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shy-writer-999 · 2 days ago

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How many dreams to say "I love you"? (iii)

Summary: Zoro hasn't been able to stop having dreams about you, his best friend and crewmate. When he goes a few days without one, he thinks he's in the clear. Surely, realizing that he's in love with you is enough to make the dreams stop entirely, right? Right?

Part 3 of 4. ~3.6k words. (read part 1 here!) CW: Equal parts smut and plot. Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Sex! Love-making! Mentions of death, danger, and blood. NSFW content - minors stay away!

Part 3: Scattered polaroids.

Zoro had three whole nights of solace after he realized he was in love with you—three nights of no dreams, three nights of long and restful sleep.

After the third night, he was under the impression that the dreams had ceased entirely. The realization that he loved you was the cure for his sickness, he told himself. Now, he could pine after you from afar during the day and sleep peacefully, minding his business at night.

He did just that. For those three days, during his waking hours, he tried to calculate how to get closer to you. He put together nonsensical equations in his mind over how, why, and for how long he had been in love—he could, and would, keep doing this all day until he returned to his bed, savoring each smile from you.

Evidently, the conversation he overheard between you and Nami was the catalyst for the chain reaction of psychological warfare he had withstood for over a week—the end result was a euphoric crescendo of emotions, his realization that he was capable of romantic love and that his heart had been screaming for attention for months.

But what was there to do about it?

More importantly, did you feel the same?

Zoro needed to find out. He wanted to get to the bottom of everything—the conversation, who you had been talking about, why you were having a hard time being lonely around them, and how you felt about him.

While the swordsman did the mental math of what that discussion may look like between the two of you, he felt sick. He had fought dangerous foes of every kind and been on the verge of death many times before, but nothing ever gave him nerves like this.

If you had feelings for someone, would you tell them? He wondered about you, the sorts of decisions you made, how you would act and feel. If he got to the bottom of this situation and discovered that you had feelings for someone other than him, would he be able to cope with the jealousy?

Jealousy.

The emotion started to seethe when he thought about someone other than himself being with you. It boiled inside when he watched Sanji fawn over you, touch the small of your back, and whisper compliments in your ear. Every bashful smile and flutter of your eyelashes in Sanji’s direction twisted some dial inside of Zoro. Too many twists would prove troublesome. Explosive, even.

He knew that that this emotion, envy, had been there for ages before he recognized how he felt about you. It didn’t feel good, and he knew it was unhealthy. Various images and memories flashed through his mind as he recalled instances in which he felt this same burning envy frequently coupled with a fierce desire to protect you.

Zoro tried to comfort himself with the knowledge of what sort of person you were—if you had a problem with Sanji, or with any other person, you would have said something, no? He was certain that you wouldn’t hesitate to stand your ground.

But that thought was less of a comfort than he initially thought it would be, because you hadn’t ever reprimanded the blonde for his advances (that Zoro knew of), but you did shoo him away sometimes. Your smile felt restrained and reserved whenever it was sent in Sanji’s direction. It looked different than the smiles you gave Zoro.

Well, there was no point in getting himself worked up over the dynamic in question. Nothing would change, probably, unless he did something about it.

It had been a while since you and Zoro last spent time together, one on one. And he thought you had been a bit quieter than usual, recently, so… might as well catch up. Maybe spending some time with you would soothe his heart—it felt like it was aching any time you weren’t around, and when you were around it felt like it was on fire. He didn’t know how to cope other than find ways and excuses to spend time with you.

His solution was… lunch. Practical, at the very least, if not the most effective.

On the morning after his third night of restful sleep, Zoro asked you if you’d like to have lunch with him under one of the trees on the deck of the Sunny. This was nothing too out of the ordinary. He grabbed food, some drinks and some napkins and brought them out to you.

When Zoro handed you your plate, you smiled up at him from where you sat and he felt like he would pass out. He had absolutely no clue how to handle this recently unlocked feeling—the feeling of love—and he was trying to act as normal as possible. He was, all things considered, succeeding.

He didn’t have much trouble acting ‘normal,’ per say. He was simply hyperaware of how beautiful you were, how fast his heartbeat was, and how blisteringly intense your eye contact was. He had noticed inklings of this before, but he was reminded, strongly. Every moment that your eyes met his, his heart fluttered. He was trying not to blush. It felt very out of character.

“How have you been recently?” Zoro tried to start the conversation casually.

“I’m fine,” you responded with a smile, like usual. “The same as ever. What about you?”

Zoro wondered if that was worth pressing you on, since you seemed a bit sad, or distant, or something along those lines. He decided it was worth it. Ignoring your question to him, he followed up.

“You sure you’re fine? You’ve been a bit quiet recently.”

You tried to brush it off. You had been quieter recently, and for good reason. You thought he didn’t know the reason, but he did. At least, he knew the bare bones of it. Something along the lines of feeling lonely.

“Ah, yeah. I guess I have been a bit down recently.” You responded, trying to hold your smile and pretend like your heart wasn’t crying inside. He studied your face closely, and you could tell.

“Why’s that?”

You had a brief internal battle over whether or not you would be candid with him, but you didn’t have it in you that day and the scenery wasn’t anywhere near private enough. You lied. “No reason, really. I’m not quite sure why.”

“If you ever want to talk about it, let me know.” Zoro smiled sweeter than you had ever seen and then dropped the subject. His smile was uncharacteristically sweet. Heart-stoppingly sweet. Painfully sweet. It was like a dagger.

You told him thanks and the conversation moved on. As a whole, lunch was enjoyable. Afterwards, you both felt significantly more at ease. To spend time together always brought your respective spirits up. It was a great dynamic—no wonder Zoro was in love with you.

Zoro told himself that he should just keep checking on you and go even more out of his way to spend time with you. He’d double down. Maybe it was lunch today, and then tomorrow it could be dinner. And after that, he’d ask you to watch the sunset with him in the crow’s nest. Or would he whisk you away and confess his feelings in his cabin? He was scrambled in the head, confused by that classic paradox of choice, where there are so many options that you’re incapable of choosing one. Was it even the right call to tell you how he felt? Would it screw everything up?

“Oh, Zoro?” Your voice stopped him in his tracks down the hallway after lunch. “Want to have some drinks tomorrow night? It’s been a minute since we caught up. You stood me up last time, remember?”

You were joking, but it was true. Last time Zoro asked you to have some drinks with him after a hard training session he completely forgot and fell asleep. You both laughed about it afterwards, and you used it to poke fun at him sometimes.

He agreed. "Yeah, drinks tomorrow night. I promise."

That was one problem solved.

DREAM 10: Un-solved

That night Zoro dreamed about you. It broke up that momentary peace he had of three nights with no dreams—it seems the internal turmoil of the day was enough to evoke a vivid and striking dream, unlike any others he had before.

Zoro found himself in a dimly lit bedroom lying on a big bed. The sheets and blankets were smooth and plushy. He could hear someone breathing next to him and he knew that you were there.

Turning his head, he saw that you were lying on your side facing away from him, completely nude, hair sitting perfectly on a silk pillowcase. The sheets were pulled down, so he could see your whole silhouette. In the dream, Zoro could feel himself compelled by something, reaching out a hand to pull you closer to him so your bodies were flush.

He smelled your hair, felt how soft your skin was, and ran a rough hand up and down the side of your body, trying to memorize every inch. He ran a palm over your hips and down your thighs, felt your back, shoulders, and waist; he was drinking up every second that his hands wandered over your skin, like your body was an oasis and he was dying of thirst.

You let out an indistinct noise. He couldn’t hear it well enough. It sounded like a sigh. As his hands moved, you stirred, turning your shoulder into his, giving him more access.

The faint sound trickled out of your mouth again, this time audible. Your voice sounded sleepy, sweet and faint. “Zoro.” He could feel his heart trip when his name fell from your lips.

Your hand groped back to grip his thigh and you whispered his name again. “Zoro. More.”

He snuck his hand from your hip to your front, starting to knead and cup your breasts. His fingers elicited another hushed entreaty from your lips. “Zoro. More.”

Suddenly aware of his hard-on pressing on you, his hand lingered on your chest and he began to kiss you. He started with you shoulder blade, marking a trail of kisses up to your neck, taking in deep breaths of your hair and skin. His kisses were soft and loving, coaxing more pleasant sighs from you.

He wanted to taste every inch of you, to draw out those sounds and muffled noises that he was starting to become acquainted with (at least, in his dreams).

Zoro lavished your skin with affection and care for a few moments, and you said his name again. Every time you said his name, it felt like every nerve in his body buzzed.

“Zoro. I need you.”

The dream fogged up and transformed. He was leaning over you from between your legs, missionary style. You were looking up at him, eyes pleading, hair ruffled just right.

Zoro’s erection was positioned right at your entrance, precum beading and pooling around his red, angry tip. The scene was vivid—his mind replicated every facet of what this would look and feel like in real life, down to each atom of detail. It was absurd.

He gawked at you, eyes jumping between your needy face and pouting lips and your glistening core. One of his hands was stroking his shaft leisurely, and the other gripped your waist.

“Please, Zoro.”

As your begging reached his ears, he slowly pressed into you, letting out a hiss of air through his teeth when he bottomed out because it felt so good. You gasped and the sound felt heavenly in his ears.

“Fuuuccckk, Zoro.”

He leaned in to kiss you, bringing a hand to cup your cheek. Your lips were still locked when he started slowly rocking his hips into yours, dragging his cock in and out of you slowly.

You felt amazing, so warm and wet around him, squeezing him perfectly. He sped up, finding the perfect pace. As his hips rolled into yours, you began to moan his name, mewling it into his mouth as he explored yours with his tongue.

Zoro reached a hand and pushed one of your thighs down, allowing for the deepest angle possible. He wanted to hit your g-spot just right; he wanted to make you feel good, wanted to see your eyes roll back in your head and hear his name as many times as possible.

The dreamscape transformed again, just slightly. He was in the same position, but your faces were centimeters away now. You were holding his cheeks in your hands, making eye contact as he thrusted into you, deep and slow.

“Zoro,” you panted. “Feels good, Zoro. You feel so fucking good.”

He could feel your legs wrap around him, could feel you grinding down on his cock, trying to fuck yourself with it deeper.

A moment later, you were holding hands, fingers entwined. You moaned his name and only his name. He could feel himself about to let go. Your eyes were entrancing.

“Zoro,” you keened, arching your back up and squeezing his hands tightly. “Tell me you love me, Zoro.”

His heart stopped again and picked up at a rapid pace; his hips did the same, moving haphazardly, stuttering and shaking. He was seconds away from cumming in you, pleasure building into one massive cliff that he was about to free fall from.

“I—love—you,” he thrusted between each labored breath and grunt. The words tumbled out of his mouth and on the last one he orgasmed. He reeled with ecstasy, convulsing in pleasure as his cum painted the inside of you a hot, milky white.

Zoro collapsed on your chest panting. One of your hands traced circles on his back and the other petted his head, which rested in the crook of your neck. You cooed “good job baby” in his ear and kissed his shoulder.

He woke up, and even though he wasn’t shaking or sweating this time, he felt extremely unwell. It took him a moment to realize that he came all over the inside of his underwear while he was asleep. While his return to consciousness was gentler this time in comparison to his other dreams, he was still disturbed. It was a scarily realistic and wildly intimate dream.

He tried to get his thoughts in order. There was no point in feeling any shame here, he told himself, because you didn’t dream about that on purpose. But really, what the fuck was going on? A wet dream? How long had it been since he had one of these?

The frustration he felt upon waking was agonizing. Three whole days and nights of a clear head. He thought that since he realized he loved you, the dreams had stopped—the realization of his feelings had been the cure to his lovesickness, after all.

Evidently, he was wrong. One intense dream snapped Zoro back into the insanity he had lived in for a week. He felt like he was going to go crazy.

Wasn’t the realization that he loved you enough to make the dreams stop? If that wasn’t enough, then what would be?

Did he have to do something about it?

Fuck.

He really had to do something about it. Perhaps he’d do something about it when he had drinks with you.

But those promised drinks never came.

The next day, the Strawhat crew ran into a hostile pirate group. The skirmish lasted a handful of hours. Lucky for the crew, there were no truly formidable opponents, but it still ended up being a pain in the ass. The crew got separated, and Zoro got lost and left behind—an experience he was well familiar with.

Finally making his way back to where the ship was docked, after hours of wandering around aimlessly on the island and defeating some random mid-tier power user, Zoro returned to the ship. He was met with a startling sight.

The Sunny was ransacked. On first impression, the crew was nowhere to be found. Your absence was starting to agitate him more than usual when he realized the ship was most likely empty. His latent realization of his love was certainly contributing to that.

As the swordsman explored the ship and went room to room, his distress mounted.

There were blood splatters on the walls of some of the hallways—a pattern that looked like someone, gravely injured, was dragging themselves around the ship. In addition, it looked like every inch of the ship had been turned inside out. The kitchen was a mess, pots and pans everywhere, and even the chairs and table were flipped over at odd angles.

In a rising panic, he dragged himself to your room. He was sure it wasn’t you who was injured and struggling, but… what if it was? Might as well check.

As he suspected, your cabin was plundered and empty, too. His heartbeat was through the roof, his vision started to go red in agitation.

Where were you?

In your room, the pirates rifled to their hearts’ content, searching for money, treasure, whatever they could get their greedy hands on.

Your mattress had been ripped off the bed. The drawers on your desk were pulled out and emptied, the sparse contents littered around the floor. Your closet was ravaged, too. Clothes were in piles and tatters on the floor. Your lamp was knocked over, and the bulb was shattered.

Geez, what the fuck were they doing in here? Zoro wondered. He took in the view for a brief second, noting that you weren’t here, and that he needed to move on. If the crew was in a tight spot right now he ought to go help them out instead of dawdling around on the ship in a frenzy searching for you.

Maybe you were with Luffy or the shit cook—maybe you had your snail, maybe he could call you and check if you were okay.

He had only felt this level of panic a couple times in his life so far. A thought cut through his worry—what if I lose her? What if I lose her before I’ve said anything?

He felt like he was sinking. His vision started to tunnel, his hand jumped to rest on one of his swords, getting ready to cut someone down at a moment’s notice. As he turned to leave your room, a lightning bolt of clarity struck him. Scattered across the floor carelessly was a messy tornado of polaroid photos.

Your camera was crushed to bits in a corner, but the photos, which you’d been taking for ages at this point, had been torn from their little box in your closet and thrown everywhere.

Most of the photos, he realized, were of him. His heart panged. He had never seen this many photos of himself in one spot. His memories with the crew slipped through his fingers every day as they happened, but when recorded and hoarded like this he noticed how happy he looked in the photos. Was it because you were taking them?

When did that light start coming into his eyes?

His stomach flipped. You weren’t here. Your room was destroyed. You were in danger.

In a panic, Zoro pocketed a handful of them and darted out of the room. He hurriedly checked the rest of the ship—completely empty, ransacked and pillaged. Luckily, the pirates didn’t find Nami’s stash. But aside from that, almost no corner of the ship was left untouched.

His heart started to feel like it was seizing—if he didn’t find you fast, he was going to snap.

Would the photos you took of him be the only relic of your shared moments of happiness?

He ran onto the deck, out of breath and sweating, and looked at the shore. Time froze.

A wave of relief crashed over Zoro as he took in the sight—the crew was now strewn around the beach. Some were laying on their backs in exhaustion from the battle, others were huddled up, talking, and still, some were injured, getting briefly triaged by Chopper. Nothing looked too serious. His eyes darted around, searching for you.

You were standing next to Luffy, holding your side and wincing. A pool of blood saturated your shirt, radiating outwards from where you pressed your palm to stop the flow of blood.

You were alive. Injured, yes, but alive. He released the tension in his body and a preliminary feeling of relief coursed through him.

It seems like Zoro had forgotten that life on the seas wasn’t just sunshine, lunches on deck, pining, and exploration. Death and danger were key elements of the whole experience.

Not only had he been lacking on his training, but he was lacking on being an attentive and good friend to you, let alone a crew mate that could protect you. In the lapse and haze he had been in for the past couple weeks, he had let his guard down somehow.

Ever hard on himself, Zoro had a ‘come to Jesus’ moment. He needed to sort shit out with you, fast. He didn’t want to have any regrets. He couldn’t lose someone that he loved again.

Taking deep breaths and internally cursing himself out, Zoro made his way down the gangplank and onto the beach. He decided that when the ship was cleaned up, and everyone was bandaged and fed, he would confess.

This love was festering in him. It had festered for far too long before forcing him to acknowledge it. He couldn’t cope anymore. The next chance he got, he would tell you how he felt, no matter what.

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a/n: happy valentine's day, everyone! thanks for your patience waiting for this one :) the next part won't take as long ❤️❤️

#zoro smut #roronoa zoro smut #one piece smut #op smut #op x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n

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keyaho · 1 day ago

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.chapter warnings: This entire part is CNC. If you are not comfortable with that as a kink please do NOT engage with the material. Another large kink warning for this chapter is that Terry is a Sexual Sadist his pleasure isn't coming from the act of p in v sex. This part is about his pleasure specifically and his kinks. Nami benefits yes, I guess you could say, but Terry stands ten toes on "you're here for my pleasure".

🟡 🟢 🔴 ⚫

.word count: 8k

Kinks explored: CNC, Anal, Shibari, Spanking, Choking, Primal Play, Sexual Sadism, Sensory Deprivation, Dacryphilia. Somnophilia. Terry is very chatty.

Taglist: @nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @eilujion @heytaewrites @insidefeelingofanadult @captainwithoutmakingitlove @kindofaintrovert @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo @virgomess @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz @megamindsecretlair

@wabi-sabi1090 @iterum-incipi @liquorlaughslove @eilujion @taureanstargirl @mzv11@Disc0fair @prettyfilmz @simplyzeeka @heytaewrites vivaalenaa theogbadbitch @zillasvilla @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

Insertcatchynamerighthere writingsbytee pocketsizedpanther @blckblossom @solunaseira @sisinever @saturnthehumanoid @fakxmbj @beenathembo @summwerella @nubiagurlll @onherereading @harmshake @clar-ese @star017 @cocooned-butterfly @madamedantes @dezzy154 @blossom3010 @mitruscity @I-write-what-i-love @ranikyani @shurisleftearring @kyemarazack @secretlifeoofmarpessa @marshmellowtotts @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @youthfuldiatribes

.summary.: It wasn't anything Nami did to make Terry so curt with her and nothing she did could change his mood or his plans.

Everything was pissing Terry off. He watched Nami busy herself around his kitchen. Everything. Her yellow dress wasn't right. He didn't like the straps and how they crossed in the back. He wanted her naked and he knew if he told her she would strip down for him. Yet, he didn't want that. Curling his hands into a fist he almost missed Nami walking over with a smile with their early dinner. He'd asked for the same dish she cooked two weeks ago he praised, though now he stared at the bowl of grilled chicken and roasted vegetables, pissed off.

"Is everything okay?"

Nami had notice his mood was off the moment he called her over. He did want to spend time with her. That wasn't the issue. Terry's eyes flickered up to Nami and then back to his plate.

"I'm not hungry anymore."

"Oh,' she says, slightly disappointed. “Okay, I’ll put this alway then.”

He said nothing and she took the plate back to the stove. She found containers and stored his food in the fridge before cleaning his plate. Terry could see the unease in her tense body.

"I think Daddy has been too nice to you." He paused. "And Sir, well, he may need some correction as well."

The words fell on Nami like ice cold water. She didn't know what to say but she didn't like the tone of voice he was using. It was different. Off kilter and she immediately knew who wasn't here with her. Daddy had been shelved and Sir took a vacation.

"You know what I do adore about you Nami is your auditory perception skills." He praised, but it was more of a back handed compliment from these new lips. "It keeps you one step ahead of me and I don't like that."

"I'm not trying to be ahead of you." What she should call him still was unspoken so the air around them tingled in silence for a few seconds.

"I'm sure you aren't."

She could hear the chair scrape the floor as he stood up. She resumed packing away the rest of the meal she had thought they would enjoy together. She felt like he was still standing there so she continued. Only pausing when she was finished, eyes focused on his lips instead of his eyes.

His posture was surprisingly relaxed. However, his arms were folded across his chest. His expression was unamused, lips pursed, and his eyes downcast. She realized he was sucking his teeth with a tight jaw, the gesture so unlike him.

"But you are and that needs to be rectified. Don't you think?" He asked.

Her 'yes' would be admitting to his statement and they both knew that. Any answer would admit it. She knew not to say 'no' because why would she lie? Nami's shoulders slumped forward slightly and she looked down at the floor. She saw his feet approach. A clean man she knew his feet were neat like his fingers. They stopped in front of her and his scent filled her nose. Smoke. Terry smelled like heavy smoke and it confused her. He always smelled clean or neutral. This scent was artificial and heavy. Intentional. Distorting. Distracting.

"I-'

She loved his hands. She had to remember that, but when he grabbed her jaw and squeeze, Nami whimpered in pain. He tilted her head up so they made eye contact. His fingers dug into her skin so tightly she could feel him pressing against the bones in her jaw.

"You need to look at me when you speak. That's basic respect."

He let her go and when she began to lower her head he pushed it back up, smacking the bottom of her chin roughly. Her teeth smacked together and her eyes began to water.

"Don't cry. I haven't done anything worth that yet."

Terry leaned down until they were eye level. Nami, overwhelmed, lifted her hands as if was going to push him away. Ever perceptive, her Dom grabbed her by the wrists and yanked the behind her back. Holding them there in annoyance.

"You've never come that closing to knowingly putting your hands on me. Don't make that mistake. Not tonight." He looked into her brown eyes with a glint in his own. Mischief spread through him and his lip curled upwards on one side. "You have a few minutes to let me know what you're feeling right now. Afterwards, I'm doing a refresher."

Nami held still in his grip, her shoulders beginning to ache as he pushed upwards on her arms. They were folded across her back, but the added push kept them rigid. She winced when she tried to adjust and felt his grip tighten.

"What's your name?" She whispered.

Terry hummed. "Are you smart, Nami?" He replied. "Because I asked you to tell me how you're feeling and here you are asking me a question."

Nami looked away from him. She didn't know how to navigate this situation. Being this close to him she noticed the scent of smoke grew thicker. Focusing on that she did begin to feel a little fear.

"You're setting a dangerous precedent that you don't give a fuck about your feelings. I accept that. So I won't care either." He let out a disappointed sigh. "I'm being mean,' he says, lowering his gaze to her, "let's do this in a way you are familiar with, shall we?"

Terry turned around and moved to the dining table. He turned around one of the chairs and plopped down into it, a smile on his thick lips.

"Come."

Nami took a step and froze when he snapped his fingers. "Nah, on your knees."

"What?" She spoke, the word falling off her lips, accidently.

"Excuse me?"

Nami's eyes widened as she covered her mouth with her hands. "I'm sor-'

"Shut up and do what I said. That's the apology.."

He could see her hesitation and if he wasn't pushing her boundaries what was the point? She was a little lamb, standing in his kitchen, and he was the wolf. He was ready to hunt.

"I don't want to come get you, Nami." Terry scratched at his jaw. "You know the only way out of this."

"I don't want out." She whispered.

Terry clasped his hand together and leaned back in the seat. His legs spread and he made himself look inviting, though the expression on his face was hard. Nami sucked in a deep breath and as she lowered to her knees she let it out. She couldn't see him over the island that separated them, so she used the few seconds to collect herself. The floor was cold under her hands, as she moved one leg and hand at a time. She had her head back, knowing if she came around the corner with her head down, he'd say something. Or in his mood, do something.

As she crawled around the island, she saw Terry glanced down at her. He didn't move, but his eyes followed her as she crawled towards to him. When she was closer enough, Terry wrapped a hand around her curls, twisting them into a makeshift pony tail he used to pull her up.

"You're going to hate me by the end of the night,' he speaks slowly, his hips rising from the chair while he pushes down his sweats. "Too bad I won't give a damn."

His dick springs free, semi-erect as he shimmies the sweats around his ankles. Nami's mouth opens instinctively, and he obliges. Guiding her head closer, he pushed the tip past her tongue, finding home int he back of her throat. Nami blinked through the gagging sensation, her hands bracing to the floor as his grip slackened. Terry slid closer to the edge of the chair, letting her stay on her hands nad knees with his dick pushed down her throat.

"We're about to go through your rules for today."

Nami nodded, slurping sounds filled his ear as she willed herself to remain still. Terry pushed her head further down his shaft, stopping when her nose brushed his lower abdomen. He hummed and reached between them to pinch her nose. Nami's eyes shot up to him and he met her gaze, a wink followed before he released her. He watched her struggle to breath around his dick, choking and blubbering messily as she regained control of her ragged breaths.

"The first,' he says, patting the top of her head, "you do not speak. You do not make a sound. I could be fucking you into oblivious and I better not hear it." He flicked her nose, a threat to pinch it again, and smiled when she inclined her head away from his touch. "How can you hear me if you're making all that noise?"

Nami wanted to give a sound of agreement, but she waited.

"Oh, see, that's selective listening." He ran his thumb around her lips, collecting some of the spit that had seeped out. "I want you active."

Terry removed her from his dick, thick spit and drool flooded from her mouth and he used his hand to wipe it all over her face.

"Eyes on me,' he snaps, tilting her chin up. "Two, if you want to stop then you need to use the safe word. Do you remember it?"

Nami nodded.

"Do you want to use it now?"

Nami shook her head.

"I'm not going to be gentle. I don't even care if you cum tonight."

His hand is slowly stroking his dick, the tip pressed to her lips as he talks. Pre-cum leaks over her lips but she keeps them closed.

"Three, follow my instructions."

Nami watches him stand up, his dick flush in her face. He stepped around her and yanked the dress off, tossing it somewhere in the living room.

"Crawl to the garage."

Nami bit back the urge to whine. Her throat was beginning to ache and so was her pussy. As she crawled, Terry followed her. When she was a few paces from the garage door he landed a smack to her left ass cheek. It popped loudly and Nami's knee gave out from the strike. A heavy hand wrapped around her ankle and dragged her back through the kitchen and to the dining table.

She couldn't hold back and the sudden strike to her skin made her scream. His hand hurt. The pressure he applied was tenfold. Terry rolled his eyes, and let out a breath through his nose.

"Go!"

He watched her crawl again, this time letting her hand wrap around the handle, before he hit her ass upwards, watching the recoil, the painful recoil. Nami pushed open the door, almost falling down the first stair into the basement.

Terry snatched her by the back of the head and brought her too her feet. "Ten."

He flips on the light and pushed Nami ahead of him. His hold on her hair tightening as she walks down the stairs. The room was cold. Along the walls were riding crops, shelves of toys, a basket of lube, and the St. Andrews cross bolted to the wall piqued her interest. There was a bed, but she was pushed to the floor in front of it. Her familiar yellow cuffs were already hooked to the bed. Terry sat in a chair he pulled from a side wall. Fluidly, he tosses Nami over his lap. He raises his hand and swings down, smacking her right ass cheek twice.

"Acknowledge by holding up the right number of fingers."

Her arm flew out as she flashed him two fingers. One of them she wanted to flash by itself.

"You only had three rules. Easy,' he hissed, "and you broke one so quickly."

Nami's played back the interaction a few moments ago. She crawled. Her body sagged into his legs.

Crawl to the garage. That was it. She opened the fucking door.

Terry finished her punishment quickly. She was disoriented each time he asked for the count, but when he go to ten, she threw her hands up as high as they would go. Her ass wasn't the only thing burning. Terry had landed hits to the backs of her thighs as well. He pushed her off his lap and stood as she dropped to the floor.

45. The submissive wants to feel used.

She knew he was going to go through that list of kinks, but she didn't know if she wanted Terry to be the one to do them. She didn't want out, but her body was screaming bitch run.

"Are you ready to play?"

She could hear chains and rattling. From the floor, she pushed to sit on her knees, and watched him. Colorful thick ropes dangled from his hands as he approached her naked form. Terry lowered on his haunches in front of her and his pursed lips looked inviting, but she knew better than to lean forward and seek him out.

"I hope I won't spend the rest of the night putting my hands on you."

He tipped her chin up with a finger. Again, Nami shook her head, still reeling from the previous spanking.

"We're going to take this at a reasonable pace." He showed her the yellow ropes. "Hands."

Nami clasped her hands together and held them out. The yellow rope was wrapped around them snugly. In his other hand was the end of a pully system that he connected the rope to. He stood and hooked the pulley back into the wall. There was a tug on the ropes as he tested he tension. Beside him was a table where he pulled a black eye mask from the drawer. It slammed shut and his silence began to unnerve her. She needed to hear his voice. It was fitted over her eyes.

Darkness flooded her eyes. Unable to see him she didn't know where he was in the room. His scent was still smoky and heavy, this time laced with an urgency she could practically feel. She tried to listen, hear where he was, but was betrayed by the brown noise he started to play over speakers. The static sound didn't soothe her anticipation, it added to the cacophony of anxiety she felt.

The pulley suddenly began to tug and Nami followed her arms as they were lifted above her head. When she was on her feet the pulley continued, lifting her to the tips of her toes before it stopped. She dangled there, barley touching the ground while trying to position her arms to they didn't lock up.

A hand flattened against her stomach and she was pushed backwards. She swung a few inches as she pulled on the pulley to some stability. As she regain her position a rope was thrown around her stomach and tied. She couldn't make out the pattern, but she felt three knots going down her belly. His breathing was soft and she could feel his breath fanning against her face. Terry kissed her as he tested the tightness of the knots. He bit her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth as he pulled away.

A heavy hand landed on her knee and pushed it towards her stomach. There was another rope, binding her leg to her thigh. It left her on one foot and she could feel the cool air between her legs, the dampness she had been trying to stifle had reared its ugly ass betraying head. His hand dipped between her thighs as he admired his work.

"You should see how good you look."

He circled her, his hand dragging over her sensitive skin. The ropes pressed into her. The snug binding provided the touch she was craving for a brief moment.

"Fine ass." He breathed into her ear. "It's a shame what I have planned for it."

She wanted him to act.

He pulled her back against his chest. His hand crept down her stomach, dangerously close to her sex. Swatting her ass, Terry resumed being distant. She could hear ropes as they fell to the floor. A third was hooked into the knots on her stomach and she felt it being raised. Secured, Terry bought her other leg up to her chest and bound it the same as the other. The elevated open frog pose split open her slit and his greedy eyes fell to the way she was beginning to drip. He knew he was on the right track, but like her, he liked to fuck shit up too.

He walked to the pulley on the wall that held her hands up and released it. The tension slackened so quickly that Nami anticipated falling to the ground. However, the impact never came. She had instinctively clenched her eyes shut. The blindfold reminded her she was visonless when she opened her eyes.

Dangling from the ceiling, she was at his mercy.

"I know you don't remember the order of kinks on the list I gave you. But I am sure you are familiar with this one, baby."

Terry came to stand in front of her. He placed his hands on her hips and she had learned quickly how menacing his hands could be. From giving out pleasure to swatting her ass into hell, they were becoming a terror to her temperament. When he stepped between her thighs, she could feel his bulge; firm, rigid, hard against her sex.

"Perfect."

He steps away from her and if only she could see the grin on his lips.

"Acknowledge with your hands." He ordered.

Leather.

Wet.

Stinging.

He struck her with a long black riding crop on her inner thighs. Nami jerked against the only rope holding her up and Terry landed a corrective swat to her side. She twisted away from the sting.

She held up one finger, a tremble in her hand as it dropped and dangled beside her. The pull on her stomach was uncomfortable. She felt like she was being split down the middle. The crop slid down between her breast, circled her nipples before it smacked them both. Her body tried to curl in on itself, but the rope restricted the movement.

Each his was harder than the last, she was whimpering, trying to keep the noise down, but he wasn't making it easier. It was like he was hitting her to make her make noise. He wanted her to break. He wanted to hear her, but between the pain and his unrelenting strikes to her body, Nami felt warm. She couldn't rub her thighs together, but her pussy betrayed her even further and began to leak and drip to the floor. She wasn't sure if he noticed, but she could feel her slickness sliding between her ass cheeks.

The crop landed between her legs, stroking her cunt and coating the leather in slick. He popped her a few times, laughing slightly as she hissed between her clenched teeth. She knew he was building up to something, but the what still thwarted her.

For Terry she was a blank canvas and the crop was his paint brush. He littered her body with hits, ignoring the way she curled way from him. It was a game then and he chased her. The crop became an extension of him and when he drew his hand back, to swat her ass for what he was sure the hundredth time, he heard it. Like her cunt, her face was leaking. Fresh tears rolled down her face as she began to grasp as the air around her for something to hold on to. She wasn't outright crying, but when he walked to stand by her head, he could see her lips trembling. Her body was betraying her. He was elated to see her reaction. It wasn't about enjoyment.

This wasn't her playtime.

Terry grabbed her head and pulled her up, the blood rushed down her body and she instantly felt loopy. He pulled off the blindfold, her red eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

Nami studied his face. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking through her. Terry's tongue flatted against her cheek as he licked her tears. The salty taste almost as good as what he knew her pussy tasted like. He let her go, watching her body swing towards the floor before it was caught by her restraints.

She doesn't remember how many time he hit her but when her body was lowered to the ground and she was turned on her stomach, she knew he had. Of course he had.

He came to a stop beside her, the crop hung at his side. His dick strained against his sweats and threatened to burst out. Not that she'd mind it. She'd much rather be choking on dick than her tears. She pressed her forehead into the floor only for it to be yanked up.

"You stopped counting after seven. You missed the last thirteen. I'll add it to your tab. I want you to feel it."

Terry cut the rope around her stomach and legs, though he didn't leave her unbound for long. She could hear another drawer opening and slamming shut as she laid on the floor.

His disregard for her was hurtful as if he didn't care about how she was feeling.

You're setting a dangerous precedent that you don't give a fuck about your feelings. I accept that. So I won't care either.

This time she was crying from his distance and not the physical distance. He wasn't here with her. She could usually read him and figure out how to lure softness from him. Terry had been keeping himself at a distance and only perused her body when he wanted to. She had been resistant to him the entire night, pushing back in hopes he would break, but the past few hours hadn't given her any reprieve. He just became rougher, testing her limits, and kept his emotions in check. He didn't seem to have any buttons to push and Nami whimpered into the floor.

The rope was black this time as he pushed her on her stomach. Her feet were bound together first and he lifted them. The ache in her thighs and legs magnified as they fell to the ground with a hard thud.

She saw a flash of yellow and a dress was tugged over her head. The blindfold was put back on and she was pulled up and over Terry's shoulder. His hands smacked the back of her thighs in jest. Mocking her for crying.

"Oh, baby,' he jeered, "Daddy making you cry?"

Nami felt the chill of the air as they stepped outside to his car. She noted the sunset, the various colors muddled together from the blindfold and the upside down position.

"It's good for you. I want you pleading for me to let up and while your begging me for a break, I'm going to keep breaking you." His finger dug into the flesh of her ass. "I'm going to make you mourn, baby."

