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pandapetals · 24 days ago

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Sunset On The Fenceline

Summary: In a world still haunted by old dangers, Joel and you have built a quiet life together on a farm outside Jackson. Between playful banter, shared chores, and tender moments by firelight, they hold tightly to the love they fought so hard to find.

Pairing: joel miller x fem!wife reader

Word count: 11k

Content warnings: domestic married life, farm life, soft joel, fluff, oral/p in v smut, flirting, banter, teasing, imagined reader in her 40s (but it's not mentioned), no y/n used, Joel lives and makes amends with Ellie and nothing bad ever happened, Ellie/Dina/JJ appearance

A/N: divider by @/saradika-graphics. I just want a domestic life with him. Okay, had to add...I am a weirdo and do research for my fics a lot. When looking at Google Maps for Jackson…I found out there is a historical cabin called Miller Cabin. So, this is where Joel and Reader live. Headcanon now. ^ middle photo is the real place.

Before the sky transformed into a vibrant blue-gray, Joel was already at the fence line. A loose board, likely knocked askew by an elk during the night, had him muttering softly under his breath. The steady thunk of the hammer against the wood echoed through the crisp morning air. His hands moved with the assured, unhurried grace that comes from a lifetime of building and dismantling things.

Chickens murmured and scratched in the dirt, feathers ruffling as they stirred from their roost. The old dog — a mangy mutt Joel always claimed wasn’t worth a damn, though he snuck scraps to it after every meal — stretched out on the porch in a patch of weak sunlight, one ear twitching at the sound of your footsteps.

You stepped outside, the chill biting at your skin through the worn fabric of Joel’s flannel you’d pulled on. In your hands, his coffee mug, a brown owl printed on the side, the glaze cracked, and a chip missing from the rim. The scent of the coffee curled up in the air between you.

“Joel?” you called, voice soft but carrying in the stillness.

He glanced up, a small, crooked smile flickering across his face. He gave you that look, the one that meant I hear you. I’m not done yet, as the hammer in his hand didn’t pause.

You sank into the rocking chair with a quiet sigh, setting the mug on the side table. The wood was rough and sun-bleached beneath your fingertips. Joel’s guitar rested nearby, strings catching the light like spider silk. You reached for it, the weight familiar and comforting.

A tentative strum sent a warm, uneven chord into the morning air. You tried to recall the chords Joel had shown you the week before, your hand stumbling over the frets. It was hard to focus when your eyes kept drifting back to him. The way his hands gripped the hammer, strong and steady, veins like old rope beneath sun-darkened skin. Those hands had carried you through storms, patched roofs, and pulled you close in the dark.

Even now, they distracted you.

You shook your head, chasing away the images of Joel’s hands—rough, scarred, so impossibly gentle when they held the guitar. But it was no use. The memory of his fingers moving over the frets, coaxing out soft, aching notes, settled stubbornly in your mind.

You exhaled, glancing down at your clumsy and uncertain hands. The guitar felt heavier now; its neck was too broad, and the strings bit into your fingertips like always.

Still, you tried.

Your fingers fumbled for the shape of the chord he’d shown you days before. A rough pluck, then another. The opening notes of Make You Feel My Love drifted thin and uneven, snagging on missed strings and hesitant pauses. It was a ghost of the song, fragile and unfinished, but it filled the quiet morning.

You grimaced at a wrong note, muttering under your breath, “Shit.”

From down by the fence line, the steady thud of hammering stopped.

A beat later, you heard the crunch of boots over the leaves, and Joel’s silhouette appeared leaning against the porch railing, his expression softened by the early light.

“Didn’t mean to distract you,” you teased, setting the guitar in your lap like it might hide the heat rising to your cheeks.

He huffed a quiet laugh, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his back pocket. “Sounded like someone was tryin’ to murder that poor guitar.”

You shot him a look, but his grin was fond, the kind that melted you down to your bones.

“Here,” he said, crossing the porch and lowering himself beside you. His hands covered yours, guiding your fingers to the right frets. The scent of cedar and earth clung to him.

“Like this,” he murmured, the words threading through the still air. His thumb brushed the strings, and the note rang out clean and sweet.

You swallowed hard, your gaze fixed on his hands as they moved yours, calloused fingers coaxing the right shape out of yours. The steady warmth of his skin against yours made it impossible to concentrate, and you didn’t even try to pretend otherwise.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart,” Joel murmured, the pad of his finger hooking gently under your chin, tipping your face toward him.

Your eyes met his, heat rushing to your cheeks like you’d been caught doing something scandalous. “Sorry,” you muttered, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips.

Joel chuckled, the sound curling around you like the morning chill. “You make an old man like me feel downright irresistible,” he teased, a crooked grin settling.

“Joel,” you huffed, nudging his knee with yours, “you’re my husband.”

He shrugged, his thumb still tracing lazy circles against the back of your hand. “Yeah, well… still. You’re sittin’ here blushin’ over my hands like we’re a couple’a teenagers behind the bleachers. It’s weird.”

You laughed, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. “Can’t help it,” you said, leaning your shoulder against his. “You’ve got good hands. And I happen to like the way you use ‘em.”

He snorted at that, shaking his head, but his grin softened, his gaze lingering on you a little longer. “Keep talkin’ like that, darlin’, and I ain’t gonna be much help with your playin’.”

“Was hoping you’d say that,” you whispered loud enough for him to hear.

Joel groaned good-naturedly, leaning in to press a quick, scratchy kiss to your temple. “Troublemaker.”

“Alright, alright. Just help me,” you finally relented, the words slipping out on a breathy laugh.

Joel’s grin spread across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached for you without a word, his hands settling at your waist. You barely had time to react before he plucked you right out of the rocking chair like you weighed nothing.

A surprised little gasp escaped you, your hands catching at his shoulders. “Joel!”

He huffed a laugh, sinking into the chair with you cradled against him. The old wood creaked beneath his weight. His arm looped around your middle, pulling you close.

“Oh yeah, that’ll help me focus,” you snorted, wriggling slightly in his lap, the corner of your mouth twitching.

“Quit your squirmin’,” Joel said, his voice low and warm against your ear. “Or I’ll find a better way to distract you.”

You laughed, leaning back against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. The world felt quieter like this, the morning sun brushing over the porch, the faint cluck of chickens in the yard, and Joel’s familiar, steady presence wrapped around you.

“Now,” he said, reaching for the guitar and settling it across both your laps, “let’s see if we can’t keep you from murderin’ this poor thing.”

You grinned, your fingers brushing against his as you both found the strings. “If I mess up again, you can’t make fun of me.”

“No promises, darlin’,” Joel murmured, kissing your temple before guiding your hand to the first chord.

Joel’s hands covered yours, his calloused fingers guiding yours along the strings as the melody stumbled back to life. It was shaky, a little uneven, but better than it had sounded when you’d been struggling on your own.

“Just relax,” Joel murmured, his thumb brushing slow circles against the inside of your wrist. The warmth of his touch chased away some of the tension coiled in your shoulders.

“I’m tryin’,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut for a second, savoring the quiet kindness in his touch.

Joel chuckled under his breath, his voice brushing the shell of your ear. “Maybe Ellie oughta be the one teachin’ you. You wouldn’t be actin’ all—”

“No!” you cut in too fast, your voice sharper than you meant. His brow arched, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at you.

“Oh?” he drawled, teasing laced in every syllable.

You huffed, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “I like you teachin’ me,” you admitted, your voice softening, “I just… get a little distracted by how handsome you are.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he heard, but the pink dusting his ears betrayed him.

“Jesus, woman,” he muttered with a grin, nudging his nose against your temple. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You grinned, leaning into him, letting the moment settle around you like a favorite old quilt — frayed at the edges but warm where it counted. His hands tightened gently around yours, guiding your fingers back to the strings.

“Alright then,” he said, his voice rough and fond. “From the top. And quit makin’ googly eyes at me while we’re at it.”

“No promises,” you shot back, smiling as you let him pull you through the notes again, your fingers clumsy but eager.

Somehow, you managed to focus, obedient under Joel’s steady hands. He guided you through the chords, his touch gentle, patient in a way only he could be. The notes came softly and unevenly, but they came, and that was enough.

You’d never been able to play without singing. The words found their way out even when you barely knew the notes. Quiet at first, more of a hum than a song as it filled the space between you.

Joel let out a soft sigh, sounding more like contentment than exhaustion, and lowered his head until it rested against your shoulder.

The melody drifted over the porch, catching in the cool morning air. Your voice was unsteady, but Joel didn’t seem to care. His arm slipped around your waist, holding you closer, and you could feel the curve of his smile against your neck.

“You sound real pretty, sweetheart,” he murmured, like gravel warmed by the sun.

Your fingers faltered for a beat, your heart stuttering at the words. You turned your head slightly, your cheek brushing against his. “Only ‘cause you’re helpin’ me,” you whispered.

Joel chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest against your back. “Nah. You’d be somethin’ special with or without me.”

The porch, the rising sun, the whole vast, broken world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you — the old guitar balanced across your laps, your voices tangled together in a half-remembered tune, and Joel’s steady warmth anchoring you to the here and now.

You kept playing and singing, just for him.

And he stayed right there, head on your shoulder, like he belonged nowhere else.

“Quit fussin’, it’s just Ellie—” Joel started, his voice carrying that familiar mix of fondness and exasperation as he leaned against the doorframe, watching you pace the kitchen.

You glared at him over your shoulder, though there wasn’t an ounce of real heat behind it. “It’s not just Ellie,” you huffed, gesturing wildly with the dish towel. “It’s Ellie, Dina, JJ, Tommy, and Maria coming over. So no, I won’t quit fussing. I’m a host, Joel—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Joel crossed the room in a few unhurried strides, slipping his arms around your waist from behind. His chin came to rest on your shoulder, stubble scraping lightly against your skin, and he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your face.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, “you’re actin’ like the goddamn Queen of England’s comin’ over.”

You sighed, your body instinctively leaning back into his, the tension bleeding from your shoulders a little at his familiar weight. His hands settled against your stomach, rough palms warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.

“It’s family,” he went on, swaying you both slightly in place. “Ain’t nobody comin’ here to judge the state of the house or whether you baked enough pies.”

You let out a reluctant laugh, dropping your head against his shoulder. “I just want it to be nice. It’s been a while since we had everyone here at once.”

Joel’s fingers gave your waist a gentle squeeze. “It’s already nice, darlin’. ‘Cause you’re here. And I’m here. And there’s gonna be food, bad jokes, and probably Ellie makin’ fun of me at some point.”

You grinned at that, turning in his arms to face him. “She is ruthless.”

“Downright cruel,” Joel agreed, his grin lazy and fond as he leaned in to brush his nose against yours. “Now, how ‘bout you let me finish settin’ the table while you stop rearrangin’ them biscuits for the third time?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest when he stole another kiss, his thumb stroking lazy circles against your hip.

“Okay,” you breathed, the word soft as you finally let the biscuit drop from your fingers onto the plate. Joel squeezed your hip before releasing you, moving easily around the kitchen to help.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to fall into your old, familiar rhythm — him chopping vegetables while you stirred the gravy, the clatter of dishes and the low hum of the wood stove filling the space between you. Joel hummed under his breath, some old tune you half-recognized, and you found yourself relaxing into its simplicity.

But your ears kept flicking toward the window.

The sound came slowly at first—the faint, steady rhythm of hooves on hard-packed earth. Your pulse kicked up, just a notch, as it always did when they came down the road. It wasn’t far from Jackson to here, but every trip made your stomach twist in the same anxious knot. The world was quieter now, safer in some ways, but old habits died hard.

Joel must’ve heard it too, because he straightened up, wiping his hands on a dish towel as his gaze shifted toward the porch.

“They’re here,” he said, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You moved to the door without thinking, pushing it open just as Ellie’s voice rang across the yard.

“Y’all better have food ready!” she hollered, perched high on her horse, Dina behind her. JJ was cradled in Dina’s arms, bundled tight against the cold, cheeks flushed pink from the wind.

The tightness in your chest eased at the sight of them.

Joel stepped up behind you, his hand settling on the small of your back like it always did. “There’s my girls,” he murmured, voice rough with fondness.

JJ spotted you and let out a happy little squeal, wriggling in Dina’s arms and waving a mittened hand. The sound made something warm and aching bloom in your chest.

“Hey, potato,” you called, waving back, already reaching for the spare quilt draped over the porch rail. “Bet you’re frozen solid, huh?”

“Mom’s been riding like a damn maniac,” Ellie grumbled, but she was grinning.

Dina laughed. “Kid loves it. Don’t let her fool you.”

Joel chuckled, heading down the steps to help them unload. “You all drive your old man to an early grave, you know that?”

“Too late for that,” Ellie shot back. Joel answered with a mock scowl, the kind meant to cover how goddamn pleased he was to see her in one piece, and it didn’t fool a soul.

You glanced past them, scanning the tree line, as if maybe Tommy and Maria would come riding up any second, but the road stayed empty.

“Where’s Tommy and Maria?” you asked, shifting JJ in your arms as he reached up, tiny gloved fingers curling around the collar of your shirt. You tucked the quilt closer around him, his nose cold against your neck.

Ellie swung her leg over her saddle, boots hitting the dirt with a soft thud. She exchanged a glance with Dina, something quiet passing between them before she spoke. “Y’know how it is,” she said, voice a little softer now, less sharp around the edges. “Maria’s got a town to run. Tommy wanted to stick around and help out.”

Joel’s jaw ticked, and you felt his hand brush against yours as he took JJ’s little mittens off, rubbing warmth into the boy’s tiny fingers. Neither of you needed it spelled out — it was code for they’re still working through it. The same way people said she’s just tired or he just needs space—small words for heavy things.

You exchanged a glance with Joel, and both nodded. It was the kind of shared understanding you didn’t need to speak aloud. You hoped they’d find their way back to each other. It was a hard world to stay soft in, harder still to hold on to the ones you loved.

Joel cleared his throat, shaking the tension off with a practiced ease. “Alright,” he said, jerking his head toward the house. “Let’s get inside. Food’s ready, and it ain’t gettin’ any hotter.”

JJ squealed at the sound of food, not knowing what the word meant, and you laughed, kissing the top of his head.

