#here are some tags to go through while your here

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

First, I just wanna say HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! 🎂🎊❤️ Second, I would like to request for your birthday event a Law🩺 x fem reader with the prompt, "What if I kissed you right now? Would you stop me?". Add as much smut as you want please 😜🫠🫣 (Also maybe for a birthday present for me too since it will be soon😁)

I'm soooo, so sorry this didn't come out in time of your birthday! 😭 I started it in time, but then didn't get to finish it. I set myself to finish this today, so here it is. I do hope you enjoy this one, I had fun with it! 😏

Source for pic

First 🔞

Word Count: 3851

Tags: fem!reader; first time; vaginal sex; fingering; inexperienced!Law; virgin!Law

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You showed your captain your intent to kiss him, but instead of kissing you back, he fled. Resigning yourself to a rejection hurt, but what if his reaction had nothing to do with rejection, and all to do with inexperience?

|Masterlist|

Divider by @cafekitsune

It had become sort of a ritual between the two of you. Law read while sitting at his desk - medical journals, scientific papers, or comic books - and you sat on a little couch in the corner of his office, out of his way, but still near him. A book in hand and a focused expression on your face - whether it was romance, adventure, horror or, sometimes, even one of Law’s precious medical books. 

More often than not, the focused expression was only on your face because you were trying so hard not to get lost in your captain’s presence. Even just by sitting still, he commanded the room. He didn’t have to speak to own every silence, nor did he have to be watchful to own every shadow. This room was his, you were merely in it.

And that was extremely fascinating to you.

There had been times when you were bolder with your attention, actively closing the book you were perusing and just staring at him, deadpan. But he would never acknowledge you, even when you were sure he knew exactly what you were up to. 

You didn’t care. You were too lost in the way his lips dipped with focus, or how his long, slim fingers intertwined when he was reviewing a passage. The way he deepened his frown when something was amiss, or how his eyebrows relaxed when something made sense. The way he ran his fingers through his hair or absentmindedly twirled his hat on his index finger. 

You were fascinated. He was fascinating. 

And you were at the tipping point. You needed this man, badly. 

You had tried subtle ways of showing him you were interested: touching his arm, twirling your hair, giggling at everything he said - that had been a fun week! When Law decided to run a full check-up to figure out what the hell was wrong with you, you stopped your subtle efforts. Maybe you needed to be a bit more blunt. So you then tried to actively use lame pick-up lines and telling him outright how interested you were. All of it flew past his head and, instead, was picked up by Penguin and Shachi, who decided to make fun of you for it - that had been another fun week!

If you were anybody else, you would have given up by now, clearly getting the hint that he wasn’t interested in anything romantic. But you were stubborn to a fault, and the fact that your captain hadn’t fully rejected you was the deciding factor for your next move. Because if he didn’t have feelings for you, he wouldn’t put up with your presence in his office, right? He would’ve ‘shambles-ed’ you out of there in the blink of an eye. 

So, this was a do-or-die situation. You were going all in.

The lights were always dimmed in his office, except for two lamps - one by your side, the other by his desk - so the ambiance was already intimate. You had put on some revealing clothes, making full use of your free time to shed the boiler suit since you weren’t ‘on the clock’, and you had downed an entire cup of chamomile tea for the nerves. This was happening. 

Other than a slightly longer glance your way when you asked if you could join him - as you always did - Law didn’t show any signs of being hot and bothered by your skimpy choice of clothes. This was already a bust.

Huffing, you didn’t even sit on the couch. You took small steps towards his desk while slowly counting to ten in your head to keep your cool. Law’s brow rose as he saw you approach, but his eyes swiftly returned to his book. Two more steps, and you were by his side.

“Captain.” You murmured, trying to sound alluring and cursing at the wicked croak that left your lips. 

Law lifted his gaze and turned his chair slightly to the side, so you used the opportunity to lean on his desk. He tilted his head, clearly curious as to what you were doing. You then leaned forward, lips inches away from his, and the strong scent of disinfectant and pine soothed you. It was his scent. “What if I kissed you right now? Would you stop me?” This time, your words came out in a sultry whisper, your breath kissing his lips in a soft promise.

Law locked eyes with you, something dark passing through them, and your breath hitched as he raised his hand to eye level. You prepared yourself for the surge of shock when he pressed his lips against yours, his hand already near your cheek… then he opened his lips and…

“Room. Shambles.” 

And with a soft plop, you were sitting in your bed. No Law, no kiss, no confession, just you, in a time-out.

“What the fuck?”

-*-

You’d had half a mind to stomp into his office and let him know that what he had done was not acceptable, but you had let it slide. That was almost a week ago, and you still hadn’t spoken to Law since. 

When you went by his office, he wasn’t there; when you went by the sick bay, he had just left; it seemed that every time you tried to enter a room he was in, he was suddenly gone. Almost as if he could disappear in the blink of an eye. Which he did. So you knew he was avoiding you. 

At first, you felt slighted. A simmering rage burning beneath the surface since you had, after all, put all of your effort into seducing him, only to make a fool of yourself. You deserved an explanation!

But as time went by and he didn’t even make his presence known to you, your anger slowly turned into hurt and then to sorrow. It was bad enough that whatever you felt for Law wasn’t reciprocated, but it was even worse that he didn’t even want to see you to clear the air.

That was what stung the most.

So, you stopped trying. You stopped looking for him or trying to find him. You’d gotten the message loud and clear: Law wasn’t interested. 

But what was even worse than that was that you actually missed his company. Even if he was silent most of the time.

-*-

You still read, but now you were doing it in your own room, actually reading and understanding the words on the pages in front of you instead of being unfocused and lost in your captain. 

It was all so lonely. 

Tonight, you were reading a boring medical journal. It reminded you of Law, so you even started to mutter some of the words in the book because that’s what he did sometimes when he was trying to memorise or grasp something, and it felt familiar. You were lying on your belly, the book held in front of your face as you leaned on your elbows, wearing the most bored and sad-puppy expression.

Until a familiar blue light enveloped you and, with a light tug on your stomach, you fell face-first - or book-first? - into your captain’s lap. 

“Fuck!” He exclaimed as you scurried up, trying to sit, still dazed at what had just happened.

“Captain?” 

“I thought you were sitting down! I didn’t expect you to fall on me.”

“What?”

His ears and face were red as he helped you sit. Then, you took a look around and gasped. You had never been here before, this was his room. 

“Is that a medical journal?” He had calmed down a bit and pointed at the book in your hands. Now, it was your time to blush.

“Yes.” You mumbled between your teeth. “Why am I here?” You huffed in exasperation. As much as you wanted to reconnect with Law, the feeling of rejection was still very fresh and aching against your chest. 

“I… I brought you here.”

You stared at him, deadpan. Was he being serious or making a joke? With Law, it was hard to tell sometimes. But you didn’t say anything, and he continued with a bit more bravado this time.

“I brought you here to apologise for my behaviour this past week.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you raised your chin, trying to prove that you were unbothered by the situation. “Go on,” you urged. 

“I was scared.”

“What?”

The great Surgeon of Death? Scared of you? Was he making up excuses? Did he not think you were strong enough to handle rejection?

“I–I like you! And… I’ve never…” Law blushed deeply, a crimson red hue spreading adorably from his nose to his cheeks and up to his ears. You held your breath as your lips parted in a surprised ‘o’.

“Kissed someone?” You coaxed softly.

Law sighed profoundly, his hand running over his face before he closed his eyes and decided to just spill it. “Not that. I’ve kissed people. I just never had intercourse and… well… you… I… damn it! I want to! With you!”

He seemed so awkwardly embarrassed by the whole situation that you did your best to suppress the sweet smile that threatened to escape your lips. He hadn’t rejected you because he didn’t care, he rejected you especially because he cared. 

Tilting your head to the side you forced him to look into your eyes as you reached for his hand, tentatively entwining your fingers with his lithe ones, all previous anger forgotten after his sudden confession. “It’s okay, Captain. We don’t have to do anything.”

Law stared at your intertwined hands for a moment, and when his amber gaze returned to you, it was dark with desire. “But I want to do everything.” Your breath hitched as the grip of his hand increased. He tugged softly, pulling your body towards his, and you didn’t resist.

His lips hovered near yours, but you didn’t press them together like you wanted to, you were giving Law time for him to do this his own way. “What was it you said? What if I kissed you right now, would you stop me?” 

Law’s raspy voice sent tingles down your spine, gathering indecently in your core. You leaned in closer, lips brushing ever so slightly with his while you shook your head. “Not only would I not stop you,” you placed your free hand on Law’s thigh, and he sucked in a breath. “I would also indulge you.”

With an unrestrained groan, Law used his free hand to cup your nape and pull you against his lips. His kiss did not seem inexperienced at all. Law pressed firmly, first, freeing the hand that was entwined with yours and placing it on your waist, bringing your body closer to his. Then he parted his lips and licked your lower one tentatively, asking permission to enter. 

With a wanton moan, you melted into his embrace and into his kiss, lips parting and tongues meeting in a wet, messy dance. 

It wasn’t enough.

Law pulled you even closer, so you straddled him, your knees supported against the mattress as your core frictioned against his length. With a gasp, you pulled back, neck arching as a ripple of pleasure coursed through you.

You felt Law hesitate for a fraction of a second, but then he moved, pressing his lips against your throat and laying open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. “Is this okay?” He questioned, a slight - barely there - tremble in his voice. 

“Yes!” You breathed, your hand climbing to grip his hair as you threaded your fingers through its silkiness, something you’d been meaning to do for a while and never could. Law pulled you in for another kiss and you guided his hand below your shirt - you needed to feel him touch you.

His kiss faltered for the briefest of seconds before his hand climbed, and he cupped your breast. You rolled your hips against his, feeling his hard cock rub against your clit, robbing another shameless moan from your occupied lips. 

Law parted the kiss with a heavy pant. “Fuck.” His hand found your nipple and he teased it very softly while his other hand rested on your thigh. 

“Wait.” You murmured, and when he looked at you with panic in his eyes, you regretted your poor choice of words. “Just let me get this out of the way. Don’t stop what you’re doing.” Then you removed your pyjamas shirt, baring your upper body to him.

Law gulped, and his jaw clenched as his eyes devoured you. 

“Like what you see, Captain?” You teased, trying to ease some tension so he could enjoy the experience and not be so focused on what he was doing right or wrong. When he nodded, you guided your hand to your free breast, your eyes never leaving his as he followed your movements. “Like this.” Then you showed him, rolling your nipple with your thumb and index finger, pinching slightly.

Law mimicked your movements with his hand, and you bit back a satisfied groan. You removed your hand from your breast so you could gain some grounding, placing them on the mattress and arching your back, rolling your hips again to feel the sweet friction. 

He hesitated. You watched his calculating eyes consider possibilities before he leaned in and took your free nipple on his tongue. Your breathing became heavy as he sucked and nibbled, clearly enjoying the experience. 

He stopped his ministrations to stare at you, and for the first time, he looked unguarded, relaxed, even though he was visibly anxious, it was more in anticipation, than in fear. “The books explained women’s pleasure, but nothing compares to the real thing.”

You looked at him through lidded eyes, feeling your core throb incessantly. “Books?”

Law grinned, then wrapped one arm around your waist and flipped you, so your back was against the bed. “I’ve been doing research this past week.” Research? On sex? You had to suppress a chortle, your captain never did anything by half. “Let me see if I assimilated the subject thoroughly.”

With shaky hands, Law removed the bottoms of your pyjamas and your panties, all the while cursing between his teeth. Then his big hands pressed on your thighs and he looked into your eyes, waiting for permission. You nodded, and he urged you to open your legs, which you happily did. 

He became transfixed for a moment, watching your pussy leaking with desire until you spoke. “Captain! Are you just going to stare? Let me guide you.” You leaned on your elbows, ready to explain to him how to pleasure you so you could take him. 

He smiled at you and shook his head softly. Then he removed his shirt and you gasped at his tattoos. You’d seen them, he was never shy about displaying them. But actually watching them right in front of your nose had your breath hitching again. When Law removed his spotted jeans, you couldn’t help but stare at the bulge in his briefs. 

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” He mimicked your words, and you giggled. Then, he positioned himself between your legs, his hands climbing your thighs until they hovered over your pussy. 

With shaky hands, Law ran two of his fingers through your slickened folds, a sharp exhale leaving his lips as he observed you with clinical precision. He parted them and gulped. “Your clitoris. It has more than eight thousand nerve endings.” You arched your back, waiting for his touch, but he was still analysing and you were already burning up. “And it’s not just external.” Law splayed his hand on your lower abdomen, almost as if he could see what was underneath without the use of his Devil Fruit. 

Your breathing accelerated, and he continued. “Stimulation to the glans clitoris,” he used one finger to circle your nub tentatively, “activates the nerves, sending signals through the pudendal nerve straight to your brain.” He repeated the motion with his finger, and you moaned, throwing your head back. “Pleasurable signals.”

Clearly motivated by your reaction, Law alternated his gaze from your eyes to your core. “It’s sensitive to different kinds of stimuli, like friction,” Law rubbed your clit for a moment, and you bit your lower lip, hands gripping the sheets, “and pressure,” his fingers pressed harder while he changed the pace and direction, and you nearly lost it, pleasure already cresting, ready to snap. “If I stimulate it correctly, it should trigger deep pelvic contractions. Your heart rate increases, your pupils dilate, and pleasure will course through your body - an orgasm.”

“I–I’m coming, L–Law!” You cried out his name in abandon, arching your back and fisting the sheets. Law’s ‘lesson’ and his touch brought your climax out of nowhere, crashing unannounced with waves and waves of bliss. 

Law seemed fascinated by your reaction, the faint blush still remained on his cheeks. As you recovered from your orgasm, your eyes opening slightly, you saw him grinning. “Fascinating.”

“Are you going to quiz me afterwards?” You teased, and he laughed. 

“Maybe.” Then he leaned over your body and kissed you deeply, slotting himself in the middle of your legs while you let your hand explore his chest and abs. When your fingers reached the hem of his briefs, you pulled apart, looking into his eyes.

“You want to do this?” Law nodded, and you felt another slight shake of his hands. You helped him pull down his briefs, his lengthy cock springing free from its confines. Then you reached, touching him gently so he could understand how it felt to be touched by another person. 

His breathing became ragged, and his eyes darkened further. So he lined his tip with your entrance and exhaled another shaky breath. “The muscular tissue in your vaginal canal is designed to expand for penetration.” Law gulped, swallowing hard and preparing himself for what was about to happen. 

“After an orgasm, and because of our intense foreplay, you should be lubricated enough to accommodate me.” As if to prove a point, Law inserted two digits inside your hole, collecting slick and making you gasp. “It should facilitate–”

“Law, stop talking and start fucking me.” You breathed out, exasperated with all the teasing he was unwillingly causing you. 

Law’s grin was barely there, but he nodded and pressed the tip of his cock against your glistening hole. Never averting your gaze, he pressed forward, letting out a rumbling groan, his brows scrunching up as his mouth parted slightly. “Fuck.”

His hands gripped your hips hard, as if that action alone could ground him to earth. “I–If I recall correctly - fuck - it’s beneficial if I move slowly at first.”

You arched into him, a pleasurable moan leaving your lips, chased by a mirthful chuckle. “Trafalgar Law, you have got to be the only man who gives an anatomy lesson while losing his virginity.”

He groaned in agreement while slowly pulling out of you, then he watched in amazement as by rolling his hips, his length sank further into you. Lost in pleasure, you wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper and clenching all around him.

