#and then they were swallowed from within!!

[bonelessghoul]

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Summary: In a game that costs you your blood, sweat, and tears, Young Il is there to protect you from it all. After forging you way thus far with your own strength and will, you begin to realize just how much you'd grown to care for player 001. Note: This is lowkey a tidbit of something bigger I had been working on but I was so antsy to put it out there!!

There was a moment when you relinquished everything you knew about how to be human—when survival took over, and everything went cold. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but as the curtains parted to reveal the massive room before you, the sheer vastness of it swallowed you whole. It was like a carousel stripped of its animals, the vacant platform stretching into a haunting void.

Your breath hitched as your new friends brushed by, awe painting their faces. But for you, awe was eclipsed by dread, your mind conjuring images of what would take the place of those carousel creatures.

“YN." A voice said, soft and steady, cut through your daze.

You hadn’t realized you’d stopped walking, your gaze frozen on the ceiling where the carnival-like top stretched impossibly high, its center receding into shadow. You turned your head to see Young Il, his face unreadable but his nod reassuring. You swallowed hard, nodding back as your feet reluctantly followed.

Behind you was Hyun Ju, player 120, and the odd group you had become apart of for the relay. You glanced back at them, Guam Je and her son above her with player 095 at their side. Gaum Je waved excitedly at you and you bowed your head, smile growing across your face.

“This game? We played it in school,” Jun Bae said, his eagerness to conquer bleeding into his tone. “We formed groups by hugging back then.”

Dae Ho, ever the pragmatist, glanced down at his fellow marine. “I think instead of hugging, we go into these rooms.”

The colored doors, bordered with arches of blinking carnival lights, seemed to mock you. Your heart raced as you scanned each one, already strategizing, already crumbling under the weight of possibilities.

Who would go where? How many would make it? What if one of you got left out?

These were thoughts you didn’t have before the relay; perfectly content in your own world of surviving and not having to worry about anyone else. It was almost a torturous game in itself when the survival of your new friends began to weigh as heavy as your own as you walked into this new game.

You didn’t even notice the tightness in your jaw until Young Il’s worried eyes found yours again. His look, calm but probing, was enough to pull you back.

He was another problem you unexpectedly faced here.

Once on the platform though, Gi Hun called you all into a tight huddle.

“If the number is bigger than six, we’ll get the additional people we need,” he explained.

“What if it’s smaller than five?” Dae Ho asked.

“Like four or even five?” you blurted, your voice cracking under the strain of your thoughts.

“Whatever happens, don’t panic,” Young Il interjected, his tone even but firm. “Stay calm.”

His gaze lingered on you as he spoke, grounding you in a way you didn’t know you needed. There was something in the steadiness of his voice, the way his words seemed to reach only you, that settled the storm within you.

“We’ll make it out together,” he said, placing his hand in the center of the group.

For a moment, you hesitated, your independence warring with the strange comfort his presence gave you. But then you took a breath and laid your trembling hand on his. The others followed suit, their hands piling over yours. As the huddle broke, your fingers brushed Young Il’s, and though you tried to pull away quickly, the brief contact was enough to remind you of what was at stake.

The platform jolted to life, a playful carnival tune echoing through the air. The motion sent a ripple through the group, and you stumbled, catching yourself against Young Il’s steady hand on your shoulder.

The music began, your heartbeat syncing with its rhythm, pounding in anticipation of the inevitable stop. When it did, the abruptness made your bones rattle. Instinctively, you gripped Young Il and Jun Hee’s arms, the three of you clinging together as the voice announced the number:

“Ten.”

Chaos erupted. Voices overlapped, bodies collided, and desperation filled the air. You clung to the five who surrounded you, your eyes darting frantically, searching for more.

“Hyun Ju!” you shouted, spotting her tall frame among 007, his mother, and 095. “We’re six over here!”

“How many are you?” Jun Bae demanded, urgency lacing his words as he tried to group everyone together and make sure it was the right number.

“Four!”

“Let’s go!”

Arms linked, you all sprinted toward door 44, a blur of motion and panic. The flashing pink lights disoriented you, but you held on tight, driven by the collective will to survive. As the door slammed shut behind you, relief washed over the room like a tidal wave.

Doubled over, you fought to catch your breath. But as your hands rested on your knees, they began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Is everyone here?” Dae Ho asked, his voice cutting through the heavy breathing.

A quick headcount confirmed it: all ten of you had made it. The knowledge brought a momentary reprieve, but your legs still shook as you leaned into the wall, your mind spinning.

Besides you, Geum Ja leaned her small frame upon yours, hand resting on your shoulder. She must have sensed the way your knuckles rattled in your skin beyond your control and from where you could see as your head hung down, her old yet soft hand covered yours.

Lifting up, you smiled with gratitude and she did the same, an unspoken relief shared between you two.

But the sudden eruption of gunfire shattered the silence and your smile, the relentless pops echoing in your ears. You flinched, your heart twisting with every shot. The weight of survival pressed down on you like a vice, and when the door reopened, it took every ounce of willpower to step back onto the platform.

There was so much blood scattered around the room, marking the spots where players left behind once stood.

Young Il waited for you at the doorway, his eyes scanning your pale face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, the wavering pitch of your voice betraying you.

In another world, you refused to reveal otherwise. As your hands still shook you were ready to march on, but you could only be reminded that the next round might not be as easy.

You didn’t elaborate and further and he didn’t push. But when your hand brushed his on the platform, he didn’t let go. His fingers interlocked with yours, the grip firm and grounding.

“Just—just try not to leave me,” you whispered, the words barely audible above the jaunty tune that started up again.

If he replied, you didn’t hear it. But the gentle squeeze of his hand said enough. Your eyes shut as you braved yourself for the platform to move and you felt cowardly for clinging on so desperately to one man when there were so many of you who needed that strength.

The music stopped again.

“Four.”

Panic set in as the six of you exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“You four, go!” Gi Hun barked, his voice slicing through the chaos as he tried to usher you with Jun Hee, Jung Bae, and Dae Ho.

Looking back in a panic, you watched with relief as Hyun Ju took the players in her group off as they had already made the perfect four.

“No!” Young Il said firmly, your eyes locking with his. “She stays with me. We will find two more.”

The group that started at you desperately sunk with some form of disappointment mixed with a deep sadness that couldn’t make sense in a time where their lives were on the clock. But to your relief, you saw another pair just beyond Young Il’s shoulders who were waving for two more people.

There was no time for arguments. You shoved Young Il toward the pair behind him, your heart shattering as you watched Gi-Hun hesitate before running with the rest of them.

“Go!” you shouted, you and Young Il racing to grab the two stragglers and sprint toward a door.

When the door locked behind you, you collapsed, panting and trembling. But the fear clawed at you relentlessly. You needed to know if the others had made it. You moved to the small window, peeking out despite the bile rising in your throat.

“YN,” Young Il said, his voice softer now. A hand rested on your shoulder. “Don’t look. I know it that they made it.”

But you couldn’t pull away until the gunfire started again, jolting you back just before you could see more blood spill the ground.

When the doors unlocked, you rushed out, your heart in your throat until you spotted Jun Hee. Relief surged through you, and you threw your arms around her, holding on tight as Jun Bae and Dae Ho joined the embrace. It felt like when you had won the relay when the circumstances at play didn’t phase your mind when you were filled with the heartwarming sensation of everyone holding each other.

It was simply pure happiness in knowing they made it and you looked around, their looks of relief making your heart ache and wring out like a wet towel.

“I knew you’d make it,” Gi Hun said, his pride evident as he patted you and Young Il on the shoulder.

Nodding proudly, you looked up at Young Il who was surveiling the rest of them and checked in on Juhn Hee. Your heart broke every time you looked at her and you tore your eyes away to head to the platform, weighed by a grief for something that hadn’t even happened yet but the instead the grief of what could happen.

Back on the platform, the grim reality settled over you again. But this time, when you tried to stand strong, Young Il took your hand first and your head whipped towards him.

Why did he have to hold you so tenderly? Why did he have to make you feel cursed with the knowledge that he cared?

His lips curved into the faintest smile as if he could see the way you tortured yourself, a small reminder that, for now, you weren’t alone and the platform spun.

The ear piercing tune rung out, haunting you as its end would signify the next number to be called and when the platform stopped, your heart did too.

“Three.”

You were overwhelmed by realization that it was a perfect number: you standing between Gi Hun and Young Il while Juhn Hee stood between Jung Bae and Dae Ho. You all looked at each other with wide grins before taking off running.

Young Il and Gi Hun practically flew across the room to a door with you tailing behind like a kite.

But the chaos around you didn’t cease even as your group aligned perfectly with the challenge, and your world shifted abruptly when a force slammed into your side in the shape of an arm that yanked you into what felt like air.

The force was so sudden, so unrelenting, that your hands slipped free from Gi Hun’s and Young Il’s grasp before you could scream.

“YN!” Their voices tore through the ringing of your ears , desperate and terrified.

Your back slammed into the floor into a sticky puddle, the breath knocked clean from your lungs as your body hit the slick, blood-smeared tiles. Stars exploded across your vision, and for one disoriented moment, you couldn’t move. But you tried to move your body regardless, unknown to where or what direction but only knowing you needed to find them.

They rushed out towards you as your vision cleared and you were still stuck to the floor. But before you could push yourself up to meet them halfway, two arms snaked under your own and started pulling you away.

“Young Il!” you screamed, your voice raw and strangled, being hoisted up and dragged. “Gi-Hun!”

Panic surged through you in waves, wild and all-consuming, but their grip only tightened. You kicked and fought with everything you had, your heels scraping uselessly against the floor.

“No! Let me go!” you shrieked, your cries echoing as you caught a fleeting glimpse of Young Il and Gi Hun running toward you, their faces twisted in horror.

But there was no time and your eyes found the clock with less than 10 seconds to spare and your entire body went limp.

“YN!” Gi Hun’s voice cracked, his hand outstretched as the pastel-colored door loomed closer—too close.

There wasn’t enough time.

Time slowed to a crawl, every second seared into your memory as the men dragged you through the doorway. Your legs buckled beneath you as they shoved you inside, your knees slamming against the ground. You turned just in time to see the door seal shut, cutting off the anguished faces of Young Il and Gi Hun.

Your captors finally dropped their arms from you, both collapsing against the walls as they caught their breath.

For a moment, the world was silent and you were petrified to look up at the door for the fear of seeing their bodies laid out by the pink guards. But seemingly at the thought of blood, you commanded its scent and looked around the room.

And then it hit you—your left side was soaked with something warm and sticky. Blood. Maybe your blood, but you weren’t sure. The metallic tang filled your nose, and your stomach churned violently.

“You bastards,” you hissed, your voice trembling with fury.

The man who slumped against the wall didn’t even look at you. The other one stood, panting, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his composure. You didn’t care. Blind rage consumed you as you staggered to your feet, your legs shaking. Without thinking, you lashed out, kicking the man slumped on the floor.

“You two deserved to die out there!” you screamed, your voice breaking.

“Hey!” the standing man barked, shoving you backward.

But you didn’t care. Your fist flew out before you could stop it, connecting with his face in a satisfying crack to his nose that made your entire arm go numb. He stumbled back, clutching his nose as blood seeped through his fingers.

“You stupid bitch!” he roared, his voice muffled and furious. “You’re alive because of us!”

His words didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not the pain radiating through your side, not the blood staining your clothes, not the searing ache in your chest. All you could see was the pastel door, and all you could hear was the deafening silence on the other side.

“We should’ve left her,” the man on the floor muttered darkly, his voice low and bitter.

You turned your head, spitting onto the ground where he sat, your gaze burning with unspoken venom. Your body trembled with unspent rage, with heartbreak so raw it felt like it might tear you apart. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at the door. Not yet. Not until it opened again. Not until you knew if they made it.

This was why you should have stayed to yourself. You’ve become a liability to them and yourself—especially when you were consumed with so much grief for their lives that you’d rather be dead.

The world seemed to tilt, your vision blurring with the weight of it all. You stood frozen, bloodied and trembling, as the air hung thick with uncertainty. With a resounding click, the doors unlocked, and nearly ripped it off its hinges.

Stepping out among the dozens left who slowly emerged from the rooms, your breath was hitched in your throat as you slowly looked around for their faces.

“Mom!” 007 croaked.

You watched the boy choke on his sobs as his mother approached him, but on her tail was Gi Hun and Young Il. A faint feeling washed over you, shoulders sagging as something in you wanted to break out in tears.

If this were only yesterday, you wouldn’t have shed any tears but now, your eyes grew blurry as you slowly carried yourself towards them.

They had been spinning in circles looking for you and as you got closer to them, too scared to make a sound or else you’d sob worse than 007 was, your chest rose and fell rapidly to keep your choking at bay.

But your legs picked up their pace, your breath shuddering and Young Il finally froze when he saw you.

“YN!” he called.

You smiled through your tears but your lips trembled but luckily, he and Gi Hun closed the distance between you and Young Il threw his arms around you, clutching you like you’d get snatched away again.

Face buried into his chest, your arms slowly snaked around him too, the tears seeping from your eyes as quietly as you could let them.

“I’m sorry.” you apologized, voice muffled slightly.

For what? You weren’t sure—it’s not like it was your fault. But deep down you were remorseful for the way you made the others worry for you and the way you had gone feral at being separated from them but these were not things so easily spoken.

He pulled back, hands clutching your face in a surprisingly swift and comfortable manner, looking down at you with such a soft pitiful look to his face.

“What could you be sorry for?” he asked.

Gi Hun rubbed her shoulders and you lowered your eyes.

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” Gi Hun affirmed, nodding at her with a brief smile. “You survived and so did we. We make it to the end together, no matter what.”

It was what you needed to hear in this moment. It was okay to care so long as you all tried your hardest to survive and that’s what they had done in that moment.

You scoffed at yourself, cheeks dampened with salty tears and his thumbs swiped them away.

“I won’t let go of you this time.” Young Il said, his face challenged by something deeper as he released your face and guided you back to the platform.

“YN!” Jung Bae and Dae Ho gasped excitedly, clapping as you stepped back onto the platform.

“What happened?” Jung Hee asked sympathetically.

Looking down at your already bruising knuckles, a grim smile crept on your face.

“Nothing that won’t happen again.”

The two boys laughed like hyenas, in awe at your strength and gushing at the bruises that painted your hand like two little girls who had just met their idol.

“I think you should take up the marines when we’re out of here, YN.” said Jung Bae, earning a nod of approval by Dae Ho.

You shook your head, chuckling at their admiration.

“No, I’d like not to punch anyone else for some time, thank you.” you dismissed with a wince, shaking your hand out.

Young Il did a double take, and as did Gi Hun who leaned over behind him to get a look.

“You did what?” Young Il asked quietly, voice low as he almost looked quite impressed too.

The fleeting moment that had passed where your rage blinded you felt like someone else entirely, but you shrugged it off, eyes falling to your feet.

“I punched the man in the face when we got through the door.“

Unbeknownst to you, he smirked proudly and Gi Hun was almost a little terrified of you. But as the rest of the players gathered, there was one pressing question that hung in the air.

“What do you think the next number will be?” asked Jung Bae, the platform beginning to spin.

There was some debate, but you were caught off guard by the way Young Il grabbed your hand.

“Two.” he said, drawing all of their eyes to him.

“There’s 126 players left and only fifty rooms. There won’t be enough for everyone.”

Maybe it was blind confidence but as you looked at your friends, everyone paired up right away, and you looked back at Young Il as the platform stopped.

“I won’t let go this time.” he said.

“Two.”

Immediately, you and Young Il took off running as fast as you could off the platform and there were so many faces around you blurred by your peripheral taunting you as you fought for a room. There was no time to divert and the door you two were approaching had one individual standing before it.

“Get in!” Young Il shouted to you, releasing your hand for a split second to fight off the man who hung by the door.

Your vision went fuzzy as you entered the room the room, but at the sight of the sheer horror of someone else in the room that made your blood run cold you froze up. You wanted to warn Young Il, caught on your words like you were choking, but he had already rushed into the room and slammed the door shut.

“Get out.” Young Il demanded

“We were in here first!” the man huddled in the corner.

Something dark came upon Young Il’s eyes as the impossible crossed your minds. You hadn’t seen him lose every ounce of life in his expression and it made your own soul feel cold looking at him.

“Turn around, YN.” he said, neither commanding nor pleading—but an order you followed nonetheless.

For a split second you did listen, quick to spare yourself of the horror but as you heard the thrashing around and the choking gasps that gurgled with last breaths of air, you found yourself turning around anyway.

It wasn’t as horrifying as you thought, having watched so many people die already and knowing your own life was at stake, you couldn’t blame Young Il. Even as he sit there, arms wrapped around the players neck like he had done this many times before, you couldn’t move away.

That’s how your mind rationalized it, but your breath had quickened to hamper down the churning of your stomach.

The sickening crunch of the players neck made your hand shoot up to cover your mouth.

A life was gone and you couldn’t figure out if this was better than being gunned down or not—but it didn’t matter. The clock struck zero and you and Young Il were safe. But as he got up, letting the body slump, your soul nearly jumped out of your body.

“YN.” he said, treading carefully towards you.

Your hands started to shake again, bile burning the base of your throat.

“You had to.” you assured, the words coming out like an automatic reply. “You had to.”

The same hands that had snapped a man’s neck were back on your face, stroking the hair behind your ear. There wasn’t any words that needed saying as he looked down at you, and you had the courage to look back up at him.

“You’re safe, YN. We made it to the end.”

Tears stung your eyes, almost defiantly so. His eyes studied your face, pausing in one particular spot. His hand slid down to your neck, fingers raising chills along your spine, but they lowered so his thumb could swat away a streak of blood along your jaw line. His hand didn't move though even when your face was untouched by blood and now, only the angry tears that puddled within your eyes.

“I know we made it. But I feel like I’m losing myself as the cost.”

You were here because of school debt and medical debt on top of it, abandoned by all those who were supposed to help or too scared to stay in the first place whether by death or selfishness. It was where you two overlapped as you gotten to know each other the past two days.

The only “self” you were losing was the part of you that made it impossible to let anyone in and you’d like to think he knew that, when you told him why you were here. But even still, he stood there as defiant as yourself deep down and held you close anyway.

Your hands reached up to hang on his wrists, reveling in the way his hands felt upon your face and you leaned into it just a little. It was a comfort you had long forgotten.

“I can’t lose myself…I’d be more afraid of losing you then. I’d be afraid to feel what I’d feel if you weren’t here anymore.”

Young Il’s lips parted at your confession and he had no words, a hint of anguish crossing his eyes as his brows furrowed slightly.

