#transform and roll out part 3

[cybertron-smash-or-pass]

TFA Starscream

[teeskzagain]

˚‧‿₊୨୧₊You're Such A Brat₊ ˚‧୧₊︵‧ ˚ ₊

» pairing: arrogant!sunghoon x bratty!reader

» summary: since high school, park sunghoon has been the absolute bane of your existence. you’ve always viewed him as a stuck-up snob, and he has always seen you as a whiny brat. you aren’t sure why your mother still thinks of you two as friends, you can hardly stand being in the same room as each other. while at home from college one night, your mother surprises you with news of a work event she and mrs. park will be attending. the catcher? mrs. park’s nightmare of a son is going to be forced to spend the evening at your house…..

» warnings: college au, lots of arguments (both are toxic af), lowkey manipulative on both ends?? t e n s i o n, one scene depicting choking, unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP), extremely rough sex, enemies….to…?, lil unserious in the beginning, reader and sunghoon genuinely detest one another (but isn’t that the best😫) mean!dom sunghoon, bratty!sub y/n, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), degrading kink, teasing, heavy/aggressive make-outs, breasts play, masturbation (f. - reader masturbates to fake scenario), humiliation kink, dirty talk, reader used to be affiliated with p.sh, orgasm denial + fingering, ass + pussy slapping, slight mentions of lee heeseung & sim jake...

» w.c: 11.5k (no wonder why it took forever!)

» a/n: would like to apologize for the delay!! but, it's finally here. please let me know if i should do more enha works.

» taglist: @indigoez @jakeswifez @aanniikkaa @slut4hee @heeknow @rairaiblog-blog @no1likeneo @d-dilemma @soobingf-blog @shuaxzcake @mingyuslice @heelovesmeknot @mitmit01 @hpnsfwaddict @jooniesbears-blog @pasteltheghost16 @goodforgyu @sunghoonsbigcoketip

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

"Why do you have to leave?" With a droopy face, you annoyingly complain- yet again -to your mom about her rude decision of abandoning you.

She rolls eyes- yet again -at your antics and continues to put up the last bits of groceries, "It's a simple work event, Y/N. I'm not sure why you're being so stubborn right now. Plus, you used to love when Sunghoon and his mother came over."

You shudder at the mere mention of his name, "That was before he became such a stuck up fucking prick-"

That line earns yourself a disapproving, 'Y/N!' and in turn you retract your statement with a couple of half-assed, 'sorry, sorry'.

Though, in your head, you knew you held back from saying worse things.

Your mother sighs deeply as she finishes shoving the last few items into the fridge before spinning around to face you, "I'm not asking a lot from you, just entertain the boy or something while we're out. Is that really too difficult?"

She lets her question hang in the air for a second, then proceeds to move from the kitchen to the living room. However, if she thought she could escape you, she would be dead wrong. Because you're not far from her in step.

"Okay, new question." You propose which earns another groan from Mom. You stop in place when she leans over to dust the couch off with her hands, " Since you and Mrs. Park are carpooling to the event, I understand why she's coming here. But does he really have to come too? Why can't he just stay at his own damn-.....d-dang, house?"

When she straightens herself out, she bears a look of plead in hopes that this is truly the last of your inquiries, "His mother is the one who suggested it. And if we're being truthful, you and Sunghoon used to be so......" she pauses, looking for the right word, "....so cute when the two of you were close."

A hand flies to your mouth as you internally gag at your mother's words. Cute? Maybe 10 years ago, when you both were still in elementary. But that was before he had the chance to grow into his unbearably horrid of a personality.

Granted, you partly blamed his high school friend group for his abominable transformation. While, yes, you did agree that Sunghoon just naturally held the asshole gene, you were also certain that hanging around and slinging dicks with stupid Sim Jake and stupid Lee Heeseung, surely wasn't going to help this fact either.

Disgusting pricks. All of them.

You lower your hand slowly, "Please don't remind me of that time."

"For the love of-" She excuses herself from your vicinity and struts back into the kitchen, "Honey, I don't understand how you could be acting like this. I thought once you two went off to university together, things would be different by this point."

Oh. It's different alright.

Instead of the harsher stares he used to simply give in high school, Sunghoon has upgraded his abrasiveness to terrible comments directed towards your character. Any chance possible, the two of you would butt heads even more than your previous encounters. On campus, in passing, at parties; if you saw him anywhere, you just knew something would be said.

On top of that, it also doesn't help that his buffoon bunch of friends followed him to the same college as you. And, you had to see them everywhere.

You figured once you came home, you could enjoy a week of internal peace. Free from the many stressors that come with university. Now, your mother seems to disregard any of your warnings and wants to let the main stressor inside of your house?

"Can I add as well," she speaks up in the absence of your voice- you had been too busy pouting- "I know the two of you share the same English class, and according to his mother, he's been excelling at his papers."

At the insinuation, your mouth drops agape, however, she disregards the reaction and continues on, "You can ask for some pointers from him."

"Absolutely not." There was no way that could've been an option. Firstly, you would never hear the end of it from Sunghoon: ‘Oh, you want help from me? I didn’t realize you were so awful at this,’ and then it probably would’ve been followed up with, ‘Well, I can’t say I’m too surprised. You’re not the…brightest person I’ve met.’

Annoying bastard.

He would never let you live that down, and frankly, you didn't want to give him anymore ammo to shoot you in the face with. Henceforth, that couldn’t be an option. Not if you wanted to keep your sanity.

Your mother regards you intently, and slowly begins to shake her head. She couldn't do it anymore, didn't know what more to say; a wall has clearly been put up and you are as strong as steel, not letting anything through. As she's left puzzled on how to refute your statement, a ping from her phone catches her eye briefly.

She casts her gaze downwards, keeps it there for a few seconds, and then she's looking back up at your contorted face.

"Well, sweetie,” a strained smile begins to spread, “You should probably fix that attitude of yours. They just got here." The doorbell ringing acts as a nail in the coffin, confirming your mother's words.

“You’ve got to be-”

She interrupts your complaining to tell you to get the door, so she can run upstairs and grab her purse. You're quick to bellow out a groan, but she's even quicker to shut that down, and instructs you to do it immediately while half-way up the staircase.

Once she disappears, you amble sluggishly towards the front, and as you're about ready to swing it open; a long, harsh breath is exhaled from the other side followed by a grumble.

"You better be nice to her or I swear Sunghoon...."

It's Mrs. Park, who's voice seemed to have a combination of both sincerity and aggression laced in it. Your eyebrows furrow, listening harder.

"Yeah, yeah. Be nice to the brat, I heard you the first 4 other times." He finishes with his own irritated huff.

Your expression goes wide at that. Is he fucking serious? Did he really just call you a brat? You. A brat? You're mind relishes in disbelief.

"Sunghoon!" His mother responds with, and more indistinct talking arose. However, while their voices grew quieter your annoyed levels skyrocketed. You begin to think that it's quite plausible….someone might die tonight.

"Y/N! Did you grab the door yet?" Your mom yells from her bedroom.

You do a double-take as you match her volume, "I'm doing it right now!"

Unbolting the locks, you pull back the piece of wood to reveal a very eager Mrs. Park, staring at you with smiley eyes. Sweeping your gaze right, there stood the ever straight-faced and stoic Park Sunghoon.

Even as you do a once over at his appearance- black hair fringed on his forehead, hands shoved into his long, sleek coat, and black sweats that barely poke out from underneath -you find it so, incredibly jarring that this came out of the always cheery Mrs. Park.

He didn't even try to smile, unlike you who beamed out a grin towards them, "Hello Mrs. Park! It's been so long since I last seen you.”

Dissimilar to her son, Mrs. Park is ready to envelope you into a warm hug. She extends her arms out and the two of you intertwine in a genuine and comforting embrace.

"Oh! Y/N! It truly has been a while," when she draws back, you watch her scan your face with an affectionate smile, "You just get more and more beautiful every time I see you." At the last second, she peeps over towards her son for encouragement, "Right, Hoonie? Doesn't she look lovely?"

His impassive eyes regard his mother, then ever so leisurely does he drag them onto your stature. The moment eye contact is made, you shift anxiously. Because why the hell is he looking at you like that?

You start to play with the hem of your oversized hoodie, which flowed nicely into your oversized sweatpants. Anyone with eyes could tell you’re not dressed for company. Hair messy from laying around, hardly any make-up on.

Clearly, you weren’t expecting anyone today. Nonetheless, someone who took so much pride in his appearance. You almost felt jealously from it. Like he’s somehow proving the point that he’s better in almost every way- clothing included. It’s infuriating.

With a single look up and down, Sunghoon cocks his head slightly before giving his answer, "No."

Intense bickering between mother and son start up, and you're left standing with a twitching eye of vexation as already you sense your patience running thin. Your fingers curl inwards to form a fist. It hasn’t even been 30 seconds and you feel like punching him.

"I am so sorry about him, Y/N. I don't- I don't know what his problem is..." She stops midway to address another mumble from the boy. The two have a minor quarrel this time, and then she’s back to focusing on you, ".....ah, may we come in?"

It takes your full strength to squeak out an, 'absolutely', despite your innate feelings. With a step back, you widen the door to appear more welcoming and the two of them step inside of your house.

Mrs. Park instantly calls out to your mother, with her shouting back at Mrs. Park, and when it's Sunghoon's turn to walk past, you couldn't help but notice the somewhat aggressive breeze he emits as he pushes through you.

A part of you could’ve sworn you also heard him mutter something in passing, but regardless, you decide to let that go instead of calling him out. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling, you hope to soothe the ever growing nerves that’s been caused so far.

Remember, self-control. Right, that is a thing and you are more than capable of exhibiting it. So, keep your cool. Try not to blow up. At the very least, if not for yourself, then for the sake of both your mother and Mrs. Park.

Yes, for them. You can do this for them. Just simply don’t engage and all will be well.

You repeat this to yourself a few more times as you close the door. All will be well if you let it be. Now feeling better, you flip around to see your mom make a descent back down into the living room, a purse now dangling from the crevice of her elbow.

She sashays up to Sunghoon’s mother, and the two women squeal in delight as they engulf one another. It’s admirable how much they care for each other, proving why they became such good coworkers then friends. You also find it adorable how similar their outfit choices are, with both of them sporting a dark blue dress.

Once they part, your mother turns her attention over towards the previously brooding boy. Though, you find it interesting how Sunghoon seems to have an easier expression now.

"Sunghoon, you're too tall! How am I supposed to reach you?" She gushes while brining him in for hug. A light chuckle dances out of him, and after a brief second they're pulling back from one another. Mrs. Park jumps in on the conversation about her son.

They begin to go on and on about all of his accomplishments; 'Oh! Sunghoon I heard you're doing excellent in your courses,' and, 'You are so involved with the community, it’s wonderful to see that someone’s trying.’ It’s sickening to see the immediate chokehold he has on the women, you observing the conversation emotionlessly.

After their near 20 minute rant (or what felt like it) finally your mother remembers your presence and decides to rope you in. She ushers you to come closer, and after a hasty back and forth, you scoot only mere inches into the circle, closer to him.

"You've been scoring well on your essays, Sunghoon, isn't that right?" Your mom starts and you want to scream right then and there.

He affirms her question with a swift nod, "Yes. I have."

"I don't think he's gotten below a 91 on his papers." Mrs. Park chimes in, and you secretly curse your mother for where this topic is about to go.

Your mom's eyes brighten as she looks over to Sunghoon, "That's amazing to hear. Actually, I think Y/N could use some tips on a few of her past works. She's been getting marked off on nearly every single one of them and could use the help!"

He hums in amusement, raking his eyes until they rest on your scowl. You feel his stare on you as you cross your arms and side step away from him, "Was that necessary to bring up?”

"Oh," your mother waves a dismissive hand, "Nonsense, sweetie. I'm sure a few pointers from this one will help raise that C- you have."

"Mom!"

Before you could object any further, a gasp leaves Mrs. Park's mouth and quickly she’s pulling your mother off to the side. She just remembered some news from work. While the two women chat, you’re left to stand idly, eyes darting off to the side while a wave of quietness engulfs the air. Sunghoon remains silent, as well.

You sure as hell hadn’t planned on talking to him and if that meant silence would be bestowed, then so be it. It’s for the better, anyways. You’re trying a new approach at things, and if you're forced to converse with him, you’re afraid it’ll lead to someone getting choked out. Not you, by the way. So…to avoid conflict, silence it is.

A short sigh from Sunghoon interrupts your thinking. You do a quick glance up at the..irritatingly tall boy, and see his gaze is turned all the way left, side-profile on display for you. He must’ve picked up on your hostility, which is why he has not said anything, you believe. Good. He should know better than to get you riled-

“You have a C- in that class? Are you serious?”

Perplexed, you raise your eyebrows from the sudden outburst, “Excuse me?”

Is he really trying to start this right now?

He keeps his head faced away from you, then at the last second he twists it back and you see a new expression dawns on him. That of complete arrogance, “English Literature is a stupid easy class. I’m surprised to hear you’re doing poorly.”

As you open your mouth to shut up him, he proceeds further with his berating, “Then again,” he lets out a dry laugh, “I guess I shouldn’t be so shocked that you need me. You’ve always fell short when it came to academics.”

Sunghoon watches your face morph into pure anger, and as sick as it may be for him to admit it, this is where he finds true enjoyment. In the reactions you always give in the moments you feel wronged.

You do a short shuffle as you feel yourself releasing the chains of self-control. You knew he would act this way. He always does.

“Okay, so I’m not doing well,” you state matter-of-factly, “So. Fucking. What? I’d rather have a shitty grade in this class than beg some snobby prick for aid.”

You tried to hold back.

At the sudden drop of name calling, a bitter grin erupts onto his lips, “Like you deserve my help.”

“For the record, I never asked for it,” you throw a hand up as new found confidence starts to build up in your core, “But trust me. If I really needed you, then I would make you fucking help me.”

His eyes widen from your accusation, “You really think I would tend to you? Knowing your unruly attitude?” Disbelief switches onto his face, his thick eyebrows creasing together uncomfortably, “God. You’re such a brat.”

And just like that, you hit a snapping point. Without wasting another second, you begin to hurl every insult in the book his way, your rage boiling past whatever containment you thought you had. He’s ready to argue back at you when a light shriek stops both of you mid sentence.

"Oh, we need to get a move on it. I didn’t even realize the time. It’s about to be 7.” Your mother comments and you almost retort it with a snide remark on how inquisitive she's been about Sunghoon's life.

Mrs. Park trots her way towards the door, saying her final goodbye to her son along the way. Your mother shares her own words of departure, though it's mixed with your protest on her leaving.

"Alright kiddos, we'll try not to be too long." She speaks with one foot out the door, "Y/N, please treat our guest kindly."

You give the boy, who's now walked up and standing to the side of you, a deathly glower, "Get him the fu-"

"Y/N. Kindly, please." She reiterates with a sweet bite, and to that you could only sigh defeatedly.

Mrs. Park is not far behind your mother as she twists to address Sunghoon one last time, "Honey, please be-"

"Be nice, I know." He finishes in a sort of annoyed tone. Though after that, being nice is the last thing she would need to worry about.

With more reassurance, the two women give each other a passing glance, and soon after another round of goodbyes, the door closes shut.

Leaving you trapped here with your absolute nightmare.

With a deep groan, you stagnantly turn towards Sunghoon just as he’s twisting his body to reluctantly face you. Peering up through your eyelashes, you make absolutely sure he feels the unwelcomed signals radiating off of you as you go to speak.

"Stay the fuck away from me."

His eyes roll nearly out of their sockets as he starts to slip off his coat, "What happened to being kind to your guests?"

He mocks the words that were handed to you, and your eyes narrow while watching him hang the jacket on a nearby rack.

You notice his shirt of choice- now on display -is a tight black T-Shirt, curving and outlining all of the spots you hate the most about him. God, you think you just got even more annoyed.

Turning your nose upwards, you start to inch closer towards the staircase, "I couldn't care less about that, if I'm being completely honest." You do a full twirl so all Sunghoon can see is your back, "Here’s what you can do: either entertain yourself in the living room or get the fuck out. Choose whatever you want as long as it doesn’t involve me.”

He goes tight-lipped. You are just the epitome of an ungrateful little brat, holy fuck. Sunghoon shoots his vision away with a brief head shake. Despite his growing emotions, he knows it will be better to not engage. He really didn’t feel like fighting with you right now. Like how you both always manage to do.

Clearing his throat, Sunghoon begins to walk slowly towards the couch, his upper muscles flexing with every step, "Whatever. I'm not dealing with you tonight."

That makes you halt in your tracks. Dealing with you? What? Like you're some untrained puppy?

"No, I'm not dealing with you tonight,” you sneer back then scoff, retreating upstairs once again, “Just fucking stay down here and we won’t have any more problems.”

His back hits the couch cushion with a flop as he starts to call out to you, “Right. It’s not like the problem isn't taking itself upstairs at the moment!"

Oh, that touched a nerve. So much so that you find yourself shouting from the second story, having made it up there a few seconds prior, “You should’ve just stayed at your own fucking house!”

"Do you ever stop fucking talking?” He raises his voice back at you; maybe not quite to the extent of your screaming, but nonetheless you could hear him from upstairs.

Upon entering your room, you slam the door shut with all your might. You swear you even felt the floor shake from the force. Pissed doesn’t even begin to describe your emotions currently. You’re at a whole new level.

You're fuming. Chest huffing, fists clenched, ooh- you've never met someone who irked as badly as fucking Park Sunghoon had.

Why? Why? Why did he have to be in your home right now? Why did your mother think this was a good idea? And why did he have to look so nice with his stupid shirt and black joggers?

You begin to pace around your room.

He's messing with you, clouding your head with complex thoughts. If there's one thing you loathed most about the boy downstairs it's his ability to turn your brain to mush.

It's like all thoughts and rationality fly out of the window, and instead is replaced with....just nothing. Nothing but anger, resentment, and a tiny bit of something else however you're willing to suppress that for the time being.

You bring a thumb up to stroke your lip. Mind racing, your brain starts to piece together what you should do to alleviate this stress. You're going crazy, you recognized that, and you’re certain a distraction is needed for you to get your thoughts cleared.

As you think back to all that has you feeling so jumbled, a sudden surge runs throughout your core. No. You know what your body is attempting to do. And it’s not going to work. Even as another hits you and makes your thighs clench unwillingly, you hold on to your determination.

You can’t do it, you tell yourself. Especially when Sunghoon’s downstairs. It’s ridiculous. Unfathomable. There is no way you would…..

Moments later, you find yourself completely and utterly naked in your bed, deciding the best way to calm down is by having a….release. Your pulses started became too unbearable to ignore, leaving you with only one option. This option.

Is it the most convenient method of stress relieving? Well, probably not. But, truly, in times where you’re free to strip bare and dish out a quickie, you always find it leaves your mind feeling blissful.

And you desperately need that right now, because in all honesty, you aren’t sure what the hell you’re feeling right now due to Sunghoon.

As your brain is beginning to wonder, you absentmindedly brush the backs of your fingers against your lower stomach. Park Sunghoon. The name is like poison in your head, and you can’t find the damn cure for some reason.

Your hand drops a little lower. Thinking back on your most recent argument, you remember the eye contact you two held, before forcing yourself to break free from his gaze. You tilt your head, the memory becoming even more clear. That damn gaze.

…..if only he could use it from a different angle.

A sharp exhale flies out of your mouth as you realize you’ve made contact with your clit. You’re lighting swarming around the area while it continues to throb enticingly. A different angle? Like….one where he’s in between your legs, staring at you with those stupid fucking know-it-all eyes.

Your body responds well to that imagination, your hips slightly bucking into your hand to garner some friction. Would you two be on the bed? No, you think you like the idea of getting him on his damn knees and making him eat you out nice and slowly while on floor…a whole lot better.

He’d tried to take control, you already know his arrogant ass would. Yet, in reality, you will be the one calling the shots. If he starts to suck a little too much for your likings, one hair tug and he’ll slow down. Cause he’ll listen to you, you’ll make sure of it.

A small smile cracks out onto your face, focusing deeply on your sprouting pleasure. Yeah, you like the Park Sunghoon in your imagination a lot better than the one real life. Your fingers are now circling the bud, producing ripples of sensation that keeps your movements and thoughts going.

He’ll keep his attention fixed on you the whole time he’s devouring you, you assume. Because if there’s one thing about Sunghoon, he’ll love to see you come undone at the cause of him. Would love to see that sexy ass face you make right before you orgasm.

And the way your thighs will squeeze around his cheeks so perfectly, oh fuck him. He’d get so fucking horny from just tasting your sweet, sweet pussy.

Shutting your eyes, your vision explodes with images of your lewd thoughts, playing out your ideal fantasy. You can hear yourself start to whimper while your pelvis becomes more sporadic in the way it chases the coming feeling.

At the minute you tell him you’re close, he’d latch onto your clit, no plan on stopping. Scratch that, he probably couldn’t stop himself from finishing you out. You’ve been treating him so well up until this point. Letting him cum inside you, in your mouth; the least he could do is give you a head-splitting orgasm.

You rub your soaking cunt all over the palm of your hand, desperation coursing through your veins. Imagine annoying little Sunghoon, who’s only wish is for you to cum. To cum all over his face, down his own throat. He’s on his knees below you because he wants the full effect of seeing how much you’re letting yourself go from his tongue.

Then, with one long sucking motion, you’d fall apart. With your orgasm hitting you dead on your clit, you’d start to quiver on top of him while screaming out, ‘So fucking good, So fucking good. Fuck, you’re making me cum.’

Your hand speeds up to have you cumming alongside your scenario, your own real orgasm washing over you deliciously. It leaves your body stuttering and eyes rolling back into your head as you continue to work at your pussy during the duration. And all you could think about was how much you fucking hated stupid Park Sunghoon.

Once your high comes down, you firstly lay in your bed to recover. That had to have been one of your best and strongest impromptu session. Fuck, did you enjoy every part of it.

True to nature, as well, your mind is so foggy from the haze that you can’t even recall your earlier fury, which is now replaced with a more simple feeling: lust. You bask in the warmness that’s spreading and also give your cunt a chance to get desensitized, before swinging your legs off of the bed and walking over to your dresser.

It was starting to get hot with your thick layers on anyways, which is why you opt for thinner clothes. You pull out a pair of cotton shorts that stop upper thigh on you, and then a cropped T-shirt for simple comfort.

Needing to wash your hands quickly, you swiftly run into the connected bathroom to your room, lather your hands in soap and soon you’re rinsing yourself off. When finished with that, you smile contently as you walk back to your bedroom and flop down stomach first onto the mattress.

You really did feel better. Your anger has subsided by now, the orgasm keeps your mind still a bit dizzy, there were no complaints to be had. Now, you planned on spending the rest of your evening locked up in here so you can continue feeling as such. Boom, simple as that.

A loud buzz from your phone on the nightstand has you scrambling to reach it, that giddy feeling not once leaving. Though, once you flip it over to reveal a text from your mother, you feel your smile drop immediately.

8:09 PM

Mom:

Hey sweetie, just wanted to do a quick check-in on the two of you. I hope everything's going okay.

You begin to type out a borderline aggressive message back, something along the lines of how everything was not going okay, but another message swooshes in before you could even finish your own.

After doing some rethinking, you don’t need to ask Sunghoonie for help anymore. It wasn’t fair of me to put you in that position without asking you first. You’re old enough to make your own decisions now, and if you think you’ll be okay without asking him for help, then you can decide that. I’m sorry for making you feel as if you never had a choice.

You stop your rant midway, and look closer at the message. Oh. Oh. Oh….

“Mom…” With a frown, you watch as yet another message flies across your screen, and you find that you’re a bit more accepting of this one.

8:14 PM

Mom:

But, I do want to make sure that you are trying with Sunghoon. I understand as of right now, it may be difficult to do so, you two are apparently quite hostile. However, I’m asking if you can extend the white flag, at least for tonight. Make sure he’s not hungry, maybe you two can put on a movie downstairs. Just try and be cordial, that’s my only request. Can you do that?

Stomach churning, you begin to gnaw on your bottom lip right now, those complex emotions rising up again. Dammit. You seriously thought nothing more would come out of this situation tonight. You thought once you had your….release, you would be able to relax freely without any stressors.

But then you reread her latest text, and guilt surfaces in your heart. Maybe…you haven’t been putting in as much effort as you could have; you did just leave the boy downstairs to fend for himself. Is it possible for you to set your very, very strong feelings and just…suck it up for the sake of your mother?

You were accepting of this feat earlier.

A quick scroll up has you revisiting the first large paragraph she sent you, the one that acknowledges your feelings. Your mother is trying right now, and you register that it would be unfair of you to not try as well.

8:20 PM

Y/N:

okay mom, i can do that for you.

You're downstairs before you know it. After many, many, many mental preparations, you now feel ready to be within the same space as the devi- Park Sunghoon.

Approaching your living room, the pale yellow lighting illuminates Sunghoon's backside, giving you a clear view of him. With one defined arm stretched out on top of the cushion, Sunghoon seems entranced with the movie playing on T.V, not appearing to have noticed your presence.

You shuffle your feet against the floor until you slow to a halt. In the span of your waiting, not once does he turn around. The movie must be drowning out your existence. Pivoting, you opt to round out the couch and stand in the middle for visibility. Sunghoon keeps his eyes trained forward. Surely, he feels your presence now, even if he may not be acknowledge it.

Sticking your hip, you gently clear your throat, "Ahem."

He throws a cruel glare over his shoulder before reverting back to his previous position, no comment to be left from him. You're standing still, okay then...

You dart your eyes away to view something else, then sweep them back over to his body, “Are you…hungry?”

A look of bewilderment dawns on his face as he shoots you a perplexed look, “Why are you asking me that? Wouldn’t you rather have me starve?”

“I-” you try to rebuttal his claim, but incriminatingly you start to avoid eye contact with him, “No. Not necessarily…”

Yeah-fucking-right. He highly doubts that's true. Instead of replying, Sunghoon turns back towards the television. Silence remains. You follow his eyesight to watch a couple of seconds of the movie. Well, so much for trying.

You continue to stand awkwardly, wrapping your arms around your torso and rocking yourself back and forth slightly. Just try. Just try. Just. Try.

"Park Sunghoon." You mumble out and he snaps his attention towards you. If not for your eyes lurching up to look at the ceiling, then maybe you would have noticed the surprise once over he does to your outfit.

“What?”

You look down again, and try to shake the embarrassment that’s clawing at you. Just try, “C-Can I watch this with you?” Holy fuck that felt harder to say.

Sunghoon squints his eyes as he tries really hard to figure out what the hell is your deal. Merely an hour ago, the two of you were having a screaming match, and now you’re fidgeting and asking to be in the same room as him….willingly?

He doesn’t buy that for a second.

He drags his pupils up and down your frame, his greedy eyes wanting to drink in more of it, but at the realization of what he was doing, he forces himself to look away. Willingly? Yeah, no. He figures your mother would be the cause for this. Only reason he says this: his own mom sent a text not too long ago telling him to try harder with you. And…it appears you are at least doing something.

With a rough sigh, Sunghoon decides to not say anything else, but rather signals you to sit down with a single quick head tilt. Your face grimaces at his cave-man like gesture, and although you went slowly about it, you do as he says and take a seat.

You snuggle deeper into the couch cushion, and allow your body to relax. You’re so used to being on guard whenever around Sunghoon, it feels almost natural to stiffen up. Letting yourself relinquish this tension built up in your muscles, you find it easier to keep your cool.

Dropping your arms to your side, you start to focus harder on the movie and less on the boy sitting next to you. Does it slightly freak you out that his fingertips are only centimeters away from your shoulder? Yes. But for the most part, you can sense this is….tolerable. As if for once, you don’t feel like biting Park Sunghoon’s head off.

Minutes turn into over an hour this movie has been on, and both you and Sunghoon have managed to not get into a single argument. You aren’t sure when the last instance of this was. Elementary, maybe? Regardless, you’re at ease.

Your arm is propping your head up as you watch the characters on screen. The movie, though you never asked for its name, was some romantic comedy. You picked up on this fact a few minutes into watching it. And, wow, were they intense on the romance.

You couldn’t even count the amount of make-outs that has happened since you’ve been watching. You almost want to say 8 so far- oh, make it 9 now.

The lead characters are on their 9th kissing scene, stumbling around and fondling one another in the bathroom at some house party. You watch closely, part of your brain now heightened. The male actor is kissing the female until her ass touches the sink, and then he’s hoisting her up so she can sit on the counter.

Your face contorts unpleasantly. The scene further plays out to where the girl is begging the man for sex, desperate to have him inside of her, and you feel your mouth go dry.

This is beginning to hit a little too close to home for your likings, with a dusted memory you swore to bury attempting to resurface. You push the thoughts aways. Not now.

Trying to ignore the random squeeze your legs do, you tell yourself to ignore the familiarities and simply focus on the movie. However, at the moment the man grips the the women’s throat and she moans intensely, you nearly freeze. Yeah, you can’t watch this anymore.

With an airy voice, you keep your eyes fixed on the T.V to seem passive, “Change it to something else.”

“What?” Sunghoon doesn’t glance over to you, also keeping his gaze forward, “Why?”

You scoff lightly. Why can’t he just listen to you? What’s with the interrogation? “You always ask so many questions. Just change it.”

To that he responds with nothing. You’re not giving him a proper response, so why should he listen to you? He remains engrossed in the movie.

When a few notable beats pass, you crane your neck over to his direction with a scrunched faced, “Yah. Did you hear me? I said put on something else.”

He briskly whips his head to meet your eyes, his dark eyes boring harshly, “I don’t care what you have to say. I’m not changing it.”

Fed up with him, you reach over to grab the remote when he obtains it first. You glare menacingly at Sunghoon, while he mocks your expression, then holds the remote high above, taunting you. His slender fingers harboring it only fuels your anger, which grows hotter by the second.

“Don’t piss me off.” You warn with undertones of a threat, as you climb over him to reach for the device. He extends it further away from your grasp.

“Or what?”

Bobbing the remote over your head, he just knew you were going to lose your cool at some point. That’s what all whiny brats do when they never get their way; they throw tantrums.

“Just fucking put on something else!” You scream, fighting him for the remote.

You don’t care if you can feel your shorts start to ride up into your butt, or if your boobs are being shoved up against Sunghoon’s body. You don’t care that you’re basically on top of him, trying to win this remote, because all rationality has exited your head.

You ask him to do one simple thing, and he fucking couldn’t. Then, he wants to tease you and make fun of you? You tried, you think back to your mother’s message, and in your mind the exchange begins to burn. You really fucking tried, but this…arrogant bastard just always makes it so damn hard.

He shakes the little strands of hair away from his face as he narrows his eyes brutally towards your squirmy body, “What the fuck is your deal? You’re telling me your whore ass can’t handle one god damn sex scene?”

This time you don’t say anything back to him, instead your intention remains on getting the fucking remote. He takes your lack of response as an opportunity to dig further at you.

“Really? You’re going to act like that?” He spews out more comments while continuously keeping the control from getting in your reach, “I find it hard to believe you’re freaking out-”

“Damn brat. You’ve been needing this fucking for a long time, haven’t you?”

At the line of dialogue, Sunghoon shifts his attention towards the scene being played out, one of which the girl is now bent over the sink with the man pounding roughly into her backside. And with the combination of the man’s words and the stimulating scene, his eyes widen as he finally realizes what the core problem is.

A wave of deja vu hits him. A few months ago, he had you in a damn near similar position to that on the TV, even saying similar phrasing. The two of you had been drunk off of your minds, resulting in the memory being blocked from his head.

“What the fuck?” He mumbles, letting his guard down, giving you the chance to swoop upwards and snatch the remote away. All scattered-brain, you press the power button and watch as the TV powered down.

“See.” You grit through your teeth, throwing the remote down in the meantime, “I told you. I told your dumbass to fucking change it. But, no. You didn’t want to listen to me.”

His own chest starts to burn with aggression at your words, and he looks over to you angrily, “Will you just shut the fuck up? My god, you’re so annoying.”

“What? Mad because I was right?” You fake a pouty voice, your eyes going all doey while regarding him before swiftly fixing your face, “I never want to think about that night, and here you go, basically parading it in my face. And based off of your reaction, I can tell you hate thinking about it too.”

Sunghoon sits up from off of the couch, and brings his forearms to rest against his knees. That night was full of mistakes. Jake inviting him to that dumb ass party, Heeseung feeding him back to back shots of some sort of alcohol. The kind of of alcohol that forces you to act on thoughts that otherwise would've been suppressed.

The memories all rush back to him. The moment he saw you at the party, laughing and dancing around in that tiny fucking dress. It was like right then and there, his views on you changed. Instead of dismissing your presence, he found himself drawn to it. Instead of ignoring the silhouette of your body, he allowed himself to watch every single part of you.

When throwing all caution to the wind and deciding to walk up to you, he remembers you being equally as wasted as himself. That hadn’t stopped you from throwing an immediate snarl at his approach, however. Although the interaction started with you two bickering, as always- the evening had ended so much differently.

He remembers it all. Moving from the main room to the bathroom, still jabbing insults at each other. How from one second to the next, your dress was now hiked up above your hips. The touching, the teasing, how hard the two of you came. The whole scene plays out in his head, and for some reason, Sunghoon can’t stop it.

You snide in another comment which breaks his thoughts, “Yeah, I guess I’d be mad too if I were you. You basically threw yourself at me and begged to fuck me. It’s pathetic how desperate you were.”

Now, you’re really heated. You rise to your feet in seconds and march over to stand above him, feeling reminiscent of your previous imagination. At the noticeable imbalance, the same satisfaction from earlier mixes with your current anger.

It spreads across your chest as you lour down at him, watching him bring a hand over his mouth, “For a change, you don’t have anything to say, is that why you’re silent? Did I finally get you to shut up?”

At the quietness that lingers in the air, you press further to elicit a greater reaction. Bursting out more and more taunts, you knew this is where you found enjoyment, watching him spiral and be confused by his own thoughts. You’re proud to make him feel just as perplexed as you were the whole night.

You’re ready to throw another insult his way when his tall body shoots up into the air, looming over you. His eyes are rage-filled, you can see that, and reactively you backpeddle just as he rushes closer to you.

“Y/N, I swear to fucking god. You’re going to make me lose my mind.”

For a brief second, your hard exterior falters. His warning is low- almost growl like. It intimidated you initially, but then swiftly you regain composure and stand your ground, “You make me lose my mind all the time. So what? You’re not special.”