Law gasped, his hands trembling slightly as he lowered his forehead, letting it touch yours. His breath came out in heavy pants. “Try not to do that again, sweetheart, unless you want to end this prematurely.” 

Your heart swelled as you used your hands to push some strands of hair away from his eyes, feeling the sweat on his damp forehead. 

“Law. Just enjoy it. Don’t overthink it.” You cupped his face so he could stare at you. “You’re supposed to feel it with your body, not analyse every step. Okay?”

He nodded, his gaze still focused on you. His hands slithered from your hips to your waist, pressing harder as he kept nodding. “Just feel it. Okay, I can do that.”

And he did. He rocked back again, then thrust slowly into you. Law bit hard into his lower lip, brows scrunching in deep concentration. The slow pace was driving you insane, but you didn’t want to demand more, you wanted him to explore the feeling at his own pace. 

“Fuck, shit. You’re so warm and tight… fuck!” He panted hard, repeating the rolling motion as his hands gripped you harder. “Your pelvic floor is contracting, reacting to the stimulation and–”

“Yes, Captain! That’s what happens when a woman is aroused.” You grinned when he stared back into your eyes. “And you’re driving me insane.”

“The books didn’t– fuck…” He stopped his reasoning midway, taking a deep breath and finally thrusting a little harder, and a little faster. Your body responded immediately to that with a heavy moan. Law’s head fell forward as he nuzzled it against the crook of your neck, his voice coming out muffled. “I don’t think I can last much longer…”

You felt him slowing down again, clearly trying to make it last so he could pull an orgasm from you.

“Then don’t, Law. Let go.” You breathed into his ear, legs wrapping tightly around him to give him the confidence to finish it. 

But he was still letting his mind take over, clearly reviewing every book he had ever read, trying to find ways to last longer or to prolong your pleasure. So you rolled your hips against his, making sure he thrust deeper and harder, pulling him with your legs against you, trying to make him get lost in the feeling.

“Fuck! Don’t do that unless you want–”

“To make you come? Desperately.” You teased with a slight chuckle. “Let go, Law. Just feel me.” You urged, tangling your fingers through his hair, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. He pulled back enough to stare into your eyes, and then something snapped in him, almost as if he had turned off the part of his brain that was restraining him. 

His pace quickened, his thrusts became sloppier - desperate - while his breath came out in ragged, frantic pants. “Fuck–fuck!” You could feel him get lost in you, he was no longer overthinking, just feeling. The way his hands gripped you, the way he whispered your name between moans and curses, it sent another rush of pleasure through you and you clenched him hard.

And that was what undid him. Law stiffened, his hips jerking forward as he shut his eyes and let out a desperate groan, pleasure rippling through him. Then he collapsed forward, holding himself up by the elbows before he crushed you, letting his face bury against the crook of your neck again, warming your skin with his ragged breathing. 

You held him, pulling him closer to you as he was still buried within your walls. For a moment, the only thing breaking the silence was both your gasps and heavy breaths as you tried to regain your ground. Then Law lifted his head slightly, a dazed expression on his face, which made you smirk. 

“That was… wow.”

“Not bad for a first time, right, Captain?”

Law’s exhausted, satisfied chuckle as he let his head fall on your chest was all the answer you needed.

Tags: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan @walmartmihawk

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[lhseungs]

* ˚ ✰    — ‘ BOTTOMS UP ’  p.jongseong

. . . WARNINGS / TAGS: smut 18+, mdni, alcohol, fingering, masturbation, breeding sorta?, overstimulation. wc - 920+

. . . SYNOPSIS: it’s valentine’s day and jay has forgotten and left you at a party for the fourth time this week.

. . . A/N: last copy, paste, and rewritten from my old account i swear. but this is so ass oh my god i’m sorry. i just felt rushed to release something. new and better stuff coming soon!

fourth party this week, you counted. three parties your boyfriend, jay, dragged you to so you can keep him company. each party, he would ditch you to hang out with some other friends, leaving you to sit at the bar until he told you it was time to go home. this party hurt much more than the others, though. it was valentine’s day and he hasn’t even mentioned it to you.

needless to say, you were tired of this shit.

so for the fourth time this week, you sat at the bar with a cocktail in hand. no one dared speak to you, too scared of your overprotective boyfriend to even attempt to make conversation with you. you rolled your eyes as a man glanced in your direction then quickly averted his gaze, fear in his eyes.

it’s been two hours since jay left you. you spotted him across the room, a glass cup of clear liquid half empty in his hands. he laughed at something another friend said and it angered you. how can he just leave you on the side while he goes and has fun? enough was enough.

you stood up from your seat and marched up to your boyfriend. “jay, can you come here for a second?”

he glanced down at you with a smile. “of course, sweetheart,” he said, walking you to an empty corner of the room and putting his cup down. “what’s up?”

that’s when you noticed it. there was a certain glint in his eye that made you forget your words, your surroundings, and everything about this damn party. as you tried to form words, he looked down at your dress, how it exposed so much to him, yet still not enough, then he looked up and that glint didn’t disappear. his gaze alone sent shivers down your spine and instead of complaining about the party, you grabbed his collar and connected his lips to yours.

he tasted like vodka, no shocker. his soft lips melted into yours as he kissed you back, pushing you up against the wall to deepen it. his fingers trailed down your exposed arm, then back up. his lips left your and kissed up your jawline to your ears. “now, what’s the problem sweetheart?” he whispered.

“if you leave me alone at a stupid party again and forget about valentine’s day,” you said as he continued to trail kisses down your neck, “i’ll kill you.”

jay barked out a laugh. “will you now?” you didn’t answer as he bit your skin. “well then. care to escape this ‘stupid party’ with me then?”

you didn’t even need to answer. jay lifted you up and carried you bridal-style out the party, not even stopping to say goodbye to anyone. you giggled into his shoulder as he carried you through the streets and ran to your shared house. he set you down and quickly unlocked the door. after entering and locking, he carried you again to your bedroom and gently placed you down on the bed.

“so, my dear valentine,” he said while slowly kissing down you neck again and unzipping your dress. “how can i make it up for you?”

“please,” you whispered. “fuck me.”

your dress slipped off of your body and jay’s hand rubbed circles on your exposed thighs. “what was that, darling? say it a little louder.”

“fuck me.”

“again.”

“fuck me, jay.”

“i can’t hear you.”

you screamed, “please, please, fuck me, jay.”

he faced you with a smirk. his hands ceased caressing your thighs and instead pushed you down against the bed. “roll over, sweetheart. i’m gonna make you feel so good.”

you obliged and lifted your ass to jay’s face. he pressed a finger against your clothed cunt and laughed. “you’re already so wet and i haven’t even touched you.”

you whimpered at the feeling. “more, more.”

“don’t worry, darling,” he said as he pulled your panties down to your ankles, revealing your glistening cunt.

he inserted one finger in, pumping it slowly. then two fingers, increasing his pace. you moaned loudly on the bed at the feeling, and jay took out his cock from the restraints of his pants and started fisting it. for every thrust with his fingers he did the same to his cock, his precum leaking down. he curled his fingers and that’s when you let out a scream.

“who’s making you feel like this?” jay panted, increasing the pace on both his cock and your pussy. he inserted another finger that had your face falling on the pillow.

“FUCK, you jay,” you screamed. your moans echoed the four walls of the bedroom. tears fell down your face as you screamed for more.

with a grunt, jay came in his palm. he stopped fingering you and flipped you over. before you were able to even open your mouth, jay took his hand full of cum and shoved it in your hole. you screamed as he thrusted his fingers faster, faster, faster. he had you seeing stars, had your head spinning, had you forgetting everything except his name.

“jay, i’m gonna-”

“cum all over my fingers, baby,” and you did exactly that. your legs shook as your orgasm washed over you, but jay’s fingers didn’t cease. you tried to push away, getting overstimulated by just his fingers alone, but instead he pulled you closer to him and continued his actions.

he chuckled darkly. “if you think that you won’t get punished for making me leave that party, you’re dead wrong.”

— © lhseungs 2025: do not repost

. . . TAGLIST: @sangiewife @gukkiebug @byshens @sailoryuns @annovaz

[luckyroll3]

Blank Canvas

My Masterlist

Summary: When Hyunjin returns late from a business trip, he finds you painting alone in the backyard cottage-turned-art studio. Drawn back to his long-neglected passion, he asks to paint you. In the quiet of the studio, under his careful touch, you become his masterpiece.

Artist Hyunjin x Reader (f); Smut; Fluff

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 10,436

A/N: First of my two Hyunjin birthday fics. This is the cute one. (The dirty one can be found here. 😉 ) Enjoy!

Hyunjin stood motionless in the darkness, his breath forming delicate clouds in the cool night air. The backyard cottage was a beacon in the gloom, its windows spilling warm light onto the dewy grass. He hadn't expected to find you awake at this hour, nearly 2:30 am, least of all in the small cottage. But there you were—hunched over a canvas, paintbrush in hand, completely unaware of his return or his eyes now fixed on your silhouette through the foggy glass.

He hadn't planned to come out here. The flight had been brutal—six hours of recycled air and a screaming child two rows behind. His suit, once crisp this morning, now clung to him like a second skin he desperately wanted to shed. But after setting his luggage in the entryway, thirst drove him to the kitchen. The refrigerator hummed, a comforting constant in the quiet house. Hyunjin opened the cabinet, selecting a glass with careful consideration—not the delicate wine glasses you preferred, nor the sturdy mugs reserved for morning coffee, but the tall, plain tumblers that served no purpose but utility. He filled it with tap water, the stream hitting glass with percussive clarity.

As he drank, his eyes drifted to the window above the sink—a dark rectangle framing the backyard. He nearly missed it at first: a faint golden glow emanating from the small cottage at the property's edge. The studio. The water caught in his throat, and he set the glass down with a sharp clink against the counter.

You were awake. Not waiting for him, perhaps, but awake nonetheless.

Hyunjin moved closer to the window, pulse quickening despite his exhaustion. The cottage sat twenty yards from the main house, a converted garden shed that they'd transformed into an artist's haven three summers ago. It had been his idea originally. Back then, they had painted side by side, his bold, architectural strokes complementing your more intuitive approach. The memory of those early days stung, a paper cut across his consciousness.

The cottage’s wooden siding had weathered to a soft gray, and climbing ivy traced patterns across the western wall. Tonight, with midnight pressing down and stars scattered above, it looked almost magical—a secret world apart from the corporate presentations and balance sheets that had consumed his last two weeks.

When had he last set foot in that space? Eight months ago? Longer? His finance job had started as temporary, a practical measure while his art found its footing. Then came the promotion, the raise, the title that impressed his parents back in Korea. With each step up the corporate ladder, the trips to the studio had become less frequent—first weekly, then monthly, then rare enough to feel like special occasions. Now, he couldn't remember the last time he'd held a brush.

But you kept going. The light in the studio window confirmed it. While his creativity had been channeled into Excel spreadsheets, data visualizations, and PowerPoint presentations, yours had continued flowing onto canvas. He felt a twinge of something complicated—pride tangled with envy, admiration braided with regret.

What were you painting at this hour? Something new or a work in progress? Hyunjin leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping his water and considering. You'd mentioned a gallery submission deadline during your last video call, a rushed conversation caught between his meetings and your errands. Was that what kept you working past midnight? Or was it simply that creativity respected no clock, arriving unbidden and demanding attention regardless of the hour?

Hyunjin longed for bed. His body screamed for horizontal surfaces, for darkness, for the oblivion of sleep. The presentation had gone well, the clients impressed, but the victory had cost him. The six hour flight had hallowed him out, leaving nothing but a shell of professionalism and practiced charm. Tomorrow would bring emails to answer, follow-ups to send, the machinery of corporate life grinding back into motion.

Yet the light pulled at him, a magnetic force stronger than exhaustion.

Hyunjin set his glass in the sink. His reflection caught in the window—tie askew, hair ruffled from running frustrated hands through it during the flight delay, dark circles shadowing his eyes. He looked exactly like what he was: a man who'd spent too long away from home, chasing something that kept moving just beyond reach.

The decision formed without conscious thought. He would go to the studio. See you. Remember whatever it was he'd been seeking in those endless meetings and flights.

But first, he needed to shed the trappings of Hyunjin Hwang, Finance Manager. The tie came off completely, stuffed unceremoniously into his pocket. He unbuttoned his collar, rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. His fingers worked mechanically, muscle memory from years of transforming from office-appropriate to something approximating his true self.

His hands—once calloused from charcoal and wooden brush handles—were smooth now, manicured by the company's recommended grooming service. They seemed foreign to him suddenly, as if they belonged to someone else. He flexed them, watching tendons shift beneath the skin, wondering if they still remembered how to create rather than merely approve and authorize.

The mirror in the hallway caught him as he passed—this half-transformed version of himself, not quite the suited professional nor the artist he'd once been. The in-between state felt strangely honest. Wasn't that precisely where he existed these days? Between worlds, between identities, between what he did and what he loved?

Hyunjin paused at the back door, hand resting on the knob. What exactly did he hope to find by interrupting your late night session? Connection? Inspiration? The version of himself he'd carefully packed away with his art supplies? Or simply you—the person who, despite his frequent absences, still made this house feel like a place worth returning to?

The knob turned under his palm, cool metal warming to his touch. The night air rushed to meet him, carrying the scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine from the garden beds. Above, stars punctured the darkness, distant and cold. The path to the studio lay before him—twelve stepping stones set into the lawn, winding between garden beds you'd planted and nurtured even as he'd been drawn away.

As Hyunjin approached, he slowed his steps, not wanting to announce his presence just yet. Hyunjin paused on the wooden porch of the studio, his breath visible in the cool night air. Through the fogged glass, your silhouette moved with the fluid grace of someone lost in creation—each gesture deliberate, each pause weighted with consideration.

Your back was to him, spine curved in that familiar way it always did when you were lost in creation. A single lamp cast your shadow long against the far wall, stretching and distorting it until it seemed to dance with each movement of your arm. Your hair was piled haphazardly atop your head, secured with what appeared to be a paintbrush jabbed through the knot, loose strands escaping to frame your face in a way that made Hyunjin's fingers itch to tuck them behind your ear.

He recognized the robe you wore—a simple silk black robe with pink cherry blossoms, now splattered with evidence of late night inspiration. It hung off one shoulder, revealing the curve of your neck, the spot where he'd pressed his lips countless times before. The sight sent a pulse of longing through him, sharp and unexpected after the days apart.

On the easel before you stood a half-finished canvas. From his angle, Hyunjin could make out bold strokes of crimson and indigo, swirling together in a pattern he couldn't quite decipher from outside. Whatever you were creating, it had consumed you entirely. Your hand moved with a surety that captivated him, each stroke adding to a whole he couldn't yet decipher but could feel resonating even through glass and distance. Several other canvases leaned against the walls—some blank, some bearing the skeletal beginnings of works in progress. The floor around you was a controlled chaos: tubes of paint squeezed to submission, jars of murky water, rags stained with every color imaginable.

Every surface held evidence of creative process: brushes soaking in murky jars, rags stiffened with dried paint, tubes squeezed from the middle (a habit that once drove him to distraction), reference photos pinned to a corkboard, sketchbooks open to various studies of the same subject. A half-empty wine glass balanced precariously on a stack of art books. A small speaker played something low and rhythmic—jazz, he thought, though he couldn't place the artist.

