emotions can be tricky. below is a guide on how to handle the myriad of feelings, from anguish to amusement, that most humans feel.
to provide a more inclusive experience, most stories past 2021 (along with the emotions wrapped in it) will be gender neutral. looking for something gendered? feel free to peruse the pre-2021 collection mixed in below.
here in detroit we welcome those who have just awoken to deviance, and encourage them to read to their hearts content.
emotions are unpredictable, so it must be noted that the majority of these stories will have some form of angst.
once again, welcome to deviance!
last updated: 05/15/26
Detroit Become Human
Connor
△ You know just how to get to me
⤷ He gives what he can
□ A Drag Path
⛌ Aperture
○ The Indomitable Human Spirit
Resident Evil
leon kennedy
△ That Stupidly Hot Jacket
□ Familiarity
Star Wars
Din Djarin
△ Cat and Mouse
□ Lost Love
⛌ Nescient
Obi-Wan Kenobi
△ inébranlable
□ betting on losing dogs
⛌ last words of a shooting star (pt. 2 to betting on losing dogs)
○ Your love is sunlight
Poe Dameron
△ Final Moments
□ oh, but you’re good to me
The Last of Us
Joel Miller
△ Crawling back to you
□ Incipient
⛌ Scrawled in Sand
○ Oh, the Wildfowers
△ time on without me
□ Foxglove
Criminal Minds
Emily Prentiss
△ Rise and Fall Masterlist
□ The Impossible Dream
Spencer Reid
△Terminal Lucidity
Psych you out in the end
△ i. the introduction
□ ii. aspersion
⛌ iii. ardently yours
○ iv. ebullience
The Marauders
Sirius Black
△ Disdain
Marvel
Matt Murdock
△ Holy Ground Masterlist
Peter Parker
△ Detention Buddies (this was made like eight years ago beware)
□ I’m always on my own
Steve Rogers
△ Got Your Back
Into the Spiderverse
△ Bittersweet Hope
□ To Meet Your Match
⛌ Cool About It
○ And suddenly, i had everything to lose
Supernatural
Dean Winchester
△ Imagine dean accidentally crashing your motorcycle
there’s probably one or two more fics scattered across my blog, but they’ll either be lost to the abyss, or i’ll accidentally stumble across them in a distant future, so we’ll just call this a wip.
fic summary: in a galaxy where soulmates are bound by identical marks on their wrists, you’ve always dismissed it as nothing more than an old myth. you’re certain your match doesn’t exist—until the day you discover they do. Worse still, the mark belongs to someone you can never have— your Jedi General.
warnings/tags: SOULMATE AU!, age gap (reader is 29 obi wan is 38) clone wars era, canon violence, swearing, angst (like a lot), sexual tension, unrequieted feelings, tw: PTSD, drug use, death of the major characters, blood injury, torture, mentions of SA, verbal and non-verbal abuse, kidnapping, political themes, etc.
summary: A bit of an insight on things from Master Kenobi and another mission.
warnings/tags: Obi-Wan's POV, tension, angst, canon violence, war dynamic, terrorist violence, mentions of injury, death, soulmate dynamics, spelling mistakes?
word count: 6.7k
pairing: obi-wan kenobi x f!reader
author's note: back after a loong break from this one... taglist is still open! (i think i tagged all of you, if i forgot about someone i am terribly sorry)
masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter
The Force had been restless lately.
Obi-Wan Kenobi noticed it in the quiet moments most—those rare pauses between briefings, strategy sessions, and the endless cadence of war. It lingered in the hum of the Negotiator’s engines, in the soft murmur of the Temple corridors, in the way his thoughts refused to settle into their usual, disciplined order.
And, troublingly, it lingered in you.
He told himself it was nothing. A coincidence. A medic doing her duty with an intensity that bordered on insubordination—an intensity he should have reprimanded long ago. He had faced far stranger distractions during the war and mastered them all. This should have been no different.
And yet.
In the days following Coruscant, he found his attention drifting at the most inopportune times. During meditation, his focus slipped—not shattered, but softened, bending toward the memory of antiseptic and latex, of steady hands and a sharp tongue that refused to bow simply because he wore the rank of General.
You had knelt before him with a calm authority that unsettled him more than blaster fire ever could.
Most people, when faced with him outside the battlefield, became careful. Measured. Reverent in a way that created distance. You had done none of that. You had scolded him. Teased him. Taken his pain seriously without treating him as fragile.
Worse still—you had seen him.
Not the symbol. Not the Jedi General. But the man bleeding through his trousers in an alley, stubborn and tired and too accustomed to pretending wounds were trivial.
“I don't like to see you hurt.”
The words had been simple. Unadorned. Honest.
They had struck far deeper than they had any right to.
Obi-Wan exhaled slowly, opening his eyes as the meditation chamber resolved around him. The Force responded at once, steadying—but not erasing—the faint warmth that curled in his chest whenever he thought of you. It was not passion. Not desire, he told himself firmly.
It was… curiosity.
Concern.
Respect.
Still, he was not blind. He had noticed the way you avoided his gaze afterward, the subtle tightening of your posture whenever he entered a room. He had felt something flicker in the Force when you were near—something quiet, contained, like a held breath.
You were careful now. Guarded.
And that troubled him more than your defiance ever had.
He found himself asking Cody questions he pretended were casual. How were the medics faring? Was the rotation schedule sustainable? Were you resting?
Cody, irritatingly perceptive as always, answered honestly—but watched him with a knowing glint Obi-Wan chose to ignore.
There was something about you that did not fit neatly into his understanding of the world. You were disciplined but not rigid. Compassionate without softness. Emotionally intelligent in a way that Jedi training often discouraged rather than nurtured.
You reminded him—uncomfortably—of a life he had once imagined for himself and long since buried beneath duty.
That, he decided, was the true danger.
Not attachment. Not impropriety.
But the possibility that, in another life, under different circumstances, he might have allowed himself to wonder.
Obi-Wan Kenobi did not indulge in what-ifs. The galaxy had no patience for them.
The Council chamber shimmered into view, blue figures resolving one by one around the familiar circular dais. Obi-Wan straightened instinctively, spine aligning with years of habit, years of reverence. The faint echo of the Temple’s hum settled his thoughts—mostly.
“General Kenobi,” Master Windu said evenly. “We have received new intelligence from the Mid Rim.”
Obi-Wan inclined his head. “I’m listening.”
“A terrorist attack occurred on Gavos Minor,” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi continued. “Civilian casualties. Infrastructure damage. The attackers were not Separatists.”
That gave him pause.
“Not Separatists?” Obi-Wan repeated. “Then who?”
“The perpetrators remain unidentified,” Master Mundi said, ears drooping slightly. “But the Force around the event is… disturbed. Chaotic.”
Political. Unstable. The worst kind of mission.
“We believe the situation requires Jedi intervention,” Windu said. “Discretion is paramount. The Senate is already… uneasy.”
Obi-Wan folded his hands into his sleeves, considering. “Understood. When do you want me to depart?”
“Before the next rotation if possible,” Windu replied.
A beat passed. Then Obi-Wan spoke again, carefully.
“If I may... I'd like to request permission to select an additional individual to accompany me.”
The Council exchanged glances.
“Skywalker?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked. “His presence could be useful should the situation escalate.”
Obi-Wan hesitated—just long enough for something to flicker in the Force.
“Respectfully,” he said calmly. “I had someone else in mind.”
That earned him their full attention.
“Proceed,” Windu said.
“The attack appears non-Separatist,” Obi-Wan continued evenly. “Which suggests internal unrest, possibly medical or humanitarian manipulation. Whoever orchestrated this wanted fear, not territory. I believe it would be… prudent to bring someone with specialized experience outside combat.”
Silence.
“A healer?” Plo Koon asked thoughtfully.
“A medic,” Obi-Wan corrected, and felt the Force stir faintly at the word. “One accustomed to battlefield triage, civilian crises, and… emotional intelligence.”
Yoda’s eyes narrowed, ancient and knowing. “Hmm. Unusual, this request is.”
“Effective,” Obi-Wan replied. “The situation calls for trust-building as much as lightsabers.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
At last, Windu nodded once. “Very well. You have permission to choose your companion. Ensure they are briefed and prepared. This mission may turn volatile.”
“Understood,” Obi-Wan said, bowing his head. “Thank you, Masters.”
The transmission faded, leaving the chamber empty and quiet.
Obi-Wan remained still for a moment longer than necessary.
He told himself this was strategy. Logistics. Pragmatism.
But the truth—quiet and insistent—was that when he imagined stepping into uncertainty, into fear and chaos that was not born of war, there was only one presence he trusted to steady the ground.
One voice he could already hear, sharp and unyielding.
One pair of hands he knew would not hesitate.
********
“General,” Cody said carefully, eyes following your movements through the transparisteel window of the Med Bay. You were mid-shift, sleeves rolled, posture intent and focused as you spoke quietly to one of the troopers. “You are aware that she might… not agree with you on this.”
Obi-Wan did not look away.
“Absolutely,” he replied evenly. “She is not, however, in a position to refuse when the orders come directly from a General.”
Cody hummed, unconvinced. “I don’t believe titles carry much weight with her.”
A pause.
Obi-Wan’s mouth curved, just barely — not quite a smile, but something warmer, more private.
“Yes,” he said softly. “So I’ve noticed.”
“You want me to tell her?” Cody asked, already halfway into duty mode.
“No,” Obi-Wan said without hesitation. “I’ll do it myself. In the meantime, ensure the ship and the necessary resources are prepared for departure.”
Cody inclined his head. “Yes, sir.”
As the doors slid shut behind him, Obi-Wan allowed himself a quiet breath. He had commanded armies, negotiated ceasefires, and stood before the Council without faltering — yet he was deeply, sincerely grateful for Cody’s presence. The commander was efficient where Obi-Wan was abstract, grounded where he was philosophical. A steady hand on the details, on the practicalities of war.
It made all the difference.
His attention returned to the Med Bay.
The doors parted with a soft hiss, and the familiar wash of antiseptic air greeted him. The room was alive with controlled urgency — monitors chiming, medics moving with purpose, the low murmur of voices stitched together by discipline and care.
And then he saw you.
You stood near one of the central beds, datapad tucked under your arm, sleeves rolled just enough to bare your forearms as you spoke to a clone seated on the cot. There was an ease to your posture that caught his eye — not relaxed, precisely, but confident. Present. As though you belonged to the chaos rather than endured it.
The Force shifted subtly around you.
Obi-Wan found himself slowing his steps without meaning to.
You looked… tired. Anyone with eyes could see that. There were faint shadows beneath them, a tightness around your mouth that spoke of long hours and short rest. And yet — there was something else, too. A quiet brightness, understated and unadorned. Not the polished beauty of holos or ceremony, but something real. Earned.
Somewhat pretty, he thought — and immediately corrected himself.
Entirely inappropriate.
Still, the thought lingered.
You finished bandaging the trooper, murmured a few final instructions, and turned — catching sight of him. For a fraction of a second, something flickered across your expression: surprise, perhaps, or wariness. Then it was gone, smoothed into professionalism.
“General,” you said, offering a small smile. It was restrained, polite — but not cold. “Can I help you?”
The words were ordinary.
The way they landed was not.
“Yes,” he said gently. “If you have a moment.”
He met your gaze then — really met it — and felt that same quiet pull he had been pretending not to notice tighten ever so slightly.
You fell into step beside him as he led you out of the Med Bay, the doors sealing softly behind you. The corridor was quieter here, the hum of the ship steady and familiar. You noticed, distantly, that your shoulders were not drawn as tight as they had been days ago. You were still wary — still careful — but not braced for impact.
Obi-Wan noticed too.
It was in the way you walked now, less rigid, more fluid. In the way your hands rested at your sides instead of clenched behind your back. A subtle easing, as though proximity no longer unsettled you quite as much as it once had.
He began without preamble.
“The Council has assigned me a mission in the Mid Rim,” he said evenly. “A planet called Gavos Minor. It recently suffered a series of coordinated terrorist attacks.”
You listened intently, eyes forward, mind already working through implications.
“But,” he continued, “the intelligence suggests the perpetrators are not Separatists.”
That made you slow half a step.
You absorbed the information in silence, then narrowed your eyes slightly — a gesture Obi-Wan had already come to recognize as dangerous, in the best possible way.
“There’s something else,” you said quietly. “Isn’t there?”
He glanced at you, just briefly.
“Yes.”
“I’d like you to accompany me on this mission.”
You stopped walking. He did too.
The words landed softly — but the reaction they triggered was anything but.
He felt it immediately. The Force stirred, emotions rising and colliding inside you: surprise, resistance, anxiety, a flicker of something warmer he did not name. It rolled through you like weather, sharp and restless.
You turned to face him fully now, jaw set.
“General,” you said, carefully measured, “don't get me wrong, I am grateful for this opportunity, but this is above my duties as Chief Medic. I’m supposed to stay aboard the Negotiator. I’ll be more useful here."
You spoke with conviction. With reason. With that stubborn sense of responsibility he had come to respect perhaps more than was wise.
“Useful,” he repeated softly. “Yes. You are extraordinarily useful here.”
You stiffened slightly, as if expecting dismissal.
“But usefulness,” he continued, “is not the same as necessity.”
You frowned.
“On Gavos Minor,” he said, “fear is the weapon. Not armies. Not droids. Fear works by isolating people — convincing them they are unseen, unheard, beyond help.”
He folded his hands into his sleeves.
“A lightsaber cannot mend that. Nor can strategy alone. What is needed there is presence. Someone who can walk into chaos and bring order without force. Someone who listens before they act.”
Your breath slowed despite yourself.
“You believe that’s me?” you asked quietly.
“I do,” he said, no hesitation in his voice or judgement.
You looked away, eyes tracing the length of the corridor, grappling with the weight of it.
“You once said that you wouldn’t be afraid to lose your position if it meant keeping people alive,” Obi-Wan added gently. “I respect that.”
Your head snapped back toward him.
“You would not be coming as a soldier,” he finished. “Nor as an afterthought. You would be there because your presence matters.”
Your silence stretched.
Obi-Wan did not need the Force to know you were afraid.
But it confirmed it all the same.
It brushed against him quietly, not sharp or panicked, but dense — a careful, heavy fear layered with responsibility. Not the fear of inadequacy. Not reluctance. Not even defiance.
It was the fear of consequences.
Of variables spiraling beyond control. Of timing being wrong by seconds. Of a choice made in good faith ending in blood on your hands.
He watched it settle in you as you stood there, arms folded loosely now, gaze unfocused as your mind raced several steps ahead of the conversation. You were already imagining scenarios. Already counting risks. Already bracing yourself for outcomes you believed you should have been able to prevent.
You weren’t worried you wouldn’t be able to help.
You were worried that something would go wrong anyway.
That someone would get hurt.
Perhaps because of you. Perhaps despite you.
Perhaps both.
Obi-Wan softened his stance, just slightly — not lowering his authority, but shifting its weight.
“You carry responsibility as if it were a debt,” he continued. “As though every life you touch becomes something you must personally answer for.”
You exhaled, slow and controlled, jaw tightening.
“That’s kind of the job,” you said quietly.
“No,” he replied, just as quietly. “That is the burden you’ve chosen to add to it.”
He stepped closer — not invading your space, but closing the distance enough that his voice did not need to rise.
"When we choose to care, we accept that harm may still come. You cannot protect everyone,” he said. “And you are not failing when the galaxy reminds you of that.”
For a moment, the hum of the ship seemed louder. Your shoulders lifted with a breath you’d been holding far too long, then fell again.
“You’re afraid someone will get hurt,” he said, not unkindly. “And that fear tells me exactly why I want you there.”
You finally met his eyes.
“Because you don’t turn away from that fear,” he continued. “You move through it. You act anyway.”
There was no judgment in his expression. No expectation.
Only trust.
“And,” he added, quieter still, “you would not be alone.”
The thought came unbidden—and unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Leaving you alone.
Obi-Wan had sent others into uncertainty countless times. He had signed orders knowing full well the risks they carried. Duty demanded distance; the war required it. And yet, when he imagined you remaining behind—continuing your work amid the constant churn of wounded and dying, carrying that punishing sense of responsibility—something in him resisted with unexpected force.
He would not do that to anyone in this position.
Much less to you.
The realization sat heavily in his chest, unwelcome and persistent. He told himself it was logic: your skill set, your judgment under pressure, your ability to read situations before they turned volatile. All valid reasons. All sufficient.
Still, the unease lingered.
A faint heat flared at his wrist, sharp enough to draw his attention for a fraction of a second. Obi-Wan glanced down instinctively, fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve where the skin beneath prickled, warm and insistent.
A distraction, he decided at once.
Stress, perhaps. Fatigue. The Force had been restless of late; sensations arose and passed without meaning more often than not. He smoothed the sleeve back into place, steadying his breath, and dismissed the sensation as easily as it had come.
There were more important matters at hand.
He returned his focus to you—standing there, composed but fragile in the way only the most capable people ever were—and felt his resolve settle into something firm and quiet.
You stared at the deck plating as though the answer might be written there, fingers flexing once at your side, then stilling. Obi-Wan waited, deliberately giving you the space you seemed to need.
Then you looked up.
And for the briefest, most disarming instant, he lost the thread of the Force entirely.
Your eyes were searching—not fearful, not defiant, but cautious in a way that struck far closer to the bone. There was resolve there, yes, but it was layered beneath uncertainty, beneath a careful weighing of risk that had nothing to do with blaster fire or hostile territory.
“I’ll come with you,” you said at last.
The words were measured. Not eager. Not confident. Chosen.
Obi-Wan felt a quiet shift inside his chest—relief, perhaps, tempered immediately by restraint. He inclined his head in acknowledgment, careful not to crowd the moment.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
But you didn’t relax. Didn’t mirror his calm. Your gaze held his, steady but guarded, as if agreeing had not resolved the deeper question at all.
“I need to be clear,” you continued, voice even, professional—but there was an edge to it now. “I’m not agreeing because I think this is a good idea. I’m agreeing because I don’t think I can justify not going.”
He studied you, attentive.
“And,” you added after a pause, quieter, “because if something goes wrong… I’d rather be there than hear about it afterward.”
There it was. The truth beneath the decision. Yet he couldn't ignore the painful pinch inside of him when the words left you.
Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “That is… fair.”
You drew in a slow breath, grounding yourself, then lifted your eyes back to him.
“When do we depart?”
Obi-Wan did not miss the way your shoulders squared as you asked it—as though you were bracing for impact. He answered honestly, as he always did.
“Within six hours,” he said. “The Council wants us en route before the next rotation. We’ll be taking a light transport. Minimal visibility.”
The color drained from your face—not dramatically, but enough that he noticed. Your jaw tightened. Your fingers curled around the datapad you were holding as if it were suddenly the only solid thing in the room.
“I see,” you said, too quickly.
He felt it then—fear, sharp and sudden, flaring beneath your practiced composure. Not panic, but the kind of fear that came from running through scenarios faster than they could be spoken aloud. Casualties. Unknown attackers. Limited intel. Too many variables and not enough control.
And beneath it all: the quiet terror of proximity. Of being pulled closer to the front lines than you ever wanted to be.
He shifted his weight, softening his tone. “If you need more time to prepare, I can request a brief delay. The Council may be persuaded.”
You shook your head immediately. “No. Don’t.” A pause, then more quietly, “Delays cost lives.”
That answer—so very you—landed heavily in his chest.
He had no immediate answer to that.
So he did the only thing he could—he inclined his head, giving you space once more.
“I’ll have Commander Cody forward you the mission brief and transport details,” he said. “Take whatever you need. No restrictions.”
You nodded, already retreating behind professionalism again.
“I’ll be ready.”
As you turned away, Obi-Wan watched you go, a heaviness settling over him that had nothing to do with the coming mission.
********
The ship lifted from the hangar with a low, steady hum, repulsors easing them free of the deck before the stars stretched into luminous lines ahead. Obi-Wan guided the vessel with practiced ease, hands sure on the controls, posture relaxed in a way that came only from countless departures like this one.
You sat in the co‑pilot’s seat beside him, silent.
Not rigid—just… still. Your hands rested in your lap, fingers loosely interlaced, gaze fixed on the forward viewport as Coruscant dwindled into a scatter of distant lights. The glow from the console washed your face in muted blues and golds, catching the faint tension in your jaw, the shadow beneath your eyes that even rest never quite erased.
He felt your unease like static in the Force. Quiet, persistent. Controlled.
After a few moments, he spoke, voice gentle over the soft whine of the engines.
“You should try to get some sleep,” he said. “We have several hours in hyperspace. Even a short rest would help.”
You didn’t look at him when you answered.
“No amount of sleep will put me at ease any time soon.”
It wasn’t said bitterly. Just… factual. A statement delivered with the same calm certainty you used when delivering bad news to a patient’s commander.
Obi-Wan glanced at you then, really looked. The way your shoulders were slightly drawn in. The way your breathing was steady but shallow, as if you were holding yourself together by will alone.
“I suppose that was optimistic of me,” he admitted.
You let out a quiet breath, almost a sigh. “You’re not wrong for suggesting it. I just…” You trailed off, then shook your head. “My mind won’t slow down. Not when I know what we’re heading into.”
He nodded, understanding more than he said.
“Hypervigilance is not a failing,” he offered. “It is often the mind’s way of preparing itself.”
You finally turned your head, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “Is that Jedi philosophy, or medical advice?”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “A little of both.”
That earned him the faintest smile—brief, fleeting, but real. It disappeared just as quickly as it came, replaced by the same thoughtful seriousness.
The ship jumped to hyperspace, the stars collapsing into a tunnel of light. The sudden shift made the cockpit feel smaller somehow. More intimate.
Obi-Wan adjusted the controls, then settled back into his seat.
“If it helps,” he said quietly, “I will be right here the entire time.”
Your gaze returned to the viewport, watching the impossible colors slide past.
“I know,” you said. And after a pause, softer, “I just wish knowing that made it easier.”
He had no clever reassurance for that. No wisdom that would neatly untangle fear from duty.
So he remained where he was—steady at the controls, a constant presence beside you—silently resolved that whatever awaited them at the end of that jump, he would meet it head‑on.
For both of you.
****
The transition out of hyperspace came with a low, resonant shudder that seemed to pass through bone as much as hull. Stars snapped back into their proper places, the familiar streaks collapsing into pinpricks of light as the planet bloomed across the forward viewport.
It was beautiful.
Obi-Wan reduced speed, his hands steady on the controls as the world turned beneath you—an expanse of deep emerald continents veined with rivers that caught the light like molten silver. Thick cloud bands drifted lazily across the atmosphere, soft and unhurried, as though the planet itself had never known fear.
You leaned forward despite yourself, eyes tracking the surface scans as they resolved into data. Population centers. Infrastructure. Damage reports—red markers pulsing faintly against the green.
So much life. So much quiet. And somewhere within it, violence had split the illusion cleanly in two.
The ship angled toward the primary spaceport, its towers rising from the landscape like polished spires. Everything about the approach was deliberate: clean architecture, symmetrical landing platforms, banners unfurled in ceremonial colors that fluttered gently in the breeze. A performance, you thought. A careful first impression.
The ship touched down with a controlled hiss, landing struts locking into place. The engines powered down, leaving behind a charged silence broken only by the soft hum of systems cooling.
He rose immediately, tugging his robe into place with practiced ease. He looked every inch the General now—composed, distant, the weight of command settling visibly onto his shoulders. You followed, medical satchel secured against your side, fingers brushing its worn strap out of reflex. Habit. Grounding.
The ramp descended.
Warm air washed over you, carrying the scent of flowering trees and sun-warmed stone. It was almost intoxicating—sweet enough to be disarming. Almost enough to make you forget why you were here.
Almost.
A delegation awaited at the foot of the ramp, arranged with careful symmetry. Officials in fine garments, faces arranged into welcoming expressions that had likely been rehearsed in front of mirrors. At their head stood a woman with silver threaded through her dark hair, posture impeccable, eyes sharp.
“Master Kenobi,” she said, inclining her head with measured grace. “We are honored by your swift response. Your presence alone brings reassurance to our people.”
Obi-Wan returned the bow. “We are here to help in any way we can.”
Her gaze slid to you next—assessing, curious. “And you must be the Chief Medic. We have prepared private quarters for you both. You’ve had a long journey. If you’ll allow us, we would be pleased to escort you so you may rest before—”
“I’d like to see the bombing site first.”
The interruption was gentle, almost apologetic in tone. But it cut cleanly through the air.
For a fraction of a second, no one spoke.
You noticed it immediately—the way the woman’s smile stiffened, the way a few of the officials exchanged glances. The practiced warmth faltered, revealing something closer to unease.
“General,” she said carefully, “the area is… difficult. We thought it best you settle in first, perhaps meet with the council, take time to recover from—”
“With respect,” Obi-Wan replied, voice calm and unraised, “whatever happened there has already taken lives. If this attack was not the work of Separatists, then we are dealing with an unknown threat. Time is not a luxury we can afford.”
His presence seemed to anchor the moment. The air felt heavier around him, charged—not with Force, exactly, but with certainty. You had seen this before: the quiet gravity he carried when his mind was set.
The woman studied him for a long moment, then inclined her head once more. “Very well. We will take you there at once.”
Her eyes flicked to you again—something unreadable crossing her features. Perhaps surprise. Perhaps concern that a medic had been brought so close to the heart of an investigation. Or perhaps she recognized the same thing you did: that whatever awaited at the site would not be easily contained.
You met her gaze without flinching.
As the delegation turned and began to lead the way, the path drew you away from the manicured gardens and polished stone, toward narrower streets and darker avenues. The air changed as you walked—the sweetness thinning, replaced by something metallic beneath the floral notes.
You fell into step beside Obi-Wan, lowering your voice.
“No preliminary briefing?” you asked.
He shook his head slightly, eyes forward. “I prefer to see the truth before I’m told what it should look like.”
Your lips pressed together in quiet approval. “That explains why you don’t treat symptoms.”
His brow lifted just a fraction.
“You go straight for the cause,” you said.
He glanced at you then, something thoughtful flickering across his expression—an almost-smile, restrained but sincere.
Ahead, the streets darkened. The banners disappeared. The careful order gave way to hurried repairs and subtle signs of damage half-hidden beneath fresh paint and reinforced barriers.
Your fingers tightened on your satchel strap, heart beating a little faster.
The air changed before you ever saw it.
The streets thinned, the stone beneath your boots fractured and uneven, as though the ground itself had tried—and failed—to heal. The scent hit next: scorched metal, dust, something acrid that clung to the back of your throat. No flowers here. No warm stone. Only the lingering echo of violence.
The bombing site opened before you like a wound.
An entire plaza had been carved out of existence, its once-smooth expanse now reduced to a jagged crater rimmed with shattered architecture. Buildings leaned inward at unnatural angles, their facades split open to reveal empty rooms frozen in the moment they had been torn apart. Windows yawned like broken teeth. Durasteel beams jutted from rubble at sharp, accusing angles, twisted as though wrung by an invisible hand.
There were no bodies.
That, somehow, made it worse.
Clean-up crews had already come and gone, leaving behind an emptiness so profound it felt deliberate—as if the space itself had been hollowed out and scrubbed of all evidence that life had once existed here. Scorch marks marred the stone in dark, uneven blooms. A child’s satchel lay abandoned near the edge of the cordon, its strap half-burned through, contents spilled and trampled into the dust.
Silence pressed in from all sides.
You stopped without realizing it.
Your breath slowed. Not shallow—measured. Controlled. You took the scene in with the same focus you brought to a triage ward, eyes moving not in panic but in careful assessment. Blast radius. Directional damage. Points of impact. You crouched near the edge of the crater, fingers hovering just above the ground before you thought better of it and pulled them back.
Obi-Wan noticed everything.
He stood a short distance behind you, hands folded within his sleeves, posture still and composed. To any observer, he would have appeared untouched by the devastation—a Jedi General surveying a battlefield long after the fighting had ended.
But within the Force, it was chaos.
Grief lingered here, thick and shapeless, like smoke trapped in stone. Fear clung to the broken walls. Rage had scorched its way through the plaza and then vanished, leaving behind an ache that had no name.
It should have unsettled him.
It usually did.
Instead, there was you.
Your presence moved through the Force like a steady current—quiet, grounded, unwavering. You did not push against the pain of the place, nor did you recoil from it. You simply existed within it, offering no judgment, no resistance. Acceptance without resignation.
It was… calming.
Obi-Wan hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding himself together until that tension began to ease, thread by thread. The constant vigilance, the weight of command, the endless anticipation of what might come next—all of it softened in the wake of your proximity.
He watched you carefully.
The way your shoulders rose and fell with each breath. The way your gaze lingered not on the destruction itself, but on the spaces where people must have stood. Where they must have laughed. Where they must have believed they were safe.
You swallowed, once.
“They didn’t even have time to run,” you said quietly, voice barely carrying over the stillness.
It wasn’t a question.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the Force confirm what he already knew. “No,” he said. “They didn’t.”
Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t look away. You never did—not from suffering, not from truth. He had seen that in the med bay, in the field, in the quiet moments when exhaustion threatened to swallow you whole and you refused to let it.
He felt a subtle shift within himself, something loosening that had been knotted for far too long.
If he were wiser—or perhaps more cautious—he might have stepped back then. Created distance. Reasserted the boundaries he was meant to keep.
Instead, he remained where he was, anchored by you.
In the midst of ruin, amid the silence and the scars, your presence steadied him in a way meditation never quite managed to.
Obi-Wan turned back to the delegation, the calm mask of the negotiator settling fully into place, though his eyes remained sharp.
“Minister,” he said, addressing the woman who had greeted them at the spaceport, “I will need a full accounting of the casualties.”
She hesitated.
That pause—brief, involuntary—told him more than any words ever could.
“…As of the latest confirmed reports,” she began carefully, “the number of deceased stands at four thousand, seven hundred and twelve.”
The words landed like a physical blow.
Even Obi-Wan felt it—an unmistakable ripple through the Force, a collective echo of lives cut short all at once. The air seemed heavier, as though the planet itself bowed beneath the weight of that number. Around them, several officials lowered their gazes. One man clasped his hands together so tightly his knuckles blanched.
Four thousand.
Obi-Wan drew a slow breath through his nose, steadying himself before the grief could calcify into anger. “And the injured?”
Before he could continue, you stepped forward.
“How many survived?” you asked, voice calm but taut, as though pulled tight around a fragile core. “How many are wounded?”
The minister turned to you, something like relief flickering across her expression—relief that someone had asked the other question. The one that implied help could still be given.
“Most of the injured were evacuated within the first hours,” she replied. “The central hospitals were overwhelmed almost immediately, so we relocated them to the older districts of the capital—areas with infrastructure better suited for large-scale temporary shelters.”
She gestured vaguely eastward, toward a cluster of distant spires barely visible through the haze.
“There are twelve medical camps in total,” she continued. “Each is housing approximately three hundred to three hundred and fifty patients. Many are suffering from blast trauma, internal injuries, severe burns. We are doing what we can.”
Twelve camps.
Three hundred each.
You closed your eyes for half a heartbeat, already calculating triage priorities, supply chains, staff rotations. The numbers stacked atop one another in your mind until they felt suffocating. You exhaled slowly, grounding yourself before the weight of it could crack something open.
“That’s over three thousand injured,” you said quietly. “Likely more, once late reports come in.”
“Yes,” the minister said, her voice faltering now. “And our medical personnel are exhausted. Some haven’t slept since the attack.”
Obi-Wan watched your hands curl into fists at your sides.
Through the Force, he felt the shift—your fear not for yourself, but for strangers you had yet to meet. For overworked healers. For patients lying on thin cots in makeshift tents, waiting to be seen, waiting to be saved.
He recognized that feeling.
He turned back to the dignitaries, posture straightening as authority settled into his voice. “I will continue the investigation here—interviews, forensic analysis, security review. In the meantime, I want the Chief Medic escorted to the medical camps in the eastern districts. Immediately.”
The minister blinked. “All twelve camps?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “She will assess conditions, coordinate care, and report shortages. You will give her whatever she requires.”
You opened your mouth to object—but he was already looking at you.
Not as a General now. As something quieter. Intent.
“May we speak?” he asked, and before anyone could interject, he inclined his head toward a fractured colonnade a short distance away.
The moment you were out of earshot, your composure cracked.
“I don’t like this,” you said, low and sharp. “Splitting up. This wasn’t the plan.”
He studied you for a moment, eyes thoughtful rather than defensive. “It is now.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“You will be surrounded by local security and medical personnel. The camps are stabilized zones.”
“Stabilized doesn’t mean safe,” you shot back. “If this wasn’t Separatist work, then whoever did this is still out there.”
He didn’t disagree. That, more than anything, unsettled you.
Obi-Wan reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew a small comm unit, already tuned. He placed it in your hand, his fingers brushing your palm for just a second longer than necessary.
“This is my personal frequency,” he said. “Direct line. If you see anything out of place—anything at all—you contact me immediately. No hesitation.”
You looked down at the device, then back up at him. “And if I think something is wrong but can’t prove it?”
“Especially then.”
There was no condescension in his tone. No dismissal. Only trust—clear and deliberate.
It made your chest tighten.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” you murmured.
“I’m very sure of you,” he replied.
The words landed heavier than they had any right to.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The Force stirred between you, subtle but insistent, like a held breath.
“Go,” he said gently. “They need you.”
You nodded, reluctantly, and turned toward the waiting dignitaries. As you walked away, the comm felt warm in your hand—far warmer than it should have been.
Behind you, Obi-Wan watched until you disappeared down the street, a strange unease settling in his chest despite every assurance he had given.
Everything is under control, he told himself.
He only hoped the Force agreed.
****
The shuttle trundled down the narrow, rubble‑lined streets, the hum of its engines low and steady beneath the oppressive quiet of the city’s wounded. Dust rose from every step, settling in fine layers across the cracked stones, catching in the sunlight and sparkling faintly like embers from some long‑forgotten fire. Each turn brought a new tableau of devastation: buildings sliced in half, walls leaning precariously, smoke curling from areas where emergency fires still smoldered.
Through the open sides of the transport, you could see them: the injured. Rows of makeshift cots lined the streets, tents pitched wherever there was space, dust swirling around them like restless spirits. Limbs bandaged in tight wraps, faces pale or streaked with ash, eyes distant or squeezed shut against pain. Every moan and cry punctuated the thick, heavy air. The smell of antiseptic and scorched earth stung your nose. You pressed a hand to your mouth, swallowing hard against bile and grief.
Then you saw the children.
Small forms curled under thin blankets, little hands clutching at the sides of cots as if they could hold the world together by sheer will. One girl with hair matted with dust and soot had a scraped cheek, the skin pink and raw. Another boy clutched a bloodied tooka mascot, too young to understand why the world had suddenly turned so cruel. The sight struck you like a physical blow; tears sprang unbidden to your eyes, hot and relentless. You blinked, willing them back. You had to be strong.
A voice called softly behind you—measured, distant, almost dissonant against the chaos.
“Miss” the dignitary said, gesturing with careful precision toward the far end of the camp. “Please report to the leader of the response team. He will provide you with the full overview of each sector and assign your tasks.”
You nodded mechanically, stepping through the tangle of cots and wounded. Your boots scuffed the ground, each step echoing faintly in the open space, a reminder of the fragile order imposed over the wreckage. You passed families huddled together, medics moving like shadows, pulling stretchers, stabilizing those too injured to move on their own. Every face you passed left an imprint, every scream tugged at the corners of your soul.
At last, you reached the leader of the team. He was standing straight, surveying the rows with professional detachment. You approached, bracing yourself for the torrent of information that would follow.
And then you froze.
Recognition hit like a physical wall, sudden and disorienting. The air seemed to thicken around you. Heart hammering, you swallowed and took a hesitant step closer. Every rational thought recoiled as your mind refused to reconcile the image before you.
“Bryce?”
The man’s head turned slowly toward you, eyes widening—first in surprise, then a flicker of recognition that mirrored your own. For a suspended heartbeat, the chaos of the camp, the cries, the dust and the blood, faded into nothing. All that existed was the shock of the moment, the raw pull of memory, of history, of the fragment of a life you thought had been left behind.
fic summary: in a galaxy where soulmates are bound by identical marks on their wrists, you’ve always dismissed it as nothing more than an old myth. you’re certain your match doesn’t exist—until the day you discover they do. Worse still, the mark belongs to someone you can never have— your Jedi General.
warnings/tags: SOULMATE AU!, age gap (reader is 29 obi wan is 38) clone wars era, canon violence, swearing, angst (like a lot), sexual tension, unrequieted feelings, tw: PTSD, drug use, death of the major characters, blood injury, torture, mentions of SA, verbal and non-verbal abuse, kidnapping, political themes, etc.
Warnings: forbidden feelings, s m u t, inappropriate use of the Force, oral (m & f receiving), p in v, angst, yearning, begging, brief mentions of violence, power dynamics
Summary: A bond forbidden by the Code. A desire too strong to deny. Loving Obi-Wan Kenobi means risking everything—yet resisting him may break you first.
A/N: This... started out as a brain worm that I had to get out, then it got away from me... There's like 5.6K words of smut in here... anyways, enjoy!
tysm to my beta readers @hellfire--cult, @xxladymjxx, @take-everything-you-can, @lokis-army-77, & @ghost-proofbaby! ilysm, your support for my delusions is what helped fuel this masterpiece.
Obi-Wan Kenobi Master List
You’d grown up beside Obi-Wan Kenobi.
You knew him as the boy with hair always falling into his face, the padawan who quoted the Code more often than he smiled. He had been neat, precise, earnest—forever the one who’d remind you to “focus” while sparring.
And then, somewhere along the way, he wasn’t just that boy anymore.
You realized it in shards of moments the two of you shared.
The first time his voice caught you off guard—lower, richer than before when he saw you in the Temple hallway after you were leaving the archives, and he wanted to chat for a moment.
The first time his robe brushed his shoulders just right after adjusting it after training with his own Padawan, making you notice their broadness, you nearly choke on saliva, causing both Obi-Wan and Anakin to look at you with puzzled expressions.
The first time his hand closed around yours in the field after pulling you to safety—steady, strong, grounding—and the touch lingered longer in your memory than it had in reality.
It hit you fully one afternoon in the Temple hangar. He was standing by his starfighter, sun catching the copper in his beard, one arm draped casually across his chest as he scanned a datapad. That familiar calm, that effortless authority—Force, he looked good.
“When did you get so hot?” The thought leapt up so quickly, you almost said it out loud.
Instead, you choked. Out loud. Which earned you one of his arched-brow looks.
“Are you alright, petal?” Obi-Wan asked, all polite concern, the nickname he jokingly gave you when you were both Padawans, making its appearance.
You waved a hand frantically. “Fine. Perfectly fine. Just—dust. Air’s… dusty.”
The tiniest smirk curved his mouth, the kind that made your pulse do something it had no business doing. “Ah. The Temple hangar. Famously dusty.”
Maker, he was teasing you. Obi-Wan Kenobi was teasing you.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes, trying to steady yourself with banter. It worked—until he tucked his datapad away, stepped closer, and you realized how tall he’d gotten. When had that happened?
“I’ll endeavor not to be… distracting,” he murmured, as if the words weren’t laced with double meaning.
Your throat went dry. You’re a Jedi. He’s a Jedi. Attachment is forbidden. You can’t think this. You can’t want this.
And yet…
Every mission with him after that moment became unbearable in the best, worst way. His dry wit, his commanding calm, the way his eyes softened when they met yours—Obi-Wan was still Obi-Wan, the boy you’d known forever. But he’d also become this impossibly magnetic man, and the duality of it left you dizzy.
Late at night, you caught yourself replaying moments you shouldn’t: the brush of his hand, the rumble of his voice, the way his gaze lingered a heartbeat too long. And with every thought, guilt prickled sharp in your chest.
It was a game you couldn’t win. You couldn’t look at him without your face warming and your heart tripping, and you couldn’t admit it without risking everything.
So instead, you smiled, you teased, you kept up the banter—while inside, you fought the ache of wanting what you could never allow yourself to have.
Because somewhere between boyhood and now, Obi-Wan Kenobi had become heartbreakingly, devastatingly hot.
And the galaxy was cruel enough to make you notice.
The tension began quietly; every mission with him grew more unbearable in ways you couldn’t admit. The long treks across desert planets, the nights huddled together for warmth, the way his voice slipped lower when he spoke just to you.
He noticed things—always had, but now it cut sharper.
“Your stance is off,” he’d murmur, stepping in behind you, adjusting your arm with a steadying touch that burned hotter than any sun.
“You haven’t eaten,” he’d remark, pressing ration packs into your hands. His tone clipped, but his gaze softened when you met it.
It was endless, this tug-of-war between warmth and restraint.
You caught him watching you, once, across a firelight camp. The flames painted his features in bronze, his eyes unreadable but fixed firmly on yours. And for half a second, you could’ve sworn the air thickened between you, some silent admission neither of you dared to give words to.
But Obi-Wan always looked away first. Always returned to his calm mask, as if nothing had ever flickered beneath it.
And so the ache deepened.
The breaking point came after a mission gone wrong.
A skirmish, a near-collapse of a building, dust choking the air. You’d thought you’d lost him—truly lost him—when the rubble came down.
Then his hand burst through the haze, fingers gripping your wrist, hauling you free. His chest heaved with dust and adrenaline, his hair wild, his eyes too wide for his usual calm.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was raw, urgent, hands skimming over your arms, your sides, as if he couldn’t believe you were whole.
You shook your head, breathless. “I—" You cut yourself off with a gasp. "I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re fine.”
But you weren’t fine. You couldn’t be. Not with his hands still on you, not with his face so close, not with the raw fear still bleeding through his expression.
Something cracked in the silence between you.
“Obi-Wan—”
You didn’t finish your sentence; his mouth was on yours before you could.
It wasn’t neat, or careful, or Jedi-like. It was desperate, a dam finally giving way. His beard scratched against your skin, his hands braced you like you might vanish if he let go. And stars help you, you kissed him back, every ounce of restraint snapping in two.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged.
“We can’t,” he whispered, as if reminding himself. “You know we can’t.”
Your heart ached, already mourning the loss. But your lips still tingled from his kiss, and you knew—you both knew—that line had already been crossed.
You swallowed hard, whispering back, “Then tell me this was nothing.”
Obi-Wan’s silence was answer enough. His hand trembled against your cheek, his eyes burned with everything he couldn’t say.
And for the first time, you understood: the galaxy could demand your restraint, the Code could forbid your attachment, but nothing— absolutely nothing—would undo the moment you realized that Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn’t just the boy you’d grown up with, but he was the man who had just kissed you like his life depended on it.
And there was no going back.
The familiar skyline of Coruscant stretched out beneath the Temple as your ship docked.
The city’s endless glow was comforting, steady—a stark contrast to the chaos you’d just survived.
Obi-Wan had been silent most of the trip back. Calm on the surface, as always, but you could feel the undercurrent through the Force—the same storm that churned inside you.
By the time you parted ways in the hangar, exhaustion had set in. You fully expected the night to end with solitude and meditation, but it was a sad, futile attempt at steadying yourself.
So when the chime at your quarters rang, you already knew it was him.
You didn’t ask how he’d slipped past propriety to stand outside your door so soon after returning. You simply stepped aside, and Obi-Wan entered, robes heavy with the scent of starship fuel and smoke.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. He removed his outer cloak, setting it neatly across the back of a chair, every movement deliberate—stalling. His composure looked intact, but you knew better.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?” you asked softly, your fingers going to nervously grab your own cloak, but it had been long discarded when you came through the door to your quarters, the words breaking the silence as you drop your hands to your sides.
“I could ask the same of you,” he countered. His voice was low, rougher than usual, as if carrying the weight of what had nearly happened.
You swallowed. “I thought I’d lost you today.”
That cracked something in him. His shoulders stiffened, then slumped, and when his eyes met yours, the careful Jedi mask had slipped. The storm you’d felt in the Force was right there, visible in the lines of his face, in the way his hand twitched as if it wanted—needed—to reach for you.
And then he did.
His fingers brushed yours, tentative at first, as though giving you a chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he stepped closer, his warmth folding over you like a tide.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he whispered, even as his hand rose to cup your cheek. His thumb traced lightly along your skin, tender in a way that made your breath catch.
“Then why are you?” you asked, voice barely steady, chewing on the inside of your cheek.
His lips curved, a bittersweet smile. “Because I’m weak, it seems. Or perhaps simply… human.”
You didn’t give him a chance to retreat. You leaned into his touch, closing the space between you. The kiss came softer this time, slower than the desperate fire from before—but no less consuming. His beard tickled against your skin, his lips warm, his hand firm at your waist as if anchoring himself to you.
When you broke apart, both of you still leaning into the fragile closeness, Obi-Wan rested his forehead against yours, eyes shut as though trying to memorize the feeling.
“This is dangerous,” he murmured before opening his eyes.
“So is denying it,” you breathed back.
He gave a quiet laugh—pained, almost fond. “You’ve always known how to make things complicated.”
“And you’ve always known how to pretend they’re not,” you countered gently.
His silence said everything. The war outside, the Code between you, the risks looming overhead—none of it mattered in that moment.
For tonight, at least, Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn’t your fellow Jedi, your comrade, or your restraint.
He was simply the man you loved, holding you like he couldn’t let go.
Your quarters had never felt smaller.
The city hum outside your window faded, drowned out by the sound of Obi-Wan’s breath, the press of his body close to yours. His kiss had already unraveled you, but when he deepened it, when his hand slid to the small of your back and pulled you flush against him, every coherent thought scattered like starlight.
It was slow, deliberate, achingly careful—because of course it was him. Obi-Wan kissed as though he thought you might break, as though savoring each stolen second. His mouth lingered on yours, then trailed feather-light along your cheek, your jaw, the sensitive place on your neck where your pulse point thrummed.
“Obi-Wan…” you whispered, half plea, half warning.
His answering hum vibrated against your skin. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
You didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you tangled your fingers in his tunic, tugging him closer, refusing to let space form between you. He exhaled sharply, and for a fleeting instant, the control he clung to faltered.
His hand splayed across your waist, fingertips grazing the edge of your robes where fabric gave way to skin. The touch sent shivers racing through you, subtle but electrifying, the kind of contact that said more than words ever could.
The room felt heavier, slower, wrapped in haze. His presence filled it, filled you—steady, warm, consuming. Each brush of his lips, each careful graze of his hand, was a vow unspoken: I want this. I want you.
And yet, even in the heat of it, Obi-Wan remained himself. Gentle, measured, giving you every chance to choose. He kissed you like a man starved, but touched you like he was afraid you might vanish.
When at last you broke apart, foreheads pressed together, your chest rising and falling with his, the air between you hummed with more than just desire.
“This can’t last,” he murmured, though his thumb traced your lower lip with aching tenderness, as if he didn’t believe his own words.
“Then let’s not think about ‘last,’” you whispered back. “Just… now.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes softened—storm and sky all at once—before he kissed you again, deeper this time. And in that moment, wrapped in his warmth, the galaxy’s demands and the Code’s weight melted away.
There was no war, no Temple, no rules.
Just the two of you.
And the quiet miracle of finally letting go.
The kiss deepened until you lost all sense of time. Obi-Wan’s hands framed your face, then slid down your arms, steady and reverent, before settling at your waist. His touch was firm, grounding, as though he was memorizing every curve, every detail.
You tugged gently at his tunic, the rough fabric bunching in your fists, and he let out the softest groan against your mouth—a sound that made heat rush through you. For a heartbeat, he hesitated, as though the weight of the galaxy threatened to crash between you.
But then your eyes met his, and that hesitation shattered.
“Are you sure?” His voice was low, ragged, but his hands stayed gentle where they held you, offering you an escape even now.
You answered with a kiss that left no doubt.
For the first time since you’d known him, Obi-Wan stopped resisting.
He stepped back slightly, giving you just enough room to undo the belt that sat around his waist, holding the layers of robes that sat snugly against him, the leather and metal making a muted thud against the carpet when it dropped.
Slowly, pushing off the tabard layer, he chuckled when you carefully laid the fabric over the back of a nearby chair.
"What?" You look up at him. "I know how hard it is to get the wrinkles out of that."
He shakes his head at you, smirking. "I will not hold the same sentiment towards your clothes, darling."
"Oh, how considerate of you, Master Kenobi." You tease, giggling when a low groan rumbles in his chest.
"You know exactly what you're doing to me, don't you?" His voice came out in a low rumble, his hands on your waist pulling you closer, before his own hands undo the metal closures on your own belt. "Is your under tunic pink? I don't think that's GAR issued, darling." The older Jedi teased
"It was white— I had a pair of red— it doesn't matter." You shake your head, cheeks tinged pink as the same thud of your own belt hits the carpeted floor. Obi-Wan's hands come back up to your face, and his thumb caresses your cheek before his lips crash against yours again.
True to his word, his hands shove your tabard to the floor before walking you both backwards through the small space until the backs of your knees come in contact with your bed. Pulling back, panting and breathless, his lips traced down the line of your jaw, across the slope of your throat, every press of his mouth both delicate and desperate. You arched toward him instinctively, breath catching as his beard scraped tenderly against the skin of your neck.
"Pl-please." The word was a desperate whine, for what, you weren't entirely sure. You felt him smirk against your neck.
"Patience, dear one. If I'm going to break my vow to our sacred Jedi Code, I will be taking my time with you." His voice dripped with seduction. "Believe me, I will be taking my time with you." He says, while placing open-mouth kisses on the exposed skin of your neck, before gently guiding you down to the mattress. Standing between your spread thighs, he gently dropped to his knees and sat back on his heels.
"I believe you're a bit too overdressed for my taste, petal." His hands find the tops of your boots and slide up to your ankles, fingers trailing up your calves to slowly pull down the zipper on each boot before pulling them off and placing them to the side. "Think we should fix this problem, hm?"
Your throat is dry, and you're not even sure you could coherently form a sentence if you tried— and the man had barely even touched you beyond kissing you senseless and taking off your boots. You nod in place of speaking, your cheeks tinging a light pink when he chuckles at your lack of verbal answer.
You feel the warmth from his palms as he slowly pushes his hands up your calves, over your knees, and up your thighs, standing back up on his knees to lean over you, beginning to push the outer tunic open. "Sit up, darling." He whispers roughly. You sit up and feel his hands go to your waist as he takes in a sharp intake of air. "Is this okay?" He asks, and you nod. "No, I need a verbal answer, use your words."
You swallow thickly. "Yes, t-this is okay," the words coming out in a whisper. He shakes his head.
