#it was gut instinct to make him shorter

[paintedpatroclus]

“so, sokka clings to him, and sighs contentedly when zuko clings back.” from breakable heaven, chapter 10 by @sokkalore

how’s everyone holding up zukka nation …

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 .ᐟ 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕

synopsis: Matt is obsessed with your lip gloss.

warnings: SMUT , obsessive!Matt, soft dom Matt, teasing, pervy Matt, flicking beans, and more.

ʚ with love and big tits, Rose ɞ

The lipgloss painted on your lips had driven Matt insane all fucking day. It wasn’t intentional on your end, but god…he was in pain from how bad he needed you.

He wanted your perfect lips messy. Matt needed to see your saliva drip down and smudge the pearlescent glitter—he needed to see you as he needy as he felt.

And it didn’t take long.

As soon as you two had gotten home and started cuddling, you were caught off guard by Matt’s behavior. He wouldn’t let you get up—or even move from your body being pressed directing onto his. His hands clamp possessively on your sides, frantically pulling you against him.

The lack of distance between your bodies answers your confusion about his behavior. You feel it, he’s hard—he’s throbbing.

A subtle grind of his hips makes your breath catch in your throat. Matt lets his hand palm and massage your thigh, his lips tracing delicate kisses on your neck—knowing it’s one of your weakness.

Anytime he kisses your neck he’s mesmerized how quick your energy shifts. Your hands grip harder, your breaths get shorter, and you…you always get so needy.

This time wasn’t any different. Desperation is audible with the sound of your nails scratching into the sheets. It’s intoxicating how blissful everything feels, but your body screams for more.

His efforts aren’t enough. Teasing isn’t sufficient for the pulse building between your legs. Your skin crawls for anything and the heat shriveling in your gut begs for something as soft pecks turn sloppier trailing down to your collarbone.

The weight of your body falls further against him. Air whispering on the wet trail of kisses has you in a daze. You’re hypnotized by the feeling of your body heating up warmly and aching for him to touch you more.

Matt lets out a breathy moan as you sway yourself back onto his hard bulge with sluggish, uncoordinated movements. You need him. You need him so bad that there’s little left but pure instinct.

“Matt…” you whine out.

Harsh breaths fan onto your neck as he continues ravishing you with hungry kisses. His hands falls forward. “Is this what you need, doll? Just want more, hm?” he rasps, dipping his hand through your pants to circle your clit over your underwear.

The broken moan that leaves your lips is encouraging to him. He lets himself find a good, slow pace while toying with the sensitive bud.

You can’t help but let your back arch against his front, but Matt is sure to keep you pinned against him. He wants to feel you writhe.

“You were teasin me all day, sweetheart…that damn lipgloss, I swear. Shouldn’t I return the favor?” His fingers start to pace even slower, a light pressure barely even palpable from his touch now.

“I…didn’t mean to, you—please,” you say, biting on your lip as you feel his chest vibrate with a low hum.

“Don’t worry, doll. I know you didn’t mean to and I—“ he lets his hand slide beneath the thin fabric of your panties.

There’s little hesitation as he swivels his nimble fingers through your wet heat, circling your hole for slick before dragging his hand back up to your swollen clit. “—I don’t tease my girl too much, no…I…” his pants are heavy against your neck.

A certain lace of lust found in his voice and his touches—one that makes you feel like a doll, not a toy. He’s playing with you. So intricately…so delicately…so obsessively….

”—I don’t do that, right? Always make my girl feel good…don’t you think, sweetheart?” he purrs.

The aggressive nods of your head awakens something in him—an even hungrier touch as he starts to grip you a little harder, pushing his fingers with more passion and starting to strum them delightfully against your clit.

A shriek leaves your mouth. Your hand grabs around his wrist in pure desperation. It’s too much.

“Want me to stop?” he asks.

Your grip becomes stronger, pulling his hand further into your underwear and your grind up into his touch. “N—no…I—fuck, please just…don’t stop, it—feels s’good, I,” you rush between breaths.

Matt hums, dipping his nose to run alone the subtle marks from his lips made on your neck just minutes ago. “Yeah? want me to keep playin with my doll, hm? I—fuckkkkkk, sweetheart…that’s right—“ drool is slipping from your lips as your mind runs blank. It feels so good. Nothing could float in or out of your mind. It’s just this—the pure bliss of his touch calming you to a numb state of pleasure.

“My messy girl—-fuck, my—my pretty doll.”

The sight of your drool sliding down and mixing with your lipgloss is even better than he had been imaging all day. It’s the perfect sight—it’s the perfect feeling. You look so messy, all ruined and he’s barely done anything. The way your body squirms is viciously beautiful to him. You can’t control yourself.

You’re a perfect mess.

And it’s all for him.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: No Faking It

You were on the phone, curled up on the couch, thinking you had the house to yourself. Your voice was low, casual, as you reassured your friend.

“I mean, yeah, I faked it last night,” you admitted with a soft laugh. “I was just exhausted, and I didn’t want to make him feel bad. It wasn’t a big deal.”

You didn’t notice the way Marshall froze in the doorway. Didn’t see how his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly as your words sank in.

You faked it?

His grip tightened on the water bottle in his hand, but he stayed quiet, listening as you continued.

“It’s not like it happens all the time,” you added quickly. “And honestly, he’s always so good about making sure I’m taken care of—I just couldn’t keep up last night.”

Marshall exhaled slowly through his nose. He didn’t know whether to be offended, amused, or just straight-up determined.

Scratch that—he was definitely determined.

He didn’t make his presence known until you were off the phone, stretching your arms with a soft sigh. You nearly jumped when you turned and found him standing there, arms crossed, blue eyes locked onto you with that unreadable expression of his.

“Marshall?” You blinked. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” he murmured.

You frowned, about to ask what he meant—until you saw the way his gaze darkened, something almost dangerous flickering behind his smirk.

Oh. Oh.

Your stomach flipped. “Wait—”

“So you faked it?” His voice was calm, casual—too casual. He stepped closer, and you instinctively shrank back against the couch. Not out of fear—out of anticipation.

“Marshall, it wasn’t a big—”

“Nah.” He shook his head slowly, lowering himself onto the couch beside you, one arm draping along the back of it as he leaned in. “See, now it’s a problem.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed up your thigh, slow, teasing. “I—I was just really tired.”

“That right?” He smirked, his voice dropping lower. “Guess that means you’re well rested now.”

Your heart pounded. Oh, you were in trouble.

Marshall tilted his head, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispered, “Let’s see you fake it this time.”

And just like that, you knew—you weren’t getting out of this until he knew for a fact that there was nothing fake about it.

You barely had time to process his words before Marshall was on you, his movements slow, deliberate, and dangerous. His hand slid up your thigh, fingers curling just enough to make you shiver.

“Marshall—”

“Nah.” His voice was rougher now, laced with something primal. “Ain’t got nothin’ to say now, do you?”

Your stomach flipped, anticipation twisting in your gut as he shifted, pressing you back against the couch with his body, his presence all-consuming.

“You really sat here,” he murmured, lips brushing against your jaw, “and told your friend you faked it?” He exhaled sharply, nipping at the skin beneath your ear. “Like that shit don’t matter?”

You swallowed hard, your breath already coming shorter. “I—it wasn’t like that—”

He scoffed, shaking his head, his grip tightening on your waist. “Nah, you don’t get to downplay it now.” His voice was low, commanding. “You really think I’m lettin’ that slide?”

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, clinging to him as heat bloomed beneath your skin. “I—”

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you faked it.”

You bit your lip, squirming under his gaze. “I faked it.”

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. “Not happening again.”

And just like that, he moved—picking you up like you weighed nothing, tossing you over his shoulder in one smooth motion. You gasped, hands smacking against his back in shock.

“Marshall!”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even hesitate as he strode toward the bedroom like a man on a mission. His grip was firm, possessive, one arm locked around your thighs as if daring you to try and escape.

Not that you would.

He kicked the door shut behind him, finally lowering you down onto the bed, his hands gripping your hips before you could even think about sitting up. His blue eyes burned into yours, dark with pure, unrelenting determination.

“You listenin’?” His voice was deep, husky, the edge of a growl beneath his words.

You nodded, your own breath unsteady.

His fingers traced up your thighs, slow and teasing, making you squirm. “Ain’t stoppin’,” he murmured, “till I know for a fact that you ain’t gotta fake shit.”

Your body melted beneath his touch, heat pooling in your stomach. “I—”

He smirked, tilting his head. “Nah, don’t even talk.” His hands gripped you tighter, like he was staking his claim. “Just take it.”

And you did.

---

Marshall didn’t waste any time. He had that look in his eyes—one that meant he wasn’t playing, wasn’t stopping, wasn’t letting up until you forgot what the word fake even meant.

You barely had a second to breathe before he was on you, pressing you down into the mattress, his body caging yours in like he needed you beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them just enough to let you know exactly what kind of night you were in for.

“You know what pisses me off the most?” he murmured, his lips dragging slowly down your neck, his voice low and gravelly. “You really thought I’d be okay with that.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers dug into your waist, possessive and unrelenting.

“I—I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you admitted, barely able to focus when his mouth was moving lower, his hands everywhere all at once.

He huffed out a dark, humorless chuckle against your skin. “Not a big deal?” His fingers pressed harder into your hips, like he was trying to hold himself back. “Nah. See, this—” he punctuated his words with a slow, deliberate grind of his hips against yours, making you gasp “—this is a big deal.”

Your hands gripped at his hoodie, your body already trembling under his touch. “Marshall—”

“No,” he cut you off, lifting his head, his blue eyes locked onto yours. “You don’t get to say my name like that. Not yet.”

You swallowed hard, already feeling the heat build between you, already knowing he wasn’t going to let up—not until you felt everything he needed you to.

“You wanna make sounds for me, baby?” he murmured, his fingers trailing lower, teasing, taunting. “Make the right ones.”

Your breath shuddered, your grip on his hoodie tightening as his hands roamed your body like he had all the time in the world.

“You faked it once,” he whispered against your lips, his voice nothing but pure, unfiltered promise. “Let’s see how many times I can make up for it.”

And with that, he really got to work.

Marshall was determined. You could see it in the sharp set of his jaw, the heat in his blue eyes, the way his hands refused to let you go—like he had something to prove. And maybe he did.

Because he wasn’t letting this go. Not until there was zero doubt. Not until you couldn’t breathe without thinking about the way he had you now—trapped, trembling, completely at his mercy.

“You feel that?” His voice was low, rough, a little smug as he pressed his body firmly against yours, leaving no room for escape. “Ain’t gotta fake a damn thing, do you?”

You barely had enough breath to whisper, “No.”

He smirked against your skin. “Damn right.”

His hands moved with purpose, mapping out every inch of you, dragging sounds from you so easily it was embarrassing. He wasn’t playing around—not teasing, not taking his time just to mess with you.

No, this was pure focus.

Marshall wasn’t just setting the record straight—he was rewriting it. Making sure that by the time he was done, the only thing your body would remember was him.

“Say my name,” he muttered, lips trailing fire down your skin.

You did. Breathless, desperate.

He groaned at the sound, his grip tightening. “Not like that.”

You barely had time to process what he meant before he gave you more—more pressure, more intensity, more of everything that made you fall apart right under him.

The second time you said his name, it was loud. Uncontrolled. Real.

And that was what he wanted.

He smirked, brushing his lips over yours, his voice smug as hell. “That’s better.”

But he wasn’t done.

Not until your voice was hoarse, your legs were shaking, and there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind:

You were never faking it again.

Marshall wasn’t stopping. Not yet. Not until he got everything he wanted—until your body gave in, until your voice was raw from saying his name, until you felt exactly how deep his determination ran.

And right now? That determination was burning in his eyes, written in the way he held you down, in the way his hands gripped you like he owned you. Like he was branding the moment into your skin.

“You good?” he murmured, his voice rough, breath warm against your lips.

You could barely form a thought, let alone a sentence, but you managed a weak nod.

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t need you noddin’. Need you talkin’.”

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but he was already on you again—teasing, pushing, making sure you felt everything he gave you.

“Tell me you ain’t fakin’ now,” he muttered.

Your fingers curled into his shoulders, a sharp gasp ripping from you as you shook your head frantically. “I’m—not—”

He hummed in approval, his grip tightening as he pulled you even closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Good. ‘Cause I’d hate to have to start all over again just to make sure.”

Your whole body shuddered at the threat—the promise—hidden in his words.

“Marshall—” His name slipped out, raw and desperate.

He groaned, dragging his teeth over your jaw before kissing the spot to soothe it. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

You weren’t sure how much more you could take—your body trembling, your mind spinning, the way he wouldn’t let up until he was completely, absolutely sure.

And finally—finally—when you were nothing but a breathless, spent mess beneath him, he slowed.

His hands softened, his grip turning gentle, his lips pressing softly against your temple.

He exhaled, brushing his nose against your cheek. “Bet you won’t ever pull that fake shit again, huh?”

You let out a weak, breathless laugh, too spent to even respond properly.

He smirked. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And just like that, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, letting you melt into him—safe, warm, and very satisfied.

Lesson learned.

---

The room was quiet now, the air thick with warmth and something deeper—something settled. Marshall’s arms were still wrapped around you, his body loose and relaxed, but his grip on you was firm, like he wasn’t letting you go anytime soon.

You melted into him, completely spent, your head resting against his chest as your breathing slowly evened out. His fingers traced absentminded circles on your back, grounding, comforting.

But then, after a long stretch of silence, he spoke.

“Why’d you do it?”

You blinked, stirring slightly against him. “Do what?”

He shifted, tilting his head to look at you. “Fake it.” His voice wasn’t accusing—just curious. Maybe even a little confused. “Like, for real. You know you ain’t ever gotta do that with me.”

Your stomach tightened. You knew this conversation was coming, but you’d been hoping you could avoid it.

You swallowed, staring at a spot on his hoodie, fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric. “I dunno,” you muttered. “It’s just… habit.”

Marshall frowned. “Habit?”

You nodded slowly, avoiding his gaze. “With my ex… it was just easier. He’d keep going and going, and I’d just—” You hesitated, sighing. “I’d fake it so he’d stop.”

Marshall’s body tensed underneath you. His fingers stilled against your back, his grip tightening just slightly. “…What?”

You bit your lip, still not looking at him. “It wasn’t… like, bad or anything. Just… I don’t think he ever really cared if I finished. It was more about him, so I just got used to pretending.”

Marshall was silent for a long moment, but you could feel the shift in his energy—felt the way his breathing changed, the way his fingers twitched slightly where they rested against you.

Then, his voice came, low and rough. “You’re tellin’ me… before me, you never—?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “No.”

His whole body stiffened.

Your stomach flipped at the reaction, so you quickly tried to downplay it. “It’s not like I knew what I was missing, you know?” You forced a small laugh. “I just thought maybe that’s how it was supposed to be, like maybe it was harder for me or something.”

Marshall exhaled sharply through his nose. “Harder for you, my ass,” he muttered.

You finally looked up at him, and the expression on his face nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

His jaw was tight, his blue eyes burning—not with anger, not at you, but at the idea of what you’d been through.

He shook his head, running a hand down his face. “That’s some bullshit,” he muttered.

“Marshall, really, it’s fine—”

“Nah.” He cut you off, his voice low, firm. “Ain’t fine.”

You swallowed, unsure of what to say.

He shifted suddenly, flipping you onto your back so he was hovering over you again, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to process this new information.

His voice was softer now, but no less intense. “You really thought that’s all there was to it? Just… go through the motions, pretend it’s good enough?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t think about it. It just… was what it was.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, he just looked at you, like he was trying to figure out how to undo years of that mindset.

And then, after a long moment, his voice dropped even lower.

“Aight,” he murmured, fingers trailing slowly down your side. “Guess I got more work to do.”

Your breath caught. “Marshall—”

He smirked, but there was something dead serious in his eyes. “Nah, baby. You already know what I’m on.” He leaned down, brushing his lips over yours. “Gotta make up for lost time.”

And just like that, he was proving—again—that with him, you’d never have to fake anything ever again.

[machveil]

A reader who unintentionally lets their crush on one Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley slip out to the wrong person, and by the end of the day it’s reached his ears. In order to not die of embarassment, especially because they can barey handle his stare on a good day before all this, they decide to simply avoid him. At the very least, avoid being alone with him.

Making sure to be in common areas with others present, taking on errands to avoid it when they aren’t. It seems to be working, despite his stare that leaves their stomach in knots and their thighs clench, he leaves it at watching. He never brings it up, never seems to act any different, and after a couple weeks of exhaustive panic, they slowly start to let their guard down again, convinced it’s water under the bridge.

It’s not. Not even close.

Most assume Simon of all people wouldn’t hesitate, would know how quickly time is lost and regrets are made, especially with something they want, something they crave. But the other thing about men like Simon? For the important things, they make the time, carve it out of life itself if it means getting a taste. And outside of an immediate mission, this sits firmly, persistently, at the top of his list.

He can wait. He knows the merits of outpacing a target. Watching as they slowly exhaust all that energy jumping at shadows and sprinting from him simply sitting still.

It just makes the moment he gets to sink his teeth in all the sweeter.

-🐸

we’re jumping straight in under the cut - this has been sitting so nice and patient in my drafts

CW: fem!reader, size kink

Simon Riley is patient to a fault - standing in far corners watching you, he can see the way you avoid his hard gaze. when he heard about your crush on him he was absolutely delighted, heart tightly squeezing in his chest. he’s been eyeing you for months, silently waiting to get his hands on you

Simon Riley who likes the hunt - quietly stalking after you when you flee a room. like a wolf stalking prey, he’s content to wait for a moment to strike, to get you alone. Simon’s got the willpower to keep the desire bubbling in his gut down, the restraint to not approach you fully yet. you’ve been avoiding him like the plague for days, it’s impressed him a little admittedly

Simon Riley that finally gets you alone - the sun setting as you retire to the barracks. you nearly scream when his rough hand gently grips your shoulder. he’d come out of nowhere, his deep brown eyes boring into you, “Been dodgin’ me, sweet’art?”, oh— you’ve never heard his voice that low before, gravely and thick. it’s a whirlwind after that, suddenly you’re being guided away from your room, directed towards Simon’s, “Think we need to have a word.”, he grumbles, hand on the small of your back. all you can do is shyly nod, eyes a little wide as you look up at him

“Should’ve tol’ me you wanted this—”, mouth latching onto your shoulder, Simon’s got you face down on his mattress. his broad chest is barely hovering over you back, strong hips fucking you down against his sheets. his pace mind numbingly hard, his right hand messy with your slick from rubbing circles on your clit, “Would’ve done this— sooner.”

he’s struggling to talk, swallowing thickly when you squeeze him tightly. he had trouble nudging himself into you, cooing that he’d fit - he’d make it fit. he’s considerably larger than you, it doesn’t matter if your shorter or taller than him, his massive frame and weight alone has you sinking under him. when he finally sunk into your cunt you knew you were a goner

he had already drawn an orgasm out of you earlier, your legs spasming around his head. he’s still got your slick on his chin, biting at the crook of your neck and sucking. feral, that’s how he’s moving. your composed, familiar Simon’s replaced by a beast, moving on instinct as you cry out under him. “S’good f’me—“, he croons, pulling off your neck to watch you. he can see the patch of wetness under your face - a combination of blissed out tears and drool, and all he can think is how pretty you look for him. fucked dumb on his cock, babbling incoherently, ‘please—’s and a mantra of his name tumbling from your lips

Simon’s made up his mind, you’re never avoiding him again. while watching you squirm around base was amusing, having you writhing underneath him is so much better. he’s hissing out when you orgasm again, so tight around him he has to still for a moment, “Good girl— fuckin’ perfect.”. as soon as you melt under him he’s picking his pace up again, listening to you softly murmur through a haze of overstimulation, words he can’t make out drowned by his own gruff moans

[steddiealltheway]

It's clear to Steve that Eddie is being led on, but Eddie will not accept it. So, it's intervention time. Not because Steve has a huge crush on him and is entirely jealous but... he needs Eddie to at least see that he can do better than this asshole.

He sits Eddie down and lays out the facts. "You met him in The Hideout bathroom when he put his tongue down your throat then proceeded to ignore you the rest of the night when you left the bathroom."

"It's different for gay men, Steve."

Steve presses on. "He calls you late at night when he knows that your uncle is gone just to get off and immediately hang up after."

"It's not like that..." Eddie says with a sigh.

"He doesn't know a single thing about you either! Has he tried to ask you on a date or anything?"

Eddie gives Steve a look and stands up crossing into his space. "And why do you care so much?"

Steve's heart beats a little faster as Eddie gets a little closer to the truth. "Because you deserve better."

Eddie snorts. "I think you're just jealous."

"What?" Oh shit. He knows about his crush.

He steps even closer, but Steve doesn't back down. Eddie explains, "I've finally got someone, and you can't stand that I beat you to it. The freak outsmarted the king."

Steve shakes his head and steps back, unsure of what the hell has gotten into Eddie. "You don't mean that."

"I do, Harrington," he states with venom in his tone.

Steve can feel himself tense up. If Eddie's going to be an asshole, he can be one too. "Have fun then, Munson." He shoulder-checks him as he makes his way to his stairs.

He hears footsteps behind him as Eddie follows. "I think I'll go to The Hideout tonight with Tom," he calls after Steve, further pushing it.

Steve stops in his tracks and turns around to face Eddie. "Maybe if you opened your eyes you'd see what was right in front of you."

Eddie leans in. "Yeah, I see Tom carrying me away into the damn sunset."

Steve shakes his head and laughs humorlessly. "You really don't get it, do you?"

The other boy just stares at him looking confused and then hurt. "Just because I'm some kind of freak doesn't mean that the only chance I have with a guy is some asshole who is using me, so stop trying to convince me of that."

Steve scoffs as Eddie walks to the door. "Eddie, you know I didn't mean that. Did you not hear the part where I said-" The door slams shut. "...that you deserve better..." Steve finishes then groans. He sits on the bottom stair step and puts his head in his hands.

He hopes more than anything that his gut is wrong and Tom is a good guy. But every instinct is telling Steve that he's not.

So, Steve makes a decision that he might regret. He grabs his keys and races to his car, making his way to The Hideout. He reasons with himself that he just wants to meet the guy himself to get a proper opinion of him. And maybe he won't have to use his bat in his trunk.

When he gets to the parking lot, he sees Eddie's van and parks next to it. Here goes nothing.

He immediately feels off when he enters the bar. He can't spot Eddie anywhere and almost wonders if he had mistaken the van outside for his. Then he remembers... making out in the bathroom.

He spots the bathroom door and sighs. This is definitely not something he wants to witness. He goes anyways.

He's surprised when the door swings open as he pushes on it. Gosh, they should at least be more subtle than this. Jam the door or put a heavy- Steve freezes when he hears the heavy breathing and unmistakable sound of kissing halting. Then, a stall door bursts open and a shorter man is shoving Steve against the wall.

"What the hell do you think you're doing in here?" The man asks. God, he smells like beer and a bit like rotten eggs. And he vaguely looks familiar.

"Using the bathroom?" Steve fires back.

"Steve?"

The guy, assumedly Tom, glances over his shoulder. "You know him?"

"Yeah," Eddie says looking pissed. "You can let him go, he's fine."

Tom lets go but whips around to Eddie. "He knows about us?"

Eddie nods.

Tom gets up in his space and sneers, "What part of don't tell anyone did you not understand?"

Then, it hits Steve. He recognizes Tom as one of his dad's younger work buddies. Has a wife and two young kids and... shit.

"Sorry," Eddie whispers.

Tom shoves him back into the wall. "You're fucking sorry? Is that all you have to say??"

Steve sees Eddie brace for a punch, and that's when he cuts in. "Tom Gardner, right?"

Tom jumps back, going pale. "How do you know my full name?"

Steve can't help but be a little bitchy. "Well, now you've helped me confirm it. How's your wife Ginger doing?"

Tom tries to stalk into his space saying, "Listen here you little piece of shit. I don't know how you-"

Steve cuts him off, "Threaten me or my friend again and I'll tell your whole family your little secret."

Tom walks closer. "You wouldn't dare."

Steve uses his height to his advantage and looks down at the man. "Try me."

Tom's eyes flicker between Steve's for a couple of seconds before he curses under his breath and runs out the door.