“Bet you made that cornbread I like,” Ellie teased, stepping beside Joel as they headed for the porch.

“Made two pans,” he grunted, side-eyeing her. “One for the rest of us, one for you, since you eat like a damn wolf.”

Ellie smirked. “Guess that makes you the old dog, huh?”

Joel shot her a look, but it was all warmth. Dina chuckled, and you cradled JJ a little tighter, feeling the old porch boards creak under your feet as the house filled with voices, laughter, and family.

After dinner, the lot of you settled into the living room, the last of the evening light giving way to the glow of the fireplace. The scent of woodsmoke clung to the air, mingling with the lingering warmth of cornbread and roasted vegetables.

JJ was perched happily in Joel’s lap, his tiny fingers tangled in the buttons of Joel’s flannel as he babbled nonsense words, occasionally punctuated by an enthusiastic slap to Joel’s chest. Joel bore it patiently, one big hand keeping the boy steady while the other cradled a half-full glass of whiskey.

Ellie was sprawled across the floor in front of the hearth, one leg stretched out, the other bent, picking at a loose thread on her sock. Dina sat cross-legged beside her, leaning into Ellie’s shoulder as they swapped stories about Jackson’s latest gossip. Who was sneaking out after curfew, which old timer claimed he’d seen a clicker near the old mill, and a petty feud over who had the nicest tomatoes this season.

“I swear to God,” Ellie snorted, tossing a peanut shell into the fire, “if I hear one more argument about whose chickens lay better eggs, I’m movin’ to another town.”

Dina grinned. “Sure you are. You barely leave your house unless there’s food involved.”

“I leave for important things,” Ellie shot back, smirking. “Food. Booze. Threatening people.”

Joel grunted, taking a slow sip from his glass. “Sounds like a hell of a role model for this kid,” he muttered, jostling JJ gently.

JJ let out a happy squeal, and Ellie pointed a finger at Joel without missing a beat. “You’re one to talk, old man. Kid’s already learning how to scowl just like you.”

“He’s got my charm, too,” Joel drawled, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin.

“God help us all,” you teased from where you sat curled up on the couch, a warm quilt draped over your lap.

Joel’s gaze flicked over to you, the firelight catching the soft curve of his smile. “You love it,” he said, voice quieter, meant just for you.

You smiled, eyes soft as they lingered on him, the flicker of firelight catching in the lines of his face. “’Course, I do,” you murmured, the words easy and sure, like saying I love you without needing to.

Leaning forward, you reached your arms out, palms open. Joel gave a mock sigh, shaking his head like it was the greatest burden in the world, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

“Alright, c’mere, you little traitor,” Joel grumbled good-naturedly, lifting JJ from his lap.

The boy let out a delighted squeal, wriggling excitedly when Joel passed him over. His tiny hands immediately latched onto your collar, tugging with surprising strength as if you’d been gone for hours instead of minutes.

“Hey, little man,” you cooed, settling him against your hip as he giggled, his face nuzzling your neck. His skin was cool from sitting near the window, and he smelled like woodsmoke and cornbread crumbs.

“Already got him spoiled,” Joel teased, leaning back in his chair with a smug little grin. “Can’t stand to be five feet from you.”

“And yet you pretend like you’re not the same,” you shot back, raising a brow at him.

Ellie groaned dramatically from her spot by the hearth. “God, you two are worse than a couple of teenagers.”

“Don’t start, kiddo,” Joel replied without missing a beat, earning a laugh from Dina.

You just shook your head, rocking JJ gently in your arms as his giggles turned to soft, contented little sighs, his weight settling warm and steady against your chest. With the fire crackling low, the room bathed in soft, flickering light, and your family gathered close. You thought — this, right here, might be what peace feels like.

“Would you stop squirming?” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. Your words slurred a little as you reached blindly across the bed, fingertips searching for him in the dark.

Joel grunted, the soft, rough sound you’d heard a thousand times — equal parts irritation and tenderness. He batted your hand away with little force, and when you opened your eyes, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand kneading at his knee.

The room was dim, and the dying fire cast a faint orange glow across the worn wooden floorboards. The wind rattled against the window panes, reminding you of the cold biting at the world outside.

Your expression softened, the haze of sleep falling away as you took him in. The tight line of his shoulders and thumb worked over the same spot as it might undo years of aches.

You shifted closer, the quilt dragging with you, and reached out to touch his shoulder, your hand warm against the chill of his skin. “C’mere,” you coaxed softly, your thumb brushing the curve of his neck.

“I’m fine,” Joel grumbled, though the rasp in his voice and the way he lingered beneath your touch said otherwise. “It’s just goddamn cold.”

“Stubborn,” you muttered under your breath, catching the faintest twitch of a smile from him.

Before he could argue, you gave his shoulder a nudge and tugged him gently back down. He sighed, a little huff of resistance that didn’t stick, and let you guide him onto his back.

“You could’ve cuddled up to me for some warmth, y’know,” you teased, shifting so you could settle against him, one leg draping over his, careful of the knee you knew gave him hell.

“Mmm,” Joel grunted, but he didn’t move away. His arm slipped around your waist, fingers curling at the curve of your hip, holding you like he always did.

You reached for the salve on the nightstand, the little tin cold against your fingers, and without a word, you pulled back the covers just enough to bare his knee. The scars there were old, pale against his skin, but you knew them like you knew the lines of his face.

He hissed softly when your fingers brushed over the tender spot.

“Easy,” you murmured, working the salve in slow, practiced circles. The scent of eucalyptus and pine filled the space between you. “I got you.”

Joel let out a long, quiet sigh, the tension leaving his shoulders as he closed his eyes.

“Dunno what I’d do without you,” he muttered.

��Good thing you’ll never have to find out,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss his shoulder.

Outside, the wind rattled against the side of the house, making the windowpane shudder in its frame. You glanced back at it instinctively.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joel whispered, his version of a promise. You knew that tone — it meant he’d be out there first thing in the morning with a hammer in hand, probably cursing under his breath the whole time.

You nodded, stifling a yawn behind your hand, then reached over him to tuck the tin of salve back into the nightstand drawer. The quilt slipped down your shoulder, cool air brushing your skin. You moved to pull away, but Joel’s hand shot out, catching you by the wrist.

You paused, hovering above him, a sleepy chuckle slipping from your lips. “What?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted from your face down to where the neckline of your nightgown had dipped, a bit of cleavage visible in the low light.

“Just admirin’ the view,” he drawled, one brow lifting, that unmistakable smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes as you swatted lightly at his chest. “Old man,” you teased, but there was no bite.

“Hey,” Joel murmured, catching your hand in his again, holding it against his chest. His voice softened. “Lucky old man.”

Your smile returned, slower this time. You kissed him softly before pulling the quilt around you both.

“Go to sleep, Miller,” you whispered against his lips.

Joel let out a low, contented grunt, sinking deeper into the mattress as his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you snug against him. The moonlight’s glow painted soft silver lines across the room, flickering over the weathered planes of his face.

“Can’t sleep,” he whispered, voice rough and lazy, “when I’ve got a beautiful wife lyin’ next to me.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, the sound small and fond in the hush of the room. You opened your mouth to toss some teasing remark back, but the words caught in your throat when Joel’s hand slid lower, settling at the curve of your butt, his palm warm through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut at the easy, familiar touch.

“One who takes care of me,” Joel went on, voice barely above a whisper now, “even when I’m too damn stubborn to deserve it.”

Your heart tugged at that, the quiet sincerity in his words weaving through your chest like thread. You shifted, lifting yourself just enough to lean over him, one hand brushing through the soft, graying hair at his temple.

He tilted his face toward you instinctively, and you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the scar that cut across the bridge of his nose. The old wound was a rough line beneath your lips, a story you didn’t need retold because you already knew it by heart.

Joel let out a breath, his hand flexing against your hip. “You always do that,” he murmured, a little wonder in his voice.

“Do what?” you asked softly, resting your forehead against his.

“Kiss that ugly thing,” he said, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his lips.

You smiled too, fingers tracing down the side of his face. “Ain’t ugly to me.”

The wind rattled against the window again, and Joel’s other hand cradled the back of your head, holding you there like he couldn’t quite bear to let go.

You closed your eyes, your words catching in your throat, settling somewhere deeper than speech. You kissed him again, slow and lingering, savoring the taste of him, the scrape of his stubble, the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“Gettin’ me all warm now, darlin’,” Joel rumbled against your lips, that lazy grin you could feel more than see.

You smiled, dragging your teeth lightly over his bottom lip before pulling back just enough to whisper, “Maybe that was the plan.”

Your hands roamed up his chest, fingers threading through the soft hair dusting his skin, the heat of him under your palms chasing away the last of the chill. His muscles tensed under your touch, a low sound catching in his throat.

“That so?” he muttered, and before you could answer, his hand slid down, fingers digging roughly into the curve of your ass. The sudden squeeze made you gasp, your body arching into him, a spark of arousal pooling low and thick between your thighs.

“Joel,” you breathed, as his mouth moved to your jaw, then lower — hot, wet kisses trailing down your throat, teeth grazing just enough to leave your skin tingling.

In one easy motion, he rolled you onto your back, settling between your legs, his weight delicious and solid above you. His mouth found your collarbone, where the strap of your nightgown had slipped down, and he followed it with his lips, pressing hot kisses to every inch of exposed skin.

“Oh, fuck, Joel,” you whimpered, your hips shifting restlessly beneath him, desperate for more.

That earned you a smirk, the kind that made your stomach flip. “Such a dirty mouth,” he teased, voice rough against your skin. “Oughta put it to good use.”

He kept kissing lower, his stubble scraping a path down your chest as his hands found the straps of your nightgown, tugging them down your shoulders, dragging the thin fabric with agonizing slowness.

“But,” Joel murmured, his mouth trailing over the swell of your breast, “I wanna make my beautiful wife feel good first.” His gaze flicked up, locking with yours filled with warmth and hunger.

You bit your bottom lip, a whimper catching in your throat, your body already trembling beneath him. “Joel… please,” you whispered, the ache inside you sharp and sweet.

He groaned softly at that, clearly savoring the way you begged for him. “Mmm, what a good girl,” he rasped, his breath hot against your sensitive skin as he kissed over one nipple, his hand kneading the other, rough palms and gentle touches making you shudder.

“Don’t have to beg, honey,” he murmured. “Just relax… let me take care of you. You’ve earned it.”

Joel’s mouth drifted lower, leaving a heated trail of kisses from the swell of your breast to the edge of your nightgown. His stubble scraped over your skin, a delicious contrast to the warmth of his lips. You shivered beneath him, your fingers threading into his hair, clinging just enough to make him smirk against your skin.

Without a word, he shifted down, settling between your legs. His big hands slid up your thighs, rough palms coaxing the nightgown higher, the fabric bunching around your hips until you felt the cool air of the room kiss against your bare skin.

Joel stilled momentarily, his gaze locking on the sight of you lying open for him. A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, his thumb grazing along the soft inside of your thigh.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice rough. “So goddamn pretty.”

You let out a soft whimper, your hips tilting instinctively toward his touch.

His hands spread you open with practiced, careful ease, thumbs pressing into your skin, the pressure just enough to make your breath hitch. Joel leaned in, pressing a slow, unhurried kiss to the top of your pussy, the heat of his mouth making you jolt.

“Been thinkin’ about this all damn day,” he groaned against you, his breath hot, the gravel in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You always get me like this.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair as he kissed lower, teasing, taking his time like he wasn’t in any rush to let you go. His tongue flicked out, a light, maddening touch that had your thighs trembling around him.

“Joel—” you gasped, your head tipping back into the pillows.

He chuckled, and glanced up at you from between your legs, his eyes heavy-lidded and hungry. “Patience. Gonna take my time with you tonight.” His hands smoothed over your thighs, thumbs pressing gently into your skin.

You barely managed a nod, your fingers threading into his hair, the strands warm and soft under your touch.

Then Joel’s mouth was on you again. His tongue moved with maddening precision, every flick and stroke drawing out a fresh wave of heat that made your back arch and your breath break apart. He wasn’t in any rush, savoring every sound you made, every tremble in your thighs, the way your hands tightened in his hair when you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Christ,” you gasped, a soft, helpless sound you didn’t mean to make.

Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, holding you steady as he looked up at you again, his lips slick and curved in the faintest smirk. “That’s it, honey,” he rasped. “Lemme hear you.”

Joel’s mouth never relented, his tongue and lips working you open with devastating precision. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs stroking soft, soothing circles against your skin even as he kept you pinned in place. Every flick of his tongue, every careful pull of his lips sent another pulse of heat through you, winding you tighter and tighter until you felt like you might come apart.

And then you did.

Your body arched, a choked cry slipping from your lips as release crashed over you. Joel groaned against you, the low, rough sound sending another shiver through your spent body. He didn’t stop — his mouth gentler now, but still savoring you, lapping up every last tremble, every aftershock, until you were breathless, your voice wrecked from the way you gasped his name.

“Joel… please,” you managed between shallow breaths, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly as the overstimulation made your thighs twitch around him. “I can’t—”

He chuckled, a satisfied sound that rumbled against your skin. Pressing a tender kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another a little higher, his scruffy beard grazing your sensitive skin in a way that made you shudder.

“Alright, alright,” he murmured, voice rough and full of affection. “Wrecked you good, huh?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your chest still heaving, as he kissed his way up the length of your body, savoring every inch like it mattered. When he finally reached your mouth, he paused, cradling your jaw as his thumb brushed your cheek.

Joel kissed you, deep and warm, tasting you and lingering with want.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath in the hush of the room.

“Love seein’ you like that,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Ain’t never get tired of it.”

You smiled, fingers still tangled in his hair, your touch gentle, affectionate even in your haze of want. “Wanna make you feel good,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure.

Joel let out a soft groan, the sound thick with need. His lips brushing your jaw, he lowered them to the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “You do, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and uneven. Every damn time.”

His hand cupped your cheek, holding you there for a beat, his thumb stroking over your flushed skin. His voice dropped, rough and tender all at once. “Gonna let me have you now?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your body arching toward him, trembling with a fresh wave of need.

That was all he needed.

Joel wasted no time, rising onto his knees, shoving his boxers down just enough to free himself. His cock was hard, thick and already leaking, and your mouth watered at the sight of him. He stroked a hand down himself, eyes locked on yours, watching the way you shivered beneath him.

