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honourablejester · 2 days ago

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I think you’re right, yeah. The healing thing really jarred when we started out talking about setting up a big cool dungeon that your players will want to spend on long time exploring, but talking about having to go back out to heal up at all also sounded odd in that context. I think he is talking about two different types of dungeons/campaigns, without quite realising that he’s done so.

Which is why it is important, I guess, to sit down and examine your proposed mechanics against your stated goals before you start. Because yes, the meshi style dungeon is very much the one I'm looking for as well.

The tiered vs random layout didn’t strike me as that dissonant, on the other hand, given the way he was talking about it. A tiered dungeon where things generally do get weirder and tougher and more fantastical the further down you go can still be randomised somewhat by setting up access points that let you skip levels from where you are. If level 2 has a passage down to level 3, but also a secret one down to level 5 if the party is feeling frisky, that gives them some room to try out more difficult areas out of sequence.

There’s also some randomness that’ll be brought in by things like party composition. A party of all martials might take their chances on sneaking or fighting their way past higher challenge enemies before they’d take the risk of trying to navigate a vast chasm, where a party with an arcane caster or two would be happier with the chasm. So even though a level might be ‘higher tier’ in the sense of higher CR monsters, it might still be easier to access, given the option, than a ‘lower tier’ area that requires specific magic or tools to access that the party just doesn’t have yet.

And there’s room to mix things up, then. The arcane party who had fly spells to navigate the chasm might try accessing deeper levels by it, but realise on getting down to the bottom that they definitely need more hitpoints to stay down here, so maybe they should fly back up a level or two, but they also find something shiny on the floor of the chasm to reward them for taking the risk. While the party of martials might find that the tougher inhabitants they took the risk of interacting with have a means to get further down the chasm, such as a magic item or even a rickety lift, and maybe they get an ally out of taking their risk.

I don’t find it dissonant to imagine a dungeon that does, generally speaking, get weirder and more fantastical and more difficult the further down into it you go, but also has multiple different ‘routes’ down through it that present different challenges and access different levels as they go. And if a particular route really doesn’t work for your party composition and tools, then you backtrack to earlier levels to look for other routes down. So long as the party maintains a general downward track where they’re levelling up as they head further in, it’s all good. Maybe they find something like a chasm that allows them to try a foray deeper than they’re technically rated for, and they give it a shot to see if it’s doable or not. So long as they have routes to retreat along if it goes bad, that’s just one more option that they can have fun trying out.

And you can do things like put a flooded level up at level 4, which can be accessed relatively early by a party that has someone with spells or tools to handle that, but you also put a collection of caps of water breathing as loot somewhere around level 7 or so, which a party without spellcasters could find after having used a route that took them from level 2 to 5 since level 4 was blocked, and can decide if they want to head back up to explore level 4 after all, or just continue on.

This also does encourage them to collect tools and items along the way, and gives you options for rewards and loot that act as basically keys to certain areas.

I think that was the general direction he was going for with the randomness? But you can also have like, higher CR monsters just wandering around, like a 5% chance that the purple worm burrows their way up to level 5 while the party is on it, and the party has an absolutely terrifying encounter that they have to basically find a way to run away from, and then the purple worm just disappears again, doing what an animal does, but now there’s a burrow that could potentially lead the party deeper, again, than they’re rated for, if they want to risk climbing into the burrow of a thing that just nearly totalled them to see where it came from.

You can keep an overall tiered, ordered structure, while still allowing the party a good bit of leeway in where they go and how they want to approach things. The trick is just to make sure you have multiple routes into and out of any given area, so the party gets to make decisions on which ones they want to try, and they don’t end up fully bottlenecked somewhere they can’t go forward from but also are somehow blocked from going back.

Which, if all else fails, is where your roving burrowing animals of various CRs might come in very handy. Heh.

I’m watching a (3hr) discussion on megadungeons as a concept for modern d20 games on a youtube channel called Knights of Last Call, and I’m enjoying it a lot, because it does explore a couple of points that I’ve been very much looking for. Namely, the idea that megadungeons should be there to enable and reward exploration. Which means, among other things, there can’t be a time-pressure meta plot (you have to get to the bottom of the dungeon to stop the lich before he destroys the world), and that the game/DM needs to explicitly reward (with xp, magic items, etc) the act of exploration, not the act of killing things while exploring.

Because the thing I always found enchanting about the idea of massive dungeons and complexes was the idea of going in to see what’s down there. Not being forced in for a plot, but just … because I’m curious, and I want to see what’s there. And he discusses how modern d20 games like Pathfinder and 5e can actually be better for that than OSR-type games because characters are more powerful and sturdy and can survive doing that. You can explore, and (most likely) have a decent shot of surviving said exploration. You can take risks because you’ll survive a broader range of risks.

The thing with a megadungeon is that it’s there to be explored, and so to encourage, enable and reward exploration for people who want to play that kind of game in the first place, you have to a) not penalise taking risks and going exploring by making it instantly lethal to try and go anywhere, and b) actively reward going exploring by making it the main way your character gets more cool things, such as magic items and/or new abilities from levelling up.

(And, he’s less explicit about this, but also making the rewards self-contained to the dungeon, things you find and gain in the dungeon, and not things you’d have to bring outside the dungeon to benefit from. So cool items you can keep and use, experience to level up, knowledge that would allow you to access new areas, etc, not things like gold where you’d have to go back outside to spend it, or quests that you have to go to external parties to be rewarded for).

The discussion goes into some detail about potential ways to do this, and potential problems with various methods, but overall I just really like the tone of the discussion. Because that very much is a thing I’ve been looking for for a long, long time. A game that rewards the simple desire to go somewhere and see what’s there. I don’t want to explore a massive underground complex because there’s a bad guy down there and I need to stop him, I want to explore it because there’s rumours that there’s a vast underground sea down there where creatures that haven’t been seen in aeons are rumoured to still live (blame reading Journey to the Centre of the Earth as a kid), or to discover why there’s a massive dungeon down there and learn who built it, or just because it’s a big strange space and I just want to see what it looks like.

He does talk about how you make dungeons interesting enough to justify that, things like thematically-distinct areas (like the underground lake, or the weird sunless forest, or the ghoul town, etc) so that it’s not one endless slog of ‘10ft wide corridors and stone rooms’, and to make it interconnected so that the players have full choice of where they go and what risks they want to take (enabling them to skip ahead difficulty levels, or retreat if need be, or escape areas that they’re not enjoying). And to possibly put in some distinct … not end goals, but capstone events, like a boss monster very deep down, that might feel like an ‘ending’ if the party wants to ‘finish’ the dungeon. Not something that will ‘burst out and destroy the world’, but something contained to the dungeon that a party could triumph over if they want a ‘final challenge’ sort of feeling. But one that’s optional, a challenge they can take up if they want to, not a prerequisite for getting out of the dungeon or completing a large goal, but just a challenge that exists if they want to take it on.

Because, and I do agree, a lot of the problem with exploring in D&D is not necessarily that there’s no mechanical support for it, in terms of things like skills, etc, but because there’s no reward for it, and in terms of structured adventures, there’s often either narrative or mechanical punishment for it (running out of time on the baddie, or running into something too lethal for your party to handle with no option to nope out). A megadungeon as a concept is a cool environment where exploration is the whole point, and the only point, and if you take care not to put an external pressure on it (‘kill the lich or else’), then then party has time to poke around and decide what they want to see and what risks they want to take (or nope out of). Especially in something so big that there’s no real chance of finishing it, so there’s no ‘100% completion’ pressure, just a big buffet of options for people to pick and choose from.

(There are so many things in 5e that would be excellent for an exploration game, especially in terms of spells and magic items, but because combat is so much the driving force of the standard mode of play, people are reluctant to ‘waste’ spells known/prepared and/or items attuned on things like Alarm or Water Walk or Purify Food & Drink or non-combat items like Candles of the Deep or Foldable Boats or Slippers of Spider Climbing when those slots could be used for combat spells/items instead. But if exploration gets you XP, and if you can nope out of combat as required because there’s no massive stakes/story riding on it, then you’ve got more room for these things).

There’s also an in-depth discussion on ‘game balance’ and CR, and why megadungeons might not necessarily require them, for the simple fact that everything in the dungeon is optional and not required to forward the story/plot, so you can try challenges way above your level if you’re feeling frisky that day, and just nope out and go a different way if it starts really not working for you. Which I feel is a fun point.

There is a point that this is a specific mode of play and not meant to be the point of the game in general. It’s specifically for people (like me) who want exploration as its own point and reward, without needing a quest or storyline attached, and for whom combat is an element/hazard/complication but not the point. But. If you are specifically doing a MEGADUNGEON, it’s an interesting look at things to consider and what people might want out of a massive self-contained dungeon that’s going to be the whole point of the campaign in and of itself.

