#featuring: “this is the most awake I've seen you in years”

[tofangirlonly]

Mr. Gatsby? It's 7 o' clock in the morning.

Throwback to this being incredibly accurate footage of me and my travel buddy on our way to nyc

[mr-cha-n]

Through the Lens

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genres: Smut, fluff, photographer x model AU

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, sexual content, penetration, nudity

Word Count: 12.5k

Summary: Six months. Full access. Intimate photos. A glimpse into the world of celebrity. And the last thing Jeon Wonwoo thought he was signing up for.

A/N: Publishing a draft, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

The email arrives at the most inconvenient time, as all important emails do. Wonwoo had spent the entire day at the studio, taking newborn photos of a client’s latest chow chow—"latest" being bolded because this was the third time this year that he’d been called in for this client’s endless stream of puppies. By the time he’d finished, his body was ached raw from awkward angles, and his mind was numb from a six-hour editing marathon. He only managed to drag himself back to his flat after the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, craving the sweet refuge of solitude. 

Alas, he was dragged through a two-hour catch-up session with his flatmate, Mingyu, who, with his never-ending supply of caffeine and chatter, somehow managed to convince him to watch a movie about a guy who falls in love with his childhood friend who is also a ghost. (No, it didn't make sense, but Mingyu enjoyed it, and Wonwoo had long given up trying to follow his logic.)

By the time he collapses onto the couch, half-dead from human interaction, the email is waiting. 

"Subject: Assignment Confirmation: (Y/n) (Y/l/n)."

He groans as he clicks it open, his finger hovering over the delete button, ready to toss the whole thing into the digital voice. Then he reads the first line:

"Dear Mr. Jeon, we are pleased to confirm that you have been selected as the official photographer for the upcoming feature on (Y/n) (Y/l/n), world-renowned socialite and philanthropist."

"What in the world..." Wonwoo mutters. He doesn't even really remember submitting his name for this, and he's shocked he'd ever consider it. Wonwoo has long made a mental vow to avoid people like you - socialites, celebrities, influencers - whatever you call them. In the world of photography, they are all the same: walking photo opportunity with zero personality and way too much drama. Perfect for paparazzi, but not something he has time for. 

He's a quiet, detached observer of the world. He doesn't need to be a part of it.

But the email continues:

"We have full confidence in your ability to capture the raw and humanising side of Ms. (Y/l/n), giving our readers an intimate glimpse into her life, both public and private."

Raw? Humanising? Intimate? Which magazine is this again, the National Geographic?

His eyes flicker back up to the top of the email, growing wide as he sees the sender. Well, shit. Opus Magazine. He does remember applying for this, although, in his defence, they hadn't specified the subject of the op-ed when he'd submitted it. 

"We are excited to have you on board for this project, which will span the next six months. Your first shoot is scheduled for next Thursday, at 10 AM, at Ms. (Y/l/n)’s residence. We look forward to seeing how your unique perspective brings this project to life.

Thank you for your time and commitment.

Best regards, The Editorial Team Opus Magazine"

Wonwoo leans back, tilting his head toward the ceiling as if the world would offer him an answer. It doesn’t.

In all fairness, he has never actually met you before. But he's seen you everywhere. The perfectly curated Instagram feed. The charity galas. The interviews. The way you seem to be exactly what everyone wants you to be: flawless, effortless, untouchable.

A three-page approval form for every photo, he assumes. 

The door to the living room creaks open. "How are you not asleep yet?" Mingyu says cheerfully, poking his head in. Wonwoo glances at the clock on his screen: 2:43 am. He chooses not to point out that Mingyu's still awake too.

"I've been assigned to photograph (Y/n) (Y/l/n) for the next six months." Wonwoo grumbles, tapping his phone screen as if he could wipe away the whole thing with a swipe.

Mingyu's eyes widen in surprise. "Wait - (Y/n) (Y/l/n)? As in Forbes Under 30 (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?!"

"Yes. That one." Wonwoo replies flatly, eyes narrowing. "Six months. Full access. I'm going to want to die halfway through."

Mingyu looks delighted, clearly missing the gravity of the situation. "Ooh, this is going to be so fun! You're going to be all glamorous and -"

"No. No, I'm not," Wonwoo interrupts. "I'm going to hide behind my camera and take photos of her from so far away that she doesn't even know I'm there."

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Anti-Social. But—” Mingyu plops down beside him, grinning. “—what if she wants to get to know you?"

Wonwoo turns to him, unamused. "It's a professional gig to make her look good; she won't want me digging into her real life."

Mingyu, without missing a beat, grabs a bag of chips and shoves them into Wonwoo’s lap. “Just saying. People don’t come with Instagram models and high-profile gigs attached unless there’s something extra special about them, right? Maybe she’s a hidden gem.”

"Hidden gem?" Wonwoo scoffs. "Or a nightmare in designer shoes."

It doesn’t take long for Mingyu to bombard him with unsolicited advice. “... here’s my tip for you. Don’t just take boring photos. You know what’s going to make her stand out in the sea of perfect socialite portraits?” He paused dramatically. “Unfiltered moments. Catch her when she’s off guard. Capture her when she doesn’t know she’s being watched.”

Wonwoo shoots him a deadpan look. “What, you mean like stalking her?”

“I prefer the term artistic observation,” Mingyu replies, grinning mischievously. “Trust me. You’re going to fall in love with her vulnerability. You know, the real her. The one she hides behind all the glam.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, already regretting this conversation. He’s not even met you, and here Mingyu was, crafting an entire narrative of undiscovered depth based on nothing but a couple of well-lit photos.

Still, his finger hovers over the accept button. 

Six months. Full access. Intimate photos.

Maybe he should just ... get on with it.

Wonwoo hasn't actually met you yet and he's already regretting his decision. 

He's spent the past week alternating between panicking and ignoring the dozens of emails for your team, each one more frantic than the last. First, they sent a detailed itinerary of the shoot, followed by an even more detailed list of instructions on what he should wear, when to arrive, and what colour lens he should use for "optimal lighting" - as if he didn’t know how to work a camera by now.

9:00 AM, Inbox:

“Subject: URGENT: RE: Ms. (Y/l/n)’s Preferences for the Day”

“Good morning, Mr. Jeon,

I hope you're prepared for today’s shoot! Please note that Ms. (Y/l/n) prefers a soft light filter on all images, especially when she’s not directly posing. We’ve attached a sample of how she likes her candid photos to look (it’s very specific). Do ensure that you have the required lens, and if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out.

Best, Assistant to Ms. (Y/l/n)’s PR Team.”

Wonwoo stares at the email for a moment, blinking. Soft light filter? Do you breathe, or do you simply exist in a perpetual soft-focus glow? His finger hovers over the "delete" button, but he refrains. He already knows this is a battle he’s not going to win.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to get up. He throws on his jacket, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him worse than when he submitted his final portfolio at college, and the project hasn't even begun yet. There's no escaping now. He has to do it - he's been hired for this. Paid for it, too, which means he's legally obliged to at least try.

He arrives at the shoot location just before 10 AM: a sprawling, minimalist mansion that looks like it's been pulled from the pages of an interior design magazine. It's sleek, modern, and incredibly intimidating. The atmosphere is slick with an 'unapproachable luxury' vibe, and Wonwoo can already feel the tension in his shoulders as he steps out of his car. 

A member of the PR team greets him immediately, smiling far too brightly for someone who's probably already been working since 5 AM. "Mr. Jeon! So glad you could make it. Please follow me inside, Ms. (Y/l/n) is just getting ready.”

Wonwoo nods, trying to maintain the calm he doesn't really feel, muttering a "thank you" in response.

Inside, everything is sleek and spotless - nothing out of place, nothing too personal. Like no one's ever lived here. He's brought to a sitting room where the lighting is admittedly perfect. Almost too perfect. He's not used to working in these conditions. He's used to having to fix things last minute, create something out of nothing, or use the imperfections to his advantage. A soft hum of quiet chatter fills the air, and a stylist is busy adjusting something behind the curtain.

He doesn't know what he's expecting as you walk out. Maybe someone a little more ordinary, a little less polished than the figure seen in magazines. He's worked with models before, and they've always been so normal outside of shoots. But when you step into the light, it's like the room takes a collective breath. You're impossibly beautiful, even he can admit that, in that "perfectly put together, but effortless charming" way. Your smile hits him like a tidal wave, all dazzling teeth and liquid confidence, and for a split second, he forgets why he's here. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but what comes out is a dry, “Hello.”

You tilt your head slightly, looking him up and down with eyes that seem to see everything. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your voice smooth, almost teasing.

Wonwoo feels a flutter of unease in his chest, though he’s not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t worked with famous people before, and yet something about you—something about the way you look at him—feels like an interrogation.

“Ah, well,” he stammers for a second, clearing his throat, “I… I hope it’s all positive.”

The smile on your lips doesn’t waver, but there’s something almost too sharp about it. The kind of smile that’s practised, like you’ve been wearing it since you were a child in front of mirrors, learning the exact angle for maximum charm.

“Oh, absolutely. You’ve got quite the reputation,” you say, as if it’s an afterthought. “They told me you’d be professional.”

Professional. Right. Because that’s exactly what he is. He’s always professional, no matter how much he wants to roll his eyes at the utter insanity of the situation. 

He offers a stiff nod. “Good. That’s what I’m here for.”

You smile again, but this time it’s softer. There's a flicker of something in your eyes, almost like amusement, but also curiosity. For a moment, Wonwoo wonders if he's just a novelty to you, something to poke at for fun. Or maybe you think you’re the novelty here, and he's just another player in the game you're used to winning. Either way, he can feel the weight of that gaze, and it’s not entirely comfortable.

You take a step closer, and Wonwoo resists the urge to take a step back. It’s like you have this gravitational pull—magnetic, impossible to ignore. But he’s not going to let that faze him. His eyes stay focused on your face, trying not to let your presence throw him off his game.

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “what’s your plan for today? I’m assuming I’m not just going to stand here all day and look pretty?”

It's a light question, but he can hear the expectation in your voice. He’s used to people expecting things. It’s just—well, usually, it’s an email with 10 bullet points, not an interrogation delivered with a smile.

“I’ll take a few shots first,” Wonwoo replies, keeping his tone neutral. “Get the feel of the lighting. Then we’ll see if we need anything more posed.”

You nod, and decide the conversation is over, floating back over to the set.

Wonwoo lifts his camera, adjusting the settings to give himself a moment to settle down.

You stand still, not quite posing, but perfectly aware of your body. Everything about you seems calculated. Even your fingers, relaxed at your sides, seem to fall into the right positions at just the right time. It’s strange, though, because you’re not the robotic kind of poised he’s used to. There's a subtle looseness to you, a humanity that he doesn't expect.

“How does this work?” you say after a beat. “You just take my picture and call it a day?”

Wonwoo focuses on adjusting the lens, trying to suppress the slight frustration that’s bubbling up. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to take your picture. All he wants is to get the job done and move on.

But instead, he clicks the shutter. One, two, three shots in rapid succession. The light catches your face in a way that’s almost too good to be real, too perfect for anyone to be this unfailingly photogenic.

“Relax,” he mutters more to himself than to you. “Just act natural.”

You tilt your head again, this time a little more playfully. “Natural?” You raise an eyebrow, a soft chuckle escaping you. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what that is.”

Wonwoo’s finger freezes over the shutter, and he looks at you again, the barest hint of annoyance tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’m sure you can manage."

You laugh then, a light, almost mythical sound, and for a moment, the tension in the room eases just enough for Wonwoo to breathe. “I’ll try. But no promises.”

He clicks another shot, and for the first time, something in his chest loosens. It’s not much—just a tiny shift—but it’s there. You’re... interesting.

“Tell me, Mr. Jeon,” you ask, your voice low. "I'm intrigued as to why you decided to do this shoot. What's your opinion on people like me?"

Wonwoo lowers the camera, the question catching him off guard. “What do you mean?”

You shrug, your gaze flicking toward the window, your expression momentarily unreadable. “People who live in the public eye. People who everyone thinks they know, but don’t. What’s your opinion on that?”

“People like you don’t need opinions,” he says, his voice flat, “because you already know how everyone feels about you.”

He’s being sharp. Cold, even. And he knows it. But he can’t help himself. This isn’t the first time he’s worked with someone who expects the world to revolve around them. It’s what they do. It’s why he keeps his distance.

You don’t react immediately. You just stare at him for a moment, your expression unreadable.

For a split second, he wonders if he’s crossed a line. But then your lips twitch, just the slightest hint of a smile.

“Well,” you finally say, your tone warm but still guarded, “I suppose that’s one way to see it.”

Wonwoo wants to say something else, maybe something witty or sarcastic, but he stops himself. Instead, he lifts the camera again, focusing on the next shot.

No matter how much he tries to bury it, Wonwoo can’t help but feel... a little intrigued by you.

Just a little.

The second shoot is at your apartment. 

Wonwoo had been floored when he'd found out - although the spotless nature of the first home had kind of given away that it wasn't actually yours. More than that, the fact that he, despite meaning to have creative control over the project, wasn't told that the purpose of the first shoot was to show a contrast between how people thought you lived and how you actually lived. Seemed like something he should have a say in.

As he arrives, the reality is different to what he'd imagined, and the opposite of the slick, minimalist mansion. 

Your apartment is, in a word, alive. The first thing that hits him is the colour. Bright hues of teal and mustard yellow leap off the walls, the kind of vibrant tones that feel like they belong in a 70s sitcom. The entire place seems to be a throwback to a cooler, bygone era, as if time itself was gently bent to live in this space. Mid-century modern furniture clashes with bold retro patterns—geometric prints, zigzags, and polka dots galore. 

The space is wide and open, but it’s not the sterile kind of open that’s all white walls and cold metal. No, this is a living, breathing room that demands attention with its quirk and charm. He prefers it.

The walls are covered in vintage posters from concerts, movies, and random ads from the 60s and 70s—faded, but still full of energy. One poster catches his eye in particular: it’s a photograph of an old jazz band in action, the colours almost washed out but still vibrant in their intensity. He notices that it’s not framed, just tacked on with mismatched pins as though it was thrown up without a second thought. It’s a detail that makes him think you probably chose it on a whim.

At the far side of the room, there's a vintage bar cart—wooden, with brass accents, stocked with various bottles and a large glass decanter that catches the light as though it’s waiting for its next cocktail to be poured. A small but proud collection of classic board games, with bright, cheerful colours that look like they belong on a childhood shelf, sits close next door. 

Despite the space being filled with vintage charm, there’s a kind of organised chaos to it all. The floor might have an old rug with faded patterns that don't quite match the couch, and the coffee table—half-full of magazines, books, and a stray mug—couldn’t be called tidy, but it’s the kind of mess that makes the space feel lived-in.

The thought makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

You lead him inside, wearing a loose, earthy sweater and faded denim jeans, a marked contrast to the polished image he’s gotten used to seeing in magazines. You still look beautiful, but comfortable. Not model-perfect. 

“You can set up wherever you’d like,” you say casually. Your voice is warm, and easy-going in a way that’s almost disarming.

Looking around, he realises for the first time that none of your team is here. And, weirdly, it unsettles him.

He finds himself pausing for a moment when he notices a worn book sitting on the coffee table, the edges curled with time. He’s always had a soft spot for books, the way their covers could tell so much about the person who owned them. And that book? It’s clearly one you’ve read over and over.

His fingers hover over his camera lens for a moment, and before he can stop himself, he mutters, “You read a lot?”

You glance over, surprised. “Hmm?”

“The book.” He gestures vaguely, “It looks well-loved.”

You laugh softly, a short, pleasant sound that makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t fully understand. “Oh, that? It’s nothing, really. Just something I found at a little bookstore in Paris. I’ve read it a million times, but... sometimes, it feels like you can always find something new in the pages, you know?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, but no words come out. It's almost spinning his head around - the way that you're mixing together something so casual like a well-worn book with the detail that you got it in Paris. There's this weird grating of human and celebrity that he doesn't know how to deal with.

You seem to notice the shift in his gaze, your smile becoming a little softer. But instead of explaining more, you walk over to the window and lean against the frame, glancing outside. “So, how do you want to do this today?” you ask, clearly trying to get back on track.

Wonwoo nods, snapping himself back into work mode. “Let’s start with some natural shots,” he says briskly, pointing to the light streaming in through the window. “You can stay by the window, maybe. I’ll catch the light.”

You agree without hesitation, sitting down on the frame. 

The shots begin. You sit, your eyes thoughtful but distant, as if lost in some thought. He clicks the shutter a few times, and the room is silent except for the rhythmic sound of the camera.

The more he shoots, the more he finds himself paying attention to the small things. The way you absentmindedly twirl a lock of hair between your fingers. The way your posture softens after a few minutes, like you’re forgetting he’s there, and yet still poised.

The next shot clicks, and you look up at him, catching his eye. 

“Is that good?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He swallows, feeling a slight tension in his throat that wasn’t there before. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

The words come out without thinking, and he can feel his cheeks flush slightly at the sincerity with which he says them. He's fiddling with his camera settings again, trying to adjust the light for the shot, as you sidle over to the small vintage record player near the window. The soft crackling sound of a jazz record fills the air. 

He doesn’t expect it when you suddenly speak, your voice soft but with an underlying curiosity.

“So,” you say, not turning around, your fingers gently tapping against the edge of the record player, “I’ve been wondering… you’ve been pretty quiet this whole time. Not like the others. Why is that?”

Wonwoo glances up, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” He doesn’t look at you directly, still adjusting the focus on the lens, anything to avoid eye contact.

“I mean,” you laugh lightly, spinning the record player’s dial, “everyone else I work with is always talking. About work, about their lives, about whatever’s trending—people like to talk, especially when they’re nervous. You’re the only one who hasn’t said much about anything.”

There’s an open quality in your tone, no judgment, no pressure, just curiosity. And for some reason, that makes him feel even more exposed than if you had pried into his personal life directly.

“I guess I’m not a fan of small talk,” Wonwoo mutters, setting the camera down a little too abruptly, feeling a tightness in his chest. “I don’t really need to fill the silence.”

You turn to face him then, and for the first time, he notices how unguarded your expression is. There’s no fake smile or calculated pose—just an interested look.

"I get that," you say, your voice now quieter, almost thoughtful. "But... do you ever feel like you miss out? I mean, silence is... great, but it’s also really lonely sometimes, isn’t it?"

"Not really,” he says, not meeting your gaze. “I’m fine with being on my own. I’ve always preferred it.”

You tilt your head, studying him with an intensity that makes him shift uncomfortably. "You know," you say, taking a step toward him, your voice soft but deliberate, "I always thought I’d be fine alone too. It's funny how we get so used to being surrounded by people, by noise, by the ‘right’ kind of company—when, in the end, it’s really the silence that’s the most honest."

Your words sink into him, a little unexpected, a little disorienting. There's a weight to them—like you’ve really thought about this. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his voice less guarded, almost teasing, but there’s an edge of curiosity there too.

You pause for a beat, a soft smile playing on your lips. There's something mischievous in the way your eyes twinkle. "Well," you begin, you're voice light, "what I mean is that maybe the real stuff gets lost when you get too good at hiding behind the quiet."

He raises an eyebrow, but before he can reply, you finish with a playful, almost theatric sigh: "Or maybe I'm just trying to get you to talk. You know, because I certainly don't want to be the only one in the spotlight in this room. It's exhausting, really."

He can't help it—he laughs. A quiet, breathy sound, but it’s real. Something about the absurdity of it all. Something about the way you deflect it all with that charming, nonchalant smile.

"You're a work in progress," you grin wider, eyes narrowing. "But I'm going to crack you open."

Wonwoo is still chuckling, a disbelieving snort of laughter he can't hide. He leans back in his chair, running his hand through his hair as he studies you with a wry smile. "Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’m the one who needs cracking open," he says, his tone half teasing, half resigned, as if he’s already lost the battle.

You pause for a moment, surprised that you've actually got him joining in on your jokes. But you don't press. Instead, you give him a sideways grin and lounge out over your statement, mustard couch. "Tell me, Mr Jeon - do you still think your opinion of me doesn't matter? Should I go back to hiding behind the perfect image for you to capture what everyone else already thinks of me?"

Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head. He can’t deny that something about you has started to chip away at his carefully cultivated indifference. "I don’t think you could ever hide, even if you tried."

The jazz record continues to hum in the background, and Wonwoo starts to wonder if he's finally found something worth shooting beyond the lens. 

When he makes it back home, the camera bag feels heavier than usual, and the moment he closes his front door, he's hit when the familiar sense of quiet. 

He dumps the camera bag on the kitchen counter and heads straight for his desk, flipping open his laptop with the enthusiasm of someone who’s about to dive into hours of editing. The usual dread of looking through the pictures fades as he opens the files. He didn’t think he’d be so invested in this shoot, especially not with you, of all people. But the truth is, the moment he starts scrolling through the shots, he’s a little bit stunned.

There are candid moments of you, captured so naturally. Your hair falls in your face as you laugh at something he barely remembers, the light coming in through the window bathing you in that soft golden glow like you were born for this. The quiet, unguarded moments—your fingers absentmindedly tapping against the coffee table, your eyes softened with a thought he’ll never fully know.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the shot where you’re sitting by the window, gazing out at the street, completely oblivious to the lens. It’s raw. And weirdly, it’s beautiful in a way he didn’t anticipate.

With a sigh, he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

And damn it, now he’s got to figure out how to keep it professional when all he wants to do is scroll back through these photos of you for the next few hours.

He grabs his coffee again, takes another sip, and mutters under his breath, "What’s the point of professionalism, anyway?"

Wonwoo is not thrilled about attending the gala. In fact, he's pretty sure if he could just get lost in the crowd and pretend he's not there, he would. But, alas, work. He's there, standing awkwardly by the hors d'oeuvres table, holding the camera like it's a shield. The entire place is dripping in opulence - golden chandeliers, champagne towers, and a sea of glittering gowns and tuxedos so shiny they could be mistaken for mirrors.  It's the kind of event where everyone’s either a billionaire or pretending to be one.

And then, of course, there’s you.