Steve barely has time to celebrate the small victory before Eddie is sliding down the wall with his head in his hands. Steve rushes over to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Eddie smacks it away. He looks up with watery eyes. "Why'd you do it?"

"I needed to meet the guy myself," Steve says, stomach rolling at the sight of Eddie so upset. Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

"And are you happy?' Eddie asks, swiping at his eyes.

Steve stares down at him. "And why would I be?"

Eddie gestures to the door. "You got what you wanted. You can say 'I told you so,' but I kind of already knew he was an ass. Didn't know about the wife and kids though." He puts his head in his hands again. "How did you know about that?" He asks, muffled by his hands.

"Works with my dad," Steve answers. Eddie just hums. Steve sighs and sits on the floor next to Eddie scrunching his nose up at the disgusting bathroom floor. "That isn't what I wanted by the way. I wanted him to be a good guy, " Steve lies. He glances over at Eddie and pauses before confessing, "Actually, I didn't want him to be a good guy."

"What?" Eddie asks, heading coming up to angrily look at him.

"I didn't want him to be a good guy," Steve states again.

"And why's that?" Eddie asks. "Can't stand being the only single one?"

"That's part of the reason," Steve admits.

Eddie puts his hands on his knees and grunts as he stands up. "Glad to have solved the great mystery."

"Wait," Steve says before scrambling to stand. Luckily, Eddie stops. "Remember when I told you earlier that if you opened your eyes you'd see what was right in front of you?"

"No need to rub it in, Harrington."

Steve groans. "I was talking about me!" Steve practically yells. When Eddie turns to look at him with wide eyes he repeats, "I was talking about me."

Eddie looks him up and down. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Steve says walking toward Eddie, "That I'm entirely crazy about you, and I thought you knew until you started gushing about this Tom guy. You were right about me being jealous but for the wrong reason."

All Eddie says is, "Shit."

Steve nods in agreement.

Eddie looks down and fiddles with his rings. "I didn't mean what I said earlier. Like I said, deep down I knew but didn't want to admit it to myself or you, so I got a bit... defensive."

"A bit," Steve says with a laugh, stepping forward.

Eddie smiles bashfully. "I wish you would've said something sooner."

"Who says it's too late now?" Steve asks, taking another step forward.

"Really?" Eddie asks hopefully.

Steve smiles and almost leans in, but he remembers the door behind them. "Now, let me take you home before our first kiss ends up being in this disgusting bathroom and someone barges in."

"I'll also need some mouthwash or gum so I can erase any trace of Tom before I kiss you," Eddie says with a frown.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure to erase any trace and memory of him tonight," Steve says with a wink before holding open the door for Eddie.

"Jesus H. Christ. You're going to be the death of me."

Steve smiles. "I sincerely hope so."

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

request: can I get one where demon Dean escapes and finds his little sister in the bunker

A/N: this is a shorter part to a story I just wrote but if you want to read a story based off of the full episode it’s linked below!

Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

The steady hum of the bunker’s lights flickered, and you froze, a chill crawling up your spine. The steady silence was broken by the shrill, jarring sound of the alarm. It was blaring through the entire place, and the lights flashed red, casting the entire room in an eerie glow. Your breath caught in your throat as the ground seemed to vibrate with urgency.

The bunker was on lockdown.

A feeling of dread washed over you, the panic rising as you glanced toward the door. You could hear the buzz of the alarm reverberating through the walls, a constant reminder that something was wrong. Something had happened, and you weren’t sure what.

You stood up, your heart pounding in your chest, the photos scattering around you as you rushed toward the door. The bunker had never gone on lockdown unless something major was going down—something serious.

And that’s when you realized. Whatever was happening, it was happening now.

Your mind raced with thoughts of Sam, of Dean, of everything that was slipping out of control. You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to gather your thoughts, but the alarm kept ringing in your ears, pressing in on you.

Your thoughts spiraled as you heard the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps pounding down the hallway.

No. No, no.

The voice you dreaded pierced through the growing panic like a blade.

“Smart Sam!” Dean's voice echoed, rough and cold. “Put the bunker on lockdown!” His tone was sharp, filled with menace, and it only made your heart race faster, a deep, primal fear clawing at your chest. “I hope you have our sweet baby sister with you because if I find her first…” He trailed off chuckling darkly.

You froze, paralyzed by the sound, your mind scrambling for what to do. A pit of dread opened in your stomach.

The realization hit you all at once. Dean—demon Dean—was loose. The man you trusted, the man who practically raised you, was no longer the one who would protect you. He was the one you had to run from.

Panic rose in your throat as you rushed to make a decision. There was no time. He was close, and you could hear his mocking tone as he stomped down the hall, getting closer. In a moment of sheer instinct, you crouched low, hiding under his bed. You held your breath, praying he wouldn’t find you, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t look here.

The footsteps grew louder, and then—crash. The door to his room was flung open with a violent force. You flinched, pressing yourself further against the cool floorboards, your heart pounding so loudly you thought it might give you away. The door slammed against the wall, the sound reverberating through the bunker, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to stay silent.

Dean’s voice, dripping with dark amusement, broke the silence.

“Well, well, well…” His tone was twisted, mocking, like he was savoring the moment. "Looks like little sister has been rummaging through my stuff. I should've known you'd come crawling back here.”

You could hear him moving around the room, his footsteps heavy as he paced, no doubt seeing the scattered photos that littered the floor, the ones you had been looking through. The ones that meant so much to you. The memories of a time when Dean had been the brother you could count on. His laughter. His warmth. That was all gone now.

He snorted, his voice oozing with cruelty. “You really think you can hide from me, sweetheart?”

You felt every word like a punch to the gut. His presence was suffocating, and the room felt colder, darker with every word that came out of his mouth.

He paused, and for a split second, you thought he was going to leave. But then the sound of his heavy breathing grew louder, closer. He was right near the bed now.

"What's the matter?" His voice dropped lower, taunting. "Too scared to come out and face me, kiddo?"

Your chest tightened, each breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t do anything but stay hidden, the weight of terror pinning you in place.

Then, you heard him bend down, the sound of his hands brushing against the floor. He was too close. The next thing you knew, you could feel his gaze on the edge of the bed, your pulse skyrocketing.

“I know you’re here,” Dean sneered, the sound of his voice creeping along your spine like ice.

A cruel chuckle escaped his lips, the sound as dark and chilling as the red lights flashing through the room. "I think you should come out, sweetheart. Come out and let me see that pretty little face of yours." His voice dripped with venom. "Come on, I promise I wont make you beg for death for too long.“

You fought the urge to scream, fighting every ounce of fear that racked your body. “I’ll be gentle and maybe make it a little quicker than I originally intended… maybe.” He taunted, before moving away from the bed completely.

Then the sound of his boots echoed out of the room and down the hallway. He chuckled darkly, the laughter booming off the walls. “Come out, come out, wherever you are, baby sis. I just wanna play. Don’t you miss your big brother?"

You heard the soft thump of his boots retreating further down the hall, the distant echo of his voice mocking you. Now’s your chance.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus, listening for his movements to die down. “Sammy! Once I find our sister—Oh! You’ll wish I never had.” He screamed down the hall. You jumped in fright from under the bed as the sound of his voice faded into the distance.

Finally, you heard the familiar creak of the floorboards in the hallway, followed by silence. The coast had to be clear. With a soft breath, you pushed yourself out from under the bed, crawling on your hands and knees, barely daring to make a sound. The darkness seemed to stretch around you as you moved towards the door, your heart hammering in your chest.

The hall was empty. You held your breath and moved quickly, praying he wouldn’t hear you. You had to find Sam and get the hell out of this nightmare. You turned the corner, heart pounding in your throat, the brief moment of freedom fading as you collided hard with Dean’s chest. The impact knocked you to the floor and the breath left your lungs. You looked up and was met with his cold dark eyes and subtle smirk which only grew more as you tried scrambling away from him on the floor. “No, no, no, no, no,” You whispered, your voice trembling in pure terror. That's when your eyes caught sight of the hammer in his hand—twirling slowly, almost gleefully, the cold metal gleaming in the dim light as he grinned down at you. “No! Dean, no, please!” You shrieked as you turned and clawed desperately at the floor to get away, your fingers scraping against the cold surface, each movement frantic, full of pure terror. Every inch you gained felt like a victory, but with each breath, you knew Dean was right behind you, enjoying your struggle. You needed to escape. You had to. As soon as you pulled yourself off the floor, you felt it.

A cold, iron grip closed around your ankle.

“NO!” You screamed, thrashing with a force you didn’t even know you had. You kicked, you twisted, you screamed—every muscle in your body locked in pure, unrelenting panic. Your heart raced as if it were about to tear itself from your chest, each shriek more frantic than the last.

Dean dragged you back, hard, and your body slammed into the floor with a sickening thud, the impact rattling your bones, the air knocked from your lungs in a painful gasp, and a horrible crack came from your head. The world around you spun for a moment, and then all that was left was the terror—him, his grip, his presence—everything closing in on you. You felt the cold floor against your cheek, felt your body slacken for a second, but it only fueled your panic more.

“Please, don’t! Please!” You screamed, your voice wild, hoarse, the sound of your cries raw and desperate. “Please don’t do it! Please—please, Dean, I’m begging you, please!” You tried to claw your way away again, but it was no use. Every time you moved, he was there, pulling you back, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. “Please, Dean! Sammy, please! Help me!” You screamed, your voice echoing through the bunker like it was mocking you.

Dean’s laugh was low, dark, a twisted sound that sent ice running through your veins. “Sammy’s a little held up right now.” He smirked, knowing the trap he put Sam in so that he could get to you. The hammer glinted in his hand, a cold, mocking glimmer that reflected the red lights overhead. “It’s just you and me, kid. Well until Sammy sees your little body lying here lifeless. Oh, he’s going to be devastated when he finds you… well until I also finish him off.” Your body trembled in terror as your gaze locked onto his weapon, and you could feel the world around you closing in tighter with each passing second. “Dean, no!” You whimpered, trying to desperately fight him off. “I don’t want to die! Please, I’ll do anything! I’m begging you please!” Your entire body shook as you writhed beneath his hold, each movement more frantic than the last.

“PLEASE, DEAN, DON’T—!” The scream ripped from your throat, echoing down the hallway like a cry for mercy, but there was no mercy. There was nothing but the chilling smile on his face as he stared down at you, that cruel gleam in his eyes, his hand tightening on your leg.

“You should’ve stayed hidden,” he said, his voice low, mocking, as if he was savoring every second of your terror. “You never learn, do you?”

You kicked again, harder this time, desperate, but his grip was unrelenting. Tears flooded your eyes, your chest heaving as you gasped for air. “No... no, please... no...” you pleaded, but your words were barely coherent through the sobs. The fear coursing through you was overwhelming, suffocating. Dean didn’t care. His grip tightened around you, and you winced, feeling the pressure like a vice. “Begging me won’t help you,” he spat, voice dripping with venom. “You think that’s gonna save you?” He dragged you roughly toward him, his lips curling into a grin that was nothing but pure malice. “You think crying is gonna get you out of this?” He breathed his hot breath on your face. You were shaking, your body locked in a full-body tremor of fear. Your head was spinning, your heart pounding, and with every breath, it felt as if you were sinking deeper into a nightmare you couldn’t escape. “No, please, please, Dean,” you whimpered, struggling against his hold. The more you begged, the more twisted Dean’s expression became, savoring every ounce of your fear. His hand shot out suddenly, grabbing the back of your head and slamming it down onto the floor with brutal force. Your vision blurred from the impact, pain radiating through your skull, but Dean only laughed—low and sick. His face got closer to you this time, "Don’t think for a second that you’re in control here," he snarled. The hammer twirled in his hand again, slow, deliberate. Each spin was a reminder of the power he had over you. You tried to move, to escape, but your body was shaking too violently, too weak to fight back. “S-s’mmy Please.” You managed to squeak out, but it was barely above a whisper. Dean leaned down over you, his grin wide and predatory. His voice was almost a purr now, but there was nothing sweet about it. "You think anyone cares? You think Sam cares? No... no, sweetheart. No one’s saving you." You screamed, your voice a raw shriek of pure terror as you thrashed beneath him. Dean’s grip loosened completely before you felt his hands wrap around your throat. He tightened them with a suffocating weight. Your breaths gasped as you hands slapped weakly against his chest. "Okay..." Dean whispered, drawing out the words like a dark lullaby, "Let’s see if you can beg now." This was it. You were going to die. You were going to die at the hands of your brother. The man who always protected you and cared for you. You stared into his cold eyes as you felt yours start to close. Just before your world went completely dark, the crushing weight was lifted off of you. You turned over and sucked in a desperate breath when you felt hands on your shoulders. You cried out a horrific rasp, flinching away, but Sam’s soft voice cut through the haze. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Sammy. Look at me, okay? Please, just look at me.” His voice cracked, raw with worry, but there was urgency, a trembling desperation you had never heard before. You could barely lift your head. Every breath felt like it might be your last. You gasped, wheezed, every inhale tearing through your lungs, each one harder than the last.

“Can you breathe?” Sam’s tone was filled with panic as he cupped your face. He scanned your face and saw the blood, the cuts, and the way your body trembled. His stomach twisted with a sickening feeling. His thumb wiped away the blood from your temple, but you could feel the tremble in his touch. “Hey, can you breathe?” He asked in one last desperate plea for an answer.

You clutched at your chest, fighting for just one more breath. “S’mmy?” You managed to rasp, your vision blurred and unfocused.

"Yeah, baby, it’s me. It’s me, but I need you to breathe," Sam reassured you softly, cupping your face and lifting your chin up so you could have better access to your airways. “Breathe with me, okay? Slow, deep breaths, sweetheart. In... and out. You’re okay, just focus on me.”

Your body shook with the effort, your chest burning, the air too thin, but Sam’s voice—soft, insistent, like he couldn’t bear to see you struggle any longer—pushed you to focus. "In through your nose, baby, just like I’m doing, slow and deep. You can do this. You’re going to breathe. I need you to do this with me. Please."

You tried to follow his rhythm, desperate to calm the storm raging inside of you. Slowly, each breath came a little easier, though it felt like your body fought against every ounce of effort. You sucked in another shaky breath, and for the first time, you felt the pressure in your chest lift just a fraction. One breath. One more...

And then you heard it.

A scream. Raw. Full of agony. It echoed in your ears, tearing through the fragile calm Sam’s voice had built. You forced your eyes open and jolted up. You body exhumed the last bit of energy it had to see the scene before you which made your blood run cold.

Dean was locked in Castiel’s unyielding grip, his body thrashing violently against the angel’s strength. Cas’s hands were tight around Dean’s arms, dragging him away, his expression unreadable, but his hold relentless. Dean’s voice cracked, a mixture of rage and pain, as he screamed and grunted, trying to fight back with every ounce of strength. His feet scraped against the ground as he was dragged farther from you, but it was useless.

"Sam..." You barely whispered the word, the terror creeping back into your chest. Your heart lurched at the sight.

“No, no, no...” Sam’s voice trembled with panic, his grip tightening on you as if he were afraid you might shatter into pieces. He turned your face back to him, forcing you to focus. "Look at me, please. Focus on me. Don’t look at them."

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t look away from Dean. You could see the fight in his eyes, the desperation, the disbelief that Cas—Cas—was doing this. Dean’s face twisted with a mix of fury, his body jerking as he screamed for freedom, but nothing he did seemed to matter. The angel dragged him away, like he was nothing more than a ragdoll.

You let out a loud painful strangled sob that got caught in your throat.

“Hey!” Sam’s voice broke like glass, desperation thick in the air. His thumb brushed your cheek, but it was frantic, not soothing. “Look at me.” His words were raw, pleading, a cry in the storm. "I’m right here, it’s okay. You’re safe. Just breathe."

His voice cracked again, his words thick with fear, and you saw it—real fear in his eyes. Sam, always the strong one, always the rock, was unraveling, torn apart by the sight of you—of Dean—and there was nothing he could do.

Dean’s screams echoed in the background, and you felt the tremor in Sam’s hand as he held you, his entire body trembling with the weight of what was happening. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

You tried to focus on Sam. Just Sam. His face was so close now, eyes searching yours, lips moving in a desperate whisper. “You’re safe. You’re with me. I’m not leaving you. I’m so sorry.”

Each breath felt like it might be your last, but you tried, for Sam. You focused on him, on the sound of his voice, his presence anchoring you. Dean’s cries still echoed, but Sam was your anchor. Sam was all that mattered. And slowly, just slowly, your breath began to steady.

“Good girl,” Sam murmured softly, his voice thick with relief. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

He was practically holding you up so he gently guided your back to the wall so he could check you over. Your body felt broken, bruised, but Sam was there—strong, steady, never leaving your side.

His touch was tender, but there was an edge of urgency to it, as if he needed to make sure you were really here, really okay.

“Let me check your head,” Sam said softly, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of a concussion. His fingers gently probed your skull, checking for bumps or bruises. You winced, a sharp gasp escaping you, as he touched the sensitive area at the back of your head. Sam’s eyes darkened with helpless fear.

"Sorry, sorry, baby, I know that hurts," he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. "But I have to check, I need to make sure you’re okay." His words were strained, his hand hovering over your head, checking for swelling, for damage.

The dull throb of your head making it harder to focus. “M’head... hurts,” you rasped, your voice barely audible.

“I know, sweetheart,” Sam whispered, his face tight with concern.

You tried to shift, to sit up more, but the pressure in your neck made your entire body scream in agony, and your hand instinctively shot up to your throat.

“No, don’t touch it, sweetheart.” Sam’s voice broke like glass, and you felt his hand gently pull yours away from your neck. “Let me look at it, okay? You’re going to be okay. I’m right here.”

He was trying to keep you still, but you could feel the weight of his panic pushing against the calm he was trying to create. Sam’s hands were already covered in your blood, but he wasn’t hesitating. His fingers brushing against the swelling bruises. His breath caught as he saw the darkening marks, the deepening shade of purple and blue spreading over your throat. He pressed lightly, as gently as he could, but the discomfort in your eyes was enough for him to stop. His expression twisted with a mix of anger and worry, but his voice stayed soft, steady as he leaned in close to you.

"God... I’m so sorry." His thumb brushed against your skin, his face pale with panic. “You’re swelling.”

Your hand instinctively tried to reach for your neck again, but Sam’s grip on your wrist was firm. "No, no, please don’t touch it," he pleaded as his mind raced on what to do next.

Everything hurt. Every inch of your body felt bruised, torn, like you’d been beaten to the edge of your life. Your face was covered in blood, your head was throbbing with every heartbeat, and your neck—your neck felt like it was on fire, swollen and tender beneath your touch. You couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped your chest.

Sam’s hands were shaking as he carefully wiped away the blood from your face. His touch was tender, but there was an edge to it, the frantic urgency of someone who couldn’t bear to see you in pain, couldn’t bear how fragile you looked in his arms.

“I’ve got you,” Sam murmured, his voice low and full of sorrow. "I’m so sorry... I just need to make sure you’re okay. Just a little more, okay?"

He slowly ran his hands over your face, carefully checking the cuts, making sure none of the injuries were too deep. The blood kept flowing, soaking into his fingers, and you could see the horror in his eyes as he noticed how much you were losing.

“Okay, you’re okay. You’re okay. Everything’s going to be alright.” His words were ragged, like they were being pulled out of him like he didn’t believe a word he was saying, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He couldn’t let you know how bad it really was.

You noticed the way his body was rigid, like he was fighting to hold it together. His face was strained, his jaw tight, but he wasn’t letting up.

“You’re strong,” Sam whispered to you, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re so strong. Just breathe, baby. Please, just breathe for me."

His hand finally pressed against the back of your neck, gently massaging the swelling to ease the pain, but you could hear the terror in his voice. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Sam whispered again, his lips close to your ear. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it through this.”

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, trying to hold it together for you. But, he’d never seen you like this, broken and bruised, the light in your eyes dimmed by the trauma you’d endured at the hands of someone you loved. His protective instincts screamed in agony, but there was nothing more he could do here. His mind was already racing, searching for any possible way to make things right. Maybe Cas could help.

“I need to grab Cas, alright? I’m coming right back,” Sam said, his voice strained as he quickly got up. The panic clear in his eyes and his movements frantic.

You nodded weakly, barely able to keep your eyes open as exhaustion weighed down on you like a heavy blanket. Just before Sam turned his gaze from you, he noticed them threatening to close. “Hey, no! I need you to keep your eyes open for me, okay?!” He pleaded. You widened your eyes and nodded. “I’ll be two seconds don’t you dare close them!” He shouted as he practically ran down the hallway to where Cas was restraining Dean. Cas walked away from Dean, his eyes locked eyes on Sam’s disheveled presence. “How is she Sam?” He asked, worriedly. Sam breathed out speaking low enough so Dean couldn’t hear. “She’s in bad shape, Cas. I don’t know what to do. He—he choked her and beat her pretty badly. I just... I need you.” Sam pleaded and Cas nodded. “I’m still not at my full grace. I can help a little bit, ease the pain, but she will need to rest to make a full recovery.” He said, his expression as serious as ever. Without wasting a second, they made their way back towards you, Sam trailing behind Cas. Your eyes were still open, struggling to focus, as Cas knelt beside you. His fingers brushed gently over your bruised neck as he carefully examined the damage.

"Cas?" You whimpered, your voice weak and trembling.

“Yes it’s me,” he said, his voice calm and soothing. His grace swirled around you, and for the first time since everything had happened, you felt a small bit of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to stop the constant pounding in your head.

You felt a warm energy washing over you, a peace settling deep within. The swelling in your neck began to subside, and the pain that had been gnawing at your body seemed to dull a little with each passing moment.

Sam stood off to the side, watching with wide eyes, a mixture of awe and desperation flickering across his face. Cas' healing grace was a blessing, but Sam knew that no matter how much healing Cas could provide, the mental and emotional scars would remain far longer.

After a few minutes, Cas pulled back, his brow furrowed in concern. “You should feel a little better. Rest, you’ll still need time to fully recover.”

Sam gave a silent nod of thanks to the angel, his eyes never leaving you. “Thank you, Cas,” he said quietly.

As Cas nodded in acknowledgment, you clung to his arm, your grip tightening slightly as you looked up at him. “Thank you, Cas. For everything.” He sent you a sad smile, his eyes full of empathy, knowing you were still trembling in fear, but unable to do anything about the mental scars you now carried.

“You’re going to be okay,” he reassured you softly. You nodded, fully believing the angel’s words, trusting in the comfort he had given you.

The silence stretched on for a moment, but the tension in the air was palpable. Sam shifted uneasily, glancing at you, then at Cas. “Cas, about Dean…” Sam trailed off, his voice tight, unsure of how to continue. His eyes flicked back to you, concern flickering there before he spoke again. “How is he?”

Cas took a slow breath, his expression softening with the weight of the situation. “He’s restrained for now. I believe the cure will work, Sam. We just need time.”

The mention of Dean sent a jolt of tension through your body, and you instinctively shrank back slightly, the thought of Dean still being lost in the grip of the demon unsettling you more than you expected. Sam noticed, his eyes softening with a silent promise to protect you.

“You okay?” Sam asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He crouched beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder in reassurance.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. The emotions swirling inside of you were overwhelming, but you couldn’t bear to let them out now, not in front of them.

Sam gave you a gentle smile, though his worry never fully left his face. “I’m gonna take care of you. You need to get some rest, okay?” He paused, glancing toward Castiel. “I’ll be there with you in a second Cas just let me get her cleaned up and in bed first.”

Cas nodded and filled with the quiet certainty that only he could offer. “Rest now Y/N. We will do everything we can for Dean.”

Sam gave a small, appreciative nod to Castiel as he left the room, then Sam turned back to you.

His hand was now on your shoulder, supporting you. “How are you feeling now?” He asked softly.

“I’m... better,” you whispered, though your voice was strained, hoarse from everything you’d been through.

He nodded, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Come on,” Sam said softly, his voice as gentle as he could make it. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You nodded, the exhaustion written all over your face. You weren’t sure you had the strength to do it on your own, but Sam was there, steady and unwavering, as he guided you toward the bathroom. His hand was warm against your back, supportive, but his touch was careful, mindful of your pain.

When you reached the bathroom, Sam opened the door and flipped the light on, the soft hum of the fluorescent light filling the silence. He stood there for a moment, watching you as if making sure you were okay, that you weren’t about to collapse. Then, with a quiet sigh, he moved to the shower.