He pulled your face closer to rest on his chest and while the rest of the bodies were swept away, you took the moment to let your head sink in and forget what was happening outside with only second left before this cruel and yet blissful moment was ripped away.

~~~

[loganofthenorth]

Did I go into this thinking I'd be a mighty hero? Of course not.

...

Okay, well, maybe a little bit... I wouldn't have gone on this quest had I thought it would end this way. I was foolish. Had hope I might prevail. Instead, water drips from the drip stone high above my head, and echoes against the cracked stone floor. Streams run into these cracks and several luminous dragonflies zip around the area to collect any flies enjoying the damp atmosphere. I'm not sure if my lack of breath is due to fear, or the humid air which suffocated me in this dark place underneath the ocean.

"Well, 'Chosen One?' Are you going to bow down and face judgement, or are you going to stand there like a snivelling coward?" The taller man standing across the cave from me questioned. A dragon with scales that reflected what little light the cave offered in a chromatic sort of way circled us. Her giant feet were slow in their steps as she gracefully moved her large body around the two of us. If I ran, she'd likely swallow me whole... I could sleigh her with my sword, but then what? He was a powerful wizard with magic which could restrain me. If I attack him first, the dragon will fry me. I could likely escape with my life, but... I likely would not escape with the artifact that hid within my bag, a loose raggedy thing strapped to my shoulder.

"Dimitri has terrible taste in heroes..." The wizard sighed in exhausted dismay. He took a moment to comb back his long black hair, which shined like the dragon's scales. A cocky smirk rested under his large nose, and his green eyes- the colour of which also matched the dragon's scales- glimmered with amusement. "What is it with great wizards and sending scrawny children to do their dirty work? Why can't he be a proper gentleman and perform his own suicide missions?" The wizard complained.

"You... Know Master Gracen?" I asked timidly.

"Why, has Dimitri not told you? I thought certainly he'd have at least warned you what you were up against. Please, allow me to introduce myself." The wizard before me mused. He bowed gracefully to me, a wicked grin across his face. "The name is Corren Hofftraitor. You can call me Coy, if you like."

"Coy? Like your attitude?" I couldn't prevent myself from snarking him despite the grave situation.

Coy laughed and clutched his stomach as his deep bellowing echoed through the cavern. "Yes," He heaved for breath as he finally calmed down. I felt my shoulders slump, and my gaze avert away from him. "Yes, like my attitude. I do like the younger heroes, they have such spirit in them. So nice to see someone who has yet to be crushed by the world... A shame I'll have to kill you to get what I want." Coy continued. He reached out his hand towards me, then held his chin up high. "Now kneel, and present the artifact to me. Or I shall make the remainder of your life a living hell." He threatened.

"But... My village. We need this artifact." I stammered. I took a step back, and the dragon growled in warning.

"Inerva, at ease." Coy soothed his reptilian friend. The dragon ruffled her wings and blew out smoke, then shifted her legs and lowered herself to lay down. "There's a good girl." Coy praised as he reached out and patted her scales gently. "As for your village... Might I ask, what does your village need this time? Will this artifact stop a monster? Perhaps cure a drought? Or, mayhaps, is it going to break a curse? I'm curious what con my old friend and rival is pulling this time." Coy went on, his attention back on me.

I could have escaped at this point... Grab my broken broomstick from the jagged ground and cast a quick mending spell before his dragon gets up. Or perhaps a teleportation spell would be more practical... I'd just need to know where I'm teleporting to.

Regardless, I was curious. "Con, Mr. Hofftraiter?" I asked to clarify.

"Yes, a con. The idea that anyone can be special and save the world by adding random things to some Wizard's collection. Kids keep getting killed over this and yet he's the 'good' guy." Coy complained.

"For the record, I'm not a kid, I'm 21." I defended.

"Oh, honey. To me that still makes you a kid." Coy mused. "But regardless... There's nothing magical about that trinket. It's simply a rare collector's item and your 'Master' wants it for himself." Coy explained.

"You're lying! Master Gracen said we needed it to craft a potion to cure my people's disease!" I declared.

"Ah, so that's what he promised you... A cute in exchange for the trinket. How quant. Unfortunately, I am also a collector, and unlike Dimitri I get my own hands dirty for what I want. Now hand it over and accept your fate." Coy threatened deviously.

The feeling of despair fell over my shoulders, and the realization that I had failed, doomed my entire family. All I could do then, was pray. I whispered to any Gods whom might listen, begged them to assist me in this moment of possible failure, and grant me guidance on what to do next.

I knelt down in front of the villain, and slowly reached inside my bag. While Coy pulled out a large knife, I pulled out the artifact. Eagerly, Coy swiped it from my hands. Then chuckled maliciously.

"Oh, excellent. This will go nicely beside my Egyptian Artifact collection." Coy decided.

I closed my eyes and waited, knowing this would be the end..

I felt cold steel against my neck after I obeyed a firm command to bow my head.

Then a sharp pain, and warm blood dripping from my neck and down my back. I was surprised, however, when the sword was sheathed and a hand was offered to me.

"There. In return, I have removed the tracking spell your Master engraved in you." Coy announced.

"The what spell!?!" I exclaimed.

"Gods you're oblivious... er... How about we return to my place, you can become my own apprentice, and I can tell you everything. K?" Coy offered as he climbed onto the back of his dragon.

"I... can't betray my Master. Or abandon my people." I argued.

"Your master is supposed to be protecting that village. He doesn't need a special vase to make the antidote, he'll do it once he realizes you're not coming back. Your master sees you as a tool, nothing more." Coy informed me.

"I guess..." I conceded. I felt a pit form in my stomach, knowing I couldn't return without that artifact or Master Gracen would not heal my people. "I have always wanted to ride a dragon..." I then attempted to persuade myself.

Coy smiled, then patted a space behind him. I eagerly ran over, climbed on, and held Inerva's spikes tightly.

Apparently I'd be the fifth adventurer Coy ended up adopting.

Which is better than being the fifth one to die certainly.

When the villain demanded that you submit or be destroyed you just apathetically shrugged and braced yourself for death. You were surprised when the villain did not kill you and instead offered you a nice, comfortable room and an appointment with their personal therapist.

[kamiversee]

𓆩 Crown of Sin 𓆪

Segment I Chapter: One

❀ ~ Synopsis > In which you’re a princess who's given a total of six months to converge & inaugurate a solid plan secure enough to rid you of your fated marriage arrangements to Naoya Zenin. 

❀ ~ Content > language, arranged marriage, tension from all over, bickering, mentions of a harem, etc.

❀ ~ Word Count > 5.6k

❀ ~ Pairings > jjk men & women x f!reader.

{ chapters m!list }

——You would rather die a thousand times over than become Naoya Zenin’s wife.

Something unorthodox must’ve plagued the mind of your parents this morning because there is simply no way they’d worked up such an audacity to happily relay this information to you. You were to be wed in six months time and yet, this is your first time hearing of such a proposal.

Hell, you hadn’t even received a literal proposal from this alleged fiancé of yours so, who exactly was orchestrating such a wedding and why had you no say nor awareness in it before now? 

“You two are humoring me right now, yes?” Your voice had carried throughout the space of the throne room with such grace that all the attendees of this rather small gathering couldn’t help but have their eyes drawn to you.

The few maids, guards at their posts within the room, your own mother and father who sat oh-so-comfortably upon their thrones, and the few others who were allowed to be in this space as such information was presented to you. Being the one to have ripped the bandage off and relayed said information to you recently, your mother cannot help but find her eyes drifting over to her husband for help.

The two exchange a knowing glance and you watch as they swallow down whatever nerves may have rested center in their throats. Then, your father’s shoulders raise ever so slightly and he averts his eyes over to you.

Voicing your name in that aged gruff tone of his, followed by a slight clearing of his throat, he begins to break the wafted air of silence. “You must understand that this is for the betterment of our nation. We rival none aside from the eastern nation so, naturally, it is only in our best interest to have you wed with the heir to the Zenin family throne.”

You scoff, openly. Eyes widen around the room and looks are exchanged by many but how do people expect you to react to this? Are you meant to be joyous about marrying the most pompous individual across all the lands, a man of which you have only ever encountered maybe two or three times in all your years of living?? Yeah, fuck that.

“So, I am meant to marry this man in six months' time, the engagement will be officially announced at tonight’s ball, and I haven’t a single say in this entire ordeal?” You breathe out carefully, your head tilting and eyes narrowing at the worried eyes of your parents.

Your mother responds with a shaky sigh, “Darling, we hadn’t any choice in this either. Our only options were to marry you off or go to war and we do not have the defenses to—”

“They threatened us?” You interrupt, another act that receives appalled looks from those spectating. “Please tell me you jest, mother. What could the East possibly hope to gain from going to war with us? We’ve been at peace for years and now all of a sudden—”

“Permission to speak,” Chimes another voice. Your eyes flick to your father’s left, landing on the one man he trusts with his life more than anyone else, your nation’s military general; Masamichi Yaga. “Your Highness.” He finishes off, gaze firm on the area of which you stand.

You take a moment to stare, taking in his roughened appearance despite the uniform that fits him so snuggly. Without realizing it, your eyes rake over his form up and down about twice before he clears his throat to break your lingering stare. “Granted,” You eventually allow with a nod of your head.

Yaga straightens up where he stands and exchanges a look of knowing with your father before he speaks loud and clear, “You are the princess of the second largest nation in our continent.” He states with a slightly quirked brow. 

Which prompts you only to roll your eyes a bit.

“I believe you out of anyone else should understand the natural target that is placed on your back. Especially considering you are also the only princess in said continent. You’ve been at the age liable for marriage for a few years now and the reality of this has finally set in. The marriage itself is to join the East nation and the West into one. Should you refuse Naoya’s hand, he would simply join the two nations by…” A slight grimace is noticed within his expression, “Force.”

Yet another scoff falls softly from your lips, “You say this to me as if he is incapable of marrying a man. Surely, someone like Prince S—”

“Now is not the time to joke, my lady.” Yaga interrupts as gently as he can, “He could very well go on and marry into one of the other royal families but they do not rule over our nation, now do they? The east is the largest of them all, our sole rival. Do you not see the importance of this marriage taking place? It is either that or war and, as our queen has so clearly told you, we do not have the defenses to—”

“And what of the other nations? The north? The south? Hell, even the smallest out there; Middom? Is it not possible for us to rally our defenses with them and..” Your voice trails to an eventual fall as you notice the look on Yaga’s face. He doesn’t even have to cut you off this time for you to realize this conversation isn’t going anywhere. 

You exhale and turn to your royal adviser who’s at your right side. Wide-set eyes and all, Higuruma merely offers you a nod of his head to silently console you. Like everyone else in this damn room, he was pleading for you to simply let this go and follow along with things like some pawn in everyone else’s game. 

“You would rather go to war and risk the lives of thousands than marry this man?” Yaga adds on to question.

Your lips quirked and you looked at him again, “Do you want my honest answer to that?”

“No, I would like your noble answer.” He replies dryly.

“Tch.” You huff, your face flattening. “Of course I would do anything to avoid war, I am not cruel. But I do hope all of you realize what joint nations entail for our future—their laws and customs will be indoctrinated into our society overnight. And if you think I will have any influence over that then you clearly know not of the man I am to marry. The words of a woman carry no weight with him.”

Your father is the next to speak up, “We are well aware of what this means for our future. But, it is either that or… death.”

With a crisp, yet obviously faux smile, you nod to that. “Right. Well, if that is all,” You begin to bow your head for respect, “Mother, Father, I shall excuse myself.”

Then you swivel around to make your exit, only to be stopped by the queen’s voice once more. “That is all?” She asks.

You paused in your steps but did not turn back to face her. “I’m unsure of what other argument you expect from me, mother. I either marry him or we go to war, what more could I possibly say to that?”

The sound of her sighing can be heard. It was almost as though she’d truly expected or maybe even anticipated a longer refute from you. “...Just,” Her words come out in a slow fashion and you get the feeling that she may be able to read your thoughts. “None of your schemes tonight, please? If you’re truly on board with this then don’t do anything brash—”

“I wouldn’t dare.” You cut off rather rudely, turning slightly to then cut your eye at her. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

No more words are exchanged as you hastily make your way out of the room, only the sounds of your heels echoing through the large archways and halls heard as you do so.

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

Moments after you’d made your exit, two people had now taken your sides and followed rather closely behind you. Too nervous to say anything just yet, they both simply follow your hurried steps toward wherever you were off to without a word. 

One was your knight, who’d always followed close behind you since your teenage days, willing to throw herself into the face of death at any given moment simply for your sake. Tall, fit, blond, with a set of brown eyes any person could easily find themself lost in, stood Yuki Tsukumo proudly wearing that pristine royal guard uniform as her steps mirrored your own in speed.

Beside her was that pleasant royal advisor of yours, Higuruma Hiromi. Also quite tall (who wasn’t these days), wide, tired eyes, and a voice that typically drives you insane with annoyance given the number of lectures you’d received by it—he was careful to trail after you, given all that’d recently transpired. 

It’s a long walk of silence before your beloved knight breaks it. “I assume things went unwell back there?” Yuki hums cautiously as she fully takes your right side, leaving Higuruma slightly behind you.

“Your assumption would be correct,” You huff almost instantly as if you’d been waiting for either of them to say something to you. “I am to be wed in six months.”

Seeing as Yuki wasn’t exactly in the room while things were explained to you, she’d hardly a clue as to what had you pacing down the halls in such a determined fashion as you did currently. “Wed? Six months?? To whom?” She rushed out in alarm, her expression quick to contort into deep concern and alarm.

“The heir to the Zenin throne,” You say with a long sigh following shortly after.

“You can say his name y’know,” Higuruma comments before appropriately taking your left side.

You roll your eyes, “I would rather drop dead.”

At that, his feet come to a sudden halt and you and Yuki follow suit. “My lady, I know you are not fond of your… situation, but, what else can we do by this point? He will officially propose tonight and unless you can find another prince to do so before him in the next few hours then—”

It was like a literal lightbulb had gone off above that tiara-adorned head of yours, sparking Yuki’s eyes to rake over the excitement that washed against your features.

“Oh my, that’s brilliant.” You gasp with a turn to your recently spoken advisor.

“I simply cannot imagine how—pardon?” He choked, “You do know he is the only member of a royal family attending tonight, right? You couldn't possibly hope to… find a better suitor beforehand and even if you did, his highness would not have it.”

Every word of his seems to go through one ear and out the other as you take a step closer to him, flash a smile, and then move your hand to his arm. “My finest of gratitude to you, Sir. Higuruma.”

His eyes seem to widen with pure confusion. “...I do not understand.”

“You play your role as my advisor well, thank you.” You proceed, not caring to elaborate in the slightest. Then you turn away and begin walking again, “I know what I must do.”

His feet stammer to follow you once more, “And what might that be, my lady? You promised your mother–, the queen, that you wouldn’t do anything brash.”

“It willn’t be ‘brash’ at all.” You chirp simply.

“Then what—”

Pausing only one last time, you glance back at your awfully confused advisor and send him a reassuring grin. “Have my lady-in-waiting arrive to my room within the hour, I have a ball to prepare for.”

With that, your walk continues. Higuruma tries to follow you but he’s stopped by a hand meeting his chest. His brows pinch together just as he looks down, finding Yuki’s palm hovering over his chest in a silent motion to get him to stop. 

He then looks at her and opens his mouth to protest against everything that’d just happened but with a simple shake of her head before he could even get a word out, his shoulders sink and he ends up turning away with a huff.

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

An hour does, in fact, fly by before you find yourself in the confines of your bedroom. With your feet meeting the soft cushions of a small stool, your head held high, and your mouth moving at such a rapid pace, you’d been venting to your lovely lady-in-waiting from the moment she’d arrived in your room.

“And the worst part of it all? If I am to marry that man then I will later be expected to carry an hier—fuck,” Your voice is cut short with a low curse as the strings securing the corset part of your dress are only pulled tighter from behind you. Your back straightens up a bit more than before and your voice pitches to a higher and breathier degree, “‘Hime, that’s… hah, too tight-, I can hardly breathe.”

She perks up from behind you and releases the strings from her grasp entirely, “Ah, I am so sorry, my lady!” The maiden gasps softly. Her fingers then trail upward along the fabric weaving through the corset holes and you feel her making steady adjustments. “I was so caught up in that story of yours that I uhm,” She loosens an area or two, allowing you a moment to breathe. “Got carried away… How’s this—better?”

You release a long exhale as your shoulders relax, “It’s much better now, as far as breathability is concerned. But,” Your eyes linger on the nearby propped up mirror and you ogle your figure closely. “Well, now it is too loose.”

In the mirror’s reflection, you notice those violet locks of hair resting atop her head sway to the right as her head tilts to study your figure from her angle better. “Hm. I see.” She utters to herself before taking hold of those strings once more. “I’m going to tighten it again, are you ready for it this time?”

With a nod, you glance back at her and raise your thumb up. “Mhm, pull until I say stop.”

Her hands begin to do just that, slowly pulling the strings to tighten the piece once more. As she gives her softened tugs, her eyes lift to your face and she watches the way a hitched breath leaves your lips. “Too tight?”

“Did I say stop?” You ask lightheartedly.

She shakes her head, “No, but–”

“Utahime,” You breathe her entire name so suddenly that her hands come to a halt immediately. “Keep pulling.”

Probably with some form of nervousness under your direct gaze and commanding tone, her head drops and she focuses her eyes back down to her hands—giving you one firm tug that makes your body jerk backward ever so slightly. You gasp, again, and this time a hand of yours moves back to grab her wrist.

“Right there,” You utter, “That is perfect, thank you.”

Utahime stares at your grasp on her wrist for a moment longer than necessary before clearing her throat and sealing that tightly pulled fabric with an appropriate knot. Then, she removes her hands from your dress entirely and takes a step back. “Well uh-, as you were saying, my lady?”

You’re busy twisting and turning slightly to gather your appearance in the mirror before you respond, oblivious to the nearby eyes also gathering your frame. “Oh, yes, I would be expected to deliver an heir not too long after I am married. Knowing my parents and the Zenin family, both I and the man I am to marry would ascend the throne mere weeks after the wedding. The very next thing that follows that would be…”

“Having his child,” Utahime finishes for you, her voice disappointed—for your sake. “I’m sorry to hear of this, truly. I wish there were something I could do to help.”

You chuckle before stepping off of that small stool you’d been posted upon, striding over to your nearby dresser, and popping open a box of jewelry. “Fret not, ‘Hime,” You console with a dismissive wave of your hand. “I will not marry any Zenin man. Not in this life, nor the next.”

She paces over to you and dips her hand into that recently opened box, “So, what will you do?”

“Good question.” Protrudes Yuki, who’s been leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom listening for quite some time now. “I am really just dying to know what that big plan of yours is.” She scoffs, earning your glance. She nods her chin to you slightly, “I saw the look in your eyes earlier so, tell me, princess… what’re you plannin’?”

The smile that spreads across your face was much too bright for you to fight, “Like everyone else, you two will find out tonight.”

Your knight’s eyes roll as she pushes off the frame and begins to approach you and Utahime. “Awh, don’t do that. The last ‘scheme’ you pulled off—”

“Got you your current position as my knight, if I’m not mistaken, Lady Tsukumo.” You adjourn as Utahime swipes up the corresponding jewelry to your dress and begins to assist in accessorizing you. 

Yuki only gets closer before posting herself against the wall nearest to the dresser you stand at. She gives you a firm stare, receiving a matching one from you, before instead focusing her gaze on the necklace currently being fastened around your neck. “Touché. But it was reckless.”

“Harmless,” You correct with a shrug. “I mean, really, God forbid a woman gets what she wants through slightly drastic measures.”

She looks around the room for a moment before tutting. “You put yourself in harm's way just to test my capabilities.”

“I put myself in harm’s way to prove your capabilities to those who doubted,” You correct for a second time, flawlessly. “Plus, that was years ago. I won’t go to any lengths like that this time around, the safety of my nation is on the line. Just know I have an idea I may act on.”

Yuki can’t help the worry etched onto her face as she only questions you further, “And this idea is safe?”

Smiling still, “No ideas are ‘safe’ for women in this day and age.” You remind her.

Silence befalls upon the room and even Utahime’s fingers pause on the clasp of your necklace that she’d been struggling with for the past few minutes. Her eyes soon glide over to Yuki and they exchange a look, their thoughts mutual within the quietude.

After that briefness passes, Yuki’s voice softens and she leans toward you ever so slightly, “So then, perhaps you shouldn’t act on it?”

Your face twists up as if you were offended, “And marry that coxcomb?” To which Utahime snorts. “Over our dead bodies.” You huff.

The air seems to have lightened up and Yuki grins, “‘Our’..?”

“You’ve said you would die for me, yes?”

She hums, “Without hesitation.”

“Then, yes, our.”

Utahime’s accessorizing comes to an end as she finally gets that clasp in order and takes a step back—pulling you to turn around to face her, and then taking in your prepared appearance. “Perfect.” She chirps.

“Gorgeous,” Yuki adds beneath her breath with a faint cock of her head.

You’re left smiling at the hushed compliments from the two before hearing a telling knock on your bedroom door, followed by the voice of someone informing you that guests are beginning to arrive for tonight's event. You hadn’t even realized how much time you’d spent venting to Utahime and getting ready for the dreaded ball and now, the sun was on its journey to set and it was time for said ball to actually take place.

Sometimes, you forget how fast time seems to move when you are in distress. You soon reply to the quick announcement you’d been given and you and your two accompanying ladies begin to make haste toward exiting your bedroom.

Faint worry remains on both Utahime and Yuki’s face as they follow your lead but they make no more vocal arguments about it. Yuki trusts your judgement, to some degree, and Utahime is moreso frightened for what the future holds for you regarding this arrangement.

· · ──────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

All doubts and worries entirely aside, by the time you indulge yourself in the festivities of the ball graciously hosted by your parents, your internalized fear for how things may go seems to fade. That timeless ballroom music you’d been surrounded by all your life floats through the air along with the sound of laughter and chatter from the lavish guests who’ve traveled from all over just to be here.

These glorified parties are a repetitive cycle you’ve been forced to grow accustomed to but, you’ve never minded them much until today. The entire time you socialized with the many aristocrats and members of high-class families, you couldn’t help but feel anxious. No one seemed to mention Naoya or his family to you, which led you to wonder if earlier that morning had merely been some lucid nightmare of yours…

Surely if this engagement were to take place tonight and had been planned out long before you were privy to it, someone would have mentioned it or even asked if you were excited for it by now. Unless all those around you were just as aware as you are of how dreadful a family the Zenins were..?

Or hell, maybe people were told not to say anything to you—

It’s then that someone bumps into your back, nearly causing you to choke on the bubbly beverage you’d been sipping on for the past few minutes. And just when you thought you’d scored a moment of peace for yourself…

An overwhelming sum of cologne slithers into your nose and although the smell is quite pleasant, clearly its wearer had sprayed far too much on themself—leading you to cough in an attempt to clear both your nose and your throat. Then, with an arm raised slightly over your face, you turn to whoever just bumped into you.

You don’t know what hits you first, the abrupt sight of him or that grating tone of his. “I swear you people have no sense of awareness. Has your sense of sight failed you, leaving you unable to see that I was clearly—oh,” Naoya grouses, his upper lip lifting faintly in a twinge of disgust. “It’s you.” He diverts, silently revoking his words prior out of what little respect he holds for you.

As unfortunate as it is, you have to drag your gaze upward to meet his. Just then, you mentally curse whoever's responsible for his mere existence because it should truly be a crime to be that painfully attractive, especially considering how all that typically flies out the window the moment he opens his mouth. You think your breath hitches at first sight of him.

Perhaps it was the proximity, considering he’d just bumped into you and made no efforts to back away after but, either way, he is undeniably… quite handsome. You have to blink thrice to register that this is the same rude man you’d last seen years ago, who you definitely do not remember being this… yeah, you won’t be throwing him any more compliments—albeit they’re all mental, as of now.

In the same way you seem to be taken aback by his appearance, he unconsciously weighs his head to the side as he drinks-, more like, gulps in your appearance. His eyes run up and down your face at least four times before he looks further down, in an attempt to glance at the necklace you have on, only to find himself leering at your chest and whatever cleavage you had visible. And, to say the least, if anything is mutual between the two of you, it’s definitely the attraction.

You decide to work up your usual confidence to speak, having reminded yourself who exactly you're looking at right now. “My eyes are up—“

“I know where your eyes are, woman.” Naoya cuts off with such a quickness that your head cocks back in immediate offense. But, before you can say anything else, he clears his throat and you watch him squeeze his eyes shut. “Pardon me,” He grits out, the words sounding as though it pained him to speak them. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so…” His eyes flutter open and he inhales strongly before cutting his intake off with a cough. “Close.” Is the last word he breathes out to you.

Your eyes remain on him and his every facial shift—the way he pulls his head back, takes another deep breath, bats his lashes elsewhere for a moment, brings his fist to his lips to cough again, and then shakes himself out of whatever that all was. You’re left unsure of what his body language translates to but you don’t believe you have it in you to care considering the way he starts talking again.

“Anyway,” Noaya straightens up where he stands and finally looks down at you (literally and mentally), “Let’s make this quick since I’ve finally found you, yeah?”

You raise a brow and move to cross your arms, “Does that imply that you were searching for me?”

His lips twitch, “No.”

“Some fiancé you’ll be…” You grumble out to him, to which he snorts.

“Just lend me your hand so I can propose, we’ve eyes on us.” He tells you rather quickly and quietly. You didn’t even realize how long your attention was on him before you blinked and looked around, finding the eyes of many lingering on you and him.

Oh. So people were aware of his upcoming proposal…

With a heavy sigh, you glance at him once more and he’s got this cunning look plastered all over his face. “I believe a man is to drop down on one knee to propose, no?” You ask almost dryly.

Naoya’s brows twist up, “You expect me to get on my knees for the likes of you?”

You shrug off his rudeness, “How else are you to propose?”

“You give me your hand and I slide this ring on your finger,” He tells you with a steadily lowering voice, dipping a hand into his pocket.

You honestly cannot believe the constant audacity that simply oozes off of this man. It’s as though he expects everything in his life to be served to him on a silver platter. “I will offer out my hand to no man who refuses to at least get down on one knee for me.” You tell him simply, your confidence not wavering in the slightest.

His left eye twitches in pure irritation. “I refuse to do anything ‘for you’.”

“Then I refuse to marry you.” You shrug.

He scoffs right in your face, “You haven’t the liberty.”

You huff back, “How can I be expected to marry a man who’s yet to propose?”

“You—“ Naoya grits his teeth and looks to the high ceilings for a moment before groaning slightly. He eventually returns his eyes to you and you can tell he’s over this entire thing. “Does compliance come this difficult for all women?”

“Does arrogance come this naturally from all men?” It’s from here that the two of you glare each other down while bickering back and forth as if it were second nature.

“Must you have a rebuttal for everything I say?”

“Depends on how long you take to propose to me like a proper gentleman.”

He pauses for a split second before sassily rolling his eyes, “You irritate me.”

“I’ve hardly done anything,” You reply with a lighthearted chuckle.

“Is shutting up something you’re incapable of?”

Dismissing him for the first time, you begin to look elsewhere. “Are you going to propose or not? I don’t have all night.”

Naoya swears he’s seconds away from tossing the ring in his hands into the nearest trashcan and declaring war because surely that would be much simpler than getting you to go along with things, “Don’t rush me.”

“You’re the one who said to make this quick,” You remind the man, noticing the distant gaze of both your parents and his.

The prince in front of you grits his teeth again, “I—“ 

“So hurry up.” Your hand waves in a dismissive manner as you turn your head back to him, “Get on your knees, Zenin.”

He’s clearly physically incapable of accepting any sort of orders from you without having anything to say so, “Address me by my first name.” Is what leaves his lips shortly after.

“I will not.” You deny.

He flashes a knowing smirk, “You must.”

“Or what?”

“Or I will discard this act of peace and declare w—“

“Fine,” You choke out, almost in fear. “Naoya… if you wish for me to be your wife in six months' time then you will drop to one knee and propose to me, properly.”

He finally begins to lower down to one knee, speaking in a harsh whisper, “The excess was unnecessary.”

“I care little of what you deem unnecessary.” You utter right back.

“I care little about you.”

“Good.”

Whipping the ring out quickly and assuming the perfect position below you, he glares, “Be my wife.”

You wish you had a way to capture how he looks right now. Naoya being on his knees is a sight no one can say they’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing before so, naturally, many of the onlookers begin to gasp and share gossiping whispers to one another. 

You keep your voice low but many watch your mouth move, “Is that how you propose? No wonder you’ve yet to find a woman before me…”

Naoya’s fingers pinch the ring held up to you tighter and you notice a vein pop out along his sharp jawline, “This arrangement was not by my personal choice. Now, do me… the honor, and…” He waits a moment before raising his voice so that those nearby can hear, “Marry me.”

You deadpan, “It sounds like you’re demanding me—“

“Jesus-, fuck, woman!” He curses unintentionally with a momentary drop of his head. Before you can let out the laugh his reaction invokes, he flips his gaze right back up to you and looks you dead in the eye as he speaks in a firm tone, “Will you marry me?”