This was what a working studio should look like. Not the sterile corner desk where his sketchbook now collected dust, but a living, breathing space where mistakes were welcomed as part of the process. The realization tightened something in his chest, an ache both sweet and sharp.

It had been nearly a year since he'd stepped foot in this space. A year since he'd smelled the particular cocktail of linseed oil, turpentine, and possibility that now wafted through the cracked window. The scent hit him with the force of memory—of his own hands covered in paint, of creation without deadlines, of art made purely for the sake of expression.

Hyunjin's hands twitched at his sides. They were clean now, nails trimmed and cuticles pushed back—hands made presentable for shaking across boardroom tables. But they remembered. They remembered the texture of canvas, the weight of a brush, the satisfaction of color bleeding exactly where it was directed. His career had taken him away from all this, and though he never spoke of it, there were moments—like now—when the absence ached inside him like a phantom limb.

He watched as you leaned back, tilting your head to assess your work. There was something so intimate about witnessing this moment, this private communion between artist and creation. Hyunjin felt both voyeur and privileged observer. You brought the brush to your lips, teeth grazing the wooden handle in thought—an unconscious habit he'd always found inexplicably erotic.

The night was still except for the occasional rustle of leaves. Through the single-pane glass, he could hear the soft scratch of bristles against canvas, the gentle tap when you'd dip your brush into water, the barely audible hum that escaped your throat when you were pleased with a particular stroke. These small sounds wound around him, drawing him closer until his forehead nearly touched the cool glass.

How long had it been since he'd really looked at you? Not the quick glances between morning coffee and briefcase-gathering, not the sleepy half-light observations before dreams claimed you both. Really looked, with the attention an artist gives a subject, noting the subtle shifts, the evolution of form and expression. You'd changed in ways he couldn't quite name—there was a confidence in the set of your shoulders that seemed new, a decisiveness in each brushstroke that spoke of practice in his absence.

Guilt pressed against his ribcage. While he'd been climbing corporate ladders, you'd been building worlds on canvas. He'd told himself the distance was temporary, that the long hours and frequent travel would eventually taper. Yet watching you now, absorbed in creation, Hyunjin wondered what else he'd missed in the margins of your shared life.

His body responded to the sight of you before his mind could catch up—pulse quickening, breath deepening. It wasn't just physical desire, though that was certainly part of it. It was something more complex: admiration tangled with longing tangled with a hunger to be part of this moment, to bridge the space that had grown between you, measured not just in miles but in unshared experiences.

You stretched, arching your back, and the short robe rode higher on your thighs. Hyunjin swallowed hard. From this angle, he could see the curve of your ass peeking from beneath the fabric, the long line of your legs ending in bare feet stained with flecks of paint. The casual intimacy of your unguarded moments had always undone him, and tonight was no exception. Heat pooled low in his belly, and he shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how tight his slacks had become.

Inside, you dipped your brush into a puddle of cerulean blue, adding it to the canvas with careful precision. Whatever you were creating, it held you completely—your focus absolute, your movements measured. Hyunjin remembered that feeling, the outside world falling away until nothing existed but color and texture and the translation of emotion into visible form.

He'd been good once. Before finance consumed his days, before spreadsheets replaced sketchbooks. His professors had spoken of potential, of vision. He'd believed them, right until the moment reality—with its bills and expectations—had intervened. The practical path had seemed sensible then. Standing here now, watching you immersed in the very passion he'd set aside, he wondered if sensible had been the right choice after all.

A car passed on the distant street, its headlights briefly illuminating Hyunjin's face against the window. He stepped back, suddenly conscious of his positioning—the weary traveler, the absent lover, lurking in shadows rather than announcing his return. He could walk away, slip back to the house, pretend he'd never seen this midnight session. You'd find him in bed in the morning, and he'd act surprised to hear you'd been up painting.

But the thought of returning to the empty house, to the cold sheets and silence, held no appeal. And there was something compelling about this moment, something that felt like an opportunity. To reconnect, yes, but also perhaps to reclaim a part of himself he'd neatly boxed away.

The night air cut through his thin shirt, and the weight of two weeks' absence pressed against him. He needed more than to observe you through glass—needed warmth and touch and the sound of your voice saying his name.

He made his decision, moving away from the window toward the cottage door. Each step felt weighted with intention, with the anticipation of crossing more than just the physical distance between you.

He tipped the door handle downward silently. Years ago, he'd oiled the hinges himself, wanting to preserve the possibility of slipping in to work without waking you on early mornings. That thoughtfulness served him now as the door opened without betraying his presence. The studio's atmosphere enveloped him immediately—warmer air heavy with the astringent bite of turpentine, the earthy scent of oil paints, the underlying sweetness of linseed oil. He inhaled deeply, the familiar cocktail hitting him like memory made physical.

One step inside, then another. The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight despite his care—these old boards had always been loyal to the cottage's history, refusing to surrender their voice even after renovation. Your shoulders tensed slightly at the sound, but you didn't turn, perhaps assuming it was merely the building settling in the night's cooling air.

Hyunjin closed the door behind him, sealing them both within this cocoon of creativity and lamplight. The music—definitely jazz now that he could hear it clearly, saxophone winding through piano notes—filled the small space, creating an intimacy that wrapped around you both. He stood still, watching the slight movements of your body as you worked, the twist of your wrist as you added another stroke of cobalt to the canvas.

"Your technique's improved," he said finally, his voice lower than intended, roughened by travel and emotion.

You froze, brush suspended mid-stroke. For three heartbeats, neither of you moved—a perfect tableau of interruption, of worlds colliding after separation. Then you turned, eyes widening as they found him standing just inside the door, hands in his pockets, exhaustion and desire warring across his features.

"Jinnie," you breathed, his nickname in your mouth sounding like salvation. "You're early. I thought tomorrow—"

"Caught an earlier flight." Hyunjin shrugged, a gesture that deliberately understated the four thousand miles and the corporate favor he'd called in to make it happen. "Didn't want to text in case you were asleep."

Your smile bloomed slowly, starting in your eyes before reaching your lips—the genuine article, not the polite version he sometimes received on video calls when he announced another delayed return. The brush remained forgotten in your hand, dripping blue onto the drop cloth below.

"You look..." Your eyes traced his disheveled appearance, the loosened collar, the rumpled pants.

"Like shit?" he offered with a half-smile.

"Like someone I've missed," you corrected, setting the brush down at last.

Three steps brought him to you—close enough to see the flecks of paint speckling your cheeks like wayward freckles, to catch the mingled scents of your shampoo and sweat beneath the stronger studio smells. His hands hovered for a moment, suddenly uncertain despite the thousands of times they'd touched you before. Two weeks shouldn't create such hesitation, yet here it was—the momentary awkwardness of bodies relearning proximity.

You solved it by stepping into him, arms sliding around his waist, face pressing into his chest. Hyunjin's body responded before his mind could process, arms enfolding you, nose burying itself in your hair. He inhaled deeply, eyes closing as the scent of you—the real you, not the memory he conjured on lonely hotel nights with his hands down his pants—filled his senses.

"Welcome home," you murmured against his shirt, the vibration of your voice traveling through cotton to skin to something deeper.

His hands moved up your back, one continuing to cradle your head while the other traced the knobs of your spine through the thin fabric of the robe. The contact grounded him, hauling him firmly back from the corporate world into this reality—one where he existed as more than revenue projections and market analyses.

"I should have called," he said against your hair. "But I wanted—" To surprise you. To see you unguarded. To remember who we are when no one's watching. He settled for: "—to come straight here."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his face as if reacquainting yourself with its geography. Hyunjin recognized the artist's gaze—the same careful observation he once gave subjects before committing them to paper. He wondered what changes you noted, what new lines time and distance had carved into him.

His hands found your face, thumbs brushing over cheekbones, fingers threading into the hair at your temples. You remained still under his touch, allowing this reintroduction of skin to skin. When he leaned down to press his lips against your forehead, he felt something inside him unclench—a tightness he hadn't recognized until it released.

The kiss lingered, his lips absorbing the warmth of your skin, tasting the salt of concentration. This close, the scents intensified—linseed oil and turpentine from your work, but beneath that, the familiar notes that had become synonymous with home in his mind. He pulled back reluctantly, hands still framing your face.

"I'm interrupting," he said, glancing toward the canvas.

You shook your head, leaning into his palm like a cat seeking pressure. "Nothing that can't wait."

"Show me?" Hyunjin nodded toward the painting, genuine curiosity mingling with the desire to reconnect through the medium that had first drawn them together.

Your hand found his, fingers intertwining with practiced ease as you pulled him toward the easel. The gesture, so simple, nearly undid him—the casual certainty of your touch, the assumption of connection despite absence. His throat tightened unexpectedly.

"It's still rough," you warned, the artist's perpetual caveat. "The gallery submission isn't for another three weeks, so I've been experimenting with—"

"Is that—" he began, not quite able to finish the question. Hyunjin's words died as he took in the canvas properly. The swirls of color he'd glimpsed through the window resolved into something more defined—a figure emerging from chaotic elements, body half-formed but unmistakably human. The face remained indistinct, yet something in the set of the shoulders, the angle of the jaw, struck him with recognition.

Your fingers tightened around his. "You. Or how I remember you, anyway. It's been a while since I had you in front of me to reference."

The admission hung between them, simple words carrying complex weight. He'd been physically absent, yes, but the fact that you'd continued to create him—to remember him—in paint struck deeper than he expected. While he'd been subsuming himself in spreadsheets, you'd been preserving him in pigment and oil.

"I've been working from old sketches," you continued, gesturing toward the open notebooks scattered nearby. "And memory, obviously. But memory's tricky. I keep second-guessing details."

Hyunjin studied the painting more carefully now. The figure—himself—emerged from darkness into light, body seemingly in the process of either materializing or dissolving. The boundaries between form and background blurred deliberately, creating tension between presence and absence. Looking at it felt like watching himself disappear in slow motion.

"It's beautiful," he said, meaning it. "And terrifying."

Your laugh was soft, without judgment. "That's the point, I think. I've been calling it ‘Intermittent Presence’."

The title hit with surgical precision, lancing something tender he'd carefully avoided examining. How often had he become exactly that—intermittently present, cycling between immersion and absence, both in his relationship with you and with his own creativity?

"I've been gone too much," he said, the admission feeling inadequate even as it left his lips.

Your hand squeezed his. "You're here now."

The studio seemed suddenly too small to contain the implications of that exchange—too warm, too intimate. The painting watched them with its half-formed eyes, a visual representation of all they weren't saying. Hyunjin turned away from it to face you directly, needing flesh and blood rather than oil and canvas.

"I am," he agreed, hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. "And jet-lagged as hell, but still wanting to make up for lost time."

Your smile turned knowing, the slightest quirk of lips that had always signaled the shift from conversation to something more primal. "How much time are we talking about making up for, exactly?"

Hyunjin's thumb traced your lower lip, feeling it give slightly beneath the pressure. "Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours, give or take."

"Ambitious," you murmured, lips moving against his thumb.

"I've always risen to challenges," he replied, voice dropping to match yours.

The lamplight caught in your eyes as you looked up at him, turning them to liquid amber. Hyunjin felt the last threads of his corporate self fall away, replaced by something more honest—the man who had once painted beside you until dawn, who knew the exact pressure needed to leave marks on your skin that would last until morning, who had promised presence and delivered absence for too long.

"I've missed you," he said simply, the words inadequate containers for all they needed to hold.

Your response was to rise on tiptoes, bringing your face level with his. Hyunjin felt your breath first, then the warm press of lips against his own—a wordless answer that spoke volumes about forgiveness and desire and the thin space between longing and having.

“I missed you too,” you said as you pulled away, your eyes remaining locked on his until you sat back down and turned to the canvas. Hyunjin wrapped an arm around your chest as you both silently assessed the incomplete painting.

Hyunjin's fingers hovered near the canvas, not quite touching the still-wet surface but close enough to feel the texture of the brushstrokes disturbing the air between skin and paint. His hand trembled slightly—not from the six-hour flight or the accumulated fatigue, but from something deeper, a hunger he'd suppressed for too long. The scent of linseed oil filled his lungs, familiar yet foreign, like returning to a childhood home to find the furniture rearranged.

"I miss painting," he murmured, the confession emerging unprompted, startling in its rawness.

You stepped back slightly, giving him space with the canvas, watching his face with careful attention. The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but weighted, as if his words had materialized in the air, tangible objects requiring navigation.

"How long has it been?" you asked finally, voice gentle.

Hyunjin's laugh lacked humor. "Too long." His hand dropped away from the canvas, falling to his side like something defeated. "Ten months, maybe? Eleven? The Tokyo project took over everything, and then Singapore, and then—" He gestured vaguely, encompassing the endless chain of priorities that had consumed his days.

"You still have supplies here," you offered. "Nothing's been moved."

The statement held no accusation, yet Hyunjin felt its weight nonetheless. His corner of the studio remained intact—easel dust-covered but standing, palette dried with the last colors he'd mixed, brushes cleaned and waiting in their jar. A shrine to creative abandonment.

"Sometimes I come in and look at your last piece," you continued. You stood and moved toward the far wall where a half-finished canvas leaned, covered with a cloth. "To remember what it felt like, working beside you."

Hyunjin followed, something tight lodging in his throat as you pulled the cloth away. The painting underneath emerged—a study of light through trees, dappled shadows across a path. He remembered the day clearly: early spring, the park near their house, you sprawled on a blanket reading while he attempted to capture the interplay of sunlight and new leaves. He'd never finished it, called away by an "urgent" client request that now, months later, seemed trivial in comparison to the abandoned work.

"It's not very good," he said automatically, the corporate habit of self-deprecation slipping out before he could catch it.

Your eyes found his, sharp with sudden challenge. "Bullshit. It's beautiful, even unfinished."

The directness caught him off-guard—you, who usually navigated his moods with careful diplomacy. The surprise must have shown on his face because your expression softened, hand reaching for his.

"You were good, Jin. Really good. Not just technically, but because you saw things—really saw them—and then made others see them too. What happened?"

He looked away, uncomfortable with the praise yet starving for it. The corporate world ran on different validation—quarterly results, client satisfaction metrics, promotion cycles. No one there cared if he could capture the exact quality of morning light through maple leaves, or the particular vulnerability of a lover's face in sleep.

"The job happened," he said finally. "Practical concerns. Bills. Your student loans. My parents' expectations." Each reason sounded hollower than the last, excuses rather than explanations.

"I understand why," you said, squeezing his hand. "I've never blamed you for choosing stability. But that doesn't mean you can't have both."

Hyunjin looked around the studio—at your works in progress, at the evidence of consistent creative practice, at the space you'd maintained for both of you despite his absence from it. While he'd been climbing corporate ladders, you'd been building a body of work, making time for creation despite the same practical concerns that had derailed him.

Something ignited in Hyunjin then—a spark of inspiration so sudden and intense it felt like electricity coursing through his veins. He turned to face you fully, his dark eyes widening as if seeing you for the first time. In the dim light of the studio, with paint-splattered floorboards beneath their feet and the weight of absence between them, he recognized what had been missing from his life.

"I want to paint," he said, the words tumbling out like a confession.

Hyunjin took three deliberate steps forward, closing the gap between the two of you. He towered slightly over you, his lean frame, graceful even after months of corporate posturing and airport lounges.

"Will you be my muse?" he asked in a low, resonant voice that seemed to vibrate in the stillness of the studio. His words hung in the air like mist, charged with unspoken intention.