“I’ll run the water for you,” he said quietly, adjusting the temperature, his fingers nimble as they twisted the faucet. “Just... take your time, alright? I’ll be right outside the door.”

You were so tired, so worn down, but Sam’s presence was a small comfort. It gave you the strength to move forward. He grabbed a towel from the linen closet and placed it on the counter, then found a pair of his sweatpants and a sweatshirt. They were oversized, but they would fit. He folded them carefully and set them next to the towel.

“Here you go,” Sam said, his voice softer now. “I’ll leave them right here for you.”

He hesitated, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be okay. The last thing he wanted was to leave you alone when you were so fragile. But you needed this time to yourself. To breathe.

“I’ll be right outside. Just call for me if you need anything,” Sam added, his voice tinged with that protective tone he always used, the one that made you feel safe, no matter what.

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes, your throat tight from the raw emotions still swirling inside you. “Thank you, Sam,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

He offered a soft, strained smile, his hand lingering on the door handle for a moment. “Of course,” he said simply, his eyes filled with a mix of love and concern. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ll be right here.”

Sam stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door gently behind him. You leaned against the counter for a moment, the weight of everything crashing down on you. It was hard to feel anything other than exhaustion, but Sam had been your anchor through it all, and his care meant more than you could express.

As the warm water began to fill the shower, you let the steam rise around you, trying to relax under the heat, to wash away the lingering fear and pain. You allowed yourself to just exist for a few moments, letting the warmth seep into your aching muscles. Slowly, you scrubbed away the tension, the weariness in your bones easing with every pass of the washcloth. It was hard to shake off the heaviness, but the heat and solitude were helping. Just a little.

After a few minutes, you reluctantly turned off the water, the sudden silence hitting you as the last of the steam dissipated. You stepped out, wrapping yourself in the towel Sam had left out for you. It was soft, warm against your skin, and the faint scent of his soap lingered on it, a reminder of his presence just beyond the door.

You eyed the oversized clothes Sam had left on the counter. The sweatshirt and sweatpants looked almost comical, the sleeves and legs hanging far past your fingertips and ankles. But they felt like a small piece of him, like a shield, so you slipped them on, pulling them as tight around you as you could, trying to feel something resembling comfort in the vastness of his clothes. You tugged at the sleeves, trying to bury your hands in them as you stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror.

Taking a deep breath, you made your way toward the door, the clothes swallowing you in a way that somehow made you feel safe. Your heart ached, but there was something calming in the way they felt. Like Sam was still here, protecting you even when he wasn’t right beside you.

As you opened the bathroom door, Sam was standing just outside, his eyes immediately locking onto you as you walked out. His gaze softened as he took in the sight of you in his clothes, looking so fragile and small under the fabric. You caught a flash of concern cross his face, but he quickly masked it with a gentle smile. He stepped forward, his arms instinctively reaching out as if to steady you.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with worry as he glanced down at the oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants you were swathed in.

You nodded, offering a weak smile. “I’m... okay. Just... trying to get comfortable, I guess.”

Sam’s eyes softened even further, and he gently cupped your cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing across your skin in a comforting, soothing motion. "Let's get you some rest, alright?" His voice was warm, offering you a sense of reassurance. As Sam guided you gently through the hallway, his hand resting lightly on your back, you stopped, a sudden surge of uncertainty washing over you. You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice barely a whisper, “Sam… can I… can I sleep in your room instead?”

Sam froze, glancing over at you with a soft expression that was all tenderness. He could tell you needed something more right now—something beyond just the comfort of the bed in your own room. He stepped closer to you, his face softening, the concern in his eyes deepening. Without a second thought, he smiled gently, his hand brushing against your arm as he nodded.

"Of course, Bug," he said, the nickname slipping out naturally, carrying with it all the warmth he felt for you. “Let’s get you settled in my room.”

He led you to his room, his hand remaining steady at your back as you walked. The space felt different with him in it, cozier, comforting in a way that only Sam’s presence could make it. He pulled back the covers, making sure everything was just right for you.

Once you were comfortably nestled in, he adjusted the pillows around you, making sure you were warm and relaxed. He pulled the blanket up around you, his hand lingering on your shoulder as he gently tucked it in.

“You’re safe here,” Sam murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Just call me if you need anything.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of your exhaustion settle in as you sank deeper into the softness of his bed. He sat down beside you for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from your face. As he stood up to leave, the darkness pulled you under.

You woke with a start, your heart racing in your chest as the soft light from the hallway trickled in. The bed felt familiar, warm, but something was off. You blinked, still disoriented from the deep sleep, and when your eyes focused, you froze.

Standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light, was Dean.

For a split second, all you could do was stare, your breath caught in your throat. A wave of panic rushed through you like an electric shock. No. No, not again.

The terror flooded you faster than you could process, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

“No!” you screamed, your voice breaking. “No, please, no!” The words tumbled from your lips in frantic terror, your body jerking as you scrambled to get away from him.

The sheets tangled around your legs, tripping you up, making you feel more trapped. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. You had to get away. You had to get away.

“Please! No, please, no!” You cried, pushing at the bed with shaky hands, trying to free yourself from the blankets that held you down, but they only made you feel more ensnared. Panic surged through your chest as you pushed harder, desperate, but in your frantic attempt to escape, you didn't realize how close you were to the edge.

And then, you lost balance.

With a gut wrenching scream, you tumbled backward, crashing to the floor with a sickening thud, your body tangled in the blankets, your heart thumping in your throat. The impact made everything spin. Your mind was a blur of terror, the only thing you knew was that you had to get away.

You scrambled on the floor, your limbs moving in every direction, hands pressing against the cold wood, trying to push yourself backward into the corner of the room. You couldn’t stop screaming, couldn’t stop the overwhelming terror. Your back slammed into the wall as you tried to put more distance between yourself and the figure in the doorway.

Dean stood there, unmoving, a pained expression on his face. His hands were raised, palms out, as if to show he meant no harm. But you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t see past the fear and the memories of him that haunted you.

“Y/N, please!” Dean’s voice cracked with desperation, his tone softer, but it didn’t reach you. “It’s me, Y/N. It’s really me. I’m not a demon anymore. Please…”

But your screams continued, echoing through the room, drowning out everything he was trying to say.

Then the door slammed open.

Sam.

His face was a mix of horror and frantic concern as he rushed in. “Dean, what the hell?” Sam’s voice was sharp, filled with panic. “She’s not ready for this!”

You didn’t hear Sam, didn’t see anything but the man standing in the doorway. You were still scrabbling against the floor, shaking, screaming, begging for him to leave, to not hurt you.

Dean hesitated, clearly struggling with what to do. “I’m sorry, Sam... I didn’t think she was going to wake up yet. I just had to check on her…” His voice faltered. “I didn’t want to—”

“No!” you screamed again, your voice hoarse, panic coursing through every fiber of your being. “Please, no!”

Sam moved toward you, kneeling in front of you, his hands reaching out to gently hold your shoulders. You flinched away from him, still lost in your fear, unable to focus on anything but the threat in the doorway.

“Y/N, please,” Sam said, his voice frantic. He was trying to calm you, trying to reach you, but his words barely made it through the haze of panic. “Listen to me. Listen. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe. Dean’s not a demon anymore!”

Your eyes remained fixed on Dean. Your breaths were shallow, gasping for air, but you couldn’t hear Sam. You couldn’t focus on anything but the terror that clawed at you.

“Please! No! No, I can’t—I can’t—” You were barely coherent, your voice raw, still scrambling away, shaking, terrified.

Sam’s own panic intensified as he looked at Dean, his voice sharp with frustration and urgency. “Dean, leave! Now!”

Dean’s face fell, the regret and pain washing over him, but he backed away, slowly, giving you space. “I—I’m sorry.” Before he rushed out the door.

You continued to shake, your chest heaving, the sound of your breath almost deafening in the room. Your hands gripped the floor, trying to steady yourself, to breathe. Slowly, Sam turned back to you, his hands gentle but firm as he held your arms, trying to pull you out of the panic.

“Y/N,” Sam said, his voice softer now but still filled with urgency, “I need you to listen to me. Look at me, please.” He begged and forced you to meet his eyes. “Dean’s cured. He’s not a demon. He’s Dean. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe. It’s over.”

The words finally hit you. "W-what?" You whispered, your heart pounding, struggling to grasp the magnitude of what Sam was telling you.

“He’s cured, Y/N.” Sam repeated, his hands moving to gently pull you into his arms, holding you close as you continued to shake. Your breath caught in your throat. "Are- are you sure? R-Really, Sam?" Your hands trembled as they clung to his shirt.

"Yes," Sam affirmed softly, his voice steady. "It’s over. We did it. He’s cured. Dean’s back. It’s really him."

Relief hit you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and sudden. You could hardly breathe through it, but you collapsed into Sam’s arms, all the tension in your body finally unraveling. “Oh my God!” You cried out in pure relief. Your hands gripped him tight, clutching onto him as if you might float away.

"Thank you, Sam," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Thank you for being strong enough to fix him. To do this... You saved us."

Sam wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, resting his cheek on your head. "We did it together," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You never gave up on him, Y/N. You were right there, with me. We made it through."

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking through his shirt. "Thank you," you repeated, barely able to hold the words together. "Thank you." You took a deep breath, your fingers clutching Sam's shirt as you pulled away slightly. You could feel the heaviness of the moment hanging in the air between you both. The fear, the confusion... it was still there, but something else was creeping in. Hope. Slowly, steadily, but it was there.

“Sam,” you said softly, your voice wavering a bit, “I’m ready. I want to see him. I need to.”

Sam looked at you for a moment, concern still flickering in his eyes. “Are you sure, Y/N? I don’t want you to—”

“I’m sure,” you interrupted, the words heavy with everything you had been holding back. “I need to see him. Please.”

Sam hesitated, but he gave a gentle nod and helped you to your feet. His hand lingered on your back as you walked toward Dean’s room, a comforting presence you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from. But when you reached the door, you hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding. You couldn’t stop yourself from feeling the tiniest bit of fear as you turned the doorknob. Sam gave you a soft smile of encouragement before he walked away to give you both a moment he knew you both needed.

Inside, you saw Dean sitting on the bed, flipping through the stack of old photos you were looking at earlier, his expression distant. He looked so normal, so much like the brother you remembered. But as soon as he heard you, his head snapped up, his eyes widening when they met yours.

“De?” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Dean froze, his body tense. His face was pale, but his eyes were filled with pain. In an instant, the guilt in his eyes was almost unbearable, and when he stood up abruptly, you couldn’t help but flinch back, the reflex built from everything that had happened.

He saw it, the fear still lingering in your eyes, and his face crumpled in regret.

“I’m so sorry, kid,” he said hoarsely, taking a step toward you, but still keeping his distance, his hands shaking. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I never—”

Your eyes flickered down to the photos in his hands, the same ones you had been flipping through earlier. The memories of the real Dean—the brother who’d always loved you, who’d always been there to protect you, the one who’d never hurt you.

You swallowed thickly, a lump in your throat. With a shaky breath, you took a step forward, pushing past the lingering fear, your voice soft but firm. “It’s not your fault, Dean,” you said, your eyes meeting his. “I know the real you. The one in these photos,” you pointed to the pictures in his hands, “the brother I grew up with, the one who protected me. That Dean would never hurt me. That Dean would never do what... demon Dean did to me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, every ounce of your emotion spilling out in that one moment. “You’re you, Dean. You’re cured. I know you. And that’s all that matters. You’re back. You’re really back.”

Dean’s breath hitched, his eyes filling with tears as he took a slow, shaky step toward you, his voice trembling. “Y/N…” His voice was thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry,” Dean choked out, his voice thick with grief. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, never wanted to scare you... God, I never wanted to be that thing.” Tears blurred your vision as you stepped into Dean's embrace, your arms wrapping around him tightly. His scent, so familiar, was a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed. You pressed your face into his chest, letting the sobs wrack through your body as the weight of everything fell on you. He held you just as tightly, his hands coming up to rest gently on the back of your head, his thumb brushing over your hair as if trying to soothe you. His breath was shaky, his chest rising and falling unevenly as his face pressed against the top of your head.

You could feel his tears wetting your hair as he buried his face against your shoulder, his whole body trembling as well. His tears now mixing with yours. You clung to him, your hands gripping his jacket as you whispered between sobs.

“I’m so glad you’re back, De. I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered, barely able to speak through your tears. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. I thought I lost you...”

Dean held you tighter, his voice cracking as he spoke. “You didn’t lose me. I swear, I’ll make it right. I’ll spend every damn day proving that I’m here, that I’m not that thing anymore.”

You shook your head, still clinging to him. “You don’t have to prove anything. You’re back. You’re my brother. I know who you are. That’s all that matters. It’s over now. You’re really back.”

Dean didn’t say anything at first, just held you tighter, both of you surrounded by the warmth of the other’s embrace. The years of fear and pain were slowly being replaced by the quiet, overwhelming relief that, no matter what, you had your brother again. The real Dean.

[jayofolympus-writes]

this is what happens when my brain is hit with an idea and the Cake Shop just eggs me on (Western AU omegaverse)

"He's a wild thing, is the problem," MacMillan had said. "New York's just too small for 'im. His mothers are too... city minded. Think an omega ought to be demure and soft, an' the boy's liable to tear the throat outta the next alpha he gets thrown at. He's got good old omega instincts; needs a firm hand before he'll do more'n gut an alpha."

Looking at the lad, Price was inclined to agree. Sure, the boy was dressed proper, all covered up with a high collar to hide his scent gland, but there was a glint in his eye that said he was about five seconds and some poorly chosen words from starting a fight.

It was clear that it wasn't just the boy's attitude that scared alphas off, too. He was taller than most, though shorter than Price was, and he had the makings of wide shoulders and strong arms, though he'd not finished filling out just yet. A lot of alphas would love to bring an omega with John's spirit to heel, but most weren't the type to find him beautiful. He was going to fit just fine here, though.

"Welcome to Credenhill, John," Price said, holding out a hand to shake, same as he would to an alpha or beta. "Your uncle let me know you'd be coming. Would you rather freshen up first, or do you wanna tour of the town?"

Town was a generous description, but the people here were ambitious, and Price figured they'd probably have a real town sooner rather then later.

The boy shook his hand, blatantly eyeing the mating marks on either side of Price's throat, peeking out over the top of his bandana. Back in New York, Price had been told, it was becoming considered to be crass to show off bites. Harkened back to a less civilised past, apparently. City folk thought that humans had evolved past their basest instincts, and had even started working up ways to dampen their scents for "politeness".

It was a crock of shit, if you asked Price. People were people, and they'd keep on being so. Instincts and scents had done them just fine over the thousands of years of human history, and he wasn't about to let some soft handed dandy call him a barbarian for being proud of his mating bonds.

"Tour'd be nice," John said, lips quirking into a pleased smile. Poor kid had never been treated like the grown man he was, it seemed. Twenty years old, and what he had between his legs meant he'd been seen as a brainless baby factory back East.

"Leave your trunk here an' someone'll get it on the buggy," Price told him, gesturing for John to follow him. "We'll get you shown around, an' then we can get you anything you're missing before we head out. We're a ways outta town, but the trip's manageable enough you could do it on your own, once you get the path figured out."

John scrambled after him as he started walking, wide eyed at the thought of being trusted to travel entirely alone. Sure, he'd been on his own on the train out West, and he hadn't known any of the three betas or the other omega travelling on the stagecoach between the train and Credenhill, but he hadn't been in control of his own direction in either case. It was clear the lad would take a little time adjusting to his newfound freedom.

"So where's your mates, then?" John asked impertinently.

Seemed Price was wrong, the lad was going to find his feet quick.

"Simon's back at the ranch, Kyle's out hunting, and Nik had business back East. You'll meet 'em all soon enough."

[moonmaarii]

leave me lonely

request: no

summary: angsty drama - rooster’s back on leave. you swore you were over him — until one night brings it all crashing back.

warnings: explicit sexual content, strong language, emotional angst, themes of abandonment, military life trauma, unresolved tension, post-hookup vulnerability

pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader (gender neutral)

a/n: this is my first fic with smut in so let me know what you think

word count: 1,207

you don’t know why your feet brought you here.

the moment you push through the door of the hard deck bar, the smell hits you — stale beer, sea salt, old wood, and something else. memory. regret. that hard, sinking thing in your chest you thought you’d buried under time.

it’s the same bar where you last saw him — bradley “rooster” bradshaw, golden boy of naval aviation, and the man who disappeared from your life like you never meant a damn thing. the bar looks exactly the same: low lights, classic rock playing too loud, the worn pool table in the corner, and the same bartender polishing glasses behind the counter like the world hasn’t changed in years.

but everything feels different. you feel different.

and then you see him. leaning against the bar, beer in hand, head slightly tilted back in laughter. that voice — deep, warm, cracked just enough to curl your gut like a fist. his hair is shorter than it used to be, but the mustache is the same, and when his profile turns, you see the faint bruise on his jaw, the fresh crease between his brows.

he’s older. harder. still beautiful in that way that makes your chest ache.

bradley looks up, and for a moment, it’s like the room holds its breath. his eyes find yours — those hazel eyes, always too expressive, too much.

you half-turn to leave. it would be easier. cleaner.

but then his voice finds you.

“hey.”

just that.

you face him slowly, every instinct in your body screaming to run or scream or maybe just cry.

“didn’t think i’d see you here,” he says. there’s no cocky grin. just something cautious. worn down.

“i could say the same,” you answer.

he nods once. “can i… buy you a drink?”

you hesitate. your pulse is a drumbeat in your ears. but then, despite every red flag waving in your head, you say: “yeah. okay.”

---

you sit in a quiet booth at the back of the bar, your beer untouched between your fingers. he sits across from you, close enough that you can smell his cologne — cedarwood and jet fuel and heat. the silence stretches, thick and tight.

“you look good,” he says, eventually. “different.”

you raise an eyebrow. “is that a compliment or an insult?”

he huffs a dry laugh. “compliment. definitely.”

you trace the rim of your glass. “so. four days of leave. then what — back into the sky?”

he nods. “deployment’s coming. somewhere far. again.”

you swallow hard, trying not to let that word — again — sting. “you always had a thing for leaving.”

he flinches. just slightly. but you catch it. “i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says. “back then.”

you blink slowly. “then why did you disappear? no text. no call. you just… ghosted me like we were some casual hookup.”

his jaw clenches. “because i was falling in love with you, and i knew i couldn’t keep you.”

you laugh bitterly. “you think i needed keeping? you think i wasn’t strong enough to love someone in uniform?”

“i didn’t want you to wait for me. not knowing if i’d come back. that’s not fair to anyone.”

“that wasn’t your choice to make, bradley.” your voice cracks on his name. he notices.

“i know,” he whispers. “i know i fucked it all up.”

you stare at him, words caught behind your teeth. there’s so much left unsaid between you — years of it — but suddenly you don’t want to talk anymore. you just want to feel something that isn’t this aching, hollow burn. “come with me,” you say quietly. “home. just for a little while.”

his brows rise. “are you sure?”

“no,” you breathe. “but i want to remember what it felt like to be wanted. even if it’s only for a night.”

---

you don’t even make it to your bedroom before he’s kissing you — hard and desperate in the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you as your back slams against it.

his hands find your waist, sliding up your sides, fingers gripping your shirt like he’s trying to anchor himself. your mouths collide again and again, messy and wet, all teeth and tongue and years of silence poured into one brutal kiss.

“fuck, i missed you,” he growls, voice ragged against your neck. “missed this. missed you.”

clothes come off in sharp, frantic movements. his shirt hits the floor. your jeans are tugged past your thighs. he lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you through the dim hallway into the bedroom you once swore he’d never see again.

the second your back hits the bed, he’s on top of you — kissing you like he’s starving, hands everywhere. rough palms sliding up your thighs, brushing the curve of your ass, dragging your panties down with reverence and greed.

you gasp as his mouth trails lower, kissing down your belly, then lower still.

“i want to taste you,” he murmurs, eyes dark and unreadable. “let me.”

you nod, breathless.

he spreads your legs and sinks down between them, the warmth of his mouth sending you spiraling. he licks a slow stripe up your center, tongue flat and hot, groaning when he feels how wet you are.

you arch, crying out as he sucks your clit into his mouth, one hand pinning your hips down, the other slipping a thick finger inside you. he works you open slowly, then adds a second finger, curling just right, his mouth never leaving you.

it doesn’t take long. you’ve thought about this too many nights, too many lonely dreams. you break apart under his mouth, hips jerking, a strangled moan falling from your lips as you come.

bradley rises slowly, licking his lips, watching you with heat and something gentler beneath it.

“still so damn perfect,” he murmurs.

he kisses you again, deep and slow, and you taste yourself on his tongue.

“condom?” he asks softly, forehead pressed to yours.

“top drawer,” you whisper, pulling him down again.

he rolls it on with shaking hands, and then he’s pushing into you, slow and thick and perfect, both of you groaning as he fills you completely.

he stays still for a moment, forehead against yours, breath shaking.

“jesus,” he whispers. “you feel like home.”

then he moves.

he fucks you like a man trying to forget, and remember, all at once. every thrust is deliberate, deep, his name falling from your lips over and over. you cling to him — arms around his neck, legs around his waist — and when he leans down to kiss you, it’s softer than anything he’s said.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes. “i’m so fucking sorry.”

you kiss the apology from his mouth.

he hits that perfect angle again and again until you’re shattering, gasping his name, body shaking under him. he follows with a low groan, hips jerking as he spills into the condom, his whole body trembling.

he doesn’t move for a long time — just holds you, face buried in your neck.

---

you lie together in silence, sweat cooling on your skin, his arm heavy around your waist. the world is quiet. but inside, you’re screaming.

“you’ll be gone in four days,” you say softly.

“i know.”

“you’re going to leave me all over again.”

he’s silent.

credits for the dividers: @cafekitsune

[miabebe]

The Legend of The Sea

"You're crying? You must be turning human, the MerFolk don't cry."

"Of course we do. Why do you think the Sea is nothing but salt?"

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol × reader Genre: Heavy Angst, Romance, Implied smut Word count: 14K (completed) A/N: This was supposed to be a very long fic with lots of dialogue and lot of plot but I decided to take a turn and write a shorter version! It's very different from my usual writing style, it would be great to receive your thoughts and comments! I'm considering writing a epilogue if the response is good :) Tags: @xcynthiaaa @dr3aluv5 @unlikelysublimekryptonite @orcasandtea @letsplayitcool @idubutily

It all started the day you woke up on the beach with that unbearable pain searing through you.  

The air was cool, the sand was hot; the seagulls were flying across the blue sky, the sound of the waves was like a beautiful melody – it was like a perfectly painted picture. It should have felt pleasant, it should have felt serene, instead you felt immense pain, like your guts were turning inside out and your chest was being split into two.

And it just wouldn’t stop. Even if you thrashed about in the sand or let out soundless screams clutching your chest, nothing could make the pain stop.  

Except the soft laughter.  

Someone else was here. 

As the pain ebbed at the sound of a voice, fear came rushing in its place.  

Someone else was here.   

Your instincts told you to hide so you did, scrambling to your knees in the sand, crouching behind one of the many large boulders scattered around, trying your best not to be found. And to not let curiosity get the better of you….. until it eventually did.

You allowed yourself to peak, just a little, just to put a face to the voice and instead saw a bouncing fluffy cloud of white. Strange. You didn’t know clouds came down like that. Or that they had eyes, because suddenly, this one looked right at you.

You immediately retreated back into your hiding but it was in vain - within seconds, it made its way over and much to your surprise, jumped right into your lap, covering you in wet, eager licks. You panicked, trying to defend yourself, although it didn’t feel like much of an attack.  

And that was when you saw him.  

First, he was just a silhouette, a dark outline against the sun but when he crouched down to meet your eye, you realised he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. He had such pretty hazel eyes, lighter in the middle, darker on the outside. Then there were the thick, dark eyebrows and thicker darker hair, swept back by the wind. He was wearing a white dress shirt, the first two buttons (unnecessarily) undone, the sleeves (needlessly) pushed up to his elbow. But your eyes were stuck on his lips – red, full of life and moving – he was saying something.   