For the first time since he’s ever known you, you smile at him—causing his body to feel… weird. He thinks he hates that stupidly gorgeous spread of lips and flash of teeth that starks across your face. Then, your hand is held out to him and you nod. “I suppose.”

He narrows his eyes at you and doesn’t move.

You roll your own. “Yes, I… accept your proposal.”

Not wasting any more time whatsoever, Naoya practically shoves the ring onto your finger, his touch oddly as smooth as silk against you. “Finally. Now—“

“Under one condition.” You add on with a very slight retraction of your hand.

“Condition??” His brows meet and his eyes frantically travel over to where both your parents stand, “I was not informed that this would come with any—“

“No one knew of any until now,” You say as you lean down a bit.

He groans, “What is it?”

It’s almost as though there was some sort of shift within your tone. As Naoya moves his eyes back to you, he finds your entire presence wildly different in comparison to a few seconds ago. And the darkened look you hold in your eyes, the way that smile of yours had yet to fade—just what could you possibly have planned in that feeble mind of yours??

“I would like to curate a harem for myself during our engagement,” You requested.

Naoya fights internally to hold back the shocked laugh he’d almost let out in your face, “Why am I not surprised the wench wishes for a harem of all things…”

You let out an offended breath, “Excuse me—“

“Sure,” He scoffs, sizing you up and down as he quickly raises to his feet. “You can make your lil’ harem. Run around and tarnish your reputation all you want but, that will not be enough for me to end this engagement.”

Back up to his feet, he finds himself looming toward you and surprised by how unmoving you are, “I don’t plan on it.”

Naoya only inches closer, “Must every last word be yours?” He asks, breath fanning over your skin with a faint scent of… mint?

You respond silently with a thin-lipped smile, mentally discarding how you keep picking up on such small details.

To which a vein in his forehead makes a sudden appearance, “Oh you little—“

“Let us all congratulate the happy couple!” A voice, Higuruma’s, chimes in, “A joyous union this’ll be for our nations!” He announces quickly.

People rush to swarm you and Naoya within seconds, celebratory wishes and congratulations thrown at you from left and right as if this was truly some big surprise. Perhaps it was the fact that Naoya was actually able to propose to you and you were able to accept it without… anything else taking place instead.

So, you suppose you have something to celebrate now. Your request for a harem was approved without any question whatsoever. Perfect. You may not have had the time to get anyone of royal status to propose to you before Naoya did, especially considering it would take an act of love for someone to do so in the first place but, you sure as hell just bought yourself some.

m!list | next chapter |

tags 1/2;

@angellliqua @celestial-lunar  @withcheese @itoshi-r @silvarys @everything-red @fishosezo @haesify @sassybananaweaselpsychic @orange-juice-is-ass

@notjustagirlinthisworld @sushiimara @larkson0 @di-in-al @sxnkuna @hanuh @cayla0000 @helloxkittylo @idkmanshrugg @chocolatecheer

@michelintopic @cinaminroll @french3xit @valleydoli @broimherebcsimboredok @sleepisforpuzzies @cuti3patooti8 @sukunadckrider @f0r7una @ventila98

@vixionix @levislug @mauve-gojo @chosomi @semi-lover @bee3l0v3r @noooo-onee @r4sh3li @yenayaps @chososbestgirl

@smutyturtle @simp-plague @pnkblueberry @stargirl-mayaa @kunareads @tojisdollx @gojoslefttoenail @forbiddenblog @glittercherry777 @samm1e13

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the End - Post-Apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - Take care of the Omega

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. SMUT, dub-con, fingering knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader, injuries, masturbation

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The four of them enter the cabin, stepping carefully to not make a sound on the wooden floorboards. The tiniest of sounds make each of them wince just a little. “This place is trapped,” Soap mutters as he steps in and tries to breathe past the smell of omega. The entire place was drenched in the smell, pine and granny smith apples. Tangy and spoke years in this forest but it suited you. “Wonder if ye will be like a smith apple,” he mutters to himself before he’s elbowed by Ghost.

“Don’t talk to yerself.” His lieutenant says gruffly but his brown eyes show the amusement he tries to hide in his voice.

“Ach, come on LT, dinnae tell me you cannae smell it too,” Soap teases and Ghost just grunts.

Beneath them none of them know you lie in your nest of blankets and pillows, hand between your thighs as you listen to their muffled talk. The accent of the one you shot shouldn’t do as much as it is for you, slick gushing out from around your fingers while you lick your lips mind reeling with the prospect of them making it down to where you were now.

Pressing one palm against your mouth to muffle the sound of your whimper as your cunt clenches down on your fingers and more slick leaks out wetting the blankets and your thighs as you think about them.

The hours pass and you giggle to yourself whenever you hear cursing or yelling from above. For such a small cabin you’re quite proud of yourself for managing to trap nearly every inch of it. If they manage to avoid one trap they are almost guaranteed to run into another which makes you have to muffle your howls of laughter.

“Fuckin’ omega,” Price curses as he disarms a particularly deadly trap that involves an axe that nicked him in the ear.

“She nearly got ya there Cap’n,” Gaz says a little teasingly but no one could deny the tension in his voice as his fellow alpha disarms the trap. As soon as it was disarmed Gaz walks up to Price and dabs away the blood on his ear. “Didn’t take your whole ear off at least, might’ve had to reconsider some things if she had.”

“Getting cheeky now?” Price grumbles and Gaz just gives him on his crooked and mischievous grins.

“I would never.”

When they finally got to the stairwell that led down none of them could deny how they felt. “There has to be one more,” Ghost muttered, rubbing his shoulder where a steak knife had lodged itself into his muscle. That had been fun to pull out and patch.

“Oh undoubtedly,” Price replies as he steps forward and breathes in deep. “But I can smell her down there. She’s in heat Simon,” he says and something within his chest rumbles. Ghost shares a look with Soap who looks like an addict about to get their first fix in months.

“Gaz goes first,” Ghost says, looking to the prettiest of the alphas.

Price opens his mouth to object before he closes it and considers what his lieutenant is suggesting. “Any particular reason why?” Price asks and Ghost shrugs.

“Call it a hunch.”

Price looks to Gaz who stares down the unlit steps into the cellar with his heart thrumming against his chest. “It's your choice, sergeant. What will it be?”

Gaz swallows and glances between the three of them before he steps forward. “I’ll go first but you’ll follow my lead. If you spook her I don’t imagine any of us will be having a good time.” Everyone exchanges a glance but says nothing as Gaz grabs Prices lighter and flips it open to light the way down the stairs. About half way down the stairs Gaz hears a click. “Get down!” He shouts just in time because a wooden log comes down from the ceiling ready to hit whoever was in its path.

“Steamin’ jesus,” Soap curses as he looks it over. “She's really aimin’ to kill.”

“Of course she is, we’ve invaded her territory,” Gaz grumbles but no one hears him or they ignore him. “I think that might be the only one here, it looks old,” he says as he shines a light against the metal holding it in place, rusted and Gaz imagines that it kept it from coming down at the speed it was intended.

At the end of the stairs is a cellar. It smells of dirt and must but there’s one scent that overpowers it completely. The smell of pine needles and granny smith apples along with the sweet tinge of heat. Gaz holds his arm out, “Let me do the talking and Soap, keep to the back.”

“Ach, this insae fair,” he grumbles as he goes to back of the pack and Gaz’s shoulders relax slightly. The sight before them when they enter fully is like one from the heavens above. If heaven’s prettiest angel was growling and hissing that is.

You struggle to keep your eyelids from fluttering closed at the smell of all four of them in your newest safe space. You back into the corner of your nest, growling and hissing at them as they all step forward. “Go away!” You snarl as you fight against the tremors in your body. Four alphas! They all survived! Strong alphas, they must be! Your inner omega yips and celebrates but you refuse to give in.

“You’re-” you swallow the saliva building in your mouth, “you’re in my territory!”

The prettiest of the four steps forward, palms extended to show no weapons or intent to harm. “Omega,” he whispers and his voice is like a balm for your rage and fear. Even better, he stops at the edge of your nest and doesn’t enter without your permission which makes your chest rumble with something resembling a purr. A half purr half growl. “We just want to help.”

“Help how? By-” your cut off by a whimper as heat pulses through your core. “By invading my territory?”

“We never meant to invade your territory,” he soothes and you blink at him. You find yourself drowning in those brown eyes, believing that face.

“Promise?” It comes out more meek than you intended.

“Promise. And we won’t break any rules, you just have to tell us pretty omega.”

So you do. “No marking.” Is the first thing that leaves your mouth. “A-and no name calling.” You quickly add on as you glance at the mean looking one, the one with a balaclava with a skull on it.

“Okay. Okay we can follow those rules. Right men?” He glances behind him at the three others who all nod. You shrink away from the corner and settle back into your comfortable nest.

“You can come into my nest now,” You mumble and look away, heart beating so hard against your chest you can feel in your throat. As the pretty one settles between your thighs he blinks those brown eyes up at you.

“My name's Kyle sweet thing,” he says and when you say his name to him he groans, resting his cheek on your sensitive inner thigh and rubbing his stubble against it. His hands gently pry your supple thighs apart a little further and press a kiss to your inner thigh. “I’m gonna take care of you, we all are.” You glance and look at the three others, shrinking away when you realize all of their eyes are on you. You open your mouth to say something but it dies on your lips as two fingers slip inside your slick cunt.

You grab onto his shoulders and blink feverishly at him, trying to find yourself as a wave of heat washes over you. A gasp leaves your lips as he begins to move his fingers, slowly at first. Like watching syrup drip from the bottle. Pulling slowly from the grip of your cunt and bringing up the slick gathered on his fingers to your hardened clit. You melt into your nest as he moves his fingers in circles around your clit. “There’s a good omega,” he coos as his other hand takes over circling your clit while the other returns to sink two fingers back into you.

“Kyle mmpf-” you bury your face into the pillow beside you as he works you up too quickly. It's too much and somehow not enough. The more he pets at the walls of your cunt, in search of something, the more the heat in your stomach builds and your breathing turns heavier.

He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, grinding his palm up against your clit now instead. Your gasping for air, hands finding his shoulders and nails digging in as his fingers touch that part inside you that makes you wail and spill slick all over his fingers. “Yeah there it is,” he mutters, never breaking eye contact with you as he picks up the pace.

“I-I can’t,” you whimper, already regretting the several orgasms you had given yourself earlier. Every nerve feels like it’s been lit on fire, fried and you can’t fight the thing building up inside of you. “Kyle please.”

“Aw she's beggin’ now, cmon Gaz.” One of the others speaks and you growl at whoever said that while your brain processes the accent. You bare your teeth at the Scottish one who has a nasty grin on his face and watch as he’s dragged back by the biggest of all of them.

“No, no.” Kyle says and brings your attention back to him and his fingers curling inside you. “Cum for me pretty omega,” he says and you whimper. “Like that name for you? Pretty omega,” he coos while you nod. Heat licks up your spine and you feel like you’re broken in half when it finally happens. Your nails dig into his flesh as your cunt pulses around his fingers. No sound comes from you besides a choked gasp and he keeps moving his fingers in and out as you gyrate your hips to wring as much pleasure from this as possible.

Finally you stop, breathing in deep while he stares down at the mess you made of his hand. “Please Kyle,” you whimper as a haze falls over you completely. “Please fuck me.”

Get early access HERE

[gerlionrise]

A Game Within the Game P4

Hwang In-ho ( The Frontman ) x reader Synopsis: In-ho wants you to kill the guard, shows you his world and asks for the last demand. AN: this one turned out long but it's worth it. Enjoy. The next part will be the last one so if you want to be tagged - let me know! + I will post a prologue to this story - how the reader and 001 met during the games and how their (your) relationship were building up. This is part 4. All parts are here.

In-ho led you through the winding corridors with an air of quiet authority, his hand lightly grazing your back as he guided you. The touch sent an unwanted spark up your spine, but you pushed it down. You were angry, furious even, but the man’s presence was magnetic, and you hated yourself for noticing it.  

The room he brought you to was dimly lit, glowing with the eerie light of dozens of screens and monitors. A hum of machinery filled the space, punctuated by the occasional beep or crackle from the speakers. The control room.  

"This," In-ho said, his voice calm but tinged with something deeper, "is where it all happens. Every decision. Every outcome. Every life and death."  

He gestured to the wall of screens, each displaying a live or archived feed from various parts of the compound. You recognized the dormitory where players once slept, the fields where games were played, even the corridors you’d walked down to get here.  

You folded your arms, doing your best to look unimpressed. "So this is your throne room. Where you play god."  

In-ho remained serious. "You see it as cruelty. I see it as… balance."  

He walked over to a sleek black console and tapped a few keys. One of the screens flickered, shifting to a video. It showed a group of players—dressed in those now-familiar green tracksuits—huddled in a corner, whispering. The audio was muffled, but In-ho adjusted it until their words were clear.  

"If we kill them during the next game no one will notice," one man hissed, his eyes darting nervously.  

"It’s survival,” another added.  

You stared at the screen, unable to tear your eyes away as the next scene played out. The group attacked another group during the game, their movements frantic and violent. The victim’s cries echoed in the control room before fading into silence.  

In-ho turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. "This is what I see. Time and time again. People who claim they deserve better, who say they’re victims of circumstance, showing their true colors."  

You swallowed hard, your anger faltering for a moment. "That doesn’t justify what you do. You put them in that situation. You made it worse."  

"And yet," he countered, "they made their choices. Tell me, do you think they were innocent?"  

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.  

He showed you more—clips from past games, players betraying one another, alliances dissolving into chaos, greed and desperation painted across every screen. Hours passed, the weight of what you were seeing settling heavily in your chest.  

Finally, you leaned back in your chair, “You can stop it," crossing your legs and fixing him with a sharp look you continued, “Let’s play a game of my own."  

In-ho raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Your game?"  

"One question a day," you explained, "you answer it honestly, and I’ll do whatever one thing you want. One question �� one command.”  

His lips curved into a sly smile. "Whatever I want?"  

You nodded. 

He considered your proposal, the silence stretching between you. Then, with a slight incline of his head, he agreed. "Deal. What’s your first question?"  

"How did you become the host?"  

His smile faded, replaced by something more somber. He leaned against the console and took a moment before answering. "I was a player once. Years ago. I won."  

The words hung in the air, heavier than you’d expected. You studied his face, trying to read between the lines. "And then?"  

"Then I was given an offer," he continued, his tone flat. "To become the host. To oversee the games instead of participating. I said yes."  

"Why did you play in the first place?" you pressed.  

His gaze sharpened, and he shook his head. "That’s a question for another day."  

You rolled your eyes but let it go. "Fine. So, what do you want me to do today?"  

He straightened, his demeanor shifting back to that calm control.

"I want to show you something else."  

You frowned, skeptical. "Another room full of screens?"  

"Not quite," he said, his lips quirking in that faint smile again.  

—

In-ho led you into another room, the air heavy with a suffocating stillness. It looked like a military command center, with dark walls and sparse furniture. Standing rigidly in the middle of the room was a pink-suited guard with a triangle mask. You froze the moment you saw him, your chest tightening with anger and something darker—fear.  

“This,” In-ho said calmly, gesturing to the guard, “is the one who shot you that day.”  

Your body tensed immediately, the ache in your side flaring as if in memory of the gunshot. The wound wasn’t fully healed, and every throb served as a cruel reminder.  

“You brought me here for this?” you hissed, glaring at In-ho.  

He ignored your outburst, his tone steady and dispassionate as he continued. “This guard also killed players 333, 120, 034, 036, 234, 283, 012, 99, 101, 292... and at least ten others.”  

The numbers fell like stones into a deep, cold well inside you. You recognized some of them. Faces of people you’d spoken to, laughed with, cried with. Players you’d trusted. Your friends.  

Your anger boiled over, a rage that was as much for them as it was for yourself. “Did he shot me as a part of your plan too?”  

In-ho remained composed, “No. That’s why you’re standing here now. But the guard violated the rules of the game — they all had a command not to shoot at you.” His eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling calm.

The guard didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but you swore you could feel the weight of his gaze behind the mask. It only made your fury grow.  

In-ho extended his hand, and you turned to see him holding a gun. “If you want vengeance,” he said, his voice eerily soft, “here’s your chance. I won’t stop you.”  

You stared at the gun, then at the guard. Your hand hovered hesitantly before finally grasping the cold metal. The weight of it in your palm felt foreign, but your grip tightened instinctively.  

“You want me to kill him?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.  

“Or her. And like I said — I wouldn’t mind,” In-ho replied, his tone as manipulative as ever. “After all, this guard taken quite a lot from you.”  

Your fingers hovered over the trigger as you raised the gun. The barrel pointed directly at the guard’s chest. The idea of pulling the trigger sent adrenaline coursing through your veins. You wanted justice. You wanted retribution.  

But then it hit you — this was another one of In-ho’s games. He was watching, testing you, manipulating you.  

Instead of firing at the guard, you turned abruptly, swinging the gun toward In-ho. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t flinch. He simply watched you with the same maddening calm, like he knew you wouldn’t do it.  

"If you want vengeance?" you repeated his words. "You just want me to punish the person who broke the rules of your game the same way you do it. I’m not your puppet,” you spat, glaring at him. “You won't turn me into yourself.”  

In-ho tilted his head a little bit irritated, "You're smart." He glared at the gun pointed at him, “That's why you won’t pull a trigger.”  

You knew he was right. Shooting him would mean your own death seconds later. And deep down, you weren’t sure you could do it.  

He stepped closer, gently pressing down on the barrel of the gun until it pointed at the floor. “That’s enough for today,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t have to kill the guard if you don’t want to.”  

You frowned, narrowing your eyes at him. “So that’s it? You’re not going to make me shoot him?”  

“No,” he said simply, turning toward the door. “You should go back to your room. It’s late.”  

The guard remained motionless.  ---

The walk back to your bedroom was tense, the silence between you heavy. When you stepped inside, you turned to face him, crossing your arms defensively.  

“What now? Another lecture about how I owe you my life?” you asked, your tone sharp.  

In-ho’s gaze darkened slightly. “You do owe me something. Remember our game?”  

You raised an eyebrow, the sass in your voice unmistakable. “What, your command is to fuck with you? Is that what you’ve wanted all this time?”  

In-ho’s calm demeanor remained still, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s not what this is about,” he said coolly.

“Then what?” you challenged.

He reached into a small black bag and pulled out a worn paperback book, handing it to you. “You’re going to read this.”  

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “A book? Seriously?”  

“Animal Farm by George Orwell,” he said, ignoring your incredulous tone. “It's small, you’ll read it tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll ask you questions about it.”  

You stared at the book, then back at him, incredulous. “That’s your big demand? What’s the point of this?”  

“The point,” he said, stepping closer, his voice quieter but no less firm, “is to see if you’re capable of understanding the world as it really is. Of seeing why I do what I do.”  

You rolled your eyes but snatched the book from his hand. “Fine. But don’t expect me to agree with you just because of some stupid book.”  

In-ho smirked faintly, already turning to leave. “Of course.”  

As the door closed behind him, you sat on the bed, the book heavy in your hands. You didn’t know what game he was playing now, but you weren’t about to lose.

—

The next morning, you walked into the kitchen, rubbing your still-sore side absentmindedly. The smell of fresh coffee and something savory greeted you, and there, at the sleek black table, sat In-ho. He was already halfway through his breakfast, his posture relaxed but undeniably commanding. His black shirt clung to him just right, making it hard to look away.  

“Good morning,” he greeted, his tone even, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of warmth.

Rolling your eyes, you walked over to the counter, grabbing a cup of coffee. “What are you eating?” you asked, gesturing to his plate as you stood across from him.  

“Eggs,” he said simply. “Want some?”  

“I’ll survive,” you quipped, sipping your coffee. “But thanks for the offer, chef.”  

His lips twitched, amused by your sass. 

The conversation turned casual, almost playful. For a moment, it felt... normal. A stolen slice of humanity in this surreal nightmare you found yourself trapped in. But, of course, In-ho couldn’t leave it at that.  

“So,” he started, his tone shifting slightly as he set down his fork. “Tell me, what did you think of the book?”  

You shrugged, already sensing where this was going. “It was... fine. Kind of depressing, though.”  

“That’s the point,” he replied smoothly. “The greed of livings, their willingness to betray, kill, and destroy for power and money—it’s all there. Don’t you think it’s ironic? They fight for their ideals, only to become what they despised.”  

You raised an eyebrow. “Are we talking about the book, or are you giving me a lecture about your games?”  

He smiled faintly, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Both.”  

You leaned on the table, refusing to let him steer the conversation. “Speaking of games, the guards didn’t come this morning to check my wound. Did you tell them to skip it, or is neglect just part of the service here?”  

In-ho paused, then sighed. “I forgot. Today, all the guards are busy running tests on some new equipment.”  

You frowned, not buying it entirely. “And what am I supposed to do? Just let it fester? I want it to heal as soon as possible so I can leave.”  

He stood, walking over to a cabinet and retrieving a first aid kit. “I’ll do it myself,” he said, setting the kit on the table.  

Your heart skipped at his sudden assertiveness. “Oh, so now you’re a doctor too?”  

He smirked, pulling out supplies. “Sit,” he ordered, his voice firm yet oddly gentle.  

You hesitated, but the authority in his tone left little room for argument. You perched yourself on the edge of the table, feeling your pulse quicken as he moved closer.  

In-ho knelt slightly, his face level with your waist as he reached for the hem of your shirt. “May I?”  

You nodded, trying not to show how much his proximity was affecting you.  

His fingers brushed your skin as he carefully lifted your shirt, exposing the bandage over your wound. His touch was surprisingly soft, almost tender, as he peeled back the dressing. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin, making you shiver involuntarily.  

“Still hurts?” he asked, his voice lower now, almost intimate.  

You swallowed hard, trying to sound unaffected. “Not as much as it did.”  

He glanced up briefly, catching your eyes before returning to his task. “You’re healing faster than I expected.”  

As he cleaned the wound with gentle precision, his fingers grazed your skin again, sending a wave of heat through you. You hated how aware you were of him, of his closeness, of the way his brows furrowed in concentration.  

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you said, your tone light but edged with tension.  

“I’ve had practice,” he replied, his voice even.  

“Let me guess,” you teased, “patching up players before sending them back out to die?” He paused for a moment, his eyes flickering to yours. He didn’t answer.  

When he finished, he secured the bandage in place, his fingers lingering for just a second too long before pulling away. He straightened, stepping back to give you space.  

“Done,” he said simply.  

You hopped off the table, adjusting your shirt. “You know,” you said, smirking as you picked up the first aid kit, “I think you lied about the guards. You just wanted to play doctor.”  

In-ho’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Believe what you want.”  

Your smirk widened. “I usually do.”  

The tension between you hung in the air for a moment before you broke it. “Let’s continue our game. You have to answer me a question.”  

He raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”  

“Where does all the money come from?” you asked, your tone deceptively light.  

For the first time, In-ho seemed caught off guard. He hesitated, his composure faltering ever so slightly before he schooled his features again.  

“Why do you want to know?” he asked, his voice quieter now.  

“Because it’s part of the deal,” you replied, “and because I have a feeling I’m not going to like the answer.”  

In-ho sighed, his eyes darkening as he leaned against the counter opposite you. “The money comes from our investors — the VIPs. Powerful people who pay to watch the games, to bet on the outcomes. They fund everything—every death, every prize, every room in this place.”  

You stared at him, your stomach churning. “So you’re saying it’s all dirty money from psychopaths who enjoy watching people die?”  

He didn’t deny it, his silence speaking volumes.  

You shook your head, laughing bitterly. “And you’re okay with that? With taking their money and using it to—”  

“To run this system,” he interrupted, his voice cold. “A system that shows the truth about humanity. About greed, desperation, and survival.”  

You didn’t know what to say, the weight of his words pressing down on you. It was horrifying, but part of you couldn’t help but wonder—was he right? Were people really as monstrous as he believed?  

But you weren’t ready to give him the satisfaction of agreeing. Not yet.

"You're telling me," you hissed, glaring at In-ho, "that these people—these VIPs—spend their money just to watch people suffer? To watch them die?"  

“It’s not just about watching. It’s about power. They see themselves as gods controlling the lives of mortals. To them, this is the ultimate entertainment.”  

You clenched your fists. “They’re monsters. Every single one of them, and you too, ” you was hoping it would hurt him. In-ho stood unfazed. 

“I want to see them,” you continued. 

His mask of indifference wavered for a moment. “What would you achieve by that?”  

“I don’t care,” you snapped. “I want to see them. And I want to kill them.”  

In-ho chuckled, “That’s not possible.”  

“Then make it possible!” you challenged. “You want me to see things your way? Fine. Let me see them with my own eyes. I want to know the kind of people who think this is entertainment.”  

For a moment, he seemed to consider your words. Then he sighed, the kind of sigh that hinted at resignation. “There’s a welcome party in a week. The VIPs will be here to discuss the results of the previous game and plan for the next one. You can come.”  

You blinked in surprise, not expecting him to relent so easily. “Really?”  

He stepped closer, his tone firm. “Yes, but you'll have to be with me the whole evening.”  

You frowned, suspicious. “Another one of your tricks, In-ho? You just want to keep controlling me.”  

He tilted his head, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “Think what you want. But if you want to be in that room, you’ll be by my side. Just like you promised me during on of the games, remember?”  

“If it came down to it, would you choose me? I mean, would you stand by me? No matter what happens. No matter what I say or do. Would you be on my side?”  

“I… I don’t know, I mean, I trust you, but—”  

“That’s all I need. Your trust. Promise me you’ll stay by my side. No matter what.”  

“Okay. I promise.”  

You stared at him, the fire in your chest burning with memories, but you couldn’t ignore the logic in his words. Finally, you relented with a begrudging nod. “Fine. But only because I want to see them for myself.”  

---

The week passed in a blur. In-ho was gone most days. You spent your time trying to figure out what you’d do at the party, but every scenario you came up with ended the same way—with rage and no resolution.  

When the day finally arrived, you slipped into a fine black dress that hugged your body in all the right places. It was beautiful—too beautiful for the dark purpose of the evening. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a strange mix of power and vulnerability staring back at you.  

In-ho entered the room, his footsteps soft but deliberate. His sharp black suit made him look every bit the intimidating figure he was, and when his eyes landed on you, they lingered.  

“You look good,” he said, his voice low and almost… gentle.  

You didn’t respond, turning to face him fully instead. 

He handed you a geometric black mask identical to the one he was holding, the Frontman mask. You immediately frowned, holding it up in disbelief. “I’m not wearing this. I don’t want to look like you.”  

His expression didn’t change, but his tone turned colder. “If you don’t wear it, they’ll figure out you were a player, and they’ll demand answers—or worse.”  

You hesitated, hating that he was right. The mask felt heavy in your hands, both physically and metaphorically.  

“Fine,” you muttered, putting it on. “But don’t think for a second this makes me one of you.”  

In-ho’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smirk. “Of course not.”  

He held out his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, you took it. His fingers were warm, his grip firm but not forceful. He led you out of the room, through the labyrinth of hallways, and into a world you weren’t ready for.

---

The party was ridiculous. The wealth on display wasn’t just obscene; it was suffocating. Every surface shimmered with gold, every plate piled high with food most you couldn’t even pronounce. The guests moved like predators, masks gleaming, their voices dripping with casual cruelty. They talked about the games as though they were nothing more than a sport—entertainment for the bored and soulless.  

You hated it. Every laugh, every boast made your skin crawl.  

And yet, In-ho never left your side. His hand rested firmly on yours or your waist, a silent reminder that he was there, even as his own body betrayed his distaste for the event. He didn’t like this party any more than you did.  

At one point, a man in a lion-shaped mask sidled up to you both, his voice loud and grating. “The new games this year were fantastic,” he said, chuckling darkly. “The way they turned on each other—it’s always the best when they do the work for us, isn’t it?”  

You stiffened, the words hitting you like a slap. Your stomach churned with revulsion.  

“I bet on 334 and lost,” the man continued, waving a hand dismissively. “Stupid cow. She was too slow, too weak. Should’ve known better.”  

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. “How dare —”  

In-ho’s hand slid to your lower waist, his fingers pressing firmly against your side. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks.  

“She’s new to all this,” In-ho interjected smoothly, his voice even but cold. “Still adjusting to what the games entail.”  

The man laughed, oblivious to the tension. “Ah, I see. She’ll learn." The lion-masked man waved you off, already turning to another guests.

You turned to glare at In-ho, your lips parting to say something you but he cut you off before you could speak, "Do not say anything to them." 

You hissed, “I can’t stand these people. They’re disgusting.”  

---

At one point, you were left alone by the champagne table. In-ho was across the room, deep in conversation with one of the biggest investors. From his posture, it was clear the discussion was serious. But then the investor’s face shifted toward you. He pointed in your direction, saying something that made In-ho stiffen.  

“The woman you brought tonight,” the man said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “She’s... intriguing.” His eyes under the mask lingered on you, “I want her in my suite tonight.”  

A flicker of something dark passed over In-ho face though no one could see it. He remained composed, but his voice was colder than usual when he replied, “She’s not available.”   

The man chuckled, clearly unimpressed. “I don’t recall asking. I’m telling you. I want her.”  

“She’s not available,” In-ho repeated. His voice was colder now, his words deliberate. “She’s my co-host. Not someone to entertain our guests.”  

