#he will never leave me i fear...................................... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flixpii · 2 days ago

Text

morde me

fem!reader x remmick

word count : 16k

a/n : the gap in the votes 😭 i know what y’all are…. anyways, i’ve been working on a one-shot where remmick gets reader pregnant … getting over my fear of pregnancy and childbirth to finish it 🙏🏾

thank you @madkingcrowley for giving me the idea for them to fuck near a dead body kiss.

and thank you @iceemochaa for helping me figure out how to make this header 🫶🏾

sypnosis : three years after he turned you, you still haven’t forgiven him. but when blood stains your mouth and he’s dragging a corpse through the woods, you fall into the only rhythm you know—teeth, hands, bruises, and skin. you never stop long enough to ask why.

warnings (mdni !! 18+) : voyeuristic themes, masturbation, hate sex, vampiric attack (blood feeding, neck biting, flesh tearing), feeding-induced euphoria, choking, pinning, manhandling, sex as emotional outlet, forest sex/semi-public, sex near dead body, oral (m!receiving), grinding (non-penetrative foreplay), possessiveness, fingering, facefucking, spit/drool, unprotected sex (p in v), handjob, riding, nipple play, dubious consent themes (engaging in intense acts while physically exhausted or overwhelmed), doggystyle, pain/pleasure overlap, rough sex, hair pulling, mutiple orgasms, overstimulation, dirty talk, verbal power play & sharp banter during sex, lack of gentleness (by mutual design), marking (biting, scratching, bruising)

“get off of me.”

your breath leaves you in a harsh pant, chest heaving beneath the solid weight of him. his own chest presses flush to yours, damp with sweat, the heat of him clinging to your skin like something you couldn’t scrub off. his breath ghosts along your throat—hot, uneven, still carrying the remnants of a groan he hadn’t quite let go of.

he pulls his head back just enough to get a good look at you, head angled just enough for the shadows to catch along his jaw.

your hair is a mess—tangled, mussed from where his hands had been rough in it earlier, his fingers fisting into the roots like he needed to anchor himself. strands cling to the sheen of sweat along your temples, wild and damp, framing your face in a halo of disarray.

your lips—still parted from the last moan you let slip—are swollen, shiny with spit, and slightly red where teeth had caught. his gaze drags over your face, heavy-lidded and slow, like he’s memorizing the mess he made. your eyes are barely open, lids low and heavy like the weight of what just happened is pressing down on them.

you look up at him through lashes that clump with sweat, your stare dazed but defiant, too tired to move but too stubborn to look away.

there’s a curl to his mouth—lazy, smug—that makes something tighten deep in your gut, though whether it’s rage or want, you can’t quite tell.

“you sure?” his voice is thick, ruined from everything he’s just done to you. “i can always go for a round tw—”

“i will fucking kill you.”

his groan is immediate—low, guttural, deep in his throat like your threat only spurred him on. he finally pulls back, the shift of his hips dragging his cock from your body. he’s softening now, but not enough to make it easy. you feel every slow inch of him as he slips free, the wet drag of it against your still-throbbing walls making you hiss. the stretch lingers, leaving you empty and aching.

you grit your teeth, jaw tight with restraint. you don’t give him the satisfaction of another gasp, another tremble, another sound. he doesn’t deserve it.

“you can’t say things like that.”

his voice is low, not quite a whisper, more like a confession, and it spills out with a breath that shudders once he’s fully slipped out of you. the drag of him still lingers—an echo of pressure, slick and sore—and you feel the emptiness sharp in its absence.

“it turns me on,” he adds, almost absently.

you sit up slowly, the ache between your thighs immediate and pulsing. your legs shift closed, a sharp sting blooming from your center that makes you bite down hard on a hiss. your hand steadies against the sheets as you move, fingers curling tightly into the fabric like it could ground you.

you glance down and assess the damage like habit. like ritual.

the bruises along your hips are already yellowing, the deep purple centers beginning to fade. you can still feel the imprint of his hands there, the ghosts of his grip branded into your skin where he’d held you too hard—too tight.

your thighs bear him too. twin bite marks bloom high on your inner thighs, ragged around the edges where his fangs had broken skin. the skin around them is tender, a little inflamed, already slow to heal with the venom still lingering beneath the surface. it burns, just faintly—like a fever caught low in your blood.

one wrist is ringed in a flush of red where his fingers had wrapped around it, pinning you down. it aches with the dull throb of bruising, nerves sparking beneath the surface like a warning. your neck—still damp from his mouth—is littered with hickeys and shallow bites, some of them fresh enough to sting, others already scabbing over.

they’ll all heal. eventually.

“get out.”

you say it flatly, voice too hoarse, too hollow to carry any real weight. the words are there, but the strength isn’t. you stare him down anyway, refusing to look away, even when it hurts to keep your head upright.

he doesn’t respond.

he isn’t looking at you.

his eyes are fixed lower, between your legs, watching—shamelessly—the thick, messy drip of your mixed fluids slipping out from between your thighs. it coats your skin in a slow, obscene slide, catching the light like something molten. he stares like he wants to carve the image into memory.

“remmick.”

he glances up at the sound of his name—your voice cutting through the thick silence like a thread snapping.

his head tilts slightly, already waiting. like he’s bracing himself for what always comes next. for the venom in your tone. for the sharp, tired ritual you’ve both memorized too well. maybe you’ll scream, maybe you’ll spit some half-hearted insult or tell him you hate him again—he’s used to it. it’s practically foreplay by now.

three years.

three years of this twisted, tangled thing—hate laced with need, loathing soaked in want. ever since he turned you, this cycle has devoured the space between you. it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. none of it was.

the first time had been an accident. or something close to it.

you’d been yelling—loud, vicious, like your throat might tear from the force of it. words you barely remember now, fury clashing with his until it all blurred into something white-hot and unbearable. you’d gotten too close. your chest brushed his. your breath tangled with his, and in that fraction of a second, something shifted.

heat rose. logic disappeared.

and then your mouth was on his, teeth clashing, hands grasping at whatever flesh you could find. clothes torn. limbs tangled. anger melted into pleasure that felt like punishment.

when it was over, you were both bruised and bitten all over—purple marks blooming across your skin like flowers in decay—and floating in that strange, post-fury bliss that neither of you knew how to name.

it was supposed to be a one-time thing.

but here you were.

again.

and despite everything, despite the pain, the damage, the mess—he still looked at you like he wanted more.

like he never stopped.

“let me watch.”

his voice is hoarse, stripped down to something almost desperate. there’s no shame in it—there never is with him. his hand drifts low, fingers curling around the base of his soft cock, already coaxing it back to life with slow, needy strokes.

you watch, dazed and half-detached, still hovering in that hazy space between aftermath and awareness. the ache in your limbs grounds you, the sticky pull between your thighs a reminder of what just happened—what always happens.

you know exactly what he wants.

after all these years, after all the times you’ve clawed and fucked and cursed each other senseless, this part remained untouched. sacred in its own way. the cleanup was always solitary. always silent. one of you would slip away like it meant nothing, leaving the other in the wreckage of it all.

but now, he wants to stay.

he wants to see.

he watches the war behind your eyes, the pause in your breath, the flick of your gaze toward the bathroom like it might change your mind. and he waits—hopeful, panting, hand still moving lazily between his thighs.

“i don’t care,” you mutter, the words falling from your lips before you can think better of them.

and you don’t. or maybe you do—but it’s too late now.

the bathroom tiles are cool beneath your feet as you step into the tub, and the water greets you with a searing kiss. steam curls around your body, licking at your skin as the heat begins to seep into your sore muscles. a sigh leaves you—quiet, unguarded—as the tension eases from your limbs.

behind you, you hear it: the wet sound of him stroking himself, punctuated by shallow breaths and low groans that he tries to stifle and fails.

you don’t look at him. not yet.

“fucking pervert,” you whisper under your breath, not expecting him to hear.

but he does. you know he does—because the next sound is sharper, a choked-off breath that stutters through clenched teeth.

you lather the soap into your scrub, dragging it along your skin with slow, deliberate circles. you scrub the sweat from your collarbone, the spit from your chest, the mess between your thighs that makes you wince as the fabric brushes over half-healed bites. you hiss when it grazes a particularly raw one at your neck, but you keep going—methodical, clinical.

and still, he watches.

you don’t have to look to know his eyes are devouring you—tracing the line of your spine as you lean forward, following the water as it runs in rivulets between your thighs, catching in the curve of your hips.

when you finally step out of the tub, the air bites at your damp skin, sending a shiver across your shoulders. you grab a towel, but don’t wrap it around yourself just yet. your gaze lifts to him, and sure enough—he’s still there.

still pumping himself with steady, unrelenting strokes.

his knuckles are flushed pink, his breath ragged, and his cock is slick and twitching in his grip. his eyes are glassy—hungry—and when they meet yours, something cracks.

his mouth parts with a soft, broken sound.

and then he comes, spilling across his hand in messy spurts, jaw clenched as he gasps through it, eyes never leaving yours.

you just stand there. dripping. spent.

by the time the sky shifted—brushing the horizon with the bruised blush of dawn—remmick was gone.

no door slam. no parting words. just the familiar absence settling into the space where his heat had lingered. you didn’t move right away. you just stood there, damp towel clinging to your skin, staring at the spot he left behind until the first hints of gold started crawling through the cracks in the world outside.

and then—like always—you moved.

you did what you always did when the sun threatened to bleed across the land. you pulled the heavy wood panels from where they were leaned, fitted them over the window with practiced ease. thick nails. thick hands. years of repetition. not a single sliver of light would make it in. not anymore.

you hadn’t seen the sun in years. not really. not since the turning. not since the day your body stopped depending on it.

now, you lived by moonlight and instinct.

you sank onto your mattress—silent, still—letting the silence settle over your bones. no need for sleep. not anymore. the urge had left you long ago, burned out like the last flicker of candle wax. but lying here, in the stillness, pretending for a few hours that you were just tired instead of undead… that brought a kind of peace. a false, quiet comfort.

so you laid there.

watching the ceiling.

counting the faint thrum of blood moving somewhere deep beneath the floorboards, the birds chirping in the far-off distance, the way the house creaked like it remembered being alive.

and you waited.

for the heat of the sun to pass.

for the moon to rise again.

it didn’t hurt.

not really.

if anything, it felt like the brush of a leaf across your cheek—soft, inconsequential. barely there. the kind of touch you wouldn’t remember if not for the blood that followed.

his nails scraped at your skin in wild, uncoordinated desperation, trying anything to wriggle free from your grip. his chest heaved under you, heart pounding like a trapped animal’s, eyes wide with that raw kind of fear that always came when they realized—too late—what you were.

his throat was raw, voice cracked as he screamed at you, begged you to let him go.

but you didn’t.

you’d found him stumbling along the dirt road behind your house, cutting through the woods like some foolish, half-drunk ghost. backroads weren’t made for walking this late. not with things like you out here.

and now, he’s pinned beneath you—writhing, clawing, his limbs jerking like a caught rabbit in the mouth of something ancient and sharp.

his nail catches your cheek again, this time a little deeper. a faint red line blooms across your skin—but just as quickly as it appears, it closes, the blood fading as your body seals the wound without effort.

his hand lashes out to grab your wrist, but you’re faster—so much faster. you catch his arm mid-swing and twist.

there’s a sickening crack, sharp and final. his scream splits the quiet woods, echoing off trees and curling into the night like smoke. his wrist hangs at an unnatural angle, and his body spasms beneath you, breath coming in shallow, broken sobs.

you grab a fistful of his hair—rough, clumped with sweat—and yank his head to the side. the motion is brutal, practiced. the slope of his neck stretches out beneath you, pale and trembling, pulsing with fear.

“please—!”

he gasps it, half-whimpers it. his voice cracks again, high and wet with panic.

you hesitate.

just for a moment.

not from guilt. not from mercy.

but from hunger. the kind that makes you savor the moment before the first bite. the kind that lives in your bones now, ancient and patient and cruel.

your mouth parts.

and then you strike.

your fangs pierce his skin with ease, sinking deep into the vulnerable flesh just above his collarbone. he screams again—louder, rawer—his hands flying to your back, scratching and tearing at the fabric of your dress as he tries to push you away.

but it’s too late.

his blood rushes into your mouth, hot and copper-sweet, thick as syrup. it coats your tongue, spills from your lips, trickles down your chin and over your collarbones, soaking into the bodice of your dress until the fabric clings wet and sticky to your skin.

his body trembles violently beneath you, spasming with each pull of your mouth.

his body begins to go slack beneath you.

not dead. not yet. you’d know if he was. the blood would tell you—sour, spoiled, turned to ash in your mouth. but now it’s just weak, thinned-out, trickling like a slow stream from a dying spring.

your grip in his hair softens, fingers slipping to cradle the nape of his neck. not tender—never that—but supportive, stabilizing his limp head as it tilts uselessly to the side. the warmth of him is fading fast.

your eyes squeeze shut, jaw clenching as the familiar surge rises through your body. it coils through your veins like heat poured straight into your bones—fast, hot, and blinding. the sensation isn’t overwhelming, not like it used to be, but it’s enough to bring your breath to a soft hitch. enough to pull a quiet, involuntary sound from your throat—something between a gasp and a moan.

you bite down harder.

deeper.

your fangs shear through tendons and muscle, slicing clean. his throat convulses under your mouth as you pull him closer, crushing his body to yours with a strength that leaves no room for resistance. not that he has any left to give.

and then it starts.

the souring.

slow. subtle. you taste the shift in his blood—like iron gone to rust. it clings to the edges of your tongue and you know it’s time.

but before you can pull away, before the final drop turns bitter—

you hear him.

“what a mess.”

his voice drips like oil across your spine—smooth, familiar, smug.

you open your eyes slowly, pupils dilated wide, the world blurring at the edges as intoxicated warmth pulses through you. it’s not strong—not like it used to be when the thirst was new and any blood could send you spiraling. but the haze is there. just enough to soften the edges. just enough to lull.

you draw your mouth back, blood smeared across your lips and chin, your breath coming in slow, thick exhales.

you look down at the man beneath you—at the carnage. his throat is torn, skin shredded like wet paper, the blood pooling under him in a wide, dark stain that soaks into the dirt. the wound pulses once, weakly.

he won’t last long.

you hear the tsk behind you, sharp and judgmental.

but you don’t acknowledge him.

your jaw ticks.

you try to clench it, to lock it tight with irritation or restraint—you’re not sure which—but the sharp weight of your fangs won’t allow it. they press against the edges of your mouth, jutting out just enough to keep your lips parted in that permanent, threatening curl. your breath hisses quietly between them, blood still fresh along your teeth.

“you goin’ to ignore me?”

his voice is louder this time—firmer. not angry, but something close. like he feels entitled to your attention, your gaze, your reaction. like silence is a personal insult he won’t let slide.

you don’t look at him right away. you let the beat stretch.

and then—finally—you turn your head.

you take him in slowly, assessing him like he’s just another piece of the ruin you both helped make.

he’s nearly as wrecked as you.

his eyes, usually sharp and cutting, are glazed now—blissed out and low-lidded, the haze of fresh blood making him look dream-drunk. the edge of hunger has dulled, but there’s still a flicker of it twitching beneath the surface, just behind his stare.

his mouth is painted in blood—smudged at the corners, clinging to the cut of his lips, dripping slightly down his chin where he hadn’t bothered to wipe it. it shines dark red in the low light, almost black.

his bangs stick to his forehead, damp with sweat. they curl there like they’ve been plastered by heat, and the flush of his cheeks hasn’t faded yet—skin glowing faintly with the kind of heat that only comes after a good feed or a good fuck.

he looks like sin incarnate.

you shift your weight, rising slowly, and the man beneath you crumples with a dull thud as the support of your body disappears.

his limbs sprawl unnaturally, like a puppet cut from its strings, blood still seeping in slow pulses from the gaping mess you left at his throat. the sound of him hitting the ground is wet, final.

you don’t spare him a glance.

instead, you lift yourself with unhurried grace, spine uncoiling like something that had been crouched for far too long. your movements are liquid, slow and feline, a dark silhouette dripping in blood and silence.

he watches you—closely.

your bare feet pad across the dirt, sticky with blood. the hem of your dress clings to your thighs, soaked heavy and dark where it brushed the man’s body. your fingers twitch slightly at your sides, still pulsing with the aftershock of the feed, and your mouth hangs just barely open, fangs still bared, still glistening.

his eyes follow the way your body straightens, the way your shoulders roll back, like you’re shedding the last traces of restraint. the moonlight cuts across your face and catches the smear of blood on your jaw, the glint of your fangs, the faint shimmer of sweat clinging to your collarbone.

“there she is,” he murmurs.

the corner of his mouth twitches up into a crooked grin—tired, cocky, a little too pleased. like this—this—was what he was waiting for.

you tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “you like watching me work?”

he leans against the nearest tree, dragging the back of his hand across his bloody mouth, smearing it further across his cheekbone. “like watchin’ you lose yourself.”

you move toward him with slow steps, not quite a threat, but nothing soft either.

“don’t pretend you’re any different,” you murmur, voice low, thick with the haze of bloodlust. “i saw the way you looked… like you wanted to crawl inside the taste of it.”

he chuckles under his breath. “i do.” he tilts his head, exposing the faint trail of someone else’s blood dried down the side of his neck. “but you—you wear it better.”

you pause a foot away from him, your eyes locked, your breathing steady. the buzz between your bodies is palpable—shared hunger, shared ruin. the space is thick with it.

you reach up slowly, casually, and swipe a smear of blood from your own chin with your thumb. you suck it into your mouth, eyes still on him.

he watches your mouth, pupils dilating just slightly.

“you gonna clean me up next?” you ask, tongue flicking out to catch the last drop. “or just keep runnin’ your mouth?”

his grin widens, lazy and slow.

“depends,” he says, voice rough. “you gonna let me touch?”

your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you can try.”

you stand there, locked in place.

the air between you is taut—buzzing. you don’t move. neither does he. just a long, heavy stare.

his gaze drifts—slow, deliberate—down the length of you, taking in the blood still slicking your skin, the way your chest rises and falls in the aftermath, the gleam of something unspoken in your eyes.

you stare right back.

daring him.

until, finally, he looks away.

his jaw shifts, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek, and he lets out a soft, short breath before turning and stepping past you.

he walks over to the body. the man’s limbs are splayed awkwardly, his blood already cooling in the dirt, dark and tacky. remmick crouches beside him and reaches for what’s left of his neck, his fingers curling beneath the mangled jaw with unsettling ease. the body lifts like it weighs nothing.

“still feed like a newborn,” he mutters, turning the man’s head slightly in his grip.

you scoff behind him. “you feed the same. like you’ve got something to prove.”

he glances back at you, an eyebrow raised—but there’s no humor in his eyes.

then he returns to the task at hand.

he angles the corpse’s neck so you can see it clearly, fingers firm against the ruined skin. even in the shadows, the tear of flesh is brutal—jagged, deep, too deep. bone glints faintly beneath the shredded tissue, and blood drips in slow trails down the man’s shoulder.

“you bit too deep,” remmick says, tone flat. “you went through tendon. nearly hit the spine.”

you roll your eyes, folding your arms over your chest. “and?”

his fingers slide from the man’s jaw, letting it drop back with a dull thump against the earth.

he rises slowly, brushing his hands against his trousers like the blood might bother him, though you both know better.

“you’re gonna kill someone too quick if you keep doin’ that,” he says, tone half-scolding, half-something else. “not everything’s a damn frenzy.”

you shift your weight, eyes narrowing slightly. “says the one who’s usually elbow-deep in someone’s ribcage.”

he smirks faintly, but it doesn’t last long.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “but i know how deep to go.”

you watch him—still blood-stained, still smug—as he dusts his palms off on his trousers like he hadn’t just chastised you over a corpse.

your tongue presses to your fang, jaw working.

“if you were planning to scold me,” you say, voice cool but edged, “maybe you should’ve thought twice before taking my life.”

he freezes—just for a moment—but it’s there.

you see the tension settle between his shoulder blades. the way his jaw tics before he scoffs, shaking his head like you’ve said something tired. old. rehearsed.

“you done?”

he doesn’t wait for an answer.

he bends at the knee and grabs the dead man by the ankle, lifting his leg and beginning the slow drag through the underbrush. leaves crunch under the weight. the man’s head bumps unevenly over a tree root, but remmick doesn’t flinch. doesn’t pause.

you follow, your steps light, steady, a stark contrast to the corpse thudding behind him.

“you didn’t have to turn me,” you go on, pace quickening so you can stay at his side. “you made a choice. and now you act like i’m the burden.”

“you think i wanted to?” he snaps, barely turning his head toward you. “you think i was just lookin’ to babysit some brat with no control?”

“then why the fuck did you do it?” you bark, walking faster now, matching his stride. “you should’ve let me die.”

he stops.

the sudden halt makes the corpse slide forward a few inches, dead weight tugging his arm. he doesn’t look at you right away—just stands there, his breath curling into the cool air, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might crack.

then, slowly, he turns to you.

“maybe i should have,” he says. quiet. flat. but the edge of it slices through the space between you.

you swallow sharply.

your voice drops low, sharp. “then do it now. finish the job.”

he lets go of the man’s leg.

the body hits the dirt with a dull thud, forgotten for the moment as remmick steps toward you.

“you really want me to?” he says, close now—close enough that you can see the dried blood at the corner of his mouth, the twitch in his brow. “because you run your mouth like you don’t care, but if I left you in this forest, alone, no one would find you. you’d rot out here with your teeth bared and your pride clutched to your chest.”

“better than being your mistake,” you hiss.

he laughs—sharp, bitter.

“you’re not a mistake,” he mutters. “you’re a fuckin’ reminder.”

that shuts you up for half a second. just long enough for the weight of the words to land between you, heavy and cold.

and then—

“fuck you,” you say, too quiet, too tight.

he nods once, jaw working again.

“you already did.”

remmick exhales sharply through his nose, then bends again to grab the corpse’s leg, the man’s boot scraping across the dirt. he doesn’t say another word as he resumes dragging him deeper into the woods, like the conversation—like you—no longer matters.

but that silence makes your blood roar hotter.

you close the distance between you in two steps, your hand snapping out to grab his wrist—tight.

“i don’t need you to do anything for me.”

your grip tightens, and he stops walking.

his head turns slowly, eyes flicking down to your hand on his arm, then back up to your face. his expression is unreadable—but that smug edge creeps in as his lips curl.

“no,” he mutters. “you just wouldn’t do it properly.”

that’s it.

that’s the spark.

you shove him.

hard.

his body jolts backward, boots skidding in the loose dirt as he stumbles a step—two—before catching himself. the corpse thuds to the ground beside him, limp and discarded again.

remmick straightens slowly, his head turning toward you.

his eyes are darker now—dilated, wild. all that cool detachment stripped away. what replaces it is something raw and mean, something that’s simmered under his skin for too long.

you don’t even have time to react before he’s on you.

his hand is at your throat, slamming you back against the nearest tree. the bark scrapes your spine as your back hits the trunk, and your breath catches in your chest—not from fear, but from the sheer force of him.

his body presses close, arm pinning you in place, the scent of blood and sweat rising thick between you.

his grip tightens just enough to remind you who’s stronger.

“think that made you feel good?” he growls, voice low and venomous against your ear. “pushing me around like you’ve got any power over me?”

your fingers dig into his wrist, but you don’t push him off. not yet.

your fangs flash as your lips curl into something dangerous.

“you think choking me’s gonna scare me?” you rasp. “you forget what i am now?”

his grip doesn’t loosen—but his breath stutters. just slightly.

there’s something between you now that isn’t just anger. something tighter. rougher. it thrums between your chests like a wire pulled too taut, trembling with everything unsaid.

for a heartbeat, neither of you move.

then he leans in, close enough that his mouth almost brushes yours.

“don’t tempt me,” he mutters, voice like gravel. “i might forget to stop next time.”

his eyes stay locked on yours for a beat longer, and then—

his grip tightens.

just for a split second.

just enough to make your breath catch in your throat and your pulse flicker against his palm.

he watches the way your eyes narrow, the way your jaw clenches even though your mouth is slightly parted, fangs still bared. the way your body doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t weaken—if anything, it leans in.

his breath is hot when he moves, lowering his head, mouth dragging close to your cheek, his voice curling against the shell of your ear—low, slow, and guttural.

“is that what you want?” he murmurs. “you want me to fuck you?”

the words are thick with heat and venom, not sweet or soft—not some gentle offering.

they’re a challenge.

his grip on your throat loosens just enough for you to breathe again, but he doesn’t pull away. his body is still flush with yours, his lips hovering at your skin, waiting. testing.

your fingers twitch at your sides, nails curling inward as his words sink in.

you hate how your body reacts before your mind does—how heat crawls under your skin, how your stomach twists, how your thighs press together without meaning to.

his breath ghosts against your ear, lips brushing so close you feel the shape of every word. he hasn’t pulled back. he’s waiting—still holding you there like he owns the right to, like you haven’t fought him tooth and claw every step of the way.

you don’t answer him.

not with words.

your hand shoots up, not to push him away—but to grab a fistful of his shirt. you yank him closer, the fabric stretching tight across his chest, and your lips barely graze the line of his jaw.

he laughs. low. dark. a sound that vibrates between your bodies.

“thought so.”

his free hand moves fast—grabbing your hip, dragging you against him. he pins you harder to the tree, the bark biting into your spine. the angle of it pushes your chest into his, and you can feel the tension rolling off of him in thick, unrelenting waves.

his mouth finally touches yours—not a kiss, not really. just the press of his lips against your lower one, the faint scrape of his fang when he pulls back.

“say it,” he mutters, voice frayed at the edges. “say it, and i’ll ruin you right here.”

your head tilts back against the tree, breath sharp in your throat. his hand is still at your neck, not choking—just holding. just reminding.

you swallow hard.

then you say it—quiet, hoarse, but without hesitation.

“do it.”

he growls—not a sound of frustration, but something closer to relief. like he’s been waiting to be let off the leash.

his mouth crashes against yours then, all teeth and heat and blood. it’s messy and immediate, your bodies colliding like neither of you want to be gentle. his tongue tastes like iron, like heat and rot and hunger, and you kiss him back like you want to devour him from the inside out.

his hand drags down your side, gripping your thigh, hiking it up over his hip as he presses himself harder against you. the friction sends a jolt through your spine, and when you gasp, he bites—just below your jaw, not enough to break skin, but enough to bruise.

he pulls back only long enough to speak again, voice rough, unsteady.

“you asked for it.”

his mouth crashes back to yours—hot, claiming, all teeth and breath and hunger—but this time, he doesn’t rush. he drags it out. lets the kiss linger with purpose, lips parting slow as his tongue slides against yours, tasting the blood still caught between your teeth.

his hand is still braced at your throat, fingers splayed wide across your skin, thumb brushing over your pulse like a warning. he’s not squeezing—but the weight is there. the threat of it. the promise of it.

your thigh stays hooked over his hip, the fabric of your dress bunched up between you. his palm splays against your leg, sliding slowly—up, down, up again—his fingers dipping just beneath the edge of your underwear but never quite committing.

you breathe against his mouth, low and uneven. your hands move to his chest, gripping the front of his shirt, feeling the taut muscles beneath the fabric, the way his chest rises and falls faster with every second that passes.

he breaks the kiss just enough to speak, voice hoarse.

“you feel that?”

you do.

he’s hard against you, pressing into the heat between your legs, rolling his hips slow just once—just enough to make your breath stutter and your nails dig into his chest.

he watches you carefully, eyes heavy and dark, like he’s reading every twitch of your mouth, every flutter of your lashes.

“don’t act like you hate this,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, then down your throat. “you need this. just like i do.”

his mouth lingers there—hot, open, fangs grazing your skin as he sucks a bruise into the hollow of your neck, right over where your heartbeat thrums. you gasp, hips shifting, trying to grind against him—but he pulls back just enough to stop you.

not yet.

he wants you to beg for it without saying a word.

his fingers curl tighter around your thigh, lifting it higher, spreading you open around his hips. the pressure between your legs is maddening, but he doesn’t move faster. he holds there, steady, thick tension curling in the space between you.

his lips drag back to your ear, breath warm and ragged.

“you gonna let me take my time with you?” he asks, voice low—almost gentle. almost.

but there’s something sharper underneath. something waiting to snap.

your answer comes with a breathless nod, lips parted, thighs trembling.

and that’s when he starts to move.

slow. grinding. letting the friction build, letting you feel every inch of him through the thin layers still separating you. he wants to make you squirm. wants to feel you come apart before he’s even inside you.

and you let him.

he keeps moving against you, slow and grinding, not rushing a thing—like he wants to drag it out until you’re shaking. your leg’s still hitched around his hip, and with every roll of his body into yours, the friction builds—just enough to keep your breath shallow, your fingers digging tighter into the fabric of his shirt.

he presses in again, mouth at your throat, his voice low and rough against your skin.

“you’re already soaked for me.”

you don’t answer—your head tips back against the bark, eyes fluttering shut, hips pushing forward on instinct. your body’s answering for you, the ache blooming too hot to ignore now.

his hand slides down between your thighs, palm cupping the heat of you through the soaked fabric, and you gasp—a soft, bitten-off sound that has him smirking against your neck.

but then—your hand shoots out.

flat against his chest.

not hard. just enough to still him.

your eyes open slowly. steady. clear enough now to mean it.

“not on the tree.”

his brow furrows, and he pauses, breath catching. “what?”

your fingers tighten into his shirt, grounding yourself in the memory.

“not on the tree,” you repeat. “last time… i’m not doing that again.”

something flickers across his face. he knows what you’re talking about. of course he does.

he stares at you for a second longer, the weight of it passing in silence.

then he nods.

without a word, he grips your thighs and pulls back—just enough to lower you down. he catches your fall with a practiced ease, guiding you, shifting your body as your back meets the forest floor. the dirt is soft from the season’s rains, warm where the moonlight filters in, and you feel leaves crumple beneath your shoulders as he settles above you.

the moment shifts again.

his hips slide between your thighs, and the position changes everything. wider. deeper. more.

his hand presses to the inside of your knee, pushing your leg aside as his other hand rakes up your side—slow and heavy—palming your breast through the fabric, fingers dragging over your nipple until you arch.

“better?” he asks, but it’s a murmur, distracted, because his mouth is already back on yours.

you nod into the kiss, and that’s all he needs.

he rolls his hips again, this time with more pressure—more intention—and your body bucks slightly, that sweet friction finally returning.

he breaks the kiss only long enough to move—his hands sliding down your thighs, rough and steady, until they hook beneath the elastic of your panties. he doesn’t ask. doesn’t tease. just yanks them down in one clean pull, dragging the soaked fabric past your knees and tossing them somewhere behind him into the dark.

you don’t even have time to say anything before he’s reaching down between you, unbuckling his belt with one sharp tug. the clink of the metal, the drag of the zipper—it’s fast, practiced. impatient.

you watch him from beneath your lashes, breathing heavy, lips still slick from his mouth.

his cock springs free, hard and flushed, the head already glistening from the friction. he grips it once at the base, pumping lazily, the tip brushing against your inner thigh as he lowers himself again, settling between your legs like he belongs there.

then he presses himself to your folds—skin to skin.

hot.

wet.

so fucking close.

he doesn’t push in—not yet.

he stays pressed against you, the head of his cock slick where it grinds against your folds, sliding between them with every slow, grinding rock of his hips.

he drags himself through the mess he’s made of you—deliberate, teasing, just enough pressure to make your legs tense around his waist.

you grit your teeth, a soft, involuntary gasp slipping free as he rolls his hips again, the ridge of him catching your clit just right.

his hand comes up to your jaw, not gentle—tilting your face toward his with a firm grip like he owns the right to do it.

“this isn’t you beggin’ yet?” he mutters against your cheek, lips brushing your skin.

you scoff, even as your breath shakes. “please. you’d come in your pants if i did.”

he laughs—sharp and quiet, his teeth grazing your jaw.

“you talk so much for someone who’s dripping for me,” he says, voice low and thick with heat.

“and you hump like a dog,” you snap back, your nails dragging down his back hard enough to leave lines through his shirt. “are you gonna fuck me, or just grind on me until you lose rhythm?”

his eyes darken.

his next thrust is harder. sharper. not enough to hurt—but enough to make your head knock lightly against the forest floor, enough to steal the breath from your chest.

“keep talkin’,” he growls, voice rough now, losing that smooth edge. “see how nice i am when i finally do.”

you meet his glare head-on, your nose brushing his, your mouths still inches apart.

“you’re never nice,” you say through clenched teeth.

he grins.

“you never ask me to be.”

his hand moves between your bodies again, sliding down, thumb circling your clit with purpose—slow, but with more weight. your hips jerk, breath catching hard in your throat.

he watches you closely—waits for your mask to slip. just a little. just enough to say he won.

but you don’t give it to him.

instead, you reach down between you, curling your hand around his cock where it grinds slick against your folds, guiding him lower—pressing him just a little harder where it feels best.

his breath stutters.

you smirk. “see? you need me to do all the work.”

his jaw flexes.

his hips push deeper against you. his cock slides through your folds again, slow and steady and maddening, catching against your clit in just the right way to make your legs shake.

the air between you is thick now—hot and tense, full of sharp breaths and sweat and hate and need.

his cock slides against you again—slow, heavy, dragging through the slick heat between your thighs. the pressure is maddening, just shy of enough. your hips push up on instinct, trying to chase it, to make him do something.

he groans under his breath, low in his throat. not soft. not sweet. it rumbles out of him like it irritates him to feel this good.

“you’re so fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, mouth brushing your jaw, breath hot and uneven.

you huff out a breath, trying not to roll your eyes—even as your legs tighten around his waist. “just fuckin’ do something, remmick.”

he rolls his hips into you—slow, grinding, the tip of his cock nudging your clit just enough to make your breath stutter.

“that feel like nothing to you?” he grits out, jaw tight.

you moan—quiet, almost unwilling—and dig your nails into his back, raking them lightly just to feel him twitch.

“i’ve had better,” you lie, panting through a half-smirk.

he chuckles, humorless and sharp. “you’re so full of shit.”

“and you’re still talkin’.”

his hand moves between your bodies again, fingers slick as they rub against your entrance, sliding slow, teasing like he knows you’re trying to hold it together. your thighs twitch, breath catching.

you grit your teeth. “if you’re not gonna—”

his fingers press just inside.

you gasp—sharp and sudden—and his mouth is at your ear again.

“shut up,” he growls, breath ragged. “or i won’t prep you at all.”

you freeze under him, lips parted, heart hammering.

his fingers slide in a little deeper, slow and firm.

your hips lift, chasing him, but you don’t say a word.

not now.

not with that threat hanging in the air between your thighs.

he smirks against your throat, his voice low and wrecked.

“good girl.”

remmick shifts above you, pulling back just enough so his cock isn’t dragging through your folds anymore. the sudden absence makes you bite down on a breath, your thighs twitching from the built-up friction he’s now denying you.

but you know what’s coming.

and he doesn’t make you wait long.

his hand slips back between your thighs, and without a warning—like always—he shoves a finger inside you. no slow ease, no gentle stretch. just a hard press and a quick thrust, like you were something he already owned and didn’t need to ask permission from.

you hiss, hips jolting slightly, but you don’t stop him. you never do.

this is the way it always is with him—rough, practiced, a rhythm neither of you ever talked about but both learned down to the bone. no sweet words. no slow tenderness. just the hot, grinding need that always boils over when you’re too pissed at each other to think straight.

he curls his finger inside you without mercy, testing your tightness, jaw clenched like he’s annoyed at how ready you already are.

“fuckin’ knew you were soaked,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

you glare up at him through heavy lids, your breath hitching again as he adds a second finger just as fast. no warning, no pause.

you grunt out a sound that borders on a moan and a curse, your hands grabbing at his shirt, balling the fabric into your fists like you need something to hold onto.

