"y/n ran her hand through her silky, long blonde hair while she looked her skinny and small body in the mirror-" Bitch who?
Mike Driver
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
AnasAbdin
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
d e v o n

Discoholic đŞŠ
Show & Tell

JVL
Keni
I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

â

Janaina Medeiros
Xuebing Du
i don't do bad sauce passes
ojovivo
No title available

blake kathryn
No title available
we're not kids anymore.
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@abs-2020
"y/n ran her hand through her silky, long blonde hair while she looked her skinny and small body in the mirror-" Bitch who?
The Big Bad Wolf (revamp)
Chapter 2
What exactly has happened for you to end up getting caught in such a sticky and sick situation? Was god punishing you for having lived such a depraved and sinful life? Was he punishing you for having taken âtooâ many lives? What had you done to get caught in the unforgiving jaws of an apex predator such as him? Why him? Why the Big Bad Wolf? Why kakashi hatake? Why was he hunting you? And why canât you escape?
Warnings for the series: CNC/Stalking/Non-Con/Dub-Con/SLOW BURN/slight enemies to lovers/hate fucking/knife play/bondage/pet names/gore/P in V/again STALKING/public sex/forced orgasms/creampies/oral(M and F receiving)/use of alcohol/its just gonna be dark yall idk what else to put here/
â ď¸ this is an enemies to lovers, reader and Kakashi will be hurting one anotherâ ď¸
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
âOkayâ
you shrugged, running a hand through your hair before facing the dance floor. âLots of peopleâ you thought. âLots of fuckinâ peopleâ you pursed your lips, it was honestly kind of perfect, the situation god had just graced you with. Your plans before running into the âold gangâ would definitely be able to come into fruition. Them, and most of the people in here were all black out drunk or intoxicated by some other kind of drug-well most of them, your eyes darted back to kakashi, guy was practically praying to the masked man, begging oh his knees for him to come to the dance floor. It was a sour scene. Either way, casting a genjutsu on an unassuming, drunk, man and dragging him out of here was going to be as easy as taking a lamb to the slaughter.
Your fingers danced against the fabric of your pants as a ghostly smile graced your pink lips. Ecstatically you lolled towards the dance floor, your hips swaying confidently with your new found sense of purpose, you were giddy. A sick, pleasurable, poison swirling around your gut.
The shriek of Guy continuing to try and convince, or rather force kakashi to join the facade faded the closer you got to the dance floor. The cords of music coming from the speaker had the floor shaking, your feet vibrated with every low bass. A sickening slick pooled between your legs, anticipation.
Like a Marauder you scanned the crowd before you shamelessly throwing yourself into the hoard of warm, sweaty bodies. Grinding yourself against anyone, anything, and allowing the same. A shaky sigh escaped you, Euphoria- thatâs what you felt in this moment. Euphoric. rapturously you threw your head back as a wicked smile graced your lips. You didnât need any alcohol, this environment was intoxicating enough, the scent of sweat, sex, and smoke numbed you in the best way. All these dirty, gross, disgusting people- all the same as you- Made your mind dull, made you focus on one thing and one thing alone. You could be free. Touch anyone willing, grind against the crowd of bodies, allow touch to grace your body, allow selfish pleasure. You could finally feel, could be an animal, a marauder. You could hunt. You could be a predator.
You let out a singsong hum, and slowly trailed your hands up your body, your movements fluid, matching the beat of the chorus. Sinfully your fingers trailed the outline of your breasts, teasing your nipples by lightly grazing the perked buds. âAh-â you let your lashes flutter shut, and took the fat of your lip between your teeth. âThis is perfectâ Rhythmically Your fingers trailed up, and up, and up, tangling themselves into your hair as you swayed your hips, rocking your body to the beat of the music.
In this moment youâd forgotten about where you were, and who you were here with. Youâd forgotten about Kakashi Hatake.
You lifted your hand above your head, strands of hair untangling from your fingers and falling into your face.
âThatâs gotta be painful.â
You dipped your head backwards, back arching inhumanly. âMmmâ a cruel smile spread across the plains of your face at the sight of the man behind you. Long brown hair, a tad pudgy- but there was muscle underneath the flab no doubt-, flushed cheeks, half lidded eyes. âHell doâ you told yourself. âHeâll do.â Not too drunk, but drunk enough to not realize what was was already happening.
Swiftly you pivoted on your feet turning to face him âWhat? This~?â you crooned in a whine, pointing to your forehead. There was nothing, at least not in reality. âKnocked my head on my table this morning.â You jutted your bottom lip, pouting as you fluttered your lashes. âHurts reaaal bad.â Lying was just too easy, especially when you were inside someone, manipulating their mind. Making them see, making them believe things that werenât actually there. And youâd be lying if you said you didnât get off on it, on the power, on the control. The ability to traumatize someone, leave them in a trance like state, force them to see and feel something that isnât real until they either break the genjutsu or rot, Because you did.
Your Genjutsu was powerful, far more powerful than anyone in this club. What you could do was closer to possession than genjutsu, and all you had to do was manipulate someoneâs chakra enough and in the blink of an an eye you could make any man crawl between your legs, have someone take their own life with their own blade, kill their family, start a war, attack a village, spill vital information, anything was possible, and It was pleasurably sickening.
You let out a small croon and leaned towards the flushed man, âKiss it better?~ pleaseeeâ you begged cynically, taking a strand of hair and twirling it around your pointer finger.
Amidst your game, An abrupt iciness ran down your spine and nipped at your skin, the sudden feeling had your body wanting to curve into itself, and your finger stilled its ministrations in your hair. You blinked a few times, clenched your jaw, and looked back at the man in front of you. you ignored the feeling. You had things to do.
You watched the manâs drowsy eyes widen before he left out a croaky laugh. For a moment he admired you, his glassy eyes raking over your face, over the small cut on your forehead that wasnât really there. And then a drunken grunt of approval left his lips before his fat finger tucked itself under your chin and pulled you forward. âAnythinâ for a p-pretty lady such as yerself-â
âAnything?â
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
âF-fuck-â
Your painted nails sunk into the manâs shoulder beneath you. Your own ragged breaths filled the rather quiet space around you, the only trueaudible sound was of skin slapping against skin echoing through the air.
âJ-Jesus slow downââ
You winced immediately throwing your head against the wooden baseboard you were oh so aggressively getting fucked against, the back of the club youâd left nearly 20 minutes ago. Faded music played in the background the sound somehow managing to break through the wall you were nailed to. A particular harsh and fast thrust from the burley man had you gritting your teeth and pinching your nose. âSo much for bigger is betterâ you thought, rolling your eyes exasperatedly. Whatever you were experiencing right about now was far from pleasurable, it was anguish.
âSlow down- youâre going too fast! O-OW! youâre hurting m-!â
âArh-â the manâs- Tokawaâs- animalistic grunts interrupted your pleas.
A flash of white, hot, searing anger raked your body, and then the realization dawned on you. You could make him stop as easily as youâd made him come outside. âGod- STOP- STOP JUST stop!â In an instant the manâs movements came to a hilt, and he stood buried inside you, a grimace of pain and regret painted onto your features.
âMaybe THIS is my karmaâŚâ you sighed before letting your brows furrow sorrowfully.
Disappointment and discomfort raked your sweaty body. your eyes flickered to the night sky, to the stars and moon. Only fragments of its beauty peaking through the numerous trees and leaves that barricaded the sky above. The man remained still, stuck in a zombie like state, keeping you pressed into the wooden board behind you. A wave of shame washed over you, but your selfish disappointment was far greater than the shame of what youâd done. Youâd almost spoken- told him to let you go and walk home. But your genjutsu mustâve lost the majority of its hold in the mix of getting fucked like a rag doll rather than a human and you felt the man press his head into the space between your neck and shoulder.
Your entire body tensed, your fingers suddenly digging into the sweaty flesh of his shoulders as if he was some repulsive, vile, creature invading your space. You cringed- you didnât âcuddleâ after- your entire body cringed. a sharp breath was sucked in between your teeth. You stretched your neck in an attempt to escape the foreign act, the foreign touch.
âThis is new-.â
Amidst your zoning out You were quickly and ungratefully brought back to your pitiful reality, to your surroundings, to the sound of a large twig snapping somewhere in the trees behind you both. Immediately you tore your gaze from the splotchy sky and beemed into the forest, scanning the numerous dark creepy shadows, watching for movement. Nothing, there was nothing, and despite that Your heart had jumped into the confines of your throat. And again, that unfamiliar icy feeling nipped down the length of your back, although, it felt more sinister than the first time. Graver. Like a warning. In an instant every hair on your body rose, sticking up like sore thumbs. Slowly you darted your tongue to lick the dryness from your lips, audibly you gulped, your fingers twitched apprehensively. Had someone caught you?
Your eyes bulged at the thought and your pupils constrict in fear. No, that wasnât possible. You wouldâve noticed them, you wouldâve noticed them. âI wouldâve noticed them.â You reassured yourself halfheartedly, ignoring the feeling of the manâs throbbing member still buried inside you. You were too distracted, to preoccupied on the shadows you SWEAR were moving. Another wave of unwanted chills creeped up your spine, agitated your skin, and this time the foreign feeling was unbearable.
Like a dog thrashing against bounds you pushed against the brunette man caging you to the wall in his zombie like state, his head still pressed between your chest and neck. Finally you opened your mouth to give the man command.
âDude- go, get the hell- G-go home-!â
âOFF!â
Your command was harsh, and loud. And you did anything but tear your eyes from the forest in front of you. Your rare surge of panic and anxiety getting the best of you, your instincts got the best of you. A side you havenât seen come to light in a long time was surfacing- and it had won.
Tokawa just groaned, slothly removing himself from you, he was slow, too fucking slow in this zombie like state, he was being too fucking slow. Distress washed over you and you found yourself clasping both of your hands over your head. Annoyingly Your heart started to race, thumping harshly against your chest only adding to your surge of panic. Making you feel helpless in a situation you were clearly anything but. You were just in your head. Right? In response to his slowness you jerkily pushed him from you, and in response he gently set you onto your feet. You parted your lips and sucked in an agonized breath, a sheen of cold sweat starting to coat your frightened body. immediately you crouched down. pulled your pants and underwear up from the dirt floor, and hastily stepped into each pant leg and pulled the fabrics past your hips with a jump.
You kept your eyes trained on the forest as you pulled your clothes back on. Tokawa had started to march towards his âhomeâ. And Without giving him so much as a glance or Acknowledging the unforgiving pain that rested between your thighs you were off, darting towards your home in a rabbit like fashion, with your tail between your legs, like prey.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
You slammed your apartment door behind you with a desperate grunt, hastily locking both latches and the knob. You pressed your forehead against the door, the sheen of sweat coating your skin dampening the cold surface. âWhat.. the fuck-!â your mouth stayed agape as you sucked in ragged, panicked breaths, your heart rate barley easing up despite being inside the safety your home, inside your refuge. The only sound was your own desperate breaths coming out quick and sharp. You brought your hands towards the door and scratched the metal, the sound unpleasant. Same with the vibrations it sent up your hands.
This was new, this was so fucking new. Youâd come close to death countless times. Youâd had millions of blades pressed to your throat, been stabbed in numerous places, dodged kunai thrown to hit fatal places. Your legs tremble harshly. Hell, youâve even been at the bane of your own blade, youâd been so close to ending it yourself countless times. But nothing, no situation, no person, no blade, and surly no wound, had ever stuck you down like this one had. And that scared you. For once you were scared, of the unforeseen.
After a while of standing, clawing at the door, youâd finally managed to ease your nerves, ending your panicked state with a final huff, and then- you laughed, manically.
âWhat the fuck was that?!â
You croaked with a roar, looking to your hands as you let them fall, forehead still pressed against the door.
âIt was a twig- a fucking twig-!â You rasped with venom, âthe fuck were you scared of a TWIG snapping for?!â You lifted your forehead from the door and brought a hand to your hair, running your shakey fingers through the (H/C)âd locks still damp with sweat.
âHow did a twig snapping send me soo off edge?â
âI donât understand-â
âIâm an Anbu- Iâm better than that.â
âSomeone was watching you.â
âIt was just an animal, or it couldâve been the windâŚâ internally you scoffed at your minds last thought, there hadnât been a sliver of wind for the entirety of the day. You really had been spooked, spooked enough for your mind to try and bend reality to put itself at ease.
âIt was just an animal.â
You shook your head and took the edge of your bottom lip between your teeth, and paced into your living room, circling your red, velvet Victorian arm chair. Vigorously tapping your fingers against the fabric of your pants. âOkay. Lesson learned. No more targeting men in the village.â You spoke sternly, assuring whatever âhigherâ power had sent what you took as a warning.
Weather it was Godâs warning or an animal, either way it didnât explain why the twig snapping had sent all the hairs on your body to stand, or the eerie chill that had nipped its way up every inch of your spine, and it certainly Didnât explain why youâd started to panic, especially since youâd seen and done a lot of awful and vile things. It just didnât sit right with you. None of it. none of the events of tonight had gone to âplanâ.
With a frustrated sigh you plopped into the velvety chair, searching your mind for an explanation. Thinking back to the moment, replaying it in your head over and over. âIt was the alcohol.â You concluded to yourself. âIt was the alcohol..â
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
~THREE WEEKS LATER~
"The mission was successful my lord." You bowed your head, kneeling in front of Sarutobis desk, just as you had been a few weeks ago.
"That's a lot of blood (Y/N)"
Sarutobi grumbled nonchalantly. You lifted your head and looked to your hands. They were clean, for the most part. But your uniform, it was soaked. drenched in the crimson color. Not in your own of course. And it wasnât until you heard a soft âtapâ and looked to the floor that you realized It was dripping from your mask too, softly pebbling onto the floor. Soaking into the old wood.
Ok?
He never said anything about the blood and grime that littered your body after missions. You did dirty work, you were supposed to get dirty. All For the sake of the village. Your brows immediately furrow and a frown paints your sweaty face.
"Uh- yes sir. I'm sorry?" Was the only response you could seem to find. Other than the perplexed look on your face, hidden behind your mask. "'Iâll clean up before reporting next time." You added, suddenly feeling embarrassed about something that was normal before just a few seconds ago. Something thatâs always been normal.
Hell a month ago you couldâve been stumbling into his office, wearing youâr own blood and craning into a deep wound in your abdomen and he wouldnât have said so much as a word other than âhead to the medics office.â With a grumble and sent you on your way.
Sarutobi shakes his head and stalks around his desk with yet another grumble. Sometimes you hated the Hokage, other days you didn't. It seemed you wouldn't be very fond of him today. Your lips pursed.
"Kakashi's been from the Anbu for about 2 and a half weeks now, almost three. Have you said hi to your friend?"
The mention of that while haired manâs name had your brow quirking and a grimace contorting your face. Your whole body cringed at the label. 'Friend?'
"He's not my friend sir." Was your response to the Hokages question. It was curt and rude, and for a minute you couldn't find it in you to care. Sarutobi glared at you for a while, and for a second it seemed he was seeing you, peering behind the mask. As he always did.
"Hmm, well, I think it would be good for you to reconcile with Kakashi. You two are more similar than you think, both of you have been through the same-"
"What is it with you and Hatake?" You hiss with tense shoulders and a rigid back "i expressed how uncomfortable I was being put on his last mission with him, you understand why, so why keep bringing him up?"
You sigh at your outburst and shake your head displeased with yourself, you shouldnât be acting like this. Like a child. The more you complain and express your disinterest in the matter the more Sarutobi will jab it at you, use it against you. You lift yourself from your kneeling position and stand upright. Rigidly. You lift your hands in an apologetic manner.
âIâm sorry, lord.â You rasp in defeat.
Sarutobi just stares, his eyes as dull as the rest of him.
âBut- me and hata- that man, we will never be âfriendsâ.â âAnd I prefer it stays that way, I assure it actuallyâ âwe tolerate each otherâs existence.â you mutter the last part one thought ringing through your ears âIâm sure he feels the same way.â Rins face flashes through your mind.
All Sarutobi does is stare in silence. You do the same, tapping your fingers against your blood littered pants in response. your lip finds it way between your canines and you tug on the fat flesh, hard. The moment you see Sarutobi lift his hand to dismiss you from his presence youâre gone.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
~SEVERAL DAYS LATER~
Wind rustled through your ponytail cooling the sheen of sweat that coated your nimble body as you ran through the thick of the forest, secluded from the busy training grounds or paths most other Shinobi used to train. You liked to be secluded. All for the sake of keeping your secret life a secret.
Your movements were swift as you weaved around the trees and dodged small obstacles youâd set up for yourself, throwing a kunai at a target every now and then all for the sake of keeping your âperfect aimâ and endurance.
A bead of sweat drips between your creased brows when you maneuver through a particularly harsh part of the obstacle, this part forcing you to flip backwards over a thick branch, throw a kunai into a nearly invisible target- that if you donât throw perfectly will hit any of the three thin branches that help shield it- and then land, and continue.
You pull the kunai from the strap on your ankle, and suck in a sharp breath, preparing to shift your feet and flip over the branch gracefully. âOneâŚâ your hand tightens on the blade and you fly, your back towards the branch and eyes piercing the forest of leaves above. âTwo..â you let your breath fan out through your teeth, and flick your wrist and reel your arm back ready to throw the kunai, this is a shot you make seventy percent on the time. Sure the percents gone up as youâve practiced more and more but youâll only truly be satisfied once it reaches one hundred.
Your flick your head and bore into the red âbullseyeâ in the middle of the target board. âThre-â
The bushes to your left rustle, âwhat?â your head turns eyes ready to inspect the abnormal disturbance.
the first thing you see is a small horde of Robbinâs and house sparrows flapping your way, beaming straight towards your face, seeking sanctuary from whatever spooked them and yourself.
âShit!â
Your focus is lost
âShit-!â
Your back thumps against the thick branch beneath you, and your spine curves around it, causing all the air to shoot from your lungs with a harsh wheeze. Your eyes shut, trying to accommodate to the uninvited pain that rips through every joint and bone in your staunch back.
âNoâ
Terror fills You and let the kunai fall from your grasp, the sound of it hitting the forest floor 20 feet below is soft, drowned out by your main concern in this moment. your hand reaches for your throat while the other pushes you upright, âoh go noâ till the only part of you that rests on the branch is your arse.
âPlease noâ
âNoâ
âBreath, (Y/N)â
Your mouth gapes open, struggling for the air that had been forcefully pushed from your lungs. But your lungs donât waver, theyâre still trying to readjust to the impact of your fall. You canât breathe. Your own lungs are choking you. Your eyes bulge, and then you ease them shut, only to open them wide once more. Your fingers claws at your throat, trying to force it to work, and a line of red appears under where youâd violated your own skin. The red beads up, but never enough to trickle down your skin.
âPleaseâ
And finally, after what felt like an eternity of being denied the right to breath your lungs and throat open and a cascade of oxygen comes flowing into your lungs like water from a damn. You take it all.
Your body shakes and you scream with a closed mouth, the sound is airy and confined. But thereâs a whiny pitch to it. Itâs tantrum sounding. Your own shaky hands rub at your throat, coaxing the finally working muscle.
âStupid-â you suck in a desperately greedy bit of air, your fingers subconsciously rimming against your cargo pants. âbirdsâŚâ
Youâre about to lift yourself onto your feet but your skin pales almost instantly and every hair on your body rises like the dead from their graves. Again. Your brows dip and your movements still, youâre rigid. A wave of cold crashes into you and Thatâs when you realize âitâsâ back. That god awful feeling at the club nearly a month ago, itâs back. Nipping at any solace of warmth you could ever possibly want, making your anxiety rise in ways youâve never felt. It makes you feel afraid. Your hands dig into the fabric of your pants and your eyes scan the area like a frantic deer.
âWhere are you?â
Those words play on mantra in your head as you scope the thick forest around you, the secluded forest. Your heart drums against your chest, rising further and further up your throat with each frantic beat. Youâre about to give up your search, tell yourself once again âitâs not realâ that âyouâre in your headâ but then it hits you. It hits you like a brick.
Painfully slow your head creaks to your left, to where the birds had been startled. Your eyes lock onto the bush. A lump forms in your throat the moment your eyes land on a particulary dark shadow within the leaves and that piercing fear intensifies. It feels like lasers, lasers of bad energy, fear, malice, hate, worry, terror, all of it, is being thrown your way. Pushed into you, thrown into you. Itâs wrathful. Itâ cold. And it agitates your skin.
A cold sweat coats your already sweaty body, adding to your discomfort. Your lips part and a shaky breath escapes you. âInvestigateâ your mind tells you while your instincts say ârunâ stiffly you lift yourself from the branch and pivot onto your feet. You take one step, and another, and another. With Each step you take your body grows colder. And your vision darkens, into a loopy tunnel.
You take a few more steps and jump from the branch. Your legs wobble as they hit the floor and you fall to a knee. Youâre about eight feet from the bush. Seven, six,
âCmon, find out what it is, when you see that itâs nothing, and that itâs not real youâll be free, itâll go away.â
Five feet, after an eternity of crawling and inching forwards youâre right in front of the bush. Your bodyâs trembling.
Slowly, like a sloth, with great reluctance and fear you reach for the bush. Your head spins when your fingers brush against a few leaves. Your other hand follows suit. youâre ready to spread the leaves, pry the bush open, tear it apart, because thereâs nothing in here, youâre in your head, and thisâll prove that. You dig your fingers into the leaves.
âAh-!â
You jump three feet from the bush, startled by the sound of your own phone. You look at your pocket at back to the bush, âgod damnitâ with haste you pull your phone from your pocket to see who couldâve possibly called, when you read the screen You deadpan. Itâs Kurenai. You bite your lip in anger and angst, and thatâs when you realize youâre hyperventilating, hard.
With considerable reluctance you press the green button and pull the phone to your ear, glancing back at the bush once more.
~*~*~
âOh my gosh (Y/N) thank you so much!â Kurenai repeats like a broken record.
She held your hands in hers, rubbing your flesh in a gentle manner. It was supposed to be soothing, show her appreciation. But to you it was awkward and weird. If youâd been wearing your mask you wouldâve grimaced at the affectionate touch, cringed, anything, but you werenât. So you put on a different kind of mask and smiled.
âNo need to thank me.â
you protest, pulling your hands from hers and swatting the air in a dismissive manner. Your scapegoat.
âNo really, I appreciate, more than you know . Iâd completely forgotten about these.â she gestures to the papers on your desk. Her paperwork. âIf it werenât for you me and Asuma wouldnât be heading out in a few.â
âItâs my job.â You assure gently, crossing your arms over your desk as you look the raven haired woman up and down. A friend. Sheâs all done up. Hair curled perfectly, Makeup flawless and glistening against the dim light in your âofficeâ- if you could even call it that- and her outfit? Her dress was stunning, thatâs all you could say.
A ping pulled you both from your thoughts, you looked to your phone and flipped it over. The screen was black. Nothing, it must be Asuma alerting Kurenai of his presence. You drag your gaze from the electronic device in your hands and back to the woman to your left. Before the question can leave the tip of your tongue Kurenai answers it for you.
âAsumas outside.â
~*~*~
A slight scowl paints your face as you file the lump of mission papers into their appropriate place, it was Friday night, the beginning of the weekend and youâd had âplansâ. Originally, after your jog through the woods youâd planned on traveling to one of the nearby villages, hoping to lull and man into his bed and continue your search for mind numbing pleasure. But today hadnât gone as planned, not at all. Currently Your back ached from the fall youâd taken and your mind? Well letâs just say it wasnât in the right place. So, when you received a call from a pleading and oh so sorry Kurenai you couldnât really say no. You had a double life to lead anyways. Deception, that was what you were best at.
The last of the pile of papers in your arms had been sent to their rightful places. You pushed your thin framed glasses up the bridge of your nose and parted your lips letting a soft sigh escape you as you lifted yourself into an upright position. You let the back of your head hit the wall of file cabinets behind you, the cool of the metal seeped through your clothes and into your skin.
âMmmâ
Your hands fall from your nose and trailed down your own body, down your clothes, your finger traces the column of your white button up- something professional you forced yourself to wear for âworkâ- slowly you popped the first four buttons open exposing your collar bones, letting your skin breath. âHell, no oneâs here anywayâ you think to yourself as your fingers continue to trail down further, dipping between your breasts and tracing the outline of your own bra. Youâre teasing yourself, and when you dare to let your fingers dip further than your breasts, your mixed morals have you halting. âBut what if-â âItâs late, no oneâs coming in, theyâve all left to their families, or friends..â that tiny voice in the back of your head assures, a devil on your shoulder, and you oblige letting your fingers trail lower, and lower until theyâre dipping below the waistband of your black slacks and youâre nudging your own silky panties to the side.
Your other hand palms the metal behind you, steadying yourself. The instant your finger grazes your clit the edge of your lip is between your teeth and your biting down, hard. Sparks of heat are sent from your core and burn through your body, invading your mind and blinding your senses. Deliberately slow you rub soothing gentle circles ontop of your bud, granting yourself a fraction of the pleasure you knows possible from your own digits, edging yourself. Your mouth gapes and you let a silent moan escape you. Your ministrations harden, quicken, and you push your head into the cabinets behind you. They rattle from the force, some of them creaking as you tease yourself to release. Pleasure clouds your mind and stars cloud your vision, youâre almost there, so fucking close, you lick your lips in anticipation and the beautifully painful knot in your stomach starts to build. You squeeze your eyes, preparing for your own release.
âYo! (Y/N)!â
âGuy?â
âMy godâ
Youâre caught off gaurd by, the old hinges of the building door screech closed and in response your eyes shoot open and you automatically pull you fingers from your clit and wipe your debauched juices onto your trousers.
â(Y/N)!â guys voice is more persistent this time, louder.
âI-Iâm back here.â You stutter nudging your glasses back up the bridge of your nose.
Youâre pushing yourself off of the metal drawers in a hasty fashion, flicking sweat soaked strands of hair from your face and fixing your disheveled bun. âThis canât be happening.â You stumble towards your desk, your flats clacking against the concrete floor in the quiet, dark, space. But you donât make it very far.
PING
Your phone unexpectedly pings, vibrating against your thigh, adding to your unease and agitation. Itâs late, and no one ever texts you. Frevorly you pull the black device from your pocket. Checking to see who couldâve possibly texted you at this time.
Unknown: Disappointing?
The color drains from your skin and your expression falls. âWhat?â Your brows pinch and you look around the dark office, no oneâs here, itâs been you, alone this whole time. âDid someone watch me..?â You shake your head and immediately dislodge the thought from your head. Whoever it is Theyâve just got the wrong number. You assure yourself, that kinda of stuff happens all the time. Itâs just a technological mistake, an odd, big mistake. But Your eyes flick back towards the screen re reading the message. âDissappointingâ itâs too uncanny. It fits the picture too well.
You had been disappointed.
âNuh uh- no fucking way.â You whisper to yourself, shaking your head dismissively, but as much as you try to push away the idea that someone was peering on you, watching your work, watching you.. touch yourself you canât. The idea of it has your fingers tapping anxiously against your screen.
You pull your eyes from your phone and a glint of light to your left has you staring at the wall beside your head. Moonlight. The light shifts, shadows of leaves obstructing it casting onto the wall. Your brows furrow and you feel sicker then before as you slowly turn your head to the right. Towards a window.
âGodâ
Someone was watching me
âYo! (Y/N), you look like youâve seen a ghost!?â
Your head snaps from the window towards Guy zeroing in on him and his distance from you. You take him up and down, eyeing him like he some sort of assailant. With wide eyes you scan his figure, eyes flicking from the top of his head, to the collar of his green jump suit, his hands, his anckles. Nothing. Paranoia controls your actions and your eyes dart to assess the apposing man next to him. Kakashi fucking hatake. Even in your mind his nameâs bitter, sour, almost as foul as the sight of him. You canât imagine what it would feel like coming from your tongue.
Your eyes narrow and your nostrils flare as you assess the silver haired man. Slowly you trail his body with angry eyes, clutching the electronic device in your hand with white knuckles. Is he goading me? You think, ripping your gaze from him the second your cold eyes meet.
âWhat are you doing here?â You inquire, tilting your head to guy, not bothering to address hatake. âItâs late⌠and Iâm working.â You donât bother fighting to hide the irritation in your tone, it feels deserved. And if itâs brought up at some point youâll have a good excuse, for guy at least.
âYou need to put the mask back onâ a voice inside you seethes
Your phone pings against your palm and you still, both men watch your shoulders tense and your spine curl slightly inward. you donât dare check it do you? Your eyes shift from slots to ovals. You flip your phone and glance at the screen, holding it by your thigh scared of what youâll see. Your face falls when you realize it was the same message, pinging again after having not opened it. But re reading it doesnât ease your anxiety. Not one bit.
âUh, I had some paperwork I needed to drop off and get filled. Kurenai said youâd be working late so I thought Iâd stop by, and see one of my youthful friends.â
âAnd take advantage of it?â you think letting your lips thin into a hard line. You glance towards kakashi yet again, throwing daggers with your eyes, inquiring his intentions.
As if sensing your question guy speaks again.
âAnd Kakashiâs just tagging along, weâre hitting Ichiraku afterwards.â He throws his arm over the sliver haired Shinobi âBut, did something happen?-â you quirk your brow as guy starts a question âyouâre sweating.â Guy lifts his finger to his own forehead, gestureing to show where sweat pebbles your skin. Kakashi stays silent, eyeing you, just like always.
âUh-â heat flames your face, biting at your cheeks and ears. If only they knew. You rub your âdirtyâ fingers against your pants and smile shyly, the mask is back on. âAhaha, just been running back and forth, sprinting from my desk and the file cabinets. Iâve got plans tonight so Iâm trying to finish up ASAP if you know what I mean. Plus itâs small space and the heat builds.â But his question has you thinking back to moments ago, your finger rubbing teasing circles on your clit, the small exertion casting a sweat around your body. And HowâŚ
Disappointing
It was.
The message, the initial fear it had casued also forced a sheen of cold sweat to rake your forehead. You suck in a sharp breath and look up towards Guy, pretending kakashi isnât here.
You tilt your head innocently a haphazard shrug following in suit. Itâs a good lie, really it is, but the office is anything but warm. Itâs cold, the chill bites at your skin. You stare at the two, making sure theyre convinced by your lie. When they show no signs of arguing or confusion you mentally pat yourself on the back. In a quick motion You shove your phone into your pocket and saunter towards the men, favoring guys side and perch onto one of the small desks in front of him. A warm, close eyed smile paints your face and you reach towards Guy.
âI can file those for you.â You propose, slapping your other hand onto your thigh nonchalantly kicking your legs at the air as they dangle centimeters from the floor, barely grazing the concrete. âIâve only got a few more things to do before I head out anyways, this is no problem.â
You watch guys eyes light up, any worry or concern that once graced his pupils gond. âGoodâ he lifts his arm and slaps the papers heâs been holding into your outstretched hand over excitedly. You lift your chin when he nudges kakashi with his hip and wiggles his bushy brows.
You smile,
âGreat, well, Iâll make sure to get this done. And thanks for stopping by-â
âYeah, me too.â
Kakashiâs voice catches your off gaurd, but itâs not as staggering as him pulling papers from god knows where and gently placing them on the desk at your side. You fingers twitch in protest.
âPretendâ
You look from guy, then to Kakashi- your skin pricks when your eyes land on him- a weary, strained, and unconfident smile painting your mauve lips. âOf course.â Your throat strains as the words come out, almost as if your own body wouldâve chose to say anything else. Rather done anything but comply to the manâs wishes. You turn on your heel, swiping Kakashiâs paperwork carelessly. The white sheets crinkle in your grasp.
âYour neck.â kakashi drawls.
your brows quirk, and you turn around, back towards the two men, expression schooled.
You flitter your lashes
âWhat?â you can barley contain the bite in your tone.
you swear Kakashiâs half lidded eyes narrow as he lifts a hand and points to his masked neck. âyour neck.â his gloved figures make a circular gesture. âwhat happened to it?â he stares, looking anyplace but where heâs wanting you to acknowledge. And heâs most certainly not doing anything to mask the bitterness in his tone. At least you try. His lack of effort makes you see flashes of red.
you canât school the confused look and quirked brow that contort onto your face. âWhatâs he talking about?â. With parted lips you bring a free hand to your throat, feeling the long collums with your calloused hands. Thereâs five long scabs, faint but theyâre There. You close your mouth reliving your moment in the forest hours ago. Your own body denying you air, the initial panic, the self inflicted harm in your fervor, that spin churning chill, all played like a slide show in your mind. You cleared your throat and looked back at kakashi, your mouth going sour.
âoh, uh, eczema. It gets bad during the winter.â you eyed the grey haired shinobi back. âHowever, Most people have the decency NOT to comment on it.â
You eye him, a ghostly smirk gracing your lips at your directed jab. Subtle, but he was smart enough to read between the lines.
youâd expected a âhmmâ or an âohhâ in response, something that matched your image of the bloke. But nothing, he said nothing. You lilted your head to the side, patience wearing thin, you were done playing nice, done pretending.
âIf you two will excuse me Iâve got to-â
guy cut you off.
âWell, it was nice seeing you (Y/N)! A real pleasure as always! I and Iâm sure Kakashi as well, both, appreciate your youthful hard work! See ya around!â he boasted, giving you a flashy smile and an energetic thumbs up.
he pulled kakashi close, dragging the both of them from you and the building. Their exit was confirmed by the sound of the heavy door shutting with a âbangâ.
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ-
CH: 1
A/N: Whoaaa Iâve been working on this forever because I wanted it to be PERFECT. WHOOOOOOOO. Sorry it took so long babes <3 hope yall can forgive me.
=HUNTER=
â˘sequel to monsterâ˘
â˘(Avatar) Colonel Miles Quaritch X (Na'vi) fem Readerâ˘
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Warnings: future Smut/ violence/ angst/ a lot more angst/ heavy topics/ blood/ gore/ death/ swearing/ CNC/ Manipulation/ knife play/ gun play/ cheating/ cannibalism/ blood play/ threatening/ overstimulation/ pinning/ victim of stolkhome syndrome/ size kink/ self mutilation/ P in V eventually/ cringe
- Please let me know if I miss any, these are warnings for the WHOLE SERIES. I'lL do specific chapter warnings for each chapter in the future.
Summary: sequel to Monster- taking place during and after ATWOW to Fire and Ash. Youre Neytiri's older sister and took the place of spider getting captured and ended up falling in love with Miles Quaritch, your familyâs and planets monster. Plagued by dreams, and the want for answers youâre hunting his ghost/ and him you?
P.S. stuff spoken in Na'vi is italicized, and readers thinking is in BLue.
LAST WARNING: this will be written in first person rather than second person.(Iâm experimenting)
But don't worry, you're still (Y/N). <3
(If you guys dislike this too much or there's too much hate I'll change it back to second pov like in Monster, as always feedback is appreciated.) Iâm a wh0re for approval))
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
An awful, repetitive, high pitched and grating screeching filled my waking ears, causing them to twitch backward. The sound was harsh, Forcing my tired, aching body from its sleep quicker than It was used to. In an almost panicky type of manner.
My lids fluttered opened, eyes sputtering in an attempt to adjust to the sun beaming above my head. the star proved too bright and I found myself squeezing my eyelids together, shutting out the light.
"Ah-"A groan forced its self from my lips, I needed to adjust to the beaming sun. I lifted an arm, the limb heavier than usual as / brought it towards my forehead wanting to shield my irises from the sun. All at the same time the stench of smoke and death filled my nostrils. the rancidity of the air much to similar to the day my father had passed and Home Tree had been blow, abliterated by the Sky Man.
All at once everything hit me, miles chaining me to the desk bolted to the floor- breaking my heart yet again, severing our thin bonds of what could've barely have been called "trust". Neytiri saving me from Z-Dog, threatening to kill miles as he held Tuk and Kiri hostage, the ship sinking as Jake jumped into a hand to hand combat fight with miles as Neytiri was sucked into the ship. Drifting to sleep, floating on a piece of broken ship debris, so sure / was about to be with my ancestors. Father, Tsu'tey. The memories flooded my brain, forcing me to relive each moment.
Though, none of them explained how I ended up on shore. I imagined the current was probably the best explanation I needed.
And I would've have been comfortable with that assumption if there wasn't a void of silence, apart from the sound of a banshee screaming in the distance. The usually oh so repetitive sound of the ocean waves hitting the sandy shore wasn't anywhere to be heard, that's what startled me. It was uncanny, after just a few months of being forced to sit and listen to the nauseating sound of the water crashing onto sand to all the sudden not was how I knew something was wrong.
It's what pushed me to wake up.
Another pained groan left me as / attempted to lift my body from the ground. My mouth gaped as a pained breath forced its way through my teeth, my body was on fire. Muscles and joints lit up and aching from the events that had played out just a few hours ago. You're not going anywhere. I thought to myself as my hand fell back to my side, hitting the heated stone beneath me.
Again, I attempted to open my eyes to face the blazing sun above, and again with a hiss I forced my eyes shut. I'm probably concussed.
Out of no where a sudden darkness loomed over me, blocking the sun. My heart seized. my brows ringed together in response, confused, Something's not right. My instincts screamed. Instantly I forced my eyes open, yellow orbs immediately trying to hone in on whatever had suddenly blocked out the light. The blue blur in front of me had had my ears falling back in unease. Who is that? A Na'vi? An avatar? I blinked a few times trying to make out the silhouette above of me.
Was this friend or foe?
My heart skipped a palpitation when my eyes finally adjusted to a trim waist, wrapped in a tactical vest, connected to a wide pair of shoulders, an arm adorned with an eagle tattoo. My hands twitched, nails digging into the stone beneath me, the sound and feeling of nail against stone unpleasant to the ears, to my senses, making me cringe. I flicked my eyes up, hoping my mind was playing tricks on me that this wasn't who I thought it was. I let out a gurgled cry when my eyes locked onto a sickeningly familiar pair of honey dew orbs.
My heart sank.
"No..." I whispered in a desperate whine.
He should be dead.
Miles should be dead.
With a queasy stomach I watched his lips stretch against his uncannily pearly whites and form into a smirk as he drug his tongue along his sharp canines, beaming proudly. He tilted his head before he spoke, tail flicking.