You move through the room like you've got a personal spotlight, laughing with people he's never heard of, shaking hands with people he has. The dress you're wearing is stunning, too, naturally - deep emerald green, with a neckline just high enough to make it look elegant but low enough to make him briefly question his entire career as a photographer. He should be focused on the job. But you're flashing that perfect smile, chatting with rich old men and influencers alike, completely different from the version of you he saw in your apartment just a week ago, laughing over a worn book.

He watches you interact with the other guests, a dance of small talk, well-placed compliments, and calculated interest, and suddenly, he feels like he’s been shrunk down to the size of a cockroach. If someone took a photo of him, An intruder in your world would be the title. The camera, which he thought would make him feel a little less out of place, feels heavy in his hands, as though it might give away the fact that he’s just not meant to be here.

You glance in his direction, catching his eye from across the room. He freezes. He can almost hear you sighing internally before you offer a small, knowing smile.

"Mr. Jeon!" Your voice floats toward him over the clink of glasses and high-pitched laughter. "How are we doing? Getting some good shots?"

He stares at you, blinking. You’re asking him in that casual, sweet tone that’s just different from your “public persona” voice. It’s like a crack in the glass, and he suddenly feels... disoriented. The contrast is so stark that for a second, he forgets how to respond.

"Uh—yeah, I mean, everything’s fine," he stammers, adjusting the camera lens like it might offer him some sort of escape from his discomfort. "Just, you know. Capturing the glamour." He motions vaguely at the glittering scene around him, feeling more awkward by the second. His fingers hover over the shutter button, but they hesitate.

You laugh, a polite, rehearsed sound. "Ah, yes. Glamour. The thing I do so well." You flash him a smile that could melt diamonds and suddenly he feels like he’s about two seconds away from accidentally snapping a picture of his own nervous breakdown.

The silence between you stretches just long enough for him to feel like the entire room is waiting for him to speak. He clears his throat. "It’s... different, isn’t it? Here?"

You tilt your head slightly, raising an eyebrow, as if trying to gauge whether he’s joking or not. "Different?" You laugh again, but this time it’s more self-deprecating. "I guess. But it’s what I’m used to. The lights, the faces. I mean, it’s all a bit much sometimes, but..." You trail off, and for a second, it feels like you're letting something slip.

But then someone else approaches you, pulling you into a conversation about some charity auction or art gala (he stops paying attention, realising he’s been trying to capture your attention too long), and just like that, the moment is over. You slip right back into the role, offering another perfect smile, your body language straightening, as if you’re suddenly filled with all the energy you didn’t seem to have a second ago.

The space feels suffocating all of a sudden, and Wonwoo wonders if he should have stayed home, maybe edited a few more of those photos, or gone for a walk—anything to avoid being a part of this gilded zoo. He looks through the lens, catching another shot of you laughing with an older gentleman, your hand resting lightly on his arm. 

A loud crash breaks through the air.

Wonwoo's head snaps in the direction of the sound, instinctively lifting the camera as if it's somehow going to make sense of the situation. 

He spots a waiter, wide-eyed and mortified, standing frozen next to a toppled champagne tower. Glasses are shattered everywhere, a sea of bubbly liquid spilling across the pristine white carpet like some kind of modern art installation.

The room falls into a hushed silence.

He can feel the collective tension, the people who’d been laughing and chatting a second ago suddenly stiffening in disapproval. Someone gasps—probably just for dramatic effect—but the truth is, everyone’s too rich, too important to react with anything other than mild disdain. A few uncomfortable glances are exchanged, and one of the older men starts muttering under his breath, his hands clutching his glass like it’s a lifeline.

And then, like someone flipping a switch, you’re there.

You glide through the crowd with a purposeful ease that makes everything else fade into the background. People part for you as though they know exactly what you’re about to do. The smile that had been plastered on your face during the earlier conversation is gone, replaced with a soft, serious expression, one that’s sharp in its concern.

"Excuse me," you say, your voice suddenly commanding but not unkind. Wonwoo can tell the waiter is waiting for the blowout, the yelling, the anger - but it's not there.

"It's alright, don't worry. It's just a few glasses. Are you hurt?"

The waiter shakes his head, and you kneel down beside him to start gathering up the broken shards of glass with careful motion. "Let me help, then."

The people around you are still hesitant, staring awkwardly, unsure whether they should step in or just stand back and pretend like nothing's happening. But you’re focused on the task at hand, moving with precision, completely unaffected by the sea of disapproving looks that surround you.

Wonwoo finds himself frozen again, his camera half-raised. His finger hesitates on the shutter button, unsure if he should capture the moment. You don’t seem to care about the image you're creating, not in the way you do for the cameras. Here, you’re just someone helping out, unbothered by the chaos unfolding around you. 

After you finish clearing up the last of the glass, you stand up and dust your hands off, flashing a quick smile to the waiter, who looks completely relieved. You stand tall, taking in the now-silent room with a playful glint in your eye.

“Well," you say, wiping your hands on your dress, "I always knew I was good at breaking the ice, but I didn’t think it’d be literal this time."

The room goes quiet for a beat, and then, just like that, a few people start to chuckle. Someone claps lightly, another offers a small cheer, and the tension evaporates into a burst of laughter.

You throw your hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, don’t all applaud at once. Just trying to keep things interesting around here."

With that, the conversation picks up again. The guests move, shift, and suddenly, the night feels like it’s back in motion. Wonwoo watches from a distance, surprised at how quickly the entire atmosphere shifted. You just defused the room with a smile and a joke, as if it had all been part of the plan.

"Hey," you're walking up to him, stepping into his personal space as the final whirlwind of flashing cameras wraps up an evening of too many glasses of champagne and handshakes that feel more like a chore than a greeting. "What are you doing after this?"

Wonwoo looks up, startled. "Uh, I… well, I was just going to head back. Got a few edits to finish up," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.

You tilt your head, studying him with a slight grin. "That sounds like fun," you tease. "But I’m guessing it’s not exactly going to be a good time."

He pauses, feeling almost embarrassed for a moment, before shrugging. "I guess I could skip it."

A small beat of silence passes between you, and then you speak again, quieter this time. "You know," you start, your voice softer than before, "if you don’t have anything better to do... I’d, uh, actually kind of like to go out. No fancy people, no cameras. Just… I don't know, something normal."

Wonwoo looks at you for a beat, wondering if you're asking him to go with him, as the corners of his lips twitch upwards. "You mean no red carpets and champagne?"

You laugh, soft and genuine. "Exactly," you say, your voice laced with a touch of vulnerability. "Just, you know, being normal for once."

The way you say "normal" almost makes it sound like a forbidden word in your world, and Wonwoo feels a flicker of something.

"I’m in," he says, the words slipping out before he can think too much about them.

You give him a small, almost shy smile. "Alright. You follow me."

It’s an hour later, and you’re driving through the city, the sound of the tyres on the road mixing with the faint hum of the radio. You didn’t tell him where you were going, just that it was "something fun." Wonwoo’s pretty sure you’ve never driven anywhere that didn’t require a driver, but here you are—on a small, crowded street near the heart of the city, pulling up to a diner with neon lights flickering like they haven’t been replaced in a decade.

"This place?" Wonwoo asks, looking out the window at the 24/7 diner with its retro sign and low-key vibe.

"Yep. We said normal, right? Well, this is as normal as it gets."

He raises an eyebrow, but before he can protest, you’re already getting out of the car, leaving him no choice but to follow.

Inside, it’s a whole different world. The diner smells faintly of coffee and fried food, and the clink of mugs and chatter of a few late-night patrons makes the place feel strangely cosy. There’s a jukebox in the corner, and despite the place being stuck in a time warp, you both sit down at a booth, the vinyl seats creaking under you as you slide in.

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the normal kind of silence that feels more like breathing than awkwardness. And then, finally, you speak.

"You want to know something crazy?" You say, looking down at the menu, though you made it clear in the car that you've already memorised it. 

Wonwoo looks up, his brow furrowing slightly as he nods.

"This is probably the first time in a while I haven't felt like I have to perform. Which is, actually, crazy. Because I'm hanging out with a professional photographer who's being paid to capture every moment of my life." You let out a disbelieving scoff, your lips curling into a grimace-like smile.

"I get that," he replies, his voice softer than he expects. "It's different for me too. I'm not sure I remember the last time I spoke to any of my friends, other than my flatmate, who insists that we have a catch-up meeting every day."

You chuckle, the crinkles of your smile flattening out. 

The waitress arrives, interrupting for a moment, and you order a milkshake without hesitation. He orders something random, revelling in the thrill of not thinking too much about anything.

"I get lonely sometimes," you say after your order arrives, so quietly that Wonwoo almost misses it. "I know it’s weird, I mean, people are always around me. But it’s like... they don’t really see me. They only see the version of me they expect."

He's not sure if you're still tipsy, although the rosy flush of your cheeks suggests so, or if you now feel very comfortable with him. 

Wonwoo isn’t sure what to say, so he just lets the silence settle for a moment, letting your words hang in the air like a soft echo.

"You know," he says after a beat, his voice lighter than before, "I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who can juggle both a charity gala and a diner milkshake at 3 AM with such grace."

You snort, blowing bubbles into the drink that leave splashes of pink liquid sizzling on the diner table. The sight is enough to set Wonwoo off too, laughter spilling out of him in a way that's only possible in the early hours of the morning. 

"I should take a photo of that," he chuckles as you give him a large grin, the straw still sticking out of your teeth as you mop up the spilt drink. 

But he doesn't. Doesn't even think to take his camera out of its bag. 

Instead, he just watches you—really watches you—for the first time tonight, as you sit there, messy and unapologetic, with your eyes twinkling. And you're not the person everyone in the ballroom thought you were. 

"Maybe we should do this more often," you say, your voice unexpectedly soft as you look up at him. 

Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth curving up in the smallest of smiles. "Yeah. Maybe we should."

You've taken a surprising interest in Wonwoo’s regular work. Since you got him to admit that this project wasn’t really his usual gig, you've made it your personal mission to dig deeper. 70% of your questions have revolved around what he actually enjoys doing, the kind of work that doesn’t come with velvet ropes or high society guests. It’s a little like watching a puzzle slowly get pieced together—a mixture of curiosity and the way you just can't let go of something that intrigues you.

So, when you mention, "I think it's only fair you show me what you usually do," it’s not entirely out of the blue.

"Alight, alright," Wonwoo mutters, realising that he owes it to you to let you peek inside his world too. "But don't expect anything glamorous. Magazine spreads don't feature heavily."

Your eyebrows shoot up in an exaggerated gasp that has him rolling his eyes. "I'm not expecting you to change into a suit and tie, if that's what you're worried about." You grin. "but if you do, I'll totally snap some behind-the-scenes shots."

"Don't get any ideas," he mutters, but there's a soft laugh behind his words. 

You look like an archaeologist discovering ancient treasures as you step into the studio, and Wonwoo has to resist the urge to photograph the look on your face. He wasn't lying when he said it wasn't much, but it's quieter than the outside world, which is just the way Wonwoo likes it. The walls are lined with a few scattered prints, some framed, others just leaning against the wall, like they’ve been left to gather dust for the sake of catching a different light. The easel in the corner holds the remnants of his last attempt to paint, the workbench cluttered with film rolls, empty coffee cups, and a few stray brushes.

You pause in the doorway, taking it all in.

"So," you begin, "where's the real deal? Show me your favourites."

He shrugs and walks over to a table filled with various photo equipment, adjusting his glasses as he picks up a roll of film. "I’m not sure what you’d consider my 'thing,' but I mostly shoot for personal projects. I like experimental work. I mean..." He looks over at you, and for a second, there's a flicker of something more, something deeper. "I like showing things that don't get seen. Telling stories that don’t get told."

You step further into the room, your curiosity piqued. "The more I learn, the more I marvel at the fact that you chose to do photograph me," you tease. 

He looks back at you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "It's good to try new things sometimes. And, well ... I'm not so sure you're story has been entirely captured yet."

He pulls a print down from a shelf, careful with the edges, and walks over to where you're sitting. "This," he says, sitting next to you, "is one of my newer pieces. It’s… different from the usual stuff I shoot. It’s a little raw, a little wild."

The picture is a little hard to make out - a blur of colours and light, like a dream caught in motion. There's an image of a figure - slightly distorted and bathed in neon blue and orange, wrapped in streaks of light that seem to bend and curve in ways that don't make sense. It almost looks like the figure is dissolving into the frame itself, as though they’re becoming part of the world rather than a separate subject within it.

"It’s a long exposure," he continues, "but I played with the focus to distort things more than I usually do. You can see the movement in it—like the person isn’t static. They’re not just there. They’re changing. Becoming."

You tilt your head, your gaze flickering back and forth as you try to make sense of the image.

"It’s unsettling," you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

Wonwoo nods, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "That’s what I like about it. People always expect something clear, something neat when they look at photos. But sometimes, the chaos is what’s real. The blur, the overlap of light, it’s how I see things."

"It’s like… you know when you try to hold onto a moment, but it keeps slipping away? That’s what this is. The image is still, but everything around it keeps moving. It doesn’t stay still, no matter how much you want it to."

You reach out, fingertips brushing the edge of the frame, tracing the glowing streaks of light. "It’s almost like you’re trying to capture the space between things."

He pauses, eyes flickering to yours as if reading your expression. "It’s like that with people, too, right? You think you know them, but then they change. Or maybe you change. And all of a sudden, you’re looking at them and wondering who they really are. Who they were. Who they’re becoming."

You’re silent for a moment, but your gaze hasn't left his and it's piercing into him with all of the unspoken words.

And then you're eyes snap to something behind him, and he feels a little empty in the void of your gaze. A small smile slips across your lips. And you're gone, moving quickly out of your seat to get a closer look at whatever has pulled you away from him.

Wonwoo's head swivels around, like if he loses sight of you, you'll disappear. 

"Now, this is unexpected."

Your voice is laced with that mischievous tone, and it snaps Wonwoo back into reality, his gaze darting to where you're now standing, eyes fixated on the shelf behind him.

He feels his cheeks heat up before he even registers why. The camera equipment on the shelf, partially obscured by a few stray photo albums, is a large, well-worn camera with an impressive lens. But it’s not the camera that’s got your attention—it’s the stack of photos beside it.

He swallows. "Oh, those. They're… um, just some old shoots,” he mutters, reaching for the pile as quickly as he can.

But you're already stepping closer, your grin widening as you grab one from the top of the stack. Your eyes light up as you hold it up, and it’s immediately clear why you’re grinning. 

The photo is a high-end fashion shot, one of those artsy ones. It features a model—clad in nothing but strategically placed shadows and some very expensive body paint, in what can only be described as sultry poses. The subject's entire form is captured with the kind of grace and sensuality you normally associate with glossy magazines and high-end ads.

You raise an eyebrow. “So… this is what you’re hiding in here?”

Wonwoo, face flushed to a shade of pink that doesn’t belong anywhere near a professional photographer, clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s not what you think. It was a concept shoot. A long time ago. For... art.”

“Art.” You repeat the word slowly, like you're savouring it. “A concept shoot. Right.” You peer closer at the picture, almost squinting like you’re studying the fine details. “Well, I have to say, I didn’t expect you to have such a niche portfolio.”

He snatches the photo from your hands, but you’re quicker than him, leaning in just a little too close for comfort. "Come on, don't be shy. I'm sure these shots went for a pretty penny. You should be proud of them."

 “It was a collaboration with a friend. We were experimenting with lighting and shadows. It wasn’t meant to be, like, that kind of shoot.”

You tilt your head and flash him a teasing smile. "Right. I'm sure it was all very tasteful."

“Stop it,” Wonwoo says, his voice a little more high-pitched than usual. He starts sorting through the other photos quickly, trying to hide the embarrassing ones. “There were plenty of clothes involved, okay? I mean, mostly clothed. Sometimes there weren’t.”

You laugh—genuine and loud—and Wonwoo has never felt more like a teenager caught in a lie.

"Don’t worry." You lean back casually, looking him up and down. “I’m not judging. Everyone needs a little fun with their camera work. Besides, I bet your models really appreciated your... attention to detail.”

“Oh my God, stop," he groans, hands covering his face.

"Oh, I know!" You jump up, the wideness of your grin setting of alarm bells in his head. Your body contorts into a lewd pose he's sure is captured in one of the photos. "Maybe you could shoot me like one of your French girls."

Wonwoo's brain is split in half between wanting to laugh at your stupid joke, and trying to stop his mind from digging any deeper into the way you look right now. He's never been more thankful for someone laughing so hard at their own joke that it gives him the time to remember to laugh too.

"Okay, okay, seriously though." You say, your words punctuated with breathy laughs. "I'd like to do a shoot in your style. Even if you don't use it for the feature, I'd like to have them - a little memory of the project."

He’s not sure what to make of it—after all, he’s never shot anything like that with someone like you. It’s one thing to let a stranger model for his more experimental projects, but someone who’s become... well, important to him? That complicates things.

You seem to sense his hesitation, so you quickly soften your expression, dropping the teasing tone. “I mean, no pressure. You don’t have to,” you add, but your smile stays. “I just think it would be fun, you know? Something a little out of the ordinary.”

He shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to think of a way to deflect without sounding awkward.  But then, he catches the way you’re looking at him—expectant, yet light-hearted. And he knows there’s no way he can say no. And the idea of capturing you in his world - through his lens - is far too appealing.

"Alright," he finally says, "“I could set something up. But it won’t be anything like what you’re imagining,” he warns, though the faintest glimmer of a smile tugs at his lips. “You might hate it.”

"I highly doubt it." Your grin widens, and you step closer. "The camera loves me."

He struggles to disagree.

You follow Wonwoo into a dimly lit loft space. The high ceilings make the place feel vast and open, but the shadows, thick and heavy, seem to swallow any trace of warmth. The windows let in just enough light to make the space feel like it’s holding its breath. Concrete floors, industrial beams, exposed brick—this place is a world apart from the glamorous venues he's captured you in so far. 

There's no luxurious set, no artfully arranged props, no stylists running around with last-minute adjustments. Just you and him. And a collection of cameras, lenses, and other mysterious equipment scattered about the space.

"We'll start here," Wonwoo's voice is firmer than he intends, and he hopes you can hear the edge of excitement underneath his words. He’s already moving toward the equipment, setting up the camera on a tripod with a smooth, practised hand.

You take a deep breath, looking a little more nervous than he expected. "What's the concept? Just… me in a room full of shadows?” You try to make light of it, but your voice betrays a hint of apprehension.

He glances over his shoulder, catching your gaze for the briefest moment, and his lips curl into a faint smile. “Something like that. I want to capture you as you are, not as the world expects you to be.”

He steps toward you, then pauses. “But it’s up to you. You can be whoever you want to be in front of the camera.”

You take a breath, almost like you're accepting something, and step deeper into the room. Wonwoo can feel his pulse pick up just a little. Something about your movements makes it hard to look away, even as he tries to keep his focus on the camera. 

As his gaze probes deeper, Wonwoo realises something. You're so used to being a perfect image that now, here, in the quiet, you have no idea what to do with yourself.

His breath catches as he presses the shutter for the first time. The soft click breaks the silence, but he doesn't lower the camera. His eyes stay on you, unable to tear away; even if he should be focused on the technicalities - the lighting, the exposure, the composition - he's not. He's seeing the cracks. The little parts of you that you've been hiding. 

Another click. And another. His fingers move over the controls, adjusting the focus, framing you just so - but all the while, acutely aware of every tiny shift in your body. The way you inhale, the way you let go of something hidden, and your shoulders relax, just slightly. 

"Good," he murmurs, though he barely recognises his own voice. The words are soft, his tone low, almost like a breath rather than a command.

You shift again. There's no thought to it, just a fluid movement, as if you're letting go of some invisible restraint. It's an instinctive thing, Wonwoo realises. You're not really posing anymore.

The camera clicks again, capturing the stillness in you, the way you seem to dissolve into the shadows, becoming part of the room. Part of the moment. He knows instantly that it's going to be his favourite.

For a split second, he wonders if you know what you're doing to him. If you know how you're affecting him, even without meaning to. His heart beats a little faster. 

He doesn't lower the camera, not yet, not wanting to lose the moment.

"Okay, that's enough," he says finally, voice low and deliberate. Even as he says it, he's not sure if he wants to stop. He wants more. But it's not just the image he's chasing now. It's something else. 

You reemerge, the colour of your confidence returning as you step out of the camera frame. "Was that okay?"

Wonwoo isn't completely sure what to say in response. If he should tell you that he wants to restart the entire feature, or that he's never felt like he's seen anyone as much as he just did. So he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I want you to see the full vision, so I'll show you once they're edited, but I think they're going to be the best ones."

A beaming smile is released onto your face. It's heart-wrenchingly endearing how proud you are of yourself. "I'm so glad. I don't know if you noticed, but I was a little nervous about this one."

He lets out a little chuckle, his head hanging slightly as he looks to the floor, trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. "I couldn't tell. You were," he clears his throat, hands moving to adjust the settings on the camera again, "perfect. And I mean it. It's ... not just the shot. It's you." The words come out in a rush, but even as he says them, he’s certain they’re true.

He wonders, fleetingly, if you hear the difference. If you sense the subtle change in his tone—the way he can’t quite look away from you now, the way his eyes linger just a little too long.

You don’t respond immediately, and for a brief, agonising second, he’s unsure of how you’ll take it. Will you laugh it off? Will you brush it aside with that carefree charm you wear like a second skin?

But then, your smile softens, your gaze a little less playful, and you step closer. "Do we need any more?"

"I don't think so," he pauses. "Unless there's anything you want to try?"

"Well..." You look nervous, like you're trying to make your mind up about something. Your fingers play absently with the sleeve of your shirt, tugging at the fabric as if it’s a lifeline. "Maybe ... maybe I could try something different?"

Wonwoo's eyes flicker up to meet yours. He's not quite sure what you're asking, and it both terrifies and excites him in ways he's not ready to admit. He leans back slightly, considering it.

"It's your shoot," he says softly, "If you want to do something different, we can. You sound like you've got something in mind?"

You exhale slowly, and the air feels thick, drawn tight with possibility. There’s a hesitation in the way you look at him, but then you take a step forward, your presence commanding yet gentle, a stark contrast to the vulnerability in your eyes.