“Been thinkin’ about this since dinner,” he confessed in a gravelly murmur, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.

You bit your lip, reaching for him, your touch making him hiss through his teeth. “Then stop takin’ your time, Miller.”

Joel chuckled, leaning down to steal a slow, heated kiss, his hand sliding between your thighs, parting you with the same care he always took.

“You got me,” he whispered, lining himself up, the head of his cock nudging against you. “Always.”

Joel pushed the tip inside with slow, steady pressure, and the moment he breached you, both of you let out a low, broken moan. The stretch, the heat, the sheer ache of having him fill you made your head fall back against the pillows, your fingers gripping at his shoulders, needing something to hold onto.

“Oh, Joel,” you whimpered, your voice catching on the way your body opened for him, already trembling with the desperate need for more.

He groaned at the sound, leaning over you, his lips finding your throat in a series of open-mouthed kisses. His stubble scraped your sensitive skin, a rough contrast to the softness of his mouth as he murmured your name against your neck.

“Goddamn… you feel so good,” he rasped, his voice thick with hunger and something deeper beneath it. Something that sounded a little like awe.

His hands slid down your sides before guiding your legs around his waist. His touch was unhurried but sure, as if he were fitting you exactly where you belonged. You locked your ankles at the small of his back, and he let out a shaky breath, bracing one hand beside your head while the other gripped your thigh.

“Hold on to me,” Joel muttered, his voice a low promise as he pushed in deeper, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, the stretch making your body arch into his.

A gasp tore from your lips, your nails digging into his back. Joel cursed under his breath, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s it, honey. Just like that.”

His body blanketed yours, his skin hot and slick against yours. Joel’s hand slid up your side, rough fingers trailing over your ribs before cupping your breast, his palm warm as he kneaded the soft flesh. His thumb brushed over your nipple, teasing it into a tight peak before rolling it between his fingers, and the jolt of sensation made you arch into him.

His hips rocked against yours, deep strokes that filled you perfectly, each one hitting that spot that made your toes curl. It wasn’t rushed — it never was with him. Joel fucked like a man who meant every movement, like he could live in the moment forever if you let him.

A breathy moan slipped from your lips, your head tipping back as pleasure coiled tight in your belly, building with every unrelenting, perfect thrust.

“Feels so good,” you panted, your voice breaking on the words as his fingers tugged and toyed with your nipple. Your thighs clenched around his waist, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into sun-warmed skin.

Joel groaned low in his throat, ducking his head to press his mouth to your collarbone, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. “Yeah? Can feel you squeezin’ me. So fuckin’ perfect.”

Sometimes you wished he could stay like this, buried deep inside you, his body over yours, the world outside forgotten.

You let the thought slip past your lips in a ragged whisper, “Wanna keep you like this… always.”

Joel’s pace stuttered briefly, a rough, wrecked sound leaving him before his mouth found yours. The kiss was all heat and tenderness, tongues tangling as his hand cradled your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Joel rasped, breath hot against your ear. “Wanna feel you make a mess on my cock.”

The words hit you like a jolt, a needy moan slipping from your lips as you buried your face against his neck, your teeth grazing his skin. Joel groaned at the sensation, his hand sliding down from your jaw, fingers trailing over your flushed, sweat-slick skin before settling between your legs.

His thumb found your clit, circling maddening patterns in time with the steady, deep thrust of his hips. The friction sent sharp sparks through your nerves, the pleasure building too fast, too much, but you didn’t want him to stop.

“Oh, Joel… fuck,” you gasped, your voice breaking, your whole body trembling beneath him.

Joel smirked against your shoulder, feeling the way your thighs tightened around his waist, how you clung to him like you might fall apart if he let go. His gaze stayed on you, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that crossed your face, the way your lips parted in a soft, helpless cry.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he growled, his thumb pressing just a little harder, his cock driving deep and slow. “Let go for me. Lemme see you.”

Your fingers dug into his back, nails leaving faint crescents in his skin as your release finally tore through you, your body arching into his. A raw, breathless sound escaped you — a mix of his name, a gasp, and a whimper.

Joel’s pace slowed, his hand steady on your hip as he rode you through it, watching you fall apart like it was the best thing he’d ever seen. “Atta girl,” he murmured, his thumb easing up but never leaving you entirely. “Just like that. So goddamn beautiful when you come for me.”

Your chest heaved, the aftershocks making you shiver as you clung to him, the warmth of his body anchoring you to the here and now.

Joel’s lips brushed your temple, his breath hot and ragged against your hair as he slowed, his hips stuttering. He started to pull out, muscles tense like he was holding back, when your eyes flew open and your hand shot out, catching his wrist in a firm, desperate grip.

“No,” you breathed, voice trembling as you looked up at him, your gaze locking on his. “Come inside me.”

Joel’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as his brow knitted. His eyes searched yours as a storm of desire, hesitation, and tenderness flickered across his face.

“Sweetheart—” he started, his voice rough and uncertain in that way he rarely showed.

“Please,” you whimpered, your legs tightening around his hips, clenching around him as if your body could keep him there on its own. Your fingers traced up his arm, over the tense line of his shoulder, to cradle his face.

Joel groaned, the sound breaking low and deep in his throat, his eyes fluttering shut like he didn’t stand a chance against you. “Christ, honey…”

His restraint shattered.

He rocked back into you with a sharp, shuddering thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and your body welcomed him like it was made for it. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as his release hit, his whole body trembling as he spilled inside you.

You felt him tense, felt the warmth flood through you, and the sound he made — a low, wrecked groan into the crook of your neck — left you almost desperate for him again.

“Fuck,” Joel whispered against your skin, his breath uneven, his hold on you unyielding. He stayed buried deep, like he couldn’t bear the space between you.

You pressed your lips to his temple, your fingers gently carding through his hair as you both came down, your bodies still tangled together.

Eventually, Joel moved to lie beside you, one arm draped heavy and warm across your stomach, his fingers absentmindedly tracing lazy circles against your damp skin.

Your chest still rose and fell in uneven breaths, the aftershocks of sex lingering in the ache of your muscles and the pleasant haze behind your eyes. His scruffy cheek brushed your shoulder as he shifted closer, pressing a kiss beneath your collarbone.

You let your fingers card through his hair, tugging gently at the damp strands. Joel hummed low in his throat, that rumbling sound you loved, and nestled his face against your neck like he was trying to soak up every last trace of you.

“Hell of a way to warm a man up,” he said, voice thick and hoarse but threaded through with a rare, unguarded sweetness.

You smiled, your eyes closed, and the ache in your limbs was welcomed. “Told you it was the plan,” you whispered, your palm sliding over his broad back, the ridges of old scars familiar beneath your touch.

Joel huffed a quiet, contented laugh, his hand smoothing over your hip and pulling you impossibly closer. The quilt had slipped to your waist, the cool air brushing against overheated skin.

Outside, the wind had quieted, leaving the night still and heavy with the scent of rain in the distance. The world beyond the walls felt far away. The steady beat of Joel’s heart beneath your palm, and the deep, bone-deep peace that followed a storm.

He shifted enough to press another kiss to your temple, lingering there like he wasn’t ready to let the moment go.

“Love you,” Joel murmured so softly it was barely a sound, his lips brushing your skin as the words slipped out.

You didn’t say it back. You didn’t have to. Instead, you turned your face to his, caught his mouth in a tender, unhurried kiss, and let him feel it.

And in the quiet, with nothing but the steady rise and fall of your breathing, Joel smiled against your lips.

The morning had passed in the slow, easy rhythm you’d come to love. Feeding the chickens as the sun climbed over the hills, collecting a handful of stubborn eggs from beneath their nesting boxes, and brushing down the two horses you and Joel had kept since settling on the farm.

Dusty and Apollo — named with Ellie’s enthusiastic help — shifted lazily in their stalls, the scent of hay and earth hanging thick in the air. The old barn was cool despite the warmth rising outside, beams of sunlight slipping through the weathered slats to stripe the floor in soft gold.

“There you are, darlin’,” Joel’s voice carried through the space, low and familiar, like a song you knew by heart. You glanced up to see him wiping his hands on his jeans as he stepped into the barn, a crooked little grin on his face.

You offered him a smile, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “That window give you any trouble?” you asked, lifting a brow in challenge.

Joel huffed, shaking his head as he came closer. “Please. I've been fixin’ worse than that since before you were walkin’.”

You snorted, though warmth bloomed in your chest at the easy way he teased you. He reached for your hand, the one still holding the brush, his calloused palm covering yours. Without a word, he guided your stroke lower along Dusty’s dark coat.

“Start from the bottom,” Joel said, his voice soft as his thumb brushed your knuckles. “Work your way up. Feels better for ‘em.”

You glanced at him, catching his gaze on your face before flicking back to the horse. The years had etched themselves into his skin, but his eyes — warm and impossibly kind when he let you see them — made your heart flutter.

“Gentler, too,” Joel added, his lips curving into a fond smile as he watched you follow his lead.

You bit back a grin. “I can be gentle.”

“Oh, I know you can,” he drawled, a glint of something playful in his voice. “Just like teasin’ you about it.”

You rolled your eyes, bumping your shoulder against his as you worked the brush through Dusty’s coat. Joel let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, but said nothing, content to fall into the quiet rhythm of the barn. The scrape of a hoof against straw, the muted clatter of chickens pecking outside, the steady rise of warmth as the morning stretched on.

After a while, you glanced up at him, brushing a hand down Apollo’s nose as the big chestnut gelding nuzzled against your palm. “Ellie told me someone in Jackson’s has coffee to trade.”

Joel grunted, hauling a bundle of hay over to Dusty’s stall. “Yeah? What they askin’ for?”

You smirked, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “Chickens.”

He paused mid-toss, brow arching. “How many?”

“Four.”

Joel straightened up, scoffing under his breath. “Christ. Four chickens? What kinda coffee we talkin’ here? Magic beans?”

You bit back a laugh, moving to stroke Apollo’s flank. “Don’t act like you’re not tempted. We both turn into miserable assholes without it.”

Joel gave you a sidelong look, a crooked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Speak for yourself, sweetheart. I’m delightful.”

You snorted. “Sure you are. Real ray of sunshine before your first cup.”

He stepped closer, hand reaching out to tug playfully at the loose tie of your braid. “If I give up four chickens for some half-assed coffee, it better be strong enough to put hair back on my head.”

“Too late for that,” you teased, grinning as you reached up to smooth a hand over his graying hair.

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

“I try,” you shot back, leaning in to brush a quick, affectionate kiss to his cheek before moving toward the feed bins. “We’ll talk about it later. You know you’re gonna cave.”

“Might,” Joel muttered, grabbing another flake of hay. “But you’re pluckin’ the damn birds.”

“Deal.”

“C’mon,” you murmured, brushing hay from your hands. The sun hung lower now, casting long golden streaks through the slats in the barn. “We’ve worked hard enough for one day.”

Joel looked at you, one corner of his mouth tipping up in that slow, familiar way, and gave a slight nod. Without a word, he reached out, his calloused hand slipping easily into yours.

Neither of you spoke as you walked back toward the house, the worn path beneath your boots soft with dust, the last of the chickens clucking softly in the yard. The quiet between you was filled with little touches. Joel’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand. Your shoulder bumping his. The occasional glance traded like secrets.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of woodsmoke and something sweet from the pie you had made earlier. You slipped into the kitchen while Joel stoked the fire, grabbing ingredients with practiced ease.

“Hope you washed up good,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder as he came to stand beside you, sleeves rolled up, hair mussed from the wind.

Joel snorted, holding his hands up. “Clean as I’m gonna get,” he drawled, though you caught the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“Uh-huh.” You reached for his wrist, pulling his hand toward you to inspect it like you might catch a stray bit of dirt. “Hmm. Debatable.”

He stepped in close, hand slipping to your waist, his voice dropping low. “You wanna check me head to toe, darlin’, just say the word.”

You laughed, swatting at his chest with the dish towel, but your heart ached a little at the easy, worn-in affection of it all of having him here, cooking dinner like any other ordinary night in a world that hadn’t offered many of those.

“Maybe later,” you whispered, giving him a smile that held a little more than teasing.

Joel’s gaze lingered on yours a moment longer, something quiet and certain in it, before he turned to start chopping vegetables. The two of you moved around the kitchen with ease.

After dinner, your mind was already drifting toward a hot bath and a quiet night in bed — a book in your hands, Joel’s arm heavy around your waist, the world kept at bay. You started up the stairs, stretching your arms above your head, when a warm, calloused hand caught you gently by the wrist.

“C’mere,” Joel said, his voice a little rough, but soft in that way he saved just for you.

You turned, one brow lifting, a smile tugging at your lips as you took in the look on his face — part mischievous, part tender, eyes shining in the room's low light. “What’s that look for?”

He didn’t answer; he just tilted his head slightly. “Just… c’mere.”

Curiosity bloomed in your chest as you let him tug you along, following him toward the living room. The fire there burned low, casting warm, flickering light across the old wood floor. Joel moved to the corner, crouching by the old record player he’d scavenged years back on some long-forgotten patrol. The thing had scratches on the wood and a crack in the lid, but it still functioned properly.

A worn copy of Otis Redding’s These Arms Of Mine sat beside it, the vinyl already resting in place.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your brow furrowing as he dropped the needle. The soft, familiar crackle filled the room before the first notes hummed through the air.

Joel didn’t say a word. He just turned to you, held out a hand, and waited.

Your heart gave one of those quiet, aching stutters in your chest, and you crossed the room without thinking, slipping your hand into his.

His other hand settled at your waist, pulling you close, your bodies fitting together. The music wrapped around you both, the gentle sway of the melody guiding your steps as Joel led you in a slow, unhurried dance.

His thumb traced soft circles at the small of your back, his breath warm against your temple. You closed your eyes, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart syncing with the song's rhythm. The world outside the house, the years of danger and loss, all slipped away in the quiet safety of his arms.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Joel said against your hair, his voice a little hoarse, like maybe it caught in his throat before it made it out.

You smiled, tilting your face up to his. “Takes one to know one, Miller.”

He chuckled before kissing your forehead.

“Since someone’s in a good mood—” you started, a teasing lilt in your voice.