You can’t hear him, not with the way your stomach was turning and turning and turning and then unable to hold back, you gave in. You turned and doubled up, finally throwing up all that discomfort into the sand, breaking into a fit of cough. The man before you though, wasn’t fazed. Rather, he was efficient, quickly getting up, pulling you away from the mess gently and handed you the bottle of water he had on him. You refused - water was only making you more nauseous.

He didn’t insist, instead he unfolded a large piece of cloth, (later you learnt that it was called a picnic blanket) and threw it over you. It was only its warmth that you realised – unlike him, every bit of your skin was exposed. You held the fabric closer to yourself hoping you could just bury yourself in the sand instead of having to face him – something about the way he looked at you made you feel very vulnerable.  

He then asked if you were feeling okay but only received silence as an answer. The truth was, you weren’t. Not only were you in the middle of nowhere, you had no idea why or how you got there. It seemed like he understood that; like he realised you were lost and needed help. When he got up and held his hand out though, you didn’t take it. Instead, you took support of the boulder behind you and got up on your own, only to lose your footing and stumble right into his arms. You instantly pulled yourself away and took another faltering step and then another, and then fell right back into his arms again. He was amused but didn’t say or do anything except watch you try, ankles sinking in the sand, knees unfaithfully giving away every time, until finally you gave up and took his hand. Slowly and silently, he led you far away from there.  

That day you learnt his name was SeungCheol.  

----------------------------------------------------------

That white cloud, Kkuma, was apparently what humans called a dog.  

While humans efficiently seemed to walk on two legs and could converse for hours, dogs apparently walked on four legs and couldn’t talk. Though you certainly looked like a human, you often wondered if you and Kkuma were the same. You too happened to find long hours of walking and talking difficult and more than anything, you didn’t seem to enjoy the company of other humans that much. That’s why the last one month, you spent most of your time with Kkuma, far away from most people, all the way across the town, in a small settlement between the lake and the mountains, in Seungcheol’s cottage.  

Seungcheol’s home was your safe haven. Rather, Seungcheol was your safe haven.  

When you were with him, when you looked at him, you always forgot that it had been four weeks and you still had no idea who you were, that you had no memories, you had no life.  

Because Seungcheol gave you a life. He taught you to walk the way you saw mothers hold the hands of their little babies, encouraging them to take a step forward. He taught you to read, scribbling away alphabets with you for hours on end, even when little children laughed at you for not understanding. He taught you that a fork was not the same thing as a comb and that water was used to wash yourself, and that fire was hot and burnt things.

He didn’t just teach you things, he cared for you. He noticed you liked the red and filled your wardrobe with red dresses. When you told him you really liked the taste of fish, fish was all he cooked for weeks. Though he never seemed to like being away from Kkuma, his little princess, he would always leave her behind to give you company whenever he left. 

Seungcheol left the house every morning at the break of down. So did most men, you noticed. The lady who lived down the stone pathway told you that men went out to make money while their wives, who stayed at home, cooked for them. That day you tried to cook for the first time, and asked Seungcheol if you were his wife. He laughed, then choked on a fish bone and asked you to leave all the cooking to him from here on and so you did.

Every day, Seungcheol would cook before he left while you stood beside him, watching in awe, handing him whatever he asked for. You usually ate breakfast and lunch with the animals in the stable but you always had dinner with Seungcheol. No matter how long he was gone for, end of the day, he always made it back to you.   

You watched the sun slowly setting behind the mountains. He should be here soon, which was why you shouldn’t be sitting by the lake anymore. Seungcheol always warned you to maintain a safe distance from it, to never go too near. He said it was dangerous, that people drown because they cannot breathe under water. You had seen it.  

When the woodcutter’s young boy fell into the lake a few weeks ago, you watched him thrash in the water, struggling to come up. A few brave people jumped in to save him but the boy never came out again. Everyone in town was scared of the lake, they hated it. Only the old ‘crazy’ lady that lived by the edge of the forest ever went near it. She wasn’t afraid of it; she said the lake was barely dangerous - it was the sea that was bad. That it had terrifying monsters and horrors that should never be uncovered. She liked the lake and honestly, so did you.

You liked how it never really felt cold and how the temperature was always just nice. You liked how all the fish swam up to you whenever you dangled your feet in, sitting by the bank, how at peace it all made you feel.  

But when you saw Hannie in the sky, you immediately pulled your legs out of the water and hid the wetness of your feet under the fabric of your long skirt. Hannie was Seungcheol’s other pet, a pretty, baby white dove. He wasn’t a pet, not really, he belonged to the skies but Hannie loved to follow Seungcheol everywhere and Seungcheol loved it just as much. Actually, the whole town seemed to love white doves – it was on their flags, their shields, their uniforms. Seungcheol said it was the emblem of the kingdom. You had no idea what that meant, and frankly you didn’t care much. All that mattered was that whenever you spotted this little white bird, instantly recognisable by the small tinge of red right in the middle of its chest, it meant Seungcheol was home. As it softly landed on the fence, right before the sun was completely engulfed by the mountains, you heard Seungcheol’s horse and opened the gates to let them in.  

Over dinner, Seungcheol told you about the fight that broke in the marketplace. It’s a funny place the market, something always seemed to be happening there. On the weekends, you would follow him through it as he went vendor to vendor, making his purchases. The people of the market were actually sweet. They would always smile and try to talk to you but you could never bring yourself to talk back, you could never find the right words to say. Instead, you’d simply stare blankly then move closer to Seungcheol, holding on to him. Eventually, they all started assuming you couldn’t speak. You didn’t correct them and looking at your reluctance, neither did Seungcheol. He would simply wave them away, or shoo the kids who seemed to tease you. As long as you were outside, Seungcheol would never leave your side or your hand.  

You didn’t like going out very much, the big crowds and all those loud noises were always highly uncomfortable but the few times Seungcheol insisted you come with him and said it would be fun, it was actually not that bad. He took you to the town’s lights festival, where every inch of the streets and houses was covered with the prettiest coloured lights, and also to the annual horse racing competition which was exhilarating beyond belief. Your favourite though was children’s drama day, when the little kids of the town participated in skits looking a lot, lot smaller than the original characters were supposed to be. He didn’t though, take you to that big feast that happened in the castle. You didn’t really mind – something about the castle was just very unnerving.  

It stood tall and proud, all the way at the edge of the town, up a long winding route, at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the sea waters. Initially you had no idea what a castle even was, but over time you learnt that it was where the king lived. The king was the most important person in the town and supposedly the kindest, wisest and strongest man too. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought Seungcheol was the king. Afterall, he helped everyone in the neighbourhood, he solved the fights in the markets, he protected the settlement from the wild dogs and other beasts of the forest. But Seungcheol was not the king. The king lived in the castle and Seungcheol lived with you.  

After dinner, like every other day, you sat in Seungcheol’s study, practicing writing your alphabets as he went through endlessly long scrolls of his own. Today when you handed him your work, he scolded you yet again for rushing through the last few lines. You knew you shouldn’t have but you can never help it because the faster you finished, the sooner Seungcheol would read to you. Granted you knew how to read now but you weren’t really good at it, not everything made sense. The small books were easy but they were boring - it was always about animals and children and other things. The big books were where everything interesting was.  

Every night before you went to sleep, Seungcheol would bring out a book, sitting down by the fireplace and you would curl up next to him, leaning over as he read to you. Sometimes he would read out history, recounts of great wars and heroes and sometimes about legends, the fire breathing dragons, sea monsters, fairies in the woods. While you listened to all of them with the same fascination and curiosity, a selected few made you feel somewhat…..different – the ones about true love. About two people fighting all odds to be together. About two people wanting to be with each other more than anything.

Whenever Seungcheol read those to you, you somehow saw yourself in those words. Or rather, those words in you. You found that ‘quickening heartbeat’ whenever your hand brushed against the man beside you. His compliments made the ‘heat in your cheeks rise’. There was a constant ‘nervous fidgeting of the fingers’ when you were around him and sharing of the ‘secret glances’. Even now as he was reading you were looking at him, at the way his lips were moving and how soft they looked and wondering how much softer they would feel against yours.

When Seungcheol turned to you, sensing your eyes on him, meeting them without hesitation, you could have leaned in, you could have found out. But you didn’t; you didn’t dare. Instead, you looked down at the book, at the pictures of the prince and princess dancing, wondering if you too had a happily ever after written in your fate.  

Maybe it was, because a few days later, when Seungcheol looked at you like that again, you didn’t hold back anymore. You didn’t want to. This time you leaned in, gently pressing your lips onto his, discovering much to your relief that they were indeed every bit as soft as they looked. His eyes widened when you pulled back immediately, but he didn’t say or do anything. Then a silence followed, heavy with confusion and anticipation and so many other things that you couldn’t quite fathom so you quickly excused yourself from there stating it might rain and you forgot to close your bedroom windows.

As you shut the doors of your room behind you, hand on your chest, you felt your heart racing away but you should have been at peace, right? You had finally plucked up the courage and satiated all that bubbling curiosity. Instead, you felt like you were going to lose your mind – now that you had a taste, you wanted more.   

Days passed before you finally kissed him again.

It was on a rainy night and you were sitting closer to him than usual, as though the fire was not enough to keep you warm. It started the same way, first a few stolen glances, then a long silent stare and then you were kissing him, soft and sweet but this time he pulled back and you didn't let him. Instead you grabbed a fistful of his shirt, holding him close, whispering that you wanted to do it again. He listened, kissing you back but it was different this time and god did it set off something in you.

His lips became demanding, and his hands were everywhere - in your hair, running down your back, on your waist. He took your breath away, quite literally because he just wouldn't stop and you couldn’t breathe. You didn't want to either but after what felt like eternity, you had to break apart, feeling all giddy. Seungcheol then gave you the brightest smile and one last peck. 

That went on for many more days. Sometimes it was sweet and simple, sometimes hot and heavy. Initially the books were your only witness then there were more. The peaking sun as he gave you a peak before he left in the mornings, the pots and pans of the kitchen while he focused on you instead of the burning bread, and kkuma, when he forgot to seek while she hid, his attention on your mouth instead. Everything was going blissful.

Then one day Seungcheol didn't come home even after the sun set.

You waited by the gate for a long time, but neither Hannie, nor Seungcheol, nor his horse could be seen. That was the first night you spent alone - shivering in the cold and terrified. The storms had begun outside, the rain was drowning everything in its way and as each hour passed, you sunk deeper and deeper into despair.

Even when the sun came up again the rain didn't stop, the pain didn't stop. Though you hadn't slept or eaten in hours you only thought about him. Even kkuma got tired of waiting and curled up in the warmest spot in the house but you stood by the door the whole time until you couldn't anymore.  

Not when you saw finally saw Hannie in the sky but Seungcheol didn't follow. That was when you knew something was terribly wrong. You immediately grabbed a lamp and were ready to set off to find him on your own when you saw the paper tied to the bird’s little foot. I'll be back soon it read in the handwriting you recognised was Seungcheol's, a wave of relief crashing over you.  

But it took very, very long for 'soon’ to come.

The rain had stopped, the sun had set, the sky had cleared and the stars were pitifully watching the way you sat against the door, desperately fighting your eyes threatening to fall shut. That was when you felt Seungcheol's hand on your face, gently tucking your hair behind your ear.  

You instantly got up, throwing yourself into his arms and for the first time ever, broke down, sobbing into his chest. He held you like that for as long as you didn't let him go, softly patting you, telling you it was okay, and that he's home. There was apparently a landslide near the mountains and he had to help the people stuck there but you didn't care what his reasons were. You were never going to let him go ever again, you'd fight the sun from coming up tomorrow morning if needed.

Seungcheol simply laughed and said first you should fight your stomach, it seemed like it was struggling in there. It was only when you admitted you hadn't eaten since last night that he let you go and walked into the kitchen to whip you a quick morsel.

That night he said he was too tired to read to you. Instead, he placed a soft kiss on your forehead with an apology and was about to retire to his room when you held him by the hand, scared to let him go again. He tried to comfort you but the tears just wouldn’t stop, not until he cupped your cheek and kissed you, whispering about how he missed this, how he missed you. You confessed that you did too, and his absence made you feel terrible, like never before.

Let me make you feel good then he said. But if he wanted to help you, why did it seem like he was pleading? Like if you didn't agree he would lose it? So you agreed, letting him do whatever he wanted, whatever he needed.

His mouth was hot on yours, hands wandering all over and when they tugged the strings of your dress, you let out an inaudible gasp against his lips. He swallowed your words, undressing you slowly, with his hands and his eyes. You felt so bare, so exposed yet you didn't feel like hiding from him - you wanted him to explore you however he could and god did he do it.

If you thought his mouth on yours felt good, the places he put it now were wild. It was like he somehow knew every sensitive bit of your skin and went straight for it. He wasn't lying, this was better than good, it felt euphoric. He unravelled you with his touch, his hands in places even you hadn't felt yourself. You wanted more, you wanted so much more and he gave it, over and over again, letting you feel every inch of him, reaching as deep inside you as he could, like any distance between the both of you was unbearable. You let him consume you in his fire as the pain turned to a pleasure like never before, a coil tightening in the pits of your being. The both of you whispered each other’s names for as long as you could hold it until you finally let go and so did he, filling you with every last essence of him. As you laid side by side breathless, staring at the roof, you saw the stars have come down, swirling across the ceiling and you fell into a deep slumber.  

When you woke up that morning, the sun was almost right on top of the cottage, half the day having already passed. Seungcheol didn't leave that day, instead he was right there, pressed against your back, wrapping you in his embrace, your limbs messily tangled with each other’s. When you tried to free yourself from him, he pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck, taking in as much of you as he could before he said he had to leave again. I'll come back to you, he promised and you did not let him see how tears brimmed in your eyes as you waved him away.

After that day though, you never cried again. Or ever slept in your own bedroom. Like promised every night Seungcheol returned to you and every night you lay between the sheets together, some days making love, some days simply talking and laughing away, some days just drifting away to sleep in each other’s arms. It truly felt like happily every after but you forgot, happily ever after was only for fairytales.

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It was just another normal day. The both of you had woken up as usual to the crowing of the rooster before dawn. You gathered the vegetables in the garden while Seungcheol made the most wonderful soup, perfect for a cold day. After he kissed you goodbye and left, you cleaned the stables, drew water from the well, tended to the garden, washed up, donned your favourite red dress, ate lunch, took a nap, played with kkuma, and finally, sat by the lake again, trying to catch your breath. It was the same routine as the last eight weeks.  

As you unconsciously plucked on the grass, your mind couldn’t help but wander back to a question that had been plaguing you these days. Was this all your life was going to be? The same routine, waking up everyday knowing it was going to be the exact same as yesterday and will be the exact same as tomorrow? Sure, you loved Seungcheol and Kkuma and Hannie and this little life you had built together, but you couldn’t help but think if you were made for something more. This couldn’t be it right?  

It wasn’t. And you were moments away from finding out.

You were so lost in thought, you didn’t notice Hannie in the sky until he landed right next to you, making you hurriedly jump to your feet to get away from the lake only for your damned dress to get tangled between your feet, making you fall right into the waters. Thank God Seungcheol had reached just in time to see you disappear under the surface and immediately dived in. Using all his might he pulled you up before you were lost in the depths, coughing and catching his breath as he crawled onto the bank.

That was the first day things went very, very differently.  

Instead of greeting Seungcheol like you usually did every day, you shivered, walking away into the house to dry yourself. You didn’t change into another red dress but a blue on this time that made even Seungcheol raise an eyebrow in surprise. Dinner was not the same too. The kimchi which never ran out had finally run out, there was apparently no fish in the market today and seungcheol bought eggs for the first time. When he insisted you would like the taste, you tried it and you indeed did like it, a lot. He grinned at you and said you could always trust his word but how could you anymore? 

He told you to stay away from the lake, that people couldn’t breathe under it but when you fell in, you could. In there you felt, if not more, just as alive and breathing and the water – it spoke to you. At first you were sure you were dying - you should have listened to Seungcheol, you should have stayed away but here you were in the middle of the lake, so close to death that you were hallucinating voices. But when you realised you were actually breathing, you listened. 

Finish your mission Y/n. Finish the mission and you can become who you really are again. You can join the waters again. 

You didn’t understand.  

That night instead of a fairytale, you ask Seungcheol to tell you about the legend of the sea again so he did.

Centuries ago, back when there was magic on Land, there was an ancient war between two of the most powerful kingdoms of Earth – the Chois and the Kangs. They battled tirelessly, day and night, for months to the point where uncountable bodies began piling, resources began running out and even the heavens begged them to stop - there would be nothing left of the Earth this way. But that’s the thing about power – relinquishing it was not an option.  

Finally, one unfortunate day, the Chois gained an upper hand in battle, forcing the Kangs to seek refuge in hiding. The Kangs though, disappeared overnight - though the Chois searched every corner of Land, they could not find them. It was only when they sort to use magic to find them that victors of the battle realised, they had lost their most prized possession – the Sceptre. The sceptre was like the motherboard of all magic on Earth – it was the source. After years of combing every inch of Land, the Chois finally came to the conclusion that the Kangs and the Sceptre were in the one place that no one on Land could reach – The Sea.  

Indeed, powered by magic, the entire kingdom of the Kangs and all those who stood by their side had retreated into the ocean, making a life for themselves there. Using the magic, they kept themselves alive, preparing once again to battle for what they believed was rightfully theirs. But the Earth could not take another war, at this rate, nothing would be left and so, the Council of the Land and the Council of the Sea were formed, to keep peace between both kingdoms. After months of debate, both councils came to a Pact.

The Kangs were allowed to keep the magic but were forbidden from ever stepping on Land. The very magic they stole was used to strip them of their ability to breath air, forcing them to stay in the waters for life. The Chois on the other hand, were allowed to rule Land but were never to see magic again – the Land would not know of it and would not use it anymore. And most importantly, the Land and the Sea were never to meet. Every single ship in sight was burnt, boats were torn apart, walls were built at the border of every coastal city.  

Over generations, not only did the Land never interact with the Sea but they began to fear it, malicious stories of monsters and merpeople making their way into children’s bedtime stories and fairytales. A few brave, rebellious souls would try to break The Pact and venture into the Sea but no one really lived to tell the tale.

Seungcheol said that there will never be anyone with a tale to tell because like all legends, this too was no more than just a story and a speculation. But for the first time, you don’t believe him.  

Instead, you think merpeople truly do exist and as impossible as it sounded, you might just be one of them

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You looked at the pretty red dress you had laid out on the bed for today.  

Today was important for more than one reasons.

Today was the annual citizen’s banquet, which meant it was the first time you were going to the castle. Today was also the first time you were going to see the king and most importantly, today was also probably the day you were going to find out who you really are.  

You didn’t tell Seungcheol about what happened that day in the lake. Maybe because he believed that the Legend of the Sea was not true or because you yourself were not sure you entirely believed it, but somehow you, who told Seungcheol about everything, didn’t tell him about this. You needed more confirmation first, you needed to go into the lake once more.

But surprisingly, the lake you once liked so much looks more daunting now. You were not afraid of drowning, rather you were afraid what being able to survive the waters would mean. You kept avoiding it, telling yourself one day you couldn’t go in there because you had to brine the vegetables and that you had to bathe the cows or whatever other excuse you could find until one day all the chores were over and you ran out of excuses. You had to go in now.  

Carefully looking around to make sure there was no one in sight, you sat down on the bank, put a foot first, then the other, then slowly lowered yourself in, submerging into the waters, kkuma’s barks fading out, the voices taking over.  

Finish your mission Y/n and join the waters again.  

It was true.  

You weren’t imagining things, you were indeed breathing in there, the voices were real, everything was ridiculously real. It didn’t make any sense but it also really did. The water felt like home, like you belonged. You could swim much faster, better than you could walk. You felt stronger, more powerful, more like you in there. Even though the lake looked like it held darkness, you could clearly see everything below – the animals, the plants, the life, all of it. Oh, you wanted to join the waters, you wanted to be here forever.

But when you opened your mouth to ask what the mission was, only the gurgling sound of bubbles left you. Somehow just the thought was enough because you heard the answer soon enough and it sent a chill down your spine.  

Kill the King.  

You looked at yourself in the mirror, donning your dress.

The price for finding out who you were was to kill the king, the most important man in the town.

You couldn’t.

Taking the life of another could not be the price of your truth. So, you had decided to forget about it. It was wrong and unethical and whoever asked you of that had clearly lost their mind except….. it was you.

The more you thought about it, the more you could not deny it – the voice in the lake was your own, as though you had left yourself a message, a reminder. Why on Earth would you want to kill the king? Then again, how did you, someone who clearly belonged to The Sea, find themselves on land? Why was it that you remembered nothing?

Maybe killing the king had a bigger purpose, a noble one, after all, all kings were not necessarily good.  

You had to find out. You had to meet him and see for yourself.

And as though the universe was aligning things into place for you, the night you decided to ask Seungcheol about visiting the castle, he mentioned that the king was arranging a grand banquet to which all citizens of the town were invited. He said if you were not comfortable you didn’t have to go but you cut him off much to his surprise, insisting that you want to attend.  

That’s how days later you found yourself standing at the gates of the castle as the crowd of town poured into the estate on either side of you. Seungcheol was supposed to pick you up tonight but instead there was a carriage waiting for you, with a message relayed by the footman that he got caught up in something and will meet you in the banquet.

The banquet was arranged in a large hall right in the middle of the castle and it was perhaps the most stunning place you had ever seen. The stone walls were covered in drapes of red and purple, the large windows shining with the views of prettily trimmed gardens. There were beautiful paintings everywhere, statues of men in armour and food of all kinds being serve around. Almost the whole town fraternised under the large golden chandelier, each dressed better than the other, chattering away in small whispers. You stayed near the large pillars of stone, as far away from the crowd as possible, eyes still looking for Seungcheol, ears trying to tune out all that people were saying around you.  

But you couldn’t ignore the loud sound of the trumpet as it echoes through the hall, followed by an announcement that the King had arrived. As your heart thumped away in your chest, he appeared, at the top of the stairs that led down into the hall, dressed in what you thought was rather simple for a king. You wanted to move closer to get a better look as he descended down the stairs but you realised everyone around you was bowing down to him so you mirrored it, staring at the white marble of the floor. Its only when a pair of pretty leather shoes appear right before you that you allow yourself to look up, facing the one person you were to see tonight – the king.

He was nothing like you hoped. He didn’t look malicious, or evil or like he was even capable of doing something wrong. He had the kindest eyes, crinkled with crows’ feet as he smiled at you so warmly, you felt nothing but comfort. Only one other person in this whole town ever made you feel safe like that. From the looks of his salt and pepper hair, he looked like he was aging, and the wisdom that came with time also shone on his face. He smiled so pleasantly, didn’t dress in a way that showed off all his wealth, and didn’t seem to harbour any sort of superiority because the moment the music swelled to life, he held his hand out to ask you, a commoner, for a dance.  

The whole town looked at you as though they were waiting so you placed your hand on his, letting him lead you to the middle of the floor as everyone else immediately moved to pick partners of their own.

Seungcheol had taught you how to dance. When you expressed your interest to go to the banquet, he told you there would also be a dance accompanying it and showed you how it was done. He was so patient with you, even though you stepped on his foot and banged his head with yours a few hundred times, bursting into a string of apologies whenever you did. But he only laughed, holding you close and dancing with you through the rainy night. You wondered where he was right now but that was the least of your worries considering you were dancing with the man you were deemed to kill and to your absolute disappointment, you could not find one reason to do so.  

You hoped so hard that you were right, that the king was a bad man and you were given this mission to make things right but he wasn’t. As much as you tried to not eavesdrop, you still heard whatever the people around you were whispering away. They were all in praises of him. They said he was a great man and under his ruling, the town was doing better than ever. They said the harvest was good thanks to him, that the they were safe from invasion thanks to him and were all living well thanks to him.

A part of you knew they were right – you had seen how happy and peaceful the townspeople always were, something that was only possible if they were in good hands. You could see for yourself what a wonderful man the king seemed to be and how everyone truly seemed to love and cherish him.

But a part of you didn’t want to believe that. You had to find a reason, something had to be wrong, you needed to justify why killing him was important. That was the only way to find out who you are.  

And as though the universe which had been so helpful so far decided now was the time to create chaos, the trumpet echoes through the hall again, announcing the arrival of the crown prince. When you see the person standing at the top of the stairs, you instant freeze, feeling your guts twist the way they did the first time you ever saw him – Seungcheol.  