You audibly hear his breathing, and it begins to sync up with your own heavy pants. Both of you are pissed, that much is clear. It’s just about who is going to crumble first. And surely, it won’t be you.

He’s got a crazy look to his eyes, “I’m telling you right now. Shut. Up.”

You knew better than to challenge him. You knew you should walk away and storm upstairs. Exit the situation before matters get even worse. Quite literally anything else should be done, than the actions you decide to take.

You close the distance between you both, smiling the whole time as he brings his head in to regard you. At the recognition of that sick, sick smile you’re showcasing, he too knew it would be over.

Your voice starts off quiet, whispering out a, “What will happen if I don’t?” before absolutely losing it in his face, “Just face it, Sunghoon. You're not the perfect person you portray yourself to be after all. I mean, fucking the person you hate most at a party? Even that's a new low for you."

You hover below his face, stretching your body tall until your noses are almost touching, "I'm tired of you pretending to be higher than everyone else. Always treating people like they’re twenty feet below you. You’re vile and I think it's time you realized.....maybe you're the fucking problem. Hmm? Did you not think of-?"

Sunghoon doesn't know what came over him. One second, you're throwing words after words at him, and next thing he knows, he's pushing you up against the wall, knocking the wind out of you.

His veiny hands are curled around your neck, and your mouth hangs from shock at the sudden movement while he holds you firmly in your place. The pressure he's applied is not enough to significantly hurt you, he made sure it didn't, but was definitely enough to finally get you to stop talking.

You gasp lightly and your head feels faint.

"Do you…remember how that night started?" His tone is dark with his focus solely on you. You try bringing your hands up to pry him off of you, but he doesn't budge, instead going to answer his own question, "Because if memory serves me right, you were the one who was desperate. Desperate for this.”

This referring to the minor squeeze his hand does around your throat. He continues, "You were the one who kept testing me. Wanted to see what would happen if you made me angry enough." The gap between you two closes when he draws himself inwards, making sure you heard this next part clearly, "Someone needed to shut that bratty ass mouth of yours up then," He drops his gaze to briskly look at your lips then jeers, "And right now."

While you're left to wear a poor, helpless expression, Sunghoon couldn't help but eye you curiously. It should be laughable the new state you're in. So completely different from your previous attitudes.

Using his hand to guide you, he roughly brings your head forward, so his mouth can brush the outer shell of your ear, "You really pissed me off, Y/N."

You get shoved back against the wall with a wince. "And... maybe that was your end goal with all of these arguments. You wanted to get me to this point." At the recognition of his own words, the wheels begin to turn in his brain. His eyebrows dart upward and a devilish smile tugs at his lips, "And to that, you're going to regret saying even one word tonight. I'll make sure of it."

Before you can react, Sunghoon crawls his hand up until it rests below your chin. As his thumb releases from your skin, and slowly works his way up to your lips, you think he'll be gentle in the way he's getting ready to touch you.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The moment his thumb comes in contact with your mouth, it's being shoved into your wet hole. You gag on the digit as he begins ordering you to suck, "Just needa fuck the bratiness out of you, then. Remind you of how much of a fucking slut you were for me that night."

He instructs you to go harder, and faster, and leisurely, you do so. Tingles start to form all around him, "Yeah. I'll do that. I'll just have to fuck you dumb myself, starting with your loud mouth."

You squeeze your eyes shut at the motion, coughing hard against his skin as his fingers move to tangle within your hair. Sunghoon always knew how catty you can be, this fact evident from what happened that night at the party.

However, what's also true, is that you do it for your own guilty pleasure. You purposely bring this upon yourself.

He yanks his thumb away and in return, you're inhaling harshly for air, "-what the fuck?"

Sunghoon dismisses your worries. Without warning, he has you falling to the ground with one swift push, his own desires now starting to throb inside his sweats, "Go on. Pull down my pants, brat."

He murmurs those words with a tilted face. In contrast, you look up at him as fear and lust begin to cloud your vision. Even with the menacing face he sports, you know you're not one to fully give-in. Especially when it comes to Park Sunghoon.

You aren't sure what it is about the defiance, but it makes you crazy, "Like hell-"

The grip in your hair tightens and your mouth drops from the pain. He regards your expression, "Really? Do you think you're in a position to object me right now?"

Lips parted, you shudder out a sigh while staring at Sunghoon's deep gaze. The stance he has you in makes your stomach erupt into butterflies.

"Pull my pants down." He repeats once again and after a pause, you eventually do so. With a tremble, you begin to bring both hands up and fondle the waistband, struggling to remove the barricade.

A tiny smile breaks out onto the boy's face. It's amusing how you pretend as if this wasn't the end prize. He watches you react disgustingly to his finally freed cock that springs forward, and it takes all of his power to not ram it into your ungrateful little mouth.

"What are you looking like that for? Aren't you a whore for my cock, Y/N?" He derides and thrusts himself towards your face. You try to create distance, but the hand in your hair keeps you in place, "Let’s go. Stop acting like that and take out your fucking tongue."

You hate yourself for listening to him.

With a small shiver, you unhurriedly extend your tongue from your mouth, and immediately he slaps his dick onto your muscle. He's had a great amount of pre-cum built up for some time now, starting from the minute you came down in that skimpy ass outfit. So, as soon as his dick hits your tongue, your taste buds are drowning in the liquid.

He's gasping lightly from the immediate sensation. He rubs his head all over your surface, then gradually does he start to slip himself in and out of your mouth. Your eyes go nearly white from trying to take his full length, but that’s something that only makes Sunghoon hornier.

You’re gargling around his skin as he proceeds to go faster, his base smacking against your chin every so often. Spit and his thick liquid mix to form a froth that starts to spill from the corners of your mouth, and Sunghoon groans lowly at how filthy you look.

“Oh…fuck.” It feels too good, the rocking of his hips speeding up. He’s enjoying the aggressive way he bucks himself harder and harder inside of your throat. And even as you’re thrashing beneath him, straining to get air, he finds that he didn’t want to stop. It just turns him so damn much to see you take his fat cock.

He throws his head back, “Keep it open for me. Fuck- just keep that nasty mouth open.”

You’re sick. Sick towards him for using you in such a degrading way, for letting him nearly cut off the circulation to your head. Right now, you’re nothing more than a fuck toy for him, and he doesn’t even seem to care. Not when he has you as the perfect fucking stimulant.

Yet, you’re also sick at yourself. It’s embarrassing that you notice your pussy clenching around nothing the longer he keeps this up. The fact that you’ve become so dilated in your core that gravity has slick juices leaking from your entrance. All because of this asshole that’s abusing your mouth, you're becoming aroused like never before. It’s humiliating, really.

His movements begin to stutter with a vibration to his eyelids. Oh, fuck. He can feel his cum wanting to shoot out. Sunghoon continues to push your head into him as he internally debates at what the outcome should be. There’s still so much he’s wanting to do to you, to prove.

When you can’t take the torture anymore, you’re soon hitting his leg to get him the hell away from you. Your reaction makes him realize how intrusive he’s starting to be, but he's so swirled with the immaculate pleasure that he almost didn’t let go. Before he knows it, he’ll be cumming down your throat at any moment.

Ripping himself from your suction, Sunghoon relinquishes you two from the torture. Ragged breathing emits from you as hungrily you take in the surrounding air. He, on the other, holds quieter breaths. A part of him is surprised that he was even willing to let himself finish so quickly. You were going to make him finish quickly.

With a few additional huffs, and after a moment of silence falls into the atmosphere, he’s ready to address you. Because he’s not done with you just yet.

“Yah,” There’s a gasp to his tone while you glare up begrudgingly, “You finally changed that attitude of yours?”

With your chest heaving up and down, you continue to stare angrily. Sunghoon cocks his head to the side while he awaits for your reply, though judging by the look you sport, he doesn’t think it’ll be the answer he wants.

“Eat a fucking dick.” With a hoarse throat, you spit the phrase at him.

And. Snap.

Before you know it, Sunghoon is grabbing you by the hair and yanking you over to the couch with a stumble. He tosses your body face first into the cushion and you land with a soft groan.

“Just can’t stop, can you?” He sees your ass recoiling from the previous motion and he swears it makes him go feral, "I'll just have to keep reminding you then."

In a flash, when you tried to push yourself up, he strikes a hand down to your cheeks. Your flesh jiggles with the audible slap and you're falling back down with a much louder moan.

“Did you like that?” Feigning stupidity, Sunghoon uses one arm to grab at your tiny shirt from the back, flipping you around till you laid chest-up sprawled out on the couch, "Do you want another?"

Eyes glossy with anger, you can’t help but whimper as he lands a harsh smack to your clothed cunt. He repeats the motion in a harder manner once again, and this time you’re fighting back. You wriggle to close yourself off from him, but he’s fighting to keep your legs open. He's clasping your clit.

Your arms move in for attack, though he’s able to immobilize your hands by taking them with one grasp and holding them above your head. You’re stuck now.

You squirm around, “I hate you.”

"Really?" unfazed by your words, Sunghoon simply gives your wet core a hearty squeeze, “Well, I’m feeling that might not be true.”

Staring smugly, he keeps his eyes locked on your frantic gaze as he sweeps your shorts to the side. Wetness coats the tips of fingers in an instant and he hasn’t even fully touched you. Fucking hell.

“Right. You hate so much.” Sarcasm oozes from his lips with every stroke his fingers give your pussy, and you’re left to do nothing but wiggle. He towers over your contorted body, loving how quickly he was able to put you down.

His fingers circle your lips teasingly before moving into your dripping entrance. He doesn’t waste another second in shoving his digits in and out of your hole, eyeing the way you struggle to keep a straight face.

“S-So fucking annoying.” You stutter out, trying your absolute hardest to not slip and give him any further satisfaction of knowing he got to you.

Sunghoon takes this as a challenge. Leaning in closer, he changes the angle his fingers hit inside your squelching walls. His fingers gradually increase in pace until you're seeing stars. He continues to ram his digits inside of your pussy as they grow wetter and wetter. He keeps this up. And soon, your face morphs from that of resilience to a more natural state, your eyes lowering.

Oh, god. Your body’s succumbing to him. It’s taking the pleasure produced by him and using it against you, dammnit it. What becomes worse is how your body begins to rock alongside his fingers, chasing the high that’s ever growing in your system.

You howl, “Fuck!”

His fingers feel like they’re hitting your g-spot and now you’re a mess. Thrashing and twisting below him while he finger fucks your way to an orgasm. Your toes curl in the feelings that’s wafting over you. You’re losing control.

“God, I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.” You grit out through clenched teeth, eyes now tightly shut as you concentrate on his wicked pounding, “Can’t stand you. I-”

“Yeah? Yeah?” His questions are disingenuous. He wants you to keep going. Keep digging yourself a grave.

“Piss me of so- ah! Fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop.” The words topple from your lips without a thought. Your hips rut harshly into his fingers, so greedily, so close to basically squirting. By any second you’re going to….you’re going to-

Your body goes cold the minute Sunghoon snatches his fingers from you, abstaining you from the arousal you'd been subjected to. Screeching, you bellow out a desperate cry from how empty you feel.

He bores a look of apathy, indifferent to your flailing, "What? Did you think I would actually let you cum? After your shitty attitude all night?"

Reaching down, he adjusts your rigid body into a more elongated position, then he's straddling you, "I just needed to get you ready. Cause now I want to destroy you."

You want to slap him, your face growing hotter by the second. This night, you've spent it feeling nothing but rage and lividness because of the boy on top of you.

But then he's working to uncover your breasts, playing and squishing them with both palms, and momentarily your facade begins to fade.

He's hunched over in the way he's needlessly gunning for your neck, biting and marking every spot he could. You squeal from the pain, and that only pushes him further.

He circles around the same throat he held previously to leave splotches of red staining your skin. It's in this moment of daze, his rapture begins to enthrall him, causing his cock to throb and throb until it's hurting.

Sunghoon works his way up, passing by your chin until he's aggressively making out with you. All of the pent up tension and conflicts feels as if they're being spilled out within the rough kiss, and you wrap an arm around him and mewl needily into his breath.

You still hate him, even if his annoyingly perfect lips mold deliciously into yours. You still hate him, even as he expertly touches and grabs at your tits, providing more stimulation to your already horny self.

But even you can't deny the desperate longing your body seeks as his thick, hard skin prods at the entrance of your shorts right now. And he can't wait anymore.

"Mmm, ready for me?" He mumbles against your mouth, though he didn't necessarily care for a response. Because even if you were to protest, he knew it would just be another ploy at deflection.

He's back to kissing you. The aggression that's brought along with it could be mistaken for passion and it makes you weak. Right before he darts the fabric off to the side and ready to take you whole, you pull back slightly, wanting to say one more thing.

"I h-hate you so much," you whine and he could only laugh. You truly never know when to shut up.

"You've told me that a couple of times." Muttering back, he recaptures your mouth and without wasting another second his cock finally plunges into your deep pussy.

Your walls immediately grip him, and the two of you groan simultaneously into each other. He did a good job at prepping you; you're beautifully slick and warm, just the way he likes it.

His cock starts to thrust rhythmically, relieving the ache you both were so full of. You can't help the string of grunts that fall from your lips, all chopped from each hit he gives your pussy.

"S-Shit." Sunghoon detaches his mouth from yours to completely bask in the arousal that's coursing throughout him. It brings him back to that night.

The night where you bent your sexy ass over for him, and watched yourself in the mirror as he smashed into your backside. He was on Cloud 9 then, but now coherent and in the right head space, it's like the pleasure has doubled.

You, meanwhile, are having an internal battle with yourself. Holy shit. It feels so fucking good when he's pounding inside of you. You swear you're gonna cum at any point. But, there's still this sense of revulsion that bubbles in the pit of your stomach- because of the fact that you're allowing Park Sunghoon to fuck you so roughly.

"H-Hope you know- mmrgh! This is a-all your fault." You stammer out, eyes shutting forcefully on themselves, "You always c-cause problems. You're in the- you're in the-"

A hand comes down over your lips and shuts you up, your face relaxing into a state of bliss. You aren't sure why you always jumble out nonsense when in moments of euphoria. It's just as if....he's...

"I said I would fuck you dumb," Sunghoon sighs as his back lurches over to grind into your cunt at a different angle, "Guess I actually did."

Your response is muffled and buzzes into his skin. There are no intentions of uncovering himself, either. No way will he let this indescribable sensation be override by your loud ass, bratty ass mouth.

His hips continue to drive harshly into your liquified cunt, squelching and dripping the more he fucks himself into you. He only gets faster while you begin to grow limp. Your own pleasure starts to consume you until you don't have the willpower to move.

Sunghoon feels his cock start to twitch, "About to cum," he moans near your ear, "Can feel myself about to cum inside your dirty pussy. Are you close too?"

You shriek into his hand a multitude of yes's as you feel yourself so close to snapping. It's only a matter of time before you're losing control all at the hands of your actual worst nightmare.

He weighs his options, "Mmm....but should I? Do you deserve to orgasm with me?"

You'd despise not only him but yourself if you didn't. You're too far gone. The pleasure is catching up to you closer and closer, the more he buries himself damn near into your cervix. Waves after waves of ecstasy release into your core and you almost want to cry from how amazing it feels. So there's no fucking way you're going to miss this.

You never thought you would do this, but it's only a matter of time.

What sounds like your yes's transforming into pleads, Sunghoon scrunched his eyebrows, going to remove your hand. Are you....?

The moment your mouth is free you yell out a whimper, "Please. Please. 'm so close, Sunghoon. Sunghoon, please. I can't, I can't. I need this so bad."

Oh, fuck.

He'd never thought he'd see the day. He's never heard you beg before. The way his name sounds so good when you're pleading, how it squeals out from your lips. It makes his cock twitch once again and he's clenching his ass cheeks to stop him from popping a load right into you.

"You really want to?" He speaks quietly and more to himself, before deciding to give you what you want. Even brats can be rewarded.

He's pushing himself up and is now hovering over your face, his pelvis driving brutally into your core, "Okay. Okay, just let go. Cum for me."

You're so grateful you could kiss him. You let the slaps his skin produce fill you ears as you give yourself some slack for even letting this happen. You were about to cum because of Park Sunghoon, and there was nothing you wanted to do to stop it.

Sunghoon can't help but stare at your wavering face. Going from tight tension to relaxing and belting out a moan, your expressions keeps his eyes trained on you.

"Here, here. Faster, need you to cum right now." And almost like a present for you, Sunghoon brings a hand down to start massaging your clit, getting you to the very last point you needed to before exploding.

When his fingers circle rapidly against your nerves, combined with his pounding that has you babbling out nothing, your orgasm hits you so hard, starting from your pussy and running up into your head, making you dizzy. The moment causes you to starting quavering sporadically and mewing out, 'I'm cumming!'

That was what Sunghoon needed. Your orgasm causes your insides to start squeezing, pulsating around his cock so perfectly. At the third time he feels his cock beginning to twitch, he grants himself permission to let go. Next thing he knows, he's shooting out viscous ropes of cum into your velvety cunt, groaning about how perfect of a brat you are for him.

'Finally fucking listened'

'My perfect brat'

'God, you're amazing'

All is being said as you two finish out your orgasms. As he stutters above you, and you're quaking below him, you both seem to have finally found peace within being close to one another.

Which brings to an end this dirty, filthy night.

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- Bonus -

Your mother and Mrs. Park hadn't intended on being back at the house past midnight. But, how were they supposed to know the company gathering would be such a blast!

The event had the women interacting, mingling, dancing, singing with every single one of their coworkers until around 11:30 PM! And that was only because the event was over around then, they surely still had some more juice in their system.

By the time the two arrived back at your house, they'd been laughing hysterically to one another, unbeknownst to the absolute chaos that had ensued just hours earlier.

Your mother unlocks the door with her keys, and as they swing it open, they're met with a surprising scene in front of them.

Sunghoon, all wide awake, and sitting on the couch by his lonesome. The T.V is there to keep him entertained, but other than that, there were no signs that you were around. As Mrs. Park goes to greet her son, your mother stares at the boy with worried eyes.

"Oh, Sunghoon. Were you down here by yourself this whole time? Did Y/N not come down?" She walks up to him, though is quickly mollified when he's giving her a small smile.

"No, she did. We watched a film together, though half-way through it, she started to doze off. I had to carry her upstairs; she was so out of it." He nods softly at the end of his sentence and your mother reciprocates his delicate response.

It warms her heart to hear that you tried.

"Oh, Hoonie! I told you things would work itself out if you would just be nicer to the poor girl. You know how timid she can be." His mother pats at his shoulder, "Come on. Grab your shoes and I'll take us home."

"I'm happy you guys were able to have a nice night together." Your mother beams while walking alongside Sunghoon towards the front door, "Are you two okay now? Should I be expecting you back here more often?"

Sunghoon regards your mother, his own brain thinking at how to properly respond to that. It's not until he's slipped his shoes and coat on, and holding the door open for Mrs.Park to exit, before giving a proper answer.

"Yes, Miss, I believe we're just fine now.”

At the last second of his departure, his eyes catch sight of movement on the staircase. Having awoken from your slumber, you heard voices from downstairs and decided to investigate. Creeping around the top stairs, all you were met with was Sunghoon talking to your mother with one foot out the door.

You attempt to remain hidden behind the wall, waiting for him to leave. But, soon, you find his gaze moving slowly until it lands onto your face. He holds eye contact with you one last time, your stomach in knots from how compelling his essence is.

“I'll try to come back here more often," He steps his other foot outside as a faint grin overtakes his cheeks.

"I’ll make sure of it.”

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[shotmrmiller]

retired pornstar!Ghost who can't seem to ever keep his hands to himself whenever you're around, even when about to film.

f!reader, 18+ smut. unedited.

If you're standing at a table making coffee, he'll sneak up from behind and wrap his arms around you, his chin resting on the crown of your head.

Hi, Ghost.

G'mornin', love.

If you're walking out of Price's office with a script in hand, he's by your side in mere moments, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

"New script?"

"You should know, you're my co-star. Again."

"Lucky me, pet."

He's leading you toward his office, perches you on his desk and cups his hand over your core.

"Gonna let me eat this pretty pussy?"

"I dunno, Ghost. Gonna fuck me here too?" you smirk at him.

"Whatever you want from me," he breathes.

You stumble out hours later with swollen lips, love bites mottled over your neck and collarbone, and his warm spend trickling down your legs because Ghost pocketed your knickers.

The day of, he's texting you if you'd like a ride to the studio.

Sure thing. Get me in 15.

Yes ma'am.

He doesn't ask for your address, and you don't question why he knows where you live either. Ghost, forever the gentleman, opens the passenger door for you, and gently helps you get in. The entire drive over, his hand rested on your bare thigh, his small finger occasionally grazing your clothed cunt. By the time you arrive, your knickers are damp with your arousal.

"Somethin' wrong, love?"

You snort at his feigned innocence. "Cute. Is mercilessly teasing me fun to you?"

"Sorry 'bout tha.'" Ghost doesn't sound all that apologetic.

He brings you in tight, wrapping his arm around you firmly.

"Lemme make it up t'you in my dressin' room", he purrs.

You click your tongue. "Price'll have your head if he catches me in there, especially when we're about to make a vid."

"Be sure to keep quiet, then. Would absolutely hate to get caught."

With his smart fingers and expert tongue, you're brought to peak 3 times.

Price rolls his eyes when he spots you both walking in at the same time 15 minutes before the shoot.

"Always cheek by jowl, eh Simon?"

His piercing eyes cut to Price's. "Not a crime, last I checked."

Price lifts his hands up, palms outward in mock surrender. "Easy, Ghost. Only teasin'." He turns away, gesturing the crew to get in their places.

Ghost taps your chin with his pointer finger, drawing your attention. "Showtime, baby."

The wolfish grin on your face mirrors his.

"Showtime," you echo.

Ghost turns sex into art. He moves with discipline; every languid roll of his hips deliberate. Like a skilled painter, he transformed you into a living masterpiece, using each drag of his cock as a brush stroke on the canvas of your very being.

It's otherworldly.

He watches your face intently as he changes the angle, bites his bottom lip when he changes the pace, grunting into your ear as your walls begin to flutter— the telltale sign of 'his favorite part', as he loves to say.

"Gonna come f'me? Lemme hear that sweet, little voice of yours, pet." Almost as if following his command, you're digging your nails into his biceps, and closing your eyes in bliss as you climax. A loud, drawn-out moan escapes your lips as your cunt rhythmically pulses around Ghost's heavy length. Your soft thighs quiver around his broad waist as he works you through the aftershocks with slow, firm thrusts.

"Look at tha'. Came when I told ya to, like a good girl." Your mind is blank from your orgasm, tongue too heavy and thick in your mouth for you to even try to articulate a response.

"Creamed all over my cock, can ya hear it?" Hard not to when the wet sounds of your pussy squelching every time he bottoms out fills the room.

"You're so fuckin' tight. Cunt's squeezin' me like it doesn't want me to pull out."

His filthy words send a jolt straight to your throbbing core. "Felt tha'. What, you got a breedin' kink?"

Another jolt, so sharp it almost hurts.

"Want me to fill ya with my come? Is tha' it?" His husky voice dripping with desire. With want.

yes. yesyesyessss—

"Tell me you want me. Fuck, tell me you want me to come in you." The words fall from your spit-slick lips like a faucet.

"Come in me, oh my god, come in me. Fill my pussy up."

His thrusts lose some of their rhythm, but still not sloppy enough like when he's on the very brink.

Ghost's jaw in clenched, as if digging his heels in to hold off his climax. Well, that's simply unacceptable.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, giving him a slight tug to have his lips hover over yours.

"I want you come in me, Simon."

The change is instantaneous. His eyes widen a fraction before stealing your very breath with a searing kiss and fucks you. He puts his weight behind each snap of his hips. The tip of his cock pressing into the plug of your womb, making your eyes prickle with tears.

It's too much, he's too much, you think you've gone and bitten off more than you can chew with him when he mercifully stills with a groan you swallow— cock twitching as it pains your insides white.

He breaks away, gasping for air, sweat that beaded on his forehead dripping onto your heated skin.

Cut.

DaVinci and his muse.

Later, when he threads his fingers into your damp hair, you ask him why he doesn't record with others.

"'Cause I don't want to."

Oh?

"Besides, you and I have fantastic chemistry, dont'cha think?" He tugs on a lock of hair. "The fans love seeing us together, just as much as I love seeing my cock disappear into your sweet pussy."

He chuckles when he takes in your flustered expression. "Don't ask questions you aren't prepared to hear, then."

[sixeyesonathiel]

what happens when an overworked magical girl from another anime franchise crashes into satoru gojo’s world?

a/n : consider this as a pilot or something so pleeeasee do tell if y’all see the vision hehe. i might write this either as oneshot or series, crack treated seriously, fluff and fix it :3 this is pre-hidden inventory arc.

the sky tears.

satoru doesn’t notice it at first. he’s too busy kicking the hell out of a training dummy, sweat clinging to the back of his neck as the sun swelters high above jujutsu tech’s back field. his shirt clings damply to his back, white hair tousled and sticking to his forehead in unruly, sweat-drenched clumps. every kick sends a dull echo through the otherwise quiet yard, and his brows are furrowed, teeth gritted—not out of effort, but boredom.

it’s supposed to be a solo mission—a recon exercise, or so yaga said, but more like a punishment for cutting class again. the kind that comes with no supervision, no curse threats, just him, a dummy, and the blistering heat. satoru checks his watch for the fifth time in ten minutes. detention by any other name would still be just as tedious.

then the air goes still.

the cicadas stop screaming. the clouds part with unnatural precision, like curtains pulled by unseen hands. the temperature spikes—no, drops—and something surges through the atmosphere with a pulse so loud it rattles his bones. his body stiffens, spine prickling with instinct. midnight blue eyes narrow behind tinted lenses, sensing the shift in reality before his other senses can process it.

and then you crash into the earth.

not fall. not descend. crash. like a meteor. like a magical girl-shaped missile. light explodes in a pastel burst of ribbons, iridescent butterflies, and shattering sakura petals. the air rings with the high-pitched chime of otherworldly bells, the tinkle of crystal stars, and the unmistakable sugary pop of transformation magic gone sideways. the ground trembles beneath it.

the training field goes silent except for the sound of scorched grass and the faint, whimsical hum of residual transformation magic. a stray butterfly, translucent and shimmering with cosmic dust, flutters past satoru’s ear before dissolving into sparkles.

satoru blinks behind his sunglasses, now slightly askew on his nose. he adjusts them with a slow push of his index finger, head tilting, brows raised beneath snowy bangs that flutter faintly in the shifting breeze.

“…huh.”

in the crater, you groan.

you’re face-down in a shallow pit, skirt ruffled, hair scorched at the ends, and your transformation outfit—sky-pink bodice with cream lace trim, crystalline brooch shaped like a winking star, thigh-high boots with wing-shaped heels that somehow remain pristinely white despite your crash landing—is smoking gently at the edges. your star-shaped wand lies beside you like a fallen weapon of cosmic justice, occasionally sputtering pathetic little sparks as if trying to reboot itself.

above your head, a tiny, winged creature that looks like a deranged mix between a rabbit and a plushie on its fifth espresso flutters in frantic circles, trailing stardust and anxiety in equal measure.

“you’ve breached the astral veil! the interdimensional tether’s fried! we overshot by three star realms!” it shrieks, voice unnaturally high, paws clutching at its fuzzy cheeks in distress. “this is NOT how galactic school exchanges are supposed to go! we’re so off-schedule! the stellar alignment council is going to have my tail!”

satoru approaches cautiously, one hand in his pocket, the other hovering near his weapon just in case. his steps are deliberate, almost lazy, yet somehow soundless. the breeze tugs lightly at the hem of his uniform jacket, ruffling his collar and loosening the tension in his shoulders. cursed energy flows through him, ready but controlled, his limitless technique humming just beneath his skin.

“uh,” he says, peering over the crater’s edge. “you okay down there?”

“no,” you groan, rolling onto your back. your eyes are half-lidded, voice hoarse, lashes clumped with ash and what might be leftover mascara from yesterday. there are dark circles under your eyes that no amount of magical transformation can hide. “i have two essays due, i haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, i still have cram school, i fought six darklings at dawn, had to seal a nightmare portal during lunch break, my transformation pen is running on fumes, and now i’ve apparently crash-landed in a world with no ley lines.”

you pause.

“…and mipple won’t shut up.”

“you ripped a hole in space,” mipple screeches, buzzing frantically around your head, leaving a trail of panicked sparkles. “this is not sustainable hero behavior! you need rest! regulation mana! a snack! the magical girl handbook specifically states that cosmic defenders should maintain a balanced sleep schedule and nutrient intake! page forty-seven, paragraph three!”

satoru blinks, slowly crouching beside the crater. his weight settles on the balls of his feet, elbows resting loosely on his knees. his expression is unreadable behind the glare of his glasses, but there’s a hint of genuine curiosity in the tilt of his head. “you’re not from around here, huh.”

“gee, what gave it away?” you mutter, dragging your gloved hand down your face. a heart-shaped gem on your glove catches the light, flickering weakly. “was it the interdimensional wormhole or the talking plushie?”

satoru grins. his teeth flash white in the sun, a hint of mischief curling at the edge of his lips. “the sparkles.”

mipple flits a fast, nervous circle around him, sniffing the cursed energy. its tiny nose twitches, ears flattening against its head. “her readings are flat. nothing’s reacting. it’s like this whole place runs on… rot.” mipple’s eyes widen to comical proportions. “this isn’t a darkness realm, is it? please tell me we haven’t crashed into a darkness realm. the paperwork for that is a nightmare.”

“charming,” you deadpan.

“you’re leaking glitter,” satoru says helpfully, pointing to the trail of iridescent dust that seems to be following your every movement like dejected confetti.

you sit up with a scowl, brushing at your skirt with short, angry movements. flecks of glitter and ash catch the sunlight, making you shimmer like a very irate disco ball. the ribbon in your hair droops sadly to one side, and your magical girl tiara is slightly crooked. “great. fantastic. this is exactly what i needed today. another crisis. do you people have dimensional transit hubs or are you still in the dirt age?”

“dirt age?”

“never mind,” you sigh, pushing back a strand of hair that falls immediately back into your face. “point me to your nearest leyline stabilizer and maybe i can reverse the jump. preferably before i miss another math test. i’m barely passing as it is.”

“uh,” satoru squints, pushing his glasses higher with a knuckle, fingers smudged with sweat and dust. “we’ve got vending machines? and i think i saw a fortune teller at the corner store once.” he pauses, then adds with complete seriousness, “the milk bread is pretty good.”

mipple facepalms in mid-air with an audible poof, leaving a tiny puff of glitter.

“okay,” you say, standing slowly, wobbling. your knees wobble like a newborn deer’s. “okay. it’s fine. i just need a second. maybe ten. maybe an hour. or a nap. or the sweet release of death. or caffeine. ideally all of the above.”

you stumble.

there’s a flicker of light. your form glitches slightly—one ribbon vanishing, then another, your skirt shortening then lengthening, your magical aura flickering like a dying lightbulb—and with a tired sigh and the sad deflating sound of a party balloon, your transformation dissolves into a shimmer of pale light. your star-shaped wand vanishes with a chime, and the magical embellishments melt away like soap bubbles.

you’re left in a rumpled high school uniform: blazer, skirt, tie askew, one sock missing, the other scrunched around your ankle. your hair’s a mess, sticking to your cheeks. your face is streaked with dirt and interstellar ash. your school bag materializes with a sad plop beside you, spilling out a half-finished homework assignment, three empty energy drink cans, and what appears to be emergency chocolate.

satoru catches your elbow without thinking, touch light and instinctive. “whoa there, sparkles.”

you slap his hand away with the strength of a very tired moth batting at a streetlamp. “don’t touch me, i’m radioactive with stress. also, i shock people sometimes when i’m low on magic. it’s not pretty.”

he snorts—then, belatedly, catches a proper glimpse of your face.

he goes still.

there’s ash in your lashes, a scratch on your cheek, and you look like you’ve clawed your way out of a magical apocalypse—your hair is a mess, your uniform is wrinkled in ways that defy physics, and there’s a sparkly band-aid on your knee with little moons on it—but still, for some reason, all he can think is: she’s pretty.

heat prickles across his ears. he shoves his sunglasses back up his nose, suddenly very interested in a patch of grass beside his foot. he scratches the back of his neck, pretending to study a dandelion like it’s the most complex thing he’s ever seen. like he hasn’t faced down curses ten times more dangerous than a tired high school girl who occasionally sparkles.

and for a second, everything’s quiet again. awkward. your breathing slows, the wind picks up. somewhere, a cicada remembers how to scream.

“listen,” he says, voice a little lower, a little softer. “this isn’t a leyline whatever, but we’ve got a place to crash nearby. and sugar. and air conditioning. i mean, if you don’t mind hanging out with some weirdos.” he gestures vaguely in the direction of the school building. “though, from what i’m seeing, you’d probably fit right in.”

you glare at him, narrowing your eyes like you’re trying to set him on fire with sheer willpower. you cross your arms, wobble slightly, then uncross them when you realize it’s taking too much energy to maintain the posture. mipple lands on your shoulder, tiny paws patting at your cheek in a comforting gesture.

“mipple,” you say slowly. “scan him for monster corruption.”

“he’s clean,” mipple says, whiskers twitching as it sniffs the air around satoru. “just stupid. and full of something weird. but not evil-weird. more like… chaos-weird.” it pauses, then adds helpfully, “he smells like blue raspberry slushies and bad decisions.”

“fine,” you grumble, bending down to stuff your homework back into your bag. “lead the way, mister. but if you try anything funny, i still have enough magic to turn you into something small and amphibious.”

satoru flashes a grin that tugs crooked at the corner, brushing a hand through his damp hair. it fluffs back into place, soft and silver, catching the sun in a halo-bright sheen. “that’s what i thought.”

the glitter trails behind you as you limp off the field, exhausted, annoyed, and absolutely, cosmically done with today. a butterfly manifestation charm falls from your pocket, too depleted to even flutter. your magical girl compact beeps once, twice, then falls silent, the battery icon blinking sadly in the corner.

satoru watches you from the corner of his eye, still grinning, a faint pink on his cheeks. his hand drifts briefly to the spot where your elbow had been, fingers curling slightly. the residual warmth lingers, along with the faintest trace of stardust.

he’s never met anyone like you before.

and watching you now—dragging your feet but still holding your head high—he knows he never will again. behind him, the training dummy collapses with a defeated thud, like even it can’t keep up with the kind of day you’re having.

you don’t notice.

you’re already walking off, one hand adjusting your sleeve like you didn’t just nearly destroy the field. it’s the kind of tired that comes from trying too hard, too often. but you carry it like it’s nothing.

satoru watches you go, something warm and strange curling in his chest.

yeah.

he’s definitely in trouble.