Where he loses me is when the discussion moves to how to prevent the '15 Minute Adventuring Day', where people go in, do a room or two, and then go back out to rest and heal and resupply, instead of staying in the dungeon to keep exploring. And for some reason allowing healing is bad for this? If you want them to stay in the dungeon, how is it bad to let them heal in the dungeon? Set up factions to trade with and potential base camp locations in the dungeon to let them heal and resupply and set up safe areas so that they can stay in there potentially infinitely? Though it’s possible that I missed something about his point there.

But yeah. I love the idea of megadungeons, vast areas to explore just because they’re there, and I love the idea of game modes with all the cool abilities and spells and powers of D&D BUT where the thing that’s rewarded is exploration and interacting with the environment rather than combat.

(There’s also … I think this also reminds me of the story arc vs episodic discussion regarding TV, where I genuinely like episodic series equally to story-line driven ones, and I think that in games it also works, where there’s a BIG SETTING and the point is to go out and have episodic adventures in it. A loose sandbox like a megadungeon where there’s no plot, you’re just exploring and seeing what you encounter day to day (and possibly developing plots as you interact with individual areas/factions and then connect them to other ones) is also an excellent way to play a game).

Anyway. Forgive the sidebar ramble.

#d&d #ttrpgs #megadungeons #dungeon crawling #game mechanics vs game ethos #exploration

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jungkoode · 1 day ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #04 死

† forest rendezvous †

"They say the most dangerous predators are the ones that make you feel safe before they strike. But watching him calculate each shot with deadly precision, you realize there might be something even more dangerous - the ones who warn you exactly what they are, and still make you want to stay."

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6k

rating: mature

content: forced proximity, piggyback, sniping, ominous threats, badmouthing, hinting at deeper wounds

☠ author's note ☠

A/N: Oh wow, apparently I even had author's notes saved in my drafts when I started writing this back in 2020? Past!me had *thoughts* and present!me is just here like (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

So I'm basically taking those written thoughts and rechanneling them through my 2025 brain. And let me tell you, the cognitive dissonance is REAL. Like past!me was all "but it's a slow burn!" and current!me is just cackling in the corner because honey... you have no idea what's coming ｡･ﾟﾟ*(>д

I really debated on whether to include the piggyback scene or not. Had the whole thing pictured out a LONG time ago (we're talking pre-pandemic long, yes I am ancient, no I don't want to talk about it), but wasn't sure if I should add it here... you know, being a slow burn and all that jazz. But I think it works? They're both so against it that it's basically negative development at this point lmao.

Also, FORCED PROXIMITY MY BELOVEDS. If you think I'm not going to milk every single trope in existence, you clearly don't know me well enough yet. Just wait until we get to- *gets tackled by the spoiler police*

As always, thank you for reading! Your comments give me life and serotonin, which I desperately need because my caffeine addiction can only do so much. Stay tuned! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

"Shit—"

The word slips out as you struggle to your feet, using Jeon's hand like some kind of reluctant lifeline.

That's when your ankle decides to remind you exactly how badly you messed up trying to ambush him earlier. The adrenaline's wearing off, leaving behind nothing but raw, throbbing pain that makes you want to scream. Or cry. Maybe both.

"I think I twisted my ankle."

Jeon drops your hand like it's burning him, his expression morphing into pure exasperation.

"You must be kidding me."

"Yeah, because I love pretending to be injured during paintball." The pain makes your words sharper than intended. "It's my favorite hobby, actually."

He presses his hand against his face and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. His expression shifts from annoyed to something more complex—like a storm trying to decide which direction to blow.

The silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable. You lean against the rock, trying to take weight off your ankle, but it just keeps t̶h̶r̶o̶b̶b̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶i̶t̶c̶h̶ hurting worse with each passing second.

Finally, Jeon clicks his tongue and strides over to you. Then he just... turns around. Stands there. Like you're supposed to know what that means.

When you don't move, he adds, "Hop on," in a voice that somehow manages to sound both annoyed and urgent at the same time.

Like he's throwing commands to a dog.

You stare at his back, brain struggling to process what's happening. This is Jeon—Mr. Ice Prince himself—offering you a piggyback ride. The same guy who can barely stand being in the same room as you most days.

He glances over his shoulder, dark eyes meeting yours. "I said, hop on. We don't have all day."

"No way." Pride makes you lift your chin despite the pain. "I'm not getting a piggyback from you. I'll just... wait here."

His patience visibly snaps. He turns to face you fully. "You can't walk, and you'll be a liability." The words come out sharp and cold. "If someone from his team finds you, you're out. And now, you're on my team."

"What do you mean I'm on your team?"

"You ask too many questions." He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶'̶r̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶n̶o̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ done with your attitude. "Were you or were you not with my team when shit went down?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"It's an improvisation game. It's V's thing, stealth. Remember?" His voice cuts through yours like a knife. "Whoever's with me when V strikes is on my team. Same goes for him. It's really not that complicated."

He takes a deep breath, face muscles shifting to something more controlled. When he looks at you again, he seems determined.

"I'm not losing to V, especially not because of you. So either hop on," the gentleness in his voice has an edge that makes you tense, "or I'll pull rank and make it an order."

Your blood boils at that. The audacity of this man, threatening to pull rank just because you don't want to get a piggyback ride like some kid. But he's right, and that just pisses you off more. Your ankle's screaming, and you're basically a sitting duck out here.

Fuck.

You hobble closer, swallowing your pride along with a string of curses. The warmth oozing off his body envelops you swiftly, making your heart do weird things in your chest.

Getting on his back is awkward and t̶h̶o̶r̶o̶u̶g̶h̶l̶y̶ ̶h̶u̶m̶i̶l̶i̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ uncomfortable, but he lifts you like you weigh nothing. His body is all lean muscle under your hands, which is just... t̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶g̶o̶n̶e̶ not something you need to think about right now. You kind of want to knee him in the ribs, just because you can.

You don't, though. Your ankle's already betrayed you once tonight—no need to make things worse.

He starts moving with careful, measured steps. Neither of you speaks. If he's as annoyed as you are about this whole situation, he doesn't show it anymore. His focus is entirely on the game now, eyes scanning the darkness, body tense and ready. Like a storm gathering strength.

And that just pisses you off more. Here you are, swallowing your pride with every step he takes, while he acts like carrying you is just another mission parameter to execute. The quiet forest floor suddenly seems way more appealing than being trapped in his personal weather system.

His breathing is steady, a rhythm that somehow makes the tension worse. Because yeah, he's helping you, but it feels like being rescued by a particularly moody thundercloud. The fact that you need him right now doesn't make you like him any better—it just makes everything more complicated.

Your eyes are dragged to the edges of his tattoos where they disappear under his shirt. Each one probably has a story, but good luck getting those out of Mr. Storm-and-Silence here.

Still, you're curious.

Are they about pain? Strength? Or maybe he just likes sitting through hours of needles because he's t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶m̶a̶s̶o̶c̶h̶i̶s̶t̶ that dedicated to his aesthetic.

The silence starts to feel heavy, pressing down like gathering clouds. All you can see is his back, and the closeness makes your skin buzz like it's charged with static.

"So where exactly are we going?" You break the silence because honestly, anything's better than drowning in his suffocating presence.

"Paintball weapon cache."

"Wait, what?" You can't keep the disbelief out of your voice. "I thought we were getting my ankle checked out—"

"This is a simulation." He cuts off. "V's games are unpredictable, but they mirror real scenarios. We adapt. We deal."

There's something under that icy tone—a competitiveness that makes you think this is more than just training to him. Your fingers twitch against his shoulders, and you try not to think about the muscle shifting under your hands.

"You do this often?" You find yourself asking, curiosity winning over irritation.

"Unfortunately." The word carries a gust of dry humor. "V likes his... creative training methods. Paintball, surprise drills, mock raids. He's impulsive, but effective."

"Sounds... fun?" The word tastes weird in your mouth.

"If you enjoy being perpetually ambushed." His dry tone makes your lips twitch despite yourself.

You fall quiet, thinking about these two forces of nature—Jeon's storms and V's thorny garden. Different kinds of dangerous, but both leaving destruction in their wake (duh, they're assassins?). One's all calculated precision, the other pure chaos—yet somehow they both keep the gang's deadliest division running.

"So what's the plan now?" You try to keep your voice neutral. If you're stuck being his human backpack, might as well try to be useful.

"We arm ourselves." His voice gains a strategizing color. "It's not about having the most firepower. Real situations never go according to plan."

Something about his tone piques your curiosity even further. "Has he always been like this? V? With the whole paintball ambush thing?"

Jeon lets out a sound that's caught between amusement and irritation. "Yeah. You never know what to expect with that psycho. There was this one time when he—"

He cuts himself off abruptly. You can feel how his muscles tense against your legs, probably kicking himself for almost sharing something personal.

"When he what?" You can't help pushing. The rare glimpse behind his walls is too tempting to ignore.

"Never mind." His voice goes flat, that familiar coldness sliding back into place.