The wolf-masked man’s laughter faded. “I don’t fund these games to hear no, Frontman. I’m sure you understand.”  

“And I’m sure you understand that this discussion is over.” In-ho’s voice was steady, but there was a dangerous edge to it.  

The man glared at him for a moment before scoffing and walking away, muttering something under his breath.  

In-ho immediately crossed the room toward you, tension radiating off him in waves. His mask couldn’t hide the anger in his sharp movements as he approached.  

When he reached you, his voice was low, laced with irritation. “Enjoyed the party?” he asked, his tone cutting.  

You blinked, taken aback. “What are you talking about?”  

His eyes lingered on you for a moment before he spoke again, his words clipped. “You’re done here. Go back to your room.”  

Before you could respond, he motioned to two guards, who immediately stepped forward. “Escort her back,” he ordered.  

The guards moved to your side, their presence leaving no room for argument. You glanced at In-ho, flabbergasted by his sudden change in mood. He didn’t say another word, just turned back to the party, leaving you to wonder what had just happened—and why he was so angry.

---

The whole memories, dialogues, all those people from the party swirled in your head like a storm as the guards escorted you back to your room. Each thought churned your stomach, feeding a fire of anger and disgust within you. 

When you entered your room, the silence felt deafening, suffocating. The anger bubbling inside you finally boiled over. The thought of people dying here for years, desperate to hold onto their lives for the sake of their families—parents, children, loved ones—only to be slaughtered for the sick entertainment of these wealthy monsters made your blood run hot.  

With a scream of rage, you grabbed the nearest thing—a lamp—and hurled it against the wall. The shattering sound was cathartic, but it wasn’t enough. You began smashing everything in sight: anything you could lift was thrown or broken until the room looked as wrecked as you felt inside.  

An hour later, you stood amidst the destruction, breathing hard, your fists clenched. That was when you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The door opened, and there he was—In-ho. Calm and composed as always, his mask gone, his face unreadable.  

“What the hell do you want?” you screamed at him, the sight of him only igniting your fury all over again.  

He took a step inside, closing the door behind him. “The party is over. I came to check on you.”  

“Check on me? Check on me?” Your voice cracked with rage. “You’re a monster! A psychopath! How can you live with yourself, running this—this slaughterhouse?”  

You charged at him, fists flying. You punched his chest, his arms, anywhere you could reach, but it was like hitting a brick wall. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move to stop you, his expression as cold and detached as ever.  

Your fists collided with his chest over and over, but he stood there, unflinching, as if your blows were nothing more than a breeze. “How could you?” you yelled, voice raw with fury. “How could you stand there and watch people die? How could you want me to be part of this? You’re a fucking monster!”  

He didn’t respond, his face stoic, though something flickered in his eyes—something dark, something restrained. Your anger bubbled over. Another punch, another scream of rage, but before you could throw your next strike, he moved.  

In an instant, his hands cupped your face, firm and unyielding, and then his lips crashed against yours.  

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was desperate, consuming, like a dam breaking after a long time of holding back. His lips moved against yours with a raw intensity, silencing your screams and swallowing your fury. You froze for a moment, shocked by the suddenness of it, but his grip on your face didn’t falter, pulling you deeper into the kiss.  

You felt his breath, warm and uneven, against your skin as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, gentle despite the fire of the moment, as though he couldn’t resist the softness of your skin. His desperation was palpable, days of suppressed emotion pouring into the way his lips claimed yours.    

Then, clarity snapped back. You shoved him hard, your palms pressing against his chest, breaking the connection between you.  

“Don’t you dare,” you hissed, your voice low and venomous.

In-ho didn’t move. His hands dropped to his sides, but his eyes remained fixed on you, dark and intense. His breathing was heavier now.

“I want to go home,” you finally said, your voice breaking this time. “I want to leave this nightmare. I don’t want to be part of your sick games.”  

He didn’t react to your words, not immediately. Instead, he adjusted his stance, his tone even and composed. “You’re forgetting something,” he said quietly.  

You frowned. “What are you talking about?”  

“Our game,” he reminded you, his eyes steady on yours. “Last week, I answered your question. That means...”  

You clenched your fists again, the reminder of your agreement making you feel trapped. “What do you want?”  

“I need you to come with me tomorrow,” he said. “One place. After that, you’re free to go.”  

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but his expression was unreadable. “One place?” you repeated suspiciously.  

“One place,” he confirmed. “That’s all.”  

You didn’t trust him, not entirely, but the thought of finally leaving this place was too tempting to resist. After a long pause, you nodded. “Fine. Tomorrow. Then I'm gone."

Before you could react, a faint hissing sound filled the room, and a sweet, cloying scent followed. Your head whipped around, panic rising in your chest, but it was already too late. Smoke began to seep through the corners of the door, curling like ghostly fingers into the air around you.

“In-ho!” you shouted, your voice sharp and accusatory. He was already standing at the doorway, his expression cold but deliberate.

“What are you—” you started, but the words caught in your throat as dizziness swept over you.

Your legs buckled, and the room swam before your eyes. The world tilted, your breath shallow as the smoke wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. Darkness crept in, and the last thing you remembered was the sound of your own heartbeat, slowing, before everything went still.

///

Part 5 is posted!

Also there will be a prologue - you can find all the chapters and information here. tag list: @nellabear @69-gojos-wife-69 @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @riri53 @annasnape7 @vivaforeva @luv1ze @saiannicebaby @wwastro @bellababes-xx @bluechaoslizzy @raideyo @enzosluvr @the-silentium @r3va-dwme

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Just Giving In

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, truth curses (with a silly twist!), light fluff, angst, smut (fingering, p in v sex, creampie, light sub/dom but like so light), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.

Author's Note: It's amazing how I'm able to delude myself into truly believing that I'll actually write something short and only horny. No. We must write 3k of story and 5k of emotional smut. Enjoy!

Title from Never Let Me Go by Florence + the Machine

Word Count: 8.6k

It’s past midnight when you get back to the bunker. 

You were supposed to be back that afternoon, but certain complications arose, and you’re back now. You’ll have a long, sleepless night to come up with an excuse for why exactly you were five hours late, didn’t text Sam and Dean that you were going to be five hours late, where exactly you were in the first place, and why the car looks like that. Scraped and dented and wrecked, like it had been put through a meat grinder and spat out in a hunk of metal that somehow didn’t explode when you drove it. 

You’re glad you didn’t take the Impala. If Dean yelled at you right now, you might start crying on the spot. Thankfully—in what should be a rare stroke of luck, but feels like a dagger right into your stomach—Sam and Dean seem to have given up on trying to wait for you to come home, so you’re free to retreat to your room and cry in private, like any reasonable adult who’s probably going to die within the week would-

“You’re back.” 

A light behind you flicks on as Dean snaps from across the room, and you grimace as everything inverts. Dean did wait up for you, and that’s tiny and electric high that goes right up your spine. You’re also not lucky, but that just feels like a given at this point. 

You will not cry in front of Dean. You have spent the whole night repeating to yourself that, no matter what happens here, you will not cry in front of Dean. He either think nothing of this week, and it will fade into the distance as you figure this out yourself and he never knows, or he’ll look back on it with nothing but simple grief and anger, remember you fondly and furiously instead of as a weak, emotional, manipulative bitch. Remembers you as the person you’ve spent so long proving yourself to be, instead of the feral girl they’d found you as. 

It doesn’t make turning around to face him any easier. He’s sitting in his usual chair, glaring at you with his arms crossed, and there are bags under his eyes that you put there. A tight line to his lips that’s your responsibility, because you’d fucked up and he knows it. He always knows it. 

Because you fuck up a lot.

“Hey, Dean, what’s up-“

“What’s up?” He snaps, and you have to force your body not to flinch. “You’re crawling back here at one in the goddamn morning without ever, I don’t know, thinking to fucking call when you realized you’d be late, and you’re saying what’s up?”

You swallow. “I lost my phone.”

“You, fuck-“ Dean rubs his jaw with a hand, giving you a look of pure disbelief. “You could’ve borrow someone’s, or prayed to Cas, or just, goddamnit-“ he mutters your name, looking at you with an exhaustion that makes your gut flail. “Where the hell even were you?”

“Um,” you glance down at your hands. “Hunt?”

“Hunt.” His voice is flat, and you wince. “That’s all you’re going to say.”

You nod. “Rowena called me. Needed help with something.”

“And you just fucking went with her, without telling anyone-“

“I didn’t just go with her, I brought a gun. I was careful.” you try to stand a little taller, looking back up to Dean, because you need to sell your half-truth of a story and get out of here. Out of where Dean’s just right there, and it’s making your skin crawl and your blood cold and your eyes push out of your skull the longer you lie to him. “And I did tell Cas-“

“Son of a bitch, that’s not enough.” Dean groans, pushing out of the chair to glower down at you. It’s an intimidation tactic you’ve seen him use before, where he makes himself large and furious, almost beast like. Sometimes it makes him look bigger than Sam, and he only pulls it out when he’s furious, and demanding answers. You don’t think he knows that, when he uses it on you, it does not have the intended effect.  

“Dean-“

“Cas didn’t tell us.” Dean hisses your name, stalking across the room and getting far too close for your brain to function properly. “You need to tell us, because we were, I was-“ Dean cuts himself off with a grunt, his whole body rigid as he scans over your face. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, and it’s the truth, so it’s like clear, fresh water over your head and down your throat. “I didn’t mean to freak you guys out. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”

“You didn’t-” Dean’s jaw is clenched, and his words seem pushed through his teeth. “Just go to bed,” he mutters your name, and you feel something in your chest snap. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

You nod weakly, and almost run away from him. But not to bed. You’ve already blown this up way too much to just go to bed. 

You go right to Sam’s room and bang on the door, keeping a careful eye over your shoulder for Dean to walk into the hall.

It takes a very long, tense minute, but eventually you hear a groan from the other side of the door, tired words muffled through the wood.

“Dean, she’ll be back, and you’re not helping anything-“ The door swings open to reveal a messy haired, bleary-eyed Sam, and he blinks at you with a frown. “Oh, you’re back. You should go tell Dean-“

“He knows.”

“Cool, that’s good.” Sam scans over you—bouncing slightly on your feet, every movement and breath feeling frantic and borrowed—and frowns. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Oh, uh, you need to talk about it-“

You don’t bother to answer, pushing past Sam into his room and dropping on the end of his mattress, watching him blink at you, his frown deepening every second.

“Yeah, you can come in-“

“Can you please close the door?” You whisper, like Dean might somehow hear from wherever he’d gone after your fight. 

Sam nods slowly, and the movement you hear the click of the doorknob, the words start to fall out of you like vomit. 

“I fucked up, Sam. I really, really fucked up, it’s bad, I’m fucking fucked-“

“Woah, slow down.” Sam moves across the room, running a hand through his hair. “Just, start from the top. Where were you-“

“Rowena called me for help. Some sort of coven drama, she said she needed some backup because her magic was weakened.” You take a long, shaky breath, unable to look anywhere but the corner of Sam’s carpet. “I told Cas, just in case it was a trap, and left. I owed her a favor-“

“Wait, since when did you owe Rowena a favor-“

“Mark of Cain.” You mumble. “I told her I’d owe her if she helped Dean. One favor, cashable on anything.”

Sam says your name slowly. “You didn’t need to do that, we would have figured it out. I mean, Dean wouldn’t want you to-“

“I know, I don’t need you to-“ You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can we focus on one stupid choice at a time, please?”

“Yeah, sorry, keep going. Why are you fucked.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, and decide to skip most of the details. Sam did not need to know about how the case was indeed at trap, or how you’d known it was a trap, but the favor had been a blood oath, so you weren’t able to run or call them. He didn’t need to know how you’d mowed down about five witches with the car—the sickening crunch still rattling around your skull—or how it wasn’t just blood and sweat on your brow, but something from an animal you’d really hoped you’d mistranslated from Latin. 

He just needs to know the reason you hadn’t killed Rowena when you’d escaped and taken out the rest of the coven. 

He just needs to know about the problem.

“It went to shit. Really big shit, Sam. I’m kind of… cursed.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and when you finally gather the confidence to look at Sam, he’s gaping at you, frozen in place.

“What do you mean,” his voice is low, every word slow and deliberate. “Kind of cursed.”

“I mean very cursed.” You mumble. “Really fucking cursed.”

“Shit.” He mutters, shaking his head. “I said you were probably fine, Dean’s gonna kill me-“

“No!” You stand up frantically, your voice almost a squeak. “Don’t tell Dean!”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I tell Dean?!” Sam snaps, looking at you like you’ve gone insane. “If you’re really cursed, we need all hands, and Dean-“

“He can’t know, Sam, please.” You might start crying, every word choked in your throat. “Don’t tell him.”

“I…” Sam trials off, his face dropping into a deep frown that seems to be mostly made of worry as he says your name. “What, exactly, is the curse?”

You sigh, hugging yourself as you speak. “If I don’t resolve my deepest secret, I’ll die.”

Sam blinks. “Like, die die? Death die?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen as the situation fully sinks in, his whole body going slack as he pulls the pieces together. “Fuck.”

You hum a soft agreement. “Fuck.”

“And why can’t I tell Dean? I mean, he’ll want to help-“

“You know why.” You whisper. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“Fuck.” Sam groans. “And you’d rather die than-“

“Yes.” You lower yourself down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you stare ahead at nothing. “I’m sorry, Sam, I just. I can’t. I don’t-“ You taste the sting of metal as you bite through your cheek. “I don’t know what to do. I’m going to d-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound, and hear the bed shift as Sam drops at your side and pulls you into a gentle hug.

“We’ll figure it out.” He mutters your name, and you make another weak, strangled noise. “I promise. You’re going to be okay.”

Over your first, weak sob, you don’t hear the door open. You only know it opens because Dean clears his throat, and your blood turns white-hot in your body, caught between embarrassment and nerves and a deep, soft and starved piece of your heart that’s trying to climb into your limbs and rip your body away from Sam’s to fly to Dean’s.

“Sammy, she-“ He cuts himself off as he sees you, and you die a little at how he says your name. Like he hates it. “You’re in here.”

You nod, keeping your face angled down, and you hear Dean shift slightly in the doorway. 

“Why are you in Sam’s room.”

There’s no good answer for that, and Sam doesn’t seem to have one either. There’s no plausible lie for why you’re on the floor on Sam’s room, why you’re sniffling, and why he’s hugging you that doesn’t sound insane. Even the truth wouldn’t exactly be an easy sell.

And it hurts. When Dean just sighs and grunts that he doesn’t want to know—that you and Sam can go back to fucking braiding each other’s hair or whatever—and stomps out of the room, it’s like a knife to your gut. But you can’t tell him. Not the truth. Not any of it.

So this will only be the first knife. And you’d worry about what you would be telling him when this was over—how you could possibly explain yourself—if you had any faith you were going to get out of this. 

But you don’t. The week crawls on, and it all only gets so much worse. Vague illness starts to feel like you’re being mauled from inside, and Dean’s anger turns to bullets.

You spend most of your days in the library with Sam, combing through book after book, looking for anything about how you can fix this, and every time Dean walks in, he looks like he wants to punch someone. Like he’s disgusted by your very presence where he can see you, like you’re a spider that’s crawled into his house and he can’t even stand the sight of you. 

“I’m getting dinner.” He snaps on the third night, and when you look up from your book—Sam standing behind you, having hunched over your body to read the passage you’d been pointing to—Dean’s jaw is clenched, his fists curled at his side. “Neither of you got groceries, so I’m ordering. What do you want.”

His voice is flat. It makes your chest feel like it’s being run over by a train.

“I’ll take whatever you get.” You offer him a small smile, because you can’t help yourself, and it just makes him glare more. “But can I please have a milkshake as well?”

Dean narrows his eyes at you. “You don’t know where the hell I’m going.”

“You’re going to the diner, Dean.” You shrug. “You always go to the diner.”

He grunts, something hot flashing over his face that you don’t understand. “Fine. Milkshake.”

He doesn’t bother to ask any follow-up questions. He doesn’t bother to wait for Sam to say what he wants. Dean just marches up to the garage, vanishes for an hour—the diner is ten minutes away, and you start to feel your stomach and heart twist the longer he’s gone—and returns with a slam of the door, throwing a salad at Sam and placing a burger and milkshake in front of you before stomping out of the library.

Dean got your favorite flavor. You hadn’t told him to, but he had.

It tastes like chalk. And you’ve never hated yourself more.

After that, he barely speaks to you. Just low grunts and glowers at you whenever you cross paths, his presence in the bunked suddenly scares. He’d usually sit with you and Sam while you read, cracking unhelpful jokes that make Sam roll his eyes and you giggle, but he’s just gone. Locked in the Dean Cave or the garage, shuffling around the kitchen with a sullen expression, swallowing his dinner whole and refusing to really even look at you.

It hurts more than any anger could. It’s lonely and cancerous the longer it goes on, because you’re still talking to and hanging out with Sam, but he doesn’t count. Your whole heart isn’t orbiting around Sam. The curse is completely indifferent to Sam. The curse doesn’t care when Sam grumbles or frowns at you. It cares when Dean hates you. You think it can feel that this won’t be resolved—because it won’t be, you grow more and more certain with every passing day that this is how you will die—and takes the opportunity to root deeper into your body. Every sneer or glare Dean gives you sits under your nails to claw at your skin. It covers you in sweat in the dead of night, and chokes you when you’re in the shower and the water’s burning your skin.

Sam keeps trying to convince you to just do it, just say the thing to Dean because the worst that can happen is that you’re heartbroken but alive.

“And I really don’t think it would even come to that.” He tells you from across the table at 2am, because you’re running out of time and sleep isn’t something you can even remember how to do anymore. “I mean, it’s Dean-“

“That’s the problem, Samuel.” You hiss. The curse has started to make you mean, and if you make it out alive, you’ll have to buy Sam a million bottles of hair gel to make up for what you’re putting him through. “It’s Dean. He already doesn’t like me-“

Sam frowns. “Why would you think that-“

“Because I’m a responsibility.” You’re spitting, and it tastes like venom. “I’m your kid shadow, I’m Dean’s kid shadow, I’m a burden-“

“You’re not a burden,” Sam says your name slowly. “To either of us. I mean, if what you said about Rowena is true, you saved Dean from the Mark-“

“That doesn’t count. That was just a deal I made-“

“A deal you made for Dean.” Sam’s pushing back. You wish he’d stop. “Most people in our lives wouldn’t have done that for us. And Dean doesn’t think you’re his kid shadow, by the way. I mean, I’ve only ever-“

“Sam.” Your voice is flat. A little broken. “Please don’t. Even if he doesn’t hate me, I- I just can’t-“

“But Dean-“

“Please.” You’re going to cry again. “You won’t convince me.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Well, we need to try something. I’m not just going to let you die.”

You don’t think that’s up to Sam. You don’t think it’s up to anyone anymore. You won’t tell Dean, because you’ve scanned over book after book about spell phrasing, and decided that telling Dean wouldn’t even help. You had to resolve your deepest secret. Rejection that burns your heart to ash, that clouds your lungs and makes you cower and falter won’t be resolving anything, and then you’ll just die in more pain.

You let Sam convince you to try something. More for him than for you. You lock yourself in the bathroom and stare at your hideous reflection in the mirror—your skin a little sunken, your eyes lined with red, your lips raw from being chewed until they bled—and start speaking a whisper, because you can’t stand the sound of your own voice.

“I love Dean Winchester.” You tell yourself, as if you’re not so deeply aware of how your love is tattooed onto your every breath and heartbeat. “I love him. I am going to die, and I love him, and I am very-“ You choke slightly, your eyes stinging as the world blurs. “I am very, very sorry. Not for loving him, but for forcing him to be loved by me. I’m sorry I don’t know how to stop loving him. I’m sorry I’m leaving him. But I am not sorry for loving him. I… I spent a lifetime surrounded by cruel animals who called themselves angels, and he’s the only person I’ve ever- I could believe- I just-“ You drop your head, turning up the faucet to drown out every weak sob and apology. “I love him. And he… he’s too good be obligated to love me. So I think I’ll just…”

You trail off, and crumble onto the tile floor. When you dry your tears and yank yourself back together, Sam’s waiting for you a little down the hall. You shake your head, his shoulders slump, and that’s it. For Sam it’s not—he turns around and marches right back to the library—but for you, it is. You’re done. 

You’ll hole up in your room and die alone. Like how’d you’d been meant to all along, lent only a little bit of extra time by Dean saving you to begin with.

And that time had run out. So you’ll just go die alone.

lay flat on your bed as your vision starts to dance with spots, and spend your time trying to image what a heaven you’re not allowed into will look like. Cas has told you every person gets their own, but you don’t really want that. It sounds like more of your life, and it’s pointless to worry about because you’re headed nowhere but down, but you’d still rather spend eternity with someone.

One person. You’d like to spend eternity with one person. 

The same person who had somehow gotten into your locked room, and is snapping your name as he stands at the foot of your bed. You’d be angrier he’d just barged in if you could remember how to be anything but in pain. You’d snap back if your mouth knew how to be anything but numb. 

“Dean-“

“What the fuck are you doing.” Dean hisses, and you close your eyes, the light suddenly painfully bright. “What the hell is wrong with you.”

“Nothing.” You whisper, and he scoffs. 

“Nice shot, sweetheart. I’m not an idiot.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Dean, I just don’t feel well.”

“That’s fucking bullshit-“

You sigh. “It’s not. I’m sick.” 

There’s a moment of silence, then, “how sick.”

“Fever.” You mumble. “Stomach bug. Maybe the flu. You should probably leave-“

“No,” he grunts, and you hear his steps. He’s coming closer, and your skin might be boiling off your body. “I’m not leaving you-“

“It’s not leaving if I ask you to go.” You mumble, and you can feel the heat of his body off to the side, can hear his breathing—maybe even his heartbeat—and it’s making everything worse-

“I’m not going.”

“Dean, just, please-“

“No, I’m sick of you fucking ignoring me, and I- I don’t even care what’s going on with you and Sam-“

You frown. “Nothing’s going on with me and Sam-“

“I have eyes,” Dean sneers your name, and there’s a tone in his voice that’s almost wounded. “You were hugging in his room, you’re always fucking whispering and hanging out-“

“That’s not-“ You swallow, dragging your eyes open to find him glaring down at you. He looks wounded too. “It’s for a case.”

“What case? A case that I’m not allowed to know about? Because that’s not a case, sweetheart, that’s a secret-“

You almost throw up, just from that word. “It’s- I’m not keep any secrets, Dean, just please go-“

“No!” He’s almost shouting, and the sound is like a cannon into your gut. “I don’t know what the hell is up with you, but you’re suddenly putting yourself in danger, and stuck to my brother, and you’re not talking to me anymore-“

“You’re not talking to me, Dean.” You whisper, his gaze burning you right down to the cavity of your chest. “I’m always in the library-“

“Yeah, I know, with Sam.” Dean scowls, and you’re too tired to think almost anything, but that’s strange. Dean never says Sam like that. Like it’s a horrible word. 

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, watching Dean carefully. “He’s helping me with something-“

“Something I can’t help you with?”

You blink, ready to lie and say no, but your mush of a brain doesn’t appear to be up to that task. “No.”

Dean’s brow furrows slightly. “So I could help you.”

“I-“ You feel a stab in your intestine, and your voice grows hoarse. “Please don’t ask me that.”

“Why-“

“Because I- Just go away, Dean-“

He shakes his head, saying your name in a stern, unwavering voice. “Could I help you-“

“N-“ You swallow a groan as your lungs contract, and this is dangerous. You’re too far gone to lie anymore, and that’s the only chance you have. If Dean keeps poking at you, you’ll tell the truth. You can’t tell the truth. “Please just leave me alone-“

“I’m not leaving you alone.” He snaps, dropping onto the side of your bed to prove his point. “You never left me alone, with the Mark-“

“That’s not-“ You can’t swallow your next sound of pain, or the whine that leaves your throat when Dean’s hand grabs your thigh. “Dean, please go-“

“Do you want me to go.”

“No.” You say it before you can think, and hate that the pain over your muscles lessens when Dean stays, and when his hand starts to rub slow circles. “But you- you have to-“

“I said I’m staying.” He grunts. “And you’re not changing my mind, sweetheart. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“I did.” You whisper, closing your eyes again. Looking at his handsome, annoyingly determined face isn’t helping anyone. “I’m sick.”

“Fine. What’s making you sick.”

“Curse.”

Fuck.

Dean’s silent for a long moment, then-

“What the fuck do you mean, curse.”

“Me.” You mumble. “Curse on me.”

“And how did a curse get on you-“

“Rowena.”

“That fucking bitch.” He mutters, and you feel his grip on you tighten slightly. Almost protectively. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me-“

That was probably a rhetorical question. Your sudden truth-telling streak doesn’t seem to care at all. “I was worried you’d hate me.”

“I- what?”

“I was worried-“

“I heard you,” he grunts. “I just, why the hell would you ever think I’d hate you-“

“Because I suck.” You whisper. “And I can’t- I don’t deserve you.”

Dean’s silent again. You wish he’d stop doing that. “You think you don’t deserve me?”

You nod, barely a movement at all, and Dean groans. You’re still not strong enough to look at him.

“Sweetheart, you- I’m not-“ He cuts himself off, his hand resuming his circles, you’re not sure he knows he’s doing it. “I’m going to ask you something, and you need to tell me the truth. Got it?”

You hum. Like you’d even have a choice.

“What will cure the curse.”

“I need to,” you try to fight down the words, but you’re light-headed and faint and Dean’s hand is really warm, so you fail. “I need to resolve my deepest secret.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “What’s your deepest secret?”

You’re going to bite off your tongue. And when Dean says your name again, his voice a little rougher, it drags your eyes open to stare at him. Watching you with a focus you can feel in your bones, that’s prying the truth out of you, and he’s just looking at you and you can’t do this-

“Dean, I-“ You digs your nails into your skin, something flashes in his eyes, and you can’t look away. But you can’t stop yourself either, and if you have to watch Dean’s disgust, that might kill you right here. “Please turn around.”

He frowns. “What?”

“I need you to turn around.” You whisper. “Please.”

He nods slowly, twisting away from you, and it’s like a green light to your stupid, traitorous mouth. The words fall out of you like vomit, and if this is the end, at least it might be fast. 

“I love you. I’ve loved you for years, and I’m sorry, but I can’t stop, and I don’t want to stop, and I love you. Only you. Just you. Can’t remember how to love anyone else, because I love you. I love your jokes and your grumpiness and how protective you are because you make me feel safe, and I love that you’re kind of a dork and a loser but you’re also so hot, I love your voice and your face and your hands, and I and I want you in a, um-“ You squeeze your thighs together, staring at the suddenly rapid rise and fall of Dean’s back. “A way that I shouldn’t talk about-“

“How do you want me.” He grunts, his voice low and a little gruff, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks.

“On me.” You whisper. “In me. I want you on my face and in my hands and fuck, I want your inside of me. But I also want to wake up next to you and hold your hand and fall asleep in your lap, and fuck-“

You cut yourself off with a whine as something sharp hits your right in the heart, and Dean’s silent. He’s not turning around, or leaving, or doing anything but sitting and breathing for so long, for too long-

“You-“ He shakes his head slightly, and you could swear he’s leaning slightly backward. “You want me.”

“Yeah, I- yes.”

“You love me.”

“Yes.” Too late to go back now. “I love you, Dean.”

“Why- why didn’t you tell me?”

He sounds broken. He sounds sad.

You’re so confused. It’s almost enough to distract from the pain racking your whole body.

“I- I didn’t think you’d-“ Not care. Dean couldn’t not care. He cares too much. “I wasn’t sure what-“

“What I’d say?”

“What you’d do.”

“What would you-“ He’s definitely leaning back. He’s closer, too. “What would you want me to do?”

“What would I want?” 

Dean nods.

“I- it doesn’t matter-“

“Yes it-“ He sighs, twisting around to face you. You can’t read the expression on his face. It’s lost and it’s afraid and it’s… hopeful. There’s this small light that’s so deep in his eyes that seems like real, true hope. “Please,” he mutters your name, and you might be melting. “Just, entertain me. What would you want me to do?”

“I’d want to tell me you love me.” You whisper, and if this curse is going to kill you, you hope it does it now, right before you lose all your dignity forever. “Like I love you.”

Dean shakes his head slightly, and your heart might be splitting in half. “But I- I tried to kill you-“

“The demon tried to kill me. That wasn’t really you-“

“Yes, it was-“

“No.” Your voice gains a little strength, and you push up on your elbows. “You saved me, Dean. You rescued me from the angels-“

“Anyone would’ve done that-“

“But they didn’t.” You snap. “You did. And I don’t love anyone, I love you.”

“That’s-“ He groans, his voice growing hoarse. “You- why?”

“What do you mean, why-“

“Why would you love me? I mean, unless this is some sick, fucked up prank-“

“It’s not a prank-“

“Well why?” He shouts your name, and he looks distressed. Like this is shredding him apart. “Why the hell would you love me-“

“Because I like loving you.” You grab his hand, his own panic starting to set into your own body, making this all the worse. “It feels right. And I- I know you don’t love me-“

You’re not sure what’s happening. Dean’s hands are cupping your face, and his mouth is on yours, and he tastes like whiskey and coffee and pecan, and you feel okay. You really feel okay. All the pain and sickness is dissolving from your body, and Dean is kissing you. Kissing you with an unforgiving, demanding desperation, his tongue down your throat and his body lowering down over yours, pinning you to the bed as he groans against your lips.

The sound jumpstarts something in you. Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck right before he can pull away or hesitate, and you throw everything he’s silently offering you back to him. Biting on his lower lip and wrapping your legs around his torso, grinding up into him as he makes a deep, satisfied noise and moves one hand to wrap around you waist, holding you steady against him as he rises up, moving you to stay in his lap.

“You’re, shit.” Dean lets out a low chuckle, pressing a small, gentler kiss to the tip of your nose as you breathe in ragged time. “You’re such a fucking idiot, sweetheart.”

You lean back to frown at him. “No I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are. But I am too.” He sighs, dropping his head to the crook of your neck and speaking against your skin. “Seems like we’re made for each other, huh.”

“Dean, I-“

“Wait, just-“ Dean kisses up the column of your throat, ending right behind your ear, and his voice a low sound that falls right down into your core. “Gimme a second.”

“Dean-“