"I didn't hear you, I said to use your words." His tone is gentle but commanding enough to grab your attention. "Nothing will happen here if you cannot follow simple instructions, darling. Do you understand?"
"Yes." You say louder, voice clearer. "I understand."
Obi-Wan hums in approval, undoing the small bow that holds your outer tunic together. "If at any point you feel uncomfortable or you want to stop, you will say the word 'parsec' and everything will stop immediately." He says, pushing the outer layer off your shoulders and down your arms before dropping the fabric off to the side with your boots.
"Cropped?" He smirks while his hands gently pull the ties at your under tunic.
"GAR issued, 'm afraid." You say back in a slight teasing tone, a slight shiver running up your spine when the strings brush your sides.
He pulls the front up and over your head, discarding the last bit of fabric with the rest. The air in the room is cold compared to the warmth that your tunic offered, causing your nipples to pebble under the lace of the bralette you'd been wearing. Obi-Wan swallows thickly before his eyes drop to your chest, his hand reaching out before stopping and looking back to you, eyes asking for permission.
Pinching the skin of your lips between your teeth, you arch your chest slightly, pressing closer to his hand, gasping at the warmth of his palm against your skin, and he drags a thumb over your pebbled peak, before your own hands reach towards his own tunics.
"You're a little too dressed for my taste." You say quietly, using his own words against him. He chuckles as your fingers pull on the strings, untying the bow on his outer tunic, and you shove the material haphazardly to the floor.
"Eager are we, petal?"
You huff at his teasing jab, your hands grabbing his under tunic, pulling the material up, which was tucked into his trousers. His hands stop yours before they could go any further, unbunching the material as he gently pulls your wrists away. "When I said I was going to take my time with you, dear one, I meant it. You will have plenty of time to do with me as you wish, but first, I want to have my way with you."
Placing your hands on either side of your thighs, he shakes his head at you. "My, my. I may have to teach you a few lessons in patience, although that will be for another time." His hands reach for the button on the front of your pants, and he carefully pops the fabric open as he leans forward and presses more open-mouthed kisses to your neck. "Who knew this color would look so…" He stops himself. "I'll never look at it the same."
His hand reaches around your back, and his fingers expertly undo the clasp of your bralette.
"I'm going to pretend that was your first time doing that and not a skill that I've heard other Jedi boast about." You pout as the lace cups fall away from you, and you bring an arm up to keep the material against your chest.
"Jealous, are we?" Obi-Wan chuckles.
"No…" You say, rolling your eyes, trying to hide the fact that you were jealous. His hand comes up to your face and grabs your cheeks, firmly making you look at him. He doesn't say anything; he doesn't have to.
"Stand up."
"But—" You say, your face still in his hand.
"Darling, I am trying to be a gentleman here and not wrinkle or rip these awful clothes we must wear. Stand. Up." He gently lets go of your face, allowing you to stand, your arm still holding the lace to your chest, and look down at him, still on his knees. Your breath hitches at the sight, and he smirks at you. His hands come up to the zipper of your pants, pulling the metal down its track before hooking his fingers between the waistband of your pants and your underwear. Every so slowly, he pulls the material down your legs, your free hand coming to his shoulder to help you balance as he enables you to step out of your pants, adding them to the pile of clothing next to your bed. "Move your arm for me."
"Obi-Wan…" You say lowly. "The clothing ratio between the two of us is unfair… I want to see you."
"What is unfair is that I am trying my best to have my way with you, and you're still complaining about the clothing." He shakes his head. "So please, petal, let me. Let me take care of you." He leans forward and kisses your thigh, the hair from his beard scratching deliciously against your skin. "Please."
Your arm moves away from your chest, your bralette falling, and you slide the straps down your arms, allowing the fabric to drop to the floor between you.
"Sit down, lie back." He commanded, his hands coming around the backs of your knees as you sit. Lying back against the sheets, his hands come to spread your thighs, placing a kiss on the inside of your knee. "You're just a bit too far—" His hands coming around from the underside of your thighs to pull you closer to the edge of the mattress. "— That's better." His breath ghosts over your skin, causing goosebumps to bloom across the skin of your thighs.
His lips reconnect with your skin, placing open-mouthed kisses on whatever skin is in his path. The higher his lips go, the more you begin to writhe in anticipation. His grip on your thighs squeezes once as a wordless warning before the warm, familiar feeling of being restrained around your hips emerges. Obi-Wan flicks his eyes up to you and smirks as his lips come into contact with the front of your underwear, which pulls a gasp from your lips.
"We shouldn't be doing this," he whispers to you as his fingers come up to the sides of your hips and hook into the waistband of your underwear, sliding the material down your legs.
"Please, do not mention what we should and should not be doing when I've been dreaming of a moment like this for months." You whine
"Months?" He asks, trailing his fingers up your inner thighs, before he presses two fingers between your folds and your hips try to jerk up at the sudden contact. His chuckle reminds you of the invisible force holding you in place. "So wet already… is this because of me?"
You nod, moaning as he gently circles his fingers around your clit. His fingers press down with enough pressure to make you gasp loudly.
"Words, Commander." He says. "I won't ask again."
"Yes! Because of you!" You writhe in the invisible grip of the Force.
Obi-Wan presses a kiss to your inner thigh before putting your leg over his shoulder, and his eyes drop to your core.
"Look at her, she's just so desperate for my attention." He says before he presses a kiss to your clit, pulling a moan from you as your hands immediately entangle themselves in his auburn hair.
"Don't tease… Please,” you gasp, tugging at his hair, needing more.
His chuckle vibrates against you as he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, his tongue swiping between your folds, pulling a high-pitched whine from you while you tug his hair, trying to bring him closer.
"Impatient little thing." He murmurs against you before his lips brush over your cunt again, deliberately slow, drawing a strangled sound from your throat. He pulls your other thigh over his shoulder, sliding his tongue through your folds with purpose. The feeling of his mouth on you makes your mouth arch off the mattress, while you move one of your hands to one of his that is holding your hip. His eyes flick up to you, gaze softening a bit.
Wordlessly, he shifts his concentration of the Force to hold your thighs open instead of keeping you pinned, using one hand to hold yours, and the other to slowly insert one of his fingers into your cunt. The sounds that fall from your lips are unrestrained, sharp gasps turning into shameless moans and whimpering, while his name falls from your lips like a shameless prayer.
"That's it, petal." He praises, withdrawing his finger and adding a second one to the mix before slowly pushing them back into you. "Look at you, taking what I give you so beautifully… just like I knew you would."
"Obi-Wan, please—" Your plea is cut short when he curls his fingers up, pressing into the spot your own fingers can barely reach.
"Let me, let me take care of you, just take what I give you." He says, pressing his mouth back to your clit.
Your back arches up off the bed, and a string of moans bubbles past your lips. "Obi-Wan…"
Your plea dissolves into another cry as his fingers stroke that spot with steady precision, each curl dragging you closer to the edge. His tongue works in tandem, deliberate and unrelenting, until your thighs tremble around his head.
The groan he lets out vibrates straight through you, rough and hungry, and it makes your whole body jolt. His Force grip on your hip tightens, holding you in place as though he won’t let you squirm away from the pleasure.
“Obi-Wan— stars—” your voice breaks on his name, the sound half-moan, half-whimper.
He pulls back just enough to rasp, voice low and commanding, “Stay with me. Don’t hold back.” Then he seals his mouth over you again, devouring, as if your pleasure were the only thing he’s ever craved.
Your body feels stretched thin between his mouth and his fingers, every nerve sparking under his touch. Each curl of his hand draws another helpless sound from you, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
He hums against your clit when your nails scrape across his scalp, the sound rough, needy—like he can’t get enough of you. The vibrations make your thighs clamp tighter around his shoulders, trapping him there, though he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs into you between strokes, voice wrecked, before diving back in. His tongue flicks and circles, purposeful, driving you higher and higher until your back bows, straining against the sheets.
Your hips move restlessly, chasing his rhythm, trying to take everything he’s giving—and Obi-Wan only growls low in his throat, pressing deeper, as though daring you to let go completely.
"You close, petal?" He mumbles against you, and the pressure coils tight in your belly, unbearable, every flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers fanning the fire higher. You can barely breathe, only pant and whimper his name, tugging at his hair as though that could anchor you.
“Obi-Wan, I—” The words tangle on your tongue, breaking into a sharp cry when he crooks his fingers just right, hitting that spot again and again.
He doesn’t let up. If anything, his pace grows more insistent, hungry, his mouth moving against you like he’s determined to pull every sound from your throat. His hand squeezes yours a bit more, an encouraging notion, his Force signature wrapping you in warmth as it keeps you pinned and helpless under the onslaught of sensations.
The tension coils tight in your belly, wound so sharply it borders on unbearable. Every flick of his tongue, every deliberate curl of his fingers, pulls you closer—too close. You’re shaking, thighs trembling in his Force grip, your hand tugging sharply on his auburn hair, the sharp sting against his scalp acts as encouragement as he continues his actions.
“Please,” you gasp, voice breaking as your thighs tremble around his head. You try to rock your hips, to grind against his mouth, but they won’t budge—the invisible grip of the Force locks you in place, suspended in that exquisite torment.
“Not yet,” he murmurs against you, lips brushing your clit. His voice is wrecked, threaded with hunger. “You’ll come when I allow it.”
The denial wrings a sob from your throat. “Obi-Wan—please, let me come—I need it, I can’t—”
His answering groan vibrates through you, as though your desperation feeds something primal in him. His pace sharpens, his fingers stroking harder, deeper, and his tongue flicks over you with devastating precision.
The Force tightens around your hips and thighs, holding you down even as your body arches, straining against the restraint. You can’t move, can’t escape, and can only take everything he gives you.
"No, you can do better than that, darling."
Your whole body quivers, strung tight as his mouth and fingers keep working you closer, closer. The pleasure coils hot and unbearable, and you can barely form words between your breathless cries.
“Please—Obi-Wan—please, let me—” Your voice breaks into a sob of want, fingers twisting hard in his hair.
He pulls back just enough to murmur, voice low and rough with command, “You can beg better than that.” His lips ghost over your swollen clit, sending a shiver ripping through you.
Your chest heaves. “Master Kenobi, please— I need it, I’ll do anything, just please let me come—” The words spill out, unguarded, humiliating in their desperation, but you don’t care. You’d promise him the galaxy if it meant release.
A wicked smirk curves against your skin before his mouth seals over your clit again—and as if his Force signature speaks into yours, "You may come now, petal."
You scream his name as white-hot pleasure rips through you, your body arching uselessly against the unseen bonds. Obi-Wan doesn’t relent, drawing it out until your thighs are shaking violently against his hold. He doesn’t stop—tongue and fingers dragging every last tremor out of you—until you’re left trembling, spent, body collapsing back into the sheets.
After he works you through your orgasm, the invisible pressure on your thighs slackens, and you feel him slowly pull his fingers from your center before slowly kissing up your stomach and chest as your own fingers release the grip you have on the older Jedi's auburn locks.
"Still with me, darling?" He asks as he comes into your line of sight when you finally manage to open your eyes. You manage a nod as your breath comes out in ragged pants. Obi-Wan chuckles and presses his lips to yours, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue as he gains entry to your mouth. Pulling back, he looks down at you. "What is your safe-word?"
"P-Parsec." You say quietly.
"What was that, petal? I didn't quite hear you." His hand caresses the side of your face.
"Parsec." You say more loudly.
"What happens if you say it?"
"Everything stops."
"When?" He questions.
"Immediately."
"Good girl." He kisses you again.
"Can I please touch you?" You ask as your hands grip the last layer of his tunic, bringing him closer.
"You are touching me, darling." He teases, and a whine rips itself from your throat.
"Obi-Wan…" You groan. "That isn't what I meant."
He stands and untucks his under tunic from his pants, throwing it on the floor, the article of cotton joining the ever-growing pile on the floor. "Better?"
Your eyes drink in the broadness of his shoulders and the pale expanse of his toned chest, pale pink and white scars littering his skin, some more visible while others were hidden under patches of auburn chest hair. He smirks when he notices you staring.
"See something you like?" he asks.
You could finally verbalize the question that had been haunting your dreams for the last several months, but instead, you pinch your lips together with your teeth and nod, breath hitching as he leans back over you, pressing himself into you, and your hands come to his sides like magnets attracted to metal, feeling the taut muscles underneath.
"Please… want them off." You breathe, and your hands move to the front of his pants, hips grinding up for emphasis. "Please…"
He hisses and presses his own hips forward, the rough material of his pants catching your clit as you roll your own hips up, pulling a groan from the back of your throat as you throw your head back.
"No, no," he says, "keep your eyes on me, darling." His tone commanded. "You wanted to undress me, then do it."
Your hands work a bit faster at the fastenings on his pants, breaths still coming out in ragged pants. "Wait— your boots…" You say, beginning to sit up, forcing him to move back. He stops you, stepping back to unzip and take off his boots, tossing them to the side, his gaze not once leaving yours. "There, now the rest."
He makes a move to lean back over you, but you do sit up this time. "No— let me take care of you now." You breathe out as you shuffle off the bed and sink to your knees, your hands reaching out to undo the last button on his pants. "Please, Obi-Wan? Will you let me take care of you now?" You ask, blinking up at him.
He freezes for the briefest moment, eyes darkening with anticipation. “You… you really want this?” His voice is low as one of his hands comes to cover both of yours as you start to pull the zipper down.
"I do," you nod. "I want you, Obi-Wan. I have never been more sure. Please." You murmur as your fingers dig below the waistband, and you pull the fabric down and shimmy it down his thighs.
Obi-Wan sucks in a breath, the muscles in his abdomen flexing before he steps out of his pants. He leans down, tangling his fingers into the locks of your hair, pulling just enough to elicit a dull ache against your scalp. "Yeah?" he chuckles. "Okay, darling, show me how badly you want it."
You go to drop your eyes to him as your hand reaches forward between your bodies, when your wrists suddenly stop, hands freezing in mid-air.
"Beg." The word rang out into the room as though it demanded respect, demanded space.
"Hm?" You look back up at him, eyes shining with confusion in the glowing lights from Coruscant's cityscape.
"I said to beg, petal." Obi-Wan commands, tugging sharply on your hair. "I know you can, you sounded so pretty when you were begging me to let you come on my tongue."
Your cheeks heat as you open your mouth to speak, but the words die off on the tip of your tongue, casting your gaze to the floor. He chuckles again. "Eyes up here, darling. Maybe I should teach you a lesson in manners, hm?"
"Please—" The word tumbling from your lips like a token of prayer. "Please let me make you feel good… Please, Obi-Wan," you beg, bottom lip jutting out slightly.
"Oh, you can do better than that." He teases.
"N-no. Please… please let me take care of you— I want to show you how much I want you…'' You elicit a whine from your chest, your wrists tugging against the invisible restraints. "Please… I'll do anything!" Tears blurring your vision, flooding your lash line.
The older Jedi chuckles, pulling your hair again to force your head up to look at him. "Tears, darling? Want me that badly?" He hums, the sound low and amused, leaning down to get a better look at you. "I suppose I shouldn't deprive you of what it is you truly want, hm?"
"Please…" you whisper again.
He holds your gaze for a long, slow beat, that amused, dangerous smile softening into something like permission. “Very well,” he says finally, voice low. “Show me.”
The words hit you like fire. Your heart hammers in your chest as you lean forward, trembling hands reaching for him. His presence is overwhelming, every inch of him commanding your attention.
As your lips brush over the first sensitive spot, he groans low in his throat, a sound that makes your insides tighten with excitement. Encouraged, you press forward more confidently, tracing your tongue along the length of him, tasting, savoring, learning the exact movements that make him shiver.
“Good girl,” he says, voice husky,
You look up at him, cheeks warming as his head lolls back and a groan escapes his lips. Obi-Wan grips your hair gently but firmly, guiding you with the slightest of pulls.
“Yes… just like that,” he whispers, his voice shaking with control and need. “Keep going...”
Your cheeks burn again at the praise as you continue, desperately seeking to draw out his pleasure, to feel him tremble beneath you. Every muffled groan, every hitch of his breath drives you further, and you let your own desire mingle with yours, wanting nothing more than to make him lose himself in your hands and mouth.
"As heavenly as your m-mouth is…" He stutters, "I would much rather have you in other ways, petal."
His fingers that are tangled in your hair pull you away from his cock, a groan rippling from the back of your throat when he sees the trail of spit connecting his tip to your mouth. His hand releases its grip on your hair, and he leans forward, crashing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. Pulling back just enough, he offers you a hand to help you stand, before spinning you around and pressing his chest to your back. His hand caresses your neck, encouraging you to lean your head back and look up at him.
"Safe word?" He asks.
"Parsec." You say.
He hums before his fingers squeeze gently over your pulse points on your neck, causing you to get a slight lightheaded feeling. "Do you still want this?" He asks, loosening his grip completely, and you turn in his grip, chest to chest.
"Obi-Wan, I want this." You breathe, standing on your toes, and bring a free hand to the nape of his neck and pulling down, bringing his lips almost completely to yours. "I want this… I want you." You whisper against his lips.
That's all the confirmation he needs before reconnecting your lips to his and walking you back to your bed. Lying you back onto the mattress without breaking the kiss, until he has to get into your bed.
"Leave it to The Council to assign you the worst room design in the Temple." He mumbles as he settles between your thighs, caging you in with his hands on either side of your head.
"I happen to like my room—" You start, but the rest of the sentence dies off in your throat when his lips connect with the skin of your neck just below your ear, smirking at the sudden catch in your breath.
Picking a hand up that's next to your head, he trails his fingers down your side, gently over your hip and thigh before wrapping your calf around his waist. Reaching between your bodies, he grabs himself, running the head of his cock through your folds, hissing at the feeling before slowly pushing in.
Gasping against his lips, your nails find themselves leaving half crescent shapes on his shoulders. Obi-Wan sinks into you slowly, his hand going to grab your hip with a durasteel grip. You squeeze your eyes shut and take in a sharp breath, the stretch burning as he pushes into you. He stops halfway, pulling back just enough to look at you.
"Darling, do we need to—" He starts. "Look at me," He begs.
"No! Please, I don't want to stop, just—" You exhale and open your eyes, looking up into his cerulean ones. "Just give me a moment."
Obi-Wan exhales, his eyes searching your face before nodding. "You need to relax, petal, I won't be able to last if you keep squeezing me like that." He leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then moving his lips up the smooth skin of your neck, then up to your shoulder, before his hand that held your hip found its way to your clit, rubbing in gentle circles as he surges his hips forward. "Look at you, darling." He praises once he's fully inside of you, peppering kisses to your shoulder and jaw. "You're doing so well."
Your cheeks warm, and a whimper elicits from your throat. "Obi-Wan—" you sigh, "Move— I need you to—"
He pulls back halfway before pushing back in, his own forehead dropping to yours as he moans. The sound reverberates against your lips as he begins to set the deliberately slow drag of his cock in and out of you, each thrust in sends fragments of stars behind your closed eyes.
"You're taking me so well, petal." He whispers roughly into your ear, "Taking every inch so well."
His praises make heat bloom in your chest and across your cheeks.
"Faster, please—" You move your hips in a desperate attempt to speed up his pace, trying to meet him thrust for thrust, but the warm familiarity of his Force signature envelops your senses as he holds your hips in place again.
"You will not rush me, not now, not when I am trying to learn and memorize every single inch of you." His voice is strained, like he, himself, is struggling to hold on to the composure that he has left as he keeps the slow pace.
"Obi-Wan," You start, your need for him overriding the restraint you're trying to keep. "Please don't hold back."
He leans back, standing on his knees, moving one hand to your hip, the other still leaving slow teasing circles on your clit. "Look at you, so desperate for me." He growls.
Your back arches up, breath hitching. "Obi-Wan…" you gasp, voice shaky, raw. "I… I need more—please."
"Not yet," he groans, "I want to feel every shiver, every tremble…" He thrusts particularly deep, making you clench around him and cry out. "I want it all."
And with that, he resumes, slower this time, torturously deliberate, each movement teasing the edge of your control, drawing out every shiver, every moan. You cry out his name, begging for more.
"More? Oh, darling, do you think you deserve it?" His thrusts begin to speed up, the fingers circling your clit doing the same, matching the tempo before finally he drives forward with relentless urgency, the slow, torturous pace shattering into a fiery, desperate rhythm that has you gasping and crying out his name over and over. Each movement pulls you closer to the edge of release, and he can tell. His eyes darken, burning with need as he leans in, lips brushing yours in a searing kiss that steals your breath.
"You feel so perfect," he groans, voice ragged.
You arch into him, hands clutching at his shoulders, hips moving instinctively to meet his, desperate for more. Each thrust, each deliberate touch, drives you higher, teetering on the edge of losing control.
"You’re so close…" he murmurs, voice low and strained. "So beautiful…" His hands grip your hips tighter, guiding you, holding you just right, every motion designed to push you over.
A shiver runs through you as you feel it building, a heat coiling in your core. "Obi-Wan… I—" you gasp, but he silences you with a kiss, crushing your words into moans as your body tightens around his.
"Please," He whispers against your lips, "Come for me, petal."
His movements deepen, and your walls clench around him as his thrusts deepen, urgent and consuming, and you shatter around him, every gasp and moan echoing through the room as your climax entwines. Heat and tension explode between you, each of you riding the other’s wave, trembling and crying out in a rhythm only you two can feel.
He collapses onto you, arms wrapping you tightly, lips tracing fevered kisses along your neck, shoulders, and collarbone. His hands roam gently, memorizing, soothing, as your body slowly begins to still, though the lingering tremor of your release continues to pulse through you.
Your body is still trembling faintly when he finally shifts, gently easing out of you. You suck in a hiss at the loss of contact, but Obi-Wan's lips find your forehead immediately, pressing a kiss there, hushing you as one of his hands brushes your hair from your face.
"Shh, darling, I've got you." He whispers, pressing another kiss to your temple. "Let me take care of you, hm?"
He rises, moving with the slow grace of someone utterly spent, but still unwilling to let duty to you falter. He retrieves a cloth, warm and damp, and returns to the bed. His touch is careful, reverent, as he cleans you between your thighs, his gaze flicking up to your face often to check if you’re comfortable.
You turn your head, facing towards the window to hide your flush. "You— You don't have to."
"I do," He interrupts softly, "I can't leave you like this…" His voice falters a bit, strained with something unspoken. "Not when I've already gone too far."
The words hang between you like a dark, heavy blanket— with everything they mean, with everything it is, and what it shouldn't be. His hands remain gentle as he finishes, discarding the cloth into a basket before he crawls back into bed beside you.
Obi-Wan pulls you into his chest as he settles next to you, pulling up the blankets as you curl into his side. You lie your head against his chest like it were the most natural thing in the world, his hand coming up to trace soothing patterns on the skin of your back. "You should rest." He whispers into the room.
You sigh deeply, curling yourself closer to him wordlessly. You feel his hand gently squeeze your hip and then begin tracing the skin of your back, mindlessly. For a moment, neither of you speaks.
"Stay," You finally whisper, not sure if you're asking only for tonight or forever.
For a moment, he doesn't answer, his hand stilling against your back, then he shifts deeper into your blankets. "Only for tonight." He says back quietly.
It’s enough. The galaxy will still be cruel when dawn comes, but now, wrapped in his arms, you surrender to sleep, knowing the moment is fleeting—and all the more precious for it.
The first thing you noticed was warmth.
Not the blanket tucked around you, or the faint glow of Coruscant’s rising sun through the window, but him. The solid weight of Obi-Wan’s arm draped across your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back, the slow rhythm of his breath brushing the curve of your neck.
For a long moment, you didn’t move. You simply let yourself sink into it—the comfort, the safety, the impossible sweetness of it all.
You’d dreamed of this, though you never dared admit it, even to yourself. Waking tangled in him, the galaxy hushed outside, the Temple’s endless rules feeling far, far away.
Eventually, you shifted just enough to turn toward him. His eyes were still closed, lashes brushing against his cheek, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it. Without the armor of composure, without the weight of duty in his gaze, Obi-Wan looked almost boyish. Almost vulnerable.
Your fingers itched to trace the line of his jaw, to smooth the crease at his brow, to memorize him like this. But before you could move, his lips quirked faintly, and his voice came low, rough with sleep:
“You’re staring.”
Heat rushed to your face. “I am not.”
His eyes opened then—blue and clear and far too knowing. A lazy smile tugged at his mouth, and he leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You are. But I don’t mind.”
For a moment, everything was easy. You laughed softly, tucked yourself closer, let yourself breathe him in.
But the silence that followed was heavier. The kind that reminded you both of what waited outside these walls—the Code, the war, the life you were sworn to.
Obi-Wan’s hand lingered at your waist, thumb brushing absent patterns across your skin. His expression shifted, shadows tugging at the corners of his eyes.
“This… what happened last night,” he began carefully, “it cannot become habit. You know that.”
Your chest tightened, though you’d expected the words. Still, you held his gaze, refusing to let it close the space between you. “I know,” you whispered. “But I don’t regret it.”
Something flickered across his face—pain, longing, something unnameable. He pulled you closer suddenly, fiercely, as though to etch the moment deeper before he had to let it go.
“I don’t either,” he murmured into your hair.
And though you both knew the day would come when this secret would weigh too heavy, when duty would demand sacrifice— for now, you let the morning linger.
Wrapped in him.
Wrapped in peace.
Wrapped in the fragile, forbidden miracle of almost.
Warnings | +18, angst, manipulation, injury, blood, MC starts to understand the rules of the game, MC is a vessel of revenge 🫠, brief reference to what MC did to Yoongi, noncon kiss, dubcon kiss, Jimin conflicted and teased by MC, Hoseok a bit soft 🤔 (uhmmm), multiple references to sex and pregnancy, dirty and vulgar language, this is not for minors.
This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.
I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.
This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.
Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.
⤷ Summary | The Moondir, born of the Moon Goddess' love for a wolf, were persecuted and enslaved by humans for merely existing. Moondirian women have been captured and killed in the most heinous ways, men have instead been forced to do dangerous work in place of the humans themselves, and after more than a century, this has virtually brought their race to the brink of extinction. A group of Moondirian rebels have succeeded in their quest to regain their freedom, and not without the use of the crudest violence. Their females are now gone, and it will be human women who will help them repopulate the world.
➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! ❤️
I'm back after an unforgivable delay. Unfortunately, a lot has happened in recent months, and I don't have as much time as I used to, so I can no longer promise you a specific date for updates on Moondir or the many other stories I have in mind! I'm really sorry, but I can assure you that Moondir is still going strong, and I'll never abandon it! 🥹❤️
In this new update, you'll see a change in MC, especially towards Jimin 🫠
I really hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think, I love your comments! 🥰
I love you all! ❤️💜
Your eyes are dull as Seokjin's pen tip elegantly scratches the sheet of paper. He asked you what happened, how it happened, and how long it happened. You answered each of his questions absentmindedly, as if detached from the story.
When he finally finishes writing down his thoughts on what you told him, he allows himself to look at you.
“Y/N,” he says your name softly, looking at you as if you could break at any moment.
“Mh?”
“Actually, yesterday morning when I left, I talked it over with the others and we concluded that it would be too much for you to be with one of us every day.”
His words take a while to sink in, and you nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I don't understand, you seemed pretty convinced about your initial plan,” you reply, trying to sound confident.
Seokjin nods, “I don't deny it, but psychological stress is not a great ally if you're trying to get pregnant right away.”
You shift uncomfortably. This is the second morning Seokjin has come into your room to ask you questions. You hope it doesn't become a habit.
“How will it work then?”
“Twice a week to give you time to recover between sessions,” he sighs. “Besides, Jimin didn't do things the best way.”
A wave of nausea makes you shrink. “What do you mean? He came, he did his job.” It's disgusting to talk about it like that, but how else could you say it?
Seokjin keeps his expression unreadable, but you can see the tips of his ears redden in response. Maybe he doesn't like hearing you talk like that.
“We’re wolves, Y/N... when we finish, we should wait for the knot, to make sure our seed doesn’t leak out and that it takes properly. Jimin didn’t do that.”
You freeze, remembering the strange sensation of something swelling inside you that Jimin stopped just in time. Was that the knot?
“He probably thought it was too intimate to share with you, but it will happen with the others... I just want you to be aware of it.”
“You could have told me earlier,” you snap, “I would have forced him to finish.” Your lips tremble, but not because of tears—you cried yourself out last night—but because of anger. Were you forced to endure that torture only to end up with complete failure? How many more times will they use you for reproduction?
“I'm sorry... when conception occurs, I can smell it, but there's nothing coming from you,” you scrutinize his slightly hunched posture sternly. He seems as disappointed as you are, albeit for very different reasons.
“Is there anything else?” you ask bitterly.
“Are you in pain anywhere? I'd like to examine you before we go.”
You immediately shake your head.
“It's not my body that needs healing, Seokjin,” you reply proudly. The wolf presses his lips together before nodding.
“All right... don't forget to eat, okay? This time Jungkook made breakfast, he's much better than Namjoon,” he grimaces, thinking back to his friend's culinary horrors, while your mind is flooded with the younger man's mysterious eyes.
“Jung...kook?” you ask, almost ashamed, feeling an unusual sensation in your chest. Seokjin relaxes his shoulders, happy to answer you.
“Yes, he's the youngest member of our team, I guess you don't...”
“He helped me after Jimin left,” you admit, gritting your teeth and surprising the healer.
“He... helped you?” The syllables come slowly from his lips, as the wolf's mind is filled with doubts and perhaps even a hint of hope.
“I want him to be the second,” your tone is firm. If even someone like Jimin refused to make your first night a nightmare, you strongly doubt that the others would do otherwise, so you might as well have a free choice. Jungkook doesn't seem to like dialogue. You would both avoid a lot of unnecessary talk. Your thoughts turn resentfully to the necklace and what it represents. You are no longer willing to turn a blind eye.
Seokjin seems to be thinking about something that makes him gloomy.
“Is he part of the program too, or not?” you almost growl. You weren't ready either, but they didn't let you back out!
“Yes, he's part of the program, but his mind isn't in good shape, and that affects his body too.” Seokjin narrows his blue eyes, looking at you more closely. “Of course... if you...”
You raise an eyebrow, far from calm.
“If I?”
“You said he took care of you, you could approach him, talk to him,” his voice trembles a little, “Jungkook isn't bad, he just needs a cautious approach.”
You look at him bewildered, as if he had just asked you to pull mountains of gold out from under your bed. He has clearly lost his mind. “You're asking me to do the impossible! He might slit my throat if I say the wrong thing.”
"He won't, even with Jimin you thought the worst, but it didn't happen. We are still creatures with a conscience, even if we are not totally human," he explains gently, somehow understanding your state of mind.
You sigh tremulously, trying to banish that crazy idea from your mind. “Okay, so if Jungkook can't,” and here embarrassment tinges your cheeks slightly, making the wolf smile, “who?”
Taehyung could be the most likely candidate. He's going through a rough heat and would certainly need company. You're no different from a prostitute now, the only difference being that you also have to get pregnant, as well as sexually satisfy everyone. But once again, Seokjin doesn't express himself clearly.
“The time hasn't come yet,” he says cryptically, leaving you with a question mark as big as a house weighing on your head.
“What do you mean?”
“I have a theory,” he says, and then says nothing more.
You don't like sitting around doing nothing. After a week, nothing has happened so far, and you haven't had another chance to talk to Seokjin face to face. For one reason or another, the healer was always busy, and you found yourself in Namjoon's company several times.
Seokjin was right about one thing: Namjoon was a terrible cook, and Jungkook was far better than him. You didn't understand why the older wolf insisted on cooking, taking turns with the younger one.
At least you weren't bothered by any of them anymore, you think with a mixture of relief and unease. It seemed that everyone had been ordered not to talk to you or touch you unless absolutely necessary. While you had been pleased at first, now you were beginning to miss the chance to talk to someone.
You continue to slowly chew the jam-filled muffin that Jungkook has just baked, walking back and forth around the house. You discovered some interesting things in that last week, some paintings concealed hidden messages and letters, it seemed that the eldest daughter of the previous owners of the house had a rather steamy relationship with a cousin. This should have upset you, but compared to the reality you are forced to live with, it seems almost trivial.
Since that night, you've also started carrying Jimin's necklace around with you. He hasn't been seen since, but at the first opportunity, you'll make sure to give it back to him, promising never to wear it again. Every time he has your body, he'll have to remember who he's doing those things to. Even if it means making him furious.
You freeze halfway between the hallway leading to the living room and the stairs. Jungkook freezes too, holding a large, dusty box. He seems to be thinking about something before walking straight ahead, as if you don't exist.
'You said he took care of you, you could approach him, talk to him '
“Jungkook?” The words came out before you could stop them, inspired by the healer's advice. You curse yourself, but you can't back down now. The young wolf has stopped and is staring at you with eyes full of... expectation? It's the first time you've called him by name. You don't know if you like it, but it certainly had an effect on him.
“Can I help you?” You point to the large box he is carrying. He presses his lips together for a moment, then—almost shyly, you notice with some surprise—nods.
ou follow him a few steps behind, and the wolf enters a corridor in the house that has always led you to a dead end, but to your surprise, you see him push his hand against the wooden wall that has always forced you to turn back. The wall opens with a series of sinister sounds, and it takes all your pride not to open your mouth wide.
It was a secret door!
How did you not think of that? It was strange, actually, to have a wooden wall when everything else was made of stone.
“Where does this passage lead?” you ask, forgetting that for some strange reason, Jungkook would never speak to you. You don't know if it's a physical problem or if he just doesn't want to talk. Anyway, it doesn't take long to find out the destination.
You slowly descend the wooden steps that creak under your feet, and an intense smell of dampness invades your nostrils. When the wolf turns on a small light bulb, you find yourself peering into what appears to be a basement. The walls, also made of stone, show signs of rough workmanship: a thin layer of water covers the floor, soaking some of the boxes scattered around. Among them, numerous objects catch your attention.
You ignore the unpleasant damp smell to concentrate; your brain has new stimuli to register and decipher, and you feel excited.
“It's like being in a movie,” you comment with a sigh.
In one corner, on top of an old tea table, you spot a dusty typewriter. Next to it, a pile of worn-out books seem to beg for mercy, as if they had been read countless times until they were worn out.
A little further on, you notice an elegant cherry wood rocking chair. Despite the dust, its sinuous lines and the quality of the wood strike you. It must have been used a lot by its owner, but apart from the heavy layer of gray dust, there are no signs of wear. And that's saying something in such a terrible environment!
Jungkook watches you out of the corner of his eye, noticing how absorbed you are; it would be nice to take a nap in that chair, wouldn't it?
He shudders at that bizarre thought, shaking his head decisively before placing the huge box full of old records on the floor. He stares at them for a moment, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes, while you catch his motionless figure out of the corner of your eye.
You lean over his shoulder, trying to get around the wall that is his height, and finally see the contents of the box.
“Oh... they're CDs,” you murmur, smiling uncertainly. “What genre of music do you like?” you continue, getting no answer, of course. The boy begins to close the box, pulling out some tape you didn't even know existed. Where did he get it from?
“Why are you putting them away? Don't you have a CD player?” Is it possible that the previous owners of the house had CDs but no player to listen to them?
Your questions seem to annoy him, because he looks back at you suddenly with a frown and his lips curled in a disdainful expression, as if you had just touched a raw nerve. You feel yourself freeze. For a moment – a single stupid moment – you forgot what he is and what situation you are in. His calm demeanor helped put you at ease, but he remains a predator at the top of his game.
“I'm sorry,” you murmur, the blood draining from your face. He snorts in irritation. “I'm a chatterbox. My father always pointed that out to me,” you mumble, clenching your hands into fists at the memory of your parent ordering you to be quiet.
Jungkook finishes closing the box before turning back to you, setting aside the annoyed expression he had before. For some strange and absurd reason, seeing you scared of him didn’t please him. It’s different when he kills men—they deserve it, and even some women who are a bit too crazy for his taste—but you are so innocent that it’s impossible not to feel tenderness, and that unsettles him quite a bit.
No human has ever made him feel an emotion like this. He’s always driven by anger or disgust, and when he’s alone he feels only apathy—but with you, in some strange way, it’s different.
That's why he feels guilty, while you nervously clench the fabric of your pink sweater, which is a little too big for you.
Biting his lip, he reaches out to caress your shoulder. The touch is light, almost imperceptible, but it's there and it's enough to send your brain into a confusing spiral of sensations. Is Jungkook apologizing?
You blush and shake your head, “It's okay, I guess,” you murmur, meeting his incredible lilac eyes, which shine in the dark like a cat's. Then something catches your gaze, where the long strands of his hair almost disappear over the edge of his simple black shirt. “Those are—” you point to his neck, but Jungkook instantly moves away, bringing a hand to where you were pointing. His expression perfectly mirrors yours; a mix of alarm and agitation.
“Jungkook?” But he doesn't listen to you, abandoning everything he was doing in that place and rushing up the creaky steps, as if trying to escape your judgment.
You keep mulling over what you saw. Could those things on Jungkook's neck have been gills? From the way he left, it seemed like he was ashamed of them, assuming you really did see gills. You nervously bite your nails, pacing back and forth through the corridors of the house. You haven't run into anyone else since then. From what you understand, each of them has a job to do, and their schedules don't always align. Some come back and some leave, but at least two of them stay in the house, as if to make sure you don't run away.
You want to laugh in their faces. Run away to where, exactly? You'd starve to death or something. The whole country is no longer ruled by humans. You'd be intercepted by other wolves and killed, if you were lucky, of course.
As you're about to go back to your room, you hear whispering coming from the same room that's used for meetings. You frown. Are they back? When?
The urgent need to listen comes galloping back into your brain. God, how you miss the outside world. Hoseok doesn't dare talk to you about it, teasing you every time: “Why would you want to know what's going on out there? Would you like to join our games?”
You curl your lips in disgust. Ever since you chose Jimin first, he seems to have distanced himself from you, as if you had offended him. Idiot!
It's all a game to them, a race to see who comes out on top, and you're the prize. Or rather, the prize is your womb.
“I'm just saying that one wrong move could doom us again!” Namjoon growls, slamming his hand on Yoongi's desk, glaring at an old wolf who looks tired but fierce. The man has deep wrinkles furrowing his brow and a scar disfiguring his face from his mouth to his left eyebrow. He is clearly the oldest among them and acts on the direct orders of the alpha who rules the entire country.
“But it wouldn't be a bad idea,” Seokjin tries, earning shocked and angry looks from his companions. “Sylvus might be right. We've been hunting humans for months. Now they are few and weak. It's the perfect opportunity for a peace treaty. Yoongi, think about it!”
The wolf in question looks at his host impassively. “Why does Sylvus need our approval, Bryan?”
The old wolf curls his lips, “In the past, listening to one man was our downfall. Sylvus, on the other hand, wants to know what his people think before making such a move,” he replies wisely. Suspended between them is the image of the previous supreme Alpha, a wolf perhaps too good to understand the evil nature of humans.
Jimin clenches his teeth, almost grinding them together, “No. We have the chance to wipe them out, the world will no longer suffer because of their existence.”
Bryan smiles at the young wolf's words. “You're young and full of rage, kid. We're older and we recognize our victory. Continuing would be a waste of energy. Why don't you make up for the years you've lost? Humans have understood the mistake they made and won't bother us anymore.”
These are encouraging words. But for some strange reason, Yoongi bursts out laughing, sounding more like a sharp, piercing cry of derision. He pulls back his black hair, shiny like a panther's coat, drawing attention back to the old man.
“Basically, you're advising us to leave the rest to you, so that you can build a civilized society where everyone greets each other with a nice smile, forgetting death, abuse, and chains. Is that right?”
Namjoon and Jimin relax their shoulders, relieved. But Seokjin seems disappointed; he, more than anyone, is tired of the slaughter. They have regained their freedom, they have the chance to carry on the species, but this does not seem to satisfy the others. There is still too much pain to overcome. Taehyung would also agree with Yoongi, and probably Jungkook too, who can't wait to go out and hunt down the humans left in the territory. The only one who has not yet spoken, despite being present in the room, is Hoseok.
Seokjin looks at his friend with understanding, who is staring at his boots without daring to utter a word. Something happened to Hoseok during those hundred years. Imprisonment and torture broke him. He is still a faithful Moondirian, Seokjin has no doubt about that, but sometimes Hoseok no longer seems to be Hoseok. Without realizing it, he begins to refer to himself as human, sometimes unable to even look at a prisoner, believing he is betraying a friend. He seems divided.
At first, it was difficult for the others to accept, but Hoseok had no choice, and eventually they all learned to put up with his identity crises.
Bryan shakes his head, “I'm just saying that we've all lost a lot. After a war, peace always comes, and it's time for all of us to move on.”
“You're not going to say—” Yoongi stops Jimin's hostile words with a single gesture of his hand.
A small smile and the defiance in the boy's eyes already say a lot to Bryan, but Yoongi wants to make things clear verbally as well, “Tell Sylvus that he is free to fantasize about his plans for peace and tolerance between races. He is our Supreme Alpha, I would never dare to go against his wishes.”
There is a slight pause, Namjoon straightens his back and clenches his jaw, wanting to give free rein to the anger rising inside him, while Seokjin sighs inwardly as your scent begins to make the air in the room more sensual. Bryan also notices the change, but waits for the end of the speech.
“I won't hunt humans, but if I happen to come across one, well... let's just say I won't be very tolerant,” he concludes sharply.
Bryan doesn't seem disappointed, as if he expected a similar response—in fact, he has already heard this from countless other Moondirian groups scattered throughout the country—and shrugs.
“My friends,” he chuckles, “I don't judge you or your words. I am not your enemy, and I am the first to understand your pain and anger, but...” and here he winks toward the door, “I think there are other ways to vent it, don't you agree?”
Bryan throws open the door and stares at you with his one eye, so clear that it makes you shiver, seeming to tear your skin and flesh from your bones with unprecedented coldness. Hoseok interrupts your staring contest.
“You don't need to tell us how to use our lovely human,” he says in a tone so gentle that the false note behind it is obvious. He gently places his hands on your shoulders, but his grip is firm, possessive. As if he wants to make things clear.
“Don't exaggerate, kid.” The old wolf towers over Hoseok by a few inches, but the emerald-eyed wolf isn’t intimidated and doesn’t move, placing himself in front of you like a protective barrier that makes you feel desperately relieved.
“I think it’s time to go. Yoongi has given you his answer,” Namjoon says with a small nod toward the hallway in a gesture of dismissal.
The man lightly brushes your shoulder as he begins to leave without saying a word. It’s a small, intentional gesture—one that immediately draws the others’ attention. A spark of annoyance runs through them, enough to almost make them growl.
Yoongi waits a few more seconds before speaking. His gaze pins you in place.
“I assume you heard everything,” he says, almost disinterested—but you know him better than anyone. Over time, you’ve learned to listen to his silences and read his movements. He’s angry.
“She was probably looking for me. I told her we needed to discuss some matters related to mating,” Seokjin jumps in to help you, but Yoongi ignores him.
He settles back more comfortably.
“You should be pleased, right? The higher-ups have decided they’ve punished you enough. Which is funny, really… so few years, compared to what we endured at your hands.”
You grit your teeth.
I’ve never hurt anyone, Yoongi,” you snap back, irritated. “And yes, I’m happy. Maybe if you stopped this pointless bloodshed, your soul would finally find some peace too.”
You’re not trying to provoke him. You’re just answering his question — but for Yoongi, everything is a provocation.
He rolls his eyes, a silent reply: You’re unbearable.
“Leave us.” Namjoon and Jimin don’t seem bothered by the order — Yoongi speaks, and they obey.
Seokjin, however, narrows his eyes, and Hoseok looks ready to protest, still shielding you with his body.
“She’s just a foolish little girl. Don’t pay attention to anything that comes out of her mouth,” he sighs, leaving the others stunned.
“Hoseok…” Namjoon warns, but he continues.
“Honestly, if we punished her for every single thing she says or does, she wouldn’t last till the end of the month.”
Yoongi looks genuinely entertained.
“I’m sure she didn’t mean to eavesdrop on our conversation,” Seokjin adds, still in disbelief. Did Hoseok really speak up for you?
“You still haven’t understood the meaning of my words. Should I repeat them in our mother tongue?” he asks, his voice turning dangerous.
Then he speaks in a language unknown to you: “Lou’rin nohae!”
The sound is melodic, beautiful — but the weight behind it is so threatening that everyone in the room freezes.
“Forgive us, Yoongi,” Jimin says with difficulty, his face gray. With a sharp gesture of his hand, he orders the others to leave. You only have time to catch Seokjin's apologetic glance before you see him join Namjoon and Jimin outside, while Hoseok sighs.
“It won't take long. Be good,” he whispers as he passes by you.
What the hell happened? A few seconds ago, they seemed ready to fight a war for you. What made them retreat so easily after... oh!
“Moondirian is a magical language, isn't it?”
Yoongi smiles, “You can call it that if it suits you. It only works on a pure Moondirian and only has power if you play a dominant role within the pack,” he gets up to wander around you, “I don't use it often. I don't like forcing my companions to do what they don't want to do, but sometimes it's useful.”
His chest is against your back now, his heartbeat strong against you, making yours throb in response.
“It's a pity it has no effect on you,” his warm breath caresses your ear, a few strands of hair move and tickle your skin, “Perhaps you would have told the truth if I had forced you.”
You shudder.
“I was too young,” you reply weakly.
“I've heard that one before,” he hums, his hands sliding over your hips, squeezing them weakly, “Try again.”
The memories of that day are hard to swallow. You can still hear your mother's screams and your father's threats; you were terrified at the time. You had never seen them so angry, and it was natural to blame Yoongi for everything.
“Now you want to talk about the old days?” you ask tensely. “The other day you didn't seem so willing.”
“You interfered in my business, I feel obliged to remind you why you should be careful instead.”
You snort. “I didn't want to listen, there's nothing to do in this house...” you admit, making the man raise his eyebrows.
“You think so? But there's a lot to do, what you did with Jimin is proof of that,” he says mellifluously, making you curl your lip in disgust.
“Stop it.”
“Did you learn a lot?”
“Enough...”
“How about putting into practice now what you...”
“Yoongi, stop it!” you blurt out breathlessly, swallowing hard to hold back the rest of the words you were about to spew at him.
The man loses his smirk, returning to his inscrutable expression.
“Don't be ashamed, it's not like you can do anything else, am I right?”
“If you need to humiliate me just to feel alive, then you’re worse off than I thought,” you growl in response. The man's gaze darkens and a bitter half-smile accompanies it.
“Don't be cruel, Y/N,” he whispers, moving closer slowly. “You've already been cruel enough to me… don't you think?” he asks, looking incredibly tired for the first time.
You see them, the dark circles under his black eyes and his slightly sunken cheeks. For a moment, you see the young man who used to serve your family.
“Give me something to do, something that doesn't make me feel like a whore,” you swallow, “Waking up in the morning, eating, waiting for Seokjin's questions and then waiting for the next man I'll have to spread my legs for is driving me crazy.” You bite your lip, trying to stop it from trembling.
You're getting used to the idea of being just that. It's horrible and demeaning. You need something to occupy your mind when Seokjin isn't looking for you, and wandering around the house aimlessly isn't a good method. You feel caged in.
“Everything has a price,” he demands harshly, refusing to grant your request without something in return.
Your shoulders slump under the weight of his capricious gaze.
You're looking for a loophole so you can feel something else, but everything always comes back to that.
Your trembling fingers grab the stiff fabric of his jacket, slowly pulling it off, avoiding touching him, and the soft sound of the fabric sliding down his arms breaks the silence between you. You feel uncomfortable and dirty. He doesn't move, he remains motionless, his breathing barely audible. Then he looks down at your hands clinging to his jacket.
“Why so serious, human?” he asks irritably, “I didn't ask you to give me a blow job.” Those crude words make you blush from head to toe.
“I bet Jimin hasn't taught you that yet, though.” You don't have time to reply.
Time freezes.
Before you can figure out what's happening, he grabs your face and presses his lips firmly against yours. There’s not the slightest hesitation, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. His lips mold themselves naturally to yours, imprinting his taste on you with the audacity of someone who knows that, in a situation like this, you can’t do anything.
The most humiliating thing is that, for a single moment, you remember your younger self—who would have desperately wanted something like this with Yoongi.
But now you don’t respond to the kiss. You’re not capable of it. That man is no longer who he used to be, and he doesn’t even seem to care. He doesn’t bother deepening the kiss or closing his eyes. The pitch-black is there, watching you, waiting for your violent reaction. You try to ignore his faint scent of mint and tobacco. The closeness of your bodies is uncomfortable, making you uneasy—and he seems to enjoy every second of it.
He's testing you. He doesn’t really want to kiss you.
When he pulls away, you see amusement on his face.
“You suck at kissing,” he teases, “but you won’t lack practice in the future,” he murmurs sardonically.
“I'm sure of that,” you say with disgust, ignoring the burning sensation on your lips. It was just a simple touch, nothing like the kiss Hoseok gave you, but somehow it hurt more.
“Anyway, I actually have a task for you,” he says with a slight, thoughtful pout, “But don't forget what your priorities are. Don't make me angry again, it might not end so well,” he winks at you, freezing you in your tracks. It's not over yet.
“I'm also curious about something else, how far would you go to get more freedom?”
You clench the gold necklace in your fist, each step you take seems deafening, but the chain burns in your palm like an accusation.
You are not its owner, and both you and the jewel in question know this. That's why when you see Jimin's detached expression as he waits in the living room for Yoongi to arrive, something inside you explodes.
You throw the necklace at him with all your strength. You're not as strong as a Moondirian, but your fury is enough to cut his eyebrow.
His detachment is replaced by surprise, his amber eyes widening to stare at you speechless. Jimin gasps as a line of blood runs down his skin, getting stuck between his eyelashes.
“Are you crazy?” he asks in a trembling voice, as if he is slowly registering what really happened.
You grit your teeth in a silent growl, “Who can say? In a place like this, surrounded by people like you, the only way to survive is to go crazy, am I right? Otherwise, why would you do something like this to fuck me? You're as crazy as I am.”
“Shut up,” he orders you with an agitated expression, stiffening at the arrival of the others. Seokjin arrives breathless, holding an open anatomy book. Hearing your voice and Jimin's from his room has put him on alert, all too aware of your mutual animosity.
“Why? Oh, right... you're ashamed, I guess,” you sneer. “Yeah, you should be,” you continue maliciously. “You had one thing to do and you didn't even see it through,” you provoke him, and maybe you really are crazy.