The silence stretches again, pregnant with all the things he won't say. It's strange, catching these tiny cracks in his perfect ice-prince facade. Makes you wonder what other stories he's keeping locked away.

As you move deeper into the forest, his competitive side starts showing through. He explains the rules like he's briefing for a real mission, all strategy and tactics.

"...And the objective?" You ask, trying to piece it all together.

"Last team standing wins." His voice rumbles through his back against your chest. "Or take out the opposing leader—me or V."

"Makes sense." You nod, hyper-aware of how his voice ricochets through you. "But why so intense? It's just paintball, right?"

The question slips out before you can stop it. But really—all this drama over some colored paint?

"It's never just a game." The edge in his voice could cut glass. "In our world, everything's a test. A challenge. We're constantly proving ourselves. You should know that by now."

His words sink in slowly. You do know—every day in this place feels like walking a tightrope, being watched, measured, judged. Even something as simple as paintball becomes another arena to prove your worth.

"This is exhausting," you mutter, and you actually mean it. The weight of constant training, constant proving yourself—it gets old fast.

"It is." Something in Jeon's voice makes you wish you could see his face. There's a pause, then: "But it's necessary. Keeps us sharp. Survival of the fittest and all that shit."

The bitterness in those last words catches you off guard. It's weird hearing him talk like this—like maybe he's not totally sold on the whole 'constant competition' thing either. The thought of Jeon having doubts about anything feels like finding a dent in what you thought was solid concrete.

He continues moving through the forest like he was born here, feet finding paths you can barely see in the dark. The trees loom overhead, their leaves whispering secrets you can't quite catch. Soon, you are opening your mouth again before your brain can stop you.

"How'd you end up here?"

His stride breaks—just for a second, but you feel it. The air grows heavy again, pressing down on your shoulders.

"Circumstances. Choices." The words come out clipped, that familiar wall slamming back into place. "Same as anyone else."

You can practically taste the story he's not telling. Something dark and messy that turned him into this walking hurricane of a person. But pushing would be stupid, and contrary to popular belief, you're not that dumb.

"Right." You let it drop, focusing instead on how the moonlight catches on his silver chain when he moves.

Jeon picks up speed, and the trees seem to close in around you both. It seems to be a sign you are approaching your destination.

"So once we get the guns, what's the plan?" You try to break the weird tension that's settled between you.

"Find high ground," he says, voice low and focused. "Somewhere we can see everything but stay hidden. Sniping's all about patience and precision."

"And you think there's actually a spot like that around here?" You can't keep the skepticism from your voice. You've done your fair share of surveillance—good vantage points are rare as hell in this forest.

He just grunts, confident as ever. "I know this place like the back of my hand." He actually lifts one hand to prove his point, the moonlight catching on his rings.

It shouldn't be as hot as it is.

Silence falls again and the trees grow closer together, moonlight filtering through in weird patterns that make everything look kind of surreal. The darkness feels heavy, like it's trying to remind you both that you're not exactly on a fun camping trip here.

You watch him scan the forest ahead, all focus and precision. It hits you that this is his element—the quiet, the calculation, the waiting game.

"You really think this'll work against V's team?" The doubt slips into your voice before you can stop it.

"It's not about what works against them." He sounds almost philosophical, which is... different. "It's about playing to our strengths."

He pauses to lick his lip ring—a habit you're starting to notice—before adding: "Plus, I'm Chief of Tactical Assassinations for a reason. Best sniper in Kkangpae. Best in South Korea."

"Best in the whole country? For real?" You hate how interested you sound.

"Probably." His shoulders lift in a small shrug that makes you bounce slightly.

"Right." You roll your eyes. "Got any proof of that?"

"I do." The response comes quick, matter-of-fact. "They're all dead though."

A snort escapes before you can stop it.

Shit.

Okay. That may have been actually funny. But you're definitely not laughing at his jokes. He might have a sense of humor hiding under all that ice, but he's still an ass.

Jeon slows down as you reach what looks like the world's most underwhelming hideout—just a tiny hut tucked between the trees. His muscles go tense against your legs, like he's preparing for trouble. The way he lowers you to the ground is weirdly gentle for someone who usually acts like basic human contact might give him hives.

Your ankle screams in protest when you put weight on it, making you wobble slightly. Something flickers across Jeon's face—t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶m̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶c̶e̶r̶n̶ probably just annoyance at having to babysit you.

"You good?"

The question catches you off guard. Since when does the ice prince care if you're okay?

You manage a nod, not trusting yourself to speak without letting out some embarrassing noise of pain. He turns toward the hut but pauses, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

"Tell me if you see movement." His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Any movement."

Then he's gone, slipping into the darkness of the hut. You hear him moving around inside, probably doing some super-professional sniper inventory check or whatever the hell he does.

When he emerges, he's carrying two paintball rifles like they weigh nothing. You try really hard not to notice how the moonlight catches on his arm muscles as he moves, or how smoothly he closes the door with just a flick of his wrist.

He hands you one of the rifles, dark eyes scanning the forest with the kind of focus that reminds you why he's chief of his division. Then he just... crouches down again, waiting for you to climb back on.

The sight of him effortlessly holding a rifle while offering you a piggyback makes something in your chest twist. How dare he make this look so easy? How dare he be this capable and t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ this insufferable at the same time?

You sigh, swallowing your pride along with several choice words about the universe's sick sense of humor, and climb back onto his back. His body is warm against yours and you hate that you notice. You hate even more that he's not even breaking a sweat carrying both you and the gear.

Stupid attractive jerk with his stupid perfect aim and his stupid strength. The least he could do is be ugly, but no—he had to look like that while being the most irritating person you've ever met.

Jeon stands like your weight is nothing—because of course he does. He adjusts the rifle with practiced ease, and you try really hard not to notice how effortlessly he handles both you and a weapon. It's t̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶b̶r̶a̶i̶n̶ ̶a̶c̶t̶i̶v̶a̶t̶e̶d̶ annoying how good he is at literally everything.

His movements fall into a steady rhythm as he walks, and you find yourself swaying slightly with each step. It's weird being this close to someone you can barely stand. The guy who's usually a walking natural disaster is suddenly all careful precision, like the calm before a storm.

The hill stretches up ahead, moonlight painting everything in silver and shadow. Somewhere in the distance, paintball guns are still going off. Sounds like V's twisted little game is still in full swing for everyone else who isn't stuck playing piggyback with their nemesis.

You watch the forest ahead, trying to focus on anything except how warm Jeon is against the cool night air. He moves through the undergrowth like he was born for this. The higher you climb, the slower he moves, until finally he stops altogether.

Without a word—because god forbid he actually communicate like a normal person—he crouches slightly. Your cue to get off this incredibly awkward ride.

"Here." His voice is barely above a whisper as he helps you down with surprising care.

You scan the area, taking in the elevated position and clear view of the forest below. It's perfect for sniping, which makes sense given who picked it. But something about being this exposed makes your skin crawl.

"This is way too exposed." Your instincts are screaming at you to find better cover. The entire forest floor is visible from up here, which means you're visible too. "We need something more concealed."

Jeon turns his head just enough to catch your eye in the moonlight. "Trust me."

Two simple words, but they hit different.

Trust isn't something that comes easy in this life. Especially not between you and Mr. Hurricane himself.

Yet here he is, asking for it like it's that simple.

You weigh your options, torn between your screaming survival instincts and his calm certainty. Finally, you give him a reluctant nod. What choice do you really have?

You can't help watching as Jeon sets up his position. The way he moves is t̶o̶o̶ ̶g̶r̶a̶c̶e̶f̶u̶l̶ irritatingly efficient, precise and purposeful. His eyes scan the terrain with a focus that makes your mouth inexplicably dry.

Because it's weird seeing him like this. The usual cold, intimidating chief is gone, replaced by someone who moves with quiet, deadly grace. Every shift of his body as he positions the rifle speaks of years of practice, of countless nights spent perfecting each tiny movement.

The hurricane that usually swirls around him has settled into something different—a gentle breeze that makes your skin tingle. It's... weird.

Almost peaceful.

You can't help studying him while he's focused like this. The way his dark eyes track every movement below, how his brow furrows just slightly when he's thinking. His silver piercings catch the moonlight when he shifts, and you find yourself leaning closer.

Just to see better, obviously. For tactical reasons.

Movement near the cache catches your attention. Jeon goes completely still beside you, the kind of stillness that reminds you he's literally the best sniper in South Korea. You lean in further, trying to see what he's seeing, and suddenly realize how close you are. Your shoulder brushes his, but neither of you moves away. You're both too focused on the target below, who's digging through supplies like they've got all the time in the world.

"Wait for it..." His voice is barely a whisper, warm breath ghosting past your ear. His finger hovers over the trigger with the patience of someone who knows exactly what they're doing.

The poor soul at the cache has no idea what's coming. The air feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

Then—bang.

The shot is perfect because of course it is. A splash of neon paint blooms on the target's back like some abstract art piece. They jump about a foot in the air, spinning around wildly.