Joel shook his head before you could finish, a knowing grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“C’mon,” you coaxed, tipping your head back to look up at him, eyes shining with mock-innocence. “Just once. Please?”

“I’m too old for that shit,” Joel drawled, though his hands stayed firm at your waist, his thumb brushing soft circles against your hip. “You try jumpin’ on me, we’ll both be flat on our asses before you even leave the ground.”

You pouted, leaning into him, arms looping around his neck. “Alright, fine,” you sighed dramatically, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “But a woman can dream.”

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he dipped his face close, his stubble scratching against your cheek. “You keep dreamin’,” he said, his voice teasing, but full of affection. “Ain’t no way I’m recreatin’ some damn Dirty Dancing scene.”

You grinned, swaying in his arms as the record crackled on. “You’re no fun.”

“Mm,” Joel smirked, pulling you closer, his hand sliding down to the small of your back. “That so? I seem to recall you weren’t complainin’ about my kind of fun last night.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks as you laughed, pressing your forehead to his chest. “Point taken.”

He hummed, content. The two of you were still swaying long after the song faded out, the world narrowed down to the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms around you.

The ride to Jackson wasn’t far. Just a few miles of winding trail through dense trees and open fields, but it never felt easy. Even with Joel at your side, the moment you crossed beyond the fence line of your land, a familiar unease crept in like a second skin.

You rode atop Dusty, his ears flicking with every distant sound, while Joel kept pace beside you on Apollo, his rifle slung over one shoulder. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. The only sound was the soft clop of hooves against the dirt path and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

It was always quiet on these rides — a silence born not from peace, but necessity. Both of you scanning the tree line, eyes flicking to the shadows, muscles tensed in that old, familiar way you never quite unlearned.

Joel rode like a man still expecting the worst. He never admitted it or spoke it aloud, but you saw it in the tight set of his jaw, how his broad shoulders stayed stiff beneath his jacket, how his gaze never stopped moving — left, right, behind, and always watching, counting.

He hated leaving the farm. Hated stepping away from the safety of what you'd built together. But he wouldn’t leave you to ride in alone either. Not a chance in hell.

You nudged Dusty a little closer, your knee brushing his for a fleeting second. Joel glanced over, and for a beat, his face softened. That quiet look that only ever seemed meant for you. A flicker of warmth in otherwise storm-weathered eyes.

“Should be an easy ride,” he muttered, though you both knew it wasn’t about the distance.

You gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the reins. “It better be,” you replied, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

He snorted, a sound more habit than humor, but the tension in his shoulders eased by a hair.

Eventually, Jackson's worn timber walls came into view, rising from the trees like a promise of safety. Smoke drifted from chimneys, the faint clang of metal on metal carried on the wind, and the murmur of life happening just out of sight.

You and Joel approached the gates, the patrolmen up top giving curt, familiar nods as you passed beneath. One of them tipped his hat, and Joel returned it with a lift of his hand. His expression was unreadable, but his posture was a touch looser than it had been on the trail.

Joel swung down from Apollo with practiced ease, boots hitting the packed dirt with a soft thud. He tied the reins to a post, his movements quick and efficient, like he couldn’t shed the tension of the ride fast enough. Before you could swing your leg to dismount, he was already there, one hand steadying Dusty’s bridle while the other reached up for you.

“C’mere,” he said, his voice low but roughened by the morning’s quiet.

You let him help you down, your hands briefly finding his shoulders as his firm grip circled your waist. When your boots touched the ground, you muttered, “Thank you,” a small smile tugging at your lips.

He gave a soft grunt, the corner of his mouth twitching as his hands lingered at your waist a beat longer than necessary. “Course, darlin’.”

You reached to brush a bit of dust off your thigh, suddenly remembering. “Dammit, I forgot—”

Joel cut you off with a slight shake of his head, already anticipating you. “I remembered,” he said, a faint grin pulling at his mouth as he tipped his head toward the stables. “Told Ellie last time she was by to bring four chickens back for that damn coffee trade.”

You huffed a laugh, leaning closer as you stepped beside him. “You’re a good husband, Miller.”

Joel slung an arm loosely around your shoulders as you made your way toward the town square, the scent of fresh bread and woodsmoke filling the air around you.

The trade went through without much trouble — four chickens handed over, a large sack of precious coffee beans in return — though Joel grumbled about it the whole damn time.

“Can’t believe we’re givin’ up good layers for this,” he muttered, eyeing the beans like they might disappear before he could get them home.

You just chuckled, shaking your head in quiet amusement as you looped your arm through his, steering him toward the rest of your errands. “You’ll be singin’ a different tune when you’ve got a hot cup in your hands tomorrow morning.”

Joel grunted, but the corner of his mouth twitched, the hint of a smile breaking through his usual gruffness.

The two of you spent the next hour wandering Jackson’s main street, gathering what you needed — extra nails from the smithy, a spool of thread from Susan’s store, dried herbs Dina swore would help settle JJ’s fussy nights.

By the time you stepped into the dining hall, the warmth from the fire inside wrapped around you like an old quilt. The scent of stew lingered in the air, mixing with fresh bread and something sweet baking in the back.

“Heard from Ellie y’all were comin’ into town,” a familiar voice called, and you looked up to see Tommy striding over, a wide grin splitting his face.

Joel met him halfway, the two men pulling each other into a rough, back-patting hug.

“Tommy,” Joel grunted, patting his brother’s back twice before stepping back, though the warmth in his eyes lingered.

You smiled, watching the easy way they fell into step together. It wasn’t always like this between them, but lately, it was better. Softer around the edges.

“Good to see you,” you said, squeezing Tommy’s arm.

“You too,” Tommy grinned. “C’mon, Maria’s around here somewhere. And Ellie’s been talkin’ about that coffee since sunrise.”

Joel rolled his eyes with a huff, but his hand brushed against yours as he moved to follow Tommy. You laced your fingers with his without a word, and Joel didn’t let go.

It was simple. Easy. Cozy in a way you never took for granted anymore — a full meal, the warmth of good company, and the quiet comfort of knowing you belonged to this small, stubborn patch of world.

By the time you, Joel, Tommy, and Maria stepped out of the dining hall, the evening light had faded to a dusky gold. The air had cooled, lanterns flickered along the street, casting soft pools of light as folks made their way home for the night.

“Y’all should stay here,” Tommy offered, leaning casually against the porch rail with a hopeful grin. “We’ve still got that extra room fixed up. Warm bed, decent mattress. Better than ridin’ back in the dark.”

Maria gave a slight nod, folding her arms, her gaze slipping between you and Joel. “Wouldn’t hurt to stay in town now and then.”

Joel shifted his weight, his hand instinctively finding the small of your back. “Nah,” he said, his voice low but kind. “We need to get back. Y’know I don’t like leavin’ the farm alone too long.”

You gave a soft smile, leaning a little into his side. “Yeah. It’s a quick ride. We’ll be fine.”

There was a brief pause where you could feel unspoken words hanging in the air. Tommy let out a breath, shaking his head like he knew better than to push. Maria’s mouth twitched in reluctant amusement.

“Stubborn as ever,” Tommy muttered, a grin tugging at his lips.

Joel gave him a look — half fond, half warning. “Runs in the family.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Maria, who stepped forward to press a hand to your arm. “You two be careful.”

“Always,” you promised with a soft squeeze of her hand.

Joel tipped his chin at Tommy. “We’ll be by the end of next week with those tools you wanted.”

Tommy clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to it.”

You and Joel made your way toward the horses, the quiet hum of Jackson winding down behind you. Lanterns glowed in windows, soft voices fading as folks headed home, and the cool night air settled gently against your skin. The path back to the farm stretched ahead.

You caught Joel squinting as he adjusted Apollo’s reins, his brow furrowed, eyes narrowing toward the shadowed trail beyond the gate.

“Should’ve worn your glasses,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips.

Joel huffed, shooting you a look as he swung into the saddle. “Don’t need glasses. It’s dark.”

You mounted Dusty, leaning slightly in your saddle to smirk at him. “That why you’re squintin’ like an old man tryin’ to read fine print?”

Joel’s glare wasn’t the least convincing. “Keep talkin’, woman,” he grumbled, though his voice was thick with amusement. “See how far that gets you.”

“Probably about halfway home before you admit I’m right,” you teased, nudging Dusty forward with a light kick.

Joel clicked his tongue at Apollo, riding up alongside you, his posture loose now, some of the tension from earlier replaced by the easy banter between you.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered, giving your reins a playful tug as he passed.

You grinned into the darkness, heart warm in your chest. “I know.”

Together, you rode out into the night, the stars scattered above like pinpricks in velvet, the world around you hushed and still. The only sounds were the steady clop of hooves on packed earth and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. The cool night air brushed against your cheeks, carrying the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke.

For a while, neither of you spoke; it was the kind of easy, companionable silence you had both grown accustomed to over the years. But as the trail stretched and the landmarks shifted in your periphery, a faint prickle of doubt worked under your skin.

You glanced around, frowning as you recognized a familiar old tree, crooked and leaning with a wide, twisted branch that reached out like a bent arm.

“Joel,” you called softly, pulling Dusty closer. “You’re headin’ the wrong way.”

Joel grunted, squinting ahead as he kept Apollo moving. “No, I ain’t. I know this path like the back of my hand.”

You raised a brow, nudging Dusty so you rode side by side. “I know you do, but we just passed that big split oak instead of the hollow stump by the fork. Which means…” You gestured ahead with a chin tilt, “We’re headed toward Flat’s Creek. Not home.”

Joel slowed Apollo to a stop, turning his head just enough to glance at you. His brow furrowed in mild irritation.

“You wanna say you don’t need glasses again?” you teased, a gentle, knowing smile tugging at your lips.

Joel let out a sharp breath, shaking his head as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Goddamn trees all look the same in the dark.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, leaning in a little. “I can lead us back, old man. No shame in lettin’ me take point.”

Joel gave you a flat look, but the affection in his eyes softened it. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much.”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, unable to keep smiling as you reached out and let your hand brush his arm. “C’mon. I’ll get us home.”

Joel sighed, a low, fond sound as he let you take the lead. He muttered something you didn’t catch, falling beside you as you turned Dusty toward the right path.

You stirred, furrowing your brow at the emptiness beside you. The bed was still warm where he’d been, but the absence of his steady weight made the room feel too big. You blinked up at the ceiling, the faint glow of dying embers from the hearth down the hall casting a soft flicker of light across the walls.

It wasn’t the first time.

Joel had nights like this. Nights where old ghosts kept him restless, where the quiet pressed too close. Sometimes it was bad dreams, other times just that wired, sharp-edged instinct neither of you had ever truly shaken. He’d slip out of bed without a word, wander the house, check the locks, listen to the night.

You lay there a while, eyes tracing the shadows on the ceiling, hoping you’d hear the floorboards creak and feel him settle in beside you again.

But he didn’t.

With a sigh, you slid out of bed, bare feet brushing the cool wood floor. You grabbed his flannel from the back of the chair, pulling it over your shoulders, the scent of him wrapping around you.

The house was quiet, save for the soft pop of the last logs in the stove. A lantern on the kitchen table cast a faint, wavering light, shadows dancing across the walls as you padded through the hallway.

You caught a flicker of movement through the window.

There he was—Joel, sitting in the old chair on the porch, the rifle leaning against the house nearby. His shoulders were hunched, one hand wrapped around a half-forgotten mug of coffee gone cold, his gaze fixed on something far beyond the dark tree line.

You hesitated, your hand resting on the window frame. You knew that look. He wasn’t really seeing the night, not anymore. He was someplace else.

Grabbing a blanket off the couch, you pushed open the door, the night air cool against your skin.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked softly, not wanting to startle him.

Joel turned his head, his eyes meeting yours in the low light. Unsurprisingly, he’d heard you coming before you stepped onto the porch. He reached a hand out toward you, palm open in silent invitation.

You smiled faintly, moving toward him and settling yourself in his lap without a word. His arms came around you automatically, pulling the blanket over your shoulders, tucking you in against his chest like he’d been waiting for you to do just that.

Your eyes drifted to the rifle, propped against the house within reach. “You hear somethin’?” you murmured, your brow creasing as your hand brushed his forearm.

Joel exhaled, the sound rough and tired. “Just a few elk movin’ through,” he muttered. But his eyes didn’t leave the treeline.

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the tension still coiled tight in him.

“It’s not them,” you whispered, because sometimes you both needed to hear it.

“I know,” he said, and you felt it in the way his arms tightened around you and his lips brushed the top of your hair. “Doesn’t stop my head from goin’ there sometimes.”

“Mine too.”

You both sat in the quiet, the night pressing around you, familiar and heavy but softened by the warmth between your bodies. The wind rattled the branches in the distance, but here on the porch, wrapped up together, it felt a little safer.

A little easier to breathe.

Joel sighed, tipping his chin against your temple. “Guess neither of us’ll ever fully shake it.”

“No,” you said, your voice barely more than a hush between you. “Ain’t easy lettin’ your guard down. Not after all this time. But I wanna be here… with you. Always here.”

Joel said nothing, but his hand found yours under the blanket, fingers threading together as he held you closer.

You closed your eyes, savoring the simple weight of his hand in yours and the warmth of his body against your back. The old ache—that restless worry, the quiet fear that one day the world might come for what you built—lingered. It always would. You both knew it. The ghosts never stayed buried for long.

But here with Joel’s arm around you, and the steady sound of his breathing, it was enough. You wouldn’t trade this life with him for anything else.

The night stretched quietly around you, the wind carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. Joel shifted, pressing a soft, unhurried kiss to your temple.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he murmured. “Let’s head in. Reckon it’s cold as hell out here.”

You smiled against his chest. “Not so bad, long as you’re here.”

Joel gave a soft chuckle, the sound rumbling through you as he helped you to your feet. The blanket was still wrapped around you both as you stepped inside. The porch light flickered out behind you as the old house settled with a sigh.

taglist: @probablyreadinsmut @lowrisemiller @millersdoll @daddypascal17 @mystickittytaco @risingwolf97

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller fluff #pixel joel #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n

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noirscript · 2 months ago

Text

bride of the abyss

Pairing: Yandere Siren x Reader Description: Years after you saved him, Zeiryn returns to drag you beneath the waves—where his love waits, fierce and inescapable. Warning/s: Yandere | Noncon/Dubcon Themes | Kidnapping | Possessive Behavior | Captivity | Obsession | Emotional Manipulation | Mild Violence | Body Morphing/Transformation Note/s: Commissioned on ko-fi! Thabk you for trusting me with your commission! Idk if you've received the email. I hope you enjoy this one! Tags will be added later!