“Please,” he mutters, and when you pull back he looks nervous. It’s strange, but adorable, and you nod. He needs a second, you’ll give him a million. Anything to keep him here a little longer, to keep the ebb of the sickness going. 

“Okay.” You whisper, and—taking the biggest gamble of your life—lean forward to kiss him again. Just a light, almost innocent press of your lips to his. He tenses, his arms around you tightening, and you’d have panicked if it didn’t seem like he was clinging to you. Like he was afraid you were going to vanish. 

“I- uh,” Dean says your name slowly, and it’s odd. You’ve heard him say it exactly like that a million, but this feels deeper. Like a prayer. “I lo-“ He cuts himself off, his brow drawing tightly together, and you can feel your heart in your throat. Set to either explode or move into Dean as you hold your breath. “You. I- you- it’s- fuck.” He scowls, and you offer him your gentler smile, running a hand over the soft stubble on his jaw, even as you feel your blood start to go cold again.

“Dean, you don’t have to-“

“Yeah. I do, I-“ He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and speaking against them as if he’s trying to tell your body more than your mind. “I love you. A lot. So stop being cursed.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Did it work?”

It did. The curse seemed to vanish the moment Dean kissed you—like it knew that what he was trying to tell you before he even said it—but now the world is just color and light and Dean. It’s enchanting. He’s enchanting. He’s all genuine and powerful focus on you, and. worry that makes you feel warm, and love you can suddenly see everywhere on him. You don’t know how you missed it before, because it’s in his eyes and coating his lips and in every flex of his body around you. It would knock you down if he wasn’t holding you. 

“Yeah.” You smile at Dean, and his own mouth tugs up slightly. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He shrugs. “Any time. I, uh, sorry about getting pissed about you and Sam.“

“It’s fine, I-“ You paused, frowning at him. “Were you jealous?”

He scowls, his cheeks turning a little red. “Obviously.”

“Of Sam-“

“You were really close with him all the time.” Dean snaps. “And I- you seemed pissed at me, and super stressed, and usually you’d come to me for that stuff, but you were hugging Sam and talking to him instead of me-“

“Because I don’t love Sam. I love you, that’s why I told you-”

“I didn’t fucking know that.” He grumbles. “I- Sam doesn’t know everything about how I feel about you, but he knew enough, and I- I thought you were choosing him- And I- You’re not my girl but you felt like my girl and I didn’t-“

“Your girl?” Your face splits into a wide smile, and some of the tension seems to leave Dean as he nods. 

“Yeah. If you want.”

“Yes.” You squeak, and Dean’s hand starts to run slowly down your thigh. “Yes, please.”

“You sure?” He raises his brows, and it’s really hard to think when he’s so close, and this is suddenly overwhelmingly real. He’s really broad and warm against you, and he’s really touching you, and he said the thing but that doesn’t mean-

“Yeah, but are, are you sure-“

“Baby, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He drawls, and you swallow as he leans in closer, his nose bumping yours. “And I’d be very happy to prove that.”

“Prove it?” You whisper, your eyes trapped onto his glimmering, darkened ones. “I, um, that, how-“

“However you’d like,” he says your name with a smirk, and it’s amazing how any all insecurity he had only a minute ago seems to have vanished. “You wanna tell me how’d you want me to prove it? Or do you need some suggestions?”

You might be drooling. “Suggestions, please.”

Dean hums, holding you carefully as he rises on his knees, bends you down onto the mattress, and starts to trace slow, taunting hands over your body.

“We could start slow,” he mutters, playing with the hem of your shorts, broad fingers brushing over your skin. “I could take my time with you, sweetheart. Do the proper thing, take you out to dinner and movie, wait until the third date to give you everything-“

“No!” You yelp. “Not slow-“

Dean’s hand slides under your shorts, his palm resting right over your already sore pussy, and he chuckles at your high gasp. 

“Alright, baby, not slow.” He leans down to pull you into a long, slow kiss, smirking against your lips as you start to grind into his hand. “But we’re going on a date. I’ve had years to plan it, wouldn’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”

You nod a little stupidly, your nails digging into his arm braced near your head. “How- what do you mean years-“

“You’re not the only one who had that at first sight thing.” Dean mutters, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve lost sleep over you, baby girl. We’re going to do this right, no witches involved, but,” he drops his head to kiss right behind your ear, humming as a high moan escapes your lips. “I’ve got a million things I want to do you, and fuck me if I’m going waste time not doing them.”

“Yeah, good, do that-“ You gasp as Dean’s thumb finds your clothed clit, starting to draw firm, fast circles around it. “Shit, Dean-“

“That’s my name.” He growls in your ear, flicking against you and smirking at your high whine. “C’mon, sweetheart gotta get you ready for me-“

“I, I’m ready-“

He chuckles. “No, you’re not. Wanna make you feel good, not break you.”

“What if, fuck-“ You feel a brief, sharp moment of cold air as Dean pulls your shorts and panties down, shoving two fingers into your cunt. He’s watching you so carefully, like he’s studying your every hitched breath and blurred gaze, smirking as he begins to slowly move inside of you, scissoring and crooking and pushing in deeper every time-

“What if what, pretty girl?” He teases, his pace increasing slightly. “Use your words.”

Your back arches off the bed as Dean re-angles his hand, pressing his palm to your clit and starting to rub strong, sharp circles as his fingers reach a blissful, almost painfully good pace, but remain too shallow to hit that sensitive spot deep your cunt and send you over the edge. “What if I want you to break me?” You gasp, your arm wrapping around his neck as he groans, dropping his brow against yours. “Please, Dean-“

“You, fuck-“ He grunts your name, and you feel something prodding at your inner thigh. “Not now, baby, need to be gentle-“

“No you don’t-“

“Yeah, I do.” Dean’s movements still as he rises on his knees over you, and you’re pretty certain the authoritative thing is supposed to be stern and intimidating, but it’s mostly just making you grind on his hand and reach up for him pathetically.

“Dean-“

“Listen to me.” He snaps, grabbing your wrist and pinning it to the mattress, sighing as you moan again, squeezing around his fingers, still in your cunt. “Fuck, you nearly just died-“

“I’m okay now.” You whisper. “I feel great. I feel, fuck Dean, I feel so good-“

He hisses as you spread your legs, writhing on the bed for anything, at this point you’ll take anything Dean offers you-

“Fuck yeah, you do.” He mutters, his fingers starting to pump slowly again, scanning over your body with an almost awestruck expression. “Bet you feel like heaven, baby girl, but we need to go slow. I promise I can wreck you later, but today-“

“Slow.” You sigh, and he nods.

“Slow. But,” Dean’s free hand starts to trail under your shirt, palming at your breasts, rolling your nipples between calloused, strong fingers. “Doesn’t mean we can’t take care of you, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck this tight little pussy, still going to get you fucking cockdrunk. Okay?”

You nod, your eyes slightly glazed over, and Dean bends his fingers deep inside you, right one that spot, letting out a low gasp as you whine.

“Say okay, sweetheart.” He grunts, his hand moving from your breast, over your neck, to your mouth, pressing his thumb on your lower lip until it parts. You moan against him, your eyes fluttering slightly, and you’re already too high, too needy, to do anything but listen.

“Okay.”

“Good girl.” He coos, slowly pushing his thumb between your lips, his nostrils flaring when you start to suck on him with an abandon. “Fuck, so good, I can’t wait to ruin you, baby, you’re never gonna even think about another cock-“

You haven’t thought about another cock in years, and you haven’t even seen it yet. But Dean’s thumb is bumping the back of your throat, so all you can do is moan, give him your best pleading look, and let your head fall back as Dean’s fingers finally move inside of you, pushing and playing on the spot until your orgasm washes over you in bright waves of good. So good. Just, fuck, he’s good-

Dean’s thumb pulls out of your mouth with a pop, and he wipes a little bit of spit off on your upper lip before lowering his mouth to yours, this kiss far too soft and gentle for how you think you might die if he doesn’t fuck you now.

“Look so pretty, cumming on my hand.” Dean moves to the shell of your ear, his growling promise sending a shiver up your spine. “Bet you’ll look prettier fucking squeezing my cock.”

You barely have time to whimper when Dean yanks his fingers out of your cunt, rolls you over so you’re straddling his torso, and raises you up by your hips before pushing you right down onto his dick. You don’t even remember when he took off his pants, or where your shirt went, but those are worries for someone who isn’t being split open on Dean’s cock. Who doesn’t have him drawing small circles on their inner thigh, or isn’t being held up by his hand on their waist.

But you do. You have Dean everywhere, real and warm under your hands as you grip his shoulders, bumping deep against your cervix as he lets you adjust to the size of him, one broad finger reaching down to press—light and taunting—on your clit, and groaning as you squeeze around him.

“Shit,” Dean grunts your name, looking up at you under hooded eyes in a way you don’t think anyone’s ever looked at you before. As if you’re somewhere they’d always expected to be, and they’re still in awe that you’re there. “Gotta be careful, want this to-“

Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you grind on him experientially, clenching again as he hits that electric spot deep inside you. He grabs you firm by your hips, stilling your every movement as he gives you a stern glower. 

“You need to listen.” His voice is gravely and lower than you’ve ever heard it, and you’d do whatever he told you to, but that doesn’t mean you can’t whine and scratch lightly at his chest. 

“Dean, move-“

“You gonna listen?”

“Yes, just, fuck-“ You gasp as he pulls you up with barely a grunt, slamming your right back down with a roll of your hips. 

“Want you to feel good, baby girl, but you need to be careful,” Dean drags one had down to squeeze your ass, his hand still on your waist drawing light circles around your clit. “Or next time might be more than wrecking.”

Your moan is vulgar and shameless, and you’re more than ready to devote sleep to figuring out what more than wrecking will look like, but right now you just fucking need this. 

“Need more, Dean,” you whisper. “Need it so bad-“

“I know, sweetheart.” He mutters, trailing his hand up your stomach to squeeze your breast, groaning when you squirm around him. “Think you’re ready to ride this cock? Think you can handle, shit-“

You’d stared to move the movement he’d said ride, rolling your body and arching your back, dragging every bit of confidence you have to grind down onto Dean’s cock, your nails sinking into his abdomen.

“Fuck, yeah.” Dean’s voice is a breath under you, and when you scan over him, he lookslike he’sa little wrecked himself.His eyes on yours are hooded and low, his voice dripping with that same dominating confidence, but something more delicate in the way he’s touching you. Not as if he’s afraid to break you, but afraid you’ll shatter him. 

And you did that. You wrecked Dean. And that lights a wildfire in your gut, running through your nerves until they’re sensitive and bare, and into your brain until it’s all just Dean.

You start to move. Slowly at first to test the waters, but—when Dean just groans and ruts up into you—quickly picking up pace until you’re bouncing on Dean’s cock, your thighs squeezing his torso and your clit rubbing on his abdomen, his ever grunt and hiss and bruising grip just making your need grow bigger as you slam him onto that deep spot-

“Shit, I’m- Slow down-“ 

Dean’s hiss is low, and you immediately obey, changing to long, slow movements as Dean hums. 

“There you go baby, such a good girl.” His hand moves from your ass to your lower back, rubbing soothing patterns as he praises you. “You’re so hot baby, fucking ruined on my cock-“

You make a high, breathless sound you don’t recognize, moving your hips in a circle to try and chase more friction, and Dean chuckles.

“You alright up there-“

“Good,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut to try and focus your all on Dean beneath you. “So good, Dean, feels so good-“

“Need a little more?”

“Yes-“

“More descriptive than that, sweet girl.” He teases, and when this is done, you’re going to kill him. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to-“

“You,” the word falls out without thought, because most of you belongs to Dean. “Just you, only need you-“

“You love me?” Dean’s voice is low, and when you open your eyes to look at him, there’s a small chink in his armor. You don’t know if you pried it open, or if you’ve just never noticed, but you can see right into him, and he still doesn’t really believe that you love him.

And that’s the only thing you’ve ever really know. You loving Dean has been the only truly certain thing in your life, because Dean’s a given and loving him feels like breathing.

So you smile at him, reaching forward to cup his face, and tell him with everything you have, hoping he can hear how the words are in time with your heart.

“I love you,” you whisper. “And I’m yours.”

He blinks at you, shaking his head slightly even as his dick twitches inside you. “You don’t need to be, it’s- you know, dirty talk-“

“I know.” You shrug. “I’m still yours.”

Dean’s nostrils flare, and you know you’re not getting control back from him for the rest of the night.

You’re fine with that. Dean starts to rock you back and forth around him, letting you just fall into and around him, and your lost to any world that isn’t Dean. Isn’t his hand splayed on your lower back or his fingers digging into the skin of your hips and ass. Anything that isn’t his cock hitting part of you that you didn’t know existed and filling you up so much you’re not sure how you’re ever going to manage being empty again.

You don’t think you will have to manage. Dean’s holding you like he’s trying to brand himself on your body, like he needs you feel him for the rest of your life. And you will. You’ll feel the bliss Dean’s drawing from your body that’s better than any heaven you could have imagined, rising slowing below the surface, ready to burst at any moment.

You’ll hear him too. Hear every deep noise of his own pleasure, hear the slapping of his skin on yours, hear his low praise echo around your head and ribs for the rest of your life.

“You’re mine, baby girl.” He growls, the sound rumbling in his chest and rolling right into your pussy, making you throw your head back with a breathy whimper. “Fuck, you’re so hot riding me, feel so good around me, tight and warm-“

Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you reach behind your body, your hand finding his balls to squeeze lightly. 

“Goddamnit, sweetheart-“ He groans, jerking slightly inside of you. “Fuck, keep doing that, so fucking needy for me, fucking soaking this cock-“

You grind around him, and his pace starts to lose rhythm. Even after he swats your hand away you know he’s lost his own self-control, and fuck he looks hot without it. Starting to rut up into you in uncontrolled movements, pulling you to pieces with a lustful, ardorous gaze and brutal pace and strong hands, moving back to your clit and rolling it between his fingers-

Your mouth falls open in a silent, needy cry of pleasure as your orgasm bursts over you. It’s not sudden, but you couldn’t never anticipated the power of it—like someone had doused you in gasoline that smells like whiskey and fruit, lit a match, and turned to into a star—or how it rides on and on, never seeming to crest or crash as Dean slams home inside of you, warmth coating your pussy and running down your thighs as he moans your name. 

Dean helps you float down to earth, leaving careful, deliberate touches on your skin and humming as his knees rising up to support you. You watch his gaze rakes down your body, lingering on where he can see himself spill out of your pussy, and moves to slowly drag through the mess, gathering some on two fingers before rising them up to your mouth. You open without hesitation and his throat bobs, his cock twitching inside you as you lick his release off his hand, your eyes never leaving his wide, reverent one.

“Son of a bitch.” He mutters. “How the hell did I get so lucky?”

You let out a soft laugh. “You stole my line.”

“Nah.” He shrugs, tracing a hand over your cheek. “You could have anyone you want, baby, but you’re here, with an asshole like me-“

“You’re not an asshole.”

“Yeah, I am.” He shrugs, like you can’t see how his own words pierce him through that chink. “Shit, I just accused you of sleeping with Sam-“

“And I’ve been lying to you for years.” You lean down, resting your chin on his chest, giving him your widest smile. “Neither of us are saints, Dean. And I happen to be the right kind of fucked up to let possessiveness hot.” You pause, giving him your best stern glare. “To a degree. I will slap you the next time you accuse me of fucking Sam.” 

Dean laughs, his around wrapped—gentle and relaxed—around you. “Yes, ma’am.”

You hum, resting your head to the side, and you might be here for a hundred years. Time blurs and slows until it’s just Dean’s heartbeat near your ear, his thumb tracing a pattern on your arm, and his face buried in your hair. The end of the world might have already come to pass when his hand moves to your chin and he angles your gaze to his, and you wouldn’t really care. You’re still where you need to be.

“Would you,” he lets out a slow breath, all his cocky arrogance gone, his eyes on yours nervous. The hope is back, but it’s wrapped in soft fear. “I’m not good at- shit-“

He’s going to hurt himself, and you take pity on him. You lean does to press a sweet kiss to his mouth, letting your tongue trail over his lips, and rising back up with a small smile.

“Can we go on a date, Dean?” 

He chuckles, nodding. “Yeah. Whatever you want, baby girl.”

Your smile strains at your cheeks, because you only want Dean. 

And you’ll have to write Rowena a thank you note, because you finally have him.

End Note: Me make a story with no prior lore challenge: impossible

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[shomatoriashi]

01/11/25; 11:10am

caleb x fem.reader | mc.reader

notes: another spicy yet fluffy post inspired by one of the caleb cards infold had teased (⺣◡⺣)♡ this is nowhere close to canon, but my own daydreams based on the crumbs that i have seen so far ♡

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

{ burning photos, had to learn to let go | i used to be somebody in another skin... }

unbidden pain was seen settled deep within caleb's gaze, hands shaking as he traces your features with his fingertips. unlike the first time when you were first captured, his hands didn't grip at your shoulders with a bruising strength. his touches now felt like gossamer against your skin-

touches that were no heavier than dew.

you close your eyes, finding yourself leaning into his touch as your heart began to steadily race from within the confines of your chest. even if caleb was different now, somehow, you knew that deep down he was the same caleb who had protected you all those years ago. breathing in his scent, you allow the tip of your nose to trace at the palm of his hand, earning a sharp inhale from your childhood friend.

"pipsqueak, you should get some sleep now." you open your eyes upon hearing his soft command, meeting his amethyst gaze. unlike your reunion with him, caleb's eyes were no longer guarded, filled with a coldness that chilled you to your very core-

now that it was just you and him, you could see the warmth returning back into his eyes,

a warmth that had never truly left when it came to you.

with a soft sigh, you lean forward to press a kiss against his closed eyelids, relishing in the way he shudders against you. the soft sensation of your lips lingering against his skin causes him to let out a series of pitiful whimpers (the sound managing to pierce through your very heart.)

delving your fingertips into his hair, you softly tease him, "look at you. you're like a sinner who's confessing."

caleb shakes his head while taking a hold of your hand, rubbing your fingertips against his lips in a reverent manner while whispering, "then, can you carry a little bit of this sin too? don't leave me in this loneliness any longer."

you answer back to his pleas without words, gently wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him down into the bed with you. as if in tune to your every desire, caleb's lips meet with yours in a chaste kiss that hides the burning passion he felt for you. you shyly move your lips against his, opening up to him the moment you felt his tongue tracing at your bottom lip.

his kisses turn hungrier just then, pressing your body close to his hard chest while allowing his tongue to explore your mouth, tongues fighting for dominance as he greedily tastes you. with trembling hands, caleb breaks off the kiss first, laying you back within the bed before hurriedly peeling off the layers of his uniform.

your name escapes from his parted lips in a needy grunt, hands unable to stop shaking even as they gripped at the ends of your shirt before sliding it off of you. his deep violet gaze was hidden by a veil of darkness, with caleb taking a hold of your hand to press a lingering kiss at the back of it, "you don't know how long i've waited for this... have waited for you to see me as something more than just a friend."

"caleb-"

he shakes his head, surging forward to swallow the rest of your words with a searing kiss. "hush, don't speak... only feel."

the minutes go by, with each and every article of clothing falling from your respective forms before landing in a pile beside the bed. you were left trembling now, subjected to caleb's awed gaze as his fingers gently prod and pulled at your hardened nipples. a series of mewls comes out of you, earning a low growl of approval from caleb. "do you know how long i've fantasized about this? how long i've fantasized about having you beneath me while writhing in pleasure?"

your mouth goes dry upon hearing his question, watching him with a dazed expression when he takes off your final piece of clothing. gripping at the waistband of your panties, he pulls it down within mere seconds. tossing the flimsy fabric to the side, caleb lays between your thighs, treating as though it were his own homecoming when he reveals your slick folds to heated gaze.

"beautiful, you're so beautiful and all mine." those words were all you could hear before caleb dives into you, moving his head between your legs as his tongue laps up your lingering arousal. groaning at the taste of your sweetness, you felt the way caleb's tongue travels directly into your slick folds, drinking up all you had to offer as your back arches against the bed. your hands automatically delve into his hair, hanging on to dear life as the onslaught of pleasure became too much to bear.

"c-caleb, i feel w-weird... it's like- oh!" a sudden pinch felt against your bundle of nerves makes you cry out, feeling your walls clench around caleb's tongue before releasing your fluids into his awaiting mouth. the sounds of his groans vibrates against you, causing another wave of pleasure to course through your veins.

"ngh, fuck. that was way better than i could have ever imagined." it takes caleb a herculean effort to remove himself from between your legs, with him licking at his lips while meeting your gaze. gripping at your thighs, he pulls your naked body closer to his, making you feel the tip of his erection brushing against your wet folds. focused solely on chasing your high now, you wrap your legs around caleb's lower back, locking him into place as his tip was felt sinking into your heat.

letting out a string of curses, caleb picks you up, settling you on his lap while guiding your waist down on him. you purse your lips, feeling the tears prick at the corner of your eyes when you had to take caleb's girthy cock inch by painstaking inch, gasping once he was fully sheathed inside of you.

"you're mine... you're mine." unable to wait for even another second, his thrusts were filled with a desperation as he uses your cunt to stroke at his cock, the sounds of your copulation echoing throughout the room as bites down against the base of your throat, "and if i can't have you, then no one can. you'll forever belong to me."

being too drunk off of the pleasure of finally becoming one with the boy you had always seen as your first love, you eagerly take everything he had to offer, never once stopping even as dawn breaks through the dark clouds...

end notes: hahaha i'm in trouble... sylus, save me sylus, save meeeee 🫠

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[mulloey]

pretty pet • nct 127

as the newest and youngest member of 127, it’s perfectly natural for them to want to take care of you. probably not like this, though.

requested by anon

pairing: johnny/jaehyun/mark/haechan/yuta x f!reader

word count: 4k

hate is deleted and blocked

warnings: oh boy um, a little dubcon, definitely questionable behaviour from the neos, dom!127 x sub!reader, corruption kink, virginity loss, unprotected sex, orgy, vaginal/oral sex, a few slaps, praise and degradation, innocence kink, corruption, implied LEGAL age gap (reader is around 20), sort of manipulation, size kink, power imbalance kind of, probably more but those are the big ones

-

you’d been at SM since 2018, and it was starting to feel hopeless. you’d improved quickly, and by 2020 they were telling you you were ready to debut, but it just… didn’t happen. they’d let you get your hopes up that you’d debut with aespa— no dice. then there’d been talk of another girl group, which had quickly proved to be just that: talk. you were beginning to wonder if it was ever going to happen, or if you’d be better off leaving instead of wasting another six years of your life, when you were summoned to the CEO’s office.

you couldn’t believe what you were hearing— they needed a new member for nct. they wanted something different. they wanted you.

you’d sat there with your jaw agape, unsure how to respond. you? in a… boy group? that boy group? you’d never even met the nct members; the closest you’d ever gotten was when mark had accidentally walked into your practice room instead of his— and his exclamation of “oh shit” before quickly shutting the door was the only time you’d heard any of their voices in real life. and now you were supposed to be in a group with them?

everything was arranged within the hour; gathering this was most likely your last chance to debut before they decided you were too old to bother with, you put your inhibitions aside and agreed. you signed the contract, shook their hands and were making to head back to the trainee dormitories when they’d stopped you— “all your things are in the 127 dormitory,” they told you. you almost laughed; you should’ve figured that they weren’t exactly asking.

you were beyond nervous to meet them; they’d been famous and, more importantly, best friends for eight years— how were you supposed to fit in with them? did they even want you there? not to mention how the fans would react— but that was a problem for a different day.

the first problem, though, quickly proved to be a non-issue; they were beyond welcoming, and quickly took you under their wing. it’s only natural, you supposed— the newest member, completely inexperienced and younger even than the dream members, it’s not surprising they took to you so easily, and were so gentle and nurturing while they showed you the ropes. it was only natural.

to a point.

the signs were there, really; the way they’d looked you up and down before looking at your face. the way their hands lingered on your waist just a few seconds too long when they hugged you for the first time. the affection they showed you that they swore was normal between all of them, but seemed to have… a little more intention behind it. and the way they praised you when you did something well— learning a dance move, hitting a note, remembering a line. “good girl,” they’d purr, cupping your face with a smile. “such a good listener.” perhaps somewhere, deep down, something in you told you this was beyond the caring, concerned members of a group welcoming their newest member. but it was far too deep to notice— buried beneath the heaps of praise and attention they showered you with. until it wasn’t. until it became too obvious to ignore.

yuta was the first one you really noticed. looking back, he was never really subtle; you saw the way he looked at you from the start— the intensity of his gaze, the way he’d swallow thickly, jaw tense when you walked through the living room in your thin summer pyjamas. he was friendly, like the others, but the way he’d find every excuse to touch you, to pull you into his arms, to snake his arm around your waist during practice and whisper in your ear about how good you’re being— was just over the line of excusable. yet you excused it.

maybe you were desperate to fit in with the group. maybe you wanted to prove yourself as an open, reliable member. maybe you loved the way their praises sounded; the warmth of their touches on your waist and thighs. whatever the reason, you never once protested— never once questioned it. even as the other members became increasingly obvious in their participation, and increasingly bold in their claim of you.

it was a few weeks in that it happened. mark had brought home a case of beer and a few bottles of soju— “we always do this, babe,” he’d said. “helps us bond when we drink together, you know?” and you’d nodded, of course; the last thing you wanted to do was question or upset the balance and routine of the group. you still felt very much like an outsider, an intruder, and you wanted to prove you could belong here— to yourself, as much as to them. it was just 6 of you tonight— johnny, jaehyun, mark, haechan and yuta, surrounding you like predators as much as protectors.

looking back, you should have realised then. you should have realised when they’d sat down in a circle, johnny shuffling next to you— “to make sure you don’t get too drunk,” he’d said. “oldest looking after the youngest.” you should have realised when he got closer and closer until, just when you were crossing the line between tipsy and drunk, he pulled you into his lap completely. you should have realised when the first game haechan suggested was ‘never have i ever’. and if not then, then you definitely should have realised when the first question they asked was never have i ever had sex.

you watched them all drink, grinning at each other as they downed the liquid. johnny adjusted you in his arms slightly to allow him to pick up his bottle and take a swig. when their expectant gazes turned to you, you could do nothing but blush. “i—”

if you’d been brave enough to look up, or sober enough to see clearly, you’d have seen the looks on their faces that were unlike anything you’d seen before— shocked, affected, protective. feral. they couldn’t believe it. no one had ever touched you. you were as pure and unsullied as you seemed— theirs for the taking.

“you’ve really,” jaehyun started, voice thick and catching in his throat, “never had sex?”

you shrugged, blushing deeper. “i was, like, 14 or 15 when i joined the company,” you mumbled. “they don’t really— i never had that sort of freedom, as a trainee. or the time.” you were beyond embarrassed, your face surely the reddest it’s ever been. you were certain they were judging you right now; laughing silently at you but too polite to show it. a room full of grown men and you, the only girl, the newest, youngest member, had proven yourself to be even less mature than you already knew they thought you were. you waited for someone to break; to laugh at you or mock you or finally admit that you didn’t belong here after all.

but they didn’t. no one said anything. johnny’s grip on your waist tightened.

“wow,” mark finally broke the silence. “that’s— fuck, that’s precious.”

you looked up in time to catch the glare yuta threw at him. “it is?” you asked. “it’s not— it’s not bad?”

“of course it’s not bad,” johnny breathed. his breath was hot on your neck, making you shiver. you felt his smile against your skin as he recognised your sensitivity. “you’re such a good girl, y/n. we always knew it.”

your mouth opened and closed, words lost on you. johnny’s hand found your thigh and gently squeezed the soft flesh. “we’ve been waiting to have someone like you in the group for a long, long time.”

“i—” your voice broke a little, cracking under the weight of their gazes on you. “really?” you squeaked.

a large, warm hand wrapped around your calf. you turned your head, making a noise of surprise, to see jaehyun staring at you with a look in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “really,” he said lowly. his gaze shifted, catching johnny’s for a moment, then returning to you. he squeezed your leg gently. “you’re really something,” he smiled. the tension in his neck as he swallowed thickly told you he wanted to say something else.

tentatively, you reached down to place your hand over jaehyun’s, still resting on your leg. for a moment he seemed surprised — you hadn’t yet been the one to initiate physical contact with them, after all — but his expression quickly morphed into something else. johnny’s fingers dug into your thigh. “whatcha doing, hm?” he whispered in your ear. the low hum of his voice lit fire on your skin. “you like it when we touch you?”

“i…”

“she does,” jaehyun purred. “eager little slut.”

you knew you should be offended— he just called you a slut, after all, a terrible thing to say to anyone. but instead you felt your stomach twist, and an intense, pulsing sensation a little lower. without meaning to, you let out a soft, mewling sound that seemed to affect all the men in the room. “fuck,” you heard someone, you thought haechan, groan.

slowly johnny’s hand began to move further and further up your leg, closer and closer, like he was testing the waters— seeing how far he could go before you’d push back against him. but you didn’t— you curled further into his hold, into his touch. his hands were soft and comforting. it felt good. you felt special. that was all it was.

when his fingers grazed over your shorts, a fleeting touch of your pussy, you squeaked, squirming slightly in his hold. jaehyun grinned and you watched as his hand moved from your lower leg to your chest. gently he grabbed one of your boobs and you felt your stomach drop. this was the boldest they’d ever been. he wasn’t even hiding it or disgusting it as an accident— he was owning it. he was touching you, you liked it, and he owned it.

“so tiny,” he muttered. you weren’t sure if he was talking about you or the tight little tank top he was running his hands across— when he curled his finger around one of the straps, pulling it back and letting it snap against your skin, you decided it was probably both.