Seungcheol was a prince. He was the crown prince of this land which meant he was the first born of the king.

That meant...... your mission was to kill the father of the man you loved.

As the townspeople gathered in the gardens below, you stood in a balcony of the castle, looking at the stars dancing in the sky.  

The whole night you had been feeling nothing but numb. The moment Seungcheol had appeared you excused yourself from the king, rushing out of the hall, trying not to throw up. Seungcheol immediately followed asking if you were okay but you didn’t answer. You did not see things unfolding this way. Not only did you not find a single reason why you had to kill the King, now you had one for why you shouldn’t do it.  

Seungcheol asked again, looking for answers in your expression but you just looked away, muttering that you had no idea he was the prince. He said he wasn’t trying to hide it from you, he just didn’t think about it. The whole town knew he was the crown prince so he never had to introduce himself that way. Besides, he didn't like to his status as royalty to define him so he didn’t usually mention it to anyone. As far as why he didn’t live in the castle was concerned, he started living in the cottage when he was 14 years old. That house was his mother’s, before the king and her fell in love and got married. After she passed away in the childbirth of her second child, he moved there so he could feel closer to her. His father too thought it was good for him to live among his subjects, to learn their problems and to gain their trust.  

You had nothing but silence to offer in return. It was all too much, all at once.  

The loud whispers of the town started fading out as the King walked in, standing among them. Seungcheol didn’t look too happy as he stared at the scene below him. He said he was worried about his father. You felt that churning feeling in your stomach once again. He said that he was getting old and it was getting harder for him to negotiate with neighbouring kingdoms, to keep war at bay. You didn’t understand what he meant.

He claimed the town was happy now but 3 months ago, nothing was going well. Their kingdom was under attack, everyone’s lives were threatened, the future looked very bleak. The king had somehow managed to save everyone then but unknown to the people, it was temporary. His father tried his best to negotiate and talk to the neighbouring kingdoms but there was no use – war has been declared against them yet again and he was worried King Choi was not strong enough for battle.

You held his hand stroking the back of it softly. He then apologised to you, confusing you even more. You asked him why but you had an idea already – he was taking his father’s place in war; he was going to lead the army.  

You felt as though someone pulled the ground below your feet and Seungcheol’s grip on your hand was the only thing saving you from falling. As crown prince it was his duty and you knew and understood but the thought of being away from him again was killing you on the inside. He said he wouldn’t be gone for long but you know what war meant - there was no guarantee of him even returning.

You hugged him shaking your head, refusing to let him go or insisting that he take you along with him but he simply hugged you back claiming that was not possible, it was dangerous. He told you to move to the castle while he was gone. Here you would be taken care of, you wouldn’t be lonely and most importantly, you would have the chance to get closer to his father.

You froze.  

Seungcheol let you go, making you sit on the moss-covered stone bench, sitting next to you. He said he wanted to leave you in good hands in case he didn’t make it back. You refused to listen to anything else, he promised he would always come back to you, that meant he had to come back. He laughed at your futile stubbornness, tucking your hair behind your ear, looking at you with a strange longing. You give him a soft peck on his lips to let him know he had no reason to long for you, you were always his. He pulled you in for more, taking your face in his hands, his mouth desperate against yours, like it was the last time, like a silent goodbye etched in his kiss.

It was only when the applause rang downstairs that he let you go, pressing his forehead on yours, sighing. You felt tears threaten your eyes once again as he caressed your cheek with his thumb softly, like he was trying to memorise how your face felt under his touch. He said he wished he had longer with you, he wished had done this earlier and slid onto the gravel floor onto his knees, looking up at you softly.  

Marry me, he whispered, holding your hands. 

You stared at him wordlessly as the sky behind you came alive with lights, fireworks prettily burning against the black canvas of the night. Maybe a few days ago if he asked you would have said yes without him even needing to finish. You would marry him right there and then but now you were torn. Kill the King. The words were constantly ringing in your head. How could you marry him if your mission was to…..  

He understood your silence as hesitance, saying you didn’t have to answer now, you could tell him when he returned - that way he would have something he had to come back for. He then pulled out a small necklace from his pocket, making you wear it, saying it was a reminder of him while he was away. You touched the pendant, feeling it with your fingers. It wasn’t like any jewel you had ever seen - it didn’t shine, it was an odd shape and it looked rather dull. He said it was a shell and it was from the sea.  

If he noticed your shocked reaction and stuttering as you asked him how he got it , he didn’t mention it. Instead, he answered that there was a path from behind his cottage that led to the other side of the forest, to a sea cave where land and sea met fearlessly. Before you came into his life, that was his favourite place to go - he often spent his free time there and that’s where he found this.  

You wonder if it’s a sign from the universe, receiving a part of the ocean at a time when you didn’t know what to choose.  

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The next morning, trumpets rang through the entire town, announcing that the neighbouring kingdom had declared war and the crown prince was leading the army to fight. People spilled onto the streets to watch the armoured and determined cavalry going to serve their kingdom, Seungcheol leading the troop all the way in front on his horse. You stood at the highest terrace of the castle, watching him leave, going further and further away, until the distance engulfed him and you couldn’t see him anymore. You barely had him to yourself for five minutes in the morning to say goodbye before he was called away. You convinced yourself that all this was temporary anyways, he would come back.  

With a heavy heart, you walked down the wide corridors of the palace, kkuma following your every step. You lived here now. Seungcheol had people shift your few things from the cottage to his room in the castle. Though the bed was beyond comfortable and the room was bigger than the whole cottage you lived in previously, you didn’t spend much time in there. Instead, you roamed around the gardens and corridors or stepped out into the marketplace that you never ventured in without Seungcheol by your side. Any place was better than his room. It reeked of loneliness and most importantly, it overlooked the sea. As much as the breeze gave you unexplainable comfort, it was also a constant reminder of your mission.  

As time passed, you found yourself less and less inclined to fulfilling your task. You tried your best to not let yourself be swayed but in vain – you could not help but like the king. He was nothing but welcoming and kind to you. Maybe Seungcheol told him or maybe it was just a constant in the Choi family, but he insisted that every night you join him for dinner. He would ask about your day and make light conversation, but unlike Seungcheol, he would retire early to bed. He was sick. You could see in the way he coughed through his meal, the way his eyes keep fluttering shut in tiredness towards the end of the night. Yet he did all he could to make sure you were alright.

He introduced you to the library in the castle and if you thought Seungcheol’s study had a large collection of books, this place was massive. Books were lined all the way up till the ceiling, there were all sorts of maps and globes scattered all over the room, shelfs lined with little trinkets and souvenirs from his travels. The King explained that Seungcheol like his mother, loved to explore and like him, loved science and this library was where it all came together. He used to be unstoppable ever since he was a child and his curiosity always landed him in trouble – the whole town was banned from stepping on the beach but nothing could stop him. He always wanted to explore the sea.  

It surprised you to learn about Seungcheol’s fascination with the sea because he had always told you to stay away from water, that it was dangerous. You spent days of your time in that library, going through his journals and drawings, but didn’t really understand all the scribbles of notes he had jotted everywhere. You did see on the map though, the location of the sea cave that Seungcheol had mentioned about, wondering if you could get any answers there, but somehow you could never bring yourself to go. The answers of the questions you had so far had not been pleasant.  

Then one day as you sat on the wooden floor of the sunlit room studying what looked like drawings of some strange contraption, Hannie appeared in the sky.  

You immediately got up, running out of the room, down the corridor, up the stairs, all the way to the top, to try and see Seungcheol reappear where you last saw him.

He didn’t.

Clouds made their way, covering the strong sun, submerging the town in a strange gloom. It all felt too apocalyptic. You rushed to find the King, learning that he was holding court, making your way to the hall, stopping right by the door and hiding yourself to overhear the discussion.

The Chois were ambushed.

More than half the forces were dead or injured, many were missing and as though your greatest fear came true, Seungcheol was missing too. He was also very badly injured and no one had seen or heard from him in two days, it was highly likely he succumbed to his injuries. You refused to believe it. He said he would come back to you, which meant he would, you believed him. But no one else seemed to share the same faith as you. They were going to give up, surrender the throne to prevent an attack on the town itself. That was when to everyone’s surprise you barged in.

You insisted nothing was wrong with Seungcheol and they had to find him and finish this war. They tried to reason with you, tell you the facts but you refused to hear it. You questioned how they could give up so soon and why they aren’t even trying to find him. They claimed they had to clear out from enemy territory, that it could be dangerous going back there. You turned to the King hoping you could at least reason with him but his tired old face looks like he’s already mourning his son.  You ran out of there, unable to come to terms with what was happening.

You would find him yourself if that’s what it took.

Rushing to the royal stables, you picked the horse that looked the strongest and forced its gates open, ignoring the crimson bleeding out of your hand as you cut it on the metal. Before the poor stable boy could stop you, you mounted it, riding out of the palace, into the unprepared town. People hurriedly ran out of the way, pulling their carts and children to the side, nothing but wind left behind as you raced through. You had your eyes on Hannie flying in the sky above you. You knew it could lead you to him, you just had to follow. You were almost successful in crossing the gates of the town, into the woods, when the royal guards caught up, surrounding you.

The head of security begged you to stop, that you were putting the kingdom in more jeopardy and you couldn’t let your desire to protect one man affect everyone. You wanted to argue, tell him that you didn’t care about anyone else and to insist that they let you go but when you turned and saw all the people stepping out of their houses to see what the commotion is, you let go the reins of the horse. Yes, finding Seungcheol was most important to you, but not at the cost of so many people’s lives. You knew better than that, you could never be that selfish.

As though Hannie sympathised, it landed on your softly shoulder, nuzzling your neck, cooing in your ear. You took him in your hands, the bloodied hand further darkening the red on its chest, a thought forming in your mind. You smudge the blood onto your fingertips, tracing a word onto its white, a word that you knew would bring Seungcheol back to you. As you set it free hoping it would find him, you watch the yes etched on it, praying to the skies that when it returns, Seungcheol follows it like always.  

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You didn’t return to the castle after that.  

Turning your horse in the other direction, you rode to Seungcheol’s cottage by the woods, the only place you felt close to him. The big room and big bed of the castle might be physically comfortable but nothing made you feel at peace like this house, your safe haven. You were curled up in the bed for hours now as the sun slowly began to descend behind the mountains. You just had to give it time. You kept telling yourself it wasn’t a matter of if Seungcheol returned but when. He would come back for you, he would fight all odds and come back, you knew it.  

The sound of the horses neighing at a distance made you sit up. The royal guards must be here to escort you back to the castle now that it was getting darker outside. You didn’t want to go. You couldn’t stand being in that castle again.

Grabbing the oil lantern nearby, you soundlessly left through the back door, kkuma following you just as quietly. You thought you could just wait it out until the guards didn’t find you and returned to the castle but when kkuma began wandering away, you had no choice but to follow her. Not listening to your hushed whispers, with a mind of her own, she ventured into the forest and thoughtlessly, you followed. It’s only when the trees parted that you realised where you were – the sea cave.  

You didn’t know what you were expecting when Seungcheol mentioned about this place but it was beyond beautiful. The crystal blue waves were racing back and forth on the golden sand, the stone wall of the caves were gradients of brown rocks and green weeds. There were holes eroded onto the roof, the evening sun softly pouring in and in that soft light you noticed in the corner, folded are some blankets and books that clearly belonged to Seungcheol – he indeed must have spent a long time here. Kkuma settled herself down in the warmth of the bundled cloths, as you placed the lantern on a nearby rock and kicked your shoes off, feeling the warm sand under your feet.  

The water was inches away. The Ocean, the place that, if you had assumed right, was your home. Every bone in your body was craving to be in it, to submerge in it, to just feel alive in it once again. You walked ahead, taking one step after another, but the closer you moved to the waters, the further it seemed to be moving away from you. You quickened your steps, but the Sea kept retreating, pulling away. It surprised you to receive such hostility from waters that always looked so welcoming but not more than the voice that boomed through the cave, making you look around in panic. There was no one, you were all alone and kkuma too was fast asleep, like she didn’t hear anything. When you turned back to the sea, you bit back a scream, coming face to face with a woman, whose eyes were piercing into you, her lips curled into a smile as her voice echoed through the cave again. 

I see you’ve finally found your way home.  

Pain like no other seared through your head, making you fall to your knees in agony, your dress fanning out in the sand. As the woman bent down to your level, you scrambled back, swallowing the phantom lump in your throat, taking a better look at her. Holding a staff in one hand, she looked as old as time, her white hair and ragged clothes floating like she was still in the waters and that’s when you realised, she wasn’t actually here – it was apparition, like… magic. As though she read your mind, she confirmed it indeed was magic, that she controlled all the magic of the Sea - she was after all the Sea Witch.  

You recalled Seungcheol’s story about how the Sea had taken away magic from the Land, watching the legend come to life before you as the woman floated a few feet above the ground, looking at you expressionlessly. Who am I? Do I belong to the Sea? Why am I on Land?  You knew she was the only one who could possibly have the answers and she did - for a price.  

She pointed at the shell on your neck, claiming it belonged to the Sea – give it back and you could have all the answers you wanted. You held it in your grasp; it was the only thing of Seungcheol’s you had with you. You could either lose it and learn who you are or keep it and walk away, return to the castle. You could let your forgotten past remain forgotten and think only about the future with Seungcheol.  

But is there a future? She asked, reading your mind yet again. You knew what she meant. Seungcheol went to war and people died in war all the time. If he did not make it back, you had no place on Land, no home, no one to call your own. But if you were to find out who you truly are, you could then return to where you truly belonged. You tightened your grip on the shell, the pressure opening your wound, the blood spilling again. Giving up this necklace meant admitting to the possibility that Seungcheol will not return. How did that make you any different from all the others in the court who you lashed out at? 

The Sea Witch looked at you fighting your own battle in your head. She held out her hand saying if it was meant to be, then Seungcheol would return to you, regardless of whether you had this necklace or not. You know she’s playing you but give in, ripping the chain from your throat and throwing it into the waters, watching it sink into the dark bottom.  

The waves which seemed so afraid of you, raised themselves, almost as though bowing to you and the Sea Witch mirrored their action before straightening and looking up but this time, respectfully not meeting your eye.  

What do you seek, Princess of the Ocean.  

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You held the dagger in your hand tight, hands not shaking as you approached the dining room.  

The moment you returned to the castle, the maids had told you dinner was served and the king was waiting for you. You washed up and changed out of your sand filled clothes into one of your usual red dresses. Maybe there was a reason why you liked red so much – maybe deep down you knew you needed to hide the blood on your hands somewhere.  

You had to kill the King tonight.  

You stood in front of the large doors, the dagger that the Sea Witch gave in your hands, hiding efficiently in the large fabric of your dress. Once you stepped in, everything would change. You would become the killer of Seungcheol’s father, but you would also finally be fulfilling your duty to your people, the MerFolk.  

The Sea Witch told you the story from when it all began. The legends were all true. The merfolk were real, the life under the sea was real, everything you had experienced was real. 3 months ago, you were a part of the Sea, living a carefree life as the youngest princess of the royal family. Then one move by King Choi and everything changed.  

Over the centuries even though the entire ocean was ruled by just one family, without the power of magic, land had split into many Kingdoms and many rulers. Unlike the peace in the Sea, Land was always at war with itself, neighbouring kingdoms attacking and occupying towns – they never got rid of the battle they thought they won. One such battle happened three months ago at the Kingdom of the Chois where they were invaded by their neighbours, the Hans. At the brink of losing war, King Choi did the unthinkable – he set sail.

His deep interest in the Sea, that his son eventually inherited, had led him to spend years of his youth designing and building ships, the last of which had been burned during the Pact. The Sea allowed his soldiers to take an alternative route to attack their invaders and drive them out but the moment the ships had touched the ocean waters, years of peace dissolved into chaos.  

As the calm waters were shaken, towns under the Sea began falling apart – many merfolk died, many lost their homes, many lost their way back and among all the tragedies, the greatest one was losing your mother, the Queen.  

Her death left the entire Ocean without a leader, without a protector. Your sister, the oldest in the family, who had been trained for years to take over as queen was missing, like many others in the aftermath. The kingdom waited for days for her to show up until it was not practical to anymore – the ocean needed rebuilding, it needed leadership and guidance. As the only one left in the royal family, you had offered to take your mother’s place as queen but the Council of the Sea refused. You were young and inexperienced and unlike your sister, you were not trained to take over the Kingdom. They wanted to hand the Sea to the Hwangs, another family who had their eye on the throne for centuries now and were willing to take up the responsibility of the Ocean.  

You couldn’t let that happen, not only would it crush your mother’s dreams if the Kang lineage of rulers ended with her but also the Hwangs were notoriously famous for their aggressiveness. Under their hands, there was no saying what the future of the Ocean would look like. The citizens of the sea protested too – they were all on your side, they wanted you to rule and so the Council of the Sea and the Hwangs agreed – if you could prove yourself worthy.  

Kill the King of the Land.  

Blood for blood. Get revenge for the destruction of the Sea, that was the order. That was the price for you to get back your kingdom and 100 days was all you had to do it.

That’s when they called on the Sea Witch. Breathing on Land for 100 days would require very powerful and ancient magic, something only she was capable of. But it would not be so straightforward. The process would be excruciatingly painful, almost like becoming a new person, like being born again - quite literally because it would wipe out all your memories, everything you know of the Sea would be taken away. You would be sent to Land like a blank slate.  

That meant you had 100 days to go on Land, figure out who you were, learn of your mission and complete it. Should you fail, not only would you lose your kingdom, but the waters had no forgiveness for those who disobeyed magic so ancient – you would join them again, but as sea foam.  

Today was day 92. You only had 8 days left.  

You pushed open the doors of the dining hall, eyes falling on the King tiredly slouched in his chair waiting for you. He must’ve fallen asleep because he didn’t move when you approached. You looked at face responsible for the death of your mother, the disappearance of your sister, the destruction of your kingdom and you felt numb. You still couldn’t bring yourself to hate him, but you also couldn’t walk away. Yes, if only he didn’t bring out his ships you wouldn’t have lost so much, you wouldn’t be here but you know like any other good king, he did it to save his people. And now you had to do whatever it took to save yours.  

And then fate smirked.

Just as you raised the knife and were about to plunge it in his chest, you heard the fluttering sound of wings and on the balcony landed Hannie, looking more red than white. The knife slipped from your hands, landing on the floor with a thud as the king stirred awake. His guards burst into the room as the royal trumpets echoed through the night. You rushed to Hannie in the balcony, the one that overlooked the town, and saw the oil lanterns of the houses, slowly increase in number, getting brighter and brighter in the darkness. The king and his men departed immediately and so you followed them, holding Hannie in one hand and your dress in the other, running down the palace corridors and out the gate to see a crowd gathered.  

As it parted, it revealed Seungcheol's horse and holding onto its reins walking it was Seungcheol, bruised and battered, blood splattered all over him, multiple wounds gashed open, barely but still alive. Take a staggering step at a time, he approached his father bowing and whispered, We won before collapsing into the gravel.  

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Seungcheol was immediately taken away by the royal physicians as the king announced to the people that the war was over and the town erupted into cheers. You tried to follow the doctors to be with him but they closed the door on your face, asking you to stay out. So, you stayed right outside, the whole night, prancing about, biting your nails, as you waited for the news.  

Instead, you were met with screams. You don’t know what they were doing to Seungcheol in there but he was evidentially in unbearable pain – you could hear in the way the screams ripped out of his throat, like he was in pure agony. It went on for hours and it was so terrifying to hear, you felt your heart shatter every time it rang through the halls. 

Finally at the crack of dawn he seemed to calm down and the doors finally opened. He was deeply wounded and his body was beyond exhausted, he just needed some sleep, the physicians assured you and the king, who unknown to you had also arrived. You thanked them and hurried in to see Seungcheol peacefully lying on the bed, bandages wrapped all over his body.

You sat beside him as the king gently stroked his son’s hair both proudly and sadly, muttering that he would pray for him to heal soon. As you held Seungcheol’s hand in yours, the king requested you to stay by the former’s side till he woke up. You assured him you would, to which he nodded and to both your shock and horror, pulled out the dagger which you had dropped in the dining room the day before. You held your breath as he placed it on the table beside the bed, not even looking at you. I believe this is yours.  

He knew.  

He figured out that you had attempted to take his life, but the tired old man didn’t say anything as he left. Instead, the royal guards placed at the door told you what you needed to know.

You failed your mission. Not only had you let down your people, you were discovered and now you were to be tried for treason. You only had till Seungcheol woke up. Lips quivering, you held onto his hand tighter. 

You didn’t know if fate was showing you mercy or prolonging your agony but it took almost 2 whole days for Seungcheol to finally wake up.   

You hadn’t left his room since you had entered it. Not only were you not allowed to, but you didn’t want to leave Seungcheol’s side. You either sat beside him, or in the balcony overlooking the ocean for hours together with kkuma curled up next to you and hannie flying around in the sky. The two of them had been awfully calm, as though they too knew what was coming.

Finally, on the 94th night, just as you had closed the doors of his bedroom and prepared your bed to sleep, Seungcheol stirred awake. You immediately rushed to his side as his eyes fluttered open, and the moment they landed on you, he broke into the most peaceful smile. You sighed in relief, softly holding his cheek in your hand, asking him how he was feeling.  

You said yes.  

Hannie flew into the room like a reminder of your message to him but his words only pained you. Things had changed so much since then. Not only could you not marry him but you had now become worthy of his hatred. You don’t think you can bear to see anything but love for you in his eyes.

Leaning down you kissed him, whispering that you loved him and that you wish no matter what, he always remembered that. He didn’t seem to understand your words, still reeling in the happiness of your acceptance of his proposal as he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in the embrace you were craving for.  

As the two of you laid for hours together, wrapped in each other, he told you how they had been ambushed before they even reached the battlefield - someone had betrayed them. His horse had saved him, taking him away into the woods, far from his attackers but he was already very badly injured. It was Hannie who arrived with your yes that truly saved him. He knew he had to come back for you so he pushed through. He regrouped what was left of the army and infiltrated the enemy camp that was prematurely celebrating their victory and gained the upper hand.  

You snuggled closer in his warmth, hoping he wouldn’t see the guilt on your face when he spoke of you like you were his saviour. Everything would change tomorrow. Tonight was your last night with him, your last chance to create a memory for him to remember you by. As he went on about how tomorrow morning he would talk to the king about the wedding, you kissed him, cutting him off. Tonight you only wanted to love and love you did.  

Of all the nights you spent with Seungcheol, nothing felt like this. There was a strange desperation carved in the way you undressed each other, hands roaming, names whispered against skin. You took the lead this time, clambering on top of him and he stared at you like you were his whole world and more. Tucking your hair behind your ear, he told you how lucky he was to have you and you pushed the recurring feeling of guilt down and claimed him for yourself one last time.

A clash of hands, tongues and moans, he matched your need, leaving marks of love on your shoulder and chest. Burying your face in his neck, you held back the tears of pain and pleasure and a goodbye all dissolved in one as you came apart above him. Like always his arms held you in his embrace as though stopping you from losing yourself but it was too late. Everything had fallen apart already.  

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When you woke up, the bed was empty.  

Seungcheol was not in the room, neither were the maids scurrying in as usual, cleaning up and neither were the guards who were placed outside the doors all these days. You walked down the corridors which were overtaken by a strange emptiness, wondering where everyone was. It was late in the afternoon judging by the sun but the palace was looking bleaker than usual.  

That was when your eyes fell on the flag of the kingdom hoisted down, flying low.  

Mourning.  

You rushed back towards the bedroom wing of the palace, heart beating erratically against your still lungs, till you found the royal physicians walking out of a chamber, looking dejected. The kings chamber.  

As you got closer, you noticed the officials of the royal court had all gathered around, dressed in black, heads hanging, faces in sorrow. They parted, letting you walk in to see Seungcheol standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at the king who laid peacefully in a slumber he would never wake up from.

The moment you put your hand on his shoulder Seungcheol turned. He wasn’t crying but there was so much pain in his face, it made you want to take him in your arms and hide him there forever. But you didn’t. You rubbed his arms softly whispering that you will wait for him outside, knowing he needed time with his father, the last of his family.  

But the moment you stepped out, the royal guards surrounded you, their spears pointing at you from a distance and you knew the time had come. By the order of the late king, after Prince Choi was awake, you were to be imprisoned for treason. For life.  