Commissions are still open!

Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar

The first time you met him, the sun was so high it burned your shoulders through your shirt. Your sandals had long been discarded, the soles of your feet pressed against coarse, grainy sand, warmed by the afternoon heat. Vacation meant freedom, and for you—a curious child with scraped knees and untamed hair—that meant wandering far beyond the adults’ lazy eyes and picnic baskets.

You weren’t supposed to be near the cliffs. The locals had told stories, murmured warnings of tides that dragged unsuspecting feet into the undertow. But you were eight, and warnings slid off your ears like water. You’d chased a crab across slick rocks, nearly slipping once—okay, twice—before rounding a jagged stone formation and stopping short.

A glint of silver caught your eye. At first, you thought it was trash—a bit of foil or an abandoned soda can. Then it moved. Just slightly. Enough to catch the sun and reflect a brilliance so blinding it made your eyes water. You stepped closer, heart thudding, and gasped.

He was tangled in a net.

You didn’t know what he was—some strange fish, perhaps? But then he turned his face to you, and your world cracked open.

He had eyes like the sea after a storm—grey, but not dull. There was depth there. Sorrow. His skin, though damp and streaked with grit, shimmered faintly under the sun. Hair, long and tangled with bits of kelp and shell, framed a face that was almost too lovely for this world. And below the waist…

A tail. Silver-scaled, powerful, twitching weakly with every shallow breath he took.

You froze.

He didn’t speak. He just stared. His lips slightly parted. You noticed the way he held himself, cautious and ready to defend. His hand—webbed and claw-tipped—twitched when you shifted your weight.

“I won’t hurt you,” you said, holding out your hands to show you had nothing. No rocks. No spear. Just your palms, scraped and pink from climbing.

He blinked slowly, suspicious still.

“Are you stuck?” you asked.

No reply. But he didn’t back away when you stepped closer. You knelt beside him, the scent of salt and something sharper—like rotting seaweed baking in the sun—invading your nose. It made your stomach twist. But you pushed it aside and began working at the net.

The knots were tight. You pulled and untangled, ignoring the barnacles slicing your fingertips. Time passed, but neither of you spoke. It wasn’t silence. The waves talked, the seagulls screamed above, and your own breath came hard with effort. Still, it felt sacred—like speaking would shatter something delicate between you.

Eventually, the net slackened.

He let out a sharp sound—surprise? Relief?—and pushed himself forward, dragging the last threads free with a flick of his tail. Then, to your astonishment, he touched your arm. A light brush of damp fingers on your skin. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes—raw and electric—said everything.

And then, he was gone. A splash, a spray of saltwater, and silver glimmering beneath the waves.

You never told anyone.

You convinced yourself it was a dream, a fantasy born from too much sun. But you visited that rock again. And again. Just in case.

Years passed. You grew up. He did not fade.

• • — ✦ — • •

Beneath the waves, he remembered everything.

Zeiryn had been young when you saved him, and even then, his mind was unlike the others. While his kin drowned sailors and split hulls for fun, Zeiryn watched the world above with a secret hunger. He had never known mercy—not until you. He thought you were an illusion at first. A sun-struck phantom, kindness shaped like a child.

But you were real. You touched him without fear. You saved him.

And he had never forgotten.

Seasons passed above and below. He grew stronger, his voice deeper, the gift of his lineage blooming in his throat. His tail thickened with muscle, the silver of his scales deepening to something more molten, almost iridescent. His hair, once wild and matted, was now woven with the treasures of the deep—rings of coral, braids of pearl, beads carved from whalebone. He was no longer a drifting child of the tide. He was a leader now.

Yet every dusk, he swam to the same stretch of shore, peering through kelp and coral, waiting for the only face that had ever haunted him.

And then—finally—he saw you.

You stood there, older, but still you. Your eyes held the same wonder, the same distant sadness. He watched from the rocks, heart hammering, the sea rising with every thrum of anticipation. You were holding a bottle. The scent reached him even through the water. Alcohol. Sour and sharp.

You stumbled closer to the edge, barefoot like before. He didn’t understand your tears at first. But when they hit the water, he tasted them.

Bitterness.

He had never tasted sorrow before.

He moved without thinking, cutting through the water with a predator’s grace. When you stepped into the sea—lost, maybe hoping it would take you—he was already there. His arms wrapped around you just before your knees buckled. He caught you. Held you. And for the first time in years, he felt whole again.

He turned to the shore. His eyes, once filled with awe, hardened. There were people there. A town. A world that had allowed you to suffer.

He would never forgive it.

The water closed over your head.

And he took you home.

• • — ✦ — • •

The cold hits you first. It pierces your skin like needles, forcing your eyes open.

Then the pressure—thick and heavy—presses against your chest. You try to gasp and choke instead. The world is liquid. Blurry shapes. Movement. Panic claws through you. You thrash—

Then you notice the shimmer.

Your legs—no. Not legs.

You scream, but no sound comes out. Just bubbles.

The tail is yours. You move, and it moves with you—powerful, golden, alien.

Your lungs don’t ache. You aren’t drowning.

You’re breathing. Underwater.

A presence approaches. You backpedal—awkward, instinctual.

Then he’s there.

The siren.

Older. Towering. Regal in a way that defies language. His eyes widen as you meet his gaze. He reaches for you like a lover, a prayer on his lips without sound.

You float, stunned, your heart racing in your chest.

"You're awake! Welcome home!" he says—somehow, impossibly, the words sliding into your mind like a current. His voice doesn’t echo in your ears. It resonates in your bones. Inside you.

Your lips tremble. “What... what did you do to me?”

He cocks his head, almost confused by the question. “I saved you.”

You glance around. Coral walls. Bioluminescent plants. Faint shadows darting beyond what your eyes can track.

“I didn’t ask to be saved.”

His face falters, just briefly. But then the soft smile returns. “You did, once. When I was dying. You touched me. You gave me your warmth. Your kindness.” He swims closer. “You were the only one who ever did.”

“That was years ago.” You try to back away, but your body is sluggish in this new form. “I was a kid.”

“You remembered me.” His voice is gentle now, like a lullaby. “You returned.”

You shake your head, panicked. “No. I—I was just walking. I didn’t know—”

His hand reaches forward, cupping your cheek. His touch is warm now. Familiar. Like seawater kissed by the sun. “You were hurting. They made you cry. But you don’t have to cry anymore.”

“I want to go back,” you whisper.

“There’s nothing there for you.”

He’s not angry. Not yet. Just... patient. Like he’s waiting for you to understand something you’ve missed.

“You belong here,” he murmurs. “With me.”

You remember the way he looked at you back then—curious and soft. But this is different. There’s devotion in his eyes. A fire born not of gentle affection, but of obsession that has steeped too long.

“You changed me,” you say, voice shaking. You look down at the tail. “How?”

“There’s a pearl,” he says, pointing to your side. You notice now—embedded near your hip is a small, glowing orb, barely visible beneath your skin.

“I couldn’t risk losing you again.”

You turn, frantic now. “No, no, this isn’t right. I can’t—this isn’t real.”

“You are real.” His voice is sharper now. “I dreamed of you so long I thought you were only in my mind. But you’re here. Flesh and spirit. And you’ll never have to suffer again.”

You shake your head. “I’m not your wife.”

Silence.

Then he leans close, his breath warm against your ear even underwater.

“Yet.”

• • — ✦ — • •

Back on the surface, a woman named Marina squints at the shore where she last saw you. She’s a local—grew up with the sea in her lungs and warnings stitched into her grandmother’s lullabies. When she saw you walk into the ocean, something in her gut twisted. She waited hours. You didn’t return.

Now, she’s standing with a fisherman and an old priest, their gazes following the waterline.

“No body,” the man mutters. “Currents here don’t drag far. Should’ve washed up if she drowned.”

“She didn’t drown,” Marina says softly. “She was taken.”

The priest mutters something in an old tongue. The fisherman scoffs.

“By what? Sea spirits? Merfolk?”

“No.” Marina’s eyes don’t leave the water. “A siren.”

“Those don’t exist.”

“They do,” she says. “And if it’s the one I think… she won’t come back.”

And deep beneath the waves, Zeiryn brushes a strand of hair from your face as you lie curled in coral-silk bedding. You’ve cried yourself into a stupor. But your skin is warmer now. The transformation is complete. Soon, you’ll forget what it was like to walk. To speak above the waves. To live without him.

He hums you a song—a melody he’s written over the years, just for you. It wraps around your heart like a net.

You stir in your sleep.

He smiles.

Tomorrow, you’ll love him back.

You have to.

After all… you’re home.

TBC.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya @yandereaficionado @pinksaiyans@ivantillenthusiast @missybabes

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zaczenemiji · 1 year ago

Note

I really wanted to ask if you could do like a GN! It can be fem too it doesn’t really matter—

The Reader where like Ultraman can transform bigger too but they're more inspired by Mothra (like a mothra suit). I think it would've been like so cute to see Emi go all awe and clingy to the reader because how bright and heavenly they look💕

Kenji gets all jealous seeing his kajju daughter prefer the reader over him a lil bit. tall parents raising baby monster

Emi’s Favorite

Kenji Sato x Reader

Word Count: 1,546

Genre/Warning: Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Jealousy (very slight)

Author’s Note: Loved this idea so much, thank you for this first request! Emi with a moth mommy ⋆˚ʚɞ

MASTERLIST

Something about your boyfriend changed the night after Gigantron’s “attack” on Tokyo Dome. That night, you were supposed to help him fend the kaiju off but he insisted he’d do it on his own.

For some reason, you were glad you did not join in because (1) their fight became a pursuit in the sky, and (2) you could not zoom in the air the same way Ultraman does. The only reason you’re able to fly is because of your wings—moth wings on your suit, which would put you at a disadvantage in the case of an air chase.

You were supposed to come over to his place that night to check on him because you were sure that the skirmish had caused more damage to his already injured shoulder. However, your calls were left answered by Mina, telling you that Kenji had already fallen asleep.

Deciding not to disturb him, you simply let him be. But in the days that followed, something surely wasn’t right. He couldn’t focus on his games, he looked so fatigued and restless all the time, and oh good gracious, there were now dark circles under his eyes.

He just looks so stressed and you were so upset with the fact that he didn’t want to tell you what’s going on with him. The time he got into a fight with the other players was the end of the line for you.

You barged into his house, finding him by his bathtub, in front of a TV, watching the news about him. The usually peaceful atmosphere in his house was now charged with tension as you made your way towards him. At that moment, Kenji was praying so hard the kaiju in his basement would keep still.

He still wouldn’t tell you what’s wrong. “It’s not about us. It’s about…” he said, “…something bigger. Something I’m not ready to share yet.”

Your eyes softened at his response, though the ache in your chest remained. You made him promise to talk to you when he’s ready and he agreed. You can’t stand seeing the love of your life like that but at the same time, you didn’t want to force him to do anything against his will. Taking up Ultraman was already enough of that.

Almost two months, after the incident, he seemed back to his old shape. Better, even. And thank heavens, finally, he could now tell you about what happened.

“There’s a what below?!” You asked in disbelief. The two of you were standing in front of the elevator and for a moment, you think your ears are playing tricks on you.

“A baby kaiju,” he replied and went on to explain everything. Still in disbelief, you took in everything with a nod. He placed his hand on the small of your back as he guided you into the elevator.

The moment you saw the big pink baby, you gasped. Emi made happy noises as you approached. However, upon noticing you, she suddenly began to cry.

Kenji was tapping on the glass containment in an attempt to shush her. But to no avail, Emi just cried harder.

“I’m sorry, she doesn’t know you yet,” Kenji apologized. “But I assure you, she’s a sweet big baby.”

Remembering how, at first, Emi only recognized Kenji when he was Ultraman, you decided to try something.

“(Y/n), what are you—“ Before Kenji finished, a soft glow enveloped you, and moments later, you emerged in your giant form. Your wings spread wide, shimmering with black patterns and warm tones of yellow and orange.

Emi’s cries slowed, her curiosity piqued by the sudden change. She opened her eyes, sobs turning to soft hiccups as she stared up at you in wonder. Her claws tapped the glass as she reached out, trying to grasp your wings.

Kenji watched in awe as Emi’s distress melted away. “I think it’s working,” he whispered.

“May I?” You asked, gesturing to the lid of the containment unit. Kenji gave a nod of approval. Carefully, you turned it before lifting it off.

You lowered yourself closer to Emi, your wings fluttering softly as she climbed up her containment. The gentle breeze they created seemed to soothe her further.

Emi let out a delighted squeal, her earlier tears forgotten. She toddled closer to you, her claws gently touching the edge of your wing. She let out a happy chirp, eyes sparkling with joy.

Kenji stepped closer, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “Wow, she loves you in this form,” he said.

You smiled down at him. “She’s just like her dad,” you replied. “She knows a good thing when she sees it.”

Kenji chuckled before he himself transformed into Ultraman. He sat beside you with Emi in between the two of you.

Your wings gently enveloped Emi in a comforting embrace. She was now calm and happy as she traced the pattern of your wings with her claw.

“Gentle, baby,” Kenji said as he rubbed her head.

She continued walking around you and playing with your wings until she tired herself out. She walked in front of you and climbed on your lap, nestling her head on your stomach.

“Awww, baby,” you cooed. You gently picked her up into your arms and gently swayed.

Kenji moved close to you, wrapping an arm around you. You nestled into his arm, head resting on the junction of his neck and shoulders. The three of you slept like that for the night.

The next morning when Emi awoke, she immediately looked for you. Realizing that the moth lady was missing, she cried. Mina was quick to assist her, playing videos of cartoons and Kenji to calm her. To Mina’s surprise, none of them worked.

“Who’s making my baby cry?” Kenji asked as he approached. He expected her crying to cease once she saw him. However, that is not the case.

“Huh?” He questioned. Emi always calms when she sees him. “Mina, try showing her pictures of (y/n).”