[lovelyspring7]

Black Pearl (Pt. 3) | Yandere JJK x Reader

Preview: Jungkook always got what he wanted. And he wanted you. Dangerous. Obsessive. You ran, but he was never going to let you stay gone. Because pearls aren’t born from perfection. They’re born from pain. A wound, buried deep, pressed and shaped until it becomes something rare. Precious. And you? You were his pearl. And this time, he won’t let you slip away so easily.

Word count: 17k

Genre: Yandere

Pairing: CEO Billionaire Jungkook x reader.

Warnings: Yandere, smut (praise kink, soft dominance, oral, edging, overstimulation, creampie, mild breath play), stalking, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, manipulation, controlling & emotionally abusive behaviour, self starvation, self inflicted injury.

Disclaimer: This type of content is not suitable for all audiences and I do not condone any of the presented behaviour. This is purely for entertainment and fictional purposes and I don’t think any BTS member would act like this.

Author's note: The final chapter of the Pearl series is here! It’s truly been a journey, what started as a simple one-shot has now transformed into a full three-part series lol. Can’t wait to know what you guys think of this long awaited chapter! Don’t be a silent reader, show some support and feedback!💜

Read Part 1 Here | Read Part 2 Here

Jungkook couldn’t sleep.

For the third night in a row, the bed felt too cold. Too empty.

The penthouse, with its towering windows and sprawling view of the city, offered no comfort. The soft hum of traffic below only amplified the silence pressing in, the void you’d left behind. The space where you used to sleep, beside him, against him, was untouched. Undisturbed.

The scent of you was already fading. That delicate trace of vanilla, once clinging to his pillows, was now nothing but a phantom he couldn't chase. And still, it haunted him.

His hand drifted across the sheets, fingers searching for a warmth that wasn’t there. How many nights had he held you close, pressing his lips to your hair as you slept, the steady rise and fall of your breath easing something sharp inside him?

Now, there was nothing.

All he had was silence.

He missed your laugh, that soft, breathless sound when he held you too long while watching late-night movies. The way you’d roll your eyes, teasing him for being too clingy.

You were his. Safe. Perfect. Until you weren’t.

And now, the pain in his chest twisted deeper with every hour you were gone.

He had been patient. He had given you space. Three days. Three days too long.

And all it had done was prove what he already knew.

You weren’t safe out there. Not without him.

And if you wouldn’t come back willingly? He’d bring you home himself.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened as he sat up. His black hair strands over his forehead, messy from restless tossing, the ends curling slightly against his temples. He dragged a hand through it, pushing it back in a slow, frustrated motion.

The pain of your absence wasn’t just a wound.

It was a void.

And he was done waiting.

The rain pounded against the thin windows of the dingy motel room, a relentless rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. The air smelled of damp carpet and stale cigarettes, the kind of place no one asked questions, a perfect hiding spot, for now.

You sat on the edge of the unmade bed, arms wrapped around your knees, your body trembling despite the layers of clothing you’d borrowed from Bora. The oversized hoodie swallowed your frame, the scent of her perfume lingering faintly as if it could somehow protect you from the icy grip of fear pressing against your chest.

The cash Bora had given you was already running low, the stack of bills feeling smaller each time you counted it. You hadn’t slept. Not really. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow shifting outside the window made your pulse race.

He could be out there. He was out there. But you couldn’t think about that. Not yet. You have made it this far. You had escaped him, for now.

The cheap motel phone sat untouched on the nightstand. No messages. No calls. No way to reach out. You couldn't risk it. He had made you disappear once already, who's to say he couldn't erase you completely this time? But even as you tried to calm yourself, your mind whispered cruel truths.

He’s looking for you.

He never stopped.

And deep down, you knew that this wasn’t freedom. 

The shower sputtered weakly, lukewarm water cascading over your shoulders as you stood under the spray, hands tangled in your wet hair. The tension in your muscles hadn’t eased, it felt as though it were pressing into your bones. You had been running on fear for days. The motel’s water pressure barely did anything to wash the grime from your skin, but it was the first moment of quiet you’d allowed yourself. Alone. Hidden. At least, for now.

You tilted your head back, fingers massaging your scalp, when-

There.

A small bump.

You froze, fingertips brushing over the back of your neck again, right at the base of your hairline. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but unmistakable now that you’d felt it. Your pulse roared in your ears, the water no longer soothing but deafening.

No. No, no, no.

It couldn’t be.

A tracker.

The nausea hit fast, your stomach twisting as panic set in. You pressed both palms against the cool tiles, breaths shallow, the water blurring your vision as it ran down your face.

That son of a bitch. 

He had tagged you.

A shaky, horrified breath escaped your lips. You needed to get it out. Now.

Ripping the towel from the rack, you wrapped it around yourself and stumbled out of the bathroom, dripping water onto the worn motel carpet. The tiny blade you’d swiped from the first-aid kit sat on the nightstand.

Your hands shook as you dialed the front desk.

“Front desk. How can I help you?”

“I-" your voice cracked, but you forced it calm. "I need a first aid kit delivered to my room. Please, it’s urgent.”

“Of course, ma’am. Someone will be up shortly.”

You hung up, staring at your reflection in the dim motel mirror.

It’s fine. You could do this.

The first slice was brutal, the sharp sting making you wince as the blade nicked the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. Blood beaded instantly, but you pressed on, teeth gritted as you dug deeper, forcing yourself not to stop.

And then, there.

A hard bump.

It shifted beneath your fingers, foreign and wrong.

You had to get it out.

Pinching it, nails slick with blood, you yanked the tiny object free with a wet snap. The pain was instant, sharp, but the chip, barely the size of a grain of rice, sat trembling in your palm.

You stared at it, chest heaving. He had tracked every move you took. 

Rage burned hotter than fear. Without hesitating, you slammed the metal edge down on the chip, grinding it into the nightstand with all the force you could muster. The delicate material cracked under the pressure, shattering completely beneath the blade.

Gone.

You won.

A knock echoed through the room. The first aid kit. Relief flooded you so hard your knees almost buckled. Finally.

Without hesitation, you unlocked the door, the towel still clutched loosely around your chest, hair dripping down your back.

You swung the door open wide.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Dripping from the rain, black hair clinging to his forehead in damp strands. Soaked, but unmoving. Water streamed down his pale skin, tracing the lines of his jaw. 

The first aid kit you had asked for was clutched loosely in his hand.

His eyes, darker than you’d ever seen, seemed to pierce through the dim light, stormy and unreadable, yet fixed unrelentingly on yours.

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. You couldn’t breathe. The towel slipped an inch lower on your shoulder, the sting at the back of your neck flaring as the open wound met cold air.

His gaze dropped.

Saw the blood.

You didn’t even get a chance to speak before his hand shot out.

Fingers wrapping around your throat.

Not choking. Not yet. Just holding. Firm enough to pin you against the doorframe as his other hand slid up the side of your neck- brushing over the cut, making you wince. Then he saw it. The torn skin. His thumb grazed the blood on your skin, his breathing ragged, his soaked shirt clinging to every tense muscle.

When he spoke, it wasn’t loud. It was soft. Deceptively calm.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

You swallowed harshly, pulse hammering beneath his touch. His cold fingertips against your raw skin sent a shiver through you, but it wasn’t from the pain. It was the look in his eyes, dark, calculating, unreadable.

“I asked you,” he repeated, softer this time, more dangerous, “what did you do?”

Your eyes flicked toward the crushed remains of the tracker, the fragments of it scattered across the nightstand. His eyes followed. And then something shifted behind those dark eyes. Understanding. Realization.

His fingers curled tighter around your neck, but it wasn’t the pressure that scared you most. It was the heartbreak you saw cracking through his rage. You swallowed hard, voice trapped somewhere between a sob and a whimper.

He studied the wound at the back of your neck. For a moment, his lips parted like he was about to speak, but instead, his hand dropped to your wrist, holding it firmly but without the earlier desperation.

You winced as he turned you slightly, his eyes narrowing at the crimson streaks staining your skin. The cut, still raw, an angry slash where you’d torn the tracker from your flesh. His jaw flexed, the tension visible in his shoulders as if the sight of you hurt was somehow a personal attack.

“You could have seriously hurt yourself,” he muttered under his breath, voice lower now, controlled. But his hand trembled slightly as he released your wrist, his fingers ghosting over the wound again, almost hesitant. Almost gentle.

You stayed frozen, heart hammering, the sharp pain pulsing with every beat. Without another word, Jungkook turned, reaching instead for the small first-aid kit you’d called down for. 

He unzipped it with a single sharp motion, tossing the contents onto the bed with practiced efficiency. Alcohol wipes, gauze, antiseptic, a small roll of medical tape. His hand hovered briefly over the disinfectant before grabbing it, his knuckles pale with restraint as he returned to you.

“Sit,” he ordered softly, nodding toward the bed.

You didn’t move. Not right away.

The flare in his eyes returned, but he didn’t force you. Not this time. He just stared, voice tight. “Please.”

Slowly, cautiously, you sank onto the edge of the bed, the towel still damp around your body as you watched him kneel before you, his damp hair curling over his forehead. His soaked clothes clung to him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. All his focus was on you.

“This is going to sting,” he warned, peeling the cap off some bootle with a soft pop.

You flinched when he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing the wound fully. The cold air made the cut throb, but it was nothing compared to the sharp sting of whatever he was using. You gasped, body jerking slightly as the pain flared.

“Easy,” he murmured, his free hand bracing your shoulder, thumb tracing soothing circles against your collarbone. “It’s almost done.” His voice was softer now, less like the man who had just cornered you and more like... something else. Something frighteningly tender.

He was quiet as he worked. His fingers were precise, methodical, but the way they lingered, soft brushes against your skin. When he secured the gauze with medical tape, he finally exhaled, his hands lingering at the sides of your neck for a heartbeat too long. His head dropped forward, his damp hair brushing your shoulder as he stayed there, breathing deeply, as though he was grounding himself in your presence, trying to steady the storm beneath his surface.

You could feel the tension in his body, as though he might shatter if you moved. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. Because despite everything, despite the anger, the fear, this closeness felt dangerous in an entirely different way. His warmth, his tenderness, it whispered of something terrifying. And yet, when he spoke, the tenderness cracked.

His fingers ghosted over your jaw, so light you barely felt them. But the way his voice broke sent a chill through your veins. “You never stopped running. You never even looked back.”

“You thought you could just leave me,” he whispered, voice trembling with restrained fury. “That you could run, disappear, like I wouldn’t burn the whole world down looking for you?”

Tears burned behind your eyes, but you blinked them back, chest heaving. “You... you chipped me Jungkook. You didn’t give me a choice.”

His lips twisted, something bitter curling the edges of his mouth. “I gave you everything. I made sure you were safe, well taken care of. Protected, loved…”

You shook your head, struggling to speak as his grip lingered. “That’s not love, Jungkook. That’s control.”

For a moment, the storm in his eyes faltered. “You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice breaking, “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

The vulnerability was so brief, so fleeting, it almost felt like a trick. But you saw it, the cracks in his armor, the fracture behind his anger. And then, just as quickly, it was gone. His jaw clenched. 

“You’re coming home,” he said, voice resolute, as if there had never been another choice.

You shook your head, “No. You can’t-”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” his breath warm against your face. “I told you before. I would never hurt you. But this? This? You’re hurting yourself. You’re lost without me.”

“I’m not-”

“You are.” His voice was a low snarl now, but there was an ache beneath it. “You think this is freedom? Hiding out in a place like this? Looking over your shoulder every second, terrified? That’s not living, baby. That’s suffering.”

You tried to push against his chest, but he didn’t budge. He was a wall, an immovable force caging you in.

“I was fine before you,” you whispered, voice cracking.

His lips curled into a bitter smile, shaking his head. “No, you weren’t. You were lonely. You were scared. You let men watch you every night because you thought you had no other choice. But I” His hand brushing over your waist. “I gave you one. I took care of you. And you ran.”

Your entire body trembling as the weight of it crashed down. He was everything you feared. Who did he think he was? Twisting your choices, your pain, into something he could control.

“Let me go,” you demanded.

His eyes darkened, “no.”

And just like that, the storm returned. His grip shifted, rougher now as he cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ve had your freedom,” he hissed, the pain in his voice undeniable. “Three days. Three days without me, and look at you. Bleeding. Shaking. Scared.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t listening.

“I’ve been generous, haven’t I? But I can’t do this anymore. I won’t.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“Stay with me. Love me. Try to love me back.”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “And if I say no?”

The answer was already there in his eyes. The anger. The twisted devotion.

“Then I’ll give you what you want,” he said softly. “You want to be alone?”

His hand fell away from your face, his expression hardening, voice chilling.

“Then be alone.”

Your stomach twisted as the meaning sank in, but before you could process it fully, Jungkook moved, so quick, so controlled. His hand clamped around your wrist as he pulled you forward with terrifying ease.

“No!” you gasped, struggling, twisting against his grip, but it was like fighting against iron. “You don’t get to- Jungkook, let me go!”

He didn’t speak, didn’t react. His face was void of emotion now. When you twisted harder, thrashing, his grip only tightened, dragging you toward the door.

“Please,” your voice cracked, desperate. “You can’t do this!”

“I can,” he said darkly, yanking the door open. “And I will.”

The storm outside raged as he hauled you into the rain. You fought, kicking, clawing, nails digging into his wrist as the cold downpour soaked you both. But it didn’t matter. He barely faltered.

You caught glimpses of him through the rain, the sharp lines of his jaw, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he held you fast. His soaked shirt clung to him, but his expression remained blank. Detached.

Like he wasn’t even there.

“Stop! Jungkook, stop! You can’t make me stay with you!” you screamed, voice raw, trying to dig your heels into the wet pavement.

He said nothing.

The sleek black car waited just outside the motel. The door opened with a mechanical click as Jungkook shoved it open, dragging you inside despite your thrashing.

“Get off me!”

But the door slammed shut, trapping you.

The rain blurred against the glass, muted as the lock clicked softly into place. Jungkook climbed into the driver’s seat, soaked to the bone, silent. His chest heaved, hair plastered to his forehead, but he refused to meet your eyes. The quiet inside the car was deafening.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Please.”

Still, nothing. Just the sound of the rain and the steady hum of the engine as he pulled onto the street. The city lights bled past in streaks of white and orange, distorted through the water clinging to the windows.

The fight in you was waning, your body exhausted from struggling. Still, you refused to give up. Not yet.

You pressed yourself against the door, heart hammering. “Where are you taking me?”

A beat passed.

Then, finally, his voice broke through the quiet.

“Home.”

----------

The rain pounded harder against the windows as the black car sped through the city, the rhythmic drumming a sharp contrast to the suffocating silence inside. The leather seats were cool beneath your bare legs, the damp towel clinging to your skin, and every bump in the road made you acutely aware of how exposed you were.

Jungkook hadn't said a word since he said where he was taking you. His steady grip on the steering wheel was far too calm for someone who had just dragged you from a motel against your will.

You shifted uncomfortably, clutching the towel tighter around your chest, heart still racing. The streetlights flickered past, blurry through the rain, but your mind kept circling back to the same desperate thought. Someone could see you.

A girl in a towel, dripping wet, visibly distressed, someone might notice. Someone might help. The tension only thickened when Jungkook’s voice finally cut through the quiet, low and steady.

“Change into these.”

Your head snapped toward him just in time to see him reach toward the backseat, one hand still on the wheel. He tossed a bundle of clothing onto your lap, his sweatpants, a black hoodie, and a pair of flip-flops. The fabric was warm, soft, and smelled unmistakably like him. You stared down at the clothes like they might burn you.

“No.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Put them on."

You shook your head, pulse hammering harder now. “No.”

His gaze flicked toward you, dangerously calm. “You’re soaked. You're freezing. Put them on.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady despite the panic rising in your chest. “I’m not changing.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

You gripped the towel tighter, not saying anything. The brake lights ahead glowed red, painting his face in shadows as he slowed for the stoplight. And then, he turned to you. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“You think someone will save you?”

You stayed silent, too afraid to answer.

He didn’t blink. “Listen very carefully.” His voice was soft, “You will put those clothes on. Now. Or I will pull this car over and dress you myself.”

Your breath caught. You could feel the weight of his control in the way he said it, the promise behind those words leaving no room for argument. A car passed by in the opposite direction, headlights flashing across his face. The shadows in his eyes deepened, unrelenting.

“I’m being generous,” he whispered. “Don’t make me remind you what happens when you push me.”

The stoplight turned green. The car surged forward. And you knew, deep down, he wasn’t bluffing. With trembling hands, you reached for the hoodie.

The hoodie felt heavier than it should have, the fabric warm but stifling as you unfolded it with shaky fingers. Your heart pounded as you clutched the material, hesitating, half-expecting him to reach over and force it onto you himself. He didn’t. But his silence was far worse.

The only sound was the steady rhythm of rain against the windshield, the soft hum of the tires on wet pavement. Jungkook’s knuckles stayed pale against the steering wheel, his profile carved from stone, unreadable and cold.

You bit your lip, turning slightly in the seat, as much as the seatbelt allowed, and slowly, so slowly, peeled the towel away just enough to slip the hoodie over your head. The fabric swallowed you whole, the sleeves hanging past your hands, but at least it covered you.

The scent of him hit you instantly, familiar, overwhelming, like the last three days had never even happened. Your stomach twisted violently, teeth sinking deeper into your lip as you fought the sting behind your eyes.

You weren’t free. You’d never been free.

The sweatpants were next. The damp towel fell away entirely as you wiggled into them, struggling with the heavy fabric. They were far too big, bunching awkwardly at your ankles, the waistband nearly slipping down despite the drawstring tied tight. The flip-flops came last, the rubber cold against your still-damp feet.

You felt ridiculous. Humiliated. But most of all, trapped.

Jungkook hadn’t said a word. Just a few glances your way as you finish dressing. 

The city lights blurred outside the rain-streaked window, neon reflections rippling across the glass. The tension was unbearable, pressing in on all sides.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice was hoarse, barely louder than a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t respond. Not at first. Then, with agonizing slowness, his fingers flexed on the steering wheel. His gaze remained fixed on the road, but his voice, when it came, was devastatingly calm.

“Because you belong to me.”

Your breath caught. “No, I-”

“You do.” The words lashed through the air, sharp enough to cut. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking just beneath the surface. “And you’ve already proven you can’t be trusted on your own.”

You shook your head. “I was fine.”

“You were bleeding in a motel room. Alone.” His voice dropped lower. “That’s not fine. That’s you falling apart without me.”

You stared at him, heart pounding so loud you could barely hear the rain anymore. The car slowed. The entrance to his penthouse garage loomed ahead, the metal gate rising automatically as he approached.

Panic gripped you in full force, your hands curling into fists against the hoodie. “Jungkook, please, just- just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t.”

His head turned, his eyes met yours fully. The look in them shattered your words completely. Deadly. Devastating. And worst of all, aching.

“I already let you go,” he whispered. “Three days. I gave you three days. And all you did was run yourself into the ground.”

The car pulled into the garage with a soft hum, the doors locking the second it came to a stop. The rain had slowed, a dull patter echoing in the silence.

You were trapped. Completely.

And you could feel it in the air, the shift. The way his control tightened like an invisible leash. Jungkook exhaled, his hands finally leaving the wheel. For a long moment, he just stared ahead. Silent. Tense.

Then, without warning, he turned to you. His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“Come inside.”

You shook your head violently. 

“Fine.”

The sound of the driver’s door opening made your stomach twist. He walked over and opened your door.

“Jungkook.”

His hands were gentle when they closed around your wrist. But firm. You fought, thrashing in the seat, but his grip only tightened, dragging you forward until your feet hit the garage floor. The damp flip-flops slapped weakly against the concrete, barely making a sound.

“Don’t,” you gasped, twisting. “Please!”

He didn’t respond. He just scooped you into his arms, your body going weightless as he carried you toward the elevator, holding you close like you were fragile, like he cared. But you knew the truth.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and your heart nearly stopped.

No.

Not here. Not again.

You fought harder, hands pushing at his chest, but he didn’t budge. His grip stayed, his face betraying nothing but calm control as he stepped inside. The doors slid shut.

And you knew.

You were back in his world. And no one was coming to save you.

----------

The penthouse loomed, all glass and cold marble, the rain blurring the city skyline beyond its massive windows. The space was as you remembered, pristine, expensive. But there was a weight now. A darkness you couldn’t shake.

The elevator doors slid shut behind you both with a soft chime, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Jungkook’s arms remained locked around you, holding you securely against his chest as he carried you through the silent halls. 

He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at you.

The only sound was the faint hum of the rain against the windows and the measured rhythm of his breathing, calm, controlled. But you could feel it, the tension tight beneath his skin, the restraint in every step he took.

“Jungkook, put me down” your voice cracked. He didn’t. Not until he stopped. In front of a door you didn’t recognize.

You stiffened, stomach twisting. “What is this?”

He didn’t answer. Not with words. The door swung open with a quiet click. The room inside stole the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t like the rest of the penthouse. No sharp, black marble. No cold steel fixtures. This was... warm.

The walls are painted in a soft colour, the exact shade you’d once offhandedly mentioned loving. Shelves filled with your favorite books and ones you've wanted to read. The bed, covered in rose-scented sheets you recognized instantly, and a cozy reading nook, complete with a folded blanket draped carefully over the cushion.

It smelled like you. It felt like... you.

Jungkook’s arms finally loosened. Gently, he lowered you onto the bed. The plush mattress sank beneath your weight, but the moment your feet touched the floor, you recoiled, heart slamming against your ribs.

“This, this isn’t…”

“Yours,” he finished, voice soft. He crouched before you, at the edges as he met your gaze. “This is yours. I made it for you.”

Your breath hitched, horror crawling up your spine. He had built this. Every detail. Every scent. This wasn’t care. It was a cage disguised as a gift.

You shook your head, throat tightening. “You can’t, you planned this. You can’t just lock me in here and expect me to follow though.”

His hands caught your face, cupping it so gently it almost felt like a lie. “I’m giving you a choice.” His voice trembled, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones as his gaze bored into yours. “I’ve been patient. I let you run. I gave you time. And all you did was tear yourself apart. You were hurting.”

His voice broke. “And I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

You shook your head violently, but his grip only softened, his forehead pressing to yours, damp hair sticking to your skin. “You’re mine,” he whispered, “Stay with me. Love me. Try to love me back.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “You can’t force love, Jungkook.”

His face twisted, pained, but still, he didn’t let go. “I’m not forcing you,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “I’m saving you.”

You tried to pull back. His grip didn’t budge.

“So what?” your voice shook. “You’re going to keep me locked here? Make me stay until I say the words you want to hear?”

The answer was already there. Written in his eyes. The ache. The obsession. The broken devotion. His hands dropped. And the softness was gone.

“Then be alone,” he said, voice hollow.

Before you could react, he stepped back.

The door clicked shut.

You lunged for it. 

Too late.

The lock engaged with a soft, damning click.

“Jungkook!” Your fists slammed against the door, voice breaking. “Don’t do this! Let me out!”

Silence.

No footsteps. No threats. Just you. Alone. In a room made for you.

It wasn’t love. It was a prison.

And Jungkook wasn’t going to let you go.

----------

Day 1

You screamed at the door. Pounded your fists until they ached, your throat hurting from calling his name over and over. No response. No one came. A small, square opening at the bottom of the door, just large enough for a tray, slid open on silent hinges. A meal. Gourmet. Expensive. The kind of meal you used to love. You didn’t touch it.

Day 2 

You stayed curled on the floor, refusing the bed. Refusing comfort. The room, so carefully crafted to mimic everything you loved, only made it worse. His presence clung to the sheets, to the perfectly chosen vanilla-scented candles on the nightstand. You couldn’t escape him here. But it wasn’t the comfort he wanted you to feel.It was control. And the silence pressed heavier with each passing hour.

Day 3 

Your stomach ached. The small panel slid open again. Another tray appeared. Steaming food, carefully arranged, as if he had personally chosen every dish. The scent lingered in the air longer this time, making your stomach twist painfully. But you stayed on the floor, glaring at the tray like it was poison. Until the hunger gnawed so deep it felt like your ribs might cave in. You gave in, just a little. Two bites. A few sips of water. It was enough to take the edge off. Barely. But you hated the way it felt like you had given up.

Day 4 

You spoke aloud, just to hear something. Your voice cracked, hoarse from dehydration. A whisper. 

The silence mocked you.

Day 5 

You ate half the meal. Not because you wanted to. But because you had to. You were trembling. Dizzy. And the tray slid open like clockwork. Silent. Unchanging.

Day 6 

You were counting the ticks of the clock.

Waiting.

Day 7 

You were trembling. Dizzy. Your stomach had dulled into something hollow, no longer sharp but lingering, a constant reminder of how weak you’d become. The tray slid open. Silent. Unchanging. A fresh meal. Water. Neatly arranged, as if this wasn’t a prison but a carefully curated illusion of care.

You stared at it for a long time. You didn’t touch it. Not yet.

The silence felt heavier today, pressing in on all sides. The ticking of the clock had become unbearable, a steady, relentless rhythm mocking the pulse hammering beneath your skin. The books on the shelf blurred together when you stared at them too long. The soft sheets felt like a trap rather than comfort. And the loneliness, the loneliness was suffocating.

You sat on the floor, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn to your chest. The hunger gnawed, but it wasn’t the worst part anymore. It was the quiet. No voices. No sound beyond the clock and the faint hum of the ventilation system. You hadn’t heard him. Not once. Not his voice. Not his footsteps. Nothing. And somehow, that was worse than his presence. Because deep down, you knew he was watching.

You could feel it. That unbearable tension in the air, the invisible weight pressing down on your chest. You imagined him behind a screen somewhere, waiting. Studying. Calculating how long it would take for you to break completely.

And the most infuriating part was...

It was working.

You hadn’t eaten everything on the tray the last few days. But you’d eaten enough. And with every bite, shame curdled in your stomach, the bitter truth settling in. You were already losing.

And Jungkook knew it.

----------

Day 8

The door slot slid open at the same time it always did, another tray. But this time, something was different. Beside the untouched plate of food sat a cup of tea. Your favorite. Steaming. Fresh.

Your stomach twisted as you stared at it, the familiar scent filling the room, so gentle yet overwhelming. It wasn’t just tea. It was a message. A whisper through the silence.

I’m still watching you.

You clenched your jaw and shoved the tray back toward the door without taking a sip. 

Day 9

The hunger was unbearable now. You hated the way your body trembled when you stood, knees buckling. The pounding in your skull made everything blurry, the edges of the room tilting. 

When the tray arrived this time, you didn’t shove it back. Not right away. Your stomach had gnawed too deep, wearing down your defiance. You forced yourself to eat. Just a little. Enough to stop the dizziness. The tea was gone this time. The blanket you had ignored for days? You dragged it onto the bed that night, curling beneath it despite yourself. Pressing your face into the pillow, trying to block out the smell of him lingering faintly in the fabric.

You hated how much you missed the sound of his voice. 

Day 10

It was quiet.

You found yourself standing in front of the bookshelf, fingers trailing over the spines. The books were yours. The same worn covers, the same creases where you had folded pages. You pulled one down, a comfort read. Something you knew by heart. And a piece of paper fluttered from between the pages. A note.

Four words, written in the same sharp, elegant script you knew far too well: “Reading this again baby?”

You crushed the note in your fist, heart pounding so violently it hurt. You hated him. Hated the way he was always in your head. But hours later, you still found yourself reading the book. Turning the pages like they might somehow drown out the loneliness.

Day 11

You woke suddenly that night. Not because of a nightmare, but because of a sound. Footsteps. Soft, deliberate, right outside the door.

Him

You froze, breath caught in your chest, listening as the steps paused. He's here. He's right there. Your heart pounded louder. Waiting. He’s going to come in. He has to. But the door never opened.

The footsteps faded. You stared at the door for a long, long time after that.

Day 12

You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first. The words just spilled out, a broken whisper into the empty room. “Why are you doing this?” Silence. “Why won’t you face me? Say something! Anything. If you’re watching, just- just talk to me!” The only answer was the steady ticking of the clock. And somehow, it was worse than hearing his voice. 

Day 13

The tray arrived. This time, along with the untouched food, there was something else. A small music box. You hesitated, fingers trembling as you lifted it. Delicate. Fragile. When you twisted the key, a soft, haunting melody filled the room. The same song you’d hum when showering. He remembered. He always remembered. With a broken sob, you hurled the music box across the room. The melody cut off with a sharp, metallic crack. Shattered. Just like you. But later that night, as you sat curled in the corner, you found yourself picking up the broken pieces. 

Day 14

The silence was unbearable now. You were curled beneath the blanket, barely able to focus, when the static crackled softly through the ceiling. You jolted upright. His voice, smooth, calm, filled the room.

"You're not eating enough."

Your breath caught. Hands clenching into fists. “Stop it! Just leave me alone!”

The speaker remained quiet for a moment before his voice returned, quieter. Steadier.  

"You can keep fighting me... but I won't let you waste away."

Rage flared hot. “You’re trying to break me! You don’t care. You never cared.”

Silence.

You screamed, hurling the empty tea cup across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces scattering across the floor.

But he didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Because deep down, you could feel it. The cracks forming in your defiance. And Jungkook knew you were breaking.

Day 15

It was the middle of the night when the speaker crackled again. You were half-asleep, curled on the bed with the blanket wrapped tightly around you. When his voice cut through the quiet, your eyes snapped open.

"Did you sleep better tonight?"

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. Your throat felt tight, sore from days of yelling that had long since stopped. “I’m fine,” you whispered, though no part of you felt fine.

There was a pause, a soft static hum lingering before he spoke again.

"I miss you."

You shut your eyes, fighting the tears burning at the corners.

Day 16

The next time the speaker turned on, his voice was softer.

"I only want to keep you safe. Look at you now... You're just hurting yourself. This isn't what I wanted."

You stayed silent, curled on the floor, facing away from the door. Your chest ached as you pressed your hands against your ears. But even then, you could still hear him. Gentle. Soothing. "You don’t have to be alone." You hated how badly you wanted to believe him.

Day 17

The next food tray wasn’t like the others. There was food, yes. But also, a single white rose. Beautiful. Your stomach twisted as you stared at it. The same flower he had given you when you first started to meet. A symbol. A reminder. You wanted to throw it away. Smash it. Instead, you set it carefully on the nightstand. 

Day 18 

You woke up shaking. A nightmare, dark and suffocating. The room felt smaller today, colder. Lonelier.

You sat by the door, knees drawn to your chest, speaking to the silence like it might answer back.

“Jungkook... please. Just talk to me.”

Silence.

You pressed your forehead against the wood, voice breaking. “Please...” But he didn’t answer. And somehow, that hurt more.

Day 19

The tea returned. This time, it wasn’t just tea. A slice of strawberry cake sat neatly beside it. The kind you used to share with him, back when he’d seemed... softer. Safer. You stared at the tray for hours. The sweetness felt too much like a trick. But eventually, you caved. The tea was warm, the cake sweet and rich on your tongue. Comforting in a way you hadn't felt in weeks. You hated that it made you feel better.

Day 20

You were pacing. The walls felt closer. The silence is heavier. The loneliness clawed deeper with every passing hour. You found yourself lingering at the door. Waiting. Listening for footsteps. For him. But no one came. You whispered into the empty air. “I hate you.” But it sounded so much weaker than before.

Day 21

The speaker crackled back to life just after you had finished eating. You didn’t even flinch this time. "I’m proud of you." His voice was low, soothing, so calm it made your chest ache. "You’re taking care of yourself again. That’s good. I told you I wouldn’t let you hurt yourself."

You stared at the untouched rose, wilting slightly in its glass. "I’ll be with you soon." And you didn’t know whether the fear twisting inside you... was still just fear. Or something worse.

Day 22

The speaker remained silent all day. No soft reassurances. No sweet words drifting through the room. Just silence. And it was louder than anything else. You found yourself pressing your ear against the door, straining for the sound of footsteps. Waiting. Hoping.

But there was nothing.

Day 23

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The weight of the quiet pressed too hard, suffocating every thought in your mind. So when the speaker finally crackled to life that evening, you spoke first.

"Jungkook?" Your voice was fragile, breaking with every syllable.

The silence lingered. Then, softly "Yes?" You closed your eyes, hating how much relief bloomed in your chest just from the sound of him.

"...Why won’t you come in?"

The pause that followed stretched too long. Then, his voice returned, softer. "You’re not ready yet."

You clenched your fists, trembling. "You don’t get to decide that!"

"I do."

And then the speaker cut off.

Day 24 

The next tray arrived with something new.

Resting beside the plate was the pearl necklace.

Untouched. Perfectly intact.

You stared at it, pulse rising, throat tightening as you remembered the weight of it against your skin, the way he’d fastened it himself the night he gave it to you.

There was no note. No message. Just the necklace. A silent reminder. You left it on the tray. But you didn’t push it away.

Day 25

The room felt utterly unbearable now.

No matter how you shifted, how you paced, there was no comfort. The books blurred together. The food was tasteless. The scent of the room. 

You wanted out.

Just... anything but this silence.

You whispered, voice broken, “Please... I’m sorry.”

But there was no answer.

Day 26

The tears came unexpectedly.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until the sobs shook your chest, your body trembling as you curled into the bed.

It wasn’t just the loneliness anymore.

It was the pain of being ignored.

You had screamed his name a hundred times before.

But tonight, you whispered it like a prayer. "Jungkook... please."

And he still didn’t come.

Day 27

You heard it.

A soft click. The sound of the lock shifting.

You sat up so fast the room spun, heart racing as you stumbled toward the door, pressing both hands against it.

It didn’t open.

But it was unlocked.

For the first time.

Your pulse pounded louder than ever before. Was it a trick? A test?

You stood there for hours. Waiting. Listening.

But nothing else came.

Day 28

You didn’t move.

The isolation had settled deep in your bones by now, making you feel weightless and heavy all at once. You had stopped marking the days, though you knew it had been weeks. Your loneliness had shifted into something quieter, emptier. You had forgotten the sound of your own voice, the rhythm of real conversation.

So when the door creaked open and his figure appeared, the sight of him knocked the breath from your lungs.

Jungkook.

He stood in the doorway, dressed in black, as calm and unreadable as ever. But something was different. His eyes. They lingered longer, tracing over the fragile state he had left you in. The trembling of your hands as they rested limply in your lap. The way you curled in on yourself at the edge of the bed, too exhausted to even flinch.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t step closer.