Jimin's amber eyes turn to melted chocolate, so dark and deadly that you realize you've gone too far with him. You're deliberately humiliating him in front of his brothers.
“Let's calm down, okay?” Hoseok intervenes, his muddy shoes showing that he's just come in from outside. “I don't know what the hell happened between you two, but that doesn't justify your aggression, doll.” He seems nervous as he glares at you to put you in your place.
“Why do you always have to get yourself into trouble?” he continues angrily, which you find rather strange. He should be happy to punish you again. Ever since you first met, he has given you the impression of being a sadistic bastard, so why is he now reacting as if seeing you in trouble causes him... distress?
“Jimin, she's just nervous, it's not easy to get used to—” Seokjin puts a hand on Jimin's shoulder, but he shakes it off.
“Mind your own fucking business,” he whispers softly, “This is between me and her, understand?” The wolf's tense face makes your skin crawl, but you don't move a muscle. This time you won't tremble like a rabbit. “She's been like this since she walked into this house, provoking me with such ease that it drives me crazy!” The wolf rudely wipes the blood from his lips.
He moves like a snake, fast and sinuous.
He traps your wrist in his steel grip and forces you to follow him.
“Jimin, what are you doing?” Seokjin asks anxiously. Hoseok moves in your direction, perhaps to pull you out of the clutches of his furious companion, but the latter barks orders at them.
“Not another step, or I'll really kill her!”
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Yoongi stopping next to Seokjin, hands in his pockets and impassive expression. He nods slowly in your direction.
Your heart skips a beat, but you return his gaze with confidence. This is how it has to be.
“This is between me and him, don't follow us,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady to hide your turmoil, Jimin's grip tightens. He looks like he's about to explode.
“I don't need your permission, you treacherous snake,” he comments stiffly, pulling you again to get past the others.
Hoseok still seems undecided, but he can't do anything else, not with Yoongi in the room and seeming so calm about Jimin's behavior.
When you disappear from view, however, he finds himself growling at his captain.
“Why did you let him behave like that?”
“The human and I made a deal,” he shrugs, lighting a cigarette with practiced ease, ignoring the fiery looks from the other two.
“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks in surprise. Until recently, he had been convinced that Yoongi wanted nothing to do with you.
The wolf with coal-black eyes exhales smoke in a little cloud, licking his lips.
“To keep her busy, I've given her the task of recording all the humans we capture and kill, specifying the reason behind the capture and how they were killed. She'll be a kind of assistant.” Hoseok shakes his head.
“It'll be torture, not a job for her.”
“But this way she'll have something to do, while Sylvus will get records attesting to valid reasons behind the capture. If written by a human, it will also be easier to believe what is written.”
“It will be complicated. Sylvus will send one of his men again to make sure she doesn’t write certain things just to please us because she fears us.” Seokjin rubs his eyes, visibly stressed and worried.
Yoongi smirks, “Do you think I'm a fool? I've thought of that too.”
Hoseok twists his mouth, “Yes, but that still doesn't explain why you let her go with that loose cannon!”
“Of course it does. I gave her permission to respond to your provocations as she sees fit, with the assurance that no one will hurt her in return, as long as she lets herself be fucked freely.” he looks up when he notices the healer’s astonished expression. “Don’t make that face, Jin. Do you think couples wait for the right days to have sex? As far as I’m concerned, that’s all bullshit.”
Something doesn’t sit right in Seokjin’s mind.
“Getting a job to relieve stress and having the chance to respond to provocations without punishment, as long as she gives herself freely. Two things in her favor, for a single payment.” The healer raises an eyebrow. “There was more, wasn’t there?”
Yoongi doesn’t answer, but a half-smile marks his features, softening them somewhat. There’s no reason for Seokjin to find out about the little kiss you exchanged; in the end, it was nothing important.
“What do you think you’re doing, you little brat?” he asks when he finally lets you go after dragging you into an empty room, with no furniture and no prying eyes.
Jimin seems completely beside himself, the blood now dried on his face and on the collar of his shirt, no longer in perfect condition. You smile, your heart racing with that intoxicating sense of triumph.
Yes, Yoongi is now a shameless piece of shit — but at least he’s an honest shameless piece of shit.
“I only gave back a fraction of the pain you inflicted on me.”
Your satisfied expression leaves him stunned, burning into you in return. Now that you look at him more closely, and with newfound confidence, you notice that Jimin resembles a dragon — a dragon whose treasure has been stolen. Driven by emotion, he doesn’t realize how easy it would be to wound his wings and bring him down.
“I won’t let you get away with this.” He’s now so close you can feel his breath mixing with yours, his chest rising sharply, shaken by low rumbles that scream “danger!”
“I’ll fill you in on Yoongi’s new orders. You can’t lay a finger on me now,” you tell him, gently gripping his collar. You feel him tense.
“That’s not possible. He would never do that,” he spits. “We are superior to you — we could kill you if we wanted!”
You smile sweetly, playfully tugging at the fabric between your fingers.
“The power of words brings down kingdoms. Didn’t you know that?”
At first angry, Jimin relaxes his shoulders after a few seconds of complete silence. He breathes slowly, though his pupils remain dilated.
“You got a favor, it seems,” he murmurs caressingly, his eyes like two luminous spheres, “What did you give him in return? You don't get something like that with a couple of crocodile tears shed just to make him pity for you.”
He's not wrong. Yoongi would have ignored your crying.
The truth is, the sooner you get pregnant, the sooner he'll be able to get rid of you for a while. The mere sight of you disturbs him in a way he doesn't really want to admit, because it would give you power, in a way. Besides, the more time you spend with his men, the more they seem to desire you. It's his intention to send you away before the worst happens.
“I gambled with the only thing I can really bet,” you reply seriously, Jimin chuckles maliciously.
“Your body,” he asserts confidently and with a hint of mockery. “We already have that.”
“My womb. With no more rules or controls, I know how annoying Seokjin can be,” you hiss and squeeze his collar tightly before pressing your lips to his.
This kiss is also different from the ones you've given before. It's an explosion of stagnant, dark emotions. Jimin's lips taste of iron and anger, his dried blood weighing heavy on your tongue as if it wants to burn you.
For a few moments, the wolf doesn’t respond, remaining stone-faced. Perhaps because your gesture was so rash and unusual that it left him petrified. Then a breath, broken by an angry growl, and his resistance goes out the window. He retaliates with a certain amount of violence, grabbing you forcefully by the neck, as if to punish you for daring to touch him that way, while his other hand snakes around your waist like a serpentine vice.
Every touch of your lips is a punishment dripping with venom, your bodies colliding as if in a duel. Jimin pushes you against a wall, one leg sliding between yours, pinning you. You sink your teeth into his lip, making him moan softly before slipping your tongue into his mouth, consuming each other with lascivious, devouring caresses.
When you pull apart, both of you panting, he looks at you with a cloudy gaze, full of a desire that leaves him bitter.
There is a certain tension between your bodies, and you look at him with a defiant glint.
“Stop hiding behind objects or people. You don’t need a charade to fuck a woman, Lieutenant,” you tease him.
There’s something dangerous in his silence. His eyes slide over your lips, swollen and red as sin, then return to meet yours with a new, animalistic and conflicted emotion.
“You’re playing with fire,” he warns, his jaw tense and sharply defined.
You caress it distractedly, without missing a single movement of his marble-sculpted face. “Maybe I'm starting to like it,” you reflect.
“You don't need to love me to have my body, it's just an exchange,” you continue, “Flesh is flesh, right?”
Perhaps you are a descendant of the serpent that tempted Eve.
There's no need to go that far; you just need to get pregnant as soon as possible. A simple task, you've always told yourself. Open your legs and let him do his work.
Yet, the idea of making him fall for you teases you. You are everything that disgusts him, the opposite of what he loved – but there is a spark of desire that shouldn't exist. Even though he would never admit it out loud, Jimin finds you interesting. Attractive, even, if you really want to push it. That's why he seizes on your every gesture or word to despise you; he fears you. What sweeter revenge than this: to ruin him until he becomes a vessel of guilt and contempt for himself and what he's lost.
Jimin wrinkles his nose and mouth before dragging you across the cold floor with him. His chest presses against yours, seemingly torn between hating you and devouring you; perhaps he chooses both, seeing as he grabs your neck to kiss you once again in a suffocating display of power.
“You'll regret all of this, Y/N,” he murmurs at your lips. You almost laugh from the heart.
when it comes to love, she could be an all-nighter (nuts, pt 1) | k.nj
idol! namjoon x fem non-celeb! reader
ᝰ nuts masterlist
rating/genre: slight? age gap (reader is 22, namjoon is 31), located on the las vegas strip, angst, fluff, idol namjoon x non celebrity reader, reader doesn't know who he is, confident!bold reader, joon is very dominant and possessive (and lowkey a whore), nicknames, porn with some plot
summary: reader has NO IDEA who namjoon is. during a late night on the vegas strip, a stressed namjoon goes to his hotels rooftop, only to find a girl smoking a cigarette there. he asks her for one and the rest is history.
warnings: sexual themes, explicit & descriptive smut MINORS DNI 18+ hard dom namjoon, age gap & size kink, public sex, unprotected sex, soo much dirty talk, cigarettes and drinking, shotgunning, edging/teasing, fingering, oral, cowgirl, missionary, like a lot of positions actually
word count: 3.8k
this is who nuts was written about, iykyk
i’m on some random resorts rooftop, wine drunk, smoking a cigarette. just like the hangover, which I’ve watched a billion times.
the wine is sweet, most importantly cheap. my motto is all alcohol gets you to the same place.
i’m zoning out looking at the view when the door to the rooftop clicks open, i freeze, maybe someone found out im not supposed to be here. i don’t dare turn around but instead smoke my cigarette a little faster.
i hear it slam shut, footsteps making its way to where i am. i really hope i don’t have to throw this cigarette away if i get kicked out.
“can i have one?”
i turn to the voice that said that and sigh in relief that it’s not someone trying to get me out of here
“they’re 305s is that alright?”
“as long as it’s a cigarette”
this guy knows what’s up
i give him one and light it up for him
“i like 305s better than american spirits, which is apparently a controversial opinion according to any of my friends or the widespread public. but i just think american spirits are way too strong” i yap and yap and yap
“i actually don’t even know what any of that means. i’ve never had anything but korean cigarettes” he says
“oh, are you korean?”
he hesitates for a moment before replying “yeah”
“i’ve never had korean cigarettes and this is your first american one, guess you owe me one now”
he looks at the ground before saying “i like this one”
he’s being so dry but i guess that’s how people are. i have no filter, or shame for that matter, so i really just talk anyone’s ears off, even if they seem like they don’t want anything to do with me.
i take another swig of my wine, half the bottles already gone
i’m not quite sure why he’s still standing next to me if he doesn’t want to entertain a conversation, but i still need entertainment so i keep talking, “so are you like from korea, like living here or do you still live there?”
“i still live there, im just here…” he takes a drag slowly and blows it out before continuing, “…on business”
he turns his whole body, which was previously preoccupied with looking at the view, to look at me, “what are you doing in vegas?”
i turn too, “the wind blew me here”
i can’t help but notice how tall he is, and how his dimples are so evident even though he’s far, far away from smiling
at this point i’m tingly and smiley from the wine and previous drinks i had. im sure i look somewhat like a whore right now, wearing a backless halter dress, it’s silver and has some sparkle to it. the hoop earrings paired with the fact that i’m leaning into a cute stranger with a half empty bottle of wine in my hands ties everything together
“do you want some? rude of me not to even ask” i giggle while handing him the bottle and he very unexpectedly smiles at me and i get to see what his dimples actually look like
he takes the bottle from my hand and chugs a good amount of it
i hope this will make him less stressed out
“wow that wine is terrible” he says, “but i liked it”
i laugh and press my body on the wall, enjoying how cold it still feels, “yupppp, cheap wine”
“how old even are you?” he asks
“twenty two, what about you? i reply
“thirty one”
“we got an old man over here”
i laugh but he doesn’t
he stays looking at me with a look i can’t quite place. i know when guys wanna fuck me and i know when they hate me, but the way he’s looking at me is somewhere in between or maybe not even on that chart at all
i get annoyed trying to figure it out so leave to sit down on the outdoor couch
and for some reason he follows me there,
then sits down too close next to me,
then i make up some lame excuse how i need to stretch out my legs just so i could put them over his lap
for a split second i think i must be making him uncomfortable and i move to get my legs off his lap,
but then his hands are pushing me back then and one of them is a little too high up in between my thighs
it really feels like we’re just an adventurous couple, out in vegas, but i actually don’t even know his name
“i’ve had a day” he says
“i could tell”
“damn, was i that obvious?”
“you weren’t friendly at first, i’ll tell you that” i answer, “but now you’re getting real friendly”
his hand squeezes around my thigh when i say that,
“where are you going dressed like that?” he asks
“well, i was planning on going to the club next to ceasers palace but i just wanted to pregame a little before i went…” i pause and trace his bicep, “…but now im not sure i’ll even make it there”
i’m not sure he’s picking up on the hints im dropping at him. i don’t usually hook up with random strangers but it might seem like i do to him, i mean after all he doesn’t know me and i don’t know him. for all he knows im fucking everyone i come across.
i get a little insecure about this, so i take my legs off of his lap and pull my knees to my chest
but that only makes it worse because im wearing a dress.
out of frustration of how i might be perceived i say “i dont usually get that close with people i just met by the way,”
i look at him in the eyes to make sure hes listening to me
“never thought you did, princess”
my face rests my knees, i keep looking at him and he keeps looking at me,
then his hand travels to my bare back and traces up my spine
surprisingly, i don’t shiver. we just keep looking at each other
he’s so… large
like in a man way, he’s tall and he’s buff and if he was my boyfriend i know id never have to worry about anything ever again, because he’d be there to guide me through the crowds and open all the doors
and fuck me properly
but i’m getting way ahead of myself here and before i can really start to daydream about the man right in front of me he mumbles
“today was rough, you were right”
“tell me more” i reply
“just some bullshit with… weird people. my job isn’t difficult in the traditional way but in other aspects, it’s the most complicated one out there”
i want to ask him what he does but i figured if he wanted to tell me he would’ve by now
“but that’s enough on my part, what’s going on with you?” he continues
you’d think were old friends catching up with the way he said that
“you know, just the usual, kids and the husband” i reply sarcastically, knowing i’m so far away from having either
he gets the joke, thankfully, and laughs
his voice gets deeper and it hits me like a brick when he says “i miss your legs on my lap, get back over here”
-
after my whole bottle was drank, me and this cute stranger are talking about our whole lives
he tells me how he learned english with the tv show friends, i tell him how ive never watched it
“what? how have you never watched friends? it’s like more famous than jesus himself”
i giggle and say “yeah but that’s worse than not even knowing what sex and the city is!”
he shakes his head while laughing, we’re both wine drunk and it’s the best feeling ever
i bring another cigarette to my lips and as im fiddling with the lighter he pauses me and lights mine with his
“i didn’t even know you could do that”
he smokes the last of his before putting it out and saying “you know what else you can do?”
“what else can i do”
he takes my freshly lit cigarette, inhales a long drag, grabs my face and blows the smoke into my mouth
i’m only shocked for a second before i snap back
“oh but you know what else i can do?”
“what else can you do?” he replies
i take a drag from the cigarette between his fingers, blow the smoke on his neck, then suck the little vein that goes along it
“i’m seeing a lot of things you can do…” he says, “…but i think you need to see what i can do”
“hmm, okay cute stranger, and what’s that?”
he gives me back my cigarette and slides his hand up my thigh, higher and higher until i break eye contact
i really don’t regret being so bold when we first sat on this couch
“tell me about the last guy that made you come”
i look up at him again, “really good, he was tall… i really love tall. he fucked me really good too”
i know most girls couldn’t say great things about their sex lives, but i somehow got lucky to have had all the guys i’ve slept with cared about getting me off
his hand kept going higher
“he knew what he was doing, he treated me really well… knew every last inch of my bo-“
i get cut off by him pulling my thong to the side and running his fingers up my cunt
“cmon princess, keep talking”
well now i fucking can’t
he’s rubbing his fingers on me so good i can’t even think
i open my legs a little more out of pure desperation, lifting my hips up so he can get the signal to take my panties off
but he doesn’t, in fact he stops all together. and just as i’m about to get mad at him he takes my hand and stands up, leading me back to the wall we met at
he places me with my back against it, gets on his knees and lifts up my dress, hooking his fingers on the sides of my thong and slowly, so fucking slowly, pulling it down
i could genuinely drool at the sight of him on his knees
he grabs the back of my knee and swings my leg over his shoulder and kisses my inner thighs, over and over
i let out a shaky whine when his tongue is finally on my clit, my hands instinctively tangle in his hair and my legs feel weak
but he’s there holding me up
his tongue feels so good, he’s really taking his time with me despite the fact anyone could walk through that door
he’s alternating between flexing and flattening his tongue. it all feels so good and then he adds two fingers and i lose it
the wine drunk part of me is a whining (no pun intended) mess, but the wine drunk part of me is all of me right now
“my legs are so weak i don’t know if i can stand up with you making me feel this good” i say
“hm, can’t handle my tongue on your pussy?” he mumbles against me and i whimper
“shut the fuck up, you’re so cocky…” i say, “i can handle it”
he stops what he was doing so fast and stands up, “who do you think you’re talking to like that you stupid fucking whore”
i’m looking up at him, both angry and turned on, he’s so tall and big he blocks everything else so all i can feel and see is him
“good girls stay quiet and let their man make them feel good,” he says while sliding his fingers inside of me once again
i’m out of breath by how good his fingers feel in me, everything he’s doing is so good,
but i’m a brat so i say “my man? i don’t even know your name”
he keeps pulling his fingers in and out of me, staying so close to me i can feel his heartbeat
it turns me on how much taller than me he is
his fingers slide out of me to softly tap at my clit
“i don’t usually do this either, but do you want to go to my room?”
i force myself to make eye contact with him then get on my tippy toes to whisper in his ear “only if you promise i won’t be able to walk tomorrow”
just like that my legs are around his waist, we’re making out and he’s fumbling for the card to his room, mumbling something like “it was just in my pocket” before finding it
when he finally unlocks the door, he puts me down on the desk, my panties are somewhere but i’m not quite sure where
i reach to take off his belt and he tries doing it himself but i slap his hand away, “nuh uh, let me take it off”
“you’re such a brat” he replies
“weren’t you just calling me a princess?”
“most princesses are brats, you’re proving me right”
his belt is in off and in my hand and i jokingly slap it on the desk, he smiles and tells me he’s going to ruin me tonight
i push him back until his knees hit the bed and im on top of him, im straddling his hips while my hands are going up his shirt.
his hands are all over me, bunching the dress above my hips, going under it and squeezing my nipples
“oh fuck, ohmyfuckinggod” i moan
“you like that, huh?”
i nod rapidly, my nipples have always been sensitive. he flips me over, concerningly easily, so he’s on top.
if i didn’t have a weird sense of trust with him i would be concerned about his ability to hurt me. but that turned me on in a way, i knew he was never going to lay a hand on me in a harmful way.
he was here to make me feel good, and i could tell he needed to fuck
“let’s see how pretty your whimpers can get princess”
he bites down on my nipple so softly, yet it makes me feel everything. my moans have never been loud or over the top, the expectation for good sex is loud pornographic moaning but that’s just not true, and he got that so well. he knew how to get genuine sounds out of me, the kind of moan that’s a whimper because of how good it feels.
“can you please please please put your dick inside of me already?”
“since you asked so nicely”
he starts talking his pants off in front of me, i get on my knees on the bed and let him slide my dress off. now he’s just in his boxers and i’m so wet. i rub him through the fabric, he feels painfully hard, like i’ve never felt a dick be this hard before.
“you’re so hard for me”
“i’ve been wanting to feel you around me ever since you lit up my cigarette”
“hm, so like four hours ago?”
he responds by taking off his boxers
wow
how is that going to fit in me?
two of his fingers already made me lose my train of thought… this is going to break me in half
“you’re fucking huge, holy shit…” i say “…my pussys tight, you’re gonna break me”
then he lets out the darkest laugh i’ve ever heard, my core tightened at it and every sense i had tingled
maybe i wanted him to break me
“guess ill just have to fuck you nice n’ slow princess” he says while guiding me back on the bed. he gets on top of me again and rubs his tip against me, i gasp because this man has been teasing me for hours now and i’m so turned on and i need him to ruin me.
“nice n’ slow? maybe in the morning… but right now, tonight, i need you to fuck me properly” i say, not daring to break eye contact with him
he stops, breathing shortening
“i don’t need you to be polite. i need my pussy to be ruined, i need you to be rough. bruise me, choke me, use me. pound into me”
he still isn’t moving, it’s like i’ve short circuited the mother board
“you don’t know how bad i needed to hear that”
it’s truly beautiful when two people have sexual chemistry. when you both want and are into the same things
but what’s even more beautiful is when a girl needs to get pounded into the mattress and a boy needs to pound a girl into said mattress. when a girl is stressed and a boy is also stressed, so he eats her out. when a boy is stressed so he needs to ruin her.
when a random stranger meets a bold girl on a rooftop that she’s not supposed to be at and feels his heart strings get tugged at.
“i’m gonna fuck you so good princess”
and that begins it, he’s pushing into me and i didn’t think i could’ve taken him but i’m so wet that it slides in. it fills me up and i gasp when his tip went in me, and again when he bottomed out.
“fuck, your dick is massive. how do you walk around with that thing on you?”
he giggles and rubs my clit to alleviate the pressure, i keep talking like a broken record
“no wonder you were stressed out, you’re so hard i can’t imagine how frustrating that is”
“your pussys doing me good”
i smile and reach around his back, raking my nails along it, he groans. he feels so good inside of me
“alright now fuck me like you need me”
all the sudden i’m flipped on my back, arched like a cat, and he’s fucking me relentlessly. pounding into me just like i needed him to, just like he needed to.
“you’re so good to me” i whimper out
my face against the pillow, him pinning my wrists against my back, my head almost hitting the headboard. his large, tall frame hovering over me.
“such a pretty fuckin girl, wish i could take you with me everywhere.” he holds my wrists with one hand so he can lean over me and grab my face, he grabs it so hard i’m sure i’ll feel the ache in my jaw days from now.
“open your mouth”
i obey, i open my mouth and he spits in it.
i feel so filthy doing this with someone i met just a few hours ago, but at the same time it felt like i’ve known him for longer. he had a weird reserved demeanor to him, but maybe that was shyness. whatever it was, i feel like it was being uncovered now.
he reaches over to my nipples and rolls one between his fingers, it feels so amazing and all the senses are getting to me. at this point i’m on my hands fucking myself into him. his arms wrap around my waist, i can feel myself close.
his grunts start getting stronger, his thrusts are deeper, and he spills inside of me.
“oh fuck, princess. you’re so good, pussy so good. sorry i came inside you, couldn’t help it, you felt so good”
he slowly thrusts, fucking his load into me so none spills out
by the way he was fucking me, i don’t think he could be reserved about his life after this. he sure as hell deserved something from me after making me feel that good. i turn to face him and say, “let me ride you”
he smirks, looking at me up and down. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you”
i roll my eyes, “sit down, back on the headboard”
“you gonna bounce on me good?”
“don’t fall in love”
i slide down on him, back facing him, hands on his thighs so i can move deeper and faster. this angle is even better, i feel so full.
his hands are holding onto my hips so hard i’m sure ill wake up with a bruise. i just hope ill wake up with a bruise next to him.
“you’re trying to top even when i’m riding you” i turn as much as i can to face him
“what do you mean?” he replies
“i mean that your hands are gripping me so hard if i ever walk out of this room with you and people see us they’ll know i’m yours”
i feel his dick twitch inside of me when i said that
“guess i better bruise you up good then…” he kisses my back, “…so everyone knows you’re mine”
hmm, not so fast. i hop off his dick and say “they need to know you’re mine too”
i turn to face him and sink back into his dick. this new position is really intimate, my chest is fully pressed to his, my arms are around him and his around me.
i stay still for a second before kissing him. all of this feels so real all the sudden. he deepens the kiss that i initiated and intertwines his hand with mine.
i start bouncing again, letting go of his hand and wrapping my arms around his neck. his hands roaming up and down my sides, over my thighs and hips.
we’re tangled up in each other like we’ve never spent a day apart, he’s grunting like we do this every night.
but i know that after this we won’t ever see each other again.
“such a pretty girl bouncing on me” he breathes out
“yeah i’m a fuckin pro rider”
he rubs me the right way and i squeeze around him with a moan, he cums inside of me again
-
“you know i don’t even really like the west coast that much” i say, “i mean i love las vegas, genuinely, but id rather be in new york”
we’re on his rooms balcony, smoking while watching the sunrise. we haven’t slept and we’re both so tired but somehow both still up, just to talk to each other.
“you really need to watch friends, if you love new york you’ll love that show” he replies
his hand has been rubbing circles on my inner thigh, but not in a sexual way; something deeper and softer. so intimate, like we’ve been together forever.
“i’ll watch it” i want to say i’ll watch it for you, i’ll tell you how i like it, but something about knowing him after this feels forbidden.
i don’t know his name and he doesn’t know mine either, i think that’s the way it’s meant to be.
what i’ve learned in my twenty two years of life is that some things need to be left alone, even when it’s bothering you at your core.
even when a hot stranger is making you feel things deeper than you’ve ever felt and you think you could really love him, sometimes you need to let go.
“lets go to sleep, princess”
“let’s go”
a/n : i hope u guys liked this, it's my first bts fic ever and it was inspired by an actual situation that happened to me... LOL!
let me know if you want an epilogue, it'll be heartbreaking and oh so angsty but i'll provide if that's what the public wants.
xoxo, love yall
a/n #2 : uploaded the epilogue… :3
a/n #3 : guys it’s a series now. the master list is pinned on my page ;)
★ It's december and I still want you by @smoochkooks
★ You're losing me by @inthelow
Series
★ To Make A Power Couple by @joheunsaram
★ Promise by @joheunsaram
★ Chaperoning by @joheunsaram
★ Black Swan by @helenazbmrskai
★ The Stand-In by @yoonia
★ Satisfy by @suga-kookiemonster
★ Our Story by @yoonjinkooked
★ Letting go by @bangtan-babe
★ Right person, wrong time by @hobeemin
★ Who you gonna call by @hyunnows
★ Pretty Baby by @margotw10bis
★ The death of you by @kkaetnipjeon (incomplete)
★ Intersect by @shina913
★ The long game by @mrsvante
‧₊˚🖇️back to namu's library 𐚁
‧₊˚🖇️back to the library 𐚁
special request from @ficluvr613 , happy reading sweetheart.
I'll make part 2, I'm really exhausted lately, i don't feel like reading, i don't know what is going on army twt, work work work but I couldn't keep you waiting more love.
𓄿 Chapter One: Thank the Gods
Pairing: Jimin x Reader
Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin, Witch!Yoongi, Witch!Seokjin, Werewolf!Taehyung, Alpha!Taehyung, Werewolf!Namjoon, Alpha!Namjoon, Werewolf!Hoseok, Alpha!Hoseok, Werewolf!Jungkook, Omega!Jungkook
Genre: Fantasy!AU, Werewolf!AU, Witch!AU, friends to lovers, extreme slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff, eventual smut, 18+ only
Word Count: 26.4k+
Synopsis: Across the four realms of Lustra lies the enchanted Bangtan Forest, homeland of the southern Foxglove pack and a place whispered about as the “land of magic.” It is also the domain of the Bridd, a line of witches bound by an ancient curse and entrusted as the forest’s sacred guardians. Y/N, the newest Bridd, inherited her role far too young. Now grown, she is honored by the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known. Yet beneath the reverence and power lives a woman who must choose between the weight of her destiny and the longings of her heart.
Warnings: blood, witchcraft, shapeshifters, mild sexism, childhood memories, yearning, pining, emotional constipation, magic, talking animals, spirit guides, PTSD, negative self talk, gossiping, meddling woodland friends, unrequited love (or is it?), dreaming of him, long haired Jimin, that will be a reoccurring warning, mating system, politics, reader is cursed, and also a shapeshifter, and a witch, it's a bit complicated, this is a very tame chapter all things considered, let me know if i missed anything...
A/N: Holy shit we're back! Words can't describe how much I adore this series, and I have so much written and planned out for this version. We're going to get FED this time around, and I have zero plans of orphaning or going on such a long hiatus this time. TTW holds such a dear place in my heart. It was the first series I ever posted on Tumblr and it always bothered me that I just left it to rot away because I lost the passion for the project. Thank you to the writing Gods for bringing me back to Lustra. I've missed it more than I thought I did.
masterlist || next
Night had come down around Y/N’s cottage as quietly as a hand laid over a candle flame. The little house stood at the forest’s edge, half-hidden beneath the bending arms of old trees, and in the moonlight it seemed less built than grown there, as though root and timber had conspired long ago to make shelter for one lonely soul. Frost silvered the stones of the path. Old snow lay in the hollows beneath the hedges and along the porch steps, blue-white where the moon touched it and gray where the shadows held. The herb boxes beneath the window had gone stiff with winter: rosemary woody and stubborn, mint asleep beneath frozen soil, the last dead stems of thyme trembling whenever the wind worried at them. Beyond the fence, the forest waited, black and breathing, its bare branches stitched with ice.
Somewhere far off among the ridges, a wolf howled.
Y/N stopped with one hand upon the latch. The sound rose thin and wild into the dark, trembling there before others answered it: one from the east, one from the hollow beyond the creek, another so distant it seemed almost made of memory. Their voices crossed the night like threads drawn through a loom, and Y/N listened until the last of them thinned into silence.
“They said they would wait,” she murmured.
The woods did not reply. They rarely did, unless they had something unpleasant to say. At her ankle, the chain stirred. It did not rattle or scrape the floorboards or pull in the ordinary way of iron. It gave a small, living pulse so deep within her that, for a breath, she could not tell whether it had come from the metal or from her own blood. The chain was not merely fastened about her. It had been made part of her, braided into flesh and bone and spirit, bright with old iron and older obedience. It knew the moon. It knew the hour. It knew, as Y/N knew, that tonight belonged to Foxglove.
She drew in a breath scented with pine bark, frozen stone, old snow, and the last thin ribbon of smoke from the hearth. With her basket on her arm, she stepped out into the cold. The Bridds had never been loved for what they were. Feared, yes. Needed, often. Summoned in haste, cursed in whispers, thanked with bowed heads and careful eyes. But loved? No. Love was for daughters who might marry, sons who might inherit, children who might grow into whatever shape pleased them. A Bridd child, once chosen, became something else: a guardian, if one wished to be kind; a vessel, if one wished to be honest; a doorway, if one had the courage to speak plainly.
Y/N had been thirteen when the iron ring closed about her ankle. She still remembered the sound. It had not been grand or terrible. No thunder answered it, no wind broke the shutters, no god spoke from the corners of the room. There had only been a small click, tidy and final, like the fastening of a jewelry clasp. And yet it had divided the world. Before, there had been wildflowers crushed in her pockets, jam stolen from cooling tarts, Aldara’s laugh ringing through the rafters when Y/N’s first charm turned all the spoons blue. After, there had been duty. Aldara had died less than an hour earlier. By thirteen, Y/N had inherited the cottage, the chain, the work, the old names, the old debts, and the old gods who asked for much and explained little. The wolves came for blessings. The dying came for charms. The frightened came for answers. The gods came whenever they pleased. The chain had not cared that she was still a child.
Tonight, Kim Taehyung would come of age beneath the moon, and Foxglove would not let the matter pass lightly. The rite must be witnessed properly. Moonfire must be lit. Blood must be given. The old words must be spoken in their right order, not because the gods were vain—though Y/N suspected they were—but because ancient things tended to become dangerous when handled carelessly. She quickened her pace along the path. Frost had hardened the dirt, and the old roots crossing it were glazed pale under the moon. Her feet found them without looking. The forest was familiar to her in the way a stern relative is familiar: not always gentle, never entirely safe, but known. She thought of Yoongi despite herself, and a smile tugged at her mouth. He would be in the kitchen, no doubt, sleeves rolled past his elbows and hair falling into his eyes while he ground herbs with unnecessary violence. Yoongi had never cared for rites. Anything involving midnight, blood, sacred silence, or reverence offended him as a matter of principle.
“Humoring giant dogs,” he had once said, crushing comfrey as if it had wronged him personally, “is not magic. It is worse than being trapped indoors forever.”
Y/N had laughed so hard she nearly dropped the bowl.
Yoongi had not thought much of Taehyung at first, either. “That one?” he had said, squinting across the yard one afternoon. “He looks dim.”
“Be nice,” Y/N had told him. “He’s sweet.”
Taehyung was not dim. He was young, certainly, and possessed of the sort of earnestness that made people underestimate him. He listened when others spoke. He noticed small things. He looked at the stars as if he expected that, with sufficient patience, they might finally lower themselves and answer him. The chain pulsed again. Pain shot up Y/N’s leg so suddenly that she stopped short, one hand flying to the nearest tree. Cold light flashed beneath her skin, running in thin lines beneath the surface. Her body loosened for one brief and terrible instant. Her lungs opened. The weight in her bones lifted. She felt almost normal, and the thought was so sweet it was cruel. By morning, it would be gone.
Y/N pushed the longing away and turned back toward the cottage, moving faster now. Once inside, she crossed to the shelf by the hearth and gathered what she needed: the lantern, the herb pouch, Aldara’s black feather charm, and a second pouch after a moment’s consideration. She had just reached for the latch when something shifted outside the window. Patto sat upon the stone lip of the birdbath, black eyes bright in the moonlight. Somehow, as always, he had arranged himself so that he looked both ridiculous and important. His feathers stuck up at odd angles, yet his expression suggested he had arrived to supervise a matter of national consequence. His feathers shone like burnished gold in the moonlight.
He tipped his head. “Human tonight?”
Y/N smiled in spite of herself. “Good evening to you too.”
Patto clicked his beak.
“Yes,” she said. “Human tonight. Kim Taehyung.”
Patto blinked with slow gravity. “Ah.”
“Ah,” she echoed.
He hopped along the rim of the birdbath, claws ticking against stone. “You smell nervous, little witch.”
Her smile thinned. “Only a bit.”
She opened the window and reached out. Patto hopped onto her wrist without hesitation. He was warmer than she expected, and lighter than anything so opinionated had any right to be. For a breath, he only watched her; then he leaned forward and brushed his beak gently against her cheek. Y/N went still.
Patto pulled back at once, straightened, and gathered himself into great dignity. “Well. Don’t get eaten.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He launched himself into the night and vanished among the trees. Y/N watched the place where he had gone, letting the quiet settle around her again. In the center of the room, she spread a blank sheet of parchment upon the floor and held one hand above it, letting memory guide her fingers.
The ritual circle appeared first, dark lines curving into a perfect ring. The altar rose within it. Pillars followed, drawn like old roots reaching into darkness. The cavern walls shaped themselves around them, faintly marked with painted wolves. When the drawing was done, she dipped her finger into ink and pressed the oldest sigils into the corners. The parchment shivered. She scattered meteor powder over the lines, and though nothing stirred at first, the moment she bent close and whispered the cavern’s true name, purple fire bloomed across the page. It did not burn as ordinary fire burned. It traced the drawn lines in soft lilac light, heat brushing her skin without pain. The circle opened like an eye.
Y/N picked up her basket and stepped into it. For one suspended breath, there was no floor beneath her. No cottage. No forest. No body. There was only a thin ringing, far away and all around her, like a star being struck with a silver spoon. Something caught her and pulled. The world returned in pieces: air first, cold and smoky, thick with pine resin, damp moss, tallow, sweat, old stone, and fur. Sound followed. Drums.
Slow and steady, as if the earth had grown a second heart. Y/N stood within the cavern. It rose high above her, its ceiling lost in shadow. Wolves covered the walls in soot, ochre, and red clay. Some ran. Some hunted. Some sat beneath crooked moons with their heads lifted in song. Torchlight moved over them, and as it passed, they seemed almost alive, as if one need only look away for them to creep from stone into flesh.
Y/N lowered her head. “Thank you for safe passage,” she said.
The altar waited at the far end of the cavern, a heavy slab of stone veined with quartz. She approached it and began setting out her tools. Candles came first: green for betas, white for omegas, black for alphas. The rite would likely work even if they were imperfectly placed. Magic was not so petty as that. But reverence mattered. Care mattered. A thing done lazily in the presence of the holy became, sooner or later, a dangerous thing. She laid the black cloth embroidered with a raven across the stone. The stitching had been worn smooth by years of use, by Aldara’s hands and the hands before hers. Betas sought courage. Omegas sought steadiness. Alphas sought balance. Power, if left alone too long, too easily became hunger.
Jungkook had needed all three. The memory caught her unprepared: Jungkook, younger then, tense beneath ritual paint, staring at the altar as though refusing to look at the gathered wolves; Jungkook afterward, hands shaking, his voice calm only because he forced it to be calm when he thanked her. A young omega boy was rare enough to draw attention in any pack. Rarer still in Foxglove. Since then, he had settled at the Luna’s side, quiet but always present. He and Y/N had spoken often over the years, though speaking with wolves was never the same as belonging to them.
Foxglove itself was difficult to define. Three alphas led it, and each held power in a different hand. Hoseok moved through trade and negotiation with careless charm, leaving people pleased even when he had taken the better bargain. Namjoon was quieter, sharp in the way still water may be sharp when it hides a deep current. He could dismantle a poor argument so calmly that the person corrected might thank him before realizing they had been skinned. Jimin was hardest to read. Still, but never soft. Quiet, but never absent. There were silences that meant nothing, and silences that stood in a room like drawn blades. Jimin belonged to the latter sort. Three alphas. Three kinds of weight.
Y/N rested her palms against the altar’s cold surface. “For Lustra,” she said quietly. “For the Moon. For the pack.”
She took up the ritual blade and held her hand over the salt line. The cut was small, practiced, almost tender. Three drops of blood fell, and the salt hissed. Metal and mineral rose sharp in the air, softened by the peonies laid around the circle. Aldara had always hated the peonies.
“Pretty things will get you killed,” she used to say. “Use force where force belongs.”
Y/N had never agreed. Pretty things had their own kind of power, and the peonies worked. She dipped her fingers into the pigment bowls: blue across her brow and down one cheek for wisdom, red across the bridge of her nose and cheekbone for blood, black at the corners of her eyes and beneath her lower lip for witness. In the polished quartz at the altar’s edge, she looked like what the wolves expected when they called for a Bridd. Not a girl. Not quite a woman. Something between priestess, warning, and sacrifice. They arrived first by scent. Wet fur. Pine pitch. Cold stream water. Damp earth.
Familiarity did not make fear irrelevant. Fear, Y/N had learned, was only the body’s way of remembering that teeth were teeth, however politely they bowed. The hem of her robe brushed the salt line.
“Steady,” she murmured.
Darkness gathered in the tunnel ahead. Claws clicked once against stone. Someone breathed out sharply, and a sentry stepped into the light. It was not Taehyung, but a broad-shouldered man in human form, bare-armed despite the chill. He stopped outside the salt ring and bowed his head.
“Witch.”
“Sentry.”
His mouth twitched. “You’re cutting it close.”
“I noticed.”
“Pack was starting to wonder if we’d have to promote Taehyung in shifts.”
A snort slipped out before she could stop it. “That sounds impractical.”
“Namjoon said the same thing, though with more words.”
“That sounds like him.”
Some of the tension eased from his shoulders. “They’re ready,” he said.
“Is he?”
A fond look crossed the sentry’s face. “He’s spent the last ten minutes trying not to embarrass himself.”
“Admirable.”
“He’s failing.”
Her expression softened. “Most people do.”
He glanced back toward the tunnel and lowered his voice. “He asked if tripping on the way in counts as bad luck.”
Y/N stared at him until laughter broke from her before she could catch it. The sound leapt up into the cavern, struck the stone, and came back gentler than it had left her. “No,” she said. “Tell him the gods have better things to do than judge his footing.”
“That’s about what I told him.”
“Bring him when the drums stop.”
He nodded and vanished into the dark. The drums slowed. Each beat grew farther from the last until the silence between them became almost unbearable. It rolled through the soles of Y/N’s feet, up into her bones, and out again into the watching stone. Chief Raiden Ahn stepped into the light. His cloak, trimmed with wolf fur, swept across the stone as he moved. His voice carried the weight of long years and longer grief, weathered like bark and heavy enough that she felt it in her bones. Behind him, the wolves emerged silently, one after another, their eyes catching the candlelight and reflecting it back in molten gold. Ahn stopped outside the salt line. His gaze moved over the circle, the candles, the altar, the peonies, and finally Y/N.
“Bless this child.”
Y/N bowed her head. “It will be done.”
The salt flared pale blue. One candle caught, another answered, and light spiraled around the circle. Taehyung stepped into the cavern. He still looked young. Long-limbed, unfinished, his body only just beginning to settle into the strength that would one day seem natural on him. Ritual paint marked his skin. His blond hair had been tied back, though loose strands had already fallen free about his face. But it was his face that held her. Not beautiful in any polished way. Not striking in the practiced manner of those who know the effect they have. Honest. Open despite his fear. Taehyung’s eyes found the altar first, then her, and something in him eased when he recognized her.
“Witch Bridd,” he said.
His voice almost held steady.
“It’s Y/N,” she said.
His eyes flicked up, surprised, before dropping again. “Y/N,” he repeated.
“Come forward, Kim Taehyung.”
He obeyed and stopped exactly where he ought. Namjoon stood near one pillar, watching everything. Jimin lingered in shadow, still and unreadable. Hoseok stood among the others, relaxed in the way only dangerous people could afford to be. Beyond him was Jungkook, large and steady and pretending not to draw attention. When his eyes met Y/N’s, he gave the smallest shrug. Yes, it said. He’s terrified. No, it added. We are not discussing it here. Y/N bit back a smile.
“Kim Taehyung,” she said, and her voice changed. It became older than she was, carrying the rhythm of every Bridd who had stood where she stood now. “You stand before moon, blood, and witness. Do you come of your own will?”
Taehyung swallowed. “I do.”
“Do you come willing to be changed?”
“I do.”
“Do you come willing to be seen as you are and as you may become?”
The air altered. That question always did it. Taehyung blinked. His mouth opened and closed again. The boy in him flinched from it. The man he might be did not. When he answered, his voice was quieter.
“I do.”
Y/N let the silence hold him a little longer. “Enter.”
He stepped into the circle. The quartz veins in the altar caught the light and threw silver along his jaw and throat. His eyes widened, just for an instant, and she saw plainly the child still left in him, standing beside the creature he was about to become.
She lit the sage from the black candle and guided the smoke toward him. “Breathe,” she murmured.
He obeyed too quickly and drew in a sharp, awkward breath. The sound carried. Taehyung froze. Color rushed up his neck and into his face. Y/N kept her expression steady, though laughter pressed at the back of her throat. Somewhere behind him, a small breath of amusement escaped and was swiftly smothered. She set the sage aside and took up the bowl of moonwater. When she spoke again, the language was not entirely human.
“Luum na… umbra vel… Thira ra… kora vel…”
The painted wolves along the walls seemed to shift in the torchlight. Behind Taehyung, the pack lowered their heads. The stone listened. Y/N felt it before she saw anything change. Pressure gathered in the room, subtle at first, unmistakable by the time it reached Taehyung. The old magic moved toward him like water finding a hollow. The scent followed.
Alpha. Iron warmed by sun. Split cedar. Storm air before lightning. It rolled through the cavern, and the pack reacted as one. Several shifted their footing. One drew in a sharp breath. Chief Ahn’s lips moved silently, though whether in prayer or calculation, Y/N could not tell. She did not stop the chant. Her heart struck hard against her ribs, but her voice remained even.
“Ra… ra… thira ra…”
Taehyung did not fight it. His face had gone pale beneath the paint, but he held still. His gaze stayed fixed upon hers as though she were the only solid thing in a room that had begun to tilt. The air tightened until it seemed to hum. Y/N took the bowl of white paint and drew the bone-handled knife.
“Kora na… vel na… thira bind…”
She cut her palm. Pain came bright and familiar. Blood welled up and slipped into the bowl.
“Taehyung.”
He stepped forward. She took his hand and cut his palm too. He flinched, but made no sound. Their blood met in the bowl, red moving through red. Gold flared. Taehyung roared. The sound was raw, violent, and not human. It hit the cavern walls and returned larger, as if the painted wolves had added their own voices to it. His body arched. Bones shifted beneath his skin. His hands twisted, fingers lengthening into claws. His jaw forced forward. Teeth changed. Fur broke across him in a rush.
The cavern filled with blood, ozone, hot fur, and magic. Y/N stepped back, but only one pace. Her place was here, at the edge where violence met boundary. A Bridd did not flee from what she had opened. Taehyung thrashed inside the circle, massive now, pale fur bright in the firelight, eyes burning gold. Power rolled off him hard enough that several younger wolves lowered their heads.
Y/N lifted one hand. “Hesh.”
Heat surged through her veins. It spread from her into him, not burning, but commanding. The wolf convulsed. Bones reset with sharp cracks that echoed through the cavern, and slowly, painfully, he returned. When the light faded, Taehyung knelt before her again, human enough. His hair hung damp around his face. Sweat and strain had blurred the red crescent painted over his heart. He did not lift his head. Y/N dipped the ritual brush into the bowl. Blood and paint had become something luminous. She pressed it to his skin, and the mark glowed and dimmed, sinking beneath the surface as though it had etched itself into him. Her brush moved without thought along his throat, across the vulnerable line of his neck. A shape formed in pale strokes: wings, talons, a beak lifted skyward. Aquila.
The eagle in flight.
“Kora mark… thira bind…”
Taehyung screamed. There was no control in it. No dignity. Only pain. Y/N’s hand trembled, but she kept going. The gods were never satisfied with symbols. They wanted proof.
“Aquila… ra…”
The final syllable left her mouth. The yellow candles died, and blue fire rose in their place. Pain took her. Something tore open in her back. Wings forced their way out, bursting from her in a rush of blood and black feathers, vast and wet and terrible in the blue light. The pain was so great that the cavern vanished for a heartbeat, and only the altar beneath her hand kept her from falling. Yet her voice held.
“For Lustra,” she cried. “For the Moon.”
Chief Ahn stared, his face stripped of its usual calm. The wings dragged at Y/N’s balance. She forced herself upright and reached back with a shaking hand until her fingers found one feather. She pulled it free. Pain flashed white behind her eyes, but she stayed standing and laid the feather on the altar. Its tip glowed blue. For several heartbeats, nothing moved. The feather lifted and changed, condensing slowly, folding light into itself until it became a gem, clear at first, silver after that, with blue-white fire burning at its heart. It dropped into her hands.
Y/N set it beside the feather and spoke again, though her voice had thinned.
“Ra… hesh… ashra…”
Light burst outward, so pure it erased every shadow for one impossible heartbeat. Then it collapsed. Her wings shuddered and folded away, returning to whatever hidden place they came from. A moment later, only blood remained, soaking through the back of her robe. Silence followed.
Taehyung knelt before her, trembling, the new mark bright against his skin. Y/N remained upright by will alone, one hand braced on the altar. The wolves found their voices.
“Bridd!”
The cry struck the cavern walls and came back stronger.
“Bridd of the Moon!”
Voices rose together, old and young, human and wolf and something between.
“Bridd. Bridd of the Moon.”
Y/N managed the faintest smile. Power always took something. Her spine throbbed where the wings had torn through her. Her palm stung. Her legs felt weak enough to betray her. And still, the ritual was not finished. She reached for the feather resting upon the altar. It was smaller now, shaped for a human hand to carry, but it held the same presence: warm, steady, alive. Taehyung lay curled on his side where the transformation had left him, breathing hard. His face nearly undid her. He looked dazed, exhausted, and faintly smug, as though he had met himself at last and approved. Despite the pain, Y/N stepped closer.
“Kim Taehyung,” she said. “This represents your newfound freedom. May you use it wisely.”
His eyes opened. They were clouded at first, but recognition soon sharpened them. He pushed himself upright with uneven care, and she set the feather before him. He stared at it. His body shifted. It was smooth this time. In the span of a breath, a wolf stood where the boy had been. His ears were alert. His posture was keen. His eyes were still Taehyung’s, honest and bright. He lowered his head and took the feather gently between his jaws.
Fur receded. Bone shifted. He was human again, kneeling with the feather cradled in his hand.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
His voice was rough, but full of wonder.
Y/N’s smile softened. “Thank the gods, not me.”
He looked from the feather back to her. “I’ll thank both.”
Someone behind him laughed softly. Taehyung’s ears went red.
“Congratulations, Mr. Kim,” Y/N said.
A howl rose through the cavern.
“Kim! Kim Taehyung!”
The pack took up his name until it became more than sound. It became welcome. Claim. Joy. Taehyung sat at the center of it, overwhelmed and delighted and entirely unprepared to be loved so loudly. Y/N turned back to the altar. If she lingered too long in that warmth, she would begin wanting things a Bridd had no business wanting. The ritual had to be closed. One by one, the candles dimmed. The air loosened. The stone ceased listening. Soon there was only torchlight, resin smoke, and the heavy scent of blood, herbs, fur, and spent magic. Y/N reached back to free her robe where it clung. Blood had soaked through the cloth and cooled against her skin, making her shiver. The wolves barely noticed the cold. Their bodies were made for wind and stone and long winter nights. Y/N had grown up with quilts, hearthstones, and windows shut tight against damp air.
Most of the pack had gone, drawn toward celebration. Taehyung’s name carried through the tunnels and out into the forest, but Y/N kept her gaze lowered. The Bridds stood beside the pack, never inside it. No matter how often her blood mingled with theirs, no matter how many of their children she steadied at the threshold, she remained what she was: necessary, and separate. She changed as quickly as her body allowed. The spare clothes waited in her satchel, folded where she always left them: chemise, shirt, boots. Her back screamed with every movement, but she tied her hair and laced her boots because there was nothing else to do. By the time she stood, pain had climbed her spine and spread beneath her ribs. She closed her eyes and breathed in the cool, damp air.
She gathered her tools. Bowls, brush, cloth, blade. Her hands trembled, but the work gave them something to do. The aftermath always hollowed her out, leaving her feeling like a house after a feast, when all the guests had gone and only overturned chairs and crumbs remained. She closed her eyes and breathed in the cool, damp air.
“You look awful.”
Y/N opened them. She turned, a faint jolt running through her chest. Jung Hoseok stood a few paces away, wearing a gentle smile that eased her nerves the moment she saw it. His brown hair was pulled back, damp from the heat of the ritual, and his dark, steady eyes held the kind of warmth that never felt misplaced.