Mina did as told and as miraculously as yesterday, Emi stopped crying. “It seems like she got herself a new mother,” Mina commented.

With Emi’s growing fondness of you, you found yourself frequenting at Kenji’s house more than ever. She was just so cute; like a live plushie when you’re in your giant form.

“Hi babyyyy,” you cooed as you transformed into your giant form. You scooped her up, her head nuzzling against you. Her earlier play was abandoned in favor of your presence.

You walked in on Kenji and Emi playing baseball together. And you didn’t mean to interrupt but when you saw her walking towards you, you knew you had to transform.

Kenji smiled at the scene. “She really loves you, you know,” he said.

You smiled back, feeling a warm glow inside. “I love her too,” you replied. “She’s such a sweetheart.”

Emi chirped happily as she climbed up your torso and onto your shoulder where she could watch and touch your wings.

Kenji watched the interaction, his smile fading slightly as a twinge of jealousy crept in. His baby kaiju shows a different kind of joy when you’re around.

He loved Emi dearly, but lately, it seemed like she preferred your company over his. He couldn’t help but feel a bit sidelined.

“She really lights up when you’re here,” Kenji said, trying to keep his tone light.

You glanced at him, noticing the slight edge in his voice. “She lights up when you’re here too, Kenji,” you replied. “She loves you.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, but… it feels like she’s more excited to see you than me sometimes.”

You tapped the space on the floor beside you, gesturing for him to switch to Ultraman. Thankfully, he did not resist.

You moved close to him as he sat beside you, his hand finding its way to your thigh. Your head automatically rested on his shoulder.

“You’re her dad, Kenji,” you said. “She loves you so much. Maybe she’s just fascinated by my wings right now.”

You felt Kenji nod, although the jealousy still lingered within him. “Yeah, maybe,” he replied. “I just want to be enough for her.”

You leaned back to look at him. Your other hand which was not holding Emi on your shoulder, moved up to hold his face. “You are enough. You’re everything to her,” you said. “And to me.”

Emi squirmed out of your hand, gently jumping off your shoulder and landing on your lap. She toddled over to Kenji. He looked down at her, his heart melting as she reached up, wanting to be held. He picked her up, and she nuzzled against his chest, purring softly.

“See?” You asked with a smile. “She adores you.”

Kenji hugged Emi close, his jealousy fading into thin air. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right.”

You spent the rest of the day playing with Emi, taking turns holding her and making her laugh. By the time evening rolled around, she was content and sleepy in Kenji’s arms.

Before reverting to your original form, you kissed Emi’s head and then leaned in to kiss Kenji. “I’ll be back soon,” you said. “Take care of our little one.”

Kenji smiled, his earlier worries forgotten. “We’ll be here, waiting.”

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@scribble0rat

#kenji sato x reader #kenji sato #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ultraman: rising #ultraman #emi ultraman #fanfiction #oneshot #mothra

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smallestapplin · 2 months ago

Note

Kinda thinking about the other Rescue Bots + cockwarming

Boulder and Chase handle it better than Blades

Heatwave, however, turns it back around on whoever’s cockwarming him and purposefully twitches to tease them

Oh allow me to add more. Gn!reader but could be read as humna reader or cybertronian.

Warming Chase’s spike is a close encounter, he loves how close and intimate it feels, he loves having your warm wet heat snuggly around his spike while he reads manuals or works on reports. He has a will of steel and does not easily cave to feeling your valve clenching around him, even if it makes his spike twitch and leak pre-fluid he does not move.

Chase would place a servo on your hip to get you to hold still, to stop you from moving while he focuses on what he’s going.

“I quite enjoy this ‘spike warming’ activity, being connected to you in such a…lewd way feels intoxicating.”

Chase loves it almost as much as he loves interfacing with you, you might have to work hard to get him to finally fuck you when he’s so contact sitting inside you. You’re going to have to plead your case and plead it loudly, whining his name, arching your back, cry for him to fuck you, that is if you want him to move at all.

Boulder is another one who loves the closeness spike warming provides! However, unlike the others he caves very quickly, how can he not when your valve is clenching around him trying to milk him of all his transfluid? Boulder lasts a long time though, adoring all of this as he kisses your neck, your shoulders, whispering how much he loves you in your ears. It’s easy to hear how much this effects him, each ex-vent growing heavier and heavier, his internal fans growing louder as he tries to cool himself off.

But you feel so good, too good! He wants to stay still and cuddle just like this but his spike is throbbing, his valve is leaking, he needs to overload so badly!

“Ah…haa…oh-oh primus I’m sorry I can’t- frag! Don’t clench like that or I’ll- ohhh..!!”

His large servos on your hips lifting you up and dropping your down. Drool leaking from his intake and his optics bright, taking in every move of your body. Boulder loves you so much, he also loves how you cry out for him, clinging to him, and asking him for more of his thick spike, which he is more than happy to give you! He can never deny you.

Now Heatwave is just mean warming his spike is a punishment for you. Heatwave is a menace for your tight valve but he also doesn’t care for any sass or attitude you snd his way, and what better way to make you behave than sitting you on his spike? You get to feel how deep he is, feel every throb of his shaft, feel his pre-fluid leaking into you, and you can do nothing about it. You can try to move, try to grind down on his spike, but he will just hold your hips still with one big servo.

You whine and beg for him, trying so hard to squirm and get some sort of pleasure from it but to no avail.

“Maybe you sit there like a good pet and behave, I might consider giving you a treat.”

You try so hard, but Heatwave is a mean girlfriend, he loves making it difficult for you. Biting his dermas as he lowers his free sero to yout clit rubbing it in tight circles that leave you shaking, so close to overlapping- just to stop and not let you cum. If you start begging he will chuckle and mock you for it.

“Aw, can’t handle my spike, sweetspark? You’re the one who was practically asking for this, acting like shareware in front of the others. Someone has to remind you where your place is.”

So mean, he could do this all day and all night, when it comes to bullying your pretty valve he has the patience of a saint, just to have you crying and begging him to move and properly fuck you.

#smut #valveplug #rescue bots #rescue bots Boulder #rescue bots chase #rescue bots heatwave #transformers smut #transformers x reader smut #transformers rescue bots #transformers chase x reader #transformers heatwave x reader #transformers Boulder x reader #rescue bots x reader #rescue bots x reader smut #mdni #mdni blog

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savvymantis · 3 months ago

Note

Heyo I’m so stupidly excited someone writes for the rescuebots. Do you have any headcanons of the four main bots being smitten with a human s/o? Just before dating, like their inner thoughts and acts to try and make it subtle or get it across?(you can ignore this if you wish, I love your writing either way!)

Oh So Smitten

Chase:

Chase is soft for you, but it can be hard to see sometimes. He doesn't act too different around you, but there's an obvious need to be around you that he carries whenever you're near. He lingers near you, minding his business but ready to be your helper should there be anything you need. And if that thing is just a conversation? He has many conversation starters saved up for such an occasion.

It needs to be said that while Chase doesn't act too different around you, he does act different around others. Both his team and Charlie have to hear about you near constantly. Chase has a lot memorized, trying his best to parse through his own feelings and what your own might be. He also wants to try and woo you, if possible, so he discusses his plans at length with his other, taking them as serious as a rescue.

Heatwave gets sick of it quick, but Boulder and Blades find it romantic enough that they do their best to keep up with Chase's intricate plans to show himself as a good partner for you. They even offer their own ideas for gifts to give you, but be careful. Chase cannot cook. He can, however, suss out the perfect gift based on everything you have ever said. Just don't be too put off by what he says as he gives them to you; he's still practicing with Blades on making his compliments more flattering instead of sounding like he's studying you like a bug.

Heatwave:

Heatwave is smitten, but you would never know. If you never hung out around him, that is. Heatwave likes to think he's got a good lid on his innermost emotions, but it's not hard to see how he relaxes whenever you're around. His voice softens, his posture slouches, and he smiles far more than he does whenever you're away. It's easy to notice, if you know what you're looking for. Everyone else has noticed, at least.

Given Heatwave's tendency to be, well, grumpy, it's easy to tease him about his crush. And tease his team does. Boulder coos and swoons over how in love with you Heatwave is, while Blades talks on about spring weddings and saying yes to dresses. Chase is more practical, showing off his relationship and dating self help books, trying to get Heatwave to do what they suggest. Heatwave doesn't, instead shouting at his fellow bots until they scurry off snickering.

What they don't see is his own plans, written down on a datapad he keeps on hand constantly. They're not very extensive or detailed, just small notes on things you like or activities you'd might enjoy. Heatwave is confident enough in himself to be okay without every detail being written down, and he knows you'll have fun together, whatever happens.

Boulder:

Boulder is the most laid back of all the other bots, and thus he's the only one that is really hard to guess where his feelings lie with you. He's adoring and sweet to everyone, always interested and curious of humanity. It takes the family and even the other Rescue Bots a while to realize his interest in you is more than just platonic, and that's only after they discover carefully drawn sketches of your profile surrounded by hearts in his habisuite.

Any teasing is to no avail, for Boulder isn't ashamed of his feelings. He understands that they're as natural as can be, and you're lovely, so why would he be ashamed? Teasing thus turns into encouragement to confess, and it's there where Boulder hesitates. While he's assured of his own feelings, yours are less known, and it's not confirmed you'd date a bot, much less him. Luckily, his team is nosy helpful, and figure out that you wouldn't mind a big, strong, handsome bot as a partner

With more confidence in his chances with you, Boulder steps up his game. He brings you flowers and drawings of the natural wildlife around the island, which eventually evolves into those sketches of you being shyly passed along whenever you're hanging out alone together. He compliments you too, so sweet that it makes you blush, which he wants to capture on canvas one day. If you're agreeable.

Blades:

Blades is the most obvious about his crush, which surprises no one. He's bashful and chatty at the same time, wanting to talk to you about everything, but also so shy that his face plate seems permanently stained blue. His rotors flutter a lot too, sometimes taking his pedes right off the ground when you make him flustered or excited. It's extremely obvious, but also extremely cute, so you don't mind.

It's easy to tease Blades about his crush, since he frantically denies it like you can hear him from across the island. Still, since he's a little hopeless and a little too reliant on movie tropes, the team does their best to help him along. And that goes about as well as you would expect, so not very well. While everything seems to fall apart, their attempts at nonchalant dates are nonetheless very fun for you, especially when they end with you in Blades' arms as he flees some danger.

Movie nights are a must, but also a way for you to add you own romantic opinions for Blades to hear. He points out courting rituals to you, eager to hear your ideas, and keeps them in mind as he grows more determined to woo you. Each date he tries to casually spring on you gets better and better, until you're both practically dating without anyone even saying anything.

#transformers x reader #blades x reader #heatwave x reader #chase x reader #boulder x reader #rescue bots heatwave #rescue bots blades #rescue bots boulder #rescue bots chase #rescue bots x reader #rescue bots blades x reader #rescue bots heatwave x reader #rescue bots chase x reader #rescue bots boulder x reader #sooooo many tags good lord

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moonlight-presence · 2 months ago

Text

Pale, Pale Moon

Remmick X Female Reader

Summary: On a lonely, moonlit road, you walk toward town—aching, afraid, and utterly alone. But the night has other plans. From the shadows, Remmick appears, his voice honey-smooth and eyes glowing with something not quite human. He seems kind, even charming, until his gaze lingers too long on you, and his smile stretches a bit too wide. What begins as a quiet walk becomes a haunting transformation. With whispered promises and otherworldly hunger, Remmick sinks his fangs into your neck, not to harm, but to rebirth. Then... you take him under that pale, pale moon.

4,245 words

Notes:

🌙 chomh teann = so tight

🌙 Aon duine = nothing

🌙 foc = fuck

!SMUT CONTENT!

You should’ve known better than to trust a word of a man—no matter his sweet talking or his kind goddamn eyes when he offered you a ride home. You were so fucking naive, thinking he had no other intentions besides helping you get back to your folks who, by now, must be worried sick. You try not to think too much about that, focusing instead on the faint lights at the end of the road that lead into town. The moon, thankfully, was bright and full in the sky, judging by its size, giving you an additional source of light as you walked alone by the side of the road.

You looked down at your wrists and saw that the man’s fingers were bruised on your skin, reminding you of how you had kicked him in the crotch and opened the door of his car to sprint away from him. Thank God nothing more happened… and thank God he didn’t come chasing after you. You weren’t sure how far away you could’ve run until he eventually caught up to you. A shiver ran down your spine, and you adjusted your shawl.

You had been walking for a good twenty minutes now, and judging by how close the town was, you still had a good thirty minutes to go.

“You stupid idiot,” you murmured to yourself.

Then, amid your anger and frustration, you heard rattling, like a wild animal moving through the woods, from your right. You stopped dead in your tracks, slowly looking at the forest beside you and, obviously, seeing nothing but trees and the wind passing through them.

“Now, now, don’t be imagining things. Just get your ass back home and forget this ever happened,” you told yourself out loud, somehow needing to hear a voice amid the silence.

You continued walking, holding your shawl tighter around your body as the night grew a bit colder for the time of the year. Your thoughts wandered back to your parents and how worried they must be. They were quite old now, giving away their age in you, who was not as young as you had been. But those days of adolescence were gone, giving way to the responsibilities that came with adulthood. Time could be such a bitch sometimes.

You were supposed to be married by now. That was the proper way of things, as folks often said around town… But you still hadn’t found a single man worth your time, and you, for sure, didn’t wanna marry just for the sake of it. So, alone in your youth, which often left a sting of pain in your chest, you continued with your walk.

More time passed, a couple of minutes at most, until you heard another noise that made the hairs on your body stand up. Something was definitely out there in those woods… and you hoped it would remain there.

You were now a bit scared, fingers shaking around your shawl, as your feet ached from the uncomfortable shoes your mother had made for you. Perhaps it was your exhaustion talking, too. You didn’t know at this point.

“Get a hold of yourself… Come on now,” you whispered, fastening your pace.

You tried to control your breathing until you figured out you couldn’t. So, instead of drowning in that sweet old fear, you did the one thing you knew calmed your nerves.

You sang.