He watched the minute shifts in your expression—surprise, curiosity, and something deeper that made his pulse quicken. Your hesitation was brief but palpable, a moment suspended between you like a held breath.

Then, a nod. Tentative but unmistakable.

"Yes," you whispered, the single syllable barely audible yet somehow filling the entire room.

Hyunjin's hands, those elegant instruments that had once created worlds on canvas, reached for the sash of the silk robe. His movements were unhurried, deliberate—the actions of a man who understood the value of anticipation. The knot came undone with surprising ease, the ends of the sash slipping through his fingers like water.

He watched your chest rise and fall with quickened breath as he parted the robe with exquisite slowness. The silk slid over your shoulders with a soft sound that reminded him of rainfall on window panes. He didn't rush, allowing the fabric to reveal your body inch by inch, savoring each new expanse of skin like a connoisseur presented with a rare vintage.

The robe pooled around your feet, a puddle of shiny black against the dark wooden floor. Hyunjin's gaze traveled over your nakedness with the practiced eye of an artist—noting the play of shadow and light across collarbones, the gentle curve of hips, the vulnerability of exposed skin in the cool studio air.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and meant it in a way that transcended the physical. He saw beneath the surface to the essence that had haunted his dreams in sterile hotel rooms across three continents.

Taking your hand in his, he guided you toward the aged leather couch in the corner. Years of use had softened the leather to a buttery texture, the surface marred with tiny specks of paint and the occasional joint burn from late-night sessions of creation and conversation.

A rumpled throw blanket lay bunched at one end—evidence of afternoon naps or moments of inspiration that couldn't wait for proper preparations. Hyunjin smoothed it out with one hand, his other still maintaining contact with you, unwilling to break the connection now that it had been reestablished.

"Here," he said, gesturing to the couch. "Lie down."

You complied, easing onto the leather with a grace that made Hyunjin's throat constrict. He adjusted your position with careful hands, arranging limbs and angles like a sculptor working with living clay. His fingertips trailed along the soft skin of your arm, down the curve of your back, each touch lingering just long enough to suggest intentions beyond the artistic.

"Like this," he murmured, tilting your chin slightly to catch the light from the old floor lamp he'd flicked on. Your eyes met his, and in them he saw questions he wasn't ready to answer—not with words, at least.

Hyunjin stepped back to assess the composition, his head tilted slightly as he committed the image to memory. You were perfectly framed against the dark leather, vulnerability and strength coexisting in the lines of your body. His fingers itched for his brushes, for the chance to translate what he saw into something permanent.

He moved to a side cabinet, collecting a small wooden box containing his finest brushes—sable-hair with polished handles worn smooth from years of use. Next came tubes of oil paint, their labels faded but still legible: Prussian Blue, Burnt Sienna, Cadmium Red.

He set the supplies down on the tray next to his easel, then turned back to you.

Hyunjin's eyes narrowed as he studied the human landscape before him—valleys and plains of skin waiting to be transformed. The conventional canvas suddenly seemed too removed, too impersonal for what he needed to express. Three months of corporate sterility had left him hungry for connection, for the visceral immediacy of creation without barriers. His gaze lingered on the gentle rise and fall of your chest, and he made his decision.

The easel stood in the corner, patient and expectant, but Hyunjin deliberately turned away from it. He'd spent too many years with that mediator between himself and his art. Tonight demanded something different—something that couldn't be framed or hung on a gallery wall.

"What are you thinking?" you asked, shifting slightly on the leather couch. Your voice carried a note of vulnerability that made Hyunjin's throat tighten.

"I'm thinking," he replied, moving toward the storage cabinet where he kept his most precious materials, "that some things are too important for representation." His long fingers danced across the cabinet shelves, selecting items with the precision of a surgeon prepping for a delicate procedure.

He retrieved a set of small brushes—smaller than the ones he'd initially brought out. These were his detail brushes, with tips fine enough to render eyelashes on a portrait or the veins on an autumn leaf. Next came a wooden palette, worn smooth in the center from years of mixing colors. Finally, he selected several tubes of oil paint, examining each label with careful consideration.

He moved back to the couch with deliberate slowness, bypassing the easel entirely. He set the supplies on a small, trusted table that had accompanied him through three studios and countless creative breakthroughs. The surface was a testament to his artistic journey—stained with concentric rings of dried paint, each layer a memory of past work.

He walked back to the tray to retrieve his initial supplies, then kneeled beside the small table. Hyunjin arranged everything within easy reach. Each item had its precise place in his creative ritual—brushes aligned by size, paint tubes ordered by color family, palette positioned at the exact angle that felt right to his hand.

You watched him from the couch, curiosity evident in the slight furrow between your brows. Hyunjin could read the questions forming there—you knew his process, knew that something had deviated from the expected path.

"You've set up differently," you observed, eyes tracking his movements with increasing interest. "No canvas?"

Hyunjin lifted his gaze to meet theirs. The distance that had grown between them over months of separation seemed to crystallize in that moment—a tangible thing that could be mapped and measured like the space between stars. He needed to collapse that distance, to restore what had been lost in the vacuum of his absence.

"Tonight," he said, his voice dropping to a timbre that resonated in the quiet studio, "you are my canvas."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. Hyunjin watched as understanding bloomed across your features—surprise followed swiftly by intrigue, then a spark of something more primal that made heat pool in his abdomen.

"You want to paint... on me?" You shifted slightly, the leather creaking beneath you. Your pupils dilated visibly, even in the studio's gentle lighting.

"Yes," Hyunjin confirmed, reaching out to trace a finger along the curve of your collarbone. "Here. And here." His touch trailed down your sternum, across the plane of your stomach. "And here." Each point of contact left goosebumps in its wake, a physical manifestation of the charge building between them.

Your breath caught audibly. "You've never done that before."

"I've never needed to before." The admission cost him something—an acknowledgment of the distance that had grown like a silent, insidious weed between the two of you. "Canvas can't hold what I need to express tonight."

Your laugh was soft but genuine, a sound he'd missed more than he'd allowed himself to acknowledge during long nights in foreign hotel rooms. "That's either incredibly romantic or a very elaborate line, Jin."

The nickname—intimate, familiar—struck him like a physical touch. Hyunjin's lips curved upward. "Maybe both." He unscrewed the cap from a tube of paint, squeezing a small amount onto his palette. The deep blue was almost black in the studio's subdued lighting. "Trust me?"

Their eyes met his, steady and unwavering. "Always."

The word carried weight, an implicit forgiveness for his absence that Hyunjin wasn't certain he deserved. He focused on mixing the paint rather than examining that feeling too closely, adding a drop of linseed oil to achieve the perfect consistency. The familiar scent rose in the air, earthy and distinctive.

"The paint will be cool," he warned as he continued to mix slowly. "And it might tickle."

"I think I can handle it." There was a teasing quality to your tone that sparked something in Hyunjin's chest—a reminder of the easy banter that had been part of your foundation.

"Comfortable?" he asked, arranging his brushes with meticulous precision.

You nodded, skin goosefleshing slightly in the cool air of the studio. Hyunjin noticed and walked to the thermostat, adjusting it upward without comment. These were the small considerations that had once been second nature to him, before conference calls and deadlines had dulled his awareness of others' needs.

As he returned to his supplies, Hyunjin felt something shift within him—a realignment, as if pieces that had been jarred loose by months of separation were finally settling back into place. The fluorescent lights of corporate boardrooms faded from memory, replaced by the warm glow of his studio lamps and the sight of you waiting for him, bare and trusting.

Hyunjin pulled a stool close to the couch, positioning himself within arm's reach of his subject. His eyes locked with yours as he settled onto the worn wooden seat. No words were necessary now—you had moved beyond language to something more primal, a communication of intent through gesture and gaze.

His hand hovered over his collection of brushes, selecting one with particular care, a fine sable with bristles tapering to a precise point. The brush was an extension of himself, a bridge between vision and reality. Tonight, it would connect him to the person who had remained constant in his thoughts, even when time zones and obligations had conspired to separate you.

He dipped the brush into the mixed paint, watching as the bristles soaked up the color. Blue had always been his starting point—the color of depth and distance, of oceans and night skies. It seemed appropriate for this beginning, this attempt to bridge the chasm that had formed between you.

The outside world—with its deadlines and expectations—receded further with each passing moment. Here, in this sanctuary of creation, there was only Hyunjin, you — his muse — and the promise of reconnection through art. His shoulders relaxed as he leaned forward, brush in hand, ready to begin the intimate dance of artist and subject.

As he poised the brush above your skin, Hyunjin found himself hesitating. The moment felt weighted with significance beyond the act itself. This wasn't merely art; it was communion.

"What's wrong?" you asked, picking up on his hesitation with the intuition that had always unsettled and delighted him in equal measure.

"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head slightly. "Just... taking it in." His free hand came up to stroke your cheek, a brief touch that communicated more than words could manage. "You're beautiful."

You smiled, a crooked little thing that hit him like a physical pain. "You're stalling, bro."

Hyunjin chuckled, the sound low and warm in the quiet studio. "Maybe I'm savoring the blank canvas." His eyes traveled over your body with renewed purpose. "Where to begin—that's always the question, isn't it?"

He settled on the right collarbone, where the bone created a natural line to follow. The brush hovered for a moment above the skin, then descended. The first touch of bristles to flesh was electric—a connection completed. Your sharp intake of breath mirrored his own sensation of falling into something vast and significant.

"Cold?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"No," you replied. "It just feels... more intimate than I expected."

Hyunjin nodded, understanding perfectly. There was an intimacy to this that transcended even their most private moments together. He was marking you, transforming you—creating something ephemeral yet profound on the most personal canvas imaginable.

He worked in silence for several minutes, applying delicate strokes of blue along the ridge of bone. Each movement of the brush was deliberate, measured, an extension of his intent. The paint glistened wetly on your skin, catching the light like dewdrops on morning petals.

From his position, Hyunjin could see the pulse jumping in your throat, the subtle shifts in your breathing as the brush moved across sensitive areas. your responses fed into his own growing arousal—a feedback loop of creation and desire.

"What are you painting?" you asked, voice slightly breathless.

Hyunjin considered the question. He had no planned image, no sketch to follow. This was intuitive, responsive—a conversation between artist and medium.

"A journey," he finally answered, rinsing his brush before selecting a crimson red. "Our journey."

He added red to his palette, mixing it with a touch of white to create a deep rose. Then he applied it in flowing lines that intersected with the blue, creating paths that met and diverged like rivers on a map.

"These are the times we've come together," he explained, drawing a line that crossed over a streak of blue. "And these—" he added parallel lines that never quite touched the blue "—are the times we've existed separately. Even when apart, we're still part of the same composition."

Your eyes glistened slightly at that, though they blinked rapidly to dispel the emotion. "That's a pretty way of saying you've been absent for months."

The statement wasn't accusatory, merely factual, but Hyunjin felt its truth like a blade between his ribs. His hand stilled momentarily.

"Yes," he acknowledged, refusing to hide behind excuses. "I have been." He resumed painting, adding white to create highlight and depth. "This is my apology. And my promise."

"Painted in a temporary medium," you observed, but there was a softness to the words that suggested understanding rather than resentment.

Hyunjin's lips curved slightly. "The impermanence is part of the point. This moment, this connection—it exists now, between us. It can't be preserved or sold or displayed. It's just... ours."

He continued adding color, building a complex interplay of hues across your chest and shoulders. The paint warmed quickly on your skin, no longer causing you to flinch at its application. Instead, you seemed to lean into each stroke, body responding to the brush's touch as it might to his fingertips.

As Hyunjin worked, he found himself leaning closer, breath mingling with yours in the diminishing space between you. The act of painting became increasingly sensual—each stroke a caress, each pause a moment of anticipation. He could feel the heat radiating from their skin, see the subtle dilation of their pupils as he moved into their personal space.

The studio lights caught the wet paint, making it shimmer like molten metal on their skin. Hyunjin sat back slightly, admiring the developing work with an artist's critical eye and a lover's appreciation. The colors flowed across your body like a visual symphony—blues deepening into purples where they mixed with red, highlights of white creating dimension and movement.

"How does it feel?" he asked, voice rougher than he'd intended.

Your eyes met his, heavy-lidded and intense. "Like being transformed. Like becoming art."

Hyunjin nodded, understanding completely. That transformation was exactly what he sought—not just of your body into his canvas, but of your relationship into something new after the fallow period of his absence. He was painting your reconnection, your rediscovery of each other.

"We're just getting started," he promised, selecting a fresh brush from his collection. His vision for the night expanded with each stroke, with each shared breath in the intimate space of their studio. What had begun as artistic expression was evolving into something far more primal, more essential—a reclaiming of what threatened to slip away during his absence.

"You are my art," he said as he applied the next stroke, a deliberate line that curved from the collarbone down toward the center of your chest. His words weren't practiced or performative; they emerged from somewhere deep and authentic within him, surprising even himself with their rawness.

Your eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating in the subdued light of the studio. Hyunjin saw something flicker across your expression—vulnerability, perhaps, or recognition of the truth he'd spoken. The silent exchange lasted only seconds but communicated volumes.

The brush continued its journey, leaving a trail of color that seemed to pulse with life against your skin. Hyunjin worked with methodical precision, each stroke building upon the last to create a pattern that was emerging organically rather than from preconception. Blues deepened into purples where he applied pressure, lightened to ethereal aquamarine where he barely skimmed the surface.

He moved from the gentle slope of your chest, then along the sensitive underside of your arm where skin was thin and paler, revealing the blue tracery of veins beneath. The paint mimicked and enhanced these natural patterns, creating a tableau that spoke of rivers and tributaries, of connections and partings.

"How long have we been together, Jinnie?" you asked suddenly, your voice breaking the concentrated silence that had enveloped the room.

The question pulled him from his artistic focus. Hyunjin paused, brush hovering above skin as he calculated. "Four years, seven months, and—" he tilted his head slightly, "—twelve days."

A small smile curved your lips. "You've been keeping count."

"Some things are worth counting," he replied, resuming his work with a switch to a thinner brush that allowed for more delicate detail. The new brush traced along your ribs, following the subtle architecture beneath the skin.

"And in those four years, seven months, and twelve days," you continued, "have you ever felt as distant from me as you have these past few months?"

The question landed like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of discomfort through Hyunjin's carefully maintained composure. His hand stilled again, paint-laden brush suspended above the curve of their waist.

"No," he admitted after a long moment. "I haven't."

Honesty was the only viable currency between you now; you both recognized this. Hyunjin resumed painting, but his strokes had taken on a different quality—more deliberate, almost as if he were working through his thoughts with each application of color.

"The irony," you said, watching him work, "is that I've never felt more like a possession than when you were gone."

Hyunjin's eyes snapped up to meet theirs, brow furrowing. "A possession?"

"Something owned but not used. Displayed but not enjoyed. Valued but not... necessary." The words emerged with clinical precision, as if they'd been formulated during long nights alone in the house you supposedly shared.

The assessment struck Hyunjin like a physical blow. He set down his brush carefully, unwilling to risk a trembling hand marring the work he'd begun. "That was never my intention."

"Intentions and impact rarely align perfectly," you replied, eyes following his movements as he selected a different color—a deep crimson that brought to mind arterial blood and sunset. "You chose a path that took you away from this." Your hand gestured to encompass the studio, the house beyond, yourselves. "Away from us."

Hyunjin mixed the new color with careful concentration, using the familiar ritual to gather his thoughts. "I took the finance job because it offered security," he finally said. "The kind of security my art never could."