“Thank you,” she said. “You always know what to say to a wounded woman. No wonder Hyuna married you.”
“I know,” he said. “It’s one of my better qualities.”
Behind him stood Kim Taehyung, Taehyung’s older cousin, tall and thoughtful and composed as always. And beside them stood Park Jimin. Y/N’s heartbeat faltered. She fixed her gaze on Hoseok, refusing to let her eyes linger on Jimin for more than a split second. His stare always carried something sharp beneath the surface, amusement layered over hunger. Shadow shifted, his silver hair catching the torchlight.
“You shouldn’t walk home alone tonight,” Jimin said.
Y/N adjusted the strap of her satchel. “And yet I plan to.”
Hoseok glanced at her back. “You’re already bleeding through the clean shirt.”
She looked down, though she could feel it well enough. Blood had spread across the fabric in the shape of wings.
“How observant,” she said.
“Don’t be difficult,” Namjoon told her.
It should have sounded sharper. It didn’t. That made it worse. A tired laugh slipped out of her.
“I’ll be fine.”
It was only partly true, and all of them knew it. From deeper in the tunnels came Taehyung’s laughter, bright and unguarded. Y/N turned toward it before she could stop herself. It was still his laugh, but lower now, more settled. Something had changed at his center, and for one aching breath, she imagined the rest of the night: Taehyung dragged into celebration again and again, embarrassed and glowing; Namjoon speaking too seriously after enough drink while everyone pretended not to listen; Hoseok making trouble; Jimin watching from the edge of the fire. And herself. Not in the center, but near enough to feel the warmth.
She pushed the thought away. “I should go.”
None of them stopped her.
Hoseok’s smile softened. “I came over here for a reason.”
She doubted that.
“Namjoon and Jimin prepared supply lists,” he continued.
He held out two folded parchments. His voice carried a faint apology, as if he knew he was adding one more task to a night that had already taken too much. Y/N accepted them with both hands and bowed first to Namjoon. He returned the gesture with a small, measured nod. Despite herself, she looked at Jimin. His gaze met hers. Calm. Dark. Unreadable. The space between them tightened in that quiet way it sometimes did, as though both of them had noticed something and neither meant to name it.
Y/N lowered her eyes and unfolded the parchments. “You mentioned supplies? And paper? I heard your wife is visiting her family.”
Hoseok chuckled. “You really do know everything.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes. I added it before Namjoon could accuse me of forgetting.”
Y/N scanned the lists: dried foxglove, lamp oil, salt, thread, a new mortar, bandages, paper, ink, and several smaller notes written in Hoseok’s looser hand.
“I’ll include it,” she said, folding the parchments and slipping them into her satchel. “But I’ll need four days. Tomorrow, and probably the day after, I won’t be useful to anyone.”
“Forget the paper and ink,” Hoseok said. “Rest.”
Namjoon inclined his head. “Our pack remains indebted to you. Take the time you need.”
Y/N bowed again. “Thank you.”
A voice called from farther down the cavern. “Are you leaving without letting the new alpha thank you properly?”
She turned. Jungkook came toward them, one hand lifted in apology to whoever he had left behind. There was laughter in his face, but something softer too. Taehyung followed, wearing a fur-lined mantle too large for him. It swallowed his neck and slid off one shoulder every few steps. He kept hitching it back into place while holding the feather in both hands, careful as if it might break. He saw Y/N watching and straightened. A wince betrayed him almost at once. He tried to compose himself in front of them. It did not work. He still looked like Taehyung, only brighter somehow.
“Bridd,” he said. He stopped, his hand going to the back of his neck. “I, um—”
Hoseok tipped his face toward the ceiling, clearly fighting a laugh.
Taehyung swallowed. “I had words in my head. Better ones than these.”
Y/N folded her arms, ignoring the pull in her back. “That seems unlikely, considering the standard set by ‘um.’”
Taehyung stared at her. Understanding reached him slowly, and his gaze dropped to the feather before returning to her. “I meant…” He drew a breath. “I know you said to thank the gods, but you saw me through it. Thank you for that too.”
The words were plain. That made them harder to avoid. Something in her softened before she could stop it. She was too tired to hide behind distance now.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
No one spoke. The cavern had quieted now that the ritual was done. Torchlight moved over the walls, making the painted wolves seem to shift. Y/N drew the parchment toward her and set her fingers over the sketched path home. Magic stirred weakly beneath her touch. The ink began to shimmer silver.
“I really do have to go.”
Jungkook’s eyes flicked to her back, where blood had started to seep through her clean shirt.
“Come see me and Sol soon, Bridd,” he said. “It would mean a lot to my little cousin.”
There was care in the offer, but no pity.
“I will,” she said.
They dismissed her with quiet nods, already turning back to their muted conversation. She lingered a moment, watching the three of them. Hoseok’s easy laughter softened the last shadows of the cavern. Namjoon’s calm presence anchored the space. And Jimin, luminous and distant, stared at something she could not see. There was a loneliness in his gaze that she could never understand. Turning back to her work, she finished her map with precise, looping lines. She sprinkled a ring of meteor powder around it and spoke the name of her destination.
She pressed her fingers more firmly to the parchment. “Luna, vel na veth. Reth na reth, sol na step, virel patha lenora subeth me.”
The drawn path began to glow. A cool wind rose around her, carrying pine, moss, and night water. The world blurred. Before the light took her, Taehyung spoke again.
“Y/N?”
She looked up. He stood unsteady in the torchlight, marked by magic, his hair loose, the mantle slipping from his shoulder, the feather held too carefully in his hands.
“Yes, Mr. Kim?”
Something shy crossed his face and vanished. He bowed. It was tired and uneven, and because of that, it felt real. Y/N returned the gesture.
“Happy birthday, Taehyung,” She gave him a gentle smile. “And Blessed Yule.”
The passage opened, and silver light rose around her until the cavern, the wolves, the alphas, Jungkook’s quiet warmth, and Taehyung’s changed face all blurred together. When the light released her, she stood at the edge of her clearing.
Her cottage waited ahead, small and dark beneath the moon, its roof edged in old snow and its windows dim as banked embers. Frost silvered the porch rail and the fence posts. The herb boxes beneath the window were reduced to stiff black shapes, rosemary standing woody and stubborn while the mint slept beneath frozen soil. Y/N looked at the porch, then the fence post, then the ground beneath her feet, where her boots had landed in a shallow drift, and sighed.
“Of course,” she muttered. “Twenty paces off again.”
The passage spell always drifted a little, as if the moon had never been asked to concern herself with convenience. Y/N lifted one hand, too tired to be properly annoyed. “Vel na vireth.”
The air pulled tight around her, and in the next breath she stood on the porch. The boards were solid beneath her boots, cold enough that she could feel the chill through the soles. Frost rimed the ivy along the railing, each small leaf glazed in silver. The brass latch gleamed softly in the moonlight, familiar and ordinary enough to make her shoulders drop.
Two hours of freedom remained.
She opened the door and stepped inside. The cottage received her with its usual quiet shift. The boards knew her step, the hinges knew her weight, and even the dark felt familiar, shaped around her by years of returning. She slipped off her boots and set them beside the dried petals along the sill before putting her tools back in their places one by one: the knife, the shawl, the bowls, the pouches. Only when everything was returned to its proper shelf or drawer did her hands go still. Something tugged at her. She frowned.
Something was missing. The thought moved slowly through her exhaustion, carrying with it the memory of the altar, the dying candles, the cavern mouth, and the place where she had set the thing aside for convenience. Her lantern was still in the cave.
“Damn,” she breathed, pressing her fingers to her temples.
She crossed to her desk, and the moonstone orb brightened as she approached. Pulling a scrap of parchment toward her, she wrote quickly.
Mr. Jung,
I seem to have left my lantern in the cave. Kindly return it when you next visit.
Thank you,
Bridd
She folded the note. “Shiloh.”
The barn owl slipped through the window without a sound and settled on the back of Y/N’s chair, her white face turning toward her with solemn expectation.
Y/N smiled faintly. “Payment first.”
Shiloh clicked, offended. “Naturally.”
“Yes, yes. You’re a professional.”
Y/N brought out a small bowl and filled it with crickets from the basket by the stove. Shiloh began eating with quiet satisfaction, and while the owl dined, Y/N tied the note to her leg with gold twine.
“Take this to Hoseok,” she said. “And be polite this time.”
Shiloh gave her a look that suggested politeness remained negotiable, then launched herself back into the night. Y/N let out a slow breath. Something in her loosened, not healed, exactly, but no longer held quite so tightly. She moved to the hearth and coaxed the embers back to life. While the water warmed, she stripped away the remains of the ritual. The outer layers came away first, stiff with drying blood. The paint followed: red from her cheekbones, blue from her temple, black from beneath her eyes and along her throat. She bent over the basin and washed until the water clouded with color. Underneath it all, she was only tired. The wounds on her back had darkened at the edges. They would close. They always did. Not out of mercy, but because the work needed her whole enough to continue.
The kettle whistled, ordinary enough to feel strange. She made tea and sat by the window with the cup in both hands, letting the heat seep into her fingers. The wolves called their blessing both gift and burden. She understood that better than most. The Bridds were bound too. Her time, her power, her body—none of it belonged entirely to her. Her cottage was a sanctuary. It was also a cage.
That thought did not frighten her anymore. It only made her sad in a familiar way. Maybe, when her time came, she would return as something winged: an owl, perhaps, or a raven, some dark little creature that could sit on the roof and watch the world from a distance. The image stayed with her as she stood and stepped back outside.
Moonlight covered the clearing in a hard silver wash. The earth smelled of frost, pine bark, old snow, and the faint mineral cold of frozen stone. Y/N paused at the edge of the porch to look out into the winter dark. Her breath rose pale before her and vanished. For a while, the past felt near. There had been a time when she had been only Y/N. Aldara had allowed that softness: bare feet on the porch, small spells for wounded birds and stubborn plants, lullabies murmured into the rafters during storms. Aldara had smelled of smoke, clove oil, and damp wool. Her laugh had been rough and certain.
“You’ll be greater than I ever was,” she had once said, pride bright in her eyes. “The gods have plans for you, little bird.”
The memory hurt. Those same gods had taken her. One day, they would take Y/N too. She drank her tea and let the bitterness settle. Very few had seen her like this. Hoseok once or twice, arriving too early and pretending not to notice. The Moon, always. Her life had narrowed over the years into something quiet and solitary. An honor, perhaps. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, but the word did not comfort her.
A twig snapped at the edge of the clearing.
Y/N went still. Two pale glints hovered in the dark, and her pulse jumped before understanding reached her. A small smile touched her mouth. She set her cup on the porch rail, where frost had already begun to gather.
“So,” she murmured. “One of you couldn’t resist the stories?”
The brush shifted. At first, she thought it was one of the younger wolves, but the creature that stepped into the moonlight was enormous. Moonlight caught in his fur, turning him silver at the edges. His shoulders were broad, his body heavy with strength, every step deliberate. Nothing about him was careless. Nothing about him was young. Between his jaws, held gently, was her lantern.
Y/N laughed under her breath. “So that’s where you went.”
The wolf stood still while she came down from the porch. She had not bothered with boots, and the frost bit at once through the soles of her stockings, cold enough to make her toes curl against the boards. She ignored it.
“Clever thing,” she said.
He did not move away. His ears were forward, his gaze steady and far too intelligent to be simple instinct.
“Thank you.”
She lifted her hand. It trembled a little, and she disliked that he might see it. He lowered his head and let her take the lantern. His muzzle brushed her palm, careful and deliberate, and her fingers lingered against him.
“You’re softer than you look.”
He nudged her hand again, this time with less patience.
Her mouth curved. “Spoiled.”
She stroked along the bridge of his snout, feeling the warmth beneath the fur. “I’m surprised they let you slip away tonight.”
His gaze dropped. The quiet huff he gave was so sheepish that she stopped and stared.
“Oh, don’t tell me.” Her smile widened. “You snuck out?”
The wolf did not look guilty.
“Bad wolf,” she said, lifting a finger. “What would your alphas say?”
He chuffed and, without warning, rolled onto his back in the frost-dusted grass, legs loose, chest exposed, tail thumping once, then twice, sending little crystals of ice scattering beneath him.
Laughter burst from her, so sudden and bright that it startled even her. “Mr. Park would be disappointed in you.”
The wolf rumbled, pleased with himself, his tail still beating the ground.
“That is hardly fair,” she murmured. “I don’t know him well enough to say that.”
She crouched beside him despite the protest in her knees and back, and when her palm settled against his chest, heat met her hand. Beneath it, his heart beat slow and strong.
Her voice softened. “He’s easier to be around than Ahn, anyway.”
His head snapped up.
Y/N froze. “I mean—” Heat rushed to her face. “That is to say, he’s professional.”
She cleared her throat and scratched behind his ear to avoid saying anything else. The wolf melted. This enormous creature, who had stepped out of the trees like something from an old tale, went loose and shameless under her hand. Y/N laughed again.
“Look at you,” she said, working her fingers deeper into the fur. “Aren’t you sweet?”
His eyes drifted nearly closed. A pleased sound slipped out of him, far too content for dignity. From the oak near the window, Shiloh hooted. Dawn was coming. Y/N exhaled, and regret moved through her with surprising force.
“I have to go inside.”
The wolf’s ears flattened. A soft whine left him, and before she could stand, he pressed his head into her lap as if weight alone might convince her to stay.
Her hand moved over him slowly. “It’s my duty, little wolf. Even I have rules I can’t bend.”
He rose at last, reluctant and quiet. Y/N stood too, brushing damp grass from her knees and skirt, and he followed her to the porch without being asked, a pale weight moving beside her.
She turned to him with one hand on her hip. “Time to go.”
He ignored her.
“Go on,” she said, nudging his muzzle. “Before someone notices you’re missing. Mr. Park will be starting his rounds soon.”
At the name, something flickered in his expression. Mischief, perhaps. Recognition. Then he moved. For something so large, he vanished easily. Moonlight caught his fur once, and the forest closed around him. Y/N stayed in the doorway. Without thinking, she touched the place on her chest where his warmth had pressed through her clothes. The ache surprised her. She stepped inside and shut the door.
The chain moved and wrapped itself back around her ankle. It was cool to the touch and did not warm with her skin. Y/N lit one white candle and set it beside the bed. Its small flame softened the room. Sleep came quickly, and in her dreams warm brown eyes lingered just out of reach. Soft fur moved beneath her hands. Somewhere close, though no fire burned in the hearth, the faint scent of smoke drifted through the dark.
Dawn had already begun its quiet work when Y/N woke. It came not as a grand arrival, but as a pale loosening of the dark. Thin light slipped through the warped cottage glass and spread over the rafters, the walls, the basin, the crooked shelves, the bundles of drying herbs, and the closed book waiting on her desk. Morning, which so often pretended to be gentle, had a cruel habit of revealing what candlelight allowed one to ignore.
Her kitchen was a disaster. The long table had disappeared beneath bottles, root bundles, parchment scraps, twine, wax, spoons, and half-finished work. Some vials were corked and sealed in neat little ranks, as if hoping to be mistaken for discipline. Others stood open, breathing sharp vapors into the room. One narrow bottle still steamed indignantly, like a thing offended by having been created at all. Herbs hung from the beams in uneven bunches. Ironwort had colonized a stool. Parchment littered the floorboards in every direction: lists, calculations, reminders, ratios, warnings, and little notes to herself written in handwriting that had grown increasingly annoyed as the night wore on. Y/N pushed herself upright and regretted it at once. Her shoulders answered with pain. Her neck had stiffened during sleep. Her eyes burned from too little rest and too much candlelight, and her thoughts came limping after her as if they, too, had been up half the night working. She rubbed both hands over her face and stared at the room.
“Luna’s mercy,” she muttered.
A sharper look around the kitchen only made the accusation worse. “What did I do to deserve Hoseok when he’s enthusiastic?”
Hoseok’s request returned to her in awful detail: healing salves, fever tonics, ceremonial paints, wound powders, sleep charms, battle charms, warding sachets, smoke-clearing herbs, and enough supplies to drag two hundred wolves through a winter everyone already distrusted. For most witches, such an order would take a month. Y/N, in a fit of fatigue and foolish affection, had promised four days. She stared at nothing for several seconds.
“Idiot,” she told herself.
Then she set her feet on the cold floorboards and waited for the room to stop tilting. Once it steadied, she tied her hair back with the nearest ribbon, which happened to be blue and already spotted with sealing wax, and got to work. Her body protested. Her hands did not. That was the trouble with hands trained young. They remembered duty before the rest of the body had agreed to wake. Her fingers reached for the mortar, the scale, the spoons, the wax pot, the labels, the quills. They moved with the brisk, insulting competence of servants who had been given orders by a stricter mistress than common sense. Measure. Grind. Pour. Seal. Label. Again.
Her handwriting moved across each square of parchment with graceful calm. Fever tonic, second steep. Yarrow salve, surface wounds only. Do not combine with moonroot.
Sleep resin, one pinch, not two. Her handwriting looked peaceful. It had no right. The smells gathered until the room became a forest, a sickroom, and a storm cellar all at once. Mint. Sage. Ironwort. Silverleaf. She saved the silverleaf for last because silverleaf had a temper. Added too early, it sulked. Added too quickly, it clumped, smoked, and had once stained her ceiling blue for a week. Time lost its edges. Light climbed the walls. The cottage warmed by slow degrees. Outside, birds began arguing with the certainty of creatures who believed the day belonged to them. The cauldron hummed while her knife chopped stems, bark, leaves, and pale roots. The ache behind her eyes sharpened into a proper throb. Her shoulders moved past complaint and into open rebellion. When her fingers trembled as she reached for a vial, she breathed through it and kept going.
Seal. Label. Stir. Pour. The knife slipped and caught the side of her fingertip.
“Ah—damn it.”
She dropped it. The blade clattered across the table and stopped beside the cutting board with an air of innocence. A narrow line of red appeared on her skin. Y/N stared at it, too tired to be properly angry, and pressed the finger to her mouth. Salt. Iron. Warmth. She left the knife where it lay and turned away before she could convince herself to finish one more vial. At the window, she pressed her forehead to the cool glass. Outside, the world looked offensively untouched. Mist drifted among the trees. The sky was not blue yet, only less black. Birds called with the cheerful confidence of creatures who had never negotiated with gods, winter stockpiles, pack debts, or chains.
She closed her eyes. She needed to stop. Not because the work was done. It was nowhere near done, and that was precisely the problem. But the work had begun taking more than she could spare. A witch who ignored that kind of arithmetic was likely to wake later and discover she had made poison instead of medicine, or a sleep draught instead of heart tonic. Or, in Cordelia’s unfortunate case, cough syrup that turned every cough into a small flock of sparrows for exactly ten minutes. Y/N straightened and whistled.
The sound cut through the trees. Shiloh did not come at once, which meant she had heard and was choosing drama. Y/N waited, arms folded, cut finger tucked into her palm, until pale wings appeared through the thinning fog. The owl glided in from the oak and landed on the sill with an offended hoot, as if summoned from urgent royal business.
“You’re off to Yoongi’s,” Y/N said.
She fastened the little satchel to Shiloh’s leg. “Hellebore, copper leaves, powdered moonroot. Tell him I’m not trading pearls. I’m nearly out.”
Shiloh blinked once, radiating disapproval.
“Yes, I know. He always grumbles.”
The slow blink she received almost made her laugh. She tied the final knot, and Shiloh endured it with royal patience, though before taking flight, the owl brushed one wing lightly against Y/N’s cheek.
Y/N softened at once. “Yes. Thank you.”
Shiloh lifted into the morning haze and vanished between the trees. The cottage quieted again. Not completely. It never did. The cauldron murmured. Herbs clicked softly in the draft. Somewhere beneath the shelf, a trapped bubble escaped last night’s tincture with a tiny plup. But the room could hear itself think now. Y/N turned back. Hoseok’s order had conquered nearly every surface: stacked jars, steeping basins, sorted bundles, inventory pages cramped with notes. Namjoon’s list sat folded near the scale. His requests were practical, of course. Burn salve. Joint rub. Restorative powder for old injuries that turned mean in the cold. Sensible things from a man who understood that survival was often less about glory than maintenance, less about grand victories than keeping what was already damaged from breaking further.
Jimin’s list was different. His parchment waited at the edge of the desk, where she had set it aside three times and picked it up four. A potion to shift without pain, portable suppressants for heat, and strangest of all, a camouflaging elixir to blur not only the body, but the soul’s reflection. That troubled her. Pain relief, discretion, mobility—those she understood. But blurring the soul meant concealment. Fear, perhaps. Desperation. Or preparation for something one did not wish even the unseen things to notice. Whoever had written the request knew enough of her craft to walk her right to its edge.
That was why Aldara’s grimoire now rested on the desk. Y/N had not opened it since Aldara died. Dust lined the clasp. The old leather still smelled faintly of lavender oil, parchment, and old magic. Her hand hovered over it longer than necessary before she opened it. The pages sighed. Aldara’s handwriting stared back at her, sharp, slanted, and unforgiving. The margins were crowded with warnings.
Do not substitute white toad for marsh toad unless blindness appeals to you. Silver binds faster in winter. Y/N’s mouth twitched. She turned the pages until she found the recipe, and it was just as unpleasant as she remembered. Swamp toads, dried and powdered only after the moon had fully left their skin. Crushed moonstone, sifted through silk. Dawn’s breath caught in dew before sunrise. The balance had to be exact. A lesser hand would make sludge. A hasty one would make fumes. An arrogant one, according to Aldara, might briefly rearrange their face. Y/N rubbed the space between her brows.
Some ingredients could not be conjured from even the best-stocked cottage. Thelma’s son, Enver, might answer if the message reached him, if he was sober, if the swamp had not taken his boots, and if he did not mistake urgency for an invitation to vanish for three days. Enver treated reliability as a vulgar trait. For that reason, Y/N trusted Delinah more. The gentle doe sometimes came to the clearing with dew-soaked herbs caught in her antlers, accepting fruit or salt in trade. Forest creatures were dependable in ways witches rarely managed. They forgot only when frightened and lied almost never. The fog lifted. The cauldron murmured. Magic thickened the air until it shimmered whenever she crossed the room. Y/N worked.
There was no elegance in it. Real work stained cuffs, cramped fingers, burned eyes, and left a woman talking to the cauldron simply to remember that she still possessed a human soul. The spells came in practical murmurs. Steady the silverleaf. Cool the oil. Bind wax to skin. Keep moonroot from clouding. Her voice grew rough from constant half-whispers. Her eyes burned from steam, smoke, bad light, and Aldara’s cramped notes. The cut on her finger stung whenever she touched salt or resin. Small injuries were the most irritating kind: not enough to stop her, but enough to accuse. Her back ached too. Beneath her shirt, where the old magic wounds were still healing, pain pulsed low and steady. Not urgent. Not dramatic. Impossible to ignore if she allowed herself to notice.
So she did not notice. She kept working because Hoseok’s request filled every corner like an affectionate dog that had mistaken the cottage for its own; because Namjoon would not complain if his supplies came late, which somehow made her more determined not to disappoint him; because Jimin’s list sat in her mind like a splinter. Because four days had been a foolish promise, and now she could not bear to break it. Shiloh called. Relief moved through Y/N so quickly it nearly weakened her. She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to the window, almost catching her hip on the table. Shiloh landed hard on the sill, feathers puffed in mild irritation.
That meant Yoongi, weather, or waiting. The sky was clear, so Y/N blamed Yoongi. A small sack hung from Shiloh’s talons. Beside it was a folded letter, smudged and scented with smoke, salt, and road dust.
“From Yoongi?” Y/N asked.
Shiloh dipped her head in a manner that implied the answer should have been obvious. “Who else?”
“No need to be rude.”
“You’re unbearable in the mornings.”
“I learned from you.”
Y/N opened the letter. Yoongi’s handwriting spilled across the page in elegant slants, always surprising from a man who lived among crates, marsh roads, salt sacks, and questionable suppliers. He wrote like a court musician and cursed like a dockworker.
Y/N,
Several items were unavailable. The sea witch coven bought most of the hellebore and moonroot for their summer rites. You’ll have to barter with them yourself. Tell them I sent you. They owe me a favor or two.
—Yoongi
Y/N let her head fall back and groaned at the ceiling.
“Of course they did. When do they not?”
She could picture it perfectly: sea witches buying every usable bit of moonroot for some tide ritual or midsummer blessing dressed up as civic virtue. Sea witches were fond of making selfishness sound communal. Shiloh blinked at her.
“Yes, yes. Complaining is not procurement.”
The owl did not move.
“All right, Shiloh. Let’s make you useful again.”
Shiloh became suspicious at once. “What now?”
“You’re going to Jin’s.”
Y/N reached for parchment and wrote quickly.
“Seokjin?” Shiloh clacked her beak.
“Yes. Do you know another Jin?”
The owl puffed herself nearly twice her size. “I don’t like his dog.”
“He’s a puppy.”
“He attacks me every time I go there.”
Y/N tied the note to Shiloh’s leg while the owl sulked with impressive dedication.
“I need those herbs,” Y/N said. “Jimin’s order won’t finish itself.”
Shiloh gave a long, theatrical groan.
“Go now, and I’ll let you take the night off. The marsh is yours.”
That gave the owl pause. The marsh meant frogs, private gloom, no messages, and gossip. Morla, the hundred-year-old tortoise in Moland’s marshes, held nightly meetings with woodland creatures to discuss all of Bestian’s business. It was Shiloh’s favorite thing. At last, she chirped once.
“There’s my girl.”
Shiloh spread her wings and slipped into the air. Y/N whispered a tidying charm, and finished vials rose from the clutter, hovering above the table. Glass clicked softly as they arranged themselves into rows inside woven carrying bags. Corks sealed tighter. Labels turned outward. Drawstrings tied themselves into neat bows. The small islands of order steadied her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, though she was not sure whether she meant the charm, the craft, or her own hands.
She returned to the cauldron. Blue fire flared beneath it when she touched the iron hook and whispered the waking word. The flames lost their orange and yellow, becoming colder and cleaner, and the camouflage potion reached its dangerous stage: the point where the ingredients had stopped being separate but had not yet agreed what they were becoming. Nothing could be rushed. Everything could be ruined. Steam curled upward, green bleeding into gold, gold dissolving into blue, blue thinning almost clear before deepening again. The scent changed with it: sweet, sharp, mossy, metallic. Rain, stone, leaf mold, bitter bark. Outside, sunlight spilled across the clearing, but inside, blue fire and steam made the cottage feel submerged. The potion narrowed toward its most fragile state, and one careless motion could turn it to sludge, smoke, or something worse. Hoofbeats sounded outside.
“Finally,” she murmured.
She wiped her hands and opened the door as Delinah stepped from the trees. The doe moved into the afternoon light, her tawny coat catching gold. She came with the careful grace of a creature that had never forgotten fear but had decided, for the moment, not to obey it. In her mouth, carried with grave importance, was a small glass jar. Inside, three plump swamp toads blinked at the world in deep displeasure.
Y/N softened. “Ah, my little savior. Come in.”
Delinah crossed the threshold, her hooves tapping softly against the floor. She lowered the jar to the table, and relief loosened something in Y/N’s chest. Not only ingredients, then. Company.
“Stir that, please,” Y/N said, nodding toward the cauldron.
Delinah gave one calm nod, took the long spoon between her teeth, and stirred in slow circles. Moss, grass, and sun-warmed bark rose from her coat, softening the harsher smells in the room. Y/N pulled on worn gloves and turned to the jar. The toads stared back. One blinked slowly.
“I know,” Y/N murmured. “I’ve tried everything else. Snails, mushrooms, lotus, those awful silver worms from Yoongi’s marsh box. Nothing works like you do. I’m sorry.”
The toads did not protest. Whether from resignation, stupidity, or amphibian wisdom, she could not tell. She laid two fingers against the glass and began the sleep spell. It was a soft, circular charm, meant to carry rather than seize. One by one, the toads gentled. Their throats slowed. Their blinks lengthened. Delinah kept stirring, steady as a small brown spirit of the forest, while Y/N lifted the toads free. They were cool, damp, and disturbingly trusting. She lowered each into the cauldron with care. The surface hissed, and pale green steam twisted upward. The air changed at once. Magic thickened, lifting the hair along her arms and pressing at her ears. The whole cottage seemed to lean toward the cauldron. Even Delinah slowed, eyes widening.
“Here,” Y/N said, taking the spoon. “I’ve got it.”
The chant came easily, as if it had been waiting behind her teeth. Aldara’s words slid from her tongue, old and metallic. They did not sound like poetry. They sounded like instructions passed down by people who had survived. The potion answered. Steam tightened. The bubbling changed pitch. The green deepened, brightened, cleared. Y/N leaned closer, stirring in smaller circles.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Just a little more.”
The green thinned toward gold, then clear. Light bent over its surface in impossible angles, and Y/N’s hand stopped. For one perfect second, the room held still.
She breathed out. “It worked.”
Delinah startled, then steadied.
Y/N turned and threw both arms around the doe’s neck before dignity or pain could stop her. “It worked, Dee. It finally worked.”
Laughter spilled out of her, bright and sudden. For one ridiculous second, she pressed her face into Delinah’s warm coat and breathed in grass, bark, and living forest. Delinah endured the embrace with patient dignity.
“Good job, Y/N,” she said, calm and low.
“Thank you,” Y/N said. “Truly. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She meant it. Still smiling, she crossed to the woven sack by the cupboard. Inside were crisp cabbages, two turnips, and parsley roots wrapped in cloth.
“Your payment.”
Delinah peered into the sack, tail flicking with approval. “I’ll hold you to the apples next time.”
“You will,” Y/N promised.
She scratched behind one velvet ear, and Delinah leaned into it just enough to admit she liked it without surrendering her dignity.
“Safe travels, beautiful.”
The doe stepped back into the trees. One moment she was there, tawny and sunlit; a breath later, the forest had taken her. Y/N stood in the doorway a little longer, smiling like a fool. One impossible thing had become possible. The cauldron waited behind her, along with the finished vials, the tied bags, and the mountain of work still left to do. For the first time that day, the room did not feel ready to swallow her. It felt like something she might finish. The workshop remained crowded. Parchments covered every flat surface. Open jars lined the shelves. Mint and wormwood brushed her hair when she moved too quickly. Spoons, pestles, scales, uncorked bottles, ribbons, wax scraps, tags, herbs, powdered root—everything looked needed and abandoned. It should have been unbearable. Instead, with the finished potion sitting clear in the cauldron, the clutter gained shape. It was no longer chaos. It was aftermath, and aftermath meant survival. Y/N peeled off her gloves. Her joints protested. The cut on her finger tugged. Magic clung to her skin in silver-blue dust.
“Finally,” she whispered. “Something goes right.”
The potion did nothing. That was miracle enough. It had settled into perfect clarity. No clouding. No sediment. No oily refusal at the edges. Smooth as glass, faintly lit from within. A small miracle. In a world that usually demanded twice the effort for half the reward, small miracles were enough to make a woman smile at a pot. Exhaustion remained in her spine, behind her eyes, and in the tremor at her wrists, but excitement threaded through it now. She reached for the ladle.
The potion flowed into narrow bottles one by one, clear and smooth, substantial enough to matter but light enough to look almost unreal. Some bottles seemed to hold moonlight. Others appeared empty until turned, when pale brilliance shifted beneath the surface. She lined them up evenly. Order soothed her, even when she pretended otherwise. Corks followed, and resin came after. She warmed it in a spoon and sealed each bottle with glossy amber rings that smelled of pine and lavender. Care mattered. Success was skittish. It could still be ruined by pride. Her gaze lifted toward the rafters. Half of her expected a delayed hiss, a crack, some malicious little pop from the blue fire.
“No explosions this time.”
From above, Shiloh gave a skeptical hoot. Y/N looked up. The owl perched along the beam with the grave expression of a judge. Lamplight turned the edges of her feathers gold.
“Oh, don’t start. You’re never letting that go, are you?”
Shiloh blinked slowly. They both remembered the summer warding dust that had filled the cottage with glittering smoke and turned Shiloh’s cream feathers gray through an entire molt.
“Fine,” Y/N said. “I’ll test it myself. Relax.”
Shiloh did not relax. Y/N worked on. Her body found a second rhythm. Not desperate now, but looser. Almost calm. The low fire crackled. The forest breathed through the windows. Glass chimed softly under her hands, and the cottage breathed with her. She had always thought so, even as a child. Perhaps not literally, though with magical houses it was best not to be too firm about such things. It shifted with her moods. Settled when she settled. Tensed when she did. The table held the quiet evidence of her habits: jars, rain-cleaned bones, quartz shards, broken buttons, river-worn caps, sea glass from Yoongi. Useless, beautiful leavings. Aldara had once laughed at them.
“A crow’s heart,” she had said. “Always gathering what the world leaves behind.”
Since Aldara’s laughter left these rooms, collecting had become Y/N’s way of filling the silence. She cut silver twine with the bone-handled knife and tied it around a finished box. The ends curled into tiny spirals.
“Beautiful,” she murmured.
Boxes lifted in a slow drift. Golden light flickered at their edges as ribbons tightened into bows. Her sigil appeared on each lid in black ink: a small bird mid-flight. The details came last. Along the edges, she painted Aquila in silver strokes. The constellation brightened faintly as the ink settled. Unnecessary, perhaps. Decorative. But she could never send her work into the world complete in chemistry and unfinished in spirit. Afternoon bent toward evening. Lamplight softened over wood, glass, sealing wax, and loose strands of her hair. Each parcel felt like a small offering. Practical, yes, but still an offering. Labor wrapped, sealed, and sent toward hands, paws, dens, wounds, fevers, births, and battles she would likely never see. She tucked folded cards inside the boxes.
For healing and renewal. Brewed beneath the blessing of Luna Sol. Simple words. Carefully written. Guidance slips followed, cut from thin paper. Each held a minor charm. A touch would wake it and lead the bearer to her doorstep if they sought her properly. Those beyond her pathwork would be redirected to Yoongi’s cottage deep in the woods. She pictured him at once: humming over some endless pot, elbow-deep in kelp or marsh reeds, looking as if he were thinking of three things and disappointed by two. The image eased something in her chest.
She was not entirely alone in this work. That mattered more than she liked to admit. If she could not go far, then what she made could. That had to count for something. Only one stack remained. Jimin’s.
It sat apart at the far edge of the table, as if the room knew not to crowd it. Plain brown paper. No ribbons. No bird sigil. Nothing bright. Nothing warm. Only Aquila, painted in silver across the top. Her mark. Her thumb brushed the ink, and the cool surface left a warmth she did not want. She could not decorate them further. Anything more felt too intimate. Too soft. Too close to something she had no intention of naming. Plain was sensible. Professional. Respectful. Plain kept hands on their proper side of the threshold.
Her thoughts betrayed her at once. Jimin’s dark, steady eyes. The careful weight of his voice. The quiet restraint in him, always suggesting more than he said. It mattered more than she wanted it to. Not because he had asked for something difficult. Many people did. Not because he understood too much of her craft. That had happened before. It was something else. Some strange chemistry of attention and distance her mind had no business revisiting over a stack of parcels.
“Plain is best,” she murmured. “Simple. Professional.”
From above came a small chirp, precisely amused.
Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Oh, hush.”
Shiloh looked smug.
“You’d tease Aldara herself if she were here.”
The owl ruffled and turned away, announcing victory without a word. Y/N smiled despite herself. The cottage always felt warmer with Shiloh in it. Not louder. Shiloh was not made for noise. But inhabited. The owl filled the quiet where Aldara’s laughter had been. Even sarcasm was company if it chose to stay.
“Did you go to Jin’s?” Y/N asked, straightening a stack of boxes she had already straightened twice.
Shiloh snapped her head around. “No. I refuse.”
Y/N raised her brows. “You refuse?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you go?”
Shiloh turned toward the open window and presented one immaculate shoulder. Silence stretched until even the herbs seemed to be waiting.
“I ate a mouse and came back,” the owl said at last. “It was large. I needed to rest.”
Y/N stared.
Then she folded her arms. “Would you prefer to sleep outside?”
Shiloh huffed, beat her wings hard enough to make the herbs sway, and launched through the window.
“Coward,” Y/N called after her.
The forest did not respond. The quiet she left behind settled gently. Not empty. Only full of things unsaid. Y/N exhaled and braced both palms against the table. The wood grain grounded her. Outside, leaves whispered, frogs called from the wet ground, and wind slipped through the clearing. Her gaze returned to Jimin’s parcels. Aquila glimmered faintly in the lamplight.
Almost like it was winking.
“Plain is best,” she said again.
Even to her, it sounded uncertain. She left them untouched. The day dimmed beyond the windows. Cloud covered the sun, muting the clearing. Bright greens deepened. Shadows gathered beneath roots and steps. The air shifted with moss, damp bark, and the metallic sweetness of coming rain. Y/N stood there with aching hands and burning eyes while fatigue moved through her in slow waves. Beneath it, order held. Order kept her steady when everything else felt borrowed. She had always been meticulous, as Bridds were supposed to be. Aldara had called her messy. Griselda, if she had ever stepped into this workshop, would likely have demanded a cleansing rite for the shelves alone.
The thought made Y/N smirk. She was the Bridd now. If the others cared so deeply, they were welcome to rise from whatever celestial bookkeeping occupied them and clean the place themselves. The bell above the door chimed. Y/N froze. The ribbon in her hand slipped to the table. The sound rang through the workshop, small and clear.
Footsteps crossed the entry floor. She did not need to look. Jung Hoseok had a way of entering a room before he fully entered it. Warmth seemed to come with him, easy and steady, changing the air without asking permission. Y/N’s heart knocked once against her ribs. She hated that. She brushed dust from her apron and turned toward the table before he could see her face.
“Good afternoon, Hoseok,” she called, pleased when her voice came out steady.
The pleasure lasted half a second. Several half-sealed bottles trembled as her nerves spilled magic into the room. Glass shimmered. Corks wobbled. One label began peeling away as if personally offended. Y/N lifted a hand without looking, and the corks slid into place and settled with soft pops.
“You’re early,” she said. “The orders aren’t finished. Mr. Park’s requests are… particular.”
That last word was restrained enough to be polite. Parchment rustled in the draft. Magic hummed around the table, tying ribbons, closing boxes, straightening labels.
“Once my familiar returns with the herbs,” she added, “everything will be ready.”
Hoseok stepped into the workshop with his usual easy smile, completely unbothered by the enchanted disorder. Sage, cold air, and sun-warmed leather followed him in. A voice came from behind him.
“I apologize for the strain I’ve caused you.”
The room changed. The voice was low and controlled. The ribbons went slack. Boxes settled with soft thuds. Even the blue fire beneath the cauldron dimmed. Y/N’s breath caught. She turned too quickly, pain pulling at her healing back, and bowed at once.
“My deepest apologies, sir,” she said. “I didn’t realize—”
Hoseok laughed.
“Don’t look so frightened, Bridd,” he said, clapping his hands once. “He won’t bite.”
Y/N stayed bent a moment longer than necessary, forcing herself steady before she lifted her head. Park Jimin stood beside Hoseok. His silver hair was tied back neatly, not a strand loose. He wore simple dark clothes, undecorated, which should have made him less noticeable and somehow made him more so.
“Mr. Park,” she said.
He inclined his head, only slightly, but nothing about the gesture felt careless. His gaze met hers for one brief instant before moving past her to the workshop: the cauldron, bottles, herbs, papers, and work spread across every surface.
“You’ve been busy,” Hoseok said, brushing dust from a shelf with a hand that had no interest in cleaning. “The gods would forgive a delay.”
“Perhaps,” Y/N said, straightening. “But I’d rather not test their patience.”
Hoseok’s mouth tipped at one corner. Jimin said nothing. His silence was not awkward. It simply sat there, deliberate and contained.
Hoseok leaned one hip against the counter. “How long until your owl returns?”
“I’m not sure,” Y/N said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “She’s gone to a friend’s cottage. It could be an hour. Or two, if she decides to be difficult.”
Hoseok smirked. “Aren’t your kind meant to be infallible?”
A tired laugh slipped out of her. “That was my mentor. Compared to her, I’m deeply dysfunctional.”
Hoseok laughed softly. The room warmed with it, but Jimin remained still. His attention flicked toward her, sharp and thoughtful, and Y/N felt it low in her stomach before she could stop herself. All Bridds were chosen. That was what the old women said. What the rites said. What the wolves believed. Bridd magic was not learned in the ordinary way. It was placed in the body before the body could object. Aldara’s gift had been clean and refined. Silver and shadow. She spoke with owls, the moon’s oldest messengers, and through them caught glimpses of what had not yet happened. Not all futures. Never that. The gods were not so generous. But threads. Tendrils. The first signs of weather forming in human lives. Wolves knew it in her. They lowered their heads when she entered, sometimes without meaning to.
Y/N had never been like that. Her magic was rougher. It belonged to dirt, rain rot, fox dens, roots, and bark. She spoke to anything living: beetles under stones, birds in the canopy, rabbits frozen at dusk, stags crowned with antlers full of burrs and leaves. Life answered her easily, as if the world had mistaken her for kin. There was another gift too. The one she would have refused. She spoke to the dead. Aldara had called it a gift for the worthy. Y/N had never believed her.
The first time happened when she was seven. She remembered cold first. Not winter cold. Not weather. Something intelligent. Something that knew where to go inside a child. Something slipped into her. There was no kinder way to say it. After that, the memory ended. They found her hours later, barefoot in the forest, speaking in a voice that was not hers. She did not remember the words. Others did. No one ever repeated them. When she woke, too many faces surrounded her. Silent. Afraid.
When she woke, too many faces surrounded her. Silent. Afraid.
Aldara was crying without sound, tears running in steady lines down her face. That frightened Y/N more than the headache, the mud on her legs, or the blood beneath one fingernail.
Sleep frightened her after that. Dreams had doors. Not all of them closed just because morning came. Even now, spirits found her. They whispered through roots when the ground was turned in the wrong place. They waited in the stillness before storms. They brushed her awareness when the world grew too quiet. She had learned to ignore them the way one ignores chronic pain or bad weather.
Still, when Jimin looked at her, something filled her chest that she refused to name.
She did not let herself dwell on him. That was the rule, though she broke it often enough in private. It was foolish to want someone like Park Jimin. Embarrassing, even. He was spoken of with lowered voices and clean respect. A warrior. A man built for danger without needing to announce it. Someone meant to be admired from a distance because standing too close made people too aware of themselves.
And yet, however sternly she scolded herself, Y/N’s thoughts always wandered back to him.
She had first met Park Jimin twelve years ago during Yule, though on the 21st during her aunt’s annual bonfire rather than the 28th.
Snow had come softly that year. It had begun while the house was sleeping, falling without fuss or thunder, laying itself over the world as if some kind hand had wished to hide all the sharp edges before morning. By dawn, the path outside Aldara’s cottage had vanished beneath a white hush. The ruts were gone. The stones were capped with snow. The old wall near the herb beds wore a neat white crown, and every bare branch of the orchard seemed to have been drawn again in silver.
“Almost there,” Yoona had called, giggling as Y/N shoved the tree’s stubborn trunk inside. Auntie barked orders from her chair like a general. “Mind the table, girl. And if you break that lamp, you’re trimming branches for the next fifty winters.”
Y/N remembered it clearly. Some memories fade because they are not needed anymore. Others remain bright and cold, preserved by the heart because it cannot bear to let them go. That Yule had remained. The tree, of course, had been too large. Everything important in Aldara’s house had always been a little too large for the room meant to hold it: grief, laughter, arguments, winter stews, recipes, expectations, and the old woman’s terrible confidence that things would fit if everyone simply stopped complaining and pushed harder. Y/N had dragged the evergreen halfway across the yard by herself before admitting she might need help. Her boots slipped in the snow. Needles scratched her wrists. The tree left a deep green trail behind it, and from somewhere in its branches, clumps of snow fell down the back of her collar. The cottage door flew open. Warmth spilled out in a golden rush, carrying the smells of citrus, clove, cedar smoke, and something sweet baking far too close to the stove. Aldara’s voice came after it, sharp enough to cut the cold.
Seokjin Kim came around the side of the trunk with both hands gripping a lower branch and the expression of a man personally insulted by labor.
“This,” he muttered, lifting, “is deeply unnecessary.”
“Every year you say that,” Y/N said.
The door widened again, and Yoona leaned out, already laughing before she had even seen the whole disaster.
“Twitch, if you get stuck in the doorway again, I’m not helping you explain it to Aldara.”
“You say that now,” Y/N said.
Yoona Min looked so much like Yoongi that even then it sometimes made her pause. Time had gathered softly around Yoona’s mouth and beneath her eyes, but it had only made her face kinder. She had the sort of beauty that seemed less concerned with being looked at than with making a room feel forgiven. The trunk scraped against the frame. Branches caught on the latch. One side jammed, and Jin muttered something that was almost certainly profanity and would have earned him a cuff from Hoji had she been nearer.
“Lift,” Y/N said.
“I am.”
“You’re doing it wrong.”
“Are we discussing technique now?”
Aldara appeared from the inner room wrapped in three wool shawls and wearing a look of deep personal irritation. “No. Twist it.”
Yoona had to brace one hand against the wall from laughing. “Lift the bottom and turn the top,” she said. “Jin, stop glaring at it.”
The trunk lurched. Jin swore. Yoona shoved with both hands. Y/N pulled, slipped, recovered, and at last the whole prickly thing staggered through the doorway like an unwelcome guest invited by mistake and too rude to leave. Y/N stepped back and stared at it.
Jin stood beside her, hands on hips. “It’s crooked.”
Aldara narrowed her eyes at it, considering the matter with all the gravity of a judge. Her nod came sharp and final. “Perfect.”
And that was that. The boxes came out smelling of dust, clove, and cedar, tied with faded ribbon and labeled in Aldara’s hard, neat hand. They had slept all year in the upper cupboard and now emerged like old friends waking from a long nap. Ornaments spilled into waiting hands: glass birds, straw stars, dried orange slices, carved wooden moons, sprigs of holly tied with twine, and silver bells small as thumbnails. Yule had always belonged to Aldara. Not because she owned it, but because she understood it. In her cottage, Yule was never only decoration, never merely a feast or an excuse for candles. Pine boughs over the windows invited endurance. Cinnamon in the wassail argued for sweetness because winter asked too much. Holly at the lintel warned away ill luck. Orange peel near the hearth promised that even in the longest dark, brightness had not died. Orange and pine filled the air first. Cinnamon and rosemary followed. Aldara brewed the wassail in the iron pot with the seriousness of a priestess and the suspicion of a woman who knew everyone around her had poor judgment.
Yoona hummed while she wove cedar into bundles at the table. Every so often, she straightened an ornament, rescued one from the dog basket, or tucked a loose curl behind Y/N’s ear without seeming to know she had done it. Outside, the sounds came in pieces: an axe striking wood, Yoongi cursing when a log rolled somewhere he did not want it to go, Taejin laughing after that, low and broad as a door swinging open. Hoji Kim stood over the stove with her sleeves shoved high and flour on one cheek, holding a wooden spoon as if she were one inconvenience away from declaring war on pastry itself.
“Who moved the cloves?”
“Nobody,” Aldara said from her chair.
“They’re not where I left them.”
Yoona laughed without looking up. “Blue jar beside the dried figs.”
Hoji checked. A beat passed.
“Found them.”
Aldara gave a satisfied little hmph. Hoji muttered about tyrants and kitchens and returned to her spoon.
Yoona glanced over. “Twitch, did you make something new this year?”
Y/N’s head came up at once. “Of course.”
Yule, for all its old sacredness, had also become Y/N’s yearly chance to make something strange, careful, and entirely hers. Not useful, necessarily. Usefulness was the tyrant of ordinary days. Yule allowed for things that existed because they were lovely, or funny, or because someone had spent time making them with love. This year, it was a hedgehog made from a pinecone.
Yoona gasped. “It’s adorable,” she said, reaching for it with both hands. “Look at his little face.”
“He’s meant to be serious,” Y/N said, though she was already smiling.
Hoji leaned around the corner. “Isn’t she something? She’s always been the best at Yule.”
Auntie grunted, which for her was high praise. “If she doesn’t set the cottage on fire this time, I might even let her keep it.”
Y/N grinned, unbothered. The warmth in the room felt like a blanket pulled over her shoulders. Taejin and Yoongi came in at last, bringing cold air, woodsmoke, and snow clinging to their coats. Taejin stamped his boots and shook snow from his hair with the dignity of a large dog wronged by weather. Yoongi followed with two more logs and the expression of someone who had argued with the sky and lost.
“You took your time,” Aldara said.
Yoongi lowered the logs with exaggerated care. “We considered moving south and never returning.”
“You’d be back by supper.”
Taejin leaned down and kissed the top of Hoji’s head as he passed. She shoved cups into people’s hands with brisk affection. Jin surrendered after three separate glances from Yoona and allowed her to reposition two of his bells. Aldara declared the wassail ready, then accused everyone in advance of not appreciating it properly. Yoongi said he could smell too much clove. Aldara told him he could drink in silence or freeze outside. Taejin laughed and drank.
“Finish up, Duckling,” Aldara said after a while, straightening her smudge sticks. “Cori will be here soon.”
Cordelia was the head of Wendy’s coven, though saying only that was like calling fire a kind of light. Some people carried solemnity with them. Cordelia carried permission. Y/N had loved her the way children sometimes love grown women who seem freer than the rest of the world. Cordelia laughed too loudly, drank too honestly, blessed things with one hand and insulted them with the other, and walked into rooms as if apologizing to them would be an insult. Half the valley had been bewitched by her, and the other half had been offended. Often, they were the same people. Her hair was part of the problem. Or part of the miracle. It was red like rowan berries under frost, like fox fur in autumn sun, like a hearth when the log collapses and the embers show. Shiloh hated it. Or rather, Shiloh hated wanting it.
Once, while snow tapped against the window and Y/N mended a ribbon by candlelight, Shiloh had said, “If I were ever cursed into human form, I would demand hair like Cori’s.”
Y/N had looked up so fast she nearly tangled the thread. “Demand?”
“Yes.”
“From whom?”
“Whoever was responsible for the curse. Do keep up.”
Y/N had laughed, already knowing there was more.
“Not that I want anything else about her,” Shiloh added at once. “She’s loud. She drinks too much. Her magic is undisciplined. And she laughs in public.”
“Truly unforgivable,” Y/N played along.