A few beeps later and she was on her feet as Terry opened the trunk of the car.

"Let's go for a ride."

Nami lied in the trunk of Terry's car as he drove. He had given her a yellow dress, but between the blindfold and her tightly bound wrists, she didn't know what it looked liked. Each bump of the road jolted Nami around the trunk and she ended up on her stomach, her hogtied hands and feet up in the air.

Positional restraint asphyxia, he had explained while she dangled from his basement ceiling. On her stomach, the strain in her arms and the tight space made the trunk feel even smaller. Nami laid her head down, breathing in slowly through her nose. He had taped her mouth shut and with the blindfold, she could only hear and it was driving her insane. The car came to a sudden stop and Nami rolled to her side unintentionally. She could hear his door slamming shut and the shuffle of his boots on the ground as he approached the back of the car.

From the outside, Terry rubbed his gloved hand over the top of the trunk, patting it twice before it opened. Nami flinched from the sudden sound and she could hear Terry speaking. He unclipped her hands and feet before dragging her out of the car. He snatched off the blindfold and helped her stand up.

"Welcome to my playhouse,' he muttered, a grin slowly creeping on his lips.

Legs weak, Nami was pushed towards the large house. She looked around in the cover of night, eyes blurry, and saw a long path that led to the backyard. She could see tall bushes over the fence line. Terry dragged her up the steps, picking her up off her feet twice to get her up the stairs faster. There was no change in his breathing, no struggle, no pause.

"I did what you liked,' he said flippantly, "now we'll do what I like."

Had they done what she liked? Maybe she liked being tied, but the way he tied her wasn't what she would call fun. As her eyes began to adjust, she noted the darkness of the house. She stood in the foyer, the new surroundings heightening her anxiety for what was to come. He left her there and she looked around, taking only a few steps into the living room.

Terry was a man starved at this point. He tasted her sweet pussy and wanted more. He needed more from her but he wanted her leaking everywhere. He wanted to choke her full of his dick.

Like a lumberjack, Terry stalked into the living room dressed in all black. His outfit consisted of his tactical gear, a grin, heavy boots and he even had a pair in his hand. Nami stood there, the rope bruises decorated her arms and legs in red and yellow splotches, the yellow peasant dress covered just enough. As sheer at it was she might as well be naked. She much preferred that than to this. He knelt in front of her and helped her into the boots. His rough hands trailed up her legs and back down. His eyes were lustfull with pupils blown like he was on drugs.

He stood up and pointed towards the back yard.

"I want to see how good those skills are." He whispered in her ear. "I'm going to give you a two minute headstart. Hide from me and don't let me catch you."

He pushed her towards the back patio door. He told her nothing about the house. It was designed by a company who specialized in primal play. The entire house was a Dom's version of paradise. The unique feature Nami pushed the door open and ran into was a maze. It was around six feet high of thick bushes. It was artificial for safety as on each wall of the bushes was a kill switch to flatten them to the ground. It was dark and the ground lighting was few and far in between. She had just enough to see. It was cool, the air a bit chilly in the temperature controlled place. Nami's heart raced in her chest as she rounded corner after corner, looking for a hiding spot.

"Fuck,' she cursed, panting as she came to a halt at a dead end.

She turned around, managing to slip down another pathway that led towards a fountain. She had two options to pick from and as the blood rushed behind her ears her eyes darted between each choice.

“You’re so fucking loud, Nami, damn. You’re making this too easy.”

Terry strutted into the area just a few paces from where she stood.

“Come here.”

Nami took a step backwards. He shook her head, remembering the words he told her just five minutes ago. Don’t let me catch you.

Nami turned on her heels and bolted down one of the paths. It was darker and colder in this area and she realized he set different temperatures for certain paths. Her breathing became labored as the path came to an end. Nami slapped her hands over her mouth to muffle her panting. The bushes were moving. He was running. This time he was too close to turn and go back. She could hear his heavy boots as they smacked against the ground. Nami clenched her eyes shut as his boots stopped just on the other side of the bush. She could vaguely see his silhouette as he drew closer. His boot came into her line of sight first. Then his legs. In the dark she could barely make out his features.

“Found you,” he sings in a whisper.

Nami takes a step back, the bushes stopping her. Her dominant reached out for her and she shook, dodging his attempt to grab her. Terry loudly kissed his teeth.

“Don’t play with me.”

Nami wasn’t just going to let him catch her. If he wanted to play then she’d play. Nimble, she waited for him to grab her a second time. She lifted her hands and slipped out his grasp, using the momentum, she spun and put space between them.

"Nami."

He reached for her and curled his hand around her neck. He was standing to his full height, breathing heavy, and she dropped her weight, the sudden change causing his grip to slacken. She smacked his hand away and ducked under him.

“Nami,” he growled. “If I get my hands-”

She didn’t wait for him to finish that sentence. Instead she ran back down the path, stumbling and detouring to the left instead of the right. These pathways were shorter, less dead ends but more curves and cut away bushes. She slipped in and out of them, panting from frustration as it seemed like she was running in a circle.

Her chest burned as she tried to keep her breathing down. She didn’t want to make too much noise and alert him to where she was. She also couldn’t drag this chase out. He wasn’t going to let her get away so easily a third time. She could hear the frustration in his voice a few minutes ago.

I'm going to tear that ass up!

His voice echoed through the maze and she couldn't pinpoint where he was.

When I get my fucking hands on you!

Nami's head snapped up then she looked down where the lights were. His shadow stalked closer and she walked backwards. He as on the other side of the bushes, just within reach, but out of sight. Slapping her hands over her mouth, Nami tried stepping forward, but his shadow stopped. Surely, if she could see his, he could see hers.

"Oh, look at that,' he teased darkly, "there she is."

She pressed herself against the bushes opposite of where he stood. She side walked, hoping he couldn't see her moving.

"There's no way to get away from me." He tsks. "You go left, I'll see you. If you take the right, that makes it easier to catch you. And Nami,' he says, his voice lowering, "when I catch you." He breathed in and let out a low moan. "That pussy is mine."

The thrill of the chase was wearing down as his threat on her cunt was said. Though, her clit throbbed at the possibility of being touched again, but her thighs still stung from his earlier punishment. She knew this time would be worse. He planned to lay into her. The soft material of the dress rubbed roughly against her taut nipples. She was aroused in a way that scared her.

“Come on out.” He sung. “I won’t bite too hard.”

She had to go left. Nami kicked off the boots, they were heavy and she was much lighter on her bare feet. The thick white socks followed and she tossed them over the hedge she knew he'd look, even for a millisecond- so she B O L T E D. He was right, he would see her if she went left, but in her haste and only when she rounded the corner that she realized she ran past him. Her body flung to the left, nearly toppling to the ground as she skipped slash skidded around the corner. She was sweating at this point and she wiped her forehead with the back of her hands. Her curls were damp around her face and the pretty bow he shoved in her hair had unwoven and was half hanging on to a curl.

"This nigga,' Nami thought to herself.

The slight skin tingling feeling of fleeing Terry had ignited a fire in her lower belly. She dared herself and reached between her legs. Sticky. Wet.

"Can't believe it can you,' Terry says as he approaches. "This nigga what?" He asked.

Fuck.

"This game was supposed to have a much……easier endgame, but you like to fuck shit up right at the finish line."

He looked and pointed over her shoulder.

"This is the Cave." He explained. "All pathways lead here unless I lead you out." He pulled his phone from his pocket and she figured he opened an app that changed the lighting. "Sound proof, underground." He mused.

Nami's head snapped up. Underground? Sound proof? Terry watched her; the way her shoulder slumped forward, but he could see she was trying to remain engaged. She had no idea what she had agreed to and standing there she had no idea how she was making Terry feel. Bricked.

The chase had awakened a piece of him he reserved for work. For training other soldiers. For when he was in the field. She was a target. His two worlds clashing in a satisfactory way and he felt the dopamine release, his body tingling with his own thoughts of filth and hard debauchery.

He was on her in seconds, hands ripping the fabric of her dress. He pushed her backwards, the ground changing from a hard gym mat material to plush carpets and tile. The end of the maze was a bedroom, stocked with whatever the renter needed at the time. There was an ensuite as well. Terry grabbed at Nami; her waist, her hips, thighs, whatever he could as he kissed her. She was guided to the bed and pushed to the center of it. He shed the gear and she realized it was weighted. Beneath it, his shirt was drenched in sweat and she knew her body was as well. He covered her body with his own, his clothes ending up somewhere across the floor.

"I should be fucking you right now. But instead, you made a lot of noise tonight. You had the audacity to cum when I told you not too, and you touched my pussy. You. Touched. Me."

Naked, Terry knelt between her legs, his hands sliding around her waist. His tip brushed through her wet slit, bumping her clit with each upward stroke.

"I mean,' he grunted, pushing in just the tip, "I know I'm going to fuck you like I hate you." He sunk a few inches deeper, his thumb finding her clit easily. "I'm going to push you to the edge, then snatch you back."

Nami felt her mouth slide open, her jaw aching as he slid two fingers into her mouth. He pressed them to the back of her tongue as his hips moved slowly between her legs.

"I should be fucking you like this,' he hums, accentuated his words with shallow thrusts. "But you disobeyed me." He flashed her a toothy smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm bullshittin',' he joked.

"I was never going to fuck you like this."

Tired was an understatement. Nami's limbs were weak, her shoulders sore, his thighs ached, and her ass felt raw. Terry had laid into her like he said he would and he she was, counting out the slaps to her ass again.

33.

Thirty-three.

He added the thirteen from earlier and had been very intent on her counting each one of them.

Nami was positon on her hands and knees while he stood in front of her, pumping his dick in and out of her mouth. Her hands dug into the bed, gripping the sheets as he rode her face. The swell of her ass was read, fifteen hits later, and he broke off to fuck her throat. Her collar, which he had taken off prior to the start of all this, was replaced with a belt that was snug around her neck. The rest of the belt was curled around his hand as he pulled, listening to her gag and struggle to breath. He reached down, pinking her nose closed before shoving his dick across her tongue.

He pulled out and released her nose, the belt slacked and right before he struck her ass for the sixteenth time, he collected her spit and drool in his hand to use. Nami raised her hand, signing the number sixteen before her attention went back to the dick in her mouth.

"That's it,' he coos tauntingly, 'suck my dick."

Her head bobbed up and down as she looked up at him. His eyes were on her, focused, but didn't show any emotion or even pleasure.

"Such a good little slut." He crooned. "This is what you're here for,' he explained. "There you go,' swallow that shit,' he grunt, pushing into her mouth and holding her still again.

The tension on the belt was sure to leave marks, but Nami was beyond caring. There were no mirrors but when she looked at her wrists and saw the bruising, she knew her body matched. She was littered in red hand prints and rope bruises. She felt the him deep in her bones. Terry was unsettling. His voice lacked emotions. Though she understood the dick twitching in her mouth.

Terry pulled her of, his dick falling out of her mouth with a wet pop. her mouth was flooded with spit and precum and she pooled it in her mouth before pushing it out. Terry watched it stream to the bed, creating a puddle.

"Turn around, ass up."

The anal plug he had neglected shone as the light hit it. He'd been admiring it all night, watching the way it was sucked in each time she clenched. Placing a hand between her shoulders, he pushes Nami into the bed as his dick slipping through her wet slit.

He didn't ask if she was ready. His hips snapped forward and she almost slide across the bed. How could she want something and pull away from it at the same time. Her pussy was sore and swollen from his lack of attention. She was beyonce aroused.

She feel him grab the belt against and she's pulled backwards by it.

Ride it like hydraulics, I am such a tyrant….

One hand planted on her hip he kept her still as his thrust in-and-out while she clung to the bed on her knees. She clenched her teeth with each thrust, stomaching all nine and a half inches from the shallow thrusts. He didn't hold her for long. His hand resumed striking her ass. As if she could see him, she stretched her arm out, counting seventeen in sign language like she had when she reached ten earlier. He followed through with a few more strikes and she clenched around him. He pulled back on the belt and she gagged, tongue rolling out her mouth as she reached towards the belt.

"Oh?" He says, his hips snapping against her so roughly he could feel his balls slapping up against her clit. "Is this too much?"

He knew it was. Pushing her back down, he ditched the belt and held her hips. He pulled back to watch how his dick slipped in and out of her. Terry admire his own work. How he stretched her open, how he pulled more and more slit from her pussy, and how he was the cause of her drooling. The silence between them was loud, but couldn't get any louder than the sounds her pussy was making.

"Dick makes you act right, hm?" Terry slapped her ass twice, alternating cheeks. He brought her up, and pressed his chest to her back. "You should be doing that regardless. Nothing a little correction won't fix."

The loss of his dick had Nami searching for him again. She felt his hands as they flipped her onto her back. The bed was pulled from her neck and she reached up to touch the sore skin. Her throat was sore and when she had full control of her breathing, Nami turned on her side, erratically sucking in as much air as she could. Terry felt like a distant participant. As if the motions he was going through were robotic and disconnected from the relationship they had built. He put up a solid wall between them, encasing her in his world without letting her into his. This was more than a physical game. It was mental. He was in her head and it made her question her own reality.

Was she really at this man's mercy?

The anal plug, in it's cute silver and yellow design, was pulled from her ass and tossed beside her head. Something was opened as the sound of a cap filled her ears. Cool and thick, lubricant was drizzled between her legs and his fingers smoothed from her ass to her clit.

"Pussy fat as fuck,' he noted, "a fucking shame I didn't want to eat it."

Grabbing her chin, he forced her to look at him. As he had any time he was in her face. "This is where I'm going to nut tonight,' he says as the fat tip of his dick pokes around her asshole.

The sensation was new and she wiggled as her legs spread to accommodate his body between them. His initial push was slow, the stretch past the first ring of muscles made her hands clench beside her. This was something she wished he had bound her for.

Nami's hands became sweaty, her legs move towards her chest as she tried not to kick him away as he pushed forward again. Inch my painstakingly thick inch, Terry seated himself in her ass. Hot and tight, he drew back for his first thrust. She didn't know how to feel. Instead, she braced her hands on the back of her thighs. Nami was well aware of how thick his dick was. She had it down her throat and stuff in her pussy like she was a Thanksgiving turkey. He felt bigger, thicker, longer, reaching parts of her that release pleasurable feelings. Feeling him in her ass was different. He stretched her open, mold her ass to his dick, and fucked her roughly. Terry planted his hands on the sides of her head as his hips rocked back and forth.

"Nasty ass,' he hissed, spittle landing on her face the same way his sweat had. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."

Nami knew it would come back to haunt her later, but she flattened her hands against his stomach, needing a break from the sensation of being fucked in the ass. Terry didn't stop moving, but she saw the glint in his eyes and could hear the gears turning in his head as he logged away her rule breaking for later.

He bore down, applying more weight to his thrusts, jerking her up the bed until he had her by the headboard. Terry braced one hand on the headboard and the other grabbed Nami's hands and pinned them above her head.

"I know you aren't running," he moaned, the sound deep and growl-like.

"Please,' she whispered, "Terry, please, I can't….'

His name felt foreign on her lips.

Terry ignored her please, her body twisting beneath him to get away from him egged him on. Encourage him. He let go of the headboard, balancing on his knees, before his hand struck her outer thigh.

"Shut up." He seethed.

It had all set in for Nami as he fucked her. His body taut and rigid as he chased his high. She could feel his dick throbbing, the stuttering in his hips as he faltered and fell forward, almost on top of her.

Her touch triggered him and though he knew it wasn't sexual, his body treated it like it was. Her hands on his stomach felt she had unlocked his orgasm. The fire in his belly built fast, but Terry was faster. He pushed her face into the bed, his weight spread out over his hand and hips. That hand slid down and wrapped around her neck. His thumb pressed into her skin, rubbing back and forth as he chased his own high.

Beneath him Nami was a mess. She had wrapped her legs around his waist. With no other place to put them she used them to hold on to her dom as he did Dominate things to her ass. Weeks of prep didn't prepare her for the real thing. Being rode like a horse, Nami's breathing hitched, her own orgasm nearing. Her eyes fluttered as she watched his face. The lines around his eyes crinkled as he smirked.

"I'm a bastard I know,' he murmured. "But you like this shit,' he asked.

Did she? Or was it the satisfaction she was chasing that she liked, because Terry? Let me chase you Terry? This fucking mean tyrant?

"You're mean,' she breathed out, a hint of defiance in her eyes. "So mean,' she cried.

His fingers found her swollen clit. He played with it roughly, pulling, pinching, and rubbing so harshly that Nami didn't know if she was coming or going. Her toes began to curl, back arching upwards before he slammed his hand into her chest and pushed her into the bed. It disoriented her and she lost the orgasm.

"I think the fuck not." He shouted.

Ice cold water pelted on her body as her eyes shot open. Nami went to move when an arm tightened around her waist.

"Keep still baby,' Terry whispered.

Nami tensed. She opened her mouth to protest when Terry whispered in her ear for her to relax and calm down.

"Hey,' he says, when she beings to panic, her body shaking from his touch.

Confusion knit through his brows as they drew together. She didn't know where she was. She just knew the person she was with probably wasn't done with her. The aches in her body detailed the night she had with her dominate. The reminders were littered all over her body.

"Nami."

How was she going to apologize for blacking out?

Terry turned her around and she realized they were sitting on the floor of the shower.

"They scene is over. I need you to look at me and take a few deep breaths."

He held her face in his hands. The gentleness drastically different from what she had experienced that day. She didn't know what time it was. She just knew that she was overwhelmed, wired, and slightly scared. He leaned in to kiss her and she flinched. He took no offense. He knew she had to fully come down from that high. Everything he put her through wasn't normal by most standards. He pushed her to her limits mentally and Nami wasn't sure how she felt. For her their dynamic had shifted. She couldn't treat this like some one off or some once in a blue moon event. Terry had flipped her inside out. Rewired her in a way she didn't understand. He owned her body at this point.

He used her.

"Tell me how you're feeling."

There was still an edge to his voice. A bite he was trying to ease away.

"I'm sore." She croaked. "I touched you. I'm sorry!" Her voice cracked and she started to cry again. "I passed out!"

Terry was far from upset with her. He had spent the day dragging her through his ticks and the fact that she only touched him, intentionally, once was a miracle. How she was able to have that restraint when he was unrestrained on her body needed some rewarding.

"36." He replied. "I still fucked you. I made you into my little Twinkie, twice."

"Huh?"

36. The submissive wants to experience somnophilia.

He ignored her and turned on the warm water. Helping her to her feet, he held her up and bathed her. Starting his aftercare while she regained some strength to stand on her own. He kissed each bruise, rope mark, and red splotch on her warm brown skin. His praise mingled with the rhythmic pelting of the shower water on the tiles.

You did good.

Such a good girl you were.

Nami let her head fall back against the shower wall as he lowered to his knees. Her leg was lifted up and onto his shoulder. His mouth latched onto her clit, sucking slowly as she looked down at him.

Those blue green eyes stared back up at her. She recognized them this time and breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, Daddy,' he whimpered. "I missed you."

#terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond smut #terry richmond fic #terry richmond x black reader #I apologize for the errors #ive been staring at this for hours editing #the words blurred together

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awordsmith · 3 days ago

Text

graveyard flowers 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you are seen at Emily’s funeral looking conspicuous and are questioned for it because no one knows who you are or why you’re at their friend’s funeral.

who? spencer x unknown!reader when? s6 category: angst (comfort) fluff? content warnings: reader is a professional killer, mentions of father with a psychological disorder and i think that's it, reid with interest... word count: 8k a/n: this was suppose to be smut and i think i got sidetracked, also this would not at all have been possible without a special someone sending me edits, a few honorable mentions will be left down below

Spencer didn’t notice her instantly, he was more laser-focused on keeping his tears in his eyes. He couldn’t fathom the fact that Emily was gone. Emily was like his best friend, his only friend if you didn’t count the eight-year-old in the park near his apartment he often played chess with.

The day was bright, so opposed to the way he felt. The sky was blue and the casket being lowered into the ground was white. The image tugged on his heartstrings; he didn’t know whether to scream or throw up. He had a headache and when salt water stung the corners of his eyes, he went to wipe at them–that’s when he noticed her.

She was wearing all black, dressed perfectly for a funeral. For a moment, without thinking, he thought she looked odd and out of place. She was gorgeous, she had that type of beauty you’d see in a flower–not a graveyard, and that’s what she was: a graveyard flower.

He thought the insinuation ironic, considering she was probably in mourning just as he, but then it occurred to him she was mourning the same person he whom he was mourning, and this was a closed funeral, so he wondered–he wondered who she was, but more importantly who she was to Emily.

“Uhm,” he cleared his throat, catching the gazes of Hotch and Rossi. She was far off, but he could make out a few of her prominent features, such as her hair, her nose–and the color of her nails. “Do any of you know who that is?”

JJ and Penelope’s ears perked up, “what are you talking about Spencer?”

His brows furrowed and he stepped forward, “that woman–”

“No,” Morgan shook his head, “I’ve never seen her before.”

“Maybe she’s an old friend.”

“No, Emily didn’t have any friends–”

“Someone from Interpol?”

“Reid’s right,” Hotch’s eyes bored into the woman’s, eying her–analyzing her.

They watched the mysterious woman wipe her face, and then all of a sudden her body went rigid as if she’d been startled by something. She lifted her face and Spencer could see clearly now, she was gorgeous, and she was looking right at him. But it wasn’t him her eyes strayed to, Spencer watched them flit across the groups, landing on–no doubt–Hotch’s.

He was curious and quite cute–the young one with glasses–you wondered if your sister had worked with these people or if they were merely her friends. You didn’t know much about Emily, you hadn't even known of her existence until a few months ago, when you’d hired a private investigator to look into your family line as you’d begun to discover your father had kept quite a bit from you. He wasn’t dead, but he had Alzheimer's and through his mistaking you for your mother, or sometimes his sister, he began to divulge things–things he otherwise would have kept to himself.

Llike the fact that he had a wife before your mother and that he had another daughter. Emily, he called her. He used to cry for her, ask how she was doing, and more than once you’d have to argue with him that you were not Emily. You were sure you didn’t even look much like her, perhaps you got her build, but you had two different mothers. You looked more like yours and you were sure–because your father’s genes were so minor–this ‘Emily’ looked like hers.

You knew so little–but you’d wanted to get to know her, that’s why you had tracked her down after all, and instead of figuring out how to start up a conversation, you were shopping for funeral clothing because she had “died in the line of duty.” What bullshit was that? You’d scoffed.

No, you didn’t know her, but you were family–her sister for heaven’s sake, and now you would never even get the chance to introduce yourself. She died knowing nothing of you or your side of the family, she died an only child and you didn’t know how to live with that. Could you even call yourself siblings? All you had was blood. And that–to you–was the worst part of it all.

They were watching you, you didn’t know who caught wind of your presence first, but there was one person–an old, mean guy with an angry expression looking as if you had something to do with the death in front of you. You had no idea who these people were, all the private investigator was able to give you was the address of the restaurant she often frequented, and her home address. You had no idea where or who she worked for.

She “gave off a vibe” and he didn’t want to get too close. Well, you didn’t pay him half a thousand to ‘get a vibe’ did you?

Your body seized once more and before you could watch him take that first step, you were spinning around and heading back toward the parking lot.

It was early morning, you always woke up around 4–unless you were on a job–your work wasn’t put on hold simply because you had personal issues to deal with. If anything, going to Emily’s funeral was lenient. You clocked in around 6 and headed straight for your boss’ office.

The normal person would frown at your job, teenagers might think it was cool, but in truth, your job was neither cool nor disfavored. Did you like it? Well, it depends on what day you were asked, some days were easier, others just shy of a struggle–but you chose it, and however gruesome it seemed, you wouldn’t have chosen anything else given the opportunity.

Spencer found this curious about you as he scrolled through your history. On their off time, the team had taken to figuring out who the mystery woman at their friend's funeral was. It took a little while, but eventually, three months later, Penelope and Spencer not only acquired a photo from a CCTV camera, but through that visualization, they secured a name–your name.

Spencer found you particularly interesting because you seemed to have quite a normal upbringing, and now you were a hitwoman for the United States Government. The team had discussed what to do with the information on you and whether or not they should leave it alone. Spencer was set on approaching you. He wanted to know more.

You must have come across Emily somehow, for you to know her so well–but how was the question? Who were you to Emily and why had she never mentioned you? Why were there no photos of you together, why were there no clear lines that drew a connection to you?

He didn’t know exactly what–though he was trying to pin it on your somehow connection to Emily–but he was drawn to you. Something in the way you carried yourself, even when walking away from the funeral of someone you held dear.

The sky was graying, the trees had no leaves on them and the mornings were cold. He stood outside the roundtable room, leaning against the wall as Hotch and Penelope went back and forth about you. When Morgan arrived, Spencer didn’t notice like he normally did, he was so intent on hearing what his other coworkers were talking about.

“Hey Pretty Boy,” Morgan nodded toward the room, “hear anything you like?”

Spencer ignored him audibly, but pressed his lips together and shook his head. He wanted to approach you, but more than that, he wanted to be granted permission to approach you. He wanted to have a reason to begin communicating with you, but he wouldn’t get it, and so going against what he knew he would eventually be told, he stole your information.

Okay…stole was a big word, Spencer preferred collected. It kind of fit, Spencer thought himself somewhat of a collector, like Gideon, a collector of stories, but instead of keeping photos, he kept memories. It was mostly out of his control, but for the very select that was…

He went through the day as best he could without thinking about you–you and Emily. For the most part, he was good at it, and at one point he even thought he might get away with his plan–but then Rossi pulled him aside in the car park and said, “You’re going after her, right?”

Spencer hadn’t expected the question, but there it was: out in the open. He thought about lying his way out of Rossi’s confrontation, but that would be too easy, and besides–he wouldn’t accomplish that feat even if he tried–Rossi might be getting to a certain age, but his mind wasn’t leaving him anytime soon. Well, that and he practically started the BAU.

This was his plan–to approach you cautiously and calmly. It had been a few months since Emily’s funeral and he wasn’t even sure you would recognize him–what he didn’t know is that just as he had been trying to track you down, you had been spending your time doing the same thing.

You tried to ignore the obvious reasoning as to why Spencer in particular caught your eye. He was cute, definitely your type–and no, you hadn’t been there looking for anything other than closure and to mourn your sister whom you never got to know–but there he was–and when the sun hit his cheeks, you had been able to tell he had been crying. His cheeks had glistened with the lightest shade of red, ti was beautiful, really.

And it tugged at you.

You typically worked alone, you didn’t have just one homestead–you had multiple all over the country that you used when you needed to. Traveling from place to place gave you much more free time than one would think. Your main focus was your target, but just below that was figuring out the relationship Emily had with the rest of her team–with Spencer Reid, especially.

Your boss looked at you, eyes raised, “are you sure? — think about this–are you absolutely positive?”

“I’ve thought about it long enough–this job has served me for the timebeing–but now I’m ready to move on.”

He hesitated, eyes tracking the sealed envelope. A heavy sigh escaped him and his eyes shut, this–you knew–meant he was accepting it. He would no longer have you under his disposal–you were resigning. But–more than that, you were beginning a new job. To be sure, you had one lined up, though you neglected to share that with your boss–you were never particularly close with him, nor any of your other coworkers. You worked best that way. You had but one friend from your hometown, and even then, you only contacted her on occasion.

It was safer that way–for both you and her.

“There will always be a place here for you, you know that?”

You smiled, though it was grim. “Thank you for your time, Sir.”

Spencer never particularly preferred any one spot in his favorite coffee shop. He only had one rule, he wanted to be able to see everything. He either sat in a corner at the front, or near the wall in the back. The stools that sat in front of the large window pane were okay–and because the other spots were taken, it was where he now resided.

He was reading Dostoevsky, his Russian was a bit rusty and he wanted to see if he could finish the House of the Dead as he once had a few years ago. He took to analyzing the punctuation and pronunciation of words that threw him off. Every few seconds he would realize the definition of a word he thought he had forgot.

He was into his book, sure, but it didn’t stop him from noting the girl watching him. He knew better than to think he was imagining it, even if she was pretty and most definitely out of his league. He knew better because he knew your face. You weren’t just some pretty girl, randomly flirting with your eyes, you were — —, and he was just close enough to tell you most likely knew who he was. He held his breath, waiting to see what you’d do when you realized he had caught on.

You smiled. His stomach dropped at the image. He swallowed and shook his head, trying to grab hold of his thoughts. Without warning, you stood and headed right for him, aiming for the seat to his right. He kept his head down as you lifted yourself onto the stool.

You brought over the lemonade you had been nursing–Spencer didn’t even know this shop sold lemonade, that’s what he kept assuming was in your cup at least.

“Spencer Reid.” You murmured, annunciating each syllable.

Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line, so he was right–he didn’t know exactly how much you knew, but he didn’t want to let anything slip just in case you didn’t know everything there was to know.

“—,” he only said your last name, but it was enough to make you smile slightly.

“You know me?” Though you tried to neutralize your expression right after, Spencer caught the way your eyes widened briefly. You were genuinely surprised, unlike Spencer, you hadn’t used his information to profile him the way he did for you. Though he wondered if it was a lack of training or skill, he went for the first as it seemed entirely possible assassins were not trained to profile their target. You knew basic personality traits, but you never had to get close enough to get into the psychology of your targets.

“You know me,” he shrugged, sliding his bookmark into House of the Dead and setting it aside, to which you found yourself analyzing. This was the training you were preparing for. You were ready, but you still had to ace the interview–you had to be better than every other agent. You could do that–no you’ve never worked with a team before, and no you’ve never dealt with serial killers but your shots were lethal and you never missed, that had to count for something, right?

“Yes,” you twisted your body in the chair. The man in front of you dressed like a schoolboy, your eyes twitched and you asked, “You were bullied as a kid, right?”

Caught off guard, Spencer blinked, “uhm–what?”

You shrugged, “you’re a genius, I mean, in the worldly definition–but you don’t believe intelligence can be accurately quantified,” you bit back a smile, “I read a few of your papers. I was pleasantly surprised.”

“You were?” He raised a brow, twisting his body to face yours.

You averted your eyes, if you could impress him, that job was yours–you didn’t have a single doubt. Yes, maybe you should have secured it before resigning–but with your schedule, if you hadn’t you never would have made it to this final interview and your opportunity would have been lost until someone else quit or another died. Your eyes flashed at that thought–it had come out of nowhere.

Spencer–of course–saw this as well, but he said nothing. Instead, he noted the single earring you wore, he nodded toward it, “Your father gave you that.” Your heart seized itself, did Spencer know? Had he figured it out? “He passed away last year, that must have been hard.”

Though his expression and tone led you to believe he was genuine, you couldn’t help but feel this had turned into a game. Who knew more about the other–and maybe if you won, he wouldn’t be too mad when he found out you were interviewing for Emily’s position. “You had an addiction problem, it wasn’t recent, but it must have been hard.”

“What? Getting over it?” Spencer didn’t miss a beat, though you thought this would be his trigger, it wasn’t, so there was something you were missing. Something in which he carried with him that was heavier than his addiction.

“No, admitting you needed help.” You reached out an arm, pulled your glass toward you, and took a sip through the straw. Spencer watched you, waiting, eyes narrowed slightly. You thought you had won, but Spencer had been at this a long time–you were egging him on, trying to trap him, get him to slip up for some reason.

Thankfully, he had one more trick up his sleeve. “Yeah” he sighed, “that was pretty hard. But once I did, the rest came pretty easy.”

You nodded, taking in the information. He wondered if you cared or if this was just foreplay to you. What he didn’t know was that you were having fun. This wasn’t about testing out your skills or seeing if you could glean anything viable of Emily off of him anymore; now, you were slightly more curious about Spencer Reid as his person. He was the nerdy kind of cute and you couldn’t help but enjoy your minor quarrels, and be thankful he hadn’t taken any of your jabs seriously.

“Why did you really seek me out?” Spencer finally asked.

You raised a brow. “You honestly want to know?”

He shrugged, “I mean, wouldn’t you expect me to?”

“No,” you shook your head, “I don’t know you, Spencer, how could I assume anything?”

He liked you. It was everything. He didn’t just like your assertiveness. He liked your coyness, your confidence, your intelligence, your brain, the way you spoke, and the way you carried yourself–Spencer was sure he hadn’t felt this competitive since Gideon first challenged him to a game of chess. It was exhilarating, and as you stood to leave, your banter dying down, he found his arm shooting out to stop you. He wanted more.

It had grown later in the afternoon, though neither of you–it seemed– realized just how long you’d been talking. For a lack of better words, it was entertaining. To find someone that could keep up with you–not only on a pyshcological level, but a timed one–was the most brilliant feeling in the world. He didn’t care who you were anymore–in fact, he had forgotten for a time how you knew each other in the first place–he just knew he didn’t want you to leave. He didn’t want to lose whatever it was you had together.

“Yes?” You eyed the place where he grabbed your sleeve. He let go before stopping to think like a normal person–because a normal person never would have said what he had–he asked, “will I see you again?”

You bit your cheek and he noticed, taking pleasure in the fact that he made you smile, and embarrassed enough to want to hide that smile. “Yes, Spencer–but don’t hold your breath.”

“And why’s that?” He stood, thinking to follow you out.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, ignoring the other ignorants people around you. Then, you averted your eyes quickly back toward the floor, a frown falling overe your smile, “it might not be under the circumstances you’d prefer.”

Spencer didn’t ask what you meant by that. He was too enthralled by your slightly solemn expression to register it at first, and by the time he had, you were long gone.

5 in the morning you woke up, dressed rather nicely, brewed a pot of coffee, drank said pot, and headed out around 7 to buy another cup of coffee.

Today was special, it was special because today you were going to see him again, but more than that, he had no idea you were coming. You didn’t know how attempting to figure out what Emily was like turned into obsessing over Spencer’s reactions. You were positive you weren’t insane, and yet, here you were, grinning like a madman as you stepped into the comforting confines of the BAU.

This is it? You thought as you approached the front desk. Many milled about, conversating, running documents back and forth, there was a line–you were sure–meant for the interviewees. You were one of them. The wait was terrible, but when you saw him, it became a bit more bearable.

You would need to overcome this, you would be working with him–you had no time to feel whatever you were starting to feel, you knew it would be much easier if you could put it out of you head and pretend he was no one in particular, but you found it hard. You didn’t find many things hard, but this–for whatever reason–had you struggling.

He didn’t notice you at first, so you took to watching him. It was so tempting to analyze him in everyway you could. It’d pass the time, you tried reasoning, but you knew you it was an excuse. You huffed, folding your arms. You needed to leave him alone, you would force yourself if need be.

You stepped forward when the line moved, stating your name and sliding your ID across the desk. When you passed check in, you headed for the elevator, assuming he’d stay on the first floor talking to whomever he was talking to. A few others joined you in the cramped space.

