack. 

Both young and older Cybertronians were stood, talking with each other and waiting somehow very patiently. His eyes slid over them in near awe, the line wasn’t dissimilar to evacuation protocols back on Earth but there weren’t nearly as many people as he’d expected. 

Maybe that was just from his perspective though.

His primer glinted slightly as he climbed up the stairs, no longer the greyed out mech that looked dead and merely one that chose to get new color. The missing plating was restored on his feet and legs, making his suit look and feel whole again. It almost felt wrong after fighting without most of it yesterday, how he’d adapted so fast. 

Coming up to the doors, he sighed and shifted his hold on the hard drive, nodding to some of the guards as they let him through. It was the first time he’d ever gone in alone, usually there was an escort and all that nonsense but now it was just him.

Hound’s heart was racing as he started through the halls, that the last time he’d been there had been filled with people talking and wandering. Today, it was practically a ghost town. It almost sent a shiver down his spine as he went, eyes jumping around quickly, scanning for the enemy.

Steps echoing in the hall, he desperately wanted to be anywhere other than here, but this meeting was important. He only slowed when familiar faces started to show, relief hitting him harder than he thought it would when Mirage fell into step next to him.

”Get some sleep?” Mirage’s question was soft, hand covering the bare spot on his back like it was made to fit there and Hound shrugged lightly, “Some, enough hopefully.” Nodding, Mirage smiled a bit, “Some is better than none, come on, the commanders are meeting this way.” So they walked for a little while longer, before coming up to the same door he’d been to before.

Blaster stood outside of it though, smiling before opening the door, “Go on in guys, they’re waiting on you.” That made Hound’s heart rate pick back up as they entered the meeting room.

Of course, Optimus Prime and Megatron were there. Same as Soundwave and Starscream, Ironhide was kind of a given and Elita-One was phoned in on comms, projected at her normal seat. Though there were two unfamiliar faces there, both mostly white with striking accents, one with green and a battle-mask covering his mouth and the other with red and blue. Though the red and blue one was significantly larger. 

“Ah, Hound.” Optimus’s voice was warm, a smile reaching his eyes, “I’m glad you could make it.” Starscream’s scowl was deep, “About time.” Mirage’s hold tightened slightly on his back and Hound nodded slightly, “Ah, I apologize for being late but after killing twenty-eight Quintessons, plus an Executioner, that I needed some sleep Air Commander.” Megatron snorted and Hound smiled.

It was nice to know that the Lord Protector had his back, almost as much as Mirage did. 

Starstream sank in his seat even as the larger unknown mech rested a hand on his shoulder in comfort. 

Clearing his throat, Optimus nodded slightly, “Right, well, this is what we asked you here to discuss. The events of yesterday.” His throat tightened back up, it almost reminded him of his childhood asthma, something he hadn’t dealt with since his mom had died, “Yes sir.” Carefully, Optimus gestured to one of the chairs and Hound took a seat.

Mirage sat next to him, hand resting on his knee under the table, that bit of connection for comfort.

”Well, yesterday was a lot.” Optimus’s voice was uncomfortable, “We didn’t understand what we were walking into when we came to (Translation Error) Bar yesterday and for that I’m sorry.” Nodding a bit, Hound shifted on his seat, “I will say, none of us were expecting to hear that message ever again, but you hear it every year for your whole life it can still be jarring.” The scrap of Megatron’s chair was painful to the ears.

He nodded, clearing his throat, “Yes, that, why do your people seem to take pleasure in relieving their pain?” The sound of a firm smack to the back of his head also shook the room, “Ignore him, that is not why we are here today. I have discussed with our top scientists,” He gestured to the unknown people in the room even as Hound’s hands tightened into fists in his lap.

There was nothing wrong with the engineers on Earth, they could be pleasant, but to a lot of them, you were a tool for the suit. Not the other way around, his implants burned as his face did, heart rate spiking and posting an alert on his hud. Clearing his throat a bit, Hound shifted and grasped Mirage’s hand from his knee. Holding it tightly. 

He ignored the widening eyes of Mirage as he nodded, “What occurred.” His throat was dry, “Yes, of course.” His voice was strained and Megatron gave him a look, “Well, the alerted me to an outage in Iacon’s shields yesterday that shouldn’t have happened, that was planned somehow.” The color drained from his face.