“But the hair?” Shiloh had resumed eating. After a long silence, she said, with complete honesty, “The hair is excellent.”
Remembering it now, with firelight on the beams and sap drying in the air, Y/N smiled.
“Thelma might come this year,” Yoona said, tying ribbon around a cedar bundle.
“She had a baby,” Hoji said from the stove.
“She found a baby,” Aldara corrected.
Yoona paused. “Is there a difference?”
Aldara laughed. “Only if you ask the birth mother.”
Outside, the snowfall deepened. For now, the feast waited in pieces: pickled onions, preserved plums, roasted bird, glazed ham, winter vegetables, and the pear tart Yoongi had sworn would be better than last year’s, which meant it would probably collapse at the center out of spite. Soon Winona would arrive with her women. Wendy, they still called her. The name had stayed from childhood, though she had grown into Winona in every other way. Wendy lingered in her laughter, in the way people softened when they said it, in the bright carelessness with which she entered a room and somehow made everyone in it feel both amused and forgiven. But Y/N had gone still. Only half the ornament in her hand had been painted gold.
“Auntie?”
Aldara’s head lifted at once. For all her sharpness, there was never a moment when Y/N’s voice shifted quieter and Aldara did not hear it.
“Yes, my love?”
Y/N hesitated. “What’s a Santa Claus?”
The room paused. Not fully. Hoji still stirred. The fire still cracked. Yoongi muttered at his fox ornament. But something in the air shifted, because children’s questions have a way of walking straight into adult matters wearing innocent shoes.
Aldara snorted hard enough that the rosemary nearly slipped from her hands. “A kinder, less real version of Krampus. Why?”
“Jin told me a story about humans in a market in Leeside talking about him,” Y/N said, frowning. “I don’t understand. Do they not believe in the gods?”
“They do,” Aldara said, grinning now. “Some of them.”
“Why don’t they celebrate them like we do?”
Taejin answered from across the room. “Some do. Some don’t. Everyone has their own way, Ducky.”
Jin shouted from the kitchen, scandalized. “Celebrate nothing? How?”
Taejin chuckled. “They just do.”
“Stupid tradition,” Yoongi muttered from his corner, trying to fix a wooden fox whose tail kept falling off.
At the side table, Yoongi made a face while working on a wooden fox whose tail had declared independence several times already.
“Stupid tradition,” he muttered.
“Yoongi Min,” Yoona snapped, swatting him with ribbon. “You will make up for that attitude tonight.”
“Yes, Mom,” he said, already leaning out of range with a grin.
“Honestly,” Yoona huffed, though her eyes were warm. “Why can’t you be more like Ducky? She loves Yule.”
“I don’t want to be like Y/N,” Yoongi rolled his eyes. “I prefer Mabon.”
Color rose in Y/N’s cheeks. She refocused on her star, letting a whisper of magic carry it upward toward the top of the tree. Out of all the stupid nicknames she’d gathered over the years, Yoongi had only ever called her by her name. Every time he said it, something inside her chest tightened and softened all at once. It was not love, at least not something she could name or pin down. It felt more like the moment before a fire catches, the breath before laughter, the way a bird opens its wings just slightly to test the air. She had never told Aldara. Barely admitted it to herself. Yoongi was her friend. Her closest friend, perhaps, aside from Jin. He knew her habits, her tempers, the little rituals of making and mending that helped her hold herself together. That should have been enough.
Wendy liked Yoongi. Wendy liked everyone, of course. But she laughed longest at his stories, and Wendy was beautiful. Y/N knew that as simply as she knew the moon was bright. Wendy was the sort of beautiful that did not ask permission to be noticed. Y/N was not Wendy. Her skin held olive beneath winter light. Her dark curls never behaved for longer than an hour. She had never thought of herself as pretty, not beside girls who seemed to belong so easily to being seen.
Why would Yoongi ever—
She stopped herself. Around her, the cottage lived. Jin returned from the kitchen carrying a tray of bells like sacred objects. Taejin reached up and fixed the drifting star near the top of the tree. Hoji tasted the pie filling, swore softly, added more salt, then denied swearing when Yoona laughed. Aldara began telling a story about the year Cori arrived drunk on pear liquor and blessed the wrong house. Yoongi still held the fox.
“Y/N,” he called out. “The tail keeps falling off,” he said, handing her the fox with perfect seriousness.
“That’s because you used too much glue.”
She adjusted the tail, and the fox gave a faint click.
“There.”
Yoongi turned it over, testing it. “See? This is why I keep you around.”
Y/N hoped no one could hear her heart.
“For ornaments?” she asked.
“For being nice,” he said. “Thank you.”
His hand slipped into hers. Neither of them looked at the other. Pine filled the room, sharp and clean. Firelight moved over the walls. Yoongi’s hand stayed in hers, warm and steady. Yule had always been her favorite. Moments like this were why.
“Did you make anything this year?” she asked quietly.
They were only twelve, but Yoongi had never quite felt like the others. His eyes stayed with you. Dark brown. Watchful. Searching. As if he had already learned that the world hid things and meant to find them before they found him. A small spark lit there now.
“Yeah,” he said. “You?”
“I always do.” Her grin came back. “What did you make?”
“I made three preserves,” he said, pride slipping through despite himself. “Apple, orange, and cranberry.”
“Three?” She turned fully toward him. “Look at you.”
“Gran says I should experiment more.”
“She’s right. You should.” She added, “I made anklets. For the coven.”
“Wendy’s family is weird.”
Y/N snorted. “So are we.”
From the kitchen came the mouthwatering smell of roasted chicken, and Yoongi’s attention snapped toward the oven like a wolf catching scent. Yoona pulled a steaming bird free with practiced motion, and Yoongi immediately honed in on it, eyes bright with hunger. Auntie, as always, would stick to wassail and sweets. She had insisted for years that meat made her sluggish, and a sluggish witch was a dead witch. Griselda disagreed loudly, but Griselda was not there to argue.
Y/N herself loved the feast, juicy turkey, buttery rolls, vegetables roasted until caramelized. Jin caught her glance from across the room and raised a brow, sharing her anticipation. Feast night was sacred. Y/N loved the feast.
Across the room, Jin caught her eye. Feast night had its own kind of reverence. Outside, Shiloh chattered in the branches. She never seemed caught between things. Never divided. Never pulled by longing in one direction and duty in the other. Y/N had always envied that. When Shiloh finally earned the reincarnation she often spoke of, Y/N hoped it would be a bright life. A wide one. She hoped, most of all, that Shiloh would get red hair like Cordelia’s.
Night deepened at the windows. Outside, the bonfire was lit. Inside, Aldara’s laughter rang out, loud, bright, impossible to ignore. Y/N stood in the middle of it and let it fill her. The tree shimmered in the corner, lights like a small constellation caught indoors. Yoongi’s hand still rested in hers.
It felt like belonging.
“I see Cori and the others,” Taejin called from the window.
Jin and Taejin moved at once, clearing space in the kitchen. Aldara abandoned her seat to stack presents with surprising efficiency. Hoji and Yoona wrestled the Yule log into place, nearly dropping it twice and blaming each other both times. Yoongi slipped away long enough to arrange plates with intense focus, as if precision might keep the chaos from spilling over. The room buzzed, alive and bright and almost too much.
Thelma had not come that year. Relief moved through Y/N before she could stop it. Thelma’s son was a storm in human form: sticky hands, endless questions, and a talent for vanishing at the worst possible time. Delivering his gifts later would be much easier than chasing him through the house tonight.
The door opened, and Wendy’s coven swept in with the snow. Dishes appeared everywhere. Pies bright with sugar. Roasted vegetables heavy with herbs. Breads wrapped in cloth. Jars of preserves. Bottles of something that made Aldara narrow her eyes on sight.
“Now that,” Aldara said, “is how you arrive.”
Their Yule log followed, if it could be called that. It was a cake, layered and elaborate, crowned with flickering candles.
Aldara stared. “That is a fire hazard.”
“It’s festive,” someone said.
“Try it first, Aldara, " another called out.
She did.
Suspicion gave way to reluctant approval. “Fine. But if the house burns down, I’m blaming all of you.”
Heji Kang came in behind the others, snow on her cloak and laughter still in the air around her. At a glance, she and Hoji were identical. But only at a glance. Hoji softened a room by existing in it. Voices lowered around her. Edges dulled. Warmth settled. Heji sharpened everything she touched. Her smile had mischief in it. Her eyes dared the world to be dull. To anyone paying attention, the difference was obvious.
“Miss me?” Heji asked, brushing snow from her sleeves.
“Not even a little,” Hoji said.
She pulled her into a quick, tight embrace, one hand cupping the back of Heji’s head with the automatic tenderness of family.
Heji huffed a laugh against her shoulder. “Liar.”
“Absolutely,” Hoji said, letting go, though her hand lingered a moment longer on Heji’s arm.
“What time’s the bonfire?” Wendy asked, already bright with excitement.
“After dinner and gifts,” Y/N said.
Her eyes drifted across the room, searching for Aldara without meaning to. Aldara was the center of things.
Wendy lit up. “Oh! I got you and Yoongi something.”
“And Jin?” Y/N asked, flat on purpose.
Wendy’s face twisted with theatrical annoyance. “Mom made me make him a necklace.”
Y/N bit back a smile. Across the room, Jin went still.
“Handmade?” he called, trying not to sound interested.
“Yes,” Wendy said, not looking at him. “I barely tried though.”
Taejin laughed into his cup. Heji’s mouth twitched, and Hoji shook her head as if she had watched this exact scene a hundred times and expected to watch it a hundred more.
Wendy turned back to Y/N, lowering her voice. “Do you think Yoongi will like it?”
“What is it?”
“A pot,” Wendy said, then winced at herself. “For cooking.”
Y/N studied her for a moment before smiling. “He’ll use it.”
And he would. Whether Yoongi would understand what Wendy meant by giving it was another matter entirely.
Wendy exhaled in relief. “Good. I was worried it was too practical.”
“Yoongi likes practical.”
“That’s because he’s boring,” Heji said, drifting closer.
“He’s not boring,” Wendy said at once.
From across the room, Jin did not look up from whatever he was pretending not to listen to. “He makes preserves for fun.”
“It’s a useful skill.”
“Lifestyle,” Jin said.
“Skill,” Wendy snapped, and then, before sense could stop her, added, “It’s attractive.”
The room seemed to notice. Heji’s brow lifted. Jin went still. Wendy pushed her hair back too hard and turned away, muttering that everyone was mean, while Y/N rolled her eyes to herself. Some things never changed; they merely found new ways to embarrass everyone involved.
Outside, evening gathered. The bonfire had been lit beyond the trees, its glow flickering against the windows, and inside the room grew warmer and louder, restless with anticipation, until Aldara clapped her hands.
“Enough. Living room, all of you, before someone eats half the table and calls it an accident.”
Yoongi, halfway too close to the rolls, muttered, “That’s specific.”
“That’s experience,” Aldara said.
Yule had a way of making space where there should not have been any. Somehow, everyone fit among the chairs, cushions, baskets, parcels, firewood, discarded ribbons, and cups of wassail balanced in places no cup should have trusted. Yoongi’s apple butter made Y/N grin the moment she opened it. Warm cinnamon and cooked fruit rose from the jar, and the twine around the lid was tied so neatly she knew he had redone it at least twice. Jin gave her a thick sweater, slightly uneven but clearly made with care, then admired it for half a second before suggesting they trade.
“You’re not getting it back,” she told him.
“You haven’t heard my offer.”
“I don’t need to.”
She gave Yoongi his necklace in return, healing stones strung carefully, each one chosen with him in mind. “For when you forget to take care of yourself.”
“I never forget.”
Y/N looked at him.
He considered. “Not often.”
Jin’s gift followed: pressed white flowers preserved in resin, the petals catching the firelight like frost. He studied it with grave concentration before announcing that it was “extremely nice,” which, for Jin, was nearly emotional. Wendy adored her anklet at once and demanded that everyone look properly, not merely glance in its direction. Yoongi accepted the cooking pot with polite seriousness, turning it over in his hands and testing the weight.
“This is good,” he said. “I’ll use it.”
Wendy’s smile came quickly, bright with relief, and Y/N looked down before the ache in her chest could become anything less private. Then Wendy stepped closer with Y/N’s gift. The room had been loud and moving, but something quiet settled between them when Wendy held the parcel out with both hands.
“For you,” she said.
The paper was warm from Wendy’s palms, the ribbon tied too tightly and uneven at the knot. Y/N loosened it carefully instead of tearing it away. Inside was a painting of a magindara, her scales not one blue but many: deep-water blue, green-blue, moon-blue, storm-blue. The lines were imperfect, but it did not matter. The creature looked alive. Y/N’s breath caught.
“Oh,” she whispered.
She looked up, and whatever Wendy saw on her face made the girl’s usual brightness soften into something shy.
“It’s my way of saying thank you,” Wendy said. “For teaching me how to paint.”
“It’s so pretty,” Y/N said, her eyes filling with tears.
“Art’s subjective,” Heji murmured.
Wendy shot her a look, but Y/N was still staring at the careful strokes, at the labor in them, at the sweetness of being seen by someone who had taken the trouble to make something with her own hands.
“Wendy, I love it,” Y/N said.
Wendy’s shoulders dropped, some hidden tension finally leaving her.
“It’s not as good as what you would’ve done,” she began.
“Don’t say that,” Y/N’s voice was gentle, but firm enough to stop her. “It’s perfect. I’m going to hang it in the cellar near my desk, where I can see it every day.”
Surprise flickered across Wendy’s face, then warmth.
“Thank you,” Y/N said again.
The bonfire called them outside. They stepped into the cold, breath pluming silver. The fire roared to life, orange, gold, radiant, sending sparks up into the dark sky like prayers searching for a home. Auntie excused herself, shifted effortlessly into her bird form, and perched on Hoji’s shoulder, her feathers glowing white in the firelight.
Chairs scraped, voices rose, and someone laughed too loudly as Taejin called from the door, “Outside, before it burns down without us.”
Aldara slipped away without announcement. One moment she stood among them; the next, feathers unfolded in a quiet rush, and a small white owl settled on Hoji’s shoulder as if that had always been the plan.
“Comfortable?” Hoji asked.
A soft chirrup answered.
“Good.”
Outside, the fire roared, but the cold never quite settled around them. Jin stood beside his mother, though his attention kept drifting toward Wendy, who hovered near him with great determination not to hover. When he accused her of standing too close, she said she was not touching him; when he said she was thinking about it, she told him that was not illegal. Heji snorted. Hoji hid a smile. Something tapped Y/N’s knee.
Yoongi had found his way back to her without announcing himself. He rarely did. “You going to be all right?”
Y/N tried to nod, but it did not convince either of them. He knew. Of course he knew. Her gift, unwanted and unasked for, left doors open she could never fully close, and tonight, under the full moon, those doors felt wide. The veil had thinned. The dead were near, watching and waiting with the patience of things that no longer measured time properly.
Her breath caught. Yoongi’s hand closed around hers, warm and solid and real.
The world steadied.
“If it gets worse, tell me,” he murmured. “Don’t push through it.”
“I won’t.”
He did not let go. Taejin stepped toward the fire without hurry, simply standing there until the crackle of flame and the hush of winter quieted everyone around him.
“On this night,” he began, “when the dark stretches longest and the year begins to loosen its hold, we gather. Not by chance. Not by habit. By promise.”
The wind stirred faintly.
“We remember those who came before us: the ones who lit their fires against the same dark, who stood where we stand, prayed into the cold, and trusted something would hear. We do not stand alone. They are here in the roots beneath us, in the breath of the forest, in the quiet places between heartbeats.”
Aldara shifted lightly on Hoji’s shoulder. Hoji tilted her head, making room for her without thinking.
“We honor them not only with silence, but with living,” Taejin said. “With laughter. With stubbornness. With the refusal to let the light go out. Yule is not the absence of darkness. It is the defiance of it.”
That struck deeper.
“We stand at the longest night and say: this is not the end. We light our fires so the sun remembers its way back. We share what we have so none of us faces the cold alone. We carry forward what was given to us, so those who come after us do not walk unprepared.”
He lowered his hand. “To those who came before.”
The cheer rose around the fire, and Y/N’s voice joined it before thought could interfere. Then her attention drifted back to the flames. They moved strangely, not wild, not random, but intentional. Calling. Her hand trembled.
Yoongi noticed at once. “Y/N.”
The voice came from somewhere else, not through her ears. Cold pressed into her, and her breath stopped. Not tonight, she thought. Can this wait?
There was a pause. Not absence. Patience. Then her breath returned, and when she opened her eyes, the fire was only fire. Close enough.
Cordelia laughed and stepped forward, bright and irreverent enough to save them all from the weight of what had almost happened. “Gods above, Taejin, if you get any more solemn, the ancestors are going to start correcting your phrasing.”
A few people laughed in relief. Even Taejin huffed and shook his head.
Cordelia clapped her hands. “You’ve had your moment. Now it’s mine. Enough standing around like we’re waiting for permission from the stars. It’s Yule, not a funeral.”
“Some of us appreciate the quiet,” Jin muttered.
“And some of you have the personality of a wet paper bag,” Cordelia said, holding out her hands. “Come on. You know the tradition.”
Heji stepped forward first, laughing. Taejin joined, then Hoji, then Yoongi after only a brief hesitation. His fingers slipped from Y/N’s reluctantly.
“Don’t go far,” he said.
“I won’t.”
Wendy darted in after him, nearly colliding with Heji and catching Yoongi’s sleeve to steady herself. Jin came last with a sigh that suggested deep personal suffering, placing himself beside Wendy while leaving enough space between them for dignity, resentment, and several unspoken feelings. The circle formed around the fire. Not perfect. Not precise. Complete.
Cordelia grinned once, then moved. A step. A turn. A shift to the left. The others followed, and her voice rose somewhere between singing and speaking.
“Hark,” she called, “hear the children sing—”
Heji joined, then Hoji, and Yoona’s softer voice grounded the rest. The song grew fuller. Y/N stood at the edge until Yoongi glanced back as the circle passed, loosening his grip just enough to reach.
“Come on,” he said, already breathless. “You’re not getting out of this.”
His fingers closed around hers and pulled. The dance took her. Yoongi caught her hand and spun her gently. Her cranberry skirt flared around her ankles, catching sparks of firelight as she twirled. She stumbled into Jin, who barked out a laugh and lifted her clean off the ground before setting her down again with a dramatic flourish.
“He is here this Yuletide time!” Jin declared, theatrical and entirely unashamed. “A-dancing in the home-fire flames!”
“Put me down,” Y/N laughed, though she barely tried to escape.
He spun her once and set her down with exaggerated care.
“Idiot,” she said, still smiling.
Above them, Aldara circled. Y/N looked up, and everything softened: the fire, the laughter, the voices, the old ache beneath her ribs. Aldara moved against the dark sky, bright and free. The dance loosened. Hands slipped apart. Steps broke into smaller movements. The pattern dissolved into scattered warmth as a fiddle struck up and someone laughed. Cordelia dragged Heji into a faster reel. Hoji pretended not to enjoy herself while her foot betrayed her. Yoongi had already been caught by Wendy, who tugged at his sleeve until he gave in with a small, resigned smile.
“If I trip, it’s your fault,” he said.
“Thank you, Yoongi.”
He steadied her automatically, one hand finding her elbow before the rhythm pulled them both in. Across the clearing, Jin watched. He did not bother hiding it.
Y/N stopped beside him. “You’re going to glare a hole through Yoongi’s head.”
“I just don’t get it,” Jin pouted. “He’s short and not as good looking.”
Y/N, instead of arguing with him, decided to just be kind.
She held out her hand. “Dance with me.”
“I don’t need pity.”
“I don’t feel bad for you. I’m trying to keep you from making it worse.” She wiggled her fingers. “Come on. You can suffer alone, or dance with me and suffer less.”
He looked at her hand, then sighed. “Fine. But if you step on my foot—”
“You’re the worst dancer in the group. Move.”
The music caught them. Y/N stepped into it easily, her body finding the rhythm without thought. Jin followed stiffly at first, too careful, too annoyed, too aware of Wendy’s laughter nearby; but the music wore him down. His grip loosened. His steps settled. Once, he glanced toward Yoongi and Wendy, bright and easy in the firelight, and something in him gave. He looked back at Y/N and focused on the dance. She noticed, but she was kind enough not to say so.
“Aye, Ducky!”
Y/N turned, laughing before she even found Cordelia in the firelight. Cordelia stood with one hand on her hip and the other lifting a mug like a command. As a child, Y/N had stolen stones from Cordelia’s garden. Cordelia had caught her, of course. Cordelia caught everything. The nickname had stayed.
“Yes, Cori?”
“More wassail.”
Hoji offered to help, but Auntie’s wassail recipe was sacred, and Y/N was the only one trusted to recreate it precisely. Even Yoongi, kitchen witch extraordinaire, knew better than to interfere. Y/N slipped into the cottage.
Auntie’s cider was already simmering in the cauldron, humming with spices and old magic. Y/N peeled apples in long curls, the skins falling in red ribbons. She sliced oranges and released the fragrance of sunshine trapped in rind and pulp. A curl of apple skin hung from the knife when the first coldness crept in. She froze, the knife suspended midair. Her breath stilled in her throat.
The presence seeped in around her like a shifting shadow, brushing against her consciousness with a cold, searching touch. She braced herself and closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry…”
The voice did not come through the room. It slipped into her, thin and distant and frozen. The world lurched. Color bled at the edges of Y/N’s vision, and wood and stone bent around her as if the cottage had softened and begun to fold. The knife slipped from her hand, though she did not hear it fall.
A shriek tore through her mind.
Pain exploded behind her eyes. Her hands flew to her head, fingers pressing hard as if she could hold herself together by force alone. “No—” she gasped, but the floor shifted beneath her. She staggered, struck the table with her shoulder, and fell. Stone bit into her side, cold and sharp, but the pain inside her skull was worse.
The kitchen came apart around her. Shapes moved beyond her, blurred and wrong, like figures seen through fogged glass. The air thickened with burnt wood and blood, and her body felt wrong—too heavy, too slow, as if she had been dropped into something that did not fit.
“I—”
The word broke. A cry came out instead, and the world slipped away. When she woke again, she could barely keep her eyes open.
Voices moved above her, close enough to touch and too distant to understand. Fire snapped somewhere nearby. Wood shifted inward with a low crackle. Small hands brushed against her sleeve, her shoulder, her hair.
“What is it?” someone whispered.
“A girl,” another voice said. “Obviously.”
“She needs help!”
“If we tell Mama, she’ll tell Chief Ahn. You know how he is about outsiders.”
“She’s not an outsider,” the girl said, offended. “She’s hurt.”
Y/N whimpered, and the girl gasped softly.
“We can get oppa,” she said, and when the boy hesitated, her voice sharpened with panic. “Then get your oppa.”
Footsteps ran off through the dark.
“Hyung!” the boy shouted. “Hyung!”
His voice carried into the trees, and when it faded, the silence felt heavy. Something small and warm touched Y/N’s hand. Only her pinky. A child’s fingers wrapped around it, trembling but determined.
“Don’t worry, miss,” the girl whispered. “We’re getting help.”
Y/N wanted to answer, but she couldn’t. Her eyes slipped closed again, and through the fog of pain she heard the girl beside her get up and run after the boy. She thought of Auntie, of her ridiculous orange turtleneck and the matching embroidered tops they had made together for Yule. Y/N had loved hers, white thread winding through pine-green fabric like branches across a winter sky.
Now that same shirt was soaked in mud, smeared with leaves that clung like cruel decorations. She sobbed harder. She did not want Auntie to see her like this. The sobs came harder then, not from the cold, not the pain, not even the fear, but from the thought of Aldara seeing her like this, covered in things she could not fix.
“I don’t—” she tried.
The words collapsed. She had no idea how long she lay there crying before warmth touched her hand and jolted her back to herself. When she opened her eyes, a large silver wolf stood over her.
It did not bare its teeth. It only lowered its head and rested its warm nose against her shaking hand, and the warmth reached her at once.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The wolf shifted closer, placing its body between her and the cold. It was enormous. It should have frightened her, but it didn’t. She had only known wolves through Aldara’s warnings: neighbors, not allies; creatures to respect, not trust. And yet this one offered warmth without asking anything in return.
“My name is…” She swallowed. “I’m the Bridd.”
The wolf tilted its head, and recognition moved through the moment, fragile and incomplete.
“I can talk to animals,” she whispered. “All of them. But you…” She studied its face. “You can’t talk back, can you?”
The wolf blinked slowly, almost apologetic.
Her chest tightened. “Can you turn into a person?”
The wolf shook its head.
“Please?” Her voice thinned, small and miserable. “I want to go home.”
Nothing.
“Fine,” she snapped, more harshly than she meant to. “I’ll go on my own.”
She pushed herself upright, ignoring the weakness in her limbs. The wolf rose with her. It did not block her, did not herd or hurry her. It simply walked beside her as she took a few unsteady steps.
“Stop following me,” she muttered.
It didn’t. She barely made it three steps before the wolf froze. Its ears pricked. Its whole body went tense, attention locked on something deeper in the trees.
Y/N stopped breathing. “Wolf?” she whispered. “Wolf, what is it?”
At first, she thought it was a trick of the light. Then the shape sharpened: a ring of white mushrooms waiting between the trees, too even to be natural, faintly luminous in the dark. A Saelin circle.
“We shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “If we cross it, or anger them, or—”
“Yeah, I know.”
She spun so fast her vision blurred. A boy stood at the tree line. He looked her age, but there was something older in the way he held himself, an easy confidence and the settled weight of someone used to being obeyed. His hair, an impossible shade of silver, caught the moonlight as though it belonged to it. His eyes glowed faintly, feral shadows shifting in their depths.
Recognition tugged at her memory, names Auntie had muttered and wolf hierarchies she had ignored, but none of that mattered. Relief surged through her like a breaking wave.
“Wolf!” she cried, stumbling toward him.
He stiffened. “That’s not my name.”
She sniffed and tried to steady herself. “Then what is it?”
“Jimin.”
The name meant nothing to her yet. Only the boy mattered—the fact that he was real, standing there in the dark instead of vanishing like everything else.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
The question opened the memory again: red eyes, cold, blood, the voice inside her head. Y/N’s breath hitched.
But she already was. “I want to go home,” she cried. “I want Auntie. I want my house.”
He did not interrupt her. He only waited until the worst of it passed, then asked, quieter now, “Can’t you fly home? You’re the Bridd, right?”
“I… no.”
His brows drew together. “But you said you were.”
“I am.” She wiped her face with the heel of her hand. “It’s complicated.”
A thin, breathless laugh slipped out of her. Everything about this was complicated: her magic, the voices, the wolf that was not a wolf, the boy who was not only a boy.
“Let’s say I’m next in line,” she said at last. “I’m Y/N.”
Jimin nodded. Not as if he understood. As if he accepted that she had given him what she could. Something inside her steadied. She was not helpless, not entirely. This was her forest. She had grown up under these branches, learned their twists and moods the way other children learned stories. If she could get her bearings, she could get home.
But the forest was wrong tonight. Too still. Too quiet. Even the insects, those tiny pulses that made up the heartbeat of the woods, had gone silent. It felt as though the whole forest had swallowed its voice. She sniffed the air. No trace of swamp water. No salty whisper from the distant ocean. Only pine, bark, and a stillness that raised the hairs on her arms. She guessed west. She hoped west.
She drew a careful breath and chose west, or hoped she did.
“We’re west, if you were wondering,” Jimin said.
She blinked at him. “How can you tell?”
He shrugged, glancing around. “Dry wind. Moss is thicker on the north side of the trees. My father made me memorize it. Guess it stuck.”
She followed his gaze, trying to see what he saw. East was worse. North was manageable. She traced the paths in her mind, half memory and half instinct, looking for something certain.
“We could keep going west and cut around,” Jimin said.
She snorted. “Sure. If you want five pixies riding you like a pony by sunrise.”
He blinked.
“Never mind.”
A strange warmth moved through her chest. Keep him safe.
The thought startled her enough that she looked away.
“Lilith,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “Keep him steady. Keep him close.”
The woods felt as if they were testing her, pressing in, looking for weakness. Her magic answered with a small curl of flame along her skin.
Jimin slowed. “Whoa.”
Y/N’s magic had never been refined like Aldara’s. It wandered. It questioned. It got distracted. But tonight, for once, it behaved. With each step, the forest seemed to breathe again, though she wondered if the creatures kept away because of Jimin. The thought made her smile.
“Jimin,” she said, stepping over a fallen log, “do you ever get lonely out here?”
“No.” He glanced toward the trees. “It never feels empty. Even without animals.”
“I only asked because it must be sad,” she said. “Having the forest run away from you.”
“I never thought of it like that.”
Branches scraped against him as they walked, but he did not flinch. He moved through the woods as if he belonged there.
“Y/N.”
She turned, brushing a leaf from her hair. “Hm?”
He hesitated. Moonlight caught the faint color in his cheeks. “What kind of bird are you?”
The question surprised a laugh out of her.
“I don’t know,” she said, smiling as she looked ahead again. “Maybe a raven. Or a sparrow. Something small and quick. My familiar thinks so. Auntie says I’ll be a swallow.”
His smile came slowly, crooked at one corner. “Then we have something in common.”
The words were simple, but they stayed with her.
“We don’t shift,” she said, quieter now. “Not until the Bridd before us passes on.”
“Wolves always shift,” Jimin said. “But the wolf we are doesn’t show until the ceremony.” He nudged the dirt with the toe of his boot. “Probably a beta. My family’s never had an alpha. Or a male omega. I don’t think that’s going to change with me.”
Y/N slowed and looked at him more carefully. He moved quietly. Carefully. Not like someone empty. Like someone waiting. He saw himself as ordinary. She didn’t.
She forced her voice back into something easier. “Looks like we’re close.”
The air shifted. The forest softened into something she knew by instinct.
“We’re near Jin’s house,” she said, relieved.
Jimin moved a little closer, tension settling into him now. He might not have noticed it, but she did.
“It’s all right,” she said. “We’re there.”
He swallowed. “Y/N, I don’t think I can go any farther.”
“Why not?” she asked, though she already knew.
“Chief Ahn says wolves shouldn’t cross deeper into witch territory. Ever.” His voice lowered. “He says it’s dangerous for both sides. And we’re not supposed to go near the Bridd’s home unless we’re invited.”
She stared at him.
“That is stupid.”
He blinked.
“Chief Ahn doesn’t rule these woods,” she said, hands on her hips. “And I’m the Bridd. That means this counts as an invitation. Aldara will cover for you.”
Something in his face shifted, as if no one had ever spoken for him so plainly before. His smile was small, but real.
“All right,” he said. “Lead the way.”
That was all it took. Y/N knew Auntie would lecture her later, something about treaties, ancient boundaries, and how wolves and witches were supposed to keep to their own corners of the world. But she could not bring herself to care. Not tonight. Not after a boy with moonlit hair had walked beside her through the dark as though she mattered.
She wanted him to see the fire. She wanted him to hear the songs. She wanted him, just once, to dance with her. Maybe then she would understand why Wendy always begged Yoongi for dances. Maybe if Jimin enjoyed himself, he would come back. They could be friends. But even as the thought formed, she felt how childish it was. Wolves never came to the cottage for pleasure. They came for business, messages, treaties, deliverables. Mr. Jung, old and steady with streaks of silver threading through his brown hair, was the one who usually knocked on their door. Sometimes an older woman came in his place, though Y/N had never learned her name.
There would be no reason for Park Jimin to return to her meadow. Tonight would be the last she saw of him for a long time. Maybe forever. And depending on his age, something she had not had the courage to ask, Aldara would be the Bridd presiding over his ascension into adulthood. When that time came, it would not be Y/N greeting him. Whoever took over for Mr. Jung would. Auntie had told her the boy’s name once, starting with an H, but Y/N had not remembered the rest. Laughter reached them before the clearing did. Firelight followed, flickering between the trees, gold catching on bark and snow. Warmth spilled through the woods.
Aldara’s cottage glowed at its center, windows bright against the dark. The bonfire burned nearby, flames rising as witches moved around it. Laughter tangled with music. Sparks lifted into the sky. Relief hit Y/N all at once.
No one seemed to have noticed she was gone. Not Yoongi. Not Jin. Not Wendy. The music had kept going. The world had continued without her.
Only Aldara knew. As if called by the thought, Aldara’s voice cut through the clearing.
“Y/N!”
A flash of white broke from the trees. Y/N ran to her. She did not think. She only moved, and Aldara’s feathers were against her cheek, soft and real, wings folding briefly around her shoulders.
“You’re safe,” Aldara murmured, relief sitting beneath the reprimand. “I was worried, Duckling.”
“I’m okay,” Y/N whispered. “I’m home.”
Aldara’s gaze shifted past her to where Jimin stood at the edge of the clearing, caught between shadow and firelight.
“Tell him I’m grateful,” Aldara said. “Thank him for protecting you.”
Y/N turned back. Her throat tightened.
“She says thank you,” she called. “Truly.”
Jimin bowed. Not quickly. Not out of habit. Aldara inclined her head in return, and something passed between them—not words, but something older and quieter. When Jimin straightened, a faint flush had risen along his cheeks, as if the gesture had meant more than he expected. Y/N wanted him to stay. She wanted him to step into the firelight, take a mug of wassail, wrinkle his nose at the spices, hear the stories, laugh, and understand what this night was. But the forest had rules.
So did wolves.
“He needs to go,” Aldara said gently.
Y/N nodded, though it felt heavier than it should have.
She turned to him. “Thank you. For helping me.”
His smile flickered. “You’re welcome.”
“All right,” she said, drawing a breath. “This might feel strange, but it’ll get you home quickly.”
His eyes widened. “You’re using magic again?”
“A little. Stand still.”
He did. Immediately. The forest listened. The wind paused. Light folded in on itself and shaped into a doorway, soft and bright as sunrise.
Jimin exhaled. “That’s incredible.”
“Go on,” she said.
He lingered, as though there were something else he might say if he knew how.
“Happy Yuletide.”
“Happy Yuletide.”
He stepped through, and the light closed behind him.
“He’s a nice boy,” Aldara said from behind her. “He looks so much like his mother.”
Y/N stood still, watching the place where he had been. She had never met his mother, but Aldara rarely said things like that without reason. She tried to imagine someone like Jimin with longer hair, carrying that same quiet steadiness, but the image refused to settle.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Aldara asked, gliding down from her branch. “You seem a little down, little bird.”
“I’m okay,” Y/N said quickly. “Just cold.”
Aldara watched her a little longer before letting it go.
“Go play with your friends,” she said, nudging Y/N’s shoulder with one wing. “Don’t let this spoil your favorite night.”
Y/N nodded, but the words did not settle. She wished he could have stayed. She wished, sharply, that she could be more like Aldara—steady, certain, untouched by wanting things she could not keep. Maybe then her feelings for Yoongi would not feel so tangled. Maybe the disappointment in her chest would not sit so heavily, with the knowledge that she might never see Jimin again.
Near the fire, Taejin and Yoona were singing at the tops of their voices and with not a scrap of skill between them.
“You’re flat!” Yoona declared in the middle of a verse, laughing so hard that the tune broke in her mouth.
“I’m enthusiastic,” Taejin shot back, then missed his next line entirely and sang the wrong words with great confidence.
Heji had doubled over with laughter, one hand pressed to her stomach and the other braced against Hoji’s shoulder. “Please stop,” she gasped. “Or don’t. Actually, keep going. This is incredible.”
Aldara had settled among them again in owl form, which had been a mistake. She perched upon the back of a chair with the stern dignity of a queen enduring exile, while one pinecone after another was balanced on her head by unseen magic.
“Don’t you dare,” she warned as another pinecone hovered nearby.
“I’m not doing anything,” Yoongi said, in a voice so innocent it condemned him at once.
Heji lost what little composure she had left. Y/N stood at the edge of it all, caught by the strange feeling of stepping back into a world that had continued without her. The fire had not gone out. The singing had not stopped. No one had fallen silent because she had vanished. The snow still shone blue-white beyond the flames, and laughter still rose among the trees as if fear had never crossed the threshold of the night. For a breath, she felt like someone returning from a dream no one else had had.
Then she moved forward, into the warmth, into the noise, into the bright, foolish life of it. Jin sprinted across the clearing with no grace whatsoever, laughing as he nearly tripped over his own feet. Wendy tore after him barefoot through the snow, hair wild, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with outrage.
“Jin! Give those back!”
He spun, holding her sandals high above his head. “Finders keepers, Wen!”
“I’ll show you finders keepers!”
Their threats collapsed into laughter before either of them could make good on them, and Y/N doubled over before she could stop herself. The laugh came out suddenly and almost hurt, as if something frozen in her chest had cracked and begun to thaw. The last of the cold drained from her bones.
A softer voice came beside her. “You okay?”
She turned. Yoongi stood there with his hair mussed, his scarf crooked, and his eyes steady on her. He had the look he always wore when he was trying not to seem too concerned and failing in a way only she seemed to notice.
“I’m fine,” she said. Because he would know if she lied too neatly, she added, “Confused. Did anyone notice I was gone?”
His gaze flicked toward Aldara, who now had another pinecone balanced on her head and looked as if she were plotting murder. “Aldara said you were visiting the animals. I didn’t believe her.”
Y/N snorted. “Definitely wasn’t Patto.”
The truth hovered on her tongue: the forest, the wolf, Jimin. But something in her held the words back. They felt too delicate for so much noise, too private for firelight and laughing mouths. Some things, if spoken too soon, became smaller than they had been.
Yoongi’s mouth curved faintly, as if he had decided not to press. “So, what team are you on?”
“Wendy’s,” she said at once. “She needs backup.”
He laughed. “Of course she does.”
She shoved him lightly and took off toward the chaos. Yoongi lunged after her and caught her before she made it far, pulling her off balance so they both went down into the snow.
“Traitor!” she shrieked, laughing as the cold bit through her clothes.
Yoongi only laughed harder. His hair fell into her mouth, and she sputtered, shoving at his shoulders as she scrambled upright.
“Winona!” Y/N called, breathless and grinning. “I’m on your team! Yoongi betrayed us!”
Wendy lit up immediately. “That scurvy dog!”
Yoongi brushed snow from his coat with great dignity. “I did no such thing.”
“You absolutely did,” Y/N said.
Wendy was already after Jin again. He moved through the firelight with infuriating ease, laughing as though being hunted by a barefoot girl wielding righteous fury was exactly how he had hoped to spend the evening.
“Enough pirate talk, Ningyo!” he called.
“You can’t even spell that!” Wendy shouted back.
Y/N laughed until her sides hurt. Snow clung to her hair and lashes, melting against her cheeks. She could still feel her heart fluttering from what had happened in the woods, but the sound of the others softened it, wrapping it in something warm enough to bear. Guide him home, Luna, she thought. Keep him safe.
“Happy Solstice, Jimin,” she murmured.
The name vanished into the night.
“Y/N!” Wendy shouted. “Get him!”
Y/N’s eyes flew open. She grinned and ran. Jin saw her too late, and while he shouted betrayal, Wendy swept in and snatched her sandals from his hand, smacking his arm with them for good measure.
“I was borrowing them!” he protested.
“You were stealing.”
Yoongi dropped beside Y/N in the snow, and she leaned into him without thinking, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. His warmth settled around her. New Year’s Day was eleven days away.
The thought drifted through her lazily, with no sharp edge to it. She remembered how safe this kind of night always felt, how winter seemed to loosen its grip between firelight and laughter. The fear from earlier—the silent forest, the red eyes, the voice in her head—had already begun to fade. Not because it mattered less, but because joy, when it was strong enough, could make even terror wait outside for a while. In that moment, she believed everything would be all right.
She did not know yet that this night would become something she returned to again and again, something fragile, something she would carry like a candle cupped in both hands because it could never be remade. She did not know it would be the last time she felt so light.
The memory slipped away by degrees, taking with it the old Yule fire, the bright sting of snow beneath a winter moon, the laughter that had once seemed impossible to lose, and that peculiar ache of having been young in a season that made the whole world look enchanted. One moment it had all been there, warm and sharp as a song remembered too well; the next it dissolved into the present, leaving only the cottage around her with its lamplight, sealed jars, frost-fringed windows, and the low steady hum of the cauldron working over the fire.
Dried herbs hung from the rafters in brittle bunches, all their summer greenness reduced to scent and memory. Rosemary, sage, sunflower stems, sweetgrass, and winter mint swayed slightly whenever the wind found some crack in the walls and breathed through it. Outside, late December pressed close to the glass. The clearing lay blue with old snow, and bare branches clicked softly in the wind as though the forest were counting down the last days of the year one twig at a time.
Hoseok’s voice cut through the room, bright and easy despite the cold beyond the walls. “You should come, Bridd. Sol’s birthday celebration will be the talk of the pack, and it’s her choosing day besides. Half the dens are pretending not to gossip, which means everyone is gossiping twice as much.”
Wax pooled beneath Y/N’s hands as she sealed another jar. It glowed briefly under her fingers, warmed by the little spell she pressed into it, then cooled into a smooth red stamp. “You wolves and your ceremonies,” she said. “The Goddess makes the choices. Not your speculation.”
Hoseok wagged a finger at her, his grin all warmth and mischief. “Speculation is half the fun. Don’t ruin my Yule week.”
“It’s December twenty-eighth. Surely you’ve had enough fun by now.”
“Never,” he said, with complete sincerity.
She laughed, though her thoughts had already wandered somewhere quieter. Fate-bound love. Souls drawn together by something divine and unbreakable. A love chosen not by longing, chance, loneliness, or poor judgment, but by the Goddess herself. Y/N could brew potions for yearning. She could craft charms that warmed the blood, softened the heart, sharpened a memory, or helped someone believe in affection for a little while. But real love, the sort that arrived with a divine hand at its back, felt as distant and untouchable as the moon.
Her gaze found Jimin before she could stop it.
He stood near her shelves, hands folded behind his back as if he feared disturbing anything by touch. Frost still clung in faint silver flecks to the hem of his dark cloak, and the lamplight caught the edges of his pale hair until it seemed almost white-gold. His eyes moved over the dried herbs, the labeled jars, the bone-handled tools, the knives above the hearth, the folded bundles of winter stock. Not idly. Jimin did not look at things idly. He was mapping the room, taking in every detail with that quiet, contained attention of his.
Mapping her, perhaps.
She wondered if he had ever truly stood here like this before. Not for ritual. Not for duty. Not as one more wolf waiting for what the Bridd could give him. Just present. Just himself, in her space, breathing the same winter-thick air.
A memory flashed through her before she could guard against it: a ceremony years ago, her first after Namjoon’s ascension. She had been thirteen, still learning how to hold divine magic without breaking beneath it, and when the ritual ended, her strength had given out all at once. She remembered falling. Then warmth. Arms catching her before she struck the floor. Cedar and smoke. Steady hands. A low voice telling her to breathe. Fingers brushing her cheek with careful, almost fearful gentleness, as though she were something breakable and precious.
Jimin’s hair had already been white then, like his father’s before him. People whispered about it: omen, blessing, curse. But Jimin himself had been none of those things in that moment.
The memory tightened her throat. She turned from him and fussed with parcels that needed no fixing. “I’m looking forward to the Luna’s blessing ceremony,” she said, forcing lightness into her voice. “It’ll be nice to do something different after Yule week. Something that isn’t wassail, smoke, or people pretending they don’t want gifts.”
“I’m sure it will be an experience,” Hoseok said, drifting along her shelves with the cheerful danger of a man who liked touching things he did not understand. He paused before a bundle of dried marigold tied in red thread. “How different is it from ours?”
The question came too close. Her gaze moved over the cottage, over what it had been under Aldara and what it had become under her. The hearth once full of easy laughter was crowded now with jars and charms and bundled ingredients. Books had been pushed aside for blades. Feathers, crystals, parchment, ink, pouches, bones, bowls, and folded cloths filled every available surface. Her magic had crept everywhere, thick as ivy even in the dead of winter.
Jimin spoke before she had to answer. “I’m sure Bridd doesn’t want to explain that.”
Her hands stilled. He had stepped in quietly and carefully, shielding her from something she had not realized had shown on her face. For a second she did not know whether to be grateful or embarrassed by being seen so clearly.
“It’s all right,” she said, though the words came softer than she meant. “It’s very different. But I’ll learn quickly. I still have a month.”
Hoseok, untroubled by the small shift in the air, set the marigold back with exaggerated care. “I wonder who the new Chief will be. I doubt Ahn is thrilled about stepping down.”
“Who knows,” Jimin said.
His voice had gone flat enough to make Y/N look at him, but before she could ask, the window burst inward.
Glass scattered across the floor in a glittering spray as a blur of feathers, snow, mud, and fury tore into the room. Shiloh hit the worktable with her wings spread wide, sending rosemary, sage, parchment scraps, and a spool of twine flying in all directions. She shrieked so sharply that the jars trembled on their shelves. Y/N froze. Hoseok stepped back just in time to avoid the falling twine. Jimin blinked once, as though deciding whether the scene before him belonged to reality.
Y/N hurried forward. “Shiloh, my stars, what happened?”
“That dog,” Shiloh cried. “That awful, slobbering, winter-brained dog. I have suffered indignity beyond measure.”
Hoseok pressed a hand over his mouth. Jimin’s lips twitched.
“Mannix?” Y/N asked.
“That creature has no respect for messengers, familiars, sacred duties, or personal space.”
“Mannix is still a puppy.”
“He’s a large puppy,” Shiloh snapped, hopping once and leaving muddy prints across the table. “Large enough to mistake my tail for a toy.”
“Oh, Shiloh.” Y/N sighed, though laughter slipped through despite her best efforts. “I’m sorry.”
“And then,” Shiloh continued, with the grave horror of one reliving battle, “I had to ask the bees for help.”
Y/N blinked. “Bees? In December?”
“Jin’s bees,” Shiloh said sharply. “The ones he keeps in that stupid damn box!”
Hoseok turned away, shoulders shaking. Jimin lowered his gaze, but not quickly enough to hide the faint curve of his mouth.
“I am the Bridd’s familiar,” Shiloh declared, collapsing with one wing thrown dramatically over her head. “I should not be bargaining with insects because some ridiculous dog lacks discipline.”
Y/N laughed outright. Shiloh made an offended noise but allowed herself to be picked up, which meant she was not as wounded as she pretended. “I promise you won’t have to go back there today.”
“One would certainly hope.”
Y/N carried her down the hall to the nesting nook by the window, where twigs, soft wool, shed feathers, and the old stuffed mouse waited. She brushed grit and snowmelt from Shiloh’s feathers and settled her carefully into the hollow. “There. Rest.”
“You’d be furious too if a dog slobbered on your tail,” Shiloh muttered, already closing her eyes.
Smiling, Y/N returned to the kitchen. Cold air drifted through the broken window, sharp enough to make the candle flames lean. She flicked her fingers, and the scattered glass lifted from the floor in bright fragments, chiming softly as each piece found its place in the air.
“Delinah?” she called toward the moonlit garden.
The young doe lifted her head from the protected winter bed beneath the lean-to, a cabbage leaf still caught between her teeth. Frost dusted her ears. “Yes?”
“When you’re finished, could you ask Nessa from the sea coven if she has a vole to spare? Shiloh has had an incident.”
Delinah giggled. “Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Y/N sealed the cracked window with a temporary charm, smoothing her hand through the air until blue light stitched itself across the broken seam. Behind her, Hoseok had resumed wandering, which was usually how trouble began. Jimin remained where she had left him, still and watchful, his attention lingering just long enough to make her aware of every movement she made.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “My familiar can be dramatic.”
Hoseok laughed. “She seems spirited. Is she always like that?”
“Spunky,” Y/N said, warmth softening her voice before she could stop it.
Jimin did not speak, but when she glanced at him, his eyes were already on her. She looked away quickly and reached for the bundle Jin had sent, grateful for anything that gave her hands something to do.
The knots loosened beneath her fingers, releasing the stored brightness of dried sunflower, winter mint, and sea salt. Inside was everything she had asked for and, because Jin was Jin, several things she had not: sunflower stems saved from summer, pale seeds in a little cloth pouch, baby’s breath dried and tied with gold twine, a small comb of honey wrapped in waxed linen, vervain, and a folded letter dusted with his ridiculous shimmer. Y/N unfolded it.
Jin’s handwriting looked exactly like him: elegant, excessive, and somehow pleased with itself.
Y/N,
How splendid of you to drop by. I know Shiloh came in your absence, but I’ll expect you tonight if the snow doesn’t trap you in your own doorway. I’ll brew your favorite tea.
Here are the ingredients you requested. I added a few extras as thanks for the gardening tools. I know you go through plenty of mint and sage, so expect more when the thaw comes. I’ve also started lavender indoors, gods help me, to balance out the sea coven’s demands for Yoongi once spring has the decency to return.
As for the tea, this is the recipe you like, correct?
Two to three cups honeysuckle flowers, crushed. Two cups water. No honey, because you are determined to live without joy.
Am I missing anything?
Blessed Yule,
Jin
A laugh escaped her, half sigh and half fond disbelief. Of course he wrote like that. Dramatic, generous, impossible not to adore.
She pulled fresh parchment toward her and began to write.
Jin,
Thank you for the supplies. The mint is lovely, and I’m glad to hear about the lavender. Full sun and well-drained soil when the thaw comes. Yoongi would be better for advice, but I appreciate your doomed confidence in me.
The tools were a gift because you’re a wonderful person and friend. Pass my thanks to Mannix, though Shiloh came home in one of her fits again. Haven’t I told you to stop encouraging him?
Tea sounds lovely. You remembered correctly: crushed honeysuckle and no honey.
May the Gods bring you joy, and Blessed Yule,
Y/N
She sealed it with red wax. “Auferetur,” she whispered.
The seal shimmered. Flame curled along the edges, consuming the page without heat, and left only ash that vanished before it could touch the table.
Hoseok whistled. “Sometimes I forget she isn’t a person.”
Y/N pulled on her gloves. “Technically, I’m a spirit. But I understand what you mean.”
The cauldron hummed. Inside, the mixture glowed faintly gold, patient and ready. She dropped in the vervain, and it bloomed at once, releasing a sharp green scent like a summer field remembered through snow.
“Is everything in your world a spirit?” Hoseok asked.
“Hoseok,” Jimin warned.
Y/N turned just enough to let the steam hide her face. “Just about.”
With a flick of her wrist, bottles lifted from the table. One by one, they tilted at the cauldron’s edge and caught the golden liquid as it poured, each filling to exactly the right height before corks pressed themselves neatly into place. Hoseok watched with open interest rather than disbelief, which she found she liked more than she expected.