Oh, pale moon rising over the pines, come

Lawd away until the sun does rise

Leave the day by the, by the door, I don't

Care if sun don't shine once more, that's what I said

Ooh, ooh

Oh, oh, oh

Huh

Mm-hm, mm-hm

You finished your humming softly, letting a breeze of wind brush through your face almost like a human hand caressing your skin. You have always hated nighttime, especially when you had barely any light around you and were all alone.

God knows what demons or creatures wandered those woods…

The rest of the song found you then, easing your nerves like a cup of warm milk with a teaspoon of honey.

This time, you sang a little louder, feeling bolder in the silence, and giving a proper performance to the night creatures.

I'm gonna spend my money on somethin' sweet and strong

Gonna move my body through the whole night long

Gonna sweat the way I been longin' to, nobody gonna

Tell me nothin', that's what I'm gonna do, that's what I said

Woo

That's what I said

Mm-hm, mm-hm

Oh, oh, oh

A slight smile spread on your face as you walked in rhythm with the song, moving your body sideways and creating a dance with each step. Suddenly, the night felt less cold, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous you must look. No bother, there wasn’t anybody for miles to witness this. You were free to sing and dance as you pleased, not scared of being quieted by anybody.

I wanna sing

Like I hear the crickets do

I wanna hoo, yeah

Like the owls do

I wanna howl

To the moon

Scream

You raised your voice at the last note, letting it linger for far too long. It felt sweet on your tongue, so you savored it as you looked up at the moon and smiled. It was pretty, you noticed, and you would have marvelled at it for longer if you didn’t hear footsteps… behind you.

The first thing you did was stop your walk, freezing in place until you were sure that those were, in fact, human footsteps. And they were, there was no mistaking the sound of shoes by an animal’s paws.

You swallowed dryly, dread filling your chest as you remembered so well what had almost happened to you that night. You had to run. If you did, you could maybe make it into town or just come close to any people.

You had to try, goddamnit, you had to.

Instead, the person behind you spoke, a few steps away from your back, and a cold shiver ran down your spine.

“Hey there. Beautiful night, isn’t it?” he said with a voice so sweet that it made your ears resonate with the sound. “I thought I heard some singin’ down the road… You wouldn’t happen to be that sweet voice I heard, would you, darlin’?”

You didn’t turn around, fear filling your chest and holding you hostage.

“You must have me mistaken, sir,” you replied, making your voice friendly just in case this man had a temper.

“Is that so?” he said, and you heard him walk around you. He appeared in front of you, and you raised your eyes to meet his for the first time. When you did, you almost swore for a second that they were red… But no, they were blue.

“Yes, sir,” you confirmed, tightening your shawl around your body. He tilted his head slightly, and you saw his teeth appear underneath his lips as he smiled. “I’m just on my way home. I don’t want any trouble, sir.”

“Trouble, darlin’?” he asked, confused. “Who said I wanted any trouble? I was making my way to town too, ya know? I just heard your beautiful voice and decided to see who was singin’, nothing more.”

His accent was like all the other folks you knew, but in some words, it seemed to slip into something else. You didn’t recognise it, but you were sure he wasn’t from around here. No matter how much he tried to seem like he was.

“That’s very kind of you, sir, but if you don’t mind…” You went to walk, but he didn’t step aside. Your heart picked up its pace.

“What happened to your wrists?” he asked, eyeing your bruises.

You immediately hid your wrists under your shawl and straightened your back, trying to act casual.

“Nothin’. Just fell.”

“Is that so?” he said, obviously skeptical. “Alright, if you say so, darlin’...” He grinned at you before adding, “What’s your name? I’m Remmick.”

You hesitated but then told him your name.

“That’s a beautiful name. Pleasure to meet you.” He raised his hand, clearly wanting to either shake or kiss your hand.

You thought about rejecting his request, but the way he looked at you and spoke was too inviting to refuse. He had such a way about himself… And you didn’t quite know why. Maybe it was because he was handsome.

So, you gave him your hand, and he held it before lowering his lips to your skin. You thought he was gonna kiss it, but instead he pressed your skin to his mouth, and you felt him sniff the area. You frowned, pulling your hand away, but he held it and finally kissed it, releasing his hold after.

“You are too kind, sir, but my folks must be worried sick by now, and I must really get goin’.”

Remmick smiled and nodded slowly.

“I’ll walk with you then.”

“Sir, that’s really not necessary.”

“Oh, but I insist. The nights can be so lonely, can’t they?” he said, and there was a hint of a joke under his voice. “We wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to you, would we, darlin’?”

“I…” You thought of arguing further, but ended up giving up. “Very well.”

You two resumed your walk in silence, and you didn’t sing anymore. It didn’t feel right any longer, especially with Remmick walking beside you and looking, from time to time, at you. You tried to tell yourself he meant no harm, but you couldn’t really shake off the feeling that something about him just wasn’t quite right.

However, you continued walking until the pain in your right foot turned too intense and you felt blood stain your ankle and shoe. Right about then, you stopped walking.

“What’s the matter, darlin?” Remmick asked, looking at your feet. You heard him sniff the air, and then his breath caught in his throat. “You are bleedin’.”

“It’s nothin’, sir,” you said. “I just need to sit down for a bit.”

“Let me see the blood,” Remmick said, guiding you towards a broken tree on the side of the road. You followed him and finally sat on the trunk. He kneeled in front of you, eyes fixed on your bloody ankle. “You poor thing. That looks like it must hurt.”

“It’s fine, really-” But he was already taking off your shoe, making you wince.

Blood was dripping down your ankle, and you bit your bottom lip at the pain.

“It smells so sweet,” Remmick whispered in awe as he lifted your leg. You felt your cheeks heat up as your skirt got pushed further up.

“Sir, if you please-”

“I knew you were different, ya know?” Remmick said, cutting you off as he moved closer to your blood. You tried to release your leg, but his grip was too strong. “I could smell you from miles away, darlin’.”

“Let me go,” you said, panic clear in your voice.

“Ssshhh,” he said, putting his finger to his lips. He looked up at you then, and you gasped as droll fell from his lips, and his teeth were sharper than before. “It will all be better soon.”

“What are you?” you asked between shaky breaths. You looked into his red eyes and saw something unnatural in them. Whatever this man was, it couldn’t be human.

Remmick grinned. “I’m your savior, darlin’.”

That was all he said before he jumped at a supernatural speed on top of you, making you fall back to the grass. You screamed in horror as his teeth sank into your neck and pierced the skin. The pain was so unbearable that you screamed until your throat ached and your lungs gave out.

Then, your eyes fell shut and you floated into darkness… You were sure you were dying, and you felt yourself drifting away to meet your ancestors. You could almost see them on the horizon, looking at you with inviting hands and warmth.

But it was as if there was a wall in your path. One you couldn’t cross. You yelled their names, but it was in vain as they slowly disappeared into dust.

Then, you were reborn.

Your eyes snapped open, and you breathed blessed air. You gasped and coughed, putting your hand to your neck and feeling dried blood there. You were supposed to be dead…

“All better now, isn’t it?” Remmick said. You licked your dry lips, feeling them colder than usual, before looking at Remmick, who was kneeling next to you. His mouth was dripping with your blood. “It’s okay, darlin’. I’m here.”

His red eyes left you in a trance, making you giggle and reach for his hands. He held you to a sitting position, and you stretched your arms and cracked your neck. A smile stayed on your mouth.

You felt euphoric, like life didn’t mean anything before. You could feel the coldness of the night and how comforting it was. Every sound was sharper in your ears, and your reflexes seemed to be better, too. You felt unstoppable and… you remembered. Your life and his.

You knew who he was now. You felt his pain deep in your chest, like a crushing weight.

“Remmick…” you whispered, putting your hand to your chest. “I feel so different. So goddamn good.”

“Yeah? Can you feel how sweet it is?” he asked, putting one hand over yours. “It’s all better now, isn’t it? Nobody can hurt us now.”

“Nobody,” you repeated. “Aon duine.”

Remmick’s grin deepened at your words, and you laughed loudly, pushing yourself towards him.

“Kiss me now,” you begged, wanting to feel him closer. “I wanna feel you. I need you, Remmick.”

“I know… It’s alright. Come here,” he whispered.

Your lips met in a fiery kiss, and you groaned as you tasted your blood. Remmick wasn’t lying; it was truly sweet, like a nectar.

Your tongues danced with each other until you pulled back with the need for fresh air. Your chest heaved, and fire seemed to be inside your veins as the heat of arousal filled your body like a poison. But it was far from venomous… it was addictive and nonlethal. A combination not made possible until now.

“I know how you liked to be licked, darlin’,” Remmick whispered against your lips. “And I know what makes you drip.”

You couldn’t say anything to his filthy words, so instead, you put your elbows behind you and spread your legs. His eyes were shining in the dark, and you saw them look between your thighs as you pulled your skirts up and revealed your dripping arousal. You weren’t wearing anything down there, only your dress and shawl, which was now long forgotten somewhere in the grass.

Remmick licked his bottom lip slowly, chuckling and crawling towards your spread thighs. You smirked at him as he moved and finally reached the middle of your legs. The pulse on your crotch was maddening, and you didn't remember ever feeling this aroused for anybody else.

“Look at that… Isn’t that just so perfect?” Remmick said, rubbing his hands from your ankles to your thighs. His skin was calloused but comforting. “Don’t mind if I steal a few kisses, do ya?”

You brought your right hand to your folds, spreading them and coating your digits with your arousal, before bringing the glistening fingers towards his mouth. He didn’t need to be asked twice as he wrapped his lips around your fingers and swirled his tongue, tasting you. A deep moan left your mouth, and you saw him grab and squeeze his cock through his pants.

“Come taste me, baby,” you begged.

A string of saliva fell from the corner of his lips as he removed your fingers from his mouth. His white shirt was unbuttoned on the chest, revealing his chest hair and a necklace, and, as you stared at him, he grabbed your thighs with his two hands and pushed you towards him, making your back and head hit the grass.

You laughed, grabbing his hair as his head went between your legs.

“Oh fuck…” you whispered as he applied kisses around your vulva. He licked and nibbled at the flesh until you were whining for him.

Just when he thought you had enough of his teasing, did he wrap his lips on your clit. When he did, you arched your back and pulled his hair roughly, making his fangs grow a bit. You felt his lust in your mind and laughed again, until he licked your folds up and down, and made you moan instead.

“Remmick… Just like that… Fuck,” you said, breathless.

He groaned against you and moved his tongue on your clit, flickering it and creating a mind shattering rhythm. You looked down at him and saw that he was staring at you as well. Your eyes met and you kept eye contact, loving the way his hair was fisted in your hand and his mouth moved on your cunt.

“That’s it, baby,” you encouraged him as waves of pleasure ran through you. You pulled his hair roughly again, which made him grab your thighs harder.

Remmick continued with that same pace that was just so right until you felt that tight, familiar feeling on your stomach. It was tightening fast, ready to burst, and you dropped your head back on the grass, moaning loudly his name.

“I’m close, baby,” you warned him with a breathless voice. A whine escaped your lips as he sucked on your clit suddenly, making a spike of pleasure run through you.

“I… I’m gonna cum,” you managed to say.

Remmick moaned against you, and that was all it took before you arched your back and felt arousal pour from your entrance. Your walls pulsed and your clit throbbed against Remmick’s tongue as sweet pleasure made your mind go blank. You pushed your cunt towards his face, almost riding it as he held you down.

Just when you began feeling a bit overstimulated did he stopped his movements, pulling away from your clit.

“Hm, hm…” he said as he cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand. “You sound so damn pretty when you cum, baby.”

You were breathing heavily as you looked at the night sky. Your skin was glistening and your cunt still trembled with the aftermath of your orgasm.

“I’m gonna need you to fuck me now, baby,” you said between breaths. You looked at him and were pleased to see him unbuckling his pants.

“Since you asked so nicely…” he teased you with a grin. He pulled his cock out and you looked at it. It was glistening with pre-cum and as hard as a rock. “How do you wanna get fucked, darlin’?”

You closed your legs and got to your knees in front of him. Then, as he stroked himself slowly, you turned around and lifted your skirts to your waist, revealing your backside to him. Remmick didn’t say anything but a hand appeared on your ass cheek, grabbing it roughly.

“That’s a good girl,” he said in a thick Irish accent. He had dropped his southern accent shortly after you were bitten.

You bit your bottom lip, dropping to your elbows as you felt him run the head of his cock on your folds. He teased himself and you for a while, running his cock up and down and making you shiver and clench on nothing.

“Give a girl what she needs, would ya? Please, baby,” you said to him with a whiny voice.

Remmick chuckled, one hand on your ass and the other on his shaft.

“But you look so pretty all needy for me, darlin’,” Remmick said.

You bit your bottom lip again, and pushed your ass towards him. Remmick groaned, and you smiled in victory as he lined himself with your entrance.

“Now, now… Let me make it all better,” he said before thrusting inside all at once.

You gasped as he entered you, your head dropping between your shoulders. Remmick let out a deep groan as he stopped fully inside.

“Foc… Chomh teann,” he said, now holding your waist with both hands.

He began fucking you slowly, pulling himself all the way out just to slam inside. You couldn’t do anything but fist the grass and moan his name as he set a good pace. His cock hit all the right places inside you, somehow. It was as if it was meant to fuck you all your life.

“Fuck. You are taking me so goddamn well,” he said with a laugh. You moaned his name again and clenched around him.

He grabbed your ass cheeks roughly until you felt his nails pierce your skin. You were sure he had drawn blood from your flesh, but you couldn’t care less as euphoria pumped inside your veins. Everything just felt so good.

“Harder,” you said to him.

Remmick obeyed, and you arched your back and moaned louder than ever as you felt his balls hit your skin with every thrust. The wet and slapping sounds you were making were like music to your ears, and you felt your fangs grow. You needed some blood after this. And soon.

“Take it… Come on, fucking take it,” Remmick moaned, pulling your hair. You hissed at the pain but laughed, feeling him hold your head slightly up.

You held your torso up with one arm and brought your other hand to your clit, rubbing it roughly and feeling your walls clenching on his shaft. You were getting close again.

“Remmick… Ah… Fuck…” you said, looking to him as he pulled your hair again. His neck and chin were still covered in your blood, and his lips parted as he let out ragged breaths. He had never looked more beautiful.

“You gonna cum?” Remmick asked you, bringing your face closer to his. He had more strength than you, so it was as easy as walking for him. “Tell me, baby.”