But he didn’t leave either.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. He was there. Watching.

“Why…” Your voice cracked, hoarse from disuse. “Why are you here?”

No answer.

His gaze dropped, just briefly, to the half-eaten tray of food from that morning. 

The silence stretched. He was giving you nothing, no hint of emotion. And somehow, it hurt. 

You hated him.

You missed him.

“Say something,” you whispered, voice breaking as you gripped the sheets beneath you. 

His lips parted. Just barely. Then he exhaled slowly, like he was gathering himself.

“You’ve proven you can live alone.”

Your breath hitched, a bitter laugh escaping you, though there was no humor in it. “You call this living?”

Jungkook’s face didn’t change. But there was a softness. “No,” he said quietly. “This isn’t living. But you made your choice. You didn’t want me.”

Your pulse pounded so loud it drowned out the rest of the room. He was turning this on you. Making it your fault. And the worst part? It was working. The walls felt smaller. The air colder.

“I never wanted this. I wanted to be left alone, not be lonely” Your voice cracked, rising slightly. “You’re the one keeping me here. You.”

He stepped closer.

Not threatening.

Not towering.

But calm.

Dangerously calm.

“I gave you everything,” he murmured, gaze locked onto yours. “And you ran. So I gave you what you wanted. Isolation. Freedom from me. And look what it’s done to you.”

You hated the way your body reacted to his presence. The way the sound of his voice filled the void you hadn’t even realized was so loud.

A tear slipped down your cheek, unbidden. Weak. And when it fell, Jungkook’s expression shifted, just for a heartbeat. Regret.

“I won’t keep you in here forever,” he continued, quieter now, crouching slightly so you were eye level. “I just need you to understand. I can make it better for you.”

The words hung heavy between you, poisoned with manipulation you were too tired to fight.

You shook your head, tears streaking faster. “You’re lying.”

His head tilted slightly, dark eyes searching yours with unnerving patience. “Am I? Look around you. Have I hurt you?”

No.

But the absence of pain didn’t make it right.

“I don’t want to feel like a prisoner,” you whispered.

“You’re not my prisoner. You’re here because I care. I want you safe. And you can have more than this. But you have to stop fighting me.”

He reached for you then. Not harsh. Not demanding. Just a careful, gentle touch, fingertips brushing the damp tear from your cheek. You flinched but didn’t pull away. Not completely.

The weight of his hand was warm. Familiar. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a threat.

It felt like relief.

His voice was a whisper, coaxing. “Let me take care of you. Let me make this better.”

You hated him for it.

You hated how much you wanted to believe him.

And when his hand lingered, waiting for your answer, the worst part was how quiet the room felt when he finally stood, turned, and left.

The door locked behind him.

And you felt colder than ever.

----------

The lock clicked open.

This time, when the door swung open, he didn’t stand in the doorway like before.

The hall beyond was empty.

You blinked, heart pounding as you stared into the open space, pulse thrumming in your ears. He hadn’t spoken through the speaker today. No roses. No food tray.

Just the silence, and this.

You should have run. Should have bolted straight for the exit. But your legs didn’t move. Not out of fear. Out of something worse.

The endless days of nothing. The quiet that pressed so hard against your ribs you thought you might break under it.

And that was the moment you realized, this was intentional.

This was another test.

A crackling whisper brushed through the speakers, making you jump.

“You can come out now.” His voice. So calm. So controlled. “I’m not keeping you in there anymore.”

You hesitated, arms wrapping tighter around yourself.

Your steps were slow as you crossed the threshold, the numbness in your legs reminding you just how long it had been since you’d moved beyond those four walls.

The penthouse was silent.

Spacious. Beautiful. The floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the cloudy city below, so far away it felt like another world entirely.

You barely had time to process it before you saw him.

Jungkook sat in the oversized armchair near the windows, legs spread, forearms braced on his knees as he watched you. No threat. No chains.

But the weight of his presence was more suffocating than any lock.

“Come here.”

You didn’t move.

His lips pressed together. But he didn’t get up. Didn’t chase you. His voice softened, low and coaxing.

“You’ve been through a lot. I just want to talk.”

And then you noticed it.

The couch. A folded blanket. A steaming cup of tea on the coffee table, the scent wafting faintly. 

No.

He wasn’t trying to trap you.

He was making it look like comfort.

You shook your head. “I don’t want this.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning back in the chair. “I know. But you need it.”

A pause. His dark eyes swept over you, scanning every tremble, every sign of weakness you couldn’t hide. “You need to rest. To heal. You’re… you’re hurting yourself more than you realize.”

You hated how calm he sounded. How convincing.

And you hated yourself more for wanting to believe it.

But you stayed frozen.

That was when he stood.

Slow. Unthreatening. His hair hung over his forehead, sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos along his forearm.

And when he approached, he didn’t grab you.

He just… reached.

Fingers brushing your wrist, barely a touch. Just enough to let you feel the heat of him.

“I’m not going to hurt you. You know that?”

Your throat closed.

You didn’t fight when he guided you gently toward the couch. The blanket was warm as he tucked it around your shoulders, the tea, hot, fragrant, pressed into your trembling hands.

And then he knelt in front of you.

Not towering. Not intimidating.

Just watching.

You stared at the cup, trying to steady your breath.

It was too much. The silence. The quiet care.

This wasn’t control. This was… kindness.

Wasn’t it?

Jungkook’s voice broke the quiet. Softer now.

“You’re safe, baby. You don’t have to be scared.”

And for the first time since he took you

You felt like you were breaking.

Jungkook exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly when you didn’t resist. His gaze stayed on you, lingering on the faint tremble in your hands.

He stayed silent, letting the tension breathe. Letting the quiet speak louder than words.

Until he reached out again.

Slow. Deliberate. His fingers brushed your cheek, so gentle it felt like a question.

You flinched but didn’t pull away. Not fully.

His eyes darkened. Something flashed behind the calm exterior, but he didn’t press. He just held his hand there, warm against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

The words made you freeze.

Sorry?

His touch lingered, and for the first time, there was no trace of that quiet control. Only something vulnerable.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he continued, voice breaking just slightly. “I just…” His thumb pressed a fraction deeper, tilting your face to meet his eyes. “I couldn’t lose you. I won’t lose you.”

The worst part was, you could hear it. The sincerity beneath his words.

And you felt yourself softening.

No.

You clenched the cup tighter, forcing your voice to steady. “You didn’t really have me in the first place, Jungkook.”

His expression shifted.

Not anger.

Worse.

Disappointment.

He lowered his hand but didn’t move back. “I kept you safe. I made sure you were taken care of. And I gave you time. To think. To understand.”

You shook your head, pulse spiking. “You locked me away. That’s not care.”

“You were hurting yourself.” His voice sharpened. “Running around, starving yourself. Bleeding in some filthy motel room.” His jaw flexed, the calm mask cracking just slightly. “Tell me what part of that was freedom.”

You didn’t have an answer. Not one you could say out loud.

Because deep down, you knew.

You had been falling apart.

But that didn’t make this right.

Jungkook’s hand closed over yours where you still gripped the cup, his warmth sinking into your skin. His voice softened again, calmer. Dangerous.

“You’re not a prisoner.”

You swallowed hard.

The door was still locked. You both knew it.

And yet…

You didn’t fight when his thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“You’re here because you belong with me,” he whispered. “And I know you can feel it. Even now.”

The worst part was, he wasn’t wrong.

Because after weeks of isolation, weeks of silence and aching loneliness…

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The way he made you feel.

Or the fact that, for the first time,

You didn’t want him to leave.

And he knew it.

Jungkook didn’t speak again. He didn’t have to. The quiet filled the space between you, heavier than before but softer too. Less suffocating. His presence lingered like the scent of him, clean, warm, familiar in a way you wanted so badly to resist.

But when he finally stood to leave.

“Wait,” your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

He paused, fingers curling into his palm at his side.

But he didn’t turn around.

“I…” Your throat tightened painfully. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Betrayed, by yourself.

Jungkook turned back, his face unreadable, you hated how desperately you searched for softness in his eyes.

But it was there.

Beneath the control.

Beneath the satisfaction.

He stepped closer, moving so carefully, as if not to startle you. His hand rose, fingertips brushing along your jaw in a touch so delicate it sent a shiver through you.

“You don’t have to be,” he whispered.

His thumb stroked gently over your cheek, and you hated how your body melted into the contact, how your eyelids fluttered shut despite every part of your mind screaming at you to stop.

“But you have to let me take care of you,” he continued, voice lower now. “No more fighting. No more running.”

You nodded.

Barely.

And his breath caught like you’d just given him the one thing he’d been waiting for all along.

Jungkook’s thumb traced over your cheek, lingering just a moment longer before he finally spoke again, voice hushed, coaxing.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just let me in.”

The words felt like velvet, soothing you, wrapping around the emptiness he had left behind for so long. You hated how desperately you clung to the warmth of his hand against your skin.

You should have felt disgusted. Angry. But all you felt was… relief.

Jungkook’s hand fell away, just for a moment, and you nearly leaned into it, craving the contact you had sworn to resist. But instead of pulling back completely, he reached for you again, his fingers curling gently under your chin, guiding your face to meet his eyes.

No anger. No coldness.

Just patience.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” he murmured, searching your face like he was memorizing every fragile piece of you. “You don’t have to hurt like this. I can make it better. But you have to trust me.”

You blinked, heart pounding.

“I… I don’t…”

The words wouldn’t come. Your mind felt too foggy, too heavy with exhaustion.

He didn’t push.

Instead, he shifted closer, slowly lowering himself to sit beside you. His presence was overwhelming, but not in the suffocating way you had feared.

Not yet.

You hated the warmth his nearness brought.

Hated that it felt good.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer. Vulnerable.

“I missed you.”

Your breath caught, throat tightening painfully.

“I shouldn’t feel like this.” The confession escaped you before you could stop it, trembling and broken.

His head tilted, eyes narrowing just slightly, but not in anger. He looked almost… wounded.

“Like what?” he pressed gently.

You shook your head, biting your lip hard to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

“Like I need you.”

The words felt like betrayal. A surrender you hadn’t meant to give him.

But instead of pouncing on it, instead of twisting it into something cruel, Jungkook exhaled a slow, steady breath. His hand moved, not to restrain you, but to cup your face again, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

His voice was barely a whisper.

“You do.”

You felt your pulse stutter.

“But that’s not weakness,” he added, his lips parting as his gaze softened further. “It means you’re finally being honest with yourself.”

You wanted to fight him. To tell him he was wrong.

But your body had stopped listening.

His touch felt too steady. Too comforting after so much silence.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

You nodded, barely.

Jungkook didn’t speak immediately. He stayed close, his hand lingering on your face, thumb brushing gently over your cheek as if grounding himself in your presence. 

“Let me help you, just for tonight.”

You hated how those words sank into your chest, how warm his touch felt after so many cold, empty days. But you were too weak to fight. Too lonely to push him away.

Jungkook guided you carefully to your feet, the weight of his hands steady but never harsh. He didn’t rush. Didn’t force. But you knew, somehow, that there was no choice. Not really.

The bed was as you remembered, too soft, too perfect, like it had been crafted to comfort you in ways he never should have known. He helped you sit, kneeling briefly to smooth the blanket over your lap. Every movement was precise. Practiced.

You should have felt caged.

Instead, you felt seen.

And you hated it.

He stayed by the edge of the bed, watching you carefully. His dark eyes traced the curve of your face, the trembling rise and fall of your chest, like he was memorizing every vulnerable piece of you all over again.

Then he shifted.

Slowly, he reached for your wrist, fingers brushing your pulse. Not restraining. Just… there.

His hand lingered, when the warmth of his palm closed gently over yours, anchoring you in that quiet, unbearable moment.

You didn’t pull away.

You didn’t want to.

“I missed you.”

You closed your eyes.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

And that was all it took.

Jungkook shifted, closing the space between you so carefully it felt inevitable. His hand cupped your face, his thumb catching the tear, wiping it away like it physically pained him to see it fall.

You flinched, but not from fear. It was the tenderness that hurt more.

"Don't cry," he whispered, so gentle it made you want to break apart completely. "Not because of me. Not anymore."

Your lips parted, breath shallow, and for a moment, it felt like he was waiting. Not for permission, but for the final thread of resistance to snap completely.

You leaned into his touch. Barely. But it was enough.

Jungkook's eyes darkened, something unspoken lingering behind his gaze. His thumb traced your cheek one last time before his hand fell away, leaving your skin cold in its absence.

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he spoke quietly, carefully, as if testing the fragility of the moment.

"No more silence, not when you’re with me."

You should have said no. Should have pushed him away and demanded your space back.

But you didn’t.

You nodded.

And when he shifted onto the bed beside you, when he wrapped his arm around you, tucking your head against his chest as the warmth of his body bled into yours...

You let him.

----------

The next morning came softly.

Sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains, casting pale gold patterns across the walls. You blinked awake, the unfamiliar warmth pressing against your back making you still for a heartbeat before you remembered.

Jungkook.

His arm was still wrapped around you. Loose but present, his palm resting over your hip, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. He was close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against the back of your neck, the steady weight of him on you in ways that felt both comforting and terrifying.

You should move.

But you didn’t.

And as much as you wanted to hate it, there was a part of you that had craved this, the safety of being held. The feeling of not being so completely... alone.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly, the tension breaking as Jungkook stirred behind you. His grip tightened, not harsh but possessive, and you felt him exhale slowly, his lips brushing just above your shoulder as he murmured, half-asleep.

“You’re still here.”

His voice was deeper, softer in the haze of waking. But there was something heavier beneath it. Relief.

“I... didn’t want to wake you.”

He stilled, fingers flexing slightly where they rested against your waist. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then, he drew back just enough to press his forehead lightly against the curve of your neck, voice barely a whisper.

“You never have to wake up alone again.”

The words sank into you like a promise. One you weren’t sure how to feel about.

You nodded once, throat tight. But you didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

When you finally shifted, pushing yourself upright, Jungkook let you go without protest. His eyes followed your movements, dark but calm as he sat up as well, the sheets pooling around his waist.

You expected him to say something. Maybe a demand. Maybe a reminder that you were still his.

But instead, he only offered a quiet, “Are you hungry?”

It caught you off guard. The simple, human question. You blinked, unsure how to answer, until your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

You nodded.

Jungkook didn’t move right away. He just watched you, gaze softening, lingering on your face as if he were committing this moment to memory. Then, without another word, he stood up and disappeared into the kitchen.

You stayed there, frozen, the sheets warm where he’d been. And for the first time, you felt something you couldn’t quite name.

Not freedom.

But not fear either.

The scent of coffee drifted from the kitchen, warm and rich, grounding you in the present. You sat there, fingers curled loosely in the sheets, listening to the soft sounds of Jungkook moving, the quiet clink of plates.

Everything felt so... normal.

And that was the most dangerous part.

You should have felt restless. On edge. But instead, the tension had dulled, replaced by something you couldn’t explain. Your chest felt heavy, like something you had been bracing against was finally slipping. And it left you hollow.

When he returned, a tray balanced effortlessly in his hands, the sight struck you harder than it should have.

Two plates. A cup of tea. A cup of coffee.

Like you were just any other couple sharing a quiet morning together.

He placed the tray on the bed, careful, measured. The food was simple. Toast, eggs, a bowl of cut fruit. 

You hesitated, waiting for the catch. Waiting for the control.

But it didn’t come.

Jungkook sat at the edge of the bed, close but not touching, and for the first time, there was no expectation in his expression. No pressure. Just quiet observation, his gaze tracing the delicate way you curled your fingers around the teacup.

You took a sip, letting the warmth settle your nerves.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible.

Jungkook’s eyes softened, a flicker of something almost... hopeful.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, voice low, but so achingly tender it made your throat tighten again.

You lowered the cup, unsure why his words felt so heavy. So final.

The silence stretched as you picked at the food, the tension shifting into something unfamiliar. Not fear. Not anger. Just... quiet. Comforting. His presence filled the space without suffocating it, his gaze never leaving yours but no longer pressing in the way it once had.

And you hated how easy it felt. How his care felt so real.

You should have been angry. You should have resisted.

But all you could feel was the warmth lingering in your chest.

Jungkook finally broke the silence, “Are you... feeling better?”

You knew he wasn’t just asking about your physical state. You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But then, with quiet honesty you couldn’t explain.

“Yes.”

His breath hitched, so subtle you barely noticed. But you saw it. The way his fingers curled slightly against his thigh, like he was restraining himself from reaching for you.

The thought of him doing so didn’t feel bad? It felt... safe.

That moment lingered between you, the silence stretching just long enough to feel fragile. Like if either of you spoke, it would shatter whatever fragile peace this was.

Jungkook didn’t move, his gaze still soft but searching, as if he were waiting for something he wasn’t ready to name. His hand, so close on the bed beside you, flexed as though he was fighting the urge to touch you again.

You should say something. Set a boundary. Remind him that this, whatever this was, was not real.

But you didn’t.

Because for the first time in weeks, there was no fear twisting in your chest. No loneliness gnawing at the edges of your mind. Only warmth. Only him.

You felt it when his gaze dropped, lingering on your lips for just a heartbeat too long. The tension shifted, heavier but not threatening, intimate in a way that made your pulse race.

You were the first to look away, blinking down at your hands curled around the tea cup. The heat of it seeped into your palms, grounding you as you struggled to steady your breath. 

And still, he said nothing. 

Until.

“Can I hold you?” His voice quietly asked. 

You swallowed, heart hammering, the vulnerability in his words cracking something deeper inside you. He wasn’t demanding. He wasn’t forcing. He was asking.

And you hated that you didn’t know how to say no.

You nodded.

Barely.

But it was all he needed.

Jungkook moved carefully, cautiously, as though afraid you might vanish if he moved too fast. His hand lifted first, brushing your wrist, fingertips tracing the inside with a softness that made your breath hitch. And then, slowly, he shifted closer, drawing you into him.

The heat of his body pressed against yours, his arm curling around your waist as he tucked you into his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Calming. And when his chin rested lightly against the top of your head, a broken breath escaped you.

You should pull away.

You should hate him for making you feel this, this way.

But all you felt was your chest easing as you sank against him, as the tension melted away and left only the steady rhythm of his breathing. 

And when he whispered, “I missed you,” voice so low it barely reached your ears, you didn’t stop the way your fingers curled into his shirt. 

You didn’t stop yourself from believing him.

Because, in that moment, you missed him too.

----------

The minutes passed in quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier with each heartbeat. His arms stayed wrapped around you, steady but never tightening, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as you both stayed like that, eating your breakfast.

And you hated how much you didn’t want it to end.

You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. He smelled the same as always, clean, warm, familiar. The scent that had once felt suffocating now felt like a strange kind of comfort.

It made you wonder when you’d stopped fearing his touch.

You shifted slightly, just enough that your head rested more fully against his back. His fingers brushed your waist, light but grounding, and you felt the subtle way he reacted to your closeness, his breath catching, his hold instinctively tightening just the slightest bit.

You should speak. You should break whatever spell this was.

But instead, your voice betrayed you.

“I missed you too.”

The words barely left your lips, so soft you thought he might not hear. But he did.

Jungkook stilled beneath you. Completely. As if those words had stolen the breath from his lungs.

You felt it when he exhaled, shaky but measured, his face pressing closer, lips just above your hair. His hand shifted from your waist, fingertips tracing along your spine in slow, careful circles, like he was trying to soothe you but couldn't quite stop himself from savoring the moment.

“Say it again,” he whispered. His voice was not demanding. Just... desperate.

You hesitated, teeth sinking into your lower lip. The walls you’d tried so hard to build felt paper-thin now. Crumbling. You couldn't let yourself lie.

“I missed you,” you repeated, voice quieter but steadier this time.

Jungkook made a sound, low, pained, almost like a sigh of relief, and then his lips pressed softly against your temple. Not forceful. Not possessive. Just... there. The kind of touch meant to soothe. To comfort.

But it left your skin burning.

His voice, rougher now, broke the quiet again. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You should have argued. You should have reminded him that taking you, locking you away, controlling every piece of your life, was hurting you.

But in this moment, with his warmth around you, with your body pressed against his, the words caught in your throat.

But because his voice sounded too real. Too genuine.

And you were so, so tired of fighting.

So instead of speaking, you let your fingers curl just slightly tighter against his chest.

And when he pressed another kiss, so soft, so reverent, to your forehead, you didn’t stop him.

You let it happen. You didn’t want him to stop.

His lips lingered against your forehead, warm and gentle. His breath fanned softly against your skin, but he stayed still, holding you in that delicate silence where neither of you spoke, both too caught in the weight of the moment.

You felt the tension low in your stomach, the heat of his body so close, too close. And yet you didn’t move. Didn’t stop the way his fingertips brushed along your waist, tracing lazy circles like he was memorizing the shape of you.

You hated how badly you wanted more.

The way he made you feel so seen, so painfully aware of every inch of your body pressed against his. The steady strength of his arms. The soft way he held you, careful but possessive, like you were something he couldn’t bear to lose again.

You exhaled shakily, your fingers curling tighter into his shirt as your heart pounded louder than the thoughts screaming in your mind.

Stop. Don’t do this.

But then his lips grazed your temple, slower this time, lingering longer. And when he whispered your name, just your name, like it meant everything, you felt your resolve slip further.

“I missed you, so fucking much,” he whispered again, voice rougher now, closer. “More than you could ever understand.”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you tilted your head just slightly, just enough for his lips to go lower, brushing the curve of your cheek. His breath caught, so did yours.

His hand flexed at your waist, fingertips pressing a fraction deeper, grounding you both in that unbearable closeness. You could feel his pulse beneath his skin, the steady rhythm matching your own, too fast, too desperate.

“I’m right here,” you whispered back, the words slipping free before you could stop them.

Jungkook’s breath deppend. And then his lips were closer, brushing the corner of your mouth, lingering in that unbearable space just shy of a kiss.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly.

The question shattered something inside you. The gentleness. After everything, after all the ways he had broken you down, he was asking.

You hated how much you wanted to say yes.

Your lips parted, trembling as you nodded once, the faintest movement. But it was enough.

Jungkook closed the space between you, his lips pressing against yours, soft but deliberate. The kiss wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rough. It was slow, careful, his mouth moving against yours like he was memorizing every second, savoring the way you let him in.

You melted against him, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Your hand slipped from his chest, fingers curling into his hair as the kiss deepened. His other hand slid up your back, pressing you closer, as if he needed to feel every inch of you. You hated how much you didn’t want it to end.

Jungkook’s lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm, shallow, as he searched your face. The tension was unbearable, the heat crackling in the air between you, electric and undeniable. His hand, still cradling your jaw, shifted, thumb pressing lightly at your chin, tilting your face just enough to keep you open for him.

This wasn’t soft anymore. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, he barely contained as he fought not to lose himself in you.

“You don’t hate me,” he whispered, voice rough now, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “Say it."

Your pulse pounded, your chest twisting, heat spreading low in your belly despite every voice in your mind telling you to stop. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

“I don’t hate you,” you whispered back.

And then he kissed you.

Harder this time. Deeper. His hand curled tighter around your waist, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left between you. The kiss was consuming, dizzying, his tongue parting your lips in a slow, deliberate slide that left you breathless.

You hated how much you wanted it.

The warmth of his body, the way his hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, spreading heat along your bare skin, it felt too good, too real. His other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back, deepening the kiss until your body melted against his completely.

“Look at you,” he whispered against your lips, voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re finally letting me in.”

You whimpered, torn between defiance and submission, but the way his body pressed into yours was relentless. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make your stomach twist with want. And you hated yourself for how badly you wanted for more.

“This is what you needed, wasn’t it?” His lips brushed along your jaw, “You needed me. You were always mine. And now... you're finally ready to admit it.”

“Jungkook,” you gasped, but it wasn’t a protest. Not anymore.

It was a plea.

He felt it. Heard it. And the darkness in his eyes only deepened.

“Say it.” His fingers trailed lower, dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, teasing, barely touching, but enough to have your breath catching. “Say you want this. Say you want me.”

Your body betrayed you completely, hips arching into his touch, heart slamming in your chest. Every trace of resistance felt like it was slipping through your fingers, lost in the haze of him.

You whispered it.

“I want you.”

The words broke something in him.

His mouth crashed against yours again, hungrier this time, his grip bruising as he pulled you closer, pressing you back into the sheets. His body covered yours, the heat of his skin searing against you as he moved, lips tracing your neck, hands exploring every inch of you like he had finally won.

Because he had.

Jungkook’s breath shuddered against your skin, his forehead pressed to yours, the heat between your bodies smoldering, thick with tension. His grip stayed gentle, but you could feel the way he trembled, the way he fought every instinct pressing him to lose control. His hand brushed along your waist, fingertips tracing so lightly you barely felt it, but it was enough to make you shiver.

The darkness in his eyes wasn’t anger. It wasn’t dominance. It was hunger, desperate, consuming, and yet so carefully restrained.

He was holding himself back.

You could see it in the way his jaw flexed, the way his breathing stuttered when your lips parted, so close to his, yet not quite touching. His thumb along your cheek, as if memorizing the shape of you, as if this wasn’t enough, could never be enough.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice rough, thick with need. 

You didn’t answer with words. Your body spoke for you, arching just slightly, leaning into him instead of away. Your skin burning beneath the whisper of his touch. And he saw it. He felt it.

He kissed you again. His hand slid up, cupping your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, to taste you the way he’d been holding back from for far too long.

A soft, helpless sound escaped you, muffled against his mouth. And that sound undid him.

“You’re perfect,” he rasped, voice breaking as his lips grazed the sensitive spot below your ear. “You feel perfect.”

You gasped as his teeth caught gently, nipping just enough to make your pulse spike. And still, he was holding back. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the way his hands trembled as they mapped the curve of your waist, the dip of your stomach.

But then his hand brushed lower.

And you froze.

He felt it instantly, the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched, not in pleasure, but fear.

Jungkook pulled back, his face hovering inches from yours, brows furrowed with concern as his gaze searched yours. His voice was softer now, careful. “Baby... what’s wrong? Did I-?”

You shook your head quickly, shame burning your cheeks. “I...” The words caught, and you swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “It's just been a while since….”

Silence.

The tension shifted. But it wasn’t the kind you expected. Jungkook didn’t pull away. He didn’t look frustrated or disappointed. If anything, his gaze darkened, softer, but more intense, his thumb stroked along your cheek, reverent.

For a heartbeat, he was silent. Then he exhaled slowly, like he was grounding himself, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips brushed yours, gentle this time, coaxing. “I’ll be gentle. I’ll take care of you. Just... let me.”

You nodded, but your pulse hammered so hard you thought he could feel it where his chest pressed against yours.

Jungkook’s touch shifted, his lips returning to your throat, his hands sliding lower, exploring. Slow. Unhurried. He kissed his way down your collarbone, lingering, tasting, savoring every inch of skin he could reach. His hands explored your sides, your waist, the curve of your hips, never pushing, never rushing, just admiring.

When his fingers brushed between your thighs, you gasped, body arching instinctively, and he froze again, watching your reaction with careful, deliberate patience.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, pressing a kiss just below your navel, waiting for your answer.

You nodded, breathless, the heat blooming under his touch so consuming you could barely think.

“Words, baby,” he murmured, his lips trailing lower, his voice huskier now. 

You swallowed, voice trembling. “Yes. Please... don’t stop.”

His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and restraint. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, grounding himself as he fought to maintain control.

His grip trembled slightly as his hand brushed beneath the hem of your shirt.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His fingertips grazed the fabric, waiting. Giving you a chance to pull away. “Let me see you... please.”

You swallowed hard, heat blooming low in your stomach. The feeling was unbearable, spreading through you in a way that felt both terrifying and... so painfully good. Your hands curling into the sheets beneath you, heart pounding as he slowly began to lift your shirt.

Your body tensed. The vulnerability of it all, the way his dark eyes stayed fixed on yours, not even glancing lower yet, made your throat tighten.

“Jungkook...” your voice was barely a whisper, shaky and unsure.

A groan rumbled low in his chest. The shirt slipped higher. Over your ribs. Up to your collarbone. His gaze never faltered, never dropped, holding yours like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered.

You exhaled shakily, nodding, and with careful patience, he peeled the fabric over your head, letting it fall forgotten beside you. His eyes finally dipped lower, trailing over your bare skin, his lips parting just slightly like the sight had stolen the breath from his lungs.

“God, you're perfect.”

A flush burned beneath your skin, heat creeping all the way to your ears. Your hands instinctively moved to cover yourself, but Jungkook caught your wrists gently, stopping you before you could hide.

“Don’t,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Please, don’t hide from me.”

His lips returned to your neck, pressing soft kisses along the delicate line of your throat, trailing lower as he shifted down the bed, his mouth exploring every inch of skin he bared. Slow. Reverent. His touch ignited something deeper.

When his hands found the waistband of your shorts, you stiffened again. His thumbs traced slow circles at your hips, and when he finally met your eyes again, his expression wasn’t demanding. It was patient. Tender.

“I want to make you feel good,” he murmured, voice raspier now. “Will you let me?”

You nodded, chest heaving as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, inching it lower, pressing soft kisses to your stomach as he guided them off your legs. Your underwear followed, and you barely had time to process the sheer vulnerability of being so bare before he spread your thighs gently, pressing his palm to the inside of your knee, urging you open.

You tensed instinctively, thighs trying to close, but his grip was steady.

“Shhh,” he soothed, voice soft. “Let me take care of you, baby. Just relax.”

Your pulse hammered, the vulnerability making you feel lightheaded, dizzy, but the way his eyes darkened as he stared at you, like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched, made it impossible to pull away.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh first, lingering there, lips soft and patient, before trailing higher. Your breath caught, your body trembling beneath his touch as his mouth moved closer.

“You’re so sensitive,” he whispered, voice thick, his breath fanning against your bare skin, making you shiver. “So perfect.”

And when his tongue finally pressed against your core, soft but deliberate, you shattered.

A gasp broke from your lips, your back arching as the sensation flooded through you, overwhelming and unbearable all at once. Your hands flew to his hair, unsure whether you wanted to pull him closer or push him away, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t hesitate.

He held you steady, his hands gripping your thighs gently, keeping you open for him as he worked you apart with slow, torturous strokes of his tongue, learning your body, savoring every reaction.

“That’s it,” he murmured between kisses. “Let me hear you, baby.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. The pleasure was too much, too consuming, and when his fingers joined, circling you in perfect rhythm, your entire body jolted beneath him, your thighs trembling against his shoulders.

“Jungkook” Your voice broke.

His response was a groan, the vibration against you making your stomach tighter, the pressure building unbearably fast. His hand slid higher, pressing gently against your stomach as if to hold you still, to keep you grounded as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Princess,” he whispered against you, his tongue circling that sensitive spot again, sending you spiraling. “Let me feel you come for me.”

And when you did, when your body finally gave in with a cry, shattering completely beneath him, he didn’t stop. He kept pressing soft kisses along your trembling thighs, easing you through the waves of pleasure until you were boneless beneath him, breathless.

Only then did he rise, his lips brushing yours, tasting you as he whispered softly.

“That’s my girl. You’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

He hovered above you, his body warm, solid, grounding you as you shook beneath him. His lips brushed along your jaw, slow and tender, whispering soft reassurances against your skin. “Shh I've got you, I’ve got you, baby.” he murmured, his voice a gentle hum, low and comforting. 

“Breathe, baby,” he coaxed, lips brushing your ear as he trailed his thumb along your trembling thigh. 

His hand slid lower, caressing the curve of your waist, your hips, his touch gentle. You felt the heat of him pressing against your entrance, the slow, insistent nudge that made you tense instinctively

He moved with infinite care, easing just the tip of himself inside you. Your body resisted, stretching around him in a way that made you gasp, your grip tightening on his arms.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with restraint, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, you’re doing so well for me.”

His hand dipped between your thighs then, circling that aching bundle of nerves with slow, deliberate motions, coaxing your body to relax, to surrender to the pleasure he was giving you. The tension ebbed, replaced by a deeper warmth, a slow ache that wasn’t pain but something else entirely.

“That’s it,” he praised softly, pressing just a little deeper, the fullness making you whimper. “You’re taking me so perfectly.”

His lips finding yours again in a kiss both sweet and desperate. “You feel so perfect,” he groaned, pressing deeper, stretching you inch by inch, the sensation so overwhelming yet so right.

“Almost there, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with praise, his fingers still working you in time with his slow thrusts.

And when he was finally fully inside you, when your body clenched around him in a way that made his breath catch, he stilled, his forehead pressed to yours, whispering, “You did it. You’re mine now, baby. All mine. So perfect… so beautiful.”

“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his hips barely rocking forward, just enough for you to feel the movement, the way he filled you completely. “Tell me how it feels,” he coaxed. 

“It… feels good,” you whispered, breath hitching as he pressed just a little deeper, his body moving in perfect rhythm with his hand. 

A soft, trembling moan spilled from your lips, shaky and unrestrained.

“I know, baby,” he cooed, his breath warm against your ear. “I know it’s big, baby. But you can take it, can't you?”

The pleasure swelled higher, overtaking everything else as his hips moved more fluidly, his thumb pressing just a little harder, matching the steady rhythm of his thrusts. The tension inside you coiled tighter, unbearable, and the way he watched you, like he was unraveling right along with you, was enough to send you spiraling.

“Jungkook” Your voice broke on a whimper, your body arching into his touch, trembling as the heat burst inside you, shattering everything.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, his voice thick as he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering as he buried himself deeper, holding you so close, so completely his. 

He felt you tighten around him, your muscles clenching instinctively. You whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders, and he kissed your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbone, soft and coaxing. “Such a good girl, taking me so well.”whispered, his tone laced with that condescending pout. 

His grip on your hips tightened just enough to hold you steady, his chest pressing flush against yours as he filled you completely, stretching you inch by inch. The burn of it was sharp, overwhelming, but he didn’t let you retreat. He kissed the corner of your mouth, his voice a low, soothing whisper against your lips.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay… I know it’s a lot,” he cooed, his breath warm as his lips trailed down your neck. 

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body clenched around him, the ache mingling with unbearable pleasure. He paused, barely moving, giving you time to adjust, but not without teasing. 

“Feel that, princess?” His voice was dark against your ear, praise dripping from every word. “Feel how deep I am? Stretching you open, taking me so perfectly. My good girl.”