 ----------------------------------------------------------

You might have been forced into a four stone walled dark cell for 5 days now but there was no greater prison that your own mind. As the moonlight creeped through the metal bars of the window on top, you sat crouched in the little dark space, leaning against the cold rocks. It was always so silent in here, you only ever heard the crashing of the waves against the walls, each ebb and flow reminding you of where you truly belonged.  

With the king now dead, your mission was complete, you could go back home. You could go back to your people, you could take back your kingdom but somehow you lacked the strength or the will to fight your way out of here. It would mean facing Seungcheol, who in the last many days had not come even once to see you. With each passing minute in his absence a part of you was glad to not see the disgust he would hold for you but another was broken at the thought of this being the end of the love you shared. As you fought your inner battle as a lover and a princess, time, the one thing that you did not have, kept slipping away.  

And then for the first time in 5 days, a shadow other than your own was cast in the moonlight. Seungcheol’s.  

You stood up, taken aback by his presence after so long but more by the sound of the gates opening and the guards asking you to step out, leading you out of the prison cell. You were free.  

It was only then in the light of the fire lit corridors that you saw him, dressed in finery like never before and on his head rested the whole responsibility of the kingdom - the crown. 

It was no longer Prince Seungcheol, he was now King Choi Seungcheol.  

Seeing him like that, your heart swelled with pride. When you found out Seungcheol was the prince you weren’t really as surprised as you should have been because it was only then that things made perfect sense. You had seen the king in him all along. One of the reasons that you loved him so much was because of what a good man he was, always thoughtful of others, always helping those in need, always looking out. No one was more worthy of being king than him.   

But before you can say anything to him, the maids brought you away to his room, complaining that you needed a change of clothes and a good bath. As they helped you strip out and scrubbed your neglected skin, they talked about how Seungcheol was furious when he learnt of your imprisonment. He insisted that you be released at once but he could not do anything as the royal guards would only take orders from the king. Stubborn to get you released no matter what, he sped up the coronation, which was due two weeks later and was crowned king just hours ago. His first order as ruler was that you be immediately released.  

You asked to be left alone for a bit, soaking yourself in the water after days now. Why did Seungcheol let you go? Did he not believe you tried to kill his father? Or did he love you so much that he was willing to forgive you for the attempt?

You couldn’t even ask him. He would not be free of the coronation festivities which apparently went on till sunrise and you didn’t have long before you had to return to the ocean – it was already day 99.  

Maybe it was better this way. You had your duties like he had his. Maybe if you left without giving him an explanation and without getting one, it would be easier for the love between the two of you to die. It had to die. The two of you belonged to two different worlds. There was no a happily ever after written for this story.   

You slid against the bath, submerging yourself into the waters, trying to breathe in peace again.  

But the nightmare had not ended. The voices were not gone.  

Kill the King.  

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When you walked out of the bathroom, Seungcheol was there.  

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in his usual simple clothes again. In fact, he was wearing the same white shirt as the first time you ever saw him. The irony was not lost on you. It was like fate was not tired of the joke after joke after joke it was playing. 

You walked in, asking him what he was doing away from the celebrations when you noticed what was in his hands. The dagger. Your dagger.  

It's been a while since I told you a story.  

He looked up, meeting your eye in the mirror, his finger dangerously dragging against the blade.  

Do you remember the legend of the sea?  

Why was the talking about this to you right now?  

There's more, he claimed, standing up, turning to you. In that blue sea of dangerous creatures and vicious beings also lived the most beautiful woman in the world.  

You can hear your heart thumping in your ear.  

One day, the woman of the waters found herself on land. She was sent with a mission.

You took a step back. How could he possibly know all this?

You may have forgotten everything Y/n. But I didn't. He walked up to you. You may remember only 3 months of our love, but I remember 10 years of it.

You didn't understand. You didn't understand at all.

The young woman had been interested in the Land and humans ever since she was a little girl. Even though the merfolk were clearly warned to stay away from humans and shallow waters were dangerous to swim in, she would always escape the barricades quietly, to see whatever little of Land she would.

Finally, when she was 14 years old, she discovered a little secret - a sea cave. It was the only place where the waters next to land were deep enough, where she could get close to the land without being in much danger. She would come there often just to look at the sand and the rocks but she never saw any humans.

Until one day, a young, 14 year old Prince, distraught at the loss of his mother had ventured into the forest all alone and found the cave.  

You remember Seungcheol telling you he moved to the cottage after the death of his mother when he was 14.

The price was also just as interested in the Sea as she was in land but unlike her, he did the stupid thing of entering the waters - he immediately started drowning.

That was the day she saved him the first time. Holding her breath to the point she couldn't anymore, she pulled him onto the sand before disappearing into the ocean. The last thing he remembered was seeing her most beautiful face.

After that the prince came everyday. Initially the young girl never showed herself. He knew she was there though, deeper in the waters, lurking silently. He would come every morning and just sit in the sand doing his assignments, glancing at the sea every once in a while and when the sun would start to set, he would return. Slowly, much to his anticipation and delight, she started coming up closer and closer to the surface until one day when he was 16, Seungcheol for the first time, put his hand in the water and touched hers.

It was magical, like nothing he ever felt before.

Then he started to get reckless again, trying to enter the waters, almost drowning too, but this time she held his hand and taught him to swim. Of the many hours he spent in the cave, a few minutes were always in the water, swimming by her side, and the rest were just watching her glide through the waves.

When he was 18, he created something extraordinary. He had always been a bit of a science man but after years of trial and error, he had finally made a device - a little mask of sorts that could help him breathe underwater, for about an hour or so. He didn't have to hold his breath anymore - he was able to spend longer under the sea, longer with her.

When he went to show it to her, she had discovered a little secret of her own - weeds. Not any kind but a very particular one that only grew in the Sea witches house. She apparently used to work for one, to learn magic, like all her other siblings did. There she had come across these very special plants that allowed merfolk to breathe on land.

That was the first time she stepped on land. The moment she did, she succumbed to her knees, throwing up water in the sand. Even the weed had its downsides, the most important one being that its affect only seemed to last an hour or so. But the hour she had with him on land and he had with her in the waters were more than enough - Their worlds were no longer barriers.

That went on for years, these secret meetings. Initially it was just sharing laughs, then dreams, then the thought of a whole life together. He taught her how to read and write their language, she drew him maps of different lands, far away in the sea. He taught her about science and she taught him about magic. His stories about the land animals fascinated her and her stories about the sea creatures terrified him.

When he was 20, he kissed her for the first time. When they were 22, they made love and when they were 24, around a 100 days ago, she told him she had to come to land for a mission.

It felt like someone had knocked the air out of your lungs. How was any of this possible?

She didn't say what her mission was, just that she had something to do and she needed him to help her. She would apparently arrive on land with all her memories gone and she needed him to guide her to find her way back. He didn't understand but she didn't have the time to tell him more. She just handed him a shell necklace and told him to give it to her when the time was right, it would help her figure things out.

So did you figure it out Y/n? He took you hand, placing the knife laced with his blood in it. Was your mission to kill my father?

You shook your head slowly, still processing all the information.

"It was to kill you."

The moment you heard your voice again in that bath, you felt like your life just left you. You thought the mission was completed - the king was dead. Then why were you still hearing it.... except you didn't complete the mission. You didn't kill the king, you didn't use the dagger.

Now the king was right in front of you. The man you just  discovered you had been in love with your whole life. The man who made you fall in love with him all over again. The man who you had to kill to stay alive.

But he didn't look even a little fazed.

The sky behind you was starting to get brighter. The sun was rising. The 100th day was nearly here.

"Its okay." He whispered, moving closer to you without an ounce of fear. "Do it."

How could he love you so much, enough to die for you?

You could feel the tears rolling down your cheeks. He gently wiped it away, shaking his head. You kissed the inside of his hand on your cheek, and then pulled him close, feeling his mouth against yours for what you knew was the last time.

As you whispered an apology, he assured you it was okay. That you were the most beautiful thing that ever happened to him. And there was no better way for him to go than you being the last thing he saw.

You took a step back.

"Till death do us apart."

And then another step.

"Till death do us apart."

And then another, till you reached the window overlooking the ocean, you back against it.

You smiled at him.

He was not the only one who loved you enough to die.

The sun had risen quite high by now. You were simply a silhouette against the light, an outline and soon a memory. Before Seungcheol could even realise what you were doing, you leaned back. He ran towards you, as you let yourself drop, only just missing his outstretched hand trying to pointlessly save you, taken away by the winds, taken away to the sea.

As the sun fully rose in the sky, the dagger in you hands landed in the ocean with a splash, sinking to the bottom slowly, disappearing from existence.

And around it was sea foam, finally reclaimed by the waters where it belonged, gently floating away in peace.

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. slight smut (grinding, no orgasm), kissing, mentions of angst, MAJOR FLUFF

A/N: A bit shorter, get ready to giggle mfs

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P24: Perfect

Things with Baylen didn’t go well—they didn’t even go alright. 

It was fucking awful.

Playing video games with new skills I had acquired thanks to Chris were semi decent at first. Baylen was surprised I actually seemed to know what I was doing. He seemed pleased, even engaging in some small talk with me.

And then everything just went quiet. 

We were talking about childhood memories. I brought up how we used to make those forts in his room and how sometimes we’d be giggling so loud that dad would come and lecture us. 

Baylen fell silent after I had said that. His whole demenor seemed to change within an instant—and it really fucking hurt. 

I thought we were having a moment, I thought we were bonding—I thought I saw a glimpse of a better relationship with him in the future, but then he shut off the game, mumbling for me to ‘get out.’ 

Asking about it didn’t help. When I questioned why, he glared at me with a certain hatred that made my blood run cold. 

So I left. 

But I couldn’t be alone. 

And that’s why I’m here—in his bed, with his arms wrapped around me as his lips hungrily chase my own. 

“Jesus,” Chris huffs, letting out a dry laugh in between kisses as I desperately slot my lips between his own. 

It feels good, it feels comforting. The electric warmth in the pit of my gut seems to be the only thing keeping my heart beating inside my chest in a way that doesn’t feel like it’s trying to kill me with each pulse.

Chris smiles against my lips. His tongue hesitantly swipes across my bottom lip, the soft muscle intruding into my mouth in a way that makes my eyes shut tighter as I try to sink in every sensation. 

I needed this. I needed this so bad. 

No matter how horrible everything felt, something about him made it feel okay. 

“God,” he sighs, pulling away before resting his forehead against mine. “-you’re perfect, you know that?” he says, staring into my eyes with a gleam of adoration that makes my stomach swirl with excitement. 

His hand around my waist grazes over the side of my body. He wraps his hand around the back of my upper thigh, pulling me impossibly closer as my breath halts in my chest. 

“Chris–”

Before I can object, he plants another kiss on my swollen lips. “Fuckin’ perfect,’ he husks, trailing open-mouthed, warm pecks across my cheek, to my jaw, and down my neck. 

I feel his breath waver over my collarbone. My mouth falls open while his lips greedily envelope over my thumping pulse, right beneath my ear. A subtle gasp erupts from the back of my throat. My hands tangle tighter in his hair, my nails slightly grazing his scalp as he hums against me. 

Chris brings one of his legs upward, slotting it between my own as we both lay on our sides in his bed, the friction landing perfectly against the warmth radiating between my legs. 

“Oh–” The short sound drops from my mouth as my back arches instinctively. 

His movements become more rushed. I let myself grind into his leg between my own, the friction making my brows knit together as my eyes squint shut.

“Fuck,” he pants, removing his lips from my neck as he pulls his head back enough to truly look at me. 

He pushes his leg up even more, his lips parting with even heavier breaths as a deep moan erupts from my lips. 

Licking over his lips, he grabs my hip tightly with one hand, his eyes trained on my face as he guides my movements. 

God.

I feel like I’m melting. Everything seems so intoxicating, so consuming—so perfect. 

Like it’s meant to be. 

“Wish—wish you were mine,” he rasps, his fingers pushing further into my hip as my clit rubs perfectly against the layers of fabric between us. “-want you to be my girl so bad, so—so fuckin’ bad.” 

His words seem to collapse over my skin like a suffocating honey that makes me feel heavy in his hold. I let my eyes stare into his, leaning forward and hungrily kissing him with every ounce of emotion traveling from my heart and leaking into our tangled lips. 

Chris pauses his movements of his thigh pushing against my heat. He wraps his arm around my back, pulling me impossibly closer while sliding his tongue against mine. 

“I-” I pull back, only for him to chase my lips eagerly, “-I want that–” kiss. “-want that too.” 

As he plants another hungrily kiss onto my lips, he halts, his mouth relaxing against my own before he slowly pulls back.

“Are…” he swallows thickly, his hand squeezing my waist as his eyes flicker between mine, “-are you…sure?” he asks.

Everything seems to still. Each muscle, each movement, every single hesitation lingering in the air around us. 

My head nods up and down firmly. I lick over my lips, gulping as I let out a short sigh. “I…I want that—I really do.” 

The statement seems to roll into the air loudly despite how quiet my words are. I watch Chris’ eyes widen, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinks quickly before his lips curl into a grin that makes his eyes squint with joy. 

“Are you serious?” he questions, biting on his lower lip as he stares at me intently. 

My brows furrow together as I think over the words. 

His girl. 

It doesn’t sound as daunting as it used to. In fact, I really like the way it feels to hear those words echo in my head. 

I really like the way it feels to think of him calling me that too. 

“I…I am, Chris.” I breathe, my eyes watering as I feel him immediately pull me into the tightest hug ever, all the tension in the air dissipating into something else—something more. 

It’s not sexual, but it’s intimate—a type of emotion I’ve never felt so potent before. 

And it feels like heaven. 

___

“C’mon,” he says, offering me a hand as I step out of his car. 

Chris was satisfied getting to call me his girl, but he wasn’t satisfied in the way it happened. He immediately said to forget everything that happened. Well, after he showered me in kisses, mumbling how I was ‘his girl’ under his breath. 

I slide my hand into his. “Thanks,” I mumble, biting back a smile as he closes the passenger door for me, guiding me further out of the car. 

It’s confusing. We could’ve walked here, we’re at the same park in our neighborhood that we’ve been to before. 

The slight breeze ruffles at the fabric of my sweater. It’s a bit cold, but not enough to make my skin form goosebumps. 

Chris separates our hands slightly, pushing his fingers to braid through my own, his thumb swiveling over the back of my palm. 

God. 

Now I have goosebumps. 

“What’s the plan here, Chris?” I tease, slightly nudging his shoulder with my own. 

A slight huff of air muffles through his lips. I narrow my eyes as I watch his gaze trained in front of us, turning my attention to follow the direction of his stare. 

Oh.

My.

God. 

The sunset shimmering through the trees and foliage around us creates a beautiful glow on the scene in front of us. 

This park is rough, a bit abandoned and worn down. But none of the rusted metal and peeling paint on the playset takes away from how pretty everything looks. 

“Chris…how did you…” My mouth gapes, my eyes watering as I take in a shallow breath of air. 

“I, uh,” he starts, briefly licking over his lips. 

Looking over, I watch as he scratches the back of his neck while tilting his head down slightly. He clears his throat, turning his head to the side as he gives me a shy, yet joyful glance. 

“I asked Matt to help—but, it was my idea.” he points out. 

My lips lift at the corner as I hold back a laugh. Chris’ face flushes with a slight pink hue, his mouth tightening into a straight line as he grasps my hand tighter, pulling me to follow alongside as we walk further towards the playground equipment. 

“Do you, um, do you like it?” Chris asks, his voice fading as my ears start to ring. 

“Chris…I—” My mouth opens and smacks shut. A warm sensation crawls up my spine, behind my ears, and over my cheeks. 

It’s perfect. 

A couple feet in front of the swingset, there’s a picnic blanket covered with petals thrown across it. There’s a small canvas on the fabric surrounded by the petals in the shape of a heart. 

The image on the canvas makes my heart skip over a beat. 

It’s us.

Well—it’s two stick figures that kinda look like us. 

The people on the canvas are holding hands, slight reflections of each of our appearances noticeable in the design. One of the figures has an arrow with the label ‘Chris’ too. 

Plus, the other person on the canvas has an arrow with a question after the words, ‘my girl,’ and a blank checkbox next to it.

It’s stupid, it’s corny—but it’s absolutely perfect. 

“So…” Chris trails, squeezing my hand as I feel his eyes burn into the side of my face, “-what do you think?” he questions. 

I look over at him with a soft smile, crinkling my nose before I look back towards the canvas. On the edge of the blanket, there's a couple paint tubes and a paintbrush. 

“I think it needs an extra touch,” I say. 

Dropping his hand, I sit on the blanket before reaching out for the paint, completely ignoring the brush. The background of his painting is a plethora of an orange and pink sunset, so I opt to grab the purple paint. 

Squeezing the smallest amount, I rub the wet liquid on my thumb, smiling before leaning over and looking down at the canvas. 

“C’mere,” I mention, turning to give Chris a quick glance before doing anything else. My nose crinkles as he furrows his brows curiously, a smile etched on his face as he slowly sits on the blanket next to me.

Grabbing his hand, I push my paint-covered thumb onto the pad of his thumb. His smile softens as he watches me move, carefully placing my thumb print into the check box. 

Wordlessly, Chris offers me his hand, pushing his thumb out. I smile as his eyes shimmer with fond emotions leaking through the subtle way he blinks slower, taking his hand, carefully pressing his thumbprint on the canvas, somewhat overlapping it with my own to create a heart in the checkbox.

“Perfect.” I sigh, slowly straightening my posture while my legs are folded under me, Chris’ hand still in my own as he starts to tangle his fingers with mine. 

The subtle squeeze of his hand makes me look over. His eyes are hypnotizingly soft, yet intense. I gulp, my eyes widen as he licks between his lips. 

“-absolutely perfect.” he points, hinting at a double meaning as his gaze wanders over my face. 

Wet paint is still lingering on our fingers, but neither of us seem to care while we both hold onto each other's hands a little tighter.

[eff4freddie]

After She Left | Six

Words: 4.5k

Sarah's mom has arrived in Jackson, appearing at the gate injured and with two others in tow. You and Joel deal with the fall out the best way you can, with mixed results.

Chapter warnings: Slow burn. A heated but angsty kiss.

A/N: Thank you for your patience while I worked my way through some personal stuff. This is a shorter chapter and really just covers the immediate aftermath of Shauna's arrival in Jackson. We'll find out more about her and Joel's relationship once the dust settles.

Five | Series Masterlist | Seven

Joel had done a lot of things that had scared him over the years since the outbreak. He’d fought monsters only the most twisted of minds could dream up, had lost friends, had lost family. Had brought Ellie halfway across a dead country to eke out a life of safety. Had kissed you on the steps of the mess hall with your hair all pretty and your lips so red.

None of it was so terrifying as this moment, in Tommy’s tiny little office crammed off the back of the Town Hall, with his gut churning and his hands wringing endlessly in front of his chest.

It had been about as good of a marriage as it had been long. Thinking back on it now he could see they’d just been kids, basically. Barely out of high school, Joel working his first construction job while Shauna went to the community college, and he’d been so proud of her then, working the shift at the library in the mornings and earning all of about $4 an hour, up and reading all night. He’d loved her, he’d known that he had, and that was how he knew what she lost when she gave him Sarah, how abruptly her life changed, how the little screaming bundle of curls he loved in an instant took his wife away.

Tommy was eyeing him, he could feel the eyes of his little brother on him without even turning his head. He kept his eyes on Shauna, studying her face, tracing back the years, catching the threads of time as they slipped through his fingers. She was still pretty, but she was worn out. He supposed he was much the same.

‘The ambush, we weren’t prepared,’ one of the other men were saying, and Joel paid him little attention. Shauna was shivering, her wide brown eyes watching him as he did her, her arm held to her chest in its sling, dried blood on her collar. Almost on instinct he stepped forward and threw his jacket over her shoulders. She gave him the faintest hit of a smile.

‘You alright?’ he asked, quiet.

‘Joel…’ he heard Tommy say, and Joel knew that he was interrupting, that this was an interrogation and not a homecoming. But seeing her again was making him hear an echo of something long, long forgotten. That her eyes were so pretty. That her eyes were so like her daughter’s.

‘Can I see her?’ Shauna asked him, quiet and ignoring everyone else just as Joel was. Joel felt his brows crease, the look of confusion passing over his face.

‘We’d heard rumours of a town out here, a little bit of the real world behind a wall, but we weren’t trying to find you, I swear it,’ the second man was saying. Joel felt his stomach roll, his tongue drying out in the cavern of his mouth. Her, he realised. Shauna wanted to see her.

‘You pass by any infected?’ Tommy asked, moving into the centre of the room, trying to regain some sort of control while his big brother remained out of commission.

‘She’s…she’s…’ Joel tried to say, but couldn’t say it, not in this room and not in this moment, not with his ex-wife from twenty-five years ago wearing his jacket to keep out the cold. It didn’t make sense, the clashing of these worlds, of these times. He felt woozy with it, wondered if he needed a stiff drink or if that would just make it worse.

She was studying his face, expecting and scared and hopeful and surely she knew, surely she would have to figure it out just by the way words were failing him.

‘No infected, just the raiders,’ the second man replied.

‘You’ll have to quarantine,’ Tommy responded, and Joel could feel that he was letting things slip by him, that his brother probably needed him to back him up, needed to be a silent authority figure in the background, menacing and malevolent and just an arm’s length away from a rifle at all times.

‘We don’t even know if they’re staying,’ Maria was saying to Tommy.

‘We can’t throw ‘em out in the middle of the night. Not when it’s her,’ Tommy snapped. Joel could see Maria peering at him, at Shauna, trying to piece things together.

‘Sarah didn’t make it,’ Joel said, finally, settling on words that in no way conveyed the horror of that night, of the magnitude of it. The room around him went silent as the other inhabitants felt the weight shift, sensed a loss was in the room. Joel watched as Shauna’s face contracted into shock, then into disappointment, into sadness. Joel knew that look. Saw it most mornings in the mirror, his failure etched as it was into his skin.

‘When...?’ Shauna asked, her face turning ashen.

‘First night,’ Joel replied, not elaborating, finding himself completely unable to.

‘Oh.’ Shauna replied. She blinked, realising for the first time the rest of the room’s eyes were on her. ‘I thought when I saw you, maybe she…’

Joel shook his head, tried to shake the words loose, tried to knock them out of the air around him.

‘No,’ he said, simply. As if it would ever be that simple.

‘We’ll do whatever you need us to do, quarantine for as long as you like,’ the first man said, stepping towards Shauna, eyeing Joel carefully. Joel stared back at him, blankly.

‘I thought, sometimes, that maybe she was still out there, that maybe she was OK’ Shauna said, her eyes growing wet, finally turning her eyes to the floor. ‘It helped, sometimes, to think she was…just over the horizon.’

Joel swallowed, realising for the first time he had barely been breathing, felt the pull and ache of his chest.

‘Can’t do this now,’ he said, stepping back and turning to Tommy. ‘Can’t do this with her.’

His brother nodded, moving out of the way to give Joel a clear run at the door. Joel heard the snuffling, Shauna’s little gasps for air as he pushed the door open with his shoulder, not trusting the tremble in his hands, felt not for the first time that he had failed to keep Sarah tethered to him, to the living. Had borne witness to another loss of her, had lost her all over again.

--

Your first thought had been the kids, the alarms bringing prom to a crashing halt. You wanted to make some kind of stupid joke about how all proms ended in disaster one way or another, but it didn’t feel right, and instead you braced your cheeks into a smile and rounded them up in the town square, assuring them all they were still safe, that it was in hand. They had all seen Tommy and a couple of the council walk the new arrivals at gunpoint to the town hall. You weren’t sure if it was reassuring. You watched Ellie watch Joel, the way his shoulders tensed before he seemed to collapse in on himself, his little brother whispering urgently in his ear.

‘Who is that lady?’ Mika asked you, and you looked to Ellie for answers. She shrugged, and you the worry on her face.

‘It’s all in hand,’ you said, pulling Mika’s jacket tighter over his shoulders and spying his mother in the crowd. ‘Go on now, it’s past your bedtime anyway.’

‘I don’t gotta bed time,’ Mika replied, defiant to the last. You smiled, genuinely, at him.

‘I don’t believe that for a second, but lets talk about it Monday.’