“Yeah… I’m real close,” you replied, inches from his fangs.

“Then do it. Come on, darlin’, cum around my cock,” he whispered, licking your lips.

You grabbed the back of his neck, feeling his sweaty hair and skin, while the other hand rubbed circles on your clit. He gave you a particularly hard thrust that made your breasts jiggle.

Remmick must have noticed because soon his hands were on your breasts. He ripped open the dress from your chest like it was a tissue, and you gasped as he grabbed your boobs and squeezed them.

“Fuckin’ beautiful tits,” he moaned.

It was too much for you with the added stimulation, so your orgasm burst through you at long last.

You opened your mouth and let out high-pitched moans against his lips as your eyes fell shut. Remmick fucked you through it, feeling your walls clench and unclench around his shaft as you came.

“Fuck… Beautiful,” he whispered, voice strained.

He fucked you unevenely until he stilled his hips and hot strings of cum shoot inside you, making you groan. He whispered your name in your ear while he came, making you shiver.

Then, he put his lips to your neck and licked the two holes his fangs had left on your skin. It sting a bit but you didn’t paid it any mind as you stopped your fingers on your clit and started calming down.

“There we go. Feels good, baby?” he asked you.

“Yes… Real fucking good,” you replied, feeling your skin almost burn.

He held you for a bit more until you dropped to your hands, and he removed himself from inside of you. When he did, you felt his cum drip down your ass, making you shiver. Remmick saw it too as he collected it with his fingers.

“Want a taste, baby?” he asked as you turned around and sat on the floor. Your dress was ruined now, ripped open and covered in blood, sweat, and cum.

“Yeah. Let me,” you said, grabbing his wrist and putting his fingers inside your mouth. You tasted his salty cum and moaned, making Remmick smirk.

“You really are different, aren’t you, baby?” he said as you pulled back your mouth.

“You bet,” you replied, licking your lips.

Remmick chuckled and put himself back in his pants, buttoning them up again and fixing his blouse. You tried to clean your dress until you saw it was pointless.

“That’s no problem, darlin’. There are plenty of dresses in town, I reckon. You may take as many as you want,” he said.

You giggled, breathing deeply as you got to your feet. He followed your lead.

“So… What’s next?” you asked him as you looked at the empty road.

“Well…” Remmick grabbed your waist from behind and put his chin on your shoulder. “I think the people in this town need our savin’, don’t ya think? I can feel how miserable they are, even from here. A goddamn shame, really.”

You hummed with a grin, looking at the lights on the horizon.

“I think you right, Remmick. They need our savin’...And I happen to know just the place to visit first.”

Remmick hummed and grabbed your hand as you two walked down the road. You could hear the drumming heartbeats of the folks in the town, leading you closer and closer to them. But they could wait… First, your parents needed some saving.

Then, everybody else would too.

#sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners movie #remmick #remmick x reader #remmick smut #remmick x you #remmick fanfic #remmick imagine #jack o'connell #x reader #smut #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #vampire aesthetic #vampires #vampirism

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hoiststowline · 27 days ago

Text

message in a bottle

_rb!chase x reader | pt.one

prologue

Of anything regarding his current predicament, Chase is most grateful that the confines of your so-called garage has a window at the very top of the door panel. It’s small, but he’s able to gauge how much time has passed him by, just by the rising of light and the darkness that followed the evening hours.

Having far too much time on his hands, Chase has found himself taken to deciphering your schedule, fairly certain he’s got it down to a science. Even with so much to be done, everything felt as if it dragged. Days melded together as his internal clock was so far off, he assumed it must be broken, unable to calibrate it to the correct Earth time.

Chase never found himself impatient, but in the last couple of days, he’s been forced to trust you in an abundance of blind faith. Unbeknownst to you, he had left out one major detail: if he was unsuccessful in getting repaired, it would lead to a snowball of problems he couldn’t count on two servos. He needed to be able to transform to his bipedal mode, if only to get Energon to fuel his systems.

His reserves were pitifully and painfully low, depleted more than they had been when he entered emergency stasis. In his defense, he had thought with your newfound assistance that such a task of fixing his transformation cog wouldn't take very long, even factoring in everything that could go wrong. Chase’s assumption led to a series of frustrations and disappointments on both his and your ends, and it appeared that you needed more supplies for his repairs than he originally thought.

He falsely convinced himself he would be able to go scouting missions about two days prior, hardly accounting for time that he would need to recover. Instead, he remains in your garage, not exasperated with you, most definitely at his situation more than anything.

As you pull out from under his struts, wrench in hand, Chase ventures to ask for a status update as patiently as he can.

"Any success in finding what is jamming the gear?"

In return, you sigh, moving around the endless sticks and other debris you had freed previously, remnants from that car lot that were wedged between his machinery. "I'm sorry, Chase. I've yanked out nearly everything that's not supposed to be there, but I still can't figure out why the cog isn't working."

"My systems say that it is not damaged," An ex-vent echoes, then he continues with some insight on the matter. "However, my internal systems may not be providing an accurate reading. It must be faulty, which is what I was afraid of."

"Faulty?” You tilt your head to the side, confusion seeping into your words. “Why would it be defective?'

Over the past couple of days, spending long hours with Chase, you've never heard his infliction turn so sorrowful. It's disheartening, and even if you don't completely understand his predicament, it ignites something within you to try one thing you hadn't previously thought of.

"I do not know what happened while I was in stasis. There is nothing that can be done unless you happen to have a spare t-cog lying around," A bitter laugh follows his deprecating joke.

"Hang on," You lean forward, dusting your hands off on your jeans before glancing around the garage, in search of something specific. "I've got one more idea. You probably won't like it, but you'll have to trust me."

Unable to presently recall where you had put it last, the image of the can persists in your mind as an endgame solution that usually fixes most mechanical problems.

Chase watches as you open cabinets and drawers, shuffling around the space with utmost resolve, an admirable trait he’s become fond of you for.

"You may do whatever you think is best." Side-view mirrors flitting to follow you, he intently surveys your elation as you pull a blue can from a lower shelf, shaking it in your comparatively small hands. "What is it though, might I ask?"

Reapproaching his open hood, you smile softly before presenting the can to him as if you were on a gameshow. "WD-40."

When you say it like that, it sounds largely professional, almost laughable. However, in reality, it's nothing more than a cheap lubricant, a solution for squeaky hinges. "We've been talking in circles about how rusty your parts are, maybe the cog is working, but it's just stuck."

"You claim to know nothing of mechanics, yet you have the most intelligent ideas."

With a hum of acknowledgement, you pray he doesn't see the pink twinge to your ears as you slide back under the body, trying to locate the ‘t-cog’ once more. Upon finding it, you gently insert that red straw as best you can within the gear, finger hovering over the nozzle.

"Don't hold your breath, Chase." You wheeze, closing your eyes as your finger finds the button to coat the metal cog in the oily unguent.

After a long but meaningful coat, you retreat backward, pulling away from the fumes as a hand comes to wave away some of the persisting spray in the air. On the edge of your seat, you bite your tongue for a couple of seconds before daring to ask the pressing question of the hour.

"How does that feel?'

He remains silent at first, almost a stalemate as to who should break the quiet first. You’re afraid to move, eyes glancing between the top of the hood to his hubcaps, wondering if you somehow made the circumstance worse.

Then, his engine revs a short echo, then a new noise comes forth. Almost describable as a clink clank clunk, and then as if like magic, he transforms, revealing his true form to you in all its glory.

"You were successful. The cog was rusted, it has moved properly upon application of your WD-40."

Upon the first meeting, when he mentioned a bipedal form, you weren't confident to imagine just what that meant.

Each night when you bid him farewell for the evening, Chase safeguarded in your closed garage, you would research anything that was out there into the early hours of the morning. Unfortunately, but rationally, there was nothing useful, and it broke your heart each day that passed with little triumph to call a success. Your imagination was the major resource at hand, attempting to predict what he looked like outside a blue and white sedan, but no vast curiosity could ever have imagined him to look as he rightfully appears.

He's massive, crouching properly in his concrete prison, blue and white his proper colors but a kind face with cerulean optics that stare down at you, unblinking. Bipedal, meaning he took a humanoid shape, but mechanical appearance, is the first rational thought that crosses your crowded mind. Your thoughts were spiraling fast, internally bombarded with questions that all fight to the surface to be asked first. Nonsense claims you, shaking your head briefly to disperse some of the overwhelming feeling.

"Hi," You breathe, unsure what else felt right to say in the moment.

This interaction felt as if you were meeting someone else entirely, his broad shoulders stretching the best they could as your eyes simultaneously avert to his red Autobot emblem resting objectively on his chest.

"Hello y/n," He replies courteously, a smile brimming on silver lips. "It is nice to properly meet you,"

"Likewise." You push off your knees, standing although you’re still bathed in his shadow. "I can't actually believe that worked. It was totally a last resort."

"I am eternally grateful that you thought of such a solution." Chase flexes his hands, fingers curling into fists before unfolding, all the while keeping his attention and regards on you. "If not, I fear we would have had a terrible predicament."

You toss the can somewhere nearby, not directly caring where it landed at the moment. "I'm going to need a lot of blue paint."

"My exterior is not of utmost concern." He bevels his head to the right and the left, as if working out some stiffness in his neck. "The next complication with the highest priority is to find Energon."

"That's the pink stuff that was leaking from your thingy," You draw a circle in the air, fleetingly forgetting what he called it the other day.

Chase laughs placidly, providing you with an answer without hesitation. "Yes, my chassis. Though patched up, I still require it to remain in full working order. There are Energon deposits on Earth, it is just a matter of finding one."

"Do you have the means to?" You inquire in a small voice, finding it's still a little weird to talk to a mech that was a car less than three minutes ago. "I don't have knowledge about that, I'm sorry."

"No need to worry, I would not have expected you to," He shifts, almost uncomfortably. "That is something I can locate. Mining is typically only possible in my bipedal form, so that is why it was crucial to resolve the t-cog issue."

"Gotcha," Concisely, it crosses your mind if he'll leave now that he has what he requires to continue onward without little issue.

Aside from the obvious, all of his major and pertinent obstacles have been rectified, and he very well was likely to leave for wherever he was supposed to be the past couple of years.

"Is something the matter?" Chase carefully studies the expression on your face, surveying how it drops considerably after the shortness of your reply.

"No. Yes." You close your eyes and rub your palms against your face, as if it would absolve you from so many rampaging thoughts. "Never mind. When are you going to look for the Energon?"

Chase cocks his helm, looking down at you with unshielded perplexity. "You say it as if you aren't coming with me,"

"I don’t know?” You shrug, shoving your hands into the pockets of your overalls. "All of your serious injuries are mended, right?"

"Where-" His voice box hitches considerably, as if he was trying to talk too fast. Pausing, he grumbles in annoyance before taking a second to try again. "Where did this come from?"

Somewhere, you know in the back of your mind you could play it off, trying to backpedal and overwrite what you originally meant. Yet, something about doing such to Chase caused a fierce mixture of anxiety and guilt to reside in your throat. Were you purposely pushing him away, or was it because you were finally laughing and feeling an inkling of success? Your eyes move to the can of WD-40, resting on its side just shy of the trash can, and then your eyes bounce back up to his.

Finally, you settle on the truth. "Sorry, I surmise the worst. I wasn't kicking you out or anything."

"I would like to continue this relationship, as long as you'll have me," Chase offers a servo, extending his index digit your way. "y/n, I would never desire to abuse your resources, and then leave."

Your palm meets the navy blue paint, a smile brimming at his gentle shake. "I wasn't-"

"I know." He says, and you can tell the sincerity that arises alongside it. "You should understand, nevertheless. I was very fortunate to end up in your hands, and not in a scrapyard."

"I'd like to think we found each other, in some fate-driven insane way." He doesn't pull away, so neither do you, taking in the warmth his entire body radiates. "And besides, this was something I intended to see through to the end, regardless of the hurdles."

Chase instantly decides that likes the way your touch feels, your small hand wrapped around his finger, so he refuses to move first, allowing you the floor to break contact first.

"Just a little bit more than you bargained for?" He jests, only to find delight when he hears your laugh in response.

"Yeah. Something like that." Your hand drops from his, moving across the room to go pick up the can of WD-40. "I think I'll have to get some more of this. Might save us in another pinch,"

"I can-" You know what he's going to say, shaking your head as you move to set the canister on the workbench.

"No, not today," Your hands find the pockets of your overalls once more, looking up at him. "We had a lot of fun, but I need a shower. Maybe tomorrow we work on finding that Energon stuff."

"Very well." Just with how he says it, there’s evidently something more he wants to say, but can't find the right words to articulate it.

"Is that something we can put off one more day?" Your weight shifts from foot to foot. "You said it had high priority."

"I have enough reserves to last just under two Earth days," Chase hums. "We can begin scouting tomorrow, if that is alright with you."

"Fine by me," You sigh in mild exhaustion, feeling grimy and sweaty from the day's events. "Well, I'm gonna go get cleaned up. Give me a shout if you need me,"

The blue and white mech nods, eyes dimming considerably. "Thank you, again. Sleep well."

"Anytime." Turning to ascend the stairs, you begin climbing but look over your shoulder as he rolls joints that likely haven't moved in years. "Good night, Chase. See you in the morning."

"Good night, y/n." Your hand meets the light switch, fading the overhead brightness before you open the door, something unrestrained resting on your chest. The garage door closes over behind you with a click, now in your kitchen, the only thing standing between you and a twenty-five-foot mech is a wooden slab.

Your hand comes to run the length of your face, smearing dirt and grease along the way. Momentarily, you’re hit with the profuse emotion of apprehension, but allow it to slip free with some insistent self-reassurance. With maximum effort, you peel your shoes from the linoleum, beginning down the hallway, headed straight for the shower.

[a/n: hi!! I only proofread this once, my apologies for any poor/incorrect grammar! I started editing this after the ask about it, and lowkey got carried away with it, lol. thank you for reading!! <3]

#sul tf writes #maccadam #transformers #transformers idw #mtmte #transformers x reader #transformers x human #transformers headcanons #tf x reader #transformers rescue bots #chase x reader #rescue bots chase #transformers chase

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lovelyspring7 · 5 months ago

Text

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.

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