Your walls fluttered around him at the praise, the fullness making you pulse with unbearable need. His hips shifted, deeper, faster, and the pressure made your breath stutter, a broken gasp leaving your lips.

“That’s it,” he groaned, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So tight- so fucking perfect for me..”

His fingers traced down your trembling body, circling lower. Teasing. Testing. Then pressing exactly where you needed him, a firm, slow stroke against your swollen clit. Your body jolted, hips bucking into his hand.

“Just like that,” he praised. “I want you to fall apart for me, princess.” His pace fast as he thrust deeper, harder, but still painfully controlled.

A strangled moan slipped from your lips, head tipping back against the pillows. Every inch, every pulse of his body against yours sent you spiraling closer.

"Say my name," he growled, voice thick with need, the demand pressing into your skin as his hips rolled deeper, dragging a gasp from your lips. 

“J-Jungkook-”

And with one final, punishing thrust, he pushed you over the edge. Your body clenched tight around him as the pleasure hit.

His body stayed flush against yours, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as he buried himself completely inside you, holding you there, so deep, so full it made you whimper softly. His lips brushed along your temple, soothing yet possessive as he whispered, "Shh, baby... just stay like this for me."

His hand slid up your waist, fingers splayed wide, anchoring you beneath him as he kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and lingering. You clenched involuntarily around him.

He stayed buried inside you, stretching, filling, refusing to move. He stayed there, buried deep inside you, keeping you close

“You okay, baby?” He asked softly, a tenderness lingering in the words, but there was something deeper, almost hesitant, like he was holding something back.

You nodded, though your body felt heavy, boneless beneath him. He saw it, the tension behind your eyes, the worry you couldn’t quite voice.

He lingered inside you a beat longer, his hands cradling your waist, before he slowly, carefully eased out. You whimpered at the loss, body clenching around the emptiness, and he kissed your forehead as if to soothe the throb he’d left behind.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he whispered, slipping from the bed. His absence felt colder than it should have, and when he returned, the damp cloth in his hand, his expression was quiet, too quiet.

He cleaned you with such care, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, but his eyes lingered longer than usual, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

After he finished cleaning you up, he helped you into a fresh pair of clothes, carefully smoothing the fabric over your skin as if tending to something fragile. His own shirt hung loosely on his frame, his hair falling into his eyes as he pulled you close. His warmth surrounded you, steady, grounding. His hand traced those soothing circles along your back, lips grazing your hairline.

“I’ll take care of you… always,” he whispered, the words a vow more than reassurance.

Minutes passed, the quiet stretching comfortably between you, until your voice broke it, hesitant but firm.

“Jungkook… I need the morning-after pill.”

His breath hitched, barely noticeable, but you felt it. His hand paused, resting lightly against your hip as he exhaled, steadying himself.

“Of course, baby,” he murmured, voice soft but tighter than before, laced with something heavier. He kissed the crown of your head, holding you so close it almost hurt. “We’ll take care of it first thing, I promise.”

But when his lips pressed to your forehead again, lingering this time, you felt it. You knew he wanted something different. Something he knew you weren’t ready for yet.

----------

Late afternoon. Outside, the city moved on without you, cars honking, people living, oblivious to the silence pressing against your chest.

In here, the world was still. Controlled.

Jungkook sat across the room, seated on the edge of the grand sectional, reading through paperwork like it was any other day. Like you weren’t trapped here, your life rewritten by his hands.

But the pressure was unbearable now, pressing so tightly against your ribs it hurt.

He had stolen your freedom, hidden you from the world, branded you as his. You were supposed to despise him. Fear him. And yet... you couldn’t untangle the warmth from the pain anymore.

The sweater wrapped around your body, the one keeping you warm, smelled like him. The meals he cooked, the gifts he brought you, the way he was always there, hovering silently as if his presence alone could make up for the control, it made everything so confusing.

You hated him? You couldn’t stop craving him.

“Jungkook.”

His head snapped up instantly, the dark, unreadable gaze locking onto yours as if the mere sound of his name was all it took to demand his attention.

“Yes, Princess?”

The endearment made your throat tighten. It felt real when he said it. Like you were his world. But you weren’t his world, you were his prisoner.

And yet...

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding in your ears.

“I need to talk to you. Please.”

The papers fell forgotten. He was up instantly, crossing the space between you with that silent, predatory grace. Close but not touching. His presence was too much. Always too much.

“I’m listening.”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes. He couldn’t intimidate you into silence this time.

“I don’t want to live like this.”

Silence.

The tension in his face shifted just slightly, the smallest crack in that perfect, controlled mask. His lips parted, but no words came.

You continued.

“I know you care about me. I know you love me too much to let me go freely. But, Jungkook, I feel trapped. You control everything. My clothes. My food. My freedom. I miss some parts of my life. My classes. My friends. My family.”

His brows furrowed. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if forcing back words.

You took a breath.

“I can’t be yours if it means losing everything else. I can’t be your precious pearl if I’m just something you keep hidden away.”

His jaw clenched, hands flexing at his sides as he turned away, pacing toward the window.

The reflection in the glass made him look even colder. Detached.

But you saw through it.

“You think I’ve taken your life away from you,” he said, voice tight.

“No- well yes,” you whispered, throat closing. “You have.”

The quiet was deafening. His back remained to you, shoulders tense, head bowed slightly as if weighing every word.

Then, so quietly you almost missed it.

“I had to protect you.”

The words sliced through the tension, rough, pained.

He exhaled, voice lower now.

“You were putting yourself in danger every night. Dancing for strangers. Letting men stare at you. Touch you. They didn’t deserve to see you like that.”

You stiffened. “It wasn’t like that-”

“Yes. It was.”

He turned then, eyes darker, filled with something too complicated to name.

“I watched. I saw the way they looked at you. They were never satisfied just watching. They wanted to consume you. Tear you apart. You would’ve let them if it wasn't for me!”

You flinched.

His voice dropped. “I couldn’t stand it. Seeing you let yourself be treated like you were nothing when you-” His voice broke, the rawness seeping through his control. “You’re everything. And you didn’t even see it.”

The anger drained from his face, replaced by something worse.

Vulnerability.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, chest tight.

He shook his head, turning back toward the window, his reflection fractured in the glass.

“I couldn’t lose you,” he rasped, voice broken now. “Because no one else ever stayed.”

The truth in his voice left you breathless.

You thought of the wealth he came from. The cold, distant parents. The hollow loneliness that shaped him long before you.

You finally understood.

Your hand brushed his sleeve.

“You don’t have to keep me like this,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I’m not leaving you. But you have to let me have some part of myself back. Let me go back to school. Let me see my family.”

His head shook instantly, jaw tightening. “No. I made sure of it. The world... they think you’re gone.”

“But you can undo it.”

He froze.

You forced yourself to keep speaking. “You have power. You could make this disappear. Make them stop looking for me. I can live again, and I’ll...”

You hesitated, voice shaking.

“I’ll stay. Willingly.”

His eyes snapped to yours, searching, desperate.

“Willingly?”

You held his gaze, pulse unsteady, then gave a slow nod.

“I won’t leave you. I just... I can’t stay if you keep me like this. I need to feel like myself again.”

For a long, painful heartbeat, he said nothing.

And then his hand cupped your cheek. Tender. Devastating.

His thumb brushed your cheek. His lips parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

And then, brokenly,

“I can give you that. If it means you’ll stay with me... love me. I’ll undo some things. School. Your family. The reports. I can... I can make it all disappear.”

His forehead rested against yours. His voice barely a whisper.

“Just don’t leave me.”

And the worst part?

You whispered back.

“I won’t. I promise.”

But the tightness in your chest whispered the truth you weren’t ready to admit.

You were falling for him.

----------

A year had passed.

The world outside shifted, seasons blending into each other. The penthouse no longer felt like a cage. Not when you stayed every night by choice.

You stood now in front of the floor-length mirror, adjusting the delicate pearl necklace Jungkook had fastened around your neck just an hour earlier. His pearl. His perfect, untouchable treasure. But it didn’t feel like possession anymore. Not in the way it once had.

Not after everything you’d both endured.

Your gaze lifted, meeting his reflection across the room. He stood near the windows, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored black suit, the city a blur of lights behind him. The sharp cut of his suit only emphasized the strength he carried so effortlessly, but his face was different now, softer, less guarded. 

Yet even with that quiet vulnerability, the way he looked at you, like you were something delicate, precious, hadn’t changed. His gaze followed every detail of you, lingering where the fabric of your dress hugged your waist, heat in his eyes, reverence in his stillness.

You still felt it. That ache. Not the old ache, the pain of being trapped. This was something deeper, heavier. An ache you couldn’t explain, except it felt like trust.

Like love.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, closing the space between you, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed a kiss just beneath your ear. His hands slid to your waist, steady, grounding you against his chest. "You're going to make me lose my mind tonight."

A smile tugged at your lips despite the flutter in your chest. "You say that every time we go out."

"And every time, it’s true."

The feeling inside dulled, replaced by something warmer. Something you hadn't fought in a long time.

Jungkook had changed. Slowly. Carefully. The control was still there, woven into the very fabric of who he was, but not like before. No more locked doors. No more isolation disguised as protection.

You were finishing your final year of university now. Just weeks away from graduation. And he had kept his promise, your name cleared, your life restored, the whispers of your disappearance carefully erased like they had never existed.

And tonight, you were late for dinner with his mother.

The thought made your stomach twist. He felt it immediately, he always did.

“Hey.” His hands shifted to cup your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones. “You’re overthinking again.”

You swallowed hard. “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She thinks I’m... I don’t know. A distraction. Or a gold digger or something.” You exhaled shakily. 

Something flickered in his eyes at that, pain, just barely contained. His fingers tightened, but when he spoke, his voice was gentle.

“She doesn’t know us. Of you.”

Your heart pounded as you nodded, leaning into his touch. His lips found yours, slow and deliberate, a kiss meant to soothe, to reassure. When he pulled back, it wasn’t enough. You were too close. You needed him close.

But he smiled, a hint of mischief softening the intensity in his eyes. “We’re already late. But first.” His hand slipped into his pocket, retrieving a sleek black envelope with a silver wax seal. “I have something for you.”

Confused, you blinked. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

You carefully broke the seal, heart thudding as you unfolded the thick paper. The header was instantly familiar. Jeon Industries. But lower, Co-Chief Executive Officer. Official Offer of Partnership.

Your breath caught.

“Kook...”

His lips twitched, almost shy, a rare sight. “You’re graduating soon. You’ve worked so hard. And I…” His voice dropped, softer, vulnerable. “I want you with me. Not just here. But at my side. As my equal.”

You stared at the offer, words blurring as the weight of what he was offering sank in. Co-Chief Executive Officer. Power. Trust.

It wasn’t control.

It was faith.

“I- I don’t know what to say.” Your voice trembled, the words too small for what this meant. For how far you’d come together.

“Say you’ll think about it.” His thumb brushed your lower lip, gentle but possessive in that way he still couldn’t quite shake. “Say you’ll stay. With me. Always.”

Emotion swelled in your chest, and this time, you didn’t fight it. You reached for him, pressing your lips to his with a fierceness that startled even you, hands curling into the lapels of his jacket, needing him closer.

When you finally broke apart, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“Forever,” you whispered.

His lips curved, but it wasn’t playful this time. It was raw. Honest.

“Good. Because I was planning to keep you anyway.”

A laugh bubbled up, light, genuine, effortless. This is us now. Complicated. Imperfect. But whole.

He kissed your forehead once more before straightening, smoothing his tie as he murmured, “Now, let’s go. We’re already late, and my mom... she’s terrifying when she’s waiting.”

You rolled your eyes but let him lead you toward the door, his hand laced with yours, grounding. Reassuring.

This was your life now. A life you had chosen. A life where both of you were still healing, still learning, but together.

And neither of you was going anywhere.

----------

The pearl rested against your collarbone, cool, delicate.

A perfect thing. Untouched. Just like he wanted you to be.

But pearls weren’t born perfect. They were born from wounds.

A grain of sand, sharp, intrusive, buried so deep in the flesh it festered, twisted, until the ache became something beautiful.

"Love me. Stay with me. Try to love me."

You had said yes.

Not because he held you too tightly. Not because he asked.

But because, somehow, the ache had become him. Embedded too deep. Impossible to remove without breaking you open entirely. 

Not trapped. 

Not broken. 

Shaped into. 

His pearl.

[midnightsunsfan]

Hank McCoy x Reader

Warning: Smut! Transforming mid sex, P in V, Bondage, Virginity loss, Hank slightly hurting himself, A tadddd agression. (let me know if i missed anything)

Summary: You and Hank have always been close to having sex, but he’s always stopped you. He explained to you the first time he stopped you was that he was scared of harming you because he thinks he’ll transform while doing it. You tried to reassure him that you would be perfectly fine, but he refused. Now, he’s randomly told you something that shocks you a bit.

“I’m ready to have sex with you,” Hank says in his human form. He was staring at you from at least 3 feet away.

You both were in the lab. You were currently putting some papers back in a drawer, and Hank walked in.

You stared at him in disbelief. The papers still in your hand while you were frozen. You and Hank had been dating for 5 months, but you’ve never had sex.

You obviously understood and respected his decision. It was obvious he was scared of having sex for the first time too. You told him you didn’t think he would transform during it, but he had told you he’s accidentally transformed ever time he’s masturbated because of how overstimulated he was.

“On one condition.” He continued. You continued to blankly stare at him. “You have to cuff me to the bed.”

You were even more shocked after hearing that part. You stood there for a moment and finally placed the paper in there designed drawer.

“Uhm, Hank, are you sure?” You asked him, closing the drawer and stepping closer to him. He nodded in response.

“Yes,” He clenched his jaw nervously. “If-If youre okay with it, i want to be chained up so i wont be able to do anything to hurt you.” He added.

You chuckled a little at his response. “Okay. And when exactly are you planning to make this happen?”

“Now.” Your eyebrows raised at his answer. “Now?” You asked. He nodded again. “I-I designed restraints myself so it would be strong enough to hold me down if i transform.”

You look at him in surprise. “Alright.”

Now, you were currently on top of a half-naked human Hank. You both were only in your underwear and you were chaining his wrists to your bed frame.

“You locked the door?” You asked. “Yes.” You looked down at him after chaining his hands and smiled. “You look cute like this.”

He blushed at your comment and bit his lip. You turned around, your ass near Hanks face. Hank gulped nervously as you chained his legs to the end of the bed.

“Please, let me know if i hurt you.” You chuckle as you turn back around. “I highly doubt you’ll hurt me chained up like this.” you joke.

Hank clenches his jaw when you unclasp your bra. “You can always back out if you want.” You say, slipping your bra off.

Hanks face turns beat red when he sees your upper half completely naked on top of him. He shakes his head no and you feel the bulge in his boxers get bigger.

You smile down at him and place a loving kiss on his lips. “Okay.” You start grinding down on his bulge, placing your palms on his chest.

“D-Don’t tease me, please.” He exhales. You chuckle at yourself. You got Hank all riled up like this, and you felt pretty proud.

You climb down so that your face was a few inches away from Hank’s bulge. You slip your fingers under the hem of the boxers and pull them down. Not completely, but just enough so that his member pops out.

His dick did in fact pop out and hit his lower abdomen. Your mouth slightly opens a little, surprised at his large size. He stared embarrassingly down at you.

“Are you big because of your mutant power?” You ask, climbing back up at him. He shakes his head. “No, it’s..it’s natural.” He adds

You chuckle a little and place your hands on your hips, teasingly rolling down your underwear and throwing it across the room.

Hank’s dick practically jumps and he clenches his jaw again. “You ready?” You ask, looking up at him. He nods. You look back down and place the tip of his cock at your entrance.

You both let out a breathy exhale as you slip him inside. “Oh god..” You mumble. “Are you okay?” Hank quickly asks. You smile down at him and give him a slow kiss. “Of course.”

You slowly start sliding up and down on him. “Fuck.” You let out. Hank lets out breathy exhales everytime you go down. “Y/N..” He slightly moans.

“You feel so amazing.” He adds on. You start sliding up and down faster with more friction. Hank starts following your lead and grinds up everytime you go down.

“Hank.” You moan out. Hank bites his lip harshly when you start going faster. “W-Wait.” He groans out. You start going faster and that’s when you see his hair slightly turning blue.

“Y/N i-i can’t!” He moans out. You just start going faster. You start feeling his dick getting bigger and bigger. You also see Hank start getting blue.

“Oh god!” You moan, not stopping as his dick gets unbelievably big. You look up at Hank and see that he’s completely transformed.

He bears his teeth at you and growls. Hank breaks off the restraints on his wrists and wraps his arm around your waist.

“Wai- Hank!-“ You moan as he pushes you down on his cock. “I’m sorry.” He says lifting you back up and slamming you down again.

You moan loudly, grabbing onto his hair and curling your toes. “Wait!” you scream out. “I-I can’t.” he says, pounding into you aggressively.

You both are now moaning each others names and you feel yourself getting close. He feels it too. You grip tightly onto him and he claws at his own hands, pressing you down deeply onto his cock.

He cums inside of you and you start cumming to. He pushes you down onto him and he presses his chin into your shoulder with his eyes squeezed shut.

Your mouth is open, but there’s only tiny moans coming out as you feel him empty his guts into you. And god, it was a lot.

You both hold onto each other for awhile, catching your breathes. “Oh god, I-I’m so sorry.” He says letting go of you so he could face you.

You chuckle and exhale. “It’s okay, you didn’t hurt me.” You reassure him. He looks down at his ankles and breaks off the restraints. “I need to make better restraints..”

[batboyblog]

Things Biden and the Democrats did, this week #19

May 17-24 2024

President Biden wiped out the student loan debt of 160,000 more Americans. This debt cancellation of 7.7 billion dollars brings the total student loan debt relieved by the Biden Administration to $167 billion. The Administration has canceled student loan debt for 4.75 million Americans so far. The 160,000 borrowers forgiven this week owned an average of $35,000 each and are now debt free. The Administration announced plans last month to bring debt forgiveness to 30 million Americans with student loans coming this fall.

The Department of Justice announced it is suing Ticketmaster for being a monopoly. DoJ is suing Ticketmaster and its parent company Live Nation for monopolistic practices. Ticketmaster controls 70% of the live show ticket market leading to skyrocketing prices, hidden fees and last minute cancellation. The Justice Department is seeking to break up Live Nation and help bring competition back into the market. This is one of a number of monopoly law suits brought by the Biden administration against Apple in March and Amazon in September 2023.

The EPA announced $225 million in new funding to improve drinking and wastewater for tribal communities. The money will go to tribes in the mainland US as well as Alaska Native Villages. It'll help with testing for forever chemicals, and replacing of lead pipes as well as sustainability projects.

The EPA announced $300 million in grants to clean up former industrial sites. Known as "Brownfield" sites these former industrial sites are to be cleaned and redeveloped into community assets. The money will fund 200 projects across 178 communities. One such project will transform a former oil station in Philadelphia’s Kingsessing neighborhood, currently polluted with lead and other toxins into a waterfront bike trail.

The Department of Agriculture announced a historic expansion of its program to feed low income kids over the summer holidays. Since the 1960s the SUN Meals have served in person meals at schools and community centers during the summer holidays to low income children. This Year the Biden administration is rolling out SUN Bucks, a $120 per child grocery benefit. This benefit has been rejected by many Republican governors but in the states that will take part 21 million kids will benefit. Last year the Biden administration introduced SUN Meals To-Go, offering pick-up and delivery options expanding SUN's reach into rural communities. These expansions are part of the Biden administration's plan to end hunger and reduce diet-related disease by 2030.

Vice-President Harris builds on her work in Africa to announce a plan to give 80% of Africa internet access by 2030, up from just 40% today. This push builds off efforts Harris has spearheaded since her trip to Africa in 2023, including $7 billion in climate adaptation, resilience, and mitigation, and $1 billion to empower women. The public-private partnership between the African Development Bank Group and Mastercard plans to bring internet access to 3 million farmers in Kenya, Tanzania, and Nigeria, before expanding to Uganda, Ethiopia, and Ghana, and then the rest of the continent, bring internet to 100 million people and businesses over the next 10 years. This is together with the work of Partnership for Digital Access in Africa which is hoping to bring internet access to 80% of Africans by 2030, up from 40% now, and just 30% of women on the continent. The Vice-President also announced $1 billion for the Women in the Digital Economy Fund to assure women in Africa have meaningful access to the internet and its economic opportunities.

The Senate approved Seth Aframe to be a Judge on the US Court of Appeals for the First Circuit, it also approved Krissa Lanham, and Angela Martinez to district Judgeships in Arizona, as well as Dena Coggins to a district court seat in California. Bring the total number of judges appointed by President Biden to 201. Biden's Judges have been historically diverse. 64% of them are women and 62% of them are people of color. President Biden has appointed more black women to federal judgeships, more Hispanic judges and more Asian American judges and more LGBT judges than any other President, including Obama's full 8 years in office. President Biden has also focused on backgrounds appointing a record breaking number of former public defenders to judgeships, as well as labor and civil rights lawyers.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Podcasting “Capitalists Hate Capitalism”

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

This week on my podcast, I read "Capitalists Hate Capitalism," my latest column for Locus Magazine:

https://locusmag.com/2024/03/cory-doctorow-capitalists-hate-capitalism/

What do I mean by "capitalists hate capitalism?" It all comes down to the difference between "profits" and "rents." A capitalist takes capital (money, or the things you can buy with it) and combines it with employees' labor, and generates profits (the capitalist's share) and wages (the workers' share).

Rents, meanwhile, come from owning an asset that capitalists need to generate profits. For example, a landlord who rents a storefront to a coffee shop extracts rent from the capitalist who owns the coffee shop. Meanwhile, the capitalist who owns the cafe extracts profits from the baristas' labor.

Capitalists' founding philosophers like Adam Smith hated rents. Worse: rents were the most important source of income at the time of capitalism's founding. Feudal lords owned great swathes of land, and there were armies of serfs who were bound to that land – it was illegal for them to leave it. The serfs owed rent to lords, and so they worked the land in order grow crops and raise livestock that they handed over the to lord as rent for the land they weren't allowed to leave.

Capitalists, meanwhile, wanted to turn that land into grazing territory for sheep as a source of wool for the "dark, Satanic mills" of the industrial revolution. They wanted the serfs to be kicked off their land so that they would become "free labor" that could be hired to work in those factories.

For the founders of capitalism, a "free market" wasn't free from regulation, it was free from rents, and "free labor" came from workers who were free to leave the estates where they were born – but also free to starve unless they took a job with the capitalists.

For capitalism's philosophers, free markets and free labor weren't just a source of profits, they were also a source of virtue. Capitalists – unlike lords – had to worry about competition from one another. They had to make better goods at lower prices, lest their customers take their business elsewhere; and they had to offer higher pay and better conditions, lest their "free labor" take a job elsewhere.

This means that capitalists are haunted by the fear of losing everything, and that fear acts as a goad, driving them to find ways to make everything better for everyone: better, cheaper products that benefit shoppers; and better-paid, safer jobs that benefit workers. For Smith, capitalism is alchemy, a philosopher's stone that transforms the base metal of greed into the gold of public spiritedness.

By contrast, rentiers are insulated from competition. Their workers are bound to the land, and must toil to pay the rent no matter whether they are treated well or abused. The rent rolls in reliably, without the lord having to invest in new, better ways to bring in the harvest. It's a good life (for the lord).

Think of that coffee-shop again: if a better cafe opens across the street, the owner can lose it all, as their customers and workers switch allegiance. But for the landlord, the failure of his capitalist tenant is a feature, not a bug. Once the cafe goes bust, the landlord gets a newly vacant storefront on the same block as the hot new coffee shop that can be rented out at even higher rates to another capitalist who tries his luck.

The industrial revolution wasn't just the triumph of automation over craft processes, nor the triumph of factory owners over weavers. It was also the triumph of profits over rents. The transformation of hereditary estates worked by serfs into part of the supply chain for textile mills was attended by – and contributed to – the political ascendancy of capitalists over rentiers.

Now, obviously, capitalism didn't end rents – just as feudalism didn't require the total absence of profits. Under feudalism, capitalists still extracted profits from capital and labor; and under capitalism, rentiers still extracted rents from assets that capitalists and workers paid them to use.

The difference comes in the way that conflicts between profits and rents were resolved. Feudalism is a system where rents triumph over profits, and capitalism is a system where profits triumph over rents.

It's conflict that tells you what really matters. You love your family, but they drive you crazy. If you side with your family over your friends – even when your friends might be right and your family's probably wrong – then you value your family more than your friends. That doesn't mean you don't value your friends – it means that you value them less than your family.

Conflict is a reliable way to know whether or not you're a leftist. As Steven Brust says, the way to distinguish a leftist is to ask "What's more important, human rights, or property rights?" If you answer "Property rights are human right," you're not a leftist. Leftists don't necessarily oppose all property rights – they just think they're less important than human rights.

Think of conflicts between property rights and human rights: the grocer who deliberately renders leftover food inedible before putting it in the dumpster to ensure that hungry people can't eat it, or the landlord who keeps an apartment empty while a homeless person freezes to death on its doorstep. You don't have to say "No one can own food or a home" to say, "in these cases, property rights are interfering with human rights, so they should be overridden." For leftists property rights can be a means to human rights (like revolutionary land reformers who give peasants title to the lands they work), but where property rights interfere with human rights, they are set aside.

In his 2023 book Technofeudalism, Yanis Varoufakis claims that capitalism has given way to a new feudalism – that capitalism was a transitional phase between feudalism…and feudalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

Varoufakis's point isn't that capitalists have gone extinct. Rather, it's that today, conflicts between capital and assets – between rents and profits – reliably end with a victory of rent over profit.

Think of Amazon: the "everything store" appears to be a vast bazaar, a flea-market whose stalls are all operated by independent capitalists who decide what to sell, how to price it, and then compete to tempt shoppers. In reality, though, the whole system is owned by a single feudalist, who extracts 51% from every dollar those merchants take in, and decides who can sell, and what they can sell, and at what price, and whether anyone can even see it:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/01/managerial-discretion/#junk-fees

Or consider the patent trolls of the Eastern District of Texas. These "companies" are invisible and produce nothing. They consist solely of a serviced mailbox in a dusty, uninhabited office-building, and an overbroad patent (say, a patent on "tapping on a screen with your finger") issued by the US Patent and Trademark Office. These companies extract hundreds of millions of dollars from Apple, Google, Samsung for violating these patents. In other words, the government steps in and takes vast profits generated through productive activity by companies that make phones, and turns that money over as rent paid to unproductive companies whose sole "product" is lawsuits. It's the triumph of rent over profit.

Capitalists hate capitalism. All capitalists would rather extract rents than profits, because rents are insulated from competition. The merchants who sell on Jeff Bezos's Amazon (or open a cafe in a landlord's storefront, or license a foolish smartphone patent) bear all the risk. The landlords – of Amazon, the storefront, or the patent – get paid whether or not that risk pays off.

This is why Google, Apple and Samsung also have vast digital estates that they rent out to capitalists – everything from app stores to patent portfolios. They would much rather be in the business of renting things out to capitalists than competing with capitalists.

Hence that famous Adam Smith quote: "People of the same trade seldom meet together, even for merriment and diversion, but the conversation ends in a conspiracy against the public, or in some contrivance to raise prices." This is literally what Google and Meta do:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

And it's what Apple and Google do:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/10/27/23934961/google-antitrust-trial-defaults-search-deal-26-3-billion

Why compete with one another when you can collude, like feudal lords with adjacent estates who trust one another to return any serf they catch trying to sneak away in the dead of night?

Because of course, it's not just "free markets" that have been captured by rents ("Competition is for losers" -P. Thiel) – it's also "free labor." For years, the largest tech and entertainment companies in America illegally colluded on a "no poach" agreement not to hire one-anothers' employees:

https://techcrunch.com/2015/09/03/apple-google-other-silicon-valley-tech-giants-ordered-to-pay-415m-in-no-poaching-suit/

These companies were bitter competitors – as were these sectors. Even as Big Content was lobbying for farcical copyright law expansions and vowing to capture Big Tech, all these companies on both sides were able to set aside their differences and collude to bind their free workers to their estates and end the "wasteful competition" to secure their labor.

Of course, this is even more pronounced at the bottom of the labor market, where noncompete "agreements" are the norm. The median American worker bound by a noncompete is a fast-food worker whose employer can wield the power of the state to prevent that worker from leaving behind the Wendy's cash-register to make $0.25/hour more at the McDonald's fry trap across the street:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#neofeudal

Employers defend this as necessary to secure their investment in training their workers and to ensure the integrity of their trade secrets. But why should their investments be protected? Capitalism is about risk, and the fear that accompanies risk – fear that drives capitalists to innovate, which creates the public benefit that is the moral justification for capitalism.

Capitalists hate capitalism. They don't want free labor – they want labor bound to the land. Capitalists benefit from free labor: if you have a better company, you can tempt away the best workers and cause your inferior rival to fail. But feudalists benefit from un-free labor, from tricks like "bondage fees" that force workers to pay in order to quit their jobs:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/21/bondage-fees/#doorman-building

Companies like Petsmart use "training repayment agreement provisions" (TRAPs) to keep low-waged workers from leaving for better employers. Petsmart says it costs $5,500 to train a pet-groomer, and if that worker is fired, laid off, or quits less than two years, they have to pay that amount to Petsmart:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

Now, Petsmart is full of shit here. The "four-week training course" Petsmart claims is worth $5,500 actually only lasts for three weeks. What's more, the "training" consists of sweeping the floor and doing other low-level chores for three weeks, without pay.

But even if Petsmart were to give $5,500 worth of training to every pet-groomer, this would still be bullshit. Why should the worker bear the risk of Petsmart making a bad investment in their training? Under capitalism, risks justify rewards. Petsmart's argument for charging $50 to groom your dog and paying the groomer $15 for the job is that they took $35 worth of risk. But some of that risk is being borne by the worker – they're the ones footing the bill for the training.

For Petsmart – as for all feudalists – a worker (with all the attendant risks) can be turned into an asset, something that isn't subject to competition. Petsmart doesn't have to retain workers through superior pay and conditions – they can use the state's contract-enforcement mechanism instead.

Capitalists hate capitalism, but they love feudalism. Sure, they dress this up by claiming that governmental de-risking spurs investment: "Who would pay to train a pet-groomer if that worker could walk out the next day and shave dogs for some competing shop?"

But this is obvious nonsense. Think of Silicon Valley: high tech is the most "IP-intensive" of all industries, the sector that has had to compete most fiercely for skilled labor. And yet, Silicon Valley is in California, where noncompetes are illegal. Every single successful Silicon Valley company has thrived in an environment in which their skilled workers can walk out the door at any time and take a job with a rival company.

There's no indication that the risk of free labor prevents investment. Think of AI, the biggest investment bubble in human history. All the major AI companies are in jurisdictions where noncompetes are illegal. Anthropic – OpenAI's most serious competitor – was founded by a sister/brother team who quit senior roles at OpenAI and founded a direct competitor. No one can claim with a straight face that OpenAI is now unable to raise capital on favorable terms.

What's more, when OpenAI founder Sam Altman was forced out by his board, Microsoft offered to hire him – and 700 other OpenAI personnel – to found an OpenAI competitor. When Altman returned to the company, Microsoft invested more money in OpenAI, despite their intimate understanding that anyone could hire away the company's founder and all of its top technical staff at any time.

The idea that the departure of the Burger King trade secrets locked up in its workers' heads constitute more of a risk to the ability to operate a hamburger restaurant than the departure of the entire technical staff of OpenAI is obvious nonsense. Noncompetes aren't a way to make it possible to run a business – they're a way to make it easy to run a business, by eliminating competition and pushing the risk onto employees.

Because capitalists hate capitalism. And who can blame them? Who wouldn't prefer a life with less risk to one where you have to constantly look over your shoulder for competitors who've found a way to make a superior offer to your customers and workers?

This is why businesses are so excited about securing "IP" – that is, a government-backed right to control your workers, customers, competitors or critics:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

The argument for every IP right expansion is the same: "Who would invest in creating something new without the assurance that some­one else wouldn’t copy and improve on it and put them out of business?"

That was the argument raised five years ago, during the (mercifully brief) mania for genre writers seeking trademarks on common tropes. There was the romance writer who got a trademark on the word "cocky" in book titles:

https://www.theverge.com/2018/7/16/17566276/cockygate-amazon-kindle-unlimited-algorithm-self-published-romance-novel-cabal

And the fantasy writer who wanted a trademark on "dragon slayer" in fantasy novel titles:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/06/14/son-of-cocky-a-writer-is-trying-to-trademark-dragon-slayer-for-fantasy-novels/

Who subsequently sought a trademark on any book cover featuring a person holding a weapon:

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/07/19/trademark-troll-who-claims-to-own-dragon-slayer-now-wants-exclusive-rights-to-book-covers-where-someone-is-holding-a-weapon/

For these would-be rentiers, the logic was the same: "Why would I write a book about a dragon-slayer if I could lose readers to someone else who writes a book about dragon-slayers?"

In these cases, the USPTO denied or rescinded its trademarks. Profits triumphed over rents. But increasingly, rents are triumphing over profits, and rent-extraction is celebrated as "smart business," while profits are for suckers, only slightly preferable to "wages" (the worst way to get paid under both capitalism and feudalism).

That's what's behind all the talk about "passive income" – that's just a euphemism for "rent." It's what Douglas Rushkoff is referring to in Survival of the Richest when he talks about the wealthy wanting to "go meta":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/13/collapse-porn/#collapse-porn

Don't drive a cab – go meta and buy a medallion. Don't buy a medallion, go meta and found Uber. Don't found Uber, go meta and invest in Uber. Don't invest in Uber, go meta and buy options on Uber stock. Don't buy Uber stock options, go meta and buy derivatives of options on Uber stock.

"Going meta" means distancing yourself from capitalism – from income derived from profits, from competition, from risk – and cozying up to feudalism.

Capitalists have always hated capitalism. The owners of the dark Satanic mills wanted peasants turned off the land and converted into "free labor" – but they also kidnapped Napoleonic war-orphans and indentured them to ten-year terms of service, which was all you could get out of a child's body before it was ruined for further work:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

When Varoufakis says we've entered a new feudal age, he doesn't mean that we've abolished capitalism. He means that – for the first time in centuries – when rents go to war against profits – the rents almost always emerge victorious.