You turned to Ellie. ‘Do you want to stay with me tonight?’ you asked, and she looked at you in alarm.

‘Why, is this bad?’ she asked, and you shook your head.

‘No, it’s fine, everyone is safe…it’s just that…’ you glanced over her shoulder to where the strangers had been frogmarched. ‘…that looks like it might take a while, and it’s already getting late.’

‘I can handle shit without Joel,’ Ellie huffed at you, and for a moment she looked so much like your sister you had to close your eyes, blink the memory out of them.

‘OK,’ you said, hands raised. ‘I just thought if you wanted company…listen, any time you want to come around you can, I don’t mind.’

Ellie thought for a second, following your gaze to the town hall. There wasn’t any shouting, any sounds of distress. It was likely safe, you knew that. You watched her calculate.

‘I can come by in the morning. I’ll come by to check on you,’ she offered. You felt a warmth in your chest.

‘I’d really appreciate that, thanks Ellie,’ you said. She nodded at you, happier now that her role as protector was assured.

‘Good night,’ she said. You watched as she turned back to her house, her eyes on the town hall the whole way, missing the way Dina watched after her until she disappeared out of view.

You took your hands out of your pockets to examine the tremble that you knew had nothing to do with cold. Something wasn’t sitting right, something heavy and hard on your chest, and you had to keep moving to shift it, had to keep jumping from one foot or the other to stop it settling on the bones and collapsing your sternum. She’s Sarah’s mom. You replayed it in your head over and over, heard Tommy’s voice echoing in your mind more than your own. She’s Sarah’s mom. Why did he look so shocked by that? Why did he immediately search for Joel?

You weren’t going to sleep, and you didn’t want to go home just to bounce against the walls on your own. You turned, the gate rearing up in front of you.

Billy greeted you with a grunt when you rounded the top of the ladder.

‘Not a great outfit for watching,’ he said, and you looked down at Maria’s dress, noticed a run in your stockings. You felt like you should have been cold but you weren’t, heat on your cheeks and burning in your belly.

‘Figured I might as well help out, make sure that’s all of them,’ you said.

‘I don’t wanna sleep neither,’ Billy said, turning back to the horizon.

‘What happened?’ you asked, fumbling for the old pair of binoculars, the set you preferred for its leather strap. You scanned the treeline, looking for movement in the dark.

‘Just emerged from the left,’ Billy said, motioning to the riverside. You focussed your binoculars and looked for tracks in the dirt, as if you could count the sets from this distance. ‘Come out waving, weren’t sneaking up on us. Were looking for my attention.’

‘For help?’ you asked, and Billy grunted. ‘The woman is hurt,’ you said.

‘Patrol’s going out at first light, check out that way, make sure it’s not an ambush.’

‘Trojan horse,’ you said, quietly.

‘Yeah, they’ll take a few of the horses, right enough,’ Billy said, and you smiled, privately.

‘You did some good work, Billy,’ you said, turning to him and examining his side profile. You had no idea how old he was, being that the apocalypse tended to age everyone ten years in a day, but you had to guess he was in his 60s. He’d been the one to open the gate for you on that first day you’d arrived, and he’d done it without suspicion and without fanfare, and all these years you had wanted to ask him why, why he didn’t interrogate, why he didn’t hesitate, but you weren’t sure what his answer would be so you preferred instead to believe that he’d seen something in you, that you’d reminded him of a lost relative, maybe even a daughter, that he had seen in you no ill will, no thirst for destruction. That he had just liked you, without being able to say why, but that alone was enough to let you in.

‘Ah, they practically came to me,’ he said, and you knew that the compliment had made him uncomfortable. He went quiet, turning to examine the right side.  ‘You ever see Tommy move that fast?’ he asked, after a while. You shook your head.

‘Scares me a little,’ you said, flexing your fingers to try and get the shakes out.

‘Mmhmm,’ Billy replied.

You heard footsteps approaching the gate, heavy and fast, but Billy had heard them first and was calling down the ladder. ‘We locked down,’ he called, his voice firm in the quiet of the night.

‘Let me out, Billy,’ Joel’s unmistakable voice grunted out, and you felt a flip in your tummy. You couldn’t see him from this angle, but you could picture him standing at the gate, one knee cocked to the side and his hands on his hips.

You watched Billy’s shoulders slump. He didn’t want to get into it, not at what had to be close to 2 in the morning and definitely not with Big Bad Joel Miller at the bottom of the ladder.

‘Can’t, council orders,’ Billy replied, swallowing. You swore you could hear Joel roll his eyes. ‘For everyone’s safety, y’understand,’ Billy went on.

‘I gotta check the perimeter, make sure…figure out if it was them.’

‘Patrol’s going out in the morning, talk to your brother about going out then.’

‘Ain’t waiting for them,’ Joel grunted. You shuffled over peer down at him, leaning over the railing to spy him without him seeing you.

‘Y’know I can’t let you-’

‘GODDAMNIT,’ Joel yelled, loud enough to knock snow off the highest peak and cause an avalanche to bury the whole sorry lot of you. ‘Let me out Billy, or I swear to God I will shoot my way out.’

‘It’s dark, Joel,’ you said, reacting with your spinal cord to the sound of his distress, stepping onto the first rung of the ladder and practically sliding your way to the ground. When you turned he was pacing, glaring at you. A wild animal, caged.

‘Don’t, not with you,’ he said, a sneered little warning that you immediately ignored.

‘It’s late, Joel, and it’s dark. You won’t see anything.’

‘I need to check the perimeter,’ he said, again, the muscles in his neck straining to contain his frustration, his fear.

‘We’re watching the treeline,’ you said, trying to appease him, and he paced again, three steps left and three steps right, both the pistol and the hair trigger.

‘Listen to me,’ he said, rounding on you with dark eyes, flinty and sharp. You saw it, then. Big Bad Joel Miller. You swallowed, willed yourself not to break his gaze. ‘There was something out there, weeks ago, you remember?’

You nodded, reminding yourself to relax your shoulders, to harden yourself to him.

‘There were tracks, within the perimeter, and I couldn’t tell how many sets…but I was damn sure there was more than one.’

You figured you just needed to keep him talking, that if he kept yelling at you at least he wasn’t trying to rip apart the gate with his teeth.

‘It was something, I fuckin’ told Gollum it was something. I don’t even know if it was them! But I gotta see, I gotta check it out.’

‘Joel, they’re patrolling first light…’ you tried, but he turned his shoulder to you, focusing back on the gate.

‘And if it wasn’t them then, who got to ‘em?’ he asked, but this time he was talking almost entirely to himself. ‘Who nearly took her? Who busted her arm?’ he said, after a long moment. You watched as the crack emerged up his middle, all of the anger starting to seep away. He turned back towards you, eyes on the ground and his brows saddled, his face nearing collapse.

‘Who is she, Joel?’ you asked, stepping in to his space to try and get him to look at you, wanting to put your arms around him, hold him close to you, tremble and shake against each other, let the friction arc bolts of lightning into the dark above your heads. He shook his head, but you took another step forward. ‘Who is Sarah?’ you asked, and gasped when his eyes snapped to you, his whole body rearing up on you like a snake leaping for its prey.

‘Not you,’ he said, and you swallowed, felt the tears welling up hot and desperate and pathetic behind your eyes. He gripped you by the biceps, almost but not quite hard enough to bruise. ‘You don’t say her name.’

You could hear your breath, high and tight, feel the pull across your throat. His eyes bore into you, and this close to him you could smell his cologne, watch his jaw tic as he gripped his fear in his teeth.

‘Joel,’ you whimpered, not scared of him, knowing in your heart he would never hurt you, but nevertheless feeling him slipping from you, watching him retract, the warmth gone in his eyes.

‘She doesn’t exist in this world, not with you,’ he said, again, and you found yourself nodding, not understanding, trying frantically to agree, to acquiesce, to pull him back from the cliff if you could only fucking see the jagged shore. 

‘Who is she, Joel?,’ you asked, and he pulled you in then, one hand wrapping to press into your back so that you crashed into him, his lips soft and quivering, little whimpers catching in his throat as he kissed you, pushed his tongue to open you, let you taste it, the terror and the grief, the loss of her, the acid and the sour, the acridity at the core of him, clambering up into his throat.

He pitched his anchor, prayed it would catch somewhere in you, that you would tug on the line and reel him in, pull him ashore and wipe the seawater from his eyes.

Blood splashed over a pink and purple tee-shirt. Curls caked with blood and mud.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, reality closing back in on him, the wash of the brine gathering at your ankles. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, because he wasn’t sure what he was sorry for except for all of it, because he couldn’t feel anything except for a pervasive remorse, just that everything had changed because nothing had, because Shauna was back and he had lost Sarah all over again when she did, twenty years and this one day saddled with her ghost. Because he was going to hurt you, even though he desperately didn’t want to, because you were so warm and you burned so bright and he was going to steal it from you, tuck it away between his ribs and cauterise his wounds with it. Because it wasn’t fair on you, so soft and so pretty and so snug in his arms. Because he wanted you, and because that never led anywhere he should be going. Not for him. Never for him.

You felt his grip loosen, felt him withdraw and step back. If you kept your eyes closed you could feel the linger of his kiss, of the scratch of his beard on your cheeks. If you kept your eyes closed you could still hear him, his gasps as he kissed you, the rustle of his jacket as he moved his arm to circle your back. If you kept your eyes closed you could ignore the sound of his receding footsteps, not have to see his back retreat from you as he hurried away.

--

Rose was the good sister, you knew this. There were times when you would have happily snapped her neck just to keep her quiet, others when you would have razed an entire township to the ground if anyone looked at her funny. You were her protector, her older sister, and you knew the moment she arrived squawking and indignant into the world that she was your reason. Keep her safe. Keep her alive. Keep her free.

It meant that while you were off making the tough decisions, off fighting the bullies back, off coming up with lies to feed her teachers as to why she was late to class again, she was in the world sweet, and loving, and open. Crying over dead baby birds in the driveway. Throwing still-wrapped granola bars into the trash in the belief that somehow it would get to a homeless person who needed it more. Doling out second chances to boys who hurt her like her pillow wasn’t saturated to the fibres with her tears.

She was better than you, kinder. When she was gone you struggled without a reason, still did on nights like this. You used to think her gentle nature was a weakness, and the last twenty years had shown you how wrong you were. That the strength she took to bend would have broken so many others. Including you.

You lay in your bed, listening for more alarms even as the sun rose over the mountain. You didn’t need Joel. You didn’t need anyone. Had got this far on your own. Thought back to the months you spent wondering on your own, no place to go, surviving just out of habit. That it led you to Tommy in the middle of the night, then to Jackson, then to home.

You were lonely but you were also used to it. You were forgetting the privilege loneliness was while others fought for their lives, for the safety you had enjoyed now for years. Selfishly held to your chest and then neglected the gift you had been given at the end of the world. You tossed and turned in your sheets, each side of your pillow too hot on your skin. If you had stripped off your shirt and examined your back in a mirror you wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see scorch marks where Joel had held you.

You weren’t Rose. So much of your life was proof of that.

--

The patrol came back the next morning reporting clear perimeters. You weren’t on the wall, but you heard the ripples of relief, felt the shift in the air as the town relaxed around you. If it was just the three of them, Shauna and the two men, and maybe they really had been just desperate and in need of help. Maybe there really was no threat. Maybe now the town could catch its breath. 

You weren’t really expecting to see Ellie, assumed that she would be subsumed in the chaos of the night before, so you were genuinely surprised when she knocked on your door. 

‘Promised to check in,’ she said, but she looked tired, and you wondered how much sleep she’d had, her alabaster skin already pale but ghostly now, in the warming morning light.

‘You want a coffee?’ you asked, leading her into your kitchen.

‘Blech, no fuckin’ way,’ she replied.

‘Did Joel…did you speak to Joel?’ you asked, and she half-nodded, half-shrugged.

‘He wasn’t exactly talkative,’ Ellie said, and you nodded. You had been coping on so little sleep but now suddenly with a teenager in your kitchen you felt the pull of gravity on your muscles. Your eyes stung, dry and swollen.

Ellie watched you as you hovered by the fridge. You felt like you should be fixing her something, but you were finding it impossible to. You looked in your pantry, unseeing. Eyed the apple you’d had sitting in your fruit bowl for at least the last week.

‘Not exactly talkative. That doesn’t sound like him,’ you half joked, and you watched as Ellie smiled, weakly at you.

‘I mean, it makes sense, it’s a big deal,’ she said, and you felt yourself stiffen. ‘I mean, if the mother of my dead daughter showed up unannounced I’d be…’

You didn’t notice Ellie had stopped talking, that she had come to your side to steady you, that you were swaying a little beside your kitchen counter.

‘He…daughter?’ you asked and watched as the panic spread across Ellie’s face.

‘Oh shit,’ she said, ‘he didn’t tell you.’ You shook your head. ‘He didn’t fuckin’ tell me either, if that makes you feel any better,’ she said, and it did, sort of.

‘I mean, he doesn’t have to tell me anything,’ you said, but you were barely hearing yourself, barely aware of the words even as your mouth formed them.

‘It was…the first day of the outbreak,’ Ellie went on. ‘She was 14.’

You shuddered, a chill running up your spine. ‘Oh, Ellie,’ you said, but she was waving you off.

‘Trust me, I’ve been there already, done the whole dead-daughter replacement thing. It’s not that, I don’t think.’

‘He cares about you so deeply,’ you reassured her, agreed with her, and you watched as the teenage girl in front of you nodded in understanding.

‘I know he does.’

‘He’d do anything.’

‘I know he would, I think he already has,’ she said.

You barely heard her, your brain still trying to catch up, running back over all of your conversations with him, all of the moments in the kitchen, of him cooking for you and insisting you stay to eat, of his loitering and interrupting your tutoring, of his terror for Ellie, of his need to keep his eye always on the horizon because of it.

You wanted to go to him, wrap yourself around him, tuck yourself under his chin and make him promise you it wouldn’t change things. Knew that it would never be the same, knew that your kiss last night was a goodbye, knew that you had felt it then but hadn’t wanted to admit it to yourself. That he had gripped you like his life depended on it, crashed his mouth into yours to try and hold onto a reality already slipping from his grasp.

‘Don’t think they were together when it happened,’ Ellie supplied. ‘He never talked about her.’ Your ears were ringing. You pinched your nostrils shut and blew. It didn’t lessen it. Why didn’t it lessen it? ‘I’m really sorry,’ Ellie said.

You wanted to hold his face in your hands and tell him he was a good Dad. That you saw that in him when you looked at Ellie. You wanted to turn your back on all of it, on him and Ellie and fucking Shauna, wanted to put miles and miles between you and Jackson. Wanted to be with Rose and your Mum and Dad, wanted to lift your hand to the sky and have them take it.

You realised you hadn’t said anything in a while, looking over at Ellie to realise with considerable alarm that she was comforting you, that you were the adult but that she was the one trying to keep you both on the rails.

What would Rose do? Think of that, then do the opposite.  

You swallowed, standing up straight and ignoring the way the room swam.

‘It’s going to be OK,’ you announced, to the both of you, turning to the fridge and pulling out supplies to make a sandwich, the ingredients of which you would figure out any minute. ‘You hungry?’ you asked.

‘It definitely is going to be OK,’ Ellie said, eying your back with concern. You turned to her with a block of cheese and a loaf of bread in your hand, and she nodded at you in case you snapped and bludgeoned her to death with it.

‘If it helps, I think he really liked you,’ she supplied.

It didn’t.

Taglist (let me know if you want me to add you)

@harriedandharassed

@vickie5446

@kaseyconnour

@orcasoul

@missladym1981

@spacesoutdaydreamer

@tangled-tumbler-blog-blog

@fancyyoouu

@anoverwhelmingdin

@millersamour

@delicatetrashtree

[taoriyu]

Not Alone [Mizu x Reader]

============ Rating: G Pairing: Mizu x Reader Description: After a close encounter in battle where you narrowly avoided a fatal blow, Mizu is now tending to your wounds with utmost care. No warnings here. Just Mizu being sweet and kind to reader.

Also: The wakizashi is a shorter sword, often paired with the katana. Together, they are referred to as the daishō, which means "big-little" (pair). That sword was usually used for battles in narrow spaces and also could be used by archers to defend themselves.

Kyudo is one of these traditional martial arts that was both a practical skill and a spiritual discipline during the Edo period.

Yugake is a glove that was used to protect archer’s hand and aid in releasing the string.

Let's gooooooo

============

This is it, you thought, unsheathing your wakizashi and pointing it toward the samurai before you. Distant sounds of battle echoed down the hill, where Mizu and Tigen were fighting fiercely. If you want to win this battle, cut off their support, which is you.

Collect yourself, daughter of a samurai, you commanded silently, assessing the situation. Your wakizashi was at a disadvantage against his katana in the open field. His longer reach and powerful strikes posed a significant threat. Possible strategies: close the distance quickly, parry, and counterattack with speed. As your father's daughter, you were taught not only to dance and cook but also the warrior arts: sword fighting and kyudo. It was unusual for a girl to be trained as a warrior, but your family's proximity to the shogunate and their unique status afforded you rare opportunities.

“Argh!” The samurai leaped towards you with a loud growl, his katana aimed at chest level. You stepped to his right, where his leverage for a strike was weaker, narrowly avoiding the blade and making a swift cut, only to graze his skin as he dodged.

He feinted left and swung his katana in a brutal horizontal slash. You ducked, feeling the air whoosh above your head, and immediately countered with an upward slice aimed at his exposed side. The samurai twisted away, but not before your blade bit into his flesh, drawing a line of crimson across his ribs.

He growled in pain and rage, lunging forward with a series of rapid strikes. You parried desperately, each clash of steel sending vibrations up your arm. Your wakizashi felt like an extension of your body, moving instinctively to block and counter. Sweat dripped into your eyes, stinging and blurring your vision.

You saw an opening and thrust your wakizashi toward his chest, but he deflected it with a swift twist of his wrist. The force of his parry threw you off balance, and you stumbled back, barely keeping your footing. He pressed his advantage, raining down blows that you could barely deflect.

He's quick, but I must be quicker, you thought, controlling your breath. He prepared for another leap.

—

A sickening sound of choking on his own blood marked the last foe's fall. The battle for Mizu and Tigen ended, surprisingly without injury. Mizu sheathed her sword, a sudden realization striking her mind. She looked at Tigen, seeing the same concern mirrored on his face.

“How long has she stopped shooting?” she asked, sprinting toward the hill without waiting for an answer. Tigen followed closely behind.

—

A wild swing from the samurai left him momentarily off-balance. This is my chance, you thought. Seizing the moment, you stepped inside his guard, aiming your wakizashi at his guts. Just as your sword was about to cut the flesh, a sharp pain erupted in your thigh. You screamed and stumbled, your vision blurring momentarily.

The samurai's katana descended in a lethal arc. You raised your wakizashi to block, but his strength was overwhelming. The force of his strike sent shocks through your arm, and his blade bit into your shoulder. Pain exploded through you, a searing heat that made you growl in agony. You felt the katana pressing against your collarbone, threatening to break it.

Desperation fueled your movements as you pushed back with all your might, trying to keep the blade at bay. Your vision tunneled, focusing on the deadly edge just inches from your neck. You could feel your strength waning, every muscle trembling with effort.

Suddenly, a metallic clink rang out. The pressure on your shoulder lessened, and the samurai's weight shifted. He collapsed to his knees, his grip on the katana loosening. Behind him stood Mizu and Tigen, their expressions fierce and determined.

Relief washed over you as you pushed the katana away and fell back, cradling your injured shoulder. The pain was sharp and unrelenting, but you knew you were safe. Tigen quickly knelt beside you, lifting you gently from the ground.

“Let’s get you back and stitch you up,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s faster this way,” he added, moving swiftly towards your camp. Mizu followed, carrying your bow and a yugake, her eyes never leaving your wounded form.

—

Your camp was set on the edge of a small forest. By a stroke of luck, an abandoned warrior's tent had been left behind, serving your purposes perfectly. As darkness began to creep across the sky, the glow of the campfire and the lamp inside the tent grew brighter. Mizu sat close to the fire, frowning, idly fingering a blade of grass as she waited for Tigen, who had volunteered to gather more wood for the fire. She glanced through her tinted glasses towards the tent, where Ringo was tending to your wounds. A slight pout appeared on her face, accentuating her fatigue and adding a hint of compassion to her eyes. She stood and approached the tent.

“Ringo, it’s me. May I come in?” Mizu’s voice was soft, filled with concern.

“Sure, master,” Ringo responded, glancing up briefly. “I just finished with the leg cut, but I still need to stitch the shoulder.”

Mizu entered the tent quietly. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of herbs and salves. You lay on a makeshift bed, your face pale from pain and exhaustion. Ringo worked methodically, his hands steady as he cleaned and dressed your leg wound. Mizu’s presence calm and soothing. She knelt beside you, gently brushing a strand of hair from your forehead.

“Let me do the shoulder. Meanwhile, you could organize some dinner for us,” she reasoned, her eyes meeting yours with a reassuring warmth. “We need to keep our strength up.”

“Yes, master. He knows how to stitch, so don’t worry,” Ringo assured you, propping your leg on the mattress. He then bowed and left to prepare the meal.

Mizu took Ringo's place, her touch gentle yet firm as she shifted the edge of your kosode and examined your shoulder wound. “You’ve been so brave,” she murmured, reaching for a needle and thread. “This might sting a little, but I promise I’ll be quick. I’ll guide your breath. Inhale. Exhale slowly.”

As she began to stitch, her hands moved with practiced precision. She spoke softly, her words a balm to your frayed nerves. “Remember the time you and Ringo tried to cook that enormous fish we caught? Exhale. It was so big, we could barely lift it.”

You winced as the needle pierced your skin, but Mizu's voice kept you grounded. “You insisted we could do it ourselves, even though the fish was almost as long as you were tall. Exhale. Ringo dropped it twice, and you almost fell into the river trying to save it. Exhale. And when we finally got it on the fire, it flopped off and we had to chase it down the hill.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite the pain. “We ended up with fish stew instead of grilled fish,” you said, your voice weak but amused.

Mizu laughed softly. “Exhale. Yes, and it was the best fish stew we ever had, because we made it together. Just like we’ll get through this together. And when we do, I’ll make sure you have the finest tea and sweets to celebrate.”

With the final stitch in place, she carefully bandaged your shoulder. “There, all done,” she said, smoothing the bandage with a tender touch. “Now rest. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of.”

She stayed by your side, her presence a comforting anchor in the dim light of the tent. Outside, the sounds of the camp settling in for the night mixed with the crackling of the fire and chattering of your friends, a reminder that despite the hardships, you were not alone.

[iwasabs]

THIN WALLS

hatefucks are the best way to make up after a fight. you gotta follow your instincts, even next to a room filled with your friends

pairing miya atsumu x fem!reader

content contains rough sex, oral sex, vaginal sex, fingering, semi-public sex, abrasion kink, asphyxiation kink, praise kink, possessive characters, jealousy, slight age gap (feel free to add anything i missed in the comments)

A.N. THIS IS A POST HIGH SCHOOL SCENARIO, CHARACTERS ARE 18+. please read the informations above carefully. if ANY of the contents triggers you, DO NOT read this post. if you're a minor, please scroll. requests on my blog are open.

The noise of the ball slamming on the ground and the screams of joy echoing throughout the gym won't stop pounding your head. The friendly match has been going on for the past hour and a half. As a manager, you're sitting on the bleachers with your team, Inarizaki, and Nekoma and Fukurodani. Every time you glance at Atsumu, you clench your fists harder, remembering the little encounter he had earlier. You've never been the jealous type, the main reason being you never had a relationship this serious, but also the fact that you always dated nerdy guys who weren't that much on the cute side.

Three years ago, at the beginning of your first year, you met Atsumu. He was five years older than you and everybody knew him because of his undeniable volleyball skills that brought so much fame to your school and his innate charm. He's one handsome motherfucker. You two are the definition of she fell first, he fell harder. Being older than you, he didn't really notice you three years ago, but, when you contacted him as a manager earlier this year, he couldn't help but notice how well you grew up. As soon as you turned eighteen, six months ago, you started dating. Since then, you have to push back girls and boys with a bat, because your boyfriend surely doesn't go unnoticed. Now that he's the official setter of MSBY, he and his teammates offered to host matches in their gym every now and then to play against the Inarizaki team and raise the bar. As soon as the news spread, these matches have been crowded with fans. It's a shame the MSBY gym is enormous because it's getting almost impossible for you to contain your boyfriend's groupies.