"The photos in your studio," your voice is soft and low, as though the words themselves are a kind of confession. "The ones ... with no clothes." Your gaze flickers briefly, almost shy, before you steady yourself again. "I want to try that. I want to see what that feels like."

Wonwoo blinks at you, his breath hitching for just a second as the words register. His fingers instinctively tighten around the camera, but he doesn’t lower it. He can’t look away from you now.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rougher than he intended, though it’s more a response to the sudden surge of emotions than anything else. The suggestion itself isn’t unfamiliar, but the weight of it, coming from you, catches him off guard.

You nod slowly. 

He breathes slowly, trying to steady himself, but the air feels tight, like his lungs have forgotten how to expand properly. Wonwoo clears his throat, suddenly aware of the weight of the camera in his hands—of how utterly out of place it feels now. He thought he had control of this situation, of this shoot, of everything. And now he feels entirely, completely, out of control.

"Okay," he says finally, voice low, his throat dry.

You exhale, a small, almost imperceptible breath of relief, and for a moment, you both just stand there. Wonwoo watches you, his gaze tracing the small movements of your fingers, the way you breathe, the slight shift in your posture. You’re standing there, raw and vulnerable in a way that no one else ever sees, and yet you’ve asked him to witness it.

His chest tightens.

"Whenever you're ready," he murmurs, trying to sound as professional as possible, but the words come out softer than he means. He takes a step back, his heart pounding louder now, but he’s not sure if it’s from the anticipation of the shot or something else entirely.

You move slowly, agonisingly slowly, towards the chair that's hidden in the corner of the room and pull it into the camera frame. The clip holding your hair back is the first thing to go, and even watching you shake the tresses free feels like a glimpse of something he's not meant to see. Wonwoo's breath hitches as your fingers hesitate against the buttons of your shirt.

You look up at him, eyes glittering in the light of the loft. "Can you talk me through it?"

Wonwoo gulps, his brain desperately trying to keep a tether to his thoughts. 

His voice is strained when he finally speaks, a quiet rasp that betrays his nerves. "I - uh - yeah. Sure." He clears his throat again, trying to steady himself. "Just take your time. There's no rush. I want you to feel comfortable."

You nod, but your gaze doesn’t leave him. It’s heavy, almost expectant, and Wonwoo feels it pressing down on him like the air in the room has thickened with each passing second.

His heart races, and he forces himself to look away from you, staring at the camera for a moment to regain some semblance of control. But when he finally glances back, there’s no denying it: you're not just in front of the camera. You're right there, your presence inescapable. The air crackles between you, an invisible thread pulling you closer despite the distance.

You slowly unbutton your shirt, each movement measured and deliberate. The soft rustle of fabric seems deafening in the silence. Wonwoo tries to focus on the camera - on the framing, the lighting - by the sight of you undoing the buttons is sending jolts through him, making it hard to concentrate.

"Wait, stop." He's struggling to get out more than a few words, but he realises he has to explain himself as your head whips around, alarmed. "That shot - if you push the shoulder down a little -"

"I'm not sure I quite get it," your voice is a quiet invitation. He doesn't know if its a test, or something far more dangerous than that. 

He moves slowly, not wanting to startle you. And, if he's being honest, not sure that he can handle being any closer. But he's started now, and he can't not go through with it just because he's nervous about seeing skin. Focusing on his task, Wonwoo's hands gingerly pull the loose fabric of your shirt, draping it down the side of your upper arm, the fabric slipping with an almost unbearable grace, revealing the curve of your shoulder, the soft line of your skin. Wonwoo feels his pulse spike, his breath coming in shallow bursts as his fingers brush against the bare skin of your arm. It’s delicate, unintentional contact, but it feels like an electric shock, jarring and intimate all at once.

You hold your breath, your gaze fixed on his hands, your body still. 

“Just like that,” he says, his voice quiet, as though speaking louder might shatter this delicate balance between you. “Now, tilt your head just a little to the left. Keep your eyes soft... like you're looking into something just out of reach.”

Your eyes flicker, a knowing glint passing through them. “Like I’m seeing something I shouldn’t?”

Wonwoo’s stomach tightens, a shiver creeping down his spine at the way you put it. His hands hover over the camera, but for a moment, he forgets the frame, forgets everything except the weight of the moment.

"Exactly," he breathes, almost afraid to admit it aloud, but the words escape him. He’s standing so close now, every muscle in his body taut, straining against the pull of something he doesn't know how to define.

You do as he asks, your eyes softening, lips parting ever so slightly, as if you’re leaning into the invitation.

The camera shakes in his hands, and for a second, he worries that you’ll notice the tremor, that you'll see how much this is affecting him. But you don’t. Your focus is unwavering.

“Can you… can you move your hand to your collarbone?” he murmurs, barely trusting himself to speak the request aloud. “Just… trace it, like it’s the only thing you’re focused on.”

You nod, and there’s an eerie stillness in the air as your fingers drift up to the curve of your neck. Wonwoo feels like he’s drowning, like every movement you make pulls him deeper into this quiet, dangerous place between photographer and subject, between the lens and the reality unfolding just beyond it.

Each click of the shutter feels like a bullet leaving a gun.

Your fingers are back on the buttons before he can realise that the moment has moved on, and you let the shirt fall, the fabric slipping to the floor with a soft whisper. He can’t breathe for a moment.

You stand before him, unguarded, vulnerable, and yet there’s something about the way you hold yourself—so composed, so intentional—that makes him swallow back every word that he tries to form.

Your eyes lock onto his again, and it’s like time stops. “How’s the lighting?” Your voice is steady, calm, but the tension in it is undeniable.

Wonwoo’s throat is dry as he forces himself to focus. "The light... it's perfect." He clears his throat, his voice tight. "You look perfect. Just... just keep moving, slowly. Let the camera catch it all."

You nod, your lips curling into that familiar smile that has him reeling.

Wonwoo’s pulse quickens, but he doesn’t dare look away. He’s caught in the gravity of your gaze, drawn into the quiet intensity of the moment. He raises the camera, his fingers trembling just slightly as he adjusts the lens. The click of the shutter still sounds harsh, but it doesn’t break the tension.

Wonwoo almost drops the camera when your fingers hook around the loops of your pants. 

You slide them off in fluid motion, far quicker than the shirt. The smile on your face is more playful now, taunting and teasing. "What were those poses again?" 

Wonwoo’s breath catches in his throat, his hands freezing just above the camera as the image of you in front of him—the subtle arch of your back, the way your skin catches the light—burns itself into his memory. He can’t look away, and it’s like everything in the room sharpens.

"Stop," he whispers, his voice shaking. "You’re—"

He cuts himself off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. How could he describe the storm he feels brewing inside of him? The way his pulse is beating in time with the shutter clicks. The way he’s watching you, but feels like he’s barely holding onto himself, like the space between him and you has closed to a point where it feels impossible to stay just the photographer.

“Stop?” you repeat, tilting your head, the playful glint in your eyes both a challenge and an invitation. "You want me to stop?"

"I—" He clears his throat, trying to force his words into something coherent. You take a step closer, and the words fail him. 

You stop a few inches away from him, your breath mingling with his, and for a split second, you both stand there, locked in a stare that feels like an eternity. Wonwoo's heart races, and he can hear the rush of blood in his ears, but the sound of your breath, shallow and steady, is louder than everything else.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper, and the way you say his name—so softly, so deliberately—has his chest tightening even more.

His heart stutters for a second, and before he can think about it, before he can second-guess himself, he lowers the camera, his hand almost involuntarily reaching for you.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t say anything at first. Instead, your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt, dancing between the creases. The world seems to spin a little.

“I’m sure,” you reply, your voice steady but low. “Are you?”

Wonwoo’s pulse thunders in his ears, and he thinks he's nodding his head, but he's not sure. He swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you in waves. The tension is almost unbearable now, and his hands are shaking so badly that he’s not sure if he should step back or close the space completely.

Before he can decide, you close the gap for him, your lips brushing against his in the gentlest of kisses. It’s soft at first, tentative—like you’re both waiting for the other to pull away—but when Wonwoo doesn’t, you deepen it just enough to make his head spin.

Everything—his thoughts, his control, his self-restraint—fractures.

He pulls you closer, his hand finding the curve of your back as he deepens the kiss. He can feel you shiver as his warm hands trace the exposed skin. He has to hold back a guttural moan at the feeling of your body pressed against his.

Your hands have found his hair, tangling your fingers through the strands and feeding off of the reactions, tugging a little every time he grumbles against your lips. A small gasp leaves your lips as he pulls away from your mouth, burying into your neck, which stretches prettily with each biting kiss he leaves. 

"Is this how all your photo shoots go?" Even with your head tilted back, voice breathy as his fingers grasp onto your waist, you still find time to tease him. A small whine leaves you as his lips abandon your skin.

"You'll believe me if I say no?" His throat is scratchy, his voice raw, and it comes out more as a question. 

You laugh. "Yes - I, yes, I believe you."

The silence feels unbearably tension, like both of you are trying to blindly navigate the other's feelings. Neither comfortable enough to take the next step forward.

"What did -"

"I thought -"

Your words stumble together as you search for the right way to break the tension. Wonwoo stops, not pressing you to continue, but his grip tightens on your waist slightly, a silent question hanging in the air. 

"I was just - I wasn't sure you'd want to do this, too." You finally say. You still have that teasing smile, but your voice is small, almost unsure. 

"I do," his voice is low, rough, and there's something tender there too. "I really do."

Your lips twitch upwards, a fleeting smile curving the corners of your mouth as you move closer again. "Then, what happens next?"

Wonwoo's head darts around, looking around the dim loft. There's nothing there, other than his equipment and a few chairs - nothing particularly helpful in this scenario. Although, he should admit, he wasn't expecting anything like this when he'd set it up.

"We could go somewhere else, if that's what you want to do?"

Your eyes follow his gaze, realising the dilemma.

"But I'm already half undressed." You bat your eyelashes innocently, and he knows you're fully aware of what you're doing to him. Yet, that doesn't prevent his trousers from feeling way too tight. 

"I-" his breath catches, his fingers digging into your side. "I guess we'll have to stay here then."

"I guess so," you grin, and he wants nothing more than to pull you back in. So, he does. It's messy, primal, a tangle of limbs as your hands sloppily undo his shirt and his look for anything and everything he can reach. He doesn't miss your noise of appreciation when his shirt falls to the floor. 

Soon, his hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling you up in one swift motion and carrying you until you hit the nearest wall. You're panting, your eyes wild and hair tangled as you grab at his neck, pulling his lips back to yours. 

It's not long before the rest of your clothes join the others on the floor. He feels a flutter of shyness as you take him in, eyes roaming across his body. But you're smiling, wide and joyful, the soft flesh of your thighs squeezing tighter on his hips. 

"Fuck, I always thought you were hot, but I can't believe you were hiding this underneath those baggy sweaters."

Wonwoo can feel the blush running up his neck like a schoolboy being complimented for the first time. His heart is hammering in his chest, a warm rush spreading through him from head to toe as he tries to work out what his eyes should be focusing on.

"I wasn’t expecting any of this. You... you’re making me nervous," he admits with a shy laugh, his hands feeling clammy against your skin. "I mean, I'm sure I'm not the first person to say you're beautiful, but I think you're so much more than what they see."

Your smile softens for a moment, and you reach forward, fingers grazing lightly over his arm, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. "I'd like you to know all of me."

The words are soft, tender, and you can probably hear his heart fluttering. And, all at the same time, the implication of them is making more than his heart flutter. 

"You're sure?" His body presses against yours even more, pushing your back further into the wall behind you. 

"Please," you nod breathily, and that's all he needs. "I want you."

His hips grind against you, head swirling at the feeling as your arms wrap around his neck for stability. "I don't have-" he manages to choke out. 

"It's fine, I'm on the pill. Just - just fuck me, please?"

His head buries into your shoulder, body twitching at your words. Pushing inside of you, the pleasure is immediate. Your hips are moving back onto him as far as you can against the wall, and his hands are firmly clenched around the flesh of your ass, holding you up in an iron grip. And you sound so good, and - more than that, you feel so good, so unbelievably good, that he's gasping out your name between thrusts.

Nonsensical words are babbling out of your mouth too; hot, dirty words of praise that only spur him on further. Your nails dig into his back, and then his hair, and then back again, like you can't pick which part of him you want to touch more. 

And fuck, you're so beautiful. Like a goddess in the low lighting of the room - but he's too scared to tell you that just yet. Soft and hard and warm against him, surrounding him, engulfing him. 

It's not long before he can feel you clenching around him, one hand clinging onto his shoulders and the other snaking between your legs. The muscles of his arms are burning slightly, but it feels too good to stop now. You're dragging him with you, panting moans with each pulse. You press your lips against his one more time, and it's all it takes to push you both over the edge.

After a few moments, he lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you, a tender smile on his face. His lips press against yours gently, sighing with soft pants.

"Shit," You breathe, a small giggle bubbling out of you. The sound is so sweet it knocks any remaining wind out of him. 

Wonwoo chuckles, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your jaw as he holds you in place.

Your smile is warm and teasing, and you press your lips to his for a second longer. "If I had the camera, I'd capture that look forever."

[globalrebrand]

SPOILERS!!!

I will say that Capitano rotting is questionable imo lore-wise considering that Pierro is a literal khaenrian mage who looks mostly normal and is probably older, and that Dottore does what he does being a doctor and all, that literally no one was able to prevent the physical degradation of the strongest harbinger. But all of it did give me an idea a kind of reverse Eros and Psyche myth.

Now that we know Capitano is a decaying beneath his armor imagine that you are a prodigious healer, and whether the fatui has kidnapped you to help him, or a member the house of the hearth who Arlecchino offers to tend to him, you become his dedicated healer who he falls in love with. You tend to him daily and in your healing sessions you've managed to slow and even regenerate some of his cells. You talk endlessly with each other as you treat him, learning all about his past. You don't even flinch when he exposes parts of necrotic tissue. From the first session you smile at him as if he is any other man, not a rotting abomination. Still he refuses to show you his face, but he checks the incredibly slow progress of his regeneration daily, waiting for the day when he can reveal himself to you. It's silly he thinks, he has no fears, but the thought of your rejection terrifies him.

You have been his diligent nurse for years, and there has always been an attraction on your end, but Capitano keeps a boundary up when you try to become closer to him. Physically at least, emotionally he's shared all, and you are his most trusted confidant. He's become so comfortable with you that he'll even let you tend to him in his sleep.

However, as your love for Capitano grows you can't resist the urge to unmask him during one of your night sessions. You can't really figure out how to get the mask off so instead, you carefully bring a nearby candle close to his face to illuminate the near magic darkness that enshrouds his features.

The first thought was that it wasn't that bad. The skin on his face his is blackened with corruption, warping the muscle tissue. But the 'rot' that you had seen on his body was far more advanced in its decay when you had started treatment.

You admire the features that remain, unfazed by the molted and peeling flesh. You become so lost in seeing him, that you don't notice as a drip of wax falls onto his gaunt cheek bone.

Capitano startles awake. It takes him only a second to realize what you'd done, he bats the candle out of your hand now leaving the tent in total darkness.

"How could you!?" He growls, ashamed. He rises to his feet and in his clambering his mask falls off entirely.

Calmly, you place your hands on his chest, you feel his heart beating wildly under you palm while the other snakes up to his jaw. Wordlessly you rise on your toes and place a chaste his on his lips.

You can't see the confusion on his face, but you smile regardless. Only saying, "I've waited so long to do that."

[impish-baby]

heyo! Request here! Maybe you can do like a hero caretaker with a sidekick? So basically the sidekick is a beginner and gets hurt during battle and the hero becomes super over protective? (Also maybe like a sibling relationship or something?) Sorry if it’s too specific, and you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to! Make sure to drink water, ear so healthy delicious food and gets lots of sleep! Love your work!

-🐠 Anon (can I be 🐠 anon if that cool with you?)

Superheros.. (trigger warnings: heavy violence!! Creepy behavior, gas lighting, drugging)

You don't think the low level villian is recognizable anymore. They don't even look like a person. What was once their face is a bloody pulp, features blurring together in a mess of tissue and broken cartilage. Your mentor is still towering over them, snapping their fingers one by one methodically.

It's terrifying. You idolized Cyrus, looked up to him. He was the one who made you want to start hero work in the first place. This isn't what a hero is. Cyrus is just being cruel now, no sign of the man you've come to think of as a brother as he smirks when the person lying on the ground groans in pain. You should do something. Even if they're a villain, they don't deserve this.

But you can't. Body paralyzed with fear as you stare wide-eyed at the scene playing out before you helplessly. You feel almost numb, static ringing in your ears, the sound of bones crunching still evident until it suddenly silences.

You don't even notice when Cyrus moves, not until he's right in front of you. There's only warmth in his gaze as he smiles at you and only horror in yours. "Aw, I'm sorry, kiddo.." The hero pulls you into his arms, blood from his hands smearing onto your costume. "That must have been scary, huh? Don't worry, they can't hurt you anymore.."

Like he wasn't the one you're scared of?!

Cyrus hums, pulling away only to cup your face with utmost care. "I know, I know, you're a big kid that could've handled it.." He rolls his eyes fondly, paying no mind to your lack of response. "What do you expect me to do? I'm your big brother even when we're in uniform.."

You blink dumbly, unable to utter a word, the shock of everything becoming a crushing weight on your chest. "Let me see the owie, ok?" Cyrus murmurs, guiding you to sit before kneeling in front of you. The injury is barely anything, a cut along your thigh that at most needs to be bandaged-

"Ow.." He hisses with a wince, "that'll need stitches, kiddo.."

What? "I can do them, so you don't have to go to the hospital. I'll bring you home a treat after for being brave!" Cyrus ruffles your hair, dismissing your stuttered protests with a laugh. "Hey, I've been doing this for how long? I've been hurt way more than you, kid. Do you think I can't tell when something is serious or not?"

He.. he does know more than you. He's seen so much more combat, come back home with hundreds of injuries. Cyrus would know. You're lifted into his arms when you don't say anything more, the hero taking flight with you cradled to his chest.

The medicine he offers you once you're set down on your bed is foreign. It doesn't look like ibuprofen or Tylenol, there's not even an identifying mark, they're just blank. "It'll be easier if you're asleep." Cyrus hums, already holding a glass of water to wash the pills down. "You've seen me get stitches just fine, but I've built up a pain tolerance for years. You won't want to be awake, sweetheart."

They taste sickly sweet, the water doing nothing to help wash out the taste. "Good kid.." Cyrus presses a light kiss to your forehead, "You know I love you, right?" The dots lining your vision take over before you can even manage to respond. Cyrus doesn't mind, slipping the power suppressor over your wrist with a content hum.

(a/n: Thank you for being so kind, Anon!! And yes, you can have that tag! I hope this was ok ^^)

[marsbutterfly]

I for one am delighted to see someone opening up AOT requests! I feel like I haven't seen anyone do so for a very long time.

I'd love any kind of short one-shot about Reiner with an s/o who doesn't want kids, like maybe y/n confessing to not wanting children and him actually being cool with it?

I get a little bummed out when so many Reiner things talk about him wanting children more than anything. Like, obviously fics and headcanons about him wanting kids are fine, but I don't think I've seen anyone (with exactly one exception) talk about him being content just to love and be loved by an s/o. One person even told me point blank that Reiner wouldn't be happy in a relationship with me if I don't want kids. Sheesh.

Yeah, We've All Heard That Before

Summary: One simple question from your future mother-in-law first thing in the morning is enough to derail your entire plans for breakfast.

a/n: hey zeki! it's been a while! thank you for sending in your request and for answering my questions. I hope I did it justice in some way ♡

warnings: just fluff, fem!reader, kissing, mentions of pregnancy, slight jeanpiku if you squint, reader doesn't want kids, mentions of anxiety, not beta read (we die like men ♡)

wc: 2.7k | wattpad! | ao3!

“Apparently, Pieck is pregnant,” Reiner says as he flips the pages of his newspaper. The rain pouring outside sets the perfect atmosphere for a cozy morning: no meetings, no angry phone calls, and especially no being apart from him. His voice is a bit raspy, telling you that he is struggling to stay awake but his efforts don’t go unnoticed.

“I will bet you $50 right now that it’s Kirstein’s,” you respond in the same tone of voice, a small hint of playfulness hiding behind the seriousness of your features. Even though you are facing the counter, focusing as you prepare your morning coffee, you can still hear Reiner choking slightly on his tea, a laughter muffled by the sounds of his coughing and you can’t help but smile to yourself.

“Alright, I’ll take that bet,” he says after taking a couple of minutes to compose himself, enough time for you to start making some pancakes for breakfast. As soon as you hear his voice, you turn around to face him, your hand firmly gripping the handle of the pan, “I think it belongs to the boy who works down at the docks. He is always bringing her flowers when we come back from our trips and I’ve seen her sneak a couple of glances in his direction.”

You can’t help but laugh, “I don’t think she even remembers his name, but you got yourself a deal. Easiest $50 I have ever made.”

It’s Reiner’s turn to laugh, a delightful sound you grew more and more used to hearing now that the two of you were living together. Life after the rumbling wasn’t easy. While he found himself being an ambassador and dealing with business regarding the isle, you were quite happy making a life for the two of you back in what used to be Liberio. Though you had been spending most of your time alone, the moments you had the chance to be with Reiner truly were magical.

A comforting silence fills the kitchen, the only sounds you can hear are casual sippings coming from the table and the hissing of the pancake mix against the pan. For years, all you have ever wanted was to spend peaceful days such as these with the man you love. It has taken a while and the near destruction of all life on Earth, but you can finally relax and make him some breakfast.

You flip the pancakes a couple more times to make sure that they are perfectly golden on both sides before placing them on top of the stack, a bottle of syrup next to the plate. You readjust the stack slightly before turning around and taking a couple of steps forward, placing the plate in front of Reiner and for a second you could have sworn that you heard his stomach growling.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, a massive and gentle smile stamped on his face and you nod, making your way back to the stove to prepare some sort of breakfast meat. Though you fully expect him to start digging in, you can hear the chair moving backward and his heavy footsteps making their way toward you. 

A quiet giggle escapes from your chest once his hands find their way to your hips, pulling you closer to him. His breath on the back of your neck causes a few goosebumps to rise and you lean your head backward against him, “that tickles.”