Here's the podcast episode:

https://craphound.com/news/2024/04/14/capitalists-hate-capitalism/

Here's a direct link to the MP3 (hosting courtesy of the Internet Archive; they'll host your stuff for free, forever):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_465/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_465_-_Capitalists_Hate_Capitalism.mp3

And here's the RSS feed for my podcast:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/18/in-extremis-veritas/#the-winnah

[promptedwordsmith]

Are you taking requests?

If you are, could you do a valentines day based one?

Love everything so far! 💕

I am! And what great timing, I actually just finished the Valentines day ones I was working on <3

Caleb

The door creaked open just as the evening sky deepened into velvet, and Caleb stepped inside, his tall frame silhouetted against the soft glow of the hallway light. In his arms, a massive bouquet—vivid reds, soft pinks, and delicate whites—stood out against the dark of his uniform. His purple eyes softened the moment they found you, lips curving into something fond, something just for you.

“You’re home,” you breathed, moving toward him. Before you could say anything else, he held the bouquet out, watching for your reaction with quiet satisfaction.

“Happy Valentine’s,” he said simply.

Your fingers brushed his as you took the flowers, their scent sweet and overwhelming, just like the warmth in your chest. “Caleb, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he interrupted, already shrugging off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. “Go sit.”

You frowned, following him into the kitchen. “You’ve worked all day. Let me help.”

Caleb turned, his expression firm yet affectionate. “No.” His fingers grazed your cheek before guiding you gently toward the dining table. “You sit. I’ll take care of the rest.”

And he did. The smell of sizzling spices and roasted garlic filled the air as he moved effortlessly through the kitchen, preparing your favorite meal with practiced ease. Every so often, he’d glance at you, as if ensuring you were still there, still watching. Then, just when you thought he couldn’t possibly have done more, he placed a small plate in front of you—your favorite childhood sweets, ones you hadn’t had in years.

“I didn’t even know these still existed,” you whispered, staring at them in disbelief.

“I had to make a few calls,” Caleb admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I figured… Valentine’s should be about the things you love most.”

Dinner was slow, intimate, filled with stolen glances and the warmth of shared laughter. Later, curled up on the couch, Caleb let you rest against his chest, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders as the glow of the TV flickered across the room.

Just as your eyelids started to flutter shut, Caleb moved. In one smooth motion, he scooped you into his arms, his smirk playful.

“Caleb!” you gasped, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“You’re falling asleep on me,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “Can’t have that.”

With that, he carried you effortlessly to the bedroom, his hold steady, his presence unwavering—just like his love.

Rafayel:

You sighed, shaking your head as Thomas all but begged you to find Rafayel and bring him back. He had, once again, vanished from his own exhibition, leaving behind a room full of patrons and a very stressed-out manager. You weren’t even surprised—Rafayel had an unmatched talent for slipping away when he wanted to.

Still, a tiny part of you ached. Valentine’s Day was always swallowed up by his work, by exhibitions and shows, by the world demanding pieces of him. You understood—he was worth it, after all—but sometimes, just sometimes, you wished he’d put himself first.

Or, maybe, you.

It didn’t take long to find him. The moment you reached the beach near his home, you spotted the glow of soft lights flickering from the small hut nestled in the dunes. Your breath caught when you stepped inside.

Rafayel had transformed the space entirely. Flowing fabrics draped from the ceiling, soft pinks and reds catching in the sea breeze, the dim lanterns casting everything in a dreamy haze. Heart-shaped decorations swayed gently, and in the very center of it all sat a massive canvas.

Your eyes widened as you took it in. It was you. Painted with breathtaking precision, yet still carrying that unmistakable emotion Rafayel infused into all his work. You were bathed in golden light, the sun behind you forming a halo, illuminating your features with warmth. It was stunning—you were stunning, through his eyes.

The air shifted before you could react, and suddenly, warm arms wrapped around you from behind. With a startled laugh, you found yourself spun off the ground, Rafayel’s laughter ringing in your ears.

“You found me,” he mused, as if he hadn’t expected anything less.

“You made me,” you murmured in awe, still staring at the canvas.

He set you down gently, grinning. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

That was all he needed. A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as he pulled a small box from his pocket and placed it in your hands. Your favorite chocolates—of course he remembered.

Your chest ached with warmth. You turned, rising onto your toes, and pressed a kiss to his lips. He stilled for only a moment before melting into it, his hands firm at your waist, his heart—completely and utterly—yours.

"Happy Valentine's Day," you whispered.

Rafayel only smiled, looking at you like you were his greatest masterpiece.

Sylus

The evening air is cool, but the warmth in your cheeks has little to do with the cold. Sylus walks beside you, exuding that effortless confidence, his hand resting possessively at your waist as he guides you through the dimly lit streets. Your steps are slower than usual, a telltale ache lingering in your muscles from the day spent in his bed. He notices, of course—he notices everything. And as expected, his smirk deepens, the glint in his red eyes flashing with unmistakable satisfaction.

“You’re walking a bit funny, sweetheart,” he muses, voice rich with amusement. “I wonder why that is.”

You shoot him a glare, mortified, but it only fuels his teasing.

“Shut up,” you mumble, trying to regain some dignity, though the way your legs tremble slightly with each step betrays you.

Sylus, being the insufferable man that he is, simply chuckles before, without warning, sweeping you into his arms as if you weigh nothing. Your breath catches, and you instinctively grip his shoulders, scandalized.

“Sylus—put me down! People are staring!”

“And?” He raises a brow, completely unbothered. “Let them.”

Your embarrassment is delicious to him, a game he enjoys playing far too much. But tonight is Valentine’s Day, and you promised yourself you wouldn’t pout, not when Sylus has spent the entire day reminding you just how much you mean to him. So, instead of protesting further, you sigh and let your head rest against his chest, conceding defeat.

He carries you effortlessly into the restaurant, a lavish space overlooking the breathtaking skyline, city lights twinkling like scattered stars. The staff doesn’t even blink at his display—they know better than to question him. He sets you down in your chair with infuriating ease, his hands lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

As the evening unfolds, you find yourself utterly captivated. The food, the atmosphere, the way Sylus watches you like you’re the only thing that matters—it’s intoxicating. And though he loves having you in the palm of his hand, you know the truth. He may own you in every way that counts, but he’s just as much yours.

When the night winds down, he takes your hand, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. His gaze flickers up, a suggestive glint in his eye.

"Enjoying your Valentine’s, darling?" His voice is low, promising, teasing. "Good. Because the night isn’t over yet."

Xavier

Valentine’s Day comes and goes like any other mission. You and Xavier move in perfect sync, dealing with your objectives with ease. He’s a little touchier than usual—his gloved hand brushes your lower back more than once, and when you regroup after clearing an area, his fingers skim over your wrist before letting go. But other than that? No declarations, no grand gestures.

Maybe he’s forgotten.

After work, you stretch, feigning nonchalance. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

Xavier tilts his head slightly, blue eyes unreadable. “Mhm. Don’t take too long.”

You smile, feeling warmth bloom in your chest despite yourself. If he doesn’t remember, it’s fine. You’ll make the evening special.

Stopping by a few stores, you gather a small collection of things for him—a bouquet of white and pale blue flowers, his favorite chocolates, and a plushie of a little star with a blushing face. Something about it reminds you of him—endearing, a little sleepy, but full of light.

When you finally return home, you stop in your tracks.

Your apartment is transformed.

Soft, golden fairy lights are strung across the room, twinkling like distant stars. Small mementos from your past dates—ticket stubs, pressed flowers, a claw machine prize you won together—are arranged neatly on the coffee table. A faint trace of petrichor and clean linen lingers in the air, his quiet presence woven into every corner of the space.

Xavier is standing near the couch, hands in his pockets, watching you with that familiar small, knowing smile. “You thought I forgot,” he murmurs, voice warm with amusement.

Your grip tightens on the gifts in your hands. “I—” You pause. Of course, he remembered.

He steps forward, gaze flicking to the plush star, then the flowers, then you. “You still got me something,” he muses, reaching out to take the bouquet from your hands with an almost reverent touch.

“Well, yeah,” you say softly. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I wanted to.”

Xavier huffs a quiet laugh, setting the flowers down before gathering you into his arms. His touch is firm, grounding, his warmth seeping into your very bones. “Silly,” he murmurs, brushing his lips gently against your forehead before tilting your chin up to meet his.

Then, he kisses you—soft, lingering, and full of quiet devotion.

Zayne

The soft hum of water surrounded you, the dim blue glow of the aquarium casting a dreamlike haze over everything. Schools of fish drifted lazily past, their scales shimmering under the artificial light, while rays glided effortlessly above, their slow, deliberate movements painting shadows on the tunnel walls. The two of you sat on a bench inside one of the long glass tunnels, where the world seemed to exist in a quiet, underwater serenity.

For once, Zayne wasn’t checking his phone. No hospital calls, no emergencies pulling him away. He had taken the entire day off—for you. And for once, the world respected that.

He sat beside you, relaxed in a way that was rare. His three-piece suit was replaced with something more casual, though his long coat still framed his figure, a constant reminder of his composed elegance. The soft glow of the water reflected in his hazel-green eyes, making them seem even softer as he watched the fish swim above you.

You held a small snack between your fingers—a cute little pastry shaped like a starfish, something you had excitedly pointed out at the café inside the aquarium. Zayne, ever the pragmatic one, had initially raised a brow at the idea of themed snacks but had said nothing when you eagerly bought one for each of you. Now, as you took a bite, he simply watched, the corner of his mouth lifting in quiet amusement.

"You really enjoy the little things, don’t you?" he mused, voice low but affectionate.

You nodded, offering him a bite of your snack, which he took with little hesitation. He chewed thoughtfully before speaking again. “It’s nice,” he admitted. “Spending today with you like this.”

Your heart warmed at his words. Though Zayne was always present, always careful and attentive, it wasn’t often that he openly voiced his emotions. But today felt different. Today, he was here—not just physically, but fully, entirely.

The two of you left the aquarium hand in hand, the crisp evening air a contrast to the soft warmth still lingering between you. As you walked, Zayne suddenly lifted your entwined hands and pressed a gentle kiss to your fingers, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet certainty, as if the words themselves were a promise.

[tf-animated-out-of-context]

[cybertron-smash-or-pass]

Have we seen Animated Starscream in the roster yet? If not, I'd love to send him to the People's Horny Court

I'm pleased to announce every main tfa Decepticon is currently in the Queue.

We saw the tfp Decepticon special, now TFA gets their turn

[theballadofharkness]

Agatha Harkness VS Salem: The Kittening. Now it’s Purr-sonal

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Agatha Harkness X fem!reader

Summary: When you brings home a stray kitten Agatha can’t say no to those big pleading eyes and pouting lips. What she doesn’t know is that she has met her new mortal enemy, transforming her house in a battleground in which she is fighting for your attention.

Word Count: 9.3K

Warnings: very mild smut warning so as always MDNI xo

A/N: Part 2 is finally done! UPDATE: Part 3 is coming soon. Also if you’d like some drabbles or little oneshots in this universe, I’d be down 💜🪻

The warm glow of candlelight danced across the bedroom walls, casting soft golden hues over the deep violet fabric of the sheets. The scent of lavender and rose lingered in the air- Agatha always insisted on lighting a few enchanted candles before a special occasion, their aroma designed to calm the nerves and set the perfect mood. You stood by the vanity, smoothing your hands down the silk robe Agatha had insisted you wear while getting ready. It was loose, slipping down one shoulder as you considered the dresses laid out across the bed- each one more elegant than the last. You’d been trying to decide for nearly ten minutes, but the weight of Agatha’s gaze made thinking a little difficult. She was perched on the edge of the bed, a glass of dark red wine in hand, watching you with that knowing smirk. Her legs were crossed, her free hand drumming idly against her knee, but her eyes… oh, her eyes were doing something else entirely.

“You do realize, my love,” she drawled, tilting her head slightly, “that we’ll be celebrating our third anniversary at this rate.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes even as a smile tugged at your lips. “It’s your fault. You keep looking at me like that, and I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.”

Agatha chuckled, setting down her glass and rising gracefully from the bed. In an instant, she was behind you, her hands slipping around your waist, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Looking at you how, exactly?” she murmured, voice thick like honey.

A delicious shiver ran down your spine. “Like you’re planning on devouring me.” You breathed

She hummed, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles over the silk of your robe. “Maybe I am,” she teased, pressing a lingering kiss just below your ear. “But first, let’s get you dressed.”

You barely had time to form a response before she stepped around you, reaching for the dresses on the bed. She ran her fingers over each one, thoughtful, before finally selecting a deep, elegant number-the kind that clung in all the right places, smooth and rich as velvet. Holding it up, she turned to you, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“This one,” she purred. “I want to see you in this one.”

Your breath hitched. It was bold, refined-something that made you feel as powerful as you did beautiful. Agatha knew exactly what she was doing, of course. She always did.

You hesitated, biting your lip. “You just like seeing me flustered.”

Agatha smirked, stepping forward until there was no space left between you. Her fingers found the silk tie of your robe, toying with it lazily as she tilted her head, eyes dark with amusement. “Mmm. That,” she whispered, voice like velvet, “is an added bonus.”

She leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss, one that left you breathless and clutching at the front of her dress before she pulled away, her expression unbearably smug.

“Well?” she prompted, still twirling the fabric of your robe between her fingers.

Heat rose to your cheeks, but you huffed a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Fine, fine. I’ll wear it.”

Agatha grinned, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before stepping back, hands on her hips. “Good girl.”

The way your stomach flipped at those words was entirely unfair.

You turned quickly, hoping she wouldn’t catch the way your face was now practically glowing, but of course, she saw everything. A deep, satisfied chuckle rumbled from her chest as you made your way toward the changing screen, her gaze burning into your back.

As you disappeared behind it, you heard her sip her wine before purring, “Take your time, sweetheart. I’ll just be right here, picturing the final result.”

You groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you married me,” she quipped.

And you wouldn’t change that for anything.

The moment you stepped out from behind the changing screen, Agatha’s eyes darkened, her gaze raking over you like slow-burning fire.

“Oh, darling,” she purred, setting her wine glass aside as she strode toward you. Her fingers traced the fabric along your waist, her grip firm as she tugged you flush against her. “This was an excellent choice.”

You barely had time to breathe before her lips captured yours, warm and insistent, her hands slipping to your lower back, pulling you in until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you. She kissed you like she had all the time in the world-slow, teasing, with just enough pressure to leave your head spinning.

Your hands found her shoulders, then her jaw, tilting her face to deepen the kiss. Agatha let out a pleased hum against your lips, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck as she backed you toward the bed.

You gasped as the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, and Agatha took full advantage of the sound, nipping at your lower lip before pressing a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, her breath hot against your skin.

Then-

“Hey, I’m here!” Billy’s voice rang out from downstairs, echoing through the house like a poorly timed curse.

You barely had a second to react before Agatha pulled away with an exaggerated groan, pressing her forehead to your shoulder as if she could physically will the interruption out of existence.

“You have got to be joking,” she muttered, her fingers tightening on your waist.

You bit your lip, torn between laughter and sympathy. “Billy was supposed to come by to watch Salem, remember?”

Agatha exhaled dramatically, lifting her head just enough to give you a look. “Yes, I remember. I just didn’t think he’d be so punctual about it.”

“Agatha,” you chided softly, running your fingers through her hair. “He has a key, and he’s here all the time. It’s not like he broke in.”

Agatha huffed, straightening up with all the reluctance of a cat being forced out of a sunspot. “We are celebrating our wedded bliss, and we’re being interrupted by a babysitter for a cat.”

You chuckled, smoothing your hands over the front of her dress. “He’s only a baby,” you reminded her gently. “He’s not independent like Señor Scratchy.”

Agatha pulled back, narrowing her eyes. “Señor Scratchy is an esteemed companion. A sophisticated creature of the dark arts.” She gestured vaguely toward the door. “That thing? A menace.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “He’s just a tiny kitten.”

“A tiny menace,” she corrected. “Who ruins my fun.” She gestured dramatically toward the door, where Billy’s voice was still carrying from downstairs. “Case in point.”

You pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Come on, my love. Let’s go say hi before he thinks we forgot he was coming.”

Agatha exhaled through her nose, still clearly put out by the interruption. But as you took her hand and gave it a squeeze, she sighed in defeat, lacing her fingers with yours.

“Fine,” she relented. “But if that tiny menace scratches my good chair again, I will turn him into a teacup.”

You squeezed her hand again, grinning. “You love him, really.”

Agatha muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like not a chance, but the way she was already guiding you toward the stairs suggested otherwise. Agatha still looked mildly put out as she led you down the stairs, her grip firm around your waist.

Billy, of course, was already making himself at home. He was standing in the living room, holding a tiny, squirming Salem against his chest, his face lit up with excitement. “Awh, look at this little guy! He’s so small.”

Salem let out a tiny, unimpressed meow, wriggling in Billy’s hold before promptly climbing up onto his shoulder like a parrot.

“Whoa. Wow. Y/N, you look beautiful!” Billy smiled when he was able to properly focus his attention on the pair of you.

Before you could so much as say thank you, Agatha’s arm tightened around your waist, tugging you firmly against her side. She leveled Billy with a frown, one eyebrow arching in clear disapproval.

Billy stared at her. Then at you. Then back at her. Finally, with a deadpan expression, he sighed. “Agatha. I’m gay.”

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh as Agatha’s frown deepened slightly, though she didn’t loosen her grip. Billy just rolled his eyes, adjusting Salem on his shoulder. “And you look pretty too, I guess.”

Agatha scoffed, finally letting you go to cross her arms over her chest. “Took you long enough.”

Billy just smirked, plucking Salem off his shoulder and cradling him in his arms. “So, what’s the plan? Where’s the food for the little prince?”

You smiled, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Their food is all prepped and labeled, and their next feed is at seven. Their treats are in the cupboard- just don’t let Salem have too many at once.” You explained. “If anything goes wrong, call me,” you finished.

Billy opened his mouth to respond, but Agatha was already shaking her head as she levelled him with a look so pointed it could have been a hex.“Don’t you dare, Kaplan.”

Billy blinked. Then grinned. “Oh, you know I’m calling her now.”

Agatha groaned, rubbing her temples as you laughed, squeezing her hand. “Billy, don’t tease her.”

Billy just winked. “No promises.” He barely had time to say another word before Agatha was tugging you toward the door, her fingers laced tightly with yours. “Alright, Kaplan, don’t burn the house down,” she called over her shoulder.

Billy snorted. “No promises.”

You shot him an apologetic smile as Agatha practically dragged you outside, her impatience palpable. The moment the front door shut behind you, she exhaled like she’d just escaped some great ordeal. “Finally.”

You giggled as the taxi pulled up, its headlights casting a warm glow against the quiet street. “You act like we were held hostage.”

“I was,” Agatha muttered, opening the door for you before ushering you inside. The moment you slid into the seat, she was right behind you, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary. “By him and that tiny menace.”

The taxi driver barely had a chance to confirm the address before Agatha was on you- her hands smoothing over your thighs, her lips pressing against your neck, her voice a pleased hum against your skin.

“Mmm,” she purred, tilting your chin toward her as the car pulled away from the curb. “Alone at last.”

You laughed softly, though your breath hitched as her fingers traced the hem of your dress. “We’re in a taxi.”

Agatha smirked, completely unbothered, her eyes dark with amusement as she studied your face. “And? Do you really think that’s going to stop me from doting on my perfect, pretty wife?”

Your face warmed instantly. “Agatha,” you whispered, glancing toward the driver.

She just chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before murmuring against your skin, “What? You’re mine. And you look divine tonight.”

Her lips brushed against your jaw, slow and deliberate, and you had to fight the urge to melt into her right there.

You swallowed, biting back a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you married me,” she quipped, her hands settling on your waist.

~

Your heart fluttered as the taxi continued into the glowing center of Westview, the lights of the city reflecting against the windows. The night had only just begun, and if Agatha was going to make sure you felt completely adored every second of it.

The taxi rolled to a stop in front of the restaurant, its golden glow spilling out onto the cobblestone street. The restaurant was elegant but cozy, with warm lighting flickering through the windows and the soft hum of music drifting through the air.

The moment the car door opened, Agatha was there, offering her hand like some old-world gentleman. “Come, my love,” she murmured, helping you out as if you were royalty.

You couldn’t help but smile as she tucked you into her side, her arm settling possessively around your waist. She pressed a quick kiss to your temple before leading you inside, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against your hip. The moment you stepped through the door, something felt… different. The restaurant was busy, but no one so much as glanced in your direction. In fact, it was as if the entire front room didn’t see you at all.

You glanced up at Agatha, arching a brow. “Did you-?”

“Shhh, darling,” she purred, squeezing your waist. “Just enjoy.”

Before you could press her further, the maître d’-a well-dressed man with a strangely dreamy expression-greeted you both with a bow. “Right this way, Mrs. Harkness,” he said smoothly, already leading you toward the back.

As you entered the back of the restaurant, your breath caught. It was perfect. The lighting was softer here, a warm golden hue casting everything in a romantic glow. The tables that had once been scattered around the space were now gone, leaving only one: a beautifully set table for two, complete with candles and an arrangement of your favorite flowers. The band-previously playing some elegant, generic jazz-began to shift into something softer, something familiar. Your wedding song.

You turned to Agatha, your heart swelling. “Oh Agatha…”

She was already watching you, eyes filled with adoration. “Happy anniversary, my love,” she murmured, brushing a stray curl behind your ear. “Only the best for my beautiful wife.”

Your throat tightened with emotion as she guided you to the table, pulling out your chair like a true gentlewoman. You shook your head, overwhelmed. “You are so extra.”

Agatha just smirked, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand as she sat across from you. “Of course I am,” she teased. “You deserve nothing less.”

The candlelight flickered gently between you, casting Agatha’s sharp features in a golden glow. The soft murmur of the band playing in the background blended seamlessly with the low hum of other diners-though, thanks to Agatha’s little enchantment, it still felt like it was just the two of you in your own private world.

And Agatha?

Agatha was adoring tonight.

She reached across the table, delicately cutting a piece of her dish before lifting it to your lips. “Try this, my love,” she murmured, eyes twinkling with affection.

You blushed but leaned forward, letting her feed you a bite. The rich, savory flavors melted on your tongue, and you hummed in approval. “Mmm. That’s amazing.”

Agatha smirked, clearly pleased with herself. “Told you. I do have exquisite taste.”

You rolled your eyes. “In food, or in wives?”

She tilted her head, feigning deep thought. “Oh, both. But my wife? She’s by far my greatest indulgence.”

Your face burned. “Agatha…”

She chuckled, setting down her fork and simply looking at you, taking you in as if you were the only thing that mattered. “I still remember the first time I saw you,” she mused, swirling her wine. “This radiant little green witch walking into my coven, full of life and magic. You were captivating.”

Your heart swelled. “You mean when I tripped over a candle and almost set the altar cloth on fire?”

Agatha laughed. “Yes, exactly that moment. I took one look at you and thought, mine.”

You shook your head, biting your lip to contain your grin. “You are so dramatic.”

“And you love it.”

She wasn’t wrong.

As the main course arrived, Agatha kept the conversation light and playful, telling you old stories from her centuries of mischief, making you gasp at some of the antics she’d pulled over the years.

“Wait, wait, so you were the reason that Duke guy mysteriously ‘disappeared’ in the 1700’s?” you asked, wide-eyed.

Agatha grinned. “Mm-hmm. Turns out, if you start calling yourself a ‘witch-finder general’, you might just wake up in the middle of the ocean.”

You laughed. “You drowned him?!”

“Oh, no, no. Just dropped him there. He probably swam to shore.” She shrugged. “Or not.”

You shook your head, giggling, but the way she watched you-soft, devoted-made you feel warm all over.

And then, just as you were reaching for your wine-

Your phone rang.

Both of you froze.

Agatha’s head turned slowly toward the source of the interruption, her expression darkening instantly. “No.”

You sighed, glancing at the screen. Billy.

Agatha groaned. “I swear to Hecate, if he is calling to tell us that kitten has done something ‘super adorable’-”

You gave her a look before answering. “Billy? What’s-”

“Y/N, okay, please don’t freak out,” Billy said quickly, “but-uh-Salem, um. Salem threw up. And now he looks really sad and sick and I think he’s scared-”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, no,” you breathed, already reaching for your bag.

Agatha sighed, rubbing her temples. “For the love of-”

“He’s so little and I don’t know if this is, like, normal baby kitten stuff or if I need to take him to a vet and I swear I didn’t do anything-” he continued his panic fuelled rant.

You don’t even let him finish. “We’re coming home.”

Agatha was seething. The moment you hung up, she slammed her wine glass down with a force that made the candles flicker. “Unbelievable. Absolutely un-fucking-believable.”

You barely heard her- you were already grabbing your bag, heart racing with worry. “We need to go now-”

Agatha shot up from her seat, chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Oh, do we?” she snapped, eyes flashing. “Do we really need to abandon our perfectly romantic, expensive, private anniversary dinner because of that menace?”

You turned to her, wide-eyed. “Agatha, he’s sick-”

“Oh, is he?” she huffed, throwing a few bills onto the table with far too much force. “Or is this just another one of his tiny, kitten-sized schemes to steal more of your attention?”

You groaned, practically dragging her toward the exit. “For Hecate’s sake, Agatha, he’s a baby, not an evil mastermind.”

Agatha scoffed. “Says you.”

~

She was walking fast, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement as she flagged down a taxi with a single, aggressive flick of her wrist. You could feel her magic practically vibrating with frustration, wrapping around you in possessive waves. You climbed into the cab, bouncing your knee anxiously as Agatha slammed the door behind you.

The driver barely had time to ask before Agatha barked, “Home. Now.”

The car lurched forward. Your mind was racing with worst-case scenarios. What if he’s really sick? What if he needs a vet? What if he’s scared and crying and-

You barely noticed Agatha sitting rigidly beside you, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight it could crack.

She exhaled sharply. “This was supposed to be our night.”

You sighed, squeezing her knee. “I know, love.”

Her frown deepened, but she didn’t pull away. “First, he takes up all your free time,” she grumbled. “Then he steals your affection. And now? Now he’s ruining our anniversary dinner.”

You bit your lip. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

She let out a long-suffering sigh, finally glancing at you. Her expression softened just a little. “Of course not, sweetheart,” she murmured. “It’s that infernal creature I have a problem with.”

You leaned your head against her shoulder, heart still hammering. “I just need to make sure he’s okay.”

Agatha’s fingers twitched in her lap before, begrudgingly, she rested a hand on your thigh. “I know, darling.”

You knew she wasn’t done grumbling. You knew she would absolutely have more to say about this later. But for now, she let you cling to her, let you worry. And even though she was positively furious at the tiny, four-legged interloper that had stolen so much of your time, she still pressed a kiss to your temple and muttered, “Let’s just get this over with.”

~

The second the taxi pulled up to your house, you barely waited for it to stop before throwing the door open and bolting inside.

“Salem?!” you called, panic still gripping your chest as you rushed through the doorway.

Billy was already there, eyes wide with pure distress. “Y/N, I swear he was acting so off, he threw up, and then he was just sitting there all sad and-”

Before he could finish, a tiny mew sounded from the living room. You turned just in time to see Salem-small, fluffy, and very much alive-perking up and trotting over to you like nothing had happened. His little tail flicked as he reached your feet, looking up at you expectantly with big, innocent eyes.

You blinked. “…Oh,” you breathed, already scooping him up. “Baby, you’re okay…”

From behind you, Agatha let out a slow, lethal exhale.

Billy took one look at her face and immediately backed up. “Okay, I know how this looks, but I promise-”

“Oh, do you?” Agatha hissed, stepping forward with a sharp glare. “Because to me, it looks like my entire anniversary was just hijacked because of that devious little wretch.”

Salem let out a tiny chirp in your arms, rubbing his face against your chin.

Agatha’s scowl deepened.

Billy held up his hands, frantic. “No, no, he was sick! He was all slow and miserable and just staring at me, and I panicked! I didn’t lie- he was acting weird, I swear!”

You bit back a smile, running a soothing hand down Billy’s arm. “It’s okay, Billy,” you reassured softly. “Sometimes, animals eat something that doesn’t agree with them, and they feel off for a bit. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”

Billy still looked hesitant. “…So you’re not mad?”

“Of course not.” You smiled.

Agatha, however, let out a short, bitter laugh. “Well, I’m mad.”

Billy winced. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Agatha crossed her arms, looking at Salem like he was her mortal enemy. “That fiend just ruined our entire night, and now he’s prancing around like he’s innocent-”

Salem purred, curling up in your arms.

Agatha’s eye twitched.

Billy took another cautious step back.

You sighed, pressing a soft kiss to Salem’s head before glancing up at Agatha. “Love, I know you’re mad-”

“Oh, do you?” Agatha cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You wrapped your arms around her. “-but we can still salvage the night.”

Agatha scoffed. “Oh, how? Shall we share a romantic candlelit meal over a pile of cat vomit?”

Billy made a choked noise.

You rolled your eyes, rubbing Salem’s ears. “He’s just a baby, Agatha.”

“He’s a menace,” she corrected.

Billy cleared his throat. “Sooo… does this mean I’m fired as a cat-sitter?”

Agatha snapped her gaze to him. “Oh, without question.”

~

It was still early when you woke up, the morning light spilling lazily through the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the bed. You barely had time to stretch before warm hands slid over your hips, pulling you back against a familiar, curvy body.

“Mm, morning, darling,” Agatha purred, voice still thick with sleep as she nuzzled into your neck.

You hummed, melting instantly as she pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses to your skin.

Her fingers traced along your thigh, teasing, feather-light. “We never did get to properly celebrate our anniversary, did we?”

Your breath hitched. “No, we-ah-never got the chance.”

Agatha smirked against your shoulder, her lips traveling lower. “Mm. Such a tragedy.”

She rolled you onto your back, slotting herself between your legs with ease. The weight of her, the heat of her- it was intoxicating. Her lips were slow and lazy against yours, like she had all the time in the world to savor you, to tease you, to drive you insane.

“Agatha,” you gasped, already dizzy, already needy.

She chuckled darkly. “What is it, my love? What do you need?”

“You,” you breathed, arching into her touch.

Her pupils darkened. “Oh, sweetheart.” She trailed a hand down your body, ready to make you hers-

And then-

“AH!” Agatha jerked back with a yelp, her hand flying to her leg.

You blinked in confusion until you saw Salem, sitting smugly at the edge of the bed, tail flicking.

Agatha gaped at him in outrage. “Did you just bite me?!”

Salem simply stared. Unbothered. Unapologetic.

Agatha turned her arm, revealing a tiny red mark. She gasped dramatically. “He did that on purpose! Attempted murder!”

You? You lost it.

Laughter bubbled out of you, loud and uncontrollable. You clutched your stomach, barely able to breathe as Agatha sat there, stunned and betrayed.

“This isn’t funny, Y/N!” she squawked. “I was attacked in my own bed!”

You wiped tears from your eyes, still gasping between giggles. “Agatha, he’s a kitten-”

“A kitten with a vendetta!”

Salem chirped and trotted over, climbing right into your arms like nothing had happened.

Agatha glared. “Oh, of course. Of course you run to her.”

You bit your lip, stroking Salem’s fur. “I think someone’s just hungry.”

She huffed. “Oh, well, pardon me for not getting up at the crack of dawn to serve his majesty his breakfast-”

Salem meowed expectantly.

Agatha scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

~

The day had started fine. Agatha had the house to herself-well, herself and Billy, who was currently seated in the living room, focusing on a levitation spell she’d been drilling into him for the past hour. You were off shopping with Lilia, which meant she had no distractions, no interruptions-

Or so she thought.

Because then, of course, there was Salem. Salem, who had spent the morning tearing through the house like a demon. Salem, who had already knocked over a full cup of tea, shredded the edge of one of her books, and was now currently attempting to climb the curtains with his tiny, traitorous claws.

Agatha’s eye twitched.

“That’s it,” she snapped, storming over. She plucked Salem off the curtain before he could bring the entire thing down and marched toward the kitchen. “You- are going in here.”

Salem let out an indignant mew as she placed him gently on the floor and shut the kitchen door.

Billy gawked. “Did you just lock up the cat?”

“Yes,” Agatha deadpanned, storming back into the living room.

Billy gave her a scandalized look. “Oh, come on, he’s a baby.”

“He’s a tyrant,” Agatha corrected, flopping onto the couch with a huff. “I cannot handle that little devil for another second.”

Billy snorted. “Y/N’s gonna kill you.”

Agatha waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, please. She won’t even know.”

And then-

CRASH.

Agatha bolted upright.

Billy froze. “Uh… that didn’t sound good.”

Agatha was already moving, storming into the kitchen, ready to see what destruction that damned cat had caused-

But then she stopped. The kitchen window was open. The little potted plant on the sill had been knocked over, soil spilled everywhere. And Salem? Gone.

Agatha’s stomach dropped.

Billy peered over her shoulder. “Ohhh, shit.”

Agatha’s breath caught. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no-” She rushed forward, peering out the window. Sure enough, there, in the middle of the garden, was Salem. He was sniffing around, completely unbothered, his little tail flicking in the breeze.

Agatha panicked. She hated that cat, but that cat was your baby. And if anything happened to him? If he got lost, if he got hurt-

Oh gods.

She’d never hear the end of it.

Billy? He was already backing away. “Sooo, do I need to go wait outside so I don’t get hit by any flying objects when Y/N gets home?”

Agatha snapped her head to him, wild-eyed. “Shut up and help me catch that cat!”

Billy immediately scrambled after her as she raced outside, her heart pounding as Salem, the little criminal, simply sat in the grass-completely oblivious to the absolute chaos he had just unleashed.

The second Agatha stepped into the garden, Salem locked eyes with her. And in that moment, she swore he knew. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to be out here. He knew that if she didn’t catch him before you got home, her life wouldn’t be worth living. And so, the little bastard did what he did best.

He ran.

“Oh, for the love of-” Agatha lunged, but Salem was fast, scampering across the yard like a tiny, fluffy demon.

Billy doubled over laughing. “Oh my god-”

Agatha whipped her head toward him. “Teen, get your ass over here and HELP ME!”

Billy snorted, but he jogged forward, attempting to corner Salem between the flower beds. “Okay, okay, here, kitty-”

Salem shot between his legs like a bullet.

Billy yelped, nearly face-planting into the grass.

Agatha groaned. “Are you kidding me?!”

Billy spun around, pointing dramatically. “Oh, he’s evil.”

Agatha already knew that.

They spent the next ten minutes chasing him across the yard-diving, reaching, failing as he danced out of their grasp every. single. time.

Agatha, panting, glared. “That’s it. I’m using magic.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “You can’t!”