Today, things have reached a new low point. Usually, people stop at comments about his beauty or his muscles, but earlier, you witnessed a gut-wrenching scene: a girl, probably a couple years older than you, whispered something in Atsumu's ear, then took a picture of the both of them, fiercely touching your boyfriend's bicep. With steam coming out your ears, you ran towards them, clearing your throat.

'You should head to the field, baby. We'll start training in a few minutes.' you said, crossing your arms under your chest and glaring at the skank. She willingly ignored you, pressing a kiss on Atsumu's cheek and waving him goodbye.

He must've heard the sound of your blood boiling, because he tried to say something, but you pushed him away and sprinted to the field.

So now you're here, sitting on the bleachers, enraged with your boyfriend because he's too hot to walk on this earth. When the match ends, both teams sit in a circle, discussing the game together. Your intense staring activity gets interrupted by a first-year student, whose name you never remember, who slightly taps your shoulder to get your attention. He's a very shy guy, but you were told he's got the biggest crush on you, so you always try to be nice.

'Y/n s-senpai, I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to thank you for your help with my English class. I passed the test' he stutters, eyes on the ground.

You let out a scream of joy, getting a few people's attention, then jump on your feet and hug the guy tightly. He's shorter than you, so his face is basically squashed between your generous boobs. you smile at his flustered cheeks and wave at him, watching as he literally runs away. A weird feeling on the back of your head makes you turn around, facing Atsumu's face. Every crumb of anger disappears when you notice he's clenching his jaw so hard he'll probably break a tooth. Unlike you, he was born jealous. Even when his teammates and best friends spoke to you, he couldn't stand it.

Totally ignoring him, you turn you back on him and wait outside.

After getting takeout food and drinks, you head to Bokuto's house to spend some time with Atsumu's friends. You two haven't spoke to eachother since the skank-incident and everybody noticed a little tension. When your boyfriend has the audacity to sit next to you on the couch and rest his hand on your inner thigh, you quickly get up.

'What the hell do you think you're doing, Miya?' you try to keep your voice down so you don't cause a scene in front of everybody.

'What do you think? I'm trying to touch my girl, who's been ignoring me the whole day.' his tone is louder, so everybody turns around.

'I'm not doing this with you.' you say grabbing your purse.

You hear Atsumu calling you multiple times, but you ignore him and proceed to greet the others. You're about to hug Bokuto when Atsumu suddenly grabs your arm and tries to stop you from leaving.

'C'mon baby. What's going on?' he says in a softer voice.

'I'm not your baby. I'm sure that whore left you her number, so feel free to call her and leave me alone' you say, basically screaming. you hear the others' giggles, so you try to pull away, but Atsumu picks you up, resting his palm on your butt.

'Leave me alone, you perv!' you scream hitting his back.

He fixes you on his shoulder and takes you to the kitchen, slamming the door.

'What the fuck do you think you're doing, y/n. Why are you acting like a baby?' he says with a confused and slightly annoyed tone.

'Me? A baby? Atsumu, do you know how tiring can be being with you?' you push his chest.

'Everyday a new threat, always somebody around you, complimenting and touching you' you push his chest again.

'I'm tired, Atsumu. I'm fucking tired.' you start punching his chest, until he grabs your wrists and stops you, pushing you against the kitchen counter.

'You're so worried about people around me, but what about you, uh?' he hisses.

You give him a confused look. He runs his finger on your throat, then squeezes your cheeks with his big, calloused hand, forcing you to look at him.

'You always run around in this flimsy shirt so those suckers you go to school with can't help but look at your boobs. And you put on this ridiculously short skirt and these stockings that could turn on a dead man. Always smiling at everybody, playing with your hair or biting your nails when you're annoyed.' he whispers in your ear, his hand lowering to squeeze your neck.

'W-what are you talking about' you say and he tightens his grip. You slightly arch your back, getting aroused and feeling Atsumu's grin in the crook of your neck. He knows you like it. In a split second, he spins you around, grabbing your hair in his fist.

'Do you like that loser you hugged on the bleachers today?' he whispers again. You grin. Let's play.

'He's cute' you answer. He pulls your hair and you let out a moan. He presses himself into you and you feel him hardening.

'Do you think he could fuck you the way I do?' he asks, spreading his hand on your belly, pushing your body harder against his.

'I don't know, but I'm sure he can't wait to' you smugly reply. In a heartbeat, his hand shifts from your belly to your stockings, ripping them apart. He touches your panties and lets out a bold laugh.

'Are you getting wet while we fight, y/n?' he asks, biting your earlobe.

You don't answer, so he moves your panties to the side and with no warning enters you with two fingers. You let out a loud moan, so he covers your mouth with his hand.

'Oh, come on baby. Do you want everybody to hear how I fuck this little brat attitude out of your body? Be a good girl and let me use your little pussy.'

He grabs your neck again, pumping two fingers in and out your wet core. You try to grab the counter to stabilise yourself, but he brings your body back, resting it on his chest. The moment he adds a third finger, you feel your knees weaken.

' 'tsumu' you moan.

'What, baby?'

'Please.' you whine, moving your hips to add friction.

'So eager to come on my fingers, aren't you, little one?'

You whimper, nodding your head. He fucks you with his fingers deeper and deeper, until he touches that soft, spongey spot that gives you the most pleasure. A powerful orgasm reaches every end of your limbs, making you shiver. You look at the ground, where a puddle of clear liquid is staining the floor. You flinch and cover your mouth, trying to get away from Atsumu, but your legs still feel numb, so you trip. Atsumu catches you immediately, spinning you around.

'Look at you, princess. You squirted for me like a good girl. You don't have to be ashamed of yourself.' he says, caressing your cheeks, his fingers still soaked in your juices.

You look down, embarrassed, when you notice his prominent hard-on. He chuckles.

'Would you mind helping me with that?' he asks with a cocky smile, rubbing your cheek. You grab his hand, guiding his fingers into your mouth and sucking on them. His expression suddenly changes, his eyes shining with mischief.

'On your knees, little one' he says, and you instantly drop on the ground, your stockings getting drenched in your squirt. You carefully pull his sweats down and free him of his underwear. His cock bounces on your nose and you grab it with both hands, unable to circle it with only one palm. You give it a couple strokes, spreading the precum leaks with your thumb. While circling the tip, you give it wet kitten licks, tasting his aphrodisiac flavour. One of you hands automatically moves to his balls, the other one still stroking his length, while you put him in your mouth. You feel his breath hitching, his hands pressed on the counter. You slowly start moving your head up and down, reaching half of his shaft, stroking with your hand where your mouth can’t reach.

‘Princess please, try harder. Need you to swallow my cock’ he says, biting his lips. You try to suck deeper, but you gag on his girth, making him even harder. You pull him out with a loud pop, inhaling some air while still coughing.

‘ ‘m sorry baby I can’t, you’re too big.’ you say, cleaning the mix of precum and saliva from your mouth. Atsumu grabs your hair and guides your mouth back to his cock.

‘One more time baby, c’mon’ he asks slowly guiding your head up and down. After a couple seconds you gag again.

‘Don’t stop, little one. I need you pretty mouth now.’ he says with a voice so sensual you feel like the most beautiful girl on heart. You ignore the gag and keep sucking on his cock. You feel him growing impatient, moving your head faster, until he’s unable to control himself anymore and starts moving his hips. He quickly speeds up his tempo, fucking your mouth with his whole cock. Every time he slams on the back of your throat, he speeds up, shamelessly moaning. You’ve always loved how vocal he can get when he feels pleasure.

‘So hot and wet. My little princess. ‘mh f-fuck- taking me so- ‘mhg- so well, choking on my dick.’

The room is filled with your gagging sounds and his moans. You feel his heavy balls tighten.

‘Close your eyes, baby’ he says. After a couple seconds, you feel his cum dripping down your throat and filling your mouth. You plan to swallow every drop of it, but Atsumu pulls out, grabbing his cock with his hand and coming allover you face, covering your cheeks, lips and forehead in thick ropes of white cum. He grabs you from the ground and drops you on the counter. He slowly gathers every drop of his cum from your face, making you suck it from his fingers. You look at him with the biggest doe eyes, instantly feeling him hard again.

‘What are you doing to me’ he says, resting his forehead on yours. you cup his face with your hands.

‘Fuck me’ you tell him with the most innocent look.

He doesn’t waste a second spreading you legs and, hand on his cock, guiding himself inside you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, slamming his whole cock inside your cunt, balls deep. You scream in both pain and pleasure, grabbing the skin of his back and scratching it. He gets harder at the slight pain caused by your scratches, so he starts moving inside you with a soft pace, that quickly speeds up, fiercely thrusting inside you. He covers your neck in bites and hickeys. Still weak from the precious orgasm, you become a blabbering mess, holding onto him for dear life.

‘ mhg- g-god, ple-please daddy’ you whimper. Hearing you call him daddy makes him spin you around, chest on the counter. He’s now pounding inside you with a wild strength, your boobs spilling out your bra. You don’t usually call him that, but it’s not the first time you notice he likes it.

‘ ‘m gonna fill you s- mhn fuck- so much you’ll have my babies, belly so big everybody will know how well i stuffed you. F-fuck- be so fucking good taking care of our children.’

He grabs your hair with one hand, using the other to cup your boob. The powerful thrusts and the obscene sound of his balls slapping your butt are the last straw that gives you the second orgasm of the night. Atsumu fucks your sensitive pussy until he comes too, spilling inside you.

He grabs your hips and helps you sitting on the counter, with your boobs still out of your bra, your ripped stockings and cum dripping down your legs. He squeezed his cock back into his underwear, adjusting his pants. He grabs your leg, taking off your stockings and throwing them in the bin. He cleans your legs and the floor, while you fix your hair and your shirt. Once he’s done, he looks at you, positioning himself back between your legs. He kisses you, resting his hand on your cheek. You stroke his hair and moan into his mouth.

‘Princess if you go on like this i’m gonna get hard again’ he says, grabbing you by the hips and putting you back on the ground. He rests his hands on your shoulders, guiding you back to the living room, where everybody’s staring at the both of you with smiles and grins.

‘y/n, i’m so sorry about your stockings’ Bokuto says, making everybody laugh.

‘I-Im going to the bathroom’ you say embarrassed, knowing that everybody heard how much you like to be fucked by Atsumu. You kiss your boyfriend on the lips, then head to the bathroom, while he slaps your butt before sinking on the couch with a satisfied smile.

[varilien]

(character uses they/it) i keep wanting to start posting my ocs over here again and then Just Not Doing It so uhhhh !!! some stuff from february, had a dream about knives that made me think of a plant oc with a constant power output so extreme that it generates a deadly radiation field around them. because of that they've been living alone this whole time, avoiding contact with other living things, and over the years they've learned how to suppress that output for short spans of time or "safely" pour out the excess in order to be safe to be around, though they ultimately prefer their solitude due to a history of bad experiences with humans. they're very blunt, spiteful, and curious

@whatever-you-can-give-me suggested lr would make good friends for them since they are 🤝 about being extremely hard to hurt lol

also! wrote like 2k about they and razlo's first meeting below the cut if anyone's interested in some good ol violence + gore :3

that was a fr content warning btw read at ur own discretion:

Chance encounters with violent strangers out in the open desert are nothing new to LR, even when Livio purposefully had tried to find the quietest possible route to travel.  It’s not even necessarily surprising to run into someone a little to the left of human, someone a bit bigger or stronger or more durable than they really have any right to be.  The Eye aren’t the only ones designing freaks on this planet, that much is obvious, evidenced sufficiently by the odder fights LR have ever gotten in.  

And this one is shaping up to be one of their oddest fights yet.

Livio hadn’t seen the fucker coming, occupied as he was with the slow realization of why this stretch of road doesn’t see much use anymore: a creeping heat across his nerve endings unrelated to the overcast, evening suns, the taste of metal in his mouth, and a deep-rooted nausea twisting up his guts.  Radiation sickness.  He’s dealt with it before, and as unpleasant as it is, it’s hardly enough to slow him down too bad.  

It’s damn distracting, though.  A good enough excuse for not noticing them hiding up along the rockface above his head.  Not a good enough excuse to keep Razlo from tagging in, especially after something’s pierced straight through the back of his neck, nearly taking his head clean off.  

Razlo rolls for cover with a strangled sound, blood gushing from his forced-out throat and foaming at his lips.  Even with his senses jarred and his vision blurred, it'd take more than a near-decapitation for his instincts to be overridden.  He's slinging out a Punisher before he even knows what he's up against.  

There's a blur of motion to his right as soon as his sights are raised.  They're probably surprised Razlo's still standing, but so was everyone else who's gotten a lucky shot at him.

He can track their motion by sound alone.  They're sloppy.  Feet hitting the cracked earth in hard thumps, every one a warning that Razlo can aim a spray of bullets at.  And by now Razlo's healed enough to notice and wonder why the hell his head is still so fucked up.

At least now he can mostly see them when he turns, hanging back a ways, out of Razlo's reach.  Shorter than him by a head and a half, covered toe to tip in layers of sun-bleached rags, save for their face.  That's hidden behind a tall, curved mask, shaped in a way that looks an awful lot like a tomas' crest, with the false eye markings to match.  Even the glass for the lenses is opaque.  The only part of them that’s exposed is their left hand, extended delicately aside to keep Razlo’s blood dripping off it from getting on their clothes.

Razlo physically tries to shake out the buzzing in his skull that only gets worse by the second, only to notice the foul smell of burning meat and risk an instinctive glance down at his arm, where his flesh has started to bubble and steam seemingly on its own.  He looks between his arm and his opponent, the way their body tenses and head begins to tip, shaking hard, simultaneous with his skin boiling that much more fiercely.  

Something clicks in his brain.  There’s no way.

And no time to find out.  This time when they dart in he’s expecting it; he takes a swing at their head, and they dodge right into his follow-through, slamming his Punisher into their skull with a crunch and a wet sound from their throat.  They drop, like he’d expect them to, like anyone would.  And like no one does, they just roll out of the way and onto their back, braced to spring back up again.  Razlo puts his boot through their ribcage before they get the chance to.  That should be the end of it, too, but the fucker just keeps kicking, trying to get away, the only sound they make being the gurgle of their lungs filling with blood, and they keep kicking.

At this point Razlo doesn’t even have a plan anymore.  Needless to say, he doesn’t go up against an awful lot of guys who match him in the department of being a pain in the ass to take down.  Razlo's just starting to come up with a new idea when those long arms swing up, claws digging into and making ribbons of his right leg.

Razlo curses and tries to pull away, which only makes them hold on even tighter.  He's staring that four-eyed glare down when that burning feeling across his whole body raises in pitch again, and it's the sight of his flesh starting to disintegrate around their fingers that finally makes him back off.

Razlo rather gracelessly falls on his ass in trying to take a step back, not expecting his right leg to simply break off halfway down his thigh.  He scrambles back a ways, ready to keep going, missing limb or no, but— they aren't following him.  They're collapsed in the sand, limbs akimbo as they fight to draw a full breath.  Razlo watches with morbid curiosity as his severed leg dissolves into nothing more than an off-colored patch of sand beside them.

All that angry tension has gone out of their body, leaving them limp and motionless except for the stutter of their chest, and Razlo can hear the damp gasps muffled behind their mask.  By all rights, it should look like more of a struggle.  They should be dead, really, but from where Razlo is sitting, it looks a lot more like they’re just taking a rest.  He feels more sure of that when they roll their shoulders back a bit, arms braced in the dirt as they delicately arch their spine.  There’s some sharp popping sounds, and a little exhale from them; setting their ribs, Razlo figures.  He’s had to do the same thing before.  Once they can move their arms more effectively, they start to gather themself up into a seated position, bones and joints still crackling like popcorn here and there as they go, til they’re all the way up, with their hands resting in their lap, looking far too fucking comfortable for the fight they’d just had.

"You're not dead."

Their voice startles Razlo despite being as soft as it is, and his gaze flicks up to that mask, just slightly tilted to the side, orange lenses glinting in the harsh sunlight.  They don't move at all that Razlo can see.  Even their breathing has evened out enough to have become imperceptible under their heavy shroud; if they're in any pain still, Razlo sure can't tell.

"Nope," is all he says, or can manage to say.

He scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, blinking hard a couple times to scrunch up his face in the hopes his nerves might start feeling right again soon.

Another wave of nausea hits him, but his stomach was empty before the fight even started, so he leans forward to put his head between his knees and dry heave for a while.

The whole time, he's aware of his little opponent continuing to sit in silence, watching and eerily unmoving, even when Razlo manages to sit up again and wipe his mouth with his wrist.

"The fuck's yer deal, anyways?"  Razlo asks.

"'Deal'...?"  They echo.

"Couldn't exactly kill you, either."

He wasn't expecting them to spill their life story or something, but he was thinking he'd get something more of a response than their head tilting back the opposite way.  There's not a lot to work with here in trying to get a read on them, but Razlo feels it's safe to hazard they're probably just pretty damn confused, the same as him.

"You kinda smell like a Plant.  M'not an expert, but I've met two others."

Now that gets something out of them.  A tiny wiggle of their head that makes the pieces in their mask rattle.

"I wouldn't know.  I've only met me."

“Huh.”  

Whether it’s a confirmation or rebuttal hardly matters at this point.  He’s feeling sure enough that his assumption was correct, now, anyways.

"You, uh…"  Razlo has to pause for breath.  Unlike the thing across from him, he's having a hell of a time getting his back.  "You're the one making this radiation field?"

"Yes."

"Any way you could turn it down?"

They say nothing, though Razlo feels suddenly that he's being studied very intently.  And shortly after, slowly, slowly the fire in his cells begins to go out, and he can spit the worst of the sourness off his tongue.  Eventually he can't feel any radiation left at all, though his body's had a rough enough time from the dose he got, he'll be getting the sickness out of his system for a while yet.

Regardless, Razlo’s fingers twitch against the triggers when he hears that mask rattle again, and his eyes are on it in an instant.

"You didn't answer my first question," Razlo reminds, cautiously.

More silence, for a while.

"You wanted to hurt me."

There's no malice in the statement, at least that Razlo can tell.  Just the simple facts.  Still, he narrows his eyes.

"You started it.  Figured it was mutual."

"That's true."

Razlo grins.

"So, what now?  Regrow my leg, and get back to not killing each other?"

"If you'd like to."

That gets a laugh out of him.

"Nah, I think I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It is.”

That much is obvious.  They stay put, seeming transfixed on watching Razlo’s leg grow back, only a little more slowly than any of his other injuries, now that he doesn’t have the radiation to slow him down.  It leaves him feeling itchy and achy all over, and he’s got a bad hunch that right ankle doesn’t have the best chances of coming back right.  Once there’s enough of it to fuss about, he gets his foot in his hands and starts experimentally rolling it on its hinge, checking that the range of motion is right.

And still, those orange lenses glint at him curiously.  They don’t flinch or look away when Razlo considers them in return; he guesses they don’t know it’s not polite to stare.

“What's yer name?"  Razlo asks.

"My name?"

"Don't tell me you ain't got one."

The silence that follows is pretty self-explanatory.

“I’m Razlo.”

He can just make out the sound of them mumbling his name under their breath, like they’re not sure how it’s going to come out.  Almost warmly, almost shyly, they manage to say: “hello, Razlo.”

[13eyond13]

Mello vs Light, hand to hand no weapons

Oooh, interesting! MELLO vs. LIGHT: MIHAEL KEEHL (MELLO) Birthday: December 13, 1989 (ages 14-21 in canon) Height: 5'6" / 167.6 cm Weight: 114 lb / 51.7 kg Occupation: L's successor / mafia boss LIGHT YAGAMI Birthday: February 28, 1986 (ages 17-23 in canon) Height: 5'8" / 172.7 cm Weight: 119 lb / 54 kg Occupation: university student / Kira / L usurper So Mello is almost 4 years younger, 2 inches shorter, and 5 pounds lighter than Light. Let's say they're matching up with each other around the year 2009, when the successors actually started interacting with Light. So Mello would be 19 for most of this year and Light would be 23 for most of this year. Not a HUGE difference in age at this point, and also not a huge difference in size. If they aren't allowed to have any weapons on them during their fight then my gut instinct tells me to go with Light, if only because we never see Mello get into a fight that doesn't also involve him using a weapon or an explosive of some kind to make sure he comes out on top (aside from maybe when he was kicking soccer balls at people and dragging that other kid around at Wammy's by the hair?). And Mello's lithe little frame and chocolate-addicted lifestyle doesn't really scream "I keep myself in peak physical condition," either. And we know that Light was a formidable champion tennis player in his teens, and that he was able to hold his own and end up in a draw during his physical fights with L, somebody a few years older than him who apparently also was a very good tennis player who canonically practices Capoeira as well. So yeah, even though I definitely wouldn't want to run into Mello in a dark alleyway either, and even if the answer might be different if they were allowed to bring weapons or hired muscle along with them, for this particular scenario MY MONEY IS ON LIGHT!

[“give me two characters in my inbox for vs. / choosing between them / how I ship them and why” ask meme]

[romirola]

For the bird asks, 🦉, a clever quote!!

-Baz 💕💕

Bird ask game here! (Still open!)

Thank so so much for this ask, @us3rnam3-r3dact3d! This quote is from "Quick Tempers and High Temperatures," a oneshot prequel that sees teen-David and teen-Damien meet, butt heads, and eventually find some common ground. This quote is long, but let's face it. There are two clever guys.

“I told you, I bumped into you because the sun was in my eyes,” explained David. “I was squinting and running with my head down, so I couldn’t see you in front of me. I didn’t anticipate for some fire-elemental posing in the middle of the sidewalk like a weird, dumb statue!”

“Like it’s somehow my fault that you plowed into me?” Damien reflected sardonically. “Oh, sure. Yup. Totally my own fault. Ugh, that’s what they all say! I know you did it on purpose. I’m not stupid.” “I beg to differ,” David retorted. “I don’t care what other people say. I care about what I say because it’s the truth. And what I say is that you burned my hat on purpose and you need to apologize.” He bared his teeth as he spoke. “Now.” “What if I don’t?” Damien challenged, raising his chin. “What are you gonna do about it?” David blinked in surprise. No one had ever had the balls to defy him before, especially someone who was clearly around his age and at least six inches shorter than he was. “You really want to find out?” “You dropped this,” Damien said, handing the cap to David, but then quickly retracted his hand. “Or did you want me to throw it so you can fetch it like a good boy?” A flash of anger bubbled up in David’s gut and he almost felt himself shift out of instinct. His powers were still relatively raw, though he had already nearly perfected his shifting. His favorite time of day was shifting with his father so that he could practice the new instincts and skills that came along with his wolf form. “Fetching is not all I can do, Hothead.” “Hothead?” Damien echoed in a singsong tone before returning to new normal voice. “Real original. Is that the best you got? Not the sharpest puppy in the pack, are we?” Damien’s jibe led David to realize that the fire-elemental did not know that he was the son of the Gabe Shaw, Alpha to the Shaw Pack. It was a rare occasion for David to interact with someone outside of his own pack, let alone someone who was neither a werewolf nor aware of his lineage within his high-status pack. “You tell me. My name is David Shaw,” he informed with pride. Damien shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Oh,” he murmured, instantly recognizing the name. “Well, for the record, my name is Damien Naoum. Not that it means anything to you.” At that moment, Damien knew that the best thing to do would be to walk away. He knew of the Shaw Pack’s powerful reputation. Picking a fight with the son of the reigning alpha would be a stupid, impulsive, shortsighted, selfish indulgence that would only lead him into trouble. But at that moment, Damien didn’t care about any of those facts. He cared about making this smug son of a bitch pay for knocking him to the ground without so much as an apology. “Well, my my my,” Damien gasped, clutching his chest with one hand and placing the back of his other arm across his forehead. “I’m in the presence of wolf royalty, aren’t I?” David’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his hands into fists. Damien was quick to pick up on the small shift in David’s body language. “In that case...” Damien sneered. His brown eyes flickered to the cap in his hand and his brow creased as he concentrated. The cap burst into flames instantaneously and David put up a hand to cover his eyes as the smoke billowed. “Why don’t you have Daddy go buy you a new hat? And leave me alone before I really get upset?”