The two of you stay in silence like that for what feels like forever and like not nearly enough time. His breathing is steady against your skin as he takes in the comforting scent of your favorite body wash. You can tell there is something on his mind that he is struggling to find the words to express, so you just wait patiently until he is ready.

Finally, he takes a deep breath and says what he’s been meaning to.

“My mother asked me the other day if we ever plan on having kids of our own,” he says quietly but, in that moment, you feel like he screamed the words at the top of his lungs. Your body goes stiff against his touch before a few trembles erupt, some of them nearly strong enough to cause you to drop the pan in your hand. Of course, this sudden shift doesn’t go unnoticed by him and he immediately tightens his grip around you, “Are you ok? Do you feel sick? Here, maybe you should sit down for a while.”

"What did you say?" You try to pretend the comment hasn't impacted you as much as it did, but the faltering in your voice is clear evidence that something is wrong. Your vision clouds slightly and you can barely make out his figure standing not too far from you.

The truth is that, even before you and Reiner got together, before you even met him, you had decided that you had no interest in having kids. Sure, the thought did cross your mind once the two of you started dating, but ultimately you decided that this life was not for you. The topic never quite came up so you didn’t have a reason to tell Reiner about it.

So now that the moment has come, now that it is time to have this conversation, you can’t help but panic. You have had this discussion in your mind a thousand times, overanalyzed every possible scenario, every little reaction he might have, and even planned out spots where the two of you could talk. But the kitchen first thing in the morning was not on your list.

His grip on your waist is firm as he guides you towards the dining table at the edge of the kitchen, your legs trembling slightly as you take several unsure steps. At this point, you aren’t even sure anymore if your body is the one doing the walking or if Reiner is just carrying you toward the seat.

There is a panic in his eyes that you haven’t seen in years and it makes your heart ache, “let me at least get you some water.” As he pulls away, your desperate hands grab hold of the edge of his shirt, your eyes fixated on the floor as he stands in place, unsure whether to turn around to face you or to continue moving towards the fridge.

“Stay,” you whisper and he nods. Silence once again fills the room, like the world might end if you even open your mouth to say a single word. Your heart beats a thousand miles per hour, 

He takes a seat next to you at the table, one hand touching your thigh while the other holds your own, his thumb brushing above your knuckles in a feather-like touch. His sheer presence is enough to soothe most of your worries, your anxiety melting away. Until he begins speaking again, that is.

“Please, tell me what is wrong,” he begs. The desperation in his eyes is genuine and you can see that he means well. The sound of his voice is so gentle, you could nearly mistake it for a lullaby. When your eyes remain on the ground and no words leave your mouth, he continues to plead, “I want… I… You can trust me. I love you so dearly. Have… Have I done something wrong?”

You widen your eyes and you desperately shake your head. The thought that he is blaming himself for how you are reacting to the situation nearly breaks your heart, the lump in your throat grows by the second as the words keep dying before they even have the chance to come out. 

“Y-You don’t understand,” you stutter, your body is still trembling and your voice is faltering, but you can’t let him feel guilty for something he didn’t do, “It’s not you! I-It has never been you!” “Then, please…” He flashes you with those hazel eyes, a wave of guilt and overwhelming love rushing over your body with every single beat of your aching heart, “Talk to me.”

“I’m… I.. R-Reiner, I…” You stutter, unable to fully express your emotions to him for the first time in who knows how long. But when he notices the slight tremble in your hands, he moves closer, his fingers lacing with yours before he places your palm above his heart, the careful beating slowly soothing your nerves, “I’m not sure… No, I AM sure that I don’t want children.”

In response, he lets go of your hand and stands up, taking a step back. You can feel your heart about to shatter, the tears threatening to fall down your face and your knees about to give out, but he lets out a laugh, a heartfelt laughter that comes from deep within his throat.

He finds himself bending over the table, his stomach hurting from laughing as he smacks his fist against the surface. You go through several emotions at once and so many questions go through your mind:

Confusion: “Why is he laughing? And why is he laughing so hard? Is the thought that you wouldn’t want kids so funny to him that he has to laugh to keep himself sane? You knew Reiner had always wanted children, but you hadn’t realized he wanted them bad enough that it would diminish his love for you?”

Anger: “Who the hell does he think he is to be behaving this way when you just shared such personal information and something you had kept to yourself for as long as you can remember? Does he think you are worth less just because you don’t want to be a mother? Or is he acting like this because you, God forbid, remind him of his own mother?”

Sadness: “Are you not good enough for him? Is he under the impression that your love for him can only be measured by how much you would like to have his children? Is he suddenly like your family, who always assumed you would change your mind whenever you fell in love with the “right man?”

Confusion again: “Why the FUCK is he laughing?”

You clench your jaw, fists tighten as your nails nearly dig into your palms, you can feel your face heating up while tears of frustration burn in your eyes. You want to yell at him, to give him a piece of his mind and storm right out of this kitchen, maybe even throw the pancakes at his face, but before you have the chance to do anything, he speaks.

“That’s it?” He asks, his certain footsteps in your direction closing the distance between your bodies before his meaty arms come crashing against your waist, “Oh, I thought you were going to tell me that you don’t love me anymore or that you had an affair. No, I don’t care about having kids.”

His words catch you off guard, the whiplash being so intense that you find yourself stumbling backward towards the chair once again before taking a seat. Your voice dies in your throat repeatedly before you finally gather up enough courage to speak, “B-but… I’ve seen the way you act around children, the way all the women around us are constantly telling you what a great father you would be.”

Moving at a gentle pace, almost as if you were an injured and scared animal, Reiner takes your hand in his, his thumb gently brushing above your knuckles as his warm smile never falters. You can tell he is doing the best he can to bring you any sort of comfort in this moment and you can’t help but allow your heart to be filled with gratitude.

“It would be nice to have a kid of my own, especially after basically raising Gabi and Falco but,” he brings your hand up to his lips and plants a gentle kiss on your skin, “I would only ever want a child with the woman I love and, well, that happens to be you.”

You can’t help but allow a small sob to leave your lips, a sudden wave of guilt about to rush over you, a fear that you are holding him back from having something he had always desired. But before your spiral can get too far down, he brings one of his hands towards your cheek, his fingers brushing a couple tears out of the way as he continues to speak.

“A child between us is theoretical,” he whispers, “but the love I have for you is the most real thing I have ever known in my entire life. And if having a life with you means no kids, then that’s fine by me. The only thing I have ever needed has been and it will always be your love.”

His hand gently touches your cheek, the warmth of his body calling your name as you take a step closer. Your arms gain a mind of their own and immediately wrap themselves around his neck, earning a delighted and approving hum from him. His palms move from your face as they find their way towards your waist, holding onto the bones of your hips tightly.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers, desperate for your consent, a hint of fear behind his deep voice. You nod, a smile taking over your features as you place your forehead against his. He tightens his grip around you, enough that it might leave marks, terrified that you will disappear the second you are out of his reach. 

The minute your lips touch, the whole world seems to stop. Your kiss fits together like two pieces of a perfect puzzle, meant to be together side by side as they form a clear picture of happiness. His beard prickles your face and usually, you would consider the feeling a nightmare, but for some reason, it feels ever so comforting at this moment.

The tip of his tongue brushes against yours, teasingly asking for entrance. Not an ounce of sexual tension between the two of you at this moment, just two souls who were meant to be together, two hearts that beat at the same pace.

Reiner’s lips are soft, a direct contrast with the roughness of his hands. His blonde hair gently rests against his forehead, though it does touch your own the deeper the kiss gets, tickling your skin in a comforting manner. His breath tastes like toothpaste still and that is the only thing that serves as a reminder of the freshly made breakfast that awaits the two of you.

So you pull away reluctantly, still peppering his lips in kisses before you take a seat at the table. You can see a pout forming on his face but, when you point at the food, it immediately turns into a warm and excited smile.

“Is there a reason why you don’t want kids?” He asks, taking a seat at the table and taking a sip out of his drink. You lift your eyes to meet his, his hand scratching his chin and you can hear the scratchy sound of the small patches of beard that are beginning to form around his face. There is no judgment whatsoever in his voice.

“Not really,” you respond, bringing the coffee mug towards your lips while handing him the syrup, “I just never found the idea appealing. Do you think your mom will have a problem with that?”

He thinks for a moment before shaking his head, “I think she understands the feeling of ‘not wanting to be a mother’ better than anyone I know.” There’s an underlying hint of sadness in his tone, the air filling with the sounds of the fork and knife colliding against the plate as he takes a bite of his food, so you rub your foot against his shin. Once he swallows and flashes you a smile, he continues, “Besides, it’s not like it would be her baby, anyway. She’ll learn how to deal.”

You can’t help but chuckle, a warm sensation forming in your chest as you realize just how much he loves you. Reiner loves you just for who you are: every flaw, every talent, every random knowledge you tell him at three in the morning, every little detail. To him, you are and will always be more than enough.

[rascalentertainments]

Wish Granted 🌟👩🏾🎶 (Wish Reimagined)

Chapter 2: Into the Woods

Chapter 1

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

As the trees closed behind him, Flazino slowly followed the well worn path into a small community, featuring many homes that were surrounded by nature. No magic was required or allowed here, for everything was built or crafted by hand from the ground up.

(Look how beautiful these look! They would've looked so good in 2D! I haven't really seen a whole lot of art for the Hamlet concept, so for extra reference, imagine the homes looking similar to Pacha's village)

The abundance and depth of the trees in the Uncharted Forest kept the people of this haven safe from the eyes of Magnifico. Those who realized his true intentions with their wishes fled here, where they could live in peace and save their families from a terrible fate.

Although it was late into the night, the people here were wide awake in preparation for their own ceremony. Which is exactly each month the young apprentice would take his monthly trip here.

He was greeted by an old man who was holding a mandolin and a warm smile on his face. "Young Flazino! You're just in time, the ceremony will be beginning soon."

No sooner had the boy dismounted from the horse, he was caught in a tight hug by the old man. Though he was smaller than other residents, his heart was as big as the forest itself. Flazino couldn't help but smile back as he returned the hug.

"It's good to see you again too, Sabino." He said with a laugh. He took the bags off his back and started unpacking the supplies from it: Extra clothes, seeds to grow fruits and vegetables, food he was able to sneak away from the day's meals and a few toys for the children there.

"Sorry its not as much as usual. I've been having this strange feeling I'm being watched recently, so I didn't have time to get more..." Flazino sighed.

Sabino shook his head. "That's alright, lad. Every little bit helps. You've done so much for us this past year. We can't ask for a better friend." he patted the boy on the shoulder. "Come now, you can at least stay, have some food and chat for a while before you go."

He called over two other men to gather the supplies. "Alan, Howard, would you mind taking these and passing them to others?" The men did as instructed and Flazino followed Sabino a little further into the woods where right in the center of it, people were gathered around each other while most of them held bright colored ribbons in their hands.

Flazino knew very well what was happening. Just as the rulers of Rosas had a wish ceremony at the end of each month, the people of the Hamlet had an event of their very own. In order to keep their remaining wishes from Magnifico, each resident that turned 18 or older in that month would write their greatest wishes on ribbons and tie them to an old olive tree on top of a hill. In hopes that one day they will come true, without the fear of them being broken by the King.

An older woman announced that it was clear to travel to the tree, that there were no signs of spies or guards of Rosas near. She led the young people up the hill.

As the two of them began to follow the group, Sabino heard a small, but loud, "Baaa! Baaaa!" 🐐

He looked down and saw a baby goat rubbing his head against his leg and it looked up at the old man with a smile.

"Oh! Valentino! Nice to see you too!" Sabino said with a laugh as he picked up the goat and rubbed his head. "I bet you're as excited as me, hehe."

"There you are! How many times have I told you not run off like that without me? You could've gotten hurt." A concerned voice came from the distance. It came from a teen girl, with a worried yet annoyed look on her face as she approached. It seems like her pet did this a lot.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Asha." He waved a dismissive hand at her. "He's just excited. Just like me. Isn't that that right?" Sabino said as he nuzzled the goat's nose. "Baaa!" Valentino said in agreement.

Asha gently took Valentino in her arms and (finally) greeted Flazino. "Good to see you again, Flaz. I hope that our 'favorite' rulers are treating you well." she said with a hint of sarcasm.

Sabino joined the group, presumably to have a bit of a music session with his musician friends at the top. They all shared a love for music and found kinship with each other through their passions, so it was understood.

Flazino rolled his eyes and smirked at Asha. "Oh yeah. Being a sorcerers' apprentice is great! I run errands, invite some newcomers to their possible doom, Feed a deadly feline that literally wants to bite the hand that feeds him and oh yeah, try to write another song about how great the king is!" He said the last part with fake enthusiasm. "You know he made me a write a part that said: '♬ I let you live here for free, and I don't even charge you rent!♬' ?"

Asha raised an eyebrow hearing this. "Um, isn't that the same thing?" she asked.

"THAT'S WHAT I SAID TO HIM!" Flazino exclaimed and put his arms out in exasperation.

Asha couldn't help but laugh. Given that the guy had to deal with two royal pains and their spoiled exotic pet everyday, he had to vent to somebody, and Asha was always there to listen. He's helped keep the Hamlet safe for two years, he's at least earned it. Not to mention he tries to learn to use some of Amaya's potions in secret.

Asha herself ventured regularly in her dairy. She was completely fed up with hiding from the people that ruined their lives. As a child, she did see the world with wonder, but as she grew older, Asha started to see the world outside the Hamlet a bit more harshly. She just wanted one day see the world again without fearing for her family's safety. Asha had seen the cruelty of Maginifico. When his false sincerity was gone....he was a monster.

While the two of them (and Valentino) chatted and exchanged information on Rosas, Sabino and about ten people made their way up to the hill.

(We see in a faraway shot that Sabino is actually making his way ahead faster than some of his friends in excitement, telling them jokingly to pick up their pace, only for him to have to slow down himself, out of breath.)

It was a little long, but once they saw that tree adorned with ribbons as colorful as their wishes, it was always worth it.

As each individual tied their ribbon to the tree, they looked to the stars shining brightly above them if only they could hear the wishes in their hearts. There were days that it hurt to even put them out there. It was a high chance that they never get granted, but they had to try, right?

One older man was left in line, but as he looked at tree, he started to have doubts. What if it never came true? Was it even a dream worth keeping? He took a few steps back and apologized to the old woman. "I'm sorry, Germaine. I'm...just not ready." He said, with a touch of sadness in his voice.

The woman shook her head. "No need to apologize, Manuel. You can make your wish whenever you're truly ready." She said as she patted him on the shoulder.

The man nodded and proceeded back down the hill, passing by the other wishers. Sabino quickly gave him a comforting hug. "Don't be ashamed of your wish. Its a beautiful one." He whispered to Manuel.

This gave the man a bit of comfort, but he failed to realize that the ribbon he placed in his pocket earlier was now gone. Once the others had begun to return to the bottom, Sabino stayed back and quickly put the ribbon in his own pocket. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself, "Hehehehe! *cough cough cough* ahem..." Luckily no one saw that...

Not long after, the young apprentice knew it was time to leave. He was given the requested mushrooms, said his goodbyes and gave Achilles the signal to depart. The tree entrance once again opened to let Flazino out, he waved goodbye to his Hamlet friends and watched as the trees closed behind him.

The horse took off in a dash once more leaving the Hamlet behind. However, he wasn't quite alone. We then see a closeup on a patch of open bushes, with a pair of glowing green feline eyes peering through, watching the boy leave. A devious smile appeared below it, then the face disappears into the black.

As some time passes, we see how the people hear take care of each other and live their lives. A few of them are washing clothes in a nearby river, others are making their own flour, and later bread. Both the men and women tend to a large field, where they plant seeds of various fruits and vegetables. Many of these end up producing large harvests for the people.

(Seriously, these concepts arts are GORGEOUS. And I've read a lot of Art books, but Wish's is on a new level!)

Another scene passes and Asha is seen reading to a group of kids, as they listened in wonder about a magical fairy that loved to help others in need.

"So the fairy used his magic to bring the whole town joy. No need was seen as too big or small to grant. Each and every person was special to him."

One little girl asks "Did the fairy ever find someone he loved?"

Asha chuckled. "Of course he did." She turned the page where the glowing fairy was dancing with a human girl under the moon. "While he was pretty loud and carefree, she was quiet and kept to herself. They were very different from each other, but they fell in love all the same."

The montage then cuts to the inside of Asha's family cottage, her mother Sakina had just finished making a couple new clothes for their neighbor's young sons. "Asha, I'll be back soon to give Hans these clothes. And Saba...?"

Sabino was in his chair snoring away, when he was startled by Sakina's question. "Huh? What? Where am I?" He looked around in supposed confusion.

Sakina raised in eyebrow. She loved Sabino, but there were times he tried to be sly, especially with Asha. "Don't get into any foolishness." she warned.

Sabino let out a loud yawn that woke Valentino up, who actually was sleeping by his feet. "Oh, fine. Fine. I'll keep an eye on the girl. "Riiiiight after my nap." he said in a groggy tone. He slowly leaned back in his chair and back to snoring.

Sakina took a moment, sighed and proceeded put the door.

Ten seconds later, Sabino opened one eye and made sure the overbearing mother was gone. Once the coast was clear, he leaped to his feet and grabbed his mandolin. Valentino followed the old man curiously as he proceeded to find Asha.

"Well, goodnight Saba." his granddaughter yawned as she started heading upstairs. She stops once she hears her saba's voice behind her.

"Asha, would you mind coming with me before we turn in for the night? I'd like to show you something important..."

Little did Asha know that her life would soon change forever, thanks to one wish of her own....

Chapter 3

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Woo-hoo! Chapter 2 is done! I wanted to wait until I finally finish "Kingdom of Wishes", so now with that read though complete, I've gone back to writing this little story/movie! This one was a little shorter, but I was able to find lots of wonderful concept art pictures from not only Wish, but also other Disney films! I even found some perfect horseback scenes added them to Chapter 1, if you'd like to check it out!

The thing I wanted to show here is that while Sabino does have wisdom, he's a cheeky old man. 😆 I actually based him off of the grandmother from Mulan, so he has that extra kick to him. We haven't really had a fun elderly man character in Disney since "UP", and I wanted to bring the fun from past elder characters into this. In the actual film, Sabino did feel like a character and I liked Victor Garber voicing him, but we never get any time towards him. His whole character was done dirty, and he's just nearly cut from the film until the very end. Disney cut out HIS OWN SONG. The ENTIRE reason the plot even started, the reason Asha wanted to get the wishes back, and THEY CUT IT OUT. FOR PETE'S SAKE, MAN—

For this story, Saba's in his 80's but acts like a kid sometimes, and just wants Asha to have that same spirit again, since she lost the fun part of herself after her father died. She can still be kind, but her positive outlook is practically non-existent.

Also, a fun bit I came up with is that everyone else in the Hamlet is named after a Disney music composer, from the past and present. Even better, Lin Manuel's name is mentioned in the deleted scene, so it fit right in!

And for those who are wondering, yes, Star will be appearing soon! In chapter 3 we're gonna go back to our favorite royal pains, see more of Asha and her family so they can be fleshed out some more and then our sparkling boy is going to appear. Plus, I really wanted to start off with only a little humor since the story is more serious at this point. But then when Star comes in, he's gonna bring in a lot more fun and joy to the table. Plus, this is the first time I'm writing a fantasy based story here. I usually write sci-fi and/or superhero stories, so I pray I'm doing this right. 😅

I love to hear your comments, so make as many as you want, and I'll see you guys in chapter 3!

Thanks for reading!

@annymation @signed-sapphire @oh-shtars @kenihewa @chillwildwave @tumblingdownthefoxden @wings-of-sapphire @emptyblog7 @lazytitans-world @mythartist21 @kstarsart @uva124 @spectator-zee @emillyverse

[sweetsoursalmon]

Could you grant me my wish?

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉(I'm like 8 hours ahead of GMT so it's the new year for me now :P)

My first ever full body appearance of a pokemon in any of my art! :DDD This is a New Year piece featuring Jirachi and I, this month has been somewhat rough on my family and it's caused me to have a sinking feeling which keeps me awake for most of the night. I wanted to represent that sinking feeling with me falling and, in a sense, Jirachi as a shooting star I could place my wish onto that everything could go back the way they used to.

Fun fact! I've never seen a shooting star in my life! 😅

Timelapse: https://youtu.be/Ini3k0NGPj8

[mysterious-gizem]

𝚂𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚍

Part 1:

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Giant’s

For years giants hid from the human race, a small yet brutal and chaotic species. Until eventually the giant race grew to realize they could overthrow the human's easily, human's were cocky, they couldn't accept that they weren't top of the food chain anymore.

Oh, that was their first mistake.

The giant's only requested equality.

Yet, human's waged a war against beings that were stronger, faster, and ofcourse, bigger.

And that was the second mistake, upon many more they would make.

Giant’s prevailed, ofcourse. This time the human's were the ones hiding, small human civilizations stayed strong, deciding to fight back against the giant's. The giant's respected the effort and proposed a peace treaty.

Most of humanity instantly agreed, a few were stubborn and believed that if humans were on top before, they could do it again.

~◇~

"So you're seriously not gonna eat us?" The brunette hesitantly asked the giant, the giant was just rather relieved that both the humans weren't crying or defensively screaming at him like a few minutes ago.

"L-Look, they forcefeed me human's here, just so they can get rid of other humans they find...inadequate." The taller sighed, "Honestly, it's a miracle they didn't make me eat you." The way the giant said it so casually set some unease upon the two men.

"W-Well I'm Dream, what about you guys?"

Small talk, okay, this might help out our situation.

"I'm George, this is Sapnap." George said whilst addressing to the raven haired male, who was holding him in a protective matter. Sapnap seemed to ease up easily to Dream, George was still rather hesitant yet he considered his situation at the moment and theres really no reason the giant should be nice to them.

"It's nice having company..." Dream blurted out, Sapnap stared up to be met with those unruly bright green eyes, it being the only feature they can get from the other with dim lighting; Sapnap coughed, "How long have you been...down here?"

Silence, it wasn't fairly long, but it was eerie nonetheless.