"Dammit, Jeon!" The shout echoes through the trees. There's only one person who could make a shot that clean from such distance.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. Even Jeon's mouth twitches at the corner—the closest thing to a smile you've ever seen from him. For a split second, a gentle breeze wraps around you both like a shared secret.

You nearly jump out of your skin when Jeon's eyes suddenly meet yours. For a heartbeat, maybe two, neither of you moves.

It's... t̶o̶o̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶ weird. The way his dark eyes seem to see right through you, how his hurricane wraps around you like you're in the eye of the storm. Too close. You're close enough to count his stupidly long eyelashes, to see the tiny scar on his cheek catch moonlight.

Then reality crashes back in. Jeon shifts away so fast you'd think you burned him, putting blessed distance between you. The barriers slam back into place—he's your superior, you're just some annoying ensign he got stuck babysitting during paintball. That's all this is.

You lean back too, trying to ignore the way your heart's still doing gymnastics in your chest. It's unsettling, this weird moment of... something. Not respect, definitely not that, but maybe a reluctant acknowledgment that there's more to him than just being an ice-cold asshole. The way he handled that shot, the focus in his eyes, the subtle pride in his posture—it's t̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶t̶e̶s̶t̶ annoyingly impressive.

Jeon's already back in sniper mode, all business again like nothing happened. But the air feels different now. Like the air has picked up speed, swirling with renewed intensity as if trying to blow away whatever just passed between you.

You watch him work, wondering when exactly you started noticing things like how his jaw clenches when he's concentrating, or how his fingers move with such precise grace on the trigger.

You tell yourself the shiver down your spine is just from the cold night air.

"I should leave." The words come out low, almost like he's talking to himself. He stands up, towering over you, a dark silhouette against the forest green. "Won't take long for them to tell V where I am."

"What, you scared?" The question slips out before you can stop it.

Since when does the great Jeon run from a fight? Especially with V?

"No." It's instant, defensive. His tone is laced with something like irritation. "With V, you play his game. I just landed a shot. He'll know exactly where I am the second he gets here." A pause. "That's why you're staying."

"I see." You answer automatically. Then your brain catches up.

Wait.

"Hold up—I'm what now?" The words come out sharp. "So I'm just bait?"

"Yeah?" He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like he can't fathom why you're even asking. "You'll draw him out."

"Didn't you literally just give me that whole speech about 'making do' and 'real situations'?" Your voice rises with each word. "And now you're using your teammate as bait? Real nice. Guess I was right—you are a hypocrite."

"Sometimes sacrifices are necessary." His voice is cool, professional. "Plus, between us..."

He looks at you then, really looks, and something in your chest goes tight. Those dark eyes of his catch moonlight like black ice, beautiful and deadly. His stupidly long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and when he blinks, it feels deliberate. Like he's giving you time to process what comes next.

"You're the expendable one. Here, and in real life."

"Fuck off." The words come out sharp and mean, exactly how you want them.

His eyebrow arches, silver beads catching moonlight like a warning. "Watch your tone."

You can feel the hurricane bearing down on you again. It sneaks through the cracks in your attire, scratching at the outer layer of your skin. It is oppressive, suffocating. Engulfs your whole being almost instantly, almost as if to blow you off balance.

"So you're really doing this?" Your voice cracks a little, caught between rage and something that feels too much like hurt. "Just leaving me here as bait?"

He doesn't even blink. Those dark eyes of his are cold and distant now, like you're just another variable in one of his calculations.

"It's strategic, not personal."

"Strategic." You let out a laugh that's more like a snarl. The thought of being nothing but a disposable piece in his game makes your blood boil. Being used by anyone would piss you off, but being used by Jeon? That's a special kind of infuriating.

He takes a step back from you now, creating physical distance as if he was uncomfortable. Maybe, somewhere under all that ice, he actually feels bad about this. But t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶f̶u̶l̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ you're probably just seeing what you want to see.

"Stay low and keep quiet." His voice goes all authoritative again, his standoffish nature coming right back. "If V knows it's a trap, we lose our advantage."

You cross your arms, watching Jeon's figure fade into the shadows. Every cell in your body screams to call him out, to demand better than being left as bait, but...

What leverage do you have? The answer hits like a slap: absolutely none.

He moves like a ghost between the trees, that hurricane of his dissipating until you're left alone with nothing but forest sounds for company. His words echo in your head, each syllable of "expendable" burning like acid.

You try to shift position, searching for some way to sit that doesn't make your ankle scream or your pride hurt worse. Hard to do when you're officially demoted to bait in this stupid paintball game.

Stupid Jeon. How can he turn even mock battles into some grand strategic play?

Your jaw clenches. At least real bait doesn't have to deal with the indignity of knowing it's bait.

The forest is too quiet now, like it's holding its breath. You try to focus, to be the good little decoy he wants, but between your throbbing ankle and the rage simmering under your skin, concentration's a lost cause. Your thoughts spin like leaves in a storm, each one circling back to how much you want to punch that perfect face of his.

Then—something changes.

It's subtle. Just the slightest shift in the air, barely enough to stir the leaves. But every instinct you have lights up like a warning flare. You freeze, hardly daring to breathe as you strain to locate whatever's setting off your internal alarms.

That's when you feel it—thorny vines wrapping around your lungs, making each breath sharp and dangerous. V materializes from the darkness like he was born from it, moving with the kind of liquid grace that reminds you why he's chief of stealth. Before you can blink, cold metal presses against your neck—his paintball gun, a very pointed reminder of how screwed you are.

The speed of it leaves you breathless. Or maybe that's his thorny rose aura, squeezing tighter with each passing second. His mastery of stealth isn't just reputation—it's terrifying reality.

"Shh, shh, shh." His breath ghosts over your ear, playful and deadly all at once.

You hadn't planned on screaming, but the way his aura constricts around you makes you reconsider.

"Where's Jeon?" V's voice is barely above a whisper, but something in it makes your blood run cold.

You hesitate. Part of you wants to sell Jeon out—serves him right for using you as bait. But something in V's tone makes you think carefully about your next words. This might be a game to everyone else, but V... V plays different.

"He left me," you manage, voice tight. "Twisted my ankle."

The laugh that follows sounds wrong, like broken glass wrapped in velvet. His thorny vines squeeze tighter.

"Typical Jeon." The way he says it drips poison. "Once a traitor, always a traitor." There's history there, old wounds still bleeding. "Abandoning a teammate? That's cold, even for him."

The paintball gun stays pressed against your neck. Except... is it really loaded with paint? Your stomach drops as you realize you have no way of knowing. Not with V. Not when he's got that edge to his voice that makes you think maybe this stopped being a game the moment he spotted you.

Every instinct screams at you to run, but you're trapped between fight or flight, knowing either choice could end badly.

"He's not here then?" V sounds almost disappointed, like a kid whose favorite toy got taken away. "Pity. I was hoping for a proper reunion."

The gun against your neck suddenly feels a lot more real. You're not the target—you're just the bait. Again. Except this time, it's not just your pride at stake.

"Should've expected as much..." His laugh raises goosebumps on your skin. "No loyalty in that one, hmm? Makes you wonder what he'd do in a real bind. Leave you to rot, probably."

You stay quiet, letting V's poison drip. Each word feels calculated, like he's trying to infect you with his hatred for Jeon. His vines constrict tighter around your lungs with every syllable, and you can't help wondering what made these two hate each other so viciously.

"That's Jeon for you." The words drip with disgust, but V's smirking like this is all some twisted game. "Self-serving. Cold. Doesn't care who he steps on to get what he wants."

The way he's focused on his little villain monologue gives you an opening. Adrenaline floods your system as you make your move—one hard stomp on his foot. His yelp of surprise is almost satisfying.

You shove the paintball gun away from your neck, twisting out of his grip. For one glorious second, you think you might actually get away.

Then reality hits. Literally.

V moves like water, flowing around your escape attempt like he knew exactly what you'd do. Before you can blink, you're eating dirt, his weight pinning you down. The gun barrel presses cold against your forehead, and you realize just how badly you miscalculated.

"Not bad, dear." His grin makes your skin crawl. "But not good enough."

You're pinned, his weight heavy and his presence suffocating. His thorns dig deeper with each breath, and you can almost feel them cutting through your skin.

You're trapped, completely at his mercy, but damned if you'll let him see you scared.

He leans in close. "Let me give you a piece of advice." His whisper raises goosebumps on your neck. "Watch your back around Jeon. He's more dangerous than you think."

The warning in his voice sounds too personal, too raw to be just another mind game. Like maybe he's speaking from experience.

"Oh, I'm counting on it." The words come out steadier than you feel with V's weight pinning you down. You manage to keep your voice even despite the lack of oxygen making it to your brain.

Something flickers across his face—confusion, maybe suspicion. Those stealth instincts of his finally catching up, but too late.

SPLAT.