“you never warm me up right,” you grit out between clenched teeth.

he thrusts his fingers deeper, harder.

“you never fuckin’ need it,” he growls back, his voice right at your ear. “you’re always ready to get split open.”

his fingers work inside you, unforgiving, knuckles pressing flush as he pumps them in deep, fast strokes—just enough to loosen you for what’s next.

your head tips back, a sharp breath tearing from your throat as the pressure builds, low and hard.

“you don’t even fuckin’ like me,” you pant, voice breaking through the wet sounds of his fingers moving inside you.

he leans in, mouth brushing your jaw, his breath shaking just slightly.

“you think i gotta like you to want to wreck you?”

his fingers curl deep again, and your back arches off the forest floor.

you don’t answer.

because he already knows the truth.

his fingers pick up the pace—rougher now, faster, the wet slap of them echoing between your legs as he drives them in, over and over, knuckles deep.

you gasp, the sound cracking on the way out of your throat.

then another sound follows.

and another.

a whole leash of them.

high and broken and desperate—spilling from you before you can catch them, before you can remind him how much you hate giving him anything.

his eyes flick up to your face, and he smirks, teeth flashing, sweat beading at his brow.

“there she is,” he breathes, voice tight, rough with restraint. “already falling apart on my fuckin’ fingers.”

you claw at his shirt, trying to keep yourself grounded, but your hips keep lifting off the ground to chase the pressure. he doesn’t slow down. if anything, it makes him go harder—his fingers thrusting into you like he’s already imagining how you’ll take his cock next.

he leans down, his mouth close to your ear again, his breath hot and ragged.

“we just fed,” he murmurs. “you know what that means.”

you shudder under him, head turning slightly, cheek brushing the dirt and leaves.

“means i get to take my fuckin’ time,” he growls, voice like gravel and heat. “means you’re not gettin’ just one position tonight.”

his fingers curl again, right against that spot inside you that makes your legs twitch and a choked moan claw its way out of your chest.

“means i’m gonna bend you over every surface i can find—fuck you against trees, drag you into the creek, put you on your knees in the goddamn dirt if i feel like it.”

you moan again, louder this time, and he grins like he just won something.

“gonna keep fuckin’ you till you forget your own fuckin’ name.”

your body jerks beneath him, the pleasure coiling too fast now—too deep. your cunt clenches around his fingers, your thighs tightening as another broken sound spills out of you.

“already close, aren’t you?” he taunts, pumping harder. “already so fuckin’ close and i haven’t even given you my cock yet.”

you try to snap back—try to spit something at him—but it dies in your throat as his thumb finds your clit and starts rubbing tight, fast circles in time with the brutal pace of his fingers.

your back arches. your mouth falls open.

he leans in, voice a low, guttural whisper against your lips.

“come for me.”

it hits you fast.

hard.

your body tenses beneath him like a cord pulled too tight—and then it snaps.

your thighs lock around his hips, toes curling, your stomach tightening as every muscle in your body goes rigid. your back arches high off the ground, pushing your chest into his as the first wave crashes through you.

a moan rips out of your mouth—loud and raw, torn from somewhere deep in your chest, the kind of sound you never mean to give him but always do when it’s him.

your walls clench around his fingers, fluttering tight as he keeps thrusting through it, not easing up for a second. his thumb grinds into your clit with just enough pressure to send the pleasure spiraling, pulsing in deep, unbearable waves.

“that’s it,” he groans, watching you with that same fucked-out hunger in his eyes. “just like that. fuckin’ take it.”

you’re gasping now, mouth open, hands clawing at his arms—at anything you can reach—desperate for something to hold onto as your orgasm rips through you. your vision goes white at the edges. your body trembles under his grip, legs spasming as he keeps fucking you through every last second of it.

your hips try to jerk away, too sensitive, but he holds you down with a hand braced against your thigh, fingers still working inside you until the last ripple fades, and your body finally collapses back to the earth.

he pulls his hand away slowly, fingers soaked.

you’re still panting, chest heaving, lips parted as you try to catch your breath.

he stares down at you for a moment—eyes dark, jaw tight, his cock twitching against your thigh.

“that was just the start,” he mutters.

then he lowers his mouth to yours.

not gentle.

not slow.

just hunger.

pure and sharp.

your body sinks into the earth, boneless, dazed.

the coolness of the dirt beneath your back soaks into your spine, grounding you. your thighs are still twitching with the aftershocks—little trembles you can’t quite control. your chest rises and falls in ragged swells, lips parted, skin damp with sweat and heat and breathlessness.

you feel him watching you.

feel the weight of his gaze dragging across your body like another kind of touch.

then—smack.

a light slap against the outside of your thigh. sharp enough to make your muscles flinch.

“get up.”

his voice is low, hoarse, somewhere above you—but it feels far away. muffled through the fog in your brain, your ears still ringing from how hard you came.

another smack, this time closer to the inside of your leg.

“come on,” he says again, firmer now, but not harsh. “up.”

you blink slowly, trying to piece the words together as your eyes flutter open. the trees blur above you. moonlight cuts through the canopy in thin beams. the air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat and damp earth.

you shift, slowly, arms bracing behind you as you sit up, body heavy and unsteady.

and when you do—

he’s there.

standing above you.

his pants pushed down around his thighs, cock flushed and hard, slick with your wetness from all the grinding earlier. it stands just inches from your face, bobbing slightly with the rhythm of his breath.

you tilt your head up, dazed eyes meeting his.

he looks down at you like he’s already imagining what you’ll do next—like he knows you’re still too fucked-out to put up a real fight. like he’s not going to ask permission this time, because you already gave it—back there, when you moaned his name like it belonged to you.

his fingers reach out, brush a strand of hair from your cheek.

“open,” he murmurs.

not a demand.

not a question.

just what comes next.

you blink up at him, still catching your breath—lips slightly swollen, jaw slack from how hard you’ve just unraveled. your eyes are half-lidded, lashes damp with sweat, and your body’s still trembling in soft waves that roll under your skin like an aftershock.

he’s waiting.

watching you.

his cock inches from your mouth, heavy and flushed, the tip shining.

you shift onto your knees, slow and unsteady, tongue darting out just barely to wet your lips. your fingers curl into the dirt beside your thighs for balance, the coolness grounding you.

then you look up at him—eyes dark, mouth twitching into something like a smirk, breath still ragged.

“you always get so eager when i’m too fucked-out to bite,” you pant, voice low and edged in defiance. “what happened to all that stamina, huh?”

his jaw flexes.

his fingers twist into your hair.

and without a word—he thrusts forward.

your breath catches as the head of his cock pushes past your lips, hot and thick, filling your mouth before you can finish the next breath. your throat tightens instinctively, hands bracing on his thighs as he presses deeper, forcing you to take more of him.

your smirk dies right there.

his other hand settles at the back of your neck, not choking—just holding you in place, controlling the pace as your lips seal around him.

he pulls back just enough for you to inhale, then pushes in again—slow, steady, but firm. claiming. wiping the words from your mouth like they didn’t matter.

“thought i told you to shut up,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, hips rocking forward again, sliding over your tongue. “open that smart mouth just a little wider for me.”

you do.

because you can’t do anything else now.

he groans when you relax into it, jaw loosening as your tongue curves under him, taking him deeper.

he groans low as your mouth stretches around him, the heat of you pulling a shiver straight up his spine.

your fangs—once bared and threatening—are gone now. they’d receded when you came, sharp edges dulled back into flesh, leaving your mouth soft, wet, open. your lips mold around him without danger, without that usual threat lingering behind every gasp and growl. and he knows it. feels it. takes his time because of it.

he fucks your mouth slow.

not lazy—just measured. deliberate.

each stroke is long and steady, hips rolling forward with the kind of practiced control that makes you ache more than if he were rough. your breath flutters hot through your nose, fingers still gripping his thighs, holding tight every time he pushes a little deeper.

he watches your face the entire time.

the drag of his cock over your tongue. the way your lashes flutter, lips stretched wide and glossy with spit. the way your throat works to take him.

“look at you,” he mutters, voice raw with want. “all that mouth earlier—and now it’s full.”

he brushes the pad of his thumb along your cheek, feeling how you hollow it out for him, how warm and tight your mouth is wrapped around him.

you hum low in your throat—something dark and smug—and he groans when the vibration ripples down his shaft.

you pull back slightly, just enough for the head to sit on your tongue, eyes lifting to his with a heavy-lidded, deliberate look.

he twitches.

“don’t fuckin’ tease,” he growls, hand tightening in your hair.

your lips curl around the tip, breath hot against his skin. and though you don’t speak, your expression says it all.

make me.

he pushes forward again, slow and steady, burying himself deeper—your jaw stretching, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth as he holds you there for a moment, not cruel, but commanding.

then he eases out again, a slick sound filling the space between you.

“you like this?” he mutters, voice tight. “that pretty little mouth ruined and wet for me?”

your fingers dig into his thighs in response, nails biting into his skin—not enough to stop him. just enough to remind him you’re still in this.

still sharp.

even if your teeth are gone for now.

his grip in your hair tightens, thumb brushing along your jaw as he begins to move with more purpose now.

slow fades to steady.

steady builds to deep.

his hips roll forward in controlled thrusts, each one pushing his cock deeper across your tongue, your throat tightening around him with every slow, fluid stroke. spit pools at the corners of your mouth, thick and messy, stringing down your chin as your lips stretch to take him.

he groans—low and guttural—the sound curling down your spine like smoke.

“fuck—just like that,” he breathes, voice unsteady now, the tension finally threading into his tone. “knew you’d take it. always do.”

you let him.

you open wider, relax your jaw, let him guide your head as he rocks into you, deeper each time. your fangs remain tucked away, your mouth pliant and warm, slick and safe—for now.

his head tips back briefly, throat flexing as he grits his teeth, and his next thrust pushes past the threshold of comfort, nudging the back of your throat. your hands grips his thighs, fingers tightening—not to stop him, just to brace.

he notices.

he always notices.

“too much?” he rasps, voice dark and knowing.

you blink up at him, eyes sharp through the haze, and deliberately flatten your tongue against him, sucking gently as he slides back just a bit.

a silent answer.

no.

his jaw flexes, breath shuddering.

“you’re fuckin’ filthy,” he mutters, hand guiding your head now with a little more force, his cock slipping deeper with each pass of your lips. “always actin’ like you hate me… till you’re down here like this.”

you gag once—just barely—as he pushes deeper, and his hand slips from your hair to the side of your face, steadying your jaw as he pulls back slightly, dragging your mouth with him.

he doesn’t stop.

he’s watching every reaction—your watering eyes, the slick trail down your chin, the soft sounds breaking in your throat each time his hips meet your lips.

you suck harder.

just to hear him swear under his breath again.

and he does.

“jesus fuck—”

the pace picks up now, steady and deep, each thrust pressing into your mouth with a little more urgency, his hips rolling in tight circles as the tension coils higher in his stomach.

his hips jerk forward harder now—deeper, rougher.

the last of that controlled rhythm shatters as the tension inside him snaps tighter, and you feel the shift immediately. his cock drives into your mouth with sharper thrusts, his grip on your face firmer now, thumbs braced against your cheeks as he holds your head in place.

your throat flexes, taking him, swallowing around each deep stroke as he begins to fuck your mouth in earnest.

no more teasing.

no more patience.

just the sound of slick, wet movement and the heavy slap of his hips against your face.

drool pours from the corners of your mouth, coating your chin, soaking your neck, and still—you take him. your hands gripping his thighs for balance, your fingers digging deep with every thrust that pushes you closer to the edge of breath.

your eyes flutter, lashes damp, and through the blur you see him—head tipped back, mouth parted, chest rising and falling like he’s fighting for air he doesn’t need. he groans your name under his breath, low and guttural, his body trembling with restraint as he buries himself to the hilt.

your gag reflex kicks once, and he hisses at the tight clench around him—but doesn’t stop.

his fingers slip back into your hair, fisting at the roots now, dragging your head into each thrust. your nose brushes the base of him again and again, the scent of skin and sweat and sex overwhelming every inhale.

“fuck—look at you,” he growls, voice frayed. “takin’ all of it… mess all over your fuckin’ face—god—”

you moan around him, the sound muffled and wet, and he nearly stumbles.

his cock twitches on your tongue, and his hips falter for half a second before he pulls out with a wet gasp—your mouth popping free, spit trailing from your lips to his tip in thick, glossy strands.

you cough once, chest heaving as air rushes in, your chin glistening, lips swollen and red.

he looks down at you—jaw tight, eyes blown wide with lust and something that might almost look like desperation.

“you want me to come in your mouth,” he breathes, voice wrecked, “or you want to feel it while i fuck you?”

your breath stutters as you lick your swollen lips, spit still strung between them in glossy threads. your throat aches in the best way, jaw loose and trembling, chest heaving as you look up at him through damp lashes.

you meet his eyes—dark and wild above you—and without flinching, without shame, you pant out:

“come in my mouth.”

his body jolts like you hit something vital.

his cock twitches in his grip, and for a second, his head tilts back with a groan so guttural it rips straight from his chest. like he wasn’t expecting you to say it. like he needed to hear it.

“fuck—” it spills out of him.

then he’s grabbing your face again, cock lining up with your mouth before you can even brace—

and he thrusts back in.

deep.

rough.

completely undone.

his hips piston forward with no more caution, no rhythm—just desperate need. he fucks into your mouth with ragged, broken groans, his hands guiding your head, holding you where he wants you.

your lips stretch around him, your throat working as he drives in over and over again, the head of his cock slamming into the back of your throat. spit and precum mix, flooding your mouth.

his thighs tense beneath your hands.

his breathing turns sharp. erratic.

“fuck—fuck—”

he buries himself deep.

your nose pressed to his skin. your throat stretched.

and he comes.

hot and thick, pulsing across your tongue in heavy waves. he groans through gritted teeth, his body shaking with the force of it, one hand still gripping your hair like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart.

you swallow around him, slow and steady, milking every last drop as his cock twitches one final time against your tongue.

he pulls back slowly, panting, your lips slipping off with a wet pop.

your mouth is wrecked—slick, red, chin soaked with spit—but you stare up at him like you’re proud of it.

and he looks down at you—spent and sweat-slicked.

the forest is quiet now, save for the twin sounds of both of your breathing—harsh, uneven, loud against the backdrop of crickets and wind.

remmick stands there for a moment, still flushed, chest rising and falling like he’d just fought something off—or given in to something bigger than him. his cock hangs slick and softening, glistening with spit and release, while your mouth remains parted, lips bruised and wet.

you’re both panting.

your knees ache from the earth beneath them. your hands twitch slightly at your sides, still trembling from earlier—whether it’s your previous orgasm or the fact that he just fucked your mouth like it was a goddamn promise, you can’t tell.

he blinks down at you, jaw still tight, sweat clinging to the curve of his throat.

then—without a word—he moves.

his legs bend, and he slowly lowers himself down to the ground in front of you, knees pressing into the dirt, bringing you nearly eye level. not looming. not hovering. just there. his breath fans across your face, still warm. still shaky.

your eyes lock.

and neither of you looks away.

your chests rise and fall in unison, heat radiating between you in that narrow, electric space. his hands rest on his thighs, still twitching with leftover tension, like he hasn’t decided if he wants to hold you or shove you down again.

your gaze flickers across his face—his jaw, his lips, the flushed color still clinging to his cheekbones—and then back to his eyes.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

you just stare.

your breaths mingle. your bodies thrum. the dirt presses into your knees, but neither of you moves.

then, slowly, the edge of remmick’s mouth curls into something crooked—something smug.

his voice is low, rough with the ghost of a groan still clinging to it.

“think i’m gonna bend you over that log behind you,” he mutters, his eyes dropping briefly to your mouth before dragging slowly back up. “pull that pretty ass up in the air and—”

“no.”

your voice cuts in—hoarse, breathless, but firm.

his brows tick up, just slightly.

you sit back on your heels, chin lifted, lips still glistening with spit and cum, your jaw set in that way that always makes him pause.

“i’m riding you.”

he huffs out a breath—half a laugh, half something darker—and leans forward just a little, his hand dragging lazily across your bare thigh, fingers dipping into the sticky mess between your legs, his touch casual, claiming.

“you think you’re in charge now?” he murmurs.

you meet his eyes, unflinching.

“i know i am.”

he stares at you for a beat longer, the heat in his gaze deepening, thickening into something molten. something fond and fucked-up.

then he leans back on his heels, spreading his thighs wider, arms bracing behind him in the dirt like he’s offering himself up—but only because he’s letting you.

“then do it,” he says, voice low, eyes dark. “come take what’s yours.”

you don’t move right away.

you just watch him—watch the way his body shifts slightly under your gaze, the way his hands flex behind him like he’s deciding whether to keep playing along or flip you back under him.

but he doesn’t move.

so you do.

you lift your hand and press it to the center of his chest—firm, steady.

his muscles tense beneath your palm, but he doesn’t resist as you push. slow. deliberate. until his elbows give and his back hits the ground, dirt sticking to the sweat bleeding through his shirt.

he exhales through his nose, looking up at you now, head tilted, brow low.

“really think you’re in control, huh?”

you swing your leg over him and straddle his hips, settling on his thighs—not yet where he wants you, not yet where you want to be, either. just close enough to remind him who’s holding the rhythm now.

you drag your hands down his chest, then lower one between your bodies, fingers curling around the base of his cock. he’s soft—but only just. still slick with your spit and his release, still sensitive, still warm in your palm.

you stroke him slow.

long, unhurried pulls from base to tip.

his hips twitch beneath you, a soft grunt slipping from his lips as you work him back to life, each stroke coaxing blood to the surface, swelling him under your touch.

he grows harder in your hand by the second—thick and flushed, pulsing faintly against your palm.

you glance down between your bodies, watching the way your hand looks wrapped around him, the way he throbs with every stroke.

his breath is heavier now, chest rising under yours.

“you always this smug when you’re sittin’ on my cock,” he mutters, voice low, lips curling just slightly.

you keep stroking him, pace steady, fingers tightening just a little.

“i haven’t sat yet,” you whisper.

and the way his body reacts—hips twitching, eyes darkening—tells you he’s ready for it.

you keep your hand wrapped around him, pumping slow, steady—watching the way his face tightens every time your palm twists just right near the tip.

he’s hard now. thick and throbbing beneath you.

and still, you don’t sit.

you drag it out.

your other hand slides up his chest, nails grazing lightly across the ridges of his abdomen, up to his ribs, his sternum, until your fingers wrap loosely around his throat—not squeezing. not even applying pressure. just a warning.

his eyes flicker.

his hands stay planted in the dirt at his sides, fingers twitching like he’s holding himself back from grabbing your hips and flipping you straight onto your back.

good.

you lean in just enough to murmur near his mouth, lips barely brushing.

“what was that about bending me over?” you ask, voice quiet and mocking, breath warm on his tongue. “say it again.”

he growls low in his throat, hips bucking up into your hand, but he still doesn’t touch you.

his lips part, eyes heavy-lidded, but you cut him off before he can speak.

you release him.

his cock twitches as your hand slips away, and he makes a sound in his chest—frustration, hunger, maybe both—but you’re already reaching lower, gathering the hem of your dress in your fists.

you rise slightly onto your knees, pulling the fabric up and over your head—slow, sensual, like you know he’s watching every inch of skin as it’s revealed.

your breasts bounce free first, and then your stomach, your hips, the stretch of your thighs. the whole dress slides off in one smooth motion and drops beside you in the dirt.

you’re bare to the moonlight now, flushed and glowing, slick between your legs from everything he’s already wrung out of you.

his breath catches—he doesn’t even try to hide it.

then his hands are moving.

he sits up with a quiet curse, fingers flying to the buttons of his shirt. each one comes undone fast, desperate, not messy—but impatient. his chest is already glistening with sweat, muscles tight from restraint, and when he pulls the shirt off, he tosses it behind him without a glance.

now it’s just skin.

skin and tension and breath and heat.

you’re still straddling his thighs, naked and warm against his stomach, his cock hard and pulsing just below your hips.

he leans back on one hand, the other running slowly up your thigh, palm wide and possessive.

“you done showin’ off?” he asks, voice low and thick.

you smirk, hand dragging down your own stomach, fingers grazing your inner thigh as you shift your weight.

“you done watching?”

his grip tightens slightly.

“get on,” he mutters, breath catching.

but you lean in close, lips brushing his ear.

“make me.”

he groans, head tipping back slightly as your words settle hot in his ear.

his hand tightens on your thigh again, grip bruising now, restraint burning just beneath his skin.

“get on already,” he growls, voice rough and fraying at the edges. “before i forget how long i’ve let you play.”

you smirk down at him, slow and dangerous, hips shifting just enough to let your slick folds slide along the length of his cock—barely brushing. just enough to make him twitch, to hear him suck in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“you want it so bad,” you murmur, voice low, taunting, “then line me up.”

he doesn’t hesitate.

his hand slides from your thigh to the base of his cock, thick fingers wrapping around himself as he holds it upward—steady, the swollen head brushing through your slick, gliding easy between your folds as you lift onto your knees.

you hover there—bare, flushed, glowing from your high—your entrance hovering just above him, breath coming faster now, chest rising and falling with the heat simmering low in your belly.

his cock nudges your entrance.

and you pause.

eyes locked on his.

slow. deliberate.

your thighs tighten, steadying yourself.

then, inch by inch—you sink down.

his head pushes inside first, parting you slow, stretching you wide around the thick head of his cock. your breath stutters, jaw falling slack as the pressure blooms deep, warm and all-consuming.

he groans—deep in his chest, guttural—his fingers digging into your hips as you take more, and more.

your walls clamp around him, greedy and wet, pulling him in as you lower yourself until your thighs are flush to him.

you sit there, fully seated, full to the brim, your body trembling slightly from the stretch, from the weight of him pulsing deep inside you.

his breath shudders.

your hands rest on his chest, nails grazing his skin, your lips parted as your eyes flutter half-closed.

“good boy,” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

his hands flex on your hips like he’s about to flip you right there.

but he doesn’t.

he waits.

and that restraint?

barely there.

you stay still for a moment.

just sit there, fully seated on him, your walls fluttering around his cock—tight and wet and pulsing as he throbs inside you. the fullness stretches through your belly, deep and hot, grounding you in the weight of him. your thighs are tense on either side of his hips, hands splayed across his chest, feeling the hard rise and fall beneath your palms.

remmick’s breath is ragged.

his fingers twitch where they rest on your waist, every muscle in his body pulled tight with restraint.

“you gonna move,” he mutters, voice strained, “or just sit there makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind?”

you smile—slow, wicked—and lean in just a little, your lips brushing his without touching. your hips shift. just barely.

then you lift.

only a few inches. just enough to feel the drag of him leaving you, your walls clinging as he slips free—slick, hard, aching for more.

then you sink back down. slow.

his groan is broken. deep in his throat. hands clenching at your sides like he’s trying not to take over.

you start a rhythm like that—long, drawn-out strokes. lifting and dropping your hips with measured control, rolling your body like you’re dancing on him, using every muscle to squeeze and pull him deeper.

his head tips back. his jaw clenches.

“fuck…”

his voice is hoarse now, barely audible between the sound of your wet heat sliding down his length, the slap of skin meeting skin, the soft, breathy moans leaving your mouth with each descent.

you rock your hips in slow circles once you bottom out, grinding down on him, your clit brushing the base of him just right. your body trembles, a soft gasp breaking from your lips.

his hands roam your thighs, your hips, your waist—touch hungry, greedy, but not quite taking control.

“you feel that?” you whisper, voice sweet and breathless, eyes half-lidded as you start to move again. “feel how deep you are?”

he grits his teeth, nodding slowly, barely holding on.

you lift again, slower this time, and drop down with a soft moan, your head falling back.

“you’re gonna break if i keep this up,” you murmur, almost teasing, breath catching in your throat.

and from the way he shudders under you, the way his hands curl tighter into your flesh, you know he’s close to snapping.

just the way you like him.

your hips begin to move faster now.

no longer slow and teasing—still controlled, but heavier, more deliberate. each lift and drop brings a wet clap of skin, your thighs working around his, your hands braced against his chest for leverage.

you ride him with purpose.

your moans fall freely now—low and breathy, soft at first, then catching in your throat as your pace builds. your body is flushed, glowing in the moonlight, sweat clinging to your chest and collarbone as your rhythm grinds harder, deeper.

underneath you, remmick groans—head tipped back, hands gripping your waist as you fuck yourself on him like you’re trying to prove something.

he cracks first.

“look at you,” he pants, a crooked grin breaking across his lips. “bouncin’ on my cock like you’ve got somethin’ to prove.”

you moan through a smirk, riding him harder now, the bounce in your hips sharper, the sound of it filthier with every slap of skin.

“maybe i do,” you breathe, grinding down hard as he hits deep inside you. “someone’s gotta do the work.”

he laughs—short, breathless—before his hands tighten on your hips and slam you down a little harder, making your head jolt back with a sharp gasp.

“please,” he grits. “you’re the one desperate to stay on top.”

you lean down until your mouth is brushing his, your breath mingling, sweat mixing where your bodies meet.

“because you’d lose your fuckin’ mind if i let you have control.”

his eyes narrow, pupils blown wide with lust, breath ragged beneath you.

“you’re damn right i would.”

you slam down on him again—deep, fast, unforgiving—and his groan cuts through the trees, low and guttural, hands sliding down to your ass as he guides your rhythm now, matching your pace with just enough pressure to let you know he could take over at any second.

but he doesn’t.

“keep talkin’,” he mutters, jaw clenched as you ride him harder. “see if you don’t end up face down in the dirt next time.”

you moan at that—louder than you mean to—your nails dragging across his chest.

“sayin’ that like it’s a threat,” you pant.

your pace keeps climbing—sharper now, filthier, the sounds between you obscene, wet, and desperate. your thighs burn, your breath breaks in stuttering gasps, and still you keep going—grinding down, bouncing, rolling your hips in quick, punishing circles that make him groan your name.

the rhythm shatters.

control slips.

your hips crash down onto him harder, faster—no more teasing, no more slow grind. now it’s raw need, your thighs trembling with the effort as you bounce on his cock, over and over, slick and soaked and stretched wide.

remmick meets you with equal force, thrusting up into you with brutal snaps of his hips, his grip bruising at your waist, dragging you down to take every inch. the wet smack of your bodies slamming together fills the air, broken only by ragged moans and gasped curses.

you arch your back, spine curving, hair tumbling down your shoulders as your chest rises.

that’s when he moves.

he surges up, sitting beneath you as your hips keep moving, his mouth catching the swell of your breast. his tongue drags over the soft flesh first—hot and wet—before he latches onto your nipple, sucking hard, tongue swirling around it as you cry out.

your hands fly to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as you ride through the shock of pleasure, hips grinding down deeper. he groans around your nipple, the vibration sending another jolt through your body.

his fangs graze your skin next—light, deliberate. not piercing. just threatening.

a warning.

or maybe a promise.

you feel the points of them drag slowly across the sensitive skin just beneath your nipple, not breaking, but enough to make your breath catch. your cunt clenches around him at the sensation, and he feels it.

he fucking feels it.

“you like that,” he growls against your breast, voice muffled, hot, wrecked. “fuckin’ feel you tight around me.”

you grind harder in response, riding him fast, messy, wild. the sound of it grows louder, wetter, his cock sliding in and out of you like your body was made to take him.

he switches sides—mouth finding your other breast, sucking hard, fangs dragging again across your flushed skin. your cries grow sharper now, whimpers and moans tumbling from your lips with every brutal stroke of his cock, every graze of his mouth.

“remmick—” you gasp, your voice cracking.

his hands move to your ass, gripping tight, guiding your rhythm as he fucks up into you now with force—your bodies slamming together, fast, unrelenting.

it’s not tender.

it’s not sweet.

it’s hunger. blood-deep, soul-deep.

animal.

he doesn’t let up.

not when your back arches harder. not when your nails sink deeper into his shoulders. not even when you cry out his name again, sharper this time—needier.

his cock drives up into you with punishing force now, timed to the ragged rise and fall of your chest. and still, his mouth is on your breast—sucking, biting, dragging his fangs across your flushed skin until your thighs begin to shake.

“mine,” he growls against your chest, the word half-buried in heat, half-lost in the wet sound of your bodies slamming together.

you snarl through a gasp, fingers snapping up to grip his hair. you yank his head back, baring his neck, his jaw clenched and eyes blown wide with lust and something darker.

“you don’t get to mark me,” you breathe, voice shaking. “not without wearin’ some of your own.”

and before he can respond—before he can even smirk—you sink your teeth into the curve of his throat.

not with fangs. not to feed.

just to hurt.

he groans—loud, guttural—hips jerking up into you as you bite down harder, teeth pressing into his sweat-slick skin until you feel the faintest taste of copper. he hisses, fingers bruising your waist now as he thrusts harder, deeper.

you pull back, mouth wet, his blood smeared at the corner of your lips.

he stares at you—dazed, panting, wrecked.

then his hand snaps up and grabs the back of your neck, yanking you down into a brutal kiss, mouths crashing, teeth clicking, blood and spit and breath all mixing in the space between you.

he bites your bottom lip—hard.

you bite his upper lip in return, dragging your nails down his back as you slam your hips down to meet him again, cunt fluttering around him from the overstimulation.

your bodies rock together in rough, wild rhythm now—desperate to leave pieces behind. your teeth graze his shoulder. his mouth finds your throat. his fangs press again, just enough to sting, just enough to leave little indents in your skin.

no feeding.

just marking.

your hips stutter once, your breath catching.

“remmick—” you gasp, voice hoarse.

his hand slips down to your ass, squeezing, lifting you slightly before slamming you back down again.

“that’s right,” he groans, nose brushing your cheek, his voice breaking. “say it again.”

you do.

you scream it.

because he’s everywhere—in you, on you, under your skin now.

you’re not moving with rhythm anymore.

you’re fighting it.

grinding, bouncing, slamming your hips down every time he thrusts up—no sync, just raw collision. wet, loud, punishing. it sounds like war and worship in equal measure.

remmick grits his teeth, arms flexing as he grabs your waist and holds you steady. his thrusts get sharper, deeper, his cock driving into you like he’s trying to reach something no one else ever has.

your head snaps back, a wild moan tearing from your throat as he slams into the softest spot inside you, over and over. your nails rake down his chest—hard—leaving raw lines behind.

he hisses, and the second your hands lift again, he grabs both your wrists in one of his hands and slams them down against his chest, pinning you in place.

“stay fuckin’ still,” he growls, breath hot and furious at your jaw.

“make me,” you snarl back, legs tightening around his hips as you grind even harder, defiant through the slick mess between you.

he doesn’t answer.

he bites.

his fangs sink into the curve between your shoulder and neck—not deep, not enough to draw real blood—but enough to bruise. enough to make your body jolt.

you cry out, not from pain—but from the way your cunt clenches around him instantly, your body reacting without permission.

your wrists strain under his grip, but you don’t pull away.

you bear down on him instead, muscles tightening, your hips driving down harder as you clench around his cock like you’re trying to milk him on the spot.

he groans, guttural, eyes rolling back for a second as he thrusts up so hard your body jolts.

“fuckin’ hell,” he pants, biting your shoulder again, then dragging his tongue over it like a claim.

his grip loosens, and you break your hands free, immediately grabbing his face and pulling his mouth to yours—biting at his bottom lip, sucking it into your mouth before nipping down to his jaw, his throat, anywhere you can reach.

you want him covered in you.

marked.

wrecked.

he grabs your ass again, this time spreading you wider, holding you open for the way his cock drives up into you with violent precision. your whole body jolts with each thrust now, your tits bouncing against his chest, the burn in your thighs nearing collapse.

your voice is a mess of moans and curses and breathless growls against his skin.

“you’re gonna break me—”

“good.” he slams into you again. “gonna feel me every time you fuckin’ sit for the next week.”

you sob out a laugh and ride him harder, your fingernails dragging into his scalp, your entire body shaking with strain—but neither of you slows.

your thighs start to give out first—shaking, twitching, the strength draining with every hard, relentless thrust he pounds into you. your head’s spinning, mouth open, gasping through half-broken moans that catch at the top of your throat.

he knows.

he feels it.

the way your walls start to flutter around him, tighter, wetter—gripping like a vice with every grind of your hips.

his hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that send sparks skittering up your spine.

you cry out—a strangled sound—and your whole body arches against him.

“that’s it,” he growls, fucking up into you harder, faster, deeper. “go ahead—come on me.”

your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to leave crescent moons behind as your release finally rips through you.

your body locks up.

your thighs seize, stomach clenching, hips jerking uncontrollably as your orgasm crashes through you like a wave that doesn’t crest. it just keeps going—your walls clenching and pulsing around his cock in desperate, helpless spasms.

you moan his name again—louder, wilder, fucked-out and barely coherent—as your head drops to his shoulder, your voice catching in gasping whimpers as your body rides it out.

he doesn’t stop.

not even when you’re shaking.

he slams up into you again and again, riding your release as if it’s dragging him under with it. your cunt squeezes him so tight he grits his teeth and curses under his breath, fingers digging into your ass as he bucks up hard.

and then—he breaks.

“fuck—fuck—fuck—”

his cock throbs inside you, buried to the hilt as he comes—hot and hard—spilling deep, hips stuttering wildly beneath you as he groans through clenched teeth. his head falls back, mouth open, eyes screwed shut as the pleasure wrecks him, his entire body trembling under the force of it.

you feel every pulse of it inside you—feel the warmth, the tension leaving his body all at once.

for a moment, neither of you moves.

you just collapse against him—sweat-slicked and shaking—his arms wrapping around you tight, both of you panting into each other’s skin.

your body still twitches with aftershocks. so does his.

he presses a breathless kiss to your shoulder, lips barely grazing the bite mark he left there.

“fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “you tryin’ to kill me?”

you laugh softly against his throat, still breathless, still shaking.

“maybe.”

your bodies are slick where they touch—skin to skin, heat layered between the sweat, the cum, the mess of it all.

you haven’t even caught your breath fully when remmick’s hands slide back down to your hips, fingers curling tight like he’s already deciding what to do with you next.

you lift your head, just barely, eyes half-lidded, lips parted—but before you can speak, his mouth finds your neck again.

this time, lower.

rougher.

his teeth sink into the space just beneath your jaw, right over where your pulse flutters against your skin. not a love bite. not soft. it’s marking again—harder than before. enough to make your breath hitch and your thighs clench all over again around his softening cock still buried inside you.

you gasp, body jerking against him.

he doesn’t pull back right away—his mouth lingers, tongue dragging across the sting like he owns it.

and then he murmurs, low and dark against your neck:

“still wanna bend you over.”

you exhale sharply, pulse stammering under his mouth.

“course you do,” you pant, voice tight, fingers gripping his shoulders. “you’ve got no imagination.”

he chuckles, low and dangerous, biting again—just beside the first mark, your skin already flushed and bruising.

“oh, i’ve got plenty,” he mutters. “you just keep wearin’ me out before i can use it.”

you roll your hips once, slow, grinding down just enough to feel him twitch inside you, your smirk returning even as your thighs tremble with aftershocks.

he growls softly—his hands gripping your waist tighter, strong enough to bruise, strong enough to flip you over and keep going if he really wanted to.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he runs his nose along your throat again, voice low and wrecked.

“you’re sore,” he says, matter-of-fact, like he can feel it in the way you flinch just slightly when he shifts his hips beneath you. “i can feel it.”

you lean in, mouth brushing the shell of his ear.

“and you’re still hardening inside me,” you whisper. “so what does that say about you?”

he groans at that—deep and ruined—his arms locking around you again like he can’t decide whether to rest or ruin you again.

he exhales a broken sound against your throat—half a growl, half a groan—and you feel it vibrate against your skin, deep and frustrated.

then his hands move.

he grips your hips hard, fingers digging in, and in one swift motion he lifts you off him. you gasp at the sudden emptiness, the stretch leaving your cunt fluttering and sore.