“Why the hell not?!”

“Because Y/N will know!” Billy pointed wildly toward the house. “You really think she won’t sense if you throw a binding spell on her precious baby?”

Agatha froze.

Shit.

He was right.

You would absolutely sense it if she hexed Salem into submission. And if you got home and realized she had not only lost him but had also used magic on him?

Oh, she was so dead.

Agatha groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Fine. No magic. But we need to get him now-”

And then… the gate creaked. Her blood ran cold. Slowly, she turned. The garden gate was open. Salem was right next to it. And then he bolted.

“SALEM, NO-” Agatha leapt, just missing him as he squeezed through the gap and took off toward the street.

Billy screamed. “AGATHA HE’S ESCAPING-”

Agatha ripped open the gate and ran-barefoot, chasing a fugitive kitten down the street like some kind of madwoman.

Billy raced after her, wheezing. “I’m-gonna-die-”

“NOT BEFORE WE CATCH THAT DAMN CAT!”

Up ahead, Salem scampered toward a tree, tail flicking as he reached the trunk. Agatha saw one chance. She launched herself forward and finally, FINALLY- she caught him. Panting, drenched in sweat, she curled her arms around his tiny, wriggling body, holding him up like some sort of cursed prize.

“Gotcha,” she wheezed.

Billy collapsed onto the grass. “Ohhh, thank god.”

Salem? He just blinked at her. Like he hadn’t just led them on the most stressful chase of her entire existence.

Agatha glared. “You planned that, didn’t you?”

Salem purred.

Agatha hated him.

Billy, still gasping for air, rolled over and checked his phone. His face blanched.“Oh, shit.”

Agatha tensed. “What?”

Billy turned the screen toward her. A text from you.

< The Other Mrs. Harkness: Just leaving the shops! Be home soon! Love you! xx >

Agatha screeched. “WE HAVE TO GET BACK NOW.” She sprinted up the porch steps, Salem squirming in her arms as she kicked the door open. Billy stumbled in behind her, wheezing.

“We-made it-” Billy gasped, nearly collapsing.

Agatha barely heard him. She was too busy staring at the disaster in her arms. Salem was filthy. His tiny paws were caked in mud, his belly streaked with dirt, and his once-fluffy tail was now a twig-covered disaster.

Agatha groaned in horror. “Oh, hell no.”

Billy finally looked up-and snorted. “Shit, look at him-”

“Teenager, if you laugh, I swear to all that is Holy-”

But it was too late. Billy was howling, doubling over as Agatha stood there, a furious, disheveled witch, holding a mud-covered kitten at arm’s length.

“I hate him,” Agatha declared. “I hate this damn cat.”

Salem just blinked at her.

Billy wiped his eyes, still giggling. “Okay, okay-so what now?”

Agatha sighed, already dreading the answer. “We have to wash him.”

Billy froze.

Then, he took a step back. “Ohhhh, no. I like having my skin intact.”

Agatha glared. “So do I, but here we are!”

Billy grimaced, but one look at Salem’s absolute state and he knew they had no choice.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But you’re holding him.��

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Like I trust you not to drop him?”

Billy grumbled under his breath, but followed as Agatha marched to the bathroom, Salem still calmly chilling in her grip. That wouldn’t last. They filled the sink with warm water, and Agatha braced herself before gently lowering Salem in…

Chaos.

The second his paws touched the water, Salem exploded into a frenzy of wriggling, splashing, and absolute betrayal.

Agatha hissed as tiny claws latched onto her arm. Billy yelped, dodging a wave of soapy water as Salem twisted like a feral eel.

“He’s fighting for his LIFE!” Billy screeched.

“SO AM I!”

Salem shrieked, flailing as Agatha tried to scrub the mud from his fur. “Hold still, you little-”

Billy was no help, standing at a safe distance, barely containing his cackles.

“Billy, DO SOMETHING!”

Billy, still wheezing, reluctantly grabbed a tiny washcloth and dabbed at Salem’s ears. Salem responded by kicking him in the hand. He snorted. “Oh, he hates us.”

Agatha gritted her teeth. “I hated him first.”

By the time they finally rinsed the little demon off and wrapped him in a fluffy towel, Agatha was soaked, scratched, and one minor inconvenience away from summoning a hellstorm. Salem? He just snuggled into the towel and purred.

Billy grinned. “Awww. Now he’s all clean and cute again.”

Agatha glared. “Get it away from me.”

Billy giggled, scooping up the bundle of fluff. “C’mon, don’t be mad at him.”

Agatha whirled on him. “If Y/N asks, you played with Salem indoors all day, and he definitely didn’t escape, roll in mud, and nearly give me a damn stroke.”

Billy saluted. “Mum’s the word.”

The moment you stepped through the door, you beamed, setting your bags down and immediately making your way to Agatha. “Hello, my love,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around her waist and pressing yourself against her, breathing her in. You pulled back slightly, your brows furrowing.

“Um… Agatha,” you frowned, taking a step back. “Why are you all sweaty?”

Billy exploded. He doubled over, absolutely howling with laughter, clutching his stomach like he’d been physically struck.

Agatha scowled at him. “Shut it, Billy.”

You blinked at her in confusion. “No, seriously, what were you doing?”

Billy wheezed, barely able to breathe. “Oh my god, this is the best day of my life-”

Agatha shot him a murderous glare before turning back to you, attempting to compose herself. “I was-” she paused, eyes flicking to the still-damp Salem in Billy’s arms. “-exercising.”

Billy shrieked with laughter.

You squinted. “…You hate exercise.”

Agatha huffed. “Well, maybe I decided to start a new routine, ever think of that?”

Billy collapsed onto the couch, breathless. “Agatha, please stop, I can’t breathe-”

Your eyes flicked between them. “…Okay, what is going on?”

Billy snorted again, but Agatha grabbed your wrist, steering you toward the kitchen before you could investigate further.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “You must be starving, let’s get you a snack-”

Billy cackled behind you. “Yeah, gotta refuel after all that exercise.”

~

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the bedroom. You lay still, curled beneath the covers, your chest tight with a weight you couldn’t explain. Nothing had happened. No nightmare, no bad memory, no reason to feel this way.

And yet… you did.

Anxiety sat heavy in your ribs, buzzing under your skin like static. It was familiar, these waves of unease that came and went with no real trigger. You knew it would pass eventually-it always did-but right now, it clung to you like damp air, thick and suffocating. You barely noticed the way Agatha stirred beside you until you felt her shift, propping herself up on one elbow.

“Morning, my love,” she murmured, voice warm with sleep as she pressed a lazy kiss to your temple.

You managed a soft hum in response, but you didn’t turn to her, still staring blankly at the ceiling.

That was all it took for Agatha to pause.

Her hand, which had begun to trace slow circles along your arm, stilled. She frowned slightly, eyes scanning your face, her sharp mind already picking apart your quietness. “…What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice gentle now.

“Nothing,” you whispered, but it wasn’t convincing.

Agatha was silent for a beat. Then, she nudged at your shoulder until you finally rolled to face her. Her gaze softened as she took in your features- the way your brows were faintly drawn together, the distant look in your eyes, the tension you carried in your jaw. She knew that look. That wasn’t exhaustion. It wasn’t sadness. It was that deep, uneasy feeling that crept into you sometimes, the one you couldn’t shake.

She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her touch impossibly gentle. “Is it one of those mornings, my love?”

You swallowed, nodding hesitantly. Agatha exhaled, her hand shifting to cradle your face. Her thumb brushed against your cheek, grounding, steady. “Okay,” she murmured simply. “Then we’ll take it slow today.”

No teasing. No urging you to snap out of it. Just quiet understanding. Because she knew that sometimes there wasn’t a reason. Sometimes you just felt off, and all she could do was be there, steady and unwavering, until the tide passed. She pressed a kiss to your forehead and then to the tip of your nose, her lips lingering just long enough to remind you that she’s here.

“Stay right here,” she whispered before slipping out of bed.

You blinked after her. “Where are you going?”

“Making tea,” she said simply. “Then getting the furballs. You need both of your emotional support creatures right now.”

A breath of laughter escaped you, the first one of the morning. She’d get you through this. She always did. Agatha returned a few moments later, a steaming cup of tea in one hand and Señor Scratchy nestled in the other. The rabbit gave a lazy twitch of his nose, entirely unbothered as Agatha carefully set him down beside you.

“There,” she murmured, smoothing back your hair with one hand. “Your oldest emotional support animal, delivered.”

You offered a tiny smile, fingers brushing over Señor Scratchy’s soft fur as he settled in beside you.

Agatha left the room to search for your other little beast, but… no sign of him. No scratching at the furniture. No tiny, smug little face peeking around the corner, waiting to pounce on her the moment she got too comfortable.

After a while of searching, she came back to the bedroom, ready to slide back into bed beside you, ready to pull you close again. But the moment she looked over at you she froze. Because there, already curled up against you, was Salem. Tiny, soft, and warm, his small body was tucked neatly against your side. His head rested just over your ribs, ears twitching slightly as he let out the faintest of purrs. Your fingers idly stroked through his fur, comforted by the steady rhythm of his breathing.

She’d been ready to roll her eyes, ready to shoot some snarky remark about how the little devil was always hogging your attention. But now, watching the way Salem stayed glued to you, offering his own quiet brand of affection- she… couldn’t. Because for once she and the cat were on the same side. Both of them watching over you, making sure you were okay.

Agatha’s lips twitched, just slightly. She reached out, fingertips brushing over your cheek before moving down to run along Salem’s back.

The kitten let out a soft chirp at the contact. Agatha rolled her eyes, but it was fond. “Don’t get used to this, furball,” she muttered, but she didn’t move him.

Instead, she lay back down beside you, arm draped securely around both you and the menace. You sighed softly, melting into the warmth of them both.

And for now that was enough.

~

The coven meeting was already off to a tense start.

Agatha sat at the head of the circle, arms crossed, looking bored as Jen droned on about some new-age magical theory she’d been obsessing over. But-inevitably-the conversation had spiraled into something else. Something snarky.

“So,” Jen mused, idly swirling the wine in her glass, “remind me again how we’re the ones who should be listening to you, Agatha? Last I checked, your leadership skills tend to leave entire covens dead.”

The room froze.

Alice sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Lilia shot Jen a warning look. Billy looked between everyone like he was waiting for a fight to break out. Your stomach tightened.

Agatha, however, barely reacted. She simply leaned back in her chair, a slow, knowing smirk curling over her lips. “Hmm.” She took a sip of her drink, tilting her head. “Well, if you ever want to test my abilities firsthand, I’d be happy to give you a little… demonstration.”

Jen scoffed but said nothing. The tension in the room sizzled. And then suddenly- a sound. A small, delicate trickle of liquid hitting the floor.

Jen frowned. “What the-?” And then she screamed. “OH, MY GODS!”

Every head snapped toward her. She had jumped up from her seat, face twisting in absolute horror- because there, in the very spot she’d been sitting, was Salem. Tiny. Innocent. Tail flicking ever so slightly. And Jen’s dress? Soaked.

Everyone stared.

There was a beat of absolute, stunned silence.

And then Agatha howled with laughter. It was delightful, full-bodied, wicked glee. She clutched her stomach, her head thrown back as pure joy erupted from her like a spell. “Oh-oh, this is brilliant,” she wheezed, swiping at a stray tear. “I-I didn’t even teach him that!”

You pressed your lips together, trying desperately not to laugh yourself. Billy had already lost it. He was howling, nearly tipping over in his chair.

Jen, however, was furious. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” she shrieked, glaring down at the little gremlin who had just ruined her expensive silk dress.

Salem simply blinked up at her. Then, as if to rub it in, he let out a tiny, smug little mew.

Agatha wiped at her eyes, still grinning. “Oh, that’s it. You, my little menace, might actually earn your keep around here.”

You gasped, mocking shock. “Agatha Harkness, are you saying you finally like him?”

Agatha snorted. “I said no such thing.” She smirked, reaching down to scratch behind Salem’s ears. “But I do appreciate a well-timed bit of vengeance.”

Salem purred.

Jen groaned. “I hate this coven.”

Lilia smirked. “Don’t lie.”

And as the conversation carried on, Agatha-without even thinking-scooped Salem into her lap, idly stroking his fur.

You bit your lip.

She was so softening up to him. It only took him peeing on poor Jen.

~

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the TV, the gentle hum of a movie playing in the background. You were curled up against Agatha, her arm draped lazily over your waist, fingers tracing idle circles against your hip. It was peaceful, warm and perfect. Or at least, it would have been. If not for the relentless meowing from the floor.

You sighed, glancing down to find Salem sitting near the couch, tail flicking, big eyes staring directly at Agatha as he let out another tiny, insistent mew.

Agatha groaned, tilting her head back against the couch dramatically. “Oh, for Hecate’s sake. What do you want now, you tiny beast?”

Salem meowed again.

You giggled. “I think he wants to play.”

Agatha scoffed. “Play? I am not a child, nor am I his personal entertainer.”

You bit your lip, reaching into the side table drawer and pulling out a small, sleek object. “A shame,” you mused, clicking the button and casting a bright red dot onto the floor. “Because I specifically got this for you.”

Your wife eyed the laser pointer with an arched brow.

You grinned. “Come on. Just try it.”

She rolled her eyes but took it from your hand anyway, holding it between her fingers like it was something far beneath her. Then, with a sigh, she flicked the laser across the floor.

Instantly, Salem pounced.

You stifled a giggle as he skittered after the tiny red dot, tail puffed up, eyes wild with determination. Agatha moved it again, this time sending it up the wall, and Salem launched himself upward, scrambling as if he truly believed he could catch it.

You snorted. “Oh baby boy-”

Agatha blinked. And then, to your utter shock, she laughed. A real, genuine, breathless laugh. Not a smirk. Not a scoff. But laughter. “Oh, you absolute fool,” she chuckled, watching as Salem did an entire somersault trying to catch the dot.

You grinned, eyes sparkling as you watched her-really watched her. Her sharp edges were completely softened, her lips curled in pure amusement, her usually cunning eyes filled with something warm. Something fond. And that was when you knew she was gone. Agatha Harkness, powerful, ancient, no-nonsense witch, had been defeated by a kitten.

“You like him,” you teased, leaning into her side.

Agatha sniffed, flicking the laser one last time before shutting it off. “I tolerate him.”

You just smiled. “Mmmhmm.”

She pointed a warning finger at you. “Don’t push it, darling.” But as she tucked the pointer into the table drawer, her free hand absentmindedly reached down- fingertips brushing over Salem’s head in the lightest, quickest little pet like she thought you wouldn’t notice.

You bit your lip to keep from squealing. She liked him.

~

The air in the room was thick with anticipation as you stepped out of the bathroom, draped in the most sinfully delicate lingerie you had ever worn. You knew Agatha would lose all sense of composure the second she laid eyes on you- her wicked little smirk curling, her hands greedy, her voice slipping into that low, hungry rasp that always made you weak in the knees.

You were ready for her.

You sauntered forward, hips swaying, voice a sultry purr. “Agatha…”

No response.

Your smirk twitched. “Aggie?” you tried again, a little firmer.

Still-nothing.

Your brows furrowed. And then you saw her. Sprawled on her stomach on the bed, head propped up on one hand, while the other absentmindedly twirled a ribbon in front of Salem.

You gawked.

Your wife-the woman who, at any given moment, was seconds away from devouring you whole-was completely, entirely ignoring you.

Because she was playing with the cat.

“Agatha!”

Agatha hummed absently, still not looking at you. “One sec, darling. He’s about to-oh, good boy! Get it, little menace, get it-”

A stunned silence filled the air.

Your wife, the woman who once enchanted a maître d’ into giving her a better table just so she could stare at you under candlelight, was not even looking at you.

You, in this.

You clenched your fists. “Agatha.”

“Mm?” She twirled the ribbon again. “I think he’s figured out he can-ooh, yes, baby, pounce!”

Oh.

Oh.

You let out a horrified gasp. “Oh my god.”

At last, her head snapped up, her amused expression melting into mild confusion. “What?”

The moment her gaze landed on you, standing in your little lace ensemble, looking every bit the goddess you were meant to be-her lips parted, appreciation flashing in her eyes. “Oh,” she breathed, shifting slightly. “You look-”

But it was too late.

You threw your hands in the air. “Are you serious?!”

Agatha blinked. “What?”

“What? What?!” You gestured wildly between yourself and Salem, who was now gnawing on the ribbon. “I have been in there for thirty minutes getting all dressed up to seduce you and you didn’t even notice me come out because you were too busy playing with the cat?”

Agatha opened her mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. “…Okay, but-”

Your glare darkened, daring her to finish that sentence. She wisely did not.

Instead, she exhaled heavily, sitting up. “Baby, you do look absolutely ravishing, and I will make it up to you in ways that will-”

You huffed, already turning on your heel. “Nope! You can play with him tonight, because you’re clearly not playing with me.”

Agatha’s eyes widened. “Wait- baby-”

You stormed to the closet, snatching your silk robe and yanking it over your shoulders.

Agatha scrambled off the bed in a panic. “Darling, wait let’s not be hasty-”

But you were already out the door.

Her head turned to the tiny mew that sounded from the bed. Agatha slowly turned her head. Salem, now stretched lazily across the sheets, let out a self-satisfied purr. She glared at him. “You did that on purpose.”

Agatha growled under her breath, then bolted after you, her heartbeat pounding as she practically skidded into the hallway.

She had some serious groveling to do.

“Baby wait listen, my love please-”

You ignored her, storming toward the kitchen with all the regal ferocity of a woman scorned, silk robe billowing behind you. You snatched a bottle of wine from the counter, popping the cork with a little huff. “Hope you and Salem have a wonderful night together,” you muttered as you poured yourself a glass, the irony of this situation not lost on you.

“Oh, come on, love-”

You took a slow sip, not even looking at her. “Don’t you have a ribbon to twirl?”

Agatha winced. She deserved that. Desperate, she softened her voice. “My perfect, stunning, goddess of a wife,” she pleaded, looking up at you with her most pathetic expression, hands resting desperately on your thighs. “My heart, my soul, my reason for breathing-”

You scoffed, turning away. A sharp gasp left your lips as she spun you around, crowding you back against the kitchen counter, her hands bracketing either side of you.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” she murmured, voice low, dangerous.

Your lips parted, but Agatha was already there- pressing forward, her mouth ghosting over your cheek, then your jaw, the scent of her dark perfume flooding your senses.

“You’re angry with me,” she mused, her lips brushing against your ear, making you shudder. “Rightfully so.”

You swallowed. “Damn right I am.” You tugged at a lock of her hair. “You ignored me.”

She whimpered dramatically. “I loathe myself for it.”

You huffed, finally glancing up at her. “You should.”

She hummed. Amused. And then, lightning fast, she gripped your waist, hoisting you up onto the counter, stepping between your legs before you could even blink. Heat pooled in your stomach.

“Tell me, Angel…” She traced a fingertip along your inner thigh, barely ghosting over your skin. “What kind of apology do you require?”

You opened your mouth, but Agatha tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at her. Her dark eyes were molten, hungry, the power thrumming beneath her skin almost overwhelming. You ached for her. And she loved it.

Your fingers twitched in the silk of your robe. “I should make you suffer for this.”

Agatha grinned. “Oh, sweetheart…” She leaned in, her breath hot against your lips. “By all means-try.”

And then she kissed you; hard, deep, claiming you with every ounce of dominance and desperation in her being. You melted. Your fingers clawed into her shirt, dragging her closer, but she tut-tutted, pulling back just enough to tease.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she murmured, lips brushing yours. “Not so fast.”

You whined. “Agatha-”

She smirked. “What’s wrong, my love?” Her hands tightened on your waist, keeping you firmly in place. “You were so eager to walk away just a minute ago.”

Your breath hitched. Damn her and her smug, sinful mouth. “Are you going to make it up to me, or just tease?”

Agatha growled. And then she bit your lip. You gasped, and she devoured the sound, her kiss turning filthy-all tongue and teeth and raw, desperate possession. Your head spun. She pulled back, her thumb tracing the damp swell of your lips.

“Let’s get one thing straight, darling,” she murmured, eyes blazing. “I own you.”

You whimpered.

Her smirk was wicked. “That’s what I should’ve been paying attention to.” She squeezed your hips, dragging you flush against her. “My wife, my perfect, beautiful, insatiable wife-”

She kissed your throat, smirking against your skin when your pulse stuttered. “You want my attention?” she murmured, biting down.

You moaned.

She grinned. “Oh, sweetheart,” she purred. “You have it.”

And then she took you.

~

The coven was rowdy tonight.

Lilia was yelling at Alice about something to do with the rules, Jen was already two drinks in, and you were curled up in Agatha’s lap because, apparently, sitting in your own chair was unacceptable when you had a perfectly good wife to perch on. Not that she was complaining.

But the chaos truly began when Salem decided that game pieces were his mortal enemies. It started with a single, mischievous paw batting at a game piece. Then another. Then total chaos. Lilia yelped when Salem launched himself across the board, sending dice and cards flying.

“Oh, for God’s sake-Salem, you little goblin!” she huffed, scooping the kitten up before he could pounce again. “You menace! I swear-”

“Excuse me.” Agatha’s voice was sharp.

Lilia froze. The entire room went silent. All eyes snapped to Agatha, who was now glaring at Lilia like she’d personally offended her.

“Show some respect to my cat.”

Silence.

Utter, shocked, jaw-dropping silence.

“Holy shit,” Jen breathed, eyes wide.

Alice, meanwhile, looked far too smug. With an almost ceremonial flourish, she held out her hand, palm up. Jen groaned, digging into her pocket before slapping a crisp twenty-dollar bill into Alice’s palm.

“I told you she’d come around,” Alice said, grinning.

“You gambled on this?” Agatha huffed, unimpressed.

Alice grinned. “We knew it was only a matter of time.”

Lilia, still holding Salem, just stared at Agatha in disbelief. “You hate this cat.”

Agatha huffed, reaching over to pluck Salem from Lilia’s arms and pull him into her lap. “I tolerate him.”

Salem immediately curled up, purring against Agatha’s chest. Your heart melted.

“She loves him,” Billy gasped.

“I do not-”

“You so do!”

Agatha groaned, running a hand down her face. But she didn’t push Salem off. She even gave him a little scratch behind the ears. And that was all the proof they needed that your wife had officially been defeated and your precious little kitten had won.

~

The second the coven left, you pounced. Agatha barely had time to react before you tackled her onto the couch, straddling her waist and capturing her lips in a long, deep kiss. She hummed in approval, hands settling on your hips, gripping you firmly. But when you pulled back, you had a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Say it.”

Agatha blinked. “Say what, darling?”

You smirked. “Say you love him.”

Agatha groaned, letting her head fall back against the cushions. “Oh, for the love of-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” you interrupted, leaning down to kiss along her jaw. “No deflecting, Mrs. Harkness.”

She huffed, tilting her head to give you better access-because, despite her grumbling, she was still weak for your kisses. “I tolerate him.”

You giggled, trailing kisses down her neck. “Say it properly.”

“No.”

More kisses. More sly little touches. Agatha’s fingers tightened on your waist.

“You love him,” you purred against her skin. “I know you do.”

Agatha sighed-long and dramatic, as if she were suffering some great inconvenience. “Fine,” she muttered. “I love the damn cat.”

You squealed in victory, throwing your arms around her neck and kissing her again, all grinning lips and giddy little noises. And despite everything, Agatha laughed. A soft, warm, genuine laugh, as she held you tight against her.

She rolled you over, pinning you beneath her, her blue eyes glinting. “You’re impossible,” she murmured.

You just grinned. “And yet you love me.”

Agatha sighed dramatically. “Yes,” she admitted, brushing her nose against yours. “I really do.”

Bonus Agatha and Salem:

[grayandthyme]

“when there’s so much love to go around?” ;

anon said: I love your Tommy fics SOOOO much <3 it would be so awesome if you could write a super domestic fic, like a dinner or get together with all the millers. you always write Tommy so perfectly mischievous 😩 I think we could all use that in our lives rn

tommy miller x wife!reader ♫ meet me in the woods - lord huron

Synopsis: You and Tommy throw a dinner for Christmas. Tomfoolery with the town. Warnings: pure domestic fluff, dialogue heavy, reader is referred to as she/her, y'all just love each other okay, getting teased about children, barely smut, more so kissies.

authors note: your honor, i love them. i love domestic reader and Tommy—i say as they drag me tf away. ty anon ily for this.. keep requesting.. i see u our minds r the same..

part 2 here

Winter of 2033

It had been hours since you first rolled out of bed, feet hitting the floor before the sun even crept over the snow-covered ridge. The air in Jackson was sharp with winter, but your home was warm—alive with movement, scents, and soft laughter.

Tonight was the Christmas dinner. The big one.

And just like every year since you first settled behind these walls, you were hosting it.

It had only been a year ago that you brought the idea to Tommy—transforming the holiday from a quiet, private gathering to a community-wide Tipsy Bison feast. “Why keep it small,” you’d said, chin in his lap as he sat in that old armchair, “when there’s so much love to go around?”

You still remembered the way he’d looked at you then—like you’d strung up the stars yourself. His fingers had drifted through your hair, the other hand warm against your cheek. “You’re perfect, ain’t ya?” he whispered, not asking, just stating something true.

Now, the scent of roasting meat wafted through the air, kids screamed in the distance as they pelted snowballs, and inside the hall, you stood with your arms crossed, brow furrowed at the crooked evergreen bough above the hearth.

"Higher," you said, voice sweet but firm, hands settled on your hips as you leaned back to assess the greenery.

Tommy let out a long, theatrical grunt from where he stood on the chair, stretching just a little more to pin the garland. "You sure this ain’t high enough? I’m about to pull a hamstring for a damn pine branch."

You squinted, tilting your head, "Mmm… now a little to the left."

He froze. "…Sweetheart," he warned, glancing over his shoulder with narrowed eyes, "if you ask me to move this thing one more time, I swear—"

"You'll what?" you teased, stepping closer, a grin tugging at your lips. "Grumble at me until I die of old age? It's workin'…"

Tommy chuckled, low and fond, shaking his head. “You really like bossin’ me around, huh?”

"You make it too easy," you said, eyeing a bit of snow from his shoulder that had stuck to his coat when he rushed in from patrol. "Besides, you’re the one who ran here the second you got back. I didn’t even ask."

He stepped down from the chair then, hands going to your waist, eyes sparkling with something warm and wicked, “Didn’t need to ask. You say jump, I’m already in the air.”

You rolled your eyes, even as your heart stuttered. “Hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love,” he corrected, leaning in to steal a kiss. “With a woman who makes me decorate trees after I’ve walked ten miles in the snow.”

You laughed against his mouth, fingers tangling in his coat collar. “And you love every minute of it.”

"Only 'cause it's you," he murmured, voice dropping just enough to melt something inside you. "Now… how crooked is it, really?"

"…Crooked enough that you’re gonna need to get back up there.”

Tommy groaned dramatically, already turning for the chair again. “Lord, give me strength.”

“Hey!” a familiar voice echoed through the mess hall entrance, followed by the unmistakable stomp of snow-covered boots. “This place looks sick!”

You turned just in time to see Ellie practically burst through the doors, cheeks red from the cold, a scarf wrapped around her neck like she got tangled in it mid-run.

Joel followed behind her, a little slower, shaking the snow from his coat, feet gliding against the entrance lip to keep snow from coming in, arching a brow at her enthusiasm.

Ellie spun around, arms stretched wide. “You guys really went all out this year—look at this!” She gestured dramatically to the garlands, the lights, the long tables draped in handmade cloths.

“Glad it passes inspection,” you said with a grin, brushing your hands off on a stray dish towel, shedding any dirt or pine oil.

Tommy once again hopped off the chair with a soft thud, muttering, “She’s lucky she showed up after the garland wars.” … “Only one casualty,” Tommy said, shooting you a playful glare. “My damn patience.”

Joel gave a faint, amused huff and patted Tommy’s shoulder on his way in, “It’s like… Hallmark threw up in here." Though it was quiet enough that only Tommy let out a huff of air in amusement.

You leaned in, stage-whispering toward Ellie, “Don’t let him fool you. He’s been humming Christmas songs under his breath all day.”

“Betray me, woman," Tommy gasped, placing a hand over his heart, mock-offended.

Ellie rolled her eyes, grinning widely. “You guys are gross.”

“You say that now,” Joel muttered, pulling off his gloves, “but wait ‘til she’s ropin’ you into hanging ornaments next year.”

Ellie made a face. “Yeahhhh—I’ll just be in charge of the music.”

“Only if it’s not that weird stuff you like,” Tommy teased. “Last year you played that sad punk song about—what was it—dyin' in the snow?”

“It’s poetic! It's Slipknot!” Ellie defended, dramatically offended. “It has layers!”

You just laughed and moved to straighten one of the place settings, glancing up at the group with a warmth that settled in your chest like the glow of a fireplace.

This was what you’d wanted when you first brought up the idea: a night where nobody had to be on guard, where jokes could be tossed around with ease, and where people who'd fought so hard to survive could finally just be.

Joel’s eyes wandered the room, lingering on the wreath above the hearth, the tables arranged with care. He nodded, quietly approving. “Looks good.”

High praise, coming from him.

You gave a little mock bow. “Why, thank you, Mr. Miller.”

He raised his lip, that semblance of a smile, “You’re welcome, Mrs. Miller.”

Tommy sidled up behind you then, slipping an arm around your waist. “If we’re done admirin’ her genius, how about y’all help set out the cider?”

Ellie perked up. “You made cider?”

Tommy grinned. “Well… mostly she did. I just stirred it once or twice and took the credit.”

“Shocking,” you said, elbowing him lightly as you walked toward the kitchen, his arm still draped around you.

Ellie bounded after you. “Okay, but is there whipped cream? Because if there’s no whipped cream, I’m filing a formal complaint.”

Joel sighed behind her. “Kid, it’s cider, not dessert.”

“Says you.” Was that a fat joke?

Tommy chuckled, then turned his head slightly, murmuring in your ear as the others bickered playfully behind you. “This right here? This is why I don’t mind bein’ bossed around by you.”

You looked up at him, heart soft. “Because I make great cider?”

He leaned down, brushed his nose against your temple. “Because you make this feel like home.”

𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏

“Ellie!" you called, already halfway back to the box of leftover decorations, “... you’re in charge of the string lights. Grab Jesse and have him help you run them along the ceiling beams.”

“On it!” she shouted back, already tossing her scarf toward a chair.

“Wait—why me?” Jesse called as he walked through the door, blinking snow out of his lashes.

“Because you’re tall, and you just got here,” you said, pointing towards the box.

Tommy let out a low whistle, watching you move from one task to the next like a conductor in front of a half-chaotic orchestra, “Lord help us. She’s in general mode now.”

Joel, who was currently uncoiling a bundle of firewood near the hearth, smirked under his breath. “Don’t fight it, Brother. It’s easier just doin’ what she says.”

You pointed a finger in their direction without even looking. “Speaking of—which one of you is getting the fire started?”

“Already on it,” Tommy said, tossing a small log into the hearth. “You want it roaring or romantic?”

“Roaring,” you replied. “It’s freezing out there.”

Tommy crouched beside his brother, striking a match. “Don’t think she knows how not to make things romantic.”

You caught that one and just smiled as you passed, hands full of small cloth-wrapped bundles for the tables.

You weren’t barking orders—no—no one would’ve called it that.

You had a softness in your voice, a way of asking that made people want to please you. Like it was their idea all along. It wasn't manipulative, but it was enough of a push that make people want to entertain. Maternal. Caring.

Ellie was already arguing with Jesse over how to untangle the lights, their banter echoing through the hall. “No, you loop it over that beam—what do you mean it’s stuck? Use your freakishly long arms!”

“Long arms?”

“Freakishly.”

You laughed to yourself, their bickering just adding warmth to your heart, adjusting a centerpiece on the nearest table, already moving to the next one.

There was a flow to all of it. Like the dinner wasn’t just being set up—it was being built by hands that wanted people to feel seen, safe, and loved.

You weren’t just hosting a meal.

You were holding a whole town’s worth of worn-down hearts together with pinecones and cider.

And maybe that’s what struck you, as you paused for a breath and watched them all—Tommy, grinning beside the growing fire; Joel, quiet and steady as ever; Jesse helping Ellie, begrudgingly, reach for another beam.

They were all yours, in some small way.

Not possession. Not only romance. Just… yours.

Trusted you. Looked to you.

It felt almost sacred.

You didn’t have to be just Tommy's woman. But it felt like, for the ones who had no one else—you were.

And that was enough.

He caught your eye from across the hall, hands now dusted with soot, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “You gonna sit down at some point tonight?”

“Eventually,” you said, blowing a hair from your face. “After I single-handedly bring order to the post-apocalyptic North Pole.”

He chuckled, stepping forward to press a kiss to your temple. “You know they’re all following you like you hung the moon, right?”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, not out of modesty, but because there was always more to do. “Somebody’s got to keep things moving.”

“And nobody does it better,” he murmured. “But don’t forget to let yourself enjoy it too.”

You leaned into him just for a second, letting the warmth of his chest and the crackling fire fill your lungs. “I am enjoying it. This is joy.”

You pulled away, clapped your hands, and called across the room: “Ellie, when those lights go up, you’re getting the first cup of cider.”

She whooped, hands leaving the ladder Jesse was standing on, “Hell yeah!”

“And Jesse, if you fall off that beam, I’m not bandaging you until after dinner.”

“I’m not gonna fall!” he said, “…probably.”

Tommy laughed beside you, and Joel shook his head as he stoked the fire, a quiet grin forming.

And for just a moment, with the scent of pine, the hum of voices, and the low crackle of warmth in the hearth—this place felt like the safest one on earth.

Taking your break, you slipped out of the main hall and into the kitchen, the swing door creaking gently behind you.

The warm scent of roasted vegetables and spiced cider hung heavy in the air, curling around you like a blanket.

The dishes were set out in organized chaos by Seth—covered platters, still-warm trays, foil-wrapped pots lined up for the eventual dinner.

You moved on instinct, checking lids, stirring where needed, straightening one of the larger trays that had started to tip. The clatter and laughter from the hall was muffled now, just a faint hum behind the door.

You didn’t hear Tommy come in until arms wrapped around your waist from behind, drawing you back into the solid heat of his chest.

“Caught you,” he murmured against your ear.

You grinned, still stirring the pot of mashed potatoes with one hand. “Caught me? I’m working, Miller.”

He moved into the crook of your neck, facial air tickling at air-sensitive skin, voice low and lazy, “Mhm. Always workin’. Always takin’ care of everyone else. Thought I’d steal a minute before you disappeared back into Christmas mode.”