”So it was planned?” If his voice was strained before, this was it weak, and the nod from Optimus was not much better. But one of the scientists, the one with the battle mask, spoke up, “Well, not from the inside, it was a blip, for a moment in our systems. The typical cycling before the stronger shield would come up after detecting Quints in the system. They just managed to notice it this time, I blame it on their proximity. Normally they only bridge near Luna, this time they attempted to do so in the atmosphere.” 

It took Hound a second to realize that the translator had placed an accent on the scientist, it was a little relieving. 

Singing slowly, Hound nodded, “Well, that’s good, in a way. So, are we going to talk about or avoid it?” He’d rather just get straight to the point, the dream from last night tugging at his mind. Megatron shifted forward, “Talk about what, Hound?” Sighing again, he nodded, “How me and my pilots failed you all.” 

If any one of them were to drop a pin, he wouldn’t even need to turn up his speakers to hear it. Shifting forward, he cleared his throat, “We understand what you expect of us, what we expect of ourselves and yesterday was far from it. We’ve never faced an attack that bad and we were unprepared, for that I have to apologize. I also apologize for our actions before and after the fight, neither were appropriate or well-willed.” Knockout’s absence from this meeting was sticking in his mind. 

Everyone was gaping at him, so he continued, “We were tired and had experienced the unexpected, but that is no excuse. I didn’t take command like I should have, merely tried to handle the situation as quickly as possible and not as effectively as I could have.” He slid back a piece of armor in his leg and pulled out the hard drive, setting it on the table, “I hope that this information makes up for some of my failures yesterday. As the commander for Arcturus, I should have kept my pilots in line. I apologize.” 

The room was silent and he tried not to shift or move, it felt worse than when he was almost court martialed years ago. 

“I’m confused,” The large scientist's voice was soft, “Is he apologizing for saving the city? Or getting the data?” The other one shook his head, “No, I don’t think it’s that,” He stared at Hound intensely and it made his skin crawl, “Maybe it’s an error in his translator.” Nodding a bit, he seemed content with that, “Yeah, error for his translator.” 

The impact on the table was jarring, “Damn them, no, he thinks he actually has to apologize for acting alive. Look at him, he thinks we’re going to line him up and shoot him in the spark.” The largest scientists gasped quietly, “Megatron!” Optimus’s voice was not loud, but commanding. 

There was hardly a second between that and when the door whooshed open, “I apologize for my tardiness,” Prowl freezes, frowning, “Have I missed something?” Megatron shoots up from his chair, “Yes, the humans once again are hating themselves for existing, feeling as if they are a burden when they save our lives, as though their already impressive feats are nowhere near enough and should not be celebrated! But instead met with reprimand as if their actions were wrong when truthfully they displayed selfness!” His fist collided with the table again, Soundwave nodding slightly. 

Optimus took his arm, “Megatron, that is enough.” He sighed slowly and turned to Hound, “Hound, there is no need to apologize, the aid you and your pilots have offered us has never been a burden and we are eternally grateful.” But Hound was already shaking his head, “You don’t understand.” He chuckled weakly.

Still shaking his head, “Of course you wouldn’t understand.” he sighed again, still holding Mirage’s hand, “We failed yesterday, we acted out of turn and defied orders on more than one occasion. Not for the safety of others but for the safety of ourselves, you’ve already been lenient in the past when it comes to defying orders for the sake of others, but this was different. The Quintessons were in Iacon.” His voice didn’t waver.

He kept going, “We were made to protect innocent lives, to defend our standing cities, and our bodies attempted to give up on that before our hearts did. Please understand that. I can’t imagine how many lives we risked yesterday with our recklessness, our ill understanding of your cities and people. On Earth, we rarely see the public and spend most of our lives with other pilots, but we live to protect the ones we don’t get to see.” Nodding slowly, he sighed, “We failed and we know it, last night I fell asleep staring at the damage from our apartment, knowing we caused it.” Prowl sucked in a breath behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

”Hound, there were no civilian injuries, no civilian deaths, limited enlisted injuries. The worst came from the bar collapse, which no one could have prevented.” He kept his hand on Hound’s shoulder, “Breakdown had the worst injuries yesterday and he is already back on his feet. Yesterday was not your fault, it was a fault in our systems, these things happen.” Mirage squeezed his hand.