the room was quiet, everyone’s focus on you and the way you were responding to every move they made. if you’d been a little more aware, you’d have noticed them inching closer and closer to you from the moment johnny took you into his arms; but only when yuta grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to meet his gaze by force, did you realise what was happening. they’d surrounded you. you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to.

he released your hair and you looked back to meet johnny’s eyes. he smiled down at you, arms wrapped around your torso, and only then did you realise that his grip was tighter, firmer than before; like he was holding you in place. keeping you still.

testing your theory, you tried to struggle; to squirm. but you couldn’t. johnny wouldn’t let you. his brow furrowed. “keep being good,” he said, tone warning. “or this is gonna go very differently.”

you didn’t want to think about what he was implying; a few times he and doyoung had threatened to punish you or take you over their knee, but you’d assumed they were joking or just trying to scare you into obedience. but maybe they were serious— maybe you really were one wrong move away from finding out just what they were capable of. you shuddered at the thought.

you watched as haechan’s hand reached towards you and finally slipped under your shorts to touch your bare skin. his eyebrows raised. “no panties?” he grinned.

you heard some mumbles of surprise and johnny’s dick twitched against your back. “slut,” he muttered. “you planned this.”

“no,” you protested, shaking your head. “i didn’t.”

“don’t lie.” haechan’s voice was firm, eyes dark. you whined again and he pinched your clit, making you squirm. “stop moving,” he said.

he may be the youngest and one of the smaller members, but haechan always intimidated you. you’d seen him angry on a few occasions; watched the rage simmer beneath the surface. he keeps his cool, but you always wondered what happens on the other side of the line. now, though, as he eased a finger into your tight hole, you’d rather not find out.

“is she tight?” yuta asked and haechan nodded, groaning slightly. “so fucking tight,” he affirmed. “fucking virgin pussy.”

“let me see,” mark said. “take her shorts off.”

“good idea,” jaehyun grinned. haechan moved his hand away for a moment, allowing the elder to slide the shorts down your legs, finally revealing what they’d been waiting so painfully long to see.

“jesus,” mark breathed.

“perfect little pussy.” jaehyun’s eyes never left your tight, dripping hole. he looked ready to devour you. “john,” he said. “can you spread her open for us?”

you’d honestly forgotten johnny was there; his hold was so warm and familiar that you hardly noticed it. he chuckled against your neck, breath tickling your skin. you knew he felt the way you shivered in response and you felt his smile widen before he lifted his head to peer down at your naked bottom half. “certainly,” he said. “be a good girl and stay still, baby.”

then his big hands were on your thighs, spreading them further apart to expose you properly. you jumped slightly when he touched your pussy, squirming and gasping until he shushed you softly; then with each hand he spread your lips apart, allowing them a full view of your hole.

yuta was the first to speak. “ok,” he breathed. “i’m fucking her first.”

there were mild protests from the others, but no one made any real move to stop him; clearly, you figured, they all knew they’d get their turn. he made quick work of his jeans; unzipping them and pulling out his dick before you registered what was happening. he caught your eye, smiling slyly. “you want it?” he asked.

at that point, you should have said no. you should have put a stop to all this and run to taeyong, or doyoung, or someone because this was all wrong and you knew that. they knew that. but this had gone too far already and right now, all you cared about, all you could think about, was the hard, dripping cock in yuta’s hand. “yes,” you whispered.

his smile widened as he approached you, situating himself between your spread legs. “hold her still for me, john,” he said. johnny made a noise of agreement, moving his hands to hold your thighs firmly open.

though not the largest in the group, yuta was by no means small; just the sight of his cock throbbing and pulsating in his palm made you twitch nervously. once the tip was resting against your entrance, he gently cupped your face, pulling you forward to press a kiss to your nose. it was tender and sweet and the complete opposite to what was about to happen.

it took him a while to push all the way inside you; his size and your lack of experience made it difficult to fit. but he managed, eventually, with the help of johnny’s finger on your clit, making you wetter for his band mate to fuck you; and the feeling of his dick inside you was beyond description. you felt used, full, objectified in the best way. you felt like a doll; spread open for his cock and ready to take whatever he decided to give you. slowly he started to move; his arms rested on your thighs, holding you down and giving him leverage to fuck you. you threw your head back when he finally hit against your cervix, completely overwhelmed, and johnny took the chance to grab your neck, holding you in position looking up at him. he tilted his head. “feel good?” he asked.

a weak ‘nngh’ was all you could manage in response, but none of them faulted you for it. johnny grinned and released your neck only to shove his fingers into your mouth. you choked at the surprise intrusion but quickly got used to it; soon the large, thick fingers were a comforting presence and you sucked at them desperately as yuta continued to stretch you open. you looked back to face the others, and saw that the three not touching you all had their dicks in their hands, stroking themselves to the scene in front of them.

“no one cum,” johnny ordered the watching men. “she’s gonna take all our loads. aren’t you?”

you nodded, but at that moment, pussy stuffed and mouth full while the others watched, you’d have agreed to anything johnny said just for the fact that it was him that said it— and to hear the deep, approving “good girl”, that came in response.

yuta came quickly and without warning; he moaned and shouted something in japanese as he made two or three hard, final thrusts before you felt him release inside you. it felt warm, strangely. it felt nice.

he stayed on top of you for moment, breathing heavily, before pulling out and retreating. you felt warm liquid slowly spilling out of you for a moment, before johnny’s long finger pushed it back in. “good girls don’t waste their owners’ cum,” he muttered and you blushed, nuzzling into his neck.

“alright,” johnny said, “who’s next?”

“us.” you looked up to see mark and haechan approaching you and johnny raised an eyebrow. “both of you?” he asked.

“pussy and mouth,” mark said, like it was obvious. “duh.”

johnny hummed, pressing his face against yours. “can you take that, baby? two cocks at once?”

“of course she can,” haechan rolled his eyes. “she doesn’t have a choice.”

“take it easy, man,” jaehyun muttered, but the look of sheer delirium on your face told him just how much you were loving this— being used without a say in what happened to your own body. you knew they’d stop if you told them; but why would you?

johnny helped you lie down, head in his lap as haechan climbed on top of your chest. his dick was hard and leaking and right in your face; he slapped it against your cheek a few times before forcing it in.

you choked, eyes watering, but took it into your mouth obediently. you’d never done this before, so you let haechan take the lead, which he probably would have done anyway; you let him slam his dick against the back of your throat, again and again, ignoring you whining and choking around his cock. it was painful and uncomfortable and degrading but at the same time it somehow felt so fucking good. maybe it was the way johnny whispered praises in your ear, telling you how well you’re taking your members, what a good teammate you are. or maybe it was the feeling of mark sliding into your pussy easily, finally filling you up again.

he wasn’t as big as yuta, but especially to someone who was a virgin a few minutes ago, he was the furthest thing from small. he fucked you slower and more tenderly than the elder, but he gripped your hips with the same firm, unquestioned ownership of you that they all exuded. somehow he and haechan fell into the same rhythm, their cocks hitting the deepest parts of you at the same time and it was completely overwhelming. through watering eyes you stared up at haechan, barely making out his face through your tears. you moaned around his cock, struggling with his size and you felt your teeth graze against his shaft. he stopped for a moment, cursing under his breath before his palm collided with your face. it wasn’t particularly painful, but it left a lingering sting that floated among the multitudes of different sensations you were experiencing.

“don’t fucking bite me,” he growled, before his thrusts started again.

you heard johnny click his tongue, running his hands through your hair. “bad girl,” he chuckled. “can’t handle a dick in your mouth, huh?”

you whined, sound muffled by haechan’s cock and you heard the men laugh. “we’ll train her up,” haechan grinned. suddenly he grabbed your hair, pulling your head further down onto his dick as his thrusts sped up. his moans got louder and louder, turning to shouts before he cried out painfully and liquid filled your mouth. it tasted strange; salty and strange at the same time. when he pulled out, you saw white liquid coating his cock. “hold on, haechan,” johnny said. “she’ll lick you clean.”

haechan grinned, and then his dick was at your mouth once again. you swallowed the liquid in your mouth so you could open it again, letting him feed his cock between your lips. you licked and suckled at it dutifully, and when he pulled out again, his cock was clean. “good girl,” he purred.

the sight of you licking his friend’s cock clean seemed to push mark over the edge too; he grunted, cursing loudly before you felt yourself filling up again as he released inside you. panting heavily, he sat limply for a moment before pulling out.

the sight was beyond anything they could have dreamed of; their sweet youngest member, lying naked with her head in johnny’s lap and cum leaking out of her holes, too tired and fucked out to even close her legs. they wished they could keep you like this forever; spread open, used, and ready for more.

you were barely conscious by the time jaehyun pushed into you; by now the intense waves of pleasure were a distant sensation; his voice as he spoke to you clouded by the overwhelming emotions overtaking you. you felt his hands on your face, looking up to meet his kind but dark eyes and you gave him a weak smile.

he didn’t take long to cum, perhaps more out of mercy for you than anything else; before he released he pushed two fingers into your mouth, letting you suck and gag yourself on them while he chased his orgasm. he came with a yell, his final, heavy thrust finally pushing you over the edge too.

you felt yourself release around his dick, body convulsing with pleasure. you were completely delirious, screaming though your orgasm and clawing desperately at johnny’s arms. he talked you through it, voice low, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying.

when you finally finished, it proved too much to you; you went limp, completely numb as you blacked out. pulling out of you slowly, jaehyun looked uncertainly at johnny. the elder just smiled, stroking your hair. “she’s fine,” he said. “baby can’t handle that much pleasure yet.”

jaehyun smiled, staring down at your sleeping form and running a large hand up and down your thigh. he looked up, suddenly seeming troubled. “john, you didn’t get to…”

johnny laughed, shaking his head. “doesn’t matter. she needed me with her.”

jaehyun hummed, still staring quizzically at the elder, who shrugged. “it’s no big deal, jae,” he grinned. “she belongs to all of us now. i’ll get my turn.”

you woke up in bed hours later, drenched in sweat and desperate for johnny; you cried out for him, reaching into the darkness and hoping you’d find him there. when he finally walked into the room, coming to sit next to you, you were nearly in tears from how needy and empty you felt.

“johnny,” you whimpered again. “please.”

and get his turn he did.

-

thanks for the request! my first nct fic, hope it was good. i def got carried away lol. reblogs and comments appreciated, requests open! love🖤🖤🖤

[ornithicwen]

𝜗𝜚 intentions ‧₊˚ ⊹

꩜ pair ; sunday x male reader

✧ tags ; smut, angels, slightly religious(?) theme, soft domtop reader, subbottom sunday, overstimulation, creampie, dacryphilia, corruption kink, mirror sex

Feathered wings behind his ears and a halo behind his head, colored in white and gold, complemented his fair skin. Before you stood a vision of ethereal beauty, radiating tranquility from his serene expression and graceful posture. Yet, despite the divine light that enveloped him, the chains binding him were obvious.

He was a stunning bird with clipped wings, unable to soar through the sky he longed for. Confined in a thorn-adorned golden cage, the delicate bars contrasted with his beauty, trapping him with a distant dream. You yearned to be the one to unlock his cage, helping him experience the true meaning of freedom— paradise.

You had pure intentions— to simply free a bird. With your keen perception and ability to see through the illusions that shroud reality, it was hard to overlook. After all, you were an angel, a high-ranking one at that, destined to protect and nurture these beings. However, shouldn’t a divinity be as pure as the others?

Why do you seek to confine him within the cover of your wings?

…

He was not pure either, so why should it matter if those pure thoughts turned impure the moment he fell from his stage? Why should it matter if he seeks refuge in the confines of the Astral Express or in your room? Why should it matter if he is on your sheets, bent over the bed with your cock slamming in and out of him?

Gray wings were formed from your back, their muted tones contrasting sharply with Sunday’s pristine white ear wings. Perhaps this is your punishment, and you wondered if these striking wings, once symbols of beauty and divinity, would soon succumb to decay, their delicate plumes drifting away like whispers in the wind. You wondered if the act of giving in to pleasure, entwined in the arms of another, would corrupt every inch of your essence to the point of no return. You also wondered what force could have pulled you away from the divine serenity of the heavens, plunging you instead into the murky depths of desire and temptation, as your larger hands tightly held the other man’s wrists behind his back.

His skin was a flawless canvas, fair and smooth. Pink hues highlighted his cheeks, contrasting starkly with the glistening tears that flowed like tiny rivers down his face. His mouth wide open as a series of moans and whimpers escaped his lips like a harmony that stirs your deepest passion, all while you fucked him through submission and corruption. As if you weren’t divine to begin with.

So pretty. You thought. From his silvery soft gray hair and his teary golden irises down to his glistening body, covered in both his and your cum, a warm hue of red across his skin, and the notable bite marks imprinted on his skin. These marks, heavy on their meaning, painted his skin as a symbol of ownership.

He was yours. In and out.

You have finally locked him in your cage.

“Beautiful,” you murmured, your fingers which held his waist tightly moved upward to his chin, and grabbed it firmly. You tilted his face up, forcing his gaze to the mirror that reflected both your images, ensuring he could see how thoroughly ruined, tainted, and fucked up he’s become.

He whimpered in response and your hips brutally snapped once again, causing him to let out a loud moan and orgasm harder than the previous as your cock hit his prostrate one last time before halting, your cock swallowed deep into his once virgin walls. Then, you came hard, spurting your seeds into his hole until it could no longer keep them inside, forming a circle as it spilled with your cock still inside. As soon as you two came down from your high, you shoved your fingers into Sunday’s mouth, forcing him to choke on it while your other hand moved down to hold his already hard, leaking cock.

“One more time,” you said, a smile forming your lips as your gaze met his hazy ones in the mirror, face thoroughly fucked out as tears stained his pink cheeks and droll escaped his lips. “Please,” you continued with a whiny tone, and that alone was enough to earn you a nod despite the fingers that choked him, even though he had been overstimulated for quite a while now.

“Thank you,” you said before pulling your fingers out and grabbing his hips with both hands, once again fucking him into a pit of lust, with no regard for your divine identity nor punishment.

It’s fine. You thought.

Heaven is with me. You thought.

“Heaven is under me,” and you whispered. Now you wonder— can the saint save the tainted?

Can he save you?

Even though he was never a saint to begin with.

[eeuni]

like him ! b.e

angst, fluff, daddy issues, sh & ed

you had experienced a loss that time would not fix. your father was going around in your mind, after years without knowing about him, you still carried him in your heart everywhere. he was not in a coffin underground, but far away from you. very far away, much more his love. ever since you could remember, his fights with your mother went beyond the limit, broken glass, bleeding knuckles and screams could be seen and heard. after those fights he would grab his things, ready to leave and not come back, telling you that he didn't want to leave you, but he had to do it so he could come back the next day, as if nothing had happened.

you grew up not knowing what to expect, terrified that he would leave again, tired of seeing him leave and come back. he would sit you on the chair, your mother and him crying, repeating that it wasn't your fault but that they were going to start a divorce.

one more lie.

you fell asleep with a bitter taste, at fourteen, what else can you do? bleeding thighs, mirrors covered with sheets, nights without leaving the bed that seemed like your body was slowly beginning to rot. your father took you to the river, taught you how to use a gun, made you laugh.

and for a moment everything seemed to be stable, at least for a year. another fight ruined happiness, confidence, the desire to stay alive. now he has finally left home. "he's coming back tomorrow" you believed.

It had been so long since you saw your father walk through that cursed door. empty house, relapse, therapy, and a new man in the house. your mother's boyfriend. what a detestable thing. your mother complained that you never went out, that you were always sad, that you missed your dad but he was not a good person.

of course you knew, you knew what he had done, but not by his own decision. you left that house behind, you traveled to another country, you looked for a different nickname, you started smoking and being alone as always but in another place.

while you were studying and working you met zoe, your new friend. you discovered that she liked the smiths, so you decided to invite her to lunch. now at 21 you ordered a bottle of alcohol. she told you about billie.

oh, billie.

the beautiful black-haired girl who gave you a smile all the time, who took you to the best places to eat, bought you flowers, did everything in her power to make you look good and happy. you liked her instantly, fell in love within months, and your fear appeared out of nowhere, one summer night.

billie adjusted the sheets of her bed where you now slept almost every night. she hid in your chest, watching you from below smoking a cigarette. her eyes were shining.

"that smells like shit." she spoke, laughing.

"yeah, i know, but it's different when you smoke it." you put out the cigarette, billie had bought about two months ago a cute ashtray with flowers on it for you to use. "you know what? i think i'm broken."

billie looked at you confused, you had said that out of nowhere. "the other day a friend and i were talking, she told me about the love she feels for her friends and partner." you kept talking. "and i was like 'how do you not be afraid? ' "

"about what?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"you know...that you don't know how to love and that in one moment you want to give them all the love in the world and in the second you don't want that person to repeat that they loves you or even touch you." you explained.

she thought about it for a moment, finding it difficult to speak.

"can i tell you something?"

when billie asked that you froze. if that was what you were thinking, you wouldn't know what you would do. you swallowed, sat up better on the bed and looked at her curiously, with fear.

"...yes."

"i think i fell in love with you."

a burning sensation formed in your stomach. of course you loved billie very much, so much that sometimes it was overwhelming and perhaps the fear of not knowing how to love her stopped you from taking any steps that would indicate that you need her. you loved her from afar, in silence, admiring her beautiful being for months.

"what if i hurt you?" was the first sentence that came out of your trembling lips. billie's gaze softened, placing a hand over yours. "what if i don't know how to love? what if i'm a copy of what my father is?"

tears began to form in the corners of your eyes, you began to feel the need to tear your skin off at the thought that you were living it all in your father's body, with his ideas, his traumas, his wounds that continued to bleed. you couldn't hurt her, even if that meant keeping all the love you had for her to yourself and taking a step back.

"hey." she caught your attention, you looked into her eyes again. "what your father is is not synonymous with what you are. you are not in his skin. you love in such a beautiful way, i noticed it. with me, your friends, with people you don't even know. would your father do what you do every day for the people you love?"

you saw him in the back of your mind, grabbing his bags and leaving you for the last time. the first time you wished for him to come back and he wouldn't. by this time you were crying, fighting with yourself.

"you don't mind loving someone who has disorganized attachment?"

"i don't mind loving someone like that, because i know very well that you can overcome any difficult moment." she smiled softly. "and that you love me too much to keep me away."

you laughed at billie's words. she was right, you had created a connection with her where you simply needed her.

"you're right." you proved her right. "i love you too much to keep you away."

"so...that means you're in love with me too?"

she asked, her excitement building behind her heart because she was sure you would say yes, even though a part of her was still afraid. you nodded.

you bit your lower lip and before billie could say anything you captured her mouth in a kiss full of sweetness. you felt every foreign wound beginning to heal. the foreign wounds that your father left on you.

no doubt your expressions were perhaps like his, your way of walking or smiling.

but your way of loving would never be a murder committed by the one where he left the lifeless body on your shoulders. with billie you would learn to leave all that pain aside.

(...)

two years later, billie was now your girlfriend, you lived together with shark. you were sorting through a couple of boxes containing things from your childhood, you looked through a diary you hadn't seen in a long time.

"she said that i made expressions like him.

my waist and my posture like him.

so do i look like him?"

a tear fell. you grabbed a pen, sitting down on the cold floor. you started writing in that old diary from your childhood.

"you can look like him

but you don't love like him."

you heard billie's sweet voice calling you to dinner. "my love?" she asked. you wiped away your tears but before you could compose yourself billie walked into the room, instantly getting worried. "baby! what happened sweetheart?"

she came over, crouching down beside you. you smiled.

"im just very happy."

you answered. your girlfriend's gaze fell to that old diary, reading those words. she didn't say anything, she just held you tight against her body, kissing your forehead. "i'm so proud of you."

"i'm proud of myself too."

you finally learned that life doesn't end when your father walks out that door of your childhood.

[actuallysaiyan]

Just Need A Little Lovin'(All Might/Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral sex(Fem receiving), lewd themes, some fluff, young age!Toshinori, Dave mention word count: 1.2k pairings: Young age!All Might/Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Reader summary: it's a slow progression when you and Toshi begin dating, but once you introduce him to sex, he becomes obsessed with eating pussy.

dividers: @adornedwithlight.

taglist: @thissaintjessi.  @cherryblossombankai, @thestarsystemsworld @pixelcafe-network.

When you started dating Toshinori, things were a little slow. He was so soft and so sweet. You taught him how to speak English, and he taught you how to speak Japanese. Dave thought the two of you were so adorable. He would never get tired of teasing the two of you all the time.

Things progressed slowly. It was a lot of trial and error and just getting to know each other. You two didn’t do anything intimate until months later. And after you two began to explore each other’s bodies, this is when Toshinori realized he was very obsessed with pussy.

Just the thought of your little pussy made him so hard. Whenever you weren’t around, he would find the panties he stole from you and he would jerk off. The bed would creak from his violent movements as he stroked his thick cock. The pink tip leaking so much precum, lubricating his hand. He tried to mimic what it felt like to fuck you, but it was just never enough.

You had joked that you created a monster, but really it was all to your benefit. You loved the fact that this big man was obsessed with you. He showered you in affection and sweetness along with all the mind blowing sex you two had.

One of Toshinori’s favorite things to do with you was to eat you out. Nothing better to him than to lick, suck and kiss that cute little cunt and have you shaking beneath him. A lot of the time, he enjoyed pulling you onto his face and having you ride his tongue.

Tonight, he’s feeling very needy. It’s been a little while since you two were able to have some alone time. So he’s sitting in your apartment, waiting like the good boy he is. When you walk through the door, he’s all over you within the instant.

“Missed you so much.” The big man wraps his arms around you, kissing you all over your face.

“Awh, I missed you too.” You say sweetly, kissing him back.

Toshi easily towers over you. But he’s so damn careful with his strength. He’d feel terrible if he ever truly hurt you. His hands are grabbing at you, pulling you closer. You can feel the boner in his tight jeans. You giggle softly, and the sound just makes his cock twitch.

“Needy, baby?” You ask him, looking into his eyes.

His eyes are dark with lust. “Missed you a lot, baby. My hand doesn’t feel as good as you.”

Those words alone make need pool deep inside of you. You swallow hard as you try to come to terms with just how horny Toshinori is. He gets down on his hands and knees, nuzzling his face between your thighs. No other man you’ve ever met has been this obsessed with giving oral sex.

“Can I please, please lick your pussy?”

You swallow hard again, and you nod. He shakes his head, whimpering softly as he continues to press his nose between your thighs. He takes long, greedy inhales of your scent through your pants.

“Please, tell me you want it too.” He practically begs.

You moan. “I want it. I want it so badly, Toshi.”

You gently tug on his soft hair, earning a loud moan from the big man on his knees in front of you. He pulls down your pants and panties swiftly, tossing them behind him. It takes seconds for him to dive in and begin devouring you.

His tongue is so warm, and so soft. He pulls your little bud between his lips, suckling on it like it’s his favorite candy. Just the look of him on his knees like this, face already wet with your juices and his own drool, has your knees buckling. Toshinori smirks before he pins you to the wall and allows you to rest your legs on his shoulders for support.

“Fuck,” you pant. “That’s my good boy. Such a good boy for me.”

His cock strains in his tight jeans. He lets out another whimpering noise before he’s shoving his face back between your thighs. Toshinori eagerly slurps up all your juices, making you shudder. Your fingers stay tangled in his hair and when you begin to hump his face for more pleasure, he doubles down on his efforts.

His tongue swirls around your clit before he sucks it between his lips once more. Toshinori looks up at you with your clit between his lips and you shake. The sight alone could send you over the edge. He then begins to press kiss after kiss to it, making it twitch with need.

“Toshi,” you whine his name so sweetly. “Toshi, your fingers…”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. You watch through hooded eyes as he sucks on two of his massive fingers, wetting them sufficiently. Then you cry out as he pumps them both into you, returning to his assault on your swollen little nub.

“Love tasting you,” he whines as he begins to pump his fingers. “Love making you cum.”

You’re not even able to form words, much less coherent thoughts. Here was this giant man on his knees for you, feasting at your cunt like it was the thing that would give him lifeforce. You barely notice when he pulls his cock out and begins to jerk off with his free hand.

Toshinori holds you up against the wall with just his sheer strength alone. You keep tugging on his hair as you hump yourself against his mouth and his fingers. You gasp when his fingers curl against that sweet spot of yours. You’re so close now, you don’t know if you can properly warn him.

It builds so fast, it leaves you blindsided. Waves of pure, blissful pleasure wrack through your body. The soft pants and whimpers that come from your lips make his cock twitch with need. Toshinori diligently pulls all the pleasure from you, moving his fingers within you to prolong every second of pleasure.

He presses one more kiss to your clit before he’s pulling away from you. Then you gasp when he pushes you against the wall, thrusting into you to be balls deep inside of you. You cling to him; your walls are still fluttering from the intense orgasm.

“S-sorry, just needed to fuck…needed to fuck so badly,” he whispers as he begins to pound himself into you.

The sound of wet skin slapping together fills the room obscenely. He’s pounding himself into you quickly and wantonly. His mouth attacks your neck, leaving hickies and marks on your skin. You tug on his hair again, pulling him in for a very sloppy kiss.

Your legs are shaking as you're headed towards another blissful orgasm. This time, you moan his name when you reach your peak. The pulsing of your walls pulls him over the edge as well, and he whimpers as he pumps you full of his cum. 

Toshinori leans his forehead against yours as he comes down from his high. You eagerly breathe in his soft pants as you two share soft little kisses. You’ve never been more in love with someone before.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he says sheepishly. “You need to stop staying away for so long.”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2025– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

[yesihaveaobsession]

His Antlers

Alastor x female!reader

Summary: A question has been brewing in the readers (you) mind, it was a filthy thought, but it's needed to be answered.

A/N- Heyyy, I’m back! I’m planning to write more this year. I didn’t finish many fics last year, mostly because I ran out of ideas, haha. So if you’ve got any Alastor fic ideas, feel free to drop them! I’ll pick a couple that catch my interest.

ALSO this was inspired by the questions and fics for us Alastor simps

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF FINISHING?

It was a quiet afternoon in the hotel lobby—the kind of quiet that felt almost suspicious, given the usual chaos that unfolded within its walls. You were slouched in one of the very worn-out armchairs, nose-deep in a magazine. Well, not really nose-deep. It was more half-heartedly clutched in your hands, and you hadn’t turned a page in what felt like forever.

Across from you sat Alastor, perfectly composed as always, a newspaper spread out in his clawed fingers. His crimson eyes scanned the pages with unnerving focus. But you couldn’t focus on your magazine. No, your thoughts had wandered somewhere... unforgivable.

Your gaze drifted to him again. The sharp angle of his antlers. The slight twitch of his ever-present smile. The occasional glimmer of mischief in his eyes. And then that cursed question popped into your head like a firecracker: Do his antlers… grow when he’s about to… finish?

You desperately tried to shake the thought. Why would you even think that?! It was awful and ridiculous. But now, the question had lodged itself in your brain, and no amount of page-flipping could erase it. Worse still, another thought followed. Has he ever… finished?

Your eyes flicked up from the same page you’d been stuck on to him again. He turned a page in his newspaper, looking perfectly unaware—or so you hoped. When he adjusted the angle of the paper, his antlers shifted slightly. The cursed thought burned brighter in your mind. You stared.

Alastor’s eyes suddenly darted up from his paper. Caught.

You snapped your gaze back to your magazine, heat rushing to your face, pretending the words—now a blur—were the most fascinating in all of Hell. Moments later, curiosity got the better of you, and you glanced up again.

But he was already looking at you, his crimson eyes locked onto yours. A sly, knowing smile tugged at his lips. He said nothing, simply raising a brow before returning to his paper. Was it hot in here?

This silent game of stolen glances and panicked averting went on for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. Finally, Alastor spoke, breaking the unbearable silence.

“You seem distracted, my dear. Something on your mind?” His voice was lilting, teasing, and far too amused.

You froze. There was no way you could ask him. Absolutely no way. He’d kill you—or worse, laugh at you forever. But the words bubbled up in your throat before you could stop them. Taking a deep breath, you blurted it out.

“Do your antlers grow when you… finish?”

The air in the room grew still. Too still. The hum of Alastor’s static seemed louder now, filling the silence that followed your question. Your eyes drifted to the old-timey radio on the table next to him, its static crackling ominously. He was going to kill you, wasn’t he? Slowly, he lowered his newspaper, folding it neatly and setting it aside. His grin widened, sharp and dangerous, his eyes gleaming with unmistakable delight.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his expression frozen in that wicked grin. Then his shoulders began to shake. A sound bubbled up from his chest—a low chuckle that quickly escalated into full-blown hysterical laughter.