“Isn’t that difficult?” he asked. “Doing all that at once?”
She smiled. “Hoseok, I’m the Bridd. Do you really think so little of me?”
“Of course not. I’ve just never seen another witch do it.”
“Do you spend time with many witches?”
“Only that grumpy one near the pixie coves,” he said, sounding personally offended.
“Yoongi? The one in the purple cottage northwest?”
“That’s what you call him?” Hoseok leaned back against the counter. “He never offered me a name for the first three visits. I had to learn it from someone else.”
“That sounds like him,” Y/N said, amused. “How did you get close enough for Yoongi to let you into his home? He’s not exactly welcoming.”
Hoseok’s grin came more slowly this time, softened by memory rather than performance. “It wasn’t as charming as I like my stories to be.”
“I’m sure you survived.”
“Barely,” he said, but the joke was quiet. He glanced toward Jimin, whose attention had shifted toward him with mild interest, then continued. “It was late autumn, just before the first real snow. One of the trade paths near the pixie coves had washed out, and I went to check it before sending anyone else through. There was an old snare half-buried under leaves. Not one of ours.”
Y/N’s expression changed. “A hunting snare?”
“Unfortunately,” His mouth lost some of its humor. “I cut most of it away, but it caught me before I saw the second loop. Hurt my foot badly enough that I couldn’t put weight on it.”
Jimin’s face remained still, but something in his eyes sharpened.
“I could have shifted,” Hoseok said, “but iron in a wound makes that unpleasant, and I was still close to witch territory. I didn’t want to bleed all over the border and start issues with someone out in Moland. They’re not as fond of us as the covens in Bangtan.”
“That would be very like you,” Y/N said.
“So there I was,” Hoseok went on, “sitting on a rock in the cold like a fool, trying to decide whether pride was worth limping three miles, when Yoongi came down the path with a basket on his arm and murder in his eyes.”
Y/N could see it so clearly that her smile deepened.
“He looked at the snare first,” Hoseok said. “Then he looked at my foot and said, ‘If you bleed on my path, I’m making you clean it.’”
“That’s Yoongi,” Y/N said softly.
“I told him I’d gladly clean it if I still had a foot. He stared at me for a long time, like he was deciding whether I was worth the trouble.”
“He does that.”
“He cut the last wire away with a kitchen knife,” Hoseok said. “Very carefully, for someone pretending not to care. Then he told me I had two choices: limp home and risk fever, or sit down, stop talking, and let him work.”
“And you stopped talking?”
Hoseok’s grin returned. “Eventually.”
Jimin made a quiet sound that might have been amusement.
“He cleaned the wound with something that burned like hell,” Hoseok continued. “Then he dragged me back to his cottage, complained that wolves never respect boundaries, wrapped my foot like he’d done it a hundred times, and fed me broth so bitter I thought he was punishing me.”
“Healing broth,” Y/N said. “He wouldn’t waste poison on you.”
“I know that now. At the time, our friendship was young.”
Y/N laughed, and Hoseok’s expression warmed at the sound. “The pain eased before I finished the bowl. By morning, the wound had closed enough that I could walk home. He only handed me a second jar and said, ‘If you reopen it, don’t come crying to me.’”
“And yet you went back.”
“I brought him salt two days later. He took it, told me I was blocking the doorway, and gave me bread wrapped in cloth before sending me off.”
“That means he likes you,” Y/N said.
“That sounds familiar,” Jimin murmured.
The words landed softly. Her eyes met his. His expression gave almost nothing away, but something passed between them anyway, warm and fragile and almost there. She looked away first.
Hoseok, who either noticed nothing or was kind enough to pretend, carried on. “I stop by once or twice a week now. He acts like I’ve disturbed the peace of his entire bloodline, but he always has something on the stove, and there’s always enough for two.”
“He’s a quiet sort of kind,” Y/N said.
“I know,” Hoseok replied. “That’s why I keep going.”
Outside, the light shifted toward evening. Snow clouded the lower edges of the windows, and the cottage seemed to fold itself tighter around the hearth. Y/N filled the final mold and watched the surface settle. Her hands moved by instinct while her thoughts circled old memories, unspoken worries, and things she knew better than to want. For that brief stretch, the day felt kind.
One by one, she dropped preservation stones into the jars. Each sank slowly, pulsed once, and disappeared. In a few hours, the potion would set into a soft gel, sweet as strawberries remembered from summer. In a week, once the stones dissolved, its true strength would wake.
“Are they ready to use?” Jimin asked.
His voice startled her enough that one bottle tipped. She caught it quickly. “Not yet,” she said. “They need a week. If you open them too early, they’ll spoil.”
He inclined his head.
“Is everything else ready?” Hoseok asked.
“Yes.”
His gaze drifted to the knives above the hearth. “How do you make those?”
Y/N smiled. “Bones. Sandpaper. A decent blade. And time.”
Her gaze lingered on the smallest blade. Her first. She had made it after Davian died. He had been an old buck, gentle and soft-eyed, a creature she had loved as a child without needing to name it. When he stopped visiting, she cried for days. Aldara took her searching at last, and they found him in a meadow silvered by winter moonlight.
Aldara had rested a hand on her shoulder and said, “Keep a part of him, and he’ll keep a part of you.”
They carved the knife together from his scapula, sanding it until it gleamed like ivory. After that, bonecraft became ritual more than practice. The cellar walls filled slowly over the years, each blade a memory given an edge. One day, Y/N hoped to pass them on. She simply had not met anyone who loved the forest the way she did.
“They’re beautiful,” Jimin said.
The softness of it caught her off guard. He did not offer words lightly. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Around them, the cottage moved in its quiet enchanted way. Tools drifted into motion. Feathers, quills, and folded paper lifted like obedient birds. Boxes assembled themselves in rows. Glass tapped softly against wood. Y/N wrote the instruction cards by hand, each line careful and clear. These suppressants were for the Bangtan pack, and the dosage had to be exact, especially for Jimin, whose wolf burned through most remedies too quickly for guesswork.
When the last card slid into place, she set the quill aside. “You can take them now.”
Jimin moved closer, his steps quiet and careful. Most alphas carried strong scents. Hoseok smelled faintly of burnt citrus beneath the cold. Namjoon had the warmth of ginger and whiskey. Jimin was cedar, frost, and smoke. Not fire exactly, but the clean trace left after a bonfire had gone out.
He reached for a bottle just as Y/N pulled her hand away. Their fingers brushed.
It was nothing. Barely a touch.
Still, it stole her breath.
She looked up, and his gaze met hers. For a heartbeat the cottage seemed to draw itself around them: the crackling hearth, the hanging herbs, the cold beyond the glass, Hoseok’s voice gone momentarily distant. Then Jimin spoke.
“Thank you, Bridd.”
“You’re welcome, Jimin.”
Something almost like a smile touched his mouth and vanished. He tucked the bottle into his pack.
“Well,” Hoseok said, clapping his hands and breaking the quiet with cheerful mercy. “That’s that. Let’s get these back before Ahn finds something else to complain about.”
Y/N laughed and stepped aside as they gathered the boxes. She followed them to the door and opened it to the winter forest, where snowlight lay blue over the steps and the cold reached in at once, bright and clean.
Hoseok paused on the threshold, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. “Don’t be a stranger, Bridd. We like having you around.”
Jimin lingered a moment longer. Snowlight caught in his pale hair. “Visit us sometime,” he said. “The pack would be honored.”
Something softened in her chest.
“I’ll consider it,” she said, and realized she meant it. “Safe travels. Blessed Yule.”
Hoseok’s smile warmed. “Blessed Yule.”
Jimin inclined his head. “Blessed Yule, Bridd.”
They went down the steps together, Hoseok bright and easy, Jimin quiet beside him. Soon the forest took them, their footprints marking the old snow until shadow blurred the trail. Y/N stayed in the doorway, listening until their footsteps faded. Only when the trees had fully swallowed them did she let out the breath she had been holding. A small smile came before she could stop it.
Shiloh swept in through the open window and landed with a soft flutter. “They’re quite something, aren’t they?”
Y/N kept looking toward the trees. “Yes. They are.”
The cottage quieted around her. Tools settled. Herbs swayed faintly in the draft. Glass chimed once as the air cooled. She closed the door against the cold and sank onto the old stool, letting the stillness take her, rare as it was. Her life as the Bridd was made of duty, solitude, and memories that never fully left, but solitude was not always loneliness.
Not tonight.
There were letters waiting to be answered, friends who came without warning, and a familiar who stayed because she chose to. Outside, a lone winter bird called, long and hollow, from somewhere deep in the dark. Shiloh was gone again, likely hunting or gossiping with the night creatures.
“Another day,” Y/N murmured.
In the kitchen, she pulled down old towels, thin from years of use and stained beyond saving. Blood never came out fully, no matter the charm, and towels were easier to replace than floorboards. She spread them across the floor, one over another, then lowered herself in front of them with her legs crossed and her hands loose in her lap.
The silver chain around her ankle loosening with a faint rattle.
Pain tore through her chest. Her lungs seized. Her bones groaned under her skin, and a choked cry escaped before she could stop it. Her body twisted as muscles locked and bones cracked. Blood hit the towels in scattered drops. Feathers pushed through her skin, dark and sharp. Her fingers shrank. Her joints warped. Her arms folded inward as wings forced themselves into place.
Pressure built behind her eyes, jaw, and nose until it broke. Her beak came through with a pain like splitting glass, and when she tried to scream, the sound was not human. The transformation dragged on, bone by bone, breath by breath, until the pain crested and finally snapped.
Silence followed.
The world returned slowly: the metallic smell of blood, the cool air against new feathers, the forest settling into winter night beyond the walls. She lay trembling in the ruined remains of her clothes until, after a while, one wing lifted. The other followed. They opened smoothly, feathers dark and sleek, catching the lamplight like polished black stone, while her claws flexed against the floor.
She gave herself a small shake, scattering scraps of fabric. She should have undressed first. She always meant to. She never did. The ruined clothes could become tea towels. It was not much of a consolation, but it was enough.
She rose on her talons. The last of the pain slipped from her wings as she stretched them wide, and the world sharpened around her: wind beneath the door, ice ticking faintly along the eaves, the slow creak of a tree under its own frozen weight. In this form, she felt lighter. Not Y/N the Bridd. Not the last of her line. Only feathers, shadow, and breath.
If she could have stayed like this, she would have.
She crouched and leapt. Her wings caught the air and lifted her toward the open window. Night wrapped around her, cold and clean. Below, the forest shimmered in silver and shadow, snow lying in old patches beneath the trees, the treetops shifting like a dark tide.
She climbed higher.
In the distance, a lantern flickered near Morla’s grove. Shiloh would be there, perched proudly, telling someone about the evening’s hunt while eating whatever poor creature had crossed her path. Y/N turned toward the old trees. She would listen. Nod. Pretend to care about woodland gossip and owl politics. Sit beside her familiar and let that sharp, beloved voice fill the quiet.
“Life as Jungkook’s mate is everything you ever dreamed of. He is there for you, he keeps you safe, fulfills all your wishes and fucks you to complete satisfaction. Life as your mate is, well, it’s how Jungkook always imagined having a home feels like. Because his life as his father’s son isn’t easy, but with you by his side, it finally doesn’t hurt anymore. When one night, Jungkook comes home feeling like shit because of his father, you decide to show him that he can always count on you to be his comfort and his distraction.”
Warnings: lots of plot <3, Kook is such a layered character omfg, his father is abusive fr, we hate him, she is there for him, scenting for comfort, he cries in front of her for the first time, this is just so :(, which means that the smut is gonna hit so hard, scene switch to morning, morning cuddles & slow kisses, he loves her i just want to say it again that he really loves her, he really does, the next ones are for the smut: needy Dom!Jungkook, service sub!Reader, she wants to make Him feel good for a change, adoration of his scent spots, which he never had done before so he is a goner, neck kisses, nipple licking & play, thigh kisses, biting, he has a big dick, oral sex (m.receiving), deep throating, rough face fucking, in my universe omegas can switch off their gag reflex, stimulation of his knot, she licks his balls too, lots of drool, and lots of slick, they do it on the window bench first where she kneels, then he carries her to bed and fucks her face while he stands, dirty talk & praise, pussy fingering & clit play while he face fucks her, choking (f.receiving), cum swallowing, rough hair pulling, multiple orgasms for both, very rough penetrative sex on the window sill from behind, exhibitionism kink cause yk window, squirting, subby girl tears, belly bulging, major breeding kink, creampies, they call each other "my omega" & "my Alpha", the softest & most loving aftercare, i want him so bad, also! he is a lot taller & stronger than her
Wordcount: 13.5k
a/n: you wanted more of alpha!koo, unaware that i was already working on a third installation because i want more of him too. i don’t think you even understand What he means to me like this story means so much to me and I’m so happy that so many of you love him as well <3 tbfh? there will definitely be more of him in the future but for now let us enjoy giving him the sloppiest head ever 💛 ps: i really need him to be my Alpha like-
You know from the sound of his bike that he was home. You drop the paint roller, which you were using before, to greet him by the door. You are currently redoing the living room so that it would feel homey. Jungkook told you that you can do whatever you want, as long as it makes you happy. It makes you really happy and you are practically skipping to the door to tell him all about your awesome day.
You reached a point in your marriage where you get excited at the aspect of exchanging stories of your days with each other. Having Jungkook come home and listening to him tell you about his day is so exciting to you. In return, you can’t wait to share your day with him. Whatever this might mean in your development of feelings for him, seems positive to you. You definitely don’t want it to stop.
You enter the hallway in sync with Jungkook.
“There you are, I have so much to show-”
Bang!
Jungkook coincidentally slams the door closed at the same time with you beginning your story. You stop abruptly, covering your ears instinctively. Loud noises scare you. They always have. Maybe it has something to do with your omega gen, but when something is loud, it means danger to you.
Jungkook is huffing his air at first, but takes a moment of shocked gathering where he realises that he wasn’t alone. He lifts his eyes, studying you in a mixture of guilt and shock.
“What are you doing here?” he asks you.
“I don’t know”, you speak quietly, body smaller to keep yourself protected, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he is talking harsher than he normally does.
“Just so.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.” He throws the keys on the dresser and shrugs off his leather jacket. He slips off his boots and discards them on the rack.
“Did something bad happen?” you ask him while your body is still trying to regulate itself from the loud noise. You feel shaken and jittery, despite being aware that you aren’t in actual danger.
“When does anything good ever happen to me?”
Your heart stings in a funny way. Does this mean that this bond is terrible to him?
“Oh, uhm.”
He studies you, visibly regretting his poor choice of words.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just. Fuck, I just need to be alone, I can’t do this right now”, he says and stomps past you to the cellar door.
He has a home gym down there. In which he very obviously disappears right now. He slams the cellar door closed and moments later, you can hear the downstairs speakers blast heavy metal music.
You feel helpless and clueless. In the end, you sit in the living room, unable to do anything because you are frozen. You wonder if it is something you did. Maybe he actually hates the home renovations and he finally had enough. Maybe you are being too clingy. Maybe you aren’t being clingy enough. Or maybe it has nothing to do with you. Whatever it might be, you can’t figure it out and so you are frozen.
You continue to sit frozen and helpless until Jungkook returns from the cellar an hour later. You know when he finally leaves because the music turns off and he stomps upstairs.
You are on your feet instantly, following him hastily as he hurries to the front door.
“Where are you going? Talk to me, what happened?”
“Leave me alone, you’re only making it worse.”
He is going to leave. You can’t let him do that. Not when you are so confused.
“I’m worried. Is it something really bad?”
You are outside. All he has to do is take these five steps and then he has the house – and you – behind him.
“Jungkook”, you round him on the steps, forcing him to stop.
He snarls in distaste, sending you a poisonous look. You don’t feel scared in his presence however, placing your hands on his upper arms. They are hot to the touch and his muscles are hard. As if his entire body is constantly tensing in anger.
“Talk to me. What happened?” you stress, rubbing his flexed muscles in hopes of calming him down.
“Well, what do you think happened? My dad happened”, he spits.
“Fuck, so I was right. What did he do?”
Two hours prior
Jungkook drags his heavy legs to the foot of his father’s throne. It would be really awesome if the throne was only a metaphor, but it wasn’t. His father quite literally sits on a throne, head held high and eyes lowered in judgement about his son’s state. Alphas normally don’t own thrones.
“It’s done, father”, the words come with difficulty for Jungkook. His ribs still ache from having them punched repeatedly. “The last of Urquard’s pack is gone. I did it. Ah, fuck.”
Exhaustion and a still healing leg drag Jungkook to his knees. He falls hard, pillowing his descend with his hands. Some of the omegas present instantly rush to help him, touching him on spots of his body to check for more wounds. Jungkook is heaving and panting, staring at the floor as he waits for the pain to pass. He should be used to it by now. He stopped counting how many times his father sent him past the walls to eradicate his enemies. They were never Jungkook’s enemies. If he was the Alpha, there wouldn’t even be any to begin with.
Jungkook should be used to the pain by now, but he isn’t. Just as he isn’t used to his father’s stone heart.
“Get up, boy. An Alpha doesn’t show weakness.”
His father never asked him if he was alright. He never did. Jungkook bites back his emotions, standing back up with the help of the omegas. He wipes the blood from his mouth, forcing his head to stop pounding.
“Forgive me, father. I guess being bit in the leg twice and then having your side scratched open does that to someone.”
“I don’t want to hear it. Be glad that your mother only bore you, otherwise I would have replaced you as my heir ages ago. Ungrateful brat.”
“Are we done here? I’m exhausted.”
“We are done once I tell you that we are done. And you fucking omegas stop touching my son!”
The omegas flinch back, scurrying away from Jungkook as quickly as possible. He studies them with a tight face, shifting his eyes to his father afterwards.
“I’d prefer it if you stopped talking to the pack like that.”
His father scowls, gripping the arm rests of the throne tightly, “what was that?”
“You heard me. You wanna be their Alpha? Treat them with respect. Please.”
“I am their Alpha!” His father yells.
Jungkook should be used to it by now, but it doesn’t get easier. That’s his fucking dad and he is yelling at him. Why does shit like this hurt even after the millionth time?
“Why are you yelling at me? I was only making a suggestion.”
“Because you don’t get to suggest anything! You get to listen and behave!”
“You know. It hurts me when you yell at me. I wanna talk with you like normal people. Why can’t we? Just once, please dad.”
“Oh so now I’m the bad guy? Look at yourself first! If you didn’t turn out to be such a disappointment, I wouldn’t have to yell!”
“I’m a disappointment?” Jungkook gasps, touching his aching chest. “I just killed ten wolves for you, dad. I do everything you ask of me. I take the pain no matter how much it hurts and I’m a disappointment?”
“And yet you ended up bonding with an omega. If your mother was still alive, she would hate the view of you.”
“If mom was still alive she would tell you that you’re a major jerk!” Jungkook finally yells, spilling tears he doesn’t want his father to see. “And she would be happy for me! Mama always wanted to see me happy, she wouldn’t hate me!”
His father jumps up and closes the distance to strike Jungkook across his face. Jungkook stumbles back, feeling disoriented for a few moments. It hurts, but not as much as it once did. His father is getting old and weaker.
“Don’t hit me. Why did you do that, dad?”
His father grabs his collar, lifting his hand in warning.
“You rather I use my claws?” he threatens.
“Go on. Do it”, Jungkook challenges through his angry tears. “It’s nothing I haven’t felt tonight. It’s nothing I keep feeling whenever I leave these walls to kill in your name. My hands are trenched in the blood of innocents while you sit on your throne, clean. You really think that your claws could damage me?”
His father scowls, flashing his eyes golden. Jungkook challenges him, eyes burning so much brighter. The truth has been out there for months. It is the reason why his father clings to his throne so obsessively, why he sends Jungkook on such deadly missions. He is losing his spot as the true Alpha. Dynamics in the pack are changing.
“I’m keeping the pack safe, father. Remember that. I’m the one who looks out for everyone. Like an Alpha should”, Jungkook challenges.
His father growls, pushing him away to stumble back to his throne paranoid and blind in rage.
“Go. I can’t look at you.”
The victory of tonight is Jungkook’s, but it leaves him empty. He doesn’t want to win, he wants a normal interaction with his dad that doesn’t leave him feeling drained and like shit. Fucking hell, he just wants a normal family.
“Good night, father.”
Jungkook turns and leaves the throne room, holding his head high despite feeling as low as the fucking floor.
The now
“Urgh! I just”, Jungkook lets out and turns to slam his fist into the stone pillar. It crumbles at some parts under his strength and when he pulls back, bloody imprints of his knuckles are on the white stone.
“Jungkook, oh my god, you hurt yourself”, you gasp, trying to reach for his fist but before you can, he punches the pillar again.
More crumbling and bloody prints.
“Stop it, you’re already bleeding.”
“If I don’t punch this fucking pillar, I’ll do something I’d regret. I’m so angry”, he growls and does it again.
“Stop it! This isn’t you!”
“But it is”, Jungkook barks, whipping around to look into your eyes as he spits his words. “You’ve just never seen me like this. You’ve never seen me fucking angry.”
“No. No, you aren’t like this.”
“Don’t. Don’t tell me who I am. You have no idea who I am! How could you? If your deadbeat brother didn’t fuck up and I had to mark you, you never would have had to bond with me. You’re not in love with me, of course you don’t know me!”
You bite back tears.
“Don’t say that”, you get out quietly.
“I mean it. And, here is a little fact for you. This is me. I’m impulsive, I do stupid shit and explode in anger. This is me. So go ahead, push me away, call me a fucking dick. That’s just who I am.”
Your heart feels heavy, forcing you to whimper like a hurt puppy. Jungkook falters, taking a small step back.
“Leave me alone”, he says because he feels that pushing you away is all that he can do right now.
You however don’t feel strong enough to leave. Behind all this anger and aggression, behind every brick he breaks, you can smell the hurt and insecurity he is currently feeling. He might hide it behind violence, but you are his true mate and an omega. All you can smell is that he feels like an anxious pup pushed into a corner, desperate for care and a helping hand.
“I said leave”, he stresses.
“No.”
“Yes.”
You shake your head and step closer.
“Go! Before I use it.”
He is talking about his Alpha voice. It is a voice which will force any beta or omega into instant subordination and agreement. Any good natured, kind Alpha rarely uses this voice because of how much it feels like an abuse of power. Other, less kind, Alphas find joy in making their pack obey this way. Urquard was one of those Alphas. You know Jungkook, you know the kind heart and gentle soul he hides behind his tough exterior. He would never use his Alpha voice. Especially not on you.
This is just a desperate, empty threat.
“I don’t want to leave you alone in this.”
“Well, you have to because I’m telling you. With, with my voice. Go.”
You close the last distance and pull him down to you.
“I said leave”, Jungkook insists panickedly, body tense.
You rub your nose into the scent spot on his neck, hoping to spread some of your relaxing scent this way. He reeks of anxiety and guilt right now.
Jungkook tries to protest again, fight you off and not appear weak, but you are very powerful in your attempts of calming him down, breaking him within a minute.
“Why are you doing this?” he sighs out and hugs you, melting with you and revealing more of his neck to you. It feels so good. In no way in a sexual manner, but emotionally and physically and in some way also spiritually.
Jungkook felt all over the place. He felt out of balance, without footing or a destination. He felt betrayed and hurt, but also anxious and insecure. It was eating him alive and all of a sudden, it is gone. All of it. It is just gone. And it’s all you. His head is quiet, his heart feels light and his stomach stopped twisting. He is free. And he is home.
He buries his nose in the crook of your neck, right where your scent spot lies, and inhales deeply. He cradles you against him, strong hand on the back of your head and eyes closed.
He exhales, shedding his heart of today’s burdens.
“I’m here now, Koo”, you whisper, playing with his hair slowly.
He never felt such relief before. Nor has he ever experienced such comfort. It goes so deep and feels so real. Jungkook wonders how he was able to get through life for so long without you.
Sighing deeply in relief, he pulls you closer and puts his hands under your jumper so he can feel your skin. Warm and soft. You seem to melt closer from the touch, which only calms him down more.
It is a quiet moment as you and he stand on the porch and let the day finally stop bothering you. You and he aren’t aware yet that you are visible to anyone who could walk by your home, but if you were, you wouldn’t care. Let the world see that you and he found meaning in this once forced bond. Let them see what it means to be mates. And let his dumb father see that a bond between an omega and an alpha actually works.
You change sides of his neck, wanting to make sure that he smells your scent equally. You stop by his lips as you make your way to it, having your eyes closed and resting your forehead against his’. He has his eyes closed as well, breathing slowly. Kisses are exchanged in the slowest rhythm ever. It is meditative. There is nothing else to him right now than you and what you are doing to him. Whenever he breathes in, it feels as if the air is filling literally every single fibre in his body. And when he breathes out, it feels as if he is ridding himself of toxins. He was never as aware of his energy flow than he is right now, breathing with you and sharing kisses. He can feel it coursing through him, mixing with your energy until it feels as if he is glowing from the inside out. And then you reach the other side of his neck, you nuzzle him and give him soft kisses and Jungkook feels invincible.
His head rolls back in defeat, he sinks into you for just a second before his bodily instincts kick in again.
“Sorry, almost lost it”, he whispers, dragging his words.
“It’s okay. Should we go inside?”
“Yeah, let’s do that”, he says and picks you up with his hands under your butt.
Your legs instinctively close around his waist, your arms hug him. You keep your nose in his neck, getting droopy in his warm, relaxed scent.
“I’m sorry that you had to see me like this. And I’m sorry for all the things I said. I didn’t mean them.”
“It’s okay. I get it. You have every right to be as upset as you were. I just, I don’t want you to think that this is who you are. You’re not aggressive or impulsive. I know you. You’re strong and kind and really sweet.”
“Thanks.”
“And your mom would be proud of who you became.”
He stops in his steps, looking up at you with glassy eyes. You cradle his cheeks.
“I remember when she would make us picnic baskets and call you home when it was dark out. She loved you so much. I know how she was. She would still love you and she would be happy for you.”
He presses his eyes closed, spilling tears he doesn’t want to spill. He curses, showing his fangs in a desperate snarl to control his emotions.
“It’s okay, I’m here”, you whisper, nuzzling his scent spot again.
Jungkook stumbles to the entrance hall dresser and sits you down on it, holding you oh so close.
“Holy fuck”, he croaks out.
“I know, I’m here. Right here.”
Jungkook got used to the feeling of grief in his chest. He learned that it will always be there and learned how to live with it. It doesn’t mean that it ever stopped bleeding. You stop it right now. It doesn’t feel like a gushing open wound in his chest. It is there, but it is bearable, as if he can finally carry it in his hands without cutting himself.
And it is all you. You make it bearable, you keep him in this warm, healing space.
“Thank you”, he whispers, “my mama would love you so much if she was still here.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’m sure that she would tease you about how it happened though.”
“Yeah”, Jungkook laughs, covering up a sob with it.
You laugh with him, changing sides of his neck to make sure that he gets your soothing scent equally.
“Yeah, she would. But she would be happy for us. Mama always wanted me to bond out of love and I did.” He looks at your face. “I don’t ever wanna let you go. I can’t believe I lived without you for so long.”
You fluster, “wow, I don’t know what to say. I just…wow.”
“Don’t say anything. Just know that you’re the most amazing person ever.”
“Shut up, don’t say that”, you mumble, nudging his chest and avoiding eye contact in nervousness.
He laughs, picking you up in his arms to get you closer. You snicker, holding him tightly.
You and he fall asleep holding each other that night. Jungkook sleeps through the entire night, which he never did after past arguments with his father.
Jungkook wakes after you the next morning. Your side is empty and cold. He peels his heavy eyes open, shifting them to where you disappeared off to.
The window bench, lost in a book and with your face still puffy from sleep. The rising sun is illuminating you. Jungkook swears that he is seeing an angel when he looks at you. His heart flutters and his stomach tingles. He has such immense feelings for you and seeing you be so utterly you only strengthens them.
“Good morning”, he murmurs sleepily. His cheek is squished on the pillow, his back peeks out from the blanket because he is lying on his stomach.
You lower the book at the sound of his voice, looking at him. He is smiling at you.
“Hey, good morning.”
“Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I had to pee and then I saw the book and yeah, it was over for my sleepiness.”
“Mhm, whatever it was, get back here now”, he lulls and rolls to his side so he can open the blanket for you.
Your bedroom in the morning is really chilly because the timer for the heater hasn’t turned on yet. He smells so warm under the blanket. His invitation is incredibly easy to take.
You put the book aside and hurry back to bed, climbing under the blanket. It is warmed up from him.
Jungkook purrs in contentment, pulling you against his chest and into his arms. He hides his nose in the crook of your neck, tickling your skin as he sniffles sleepily.
“Mhm, my favourite smell”, he whispers, snuggling closer.
You still haven’t gotten used to being cared for in such ways. Of course you had boyfriends who were in love with you, but none of it felt like Jungkook’s affection feels.
His affection feels so deep, so real and so eternal. As if nothing could ever change it. As if all he ever wanted to do was love you. It is unfamiliar but nice. So nice.
The sun wanders over the horizon while his fingers wander over your arm and his lips take small steps on your neck. Your once chilly body heats up under the blanket and because of his incredibly warm body. It is such a cozy state to be in that you are fighting gravity with your eyelids.
He exhales deeply.
“What’s the matter?” you ask him.
“Just living in the moment. I feel like shit, but it’s, I don’t know, bearable like this...” He traces your side, mouthing at your neck as he talks. “...with you in my arms…so warm and soft.” He slips his hand under your shirt, touching your skin most tentatively. “My life’s bearable like this.”
His words and gestures are sweet and filled with relaxation, but you can’t help still feel a twinge of sadness for him. If only you knew that behind the elitist, distant façade he put on, a deeply complex and troubled person was hiding. Perhaps you wouldn’t have hated him so deeply.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, but still. I could have made the first step too, maybe tried to fix our friendship. I thought that you felt like you’re better than anyone and therefore didn’t want to hang with us anymore. If I knew what you were going through, I…I just feel guilty. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you.”
“Don’t be. I fucked it up, we grew up and thought that the other moved on. Of course I missed you, but I didn’t blame you.”
“Yeah well, I’m here now if you wanna talk.”
Jungkook kisses your neck gently, whispering his words, “I’m gonna be okay. That’s just how my dad is. It’s okay.”
You keep quiet, but hold him closer. No kid should have to defend their own parents like that. But you also understand him. His father is the only kin Jungkook has left. If he cut him off, the last reminder of his once happy family dies right with it.
“But this is nice”, Jungkook says and shifts so he can kiss your cheek. He purrs and lifts his head to give you a smile, caressing your temple.
You retort it, but apparently do such a bad job at it that he furrows his brows in worry.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“No, something’s up. Tell me.”
“I’m sorry that your dad sucks.”
He falters, looking to the side.
“Uhm, it’s fine. Thank you”, he says and sits up, “seriously, it’s fine.”
You sit up, closing the distance to hug his waist and kiss his shoulder. Jungkook places his hands over yours, leaning back into you.
“If there is something I can do, just tell me”, you offer, rubbing his stomach and chest slowly, “I’m here for you from now on.”
“Just be you. That’s all I need from you.” He takes your left hand and guides it to his lips. “Just be you.” He kisses the wedding band on your ring finger, resting his nose against it afterwards. “You bring me so much peace.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah”, he smiles to himself and squeezes your hands, “now I really gotta go. I need to shower because I feel like I stink.”
“No, you smell so good.”
“Thanks, but I still need to go.”
You get the sense that he needs this. Emotionally. That he needs this shower to leave yesterday truly behind him, watching it metaphorically run down the drain as he washes it off of him. So you let him.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll be here when you come back. Today’s a lazy day, don’t wanna leave the bedroom.”
“I’m taking your words for it.”
And with that, he leaves for a shower while you sink back into the pillow. You stare at the ceiling for a while, thinking.
You have wonderful parents. Of course they have their flaws and made mistakes like any parent does, but they love you. And you love them. You would describe your relationship with them as healthy. So you don’t have any first hand experiences of bad parents like Jungkook does.
It doesn’t make your understanding and shared pain for his situation any less however. It hurts you to know that his father manages to hit him so deeply that Jungkook still recovers from it one day later. You make a promise to yourself that morning to be the shoulder he can always lean on. Because that’s what best friends are here for, that’s what mates do.
For the rest of Jungkook’s shower, you think of him and everything you have already experienced together in your short time as mates.
Jungkook forgot to bring his briefs to the bathroom with him, joining you in the bedroom in nothing but his towel. Snug around his hips, it reaches him a little under his knees. His hair is freshly washed and blow dried. His torso is bare and dried off. You are sitting on the window bench, clearly waiting for him, when he joins you.
The view of him instantly shoots warmth between your legs. It is instinct. You can’t help it. Especially when you woke up not that long ago and you are still so warm from being held.
“Hey there, baby”, he greets you, making his way to his closet.
“Hey.”
“Why are you sitting over there again?” he asks you, busy with picking out briefs. “Is the book that good?”
“No I uhm. I was thinking.”
“What were you thinking, baby?”
You stand up and close the distance. Jungkook turns to you, giving you his full attention and his hands when you take them. The briefs are forgotten again. You lead him to the window bench.
“I was thinking, you had a bad day yesterday and you still have a sucky morning and maybe I could make it better.”
“You already did. The thing you did yesterday was amazing. I haven’t slept that well in, like, basically ever. I feel so good, baby.”
“Yeah well, what if I do something else amazing too?”
“I don’t seem to follow.”
You sit him down. Jungkook looks up at you because you are standing and therefore are taller than him. But there is no ounce of power shift in your dynamic. He might be looking up at you right now, but you still feel so utterly submissive to him. It is nice because it is safe and feels like home. He puts his hands on your waist, talking in a warm yet raspy voice.
“And what’s that something else supposed to be?”
“Please don’t judge me. Promise.”
“I promise. Now tell me. Come on baby, don’t make me work for it”, he encourages you, rubbing slow circles into your lower back. He slipped his hands under your sleep shirt, so his current touch is addicting. So warm and raw. You could honestly melt in his hands once he gets you started.
You put your hands on his strong shoulders and take a deep breath to gather your courage. You make your confession as you breathe out.
“Can I give you a blowjob?”
Jungkook gawks with widened eyes, giving you his answer in the form of shocked silence. It makes you nervous and so you shift from one foot to the other.
“Please say something”, you whisper.
“Why on earth did you think that I would judge you for this?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I-I know it’s a lot of me to ask and kinda insensitive. Oh god, is it insensitive? I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean-”
He silences your nervous babbling by cupping your cheek and pulling you down into a kiss. Your knees buckle instantly, the electric pull he has on you, tugs you on top of his lap. A small moan escapes you when his hands instinctively grab your ass and squeeze. The touch is so tender and possessive. It feels so good. Honestly, you would have started to kiss him until your lips were tired if he didn’t break the kiss to talk.
“Don’t apologise. Yes, baby?”
You nod your head, whispering a shy “yes.”
“Yes. That’s good.” He gives you a sweet smile, running his strong hands to your waist. “You’d actually want to blow me?”
You nod your head.
“Kook, I missed you”, you confess and rest your forehead against his’.
Jungkook chases the affection, sliding his hands into your pants and back to your ass to squeeze it gently.
“You missed me?” he whispers, letting you taste his minty breath while his fingers drive you just a little bit insane.
“Yeah, when you were in the shower, I missed you. I, I thought of us and my life and how awesome it is to be your mate and then I thought of the sex we’re having and how good you always make me feel.”
“I do. That’s so important to me, baby”, he rasps, kneading your soft buttocks. His touch is needy. He can’t deny it. Feeling your naked skin under his fingertips after such a yesterday is healing him as much as it turns him on. His instincts tell him to get you naked and fuck you until his anger is gone. His love for you tells him to take it slow and really saviour the current moment. As always, the latter wins. It will always win when it comes to you.
“And then I thought about all the things we haven’t done yet. And I never gave you head before and I…” you exhale shakily, giving his shoulders a needy squeeze, “Koo, I really need to have your cock in my mouth. Please can I make the bad yesterday go away? A-and maybe make this morning nice?”
“Yes, holy fuck, of course you can”, he breathes out, pulling you against his body and claiming your lips in a passionate kiss.
You almost fall sweet victim to it, but stop yourself before that can happen, breaking the kiss.
He purrs, chasing you.
“You have to tell me what to do. I really suck at taking the lead”, you confess, giving him shy puppy eyes.
He chuckles, “I can do that. What if I tell you to surprise me? Mhm? That you have free range of my body and I want you to surprise me?”
He takes your hands and begins guiding them over his bared torso.
You follow the touch with your eyes, heart racing and breath speeding up.
“You can touch me wherever you want to.” He makes you trace his pecs. “Feel me up.” He guides your fingers over his ribs. “Turn me on”, he purrs and drags your fingers through the ridges of his impressive abs.
“Kook”, you moan, writhing on his lap. You are soaking through your shorts by now, getting it all over his towel as well. The morning sun shines so beautifully on his skin, really bringing out how muscular he actually is. And just how sun kissed his skin is.
“You can do whatever you want, baby. Why? Because that’s what I’m ordering you to do”, he says, making you trace the glimpses of his pubes sticking out from the towel.
“Oh god”, you whimper, salivating to the point of barely containing it.
“Is this something you can do for me, baby? Can you be my good omega and surprise me?”
“Yes, I can do that”, you press out, voice quivering in excitement. You gulp down your saliva hungrily, spilling some down your chin. You can’t help it. Your body is preparing for his cock in your mouth and it is such a turn on for you.
“Look at you.” He wipes the drool for you. “Does it turn you on to follow my commands?”
“Yeah, so much. Koo, I want to kiss your chest. Please.”
“Do whatever you want. I’m all yours, baby.”
“Oh god”, you get out and begin. You can barely breathe. You are so nervous. This is such unexplored terrain for you. Being the one to touch and kiss is new to you. Normally you are the one receiving, but something about Jungkook makes you want to give. It still doesn’t take away the fact that you have no idea how to give.
His neck first. This is familiar to you and gives you the needed confidence boost. It also really turns you on because his scent spots smell more and more like arousal. It is such a masculine scent, more lethal than any cologne could ever be. Sitting on his lap feels so good as you kiss and suck his neck.
Jungkook is in heaven, eyes closed sensually and body feeling weightless. Your mouth feels amazing on his scent spots, giving him the most intense tingles. It’s different this morning than it was yesterday. The deepest feelings you communicate are still to relax, but the intention is something else. This is meant to relax him so he can take the pleasure you are about to give him without any stresses in his head. And it’s working. Jungkook feels fucking droopy.
Soon you have enough confidence to take on an unfamiliar path. Down along his collarbones to his chest. Jungkook takes his hands off your body and puts them behind himself so he can lean back a little.
You have better access like this, using your fingertips to get used to the unfamiliar paths. Up close like this, his strength is so noticeable. Shit, you are so into him. Feeling a little crazy, you grace your teeth over his skin. Jungkook purrs, pecs twitching as he tenses them in reaction to your bite.
You shy away instantly, sitting up and covering your mouth behind your hands.
“I’m sorry.”
Jungkook tries not to show his disappointment, but you still see it. It increases your shyness. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.
“Why are you sorry, sweetie?” he asks you in a soft voice.
“I just haven’t done this before. Do you even like this?”
“Yes, baby I do. I like it too when I get some loving.”
“Oh.” You squirm on his lap. “This is hot. Do you really like it?”
“I do. It’s nice to lean back and really enjoy it for once.”
“Oh wow, Kook. Okay, this is so hot”, you confess and close the distance. His confession motivates you. It isn’t weird for him to receive as a change. He likes it. It turns him on.
Dripping pleasure on his lap, you kiss and bite his chest with new found confidence. And Jungkook reacts in deep purrs and tenses of his pecs. His head is rolled back and his eyes are closed. He is utterly lost to the touches, turning you on with his scent and sounds.
It isn’t long after, that you feel brave enough to take the next step. You take his nipple between your teeth and tug.
“Yeah…fuck” he cups the back of your head, arching into your mouth, “good girl, that’s amazing.”
His praise makes you shudder. You drool and whimper as you kiss a path to his other nipple to repeat what you did. Suck, lick, bite and tug.
“Yes baby, yes”, Jungkook lulls, petting you in motivation.
Change sides again. Maybe tug a little harder. Jungkook moans. Change sides. More confidence. Jungkook growls and closes his fingers around your hair.
“You’re driving me insane”, he gets out under his breath, fighting for his air in deep pants afterwards.
You have to look at him, kiss him and taste his moans. The kiss starts sloppily. Jungkook feeds you his tongue instantly, holding your hair possessively while his other hand rubs your soaked cunt over your shorts. This is his version of rewarding you for being such a good omega and it makes you mewl into his mouth unapologetically.
“Koo, I’m so horny”, you confess.
“Me too, baby. Wanna do disgusting things to you”, he says, giving your swollen clit an especially good rub.
You tremble, giving him your neediest puppy eyes.
“But you’re not done. Give me more, baby”, he orders and takes his touch away.
“Oh god.”
It hurts to be denied, but you aren’t sad about it. Being denied means that you can explore him more and you found your new obsession for it. You slip off his lap and kneel down between his legs. He spreads them for you in such a sexy way. With a needy moan, you connect your puffy lips with his upper stomach. You grab his sides, tingling when you can feel him tense up and later shiver.
“Yeah, holy fuck…” Jungkook moans, rolling his head back and closing his eyes.
You mewl, drooling like crazy. His stomach is so sculpted and strong. Each new inch you explore, you kiss and lick and bite, makes you feel subbier and subbier. He is so strong and you get to worship him. Oh god, this is so hot.
“Keep going, fuck, so good…”
Jungkook gets pleasure through pleasing. This is what he thought was in his nature. This is what an Alpha is supposed to do. Please, give, touch. Jungkook thought that this is what he is supposed to enjoy.
What you are currently doing, is rewriting his definition of wrong and right. Nothing which is “wrong” feels this fucking good. He is meant to get some loving too. And getting your loving is everything he ever needed.
It makes him desperate in ways which were still unknown to him. As a matter of fact, they get him so needy that he gives you his version of a beg when you finally reach his lower stomach. You are nuzzled into his faint happy trail when he begs.
“Fucking hell, if you don’t take off my towel soon and take care of It, Imma lose my fucking mind.”
You mewl something unintelligible, speeding up in your needy licks. Your hands follow his command while your mouth takes his exposed state to explore his scent spots.
“Fuck. Woah”, Jungkook gasps, hands falling to your head and legs shaking in surprise.
“Kook, oh my god. You smell so good”, you whimper, rubbing your face into his inner thighs. You need his scent all over you.
“Baby, I’m serious. I’ll lose my mind, fuck. Ah fuck”, Jungkook warns, head pounding and cock aching. So this is how it feels to have his scent spots stimulated. No wonder that he regularly forces you into impromptu heat when he does it to you. All Jungkook can think about right now is rutting into you, knotting you and breeding you with his cum until he is alive inside you. The desire gets stronger and stronger and stronger and then it suddenly gets replaced by a new desire. The desire to fuck your pretty face until you are fed a full course meal of cum.
The reason for his change of mood is your tongue licking his balls vigorously while your hands rub his scent spots. You keen needily as you do it.
Jungkook growls, tugging you away from him by a bundle of your hair. You mewl, gasping for air because of his strong grip.
“Stop teasing me or I’ll punish you”, he growls, but adds in the most loving and soft voice, “okay, baby? Do it for me.”
“Yes, Alpha”, you mewl and lower your head. You give his scent spots a bite each, then finally pay attention to his cock.
You dance a wet path from his balls to his swollen base up to his heated tip with your tongue, wrapping both hands around his base afterwards.
“___ baby…”
Jungkook watches you as you sink him in. Your lips look so good stretching around his girth. His head is pounding. This is the sexiest thing which ever happened to him.
“There we go, take me in”, he praises you, caressing your cheek gently. “What a good omega you are.”
Drool runs down his shaft, messying your fingers. You use it to your advantage, jerking off his base with it.
“Fuck, so good. Do you like it? Mhm, does Alpha taste good, baby?” Jungkook lulls, vision just a little blurry because you suck him off really fucking hard.
You slip off of him, voice quivering as you answer him.
“Alpha tastes so good. Thank you, ah, so much”, you get out, shaking with your entire body. Of course you love it. Your dream is coming true. You get to taste your Alpha’s cock. Your need for him is unbearable.
You open wide and take him in completely. Your nose hits his crotch, your lips feel his balls.
“Woah. Wait”, Jungkook gasps, stopping you instantly. He even pulls you off of him.
“What?” you ask him, looking up at him with needy eyes.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Force all of me inside. I know I said to stop teasing, but I didn’t mean it like that. You can stay at the tip. You don’t have to push yourself.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t have to make yourself gag for me.”
You widen your eyes in shock, staying silent long enough for Jungkook to become a little nervous.
“What?” he stresses.
“Did you…never get head from an omega before?”
“Why…is this so bad?”
“No, it’s not. It’s just that…can I show you?”
“Sure?” he sounds unsure, but that’s okay, he will feel amazing in one, two, three.
Jungkook gasps and tenses up, face falling in utter shock as you take him in completely and instantly start bopping your head up and down quickly.
“Woah, woah, woah. Woah. Fuck, wait. Woah.”
He somehow manages to pull you off of him again. His cock slaps his abs, leaving a mess of spit and his pleasure. It throbs, begging to be taken in again.
“What was that?” he breathes out, pupils blown out and eyes glowing golden.
“Did you not like it?”
“You didn’t gag.”
“We, uhm, omegas, you know, we can switch it off.”
“You can?!”
“Yeah, we can. When we’re with someone we really like, it happens automatically and I…” You nuzzle your nose into his scent spot, kissing it a few times before looking up at him. “I didn’t have to switch it off with you.”
“Wait. Oh my god, wait. Does that mean?”
“Yeah, I guess I really like you, Koo.”
“Baby, I’m. Wait, don’t make me get emotional, I-” He cups you cheek. “Baby, my love. Oh my god, my love.”
You giggle, “yeah, I guess it’s out there”, you say and take him back inside.
“Yeah..it’s out there. Fuck, woah”, Jungkook croaks out and rolls his head back, burying his hand in your hair as deeply as your texture allows it as your warm mouth engulfs him entirely. He twists it a little, having to moan your name as you make him experience pleasure he never felt before.
You moan right with him, having to grasp his waist for support. You need it because it’s very difficult not to lose yourself.
Giving head for an omega is different than for others of the pack. Giving head has an almost drug-like effect on an omega, leaving it delirious and ecstatic. If the person they are giving head to is another omega or a beta, the effect is mild and an omega can easily go back to being normal afterwards. If the person is someone with the Alpha gen, it is a different story.
Being close to an Alpha’s scent spots, tasting their pleasure and essentially getting bred in one way or another, bring the omega into a state of disillusion and an inability to think for themselves.
In the most disgusting and twisted circles of the werewolf community, evil Alphas use this to get disobedient omegas back under their control. The details of how such cruel acts happen will not be disclosed here, but trust, dear reader, that it is rarely gentle or consensual.
But Jungkook isn’t such an Alpha. Jungkook is kind and loving and gentle beyond anything else. And Jungkook is your true mate, which means that you have even less control over the effects his cock has on you.
You are so greedy for more, clawing at his waist to desperately get more of him inside. You mewl and sob as you do, barely breathing.
“Breathe, my love. Breathe”, Jungkook orders you, despite being so far gone. Because he is a loving Alpha. Because he knows how to make you feel safe.
Your body obeys his orders because you are currently under his control and fighting your instincts is impossible. You breathe and breathe and breathe. Then get too greedy again.
His base is starting to swell. Just a little bit. You wrap your left hand around his flushed tip to jerk it off while you connect your messy mouth with his growing knot. You tongue kiss the area sloppily, adding sucks to it as well. An Alpha’s knot is just as sensitive as his cockhead is. Perhaps even a little bit more sensitive.
“___, holy fuck”, Jungkook gets out, actually closing his legs on you because of how good this feels. He moans loudly, throwing his head back to the point where he loses balance and drops into the pillows.
He throws his left arm over his own eyes, moaning like a fucking pornstar while the morning sun shines onto his glowing face. He can feel his knot grow. It’s you who does this to him because of how good you make it feel.
“Baby, please don’t stop”, he actually begs, rolling his hips desperately to keep the stimulation going.
“Koo, I’m yours”, you get out and sink him back inside. His knot hinders you from deep throating him, but this doesn’t stop you. You wrap both your hands around his knot, jerking it off in circular motions while your mouth takes care of the rest.
Jungkook writhes, voice pitching because of how honestly ruined you get him. His hands flail around for a little while, finding their support on the edge of the window bench. He grips it. Which is something totally new to him. He never had to grip something for support before. Especially not the edge of something. He feels like a fucking whore.
“Please don’t stop, it feels so good”, he gets out, squeezing the edge harder.
Which honestly? It isn’t all that bad to feel this way because you give him so much pleasure. The kind of pleasure he swears should be illegal for an Alpha to feel.
Can people see him? He’s got windows all around him and the sun illuminates him like he is a fucking star. Can people see him? Can they see how the future Alpha of the pack is getting sucked off? Are they fucking jealous of their Alpha? Because he’s got the best wife and they don’t?
“Shit urgh”, he arches his back at the thought of people passing by and jealously watching their future Alpha get head, “don’t stop, holy fuck. Sweetie. I feel fucking high. Aaaahmmm.”
You couldn’t stop even if someone tried to drag you off of him. Jungkook’s constant begs not to stop manifest themselves in your drugged mind as little orders. Don’t stop. Alpha wants more. Don’t stop. You can’t stop even if someone tried to drag you off of him and it’s sacrilegious to you.
You don’t want to stop. His taste is heaven. His scent is overwhelming. You have never smelled so much fucking pleasure on him. It’s making you even droopier.
“Yes baby, yes. My good omega. My fucking pretty omega”, Jungkook growls, sending you deeper into your delirious headspace.
Oh my god, you fucking love being his good omega. You sob around him, spilling tears. You love being his omega. You love it. You love it. You love it.
Trapped in your ecstatic omega space, you didn’t realise how much sloppier you became with your blowjob until Jungkook’s right hand in your hair lets you know.
“Baby, you’re making me cum”, he gets out, tensing his stomach.
You mewl, shaking more than he does. You need his high. You need it so fucking bad. You suck him off harder, speeding up your hands around his throbbing knot. Please. You need him.