Megatron was seething, “Am I able to speak now?” Optimus just sighed and put his face in his hands, “Yes? Good. Listen to me Hound, it is no fault of your own that your society makes you feel incapable of meeting their neigh impossible standards. These happen with horrific systems,” 

Optimus cleared his throat as everyone groaned, “As I was saying, it is not your fault. Should I blame Soundwave or Blaster for not noticing the flaw in our systems? Or myself for being rendered unconscious? Ah, maybe the Prime,” He stops himself and glances at Optimus.

Who was smiling but it clearly was not a friendly one, Megatron clears his throat, “The air commander for not intercepting their ship! Perhaps I shall go with that one, yes.” He nodded to himself as the large scientist held Starscream against his seat, hand covering his mouth.

”It is not your fault, these things, although terrible, happen. But it is why we have evacuation plans, the underlayer for use in those situations, what happened yesterday could not be avoided and you and your pilots saved Iacon.” Hound’s mouth was dry and tears were welling in his eyes, Prowl’s hand almost quickled pulled back from his shoulder for a moment before returning.

Mirage’s grip tightened.

That fuzzy electric feeling returned to his skin, across his plating.

Megatron seemed to focus on it, frowning slightly, “Ah,” He glances at Optimus who had sat back up, eyes nearly brighter than the lights in the room.

No one else noticed.

”So, it wasn’t a translation error?” The big scientist was still holding back Starscream even as the other scientist nodded, “Yeah, I don’t think it was. Damn.”

———

A/N

I love this chapter, so much, like holy crap.

I got to talk about California for a moment, specifically a stretch of highway I know WAY too well.

Also, yes, that is me introducing Wheeljack, and Hound has not yet met Skyfire till now. So that’s going on, :)

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

[lazycats-stuff]

HEYYY, firstly how are you! I wanted to ask if you could write about a teen male reader with the Batfam. He is kinda like the winter soldier if you know what I mean ( skilled fighter, metal arm..), since he lived with the Batfam he was doing a good mental recovery, but one day he goes back to winter soldier mode on the fam, and they try to get him back to normal again, idk

Thanks you bye !

Hi anon, I'm well and I hope you are doing okay too. I can do it, no worries.

Summary: (Y/N) gets back into the Winter Soldier mode.

Warnings: implications of torture, mind control, mentions of Hydra, Bruce is sad for (Y/N), some violence... And everything else that goes with Hydra and brain washing.

The road to recovery is often a long one. Bruce thought of it when he first saw (Y/N), aka the Winter Soldier. The infamous one, a ghost within the intel community. Many people didn't believe that the Winter Soldier even existed. But the trail of neat and clean murders was the one thing that made Bruce think there is something more.

Of course, the way to get (Y/N) was hell. Hell being and understatement of the decade. Bruce at one thought that he was indeed chasing a Ghost, but something in his mind told him that the Winter Soldier was real. Something in his gut made him chase that ghost.

Months of chasing, fighting and hoping he would be alive by the next encounter, they finally got him. Bruce was lucky to be alive. He hugged all of his kids right then and there. (Y/N) was put into a glass box, strong enough to contain Bane.

(Y/N) refused to back down, refused to retreat. He punched the glass of the cage with his metal arm and some were worried that he would actually brake it. Bruce knew that even if he broke the glass, he had no handler anymore.

His organization has been destroyed. Everyone important was caught. Those who weren't... Well, their time was running out. They may have scattered like rats, but you can bet your ass on anything that the League would find them all. Especially since they didn't burn down their base. One hell of a mistake.

Bruce and the rest searched through the base and they found something that can only be considered as a holy grail when it comes to someone who was brainwashed.

A dark red book, bounded in leather, with all the trigger words written on those pages... Bruce knew that he has hit a jackpot. He looked through them and then has decided to burn it. They also found the footage of (Y/N)'s brainwashing,

The footage, as much as it is damning, making it very easy to persecute anyone they needed, it was also nauseating. (Y/N) was tortured with electricity, memory wiped with electricity... Worse of all, (Y/N) fighting.

It had shaken Bruce to his core and made him triple check the manor security and it has made him check on his sons 5 times that night. He couldn't sleep at all. He refused to sleep that one single evening and night.

And when he stood in front of the glass cage, (Y/N) looked utterly defeated. He was sitting down, looking down at his metal arm and his human arm. He seemed mad beyond belief that he was even caught. Bruce knew he would have to be delicate and gentle with this (Y/N). He had taken the book with him, to try and have some sort of leverage.