“Oh, my dear!” he howled, clutching his stomach. “That is positively the most delightful question I’ve been asked in decades! HAHA! Oh, you do amuse me so!” He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye as his laughter subsided into soft chuckles.

Your face burned crimson. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “I—just forget I said anything,” you mumbled, burying your face in the magazine.

But Alastor wasn’t done. He leaned forward, his grin sharp and mischievous. “To answer your question… no, my antlers do not grow. Though,” he added, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ll leave the rest to your imagination. After all, it’s far more fun that way, wouldn’t you agree?”

You stared at him, speechless.

He leaned back in his chair, picking up his newspaper as if nothing had happened, leaving you to stew in your embarrassment. You knew you’d just given him endless ammunition to tease you with.

[prettyshinnythings]

The Offering. Chapter 2.

Story Idea: What if Sauron had been successful? What if he'd taken all of Middle Earth and obtained everything he ever desired? What if he still desired something more?

Warnings: This chapter is 18 plus. Contains smut, language, and an arranged marriage.

Pairings: Sauron x Reader

Chapter One

Chapter Two:

I slept for hours.

My body was exhausted from the night before and all that had transpired. 

My journey to this new place and all the anxiety that had come with it had taken much more of a toll on me than I had initially realized.

I awaken to the thought of my dark king, his voice echoing in the back of my mind. As if he was lying in the elegant canopied bed beside me. My eyes focus on the dark wood of the posts upholding the canopy and I watch as the flames of the torches lighting the room dance in the dark mahogany. It is an enchanting sight to be sure, the dancing flame granting me peace. I stretch in the bed and note how the silk sheets kiss the exposed skin that is uncovered by my nightdress. I had not seen my dark lord since the night before, but his presence hung around me. His eyes ever watching from some unknown corner of the room.

It should scare me, but it does not. I find it rather comforting.

Slowly, I sit up in the bed and take note of the light fighting to come in through the window across the room. It was impossible to know what the exact time was. The constant darkness and ash seemed to hang in the air like dust particles. My long hair cascades down my back, ringlets of curls falling down to the small of my back as I pull back the blankets of bed and swing my legs over the side. The pads of my feet find the warmed stone of the floor beneath me, warmed by the fireplace that warmed the room around me. As my eyes swept over every visible surface around me I am in awe of the comfort and contentment that I feel inside of me. So much so that i am almost convinced that the sight around me was all me was one of his illusions, but given that the firewood had burned down throughout the night, I could convince myself that it had to be real.

"There shall be no illusions with you, little dove."

My heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice as it sounds from behind me. In caution, I glance over my shoulder and meet his gaze while he stands in the doorway of his bed chamber. I swallow hard as his eyes rake up and down my body. The same mischievous glint that had been present in his eyes the night before is there now. He seems enthralled by the way my nightdress clings to every curve of my body. As though I was a statue made out of marble. Made just for his viewing pleasure. The look on his face makes me wish we were already wed. It makes me wish he would rip the fine silk from my body and claim me as his own.

He is amused by this thought when it enters my mind. His lips pull into a smug smile while he takes a step forward. The closer he gets to me, the more my nerves build up within me. I cease glancing over my shoulder and turn my attention to the fireplace before me. Sauron takes me in his hands, my back pressed into his chest as he wraps his arms around me. His lips are suddenly dangerously close to my ear as he lingers breathing me in.

"I will claim you in mind, body, and soul once we are wed..."

His voice drifts off for a moment, long enough for his lips to trace along the sensitive part of my pointed ear. His touch is deliberate and meant to conjure up the desire within me that was already brewing beneath the surface.

"... From this day forward you shall be mine and mine alone."

My breathing hitches and my eyes flutter closed at his words. A chill moves up my spine and leaves goosebumps in their wake as his hands slowly trace my bare arms before guiding his lips to my neck. Out of instinct, I tilt my head to grant him better access to my neck. An action that earns a groan from him. He appears satisfied with my willingness to trust him without question. Without a fight or protest. Instead, I feel like an Elven maiden stealing a moment with her betrothed. Not half of an arrangement brought together by others.

It feels natural and right.

He breathes me in once more, whilst I find myself leaning into his touch, my body molding in against his. I feel his hardened cock against my backside, a sensation that makes me feel powerful. Powerful because touching me caused the dark king to become wanton with desire. I, a princess of a small village, no one compared to him, and yet in his arms I felt power. With shaking hands, I reach out to touch the arms that have been wrapping me in an embrace against him. He wore longer sleeves so I could not feel him beneath me, but even being this close sent my head spinning.

"Will it always feel like this?"

I ask, my voice breathless and dizzying.

"Will you always consume me so thoroughly?"

My question hangs in the air around us for a moment, his lips unwilling to detach themselves from my neck. However, he does not let my question hang too long before responding in an uneven growl.

"It will, but it will take momentous work on both of our ends. A union, even arranged, always takes effort. But it is possible if you try hard enough."

Without saying anything more, there is a silent promise that falls over the two of us. As though we both do not want to lose whatever we have built between the both of us. Sure, it could be the newness of this situation, but a part of me felt that it could be something more than hormones and attraction. I knew that only time would be able to tell on that front but, as of this moment, I was more than content to be here in his arms.

A gentle sigh escapes his lips when the sound of knocking on the thick wooden door breaks us of our spell.

"The servants are here to ready you for our wedding. I am afraid we will have to wait until later to continue this."

He gives the side of my head one final kiss before pulling away from me. My body feels cold without his holding mine, but I try to not mourn the loss of him. Instead, I attempt to focus on the fact that we will be together again before nightfall. I glance over my shoulder one final time and watch him leave through the door, revealing the servants who stand on the other side of the door. Two elven maidens bow their heads as he passes them without a second glance.

They turn their attention towards me once we are alone before taking a step inside of the bedroom. Neither of them speaks to me as they gesture for me to follow them. Which I do without question, eager to do whatever I need to in order to be ready for my dark king.

--

He continues to consume all of my thoughts all through the morning as I ready myself. Every touch, the feeling of his lips on my skin, all of it played within my mind until finally, at long last, the time came and I was standing before the same door that I had met him through the night before. I was so consumed in my thoughts that I could hardly understand how I got here and how I had managed to get dressed into the most beautiful white gown my body has ever (and will ever) touch. All of it was a blur until this very moment. All I could think of was him. All I could think of was being his.

Even now, as I stand in front of the door with a bouquet of beautiful white and black flowers. I glance over them thoroughly as a desperate distraction from the nerves building inside of me. Nerves that only worsened when the doors of the throne room opened with a quiet creak. Chandeliers illuminated the room as I hesitated at the threshold, my hands nervously clasped in front of me. Peering inside I see a full room of Sauron's followers. Among them, were elves, men, and dwarves that had sworn allegiance to their King. Individuals who he rewarded for their loyalty when he had risen to power. A court of finely dressed beings reaping a reward so many would never know. I swallow hard and take a step forward, my feet finally carrying me over the threshold and into the room with everyone else.

Mixed in the back were the elven servants who stared back at me with blank eyes. All of them have the same collars around their necks as the elf that I had seen the night before. The same as the two maidens that helped me to get ready for this very moment. I knew that Sauron hated the elves and had enslaved most of them the moment he rose to power. He hated all elves. All, but one small village of them. The same one I had borne into. The same village who offered me up as a wife to the dark king.

My village never stood against Sauron and he was about to reward them for their compliance. Just as he had rewarded his followers handsomely.

The moment I think of him, my eyes find him at the end of the aisle. Since he was the king he stood there alone, without a priest or religious figurehead to officiate this ceremony. Though Sauron had as much power as a God, it made sense that he would run his own union without the interference of others. A cruel smile befalls his handsome face as I approach him as quickly as my nerves will allow me to move. He did not seem to mind the slowed pace, if anything his smile grew at the acknowledgment of my nerves. It did not help that the full room of strangers kept their eyes squarely on me. Under their gazes, I feel judgment radiating beneath the surface. A mixture of loathing and jealousy flickering behind forced expression.

He ignores the others and remains fixated on me as I carry myself forward. Unable to ignore the stares of strangers, I decide to use him as my visual anchor whilst I move forward. It felt like an eternity before I was within his reach and once I was, he outstretched his hands towards me. The moment he touches me, the spark that I had felt this morning before shoots up my spine. The dark desire within me is strong enough to take my breath away.

Before his kingdom, we stand hands entwined. All he has to do to start the ceremony is part his lips and the entire room grows even more silent than it had been before. The power over his people amuses him, his smirk growing.

"We are gathered here, in the heart of Mordor. In my kingdom to celebrate the union of myself and the celestial elven Princess, (y/n). This union is to mark the goodwill between our kingdom and the people who reside in it. With (y/n) at my side, we will continue to bring peace and perfection to Middle Earth. With every heir she gives me, I promise that my children will live alongside you and help maintain this peace and order. This is my promise to you, that our union will ensure all cement the future of Middle Earth under my rule. Together we may move forward into a new form of perfection."

He finishes speaking and is met by forced applause from everyone in attendance. At the mention of heirs, I feel my stomach turn. I had never believed Sauron to be the type of man who would want children. I always imagined that he would be too afraid of his power being handed down to any offspring. That he could be jealous if any heir surpassed his power.

My thoughts return to the present as he gives my hand a little squeeze, noticing my sudden mental distance.

"Do you swear your loyalty to me princess (y/n)? Do you swear to bind yourself to me from this day forward until the end of all days?"

When he asks this question it is loud enough for everyone to hear it, but there's something in the way his eyes peer into mine that makes me feel as if it is just the two of us together. Like we are in our own sacred ritual.

The way that it had been for my parents before me.

"I swear my loyalty to you Lord Sauron. I swear to bind myself to you from this day to the end of all my days. I swear to be your wife, the bearer of your heirs, and to do the very best for Middle Earth."

I swear more than I need to and it catches my betrothed off guard, but he seems pleased.

"Then let it be known that as of this moment, the Princess (y/n) and I are wed before you and under my decree as the Lord of Middle Earth and the Ruler of Rings of Power. Let our union be sealed with a kiss."

I give our audience a final look, the servants offering a look sympathy in their eyes even as their faces remain blank. His words bring an awful promise of more time under his reign. A deeper weaving of power that would sink deeper into the earth, consuming all they had known before he rose to power. They looked at me with sympathy because they knew that this union was a tool for achieving this new power. Like a pawn piece. But as his lips descend onto mine, his kiss seems to tell me that I am more than that.

And I want, more than anything, to believe him.

-

From the moment that the ceremony concludes I am caught up in a dizzying flurry of emotions. Nonstop and ever-consuming until finally, I stood in the quiet peace and tranquility of his chambers.

Our chambers.

My mind feels the effects of the day, all of the build-up to this moment had weighed upon my mind more than I had previously realized. It is not until I hear the quiet locking of the door that it truly hits me that I am alone with my husband. This morning had been but a taste of what it would be like to be in his arms. How whole we could feel alone, but this time I knew there would be no servants interrupting us. No stopping once we start.

At the thought, I turn to face my dark king. My eyes are wide as I study him in the firelight of the room. He looks handsome as always, and it's enough to take my breathing hitch. I study him for the first time, up close and without raw lust building up within me. As if this is the first time that I am truly seeing him for myself.

"You are beautiful."

I whisper in awe, unable to stop myself from letting the words slip from my mouth. It was a silly comment, but a true one all the same. He lowers his head and peers up at me with an amused expression dancing in his eyes. A smile plays on his lips and it seems to enhance his beauty. He does not speak, simply reaches for me, his hands taking mine in his.

"It is I, who should be saying that to you."

He speaks softly. My cheeks flush at the compliment, but I do not know if I believe them or if he has simply stated this to ease me into what we were to do next. Either way, I feel the smile pull at my lips. He was known for whispering sweet nothings of deception to the ones he used. I could not help but wonder if I was just another tool to be used. A partner for heirs and nothing more.

"I have already told you little dove, there will be no illusions with you. No deception or malice. With you, I shall be nothing more than your husband."

He takes a step forward, eyes seeming to darken a shade. He steps forward once more, his hands drawing my body in against his. Chest to chest we stand as anticipation hangs between the two of us. Our gazes locked together.

"My dark king."

I whisper, feeling the nerve bubbling up within me. Enough nerve that I find myself moving onto my tiptoes, my lips going against his. I do not know what has overcome me, but he does not deny me the sweet sensation of his lips kissing me back. His hands are in my hair, entangled in the loose curls that fell to the middle of my back. There is no calm between the two of us as we kiss. Instead, we are at each other like starved animals. I had never thought of what it would be like the first time I would be with a man, but I had no idea it would feel like this. This craving is completely undeniable.

"My dark queen."

His voice breaks through the uneven breathing, his words whispered against my lips. I feel frantic and frenzied, my eyes locking with his as he attempts to control himself. Slowly, his left-hand traces over my shoulder, his ring-clad finger linking under the thin strap of my wedding dress. A chill moves up my spine when I feel the ring lightly brush against my skin. 

His one ring to rule them all.

 I breathe in a slow steady breath as he pulls the strap off of my shoulder. He pulls away, eyes trained on me while he slowly walks around me. He stops walking behind me after a moment. With his chest against my back, he breathes me in, the same way he had before. My eyes flutter closed and the tension builds between the both of us.

"You have been on my mind all day..."

He breathes, his lips on my neck. My breathing hitches when I feel the cold metal of his ring on my other shoulder, linking under the strap and pulling it off of my shoulder. When he does this, the fabric of my wedding dress falls off of my body, pooling onto the floor at my feet. I am completely naked under my wedding dress, but I cannot bring myself to care that I am so exposed to him. I am too engulfed in him and the way his lips brush along my neck. The coolness of the night air brushes against my nipples, causing them to harden, and my breathing to hitch once more. A dark chuckle falls from his lips before guiding his hands to trace over my shoulders and then down around me, resting over my breasts. His fingers toy with my nipples causing a sharp intake of breath on my behalf. I had never imagined that anyone could make me feel like this. I had heard that sins of the flesh were all-consuming, but this made my skin feel like it was on fire.

"... All I could think about was resuming what we started earlier."

My lips part and a gasp escapes me when he lightly twists and pulls at my nipples. He hums in satisfaction when he hears me gasp. I can feel him smirk at the sound of desperation that bubbles from within me. I cannot focus when one hand slips from my breast and down my torso. Slowly, the pads of his fingers trace down every curve of my body descending lower and lower until he reaches my sensitive bud. I inhale sharply at the slightest bit of pressure that he places against me. His thumb starts to rub small circles against the bud.

"Oh my."

Those two words are all I can manage to say before he sinks one finger inside of me. He pumps the finger in and out of me slowly, my sex wet with desire. Another chuckle escapes him as I find my body naturally moving against his finger, my body in need of friction.

"You are a naughty little minx, aren't you? Using my finger to please you."

I find myself leaning into him, my head resting back against his chest. He adds another finger into my sex, his other hand still toying with my nipple.

"Please..."

I whimper, the overstimulation of my body becoming too much for me to bear. This was my first time being touched like this, this was my first time feeling so many of these new sensations.

"... It is all so much. I do not know how much more I can take."

A tsk tsk pulls from his lips, thrusting his two fingers inside of me a little deeper causing my knees to buckle.

"Oh come now, you would be surprised how much torture a body can withstand."

A shiver moves up my spine at his words. I knew who my husband was and what torture he had caused thousands to endure. If there was anyone who knew what bodies could endure it was him.

"Is that what you seek to do dear husband? To consummate our marriage through the cruel torture of your hands?"

I feel a bundle of nerves in my lower stomach and with each thrust of his fingers and flick of my sensitive bud, the nerves seem to build up. Like an explosion ready to spill over. Another moan falls from my lips and his thrusts quicken. He can sense what my body needs and the release I feel my body is gearing up to do. This new sensation was foreign but invited all the same. I find myself reaching behind me, my hands resting on the side of his face while he starts to mark my skin. His hand that had been on my breast reaches up to rest over mine, a low growl escaping him. My head feels as if it is spinning and the build-up of nerves becomes all-consuming and my body cannot handle another moment of it. I feel myself come undone on his fingers, my body quivering as my walls tighten around his fingers before relaxing once my body finally comes back down.

"My darling, you will find that some torture is worth it."

He groans, pulling his fingers from my core. He brings his fingers to his mouth once he has unlatched himself from my neck and licks them clean. I watch him in a haze before he turns me to face him, lifting me up into his arms when he sees how weak my legs have become. My eyes feel heavy but my racing heart keeps me alert and bracing for whatever he has planned next.

Pausing at the foot of the bed, his eyes look into mine. As if he is truly seeing me for the first time since we met the night before. He swallows hard when I do not look away, completely unable to look away from him.

"What is it?"

I ask, my eyes moving from his to his lips and then back up to his gaze. Without thinking I bite the bottom of my lip, the unknown of what was about to transpire between the both of us hanging in the air. I can tell that he wants to say something, but he shakes his head rather than responding. Instead, he lays me down on the bed. He stands back up and studies my naked body before him before moving his hands to his long tunic. He removes it and everything else that had been on his body before turning to the bed, my body pinned beneath his. I gance own at his hardened cock, leaking with precum, and ready to be buried deep within me.

"I will be gentle little dove. It is not my wish to cause you any discomfort."

He groans the words, pressing his lips to mine while he slides inside of me. The feeling of him inside of me is unlike anything I could have expected. I had always wondered what my first time would be like. I had always thought men must have preferred sex compared to women, that wedding nights consisted of careless thrusts until the man got what he wanted leaving their wives used shells by the end of the night. But this, this was something else entirely. This moment felt fulfilling and deeply intoxicating. I did not feel discomfort only sheer bliss from the way that husband's cock fit inside of me.

Sauron does not move once he is inside of me. He waits a moment for my body to adjust, his lips tender against mine. When he does start moving he is gentle. Starting off with a slow roll of his hips, his cock moving deeper inside of me.

He groans breaking the kiss to murmur.

"So tight... Like you were made for me."

He sounds almost as if he is detached in this moment, as though he is lost in his pleasure. But he grips me tightly, ensuring that I feel the very same pleasure he feels at this moment. I find myself spreading my legs as far as they can go, like an invitation for him to keep moving. Reading my mind he begins pushing himself in and out of me at a faster pace. My hands reach for his chest, running them along his broad and strong shoulders. Memorizing him as though this would be the only time I would ever get to have him this way. His own hands are planted firmly on either side of my torso, propping him up while he continues his movements.

My eyes look to the canopy hanging above us in our bed and can see our shadows faintly dance in the firelight along the light fabric. It is almost hypnotizing to watch, and it arouses a deeper feeling inside of me. A breathlessness that accompanied the bundle of nerves I had felt earlier when he had his fingers buried deep inside of me. The same sensation I had moments before I came undone. But I try to focus on him and his pleasure. Knowing he had yet to have the same release I could not help but wonder what it would feel like if he came inside of me.  Reading my mind, my husband peers down at me, his eyes a darker shade than they had been moments before. He angles himself to hit the bundle of nerves directly with his cock. An action that causes me to moan, my hands holding onto him for support.

"Tonight is about you (y/n). If you want to feel me fill you up with my seed, I will. We have eternity to chase our pleasures for one another."

He makes the same movement he just had, moaning with me as he feels my walls tighten around him. I was on the precipice of letting go, one more movement like that, and I would be done for.

"My dark king, cum inside of me. Fill me with your seed. I want to feel you."

I beg in the darkness of our bedroom. My voice is unashamed of the deep desire I feel inside of me. My request hangs in the air around us for only a moment before his lips find one once more and with one final thrust he and I cum together at the same time. His seed was hot and deep inside of me. My walls milk him of his seed, my sex is greedy for all he could give me.

We lay locked and remained together like this until his cock sends one final twitch of cum inside of me. Only then does he pull out of me. He lays on the bed next to me with a quiet look of satisfaction on his face. Without saying a word he pulls me next to him, resting my head on his chest before wrapping an arm around me.

"Mine."

He rasps, my eyes catching his. One last look before my eyelids grow heavy and I feel sleep calling for me.

"Yours."

[sabrinasopposite]

you'll always find a way back home ❀

clark kent x reader (miley stewart summer au)

❀ summary: being a cali-girl has its advantages—surrounded by beaches, parties, and sunshine. Y/N loves her life there, but she forgets that deep down, her roots lie in the opposite: Smallville. Her summer takes an unexpected turn when she returns to Smallville for her summer break and crosses paths once again with her childhood enemy, Clark Kent.

word count: 6,755

There’s always the best of both worlds—one filled with glamour and the other, well, the opposite of it. The same could be said for Malibu and Smallville. Malibu embodied glamorous salt air, the sound of waves, and the endless rush of life. Smallville, on the other hand, was different: cows, meadows, and pure silence—the opposite sides of existence.

For Y/N, the feeling of living in two different worlds wasn’t a big deal. She had left one world behind at the age of seven, spending the next ten years in Malibu. Salt air, endless beaches, and the golden glow of the sun—it was a life she had carved out for herself, a world she had seamlessly become part of. The rush of city life, the hum of vibrant streets, and the pulse of constant motion nourished her soul in ways she could never have imagined as a seven-year-old. The sprawling metropolis of Malibu felt like a living, thriving entity at the edge of the world.

Before Malibu, there was only Smallville. The life she had known as a child was painted in shades of green—vast, open fields stretching endlessly in every direction. The land was quiet, so silent it could almost swallow her whole. Days were spent wandering dusty roads on horseback, the sun scorching the back of her neck, while the sound of crickets and rustling corn served as her only soundtrack. It was a life where the horizon never seemed to change, and the sense of being trapped within the narrow confines of the small town’s heartbeat was ever-present. A world of barns, hand-me-down denim, and the thick scent of earth—the very soil seemed to anchor her in place, a constant reminder of who she once was.

Then came the transformation. She shed the weight of Smallville like an old, weathered coat and replaced it with the sleek, gleaming allure of Malibu. Gone were the cowboy boots—now she walked in strappy sandals. The scent of hay gave way to the salty tang of the ocean breeze. Her hands, once calloused from farmwork, now held delicate silk fabrics and the soft sheen of designer handbags. Dusty roads became wide, pristine boulevards, and the simple country air was replaced by the intoxicating aroma of city life.

And she liked it.

Hell, she loved it.

She loved being a city girl, a Cali girl.

She had long forgotten the quiet winds that swept through Smallville’s open fields, the scent of grass and earth underfoot, and the cool embrace of the night sky.

Yet, as summer break loomed, she envisioned herself spending it with friends at the beach or going to parties. But plans took an unexpected twist, like a tornado without warning. Her father, Robbie, appeared with his ever-stubborn insistence. He informed Y/N and her brother, Jackson, that they were heading back to Smallville for a celebration—Martha Kent’s birthday.

Martha, Robbie’s childhood friend and the ever-kind, patient woman, had invited them to join the Kents for the occasion. Y/N wasn’t thrilled. Her original summer plans had promised excitement, filled with the laughter of friends and the sparkle of club lights—the kind of plans Malibu always encouraged. Smallville, though? It felt like a relic of the past, a place where time stood still.

“I don’t want to go,” Y/N protested, her voice sharp with frustration as she flopped back onto the couch. “I had plans. I was going to hang out with my friends, hit the clubs, you know, actually have fun.”

Robbie raised an eyebrow. “This is important, Y/N. You haven’t seen Martha in years. She’s been asking about you. You’re going, and that’s final.”

Y/N crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You’re really going to make me spend my break in a field with cows and tractors?”

Her brother, Jackson—the ever-peacemaker and, somehow, the most annoying brother—glanced over with a sympathetic smile. “Come on, Y/N, it’ll be fun. Like old times. You can hang out with me, catch up with everyone, and maybe the fresh air will do you some good.”

Y/N groaned, slumping into the cushions. “I don’t need fresh air. I need a beach, not cornfields.”

But her father wasn’t listening to her complaints. “Pack your bags. We’re leaving in an hour.”

The truck rumbled along the familiar winding roads of Smallville, the scent of dust and fresh air filling the cab. Y/N leaned against the window, her fingers idly tracing patterns in the condensation. Outside, fields stretched endlessly in all directions, dotted with grazing cows and the occasional weathered barn. The sight should have been nostalgic, but to Y/N, it only deepened her annoyance.  

It had been years since she’d been here, yet the quiet of the countryside felt almost suffocating. The stillness pressed against her like a heavy blanket, the kind that made it hard to breathe. Smallville seemed frozen in time—its unchanging landscapes a stark contrast to the vibrant motion of Malibu.  

She glanced over at Jackson, who was scrolling through his phone in the passenger seat, annoyingly unbothered by their sudden detour into the past. Robbie sat behind the wheel, humming along to a country station on the radio, clearly in his element. The whole scene made Y/N’s skin itch.  

She sighed, the sound loud enough to get Jackson’s attention. He smirked without looking up from his phone. “You okay there, city girl?”  

“Fine,” Y/N muttered, shifting in her seat. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how irritated she was. But in truth, she wasn’t fine. The weight of Smallville’s simplicity—the fields, the dirt roads, the lack of anything remotely exciting—was already settling over her like a cloud.  

The truck slowed as they passed the familiar white sign welcoming them to Smallville. Y/N’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. The memories she’d worked so hard to bury began clawing their way back to the surface: the laughter of kids on the school playground, the smell of hay bales during harvest, the quiet nights spent staring at the stars because there was nothing else to do.  

She shifted her gaze back to the window, trying to drown out the flood of emotions with the rhythmic crunch of the tires on the gravel road. “Why couldn’t we just send a card?” she grumbled under her breath, earning a chuckle from Robbie.  

“It won’t kill you to be here for a few days,” her father said, his tone equal parts teasing and firm. “Besides, Martha’s been looking forward to seeing you. She’s practically family, Y/N.”  

Y/N rolled her eyes. That was the problem. Smallville wasn’t just a place she’d left behind—it was a version of herself she’d buried, a girl she didn’t want to be anymore. Being back here felt like opening a door she’d slammed shut years ago, and she wasn’t ready to step through it.  

As the truck turned down a familiar dirt road, the Kent farmhouse came into view. It looked exactly as she remembered—whitewashed walls, a wide wraparound porch, and the iconic red barn standing proud against the horizon. Y/N could already picture Martha’s warm smile and open arms, the way she’d welcome them with fresh pie and a hug that felt like it could squeeze the air out of your lungs.  

Her father parked the truck and hopped out, stretching with a contented sigh. “We’re here,” he announced cheerfully.  

Y/N stayed put, gripping the door handle but not opening it. The idea of stepping out and being enveloped in the reality of Smallville made her stomach churn. She wasn’t ready to see the barn, the fields, or the people who would ask her questions she didn’t want to answer. She wasn’t ready to feel like the little girl who used to belong here.  

“Y/N?” Jackson’s voice broke through her thoughts. He was standing outside now, leaning against the truck with a knowing look on his face. “You coming, or are you planning to live in the cab?”  

With a heavy sigh, Y/N pushed the door open and slid out. The warm summer air wrapped around her like a blanket, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. It was as if Smallville itself was welcoming her home.  

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and trudged toward the house, muttering under her breath, “This is going to be the longest summer of my life.”  

The Kent farmhouse was just as Y/N remembered it, a picture-perfect postcard of rural life. The white picket fence framed the yard, the flowerbeds bursting with color, and the iconic red barn standing tall against the clear blue sky. Despite herself, she felt a twinge of warmth at the sight of it all.

Martha Kent stood on the porch, her apron dusted with flour, waving enthusiastically as the truck pulled to a stop. Y/N couldn’t help but smile a little. Martha’s energy was infectious, and her kind heart had always been a constant source of comfort during Y/N’s early years in Smallville.

“Y/N! Jackson! Oh, it’s so good to see you both!” Martha exclaimed, rushing forward with open arms. Robbie got out of the truck first, grinning as Martha pulled him into a quick hug before moving on to Y/N and Jackson.

Y/N braced herself for the inevitable bone-crushing hug, but when Martha wrapped her arms around her, it wasn’t suffocating—it was warm and reassuring, like stepping into the sunlight after a cloudy day. “Look at you! You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman,” Martha said, pulling back to get a good look at her.

“Thanks, Martha,” Y/N said, her voice softening in spite of her earlier annoyance. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“And Jackson, my goodness, you’ve shot up like a weed!” Martha added, giving him a playful nudge.