“remmick—”

he doesn’t give you time to finish.

you’re flipped.

his hands press between your shoulder blades and your lower back arches before you can think. your palms hit the ground, knees digging into the dirt. your thighs are still trembling, your body still soaked, but it doesn’t matter.

he needs this.

he kneels behind you, one hand palming your ass, spreading you open with a rough groan as his cock twitches back to full hardness.

“told you,” he pants, voice low, hungry. “still gonna bend you over.”

his hand drags along the curve of your spine, not gentle—possessive. and then you feel it—his cock pressing back to your entrance, slick and hot, nudging at your swollen folds.

you try to say something—maybe protest, maybe provoke—but all that comes out is a whimper as he thrusts back inside you in one long, hard push.

your breath punches out of your lungs, your arms nearly buckle.

“fuck—” you cry, hips jerking forward from the force of it, but he grabs them and yanks you right back, his cock burying to the hilt.

he leans over you, chest against your back, breath hot against your neck.

“too sore?” he murmurs, voice full of that smug, breathless heat. “say the word.”

you hiss through gritted teeth, glancing back at him with fire still flashing in your eyes.

“shut up and fuck me, remmick.”

he growls at that—and obeys.

his hips slam into you, pace brutal from the start. your hands claw at the ground, body jerking forward with each thrust. he keeps your hips locked in place, thrusting deep, hard, relentless. slick, filthy sounds fill the air with every connection of skin, every wet thrust driving into your overstimulated cunt.

you cry out, voice breaking, but you don’t tell him to stop.

you can’t.

your body’s burning all over again, the pain bleeding straight into pleasure, your mind fogging up as he pounds into you like he’s trying to fuck everything you just gave him right back out.

“take it,” he snarls, his hand gripping your ass, then sliding up your back to press between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest lower. “you wanted this.”

your cheek brushes the dirt, your mouth falling open as your thighs tremble violently beneath you.

“fuck, remmick—”

“that’s it,” he groans, slamming into you again, his voice dark and tight. “say it louder.”

his thrusts get heavier now—deeper.

every slam of his hips drives your body forward, only for him to yank you back again, your ass smacking against his pelvis with every stroke. your thighs burn, your arms shake, and your moans spill out in wild, breathless fragments you can’t control anymore.

“fuck… ”

it’s slurred. half a plea, half a curse.

he doesn’t slow.

instead, he leans over you, his chest pressing to your back, trapping you beneath his weight as he fucks into you from behind. one hand digs into your hip, the other sliding up your spine again, up to your throat, wrapping around the front of it—not tight, just there.

his mouth finds your neck.

not gently.

his teeth scrape down to that same bruised spot under your jaw, and this time, when he sinks them in, it’s not soft. it’s not careful.

he bites hard.

your entire body seizes under him, a strangled moan tearing from your lips as he growls against your skin, your cunt tightening around his cock like a reflex. he doesn’t draw blood—just leaves a mark so deep it’ll bloom in purple and blue by morning.

his hips piston into you harder now, desperate, messy. every thrust is brutal, precise, and possessive. the rhythm is fraying, breaking at the seams.

“feel that?” he pants against your ear, voice shaking with heat. “feel how fuckin’ deep i am?”

you sob out a moan, your fingers clawing uselessly at the ground beneath you.

“can’t get any deeper, remmick—”

he growls, slams into you again.

“yes i fuckin’ can.”

you gasp, choking on another moan as your body jerks forward with the force of it. your legs nearly collapse, and he holds you up like he knows, dragging your body back to meet every thrust like he’s molding you to him.

his hand squeezes your throat once, just a bit tighter.

“say it,” he breathes into your ear, his pace turning punishing. “say this pussy’s mine.”

you try to speak, but the only sound that leaves you is a broken, desperate cry as he hits that spot again and again, his cock driving deep, thick, hard enough to make your vision blur.

he bites your neck again.

your body shakes.

you can’t speak.

you can only take it.

and he fucks you like he knows it.

his hand is still at your throat, palm warm, fingers flexed.

his mouth hovers near your ear now, breath hot and ragged as he drives into you over and over, your name tangled in the curse that slips from his lips when you clench around him again, pulsing tight and soaked.

“still fuckin’ fightin’ me,” he hisses, dragging his teeth along your jaw. “even like this.”

you snap back between gasps, voice hoarse, trembling under the weight of him.

“not fighting.” your hips jerk back to meet him. “winning.”

that earns a low, vicious sound from his chest. he slams into you harder—no rhythm now, just chaos and dominance, raw friction that makes your eyes roll back.

“keep talkin’,” he growls, hand leaving your throat just long enough to wrap around your hair and yank your head back. “go on—say somethin’ else smart.”

you gasp at the sting, scalp burning where he grips you, back arching deeper under his weight. but you don’t flinch. you grin through it, breathless and wrecked.

“this what you call fuckin’? feels like desperation.”

his rhythm stutters—just for a second.

then he drags your body up against his chest, your knees barely holding under the angle. one arm banded around your waist, the other still in your hair, pulling your head back until your neck’s exposed and vulnerable.

you’re half-folded over him now, fully impaled on his cock, your cunt clenching with every unforgiving thrust. and he’s not hiding the sound he makes—deep, guttural, soaked in obsession.

“you think i’m desperate?” he grinds out, voice wrecked. “you’re so fuckin’ wet, i can hear how bad you want it.”

you sob out a moan as his thrusts snap faster, harder, punching the air from your lungs.

his mouth’s back on your neck—biting, licking, breathing into your skin like he’s feeding off the sound of you falling apart.

you try to speak again, but his hand tightens in your hair and he yanks you back against him until your back’s bowed so deep it aches. your walls flutter hard around him, your body shivering under the pressure, too overstimulated to hide it anymore.

“you’re gonna come again,” he pants. “i feel it.”

you shake your head, breath catching—whether it’s defiance or panic, you don’t know.

your body gives first.

he releases the hold on your waist and your hands meet the earth.

your breath stutters, legs shaking beneath you as the tension inside snaps all at once. your hands claw at the dirt, your voice caught in your throat before it finally breaks loose—a raw, aching cry as your body convulses around him. the climax tears through you like a fire that leaves nothing untouched, nothing unburned.

and still—he doesn’t stop.

remmick’s thrusts stay deep, unrelenting, as if the sound of you falling apart is the only thing that could possibly drag him over the edge. he grits out your name through clenched teeth, his pace stuttering as your walls spasm around him.

his fingers bruise your hips. a breath catches. his whole body tenses behind you, and with one final thrust—deep, drawn out—he gives in too.

his breath leaves him in a low groan, drawn from somewhere in his chest. you feel it in the way he trembles against your back, in the heat of him filling you, in the grip that doesn’t loosen even after it’s over.

for a long, stretched moment, the forest is quiet except for the sounds of your shared breathing—ragged, broken, slowly coming down.

he doesn’t move.

not right away.

his chest stays against your back, his hands still heavy on your hips. the only sound between you now is the wind in the trees and the slowing rhythm of your breaths syncing.

eventually, you find your voice.

“you’re fuckin’ heavy,” you murmur, hoarse but strong.

he exhales against your neck. not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

“and you still talk too much.”

you don’t answer. not this time.

tag for dividers : omi-resources

#remmick x reader #remmick smut #remmick x fem!reader #sinners 2025 #jack o'connell #sinners fanfiction #remmick oneshot

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wr2shw · 1 day ago

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Flowers

description: you surprise him with flowers on a random day

pairing: harry lewis (w2s) x fem!reader; george clarke x fem!reader; arthur frederick (arthut tv) x fem!reader; chris dixon (chrismd) x fem!reader

genre: fluff

Harry Lewis

you were shopping for some groceries when you came across a cute little flower, you stop by just to browse around but the flowers were truly the most beautiful things. they were fresh and vibrant. looking at the flowers made you realise that you have never really got your boyfriend flowers. you have been with harry for nearly five years and not once have you thought about getting him flowers especially when he got you flowers every week. today you decide to change it. you picked some pink carnations with some baby’s breath and asked the shop lady to help you organise them.

“must be someone special. you picked flowers that add up to love and memories.” the lady say, handing you the flowers.

“he is very special.” you say smiling at the flowers and thanking the lady before leaving for home. when you arrive home, harry is sitting on the couch watching some show.

“you are back.” he say, looking at you. “come here, i missed you.” he opens his arms for you.

“i was gone for like an hour.” you say smiling a little at his clinginess. you put the groceries on the kitchen counter and grab the bouquet of flowers before walking up to him. “here.” you say handing him the flowers.

his posture changes completely, the legs that were resting on the table were now on the ground and his back which was leaning against the couch was now straight. he was shocked. “for me?” he says taking the flowers out of your hands, you hummed and sat beside him, leaning into him a little. “why? is there a special day today? don’t tell me i forgot, i have written down everything in my calendar.”

you chuckle at his frantic responses. “no, haz, i just thought you deserve some flowers too, it’s only fair. you get me flowers every week, this is the least i could do.”

he looks at them and then at you, then pulls you into his embrace. “you don’t have to do anything for me. you love me and that’s more than enough for me. you being happy is enough for me.”

you smile in his embrace, thanking the holy spirit above for blessing you with this man. “i just wanted you to feel special, just like how you make me feel.”

“well, i do feel special and thank you so much for the beautiful flowers. i will treasure them forever.” he says.

“you can’t treasure them forever, harry, they will die in a few days.” you say, shaking your head in adoration.

“well then i will preserve them. i have heard resin helps.” he says. and you chuckle at his imagination.

George Clarke

you are returning back home from a dinner with your friends when you saw a flower shop open. you were slightly tipsy after your night out so when a crazy idea popped in your head, you didn’t bother to rethink it. you brought some red tulips from the flower shop and made your way to george’s apartment. you and george were very close friends, but you liked george. more than a friend, so much more than just a friend. but you have always been scared, the fear of ruining your friendship with him always stoped you. but tonight, with the help of some liquid courage, you decided to face your fears.

when you arrived at his, chris and arthur’s shared apartment, you knocked on the door. after about a few moments, the door opens. “y/n? what are you doing here? it’s 10 pm.” chris asks as he lets you in.

“oh i am here to meet george.” you say smiling at him.

“right, well you know where his room is.” chris says as he vanishes in his own room.

you make your way to george’s room and softly knock on it, only opening it when you hear a little ‘come in’. when he sees you his face lights up immediately. “hey, poppet. what are you doing here at this hour? everything good?”

you try not to blush at the nickname. “everything’s fine.” you say, walking towards where he is sitting. “i just wanted to give you these.” you handed him the flowers.

“for me?” he says, smiling a little.

“yes.” you say, your voice soft. “george, do you know what red tulips mean?”

“no, enlighten me.” he says, smiling at you.

“they mean declaration of love.” you say and then take a deep breath. “george, i have liked you for a while now but always chickened out when i wanted to tell you but tonight i thought fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen? you could kick me out and never speak to me, that’ll be a nightmare but at least the weight will be off my chest.”

he chuckles at your little speech. “i would never kick you out, poppet. you are the most beautiful and lively person i know. i have liked you from the day i saw you playing fifa with chris and losing miserably. you whined a little but then started laughing because me and chris were, i found it so beautiful.”

“but that was ages ago and how can a small incident make you feel so much?” you say, completely perplexed by his answer.

“well, i was scared to admit it too, and it may seem small but it did something to me.” he says smiling at you. “i love the flowers, i have never really got flowers from a girl before. i hope i get more in the future from you, you seem to have great taste in them.”

“oh yeah? you will definitely get a bunch more in the future. how about tomorrow we go out for dinner and i buy you more flowers?” you say.

“you brought me flowers and now i am being asked out, what a life. i could get used to the princess treatment you know.” you both chuckle at that.

the next day you do on a date and you bring him some more flowers which he loved.

Arthur Frederick

you and your family own a farm where you usually grow vegetables but this summer you decided to grow some flowers, more specifically sunflowers. they were in full bloom when you visited your parents this morning. they were bright, yellow and beautiful, reminding you of someone. you decided to pick some out and surprise him with them.

you reach home at around noon, you find arthur in the room recording a video so you decide not to disturb him. you start preparing some pasta for lunch. mid way through cooking arthur enters the kitchen.

“hey, i am making lunch, you want some?” you ask him.

“yeah.” he said, not paying much attention because he is focused on the flowers you have kept in the vase. “who got you flowers?” he asks.

“oh no, those are for you.” you say not looking up from your cooking.

“for me? you bought them for me?” he sounds surprised.

you turn to look at him and smile. “yes, arthur, for you. we are growing some sunflower in my parents farm and thought i’d get you some. you don’t like them?”

he shakes his head vigorously, “no no, i love them, it’s just weird to receive flowers out of blue.”

“well, be ready for more because i am planning to grow many more varieties.” you say smiling at him.

he comes over and kisses your cheeks. “thank you for these, made me feel special.”

“you are special.” you say ruffling his hair, teasingly.

“thank you.” he grins but then his eyebrows furrow and he asks. “wait that’s a compliment, right?” you chuckle and return back to cooking.

Chris Dixon

you and chris are on a long drive at night, when you decide to stop by a supermarket for some snacks. you quickly run to the store while chris waits in the car.

you grab some candies and crisps then decide to go checkout when you see some red roses. spontaneously, you decide to get some for chris, it’s not like this is the first time you are getting him flowers, you used to get him some at the beginning of your relationship but then eventually you forgot so today you thought to surprise him.

after paying you make your way to the car. as soon as chris sees you bring the roses he says, “you bought yourself flowers?”

“what? no. chris, these are for you.” you say, handing him the flowers.

“oh thank you, love.” he says smiling, admiring the flowers. “we haven’t done this is a while.” he says, being nostalgic.

“i know, and i felt like tonight was perfect.” you say.

“it is perfect.” he says smiling softly. “i am so lucky to have you.” he says and the car fills with a comfortable silence that makes you feel at peace.

#harry lewis #harry lewis x reader #my fic #sidemen #w2s #w2s x reader #wroetoshaw #wroetoshaw x reader #ukyt #ukyt fanfic #george clarke x reader #george clarkey #george clarke #arthurtv fanfic #arthurtv x reader #arthurtv #chrismd x reader #chrismd #chrid dixon

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youthguk · 2 days ago

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Vestiges: drabble 🤍 jjk (m)

Even in ruin, the vestiges of us remained.

an: to the couple that have suffered the most. they deserve their happy ending 🤍

This is a drabble for vestiges series (completed), make sure to read previous parts!

part 1 | part 2

The toothbrush hums softly in your mouth, a rhythmic, thoughtless motion as you lean into the mirror, elbows perched on the bathroom sink, the early morning light slanting pale and golden through the half-open window behind you. Summer lingers in the air like a lullaby, warm from the sun even before noon.

The house is unusually quiet, today there are no clatter of toys or tiny footsteps thudding down the hallway, no sleepy baby babble from the next room. Chanwoo is spending the weekend with your grandparents, and though the silence should be a luxury, it almost feels too still.

You blink at your reflection, sleep-soft hair tangled, one of Jungkook’s old shirts slouching off your shoulder, collar stretched wide and falling in loose folds that expose the soft curve of your neck. Your lips foam with mint, and you lean in closer, watching your own eyes for signs of the quiet bloom of joy that’s been growing beneath your ribs like something too tender to speak of yet.

And then you feel it: the presence before the sound. You lift your eyes just as Jungkook appears in the doorway, shoulder resting against the frame, bare chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep only half-walked away. His hair is wild, uncombed and curling slightly from the heat, and there’s something about the way he stands there like he’s holding something fragile in his mouth. As if he says it wrong it’ll vanish before you hear it.

You meet his gaze through the mirror, a flicker of something caught between your reflections, and it’s then that he says it. “I still feel scared I’ll lose you.”

The words crack through, edged with a kind of sorrow you hadn’t seen in him for a while now. Your hand stills mid-stroke, toothbrush dangling loosely between your fingers as your heart stumbles. There’s something in his voice, as if he’s no longer afraid you’ll run, but that the world itself will find a way to take you.

You meet his eyes again, only this time not through glass, but directly, your gaze soft as you turn toward him, toothpaste still bubbling faintly at the corner of your mouth. You spit, rinse, wipe your lips with the corner of your sleeve, and without hesitating you say: “You won’t.”

You don’t dress the truth in poetry, you just give it to him straight, and maybe that’s what he needs. Something solid enough to press into the cracks that still live in both your hearts.

He exhales like the words knocked something loose in him, and you watch his shoulders relax, his eyes never leaving your face like he’s trying to memorize you all over again. You’ve seen this look before but today, it feels different.

Still, he doesn’t speak, and neither do you. You just step close enough that his fingers brush the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, the fabric familiar between you, the shape of home. And when he leans in simply to rest his forehead against yours, you close your eyes, breathing him in, letting the quiet say what words cannot.

Because in this moment where you are still here and he is still yours, fear has no teeth.

There’s something of a subtle reverence in the air for everything the two of you have built with aching hands and stubborn hearts, for the home made from late-night compromises and early-morning promises, for the child sleeping in another town tonight and the quiet miracle of a life you once thought impossible.

He crosses the bathroom barefoot against tile, his eyes not leaving you for a second. And when his hands find your waist and his lips brush against your temple and linger there, you know before he even speaks that he’s trying to say everything without saying too much.

“You’re still everything to me,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your cheek, voice threaded with wonder and disbelief that after everything you’re still here.

You turn to face him, your body fitting into his like muscle memory, like coming home after years of being lost in the dark.

And when he whispers, “Let me hold you a little longer today,” there's no hesitation in your answer, only the way your fingers slip gently beneath the hem of his shirt, only the nod of your head as he lifts you into his arms as if you weigh nothing.

He lays you down in the center of your shared bed with a care, like every scar he once carved into himself is being slowly stitched closed by the shape of your collarbone and the way you look up at him like you never stopped believing he was worth it.

He undresses you slowly, fingertips brushing down your spine and lips brushing your shoulder. There’s no urgency now, only the unspoken language of two people who have survived the worst and are still learning how to live in the peace that followed.

And when your bodies come together, it is with a kind of aching precision that only comes from loving someone long enough to remember the shape of their soul. He kisses you like you are something fragile and sacred.

His forehead rests against yours, eyes searching yours for permission he already has, hands roaming your waist with reverence. When your legs part and your body arches up to meet him, it feels like the final piece slipping into place.

He presses inside you with agonizing slowness, breath hitching against your lips, a low sound rumbling in his chest as your warmth swallows him inch by inch. And you’re already trembling, your fingers clenching around his arms, your mouth parting on a moan you try to swallow, but can’t. Not when he fills you so deeply and when his hand slides down to cradle the back of your thigh and hook it tighter around his waist, pushing deeper.

He’s panting now, forehead still pressed to yours, whispering broken things you can barely make out between his shallow gasps: “You’re perfect, always so perfect for me. How can this even be real?”

You answer him in your own language, lips trailing down the curve of his jaw, fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair and hips lifting to meet every slow, careful thrust. You murmur his name because that’s the only thing on your mind now.

And when he shifts the angle, hitting that place inside you that makes your toes curl and your moan break open against his skin, he doesn’t speed up, but instead he slows even further, grinding deep, kissing you through it, murmuring into your mouth: “You you were made for me, baby, always mine.”

He keeps one hand cradling your face, the other wrapped under your thigh to anchor you to him, and you feel every stroke on some impossible level. It’s too much and not enough, and you whisper his name again. “Jungkook, please, don’t stop!”

“Never,” he gasps, voice wrecked and that drives even more insane. Though you should have gotten used to this, it still turns you on, seeing how much power you have over him.

When you come, it’s with a cry, your arms tighten around his neck, your body clenching around him, and he curses into your throat, losing rhythm, thrusts turning ragged, desperate, until he’s spilling into you with a broken moan and shaking arms.

His fingers trace lazy lines across your hip as your pulse slows and your body softens beneath him.

“I love you,” he says, low and hoarse, pressing the words into your skin.

"I love you too,” you whisper back, kissing his damp hair. “I always did.”

The morning settles around you both warm and drowsy, stitched with the quiet hum of the coffee machine and the soft scratch of branches against the windowpane. The air smells of toasted bread and roasted beans, of clean laundry folded yesterday and lemon dish soap still clinging faintly to Jungkook’s wrists.

You’re tucked into the corner of the kitchen bench, one leg folded beneath you, his oversized t-shirt hanging off your shoulder in the laziest declaration of intimacy. Across from you, Jungkook leans forward, elbows on the table, his hair still rumpled, eyes half-lidded but shining with something that looks dangerously close to contentment.

His laptop sits open between you, its screen displaying an offensive array of pastel chaos of cartoonish dinosaurs wearing crowns, balloon arches shaped like tiny trains, paper plates shaped like frosted puppies. There’s a tab open with tiny party hats shaped like bear ears, another with a three-tiered cake sculpted like a sandcastle.

You reach for your coffee and take a sip just as Jungkook clicks into a new page and snorts.

“Okay, this one,” he says, spinning the screen toward you. “Look at this ridiculous thing. It’s a full-on baby tuxedo... for a dinosaur theme. Why? Why does that exist?”

Your laugh catches you off guard, spilling from your throat like it’s been waiting days to rise. “Oh my god, no. No tuxedo. He’s already going to be overwhelmed.”

“But think about it, he toddles out in this little bowtie, knocks over the cake, and cries at the balloons. Iconic. First birthday trauma.”

You’re still laughing when your gaze drops to the cartoon sketches and all their bright, absurd promises.

“He’s almost one,” you murmur, the words more to yourself than to him, spoken around the lip of your mug like they might dissolve before they reach him.

Jungkook hears them anyway. “I know,” he says, and when you glance up, his smile is already there, warm and boyish and so devastatingly fond that it makes something behind your ribs ache in the gentlest way. “But he’ll always be our baby.”

You nod, placing your mug down, curling your arms on the table like you’re anchoring yourself to this little life that you both created: this kitchen, this morning light, this absurd debate over puppies vs. dinosaurs.

“He’s so happy there,” you say, and Jungkook follows your thought before you finish it.

“At your grandparents’? Yeah. They spoil him like crazy.” He chuckles, reaching for your hand, thumb brushing along your knuckles. “They love him.”

The window is open just a crack, enough to let in the muted sounds of summer. The world keeps turning, but here in this kitchen, it moves quietly, held together by soft laughter and the smell of coffee and the memory of a baby’s tiny socks still left in the laundry basket.

“Puppy theme,” you declare, leaning forward.

“Puppy theme,” Jungkook agrees, sealing the deal with a grin that still, after everything, makes your chest tighten.

You don’t know what comes to your mind, but a question that’s been haunting you since the day you found out that you were pregnant with Chanwoo, rises from your chest before you can stop it.

“Do you ever think…” your voice comes softer than intended, as if it might crack from the weight of what follows, “he should meet your parents?”

Jungkook stills, fingers pausing mid-scroll, his posture slowly straightening as the warmth in his gaze gives way to something colder and…resolute. “No.”

You don’t push but your eyes linger on him, searching for something beneath the surface. He sees it, of course. And after a breath, he closes the laptop, leans across the table, and takes your hand in his like it’s the only anchor he needs to remember who he is.

“They gave up the right to know him,” he says, voice quiet but unwavering, “the moment they tried to harm you.”

You swallow around the ache building in your chest, lashes lowering as you try to blink the sting away. But Jungkook doesn’t let you look down for long. His palm finds your cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye.

“This family we built?” he whispers, reverent and unshakable. “I will protect it with my life.”

You nod, because you feel absolutely the same.

“I just…” your voice falters slightly. “Sometimes I don’t think I deserve this. You know? It’s too good. We’re too lucky. And not just us but our baby. Our Chanwoo. Did I ever really… deserve any of this?”

His face intensifies with the heat that burns only for those who’ve been to the edge and fought their way back.

“If you think this is good,” he says, eyes never leaving yours, “then I promise you this is only a small part of what you actually deserve.”

Jungkook always had this way of making you feel the most loved and protected. And you always believed him, but sometimes that would just slip away from you.

“I will show you every day for the rest of our lives what you’re worth. I’ll give you everything, every piece of me, everything I have and everything I’ll ever build. For you and Chanwoo. You’re my world, baby.”

His fingers tighten just slightly around yours, anchoring the moment in something sacred. “And I swear,” he adds, voice low and sure, “no one will ever make you cry again.”

taglist: @cendrineee @nooooooooonnneeeeeee @gyeomibearr @ermno97 @estyshitposts @meggomeeeggo @slut4jeon @jk97bam @joonwater @annpeachy @ericawantstoescape @jkemmi @navixfr @emixlyn @whatthefsposts @cherricherryy @mar-lo-pap @dna2723 @5sosfam-directioner-psycho @lachesismoonmist @ianeaniee @spreadmysushi @carriereadsbooks @tatzzz-25 @parkinglot-nights @hamsss @cherryminnie95 @floweryjeons @rachie-wong @maariinaaaaa @asapggukie

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cvnt4him · 1 day ago

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I haven't posted in a long time but have baby daddy!deku for his birthday it's bad but...enjoy its the last you'll hear from me/hj

You n izuku stayed close after the divorce mostly because of the daugter you had. You coparent your daughter pretty well, with izuku working as a part time pro hero mostly every night, he only ever got to see his daughter on the weekends.

You and izuku ended your relationship due to the both of you getting in arguments more than normal. Izuku tried to see the bright side but you didn't feel as if it were right to be arguing this much. You felt your happiness fleeting with each second the two of you stayed together. It wasn't healthy for either of you to stay in a failing marriage nor was it okay for your daughter.

Over the years you and izuku have been kinder to each other. With time apart you realize how much you've missed having some company. You have your daughter for majority of the time so it gets even worse when she visits her dad. You've grown a bit.... codependent. It's crazy to think that you get terrible frightened to see your daughter walk out of your front door; a never ending fear that she may never return. A thought that haunts the back of your mind more than you'd like to admit..

It was another Friday night, izuku had come to pick your daughter up, your sweet and happy girl running into her father's arms. Sweet sounds of laughter leave the two as he scoops her up in his arms swinging her around and holding her tightly as he chuckled loudly. Seeing the two of them brought a warmth to your heart, a smile forming on your face at the precious sight.

Izuku couldn't help but to look up at you and see, he missed your face terribly so. Your sweet smile and your contagious laughter. He missed you cooking for him and lying beside him at night, holding him and telling him everything will be okay. Like youve done time and time again whenever he needed it most.

You were still as gorgeous as ever to him. The way you leaned against the wall watching them, his eyes lingering on your body for a little longer than they should have. Izukus attention was completely on you, his daughter telling him about her days at school while he nodded his head. You notice his eyes staying on you for a bit too long and tense underneath his gaze. You haven't exactly been....intamate in a while. Feeling his eyes on you like this, your thighs squeezing together as his eyes trail back up to your own.

He looked far sexier than you remembered. Izuku was always a strapping man, strong bulky and nice with a sweet baby face and doe eyes. He was perfect, truly. Until he wasn't, thinking about the way he'd treated you while together, how he'd leave you might after night so he could sit with katsuki and listen to stories he'd tell about his patrol and all the villains he'd fight. Izuku wasn't always able to live out his full dream of being a hero like he was now.

It was unintentional, sure. He never meant to leave you alone for so many nights. He hated when he'd stay at work late because he was unhappy or felt you deserved better. What's worse was he never told you how he felt. After the divorce, that was that. You both agreed to shared terms and...parted ways.

You wouldn't lie, you'd wondered who izuku had been with after you. You've seen news stories and other things on social media about him and his love life. It always upset you, it's not like you were trying to find these things, they were always prone to finding you.

Izuku stood to his feet clearing his throat, he gave you a weak smile before taking a step closer. His breath was shaky and he didn't quite mnow what to say to you. Your conversations were always brief but this time .. something felt different.

" Hey.."

"..Hi."

You both looked at each other with more longing than either of you intended. Your lips snuck itself between your teeth as you lightly gnawed on it, izuku noticed the way your thighs were squeezing together while you looked at him. He knew you, your body. He knew exactly what you wanted from him, even if you were too proud to admit it yourself.

“ hey uh, sweetheart, why don't you go finish packing and let me and mommy here have a chat , hm?”

" but I am done packing.”

Izuku turns back to you with weary eyes, you didn't know what he was doing but for some reason you knew exactly what to say.

“ hun, why don't you just get ready for bed, you and daddy will stay tonight and head back tomorrow.”

You daughter hummed to herself before agreeing, with her backpack on her back she slipped back to her room leaving you and izuku in your living room. You didnt know exactly what to do now..you turned back to face him, he gave you another smile this one more fond and holding more meaning than his last.

You sigh to yourself, unsure exactly what this meant for the both of you. Your head was spinning and you hated the way you felt..the way your body felt because of him. You still held some sort of disdain for him but....you wanted him more than you'd like to admit and he seen rihht through it.

No words were left to be said and with that, izuku pulled you into a heated kiss. His lips smashing against yours reigniting a feeling the both of you'd felt before. You moan into his mouth as you pull him impossibly closer to you by his shirt collar, heavy breaths leaving the both of you as you led him to your bedroom.

Things were moving impossibly fast, he swiftly shut your door with his foot before removing your clothes along with his own. He laid you down on your bed placing messy kisses all over your body. His hands roaming and touching as much of your hot skin as he could, the feeling of his rough and calloused hands claiming every inch of your body like he has before, you couldn't help the sudden rush of feelings you felt for him.

You hated how this might affect all the work you'd done to get over him, but just for right now you'd like to forget everything, and you knew he could give that to you.

His lips trailed down your tummy to your thighs, small mewls left you as you felt his hot breath across your body. His lidded eyes staring up at you while he placed gentle kisses on the inside of your thighs, his breath trickling down impossibly close to your clothed cunt.

Your body jolted underneath his gentle touch, it always amazed you how he could go from a ravenous animal one moment and back to the sweetest thing the next.

He placed gentle kisses to your clothed cunt, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled your delectable scent through your panties. Your breath shuddered as your core ached for more, the sexual frustration you felt only growing with each kiss he pressed to you.

You groan at his teasing, a low chuckle emitting from him. He placed one last kiss to your thigh before removing your panties all together, his fingers gently brushed into your cunt with not much force a small sigh leaving your lips as he soon included his tongue.

It wasn't like you needed any help, you were already wet enough his fingers slipped right in with ease. His tomgue delving inside of you and tasting all of your sweet flavours once again, the shaky breath that left him fanning over you.

He tried his hardest to stay timid and calm, he wanted to keep it slow to show you he could still be sweet with you, even after all of this time. Your pitchy gasps as he softly made out with your pussy, his tongue swirled around your clit while his fingers moved in amd out of you at a nice slow pace.

The way you yanked at his hair and threw your head back, his gentle movements making your head spin. Your sweet sounds were like music to his ears, he couldn't take it anymore. He needed you, badly.

By the next morning he was holding your still sleeping girl and walking out your door with a bright smile as if he's just been rejuvenated. You give him a polite smile and plant a kiss on your daughters head waving as you shut the door behind them. You sigh heavily to yourself in disappointment, how could you have spent the night like this with your ex-husband.

This had so much potential to be an ACTUAL like series but like.....i haven't even finished diaries of spiderman or neighbors so..no😂😂🙏🏽 this is actually a draft from my notes app....from April.

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summerstarworks · 2 days ago

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Our Divine Fate | Zayne Li/黎深

SUMMARY | As the last disciple of the White Lotus Sect, you meet the enigmatic immortal Li Shen while honoring your fallen master’s final wish. As danger, desire, and destiny intertwine, you both form a deep, romantic bond that leads you through trials of love, loss, and the promise of a shared eternal future.

PAIRINGS | Zayne Li x MC!Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE | fantasy, smut, romance, xianxia, action, slight angst (??)

CONTENT/WARNINGS | fantasy au, non-canon reader, immortality, magic, sparring battles, bandits, injuries/wounds, pet names, it's destiny that zayne and reader meets, kissing, unprotected sex, bathtub sex, oral sex, fingering, breast play, caleb makes a random appearance lol

LENGTH | 11,973 words

TAGLIST | @applekeu

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Here's to my first LADS fic lol. I hope it turned out okay. I don't think the ending is my best but I hope you still enjoy it nevertheless lol. 💚

The wind whipped through the dense forest, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and the bite of an approaching storm. You pressed forward, the heavy pack on your back laden with scrolls and provisions, as the weight of your master’s final wish settled deeper into your bones. The White Lotus Sect was no more, its disciples scattered like leaves in the wind, and its teachings threatened to fade into the annals of history. But you—you—would not let that happen. Not while you still drew breath.

The trail grew steeper, the rocks slippery beneath your boots as you ascended the mountain path. The air grew thinner, colder, and with it came a strange stillness, as if the very world around you was holding its breath. The forest gave way to a clearing, and there, at the edge of the cliff, stood a figure cloaked in white, their back to you. The wind tugged at their robes, the fabric rippling like the surface of a frozen lake.

You hesitated, your hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of your sword. “Who are you?” you called out, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

The figure turned slowly, and for a moment, your breath caught in your throat. His face was sharp, angular, framed by ink-black hair that fell just past his shoulders. His eyes, a piercing shade of hazel-green, seemed to look straight through you, as if they could see the very depths of your soul. A faint smirk played on his lips, and he inclined his head in a slight bow.

“Li Shen,” he said, his voice a low, smooth rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “And you are the last disciple of the White Lotus Sect. I’ve been expecting you.”

Your grip on your sword tightened. “How do you know who I am?”

He chuckled softly, the sound like the distant chime of ice crystals. “The winds carry many secrets, little lotus. Even those you think are buried deep.”

You took a cautious step forward, your eyes narrowing. “What do you want?”

Li Shen tilted his head, his gaze never leaving yours. “What do you want? You’ve traveled far, risked much, all for the sake of your master’s final wish. But tell me—what do you seek?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you faltered. What did you seek? Redemption for your fallen sect? The fulfillment of your master’s dying words? Or something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name? Your hand clenched around the hilt of your sword as your resolve hardened, and when you met Li Shen’s gaze, your eyes blazed with a quiet determination.

"I want to ensure my master's teachings don't die with him," you declared. "And if that means putting myself in danger to protect his legacy, so be it. Whatever it takes."

You studied Li Shen's face, expecting him to scoff or laugh. Instead, he simply nodded, his expression unreadable.

"A noble goal, little lotus," he replied, and his voice, though cold, held an almost sad note. "But it's one that won't come easily, I'm afraid."

You shrugged, determined to show no fear. "I expected as much," you said, your jaw set. "I'm prepared to do whatever it takes. Even if I have to fight you right here, right now."

Your voice shook a little, and you willed yourself to sound more confident than you felt. Li Shen merely smiled, the curve of his lips almost gentle.

"That won't be necessary," he replied softly. "For I wish to help you, not hinder you. There are those who seek to destroy the teachings of the White Lotus Sect—do not mistake me for one of them. My allegiance lies with no faction, but rather, with the balance between yin and yang. For when the line is crossed, there is nothing but destruction."

Something flickered in his eyes, a glimpse of some unspeakable, unfathomable sadness, and you were left with the sudden, inexplicable feeling that Li Shen had seen a great many things in his time, many of them horrific beyond measure. "So, you understand then," you began, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I do," he answered with a nod. "And I know you cannot do it alone." His voice was smooth, like the frozen surface of a lake, but you could feel the underlying emotion behind his words, a sense of sorrow, of regret, and the fleeting possibility that there may be more to this encounter than at first apparent.

The wind sighed through the trees, the only sound other than your heartbeat roaring in your ears. Slowly, tentatively, you loosened your hold on your sword, sliding it back into its sheath with an audible click. A spark of something like amusement—or perhaps pride—twinkled in Li Shen's eyes.

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. "What is it you will require of me?"

Li Shen paused, seemingly considering something, his gaze focused on a point somewhere in the distance.

"Your company?" he offered with the hint of a smile.

You flushed a little at his words, his voice warm in a way it hadn't been before. "Y-yes, of course," you stammered, averting your gaze.