And to show him that he was free. (Y/N) was finally free of the mental shackles that they have put on him. Bruce took a chair and sat down near the cell, but far enough to make sure that there was some sort of space.

He couldn't have (Y/N) feel cornered.

He sat down, book in his lap. (Y/N) still looked down, but looked up after a few moments.

" They will come and get me back. " (Y/N) said and Bruce wanted to laugh.

" Hydra is gone. " Bruce simply stated and watched (Y/N)'s reaction.

Nothing. Huh.

" Lies. "

Bruce stayed calm and shook his head. " I'm afraid I'm telling you the truth. The book you see in my hands? The book with your trigger words. Do you really think they would hand it over ever so willingly? " Bruce asked, showing him the dark red leather book.

" You are officially free. " Bruce said as and watched the way (Y/N) reacted.

Bruce nearly broke when he saw hope in (Y/N)'s eyes. He never lost hope.

" I'll never be free... " (Y/N) said quietly, looking at his metal arm. Bruce saw that it was not a nice arms, made with quality. While it looked strong, it wasn't made to be comfortable. And Bruce could see the claw marks at the part where the flesh and metal met.

" That may be true. But you can start healing. You can start working through all of the trauma that they put you through. Mental scars will always be there, but I can help you. " Bruce said softly and (Y/N) was still emotionless and with hope glimmering in his eyes, there was something else too. Bruce could only decipher it as happiness, but he knew that (Y/N) would rather die than admit it.

" I'll be with you the entire way. I have a great friend who can help you unpack everything they put you through. And I can give you a better metal arm, something that wouldn't be so uncomfortable and something that reminds you off the organization. " Bruce said as he looked at (Y/N), holding the book close.

" And what about the book? "(Y/N) asked quietly and Bruce knew exactly what (Y/N) meant.

" It will be destroyed by me. I wanted to show you that the thing keeping you in their grasp is destroyed. Well, will be destroyed. " Bruce said as he put the book down on the chair before moving closer.

" And you can officially start your new life. "

" I'm not sure if I can... " (Y/N) said softly and the defenses were slowly cracking.

" I can assure you, you can. You will have to put some work into it, but it will pay off. I'll be there to help you to start. "

" But the feeling of guilt will never go away, will it? "

" After some time it will. One way is to go through therapy and work it out or you can become a hero. But that only if you want it and after you went through therapy. " Bruce said softly.

" Maybe then I'll atone for it... " (Y/N) said softly.

" One step at the time (Y/N). One step at the time. " Bruce said softly.

And that's exactly what has happened at the time. Bruce made sure to be with (Y/N) before and after the therapy sessions. He made sure (Y/N) knew he had support while he was talking to the Black Canary. And once Black Canary said he could start meeting new people, Bruce slowly started bringing his sons around.

Damian knew exactly how (Y/N) felt. Being in that environment is not easy and it's just the battle of the fittest. And one hell of a battle for your mind. You truly had to be strong enough to make sure to not completely break. Somehow, (Y/N) has kept his humanity, but he had to give a part of his soul to keep it.

Jason just talked to him about stuff and has made sure that he has access to TV shows and movies. (Y/N) needed to be connected to the outside world. And also, Jason has been bringing books for (Y/N) to read. Jason took him his favorites and often took him some classics. (Y/N) appreciated it and liked all the recommendations that Jason has brought to him. It was a nice break.

Tim has always sneaked in some snacks and the two would just talk. It was a hell of a time and since (Y/N) has started school, Tim would help with mathematics and some other subjects. (Y/N) couldn't really go to a public school or any type of school, but he still needs his high school diploma.

And Dick? Dick has been involved in making sure that (Y/N) was getting physical activity. (Y/N) was stiff in Dick's opinion and he wanted to make sure (Y/N) felt good in his body too. Dick did stretches, some tricks and considering that (Y/N) did have some knowledge about gymnastics, it was slightly easier. Not to mention, stretches were something that everyone needs.

About a year after being saved, (Y/N) has moved into the Wayne Manor. It was a nice change of scenery for (Y/N). Beautiful manor, garden, not to mention no noises... And Titus, the Great Dane being an emotional support animal for (Y/N)...

(Y/N) was incredibly happy, but had hard time showing it. Everyone knew but didn't comment on it. They were helping him get adjusted to his new life now and they were more than happy to help. And one thing that made (Y/N) happy out of his mind was the fact that he got a new metal arm. It was black, with red, blue and green accents. It was something to signalized that he was a member of the family.