"Maybe a few months? I don't know, they gave me a clock but it was too small for me to read so they took it away." The giant explained solemnly. "Best if you get comfy, until you guys can escape, it's not safe." Both humans quietly listened as they began to tiredly spur out ideas on how they could possibly escape.

Hour's have passed, both human's falling comfortably asleep side by side eachother, Dream looked down on them, uncomfortably shifting ever so often; afraid of crushing them on accident, the area was too small, if he kneeled his head would already be pushing up on the ceiling. With two other people to worry about he felt even more cramped.

~◇~

George stirred awake, groaning at the pain that his entire body was currently recieving, the brunette realized Sapnap wasn't near him; his senses became more clear, recognizing a few familiar chattering voices.

"-And suddenly, BAM! George shot an arrow through the zombies head, it was so cool since the forest was on fire and he could still hit the zombie even with his bulky weird goggles." Sapnap giggled.

"What!?"

Dream and Sapnap snapped their attention to the now annoyed brunette, "My goggles aren't weird! They help keep the sun from hurting my eyes when I'm trying to shoot something." He huffed. A raspy chuckle came from the giant as he watched the two humans, it's the most entertaining thing he's seen in a while.

As the raven haired man and brunette bickered a loud rumble interrupted them which caught them off gaurd. They both stared at Dream, who was embarrassed, the giant was avoiding their gaze. "Sorry..." He mumbled. "Do they really not feed you daily?" Sapnap grumbled.

"No- but I've gotten used to not eating for while."

It's been a long, long while...

"They basically took everything off of us besides clothes..." George announced while patting down his pockets. "Look I think we need to keep thinking of a way on how to get you two outta here." Dream said while biting down his lower lip anxiously.

"Sapnap said we could try luring the gaurds in a rushing out, but what about you?" The brunette asked the giant, "I'll be fine we just need to get you guys out." George nodded, not wanting to pry on why he was so persistent of getting them to leave.

Sapnap interjected, "Actually I was thinking about it, that Quackity guys probably thinks were dead. If were the one's making a commotion the gaurds might just inform duck man instead." Dream listened carefully to the human's conversation. "How do we even know if the gaurds can hear us?" The brunette asked, "For all we know this room is sound proof."

The brunette turned to Dream, "What can you tell us about this place?" Startled by the sudden question; Dream thought for a moment. "I-I don't know much, Sir comes visit once a month, and he observes me whenever he makes me eat someone..." Dream mumbled, feeling guilty he couldn't provide more insight.

"Okay...we need more time to figure out a plan..."

Time...

Dream suddenly grew more worrisome, while George and Sapnap were oblivious to it; Dream figeted with his fingers, he silently thought of his own plan on how he could get his new friends out of this gruesome, cruel place.

Plip...

Plop...

Plip...

Plop...

Water

George speculated the liquid that dripped on him, suddenly gaining an idea.

"Dream, do you know what's above you? We're obviously underground but what's above the ceiling." The giant thinks for a moment, "I-I think it's like a lake maybe, or perhaps a waterhole?"

"Hey Dream is it alright if we climb up your knee so we can take a look at the ceiling?" The giant nodded as he positioned himself properly. George grabbed the fabric of the giant's jeans as he began to climb, Sapnap following suit.

George began to press his hands against the dirt ceiling, some small rocks and pebbles were practically the only thing that was holding it together; plus the tension aswell ofcourse. "Hey Sap do you think Dream could break through this?" Hearing his name Dream snapped his attention towards the two men.

"Hell yeah, Dream's definitely strong enough to break through that." George pondered for a moment, "So Dream have you ever tried breaking the ceiling." "No- didn't wanna risk anything, they already barely feed me. I don't know what's really up there, the lake might be surrounded by gaurds for all I know."

"Well we gotta try right? You've been here for months! Probably already developed scoliosis." The brunette explained, "Me and George can hold onto your clothes or something while you push the ground upward."

"Sure? L-Like now?" Dream asked as he shifted uncomfortably. "Better now then never right?" Sapnap snickered as he clung himself on Dream's shoulder while George clung on the other. Dream took a deep breath before positioning his arms.

He grit his teeth as his muscles tensed, the ceiling slowly giving out. Dream panicked as he thought the room was going to cave in, with a rush of adrenaline he gave punch upwards and he hauled himself up, the water dropping down into the room below making the area shake. They were all soaked and it was around mid-day the sunlight burned their eyes yet Dream picked himself up and ran.

George and Sapnap were still tightly clinging onto the man, the giant being kind enough to make sure they didn't fall aswell. Once they reached deep into a spruce forest the giants knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

Sapnap and George both climbed down, fixing themselves at the same time. The two cheered as they turned around to congratulate the giant.

The human's eyes widened in shock and amazement, this was the first time they both got an actual look at the giant before them.

Dream had dirty, unkept hair, George wasn't too sure if it was blond or brown. The bright green eyes that illuminated were now looking a more natural forest green, his clothes were ripped and dirty, overall the giant looked like a wreck.

"Yo man, you alright?" Sapnap tilted his head as he watched the blond raise his head.

The giant bared his teeth, "I-I gotta go."

The two males watched as the giant stood up and fled, both looking at eachother with a worried gaze, pursing they lips and hoped they would meet the giant once again.

As fate would have it, they would.

It was inevitable.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Yoo, I finally got an idea for part 2, Sheena helped me a lot TwT. I got a bit lazy at the end(sorry lmao)

@random-shit-writing

(Honestly, idk if you still wanted to be tagged)

[in-search-of-a-fallen-star]

i've tasted blood (and i want more)

Pairing: Yuuta Okkotsu/Reader

WC: 5,542

Content warnings: if you do not like blood, this is probably not the fic for you. Contains depictions of canon typical injury/vampire bites, as well as the symptoms and aftereffects of blood loss. Also contains some yan behavior/themes. Read at your own discretion. This fic also contains an explicit smut scene- no pronouns are used for the reader, but they are described to have a vagina.

Happy Halloween, witches! It only took me a month but I did finally finish my first Halloween fic. This one is a vampire au for JJK, featuring vampire!Yuuta. I had fun writing it, and I hope you have fun reading it as well <3

Title is from the song Toucha, Toucha, Toucha, Touch Me from Rocky Horror.

Minors and ageless blogs, DNI. If you don't have an age in your bio or pinned, I will block you.

Yuuta’s been looking tired lately. Well, more so than usual. Even though he was turned only recently, Yuuta has the bone-tired look of someone who has seen many centuries pass. The transformation had deepened his dark eyes and sharpened his cheekbones, creating more places on his already angular face for the shadows of exhaustion to cling to. You might say it in jest, but a part of you really does blame Gojo for working poor Yuuta into the ground.

However, as much as you would like to, you can’t place all the blame on Gojo. Since he’d transformed, you’d only ever seen Yuuta drink from the cold storage synthetic blood bags kept in reserve- never the donated ones, and he avoids the volunteer feeding drives like the plague. Shoko just shakes her head. She tells you that while it’s not healthy, it’s survivable, so she can’t force him to feed.

When you finally worked up the courage to ask him why he hasn’t fed, he just smiled that disarmingly charming smile of his and told you not to worry, he just wasn’t hungry. You had to drag your gaze away from the points of his fangs, gleaming ivory under the harsh lights of the clinic.

You’ve been close to vampires before; there are several in residence at the Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical School. Maki feeds to maintain her incredible strength, and Nobara says that anything other than real blood will wreck her complexion. Both of them are beautiful- Maki in the way a leaping panther is beautiful, all lean muscle and coiled power, and Nobara in the way a roaring tiger is beautiful, brash and proud.

Yuuta is different. He is still beautiful, under the dark shadows that cling to his face like soot. But he is striking in the way a hurricane or car crash is. You look at him and can’t look away, in a way that feels a bit like morbid fascination in the face of disaster. He is a force of nature on his own- you’ve seen him spar on campus, and you know he’s the only person who can keep up with Maki or Gojo. You also know some of the tragedy that dogs his steps. People still go out of their way to avoid speaking Rika’s name near Yuuta, even after the dramatic mission last year where he finally put her soul to rest.

You’ve wanted to reach out, to offer him some comfort, especially after everything with Rika. For the most part he’s let you. He’ll sink into your embrace like it’s a soft bed after far too many hours awake, and you are content to hold and be held for as long as he needs.

These moments are unfortunately few and far between. Since he was turned, you’ve noticed Yuuta retreating further and further from you. He still acts like your friend, but he no longer drapes an arm around you, tucks his chin over your shoulder when he wants to see something you’re holding, or links your pinkies together when you stand close enough that your shoulders touch. You feel the loss of the casual intimacy keenly, and you can’t stop yourself from wondering what might have caused your best friend to pull away from you.

As a human with no special powers of your own, you assumed that Yuuta was simply gravitating towards people who shared his experiences and understood what he was going through. It didn’t make it hurt any less when he would startle when you walked in the room, look at you with those soulful dark eyes, and leave. You’d even noticed that when you stood near him, he would hold his breath. You knew that the turning sharpened mortal senses, but you didn’t think that you smelled quite that repulsive.

Since then, you’ve resigned yourself to this new state of your friendship. Yuuta has been through hell, more literally than most people, and you don’t want to put undue pressure on him to do something he obviously doesn’t want. So you let him keep his distance, opening your arms for him whenever he comes to you for comfort. You stroke his hair and murmur soft words in his ear, and try to tell yourself that those moments are enough when you watch him smile and laugh with his other friends.

You are caught off guard when he stumbles into the clinic in the middle of your graveyard shift. You are startled out of your studying by the loud crash of the metal doors being thrown open, and you look up to see Yuuta, fair skin and snow white uniform stained scarlet. His eyes are wild, and while his katana is sheathed you don’t miss the way he reaches for it when you jolt up behind the desk. You hurry around the desk, snapping on neoprene gloves before you reach for him, intending to check over the wounds that are still sluggishly oozing crimson.

Instead he bats you away, pressing one hand over his mouth and nose. “Stay away,” he growls at you, pushing past you into the clinic. He goes straight for the sink, turning on the faucet and leaning down to swallow mouthfuls of water. You watch him swish it in his mouth before spitting it out again, the water running red with blood.

“Yuuta, you’re hurt. Let me do my job and help you,” you try again, approaching slower this time, hands out as if you’re nearing a wounded animal.

He’s resting his head on his forearm, leaning against the wall. Pinkish water is still dripping from the corner of his mouth. “No. Don’t come closer,” he pants out. He’s trying to be commanding, but the state of his injuries and the way he’s struggling to regulate his breathing override any fear you feel.

You get close enough to carefully wrap a hand around one of his wrists, and you almost jerk your hand away in surprise. Yuuta’s normally cool skin is burning hot, pulse pounding so fast you can feel the beat of it on his wrist.

Gently but firmly, you pull him away from the sink, leading him to sit down on the nearest table. Now that some of the blood has been washed away, you can finally get a good look at his face. His eyes are bright, the bags gone. There’s even a flush to his normally pale cheeks. He looks healthier than he has in months, despite bleeding all over your operating table.

“What happened, Yuuta?” you breathe, looking him over. The immediate concern is two deep cuts, one reaching from the side of his neck down to his chest and the other biting deep into his side. You begin cutting away the tattered remains of his shirt and surprisingly enough he lets you, swaying forward to rest his head in the crook of your neck as he often does after rough missions. You feel him take a deep breath against your pulse point, the movement of air sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

“Was tracking a witch,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin. “Set a trap for me. Tricked me into drinking some of her blood.”

You keep your hands steady, treating what you can reach until you’re forced to put a hand on the uninjured side of his chest and gently push him away so you can reach the rest of his injuries. He doesn’t let you get far, keeping you close with a dazed look in his eyes and a flush burning high on his cheeks. His symptoms make a little more sense now; this has to be his first taste of real blood since he was turned. He’s going to have to stay overnight for observation; there’s a chance he could go feral.

You move to go to the cold storage unit and get him a blood bag. You know he’s probably ravenous right now. Blood will help him heal, and hopefully take the edge off his appetite so you can call for Shoko. Before you can get more than a step away, he locks his arms around you and pulls you back to his chest. He runs his nose along the curve of your neck, hot panting breaths blowing at the delicate skin. You reach up, running a hand through his dark hair and he practically purrs, leaning into your touch.

“You gotta let me go, Yuu,” you tell him softly, trying to coax him into letting you go. “I’m just gonna get you something to eat and I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t want it.” The words would sound petulant under normal circumstances, but right now it sounds desperate. “Tastes bad.”

“You have to feed on something, Yuu,” you say. “You’re running on empty, and you need something in your stomach so you can heal.”

“I know,” he mumbles. “It just all smells bad. It makes me sick.”

A thought crosses your mind. “You could feed on me,” you suggest, running a calming hand up and down his spine. “I know it smells bad but it’s fresh, and it’ll help you heal the fastest.”

You feel the shudder that rips through him. He sits up a bit, swaying. “No,” he protests. “I can’t, I’ll hurt you.”

You’re already unbuttoning your shirt, sliding it off your shoulders to rest in the crooks of your elbows, far enough away that hopefully it won’t get too bloody. You grab his hand, catching his attention. “It’s okay, Yuuta. I trust you, I know you won’t hurt me.” You slide a hand up to the back of his neck, drawing him close to you. He resists at first, but lets you pull him back to your neck.

His nostrils flare and he groans. “God, you smell so good,” he whines against your throat. “I’ve been wanting this for so long. It’s not fair for you to do this to me.”

“You don’t have to hold back. Take what you need,” you tell him, holding him close.

Yuuta hesitates for another moment, before his hunger overwhelms him. You feel the cool touch of his spit-slick lips before the hot prick of pain as his lips pierce the skin of your neck. The pain is sharp and hot for a moment, before it melts outwards in a wave of pleasure that crashes through your limbs like the aftereffects of a supernova. Now you understand why the volunteer feeding drives are always packed- this rush, the spread of his venom in your bloodstream, triggers a cascade of hormones that drives you into a state of euphoria.

You feel boneless, relaxed and adrift in a sea of warmth with only a slight sensation of suction on the side of your neck to ground you. Everything is hazy and electric all at once. You hardly register the cool wall of the clinic pressing against your back, but each brush of Yuuta’s hands on your skin makes every hair on your body stand on end. Every touch of his hands as they roam your body and each movement of his lips on your neck sends a shockwave right to your core. Within seconds, you are dancing on the edge of a peak that promises to be more intense than anything you’ve reached before.

Helpless to do anything else, a wavering moan escapes your lips. Distantly, you register an answering one rumble from Yuuta’s chest. A moment later, you feel his lips leave your neck and you whine at the loss of sensation. Everything still feels hazy, and not in a fun way. You see Yuuta’s face swim in front of your vision, a mass of pale skin, dark hair and darker eyes that are wide with an emotion you don’t have the capacity to name right now. You know he’s saying something, his words are high pitched and panicked in a way that makes your oncoming headache worse.

The air of the clinic starts to feel bone-chillingly cold. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to preserve the body heat that seems to be rapidly leaching from you. Yuuta’s fuzzy form dips out of your vision for a moment, returning with what you assume is one of the flimsy blankets kept in the clinic for such a purpose. He carefully drapes the blanket around your shoulders, but it’s not enough to keep you from shivering.

Ever so gently, you feel him scoop you into his arms. He sits down somewhere, cradling you to his warm chest so close that you can hear his heartbeat, pumping your lifeblood in his chest. The sound lulls you to sleep, pulling faster at the threads of exhaustion already dragging you down. As you fade away, you feel a faint press of lips to your forehead, and Yuuta’s gentle voice whispers to you, “I’m sorry. I know I should, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough to let you go after this.”

When you swim back to consciousness, the first thing you feel is a splitting headache. You open your eyes to the sharp pinpricks of early morning sun stabbing at your pupils. Somewhere next to you, you hear Shoko’s voice. “Easy there kid. You’ve had a rough night. Take these,” she presses two pills and a bottle of water into your hands.

You swallow the pills and the cool water gratefully. After the pills have kicked in, you sit up, grateful that the world is no longer swimming in front of you. “Where’s Yuuta?” you croak, touching a hand to your sore throat. Your fingers meet the edge of a bandage, pressed neatly over the two puncture wounds on the side of your neck.

“Had to kick him out this morning. The two of you gave me a hell of a scare,” she looks at you reproachfully. “Came into the clinic to find the two of you looking like you just escaped a Saw trap. At least the kid was lucid enough to stop the bleeding last night, or this would have been a much rougher morning for you.” Shoko gestures to the bandage on your throat. “Practically had to pry him off of you though. He wouldn’t leave until I swore to him that I would stay with you until you woke up. Which reminds me, now that you are awake, I have a significant amount of blood to clean up out there.”

You move to get up and help, and she pins you with a glare. “Absolutely not. You are staying put until you’ve slept more and eaten that,” she points to a wrapped bento box on the bedside table.

“I’m sorry, Shoko. I’ll make it up to you,” you say meekly.

“You can do that by not letting a half feral vampire feed on you,” she grumbles, pulling on gloves and grabbing the cleanup kit from the closet. “Also by not complaining when I stick your ass on cleanup duty for the next month.”

You toss her a salute. “Yes ma’am.” You bite back the smile that’s threatening to pull at your lips. You must have been in a bad state last night, for your normally cavalier boss to fuss over you so much. It feels good, to have someone care for you like this.

The thought does drag your mind back to Yuuta- your last memory from the night before is his voice, saying something about not leaving you, but he is nowhere to be found. Shoko did say something about kicking him out of the clinic, and you wouldn’t be surprised if she’d threatened him to stay away for some time. She does get protective of you. You can’t help but feel guilty; you knew the potential consequences of what you were offering last night and had done it anyway, and now you’re sitting pretty in the clinic and Yuuta is most likely facing serious consequences for circumstances that had been largely out of his control.

You lay back down, lost in thought. There’s a lot of last night that’s blurry. You remember pretty much everything until Yuuta bit you, and after that your memory gets foggy. However, there are some things that you do remember that you can’t seem to get out of your head. Up until now, you’d thought that Yuuta had avoided you because he couldn’t stand your smell. After last night, you’re not so sure of that anymore. Granted, he was half feral with hunger and definitely not in his right mind last night, but you can’t help but hope that this means that things will change between you two. It had sounded like he’d been forcing himself to stay away from you, and you find yourself hoping that he meant it when he said he wouldn’t let you go again.

You fall asleep with that thought on your mind, and a faint smile on your lips. Your dreams are strange, disjointed things, but throughout them all you see familiar dark eyes in different places and you can’t bring yourself to be afraid.

When you wake a second time, the light in the clinic has changed to the golden rays of the late afternoon. For the second time today, you find someone waiting for you at your bedside, and for the second time today it’s not the person you’re hoping to see.

Even though you’ve been studying at the technical school for years now, Gojo still unnerves you. He wears those strange dark glasses everywhere, and they somehow make him look more unsettling than the few times you’ve seen him without them. Sure, they hide his wide, electric blue eyes that are so bright they seem to glow on their own. But the glasses also accent the two smaller pairs of crystal blue eyes that sit on the edge of his cheekbones and just above his brow bone. Both sets of eyes meet yours as you wake, and you’re met with the strange feeling that he’d known exactly when you would open your eyes.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Gojo greets you, making an act of looking up at you from the documents in his lap as if four of his eyes hadn’t been watching you wake up. “How are you feeling?”

“No worse than after a night out with Nobara,” you shrug your shoulders, reaching for the water bottle on your bedside table.

“Glad to hear it. You’re tough for a little lab rat,” he laughs, crossing his legs. “Shoko threatened me to keep it brief, so I’ll get to the point. Yuuta has been asking to see you. Do you want us to let him in?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately.

Gojo is uncharacteristically serious. “Are you sure?”

“I am. I knew the risks. I don’t blame him.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Gojo stands up, shuffling the papers on his lap back into their folder. You catch a glimpse of an ad for a local bakery mixed in with what looks like the pages of an incident report. “I’ll go tell him he can come see you. He’s been bothering me nonstop about it since Shoko kicked him out this morning.”

He walks to the door of your room, pausing on the threshold with one hand on the doorframe. “I hope you’re prepared for what you’re getting yourself into,” he tells you over his shoulder.

A few minutes later, you hear quiet footsteps outside your room. Yuuta has showered since you last saw him, his hair soft and clean and face free of blood. He hesitates at the threshold, but you beckon him through. “Come here, let me look at your injuries.”

He follows your demand, sitting on the bed next to your knees. You can feel his eyes on you and you know that there’s something he wants to say, but you decide to check where those wounds had been last night first. Thankfully, you are met with smooth, unblemished skin at his side and chest.

You pause there, one of your warm hands resting against the cool side of his neck where one of the wounds had been. You lift your eyes to meet his. A moment passes, then you both speak at the same time.

“I’m so sorry-”

“I’m glad you’re-”

You laugh, sliding your hand down his arm to his hand. You gently untangle his fingers from where they’re clenched in the hem of his shirt, and slowly twine your fingers with his. “I’m glad you’re alright, Yuu. You scared me pretty bad, running into the clinic all cut up like that.”

“I’m alright thanks to you,” he brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it. “Please don’t put yourself on the line like that again. I can’t lose you,” he asks, dropping his head to rest his forehead against yours.

“I’m a tough cookie, Yuuta. I can take a little bite.” You squeeze his hand.

He groans above you. “You’re so cute. I don’t know how I ever convinced myself to stay away.”

You can’t help the smile that stretches across your face. “You think I’m cute?”

“I do. You’re irresistible to me,” he says, dipping his head down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You smell divine. You have no idea what a temptation you are. I tried to stay away; I was so worried that I would hurt you. And then you offered yourself up to me and I couldn’t resist anymore.” He lifts his head, bringing his free hand to your neck, tracing a whisper of a touch against the bandage. “I wish I could be stronger. Be better, for you.”

“You were starving, Yuuta. You endured so much.” You squeeze his hand. “I know you didn’t mean to, and I trust you. You won’t hurt me again.”

“I won’t,” he says, his voice full of conviction. He brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I won’t ever hurt you like that again.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and then lets go, reaching over to the bedside table to get the bento box that’s still waiting for you on the bedside table.