Li Shen nodded. "Good, then it is settled," he said with a flicker of satisfaction. "Come. You must be hungry after your long journey." Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away.

After a brief moment, you followed him, a mixture of wariness and curiosity stirring within you. Despite your unease at his sudden offer, there was something about him—something calm, almost familiar, that put you at ease. Li Shen seemed to glide across the ground, his steps measured, as if he were floating just above the earth. He glanced over his shoulder at you, his expression unreadable as ever, and a spark of mischief glinted in his eyes.

"Struggling, little lotus?" he asked, his voice laced with what almost sounded like laughter. "You don't think I'd make it easy for you, did you?"

"I can keep up," you countered, your words coming out sharper than intended. Li Shen only smirked.

"Prove it."

In an instant, he was gone, a flash of white robes disappearing into the forest ahead. Your heart raced in your chest as you stumbled to your feet, determination flooding your veins. You had come here with a task, one that would test your strength, your willpower, your courage; a path less traveled, fraught with unknown dangers and certain peril, and yet, one that would give you purpose, would prove to yourself, and to the rest of the world, that you were a worthy successor to your fallen sect. A flash of light danced at the edge of your vision, and as the familiar steel of your sword flashed at your side, you set off once more into the unknown, towards the frozen depths of Li Shen's realm, and a challenge unlike any other.

The darkness settled heavily around you, clinging to the branches and trunks of the ancient trees like a shroud. The forest seemed to close in on you as you followed Li Shen, the ancient trail barely more than a path of trampled leaves. Your steps slowed, the heavy pack on your back weighing you down, but you pressed on, determined not to lose sight of the glimpses of white robes ahead of you.

"You live here by yourself, Li Shen?" you asked, partially just to hear the sound of your own voice and not the rhythmic thud of your boots on the dirt.

"Perhaps," he replied, and despite how distant his voice sounded, the reply had an eerily loud ring to it. "Why do you ask, little lotus?"

"Just curious," you answered truthfully. "Besides, doesn't anyone get lonely out here?"

Li Shen hesitated, his pace slowing until he stood motionless in the middle of the path.

"It's been centuries since someone else dared wander this far," he said, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

"You've... been alone for centuries? You?" Your tone was incredulous, bordering on skeptical. After all, Li Shen appeared barely older than you.

He sighed. "You ask a lot of questions. There are some things I can't—no, can't won't speak of," he corrected himself. "Not now."

Your cheeks flushed. "Apologies, Li Shen, I just—"

"The answers you seek will come in due time, little lotus. Patience is the most precious gift." He paused, turning to face you once again. "Trust me."

You shivered at his words. There was something about him, something otherworldly, almost timeless, as if he had been walking this earth for thousands of years. A wry smile tugged at his lips.

"Besides," he added, "I have you to keep me company, now."

There was something in the way he spoke the words, soft but filled with a sort of fondness that made your chest tighten. You knew not the reasons why, but you sensed that there was an opportunity being presented to you. One you would have been a fool to pass up.

"Of course," you replied, attempting to match his tone of sincerity. Li Shen only laughed, a light, breezy sound that rang clear through the forest.

"Come," he said, and began walking once again. You were all too eager to follow him, curious to see what he would lead you to. The forest gave way to a craggy hilltop, and beyond the horizon stretched an expanse of snow-covered landscape.

"Wow," you breathed. A winding river snaked through the valley below, its waters icy and translucent. Mountains loomed overhead, their peaks dusted with snow, and the setting sun cast a brilliant orange glow across the vast landscape. It was breathtaking.

"Welcome to your new home, Y/N," Li Shen said softly.

You stared down at the pile of neatly stacked logs before you, brow creasing in concentration. A frown formed on your lips as you eyed the branches and kindling, mentally calculating the correct amount and arrangement needed for a fire. With a sigh, you crouched, picking up one of the larger branches and placing it on the ground beside you. Li Shen leaned against a nearby tree, a smirk on his lips as he watched your fumbling attempts.

"Struggling, little lotus?" he questioned, his tone laced with amusement. You shot him an irritated glare and picked up another branch.

"What are you doing just standing there, anyway?" you grumbled. "Aren't you going to help me?"

Li Shen simply chuckled, tilting his head. "You won't be learning if I do it for you. Besides," he added, the hint of a grin teasing the corner of his lips, "this is fun to watch."

You shook your head with a snort of annoyance. "Do you enjoy tormenting me so?"

"Oh, no," he replied lightly. "But I do enjoy watching you attempt to chop down trees and set things on fire."

You tossed a branch aside and snatched up another, brandishing it threateningly at Li Shen. "Say another word, and I'll burn this entire place to the ground!" you exclaimed, eyes narrowing.

Li Shen shook his head, smiling, his tone maddeningly teasing. "Go ahead," he taunted. "Let's see if you can make good on that threat, shall we?" The flames whooshed to life before your eyes, illuminating Li Shen's face as they cast flickering shadows across the forest floor. His eyes shone like two polished gems, glittering in the darkness as he looked down at you, lips curling into a smile. "Good girl," he murmured, a strange note of pride in his words.

Your heart skipped a beat as he regarded you with a mischievous grin. "Fine then," you sighed. "I'm just glad this ridiculous test of yours is finally over." You rose to your feet, sheathing the blade that hung at your waist. Li Shen's gaze tracked your every movement.

"A test?" he questioned, one eyebrow arched.

"A test of my determination, I suppose," you murmured, folding your arms.

Li Shen smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Always so perceptive, aren't you, little lotus?"

His hand brushed your cheek, featherlight, his thumb tracing the curve of your lips. A shiver ran down your spine as his touch left a burning trail, and you struggled to find the words to reply. Before you could speak, Li Shen pulled away, taking a step back, his eyes darkening as he glanced down at his boots.

"Now, go wash the smell of smoke off your clothes, Y/N," he whispered, "you stink."

A snort of laughter burst out of you, and your body tensed with surprise at the unexpected sound. It felt like an eternity had passed since you'd been able to let your guard down enough to laugh. Even in the midst of your trials, his presence brought with it an unspoken reassurance, a reminder that you were not alone, that you had a partner, an ally in this journey you had embarked upon. Something swelled within you at the thought, a longing for connection, for companionship, perhaps for—

"Go, little lotus." Li Shen interrupted your train of thought, his tone gentle but firm. "I'll meet you back here soon."

With that, he turned on his heel, his white robes billowing behind him as he walked away into his house, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Something swirled inside you as you sat by the bank of the stream, washing away the dirt and grime of the past few days. Removing your robes, you sighed and allowed yourself to slip below the surface of the water, feeling the cold current embrace you, a contrast to the heat coursing through your body. The wind whistled in the trees, carrying the promise of a storm, of nature's rage unleashed. You could almost taste the electricity in the air.

As you resurfaced, you took a deep breath, wiping the stray drops of water from your face, and froze. Li Shen was there, sitting with his back to you, a bundle of robes next to him.

You considered retreating before he noticed, but to no avail. It was already too late, Li Shen's words stopping you in your tracks. "I'm not looking. I thought you would like a fresh pair of clothes," he called over his shoulder. His voice held no trace of mockery, only the gentle kindness that characterized him. "I apologize for disturbing you."

He left the pile of clothing on the river bank and made his way into the house, never looking back.

Your fingers slowly closed around the soft linen cloth he left you, shaking away the thoughts whirling in your head and hurriedly finished scrubbing your body. Then, throwing the wet robes to one side, you stood and reached for the dry ones. Li Shen was nowhere to be seen, yet somehow, his scent lingered in the fabric of the robes.

There was no avoiding the fact that this was, unmistakably, his.

Forcing aside the rush of confusion and conflicted emotion his gesture caused in you, you willed your racing heartbeat to slow, the sensation of being close to him enveloping you in warmth and comfort.

Putting him out of your mind, at least for now, you set your jaw in determination, wrapping yourself tightly in his robe before making your way up the hill.

The soft glow of lantern-light spilled across the small clearing where the cottage lay, casting the snowy path in an ethereal radiance. Your footsteps were quiet, cautious as you made your way towards the house.

Inside was dimly lit, and the faint aroma of tea greeted you as you slipped through the door, finding Li Shen kneeling at a low table, two cups already laid out. "Here," he murmured. "I thought this would be fitting."

Taking the steaming cup offered to you, your eyes caught his, his own glittering pools of gold and jade, the likes of which you had never seen. For a moment, it seemed like all time stopped. He shifted closer, the hem of his white robes brushing against yours.

"How do you feel now, after the events of the past few days?" Li Shen asked quietly, taking a sip from the delicate cup.

You paused to gather your thoughts, turning your gaze to the flickering shadows dancing across the floor. A part of you wanted to admit that the simple, honest truth was you felt safe, comfortable, with his presence. "It's just a lot to take in," you sighed. "My whole world is gone now. But if I'm to become what my master expected of me, then I must move forward. For his legacy, and for my own."

A melancholy sadness filled Li Shen's expression, and he smiled sadly. "It will take time, Y/N. There's a reason I live so far from civilization; sometimes a bit of solitude can allow you to better realize things on your own, without outside distractions. A sanctuary, a place to learn and grow and evolve. Without expectations."

He moved closer still, so that only a hair's breadth separated you, a whisper of breath fanning over your skin. "After all," he murmured, "it would be terrible for such a pretty little thing like you to lose yourself to the demands of this world, don't you think? You deserve better than that. You deserve... to bloom."

Heat bloomed in your cheeks and spread through your body, an undeniable warmth flooding your veins, his proximity, his attention, his kindness, a potent brew you had no defense for. Li Shen placed a finger under your chin and tilted it up so you met his gaze once more.

"Promise me, Y/N." His eyes, pools of green and gold, darkened with an intensity that almost had you trembling. "Promise me that you'll always find a way to preserve beauty, even in the midst of suffering. That's the best you can do, and no matter what happens, no matter where fate takes you, I know you'll always find your way back."

Somehow you had come to lean against him without realizing it, his closeness both terrifying and intoxicating. You hesitated a heartbeat too long before finally speaking.

"I promise."

With a soft chuckle, Li Shen ruffled your hair. "Good girl," he murmured.

In the ensuing silence, your heartbeat pounded in your chest. This close, you could see the flecks of jade green and shimmering gold in his irises, the shadows thrown across his angular face by the lantern-light, the slightly parted shape of his lips. He smelled of jasmine tea, incense, and rain.

"It's getting late," Li Shen murmured after a moment. He pulled back slightly, his hand dropping from your chin as he began to rise to his feet. "You should get some rest."

You caught his hand mid-air. "Thank you."

Li Shen glanced down, eyes widening slightly as he turned back to you. "For what?"

"Everything."

You pulled your hand away and scrambled to your feet, suddenly aware of just how much physical contact you had with Li Shen this night. "I, er, mean good night, I'll... see you tomorrow!" Before he had time to reply, you had turned and run back to your room, ignoring the curious looks from him, your heart racing for reasons beyond just the events that had passed.

He watched your retreating form from his vantage point by the window, eyes softening, lips tugging into the smallest of smiles. Li Shen ran his fingers through his ink-black locks and glanced skyward. The clouds overhead obscured the moon and stars, the heavy blanket of snow glittering in the faint light. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so hopeful.

Perhaps there was some truth in what others said. After all, winter did give way to spring, and flowers did always bloom twice as sweet, more beautiful and fragrant after a storm.

And with that, Li Shen sank down onto his bed, stretching his legs and nestled beneath the silky covers, eyelids heavy as he drifted off into a peaceful, restorative sleep, thoughts filled with you.

Morning greeted you with a hint of a warming wind, carrying the promise of a slight thaw. You stretched languorously, rising from bed and opening the shutters to greet the morning sun, which shone bright, even as a faint dusting of snow clung to the branches of nearby trees.

Smiling to yourself, you turned, preparing to step from your room and call Li Shen, only for your throat to close over at the sight that awaited you. He stood not ten feet away, facing away from you, the white cloth draped across his body doing nothing to hide the muscles beneath. You stared in speechless awe at the line of his shoulders, his leanly defined arms, his tapered waist.

The breath left your body, a shiver passing through your skin that wasn't entirely due to the early morning chill.

And just when you thought he couldn't be more painfully exquisite, he turned. His sculpted chest was glistening, the lines of his abdomen even more pronounced, his wet hair dripping down his skin. As he stretched his arms, you felt yourself almost visibly flush, certain Li Shen must notice it.

"You know, watching someone when they think you're not looking isn't very polite," he quipped, though not without amusement.

"I was not watching!" you protested.

"Careful, now," Li Shen warned with a soft chuckle. "Is the little lotus daydreaming about something?" he mused.

At that, heat rushed up your cheeks, embarrassment flushing hot beneath your collar. "I—that's... no." You mumbled, averting your gaze from his face before grabbing your sword and bolting out the door. Li Shen only smiled fondly to himself as he watched you leave, leaning back against the wall with an exasperated huff of breath.

You quickly found yourself outside in the icy courtyard, the frigid breeze hitting you like a slap to the face. The chill wind had no power against your flushed cheeks, the image of Li Shen half-naked playing on loop in your mind's eye. With a snort, you tried in vain to ignore him and his taunting smirk.

"Thinking of me again?" Li Shen chuckled, joining you a few seconds later, and your heart jumped as the corners of his lips twitched, the mirth evident in the teasing gleam in his golden irises. "Focus, little lotus," he tutted, stretching.

"I wasn't..." You trailed off, realizing any attempt to deny it was futile. "Fine," you growled, pulling your sword free with a hiss, the icy blade glinting brightly in the morning light.

He flashed you another knowing grin before walking to his starting position across from you, his outstretched hands ready to freeze the very air itself, or to catch you as you fell. With a shake of your head, you assumed your stance, readying yourself for his inevitable attack. "Are you certain, little lotus?" A jagged piece of ice burst forth, flying straight at you, and you blocked it easily. "You seem distracted," he teased. A dozen more shards flew from the palms of his hands, and you weaved between them.

"Of course, I'm focused!" you retorted, perhaps a bit too sharply, and in response he chuckled.

"Hmm." More ice shards flew at you, and your feet moved seemingly on their own, an innate sense guiding you to evade every one, his movements deliberate, almost theatrical, a taunt and an invitation.

He watched as you gracefully danced around each attempt, your body moving as if by instinct rather than conscious effort, dodging his blows with a finesse that seemed, on the surface, impossibly graceful. Something swirled in his stomach. There was more than just admiration at work here. "Again," he growled, lunging forward, his voice now betraying the emotions brewing inside.

Another wave of attacks rained down upon you, a sudden wave of cool air coursing through his outstretched palms. You stepped and turned to meet each one, ducking and leaping as if you'd already practiced these steps countless times, your hair cascading around you like ribbons of silk. His brows knit together in concentration as his palms sparked, glowing as ice crystallized at their center. With a grunt of effort, he hurled a series of blasts at you, all aimed in rapid succession at different points around the yard.

And with every blast towards you, you would block it, the ice shattering into diamond dust, creating a mist of sparkling refraction with the rising sunlight. Li Shen couldn't help but notice how beautiful you looked in this moment, a shimmering, otherworldly being, more ethereal than anything his eyes could comprehend, more perfect than anything he could imagine. It made him want to watch you dance like this forever, if possible. To bask in your unearthly radiance. To claim it.

"You've been taught well," he murmured, stepping closer. "Your master has taught you well. It is clear to me that this will be a good partnership."

"Partnership?" you echoed incredulously.

"Well, yes." He took another step forward, closing the gap. You found it suddenly hard to breathe, the warmth emanating from him a contrast to the frosty air. "Little Lotus, you're already an accomplished swordswoman, more skilled than many a full-fledged disciple," he whispered. "There's really nothing more I can teach you at this point."

You raised an eyebrow. "Then, why am I here?"

"Do you believe in divine fate? Destiny?" Li Shen breathed.

"Well, sort of," you replied hesitantly, recalling tales of soulmates, fated loves and life-long rivals. "Why?"

He ran his fingers gently through your hair, causing shivers to tingle down your spine, goosebumps erupting all over your body. "Little Lotus," Li Shen murmured, his voice soft and soothing as velvet. "What if it was our destiny to meet? That this encounter was a blessing in disguise, as your destiny is intertwined with mine, forever linked."

You laughed, thinking of a lifetime ahead of you with this gentle giant. The very thought stirred a wave of longing within you, a pull toward the mysterious man whose magic glowed warm and gentle, like the summer sun, or a welcoming fireplace on a winter's day. "Like soulmates?"

A grin tugged the corners of Li Shen's mouth upwards, his golden eyes sparking with amusement. "If you will."

His breath ghosted across your lips, the closeness sending butterflies swirling through your stomach. The urge to kiss him, to taste his skin, his scent of rainwater, incense and jasmine tea flooded your senses. You ached to run your fingers through his ink-black tresses.

"Li Shen," you murmured, not even quite sure what it was you wanted to say. His fingers laced with your own, and a jolt of electricity sparked at his touch.

"Will you follow me, little Lotus?" he asked, his eyes intense.

The words slipped from your lips, low and soft, before you had time to question them.

"Everywhere," you breathed, and all sense left your brain as his lips touched yours.

The wind rustled the trees, snow falling in silent waves, blanketing everything in its purest white. You sighed and closed your eyes, inhaling deeply through your nostrils, enjoying the familiar, comforting scents around you. Winter had finally melted away, spring was here.

"Y/N." The sound of the voice behind you roused you, and you blinked open your eyes, gazing up into the twilight sky. "Come inside, it's getting cold out," Li Shen called, his voice like velvet, caressing the skin, making it prickle. His large, warm, and oh so tender hands brushed against yours, sending little shocks of electricity through your entire body, causing your pulse to race.

Your mind drifted to a recent memory, a blur of kisses and breathy gasps and sweet sighs. You and Li Shen. Everything about him intoxicated and addicted you, in the very best way. Your cheeks heated, and a shy grin spread across your lips, a giddy sensation taking root deep within you.

"Everything alright?" he murmured, his fingertips caressing your cheek, feather-light, setting off sparks dancing inside you once more.

"Uh huh," you mumbled, burying your face into his broad chest, relishing in the familiar scent of rainwater, the smell of incense and tea lingering on his clothes, breathing him in. You closed your eyes again, focusing on the feeling of his fingers combing your hair, relaxing into his touch, the steady, rhythmic sound of his heartbeat against your ear. "Just happy."

"Don't get too comfortable." He teased you, pressing an affectionate kiss atop your head, wrapping his arms tightly around you. "We'll enjoy this peace as much as we can."

"What do you mean?" You gazed up at him, confusion creasing your brow.

His grip tightened, holding you as close as possible, as if he never wanted to let go. "We'll have to leave the mountain soon, little lotus. Remember, you have to fulfill your master's wishes," he told you gently.

You had nearly forgotten your purpose. Li Shen's presence had a habit of rendering everything else in your world irrelevant. The gentle caress of his fingers, the soothing timbre of his voice, the warmth in his golden eyes that never failed to make you feel safe. A sudden sadness gripped your chest. "I'll miss this place," you mumbled against his skin, clinging to him tightly.

"Little Lotus, all things end," Li Shen soothed you. "I will miss this place too. The mountains have always brought me solace, ever since I was a boy," he confessed. He turned his gaze to the glittering stars, a faint twinkle in the cloudless sky. "It would have been nice, don't you think, to spend the rest of our lives here? To grow old in our retreat? Together."

You lifted a hand to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his silky locks. "But we have each other, right? That's what matters," you answered softly.

A soft, breathy laugh escaped his lips. "I suppose, we do," Li Shen smiled, and leaned closer to brush his mouth against yours. The soft touch of his skin sent tingles down your spine, sending shocks to every inch of your body, and your legs trembling. His arms tightened, holding you upright against him.

The air in the cottage was warm, comforting, peaceful. You pulled away briefly, studying Li Shen's face, his golden eyes reflecting a yearning that made your heart leap in excitement. It was at that moment, a feeling of certainty, of clarity washed over you, that all your memories from before paled in comparison to the ones you were now making together, your future with the strange and wonderful Li Shen.

"I don't want to be anywhere without you, Little Lotus," he muttered, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. "Let's get you bathed and ready for bed," he said as his fingers brushed your face, stroking your cheek.

"Join me?" you whispered hopefully. You felt the muscles in his chest tense slightly against your touch. He swallowed hard, then nodded silently. Your heart skipped a beat. As your eyes met, there was a flicker of hunger in those bright golden depths, something feral and dark that drew you in.

Slowly, Li Shen got to his feet, pulling you gently towards him and, kissing your forehead. "I will meet you there," he promised. "Go."

With the barest hesitation, you kissed him on the cheek and padded your way to the bath house, where he'd drawn water earlier in the night and where it had remained warm through the hours. You sank into the water, its heat enveloping you, easing the tight knots in your tired muscles. A soft sigh escaped your lips and you closed your eyes, letting the pleasant heat soak into your sore limbs. You let yourself sink deeper into the tub, the water surrounding you as if you had sunk beneath the surface. You didn't move for what seemed to be ages, listening as the distant sounds of nature drifted past.

It wasn't long before footsteps echoed outside, approaching your location, growing steadily louder until a shadow loomed beyond your closed eyelids. You kept your eyes closed, letting the familiar scent of jasmine, incense, and rainwater permeate the steam around you. There was no mistaking it; Li Shen had joined you at last.

The door creaked slightly as he entered, the soft sound filling the air. As the sounds grew closer, you were able to make out the slight swish of his clothing against the floorboards, and the hushed whisper of fabric sliding over skin. Then silence. Your eyes fluttered open, and your heart fluttered with it, skipping a beat in the process.

Your gaze was met by a figure standing before you, completely bare, lithe but toned, tall and slim. His eyes were darkened by the lack of light, the soft moonlight washing him in an ethereal, silver glow. He gave a tiny smile before he sunk down into the steaming waters with a sigh, coming close until his body pressed against yours.

He drew you close, your back to his chest, cradling you against him like he might break you at any moment. Your head rested comfortably in the nook of his shoulder, his breath tickling against your earlobe. "Is this alright?" he asked, lips hovering a few inches from the sensitive flesh.

"Y-yes." The word tumbled off your tongue almost before you could stop it. His grip around your waist tightened in response and he moved even closer, your naked bodies touching and sinking deep into each others' hold.

He remained silent for several moments, both of you lost in each other's closeness, before he shifted so his chin rested atop your head. He whispered your name so softly and gently it made goose bumps appear upon your skin.

You turned around to meet his gaze, eyes sparkling in the dim moonlight, half-hooded and dark with want, your faces barely inches apart. It was all the invitation that was needed. With a single movement, you brushed your lips over his and tasted them, drawing out a moan from somewhere deep within him.

It felt as if the heavens opened up above, bringing forth an ethereal symphony, music unheard by human ears. You turned around to straddle him, the water splashing against the walls of the tub as you moved. Your knees splayed wide and his palms rose to caress your curves, roaming along your back as his mouth danced upon yours. He pulled you down, sinking you below the steaming surface.

"Are you sure?" he whispered against your parted lips. You moaned in response, giving him the answer you knew he was hoping for. "Good girl," he said, moving you onto him in one swift movement and letting the water flow over both of you.

His large hands held onto the curve of your ass tightly, guiding and lifting your hips. In this position, you could feel every bit of him, all the glorious hardness, pressing and nudging your core. He let you take control as you found the strength to take him, all of him. You felt stretched, full, your walls adjusting to him and him alone.

Slowly you moved, careful not to hurt yourself. Li Shen cupped the back of your neck and pulled you against him as he settled back, tilting your head so his lips pressed to yours. He guided your movement with his hands on your bottom, hips grinding beneath you and making you gasp as you felt your clit brush his base.

With a hand gripping one side of the tub for balance and your palm flat to his chest, you rocked back and forth, meeting him halfway, until all you could feel and hear was his muffled cries and your moans drowned out by the waves. His hands ran down your thighs, pushing you down further and impaling you on his thick shaft.

The water in the tub sloshed dangerously over the sides, pooling on the floor, but neither of you cared. His thrusting intensified until your body shuddered in ecstasy. Stars flashed before your eyes, blinding you momentarily, as the fire within threatened to consume every inch of your flesh. You felt lightheaded, weak, but before your muscles could fail, Li Shen caught you in his arms and steadied your trembling form. You rested your forehead against his and gazed into his hazel irises. They shone brightly as moonlight hit his pupils, burning with passion. He placed a soft, gentle kiss to your lips and released you slowly, easing the last of himself from your trembling body and easing back.

"Shall we retire now, little lotus?" He breathed, wiping a droplet of moisture off your cheek. You nodded weakly, not quite sure if you were capable of words at that moment. He helped you stand and together, you both managed to stumble back into his bedroom and collapse onto the bed, still wet and still trembling slightly. The room smelled fresh, like rainwater and tea, a scent that seemed to linger on everything Li Shen owned.

Your body ached in all the right places and, despite yourself, you sighed contently and let sleep take you, surrounded by him. He pulled you into his arms, his warmth seeping into your skin.

The city was bustling, the streets crowded as you navigated your way through throngs of people. It was market day and everyone had flocked to the shops. Li Shen walked ahead, leading you along as you peered curiously at every stall. Colorful tents had been erected in the main square to keep shoppers out of the rain. Merchants shouted and hawked their wares as shoppers milled about, looking for bargains or items of particular interest to them.

You gazed wide eyed at every object within your field of vision, admiring the fine clothes, exotic trinkets and carved woodworks. There were bins full of nuts and grains, baskets piled high with fresh fruits. People crowded together, murmuring and bickering over prices, jostling one another as they fought to find the best deals. It was chaos in the open air.

Your stomach rumbled noisily, and you frowned.

Li Shen looked over, giving you a sideways glance as if to check on your well-being, and laughed when he realized what was going on. "Hungry, Little Lotus?"

"A little bit," you admitted, wrapping your arms around his own, lacing your fingers between his.

"Hmm." He scanned the marketplace before stopping by a food stall selling pastries stuffed full with meat and vegetables. He held up a few coins, enough for the two of you and some extra. "How does this sound?"

"Perfect," you replied eagerly, taking the offered pastry and digging in happily. Your fingers linked with his again and you leaned into his arm. "Thank you, Li Shen."

"Your wife must love you a lot, young man." An older woman behind the table had been watching you closely. She wore her white hair in a tight bun, a few wrinkles crinkling at her mouth when she smiled. "A handsome man like you? Good-hearted, too? You remind me of my own late husband."

"Oh, well—I..." Li Shen began to stammer in embarrassment, flustered, before turning away from her with a huff. You couldn't help but giggle softly to yourself as he led you away, tugging on his arm playfully. You had finished your pastry and wiped your hands clean on his sleeve before allowing yourself to be dragged away by him. He pretended to scowl, but you could see the amusement written all over his face.

His expression softened immediately once he saw how excited you looked. "You wanted to keep shopping around, didn't you?" he inquired. He brought up a hand and brushed a strand of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear before letting go and letting you lead him again. "Which vendor shall we visit next?"

"Umm..." You chewed at your lower lip, contemplating whether or not to say the answer that came to mind instantly. Hesitation crossed your features and he quirked an eyebrow.

"Little lotus," he said, calling out your name in a sing-song tone, teasing you lightly. "Speak up."

"I'd actually like some jewelry," you replied sheepishly.

"Oh?" He grinned as you tugged at him, pulling him towards another section of the marketplace where jewelry and baubles were sold. "Doesn't matter how many rings and baubles I get you, little lotus, your smile and laughter are a treasure all on their own, worth a thousand times more than anything I could ever get my hands on." He murmured in your ear before leaning closer, pressing his lips to yours for the briefest of moments.

"Li Shen," You exhaled sharply, enjoying the feeling of him against you, his breath against your face, and then sighed as he drew away again.

"Your husband must truly cherish you," the merchant selling the trinkets chimed in as she overheard the conversation. She gave a chuckle before continuing. "This would look wonderful on her. It will complement your wife's beauty perfectly," she added while pointing to a pair of jade earrings on display. They were beautiful, vibrant and green, shaped like tear drops with tiny clusters of pink-red jasper suspended from delicate golden threads.

Li Shen paused before looking down at you, his eyes full of warmth and affection, his expression affectionate, his touch tender and loving. "What do you think, Little Lotus?"

You looked up at him, trying hard to hide the blush creeping over your cheeks, unsure of how else to respond. He chuckled softly as you merely nodded and he brought a hand to rest upon your cheek, gazing down into your eyes.

"Good," he decided as he smiled down at you. "We'll take them," he told the old woman. "We'll also buy one of these jade hairpins to match," he said, nodding towards another accessory that sat nearby, decorated with a swirling design reminiscent of bamboo leaves. You studied the beautiful ornament for a moment, admiring its simple elegance, and the fact that it reminded you of Li Shen.

He paid the woman and she handed him the earrings and hairpin. He stowed the earrings away but held up the hairpin, and reached out to carefully slide it into place in your hair. You looked up as Li Shen drew closer, watching carefully. It felt strangely intimate as he threaded it through your locks, his touch lingering longer than necessary. Your heartbeat quickened, pounding loudly inside your head. A smirk graced his lips when he finally moved away again.

"Pretty little lotus," he commented, placing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head, and your whole world seemed brighter, somehow.

After walking around the entire town market square and exploring the rest of the marketplace, the sun was setting, and you returned to the inn where you were staying, your new hair ornament glinting in the dying light as you pushed open the wooden door and stepped inside, a smile on your face.

After having dinner, the both of you sat at the table that was situated in your room as you looked over a map of the region. Li Shen glanced over to see what you had in mind, then quickly turned his attention back to the task at hand.

"According to the map," he announced, studying the piece of parchment spread across the table top, "Our destination lies due north, just past this mountain range." He traced his finger down a straight line drawn on the page, along a long and winding path through mountains. "You want to travel through here, yes?" Li Shen asked, his eyes not lifting from the paper before him. "This isn't going to be easy."

"No," you agreed quietly, staring at the rough sketch, before raising your head and letting your gaze drift towards the windows overlooking the city beyond, listening to the faint sounds drifting up from below, voices mingling together. "But I have you by my side now," you said. "So I have nothing to fear."

Li Shen gave a soft laugh at that remark. "Yes, but that doesn't change the fact that our journey ahead of us will be dangerous."

"Nothing we can't handle." You smirked, bumping into him.

His face softened. "You certainly are something, my little lotus," Li Shen murmured affectionately, leaning closer to kiss the tip of your nose and pecking your forehead.

He grabbed hold of you and hoisted you to straddle his lap. He pressed his mouth to yours, and you parted your lips willingly. His tongue tasted sweet, warm, intoxicating, and your bodies moved closer instinctively. As your lips joined once more and your tongues tangled, it was if there was nothing else in this world except the two of you.

"Let's go to bed," Li Shen mumbled in between kisses. He shifted so that your hips ground together, eliciting moans of desire from both your mouths. When he stood up from the chair, you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, keeping him close.

Li Shen stumbled slightly from the added weight of you before reaching the foot of the mattress. The two of you collapsed upon the thick bedding, your bodies entwined as your limbs entangled in passionate bliss.

Everything was a blur, and you didn't recall what happened. One moment, you were standing with Li Shen on top of the mountain, the cool breeze tickling your noses, the sun shining brightly upon your shoulders, and the next, you woke up in the snow, soaked and cold, a deep ache in your lungs and throbbing in your temples. Your whole body felt heavy, unresponsive, frozen through.

You forced yourself to sit up, dizziness overtaking your senses as the blood rushed to your head. With great difficulty, you managed to crawl toward Li Shen, whose face remained pale, devoid of warmth and color. No matter how many times you shook him or called out his name, he wouldn't respond.

"Wake up, Li Shen," you whispered, choking back the lump forming in the back of your throat.

You didn't expect those bandits. Not here, not like this. The ambush had been sudden, without warning or any opportunity for evasion, and while your fighting skills were far superior to theirs, it was two against at least a dozen, and those odds left no chance of escape. You were heavily outnumbered and overwhelmed; you knew it.

You watched as they knocked Li Shen unconscious with a blunt object and proceeded to beat him. All you could do was stare helplessly as his body went limp and a river of crimson flowed out from beneath his head. You tried desperately to fight back, to free yourself, but your efforts were fruitless, as your vision darkened.

And now here you are in a ramshackle shed with Li Shen by your side, unconscious, pale as moonlight. The weather outside had turned stormy; lightning flashed across the sky followed shortly thereafter by rolling booms of thunder. Rain pattered hard and heavy against the walls of the structure surrounding you. Wind blew strongly, howling through the gaps where wooden panels had once filled them. You stared blankly at the scene before you, struggling to process everything in your mind. You don't even know where you're being kept captive.

"Li Shen," you mumble, trying to reach him but you couldn't, not with your hands and legs bound tightly together. "Li Shen!" You called out again. Still, he remains motionless. You wiggle uncomfortably against the coarse rope wrapped around your wrists and ankles and try to break free, but it doesn't help. The rope rubs hard and raw, cutting your skin painfully. "Please," you beg. Tears well in your eyes and trickle down your cheeks until you're openly crying.

Your tears blur your vision and cloud over the sight of Li Shen's body. Your head spins round and around until your world swims dizzyingly. You struggle against the bindings until you can't move anymore; you sob harder than you ever thought possible and collapse back against the wall, sliding down till your butt hits the dirt. A deep ache starts up inside your chest, making it difficult to breathe properly. "Li Shen," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper.

Finally, you decide that if this is to be your final moment together, then it's best to make use of every second of it. You scoot forward awkwardly, avoiding rocks and splintered planks scattered haphazardly along the floor, until your knees bump against his still form. "I love you," you murmur, a last desperate hope that maybe he can hear you, but he lays unresponsive. "I... never got the chance..." you admit weakly, blinking through the moisture, feeling warm streaks course down your icy face, "to tell you so."

"I love you so much," you choke out. Your heart pounds furiously and you gasp for air between sobs. "We've only just found each other, yet I cannot imagine life without you by my side, without seeing your smile or feeling you close." You looked towards the heavens, wondering if some greater power was listening. "Why would you let him roam the earth for centuries alone just to tear him from me so soon?" You sobbed hard.

"I had hoped that together we'd spend forever wandering the countryside and laughing ourselves stupid over the smallest thing," you continued, giving voice to the very emotions that tormented your soul. You leaned forward and gently laid your cheek atop his shoulder. "That we'd spend eternity by each other's side and keep each other company till the end."

"Y/N... little lotus..." his deep voice drifted into your awareness. He coughed, his entire torso lurching violently. A muffled moan came from his mouth, and his eyelids fluttered as he regained consciousness, as he took several short, labored breaths. "You'll...never be rid...of me." He opened his eyes fully and turned his head towards you, revealing a half smile tinged with pain. Blood stained his teeth as it trickled steadily from his forehead and ears. "Don't cry," he soothed. "Please, don't... cry... I will not be leaving you... any time soon..." he trailed off as he coughed once more. His throat sounded rough, raspy, weak.

The mere sound of his voice made fresh tears flow down your cheeks and sting your eyes. You pressed your head into his chest, pressing against the bloodied, tattered clothes, feeling his chest move and expand with every inhale and exhale. You heard his heart beat under the layers of fabric. "Li Shen," you said.

"Little Lotus...my sweet little lotus," Li Shen rasped. "My beloved Y/N. Look at me," he insisted. Your eyes widened. "We'll get out of this. Alive. And soon."

"How? We're bound and locked in here," you said, voice trembling.

"Did you forget that I've lived for centuries?" he pointed out. "I learned a trick or two during those long years of my immortality."

"Li Shen—" you cut off, unable to finish.

"Take a deep breath," he cooed. "In, out. Just breathe." He paused and smiled reassuringly. "And trust in me." You watched as he closed his eyes in concentration, gathering energy. Moments later, your restraints shattered and fell apart, freeing both of you.

"You could have broken free that whole time?" You gasped.