Bruce was going to adopt him soon enough. Just give him some time and he will do it.

But something happened at the two month mark. Something made him reverse back into the Winter Soldier mode. Bruce was certain that they wiped the triggers from his mind. Not to mention, the boys remembered the trigger words, just in case something like this happened and that they could be careful.

But something must have snapped inside of (Y/N). The boys were careful, but something must have gone awry. Something.

Jason and Dick were the first ones to see it and were the first ones to see it and the brunt end of it. Jason was hurled out the window, while Dick was thrown at the wall like a rag doll. The commotion woke Tim up and Damian was curious as to what was going on.

They were also thrown around the room.

" (Y/N), you are not a Winter Soldier, relax! " Jason said as he made his way through the window, grunting at the pain.

" Please, (Y/N) this is not you! " Dick yelled as he gripped his sides, huffing and panting.

(Y/N), seemingly didn't hear anything and nothing was reaching him. The cold and murderous look in his eyes was more than enough to tell them that they had to subdue him.

Somehow.

Damian jumped on (Y/N)'s shoulders, trying to take his metal arm off. Once they get that off, they are going to be fine. They hope at least.

" (Y/N) come on! Fight it! " Damian raised his voice, trying to make (Y/N) see his senses. (Y/N) didn't listen and threw himself into the wall, back first to throw Damian off and then he threw Damian into the shelves, making him groan in pain.

Bruce walked in from the outside and froze in shock. His adopted sons in various stages of pain and (Y/N) in the Winter Soldier mode. Bruce stayed calm as he glanced over his sons.

They were alive and breathing. That's the important thing right now.

" (Y/N) listen to me. " Bruce said softly as he moved closer, quickly checking on his sons, who were all softly confirming that they were good.

" Look at me. Remember me. It's Bruce. You are safe. The Winter Soldier doesn't control you, you control him. " Bruce said, raising his hands in the air, trying to make sure that he didn't look like threatening.

" You control him, remember that. " Bruce said as he quickly checked on Jason.

(Y/N) looked like he was confused and shook his head. Bruce watched in silence as (Y/N) was getting his bearings together. And once he saw tears falling down his cheeks, he swooped in and hugged his son.

(Y/N) wept as Bruce embraced him and everyone, including Alfred, brought him into a hug. It was a tight hug and Bruce refused to let (Y/N) shatter. And (Y/N) felt safe Bruce's embrace, but by God, guilt was eating him alive.

Apologies were falling from his lips and everyone assured him that it wasn't his fault. It really wasn't his fault.

[captainkirkk]

I'm normally a very slow reader of published novels, but I devoured The Hands of the Emperor by Victoria Goddard and now I can NOT stop thinking about it.

Everyone who has read my Fire Lord Zuko content knows how much I love 1) people of power working tirelessly to make the world a better place for all; and b) kings, slowly being crushed under the weight of their crown and duty, finding love and care in their loyal servants and staff

Except this story is more. The Emperor is worshiped and treated as a god, bound by extreme taboos and protocols that he can't break. It's about his staff (his found family) looking BEYOND the exterior of godhood and finding the human being underneath - who is dying under the weight of being the Emperor - and deciding to reach out, even if by acknowledging his humanity they are technically breaking many laws.

God this book is about so many things, including:

Found family can be the Last Emperor and his senior members of staff

The Emperor learning how to be human again with the help of his friends

There's no romance in this book. The deep friendships are the beating heart of this story, and they very much Love each other.

Breaking down a previously corrupt imperial empire through hard work and radial reforms, leading to sweeping changes including UNIVERSAL INCOME

Embracing cultural heritage, even in the heart of the imperial palace. Our main character is both one of the highest ranking members of government and from an islander culture, and he dedicates himself to both

The struggle for your family (who have a case of tall poppy syndrome, and live far far away from the capital and palace) to see you as a respected adult and understand all of your (many, MANY) achievements, even when you're very literally brought the Emperor home with you.

This book has some BEAUTIFUL confrontations, take-downs, and revelations based on the past two points (and more). If you underestimate or insult our main character, You Will Regret It. Watching him lose his temper is a glorious thing to behold.

Anyway I'm pretty sure this just became my all-time favourite book, because it's beautifully written and touches on all of my favourite tropes.