The light was dim, flickering. You’d have to mention that when you got the position. There wasn’t any way you wouldn’t–you had two ins. Besides, that title had your name written all over it. You’d have to take some psychology classes? So what? You minored in psychology during university. It’d be a walk in the park–hell, you were probably even overqualified for this job–

Similar thoughts tainted your mind while the doors began to shut. A hand shot through the crack and the doors reopened. You felt your eyes roll before looking up to meet the gaze of the idiot who just couldn’t wait.

“Sorry,” Spencer winced, stepping through the doors. He observed you immediately. His shoulder straitened and his body tensed. He swallowed as he filled the space next to you.

“Bit close, don’t you think,” you leaned over and whispered.

His throat cleared and he took a step away, turning his head. He looked flustered. You forgot how easy it was push him back into his shell, but you wanted to do the complete opposite. You wanted that witty banter from before, you wanted to cocky and know-it-all genies you’d played with before.

“I was joking,” you shook your head, amusement dancing in your eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Spencer’s voice lowered as he closed the distance between you once more, looking down at you, though trying to be mindful of the people around you. You didn’t care about them, they were NPCs to you. They didn’t matter in the slightest–maybe that was a problem, but you shoved that thought away.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You shrugged. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. You stepped out, looking around the office; Spencer followed you. “So, this is where I’ll be working from now on,” you nodded, it’s… quaint.”

“What are you talking about?” You watched realization dawn on him. He shook his head and narrowed his eyes, “no–no. You’re not–you can’t–

“–and just what can’t I do?” You met him, your face coming inches below his chin. People milled back and forth once more, Spencer clicked his tongue and pulled you further into the office, toward a few desks separate from the others clustered together.

He bit back a retort, you could see the words swallow in his mouth. He turned away and headed toward–you assumed–his desk, muttering to himself something incoherent to you.

Working with him was going to be a pain–you could already feel it. You wanted him, and not in the way someone normally desires another person–you wanted his brain, wanted to know what ran through it all the times of the day, wanted to know what he dreamt about. You felt your heart squeeze together with the knowledge that you could never get that close to him. You would get what you came for and go back to your old job. She was the only reason, she was the end goal, and it was her you would leave with.

This mundane life of catching serial killers and hurting people who deserved it wasn’t for you. Your life revolved around murdering people you didn’t know, people whom you had no connection to; people who had never done anything to you–some who were even completely innocent or simply collateral damage–all because you were ordered to. You knew once he found out he wouldn’t be able to look at you the way he looked at you now: with curiosity and possibility–he’d see a cold-blooded killer and nothing more.

Even if the orders you received came from the same organization his orders did. Spencer would never be able to see past the blood on your hands–that was just the type of person he was.

“I can’t believe this,” Spencer shook his head.

“What’s wrong, Pretty Boy?” Gosh–not Morgan again–he’d just laugh at Spencer. And right now, Spencer didn’t need someone to laugh at him, he needed someone to agree with him–and that person was never Morgan–not even on a good day.

“Nothing–just–,” his breath caught as you existed Hotches office. You grinned at him and waved, no–no you were approaching him now. Spencer could feel the confusion course through his body with every second you got closer.

“Pretty sure I nailed that interview,” you winked.

“Great,” he said full of sarcasm., but it was fake. It felt like bile in his mouth. He hated the taste of bile, it made him want to vomit again, or go back to sleep so the thought of the taste, the remembrance would go away.

You gave a mocking frown and playfully punched him in the shoulder, “meanie.” He huffed, and glancing at you, felt heat warm his cheeks as he held your smiley gaze. He knew things about you he probably shouldn’t–things the rest of the team didn’t know–things you probably wanted to keep to yourself. He couldn't act normally around you because every time he saw your face–he was reminded of the fact that he knew these things and they swayed not a single thoguht about the way he felt toward you.

He liked you–that was his initial thought, anyway. You weren’t angry, like work reports had painted you out to be, thought maybe that’s because he met you first. Before he knew what you were–what you did. It was people like you he chased–people like you he locked up, tossing the key without hesitation.

He wasn’t fooled by your playful attitude, he knew you were a serial killer–though a legal one. You weren’t just a hitwoman like the rest of the team firs thought–you were a very real and a very dangerous assassin Just because your kills weren’t considered crimes, did that make them okay? Any type of person with your mindset would need a high level of trauma tolerance. Assassins had the ability Spencer would never be able to acquire in this life–the inability to form relationships. Spencer’s brain operated in complete contrast, he needed human connection and social relationships. He’d never survive without it.

But where dis this fall on his moral side? Where would you fall on that scale? Did this make you a bad person? Did this form the entirety of your person–you weren’t depressed, and you had emotions, even if you were good at hiding the stronger ones. You showing up at Emily’s funeral proved that more than any words could defend it.

“That was the woman,” Morgan turned to watch as you headed toward the elevator, “the one at Emily’s funeral.”

“Yeah,” Spencer affirmed.

“And she knew you–you knew her?” Spencer didn’t want to admit that he had met you before, he didn’t know how that would be interpreted, he just knew it wouldn’t be appropriate, at least considering the surrounding context.

He held his breath, he didn’t know what to say–did he know you? No? He knew about you, not you personally. “No,” he replied, shifting his focus on Hotch as his boss stepped out of his office, seemingly watching you as well.

“Well then what the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer ran a hand over his face and groaned, tomorrow would be complicated. The look in Hotch’s eye told him everything he needed to know, and he still wasn’t prepared to fac eyou again.

Would it be a one on one like last time? Gosh, there shouldn’t have even been a first time–he shook his head. He needed rest, but more than that, he needed to figure out what the hell to do with these thoughts. His fascination wasn’t going away anytime soon, and if he was being truly honest with himself, he did not care.

You weren’t as tech savy as you would have liked, so digging up anything that wasn’t relatively public–was nothing short of hard. Emily was lost on you. You couldn’t find anything before she joined the Beurau, Spencer was pretty much everywhere in the sense of his works and his studies. Aaron was somewhat similar, Jennifer was a snore, now, Penelope was intresting–and David–well, he was just sad. You ignored Dereck for a bit as most of his personel files were locked and as mentioned previously: you did not have the skill set to go around those firewalls–yet.

Perhaps the tech girl could help you–she seemed the most likely to befriend you, the least likely to be sucpicious, though in truth she and everyone else had nothing to be sucpicous of, the only reasoning you weren’t giving them much was because you didn’t want them knowing your connection to Emily.

It was private, a family matter, if you will.

You caught Spencer from the corner of your eye, he was slowly approaching you, though you pretended to jump when you appeared right behind you and slid a hand to your back, murmuring, “follow me.”

He brought you to a secluded room where the other members of the team were waiting around a table, Penelope stood at the front, holding a remote in her hand. She smiled faintly as you entered, but turned back to her debrief as you took your seat next to Jennifer–Spencer shut the door as quietly as he could and slid into the seat to your left.

The case was pretty heartbreaking–a series of child kidnappings that always ended in murder. As of now, rape kits were being distributed between the bodies that had been found, but you wouldn’t know more until you got down there. Florida–of course it would be Florida, you thought.

You wondered if this was normal for everyone–had it been normal for Emily? They all looked slightly shaken up–though you supposed any sane person would be at the thought of kids being harmed.

You were to leave in 15 minutes, so you had some time to snoop around. You thought of going to Spencer first, but you didn’t want to get attached to him, so you went to Penelope.

“Oh, hey,” she jumped, and noting your presence, she wiped her face, you disregarded to mention it. It could be many things–but you knew the more likely was Emily or the case.

You decided to latch onto the ladder as a conversation starter, “do you always get many kids?”

“Oh–uh,” she shook her head, “it varies, but normally no. They’re not–uh–” she struggled to calm herself down, “not typically the center, though sometimes they do get caught in the middle of…things.”

You nodded, thinking to leave the subject where it was. You wanted to ask about Emily, you knew it’d probably spark the intrest of why you were at her funeral as they no doubt remembered you, but a few reasonable responses were already lined up in your arsenal.

“Do any of you have kids? Or any…former members?” Did Emily have kids? Basic reports over the years said no, but with how vague Emily’s personal file was–there was no description of her background, no spouses, no property–the only things it really had was her father, her mother, and her birthdate–a lot of good that was going to do you.

Penelope’s facial expression halted as her mind ran through your question. Gears were turning in her head: it was obvious by the dazed look on her face; questions of her own began to form as she eyed you. “Just Hotch and JJ,” you nodded, pressing your lips together.

You knew she was hiding something, but you didn’t think it concerned Emily having children–if that were the case you were sure they'd be in protective custody by now. You didn’t feel like asking more about the topic as these children didn’t particularly concern you.

Though that sounded harsh, it wasn’t–not to you at anyway. Emily didn’t have children–regular or secretiv–that didn’t mean she didn’t have a lover, maybe someone whom she was extra close with? Someone who could tell you what she liked to eat in the morning, if she woke up early or late, if she was a cat or dog person–Spencer was a cat persono, you could just tell. You didn’t really have to think long and hard about it.

“You’re smiling, why are we happy?” Penelope gushed…?

You schooled your face and cleared your throat, “I’m not–I wasn’t smiling,” your words were so close to a shudder you thought Penelope might’ve caught it, but she didn’t, and not wanting to jinx it, your ran for the hills.

You weren’t smiling–if you were it was because of Emily, but why would you smile at that? You still knew next to nothing, why couldn’t you just ask? Because then they’d be curious, you’d tell them you were an ex associate, but they probably wouldn’t believe that and start digging.

Eventually they find out who you father was, your connection to Emily–which was largely no conncetion at all–would be out in the open, and you previous job–....Spencer would know–they all would. It wasn’t a secret, it was simply intimate. That was all, you assured yourself, you just wanted to keep it personal, it wasn’t like your previous occupation was criminal…but you didn’t know how he’d see it–and even still, you had nothing to be ashamed of…

You had nothing to be ashamed of.

“So–you stalked each other?”

“I didn’t–quit laughing!” Spencer looked around, “and keep your voice down.”

Morgan snorted again, then sighed and let his head fall back. Spencer had dragged him into the break room as soon as Hotch had released them, “I’m not–I’m just–” they made eye contact, Morgan laughed again, “okay yeah, I’m laughing.”

Spencer huffed and pulled his legs to his chest in the chair he was huddled up in, “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he groaned into his knees.

Morgan frowned, genuinely concerned for his friend, who had become more of a brother to him over the years. “Listen kid, if what you’re saying is true, and that woman really is who you say she is…then we need to figure out why’s she’s here and who she’s working for.”

“That’s the thing,” Spencer shook his head as Morgan stood, Spencer followed him, keeping his voice hushed as they made their way to the jet, “I don’t think she’s workikng for anyone right now.”

Morgan raised a brow, tossing an empty coffee cup, “no? Then why is she here? Could it be an under the table kind of job?”

“No,” Spencer bit his lip, “I don’t think she’s that kind of person…” he ignored Morgan’s raised brow, “I think Hotch knows something, I don’t think he would have let her on the team otherwise.”

Spencer stepped into the elvevaor and Morgan followed shortly behind. They waited for the doors the encapsulate them completely before continuing, “So… what? You think she’s here under her own agenda? Like a vendetta or something?”

Spencer huffed, stuffed his hands into his pants pockets, and leaned back against the wall, “I don’t know…” he pressed his lips together regretfully, “she has a goal, that I’m sure of, but I don’t think I’m apart of it, I don’t think any of us are.”

“I don’t know about that,” Morgan sighed, mimicking Spencer’s stance.

“What are you talking about?”

“I hate to say it Pretty Boy, but I think you incerted yourself,” he shrugged, “partially, at least.”

“Partially?” He enunciated, “what does that mean?”

Morgan saw his chance to be smart, but held his tongue in favor of helping his friend truly understand the mess he’d gotten himself into–Spencer better appreciate his generosity (Morgan snorted at his own thought). He patted Spencer once on the shoulder and kept his hand there, “look kid, it’s kind of like tango–she sought you out, and you let her. Or at least–you sat at that table longer than you should have.”

“But that was an accident, I just didn’t realize time was slipping by–”

“Yeah, but why? Or better yet, how? You better starte asking yourself these questions Pretty Boy, or she's gonna do a number on you.”

Spencer paused, watching Morgan push open the door to the roof and head toward the jet. He yelled, “that literally makes no sense!” He bit back an insult when he saw a smile alter the way Morgan walked. Spencer could admit his “buts” were weak, what he couldn’t admit was that he was falling for a killer he’d known for less than a month.

A month passed–a full month, Spencer tried relenting the first week–but he didn’t last. He wondered where you were right now, what you were doing. He wondered if you had decided to go back to your old job, and if that were the case why you even neglected to let the team know so they could begin looking for a new member.

He knew saying it out loud would make him more pathetic than he already seemed, but there was something about you that enraptured him–and now he spent almost every waking moment picturing you in the most mundane ways–but also the most provocative. He wondered–if you were, though of course you were, he’d found multiple sources to indicate your previous occupation–but he wondered if it had prevented you from certain pleasures.

No–he knew he should stray his mind from the topic–from you altogether. But as he left the office, his mind refused to let go of it. He was caught offguard when he noticed a silhouette outside his car. It was as if all his prayers had been answered because it was you.

He wondered if you had been waiting for him, and if you had been, how long you had been waiting for. You’d taken a few days off–that had been the story Hotch relayed anyway–and his mind had been trying to replace the emptiness you’d left behind.

He hadn’t known it until just now, when he saw your stark white expression. He wonderd if you were alright, he hated the thing that had you looking so afraid. He nearly dropped his satchel as he quickened his steps toward you.

“What’s wrong?” He huffed, trying to catch his breath, though Morgan kept telling him to do laps at least once a day, Spencer hated running–hated exercise in general.

“I don’t know,” that was a lie, you knew exactly what was going on, the warning arrived three days ago, the morning before you had asked to be put on a leave of absense. You liked it here, at the BAU, enjoyed it more than you would have cared to admit a month ago. You’d gotten close to people, something you hadn’t needed to do before, hadn’t wanted to.

“Here,” Spencer pulled your hand away from you mouth, you were nibbling on you fingers, it was unhealthy and unsanitary.

“I didn’t know what to do.” You said as a way of explantion when you were safely tucked into his car, but what you really meant was, “I didn’t know where else to go.” Spencer heard it, your silent plea, knowing it probably took a hit at your pride to say such a thing, and though any normal person wouldn’t have, Spencer caught himself smiling to himself. He was glad, glad you felt safe enough to come to him when you feared you were in–what were you in?

His face tensed as he was brought back down from his ego-high. You reached out gripping the sleeve of his collard shirt, trying to imagine what was running through his mind. You’d been in hideout for the past three days, but they found you again, of course they’d found you.

You’d taken out someone incredibly important to them, as an order, but that didn’t matter–not the the cartel.

You were a one on one kind of person, you couldn’t take on an army. So, you resorted to the only thing you could think of, the only thing that had ever made you feel safe, you went back to your boss. But he wouldn’t be of much help to you in a grave, which is where you found him, just days after you’d resigned. You didn’t find your resignation, though, it was either stolen or burned.

You’d left the building a different way you had gone in, you had no way of knowing if they had lookouts watching the building, but chances were: they did. And like you–they had a specific hitlist, and an order.

You drove around for a bit before ultimately deciding you only had one option left. You needed to ask the BAU for help, but like before, you went to Spencer first.

You kenw it was a longshot, that when he found out just what kind of trouble you were in, he’d probably turn the other way, but you were hoping the past month had done you some favor. At least with the team–even if Spencer hated you.

“Who’s after you?”

You hesitated for a minute, your heartbeat almost puncturning the silence with each second you didn’t respond, “the cartel.”

Spencer released a beath and nodded, his grip on the steering wheel tightened and his face hardened. You were prepared for him to tell you to get out, to tell you that he couldn’t help you–he started the car instead, and said, “Call Penelope.”

“We can help you,” Hotch ground out, “but before we do, we need to know everything.”

You froze, feeling the gaze of every other person in the room on you. You felt yourself swallow back bile and take a step back, Spencer was right behind you though, and when you turned, afraid, he caught your arm, sent you wordless reassurance, and squeezed your arm.

You took a breath and turned back around, “6 months ago, I was granted a weekend off,” you neglected to bring up your job, you were sure everyone in this room already knew. You bit your lip to keep it from trembling, “he’s…forgetful.”

“He has alzheimers.” Spencer reworded.

You sighed, “yes, he does. And in one of his older delusions, he mistook me for someone else.” You turned away, trying to keep yourself calm as your readied the biggest blowup of your life, “My father thought I was my half-sister, I kept telling him I was —, but he was insistent, he kept saying, “I know my little girl, you’ve gotten older, Emily.”

Bated beath was released at your admission, “Emily didn’t have any siblings.”

“Neither did I,” you ran a hand through your hair, sweaty from the stress.”

“Right,” Penelope pressed her lips together in an apology.

“It’s,” you waved a hand, “that’s why I’m hear, I needed to do some research, all I had to go off was a name and my Father’s whereabouts. When I found he last known location, I resigned as soon as I could and I came here, imagine my surprise,” you said the last bit with dripping sarcasm.

“Oh,” Penelope held a hand to her face and to your confusion, Jennifer wiped a tear as well.

“And that’s all?”

You inhaled and swiped at your eyes, “that’s all.”

Aaron nodded, took a breath, then released it, “alright, let’s get to work.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” you murmured as the team rubbed sleep from their eyes, they were all ready to get home, to their warm beds. They’d been working nonstop and finally–finally–found the group within the cartel that had killed your boss–the ones that were after you. It was raining outside, you could hear it, you didn’t rember Februaruy being so cold, but perhaps that was just because it hadn’t crossed your mind as much.

You were used to being secluded; complaining about the cold always seemed to come with the job, but now that you’ve experienced how warm life could be, how warm a semi-normal job was, you were able to miss it.

No, it wasn’t part of your plan–but neither was having a sister, neither was having a branch of the cartel after you; nor was getting close to and even relying on your teammates–and definitely not falling in love with your late sister’s coworker–nothing, you realized, had stayed the course. Everything had gotten lost and just now, you understood you didn’t wanr to look for it.

“No, we didn’t,” Aaron was the first to answer.

“But you did…”

“Which must mean,” he sighed.

“That we love you,” Penelope cooed.

You winced when she hugged you, but smiled your way through it, “thank you.”

“Anhytime,” the team headed out, all but one.

You turned toward Spencer raising a brow. “What?”

He shrugged, and rounded your desk, picking up a few of your things and throwing them into his satchel, “nothing, just–I assume you need a place to stay for a little.”

You shook your head, “I should be safe now, I can go back home.”

“About that,” he paused, “...You got a call yesterday, you have three days to move all your things out.”

“What?” Your eyes widened and your eyebrows shot upward, “they’re evicting me?” you snatched your phone from the table and called your landlord, though to be sure, she did not answer, “you’re not pulling my leg?”

“I’m not,” he held up his hands.

“Ohhhh,” you groaned and face palmed into the table, tired, and irritated, and angry, but having no energy to show any more emotion than the first.

“Come on,” Spencer’s hands ran along your back.

You lifted your head, “really?”

“Before I change my mind,” he grinned and began walking away. Your stomach flluttered as you watched him walk away, the ghost of his touch left behind on your shoulder. You rolled your eyes roll, but a grin spread across your face and a little laugh escaped you, “I love you.” you whispered.

But he wouldn’t know that, not for a little while anyway, because though he was being nice, it didn’t mean anything more than that. Spencer was a nice person, Spencer was kind and smart and funny and he was a lot of the things you were not–but you could try, couldn’t you?

Yes, you were slowly losing the part of you that hated the world. You thought it might have began thawing upond that first forced encounter witht he nerd in front of you. No–you were absolutely sure of it.

Spencer was in his own little world as he started his car. It had taken some time, but now he knew for sure exactly what he thought of you and the person you were. He’d known from the very beginning. He didn’t need some reports to tell him who you were or some teenage magazines to understand what he was feeling.

Spencer might have had trouble discerning curiosity from intrigue, but desire was desire. And he desired you in every way he knew existred. He knew what you were, and he knew he didn’t care, and he didn’t think to question it because he knew he was crazy, all geniuses were or went someowhat insane, and Spencer’s crazy was normal compared to most of them if you really thought about it.

He loved a murderer, a serieal killer, but you weren’t like those that he chased, you didn’t kill for fun or because you had some personal end goal in mind, you only killed upond receiving an order, if anyting that was a plus, it meant you were trained, though you could probably kick his ass if you really wanted to, he had a feeling as long as he was careful, you wouldn’t hurt him….much.

a/n: honorable mentions edit 1 edit 2 edit 3 edit 4 edit 5 edit 6

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

#spencer reid #criminal minds #fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #graveyard flowers #spencer ried #dr spencer reid #spencer #spencer reid angst #bau team #criminal minds fanfiction #dr reid #written by katherine

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overadores · 2 days ago

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･ ⟢ ⋮ love last ゛༝. ✦ megan skiendiel

You know me well

pairing.ᐟ megan skiendiel x reader

about.ᐟ a sorrowful story of love, sacrifice, and time’s relentless passage, this tale follows two childhood friends whose unbreakable bond grows into something deeper, but as dreams take flight and distance pulls them apart, unspoken words linger—until one fateful night changes everything.

genre.ᐟ heavy angst. hurt, no comfort.

cw.ᐟ major character death, car accident, language.

wc.ᐟ 1229 words

a/n.ᐟ i promise you this is the last car accident story i have, a honorable mention for this lovely song which i highly recommend to listen if yall want to hurt like i did while i was writing this.

It's almost like you love me, I can tell

Have you ever sacrificed everything—your life, your entire world—just to see someone smile again?

Just to remind them that the world isn’t as dark, as empty, as it once seemed?

You did.

It was the summer of ’03.

You were just a kid back then, thrown into the same cabin at summer camp as a stranger, forced into the same space. Megan was a whirlwind of energy, the kind of girl who couldn’t sit still for a second, who danced instead of walked, who laughed at everything and anything at first, she drove you crazy. She was loud, she was hyper, she didn’t know how to read well, she struggled with spelling—but none of that seemed to stop her.

And yet, despite all that, she could read you like an open book.

She tried her hardest to write you letters, struggling to spell out your name, rewriting words over and over just to get them right. She toned down her energy whenever you were too exhausted to deal with it. She listened when you were upset, curled up beside you when homesickness hit, stayed by your side whenever the other kids played their games.

Somewhere along the way, Megan stopped being just an annoying bunkmate.

She became your second home.

You wish you had told her how much that meant to you.

But summer doesn’t last forever. When it ended, you went your separate ways—her on one side of the country, you on the other. The first few weeks were the hardest. You missed her more than you expected, missed her laughter, her warmth. But distance wasn’t enough to break you. You called, you messaged, you sent letters. It wasn’t the same, but it was enough.

You kept this going for years, even into high school.

That’s when you started to realize something was different.

At first, you told yourself it was just a silly crush, something fleeting. You thought maybe it would fade.

You were wrong.

The moment you got your own phone, you were talking constantly. Calls, FaceTimes, texts—it never stopped. Megan always found a way to call, even when she was busy. And when you finally learned to drive, the first thing you did was go to her.

You drove miles just to see her smile.

You sacrificed sleep, time, money—anything, just to be there for her the way she had always been there for you.

And as you grew older, as you stood on the edge of adulthood, you realized something that terrified you.

You loved her.

Not in the way kids love their childhood best friends. Not in the way people expect you to love a friend you’ve known forever.

You were in love with her.

But you never told her.

Not even the night you made your pinky promise.

That night, you took her to your favorite place in the world, the first person you had ever brought there. Megan had never looked happier. Then she took you to hers. You sat together, watching the sun set, golden light painting her face like a dream.

“You know, I’m so lucky to have you,” she had said, turning to you with that soft, radiant smile.

You wanted to tell her then.

You wanted to say, Megan, I love you.

But all you could say was, “And I’m lucky to have you. I hope we spend more days like this, together, until we die.”

She laughed, holding out her pinky. “Then let’s pinky promise on it.”

You hooked your pinky around hers, sealing a promise you didn’t know you would break.

Then came the day Megan called you, her voice thick with tears.

She didn’t get into her dream university.

You didn’t even think. You just grabbed your keys, got into your car, and drove straight to her house.

When she opened the door, her face was streaked with tears, her shoulders shaking.

“Megan, darling, I’m so sorry,” you whispered, pulling her into your arms. She buried her face into your shoulder, crying so hard you could feel your heart breaking.

“But I really wanted to go there,” she sobbed.

“I know.” You held her tighter. “I know, love. But it’s their loss. You’re an incredible dancer, and if they can’t see that, they don’t deserve you.”

She sniffled, letting out a small, shaky laugh. “You always say the right things.”

“I just know you.”

To cheer her up, you took her to her favorite place, bought her ice cream, snacks—anything to see her smile again.

A week later, she called, screaming into the phone.

She got accepted into Dream Academy.

You were beyond proud of her.

But then came the worst part.

She told you that you had to cut contact.

The academy had strict rules—no outside communication, no distractions. You understood. So, you let her go.

You waited.

You watched her from a distance, following every update on her journey. When the finals came, you knew—you knew—she would win.

Then, two days after the announcement, your phone rang.

It was her.

“We can finally celebrate,” she said, her voice full of excitement. “Come over?”

You laughed, already grabbing your keys. “I’m on my way. Get ready.”

She giggled. “Hurry up, slowpoke.”

That was the last thing she ever said to you.

The roads were nearly empty that night.

You were driving, one hand on the wheel, the other checking your phone at a red light. Megan had sent a text.

Meg: hurry uppp, im waitinggg >:(

You smiled, typing back a quick reply.

You: five minutes, i promise.

You never made it.

The light turned green. You started driving again.

And then—

A flash of headlights.

A deafening crash.

Everything slowed down.

You felt the impact before you even realized what was happening.

Pain.

So much pain.

Your thoughts blurred, fading in and out, but you still saw flashes of your life.

Your parents.

Your childhood.

And then Megan.

The girl who was waiting for you.

She was probably texting you again, telling you to hurry up. Probably fixing her hair, too excited to sit still.

You wanted to tell her you were coming.

You wanted to tell her you were sorry.

You wanted to tell her—

I love you.

But you never got the chance.

They say when someone dies unexpectedly, there’s a moment—just a moment—when their soul lingers.

Long enough to see the aftermath.

Long enough to see who mourns them.

You don’t know if that’s true.

But if it is, then you know exactly what you would’ve seen.

Megan.

Sitting in her room, waiting.

Checking her phone every few minutes, frowning when you didn’t respond.

Calling you, only for it to go straight to voicemail.

Then, the next day, the call she never expected.

A voice on the other end, telling her the news.

You can imagine how she reacted.

Shocked.

Denial.

Then, the tears. The way she must’ve curled up in her bed, crying her heart out.

The way she must’ve whispered, No, no, no, they promised. They promised we’d have more days together.

The way she must’ve broken, knowing you never got to celebrate her win.

Knowing you never got to say goodbye.

Megan, darling.

You hope she knows how much you loved her.

You hope she knows how much you sacrificed for her.

You hope she knows, even in your final moments—

You were thinking of her.

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00valentina-writes00 · 1 day ago

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ellie with reader who has selective mutism? love your workk

♡♥︎Ellie with a girl they has selective mutism♥︎♡

♥︎ Ellie’s got a big mouth—always has, always will—but the moment she realizes you have selective mutism, she dials it back. Not in a way that makes you feel weird or different, but in a way that says, Hey, I see you. I get it.

♥︎ She never pressures you to speak. If you want to, cool. If you don’t, also cool. She reads your body language like a damn expert, catching onto little things—the way you shift, the way your eyes dart—before you even realize you’re communicating.

♥︎ That being said, she still talks a lot. Not to fill the silence, but just because she wants to share things with you. Her day, a dumb joke she thought of, how she absolutely destroyed Dina in a game of poker (she’s lying).

♥︎ Ellie’s the type to get really protective when people try to force you to talk. If anyone’s being pushy or making you uncomfortable, she’s immediately stepping in with a sharp, “They don’t owe you shit, dude. Move along.”

♥︎ She picks up on your nonverbal cues fast. If you glance at the door at a party, she’s already grabbing your hand to lead you out. If you shift uncomfortably when someone tries talking to you, she redirects the conversation smoothly.

♥︎ Writes little notes and passes them to you when you’re both chilling. Sometimes they’re stupid doodles of a buff giraffe (her artistic skills are questionable), sometimes they’re just little things like u hungry? wanna get outta here? u look cute btw.

♥︎ Over time, she gets used to the different ways you communicate—gestures, nods, writing things down. If you’re comfortable, she’ll even help you practice speaking in a low-pressure way, like whispering to her when no one else is around.

♥︎ She talks to you in the same casual, unfiltered way she talks to anyone else. She never makes you feel fragile or different, never acts like she’s walking on eggshells.

♥︎ Lowkey brags about understanding you better than anyone else. If someone’s confused about something you meant, Ellie’s already translating like, “They mean no, dude. Can you not tell?”

♥︎ If you ever do decide to talk, even just a word or two, she never makes a big deal out of it. Just gives you this soft little smile, like she’s proud of you but doesn’t wanna put you on the spot. Later, though, when you’re alone, she might squeeze your hand and be like, “That was cool, babe.”

♥︎ Hums and sings under her breath around you. Sometimes she does it just to make the silence feel shared rather than empty. If you have a song you like, she’ll learn it on her guitar and play it for you without expecting you to say anything about it.

♥︎ Lets you take the lead in physical affection. If you reach for her hand, she acts all casual about it, but inside she’s melting. If you tug on her sleeve for attention, she turns to you immediately, giving you her full focus.

♥︎ If someone asks why you don’t talk, Ellie is the first to shut that down. “That’s none of your business,” she’ll say, jaw tight. She doesn’t need an explanation to respect you, and she makes sure no one else does either.

♥︎ Gets really good at interpreting your facial expressions. A raised eyebrow? She’s smirking. A side glance? “Okay, yeah, that dude is weird-looking.” She makes it feel like a secret language between you two.

♥︎ If you ever get frustrated with yourself, she’s the first to reassure you. “Hey, you don’t need to talk to be heard, alright?” She’ll sit with you through whatever you’re feeling, no pressure, just warmth.

♥︎ Teaches you dumb hand signals for things. If you’re across the room and she wants to make you laugh, she does something goofy, like a dramatic thumbs down when Dina’s being annoying.

♥︎ If you text her instead of speaking, she responds in the same way—never makes you feel like it’s weird. Sometimes she even sends voice memos in response, all lazy and affectionate, like, “Babe, you should’ve seen Jesse’s face when I beat his ass in cards today.”

♥︎ Winks at you a lot. Not in a flirty way (okay, sometimes in a flirty way), but mostly in an I got you kinda way. If you’re struggling, if someone’s being annoying, if she just wants to make you smile—wink.

♥︎ At the end of the day, she never sees you as “the quiet one.” She just sees you. The way you light up when you’re happy, the way you make her feel safe without saying a word. And in return, she makes sure you always know: you don’t have to say anything for her to hear you.

#ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie willams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x y/n #the last of us x reader #the last of us headcanons #tlou #ellie tlou #the last of us

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jjunbug · 2 days ago

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hehe don’t even worry about it!! ♡♡ i’m so happy that i can finally read all your love thoughts on the prologue!! i’ve been waiting for this~~ but will do! 🫡

THE PLAYLISTTTT!!! i spent so much time on it hehe i’m glad that you like it!! and hehe the bog bodies i love that song so much and it fits so well with the future chapters too!! i’m excited for you to see it all ^^

but omg you got the subtle foreshadowing here!!! i love YOUU!!! and the worldbuilding hehe i’m so so happy that you like it so much!! and your super sweet words… stop i could cry. i’m so happy that my writing comes off so atmospheric and so visual that you can see the words like a movie!!! that’s like the greatest compliment ever and one of my goals, so you have no idea how glad i am to hear this!!! ♡♡ and published fantasy books??? i’m sobbing rn omg thank you?????

but yes!!! change is so so jarring and is literally nothing like how the (older) adults in our lives explained it to be and i wanted to show that in various ways. it’s something that i personally struggling with a lot and i’m so comforted but the fact that so many others can relate to me with this and also feel comforted by my words about it!! it truly reminds me that we aren’t in this all alone ♡♡♡

LMAOO😭 you asking if she’s a slave is killing me PLSS,,, i wouldn’t say she’s a slave, but she’s kinda like cinderella except there’s no evil stepsisters or anything just her!! her and her evil “mother” lamia lmao… but and the hound playing during all of this??? oh my… that would rip my guts out too… but hehe thank you so much!!! i literally start ascending when people compliment my music taste (∩˃o˂∩)♡♡ and lost playing while kai is introduced???? spotify perfectly lining up songs for you while reading omg,,, don’t even get me started on my blood,,,,,,

me??? a poet???? hehe stoppppp~~ (๑˃ᴗ˂) i use to be completely obsessed with poetry tho, so this is literally like the highest of compliments!!! reminds me of when i was in high school my english teacher had us write poems and she hung mine up for everyone to see for the rest of the time i was in high school lmao. but you complimenting my write,,, i will start crying omg.

but yesss!!!!! i love kai in this sm~~ him being all smooth and being like “well all queens need a king right??” like i’d literally melt on the spot me and mc are the exact same!!! and then him kissing her hand like OMGGGG,,, but yes hehe~~ this is just the prologue you’re not prepared for everything that goes down in chapter one…!!!

it’s okay lmao i laughed writing it😭😭 same with when i came up with green thumbs. i was like WAITTTT??? am i… a genius???? can you tell i spent wayyyy to much time coming up with the names of literally everything?? the oc names, the name of the inn, the name of the school…. hehe so much to tell~~ there’s literally SO much foreshadowing jam packed into this prologue that i’m so curious on how much everyone caught!!!

althea >>>>>>>>> lamia, that’s all i’ll say.

but yes yes yes THIS!!! him immediately going to her and content to just sit with her in silence if need be… literally besides althea, the only people they have in the whole world at that moment is each other, it’s so strangely comforting and so sad at the same time!! but i’m so happy that you like the dialogue!!!!! you don’t understand how many times i reread all of the paragraphs out loud just to make sure everything flowed well and that the dialogue didn’t seem so clunky… like it was kinda embarrassing but i’m so happy that it came out well!!!!!

and the artwork that inspired all of this!!!! you don’t understand as soon as i saw it i was like YES!!!!!! i need to write something about that IMMEDIATELY. i love artists and writers and poets so so much too, where would the world be without them??

but yes hehe all of the comparisons, i’m so happy that you caught it!!!! and i’m so happy you liked the inner dialogue too!!! i kinda did it a different way so i’m happy that it all paid off!! BUT YOURE LITERALLY SO SWEET AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AHHH!!! (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ )♡♡♡ THIS MEANS SO MUCH TO ME!!!!!! TRUST i will publish a book one day and i’ll never forget all the kind things you and so many others said to me that lifted me up so high. literally going straight into my dedications and i’m so serious.

the timestamp for burn it down by daughter is killing me tho LMAOHSIFHJDFNJDD that’s so funny😭😭

literally gonna cry reading this like,,, i’m so happy that you enjoyed the prologue and thank you so so so so SO much for reading!!! ♡♡ i’m so excited to hear your thoughts about chapter one when i (finally) release it!!! hehe i hope you stay tuned!!!~~

BETWEEN TWILIGHT SKIES ───𝓅𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗎𝖾: 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

in a world that’s on its dying breath, the once green and lush landscapes get buried in more and more layers of ash. the once flourishing streets that were full of magic are now a dull hum. yet, there is still hope—and it lies in the hands of you and kai, the last people to possess magic. suddenly, you remember the story of a forest that watches, and a well of life that lies deep within. you’re determined to save your bleak world in any way that you can, yet, you weren’t expecting to end up in a brand new world entirely.

pairing ⸝⸝ huening kai 𝑥 fem!reader 𓄵 𝓯eat. ꔛ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳!𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘢 (𝘰𝘤) & 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘳!𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢 (𝘰𝘤)

genre ⋆ 📖 ⸝⸝ angst, fluff, a lot of yearning and longing (both romantic and platonic), magic, sorcerer!kai

warnings ⸝⸝ kidnapping, toxic environments and parental relationships, implied bullying, two instances of reader getting slapped, violence, death (of people & animals), depictions of gore, implied anxiety attack and abuse, hand holding & staring into each others eyes, tension filled kissing

𝓴ipo’s note ⸝⸝ the series has finally started!! now listen, listen, listen!! i know what you’re thinking, “a prologue and it’s 7.6k????” but i need you guys to STAY WITH ME!!! stay with me and lock in and after reading it all you’ll understand why it had to be this long lmao… next chapter you’ll meet yeonjun hehe~~ i hope you enjoy!!