"Not until now," he explained softly, gingerly wiping away the dried blood caking his mouth, and struggling to sit up straighter. "It requires a tremendous amount of energy, a good portion of which I have already spent today in our battle."

Your gaze darted to his chest, noting the numerous cuts and bruises marring his otherwise perfect features. "I thought I'd lost you," you whispered. Your arms wrapped tight around his waist, holding on for dear life.

"Oh, little lotus," Li Shen cupped your cheek and brushed away your tears with his thumb. "You've come so far and endured so much. I wouldn't dare abandon you now. Besides..." He let himself lean against the wooden wall for support. "There are many beautiful things yet to see in this world, and I'm determined to watch them unfold with you by my side."

"What now, then?" You wondered, looking at him curiously.

"Rest while you can, Little Lotus. Once the night passes, we will be on our way again."

You did exactly as he told. As Li Shen had predicted, a few hours later, the morning light broke and the door to the shed creaked open. You were startled from your sleep and looked towards the entrance. A large figure loomed there, and you froze, afraid to breathe.

"Geezes Li Shen," the man grumbled, "As powerful as you are, I can't believe that I have to come here and save your sorry asses."

You tilted your head quizzically.

"Come on, get out already," the man demanded. You noticed that his clothing was different, much nicer looking, the deep hues of purple and silver reminiscent of the rich traders you've seen passing through the city's outskirts. The cloth had intricate patterns woven throughout. This definitely wasn't one of the bandits who had captured you yesterday.

"It's been a while," Li Shen remarked, voice weary as he slowly stood.

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before," the other man shrugged him off and walked out the open door, gesturing with an arm for you to follow. You stumbled out into the open air after him, stumbling in your weakened state, and blinked against the early morning sunshine, your eyes adjusting quickly as the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon, illuminating the sky. Li Shen came up beside you.

"Little Lotus," he introduced with a sigh, "this is Xia Yizhou, a fellow immortal who traveled alongside me at one point in our lives."

"Nice to meet ya," Yizhou said, hands planted firmly on his hips as he glanced between the two of you. "So who's this now?"

"Her name's Y/N. She's the last of the White Lotus Sect," Li Shen replied, offering no further explanation. "She's also... the person I've sworn my life to."

"So the great Li Shen has finally fallen in love? After hundreds of years?" Yizhou mocked, then grinned.

Li Shen raised a brow in warning. "Be nice."

"Anyway, let's go," he rolled his eyes before turning. "There's not a moment to spare."

"Wait." You glanced about, scanning the surroundings and recognized the familiar landmarks immediately, realizing just where you are. "I recognize this place," you breathed excitedly, pointing in the direction the roadway leads. "This road continues towards the main path which would take us directly to—"

"Shu River," Yizhou interrupted impatiently, folding his arms over his chest. He waited expectantly, tapping his foot repeatedly. When neither you nor Li Shen answered right away, he gave an annoyed huff. "Are you coming or not? The sooner I get you to the nearest town, the sooner I can leave."

"Alright, lead the way," Li Shen sighed, "just stop your endless rambling."

"Fine," Yizhou snapped back, stalking forward, past the abandoned shack and toward the main roadway ahead.

You and Li Shen lingered behind him for a brief time, walking side-by-side through the lush countryside. There was silence at first, neither wanting to talk first, but eventually, you gave up resisting. It was getting to be too much. "I thought I was going to lose you...back there," you muttered quietly.

He didn't say anything but entwine his fingers through yours, squeezing lightly. "No matter what," he vowed, "I'll always be here to keep you safe."

You relaxed instantly upon hearing his declaration and you both kept marching in contentment. As soon as the sun dipped below the mountains to the west, the group finally entered the city gates and started off in the general direction of the Shu River.

The moment you arrived at the nearest town, Yizhou dumped you both at the inn and left as suddenly as he came. He grumbled about how he had saved both your asses and claimed that there wasn't going to be a repeat of such generosity, should another crisis arise.

"See you around," he offered a wave before turning around, calling over his shoulder with a snort.

Li Shen, despite looking exhausted, still managed a smile and raised a hand to acknowledge Yizhou. When the other man disappeared out of sight, he turned to you and enveloped your smaller form in his arms. The warmth of his embrace comforted you, bringing peace to your soul.

The moment passed when Li Shen started to gently guide you in the direction of the inn's building and the two of you crossed its threshold. Inside, the space was lively and bustling with activity. You watched curiously as patrons sat around tables chatting cheerfully, sipping wine and enjoying each other's company.

"How can I help you?" An older woman greeted warmly behind a desk. Her bright, curious eyes flashed from Li Shen to you. She appeared slightly confused about why you're alone at first but quickly recovered and asked with a smile, "Two rooms?"

"Just the one." He produced a handful of gold coins. "My wife and I would like a room and a meal for two."

"Of course," she smiled, taking notice of how fondly Li Shen gazed at you, and accepted payment with gratitude. She gave a wave of her hand, indicating for you to follow her. "This way."

"Thank you kindly," you said, dipping your chin politely before moving toward the room indicated, which happened to be the best one in the building. It was clean, spacious and comfortable, with its own private hot tub and an open fireplace with a warm fire crackling in the center of it.

Upon entering the suite, the servant woman showed you around the various features of the room before offering a bow of departure, promising to bring a hot bath shortly. When the door was closed, Li Shen set his bags aside before gazing at you with gentle, thoughtful eyes.

"You're exhausted," Li Shen said softly.

"And filthy, too," you laughed, running your hands along the length of your cloak. The fabric was covered in mud, twigs and other filth.

"Hey," he brought his fingertips to your chin, lifting your chin up until you were facing him, staring straight into the depths of those honeyed orbs. "You're perfect just as you are, little lotus." Li Shen's expression softened, turning warm and affectionate, reminding you once again just how dearly loved you were. "You're absolutely breathtaking in my eyes." His hand shifted downward until he cupped your cheek in a tender gesture. He stroked your face tenderly with his thumb, his touch feather light against your skin. "The love I hold for you goes deeper than my soul itself."

The emotion swirling within those dark pools tugged fiercely at your heartstrings. Tears glistened in your eyes as you leaned into him and rested your forehead against his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his hand resting on top of your head, playing with your locks.

"You know, if there's anyone responsible for my happiness in this world right now," you sniffled, wrapping your arms around his torso and squeezing tight. "It's you."

"Oh, little lotus," his voice dropped to a whisper.

"After I lost everyone at the Sect...all hope seemed to vanish forever."

"I know," his arms curled around you, returning the affection, enveloping you in warmth.

"The thought of wandering aimlessly without knowing whether I'd see another day terrified me more than death itself."

"I've experienced that same loss countless times in my long existence," his fingers carded gently through your hair, comforting and soothing away your tears. "More than I care to admit."

"I thought I lost you, Li Shen," you admitted quietly. "Those thugs tried to take away the only thing that's given meaning to my existence again. I've never been this scared."

"Don't worry," his embrace tightened briefly, and his lips pressed against your temple reassuringly. "You and I are forever." His palm slid along your jawline, cupping the back of your neck. His fingers twined with yours, bringing them together to press against his beating heart.

"How can you sound so sure?"

"You're on the brink of breakthrough," Li Shen whispered, his eyes shining with pride, admiration, adoration. "You will ascend soon. Immortality will be within reach."

"But what happens if it doesn't work?" you challenged.

"Then I'll be by your side every step along the way as you try again and again." He continued massaging soothing circles into your skin. "Whether it takes another decade or ten millennia." He lifted your hand, pressing soft kisses across each knuckle. "There will come a moment when it works, and it will be so beautiful and powerful that not even the stars can shine any brighter. That time will come for you."

"You really believe so?" you asked quietly, voice wavering with vulnerability.

"I know so," he responded with full conviction, the warmth in his tone giving strength to those words.

Your body relaxed completely at his declaration and you snuggled against him, relishing the feel of his solid weight and familiar scent enveloping your senses, chasing away the lingering doubts from earlier. "Li Shen..." you sighed.

"Hmm?" He hummed.

"I'm still dirty."

"Is that so?"

"Mhm."

Li Shen chuckled, brushing some strands of your hair away from your face with gentle fingers, tucking them neatly behind your ear. "We should probably do something about that," his lips found yours, placing tender pecks along the outline before kissing fully. You gasped, mouth parting wider to accommodate his tongue. You tasted him, felt him, and let your bodies mold together perfectly.

The bath water arrived mere seconds later, forcing the two of you to pull away, though still close enough that you could hear one another's breaths. Your hearts raced erratically, but you stayed focused, not losing yourself completely to the intimacy. After ensuring the tub had been filled to capacity and steaming hot, the servant woman departed with a polite bow.

"Will you share your bath with me?" You blinked in surprise at the offer. His mouth twitched mischievously as he smiled wider. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Washing yourself clean with my bare hands, feeling the suds glide down every curve," his thumb swiped across your bottom lip, stroking downwards to caress the column of your neck, and traced across your collarbone.

"I'd love that," you murmured against him, your mind still dizzy from the intensity of it all. He pulled back and looked into your eyes intently. You licked your lips, suddenly aware of how much you missed being alone with Li Shen like this. "What else is part of this grand scheme of yours?"

His fingers grazed lightly up your bare neck, along your jawline, leaving a trail of heat in their wake before settling in the curls of your hair. He gazed intensely into your eyes as they darkened with desire. His pupils widened. "You want details, little lotus, then here," his deep voice dropped an octave, a husky whisper in your ear.

Your breathing quickened. "Yes," you whispered back. "Tell me everything."

His breath fanned across your neck when he spoke again. "I'm going to peel each layer off, bit by bit." His fingertip glided downwards to trace around your collarbone. His breath grew shorter and he swallowed thickly, "I'll take my time caressing every inch, kiss every spot," he paused, licking the shell of your ear and sending a shiver through your body. "I want to make it good."

A low moan escaped your throat and your thighs squeezed tight. "So..." your throat was dry. "Is there anything... more specific?"

His eyes closed and he inhaled deeply. "If you mean specific as in detail..." his fingers skimmed lightly up along your forearm, teasing and tickling, leaving goosebumps wherever he went.

"Yes, more specific," you urged impatiently, rubbing your legs together again, seeking friction where none existed.

He brought your wrist to his mouth, pressing his lips there, right above the veins, feeling the strong thud of your heartbeat against them. His nostrils flared, and he swallowed hard before speaking again, "Your soft skin will burn hot beneath my touch." He licked and nibbled the flesh. "I'll lick, nibble, and kiss my way up," he leaned closer to your ear. "Until I find the perfect spot between your breasts."

Your head rolled back, giving him better access, reveling at his closeness, his heat, and the excitement coursing through your veins. You shuddered at the image forming inside your mind and moaned out loud when his palm caressed and cupped one of them.

"Such delicate breasts, and such tempting nipples," he continued. "I cannot wait to run my tongue over and around them... tease and nip until they're painfully hard, begging to be touched. Will you let me do that, little lotus? Will you let me claim every inch of you, thoroughly explore and mark you so that every part of your body knows exactly who you belong to?" His nose brushed against yours, then nudged your cheek as his lips hovered just over yours, just barely touching.

"Li Shen," you gasped, unable to bear the tension in your belly.

"Yes?" His fingers grazed along the curve of your hips and the backs of your legs until you shivered beneath his ministrations and clung to him with everything you had. "Is there something specific you wish I do, little lotus?"

"Mm," you whimpered, overwhelmed by how quickly he worked you up into this state. All he did was whisper a few words. That should not have had such a strong effect on you, but then again, this is Li Shen.

"Say it, my beloved," his tongue laved at your pulse point where your heart fluttered madly beneath his touch. "Say it. I want to hear it."

You blushed at his teasing tone, but refused to be teased anymore. He knows exactly what buttons to push. "P-please," you said between ragged breaths. "I need..."

"Please what?" He prompted when you paused, biting and sucking at your neck.

"Touch me," you whimpered, voice barely above a whisper but firm.

"Let's get you cleaned first."

His fingers traced downwards and undid the last knot of your pants, letting the fabric pool at your ankles. A pleased smile spread across his handsome face while his eyes drank up your naked beauty. Then he lowered himself onto his knees, grasping your leg firmly in place. Your thighs squeezed instinctively when you realized he had no intention of stopping, his breath hot between your folds.

"Li Shen," you called his name weakly and closed your eyes.

"Open your eyes."

Your gaze flickered towards him immediately. Li Shen stared up at you, a slight grin on his mouth. "Keep them on me the whole time," he rasped.

You nodded, heart racing faster.

You could sense his satisfaction when the corners of his lips pulled upward as his hands ran slowly up along your calves and then dipped inside. A cry escaped you, back arching involuntarily at the sensation, toes curling at the soft tickling of his breath upon your inner thigh. "Hush, little lotus," his warm lips trailed, sending shocks through you. "It'll only get better from here." He spoke over the skin.

With another moan, you threaded your fingers through his silky locks, watching him hungrily lick, suck and bite his way to where you throbbed painfully with anticipation. At last, his thumbs dipped into the heat, spreading your swollen lips wide.

His gaze found yours once more. "Have I ever told you, little lotus," he lowered his face and brushed the tip of his nose over your sensitive core, drawing out a shudder from you. "Exactly what you taste like?" He kissed the spot tenderly, then swirled his tongue against it. Your grip tightened in his hair as his tongue penetrated you slowly. The pad of his thumb began to swirl, tantalizing your bud in slow circles and then applying pressure at intervals that made your pulse flutter wildly in time with each movement, causing you to shudder and twitch.

A whimper left your lips, hips jolting. His grip on your legs tightened, preventing you from moving. His mouth curled upwards when he spoke again, "You're absolutely delectable, my little lotus." Li Shen stroked up your inner thighs and took a deep inhale, smelling your arousal. "Better than anything I've ever tasted before. Everything about you," he paused between words to lavish you with attention, "is fucking delicious."

"Please," you whined impatiently, squeezing your eyes shut.

He smirked slightly at the response, before ducking in to swirl his tongue across your clit several times. The sounds escaping your mouth filled the room. Your walls clenched, begging for relief. Li Shen stopped long enough to catch his breath and met your desperate gaze. He gazed downwards, toward the apex of your thighs, and pressed his fingers against your clit, teasing it.

"How badly do you crave release, little lotus?" He asked seductively, locking eyes with yours once more. "How ready are you for me to give it to you? Hm?" His fingers continued to stimulate you slowly. Your head spun.

"S-so ready," you mumbled out hoarsely, nearly crying out when he dragged his fingertips through the folds between your legs. His expression darkened with desire when he pulled them up to show how soaked with moisture they were. "A-always ready for you."

"Such a greedy thing," he growled, sliding two fingers within you. Your insides clenched tightly as they slipped inside easily with only the slightest resistance. He pumped them several times.

"Ah-ahhh, Li Shen," you keened, gripping at his hair tightly. The feel of his mouth, the heat surrounding you and his expert movements were too much to bear. Your core seized up with pleasure.

"Come for me," he whispered. He continued fucking you mercilessly until his fingers disappeared within the heat, his eyes burning intently on yours. His other hand stroked up the curve of your stomach, dragging his thumb across your pert nipples, then dipped under and pinched one sharply. The pressure overwhelmed every inch of your senses; the world fell apart around you.

Your body shuddered uncontrollably as the orgasm ripped through you, leaving nothing untouched in its wake. The cry came straight from the depths of your soul and echoed through the room. His lips covered yours, drowning you in pleasure once more, while his tongue explored every crevice greedily. When the moment ended and the passion faded, Li Shen leaned back, his hand cupping your cheek, staring deeply into your eyes. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. You knew exactly what he was feeling.

His kiss deepened briefly. Then, pulling away gently, he drew you into his arms, cradling you gently. "Let's wash up and go to bed," his voice dropped to a softer tone, nuzzling affectionately into the crook of your neck, dropping kisses up the length.

"I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight after what we've shared."

"Then," he drawled, bringing a finger between your slick folds again and gently swiping back and forth, eliciting a gasp. "I'll keep giving you so many memories that you will never be able to think of anything but me ever again."

With that, he lifted your spent frame effortlessly in his arms and carried you to the bathtub. As he undressed and then submerged himself under the warm, soothing water, you sank your tired limbs into its embrace, savoring the bliss. The worries of the night had all vanished. There were only smiles upon faces and soft kisses on heated lips. The two of you were content in that moment to exist forever within each other's space and arms, heart beating harmoniously together.

All your problems can wait for tomorrow. After all, there is plenty of time ahead for all of it, isn't there?

#lads #love and deepspace #l&ds #lads zayne #love and deepspace zayne #l&ds zayne #lads smut #lads x you #love and deepspace x you #l&ds x you #zayne #zayne smut #zayne li #zayne x reader #zayne x you #non canon mc #✨ summerstarworks #✨ summerstarworks — zayne

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acciojaeyun · 2 days ago

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hii! i wanted to request a kinda suggestive werewolf sunghoon x reader who's surprisingly not scared of him. him having a soft spot for her and soft dom vibes but not literally smut!! tyy love your work ♡

– tell me all your deepest desire. | psh. PAIRING. alpha, werewolf!sunghoon x fem!reader CONTENT. suggestive content (15+), supernatural elements, possessive behaviour, emotional tension, implied claming/mating themes, implied dom!sunghoon WORD COUNT. 1,646 AUTHOR'S NOTE. thank you so much anon for this ask! i enjoyed writing this. <3

MY LIBRARY. REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You always felt him.

Literally, he hovered.

From your classes in Statistics to the Library, there was always a looming presence you seem to feel settled deep within your bones, along with two golden glowing eyes that you kept catching in the corners of your vision. He didn't just stare, he bore into you.

Not with curiosity, but with something that felt like it was meant to scare you. Or test you. Or both.

Others kept their distance. Some changed directions entirely when he passed by. You'd seen it too many times: people shrinking in on themselves when he turned the corner, heads ducking low like his gaze might burn right through them.

People were always warned of Park Sunghoon.

The first time you heard of him, you told yourself that you were keeping your distance. It was the safest option, and you wanted to graduate soon enough without the mess that involved creatures like his kind.

But distance, as it turned out, was not something Sunghoon allowed. It was something that he didn't accept when it came to terms to you.

He never spoke to you directly, not at first. Just lingered. Not like a ghost. More like a storm-cloud. Predictable in the way he hovered outside lecture halls, sat two rows behind you in the library but never once opened a book. You'd leave a study room and find him leaning on the vending machine outside. Not watching. Just there. As if he had nowhere to be.

It wasn't flirting. It wasn't even subtle. It was instinctual. Primal.

Yet, there was something oddly reassuring about the weight of his gaze. Something steady about the way he stood in your periphery. Silent, still, simmering. It made your fingers twitch on your pen. Made your spine straighten. Made you aware of yourself in ways that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with being seen.

Rumors always preceded Park Sunghoon. Alpha-in-the-making. Fourth of the original seven. Strongest tracker in his lineage. Cold, efficient, cruel when provoked. He was never supposed to lead.

But legends rarely ask for permission.

When the former alpha stepped down, it was Sunghoon who took the mantle. Not the eldest, not the loudest, not the one everyone expected. Just the one everyone knew better than to challenge. He didn’t fight for it – well, mot publicly. The title bowed to him. Or maybe the others simply knew they wouldn’t win.

Even now, months into the semester, people still talked about it in hushed tones. The unexpected rise. The hierarchy shift. The quiet ruthlessness behind those amber-lit eyes.

He always looked out for you when you come to the campus, even when you left it. Picked your favorite pastry from the campus café and left it without a note in your locker. Told off a sophomore for bumping into you and not apologizing.

It wasn’t romantic. It was possessive. Careful. Constant.

It was maddening.

Because you knew what it looked like when a wolf was circling.

And still, Sunghoon couldn't find himself to come near you to tell you what was it that he wanted from you.

Like right now, while you were in the Campus Library, working on something that you wanted to finish so you could doze off in your free day tomorrow. You felt his gaze prickle your skin, the coldness of the night seems to have heightened because of his presence.

You didn't have to lift your head to know it was him. The way the air shifted. The way your body registered it before your mind did, like the way trees brace for thunder before it breaks

You kept your eyes on the paper in front of you, your handwriting steady, though your heartbeat had started to crawl up your throat.

"You know I know you've been following me, right?"

Your voice doesn't rise. It doesn't even waver. It's barely a murmur, a thread pulled between your breath and the silence that cloaks the library like a fog. But it's enough.

The chair across from your creaks. You glance up, and he's already there: Park Sunghoon, in all his brooding, broad-shouldered, bone-carved glory. Head tilted, but not surprised you spoke first.

His gaze doesn’t soften. It never does. But it quiets, like winter’s first snowfall, and somehow that’s worse, “And here I thought I was being subtle,” he says, voice low, rough-edged velvet.

You blink, “Hovering outside my classrooms? Sitting across the room in every place I go? I think subtle left the building the moment you glared at my Statistics prof for keeping me overtime.”

His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. But not quite.

"What do you want, Sunghoon?"

That gets his attention.

His golden eyes flash with something. Not surprise, not amusement, but something older. More reverent. Like the very idea of your courage is something he’s memorized and replayed.

"You're not afraid."

He says it like a challenge.

Like a discovery. Like a slow-burning fact he’s only now willing to say aloud.

You hold his gaze, even if your fingers twitch slightly beneath the table, “Should I be?”

That earns you something close to a chuckle. Low, almost breathless. But not unkind.

"Most people don't look me in the eye," he murmurs, "They flinch, they avoid. They cross the street before I even get close. But you keep holding your ground."

You shrug, trying to play off the way your heart thuds painfully against your ribs, "Maybe I just have bad instincts."

His eyes glint, "Or maybe you're the only one with good ones."

He leans in slightly. Not enough to breach propriety. Just enough for your breath to hitch and your thoughts to scatter like startled birds.

“You’re curious,” he says, tone velveted with something darker, “You wonder why I’m always there. Why I hover.”

Your silence betrays you. And he sees it.

“You wonder what it means,” he says, his voice nearly a purr now, “You wonder what I’d do if I got too close.”

You straighten. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Sunghoon smirks, slow and knowing. “Too late.”

You hate how warm your ears feel. How your skin tingles under his stare like it’s trying to memorize the weight of it.

Then his voice drops, rough and dragging like smoke, “You ever read about my kind?”

You blink, “In textbooks. Legends. The usual.”

He hums, “Then you know what happens when we find someone who calms our instincts.”

You open your mouth. Close it again. Because no, you hadn’t gotten that far. Most of what you’d read had been vague folklore: cryptic warnings, dramatized rituals, blood and moons and whispered prophecies.

He doesn’t wait for you to answer.

“We circle,” he says, “We linger. We stay close. Not always because we want to.”

Your throat goes dry, “What do you mean?”

He watches you for a moment, eyes flickering down. From your throat, to your collarbone, to your hands curled on the table like you’re trying to hide how they tremble.

You notice his gaze. And you tried to say something, but nothing comes out.

“I’m not some rabid thing, Y/N,” he says, and his voice is cool, but there’s heat underneath it, “I can control myself.”

A pause.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want.”

Your stomach flips.

And he knows it. Of course he knows it. That slight, infuriating tilt of his mouth says as much.

“You’re interesting,” he muses, “You’re smart. Brave. I bet any other wolves would want to get their hands on you, but they have to go through me."

Your breath catches. Not because of the words, though those alone are enough to short-circuit your nervous system, but it's because of the way he says them. Low, certain. Not a threat, a truth.

They have to go through me.

As if it’s already a given. As if some invisible line has been drawn around you, and he’s etched his name into the perimeter.

You stare at him, pulse pounding in your ears like war drums, “Why?” you manage to whisper.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away.

“Because you feel like mine,” Sunghoon says simply.

And it hits like a freight train.

The thing is: he’s not even close to you. Still seated across the table. Still giving you the illusion of space. But you feel him everywhere. The press of his stare on your lips. The heat blooming low in your belly. The ache in your palms from curling your fingers too tight to stop the trembling.

He leans back, like he can sense the tension climbing your spine.

“Don’t worry, pretty,” he murmurs, voice so casual it almost makes your skin prickle, “I won’t take anything you don’t offer.”

And somehow, that’s what undoes you. Not the power in his stance, not the quiet authority in his tone, but the restraint. The way he gives you the choice, even as he coils around your senses like smoke.

Your mouth opens, again, like maybe this time, you’ll say something clever. Something that will even the playing field, ground you back into the present.

“Sunghoon…”

He rises.

Tall. Solid. Radiating something ancient that brushes up against instinct, that tells you to flinch or flee, but you don’t.

You really don't want to.

“Careful,” he drawls, “If you say my name like that again, I might start thinking you want me to claim you.”

Your breath hitches. And it’s obvious. Written on your face, etched into your silence.

His grin stretches out wider.

“I’ll see you around,” he says, backing away like he didn’t just set your entire world on fire. Like he didn’t leave the scent of his promise wrapped around your throat.

He turns, disappears into the far end of the library, and it takes several seconds before you realize your fingers are still curled around your pen like a lifeline. Your heart’s still hammering.

©️ acciojaeyun, 2025.

#enhypen #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #park sunghoon #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut #enhypen imagines #sunghoon #park sunghoon imagines #enhypen smut #enha smut

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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 1 day ago

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“𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃” — 𝐟𝐭; 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ; it was just something as simple as putting feelings into words; it really shouldn’t be this hard. and yet the burning sensation won’t stop.

𝐜𝐰 ; gn!reader, childhood friends

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; no. 1 party anthem by arctic monkeys (i’m obsessed rn)

𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢

“you’re pretty damn thick skinned, coming back here after casually becoming a millionaire with a famous club offer while i’m stuck in high school for another year.”

yoichi glanced at you. “oh yeah, you are. but i’ve never done too well in school anyways, so it’s probably a good thing.” he laughed, juggling the soccer ball with his knees. you were both on your neighborhood’s small soccer field, and of course yoichi was playing soccer even on break.

“but seriously, you insulted one of the most popular players in the world. you’re cooked.” you muttered, thinking of the blonde haired blue eyed striker.

he tsked, the thought of kaiser pissing him off. “he deserved it. plus, he was the one who called me a clown first. all i did was pay him back.” he huffed. wow, he really did hate him, didn’t he?

yoichi gritted his teeth with wide, almost cartoonish eyes. you laughed, although you couldn’t shake the uncertain feeling in your chest. “you’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”

he hummed. “yep. to europe to observe some world class matches. tomorrow.” at his own mention of soccer, his eyes lit up. “oh, and did you know about meta vision? i don’t know if i ever texted this to you, but basically, meta vision is…” he began enthusiastically, waving his hands around and such as he explained.

you gazed at him, biting the inside of your cheek. you didn’t want to ruin his mood; you really didn’t. but you’ve been waiting for days, months, years. and now that he’s in blue lock, you probably won’t have many future chances for this.

“hey, yoichi?”

he paused his rambling instantly, his eyes meeting yours. “hm? is something wrong?” his hands dropped to his sides, waiting for your response.

sweat beaded your palms, and suddenly, you were at a loss for words even though you were the one who stopped him from talking in the first place. “i, uh,” your eyes found their way to your feet as you thought of what to say.

you’ve loved him. for years now.

whether it was through his fear of everything.

or whether it was through his constant failing grades.

or whether it was through his passion for soccer.

or whether it was through revealing both of your deepest darkest secrets as kids during sleepovers.

or whether it was pranking him every year on his birthday, which was also april fools day, while still giving him a gift.

you’ve loved him through it all.

“…i love you.”

now you’ve done it. you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, but you were expecting rejection. maybe an apology and that he didn’t see you that way or something similar.

yoichi stared at you, heat creeping up from his neck to his cheeks. his mouth opened, then closed again. what was he supposed to say?

he had always viewed you as his friend. his close friend. his best friend, even.

at least, that’s what he always told himself.

that’s what he told himself through nights of thinking of you and your voice and your smile and your eyes.

that’s would he told himself through years of constantly finding ways to be near you.

that’s would he told himself through weeks of harsh training of blue lock, with thoughts of you plaguing his mind.

and what he told himself was wrong.

because he was in love with you—hopelessly so. so much that it made his chest hurt. so much that it made him experience hundreds of sleepless nights.

“i love you too.”

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mic-qw · 2 days ago

Note

Could you please write a yandere forgotten deity one-shot? Pretty please, I love your writing!!! (≧∀≦)ゞ 💗

Yandere Forgotten God x reader

Warning: Possessive behavior, psychological obsession, emotional manipulation, implied violence, supernatural elements, themes of fear and control, intense emotions.

At first, they were just empty words thrown into the sky.

Every night, with a broken throat and a heavy heart, you’d sit by the window, hugging your pillow like it was the only thing left to hold, whispering with hope:

“I wish someone would love me so much they’d never leave me alone...”

All your past relationships had failed. You were losing hope anyone could love you as intensely as you loved them.

You didn’t expect an answer. It was just a habit. A desperate attempt not to feel alone.

But one night, something changed.

The candles in your room blew out on their own. No drafts.

Your dreams grew deeper. You never remembered what you dreamed, but you woke up exhausted, like something—someone—had invaded your mind.

You began to feel watched.

At home. In the shower. Even with your eyes closed.

Dead plants came back to life.

Your reflection sometimes didn’t move when you did.

And every night, after your prayer by the window, you felt an invisible pressure on your chest. Not painful. But intimate. Like something—or someone—was holding you from another plane.

One morning, you woke up with pale marks on your arms.

Strange symbols, as if someone had written them on your skin while you slept.

You ignored it. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

One night, while washing your face, you looked up at the mirror… and saw it.

A figure behind you.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. Terror froze you.

Light hair flowing down to the floor. White eyes. A still silhouette.

Too beautiful to be human. Like a living statue. Like a god.

When you finally turned around, no one was there.

From that moment on… you knew you weren’t alone anymore.

You saw it in reflections. In puddles. In windows.

Always for a second. Always motionless.

Until one night, as you finished your usual prayer, the room filled with an impossible wind. The walls creaked. The lights flickered.

And he appeared.

Kael.

Standing barefoot in front of your bed. Without a shadow.

His skin so pale it seemed translucent, marked by symbols moving softly beneath the surface like living ink. His hair floated as if untouched by air. And his eyes… empty. Eternal.

“I heard you,” he whispered.

“W-what are you…?” you stammered, trembling.

“I am Kael. A forgotten deity. I heard your prayer.”

His hand rose, barely brushing your cheek. A chill ran through your body, as if your soul shrank.

“Your prayers fed me. They brought me back. Now I exist because of you. And you… will exist only for me.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered. “I was just… alone…”

“You begged for it. With tears. With desperation. Your words were a pact. A call. And I… obeyed.”

Kael leaned in. His lips brushed your forehead.

You couldn’t help but shudder.

“Keep praying, my beloved. Every night. If you stop… I will disappear. And if I disappear… I will take you with me.”

He said no more.

But since then, every night, you sit in silence, hands clasped, heart racing… and pray.

No longer out of love.

But out of fear.

Days passed since his arrival.

Kael didn’t always show himself, but he was always there.

In mirrors. In your mind. In your ragged breath each time you felt watched.

So when you finally left the house and saw an old friend, you felt a glimpse of relief.

For a few minutes, you could breathe without him looming over you.

You laughed. You talked. The sun touched your skin.

For the first time in weeks, you almost forgot you were trapped.

Until a cold shadow crossed your back.

That night, as you closed your door… you knew.

Kael was angry.

The room grew heavy. The lights flickered.

The air no longer felt like yours.

“Did you have fun?” His voice came from behind you like a cursed thought.

You turned slowly. Kael stood there. Tall. Motionless.

But his gaze… was not empty this time. It was sharp.

“He was just a friend,” you tried to explain.

Kael tilted his head slightly.

“And what does that matter?”

He walked toward you slowly.

Each step echoed endlessly.

“Do you really think you can talk to whoever you want? Look at someone else… when I’m here, watching you all the time?”

His words were soft. His gaze wasn’t.

He took your chin between two fingers, lifting your face to meet those soulless eyes.

“I don’t need you to lie. I just need you to remember this:

Anyone who comes near you. Anyone who makes you laugh. Anyone who even looks at you tenderly…

I will make them disappear.”

His smile returned. Slow. Crooked.

Without another word, he leaned in and kissed you.

Not gently.

Possessively. As if claiming you for eternity.

The next day, you saw it on the news:

Breaking News: Elías Ibarra has been reported missing. Last seen yesterday around 5:00 p.m. No cameras, witnesses, or clues. If seen, please contact the police.

Your stomach churned. Your heart sank.

He was your dear old friend.

Kael did it. Kael made him disappear.

Tears welled up in your eyes. You ran to your room.

It was no longer sadness. It was despair.

You stood by the window where it all began, your chest burning with rage and fear.

You shouted:

“I’M NOT GOING TO PRAY FOR YOU ANYMORE, KAEL!”

Silence.

“I don’t want this! I don’t want you! You’re a monster! Get out of my life!”

And once more, the world shook.

Lights exploded. The air turned icy.

And he appeared.

Kael.

Tall. Beautiful. Motionless.

His smile darker than ever. Without emotion. Without regret.

In an instant, he was on top of you.

He pinned you against the wall, one hand on each side of your head.

His body close. Too close.

His long hair covered you both like a veil.

“Did you think you could leave me like that?” he whispered mockingly.

“After everything you did?”

His gaze soulless. His smile devoid of tenderness. Only dominance.

“I was born from your desire. You shaped me. You fed me. You brought me back. And now… you want to abandon me?”

He held your chin, lifting your face to meet his.

“I am a deity. And you… you are just a fragile human.”

He laughed softly.

“You’re very funny. You’re not going to stop praying to me.”

“You think I’m not capable?” you stammered.

“No. Because if you stop praying... It’s not me who will disappear.

You will disappear with me.”

#x reader #yandere oc #tw yandere #yandere #Forgotten yandere deity #yandere god #yandere x reader #male yandere #oc #fanfic #fanfiction #drabble yandere

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foreid · 1 day ago

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◜﹢﹒ ・ — ❝ 𝑼𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋 ! ❞

⊹． summary: you were his weakness. any time you said his name or clung onto him, it tugged at his heart strings. with time, temptation only grew stronger.

what lies ahead: obsessed!namgyu x clueless!reader, mentions of drugs, death, blood, dry-humping, fingering, softdom!namgyu, little plot, fem!reader, pet names, teasing

wrds: 2.3k

a/n: hi guys! hehehe !!!! was i missed? i surely missed you all so much TvT i’m backkk! well not rlly but i am. this took me so long to get into but it’s finished :3 i love this man so much hes actually the love of my life. enjoy!! >_< — of course!! not proofread

you weren’t quite sure who to confide in. definitely not in a situation like this— thanos had basically forced you into his posse, something along the lines of:

“we will protect you, miss.”

only to earn a grimace from you.

he didn’t do much to protect you, nam-gyu seemed to appreciate your presence more than he did. actually seeing you as human.

when thanos’ death had been announced, you shuffled around the quarters looking for him. feeling puzzled and queasy.

finding nam-gyu sitting on thanos’ bed, back glued to the wall as if he’d been there all night. staring at that stupid cross necklace.

you crawled onto the mattress, deciding to keep a short distance as you sat.

“all of this is mine now.” he murmured, running his thumb against the textured patterns on the cross.

you squinted, almost confused but you chose not to question it. you expected a much more distraught reaction or at least any hint of discomfort on his face.

nothing. he seemed almost relieved?

since then, he’s been almost dependent on you. not like he means to, you were just the next best thing.

it seemed toxic. unhealthy, even.

the one person he was beckoned by all the time was gone and now another weight was forced onto you.

you didn’t mind it though— it was nice company.

thanos had told you that nam-gyu seemed sweet about you. not that you took it seriously though, that tweaker was always on something.