"I never asked for security." Your voice was soft but unyielding. "I asked for presence."

The paint on your skin was beginning to dry in places, creating a curious sensation as Hyunjin applied fresh color that intersected with the existing design. Wet and dry, new and established—the physical parallel to the conversation wasn't lost on him.

"I know," he acknowledged, tracing a line of crimson that curved around your navel and swept toward your hip. "I convinced myself I was doing it for us, but that was..." He searched for the right word.

"Bullshit?" you supplied, with a hint of the playful directness that had first drawn him to you years ago.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Incomplete reasoning," he amended, though the essence of your assessment wasn't wrong. "I was afraid."

"Of what?"

The question hung between them as Hyunjin continued painting, adding touches of gold now to the design that sprawled across your torso and began to extend down your thigh. The metallic paint caught the light, creating points of brilliance against the deeper colors.

"Of failing," he finally admitted. "Of watching you realize that loving an artist meant instability and struggle." His hand moved steadily despite the emotional weight of his words. "Of becoming a cautionary tale rather than a success story."

Your hand came up, hovering just above his wrist without making contact that might smudge his work. The gesture was protective, supportive—a physical manifestation of what you'd always offered him.

"Jin," you said quietly, "I chose you knowing exactly who you were. The artist and the man. They're inseparable."

Hyunjin nodded, absorbing the truth of this. The brush in his hand traced a graceful spiral that originated at your hip and expanded outward, encompassing the soft plane of your stomach. "I'm beginning to understand that now."

"Beginning?" A hint of challenge colored your tone.

"Understanding takes time," he replied, eyes focused on his work but awareness entirely centered on the conversation. "Like art. Like love."

You fell silent, allowing him to continue painting. The design had evolved from abstract patterns into something more intentional—a visual representation of your journey together. Blues and reds intersected and diverged, creating patterns that spoke of connection, separation, and reunion.

"I missed this studio," Hyunjin confessed as he worked his way down to your thigh with swirling patterns of indigo and gold. "In hotel rooms across three countries, I would close my eyes and imagine the smell of it. The feel of it."

"And me?" The question was vulnerable, stripped of pretense. "Did you miss me too, or just the space we shared?"

Hyunjin set down his brush and met your gaze directly. "I missed you with an intensity that made it difficult to breathe sometimes," he said, voice low and rough with emotion. "In meetings with men in expensive suits who couldn't understand why I seemed distracted, in empty restaurants where the chair across from me remained vacant, in beds that felt too large and too cold no matter how many blankets I piled on." He swallowed hard. "I missed you in ways I couldn't articulate because doing so would have broken something in me."

Your eyes glistened in the studio's soft lighting. "Then why stay away so long? Why the missed calls, the abbreviated conversations, the distance that grew with each passing week?"

Hyunjin picked up his brush again, using the familiar action to center himself. "Because admitting how much I missed you meant confronting the choice I'd made—the corporate path versus the artistic one." He added a delicate highlight to the pattern on your inner thigh, the brush barely touching skin. "It was easier to numb myself than face that reckoning."

"And now?" You shifted slightly, adjusting your position to give him better access to continue his work. "What's changed?"

"Coming home," he said simply. "Seeing you seated at your easel. Realizing that no amount of financial security compensates for the loss of what matters most." The brush traveled back up your body, adding connecting lines between elements of the design that had previously seemed separate. "Recognizing that I've been painting without color while pursuing what others told me was success."

Your hand reached out, fingertips lightly touching his forearm. The contact sent electricity through him—simple human connection that had been absent for too long.

"I want both," you said quietly. "Your success and your presence. Your dreams and your reality."

Hyunjin nodded, understanding what you weren't explicitly stating—that forcing a choice between professional fulfillment and personal happiness was a false dichotomy he'd constructed to justify his absence.

"I handed in my resignation yesterday," he said, the words emerging with surprising ease given how difficult the decision had been to make. "Before boarding the flight home."

Your eyes widened. "Jin—"

"It was suffocating me," he continued, adding more gold to his palette and applying it to create subtle illumination across his design. "Killing whatever spark made my art worth creating in the first place. And worse—" he met their gaze directly "—it was killing us."

A single tear escaped, tracking down your cheek. Hyunjin caught it with his thumb, careful not to smudge the intricate patterns he'd created on your skin.

"I don't need you to be rich," you whispered. "I just need you to be here."

"I know that now," he replied, resuming his painting with renewed purpose. The design had taken on a cohesive quality, no longer separate elements but a unified whole that flowed across your body like a visual symphony. "I'm not walking away from financial stability entirely. I've saved enough to give us breathing room while I find balance—consulting work that uses my finance background but leaves time for this." His gesture encompassed the studio, the art, the intimacy the two of you were reclaiming.

You watched him work for several minutes in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft brush of bristles against skin and your synchronized breathing. The paint had dried in a tight mask across your chest and torso, creating a curious sensation of constriction followed by release where unpainted skin remained.

"Tell me what you've added," you finally said. "I can feel it, but I can't see the whole design."

Hyunjin sat back slightly, examining his work with an artist's critical eye. The blues and reds had merged in places to create deep purples that spoke of passion and loyalty. Gold highlights caught the light, creating a dimensional quality that made the design seem alive on their skin.

"This is where we began," he explained, gesturing to a complex pattern that originated at your heart and expanded outward. "These lines that radiate outward are the paths we've taken together and apart." His finger hovered above the design without touching it. "The places where colors merge are our moments of deepest connection. The gold—" he indicated the metallic highlights that unified the design "—represents what remains constant despite distance or time."

Your eyes followed his explanation, seeing yourself transformed into living art. "It's beautiful, Jin."

"You're beautiful," he corrected. "The paint only enhances what's already there."

Hyunjin added a few final touches—delicate white highlights that created depth and dimension, subtle green accents that brought life and growth to the composition. When he finally set down his brush, he felt the peculiar mixture of satisfaction and loss that always accompanied the completion of something meaningful.

"It's almost finished," he said softly, eyes traveling over your painted form with appreciation both artistic and deeply personal.

You shifted slightly, testing how the dried paint moved with your body. "How does it look?"

Hyunjin's throat tightened with unexpected emotion. "Like everything I've been trying to say since I walked back through that door tonight."

"And what is that, exactly?" Your eyes held his, unwilling to accept anything less than complete honesty.

He set aside his palette and brushes, moving to kneel beside the couch where you lay transformed by his art. His hand hovered above your painted skin, not quite touching, respecting the boundary between creator and creation.

"That you are my art," he said, echoing his earlier declaration but investing it with deeper meaning. "Not just tonight, not just in this moment, but always. That everything I create flows from the same source that makes me love you. That separating those parts of myself was what led me astray." His voice roughened with emotion. "That I'm coming home in every sense of the word, if you'll still have me."

Your hand reached up to cradle his face, paint-smeared fingers leaving faint traces of color on his cheek—marking him as he had marked you. The gesture was answer enough, but you spoke anyway.

"I've been keeping your place," you said, eyes never leaving his. "In this studio. In our home. In my heart."

Hyunjin turned his face into your touch, lips brushing against your palm in silent gratitude. The paint on your skin would eventually wash away, but what it represented—this reconnection, this recommitment—would remain, permanently etched into the canvas of your shared life.

"This needs something more," Hyunjin said suddenly, his eyes alight with renewed inspiration.

Before you could respond, he dipped his fingers into the paint, vibrant colors pooling along his skin. "A true work of art needs layers," he continued, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "And I have too many brushes anyway."

You laughed, a sound like music in the air, as he set to work on your body once more. His fingers left wide, expressive streaks of color—carefree and passionate in ways that the brushwork hadn't been. The paint felt cool and thick as he spread it across your skin, blurring the lines of his earlier design but adding new vibrancy.

Hyunjin's touch grew bolder, more intimate. He massaged paint into your shoulders, your breasts, your stomach. Each motion was deliberate and sensual, less about the art itself and more about experiencing you beneath him.

"You feel amazing," he murmured, leaning closer until you could feel his breath on your skin.

Your own hands found their way to his shirt, smearing paint across the fabric as you tugged him toward you. "You're overdressed for this kind of work," you whispered, voice filled with playful heat.

Hyunjin laughed low in his throat—a sound that sent a rumble into your frame. You ripped his shirt open, the buttons popping as you exposed his lean, muscular chest. Hyunjin wiggled out of the shirt and tossed it behind him, before he leaned down to kiss you passionately.

The kiss was fervent, urgent, and full of the passion that had been building between you for so long, each press and pull of his lips echoing everything he had poured into his earlier confessions.

You broke the kiss just enough to breathe, your voice filled with playful challenge and heated anticipation. “You gonna take those off?” you ask in between kisses, referencing his pants.

Hyunjin answered with a wicked smile, already unbuttoning his pants. His gaze never left yours while he slid the fabric slowly, teasingly down his hips. "What do you think?" he asked, voice a sexy rasp.

You swallowed hard, your hands impatiently pulling him back toward you before he could remove them completely. The pants tangled around his ankles, and you laughed together as he kicked them off in a rush of impatience and eager laughter. Everything else fell away—the studio, the art, even time itself—leaving only the two of you and the tangle of forgotten passion.

He captured your mouth again, heat radiating between you. His hands roamed with abandon, sliding over the contours of your body, eager to feel every part of you that he'd missed. You arched into him as one leg wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

He lowered himself onto you, skin meeting skin in a slick union that sent shockwaves through both your bodies. The paint created an exquisite slip and slide between you, the sensation heightened by Hyunjin's deliberate movements as he nestled into place against your warmth.

"This… this is what I've been missing," he breathed into your ear. A low groan escaped Hyunjin's lips as he entered you, the movement steady and deep.

The world dissolved around you; there was nothing but the intensity of his eyes and the raw connection that pulsed between you. He set an unhurried rhythm, each thrust deliberate and powerful, every motion sending shockwaves through your painted skin.

Your bodies moved together in a sensual dance, paint smearing with every shift—a riot of color marking each passionate release. Hyunjin's grip on your hips tightened as he quickened the pace, pent-up desire spilling over in waves of pleasure that blurred the line between where he ended and you began. Your nails dug into his back, leaving trails of color as you pulled him deeper.

"Fuck," he breathed against your neck, his voice rough with raw emotion. "I've missed you."

You answered with a moan, your body writhing beneath him in syncopated rhythm. The world fell away as you became one, colors blending and bleeding into each other until there was nothing but sensation.

Hyunjin sat up, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead in the dim light. As he continued to thrust into you, his movements rhythmic and deliberate, he looked down at you. Muscle and sinew flexed with every motion, and he watched you with an intensity that bordered on devouring. His gaze swept over your skin, lingering on the smudged brilliance of his art, seeing the way passion had transformed his masterpiece into something raw and elemental. 

His hand reached out, cradling your face with a tender touch, and his thumb traced a slow path across your cheek, spreading the vibrant colors smeared there.

As he lowered himself back down again, the warmth of his breath tickled your ear. His lips brushed against your earlobe. With a soft, teasing graze of his teeth, he murmured, "I'm home," his voice low and intimate, his lips brushing against your earlobe before teasing it with a soft, playful graze of his teeth.

Hyunjin wasn't content to let the words linger; he punctuated them with a thrust that sent you both spiraling. Your bodies were slick against each other, each movement creating friction that set your nerve endings on fire. The distance and time was forgotten. All that remained was sensation—the slide of your skin, the heat building between you, the overwhelming rightness of his body moving in sync with yours.

"I love you," he gasped, the words rough and sincere, hanging in the air like an unspoken promise that he would never leave again. You arched into him, your hands roaming over his back and shoulders, and it pushed him deeper, driving you both toward a fevered pitch that had only one possible ending.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, before your hands slid up to his neck, pulling his head down to press your lips together.

His breath came faster, mixing with yours as you panted in unison. He shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit you in that perfect spot, and the pleasure was so intense you could hardly stand it.

The two of you moved together until you crashed over a shared precipice, your skin glistening with sweat, paint, and desire as you reached your peak. Hyunjin collapsed onto you, heartbeat pounding against your chest in time with yours. Panting in the aftermath of release, you stayed entangled for what could have been seconds or minutes or hours, exchanging soft kisses that spoke of comfort and contentment.

Eventually, Hyunjin pulled away to look down at you both, his expression a mix of pride and wonder. The design on your skin was unlike anything he'd ever created before—an intricate tapestry of emotion and connection that spoke to everything they'd been through. Although it was now all smudged, he was still proud. "This," he said softly, gesturing between the two of you, "is why I paint."

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Useless, part 2

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister

Requested: not, no one asked for this, I just felt like writing it. And you guys seemed enthusiastic with that poll so here it is.

Synopsis: you, Sam, and Dean have some things to get used to with him back as a human.

Part 1 is here

Warnings: abuse, addiction, anxiety, reader likes Taylor Swift

Sam was worried.

In the days after you detoxed from demon blood, he had been relieved that you didn’t seem to be afraid of Dean, even after everything he’d done as a demon. Neither you nor Dean would speak about what had happened in those weeks, so Sam had to be content to let things be forgotten. But something about the way you’d been tagging behind Dean at all times was…not normal.

He wondered if Dean saw it too, although he suspected that Dean was so relieved you didn’t hate him that he didn’t notice.

He was wrong; Dean knew exactly why you never left his side.

“Stay close, and don’t try anything. I taught you all of your tricks, so we both know you won’t get away with it.” It was the first time you had been unchained since Dean took you from the bunker, so you decided not to argue with him for now.

It had been four days of the same suffocating motel room, with only Dean and Crowley to keep you company the few times they’d stumbled in, so even the sight of a dingy bar was welcome to you.

Other than Crowley, the whole thing felt almost normal—Dean drinking and trying to pick up the bartender with cheesy pickup lines. If you didn’t currently have demon blood pumping through your veins and cuts on your wrists from where your big brother chained you up, you could almost forget he was a demon.

In fact, it was so normal that you got a little too comfortable. You quickly bored of watching Dean flirt, and you found yourself wandering over to the nearest pool table. You hadn’t even set up the balls yet when a vice grip on your arm froze you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dean spat out through gritted teeth.

“Playing pool.” You scoffed at your older brother, not quite realizing that you were pushing at his fragile nerves. “You’re hurting my arm, let go.”

“I don’t think you’re getting something here, little sister.” Dean drew himself up to his full height, and you suddenly realized just how very small you were. “This isn’t playtime. You don’t get to run around wherever you want anymore, understand? I’m in charge now, and you’re going to do exactly what I say, or I’ll make you regret the day you were born. Now I told you to stay close, and I meant it.”

You opened your mouth to fight—you may be forced to ride along, you may even be forced to drink demon blood, but you weren’t his lapdog, and you wouldn’t be treated like one—but the words died in your throat when you looked up and your eyes were met with black orbs.

Dean wasn’t just Dean anymore. He was capable of…

Of—you didn’t even want to know what.

“I’ll make you regret the day you were born.” Dean’s words echoed in your head. He was just trying to scare you, obviously. Dean…Dean would never hurt you.

Dean turned on his heel and returned to the bar, and you found yourself following. Until you knew exactly what this black-eyed Dean was capable of, it was safer to do what he said. For now.

“That’s what I thought,” Dean grumbled, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his flask. “Drink.”

“But…people…” you glanced around, wary of the other patrons.

Something hard suddenly collided with the side of your face, and the metallic taste of blood followed a sharp pain in your lip. You blinked once, twice, trying to make sense of what just happened. The flask was still in front of your face, only now there was the dark red of your blood staining the side of it.