âHello, princess.â
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
I was shook awake by my own body, a harsh jerk from my sleeping form waking me, eyes shooting open.
"Jesus..." my legs shifted in my hammock, hand riding its way in my hair, nails bitting into the skin off my scalp tensely.
It's always the same dream. Always.
I sucked in a sharp breath, heart pounding in my ears, the bodily sound invading my senses, disorientatingly. I shifted in my hammock again, uncomfortable, panicked. Trying to recollect myself from my procuring nightmare, you think over time it would've been easier to handle, that's I'd be able to just brush
Miles still haunts me. Every night he comes back, plaguing my sleep like the ghosts of war, and every night he leaves, rushed in manner, like a soldier drafted.
"You've been asleep long enough."
My brow line quirked at the sound of my sister scolding me from across the hut, Still trying to shake away the reoccurring dream. "That's all you do." She added, a certain hiss in her tone that had me shifting out of my hammock and onto my feet. My eyes saddened as I looked to her, her somber attire a reminder to the harshness of our reality. To what we had lost just three weeks ago. "You sleep, wake up, and only Eywa knows what you do during the day. All for you to come back and sleep again."
My ears fell towards the back of my head as i watched her throw her veil over her head, discarding the drapes carelessly. A beautiful piece to a beautiful outfit, it was a shame it represented nothing but ache and loss. My tail flicked as I stood, watching her throw her small fit. I should have been spiteful, angry. Should have bit back at my sister, scolded her for talking to me the way she was. But I just couldn't, I couldn't bring myself to do so. She was still mourning, her heart still in shambles. my baby sister was still mourning. And so was I. But for a completely different reason than she was.
I couldn't blame my younger sister for being so boorish, that's just what hurting people do.
I pressed my lips together and looked towards the opening of the tent, then back to Neytiri till suddenly still. I sucked in a long, sharp, breath through my nose before stepping towards her, hands raised in a gentle manner gesturing her to come towards me. "Neytiri." I cooed tilting my head softly, reaching for her more boldly.
The moment she was within reach I pulled her into my arms, constricting her in my embrace. Netayum wasn't coming back, nor was Miles, of course I'd never say either of those things out loud. Silence spoke volumes. In this family especially.
Nothing I could say would help her, and everything I wanted to say would've been as blunt as my father's, old, chipped, and unsharpened blade, so I stayed silent. For a long while she just stood there, slowly loosening up, becoming less rigid, less tough. We stood like this for a moment or two, as sisters rather than bitter sweet acquaintances- two women falling in love with men on opposite sides of a war.
when I felt her ears twitch downward then back up followed by the tightening of her shoulders I held her tighter, pressing my fingers into her skin. This was it, She was about to leave, to push me away again.
My suspicion was confirmed by a harsh yet gentle pair of hands pushing my chest away and a soft whine, almost imperceptible if not for my good ears. I stumbled a few exaggerated steps backwards and let my tail lower between my legs, defeated hands still outstretched towards her. "Neytiri..." I whispered again, taking a soft step towards her.
Every day was the same.
The gap between our relationship only wavered, canyoning farther and farther, day by day.
I donât think weâd ever be sisters again.
I gave pause when she whipped her head back towards me manners hasty, her hair jerking angrily with the motion. A cold chill ran down my spine at the look in her hard eyes, at the venom there, the resentment. the blame. "It was your fault" is what her eyes screamed as she hawked me. Of course she didn't just blame me, she blamed Jake, Spider and Lo'ak too. In her mind The four of us brought upon the death of her first born, Netayum.
But me most of all.
If I hadn't mated with miles then he never would've came looking for me. Netayum never would've died.
That animalistic, primal pull wouldnât have drove miles to find me. Is what sheâd said in anger, truthful anger. And for a while Iâd sort of believed it. Sort of. Deep down, no matter how much mikes had claimed to have âlovedâ me/ of thatâs what you couldâve called it. Limerence mightâve been a better word, obsession maybe, a need for control. Or just an âinâ. I was just a pawn in his game, his hunt for Jake Sully. All I had ever been was a tool. No matter what Neytiri believed.
My brows pulled as our eyes met yet again.
That wall- her wall of hate, of ire, and indifference forced its way back between the two of us instantly.
The gap may have been wider than a canyon now.
I couldn't help but let a deep, exasperated sigh escape me as I looked away from her and let my hands fall to my sides, the sound of my skin slapping against itself echoing through the small space. My throat burned, gnawing to defend myself. To bring the gap that had formed between our relationship ever since Miles. I stared at the wall of the hut, just past her shoulders looking from thread to thread, thinking on what to say. "It's no-"
She didn't grant me the Chance to speak.
To be continuedâŚ
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Bahaha so sorry my lovelies. I wanted to post the full chapter sooner- but even-still itâs only halfway done as I am a perfectionist and work in sporadic Bursts. BUT I thought you all deserved a little sneak peak, yâknow, for the anticipation- also to motivate me as Iâve fallen into a crazy depression and kinda wanted to x0x. But alas, we must persevere!! I shall feed my freaks.
ITS OUT
Starring: SUKUNA RYOMEN x reader
Synopsis: abandoned at the foot of a mountain in hopes of winning the favour of Sukuna Ryomen, you have to navigate life as his bride, constantly fearing death, torture, and being eaten outâ up. being eaten up. definitely up.
right?
Warnings: porn with plot, dark romance, forced marriage, true form!sukuna - 2 peepees!, cunnilingus (he's a certified munch), use of curse mouth, blood play, masochist!sukuna, pussyjob, thigh job, death/violence/body parts, primal play, dubcon, double penetration, upside down 69, hair pulling, brief spanking, pussy slapping, biting, outdoor sex, bondage, shadow tentacles?, period sex, multiple orgasms, honestly not as dark as it sounds â this is quite romantic I promise, angst, fluff (soft!kuna), not quite curse au in the canon sense, f!reader, not proofread Word Count: 16.9k
A forced marriage with Sukuna, the king of curses, sounds like hell.
And it is.Â
The village chief wanted to receive the newly arrived Curse Kingâs mercy and be spared from his tyranny. That apparently meant offering you, his only daughter, up for marriage. You were dropped off at the foot of the mountain, bound and gagged, unable to scream for help, not that any would arrive.
Not even your best friend, Suguru, had met your eyes.Â
Everyone had abandoned you.
A servant, dignified and aloof, came. They, with their white hair stained with crimson, took one look at you before making a silent decision.Â
Carried by goblin-looking creatures inside the mountain, which parted as though unhinging its jaw, you could do nothing but accept that you were going to be eaten up by the very monsters that children were warned about.
Navigating the carved out hallways of the mountain, they threw you in the throne room. Jagged stone walls surrounded you. Glowing red rocks were embedded in the rocks and lit torches illuminated the grand space. You were laying on the rolled out red carpet, staring up at a giant of a being.Â
There he was.
Sukuna Ryomen.
He was resting his head on one of his four arms, legs crossed, with all four eyes gazing down at you. He looked bored.Â
âWhat is this?â he drawled.
The same servant you first met stepped up, head bowed humbly. They said, âEntertainment, my Lord.â
âEntertainment?â the king repeated, tasting the word. âNot a snack? Interesting. How, pray tell, will this woman entertain me, if not with the taste of her flesh, Uraume?â
It was an absurd situation â they were discussing you as if you werenât there, as if you didnât have ears, as if you were a pet the servant had picked up as a gift. Although, it was at least a small blessing that you hadnât been killed on the spot, you supposed. The thought, however, didnât permit much relief when unimaginable torture could have awaited you.
âUraumeâ answered, âThe humans intended for her to be your wife, my Lord. Perhaps you could humour them with brief belief that they have been spared from their inevitable fate.â
At that, Sukuna hummed.
His eyes met your own then. They inspected you through your very soul. You felt their branding touch rifling through your essence. Something passed in them, something to which you could not put words.Â
Finally, he waved a lazy hand, and said, âVery well.â
The servants rushed to take you away, afraid to waste a single second.Â
Youâve been living in a room somewhere in the heart of the mountain since.Â
Itâs been about a week.Â
Meals on a tray are served to you three times a day. Porridge, fruits, bread, the sorts. You do your best not to eat much; they might have poisoned it.Â
Every day, every hour, is spent anticipating the wooden doors being kicked down, waiting for the Curse King to forgo delaying your fate and slicing your head off your shoulders with one, clean cut. So far, nothing yet.Â
In fact, you have not seen another soul since.Â
The first night, you couldnât sleep, afraid that he would take the villagers up on the offer to make you his real bride, by plunging his cock into you and stealing your maidenhead. It didnât, and hasnât, happened. But âyetâ looms over you perpetually.Â
Your one consolation is that sleep comes to you easily now.
Itâs all you can do â the room is barren of books, of people, of art. Only a bed, a table, and a chamber pot with a bucket of water decorate it. There are no windows with which you can view the outside world, can tell what time of day it is, can escape through, or jump off. Only your bodyâs natural instincts inform you when morning and time to slumber has arrived.Â
ThoughâŚ
With the days blurring, and perpetual and dim light of the glowing rocks remaining unchanged, itâs beginning to grow more and more difficult to tell left from right.Â
The doors are unlocked.Â
That was the first thing you tested when you were placed here.Â
Of course youâve considered walking out of the room, if only to have a change of scenery. Youâve also considered escaping. But your thoughts would always end up at âescaping to where?â
Youâve been abandoned by your village, by your family. They would not accept you. They would see your return as a sign that the Curse King had rejected their sacrifice and would be coming to collect the debt. In other words, youâd be seen as a bad omen.Â
It was your destiny to die, whether by the hands of your family or by the hands of the beast they were afraid of.
So if death is a certainty, why would you fear it?
Thatâs the final thought that pushes you out of bed and to the door. Your hand hesitated for a second. Then it was sure. You opened it, body tense.Â
No oneâs outside. No guard, no goblins, no king.
You pad out, feet bare and wearing only a nightgown. How deep inside the mountain are you, you wonder. Thereâs a draught blowing past, but no sound of the forest to fill the space. No voices. No footsteps. No life.
âWhere is everyone?â you mutter, padding forward.
Who can say how long you wander through the tunnels?Â
It feels like itâs been hours, though with the way time seems to pass differently, it could also have only been mere minutes.Â
Eventually, you spot light coming from a hollow in the walls. Carefully and with bated breath, you peer inside.
Steam wafts over your face.
Itâs warm â startlingly so against the chill that seems to cling to every corridor of the mountain. You hesitate again, also only a moment before stepping inside.Â
The ceiling arches high above, rough stone glistening with condensation, droplets forming and falling in slow, steady rhythms that echo softly in the space. The air is thick, humid, curling around your skin. It tickles.
At the centre of the chamber lies a pool.
Itâs set into a wide, uneven basin in the ground. The water glows faintly from beneath, lit by the same red-veined stones embedded along the walls, but here their light is softened, diffused through the steam until it casts everything in a hazy, molten glow.
The surface of the water ripples lazily, disturbed by unseen currents, by the quiet bubbling from somewhere deep below. Heat rises from it in waves, beckoning, almost inviting.
Who knew something like this existed inside a mountain?
Carefully, you approach the edge of the pool, crouching slightly as you extend a hand. Your fingers hover for a second before dipping into the water.
Hot.
But not scalding.
âA bath,â you mumble, smiling.
Here, of all places.
The servants had given you a bed to sleep on, a table to eat at, and a pot to do your business in that seemed to be cleaned out magically without you ever seeing anyone. What they hadnât granted, however, is the luxury of a bath. Only a bucket to and a rag to clean yourself with.Â
You glance back toward the tunnel, as if half-expecting someone, something, to be watching. But thereâs nothing and no one. Only the distant drip of water and the low hum of the mountain breathing around you.
Your reflection stares back at you from the shifting surface, blurred by steam and movement. The quiet stretches.
If youâll be killed for stepping outside your room, at least youâll die clean and fresh.Â
Shrugging off your nightgown, you dip your toe in the water, then your leg and the other, and soon youâre fully emerged.Â
âOh, thatâs wonderful,â you moan, letting the water soothe the aches in your bones. You sink deeper. The heat swallows you whole, up to your shoulders, then your chin. Your eyes flutter shut as you tilt your head back, strands of your hair clinging damply to your skin.
For a moment, just a moment, you forget. Forget the mountain, the monsters, the fate waiting patiently for you somewhere in its depths. The tension bleeds out of your limbs, your breathing slowing, evening out as the warmth seeps into you.
You drift, arms floating lazily at your sides.
A soft sigh escapes you. This is just like swimming in the lake near the village, except itâs warm and lovely and soothing.Â
ItâsâŚpeaceful.
Too peaceful.
Your eyes open.
Something feelsâŚoff suddenly. The water, once gently lapping, stills in a way that isnât natural. The faint bubbling from below seems to deepen, shift. Like something moving far beneath the surface.
Your body goes rigid.
Slowly, you glance down. The water is dark there. Deeper than it should be. The glow from the stones doesnât quite reach the bottom â it falls away into shadow, into something that looks less like a pool and more like a pit.
A pit that could swallow you whole.
Your breath catches.Â
ââŚHello?â you call softly, though you donât know why.
The surface trembles.
Something moves.
Your heart lurches into your throat. Instinct kicks in before thought does. You turn sharply, water sloshing as you begin to move, arms cutting through the surface, making for the edge.
Too slow.
Something clasps your ankle.
A gasp tears right through you, kicking hard, panic surging white-hot through your veins. âNo!â
It coils.
Grabs.
Your leg is yanked downward with terrifying force.
The world flips. Water crashes over your head as youâre dragged under, your scream swallowed instantly. You thrash, clawing at nothing, lungs burning whilst bubbles tear from your mouth. Your hands grasp blindly, trying to find purchase, to find anything.
A shape.
A body.
You strike it. Push against it. Kick, struggle, fight with everything in you, nails scraping against something solid, unyielding.Â
Then it lets go.
You donât wait.
You surge upward, breaking through the surface with a ragged gasp, coughing, choking on water as you scramble for the edge. Your hands slap against the stone, slipping once before catching, dragging yourself up just enough to cling to it. Your whole body trembles violently.
Air. You need air.Â
You suck it in greedily, chest heaving, water dripping from your lashes as your eyes dart wildly across the pool. âW-whatâŚâ you choke out, voice shaking.Â
A sound answers you. A low, amused exhale.
Your blood runs cold. Slowly, hesitantly, you turn your head.
Heâs here.
The King of Curses.
Sukuna lounges against the inner ledge of the pool as though heâs always been there. One arm is slung lazily over the stone behind him, another resting loosely at his side, droplets sliding down the planes of his skin. And the remaining two are folded under the water.
Heâs watching you.Â
No, observing you.Â
That smirk curls at his lips, sharp and satisfied, eyes glinting with something dark and entertained. âWell,â he drawls, voice echoing low against the stone walls, âyour floundering was amusing.â
âW-why,â you begin, gulping air and frantically shoving the wet hair clinging away from your face, âwhy did you do that?â
A hum floats through the air, carried by the steam. It sweeps your skin. Sukuna says, âBecause I could.â Then he barks a laugh. âWhen I came here to wash the stink of my latest massacre, I did not expect to find a human bathing in my onsen. How brazen of you.â
When he snaps his fingers together, you flinch.Â
Uraume appears.Â
Their head is downcast. They donât look at your body, which you suddenly remember is bare and visible through the clear water. You throw your arms over your private parts.Â
âWho is this woman and why have you not killed her upon her first step of trespass?â he asks his servant. Sukuna doesnât sound mad. Only curious.Â
âBecause she is your bride, my Lord.â
You flinch at the term.Â
Sukuna barks a laugh again. âMy bride? My bride! How comical that I would forget I have one.â He turns to you, eyes narrowing in with interest. âWhy have you only now appeared before me?â
Gulping, you tentatively answer, âI did not think you would want to see me. And Iâm sorry I intrudedââ
âWise,â he says, one of his massive arms running through his wet hair. âI am not usually fond of seeing humans; you are all so hideous and constantly quivering in my presence.â
Thereâs no possible way to reply to that, not without getting your blood spilled for insolence.Â
He stands upon the ledge and exits the pool.Â
Heâs completely naked, as you are. His broad back, the impressive muscles that make it up, the perfectly symmetrical tattoos. He turns. His cocks swings with the movement. You quickly avert your eyes, cheeks warm.Â
If Sukuna notices that you noticed, he doesnât say. Only, âTry not to drown â my pet swims beneath but he has already had his fill. Do not fatten him with your flesh.â
When you hurriedly climb out, squealing, his laughter echoes, filling the space even once his body, and his servantâs, have left.Â
You kneel on the smooth ground, panting, soaked and dripping, and thinking one thing:
The Curse King has a sense of humour.
And two giant cocks.
.
.
.
The next day, you find yourself back at the pool.Â
You tell yourself itâs simply because you want to bathe, but perhaps if you were more honest with yourself, youâd accept that maybe you were curious to see if heâd be there.Â
And he is.
Sukuna leans against the very same ledge he had been yesterday. He watches your every move, from when you first step in, to when you shyly shrug off your nightgown, and when you submerge yourself in the warm water.
Something has brought you here.Â
A pull you could not deny.
Thinking too much about it gives you a headache, so you let your body move on its own, unhindered by logic, by your mindâs concerns. You want to bathe, to be clean. He hadnât killed you yesterday, and that counts for something.Â
Of course, you know the smart thing to do would be to not push it, to understand that two run-ins with him that didnât lead to immediate death doesnât mean a third would end the same, to count your blessings.Â
ButâŚ
Bath.
He says nothing, only runs a finger across the seam of his lips as his eyes drink up every shift of your body.
Boldly, albeit shakily, you ask, âWhy havenât you killed me yet?â
Sukunaâs eyes glint.Â
âI wonder the same thing myself.â
Thatâs not an answer, you note. But you donât poke, scared if you do, if you push your limits more than you already have, heâll snap your head as easily as he had snapped his fingers.Â
The way his eyes pin you down on the ledge opposite him has you squirming in your seat. Itâs too intense. Too strong. Too dizzying. So you try to pretend itâs not cascading down the skin visible to him; you push forward, wading in the water. You stare at the ceiling, at the distance, at the darkness of the depths, at anything but him.Â
âMy village offered me as sacrifice,â you remind him. âWill you spare them?â
Somewhere, he lazily replies, âI have yet to decide.â
Humming, as though you thought as much, you wonder aloud, âWhat will you do with me? I cannot imagine that the King of Curses would find much use in a human wife.â
âNo, neither can I,â Sukuna drawls.
On and on, you swim. Arms cut through the water in slow, steady strokes, legs kicking behind you in a rhythm thatâs begun to feel automatic. Thereâs no sense of direction, no shore to aim for, just the endless stretch of water surrounding you, thick and quiet, swallowing any sound you might make. Time slips, dissolves, until all that remains is movement for the sake of movement.
Then, as you turn, your hand meets something solid.Â
The impact is soft but jarring, your palm flattening instinctively against it. A wall. Smooth, unmoving, impossibly present where there had only ever been open water.
You gasp.Â
Sukuna stands behind you.Â
The bottom of the pool had risen. You still cannot reach it, but youâre aware that if you tried to, the waterâs surface would be just above your head. The pool is under his command, bending to his will. How incredible.
Bare, wet skin meets bare, wet skin.Â
The heat of his body is hotter than that of the water.Â
He doesnât step away despite how the water seems to be pushing you to him.Â
How did he get to you so fast? Last you saw, he was still sitting on the ledge. No, perhaps the better question is, why had he moved closer to you at all?
Hands grab your ribs. You gasp. Theyâre firm, callused. Burning.
âWife?â he repeats, wide smirk revealing rows of flesh-tearing teeth. âYou are not my wife. You are my bride. I am sure even a puny, little thing like you understand that there is a process to be followed, yes?â
A nail flicks your nipple under the water.Â
You let out a shuddery breath.Â
The other two hands grip the back of your thighs, lifting them till theyâre wrapping around his hips. The top half of your body has emerged from the water, water dripping down. You throw your arms around his neck, a reflex to grab onto something before you fall.Â
Breasts presses to his chest. He must feel how hard your nipples are. Youâre flushed with embarrassment, and an acute awareness of how much bigger his own body is to yours â if he wanted to, he could crush you with his bare hands.
Sukunaâs sharp fangs glint at the very peaks as he runs his tongue over them. âFor you to be my wife, we would have to observe tradition. Do you understand what I refer to, little human?â
Breathless, you answer with your own question: âDo you refer to the wedding night, my Lord?â
One of his cocks pokes your entrance. You tense up.Â
Youâve seen their size; they are inhumanly big. They could not fit inside you, not without the preparation that the women in your village had giggled about, perhaps not even with.
But he doesnât shove it inside you all in one go.Â
He doesnât shove it inside at all.
The king merely slides you down his body, just a little, until that cock is sandwiched between your bodies.Â
It bumps a good spot on your cunt. You gasp.
âI do,â Sukuna says, huffing in amusement at your reaction. âI admit I have not been married before myself, but it is one aspect I am curious about.â
His strong hands are moving you up and down, testing every little sound that leaves your lips. And youâre letting him.
Is there something in the water? Some elixir thatâs making you susceptible to his whims? An aphrodisiac stimulating wetness out of your pussy?
He must feel it, must feel how it drips down his length. Just like how you can feel the prominent veins of a cock thatâs grown fully erect without you noticing. How long has he been like this? Since you walked in? Before?
Your nipples are scraping his chest. The sensation has you arching closer to him, grip around his body tightening. âM-my Lord!â
Sukuna tuts, moving you up and down like youâre a mere toy for his pleasure. He scolds, âThat is not my name.â
âSukuna?â you experimentally mutter the words. His cock throbs. You both groan. âS-somethingâs happening.â
Hips moving on their own, you feel as though youâve been possessed. Your body is no longer your own â some invisible thing is urging you to grind down on his cock, on that burning heat between you, rubbing your clit on his flushed cockhead, on the veins that run up and down his length.
Humming, he says, quite distracted, âYes. Something is. Allow it to happen. Do not fight it.â
This is pleasure youâve never felt before. Pleasure you didnât know truly existed. The women in your village always spoke of sexual pleasure as something only for men, joy a girl would be lucky to experience even once, if their partner was generous and not selfish, which was apparently rare.Â
Yet, here is, grinding your clit on the veins of his cock.
He licks his lips. âGo on, little human. Give it to me.â
With a loud moan, you throw your head back. Spasms wrack your body. A heady explosion warms your belly. Spurts of something even warmer paint your chest and stomach.Â
Sukuna grunts, fingers digging into the plush of your ass.Â
âFuck.â
Your head falls back on his chest, slumping with sudden languishness. You pant. His chest rises with his own heavier breaths.Â
Coming back into your own senses, you tense. Then push away. He lets you.Â
âIâm so sorry,â you say, in near tears from shame. âPlease forgive me, my Lord.â
You wade back, further and further away from him. Blood has pooled in your cheeks. What have you done? If he wasnât going to kill you before, he certainly will now that youâve defiled his body.
He pays you no mind. The water around his still body ripples. Sukuna grunts. Sucks in a harsh breath. Water laps at his contracting abdomen. Furious. Violent. You cannot tear your eyes away from the sight.Â
Oh godâŚheâs tugging furiously at his other cock whilst the other floats. His own spend is drying on his chest.Â
Mouth watering, you almost step forward to offer a hand.
But you donât.
Instead, you turn around and make a run back to your room.
.
.
.
You havenât returned to the pool. Not once in the week that passed.
He might not have killed you but one thingâs certain: you do not want to run into him again.Â
Especially now that youâve caught his attention. Reminded him of your existence. Which is as one would expect: worse than being forgotten. So, so, so much worse.Â
For, every day since the meeting at the pool, heâs taken to dropping off severed limbs at your door. Still warm. Still bleeding. Often twitching. First it was a big toe. Then a whole foot. A finger. A hand. An arm.Â
And today, a head.
A scream shook the walls once your eyes landed on the thing.
Your scream.
Perhaps itâs adrenaline that urges every stomp your feet make. Perhaps anger or indignation. Whatever it is, it has you near-running through the halls, searching in every hollow for him.Â
An almost full circle has been carved at the very end of one tunnel you stumble down. Vines creep out of it. You step inside, heaving, and with fists balled at your side.Â
A garden.
It stretches farther than your eyes can follow, lush and sprawling, like the earth itself had been coaxed open and persuaded to bloom in defiance of everything you thought you knew about this place. The ceiling arches high above, fractured in places where thin shafts of pale light filter through, catching on drifting pollen and casting the entire space in a soft, dreamlike haze.
The air is warm here. Heavy with scent.
Sweet. Overripe. Almost intoxicating.
Itâs not a human garden, you can tell immediately; the grass is black, as is the soil, and the roots which emerge from the ground are red. Things that couldnât exist in the same place do, cohabiting quite well.Â
Flowers youâve never seen before crowd the ground in wild abundance â petals like silk and flame, some translucent, others so dark they seem to drink in the light. Vines coil and twist up natural pillars of stone, heavy with blossoms. Leaves skim against your legs as you step forward, wide and waxy, or delicate as lace, each one foreign.
âHowâŚ?â you whisper, though there is no answer. It shouldnât have been possible to have a whole forest inside a mountain. But then again, a great many things shouldnât have been possible, yet they are.
The path, if it can even be called that, winds forward through the growth, barely visible beneath the encroaching green. It feels endless. Like you could spend your entire life sprinting down the path and never make it to the end.
There, some distance ahead, partially obscured by the curtain of hanging vines, a figure moves.
You freeze.
Bare feet press against the dark soil, soundless. A loose robe hangs from his shoulders, open just enough to reveal the breadth of his chest and the markings etched into his skin stark against the softness of the garden around him. One hand drags idly along the leaves as he walks.
âHello, little bride.â
It still surprises you that he can utter the word so casually. You donât flinch this time however. You only glower and maintain the distance. âWhy have you been giving me body parts?â you interrogate, grateful that your voice is as firm as when you had rehearsed.
Sukuna lifts one shoulder in a shrug. âWhy have you not stepped foot outside your room since?â
He resumes walking.
Toward you.
Each step is unhurried, deliberate, crushing petals beneath his feet without a second thought. The garden seems to part for him, bending subtly to his presence, vines shifting, leaves snaking aside in quiet submission.
You donât move.
You tell yourself you wonât.
Your pulse stutters anyway.
âYou fear me,â Sukuna observes, like heâs stating something obvious. His eyes drag over you, taking in every inch, every subtle shift in your breathing, the way your fingers curl tighter at your sides. âAnd yet you came looking.â
âBecause I want to know why youâve been giving me body parts,â you snap.
âMm.â
Heâs closer now.
Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, even in the thick, perfumed air of the garden. Close enough that you can see the faint sheen of moisture still clinging to his skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the loose fall of his robe.
Another step.
Instinct finally kicks in; you shift back, just one pace.
The corner of his mouth lifts. âI was curious.â
Your brows knit. âAbout what?â
âHow long it would take,â he says lightly, âfor you to stop hiding.â A finger traces the curve of your cheek. You hold your breath, staring up at him, waiting for his next move. Sukuna mutters, âHow odd that your scent would be so much sweeter than the flowers that grow here. It makes me wonder.â
Why is heat travelling down your body? Why arenât you running away, revolted by his touch or the gravel in his voice? Were you still thinking about the feel of his body against yours, both naked, in the pool? Of the cocks whose soft lengths had been engrained in your mind?
His nostrils flare.Â
A flash in his eyes.
âThere it is,â he rasps. âA scent I could not escape, so much more potent now.â
In a blink of an eye, youâre flipped over, dangling in the air. He has you by the ankle, lifted high up.Â
You grab onto his robe, which has parted. Right in front of you is his cock. Both of them. Neither soft now. Definitely not soft. One smacks you right against the face. It leaves a wet mark.Â
The musk of a refined monster hits you. ItâsâŚitâs addictive. Your mouth waters again, stronger this time than the time at the pool now that theyâre so much closer to you. Irresistible.Â
Sukuna presses a nose to the apex of your thighs. Skin on skin. You jolt.
Your dress had fallen down your body, ballooning around your face. You hold the material away â he can see everything. That fact has you aware that you can see him too. The thickness of his cocks, the lengths rivalling your forearm, the weight of the balls beneath. Everything about him is massive. Intended to subjugate. Designed to dominate.Â
âYou are already wet. Soaked,â he muses, thoroughly humoured. He rubs his nose on your clit, nuzzling the little bud. You dig your nails into his thighs. âFilthy, little human.â
Thatâs all he says before he licks a stripe through your slit.
âSukuna!â
âMm. Dessert. Just in time.â
The beast licks and laps and sucks. It isnât anything like the women at the village described â men are supposed to be reluctant, theyâre supposed to be frightened. Sukuna isnât. Heâs consuming your juices as though starved, needing nourishment.Â
In front of you, something emerges from his skin.
A wolfish grin.
Thereâs a mouth on his stomach, lips curled up and teeth gleaming. You scream, fighting to get out of his tight hold.
SMACK!
Sukuna slapped your ass. A dull heat blossoms on the flesh. He commands, âStay still. I cannot dine when you worm like so.â
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Cruelly, he lays short slaps right on your clit, sending juices splashing onto your skin. The way his palm sticks, the sloppy noises, it's all so degrading. Heâs doing it on purpose. Heâs revelling in your clear desire for him.
Youâre almost too distracted by the sight of a second, bigger mouth. Almost. But nothing can truly, wholly tear your attention away from the sucking of your clit and the way a fire is being lit in your very core. Soon, a thick tongue finds your entrance and buries itself inside. Your eyes roll back.
A hot, wet thing slides up the valley of your breasts. Slithering. Testing. Tasting.
The mouth, you realise. Itâs sticking its fat tongue out, licking your breasts the way Sukunaâs face mouth is licking the inside of your cunt, stretching your walls, teasing the pleats there.Â
âDelicious,â one of them says. You canât tell which. So much is happening at once. Too many to process.Â
At your lips, one of his cockheads smears its seed. You lick your lips. Itâs salty. Eyes fixed on the frighteningly red thing, you open your mouth to suckle at it. That familiar possession has returned. Youâre being controlled by an invisible force â your jaw has to widen to take the bulbous head. Your tongue runs over the tip, where thereâs a slit.Â
Sukuna groans, pleased. Then he growls, âDo not neglect the other.â
Slightly afraid, you do as he says. The other cock is just as hard, just as big and long as the one youâre sucking on. It throbs approvingly when you tug on it.Â
âGood,â he groans out. âVery good, little bride.â
Obscene squelches are coming from above. Itâs a reminder of how wet you are for him. Of how delirious the pleasure is. Of how you arenât disgusted by the magical tongue flicking your tits, playing with the mounds, running the tip of it over your nipples. Youâre not disgusted by the salty taste of him, of how he seems to be constantly leaking.
Heâs lapping up at your pussy so furiously that he makes frustrated, wrathful sounds; heâs mad that youâre not producing enough wetness to match the pace in which heâs drinking it up.
âMore,â he commands. âGive me more. Now.â
Sukuna pushes his face closer, uncaring of the fact that youâre making a mess all over his cheeks. He only has one thing on his mind.Â
âIâm gonna cum,â you warn him, mouth full and words garbled. The unfamiliar word leaves your lips so naturally you think youâd been warning him all your life of your impending orgasm.
Unfortunately, the warning is wasted. You donât think he even hears the words with your thighs muffling his ears.
âSukuna!â
The very same feeling, the same sensations, as the time in the pool rushes through you. Bolts of lightning thrum beneath the surface of your skin. You shudder, moaning lewdly.Â
He doesnât stop. If anything, heâs only emboldened by the juices overflowing out of you. Slurrrrrping! so animatedly. So viciously. So animalistically.Â
A feral beast sucking your sensitive clit into another orgasm only minutes later.Â
Itâs too much. It almost hurts. You slap at his meaty thigh. That seems to snap him out of his mania.
In a flash, youâre flipped back upright. Blood descends down your body. Lightheaded, your knees weaken. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms all while heâs collecting as much of your juices off his skin he can reach with his tongue.
ThudâŚthudâŚthudâŚ
Sukuna strolls through the garden and back out into the rocky halls, robe discarded. Your dress is soaked with a mix of your juices, sweat, and his saliva. Youâre filthy. He doesnât complain.
Thankfully, thereâs no one in the hallways to witness the remnants, of the proof, of your mutual debauchery.
âI have never considered myself as having a sweet tooth,â Sukuna begins, musing to himself, âbut now I believe I would very much like to have dessert after every meal. What do you say, little human?â
âHmm,â you sleepily hum.
âThen we are in agreement,â Sukuna concludes, pleased.
Your eyes flutter shut, too tired to keep them open. Before you fall into slumber, you feel a bed much softer than you remember cushion your body.Â
A hardness flanks you.
You dream of many hands brushing your hair, patting your hip, rubbing your belly, and tracing your cheek.
.
.
.
Since youâve come to accept your odd relationship with the King of Curses, youâve been spending an awful amount of time with him lately.Â
It started off with him keeping you in his room.Â
Itâs a much nicer room than yours. Infinitely so. Almost triple the size and more lavishly decorated â a huge bed with silk sheets and a canopy with deep velvet curtains, a plush rug, dark red orchids in intricate and complex positions upon a table, paintings of different moments in time of human suffering that concerningly do not bother you.
You always find yourself back in here.Â
Whenever you wander through the halls, the walls seem to shift. They lead you back to his room. At first you were hesitant to enter, and youâd try to go a different way, but the caves insisted.
He isnât here ever.Â
So youâve started to think of it as your own.Â
During meal times, thatâs when youâd see Sukuna.Â
Uraume would often escort you out of the room and into the dining hall. Another enormous space. Youâd dine with him, and only him. Thereâd be curses posted inside, but they always step out, to give you privacy you assume. Naturally, these mealtimes were awkward for you in the beginning.Â
Sukuna didnât speak. Not at first. He would just watch you eat, which only made you feel more awkward.Â
You were the one who broke the silence. âAre you⌠are you not going to eat, my Lord?â you asked tentatively.
A devious grin came upon his face. Happy he won a competition you didnât know you signed up for. He replied, âI will. I am simply fattening up my pig before I devour her.â
Heat flushed through you. Cutlery clinking against the fine china, you gulped. There was a dangerous awareness of the darkness of his eyes feasting upon your flesh â you felt its weight sliding down the plumpness of your cheeks, the length of your neck, your collarbones, and your breasts which threatened to spill out from the confines of your dress.Â
Perhaps fear should have overtaken you at that moment.
Only relief and desire did.Â
What set you on edge most was not knowing what he wanted from you, why he had Uraume collect you, why he was wasting his time here when he could be doing kingly duties.Â
Now that he had made clear what he was seeking, you could allow yourself to rest easy and actually taste the food you were shovelling into your mouth.Â
âI am the pig in question?âÂ
âYes,â he replied immediately. A hand shoved a plate of pancakes towards you, encouraging. âYou certainly squeal like one.â
Frowning, and pushing the plate away because you have too much to eat already, you argued, âI do not.â
âDo too,â he said, pushing the plate back towards you.
âDo not!â
An arm wrapped around your waist faster than you could see. Another swiped the food off the table. Everything fell with cacophonous clangs and bangs and splats!Â
Sukuna placed you on the table, which was now bereft of food. Your back met the hard wood. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders. Dress hiked up your waist. You were bared to him. Two of his callused hands yanked you closer to his face. Those four eyes, all scarlet and glinting up at you, didnât look away.Â
He wanted you to watch him take a long whiff of your cunt.
His grip tightened on you once your scent hit him with full force. His eyes rolled back. Sukuna snarled, âLetâs see which of us is right.â
There were no soft kisses upon your sensitive skin, no caresses. Only unrestrained feasting. He immediately latched onto your clit, sucking on the thing with a fury. You cried out.Â
The king was frightening in his aggression.Â
He was gulping down every drop your pussy produced to please him, and it wasnât nearly enough. Terrifying growls shook the table.Â
Sukuna seemed addicted to making your cunt let out vulgar squelchessss!
They came in quick succession. One after the other. Loud and clear. Displaying how well he was playing with your clit.Â
âLook at how your cunt flutters, searching for my cocks,â he mused, thumbing the entrance but not pushing in. âAnd look how your petals have grown swollen with blood. Oh, I bet your blood tastes as good as your pussy. Weâll test that too, another day.â
Stammering, you pleaded, âDonât look!âÂ
He stared too intently. Saw too much. It was more intimate than being tasted.Â
âNonsense,â Sukuna said, waving you off. âI will look as I please, and I very much do.â
In response to his renewed lapping of your juices, you could only writhe and run your nails down the wood for anything to ground you.
âDo not waste your claws on the table,â he spat, spare hands snatching your ups and offering his wrists for you to dig into. You hesitated, chest heaving and vision swimming. Then he asked, âYou do not find my flesh good enough to mark? You wish to offend your groom when he is at the altar of your legs?â
You didnât want to know what he was like when he was offended so you clung to his thick wrists. You made a mental note not to actually scratch him â that seemed a more criminal act than offending him â but the pleasure born from his ravishing of your pussy bordered on pain and you could not help yourself.
The very moment your nails caught on his skin and broke through, one of the hands that was keeping your shaking legs apart darted out. It landed on your chest. With brutish finesse, it ripped your bodice. Cool air grazed over your breasts. That hand latched onto a tit.Â
âW-whatâ Oh God!â you screamed.Â
SomethingâŚ
Something on his palm was suckling your nipple, like a babe.Â
Sukunaâs amused huff vibrated through your pussy, sending shivers up your spine. âNo, not God, little bride. It is me. My mouth is making you feel good. But,â he adds after a little thought, âI do not mind being worshipped as a deity, heh.â
How could he be so nonchalant when two sets of mouths were eating you up, when your eyes were at risk of being permanently lodged at the back of your head? How could he make conversation so easily when his tongue, which felt so impossibly long, was wriggling through your walls and teasing the entrance to your womb? When the mouth at his palm was suctioning your nipple into that impossible space?
âDelicious,â he snarled, positively starved of your taste. âSo fucking sweet. How can a human be soâŚsoâŚdivine? It defies nature.â
He wasnât talking to you anymore. He was manically muttering to himself, reasoning with his own understanding of the balance of life. It baffled him. Bewildered him. Excited him. Sukuna could not get enough of you.