╴⊹ꮺ˚

you stumbled up to the giant gumball machine, twisting the notch, earning a blue ball.

whatever the hell that meant.

you stood alongside the other people who had reached the same fate as you.

and when it was nam-gyu’s turn, his fate was opposite from yours.

a red ball fell into his palm and he boasted his way towards the other team, but your eyes never left him.

you were alone. utterly alone. surrounded by people who had already formed their own niche’s. leaving you to be a sore thumb.

the game had been explained to you all and you were beyond panicked.

one thing you were absolutely terrible at was hiding. despite always being able to fit into small places, you could never really think quick enough under that kind of pressure.

and you hated being chased.

every one was put into what seemed like a lobby area, you watched as people scrambled to switch vests.

“aw c’mon, get that look off your face, smart girl.” the familiar, teasing voice slurred from beside you and you jerked up, managing to hear just him outside of all the commotion.

before you could turn, he sauntered to stand in front of you, meeting your eyes with a grin.

you pursed your lips and clutched the blue vest tight in your hands. trying not to look absolutely terrified.

nam-gyu already had his vest on, the ‘gift’ box placed on the floor beside him.

“i can’t do this. if someone doesn’t kill me, i’ll die from the fear.” you whined, it wasn’t really possible, you knew that. but it felt right to say. and he looked very entertained.

he hummed, staring down at you while sliding his infamous cross necklace from underneath his shirt.

“i know a thing that could help ease your nerves.”

“absolutely not.” you immediately retorted.

earning a chuckle from him as he shook his head, popping a small, blue flat into his mouth.

“relax. you’re my smart girl. you’ll be fine.” he laughed again, bringing a hand up to pat your head.

your eyes were big, full of fear but somehow, his words managed to leave some faith in you.

the relationship between the two of you wasn’t much to question. you spoke about life once you guys were out of the games.

how he would fix himself up if you asked.

“just hide. wait. we’ll win this shit and once we’re out, ‘m going to take you on such a nice date,” he hummed, his hand grabbed the back of your head, bringing it in so he could kiss your head.

it was out of character, surprising, and you knew it was those fucking drugs.

half of those conversations, he was under all the influence of them.

but this felt different.

he left you there for a second, as if he was thinking of saying something else, but then an announcement for the blue team to enter the arena was made.

you stepped back, looked up at him through your lashes eyes as huge as ever and lips formed permanently into a frown.

he cocked his head to the side, smiling down at you— in a way that you couldn’t tell was menacing or promising.

you hugged yourself as you followed behind the others, hearing a cheer come from him as you walked.

something along the lines of ‘just wait for me’ and your name.

╴⊹ꮺ˚

sweat was beading down your forehead, hair sticking to your face as you ran.

the adrenaline was the only thing keeping you alive.

you stopped when you heard feet shuffling around the corner, the first red vest you’d encounter.

somewhere along the way you managed to grab all three keys from the dead bodies along the arena, despite almost throwing up in your mouth each time.

your hands trembled against the wall, chest heaving and breath coming out in patterned gasps.

until, you heard a familiar voice bickering with what seemed to see somebody else. or maybe just himself.

you swallowed dryly, blinking away a few tears before peeking past the corner.

the sight blew the wind out of your lungs.

nam-gyu was straddling a corpse, the blade of his dagger stained with blood to the base.

your eyes widened and you felt even dizzier than before, backing up against the wall as you stared.

myung-gi noticed you first. letting the idiot on the ground know you were watching. or that you were there.

it was almost as myung-gi knew to leave the two of you alone. because when you tried looking past namg-gyu, he was already walking away. shaking his head.

nam-gyu peered up from the ground as if he’d just seen an angel, dropping the blade onto the ground and bolting to you. making an excited noise as he grinned.

you couldn’t help your reflexes, forcing you to shift back as if there was an escape behind you. but there wasn’t.

“oohh, my beautiful, smart, smart girl. i told you you’d be okay.” he cooed, cupping your face with his bloody hands. the evidence of his murders splattered all over him.

you whimpered from beneath him, trying to move away but something kept you anchored to the moment.

something about the way he was staring at you; as if you were his most prized possession, holding your head up lazily as if taking in every aspect of your face.

“i’ve been … so scared. waiting for you.” you submitted, putting your hands on his wrists while looking up at him.

it wasn’t half true. bolting around this hell hole was like running in circles, and nam-gyu was nowhere near the first thing on your mind.

but now that he was in front of you, you felt protected.

safe, even.

he pushed his bottom lip out, mocking the expression on your face but ultimately smiling once he began to speak up.

“aw. such a sweet girl.” he was mocking you, no doubt about it. but you couldn’t help feeling as though there was something sweet about it.

despite how you felt, the entire time, nam-gyu could just think about you.

how playing over-kill would leave you all with less people, meaning more money. just the perfect amount to end this all.

end this all and take you wherever the hell he wanted. do whatever he wants to you.

since you’ve gotten here, your relationship had been weird.

every lights out, he was there, holding you beneath thin covers to make sure you were safe.

just so he could enjoy the feeling of being that close to you.

his hands were cold, only warm aspects being the fresh blood that stained them.

but somehow, you didn’t seem as uncomfortable as you thought you would be. someone else's blood was smeared against your cheeks and all you could think about was how pretty he was.

nam-gyu moved one hand to grab at the nape of your neck, bringing your face ultimately closer.

you weren’t expecting a kiss.

which was exactly what he gave.

it was a sloppy but desperate one, as if he’d been waiting up until this moment.

it was good, so good. but for some reason, your mind kept darting back to the dead body just a few feet away.

at first, you wanted to pull away, wanted to tell him to stop. that this wasn’t the place.

but you were all kinds of dizzy and heat was pooling between your legs just from kissing him.

nam-gyu, on the other hand, was on a mission. he was kissing you with fervor, cold hands now sliding underneath your jacket before he slid it off of your body, along with the vest.

when left in just a shirt, slim fingers were grasping beneath the material, grabbing your hips while absolutely demolishing your mouth.

you’d never been kissed like this before. as if you were the most delicious thing on the planet.

your hands moved to grab fulls of his hair, owning a sweet whine from his lips.

“don’t worry, sweet thing. i’ll make sure our first time is special, not somewhere like this.” nam-gyu whispered to you, as if he could read your mind.

his knee parted your legs, holding his thigh between them. knee nestled against your core.

his voice was low and in you ear, subtle words of praise. expressing how bad he’s wanted to have you like this.

it’d always been long stares, not knowing what the other person wanted. or just exactly what the two of you were to one another in somewhere like this.

thanos seemed to be an obstacle. but now that he is gone, all of his attention was for you.

when his lips began to latch onto your neck, he was grabbing your hips, forcing you to rut your center against him.

the friction made your back arch, chest flush with his as he bit against your neck. simultaneously moving his hips at a swift pattern with you.

nam-gyu whined against your neck, fingers digging into your skin and he grinded against practically nothing.

but hearing your noises and feeling you up was enough to drive him crazy.

he wouldn’t consider himself a womanizer, but having you like this; his name rolling off your tongue, eyes shut in bliss, he had no other way to feel. other than pure lust, wanting to do nothing but disrespectful things to you.

one of his hands made their way past the waistband of your pants, sliding past your underwear.

you gasped when he began to slowly circle around your clit, the pad of his finger fidgeting with the bud.

a croaky moan left your mouth but you quickly cut it off, biting against his clothed shoulder to silence yourself.

nam-gyu turned his head to bite the shell of your ear, murmuring into it while a finger slowly stretched inside of you.

“there you go, sweet girl. such a slutty pussy. g’nna make it feel so good.”

his words rung against your skull like a bell, making any thoughts of reason melt into a puddle.

your eyes shut tight, grasping at his back as you moaned against the cotton.

spit formed around the cloth in your mouth as you moaned, hips consciously riding his palm.

he tutted, running his tongue along your ear, earning a squeal from you.

“relax, baby. someone might hear you.” nam-gyu whispered, not meeting you halfway, since he was also sliding another digit within you while speaking.

the stretch made your eyes grow wide, your body betraying you as you arched your back.

the feeling was poisonous; he was knuckles deep, pumping in and out of you as if he was on a mission.

the pad of his thumb was slowly teasing your clit, making your vision blur into patches.

“n— feels t— too good..!” you tried to whisper it, but it came out a bit too loud, practically echoing through the hallway.

nam-gyu let out a breathless laugh from beside you, never betraying the pattern of his rhythm.

the more you moaned against his shirt, the quicker he became; abusing your cunt.

his fingers scissored inside of you, eventually plunging into a sweet spot.

the arch of your back and the moan, muffled by clothing, told him all he needed to know.

he didn’t stop, working to your release.

the harder he became, the better it felt. he was working you expertly, allowing you to grind against his palm again.

your head was spinning, eyes rolling into your skull as the pleasure hit every spot of your body.

you grew hot, grabbing at his vest for stability as his fingers fucked you.

it felt as if sparks were bubbling all around your skin, your knees bucking and stomach turning.

the pool of arousal within you was bound to burst and you started to rut your hips quicker.

he didn’t take this with a grain of salt.

he started to annihilate your clit, pressing harder against it and rubbing it at a rougher amount.

it punched a moan right out from your throat, making your hips stutter as you felt your orgasm creep up.

when it came. it hit you hard.

you grabbed at whatever you could, squeezing his back and biting against his shoulder as you practically screamed.

“there you go, that’s my good girl. so good. so so good.” he hummed as his fingers slowed down, slowly slipping from inside.

you whined at the emptiness, knees giving up on you as you slipped.

he caught onto you though, holding onto you for dear life.

“i told you you’d be fine. my smart, smart girl.”

#𝒇oreid #fan fiction #fanfic #writing #nam gyu #nam gyu x reader #player 124 #player 124 x reader #nam gyu x y/n #squid games #squid games x reader #squid game fanfic #nam gyu smut #nam gyu fanfic #player 124 smut #player 124 fanfic

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daddymaster21 · 2 days ago

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Okay technically I already read this chapter, but I was experiencing The Dread and didn’t have enough energy to write a review. So. Here we go!

1. Girl TF?? Why are we so nonchalant about a woman screaming 😭

2. Right okay I forgot girlie has spidey senses

3. Cas is an autistic icon and I love him

4. Crowley my beloved!!! They’re both so sassy, they’ll either constantly want to stab each other or be two wine moms gossiping about literally everyone

5. And so the game of “they’ll finally realize I don’t deserve them and leave” continues

6. I say this literally every time you mention him but,,,, JOHN WINCHESTER WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU

7. This shook me when I first read it. FUCK YOU MEAN THAT WAS PART OF THE PLAN???

8. See. She gets it. The yearning doesn’t mean anything if you never do anything about it.

9. Unfortunately I too am familiar with the darkness part of the grieving process

10. Ah yes. The age old “if I’m not helping I’m a burden” core belief

11. “What do you know about Gucci” he’s the funniest man alive, I fear

12. SEE. THE STABBING. WHAT DID I SAY????

13. DO IT. TELL HIM.

14. Unfortunately he does, in fact, know witches

15. THE APPLE BABEY

16. Girl you know I love you but how did that take you this long

17. God forbid women know things smh my head

18. All of your ideas are good ideas! Unfortunately, all of your ideas are also terrible ideas

19. Cas doing the bitch sigh when he doesn’t even have to breathe KILLED me

20. The bit about the hands is just. So cool.

21. The bit about Bobby finding the condom was HILARIOUS, but the way I now need a oneshot where Cas finds it instead and princess has to explain sex. The Creatures having that discussion would SEND ME.

22. “He would be receptive” literally the most oblivious man in existence is more aware of y’all’s feelings than you are. Please just have ANY conversation.

23. NOOOOO IVE READ THIS CHAPTER SO I KNOW WHAT’S COMING. I STG WHEN I FIRST READ THIS I ALMOST CRACKED MY TEETH.

24. The grin is so real. Gotta use those facial expressions to your advantage.

25. Not her just. Being God for a minute there (she’s the baddest bitch alive and I’m in love with her)

26. Ah yes. The nightmares that are definitely just nightmares and absolutely nothing else.

27. Can I just say. CAN I JUST SAY. I totally called Adam being the man of god to betray her. I am the smartest man alive

28. She doesn’t even know how much better she’s made their lives 😔

29. RAGHHHHHHH KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM

30. Okay. We’re good. (Not really but I can pretend)

31. Love that she immediately tries to kill him and Chuck (derogatory) is just like. “Aww. How cute.”

32. HES SUCH A PATRONIZING DOUCHEMAGGOT AND I FUCKING HATE HIM

33. Okay, maybe it’s just me, but if I was trying calm a woman I “loved” who was actively trying to kill me while also having a panic attack, my first choice for comfort would *not* be “man I should call her the name she barely recognizes and doesn’t identify with.” Just a thought.

34. Literally half of my review is going to be criticizing chuck’s every move.

35. “Is it the binds” he says, watching her actively claw and scratch at her wrists

36. “Not actually capable of holding it within itself” Jesus fucking Christ, Thea. You’re an artist. A poet.

37. Ew a person (entity?) being hospital clean in their soul would be. SO upsetting.

38. Ahem. Please take a quote from our lord and savior, Brennan Lee Mulligan: “Everyone you ever knew who told you that they would keep you safe as long as you behaved were already hurting you.”

39. No but so genuinely, SHUT THE FUCK UP. You do want her to “be good”, you just don’t want her to call it that, because you’re uncomfortable recognizing that you’re hurting her just like everyone else (found family not included)

40. Oh god ew the thought of him calling me sexy— 🤢

41. THAT’S RIGHT, BABEY. GET HIS ASS.

42. Once again. If he said that to me, I think I’d puke.

43. Babe. Honey. Beloved. I cannot emphasize how little you respect her, and the fact that you don’t see it makes it even worse

44. Okay kids, let’s all say it together: IF👏YOU👏THINK👏YOU👏OWN👏THEM, YOU👏DON’T👏RESPECT👏THEM

45. I- I know this man is fictional, but boy howdy my rage is real

46. Yes, because it’s her fault that she’s badly traumatized and had to find coping mechanisms to stay sane.

47. I. I can’t. I literally can’t even put into more words how much I hate him.

48. HEY. HEY WHAT ABOUT ASKING HER. WHAT ABOUT INSTEAD OF WATCHING MOVIES AND ALL THIS OTHER BULLSHIT, YOU ACTUALLY ASKED HER WHAT SHE WANTS. WHAT ABOUT THAT.

49. I truly wish there was a camera here, because it is tragic that you can’t see the withering stare I’m giving my carpet every thirty seconds

50. Sam smelling god and Dean IMMEDIATELY getting flavor blasted by her Fruit.

51. I cannot even imagine the whiplash of that conversation happening and then immediately having to put the mask back on for the boys. My actual worst nightmare

52. THE FOREPLAY COMMENT LMFAOOOO

53. Also. Bossy is to Dean what Brat is to Ben

54. Bobby is constantly fighting between permanently exasperated and YOU SAID WHAT TO HER????

55. YOU’RE JUST NOW GETTING THAT THERE MIGHT BE A CHANCE??????

56. Girl if Dean did that to me, Chuck could be in the room and I’d STILL jump him

57. Jesus fucking Christ, it TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH (it’s okay I also cannot recognize flirting. It’s the autism, I fear.)

58. Look, I’m bad at romance, but even I’m not this oblivious.

59. GIRLIE. YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH HIM. WHAT DO YOU MEAN, “THAT IT WAS SOMETHING”

60. Trust Bobby, babe. You know.

61. Found family, save me. Save me, found family

62. “And can walk” DAMN YOU REALLY DID BOBBY LIKE THAT

63. Dean wouldn’t get any cake if I was there, cause the texture of cake is. So grainy

64. This is one of the only ways in which princess and I differ. I fuck at math, I can’t lie

65. Please, just one hug from this man. It’s all I need

66. Babe he’s so yours he fantasizes about being your weapon.

67. WOOF. BARK WOOF, SHIRTLESS DEAN. (I’m not a furry, and even if I was, I WOULDNT BE A DOG. WHY DO I DO THIS.)

68. “I’m gonna milk that half hour like you can’t believe” I’m in love with him

69. Him literally just sitting there internally googling “how to tell my wife I love her without telling her I love her”

70. THEY TALKED!!! LIKE PEOPLE!!!! AND NOW I GET TO READ ABOUT MORE KISSING!!!!!!!!

71. A pretty man having me would fix me, I fear

72. Please note that I didn’t miss the fact that Bobby said he knew because it was where he belonged, and the last line of her POV was her saying this is where she belongs. You can’t hide from me, Thea.

73. Ah yes, my old friend “I’m good at flirting but only when I don’t actually care”

74. RAHHHHH THE YEARNING.

75. “She liked to test him, though” I am. So Normal about their relationship.

76. She’s sooooo us-coded, I fear

77. She’s perfect, and also the stupidest woman alive

78. Hey man, I’m down for that plan. Chuck dead and y’all married? Count me tf in.

79. Haha. Yes. Who he’s going to lose, because definitely it’ll be only one of them.

80. Okay. I’m about 1000% sure I’m gonna be alone on this one, but Mark Pellegrino looked hot asf in the makeup where the vessel was falling apart.

81. Hey look! It’s my other old friend, “I got so good at masking that now I could be a professional actor!”

82. This is. Not going to go well.

83. Once again, when I read that Dean called Chuck to find all this out, I nearly set my phone on fire. I hate him SO FUCKING MUCH

84. YEAH WELL YOU’RE ABOUT TO CALL THE FUCKER, WHY NOT ASK FOR HIS INTERFERENCE

85. I will say, her surprising chuck by planning to throw both of them in there made me smile. Cause as much distress for him as possible.

86. I LOVE that Sam is like “goddamnit. This is another fuckass plan, isn’t it.” Instead of actually believing she betrayed them. A loyal king

87. Someday these fuckers have gotta learn that hitting on her is the wrong move

88. Haha. This is fine.

89. Poor crow :(((

90. All my homies love rambling to powerful entities so their girlfriend can get the jump on them

91. I know Luci sucks, but he’s also a sassy king and I love that for him

92. Dean is the perfect man and I need him carnally

93. Seriously, they don’t understand ANYTHING about what she wants. It’s kind of impressive, in the worst way possible

94. This part makes my heart hurt

95. Not me realizing he finally finds out what the fruit is right as he loses her. Man, this is gonna go so poorly for… everyone, actually.

96. WHOO! BE FREE, CROW!

97. I am. Wrecked. What have you done to me.

Final thoughts: boy howdy, this was a doozy. Almost reached a hundred thoughts! Adam is in danger, and any monster who encounters Dean in the next however-long-they’re-gone should be terrified.

Chapter 27 - When You Go

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I call this format of chapter “The Ol’ Razzle Dazzle”

Chapter Title from The World is Ugly by My Chemical Romance

Word Count: 18.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean has a birthday, and there’s no other way. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 26 - Chapter 28

Read on A03!

You don’t look up from your book, when you hear the woman scream. She goes silent a second later, and the Silver is still settled in your body, so everything is safe.

Not fine.

But safe.

In this moment, even as an eerie silence hangs in the air and a cold feeling sits in your bones, you’re safe.

“Dean told you to stop doing that.” You hum, and Cas sighs, dropping in the chair across from yours.

“I do not have control over people’s reactions to my appearance-“

“That’s not what he meant, Cas.” You give him a flat look over the top of your book. “You landed in front of her.”

He shrugs. “I erased the memory from her mind. At worst, she will have a headache.”

“You’re going to get yourself shot-“

“And it will be ineffective. And Dean has already had this conversation with me-“

“It obviously didn’t work.” You drawl, and Cas lets out a long, dramatic sigh.

“Would you like to yell at me about flying, or actually talk about the plan?”

You hum, crossing your legs under your body. “I think I can do both-“

“I think that Sam and Dean will only be occupied with the grocery store’s post-Holiday sale for about ten more minutes.” Cas gives you a pointed look, and you sigh.

“Fine.” You drop your book on the table, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. “I’ve got nothing. The Sioux Falls public library doesn’t specialize in the occult, and Crowley doesn’t want to play, so-“

Cas frowns. “Crowley?”

“Yeah. But he’s being a dipshit-“

“When did you speak to Crowley?”

“Yesterday.” You hold Cas’ gaze, but you expression must not be as casual as you want it to be, because his eyes narrow. “I didn’t make a deal, Cas, it’s fine-“

“Why did you speak to Crowley.” He doesn’t let up, and you sigh, running your thumb over your palm.

You know it had been stupid. And reckless. And if Sam hadn’t burst into your room, shouting that Adam was also missing, you’d probably owe Crowley two favors.

But you’d been desperate. So fucking desperate, and a little broken, and right on the edge of snapping in half. Dean had vanished. He’d kissed you but then just left. And you’d been sure he was doing something heroic and fucking stupid, but the longer he’d been gone the more it had started to make your heart twist, and the louder the world had gotten.

Ringing in your ears and sneering that of course he’d leave. He’d realized what fighting at your side meant, that you weren’t worth the extra trouble or effort when the world was ending, and he left. He’d been right the first time, he’d always been right, but John had been right too.

John would’ve shot you in your sleep, though. And Dean had tucked you in before bolting out in the dead of night.

It had been a long, horrible day of replaying every single moment that might have made him leave. Your recklessness with Raphael, or the fact that you hadn’t been reckless, but just lied to him and left him out of the plan. Cas wouldn’t have told him that, but he could’ve found out himself.

But he would’ve fought with you. Confronted you, or at least told Bobby and Sam.

So it could’ve been the Bride of God thing. He’d finally gotten that you were a parasite or sickness, and that the day God came for you the world would be grateful. That you might have been made for heaven, but all you did was make things worse. Make Dean lose sleep and worry and pour care into someone who’d just leave in the end.

You didn’t want to leave.

You’d tried to tell him in the dark, when everything had smelled like cinnamon and his Gold had been wrapped around you like a shield. That you never wanted to leave. That the Silver kept brimming a little too close to the surface, and you didn’t want to go outside in case God came for you, because you didn’t want to leave.

You couldn’t go anywhere you wouldn’t be allowed to hold Dean. Didn’t care for Michael’s promises of paradise when it would mean losing Dean. And you’d thought he’d understood. That you were sick and barely better than a monster, and there wasn’t a cure or way to put you down because you’d been made like that, but you’d keep using all your teeth and poison to fight for him.

That you’d fight God when he tried to take you, if that’s what it came to.

And all of Heaven had just seemed fucking lonely.

The Sky had only ever seemed cold and angry and untouchable. Only ever watched and waited and abandoned you.

Dean had fought with you. For you. Let you falter because he’d keep you behind him, his hand in yours. The Spiderweb sang whenever he grinned at you, even when it was a smug, shit-eating grin and you’d wanted to punch it off his face.

You’d thought he’d understand that. How this wasn’t a choice you were making. It wasn’t survival. It just was.

You loved Dean. You’d only ever wanted to be close to him.

He’d kissed you, and it had remade little parts of you that had started to rot—something that had been festering in the cavity of your chest, about how maybe you weren’t human enough for him to touch—but then he’d left.

Bobby had tried to talk to you. Sam had tried to talk to you. They’d even called Cas, and he’d knocked on your door, as if he couldn’t just fly into your room.

And you might have gone a little insane.

First with worry—he wouldn’t just leave, something was fucking wrong—then anger, then just darkness. A heavy pain that had swallowed you whole, and reminded you that God was waiting. Right outside your window. And if Dean had gone—if he was done with you but just was too good to shoot you in the skull and be done with it—you deserved it.

He wouldn’t have done that to you. The Spiderweb, still singing and colorful in your body, had kept demanding that he wouldn’t do that to you. Just fucking kiss you like he dreamt about it half as much as you did, then vanish forever.

You’ve never been good at ignoring the Spiderweb.

But you’ve been good at just sitting in the pain either. The way it makes the Silver riot, and how it spread to the very tips of your fingers, telling you to sprint for the hills or after Dean to fucking strangle him, then kiss him until you both maybe sank into the dirt, and God couldn’t see you anymore.

You were supposed to be done running.

But you couldn’t just sit in your room, drenched in all of Dean’s Gold and still tasting him on your lips, and staring at the blue on your fingertips.

So you’d, kind of, sort of, summoned Crowley.

“You know.” He’d glanced around your room, lingered on Dean’s shirt hanging out of the hamper—he’d left his shirt, he’d need to come back, and you’d needed to get a goddamn grip—and looked back to you with a grin. “I don’t normally do house calls.”

“I’m glad to be an exception.” You’d muttered, sorting through your notes, and he’d scoffed.

“I’d hardly call it my choice, what with you summoning and trapping me-“

“What do you know about angel vessels.”

Crowley had blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“Angel vessels.” You’d snapped, fingers lingering on a Dean’s name, scrawled in Enochian in the margins of a notebook. “What do you know.”

“What do you know about Gucci?”

You’d frowned at him. “It’s Italian. What-“

“I’m not an angel, love, no more than you’re a Gucci wearing socialite. And I don’t understand how this question warrants a kidnapping-“

“I’m going to let you go, you fucking baby.” You’d rolled your eyes. “And you don’t have to be something to know about it.”

“Angels are secretive asshats, they aren’t exactly spilling state secrets to me-“

“I don’t believe you.” You’d snapped, and Crowley had given you an exasperated look.

“Do you not have other demon friends to bother with insanity-“

“No. And I thought you wanted to be partners.” You’d grabbed your knife, spinning it in your hands, and you could’ve sworn Crowley paled. “You want Lucifer gone, I need a weakness.”

“I’m sorry.” Crowley had sneered. “Are you planning to give the devil an allergic reaction to defeat him? Are you insane?”

You’d shrugged. “Nobody’s sure. I need something, Crowley. Anything you have.”

He’d just looked at you for a long moment, dark eyes seeming to split right into your skull, then hummed, “Dean’s not here to reel your little plans in, is he. Mommy’s going a little bananas without Daddy to kiss it better.”

It would’ve been so fucking easy to stab him. Or let the Silver burst out and crush him to nothing. But part of this had to be keeping the Silver in control, and stabbing Crowley meant you wouldn’t get information, so you’d bitten your lip until you tasted blood and shoved it down.

“I’m working on something.” You’d hissed through your teeth, and Crowley had hummed.

“Oh, I’ve heard about the sudden injuries of Raphael.” Crowley had sighed. “He went on a rampage because of that. Killed a lot of my best demons.”

“Sorry.”

“Yes.” Crowley had drawled, his voice bored. “You sound it.”

You’d shrugged, watching him carefully. You’d had to know. “So it worked. It hurt him.”

Crowley’s jaw had twitched, but he’d given you a tight nod. “It quite seemed that way. Whatever you did seemed to cause him… strife. And an apology would be appreciated, love-“

“No.”

It had—sort of—worked. Your trial run had worked. You’d pulled Raphael out of his vessel like Zachariah, and maybe you hadn’t held him properly, but you just hadn’t been ready. You’d be ready for Michael and Lucifer, you just needed that weakness to hold both of them. And in the moment, that relief had been enough to distract you from the pain of Dean. Gone and maybe not coming back. Maybe done, or maybe just dead, but you’d know if he was dead, so he’d just left-

He wouldn’t leave.

He hadn’t left.

He’d crawled back to you with Death’s rings and apologies and another, sweet, world-ending kiss, and you’d wanted to scream it at him. That you love him. That you’re always going to want him with you, because you’re safer together and when he’s gone, there’s nobody to stop you from making really, really stupid choices.

You tell Cas that. Not the part about losing your mind just because Dean was gone for a day—he likely already knows—but that Raphael had been injured in the forest.

And that Crowley had looked at you, sighed, and said, “I’d like to bet on your success, for whatever little scheme you’re cooking up, but I can’t.”

Now, in the library, after a heavy, hanging silence, Cas frowns. “He can’t know what our plan is-“

“He doesn’t.” You mutter. “But he told me he knows witches, and they’re always looking to pull little tricks. That it won’t fly here, in the big leagues. Then I asked him for any books about souls he had, and Sam knocked on the door.”

Cas sighs. “Unsurprising, but still… Not ideal. We are not empty handed, though.”

You blink. “We aren’t?”

“No.” He reaches into his trench coat and pulls out an apple.

An iridescent, glowing apple, so incredibly out of place on the chipped wood and florescent lights of the library.

“Cas-”

“Our primary issue is that you might have enough practice or power to take hold one Archangel. Two is even less likely.” He nods to the apple. “This will help.”

“I- How?”

“I went back to the garden.”

“Cas,” you keep your words slow. “You can’t get into Heaven, they’ve locked you out-“

“Joshua let me in.” Cas frowns at you. “I wasn’t reckless. I didn’t stay long, and Michael and Raphael tend not to bother looking there.”

“Well, why did you go back-“

“For the apple.” He’s looking at you as if you’re the crazy one, for not wanting him to be smited, and you let out a heavy breath through your nose.

“Cas. I don’t understand how an apple is worth such a massive fucking risk-“

“It is not an apple.” Cas says your name, his tone slightly exasperated. “It is an apple from the Tree. And while we don’t understand how you being a Magdalene is connected to you being the Bride, that doesn’t change that you are one.”

You blink at him. “And?”

“Lilith was the tender of the Tree, before her exile.”

“The- Oh, fuck.” It hits you, and you gape at Cas for a long, silent moment. “You mean the tree. The Eden tree.”

Cas nods. “Yes. That tree. Its apples are holy, and consuming one will, theoretically, offer you a stronger connection to Heaven.”

“And me being a Magdalene matters because-“

“You are descended from Lilith.” He shrugs. “From what I understand, the apples run in your blood. It is not a sin for you to consume them.”

“Oh.” You swallow, glancing down to the apple on the table. “What?”

Cas sighs. “I do not know the whole story. It is not the exact one told in the Bible, and I was always told Michael preferred not to speak of it. But Lilith was the first wife of Adam. And eating the apple only became a sin after her banishment.”

“But- I-“

“It will make you stronger.” Cas mutters. “That is what’s important.”

You take a long, slow breath. He’s right. Now isn’t the time to dwell on another confusing angel story. “You want me to take steroids, so we can win.”

“I don’t understand what that means.”

“It’s like a drug that- Never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

Cas gives you a tight nod, and you stare at the apple. It’s not crumbling away, like the ones that grow when you lose control. And Cas is right. You do need a boost.

But even if it works, you still need more.

“Okay. But,” You lean forward, and Cas frowns at you. “I have an idea.”

“You said you had nothing.”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “About vessels. But Raphael was already on guard against me. He didn’t seem to trust that I actually was the Bride.”

“He had become disillusioned with God altogether.” Cas mutters, still frowning at you. “That is not surprising, but I don’t understand-“

“I need to get their guards down.”

Cas falls silent again. Staring at you for a long, stretched out moment before shaking his head, words low and firm. “No.”

“It’s a good idea-“

“It is not a good idea. There is no evidence it would be effective, and Dean will be furious. He will rampage-“

“Rampage-“

“Yes. Rampage. He

“Then we tell Dean.”

He hisses your name. “That will not go well-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But we don’t have any other options.”

Cas lets out a long, slow breath, and shakes his head. “There are too many ways it could go wrong. One misstep or slip up-“

“I don’t misstep.” You raise your chin, making your voice as commanding as you can manage when there’s a cold, wired fear running over your skin.

It is a bad idea. One of your worst.

There’s no other way, if you want to keep Sam out of the cage. If you want your family to walk out of this intact, with little lost, and nothing broken.

Dean gets to have Sam, so that when you’re gone, he won’t be alone. Sam won’t have to sacrifice himself for something that’s not his fault.

You pull Michael and Lucifer out of their vessel and toss them in the pit, you’ll be using the Silver properly. Salvation, not damnation. And you can’t die—you think, because you haven’t yet and something tells you God won’t let you out that easy—so you’re in the best position to play offense.

But a lifetime of fighting the Silver and self-inflicted torture on your body is, once again, catching up with you. You won’t be strong enough to just grab two archangels without the Silver exploding, and damaging a lot more than you can afford. You just need an extra boost, and an easier way in.

So it’s a bad idea. You’re pretty sure Cas is only helping you because he thinks if he doesn’t, you’ll just do it behind his back.

And this is pushing the bounds of bad idea into horrible, godawful, borderline insane idea, but nobody’s offering anything better.

And Cas is right.

You’ll just do it anyway, and he won't be able to stop you.

You can see it on his face, as he stares at you. The slight twisting of his features as he tries to find a comeback, fails to, and concludes that this is happening. And he’s either with you, or not.

“Sam can’t know.” He mutters. “We will need to make that clear to Dean. If he tells Sam-“

“Lucifer will know to.” You finish, rubbing your wrists. “I won’t tell him until he promises not to say anything. To Bobby, either. He’ll try to stop me.”

Cas gives you a flat look. “He’d be right.”

You ignore him. “It’s going to have to be Lucifer.”

“Michael may be safer-“

“No,” you shake your head, frowning at the table. “I think I ruined any chance of using Michael with the Raphael thing. It has to be Lucifer.”

Cas lets out a long sigh—he’s been picking up a lot of you, Sam, and Dean’s habits lately, namely the Sam Bitch-Sigh, and you know he’s doing it on purpose because the drama queen doesn’t have to breathe—and nods slowly. “That is… a fair point. And Michael will likely make no attempts to engage you, even at Lucifer’s side. But if you side against Lucifer, he will be… unforgiving.”

Fuck, that’s a good point too. “Okay. I- I think I can use Adam. Say that I went over to Lucifer because Michael didn’t have anything I wanted.”

Cas’ jaw twitches. “Dean.”

You give a small nod—you really don’t want to talk about it—and Cas tilts his head at you.

You know Cas knows. Maybe not that you love Dean, but that it’s more than just friendship. He can see your soul, same as you can see all his hands folded into the two in his lap. He’s seen the way you’re embedded in Dean. Been with you when you’d confronted Famine, and he’d taunted you about how your hunger for Dean would make him so powerful he’d devour suns.

He’d sat with you yesterday, when the sun had started to set and Dean still hadn’t returned. Gently tried herding you to bed, before telling you he didn’t know how to drive, but would eat ice cream with you in the kitchen if it was needed.

And you’ve told him about the deals, while Sam and Dean were on a hunt last week. If the plan was going to work properly, he needed to know as much as possible.

Not how you dreamt of Dean. Not how you’d always crashed into his gravity, and never been able—or really cared to—pull away. Not the full extent of your plan, or how God was watching you.

But the deals were relevant to the plan. To being the Bride of God, and both Michael and Lucifer being so desperate to have you on their team.

So Cas knows.

And that’s why his words are so careful.

“Is Dean aware that he is the center of the deal?” He says, and you shake your head.

“No. And I- Cas, you can’t tell him-“

“I have no plan to. But if I would not count on him never knowing. When we tell him-“

“He knows they offered me deals. That I’d never really agree to either of them. But-“ You squeeze your hand on your wrist, the sting of raw skin makes the Silver turn in your body. “Cas, he can’t know. Please.”

Cas frowns at you. “Why. He would be receptive-“

“I can’t do that to him.” You whisper, bile rising in your throat. “It’s- We’ll tell him about the plan tomorrow, and I’ll switch sides when Sam lets Lucifer in.”

“There is still the chance Sam will overpower him.” Cas mutters, and you swallow.

“Then I’ll just pull him out there.”

Cas says your name, but cuts himself off with a frown.

“Cas-“

“Dean is praying to me.” He mutters. “Their credit card got frozen.”

You still feel sick, but the Spiderweb is glowing and casting light around your body. He does that all the time, the adorable, perfect dumbass. Prays to Cas for small things, and you can see the annoyance on Cas’ face, but you know it’s fake. The same way that when you’re trying to read and Dean starts asking you questions, you roll your eyes but indulge him anyway, because it’s Dean.

“I have told him to stop using me for this-“

“It’s his birthday, Cas.” You give him a small smile. “Yell at him tomorrow.”

He glares at you. “We are not finished with this conversation-“

“Yeah, we are.” You pick up your book with a shrug. “I’m fake siding with Lucifer to get close to him, and pull him out of his vessel. If Sam gets the up, I pull him there. If he can’t, I get to pull him and Michael. That’s it. Easy.”