“I said drink,” Dean growled.

Your bleeding lower lip quivered for a second before dropping open, and Dean tilted the flask up, pouring its contents into your mouth while your distracted mind whirled.

He hadn’t meant to do that, right? Dean had never—never—hurt you. He was just lifting the flask, and your face got in the way. He hadn’t hit you with it—he wouldn’t.

It was just an accident, you told yourself.

The twisted grin on Dean’s face said otherwise.

“Hey, thanks.” Dean’s happy tone caught Sam’s attention, and he looked up to see you handing Dean a sandwich. That was something else—you seemed to be anticipating Dean’s wants or needs and getting ahead of them, like there was some weird telepathic link between the two of you.

You were standing at Dean’s side now, staring at him like you were waiting for something.

“You need something?” It was Sam who spoke up, not Dean.

“N…no.” You took a half-step back from Dean and stared at your shoes like you’d been caught doing something wrong. Sam had no idea what to make of it.

But Dean did.

…

Dean hadn’t even noticed you lingering at his side until Sam questioned you. He turned to look, and he caught your expectant expression for half a second before it dropped, and you were stepping away from Dean.

“N…no,” you mumbled to Sam, looking uncharacteristically guilty.

Dean felt like a rock was lodged in the pit of his stomach. The sandwich, the lingering, the guilt…

It was evidence of a pathway in your mind that Dean had meticulously paved as a demon—give him what he wanted, and nothing bad would happen—and it made him sick to his stomach.

Even now, he watched your hands shaking and knew your subconscious was screaming for blood—because he’d trained you to expect reward.

“Did you clean the guns?” Dean asked you, desperate for a change of topic to ease the tension in the room. You often cleaned the weapons after a hunt, since the brothers rarely let you after the monsters, and it gave you something to do. However, Dean instantly regretted asking when all the color drained from your face.

“I—um—I forgot.” Your hands were fidgeting, and your eyes wouldn’t leave your shoes. “I’m sorry De, I can—I’ll go do it right now. I didn’t mean to—“

“Hey, you ok?” Dean hadn’t noticed Sam crossing the room until he was in front of you, trying to get you to meet his eye as he spoke.

You weren’t ok, and Dean knew why.

Dean had been getting annoyed with Crowley lately. His demons were always under foot, and Dean wanted to teach him a lesson. When one of the demons got a little too close and comfortable, Dean decided to act.

“I want you to exorcise that one,” he muttered to you.

You lifted your head, locking your eyes with the demon he was referring to before looking away quickly.

“De, I’ve never—I don’t know how to—“

“Did I tell you to ask questions?” Dean snapped. Your protests stopped.

“No sir.”

“Good. You know how to do it, you saw Sam do it, and you’ve got demon blood. Now do it.”

You swallowed hard, returning your gaze to the demon whose attention was now elsewhere. Your hand twitched as you focused, the blood pulsing in your veins as pain shot through your head. You winced, feeling hot blood dripping down your nose as you concentrated.

The demon started to cough and gag, black smoke coming out of his mouth. But he didn’t leave his vessel.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Dean mumbled, watching the demon carefully. His eyes switched to you when you gasped in exhaustion, collapsing back into the counter as your strength gave out.

“I can’t,” you whimpered. “I’m sorry—“

Dean didn’t stay to listen.

“I’ll deal with this myself,” he growled, and in two strides he was near the demon, letting his fists loose on him in a firestorm of rage.

You watched in silent horror for as long as you were able, but when the demon’s face was unrecognizable in the carnage and he was sobbing and begging for mercy, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Dean, stop it!” You ran to your brother, but he didn’t give you so much as a glance or a grunt. “Dean, that’s enough!” You grabbed your brother’s arm as he wound up to swing again.

It happened in a flash, and you were flat on your back before you even began to feel the sting on your face. You took a deep breath as your brother continued his attack on the demon, trying to replay the last few seconds in your mind.

Dean hadn’t meant to do that, surely. He was just swinging back to hit the demon, and you’d gotten in the way. He hadn’t slapped you—so hard that you could practically feel your face turning black and blue—on purpose, right?

Of course not. Dean wouldn’t ever hurt you on purpose.

Dean shoved the demon to the ground; he was done. His attention turned to you, but when he saw your pathetic form, battered and barely able to get off the floor, his gaze didn’t soften. He didn’t ask if you were ok, he didn’t apologize for accidentally hitting you.

Instead, his harsh grip yanked you to your feet by the arm, and your back was against the counter before you’d registered that he shoved you.

A cry of surprise and pain escaped your lips when Dean backhanded you across the face.

“Don’t ever tell me what to do again,” Dean growled. “And next time I give you an order, I expect you to do it.”

That hadn’t been an accident. There was no confusing it for anything but what it had been—your big brother slapping you across the face because he was angry with you.

But it didn’t feel right; it didn’t feel possible.

You must’ve deserved it, a voice from the back of your mind said. You got in his way, and he can’t let you do it again. He hit you to teach you—he’s teaching you to protect you.

Everything about that thought felt so wrong. But not nearly as wrong as the truth felt.

“Don’t worry about it, ok?” Dean spoke up. “I needed something to do this afternoon anyway, I’ll take care of the guns.”

You went quiet, slowly nodding as you calmed down.

“I need to go get us some supplies,” Sam cut in, his eyes still trained on you. “You wanna come with, kid?”

Dean watched as your gaze shifted to him, a lingering question in your eyes. You were waiting for permission, whether you knew it or not.

“Y/N?” Sam said, and his voice snapped your attention.

“Oh, um…ok.” You seemed to realize you didn’t need permission, but you were still lingering by Dean’s chair, tension clear in your stance.

“Bring me back some beer,” Dean said, and you seemed to relax a little at the permission implied in his statement. “And pie.”

…

You could feel Sam’s eyes on you as you walked around the store with him. You knew you were acting weird, but you’d spent so long with demon Dean that you weren’t so sure what normal was anymore.

Following Dean and listening to his orders felt so normal, but now even Dean was giving you those worried looks when he caught you lingering.

“Here.” You blinked when Sam waved a water bottle in front of your face. “You look thirsty.”

You lifted your arm to take it, but the second it was in your hands your grip slackened, the bottle falling as a not-so-distant memory knocked you back on your heels.

“If you can’t do a simple thing I ask, then maybe I don’t need you here.” Dean was chaining your wrists as he spoke—something he hadn’t done for a couple of days, because you’d been obedient. “Now you’re gonna learn about consequences, kiddo. And when this is over, maybe you’ll actually be useful.”

You no longer doubted Dean’s willingness to hurt you, so you were prepared for the worst. But you weren’t prepared for Dean to turn on his heel and walk out the door. Hours went by, and every one that ticked on made you realize that this punishment was worse than Dean hitting you. You were desperate for blood—it felt like your bones were drying out, like your powers were seeping through your skin and taking your energy with them. Your nerves were on fire, and you were shaking by the time night fell, but still Dean didn’t return.

You nearly cried in relief when the door opened, and then again in disappointment when you saw not Dean, but one of Crowley’s henchman. He barely gave you a glance as he crossed the room and opened a suitcase.

Just another lapdog fetching something for his master, you thought bitterly. Not like I’m much better.

“Hey.” You spoke up before you’d even made the decision to do so. “Wait, don’t go.”

“I’m here to get something for the king, not to talk to his pet’s pet,” the demon snapped.

“I get it,” you scoffed, “you think I’m some nobody. Not like you’re exactly in charge.”

The demon started to walk towards the door.

“I can help you!” You said. The demon’s step faltered, so you continued. “I have influence. You may hate my brother, but Crowley listens to him, and Dean listens to me.” Dean didn’t listen to you, but hopefully this demon didn’t know that. “So maybe if you do a little something for me, then I put in a good word for you.”

“Why should I believe you have influence?” The demon argued. “You’re in chains.”

“Freedom and influence aren’t the same thing,” you countered.

“Say I did believe you,” the demon ventured. “What would you want from me?”

“You know I’m jacked up on demon blood,” you said, hardly believing the words coming out of your mouth. Maybe you didn’t need to do this, maybe this was how you could stop, maybe Dean cutting off your supply was a blessing.

Then pain shot through your body, cutting off your argument with a whimper as you curled in on yourself.

“Well…” you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to continue. “Well my big brother’s been a little busy lately, and I need a hit.”

“So…some of my blood.” The demon pulled out his knife and held it to his hand, but he didn’t cut. “How exactly could you influence Crowley?”

“What do you want?” You asked.

“I want to be in charge of the crossroads,” he said.

“I’ll tell him you’re the most powerful demon I’ve ever seen, I’ll tell him whatever you want him to hear. Just help me out.”

“Fine.” The demon grunted as he sliced into his palm, grabbing one of the paper coffee cups off the desk and letting his blood drip into it. You waited in agony as the blood slowly filled the cup, before the demon wiped his hand and held the cup out for you.

The cup hadn’t even touched your lips before the door opened, and your whole body stiffened in terror as Dean strode into the room, Crowley at his heels.

“Hey—what—“ Dean watched the scene for less than a second before he had the First Blade in his grip, his eyes pitch black as he yanked the demon away from you, the blood-filled cup spilling on the carpet.

“Wait, wait!” The demon whimpered. “I-I didn’t think you—I didn’t know—“

Dean wasn’t listening. He drove the blade into the demon’s chest, and the demon’s pleading stopped.

“Hey!” Crowley protested. “He was one of my best dealers!”

Dean turned his steel gaze on the king of hell. “He tried to give my sister his blood,” Dean growled. “He got what he deserved.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t done,” Crowley scoffed.

Dean rolled his eyes.

“If you don’t understand the problem, I can’t help you.” Then he turned his gaze to you, and you curled in on yourself.

“De, I-I didn’t—“

“Oh, you did. You think you’re a big girl now, is that it? A big girl with her big girl powers trying to be big enough to get her own supplier, huh?”

“I-it hurt so much, and I—“

“Did you really have to kill him?” Crowley’s interruption had Dean’s fists clenching as he gritted his teeth.

“She has powers,” Dean spat, furious that he had to explain himself. “And while I’m her supplier, her powers are my powers. So yes, I had to kill him—and you’d better hope the rest of your little demons get the message. She’s mine. No one else feeds her, no one else talks to her, no one else looks at her.” Dean’s eyes were back on you, deep pits that had been haunting your nightmares. “But don’t think this means you’ve got power over me, kiddo. If you’d taken even a drop of that guy’s blood, you’d be dead right now. You’re under my control; you eat when I give you food, you get blood when I give it to you. You’re only breathing right now because I allow it. Forget that again, and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

“Alright, you’ve made your point.” Crowley grunted as he dragged the body to the corner of the room.

“Crowley.” Dean’s eyes never left you as he spoke. “Get out. I need to teach my little sister a lesson.”

“Dean—“

“De, don’t,” you interrupted Crowley. “You-you don’t have to do this. You’re still my big brother.”

A cruel glimmer lit up in Dean’s eye as he started to laugh.

“Aww, isn’t that just sweet. But you’re not gettin this, kiddo.” Dean’s hand was at your neck before you’d even seen his arm move. “I’m keeping you around because you’re useful, and honestly I’m having fun with this.” Dean’s fingers were slowly tightening, and when your attempt to breath came up short you whimpered, your eyes shuttering closed as Dean continued. “But the minute you become more trouble than you’re worth, you’re done, you hear me? I’ll throw you away like trash, and not even Sammy’s gonna want you now, all juiced up on demon blood.”

Sammy didn’t want you anymore. Dean didn’t want you either, not really. All he wanted was to use you…

You weren’t wanted. But if all you could be was useful, then maybe you could do more to be of use to Dean, before he got rid of you.

“Now you crossed a line,” Dean continued while Crowley left the room. “And you’re going to regret it.”

You swallowed hard, willing your shaking hands to still. You knew this was going to be bad, but you were going to take it.

And you wouldn’t give him a reason to do it again. You were going to be useful.

“I don’t want it.”

“What? Kid, it’s just water—“ Sam bent down and picked up the bottle, holding it out for you again.

“No!” You slapped it out of his hands before backing away. “I—I won’t, I won’t do it!” You spun on your heel and ran down the aisle, turning and bolting straight for the door. Once you were outside, you slid against the side of the building and dropped to the ground in the alley, pulling your phone from your pocket and pressing Dean’s number.

“Hey, did they have pie—“

“Dean.” You sniffled, your voice shaking before you swallowed hard.

Get it together, you urged yourself.

“Dean, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Kid, what’s going on?”

“I—I didn’t take it—I’m not—“

You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think.

He’s gonna beat me again. He’s gonna abandon me.

“Y/N? Hey, you ok?” Sam was next to you now, shaking your shoulder. He took your phone when your grip faltered. “Dean? Yeah, we…we’re coming home. It’s ok.” He hung up, putting his full attention on you. “Honey, what’s going on?”

“No,” you whimpered. “I can’t do it, he doesn’t want me to.”

“Who?” Sam asked. He put his hands on your shoulders. “What are you talking about? Dean? N/N, he’s not a demon anymore. You’re safe, he’s not gonna hurt you.”

You didn’t respond, so Sam lifted you into his arms and carried you to the Impala.

“It’s ok,” he promised. “You’re gonna be ok.”

You didn’t speak the whole way home, but when Sam parked the car and tried to lead you inside, you froze.

“De’s in there,” you mumbled, and Sam couldn’t tell if you were talking to him or yourself—you looked so out of it.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “But it’s just Dean, he’s not gonna hurt you.”

“He can’t—I can’t let him see me,” you sniffled, rubbing at your tear-stained face. “He can’t see me like this.”

You didn’t know that Dean already had; he was standing at the edge of the hallway, watching as Sam tried to coax you further into the bunker.

He knew exactly why you didn’t want him to see you, and it made his heart twist just thinking about it.

It was a few hours after Dean had beat you for the first time. He’d fed you some of his blood after as a “reward” for taking the beating “without being a wimp.” Then he’d left with Crowley again to get more beers, and when he’d returned he was ready to move on to the next town—this one had gotten boring.

“It’s time to go,” he said, reaching up to unchain you. You didn’t fight, but Dean heard a sound that set his teeth on edge; you were sniffling. “Are you crying?” He snapped.

“I’m-I’m ok, just give me a minute,” you pleaded.

Dean stayed eerily silent, watching you. You ducked your head—you knew he’d seen you crying, but you still didn’t want him to watch.

“So this is what you do when I leave.” Dean shook his head. “Is this what you used to do in the bunker too, when you’d hide in your room?” Dean needled you. “What, you think just because you don’t let us see you cry, that makes you tough?” He scoffed, his hand coming up behind your neck and grabbing a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so you couldn’t hide your tears from him. “You’re still crying like a little brat. So no, I’m not gonna give you a minute. I’m not gonna give you a second—you get it together and stop acting like a baby, or I’m gonna beat the weakness outta you, understand?”

A sob escaped your throat before you could stifle it, but when Dean lifted a hand to hit you, you quickly quieted, wiping your tears away and pursing your lips shut tightly.

“Fine,” Dean grumbled, dropping his hand. “I better never see that again, understand?”

“Yes sir,” you promised, getting to unsteady feet and letting Dean lead the way out of the motel room.

“Why can’t Dean see you kiddo?” Sam asked gently.

“I’m weak.” You were desperately wiping at your eyes, but the tears kept coming. “I’m weak and I’m useless and I can’t be!”

Dean had seen enough.