Whining, you called out his name, âS-Sukuna! Itâs too -hngh!- much. I canât.â
âCum,â he said.Â
Your head shook, thrashed. âNo, I -hah- canât!â
âCum,â he repeated. No, commanded. Ordered. Demanded.Â
And you could not deny a king.Â
You fell apart on the dining table with a scream. Wetness rushed out of you as though a dam had broken. He drank it all up. Slurrrrrpeddd! every single drop until you were writhing again. And when he growled, âMore,â and, âAgain,â you could not deny him then either.
It might have been hours later before he decided heâd had his fill.
Aside from meal times, you donât see him during the day. Heâs always gone. No one will tell you why, and you donât feel brave enough to ask. You merely assume heâs doing kingly duties â keeping the curses of the Underworld and of the forests in line, maintaining balance between humans and monsters, and protecting his people.Â
In the meantime, you read in his room, which is now your room. There are plenty of books here. More than you could ever read in a lifetime, and certainly more than there ever were in your village. Itâs hard to imagine he read any of the books in the collection but there are signs of use: folded pages, cracked spines, yellowing.Â
He read each one you had opened.Â
Poems.Â
Novellas.Â
Journals of travels beyond.Â
You donât mind the hours spent on your own; the goblins walking along still scare you so you avoid running into them. Of course, thereâs always the option to ask during your mealtimes, in between him eating you out and actually consuming food, if you could visit the village (for you know returning was too much). Not that you especially wanted to go home.Â
The villagers had sold you.Â
Abandoned you.
They would not welcome you home.Â
So you must consider the heart of the mountain your new home.
Itâs simply about asking, about knowing the answer, about having the option.
But each time you considered bringing up your village to him, you backed out at the last second. He was not your husband. Not really. Not yet. Heâs not even really your groom. That just seems like an excuse to do the salacious things youâve been doing. At most, heâs your friend, and you cannot burden your friend more than you already have.Â
Truthfully, it hardly matters what exactly he is to you. Heâs nice. Attentive. Generous. He hasnât killed you, he hasnât hurt you, hasnât massacred your village and your family, and hasnât thrown back in your face any of those facts.Â
Thatâs why every morning, when you know Uraume will escort you, you make sure never to be late.
You obediently, possibly excitedly, wait in front of the door for the knock.Â
You slide a hand down your new dress; it appeared in the closet, and is your size. It certainly isnât Sukunaâs. Red lace, soft silk, dainty bows, easy to move in and breathe â itâs a beautiful dress. Far more expensive and luxurious than anything youâd ever owned. The chest areaâs a little tight; it pushes your breasts up more than youâre used to, and somehow youâre sure that was on purpose.Â
When the door opens, Uraumeâs patient self leads you out. Theyâre quiet. Respectful. They have been since the very first night.Â
âThank you.â
Cold eyes flit to you. âWhat ever for, my lady?â
âFor saving me,â you say, fiddling with the lace on your dress. âIf you hadnât suggested that he humour me, Sukuna would haveââ
âThe king,â Uraume cuts in, spine straight and gaze fixed ahead now, âdoes only as he pleases. It is his right. He grows bored of his new toys very quickly, and it is my duty to keep him entertained. I saw an opportunity to fulfil my responsibility. That is all.â
You have no response to that. You only blink, surprised and berating yourself for being so. Sukuna may be your friend, in your eyes at least, but Uraume is not. Sukuna may not mind the fact that you are human, but others may not share the same sentiment. Maybe Uraume thinks you are a plague. A rat. Thatâs often the story humans spread about curses and their philosophies.
Soon, you reach the double doors leading to the garden. Before the doors are opened, they add, âIt is also my duty to throw old toys away.â
When you turn to look at them, theyâre already gone.
âFinally,â Sukuna says, exasperated. âI resent being kept waiting. Walk here with haste, little bride.â
Uraumeâs words linger in your mind; Sukunaâs sharp rows of teeth flash washes them away.Â
Heâs in his loose robes, bottom set of arms tucked into the wide sleeves. A hand beckons you over, and the moment you are within reach, he snatches you up. Youâre carried up in his arms, high enough to come face to face with him and see all four of his eyes watching you.Â
Sukuna nuzzles the crook of your neck. He starts walking down the path. Branches tickle the top of your head. âDid you sleep well?â he wonders. His voice vibrates against your skin. It tickles.
Gripping his hair for purchase, you murmur, âYes.â Then, shuddering once his lips explores the length of your neck, you ask, âDid you?â
âI do not sleep,â he casually replies.Â
Within minutes, heâs managed to walk so deep into the garden that the surroundings have changed from exotic flowers full of vibrant colours and shapes to a forest of cherry blossoms. Petals whirl around you, swirling with the gentle wind.Â
Above you, the cave walls have shifted into the blue and vast open sky.Â
You gasp. âAre weâŚare we outside?â
The brightness almost sting your eyes; you have to narrow them with a wince to avoid being blinded. The smell of fresh air too nearly burns your nostrils. The chatter of live animals and insects are near deafening at first. Everythingâs so different, so new, yet so familiar, so ordinary that it becomes magical to your senses.Â
He parts from your neck to eye your reaction. The smile on your face makes his grip on you tighten. Sukuna says, âYes. Your complexion looked rather dull without sunlight, and my bride must be at her very best at all times. So here we are.â
That doesnât sound quite true upon his lips but you donât question him on it.Â
Instead, you beam at him and gush, âThank you! Oh, itâs wonderful out.â
Itâs easy to forget what the world above is like when youâve spent countless nights under the mountain with rocks for company.Â
Sukuna sets you down. You waste no time running around, laughing at the green grass that tickles your bare feet.Â
The grass inside the mountainâs garden is black, with roots being red, for reasons you could not fathom. Itâs coarser too. The softness of this green, human grass, in comparison, sets your heart racing.
Thereâs no wind inside the mountain, only a draught. This calm air is fresher, warmer, soothing on the body and doesnât settle.Â
And the warmth of the sunâŚ
Beams of distant fire soaks into your skin. You sigh, a small smile on your lips.Â
When you turn back, heâs sitting under a tree, all arms crossed and watching you. Always watching. Always aware of your every move, every position, every shift.Â
Somewhat shy with the realisation that heâd seen the entire display, you stroll back to his side.Â
âIt is a lovely day out, yes?â he says.Â
You nod, grinning. âItâs perfect. Just perfect.â
About to sit beside him, you let out a squeal when he snatches you up again and sits you down on his lap. All of his arms cage you. Sukuna rests his chin on the top of your head.Â
âNow it is,â he mumbles, chest rumbling against your back.Â
You smile again, more coy this time, and grateful he canât see it.
The grass is untouched. No footprints mar it. No broken twigs, no distant rustling of hidden creatures. It is a forest, yes, but stripped of all the unease that forests usually carry.
It is only you and him.Â
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve as another petal lands on your lap. You pick it up, studying it like it might vanish if you blink too long. Glancing back at him, you tilt your head slightly. âDid youâŚmake this place like this?â
His chin presses a little more firmly into your hair, a quiet, possessive weight. âIt exists on its own,â he says. âI allow it to remain.â
Another petal skims your lips. Without thinking, you laugh â light, bright, unguarded â as you try to catch it, only for it to slip away again, carried by a breeze that barely stirs the trees.
âYouâre noisy,â he mutters.
Yet he does not tell you to stop.
You lean back into him instead, comfortable now, warm from the sun and from him both. One of his hands idly flicks a petal from your shoulder, the motion almost absent-minded, as though he doesnât realise heâs doing it. Or perhaps he does. And simply doesnât care.
Your gaze drifts across the clearing again, softer this time. Slower. Relaxed, you ask, âYou said you donât sleep. What do you do at night?â
Sukuna hums, fingers drumming on your stomach. âI take care of my business.â
Thatâs vague, you think, but you donât push. Instead, you ask another question: âWhy do you not return to the chambers?â
He chuckles, teasing. âHow forward of you, little bride. We have not yet been wed and youâre already asking to share the marital bed. Is this how you humans do it in this day and age?â
Heat flushes your cheeks. You smack one of his wandering hands, which has crept up to cradle a breast, and huff, âNo, thatâs not what Iâm saying. I just mean, everyone needs sleep. Surely even you, the King of Curses. I wonder how you rest is all.â
A moment of contemplation passes.
Did you say something wrong? Did you go too far?
Did he hate that you smacked him?Â
âYou are right,â he eventually says, head coming down to nudge you. His lips gently touches your cheek. âI do need rest. So allow me.â
His strong hands easily lift you off his lap, placing you down on the grass. Sukuna unfolds his large body and comes to lie perpendicular to you. His head weighs your thighs down.Â
With a wave of his hand, a book appears in your left hand at the same time he takes your right and cradles it to his chest. âRead,â he instructs. âRead to me. And after my nap, I will eat your little cunt and slap your clit thrice to punish you for smacking my hand even just once.â
A flutter at your core has his eyes peering up at you, glinting. He must have sensed it. Somehow. Whether by feeling or by smell. How mortifying.Â
âOr,â he starts, âI can eat you out now. I am fine with whatever order you prefer.â
âNo, Iâll read,â you hurriedly say. You flick to the first page, reading the words out loud and only sighing in relief when his eyes flutter shut at the sound of your voice.Â
Sukunaâs lips curl up in the corner.
And so a new tradition is born.
.
.
.
âMy Lord,â Uraume repeats outside the door, âthey wait for you.â
Sukuna growls out, âLet them. I am preoccupied.â
Youâre pressed to the door, the cold wood warming up to the flush of your cheek. Bottom lip bitten in a desperate attempt to keep quiet, you can do nothing else but let him rut his scalding length between your thighs.Â
This evening, heâd woken you up with his tongue buried inside your cunt. It seems after another whole day out in the garden, reading and strolling with him and tasting each other beneath trees before or after his naps, you fell asleep and were carried back into your chambers.Â
Has it been days or weeks since youâve built up this routine of spending the days together and spending evenings apart?
Time seems to pass so quickly and yet so slowly. Itâs begun to lose all meaning to you. Itâs not a fact you lament.
You jolted with a shriek at the hulking figure under your covers. âAbout time,â he said, throwing the heavy thing off and baring how his skin glistened with your spend to you. âI thought I might have to fuck you with both my cocks at once to wake you.â
He was joking, you were sure. Or hopedâŚ
âWake me?â you repeated, back arching. âW-why?â
Sukuna replied, a fang rubbing your clit and being especially careful not to cut you, âBecause I must leave again, but I did not want to without hearing my name upon your lips.â
A whine tore through you. âWhy couldnât you just wake me up the normal way?â
Red eyes flashed mischievously from below. He licked a strike up your inner thigh all while not breaking eye contact. âBecause normal does not taste as good.â
Uraumeâs voice called out soon after, reminding him of the evening meeting. You stiffened. Could they hear you? Do they know what he was doing with you on the bed?Â
Feeling embarrassed, you kicked Sukuna off and tried to push him to the door. You hissed, âYou need to go. They need you.â
A hand slid inside your dress and groped your breast, cursed mouth appearing to nurse on your nipple. Another lifted your skirt up so that a third can coat its fingers in your cuntâs essence with the intention of easing the entry inside.Â
âSo does your cunt,â he said. âAnd I know which I would rather attend to first.â
Oh, he was filthy. So, so filthy.
And so persuasive.Â
With you continuing, and struggling, to shake him off â legs quivering from the number his mouths had done to you today â you eventually made it to the door and was about to open it when something hot and heavy rested upon the curve of your ass and a second parted your puffy pussy lips.Â
It was almost like he planned this.Â
âDo not make a noise,â Sukuna rakishly rasped to your ear. Two rough hands gripped your bare hips, dressed hiked up over your ass. âLest youâd like for Uraume to know what weâre doing.â
You definitely did not â they donât like you very much. This wouldnât help your case.Â
ButâŚ
His cocks are rubbing you up and down and back and forth. His fat cockhead keeps catching on your pulsing clit, bumping the thing over and over again until your cuntâs drooling on his veiny length.Â
âPress your thighs together. Tighter,â he commands, and groaning once you do. âEvery part of you feels so good. Itâs maddening.â
The pleasure building up in your core from a few thrusts is maddening. Truly. Irrevocably. You canât tell him that, however. You canât speak; if you do, a loud moan might slip out.Â
Sukunaâs grunting in your ear. The sounds are driving you wild. As is the fact that your tits are out and are being squeezed relentlessly by two hands. Mouths take over his palms. They donât hesitate to latch onto your nipples. You gasp, head thrown back into his chest. âSukuna!â
âMm, I know,â he huskily says. âMe too. Be good, pretty human. Just allow me to use your thighs for now.â
Heâs so tall your hips have to be lifted up to reach his cocks. Your toes dangle over the ground. You hang precariously but you never worry for a second that he might drop you.Â
Shlick! Shlickkk!Â
The sounds are obscene and theyâre all you can hear. Uraume must hear them too. Yet, theyâre still out there, saying, âMy Lord, please. The council grows restless.â
Sukunaâs livid growl shakes the door. âThey. Will. Wait. Do not interrupt me again.â
His rutting speeds up. The sucking of his cursed mouths intensifies. The tip of the cock behind you is smearing pre-cum on your back, and the sensation has you clenching around nothing.Â
âIâm cumming,â you whisper, eyes shut tight. âNghhh!â
âGood,â he breathes out. âGood girl.â
You bring a hand down to your cunt, cupping the cockhead appearing and disappearing with every shallow thrust through your lips. It nudges your palm, squelching! and leaving wet sploodges of his cum and yours. Sukuna snarls.
And just like that, he cums too. His hot cum explodes into your hand, spilling through the cracks of your fingers and splatting onto the floor. More cum bursts on your back, dirtying your dress.
Itâs so hot. Scalding.Â
He keeps ploughing between your soft thighs, wringing out every last drop until he shudders with a growl and you slump completely in his grasp.Â
When he pivots you around to check on you, specifically the cheek that had been pressed up against the door, you see his loose robe had fallen open. Some of his cum has ended up dripping down his skin. Heâs tattooed and chiselled and hard everywhere. A true killing machine. You run your fingers down his chest, smearing his cum around, all the way to his stomach where a massive mouth manifests in time to clamp onto your wrist with a grin.Â
His teeth donât break skin. They donât even hurt. They merely keep your hand inside, huge tongue slithering to lick every finger and every inch. Curiously, you grip the appendage. It really does feel like a real tongue. You stroke it.
Sukuna grips the back of your neck. He glares down at you. âYou are trying to bring me to my knees, arenât you?â
You blink. âNo! Forgive me.â You try to pull your hand out on your own but his sudden grasp on your wrist stops you.Â
âI did not say I did not like it.â He steps closer, licking his lips.Â
âMy LordâŚâ Uraume grits out through the door.Â
Sukuna groans. âYes! Alright!â
The door opens with a wave of his hand.Â
âI should massacre the whole council, then I will have all the time in the world to bury my tongue inside your cunt. One dayâŚâ he mutters under his breath, seemingly actually considering the idea. You swat his back, cheeks flushed from embarrassment.Â
Your dress falls back into place just in time for you to shield yourself from anyone elseâs eyes but Sukunaâs. Not that itâs enough.Â
Uraumeâs chilling eyes see all â the sweat on your skin, the mess of your hair, the quivering of your legs, and the droplets of cum on the floor. They do not look disgusted by it. They look disgusted by you.Â
âBe good for me, little bride,â Sukuna says, already stomping away. âI will look for you as soon as I am done with these fools.â
You take a step forward to Uraume, an apology on your tongue.Â
They step back, straightening up. âThese meetings are important,â they begin. âThey ensure the other lords feel seen and heard. It maintains peace in our domain, and in yours. You mustnât keep him from doing his duties. Not only is it impolite, it is also dangerous.â
âIâm sorrââ
âDo not apologise to me. Apologise to the king for wounding him,â they snap. You frown, confused. âThe marks you left on his wrists that he refuses to heal himself? He leaves them open and bleeding. He openly plays with the cuts in front of the council, in front of his audience, smiling. Whispers are making echoes of a weakness in our king. If you do not care about your safety, then you must care about his.â
Thoroughly scolded, you stay rooted in place, watching Uraume follow after Sukuna.Â
.
.
.
You take a walk through the garden this evening to clear your head.Â
What Uraume said forced you to contemplate your relationship with the king. With Sukuna. They reminded you why you were spared in the first place â youâre a toy. A thing for entertainment.Â
He is entertained by you now, by the pleasures your body provides. That, however, is not something unique to you; any woman can spread their legs, which is a crass thing to say, you know. But itâs true. To save their village, their people, to earn another day of life, or to even have the honour of serving a king, many women would offer their body up.Â
And you are no special woman. You are quite average, all things considered. Never the most beautiful woman in the room, the most intelligent, or most pure of heart.Â
The fact of the matter is, Sukuna will soon grow bored of you.Â
What is left to be considered now is, will he spare you once he finds a new toy or will you be âgotten ridâ of by Uraume?
Will you be sad?Â
The pang in your chest at the thought seems to suggest so.
Without realising it, you end up back in the cherry blossom grove.Â
It looks different at night. Just as beautiful as during the day, of course, but different. Fireflies light up the air, mingling with the stars above you. If not for them, you wouldnât know where you are, wouldnât know that the tree whose bark youâre grazing with your fingertips now is the very same tree you sit under with Sukuna.
You were always under the impression that being a king meant you could do whatever you wanted. Uraumeâs warning proved otherwise â Sukuna had people to please. And youâre who pleases him.Â
For how long will you be enough?
With a sigh, you wonder if Sukuna really will come to find you after his meeting. Heâs always busy in the evenings, and though you spent the hours of the night sleeping anyway, itâd still be nice to talk to him. His thoughts on books youâve read are quite funny.Â
He hates silly heroines who make bad decisions and always fall for the gloomy, morally grey men, yet hates the morally grey men more for their cheesy lines. ââI control shadows and I have wings,ââ heâd mimic, lowering his voice to a deeper rumble than his own. Then heâd say in his own voice, âYes, so do about a thousand other fictional men. You are not special.â
Sukunaâs brows would furrow and heâd scoff whenever youâd get flustered by the erotic passages youâd be forced to read aloud to him as you sit in his lap, but he never suggests changing books. You theorise he really just likes complaining.Â
âPretty girl?â
You jolt.Â
That voiceâŚ
âSuguru?â
Behind a tree, a silhouette hobbles over to you. âYouâre alive! Oh, thank the heavens!â
The man falls into your arms. Heâs really here. Your bestest friend. But he isnât how you remember him â long raven hair have turned matted and dull, clothes torn and dirtied, and skin scratched up. You can hardly recognise him.
He grips your face, dirt rubbing into your skin. Scanning for any harm that might have befallen you, he smiles with relief upon seeing youâre perfectly well. âIâve spent so many weeks wondering what had happened to you. Iâm so sorry. God, Iâm so sorry.â
His words are going in one ear and out the other; you can only question, with terror and trepidation, why his hands tremble, why heâs jumping at every little sound, and pulling you away inch by inch.Â
âWhat happened?âÂ
Suguruâs eyes harden. His grip falls on your shoulder. Tight. Insistent. You wince. He says, âListen to me carefully. We need to leave. We need to leave now. Weâre too deep in the Curse Kingâs territory. There are beasts about. We must run now. Come!â
Bewildered, youâre yanked forward, stumbling over your feet.Â
âWait, no, I have to stay!âÂ
Heâs not listening.Â
Deeper into the forest, youâre pulled. The cherry blossoms morph into scraggly trees, leafless and with jagged branches like teeth reaching for you. The fireflies are gone now. You have to force your eyes to adjust as you trip over rocks and logs, and as your bare feet are caked in mud and moss.Â
Looking back towards the light, you start to heave. âSukunaâŚSukunaâll be mad. I have to go back.â You try to tear his hand off your wrist, digging your nails, but he can hardly feel it. âSuguru!â you yell, in near tears.
The man whirls on you, eyes wide and red. The bags under his eyes are darker than even the dark. They startle you. âWhatâre you doing? Whyâre you fighting me? Iâm trying to save you, like I should have done when your family decided to sacrifice you to the mountain.â
You shake your head. âItâs okay. Iâm okay. Iâm not mad at you, so if youâre doing this out of guilt, then you donât need to. Just go, alright? Go before someone notices youâre here. I donât know what the goblins, Uraume, o-or Sukuna will do if they find you here.â
Suguru recoils. âSukuna? You call the monster of the mountain by his first name?âÂ
He doesnât wait for you to answer. Something seems to dawn on him. His eyes properly take you in from head to toe â your clean skin, fresh hair, the plump in your cheeks, the expensive dress you wear, the lace, the silk, the jewels.Â
He releases you, like youâd burnt him.Â
âThe king spared youâŚâ he whispers in horror. âHe spared you. And youâve been living a life of luxury, as our village burned to the ground. You call him by his first name when his name was the last thing my family had screamed in their final moments. You wish to go back, to that thing, when Iâm here and Iâm taking you awayâŚâ
âWhat do you mean?â you ask, brows knitting together. âWhat happened to our village?â
Itâs an impossible thing to imagine. Yet it shouldnât have been. Many villages have suffered the same fate, or worse, over the many years since the rise of the curses. But your village was spared because of you, because of their offering, right?
A scathing laugh slaps you on the cheek. âYou donât know? Youâve been cozying up to that monster and you donât know he wiped our village out from the map? That he massacred our people in one night? Are you just stupid or did he poison your mind?â
You fall back, shaking your head. âNo, no, he wouldnât.â
âHeâs a killer!â Suguru roars. âHeâs killed so many. Every single night. The very few of us that had survived have fled from village to village, trying to fight against him and his army of curses, but they always win. Iâve watched my friends, my allies, fall again and again. And yet, I thought of you every day. I fought for you, so I can return and save you from his torture.â
He scoffs.Â
âBut he hasnât been torturing you, has he?â Suguru grips your face suddenly, bruising your cheeks as he spits out, âNo, he hasnât had to use force to get you to spread your legs!â
Tears stream down your face. âStop it,â you cry out. âStop it!â
Suguru presses his forehead to yours, lips trembling. âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry,â he repeats. âLetâs just go, alright? We need to go. Youâre not safe even if youâve earned his favour for now. Heâs proven he isnât a man of his word, and itâs only a matter of time before he tears you limb from limb like he had done to your mother and to your father, and to mine.â
Images of your home ablaze, of the night sky filling with the screams of the dying, of blood turning the ground crimson flash in your eyes.Â
Youâre a fool. Youâd actually convinced yourself that he isnât the King of Curses, that creatures from the Underworld donât bow to him, that he hasnât been keeping you to laugh behind your back.Â
Youâd allow yourself to believe youâre Sukunaâs bride.Â
That youâre something special to him, even momentarily, even just for now.Â
Heâs looking at you impatiently, bouncing on his feet and listening out for any signs of hostile life in the forest.Â
Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. âYes, yes. Letâs go. Heâs in a meeting right now, heâll be busy.â
And off you two go, running in the dark, hand in hand.Â
Branches whip at your arms as you run.
The forest is different at night.
Where it had been soft, warm, almost dreamlike beneath drifting blossoms, itâs now a maze of shadows and silver light, the moon caught in the petals overhead. Your breath comes sharp and uneven, lungs burning, feet barely finding the ground as you stumble over roots and fallen bark.
Beside you, Suguruâs grip is firm. Unyielding.
âDonât stop,â he says, low, urgent, pulling you forward when your pace falters. âWeâre almost past the boundaryââ
A roar splits the night.
It shakes the air. Rips through the trees. Sends petals scattering like frightened birds. The ground trembles beneath your feet, a deep, violent pulse that travels straight up your spine. It rattles your bones, grips your very soul and squeezes. Itâs in equal parts wrathful and tortured.Â
You freeze.
Suguru doesnât.
âMove,â he snaps, tightening his hold on your hand, dragging you forward again. âHe knows.â
Of course he knows.
This is his domain.
Every inch of it.
You run faster.
Faster than you ever have before, lungs screaming, vision blurring, your hand clutched in Suguruâs like itâs the only thing anchoring you to reality. The trees thin for a moment, moonlight spilling across a clearingâ
THUD!
The earth cracks beneath the impact. You both skid to a halt.
He stands there, between you and whatever hope you thought you had.
Sukuna.
Tall. Unmoving. Waiting.
That deranged smile curls slowly across his lips, too wide, too pleased, too knowing. His eyes gleam in the dark, sharp and bright and utterly unhinged, drinking in the sight of you: your dishevelled state, your trembling form, your hand still clasped in anotherâs.
For a moment, he says nothing. Then, âYou are leaving me?â His voice is almost light. Almost amused. âFor some pathetic human?â
The words hit harder than the roar. Your chest tightens, a hot and jagged thing rising up your throat, drowning out the fear, the instinct to shrink, to hide, to obey. âNo,â you snap, breath shaking. âIâm leaving because you slaughtered my village. You killed my family. You lied to me.â
He laughs. Low. Disbelieving. Growing. Sukuna tilts his head, as though genuinely intrigued by your accusation, by the audacity of it. âYou mean the village,â he begins, voice slow, deliberate, âthat threw you, bound and gagged, at the foot of my domain to be sacrificed?â
Each word lands like a blade, cutting deeper and deeper, and twisting to remind you of your lowest moment, of the humiliation, of the powerlessness you felt.
âThe family that readily offered you up? That never looked back even once?â
Your grip on Suguru tightens.
Sukunaâs smile widens.Â
âYes,â he hums, almost fondly. Inspecting his hands, as though he can see the blood that still stains his unmarred skin. âYes, I did. And very gladly.â
Something in your chest cracks.
âBut I never lied to you,â he continues, eyes narrowing just slightly, the air around him growing heavier, sharper. âYou just assumed that I would negotiate with lesser creatures. A fault that I have overlooked.â
Suguru steps forward, just enough to place himself between you and him. âYouâre done,â he says, voice steady, though thereâs tension coiled tight beneath it. âWhatever hold you think you have over herââ
Sukunaâs gaze flicks to him.
The shift is instant.
The amusement drains, not completely, but enough to reveal something colder beneath. Something ancient. Something violent.
âCareful,â Sukuna murmurs. âI do not take kindly to interruptions in my conversations with my bride.â
The air distorts.
Pressure builds, thick and suffocating, pressing against your skin, your lungs, your bones. Suguru doesnât move, but you feel the way his hand tightens around yours, grounding you even as the world threatens to tilt.Â
Why hasnât Sukuna killed you both? Why hasnât he tore you two apart? Why is he standing under the moonlight, humoured and talking so leisurely?Â
Even till now, heâs not staring down at you with deadly intent. Heâs conversing with you as if heâs asking how your breakfast is or what book youâd picked up to read to him today. Itâs impossible to know what heâs thinking, and thatâs more dangerous than if you knew he was going to rip you into pieces.
âSheâs not your bride,â he spits, tugging you behind him.
Sukuna laughs again. Four eyes settle back on you. âNot mine?â he repeats, almost thoughtfully. âAfter everything I have given you?â
A step forward.
âAfter I took you in,â he continues, voice dropping, curling around the words, âfed you, dressed you, kept you alive when the rest of your kind would have happily watched you die?â
Another step.
Trying to steel your resolve, you retort, âYou must feel betrayed, right? Imagine how I feel, Sukuna!â
âYou think I feel betrayed?â he asks, head tilting again, that awful smile returning, sharper now. âNo, little bride.â His gaze flicks briefly to your joined hands. Then back to your face. âThis is not betrayal,â he says. âThis is ingratitude. It seems I have spoiled you. Given you too much, too fast. I did not train insolence out of you. You have insulted me. And you will be punished.â
Suguru pulls you back a fraction.
âRun,â Suguru whispers.
His last words, before Sukuna flicks his wrist and his body is cut into thin ribbons of flesh, blood, muscle and bone. They fall into a neat pile by your feet, soaking the ground you stand on until your soles are caked in the remains of your only friend.
It happens so quickly, so suddenly, you couldnât blink fast enough to protect your mind from the grotesque display. You saw it all. A man, a whole life, memories, a future, diminished to mush.Â
Sukuna smiles wider.
âYes,â he says, almost eagerly. âRun, little bride.â
You do.Â
Feet slam against the forest floor. Bare soles strike damp earth. Sharp pebbles and stray twigs that snap beneath your weight. It hurts.Â
God, it hurts.Â
But you donât stop. You canât. The pain barely registers past the ringing in your ears, past the image burned into your mind, replaying over and over again.Â
Suguruâs gone. Your village. Your family. Everything familiar.Â
Your stomach twists violently, bile clawing up your throat, but thereâs no time to be sick, no time to grieve, no time for anything except run.
Branches lash at you as you tear through the undergrowth, snagging against your dress, catching in the fabric and ripping it in jagged lines. The hem tears first, then higher, threads snapping with every desperate step until the once-soft material hangs in shredded strips around your legs. Chilling air kisses the exposed skin, quickly replaced by the sting of scratches, of thin lines of blood blooming where thorns and bark have caught you.
âSo panicked. So scared.â
His voice.
Right there.
Warm.Â
Amused.
Mocking.
You choke on a gasp, nearly tripping over your own feet as you lurch forward, heart slamming so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs open. Heâs not behind you, or in front of you, and yet it sounded as though he was.Â
âI have not even begun,â Sukuna murmurs somewhere, almost thoughtful. âAnd already you look like this. Adorable.â
The forest stretches endlessly before you, trees blurring together, shadows twisting into shapes that donât exist. The petals that once felt soft now cling to your damp skin, sticking to the sweat, to the blood, to the places where your dress has torn open. Your lungs burn, each inhale sharp and shallow, your chest tightening with every second that passes.Â
You trip.
A root catches your foot, sending you pitching forward. Your hands barely catch you before your face meets the ground, palms scraping harshly against rough earth. Dirt grinds into your skin, mixing with the blood already there.
âOh dear,â he muses. âSuch a clumsy thing, you are. Thatâs why I keep you locked up with all the pretty things in my domain. Do you see now, why you must stay with me?â
Getting back to your feet, you stumble forward. âIâm never going back with you!â
You ignore the way your hands tremble, the way your legs and your unused muscles scream in protest as you force them to move again.
Run.
Run.
Run.
âYou know,â Sukuna continues, his voice drifting lazily through the air, âI expected more from you.â
Thereâs a rustle above.
A shadow moving faster than you can track.
Where is he? Why isnât he snatching you up? Why is he drawing this out?Â
Heâs like a cat toying with a mouse, playing with his food, heightening your fear so youâll taste even better.Â
âI gave you everything,â he says, less conversational now, more accusing. âAnd this is how you repay me? Running off into the woods like a frightened little animal, with some other man, a man I should have slaughtered along with the other rats?â
Your breath hitches.
âHave I not been good to you? Have I not been enough? Enough to stay for. For even a goodbye.âÂ
A tear slips down your cheek, cutting through the grime. Devastatingly, a part of you notices the subtle crack of vulnerability. He masks it with amusement, with the undercurrent of anger, but you hear it all the same.
Still running, you yell, âYouâre going to kill me, like you killed everyone. Iâm just a toy to you!â
âAnd a very bad one at that,â he retorts without missing a beat. âFear not â I will fix you once I catch you.â
âYouâre not going to catch me,â you choke out, though it sounds weak, even to your own ears.Â
Sukuna tuts and it sounds like itâs right by your ear. âAh, but I already have.â
Wind flips your hair around, making it hard to see, so when you whip your head side to side, looking for hope, you donât see the barrier ahead until itâs too late.Â
Your body meets a hard wall. Two arms cage you in, unyielding.Â
A scream pierces through the forest. Itâs so far removed from you, you think for a second that someone else is facing the same fate you are, and your heart breaks for her. When reality sets in, you cease to stop feeling sorry at all. You just werenât fast enough. No one could be against the Curse King.Â
âGot you, little bride.â
In a blink of an eye, he has you carried up by your hips.Â
âMark my words,â he says, âyou will never leave me again.â
His lips slam onto yours.Â
Sukuna wastes no time shoving his tongue inside your mouth. A shocked moan escapes you. This is your first kiss, and with him. Itâs not romantic like the stories described kisses to be. Itâs not soft, tentative, gentle. Itâs a kiss full of anger, of a need for vengeance, to dominate.Â
Sukunaâs channeling every ounce of his feeling of betrayal, try as he might to deny it, down your throat. With the nipping of his teeth hard enough to draw blood, the suckling of his lips to taste the iron on his tongue, and said tongue exploring the crevices.Â
âJust as delicious as your cunt,â he snarls, pleased.
You should fight him off, you know. But you canât. Heâs too strong, too all-consuming, too engrained in your body. It recognises his heat, his scent, his voice, and it wants more. So you donât part from him; you clamp your teeth down on his bottom lip too, tasting his blood.Â
Itâs sweet.Â
Sickly sweet in a way that rushes straight to your head.
He barks a laugh, a hand yanking your head back by your hair. âA biterâŚadorable.â He runs his tongue up the length of your neck before biting the curve. You moan. It doesnât break skin, but the threat is there, and it has you clenching around nothing.
Sukuna takes a deep inhale of the air.Â
His eyes flash red.Â
âI killed your friend, decimated your village, and your cunt is still craving pleasure from me?â he asks, though it doesnât sound very much like a question at all. âYour soul calls for me, do you realise it, little wife?â
âIâm not your wife,â you spit out.Â
âNot yet, but in just a moment, you will be,â he promises. At whatever expression you wear on your face, another laugh cuts through you. âYou do not realise the trap you have run into, do you?â
Blinking, you finally look around, processing your surroundings.Â
They glisten with something under the moonlight â too thick, too dark to be dew.Â
Blood?
Behind you, a litter of scarlet petals trails right up to where you stand, as though marking every step that led you here, every foolish attempt at escape laid out like a procession. Rows of benches stretch out on either side, carved from twisted wood and bone, thorns curling along their edges, skulls embedded into the structure.
The forest has gone still.
No insects. No birds. No wind.
Only him.
Only you.
And thisâŚ
This altar.
âA fitting setting, no?â Sukuna murmurs against your skin, his voice lower now, richer, laced with something disturbingly joyful. His grip on your hips tightens, grounding you in place even as your mind threatens to spiral. âFor a union long overdue.â
Dress hiked up around your waist, a long, slithering thing worms up your thighs. You writhe, trying to run away from it, but he wonât let you. Teeth hook into your underwear. It riiiiiiiiiips it off.
His curse tongue licks your cunt with a vengeance, as though punishing you for withholding your pussy and its juices from it. Shlick! Shlick! So vulgar. So indecent. So unrestrained.Â
Your pulse spikes. âThis isnâtââ
âIt is,â he cuts in smoothly.
The word lands like a final verdict.
Back arching, youâre powerless against the tongue prodding your entrance. He doesnât mention it. Neither do you. You donât mention how itâs far too big to enter you and yet it does, stretching your walls out with ancient powers you will never understand.Â
Inside, it licks every inch, every pleat. Maybe your hips work down, trying to suck it deeper inside. Maybe it doesnât.Â
Youâre far too focused on the fact that youâre finally at your wedding. A wedding you never wanted in the first place. A wedding he didnât want either. He was just amused by the gall of the humans.
The domain itself is bearing witness.
Thereâs no need for friends, for family, for a priest.Â
He only needs himself and you.
Sukuna turns you with absolute certainty, positioning you to face the altar. Itâs carved from dark marble, veined with something that glows faintly beneath the surface, like embers trapped beneath ash. Symbols you donât understand are etched into it, curling and jagged.Â
âI chased you,â he muses, almost idly, though his hands never leave you, never loosen. They feel your body. Squeezing. Groping. Grip pulsing. Drawing out gasps and moans. âI let you run. Let you tear yourself apart on branches and roots like a frightened little thing.â
His fingers drag over one of the scratches on your arm, smearing the thin line of blood.
âAnd still,â he continues, voice dropping, âyou came exactly where I wanted you.â
Your throat tightens.
âI didnâtââ
âYou did,â he says, almost gently now, and that softness is far more terrifying than anything else. âEvery path you chose. Every step you took. It all led here.â
The petals shift under your feet as he guides you forward.
One step.
And another.
âTo me.â
Your thighs are soaked with his saliva. The entrance to your womb is being tickled. Clit rubbed by a wide, flat tongue. Youâre face to face with him, panting, eyes unable to tear away with the undeniable allure of his. Heâs tasting you, consuming you, devouring. He just canât help himself. Even when he should be rough, when he should punish you, should teach you a lesson youâll never forget, he cannot.Â
âNgh! S-Sukuna,â you cry out as an orgasm tears through you. âToo much!â
For a moment, his gaze softens. âI know, I know. But you need to be stretched to take both of my cocks. Be patient.â
Blood drains from your face.Â
Thatâs when you start thrashing in his hold, fear taking over you. âNo, no! I canât take both of them.â Theyâre too big. Youâve seen them up close; no one could take them. No human. One would already be asking too much.Â
Both?Â
Itâd be a death sentence.
Sukuna slowly lays you down on top of the altar.Â
Immediately, dark powers curl around your body. Wisps of shadow and smoke threading around your limbs, twirling your hair, brushing your cheek, unravelling your dress and slipping it off your body. They keep you in place.