Paint explodes across V's back in a neon burst. His whole body goes rigid against yours, muscles freezing mid-squeeze. The look of pure disbelief on his face almost makes this whole night worth it.

When he turns to look over his shoulder, you already know what he'll see. Jeon emerges from the shadows like he was born from them, rifle balanced casually in those tattooed hands. Even playing paintball in the middle of the night, he somehow manages to look t̶o̶o̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ irritatingly put-together.

He runs his fingers through dark hair, pushing it back from his face in a way that's probably supposed to look casual but comes off more like a shampoo commercial. The silver in his piercings catches moonlight, and honestly? It's just rude how he makes everything look so effortless. Like being unfairly attractive is just another one of his many talents.

V's weight disappears as he stands, and suddenly his whole demeanor shifts. The deadly predator from moments ago vanishes, replaced by that familiar chaos-loving trickster. His laugh rings through the trees as he claps, adorned with delight instead of danger.

"Bravo, Jeon!" V calls out theatrically into the forest shadows where Jeon now stands revealed. "Always hiding in the shadows like the snake you are."

Jeon's face is blank, but there's something razor-sharp in the way he moves

"Far better than always playing the fool to hide your incompetence, if you ask me." Jeon retorts sharply, ice crystallizing each syllable.

"Incompetence?" V's laugh has an ugly edge to it. "That's rich, coming from you. Can't even follow basic gang rules, but here you are, talking shit."

Something flickers across Jeon's face—too quick to catch, but his expression grows darker, more intense. Seems like V knows exactly where to stick the knife.

"A gang built on backstabbing might want to rethink its rules." Jeon's voice could freeze hell over. It's like the winds around him whip faster now.

"See, that's your problem." V tilts his head, a mischievous, lazy grin spreading all over his lips. "When I stab someone in the back, at least I don't cry about it after."

The smile he gives Jeon is pure venom—like he's referencing something that happened between them, something that left scars.

"Right." Jeon practically spits the word. "You only get emotional when you're the one getting fucked over."

They stare each other down, and you feel thorny vines trying to pierce through howling wind and rain. Finally, Jeon looks away first, shaking his head like he's trying to dislodge memories he'd rather forget.

Jeon's eyes find yours, and it's not concern you see there—more like he's doing some kind of damage assessment without having to actually ask if you're okay.

You don't give him the satisfaction of a response. He left you as bait, remember? Used you like some expendable pawn in his little game with V.

But something annoying nags at the back of your mind.

Because he did come back.

The moment breaks when Jeon looks away, that weird tension snapping like a rubber band. His typhoon-self settles back into its usual pattern as he stands there radiating smug victory. The paint splattered across V's back is proof enough of who won this round.

"That's it then. This round goes to me." He says it like he's commenting on the weather, not like he just outmaneuvered the most dangerous man in Kkangpae.

There's something almost boring about how he announces his win—no gloating, no pride, just checking another box on whatever mental list he keeps in that pretty head of his.

His eyes flick back to you. "Time to get you to the infirmary—"

"Let's not pretend you've suddenly gone soft, Jeon." V cuts him off, setting down his gun with this little head tilt that somehow manages to be both playful and threatening.

"Oh, please." The disdain in Jeon's voice is too evident. "She just needs to get her ankle checked, and it's not like she can walk there."

V steps closer, moonlight painting him silver. There's something otherworldly about him now—like some fairy tale creature that lures people into trouble with a smile.

"I'll take her to medical myself." His voice drips honey-sweet mockery. "Sounds more fun than whatever boring escort you had planned."

You watch Jeon consider this, weighing something in his head. After what feels like forever, he just... shrugs. Like he couldn't care less what happens to you.

"Sure." His voice is pure ice. "She's your problem now."

Then he just... walks away. No backward glance, no hint that he gives a single shit about leaving you with someone who literally had a gun to your head five minutes ago. The winds that seem to surround him dissipate with each step he takes, leaving you feeling weirdly hollow.

V turns to you with that signature grin of his—the one that's equal parts charming and concerning. He offers his hand with exaggerated gallantry, like some twisted prince charming.

He then scoops you up, bridal style of course because that's V for you, and you can't help but notice he's stronger than he looks. The transition from ground to air is smooth despite your resistance, but what choice do you have? Crawl to the castle?

Your eyes find Jeon one last time as V starts walking. Something in your chest twists when you realize he's not even looking back. You hate that you wanted him to fight this, to show something about handing you over to V. Your twisted ankle is his fault, after all.

But his face might as well be carved from stone. If he feels anything about this situation, he's buried it so deep even his hurricane can't dig it up.

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papasbaseball · 2 days ago

Text

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 18

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content, Spanking

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,565 of 47,525

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There are forty-seven steps between leaving the Upland Estate and killing Fiyero. The rest of the War Council has cleared out except for General Minkus, the Wizard, Madame Morrible, Tomathy, and me. The meeting and plans are on a strict need-to-know basis: no need for financial backers or anyone else that might let something slip from loose lips. The Wizard doesn't let me out of his grip the entire time, pulling me closer at any mention of possible danger.

"There isn't much cover," General Minkus says, sweeping his index finger down the straight railroad markings. "The train has been shut down, but the dirt road is still open. Over here, to the west, that's where they have their base camp set up. It's sheltered by some hillocks. They've set up some spike barricades here and here." His finger points to two hillocks that butt up to the walls of the Emerald City and dovetail perpendicularly together to form a triangle... except for a narrow sliver of a valley between them.

"One way in, one way out," I say.

"It's a good thing you sprained your wrist," Minkus says, pointing to the dirty bandages. The Wizard tightens his grip around my waist. "You sure Fiyero has a soft spot for you? The wounded animal ploy will only work if he wants to help."

"I'm sure," I say. It's a lie. Nothing was certain anymore

General Minkus looks to the Wizard. "He might take her as collateral if he thinks it'd make you surrender faster. We'd have to cut our losses."

"Yeah, well it won't come to that," The Wizard says, pulling me more to the side of him, away from the general. "We're going to be running scouts along the perimeter. She takes her time to go outside of camp to.... uh..." He waves his hand, and I try not to be embarrassed by what he’s implying in front of the most important people in Oz. "And we make sure she's okay. We’ll do it every day until she kills him, and then we’ll get her out immediately"

"It might be dangerous if we meet up immediately," I say. "I think we should give it two days. He's going to be watching my every move."

General Minkus nods at this. "She's right. If I were Fiyero, I wouldn’t even trust a known ally if they walked in halfway through a war. I wouldn't take my eyes off them. It’s been a week since the Lurlinemas ball."

"I don't care for this at all," the Wizard says. "Isn't there some other way? This… It just seems too risky. We've got the five thousand."

"Five thousand was good yesterday,” General Minkus says, “when our inside resources were twice as strong. With the barricades they've got set up, we're going to need everything we can get on them, including inside intel, maybe even a distraction."

"Or kidnapping," I say, grabbing the Wizard's arm. "I could seduce him out into an open area where it would just be him and me, and then you could take him hostage. It would put the war to an immediate end."

Oscar looks down at me with a chastising look of doubt, and I think for a brief moment I see his eyes darken at the thought of me seducing Fiyero at all. Best to be more mindful.

There's a knock on the doorway, and we all turn to see a blonde woman so thin and petite she could have been blown away with a strong breeze. She’s dressed all in pink, with a ridiculous arrangement of rose-colored ostrich feathers in her blonde hair. This must be Lady Upland, but it can't be: she's much younger than the woman in the portrait that hung in the office.

"Oh! So sorry," she says, her voice high and soft as a wind chime. "Auntie Lorinda didn't say anything about guests. It's so nice to meet you all." She offers a white gloved and thin hand in greeting, but startles when she notices General Minkus. "Oh!"

General Minkus says, "Miss-"

"Galinda," she says with a smile, crossing the room to offer her hand to him.

"Miss Galinda, this is a confidential meeting."

"How perfect! I just love meeting confident new people, They make life more exciting." Giving up on her vanishing goal of shaking the General's hand, she snaps in a pivot to me. "Don't you think so?"

I offer my hand to her, hoping not to call any attention to the private information behind her on the map. She takes my hand, and wraps her other hand around the back of mine, saying, "You know, I can tell a lot about a person just by saying hello." She stares into my eyes, narrowing hers. I think she's doing it to avoid blinking, to better stare all the way through me. "You've been traveling for days," she says, nodding her head. I nod with her, trying to play along. "Something tragic happened. You've been hurt recently." I try to steady my breathing, as if that will stop any reddening in my cheeks. Were the Wizard and I really that loud in the office? She grabs my injured wrist suddenly, gasping, "Oh! How horrible!"

"Are you a doctor?" I ask. How had I managed to turn this war meeting into a meet and greet?

"Me?" she says, blinking in disbelief. "No. Why? Do I look like one?"

"Ms. Galinda," Tomathy says, approaching us from the other side of the map table.