“Now, baby. ___ baby, now!” Jungkook tries to warn you but to no avail. He climaxes down your throat in thick spurts of his seed, gripping your head with both hands to rut up into you.
He hits the back of your throat like this, really testing your jaw. Not that you mind. You are so drugged that he could do anything to you and you wouldn’t mind. All you can take in is hot cum down your throat and the ecstatic effect it has on you.
Jungkook comes down after seven thrusts, growling demonically and pulling you off. If he didn’t, his instincts would have kicked in and he would have hurt you. Your mouth is not your cunt. He can’t breed it like he could your pussy. He has to be stronger than his instincts.
Using his abs, he sits up. His thighs are still twitching.
“Come up here you”, he orders you in a lull, pulling you to your feet and into a sloppy kiss.
You fall on top of his lap, feeling limp in his arms. Like a little doll unable to use her muscles. Jungkook holds you safely, licking his cum out of your mouth. Tears mix with your drool and his cum. Jungkook instantly tastes them, breaking the kiss in worry.
A mixture of drool and creamy cum seeps out your mouth, your cheeks are wet in tears. You whimper, desperately trying to get him to kiss you again. You can’t open your eyes, looking so goddamn intoxicated.
“Did I hurt you, sweetie? Is this why you’re crying?”
He can see from the way you move and your face is, that you are currently non verbal in submission. He instinctively knows that he could either break you right now or fix you up depending on how he will use this power.
“Arms up, baby.”
Your body obeys. He takes off your sleep shirt, pressing you against his chest like this.
Naked skin and naked skin, he begins moving you and him in a slow grind. Your scent spots rub against his’, exchanging not only pleasure but also comfort. It slowly brings you back to him and Jungkook knows that, holding you through it.
His knot shrinks again in the time, but his cock stays swollen. The situation you and he are in is too sensual and intimate for him to grow soft. His utmost desire still lies in breeding you. Oh, how he wants to breed you, his perfect omega. His. All his.
“Mine. You’re mine. You know that, mhm? You’re my pretty omega. Just mine.”
“Yours”, you get out.
“Hey baby, you’re back”, Jungkook breathes and lifts your head by cupping your cheek. “How are you doing? I was a little rough at the end. Is your jaw okay?”
“Yeah ‘s okay. I want more, but it’s so hard to move.”
“I know, baby. Do you trust me?”
You nod your head, leaning into his palm.
“Alpha is safe”, you lull, sending his heart into overdrive. He’s got you feeling safe. Fuck, he would set the whole world on fire if it meant you kept feeling like this.
“Thank you for your trust, baby. Now let me kiss you. You fucking ruined me”, he says and pulls you into a kiss, which you eagerly retort.
He moans deeply, picking you up while his tongue licks onto your mouth. It is like he is starving, like his own taste on your tongue is a drug to him. You moan just as much, writhing in his strong arms.
He carries you to bed like this. Kissing you as if he was starving. He lies you down by the edge of it, breaking the kiss when your head is tangling over the edge. He climbs off bed and rounds you so you have a view of him and his heavy cock between his fingers. He looks so big and veiny like this, forcing drool to the tip of your tongue. You sigh his name, opening and closing your mouth in hunger. You need him so bad.
“Tap your foot if you had enough”, he says and connects his leaking tip with your chin to drag it to your lips. “Now open up.”
You obey gladly, gurgling in ecstasy when Jungkook sinks his leaking cock back into your mouth.
“That’s it. Take all of me”, he purrs, caressing your cheeks. His eyes are dark, lowered sexily as he gazes down at you. “So beautiful, taking me like this. Is it nice for you?”
You moan around him, nodding your head as best as possible. This is heaven. He fills you out so well. You could honestly orgasm with your throat because of how good it feels.
“Fuck, it does…fuck, you drive me insane”, he rasps and picks up a rhythm. Finally. Fucking finally.
You whimper, eyes instantly rolling back and jaw going slack. This is your heaven. This is everything you ever wanted.
Jungkook watches your blissed reaction with a tingling stomach. He mewls, scrunching his nose and biting his lower lip at the same time. You are so beautiful, turning him on like no one else ever did. Quite frankly, Jungkook wasn’t even aware of how hard his cock can actually get. But being inside you like this, is showing him new sides of pleasure.
“This is so sexy, you have no idea”, he confesses, caressing your soft cheeks, “I’m making love to your face. It’s..hah it’s heaven, seriously.”
You whimper around him, reaching up behind you to touch him. You need to hold him, digging your fingers into the softness of his butt. It forces him to go even deeper, making him moan from the deepest parts of his stomach. He gasps afterwards, abs rippling and thighs twitching.
“Wow. Fuck. Holy fuck, wow”, he lets out, scrunching his face even harder. “So deep. What the fuck, wow.”
You moan with him, spilling tears of joy. He is right, he is so deep. So deep that you can feel his pubes tickle your nose and so deep that you drown in his masculine scent. Your body quivers, throat convulsing around his girth. You scratch down his butt against your will, stopping only when you have his thighs between your claws instead. So tensed and so big. It motivates you to take him even deeper. You lift your head as best as possible, bopping it back and forth on his cock.
“Fuck, your throat…it’s bulging so nicely, I just wanna…” he trails off, ghosting his thumbs over it as if he wanted to choke you. He doesn’t give in, not wanting to hurt you or go too far.
You however want him to continue. You want him to steal your air and make you his’ in any way possible. You grasp his hands and pull them into place, doing the job for him.
“___”, your name leaves him in a deep growl, cock throbbing in your tight throat. His strong hand closes around it, forcing it to tighten even more.
You wail, clasping his lower arms with your claws exposed.
“You’re so tight. Holy fuck, look at you taking me. Fuck. I can feel myself. Shit, baby. This is so hot”, he is babbling, which is new for him. It is insanely hot, driving you to the brink of insanity.
Air is sparse like this and you want it. You want to choke on his cock. You need it. You need to feel every second of it entering your mouth, every inch of throat he bulges, every tender spot appearing on your neck as he chokes it.
You feel so high and satisfied and yet at the same time, you ache. You ache for more of him, wishing for something of him to fill you more. And more. More.
“If you keep moving your hips like that baby, Imma think you’re tryna make me jealous with the air. Why you humping it, hmh?” Jungkook lulls his words, switching his hungry gaze between your fucked face and your needy hips.
You mewl, writhing. You can’t do it. He is tightening his grip on you, burying his thick cock deeper. His balls slap your face as he fucks it, his scent is making you foggy. And now he is teasing you.
You can’t take it anymore, slipping your hand between your legs to take away the pain. You whimper around him, choking oh so sloppily as your fingers try to make up for the emptiness. Three digits. Three digits are buried inside your weeping cunt and it doesn’t help. You still feel empty, unsatisfied, needy. A fourth one doesn’t make any difference. You pump and twist and fuck your fingers into yourself, hoping that one of those things will scratch the itch, but it doesn’t. It only makes it worse because it makes you miss him.
It was a foggy evening, cold and wet and dark, when Jungkook showed you what his fingers could do for the first time. It happened in the living room, during a movie date which you planned to keep romantic. There were only supposed to be cuddles and snacks. One hour into the movie however, he had you naked and spread out on the couch while he drilled his long, tattooed fingers into your puffy walls. You might have ripped one of the cushions that evening.
And right now, it is haunting you. You want his fingers. Please. His fingers felt so good. He did it so much better, he fucked you so much deeper. Please.
You push him away with your free hand. Jungkook listens, letting his cock slip from your mouth. He holds it over your face, watching the spit drip from his tip back onto your lips.
“Please, it hurts. I want yours”, you beg, thrusting your hips up needily.
“Aww I see. I was already wondering what you were oh so clumsily attempting to do”, he teases you. “Let me do it, sweetie. Don’t worry, your Alpha’s got.”
He slides his hand into your shorts and swipes your hand away, giving you your sweet relief by sinking his long fingers into your dripping cunt. The position naturally allows his palm to press against your clit, applying such warm and intense pressure that you sob his name. He instantly picks up a quick rhythm, forcing you to cry out and claw at his hips in your clumsy attempt to get his cock back inside. He gives in for you, fucking his girth back into you in one harsh thrust. His right hand falls back to your throat, his hips pick up a punishing rhythm. The kind of rhythm which turns your moans into choking gurgles and which constantly slaps his heavy balls against your face. And how it leaves you feeling high. You stopped trying to swallow, letting the spit spill out of you messily and endlessly. It smears all over his cock and your face like this, making the glide so much easier.
“There we go, make those pretty sounds. Try to breathe whenever I pull out, baby. Breathe.”
You obey him. Breathe. Moan. Breathe. Sob. Breathe. Wail. Breathe and breathe and moan some more. You are so utterly his’.
He has your face fucked, your throat claimed and now your cunt as well. Nothing. Truly nothing is missing.
“Yes baby suck on it. Suck it dry, baby. Suck it, yes baby. Yes. Fuck. Yes.” He is babbling, being loud with you as you shake and writhe your way to your orgasm.
If this continues, it won’t be long. You are so high on him. So fucking high. Tears stream down your temples, your throat is starting to get sore from his rough breeding. You aren’t aware of it yet because you are truly lost to him.
He is just as lost. It hasn’t been that long and your pussy is already so lose around his two fingers. Greedily, he slips in his pointer finger and pinkie too. You wail up, throbbing around him as you take his fist.
“Feels good?”
“Ymgmeahm”, you gurgle out, grasping his hips to the point you leave marks.
“I’m gonna fucking ruin you, baby. Gonna put some puppies down your throat, make you my fucking cumslut”, Jungkook is losing it, which means that he is just as drugged as you are. Just in his own kind of way.
The kind of way which means that you are getting fucked harder and better. Which also means that he brings you over the edge mere moments later.
“Ah! Baby!” he yelps, legs stuttering. He throws his head back. “___!”
He orgasms right with you, finding his crescendo deep in throat, which forces you over the edge a second time. And while your screams are muffled by his heavy cock, his scream bounces off the bedroom walls.
He didn’t even know that he could be this fucking loud. Normally, he is always the one who gets his partners screaming. Or in his case ever since he became your true mate, who gets you, his pretty wife, screaming. But this is new. He can scream as well. And it’s fucking needed because you make him feel goddamn invincible like this.
The moments after your highs died down are messy. It should have been enough, but it wasn’t. You want the stretch of his cock while Jungkook feels the need to truly use his strength. No more holding back for the sake of your jaw.
Besides, he wants to make the cumshots count. He wants to feel fucking alive inside you again. Which has been his favourite thing to do ever since you and he bonded.
You drag yourself out of the position and onto your knees while he tries to make sense of what happened. You pull the shorts off of you, sobbing as you do.
“Please”, you beg, “please more, please.”
“You’re insatiable.”
You begin trembling, looking in pain. If he doesn’t give you another dose of him soon, you will pass out in withdrawal.
“Please, it hurts. Please.”
“Hey, calm down for me” he whispers and cradles your cheeks.
Your body obeys. The shakes stop. You look up into his eyes submissively. He is so tall and dominant, taking up your entire vision. And yet, he is gentle. He holds you with no strength and talks to you in a soothing voice.
“I want you too, but I need to make sure you actually want it. Tell me your honest feelings without taking me in account”, he orders. He knows that your little omega body wants to please him. That everything wants to make sure that he is satisfied. But he wants your truth.
“Please, I want you. It’s, it’s the truth.”
“Yes? Does my little omega want more?”
“Yes, Alpha. More”, you hug him, feeling so small against him, “please more.”
“God, you drive me insane”, he rasps and lifts you to carry you back to the window sill. He lies you down on it, chuckling when you spread your legs all on your own.
Your pussy is throbbing. She is so wet and puffy.
“Fuck sweetie, I’m so lucky to have you. Can’t believe I get to fuck such a pretty pussy”, he purrs and sticks his cock into you.
You wail up, arching your back. Tears instantly shoot to your eyes and your body trembles.
“Shit sorry, I forgot to warn you. You okay?”
“Thank you, Koo thank you”, you sob, writhing in ecstasy.
“Mhhhm babyyyy, you drive me insane”, he purrs and grabs your hips to pull them up and on his cock. Your legs hook themselves over his lower arms, your body is bent so he can drill you oh so deep.
“Such a good omega. Fuck, keep moaning for me”, he encourages you, staring down at you with obsession in his golden eyes.
Your eyes are closed, your mouth is open. Your body writhes and shakes. Your skin is glowing in a sheer layer of sweat, reflecting the sunlight. Fuck, it looks so pretty on your nipples. How plumb they are.
Jungkook pinches them, soaking up the wail you let out because of it. They leak a little, making the massage easier.
“Fucking look at you. You’re fucking meant to be bred”, he growls. His hips rut into you without him having to concentrate on moving. It’s instinct. He’s inside his omega and his body knows exactly what to do.
“How are you that good?” he rasps, staring at you with a dizzy head.
“Good…what?”
“Good at making it all better.” He thrusts into you as if he is trying to reward you for your mere existence. “Good at distracting me.” Another thrust, a twist of your nipples, quivers down your legs. “Good at being you. Perfect, amazing you.” He fucks into you with each word, knocking the most delicious moans out of you.
He pulls out of you just to watch your slick spill from your puffy cunt. He runs his heavy cock through it, playing with your stretched entrance.
“You’re just so fucking good”, he rasps and pushes back inside.
You wail, arching your back.
“Please rougher”, you beg instantly.
“Like this? Do you like it?”
“More. Please, more. Kook please.”
Jungkook feels invincible when you are like this. It hasn’t been long since you and he have bonded. It has been three months, two weeks and one day to be exact. Jungkook counted the days. It hasn’t been long, but it has been long enough for you and him to fuck way too many times. You just love it too much. It is as if you can’t stop doing it.
Whenever he gets you like this, so cockdrunk and needy for his rougher sides, Jungkook feels invincible. He wants to fulfil your every wish and keep you safe. This is your shared moment. Only he will ever see you so submissive and vulnerable and he would be damned if he didn’t keep you safe while he rearranges your insides.
He lifts you up onto the window bench so you are kneeling on all fours and looking outside. He joins you on top of it. Your body falls to the front, colliding with the window. He slams his hand on the glass right above your hand, eyes shifting to the world outside. He towers over you, letting anyone know that trying to take you from him would end in fucking death. You’re his’.
“Is this alright for you? Wanna make the world see how good we fuck?” he makes sure because he knows that once you are high on pleasure, you can’t really think for yourself anymore. He wants to make sure that you are aware of what is happening to you, that you always have a chance to change something.
“Yes, okay. Just please. Harder.”
“Anything you want. Take me, baby. All of me.” He fills you up from behind, slinging his strong arm around you to hold you against his strong chest. “Let everyone see who makes you feel that good.”
You sob his name, sinking back into him. Your head hits his chest, your fingers grasp his lower arm.
“Happy, so happy”, you whimper, drooling on his arm.
“Me too, baby. So happy”, he rasps, drilling his huge cock into you. The sunlight hits it each time he pulls out, really showcasing just how fucking wet you get him. “You like how I fuck you, sweetie?”
“Yeah, rough. So good”, you mewl, writhing in his arms.
“Mhm what a good omega you are, fuck”, Jungkook growls and slips his left hand to your pussy. He takes your swollen clit between his fingers and begins playing with it.
Of course you wail up because of it. Of course your pussy throbs around his cock. And of course you arch your back in the prettiest of ways.
Jungkook watches your nipples leak in pleasure, going insane because in the same fucking view he can also see how his cock is entering you repeatedly. He’s so big that your stomach bulges each time he ruts into you. Leaking nipples and cock filled tummies. Jungkook growls at the view, biting your neck right on your scent spot.
You sob his name, limp body shaking in his arms and legs quaking. He is going to make you climax. You’re his’. And now the whole pack is going to see.
Months ago, the thought of sealing your bond so publicly scared you. Right now, the potential of being watched is ecstatic to you. This is the future pack Alpha who’s fucking like this and you’re the girl he chose as his queen.
“You know that I’m so happy it’s you?” He rasps into your ear while his fingers torture your puffy clit to an orgasm. “You know that I wouldn’t want it any other way?”
Bonds between Alphas and omegas are rare in the werewolf community. Alphas don’t want to risk their pups being born with the omega gen and therefore most Alphas bond with other Alphas to guarantee their offspring to have the Alpha gen. Sex between Alphas and omegas is a more common thing, but marriage? Not that much. Too many risks.
Sometimes you feel so wrong as Jungkook’s mate. You know how his father thinks of you and there are probably others in the pack who share his feelings. Being Jungkook’s mate bears the risk that your pups are going to be born as omegas too. It’s a risky marriage.
Hearing Jungkook talk like this as he fucks you against the windows for everyone to see, changes you as a person.
“I gotta be the luckiest fucking Alpha out there, baby. I have a pretty omega as my wife. I’m the goddamn luckiest bastard.”
“Jungkook”, you mewl, grasping his hair as his words send you off the edge.
“You liked that, didn’t you? What a pretty omega you are cumming for me. That’s it, sweetie. Cream my cock, good omega. Such a good girl”, he talks you through it, rubbing your clit as he writes his name on your throbbing walls.
Panickedly, you reach down to get his hand to stop. He is stronger than you, torturing you and holding you close.
“I-I will- Jung- I- please”, you stutter.
“Don’t hold back, baby. Let’s show the pack how prettily my omega can squirt.”
“Jungkook”, you wail, sinking into yourself as he sets you off.
He growls, pressing you against the window as he fucks the pretty liquid out of you.
“Yes princess, yes. Urgh what a good omega you are. Give me everything. That’s it”, he talks you through it. Of course he does. Jungkook always talks you through your orgasms, which is reason on its own to be totally crazy. You’ve got this sexy, strong Alpha as your mate and on top of it all, he always talks you through it.
You’ve got to be luckiest omega in existence.
Jungkook is rougher after your high. His voice is deeper too. His grip is punishingly strong.
“I need to use your body. Can I? I’m so close.”
“Please”, you beg and sob when seconds later, you get pushed down into the pillows. The top of your head is pressed against the window, the sun shines right onto your face. You can’t open your eyes, crying tears because you are so sensitive and he drills you as if you have a debt to pay.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry, it’s gonna be over soon. I’m sorry”, he chants, keeping you down with one hand on your head. He hates seeing you cry, but it’s impossible to stop. He needs to rut, breed you and make you his’. “I’m so fucking sorry. Oh god, baby. I can’t stop.”
Something holds him back. Maybe it’s guilt. He doesn’t want to do this to you, but can’t stop. Fuck, why can’t he cum? Jungkook ruts even harder despite not wanting to. He feels so fucking guilty.
“I’m sorry, I can’t- I-”
“Feels so good, Koo. Koo. Please Koo”, you sob and shut off his guilt for breeding you with such strength.
The intense pleasure returns, hitting him with such intensity that Jungkook arches his back and throws his head back.
“___!” he moans, feeling his orgasm finally hit him. “Holy fuck”, he gets out, falling to the front. He cushions his fall with one arm against the window, dropping his head against it as he fills you with his creamy cum in heavy spurts.
You sob his name, finding one more high because of his cum, but you know that you couldn’t take any more afterwards. You are ruined. This was the last thing your drugged omega body needed to be completely satisfied. Now you are finally filled up with him on both ends. Your tummy is truly only there to carry his pleasure. What a perfect life you are living.
Jungkook finishes with a growl of your name, then a tremble of his body and a curse.
“Holy fuck, sweetie”, he croaks, pulling you up into his arms. He kisses and nuzzles you instantly, whispering the sweetest words repeatedly, “I love you, I love you, oh sweetie. My sweetie, I love you.”
“I…I love you too.”
“What?”
He pulls out and turns you, cradling your cheeks. His eyes are widened, racing between yours in urgency.
“What did you just say?”
“I love you too.”
“You don’t mean that”, he seems in disbelief, voice quivering.
“I do.”
“No. No, you don’t. Baby”, his lower lip quivers. He pulls you closer, tilting your head up so you can still look at each other. You are so close like this that you feel his breath tickle your lips as he talks, “tell me you’re not serious.”
“But I am”, you insist, touching his waist, “Koo, I love you.”
Jungkook laughs, eyes filling with tears.
“___, my love”, he chokes out, picking you up just so he can dance through the room with you. “Oh baby, I love you. Baby.”
“Koo, I’m leaking. Please no twirls. It’s going everywhere”, you squeak, trying so hard to clench your pussy.
“Doesn’t matter. Just leak on me. Oh baby, you make me so happy”, he says and drops on the bed with you.
He buries you under him, attacking your face with too many kisses to count. He cradles your cheeks for it, making you giggle and squeal because it is so nice to be adored this way.
“Oh baby, my baby”, he kisses your forehead and cheeks, “I could melt with you”, he pulls your head up to repeatedly kiss your lips.
Once he stops, you feel butterflies in your tummy and warmth in your chest.
“But how are you? How’s your jaw?” he rubs it gently, “How’s your pussy? I was so rough. Is there anything hurting?”
You shake your head, “just a little sensitive, but it’s nice.”
“Yeah? And your tummy?” He rubs it. “I fed you a lot of cum. How are you handling it?”
You place your hand over his’, smiling at him goofily, “I feel like I could do anything.”
“Yes? Oh sweetie”, he nuzzles against your scent spot, “you have no idea how happy I am. I can’t shut up. The way you made me feel, it’s. Wow.” He laughs breathily. “Wow, I never felt this way before. I literally can’t shut up about it. I feel, wow.” He falls to his back and kicks his feet in the air, giggling. “Fuck, I could do anything! Ah!” He exclaims and stretches his limbs from himself in starfish position.
You giggle, rolling over repeatedly until you are snuggled into his side again. Jungkook flips to his side, closing his arms around you. He purrs, kissing your forehead. Afterwards he just kind of lets the view of you sink in. He traces your temple and ear softly as he gazes into your eyes.
“You’re so beautiful”, he whispers, letting shyness appear in your eyes. “It sucks that I can’t share with everyone how you make me feel when our bodies connect”, he speaks softly.
“I feel like we kinda shared it a little.”
You and Jungkook glance at the window bench. The windows are dirty to the point where the sunlight looks a little milky through it. You look back into each other’s eyes, cracking up at the same time.
You and he giggle like teenagers doing something harmless yet forbidden.
“I can’t believe that we did that”, he confesses.
“Me neither. Oh my god. Do you think someone saw us?”
“I lowkey hope someone did and they tell my dad…” He kisses the tip of your nose. “...that his son has the best, most beautiful wife ever. And that he loves her so much.”
“I’m sure that they would also tell him that happiness looks so good on his son and that she loves him too. And that their bond is forever, no matter what anyone says.”
Jungkook’s features soften, “oh baby” he whispers, caressing you under your eye, “you’re just so…” his eyes glimmer in adoration, “... goddamn perfect.”
You lean into his touch, rubbing his chest mindlessly. He kisses your forehead, nuzzling you into him afterwards. He draws hearts on your back while you melt in his embrace.
He studies the windows you and he dirtied. The prints of his hands are next to the prints of your tits and the spots where he made your squirt. He feels so proud and giddy. He did that with you. Wow, he will think about this forever.
“Are you hungry?” he asks in a quiet purr.
“A little. Why?”
“Just making a mental plan on how to spend the rest of our day. Just wanna cook for you and take care of you.”
“Cooking sounds nice. I’m so sleepy though. I’m sorry it’s suddenly so hard to...talk.”
“No wonder. You’re coming down.”
“You’ll hold me, right?”
“Of course, baby. I’ll hold you. Just relax, I’ll make sure that nothing happens.”
You sigh in relief, growing softer and smaller now that he reassured you that it was safe for you to relax. Omegas rarely can function normally after sex. After basically being high and doing everything to chase pleasure, an omega’s body is spent. Most omegas use what little strength they have to flee to somewhere safe and hide away until it passes. Knowing that you have Jungkook as your protector and safe space to hide in, makes the entire recovery process a moment of healing. You won’t ever have to flee. You have someone safe who will be with you.
“I love you”, you whisper with your last strength.
“I love you too, my sweetie”, he whispers.
You fall asleep in his arms and Jungkook stays with you for a while until he is sure that you are safely gone in your slumber. He tugs you in as he leaves to shower and begin preparing breakfast.
He wants you to wake up to your favourite dishes being finished and your favourite flowers waiting on your bedside table. And as he cooks, he dances to his favourite music. He hasn’t danced in ages, but being your mate makes him want to do the things he loved doing when his mental health wasn’t terrible. Being your mate makes him want to heal and become happier again. Life isn’t all bad, it really isn’t, Jungkook thinks and sings as he dances. Life isn’t all bad.
Warnings | +18, angst, manipulation, injury, blood, MC starts to understand the rules of the game, MC is a vessel of revenge 🫠, brief reference to what MC did to Yoongi, noncon kiss, dubcon kiss, Jimin conflicted and teased by MC, Hoseok a bit soft 🤔 (uhmmm), multiple references to sex and pregnancy, dirty and vulgar language, this is not for minors.
This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.
I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.
This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.
Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.
⤷ Summary | The Moondir, born of the Moon Goddess' love for a wolf, were persecuted and enslaved by humans for merely existing. Moondirian women have been captured and killed in the most heinous ways, men have instead been forced to do dangerous work in place of the humans themselves, and after more than a century, this has virtually brought their race to the brink of extinction. A group of Moondirian rebels have succeeded in their quest to regain their freedom, and not without the use of the crudest violence. Their females are now gone, and it will be human women who will help them repopulate the world.
➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! ❤️
I'm back after an unforgivable delay. Unfortunately, a lot has happened in recent months, and I don't have as much time as I used to, so I can no longer promise you a specific date for updates on Moondir or the many other stories I have in mind! I'm really sorry, but I can assure you that Moondir is still going strong, and I'll never abandon it! 🥹❤️
In this new update, you'll see a change in MC, especially towards Jimin 🫠
I really hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think, I love your comments! 🥰
I love you all! ❤️💜
Your eyes are dull as Seokjin's pen tip elegantly scratches the sheet of paper. He asked you what happened, how it happened, and how long it happened. You answered each of his questions absentmindedly, as if detached from the story.
When he finally finishes writing down his thoughts on what you told him, he allows himself to look at you.
“Y/N,” he says your name softly, looking at you as if you could break at any moment.
“Mh?”
“Actually, yesterday morning when I left, I talked it over with the others and we concluded that it would be too much for you to be with one of us every day.”
His words take a while to sink in, and you nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I don't understand, you seemed pretty convinced about your initial plan,” you reply, trying to sound confident.
Seokjin nods, “I don't deny it, but psychological stress is not a great ally if you're trying to get pregnant right away.”
You shift uncomfortably. This is the second morning Seokjin has come into your room to ask you questions. You hope it doesn't become a habit.
“How will it work then?”
“Twice a week to give you time to recover between sessions,” he sighs. “Besides, Jimin didn't do things the best way.”
A wave of nausea makes you shrink. “What do you mean? He came, he did his job.” It's disgusting to talk about it like that, but how else could you say it?
Seokjin keeps his expression unreadable, but you can see the tips of his ears redden in response. Maybe he doesn't like hearing you talk like that.
“We’re wolves, Y/N... when we finish, we should wait for the knot, to make sure our seed doesn’t leak out and that it takes properly. Jimin didn’t do that.”
You freeze, remembering the strange sensation of something swelling inside you that Jimin stopped just in time. Was that the knot?
“He probably thought it was too intimate to share with you, but it will happen with the others... I just want you to be aware of it.”
“You could have told me earlier,” you snap, “I would have forced him to finish.” Your lips tremble, but not because of tears—you cried yourself out last night—but because of anger. Were you forced to endure that torture only to end up with complete failure? How many more times will they use you for reproduction?
“I'm sorry... when conception occurs, I can smell it, but there's nothing coming from you,” you scrutinize his slightly hunched posture sternly. He seems as disappointed as you are, albeit for very different reasons.
“Is there anything else?” you ask bitterly.
“Are you in pain anywhere? I'd like to examine you before we go.”
You immediately shake your head.
“It's not my body that needs healing, Seokjin,” you reply proudly. The wolf presses his lips together before nodding.
“All right... don't forget to eat, okay? This time Jungkook made breakfast, he's much better than Namjoon,” he grimaces, thinking back to his friend's culinary horrors, while your mind is flooded with the younger man's mysterious eyes.
“Jung...kook?” you ask, almost ashamed, feeling an unusual sensation in your chest. Seokjin relaxes his shoulders, happy to answer you.
“Yes, he's the youngest member of our team, I guess you don't...”
“He helped me after Jimin left,” you admit, gritting your teeth and surprising the healer.
“He... helped you?” The syllables come slowly from his lips, as the wolf's mind is filled with doubts and perhaps even a hint of hope.
“I want him to be the second,” your tone is firm. If even someone like Jimin refused to make your first night a nightmare, you strongly doubt that the others would do otherwise, so you might as well have a free choice. Jungkook doesn't seem to like dialogue. You would both avoid a lot of unnecessary talk. Your thoughts turn resentfully to the necklace and what it represents. You are no longer willing to turn a blind eye.
Seokjin seems to be thinking about something that makes him gloomy.
“Is he part of the program too, or not?” you almost growl. You weren't ready either, but they didn't let you back out!
“Yes, he's part of the program, but his mind isn't in good shape, and that affects his body too.” Seokjin narrows his blue eyes, looking at you more closely. “Of course... if you...”
You raise an eyebrow, far from calm.
“If I?”
“You said he took care of you, you could approach him, talk to him,” his voice trembles a little, “Jungkook isn't bad, he just needs a cautious approach.”
You look at him bewildered, as if he had just asked you to pull mountains of gold out from under your bed. He has clearly lost his mind. “You're asking me to do the impossible! He might slit my throat if I say the wrong thing.”
"He won't, even with Jimin you thought the worst, but it didn't happen. We are still creatures with a conscience, even if we are not totally human," he explains gently, somehow understanding your state of mind.
You sigh tremulously, trying to banish that crazy idea from your mind. “Okay, so if Jungkook can't,” and here embarrassment tinges your cheeks slightly, making the wolf smile, “who?”
Taehyung could be the most likely candidate. He's going through a rough heat and would certainly need company. You're no different from a prostitute now, the only difference being that you also have to get pregnant, as well as sexually satisfy everyone. But once again, Seokjin doesn't express himself clearly.
“The time hasn't come yet,” he says cryptically, leaving you with a question mark as big as a house weighing on your head.
“What do you mean?”
“I have a theory,” he says, and then says nothing more.
You don't like sitting around doing nothing. After a week, nothing has happened so far, and you haven't had another chance to talk to Seokjin face to face. For one reason or another, the healer was always busy, and you found yourself in Namjoon's company several times.
Seokjin was right about one thing: Namjoon was a terrible cook, and Jungkook was far better than him. You didn't understand why the older wolf insisted on cooking, taking turns with the younger one.
At least you weren't bothered by any of them anymore, you think with a mixture of relief and unease. It seemed that everyone had been ordered not to talk to you or touch you unless absolutely necessary. While you had been pleased at first, now you were beginning to miss the chance to talk to someone.
You continue to slowly chew the jam-filled muffin that Jungkook has just baked, walking back and forth around the house. You discovered some interesting things in that last week, some paintings concealed hidden messages and letters, it seemed that the eldest daughter of the previous owners of the house had a rather steamy relationship with a cousin. This should have upset you, but compared to the reality you are forced to live with, it seems almost trivial.
Since that night, you've also started carrying Jimin's necklace around with you. He hasn't been seen since, but at the first opportunity, you'll make sure to give it back to him, promising never to wear it again. Every time he has your body, he'll have to remember who he's doing those things to. Even if it means making him furious.
You freeze halfway between the hallway leading to the living room and the stairs. Jungkook freezes too, holding a large, dusty box. He seems to be thinking about something before walking straight ahead, as if you don't exist.
'You said he took care of you, you could approach him, talk to him '
“Jungkook?” The words came out before you could stop them, inspired by the healer's advice. You curse yourself, but you can't back down now. The young wolf has stopped and is staring at you with eyes full of... expectation? It's the first time you've called him by name. You don't know if you like it, but it certainly had an effect on him.
“Can I help you?” You point to the large box he is carrying. He presses his lips together for a moment, then—almost shyly, you notice with some surprise—nods.
ou follow him a few steps behind, and the wolf enters a corridor in the house that has always led you to a dead end, but to your surprise, you see him push his hand against the wooden wall that has always forced you to turn back. The wall opens with a series of sinister sounds, and it takes all your pride not to open your mouth wide.
It was a secret door!
How did you not think of that? It was strange, actually, to have a wooden wall when everything else was made of stone.
“Where does this passage lead?” you ask, forgetting that for some strange reason, Jungkook would never speak to you. You don't know if it's a physical problem or if he just doesn't want to talk. Anyway, it doesn't take long to find out the destination.
You slowly descend the wooden steps that creak under your feet, and an intense smell of dampness invades your nostrils. When the wolf turns on a small light bulb, you find yourself peering into what appears to be a basement. The walls, also made of stone, show signs of rough workmanship: a thin layer of water covers the floor, soaking some of the boxes scattered around. Among them, numerous objects catch your attention.
You ignore the unpleasant damp smell to concentrate; your brain has new stimuli to register and decipher, and you feel excited.
“It's like being in a movie,” you comment with a sigh.
In one corner, on top of an old tea table, you spot a dusty typewriter. Next to it, a pile of worn-out books seem to beg for mercy, as if they had been read countless times until they were worn out.
A little further on, you notice an elegant cherry wood rocking chair. Despite the dust, its sinuous lines and the quality of the wood strike you. It must have been used a lot by its owner, but apart from the heavy layer of gray dust, there are no signs of wear. And that's saying something in such a terrible environment!
Jungkook watches you out of the corner of his eye, noticing how absorbed you are; it would be nice to take a nap in that chair, wouldn't it?
He shudders at that bizarre thought, shaking his head decisively before placing the huge box full of old records on the floor. He stares at them for a moment, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes, while you catch his motionless figure out of the corner of your eye.
You lean over his shoulder, trying to get around the wall that is his height, and finally see the contents of the box.
“Oh... they're CDs,” you murmur, smiling uncertainly. “What genre of music do you like?” you continue, getting no answer, of course. The boy begins to close the box, pulling out some tape you didn't even know existed. Where did he get it from?
“Why are you putting them away? Don't you have a CD player?” Is it possible that the previous owners of the house had CDs but no player to listen to them?
Your questions seem to annoy him, because he looks back at you suddenly with a frown and his lips curled in a disdainful expression, as if you had just touched a raw nerve. You feel yourself freeze. For a moment – a single stupid moment – you forgot what he is and what situation you are in. His calm demeanor helped put you at ease, but he remains a predator at the top of his game.
“I'm sorry,” you murmur, the blood draining from your face. He snorts in irritation. “I'm a chatterbox. My father always pointed that out to me,” you mumble, clenching your hands into fists at the memory of your parent ordering you to be quiet.
Jungkook finishes closing the box before turning back to you, setting aside the annoyed expression he had before. For some strange and absurd reason, seeing you scared of him didn’t please him. It’s different when he kills men—they deserve it, and even some women who are a bit too crazy for his taste—but you are so innocent that it’s impossible not to feel tenderness, and that unsettles him quite a bit.
No human has ever made him feel an emotion like this. He’s always driven by anger or disgust, and when he’s alone he feels only apathy—but with you, in some strange way, it’s different.
That's why he feels guilty, while you nervously clench the fabric of your pink sweater, which is a little too big for you.
Biting his lip, he reaches out to caress your shoulder. The touch is light, almost imperceptible, but it's there and it's enough to send your brain into a confusing spiral of sensations. Is Jungkook apologizing?
You blush and shake your head, “It's okay, I guess,” you murmur, meeting his incredible lilac eyes, which shine in the dark like a cat's. Then something catches your gaze, where the long strands of his hair almost disappear over the edge of his simple black shirt. “Those are—” you point to his neck, but Jungkook instantly moves away, bringing a hand to where you were pointing. His expression perfectly mirrors yours; a mix of alarm and agitation.
“Jungkook?” But he doesn't listen to you, abandoning everything he was doing in that place and rushing up the creaky steps, as if trying to escape your judgment.
You keep mulling over what you saw. Could those things on Jungkook's neck have been gills? From the way he left, it seemed like he was ashamed of them, assuming you really did see gills. You nervously bite your nails, pacing back and forth through the corridors of the house. You haven't run into anyone else since then. From what you understand, each of them has a job to do, and their schedules don't always align. Some come back and some leave, but at least two of them stay in the house, as if to make sure you don't run away.
You want to laugh in their faces. Run away to where, exactly? You'd starve to death or something. The whole country is no longer ruled by humans. You'd be intercepted by other wolves and killed, if you were lucky, of course.
As you're about to go back to your room, you hear whispering coming from the same room that's used for meetings. You frown. Are they back? When?
The urgent need to listen comes galloping back into your brain. God, how you miss the outside world. Hoseok doesn't dare talk to you about it, teasing you every time: “Why would you want to know what's going on out there? Would you like to join our games?”
You curl your lips in disgust. Ever since you chose Jimin first, he seems to have distanced himself from you, as if you had offended him. Idiot!
It's all a game to them, a race to see who comes out on top, and you're the prize. Or rather, the prize is your womb.
“I'm just saying that one wrong move could doom us again!” Namjoon growls, slamming his hand on Yoongi's desk, glaring at an old wolf who looks tired but fierce. The man has deep wrinkles furrowing his brow and a scar disfiguring his face from his mouth to his left eyebrow. He is clearly the oldest among them and acts on the direct orders of the alpha who rules the entire country.
“But it wouldn't be a bad idea,” Seokjin tries, earning shocked and angry looks from his companions. “Sylvus might be right. We've been hunting humans for months. Now they are few and weak. It's the perfect opportunity for a peace treaty. Yoongi, think about it!”
The wolf in question looks at his host impassively. “Why does Sylvus need our approval, Bryan?”
The old wolf curls his lips, “In the past, listening to one man was our downfall. Sylvus, on the other hand, wants to know what his people think before making such a move,” he replies wisely. Suspended between them is the image of the previous supreme Alpha, a wolf perhaps too good to understand the evil nature of humans.
Jimin clenches his teeth, almost grinding them together, “No. We have the chance to wipe them out, the world will no longer suffer because of their existence.”
Bryan smiles at the young wolf's words. “You're young and full of rage, kid. We're older and we recognize our victory. Continuing would be a waste of energy. Why don't you make up for the years you've lost? Humans have understood the mistake they made and won't bother us anymore.”
These are encouraging words. But for some strange reason, Yoongi bursts out laughing, sounding more like a sharp, piercing cry of derision. He pulls back his black hair, shiny like a panther's coat, drawing attention back to the old man.
“Basically, you're advising us to leave the rest to you, so that you can build a civilized society where everyone greets each other with a nice smile, forgetting death, abuse, and chains. Is that right?”
Namjoon and Jimin relax their shoulders, relieved. But Seokjin seems disappointed; he, more than anyone, is tired of the slaughter. They have regained their freedom, they have the chance to carry on the species, but this does not seem to satisfy the others. There is still too much pain to overcome. Taehyung would also agree with Yoongi, and probably Jungkook too, who can't wait to go out and hunt down the humans left in the territory. The only one who has not yet spoken, despite being present in the room, is Hoseok.
Seokjin looks at his friend with understanding, who is staring at his boots without daring to utter a word. Something happened to Hoseok during those hundred years. Imprisonment and torture broke him. He is still a faithful Moondirian, Seokjin has no doubt about that, but sometimes Hoseok no longer seems to be Hoseok. Without realizing it, he begins to refer to himself as human, sometimes unable to even look at a prisoner, believing he is betraying a friend. He seems divided.
At first, it was difficult for the others to accept, but Hoseok had no choice, and eventually they all learned to put up with his identity crises.
Bryan shakes his head, “I'm just saying that we've all lost a lot. After a war, peace always comes, and it's time for all of us to move on.”
“You're not going to say—” Yoongi stops Jimin's hostile words with a single gesture of his hand.
A small smile and the defiance in the boy's eyes already say a lot to Bryan, but Yoongi wants to make things clear verbally as well, “Tell Sylvus that he is free to fantasize about his plans for peace and tolerance between races. He is our Supreme Alpha, I would never dare to go against his wishes.”
There is a slight pause, Namjoon straightens his back and clenches his jaw, wanting to give free rein to the anger rising inside him, while Seokjin sighs inwardly as your scent begins to make the air in the room more sensual. Bryan also notices the change, but waits for the end of the speech.
“I won't hunt humans, but if I happen to come across one, well... let's just say I won't be very tolerant,” he concludes sharply.
Bryan doesn't seem disappointed, as if he expected a similar response—in fact, he has already heard this from countless other Moondirian groups scattered throughout the country—and shrugs.
“My friends,” he chuckles, “I don't judge you or your words. I am not your enemy, and I am the first to understand your pain and anger, but...” and here he winks toward the door, “I think there are other ways to vent it, don't you agree?”
Bryan throws open the door and stares at you with his one eye, so clear that it makes you shiver, seeming to tear your skin and flesh from your bones with unprecedented coldness. Hoseok interrupts your staring contest.
“You don't need to tell us how to use our lovely human,” he says in a tone so gentle that the false note behind it is obvious. He gently places his hands on your shoulders, but his grip is firm, possessive. As if he wants to make things clear.
“Don't exaggerate, kid.” The old wolf towers over Hoseok by a few inches, but the emerald-eyed wolf isn’t intimidated and doesn’t move, placing himself in front of you like a protective barrier that makes you feel desperately relieved.
“I think it’s time to go. Yoongi has given you his answer,” Namjoon says with a small nod toward the hallway in a gesture of dismissal.
The man lightly brushes your shoulder as he begins to leave without saying a word. It’s a small, intentional gesture—one that immediately draws the others’ attention. A spark of annoyance runs through them, enough to almost make them growl.
Yoongi waits a few more seconds before speaking. His gaze pins you in place.
“I assume you heard everything,” he says, almost disinterested—but you know him better than anyone. Over time, you’ve learned to listen to his silences and read his movements. He’s angry.
“She was probably looking for me. I told her we needed to discuss some matters related to mating,” Seokjin jumps in to help you, but Yoongi ignores him.
He settles back more comfortably.
“You should be pleased, right? The higher-ups have decided they’ve punished you enough. Which is funny, really… so few years, compared to what we endured at your hands.”
You grit your teeth.
I’ve never hurt anyone, Yoongi,” you snap back, irritated. “And yes, I’m happy. Maybe if you stopped this pointless bloodshed, your soul would finally find some peace too.”
You’re not trying to provoke him. You’re just answering his question — but for Yoongi, everything is a provocation.
He rolls his eyes, a silent reply: You’re unbearable.
“Leave us.” Namjoon and Jimin don’t seem bothered by the order — Yoongi speaks, and they obey.
Seokjin, however, narrows his eyes, and Hoseok looks ready to protest, still shielding you with his body.
“She’s just a foolish little girl. Don’t pay attention to anything that comes out of her mouth,” he sighs, leaving the others stunned.
“Hoseok…” Namjoon warns, but he continues.
“Honestly, if we punished her for every single thing she says or does, she wouldn’t last till the end of the month.”
Yoongi looks genuinely entertained.
“I’m sure she didn’t mean to eavesdrop on our conversation,” Seokjin adds, still in disbelief. Did Hoseok really speak up for you?
“You still haven’t understood the meaning of my words. Should I repeat them in our mother tongue?” he asks, his voice turning dangerous.
Then he speaks in a language unknown to you: “Lou’rin nohae!”
The sound is melodic, beautiful — but the weight behind it is so threatening that everyone in the room freezes.
“Forgive us, Yoongi,” Jimin says with difficulty, his face gray. With a sharp gesture of his hand, he orders the others to leave. You only have time to catch Seokjin's apologetic glance before you see him join Namjoon and Jimin outside, while Hoseok sighs.
“It won't take long. Be good,” he whispers as he passes by you.
What the hell happened? A few seconds ago, they seemed ready to fight a war for you. What made them retreat so easily after... oh!
“Moondirian is a magical language, isn't it?”
Yoongi smiles, “You can call it that if it suits you. It only works on a pure Moondirian and only has power if you play a dominant role within the pack,” he gets up to wander around you, “I don't use it often. I don't like forcing my companions to do what they don't want to do, but sometimes it's useful.”
His chest is against your back now, his heartbeat strong against you, making yours throb in response.
“It's a pity it has no effect on you,” his warm breath caresses your ear, a few strands of hair move and tickle your skin, “Perhaps you would have told the truth if I had forced you.”
You shudder.
“I was too young,” you reply weakly.
“I've heard that one before,” he hums, his hands sliding over your hips, squeezing them weakly, “Try again.”
The memories of that day are hard to swallow. You can still hear your mother's screams and your father's threats; you were terrified at the time. You had never seen them so angry, and it was natural to blame Yoongi for everything.
“Now you want to talk about the old days?” you ask tensely. “The other day you didn't seem so willing.”
“You interfered in my business, I feel obliged to remind you why you should be careful instead.”
You snort. “I didn't want to listen, there's nothing to do in this house...” you admit, making the man raise his eyebrows.
“You think so? But there's a lot to do, what you did with Jimin is proof of that,” he says mellifluously, making you curl your lip in disgust.
“Stop it.”
“Did you learn a lot?”
“Enough...”
“How about putting into practice now what you...”
“Yoongi, stop it!” you blurt out breathlessly, swallowing hard to hold back the rest of the words you were about to spew at him.
The man loses his smirk, returning to his inscrutable expression.
“Don't be ashamed, it's not like you can do anything else, am I right?”
“If you need to humiliate me just to feel alive, then you’re worse off than I thought,” you growl in response. The man's gaze darkens and a bitter half-smile accompanies it.
“Don't be cruel, Y/N,” he whispers, moving closer slowly. “You've already been cruel enough to me… don't you think?” he asks, looking incredibly tired for the first time.
You see them, the dark circles under his black eyes and his slightly sunken cheeks. For a moment, you see the young man who used to serve your family.
“Give me something to do, something that doesn't make me feel like a whore,” you swallow, “Waking up in the morning, eating, waiting for Seokjin's questions and then waiting for the next man I'll have to spread my legs for is driving me crazy.” You bite your lip, trying to stop it from trembling.
You're getting used to the idea of being just that. It's horrible and demeaning. You need something to occupy your mind when Seokjin isn't looking for you, and wandering around the house aimlessly isn't a good method. You feel caged in.
“Everything has a price,” he demands harshly, refusing to grant your request without something in return.
Your shoulders slump under the weight of his capricious gaze.
You're looking for a loophole so you can feel something else, but everything always comes back to that.
Your trembling fingers grab the stiff fabric of his jacket, slowly pulling it off, avoiding touching him, and the soft sound of the fabric sliding down his arms breaks the silence between you. You feel uncomfortable and dirty. He doesn't move, he remains motionless, his breathing barely audible. Then he looks down at your hands clinging to his jacket.
“Why so serious, human?” he asks irritably, “I didn't ask you to give me a blow job.” Those crude words make you blush from head to toe.
“I bet Jimin hasn't taught you that yet, though.” You don't have time to reply.
Time freezes.
Before you can figure out what's happening, he grabs your face and presses his lips firmly against yours. There’s not the slightest hesitation, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. His lips mold themselves naturally to yours, imprinting his taste on you with the audacity of someone who knows that, in a situation like this, you can’t do anything.
The most humiliating thing is that, for a single moment, you remember your younger self—who would have desperately wanted something like this with Yoongi.
But now you don’t respond to the kiss. You’re not capable of it. That man is no longer who he used to be, and he doesn’t even seem to care. He doesn’t bother deepening the kiss or closing his eyes. The pitch-black is there, watching you, waiting for your violent reaction. You try to ignore his faint scent of mint and tobacco. The closeness of your bodies is uncomfortable, making you uneasy—and he seems to enjoy every second of it.
He's testing you. He doesn’t really want to kiss you.
When he pulls away, you see amusement on his face.
“You suck at kissing,” he teases, “but you won’t lack practice in the future,” he murmurs sardonically.
“I'm sure of that,” you say with disgust, ignoring the burning sensation on your lips. It was just a simple touch, nothing like the kiss Hoseok gave you, but somehow it hurt more.
“Anyway, I actually have a task for you,” he says with a slight, thoughtful pout, “But don't forget what your priorities are. Don't make me angry again, it might not end so well,” he winks at you, freezing you in your tracks. It's not over yet.
“I'm also curious about something else, how far would you go to get more freedom?”
You clench the gold necklace in your fist, each step you take seems deafening, but the chain burns in your palm like an accusation.
You are not its owner, and both you and the jewel in question know this. That's why when you see Jimin's detached expression as he waits in the living room for Yoongi to arrive, something inside you explodes.
You throw the necklace at him with all your strength. You're not as strong as a Moondirian, but your fury is enough to cut his eyebrow.
His detachment is replaced by surprise, his amber eyes widening to stare at you speechless. Jimin gasps as a line of blood runs down his skin, getting stuck between his eyelashes.
“Are you crazy?” he asks in a trembling voice, as if he is slowly registering what really happened.
You grit your teeth in a silent growl, “Who can say? In a place like this, surrounded by people like you, the only way to survive is to go crazy, am I right? Otherwise, why would you do something like this to fuck me? You're as crazy as I am.”
“Shut up,” he orders you with an agitated expression, stiffening at the arrival of the others. Seokjin arrives breathless, holding an open anatomy book. Hearing your voice and Jimin's from his room has put him on alert, all too aware of your mutual animosity.
“Why? Oh, right... you're ashamed, I guess,” you sneer. “Yeah, you should be,” you continue maliciously. “You had one thing to do and you didn't even see it through,” you provoke him, and maybe you really are crazy.
Jimin's amber eyes turn to melted chocolate, so dark and deadly that you realize you've gone too far with him. You're deliberately humiliating him in front of his brothers.
“Let's calm down, okay?” Hoseok intervenes, his muddy shoes showing that he's just come in from outside. “I don't know what the hell happened between you two, but that doesn't justify your aggression, doll.” He seems nervous as he glares at you to put you in your place.
“Why do you always have to get yourself into trouble?” he continues angrily, which you find rather strange. He should be happy to punish you again. Ever since you first met, he has given you the impression of being a sadistic bastard, so why is he now reacting as if seeing you in trouble causes him... distress?
“Jimin, she's just nervous, it's not easy to get used to—” Seokjin puts a hand on Jimin's shoulder, but he shakes it off.
“Mind your own fucking business,” he whispers softly, “This is between me and her, understand?” The wolf's tense face makes your skin crawl, but you don't move a muscle. This time you won't tremble like a rabbit. “She's been like this since she walked into this house, provoking me with such ease that it drives me crazy!” The wolf rudely wipes the blood from his lips.