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ❨ 7.6k ❩ ╱ ❨ 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ❩ ╱ ❨ 𝓼𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝒎𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ❩ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ︵͡ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (´ε｀ʃƪ)♡

‎ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ 𐦍 ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏NEXT ⤇

The world around you had begun to wither away and decay long before it had started to end. As most things do, the rot had started to creep its way in through love. It had used it as a gateway, spreading its sickness all throughout the things you touched until it was the thin wisps of ash coating your cracked fingertips. Still, you let the rot in—let it corrupt the things you loved and change them into something unrecognizable, something unimaginable—something that was now dead and gone. You just couldn’t let go of the small doses of love you were granted with—naively gulping down tasteless sips to fill that hole inside your heart left by people you never even really knew.

You cradled love like a child guards its favorite toy; with fear and hesitancy. It was clear in the way your body hunched over and you looked up at every grown-up through wet lashes. Obvious in the way your dirty clothes hung limply from gangly limbs—once a tight fit but now they seemed to be made for a child much older than you. It must’ve been what enthralled her, what made her decide to pluck a random child no older than five off the street in the middle of the night and take them home.

In a way, you guess you had to thank her for the senseless crime she committed; for it gave you a warm bed to lay your head at night and food to fill your growling belly. It didn’t bother you that it all had come at a price, in fact, you were none the wiser. But, you’d know soon enough. The mask can only stay on for so long before it starts to crack—before it starts to rot like everything else did.

Lamia, is the name she sweetly whispered next to your ear as she tucked you into a bed that was never yours that night. “But, you can call me Mom,” she said, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

It was hard watching things change in front of your very eyes. It was never the way people described it for you. Not the slow twist of vines along a column or the grass growing taller than a fence—no. It was the whipping of wind across your face. You’d go to wipe your teary eyes and find the sunny and warm scenery was now cold and dead with glittering snow laying everywhere.

You hated it.

You wished that things could stay as they were for as long as they could. You hated watching the faces of people you’ve grown to know dip and sag with age in an instant. You hated watching the life leave their eyes in a quick blink. And you hated how life seemed to go so slow for everyone except for you.

If you could dare to wish for one thing, it would be more time.

Sweet nights and even sweeter days began to sour, and Lamia—your mother—wasn’t as kind as she used to be when you were still a child. You think that that is what hurt the most with this odd whipping of wind, that you were forced to watch the love your mother held for you leave her eyes faster than you got to grow up to the young teenager you were today.

“Welcome to the Freywolf Inn!” you heard her voice exclaim to the ringing bell of the door. It was a careful blend of welcoming and cheerful. The sound was drowned out of your ears by the incessant sound of a brush against hardwood and soap mixing with water. You sat back on your knees, throwing the brush into the soapy mess and letting it clang against the floor, sighing. You wiped the back of your wet hand across your forehead and sucked in a breath.

Your knees ached and your hands were sore and cramped. This was the worst part of your mornings. No matter how hard you scrubbed these wooden floors, it wasn’t enough for Lamia. If they didn’t shine as if freshly polished when you were done then you scrubbed them wrong and she made you clean them again. Standing up on weak legs, you looked over your shoulder at the new customers as you reached for the bucket of dirty soap water. A soft gasp left your lips and you had to hold on tight to the bucket handle with both hands to ensure its contents didn't go spilling all over the floor.

You’d recognize them anywhere—the Collective, with their hooded, light forest-green cloaks embroidered with gold filigree and its golden satin insides. You never saw a member in person before—not that you were particularly excited to. Seeing a member of the Collective, so far away from the School of Pith, could only mean one thing…

The rot was here.

Frozen like a deer caught on sacred ground, you stared wide-eyed at them as they made their way to the common room, their carefree laughs carrying in the air around them. It felt like a bad omen—a confirmation. You tried so hard to ignore the fate of the things around you, but seeing that you could no longer hide from it was like a punch to your stomach.

Strangely, you also couldn’t help but be morbidly fascinated by it all. You exhaled slowly, steadying your racing heart and stilling your shaking hands that grasped the handle of the wooden bucket. Distantly, you felt the sting of pain across the back of your hands and shut your eyes. Only when every last molecule of air was absent from your lungs did you allow yourself to gulp in more to soothe the burning—just like your mother taught you.

Your eyes fluttered back open and landed on the group of sorcerers. They playfully practiced their magic out in the open—ringlets of green floating in the air and curling around their fingers and forearms. Their hands moved in peculiar ways, a jerk here or a smooth twist of their wrist there. You couldn’t understand it, but the more you watched them perform magic in front of your very eyes, the more you wanted to.

One member stood out to you in particular. He sat off to the side, a small distance away from where the others engaged and practiced their magic at, by himself. Dark hair fell over his warm-brown eyes, but you could still see how kind they were as they watched the other members of the Collective almost fondly. His green hood was over his head and he fiddled with the seams of his white pants with pale hands. There was a ghost of a smile on his face and—unbeknownst to you—there was one on yours too.

He didn’t practice his magic like the others did. He seemed content in just watching, having no need in the selfish display of power the others showcased. It piqued your interest what set him apart from the others and already you could feel a growing favor blossom in your chest for the boy.

He had to be only a few years older than you were and your cheeks warmed at the thought. He reached his arms up and pushed the hood backwards off his head, seemingly oblivious to your staring as were the rest of them. The filtered daylight washed over his body and you saw him more clearly. Your eyes greedily scanned over the slopes of his face, desperate to take him all in as quickly as you could. You couldn’t lie, he was beautiful.

You trailed your eyes over to the wisps of the green in the air. It’s different knowing that magic exists in a world so bleak and actually seeing it in action. It made you wonder where the ash was here in your small village—the rot—so you could watch them smother it. You needed to see those ringlets of green curl around it tighter and tighter until it didn’t exist anymore. Until all of the ash was gone for good.

You wanted to know what it felt like to wield such magic. Your fingers itched to replicate their movements in hopes that green wisps of your own would emerge. Maybe then would your touch not bring about destruction.

A hand roughly grabs your shoulder and breaks you away from the trance you were under. “Stupid child! Can you not hear?”

Lamia’s wrinkled face startlingly comes into view and you feel the bite of her nails in the flesh of your arm through the fabric of the thin dress you wore. You stammered, unsure of what to say and what her previous words were, and blinked rapidly at her accusation.

Wind whipped across your face and too late did you feel prickling pain spread across your cheek. The inn fell deathly silent and your eyes started to water. You swallowed down the lump in your throat thickly, your watery eyes finding your mother’s. “When I ask you a question, you answer it. Do I have to repeat myself?” your mother asked you.

Slowly, you shook your head and willed yourself to find your voice. “N-no, mother.” Your voice came out in a quiet squeak, completely pathetic and weak.

“Good,” Lamia responded. “Dry these soap-covered floors before our customers slip. Then, I want you to ensure the rooms for them are ready.”

“Yes, mother,” you said in that same weak voice.

She looked you up and down for a moment before tsking. Then, she turned on her heel and returned back to where she was behind the counter beforehand. Smoke curled from her mouth as she leisurely flipped through the sign-in book, unaware of the way time changed around her.

You swallowed thickly again, fingers tightening and untightening around the handle of the bucket you still held. Slowly, you turned just enough to look over your shoulder at lounging customers. No longer did they smile and laugh with a carefree attitude and swirls of green in the air. Instead, they stared at you with barely disguised shock. Your gaze snapped to the boy you were spellbound with earlier to find him staring too, mouth slack and sitting at the edge of the couch like he was eager to stand. His eyes met your teary ones and you broke away from the sudden connection.

Lifting the bucket closer to your chest, you rushed off into the direction of the rooms, embarrassment weighing you down and the once unshed tears now falling down your face. You ignored the sloshing sound of the water inside of it and the way the wood hit against your stomach, spilling over the metal lip and onto the floor below, creating an even bigger mess.

Sniffling, you hid yourself in the supply room. Your tears fell freely and a large sob wracked your body. You let the bucket slip from your fingers just inches from the rocky floor without a care and with a piercing thud. Stupid, you thought to yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Get it together. Stop crying.

Yet, the tears wouldn't stop. You heaved in breaths of air that refused to reach your lungs. You didn’t have time for this. If the floors weren’t dry and the rooms weren’t checked on in a timely manner then you’d get worse than a slap across the face. Harshly, you dug the palms of your hands into your cheeks and wiped away the fallen tears. You compelled yourself to take a deep breath, to let the oxygen reach your lungs and not be blocked by the false closing of your throat.

Closing your eyes, you took in another deep breath, and another and another until your body no longer began to tremble. You straightened your back so you weren’t hunched over anymore and wiped your hands down the front of your damp dress. When you felt like you weren’t unravelling at the seams only then did you step out of the supply room to face the world.

Instead of the loud chattering coming from the Collective like from when they arrived, it was quiet and sparse whispers. When you got closer to where they were in the common room, the whispers grew.

You tried to drown their whispers out—opting to instead get to work on your mother’s request. Dropping to your knees, you took the clean towel and aggressively dried the wet section of hardwood floor beneath you, letting all your focus fall onto the repeated action.

Footsteps sounded behind you, but you didn’t hear them until an unfamiliar voice stunned you from your focus. “If I may?” the voice asked. You looked to the side, eyes meeting dirty brown boots whose eyelets caught in the bright sun. They trailed upwards to white pants and gold embroidered filigree onto a light, forest-green velvet fabric. Your hand halted its aggressive drying as your eyes ascended further to meet the boy from earlier’s handsome face. Your eyes widened to saucers and his seemed to be just as big as they looked down at you. “It will all go faster if I do this,” he continued, some of his words wobbling around the edges.

You remained silent, not trusting your voice to not come out raw and abrasive. The boy extended a hand out in front of him and with a twist of his wrist wisps of green emerged and wrapped around it. They swirled out around the two of you, lightly fogging across the floor. You turned to the wet floor in front of you and watched as it suddenly dried, the wood shining in the sunlight pouring in from the window. Your jaw slackened as your mouth fell open.

“It was a simple spell—you shouldn’t have to be on your hands and knees drying a floor,” the boy stated, the second part lower than the first so your mother didn’t hear. He outstretched his hand to you. Your mouth was still open as you turned back to stare blankly at his hand. An amused and warm smile pulled his cheeks upward and you suddenly came to the realization that you must’ve looked ridiculous.

“T-thank you…” you trailed off, voice barely above a whisper, still starstruck by the display of magic and the boy’s smile. You straightened your back before blinking a couple times. Clearing your throat, you accepted his outstretched hand and the boy helped you to your feet.

He chuckled and you felt your knees weaken more. His hand was still holding yours, the both of you forgetful as your gaze seared into each other. The smile slowly fell from his face, his lips parting with unspoken words as he gaped at you as if bewitched. Snickering to your side brought the two of you back to real life and you pulled your hands away from each other.

“Uh,” the boy said, clenching the hand that was just holding yours and trying to form a coherent sentence. His gaze snapped briefly to the other members of the Collective before landing on you again. “U—No worries! It was nothing, really. Kai.” He stammered over his words before his eyebrows raised. “My name. It’s–I’m, uh, Kai.”

Kai outstretched his hand again before he thought better of it and swiftly yanked it away, instead rubbing the back of his neck with it. If you weren’t so disoriented you’d laugh, but you just stare at him instead, the heat slowly creeping up your neck. You then realize how much of a mess you must look and quickly wipe your cheeks to get rid of any remaining tears. “Um,” you start, “I… I’m—”

Your name slices through the air like a knife. You jump, eyes darting over to where your mother stood behind the counter, a saccharine smile pulling her lips as she looked at the two of you. It felt as if you were watching a snake rattle its tail. Looking back to Kai, you offer him the tiniest of smiles before rushing away again, leaving him standing alone.

You’re not quite sure when the obsession with magic started. Maybe it was when you saw how carefree the Collective looked wielding it, as if it was second nature. Or, maybe it was when Kai had so graciously used it to help you out so you didn’t have to spend the remainder of the morning on your hands and knees. All you did know was that it had sunk its claws inside of you, gripping fiercely at your heart and making the hole inside of it larger.

Maybe it was when you started sneaking away from, or even downright rushing to finish, your duties so you could watch them practice magic. Maybe it was the rush you got watching their hands twist and jerk in specific movements for specific outcomes, green coils emerging from the motions.

But, you think it started when you lifted your hands into the air, daring to copy them.

At first, it was nothing, and frustration built up like a brick wall inside you. Then, that frustration turned to resentment, and that resentment into anger.

The Collective were here for a week so far and you weren't sure how long you had left before they departed. Why weren’t you born with magic like they were? If you had magic, it would change everything. No longer would everything rot around you when you could smother the rot all out—bring everything that has long been dead and gone back to life. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.

You flicked your fingers in the air angrily as green smoked around the member’s fingers and not yours. Something a mix between and groan and a growl emerged from your throat instead. But, you were determined—and you refused to give up.

Perfecting the twists of your wrists and quick jerks of your fingers, you exhaled steadily and focused on getting the same result the member of the Collective did—cracking open a single walnut without touching it. The walnut sat on the floor in front of you mockingly and you scowled at it before focusing again.

“Come on,” you whispered to yourself. “Come on, come on. Work, please.” With one final twist of your wrist, you heard the distinct cracking sound and a soft gasp pushing between your lips. Your face broke into a smile and it took everything in you not to cheer at the top of your lungs. You watched the slightest hints of green feather away around the lengths of your fingers, so fast the color was barely distinguishable. A smile spread across your face from ear to ear.

“Yes!” you proclaimed, taking care to keep your voice low. A pleased laugh left your mouth and happy tears filled your lash line, “Yes!”

Your view snapped back to that of the Collective in the dining hall. You listened to the way they joked with each other and made water spin into wine—getting themselves drunk and red-faced. As your stare analyzed them, you noticed that Kai wasn’t among them.

It was odd, you thought, but it reminded you of the first time you saw him and how he sat apart from the others. How different he seemed from them. Just from watching the Collective members interact, you already didn’t like them. Maybe Kai felt the same.

You haven’t talked to him since that day—haven’t really seen him around besides quick glimpses, either. A peculiar feeling stirred in your chest and you weren’t sure what it meant. You just hoped that your paths would cross again.

When you weren’t at Freywolf Inn, you were at the craft guild with your nose buried in a book. You were there so often that you were on a first name basis with the stationer, Althea, a sweet lady who distinctly had the look that reminded you of a barn owl. In the entirety of your small village, it seemed Althea was the only one who wasn’t victim to the rot. You felt safe being around her—and she always remarked how much you were like a daughter to her.

She let you freely borrow the books she received or binded and even let you hang out behind the counter while she dealt with artisans and people wealthier than you could ever imagine who came to see her from all over the world. You remember asking her one day why people came from all over to see her wares.

“Not that they’re bad,” you quickly added, leaning the open book onto your thighs as you looked up at her from your hiding spot underneath the counter. She threw you a witty smile over her shoulder from the press she was at, hair the color of cinnamon sticks falling over her shoulder. The two of you felt as if you were moving at the same speed—you barely realized the fact that streaks of white slowly became more prevalent in her hair. “I mean, this is just such a small village… Wouldn’t they go to communes or the King’s Roots where the school is?”

Althea’s voice was nothing like you’ve heard before despite her saying how she grew up in the village. It had a strange accent and the way she spoke was like silk against the bark of a tree. Althea turned from where she worked to meet your questioning look, leaning over and resting her elbows on her knees so she was just about eye level with you, “Not… quite. See, I offer words that you won’t find on a shelf at the School of Pith. Illustrations they wouldn’t dare to let one of their students witness.”

You sat up more underneath the counter, completely abandoning the still open book in your lap. Your eyes shined with curiosity and Althea laughed—a sound that resembled crackling fire. “What kind of words?” you asked her.

“Knowledge, my owlet. There’s much more out there than the green thumbs of Pith—the royals and the wealthy.” Althea spat out green thumbs like food stuck on her tongue. You knew she never liked the Collective, but to this day, she still never told you why.

Althea stood and walked over to one of the shelves that you never touched, but was always only open for certain customers who came inside the guild hooded and quiet. Her finger ran along the spines as her white brows drew together, “There is a forest in this world, buried deep within another.” Her brows lifted as she found the book she was looking for and she made her way back to the counter.

You crawled from beneath the counter, twisting to watch as she laid the thick book down onto it and opened it to the beginning pages. You gently discarded the book you were reading off to the side of the counter, your focus now on the twirling of words and stirring drawings. Althea’s fingers gently caressed the pages. Her face was distant and longing, like recounting a memory that happened centuries ago. “The Forest That Watches, it is called,” she continued. “It’s white-barked trees have black eyes drawn onto them by people from long ago and its drooping pink leaves kiss the sacred ground.”

For a moment, Althea was quiet. You waited patiently, decidedly taking in the open page until she was ready to speak again. You could tell that this forest was a sensitive topic for her and you didn’t want to pry. You looked up at her when she wrapped her arm around your shoulders. She regarded you with a fond smile, “The forest has never been found, though, and it remains watching—waiting. Its pink leaves hide what’s inside; the Well of Life.”

With her free arm, Althea flipped through the pages until it landed on the Forest and the Well. “Woah,” you muttered, leaning forward to get a better look at it. Even from the illustrations you could tell how beautiful it was, feel the magic that radiated from it all.

You knew why it hadn’t been found yet—why it never could be. That much power in the wrong hands would be detrimental. But, you couldn’t help but wonder how different your world would be if it had access to the magical waters Althea was telling you about.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Althea breathed wistfully. “We’ll meet there one day… under the pink leaves and drink from the Well.” She returned her gaze to yours. “Wouldn’t that be nice? Then the turning of the sun won’t seem so fast.”

You sighed to yourself as your eyes fell back to the pages. You leaned your head into Althea’s side and she wrapped her arm around you tighter. “That would be nice,” you say.

In the darkness of the night, you let the shadows listen to your deepest wishes. And how you wish that it was Althea who plucked you from the streets instead of Lamia.

You wander Althea’s shelf now, hands running along the spines. Your fingertips still buzz with the magic you emitted earlier and you swear you can feel the contents of the shelved books calling out to you. Stilling, your fingers halt onto a book. The pull was just too strong to deny and when you turn your head to read the spine you find that the lettering has been rubbed away by time. You hum in slight annoyance before pulling the book from the shelf.

You can feel how Althea’s eyes trail you, especially when you walk over to the counter to take your familiar spot under it. In the corner of your eye, you can see her head tilt. “You feel different. And you’re quiet—quieter than usual,” she says quizzically.

Looking up from your book, a corner of your mouth raises. “Magic, Althea…” Your face breaks out into full-on excitement. “I have it! At least… sparks of it…”

Althea’s face doesn’t change from its quizzical expression. She shifts in her seat in front of the press. “Green?” she asked you, accusatory. You're unsure whether her accusatory tone was towards you or not.

The excitement swiftly falls from your face and you sit up more under the counter. “I… Yeah…” you mutter, avoiding her stare.

“It can’t be,” Althea states matter-of-factly. Her white brows furrow, and she looks away from you. “Can’t be…” she quietly trails off, more to herself than to you. “Green is… can’t be, can’t be. Doesn’t make sense.”

“I think it was green…” you pipe up, voice falling flat towards the end when her piercing black eyes snap to yours. “I didn’t really see the color, it all happened too fast.” It was true, but in your heart you wished it was green. You just wanted Althea to stop acting all fidgety and looking at you the way she did. You held the book in your arms closer to your chest and Althea’s gaze dropped to the movement.

Althea’s body physically relaxed from the tense state it was in, and if you looked close enough, you thought you could see the ghost of a smile on her lips. She hummed, suddenly pleased, “Magic… how enchanting. Have I told you about the White Fawn? Or, the prophecy of Eternal Winter?”

Your brows knitted at the change in her demeanor, but you concluded that it was better to leave it be. You shook your head at her question. “What about faeries?” Althea asked.

“No,” you responded, “what are they?”

Althea slid to the ground in front of you, a grin pulling her mouth and exposing her teeth. She tapped the book you desperately clutched to your chest with an ivory finger. “Why don’t you take a look?”

You giggled to yourself, letting your arms flow in the harmony of the wind. You twirled and moved your body to the tune of nature—to the sounds of the forest’s edge behind you with its rustling leaves and chattering animals. The crown of sticks and fallen leaves fell down further onto your forehead and you laughed more. You didn’t even notice the single brilliant blue butterfly that landed on it and completed your costume.

If your mother saw you right now, she’d be furious. She had sent you out here on punishment with the intention of having you clean the stables behind the inn. Instead, you were dancing The Dance of Youth and pretending to be the Faerie Queen.

You spent all day yesterday reading Althea’s book on anything magical you could get your hands on, which mainly consisted of faeries and the realm they occupied. The books conjured up tales, legends, and myths of those more than human—people with glittering or colorful skin, wings, horns shooting from their heads, and even human-like versions of some of the animals you were already familiar with. It was completely enthralling reading about it all, and feeling all the magic pour off of the pages made you even more giddy. The magic the School of Pith had was nothing compared to the magic you had read about.

In a kingdom so sunny and full of bloom, A deadly winter approaches to cause mass doom. Drowns the kingdom in layers of snow, And becomes a place where nothing grows and no one goes.

You sang and danced around in the grass, pretending that you weren’t human at all, but faerie. That you were queen and the lands stretching from the edge of the forest to the inn was your kingdom. You wished you lived in Faerie where all the other magical creatures resided. That you and Althea could live there together, happy. Maybe even Kai could join you too. You giggled more at the wonderful thought.

Rustling in the forest drew your attention and you halted your dance. You leaned forward, listening closely and peering at the way the setting sun shined through the leaves, but then laughed at how ridiculous the notion was. Of course there was rustling, it’s a forest. You turned your attention back to the doll propped up on a rock, watching you. “Don’t look at me that way,” you say, twirling once more before making your way over to it.

The doll was a sightly thing made out of straw and sticks that Althea gave to you as a child. After all these years you still had it, and you cherished it deeply—making sure to keep it hidden from Lamia so she wouldn’t toss it out. You could hear her voice now, “A girl born in the summer of the thirteenth year of the King still playing with dolls? How preposterous!”

You hummed, bending down to retrieve the doll. “What an odd thing to say… Why should I find a man to marry in order to rule? I am the Faerie Queen. This is my kingdom, I shall rule it how I see fit!”

Too lost in your own dream-like world, you don’t notice the crunching of leaves beneath boots. “Well, all Queens need a King to stand beside them,” a voice said behind you. You spun in place, clutching the doll to your chest. Kai tilted his head at you, an easy smile playing on his lips. “Don’t you think?” he concluded.

His cloak was covered in ash. He and the other members of the Collective must have just returned from defeating the ash in the area for good. The heat immediately rushed to your face and your mind raced. Kai stood mere feet from you and you were stumbling over your own thoughts on what to say. You stood up straighter, trying to appear nonchalant, “I-I suppose…”

How embarrassing it was to be caught in such childlike endeavors—by Kai of all people! You moved the doll behind your back in an attempt to hide it, yet Kai’s gaze followed the action before flicking back up to your face. Behind him, you saw the rest of the Collective ride up on horses towards the inn, snickering at the two of you. “I see Kai has finally found someone willing to lay with him!” one shouted sarcastically.

Kai’s face soured and he looked over his shoulder at them with a glare before turning back to you. Face softening, he took a step towards you. “Ignore them,” Kai says, “They think they’re funny and they’re not.”

He stripped off his velvet green cloak and gave it a good shake away from where you stood. Ash clouded off of it in front of him, making the two of you cough a little. “Sorry,” Kai coughed, letting the cloak fall onto the rock next to him. “So… The Faerie Queen, huh? What’s that? Does that have something to do with your dance?”

You looked down to your feet in even more embarrassment. “It’s… It’s nothing.” You sat down on the rock that your doll was previously perched on. “I can’t believe you saw that…” you muttered under your breath.

“It looked like fun,” Kai laughed, and you looked up to catch the way his smile lingered as he looked down at you. “You seemed really into it, didn’t even notice me coming up behind you. You jumped like a caught baby deer.”

It was your turn to laugh. “A baby deer?” you asked and Kai nodded. “I guess you could say that, but you scared me!” Kai sat down next to you. He pointed his chin upwards, his eyes on the crown of sticks and leaves on your head. “Is that your crown, Faerie Queen?”

Biting your lip, you took the crown off and placed it in your lap. You toyed with the leaves in it. “You should make me one,” Kai says. You looked up at him. He was much closer than you originally thought he was, his shoulder brushing up against yours making you nervous. This close up you could see all the details of his face—his eyelashes that occasionally rested softly on round, smiling cheeks, and the curve of his plump, pinked lips. And his warm, brown eyes that never left your face. “You know… Queens and Kings and all of that…”

You smiled, looking away from him so he wouldn’t see how flustered he made you. “Really?” you questioned, braving his stare once again. “Yeah!” Kai exclaimed. He leaned closer to you, “Only if you see me fit, though, my queen.”

Kai took your hand in his and bent over to press his lips to the back of it, his eyes flicking up to look at you between his lashes. The action set you alight and you were so sure that Kai could feel the heat radiating off of your body. “I’ll have to put you to the test,” you mutter, barely managing to get your words out. “Only the best can rule with me by my side.”

You felt the vibrations of Kai’s laugh against your skin before he sat back up, his hand still grasping yours. His face was even closer to yours now. All it took was one of you to lean a little closer and your lips would meet. “Well, you’ll find that I am the best of the best,” Kai spoke, lowly. His eyes dropped to your lips and he swayed a little. “Nobody stands a chance against me.”

“Is that so?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Mhm,” Kai nodded. He closed the gap between the two of you and pressed his lips against yours. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he used it to cup your cheek and lift your chin to kiss you deeper. You melted into his touch, your lips moving in sync with his. It was perfect, and the feeling of his soft lips on yours was like heaven.

“Why don’t you show her your magic wand!” a voice behind you and Kai yelled in your direction. The two of you broke apart, yet Kai’s hand remained on your cheek. Embarrassment crept up your neck and you could tell from Kai’s red ears that he was feeling the same way. He turned to where the voice came from, brows drawing together to form another dirty glare.

The rustling in the woods was more prevalent now and both you and Kai’s head snapped to the edge of the forest. Before your ears could even pick up on the growling, a large wolf jumped out from between the trees. Both you and Kai raced to your feet and he held a hand out to guide you behind him. You hugged your doll to your chest in fear. Besides his body being tense, Kai remained relatively calm.

The wolf growled and snapped at the two of you, its sharp teeth piercing the air as spit ran down the corners of its jaw. “Awe, he can’t even handle a single wolf… the Ash is going to smoke him out!” Members of the Collective laughed behind you, but Kai paid them no mind. He guided you slowly backwards and away from the edge of the forest.

Kai quickly glanced back at you and the way you trembled, terrified. “It must be hungry,” he said, focusing back on the wolf. Green swirls of magic wrapped around the two of you. “It probably smells the meat from the nearby butcher’s.”

“It wouldn’t kill us, right?” you asked with a shaky voice, already knowing how foolish the question was before finishing it. Kai looked over his shoulder at you again, his face the most serious you’ve seen it, “Make something scared and it’ll do just about anything to get rid of the feeling.”

Just as Kai turned his head back towards the wolf, it pounced at the two of you. Behind it, more wolves prowled out of the woods, snarling. You barely registered that the harrowing scream that filled your ears was your own before you were pushed to the ground.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion for once in your entire life. The members of the Collective who were snickering and poking fun at you and Kai jumped into action, spirals of green emerging from their fingertips. More of them piled out from the inn, along with Lamia. You don’t realize that a hand is grabbing your arm and lifting you to your feet before you’re being pushed out of the crossfire.

All you see is green. At least, at first.

Then, splatters of red cover your vision. The screams and cracking of bones fill your ears and bodies fly through the air. Hot tears run down your cheeks and you close your eyes. Then, there is complete and utter silence.

The silence lasts for a moment before all sound comes rushing back to you so fast it felt like your ears were bleeding. There was screaming and crying and more cracking of bones set into place. You opened your eyes to see that the once green pasture you danced in was covered in red—red so dark it was almost black, and disfigured bodies and torn limbs were everywhere.

You stood up from the mud, eyes scanning through the green in the air in search of Kai. When you found him, tending to one of his members whose leg was missing, you breathed a sigh of relief. He was covered in blood and viscera, but it looked like he was unharmed. Barely taking a step in his direction, nails dug into your arm, bringing about a sharp sting that you were all too familiar with.

Body swinging in the opposite direction of Kai, you came face to face with your mother. Her hand reached up to roughly grab your chin. “What have you done?!” She screamed at you.

You glanced around you, never hearing her this angry before. More tears slid out of your eyes and to the dirt below and you tried to talk around the lump in your throat. You took in the destruction all around you, at the dead wolves that were now being carried towards the butcher who stood a couple feet from you. His voice caught in the air, “...a lamb, yeah.” You looked at how many lives the Collective lost in a sheer matter of minutes—and how it was all your fault. “It… I—” you started.

“You brainless child!” Your mother’s hand striked you so hard across the face that you fell back down to the mud at your feet. “Do you know how bad this is for business? Members of the Collective are dead on my soil!” You held your searing cheek with the hand that wasn’t still clutching onto your straw doll as you looked up at your mother with tearful eyes.

“I… I didn’t m—”

“Shut up. Go. I never want to see your vile face again!” Lamia screamed, her wrinkled face turning as red as the sunset behind her. She pointed a shaky finger away from the inn. You stood up on weak legs, your knees shaking. “But—but, Mom—” you cried.

“Go!”

You gave her one last pleading look before taking off, stumbling over your own feet. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t need sight for the place you were running to. You could find Althea in the dark, bound and soundless, if you had to.

You pushed open the doors of the guild and fell to the floor just in front of the counter, startling Althea and the customer she was engaging with. Your chest heaved and your tears formed a puddled at your scraped and dirty knees. “S-She… They’re all…” Your whole body shook and you couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.

Althea rushed to you, taking you into her arms and completely abandoning her customer. You caught a glimpse of them from Althea’s chest and didn’t know what you saw… Scaly skin that caught the light before a clawed hand pulled the hood further over their face, maybe? Althea shushed you and rubbed comforting circles into your back. “It’s okay, my owlet, it’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

Love is a very wretched thing. It lets in the rot and the maggots and the ash. But, you still couldn’t help scraping off the corruption and placing it gently in your heart anyway. You couldn’t let go of the thought that maybe it could be beautiful, that it could be worth the cracked skin.

Instead of your usual hiding spot under the counter next to where Althea worked, you were hidden away between shelves at the back of the guild, alone. A book sat open in your lap, but your mind was too distracted to read any of the words in it. You heard the soft pattering of feet along the hardwood and turned to the sound.

Kai stood before you, completely distraught and still covered in blood from the wolf attack.

You waited for him to speak, but he said nothing. You moved the open book in your lap to the side as you sat up. Your lips parted as you thought of something to say. “T-Thank you,” you said finally. “You saved my life.”

Kai’s eyes weren’t the warm brown that they were earlier. Something shifts in them and you swallow thickly. They were cold, lifeless. Kai just nodded and slumped down to the floor next to you. An awkward silence filled the air and you didn’t know what to say to resolve it.

“How did you find me?” you asked in a meek voice. Kai’s eyes shifted over to you from where they looked out the window to the dark sky. “I saw you run here,” he says plainly. “Followed you.”

Silence penetrates the air before he speaks again. “They kicked me out,” Kai says, his lifeless eyes still boring into you. “They kicked me out of the School of Pith.”

Your mouth falls open in shock and you rush to apologize, saying how it was all your fault, but Kai just shakes his head and looks away from you. He’s still in his Collective uniform, but now the light, forest-green of his velvet cloak seems dull and dark. It doesn’t help that it’s now splattered with blood. “I guess it was my last chance.”

There’s no inflection in his voice, nothing to show whether the result makes him sad or angry or even annoyed. His face is expressionless. The only hint to his inner turmoil is the way his fingers pull harshly at the seams of his dirty white pants. The tips of them are reddened, like he’s been at it for a while now.

Kai turned back to you and reached a hand up to gently rub his thumb along your bruised cheek. His gaze then dipped to the book on the floor. “What are you reading?”

You hand the book to him, the page opened onto the legend of the White Fawn that Althea told you about. Kai hummed, “You don’t really believe in all that stuff, do you? This myth?”

“You don’t?” you asked incredulously. “You have magic, but don’t believe in a white deer that brings about luck and fortune?”

For the first time that night, you manage to get Kai to chuckle. “I suppose you’re right…” he trailed. “I might not be the firmest believer in myths and legends, but I do know a lot about them. We learned about them at the school—more things than you’ll read about in any book.”

Kai glances at you and catches the way your eyes light up. A smile pulls at the corner of his lips. The light still isn't back in his eyes—and his smile doesn't reach them either—but, it’s a start. You look at him as if he just hung all the stars in the pitch black sky.

“You want me to teach you?” Kai asks, and you desperately nod your head.