Cas stares at you for a moment longer, and you give him a wide, bored grin. It’s the one you learned from Dean, that says I have never done anything wrong in my life, and it’s unbelievable you’d even believe that I am capable of that. And somehow, Cas buys it. He sighs, and gives you a tight nod.

“You should test the apple.” He mutters. “I picked two.”

Your chew on your lips, but hum an agreement. “Do I, just-“

“Eat it. Then try to do something.”

“Something?”

Cas nods, and you take the apple with a careful touch. It doesn’t melt or vanish. You can even taste it, and definitely fruit, but not quite apple.

You swallow, and you’re about to ask Cas how long you should wait when it hits you.

It is a steroid.

The Silver is vast and bright and in perfect harmony with almost everything. No pain, just like when you’d been in Heaven. Just you, and you’re all knowledge of the books, the peaceful dreams of the librarian Cas knocked out, and the love of the knife in your jacket, ready to bloody itself however you want it to.

“It worked.” You mumble, and Cas sits a little taller.

“Good. Dean is still-“

“Wait.” You lean across the table, and you can’t just let this ebb away and go to waste.

You press your hand over Cas’ brow, and he tenses, but doesn’t pull away. All the Silver flows easily, right into your palm, and dips right into that electric blue Cas is made of. Feeds like lightning striking an ocean, making it crackle and rises and grow brighter and brighter and brighter until you pull away, and Cas blinks at you slowly.

You’re not embedded in him. And he seems to have absorbed all the Silver you offered him, but you don’t feel smaller.

If anything, you feel bigger. Brighter. More.

“I feel…” Cas trails off, giving you a look of disbelief. “What did you do.”

“Your Grace is back.” You pull your knees back up to your chest, grabbing your book from the table. “Don’t tell Sam and Dean.”

Cas blinks at you, and you sigh.

“They’ll ask questions. Now go get them before Dean tries to rob the store and they get arrested again.”

Cas still doesn’t move. “Thank you,” he mutters your name, and you give him a weak smile.

“Of course. You’re my friend, Cas.”

He nods, looking at you with an odd, unreadable expression, then vanishes into the air.

You turn your attention back down to the book, but you’re not really reading.

You hadn’t thought of the chance that Sam does overpower Lucifer. Not because Sam isn’t strong, but because you’ve seen Lucifer. All his teeth and Red and anger. Since Sam thought of the let Lucifer in idea, you’ve been having nightmares about bloodied teeth sinking into Sam’s neck, and Dean’s broken expression, and an empty seat at the dinner table.

There’s already one, still stained blue, deep into the wood. Now coated in a light orange, where Adam had sat for almost a month.

Sam had been confused, as to why Adam would just up and take in Michael. But Cas had thrown you a look, and you’d know.

Men of God never could resist a Magdalene.

You’d done this. If you weren’t here, Sam and Dean probably would’ve grabbed Adam from Zachariah, and they’d be down one archangel to worry about.

A lot of things would be better, if you weren’t here. Weren’t their problem. They wouldn’t be worrying about the Bride of God situation, spending too much time and thought on something that’s only your curse, only your sickness. And you’re not going to leave them, you’d promised you wouldn’t run, but anything you have to do so they both get to rest, you will.

It doesn’t matter what happens to you. If God takes you right when it’s done. If you, someone, get one second longer to make up for all the ruin and wreckage you’ve brought into their lives. Something to, maybe, prove that John hadn’t been right. Even though you know he was. If someone had managed to properly muzzle or cage you, Dean wouldn’t be losing sleep. Sam wouldn’t be stretching himself thin to try and help you research any Bride of God legends you can find.

Legends that don’t make this better. Legends that only tell you what you’ve known.

You’re destined to marry God. It’s written in old Babylonian ruins, painted and faded on cave walls, and carved into ancient, rusted Phoenician weapons. All in Enochian, all found by Sam on scholarly websites, all right under your nose your whole fucking life.

All reminding you what you’d been told so long ago.

The Sky was watching. It’s going to swallow you whole.

And you can feel him, before you see him. And your gaze darts to the window, but he’s not in the sky. You can feel his eyes on you, and it’s all suddenly off kilter, like the whole world has been caught in a lense flare. Something strong is wrapping around your wrists, sending a rush of blinding panic up your spine and throat, the Silver has started to stir in your body. It’s stronger than before. Leaking out, until you can feel the wrath of the air around you, the tension of the earth as it welcomes it’s father home, and the hope of every space in between. To grab your attention, begging to be more than just nothing at all.

You’re still you. Maybe it’s just the lasting effects of the apple, but the Silver seems to be running up and up and up without making you too big. But the Spiderweb is sinking. Trying to sink deeper and deeper into the Silver. Trying to hide as the pain hits you.

So much fucking pain, because the Sky isn’t watching.

You turn, away from the window, and he’s sitting at your table, right where Cas had been only a second ago.

God. Small and bearded and smiling at you, like he’s your fucking friend.

You don’t think. The Silver seems to be in pain from ripping into itself—desperate to properly explode and attack him, but not quite powerful enough to break from that tie around your wrists—but you don’t need it.

It’s barely a split second before you have your knife in your hand, and you’re vaulting across the table to drive it into God’s heart.

His eyes widen just slightly, the odd, colorless white light flashing, and suddenly you’re back in your chair. And when you try and throw the knife, right for his heart, the light just flashes again, and it returns to your head. You let out a strangled sound, the grip of the white on your wrists starting to flood the Silver, pushing it higher and higher with panic, and you’re going to explode. When you try and aim a kick at his balls under the table, your feet meet nothing. A choked sob escapes your throat—not now, he can’t be coming for you now—and try to leap back over the table with only your nails, aimed right for his eyes.

“Hey!” God grabs your wrists, and the Silver rushes up. “Stop, I’m not here to take you-“

You don’t believe him. The Silver is scratching under your skin, and you can’t go, not when Sam and Dean need you, and it’s Dean birthday and he deserves one good fucking birthday-

God snaps your name—Enochian, almost echoing off the walls of the library like you’re in a canyon—and it doesn’t calm you down. You’re still a little feral, and the white strength around your wrists feels like it’s strangling your throat-

“I- I can’t-“ You try to move away from him—it’s all you can do now—and claw at your wrists, trying to get it off, it has to come off-

“Can you please stop freaking out?” He says, his tone almost pleading. “I told you, I’m not going to grab you right now. I just want to talk, and- Wait-“

The light flares again, and you’re back in your seat. You’re still everything, and the line between what’s you and what’s not is blurring, and you can’t fucking breathe, there’s a dull pain on your wrists as you try to scratch the white-hot power off, and you might be drawing blood, but you can’t breathe-

“Is it the binds?” God says, and you can hear a frown in his voice, but you can’t really see anything but color and all the gaps between the stars. “If it’s the binds, I can take them off.”

You blink and make another weak sound, and God clears his throat.

“I can only promise so many times not to hurt you, at some point you’re going to have take a deep breath. And I’m actually risking a lot to be here. Sam and Dean could show up any moment, if the credit card thing doesn’t work.” He laughs to himself. “I mean, I could just freeze them, but, y’know. Whole free will show. So if you could please calm down-“

You are calming down. You’d heard Dean, and the Spiderweb had hummed, and a lot of panic had softened. Sam and Dean could come back. He wasn’t going to take you, or hurt them, at least for now.

And you’re still right on the edge of snapping, but you’re drawing blood on your wrists, and the Silver is dragging back down.

It’s fine.

God wants to talk.

You can fucking talk.

It takes a shaking breath and a sharp pang as you draw blood in your inner cheek, but you pull yourself together and meet God’s gaze.

His eyes are blue. A cold, almost bottomless blue that’s filled with life, but the same way the Sun is filled with life. Burning and capable of giving it.

Not actually capable of holding it within itself.

All you can think it’s that Dean’s eyes have life in them. All that green and luminescent color, buried deep but flashing under the surface whenever you really look at him. And Dean always wraps around you, but it’s like a second layer of skin. Golden. A promise of protection. God is just white and demanding. Bright and blinding, like it should hurt to look at him. Clean in a way that reminds you of the floor and walls of your family’s home.

Perfect.

Too perfect.

Like you couldn’t crash into it and destroy yourself without being punished. Like nothing would wrap around you and keep you safe, and no soothing, deep words would hum in your ear, telling you that you’re alright, and he’s got you.

God’s voice is sort of high, too. And Dean’s nose is crooked, while God’s is straight, but the crookedness has always suited him. You’ve always wanted to run your finger down the line of it the same way he does to you. Just to feel him.

But you’re wrapping your arms around your stomach, as God sits across the table from you.

You don’t want him to touch you at all.

“Take them off.” You whisper. “I’ll be good.”

God frowns at you. “You don’t have to be good, they’re just a protection. See?” He snaps his fingers, and you swallow a gasp of relief as the binds on your wrists release. “As long as you don’t try to kill me again, I won’t use them. I mean,” he laughs to himself, and the sound skitters over your bones. “It was sexy, and it’ll be a great story one day, but I’d like, y’know. Actually get to tell it.”

You swallow, trying to force your voice to remain even. “What do you want.”

“I told you, to talk-“

“Everyone always just wants to talk.” You’re almost spitting the words, your eyes narrowing on God’s. “What do you want from me?”

God raises his brows, the air hanging with the venom of your tone for a lone, horrible second, then his face splits into a grin.

“You know, it’s been a really long time since anyone has spoken to me like that, knowing who I am.” His grin grows, all white teeth, and the Silver seems to plummet into your gut. “And you’re a lot prettier when you’re awake. This is going to be really, really good.”

You blink at him, your voice dropping slightly. “Awake?”

“Oh, not like that.” He shakes his head, his tone still so casual. “You know I don’t watch you when you don’t want me to. I respect you. I’ve been watching those, ah- The Hallmark movies? And they’re horrible, but humans are very good at making sloppy romances. I’m trying to study them, to see how human relationships work. I know you were raised with them, and maybe I should’ve had you raised in Heaven, but I like the symmetry of it. I give humans their life and loves, they give me mine.”

His.

He thinks you’re his.

“And I know you’re not totally on board yet,” God adds, giving you a small smile. “But you will be. I don’t want this to be one of those stories where there’s no chemistry, and you can tell the characters are only together because the writer wants them to be. You have complete and total free will, promise! We’ll have hard times, but we’ll get through them. It’s called a third-act recovery-“

“I know how stories work.” You cut him off with soft words, and he won’t stop smiling at you.

“Of course you do. I’ve been saving all the stuff you like for when you join me, by the way. So we can have some easier stuff to talk about before, well- The everything. And that,” he sits up a little taller, like he’s please with himself. “Is a great transition.”

“Wha-“

“I know what you’re planning.” God says your Enochian name, giving you an almost disappointed look. “Not because I’m in your head. Again, total free will, but because sweet little Castiel is very worried about you. And he’s stopped praying to me lately, but I can still hear him. Especially when he’s in my garden, talking to my gardener.”

You take a deep breath, and it’s getting really hard to keep your voice properly steady. “So you don’t want me to go through with it.”

God shakes his head. “No. Not really. I just want to tell you that if it goes wrong, I’m not helping you. I sort of can’t, as long as you’re fighting me.”

“Fighting you-“

“The self-harm and starvation? Repressing yourself until your soul literally splits in half? Then shoving down all the pain you feel about Jo’s death so aggressively you can’t even control yourself? Not exactly the healthiest approach.”

You scowl. “If you’re here to tell me to go to love myself or some shit-“

“Oh, no.” He laughs again. “I’m talking about how you don’t want to be a part of this. Heaven, Hell, all the power you were born into. And you have to decides you want it yourself, or it really won’t mean anything. Again, I want you to want it. Does that make sense?”

“What if I don’t want it?” You’re speaking before you can stop yourself. “What if I like just being human?”

God just waves you off. “Sure you do now. But once you’re mine, nothing will hurt anymore. You’ll never have to worry about losing me, either. And I’m willing to wait forever, for you to come around, but you have to learn this lesson yourself.”

You can still breathe. You’re still yourself. But your fingers are curling around you knife, your hand under the table, and God seems to lost in his own monologue to notice. Maybe if you’re fast enough. Maybe if you let it all rip out, and-

“I’ve heard women don’t like you to do things for them.” He sighs, giving you an almost sad look. “But I do love you. And I want to help you. So I’m giving you a chance to back out, hit eject now. But it’s only a one-time offer. For both of us. It’ll be easier like this.”

“Like-“ You take a deep breath, his words banging around in your skull.

I do love you.

It’s in a horrible, twisted harmony with Dean’s voice. Baby. You know I love you, baby.

It’s sort of hard to think.

“Like what.” You manage to push out, and God shrugs.

“You and me. Together.”

No. One of your hands flies to your throat on an old instinct as the Silver rushes and roars, and no. “You- you said you weren’t going to take me-“

“Oh, I’m not.” He’s looking at you like he can’t even understand why you’d possibly react like this. “I’m offering you the change to run away with me. Tonight. If you got through with this, your little plan, you’ll be changing too much. Everything will be…” He sighs, and shakes his head. “A lot harder.”

“I-“

“Wait,” he holds his hand up, and your protests die in your throat. “Let me finish. You come with me, I’ll wipe everyone. Make things the way they should’ve been. But once we get past this, there’s no going back. I think.” He grins at you again, and it’s starting to make you want to claw out your eyes. “I’ve never done this before. It’s kind of exciting. But I just don’t want you to get upset when you break your favorite toys.”

You swallow, your words barely audible over the pounding of the Silver in your ears. “I- Don’t have toys.”

“Right, sorry. You’re not there yet. I meant Sam and Dean.”

Sam and Dean.

You’re not going to break them. You’re doing this to help them, to save them, to make up for all the times you’ve made things worse-

“Speaking of Sam and Dean, I think they’re coming now.” God gives you one last smile, and he’s right. You can smell cinnamon. “I hope you make the right choice, but I’ll support you no matter what. You know I’m listening. Just call me, before midnight, and I’ll be there.”

You’re not going to call him. It’s not even a choice, it just is. You won’t fucking leave Dean. And if you are running, it’s not into the arms of fucking God. You’d rather drown yourself, or fall to the deepest pits of hell, because at least then you’d be all yours. And you want to spit and sneer that at him, but the white flares one last time, and then he’s gone.

Barely a split second later, Sam and Dean round the corner.

“Do you smell something?” Sam frowns around the room as Dean walks to your side with a wide grin. “It’s sort of like, um, batteries?”

“Batteries don’t smell like anything, Sammy.” Dean stops at your chair, passing you a chocolate bar with a small frown.

“Yeah, they do, they smell like iron. And burning things.”

“Sammy, that’s-“ Dean sniffs the air, his frown deepening. “Huh.”

“Right?” Sam looks around the library, like he’s expecting something to jump out from behind the shelves. “It’s batteries-“

“It’s not batteries, bitch.” Dean glances down at you, his nostrils flaring slightly. “Princess, you eat any, uh- Fruit?”

You just stare at him. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that you love him, that God had just tried to ask you to run away with him, that you’re planning something insane, that you’re going to make everything worse-“

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean frowns down at you, big, careful hands frame your face, and your hands fly up to cling to his wrists. “Can you, uh- I need you to say something-“

“I’m okay.” You whisper, and his frown deepens, his fingers trailing slightly over your brow.

“You know you can tell me anything.” His voice is lowered, and Sam’s seems to be busying himself with staring at books. “I’m here, I’ve got you-“

“I know you do.” You give him a small smile, and the worry in his gaze doesn’t waver for a second. “Did you get all the stuff?”

Dean stares at you, and for a second you think he’s going to push it, but Sam clears his throat first. “Yeah, we got it. Do you need us to do anything else-“

You shake your head, trying to ignore the intensity of Dean’s gaze. “No, once we’re back home I’ll take care of it.”

“I can help.” Dean grunts, and you give him a flat look.

“It’s your birthday, De. You’re not doing shit.”

“What if I want to help-“

“No.” You hold his glare, and his lips slowly curl into a teasing grin.

“Bossy.”

“I’m gonna stab you-“

“Ah. Not until my birthday’s over.”

“Then sleep with one eye open, Winchester-“

“Hey, guys?” Sam cuts in, frowning between you and Dean. “Can you guys do, uh- That later? And not in front of me?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “We’re just freakin’ talking-“

“It’s not just talking, Dean, it’s foreplay.” Sam scoffs. “Actually, it’s worse than foreplay, because at least that would actually in sex instead of,” he makes a loose gesture between you and Dean. “This.”

You can feel the flush on your cheeks, and it doesn’t help that Dean isn’t pushing you away at the suggestion. He might be holding you closer. Moving his body in front of yours, blocking you from Sam—wide eyed and panicked, obviously realizing what he just said—as if he’s worried about your fucking modesty or something.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice is almost a growl, and you can picture his set jaw and narrowed gaze. “Shut your face, or get shot.”

“Sorry.” Sam mumbles, and Dean grunts.

“You’re lucky I don’t tell Bobby you said that.”

You lean around Dean to see Sam shaking his head frantically. “Dean, c’mon, don’t- He’ll kill me-“

“I know.” Dean twists his arms slightly, palm spread, and you take his hand without thought.

He glances down, and you give him a small smile.

It doesn’t matter if you’re imagining the softening of his gaze. He’s here. Even knowing everything about you, having to deal with all your freak outs, Dean’s still holding your hand and grinning at you. Letting you smile back, and squeezing his hand once, just to make sure he’s feeling something like it.

The light, dizzy feeling that comes with his proximity. The warmth in your core when he helps you to your feet and keeps your hands tangled together. Not the inescapable, magnetic pull that’s always told you to stay near him, with him, next to him.

Not love, either. That might be too much to ask for.

But just something like it. Something that might give you a chance—even if God returns and takes back all his letting you come to him bullshit in the morning—for you to kiss him just one more time.

Because you’d kissed.

Two more times.

And Sam’s teasing isn’t anything new, but that had a sharper edge than usual. Like he knows—really knows something you don’t quite fully believe yourself—that there might be a chance.

It’s all you can think about, watching Dean shuffle around the kitchen as you and Bobby cook.

There could be a chance.

“Dean,” Bobby grunts, not looking up from his carrots. “Get outta the kitchen.”

“It’s my birthday, Bobby, I can be wherever the hell I want-“

“Not in here.”

“C’mon, Bobby-“ Dean’s words cut off, and you glance up again to see him starting at the cutting broad. “Carrots?!”

You can hear Bobby’s sigh from across the room. “They’re good for ya, Dean-“

“I don’t want shit that’s good for me-“

“Dean.” You interrupt him with a firm look, and his mouth snaps shut. “I’m making you cake and pie. You’re going to eat your carrots.”

He stands up straight, a smirk covering his face, and before you know what’s happening you’re pinned against the counter, and Dean is incredibly close to your face.

It must be the lighting, or your stupid soul vision, but he’s glowing. There’s his usual Gold, the light off his slight tan—it’s January, how the hell does he have a tan—and all the little bits of blond in his hair that you want to touch. You just want to touch him, to check that he’s real, to kiss his smug expression and hear him groan your name again, like maybe he’s just as desperate to have you as you are for him. You want to maybe drown in him. Have his Gold painted all over you, and breathe so easily because his eyes are full of life. They’re the prettiest shade of green in the world, and they’re dancing with amusement at your slack expression, and you never want him to stop looking at you like that.

Like he’s happy, and it’s only because you’re there.

“What kinda pie you makin’ me, Princess?”

You swallow, your voice a little breathy. “Cherry.”

His grin widens. “That’s my favorite-“

“I- I know, De-“

“And I get pie and cake.”

“Only if you eat your carrots.” You whisper, and he shrugs.

“Fine. But you gotta eat everything I eat.”

You frown. “Dean-“

“Nope. I eat something, you eat the same.”

“I’m going to eat-“

“Yeah, you are. Everything I eat.”

“Dean-“

He drawls your name back with a wide, boyish grin, and you haven’t seen that expression on him in so long. Maybe since before Hell, and if after, not this wide. This relaxed. Making the Spiderweb feel like almost a supernova, with so many colors and so much color and heat. One of Dean’s hands is holding your hips, and it’s sparking so much heat-

“Dean.” Bobby grunts. “Out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Dean pushes back like nothing happened at all, speaking to you like you weren’t seconds from jumping him right in front of Bobby. “If you guys need anything-“

“We’ll make Sam do it. Out.”

Dean rolls his eyes, whispering in your ear and making a small shiver run up your spine. “He’s grumpy.”

You don’t get a chance to respond—you’re not sure you remember how to speak—before Dean’s kissing your cheek, and then he’s gone.

And you get—as you sway slightly and reach up to touch your cheek, right where Dean’s lips had sloppily and easily pressed against it—why Sam has upped his teasing game.

Something’s flipped in Dean, since the kisses.

He hasn’t blatantly flirted with you like this since you met him. As if there aren’t a million obstacles in your way and the world isn’t ending as you speak. As if this night isn’t a single island in the ocean, and you don’t have a long way to go before any of you see land again.

But Dean’s flirting with you.

You think.

He’s kissed the top of your head before. And he’s held your hand before. He calls you princess all the time, as if it’s a second name. He also whispers in your ear all the time, because he’s your best friend and that’s what friends do-

Jo would say she’s his friend too. That he doesn’t do that with her. And she and Sam are friends, but Sam’s never pinned her to a counter. Sam’s never held her hand, either-

Oh.

Fuck.

Bobby clears his throat and you blink down at him. “You alright, kiddo?”

“Yeah?” That shouldn’t sound like a question. “Yeah. I, um- Yeah.”

Bobby gives you an unimpressed look. “I’ve been askin’ you to grab the salt for a damn minute, and you’ve just been standin’ there. Try again.”

“I-“ You swallow, setting down the bowl of your batter carefully. It would be really nice, not to have this conversation with Bobby right now. Maybe ever.

You’d gotten an awkward show of how to put a condom on a banana, when you were sixteen. And there had been a period, before the pain and White and Darkness had started, where Bobby had tried to send you elementary and middle school, under a fake name. There had been a few kids who’d made you feel fuzzy, and you’d told Bobby all about them, and he’d grumbled something about kids and their crushes. But then there had been Dean, no one else, and all of Bobby’s awkward attempts to tell you that he’s okay with it, and just wants you to be happy.

But you hadn’t counted those as real. They’d been just like Sam and Jo’s teasing, because there might have been a ring of truth to it, but everything else was too complicated.

But there’s a chance.

Bobby grunts your name and you shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach.

“Bobby?” You speak slowly, not wanting to meet his gaze. “When you met your wife, how did you know?”

He frowns at you. “Know?”

“That it was-“ You take a deep breath. “That it was something.”

There’s a long pause, and Bobby sighs your name. “I ain’t sure what to tell you. I wish I could say somethin’ like fireworks, but it just was. Nothin’ big, nothin’ special. She was pretty, and I was a little drunk, so I took the jump and asked ‘er out. Then we built from there.”

You frown at the floor. It had been something special with Dean. It hadn’t been fireworks, but just fucking gravity. A pull, then a strange, dizzying feeling close to euphoria, making your whole-body light up. Then a feeling of needing to know him. But maybe you’d just been young, and you’d seen the most beautiful man alive, and lost your fucking mind-

“John used to tell me ‘bout when he knew for Mary.” Bobby says, and your gaze shoots up to find him watching you carefully. “He said he just looked at her one day and got those fireworks. And they mighta been ordained for heaven or whatever shit Cas said, but fireworks don’t last. I’d gotten fireworks with plenty of ladies, before Karen. But with her, it always… more. Felt like lookin’ at the stars. When I decided to marry ‘er, it wasn’t cause of some movie like, time slowin’ musical bullshit moment. It was ‘cause I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, blinking sudden tears out of your eyes. “Bobby, I- I don’t know-“

“You know.” Bobby shrugs, giving you a gentle smile, and you shake your head.

“But- It’s-“ You take a shaking breath, sinking down to the floor. “It is the fireworks. And it’s where I’m supposed to be, but it can’t be ordained by Heaven and- It just- It feels-“ You wipe your tears with your palm, and Bobby passes you a cloth. He’s wheeled over to your side, and you haven’t felt this much smaller than him in a while. Like really just a kid. And his hand rests on your shoulder as you take deep breaths, trying to find an end to your sentence.

“It doesn’t have to be anythin’ big.” Bobby mutters, low enough that you almost don’t hear it. “All you gotta do is throw that boy a bone, and he’ll eat out of your hand.”

You shake your head, sniffing slightly. “That’s a little dramatic-“

“Uh huh. When was the last time he said no to you?”

Fuck. “Bobby-“

“It’s his birthday,” Bobby sighs your name, and you look up to see him frowning at the air. “Like I said, don’t gotta marry ‘im right now. Whatever you can manage, long as you’re both happy.”

Long as you’re both happy.

Dean deserves being happy with anyone but you.

But you’ve always wanted it to be you. For there to be another life where you’re still doing this—maybe not crying on the floor until you’re ready to get up, but making Dean a birthday dinner—and there are not monsters in the shadows or wars on the horizon. For you always to be the one at Dean’s side.

Just like now, getting to smile at him as he drops into his seat and bumps your knees together. And you’re not going break it or infect it. Not going to be the reason it breaks, because it’s your whole life, and nothing about that is complicated.

Maybe—in that life—you have to pay a mortgage and student loans, and maybe sometimes you fight with Dean about stupid things, but nobody dies. There’s not a sense of one night, and one night only, as you, Dean, Sam, Cas, and Bobby eat and laugh and joke.

There’s no threat of God, wrapped around your neck like a noose set to yank you up without warning, so when Sam brings out the pie and cake—he has the biggest hands, and can walk—you kiss Dean before he blows out his candles.

You don’t kiss him.

Not here, or now. But you sing him happy birthday, and watch his eyes widen on yours as his lips part, and you want to kiss him here. With the soft light of the candles flickering over his face, and that same peaceful look washed over his features, mixing with one of almost awe.

You love him. And if it can only ever be like this—the painful, long, complicated way—you’ll be okay with that. It would be almost impossible not love him, which is why you’ve never been able to fault that faceless woman in your head. The one who someday comes along and takes Dean away from you.

But you’re the one who’s going to be taken away.

And right now, you’re the one he’s looking at. The one he’s giving fireworks, and keeping his thigh pressed against, and the one who belongs at his side.

So even if you only get one of these moments every ten years, you’ll keep loving Dean like it’s written into the fabric of your soul. It’s impossibly easy.

And Bobby’s right. It’s the only thing you’ve ever really known.

The rest of the night is just about Dean. Eating the cake and pie—Dean hadn’t lied, he’s refusing to take bites unless you take them first, and you’re either going to punch him in the gut or climb on his lap at the table and see what happens—then playing poker. You lose, horribly, and very fast, but Dean lets you hang over his shoulder and explains all his hands to you before he plays them.

“How are you this bad at poker, Princess.” He grins at you as Sam takes another million years to decide what he’s doing. “I know you don’t hustle, but that was- Real bad.”

“I’m bad at math,” you mumble, and Dean gives you an amused look.

“You make spreadsheets for fun.”

“That’s not the same,” Sam frowns up from his cards. “That’s data organization. I do it.”

“And you’re good at math, Sammy-“

“That’s correlation, not causation-“

“I don’t know what the fuck that means-“

Dean cuts himself off as you whisper in his ear. “Correlation is two data points that move together, but it’s just a coincidence. Causation is when two data points are the same because one is caused by the other.”

“Ah.” Dean nods slowly, and twists to give you a grin. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You beam at him, Sam makes a gagging sound, and Bobby whacks him for taking a million years to make his move.

After the poker game ends—Cas winning by a mile, shocking Dean and Bobby but pretty unsurprising considering neither of them, at any point, knew what Cas was going to do next—there’s a quick exchange of presents, and you try not to look too lovingly at Dean while he opens them. It can’t be written on your face. You still have rules, and you still can’t tell him or indulge or make it about you either—this won’t be about you, if you open the door a crack and Dean is the one who breaks it down—and you can’t show it on your face.

But it’s hard, when he gives Cas a tight, sudden hug for the rare car parts he’d found during his God-travels, or Bobby gets the same treatment when he shows Dean the upgraded TV in the living room. Or when he grins at Sam for the joke toy gun, then crushes him in another hug for the rare jerky and Batarang shaped knives he found online.

He looks so happy. And he’s retreating to your room, as the night comes to an end. Because he’s not yours, but fuck, he’s something close to it. And that’s more than you’ve ever dared to hope for.

You never want to let it go.

“These are cool,” you hum, focusing on the Batarang spinning in your hand and trying really hard not to think about shirtless Dean, washing his face in the bathroom. “Do you know where Sam found them?”

“You know Princess, you can just have them.” Dean laughs, and you look up to find him walking over to where you’re cross legged on the bed, still not wearing a shirt.

You want to touch him. All the slopes and panes of his chest, every scar, the lines of his tattoo and then the muscles of his back, and he’s so Golden and if you pressed your face into his stomach, it would be soft and safe.

“They’re a gift,” you manage to whisper, blinking up at him. “I can’t take them, De-“

“You don’t have to,” he shrugs, dropping on the edge of the mattress. “But whenever you wanna use them, they’re there.” He pauses. “Is it rude if I tell you I really wanna see what you got me?”

You let out a soft laugh. “No, it’s not. And maybe I didn’t get you anything-“

“Don’t try to lie, sweetheart. I’ll know.” He leans forward, and you can feel the heat from his body. “And you have to show me. It’s my birthday.”

You give him a flat look. “For thirty more minutes.”

“And I’m gonna milk that half hour like you can’t believe. C’mon, please?” he gives you a dramatic, pleading expression, and you can’t stop your giggle. “You’re not supposed to laugh-“

“Sorry.” You grin at him, and he just rolls his eyes. “You want your presents?”

He blinks at you. “Presents?”

You nod, and reach over to the drawer of your bedside table. “You’re not allowed to say anything until I give you all of it. Okay?”

Dean doesn’t respond, and when you look over your shoulder, he’s right there. Inches away and grinning at you, not saying a single word.

You roll your eyes, his grin grows, and you shove him slightly so you can sit back up.

“I got you an iPod.” You say, holding out each item as you speak. “You need to get into the 21st century, Deano. But, I also got you a bulk pack of blank mixtapes because I know you won’t. And, um-“ You reach under the bed, not allowing your gaze to linger on his face for too long. “I also got you a cowboy hat, and I’ll watch one whole Clint Eastwood movie with you, and I promise not to say anything when it’s stupid.” You give him a small smile, carefully placing the cowboy hat on his brow, and tipping it up when it falls slightly forward. “Happy Birthday, Dean.”

I love you.

It’s all you can think, as he stares at you. Not saying a single word, but not kicking you out either, and you can’t really read his expression. Can’t figure out what he’s thinking, if you’re about to lose him, if he’s going to grab you into one of those hugs, if maybe, you get to crash into him and feel it more than any possible pain-

Dean reaches up slowly, tucks a little hair behind your ear with a feather-light touch, and you blink at him.

“Do you like them?” You ask, trying not to let your voice waver, and he nods.

“They’re awesome,” he mutters your name, and his eyes look slightly glassed over. His hand is still lingering on your face. “You’re awesome, Princess. These are- Really fucking awesome.”

You give him a nervous smile. “Did I break you?”

“No.”

“Then-“

He sets the cowboy hat off to the side and leans forward, but doesn’t kiss you. Dean’s brow just falls to yours as he cradles your face in his hands, and you’re really not sure what’s happening.

“De.” You whisper, carefully dragging one of his hands into yours. “Are you okay?”

He nods, but his grip on you only tightens.

“Dean-“

“I don’t wanna fight.” He mutters, and you frown.

“We’re not going to fight-“

“Yeah, we are. I’m gonna tell you, and you’re gonna get pissed-“

“No, I’m not-“

“Princess-“

“I’m not your Dad.” You say softly, and he lets out a shaking breath. “I know we fight but I- I’d never get mad at you for not liking something, or feeling something, or-“

“Being selfish?”

“You’re not selfish, Dean.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, I am.”

“Dean-“

“I asked Death.” He mutters, breath ghosting over your lips, and you still in his touch. “Asked him if you had a way out, from that God bullshit. And Hell, if he’d told me all I had to do was trade you for someone else or do a fuckin’ volcano sacrifice- Son of a bitch, I would’ve done it. Wouldn’t have hesitated, either. Even if it ruined some poor assholes life, losing his girl so I could keep mine.”

His.

“De-“

“But he said no.” Dean’s voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and when he pulls you a little forward, you don’t fight him. “That you are the Bride of God, and there’s nothin’ I can do about it. Fucking- I don’t know how the hell you did it.”

You frown. “Did with?”

“Didn’t fucking kill someone.” He rasps. “When you knew you were gonna lose me. Hell, I’m not even losing you and I- Shit-“

Dean leans back, scanning over your face with an intensity you can feel lighting up the Spiderweb, and you just hold his gaze.

“I need you, baby.” He mutters, and your fingers curl on his hands. “You’re my best friend, and I need you. And I don’t care if it makes me selfish, if God needs a wife he can take anyone else, but he can’t take you.”

Baby.

I need you, baby.

Again, you don’t think about it. You’ve never had to think about it with Dean. He moves, so you move.

And when you crash up into him, your lips slamming against each other like you’re trying to fuse together, you know it’s not going to go there. Not tonight. Dean can pull you fully into his lap and you can wrap your arms around his neck, but that’s as close as you’ll get. The bare skin of your thigh brushing his naked abdomen, as you try to climb up his chest. His hand tangling in your hair.

You can’t do more. Not when you can’t feel God watching, but some pain lingers on your wrists, and the deep, frozen fear that he’ll just take you.

That you’ll tell Dean the thing you’re never allowed to say—instead of just moaning his name down his throat or squeezing his hand three times—and God will rip you away. Or worse, that Dean will try to fuck you, and you’ll vanish from his hands.

But this can be enough. It’s Dean.

So it’s always enough.

A high whine leaves your throat as he angles his mouth over yours, deepening the kiss until it’s all just Gold and a high feeling brimming under your skin and rising in your chest. Dean’s hands are rough but careful as they start to roam under your shirt, lighting small trails of fire on your skin, and he groans your name when your nails sink into his shoulders.

The sound sends an ache of warmth between your thighs, and you start to grind down, trying to chase some friction as your breath hitches and your mouth falls wide open for Dean to take, you just want him to take you and touch you, because there’s no pain when his tongue is tangled in yours and his erection is pressed right over your core-

Dean grabs your hips, kissing the tip of your nose and rubbing his hands soothingly, and slows your pace.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, finger trailing up your spine and making you shake in his arms. “I’ve got you.”

He’s got you.

You melt into him with a happy sigh, and Dean’s got you.

You let him take the lead—you’d let him lead you anywhere, and apparently you can’t be trusted to control yourself when you can feel every flex of his muscles—and he turns the kiss slow. Not pushing, not demanding, just rolling you carefully onto your back, squeezing the skin of your hips and grinning at your soft sigh.

It’s more than the fireworks. It’s enough heat to maybe rewire a universe. But it’s also so gentle, the way he’s touching you and kissing you like he’s just as afraid as you are, that you’re going to vanish.

But most of all, when Dean presses a final, sweet kiss on your swollen lips and rolls onto his side, keeping you pressed to his chest, it’s comfortable. Easy. The Spiderweb singing in time with the drum of his heart, and his hands pressed into your skin in a possessive way that might leave a brand.

You hope it does. Or that the Earth grows around you both, and nothing ever tries to take you away from him.

Because this, here, in Dean’s arms with the taste of him on your tongue, and your legs tangled together, is right where you belong.

——————

Dean’s caught. Suspended. Trapped like a damn animal, unable to even gnaw its own leg off.

The two people that he loves the most are trying to kill him. They’re both genius, unmovable, determined idiots that he’d lay down his life for in a heartbeat, even though they both keep being insane.