You feel his energy touching you everywhere â stroking your lips, entering through your nose, sliding down your throat and filling your belly, flicking your nipples before wrapping around the hard bud and tugging, creeping down your stomach to stroke your throbbing clit.Â
They distract you, shushing the cries of protest.Â
âBeautiful,â he whispers as his eyes consume you whole. âSo beautiful. And all mine.â
He touches your cunt, coating his fingers with your essence. Sukuna brings it up in the light between you. Itâs red.Â
Automatically, your legs move to close. The shadows stop you. They yank your legs further apart so he can slot himself between them. His robes have fallen off. A cockhead pokes your clit, smearing its pre-cum onto the pulsing thing. You gasp.Â
When he licks your monthly blood off his fingers, you groan. âStop! Itâs filthy.â
âNo, little bride. Nothing about you is filthy. Not in a way I donât cherish, at least.â
Sukuna brings his wrist up to your lips.Â
âBite me. Hard. Hard enough to bleed. Take your anger out on me. All your hate. Your melancholy. Your grief. Let it all out,â he demands, growling. âI want it. All of it. Every part of you. Give it to me!â
The shadows pry your jaw open. Thatâs it. Itâs them that makes your teeth take hold of his thick wrist and bite down with every force you have in you. Itâs them that make your teeth sink in through all layers.Â
Iron soaks into your tongue, trickling down your throat and warming your chest, like alcohol.Â
He throws his head back, chest heaving.Â
The forest rustles, cheering, trembling with pleasure. Meanwhile, the shadows are vibrating. Thrumming as it plays with your clit incessantly. As it pushes in the little holes of your nipples, pleasuring the fats from inside. You whine.Â
âFuck!â he bellows
Sukuna snatches his wrist from you. His hands grip the marble, veins popping and threatening to burst. Heâs gulping down air and rolling tension off his shoulders.Â
âYou almost came, didnât you?â you ask, smiling in victory.Â
Those red eyes dart up to you. He licks his lips. âYes. Yes, I did.â Sukuna tilts his head, hand wandering up your torso before groping your breast. Like you already know to expect, his curse mouth disappears from his stomach and appears on his palm. It suckles on your nipple, obsessed with trying to find milk where there is none.Â
You moan, back arching.Â
Two hands hold your hips. They tug you down, closer to his hips.Â
âYou expected me to be ashamed of your effect on me?â he wonders aloud, huffing in amusement. âI want you. I crave you. I own you. In the same way you want me, crave me, own me. The only difference is, I embrace it.â
Heâs stroking his top cock leisurely, wringing out droplets you canât tear your eyes from. Lips parting, your mouth begins to long to be filled. Your hips chase after the fat thing. His shadows keep you still.Â
Sukuna continues, rubbing the wrist youâd bitten on your stomach, âI am offering everything I have, everything I am, was and will be. You need only take it. Take me. Use me.â He draws a symbol, a sigil, you donât recognise. With his other hand, he collects the blood between your legs. The bloodied fingers hovers above the mark. âClaim me.â
Thereâs sincerity in his eyes, which seem to plead with you.Â
Inside, a pull reaches for him. Desperate. Intent. Hysterical. It calls for him, pained. He calls back, even more so.Â
You can tell, whatever you feel for him, he feels it tenfold. No, infinitely more intense. It must drive him mad. The fraction of what you feel has you wanting to keel over, to rip your skin off and wear his. How he can function, can keep his head on straight, baffles you.
Heâs commendable. A true leader. An unholy king.
Thatâs why, when he utters a final syllable, you cannot resist the pull any longer:
âPlease.â
âYes!â you wail. âI do! I do! I claim you. All of you.â
Arms flailing, you scramble towards him. Like a leech, you attach yourself to him, to his lips. You sloppily kiss him, smearing the blood and dirt on your body all over his. Fire burns beneath your skin. Youâre set ablaze. Your soul. Your heart. Your skin. Every part is touched by him. Caressed. Treasured.
Sukuna releases a relieved breath, as though heâd been put out of his misery.Â
He holds you to him. He wonât drop you. You know it. You know it so deeply, it is like knowing your name.Â
The forest roars. Branches thrash. Leaves fall in spirals around you, a wall shielding you from the rest of the world. Thereâs no going back anymore. Youâve given in. Youâve surrendered.Â
Two hot things begin pushing inside.Â
For a moment, you tense, anticipating pain. None come. Only delirious bliss. Drool drips down your chin. Your eyes roll back.Â
The shadows havenât stopped stimulating you outside and inside. Youâve been cumming over and over again. Little orgasms that make your limbs shaky. But the orgasm that hits you the moment both of his cock stretch your gummy walls?
World ending.Â
Tantalizing.
Immense.Â
Boundless.
The most glorious gift.
You scream.Â
âYes, thatâs it,â he coaxes. âPerfect. So perfect. My wife. Mine now and forevermore.â
Soon, he bottoms out. Hips flushed. Torsos pressed together tightly. Not a single thing could get in between you. You feel every inch of him. Every ridge. Every vein. Every nudge of his fat cockheads competing to draw out your pleasure most.Â
You thought itâd feel overwhelming. Too much too soon. Now, you canât get enough. You think, if only one cock had entered you, you would have mewled and whined for the other to join. Â
âSee?â Sukuna whispers into your ear, teeth scraping the shell. âYou took me so well. Such a well-behaved girl. You were -hah- made for me.â
In spite of his teasing words, his whole body is trembling with the fight not to cum too soon. Your constant clenching, fluttering around both of his cocks, the way you choke him right to the base, has him at the very edge of sanity, which you doubt he had to begin with.Â
Heâs ploughing his cocks inside you.Â
Thrusting with vigour that you feel at your fingertips. Your toes curl, back arching and head thrown back. Sukuna sucks at your neck, obsessed with the intensity of your scent there.Â
Heâs like an animal let loose. Heâs rutting into you so fiercely you fear heâd break your bones. But your king would never hurt you. Not in a way you wouldnât like.
A crazed laugh echoes in the night.Â
You rake your fingers through his hair. Then you yank his head back, as he had done to you. âMore, Sukuna. Fuck me more. I want to cum on your cocks over and over again. I command it, husband.â
Both lengths throb inside you.Â
Sukunaâs eyes cross. Theyâre glazed over. âYes,â he mumbles without even realising it, thoroughly enthralled in your very being, âwhatever you want, my beautiful, precious wife.â
Hours must pass.Â
Hours of fucking you in the air, on the altar, on the ground, against a tree.Â
His hands explore your body till heâs memorised the curves and the planes. You do the same.Â
The squelching of your cunt, the slapping of skin, the mingling of blood with cum, the reverberating of groans and moans envelopes you in a hellish cocoon. The bullying of his cocks through your sore, sensitive walls, the sucking of his curse mouth on your tits, the devouring of his mouth to yours, the fwop fwop fwop! of his balls on your poor clit â all of it sends you over the edge again and again and again and again, even once you think you will never feel better than the last.
You cannot get enough of him.
And he cannot get enough of you.Â
Sukuna whimpers your name out before and after every peak he reaches. He fills your belly up with his cum. It perpetually drips out of you. You can taste the salt on your tongue. It coats you from head to toe.Â
âMy wife,â he exhales, like announcing to the world. âMy lifeâŚmy love.â
Where he ends and you begin blur.
Time ceases to exist. The rest of the world vanishes.Â
In this moment, in his arms, bouncing on his cock as he gazes upon every flicker of pain and pleasure on your face, only you two matter.Â
.
.
.
The sun has started to rise.Â
You watch it climbing over the hill, head laid out on Sukunaâs chest. He plays with your hair, twirling it absentmindedly. Youâre both naked. Limbs thrown over each other. Tangled.
Juices and blood have dried over your skin. Some of it your own. Some of it his.Â
A deep satisfaction courses through your veins.Â
Sukunaâs chest rises and falls beneath your cheek.
There is something almost surreal about it â this stillness, this calm. The same body that had hunted you through the dark now lies beneath you like an anchor, solid and unyielding in a different way. The heat of him seeps into your skin, bleeding into your bones.
His fingers continue their idle path through your hair.
A strand slips loose, caught and wound around his clawed fingertips before being released again.Â
Your body bears the marks of the night: faint bruises bloom beneath your skin, teeth marks darkening where they had once stung, thin scratches tracing your limbs from your flight through the forest. Sukunaâs hands soothe any marks he left on you, not regretful at all. His actions can be likened to basking proudly in the art he made.Â
All the while, youâre tracing the marks you left on him too â the scratches, the bite marks, the bruises he allowed you to give him. You run your fingers down his tattoos, avoiding the mouth on his tongue, which keeps licking you or trying to capture your hand. A very naughty thing indeed.
âSukuna,â you murmur. He grunts. âIâm hungry. Letâs go back home.â
âHow you have any room left in your small belly after drinking so much of my cum, I cannot fathom,â he voices out, curious and concerned. You smack his chest. âYes, dear. I hear you. Let us take a bath in the pool and I will have a servant bring us food. Perhaps a goblin.â
As he stands up, you frown. âA goblin? Why not Uraume?â
Uraumeâs his favourite. His right hand. His shadow. The goblins, on the other hand, he barely tolerates. Youâve seen him kick the poor things out of the way too often. Once or twice, youâve reflexively tried to help them up, but they growl at you. You think they quite like being kicked about. It seems to be an honour to them. Â
Under his breath, as Sukuna stretches his body with a lazy yawn, he says, âUraume is on time out.â
Using his outstretched hand to bring you to your feet, you ask, âWhy? What happened?â
Petulantly, he grumbles, âThe insolent brat took it upon themself to lead that waste of space human I tore to shreds to you. It seems they thought you were a bad influence on me.â
To punctuate his last sentence and emphasise the absurdity of the idea, he grins wolfishly down at you, more specifically at his cum dripping down your thighs. Cheeks heated, you press them together.Â
Itâs hard to believe this evening had been orchestrated by Uraume, but also itâs not a huge leap in logic. Theyâve made their point of view abundantly clear â you just didnât think they would have tried to have you face imminent death crossing through the forest where creatures of the Underworld lurked.Â
âAre youâŚare you going to hurt them?â
Sukuna cocks a brow. âWould you like me too?â
âNo,â you say immediately and sincerely. âBloodâs already been spilled tonight. I donât want to be the reason someone gets hurt again.â
âVery well. Let me know if you change your mind. They sure do get upset if I let someone else cook my meals.â
You giggle.
Then, all the humour dies out of you.Â
Exhaustion has set in your limbs.Â
Whatever energy had overtaken you earlier is gone now.Â
His breath grazes your cheeks, warm against the cold air. One of his thumbs collects a tear right from your lashes. You didnât even know youâre tearing up. He brings the droplet to his lips and licks it away. You hold your breath as he mutters, âWatching you run from me, hand in hand with some other man, hurts less than seeing you cry for him. It makes me wish I had made him suffer more before his end.â
âIâm not crying for him.â
Sukunaâs crimson eyes flit to you.Â
âOh?â
Sudden sobs escape your lips. Your knees give out beneath you. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms. He always does. You bury your face in his neck. Sukuna rubs soothing circles on your back, cooing. âMy ferocious, little wifeâŚwhat is wrong? Did I hurt you too much? Do youâŚdo you regret marrying me?â
The insecurity in his voice, the hesitation to ask, to hear a truth he would be distraught to hear, make you cry harder.Â
âPlease donât ever throw me away. I know I shouldnât have left last night, but I really thought you were going to kill me. And maybe you will later. But please donât,â you plead through your tears. âI want to be with you forever and ever.â
Silence passes.Â
A pregnant pause.
He laughs.Â
He actually laughs.Â
Itâs full bodied. His stomach mouth joins in. âHilarious! You never fail to entertain me with your constant overthinking. Always so afraid. So on guard. Too precious! You are just too adorable. You will rot my teeth.â
Weakly, you lay a barrage of punches on his chest. âDonât laugh at me, you brute. Iâm your wife. Respect me.â
Sukuna nods patronisingly, but he does shift his laughter into light chuckles, âAlright, alright. Forgive me, little wife. You are simply so delightful, so naive, and pitiful, I cannot help myself.âÂ
âPut me down.â
âNever.â Sukuna presses a kiss to your cheek. He nudges your face away from his neck so you will meet his gaze. Seriously now, voice with his sacred vow, âI have no intention of throwing you away. Not since I laid eyes on you and felt a thing I did not know existed beat in my chest.â
Holding your breath, you listen to his confession.Â
âThere is no world,â he continues, quieter now, though the weight of it presses heavier, âin which I allow you to slip from my grasp. Not heaven, not earth, not whatever fragile afterlife your kind clings to. If you are taken from me, I will unmake it. If you are hidden, I will find you. If you are reborn, I will recognise you.â
Shyly, you ask, âEven if I have a different face?â
Sukuna nods. âIn whatever form, whatever shape, whatever state, you are. Wherever, whenever, you find yourself in. I will recognise you by your soul. For yours make up my own.â
He leaves a kiss to your forehead, to each of your eyes, to the tip of your nose. You giggle.
Then, huffing in amusement, he adds, âIt certainly helps that we are bound by curse marriage. Not by your flimsy, human paper. But by blood. We curses take blood bonds very seriously. If we are to part, for whatever reason, we would both die, so it is in your best interest not to throw me away.â
That should startle you. Should scare you beyond belief. Instead, you think itâs the most romantic thing youâve ever heard.Â
âIâm holding you to that,â you mutter against his lips.
Sukuna nuzzles your nose with his, a smile mirroring yours.Â
âYes, please do.â
WOWZAAAAA
the first mistake was that the dorm room door wasnât locked. the second mistake was assuming anyone would ever see đ¨đžđłđ˛ đđ˝đŞđđ¸đťđ˛ like this.
to the world, especially to people like nobara and gojo, yuji was sunshine incarnate. a sweet golden retriever with fists. he was so earnest and loud. the type of person who blushes at dirty jokes and apologizes more than finding excuses.
right now he was nothing like that.
you were beneath him, pressed into the mattress of his bed. his large frame loomed over you while his cock stretched your pussy wide open. his thrusts were unrelenting and unforgiving. you couldnât think. you could barely breathe, also because his large hand was wrapped around your throat - tight enough to remind you who was in charge.
your pulse fluttered under his palm as you gasped his name. his warm eyes had turned dark with intent as he fucked you into submission.
âeyes on me,â he ordered.
you knew when he used that voice that he meant business. so, you obeyed. as a reward his thumb shifted to your windpipe, and applied pressure. heat coiled low in your stomach at how effortlessly he controlled the pace, the rhythm, even your breathing.
you were so close, and thenâ the door swung open.
âyuji, have you heardââ
you didnât need to turn your head to know who it was. the sheer stunned vacuum of energy gave it away. yuji didnât move, nor flinch, his hand still rested on your throat.
there was a long, fragile pause.
âwhat. the. hell. am i looking at?â nobara shrieked.
gojo, for once, didnât have a witty comment ready. his blindfold hid his eyes, but the tilt of his head screamed theatrical disbelief. âyuji?â he drawled slowly. âis that you? or did sukuna finally decide to redecorate your personality?â
you were frozen and expected fully that yuji would scramble off and turn red. he did no such thing. his gaze flicked lazily toward the door, utterly unimpressed. âweâre busy.â
nobara made a strangled noise. âbusy?!â
it felt almost grounding when yujiâs fingers tightened around your throat. even now he was protective as his body shielded yours completely.
âclose the door,â he added calmly. âand knock next time.â
gojoâs mouth opened, then closed, then opened again theatrically. nobara looked like she had just watched a puppy grow fangs. âsince when do youââ she started.
yuji didnât raise his voice when he held their gaze with an intensity that made even gojo pause. âout.â
there was something in his expression that said this wasnât a joke, wasnât a performance. this was his space and his girl.
gojo slowly pushed the door closed with one long finger. âfascinating,â he muttered. âour little golden retriever bites.â
the door clicked shut and the silence returned. yuji exhaled softly, gaze immediately returning to you. the hardness in his eyes melted a fraction. but his dominance stayed.
âsorry,â he murmured, brushing his thumb gently along your jaw now. âwhere were we?â you swallowed as your pussy clenched tightly around his swollen cock. he smiled slightly. âright,â he whispered as he leaned down. âi was about to show you who owns this body.â
ááđ nanami hates when you push on his hips slightly cause of the overstimulation heâs fucking you into . . mdni!
nanamiâs already so deep when it starts getting too much for you.
his cockâs thick and hot, stretching you open with every slow, deliberate roll of his hips, and youâre shaking underneath him, thighs trembling, breath hitching into little broken sobs. heâs been fucking you steady for what feels like forever, patient, controlled, whispering soft praises against your temple even while heâs splitting you apart.
but the second your hands slip down to his hips and pushâjust a tiny, desperate nudge to get a break from how intense it feelsâhe freezes.
his whole body locks up.
then that low, dangerous voice right against your ear.
âhah⌠fuck.â he exhales hard through his nose. âwhere do you think youâre going?â
before you can even stammer out an answer his weight drops.
full. heavy and pinning. chest crushing your tits flat to the mattress, thick arms caging your head, forearms bracketing your face so you canât turn away. his hips snap forward harder than before, burying every last inch so deep your eyes roll and your mouth falls open on a silent scream.
âyou donât get to run from this,â he murmurs, voice rougher now, still soft in that awful, loving way that makes your cunt flutter around him. âyou take it. all of it.â
one big hand slides up, covers your mouth completely. palm warm, fingers splayed wide so your muffled whimpers vibrate right into his skin. he doesnât squeeze, doesnât hurtâjust holds. keeps every needy little sound locked behind his hand while he starts fucking you in long, punishing strokes.
the wet slap of his hips meeting your ass fills the room. loud. obscene. you can feel how soaked you are, how your slickâs dripping down your thighs, coating his balls every time he bottoms out.
his other hand snakes between your bodies.
two fingers find your clit immediately: swollen, oversensitive, throbbing and he doesnât tease you, just rubs firm, tight circles.
your man is mean.
your whole body jerks under him, back arching uselessly because thereâs nowhere to go. heâs too heavy, too deep, too everywhere. the overstimulation hits like a freight train and youâre crying into his palm, tears slipping down your temples, thighs trying to snap shut but his knees keep you spread wide.
âthere she is,â he breathes against your cheek. âthatâs it. let it happen.â
he grinds in deep, pubic bone crushing right against your clit while his fingers keep working merciless little circles. your cunt clamps down so hard he groansâlow, wreckedâand his rhythm stutters for half a second before he fucks you even harder.
âgonna cum again for me?â his voice is velvet dragged over gravel. âeven though itâs too much? even though youâre shaking?â
you can only sob into his hand. nod frantically. thighs quivering, toes curling, whole body wound so tight you think you might break.
he presses his forehead to yours. eyes dark, pupils blown. watching every twitch of your face while he ruins you.
âgood girl,â he whispers. âcum on my cock. soak me. make a fucking mess.â
his fingers speed up. relentless, and you do.
you shatter so hard your vision whites out, back bowing, cunt spasming violently around his length while you scream into his palm. he doesnât stop fucking you through itâkeeps that same brutal pace, drawing it out until youâre limp and twitching and drooling against his hand.
only then does he finally slow.
still buried to the hilt.
still heavy on top of you.
he lifts his palm just enough to let you gasp wet, shaky breaths.
then he kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and almost tender.
âyouâre not going anywhere,â he murmurs. ânot until i say so.â
and he rolls his hips againâjust once. slow and deep.
making sure you feel every inch.
just to remind you whoâs in charge.
=HUNTER=
â˘sequel to monsterâ˘
â˘(Avatar) Colonel Miles Quaritch X (Na'vi) fem Readerâ˘
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Warnings: future Smut/ violence/ angst/ a lot more angst/ heavy topics/ blood/ gore/ death/ swearing/ CNC/ Manipulation/ knife play/ gun play/ cheating/ cannibalism/ blood play/ threatening/ overstimulation/ pinning/ victim of stolkhome syndrome/ size kink/ self mutilation/ P in V eventually/ cringe
- Please let me know if I miss any, these are warnings for the WHOLE SERIES. I'lL do specific chapter warnings for each chapter in the future.
Summary: sequel to Monster- taking place during and after ATWOW to Fire and Ash. Youre Neytiri's older sister and took the place of spider getting captured and ended up falling in love with Miles Quaritch, your familyâs and planets monster. Plagued by dreams, and the want for answers youâre hunting his ghost/ and him you?
P.S. stuff spoken in Na'vi is italicized, and readers thinking is in BLue.
LAST WARNING: this will be written in first person rather than second person.(Iâm experimenting)
But don't worry, you're still (Y/N). <3
(If you guys dislike this too much or there's too much hate I'll change it back to second pov like in Monster, as always feedback is appreciated.) Iâm a wh0re for approval))
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
An awful, repetitive, high pitched and grating screeching filled my waking ears, causing them to twitch backward. The sound was harsh, Forcing my tired, aching body from its sleep quicker than It was used to. In an almost panicky type of manner.
My lids fluttered opened, eyes sputtering in an attempt to adjust to the sun beaming above my head. the star proved too bright and I found myself squeezing my eyelids together, shutting out the light.
"Ah-"A groan forced its self from my lips, I needed to adjust to the beaming sun. I lifted an arm, the limb heavier than usual as / brought it towards my forehead wanting to shield my irises from the sun. All at the same time the stench of smoke and death filled my nostrils. the rancidity of the air much to similar to the day my father had passed and Home Tree had been blow, abliterated by the Sky Man.
All at once everything hit me, miles chaining me to the desk bolted to the floor- breaking my heart yet again, severing our thin bonds of what could've barely have been called "trust". Neytiri saving me from Z-Dog, threatening to kill miles as he held Tuk and Kiri hostage, the ship sinking as Jake jumped into a hand to hand combat fight with miles as Neytiri was sucked into the ship. Drifting to sleep, floating on a piece of broken ship debris, so sure / was about to be with my ancestors. Father, Tsu'tey. The memories flooded my brain, forcing me to relive each moment.
Though, none of them explained how I ended up on shore. I imagined the current was probably the best explanation I needed.
And I would've have been comfortable with that assumption if there wasn't a void of silence, apart from the sound of a banshee screaming in the distance. The usually oh so repetitive sound of the ocean waves hitting the sandy shore wasn't anywhere to be heard, that's what startled me. It was uncanny, after just a few months of being forced to sit and listen to the nauseating sound of the water crashing onto sand to all the sudden not was how I knew something was wrong.
It's what pushed me to wake up.
Another pained groan left me as / attempted to lift my body from the ground. My mouth gaped as a pained breath forced its way through my teeth, my body was on fire. Muscles and joints lit up and aching from the events that had played out just a few hours ago. You're not going anywhere. I thought to myself as my hand fell back to my side, hitting the heated stone beneath me.
Again, I attempted to open my eyes to face the blazing sun above, and again with a hiss I forced my eyes shut. I'm probably concussed.
Out of no where a sudden darkness loomed over me, blocking the sun. My heart seized. my brows ringed together in response, confused, Something's not right. My instincts screamed. Instantly I forced my eyes open, yellow orbs immediately trying to hone in on whatever had suddenly blocked out the light. The blue blur in front of me had had my ears falling back in unease. Who is that? A Na'vi? An avatar? I blinked a few times trying to make out the silhouette above of me.
Was this friend or foe?
My heart skipped a palpitation when my eyes finally adjusted to a trim waist, wrapped in a tactical vest, connected to a wide pair of shoulders, an arm adorned with an eagle tattoo. My hands twitched, nails digging into the stone beneath me, the sound and feeling of nail against stone unpleasant to the ears, to my senses, making me cringe. I flicked my eyes up, hoping my mind was playing tricks on me that this wasn't who I thought it was. I let out a gurgled cry when my eyes locked onto a sickeningly familiar pair of honey dew orbs.
My heart sank.
"No..." I whispered in a desperate whine.
He should be dead.
Miles should be dead.
With a queasy stomach I watched his lips stretch against his uncannily pearly whites and form into a smirk as he drug his tongue along his sharp canines, beaming proudly. He tilted his head before he spoke, tail flicking.
âHello, princess.â
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
I was shook awake by my own body, a harsh jerk from my sleeping form waking me, eyes shooting open.
"Jesus..." my legs shifted in my hammock, hand riding its way in my hair, nails bitting into the skin off my scalp tensely.
It's always the same dream. Always.
I sucked in a sharp breath, heart pounding in my ears, the bodily sound invading my senses, disorientatingly. I shifted in my hammock again, uncomfortable, panicked. Trying to recollect myself from my procuring nightmare, you think over time it would've been easier to handle, that's I'd be able to just brush
Miles still haunts me. Every night he comes back, plaguing my sleep like the ghosts of war, and every night he leaves, rushed in manner, like a soldier drafted.
"You've been asleep long enough."
My brow line quirked at the sound of my sister scolding me from across the hut, Still trying to shake away the reoccurring dream. "That's all you do." She added, a certain hiss in her tone that had me shifting out of my hammock and onto my feet. My eyes saddened as I looked to her, her somber attire a reminder to the harshness of our reality. To what we had lost just three weeks ago. "You sleep, wake up, and only Eywa knows what you do during the day. All for you to come back and sleep again."
My ears fell towards the back of my head as i watched her throw her veil over her head, discarding the drapes carelessly. A beautiful piece to a beautiful outfit, it was a shame it represented nothing but ache and loss. My tail flicked as I stood, watching her throw her small fit. I should have been spiteful, angry. Should have bit back at my sister, scolded her for talking to me the way she was. But I just couldn't, I couldn't bring myself to do so. She was still mourning, her heart still in shambles. my baby sister was still mourning. And so was I. But for a completely different reason than she was.
I couldn't blame my younger sister for being so boorish, that's just what hurting people do.
I pressed my lips together and looked towards the opening of the tent, then back to Neytiri till suddenly still. I sucked in a long, sharp, breath through my nose before stepping towards her, hands raised in a gentle manner gesturing her to come towards me. "Neytiri." I cooed tilting my head softly, reaching for her more boldly.
The moment she was within reach I pulled her into my arms, constricting her in my embrace. Netayum wasn't coming back, nor was Miles, of course I'd never say either of those things out loud. Silence spoke volumes. In this family especially.
Nothing I could say would help her, and everything I wanted to say would've been as blunt as my father's, old, chipped, and unsharpened blade, so I stayed silent. For a long while she just stood there, slowly loosening up, becoming less rigid, less tough. We stood like this for a moment or two, as sisters rather than bitter sweet acquaintances- two women falling in love with men on opposite sides of a war.
when I felt her ears twitch downward then back up followed by the tightening of her shoulders I held her tighter, pressing my fingers into her skin. This was it, She was about to leave, to push me away again.
My suspicion was confirmed by a harsh yet gentle pair of hands pushing my chest away and a soft whine, almost imperceptible if not for my good ears. I stumbled a few exaggerated steps backwards and let my tail lower between my legs, defeated hands still outstretched towards her. "Neytiri..." I whispered again, taking a soft step towards her.
Every day was the same.
The gap between our relationship only wavered, canyoning farther and farther, day by day.
I donât think weâd ever be sisters again.
I gave pause when she whipped her head back towards me manners hasty, her hair jerking angrily with the motion. A cold chill ran down my spine at the look in her hard eyes, at the venom there, the resentment. the blame. "It was your fault" is what her eyes screamed as she hawked me. Of course she didn't just blame me, she blamed Jake, Spider and Lo'ak too. In her mind The four of us brought upon the death of her first born, Netayum.
But me most of all.
If I hadn't mated with miles then he never would've came looking for me. Netayum never would've died.
That animalistic, primal pull wouldnât have drove miles to find me. Is what sheâd said in anger, truthful anger. And for a while Iâd sort of believed it. Sort of. Deep down, no matter how much mikes had claimed to have âlovedâ me/ of thatâs what you couldâve called it. Limerence mightâve been a better word, obsession maybe, a need for control. Or just an âinâ. I was just a pawn in his game, his hunt for Jake Sully. All I had ever been was a tool. No matter what Neytiri believed.
My brows pulled as our eyes met yet again.
That wall- her wall of hate, of ire, and indifference forced its way back between the two of us instantly.
The gap may have been wider than a canyon now.
I couldn't help but let a deep, exasperated sigh escape me as I looked away from her and let my hands fall to my sides, the sound of my skin slapping against itself echoing through the small space. My throat burned, gnawing to defend myself. To bring the gap that had formed between our relationship ever since Miles. I stared at the wall of the hut, just past her shoulders looking from thread to thread, thinking on what to say. "It's no-"
She didn't grant me the Chance to speak.
To be continuedâŚ
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Bahaha so sorry my lovelies. I wanted to post the full chapter sooner- but even-still itâs only halfway done as I am a perfectionist and work in sporadic Bursts. BUT I thought you all deserved a little sneak peak, yâknow, for the anticipation- also to motivate me as Iâve fallen into a crazy depression and kinda wanted to x0x. But alas, we must persevere!! I shall feed my freaks.
ITS OUT
=HUNTER=
â˘sequel to monsterâ˘
â˘(Avatar) Colonel Miles Quaritch X (Na'vi) fem Readerâ˘
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Warnings: future Smut/ violence/ angst/ a lot more angst/ heavy topics/ blood/ gore/ death/ swearing/ CNC/ Manipulation/ knife play/ gun play/ cheating/ cannibalism/ blood play/ threatening/ overstimulation/ pinning/ victim of stolkhome syndrome/ size kink/ self mutilation/ P in V eventually/ cringe
- Please let me know if I miss any, these are warnings for the WHOLE SERIES. I'lL do specific chapter warnings for each chapter in the future.
Summary: sequel to Monster- taking place during and after ATWOW to Fire and Ash. Youre Neytiri's older sister and took the place of spider getting captured and ended up falling in love with Miles Quaritch, your familyâs and planets monster. Plagued by dreams, and the want for answers youâre hunting his ghost/ and him you?
P.S. stuff spoken in Na'vi is italicized, and readers thinking is in BLue.
LAST WARNING: this will be written in first person rather than second person.(Iâm experimenting)
But don't worry, you're still (Y/N). <3
(If you guys dislike this too much or there's too much hate I'll change it back to second pov like in Monster, as always feedback is appreciated.) Iâm a wh0re for approval))
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
An awful, repetitive, high pitched and grating screeching filled my waking ears, causing them to twitch backward. The sound was harsh, Forcing my tired, aching body from its sleep quicker than It was used to. In an almost panicky type of manner.
My lids fluttered opened, eyes sputtering in an attempt to adjust to the sun beaming above my head. the star proved too bright and I found myself squeezing my eyelids together, shutting out the light.
"Ah-"A groan forced its self from my lips, I needed to adjust to the beaming sun. I lifted an arm, the limb heavier than usual as / brought it towards my forehead wanting to shield my irises from the sun. All at the same time the stench of smoke and death filled my nostrils. the rancidity of the air much to similar to the day my father had passed and Home Tree had been blow, abliterated by the Sky Man.
All at once everything hit me, miles chaining me to the desk bolted to the floor- breaking my heart yet again, severing our thin bonds of what could've barely have been called "trust". Neytiri saving me from Z-Dog, threatening to kill miles as he held Tuk and Kiri hostage, the ship sinking as Jake jumped into a hand to hand combat fight with miles as Neytiri was sucked into the ship. Drifting to sleep, floating on a piece of broken ship debris, so sure / was about to be with my ancestors. Father, Tsu'tey. The memories flooded my brain, forcing me to relive each moment.
Though, none of them explained how I ended up on shore. I imagined the current was probably the best explanation I needed.
And I would've have been comfortable with that assumption if there wasn't a void of silence, apart from the sound of a banshee screaming in the distance. The usually oh so repetitive sound of the ocean waves hitting the sandy shore wasn't anywhere to be heard, that's what startled me. It was uncanny, after just a few months of being forced to sit and listen to the nauseating sound of the water crashing onto sand to all the sudden not was how I knew something was wrong.
It's what pushed me to wake up.
Another pained groan left me as / attempted to lift my body from the ground. My mouth gaped as a pained breath forced its way through my teeth, my body was on fire. Muscles and joints lit up and aching from the events that had played out just a few hours ago. You're not going anywhere. I thought to myself as my hand fell back to my side, hitting the heated stone beneath me.
Again, I attempted to open my eyes to face the blazing sun above, and again with a hiss I forced my eyes shut. I'm probably concussed.
Out of no where a sudden darkness loomed over me, blocking the sun. My heart seized. my brows ringed together in response, confused, Something's not right. My instincts screamed. Instantly I forced my eyes open, yellow orbs immediately trying to hone in on whatever had suddenly blocked out the light. The blue blur in front of me had had my ears falling back in unease. Who is that? A Na'vi? An avatar? I blinked a few times trying to make out the silhouette above of me.
Was this friend or foe?
My heart skipped a palpitation when my eyes finally adjusted to a trim waist, wrapped in a tactical vest, connected to a wide pair of shoulders, an arm adorned with an eagle tattoo. My hands twitched, nails digging into the stone beneath me, the sound and feeling of nail against stone unpleasant to the ears, to my senses, making me cringe. I flicked my eyes up, hoping my mind was playing tricks on me that this wasn't who I thought it was. I let out a gurgled cry when my eyes locked onto a sickeningly familiar pair of honey dew orbs.
My heart sank.
"No..." I whispered in a desperate whine.
He should be dead.
Miles should be dead.
With a queasy stomach I watched his lips stretch against his uncannily pearly whites and form into a smirk as he drug his tongue along his sharp canines, beaming proudly. He tilted his head before he spoke, tail flicking.
âHello, princess.â
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
I was shook awake by my own body, a harsh jerk from my sleeping form waking me, eyes shooting open.
"Jesus..." my legs shifted in my hammock, hand riding its way in my hair, nails bitting into the skin off my scalp tensely.
It's always the same dream. Always.
I sucked in a sharp breath, heart pounding in my ears, the bodily sound invading my senses, disorientatingly. I shifted in my hammock again, uncomfortable, panicked. Trying to recollect myself from my procuring nightmare, you think over time it would've been easier to handle, that's I'd be able to just brush
Miles still haunts me. Every night he comes back, plaguing my sleep like the ghosts of war, and every night he leaves, rushed in manner, like a soldier drafted.
"You've been asleep long enough."
My brow line quirked at the sound of my sister scolding me from across the hut, Still trying to shake away the reoccurring dream. "That's all you do." She added, a certain hiss in her tone that had me shifting out of my hammock and onto my feet. My eyes saddened as I looked to her, her somber attire a reminder to the harshness of our reality. To what we had lost just three weeks ago. "You sleep, wake up, and only Eywa knows what you do during the day. All for you to come back and sleep again."
My ears fell towards the back of my head as i watched her throw her veil over her head, discarding the drapes carelessly. A beautiful piece to a beautiful outfit, it was a shame it represented nothing but ache and loss. My tail flicked as I stood, watching her throw her small fit. I should have been spiteful, angry. Should have bit back at my sister, scolded her for talking to me the way she was. But I just couldn't, I couldn't bring myself to do so. She was still mourning, her heart still in shambles. my baby sister was still mourning. And so was I. But for a completely different reason than she was.
I couldn't blame my younger sister for being so boorish, that's just what hurting people do.
I pressed my lips together and looked towards the opening of the tent, then back to Neytiri till suddenly still. I sucked in a long, sharp, breath through my nose before stepping towards her, hands raised in a gentle manner gesturing her to come towards me. "Neytiri." I cooed tilting my head softly, reaching for her more boldly.
The moment she was within reach I pulled her into my arms, constricting her in my embrace. Netayum wasn't coming back, nor was Miles, of course I'd never say either of those things out loud. Silence spoke volumes. In this family especially.
Nothing I could say would help her, and everything I wanted to say would've been as blunt as my father's, old, chipped, and unsharpened blade, so I stayed silent. For a long while she just stood there, slowly loosening up, becoming less rigid, less tough. We stood like this for a moment or two, as sisters rather than bitter sweet acquaintances- two women falling in love with men on opposite sides of a war.
when I felt her ears twitch downward then back up followed by the tightening of her shoulders I held her tighter, pressing my fingers into her skin. This was it, She was about to leave, to push me away again.
My suspicion was confirmed by a harsh yet gentle pair of hands pushing my chest away and a soft whine, almost imperceptible if not for my good ears. I stumbled a few exaggerated steps backwards and let my tail lower between my legs, defeated hands still outstretched towards her. "Neytiri..." I whispered again, taking a soft step towards her.
Every day was the same.
The gap between our relationship only wavered, canyoning farther and farther, day by day.
I donât think weâd ever be sisters again.
I gave pause when she whipped her head back towards me manners hasty, her hair jerking angrily with the motion. A cold chill ran down my spine at the look in her hard eyes, at the venom there, the resentment. the blame. "It was your fault" is what her eyes screamed as she hawked me. Of course she didn't just blame me, she blamed Jake, Spider and Lo'ak too. In her mind The four of us brought upon the death of her first born, Netayum.
But me most of all.
If I hadn't mated with miles then he never would've came looking for me. Netayum never would've died.
That animalistic, primal pull wouldnât have drove miles to find me. Is what sheâd said in anger, truthful anger. And for a while Iâd sort of believed it. Sort of. Deep down, no matter how much mikes had claimed to have âlovedâ me/ of thatâs what you couldâve called it. Limerence mightâve been a better word, obsession maybe, a need for control. Or just an âinâ. I was just a pawn in his game, his hunt for Jake Sully. All I had ever been was a tool. No matter what Neytiri believed.
My brows pulled as our eyes met yet again.
That wall- her wall of hate, of ire, and indifference forced its way back between the two of us instantly.
The gap may have been wider than a canyon now.
I couldn't help but let a deep, exasperated sigh escape me as I looked away from her and let my hands fall to my sides, the sound of my skin slapping against itself echoing through the small space. My throat burned, gnawing to defend myself. To bring the gap that had formed between our relationship ever since Miles. I stared at the wall of the hut, just past her shoulders looking from thread to thread, thinking on what to say. "It's no-"
She didn't grant me the Chance to speak.
To be continuedâŚ
âââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Bahaha so sorry my lovelies. I wanted to post the full chapter sooner- but even-still itâs only halfway done as I am a perfectionist and work in sporadic Bursts. BUT I thought you all deserved a little sneak peak, yâknow, for the anticipation- also to motivate me as Iâve fallen into a crazy depression and kinda wanted to x0x. But alas, we must persevere!! I shall feed my freaks.
Hi sorry to bother you, ive been on your monster miles quaritch x reader series, great writing by the way!, but when I press the link to find the other chapters ir search them up I cant find them? Is this a glitch? Hope your having a nice day and merry Christmas!
Hello! Iâm so sorry to hear this, what chapters are you trying to get to that arenât working so I can fix them?? And what chapter were you on?
Iâve seen the fire and ash movie⌠the 1st draft of the sequel to MONSTER will get started on VERY soon you freakzoids.
My Spark is back đâđť
they need to start making clothes out of material that can clean glasses well again
Day 28: Impact play w/ Villain! Midoriya
https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shigarakiscumdump/works
(If you like what you read, consider supporting me on Ao3!)
Kinktober 2025 masterlist here!