[ kipo’s note . . . ] wow… a lot happened… you see why it had to be almost 8k words now?? lmaoo i had to set everything up! but tell me how you feel about it all!! what do you think about the faerie realm, or the myths of the forest that watches and the well of life? the white fawn and the prophecy of eternal winter??? lemme know all your thoughts, don’t be shy!!! (∩˃o˂∩)♡

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗺.𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ ︵͡ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (´ε｀ʃƪ)♡

🏷️﹙ 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍? 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 ﹚ @jjunberry @gothgyuu @gyuuberries @hyukascampfire @xylatox @ghstzzn @izzyy-stuff @sunoosgfv @jihyokat @whosserina @jellymochii @innocygnet @sumsumtingz @riribelle @yeoningz @minaateez @beombunni @jiryunn @lvrs-street2mmorrow @everythingvirgoes @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @usuallyunlikelyfox @blossommi @tinycatharsis

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jianwon · 2 days ago

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i NEED more se-mi actor x reader mua au. i’m not picky about what about, but preferably just as if not more fluffy. first dates? new show? becoming her official artist? testing out new techniques on her? maybe opposite and she tries to do readers makeup and messes up but it’s cute and sweet

JEALOUSY LOOKS GOOD ON YOU — PLAYER 380

sypnosis. as a makeup artist, you’ve always kept things professional, but that changes during se-mi’s latest photoshoot. when her co-star, no-eul, turns up the flirtation and se-mi’s patience wears thin. tension simmers, jealousy sparks, and before you know it, she’s done holding back.

part 1 part 2

content— actress!se-mi x fem!makeupartist!reader. jealous se-mi (again). flirting and romantic tension. no-eul is a tease and reader is oblivious. mentions of squid game characters.

disclaimer. story is entirely fictional and in no way reflects real events, individuals, or their relationships. characters mentioned are fictional representations based on their on-screen personas.

wordcount. 3.7k

the soft sound of rain tapping against the window was soothing, but it couldn’t quite calm your racing heart. you paced around your small apartment, organizing and straightening things. something you always did when you were excited, even if it was a little unnecessary.

today was one of those rare days where you couldn’t contain the thrill in your chest.

your crew had just informed you that they would be styling se-mi for her upcoming elle korea photoshoot. it was such an exciting opportunity, and your heart swelled with pride.

you were so caught up in the anticipation that you almost missed the gentle knock at your door. when you opened it, there she was, se-mi, standing in the doorway, looking effortlessly chic in a cozy hoodie and jeans, her eyes softening when they met yours.

“hey,” se-mi said with that familiar playful smile. “you busy?”

you grinned, stepping aside to let her in. “not really. just... thinking about something,” you said, trying to hide the excitement in your voice.

se-mi stepped inside, immediately making herself comfortable on your couch. you noticed the way her eyes seemed to be searching you, trying to figure out what was on your mind.

"i can tell you’re in one of your excited moods" she teased, raising an eyebrow as she crossed her legs. "what’s got you all worked up?"

you joined her on the couch, and the space between you felt both too close and too far at the same time.

you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before spilling the news. “my crew’s styling you for the elle korea photoshoot!” you said, your voice nearly trembling from excitement.

se-mi’s eyes widened, and her lips curved into a proud smile. “really? that’s amazing!”

she leaned forward, her hand resting on your knee as she looked at you with fondness. “i’m so proud of you, really. i just know you'll do great.”

your heart fluttered at her words. you had always admired se-mi’s grace and confidence, and the thought of her being styled by you made everything feel surreal. you’d worked with her countless times during her last movie, but this was different. this felt like a big step forward, not just professionally but personally, too.

“i can’t wait to style you again,” you said, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “you’ll look incredible, as usual.”

se-mi’s eyes softened, and she looked at you with something deeper in her gaze.

“you always know how to make me feel special,” she said quietly, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "i can't wait."

you felt a warm flush on your cheeks, not used to the closeness, though it felt entirely natural with her.

it was moments like these that made everything feel more complicated. those unspoken feelings between the two of you that hadn’t yet found a name. you were content to let things unfold naturally, but you could feel something shifting in the air.

as the evening passed, you and se-mi talked about everything and nothing at all. casual, easygoing conversations that often turned into deeper, meaningful exchanges.

but through it all, there was an undercurrent of something you both were pretending not to acknowledge. the way your glances lingered just a little longer, the subtle touches that could’ve been nothing or everything, and the way you both seemed to gravitate toward each other as though it were fate.

the day of the photoshoot arrived.

you could hardly contain your excitement. the studio was bustling with activity, the crew moving like clockwork to prepare everything. you watched with a sense of pride as your team worked seamlessly, knowing that you were at the center of this whole production.

when se-mi walked into the room, the atmosphere seemed to shift. her presence filled the space, elegant and commanding.

she was dressed in a stunning black outfit, her short hair flowing perfectly, and her bare face gleaming with an almost otherworldly glow. you swallowed hard, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. she was beyond beautiful, but it was more than that. there was something magnetic about the way she held herself.

“hey, ready for today?” you asked, trying to sound casual, even though your pulse quickened the moment she came closer.

se-mi gave you a smile that made your knees weak. “always, especially when i’m being prepared by you.” her voice was warm, the hint of flirtation there as she leaned in slightly, her gaze softening.

you couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. “you’ll look amazing. i’ll make sure of it.”

the two of you exchanged a moment of quiet understanding, an intimate moment that felt like it was just the two of you in the world.

se-mi was seated in the makeup chair, and you were preparing your tools, making sure everything was in place.

you were lost in the details of your work, trying to stay focused, when the door opened, and a new presence filled the room.

no-eul walked in, her tall frame exuding confidence. she had a striking look, sharp features, a smooth complexion, and a height that made her impossible to ignore. the way she moved into the room, her every step calculated, caught your attention in an entirely different way. there was something about her that felt electric, but you couldn’t tell if it was excitement or something else.

she smiled when her gaze met yours. “i’m no-eul,” she said, her voice warm but with an edge of curiosity. “you must be the makeup artist."

you returned her smile, bowing in respect, trying to keep things professional. “yes, i’m the one,” you said, trying to keep things light. “i'm y/n. it's nice to meet you.”

no-eul’s eyes lingered a little longer than necessary on you, and something about her smile made your skin prickle. you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there was an undeniable sense of playfulness in the way she looked at you.

just as you were about to return your attention to se-mi, no-eul turned towards her. “se-mi sunbae, it’s been a while,” she said, her tone friendly but with a hint of something more layered beneath it.

se-mi glanced up at her, offering a polite but cool smile. “yeah, it’s been a long time,” she replied, keeping her voice professional. “how’s everything going?”

no-eul’s eyes flickered with something, maybe surprise or amusement at se-mi’s neutral tone, but she didn’t push it. “everything’s good. you know how it is with the acting industry, just keeping busy.”

se-mi gave a small nod, and then her gaze shifted back to you, a faint sense of tension still lingering between them.

it was clear they had worked together before, but they weren’t close. se-mi’s response, though polite, lacked the warmth you might expect from someone reconnecting with an old acquaintance.

“let’s get to work,” se-mi said, her tone shifting back to business, as if the pleasantries were over. she turned to you, offering a smile that was far warmer than the one she had just given no-eul.

as you began working on se-mi’s makeup, you could feel her gaze never straying too far from you.

there was a quiet intensity in her eyes, a watchful energy that made your heart race a little faster. despite her calm demeanor, se-mi must have noticed the tension in your posture.

"why do you look so stiff?" se-mi chuckled, her lips curving into a teasing smile. the amusement in her voice was undeniable.

“do i?” you responded with a slight nervous laugh, trying to mask the fluttering in your chest. "probably because there’s a beautiful woman in front of me. i can’t help but be nervous."

at that, se-mi's cheeks flushed, her eyes widening ever so slightly before she recovered. she turned to face you fully, holding your gaze with an unexpected intensity.

"hey, that's not fair—"

but before she could continue, no-eul’s voice cut through the moment like a sharp blade.

“hey, y/n, do you mind blending this out a little more? maybe add some more color here?” no-eul called, her voice smooth, sweet, and undeniably flirtatious.

she was sitting on the makeup chair beside se-mi’s, her eyes glinting mischievously.

“oh, yes, of course!” you replied quickly, trying to maintain professionalism, though you couldn’t help the slight tinge of frustration from the disturbance that rose in you.

"just a minute." you turned toward se-mi for just a moment, meeting her gaze again, her expression now unreadable.

then, reluctantly, you shifted your attention back to no-eul, who was looking at you with an intensity that seemed more than just casual.

se-mi didn’t make a fuss, knowing you were just doing your job.

however, no-eul was persistent, almost annoyingly so. every time you shifted back to se-mi to continue her makeup, no-eul would call for more adjustments, things that weren’t really necessary.

“actually, y/n, could you make this a bit sharper? just here?” she pointed to her cheekbone, leaning forward as if she wanted to make sure you were really paying attention.

with each small request, your focus wavered, and it felt like no-eul was somehow stealing your attention, inching closer with every brushstroke. each time you reached for a sponge or a brush, her hand would intentionally brush against yours, lingering just a moment too long.

at first, you tried to brush it off, telling yourself that you were just doing your job, trying to stay focused.

but you couldn’t ignore the way se-mi’s eyes tracked every interaction between you and no-eul. the air in the room had shifted, the previously light atmosphere now thick with a palpable tension.

se-mi’s jaw tightened as she watched no-eul’s relentless attempts to engage you. her fists were clenched, her fingers digging into the armrests of her chair as if she were trying to ground herself. she didn’t say anything at first, but the quiet simmer of her anger was undeniable.

“does she always do that?” se-mi asked, her voice low, and you could see the sharpness in her eyes as you returned to her after making another adjustment for no-eul.

you were caught off guard by the bite in her tone. "she’s probably just... detail-oriented," you replied, attempting to brush it off, though you could feel the weight of her gaze on you. “nothing to worry about.”

but se-mi’s expression didn’t soften.

in fact, it grew more rigid, the lines of her face hardening with a quiet frustration. “it’s not just that,” she muttered under her breath, though her words were cutting, almost seething with irritation. “she’s trying too hard.”

no-eul’s persistent requests felt almost like an invasion, an attempt to draw your attention in ways that now felt inappropriate. se-mi’s jealousy hung in the air like a storm cloud, pulsing with intensity.

you glanced back at se-mi, trying to gauge where her feelings were headed. “it’s okay, se-mi. it’s no big deal.”

se-mi didn’t respond. instead, she stared straight ahead, her eyes fixed, her jaw still tight. the smallest twitch of her fingers betrayed how much the situation was affecting her, like she was fighting to hold herself together.

the shoot carried on, and though se-mi remained composed, there was a noticeable shift in her demeanor. her responses to no-eul became precise and professional, no warmth, no unnecessary words.

“no-eul, tilt your head slightly.”

“move your arm down.”

“no, that pose doesn't fit the concept.”

her tone was clipped, her gaze impassive. there was no trace of friendly banter lingering in her voice. you could see no-eul raising an eyebrow at the cold treatment, but she didn’t let it show beyond a faint smirk.

“got it, sunbae,” no-eul replied smoothly, unfazed. “anything else?”

se-mi barely looked at her. “no.”

the tension was palpable, but the cameras kept rolling, and everyone played their part. you worked silently, adjusting se-mi’s hair in between takes, but she barely acknowledged you.

then came the break.

no-eul stretched with an exaggerated sigh before making her way toward you, brushing past se-mi without a second glance. she leaned in just enough to make it obvious, her voice dropping into something more intimate.

“you’re really good at what you do,” she murmured, her eyes flicking to yours with that familiar playfulness. “i should sit in your chair more often.”

you let out an awkward laugh, stepping back slightly. “i just—well, i’m just doing my job.”

“mhm well, i like the way you do it." no-eul teased, her smile lingering.

from the corner of your eye, you caught the way se-mi’s expression hardened. she wasn’t watching directly, but you knew she was listening.

her grip tightened around the water bottle in her hands, her posture stiff.

no-eul, of course, noticed too. she tilted her head, the glint in her eyes unmistakable. “i think i’ll come by after the shoot,” she added, voice deliberately slow. “you don’t mind, do you?”

se-mi suddenly stood. “we’re starting soon,” she announced coolly before walking off without another word.

no-eul chuckled under her breath, clearly entertained. “looks like someone’s in a mood,” she mused, then turned back to you with a wink. “i wonder why.”

you swallowed, feeling a whole new level of tension settle between all three of you.

as another break arrived, the tension has never left.

you were cleaning your brushes when no-eul strolled over, her usual confident smirk in place. she leaned on the vanity next to you, just close enough for her perfume to mix with the faint scent of setting spray in the air.

“you look really dedicated,” no-eul mused, watching as you meticulously organized your tools. “it’s cute.”

you blinked, caught off guard. “i mean… it’s my job?”

she chuckled, tilting her head. “and you do it so well. maybe i should have you all to myself as my personal makeup artist next time.”

before you could even process what she meant, a firm hand suddenly gripped your wrist.

“not happening."

se-mi’s voice cut through the air, sharp and final.

before no-eul or you could react, se-mi yanked you away with a force you weren’t used to, her grip like iron. you barely had time to gasp before she pulled you past equipment, past the staff, past the murmurs of curiosity trailing behind you.

you didn’t realize where you were until your back hit the cool wall of a dimly lit dressing room. the door clicked shut behind you, and then—

se-mi’s lips crashed onto yours.

it wasn’t careful. it wasn’t hesitant. it was pure frustration, heated and desperate, as if she had been holding herself back for too long and finally snapped. her hands cupped your face, her thumbs pressing just beneath your jaw, tilting your head up as she kissed you deeper.

you barely had time to breathe, let alone process, before she pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, her voice rough with emotion.

“you can't be with her.”

your heart pounded against your ribs. “w-what?”

she pouted, her forehead pressing against yours, her fingers tightening slightly. “do you even realize what she was doing back there?”

you blinked. “she was just... being nice?”

se-mi exhaled sharply, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. then she kissed you again, harder this time, as if trying to prove a point, as if branding the truth into your very skin.

you felt the heat of her body, the way her breath mingled with yours, the unspoken words in the way her hands wouldn’t let go.

“she was all over you,” se-mi muttered, her lips ghosting over your jaw now, her breath searing. “and you...” she pulled back just enough to meet your wide-eyed gaze. “you’re too damn oblivious.”

your mind was spinning, but something clicked in that moment, the way se-mi had been acting distant, the coldness toward no-eul, the tension every time she so much as looked in your direction.

it wasn’t just frustration. it was jealousy.

and it was because of you.

your breath hitched as realization settled in. “se-mi, are you..." you hesitated, looking into her dark, stormy eyes. “are you jealous?”

she scoffed, but there was no bite to it, only something vulnerable underneath. “are you really asking me that after all this?”

you swallowed, your face heating up. “i… i wasn't sure. i thought you were just—”

se-mi let out a short, disbelieving laugh before cupping your cheek again, softer this time. “i’ve been trying to keep it together, but when i saw her looking at you like that, touching you like that? i couldn’t stand it.” her thumb brushed over your bottom lip, her voice dropping to a whisper. “i can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you.”

your heart clenched at the raw honesty in her words.

“i’m sorry,” you murmured, placing your hand over hers. “i didn’t mean to make you feel that way. i was just so caught up in work that i didn’t realize…” you trailed off before giving her a small, nervous smile. “but if it helps… i don’t want anyone else. just you.”

se-mi’s breath hitched slightly, her grip tightening as if to make sure you were real. “say it again.”

you smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “i want you, se-mi."

she exhaled, almost in relief, before pulling you into another kiss, this one slower, deeper, carrying everything she couldn’t put into words.

when she pulled away, she rested her forehead against yours, a tiny, satisfied smirk playing on her lips. “you’re mine,” she whispered again, but this time, it wasn’t possessive but it was filled with certainty.

you chuckled softly. “and you’re also mine.”

se-mi let out a small laugh before stealing one last lingering kiss. “good. because i’m never letting you go, dear."

and with the way her arms wrapped around you, holding you close, you believed her.

when you and se-mi stepped back into the styling room, your lips still tingled from her kiss, and your heart was racing for an entirely different reason than before.

you weren’t sure how long you had been gone, but judging by the amused expression on no-eul’s face as she leaned against the counter, arms crossed, she had definitely noticed.

“well, well,” she drawled, a smirk curving on her lips as she lazily tilted her head. “that was quite the dramatic exit. i was wondering if i should call for a search party.”

your face heated up immediately, and you glanced at se-mi, only to see her roll her eyes, her jaw tightening. “mind your business, no-eul.”

“oh, but your business is so much more entertaining,” no-eul shot back, biting back a grin. “you should’ve seen the look on your face when you dragged her away. i thought you were about to challenge me to a duel.”

se-mi scoffed, folding her arms. “if i did, you’d lose.”

“oh? territorial, aren’t we?” no-eul teased, raising an eyebrow. she then turned her gaze to you, lips quirking in amusement. “and you, tell me, did you really not realize I was flirting with you?”

you blinked, shifting uncomfortably. “i mean… i just thought you were being friendly?”

no-eul let out a laugh, shaking her head. “wow. you're adorable.” she glanced at se-mi. “no wonder you were about to explode.”

se-mi huffed, looking like she was debating whether to argue or throw something at her.

no-eul, clearly enjoying herself, continued, “you know, i could’ve kept going, but honestly, it was way too easy to get a reaction out of you, sunbae. you wear jealousy like a designer dress. fitted, dramatic, and impossible to ignore.”

se-mi shot her a glare. “do you ever shut up?”

no-eul grinned. “not when I’m having this much fun.” she turned back to you with a mock-serious expression. “i must say, though, you have great taste. i mean, sunbae is a little scary when she’s mad, but it is kind of hot, isn’t it?”

your face practically burst into flames. “w-what?”

se-mi groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose before grabbing your wrist again, but this time much gentler. “can you just leave?”

no-eul chuckled, waving as se-mi tugged you towards your make-up table. “have fun, lovebirds!”

but just as she reached for the knob, she stopped at the doorway, glancing back at you with a knowing smirk. “oh, and also y/n, love the lipstick shade. happens to also be the same as se-mi sunbae’s.”

your eyes widened.

se-mi froze.

no-eul winked before sauntering off.

you turned to se-mi, horrified. “do you think anyone else...?”

se-mi sighed. “i don’t want to talk about it.”

you, on the other hand, weren’t sure if you wanted to hide forever or burst out laughing.

the room was quiet, save for the faint sound of your breathing mixing with se-mi’s. her arms were still wrapped around you, as if she was afraid to let go. you felt her heart pounding against your chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

“so… what now?” you murmured, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on her back.

se-mi pulled back just enough to look at you, her gaze soft yet determined. “we go back out there and finish the shoot,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “but after that… we talk.”

you nodded, understanding the weight of what she meant. whatever this was, whatever it had become, was something that needed to be acknowledged. no more tiptoeing around feelings, no more silent longing.

a small smirk tugged at se-mi’s lips as she ran her thumb over your lower lip. “besides, i still need to make sure no-eul keeps her hands to herself.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “jealousy doesn’t suit you, miss top actress.”

se-mi narrowed her eyes but there was no real heat behind it. “say that again, and i just might leave you in here.”

you laughed, nudging her lightly before pulling away. “alright, let’s get back before they start thinking we ran off together.”

se-mi’s expression shifted into something teasing. “but we kind of did, didn’t we?”

you felt warmth creep up your neck but ignored it, turning toward the door. just as you reached for the handle, se-mi grabbed your wrist, spinning you back around.

“wait,” she whispered. before you could ask why, she leaned in, pressing one last slow, lingering kiss against your lips, this one filled with something deeper. something certain.

when she finally pulled away, her eyes held a promise.

“okay. now we can go.”

back in the studio, the atmosphere had shifted. the tension that once hung thick in the air had transformed into something else entirely. no-eul noticed it immediately.

her sharp eyes flickered between you and se-mi as the two of you returned. se-mi, ever composed, simply walked past her, her expression unreadable. but as she took her place in the makeup chair again, you saw it, the subtle smirk, the way she sat just a little closer to you, the way her gaze softened every time it landed on your face.

no-eul caught on. and from the way her lips curved ever so slightly, she was amused.

“so,” no-eul mused, leaning back in her chair. “had a nice break?”

you hesitated, but before you could answer, se-mi beat you to it.

“very,” she said smoothly, meeting no-eul’s gaze with a pointed look. “best one i’ve had in a while.”

no-eul chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. “figures.”

you weren’t sure what that meant, but the way no-eul’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer made something stir in your chest. but before you could dwell on it, se-mi reached for your hand under the vanity, giving it a gentle squeeze.

you turned to look at her, and in that moment, everything else faded.

this was real. this was happening and whatever came next, you were ready.

a/n— another actress!semi and makeup artist!reader story ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ im SOOO sorry for updating after so long finals is killing me and i couldn't cut writing in my schedule i've had this in my drafts for a while, thank the heavens i was able to finish it today and in valentines day too! happy valentines day to whoever is reading this !!!

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corazondebeskar-reads · 18 hours ago

Text

of rage and ruin - chapter ten

chapter ten

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 5.6k

summary: joel faces his inability to protect you.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), body horror, viewer discretion is advised, p in v, oral, torture

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Tommy Miller is a changed man.

Four and a half years of scouring the midwest will do that to someone.

So will being bitten by a toddler.

Well. Probably not just any toddler.

After Tommy had cajoled DJ into sinking his tiny teeth into Tommy’s bicep, Laura hadn’t spoken to him for three months. She refused his company at the door.

“I have spent years—years, Miller—teaching that boy that he cannot, under any circumstances, bite someone. Do you know how hard it is to convince a toddler not to bite? Do you?” Laura had berated him thoroughly, and shut the door in his face.

She’d forgiven him, after some nudging from Tess, and a couple special deals with Bill for some new shoes for the boys.

Even so, he’d never felt quite so alone before. There was a pull behind his ribs, an ache that said he could not give up.

“You really don’t feel any different?” Tess said cautiously, one night when all three adults were lounged on the worn leather couches in Laura’s cottage, passing a bottle of whiskey.

“Nah,” Tommy says. “Well, I do, but I can’t explain it. But I think I’m getting closer. I’ve got this feeling.”

Tess crooked a brow at him. “You got me brokering deals across the goddamn half of the country based on a feeling?”

“Ain’t like you’re getting nothin’ out of it,” he grumbled.

“I know what you mean,” Laura admitted. “I— when Peter died—” she, with a kindness he feels sick for accepting, doesn’t say 'when you shot my husband.' “I knew.”

“That’s freaky,” Tess says bluntly. “But alright. I’ll keep pressin’em for info.”

It was hard, though, to get real information out of anyone, when you can’t explain that the missing person in question may also be an 8-foot-tall fairytale monster.

There were rumors, though. Most of them turned out about as well as if he were looking for Bigfoot.

Tess spent less and less time in Boston, taking up Laura’s sofa. Tommy spent less and less time at Joel’s cabin, instead roaming the country for any sign of his brother. Sometimes, Tess would go with him, usually if she had secured a good trade at the same time.

But there was no sign of Joel.

Joel doesn’t let you out of his sight. He refuses to go out, even when they bring him to the ground with the shock collar.

“She goes with me,” he snarls.

Jim throws his hands in the air in frustration. They’ve tried… well, they’ve tried a lot of horrible things. You wish he would just go and stop getting hurt.

“Joel,” you plead for the nth time.

“Look at it this way,” Jim leers. “You either go and risk her getting hurt. Or you refuse and guarantee it.”

Joel wolfs out for the nth time, and horribly, you share a look with Cheryl.

“For fuck’s sake,” she says, finally breaking her uncharacteristic silence. “He wants to bring the girl? Fine. We’ll bring her.”

Her words are not a comfort. There is no promise of safety. But truth be told, not that you’ll voice it after all this, not that you’d ever disagree with Joel in front of them, but the verdict is a tightening noose.

To you, the threat is gone. You helped him pick the threat out of his teeth. The two brothers were an anomaly; none of these people have any loyalty to one another. The status quo works right now, but at the slightest tip of the ship, that ends. No one is coming after you because of Mike.

Joel had furrowed his brows, shaking his head with a glower. “That’s what we thought about Mike. Ain’t riskin’ it, darlin’. And that’s final.”

He hadn’t used his alpha voice, but you had felt compelled to shut up anyway. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was the way his jaw was set tight. You reached up, one hand against his cheek, thumb brushing his beard. “Okay,” you capitulate.

He almost bristles at the coddling, but the rigidity leaves him in a heaving sigh, and he allows himself a moment to lean into your gentle touch. His hand covers yours, trapping it there.

“Atta girl,” he mumbled, drawing your palm to his lips for a kiss.

Now that it was happening, though? He smells the acrid citrus disinfectant of your fear as it curls into guilt in his lungs.

Not that he can do anything to help. He stands, hands through the bars, as they shackle him. He waits, brow twitching, as they fit the muzzle around his snout. Two of the lackeys push him against the cinder block wall outside your room, twin prongs jabbing against the furry expanse of his chest. It heaves with his heavy pants, eyes darting between his would-be guards and where you’re similarly being bound.

Jim bitches. Of course he does. He bitches the whole time they begin the march to the surface, to the wild.

They shove you in the van behind Joel, and he uses his great, hairy body to catch you, huffing and nudging until you manage to sit on his lap. Your hands are bound tight behind your back, tense lines of your body perched precariously, but the only other option is the floor.

The raiders are piled in around you. Well, most of them. Cheryl and her favored lackeys are in a pick-up truck following behind. Jim drives, ruling this operation as he does every other—with rigid, unwavering control. The others trapped with you in the cargo hull have guns or tasers, so clearly uncomfortable with sharing an enclosed tin can with the most dangerous creature they’ve ever known.

None of them look at you. It’s too careful to be coincidence. He’s made his point.

The Wolf doesn’t think it’s enough, so he growls every time someone so much as shifts in their seat.

It speaks to the danger that you don’t even think of making a Little Red Riding Hood or Three Little Pigs joke, though they do come to you later.

The raid is anticlimactic. The raiders mow down most of the other group. Joel disposes of the rest with neither pomp nor circumstance, just swift swipes of sharp claws.

They work methodically through the small house, loading the back of the pickup with their spoils. That takes far longer than the slaughter.

“Can I sit down?” you eventually ask Cheryl. Jim’s made her your keeper, since she made the call to drag you along.

“What the fuck do I care?” she snaps, examining a nail under the light of the moon.

So you sit on the porch and wait, hoping you don’t get a splinter in your ass.

Later, under the illusion of safety, you nestle into the circle of him, as you had in those earlier days. You tip your head back and bury your fingers in his fur, one hand petting and the other holding tight. He makes a sort of snuffly sound, inquisitive and wary.

“I’m still not scared of you,” you say, splitting the silent night. “I watched you eat a dude. Today was nothing.”

He rolls his eyes but settles back down, head resting on his misshapen arms.

When you wake, he’s more man than wolf. It’s been that way more and more often, now.

Joel cradles you the way he always does, like a child at the beach whose fistfuls of sand keep retreating with the waves. There’s a tender desperation to it that makes you ache. You can’t take it, pulling yourself close to him with his shoulders beneath your grasp, pressing your lips together as if the sweet sedative of his saliva could fix the rabbity seizing of your heart.

A twinge near your hip gives you pause, a creeping reminder of something that shouldn’t have been forgotten.

“Hey Joel,” you say slowly, drawing his eyebrows up, “you said the heats are for…”

He hears the word you can’t force from your mouth. As his fingers continue their steady rhythm, the soothing back-and-forth against your temple, he douses your worry.

“‘m shootin’ blanks, darlin’,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck, not pursuing anything, but luxuriating in the moment.

You shouldn’t laugh, but you snort anyway. “You’re telling me that you’re… fixed ?” you tease. Any self-control you had before doesn’t seem to have survived him.

He pulls away from his lazy kisses to scowl at you. “Shut up,” he grumbles, though there’s no mistaking the twitch of his lips as you grin.

“I’m right,” you say, squealing as he nips at your neck in retaliation.

“Ha ha,” he says, deadpan with a wry twist of his lips. “I get it. Like a dog. You gotta get some new jokes.”

“No, I’m good; these are still funny,” you say, wrapping one hand around the nape of his neck and trying to tug him back to his affections.

“I’m serious, though,” he says, somehow settling the little bubbles that crept up your throat. “Got snipped a long time ago.”

It’s an answer that asks questions. You don’t give them a voice. Not why, not when. You’re haunted by the thought of his past. My daughter loved that shit. It’s been weeks since he dropped that little tidbit, and neither of you have dug it back up. He sees the questions blooming in your eyes even as you snip them at the root, and shakes his head, so you follow a safer path of curiosity.

“What about the healing? What if it undid it? That’s a thing, right? Undoing vasectomies?”

“Thought about that, too. But none of my other scars or injuries from before went away. Why would that?”

He sounds so casually confident, and you can’t really disagree. “So you’re saying I won myself a sweepstakes from Little Debbie?”

He closes his eyes for a moment before looking skyward. “What’re you on about now?”

“A lifetime supply of creampies,” you say seriously, but it doesn’t hold, and you bury your laughter in his arm.

“You’re an idiot,” he says flatly, shaking his head. “And those are oatmeal cream pies, you pervert.”

It just makes you laugh harder. “I’m your little toaster strudel.”

He groans. “Wrong. Icin’ goes on the top of those.”

“Says the man who literally rubbed his jizz over my tits.”

“Alright, time for you to be quiet,” he says, covering your mouth with his hand only to snatch it back when you bite. “Now who’s the fuckin’ dog?” he mutters.

“Aw, giving up?” you say as he rises on his haunches, still looming over you.

“Nope,” he pops the p as his smirk grows. “Got a better way t’shut you up.”

The thing about him being nude all the time is that you’re hyper-aware of the status of his cock, like, all the time. It’s been half-mast for the last hour, but it’s paying full attention now.

“Guess I’m just as much of a dog as you. Got me over here like Pavlov.”

“Pavlov was the scientist,” Joel says absently, stroking his cock and scooting closer to where you’re sitting up in anticipation.

“S’there a way to shut you up?” But you don’t need to ask. You cut off his retort by taking the tip of his cock between your lips and sucking hard.

His words become a strangled whimper and you pull off with a lewd pop. “Oh yeah,” you say, “like that.”

Before he can muster up another snarky comment, you take his balls in one hand, rubbing your thumb over them to make his hips jerk a little. His hands don’t stay off you for long, but he doesn’t try to push you around or rush you.

A sweet kiss to each, and he knows this’ll be over a lot sooner than he’d like.

But goddamn, will it be worth it.

You groan at the velvety feel of his wrinkled sac, which grows more and more taut as you adorn it with little kitten licks, nuzzling your cheek against it. His oaky bourbon musk has a sharp edge to it that makes you a little dizzy. With a single-minded focus, your hands curl around the backs of his thighs, a soft sigh ruffling the coarse hair.

You pause to pick one of said hairs from your teeth and go back in for more.

His hand rests on your head, and he gazes down at you, his eyes dark like the underbelly of a cloud grown heavy with a brewing storm. The wiry tuft of his pubes copies his scruffy beard, though the former is far less salt than salt-and-pepper. The hard line of his cock presses against your cheek, the slip of his foreskin smooth. It leaves a trail behind when you pull away, though you can’t help but lean back in and kiss the rest from the tip.

He does the unthinkable in that moment.

He steps back.

You look up sharply, catching yourself with an oof. “Wha—”

He doesn’t even let you finish wondering. He grabs you, both palms smothering your hips, and rolls you onto your stomach. It’s not a display of his brute strength, but instead of the thrall you don’t like to admit to being under. The slightest pressure from his urging has you rolling over.

“Need t’be inside you,” he grunts.

“You were, ” you protest with no protest.

He shuts you up much more efficiently by the intensity of his grip on your hips as he pushes into you. His impatience finds his cock buried in the depths of your cunt and his teeth buried in the shallows of your shoulder. He rests on his elbows with your upper body trapped between them.

The breath leaves you in a whine, air forced from your lungs under the pressure of his bulk on you.

“Oh,” is all you can muster.

He nips at your ear in response, laving his kisses and tongue down your neck, bringing his teeth back up to the line of your jaw.

It’s so much. You’re overwhelmed by him, by the way something in you sings at the weight pinning you to the cold floor, sweater rucked up about your waist. There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to turn that isn’t Joel, and it’s bliss. White static and the pounding of his hips against your ass consume you. Your gasps and grunts and moans come from somewhere in the distance, not quite underwater, but only because his are rough in your ear, keeping you afloat.

He runs hot, hotter than any man you’ve lain with before, and it’s not long before sweat slicks between your bodies, dripping down from his brow. You’ve given up all illusion of being an active participant, instead laying your cheek against the cool ground and letting your eyes close.

The angle is divine. Each rock of his hips grants you the tiniest bit of friction, but it ends up being all you need. He makes you come once, twice, three exhausting times before he allows himself to take what he needs, fucking down into you mercilessly.

You only get to delight in the sensation of his cock twitching, of the bursts of his cum inside, for a moment before he’s pulling out to spill the rest across your ass.

When he pulls out, he slides off you to the side, but keeps you pinned with a leg and arm over you. If you weren’t so sated, floating your way down from the exquisite high, you’d roll your eyes. He’s letting it dry; of course he is.

He nudges you with his nose, and you turn your head to catch his eyes. They’re as tired and pleased as yours, but something cheeky lurks there. He doesn’t make you wait long for it.

“There," he says with a slap to your ass. "Now You’re a cream pie Toaster Strudel. Happy?” He's deadpan with flat brows and a scowl.

You laugh, lighter than you’ve been in a long time. It almost sobers you—the realization that you are. You may not be happy with your living conditions and dangerous circumstances. But you’re… you’re happy with him.

“Oh, you’re a pastry chef now?” You tease before pressing a kiss to his prickly cheek. “Yeah. M’happy.”

He stiffens at the way your voice goes so soft. So fond. It’s undeniable—the very thing he feared the most coming to full bloom before his eyes.

But what was he to do? This wretched world that always takes, always, never gives, it had given him you. And he’s too damn selfish to care anymore. There’s the imprint of concern, a triplicate carbon copy—barely indented, barely visible.

But more than that, it’s a facsimile. It’s the only thing that remains of the cautious voice warning him to keep a distance. To protect you from being hurt. To protect you from himself.

He can’t protect you from himself anymore. His hold on you turns, tightens like a corset around your ribs, and he watches in disbelief as you simply melt into it.

No fear. No flight. No fight. Just you, and him, here. Any energy he had earlier is sapped seems to leak out from his sigh, unfurling from the look in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have called it fond.

Joel, though? Joel’d've called it something else.

The trips outdoors happen weekly. At least, you think so. Not that you know much about the passage of time beyond the phases of the moon. They skip the new moon since the Man isn’t useful. Everything is by-the-book, if there was such an awful thing, until the second full moon.

The Wolf Moon rises above the glittering snow, and all hell breaks loose in her glow.

The heavy, languid body sits huge on the horizon, commanding control. It’s hypnotic. You can’t really quite look away from the cold yellow, bigger than the sun and twice as potent.

You don’t even notice that you’ve started to move when she catches you.

Cheryl’s nails make little crescents in your shoulder, her face so close that her hot breath puffs into your ear. It’s an awful sensation, and you want no part of her in or on your body. But here you are, too afraid to do anything but take it.

“You’re just as mindless as he is,” she says with a breathless laugh.