Sam had cornered him last night, while She and Bobby had been in the library. Sat across from Dean at the table with a firm expression, dead quiet until Dean had raised his brows.

You got something you wanna tell me, Sammy?”

Sam had sighed—as if he hadn’t been the one who cornered Dean—and spoken with a heavy tone that set a stone in Dean’s gut. “We need to move soon. On Lucifer.”

Dean’s jaw had clenched. “Yeah, man, I know-“

“And we’re doing my plan.”

The fucking plan. The stupid fucking plan that was going to make him lose Sammy forever, that Death had made him promise to go through with. “Sam-“

“There’s no other way-“

“We’ll do it.”

Sam had blinked at him. “We will?”

Dean had nodded, staring at his beer bottle on the table. “Yeah. No other way, right?”

“Right.” Sam had stared at him for a long moment, before clearing his throat. “So, um- I wanted to talk to you about after. When I’m…” he’d swallowed, and Dean’s fists had clenched.

That wasn’t the Sam that hunted at his side and was addicted to demon blood and had all the same nightmares, but just strangled them in silence and kept moving.

Across the table from him was Sammy. The little kid who had been afraid of the dark and cried when he saw clowns. The one who had gotten lost in a grocery store when they were kids and hugged Dean first when they found him. And Dean goddamn knew that Sam didn’t want to do this either. Just like he knew that the kid was a stubborn bitch, and nothing Dean could say would make them turn back now.

“When I’m not here,” Sam muttered, and Dean might have been about to break the bottle. “What you do after.”

Dean had frowned. “The hell you mean what I do-“

“I know you, Dean.” Sam had sighed. “You’re going to want to try and bring me back, but if I come back, Lucifer comes back with me. And I- I don’t want you to have the stupid hunter death. You deserve better than that.”

That had pulled a dry, humorless laugh out of Dean’s throat. “No, I-“

“It’s not up to you.” Sam had cut him off, his eyes flicking in the direction of the kitchen, and something to the right of Dean’s heart had stuttered. “You know it’s there, Dean. I know you’re never going to be to- Y’know. With anyone else. And I- I’d feel better if I knew you guys would have each other-“

“We do have each other.”

“That’s not what I mean, dude.” Sam had given him a tightlipped smile. “I know she’s got her own thing with, uh- God-“

“I don’t give a fuck about that.” Dean had grunted. “She might not be ready, Sam. And I’m not gonna-“

“Tell a girl that you have a crush on her?” Sam had raised his brows. “That kind of sounds like me, Dean, not you.”

Dean’s eyes had narrowed, and Sam had just held his gaze casually, his tone bored.

“You could take another ten years to settle down. But I want you to stay with her, Dean. Try to stop hunting, don’t try to bring me back, and-“ Sam had sighed. “I don’t know, man. Have a life.”

“And you just-“ Dean had scowled, shaking his head. “Want us to leave you in there? The hell we’re just gonna freakin’ abandon you-“

“You’re not abandoning me, Dean.” Sam had given him a sad smile. “You’re saving the world, then resting. If not for me, for her.”

For Her.

Sam hadn’t needed to say what he meant.

That, if there was anyone to be worried about, it was Her.

Dean wanted it. God, he fucking wanted it. He’d never seen anything clearer than those fantasies in his head, where he woke up next to Her and got to kiss her good morning, and they showered together. Then he made her breakfast and she made him lunch and they ordered take out for dinner. He’d flip Her over on the couch and kiss down Her body, and She’d give him that blinding smile in the dark. Maybe he’d have a picture of Her in his wallet, and the assholes at his normal, tax-paying job would tease him about saying my girl all the time, but then they’d meet Her, and understand.

If they to be in Her orbit, they’d never shut up about it either. Not when all the world moved for Her, but She only moved to Dean.

And he cared about the Bride of God thing. He’d been lying through his teeth to Sammy, because he knew he was going to lose Her. He’d always known, but now it wasn’t just a cold fear in his ribs, making his breathing sort of shallow. It was just the truth. Sort of gospel, because it had been told by God. And when Her time came, if She didn’t want to go, he’d still fight to keep Her. And he’d end up dead—it was God—but at least he would’ve died in Her name.

The promise to Sam was the easiest one he’d even make. It was going to be real damn easy to stay with Her, when this was done. To maybe crack when he thought of Sammy, but then just hold Her until the pain eased a little. If he only got to have Her for a week, a month, a year, a decade, he wanted to have Her. To love Her well enough that when God came, She’d spend the rest of time knowing that Dean had loved Her. And he’d loved Her right, and She’d never wanted for anything as long as She’d been in his arms.

He hadn’t fucked Her, on his birthday. He wanted to do it right. Not in a storm of confusing pain his chest, warmth in his gut, and a high in his head from how She’d been on his lap and kissing him like She was starved. Gentle. Romantic. Like in a telenovela or drama show, where someone did a big, sweeping gesture, and the other person realized that they were deeply in love, and then they fucked on rose petals.

In the moment, with Her fast asleep in his arms and a tiny little bruise Dean had put on Her neck, it had felt like the right call.

But he should’ve known better. Sammy was right, Dean wasn’t the one to be worried about. It would fucking suck, and he might never sleep well again, but this was Sam’s last wish. And Dean had always wanted to grow roots with Her, and put up a white fence that She’d carve with Enochian, and hug Her from behind while they made apple pies for a dumb bake sale.

She was the one who never stopped running. Who was going to want to do something insane to try and get Sammy back.

Hell, She already was trying to do something insane.

They’d been hunting demon blood for Sammy, and She’d tipped Her head back on the Impala’s bench as they drove back to Bobby’s. Looked at Dean under fluttering lashes and with pouted lips, and his eyes had narrowed. That was Her expression when She wanted something.

“Deano.” She’d said softly, and his grip had tightened on the wheel. “Can you pull over, please?”

“No.”

“Dean-“

“Whatever you want, ask me while I’m driving.”

She’d sighed. “I don’t want you to crash.”

Son of a fucking bitch, things could never just be simple and easy. Something in the universe had to be out to fucking get him, because he’d pulled the car off to the side of the road, and She’d given him a sweet, full-lipped smile, and he’d known this wasn’t going to end with anything good.

“Remember how I completely and totally forgave you for going to see Death behind my back?”

Dean had given Her a flat look. “Princess-“

“This is like that. You’re gonna be mad at me, and I- I’m sorry, but-“ She’d taken a shuddering breath, and given him a nervous look. “We can kiss again, if that helps?”

It wasn’t fair how She was so damn adorable. How that would help, but She couldn’t know that Dean would probably let her get away with anything if She rewarded him with the right touches. If he had to carry Her out of playing in oncoming traffic, but got to make Her scream his name and arch off the bed, he’d never be capable of being really mad at Her.

She liked to test him, though. Liked to see just how much She could bring out of him—the answer was all of it, Dean was never more than when he was with Her—and, just like Sammy, goddamn kill him.

He’d muttered Her name, slinging his arm around the back of the bench and tipping Her face up to hold his gaze, and She’d let out a long, soft breath.

“Please don’t be mad.” She’d mumbled, and before Dean could respond, She was rambling. “This isn’t just my idea, it’s Cas’ too. I mean, it was my idea, but he helped. He found the apples, and he- He backed me up-“

“Princess-“

“Remember how I was able to pull Zachariah out of his vessel?” She’d said nervously, and Dean froze. “And, um, I almost did it with Raphael too? I- I think I can just toss Lucifer and Michael in the cage.”

Dean had stared at Her for a long moment, unable to fully form a thought, his own voice sounding a million miles away. “You think.”

“Yeah.” She’d whispered, Her eyes shining on his. “But, um- You’re not going to like how.”

That was damn right. Dean fucking hated how. And he’d fought with Her about it. Told Her it was insane, to fake-join Lucifer, to take magic steroids, to try and grab archangels-

“Dean.” She’d grabbed both his hands, pushing up on Her knee under her body, and it didn’t seem like a fair fight. She looked heavenly in the morning mist and light, and She smelled like fruit and sugar and god-

“No. It’s goddamn bonkers, Princess.”

She gave him a small smile. “Bonkers?”

“No.” He’d pointed an accusing finger at Her, and her smile had grown. “You can’t try and joke me out of this one, sweetheart, there’s no way in hell you’re doing this.”

“Please.” She’d scooted closer, and he’d just stared at Her, a little enchanted like an idiot. Dad had been right. She was dangerous, and She might make Dean an idiot.

But he could never hate Her, either. It wasn’t Her fault Dean liked falling under her spell, or dreamt about Her drowning him in all Her fruit and sugar and light.

“I’ll be okay, De.” She’d whispered, Her siren-like voice calling him down, down, down- “Sam will be okay, too, I just need to catch Lucifer off guard-“

“So we throw him a surprise party.” He’d grunted, and She smiled at him. The real, sweet smile that had always sort of melted him, because She didn’t really give it to anyone else.

“Dean.” She’d hummed, squeezing his hand three time. Fine. Everything was fine. “Please. I can’t do it without you.”

Fuck. He’d agreed. He was a weak willed, selfish asshole that wanted Her to love him and never look anywhere else for things she needed. And this could go wrong. This could, so goddamn easily, go a million ways wrong. Dean could think of about fifty off the top of his head.

But he’d always just been a weapon. A blood and dirt-rusted blade for the people he loved to wield. And apparently being that meant sitting awkwardly with Bobby while Sammy downed gallons of demon blood in the panic room, and She kept him company because She’d be the safest.

He and Bobby hadn’t really spoken. They’d played a card game and glanced at the stairs to the basement, waiting for Her to come up and tell them that they were ready to go. The original plan had just been turn themselves over to demons, but She’d rolled Her eyes like that was insane and insisted on using Her tracking spell.

And now, with Sam silent in the passenger’s seat, Her curled up in the back seat—slumped against a fully alert Cas, picking at Her fingers again, making Dean want to pull over and make Her stop, but they didn’t have enough time—and another bone guiding Dean on the dash, they were at the end.

This was it. She’d told him that She had that apple thing in Her jacket, and that She’d be fine. Lucifer wouldn’t hurt Her. And if Sam didn’t get a hold on Lucifer, she wanted to go for Michael, too.

Of course She did.

Because She and Sam were trying to fucking kill him.

Dean hated this. He’d never really hated anything more. He’d been staring at Death’s ring for hours last night, sitting up on the headboard and She’d been curled into his side, and hadn’t been sure it was worth it. The world. He was a selfish fucking asshole, and She might not be able to see it, but Dad had. Dad had known him better than anyone. He’d told Dean that the hard thing was the right thing, and that he just wanted Dean to be strong enough to do the right thing.

This didn’t fucking feel like the right thing. Letting the world fucking burn didn’t feel like the right thing either. The right thing maybe felt like using Death’s ring to kill God, because it was possible. Death had said God would die, and there wasn’t any damn reason it didn’t have to be now. Dean could use it to make God talk his asshole sons down from ending the world, then kill the douchebag anyway, so She never had to go.

Selfish.

This fucking sucked. And Sammy didn’t know about Her plan, and Bobby didn’t know Her plan—goddamnit, Bobby was finally going to shoot him—and Dean knew She was powerful or whatever, but fuck, She couldn’t just do this alone. She’d always told Dean she needed him, for when She fell apart or faltered and he could be Her weapon, carving them to the end.

But they were at the end. And unless this went perfectly, Dean wouldn’t be allowed to go with Her. If something went wrong, he’d still lose one of them.

That was the real fear, he knew. The cold, uncertain dread settled back in the cavity of his chest, splitting that pit more and more open until it was a canyon of just fucking empty dread.

He didn’t know who he was going to lose. And there was a dangerous light of hope deep in the pit—that he’d get to keep them both—but it was just going make this so much fucking worse.

“He’s in there.” Dean muttered, frowning at the abandoned building the Bone was angled towards. “Showtime.”

She and Cas exchanged at look that Dean could see in the rearview mirror, but went entirely unnoticed by Sam.

“Do I just… walk in and tell him?”

“Ideally, yes.” Cas muttered. “And Dean-“

“Got the rings.” He muttered, his hand sliding into his jacket. “And the incantation.”

Cas nodded, and Dean wanted to roar that this a mistake, all of this was a mistake, something was going to go wrong, and they needed to turn back now, but the brake lines had been cut.

They walked into the house, Cas waiting the car—She and Cas exchanged a strange look before they separated, making Dean’s stomach churn—and there was no way out.

Lucifer was waiting for them, arms spread wide and a manic grin on his face. His burnt, rotting, ugly face, the substitute vessel already falling apart. Dean wasn’t sure if the bile in his throat was from the sight of the motherfucker, or just what he knew was about to happen.

“Sammy! And Dean, and,” his grin fell to Her, and shooting his smug face wouldn’t do anything, but Dean really wanted to. “Hi, doll. I heard about your talk with Mikey. He really can’t charm a lady, can he? You finally realize that I’ve got the better deal?”

She didn’t response, just glancing to Sam, and Lucifer sighed.

“Guys, this is a safe space. We can all talk about our feelings, before I climb into Sam and Sam tries to jump us both to hell.”

The room fell dead silent, Lucifer grinning at them with an amused expression, and Dean’s blood curled in his body. He knew. The son of a bitch knew, of course he knew, Dean didn’t have a goddamn clue why they’d even fucking bothered because now he was going to lose Sammy-

“Here, I’ll start. Sam,” Lucifer put on a simpering, wounded expression. “While I am hurt that you’d try to do that to me, I forgive you. I would still love to hop in for a ride, though. And if you get the reigns, hey! Fair game! I mean, I will torture you for eternity for putting back there,” he spat the word, and Sam paled. “But right now? Let’s fucking dance, baby.”

No. This wasn’t going to end well, and Dean glanced down to see Her braced and ready, and no-

“Ready, Sammy.” Lucifer spread his arms wide. “What’d you say? Ready to take on the world?”

No-

“Okay.” Sam stood a little taller, but her still just looked like a kid- “Yes.”

Dean lurched forward. This couldn’t happen. Lucifer had the jump on them, so he didn’t give a fuck about cut brake, they had to go-

“Dean.” She grabbed his arm, and shook her head. “You can’t.”

“Yeah, Dean.” Lucifer grinned at Her, his body starting to glow, and raised his brows. “C’mon, doll, you’re the last thing we’re missing-“

“No,” Dean’s grip tightened on Her arm, and he didn’t care about the plan. Both of them, he couldn’t lose both of them-

“And you know Mike’s not going to be good to him.” Lucifer hummed, and something strange flashed over her favors. “I am going to win, but on the chance I don’t… Dean was the prettiest girl at the dance, and he turned Michael down. You remember my promise. You already lost the shoe in with Heaven, I don’t think you want Daddy coming back.” He extended a hand, attention entirely on Her, and no- “Join me. You won’t have to be the Bride. Just you, me, Sammy, and, well-“ He grinned at Dean. “You know the rest.”

She swallowed, and Sam’s eyes widened on Her’s.

“Don’t,” he said Her name in a pleading tone, and Dean felt like he was drifting in the Ocean.

He knew the tide had grabbed him. He knew what was going to happen. Sammy had said yes, and he couldn’t take it back. She had a plan, and Dean had the rings, but She wanted to go for Michael too. If he fought it, he’d just be dragged further and further down, but not into Her. Into the pit in his body, already feeling so fucking empty because he fucking knew-

Sam repeated Her name desperately, and She shook Her head.

“You have to promise.” She whispered, Her eyes not moving from Lucifer, and Dean knew it was an act, but She was too damn good at it.

“Promise. Easy.” Lucifer grinned at Her. “You in?”

“Yeah.” She let go of Dean’s arm, and he could still feel the fucking burn from where She had been touching him. “I’m in.”

Sam shouted Her name, and Dean didn’t fucking care about the plan. If this was being selfish, he’d live with it. He was going to fucking fight the tide, and he was going to let it kill him because fucking hell, he couldn’t do this without Her-

The room started to glow a red-gold light, and Dean was thrown back like a hammer had slammed into his chest. Fully out of the room with Her and Sam still inside, and Lucifer growing brighter and brighter as She stood at his side.

Their eyes met, for only a second. She gave Dean a small, sad smile and blinked three times, right before the door slammed shut.

But nothing was fine. None of this was fucking fine. Dean slammed his fist of the door and roared their names, and it wasn’t for the show of it. He didn’t care if Lucifer found out about Her plan, he just wanted Her back, wanted Sammy back, needed Sammy to fucking know that She wasn’t betraying them, She was just insane and brilliant and reckless, so fucking reckless with Herself when She was the most important thing in the world-

The door broke open, and Dean stumbled forward into an empty room. They were gone. Both of them were gone, and he’d just fucking let it happen. The rings felt heavier than a black hole in his pocket, and they were both gone.

He’d get them back. They had a plan, and he was going to get them both back. But he couldn’t really breathe. All the air felt like ash in his lungs.

He wasn’t going to be able to breathe until he got them both back.

Cas was frowning at him when he returned to the car, glancing past Dean’s shoulder to the dead empty house. “Did she-“

“Yeah.” Dean grunted, holding the rings up for Cas to see. “She’s going for the big game.”

“Michael.” Cas muttered, and Dean could feel his gaze. “We will need to find the location of the final fight, and meet her there. The prophet should be able to see it.”

“Chuck?” Dean glanced over, and Cas nodded. “You think he’s going to be able to see how this ends? If we get it?”

“I would not count on it. Without God’s interference…” Cas sighed. “We have no way of knowing what will happen.”

Dean didn’t understand the point of a prophet, if they couldn’t just know that everything was going to be fine. That he’d find them, open the cage, She’d pull Lucifer out of Sammy and Michael out of Adam, and it would be over. They’d have to figure out what the hell to do with Adam, if this worked. The dumbass had voluntarily handed himself over to Michael, like the dipshit hadn’t kidnapped him only weeks ago. And whenever he’d tried to bring it up with Her, she’d just shrugged and mumbled something about angels being convincing.

She’d know. Michael and Lucifer had made Her offers, and She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Dean they’d give Her paradise, but there had to be more. If they thought She wanted paradise, Lucifer would’ve offered her more. Heaven’s whole deal was bringing paradise.

And Lucifer had been a lot less suspicious of Her than Dean liked. As if he’d always known he’d win Her over. It didn’t make Dean feel any better, with how real the whole thing had felt. And he trusted Her, with more than his goddamn life, but son of a bitch She liked to pull the most insane shit without telling him.

He couldn’t think about it. They had work to do, so Dean couldn’t think about it. Just like he couldn’t think about how quiet the entire world was.

Like it was already in mourning.

He didn’t want to think about any of this. He just wanted to go the hell back, to when She’d been right next to him. To when he didn’t have to park the car and walk inside, look Bobby in the eyes, and tell him what happened.

Bobby just stared at him. And maybe Dean should just swallow the end of the shotgun, because whatever Bobby did to him for losing Her, he deserved it-

“She tell you she was plannin’ that?” Bobby grunted, his knuckles white on his wheelchair, and Dean nodded.

“She would have done it behind our backs.” Cas injected, and Dean apprenticed it. He wasn’t sure he could say anything without choking right now. “If we didn’t help her. I got her an aid, to increase her power. And Dean will open the cage, so she can keep the upper hand on Lucifer.”

Bobby looked at Dean for another long, impossible heavy silence, then nodded.

“We best get our asses to work then.” His voice was gruff, but Dean recognized the strain in it. It was the same strain he had over his own ribs. “If she’s doin’ all the work, she needs to two idjits to pull your share.”

Their share was making a fucking phone call.

“So,” Chuck’s voice was a little static through the laptop speakers as he said Her name. “She chose Lucifer?”

Cas sighed. “She pretended to choose Lucifer. She plans to put both Lucifer and Michael in the cage, and this is the easiest way.”

Chuck frowned. “Why both? Lucifer is the one starting the end of the world, right?”

“I don’t think Michael made that good an impression on her.” Bobby’s tone was a little dry, and Chuck’s frown deepened, but Dean pushed on. They didn’t have time for this.

“I’ve got the key to the cage,” he held it up to the camera. “So nothing’s happening until we get to her. And she’s not making a move until she’s got them both in one place, so we need to know when that’s going to happen.”

“Um, probably the final battle?” Chuck glanced at Dean nervously. “It’s at noon, in Lawrence, Kansas. Skull cemetery. And she’s really planning to put them both in-“

“Yep.” Dean shoved the key back into his jacket. “Well, Chuck, if there’s another side, we’ll see you there-“

“Wait!” Chuck sat up on the screen, and Dean’s hand paused on the top of the laptop. “Do you want to know what they’re doing? Her and Sam?”

Dean froze. He wanted nothing more to know that they were okay, but Christ, if they weren’t-

“I thought you weren’t able to see in her head,” Bobby muttered, and Chuck sighed.

“I- I can’t. But I can see into Sam’s, so I know she’s there.”

Bobby’s eyes flashed, and he wheeled a little closer. “She alright? Lucifer ain’t- He’s not hurtin’ her-“

“I don’t think he can.” Chuck frowned. “All I saw when I was thinking of Sam is- Um- Well he’s not really thinking clearly. He’s sort of angry, but mostly because she didn’t let him in on whatever she’s planning. And whenever I could see her, it was just kind of in a corner. Lucifer’s talked to her a few times about how when he’s done, he’ll help her burn her veil? But also that, um-“ Chuck brow furrowed. “She can do better than Dean. And she should take a second look at the menu, when they’re done.”

Dean’s grip on the laptop tightened, his words pushed through his teeth. “Alright. Bye, Chuck.”

He slammed the laptop, and turned to see Cas and Bobby frowning at him.

“What?”

They exchanged some strange look, and Cas cleared his throat. “We are… worried about you, Dean. You may not be going into this with the most stable state of mind-“

Dean cut him off with a scoff. “Stable states of mind are for assholes who do yoga and business douchebags. I’m fine.”

“Dean.” Bobby grunted. “I know what you’re thinkin’ right now-“

“No, you don’t-“

“That you feel like your whole fuckin’ life is on the line, and you ain’t able to do jack shit about it?” Bobby’s voice raised, and he held Dean’s glare. “I know that’s exactly what you’re thinkin’ boy, cause I’m thinkin’ it. At least you’re able to go out there and do somethin’ about it. Don’t get blinded and let all the shit they’re puttin’ themselves through go to waste.”

Dean’s hands curled into fists, and he shook his head. “They’re both in danger, Bobby, I’m going to do whatever the hell I gotta to get them out of it-“

“I know ya are, Dean. But I-“ Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face. “Don’t be stupid about it.”

“I won’t-“

“Yeah, ya will.”

They stared at each other for a second, and Bobby let out a long breath, looking between Dean and Cas with the most open look Dean had ever seen. And it was filled with exhaustion, and desperation, and-

Fear. Right on the surface of Bobby’s face was pure fear, and it was so wrong. Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever even seen Bobby afraid, but God, it was maybe the worst thing in the world.

“Bring them home.” Bobby grunted. “Both of ‘em. And come back in one piece yourself.”

Dean nodded, and didn’t bother with a goodbye. If he said goodbye, that meant he might not come back. One piece or not.

And it wouldn’t be one piece, if he came back without Her or Sammy. If Dean came back with just Her, a large piece of him would be missing that would take a long, hard time to fill.

If he came back, somehow, without both of them, the pit in his body would split open, and he’d never be whole again.

Cas sat silently the whole drive, and Dean was grateful for it. Cas was there. Maybe his angel mojo was fucked, but at least he wasn’t doing this alone. At least Cas put on the music for him, dealt with the directions, and didn’t try to make him talk about how this was making him feel, because the only answer was dread. It was settling deeper than his bones, the closer they got to the cemetery. He could feel it, heavy like iron and cold like death, sunken over maybe just the fabric of his being.

And the cemetery was dry. Gray and dry, with a dead crow sadly resting over one of the graves. Michael and Lucifer were glaring at each other and walking in circles like the worst high noon showdown in history, and Sammy looked fine, but he didn’t walk like Sammy, and She was sitting behind Lucifer.

Silent.

Her being silent had never been a good thing.

Dean climbed out of the car, trying to keep his expression natural, or his lunch from falling all over the ground. “Hi. Sorry we’re late, guys, but Cas gave me a wrong exit on 81.”

Cas frowned at him, and Dean just shrugged. He couldn’t really hear his own voice, or see anything but a Sammy that actually Sammy, and Her flat-out refusal to look him in the eyes.

“Dean.” Michael frowned at him through Adam’s body, and Dean felt the dread rising to his throat, making him sort of sick. “You are lucky I don’t smite you where you stand, for daring to be here.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “He’s here to plead with Sammy and his Princess, Michael, let him get blown up in the mess-“

“I’d rather not get blown up.” Dean raised his hand, both archangels glared at him, and this didn’t really feel fucking real. “If we’re choosing horrible fates for me to meet, I’d veto blowing up. Cas, you wanna take that one for the team?”

Cas stared at him, and—thank goddamn Christ—seemed to pick up the insane plan Dean had backed himself into. “No. I would rather not.”

Dean nodded, gave the archangels an apologetic half-grin, and he was never going to be able to give Her shit about her plans again. This was what happened when he was left without Her and Sammy. His grand plan to save the world was the same one he’d had to coast through high school.

Talk and talk and talk and say nothing at all, until the bell ran out, and class was over.

Only here, the bell was Her doing whatever she needed to grab Michael and Lucifer, and class was her throwing them in the cage.

It wasn’t a good metaphor.

Dean needed Her and Sammy for that, too.

“Lucifer.” Michael grunted, and Dean was pretty sure that glare might be capable of shredding him to ribbons. “Unless you have objections, I am going to blow them both up so we can continue-“

“I have objections. You know I have objections.” Lucifer said Her name, and she glanced up from where she’d been cross-legged in the grass. “Tell Mikey he can’t blow up Dean.”

“She does not command us, Lucifer.” Micheal muttered, even as he eyed her wearily, and Lucifer laughed.

“Uh, yeah, she does. She certainly commands you. Dad spent so much time telling us about how perfect she’d be, how he’d done this all for her, can you imagine how disappointed he’d be in you if you made her cry?”

Michael didn’t visibly react, but Cas tensed at Dean’s side. Maybe it was only visible to other angels. “She chose wrong. I hold no deal to her, Lucifer, when she decided to turn her back on all I offered her-“

“You didn’t offer me anything,” She whispered, and Michael froze. “You told me you’d make me forget everyone. That you’d just hand me over to God.”

“He wants what’s best for you-“

She let out a dry laugh, pushing up to her feet. “Everyone wants what’s best for me. It’s usually ends with me in a basement.”

“It would have been paradise.” Michael hissed. “And you’ll see, when I win and offer you a second chance-“

“I don’t think she wants your second chance, man.” Dean cut in, trying not to think about how She was next to Lucifer. How all she needed now was to get between them. “She doesn’t really do first chances. You’re either in or out, and I don’t think you’re in.”

Michael scowled at him. “You should watch yourself, Dean. A hundred years goes faster than you think, and that is all it will take for Her to forget you.”

“Maybe.” Dean shrugged. “But I don’t think she’ll ever think anything good about you. Cas?”

“Dean.”

He frowned, and turned to find Cas a whole lot closer to him than before. Braced. As if he was ready for something.

“Uh-“ He shook his head, and watched her take a casual step forward in his periphery. “What does paradise look like?”

“A lot of nature.” Cas muttered, and Dean sighed, giving Michael a sympathetic look.

“See, that’s where you’re going wrong. My girl doesn’t like the outdoors. Hates bug spray, says it makes her skin itchy. And you’re gonna have to keep soda fountains around. And, uh-“ Dean said Her name, and their eyes met.

Her’s were a bright as when the door had closed between them. Not empty, but made of more life than he’d ever really been able to understand.

Telling him to be ready. And to keep going.

So he did.

“What’s the name of that makeup store you like?”

A small smile that could’ve been nothing, but Dean would know anywhere, crossed over her lips.

“Walgreens.”

“Right.” He looked back to Michael. “But she doesn’t buy from them, she steals. So you might need to make that, uh- Not a sin anymore. Or you can win,” he nodded to Lucifer. “But you’re gonna have to make sure the fires of hell don’t burn the books. She won’t like that either.”

There was a long second of silence, and she was just in Michael’s reach. One more second. They were so damn close-

Michael said that strange, musical sound Lucifer had made in San Francisco, and turned to her with a glare. “That is what you’re willing to betray the earth for? What you’re willing to side with my brother for, when my father, when I have been ready to give you whatever you want, since the world began?”

She didn’t say anything, but She didn’t move either, and Michael’s eyes narrowed.

“This is all in your name. And our fight,” he gestured between himself and Lucifer, who was mostly just frowning. “Is not yours. Come here. I’ll put you somewhere safe, until you understand.”

She still didn’t move.

But Michael did.

He lunged for Her, and Dean didn’t think. He’d never thought, when he was on a hunt. When She or Sammy were in danger.

He’d only ever moved.

Dean sprinted forward, trying to put himself between Her and Michael’s hand, and he couldn’t hear anything over the blood in his ears. She might have screamed his name, but at least if he died here, that would be the last thing he ever heard. And She’d pull out Sammy, and they’d be fine without him. She and Sammy had already survived when he’d been dead, and when God came for Her maybe she’d drop in on him in hell, because he sure as shit wasn’t going to heaven when Michael was about to kill him.

But he wasn’t dead.

He’d been yanked back by the collar of jacket, but Michael hadn’t grabbed Her. The archangel had been knocked back by Cas, brawling in Dean’s place, somehow holding his own for more than a second, until-

Cas vanished, reappeared at Dean’s side, and Michael burst into flames.

Dean stared at the lingering ash on the ground, then at Cas. “What the hell did you do?”

“I shot him.” Cas muttered, holding up a gun. “I did not know it would have that effect.”

“That’s Bobby’s gun.” She whispered, and Dean’s head whipped up to find her blinking at him. “I enchanted it.”

“Oh.” Dean grinned at Her. “Cool.”

“Castiel.” Lucifer hissed, and the expression on his face was goddamn murderous. It couldn’t be anything good. “You should be dead.”

“I know how not to shoot myself-“

“No.” Lucifer clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Holding a fight with Michael, even cheating should have destroyed you, but-“ His gaze slid to Her. “Someone helped you. Gave you a boost.”

She swallowed, and Cas grabbed Dean’s arm before he could launch forward again.

“You shouldn’t be strong enough to restore an angels grace.” Lucifer hissed. “You ate an apple, didn’t you. You were going to betray me.”

“I-“

“Shh.” Lucifer held a finger to his lips, his gaze sliding to Cas and Dean. “You did a good job. It’s going to take a lot more effort than before to smite him. But I can still-“

Lucifer snapped his fingers, and Cas vanished. A shout had barely left Dean’s mouth when Lucifer scoffed, and appeared right in front of him, wrapping a hand around Dean’s throat and lifting him off the ground.

“He’s alive.” Lucifer sneered. “Thrown down to the bottom of the Pacific ocean, but alive. And I’d be more worried for yourself Dean.” He tossed Dean all the way back against the Impala, and the pain had barely even gotten a chance to hit him before he was being lifted up again, and slammed back down.

She was screaming again, in the background. But Dean couldn’t get to Her, couldn’t calm her down or save Her from this one. He could only look at Sammy’s face, full of a pure hate that made Dean wish Lucifer would just get it over with, and feeling the snap of his ribs as a kick like wrecking ball slammed into his chest.

"Hear that?” Lucifer sneered in his ear, and Dean’s vision was starting to fill with spots as his head got bashed once more. “She won’t hurt you, or she’ll try not to. But she’ll snap, and kill you, and then neither of you will get anything. I’ll lock her up, just like Mikey would’ve, and maybe Daddy will come and take her. Maybe she’ll just rot forever. Or I can bring her back, make a duplicate of you, and make her watch me kill all those too.” Lucifer laughed, and Dean wasn’t sure what was Her screams or just his own pain anymore. “I’ll kill that old coot you both got, too. And Sammy will live happily,” Lucifer raised him up, glass crashing somewhere in the background, and Dean felt a sting near his back. “Without any of you-“

Lucifer’s words cut off, and Dean blinked. The light was too bright. It was making his vision blur and his head throb, and he could barely see anything but Sammy’s face-

Sammy.

That wasn’t Lucifer, looking back at him in shock and confusion and pain. It was-

“Sammy.” Dean’s voice was weak, and Sam’s grip slacked on him immediately.

“Fuck, Dean-“ Sam’s eyes scanned over him, wide and frantic. “I- I’m sorry-“

“Not-“ Dean coughed, the motion hurting his lungs, and She was still crying. He could hear it. It might be making everything hurt more. “Not you. Wasn’t you, Sammy, but-“

“Dean, I can’t hold him long- The cage-“

“No.” He shook his head, looking over Sam’s shoulder to Her. On Her knees in the grass, curled into Herself, a hand around her own throat.

He couldn’t go to Her now. They didn’t have time. But after, he’d maybe hold Her for the rest of his life and not let go.

Dean whispered Her name, shoving the key into Sam’s hand. “Trust her. You gotta trust her.”

Sam followed Dean’s gaze, nodded—not a question, but Dean didn’t really Sammy’d had one about her since they met—and moved.

He felt like he was floating. Like he was watching something on a TV, instead of it folding out in front of him. Sam stopped in front of Her, offering a hand to stand up, and She glanced at Dean but took it. Then She pulled an apple out of Her jacket—iridescent and glowing—and started to eat it as Sam tossed the key on to the ground. The earth started to shudder and bend, and Dean was still just suspended in nothing, unable to real feel anything but numb pain and that dread. The wind shifted slightly, blowing right against his face as She gave Sam a small smile, and placed a hand on his chest. And Dean-

He could smell the fruit. Stronger than ever in his goddamn life, right on the wind.

The apple. It was the fucking glowing apple, and he could smell it.

He was crashing right back down to earth, right as it all blew apart.

Michael reappeared, a step behind Her. And Dean roared Her name in warning, ignoring the pain it shot through his chest., but Sam was faster. He grabbed Michael, turned them both to Her with a tiny nod, and when She slammed Her hand on Michael’s chest, Dean could see it.

All the dry color of the cemetery, vivid. The dead grass turning green and starting to bloom in all those strange flowers Dean had never seen before. The ground shaking and the crow that had been dead on the grave a moment ago, cawing then taking off.

Her pupils, blindingly silver as Her beautiful face sent in determination. All Her features seeming to glow as She pulled Michael and Lucifer out of their vessel.

Michael moved first, and Dean felt like that thing deeper than his bones was being ripped apart. Michael was all yellow and a flurry of a million wings that were going to make him go deaf, and fitting in Her hand and somehow still bigger than the sun.

Michael was thrashing. Trying to fight Her, as he was pulled all the way out and Adam’s body fell to the ground. But Lucifer wasn’t coming out.

Lucifer wasn’t coming out, and She wasn’t throwing Michael into the pit. Every time Dean saw Her turn, Michael twisted and roared, Her eyes squeezed shut, and a goddamn tree shot out of the ground. She couldn’t let him go. She couldn’t let go of Michael, and Lucifer wasn’t coming out.

Time seemed to slow, and Dean wasn’t suspended anymore, but he also couldn’t move. Lucifer had either broken his legs, or he just didn’t fully register what was happening until it was done.

She looked at Sam, said something Dean couldn’t hear over the pounding of Michael’s wings, and Sam took her free hand and said something back. They just looked at each other for a long moment, and then they both looked at Dean.

He tried to call for them. Tried to roar that whatever they were doing, it was insane, and he could do it instead. He could take the bullet, jump on the grenade, be the punching bag or put himself in the line of fire.

He might have gotten his plea out. Maybe not. It didn’t really matter.

Because She and Sammy turned away and, hand in hand, fell into the cage together.

It sealed shut before Dean could even get in a breath for a scream.

And they were both gone. Leaving Dean alone with nothing but himself, and the wind.

End Note: I think this might have counted as psychological torture? Please not call the UN on me, they’ll send me a strongly worded letter.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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