Jackson grinned, always happy to be the center of attention. “It’s good to see you too, Mrs. Kent.”

“Now, none of this ‘Mrs. Kent’ business. You know you can call me Martha,” she said, ushering them toward the porch.

The house smelled like freshly baked apple pie, with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg lingering in the air. Y/N couldn’t deny that it felt nice—familiar, even. Martha’s home had always been a safe haven, a place filled with warmth and kindness.

As they settled into the living room, Martha brought out a tray of lemonade and cookies, chatting animatedly with Robbie about old times. Jackson joined in, sharing stories of their life in Malibu. Y/N stayed mostly quiet, sipping her lemonade and letting the conversation flow around her. She liked Martha, but being back in Smallville was like stepping into a pair of old shoes that didn’t quite fit anymore.

“Clark’s not here, by the way,” Martha said suddenly, glancing at Y/N with a knowing smile. “He’s somewhere.”

Y/N froze, her fingers tightening around her glass. Of course, Clark Kent would come up eventually. He was practically Smallville royalty, and Martha couldn’t help but dote on her son.

“That’s… fine,” Y/N said quickly, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Clark Kent was the most annoying boy next door, y/n has ever known. He was always teasing her about her farming skills, or pulled pranks with Jackson on her. Y/N always teased Clark that he couldn’t speak properly to girls, or that he looks like a grandpa. It was always forth and back.

Martha chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I seem to remember the two of you didn’t get along very well as kids.”

Jackson snorted. “Didn’t get along? That’s putting it mildly. Clark was always teasing her—pushing her to the hay, hiding her toys, calling her ‘city slicker’ even though she wasn’t from the city back then.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, annoyance was clear on her face. “Yeah, well, he was a terror. I’m surprised he didn’t get himself kicked out of kindergarten.”

Martha laughed, clearly amused. “Oh, he’s grown out of that phase, I promise. He’ll be happy to see you.”

Y/N highly doubted that. The last time she’d seen Clark Kent, they’d been seven years old, and he’d shoved a frog into her lunchbox, resulting in her shrieking so loudly the teacher had to call the principal and Y/N pushed him later as revenge to a lake. The memory still made her cringe.

“Well, let’s hope he’s matured,” Y/N said in a sarcastically tone, setting her glass down on the coffee table.

Martha patted her hand gently. “I’m sure you’ll both get along better now. People change, Y/N.”

“Sure they do,” Y/N replied, though she wasn’t convinced. If Clark Kent was still the same smug, teasing boy she remembered, this summer was about to become a whole lot more complicated.

After the small talk in the living room had run its course, Y/N found herself wandering toward the window, gazing out at the sprawling fields behind the Kent house. Her eyes drifted to the paddock near the barn, and her breath caught when she spotted a familiar figure—Blue Jeans, her old horse.  

The years hadn’t dulled his striking appearance. His glossy black coat gleamed in the sunlight, his white star-shaped marking standing out proudly on his forehead. Her heart squeezed as memories of riding him across the fields rushed back—those carefree days when the world felt vast and full of possibilities.  

“He’s still here,” Y/N murmured, more to herself than anyone else.  

Martha, who had been tidying up, looked over and smiled warmly. “Of course, he is. Robbie couldn’t bear to part with him after you guys left. He’s been here ever since.”  

Y/N couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at her lips. Blue Jeans had been her constant companion during her Smallville years, a source of comfort when the quiet got too loud. She suddenly felt a tug of nostalgia and longing that she hadn’t anticipated.  

“I’m going to go see him,” she said abruptly, grabbing her phone and heading toward the door.  

The heat of the sun kissed her skin as she walked across the yard, the scents of hay and earth growing stronger with every step. When she reached the paddock, Blue Jeans was grazing lazily near the fence, his tail swishing against the flies.  

“Hey there, boy,” Y/N called softly, leaning against the wooden fence. Her voice wavered slightly, a mix of excitement and nervousness. “It’s me, Blue Jeans. Remember me?”  

The horse’s ears twitched, and he lifted his head to look at her. His dark eyes, once so full of trust and familiarity, now stared at her with a distant curiosity. Y/N felt a pang of disappointment.  

“It’s been a while, huh?” she said, stepping closer. She reached out a hand, hoping he’d recognize her scent or the sound of her voice. “I’ve missed you, you know.”  

Blue Jeans regarded her for a moment longer before snorting and turning his head away, clearly uninterested.  

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Y/N murmured, slipping through the fence and into the paddock. She approached slowly, her hand outstretched, but as soon as she got close, Blue Jeans startled. His ears pinned back, and before she could react, he bolted across the paddock, his hooves kicking up clouds of dust.  

“Blue Jeans, wait!” Y/N called, her heart sinking as she watched him gallop toward the far side of the field.  

She stood there for a moment, the weight of his reaction pressing down on her. He didn’t remember her. The bond they’d shared—the one she’d thought would last forever—was gone.  

Frustration welled up as she stopped near the edge of the pasture, catching her breath. She hadn’t expected this—her own horse, the one she’d ridden through countless childhood summers, didn’t even know her anymore.

Movement on the far side of the field caught her eye. A rider was approaching swiftly on a sleek black horse, cutting across the open space with practiced ease. They seemed to have noticed Blue Jeans’ runaway gallop and were moving to intercept him.

Y/N squinted, trying to make out the rider. The sunlight glinted off the black horse’s glossy coat as the figure leaned low in the saddle, guiding the animal with effortless precision.

The rider expertly maneuvered their horse, heading off Blue Jeans before he could get any farther. With a firm but gentle pull of the reins, they brought him to a halt. The black horse stood steady, calm in its dominance, while Blue Jeans pawed at the ground, uncertain but no longer running.

Y/N stood frozen, watching the rider stroke Blue Jeans’ neck and murmur something she couldn’t hear. She felt a pang of gratitude mixed with curiosity.

As the rider turned and began leading the two horses back toward the barn, Y/N finally got a better look. The tall figure was dressed in a simple flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. The confidence in his movements stirred something vaguely familiar in her memory, but she couldn’t place it right away.

When the rider dismounted, handing Blue Jeans’ reins to her, Y/N finally got a clear look at his face—and her breath caught. 

Clark Kent.

Of course, that was him.

He looked different—taller, broader, more confident—but the smug little smirk on his face as he approached was unmistakable.

“Lost something?” he called out, his voice carrying across the field.

Y/N crossed her arms, her jaw tightening as Clark brought both horses to a stop in front of her. Blue Jeans looked calm now, his ears twitching as Clark dismounted and handed her the reins.

“Your horse didn’t seem too thrilled to see you,” Clark said, his tone light but with that teasing edge she remembered all too well.

Y/N snatched the reins from his hand, glaring at him. “He just didn’t recognize me. It’s been a while.”

Clark raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, if that’s what you want to tell yourself.”

She huffed, focusing on stroking Blue Jeans’ neck instead of responding. Clark’s black horse snorted behind him, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice how well-trained and strong the animal looked.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked, trying to sound casual but failing to hide her irritation.

Clark shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I could ask you the same, city girl. Perhaps I was riding but I didn’t think I’d end up saving your horse in the process and I am still waiting for a ,thank you,” His tone sarcastically as ever.

“Thanks,” she muttered begrudgingly, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone annoyingly cheerful.

As Clark mounted his horse again, he glanced back at her with a grin that made her blood boil. “Good to see you again, city girl. Try not to lose him next time.”

With that, he urged his horse into a trot and rode off, leaving Y/N standing there with Blue Jeans and a swirl of emotions she didn’t want to unpack.

“Great,” she muttered under her breath, tugging lightly on Blue Jeans’ reins. “Welcome back to Smallville.”

Y/N walked slowly back toward the barn, Blue Jeans obediently following behind her, though he was still skittish from the brief escape. Her thoughts were racing, the familiar, maddening presence of Clark Kent bringing all kinds of feelings she’d hoped were buried. She couldn’t believe it—after all these years, he was still the same teasing, infuriating kid she remembered. Only now, he was taller, more confident, and somehow, even more irritating.

As she reached the barn, she heard the sound of hooves approaching again. This time, it was slower, more deliberate. She glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, there was Clark, riding his horse back toward her. 

He pulled the reins as he stopped a few feet away, his eyes narrowing with that mischievous glint she remembered so well. 

“So, Malibu, huh?” he said, his tone light and teasing, as if he was trying to provoke her. “I actually didn’t even recognize you earlier. Thought you were some California tourist passing through.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks. “You’re not the first person to make that mistake,” she muttered, stroking Blue Jeans’ neck a little more forcefully than necessary. 

Clark chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “No kidding. You look nothing like the girl I used to torment.” His gaze shifted up and down, inspecting her with an expression that felt far too knowing. “You’ve definitely changed. I barely recognized you without the pigtails and the dirt on your face.”

Y/N couldn’t suppress a huff of frustration. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve been really paying attention,” she shot back, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Why would I want to look like that annoying little girl you used to pick on?” 

Clark grinned, clearly enjoying every second of this. “You know, I never understood why you were so touchy about me teasing you. It was all in good fun. You were, what, seven? Not like you’d remember any of it now.” His eyes twinkled as if he was savoring the memory of their childhood rivalry. 

“Trust me,” Y/N replied, her tone sharp, “I remember plenty. And just because I don’t look like that girl anymore doesn’t mean I’m not still the same person.” 

Clark leaned back slightly in the saddle, crossing his arms over his chest. “Right. Of course. But it’s hard to see past the whole… Malibu vibe. You’ve got the whole ‘I’m way too cool for Smallville’ thing going on.” His grin widened, and Y/N couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or genuinely poking at something he knew would get under her skin.

Y/N glanced at him, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not too cool for Smallville,” she said slowly, “but maybe it’s you who can’t see past the small-town life. Maybe it’s you who hasn’t changed.” 

Clark raised an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by her comment. “I changed. I’m just not *bragging* about it like you are.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, indicating the way she stood in front of him, her posture more confident, her clothes undoubtedly a far cry from the ones she’d worn all those years ago. “I mean, Malibu does wonders for a person.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush but refused to back down. “I’m not bragging. And for the record, there’s more to me than whatever you think you see from your small-town perspective.” She met his gaze, refusing to let him get the best of her. “You know, I didn’t ask for this visit. I had better plans than standing here in the dust, talking to the same person who made my life miserable when we were kids.”

Clark leaned forward in the saddle, his expression softening slightly. “Hey, I’m just messing with you. I didn’t mean anything by it. But seriously, Malibu… It must be a whole different world from here, huh?” His tone was more genuine now, though still laced with that teasing undercurrent. “I bet it’s *pretty* hard to leave it all behind.”

Y/N hesitated. For a moment, the teasing and the rivalry faded, and she could hear the underlying curiosity in his voice. “Yeah,” she admitted, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “It’s... different. It’s all the things people think it is—beaches, sun, parties. But it’s also lonely. Harder than people realize.” 

Clark’s smile faded, and he gave a small nod, as if he understood more than he was letting on. “I get it. Doesn’t matter how shiny things are. Not every place feels like home.” 

Y/N looked at him, surprised by the change in tone. For a moment, it felt like they weren’t just two childhood enemies standing in the middle of a field—they were two people who, in their own ways, were just trying to make sense of their worlds. 

But before she could say anything more, Clark seemed to snap back to his usual self. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your horse,” he said with a wink. “Just don’t lose him again, okay? I don’t want to have to rescue you next time.”

Y/N scowled. “You’re lucky I’m not punching you right now,” she shot back, but even as she said it, there was an undeniable hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Clark laughed, a light, carefree sound that made Y/N realize how little she actually knew about the boy who had teased her for so long. “I’ll be around, city girl. Don’t go getting too comfortable.”

Y/N watched him go, the sting of their old rivalry still there but somehow not as sharp. Maybe Smallville wasn’t as small as she remembered after all.

Over the next few days, Y/N found herself spending more time with Clark than she’d expected. Every time she tried to avoid him, he seemed to find a way to show up, like some kind of cosmic joke. And despite her best efforts to maintain her distance, she couldn’t help but feel a strange pull toward him. It was the kind of pull that only small towns seemed to foster—familiar, unspoken, and inescapable.

It started innocently enough. Martha had insisted that they all help with the chores around the farm, and, of course, Clark had been the first to show up, grinning like a cat that had gotten the cream. 

“Ready to get your hands dirty, city girl?” he’d teased, standing at the entrance of the barn with his sleeves rolled up, looking like he belonged there more than anyone else.

Y/N shot him a glare, arms crossed. “I’ll have you know, I’m perfectly capable of doing chores, thank you very much.”

He chuckled, clearly not convinced. “I doubt you’ve done a real day’s work in your life,” he shot back, leaning against a barrel of hay. “I mean, Malibu’s great and all, but I don’t think they teach you how to muck out a stall out there.”

She clenched her jaw. “You’d be surprised what I can handle.”

And handle it, she did. After a little grumbling, they worked side by side, shoveling hay, cleaning out the barn, and feeding the animals. At first, it was awkward—Y/N wasn’t used to the rhythm of farm life anymore, and Clark didn’t hesitate to point out every little mistake she made. 

“Oh, you missed a spot,” he’d tease, always with that smirk of his, as he wiped his hands on his jeans. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it, city girl.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the truth was, she liked the banter. It reminded her of her childhood, when everything was simpler, when everything had felt like a game. 

“Look, if you think I can’t do this, just wait until I show you how it’s done,” she said, determined to prove him wrong. 

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? I’m waiting.”  

And then, to his surprise, Y/N had grabbed the pitchfork and shoveled with more precision than he had expected. She might not have grown up with the same skills as him, but she knew how to get things done.  

When they finally took a break, Clark leaned against the barn wall, wiping his forehead. “Alright, I’ll admit it. You’re not as bad as I thought. Maybe Malibu’s *not* all you are.”

Y/N smirked, a spark of competition in her eyes. “Told you so.”  

Their time together continued like that—moments of teasing and lighthearted jabs followed by quiet, almost comfortable silences. They’d ride together out in the fields, their horses’ hooves beating a steady rhythm on the dirt. Clark would always make sure to *just barely* stay ahead of her, giving her a playful wink when she caught up. 

“You know, I’ve always been better at this than you,” he would say, his voice a mix of challenge and amusement. “You used to be so slow. Guess Malibu's not doing much for your speed.”

Y/N would roll her eyes. “You really need to stop talking about the past, Kent. I’m faster now. Catch me if you can.”

And then she’d race ahead, her heart pounding in the excitement of the chase. Clark would grin and follow, effortlessly keeping pace with her, never really pushing to overtake her. They were both competitive, in their own ways, but Clark’s subtle teasing always managed to keep her on her toes.

One afternoon, after a long ride, they returned to the barn, both a little winded and flushed from the exertion. Clark tied the horses up, and when he turned to Y/N, he caught her looking at him for a moment longer than she intended. 

“What?” he asked, his grin widening as he noticed the lingering look. 

“Nothing,” Y/N replied quickly, her heart unexpectedly fluttering. “I was just thinking how *different* it is being here. It feels… good, I guess. Like it fits.”

Clark didn’t miss the tone in her voice. “Glad to hear it,” he said quietly, his smile softer now, like he wasn’t just teasing her for once. “You know, Smallville has a way of doing that to people. It’s like it gets under your skin.” 

Y/N swallowed, feeling her heartbeat quicken. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

And then, almost as if to remind her that some things never really changed, Clark stepped closer, leaning in just a bit too close for comfort. “I’m still way better at riding than you, though,” he said, his voice low with that playful challenge. “I mean, you did need me to catch your horse earlier.”

Y/N huffed, trying to stay unaffected by the closeness. “I don’t remember asking for your help.”

He flashed a grin, his eyes lingering on her face for just a beat too long. “I’ll remind you of that next time I rescue you from your own horse again.”

The air between them shifted, a silent tension hanging in the barn as they stood in the afterglow of their ride, the sound of the horses settling in the background. Y/N felt a knot tighten in her stomach, but before she could respond, Clark seemed to snap back into his usual playful demeanor. 

“Well, I’d better go help my mom with dinner,” he said, a little too casually. “You know, so you don’t think I’m just here to torment you all day.”

“Too late for that,” she retorted, though her lips twitched into a small smile.

And as Clark walked away, Y/N found herself watching him longer than she probably should have. It wasn’t just the way he’d changed physically—stronger, taller, more confident. It was the way he seemed to settle back into Smallville with a comfort that felt almost... easy. The way they both fell back into their old rhythm of teasing and rivalry, like time had stood still, despite everything.

But somewhere beneath the playful jabs and the teasing grins, Y/N couldn’t ignore the fact that maybe—just maybe—Clark Kent had grown up in ways she hadn’t expected. And that left her wondering if there was more to the new Clark than the boy who used to torment her so many years ago. 

The next day, after a hearty breakfast at the Kent farm, Clark suggested they go on a ride to a place he thought she might like—a small waterfall hidden away just on the outskirts of town. He’d mentioned it casually, like it was no big deal, but Y/N could tell there was something about this spot that meant more to him than he was letting on. 

They saddled their horses and set off, the cool morning air whipping past them as they rode side by side through the fields. The peaceful rhythm of the horses' galloping hooves against the dirt seemed to melt away all the tension that had lingered between them the past few days. It was easy, comfortable, in a way Y/N hadn’t expected. There was something about being on horseback, moving through the wide-open space, that made her feel connected to this place again—like she was finding pieces of herself she had forgotten.

Clark led her down a narrow path that wound through trees, and soon the sound of rushing water filled the air. They emerged from the trees and reached the small clearing. There, nestled between moss-covered rocks, was a hidden waterfall, cascading down into a crystal-clear pool below. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dancing shadows on the water's surface. It was quieter here, the only sound the rush of water and the occasional birdcall.

“Wow,” Y/N breathed, momentarily stunned by the beauty of it. “This is... amazing. I never thought a place like this would be hiding right here.”

Clark smiled, clearly proud of the spot. “Told you. It’s one of my favorite places. Not many people know about it.”

He dismounted, tying the horses to a nearby tree, and then looked over at Y/N. “You should come down to the water. It’s the best part.”

Y/N hesitated for just a second, eyeing the small, clear pool at the base of the waterfall. “I don’t know, Clark. It looks kind of... cold.”

Clark grinned. “It’s refreshing. Trust me, you’ll love it. Besides,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “you could use a little adventure. Also don’t you have beaches in Malibu?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her own grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, don’t even start with that again.”

But before she could protest any further, Clark was already walking toward the water’s edge, kicking off his boots and rolling up his sleeves. Without warning, he jumped into the sea with a splash, sending water flying in every direction. Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of him, drenched but clearly enjoying himself. 

Clark poked his head out from the water, eyes sparkling. “Come on, it’s not so bad!”

Y/N shook her head, still laughing at the sight of him. “You’re crazy,” she called, but even as she said it, she found herself grinning. There was something about seeing him so carefree, so unguarded, that made her feel... lighter, like the tension between them from their childhood had completely evaporated. 

After a beat, she hesitated. She hadn’t planned on going into the water, but part of her felt like maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it was time to let go of her reservations and enjoy the moment. 

With a resigned sigh, Y/N slowly walked toward the water, kicking off her own boots and rolling up her sleeves. She dipped a toe in, testing the water, and winced at the coolness. 

“See? Not that bad,” Clark teased, grinning like a boy who had just won a victory.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she muttered, but before she could fully make up her mind, Clark swam closer to her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Race you to the waterfall,” he said, his voice light with playful challenge.

Without waiting for a response, he splashed through the water, making his way toward the base of the waterfall. 

Y/N’s competitive spirit flared up instantly. “You’re on!” she shouted, charging after him.

The water was cold, but the rush of the challenge and the sight of Clark splashing ahead of her made her forget the chill. She pushed forward, splashing water everywhere, and as she caught up to him, she could hear him laughing. The sound was carefree, filled with the kind of joy that she hadn’t heard from him in years. It made her heart flutter in a way she wasn’t quite prepared for.

Clark reached the waterfall first, turning back to look at her. “I knew you were slow.”

Y/N shot him a mock glare. “Not funny.”

But before she could protest further, Clark lunged toward her and, with a quick move, grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into the deeper part of the sea. Y/N yelped in surprise, but her protest was cut short as she found herself falling into the cool water, completely submerged for a moment.

She came up sputtering, her hair plastered to her face. “You jerk!”

Clark was already laughing, his eyes full of playful amusement. “Couldn’t resist,” he teased. “You’ve got to admit, it’s fun.”

Y/N wiped the water from her face, but as she looked up at him, something shifted between them. The teasing glint in Clark’s eyes softened for a moment, and for a beat, there was something in his gaze that made her heart skip. 

He reached out, pushing a wet strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin for just a second longer than necessary. “You know, I’ve missed this,” he said, his voice quieter now, the teasing gone, replaced by something more genuine.

Y/N swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. “Missed what?”

He smiled softly, his eyes locking with hers. “To tease you the whole time?”

Y/N’s lips curved into a chuckle, shaking her head. “Really? That’s all you’re going to say?”

Clark chuckled, tilting his head as he moved a bit closer. “What exactly do you want me to say, then?”

Y/N found herself looking into his eyes for a moment longer than usual, her breath catching. There was something about his tone, something flirtatious but also not, and it made her feel... strangely open to the moment.

She let out a soft breath, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “Like that you missed me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Clark’s gaze softened, a hint of something more real flashing across his expression. For a moment, the world seemed to slow down around them. The teasing was gone, replaced by an unspoken understanding, something deeper than the playful back-and-forth that had defined their relationship for so long.

Clark hesitated for just a heartbeat, before his smile widened. “I think I can say that,” he said, his voice gentle, but there was still that glimmer of playfulness there. “I missed you, Y/N. Even if you were always a little... annoying.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, a mix of warmth and something else she couldn't quite place. She tilted her head, her voice playful but soft. “You’re still teasing me.”

Clark’s expression shifted, and for the first time since they hang out the whole time, he seemed to be a little more serious. “Maybe I am, but it’s because I... I don’t know, I like seeing you smile. You don’t even know how much I missed you.”

Y/N’s breath caught again. She hadn’t realized how much she’d longed for something genuine from him, something that didn’t involve teasing or childish rivalries.

She reached up, brushing her fingers lightly against his arm, before letting them fall back to her side. “Well,” she said, her voice softening, “I missed you too, Clark. In my own way.”

Clark didn’t say anything for a moment, as if letting the weight of her words sink in. Then, without warning, he gave her a crooked grin, his tone returning to that teasing edge she was so familiar with. “So, does that mean you’ll forgive me for all the cowboy or malibu jokes?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but this time, the smile on her lips was different—gentler, warmer. “Maybe. But only if you promise not to throw me into the water again.”

Clark laughed, the sound light and easy. “Deal. But just so you know, it was totally worth it.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh along with him, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. The moment had shifted from playful banter to something much more. Something real.

And for the first time, Y/N wasn’t sure if she wanted to let go of this new side of Clark—this side that made her feel seen, not just as the girl from Malibu, but as someone who could still be a part of Smallville, in her own way.

Maybe it was true, that you’ll always find a way back home.

❀taglist: @blackynsupremacy @alelo23 @collywobblvs @tvdelrey @angelsgalore @tinainaction

[aziraphales-library]

Hi, i hope you don't get asked this too much, but could you recommend some established relationship fics? canon or au is fine, but not kid fic, if that's possible. Thank you.

Hey. We have an #established relationship tag you can check out. Here are some more to add to the collection...

Where the Cliffs Meet the Sky by springofviolets (M)

Crowley plans a meaningful, romantic anniversary trip to celebrate 1 year of being openly in a relationship with Aziraphale, but things keep going wrong! How will our hero cope? A South Downs Cottage origins story.

One Hundred Days by Lady of Prompts (G)

They should have discussed it more. Wasn’t that what humans did? Spend weeks and months talking about what sort of home they want, what sort of life, dreaming of what moving in together will be like. Making sure their dreams matched up, their expectations. They didn’t buy cottages – in the middle of a forest, no less, half a mile from the nearest village – without considering questions of…of hobbies, and use of space and…and living arrangements. They certainly didn’t take such a step without…defining their relationships. -- Aziraphale only begins to consider the implications of *moving in together* after they've already done it.

Hozier Missed A Trick When He Called It 'Real People' Instead Of 'Joe Bloggs Snogs' by indieninja92 (E)

Months after Armageddoff, Crowley and Aziraphale enjoy a cosy night in. A brief moment of anxiety about a completely invented turn of events sends them off on a rambly, giggling conversation that asks, if they were human, what kinds of humans would they be? Very silly ones, it's safe to say.

Five Times They Weren't Very Sexy and One Time They Aced It by ZehWulf (E)

“Have you ever wondered what it feels like?” Crowley asks while contemplating the dregs at the bottom of his wine glass. He’s aiming for philosophical but fears the faint wheeze at the end of the question might have given him away. “Have I ever wondered what ‘what’ feels like,” Aziraphale asks finally. “Sex,” he says, much louder than intended or reasonable. They both wince.  “Oh, have you never…?” Aziraphale asks with polite disbelief. “You have?” Crowley demands. Look, when you're largely inexperienced sex-favorable asexual ineffables, it takes a bit of practice, a lot of communication, and some bull-headed persistence to get your sex life in commendable working order. Or, five times things got (hilariously) awkward during sex, and one time after they've got it mostly figured out. A companion fic to "Scratching That Itch." (Sex acts, such as they are, tagged per chapter in chapter notes!)

a moment's silence by viperinz (T)

Crowley rubs a hand down his face, sighing. “Then you know that you shouldn’t have done that.” “It was the only choice I had. If you got smitten—” Aziraphale swallows, feeling his back throb in pain. “You would have died right where you stood. I could not allow that.” Crowley’s mouth turns into a thin line, his fury radiating through the room. “So, what? It was better if it was you rather than me that took the hit?” “Yes!” Aziraphale exclaims, sitting up in bed. He winces as his back protests the movement, but he needs Crowley to understand. “You deserve better than what I was able to ever give you, and you need to help Muriel and the Messiah. If I ceased to exist, nothing would change the outcome of stopping all of this.” “No, you don’t get to say that.” Crowley walks up to the bed. “If you think I’ll ever stand to lose you again, then you’re bloody wrong. The outcome would be different because I wouldn’t have you, you daft thing.” After everything is said and done, Aziraphale has to learn to adjust to life on Earth after seven years of being in Heaven. Luckily, Crowley is there to help him heal, and to give him the love that he feels he's lost.

we shall have the world forever for our own by quitequaintrelle (M)

Your new beginning starts here! Lying wholly within the South Downs National Park, the village of Wood’s Bottom is your destination for an idyllic retirement. This quaint hamlet is a short five miles away from the seaside resort of Brighton, with its vibrant array of shopping, culture, and leisure attractions. Boasting stunning landscape views, entirely average weather conditions, welcoming neighbours, and intimate rural charm, Wood’s Bottom is your opportunity to live the exceptionally normal and relaxing lifestyle you’ve always dreamed of. Aziraphale and Crowley have finally found their forever home after successfully ensuring there is still a “forever” to share. Surely they will integrate perfectly well amongst their new neighbours. Surely.

- Mod D

[therogueflame]

Cregan x Reader Teaser

I told you guys it would be sad. Out on Wednesday, 1/15/2025.

Warnings: Pregnancy loss

The fire in your chambers had long since died, the embers now only faint whispers of warmth. The hearth, once crackling with life, now stood cold and empty, a hollow reminder of the warmth that had once filled the room. The shadows of the room stretched long across the stone walls, swallowing the small flicker of light that remained from the faint moon outside. The cold had seeped into the very bones of Winterfell, creeping in through the thick stone walls, biting at your skin, curling around you like an unwelcome companion. It clung to you, an insistent presence that mirrored the emptiness within. It suited you, in a bitter way—this chill that seemed to permeate every corner of your existence. The warmth you once carried within you, the life you once felt stirring in your womb, was gone. The absence was so profound that it felt wrong, almost sinful, to seek comfort in anything at all. The thought of warmth only reminded you of what you had lost.

You sat in the high-backed chair by the window, your gaze unfocused, staring out into the night. The frost-laced glass before you blurred the world outside, turning the courtyard into a vague, ghostly smear of shapes. The faint outlines of trees swayed in the wind, their limbs bare, like the desolate feeling that had taken root in your chest. The world beyond your walls moved as it always had, indifferent to the storm inside you. You could hear the steady rhythm of boots on stone below, the distant whinny of a horse, the low murmur of voices drifting on the wind—but none of it touched you. It felt so far removed, as though you were watching life from the outside, standing on the precipice of a world you no longer belonged to. You existed in a suspended moment, frozen in time, while the castle around you continued on, heedless of your grief.