You consider protesting, but she beats you to it.

“He doesn’t even know who he is. He’s got no control. Only obeys his master,” she says. Her fingers curl under your chin, grinding the soft flesh against your teeth as she forces you to look at Jim.

He’s got a girl by the throat. She can’t be more than fifteen. His gun sits in his hip holster, knife in his pocket. He doesn’t need a weapon. He has the Wolf.

A man who can’t be anyone but her father is pleading on his knees. You can’t hear anything, don’t know his crimes against Jim. But Jim kicks the man back with a boot against his chest and drops the girl unceremoniously to the ground.

He snaps his fingers and points. And the wolf lunges, teeth catching in the moonlight.

You don’t realize you’ve screamed until the whole clearing goes silent. He’s frozen, inches from the girl, but all his attention is on you.

“Don’t,” you whisper, and he recoils from her, standing on his warped legs and howling.

“You little bitch,” Cheryl hisses, her fingers dropping your chin in favor of your throat. There’s a fraction of a moment where the world pauses before the cacophony erupts.

Joel snarls, lunging for Cheryl. Jim hits the shock collar’s trigger. Joel stumbles, falls, and keeps moving.

It earns him a bullet to the leg. Jim never lets go of the button, and you scream as he convulses, bleeding profusely on the thick patch of grass.

It’s the last thing you see before everything goes dark.

When you wake up, you’re in the cage.

Outside the room.

Joel paces in front of the barred door, eyes never leaving you. A sigh billows out when he sees that you’re awake. He drops to his knees, reaches, and just barely grabs the bars before he pulls. The metal screeches something awful against the tile, but he can reach you now.

“Hey,” he urges, voice low and a little wrecked. “Tell me you’re okay. C’mon.”

“I’m okay,” you groan, but make no effort to sit up. You stare up at him, inverted as he is, half-obscured by the bars. “I miss Excedrin.”

He frowns, brows furrowed, but disregards your complaint. “Y’ain’t bleeding,” he says by way of comfort, though more for his benefit.

“No, just fuckin’... hurts,” you say, closing your eyes against the sickening flicker of the nearly-burnt bulb.

“That was real stupid,” he says. It lacks real bite, but it’s bloated with something worse than anger.

“We both lived. And that girl.”

Joel winces and looks away.

“No,” you say weakly.

“They shot ‘em all,” he says, the gravity of their fate dragging you down. “They never leave anyone alive.”

“No,” you repeat quietly. His words are the swing of an axe to your sternum.

He looks away. He’s always known you’re too soft, too good. Somehow free of dried blood under your fingernails all your life. He’s never asked, may never ask, how you ended up here. It’s not the thing to do.

Nobody talks about before.

“I know that ain’t what you want to hear,” he tries, but it’s disingenuous, placations like packing peanuts in their unwanted staticity and general ineffectiveness. The sound grates in his ears about the same, too.

“Sweetheart, listen t’me. Y’can’t interfere. They brought you here to get me to cooperate. If they think you’re a problem, they’re going to shoot you.”

It’s a sobering truth. “But—“ you whisper.

Joel isn’t having it. “I told you. I ain’t the man you think I am.” He swallows hard, and something shifts, his eyes gone cold and the set of his jaw hardening into a plaster mask. “I kill people. All the time, darlin’. Even before I got bit. It’s what a man like me has to do to survive and protect people I—” a pause, a catch in his throat—”my people. Do you understand?”

He hates the way apprehension settles your teeth into the soft bed of your lower lip. The way your gaze is unwavering, though the ache wafts like citronella, as if that could keep him at bay.

“I said, do you understand?” He repeats firmly. His words aren’t harsh, but they cut anyway. His hands on the bars rattle you a little, as if your dizzy brain needs more centrifugal motion.

“I don’t want to,” you hear yourself say as if underwater. You’ve never heard yourself sound quite so small.

“Goddamnit,” he growls, dropping his hands from you and rising to his feet in one smooth motion. “Goddamnit, can’t you see I’m tryin’? For fucks sake, just shut your eyes and don’t watch if that’s what you gotta do. But if you pull a stunt like that again, I can’t protect you. They will kill you.”

You draw your knees to your chest, tucked up against the corner. “I—I just—“

“You just nothing,” he snaps. “You need to listen t’me. Do what you’re told so I can keep you safe. Don’t you understand? Don’t you get it? I am not gonna let you get yourself killed because you can’t stomach what has to be done.”

Your throat closes, eyes squeezed shut tight.

He heaves a loud, grating sigh and covers his face with both hands, head tipping back.

A minute drags into five, and the only sound in the cell is your matching measured breaths. The thrum of his heartbeat from across the room. The silence fills with the buzz of your brain seeping out to your ears, the crackle of tinnitus, and just when you think you’re going to crack, he moves.

Joel crouches in front of you. “Hey,” he says gruffly, but with less bite. “Look at me,” he coaxes gently.

You want to bristle at being treated like a skittish horse, but instead, you acquiesce, taking in the lumbering shadow of him. You swallow hard, your heart lodged in your throat like gravel.

He sighs again, and closes his eyes for a moment before looking at you. Really, really looking. And he doesn’t like what he sees. As if your scent didn’t give it away. It’s different, somehow, seeing the fear stiffen your shoulders and pull you back from him like a hooked fish.

“It can’t be any other way,” he says. “I’m… I’m a bad man, a shitty person, and that’s mine to bear. I can’t shield you from it. I tried.” His voice croaks a little on the tail end. “And…” he makes sure you’re looking at him still, his hand slipping between the bars, catching your chin. His thumb brushes your lip as if he can rub the bite marks out. “And I ain’t sorry. Not if it keeps us alive.”

It’s strange, the way his words turn you inside out, and his touch puts you back. But you’re properly distracted from reading too much into it by footsteps clomping down the stairs.

The cage turns out to have been for dramatics. A red-headed man you’ve not seen before has shown up to haul you from it and dump you back in the room across the hall.

This time, Joel is quiet. He wants to snarl, to yell, to threaten. But he bites his tongue and lets it happen. It’s this or a bullet in your skull.

Instead, he paces the cell, near-sleepless. You can hear him at all hours of the day, the padding of his bare feet akin to the beat of his heart that usually lulls you to sleep. It’s a poor substitute, but you’ve learned to accept scraps.

They keep up their end of the bargain, though, and ten days later, they pull you from the locker room to ride along on the latest outing. This time, though, you’re stuck in the truck with Cheryl.

She turns sideways to regard you down the petite line of her nose. “Do I need to gag you?”

The question is drawled lazily, but her hand holding the switchblade as she cleans under her nails is anything but. The knife catches in the moonlight, the silver gleam a steady promise.

“No,” you mumble.

Nothing happens. She locks you in the truck, still bound. Sure, you might be able to reach the locks, but getting the door open is another story. And surely you’d fall on your face in the mud.

For a moment, Joel protests, but gives in. You’re safe in the truck, and he can still see you, still smell you, still hear your heart pulse through his eardrums as if it were his own.

You don’t watch, but you have to listen.

Nobody pays you any mind, which means you risk peeking into the bed of the truck. There are the expected supplies—rope, tools, and old sheets. But more importantly, much more importantly, a line of filled backpacks are tucked against the cab. Go bags. They have to be. There’s a bedroll on each, and you’d bet your sweater they’re full of supplies.

Oh, Jesus. Has your life really come to that? The only meaningful thing you have to wager against yourself is a sweater?

Fuck.

The bags live in the back of your mind, scurried away with the tidbits you’re collecting and trying to sweep into a pile vaguely resembling a plan.

It’s not going great, because Joel isn’t cooperating.

“You have to eat,” you plead.

His hands grip your shoulders, seizing onto you like it’ll make any damn difference. “I can't fucking take it anymore. Can't fuckin' sit by letting it happen,” he hisses.

“Joel,” you murmur, bringing your hands up to cup his warm, scruffy face. “Please. When the time is right, we’ll stop. But for now, please.”

He crumples, as he always does when you beg so sweetly. And he has to admit you’re right. This is not the way. There will be a time, but the new moon isn’t it. He can’t put you in danger by being weaker than ever.

He heaves a sigh and picks up a flank, rending the meat from the bone like he’s sectioning an orange. It should be disgusting, watching him eat raw, bloody flesh.

It should be.

Right?

You’re not sure anymore.

You’ve never been one for gratuitous displays of strength, but this… isn’t that. This is primal. It stirs behind your sternum, a possessive rumble that has him look up at you with an eyebrow raised. You shake your head and scrub at your face with both hands until it settles.

He gives a huff of approval, and then, capitulating to his belly that seemed to respond in kind to your growl, he shifts and does his magic trick, turning a huge stack of meat into a bloody tray.

When he stalks over to you after, he raises one thick, sharp-tipped finger in your face. “Don’t say it,” he warns.

You stifle a laugh. “Don’t say what?” you ask, all fluttering lashes and saccharine innocence.

“Don’t,” he says, but the sternness of his voice falters.

“Don’t ask if you’re ready for dessert?”

He groans, head dropping to your shoulder before sitting back on his haunches. “You’re not a very good listener,” he says. “Maybe we’ll skip dessert.” His eyes roll.

“What? No,” you say.

“Bad girls don’t get rewards,” he says, and to your mortification, you burn and squirm where he has you pinned with his hips.

He chuckles. “Aw, ya gonna pout now?”

“C’mon,” you whine. “It was just a joke. You wouldn’t be that mean.”

“I’m fixin’ to leave you high n’ dry.”

“ Joooooel,” you whine, and fix him with your best pleading eyes. “You’re not gonna take care of me?”

He twitches. “That ain’t fair.”

“But alpha—”

He cuts you off with a growl, yanking you by the hips and diving in. He holds you to the mattress with ease as you squirm and savor each stroke of his tongue, and doesn’t let go until he’s had his fill.

The days trickle, but it’s harder to abide them. You had taken this tentative peace for granted, before, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to see the veil. It’s still there, now, but you’re hyperaware of the shroud.

Gone are the lazy days of lounging and fucking and sucking. Gone are the luxurious cat-naps (dog-naps? wolf-naps? freak-of-nature-naps?), and you struggle to remember that you’re supposed to be figuring out a plan.

Joel doesn’t forget, though. Despite your argument, he’s eating less and less. He can’t stand the haze, can’t stand the complacency that stole nearly five years of his life.

At night, he broods and schemes.

“Next time, I want you to run,” he says.

“We’re not ready.”

“We’re gonna get you ready.”

You sit up in the darkness, your eyes as sharp as in the sunlight. “I’m not going without you.”

He growls. “Darlin’, you ain’t got a choice. You hear me? You get a chance? Take it. Swear to me.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

He shakes you a little roughly. “You will if you have to. Understand me? Swear it, omega.”

He knows you’re pissed. And maybe you’ll never forgive him, never trust him again after he’s done what he swore he’d never do. But you’ll be free.

“Yes, alpha, ” you grit out, teeth creaking with the strength of your clenched jaw. Your hands ball into fists, but there’s nowhere to direct your anger.

His mouth drags blunt teeth down your neck, and you snarl. He’s reminded just how much you’ve changed. How every day with him turns you more and more into the animal he makes you.

How much his bite has cost you.

“Tell me again,” he says gruffly as you give in to the insistent pressure of his claim and relax against him. He hates it, hates doing this to you when he knows on the inside you’re frothing and raging and burning.

But he holds you to him with that same fire and makes you repeat it. Over and over. Coordinates he could say in his sleep. The location of the key, the way to jimmy the back window loose if it’s gone.

And the name. Tommy. Tommy. Tommy.

Find Tommy.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

This was just a test run. An experiment to see if your newly-cleared brains (and viciously empty stomachs) welcomed back your sharp senses and survival skills. It wasn’t supposed to be the run.

You’re not ready. You have no supplies, no direction, no plan.

But it’s happening. It’s your chance, and you must take it. You hesitate long enough that the Wolf tips his head back and howls, urging you, and even though he speaks no words, your body must listen.

There’s no command, no compulsion. No, the howl is worse because it’s a plea.

You must run.

So you do.

Your heart pounds in sync with the beats of your bare feet against the forest floor. You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t know where you’ve been. The world blurs, not because you’re going fast enough but because of the unbidden tears pricking at your eyes, the pulse of fear and foreboding familiar.

Crack. Bark shatters to your right.

Crack. Dirt upturned inches from your left foot.

Crack. A yelp.

No. No.

They wouldn’t. They need him.

It becomes your mantra.

Each thud of your foot against the rotting leaves and hard-packed soil pounds with it. They wouldn’t. They need him. They wouldn’t. They need him.

The bullets stop; there’s no pursuit. You’re disposable.

Find Tommy.

Everything narrows to your path. To your feet and the way they carry you in turn, away from the angry yelling and howling and screams. Away from your prison and its guards. Away from your alpha— no. You can’t think like that. You’ll see him again.

You will.

Right?

dearest beloved readers, our story is coming to an end soon. it may be 2-3 more chapters including an epilogue. this particular chapter is one i'm v nervous about sharing since it's been our destination from the start. pls be niceys to me and i love you all, thank you so so much for reading.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #alpha!joel miller #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #omegaverse fic #a/b/o fic #werewolf!joel #dead dove fic #fic: of rage and ruin #tlou fic #joel miller fic

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dinkerr · 1 day ago

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situationship vi with masc reader and you two film tapes together. yeah... i just busted everywhere. (two recs from annons put into one, nsfw under cut)

situationship vi who's a good friend of yours. she has a good way of showing her support to your mutual friends (and you, and though the two of you have established better ways, but that's only for the two of you and her casset player to know). she lets you borrow a few of her rings when you point then out one time, taking them off her fingers and sliding them onto yours. she feels naked without the thick silver on her, but you've seen her like that enough times to not care that much.

situationship vi who has her dads dive bar in brooklyn as the main group hang out spot. you like it there, the lights and music, the suggestive posters of women in different art styles, the teenagers snorting coke in the bathroom and the range of alcohol- it's your environment.

situationship vi who usually always goes home with some femme with half her ass out or some masc with pretty eyes and piercings, always saying her half drunk goodbye to the group before she does so. she's cute like that.

situationship vi who has the same kinds of suggestive posters in her dads bar hung up in her apartment, taking your eyes off her bouncing tits when you're fucking her with your strap and looking to the side only to let out a little laugh st the sight of a woman sitting on a motorbike, top less with an AK-47 in her hand. you start teasing her about it the next time you see her, which makes her scoff and tell you "how dare you make fun of stacy"

situationship vi who starts yearning for you after the first time you two hook up. how can she not? you're kind. alluring. she misses you when you're not in her bed. she has a few group photos of you but it's nothing in comparison to you during the real thing, when she's eating your pussy and your thighs are on either sides of her head, your short hair sprawled across her pillow.

situationship vi who, when the two of you are lying naked and sweaty in her bed, says that she misses you and the sex you two have when you're not around. she's skipping over her words out of pure embarrassment and wishing she could sink into the comfort of her mattress and stay in there forever. you mention filming, the two of you ultimately agreeing with it as long as the two of you can borrow the ones you want to watch for yourselves.

situationship vi who will film anything remotely sexual to do with you after getting your consent in the moment, and she isn't shy. she doesn't muffle her moans or try to hide her face, and she doesn't let you do any of that either.

situationship vi who asks you to stop and if you can set up her camera on her bedside table so she can watch back on you fucking her in doggy. you don't want to stop pounding into her, but you pause momentarily to comply, caressing the marks your rings left on her lips with your thumbs. you lean over to open her draw and pull out said small camera to stand it against an empty glass all while still inside her, beginning to thrust your hips again after pressing the small button on the side to record.

situationship vi who looks straight into the camera lens when you're filming her eating you out, your free hand resting ontop of your head. it's one of your favourites to look back on, with how you can see her pierced tounge lapping and your pussy and her nose bumping against your swollen clit, your moans so loud from how good she is at what she's doing.

vi, who after the have a lengthy conversation and get together, practically combines your wardrobes into eachother. it's practically just a massive extension for the two of you when you have full access to her clothes and the jewellery that she's not incredibly emotionally attached to. you two go thrifting together. that's it. butchmasc lesbian couple thrifting together.

masc reader isn't HEAVILY applied in this because i always like to try to include any type of reader (femme, butch, masc, stem, etc) so i'm sorry if this is ass. i think i'll write an actual, improved proper fic on this over next week because i feel that this did not do justice at ALL but the one fic i have posted flopped terriblyyyy please let me known with how i can improve on this and what i should do

#arcane #vi arcane #vi x reader #violet arcane #arcane vi x reader #vi #violet x reader #vi x masc reader #masc reader x vi #♡

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orchidyoonkook · 3 days ago

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there's a alot to unpack this chapter but can i just scream because of how adorable these two are can they just kiss already damn, so i loves this chapter because it truly showed the dynamic between these two, like how oc respect ls jungkook's passion and craft and is willing to help her friend (wink wink) out and he respects her opinion as well (completely different to ady ughhh can i just say i am so glad oc got this win on this one not jk trying to figure out the beef his lowkey caught in hahaha i can't wait till he hears the tea)

okay but doesnt the whole ady vs. OC thing when it comes to pictures just TRACK tho.

Like OC is an artist, she knows artists, she knows to trust the artist and their vision and that you're just the subject for their work. Like how a model in a figure drawing will be drawn 50 different ways, it isnt up to the model to decide the best one, they're all just different interpretations, they're not all meant to be pretty or flattering, they're meant to evoke emotions and feelings. That's how OC views JKs photography. In an art way. Which is why she makes a great subject, because she understands his point of view.

Whereas Ady views it like a famous person, she knows that angles and looks and image are important if they were to ever be released to the public. So she has to do damage control on them in case one is released because she has to think of her image and her familys image and such. I loved the dynamic of this, even if it paints ady in a not so great light, that doesnt mean her reasons aren't valid, they are. But that also means she wont be a good person to model for JKs shoots.

back in track yes the way they just have each others backs such a good foundation and omg this whole chapter was adorable from jungkook doing her make up,

cried when he did that, that was a writer moment when the characters took over and did their thing, I just wrote it and i had the exact same AWWWW he wants to do her make up reaction.

uhmmmmm cooking for her bet she was shocked the silver spoon even knew where the stove was,

THE SILVER SPOON AHAHAHAHAAHAHA. And there is mentions of this in future chapters I believe! Like why he knows how too, but yes, OC was definitely shocked for a second there.

him freaking getting the tarts,

food is the sixth love language and on this hill i will die.

the baking date they have which i must say i am so glad jk has oc to talk to about like his home life i love that she pays such close attention to what his saying and the significance behind what he says because his this celebrity who can't trust many people (that ady girl included sorry just had to throw a jab her way oc would be proud)

OC is someone who loves to care for those she cares for. She wants to make sure those few people who she has, know they are loved and cherished, it's a big love language for her, so I'm glad he's opening up to her too because you just KNOW she isnt taking it for granted and she's writing down every damn word he says in the notebook of her mind, punctuating and spelling everything perfectly so that she remembers every detail.

Trust and friendship are such special bonds, and they need to be treated as such in OCs mind, they are not things she takes lightly.

(OC would be proud, yes)

and then the moment oh the moment the nel moment (shocked he didn't say cornelius 😉🤭) that wow that left me mind blow got flash backs to jungkook's little fantasy what sparked that????

JK is very concious of when he uses Nel or Cornelius, that's all i say about that.

The nel moment was and is supposed to be hinting at something. I cant say what or why or when, but i will say it is a big moment.

(yoon give me the details how did you come up with that, was is something you had planned out, what's the significance behind in basically what i am fishing for is what does it mean 😩😩😩)

To trust another person enough to be comfortable not being mentally present and in a different mental state is rare. Again it's an intentional scene. It's an important one, it's the first time she's ever experienced something like that. And the scary part for her is how easy it was to slip into it. With the right company.

I will say that JK knew exactly what happened tho. Which is why he was so concerned and got her out of the situtation so quickly.

If you wanna dm me i can say more, but i also dont wanna spoil things on my dash.

oh and the freaking sleep over and jk's contemplation is so adorable man and the infamous stumble oh that's gonna stick no way we forget that am i...

What stumble 😇😇😇😇 there was no stumble. We dont stumble.

* there is no war in ba sing se *

* there was no stumble *

😇😇😇😇😈

yoon what do you have planned for this couple you beautiful genius of the be a fly in the wall when you do your planning... this is was such an epic chapter i don't think either of them are going to be able to avoid the thoughts that's going to come after this...

I have so much planned oh my god I HAVE SO MUCH PLANNED. as for that other comment

no comment. :)

i am honestly curious about when the shift will take place I am dying to know but I shall wait patiently because this is a slowwww asssssss burn after all 😩😉

I know exactly when, how, why, and where the shift happens. It's one of the very first things I ever had planned.

but yes, it is indeed, a slow. ass. burn.

love ya yoon i hope i am not annoying you with the reviews 🥺🖤

NEVER EVER EVER EVER NEVER EVER. NOT EVER. NEVER.

I L O V E them

and I am politely begging for you to never stop (no actual pressure of course)

p.s yoon i love it when you speak photography 🤭 especially when you give all the details like for real the way you describe and set out the scenes when oc talks about her art and when jungkook talks about his photograph it's those details that makes a story and i Iove it you seriously have a talent for writing!!!

Film school, 15 years of being a painter/artist and highschool photography classes come in handy sometimes! It makes speaking in jargin take up way less research time, and also allows me to minorly laymans terms it so it can be easily digested by the average reader while still sounding like i know what I'm talking about XD

I'm so glad you like it!! It's fun to sort of bring you guys into my real life world in that aspect, maybe even teach you a thing or two, which is wild and amazing and so cool. And i absolutely agree on the fatc that details like it bring stories to life. It's easy to glaze over stuff like that, but i LOVE when you can tell an author KNOWS the niche they are talking about. Like in medical fics or science one or anything. Arts, sports, business. anything. It totally helps cement the worlds in which they are written!

As always, and forever, my dear Kiki, thank you so so so so so so so much for this incredible review. I will absolutely once again remind and declare that people like you are the reason fanfiction communities survive. We couldn't do it without you <3

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 8

Title: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: You're just there to help JK with his final project, so why are you being doused in water, facepaint and smoke? Art. Art is why.

Warnings: T, language, fluff, angst, honestly this one's kinda wholesome and fun, some photogrpahy jargin in there, but nothing a quick google search can't fix if you really need to <3, it's mostly surface level jargin. Also the smoke machine works cuz JK has great ventilation due to the massive windows being open, so don't worry bout that XD, some light and fun name calling, some world building. Ask if you need clarification on anything. That's all I think!

Word Count: 11,684

Release Date: September 1, 2024. 4:30PM

A/N 1: Surprise! Happy JK Day.

PJK [7:36pm]: Saturday afternoon. my place. 11am. PJK [7:36pm]: bring an extra set of clothes, something warm. Sweats if you have them. PJK [7:37pm]: also, Im gunna need your shirt size

The first three weeks of November have flown by and dragged on at the same time.

The weather’s getting colder. You need a thick jacket if you want to be anywhere outside, and all leaves have fallen from the trees, leaving pines the only ones left with their winter coats on. Hot chocolate from greenhouse cafe has become part of your life’s blood so you don’t freeze, and gloves with pocket warmers inside them are once again a part of your everyday.

But November skies have returned. And you frequently set up camp on the drying grass beside the greenhouse, dressing your canvas with oil paint to their likeness as it’s the only paint that doesn’t dry the second it’s out of the tube in the cold, static air.

Jungkook told you earlier in the week the shoot would most likely be this weekend, and that he just had a few final strings to pull together before being able to confirm. So with that in mind, you intentionally tried to finish all your work before this weekend, knowing the shoot will take a while to complete.

He mentioned it may leak over into Sunday depending on how much you get done on the first day, which is fine with you considering you usually spend Sunday evenings at his place anyway. You’d consider it an extended edition of your regularly scheduled broadcast.

And speaking of regularly scheduled, you haven’t missed a single movie night since Nel left. Granted, it’s only been three weeks, but even missing the two you did because of Nel had made an impact.

You’d gotten so used to them, having that time to destress and unwind before the week starts. A nice little routine that helps reset you both mentally and physically.

Suddenly not having that was…a weird feeling you try not to remember.

And you are more than happy to never miss another one ever again.

You aren’t sure what Jungkook tells Adaline he’s doing during movie night, but she’s never interrupted you, not even once. And it’s something you are increasingly grateful for, because she is one of the things you destress from as your unspoken rivalry always amps up the closer to exam season you get.

It’s Thursday evening, and you’re in your room finishing up a Microeconomics 3 assignment while piano music plays on a speaker in the corner. You use it to help you focus, and it’s working its magic as you’re finishing your work in record time.

Music has always helped you work better, and you credit it largely with how you’ve been able to keep up with everything in your schooling.

Yuri’s in her room, doing homework as well you assume. Or maybe texting Tai—the dreamy, big dicked Ilcalos island Count—you swear she’s only put her phone down for sleep and showering, as she’s constantly checking to see if he’s messaged her. And you hope it turns out well for them, Yuri deserves someone who treats her well. Especially after the whole Jungkook debacle—which you’re not allowed to bring up—and then the poor rebound you aren’t allowed to talk about either. You’re just happy she’s finally found someone worth her time.

Picking up your phone, you shoot Jungkook a text back.

You [7:40pm]: okay! saturday at 11 sounds good. I’ll bring sweats and warm socks

You message him your shirt size too, curious as to what he’ll use it for, but you’re sure you’ll find out in due time. You always do.

Subject to many of his homework assignments, you’ve been posed and lit and adjusted every which way.

Jungkook is incredibly professional when you’re with him as a model. Light touches to correct posing, always with a ‘may I’ before he does, and he fills the room with kind words, good vibes, and fun music so you never feel awkward.

At first you were really iffy on the whole idea when he first asked in September, because it would be the prince of your nation photographing little ol’ you. You weren’t anything special—yet—and you’re still never one for being in the spotlight, or for being on camera. At all. But if it was just for homework, and you were helping out a friend…you figured why not?

It helped that all of your worries immediately faded when you saw the results of that first shoot.

An email from a very non-princely email address found its way into your inbox. The subject was the date of the shoot, and the only message inside being:

thanks. Hope you like them.

Let’s do it again sometime.

-J

When you opened the attachments you made a quick dive to catch the phone that fell from your hands in shock.

You looked…beautiful. Like you never had in pictures before. Not in school, or at graduation, not even in the ones you took of yourself.

You didn’t know you were capable of looking like that.

Like how he saw you. Captured you.

And you’ll never admit you’ve held your chin a little higher with every shoot since.

They make you feel powerful, attractive. More confident, and sure of yourself, as if you were always meant to be in front of a camera. Like you’d been in front of one since before you could walk.

They do that for you.

He…does that for you—with his pictures, of course.

Jungkook is very talented. Very skilled with his camera, and you find yourself looking forward to the concepts he comes up with every time. Trusting him and whatever his vision is wholeheartedly.

Though a small, immature piece of you is also pleased he still wants you to model, and not Adaline. That he finds you easier to work with over her.

Your competitive streak never fails to come out, even with the smallest, secretive things.

Take that Adaline.

You gladly help him out with his homework, and he does the same for you.

If you ever need a male reference or a profile study. Anatomy practice, features practice, likeness practice. Anything and almost everything, all you have to do is ask, and he sits still or places whatever you need in front of you while you sketch.

Hands, however, have always been a personal favourite of yours.

They’re one of those things that can be drawn a hundred different ways and never look the same. Always a new position you can put them in. Consistently able to shake things up. And one set is never like the others—like eyes. There’s little differences in all of them and that’s where their magic lies.

You do these studies at the greenhouse, it has the best light to shadow ratio. When you ask him for one, he’ll switch to working with one hand, while the other does whatever you tell it. Normally either placed on your table or if there isn’t enough room, which nine times out of ten there isn’t because of all your supplies, you stick your foot on the lower metal frame of his table and he rests his arm, wrist or palm on your up bent knee.

Due to this, you’ve unintentionally come to find out that his hands are very strong, very calloused, and very, very warm…

Also! Aside from hand studies, you love loose figure studies because they’re great warm up sketches. And what Jungkook doesn't know is that you have dozens of warm up sketches of him. Doesn’t know you sneak pictures here and there when you can, hiding them in a hidden album on your phone entitled ‘hmwk screenshots.’ And he definitely doesn’t know that when he’s sitting at the cafe, nose deep in assignments, you doodle his features or his outfit in real time.

A nose here, a jacket there. A muscular forearm covered in tattoos also tends to find its way onto your page every so often.

He’s got a good physique. And the ridges make for excellent anatomy practice. So does the intricate line work of tattoos, and fabric rippling. Especially in drastic lighting. Consistency is key in maintaining and improving your work and it’s not like any of these sketches will ever see the light of day anyways.

They’re just, well…practice.

A sigh escapes you, and you refocus on finishing your microecon work. You still have two more assignments to get done before Saturday at eleven.

“And why are you working with some random girl when I’m available, again?” Adaline asks. She’s currently sitting on Jungkook's couch in your spot. He’s setting up tomorrow's materials against the big white wall by the floor length windows that showcase his balcony.

It’s why he chose to live here instead of in the dorms or on campus. His place isn’t enormous, like most people would think, it has enough room for everything a regular student needs: bedroom, kitchen, workspace, living room, bathroom, even a guest room. But the one thing he keeps different is the big white wall where a dining room would normally be.

Jungkook’s place has high ceilings, 10 feet tall, which is higher than the average but not excessive. And the wall that connects his kitchen to the balcony is a perfect mock studio. He can even keep all his equipment there; lights, gels, backgrounds, tubs full of props, camera cases, lenses, and more all stored in neat shelving against another wall.

“Because students volunteered for extra credit, and she’s who was assigned to me,” a small lie, one he was sure that Adaline wouldn’t dig into too deeply.

“Why didn’t you tell me I could volunteer?”

“Because you didn’t need the extra credit?”

She pouts, and goes back to her phone.

Adaline also doesn’t know it’s you he’s photographing and that is one hundred percent intentionally planned by him.

He could sense something between you two after you made that one comment after fall break. He notices now how you stiffen slightly every time he mentions Adaline, and the one time he mentioned you in passing to test the waters, Adaline changed the conversion topic almost immediately. A look of annoyance, or maybe even insecurity in her eyes.

So he’s been lucky that Adaline has never wanted to see any of his schoolwork prior to or after the singular shoot he did with her.

Lucky she hasn’t seen your face fill up his screen constantly.

And extremely lucky that she doesn’t know about the hidden folder buried deep in his desktop labeled ‘eqpmt rcpts’ filled with dozens of candid shots of you.

To be fair, you don’t know about them either. They’re random, shots taken every now and then where he thought you looked happy, focused, or just existing. True candids of the most candid person he knew.

It started that day with his first assignment from Professor Hirmer. He’d taken those quick pictures of you painting, and then simply never stopped.

He has pictures of you in the courtyard, walking and talking to Yuri, you smiling. He has some he took on his phone when you’re over for movie night, invested in the film or talking to him. And a bunch of you painting at the greenhouse. It’s hard to take secret candids when he’s right beside you, but he manages seeing as you haven't caught him yet.

He even has a few of you and Nel, love clearly written on your face in every single one of them.

Whenever he spots you before you spot him, and he has his camera on him, he takes a couple.

They’ve amassed into a healthy sum, but he thinks of it as a harmless habit as no one will ever know. And it’s not like he’s following you around to take them or using them for anything nefarious.

He just likes taking your picture. Capturing your spirit, your candor.

Your realness.

You are wholly yourself, always, no holding back, all of the time.

And to him, it feels like coming up for a breath of fresh air.

“Hey!” you say as you let yourself into Jungkook’s apartment. You’d knocked but no one answered and it was currently 10:56am on Saturday, so you knew he was here. Plus, his door was unlocked.

“Jungkook?” you call.

No answer.

You take your shoes off after closing the door and locking it. He should really keep his door locked.

Very quickly become best friends with the couch, you toss your backpack of warm clothes on the floor while you wait for him to make an appearance.

There’s shoot equipment everywhere; lights in the corner, some with soft boxes on them, gels laid out on the coffee table, and what you’ve come to learn is a lens case sits on the couch beside you in Jungkook's usual spot.

Jungkook has also somehow managed to find some small trees in blue ceramic pots and what you’re pretty sure is a smoke machine.

But the most peculiar thing is what looks to be a kiddie pool up against the wall with a folded tarp at its base.

Well that's…interesting…

You hear a door open somewhere in the apartment and running water.

“Jungkook? That you?”

“Hey! Yep. Just give me a sec, I’m almost done.”

The water sounds cease and Jungkook makes his grand entrance as he turns the corner holding a large watering can. Your eyebrow raises.

“For the trees?” you ask.

“What?”

You point to the watering can currently making his veins pop.

He laughs, “Oh! No. This is for later. You’ll see,” and walks to the other side of the room by the pool.

“Aren’t we mysterious today,” you say, following him with your eyes. He’s in ripped black jeans that accentuate the muscle definition of his thighs, and a matching baggy shirt. When his back is turned you snap a quick picture. The fabric folds on his baggy shirts are some of your favourite mindless things to cool down sketch.

“Nah, just focused. We have a lot to get through today.” He sets down the watering can and you can see the moment the switch flips from friend to photographer. “The guest room is ready for you. There’s a clothing rack inside with each look labeled. There’s also makeup and face paint, if you could bring out the make up after you're done changing, that would be great. We’re gonna start with ‘Bright and Bold’, okay?”

You usually use the spare room as a change room when you have to switch clothes for a shoot. But they were always from your own closet. He’d tell you the concept he was going for and you’d bring a few options to choose from.

Makeup you were used to, though. Jungkook loves abusing your artistic abilities for his shoots in the way you decorate your face or body, saying they make his works a level up from the rest of his classmates.

They also usually make for some of the coolest pictures you have of yourself.

This is the first time he’s ever bought clothing, though.

You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, this being his final assignment for an important class, and him being as serious as he is about his work and the final product. But you can't help it, you’re excited to see everything he’s chosen for the shoot.

For you.

For the shoot.

“Yep, sounds good. Be out in a few,” you reply. He nods in acknowledgement before moving to set something up and you don’t stick around to find out, grabbing your bag and heading towards the door lined hall.

The guest room is modest and clean. White sheets and gray comforter with, surprisingly, two throw pillows to spruce it up. The walls are white too, but you’re pretty sure that’s because Jungkook’s not allowed to paint the apartment per his landlord's wishes—a thought that still makes you laugh.

He could buy any place he wanted, but chose to rent. ‘To get the real university experience,’ he explained when you asked him the first time you went over.

Black furniture accents the room. A comfortable looking leather chair sits in the corner by a glass door that leads to the balcony. It has a small table beside it. There’s a dresser with a mirror in the other corner and of course, in the center of the room, is the bed. It’s a nice room. However, the newest edition is what’s keeping your eye.