Title: Upside down With a Perfect ViewÂ
Summary: Against all odds, you get captured by Deku, one of the most feared villains in all of Japan. All he wants is some information on the heroâs next attack plan, but youâd be damned if you give information up so easily.Â
Cw: impact play, use of blackwhip, oral (m receiving), tied up/ shibari, villain Midoriya, hero readerÂ
Word count: 1kÂ
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă..ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
You donât know how this happened. It was just a regular patrol, the streets dead with activity. You took your usual route, passing through alleyways that are a bit too dark for your liking, only to find stray cats rummaging through the garbage. Local shops closed early since the owners never made enough to keep the lights on. This part of town was a mess, but it didnât scare you, it saddened you. You knew the feeling of growing up with very little, and hero life changed all of it. You worked hard and earned your wage. So when you get caught up here, you wonder how. Your vigilance was nowhere to be found as Deku, one of the most feared villains, managed to capture you. Now you are tied up in an abandoned storage facility, dangling from the ceiling as he lands another smack to your bare ass.Â
âJust tell me what I want to hear, hero.â he spits, his blackwhip ability striking you once again, leaving a burnt- like bruise on your ass.Â
âI have- mph- have a name, ya know!âÂ
âOh, Iâm so very sorry for not asking sooner,â he cracks another slap to your thigh this time, âplease, enlighten me.â
âItâs Y/N. Fourth hero in the rankings.âÂ
âFourth? The rankings mustâve gone lax on their requirements to get the top spot. Capturing you was the easiest thing Iâve done all week!â he laughs, turning to face you.Â
âAll I want to know..â He grabs your chin, grip tight as he forces your head up, âis what the heroâs are planning next.âÂ
âLike iâd ever tell you,â you scoff, âjokes on you, I donât mind getting hit over and over, if this is all you got.â The insult hit him hard. He was used to being pestered and laughed at all his life for never having a quirk, never being strong enough to keep up. So when he finally acquired one, he made sure every person who laughed would regret it. You were on that list too, as of a few seconds ago.Â
âThat mouth of yours is gunna get you in a whole lotta trouble, hero.â he spits that name again, using such a condescending tone when he does. His hand administers the slap this time, straight to your face. He grabs your neck and squeezes roughly, taking your breath away. Since you're upside down, the blood thatâs rushed to your head makes the choking all the more intense, your body confused as to what to do. Your eyes are fixated on his groin, how could they not be when itâs right near your face? You can see the tent forming underneath his pants, and you laugh.
âThis get ya going, Deku?â You try laughing, but donât have enough air.Â
âI bet if I felt your cunt right now itâd be dripping. Should I test that theory?â His words are crude, but thereâs a bit of truth to them. You spit at him, the glob landing on his shoe.Â
âBite me.âÂ
He releases your throat, opting to use blackwhip to choke you instead. His hands force their way between your tied up thighs, feeling how the cotton around your crotch is wet. He chuckles, a glint appearing in his eyes that werenât there before.Â
âIs this because of being tied up, or the slapping?â He accentuates his words with a prod of his fingers to your core.Â
âTch, itâs about me thinking of beating your ass once I get out!âÂ
âMan, the tabloids are gunna have a field day with this.â He says before snapping a picture with his phone.Â
âHey, what the-â another slap surprises you as he hits your ass harshly, a bit of his strength shining through.Â
âAh ah ah, little hero. Youâre not getting down until you give me the answer to my question.âÂ
âGuess Iâll have to start enjoying my view, then.â you reply, never once moving your eyes from his groin.
âLike what ya see?âÂ
âIf it wasnât attached to something like you, yeah.âÂ
âSo the little hero admits it⌠Maybe Iâll have to pry the information outta ya with my cock, then.â He threatens. It wasnât much of a threat the more you thought about it, allowing your mind to wander, wondering what heâd feel like. How thick heâd be, how long.Â
A slap to your cheek brings you back.
âLetâs give my theory a try..â he slides his pants down, boxers following. You were surprised to see him so hung. Veins littered the underside of his cock, pulsing faintly as it stood at full attention. He grabs you by the hair, pushing your face up against him. You keep your mouth closed, turning your head away. Your defiance doesnât last long when his whips start ticking your side, causing your mouth to open widely. He takes the chance to shove his cock down your throat, groaning at the way you tighten around him as you gag.
âThaatâs it, just like that..â Midoriya pants, head tilted back in pleasure. You writhe around, hands balling into fists as they remain tied at your back. He steadies your movements by holding your hips, moving himself as he humps your face, pushing you down as far as you can go on his cock.Â
âWanna start talking? Or are you actually enjoying this?â He pulls back.
âIf I start talking, youâre not gunna like what I have to say.âÂ
âWell,â he shoves himself back down your throat, tapping your cheeks, âguess you wanna be a cock whore for a villain then. Doesnât bother me.âÂ
He uses your face like a personal fleshlight, not once stopping despite your whimpers and coughs. He stills in the back of your throat as he cums, making you swallow the salty liquid. He pulls out, laughing as drool and cum pours from your mouth and up your face.Â
âSo, Iâll ask one last time: What are you guys planning next?âÂ
After composing yourself, you look up at his fern colored eyes and spit,Â
âGo fuck yourself.âÂ
âWhy would I do that when I have you?â A smirk adorns his face. Midoriya continued his slaps, ass beat red with welts that wouldnât heal for days. You were in for a long night lest you find a way out of these bindings. You feel sick when you realize that maybe you donât want to get out quite so soon.
SO, now that the new avatar is coming out WHO is ready for the sequel and MONSTER? I KNOW I AM- writing it is going to be so MUCH FUN.
Brat - Eric Coulter x Reader
Pretty much just 4k of smut
Hi! I am back in the world of fanfic with a brand new blog, my first on tumblr in several years. Please bear with me as I'm learning the new features and online cultures, consider sending me a request, and enjoy my imagine of a pretty old character I love.
Warnings: just straight up smut, BDSM dynamics, control & overstimulation, a touch of dacryphilia?
The air was cool, refreshing, even if a little moist. Damp metal railings cooled my elbows, and warm air crackled past my lips. I tapped the joint once to watch ash fall through to the dark void below. I relished in the cool air on my legs and stomach and arms while the smoke warmed my face. I could still hear the faint echoes of the music at the late-open club far away.Â
Looking left, then right, each side looked the same. A wirey metal bridge leading across to a tunnel dug into the middle of a wet, cave-like chasm. On one end, silence. A huge, arching hallway leading to acres and acres of underground gymnasiums and practice halls. On the other, the bridge led to a splitting hallway leading to homes, recreational areas, shopping, offices, and most significantly- the far-off lights flashing green and red and purple and blue to the beat of an old pre-war pop song. My head was bobbing involuntarily to its own beat as I watched the tip of my joint light a bright orange in the near-black chasm.Â
âWhat did I tell you tonight?â A deep voice boomed. He wasnât so much loud as his voice was heavy and projected intensely, making a smile creep up my lips.Â
âI was hoping Iâd run into you here.â I couldnât help but look from boot-to-toe through my lashes at the very distinct silhouette approaching. Through the few lights hung far on the cavern walls, I could barely make out the reflection of Ericâs piercings and his entertaining scowl. I took one more hit straight to my throat, my eyes glazed over the dark jeans hanging over barely-visible dark boots, and swiped my tongue across my teeth as the man stomped his pointed eyebrows right in front of my face. I could smell his cologne, the whiskey on his breath, and the perfume I had rubbed off earlier. He nearly had me pinned to the railing.Â
âAnswer the question.â His voice was calm, strict.Â
âYou told me a lot of things tonight,â I held the tip to the corner of my lipstick, careful not to smudge the dark red pigment with the burning cone. I frowned a little. âBut none of them were that you liked my outfit.â
It was true, the dysfunctionally short leather shorts that barely covered my ass and the cropped tank tied up behind my neck wasnât usual for the leader to see me in, but I knew what he referred to.Â
âI told you, if you were to embarrass me out in public tonight-â I could hear his hands grip the rail and creaking it- pulling himself closer to me, â-youâd suffer a suitable punishment.â
My hands rested carefully behind me, just between his on the cool metal. I was nearly nose-to-nose with the square-jawed, tattooed, gelled-hair man towering over me now. âI didnât embarrass you, youâre the one who said weâre public now.â
Ericâs rough hand gripped the corners of my jaw with gentle fingers, ones that warned me what was coming. âYouâre not going to have that cheeky smile for much longer. You like making a show for everyone rubbing all over me at a party?â
âI didnât see you stopping me.â I shrugged. He still held my chin in his hands. âWerenât those your hands all over my ass?â
âOf course they had to see whatâs mine.â I felt a hand on my hip, my back shook the cold railing, and Ericâs hand tilted my head up farther. I could see his face just barely in the dark, enough to make out him staring me down with an equally dark smile. âBut I am a man of my word.â
âOoh, a Candor,â I raised my eyebrows up and down. I could feel his body heat sending hot waves against my torso and legs, and the railing behind still contrasted with cold metal. âSo, whatâs this punishment Iâm supposed to be scared of?â
Fingertips pressed tighter against my jaw as I felt Ericâs breath up near my ear. I could help but hold onto one of his belt loops and pull him in tighter. âNow youâre going to give me my own show. Youâre going to sit on my face until you cry.â
I felt him smile against my cheek just barely, and I laughed softly. âYeah, right. Good luck.â
âOh.â It was filled with mocking sympathy, and he looked me in the eyes from several inches above again. âYou have no idea what youâre in for, do you? Be at my apartment at one. Do. Not. Be. Late.â
I smiled again, then nodded. Eric wordlessly turned and walked off. His boots echoed with each footstep back to the rock-solid ground. I waited for him to disappear, dragged another long puff of thick air from my dying joint, and flicked the finished tip down the void.Â
I checked the watch on my wrist. Bead bracelets flew across the face. 12:32. Plenty of time.Â
The next phase of getting back to the bar, washing the smell off my hands, closing my tab, and meeting back with my friends was a blur of scenes. First I was in the bright-lit tile bathroom, where the LED bulbs reflected obnoxiously off black and grey tiles where drunk party-goers spilled water and drinks. The hallway was filled with dark patches of making out couples, people talking, people crying, and an entrance back to the club areas. Through a set of glass doors, I grabbed the silver handle for balance as I stared out for my group. People I didnât know, people I didnât know, people I kinda knew, people I didnât know. I made my way up to the raised bar area, terribly designed to be up four or five giant black steps on raised platforms. Or seven, I lost count. I closed out my tab, received my points card back, and made one more look for the group I came with. Nothing. Iâd see them at work eventually.Â
The walk back through the hallways was the perfect time to catch my deep, cool breath and find my footing again. I still staggered slightly through the echoing hall, past the occasional talking couples or chatting smokers. My heeled boots padded gently past everyone, around corners, and past the general residencies.Â
I followed my muscle memory back up to Ericâs apartment. Do. Not. Be. Late. was running through my head. My heart was skipping, and my foot almost joined as I smiled a little to myself. Flashbacks and fantasies were running through my head at warp speed while I tried to walk at a normal pace up more stairs and through renovated hallways.Â
I stopped at a navy blue door. It was nearly black. I checked my watch again. 12:58. Â I pulled my boots back, and tried not to swing around too much. I calmed my lungs to silence my breath.Â
I checked the watch again. 1:01. I held my fist up near my head, paused for a few more moments near the door, then finally knocked three times.Â
âOpen it.â
What greeted me was another dark room. Not nearly as dark as the chasm, but a warmly-lit minimalist apartment with barely any decoration to reflect the soft yellow lamps. There were, however, a couple candles burning on the end tables that had just been lit in the past several minutes.Â
âThatâs already how youâd like to start this?â Eric sat on a leather black couch across the room from me, stoic and colossal as usual. His spread knees bent at a perfect ninety-degree angle with his arms stretched across the back of the couch. He still stared at me with fire, and I once again looked up and down what appeared to be perfectly-tailored black jeans and a tight black tee that pulled on his bicep muscles and showed off the dark linework on his arms.Â
âLike what?â I frowned and shut the door behind me. âYou told me to be here, Iâm here.â
âTwo minutes.âÂ
âOne minute.â I crossed my arms.Â
âIf you knew that, then you knew youâre late.â His piercings arched up with his eyebrow. âWhen I give you a command, thatâs what it means.â
âWell,â I said thoughtfully, kneeling down towards the edge of the couch. âYou werenât great at getting me to do what I was told during initiation,â I inched closer to his boots on the floor, âYou arenât good at getting me to listen at work, unless I feel bad about saving your face,â I sat directly in between his knees now, âIâm not sure why you think it would work well now.â
Eric grabbed my chin again, barely leaning forward to address me from above. âBecause next time you wear those little shorts, you wonât need to shake your ass on me to have proof youâre mine. The pretty red marks will do the job just fine.â
I smiled up at him, leaning my face into his hand as my own hands stroked up the tops of his thighs. Eric leaned down slowly again, until my eyes were half-open and I could just barely feel his lips nearly about to touch mine. My hands reached where the denim waistband dug into his skin, pressing my fingers into him. I felt Ericâs mouth move, and opened to see that plotting smile. I frowned.Â
âYouâre not getting anything until you pay that late penalty.â
I looked up through my lashes and tried to look innocent, brushing my hands over his jeans more thoroughly. âWhat will you do to me?â
âCome lay down.â He snapped, pointed up, then at his lap.
I pushed myself up by my arms. âReally?â It was laced with curiosity.Â
âNow.â He was nice enough to place one of the black throw cushions where my head belonged, how gracious. He sat back with his open hands. I lied across his lap, arching my back and pressing my stomach against his thighs. I could already feel a hard tent digging against my hip, and bore down as if I was just getting comfortable. Eric gave a swift smack to my ass.Â
I laughed softly. âThat was kind of embarrassing.â
Smack! My breath caught in my throat. Pain stung my left ass cheek, and a kind of whiny moan escaped.Â
âBetter?â
âMm,â I tried not to sound defeated.Â
âTake these off.â Eric snapped the leather booty shorts against my skin. He guided my hips up with my hands as I arched up, nearly putting my ass in his face to pull the shorts down and off. Eric did the rest of the work pulling them off my legs. He hummed. He snapped my black thong against my ass. I grumbled.Â
âKeep count,â he ordered.Â
Crack!Â
My butt stung again. Barely above a whisper, âOne.â
âI canât hear you.âÂ
Smack! The right side. I could kind of whimper a âTwo.â
âGet to five.âÂ
Snap!Â
I couldnât help the soft moan. The hot sting was just barely painful enough to wake up my body, and I could feel even more heat between my legs. âThree.â
Smack! I tried not to wiggle my ass around and beg him to touch me. âF-Four.â
âYou shouldnât be enjoying this.â
Smack! He grabbed my butt hard after the last.Â
âFive,â I was still airy and whiny. I pressed harder against his hand on my skin.Â
âAw, you took it so well,â Eric still spoke with almost a condescending tone. âIf only this was your only punishment tonight.â
I hummed, starting to grind tiny circles in his lap with my hips. âWhat do you want me to do next?â
Eric held a handful of my hair and pulled me back. I stared out into the space above his couch and focused on his breath in my ear. âFirst off,â
Smack!
I yelped. I wiggled my hips around in painful shock of the unexpected spank. I whined at Eric.Â
âThat was for being late on purpose. Now, I want you naked on your knees on the bed. Go.â
Next thing, I was pushing off my knees to stand up. Now in just my tight top, a thong, and the heeled boots; I paused before deciding to make a show out of untying the bow on the back of my neck as I walked away, pulling the straps of my shirt all the way down before disappearing behind the bedroom door. I was quick to pull off the tiny piece of lace around my hips, untie the boots, and hop up onto the wide grey-sheeted bed to wait. I was brushing my hair out with my fingers and fixing my calf-high socks for minutes before Eric finally swung the door back open. I leaned forward in my W-sit, staring at him up and down as he entered shirtless.Â
My tongue swiped over my teeth with every inch I took in of him. Ericâs well-carved muscles were decorated with the most intricate geometric mazes and shapes and designs across his arms and torso, reaching up his neck. I felt a wet spot growing on his sheets as I watched how each part of his body tensed and rippled with each step, down to his unbuckled leather belt. The black denim rested low on his hips and he swung them towards me wordlessly, that intense stare back on me. I chewed on my bottom lip and leaned forward, fighting the urge to grab his waistband and pull him towards me.Â
Eric leaned in, so close I could almost reach out to kiss him, and paused with an arched brow. âI thought I said naked?â He flicked my sock against my skin. It made my leg pull out and press me harder into the wet spot. I frowned. âTheyâre cute, so Iâll let it slide this time.â
âYou havenât told me what youâre gonna do to me.â My voice was barely above a whisper.
âIf youâd been listening instead of being a brat, youâd know I did.â Eric gripped my face in one hand again, tilting it to the side. âYouâre going to sit on my face until you cry for me.â
I laughed like I had for the first time. âIs that a challenge? Iâll bet you tap out before I do.âÂ
Eric had an evil smile on his face. âYouâre not going to enjoy this like you think you will.â
He walked around and flopped on his back next to me, making the bed squeak. Before I could process it, he grabbed my knees and pulled my legs closer. I whimpered as I fell back and tried to keep my balance. Eric pulled my legs over his chest as easily as I was a toy. My brows raised in surprise, not sure how to react. I tried to adjust myself safely on either side of the manâs square shoulders, but his arms wrapped around each leg and pulled me in close to his jaw.Â
âNow you sit there and look pretty for me.â
His soft tongue slid up, finally giving me some of that friction I was begging for. I whined when he rode directly over my clit, and then slowly back down over it. I whined again and wiggled around. Ericâs hands gripped harder into my thighs and pulled me down tighter. I tried to calm my breath as I felt his hot tongue drawing firm lines up, down, up, down, up, down. My clit begged for more and cried that it was too intense at the same time. When I bore my hips down, pure pleasure shot up my core. I moaned out openly, and Eric pulled me in further, encouraging me with his hands to ride against his face. His mouth enveloped my pussy, breathing hot air and grinding his tongue hard directly against my clit. My entire abdomen tingled, and I couldnât help but melt into his arms rocking my hips on beat with his tongue.Â
âGod, Eric,â I managed before I could get a deep breath. I tried to relax all my muscles and just enjoy the feeling; I knew if I came too soon, the overstimulation would make me lose this challenge. A few soft moans still blew past my lips.Â
The rough man below my legs decided now was the time to start playing tricks with his tongue, drawing perfect little circles over my clit and sucking on it and teasing my lips. I whimpered and threw my head back and fell harder against Eric as I was trying to both contain the amazing rippling feeling across the entire central part of my body and savor it at the same time. âHoly fuck, Eric, please, please donât stop.â
I could only see the upper half of Ericâs square, fierce and pierced face below me, but he looked incredibly focused on the task directly in front of him. One hand trailed down to his perfectly-gelled hair, traced his eyebrow piercings, and rested on his temple as I hummed through the burning pleasure he caused between my legs.Â
I was trying so hard not to cum. It wasnât that I ever had to ask, but if he was serious about going until I cry, that wouldnât happen until after the overstimulation. I wanted to hold him there forever, grasping hard to my hips to pull me down against his face, playing with my clit with his tongue, moaning and grinding and tingling and melting into his touch before the orgasm exploded.Â
âOh, fuck, please,â I whined like a horny cuckoo clock. My breath was getting faster. I was having difficulty calming it with all the flicking and swiping and licking Eric was doing. He just pressed against my clit so perfectly that I couldnât hold it in.Â
My legs shook and trembled hard. All that pleasure in my stomach exploded and sent fire across my whole body. My head threw back and my eyes got stuck at the grey ceiling. I didnât even have control of the loud, untethered moans ripping from my lungs. All I felt was hot, wet, blinding pleasure pouring from my folds and spiraling out across my body. One hand was resting back on Ericâs abdomen, the other gripping his hand on my thigh. I briefly wondered if he could even breathe. I was brought back on track by his tongue still dancing across my clit while my legs shook and spasmed against him.Â
It was so much. It was so good. I didnât want him to stop, but every touch of his tongue left me frantic. I whined, wiggled, bucked, twitched, whimpered, and jerked with every bit of friction against his mouth.Â
âPlease,â I squeaked. The overstimulation was beginning to take over, but I didnât want to lose the battle. A hitched breath later, I was moaning and whining with my clit throbbing against him.Â
He wasnât slowing down. I felt Ericâs hot mouth still rubbing hard against me, sucking, licking, drawing, grinding against my almost painful pussy. I cried out harder and instinctively bore my hips down more. This only made Eric swipe harder against my clit, completely soaked.Â
I leaned back farther, almost completely on his tough stomach now. I rocked back and forth. âFuck, Eric!â I tried to last longer but my hand instinctively shot against the bed and onto his stomach, ripping myself from his mouth. I laid awkwardly and shakily against his abs, breathing in shallow sobs. I stared up at the ceiling with blurry, white vision, still trembling through every part of my body. I felt one hot tear roll out of the corner of my eye.Â
Eric pulled me down closer to his lap and sat up ever so slightly. I still lied back between his legs, barely processing his head leaning down closer to me. His hand turned my face to one side, then the next.Â
âWhat did I tell you?â He said with a cocky smile that just barely traced the corners of his lips. âI guess youâll learn to listen next time.âÂ
I whined in response, still riding the serotonin high. I closed my eyes and felt Eric shift, then grab my face again. I opened my eyes to see him directly over me now. His voice was soft as he eyed me, less intensely than before, but with the same hunger. âNow, what do you say?â
âThank you,â I squeaked softly.Â
âYou took me so well, sweetheart.â Ericâs hand still gripped my lolled-back jaw, but his voice wasnât filled with that sense of mocking. âTell me what you want.â
I gathered the ability to open my eyes and look far up at him, resting my hand over his. I could still see that love of control in his eyes. I reached my face up, close to his. He finally leaned down and let his lips touch mine. It was soft, gentle, a massive contrast to his character. Then, I breathed out, âI want you to bend me over and make me beg for you.â
That plotting smile was back again. âI donât have to make you do anything, youâve done that all on your own.â
I didnât have another chance to respond before Eric turned me over like a toy again. His huge hands grasped my hips and flipped them over, then pulled them towards him. Now in a prone position, I leaned back and let my hips grind my ass against his unbuttoned jeans. He was pressing his clothed boner against my drenched vulva, but then disappeared. Just as I could look back for him, I felt hands grab my thighs and yank me backwards. A quiet yelp displayed my shock as Eric pulled me to the edge of the bed. His repositioning came with an evil chuckle.Â
Suddenly, my toes were barely touching the ground. One of Ericâs hands was on my neck, just below my hairline, gently pushing my face to the bed. The other grasped my hip and pulled my ass to him. âGood girl.â
I whined and pressed harder against the jeans I could feel him shuffling off. âAlready came, and still so desperate,â Eric hummed. âThatâs my good little slut.â
I whined and backed against him harder. His dick now slid against my sore clit, and I twitched. Eric rubbed slow, but hard against my folds. I whined again, grinding to get him to go where I wanted.Â
âWhat is it, sweetheart?â That condescending tone was back. âWhatâs wrong?â
I groaned and wiggled against him more. âPlease.â
âSo whiny tonight,â he remarked, still teasing me. âUse your words.â
âPlease, Eric,â I added as if that would get what I wanted.Â
âPlease what?â Eric mocked from behind me. His fingers were gently teasing my entrance, making me somehow even wetter.Â
I groaned. âJust fuck me, Eric, for Christâs sake.â
âAll you had to do was ask nicely,â he taunted.Â
My breath hitched. The orgasm and soaking preparation Iâd had still wasnât enough to prepare me for the absolute raw force that immediately broke through my body. Eric was big- like extremely big- but I still hadnât been prepared. I bit my lip and hummed lightly.Â
âDo you want me to stop?â
I shook my head quickly. âPlease donât stop, please donât.â
I could visualize that evil smile on Ericâs face behind me as he pounded in again. I couldnât stop the tiniest cry that escaped my lips. He pulled my ass up higher with each stroke, leaving my toes stretching to barely reach the floor. My hands gripped the sheets tighter with each hard hit, feeling his dick stretch my muscles out until they had to relax. Moans and hums brushed past my lips loudly again, and my head bobbed on beat with the creaking of the bed. Each hit to the inside of my walls made me feel like I was just gushing out my juices on him. My vision was tinging white again as he grabbed the hair at the top of my head and pulled back.Â
One hand still gripped the sheets. The other grasped his fingers over my ass, bouncing with each slam into me. My legs were shaking again, my hips, my stomach tightening. I became like dead weight, unable to hold my head up without him pulling my hair and unable to press my ass farther against him without his hand to pull me up. The noises coming out of my mouth were ungodly, and I was only encouraged when I heard deep, guttural groans tearing from Ericâs lips.Â
âPlease, please, donât stop,â I cried out. My jaw became slack and I lost control of my pleasure-burning body that erupted with waves of warm tingles and violent relief.Â
I was broken quickly from my trance when the dick inside me was ripped out, leaving me empty. I heard another hot, dark groan before sputters of wet, warm liquid shot across my back.Â
Ericâs hands disappeared for a moment, then was replaced by the feeling of fabric. A towel swiped across my back, and then his hands rested on my hips again.Â
âSee, you donât need to be a brat, sometimes you just need a good correction. Letâs get you some water.â
when a hyperfixation cancels out 80% of ur depression you know it's a good one
Yes, Please
An expansion of this. Can absolutely be read as a standalone fic, though.
WC: 4k
Warnings: Dubcon turned into Enthusiastic Consent, dumbification, light face smacking, name-calling (couldn't help myself), angst with a happy ending, Overstimulation, come-eating, size kink, sexual harassment on your end, and a bunch of suicide jokes
Crossposted from AO3
Summary: Perving on Captain Price comes with delightful consequences.
You may have gone a little too far this time. Heâs refusing to talk to you.Â
Such a funny thing, getting all the silent treatment that comes with dating and absolutely none of the actual fun stuffâbecause heâs refusing to date you, too. Any day now, heâs going to squeeze his eyes shut, plug his ears, and go lalalalala at the mere sight of you. Thatâs practically what heâs been doing about the ââinappropriateââ feelings that emerged within him the second you started pulling your now-regular stunts, anyway. Before those, you may as well have been Peppa fucking Pig in his eyes. Your innocence is entirely fictional, yet it makes you entirely off-limits all the same. He couldnât possibly stick his dick in Peppa Pig now, could he? Never mind that you were a grown-ass woman with a fully formed frontal lobe pushing thirty. He would probably be all over you if he met you at a pub or something. Shame he met you at work, insteadâa new transfer to the base, to his team . So young, so pretty, but the only way he would ever allow himself to appreciate it was as if you were surrounded by polycarbonate panels like an exhibit in a museum. Look, but donât touch, he keeps telling himself. No matter how much he wants to.Â
But what if you want to?Â
Spending your entire workday surrounded by stupid, stinky men who disrespected you like sport for almost a decade, kinda, sorta, completely put you off men. So when you were face to face for the first time with your new captain; hot captain, respectful captain, wonderful captain for the first timeâyou may have started acting a little unprofessionally to put it very mildly. It must have been the way he gripped your hand when you shook his for the first time, firm and warm, staring deep into your eyes, making you all gooey inside with his gorgeous , welcoming smile. He told you to come to him if you needed anything, and he means anything, which, from anyone else, might have sounded nothing but sleazy, sudden flirting, but from him, it sounded like a promise. A vow . Maybe he had been a knight in his past life. Jerking off with lube made out of honor and principle.
Hand on your heart, you genuinely believed that youâd get over it after a while. All of your silly little crushes dried up and shriveled into dust like Thatcherâs cunt the more you got to know them, after all. This, too, shall pass, you kept telling yourself. It decided to stick to you like cancer, instead. During the month you spent getting adjusted to the base, you observed him like you were birdwatching. From what you could tell, he was strict, but not abusive like most of your previous captains, understanding but not a pushover like the last one that made you transfer in the first place. He was the Golden Mean of men, shining just as brightly, you wanted nothing more than to melt him down and pour him inside you. You only hoped none of this would be showing up on your next psych eval.
Just thinking about what went down just two days ago makes you want to tie a noose around your neck and jump directly into a room-sized human wood chipper. This may come off as a shock now, but you havenât exactly been normal about him for a while now. You didnât follow him home in a wig and Groucho glasses, or anything, but at this point, you were starting to think that maybe it would have been better if you actually had. He probably would have laughed.Â
It was all⌠relatively innocent at first. You donât even have to do much when it comes to men, honestly. Just some subtle, playful touchiness will do it once you've gotten relatively friendly with each other to let it pass. All of which were over the clothes, and nowhere near his cock and balls, yet you can see how they travelled all the way down there just the same. But the man must have a will of steel and a chastity belt of the same material because it only managed to coax him halfway. He did , at the very least, lose the cartoon schoolgirl piglet coding of you in his mind, at least, so small victories, you supposed. Too small.Â
Which brought you to phase two: The views . Not a full-blown creepy guy in a trenchcoat flashing at a subway, obviously. Just enough to notice him noticing you. Read the subtle signs of his breath hitching and his eyes darkening with lust with the little ââaccidentalââ slips of skin you throw his way, like giving the dog a bone to get it to imagine the steak. On second thought, maybe you shouldnât be comparing yourself to a slab of meat. Unfortunately, he brings out the worst in you. See, he even has you blaming him for your own lust like Judge Frollo. Itâs a wonder how you havenât burnt down all of Paris yet. Which is where youâre both currently are, by the way.
The city of capitalized love, overflowing with tourists and dog-sized rats just casually strolling through the sea of them like they pay the taxes! Okay, maybe you were exaggerating a little. You did see two rats jump out of a trash can on the first day you were here, though. But really, once the Paris syndrome fades away, itâs a city just like any other. You might have appreciated it a little bit more if you werenât strictly here for work. Well, the work part was done a week ago, but the paperwork part on the other hand just straight up refuses to get off your dick no matter how many forms you perfectly fill and perfectly sign and perfectly deliver to him.Â
ââNot good. Do it again.ââÂ
Thatâs three more words than what he said when you delivered the exact same report to him yesterday. Heâs not even pretending to read them at this point, just keeps sending you in and out of his office like heâs playing ping pong with your paid vacation time. Doesnât even specify whatâs wrong with it, so you can fix it; he just wants you to spend the one week you were allowed in Paris post-mission, cramped inside, wasting away with the same meaningless, never-ending task like Sisyphus, whom you really canât imagine being happy at the moment.Â
Because heâs mad at you. Because you went too far. You suppose it would be a bad time to suggest spanking as an alternative punishment, then. Itâs kind of what got you into this mess in the first place.
ââIs this going to be a thing?ââ You speak before you can think about itâ getting snippy with him when you should be handing in your resignation and moving into a nunnery in shame.Â
He remains silent, as always, pretending to find the stack of empty A4 papers wildly more interesting than you at the moment.Â
ââItâs going to be a thing, ââ you confirm for yourself, feeling a migraine dangerously closing inâif heâs trying to get you to shed whatever feelings you might have for him, heâs even closer to succeeding. ItâŚmight even be his plan, actually.Â
It was supposed to be a much-deserved celebration after a job very well done. The both of you drank the entire squad under the table and sent them to bed by 10 like the drunk little boys they were until it was just the two of you left at the breakroom. You talked very comfortably for the last two hours before the incident. He kept glancing at your shiny, wet lips with longing and leaning toward you every time you got closer to him. You truly thought that you were helping him out when you decided to be the braver one of the two of you and closed the distance between you both.Â
Up close, he smelled strongly of the good brand of whiskey he popped open and shared for the occasion; you both did. His lips were warm and pursed into a kiss almost immediately upon meeting yours. You saw his eyes flutter like butterflies before you closed yours and deepened the kiss, your hands cupping both his cheeks and tilting his head ever so slightly to give you better access. He wanted this, you thought to yourself at the moment with joy. And then you kept repeating it like a chant for the rest of the day when he abruptly pulled back. Quite literally pushing you away from him with his caveman strength, like it burned to touch you, and quickly stomping out of the room just as gracefully.Â
You thought he wanted thisâŚDidnât he? Did you actually just fucking assault your captain? You couldnât sleep that night, couldnât concentrate in the morning. Silently cried into your pillow out of shame for eight hours straight and took it out on everyone who dared to invade your pity parade when you began your day at the base. Working . Working through your humiliation, your sadness, your anxiety, rolling the boulder up that hill, hoping this will be the day it quits being a teasing little bitch and crush you into a fine line of viscera on the ground.
You were already half insane before you got in here. Maybe if you quit now, you might get to leave in a straitjacket as opposed to a body bag. Either way, thereâs no way you were staying.Â
âIâll be asking for a transfer at the end of this week.â You turned to leave, not even waiting to hear his answer, already predicting it: silence.Â
ââNO.ââ He shouted behind you a few seconds later, as if he had been tuning out what you were saying before that.Â
What the hell does he mean, no?
You considered giving him the silent treatment for a change and simply shutting the door behind you on your way out, but he had been starving you from his voice for a little too long for your taste, and so when he dropped the hookâyou bit.
ââYeah? Why ?ââ Wrong question, back to silence.Â
This time, when you turned your back on him to leave, there were angry tears in your eyes. The sound of his chair abruptly screeching back halted your hand on the door handle, his voice following shortly after.Â
ââJusââjusâ sit down, yeah?ââ He didnât step away from his desk, but stood behind it with his hands raised with the palms down, as if trying to soothe an angry mare. He looked nervous, you noted. You tried not to look too smug at the sight. ââWe can talk about this.ââÂ
You wanted to strangle him. Oh, now, we can talk? You had to hold yourself back from screaming it at him. It sounded so childish, even in your head. Itâs probably why he doesnât want you. You may as well be a brain-dead teenager doodling Mrs. Price in your notebook in his eyes.
Well, if he wants to play chicken, then youâll come up with a chicken metaphor on your way to his desk!Â
You find what you were looking for right as you sit down on the squeaky leather armchair in front of his desk: Youâll make him squawk.Â
You just need to keep this anger sizzling hot for the entire conversation before shame starts screaming even louder and makes you throw yourself at his feet and apologize a thousand times before he scoops you up from the back of your neck like a stupid wet cat and hurls you out of his office window.Â
God, you hope he throws you out of his office window.
Now, heâs refusing to look at you.Â
Makes you wonder why you agreed to this in the first place. You almost make a move to leave again, but when you look, and really look into the pretty blue eyes currently avoiding your gaze, you see the gears turning at full speed behind them.Â
Heâs not ignoring you, he just needs to figure out what to say. Too bad you havenât got all day, you still have a pointless report to rewrite for the fourth time in two days, waiting for you back home like a wife youâre currently cheating on. You really should get back to her, so you speed this up.Â
ââDid you notâwant it?ââ You dig your nails into the corners of your nails. You still canât bring yourself to say âitâ. Did you not want the kiss, want me ? ââI thought youâââ you censor yourself again. It sounds like the most pathetic thing in the world: I thought you wanted me.Â
He did. Thatâs what makes it worse, there was nothing more he wanted than to lie you down on the couch and kiss you until the sun came up that night. You put him in a trance, spinning that glass with a stirring motion, making little whiskey vortexes with a giddy, drunk smile on your face, getting dangerously close to spilling all over your tight white top and getting away with it each time. If it was just lust, he could have chalked it up to his old man hormones acting up around a beautiful young woman who was clearly interested in him. Itâs the disgusting little butterflies that dance in his stomach that give him pause each time.Â
You probably just want to fuck him, he keeps telling himself, you probably have daddy issues.Â
You donât want him, you canât want him. Not in the way he wants you. Would probably laugh in his face if he told you he was thinking about how just today he dreamt about you tonight, canât remember a single frame to save his life, but it still made him wake up the happiest he had ever woken up in his close-to-40 years of life. Â
He sighs, really wishing you just sat there for, oh, about ten hours until he could figure out what to say. ââItâs not that,ââÂ
So he does want you? You try not to get too happy, waiting for him to continue. Waiting for him to ruin it.Â
ââItâs,ââ Hardware parts, deep sea fishing, Nascarâthereâs no way heâs into Nascar. ââYou donât.ââÂ
ââWhat? ââ You wonder at what point in all the many times you quite literally sexually harrassed him did you give the message that he repulsed you to your core like a dog turd baking on a sidewalk, or worse, a republican.Â
ââYou donât .ââ He breathes it out, crosses his arms on his chest and leans back, as slowly and as further away from you as he can without making it seem like heâs still scared of girl cooties. He looks like he truly believes what heâs saying, too, looks like heâs resigned himself to this ââfactââ a long time ago. Â
You feel like youâre about to laugh like youâre going to die from it: Youâre not the teenager; he is!Â
ââI donât want you?ââ You repeat his words back to him with an incredulous smile, which only gets wider as you watch him startle like a spooked deer with every slow step you strut towards him.Â
You put a hand on his chest and push him further back when he attempts to make a move to get up from his chair, and keep it there. Loving the way his muscles tense up under his shirt, his breathing grows heavier as you trail it down even further.Â
ââWhaâ are youâ?ââ He cuts the question short with a tiny gasp, squeezes his eyes shut, and throws his head back on the headrest as you start rubbing your palm up and down on his bulge over his pants. This was just about the worst decision youâve made this weekâpossibly your entire life, but the way he looked at you right now, flushed in the cheeks, fucked-out in the eyes, pink lips parted open; the only thing he left in your brain was the aggressive urge to find out what he looked like when he comes. Youâll deal with the consequences later, you think.Â
You feel sick, but he feels so good. He was hard when you got there, so you decided not to waste any more time and pull his zipper down. You can see his cock twitching expectantly over his underwear more clearly now. Blue. Itâs cute. You hear him groan your name, not title, and move to grab your wrist, holding it in the loosest grip known to man. Â
ââYou donâtâââ Enough with that. You smack his hand away before he can finish speaking, and pull his leaking, twitching, angry cock out. He hisses deliciously when you get down on your knees and wrap your entire fist around him. Try to, anyway. Heâsreally fucking big. Â
ââI want you.ââ You tell him gently, moving your hand up and down on him squeezing beads of precum out of his slit as you get even tighter at the top. He shakes his hand and lets out a strangled sound, gripping the armrest so tight it looks like it was about to burst into splinters ifÂ
he kept it up. He canât possibly think about that at the moment, though, his mind is emptyâhe can only feel, and it feels so good, and he hates it.Â
He feels like heâs taking advantage of you somehow, as you jerk him off in his office without a single go-ahead from his partâlooking like you want to make out with his cock. God, he hopes you wonât, because then he would not be able to stop himself if he ever felt your mouth wrapped around him, heâd have no choice but to fuck your face like his own fist and feed you his entire load and make you say thank you when itâs all done. And then put a gun in his mouth for ever treating you like this. You should probably hide his bullets before you get it through his thick fucking skull that you would love for him to treat you like this.Â
ââI want you .ââ You tell him again, put your face closer to his cock, hoping to catch anything he gives you with your mouthâhis balls tighten at the sound of your voice, bursting with adoration. Youâre looking up at him with just the same reverence, he comes right as you put your mouth on his tip. He growls out a yes as he coats your lips with his cum and feels like heâs about to burst again when he watches you lick it all up.Â
You get what you wanted, he looks just as beautiful as he comes as he does when he isnât.Â
You wonder how heâd feel inside you. You bet the first stretch would be torturous. You want to find out.