You laughed, setting the spoon down and turning in his arms. “Oh, so now you want to slow down. Not when I was hanging garlands, or setting tables, or bribing Ellie to stop tripping over extension cords—now?”

Tommy leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Exactly now.”

His hands stayed at your waist, thumbs stroking idle circles through your sweater, his other finger through your belt loop to keep you put.

There was something in his eyes—mischief, sure, but also something softer. Admiration was tucked behind the usual boyish charm.

The kind of look that made you feel like the only light in a room full of lamps.

"You know," he said, voice just above a whisper, “you keep runnin’ around makin’ everything beautiful, I’m gonna have to fight off half the damn town.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “And who exactly would be bold enough to test your claim?”

He grinned. “Nobody if they know what’s good for them.”

You leaned up, brushing a kiss against the corner of his mouth, “Possessive looks good on you, Miller.”

He smirked, but it softened into something else, quick, “I ain’t just proud of you, y’know.”

You tilted your head, curious. “No?”

“I need you,” he said, voice suddenly quiet—serious in the way that made your chest ache a little, “All this—this whole town, this dinner, this life—it runs ‘cause you make it feel like it’s worth buildin’ Worth stayin’ for.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the weight of it. And he saw that in your eyes, because he gave you a small shrug and smiled again, a little more sheepish this time as if removing weight, “Just sayin’. While I got you to myself.”

You kissed him then. Slower, firmer. Your hand came up to cradle his jaw, thumb brushing across the scruff of his cheek. He leaned into it like it was something he’d been waiting for all day.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his.

“We’ve got about two more minutes before Ellie breaks in here demanding cider again.”

Tommy groaned, dramatically, “Can’t we just barricade the door and say dinner’s canceled?”

You laughed, kissed him once more—just quick this time—and turned back to the trays.

“Help me carry the rolls,” you said with a wink, lifting a basket. “And maybe later, I’ll let you sneak me into the coat closet.”

Tommy grabbed a tray, “Fuckin' Christmas miracle…”

You both walked back out to the hall, hands full of food and hearts full of something far warmer than the fire.

𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏

The mess hall had shifted entirely.

Where once it had been full of echo and motion, now it buzzed with a gentle hum—laughter bouncing softly off the walls, forks clinking on plates, chairs scraping as people leaned into stories and leaned closer to each other. The scent of roasted root vegetables, smoked meat, and spiced cider filled every corner.

You moved between tables like a steady current, checking on folks, sliding napkins back into place, refilling cider mugs as if it were second nature. Everyone looked so full—not just their plates, but their faces.

Smiling. Relaxed. Safe, for once.

Tommy had already slipped into his seat beside you, a little too proud of how many compliments he’d gotten on your recipes. The combination of your genius and Seth's skills.

You gave him a nudge and sat down at last, your plate mostly neglected, your chest still warm from the earlier kitchen moment.

Then, from the far end of the room, a voice called out, sounding like Eugene.

“Hey, someone’s gotta do a toast!”

A few cheers followed, cups raised in mid-air. Jesse added, “Not it…” quickly, and made a quick motion to lower his head. The future of Jackson just hid from a speech.

She shoved him, grinning. “Come on, don’t be a coward!”

You laughed, shaking your head, trying to retreat into your cider. But then Ellie’s eyes lit up, and she pointed right at you. Little shit.

“Don't hide, Cmon—” she said, smug. “You're the reason any of this came together anyway!”

Tommy turned toward you, eyes already warm. “Got my vote.”

The rest of the room started chiming in. Some teasing, some sincere, but all in agreement.

“Yeah, c’mon!”

“Speech! Speech! Speech!”

You could feel the heat rise in your face, not unwelcome—but definitely a little overwhelming.

Looking at Tommy for help, but he just gave you that look—half fond, half you got this, darlin’.

An even bigger shit.

You cleared your throat, standing slowly, mug still in hand. The chatter dimmed into expectant silence.

“I—uh,” you started, immediately laughing at yourself. “I didn’t really… plan anything.”

Someone from the back shouted, “That makes it better!”

You smiled down at your cider for a second, then looked up.

They were all watching you—not with pressure or scrutiny, but with the kind of warmth that came from knowing you were among people who loved you.

People you’d fed, and worried for, and teased, and built something real with.

So you tried again, this time a little steadier.

“I guess… I just wanted tonight to feel like home. Whatever that means to each of us.” You looked around the room, letting your eyes land on a few familiar faces—Ellie, laughing quietly over her plate; Joel, looking at you with the smallest of nods; Maria, arms crossed but with a smile that said she was proud.

“I know the world doesn’t make much room for softness anymore. But we made this. We kept this. And I think that means something.”

Your voice caught just a little, nerves, but you pushed through it, heart pounding.

“So if you’ve got a full plate, and someone at your table to share it with… then you’re already lucky. And if you don’t have that yet—then you’ve still got this room. These people. This town. And you’ve got us.”

You glanced at Tommy—his eyes didn’t leave you once. There was a glisten there, no hiding it.

“So… cheers,” you finished, lifting your mug with a bashful smile. “To Jackson. To the people who made it home."

The room erupted in soft clinks of mugs, low cheers, and a few watery laughs.

Ellie wiped her eyes in a dramatic-fake-crying motion, and Jesse pounded his hands on the table to add to the claps. Even Joel looked a little off-kilter, quietly murmuring, “That’ll do.” It only earned a breezy eye roll from your features.

You sat down again to Tommy slipping an arm around you, fingers kneading into your jeans pocket, lips pressing to your temple with barely-restrained pride.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he murmured, voice low, “Think I fell in love with you all over again.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, smiling like your chest couldn’t contain it.

“Good,” you whispered. “I was starting to worry your resolve was slippin'.”

He chuckled. “Not a fuckin' chance.”

The fire crackled low in the hearth now, casting golden light that danced across the walls.

Plates were being picked at lazily, conversation lulled into warm after-dinner murmurings.

Ellie and Jesse were halfway through a heated card game with Maria pretending not to keep score. Joel was quietly sipping cider, eyes distant but not unkind, adding his finger to the play, telling Ellie which card to deal. Backseat poker-ing.

And next to you, Tommy was fully leaned back in his chair, one arm slung over the back of yours. He looked content—belly full, boots stretched out, cheeks still a little pink from the fire. That belt buckle wouldn't last long if he had another bite.

Every so often, he'd glance around the room with that quiet pride, like he couldn't believe he got to be a part of this.

You turned toward him, shifting just enough so that your lips barely grazed the edge of his jaw, quirked near his ear. Your voice dropped, soft as the snow still falling outside.

“Y’know,” you whispered, brushing a hand across his arm, “I was just looking at you, and thinking…”

He glanced at you sideways, the faintest smirk already tugging at his mouth. “Dangerous start, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, “I was thinking… you’re my favorite thing here.”

He tilted his head toward you, eyebrow raised, teasing. “Outta the whole town? Even with the cider?”

“Even with the cider,” you whispered, leaning closer. “Even with the fire, and the lights, and the people I love more than life.”

Tommy’s teasing fell quiet under your voice, his eyes softening as you continued.

“I know I run around makin’ sure everyone’s got a seat, or a spoon, or a slice... I like doing that. But when I sit down next to you… That’s the part that feels like rest. Like breathing.”

You felt him exhale, slow and deep. His hand slid down to lace his fingers through yours, resting between your chairs.

“I love you, Tommy,” you said, still low and quiet, just for him. “I love this with you. All of it.”

He didn’t say anything for a second—not because he didn’t know how, but because he felt it. In his chest. In the place no one else had touched in years.

Then he turned, eyes so full of affection it almost hurt to look at.

He didn't reply.

As vocal as he usually was, sometimes love bit him hard, a little obscure in the back of his memories.

The small comments about his father and childhood. Desert Storm and the way he would clutch the handle of every iron in his grip. This felt like balm to soothe the constant panic.

You gave his hand a squeeze, letting your forehead rest against his temple for just a beat before pulling away.

“Just had to say it. Before the kids start asking for seconds and I forget again.”

Tommy chuckled, brushing a kiss to your temple, then to your cheek, then just beneath your ear. “Say it as many times as you want, sweetheart, I ain’t never gonna get tired of hearin’ it.”

You sat back in your chair, still holding his hand, still wearing that quiet smile.

The world outside was still cold. Still cruel. But here—in the flickering firelight, with laughter echoing and love so thick it was stitched into the walls—you were warm.

𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏

The mess hall had quieted into that sleepy, late-night hush—candles still flickering low, wax puddled around the wicks. Plates were mostly cleared, chairs pushed back, laughter long since mellowed into the softer kind, the kind that sat under the ribs and stayed there.

Ellie, Jesse, and Dina had darted out an hour ago—something about sleds, or a fort, you hadn’t really caught it. Joel just shouted “Gloves!” before they disappeared into the snow.

Now, it was mostly just the silent, contented ones left.

The ones with sore backs and full bellies and stories that always got better after midnight.

You were leaned against Tommy on a bench along the wall, both of you drowsy and loose-limbed from cider and comfort. He had an arm wrapped lazily around your shoulders, his thumb dragging light circles into your upper arm.

Gail and Eugene were still picking at dessert scraps at a table over, the two of them grinning in that knowing way old friends do. Their love was pure, one so obvious you can see it at first glance.

Joel was near the fire, legs stretched out and sipping from a cup of something strong—his usual kind of quiet, watchful.

“Y’know,” Gail said suddenly, looking straight at you with her chin propped on her knuckles, “it’s criminal how good you two look together. Like somethin’ outta one of those pre-outbreak holiday movies.”

Eugene chuckled, nudging her. “Yeah, all domestic and warm. Like a damn postcard. All you need now’s a couple’a rugrats running around.”

You felt Tommy chuckle beside you, a low vibration on your side. “Here we go,” It came out quietly, just for you.

You groaned playfully and lifted your head. “We host one community dinner and suddenly it’s baby shower season?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Gail teased, sipping her tea. “Don’t pretend it ain’t crossed your mind.”

“It hasn’t,” you said, at the exact same time Tommy said, “Maybe once or twice.”

That made everyone laugh—including Joel, who gave a soft, raspy heh from his seat, barely looking up as he took another sip of whiskey.

You turned to look at Tommy, arching an eyebrow. “Once or twice, huh?”

He shrugged, completely unbothered, eyes full of mischief.

“I mean, you’re good at takin’ care of people. Organizin’ chaos. Wrangling overgrown kids like me. Feels like it’d translate pretty well.”

You gave his thigh a gentle smack, pretending to scold. “You trying to flirt your way into trouble?”

His grin turned downright dangerous. “Ain’t I always?”

The table chuckled again, Gail fanning herself with a napkin. “Lord, you two are disgustingly in love.”

You laughed, cheeks warm, and tucked your head back against Tommy’s shoulder.

Joel looked over finally, that ghost of a smile still on his face. “If they do have a kid, we’re gonna need a whole second mess hall by next Christmas... Just sayin’.”

You pointed at him, mock, “You’re not off the hook, old man. I’ll be expectin’ somethin’ rustic and overengineered. Gotta put you to work somehow.”

Joel tipped his cup toward you. “Noted.”

Eventually, the others began to gather their coats and hats, leaving with hugs and cheek kisses and murmured thanks.

Gail gave you an extra squeeze, whispering something about how you’re already everyone’s girl, honey—wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to be a mama for real someday.

Jesus.

Something about the holiday had people saying their thoughts out loud.

When it was just the embers, Joel, and you, and Tommy left behind, the stillness finally settled.

Tommy yawned and leaned his head back, arm still snug around you. “Can’t believe we pulled it off again.”

You looked around at the soft glow, the empty plates, the leftover cider cooling in mugs. “We didn’t just pull it off,” you murmured. “We gave people something to believe in. And, I think that's pretty damn cool.”

He kissed the side of your head, slow and sure. “That’s all you, darlin’.”

You turned your face up to his, close enough that only he could hear: “…Think we’d be good at it?” you whispered. “If we ever did?”

His brows lifted—surprised, maybe, but not in a bad way. Then he softened like butter on warm bread. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

You leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, and gave him a look. “Might not be tonight though. I’m still covered in pie crust and stress.”

He grinned. “Fine by me. I’m just enjoyin’ the preview.”

From across the room, Joel cleared his throat—not quite loud, not quite subtle—and stood with a smirk.

“I’m headin’ out before this turns into a second honeymoon,” he muttered as he passed, giving your shoulder a brief pat. “Merry Christmas, you two.”

“Merry Christmas, Joel,” you both said, voices overlapping.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And just like that, it was you and Tommy, finally alone in the quiet afterglow of something beautiful built together.

The mess hall was still warm, but the hush had settled in for good now. Just the crackling of dying embers, the faint hum of wind against the frosted windows, and the clink of ceramic as you and Tommy started clearing the last of the dishes.

You were both slow about it—not lazy, just… lingering. Hands brushing over each other’s as you stacked plates, trading little smiles over crumbs and napkin piles.

Tommy grabbed two mugs, swishing out the leftover cider into a pot. “I swear,” he muttered, “I saw Jesse hide a whole slice of pie in his coat pocket.”

You snorted, wiping down a table. “If he brings ants into the single dorms again, I’m blaming you.”

“Me?” Tommy grinned, tossing a rag at your side. “You’re the one who makes the pie like it’s magic.”

You caught the rag mid-air and lobbed it right back, hitting him square in the chest, mocking a huff, “That’s why I married you. Strong reflexes. Keeps things exciting.”

He caught your wrist before you turned, tugging you toward him with that crooked grin you’d fallen in love with—mischievous and soft all at once.

“Oh, that why?” he murmured, voice low as his other hand landed on your waist. “Not the shoulders? The hands? The fact I can fix a water heater and field-dress a deer?”

“All perks,” you hummed, fingers slipping up to play with the collar of his shirt. “But mostly it’s ‘cause you look real good holdin’ a broom and doin’ what I say.”

He laughed into your hair, the sound muffled and tender. “Woman, you own me.”

“Damn right I do.”

For a few seconds, you just stood like that, wrapped up in each other in the middle of a room still echoing with warmth.

It was wild, sometimes—how easy it was to forget the world outside these walls, how deep the roots had grown inside the two of you.

People came to this place because they needed safety. Peace.

You were the kind of love story folks whispered about in awe.

The kind that made them believe in second chances.

“I think we did good,” you murmured after a bit, voice soft.

Tommy nodded against your temple, “We always do.”

He stepped back reluctantly, just enough to finish the task—grabbing chairs to stack, humming low under his breath. You followed, drying the last few dishes, snuffing out candles with a licked thumb and forefinger.

By the time you turned off the string lights and locked the mess hall doors, the snow outside had grown thicker, quiet and pillowy under your boots. You looped your arm through Tommy’s as you made your way back to the house, the wind nipping at your cheeks.

The door creaked open with a low groan, familiar and unbothered. Tommy reached around you to flip the switch, but the overhead light stayed off. Instead, the glow from the hall lamp spilled golden into the room—just enough to warm the corners, to soften everything.

You kicked off your boots with a sigh that came straight from your soul. “My feet are killing me,” you mumbled, peeling off your coat and scarf. “I’ve been standing for, like, ten years.”

Tommy was already unbuttoning his flannel, eyes on you like you were the first thing he’d ever want to see in soft lighting. “You were runnin’ that dinner like a damn general,” he said with a grin. “Pretty sure even Joel listened to you when you told him to stir the gravy.”

You laughed, low and tired, and stepped forward to help him out of the shirt. He let you, arms lifted, smiling all lazy and smitten.

“I like being useful,” you said, brushing lint off his undershirt, “Makes me feel like I mean something.”

He caught your wrists gently, pulling your hands to his chest. “This place means somethin’ ‘cause of you, sweetheart.”

You didn’t argue. Not tonight.

You just pressed your lips to his jaw, soft and pebbled. Let yourself rest there, eyes closed. His thumbs rubbed soft circles into the back of your hands.

Eventually, you pulled apart, shedding the rest of your layers in tired silence. Eventually, climbing up the stairs and settling into the bedroom.

The fireplace was still glowing low from earlier—it hadn’t gone out completely—and Tommy knelt to add a log and stoke it back to life while you disappeared into the bathroom to wash up.

When you returned in an oversized flannel and wool socks, the bedroom was dim and golden, all low firelight and heavy quilts. Tommy was already under the covers, hair damp from a quick rinse, arm lifted in silent invitation.

You didn’t need to be asked twice.

You slid in beside him and tucked your body close, face pressed into the curve of his shoulder, one leg hooked over his.

“Mm,” he murmured, voice already sleep-heavy, rough with comfort. “You’re cold.”

“You’re warm,” you whispered back, fingers trailing lazily along his ribs. He had always been a personal heater, carrying so much warmth it was astonishing.

He shifted to hold you better, like instinct. One hand cradled your head. The other rubbed up and down your back, slow and steady.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

Just the sound of your breathing, the quiet pop of firewood, the way his thumb brushed behind your ear.

Then, so softly, you whispered, “Think we’ll always have this?”

Tommy kissed the top of your head. “Yeah,” he said, without hesitation. “I do.”

You smiled against his skin, nose brushing the hollow of his collarbone. “Feels like I belong here. Like we’re part of the house.”

“We are the house,” he mumbled. “You’re the heart. I’m the dumb cowboy who fixed the floorboards.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I like the dumb cowboy.”

“Good,” he said sleepily, pulling the blankets tighter around you both. “He’s crazy ‘bout you.”

You sighed, eyes slipping closed, breathing in his scent—woodsmoke and worn cotton.

You were just about to drift off, legs tangled, the weight of the day finally softening in your bones—when Tommy shifted, just a little, and pressed his mouth to your jaw with slow intention.

One kiss turned into two, then three—trailing toward your ear, lazy but unmistakable. You smiled into the pillow. Damn, cowboy.

“Tommy…” you warned, voice already low with amusement.

“What?” he murmured, lips brushing just below your ear, “Can’t a man kiss on his wife a little before bed?”

But there was nothing little about the way his hand skimmed down your side, slipping under the hem of your shirt, or how his mouth found yours—hot, tender, teasing.

You responded without hesitation, fingers winding into black curls as the kiss deepened, stealing the breath right out of your chest.

It was slow at first, more laughter than urgency—soft giggles between kisses, teasing touches, his grin against your mouth when you tugged him closer.

Then the warmth grew into something deeper, heavier. Familiar. The kind of intimacy that only years of love could make feel both playful and feisty.

By the time your shirt was halfway off and the quilt was bunched around your hips, you weren’t laughing anymore—all teeth and tongue.

"On your stomach," His voice was hoarse—an area between sleep, and need. Something he so often craved at this time of the night, hell, probably every moment of the day.

You were quick to turn around in his grasp, face buried into the pillow—fingers lacing through thin sheets, white knuckling as he pulled each bit of fabric from your flesh.

Hands moving to the front of your shirt, a palm splayed against soft swell of breast—it was natural, reverent. He was quick to sink in, breathless and turbulent.

You didn’t even remember when you stopped kissing and started just… being.

The quilt had been dragged up again, wrapped around both of you like a shielding secret.

Your legs were still tangled, bare skin pressed to bare skin, the kind of closeness that made it hard to tell where you ended and he began.

You shifted just enough to glance up at him again, your fingers drawing light circles along his ribs. “Y’know… if this is how we’re doin' Christmas eve, I’m scared to ask what you’ve got planned for New Year’s.”

Tommy let out a lazy, shameless grin, eyes still half-lidded with sleep and satisfaction, “Darlin’, if you let me, I’ll make a tradition outta this.”

You raised a brow. “Mm. A tradition that involves nearly breaking the bedframe?”

“That bed’s tougher than it looks… I on the other hand…” He gave a mock groan, rubbing a hand over his face, “You might’ve just finished me off. You proud of yourself?”

You grinned, impossibly smug, “Devastatingly.”

Tommy reached out to pull you fully on top of him, your laugh muffling against his bare chest as he buried his face in your hair. “God help this town if they knew what their golden girl gets up to after hours.”

You looked up at him with a wink. “Please. Let’s not give them more reason to build me a shrine.”

He huffed a laugh. “Too late for that. I already light candles for you every time you bend over that damn bed.”

You let out a chuffed breath, somewhere between a whine and a laugh, smacking his chest lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he whispered, tilting your chin up with two fingers, “here you are, in my bed. Again.”

"Our bed," The correction lingered, you kissed him slowly, smiling into it, "Only ‘cause you’re pretty.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, pulling the covers up tighter around you both, “And humble too, don’t forget that part.”

You let your head fall back onto his chest, your laughter finally softening into a sleepy sigh, "So humble, Miller…"

A long pause stretched between you, soft and golden in the low firelight. Your fingers drifted across his chest like they had nowhere else to be.

Then your gaze caught something glinting just above the blankets. The leather band on his wrist. The scratched face of that old, worn watch Joel had fixed up for him last year, told him to finally get a handle on what time it was.

You squinted at it, blinking drowsily. And then you smiled.

“Tommy…” you murmured, tapping the watch face. “It’s after midnight.”

He lifted his wrist with a tired grunt, turning the watch toward his line of sight. The corners of his mouth twitched into a grin.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said. “It’s Christmas.”

You looked up at him with a crooked smile, chin resting on his chest, “Guess that makes me your present.”

Tommy chuckled, low and rough. “Sweetheart, you were the best damn thing under the tree and the one who wrapped it.”

You laughed, nose wrinkling. “Smooth.”

He leaned in and kissed you again—softer now. Slower. All warmth and afterglow. “Merry Christmas, baby,” he whispered against your lips.

You touched his cheek, thumb grazing the stubble there. “Merry Christmas, Tommy.”

Settling into each other once more, bodies warm and tangled beneath the blankets, hearts still beating in sync.

The fire cracked low beside you, the snow fell silent beyond the window, and for one more night in Jackson—one more night in this life you built from the wreckage of everything lost—you were happy.

masterlist

part 2 here

[black-pearl-cookie-lover]

My WitchCookie!reader headcanons

Slight Pv x reader

(not proofread)

Tw:theeth rooting fluff

An: i love the found family troupe sosososo much!!

Origin

-The reader used to be a very powerful witch, but also a sweet lady

-she's actually was the one who made gingerbrave! So she's his mother in a weird way?

-she's younger than most witches but incredibly powerful since she's descendes from a family of Infamous witches, which made her a threat to the other witches so they decided to cast her away transforming her into a cookie!

-she starts to wander off as small little cookie with no real plan or destination.

Meeting

-she first meets gingerbrave and his crew early on, she was just wondering all alone muttering to herself.

-she instantly recognized Gingerbrave she could never forget about her own creation!

-however she doesn't reveal herself as a witch and when asked for her name she fumbles and ends up on "Witch [name] cookie" as a name

-being the oldest in the group at that point in time she tries to keep them all safe.

-when White lily joins up too they click well instantly maybe because they are similar(they are both hiding something)

They find out reader used to be a witch

-The reader would probably just come clean about it, it would create a slight tension between herself and Gingerbrave, she'd feels so horrible because she genuinely started to care for him as if he was her own.

-it would take time but slowly they'd accept this part of her story.

-she highkey becomes a single mother of 3

The gang loves their witchy mom

"ehy don't puss yourself too much, being brave is good but there's a difference between that and being reckless."

"sorry mom!"

"wash your teeth before going to sleep!"

"Yeah ok mom." Practically rolling his eyes

Holding back tears "that's the first time you called me that!"

"i didn't mean it Like.. Whatever makes you happy"

"your skills are getting better keep it up!"

"thank you mom!" she's very flushed by the compliment

-She and Pure vanilla go greatly together since they are both nurturing people, well reader is less of people pleasing and more of a 'do what I'm saying I promise I know better' person.

"i love our children more than anything!"

".. Our children?"

"Yes. Our children have a problem with that?"

He'd chuckle "not at all"

She's also very protective of who she calls family you mess with her kids? You can say goodbye to both your hands because they are ending up in her next potion!

She would want to keep the little dough kid from the "my cookie" quest but would have to give up because of how dangerous it would be for the little thing.

(all the beasts would most definely despite her since she comes from the same family of one of the witches who trapped them)

Overall she's mother! That's for sure.

[solxamber]

Can't wait to request Skully boy, but let's do a part 3 of White Rabbit!Reader since the overblot aftermath is usually somewhat of a positive effect on the overblot person, I want it to do the opposite to White Rabbit!Reader since before their overblot, they were always jumpy, timid and anxious.

Now, I kind of want them to be like this half the time whenever someone bothers them:

Aftermath of White Rabbit! Reader's Overblot

Characters: All NRC + Staff + Rollo, Neige, Che'nya

Original White rabbit! reader ask ; White rabbit! reader overblot ask

thanks for the request <3

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is probably the first to notice the difference. While he usually relied on your obedience to the Queen's rules, your newfound bluntness shocks him. He asks you to organize paperwork, expecting the usual nervous compliance, but instead, you sigh and mutter, “Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to it, don’t have a heart attack.” Riddle is speechless for a moment, his face flushing. Though he won’t admit it, he’s at a loss. “What… happened to you?”

Trey Clover

Trey has always been the calm, stable figure in your life, a grounding presence in Heartslabyul. But even he’s taken aback by your sudden shift. “You’re not the same nervous bunny I’m used to,” he remarks when you snap at someone who’d pushed you too far. You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Guess I finally had enough.” Trey offers a small, understanding smile, knowing all too well the pressures of keeping up appearances. “If you need to blow off steam, my kitchen’s always open. Just don’t burn out.”

Cater Diamond

Cater, who usually plays things off with a lighthearted comment or a perfectly timed selfie, can sense the change in your mood. "Whoa, who flipped the switch on you, bunny?" he jokes, holding up his phone for another pic. You barely glance his way, grumbling, "Put that away before I snap." Cater's smile falters briefly, unused to you being so short with him. "Yikes. Someone's in need of a chill day. Maybe a group selfie will help?" He backs off but keeps an eye on you, curious how long this new attitude will last.

Ace Trappola

Ace is taken aback but more intrigued than anything. He used to enjoy teasing you for fun, always expecting a shy or flustered response. Now, you roll your eyes and say, “Do you ever stop running your mouth?” Ace laughs nervously but is secretly impressed by your sass. “Hey, I liked you better when you were jumpy. You were easier to mess with.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce feels bad. He didn’t realize how much the teasing had affected you until now. He approaches cautiously, noticing your new, weary demeanor. When he tries to help, offering to carry something, you grumble, “I’ve got it, I’m not helpless.” Deuce scratches his head, feeling guilty. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I’m sorry if we pushed you too hard.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona finds your transformation amusing at first. As one of the few prey beastmen in the school, he always enjoyed calling you "herbivore." But now, when you meet his taunts with a dry “Yeah, real original, Leona,” he raises an eyebrow, both impressed and a little curious. “Finally got some backbone, huh? Good. Don’t expect me to go easy on you just ‘cause you stopped cowering.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie is caught off guard by how done you seem with everything. He tries to pass off some chores, as usual, but you just give him a deadpan look. “Do I look like your personal assistant?” Ruggie chuckles nervously. “Whoa, you’ve changed. Guess I’ll just… do it myself, then. Heh.”

Jack Howl

Jack, being the most straightforward, notices something is wrong immediately. He never liked the way people teased you, and now your exhaustion worries him. “You don’t look so good. Is there something I can help with?” When you respond with a tired “Just let me get through the day, Jack,” he frowns, unsure how to handle this new side of you.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul appreciates how compliant you were before, especially when he needed help with contracts or deals. Now, your indifference makes his eye twitch. “Care to assist with a little… business?” he asks. “Do it yourself, Ashengrotto,” you reply without even looking up. Azul’s smile falters. “How… unfortunate.”

Jade Leech

Jade enjoys your shift in attitude. To him, it’s fascinating to see prey become more assertive. “My, my, you’ve grown quite bold, haven’t you?” he muses. You don’t even glance his way, muttering, “Bold? I’m just tired.” Jade chuckles, intrigued. “I do hope that exhaustion won’t stop you from keeping things interesting.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd used to love squishing you just to see you jump. Now, when he wraps an arm around your shoulders and you groan, “Not now, Floyd,” he pouts. “You’re no fun anymore, Little Rabbit. Bring back the scaredy-cat!” He sulks but also seems weirdly fascinated by your new attitude, poking you to see if he can get a reaction.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim’s sunny disposition remains unchanged, but even he notices that something’s off. He invites you to join a party, only for you to respond, “I’m not in the mood.” Kalim blinks, genuinely concerned. “Hey, is everything okay? You always used to come… I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil is more analytical about your change. He senses something deeper at play and approaches cautiously. “You’re different now,” he observes. “No kidding,” you mutter, pushing past him. Jamil hums thoughtfully, wondering if there’s something he can learn from your overblot experience—or if it’s just another thing he needs to keep an eye on.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is used to elegance, control, and composure, so your new bluntness strikes him as unbecoming. “You’re really letting yourself go,” he comments sharply. You simply stare at him, unbothered, and say, “And you care because?” Vil frowns, his perfectly crafted facade slipping for a second. “Honestly, how disappointing.”

Rook Hunt

Rook finds the change in you utterly fascinating. “Ah, the hunted has become a hunter in their own right! Magnifique!” You stare at him with exhausted eyes, muttering, “I’m just trying to get through the day, Rook.” He laughs, completely unfazed by your exhaustion. “Every day with you is an adventure, mon lapin!”

Epel Felmier

Epel, who never liked being underestimated, gets where you’re coming from. He nudges you with a grin. “Bet you’re sick of everyone treating you like you’re fragile, huh?” You shrug tiredly, “Sick of a lot of things.” Epel chuckles. “Yeah, I get that. Don’t let ‘em push you around anymore.”

Idia Shroud

Idia is a little freaked out by your change. You used to be predictable, easy to understand—now? Not so much. He glances at you from behind his tablet and mumbles, “Uh… you okay? You seem… different.” When you snap back, “What do you think?” Idia recoils, instantly regretting his question. “Yikes… never mind…”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho, ever the optimist, immediately notices your shift in behavior and tries to cheer you up in his own enthusiastic way. “I can analyze your stress levels! Maybe we can find a way to relax together!” he offers, his eyes lighting up with data scans. You give him a tired look and sigh, “Thanks, but I just want to be left alone.” Ortho frowns, his usual cheerful energy dimming. “Okay… but remember, I’m always here if you need help!” He can’t quite figure out how to help you, but he makes a mental note to keep monitoring your well-being.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus can feel the weight of your exhaustion and frustration. He’s perceptive and doesn’t need to hear you say much to understand how deeply the overblot has affected you. “You carry a heavy burden now,” he says quietly. You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I have a choice.” Malleus watches you with a somber gaze. “You do. You always have a choice.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia is concerned but also intrigued by your sudden shift. “My, you’ve grown up in such a short time,” he teases, though his tone carries a hint of seriousness. “Not sure if that’s a good thing,” you mutter. Lilia’s eyes narrow. “Be careful not to lose yourself, young one. This world can be… unforgiving.”

Silver

Silver, ever the calm and observant knight, is probably the least surprised by your change in demeanor. He approaches cautiously, noticing your exhaustion even before you speak. “You’ve been through a lot. Don’t push yourself too hard,” he advises softly. When you sigh and mutter, “I’m just tired, Silver,” he nods, understanding in his quiet way. “If you ever need to rest, I’ll stand guard for you.” He’s not one to pry but offers his silent support.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek is offended by your change in attitude, especially since you no longer respond as deferentially as you used to. “What happened to your respect for authority?” he barks. You shoot him an irritated glare. “Respect is earned, not given.” Sebek’s jaw drops, his mind struggling to compute your audacity.

Rollo Flamme

Rollo has always had a certain disdain for the chaotic nature of magic, and as someone who seemed so harmless before, you were never a particular blip on his radar.

But after your overblot, when you return to a more cynical, jaded version of yourself, Rollo is... intrigued. “I see you’ve shed your naïveté,” he comments one day when you cross paths, eyeing your newfound sharpness.

You sigh and rub your temples, muttering, “I’m too tired for whatever lecture you’re about to give me, Rollo.” He raises an eyebrow, slightly amused. “Perhaps you’ve come to realize that order, after all, must be maintained by force. Even for someone like you.” His words are clipped, but there’s almost a sense of kinship as he recognizes the exhaustion that comes from living within strict expectations.

Neige LeBlanche

Neige is disheartened by your exhaustion. He approaches you with genuine concern, his wide, innocent eyes full of sympathy. “I’m sorry if anyone’s been making things harder for you,” he says softly. “You don’t deserve that.” You give him a tired smile, “It’s fine. People just… don’t know when to stop.” Neige nods. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

Che’nya

Che’nya finds your new personality endlessly amusing. “My, my! You’ve finally joined the cynical side of Wonderland!” he teases, popping in and out of view. You roll your eyes, unimpressed. “I’m too tired for your games, Che’nya.” He grins, floating above you. “That’s what makes it so fun, friend.”

Crowley

Crowley had always seen you as one of the more manageable students—timid, hardworking, and, most importantly, someone who didn’t cause him headaches. But after your overblot? Let’s just say he’s... mildly concerned. “My dear White Rabbit, surely you don’t mean to talk to your esteemed headmaster in such a disrespectful tone!” he blusters, feathers metaphorically ruffled when you brush past one of his long-winded speeches with an eye roll and, “Please, for the love of Seven, just get to the point.” Crowley is left gaping, unsure whether he should reprimand you or seek out some sympathy for your newly discovered spine.

Divus Crewel

Crewel is quick to notice your shift in attitude and respects your newfound bluntness—though only to a point. “You’ve finally found some grit,” he comments, his voice sharp as usual. “Good. Just don’t let it cloud your judgment.” You nod wearily, “I’m way past judgment.”

Mozus Trein

Trein raises an eyebrow at your attitude shift but doesn’t comment much. He simply sighs, “I hope you’re not letting stress affect your studies.” You shrug. “Stress is part of the deal, Professor.”

Sam

Sam’s sharp eye notices the change immediately when you stroll into his shop, a bit of a scowl replacing your usual fidgety demeanor. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite bunny. What’s got you hoppin’ mad today?” he teases lightly, hoping to bring a smile to your face.

But when you shoot him a tired look and say, “Sam, please, just give me the potion before I scream,” he lets out a low whistle. “Whoa now, partner! You’re wound up tighter than a jack-in-the-box! If anyone knows about stress, it’s me—how ‘bout I toss in some tea on the house?” He’s concerned, but he can’t resist a little ribbing, hoping to ease your frustration.

Masterlist