"Yes?" she replies with a cock of her head. Whatever image I had of her being taken away by a gust of wind was false. She was a perky pink parakeet, the way she chirped and flit with each new passing thing that caught her attention.

"You said that you knew she had been traveling for days. That's quite a remarkable observation."

"Oh, not really," she says with a laugh. "It's just the way..." she swallows and gives a nervous, high-pitched laugh. "Even if you all are confident people, it would be rude."

Tomathy smiles broadly. I think it is supposed to be an affable smile, but on him, it is always frighteningly toothy. "You're Lady Upland's niece, yes?"

Whatever faux pas she had imagined in her brain, it is now washed away and Galinda the parakeet is back. "Yes. I'm up here for Lurlinemas. I didn't know that she would have more guests. I heard you all talking up here, and I thought it was family, but, well, friends or family it makes no difference. The more, the merrier, right?"

"Of course, of course," Tomathy reassures her, putting an arm around her bird-boned shoulder. He takes me in his other arm, and I feel Oscar tense for the briefest of moments before he lets me go. "We're all here for Lurlinemas with Lady Upland, but your words got me to thinking."

"Yes?" Galinda says as we are escorted out of the library.

"My friend here, we can't have her looking like she's been traveling for days. Not on Lurlinemas."

"Oh. Oh, no!" Galinda agrees, grabbing his arm in excitement.

"Is there anyway you could make her look like she's ready for the best Lurlinemas party that anyone has ever thrown?"

Galinda gasps, and quickly hops out of his grasp. "I know it! I know just what to do! Stay here! I'll be right back. I- My luggage – oh, my luggage – it's downstairs. I'll..." She snaps in a pivot and is off flying down the foyer stairs.

"What in the name of Oz was that?" Tomathy breathes as he watches her hop across the white marble foyer on her pink parakeet legs.

"Lady Upland's niece, I'd say," Oscar says, scratching his cheek.

"How'd she know about the accident?" Tomathy asks.

"I don't know," Oscar says, "but I'm curious to see what else she's seeing that we're not."

________________________

We spend the rest of the day succumbing to Galinda's fashion whims, as she picks and prunes me into nearly what I looked like the night of the party.

When the night comes to a close, an Upland maid escorts us to our rooms. Oscar pulls me into his with an excuse that I am his personal valet and a generous tip to the maid (probably to keep her mouth shut).

"What happened to me being your daughter?" I ask after he closes the door. The room is dark, but rays of moonlight throw silvery shapes onto the cream carpet of the guest-of-honor room.

"If you want to call me daddy, I'm not going to stop you," he says, tossing his jacket onto one of the pale rococo chairs up against the wall. "One last night together. We can do whatever you want."

"You're not still mad from earlier?" I ask.

He walks through the moonbeams, letting them paint excitement onto the boring brown waistcoat and pants. I watch in envy as they trace his body, eager to let my fingers do the same in these last few hours of familiarity.

"Are you talking about the spanking?" he asks. "I wasn't mad. I just had to-"

"You were mad," I stop him. "It was wrong, but I knew it would make you mad to bring Fiy- him up. I could see it in your eyes."

He steps closer, shrouding himself in darkness once more, the ghostly glow kissing his cheeks and the silver stubble of his beard. "It doesn't matter if I'm mad or not," he says quietly, "we... I have a nation to run. Consequences are consequences."

I take his hand, admiring the taut skin of a foreign palm under my fingertips. Bringing it to my lips, I kiss a small scar on the side of his thumb. "What's the consequence of that?"

Our hands together come up to touch my face as he stoops to kiss me. His tongue tastes like warm cinnamon, and I remember looking over at him during Galinda's Great Big Fashion Makeover as she was slipping a green velvet dress onto me. His eyes were wolfish as he hollowed and unhollowed his cheeks, his tongue tossing a cinnamon candy he had grabbed out of a complimentary dish. Now, his tongue plunged into me, slipping warmly against mine in a plea as he pressed me closer to him, stomach to stomach, his fingers threading into my hair.

"Is it so severe?" I ask, breaking the kiss.

"Yes," he growls, picking me up so that I can wrap my legs around him. He walks us to the fluffy and overly-beaded and pillowed white bed, and kneels on it, careful in laying us down on the opulent quilt.

"What are we going to do?" I ask. The question could be about anything, really. I think, in the moment, I want the world to stop. I don't want the sun to rise, I don't want Oz to have a leader. Why can't it just be me and Oscar in the warmth of a stranger's home, tangled in an embrace without any fighting?

"Don't ask those kind of questions," he says, kissing my neck, biting but quickly releasing it before he ruins the carefully curated image we had prepared. "We'd better get you out of this dress, put it somewhere safe." He turns me over, dragging the zipper down slowly. The zipper comes to a stop, and he asks me to sit up before helping me shoulder off the velvet sleeves. He stares at my bare breasts, watching as I get up from the bed and let the rest of the dress drop to the floor.

"You said I could have anything I want," I say, standing there naked in the moonlight. I step out of the dress and throw it haphazardly into the chair with his jacket. "I want you."

"You have me."

"No, not the Wizard of Oz," I say. "I want Oscar. Show me who you are. No mechanical heads, no magic."

"No, you don’t," he says.

"Let me meet him and see for myself," I say quietly.

I go back to the bed and straddle him where he's sat on the edge, my hands sinking into the soft and curly white of his hair. My lips meet his in a gentle kiss that doesn't last. Oscar doesn't have the patience or will to conceal the need to fuck me, to claim me. The cinnamon of his tongue is a taste of how he paints with movements and touches: a violent red that is all-consuming, a warning of an overwhelming and dangerous lust made of clawing and scraping teeth. His mouth finds my neck and the plan to keep me as pristine as possible is gone as he inhales the scent of my neck in between painful kisses. "I don't want you to go," he breathes.

I push him onto the bed, rocking my hips against his pants and his hardened cock beneath them. "I want you to make me forget all of it," I say, kissing him. "I need you."

"Yes," he says. “Whatever you want.” He grabs me and flips us. Ridding us of the rest of our clothes, he then has me pinned to the bed by my wrists, sinking his cock into me.

"Oscar," I gasp.

"Shhh," he says, kissing me. His hips set a steady pace, not hard, but careful enough to catch the places within me that pull my back from the bed in an act of magic. He's true to his word, because as he pins me to the bed and takes me, I don't think about the war or the kidnapping or any of it. I can only focus on how I can’t move my wrists in his grip, the way his stubble pricks my lips in between the bites and lashes of tongue, the way he seems to alter the arc of his hips if I moan a certain way.

I feel the thread of pleasure tighten, and I struggle in his hands, fighting for anything to grab onto as his grip tightens even further around my wrists until I cry out in pain.

"Feel it," he pants. "Let it take over you. You can handle it."

A strangled bleat escapes my throat as I struggle against my restraints, desperate for any kind of tension to avoid feeling the full gluttony of pleasure that snaps within me. I need to rake my nails against his skin, grab fistfuls of quilt, anything to not bear the sickening sweetness that he has brought upon me as I feel my walls clenching around him again and again.

He pulls out before he can spill inside me. Warm spurts of cum land on my stomach, accompanied by his gasps. He stares at the way the moonlight falls on how he has marked me, his shining chest heaving from the effort, before falling down next to me.

"I like it better when you cum in me," I say, laying a hand on his still-heaving chest.

"I had to," he breathes with shut eyes.

"I know we haven’t talked about it,” I say, “but if it’s about me getting pregnant-"

"No," he says, pulling me closer so I can rest my head against the warm and sweaty skin of his chest. A smattering of silver hairs tickle my cheek and mouth with each rise and fall of breath. "Just... had to. That's all."

#wicked fanfiction #wicked #wicked 2024 #the wizard x reader #the wizard fanfiction #the wizard #wicked 2024 fanfiction

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lacucarachapisser · 20 hours ago

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give me your honesty colin zabel x f!reader

warnings : smut, oral sex fem! receiving, make up sex, fingering, fluff slash angst, cringe lol, edging i guess, pwp? reader have pubes leads to insecurity, overstimulation, um yeah pretty much thats all. 1.3k wc.

a/n : im trying to get back into writing and ngl this is actually um for me since yknow, somebody has to keep writing for him. i decided to write for part two of this fics, you can read the first chap, but this could stand alone so you dont have to read the first, suit yourself. every like, comment and reblog are very appreciate, i hope you all enjoy this. and apologies if its suck. sorry.

colin holds your body tight, his fingertips pressing onto your back, afraid that his grip might slip if he loosens it even scarcely a little. your fearful thoughts, about his feelings possibly changing, his silence, and the thousand excuses he’d given are nothing compared to his fear of losing you. not again. he doesn’t want to be left again.

“i should be the one who say sorry. i was so stupid.”

you gently stroke his back with your hand, drawing gentle circles against his broad back before slowly pulling away from his embraces, however still in the same position, sitting side by side on the couch.