Heâs touching your head, you muse, like he would a catâs, or more accurately, a dog's. Quick and gentle pats on your scalp before he rests it there. Heâs so awkward about it, too. Like, he doesnât allow himself to simply ride the afterglow, he just emptied his balls in your mouth, and heâs acting like he tried to shake a fist bump.Â
ââWhy did you think I wouldnât want you?ââ You bring him back to earth. Itâs a good question that, depending on his answer, is going to determine whether or not he suffers from brain damage.Â
ââGut feelinâââ he lies. He clearly still canât believe you actually do. Or heâs trying to make you snap into round two to show him again. In any case, youâre more than happy to oblige.Â
Your knees crack very unsexily as you get up off them, but it looks like he didnât even hear it with the way his eyes seemed to lock in on your movement alone like a motion detector. You plop yourself down on his lap and smile as his hands find your waist reflexively.Â
He moans into your mouth when your lips find his for the second time. This time, however, youâre going to hold both his hands with yours and lock your fingers together so he canât pussy out of your affection again. And heâs tasting himself on your tongue. Still, you keep him there, his mouth on yours, and your tongue on his until you feel him harden under you again, embarrassingly.Â
You let his hands go free for a moment, silently giving him the final decision. His hands travelÂ
down to your ass and onto your front to undo your pants and thatâs when you jump on him.
Youâre completely naked on top of him before your useless happy brain can registerâlegs spread around both of his thighs, and body tilted back to rest on his desk, twitching like a bunny in heat.Â
He rubs his cock on your folds, pulling away just before he can make contact with your clit.Â
ââWhore,ââ he smiles, smacking your cunt once, twice, three times with his cock, getting it wet. You should probably use a condom, but you left yours in your bag, and you doubt he keeps any in his office. Youâre just going to have to rely on the pullout method and hope the next time you do this, youâll be on the pill so you can take his load inside you, too.Â
ââInside ,ââ you whine. This is probably payback for all the shit you pulled trying to get him to this point, but youâd really prefer to take your punishment in the form of spankings instead.Â
ââGreedy whore,ââ he doubles down and enters you as he pulls you in to kiss all over your glaring face.Â
It. Fucking. Burns.Â
No amount of mental preparation you had to give yourself makes up for the actual feeling of his cock inside you. Heâs not even halfway in yet and yet he managed to reduce you to a whiney weeping slut all the same.
Because it fucking burns. And you fucking like it.Â
His first few thrusts are slow and careful not to hurt you too much, never going all the way down to the base. Youâre putty in his hands, gripping your ass to bounce you down on his cock right now. Gone is the confident little minx who trapped and milked him for all his worth in the same chair heâs currently fucking the life out of youâand heâs not even being rough.Â
Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he starts thumbing your clit, rolling it side to side and circling it like a vulture above your tender body, ready to devour it.Â
Wanting to get back a little control, you sink yourself down on him all the way. Getting full-body chills when you see a glint in his eyes, he can go fast now. And go fast, he does. Starts pistoning himself into you, uses your body like a fuckdoll. He grunts and groans in your ears, seemingly mesmerized at the sight of your breasts bouncing with each hard thrust into you. Not that you noticeâa little too busy squealing like an idiot, seeing white spots dancing in your vision like an omen of what heâs going to paint you with, hopefully very soon. Because you feel way too close to coming and donât want to think about all the embarrassing noises heâs going to pull from you if he keeps fucking you through and after your orgasm.Â
Itâs not fair. No man should fuck this good. No man can fuck this good. Yet here he is, proving you wrong again and again, one slam of his cock into you at a time. He lightly smacks you in the face as your head droops down, squishes your cheeks until your lips form a pucker, and drags you towards him to kiss you like heâs afraid to break you. Ironic.Â
It sets you over the edge. What can you say? Youâre a romantic at heart. You dig your nails into his shoulders and start riding him through it, moaning directly into his mouth. He lets you take the wheel, puts his hands back on your waist, and makes you bounce on it to your heartâs content. Once you start showing signs that it has started to feel too much, he gently pulls out of your throbbing cunt and slips it right between the buttcheeks heâs been groping for the last half-an-hour.Â
You attempt to make a sound of protest, but he shushes you gently, ââRelax, love, not putting it in today.ââÂ
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and hide your face in his neck, giving him full controlâshowing him that you trust him, even if you are a little confused as to what else he can do there instead. It all gets clearer when he smooshes your cheeks together and starts fucking between them.Â
Hotdogging, you chuckle, itâs a funny term.Â
It doesnât take too long for him to reach his peak as well, spilling all over your ass with a hoarse drawn-out groan. You turn your head around just so, so you can catch a glimpse of it in action. It looks like an erupting volcano on an island. You refrain from relaying this observation to him so as not to kill the mood. Then again, youâre both finished nowâyou decide to tell him after all.Â
He snorts, ââRight, love. Iâm sure it does.ââÂ
He cleans his cum off of you with the jumbo-sized napkins he keeps in his drawer, right next to an unopened box of condoms.Â
ââForgot they were there,ââ he says, looking to his side, away from your eyes narrowing in suspicion ââGift from the plonkers,ââ Plonkers?! ââThought they were being cheeky.ââÂ
ââAnd why were they being âcheekyâ, Captain?ââ He flushes at the title, liking it a little too much when you say it to him naked.Â
ââYou werenât exactly being sneaky, sweetheart.ââÂ
Shit. Youâre really fucking embarrassed now, hope they didnât see anything. But, waitâ
ââSo then why did you think I wasnât interested in you?ââÂ
You got him there, he clears his throat a couple of times, and tries squeezing out a lie that, at the very least, was not going to sound too obvious.Â
You have some mercy on him ââDo you believe that I want you now, at least?ââÂ
He thinks on it for a bit, chews on his answer. He still doesnât believe you want him the same way, but what the hell? You can get there eventually.Â
ââI do,ââ he raises your knuckles to his lips to give them a kiss like a true gentleman who just fucked you in a way that set feminism back fifteen years.
ââGood,ââ you give his knuckles the same treatment and watch him melt, ââNow let me off, I still have your bullshit report to finish.ââÂ
ââOh, that?ââ He smiles sheepishly ââJust send any of the old ones, they were all good.ââÂ
Youâre going to kill him.Â
ââIâm going to kill you.ââ He grabs both your fists before they can make contact with his chest and twists you around to put you in a headlock, kissing your forehead in apology as you wrestle playfully under him.Â
ââShh, shh, shh, none oâ that.ââ He deepens his voice on purpose, knowing exactly what it does to you ââIf I take you to that muppet tower, will it be all good?ââÂ
You give it some thoughtful consideration, ââItâll be a good start.ââÂ
He canât wait.
Taglist, aka everyone in my comments who asked for part 2, sorry for the delay: @queent20-21 @viviansvault3 @simonriley09 @trashy-pandas123 @laduenadelswing @vampflth @mischievousprincess01
pretend until forever â clark kent
word count : 22.6k words pairing : clark kent x f!reader synopsis : you have a problem, and it involves showing up to your sisterâs wedding with a fake fiancĂŠ to keep your family off your back. the plan is simple enough, except clark kent agrees to play the part, calm and infuriatingly perfect, and suddenly nothing feels fake at all. how long can you survive the day without your carefully built lie unraveling completely? content warnings : fake fiancĂŠ trope, fluff, angst, sexual tension, smut-adjacent scenes, public embarrassment, emotional spirals, family drama, mild language, messy feelings, teasing, romantic tension, workplace interactions, fake relationship scenarios authorâs note : okay so yes, this oneâs long, i know, but please take it as my silly little sorry gift because iâll be taking a break for like two to three weeks with uni tests eating my soul, but also, because i genuinely love you lot, i ended up scribbling this whenever i could anyway. also, heads up, there are probably some grammatical errors because iâve been learning more about american english, so itâs kind of a mix of british and american english throughout. also, some parts might be a bit confusing because i literally had no time to proofread properly, with everything else iâve got going on, so i basically just sneaked it off as it was. anyway thank you for sticking around and seeing me through my chaotic mind, and see the comment below for the full authorâs note if youâre curious for more rambles!!
masterlist
âPlease, Jimmy, I am begging you!â
âI told you that I have a strict âno deals with the devilâ policy. NO.â
âYouâre my only hope, Olsen, please!â
âI am not Obi-Wan Kenobi!â
Youâre doomed, completely and stupidly doomed, not in a poetic sort of way, not in a funny way either, just in that sinking, slow, full-body ache sort of way where you already know the damage is done and thereâs absolutely nothing you can do to un-say the words that came out of your mouth, not when your sister had called you before the sun had even risen and your voice was still heavy with sleep and your brain hadnât caught up yet with the concept of reality or consequences.
All she said was something about table arrangements and final numbers for the caterer and how excited she was to finally meet the boyfriend youâve apparently been dating for four years, and instead of stopping her, instead of correcting her gently or pretending the call had dropped or even saying something mildly coherent, you just said, âOf course,â and that was it, that was the beginning of your undoing.
Because now youâre engaged, and not just vaguely in a cute, Pinterest board kind of way, but fully, publicly, logistically engaged to a man who doesnât exist, who has never existed, who you made up months ago to get your mum to stop setting you up with her friendâs nephew whoâs a dentist and plays the trombone.
And now itâs too far gone to fix.
Thereâs a ring involved, a fictional proposal at a cafĂŠ, something you vaguely remember muttering about lavender lattes, and apparently heâs vegetarian now, because that somehow came up during brunch with your aunt last month, which means thereâs a custom meal waiting for him at the reception and the sheer scale of the lie, the details, is making you feel slightly ill.
And yes, you know you did this to yourself, you know that nobody told you to keep going with the story or build him a backstory or describe his terrible driving and love of crossword puzzles, but you also know that it felt good at the time, it felt safe to be able to nod along when everyone else was talking about their partners and it felt good to have an answer for once instead of just a tight smile and another glass of wine.
You thought Jimmy would help; you thought if anyone would understand the desperation of the situation, the sheer absurdity of it, it would be him, and for a second you thought maybe he would say yes, maybe heâd pretend for a few hours, hold your hand during dinner, say something mildly charming during speeches, and let you get through the evening with your dignity barely intact.
But no! Jimmy Olsen, your last shred of hope, has looked you square in the eye and said absolutely not, and now youâre sitting at your desk with four days to go and not a single person you can reasonably ask to stand next to you in a suit and pretend to be in love with you for an entire night, not just in passing, but with the kind of history and weight that four years of fiction apparently carries.
And you know, deep down, that you should probably come clean, probably tell your family that you made the whole thing up and accept the embarrassment and pitying looks, but you also know how thatâll feel, how itâll sound when your mum asks why you lied and when your sister gives you that smile that means sheâs not surprised, just disappointed, and when your ex looks at you across the room like youâre still the same person you were when you let him walk away without fighting back.
Youâre spiralling; you can feel it in the base of your skull, in your chest, in the weight of your hands where theyâre curled too tightly around the edge of your desk, and you donât know how to fix it, but you do know one thing for certain: you are not walking into that wedding alone.
You just need to figure out whoâs walking in with you.
âJimmy, please, I swear thereâll be foodââ
âLook,â Jimmy let out a deep sigh, turning to you with an exasperated look, clearly frustrated with you asking him the same question for about twenty-three times now, âI would really love to help you, but not that kind of helpâŚyou know what I mean?â
âWhat exactly do you mean, Jimmy?â
He let out a groan, dragging his hands down his face like just speaking to you physically aged him, âYou know what I exactly mean. I donât do that. I am not a liar, and certainly not someone whoâs good at it.â
âYou literally fake-laughed through a conversation with my aunt about antique doorknobs last Christmas.â
âThat was different, that was me trying to be polite while she showed me photos,â he pointed at you like that made some kind of moral distinction, âand I didnât have to kiss anyone or pretend to be in a deeply committed relationship in front of multiple people.â
You blinked, âYou wouldnât even have to kiss me.â
âOh, great, so you want me to pretend to be in love with you coldly, that sounds really convincing.â
âItâs not like anyoneâs going to test us,â you snapped, âItâs not a hostage situation, I just need someone to show up in a nice suit and look like theyâve heard me snore before!â
Jimmy narrowed his eyes, âDo you snore?â
âNot the point, James!â
He crossed his arms, clearly done with entertaining the idea, even though you could see the part of him that was starting to feel guilty, the part of him that always looked a little bit like a kicked puppy when someone asked for help and he couldnât give it, but also, unfortunately, the part of him that had enough self-preservation not to get dragged into your absolute car crash of a lie.
âIâm not doing it,â he said, firm this time, like heâd made peace with it, like he was trying to coach himself through the boundary in real time, âIâm not going to your sisterâs wedding and pretending to be your long-term, deeply devoted fiancĂŠ. Iâm not good under pressure, I have a very obvious tell when I lie, and your family terrifies me!â
You squinted at him, âWhatâs your tell?â
âI start talking in third person,â he said, dead serious, âand I sweat through my shirt.â
âSo? Wear black.â
âOh, my God, are you listening to yourself right now?!â
You slumped dramatically in your chair, letting your head fall back with a groan that felt like it came from your soul, âDo you have any idea how bad this is going to be? I told them we got engaged. Engaged, Jimmy. Thatâs not something you can backpedal from gracefully. Thereâs a ring involved. There was a cafĂŠ, and a latte, and I mightâve said he cried.â
Jimmy looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. âYou said what?â
âI donât know why! I panicked! Mum looked so happy!â
âYou are actually insane,â he said, pointing at you again, like saying it out loud would make it any less true, âand for the record, I still think you should just tell the truth and face the music like a normal person.â
You glared at him. âIf you think Iâm walking into a wedding alone with three exes in the guest list and a whole table of aunties who think I need to freeze my eggs, then youâve clearly never known true fear!â
He opened his mouth, probably to make another point about morality or dignity or whatever other trait youâd long since abandoned, but then paused, squinting at you in that way he does when heâs trying to be delicate about something stupid, âOkay, but, if not me...then who?â
You stared at him, brain empty, mouth slightly open, the same low buzz of panic beginning to climb your spine again like static electricity, because you hadnât actually gotten that far yet, hadnât planned anything beyond âbeg Jimmy until he caves.â
And the worst part is, he could see it.
âOh, Christ,â he said again, voice full of dread, âyou donât have a backup plan, do you?â
âI didnât think Iâd need one,â you muttered, and even you heard how sad it sounded.
Jimmy sighed, already regretting asking, and shook his head like he was trying to physically shake himself free of your chaos. âYouâre on your own, dude. I mean it.â
âOn your own for what?â came Loisâs voice from behind you, curious and immediately too aware, and you didnât even have time to flinch before she was rounding the corner of your desk with a coffee in one hand and that look on her face, the one that meant youâd been talking loud enough to be heard from Mars.
Jimmy blinked at her, looked at you, and then immediately bailed with a muttered, âNothing. Itâs nothing. Donât get involved. I need to live.â
And then he was gone, the coward, vanishing into the newsroom like he hadnât just abandoned you at your lowest.
Which left you sitting there, clearly distressed, clearly unravelling, and now with the added bonus of Lois Lane, a Pulitzer-winning journalist and very inconveniently perceptive human being, standing over you with narrowed eyes and that tilt of her head like she was already ten steps ahead of whatever story you were about to try and sell.
You tried to recover. âItâs fine. Iâm fine. I justâJimmyâs being dramatic. Itâs really nothing.â
âMm,â she said, noncommittal, sipping her coffee like she didnât believe a single syllable of that. She sat on the edge of your desk, legs crossed, one eyebrow raised. âSo what are you actually spiralling about?â
You groaned and buried your face in your hands, already regretting every decision that led to this exact moment. âItâs my sisterâs wedding.â
âAndâŚ?â
âAnd,â you mumbled into your palms, âI mightâve told my family Iâve been dating someone for four years and that weâre now engaged, and that heâll be coming with me to the wedding this Saturday, which is in four days, and also completely not true, because I made him up.â
Lois paused. âYou made up a boyfriend whoâs now your fiancĂŠ?â
âYes.â
âFour years ago?â
âYesssssssss.â
âAnd kept it going all this time.â
âI panicked, okay?!â you cried, finally looking up at her, your hands flailing a bit too dramatically for the office setting but at this point, who cared,
âMy mum was giving me that face, and my other sister had just told me she was pregnant again, and everyone was being so smug and fulfilled with their real relationships and real lives and I justâŚsaid it. And then I had to keep saying it. I donât even remember what lie I told about how we met. There was a cafĂŠ involved and I think he drinks oat milk.â
Lois blinked. âYouâre unwell.â
âThank you, Lois, very helpful!â
âOkay, but like, genuinely,â she said, shifting a bit on the desk, her tone softening just slightly in that way she sometimes let slip when she wasnât in full reporter mode, âyou should just tell them the truth.â
You let out a strangled, deeply unconvincing laugh. âYeah, Iâm sure thatâll go over great. âHey everyone, sorry, the love of my life Iâve been raving about for years doesnât exist, I just invented him so youâd stop looking at me like Iâm a broken microwave.ââ
Lois sipped her coffee again. âYou know your family will still love you, right? Like, yeah, they might be weird about it for five minutes, but theyâre not going to exile you to the woods for being single.â
You frowned. âYou donât know my family. My cousin Monica live-tweeted her boyfriend proposing and now my entire family uses it as the standard for public affection. My sisterâs second baby is already booked for a baptism before itâs even born. My mum bought a hat for this wedding, Lois. A hat. She doesnât wear hats unless sheâs going to cry in them.â
Lois snorted. âOkay, so your familyâs insane.â
âThank you!â
âBut youâre still not actually solving the problem. You either tell the truth and deal with the fallout, or you find someone willing to be your fake fiancĂŠ, which, frankly, sounds like a logistical nightmare.â
âI tried that,â you said, slumping further into your chair like the embarrassment might kill you through posture alone, âJimmy said no for like twenty-nine times.â
âOf course he did. The guy folds under pressure if someone just asks him what he wants for lunch. Youâre telling me you trusted him with a full-on social deception at a family wedding?â
You groaned again. âHe was my best shot.â
She looked at you for a long moment, eyes narrowed like she was scanning you for weaknesses, and then, in the most casual voice in the world, said, âWhat about, uh, Clark?â
Your heart stopped.
âNo.â
Lois grinned. âWhy not?â
âNo,â you repeated, firm, terrified, already mentally spiralling into the void, âHeâsâno. Heâs too nice! Heâd never agree. Heâd probably short-circuit and start apologising to my mother for existing. And also, I barely talk to him. We talk about coffee and copy deadlines. Thatâs it!â
âExactly,â she said, like that was a point in his favour, âHeâs sweet and reliable. Iâm pretty sure he wouldnât embarrass you. He might even be convincing.â
âLois!â
âWhat?â She leaned in, voice low and smug. âYou said you needed someone!â
You buried your face in your hands again, because if she said one more word, you might actually have a breakdown in the middle of the bullpen. And worst of all, you were already starting to picture it.Â
And that was the problem. That was exactly the problem.
Because part of you didnât hate the idea at all.
And that was far more dangerous than anything you'd invented so far.
â˘ââââââââ˘Â°â˘ââ˘Â°â˘ââââââââ˘
You knew you shouldnât be doing this, you knew it from the moment Lois leaned in with that smug little glint in her eye and said his name like she was handing you a loaded gun, like she wanted to see if youâd actually pull the trigger, and you knew you shouldnât have stood up, shouldnât have taken a single step in this direction.
But you did, and now here you were, standing right in front of Clark Kentâs desk, heart racing in a way that felt both ridiculous and completely deserved, because there was no possible version of this where you came out the other side with your pride intact, and yet your mouth was already open and your voice was already forming syllables like you werenât about to launch yourself headfirst into the most humiliating conversation of your life.
He looked up at you, smiling a little like he was happy to see you, even though you were very visibly deranged right now, and he just tilted his head a little and said, âHey.â
And you panicked.
âYes,â you said, immediately, before heâd even asked anything, and he blinked, confused but not alarmed, just blinking up at you with those stupid kind eyes like you werenât seconds away from asking him to fully fake a relationship with you in front of your entire extended family.
Then he raised his eyebrows slightly, in a polite, concerned sort of way, like maybe you were short-circuiting, and said, âAre you okay?â
âYep,â you said, lying through your teeth, too quickly, voice way too high, âfine, totally fine, Iâm justâokay, so, uh, weird question, and Iâm really, really sorry in advance, but are you doing anything this weekend?â
His brows pulled together in that thoughtful, in a way he did when he was trying to give a sincere answer to a weird question, and he said, slowly, âI think Iâm free on Saturday... why?â
And that was when you knew you were too far gone to turn back.
âUh,â you said, already wishing you were dead, âwould you possibly, hypothetically, in a completely fictional and non-legally binding sort of way, want to get engaged?â
He blinked.
You then winced. âOkay, that sounded worse out loud than it did in my head.â
âEngaged,â he repeated as if heâd misheard.
âYes,â you said, then immediately regretted it, âwellânot engaged engaged, Iâm not asking you to marry me, Iâm asking if youâd pretend to marry me, or at least pretend that weâre going to get married, which is somehow worse, I know, but I swear I can explainââ
Clark was still just looking at you, blinking slowly like he was trying to figure out if this was a prank or a cry for help, and you wouldâve felt bad if you werenât already spiralling straight into the seventh layer of humiliation.
âMy sisterâs getting married,â you said, breathless now, already waving your hands like that would help slow your brain down, âand I may have told my entire family that Iâve been in a long-term relationship with a very real and definitely not made-up person, and that person may have also become my fiancĂŠ at some point, and I didnât think it would ever come back to bite me, but now sheâs getting married on Saturday, and Iâve been explicitly told to bring him, and theyâre all expecting to meet him and coo over our engagement story and ask invasive questions about our future children!â
You paused, dragging in a deep breath like you were about to dive underwater, âand Jimmy said no, like very firmly no, and then Lois said your name, and now Iâm here, and you can absolutely say no too, in fact you, uh, probably should, because this is crazy and embarrassing and possibly the worst thing Iâve ever said to another human being, and I am fully prepared to fake a concussion to get out of it if I have toââ
âCan I wear a tie?â Clark asked, suddenly, with that tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like this was actually funny to him.
You stared. âWhat?â
âWell, I feel like a fiancĂŠ should wear a tie,â he said, shrugging a little, like this was a completely rational conversation, âIâve got one that makes me look like I know things about property taxes.â
âYou already look like someone who reads real estate blogs on purpose?â
âI donât,â he said, smiling fully now, âbut itâs nice to know I could.â
You stared at him, still half-convinced your ears were lying to you. âYouâre saying yes?â
He nodded, still way too calm. âSure.â
âYou donât even know what kind of unhinged family youâre about to walk into.â
âI grew up on a farm,â he said, âIâve seen some things.â
âThis is not that,â you said, trying not to sound panicked again, âthis is five generations of nosy women with group chats and opinions and a frankly dangerous amount of curiosity. Someone is going to ask you about our sex life before appetisers! This is an actual social war, Clark, and youâre agreeing to walk into it as my fake fiancĂŠ for the price of one piece of cake and a lot of emotional damage!â
Clark adjusted his glasses, still smiling in that mild, impossibly steady way that made your brain feel like it was glitching.
âDo I get to pick the cake flavour?â he asked.
âOh, my God,â you muttered, burying your face in your hands, âthis is going to end in flames.â
He leaned in a little, voice lower now, amused but serious enough that it made your spine go weird.
âDonât worry,â he said, âIâll make us very convincing.â
And you felt that line in your bones, because you were unwell in the worst way, because you had just asked Clark Kent to be your fiancĂŠ and somehow, impossibly, he had actually said yes.
â˘ââââââââ˘Â°â˘ââ˘Â°â˘ââââââââ˘
âJesus Christ, you absolute idiot,â you hissed at yourself, elbow propped on the sink as you dragged the eyeliner across your lid for the sixth time and of course it smeared into a crooked little tail that had no business being there.
âBrilliant plan, really, fake-engage the most obvious man in the world, theyâll never suspect a thing,â you muttered, scrubbing at it again with the corner of a tissue until your skin stung.
You leaned back, squinted at your reflection, and nearly laughed because your eyes were already going red and watery like youâd been crying, which was just perfect, exactly the sort of look you wanted to bring home to your family when you announced that Clark Kent had miraculously agreed to marry you.
âTheyâre going to find out in five minutes, tops,â you said to the mirror, pointing at your own face like you were scolding a misbehaving child. âThey know you, they know you canât lie to save your life, they know youâve never kept a boyfriend past a month, and you think you can walk in there with Clark bloody Kent and pull this off? You are insane.â
The eyeliner pen slipped out of your grip and clattered onto the counter and you wanted to throw it in the bin. You slammed your palms on either side of the sink, leaning forward until your forehead nearly touched the mirror, and whispered, âYouâre going to die, youâre going to actually die when they start asking questions.â
Then louder, like that might help, âWhat were you thinking?!â
Your heart was hammering against your ribs like it was trying to escape, your hands wouldnât stay steady long enough to finish one simple wing.
You grabbed the mascara instead, hands shaking, and muttered, âFine, weâre just going to have lopsided eyes. Whatever. Clark said yes, somehow, impossibly, and now youâve got to make it through dinner without collapsing.âÂ
And then, quieter, almost pleading, âOh please, God, donât let me sweat through this dress.â
â˘ââââââââ˘Â°â˘ââ˘Â°â˘ââââââââ˘
The doorbell went off and you nearly jumped out of your skin, the mascara wand slipping straight out of your hand and rolling into the sink like even your own things were sick of you.
You groaned, properly loud, because of course it was already happening, of course youâd run out of time, and you were still standing there staring at eyeliner wings that didnât even belong to the same face. The left one was drooping, the right one was flying off into space.Â
It was bad.
It rang again, longer this time, like whoever was outside already knew you were falling apart and wanted to make it worse. You looked at the clock. 6:41. Which had to be wrong, because there was no way morning was allowed to arrive this fast. But there it was, blinking at you, reminding you that you were officially out of time.
You muttered at yourself about being stupid, about how your family were going to bury you alive, and then you stomped down the hall in your robe like some gremlin dragged out of a hole, you always did, and then your stomach dropped out completely because it was Clark.Â
Except it wasnât Clark like normal, not with his crooked tie and hair that looked like the subway had bullied him. No. This Clark looked like he had been styled. His shirt was fitted properly, his sleeves rolled, his hair slick in a way that made you want to cry.
You opened the door and almost choked.
âHi,â Clark said, easy, like he had not just wrecked your entire morning.
âWhat the hell are you wearing?â It fell out of you before you could stop it, because if you didnât say something you were just going to stand there like an idiot.
He glanced down at himself and then backed up. âClothes?â
You pointed at him, furious. âDo not. You look like some dream guy out of a film and it is offensive. You were supposed to show up looking like you.â
He blinked at you once instead, calm as ever. âThanks? You look great.â
You nearly combusted. âSay that again and I will hit you. I mean it. I cannot deal with that right now.â
He almost said it again, you could see it, but then he softened and shrugged with that tiny smile that was somehow worse. âAlright. I will not say it again.â
âGood,â you muttered, arms crossed so tight you thought you might pass out. âBecause this is already a disaster. My eyeliner is criminal, my hair is tragic, and then you have the nerve to turn up like that.â
He leaned against the doorframe, calm as ever, and said, âSo, do I get to come in? Or are you just going to roast me from the hallway?â
You glanced at the clock again. 6:43. You sighed so loudly it rattled your chest. âFine. Come in, but do not touch anything. And stop looking at me like that.â
âLike what?â he asked, grinning, stepping inside.
âLike that,â you snapped, slamming the door shut a little harder than necessary, because maybe the noise would drown out how fast your heart was going. âThat thing where you look like you know something I donât. Stop it.â
Clark glanced around your flat like he was taking mental notes, slow and polite, like he hadnât just wandered into the lionâs den. He set his overnight bag by the sofa like he belonged there and then turned back to you with that maddening calm. âI donât know anything,â he said.
You squinted at him, still clutching your robe closed. âYes you do. Youâre smug. Itâs smug, thatâs what it is.â
He raised his eyebrows, pretending innocence in a way that made you want to throw something. âWhy do you think Iâm smug?â
âI think youâre enjoying this too much,â you muttered, stalking back toward the bathroom because if you stood in front of him another second youâd combust. âAnd I donât know why. You should be terrified. My family is going to eat you alive.â
Clark followed at a slower pace, leaning in the doorway as you picked the mascara back up like it might save your life. âIâm not really worried,â he said, and you nearly dropped the wand again because how was he like this, how was he so calm when you felt like your organs were about to start a mutiny?
âYou should be,â you told him, catching your reflection and grimacing. âThey will ask you questions. They will interrogate. They will want dates and names and embarrassing stories. Someone will ask about the proposal. Someone will ask about the honeymoon. Someone will ask aboutâŚâ You waved the mascara at him. âThings.â
âThings,â he repeated, trying not to laugh.
âYes, things,â you said, stabbing it back toward your lashes. âPersonal things. They donât know what boundaries are.â
He watched you for a moment, arms folded now, and then he said, easy as anything, âSo youâll tell me what they need to hear.â
You whirled on him. âMe?â
âWell, yeah,â he said, smiling like this was all so simple. âYou made him up, didnât you? Youâve already got the backstory. Iâm just here to play the part.â
You stared at him, mascara still in your hand, and wanted to scream. âOh, my God. Youâre going to be useless.â
Clark laughed, actually laughed, and it was so warm and low that you forgot what you were about to say next. He pushed his glasses up his nose, still smiling, and said, âDonât worry. Iâll keep up.â
And you hated it, you hated how much you almost believed him.
By the time youâd shoved half your wardrobe into a suitcase and burnt your tongue on instant coffee, Clark was still just⌠there. Carrying your bag down the stairs without breaking a sweat. Opening the passenger door for you like it was normal. Sliding behind the wheel like he wasnât about to impersonate your fictional fiancĂŠ in front of five generations of relatives who could smell fear a mile away.
The car was quiet for all of thirty seconds before you broke.
âTheyâre going to ask about the cafĂŠ,â you blurted, gripping your coffee cup like it was the only thing tethering you to earth. âThe one where he proposed. I said it was by the river, I said there were lavender lattes, I said he got down on one knee and cried. Theyâre going to want details. Theyâre going to want to know the exact date. What the weather was like. What he said.â
Clark glanced at you, then back at the road, and said, âAlright. So what did he say?â
You blinked at him, throat tightening, because of course you had never thought that far. âI donât know,â you admitted, voice cracking on it. âI just said he cried.â
Clark smiled a little, eyes on the traffic ahead. âThen I guess Iâll have to improvise.â
You nearly spilled your coffee. âClark, no, do not improvise!â
âWhy not?â he asked, all innocent.
âBecause youâll make it sound sincere and then Iâll die.â
He chuckled, soft and low, and you wanted to throw your coffee out the window.
âThis isnât funny,â you said, turning in your seat to glare at him. âWe need to get our story straight. You canât just stroll in there winging it.â
Clark kept his eyes on the road, maddeningly calm, hands loose on the wheel like you werenât both heading toward disaster. âSo we build it. Isnât that what we do?â
âWhat?â you asked.
âStories,â he said, glancing at you with the faintest smile. âWeâve both made a career out of getting the details right. Same principle, just personal. Itâs not exactly breaking news, but itâs still a narrative. We just⌠write it.â
You gaped at him. âYouâre actually suggesting we treat my fake fiancĂŠ like an article?â
He shrugged. âWhy not? Youâve got the bones already. We fill in the rest. Motive, timeline, quotes, anecdotes. Keep it consistent. No contradictions.â
You groaned and slumped against the seat. âOh, my God. I canât believe youâre enjoying this.â
âIâm not enjoying it,â he said, but he was smiling, and you knew he absolutely was.
âFine,â you muttered, shoving your empty coffee cup into the holder. âTimeline. Four years. We met atâŚâ You stopped, wincing. âGosh! I canât even remember what I said anymore!â
Clark hummed thoughtfully, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. âLibrary?â
You shot him a look. âDo I look like the kind of person who meets people at libraries?â
âAlright,â he said, still calm. âBar, then. You spilled a drink on me?â
You narrowed your eyes. âThat sounds like a clichĂŠ.â
âYou made up lavender lattes,â he reminded you. âWeâre already past clichĂŠ.â
You shoved a hand through your hair, heart pounding. âOkay, fine, bar. I spilled a drink. It was rum and coke, not wine, because wine is too obvious.â
Clark nodded like he was taking notes in his head. âAnd I saidâwhat? That you owed me a replacement?â
âYes,â you said quickly, leaning into the lie before you could second-guess it. âAnd you hated me at first. You said I was rude and clumsy and distracting.â
He smirked at that, eyes still on the road. âSounds about right.â
âDonât,â you snapped, pointing at him. âYou donât get to enjoy this.â
âNoted,â he said, but the corner of his mouth twitched and you wanted to scream.
You slumped back again, muttering under your breath. âProposal was last spring. CafĂŠ by the river. Lavender latte. You cried. I donât know why, but apparently you did. Honeymoon is booked for Italy, Tuscany maybe, I canât remember which part I told them. Vegetarian, crosswords, terrible driver.â
Clark repeated it under his breath, like he was memorising lines. âTerrible driver?â
âYes,â you said. âYou almost hit a dog once and we argued for a week. My cousin remembers that. Donât mess it up.â
He glanced at you again, amused. âYou realise youâve basically been running a four-year con, right?â
You groaned into your hands and dragged your palms down your face because of course this was happening, of course he was going to ruin everything by pointing out the one detail you had not thought through.Â
âI know, do not remind me,â you muttered, muffled and pathetic, like you could somehow smother the entire problem with your own skin if you just pressed hard enough.
There was a silence, and it was the kind that sat heavy enough to make your ribs ache, the kind that made you look up because you could feel him staring at you.
Clark had that careful expression, the one he always got when he was about to drop something you were not going to like, and you felt your stomach twist before he even opened his mouth.
âWhat?â you snapped, sharper than you meant to, but he was still gripping the steering wheel.
He hesitated, the pause stretching long enough that you wanted to scream, and then he said, almost cautiously, âYou donât⌠have a ring, do you?â
Your entire chest caved in. You clutched your robe tighter out of pure reflex even though you had changed into actual clothes an hour ago, because suddenly you were naked, you were exposed, and your heart dropped so fast it made you dizzy.Â
âOh, my God. Oh, my actual God, Clark. I donât! I never bought one. Theyâre going to see it immediately, theyâre going to stare at my empty finger and itâs over, itâs done, theyâll know Iâve been lying for four years and then Iâll have to fake my own death and disappear to the mountains because that is the only way out of this.â
âHey,â he cut in, calm and steady like his voice alone might anchor you before you spun yourself into oblivion. âBreathe. Itâs fine.â
âIt is not fine,â you hissed, shoving your hand directly at him like evidence in a trial. âLook. Naked finger. Do you see this? They will see this from across the room, they will drag me into the kitchen, and then theyâll demand answers, and then its social execution. They will bury me alive in the garden!â
Clark pressed his lips together like he was trying not to smile, which only made you want to throttle him, and then he let out a small, sheepish laugh. âOkay⌠so I mightâve thought of that.â
You blinked at him, wild, your voice climbing. âWhat do you mean, you thought of that?â
Instead of answering he flicked the indicator and pulled the car over, gravel crunching under the tyres, the sound loud enough that it scraped at your nerves. When you finally looked up the sea was spread out in front of you, pale and endless and stupidly beautiful, the kind of view you might have cried over if your brain wasnât on fire.
âClark,â you said slowly, suspicion crawling over you as he shifted in his seat, âwhat are you doing?â
He cleared his throat, awkward, his hand dipping into the inside pocket of his jacket, fumbling in a way that made your stomach drop further, and then he pulled out a small velvet box.
Your heart lurched so violently you actually gasped. âOh my God. Is thatââ
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but you, his ears already going pink. âYeah. Itâs⌠itâs a ring.â
You stared at him, properly stared, your brain stuttering and blank. âYou⌠you got me a ring?â
Clark finally met your eyes and for a second he looked so nervous you almost forgot how to breathe. âI figured it would come up. People notice rings. I didnât want you to panic more than you already were.â He held the box out with both hands, hesitant, like he was afraid youâd shove it back into his chest. âThis is⌠this is the one.â
Your fingers brushed his when you took it, your chest too tight, and your voice cracked. âThis is a ring?â
His laugh was soft, embarrassed, so quiet you had to lean closer to hear it. âYeah. Kind of obvious, right?â
You opened it and the air left your lungs in one violent sweep.
It was beautiful, and not in the flashy gaudy way that wouldâve been easier to shrug off, but in the kind of way that hurt to look at.
A gold band, simple but solid, with a diamond that caught the weak morning light and scattered it across the dashboard like it was mocking you. It looked old, and it looked like it had been waiting for years.