He shuffles closer to you on the bed and brings a piece of food to your lips, holding it patiently at the seam of your mouth until you open and delicately take the morsel from his fingers. You chew thoughtfully, watching him select the next piece of food from the box.

“What does this mean, for us?” you ask him softly, in between bites of food.

“It means I’m yours,” Yuuta answers, his voice solemn. “I’ll do whatever you want- be as close as you want me to be. I understand if you don’t want-”

You cut him off before he starts to spiral. “What if I want this? Want you?”

“Then I will give you all of me,” he says, dark eyes locked onto yours. “And you’ll be mine. Are you sure that’s something you want?”

You reach out, cupping his jaw in your hand. “I’m sure. I want you, Yuuta.”

He covers your hand with his, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. “I’ve wanted to hear you say that for a long time.

“What do we do now?” you ask, looking at him.

He laughs. “All you need to do is let me take care of you,” he says, eyes warm. “There will be time for other things after you’re feeling better.”

True to his word, Yuuta does take care of you. Every moment he’s able, he spends time with you, making sure you eat, stay hydrated, and stay warm. He even brings you a selection of his hoodies to wear, and it’s hard to miss the way he preens whenever you wear one in public.

You spend the evenings together. He’s taken to cooking for you, complete with a ‘kiss the cook’ apron, and he smiles brightly whenever you oblige and plant a kiss on whatever part of him you can reach without getting in his way. After he’s fed you, the two of you will curl up on your bed and read together, or watch a few episodes of a show you both enjoy. It makes for a very cozy routine for the two of you.

Well after the point when you’ve fully recovered from the incident in the clinic, you notice that Yuuta’s cheeks have begun to hollow again, and the shadows are starting to cling to his face. You kick yourself for forgetting; he should have fed again by now to keep up his strength. Shoko will probably kill you herself if you end up in the clinic again for a bite gone wrong, so you approach the situation with care.

It just takes a bit of patience. You’ve noticed Yuuta is happiest when you let him do things for you, so you spend the evening asking him for help with little chores around your small apartment. You let him cook dinner and do the dishes afterwards, sitting at the counter and keeping him company while he works. You’ve done everything you can to make sure it’s a relaxing atmosphere; there are candles lit that give your little apartment a golden glow, and soft music plays from your little speaker.

You wait until the two of you are warm and curled up in your bed before you make your move. Yuuta is leaning against the wall, his chin on your shoulder and his arms looped around your waist, ready for you to pull out the book you’ve been reading together and find your place.

Instead, you turn slightly in his arms, just enough that you can see his face. “Yuuta, I think you need to eat,” you tell him.

He looks down at you, a very cute confused expression on his face. “What do you mean? We just had dinner?”

“You need to feed, Yuuta.” You take off the hoodie you’ve been wearing all night, leaving you in just your tank top and shorts. You let your head loll to the side, exposing your throat to him. “Let me take care of you like you take care of me.”

“What if I hurt you again?”

“You won’t. You only hurt me last time because you were half-feral and starving. I want you to feed before you get to that point again.”

His eyes are massive; the dark irises trained on the movement of your pulse at your throat. You can hear him swallow.

“Are you sure?”

You take his hand. “I’m sure, Yuuta. I trust you.”

He brings your hand to his lips, scattering delicate kisses over the back and where your pulse flutters at your wrist. “You are too good to me,” he sighs, breath skating over your skin. Gently, he slides out from behind you but he doesn’t go far. He pulls you down to rest on your back, hovering over you with a soft look on his face.

“What’re you doing, Yuu?” you ask, watching him from your position on the pillows.

“I wanna make sure you enjoy this, too,” he murmurs, dusting kisses down your throat to where the edge of your tank top sits on your chest. With tender care he lifts the edge of your tank up, waiting for your approval before he pulls it off of you. He repeats the same process with your shorts, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks as he looks at your naked body with such reverence in his eyes. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you’re finally mine.”

He trails his lips over every inch of your exposed skin, paying special attention to your nipples until they are stiff and puffy, shining with saliva in the soft light. Slowly, he moves his way down your body, kissing down your stomach until he’s hovering over the part of you that’s been crying out for attention under his gentle ministrations.

“You smell heavenly,” he breathes. He leans in and drags the flat of his tongue up your slit, savoring the wetness that’s begun to gather between your legs. “You taste divine,” he moans, the vibrations of the sound dragging an answering one out of you.

His tongue laves hot strokes over you, your pussy clenching around nothing as he tastes you. He keeps teasing your clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue or rolling it between his lips for a moment in between licks, the motions stoking a fire in your belly When he pulls it between his lips and sucks, stroking it with the flat of his tongue, fire sears through your veins and you arch up off the bed, a long moan stuttering its way past your lips.

Yuuta pulls away from you for just a moment. “That’s it, my love. Let me hear you,” he moans, before diving back in and continuing to devour your pussy. His ministrations drive you higher and higher, fast approaching the peak with no sign of stopping. Pleasure floods your body, turning your limbs to jelly as he indulges in you.

When your orgasm hits, you feel a prick of pain on the inside of your thigh. A moment later, you feel a rush that amplifies and extends your release. It hits you so hard that you can’t even make a sound, arching silently off the bed, your mouth open in a soundless scream as the waves of pleasure wash over you. Your vision even whites out, everything going blank for just a moment before you collapse bonelessly on the bed.

You hear a faint slurping sound as you come back to yourself, and you look down to see Yuuta pulling himself away from your thigh, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. The gesture doesn’t do much beyond smear the blood and cum across his face, but neither of you really care.

He pants for a moment, dark eyes unfocused, before his gaze sharpens and he looks down at you.

“How do you feel?” he asks, worry creeping into his expression.

“Like I just saw the face of god,” you joke, a breathless laugh leaving your lips. “What about you? Do you want me to return the favor?”

He blushes at that, a slow scarlet flush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks. “Ah, I’m fine. Don’t worry, I enjoyed myself.” He pulls back, sliding off the bed and standing up. You catch a glimpse of a dark spot on the front of his loose sleep pants before he walks away, moving towards your little ensuite bathroom. “I’m going to run us a bath. Don’t move.”

“I don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” you sigh, sinking into the soft pillows beneath you. You hear the faucet turn on, and a rustle of cloth. A few minutes later, Yuuta returns. You hold out your arms to him and he laughs softly, scooping you into his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, carrying you gently into the bathroom.

He sets you in the warm water and then slides in behind you. He lets you rest for a moment before he starts to run a warm washcloth over your skin, lathering you with bubbles that smell like your favorite soap.

You let him take care of you, only taking the washcloth for a moment to wipe the blood and fluid off of his face and neck, scrubbing his skin with a gentle hand. He leans into your touch, practically purring with his eyes closed for a moment.

Once you’re both clean, he gets out and dries himself first before helping you out of the tub and wrapping you in a fluffy towel. He leads you over to sit on the closed toilet before he opens a drawer and pulls out your little first aid kit. Gently, he pushes your knees apart to inspect the two neat puncture wounds that decorate the meat of your inner thigh.

He carefully swabs them clean, pressing an apologetic kiss to your knee when you hiss at the sting of the disinfectant. You watch him open two bandaids, bubblegum pink and printed with Hello Kitty, and position them over the cuts. Satisfied with his work, he rocks back on his heels and looks up at you. He pulls your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the back before he stands up.

“Wait here, I’ll grab you some clothes,” he tells you before he walks back out into your bedroom. He returns a moment later, clean pajamas and underwear in one hand and your favorite hoodie of his in the other. Yuuta helps you dry off and dress, making sure to support you when your knees wobble.

Once you’re clean and dressed, he takes you back to bed and settles you down with a bottle of water and some snacks, before curling in beside you and wrapping his arms around your waist. You snag your laptop from your bedside table and turn on an episode of the show you’ve been watching together and snuggle in, opening up the snacks that he brought you when your stomach rumbles.

The two of you fall asleep like that, wrapped up in blankets and in each other.

[pyrocephalus-rubinus]

Tagged by @two-hands-toward-the-sun to shuffle my Spotify On Repeat playlist and post the first 10 tracks! I'm afraid this list will be very biased due to my "study/work" playlist and my obssesion with Hozier but let's see.

"Big Beast" by 2 Mello. This is the track that features in @thepenumbrapodcast and the track that got me into 2 Mello's album Memories Of Tokyo-To. It quickly became my favourite album for data-entry work. Its funky hip-hop beats keep me awake and focused for hours. Let's see if more songs from this album feature in this list.

"Talk" by Hozier. See? I told you. Well, I've been a fan of Hozier for years and Talk is a song from the Wasteland, Baby! album, which was my 2020-2021 soundtrack. I like this one cause it's not really about politics or love or religion like his other work. No, this one is a horny song.

"Damage Gets Done" by Hozier with the wonderful Brandi Carlile. This one is from Unreal Unearth and Brandi's vocals are breath-taking. For me this song is an invitation to enjoy youth and life, and not to get buried in guilt and dread. Ultimately, the people who are most responsible for our world's destruction will only benefit of our souls crushing and breaking. Let's take care of ourselves and sing loud and strong about the things we care about.

"Little Dark Age" by MGMT. I'll admit this one is a song that just ended up in some playlists of mine for the vibe.

"Rule #1 - Magic" by Fish in a Birdcage. I love the cello and the general story-telling vibe of Fish in a Birdcage's songs.

"Girassol" by ÀVUÀ. Well, what can I say? If you haven't heard ÀVUÀ, please do. The vocals are amazing and the music cures my soul. I blame @two-hands-toward-the-sun for my obssesion with this Brazilian duet.

"Pump Up the Love" by 2 Mello. Yep, another one. Cause I keep this album on repeat for hours! I blame Harley Takagi Kaner and Kevin Vibert for this.

"It's Called: Freefall" by Rainbow Kitten Surprise. Ohh I like this song so much, but this band has many other bangers. Drop Stop Roll and Devil Like Me are cool.

"The Moss" by Cosmo Sheldrake. Listen, I'm a biologist. I am very drawn to the biology/nature themes Cosmo Sheldrake uses to write his songs.

"De Selby (Part 2)" by Hozier. The transition from Part 1 to Part 2?? Exquisite. This is a song that should be listened to with headphones. And if you have seen the music video, yeah I dance to it like that too lmao.

That was fun! If anyone else wants to participate feel free!

[familyvideowithsteve]

d*ying on the inside - Steve Harrington x fem!reader

This material may not be copied, reproduced, displayed, modified. This is my work, do not steal it, do not republish it.

summary:  Steve's grief has been on the same stage for months : denial. He just can't do it. Living without her is just impossible.

warning: /NSFW/ dead!fem!reader, use of she/her pronouns, no use of Y/n, use of strong alcohol, talk about death, grief, tears (a lot), blood (a lot), very small indications of past sexual intercourse (NO smut!), grave, graphic and lethal injuries, pure hurt and trauma (what is comfort? what is fluff? what is happiness?) (minors, do not interact, i'm not responsible for the content you consume)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader (she/her pronouns used, no physical description of the reader so anyone can identify)

word count: 2.3k

a/n: I had to repost this because Tumblr likes to fuck with me and flag the things I write even though it had all the community label.

The light of the day was a godsend, it announced warmth, light, life.

On days like those Steve would try to enjoy them as much as he could, even if he had his job at Family Video, he would probably arrange an impromptu date with his girlfriend.

A picnic on the hills of Hawkins, where, at this time of the year, was blossoming with flowers, the sun set low and late. Birds chirping on the edge of the forest. 

He could almost hear her laughter as he was lying in his bed, facing the night. Cold, dark, unwelcoming. 

Nights had become a nightmare, quite literally and metaphorically. 

An opened door to nightmares, waking in tears, sweat and out of breath. Or it was the cold embrace of insomnia, lulling him awake to see the short hours of the night. The sunrise peeking through his curtains.

When his bed felt uncomfortable he would throw a cardigan around his shoulders and sit by his pool, watching as the night transformed into the day, the sky first taking a purple colour then moving into pink, bits of orange, finally blue.

It seemed peaceful, and it kinda was, sometimes, but mostly, it was a river of unstoppable thoughts, and voices. And it happened a lot more than he would like to admit.

He didn't get nightmares until the Soviets, but it didn't last long, when Vecna/Henry/One came around, the atrocities they saw, the loss they experienced, it began to be too much. 

"You look lonely," her voice said, he closed his eyes at the sensation of her presence. It almost brought tears to its tired features.

"Without you, I am," he opened his eyes to turn his head towards the sound of her voice. 

He had an oversized hoodie on, the hood lazily resting behind his neck, red and sleepless eyes, exhaustion written on his face. 

Lied on a sun lounger by his pool, wrapped in a thin and fuzzy blanket. His house was deadly silent as he was alone, as always.

She was imitating his position on the sun lounger, her eyes looking so deeply into his tired ones. A soft smile on her face.

There was a comfortable silence, as they looked at eachother, Steve let his mouth speak before thinking, he was way too tired for that anyway.

"I've missed you. A crazy lot." 

“I know. But you know I had to do it, we’ve been through this already.” 

“Yeah, I know, but in the most desperate time... like right now… I still wish you hadn’t.” 

Her eyes moved from his to something near and she winced, he followed her gaze and realised she had seen his glass of whiskey sitting by a footrest he used as a coffee table and he grimaced. The ice was almost completely melted, its remaining clinking softly against the edge of the glass. 

“I haven’t seen you with a glass of whiskey since senior year, three years ago.” 

Escaping from his blanket, bending on the side he reached for his glass, two small pieces of ice remained on the surface, it looked like an iceberg ripped apart. 

Since Vecna, the invasion in Hawkins, memories from that night were the source of his nightmares and his unfinished grief. Some nights finished in a few glasses of his father’s favourite bottle of whiskey, it seemed to either appease or fuel his demons. It was a solution, a very poor one at that, but the only one that gave him comfort. 

“It's just a couple glasses here and there," his voice was so low he didn't even know if he could be heard but she did.

"Whiskey is your sad drink. Just like beer is your party drink. Steve.." 

He took another sip from his glass, lying back on the sun lounger, holding his glass with only two fingers, he closed his eyes as he savoured the burning taste of the alcohol on his tongue.

"You're not really here, so.. I don't see why you care," his tone became harsher as he drank, he had opened his eyes to take a better look at her face. 

"What makes you so certain I'm not really here ? We live in a crazy world." 

Offended by her question, he took yet again another sip of his drink, he furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes fixated on the pool in front of them. 

"Because your coffin is resting in Hawkins' cemetery six feet underground," he started, not looking at her, but he continued, "and like you said, this crazy world killed you. This is some trick, hallucination, I don't know, something my brain has made up because I miss you, and I can't believe you're dead." 

"You just said it. You must believe it somehow."

"No. Saying it doesn't mean I believe it. I know it because I saw it happen before my eyes, but I can't wrap my head around it because it's you. And it's not right for you to be dead." 

He paused, his hair falling in front of his eyes, his chest rising and falling a bit quickly as he talked rapidly. Nervously. His eyes searching in front of him a reason to be nervous, agitated. His brown irises fell upon her. 

"It's not fair and it's not normal, and-... Jesus Christ it's hell without you here." 

It felt like two orbs were piercing through his skull as she looked at him, all ears for him.

"I don't get to see you smile, laugh, sleep, sunbathe, I can't see the stars in your eyes anymore, I can't hear your lame jokes, I can't hear your laugh, I can't hear the sound of your voice. I can't touch you, whether it's getting to hug you, feel your touch, or even just intimacy with you. I can't pleasure you anymore, hear you moan my name when you were on the edge, I can't feel the goosebumps when you were close, or even just kiss your skin. Taste you. Feel your warmth in bed. We can't do anything we had planned because you're not here anymore. And it's like living in hell," his voice broke more and more as he kept ranting on, until his watery eyes couldn't hold on the tears anymore and he started sobbing. 

Shaky breaths left Steve's mouth as his breathing became erratic, his hands in his hair, some handful of hair falling in front his eyes.

She wasn't sure if he would accept her touch, so she preferred staying on her lounger. She knew Steve would never be violent, but it felt out of place to impose herself in such a way.

She waited for him to calm down slowly, the silence comfortable as his tired eyes looked at the sky changing colors, it was rising, deep purple to a mix of lilac, orange and pink.

He let out another shaky breath, closing his eyes to inhale deeply, trying to calm his heart beating crazily in his ribcage.

When he was calmer and comfortable enough to speak, he turned his head, crossed his legs against his chest and his arms crossed, elbows against his knees, his eyes towards her. He cleared his throat. 

"The most horrific thing, apart from your absence and how difficult it is to live with it, is how it happened. And how graphic it was," his voice was soft.

She felt his eyes on her so she turned her face towards him, mimicking his position on the lounger she rested her head in her crossed arms.

"It's like I can relive this moment non-stop. There was so much blood, you were choking on it, barely able to make a syllable. The smell of blood was.. suffocating, heaving. You were in pain and I couldn't do anything to save you. I couldn't stop the bleeding, couldn't get you to a gate to take you to the hospital. And I think it was when the clock rang the four chimes and the portals started opening from the gates.. you..," he paused, he could see the scene happening in his brain as he swallowed up his saliva.

He exhaled loudly, he knew his voice would be shaky, but he continued, "I wasn't fast enough to take you away with me, and the portal completely burned away your legs, your thighs.. your lower body was just.. gone. And the pain was so much worse, you were sobbing, suffocating in your own blood. I couldn't do anything." 

His voice was as a whisper, but very audibly perceptible as they were in complete silence, only the birds awaking above them could be heard.

"I just held you, sobbing, in complete despair. Telling you 'I love you' on repeat. Until eventually, I realised you weren't breathing anymore, my tears mixing in your blood as I realised, terrified, mortified, that you were dead," he paused once again, his eyes zoning on one point by his pool.

"And I wept even more, because you couldn't- can't be dead. Even if I closed your eyes myself,  even if I had to leave you there and God I absolutely hate myself for it. Robin and Nancy had to drag me away from you, because I wouldn't- couldn't move. We had a funeral, but with an empty coffin so it's not real. And I think I even feel worse because your parents don't know they buried it empty, now I understand the way Nancy felt about Barbara. It's unfair. And I'm.. exhausted from all of it. It doesn't even make sense now… to live without you I mean, it's.. bland." 

He finally zoned out of his trance, and directed his eyes towards her, where she was patiently listening to him. 

Even though he had experienced her.. 'presence' since she was gone, he hadn't been so sincere and profound with his feelings, his suffering.

"I don't remember much, except from the cold, and the taste of blood, your tears, the excruciating pain. The suffocating part, that I definitely did not forget. But I also remember the 'I love yous' . They lulled me away to the darkness. To Death." 

The scene was truly just so heart wrenching to witness. Holding her so tightly on his lap, crying his heart out, his hands on both sides of her torso to tentatively stop the bleeding. 

The particles of the Upside Down would sometimes temporarily cloud his vision, the air thick, toxic, and smelled of iron with the quantity of blood around them.

She had her eyes focused on him, remembering his own and their colour, choking on her own blood, her chest kept tightening at the lack of oxygen, the pain was in wave, each time she inhaled it felt like knives were digging deeper into her flesh, and with her lower body gone, she felt it burn, it was horrendous, and the smell was enough to make her nauseous.

Tears clouded both their visions, hot cries of salty water running down their cheeks. 

There was so much he wanted to say, but his shaky voice could only repeatedly tell her he loved her.

And she wanted to say she didn't want to die, she wanted to do so much with him, but she couldn't even breathe correctly, let alone speak. 

Then she started feeling cold, no, she realised she was cold, and exhausted. Her eyes were just shutting off on their own, everything was blurry and she tried to resist, she tried so hard. The sounds were different, she could recognise a bit of Steve's voice trying to keep her awake but she felt herself leaving.. leaving.. and then.. nothing.

When he realised she was gone his hands left her sides to capture her cheeks, trying to wake her. 

His cries were louder, gut-wrencher.

Her eyes were glazed, empty. And he kept saying her name, and he wept so much.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. 

Robin came to his level, in a delicate voice she whispered, "Steve, we have to go, we need to get back to Hawkins. I'm sorry." 

He was so exhausted, so done with all the shit that kept happening. He nodded mechanically.

He let out a shaky breath. He closed her eyes with his thumbs, leaving blood on her cheeks and her eyes. He kissed her forehead, and shortly after that he followed Robin and Nancy. Silent. Empty. 

"I don't know how I can keep going on without you," he whispered, his voice a mess as he was on the edge of tears.

She handed him her hand, inviting him near her, he looked at it then her eyes, he didn't know if he could touch her. But he wanted to feel her so bad.

Getting up from his lounger he made his way toward her's, and sat down right next to her.

She laid her legs and indicated to him to rest against her. 

"Let me hold you, Steve," that's all he needed to be convinced and lay on the lounger with her, in between her thighs as she held him. Head against her chest. Her hands in his hair.

He didn't know if he was dreaming or totally losing his mind, but he cried a few tears of happiness in a comfortable silence.

Until he woke up. Alone. Curled up on the lounger. 

A new wave of despair escalated through him, watery eyes on his whiskey brown irises. 

Running a hand through his hair he let out a shaky breath, holding back the tears as much as he could.

"I love you," he whispered, his eyes closed, letting it overflow, hoping he would feel some warmth to prove her presence, somehow. But nothing. 

"I'll always love you." 

[nycorix]

Consequences [10/11]

[fic post]

|part 1| |part 2| |part 3| |part 4| |part 5| |part 6| |part 7| |part 8| |part 9|

Aaaand we're almost done!! This part is short and (I hope) sweet, so I really don't have much to say about it except that it contains one of my favorite paragraphs I've ever written for this fandom (the "obedience" paranthetical). Also: have I mentioned how much I love Catherine Foster <3

[The part in which 22 is still out cold and Kit is overwhelmingly Kit about it]

_______

10. 

06 faces down this unique predicament the same way she always does. One arm akimbo, head tilted, worrying the nails of her dominant hand through her glove with her teeth.

She’d expected 22 to be in bad shape, but this—this is new. She can count on two hands the number of times she’s seen him pass out in the years they’ve been paired, and most of them have involved head trauma from training incidents, or else been on the operating table so they don’t even really count.