“you know i love you,” his voice sounds like a whimper, sad and desperate. do you know he loves you? for a split second, your mind assure you that he does, but the rest is filled with doubt about whether his heart is still truly yours.

“i got so caught up,” he crouched closely beside you, clearly unbothered about the fact that you just draw back from his body. “it’s been a really terrible time at work, i’m exhausted and became such a complete ass when you’re certainly trying to be just there for me, i’m so ungrateful. never thought about making you feel left out. i never meant to. i’m really sorry.”

you let him continue his monologue, listening and nodding all along. colin gently moves a strand of hair away from your face, slips it behind your ear. his gaze fixed on you, as if waiting for you to say something. “baby, look at me,” he says.

his brown eyes are flickering. even the lines at the corners of his eyes make him seems even more woeful. “i’ll take a day off, and we can do anything you want, together. what do you think?” you didn’t respond but it put a small smile on your face, and he returns it.

“maybe we can go to the new coffee shop with all the puppies you mentioned earlier, hm?”

no. it doesn’t feel exciting anymore.

“anything you want,” his grip on your waist becomes a little firm, lips lightly starts traveling your face, planting soft kisses on your cheeks and the tip of your nose. you remain silent. colin’s apologies have always been like this. his sorry was just like a routine, continuously repeating. there’s a long pause after those kisses drift across your face. you stay still, fidgeting with the thread in the edge of your shirt.

“let me make you feel better, yes?” he asks, slow and soft as possible. you haven’t even respond at that yet he makes another assertion “come on let me make it up to you” his eyes hungrily scanning your body and face, as if he tries to expose you. “baby, say something.” he sighed and took your face in his hands and turned it towards him.

hearing him saying how he wanted you for making a voice makes you frustrated. now that he talk. where was him all along?

“what do you want me to say?” your silky voice came out like a whisper.

“say you want me,”

he shoots you with his big brown eyes, serious but gentle. his hands start grabbing your hip making their way up slowly to your waist.

“…i want you,”

the smile emerges like a blooming flower, his eyes shone like someone actually got their first jackpot. colin pushes you slowly on the couch to make you more relax. his eyes never leave yours as he gets down and sit on the floor so now that his body perfectly wrapped in between your spread thighs.

“wait, here?” a short hesitation vibrates through your voice.

the unwillingness of waiting sparks through his expression. he nods and quickly unbuttoning your pants, working hard to pull it off. at that moment, the only thing that troubled your mind was, are you clean? like down there? and suddenly never in your entire life you have wanted to take a bath so bad.

in a blink, you have no idea where’s those fabric that supposed to cover up your private. he shamelessly leans his right cheek to your bush. it somewhat abashed you to witness him this way, clinging onto your thin curls and delicately spreading butterfly kisses across of it.

using his skillful jaw, he begins to get your thick lips apart to another. passionately making out with your fold in a very slow motion. he relentlessly hold your labia in his mouth, slightly biting and creating the most obscene sounds you have ever heard. there’s nothing you can do besides squirming and moaning, listen to the slurping sounds he made with your aching cunt.

he grasps your both thighs to prevent you from moving, face pressed to your abused pussy. he starts to add his talented tongue to play around, kitten-licking your clit causing you to jolt in surprise with intense pleasure. the smooth and sweet chuckle which leaving colin’s lips sending a sweet buzz inside, body jerking while gripping his shoulders hard.

“baby, stay still..” he speaks softly, lips still connected to your pussy which criminally doesn’t help to make you stay still at all.

“relax, enjoy it,” he continues to drown his face.

“c-colin…” body arching even more as you writhe, and that didn’t make him stop. he breaths a moan while vibrating his tongue inside you, and it feels like your head is consumed by a huge clouded cyclone.

his eyes flickering back and forth from your core up to your face, watching your reaction when he brutally gobble it up, sucking you as if a baby is suckling at their mama’s.

he starts pushing his two fingers inside you, pumping you slowly. the ecstasy sensation makes your toes curl once more, legs instinctively close, worry you might crush his head between your thighs.

“mm’ taste so good..” he mostly sounds so sweet and cute when talking, but this activity surely make him a bit different. he enjoys every respond you have made. your eyes light up and roll back uncontrollably, imagining those fingers as a violent flesh entering you with a sharp blow, touching your sweet spot over and over. thus makes you grab his hair hard and scream even harder.

“ah colin.. i’m close..”

he quicken the pace and the orgasm feels so much better when he does that. even after the long orgasm, colin still kissing you there. tasting every drop of your honeyed hot syrup that can cause him high, he definitely doesn’t wanna waste it.

“too much.. too much..” you choked and its like an electric shock escalates in every part of your body, hitting hard on your sternum. he smiles and slowly pulls away.

“i’m taking such a good care of my little girl,” he whispers, more like talking to himself rather than to you. the admiration sculptured on his face, another art that he proudly created. “you’re doing amazing, sweetheart,”

it almost makes you work up again listen to his mesmerizing voice, lips so close to your tired pussy, deliberately blowing the hot breath. he did that effortlessly, he always managed to get you work up so easily. the soreness ate your limbs and muscles you can’t move your body properly. the only thing you can do is just draw up a sluggish lazy smile.

“you okay? how was it?” still with a soft smile, a gazing wide brown eyes concerned towards you.

“hm..’mazing like always,” you both let out a little chuckle and he looks exceedingly satisfied.

“let me take you to bed, okay?” you nod and with a last strength you had, you open your arms to welcome him. he places your hands around his neck as he slips his big arms beneath your body, grab and scoop you up in one swing whilst he gets up. he affectionately kisses you on your temple before walking to your shared bed.

“good. i need to get you more comfortable,” you come up with nothing as you think about what’s gonna happen next, whether he’ll let you rest or he’ll take his turn, either way you’d end up take it gladly.

•

another notes: yes i do remember someone asked me to do pt 2, literally only one person and of course why not. this is for you jazzy @lockedxroses not sure if you remember hehe but yeah this also for all colin’s wives out there. love yall sm<3

#colin zabel #colin zabel x reader #colin zabel x you #colin zabel x y/n #colin zabel x f reader #colin zabel smut #evan peters fanfic #not very proud but my writing!

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galactic-magick · 2 days ago

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Flirting Failures: Mr. Milchick x Reader

A story in which you are the fifth member of MDR and try to flirt with your supervisor, Mr. Milchick.

Words: 2.3k

(I had so much fun with this lol. Gender-neutral reader, use of Y/N, and no S2 spoilers in this btw)

“None of you have every tried to seduce him? Seriously?”

Your fellow workers in MDR just stare at you, still a bit rigid from Mr. Milchick’s latest check-in. Well, everyone except Helly, who’s already out of her seat again.

“If you can figure out how to break that guy go ahead, but I’d much rather spend my time trying to get out of here.” she makes her way to the supply closet, searching for another subtle way she could send a message to the outside world. She’s tried everything she can think of—writing on herself, attempting to ingest notes, trying different exits, recording videos to her outie—nothing’s worked. But Helly is nothing if not determined.

“Come on guys, isn’t flirting with you boss a go-to tactic for getting what you want?” you continue. “Just because we’re severed doesn’t mean we don’t know about these things.”

Mark shakes his head.

“I don’t think we should mess with him, Y/N. You haven’t been here long, you don’t know what he’s capable of.” he warns.

You huff, a bit in disbelief that no one else is on board with your idea. Clearly nothing Helly has done so far is working, so why are they so against trying a new tactic? Besides, this tactic sounds much more fun.

After a few moments, Irving speaks up.

“Maybe we should hear them out. He definitely treats Y/N better than the rest of us. And he is handsome, I suppose.”

“Shit, Irv, can you quit having the hots for our co-workers for five seconds?” Dylan rolls his eyes.

“All I’m saying is Y/N might already have an advantage. Haven’t you noticed the way Milchick looks at them? And he’s never sent them to the break room for things he would certainly send the rest of us there for. Maybe he already has feelings for them.”

“Yeah, right.” Helly cackled, coming out of the supply closet with handfuls of materials. None of these people give a shit about us. They don’t even see us as human beings. He would never.”

“Look, Y/N, we just don’t want you to get hurt.” Mark reiterates. “Be careful.”

Ignoring the advice from most of your co-workers, you attempt your first move on your lunch break that day. You find your target by the vending machine, and he notices you approaching immediately.

“How are you, Mr. Milchick?” you ask innocently, stepping closer to him.

“Very well, thank you.” he nods with that wide, chilling smile. “And yourself?”

“Great! I’m almost done with my file.” you grin. “Is there a prize for finishing early?”

“Why, yes there is.” he replies. “Your choice. A waffle party, a dance party, or a wellness session. Whichever your heart desires.”

“What if I want something else?”

He cocks his head at you, “I’m sorry, those are the only rewards available at this time.”

“I see,” you sigh dramatically. “What about you then? What rewards do you get for your work?”

“I don’t believe I can disclose that information.”