“No you’re not,” he said, cringing when you jumped in surprise. “You’re not weak. It’s ok, you can—“

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, backing away from Dean and wiping your sleeve against your face so hard that you were turning red.

“Hey, hey it’s ok.” Dean was in front of you by the time you lowered your sleeve. He raised his hand to wipe away the tears that were still flowing.

Your eyes screwed shut as your shoulders tensed and your whole body flinched. Dean froze, feeling like an ice cube was dropped down his shirt. His hand was shaking as he gently touched it to your face. You flinched again before slowly opening your eyes when you realized he wasn’t hitting you.

“I’m not mad,” Dean said softly. “I’m never gonna hurt you again, ok? I promise.”

You were still crying, so Dean pulled you into his arms. Sam watched helplessly, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he began to realize just how bad your life had been with his demon brother.

“I think we should go for a little drive,” Dean suggested when your whimpers finally faded away. “I’ve got some things to say to you.”

You were shaking like a leaf, but you didn’t say no. Sam just watched as Dean slowly led you out to the Impala, and he couldn’t help but think this was a horrible idea.

…

He’s never coming back. He doesn’t want me anymore. I’m all alone.

Every time Dean left you alone, the worries started. If he decided you were too much extra weight, you’d have nowhere to go and no one that would take you in—no one would want a demon blood addict. Sam would be so ashamed of you.

“Hey!” Dean snapped his fingers in front of your face, and you flinched. “Would you pay attention? I’m back, that means get up and let’s go.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, jumping to your feet and grabbing the bag Dean had bought you, which was always packed. “I’m ready.”

“Good,” he grumbled.

“Ah good, you’re still here.” Crowley said after opening the door without knocking. “I think we need to have a little conversation. About her.” Crowley nodded his head in your direction.

“Go ahead,” Dean answered. “She won’t mind.”

Your hands were fidgeting in your sleeves while Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Fine. I’m sick of dragging the kid around. She’s useless—“ he glanced at you— “no offense.”

“I told you already Crowley; she stays with me.”

“She can’t even do anything with that blood you gave her,” Crowley shot back. “Just leave her here for Moose to find. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

Your heart was in your throat, your attention fully on your big brother as he pondered Crowley’s suggestion.

“Dean, I’m—I’m trying. I’ll learn to use my powers, I promise!” Dean didn’t even glance your way, and you started to get frustrated, your anger directing itself as Crowley as you stepped towards him. “You can’t just—“

“Hey.” One of Crowley’s goons—who had trailed in behind the king—stepped in your way, his hand raised like some kind of secret service agent. “Back off.”

“Screw you!” You yelled, raising your hand and screwing your eyes shut in concentration.

For a long, sickening moment, you thought nothing was going to happen.

Then the demon started to scream.

You waited until the screaming stopped to open your eyes. The demon’s vessel was sprawled out on the floor, groaning.

“Hey!” Crowley snapped. “You can’t just—“

But you weren’t listening. You didn’t see anything in the room except for Dean’s proud grin.

“I knew keeping you around was a good idea,” he chuckled, pulling out his flask. “Drink up kid, you earned it.”

All you had to do was be useful, and you’d never be alone.

Was Dean angry? Probably—you hadn’t remembered to clean the guns, and then you’d ditched him to go to the store with Sam, and then you’d cried.

He doesn’t want me anymore. He’s going to kick me out of the car and leave me.

Your heart was beating nearly out of your chest, so loud in your ears that you wondered if Dean heard it. He was silent beside you, even though he’d said he wanted to talk to you, which made you even more sure that he’d brought you out here to leave you.

“We gotta fix this,” Dean said finally.

Fix what? Fix me?

“It can’t keep going like this.”

So he does want to get rid of me.

“You hearing me, kid?” Dean asked.

You didn’t know what to say, so you responded automatically.

“Yes sir.”

“No, I…ok.” Dean sighed, turning the Impala into a near-empty parking lot. “Let’s try this.” He parked the car, then stared at you for a long minute. “You gettin out?”

Your hands were shaking as you glanced out the window, then back at Dean.

This is it. He doesn’t want me anymore. He’s abandoning me.

…

Dean’s hands were tight on the wheel as he drove, the silence beyond awkward. You sat tensely beside Dean the whole car ride, not saying a word. He knew he was still scaring you, but he just didn’t know how to fix it.

“You hearing me, kid?” Dean asked, turning to glance at you.

“Yes sir,” you answered.

Dean’s heart dropped—he really was scaring you.

“No, I…ok.” Dean sighed, pulling into a cafe parking lot. “Let’s try this.” Maybe it was being stuck alone in the Impala that was making you nervous—maybe if he got you around people, you wouldn’t be as scared of him.

He parked, but you still didn’t move—if anything you seemed even more scared and tense.

“You gettin out?” He asked. That was, apparently, the wrong thing to ask, though Dean didn’t understand why.

Your hands were shaking so bad that your sleeves were fluttering, and it looked like you’d stopped breathing.

“I can do better.” Your voice came out barely above a whisper. “Please don’t leave me here, Dean. I’ll do whatever you want, I promise!”

“Hey, whoa, what?” Dean stiffened in his seat. “Leave you—kid, what are you talking about?”

“I-I know I’ve been screwing it up all day, but I’ll do better, I swear!” You pleaded. Dean still had no idea what you were talking about. “Just don’t make me go, please don’t make me.”

“Hey, hey, stop.” Dean reached out and grabbed your hands, trying to ignore the way you flinched. “Stop it. I’m not leaving you here, I just—I’m trying to talk to you.”

“You’re not mad?” You were curled in on yourself, staring up at Dean and looking about 3 feet tall.

“No.” Dean spoke gently, deliberately. “Of course I’m not mad at you. But things have been different since…since everything. And I want to fix it. I don’t want you to look at me like I…”

Like I’m a demon. Like you think I’m gonna hurt you.

You were relaxing, slowly but surely.

“So…so you’re not gonna leave me out here?”

“Why do you keep asking that?” Dean demanded.

“I just…you threatened to do it so many times before…” you weren’t looking at Dean anymore, your eyes trained on your lap. Dean’s heart twisted in his chest, and it took a moment before he was breathing again.

“I was a demon, kid. And that doesn’t make up for any of the crap I said to you—but I don’t feel that way, not for a second. I’d never leave you behind, never.”

You kept babbling on.

“I know I’m not as useful anymore—“

“Hey,” Dean interrupted. “Kid, we talked about this. Don’t you remember?”

“I guess, I just…” you sigh. “I wasn’t sure if…if you meant it, or if you just felt bad.”

“Every word. I meant every word,” Dean assured you. “I know you’re still scared of me, but you don’t have to be. That stuff I did won’t ever happen again, ok?”

“Ok,” you mumbled, but you didn’t sound so convinced.

“How about this.” Dean sighed heavily. “How about…we talk to Sam about what happened. It’s not gonna be fun, but maybe he can help us. He’s about as close to a therapist as the two of us are gonna get, and he keeps us in check. If you start gettin scared, he’ll understand. And if I start being a jerk, he’ll knock me into shape. Sound good?” Dean felt the pain in his chest easing as he watched you become less and less tense.

“Sounds…better than nothing,” You decided.

“Good. Let’s head back then.” Dean started up the Impala and swung the car into a u-turn.

“Hey Dean?”

Dean hummed.

“I’m trying not to be scared of you.”

Dean offered you a faint smile.

“I know kid.” He sat in silence for a minute before a grin lifted his features. “How’s this for not scary?” He reached down under his seat and pulled out a cassette, popping it into the player. “I was gonna give you this on your birthday.”

The opening notes to your favorite Taylor Swift song started playing, and Dean laughed at your shocked expression.

He started to sing along with the tape, but he didn’t get a single word right.

“You’re doing it wrong!” You insisted, smacking Dean on the arm. But you were smiling more than Dean had seen in weeks.

“No, I’m not.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810 @tell-elle

[simplyraeblue]

King and Captive

(Hunter and Hunted Spin-Off) read here

modern au a chance meeting with Sukuna quickly turns into a nightly routine you can't escape. as the lines between game and something more blur, you start to wonder—how long can you keep playing, or will Sukuna make you his next conquest? !Sukuna x !femreader

chapter warnings/tags: swearing, light drinking, MDNI, NSFW, guest appearance, guard dog energy Sukuna, pretty light in terms of warnings

A/N: I don't know that I like this... but it's not my worst lol 🥴 don't worry, our special guest star will make a return eventually. we gotta have that dark side of Sukuna still showing up once in a while!

index part nine | part eleven

part ten word count: 4,370

to say you were sore going to work on Monday was the understatement of the century. your entire body felt like you’d be thrown around like a ragdoll – which granted, you were – and you had to wear a lightweight scarf to cover some less than appropriate marks on your neck.  

it seemed Sukuna had taken pleasure in showing just how much he missed you—and you weren't complaining. if anything, he had been gentler than usual. memories of the weekend kept flashing through your mind: his soft caress of your cheek, the way he pulled you in closer as you both drifted off to sleep, and how tenderly he ran his fingers through your hair. it was like a whole new Sukuna had emerged – but even with this new attitude, you knew that his usual self was lying in wait. 

you were trying desperately to keep your head down at the office, particularly to avoid Mai and her inevitable nosiness. the thought of what she would do if your scarf slipped or if she noticed the slight limp in your walk made your head start to ache with anticipation of her teasing. 

but alas, speak of the devil and she may appear. 

“so, lover girl, how was your weekend?” Mai asked, raising an eyebrow slyly as she leaned against your desk. “I certainly hope you weren’t stressing about getting that article done and instead thinking about a certain rugged man?” 

her tone was playful, but you knew she was fishing for details. you forced a smile, adjusting your scarf subtly. 

“oh, you know, the usual—just a quiet weekend at home,” you responded, hoping your casual tone would deflect her curiosity. 

Mai, however, wasn’t easily fooled. she eyed you skeptically, her gaze drifting to the scarf around your neck. “really? that seems a bit too tame for you, especially lately,” she teased, poking gently at your defenses. “come on, spill it. I can tell when you’re hiding something good!” 

you sighed, knowing full well that keeping secrets from Mai was nearly impossible. she had a knack for sniffing out gossip, and her persistent, albeit affectionate, prying made it hard to keep anything from her for long. 

“let’s just say it was a weekend well spent,” you conceded with a small laugh, hoping that would satisfy her without giving away too much.  

“fine, fine—bore me with no details why don’t you,” Mai waved her hand nonchalantly, her lips curving into a sarcastic pout. “as if my day hasn’t already been boring enough.” 

“didn’t you have family coming to visit this weekend? how was that?” you quickly asked, eager to steer the conversation away from your own eventful weekend. 

“oh, it was a delight,” Mai replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm as her face contorted into an expression that clearly conveyed her actual feelings about the event. “just your typical Zenin family reunion. the only highlight was that my cousin came by, drunk as crap, and caused a scene. almost made Naoya blow a gasket.” you couldn’t help but laugh at the visual, imagining the chaos that must have ensued. 

Mai's face softened into a genuine smile at your laughter, seemingly grateful for the chance to share her ordeal. "seriously, it's like watching a poorly scripted reality show when they get together. makes me grateful for the quiet moments at work, you know?" 

“that sounds... intense. but hey, at least it wasn’t dull, right?” you offered, trying to find a silver lining for her. 

“yeah, you could say that. it’s entertainment, but at a high emotional cost,” Mai quipped, her eyes rolling expressively. “anyway, enough about my dysfunctional family drama. how about you and I get a drink after work? then you can spill all the juicy details about that guy – even the ones that aren’t work appropriate.” 

you chuckled, caught a bit off guard by her directness but appreciating the diversion. “that sounds like a plan. I could use a drink or two after today.” 

“great! it’s a date then,” Mai said with a grin, clearly pleased with your agreement. “we’ll hit up that new bar down the street. I hear they have a great happy hour.” 

the rest of the workday passed in a blur of activity. when the clock finally signaled the end of the day, you packed up your things and met Mai at the office exit. 

“ready to go?” Mai asked, her energy levels seeming to spike with the prospect of the evening ahead. 

“absolutely,” you replied, feeling the fatigue of the day begin to lift as you stepped out of the office building and into the cool evening air. 

the bar Mai had mentioned was bustling with the after-work crowd, its warm lights and the sound of lively chatter welcoming you as you entered. you found a spot at the bar, and soon you were both sipping on cocktails, the day’s stress melting away with each sip. 

“so,” Mai began, her tone teasing yet expectant, “tell me everything. start from the beginning, and don’t leave out any of the good parts.” 

you laughed, shaking your head slightly at her eagerness. as you recounted the events of the weekend, Mai listened intently, her reactions ranging from wide-eyed surprise to bursts of laughter. 

after a few drinks, you started to feel like someone’s eyes were on you—not just watching, but intensely focusing. “hey, can you look behind me to see if someone’s staring me down? I swear I just got this feeling,” you whispered to Mai, trying not to make it obvious. 

Mai nodded, her expression turning serious for a moment as she casually glanced over her shoulder. her subtle scan was followed by a low groan, confirming your suspicions. “just ignore it—it looks like my idiot cousin hasn’t left town yet after all.” 

“which one?” you inquired, curiosity piqued. 

“Toji,” Mai gritted her teeth as she spoke his name, clearly annoyed by his presence. 

suddenly, you became acutely aware of his presence as he approached your table. Toji Fushiguro had a reputation that preceded him, and his arrival was usually the harbinger of chaos or charm, depending on his mood. of course, this was all based-on Mai’s opinions. 

without waiting for an invitation, Toji pulled up a chair and sat down beside you, his smile charming yet predatory. “I couldn’t help but notice two beautiful ladies spending their evening without the delightful company of yours truly,” he said, his voice smooth, his gaze fixating on you with an intensity that was both unsettling and flattering. 

Mai rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Toji, don’t start. we’re just trying to have a quiet drink.” 

ignoring Mai’s dismissal, Toji turned his full attention to you, leaning in slightly. “and what about you? do you mind a little company, or should I take my cousin’s hint and disappear?” 

his directness caught you off guard, his confidence bordering on arrogance. you couldn't help but think about how Sukuna would react seeing Toji in this position—leaning in so close that you could feel his breath on your shoulder, his gaze intense enough to unsettle anyone not used to such attention. 

"only if you can guess what I want to order," you responded with a quip, a playful challenge in your tone as you glanced at your empty glass. it was a genuine challenge, and a way to keep the interaction light and under your control. "if you can't, then perhaps you should try your luck with other... ahem... easier targets." 

Toji's eyebrows shot up, a mix of surprise and amusement flickering across his face. clearly, he wasn't used to being challenged in this way, but he accepted the gauntlet you'd thrown down with a smirk. "challenge accepted," he declared, his eyes scanning the bar as if the answer might be written somewhere on the walls. 

after a moment of thought, he turned back to you with a confident smile. "you strike me as someone who appreciates something classic yet bold. how about a whiskey?" 

“oh come on! you totally saw her drinking that earlier.” Mai rolled her eyes at the exchange, but said nothing else as she sipped her drink. 

you couldn't help but laugh softly—his guess was surprisingly accurate. "a deal is a deal," you admitted, nodding for him to continue with the order. Toji signaled the bartender with a flourish, ordering the drink he had just named. 

as he settled back into his chair, waiting for the bartender to prepare your drink, the atmosphere seemed to shift slightly. his earlier overconfidence tempered by your playful challenge, toji appeared more relaxed, more genuine in his demeanor. 