Four shirts hang from the rack at the foot of the bed. The first is vibrant and colourful, the second a light neutral short sleeved V neck, third is strapless and skin coloured, and the last is made from thin black fabric you assume will be skin tight by the looks of it.

As promised, they’re all labeled with a sticker.

You throw your bag on the bed and grab the colourful one first. Its sticker says ‘bright and bold,’ and you put it on after removing the shirt you came in, then zip it up. The material feels heavy, durable and expensive. You check the tag on the inside seam and see it’s from Ilkaya, one of the biggest and most expensive fashion designers on this side of the realm.

Your eyes bug out of your head, and you try not to breathe too hard for fear of ruining it. Your routine of thrifting all your clothes makes you pretty damn sure you can’t even imagine how much this cost.

It feels good though, comfortable, not itchy. Really freaking expensive.

You look at yourself in the mirror, and you have to admit you look amazing. It fits perfectly in all the right places, compliments your skin tone, and even brings out your eyes. Begrudgingly, you admit to yourself that maybe there’s some sense in what the price tag could be. But it would still be a ridiculous sum for a jacket.

With one last look in the mirror, you grab the palettes, brushes and other tools off the dresser, and leave your designated dressing room for the day in favour of returning to the living room.

Jungkook’s got music going from your shared playlist. Insisting on making one after your second shoot together, when he decided you both agreed to the arrangement becoming a regular thing. It’s a good mix of both of your musical tastes, even though you guys figured out quickly that you liked pretty similar stuff anyway.

“What do you think? Does it work?” You ask as you turn the corner.

Jungkook fiddles with this camera before looking and pausing for a moment to take you in. You hope you look okay, but the weird look he has on his face makes you backtrack a bit.

“Is this not the one you wanted? It had the label on it. But I can go back and double che- ”

“You look amazing,” is all he says, and your worry slides off you instantly. He smiles wide, the one you’ve come to recognize as genuine.

“Thanks. But the colour’s doing most of the work for me,” you say, smiling back shyly.

He has a white background set up, and two differently coloured gel’d lights sit on opposite one another, a third, smaller floor light faces the background. A backlight, he’d call it.

Bright and Bold indeed, though there is the matter of-

“What do you want me to do for my make up?”

“Actually,” he sets down his camera gently on a table, “Is it okay if I do it? I want it to be a little more on the amateur side and I don’t think your years of refined talent would let you get the exact look I want.”

That’s new. But you're here to stand and look however he wants you too, so you allow him with a nod.

“Sure, where do you want me to sit?”

“Here’s fine,” he says as he pulls a stool that was off to one side close to one of the windows. “As long as you don’t mind holding the make up. I don’t have a table to set them down on. Should’ve thought of that, sorry.”

You can tell he’s mentally scolding himself for forgetting something.

“No no, it’s fine,” you say, taking your seat, “I don’t mind, really.”

Placing the balls of your feet on the bar that holds the chair legs together, you make your lap even enough to set the palettes out, and use a hand to hold all the brushes.

Jungkook laughs, noticing your feet as you sit, “Cute socks.”

They’re light blue with a fox face on them, and little ears stick up from the elastic around the ankle.

“Thanks,” you laugh too, they’re your favourite pair. “I call them my fox socks. They’re lucky.”

“Let’s hope so. Wish me luck fox socks,” he calls to your toes, and you wiggle them in response.

He picks a brush and chooses a colour. “Close your eyes and let me know if I’m pressing too hard. If it isn’t obvious, I’ve never done this before.”

You close your eyes and whisper, “Will do.”

It's a uniquely intimate experience having your makeup done. Willingly letting someone get up close and personal with you, allowing them to see every potential scar, blemish and pore in the name of beauty and for the sake of creativity.

In this case, it’s also a little questionable considering where you feel the brush putting down colour: cheeks, lids, temple, nose. However, you’re simply a pawn in a well thought out plan, so you sit and wait for him to finish.

“Annnd done,” he says, making a final swipe with the brush on your cheek. “You look great! I didn’t hurt you, right?” he asks, showing you the makeup in a palettes mirror. Your face looks like it’s been attacked by a rainbow in the best way. You smile, taking the mirror from him and looking at all the little details.

For a first timer, Jungkook did a really good job.

“Nope, I’m good. How do you want me?”

Jungkook leads you to the backdrop, placing you in front.

“One second,” he says, grabbing a remote and clicking a button to lower the black out curtains on the windows, and then another that turns off the apartment lights. He also clicks on all the lights he’s set up and you’re quickly illuminated by a bright red and purple as well as the back light.

“I’m good to pose?” he asks.

“Yep.”

You love that he always asks first. It makes you feel safe and considered, consenting to every touch prior to its occurrence.

Jungkook instructs the first pose to have your hands on the sides of your face, making slight adjustments so that you don’t cover any of the makeup. And for the first time, his touches leave little sparks where they land.

You’re sure it’s just because of the lights or that the shirt is thick and makes you warm.

Or maybe you’re just nervous and need to get the first photo jitters out of your system.

Soon enough, the camera’s pointing at you and you smile the brightest you can. He’s given you the prompt of ‘you’re so excited and happy you can’t hold it in,’ and you work with it the best you can, taking the first few with the pose he gave before being given full reign.

It’s a decent way into the first shoot when Jungkook says, “Hmm…we’re not quite there yet, I need a bit more,” and follows up with, “How about ‘you’ve just been commissioned by the Modern Art Museum to have the leading showcase for next year’.”

You smile the biggest you think you ever have at the thought. Because that’s the dream, that is the biggest goal you could achieve. An entire gallery of your work as the primary exhibition in the Western Shores Modern Art Museum? You couldn’t go any higher. It’s every artist's dream.

“There you go! That’s it!” The camera’s capturing quickly as you imagine what it would be like to have your own showcase at the WS-MAM. Incredible is the first word that comes to mind, your work in the biggest museum on the continent? You can’t even imagine, but you want to.

One day, you promise yourself. You’ll do it one day.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, breaking your daydream, “Let me switch out the gels for new colours and go again. These are great so far though, you're doing amazing.”

You hold your hand out for a high five and he smacks it. “Go team!” you say, and he laughs.

An hour and a half, a makeup fix and three lighting changes later, the first shoot finishes. You collapse on the couch and rub the muscles on your thighs.

Jungkook plops down beside you, nose deep in the pictures he’s just taken, double checking everythings good.

“This is a fantastic start, I hope we can keep it up all day and finish before tomorrow.”

“Me too,” you say, and you mean it. Shoots with him are always fun, but inevitably tiring. “I’m gonna to grab a water, want one?”

“Yes please,” he replies without looking up.

In the kitchen, you open the fridge to grab the two bottles and notice a box, stamped with a coffee mug that has a greenhouse inside of it, on top. The greenhouse cafe’s logo.

“Can I ask what’s inside the cafe box?” you ask as you sit back on the couch and pass him a bottle.

“Ah, caught red handed,” he says, setting his camera on the table and taking a swig. “I may have asked Vivan earlier this week to make sure there was an overstock of tarts so I could grab them for you as a thank you for today.”

...Oh

That’s so sweet. He’s never gotten you a thank you gift before, especially not in the form of the most delicious pastry to ever exist. Maybe you should get him something for all the times he’s helped you with homework? A solstice gift maybe?

There’s heat forming in your chest and you really hope it’s not the beginning stages of heartburn. Maybe Jungkook has antacids.

“You didn’t have to do that, I’m happy to help.”

“So you don’t want them then?” his shit eating grin making a glorious comeback because he knows what your answer’s going to be.

“No! I want them. I most definitely want them.”

He chuckles and puts his water down.

“Okay Donatello, glad you accept. Let's move on to the next set up. There’s makeup remover and cotton pads in the room, and some moisturizer too if you need it.”

The next shoot is called ‘Regality,’ and it has you in the strapless shirt. You find out it’s quite a low cut when you put it on. There’s enough to cover you, but there’s definitely a lot of your chest showing. However, under the shirt on the hanger is a scarf to cover yourself with, which you think is very considerate.

“Makeup?” you ask as you come out again, scarf covering you.

“Neutral, but strong. Kind of like how my mother does,” the background is still white, but you have a hunch that it will remain white in this picture, unlike the last one. “This one is going to be black and white, so try to emphasize your natural beauty.”

You ignore that he essentially just said you're beautiful, surely he’s just being kind and professional. Making sure his model feels good about herself.

Right?

Right.

You put on a coat of mascara and go light on the shadow so it won't be too dramatic on film. You also use a shade of lipstick that adds just a tint to your lips and a blush that makes your eyes pop.

Jungkook has you sit on the stool from earlier and faces your body three quarters of the way towards the camera, but keeps your head turned in profile.

“Oh! Almost forgot, one second,” Jungkook jogs to his room, coming back with a palm sized velvet box. “I had my mother send these over for this shoot. She has better taste than me, so I let her pick them out.”

Your stomach plummets to the floor when he opens the box.

Inside are two dangling diamond earrings, and quite possibly the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

And now you’re terrified.

“Jungkook, I can't wear those. They look like they’re worth more than my house, my car and my tuition combined.”

He takes one out and places it in your hand for you to put in, it’s the length of your index finger. And all you can think about is the potential houses you’re holding as you look at it.

It’s a semi-rectangular earring, encrusted with four columns of diamonds that cascade down, each column longer than the previous. Like a sparkling waterfall you can attach to your ear.

“Don’t worry about it, mum said she never wears them anyway because they’re part of a set that the necklace was lost to years ago. Please,” his face is nothing but reassurance and small smiles, “You’re giving them a chance to live again.”

You couldn't say no to those eyes even if you wanted to.

So you reply, almost breathless and still against your better judgment, “Okay.”

Placing them in one after the other, they have a significant, understandable weight to them. You take a couple deep breaths so you don't freak out, and then you return to your previously designated pose, profile set, body facing the camera.

“Can I adjust?” Jungkook asks, after taking a step back and getting a wider view.

You nod gently, still terrified of the earrings.

He makes sure the earring is visible and untangled first, before a finger gently comes beneath your chin, and lifts it a bit higher.

The feeling they leave behind is all you can think about as you stare at your place on the wall, Jungkook snapping away. Not even the soft light illuminating your profile is enough to make you blink.

This shoot goes by quickly, and you’re relieved to get the earrings back safely inside their box.

“It’s like 2:45, wanna break for a late lunch?” Jungkook asks.

“Please, I’m starved,” you say, returning from the guest room after tossing on the sweater you brought. “What's on the menu?”

“Well, we have two options,” he says, looking very faux serious, “1. We order out from wherever you want and awkwardly wait for it to arrive because the next shoot is not one we can’t prep for, then eat, then shoot. Or 2. I make use of the ingredients I bought to make Bulgogi Kimchi Fried Rice and you get lunch and a show.”

You're shocked.

Jungkook…cooks? Oh this you absolutely must see.

“Hmm….” you say, pretending to really mull it over in the same ‘serious’ tone, “I’m thinking I’ll have to go with option two, Chef. But I’ll lend a hand where I can, no use in standing around doing nothing.”

“Every chef needs a sous.”

With both of you on task, lunch is getting made quickly. Jungkook has all the ingredients to make ‘my buddy’s famous family recipe,’ a man who you assume is a chef back at the palace. The island countertop is currently covered in them; onion, kimchi, marinated bulgogi, gochujang, cooked rice, eggs and more.

You’re surprised at how skilled Jungkook is in the kitchen. He’s cutting the ingredients like he’s been doing it his whole life and working the pan over the stove like the proper technique has been drilled into him since birth.

Thirty minutes pass, and after both of you shed a tear at the cut onions and evenly split the remaining tasks, you’re sitting on the couch about to take your first bite. It smells delicious. Your mouth is watering and you can’t wait to dig in, stomach painfully empty by this point.

Finally taking that first bite, you nearly die of euphoria.

“Ouhmahgaud,” you say, mouth half full. Jungkooks on the other side of the couch, trying not to cough out his own food from laughing at your reaction. His eyes are nearly shut with how wide he’s smiling.

“Good?” he asks after swallowing his food first, like a civilized person.

You’re vigorously nodding as you swallow your own helping in hopes you’re understood.

“You’re giving me this recipe. I need it. I don’t think I will survive if this is the only time I ever get to eat it.” Your bowl is almost half gone already. Thank god there’s leftovers, you will be having more.

Plus, you want to make it for your mom when you go home, she’ll love it.

“I’ll text it to you later, don’t worry.”

You’re very sure the look on your face conveys the gratitude you feel and the rest of the meal passes in a very comfortable and satisfied silence.

Twenty-ish minutes later, after letting your seconds settle for a couple minutes, Jungkook gets back to business.

“Next look is the most adventurous, it uses the facepaint. Are you okay with contacts?”

“I think so, never tried them before though. Just give me a few before we start so I don’t explode when I stand up.”

“All good,” he says, before quirking a lip and adding, “I really don’t feel like explaining why there’s kimchi and bits of you all over my walls to either of our parents, so take all the time you need.”

You laugh, firstly at the visual, then at the idea of Jungkook meeting your mother. That would be something you needed on record, paper and film.

After a minute, you get up, the guest room making your acquaintance once more.

“This one is called Enigmatic,” Jungkook calls.

“Got it!”

You take longer than normal to change, maybe eating before putting on the skin tight shirt wasn’t a great idea. But at least it was stretchy.

It has long sleeves, a high neck, and is a very dark midnight black. There’s a matching black scarf for this one too, and a safety pin attached to the corner.

“Okay, what's the plan for this one? I hear facepaint is involved,” you say, back for round three, scarf in hand.

The background of the set is black now, a close match to your shirt. Jungkook is by the smoke machine, currently set up on the stool and plugged into a nearby outlet.

You hold up the scarf, questioningly.

“That’s to go over your head after the paint, but let’s see if you can do contacts first, they’re in the washroom. Need help?”

“No, I'm good.”

You don’t succeed at first, but after a couple attempts you look in the mirror and see purple eyes staring back at you. You love them.

“I look like a badass,” you say, returning. The smoke machine’s been turned on and it’s created a completely different atmosphere. At your reemergence, Jungkook shuts it off and comes close to give you a look. You freeze a little at the eye contact, his browns meeting your currently violets for a prolonged moment.

“They look better than I’d hoped, this is going to be great.”

He reaches under the gels on the table for a piece of paper. It’s a makeup model face with the look he wants drawn on. “Are you able to do something like this?”

The diagram shows the cheeks, bottom half of the nose and down all the way to the neck as black, and the eyes and up as white, bleeding down into the black like smoke. You’re going to need eyeshadow for that part. If you did that with the face paint it would just become a gray mess.

“Yep, but it’s going to take some time to get it right.”

“That’s okay, I’ll use it to get the smoke machine properly set up.”

You use one of the palette mirrors and start with the white, covering the top of your face and making a good base layer for the eyeshadow. Then fill the bottom of your face and neck with the black. Carefully, so as to not make gray, you use a large brush to cover both sides with their respective eyeshadow shades, before blending them together like the reference. Your skin starts to feel like it’s on fire by the time you're satisfied and you check your phone for the time when you finally finish.

4:37pm.

Not bad. You put the scarf over your head and cover your ears with it, using the safety pin to hold it in place.

“Done.”

Jungkook takes one look at you and lights up.

“Have I ever mentioned how talented you are, and that you make my schoolwork so much more fun? Because I feel like I should again even if I already have.” Your cheeks heat, glad he’s excited you’re able to help. “How did you manage to make it look even better?”

“I do vaguely remember mentioning something about a deal with a semi-suspicious genie,” you joke. And both of you break out in giggle fits after a second, recalling the conversation from forever ago.

Running through the same steps of lighting, posing, and adjustments, Jungkook then flips on the smoke machine and lets it fill the room heavily before starting to take pictures.

You’re sitting on a small box this time, so that you’re slightly lower than the camera. Jungkook tells you to keep your hands at your sides and look up, just above the rim of the camera lens. It creates a very interesting look, and you're excited to see the results.

He has you do a couple more poses before allowing you to do your own thing once more, trying to think of what would look mysterious and enigmatic.

You try to let the music inspire you. This is a look you’ve never done before, so you’re finding it a bit difficult to get into it despite Jungkook's helpful prompts and suggestions. But you flow a bit better with it as time goes on and you become more comfortable.

An idea pops up out of nowhere and you have him do a close up from the middle of your chin to the middle of your forehead. You stare straight into the lens to really showcase the purple contacts and makeup.

“This’s the one for sure,” he says, taking a few more. “Great idea, why didn’t I think of a close up in the first place?” You know he's talking to himself at this point.

It’s close to 6:15pm when Jungkook decides he has enough pictures for this look. You don’t mind the longer shoot seeing as you set aside the day for this, and you can’t wait to see how these ones turn out in particular.

You’re halfway through getting the face paint off, a mountain of gray stained cotton pads beside you, when Jungkook turns the music down.

“Let’s do a light, early dinner and then shoot the last one?” he asks. “I kept this one at the end because it’s going to create the most mess and it’ll be nice to have dinner out of the way for when I have to clean up.”

“More mess than this?” you point to the cotton pad mountain.

“Much more.”

“Light, early dinner it is,” you confirm, not wanting to have to wait till late to eat. “But can we order out so I have time to get the rest of this off?”

“Sure, what’ll it be?”

Clean faced, moisturized and ramyeon filled, you and Jungkook are preparing for the last shoot. Or well, lightly arguing.

“Water?”

“Mhm.”

“On me?”

“Yep.”

“From that thing,” you point to the contraption he calls a c-stand that will be holding the very full, very large watering can over your head for an extended amount of time, “And into there?” you point again to the kitty pool on top of the tarp that’s underneath the watering can c-stand.

“That is the plan,” he looks amused at your slight distress.

“Are you nuts? What if it falls on me? How do I know it won’t unhinge and I’ll have a nicely cracked open skull to explain to my mother on Solstice break?”

“It won’t fall and you know it won't because you trust me and trust I wouldn’t put you in unnecessary danger. But if it does, tell your mom I say hi and sorry.”

You scoff at him, unbelievable. “So you admit there’s a bit of danger!”

Jungkook sighs, and looks to the ceiling. “Yes, YN. There is a touch of danger. But that’s only if, somehow, the c-stand I have triple safety checked, duct taped twice, and quadruple secured with four fifteen pound sandbags, decides that you deserve a watering can to the head.”

You side eye his tone. This wasn’t an unrealistic worry. But you do trust him. And trust he would never intentionally put you in any danger.

The trees are set up near the backdrop that looks like a row of brick houses. The shot is supposed to be ‘The Calm after Before the Storm,’ where you look relieved and happy in an ‘outside’ setting while ‘rain’ falls over you, also in black and white.

“Fine, but if I hear one peep from that thing,” c-stand staring down the tip of your finger once more, “I’m tuck and rolling and taking you out while I do it.”

“Very fair!” he says relieved, and goes to set up the stand with the watering can.

You’d changed into the neutral V neck after dinner, and he’s asked for no makeup. So all you have to do now is stand and pose while trying not to die from foreign objects falling from the sky while you get wet.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

It is incredibly difficult, and you’re glad he made this one last because you’re at best; slightly miserable. Only the promise of a hot shower, hot chocolate with whip cream and marshmallows and your pick of whatever you watch afterward is keeping you going.

You started this one just shy of 8pm after waiting 45 minutes for the food. And it’s nearing 9:30 now. Jungkook has had to refill the watering can four times, dump the kiddie pool twice, and you swear if you don’t finish within the next twenty minutes, you’re going to collapse from shivering.

To be fair, he does fill the watering can with warm water, but it only stays warm for so long before freezing water is pouring on you for the millionth time tonight.

“I have one last idea, and by the way, I’m never doing this concept again so don’t worry about that, but also… don’t shut down the idea immediately okay?” Jungkook says.

The watering can is almost empty again and you’re relieved that your time is almost up. That in itself should make for a good picture. He snaps it.

But his tone makes you a little wary, “Okay… what is it?”

“Pretend I’m Nel and you’re seeing me for the first time in six months, like you do at the end of April.”

Well, you didn’t have that down on your photo shoot prompt bingo card.

Are you okay with the idea? You aren’t sure, but aren’t not sure either.

“I mean, I’ll try. Maybe you could give vocal cues to try and help? But don’t make it weird.”

“I won’t, promise,” Jungkook pauses for a second before adding, “Does he call you baby?”

You nod, and you distantly hear and ‘okay’ as you slowly allow yourself to get into that headspace.

You start, and the camera starts going.

You’re in the airport, waiting for Nel, ‘smoosh’ paper in hand. The gate opens, and through all the other passengers you see him, see that he’s in one piece, see that he’s safe.

Your face illuminates with relief at that so much so that you don’t even notice the water that starts running down your face.

You hear a ‘hi baby’ and in your head, it’s coming from Nel’s mouth as he nears you. You smile impossibly wider at the thought of seeing him, feeling him. Having him here with you.

You look happy to see me, ‘Nel’ says.

“I am,” you reply.

There’s repetitive clicking in the distance, but you ignore it. It’s probably just a flight attendant's heels on the floor.

“I missed you.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Nel speaks again.

I missed you too, baby.

You’re shivering hard now, lost in thought, unaware of reality.

YN, Nel calls.

“Yes, love?”

“YN.”

“Babe, what is it?”

“YN, hey,” you're being shaken gently.

“Hmm? What?” you slowly arrive back to the present. Strong hands grip your shoulders. They feel nice. Solid. Deliciously warm.

A very concerned looking Jungkook comes into focus, camera dangling around his neck and reaching for you.

Oh.

He’s the one holding your shoulders, trying to get you to come back to reality.

“There she is, welcome back,” he lets go and grabs a blanket from somewhere and wraps it around you. “We got the shot, go take a shower and warm up okay?”

“Okay,” you say, still a little dazed, but present enough to function.

You step out of the pool, holding on to the hand Jungkook offers to balance—Warm. Solid. Strong—and head straight for the bathroom, making a pit stop in the guest room to grab your bag with fresh clothes.

The hot water cements your place back in reality, letting it warm you up and cleanse you of the day.

You have no idea what just happened with that whole Nel thing, but it was a new feeling and a new headspace and you really aren’t in the mood to analyze or acknowledge, so it’s shoved onto a top shelf in the back of your mind for a later date.

Once you're able to return to the directory of your mind, you don’t know how long you’ve been in the shower. But you know you’re clean, no longer cold, and in the mood for hot chocolate, so you step out and dry yourself with the towels Jungkook laid out for you on the toilet seat.

They’re soft. So soft in fact you consider only for a second shoving one in your now less full bag to take home with you. However, you do rather enjoy your friendship with the prince, so you think better of it upon second thought.

Dressing in your sweats, you exit, tossing the towels in the hamper and your bag of the clothes you arrived in back into the spare room.

“Better?” Jungkook asks as you sit down in your spot on the couch for the last time tonight, wrapping up in the blanket he left for you. He’s in the kitchen but heard you coming.

“Much, thanks,” you sniff, “Is that hot chocolate I smell?”

Jungkook returns from the kitchen, two mugs in hand. “With extra whip cream and marshmallows, as ordered.”

You carefully take it from him, giving your thanks and happily slurping away the second it’s in your grasp.

“Alright Caravaggio, what are we watching?” he asks, sitting down on his side, sipping away on his own.

Sometime between you leaving for the shower and coming back out Jungkook changed into his own comfy attire, and tidied up the studio space as the pool and tarp are nowhere to be seen.

“I’ve thought really hard about this, all of however long I was in the shower,” Jungkook mutters something about 35 minutes; you ignore him, “And have settled on ‘A Miser Brothers Solstice’.”

He whines just a little when he says, “But it’s November.”

“So?”

“So, Solstice isn’t until the third week of December,” he’s saying this like his point is the most obvious thing in the world.

It’s not.

“Your point?”

“That it’s November, and you want to watch a Solstice movie.”

You’re mockingly outraged.

“Who made you town grinch? I didn’t realize we had a holiday hater in our midst.”

You loved the holidays, all the big ones, and the small ones, but Solstice was special.

“I’m not a grinch, I’m just not there yet, mentally.”

“Then get ready to dive in head first, because you said I could pick the movie for risking my life for you and I pick ‘A Miser Brothers Solstice’.”

Jungkook doesn’t argue further, but he does roll his eyes as he puts on your movie with a small smile hidden behind his drink.

It’s sometime during the first act, you’re lying back against your corner of the couch, feet up and under the blanket when you ask, “What are your solstice break plans?”

Jungkook takes a moment to part from the TV, very invested for someone who was so against it half an hour ago. “I have a lot of ‘princely duties’ to do for Solstice, like standing and looking thoughtful while my dad gives his annual Solstice speech,” you snort. “Then there’s the palace dinner, the parade through the capital, and the live televised event,” he says in a tv announcer's voice, “Where my family and I light the Solstice Star. And then there’s the new year and that in itself has another long list of things I have to do. Besides things like that though? Not much, and then it’s back here.”

Right.

You often forget who he is.

That behind those kind eyes, and small smiles, behind the greenhouse study dates, and movie nights, and photoshoots, Jungkook has an enormous responsibility constantly looming over his head, counting down the days until he finishes his schooling. One that’s just waiting to drop onto his shoulders forever.

You often forget that Jungkook is the Prince, first in line to the biggest throne in the realm. That you spend your time with not only Jeon Jungkook, friend and photography student, but also, His Royal Highness, Prince Jeon Jungkook, Heir Apparent and Future King of The Western Shores.

He just makes it so damn easy to forget.

You only asked because you thought maybe he had plans with friends or family, completely forgetting about all of the things the royal family does during the holiday season to celebrate with the nation, their people, and now you feel like an ass for even bringing it up.

But there’s something in his answer, or lack thereof, that snags your attention.

“What about celebrating with your family and friends in private?”

“No time,” Jungkook’s stare goes distant as he brings his knees up and puts his arms around them, resting his chin. “Friends are always busy with palace preparations and dad’s not really the sentimental type. We celebrated when I was younger; big family breakfast, presents, tree decorating, whole thing. But after I turned about 13 or so, it started dwindling pretty quickly. Now it’s just me and my mom exchanging a gift with each other at midnight under the palace tree.”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard something so heartbreaking yet beautiful in your life.

“Your mum sounds wonderful, I’m really happy you two get that time together.”

He looks at you, and you can tell by the look in his eyes he loves that time with her more than anything else.

Solstice is supposed to be the time you spend with your family, blood or chosen. The time where you all gather to cook and bake, and exchange thoughtful gifts with the ones you love. The time where you truly cherish one another and count yourself lucky for all that you have.

Solstice is your favourite time of the year.

To not spend it like that just seems…wrong. Horribly, painfully, awfully wrong.

“What about you?” he asks.

You don’t want to make him feel bad, so you tone down your answer, taking away the meat and giving the bones.

“My mum and I cut down our own tree and decorate it with the ornaments we’ve collected over the years,” you have them from every place you’ve ever visited, and your mum kept all the ones you ever made as a kid. You even get a new one every solstice to take a picture for and label with the year.

“Then we bake solstice cookies until our hands cramp and survive off only them until solstice dinner; a turkey, honey glazed carrots, mashed potatoes with gravy, essentially if it waters your mouth, it’s there,” he chuckles at that. “We do gifts for each other too, opening them on solstice morning before making hot drinks and reading in the breakfast nook until the sun sets or till we get hungry, whichever comes first.”

Jungkook's eyes glow, radiating warmth, a lazy smile on his face as he listens to you.

“That sounds really nice, YN.”

“It is,” you reply, looking him in those radiant eyes as you do. He looks… happy. Happy for you, that you get to have something like this that’s so special. It breaks your heart a little…maybe you can help.

“You wanna make some solstice cookies with me before break?”

His look of happy shifts to one of slight panic.

“What?” you question, and comically ask, “Have you never made solstice cookies before?”

He hesitates before answering a very quiet, “Uh…N-no.”

Your shock must be incredibly evident in the way he almost flinches at your reaction.

So you try your best to keep your voice level when you ask, “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no. I’ve never made solstice cookies.”

That’s it. You can’t hold back any more, you’ve never heard anything so blasphemous in all your life.

“You’ve never what? How is that even possible?”

He shrinks into himself a little more.

“The palace pastry chef always makes them because that’s kind of his job,” you stare at him in disbelief. “Is this really that big a deal?”

You swear there’s cog’s and smoke flying out of your ears. Solstice cookies are a religion in your household. You know dozens of recipes by heart, always finding a new one each year to try and up your game. You cannot imagine a solstice without making them. Wait no, actually you can, but it would be because you’re dead.

You held back in your answer earlier, for his sake, but you and your mom’s hands cramp up because you make enough cookies to give a box to everyone in the neighborhood. It’s one of your favourite traditions, and your neighbours even look forward to it every year, going so far as sending you both recipes to try out.

“Big dea—you’ve never fucking mad—not even when you were little? No one brought you to the kitchen and let you help? Aren't all your friends back home the pastry chefs' kids or something?” You don’t mean to sound harsh, but your tone is a little more passionate than you were intending.

But Jungkook knows you, knows you occasionally get that passionate about things, and takes your outburst in stride.

“Yeah, one of them is, but we don't sit around the oven and make cookies all break long. And his dad is always too busy to teach us even if we wanted to.”

You decide something. Right then and there.

“This year you are.”

“What?”

“Mark your last Saturday off because I'm going to show up here, ingredients-a-plenty and teach you how to make solstice cookies. I have a million recipes up here,” you tap your head with a finger, “But I'll choose the easiest ones. And I’ll come over early so we can spend the day making all of them. I can’t in good conscience leave for the break knowing you’ve never made them.”

He sighs. “Do I have any say in the matter?”

“Absolutely not.”

Jungkook stares at you and you can’t figure out what he’s thinking. You’re worried he’s going to say no anyway. To say you’re crazy and that they’re just cookies and that he has more important things he has to do on his Saturday before leaving for home.

But he doesn’t. And you should’ve known he wouldn’t, not after all the time you’ve spent together.

You know better. Know him better.

“Alright Picasso. Sounds like a plan. I’m looking forward to it,” he decides, and goes back to watching the movie.

It’s the first time he’s ever repeated a nickname.

“Wait! The wind guy wants to replace who?!” Jungkook shouts.

You laugh at his confusion, and rewind the movie.

Jungkook wakes up sore.

His back is killing him, which makes sense since he’s half lying on the couch, half on the ground.

The TV’s silently playing some slideshow of movie recommendations based on recent watches.

He checks his phone, reaching for it on the coffee tale.

14% battery.

4:07am.

Shit, he fell asleep.

After the solstice movie he wanted to watch its predecessor. You had no qualms and so on it went, but he doesn’t remember much after the brothers started fighting.

Hearing soft, even breathing next to him he turns to see you, hunched over in your spot asleep, no doubt in the process of ruining your own back.

He should go to bed.

You should go to bed.

But you’ve never stayed the night.

What should he do? Should he wake you?

But you look so peaceful. And it’s nearing exams. You barely sleep when it’s exams season.

Instead, Jungkook goes to check the guest room, but it’s a mess with yesterday's comings and goings. Make-up and clothes and hangers strewn everywhere.

Quietly, making a decision he hopes you won’t kill him for in the morning, he pads back to your sleeping form.

It’s for your back, he tells himself. No other reason.

Deja vu sets in as he scoops you up from the couch, blanket and all. Just like last time, you gain enough consciousness to know to wrap your arms around his neck, but not enough to wake up. Your head rests on his shoulder and he selfishly savours the feeling as he walks down the short hallway to his room.

Jungkook sets you down gently on one side of the bed, and your arms release, slumber undisturbed as he tucks you in.

He goes back to the living room to retrieve your phones. Yours is still at 56%, and he places it on the table beside you when he returns.

Climbing into his side of the bed, he’s careful not to touch you.

Though he wants to.

Desperately.

His sleep deprived brain is too slow to block out the thoughts that start to race. Thoughts of how he wants to turn around and pull you into his chest, slide an arm around your waist, and kiss you goodnight. How he wants to wake up in the same position, you still in his arms.

But he’s also awake enough to know that will never happen. That you’re with Nel, and happy with him. That he’s drawn that nice, big line.

He’s awake enough to know you being in his bed is a fluke, unintentional.

A one time thing.

Plugging his phone into its charger, he sets it down on his own bedside table and pulls the covers up, falling back asleep.

His back facing you.

An exhale wakes you.

Warm and cozy, you take a deep breath and roll to your left side, stretching on the way over. The scents of clean linen and something familiar find you. It’s comforting, that smell, but you can’t place it.

Another exhale, but this time you feel it as well as hear it.

You open your eyes to see a sleeping Jungkook face not a foot from your own and you jolt in shock, falling off the bed in the process.

You look up from your new seat on the floor, ignoring the pain in your side from landing, and peer over the covers to check on Jungkook, who, miraculously, hasn’t woken up from your tumble.

Relieved, your mind focuses on more pressing questions like ‘how did you get here?’ And ‘why were you in his bed?’

The last thing you remember was being halfway through the prequel to A Miser Brothers Solstice on the couch, watching Jungkook more than the movie because of how invested he’d become in the story.

But you aren’t on the couch now. You were in his bed.

The bed of the Prince of the Western Shores.

The Prince who has a girlfriend, and you, who has a very long term, very serious boyfriend.

You hear a vibration, and following the sound, you find your phone on the bedside table.

You quickly grab it quickly and go to the living room as quietly as you can manage.

There’s a large number of unread texts.

SlurryYuri [11:08pm]: hey, just checking in. You didn’t get home when you said you’d try for SlurryYuri [11:31pm]: Helloooooooo? YN? You there? SlurryYuri [12:14am]: it’s getting late YN, when are you coming home? Are you on your way?

Missed Calls: (3)

SlurryYuri [2:43am]: it’s been hours, so you better be dead or have crashed in the school somewhere. Either way I’m kicking your ass when you get home

Missed Calls: (2)

(Recent)

SlurryYuri [9:36am]: you’re still not home?? YN seriously, where are you SlurryYuri [10:23am]: If you don’t message me back in an hour I’m calling the police and filing a missing persons

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. You crashed hard, the shoot must have taken more out of you than you thought, so you never texted Yuri you were going to crash in a sleep pod at school like you’d planned too.

You make quick work of messaging her back, glad she unintentionally gave you just the excuse you needed.

YN [10:25am]: ohmygod I’m soooooo sorry, it was the school one. I fell asleep in the school. I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll be home soon, promise. I’m just going to grab breakfast first. Again im sorry

SlurryYuri [10:27am]: thank the gods youre okay!! Don’t ever do that to me again YN! I don’t wanna be the one who has to break news to your mom!! She’s too nice. SlurryYuri [10:27am]: and take your time getting back if your rushing for me, I’m not at the dorm SlurryYuri [10:27am]: Tai showed up yesterday out of the blue and took me dancing. We’re out getting brunch right now, and he has plans for the rest of the day SlurryYuri [10:28am]: Im just glad you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere

YN [10:29am]: me too, and okay I will. Thanks for checking up on me and making sure im safe, youre my favourite

SlurryYuri [10:30am]: damn right I am, see you tn <3

YN [10:30am]: see you <3

You exhale deeply, that was fucking close.