Damn, he’s stubborn. You’re not getting anywhere with this.

“Aren’t we friends, Mr. Milchick? Can’t you trust me?”

“Of course, Y/N. But I am your superior. There is only so far our rel—our friendship—can go.”

He’s playing that card? Really?

Your co-workers are watching you from across the room intently, curious if you’ll be able to pull this off. You’re embarrassed that you can’t, especially after going into the challenge so confidently, at least not yet. Maybe Irving was wrong, maybe Milchick really doesn’t see you as a person, just a plaything he gets to boss around. Who are you to think you’re special? You’re just a bug he could easily crush under his shoe. He holds infinitely more power over you as an unsevered man, with the knowledge of both the inside and outside world. You’re nothing to these managers, just like the rest of your friends.

“What is it you want, Y/N?” he speaks up again, noticing your face falling. “If you truly aren’t happy with your work compensation, I may be able to negotiate—“

“No, Mr. Milchick, you don’t have to do that.” you cut him off. “What I really want is something you’re probably not allowed to give me.”

“And what would that be?”

Seth Milchick has been fighting his attraction to you for weeks now.

He’s not supposed to care about innies. He’s supposed to keep them in line. He’s supposed to keep them in line. He’s supposed to make sure they meet quota and that’s it.

But you...you’re a force he can’t ignore. He’s know there was something special about you since the moment he met your outie, helping them through the process of severance and meeting the new version of you. He still speaks to your outie every so often, giving them updates on how your innie is doing when you ask. He simply can never say no to you, even if it puts him at risk.

And now, your innie is before him asking for something else. Something he likely can’t give you without dire consequences. There’s so much you don’t understand, so much you’re unaware of in this place. He can’t protect you from everything. Even if he desperately wants you, he can’t be selfish. He has to keep you at a distance for your own good.

“I...I want to know more about you,” you finally say. “It can’t be wrong to want to know more about my boss, can it?”

Of course he wants you to know him, just like he wants to know everything about you in both of your forms. But that is not a privilege he possesses.

“Boundaries at work are important.”

“Oh come on, Mr. Mil—“

“You need to drop this, Y/N.” he says sternly.

He pivots and walks out of the room, leaving you in silence.

“Well, I tried.” you shrug as you return to your friends in defeat. “I guess he’s harder to crack than I thought.”

“Would’ve worked on me,” Helly snorts.

“Thanks, Helly.”

Dylan scoffs, “Not me. Your flirting game is pathetic.”

“You want to try next?”

“Hell, no. I’m not getting sent to the break room again.”

You slump down in a seat, beginning to munch on your snacks that aren’t even that good. If Helly can’t figure out a way to escape, and you can’t seduce Mr. Milchick to let you out, what hope is there? Mark has tried his fair of tactics, and so did Petey, as you’ve heard. Irving cares too much about the rules to try anything serious, and Dylan is happy here as long as he’s getting his prizes.

Maybe it’s worth it to keep trying.

You must be approaching this all wrong. Maybe he just doesn’t respond to direct signs of interest, maybe you need to play the long game. Although it’s not like you actually know what you’re doing in general. You have no memory of any successful romantic encounters, or unsuccessful for that matter. You have no idea if your outie has a partner, or if they’re married.

Wait—Mr. Milchick isn’t severed. He knows you on the outside. What if your outie is married, and that’s why he won’t flirt back? At least he’s respectful.

Either way, you’re going to try again.

A few days later, while the others are focused on their files, you take some time to make Mr. Milchick a thank you card. Maybe a heartfelt gesture will be enough to make him believe you care.

Dear Mr. Milchick, you write.

Thank you for being a great supervisor to the MDR team. We all appreciate you, especially me. You’ve been very kind and patient with me even when I do things wrong. Thank you for all you’ve done to help me and I hope we continue to work well together. I enjoy seeing your smile everyday.

Sincerely, Y/N.

You fold it up and stuff it in an envelope, setting it aside for you to remember to give him on your way out. You return to refining you file, finally starting to get the hang of it.

“You cannot allow this to continue, Seth.” Ms. Cobel’s gaze is piercing, watching you write your letter on her screen. She zooms in, reading what you wrote. “Pitiful.”

“They’re harmless, I assure you.” Mr. Milchick looks straight ahead, attempting to keep his true feelings from Ms. Cobel’s awareness. “It’s just a silly work crush. I won’t encourage it, but I don’t believe it’s a danger.”

“See that you don’t.” Ms. Cobel seethes through her teeth, turning off the screen.

He should warn you, shouldn’t he?

With Cobel onto you now, he may not be able to keep protecting you from consequences. And if he continues to show any favor towards you, her suspicion will only increase. He has to shut you down, and he has to do it fast.

He enters MDR, counting every member except you.

“Where’s Y/N?”

“They just went to the bathroom.” Dylan says, barely looking up from his computer.

Mr. Milchick goes in after you, hearing a couple protests from MDR on his way in. Thankfully you’re at the sink washing your hands and he didn’t walk in on you indecent.

“Mr. Milchick? What are you—“

“I need to talk to you. And this is the only place I can do it completely in private.”

“...Okay?” your brows furrow in confusion.

He takes a deep breath, “Ms. Cobel was watching the security cameras while you were writing that card for me. You’ll be in major trouble if you keep doing things like that.”

“What the fuck? I was just trying to make something nice for you!” you gasp, shocked that not only the surprise is ruined, but Ms. Cobel is being a bitch about it. “What, is she jealous I didn’t make her a card too?”

“No,” he chuckles. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?” you cross your arms.

“She thinks you have um...romantic intentions towards me.” he says it like it’s a curse word, forbidden.

“And so what if I do, huh?”

“It’s. Not. Allowed.” he emphasizes. “We could both be fired. You don’t want that, do you?”

“I don’t care. It’s my outie’s problem.”

He glares at you, then swiftly grabs your wrist, pulling you out of the bathroom. The others stumble back from listening at the door, shouting after you as Mr. Milchick drags you down the halls.

You know exactly where you’re going. He’s never sent you there before, but clearly you crossed a line this time.

“Forgive me for the harm I have caused this world. None may atone for my actions but me and only in me shall their stain live on. I am thankful to have been caught, my fall cut short by those with wizened hands. All I can be is sorry, and that is all I am.”

“Again.”

“How many times do I have to say this shit?”

“Until you mean it.”

“But I don’t mean it. And I never will. I’m not sorry. I did nothing wrong!”

“We have to do this, Y/N. It’s for your own good.”

“You don’t give a shit about my good! Helly’s right, you guys don’t even see us as human beings, just husks you can exploit. And to think I tried to flirt with you!”

You get up and shove all the lie-detecting equipment away, stomping towards the dark hallway before he stops you.

“Y/N, stop.” his grip isn’t as rough as it was before. “Please.”

You look at him, your eyes fighting tears.

“I do see you as a human being. My favorite human being, in fact. Only person tied for that title is your outie. But there are serious repercussions for breaking protocol here. I can’t act on those feelings, do you understand?”

So the suspicions were right. He does care about you.

But you were just faking infatuation to get what you want, right? So how come when he’s telling you directly that he can’t give you what you want, you’re still drawn to him?

You look down, laughing to yourself at the absurdity of this situation.

“I guess it never would’ve worked out anyway. It’s not like I can leave this place, so we could never go on a date.”

He joins in your laughter, “Exactly.”

“Can we at least be friends? Is that allowed?” There’s a desperation in your voice now, fearing the loss of your connection with him completely.

“Of course.” he smiles.

You glance at the equipment splayed all over the floor, “What are you going to tell Cobel?”

“I’ll tell her I knocked some sense into you in the Break Room, and that’ll you’ll never try anything again. Can you work with me to keep that statement accurate?”

You nod, and he gives you the okay to leave. Before you open the door, you look back.

“Can you tell my outie how you feel? Maybe this can’t work with me, but maybe it could work with them?”

“I’ll think about it.”

The door shuts behind you, and you make your way back to MDR, coming up with a number in your head to tell your friends. You read that stupid thing plenty of times, but who knows what the final count was.

“How was your first time in the Break Room?” Dylan asks upon your return.

“Horrible. I had to repeat the same thing like 300 times.”

“Light work. I had to do over a thousand.” Helly cringes at the memory. “So what’s up with him and Cobel being onto you?”

“They figured out my plan to seduce him and threatened me. I told them I don’t care if they fire me, but maybe there’s something worse than termination. Milchick made it sound really serious.”

“What did I tell you about just listening to him? It’s better for everyone.” Mark says.

“Yeah, yeah, you were right, Mark.” you roll your eyes.

You sit back down at your seat, booting up your computer. You’re not quite sure what to do anymore, you last idea having failed, along with a new awareness of emotions.

Maybe your outie can have a love you can’t.

(if there's interest I might continue this!)

#severance #mr milchick #seth milchick #mr milkshake #severance x reader #mr milchick x reader #seth milchick x reader

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