She crouches by his head, checks his pulse. Heat roils off his skin, soaking through her glove while she counts. A minute passes and she pulls her hand away, chewing her lip—forty-six beats, much too low. She brings up a chat box, hesitates, closes it. Finds his arm, heals the broken finger and the torn skin beneath his glove, fully expecting the pain to jolt him awake.

He does not stir.

He looks strange like this, expression wiped smooth, no trace of his usual scowl. He looks young, vulnerable, as close to fragile as she’s ever seen him. Without consciousness to keep it at bay, the illness is free to taint his features, circling his eyes in charcoal and turning the rest of his skin ashy pale. Only his sharp cheekbones burn, high color painted over them from the fever. His lips, oddly parted, are chapped. 

She hates it. 

Another minute sees her scooping him up, all one-hundred-eighty-something pounds of him like nothing in her arms. One around his shoulders, the other tucked under his knees, her exactitude of force never more precisely calculated than this moment.

His head lolls, and she shifts him so that it rests against her shoulder, his hot slow breath on her collarbone.

A memory washes over her as she takes a step, and for a moment it stalls her, locking her muscles in place as the images bleed through her vision unbidden.

A surveillance video, coercively shown her by the Director, of a scene she has no memory of herself: 22, age twelve, marching down the street with her in his arms like he is in hers now, bleak determination in every line of his posture. The Director trailing beside him in her personal car, snail’s pace.

He’d been sick then, too—only much, much worse, all of his organs in perfectly cascading failure as they rejected four years of treatment in a matter of hours, systemically, cell by cell; and though she’d had no way of knowing this at the time, she’d nonetheless been absolutely useless, falling for the Director’s trap like a fucking idiot.

She sets her jaw, shakes the memory out of her head. Dispels the Director’s commentary—You see, Catherine? 22 exhibits model obedience no matter the circumstances, you’d do well to follow his lead—and grits her teeth, fighting the sting of shame echoing out of that memory. Nothing about that poor sick 22 from the video says obedience to 06; no, she understands him far better than that. Desperation, sure. Necessity, probably. Loyalty, absolutely. He brought her back that day to save them both, nothing more.

Today, she will do the same.

(Obedience, the Director will say, a grudging acknowledgment in passing that would once have earned her a cookie and now simply falls hollow on uncaring ears. But 06 will think of that video shown in secret, of small 22 clinging to his dignity then and the 22 she carries unconscious through the black glass doors who fought her for the same, and she will look that bitch in her cold, soulless eyes and say, loyalty.)

It starts to snow as she starts to walk again, fat icy flakes brushing her face and melting where they kiss her skin, and she throws her head back and grins, determination flowing back into her with every careful step.

[ofinfinitedreams]

When Theo had suggested they stay at his brother's place whilst they were in town for the week, Summer couldn't hold back her delight. If she was honest with herself the blonde had the biggest crush on Xander, ever since she first met him and his brother all those years ago. As the time got closer for them to be there Theo canceled last minute, but that wasn't going to derail her plans. She could still have some fun and salvage her time spent there.

The sheer excitement she tried to hide as soon as she arrived was incredibly hard to do, giving him the warmest hug. Since she'd seen him last he had very much got even more ruggedly handsome, and extremely larger than she remembered. Much like herself had changd she'd gotten more curves which she was thankful for. The male population certainly took notice of her more. Summer had the most enjoyable evening conversing and catching up like old times, whilst they ate pizza chatting away til midnight. After she crashed in his spare room and undressed in her nightwear, tossing and turning as she tried to sleep. Thoughts of Xander were running rampant in her mind. Just the two of them alone in his house. Unable to sleep she found herself in the kitchen where she was sitting at the table wide awake. At the sound of his deep voice she spun around, a wry grin etched upon her features, "It would seem so," she answered playfully.

Summer's eyes widened in surprise when he moved closer, the feel of his lips pressed hard upon hers caused her eyes to flutter. The blonde had waited for what felt like eternity for this. A soft giggle emitted from her throat as he carried her to his room, her hands tightly around his neck.

A low hum of approval fell from her lips as he laid on her his bed, pulling down her bottoms leaving her exposed to his heated gaze. She nodded eagerly at his question. "I won't tell a soul," she breathed heavily as his strong hands gripped her ass, as his talented tongue lapped at her slick folds. "Oh fuck," she cried in pleasure whilst her fingers threaded through his dark locks. His words only ignited the fire that burned brightly inside her, as her hips bucked against his face. "I must be dreaming," she stated in delirium. "You've no idea how long I've wanted you...this" she confessed.

@ofinfinitedreams: 7 [M/F] || based on this. || meme.

Xander didn't expect his night to go like this. One minute he had gone to his kitchen for a glass of water and the next, he had Summer on his bed with his mouth between her legs.

When his brother, Theo, asked him for a place where he and his friend could crash in while in the city, Xander didn't hesitate to suggest his home. At the last minute, Theo couldn't make it due to an important exam but Summer did. And she was more than a nice surprise and a delight to have visit. Certainly, she was different from the last time he had seen her a couple of years ago.

Minutes after she arrived, Xander ordered pizza for the both of them and they spent a nice evening catching up until it was nearly midnight. After showing her the room she'd be staying in, he went to his own and tried to fall asleep but everytime he rolled to his side or the other, or on his back and closed his eyes, he'd see Summer in his mind. Groaning, he went to the kitchen for a glass of water but as he walked in, there she was; looking so incredibly delectable. "Trouble sleeping, too, hm?" He asked, amused.

But then the silence between them was deafening. "Fuck it," and with a couple of strides, he cupped her face and kissed her hard. His hands dropped to her sides loosely, allowing her to stop him if she wanted but when that didn't happen, he picked her up and carried her to his bedroom.

Laying her on the bed, he slid her pyjamas' bottoms down her legs, "not a word to Theo about this, understood?" Xander's lips turned into a smirk as he pulled her legs apart and held her up by her ass. First, his tongue did a single lap to her heat and again, then slipped it between her lips, moving it in an up and down motion; tasting her and wetting some of his chin and beard in the process with her arousal. "You taste so fuckin' good, Summer..."

[allthingskpopcentral]

Word of the Prey

Chapter 1 - Gut Feeling

Warnings: none really, some mention of blood and introducing characters

Pairing: OT7 x reader, reader x ???

Genre: Fantasy, Mystery, some eventual smut, Romance, VampireAU, UniversityAU

Word Count: 3.7k

a/n: This is my first time posting writing in years, but this plot has been in my head for months. I've finally gotten the courage to post.

Chapter 1 - Gut Feeling 

The feeling of wind blowing through your hair and the crying of a child can be heard in the distance. Something is pulling you towards it; you are drawn to the cries; who would let a child wander out into the darkness, you wonder to yourself. 

Suddenly you’re standing in the middle of the forest, and the cries have disappeared. You can only see the dim light gleaming from the moon overhead. The silence is cut when the trees beside you start to rustle, and a figure can be seen. Your eyes focus on the figure to see its face, and you can begin to see some features. They have a small nose for a more prominent face; as you get a clearer picture of their face, your attention gets pulled to a loud voice, “_____ we’re going to be late!” and banging. 

You sit up straight in bed, frustrated every night; for the past week, you have had the same dream that has haunted you since the night it occurred. The frustration is apparent on your face when you open the door to see an equally frustrated Jin standing at your door. “______ c’mon it’s the first day of the last semester for at least the next 20 years, get your shit together and let’s go,” he says as he walks towards the kitchen.

If only you could look at their face, you would know who turned you into the monster you are. 

University gets old after the tenth time. Like you needed the reminder of today. Initially, it was fun to learn about something new every few decades, but after a while, it gets boring; most things don’t change. Most professors have god complexes and expect their students to know the topic as well as they do, assigning a ridiculous amount of assignments and readings. It was no wonder students were suffering more than ever; the expectations for them were outlandish. 

You sigh and start getting ready before Jin comes back to your door in a worse mood questioning you on your tardiness. You enter the kitchen after getting ready, meeting both Jin and Yoongi standing with travel mugs filled with what you assumed to be coffee. “Here, take this it’s yours, I know you won’t make it through the day without it,” Yoongi mumbles, not completely awake. The smell of coffee fills your nose, and a small squeal comes from your mouth. “Yoon, what would I do without you,” you say, placing a small kiss on his cheek; his eyes roll, but a small tinge of pink spreads across his cheeks. You take a small drink from your coffee, and the warmness fills your soul. You look around. One person was missing; you smiled; you weren’t the only one running late this morning. 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry,” Hoseok yells as he comes flying down the stairs. You laugh at the tired look on his face, clearly lacking sleep. “Shit I’m already late for rounds, let’s go,” he says, grabbing his keys and the coffee from Jin’s hands. Before Jin had the chance to complain about his now lack of coffee, Hobi was slamming on the horn in the driveway. 

Everyone squeezes into the small car, Hobi cursing the slow traffic all the way to the university. The breaks squeal as he stops yelling at you all to get out and pulls back into traffic as Yoongi barely has the chance to close the door. While taking another drink from your coffee, you see Jin’s eyes glaring. Against your better judgment, you hand the travel mug to Jin, and without a second thought, he grabs it and waves goodbye as he runs to his class. 

Yoongi bumps your shoulder with his mug, motioning you to take it. Your eyes widen the Min Yoongi, the coffee addict giving you his coffee. Before he can change his mind, you grab the coffee. “Hey Kid, you good. It’s not really like you to be late like that,” he says, walking next to you. You take a swig of the coffee before you answer, “I had that stupid dream again; each time I feel like I’m getting closer to seeing his face, but each time I either wake up, or I get knocked out,” you say, rolling your eyes with frustration. Before he has a chance to say anything, you change the topic, bringing up the frantic cyclone that was Hoseok this morning. You would think his second time through a residency at the hospital would be a walk in the park. 

The university campus was filled with students, some were returning, and some it was their first day. The nervous energy surrounding them made it easy to tell who was new. It made you smile and brought back the memories of the first time you had stepped foot on a university campus over a hundred years ago. It was amazing to see how inclusive it had become with post-secondary. Not long ago, women weren’t allowed to attend university, and now there are departments dedicated to women’s studies. It brought warmth to you that things are changing for good, but the world is still far from perfect. 

Your class wasn’t set to start for another 30 minutes; Yoongi had already left for his lecture leaving you to sit on a bench outside the art building. The sun felt warm on your skin; this was your favourite time of year. The time between summer and fall when it is still warm, but the heat isn’t unbearable, and you can slowly see the leaves starting to change. Weirdly, it reminded you of home and your family. Thinking about your family made you feel strange. It had been almost 250 years since you lost them, and your life had been changed forever. It had been so long that their memory was becoming harder to remember. A wave of sadness falls over you; you can barely remember what they looked like; before you have a chance to think any further, you can hear someone calling your name. 

“______! Yah you fool how was your summer” the voice belonged to no one other than your only friend in your program Chris. You stood and opened your arms to his hug; you could feel his heart racing. You smiled. Chris was always a bundle of energy. He spun you around in a hug, and you couldn’t help but let the giggles spill from your mouth. Things with Chris were always exciting but friendly, even after your few hookups in the past year. You both made the promise that you both would stop if feelings become involved. When they did, you both concluded that your friendship was more important than taking the chance on a relationship. Chris was the only person that knew the truth about you besides the three boys you share a home with. 

Chris continues to tell you about his escapades from the summer, and at first, you were listening. Still, you got distracted by girl-stopping people showing them a picture of what you assumed to be her friend. You could hear the words, “have you seen her” your stomach sank to your feet; another missing student. Even with the semester just starting, there had been a trend last year, an alarming amount of exchange students from the universities in the area were going missing and never heard from again. 

“Are you even listening” Chris chimed through, interrupting your thoughts. “Yes I am, you were telling me about the orgy you were involved in this summer,” you replied, smiling. “Orgies,” he corrects you. You roll your eyes, it’s shocking to some to hear that sweet Chris is a hoe, but to you, this is a typical conversation as he lacks a filter. 

You and Chris waved goodbye to each other as you entered your class, an elective you needed to take to graduate, which you assumed to be a simple first-year course. You tuck yourself into the back corner of the lecture theatre, not wanting to engage in conversation with the over-eager first years. Right away, you can tell something is off, amongst the room, you could smell the nervousness and excitement expected in a room full of first-year students. But there’s something else that you don’t expect. You scan the room to see if you recognize any faces of known vampires in the area. There’s another vampire in the room. 

Every face looks new to you, and the scent seems to get stronger, but with so many people, you couldn't pinpoint who it belonged to. The idea of knowing that someone else in this large lecture theatre holds the same secret makes your stomach flip, but at the same time, it makes you nervous; the unknown makes you feel uneasy. Your eyes continue to scan the room, but your attention is brought back to the front of the room as the professor starts the lecture, and you have no choice but to pay attention. 

The class goes by quickly, the professor going over the course outline and letting everyone go to enjoy the day before classes start in full swing. There was still a pit sitting in your stomach, thinking about who may be the vampire in the sea of bodies. 

You make your way to the campus coffee shop ordering a coffee before sitting down to scroll on your phone until either Yoongi or Jin is out of class. Most of your days were short, with your only class lasting over three hours. Your scrolling is interrupted when you smell them again, this time, there were fewer people, but it didn’t help you narrow it down. You didn’t recognize anyone from your course, but you did notice someone looking in your direction discreetly. You made a note of their face and packed up your belongings, making sure to make eye contact with the stranger. 

Not long after leaving, you see Jin’s face among the crowd. You make your way over to him, giving him a slight nudge. He smiles “thanks for the coffee earlier, it was needed. That prof was a dick and had an actual lecture on the first day”. You nod to his words, your mind still occupied by the uncertainty from earlier. Like he was reading your mind “____, earth to ______? What is going on up there “ he questioned giving your forehead a poke. 

You shook your head at his words “there’s another vampire on campus and I don’t have a clue who it could be, I noticed it in my first-year course; there was too many people to know who it was,” you said, your voice sounding defeated. 

Jin gives your shoulders a slight squeeze “don’t worry too much, it’s probably someone we don’t know or someone new to town, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll keep an eye out in my classes.” His words do little to ease your worry, but for now, he’s right, there is nothing you could do except wait. 

The rest of the day went on without any problems, the three of you wait for Hoseok to pick you up. But you are far away from the conversation, your mind slipping to everything you had seen today. Yoongi complained about something from the course outline for one of his courses, saying it is unethical to have five thirty-page readings weekly. 

More students have gone missing, a new vampire on campus, and an awful feeling sitting in your stomach. 

Hoseok pulls up, beeping the horn twice to get your attention. You get in the front seat next to him and get a better look at his face, it’s panicked, and the feeling in your stomach gets worse. His face looks of pure exhaustion and worry. 

The car ride home was silent except for the soft music playing on the radio. Most of the young adults from out of town, your chest gets tight, something is wrong. You come to a stop at an intersection, and you look out the window and see the pole covered in missing pictures. 

Hobi pulls into the driveway, and everyone gets out, but he stays in the driver's seat. “Hoba, are you okay?” you question. He looks over; his eyes are glossy “another one of the residents went missing at work” there was a pause “that’s the third one in a year,” he whispers. “There’s another vampire on campus; I don’t know who it is,” you say quietly “something is going on; I can feel it.” 

You both join the others in the house; Jin is grabbing blood bags from the fridge, he knew the four of you are drained from the day. Before he has the chance to give it to Hobi, he had disappeared upstairs, Jin was about to say something, but you stop him giving him a look that Hobi needs to be alone. You take the blood bag from his hands, slicing the corner with your teeth and taking a drink from the bag. It has been a long time since you’ve had human blood, typically going after animals in the woods on the outskirts of town. With Hobi working at the hospital and another vampire together, they made a deal to take expired blood bags that would typically be thrown out but were still fit to drink. 

It didn’t taste the best, but it worked, and no one was harmed to get it. 

The events from the day still weigh heavy on your mind, you lay on your bed, closing your eyes and thinking to yourself. Your silence is broken by a slight knock on your door, and you see Yoongi’s head pop out. You pat the bed next to you, and he comes in with two glasses of whiskey, handing one to you. You take a swig feeling the burn from the alcohol. You wince slightly before taking another drink and looking at Yoongi sitting crossed-legged next to you. 

“So do you wanna talk about it” he started. You don’t respond, taking another drink from the glass and leaving barely any behind. Finishing the glass, you look at him and frown, telling him about the missing students and the new vampire. You shake your head, not ready to deal with the questions that were laying in his mind. 

You finished talking, and his face was in a scowl, he was thinking, and the combination was an awful mix. He held the same feeling you had; something was going on and bad. 

After talking for a while, both of you think aloud. Neither of you had any new answers to your questions but made more questions and worries. You say good night as he leaves, and your mind returns to the stranger you caught looking at you in the coffee shop. His arm is filled with tattoos stuck in your mind. He looked no older than 22, a child practically. You try to shake the feeling as you settle into your bed for the night, but as you fall asleep, the sense of dread looms around you, and you start to drift off. 

Sleep doesn’t keep you long; another nightmare wakes you suddenly, throwing you up from your bed. From under your door, you can see the slight glow downstairs; you weren’t the only one awake at this ungodly hour. 

Your feet stick to the cold floors as you enter the kitchen to see Hobi sitting in front of a cup of tea. His face wasn’t its usual vibrant self. Instead, he looked somber and drained of all emotion. No words are exchanged between the both of you. 

You take the seat across from him, and his eyes meet yours; neither of you has spoken, but there is a common theme between you both – dread. The two of you sit in silence, both drinking and not making eye contact. “It was one of my friends that went missing,” Hobi whispers, you move to sit next to him, running your hand up and down his back. “He was literally at rounds last week; I made fun of him because he was crushing on one of the nurses,” his voice trembles with each word, “_____, everyone who has gone missing lately hasn’t come back, I’m scared”. You pull him into a hug, holding him as you feel your shirt getting damp with his tears. You shush him as his words ring through your mind. 

The missing haven’t been found, they stay missing, and more keep disappearing, the majority of them from the universities in the area. It can’t be a coincidence, can it? 

Hobi’s tears slow after a while, and you help him back up to his room, going as far as tucking him into his bed and placing a small kiss on his forehead. Seeing Hoseok like this breaks your heart, he is the one who always brings energy to the room, and seeing him broken is crushing. 

You go back to your room, grabbing your computer, your curiosity was getting the best of you. Your search results are filled with the missing students in your area; someone had made a blog speculating that the missing students from different universities may be linked. The same blog noted that the number of people that have gone missing in the city has drastically increased over the past year, surpassing 20% more than the year before. Yet no one was talking about it; maybe they weren’t able to if they were forbad from speaking about them. 

Universities are famous hunting grounds with the constant flow of new potential victims. Your eyes are growing tired as you stare at the list of missing people. Could this be the work of a rogue group of vampires? The pit in your stomach makes you wonder if your hypothesis is correct but pray that you’re wrong and it’s unrelated. 

You lay in bed staring at the ceiling, begging sleep to take you away, being teased by the sounds of the soft snores of the others in the house. You sit up, looking out the window above your bed. The streets were empty, and the moon shone without a cloud in the sky, the stars had a twinkle to them, and at that moment, things seemed alright; the world seemed to be at peace. 

You were pulled back into reality as your phone vibrated, a missing alert for a high school student visiting the university. Almost as your body went into auto drive, you find yourself outside of Yoongi’s room in the basement, your knuckles go to hit the door, and a wave of doubt flows through your mind; debating whether or not to knock you go to walk away, and the door opens, and a half-awake Yoongi stands in front of you. Goosebumps cover your skin, and the pit in your stomach becomes the heaviest it’s been. 

“Why are you standing outside of my door, I could smell you through the door, you reek of anxiety,” he grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Yoongi notices the change in your body language and guides you into his room, seating you on the edge of his bed. You can feel the tears brimming in your eyes. The tears silently fall down your face as each wave of emotion rides through your body, the anger, the sadness, the anxiety, the stress, and the uncertainty. 

You and Yoongi sit in silence for what feels like hours, his hand rubbing small circles on the small of your back, waiting for when you were ready to talk. For a second, you thought he had fallen back asleep, but you look over to see him looking at you, watching your face for any response. 

You take a deep breath before saying a word; you must tell someone. 

“I think it’s vampires that are taking people, all the missing students. Another student went missing this one was still in high school but she was on a tour of the university.” You say as you start to feel the anger vibrate through your body. “A fucking kid this time, there’s been over a hundred students go missing between here and the city in the last six months, and only twenty have been found.”

Yoongi watches as you pace the length of his room, each time you run your hands through your hair, you tug at the roots in frustration. “Why isn’t anyone doing anything, why aren’t people looking for the students” you question. Up till now, Yoongi hasn’t said a word, listening to what you have to say. His silence, while eerie, was reassuring as his silence typically meant he was thinking.

Before any other words are shared, Yoongi pulls you into an embrace and holds you tight. The silence was still shared till suddenly you hear his words inside your mind “We’ll figure this out; you don’t have to go through this alone.” A shiver runs down your back, and the tears have returned but in the form of silent sobs. Yoongi guides you to his bed, making you lie down; going around to the other side, he pulls you onto his chest as he runs his fingers through your hair. “Try to sleep, love,” he whispers. You fall into a deep sleep with tears staining your cheeks. 

Yoongi doesn’t sleep; his mind races to all the possibilities as to why the students have disappeared. Does it have anything to do with the new vampire that you mentioned or a rogue group feeding as they pleased? A friend told him about it; at the time, he thought nothing of it, but now he fears it’s much bigger than the four of you could manage. Similar to you, Yoongi feels uneasy, but to him, it feels like he’s having déjà vu, a similar instance that happened on the other side of the country in a bigger city. 

[powerful-niya]

An angsty The Last/Blank Period!NaruHina idea: the damage Neji dealt to Hinata's heart begins to take its toll on her and Naruto is worried about her heart health.

Hey there again! I'm really sorry for the delay on your request! Life's been throwing a lot at me lately. I have been pretty busy.

But I've finally finished your request. I tried to keep it short, haha. I hope this is what you were hoping for!

Thanks again for your patience!

Word Count: 1.3K

Promise

Soft morning light filtered through the bedroom curtains, bathing Naruto and Hinata's room with a gentle, warm glow. It played across their walls, creating fleeting patterns of light and shadow as dawn gradually unfolded over the village of Konoha.