Your stomach rumbles and it reminds you that you actually need to get breakfast.

What could you have? You could order in again, but that means a wait time and you are hungry now. You could raid Jungkook's pantry, or see if he has any fruit, but then you think that’s a gross invasion of privacy when it’s not movie night and you haven’t asked if it’s okay.

Wait.

The egg tarts!

You dash to the fridge, the marvellous sight of a greenhouse inside a coffee mug comes into view. Stuffing one down before you even get the box from the fridge, you exit the kitchen, sit down on the couch, setting the box on the coffee table. Once opened in front of you, you realize there is a healthy amount of tarts inside.

How many did Jungkook ask for?

Speaking of, a bed-headed, yawning Jungkook makes his morning debut, still in last night's clothes.

“Hey,” he says groggily, walking over and stealing a tart.

“Hey!” you say back, not nearly as friendly.

“Overnight tax, Picasso. Room isn’t free.” He chuckles at your faux outrage, popping half the tart in his mouth as he walks to the kitchen and grabs something from the fridge. Returning, you see it’s a morning protein shake.

Gross.

“So is that name the one you’re sticking to now?” you ask, picking up another tart. At this rate they won’t last until lunch.

“Yeah, that okay with you? It’s your name in my phone after all.”

“It is?” You didn’t know that.

“Yeah, has been since the start.”

You’re quickly learning that sleepy morning Jungkook is very different from morning post work-out Jungkook, friend Jungkook and photographer Jungkook. His voice is deeper, he’s a lot more relaxed, and maybe even harmlessly borderline flirty, like he’s not all there yet. Softer.

“Picasso’s just fine. A compliment really.”

“Oh? And what am I in your’s then? Hopefully something just as nice?”

You tell him like it is.

“PJK.”

“PJK?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yeah? It’s obscure enough to not be recognizable if someone were to see it, but enough for me to know who it is.”

“Nah, you need something better, PJK is boring.”

“It’s your initials.”

“And boring,” he’s really not letting up on this.

“Well...what would you save yourself as?”

He mulls it over for a minute before deflating. “Okay, fair point, but I seriously want a new one. Something that can rival Picasso.”

“Do you have any nicknames? Something not completely obvious?”

For a morning person, Jungkook sure is taking his time. Maybe he was only a morning person before 8am, and then if he got up anytime after that he became a normal person who despised mornings like everyone else.

“Uhh…Vivian calls me JK, but that’s essentially the same thing as PJK. My buddies back home sometimes call me Kook, but I don’t think that works either. My mum has one for me that I will not disclose to anyone so long as I am breathing. So I guess not.”

A lightbulb dings over your head. “What about your security? Don’t they have special code names for you when they detail you? Like bear or eagle?”

“Yeah, but it’s not nearly as badass as either of those.”

“Fess up,” you say. Now you have to know.

“Hare.”

“Hare?” Now it’s your turn to be incredulous. “Like a rabbit?”

“Yep.”

An idea pops into your head and an evil grin spreads across your face, one you know is already setting worry into Jungkook’s still awakening brain as you change his name.

“I don’t like that look,” he confirms. “What’d you change it to?”

You flip your phone around and hold it up to him.

“Bunny?” he says incredulously once again.

“Yes.”

“I give you Picasso, one of the greatest painters of all time, and you think giving me bunny is anywhere near on par with that?”

Teasing him is far too fun, especially when he makes it this easy for you.

“Oh absolutely. In fact, I think it’s the best name I could possibly set it as.”

Jungkook disagrees, vehemently. “No, change it back. PJK is fine.”

“Too late. You dug your grave, now lie in it.”

Jungkook brings a hand to his face, pinching the crease between his brows and takes a very long, deep breath, exhaling just as dramatically.

You take that as your victory. But you’re sorely mistaken.

He launches at you, reaching for your phone and you scream, reaching your arm to keep it away from him. You have a fox socked foot on his chest to try and keep him back. His right arm is holding him up near your hip on the couches edge and he’s reaching with his left as far as he can without breaking his sternum on your heel.

“Give it!”

“Never!”

You try to bring up your other foot to push him away, but Jungkook is strong, and forces both it and the one on his chest down with the arm that was supporting him, temporarily keeping himself up with his left hand on the back of the couch.

With your legs out of the way he can almost reach his phone. But in his distracted state, misses the couch when he goes to put his supporting arm down again, and flips onto the ground, taking you with him. You scream, but his arms wrap around you as he makes sure to take the brunt of the impact, landing on his back, you safely secured to his chest.

There’s a moment of pure stunned silence, you resting your forhead on his chest while you process, him not letting go of your waist as he gets a breath into his winded self, before you’re both laughing as you take in what happened.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, you?”

He takes a second to respond. “I’m great.”

You push to sit up, and he releases you from his hold, but that was a mistake. Because now you’re sitting on his lap.

It takes an entire three seconds of you staring at him and him staring right back before you jump and scramble off him as fast as you can.

“Sorry.” you say in unison, you standing and him from the ground. It’s a painfully awkward 8 seconds before you break, cackling at the whole situation, and he joins in with you again.

Jungkook brushes off his pants as he gets up too. “Got any plans before tonight,” he asks, business as usual.

“Nope, cleared my schedule in case this went long, I’ve got the whole day.”

You swear his smile grows two sizes.

“Well in that case,” he looks to the TV, then back to you, “Wanna start movie night early?”

An entire day to relax and chill out before the hell that is exams season takes your every free second?

Yes please.

“Solstice movie marathon?” you propose slyly, near devious.

“I’ll get the popcorn,” he confirms, already halfway to the kitchen.

You spend the day like that, on the couch watching movie after movie, both pretending the little incident never even happened.

But you make sure to go home after movie night this time.

Chapter Nine: Sugar Cookies and Devious Confessions

A/N 2: This chapter kicked my ass but it's here and I couldn't be more thrilled. I really like how it's ended so I hope you guys do too.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

#THREE IN ONE DAY I AM KILLING IT #I'll leave the last(?) one(s) for tomorrow because now it's getting late and I spend hours on these due to having to reread chapters #to make sure I'm answering correctly and within context XD #reviews #TWWWBAATTA reviews #Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries #Moonchild1 #KIKI<3 #we know the drill by now: if you see typos. no you dont.

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danisbrainrot · 2 days ago

Note

Teen nat comforting you when you're crying about something hcs?

natalie scatorccio x reader

a/n: we're so back! after the first two episodes of season three dropped I'm inspired by this ask. it's not head canons, sorry, I just liked the idea and wanted to write a little story about it.

sorry this must be at least six months late, but here it is! camp counsellor nat :)

spoilers ahead!! (technically? I think it's just season two spoilers though)

wiping the tears from your eyes, you sniffle into your lap, hunching over to take up as little space as possible. you just wanted to be out of everyone's way, not wanting to ruin the mood with your tears. everyone else was happy and celebrating surviving winter, while you felt stuck. frozen in time, still unable to move on from how much winter took from you girls.

first jackie. then crystal. then javi. . .

now springtime has rolled around, you can't help but feel the same dread you felt throughout winter—yes, it was lovely now and your team has cultivated a livable community. however, you couldn't help but wonder what happens next winter? When akilah's animals freeze to death, gen can't find game. . . when shauna goes crazy again.

you pause, wondering when was the last time shauna was sane. then, guilt creeps in as you realise that you had no right to judge her—not after everything she lost. her best friend. her baby.

"hey, are you okay?" nat asked, crouching down to your level.

you gasp in shock, wiping more tears from your eyes. your cheeks stung with embarrassment at getting caught—nat came out of nowhere, giving you no time to recuperate. "yeah, just. . . needed to let it out."

placing a comforting hand on your back, nat tried to offer you a reassuring smile. "hey, we all understand. it can feel daunting out here. if you ever need someone to talk, I'm here."

"oh I know, your majesty," you tease, eliciting a snort from nat—you could tell she hated the title. you sigh gently, signalling you were okay. nat pats your thigh, standing up when suddenly your hand flings out to grab hers. "do you think we're awful people? for eating javi? and jackie?"

nat pauses, her face dropping significantly. she bites her bottom lip, which you find insanely attractive, before shrugging. "we did what we had to. . . to survive."

"but if that's what it takes to survive, do we deserve to?" you question, clutching nat's hand firmly. the brunette looks down at you, her expression unreadable, before shaking her head.

"all I know is that it should have been me. javi. . . I still don't believe in lottie's bullshit about the forest, but I will never forget his sacrifice."

you nod, realising your questions were hurting natalie more than you'd meant for them to. you drop your hand, resting it in your lap and watch her walk away.

she swivels her head to look at you, words on the tip of her tongue, before she shakes the thought away and walks away.

late that night, you hear a rustle outside your makeshift hut. turning to your roommate, you find gen fast asleep, so you decide to investigate by yourself. you follow a sliver of light, someone's back to you as they watch the small flames dance.

"shouldn't you put that out? it's late," you ask, sitting next to nat on the campfire log. she glances at you, her face enchantingly illuminated by the flames, taking your breath away.

"just thinking," she mumbles.

"about our conversation before?" you ask, eliciting a nod in response. you stare at the fire, wondering if it was the heat from the dying flames that burnt your cheeks or the way nat looked.

"you didn't chase me. why?" she whispers, not daring to look you in the eyes.

"when we ate jackie, it felt different. . . she was already dead and we didn't cook her, the snow did. sure, it was cannibalism but it wasn't murder. . . if I had chased you—"

"you'd have actively tried to hunt me," she replies.

"it seemed wrong, even for us," you answer.

there was a beat of silence while you watch her gaze into the flames. you felt your heart race in your chest, working up the courage to tell her what you want to say, "it goes both ways," you promise. she looks up at you confused, "if you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. . . and I'm sure it's not easy as the antler queen, especially with whatever shauna and mari have going on."

nat erupts into laughter, shaking her head. "don't get me started on those two," she replies, before her laugh fades to a small smile. she places her hand on your shoulder, "but I like the idea. we look out for each other."

"You'll be the queen and I'll be your—wait what is it called. . . the people royalty lean on for support. . . oh, concubines?" your face drops when you notice nat's face. her eyebrows are raised and tries to cover her mouth and stifle her laughter.

nat can no longer hold it in and burst into laughter again, "that doesn't mean what you think it does," she teases.

"oh, that's the sex one. isn't it?" you mutter, lowering your head to avoid her gaze. nat tucks her hair behind her ears, making you think about how she managed to rock the grown out look. she suited blonde, brunette and a combination of both.

nat notices you watching her intensely, "what? is there something in my hair?" she asks, raking her hands through it swiftly.

"no, no. just wondering if you miss the blonde?"

"well, it's still there, isn't it?"

you snort, "yeah, but the full blonde?"

nat shrugs, "more important things to worry about," she replies candidly.

you reach out to play with the blonde hair, twirling it around your finger. unknowingly, you'd accidentally brought her face closer to yours. she didn't seem to mind, but once you realise your cheeks burn and you shuffle away from her. "sorry," you mumble.

"come here," she replies, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you close.

your lips connected seamlessly, like your lips were made for each other. she kisses you softly, a reassurance that she was here for you, while her fingers tangle themselves in your—already tangled—hair.

after what felt like only a minute—but could have been longer—nat gently pulls away, a string of saliva all that connected you two. she runs her thumb over your bottom lip, cleaning away the evidence, and offers you a wonky smile. "I suppose every queen needs her concubine after all," she jokes.

"that was amazing," you whisper, still in awe. she laughs again, resting her forehead against yours.

#yellowjackets #fanfic #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio #fluff #wlw #oneshot #danisbrainrot #yj fanfic #yj season 3

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nejihyugamyreligion · 2 days ago

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Some facts about Nejiten - St. Valentine's edition (Source: Fandom)

In the manga, the only times Tenten is shown blushing is when she's beside Neji. She blushed at him directly during the second stage of the chunin exams.

In the manga, the only time Tenten dressed in a different outfit to her usual attire and wore makeup was to cheer for Neji during his match in the final part of the Chūnin Exams.

Even before Neji changed his fatalistic mindset as a result of Naruto's words, Neji was shown to get along with Tenten.

He believed in her abilities enough to sit under the practice dummy she was hitting with kunai,

He didn't mind her teasing him about challenging Sasuke before the first part of the chunin exams,

He trusted her to be capable of heading into the forest on her own and defending herself if she encountered any teams during the second part of the Chūnin Exams,

He was shocked when he saw Temari counter all of Tenten's attacks during the preliminary matches of the Chūnin Exams,

Even though Tenten lost to Temari, he still chose to train with her during the month of preparation for the final part of the Chūnin Exams. Every other genin from the Leaf village chose to train with a jōnin during this period, but Neji chose to train with Tenten. During this time frame Neji reverse engineered and mastered the Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms and the Eight Trigrams Palms: Revolving Heaven techniques, moves reserved only for the main branch of the Hyūga clan. By her narration of Neji's match against Naruto, it's clear that Tenten knew everything about Neji's moves and Byakugan since she was there to help him perfect them.

It's evident that Tenten already knew about Neji's curse mark and history with the Hyūga clan since before Neji's match with Naruto during the final part of the Chūnin Exams.

During Neji's match against Naruto in the final part of the Chūnin Exams, Tenten was the only one in the audience genuinely rooting for Neji. She was also the only one out of all the spectators to be relieved when Neji came out of the crater.

In the manga, the only male character Tenten is shown alone with is Neji.

In both the manga and anime, birds are present during the scenes where Neji and Tenten are shown alone together. Birds are significant to Neji's character, as his curse mark is a "caged bird cursed seal." Additionally, he is shown to relate to birds and wish that he could be free like them.

Tenten is shown to greatly admire and respect Neji, constantly calling him a genius.

Both times Neji was at death's door (after his match with Kidomaru and after he gets impaled while protecting Naruto and Hinata during the war) he regards those who called him a "genius" as the reason for his being. Tenten was one of the few who explicitly voiced to Neji directly that he is a genius, as well as his father and Naruto.

Tenten is often shown inviting him to places unrelated to training, like going to see Lady Tsunade and accompanying her to the bathhouse.

They are shown to be like minded, especially within Team Guy.

In both the manga and anime, Neji and Tenten are shown finishing each others sentences often.

Both Neji and Tenten are shown feeling comfortable talking to each other about their concerns.

While Neji is very formal and strict, he is shown to be comfortable around Tenten. He isn't shown to mind when she teases him or winks at him.

While Neji is rarely portrayed as a character who apologizes to anyone, he is shown apologizing to Tenten.

Although Tenten didn't react to Neji's death right away, she later broke down asked Neji why he left her.

They are shown constantly beside one another throughout the entire story, similar to the couples Asuma and Kurenai, and Shikamaru and Temari.

In some scenes in the anime, the animators drew them so close to each other that it appears as if they are holding hands.

Trivia

Neji and Tenten have the same theme song in Part I of the anime, but Neji's theme song is more upbeat, whereas Tenten's theme song has a slower beat.

Tenten's and Neji's themes compliment each other.

"Tenten" literally translates to "heaven heaven" in Chinese, while "Hyūga" translates to "place in heaven."

In the new Chūnin Exams arc, Neji is shown holding two heaven scrolls with the characters 天天 (Ten Ten/Tian Tian). Furthermore, in an omake for the Naruto Shippūden anime, Tenten writes her name as 天天, instead of テンテン.

As mentioned previously, in both the manga and anime, birds are shown in scenes where Neji and Tenten are alone together. Birds represent Neji, as Neji's curse mark is called the "Caged Bird Cursed Seal." The meaning of Tenten's name, Heaven, can be defined as a place above the sky and Neji constantly looks at birds flying in the sky as the ultimate expression of freedom.

Tenten's weapons shop in Boruto is named 忍具転転転, which directly translates to "Ninja Tools Turn Turn Turn." Furthermore, the characters 具転転 in the name translate to "revolving." Thus, the name of Tenten's weapons shop can be a reference to one of Neji's primary moves, Eight Trigrams Palms Revolving Heaven.

During the blank period, Tenten wears a uniform that includes a dress with a flame pattern similar to the flame in the Hyūga clan's emblem.

Neji and Tenten are depicted as compatible:

The Databooks reveal that Neji is a Cancer and Tenten is a Pisces. In Western astrology, Cancer and Pisces are considered a compatible and harmonious pairing.

The Databooks list Neji's blood type as O and Tenten's blood type as B. The blood type personality theory popular in Japan considers O and B blood types romantically compatible.

Neji, during his death, is portrayed as a Phoenix on fire. In the anime, Tenten utilizes the moves "Twin Rising Dragons" and "Exploding Dragon Strike." In Chinese folklore, the Phoenix and Dragon pair symbolize perfect harmony and balance between yin (Phoenix) and yang (Dragon).

Among the Konoha 11, Neji and Tenten were the only ones who were 18 years old during the Shinobi war, whereas Naruto and Hinata were 16 years old and the rest were 17.

Neji and Tenten share the same hairstyles as Hashirama Senju and his wife Mito Uzumaki.

Steve Staley and Danielle Judovits, the English voice actors of Neji and Tenten, have expressed support for the ship on Twitter and Tiktok, respectively.

In an interview, Tenten's Spanish voice actress, Gaby Ugarte, described her character as "Tenten, la enamorada de Neji." This phrase can be translated to English as "Tenten, the one in love with Neji." or "Tenten, Neji's lover."

🌻🌻🌻

And here I leave you a small Nejiten edit that I made for Valentine's Day. Forgive me for making you cry, I suffered my part making this edit. They'll always be my favorite couple, even without being canon. They were perfect together and deserved to be happy! 😭

#neji #tenten #nejiten #naruto fandom #naruto series #naruto anime

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fioredeciliego · 18 hours ago

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟖

𝐖𝐂: 𝟑.𝟑𝐊

ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲, '𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔡𝔬𝔪 ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔢

The sword was slick with blood.

Y/N’s feet felt rooted to the ground, her body frozen as if held by invisible chains. No matter how much she willed herself to move, to scream, she couldn’t. Before her, Mark stood with a satisfied smirk, his hand wrapped around the hilt of a sword—the same sword that was buried deep in Minjeong’s chest.

Minjeong staggered back, her lips parting in silent agony. The life drained from her eyes, her body crumbling as the crimson spread across her tunic, staining the floor beneath her. Y/N struggled to breathe, her throat tight with terror. She tried to reach for Minjeong, to do something, anything, but her limbs wouldn’t obey.

Mark turned to her, his grin widening as he twisted the blade before yanking it free. “It’s over,” he whispered, his voice dripping with cruel finality.

Y/N bolted upright in bed with a blood-curdling scream, her breaths coming in ragged gasps, her skin damp with cold sweat. Her heart pounded against her ribs, the vivid images of her nightmare still clinging to her mind like a thick fog. Mark’s twisted grin, Minjeong’s body collapsing before her, the helplessness that wrapped around her throat like a vice—it all felt too real.

She barely had a moment to catch her breath before her door burst open.

Minjeong stormed in, sword in hand, her hair a tousled mess from sleep. She swung the blade wildly from side to side, her eyes darting around the room, searching for a threat that wasn’t there.

“Who? Where? What’s happening?” she demanded, her voice still thick with sleep.

Despite the fear still clinging to her, Y/N let out a shaky giggle through her tears. The sight of Minjeong, half-awake and brandishing a sword like a sleep-deprived warrior, was ridiculous enough to break through the haze of her nightmare.

Minjeong’s eyes snapped to her, her grip on the sword loosening slightly. “Wait… was it—” She sighed, stepping closer. “Another nightmare?”

Y/N swallowed hard, nodding, unable to trust her voice just yet. Minjeong exhaled, rubbing a hand down her face before setting the sword against the wall. Without hesitation, she climbed into bed beside Y/N, her presence warm and steady.

She didn’t speak immediately. She didn’t rush her. She just sat there, waiting, her knee gently bumping against Y/N’s under the covers.

Finally, Minjeong spoke, her voice softer now. “Was it bad?”

Y/N nodded again, her fingers twisting into the sheets. Minjeong sighed, reaching out instinctively to brush a strand of hair from Y/N’s damp forehead.

“You’re safe,” she murmured, her touch lingering. “I’m right here.”

Minjeong hesitated for a moment before asking, as if she hadn’t been doing it every night for the past week, “Can I stay with you?”

Y/N gave a weak nod, shifting slightly as Minjeong settled beside her. Without thinking, she laid her head on Minjeong’s chest, inhaling deeply. The familiar scent—of steel, fresh linen, and something uniquely Minjeong—grounded her, slowing her frantic heartbeat. She focused on the steady rhythm of Minjeong’s breathing, whispering to herself that Minjeong was safe, that she was here.

Minjeong tightened her arms around Y/N’s waist, holding her close. She let out a quiet, sorrowful sigh, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wish I knew what demons haunted you at night… so I could slay them for you.”

Y/N didn’t respond, but as her breathing evened out, Minjeong pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She exhaled deeply, allowing sleep to take her as she held Y/N protectively in her arms.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

Over the past week, Y/N had begun to notice something—Minjeong was always there. Always.

It wasn’t just the comforting presence at night, or the gentle reassurances when nightmares plagued her. No, this was different. This was Minjeong being utterly incapable of letting her out of her sight for more than five minutes at a time.

Y/N would wake up? Minjeong was already in her chambers, claiming she was “just checking in.”

A meeting with Minho? Minjeong would somehow materialize next to her, arms crossed, an unimpressed look on her face, even if the conversation was about battle formations or trade agreements.

A simple stroll through the gardens? She’d feel eyes on her, only to turn around and find Minjeong standing precisely two feet away, arms stiff at her sides, looking at her like she truly believed she was giving Y/N some space.

✠✠✠✠✠✠✠

Y/N sat in the library, engrossed in a book, only to look up and find Minjeong staring at her from behind a bookshelf. She sighed. "Minjeong, I can see you."

Minjeong, attempting to be casual, grabbed the nearest book and pretended to read it upside down. "No, you can’t."

✠✠✠✠✠✠✠

During lunch, Y/N tried to have a private conversation with Aeri.

As she whispered something, she caught sight of Minjeong lurking behind a pillar, very badly trying to blend in. Y/N sighed, turned her head slightly, and said loudly, "Minjeong, would you like to join us?"

Minjeong poked her head out from behind the pillar. "If you insist."

✠✠✠✠✠✠✠

While walking through the training grounds, Y/N abruptly turned around. Minjeong, who had been stealthily following, had no time to react and ran directly into her. "Ow," Y/N groaned, rubbing her forehead.

"My bad," Minjeong said, completely unrepentant. "You stopped too fast."

✠✠✠✠✠✠✠

Y/N attempted to slip away for a moment of peace in the gardens.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them—only to find Minjeong sitting on a nearby bench, looking smug. "How did you even get here before me?" Y/N demanded.

Minjeong shrugged. "I have my ways."

✠✠✠✠✠✠✠

It would have been funny if it weren’t so suffocating.

At first, Y/N tried to ignore it. She told herself that Minjeong was just being careful after everything that had happened. She reasoned that maybe Minjeong needed this, to feel like she was still in control after almost losing her. But after days of being shadowed, of being hovered over like she was made of glass, it began to wear on her nerves.

The final straw came in the form of an attempted conversation with Jeno, a knight she had known since childhood.

She had barely managed to exchange pleasantries before Minjeong had appeared beside her, stepping slightly in front of her, shoulders squared. The tension in the air had been immediate, thick enough to suffocate. Jeno, to his credit, had simply sighed, muttered something about “not wanting to deal with this again,” and left before a fight could break out.

Now, sitting in the garden, trying and failing to find some peace, Y/N let out an exasperated sigh. She knew before she even turned that Minjeong would be there. And she was right. Just two feet away, standing in plain sight, Minjeong watched her with a look of what she clearly believed was subtle concern.

That was it.

“Minjeong,” Y/N said, voice flat.

Minjeong perked up slightly. “Yes?”

Y/N rubbed her temples before looking her straight in the eye. “Can you leave me alone?”

Minjeong blinked, tilting her head slightly as if the question was incomprehensible. “No.”

Y/N let out a sharp laugh, incredulous. “No?”

Minjeong folded her arms. “No.”

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Minjeong, you’ve been following me like a lost puppy for days. I can’t breathe.”

Minjeong scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. I’m giving you space.”

Y/N stared at her. Then, very slowly, she gestured at the precisely two feet of distance between them. “Minjeong. You’re standing right there.”

Minjeong looked down at the space between them, as if just realizing how close she was. Then she looked back up at Y/N, completely unbothered. “That’s plenty of space.”

Y/N let out a strangled sound, standing up abruptly. “I’m going inside.”

Minjeong followed immediately. “I’ll walk with you.”

Y/N stopped walking and turned to glare at her. Minjeong simply looked back, blinking innocently.

“Minjeong.”

“Yes?”

“Go away.”

“No.”

Y/N looked at her, dumbfounded. “I’m not asking you, Minjeong. I’m telling you to leave me alone.”

Minjeong met her gaze, unwavering. “I promised myself I wouldn’t leave your side.”

Y/N let out a sharp breath and crossed her arms. “Do you think I’m going to get kidnapped again?” she asked sarcastically.

Minjeong didn’t answer. She only looked down, her jaw tightening.

A beat passed. Y/N frowned as realization hit her.

She wasn’t the only one left with scars after the incident.

Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair. “Fine,” she muttered. “Do whatever you want.”

Minjeong’s eyes lit up immediately, her expression shifting from guarded to something almost gleeful. The way her face brightened, the way she practically wagged an invisible tail, made Y/N think, not for the first time, how much she really did resemble a puppy.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

Minjeong stood in the grand hall of the Lee State, unable to move, unable to speak, as Y/N stood before Mark, dressed in the ceremonial gown of a bride. Mark’s fingers curled possessively around Y/N’s wrist, his triumphant grin stretching far too wide.

“Say it,” Mark urged, his voice dripping with venomous delight. “Swear yourself to me.”

Y/N’s lips parted, hesitant, her eyes filled with something unreadable. Minjeong struggled against the invisible force holding her back, her throat raw as she screamed, but no sound escaped.

Y/N turned to look at her, sorrow flickering in her gaze, but then she whispered the words that shattered Minjeong completely.

“I do.”

A cold dread seeped into her bones. Mark turned his attention back to her, his grin twisting into something cruel. He drew his sword, the silver gleaming under the candlelight.

“I win,” he murmured, and before Minjeong could move, the blade plunged into her chest.

Minjeong jolted awake, gasping, her heart hammering painfully against her ribs. Her fingers curled into the sheets, body trembling from the remnants of the nightmare. It took a moment to ground herself, to remind herself that it wasn’t real.

And then she felt it.

A warmth pressed against her side, soft and steady.

Minjeong blinked down and found Y/N curled up beside her, her breathing even, her body tucked securely against Minjeong’s own. The weight in her chest eased ever so slightly. She let out a shaky breath, her arms instinctively tightening around Y/N, as if to reassure herself that she was here, that she was safe.

Mark was gone. He could never touch Y/N again.

Sighing, Minjeong let her fingers gently thread through Y/N’s hair, marveling at how soft it felt between her fingertips. She moved slowly, carefully, not wanting to wake her, but unable to stop herself from indulging in the small comfort. Y/N let out a tiny, content sigh in response, shifting just slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile even in sleep.

Minjeong’s own lips twitched upward at the sight. It was rare to see Y/N so at peace, so unguarded. The moonlight filtering through the curtains bathed her in silver, highlighting the delicate contours of her face—the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her long eyelashes, the soft glow of her skin.

Minjeong let her gaze linger, tracing every detail like she was committing it to memory. The delicate slope of Y/N’s nose, the way her brows relaxed completely in sleep, the fullness of her lips—lips that Minjeong had caught herself staring at far too often lately. The realization hit her slowly, settling in her chest with a warmth that spread through her veins.

Shit.

She was in love with Princess Y/N of Mindor.

And she wasn’t sad about it.

In fact, as she looked down at the woman curled so trustingly against her, she thought—perhaps she had been for a long time.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

The night was quiet, the castle wrapped in a peaceful stillness, but Y/N was jolted awake by a soft, shuddering sound beside her.

Minjeong.

Even in the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains, Y/N could see the tension in Minjeong’s body. Her brows were furrowed, her breaths coming in uneven gasps as beads of sweat lined her forehead. Her fingers twitched against the sheets, curling into the fabric as if she were trying to fight off some unseen force. Then came the whimper—barely audible, but enough to make Y/N’s chest tighten.

She was having a nightmare.

Y/N sat up immediately, placing a gentle hand on Minjeong’s shoulder. “Minjeong,” she whispered, giving her a small shake. When that didn’t work, she tried again, firmer this time. “Minjeong, wake up.”

Minjeong jolted awake with a sharp inhale, her chest rising and falling rapidly as if she had just surfaced from drowning. Her eyes darted around wildly, unfocused, her breath ragged and uneven. There was something raw in her expression—fear, sadness, and something deeper, something that made Y/N’s heart ache.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, instinctively reaching out, cupping Minjeong’s cheek with a tenderness she didn’t think twice about. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Minjeong stilled at the touch. Her wide, terrified eyes softened, her breathing slowing as she leaned into the warmth of Y/N’s palm. A shuddering sigh escaped her lips, and then, for a moment, she just stayed there—eyes closed, basking in the quiet comfort of Y/N’s touch.

Y/N ran her thumb gently along Minjeong’s cheekbone, brushing away the cold sweat that lingered there. “What was it about?” she asked softly.

Minjeong didn’t answer right away. Instead, she let out a quiet, almost relieved hum at the feeling of Y/N’s hand against her skin. Her own hands found their way to Y/N’s waist, fingers curling lightly around the fabric of her nightgown as if grounding herself, as if needing to make sure Y/N was real, here, safe.

She exhaled, another soft, contented sigh. “It doesn’t matter,” she finally whispered, voice still laced with exhaustion. “You’re here.”

Y/N didn’t press for more. Instead, she stayed, letting Minjeong lean into her, offering the comfort she knew Minjeong had given her so many times before.

Y/N leaned forward, resting her forehead against Minjeong’s. Their breaths mingled in the dimly lit room, the warmth between them grounding them both. Y/N took the moment to really look at her.

Her eyes traced the small mole on Minjeong’s cheek, the way her thick, bushy eyebrows framed her delicate features. Her gaze drifted lower, lingering on Minjeong’s plump lips, slightly parted as she breathed. Y/N gulped, quickly looking away, her eyes now running down Minjeong’s lean but strong body. The soft moonlight highlighted the definition of her collarbones, the sheen of sweat making her skin glisten under its glow.

Just as she looked up again, Minjeong’s eyes fluttered open, their gazes locking. For a moment, neither of them moved, simply taking in the presence of the other.

Then, Minjeong smiled.

It was that smile—the one where her eyes squinted, and her gums showed, her entire face lighting up with something so pure and unguarded. Her gummy smile.

Y/N felt her heart stutter in her chest, warmth flooding through her as she let out a small, breathy laugh.

And then, in that moment, Y/N realized something.

Fuck.

Before she could even process it fully, Minjeong leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N’s forehead. The warmth of her lips lingered against her skin for a second too long, and then Minjeong was pulling her close, wrapping her arms securely around Y/N’s waist. Without hesitation, she guided Y/N down, resting her head against Minjeong’s chest, as if she belonged there.

Y/N felt Minjeong’s steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, strong and unwavering, a stark contrast to the chaotic rhythm of her own. Minjeong sighed contentedly, nuzzling slightly into Y/N’s hair as sleep quickly reclaimed her.

But Y/N remained awake.

She stayed there, staring at nothing, as the realization settled in her chest with a warmth that refused to fade.

She was in love with Minjeong.

And it was probably the best thing that had ever happened to her.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

The grand council chamber was alive with the hushed murmur of attendants preparing for the meeting. The long wooden table at the center was adorned with maps, parchments, and intricate wedding invitations waiting to be finalized. Y/N and Minjeong sat side by side, their posture straight yet betraying the slightest hints of tension. Across from them, their mothers—Queen Irene and Queen Seulgi of Mindor, and Queen Taeyeon and Queen Tiffany of Argoriath—watched them with expressions ranging from amused to contemplative.

“This is an important day,” Queen Tiffany started, her voice warm yet authoritative. “The official arrangements for the wedding must be settled.”

Queen Irene nodded, tapping her fingers lightly against the polished wood. “We have already selected several possible dates, but we would like to hear your thoughts on which would be best.”

Minjeong glanced at Y/N before responding. “Sooner rather than later,” she said firmly. “There’s no reason to delay.”

Queen Seulgi chuckled softly. “Eager, are we?”

Y/N, feeling her cheeks warm, cleared her throat. “A reasonable time frame would allow both kingdoms to prepare accordingly. We don’t want to rush things unnecessarily.”

Queen Taeyeon picked up a parchment and handed it over to Minjeong and Y/N. “These are the potential dates. Based on astrologers’ guidance and the alignment of political events, these seem most favorable.”

Y/N scanned the list. “Three months from now,” she read aloud. “That seems... manageable.”

Minjeong nodded in agreement. “Three months gives us time to prepare everything while keeping it soon enough to avoid excessive delays.”

With the date set, the discussion moved to the guest list. Queen Tiffany unrolled another parchment, a long list of nobles, foreign dignitaries, and esteemed guests detailed within. “We must ensure that our allies are well represented, and that no political insult is made by omission.”

Y/N sighed, already feeling the weight of diplomacy. “That means inviting Lord Shin-Il’s faction as well.”

Minjeong’s jaw tightened, but she exhaled sharply. “Politics,” she muttered, though she clearly disliked the thought.

The conversation shifted toward the theme and design. Queen Seulgi leaned forward, her excitement evident. “This should be a blend of our kingdoms’ traditions. A merging of Mindor and Argoriath.”

Queen Irene nodded. “The ceremony should reflect both cultures, from the attire to the decor. We’ve compiled a few ideas.”

Minjeong groaned internally as different fabric swatches, floral arrangements, and ornate sketches were laid out before them. Y/N, on the other hand, found herself surprisingly intrigued. She picked up a sketch of a wedding hall decorated with cascading golden vines intertwined with Argoriath’s icy blue floral accents. “This is beautiful,” she murmured.

Minjeong watched her, a small smile tugging at her lips. “If you like it, then that’s what we’ll have.”

Throughout the meeting, Minjeong and Y/N kept exchanging glances, their eyes meeting briefly before they both looked away, cheeks slightly flushed. Every stolen glance made their hearts race a little faster, the warmth between them growing more noticeable.

The four queens, ever observant, took notice of this silent exchange and shared knowing glances amongst themselves. Their daughters had finally realized their feelings—now, it was just a matter of waiting for them to confess.

By the time the meeting concluded, most major details had been decided, and the reality of the upcoming wedding felt closer than ever. As they left the chamber, Y/N exhaled. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Minjeong smirked. “Says the person who actually enjoyed picking decor.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile playing at her lips. The wedding was coming, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like just an arrangement—it felt like something real.

☦☦☦☦☦☦☦☦

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ; 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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