âClark,â you whispered, throat burning, unable to stop staring, âI canât wear this.â
He swallowed, his voice dropping into something softer, almost fragile. âIt was my maâs. Her mother gave it to her. She wanted me to have it. Said it was for when I met⌠you know. The one.â
Your head snapped up so fast it almost hurt, your eyes wide, panic spilling everywhere. âClark, no, absolutely not. I cannot wear this. This isnât a prop, this isnâtâthis is family, Clark.â
He gave a tiny shrug but his jaw was locked tight, his whole body saying he meant it. âSheâd want it used. Not left in a drawer.â
You shook your head, clutching the box like it was a live grenade, because this was insane, it was so far beyond the boundaries of your fake plan you could hardly process it. âClark, this is wrong. Weâre lying, weâre faking it, weâreâGodâweâre tricking everyone, and you want me to do it wearing something that actually matters?â
His gaze held steady, nervous but immovable, like he was bracing himself to take the hit. âIt means something if you let it. Otherwise, itâs just a ring.â
You wanted to tell him no, to shove it back into his hand and demand he find you something cheap and plastic, something that could never feel heavy in your palm. But your throat was thick, your eyes stung, and the diamond kept catching the light like it was laughing at you for ever thinking you could control this.
You sit there gripping the box so tightly it feels like your knuckles might split, like if you loosen your hold even slightly it might detonate right there between you, and he just sits steady the way he always does, like nothing in the world could shake him, and it only makes you feel worse, because youâre sitting here on the verge of combustion while Clark Kent looks like Clark Kent, calm and patient and maddening.Â
The silence stretches and stretches until it feels like a weight pressing down on your ribs, so thin and fragile it could snap at any second, and you canât take it anymore, your breath breaking out of you in a shudder, and all you manage is a single word, low and wrecked, âFine.â
His shoulders drop in that instant, a subtle easing, relief softening the set of his jaw, and before you can swallow the word back or decide youâve made a terrible mistake he reaches forward, so slow, so deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away even though you donât, and his fingers brush yours, warm, steady, achingly gentle, and itâs ridiculous how that single touch is what undoes you more than anything.Â
He takes the box from you, cradling it like it isnât a bomb, like itâs nothing more than a box, and then, without a flicker of hesitation, he opens it. Pops it open like heâs just unwrapping something ordinary, not stepping with you into something that feels like walking into fire.
He slides the ring out, holding it between his fingers, turning it once, the smallest movement, and then he looks at you, properly looks at you, and your chest twists, your pulse stumbles, because thereâs something in his gaze you canât read, something heavy and intent, and it makes everything so much worse.
âClark,â you breathe, your voice breaking with the panic already clawing up your throat.
He clears his throat, quiet, unhurried, but steady enough to make your stomach lurch. âWill you marry me?â
Your head jerks, eyes wide, your mouth open but empty, because what the hell, because itâs insane, because you know this is supposed to be fake and yet hearing it out loud like that is nothing you were ready for. âWhy are you asking me like that?â
âBecause,â he says, calm on the surface but a thread of something else tugging underneath, almost sheepish in the way he meets your stare, âyouâll have to get used to it. People are going to want the story. Theyâll ask, over and over. And if I canât even say the words to you, then how am I supposed to convince anyone else?â
The laugh that rips out of you is half-choked, almost hysterical, and you clutch at the seatbelt across your chest. âGosh. Youâre rehearsing? Youâre actually rehearsing this? In a car by the sea, Clark? Are you serious?â
His lips twitch, the smallest crack in his composure, and he says it so simply it drives you mad. âPractice makes perfect.â
Your head falls back against the seat, and youâre laughing because thereâs no other way to survive the absurdity of this, because heâs insane, he has to be. âYouâre insane,â you tell him.
But he doesnât look away and just holds the ring, like itâs not just part of a scheme, his gaze steady on yours, and when he says, âWill you?âÂ
It doesnât sound like a joke, it doesnât sound fake at all, in fact.
It should be easy, it should be light, it should be nothing more than a game you both agreed to play, but your throat is tight and your chest aches and you can barely force the words past the knot inside you. âYes,â you laugh, except itâs wet at the edges, breaking against the tears youâre fighting, âyes, Iâll marry you, Clark Kent.â
Something flickers in his eyes then, something raw and unguarded that you canât pin down before itâs gone, shuttered away so neatly you almost convince yourself you imagined it. Almost.
And then he takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger with a gentleness that makes your heart cave in, slow and deliberate, like it belongs there, as if this isnât fake at all.
The church was already spilling over by the time you pulled up, cars lining the road, people milling about in their best clothes, voices carrying in that bright early morning air, and your stomach dropped right through the floor because this was it, no more rehearsal, no more time to prepare.
Clark cut the engine, and for a second neither of you moved. You stared at the heavy wooden doors, the crowd of relatives and neighbours and people you barely knew but who all knew you, and your hand was already clammy before his even found it.
He reached across so simply, fingers brushing yours, and then he was holding on, steady, grounding, like he hadnât just put a family heirloom on your finger minutes ago.
You wanted to pull away but you didnât.
Walking up the path, hand in hand, you could feel the stares already, the whispers barely muted. Your aunt glanced down at your joined hands and her brows went up, sharp as anything, and you knew this was going to spread through the pews faster than the organ could get through the first hymn.
And then there was the sting, sudden and sour, when you saw your sister flanked by her best friends, all satin and flowers and cameras flashing, and not a spot for you amongst them. It should have hurt more. It didnât. You werenât here to be her bridesmaid, you were just here to stand and clap and smile when she said her vows, and that was fine. This was her day, not yours.
Except Clarkâs thumb brushed your knuckles, light as a whisper, and it dragged you right back into the absurdity of it all, because while your sister was about to marry the love of her life, you were standing here pretending, your pulse hammering like youâd stolen someone elseâs story.
Someone called your name, your cousin maybe, but you couldnât tear your eyes from the glint of the ring under the church lights, sharp and cruel, and all you could think was how in the hell you were supposed to carry this off when you already felt like the lie was carved into your skin.
Clark leaned down, close enough that his breath brushed your ear. âYou okay?â
You swallowed hard. âDo I look okay?â
âYeah,â he said, quiet, almost amused. âYou look like youâre about to faint.â
âGreat,â you muttered, dragging yourself forward because there was no other option, the ushers were already funneling people inside like cattle and you couldnât exactly dig your heels into the church steps and refuse to move. âExactly the look I was going for.â
And of course, because the universe hated you, they were there, all of them, like theyâd set up camp at the doorway purely to catch you. Your mum saw you first and her whole body jolted, hand flying to her chest like sheâd just witnessed a miracle.
âOh, heâs finally here!â she gasped, eyes bright as she turned that beam on Clark like sheâd conjured him into existence through sheer force of will. âI was beginning to think youâd been keeping him hidden from us.â
âMum,â you hissed, low, desperate, but it didnât matter, she was already reaching for Clarkâs hand, smoothing her hair like she was about to meet the Pope.
And then your brother, because obviously it had to be him, crossed his arms and gave Clark the slowest, most infuriating once-over, like he was appraising cattle. âSo heâs actually real then? Thought maybe youâd rented him from the internet.â
Your hand flew out on instinct, smacking his arm hard enough to make him flinch. âYouâre such an idiot.â
He grinned, rubbing the spot with exaggerated pain. âWhat? Iâm just saying. We were starting to place bets. Months of âBoyfie said thisâ and âBoyfie did thatâ with no actual proof? Pfft suspicious.â
âChildren,â your dad cut in, sharp enough that the word cracked through all the noise, that exact tone that used to send you lot scrambling when you were kids. âBehave. This is your sisterâs wedding, not the playground.â
But of course your brother leaned in anyway, muttering, âShe hit me first,â before ducking away with that smug grin that made you want to strangle him right there in front of God and everyone.
Meanwhile Clark, the traitor, menace, perfect bastard, just smiled all calm and polite, extending his hand like this wasnât a firing squad. âSir,â he said, warm, steady, with that faint drawl curling the edges, and your dad, your dad, who hadnât smiled in weeks actually looked impressed.
âOh, isnât he charming,â your mum breathed, practically glowing, like Clark had just solved all her problems by existing. âWhat a lovely young man! I like him.â
You gawked. âYou just met him.â
âThatâs all it takes,â she said matter-of-factly, and then turned her entire focus back on Clark as if you werenât standing there, as if you hadnât just combusted into flames. âWeâve been waiting a long time to meet you, young man. She talks about you all the time. More than she realises.â
âMum,â you snapped, heat crawling up your neck, but Clark was already glancing down at you with that infuriating glint, the one that meant he was eating this up, every humiliating second of it.
And because the devil works fast but your younger brother works faster, he leaned in on your other side, voice low but enough for Clark to hear. âHe seems too good for you, sis.â
You spun, teeth bared. âSay that again and Iâll murder you in this church. I donât care if Godâs watching.â
Clark had the audacity to laugh, soft and low, disguising it like a cough, which only made you crush his hand tighter, knuckles white. He looked down at your grip, then back up at you, maddeningly calm, and murmured, âEasy there.â
Before you could even open your mouth to snap at him, there was another voice, cutting clean through the thick awkwardness, and there she was, your other sister, striding across the tiles, balancing her son on her hip as if the chunky little weight was nothing at all.
Her eyes swept over you first, then Clark, and the curve of her mouth shifted into that smile, the one that always meant trouble, the one that made your stomach sink because it was far too knowing already and she hadnât even opened her mouth yet.
âSo this is him,â she said, her tone light and casual, almost airy, but her gaze sharp enough to make you bristle on instinct, like she was cataloguing everything about him now so she could interrogate you later over wine.
âApparently,â you muttered under your breath, ready to roll your eyes skyward, but of course she didnât even bother acknowledging you, adjusting her son higher against her shoulder before sticking her free hand out toward Clark.Â
âIâm her sister. The normal one. Nice to finally meet you.â
Clark, bloody saint that he was, smiled with that soft politeness of his and shook her hand with the same steady warmth heâd used on your dad, which only made you want to groan, because of course he was going to charm her too, wasnât he, and as if that wasnât bad enough, your nephew suddenly lunged toward him with both grabby little hands, chubby fingers stretching, babbling complete nonsense like Clark was the most exciting person in the world, like heâd just spotted the sun and wanted to pocket it.
âOh, for crying out loud,â you hissed, glaring at the child who only grinned wider, cheeks dimpling like he knew exactly what he was doing. âHe doesnât even do that with me.â
Your sister laughed, shifting the boyâs weight easily, bouncing him once on her hip before tilting her head toward Clark with that amused gleam in her eyes. âHeâs a good judge of character. Kids always know.â
Clark chuckled softly, not helping matters in the slightest, and brushed a fingertip over the babyâs tiny fist when it latched around his thumb with surprising strength. âHeâs a strong one,â he murmured, his whole face lighting up with genuine delight.
You could feel heat crawling up the back of your neck, the tips of your ears burning, because this was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. âDonât encourage him,â you snapped, crossing your arms tighter across your chest like that would somehow shield you from the scene unfolding right in front of you.
âWhy not?â Clark said simply, like he genuinely couldnât understand the problem, like it was the most natural thing in the world to let a baby cling to him as if theyâd been best friends for years. Your nephew squealed in sheer delight at his voice, tiny fingers tightening their hold, refusing to let go, drool collecting at the corner of his smile.
Your sister raised her eyebrows at you, clearly enjoying every second of this. âLooks like he likes him. Honestly, I was expecting⌠I donât know. Someone rougher around the edges, maybe, but youâve done well.â
âI didnât âdo wellâ,â you snapped again, your voice climbing louder than you meant it to. âIâm not shopping at a bloody market stall!â
Clarkâs lips twitched, his whole expression shifting as if he was desperately trying not to laugh, which only made it worse.Â
Your sister just rolled her eyes in that superior way she always had, switching your nephew onto her other arm as if to punctuate her point. âWhatever you say, but heâs definitely family-approved already, whether you like it or not.â
You groaned, dragging your hand down your face, trying to cover the mortification burning across your skin, muttering through your palm, âI hate all of you.â
âLove you too, little sister,â she sang back without missing a beat, her heels clicking away as she disappeared down the hall, her son still babbling and giggling happily, his little hand stretched out toward Clark until they were both out of sight.
For a moment there was silence, the kind that pressed in on you, the kind that made your grip on Clarkâs hand tighten without you even realising. He glanced down at you, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your knuckles, grounding in that soft way only he managed. âYou okay?â he asked quietly, voice pitched just for you.
You tilted your head up at him, glaring through the flush on your cheeks. âDonât start.â
The wedding begins slowly, almost shyly, like the air itself is holding its breath, the music soft at first and then swelling, filling every inch of the church with something grand and holy and terrifying, and it is the shift in the crowd that makes your skin prickle, the way voices drop, the way chairs scrape faintly before everyone rises at once, all heads turning toward the doors at the back.Â
You turn too, though your stomach has been clenched tight for what feels like hours, your lungs pulling shallow air that does not seem to reach deep enough, because you already know what is waiting, you already know the weight of it before it even happens.
And then she appears. Your sister, your baby sister, framed in the doorway in a dress so impossibly white it almost blinds you, the fabric catching the light like it is spun out of something celestial, her hand looped carefully through your dadâs arm, her steps hesitant and trembling in a way that breaks you even before she is halfway down the aisle.Â
Her face is soft and shaking, the kind of trembling that comes from joy too big to carry and fear too sharp to hide, and your dad looks so steady beside her, proud in a way that makes your throat close, his back straight and his jaw set like he is holding himself together for her sake.
The sight of them hits you harder than you thought it would, almost violently, like a hand pressing straight into the middle of your chest, because it is not just the image of your sister in a dress and your father walking her toward her future, it is the realisation of what this moment means, what it promises, and how far it feels from anything you could ever touch.Â
You cannot stop the knot in your chest, that ugly twisting, the whisper that tells you this kind of fairytale is not meant for you. Not the dress, not the aisle, not the someone waiting at the end with eyes already wet because you exist, because loving you is enough to undo them.Â
Not the story that makes entire rooms cry just from watching.
Your chest aches like it is hollow and your throat burns like you swallowed something sharp, and you hate yourself for it, for being so pathetic, for daring to feel grief in the middle of her joy, but it does not matter how much you tell yourself to stop, the sting behind your eyes rises anyway, hot and impatient and unforgiving in its timing.
And then Clarkâs hands. They appear suddenly, folding around yours with such warmth and steadiness that it startles you, like you had forgotten you even had hands until he anchored them. His palms are firm, his fingers curling over yours with intention, as though he is tethering you, pulling you out of the spiral before you can vanish into it completely.Â
You glance up at him, startled, and he is looking at you the way he always does, but sharper now, more piercing, that gentleness too much, that patience too unbearable when you are crumbling in silence beside him.Â
His expression is open, impossibly kind, too soft for what this is supposed to be, and it only makes the ache worse because you know you do not deserve it.
You sniff hard, forcing your mouth into something that might pass as a smile, tight and fragile like cracked glass, nodding quickly as though you can tell him without words, I am fine, I am fine, do not make this worse, do not look at me like that.Â
His thumb brushes against your knuckle once, slow and grounding, not insistent, just present, and it is enough, somehow, to keep your chest from splitting entirely open in the middle of the ceremony.
When you force your gaze back to the aisle, your sister is already halfway to the altar, her bouquet trembling in her hands the same way her lips tremble when she blinks too fast.Â
And then she reaches him, her husband-to-be, standing there at the end of the aisle with his whole world written across his face, his expression undone in the most devastating way, his tears catching in the light, his mouth trembling open as if the sight of her is too much to contain. He is not composed, not stoic, not trying to hide how much he feels, and it cracks him wide open right in front of everyone.
Your dad takes her hand so carefully, almost reverently, and places it into his. The gesture is simple, tradition etched into every movement, but it lands inside you like a blow, the lump in your throat so sharp it forces you to swallow hard, your vision blurring just as the two hands meet, as her life folds into his.Â
And all you can do is stand there, blinking against the burn, anchored by Clarkâs grip and undone by everything else, watching your sister step into a story you are certain will never be yours.
The murmurs died down and then the officiant began, voice soft and steady, guiding them into the moment that was supposed to be sacred and contained and almost unbearably beautiful. You could feel the tension in the room stretching through you, every seat in the church suddenly pressing against your ribs as if the air itself were waiting.Â
Your sister inhaled, her chest rising under the delicate fabric of her gown, her eyes locking on him, her hands trembling slightly even as they held onto his.
And then he spoke, his voice quiet at first, but every word carving through the church like it belonged there, like it could not be stopped. âI never thought Iâd be standing here, marrying you, because I never thought anyone could make me feel like this, like I was home for the first time in my life, like everything else fell away when I looked at you.â
Your chest clenched immediately, instinctive and sharp, and your hand tightened around Clarkâs without thinking, your knuckles whitening against his.
It was such a simple, human reaction, a tether to the world that didnât feel like it was going to rip apart under the weight of this moment, because even though you knew it wasnât about you, even though it was your sisterâs day, hearing those words made everything inside you combust in ways you werenât prepared to name.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Clark glance down at your hand, the faintest flicker of something in his eyes, a question, a warning, an acknowledgment, but you did not allow yourself to meet it.Â
You had to keep your gaze forward, had to keep watching her, had to keep pretending that this distance, this air between you and the raw ache in your chest, could be managed. Your eyes stayed locked on your sister, on the way her lips parted in that tiny, unguarded smile that made everything else feel sharp and impossible.
Her husbandâs words continued, each one carefully measured, filled with everything he had kept in his chest for years, and you felt the pulse of it, the way it settled deep under your skin, and you knew you were holding your breath, holding onto Clark because it was the only thing that made the ache bearable, the only thing that let you stand upright without collapsing entirely in front of all these people, because the world was collapsing inside your chest and this hand, warm and steady, was the only anchor you had.
You forced yourself to blink, to nod ever so slightly, just enough to convince the world you were present, just enough to convince yourself that you werenât dissolving entirely, and even as you did, the words continued to land, quiet and devastating, a tide pulling at something you hadnât wanted to admit was there, a part of you that had always wanted that kind of certainty, that kind of love, and yet you had never, and would never, have it.Â
And still, the hand in yours squeezed just enough to say weâre here, weâre holding, weâre surviving, and for now, that was enough.
You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, because suddenly the room felt too bright, the polished pews too shiny, the quiet sniffles too loud, and you were hyperaware of everyoneâs eyes, even though they werenât on you. You could feel Clarkâs gaze lingering, steady but soft, like he was reading you without needing words, like he knew you were unraveling and he wasnât going to let go.
Your sisterâs voice wavered slightly as she replied, her vows trembling but full of that raw, unpolished honesty that made people lean in, made your stomach twist in ways you didnât want to admit. And your hand squeezed Clarkâs without thinking, your grip tightening as if holding onto him could somehow hold the world together.
You stole a glance at him from the corner of your eye, just a flicker, and he gave you that small, almost imperceptible nod, letting you know it was okay, that he was right there, that he had you. And then you had to look away, focus forward, because her words, beautiful, unguarded, full of that impossible hope, were searing right through you, and your chest felt too tight to breathe normally.
He spoke again, low but steady, recounting memories you knew only she could understand, and you felt that familiar ache flare up again, sharp and quick, because here she was, standing in the kind of love story youâd been convinced youâd never get to have, and yet you were tethered to it, through the hand in yours, through the warmth and calm of Clarkâs presence.
The officiantâs voice cut in softly, directing them through the last pieces, and your sisterâs hand slid into his completely, her fingers lacing through his, and for the briefest moment, your chest unclenched slightly, not because it was easy but because it was complete.
The moment was absolute, and while the world spun around you, the tightness in your stomach, the fluttering of your pulse, it was almost bearable because his hand was there, grounding you, reminding you that you were still tethered, still whole, still managing to exist in this impossible, perfect chaos.
And then, as they spoke their final words, promising themselves to each other, the whole room seemed to exhale, and your shoulders finally loosened just a fraction, your grip on Clark easing, but not letting go, because even in the midst of their story, even while your own chest ached, you realised that holding onto this small, solid connection was the only thing keeping you upright, the only thing keeping you from tumbling entirely into the kind of longing youâd spent years burying.
After the wedding, the reception was chaos and glitter and flowers and everyone trying too hard to be polite while quietly evaluating every single detail as though the entire day depended on them, and you could feel the tension and excitement vibrating in the air like static electricity, your heels pinching at the wrong places, your dress slightly itchy in all the wrong ways, and Clarkâs hand never leaving yours as you navigated the sea of relatives and distant acquaintances you mostly pretended to remember.
âDo you want a drink?â he asked, leaning close so his breath brushed your ear, calm and steady in a way that almost made you forget you were still about to combust from sheer social panic.
âI need water,â you muttered, dragging him toward the drinks table, your voice low enough so no one could hear, though somehow everyone probably did anyway, because you were you, and subtlety had never been your strong suit.
He handed you a glass, watching you with those ridiculous eyes that seemed far too focused, far too kind, and you took it like it was a lifeline. âThanks,â you said, and immediately felt like an idiot for the dryness in your throat, because of course your voice had gone all shaky again.
âPeople are staring,â he said quietly, nodding toward the crowd that was definitely noticing the two of you, which only made your stomach twist further because yes, they were looking, and yes, it felt like everyone could read every thought and panic bubbling under your skin.
âI can feel them,â you hissed under your breath, glancing around, and then muttering, âThey know, they all know, they can smell the lie on me, I can feel it in the air.â
Clark chuckled softly, a sound that made your chest tighten in an entirely different way, and he squeezed your hand. âTheyâre just looking,â he said, calm as anything, and you nearly rolled your eyes. âItâs a reception, not an interrogation.â
âSure,â you muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm, âexcept everyone here is judging every breath I take, and I have to smile and nod like a normal human being while my eyeliner is sweating and my shoes are stabbing my feet.â
He leaned closer again, smirk tugging at his lips. âYouâre doing fine,â he said, quiet but firm, and you could feel the weight of his certainty like a grounding force, and it was almost enough to make you believe it for half a second before your cousinâs laughter nearby reminded you that you were still very much on display.
âDo you want to dance?â he asked suddenly, tilting his head toward the band, and you froze, because of course, yes, dancing. That was an excellent idea, entirely going to be a disaster.Â
âI canât dance,â you said immediately, panic rising in your chest, and Clark tilted his head, patient but amused, and you had to explain, because apparently that was necessary, âI mean, I literally cannot dance. I trip over flat surfaces, and if you think Iâm going to sway gently and gracefully like some romantic movie character, you are dreaming. I canât do it. I just canât.â
Clarkâs lips twitched, that little amused lift at the corner, but he didnât say anything, just waited, which made you continue, spiraling faster, âAnd yes, Iâve thought about it, okay, Iâve tried to fake it in the privacy of my room, spinning around like a human windmill, but it never works. I always end up dizzy, tangled in my own arms, muttering nonsense, and frankly, itâs better for everyone if I just stay put, sway awkwardly in a corner, or pretend Iâm just really into observing the dĂŠcor. Thatâs the safest option.â
You pressed a hand to your forehead, exhaling sharply. âSo donât ask me to dance. I cannot, I will not, and this is not negotiable. I know what youâre thinking, that Iâm just nervous, but this is not nerves â â
You hadnât even finished your tirade about your catastrophic dancing skills when Clarkâs eyes flicked toward the edge of the room, that faintly mischievous glint in them making your stomach sink.Â
âSomeoneâs coming,â he murmured, just low enough that you could hear, and before you could ask who, your eyes went wide and you knew immediately.Â
Your nosy aunts. The ones who could smell a lie from a mile away and whose sole purpose in life seemed to be monitoring everyoneâs social behaviour with surgical precision.
You froze for a second, panic threatening to take over, and then your brain, working at full chaotic speed, fired off a plan. You set your glass down a little too firmly, grabbing Clarkâs hand with a grip that was both desperate and decisive, and yanked him toward the centre of the dance floor.Â
âOh babe, come on, letâs dance!â you called out, loud enough for your aunts to hear, forcing a fake giggle that sounded far too shrill for comfort, and immediately cursed yourself internally because now you were fully committed and there was no turning back.
Clarkâs eyebrows rose, but that familiar soft smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He didnât protest. Instead, he slid his hand into yours and led you toward the first slow song of the evening, the band swelling in that way that made every bride, groom, and their unfortunate guests look like they were part of some cinematic moment you had no right to be in.
As soon as you were on the floor, you realized just how unprepared you were. You tried to sway gently like people in films did, but your knees went stiff, your feet refused to cooperate, and every attempt to move in sync with the music ended in what could only be described as flailing. You were convinced that if someone filmed this, it would be used as evidence against you in some future court of humiliation.
Clark, sensing your rising panic, didnât let go. He kept his hand on your waist, guiding you with a patience that was infuriatingly perfect, murmuring, âHey, itâs fine, just follow me, look at me, donât think about anything else.âÂ
His voice was calm, a soft anchor in the storm of your nerves, and you tried to focus on it, though your limbs still insisted on moving like they had a vendetta against you.
You laughed nervously, half-groaning at your own lack of coordination, and he tilted his head, still patient, guiding your steps, âThere, see? Youâre doing fine, just trust me.â
âFine?â you echoed, eyes wide as you nearly tripped over your own feet, âFine is catastrophic, I am a danger to everyone on this floor.â
He chuckled, tugging you slightly closer so you wouldnât fall, âNo, youâre doing fine. Just donât stop moving and donât think, just follow my lead.â
And somehow, impossibly, it started working. Not perfectly, not smoothly, but enough that you werenât dragging anyone into disaster. Your arms were still stiff, your steps awkward, and you were acutely aware of your auntsâ sharp eyes from the sidelines, but Clarkâs presence grounded you.Â
His hands were steady on your waist, guiding your turns, soft murmurs in your ear making you relax just enough to stop panicking, and every small movement you managed to pull off felt like a tiny victory.
You kept your voice loud enough for the nosy aunts to hear, âOh babe, youâre amazing at this, I donât know how I got so lucky!â forcing another fake giggle, and Clark laughed quietly, eyes glinting with amusement, holding you steady, making you feel like maybe, just maybe, this disastrous dance could somehow pass.
You stumbled slightly, foot catching his, and your breath hitched, but he didnât let go.Â
He adjusted your hold, murmuring, âItâs okay, youâre fine, really,â and somehow, despite every instinct screaming that you were about to collapse, you found a rhythm, messy and imperfect, but real, anchored by him, and for the first time since youâd set foot on the floor, you allowed yourself to forget the crowd, forget your aunts, and just follow.
You blinked up at him, breath still shaky, and whispered, âAre they gone?â
Clarkâs lips curved into that maddeningly calm smile, and he shook his head just slightly. âTheyâre watching,â he murmured, low and steady.Â
Your stomach lurched and you opened your mouth to say something, some panicked protest about public humiliation or the sheer absurdity of it all, but before a word could escape, his hand on your waist shifted, and he swayed you gently against him. Just a little, a teasing, impossibly smooth motion that made your chest tighten and your pulse spike in ways that were far too loud in your own ears.
The music then slowed, the band easing into a soft, lingering song that made the room shrink to just the two of you, the laughter and clinking glasses fading into the background. His other hand found yours, holding it lightly but with enough pressure to steady you, and you realized that even with a dozen eyes on you from somewhere out there, none of it mattered.
You wanted to protest, to pull away, but every instinct that normally screamed disaster in social situations was muffled under the sheer weight of how close he was, how careful and deliberate his touch was.Â
Your cheek brushed against his shoulder when you turned slightly, and you caught the faint scent of him, clean and familiar, like this was home and you werenât allowed to panic.
âClark,â you whispered, voice tight, âthis is⌠too close.â
He tilted his head, that little smirk curling the corner of his mouth, but didnât let go, didnât break the sway. âItâs fine,â he said, soft, almost tender. âJust follow me.â
And so you did, more because you had no choice than any kind of skill, letting him guide you, the gentle rhythm of his movements anchoring you to the moment. Your heart hammered, loud enough that you could feel it against his chest, and every so often your eyes flicked to the edge of the crowd, half-expecting to catch your aunts with smug expressions, but somehow you didnât care.
The song stretched on, slow and sweet, and for a few moments you let yourself sink entirely into it, into him, into the absurdity of standing on a polished floor, swaying poorly to a song that somehow felt like it was written just for the two of you. Your fingers squeezed his hand reflexively, your grip tight, and when he murmured a quiet, âRelax,â it was enough to make your chest unclench just a little.
Then your eyes met his, and suddenly the rest of the room disappeared entirely. The soft glow of the chandeliers, the distant chatter and laughter, the clinking of glasses, none of it existed.Â
Just him, just you, and the space between your faces shrinking impossibly fast.Â
Your gaze flicked involuntarily, catching the curve of his lips, imagining the way they would feel against yours, and heat surged through you in a way that made your palms sweat even as they clung to his.
He held your gaze, steady and calm, but there was something in his eyes now, something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist and your breath hitch in ways you hadnât expected. You had to fight not to tilt your head closer, not to close the distance that your body was already craving, because the tension was thick, palpable, and dizzying, pressing in from all sides.
Every sway, every tiny step, felt electric. The faint brush of his chest against yours, the way his thumb traced little circles on your hand, it all pulled you closer, made your heart hammer like it was trying to escape your ribs.Â
You caught yourself staring again at his lips, daring not to breathe too loudly, because God, the thought of what would happen if you just leaned in, if you let it happen even for a heartbeat, made your pulse spike until you could barely think.
You werenât sure if he noticed, or if he did and was just as tortured, but the way his eyes lingered on yours, the smallest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, it was enough to make the world tilt dangerously, wonderfully, and terribly.Â
You wanted to step back, to remind yourself of reason and the absurdity of being caught in the middle of a wedding reception, but your body refused, glued to him, and the moment stretched impossibly, deliciously long, suspended between what was allowed and what neither of you could stop wanting.
You both finally eased away from the polished floor, the music fading behind you as you sank into your chairs at the head table with the rest of your sisterâs family, your dress still warm from the frantic movement and your pulse stubbornly racing.Â
Clarkâs hands found yours again on the table, folding over them the same way he had when heâd anchored you on the dance floor, and for a moment the noise around you; the laughter, the clinking of cutlery, the faint chatter of other guests blurred into a soft hum that didnât reach you.
You glanced at him, another tight-lipped smile curling reluctantly at your own lips, the kind that said Iâm surviving, barely, and he returned it with that soft, patient expression that made everything else fall away, like he was deliberately slowing the world just so you could breathe.Â
Your fingers squeezed his in answer, tentative, a silent acknowledgment that somehow, despite the ridiculousness of all this, you werenât completely alone in it.
The maid of honour wrapped up her speech, applause rippling through the hall, and you watched the bride smile, her eyes gleaming, her cheeks flushed, and you tried not to flinch at the way the happy chaos pressed against your chest, the reminder that this was her day, that you were here only as part of the backdrop, and still, with Clark there, warm and steady and impossibly close, it didnât feel entirely like a stage you were forced onto.
He tilted his head toward you, soft enough that only you noticed, and murmured, âYou okay?â
You blinked at him, trying to play it off, letting a breath you hadnât realised youâd been holding slip out. âYeah,â you said, voice quieter than usual, not entirely believable even to yourself, and gave him a tighter smile, the kind that didnât quite reach your eyes.
Clark just nodded, thumb brushing along your knuckles once, slow and grounding, and you realised you didnât have to answer because he could read the tension anyway, and somehow that was enough to keep the world from collapsing around you for just a little longer.
The applause from the maid of honourâs speech was still settling when the microphone shifted to your father. He cleared his throat and began, voice steady and deliberate, carrying easily across the hall.
He started with your sister, telling stories that painted her in all the right lights, stories that made the crowd laugh, murmur, lean in, the kind that made your chest tighten because the pride and warmth in his voice was impossible to ignore.Â
He spoke about her childhood, scraped knees sheâd worn like badges, late nights full of whispered secrets, the stubborn streak that had got her into trouble more times than he could count, and the small victories that had shaped her into the person everyone now admired.Â
He talked about the friends sheâd chosen, the way she had grown, the moments she had fought for herself, and you felt each word pressing into your chest like a weight you werenât ready to carry.
He slowed, careful with his pauses, choosing words that made you notice his glance wander around the room, until it finally rested on you. âAnd oh, our other daughter there,â he said, and the pause stretched long enough to make your stomach lurch, âsheâs getting married too.â
Your heart stopped, panic tightening in your chest. Eyes turned, murmurs ran across the crowd, and your hands immediately found his, gripping, holding like it was the only lifeline in the room. Your pulse jumped, but he didnât move.
His thumb traced circles across the back of your hand, soft, steady, and the warmth of him there stopped the world from tipping over entirely.
Your fatherâs voice continued, now directed at him, the stranger to your family until today, the one youâd been keeping at armâs length but who now occupied the centre of everyoneâs gaze. âI havenât had the chance to meet you properly until today,â your dad said, a little hesitant, âbut I can see sheâs found someone who respects her, who cares for her in the ways that matter. Youâve already made an impression, and I am grateful for that. I am grateful that she has someone steady by her side, someone she can count on, someone I can trust to stand with her through lifeâs moments. Welcome to the family, Clark.â
He pressed closer, just a little, leaning down to brush his lips softly against your temple, and your chest both sank and seized. The intimacy of it, the weight of everyoneâs attention, the fact that you were standing here pretending through every approving glance, pressed into you like fire.Â
You clutched his hand tighter, the heat rising behind your eyes, and for the first time all night you let yourself notice how absurd it felt, how real it looked, and how much you hated the lie you were living even as your fatherâs words kept echoing in your ears.
The reception had settled into its usual rhythm by then, laughter bouncing off the walls, glasses clinking, people shifting in and out of conversation. You had been planted at your seat by your mum, who insisted on filming everything, and you were holding your drink like it was a lifeline, trying to blend into the chaos. She kept nudging the phone in front of your face. âSmile, darling, everyone will want to see this later,â she said brightly, like your life was a highlight reel. You groaned into your hand, muttering that no one would want to see your panicked, frozen expression, but she ignored you entirely, adjusting the camera so you could be seen in full, upright terror.
Clark had positioned himself beside your father, leaning casually against the chair back, one hand resting lightly on the table, his posture loose, amused, like he wasnât a part of this social storm at all. Every so often, his gaze found you, that faint smile tugging at his lips, and you returned a glare sharp enough to send sparks, which he met with nothing but a calm shrug, and the weight in your chest tightened a little because somehow that look made you feel like the entire room had dissolved down to just the two of you.
Then the energy shifted. Your sister raised her bouquet high, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with nerves and joy, and called out, âAlright ladies, get ready!â
The circle of single women stiffened, bouncing on their toes, hands poised, whispering to one another, eyes flicking between each other and the flower held aloft.
Your mum leaned over, practically poking you in the side. âGo on, love, catch it, donât be shy,â she said loudly enough for half the room to hear. You groaned, rolling your eyes, muttering that this wasnât some desperate teenage ritual, but she ignored you completely, already filming every twitch of your expression.
Clark leaned closer, voice low and steady in your ear. âItâs just a flower,â he said, calm as anything, like the world wasnât spinning a mile a minute around you. You shot him a glare sharp enough to sting, muttering that he clearly didnât understand the stakes.
He just raised his hands innocently, giving a small shrug, and murmured, âAlright, Iâll stand here and make sure no one throws anything worse at you,â as if that made everything better.
Your sister swung the bouquet back, and the world slowed. You could hear the collective intake of breath from the circle of women, feel the tension stretching across the room like it had weight.
Everyone leaned forward, eyes wide, arms out, the air thick with anticipation. You froze in the middle of it, your mind screaming that you could move, that you should move, but your body betrayed you, rooted to the spot.
And then it happened. The bouquet sailed through the air, not to the side, not to someone else, but straight at you.
Time stretched impossibly as it arced toward your hands. You blinked, frozen, and then instinctively, fingers closing around it. Your chest hammered so violently you could feel it in your throat.Â
Your mum was behind the camera, shrieking, âSheâs got it! Sheâs got it!â and you could hear the chaos of laughter and cheers, the whooping and the shuffling of feet, but all of it was muffled, distant, because your brain was registering nothing but the bouquet and the weight of it in your hands.
Clarkâs eyes found yours immediately. That same calm amusement lingered in them, soft but infuriating, like he knew exactly what was happening inside your head, and you glared at him, willing him to look away, but he just shrugged, tiny smile playing at his lips, as if he was silently saying, âWell, congratulations.âÂ
Your fingers tightened around the stems as if holding it harder would ground you, your pulse hammering in your ears.
You forced a smile for your mumâs phone, the edges tight and trembling, because your mind was already spiraling, imagining the whispered comments, the eyes following you, the absurdity of standing there with the bouquet in your hands as if it had been meant for you all along.Â
And Clark, still leaning slightly against your father, still calm and amused, gave you that look, the one soft, fond look that made your stomach twist, like he actually saw you in the middle of all this chaos, like none of it mattered except for you, and somehow, just for a second, it grounded you, even though your chest was still on fire, and your brain was still screaming that none of this was real.
â˘ââââââââ˘Â°â˘ââ˘Â°â˘ââââââââ˘
The room had thinned out considerably by the time you even noticed, the bride and groom long gone in their shiny getaway car, and most of the guests either lingering with plates of leftover cake or helping stack chairs and sweep up confetti. You were still standing near the edge of the dance floor, staring down at the bouquet in your hands like it held all the answers to some impossible puzzle, your fingers curling around the stems, trying not to crush them.
Clark came up behind you quietly, his footsteps soft against the polished floor, and before you could even turn he was there, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him.
âYou look like youâre solving the worldâs problems with that thing,â he said gently, his voice low so no one else could hear, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
You didnât look up at first, just muttered, âIâm trying to figure out how this ended up in my hands instead of floating off into the abyss where it belongs.â
He chuckled, soft and warm, and knelt slightly so he was level with you, tilting his head. âYouâre meant to catch it,â he said, and for a moment the simple statement hung in the air, too quiet to be noticed by anyone else, but heavy enough that your chest tightened.
âI didnât ask for it,â you whispered, and finally let your eyes meet his. There was that same calm, unshakable look in his gaze, the one that somehow made you feel safe even when your brain was still screaming at you that everything was wrong.
âYou didnât ask for a lot of things,â he said softly, fingers brushing against yours before he took the bouquet gently from your hands, holding it between the two of you. âBut you got them anyway.â
You blinked, caught off guard by the intimacy of it, the closeness of him, the way his hand lingered just a fraction too long. âClarkâŚâ
He smiled, that faint, fond curl of lips that made you forget to breathe properly. âHey. Itâs just a bunch of flowers,â he said lightly, but there was a weight under it, a meaning he didnât have to say aloud.