Naruto sat awake, quietly perched on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on his lover peacefully sleeping beside him. Her delicate features were softened by the gentle morning light, a tranquil expression gracing her porcelain face as she lay curled under the comfort of the covers.

Hinata.

Naruto smiled as he observed her. He was still adjusting to having someone share his life, still adjusting to waking up each and every morning and finding his beloved hime right beside him once again. Having been alone for most of his life, having her there, knowing they now shared a home together, was a welcomed change.

It was so new, comforting yet unfamiliar. 

But he cherished it. He cherished it all. 

These quiet moments, where he could simply watch her sleep, observe the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and see her at peace, filled him with a sense of tranquility and gratitude he hadn't known before.

Naruto couldn't resist; he reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against Hinata's cheek, marveling at the warmth of her skin beneath his touch.

But his expression tightened slightly as he noticed the peaceful look on Hinata's face suddenly vanish, replaced by a deep frown and scrunched features. Her body began to squirm restlessly—a pattern he occasionally witnessed during her sleep.

He couldn't forget it.

Now, being so close, living together, he saw sides of Hinata he hadn't seen before. Like the turmoil that often gripped her during sleep, haunted by nightmares and sad dreams of the past.

Of Neji.

Months had passed since the ordeal with Toneri Ōtsutsuki, since the Hanabi Rescue Mission, and even years since the Fourth Great Ninja War had ended.

Years since Neji's sacrifice. His death. 

Neji's death had struck the entire village hard, but for Hinata, who had cherished him as cousin, friend, protector, and rival, it inflicted a pain deeper than any physical injury.

Naruto sensed she dreamed of him. Hinata never shared those dreams with him; she kept them all to herself. 

But Naruto knew. He always did.

Naruto could sense her restlessness at night, noting the hitch in her breathing and the sorrowful whispers of Neji's name in her sleep. 

Neji-nii-san," Hinata would whisper, and he would hear it.

Naruto frowned as he raced his eyes over her, memories flooding his mind—memories of Hinata's grief-stricken face at Neji's funeral, her quiet tears that continued long after the village had moved on. 

The impact of Neji's death lingered with Hinata, deep in her heart. It even echoed in the quiet spaces between their conversations, and in her dreams as she slept, a void that time could not seem to fill.

It hurt Naruto deeply to witness it, to see her suffering so much.

He sighed, brushing his finger across her cheek once more, gently tucking a strand of her midnight blue hair behind her ear.

"Oh, Hinata-hime," He whispered softly, feeling her sorrow deeply.

But it was then, Hinata began to stir, as if she sensed his presence, heard his voice. Her eyelashes fluttered open, revealing the gentle lavender hue of her eyes, clouded momentarily with traces of sorrow.

"N-Naruto-kun..." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, yet tinged with a weariness that tugged at his heart.

"Hinata-chan," Naruto murmured, his hand sliding down to gently rub her side beneath the sheets, "I-I’m sorry if I woke you. I didn’t mean-"

"N-No, you didn't wake me. It's just..." She trailed off with a sigh.

Naruto frowned, "You…haven't been sleeping well lately, hime," He pointed out, more stating than asking, "I'm worried," He added, studying her face, so familiar yet now tinged with a quiet sadness he couldn't ignore.

Hinata shook her head, a faint, forced smile flickering on her lips, though Naruto could see the shadows in her eyes and hear the rapid thud of her heart.

She rubbed her right eye gently, trying to dispel the lingering sleep that was in them, "It's n-nothing, really. I-I'm fine." She replied, but the tremor in her voice was unmistakable, something she hadn't intended.

Naruto's frown deepened as he sense his lover's obvious lie. His hime was never good at lying.

He reached out to gently take her hand, "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

His frown deepened when she remained silent. 

Hinata just lied there, staring off into the distance. 

He sighed again.

Naruto knew more than anyone the pain of emotional scars. He had carried his own for years, and dealed with their weight alone. He could still remember how his scars gnawed at him, consumed him. 

But he found that leaning on others, having the support of his comrades, those he aimed to protect, had helped him heal. Now, seeing Hinata struggle, and seeing her so down, stirred an urge in him to protect her from further pain, to be there for her. 

Her heart couldn't handle this alone. Keeping her pain inside would only make things worse.

Naruto leaned in close, the bed softly creaking under his weight, "You've been through so much, Hinata-chan," He whispered gently, his gaze steady, "But you don't have to carry it all alone, hime. I'm here for you, always."

"Oh, N-Naruto-kun," Hinata murmured, her eyes softening with gratitude, those words filling an emptiness she hadn't realized was there. They were words she never knew she needed to hear. Naruto's words. 

She met his warm blue eyes, her lavender eyes shimmering with unshed tears, "It's Neji-nii-san," She admitted quietly, "His loss... it still hurts sometimes, even after all these years."

Her lips trembled, tears threatening to spill over, "I miss him, Naruto-kun. I miss him so much."

"I know," Naruto nodded gently, running his thumbs across her knuckles, "It's okay to miss him, to feel the pain when you think of him. He was your cousin, our comrade. His absence hurts me too." Naruto whispered, bowing his head, his short blonde hair shifting softly. 

"But I don't like it when you keep it all inside, Hinata-chan. Keeping that pain bottled up—it's not good for you, not good for your heart," Naruto said, shaking his head. He reached out, placing his other hand gently over her heart, feeling its erratic beat beneath his touch.

Naruto's expression grew a bit more serious, his brow furrowing, "Promise me, Hinata-chan," He insisted firmly, "that you'll share everything with me. The pain, the grief, the dreams—promise me, you won't hide it from me anymore, okay?"

"Oh, I-I'm sorry, Naruto-kun," Hinata whispered, shaking her head as she sat up on the bed, gently cupping his whiskered cheeks. Naruto leaned in to her touch, his hand rising to cup her own cheek. 

Hinata frowned, her voice trembling slightly, "I just didn't want to bother you. I just-"

Naruto shook his head, "You're never a bother to me, Hinata-chan. Please, don't ever think that."

"I-I'm sorry," She apologized again, "I didn't mean to keep this from you." She paused, shaking her head again.

"I-I promise, Naruto-kun," Hinata continued softly, "I won't keep it hidden anymore." She looked up, meeting his gaze, "Th-The pain, the grief, the dreams," She whispered, her lavender eyes twinkling as she stared into the eyes of her beloved.

"I promise I won't hide any of it from you," She affirmed, feeling a sense of relief wash over her as she watched Naruto smile warmly, a look of reassurance spreading across his whiskered face.

"Thank you, Hinata-chan," Naruto whispered before leaning in to give her a tender kiss, sending a wave of warmth through her entire body, soothing her heart. 

Just what she needed. 

The kiss was soft, gentle, and sweet, the two pulling back after a moment.

Naruto then drew nearer to Hinata, adjusting their position so they were nestled closely under the sheets. Her head rested on his chest, where she could feel his strong heartbeat pulsing against her cheek.

Hinata sighed in bliss. 

"Now hime," Naruto whispered, "tell me everything."

[supernovafics]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇

pairing: dylan o’brien x best friend fem!reader

summary: in which dylan has been your best friend for as long as you could remember. your busy lives and schedules may have pushed both of your lives in vastly different directions as you’d gotten older, but somehow you two would always be led back to your hometown, and each other, during the holidays. however, one moment causes all of that to change. 

warnings: angst (what else is new), some fluffiness, mentions of past trauma (the maze runner incident), existential crises, explicit language

word count: 3.6k words

author’s note: idk why i decided to write something christmas related in the summer but it happened lmao (also i feel like it’s slightly important to mention that this takes place in 2016)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The rocks being thrown at your window were not what woke you up. Instead, you had been lying awake for hours; getting little to no sleep was something that you had become used to at this point.

However, on this specific night— or morning, depending on how one looked at it— you were glad that your sleep had been restless once again because it made it easy for you to get out of bed and walk to your window when the rocks began hitting it.

There was really no need for you to push open the curtains and check who was doing the throwing because, of course, it was Dylan. Ever since he moved onto your street in Hermosa Beach in middle school and the two of you easily became friends, he was the only person that would ever wake you up in the middle of the night with the soft pings of rocks, especially on this specific day at this specific time.

You waved at him and gestured that you would be down in a moment. You slipped on a random pair of sweatpants along with a hoodie and then placed the Christmas gift that you bought for him in the pocket. The item was small enough to fit in the not too big pocket of your hoodie; however, it did awkwardly protrude a bit.

All of this was a sort of unspoken tradition that the pair of you had developed over the many years you’d known each other. Meeting at five in the morning on Christmas day, walking to the beach that was only a few blocks away from your respective childhood homes, and exchanging Christmas gifts with each other as you both watched the sunrise. It started when you were in ninth grade, and you hadn't missed a year since, not even when the ending of high school pushed your lives in vastly different directions, especially since Dylan graduated a year before you and was almost immediately thrust into his acting career.

But, it didn't matter that Dylan's career took off, and you eventually decided to go to college in Santa Barbara, because, no matter what, you both would always come back for the holidays.

When you opened your front door and saw Dylan lingering by the sidewalk no more than ten feet away, you were quick to go toward him and pull him in for a tight embrace. It actually hadn't been too long since you’d last seen him, maybe only five or six months, but for some reason, it still felt as if the last time he was in front of you was last December.

"Hey," Dylan breathed out in a short greeting, his arms wounding around your waist.

“Hey to you too," You responded, a small smile gracing your features when you both pulled away, and you looked up at him. "How have you been?"

It was quiet for a few moments as you waited for him to answer the question, but eventually, you were met with no verbal response, and instead, Dylan simply shrugged. The short action made your heart constrict in the most painful way, and it was then that you noticed the light remnants of a scar peeking out from behind his dark hair that covered the majority of his forehead. You were quick to peel your eyes away from the scar and instead cast them down at your Converse-covered feet, but that didn't stop the memories from quickly coming back.

The Maze Runner accident had happened back in March, but to you, and you knew to Dylan as well, it felt as if it was just yesterday, especially considering the fact that he was still dealing with the unavoidable repercussions from it.

"Wanna walk?" You asked, finally looking up at him once again.

Dylan nodded. "Yeah."

A silence that could only be deemed as comfortable lingered between them as the two of you took the five-minute walk to the beach and sat down side by side on one of the random empty benches.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," Dylan said as he handed a present over to you. The present was messily wrapped, something that was not at all uncommon when receiving gifts from Dylan, and the sight of it made you smile.

Before you unwrapped the gift, you pulled out the one you had for him and handed it over. "Merry Christmas, Dyl."

The nostalgic sound of wrapping paper ripping could be heard as you tore into your gift. A simultaneous shocked and happy yelp emitted from your lips when you held up a Harry Potter t-shirt. But, it wasn't just any Harry Potter t-shirt; it was one with a version of the Goblet of Fire movie poster on it, which was your all-time favorite movie in the series.

"Holy shit."

"It's the original merch that was sold when the movie came out," Dylan told you. He hadn't opened his gift yet, and instead, he was playing with the green bow placed on top of it; he always liked to see your reaction first.

You looked at Dylan and then back down at the shirt as you processed his words. "Wow, double holy shit. I would put it on if it wasn't freezing right now."

Dylan laughed a bit. "Very understandable."

“Why haven't you opened yours yet? I'm dying to see what you think of it," You said. You were now holding the t-shirt to your chest, genuinely feeling like a little kid on Christmas morning again.

Dylan finally began unwrapping your gift to him, and when all of the paper was peeled off, there was a square box. "Aw, a plain white box. Thank you so much. This is what I've always wanted."

You rolled your eyes and playfully bumped him with your shoulder. "Ha ha. Please save all of these bad jokes for your stand-up act; I can't wait to boo you off the stage along with everyone else."

"So, what I'm hearing is you don't think that becoming a comedian is going to be the next best career move for me?" Dylan asked. He attempted to make the question sound as serious as possible, but there was a joking undertone to his words.

You bit back your laughter. "Please just open the box already so I don't have to hurt your feelings by truthfully answering that question."

"Okay, we'll circle back to that topic later," Dylan smiled and then finally opened the white box to reveal a slightly faded baseball. When he picked it up, he ran his thumb over the black signature written on it. "Now it's my turn to say holy shit."

You could feel yourself smiling at his awestruck reaction, and you wondered if that was what you looked like when you saw the Harry Potter shirt. The baseball was signed by one of the players of the New York Mets that had been Dylan's favorite player when he was younger, and he'd even caught a ball hit by him when he went to a game before he moved to California.

"I've had this idea for years, but I could never find a baseball signed by him," You began explaining, the excitement clear in your voice. "But, last month, someone named Paul Todd posted this on eBay and I immediately bought it. God bless that old man. It's completely authentic and everything."

Dylan was quiet for a few moments as he simply looked at the baseball in his hands, a small joyful smile on his face, and it made you happy to see him so genuinely elated with the present.

"This just made my gift look like shit," He finally said, a light laugh falling from his lips.

"I have always been the superior gift giver. I think that's my hidden talent," You responded with a playful smirk.

Dylan placed the baseball back in its box and then looked at you. "Next year you will receive the best gift ever from me. It will completely top everything that you have ever given me."

"You're saying that as if I should feel upset about receiving a trip to Italy as a Christmas gift."

"A trip to Italy?"

"In my strong opinion, that would be the best gift ever," You said with a smile and then looked down at the t-shirt, which was now in your lap. "But, anyway, I don't think this gift is shit. I'm in love with this shirt already."

Dylan let out a joking, overexaggerated sigh in relief. "Phew, okay, since you think this gift is great, that means I don't have to do the trip to Italy next year."

"What? Did I say I like this t-shirt? I hate it! Harry Potter actually su— Fuck, I can't say this with a straight face," You laughed, and Dylan was quick to join in with you.

The joking statements leading up to the laughter hadn't even been the funniest things ever, but it didn't matter because this was probably the hardest you had laughed in a while, and you were both glad and unsurprised that it was with one of your favorite people in the entire world.

You missed joking around and laughing with him. You missed simply being with him.

Eventually, the laughter died off, but there was still a smile planted firmly on your face. You looked ahead at the darkness in front of you and the ocean that looked completely black; it was still kind of early, so the sun hadn't begun to rise just yet. Your back pressed against the wooden bench, and you let out a small sigh, your head finding Dylan's shoulder as you leaned against him.

"How have you been?" You asked him, your words coming out both soft and slightly quiet, and before the mood became too serious with your question that was nothing but serious, you attempted to lighten it. "And please no shrugs as a response this time. I don't wanna get a headache due to my head bouncing off your shoulder."

Dylan let out a breath of a laugh at your final statements but refrained from answering the question for a few moments.  

After what felt like forever, he sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "I honestly don't know. My mind has felt so fucked lately, thinking about everything. I swear I've been feeling every feeling known to man these past months."

"What are you feeling right now? In this moment?"

"I'm really happy with you. This is probably the only normal and familiar thing I've experienced in a while. But, of course, there's still that confused feeling in the back of my mind revolving around everything else." He paused for a brief moment before continuing, his next words came out quieter. "I don't even know if I want to go back to acting."

You lifted your head off his shoulder and looked at him as you pulled his hand into yours and gave it a light, reassuring squeeze.

"No matter what you decide. I'll be right there to support you," You told him and then added a "bro" at the end of her sentence along with a small smile. Whenever things became too deep in a conversation you two were having, one of you would always throw a "bro" or "dude" in there to bring some playfulness to the mood.

The corners of Dylan's perked up a bit. "So, you'll support me when I decide to become a comedian?"

You were unable to stifle your light laughter. "Yes, fine, fuck it. I'll be the loudest one laughing at all of your shows."

Dylan squeezed your hand back because he knew exactly how reluctantly true your words were. "Don't worry, I promise not to put you through that."

"Thank you."

"So, how have you been?"

"No."

"Oh, come on," Dylan said as he playfully poked your side. "I'm not gonna be the only one exposing my feelings."

You sighed and then hesitantly nodded. "Okay, okay."

The truth was you had been far from good lately. Your life was moving, but for some reason, you felt like you weren’t moving with it.

You felt stuck.

Stuck in a confusing mindset where you had absolutely no idea what you wanted to do with your life. You thought that identity crises usually happened in high school, but apparently, yours had come five years late. But, you knew that this delayed identity crisis had been your own doing because you had convinced herself that you would figure everything out once you were in college; and you were both lucky and smart enough to receive a full ride to UCSB.

And although you were finishing up your Master's degree in Creative Writing and had a TA job at the university with the department, which was the reason behind why you could even pay for the Master's program, something in your "should be great" life simply did not feel right.

However, you felt absolutely terrified to say any of that out loud because admitting it would only finally make that statement a wholehearted truth, instead of just a spiraling thought in your mind. And even though Dylan was your best friend and you knew you could tell him anything and not receive any sort of judgment, it still felt hard to let the words leave your lips.

You thought about the way to perfectly word everything, but nothing felt right. You pulled your hand away from Dylan's and covered your face as you let out an exasperated breath. "I can't figure how to say it all."

Dylan placed an arm around you and then mimicked the same question you had asked him not too long ago. "What are you feeling right now? In this moment?"

You would have both laughed and smiled at the fact that he was using your exact words if the current circumstances were different.

"Scared," You finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what the fuck I wanna do anymore, and actually, I don't think I really ever did. I only went to college because of the scholarship, and I convinced myself that I would figure my life out when I got there. And for a while, things felt right because I found creative writing and genuinely enjoyed it, but something doesn't feel right anymore. And I actually do like school. Because it's stable, and I am doing things, even if it's taking a dumbass test. But, it's about to be over soon, and I have no idea what I'm gonna do."

Your words were coming out like vomit, and nothing could stop it because finally, everything you had been feeling for so long was out of your head and put into the open.

"And don't get me wrong, I do love to write, but I don't know, I just can't see myself doing it for the rest of my life," You admitted and then let your next words come out quietly. "Honestly, I can't see myself doing anything. I'm so unhappy here."

You did not say it aloud, but you didn't think you were ever fully content there. Aside from Dylan and your parents, you never truly liked California. You had grown up there all your life, and although there were millions of people that adored the state, you felt the exact way someone from a state like Wyoming probably felt.

Dylan did not verbally respond to your long confession at first; instead, he simply pulled your confused and stressed self in for a hug, and you let out the simultaneous sigh and breath that you had been metaphorically holding in for years at this point.

"Maybe you should take a break," Dylan finally said; his arms were still around you, an action that made you feel completely comforted. "Right after high school, you went straight to college, and I don't think you've ever really taken a break to really think about what you actually want. Like, maybe, it's becoming a zookeeper."

Your laugh was slightly muffled by the fact that your face was pressed into the warmth of Dylan's chest. "Zookeeper?"

"I don't know," He laughed too. "You said you would support me in whatever the fuck I decide to do, and I'll do the exact same for you."

Somehow a smile found its way on your face. "A zookeeper and a comedian. What a fucking dream team."

Another laugh fell from Dylan's lips. "The best fucking dream team."

"But, honestly, I wish I could've known sooner that this is how you've been feeling. I would've been telling you to slow down so long ago, but you seemed content with everything," Dylan told you and gave you another light squeeze. "Please take a break and don't stress yourself out over the future when your next semester is over. Just relax for the first time. You can even come stay with me in LA for a little bit if that's where you wanna take your break. I'll be here for you, Y/N. Always."

Something about his words hit you hard. The wholehearted honesty and sincerity behind his statement shouldn't have surprised you, but it did. And the worry he had for you resembled the same concern you had for him when the accident happened. You two were best friends, so it should not have been a shock that you would worry about each other, but still, in that moment and for you, it was shocking because it felt like so much more than just that.

"Me too," You whispered, finally responding to his previous statement.

The long embrace came to an end with you being the one to pull away; however, you did not pull away far enough for you both to become completely detached from one another. Dylan's arms were still around your waist, and yours were still around the nape of his neck, and your faces were dangerously close. Your hand somehow took on a mind of its own as it reached around and cupped Dylan's cheek. The miniscule confusion and tickle of panic that began to prick at the back of your mind because of the action were not enough to make you pull away.

The slight way that Dylan leaned into your soft touch was the catalyst for you to take the leap and lean in the tiniest bit to close the small distance between the two of you, your lips almost too easily finding his. The inward sigh of contentment you emitted when Dylan almost immediately kissed you back made you realize that kissing him was the one thing currently happening in your life that actually felt right.

Later, when thinking back to that specific moment, you would wonder if that "rightness" had always been there between you both.

However, that right feeling, which was both comfortable and familiar, was quickly replaced with dread and angst, at least on your part. Your mind was beginning to fully catch up with your actions, and it immediately told you that the current action was both bad and stupid, and there were many, many reasons that proved that.

Maybe there were moments where a younger, and even present-day, you did want more to happen between you and Dylan, but you would always push that thought away because you knew that your and Dylan's friendship was so much more valuable.

And then it was the fact that your lives were nothing alike. Even though you were immensely confused about where your life was going, you could say for certain that it wasn't going in the same direction as Dylan's; an acting career that he genuinely loved and enjoyed too much to truly give up. Something deep down told you that, and you could feel the truthfulness behind the thought. The holidays were the only time your lives would truly intersect.

You abruptly pulled away, not just from the kiss but from Dylan's body entirely, moving to the edge of the bench you were on. Your hands covered your face in nothing but pure embarrassment and regret, and you wished that you could take back the last minute and a half of your life. And you also absolutely hated that you couldn't help but notice how much colder your body felt now that it was away from Dylan's.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry. Fuck. That kiss— it was a mistake. I'm really sorry." Your words came out rushed and fumbled, and it probably did not make much sense, but you just hoped that there was at least a little bit of coherency with them.

As much as you wanted to look at Dylan, you refused to do so because you knew that you would only see the regret you were feeling written clear across his face.

"Hey, it's okay, Y/N. Everything's fine. Don't worry," You heard him say but could hear the uncertainty in his voice as if he really didn't know if everything truly was fine. And you knew that it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

The holidays were the only time your lives would truly intersect, and you had just completely ruined that.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know your thoughts <3

((((already potentially thinking about doing a part 2 to this….. but idk…))))