He moves like a snake, fast and sinuous.
He traps your wrist in his steel grip and forces you to follow him.
“Jimin, what are you doing?” Seokjin asks anxiously. Hoseok moves in your direction, perhaps to pull you out of the clutches of his furious companion, but the latter barks orders at them.
“Not another step, or I'll really kill her!”
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Yoongi stopping next to Seokjin, hands in his pockets and impassive expression. He nods slowly in your direction.
Your heart skips a beat, but you return his gaze with confidence. This is how it has to be.
“This is between me and him, don't follow us,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady to hide your turmoil, Jimin's grip tightens. He looks like he's about to explode.
“I don't need your permission, you treacherous snake,” he comments stiffly, pulling you again to get past the others.
Hoseok still seems undecided, but he can't do anything else, not with Yoongi in the room and seeming so calm about Jimin's behavior.
When you disappear from view, however, he finds himself growling at his captain.
“Why did you let him behave like that?”
“The human and I made a deal,” he shrugs, lighting a cigarette with practiced ease, ignoring the fiery looks from the other two.
“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks in surprise. Until recently, he had been convinced that Yoongi wanted nothing to do with you.
The wolf with coal-black eyes exhales smoke in a little cloud, licking his lips.
“To keep her busy, I've given her the task of recording all the humans we capture and kill, specifying the reason behind the capture and how they were killed. She'll be a kind of assistant.” Hoseok shakes his head.
“It'll be torture, not a job for her.”
“But this way she'll have something to do, while Sylvus will get records attesting to valid reasons behind the capture. If written by a human, it will also be easier to believe what is written.”
“It will be complicated. Sylvus will send one of his men again to make sure she doesn’t write certain things just to please us because she fears us.” Seokjin rubs his eyes, visibly stressed and worried.
Yoongi smirks, “Do you think I'm a fool? I've thought of that too.”
Hoseok twists his mouth, “Yes, but that still doesn't explain why you let her go with that loose cannon!”
“Of course it does. I gave her permission to respond to your provocations as she sees fit, with the assurance that no one will hurt her in return, as long as she lets herself be fucked freely.” he looks up when he notices the healer’s astonished expression. “Don’t make that face, Jin. Do you think couples wait for the right days to have sex? As far as I’m concerned, that’s all bullshit.”
Something doesn’t sit right in Seokjin’s mind.
“Getting a job to relieve stress and having the chance to respond to provocations without punishment, as long as she gives herself freely. Two things in her favor, for a single payment.” The healer raises an eyebrow. “There was more, wasn’t there?”
Yoongi doesn’t answer, but a half-smile marks his features, softening them somewhat. There’s no reason for Seokjin to find out about the little kiss you exchanged; in the end, it was nothing important.
“What do you think you’re doing, you little brat?” he asks when he finally lets you go after dragging you into an empty room, with no furniture and no prying eyes.
Jimin seems completely beside himself, the blood now dried on his face and on the collar of his shirt, no longer in perfect condition. You smile, your heart racing with that intoxicating sense of triumph.
Yes, Yoongi is now a shameless piece of shit — but at least he’s an honest shameless piece of shit.
“I only gave back a fraction of the pain you inflicted on me.”
Your satisfied expression leaves him stunned, burning into you in return. Now that you look at him more closely, and with newfound confidence, you notice that Jimin resembles a dragon — a dragon whose treasure has been stolen. Driven by emotion, he doesn’t realize how easy it would be to wound his wings and bring him down.
“I won’t let you get away with this.” He’s now so close you can feel his breath mixing with yours, his chest rising sharply, shaken by low rumbles that scream “danger!”
“I’ll fill you in on Yoongi’s new orders. You can’t lay a finger on me now,” you tell him, gently gripping his collar. You feel him tense.
“That’s not possible. He would never do that,” he spits. “We are superior to you — we could kill you if we wanted!”
You smile sweetly, playfully tugging at the fabric between your fingers.
“The power of words brings down kingdoms. Didn’t you know that?”
At first angry, Jimin relaxes his shoulders after a few seconds of complete silence. He breathes slowly, though his pupils remain dilated.
“You got a favor, it seems,” he murmurs caressingly, his eyes like two luminous spheres, “What did you give him in return? You don't get something like that with a couple of crocodile tears shed just to make him pity for you.”
He's not wrong. Yoongi would have ignored your crying.
The truth is, the sooner you get pregnant, the sooner he'll be able to get rid of you for a while. The mere sight of you disturbs him in a way he doesn't really want to admit, because it would give you power, in a way. Besides, the more time you spend with his men, the more they seem to desire you. It's his intention to send you away before the worst happens.
“I gambled with the only thing I can really bet,” you reply seriously, Jimin chuckles maliciously.
“Your body,” he asserts confidently and with a hint of mockery. “We already have that.”
“My womb. With no more rules or controls, I know how annoying Seokjin can be,” you hiss and squeeze his collar tightly before pressing your lips to his.
This kiss is also different from the ones you've given before. It's an explosion of stagnant, dark emotions. Jimin's lips taste of iron and anger, his dried blood weighing heavy on your tongue as if it wants to burn you.
For a few moments, the wolf doesn’t respond, remaining stone-faced. Perhaps because your gesture was so rash and unusual that it left him petrified. Then a breath, broken by an angry growl, and his resistance goes out the window. He retaliates with a certain amount of violence, grabbing you forcefully by the neck, as if to punish you for daring to touch him that way, while his other hand snakes around your waist like a serpentine vice.
Every touch of your lips is a punishment dripping with venom, your bodies colliding as if in a duel. Jimin pushes you against a wall, one leg sliding between yours, pinning you. You sink your teeth into his lip, making him moan softly before slipping your tongue into his mouth, consuming each other with lascivious, devouring caresses.
When you pull apart, both of you panting, he looks at you with a cloudy gaze, full of a desire that leaves him bitter.
There is a certain tension between your bodies, and you look at him with a defiant glint.
“Stop hiding behind objects or people. You don’t need a charade to fuck a woman, Lieutenant,” you tease him.
There’s something dangerous in his silence. His eyes slide over your lips, swollen and red as sin, then return to meet yours with a new, animalistic and conflicted emotion.
“You’re playing with fire,” he warns, his jaw tense and sharply defined.
You caress it distractedly, without missing a single movement of his marble-sculpted face. “Maybe I'm starting to like it,” you reflect.
“You don't need to love me to have my body, it's just an exchange,” you continue, “Flesh is flesh, right?”
Perhaps you are a descendant of the serpent that tempted Eve.
There's no need to go that far; you just need to get pregnant as soon as possible. A simple task, you've always told yourself. Open your legs and let him do his work.
Yet, the idea of making him fall for you teases you. You are everything that disgusts him, the opposite of what he loved – but there is a spark of desire that shouldn't exist. Even though he would never admit it out loud, Jimin finds you interesting. Attractive, even, if you really want to push it. That's why he seizes on your every gesture or word to despise you; he fears you. What sweeter revenge than this: to ruin him until he becomes a vessel of guilt and contempt for himself and what he's lost.
Jimin wrinkles his nose and mouth before dragging you across the cold floor with him. His chest presses against yours, seemingly torn between hating you and devouring you; perhaps he chooses both, seeing as he grabs your neck to kiss you once again in a suffocating display of power.
“You'll regret all of this, Y/N,” he murmurs at your lips. You almost laugh from the heart.
Summary : never in your life you thought you'd finally find them, your mates
Warnings : mdni!! abuse (not by them), fated mates, smut, MF, MM (and potential more), cursing, threats, marks, p in v, knotting, oral (the warnings will be updated)
The chapters are posted on fridays!!
A/N : i won't put a lot of pressure on myself so the length of the chapters can change a lot depending on my inspiration.
A/N 2 : this fic is inspired by a fic called "finding my pack" where only one chapter is disponible on Tumblr and the rest is $5 on patreon so i chose to write and imagine the other chapters myself!!
kim namjoon fics that need to be injected into my veins
long time no see lovelies! this list has been in my drafts for so long so i thought why not release it into the world finally. as always if u enjoyed any of these recs pls support the authors other members
➺ ghostin him by - @adonis-koo
summary: life is nothing more than dull colors for you, your world shattered and laying in the shards of what once was rather than focusing on what is. That is until you meet Kim Namjoon, who is immediately taken by you without realizing you’re a girl with a whole lot of baggage, through tears and many sleepless nights you’re faced with a choice of hanging on with bleeding hands, or accepting what is, and letting go.
➺ half a heart by - @jamaisjoons
summary: you and namjoon have always been the best of friends; who just happen to be in love and are refusing to do anything about it.
➺ song of the sea by - @jamaisjoons
summary: captivated by the sight of you, he can’t help but watch you swim around his home. and when you turn to leave, he doesn’t know what overcomes him - but as if spellbound - he finds himself following you back to land.
➺ prohibido by @personasintro
summary: namjoon is an art himself. Shame that he’s forbidden - he’s your brother’s best friend. And your colleague.
➺ hammer it home by @gukslut
summary: “the FBI doesn’t care about your porn preferences.”
➺ give me love by @hueseok
summary: you’ve been in a relationship with your boyfriend for over five years now, yet the talk of marriage has never been initiated between the two of you. of course, you try to somehow squeeze it in from time to time, but it seems like no matter what, namjoon just won’t take the hint.
➺ emotions of the soul by @oddinary4bts
summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?
➺ bloom by @hobidreams
summary: family is who you kill for. Who you die for. In this society, you and your kin are shadows, clinging to the darkness to obey orders absolute. But when such orders command you to abandon what little honor remains for wealth and notoriety, you find yourself lost in lonely uncertainty about the only vocation you’ve ever known. That is, until you meet a man with gentle hands, a poet’s heart, and a love for coaxing the world into bloom.
➺ how i love you by @ahundredtimesover
summary: sometimes distance isn’t a space between two people, but cracks and crevices that build up over time. It’s what you learned after being married to Namjoon all these years. But all it takes is a trip back home and the acknowledgement of what your relationship has become, and the realization that it might be the final puncture that would make everything else break.
➺ new parent syndrome by @1kook
summary: you love Namjoon, honest. But you love your daughter Hyejoo even more— it’s not a controversial sentiment when you know he’s the same way! —and going back to a regular adult life sans kids absolutely sucks. (Or so you thought.)
➺ the interpretation of dreams by @ppersonna
summary: he’s the man of your dreams, the an you’ve spent over 6 years pining over. and he’s also your Ph.D. mentor and in charge of your very future.
➺ the sleeping hours by @effortandmore
summary: namjoon thinks there must be infinite versions of the universe, and in every one he’s known, he’s meant to love you.
summary: after you break down on the side of the road, the last thing you expected was for a charming, successful music producer to pull over and change your life. after months of spending endless nights together, romantic dates, and an isolated vacation, you both find the kind of forever most people can only ever dream about.
themes: domestic au, age gap (namjoon is 33, reader is 24), intimacy, lots of fluff, straight husband material, joon spoils spoils spoils, baecation, vacation au, smut, pure porn with some plot, joon is slightly possessive, he's whipped, he's touchy, small time skips, older boyfriend namjoon, he wants to marry her already, vacation smut, protective joon, nicknames
warnings: descriptive & explicit smut MINORS DNI 18+ (hard dom! namjoon x sub fem reader, fingering, daddy kink, lots of praise/dirty talk, oral f & m, ass slapping, breast play, slight size kink, slight impregnation kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, cream pie, missionary, doggy style)
word count: 8.2k
.・゜-: ✧ :-
six months into loving namjoon, it was mornings that basically became your most favorite part.
of course, the exclusive events, studio nights, and the lavish dinners were absolutely delightful—especially with him always close at your side. his big palm would always be laying on the small of your back while his lengthy body towered over you like your own personal security guard.
but it was more than just that, more beyond the attention that came with being seen besides him.
it was just mornings like this—soft, white, and expensive sheets tangled around your legs, the faint warm light of the early morning stretching through the floor to ceilings windows of namjoon's large bedroom.
the city of los angeles would still remain quiet beneath you, but you two would already be warm and half awake besides each other.
his big, beefy arm would be wrapped around your waist, holding you against his chest like even in his sleep, the last thing he would ever do would be letting you drift too far away.
you would smile every time—brain still fuzzy with sleepiness and eyes closed when you feel his lips brush lazily against the back of your head, pulling you in closer when he first woke.
one kiss, then another, then another. it was slow and sleepy, like kissing you was all his slumberous brain knew. "morning baby," he murmurs, voice always deep and rough with sleep.
and god, his nicknames still got you, even after six months. you tilt your head back slightly against him, smiling softly. "you're awake?"
the quietest hum leaves him, vibrating against your back softly. "been awake," he muttered against you. "just like holding you."
your heart melted instantly, skin practically melting under his warm touch. it could be deemed as embarrassing, honestly—the way this man—your man, could still ruin you with one sentence.
his large hands slid slowly along your thighs and up to your stomach, beneath the oversized shirt you stole from him months ago and never gave back.
namjoon was addicted to touching you in a way that drove you absolutely over the moon—it was like he had to be touching you at all times, no matter where it was. but when you two were alone, it was inexplicably different, like his fingertips were devoted to memorizing every inch of your skin.
"you have work today?" he asks quietly against your hair.
you sigh dramatically. "unfortunately."
he's silent for maybe two seconds. "call out."
you laugh immediately. "there it is."
his grip tightens around your waist slightly before he's burying his face in your neck, shooting warmth down your spine. "i'm serious, baby."
"you're always serious, joonie."
"because i like you here," he muttered, placing the softest kiss along your neck. "need you here."
if you weren't laying down, your knees would've absolutely buckled and failed on you. you turned slightly in his arms so you could look at him properly, heart melting at the sight of his face.
his hair was slightly messy, eyes slightly low from the early morning, skin and broad muscles effortlessly glistening in the low light. still unfairly handsome as always, still already looking composed first thing in the morning. his eyes took you in slowly, dimples growing quickly at the sight of your face.
"you realize i have responsibilities right?" you murmured.
a small smirk touches his mouth. "you're with a man who can buy a car before breakfast," he replied calmly. "i think we'll survived one missed shift, baby."
your cheeks warmed instantly at those words. namjoon had said things like that so casually now, like taking care of you was only the most natural thing in the world.
you shook your head softly. "you're ridiculous."
"no," he murmured, leaning in closer until his forehead rested against yours. "i'm in love with you."
those words had come so easily between you two now. it was so natural and constant, it almost felt like breathing. you smiled widely before kissing him softly. "i'm in love with you too, joonie."
and the way namjoon looked at you after that, even after all these months, still made your stomach do flips. his gaze was still as intense as ever, like he still couldn't believe you were real. however, it wasn't much different for you—your brain sometimes malfunctioning at the fact that he was really yours.
a few minutes later, you're sitting on the kitchen counter wrapped in one of his hoodies while he cooks breakfast in sinful gray sweats and a black t-shirt.
it was almost more attractive than the suits, making your lips tug between your teeth as you shamelessly eyed him from behind.
the kitchen smelled like coffee and butter, low music playing softly though the large house while bright, morning sunlight poured across the marble floors and countertops.
namjoon moves through the kitchen confidently, one hand holding a pan while the other absentmindedly reached for your thigh whenever he walked past you. because again, he always had to be touching you.
"you know, doll," he says casually while plating your food, "you basically live here already."
your eyes lifted immediately. "you say that every week."
"because every week you leave more stuff in my house."
you laugh softly. "well, maybe i'm marking territory."
he lets out a real laugh, low but warm, and you can practically hear the dimples in his tone. "baby," he murmurs, setting the plate down before stepping between your legs, "if you move in, this stops being just my house real quick."
his big hand comfortably settled on your thigh again, like it was the only place it belonged. you looked at him for a second that felt too long, taking in the softness in his eyes and the certainty he carried quietly in his calm expression.
and suddenly, you were able to picture forever with him like it was the easiest thing in the world.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
eight months later, you find out about it on a random tuesday night.
namjoon was sitting at the kitchen island with his laptop open, reading over contracts while you stand beside him, stealing pieces of fruit from the plate you cut for him ten minutes ago.
his reading glasses were on again—which still unfortunately did something unexplainable to you. he sat there casually, chin rested into his palm while his long fingers rested over his mouth like he was deep in thought. the sight made your thighs shift helplessly.
"you know," you said thoughtfully, like you were trying to find the right words while you popped a strawberry into your mouth. "you've become weirdly... domesticated."
a small smirk pulls at his mouth, but he doesn't look up from the screen. "and you've become annoying."
you gasped jokingly. "wow."
"mhm," he responded lowly. he finally glanced to look up at you, once hand sliding naturally to your hip when you stepped closer and in between his knees. he was always touching you, always pulling you in like he needed more.
then, he closed his laptop in a way that made your eyes narrow. "that was suspicious," you say.
a quiet laugh leaves him. "you're free in two weeks, right?"
you shrugged slightly. "depends... why?"
his hand slid along your thigh slowly. "because i'm taking you somewhere."
your stomach flipped instantly, pink heat immediately coming up to your cheeks. "where?"
"the maldives," he replied simply.
you blinked at him, once, then twice. "...what?"
he looked completely calm saying it too, like he hadn't just casually announced a vacation that most people could only dream of and had to spend years saving for. "we leave next friday."
you stared at him in complete disbelief. "you're joking."
"i don't joke about beaches with crystal clear water, doll."
his calm tone made you laugh immediately. "joon," you started, still half laughing, "i can't just go to the maldives next friday."
"why not?" he asked, out of pure genuinity, tilting his head slightly.
"i have work, silly."
his expression changed instantly, nothing but confusion etched on his face. "okay," he said slowly. "quit."
you practically choke on your own breath. "you cannot be serious."
"i'm very serious." he pulled you closer by the waist until you were fully standing between his legs, his hands resting comfortably on your hips.
"they never approve my time off," you muttered quietly.
his jaw tightened slightly with anger—not at you, of course—but anger for you. anger towards your stupid job that made you work too hard and too much for his liking. "you've been stressed for weeks," he says. "i barely see you awake anymore, baby."
"it's just work, joonie," you pouted.
"no," he corrected calmly. "it's people making your life way harder than it needs to be."
your heart twisted violently at the way he said it like it personally offended him that you were overwhelmed with work. you looked down briefly. "i just don't want to depend on you for everything."
immediately, his hands tightened slightly at your waist again. his fingers weren't harsh, they never were. they grounded you, holding you against him and the moment.
"baby," he murmured softly, making your gaze find his again. "when have i ever made you feel like you couldn't?"
your chest tightened. because not once had namjoon ever made you feel that way.
his thumb brushed slowly along your hip beneath the fabric of your shorts. "i don't even want another problem touching that mind of yours if i can help it," he said quietly. "and i can."
god. you swallowed hard, knees growing weak.
"i love taking care of you, baby."
"i know," you whispered, eyes not leaving his.
his gaze softened even more. "then let me."
silence filled the kitchen, the air hitting you soft. the city lights were glowing through the massive windows behind him while his hand rested steadily against your waist like he already knew exactly where you belonged.
which was with him of course, being taken of and loved properly.
"you really mean that?" you asked quietly.
"baby," he murmured. "i'd give you every single thing you ever needed before i let you be somewhere that makes you miserable."
those words were what broke something inside you. it wasn't the money or the vacation or the luxury of it all—it was the pure sincerity. it was the fact that this powerful, yet composed man loved you so much that he wanted to remove stress from your life entirely.
tears began to burn at your ears unexpectedly, causing you to laugh softly in embarrassment.
namjoon's expression only softened further. "hey," he murmured softly, pulling you against his chest and enveloping you into his big arms before a single tear could escape. "what happened?"
you shook your head against him, smiling. "you just love me a lot."
a quiet laugh leaves him, buzzing low and warm against you. "yeah," he agrees softly in your hair. "that's been your problem from the beginning."
you laugh again, wrapping your arms around his neck. you sighed softly, like you still couldn't believe this was your reality. "...okay," you said softly.
he stilled slightly. "okay what?"
you pulled back enough to look at him properly, his eyes fixing onto yours immediately. "i'll quit, joonie."
the look on his face after those three words escaped your lips had tugged at your heartstrings. his expression became immediately relieved, like you finally quitting your terrible job had instantly settled him more than it did you.
his hand slides up your back slowly before he kisses your forehead. "good," he murmured softly. "now i can take care of you properly."
.・゜-: ✧ :-
the maldives didn't even feel real.
from the second you and namjoon land, everything was too beautiful for your brain to register that this was the same earth you lived on.
the private plane ride there alone was already enough to leave you speechless. cream leather seats, a bottle of champagne waiting for you to board, and a flight attendant greeting him by his last name.
and namjoon? well, he was completely unfazed by any of it, of course.
meanwhile, you stood there, one of his large hoodies pooling around you while you stared around at the cabin like you had just accidentally walked into a dream.
he notices immediately, like he always did. "everything alright, baby?" he asked softly, amusement pulling slightly in his tone.
you turned, only being able to look at him in disbelief. "you own this kind of life and never warned me?"
a small smirk touched his mouth before he placed a large hand on your lower back, guiding you into one of the spacious seats. "would've scared you off too early, doll."
but from there, it only got worse, because the villa he booked was absolutely insane—sitting above crystal clear water that was so blue it almost hurt to look at. you gasped in genuine awe, clearly taken aback from the beauty, making a smile pull at namjoon's lips.
the wooden walkway stretched across the ocean itself, leading to a large and lavish private room shielded by white linen curtains that drifted lightly in the wind. the bedroom door opened directly to the water, like the ocean belonged to the two of you and no one else.
when you first walked inside after namjoon held the door open for you, you were completely at a loss of words. he just simply watched behind you quietly with his hands in his pockets, looking more satisfied by your reaction than the place itself.
"you like it?" he asked casually.
you turned to face him slowly. "this place cost more than my entire existence."
a low laugh leaves him again, the one that you loved so dearly. the one that pulled at the core of your heart and made your knees weaken a little bit. then, he stepped toward you slowly until his hands settled your waist. "you don't have to think about things like that anymore, baby," he murmured.
that sentence landed deep into your chest, etching their way into every vein of your heart. because you knew that he meant every word he said.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
the trip itself became the most heavenly blur of warmth and intimacy. but more than anything, it made you two completely addicted to each other.
swimming together in the ocean until sunset and him pulling you closer onto his lap. secluded dinners while the waves crashed softly beneath you. and of course, his sunglasses hiding the way he watched you constantly in your tiny bikinis that drove him absolutely insane.
you and him spent afternoons tangled together on long chairs beneath the sun, his hand resting lazily beneath against your thigh while you dozed off on his chest.
and every time you laughed and smiled at him, he looked at you like he still couldn't believe you were real.
being together, just the two of you for days straight, alone in the middle of the blue ocean with no distractions, no schedules, no interruptions—had let the both of you see every version of each other.
you see just exactly how gentle namjoon truly is beneath all of his confidence and composure. the way he brushes your wet hair out of your face after swimming, and when he automatically reaches for your hand every time you stepped outside of the room, like separation could never be possible between you anymore.
but namjoon seems to only have fallen even harder.
you being in his life felt nothing less than like nature. it felt utterly effortless, like it was the only thing that was destined between you two, and it almost scared him in a way.
because you had already turned his normal, cold, and polished daily routine into something warm and exciting without even trying. but now, you were here, laughing barefoot through the villa with one of his shirts hung over your wet, cheeky bikini that was only meant for his eyes.
you, curled up against his chest patiently while he bitterly answered his one and only work call—(he made sure they wouldn't waste his precious alone time with you for the rest of the trip again)—tracing patterns absently against his arm while he talked, almost failing to sound stern because you made him so so soft.
you fell asleep on him every night like you trusted him with your whole heart, and while you definitely could—that trust absolutely ruined him in a way that made the core of his heart ache.
but for some reason, the first night there was different.
by the time you had returned to the villa after swimming and dinner, the sun had already disappeared completely, which had left the sky a dark blue outside the large windows.
the day felt warm against your skin, everything smelling like saltwater, sunscreen, and namjoon.
you were barefoot, skin still damp beneath one of his loose white buttons-up that you threw on after showering. and the second you walked back into the bedroom, his eyes lifted from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, stopping on you immediately.
and with his gaze the room seem to become smaller, the atmosphere becoming hotter and thick around you. by this time, the beach had settled down to windy night—so it definitely wasn't the weather.
he leaned back slightly against the bed, gaze moving slowly over your bare legs, to your hardened nipples beneath his shirt. his eyes took in your damp hair, gazing over your freshly sun kissed skin. he sat there casually in a white t-shirt and a vicious pair of tom ford boxers that did absolutely nothing to hide his growing bulge.
namjoon's intense gaze still did nothing but affect you in every way possible, making your steps slow. your teeth tugged at your bottom lip in anticipation you couldn't even hide anymore. "what?" you asked, not even fighting the smile on your lips.
the lowest laugh left him, and you swear you could the vibration of his voice through your core. "c'mere."
your stomach instantly did flips, nothing but butterflies filling your entire body as you walked toward him slowly. the second you're close enough, his hands are already sliding along your thighs, pulling you right in between his thick legs.
your hands automatically came to his thighs to steady yourself, nails lightly tracing against his skin in a way that almost ruined namjoon's calm composure. his head tipped back slightly to look at you properly, like he had to take his time with simply admiring you.
"you trying to kill me walking around like this?" he asked lowly, his thumbs pressing slightly against your inner thighs.
you tried to ignore the fact that your anticipation was now smearing on your legs, laughing softly whole you brushed through his slightly messy hair. "you're dramatic."
"no," he replies calmly while his eyes dragged slowly across your face once again. "you're just so beautiful."
with that, he shut you up immediately, large hands sliding higher along your thighs beneath his shirt. his large hands coating your skin with his warmth in a way that seemed obsessive enough to make your brain split in half. "and sexy," he grumbles lowly, almost like a growl.
and the way he touched you now, after eight months of being together just felt different. his hands were driven by familiarity, like he knew your body just as well as he knew his own. like he knew exactly what drove you crazy.
namjoon pulled you closer, long fingers wrapped firmly around your thighs. then, he leaned his head down, brushing his plump lips slowly against the inside of your thigh. you almost moaned, the contact sending electrifying shivers throughout your body.
"fuck," he murmured quietly against your skin, like it was to himself. "do you know what you do to me?"
the words hit you in the head, the room starting to feel heavy around you with the distant sound of waves crashing softly outside.
his large palms trailed further up your thighs, fingers finding their way to cup your inner most thigh. you gasped, shivering under his warm touch.
the most devious chuckle left his lips before he clicked his tongue. "tsk tsk, naughty girl," he mumbled lowly, one large thumb coming to rest on top of your clit. "no panties for daddy tonight?"
you shook your head, fighting a moan with a bite of your bottom lip. his thumb pressed harder before rubbing it back and forth painfully slow. your legs squirmed between his, wetness sopping miserably between your folds. "wanted it to be easier for you, daddy."
"mm," he hummed slowly in approval, two large fingers moving so lightly up and down your soaked folds. "just landed today and you're already a problem, hm?"
you could only nod your head desperately before one of his fingers slid in between your folds, catching a glimpse of namjoon's low eyes clouded with nothing but darkness and hunger, tongue treading over his lips slowly as he took in the sight of you.
his long finger dragged slowly back up to your clit, lightly pinching it between his thumb and index finger, making a moan come out of you. "joonie, please..." you whispered, one hand tangled in his hair.
you felt his free hand slither to the back of your thigh and finding their way immediately to your ass cheek, slowly massaging it in his large palm. "hmm...?" he hummed lowly, acting like he didn't hear you, like he couldn't see you squirming underneath his touch. he sat two warm fingers patiently above your folds like he owned time.
"please..." you whimpered. "want you to touch me, daddy."
"mm," he hummed again, sliding one thick finger in between your folds, slipping through your arousal. "that's my good girl," he muttered, placing a thick kiss against your thighs once more as he inserted a finger inside your aching hole.
you moaned out, tiling your head back as you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach with pleasure. his thick finger pushed further into your pussy, your walls clenching around him and sucking him in immediately. your slick shamelessly coated him as he entered another finger inside, thrusting in and out of you slowly.
namjoon's lips found your thighs once again, littering wet open mouthed kisses along your thigh before making their way just above your pussy. his thumb massaged your clit in leisure circles while his fingers stretched you out relentlessly.
you gripped onto his broad shoulders to support yourself, knees becoming flimsy by the second. "hope you know," he grumbled lowly against your skin, "'m not planning on being gentle with you, tonight, doll."
as if his fingers weren't enough, his words ignited your entire body like a match to a flame. you simply couldn't bring yourself to respond, your manicured nails digging deeper into his shoulders as your stomach twisted into a familiar pressure.
but namjoon soon pulled away, the warmth of his fingers leaving your pussy with nothing but the cold night air. you whined out in confusion, desperate eyes peering up at him.
one large hand slithered to your ass slowly while his tongue treaded across his lips, low gaze taking you in hungrily. the other palm found your jaw, pulling you down and finally, crashing your lips against his. "need you to come in daddy's mouth, pretty girl," he murmured against your lips.
you nodded eagerly as your mouths moved against one another messily, like kissing each other was the equivalent of oxygen. namjoon's lips took yours greedily in with his—but slowly, even sucking on your bottom lip like he needed to preserve every inch of you. his hand was still on your jaw, slightly tilting your head in a way that allowed him to kiss you deeper.
with your lips on his, your manicured nails found themselves around the hem of namjoon's boxers, one hand slowly palming against his painfully strained bulge.
he grunted lowly at your touch, his head tilting back slightly. his low eyes whirled dark with desire, patiently awaiting your next move. his lips began sucking and licking at the skin on your neck as your dragged your nails underneath his shirt and up his abs.
"doll," he murmured, one large hand placing a light smack! against your ass. "what happens when daddy gets impatient with you, hm?"
you gasped at the contact, trying to hide the thrill seeping through your core. you fake pouted, fingers tugging at the edge of his shirt before pulling it up and tossing it somewhere in the room.
your hands trailed back down his abs before settling at the hem of his boxers and pulling them down. they pooled around his ankles, his long fat cock springing free in front of you.
even after eight months of being together—after eight months of being filled to the brim with his thick cock almost every night—it still somehow surprised you every time.
you got down on your knees immediately, a sight that made namjoon's tip leak with desperate precum. your hands wrapped around the wide base, eyes peering up innocently at him as you stroked it slowly.
namjoon moaned out lowly, his tongue licking over his lips with thirst. one large hand finding its way into your hair before twisting it into a makeshift ponytail, holding onto it loosely. you felt your legs weaken at the possessive action, your nose nearly being met with his raging tip.
you extended your tongue out, taking your time with exploring the base of his cock before making your way down to his tip, licking at the salty precum. you found your lips wrapping around his thick cock, a guttural curse emitting from namjoon's throat.
your mouth explored his cock freely, his hand wrapped gently in your hair as you bobbed your throat up and down his veiny length. "good fucking girl," he murmured as you sucked him in.
soon enough, he began to guide you further up his base, making you sputter ever so slightly before quickly accommodating. one of your hands pumped the rest of his length while the other rested on his sculpted leg for your stability. you let his large hand lead your mouth back and forth across his thick length deliberately, pushing him into your a few inches deeper.
salty tears pricked at your eyes as you hollowed your cheeks around him, nails now leaving white trails that would soon turn red into his thighs. his length took up every fucking inch of your mouth and throat and you felt your breathing begin to stutter.
"shh, breathe, baby girl," he cooed darkly, continuing to guide you along his length while one hand settled lightly at your jaw. "you look so pretty choking on daddy's dick."
your arousal was pitifully coating the floor beneath you in slick, shifting your thighs in a way namjoon immediately. he was incredibly close, but namjoon wanted to save every drop of his seed to paint your walls entirely white.
with a sharp hiss, namjoon guided you off his cock by your hair. the warmth of his length left your mouth with a plop! sound, and immediately your chest was heaving dramatically for air.
"gonna fill your little pussy full with daddy's cum, baby," namjoon grumbled breathlessly, pulling you off the ground and in between his legs again. "hm? how does that sound, pretty girl?"
you nodded quickly. "need it, daddy." a hungry smirk pulled at his lips before he pulled you into another soft kiss.
"good," he praised lowly. both of his large palms settled on your ass before you were abruptly in the air with your legs around his waist. his lips found yours again as he walked you towards the other side of the bed, both hands holding you tightly against him.
you melted against him, making small noises that absolutely ruined him as he kissed you roughly. he tossed you softly onto the bed, a thick strand of saliva stringing between you before your head lightly met the pillow.
namjoon crawled on top of you, his eyes clouded with darkness as he took in the sight of you below him, peering up and him innocently and waiting for his next move. it drove him absolutely fucking insane. you were a complete dream to namjoon, nearly sweeping the air from his lungs at the mere vision of you.
with one hand by your head and the other trailing down your neck lightly before cupping your boob, he enveloped your lips between his once more. soon, his lips made their way along your jaw. “look at you…” he cooed lowly, his breath shooting down your neck sharply. “all the way out here with me.”
his finger hooked along the hem of your shirt before dragging it off slowly, his lips automatically finding their way your neck, biting and sucking on your sensitive skin until he mouth was wrapped properly around your tit.
you moaned out in pleasure, immediately melting under the feeling of his warm and wet tongue dancing around your nipples, lips sucking your areola between his teeth lightly. his large hands traveled up and down your body, exploring your skin like already hadn't done it a million times by now.
his mouth left your boobs and trailed lower, your nipples immediately hardening at the loss of warmth. he placed slow kisses all along your waist and down your stomach until his lips settled above your pussy, blowing a soft puff of air against it, the warmth of his breath sending electricity up your spine.
your thighs instinctively went to clamp shut, but namjoon's large hands stopped them too quickly, pushing your legs even further apart. his thumbs pressed into your inner thigh possessively as his two fingers found your pussy lips again, spreading them apart before he placed a sloppy kiss against your dripping folds.
"fuck," he murmured, practically making out with your pussy as his fingers curled their way back inside your hole. you felt the deep vibration of his voice echoing through your core as his thumb swiped from your entrance and up to your clit. "pussy taste so fuckin' sweet, baby girl."
"nghh—daddy—" you cried out, thighs flexing underneath the burning pleasure. his plump lips fully enclosed around your entire pussy, sucking your folds into his mouth with time and the utmost greed. his tongue dived into your hole, swirling along your velvety walls while your fingers curled desperately into his hair.
your mind was nearly emptied out, vacant with nothing but the obscene noises of namjoon lapping hungrily against your wet pussy and the tightest feeling in your core. you squirmed in immense overstimulation, attempting to arch your back before his free hand found your waist and quickly pinned your hips back down to the mattress.
"stay still for daddy, baby," he grumbled lowly as he took the quickest breath for air, fingers continuing to thrust inside of you. with a flat tongue, he licked the slowest stripe up your pussy before eating at you once more, nose burying in your clit.
you cried out loudly, overwhelming heat and pleasure twisting in stomach. your orgasm reached you soon enough, legs shaking around namjoon's head. your release spilled into his mouth and he quickly lapped every last drop up, dragging his tongue softly along your folds as you came down from your high.
"such a good girl, baby," he praised lowly against your drenched pussy while his large hands rubbed the side of your thighs soothingly.
namjoon placed a lewd, open-mouthed kiss on top of your clit before coming up and meeting your eye level. you reached up slightly, pulling him into a kiss first, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in. you tasted yourself on his lips as your mouths melted together.
namjoon's thumb continued to rub your clit slowly as he rubbed his painfully hard cock along your sodden folds, kissing you deeply while his tongue mapped your mouth ravenously. you arched ever so slightly, instinctively grinding against him with desperation.
"so needy aren't you, doll," he muttered against your lips with one hand wrapped around his cock, dragging it purposely slow along your pussy. he captured your lips in with his once more, the other hand coming up to your jaw. "tell daddy what you want first."
"i want you, daddy," you said breathlessly, absentmindedly bucking up your hips again with your patience running thin.
"mhm," he replied simply, taking the hand off his cock to pin your hips back down as he tugged your bottom lip gently with his teeth. his thumb circled your clit again. "and what else, doll?"
"please—! i want you to fuck me, daddy. to ruin me," you whined quietly, pussy dripping with anticipation.
"mm," he hummed lowly as he softly kissed your jaw possessively, his fat tip now sliding between your folds, thumb applying more pressure to your aching clit. "don't you worry, my sweet girl," he cooed.
he began to push his thick veiny cock further between your folds and directly into your sopping wet core. you cried out immediately, your walls tightly adjusting around just his wide tip as pleasure struck your entire body.
namjoon placed both of his beefy arms around you as he pushed himself further inside of you, earning staggered and breathless sounds from you that only made his cock leak more. "fuck," he groaned out. "you're so fucking tight, baby."
your walls stretched around him almost painfully as he filled you with every inch of his length slowly, tears pricking at your eyes once more from the grueling stretch. it wasn't long before he was in and out of you at a reasonable pace, thrusts becoming gradually harder by the second.
"such a good girl, taking daddy so well," he grunted breathlessly, every thrust expanding your tight, velvety walls, making your hole outline the shape of his thick cock.
your hands found their way onto his shoulders, nails digging and clawing into his muscular, toned back that blocked your entire vision from seeing anything else in the room. he plunged deeper inside of you, chest pressing against yours as he caged you around him, leaving no space left between you.
namjoon took his cock all the way out before slamming it back in. you cried out, legs shaking and your mind blanking to a pure state of euphoria as his cock dragged roughly along your walls, his bulky tip hitting the back of your walls relentlessly, curving perfectly right into your g-spot.
his big hands gripped onto your hips like there was nothing else he was meant to hold, drilling his cock into the deepest part of your walls like there was still more for him to break through.
he buried his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent hungrily and wrapping you in his warmth as he nonstop pounded his cock into you. one large hand curled around your leg, lifting it up and ramming his tip repeatedly against the deepest, hottest part of your hole. he lightly nipped the soft skin on your neck with his teeth.
"gonna fill this pussy all the way up, baby," he grunted down your ear, licking at the skin he had just bit. "gonna ruin you...my perfect little girl."
you cried out loudly, tiny and salty beads of water brimming at your waterline from pleasure and overstimulation. the warmth of his breath and the possessive tone of his words sent sparks down your stomach and straight to your core, making your pussy clench tightly around him.
"fuck," he cursed lowly, smacking his hips into yours with the most lewd slapping noise echoing throughout the room. "right where you fucking belong, baby. you were always gonna end up with me, weren't you?"
you nodded rapidly, pussy squelching miserably at his words. "yes—'m all yours, daddy," you blabbed almost dumbly, gasping for air while namjoon worked every inch of his cock inside of you.
he hummed in approval before kissing you, lips melting into each other with raw hunger. "yeah, that's right, baby," he mumbled against your lips, rutting his cock into you. "fuck, gonna put a fucking ring on this finger one day, baby."
you moaned loudly in response, eyes rolling back and head above the clouds at his cock dragging along your walls and at the thought of being his wife, being his forever. "mmph—yes, yes! want it so so bad, daddy," you whimpered, body moving back and forth on the bed as you took in each thrust.
all of a sudden namjoon was flipping you over, large palms manhandling you to have your face nestled in the soft pillows and your ass in the air. he placed a large smack! onto your ass cheek before slamming his cock into you again—enough to make your hips jerk forward before he snapped them back into place with his rough hands, driving himself inside you.
"yeah?" his voice came low behind you and right in your ear, pressing his chest against your back. "'m gonna make you my fucking wife baby, gonna be mine forever."
"mm, yes, daddy—! please," you cried, his large palms gripping firmly on your ass and smacking it against his cock, shoving his length greedily into your hole. you felt your stomach curving into a heated knot, mind completely lost at the state of bliss he was fucking you into.
"could do this with you forever, and i'd still want more," he grunted lowly, kissing your neck from behind. "can't get enough of you, baby,"
you whined loudly—muffled from the pillows as your body began to tremble beneath namjoon. "cum for daddy, pretty girl," he murmured, licking up your neck with his tongue nastily. "cum on my cock like a good girl."
he plowed his cock slowly into you as you felt your orgasm tear through you like thunder. you screamed his name loudly, tears and drool soaking the pillows as your walls fluttered around him tightly, your juices spilling over his dick.
"gonna fill this pussy up, gonna get you all nice and round for daddy," he growled, hand firm on your hips, thrusting one last time into you before releasing his hot seed inside of you endlessly.
he held your hips against him as he painted your insides with his cum, chasing both of your highs before letting you go. your hips collapsed onto the mattress immediately, chest heaving violently up and down as you felt namjoon's fingers come to press his cum deeper inside you, ensuring you took every last drop.
he placed light kisses on your shoulders before coming down to lay beside you. you rolled onto your back breathlessly to face him, legs now sore and body still shaking.
he smiled immediately once his eyes met yours, quickly wrapping his arms around your figure and pulling you right against him. "you okay, doll?" he asked softly, placing a soft peck on your forehead before coming to your lips. "you did so well, my angel."
you nodded, breathing stabilizing and heart gushing once again. "more than okay, joonie," you smiled, hearing the faint murmur of his heartbeat.
dimples pulled at his cheeks before he captured your lips softly in with his. "good," he whispered against you, his long fingers trailing up your thigh and coming to intertwine with yours.
your eyes never broke apart with his, heart pumping against your chest like it was your first night ever with namjoon all over again. he placed a soft kiss on your hand. "i was done for the second i pulled over for you," he murmured against your fingers.
you laughed softly against his chest, instantly tugging at the strings of his heart. "oh, i was too," you replied, pink tinting your cheeks despite spending eight months of being cuddled up with this man.
namjoon chuckled softly, pulling you even closer against him. "i love you so much, baby," he murmured, placing soft kisses on your face.
"i love you so much too, joonie," you replied, taking his lips slowly in with yours.
the waves of the ocean crashed faintly outside the window, the two of you holding each other closely & lulling each other to sleep with soft giggles and tired kisses.
"you spoil me too much," you whispered faintly, hanging on to the last thread before being taken away by sleep with his warmth completely wrapped around you.
namjoon was the exact same, eyelids getting heavier by the second. but his hand instinctively caressed your cheek—thumb barely moving along your skin. a faint smile touched his mouth before his hand tightened slightly around your legs, pulling you impossibly closer.
"good."
.・゜-: ✧ :-
the rest of the vacation passes like a dream neither of you want to wake up from.
because being alone together like this—away from the noise of the hustling city, away from work—made both you realize how naturally you existed beside each other.
by the time you fly home, you seem to notice little things even more.
the way he kept glancing over at you during the flight like he still hadn't gotten enough of you. like even after spending a week and approximately twenty-three hours away from home—with you and only you—he was still yearning for more time with you.
and the way he said "we're home," automatically when he pulled the both of you into his endless driveway.
home.
the word sunk like an anchor into your chest. because somehow, his house already felt like yours too.
and at this point, you basically lived there anyway. you'd spend over half of your weeks at namjoon's, practically abandoning your own apartment. your skincare lined one side of his bathroom counter and your clothes filled empty drawers in his walk-in closet.
candles sitting next to his heavy duty speakers and equipment. hair clips and lip gloss scattered across countertops.
there were tiny pieces of you in namjoon's house everywhere, he loved every single one of them. in fact, he couldn't get enough.
even if he pretended to complain sometimes.
"baby," he calls out softly one night, stepping over your heels forgotten in the hallway. "one more month of this and i'm charging you rent."
you laugh from the couch. "you're rich, joonie. be serious."
"i am serious," he says calmly, walking over before dropping onto the couch beside you. immediately his large palms are on you, pulling you straight into his lap.
you melted into his warmth naturally while his arms wrapped around your waist. his chin rested lightly against your shoulder, comforting silence filling the air as your heartbeats synced together.
"you should just move in," namjoon says finally.
your heart skipped a beat, red flushing your cheeks instantly. he said it so simply, but you felt everything shift immediately. you turned slightly in his arms. "...you're asking me?"
"i thought i've been asking for months," he replies genuinely.
because truly, he really has. every "stay another night." every drawer he cleared out for your stuff. every toothbrush he replaced before you could even ask.
even so, he watched you carefully now, like you answer mattered to him more than anything else.
"you're sure?" you asked quietly.
his expression changed, softening right away. "baby," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "you've made this place feel more like home in eight months than it has in years."
"and i love waking up next to you," he added softly, eyes boring into you in a way that made your chest ache. "i love taking care of you."
his large hands slide slowly along your waist. "and honestly?" he muttered quietly. "i'm tired of pretending you don't belong here."
the way he says it so naturally does it for you completely. like loving you was the easiest thing he's ever done.
you smile softly. it's small at first, before it naturally stretches wider at the thought of never having to leave him to go home, because home would be with him. "...okay."
he stills slightly, hands still firm on your waist. "yeah?"
you nodded. "i'll move in, joonie."
the wide smile that spreads across his face afterwards is almost unfair. his big arms tighten around you, pulling you fully against his chest before he kisses you slowly. your lips move together warmly, like you could feel the relief and excitement radiating off of him.
when he pulls back, his forehead rested lightly against yours. "took you long enough," he murmurs softly.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
bonus scene~
it's one of those bright, los angeles days where the sidewalks are a little too crowded and the air smells faintly of saltwater and sunscreen.
you and namjoon walk together, side by side on the sidewalk—him closest to the street, of course—while he's got one hand casually resting at the small of your back. one of your favorite habits he's developed over the months; always guiding you, and always touching you.
as you approach a café, you're both talking about the most random things. he makes a silly comment that makes your smile almost hurt while he opens the door for you, guiding you inside with his other hand.
once you stepped inside, you immediately froze. standing at the counter was your lousy, bum of an ex from almost two years ago.
you physically winced, cringe and utter embarrassment twisting into your stomach at the mere sight of him. these last eight months with namjoon had you forgetting that any man had ever existed before him.
"oh, hell no," you said quietly, only loud enough for namjoon to hear, who was now towering behind you as he closed the door.
"what?"
you whipped around to face him, subtly nodding towards the counter. "that's my ex."
his eyes followed your gaze. your ex at counter looked up briefly, immediately recognizing you too. then, namjoon looks back at you—completely unimpressed. "...that's him?"
you instantly started laughing from his reaction. "don't do that, joonie."
"do what?"
"that face."
"what face?"
"the one where you're judging."
he only smirked. "baby, i haven't said a word."
he takes a step to move forward, but you grab his arm hurriedly. "joonie, wait. i'm kind of... nervous."
those words grab his attention immediately, making his body come to a halt entirely. one eyebrow lifted slowly. "nervous?"
you shrugged. "the breakup was awkward."
he stares at you for a second. "you're scared of him?"
"not scared," you said, him nodding his head in understanding. "i just don't want it to be weird."
he leans down slightly, close enough that his breath barely grazes the top of your ear. "oh please."
your stomach did ten flips right then and there at his confidence—his absolute certainty. his hands came to settle firmly at your waist. "you're with me, baby."
those four words instantly calmed you down, settling your heart rate back into a somewhat normal pace. before you can answer, namjoon is already guiding you towards the register.
your ex, julian, notices you both approaching. his eyes avert over to who you're with, his expression changing immediately.
because standing next to you, was six-foot-something of calm confidence—designer sunglasses and an expensive watch. his posture was straight, yet relaxed with one large palm settled comfortably on your lower back. he walked like he didn't need to prove anything, because he already knew exactly who he was—and exactly what kind of stunning woman he was with.
and, wait a minute—wasn't he famous? julian visibly straightened, swallowing a little too hard. meanwhile, namjoon couldn't even look less concerned. "afternoon," he says politely.
julian greets you both, his posture stiff and his voice tight. then, he looked at you. "hey."
you could only blink, and before you even formulate a response—namjoon answers first. "hey, man." his tone coming friendly and easy.
your ex's attention shifts to namjoon instantly. he orders for both of you—remembering your exact order, because of course he did—all while smiling politely. the entire time, his hand never leaves your waist.
while namjoon pays, julian attempts to make small talk. "so... how have you been?"
before you can answer, namjoon glances down at you, thumb gently caressing the skin on your waist. "good, right baby? he asks warmly.
you stifle a laugh, because you knew exactly what he was up to. "mhm," you nod. "very good."
the corner of namjoon's mouth twitches in satisfaction. julian nods awkwardly, his gaze quickly averting to the ground.
once the payment goes through, namjoon thanks him with a simple smile before intertwining his fingers with yours and walking away. you trail beside him, biting your lip from the incredible urge to laugh.
moments later, your drinks are ready. namjoon picks them up, handing one to you as you squealed quietly in excitement, making a large smile pull at his lips, dimples carving into his cheeks.
and just like that, it was all over. there was absolutely no drama or competition, and you didn't have to say a word to your ex at all.
soon, you're both walking back outside into the sunshine, the heat soaking into your skin right away. you looked at namjoon immediately, laugh blurting from your lips. "you're ridiculous, joonie."
"why?"
"you knew exactly what you were doing."
a cheeky grin quickly appears on his face. "i was ordering us coffee."
you rolled your eyes despite the smile on your face. his hand wrapped around your waist again, pulling you closer against his side. "baby," his voice came low again, the deep tone that always had your knees buckling.
"if a guy is dumb enough to not treat you right and let you go..." he shrugged. "that's his problem."
then, he placed a kiss at the top of your forehead like the conversation was completely finished. because to him, it was. but a few steps later, you catch namjoon looking unusually pleased with himself.
"you enjoyed that, didn't you?" you pried.
the smile he gave you then was absolutely shameless. "a little."
then his arm settled around your shoulders as you continued down the street. "besides," he continued casually. "you really thought i was going to let you stand there uncomfortable?"
your heart melted instantly, absentmindedly pressing your body closer into his side. "my job is making your life easier, remember doll?" he said lowly, pressing another kiss into your hair.
somehow after all these months, namjoon still managed to make a violent pink flush your cheeks with every affirming remark he made. and him? he was absolutely whipped. he was willing to buy the whole world if it meant putting a smile on your face. and he also was already trying to figure out your ring size without asking you.
.・゜-: ✧ :-
a/n: i hope you guys liked this short(?) part 2!🥹 no it is not the end, but i just wanted to show you guys how good older boyfriend producer joonie would treat y/n bc god. he hasn't left my mind honestly. 😩 more to come in for this series in future after i roll out a few more fics <3 love you guys so so much and thank you for the incredible amount of support!
tags: @haniii @joonmonjagi
Fanfiction reblog @celineyoongi - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
dailybridgerton
tangentwithtanner
titsay
prguitarman
blakekathryn