You shook your head, a small laugh escaping, shaky but genuine. âYeah, just a bunch of flowers. And yet somehow it feels like⌠like more than that right now.â
He tilted his head, watching you carefully, patient and steady, like he could hold the world in place if he just focused hard enough. âItâs only what you let it be,â he said softly. âOr maybe⌠itâs only as big as you let it feel.â
You blinked at him, breath catching, because that sounded so simple and yet it made your chest ache all over again. He gave a small, knowing smile, and then, before you could even process it, he took your hand and said, âCome with me.â
âNow?â you asked, voice a little breathless, half from surprise and half from the lingering adrenaline of the wedding.
âYes, now,â he said, patient, but there was a spark in his eyes, the kind that made it impossible to refuse him.
You let him lead you out of the hall, weaving past stacks of chairs and the last of the confetti-covered tables, until you reached a small path that curved up toward the back of the property. You didnât even notice how steep the climb was, just followed him because he was right there, and something in the quiet insistence of him made your legs move without protest.
Eventually he stopped, and you realised he had found a bench tucked just off the path, hidden slightly by a row of tall bushes. You hadnât even noticed it from the reception side. He gestured toward it, and you sank onto it reluctantly, still holding his hand, still trying not to let the tension in your shoulders betray how much your heart was hammering.
The view hit you before you could even speak. The city stretched out below, lights flickering in colours that seemed impossible, reflected in the water of the river that cut through the middle. The night air was cool, but not cold, and the silence around you was so complete it pressed against your eardrums. Somewhere far below, a car horn sounded, faint, distant, reminding you that the world still existed beyond this quiet bubble.
Clark settled beside you, just close enough that your arms brushed. You didnât move, didnât need to. You both sat there for a long moment, simply watching the city, letting the weight of it all sink in. Finally, he broke the silence, voice quiet, careful, as though speaking too loud would shatter the calm.
âItâs beautiful,â he said.
You nodded, but you couldnât bring yourself to look at him yet. âYeah,â you whispered, letting your gaze drift to the city lights instead.
Another long pause, then he let out a soft chuckle, eyes crinkling at the corners. âYouâre overthinking again,â he said.
âIâm not,â you muttered, though your lips twitched into a small, guilty smile.
He laughed again, soft and easy, and it was contagious. You felt the tension in your chest loosen just a little.
âYou go first,â he said suddenly, nudging you gently with his shoulder, âsay whatâs on your mind.â
You took a deep breath, letting your fingers tighten around his. For a long moment you just stared down at your hands, gathering courage, before finally letting your voice spill out, soft, sincere, almost trembling.
âI⌠I just⌠I donât even know where to start,â you said, blinking rapidly as you swallowed the lump in your throat. âIâm so grateful for you. For everything. For just⌠being here, for all of it. Even when itâs ridiculous or hard or completely impossible, you somehow make it⌠easier. And I donât know how to explain it without sounding insane, but Iâm⌠Iâm just really grateful.â
Clarkâs hand squeezed yours, a quiet anchor. He didnât interrupt, just let you talk, and that made it easier to keep going. âI-I donât say it enough,â you continued, voice barely above a whisper now, âbut I notice. All the little things. And I hate that I canât tell you all the time without it being a mess, but⌠thank you, Clark.â
He shook his head slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a fingertip. âItâs nothing,â he said softly, almost dismissively, but the warmth in his eyes told you he meant it differently. âYou donât have to overthink it. You donât have to do anything but be you.â
There was a pause, heavy in the quiet night. Then his voice cut in again, tentative, careful. âSo⌠what happens now?â
You blinked at him, startled by the sudden shift. âWhat do you mean?â you asked, voice tight, unsure.
He looked at you, really looked at you, and there was that faint tilt of his head that always made your chest clench. âI mean, uh, after tonight? After all of this? What happens to us?â
You swallowed hard, heart hammering in your ears. The city stretched out below, all lights and colour, but somehow it felt smaller, impossibly intimate, like it was just you two up here, suspended. âI⌠I donât know,â you whispered, your hands tightening around his, âI guess⌠we just keep going. We just⌠exist, together or apart or somewhere in between. I donât know how it works.â
Clarkâs thumb brushed along the back of your hand, slow and steady. âThat doesnât feel like an answer,â he said, quiet, almost hurt in the gentlest way. âI mean⌠I know tonight isnât real. I know itâs all a game, a show. But for me⌠I donât want to just stop at tonight.â
He leaned a little closer, still holding your hand, and a suggestion slipped out before you could even stop him. âWe could⌠just keep doing this. Just us. See where it goes.â
Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard, and your fingers twitched in his. âWait. What do you mean?â you asked, genuinely confused.
Clarkâs expression shifted for a fraction of a second, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and then he shook his head, as if deciding better of it. âOh, never mind,â he said lightly, brushing it off too quickly, though you caught the hesitation in his eyes.
You frowned at him, still holding onto his hand. âNever mind?â you echoed, tone sharper than intended, curiosity and frustration mingling. âYou canât just say that and leave it there.â
âI didnât mean to,â he said softly, and there was a hint of amusement in his voice, but also uncertainty. âIt sounded silly, maybe. I just⌠I donât know how to explain it right now.â
âWell, try!â you snapped gently, exasperated, but not angry, just flustered, because you didnât like the way his words had made your heart flip over. âIâm confused enough already, you donât have to disappear halfway through the explanation.â
Clark blinked at you, that calm, unreadable look still plastered on his face, and for a moment you thought he might actually get flustered, which made your chest tighten even more. âI didnât disappear,â he said finally, voice soft, careful, but there was a teasing edge there that made you grit your teeth. âI just tried to not make it more awkward than it already is.â
You huffed, glaring at him, though there was no real heat in it, just that mix of exasperation and something tighter, something that always crawled up your spine when he looked at you like that. âAwkward? Clark, youâre the one who throws ideas at me like weâre already a real thing when weâre standing on a hilltop pretending at a wedding. Iâm the one whoâs supposed to know how to react.â
He tilted his head, lips twitching, eyes scanning yours like he was trying to measure exactly how much of your frustration was real and how much was performative. âAnd what do you want me to do? Wait until you figure it out?â His voice was calm, but you could hear the faint edge of something impatient under it.
âI donât know! Yes! I donât know anything!â you shot back, hands tightening slightly in his. âYou just say things like âoh, we could tryâ and then vanish before I can even figure out if you mean it or if youâre just messing with me.â
He let out a quiet laugh, the kind that made your ears warm and your chest ache in all the wrong ways, and shook his head. âIâm not messing with you,â he said, almost insistently. âI mean it, I just⌠didnât know how to put it into words without sounding like a fool.â
âWell, congratulations,â you muttered, rolling your eyes and trying not to let your voice shake, âyou sound like a fool anyway.â
Clarkâs smile softened, those familiar, gentle eyes locking on yours in a way that made your heart do the thing where it lurches and forgets rhythm. âYeah, probably,â he admitted quietly, and then leaned just slightly closer, fingers brushing yours again, âbut at least itâs honest.â
You blinked, letting out a shaky breath, and muttered, âI canât believe weâre standing here, pretending I have a boyfriend, pretending Iâm engaged. All this⌠this whole fake thing I made up, itâs ridiculous. I should just tell them the truth, wipe the slate clean and admit itâs all a lie.â
Clarkâs fingers brushed lightly against yours again, calm and grounding. âItâs not a lie if it makes things easier for you,â he said softly. âAnd maybe⌠maybe itâs not just for them. Maybe itâs for us, in a way, even if itâs messy.â
You let out a laugh that was too choked to be pure, and then it turned into a few tears breaking through. You sniffled, trying to push them back, but the laughter and crying mixed and you could feel your shoulders shaking. Clark immediately froze. âOh no Iâm sorry,â he whispered, his hands cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing away the tears. âI didnât mean to make you cry.â
You hiccupped a little laugh through the tears. âYouâre ruining my make-up,â you said, half-teasing, half-smiling. Clarkâs lips twitched into a grin. âGood,â he said softly. âTears over make-up seem⌠fair.â You laughed again, a little louder this time, the tension of the day loosening in your chest.
For a long moment, you both just stopped, his hands still cradling your face, and you looked up at him, finding yourself smiling even through the remnants of tears. He smiled down at you, quiet and gentle, and for a second it was just the two of you.
âHow come we never talk like this at work?â you asked softly, tilting your head. âI mean, really talk. Like weâre⌠I donât know, human.â
Clark chuckled quietly. âI guess we never made the time,â he said, voice low. âOr maybe we were too focused on all the chaos and deadlines and pretending everything was normal.â
You shook your head, smirking through the lingering tears. âWe should have hung out sooner. Like, seriously, months ago, maybe even last year.â
âYeah,â he agreed, still holding your hands. âWe should have. Maybe weâd have avoided some⌠complications.â
You laughed softly, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. âComplications? Oh, you mean like fake weddings and ruined make-up?â
Clark laughed, warm and quiet. âExactly like that. But maybe itâs better this way. Because now⌠now we actually get to talk. And not just about work, not just about deadlines.â
You smiled, letting the warmth of the night settle around you, watching the city lights glitter below, thinking that maybe, just maybe, some things had a way of working out even if they took their sweet time. âYeah,â you said, soft. âWe should have met earlier.â
âNext time,â Clark said, leaning his forehead lightly against yours, âwe wonât wait.â
Clarkâs forehead stayed lightly against yours for a few seconds, warm and steady, and you could feel the faint rise and fall of his breath. When he pulled back just enough to look at you, the city lights framed his face like it was its own little stage, his eyes soft, almost glimmering, like he was about to admit something daring but didnât need words. âYou know,â he said, quiet, hesitant, like he was testing the waters, âI like your eyes.â
You blinked, caught off guard, trying to process if he was serious or just teasing. âWhat? You want to write a poem about it?â
He shrugged, a little awkward, muttering under his breath, âMaybe I didâŚâ
You frowned, squinting at him. âWait, what?â
âNothing,â he said quickly, but the corner of his mouth twitched in that infuriating way that told you he was definitely hiding a grin. âStop teasing me.â
You shook your head, a mix of disbelief and amusement twisting your lips into a crooked smile. âIâm not teasing you. Just saying, I donât know what youâre on about.â
Clarkâs hands stayed on your face, warm and steady, thumb brushing lightly across your cheek. He nodded, soft and patient, his smile unwavering, and it made your chest tighten in a way that was dangerous and familiar all at once.Â
You let out a little laugh, the sound soft, like you were trying to ground yourself. âTonight has been⌠insane. Fake everything. Fake engagement, fake family impressions, fake dancingâŚâ
Your words barely left your mouth before a voice cut sharply from behind, heavy with disbelief.Â
âFake?â
You and Clark immediately turned, your heads snapping toward the sound, and your stomach flipped like someone had punched it. Your eyes locked on the figure standing just a few metres away, and your breath hitched.
Jake.Â
Your ex.
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âWell, well, well,â Jake said, smirking as he took a step forward, hands shoved casually into his pockets. âLook at this. Didnât think Iâd actually see you playing house. And with him, of all people.âÂ
His eyes flicked to Clark, lingering far too long, sharp and mocking, and then back to you. âThought you were smarter than this.â
You froze, gripping Clarkâs hands a little tighter, trying to ignore the heat rising in your chest, the way your stomach twisted. He leaned against the doorway, that grin still plastered on like heâd rehearsed this, like he lived for this kind of discomfort.
âYou always did have a flair for the dramatic,â Jake continued, voice low but cutting, âmaking everyone think your life was perfect when reallyâŚwell, we all know how that ends, donât we?â He laughed, short and cruel, and it made your teeth clench.
âFuck off, Jake,â you spat, voice sharp and low, but trembling anyway because, of course, he always knew exactly how to get under your skin. Your hands tightened around Clarkâs without even thinking, knuckles going white, but he didnât say a word, just stayed there, letting you handle this.
Jakeâs grin widened, sharp and smug, like he was feeding on your reaction. âOh, donât be like that,â he said, voice mocking, slow, dragging the words out. âYou always get so serious. Itâs hilarious. Look at you, all fire and fury, still pretending youâve got it together.â He leaned slightly closer, too close, smirk still in place, eyes glinting like he was daring you to do more than yell.
âYouâve really done well for yourself, havenât you?â he continued, like he hadnât just crossed every line. âNew boyfriend, fancy clothes, smiling like nothing ever went wrong. It must be exhausting keeping up the act, no?â
Your jaw tightened and your teeth ground together. âYouâre a complete asshole, you know that?â you snapped, voice rising now despite yourself, heat crawling up your neck. âHonestly, how do you live with yourself?â
Jake chuckled, low and cruel, eyes flicking to Clark like he was testing boundaries. âLiving? Nah, I manage just fine. But you, sweetheart, youâre still as predictable as ever. All fire and fury, exactly how I remember.â
You took a step toward him, chest heaving, ready to launch into a tirade, but Clarkâs hand on yours was firm, grounding, stopping you from lunging. His silence was infuriating in its own way, but somehow it made you feel a little safer, like a line was being held even as Jake tried to push everything over it.
Jakeâs smirk didnât waver. âOh, donât glare at me like that,â he said, leaning back slightly but still far too smug for anyoneâs comfort. âIt suits you, makes this little performance of yours even more entertaining.â
Clark finally stepped forward, one hand half-raised, calm but firm. âJake, I think you should just leave us alone,â he said, voice polite, but carrying a weight that made you hope it would stick.
Jake tilted his head, the smirk never leaving his face, like he was genuinely amused. âLeave?â he echoed, voice slow, teasing. âWhy would I leave when I basically own this place? I mean, come on, this is entertaining.â
You couldnât help yourself. âYouâre an absolute nightmare,â you snapped, voice sharp and low, trying not to let anyone else hear the edge. âJust go, now.â
He laughed, short and cruel, before his eyes flicked between you and Clark. âYeah, I will, eventually,â he said, smiling at you first like you were part of the joke, and then at Clark, sharp and calculating. âBut first, letâs set the record straight. Iâm the boyfriend, right? Six years.â
You cut him off immediately, voice rising, disbelief cracking through it. âEx, Jake. I said ex.â
He shrugged, still grinning, like it didnât matter at all. âEx, sure, whatever you want to call it. Doesnât change the fact that I knew, you know, everything youâve been doing. All these little acts, all this performance. Must be hilarious to see you squirm while everyone believes it. Imagine if your family found out. Imagine the embarrassment, and the sheer horror of it all.â
Clarkâs hand tightened on yours slightly, and he spoke, calm but firm, voice low. âItâs not fake. None of this, me, us, it isnâtââ
Jake cut him off with a sharp laugh, leaning just slightly closer, eyes glinting. âNo need to deny anything. I can see it all perfectly well. The handholding, the looks, the smile you try to hide. Donât bother. Itâs all screaming âperformanceâ. Donât tell me otherwise.â
Jakeâs smirk didnât falter, almost like he was savoring the moment. âAnd imagine what would happen if your family actually found out,â he said, voice low, deliberate. âThe truth. That everything youâve been showing them, all those smiles, the âperfectâ life, itâs all been made up. Just think about the fallout. The shock. The shame.â
You couldnât stop it anymore. âYou donât get to do that!â you shouted, voice raw, catching on the edge of tears, and before you could even think, they were sliding down your cheeks, burning and warm.
âYou have no idea what youâve done! How much youâve messed with everything; my life, this night, everything, and you just stand there smiling like itâs funny!â
Jakeâs grin didnât falter, that infuriating, smug smile, like he was tasting victory.
âYou think this is a joke?â you yelled, finger shaking, pointing straight at him, trying to puncture the smugness, trying to make him feel a fraction of what you were feeling. âYou think itâs funny to ruin everything for me, for everyone, just to make yourself feel clever?â
He leaned forward, closer, eyes glinting, like he wanted to push whatever line you had left.
Clark didnât even hesitate. His hands were on your shoulders before you knew it, pressing you slightly behind him like a shield, his height and presence immediately asserting itself over the small, smug figure in front of him.Â
His eyes didnât leave Jakeâs for a second, and when he spoke, his voice was low, calm, but it carried a weight that made it impossible to ignore. âEnough,â he said, and it wasnât a request.Â
âYou have no right to come in here and try to tear her apart, not tonight, not ever. She doesnât need your approval, your judgement, or your interference. You step away, or I will make sure you regret it.â
Jakeâs grin faltered, just slightly, the sharp amusement in his eyes dimming under Clarkâs quiet intensity. Clarkâs fingers tightened slightly on your shoulders, just enough that you felt grounded and safe, and he didnât let go.
âDo you understand me?â he asked, voice steady but hard, and the cold edge was unmistakable now.
You pressed closer to him, chest still racing, as Jake opened his mouth, but Clark didnât give him the chance. âGo on,â Clark said, more softly now, not breaking eye contact, âget out. Leave, because sheâs not yours, sheâs never been yours, and youâre not going to ruin her night or her life.â
Jake let out a sharp huff, the sound more like a sneer than actual exasperation, and his eyes flicked to Clark with a mocking tilt. âOh, I see,â he said, low and venomous, âthis is your little hero routine, isnât it? Protecting her like some knight in shining armour.â
Your stomach twisted as his gaze shifted back to you, and then he leaned in slightly, voice dropping so only you could hear. âEnjoy tonight,â he said, âbecause next time, everyoneâs going to know. Every little thing, all of it. Theyâre going to see exactly what youâve been hiding.â
Your eyes went wide, your pulse spiking, and you could feel your hands clench involuntarily. Clarkâs fingers stayed firm on your shoulders, grounding you, and you could feel the tension radiating off him as he held his stare on Jake, unblinking.
Jake straightened back up, smirk curling again, and with one last glance that promised chaos in the future, he turned and walked away, leaving a cold emptiness in his wake, the echo of his threat lingering between you and Clark.
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After everything, after Jake had stormed off and the echoes of his voice were still crawling in your head, you ended up in the hotel room theyâd set aside for the wedding chaos, your dress wrinkled and soaked with your own tears, your chest heaving like it might split open.
Clark didnât even hesitate, he just came close and wrapped his arms around you and you collapsed into him, face pressed to his chest, shoulders shaking, and he didnât pull away, didnât flinch at the wet, didnât even say a word, he just let you cry, let the sobs spill out like they had been piling up for years and years and finally had somewhere safe to go.
You thought about Jake while you cried, about every year heâd spent making your life a calculation, a trap, how he had smoothed himself into every corner of your world like he belonged there and somehow youâd let him, and the way he had whispered that smug little warning tonight, the way heâd claimed he knew, how he had smiled when you got angry and scared, like it was a game heâd already won.
And it wasnât just tonight, it was everything heâd taken from you, every little piece of confidence, every friend heâd pushed away, every time you second-guessed yourself because of him, and it all hit at once and you let yourself fall apart into Clarkâs chest because he was real, and right, and steady, and you could breathe, barely, but you could.
He rubbed your back slowly and patiently, thumb brushing your shoulder like he knew where the knots were without asking, and you whispered, almost strangled, âHe ruined everythingâŚâ
âNot tonight,â Clark said, low and soft, voice shaking slightly like he was holding it together for both of you, and it was like a lifeline, because suddenly your brain could stop spinning, your chest could stop splintering, because right here, right now, you were safe, and he was keeping it that way.
You let the tears keep coming anyway, because there was still so much to get out, so much poison to wash off, and Clark just stayed there, holding you, steadying you, letting you fall apart and somehow making it okay, somehow making it feel like maybe, for the first time in forever, you could actually breathe without looking over your shoulder.
You then hiccuped into his chest, shaking like you were made of glass, and for a second it felt like the panic might swallow you whole, the tightness in your lungs clawing its way up and you couldnât even think straight, couldnât even make the words come out right.Â
Clarkâs arms didnât tighten more as he just held you, and somehow that made it just a little less sharp, the edges of your panic softening enough that you could breathe.
âWhy are you so afraid to tell them the truth?â he asked gently, fingers brushing through your hair like it was the simplest, most natural thing in the world to care about you, like he didnât even know how much it should be shocking, like it was justâŚobvious.
You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, and it was all panic, all shame and adrenaline, all the weight of your life pressing down on you at once. âBecause⌠because I feel like Iâm⌠Iâm always the last one,â you started, voice trembling, âthe last one to graduate, the last one to do anything right, like Iâm just⌠I donât know⌠a footnote in everyone elseâs story. Like I have to prove that I even matter at all, and if I justâif I just live my life, theyâll forget Iâm here.âÂ
You choked on the last words, eyes stinging, chest tight, and you didnât even try to make it sound neat, didnât even try to hide the spiral of shame and fear and exhaustion.
Clarkâs hands stayed over yours, warm and steady, and he didnât try to talk over you, didnât try to smooth it out or say some perfect line that would erase it. Instead, his voice was low and patient, careful, like he was leaning into the edges of your panic without trying to sweep them away.Â
âI get it,â he said softly, eyes locked on yours. âI get how it feels to be last, to feel like you have to scream to be noticed, to prove you exist in the spaces everyone else fills. And I donât⌠I donât want to tell you itâs not true, because I know it feels real, but I need you to hear this. Youâre not invisible. Youâre not a footnote. You matter, even when it feels like the world is forgetting.â
Clarkâs thumb brushed along your cheek, carefully, and then he pulled a clean handkerchief from his suit pocket and dabbed gently at the streaks of tears. âSee,â he said after a moment, voice soft but teasing, ânow youâre just a little bit glamorous. Weddings bring out the inner celebrity, apparently. Youâve got the dramatic tears down perfectly.â
You blinked at him, caught between wanting to scowl and laughing, and then the corners of your mouth cracked as a snort escaped. âYouâre ridiculous,â you said, the tension in your chest loosening just a fraction, your laugh shaky but genuine.
Clarkâs grin widened, soft and warm, eyes twinkling as he tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. âI know,â he said lightly, nudging your shoulder gently with his. âIâve been practicing. Someoneâs got to keep you laughing when the world decides to suck, right?â
You shook your head, still smiling despite yourself, and for the first time in what felt like hours, the panic seemed to retreat just a little, leaving you with that weird mixture of relief and warmth that only he could manage.
You wiped at the last remnants of tears, sniffling, and Clark just let you do it, thumb brushing lightly across your cheek now and then, tracing gentle circles like he was memorising you.
âYou know,â he said, voice quiet but teasing, âitâs weird, isnât it? That weâve been at the same office for three years, and I basically only know you from emails, meetings, and the weather report.â
You blinked at him, smirking through the lingering dampness on your cheeks. âYeah, hilarious. Three years of water-cooler nods and barely a sentence beyond deadlines and project updates, and now weâre⌠here. This.â You gestured vaguely at the room, at yourselves, the messy, loud, complicated aftermath of the wedding.
Clark chuckled, eyes softening as he leaned in just slightly, holding your face gently between his hands, fingers against your jawline. âI know. And to think our first real conversation, not as colleagues obviously, started with me awkwardly holding your hand in a fake engagement at your sisterâs wedding. Three years in the making, and somehow⌠thatâs how I got to know you.â
You laughed, small and incredulous, shaking your head. âItâs absurd. Absolutely absurd.â
He smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. âYeah, and also kind of perfect, in a weird way. We basically spent three years in parallel universes at work, and then one day, we get a whole lifetime crammed into a single afternoon.â
The smirk lingered on his face, but his eyes softened, and you could feel the shift, subtle but undeniable, like the air between you had changed temperature. He held your gaze, patient, watching, and it wasnât teasing anymore.
âYou know,â he began, almost hesitant, âIâve noticed things about you. Little things, the way you frown when youâre concentrating, the way you laugh when youâre trying not to, the way your eyesâŚthey sort of do this thing when youâre trying not to feel something, and Iâve been noticing for years without saying anything, justâŚkeeping it to myself.â
You blinked, heart thudding, because he was looking at you like heâd seen right through all of it, all the masks and the facades, and somehow it felt terrifying and safe at the same time.
âI didnât say anything because I didnât want to make it weird, or mess things up, or⌠I donât know. But after today, I think itâs ridiculous to wait. Youâre, uh, er, youâre impossible to ignore. And I mean that in the best way, ha.â
Your breath caught, chest tightening, and you opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the words refused to come. The room seemed to shrink around you, all background noise and chaos fading until it was just the two of you, and you could feel the weight of everything unspoken pressing against your ribs.
He shifted slightly closer, hands still holding your face, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, and you caught yourself leaning in, just slightly, drawn in by the intensity in his gaze. âI donât expect anything,â he added quickly, as if reading your mind. âI just⌠wanted you to know what Iâve been thinking, what Iâve been feeling, because itâs been there a long time, and I canât not say it anymore.â
You swallowed hard, pulse racing, and for a moment all you could do was stare at him, trying to process, trying to find words that didnât exist, feeling like the entire universe had contracted to this one, impossible, heart-stopping truth.
You blinked again, trying to make sense of it, your chest tightening so much it felt like you couldnât breathe, and then he laughed softly.
âI know,â he said, smirking lightly now, âthis is probably a lot. And youâre probably thinking, wow, three years of barely talking about anything besides deadlines and the weather, and now heâs telling me heâs been watching me the whole time. Ridiculous, right?â
You let out a strangled laugh, more from shock than anything else, and your hands instinctively found his, gripping tightly like an anchor. âRidiculous doesnât even cover it,â you muttered, voice trembling, but a little laugh escaped anyway, shaky but real.
He tilted his head, that familiar mix of amusement and gentleness in his expression. âYeah, but also⌠true. I mean it. Youâre remarkable, even when you donât realise it. And not in some generic, office-comment kind of way. I mean you, exactly as you are, with everything you try to hide or shove down or pretend isnât there. Thatâs the part I canât ignore.â
Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck, and for a moment all the panic and the guilt from earlier faded just a little, replaced by this dizzying, nerve-shredding awareness that heâd been noticing, paying attention, and now he wasnât looking away.
You swallowed, voice barely audible. âClarkâŚâ
He shook his head gently, thumb brushing against your cheek. âDonât say anything yet. Just⌠let me finish,â he murmured. âI wanted you to know because you deserve to hear it. And because I⌠Iâve been stupid keeping it to myself.â
You blinked, heart hammering so fast it was almost painful, trying to find words but your throat had gone completely dry. âClarkâŚâ you breathed, voice trembling, barely a whisper.
He gave a tiny, almost shy smile, still holding your face gently. âI know,â he said softly. âI just needed you to hear it. No expectations, no pressure, just⌠me being honest.â
You swallowed hard, your pulse spiking, and somehow the words tumbled out anyway. âItâs⌠itâs a lot,â you admitted, voice catching. âAfter today, after everything⌠I donât know what to do with it.â
âThen donât do anything,â he murmured, leaning just a fraction closer. âJust⌠let it sit. Let it feel like it should feel. Nothing else matters right now.â
Your chest tightened as your eyes met, and then his gaze drifted lower for a heartbeat, to your lips, before flicking back up to your eyes. You could feel it too, the pull, the tension stretching between you so thin it hurt, that dangerous, delicious kind of tightness.
You licked your lips without thinking, suddenly aware of how close he was, aware of the heat of him, the warmth in his hands, the way he smelled like everything safe and wrong at the same time. âClarkâŚâ you whispered again, breath shaky.
He didnât answer, just leaned a little closer, and your lips almost touched, that teasing, electric moment where everything else dropped away, and then, finally, you couldnât hold back. You closed the gap, pressing into him, hands clutching at his jacket as his lips met yours, soft and tentative at first, testing, tasting, and then urgent, all the frustration, the panic, the years of unspoken thoughts spilling into that desperate, messy, perfect kiss.
You wrapped your arms around him instinctively, heart racing, chest pressed against his, and he deepened the kiss, hands sliding from your face down to your waist, holding you close, grounding you, and still the world outside ceased to exist, nothing but the heat, the movement, and the impossible feeling of finally, finally being noticed completely.
Your hands traced the lines of his back, memorising the feel of him through his suit, fingers threading through the fabric, tugging him just slightly closer, trying to absorb him like he could somehow fill all the empty spaces youâd been carrying. He moved with you, matching your grip, one hand cupping your face while the other stayed firm on your waist, and the friction of his palms against your body sent sparks of heat crawling along your skin.
Every small shift of him was enough to make your knees weak, every brush of his thumb across your cheek or along your jaw leaving you dizzy, your chest tight and fluttering all at once. Your lips moved against his, following the rhythm he set, slow and questioning at first, then more insistent, more certain, like he was finally allowing himself to take what heâd been feeling silently for so long.
Even the way he held you; the tilt of his head, the small press of his body into yours made you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered.
Your fingers wandered slightly to the lapel of his jacket, gripping the fabric, while his hands traced small, careful patterns over your sides, over your lower back, keeping you tethered even as everything else in the room fell away, leaving only the heat of him, the soft press of lips, and the impossible, intoxicating certainty that for once, you were being seen fully, completely, undeniably.
The kiss pulled back just slightly, just enough for you to breathe, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, hearts hammering in sync, and your hands lingered on his chest, palms splayed, memorising the feel of him, while his thumb brushed gently over your knuckle as if to say, silently, Iâve got you.Â
You pressed against him, hands tangling in his hair, gripping like you might never let go, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it, and he moaned softly into your mouth, sliding his hands lower, fingers tracing the curve of your back, down to the edge of your dress, making your breath hitch in a way that felt like it had been waiting for this forever.
Your lips moved desperately against his, each kiss sharp and needy, and the warmth of him pressed into you made your knees weak, made the air around you feel thick, almost impossible to breathe, and yet you didnât want to pull away.
His hands didnât stop, roaming carefully but with intent, teasing the sides of you through fabric, tracing shapes that made your chest ache and your stomach twist.
Every brush of his fingers made your body tighten, made you shiver against him, and when you dared to move your hands down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt, it was like discovering a part of yourself youâd been holding back without even knowing it.
âGosh,â he murmured against your lips, voice low, rough, and it made your pulse spike, âyouâre insane.â
âMaybe,â you gasped, your words barely coherent, âbut I need you, Clark.â
He groaned, a sound that went straight through your bones, and shifted slightly so your body pressed fully against his, his lips ghosting down your jaw, your neck, every touch leaving a spark that you couldnât contain. Your hands roamed with reckless abandon, clutching him, marking him like he was yours in that moment.
And then his voice, low and rough, broke through the haze. âTell me if you want me to stop.â It wasnât a demand, it wasnât a test, it was just Clark, steady even with his mouth still brushing your skin, his breath hot and his body trembling against yours, but waiting.
You shook your head too fast, desperate, your words spilling out almost in a rush. âDonât stop, please, Clark, I donât want you to stop.â
That was all he needed. His hands slid lower, palms spanning the back of your thighs, and with a firm, careful grip he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, the fabric of your dress riding higher as he pressed you gently against the wall.
You gasped, fingers tugging at his hair, and he kissed you hard, swallowing every sound you made, one hand cupping your jaw to steady you while the other held you secure like you weighed nothing.
The heat of him pressed between your legs through layers of fabric, enough to make you whine into his mouth, and he groaned in response, moving his hips just slightly, a tease, a warning, and it sent fire shooting straight through you.
âYou feel unreal,â he muttered, his forehead dropping to yours, his voice breaking, like he was losing control but still clinging to it for you.
Your nails scraped down his shoulders, tugging at his shirt, and you managed a broken laugh, shaky and overwhelmed. âYouâre overdressed,â you whispered, and he chuckled, soft and breathless, but he didnât waste time, tugging at his jacket, his tie, letting them fall somewhere you didnât care about because his mouth was on you again, kissing you like he needed you to breathe.
And then his hand slid between your thighs, gentle first, just a palm pressed over you through the fabric, a test, a question. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide, and whispered, âCan I?â
âYes,â you gasped, already trembling, already arching toward him. âYes, Clark, please.â
He groaned again, softer this time, as though he was breaking apart, and pushed the hem of your dress higher, fingers brushing your bare skin, trailing up slowly, deliberately, until his hand found you, and the sound you made was muffled only because his mouth was on yours again.
The world narrowed to that as his hands, his lips, the way he murmured your name like it was holy, like it was everything, grounding you even as your body burned and your mind screamed that this was too much, too fast and real, and yet you wanted more, more, more.
His hands were everywhere now, sliding up and down your sides, brushing over skin that burned under his touch, and you pressed into him harder, your lips parting as you gasped against his mouth. He pulled back just slightly, just enough to look down at you, and his voice was low, rough with need. âI-I donât have protection.â
You froze for a second, chest heaving, and then a laugh tumbled out of you, breathless and shaky. âI donât care,â you whispered, eyes dark and wild. âIâll take the risk.â
Clarkâs lips twitched, almost a grin, but his eyes stayed soft, searching yours, and he murmured, âThen Iâll take it too.â His hands tightened on your waist, and the way he looked at you made the world outside the hotel room disappear completely.
You leaned up, pressing your forehead to his, panting, and kissed him again, slower this time, tasting him, memorizing him, letting the heat between you stretch and thrum like a live wire. His hands moved carefully, but firm, keeping you grounded, holding you like you might float away otherwise.
You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him down to your mouth, and he groaned into the kiss, tilting his head so he could press his body fully against yours. Every movement, every brush of his skin over yours, was deliberate, making you shiver and whine softly into him, needing, needing him like it was urgent and necessary.
He pressed his forehead against yours again, voice ragged, whispering, âAre you sure?â
âYes,â you breathed, chest heaving, lips swollen, eyes wild with lust and something that felt dangerously like trust. âClark, Iâm sure. Fuck, donât stop.â
He groaned softly, letting his hands travel lower, over your thighs, over every curve, gripping you tight, and you responded, wrapping your legs around him instinctively. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing, sucking just enough to make your knees weaken, and you gripped his shoulders, fingers digging in as if holding him tighter would make it better, make it last longer, make it real.
âYouâre insane,â he murmured against your skin, voice thick, shaking with the same fire you felt, and you laughed breathlessly, hitting his chest, âI know, and I donât care.â
He smiled against you, teeth brushing your jaw, eyes dark and focused. âGood, because neither do I.â
â˘ââââââââ˘Â°â˘ââ˘Â°â˘ââââââââ˘
After everything, after the fire of it, after the chaos of skin and breath and whispered names, you finally settled. You laid your head against his bare chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, each pulse a reminder that he was real, that he was here, and that somehow, after all the ridiculousness of the day, you were finally allowed this moment.Â
His arm circled you, pulling you closer until you could feel every curve of his body, every line, every warmth, and it was blissful in a way that made you think maybe the world outside could wait for a while.
You lifted your gaze to look at him, hair splayed over his shoulder, cheeks flushed, and he smiled down at you, soft, gentle, eyes crinkling the way they always did when he found something worth seeing. âYouâre ridiculously cute like this,â he murmured, voice low and husky, and you laughed softly, just a whisper against his skin.
âYou know,â you said, fingers tracing idly along the ridges of his chest, still feeling the heat from him and from the memory of everything youâd just done, âI think I could get used to this. Just lying here, doing nothing exceptâŚthis.â
He chuckled, soft and warm, and pressed his lips to the top of your head. âI could too,â he admitted, thumb brushing over your hair, âI could get used to hearing your heartbeat against me, your soft little laughs, the way you look at me like youâre trying to memorize me.â
Your chest tightened, breath catching, and you murmured, âIâve never felt⌠I donât know⌠like I belong somewhere. But with you, it feelsâŚlike maybe I do.â
He tilted his head, eyes scanning your face, catching every tiny expression, every flicker of emotion, and whispered, âYou belong with me. Always.â
You could feel the weight of it, the sincerity, the quiet kind of gravity in his words, and you let yourself relax further, pressing closer. âYouâre insane,â you said softly, laughter still trembling in your voice, âand maybe a little ridiculous, but I like it. I like you, Clark Kent.â
He grinned, brushing his nose against yours, playful now but tender, âAnd I like you too, endlessly, like this is how it should have always been, if only the universe had let us.â
Silence fell then, but it wasnât awkward, it wasnât tense. It was soft and warm, filled with the sound of your breaths mingling, the occasional chuckle, and the quiet thrum of Clarkâs heartbeat beneath your ear.Â
You traced lazy circles on his chest, and he murmured little things back, confessions about silly things he loved about you, the way your hair curled when it fell into your eyes, how your laugh got stuck halfway through your throat sometimes, how your hands always seemed to find his even when you didnât mean them to.
And for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, you let yourself breathe fully, just be there, tangled in him, the night quiet around you except for the soft rustle of sheets and the warmth that had nothing to do with the room and everything to do with him.
âYou know,â Clark said finally, voice soft, teasing, âif weâd actually talked like this at work for the past three years, weâd be way ahead of everyone else. Weâd be unstoppable.â
You laughed, resting your cheek against him, âYeah, itâs kind of hilarious, isnât it? Three years of deadlines and weather small talk, and one day later, weâre here, all finally caught up at once.â
He kissed your temple lightly, hands still around you, and whispered, âBetter late than never. Besides, I like how it all happened. The timing is, I donât know, perfect?â
âYeah,â you smiled into him, letting your fingers weave into his hair, and whispered, âPerfect in a completely ridiculous way.â
Clark laughed softly, and you both stayed there, tangled, warm, quiet, letting the aftershocks of the night settle around you, knowing that outside, the world could wait, but here, together, was exactly where you belonged.
Everything else could wait. The truth, the explanations, the staring at faces that might not understand, all of it could wait. None of it mattered right now, not with his arms around you, not with your head pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall like it was holding you together when everything else felt like it might fall apart.Â
What couldnât wait was this, the warmth and the softness and the way he looked at you like you were everything, the way you laughed even though your chest felt too full and your heart too fast.Â
Pretending until forever had been a joke, a lie, a trap you built to survive, and now it didnât have to be anything but real. You let yourself lean in, let yourself breathe it all in, let yourself be messy and chaotic and entirely visible, and he held you like heâd been waiting for this exact moment too.Â
Everything else could wait, but this feeling, this reckless, quiet, insane kind of perfect, it couldnât, and it wouldnât, and you didnât want it to.
It had been pretend until forever and somehow it was the only truth you needed.
OH MY GOSH