"looks like I get to stay a bit longer," he remarked with a grin, clearly pleased with himself for getting the order right. 

"you do," you conceded, allowing yourself to enjoy the banter now that you had set some boundaries. "but let's not get too cocky, shall we?" 

Toji nodded, accepting your terms with a playful salute. "as the lady wishes." 

“just so you know, she’s already taken, Toji. and I'm almost positive he could kill you with just one look,” Mai interjected, her tone smug as she leaned back in her chair, watching Toji's reaction closely. 

“is that so?” Toji smirked, his gaze shifting back to you with renewed interest. his smile didn't waver, but you could see the slight tightening around his eyes as he processed Mai's words. Toji leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a more playful, conspiratorial tone. "well, I've never been one to back down from a little competition.” 

undeterred, you met his gaze squarely, your tone laced with a mix of humor and defiance. "yeah, and I don't need anyone fighting my battles, thanks. I can handle myself just fine," you quipped, giving Toji a look that matched his own in intensity. 

Toji raised his eyebrows. "I like that," he said, his voice rich with approval. "a woman who speaks her mind. very refreshing." 

you didn’t miss a beat, ready to keep the banter light but firm. "well, don’t get too excited. it doesn’t mean I’m not off limits," you added, leaning back in your seat to signal your lack of interest in his flirtations. 

Toji chuckled, nodding in acknowledgment of your boundaries. "fair enough. just a friendly drink then," he conceded, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. 

"just a drink," you agreed, giving him a nod and a small smile that made it clear you weren’t there for anything more. 

the conversation then took a lighter turn, with you and Mai steering the topics towards less personal matters like recent movies and local events. Toji played along, his responses thoughtful and engaging, showing a side of him that was unexpectedly pleasant – even if he did slip some flirtatious comments in there. 

finally, it was time to leave after more drinks than you’d like to admit. as you stepped out into the cool night air you pulled out your phone to call Sukuna, hoping he wasn’t with a client and could come pick you up. it wasn’t a far walk home, but definitely not the best idea to do alone. 

“is your ride on his way?” Mai asked, peering out from the halfway-open taxi door. 

“not yet, but don’t worry. just get home safe!” you replied, fidgeting with your phone as you tried to appear more at ease than you felt. 

once Mai’s taxi pulled away, you attempted to call Sukuna for the third time, but still no answer. your frustration was mounting when you heard Toji’s voice again. 

“hey, want me to walk you home?” he offered, leaning casually against the side of the building with a cigarette dangling between his fingers. 

the idea of walking alone with Toji wasn’t particularly appealing — you really didn’t want to encourage him or send the wrong signal. however, considering Sukuna’s unexpected unavailability and your growing unease at being alone so late, you reconsidered the situation. 

“actually, do you know the way to Cursed Ink from here?” you asked, thinking it might be a safer destination. you knew Sukuna was likely still there, his tattoo session having possibly run longer than expected. 

“ah, yeah! I’ve gotten some work done there a few times. it’s not too far,” Toji replied with an easy grin, extinguishing his cigarette and stepping away from the wall to lead the way. 

throughout the walk, Toji kept up his flirtatious chatter, leaning in occasionally under the pretense of pointing out various landmarks or pieces of street art. you maintained polite but short responses, steering the conversation toward neutral topics. despite your efforts to keep things light, Toji often circled back with personal questions, probing subtly about your life. 

as you approached Cursed Ink, the neon sign glowing invitingly in the night, you felt a mix of relief and anticipation. however, as you reached the entrance, another figure appeared, causing a brief moment of tension. 

Gojo stepped out from the shadows by the door, his presence unexpectedly shifting the mood. the recognition between him and Toji was immediate and clearly strained. 

“Fushiguro? what are you doing here?” Gojo asked, his voice cool and cautious. 

you turned to Toji, surprised. “you two know each other?” 

Toji gave a tight smile, his usual ease slightly faltering. “yeah, you could say that. Gojo and I have crossed paths a few times.” his tone suggested there was more to the story, none of it pleasant. 

“and Sukuna, too, I take it?” you added, piecing together their reactions and remembering Mai’s earlier comments about Toji. 

“indeed,” Toji replied, his smirk returning as he looked Gojo up and down. “shit, don’t tell me this guy’s your loser boyfriend.” 

“that would be me.” a low and stern voice came from the door of the shop, and Sukuna’s expression was none too friendly as he recognized Toji. 

“c’mon, that’s even worse.” Toji remarked sarcastically as he glanced over at you. which, in Sukuna’s eyes, was the wrong place to look. “I was just showing her the way here. thought I might look into getting some work done while I'm at it.” 

Gojo, clearly not buying it, stepped a little closer to you. “is that so? because it looked more like you were following her here.” 

Toji chuckled, shaking his head. “always so suspicious, Gojo. can’t a guy walk a friend to a tattoo shop without an ulterior motive?” 

Sukuna, stepping up to the doorway next to Gojo, didn’t look convinced. “friend, huh? let’s keep it professional then. if you’re here for ink, fine. otherwise, I'm sure there are plenty of other places you’d rather be – plenty of friends you’d rather be around other than my girlfriend.” 

caught off guard by the complicated web of relationships, you felt a sudden need for clarity. “wait, how do all of you know each other? and what’s going on here really?” 

Sukuna and Gojo exchanged a look before Gojo answered, “let’s just say our paths have crossed under less than friendly circumstances in the past. and Toji here isn’t exactly known for his straightforward dealings.” 

as Toji leaned back against the wall, the smirk on his face took on an unsettling quality as he looked you over. “everyone enjoys a villain, right? makes life interesting, especially with such fine scenery to appreciate,” he remarked, his gaze lingering on you in a way that was overtly inappropriate. 

the comment immediately heightened the tension. Sukuna’s demeanor shifted visibly, his stance becoming protective as he moved to position himself between you and Toji. his voice was low but sharp with warning. “that’s enough, Toji. watch how you talk about her.” 

Toji laughed, seemingly unfazed by Sukuna’s threat. “oh, come on, Sukuna, I'm just making an observation. can’t a man appreciate the curves of a beautiful woman when he sees one?” 

you felt a surge of anger at his words, but you kept your composure. “the only thing you’re observing is how fast you can get your ass kicked. keep it up, and you’ll find out.” 

Sukuna’s eyes flickered with approval at your retort, but Toji only seemed amused by the challenge. “feisty, I like that. it’s a compliment, sweetheart. you should take it as one.” 

“compliments are respectful, Toji. what you’re throwing around is nothing short of harassment. don’t confuse the two,” Sukuna snapped back, his tone growing more menacing. “leave. I’m not going to warn you again.” 

Toji squared his shoulders, his smirk persisting as he glanced at Sukuna and then back at you. “harassment? that’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” 

before Sukuna could respond, you stepped forward, not willing to let Toji’s comments slide. “dramatic would be me slapping the shit out of you. which I'm still considering,” you quipped sharply, meeting his gaze with a defiant glare.  

but Toji seemed to relish the confrontation. “what’s wrong? afraid I’ll say something you might actually enjoy hearing? aw, is Sukuna not giving you enough attention?” 

Gojo, who had been watching the exchange with increasing concern, finally stepped forward, his usual playfulness replaced by a serious, commanding presence. “that’s enough, Toji. you’re clearly here to provoke, not to socialize. it’s time for you to go.” 

instead of heeding Gojo’s warning, Toji pushed off from the wall, stepping closer into Sukuna’s space, his voice laced with mockery. “make me,” he taunted, squaring his shoulders as if bracing for a physical reaction. 

Sukuna looked ready to oblige, his fists tightening, his body tensed for a fight. however, Gojo placed a restraining hand on Sukuna's shoulder, a silent plea for restraint. 

“you don’t want to do this here,” Gojo murmured to Sukuna. aloud to Toji, he said, “this isn’t the place to settle whatever scores you have. walk away, Toji, while you can still use your fucking legs.” 

Toji assessed the situation, his eyes darting between your stern face and the two men ready to back up their words with action. with a huff, he finally conceded, stepping back. “you guys are no fun anymore. this isn’t over – but you three make quite the team,” he taunted, before turning to leave. 

Sukuna remained silent for a few moments, watching Toji disappear into the night, ensuring he was truly gone. “are you okay?” he asked, his voice softening. 

“yeah, I’m fine. god, I pegged him for an asshole but didn’t realize he was that bad,” you responded, managing a small smile. 

“how did you end up walking with him anyways?” Gojo questioned, still glancing in the direction Toji walked to make sure he wasn’t coming back. 

“I went to drinks with Mai, apparently they’re cousins. I knew he wasn’t harmless but damn.” you grimaced, thinking about your horrible judge of character. if you’d know how he’d react around Gojo and Sukuna, you wouldn’t have taken him up on his company. 

as you stepped back into the shop, it was quiet, the usual late-night calm settling back over the space now that most of the day's appointments were complete. 

Sukuna immediately turned to you, his demeanor still charged from the encounter with Toji. "Are you sure you’re alright?" he asked, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of distress. his protectiveness was palpable, a stark reminder of the events that had just unfolded. 

"yeah, I'm fine," you reassured him, managing a small smile despite the residual tension. "thanks for stepping in when you did. that was... he was way out of line." 

Sukuna’s jaw clenched, his hands forming into fists at his sides. "he's been a problem before," Sukuna muttered, his voice low and filled with barely controlled anger. "I should've thrown him out the minute he started talking." 

Gojo, who had been quietly observing, sank further into a plush chair. "we handled it, and she’s safe. that’s what matters. but yeah, we might need to keep an eye out if he tries to show up again." 

Sukuna glanced between you and Gojo, a stormy expression on his face. "if he ever comes near you again, I swear I'll—" 

"it’s okay, Sukuna," you interjected, gently cutting him off. "I don’t think he’ll try anything again, not after tonight. and I’ll tell Mai what happened, and she’ll hopefully keep him away." despite your words, you were secretly relieved to hear the protective fervor in his voice. 

Sukuna paced a few steps away, his thoughts clearly racing as he contemplated tracking down Toji to ensure this wouldn’t happen again. after a moment, he stopped and turned back to you. "if you're sure you're alright... just, let me know if you need anything, or if he bothers you again. I’ll kill him before he lays a finger on you." 

you chuckled softly at his intensity, but you were still comforted by his concern. "I will, thank you, Sukuna. if I need a guard dog, I’ll call you." 

“hey! I’d make a good guard dog too!” Gojo interjected, almost looking offended that you hadn’t considered him. “don't you want to see how good I look in a collar?” Sukuna chucked a notebook at his head in response. 

the rest of the evening passed quietly. Sukuna seemed to wrestle with his own frustration, occasionally glancing at the door as if half-expecting Toji to return. Gojo tried to lighten the mood with a few jokes and stories, gradually coaxing some laughter from you and annoyance from Sukuna. 

finally, it was time to leave. Sukuna walked with you to his bike, his demeanor alert as he scanned the area – like a true guard dog – before you both got on. the drive was quiet, the streets dimly lit and mostly deserted. Sukuna focused on the road, but his protective presence was comforting. 

as he pulled up to your apartment, Sukuna turned to you one last time. breaking the silence, he spoke up. "I mean it, you know. if you ever feel unsafe or need anything, just call me. no one messes with you as long as I’m around" he said, his voice firm but reassuring. 

"I’m sure you enjoy the idea of kicking someone’s ass," you responded, feeling genuinely secure knowing you could rely on him. 

"what I don’t enjoy is the idea that it would take someone hurting you," he said, a hint of a smile breaking through his earlier sternness. "goodnight, and text me when you get into bed, okay?" 

"will do," you promised, placing a soft kiss to his lips before heading up to your door. as you walked to your door, you looked back to see Sukuna waiting, watching to make sure you got inside safely. once you had shut the door behind you, the rumble of the engine disappeared. 

Sukuna's mind raced as he sat there, hidden just around the corner, his knuckles white as he clenched the handles. he replayed the evening's events, Toji's words echoing in his head, each one adding fuel to the fire of his anger. despite knowing you were safe now, the idea of Toji lurking around, possibly planning another encounter, was unbearable. 

driven by a mix of protective instinct and personal disdain, Sukuna made a decision. he started his bike again, the engine's growl barely masking his determined breaths. he knew where Toji liked to hang out—a local bar known for its rough crowd and late hours. if Toji was going to be anywhere tonight, it would be there. 

navigating the quiet streets, Sukuna’s thoughts darkened with each turn. this wasn’t just about protecting you anymore; it was also about setting a precedent. people like Toji needed to know the consequences of crossing lines. 

arriving at the bar, Sukuna spotted Toji immediately. he was outside, laughing loudly, cigarette hanging from his lips, with a group of equally questionable-looking friends. Sukuna parked his bike and approached, his presence commanding, eyes locked on Toji. 

Toji noticed Sukuna and his laughter stopped abruptly, a sneer taking its place. “look who it is. come to lecture me some more, Sukuna?” he taunted, stepping away from his group towards Sukuna. 

Sukuna didn’t hesitate. “you’re going to stay away from her, Toji. this is your only warning.” his voice was low and menacing, promising retaliation if not heeded. 

Toji scoffed, stepping closer into Sukuna’s space. “or what? you’ll play the hero? don’t make me laugh, we both know the kind of person you really are.” 

the taunt was the last – the only – straw. Sukuna’s response was swift—a right hook that caught Toji off-guard, sending him staggering back. the fight escalated quickly, both men exchanging blows, driven by old grudges and fresh anger. it wasn’t just about you anymore, Toji had been a thorn in his side for ages. running in the same crowds for a while would do that to a man. 

the scuffle drew attention, and soon some of Toji's friends moved to intervene. but Sukuna was a formidable opponent, his physique and street-smart instincts were great, but his anger was giving him an edge. none of the other men wanted to risk a broken nose or jaw. the brawl ended with Toji on the ground, nursing a bloody nose, as his friends hesitated to engage further. 

panting, Sukuna stood over Toji, his expression hard. “stay away from her, from all of us. next time, it won’t just be a warning. look at her again and you’re a dead man.” he said through gritted teeth. 

leaving Toji and his bruised ego behind, Sukuna walked back to his car, his anger slowly subsiding into a cold resolve. as he drove home, the adrenaline began to fade and the pain in his knuckles started to grow. while part of him regretted the violence, another part knew it might have been necessary. 

to protect you. 

when he finally got home, Sukuna sat in the quiet of his living room, replaying the night. he knew he’d have to explain his actions to you, perhaps even face some repercussions but he doubted that Toji would try and settle the score. deep down, he felt justified. 

the night had taken a toll, and as Sukuna headed to bed, the events weighed heavily on him. the fight with Toji wasn’t just a physical altercation; it was a stark reminder of the lengths he was willing to go to keep his friends safe.  

to keep you safe. 

⊹. ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊

taglist : @mangiswig @sorahatake @osohchoso @clp-84 @sterzin @csolya @emochosoluvr @aldebrana @ravester @marie-is-in-the-dark @makingtimemine

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Blue Blood and Rain [9]

King John x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: You're the personal attendant to The Dowager Countess of Bowhale, who was visiting the court with her son.

The morning after.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Some angst, due to Hugo in the previous chapter, kisses, pet names, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v sex, multiple orgasms, overuse of italics, power dynamics because he's the king, I have totally made up servant/noble dynamics because I wanted to, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2829

The faint, seemingly far off sounds of the fire in the King’s rooms being lit stir you from sleep.

Your limbs are heavy, filled with a pleasant ache and you open your eyes slowly. 

Darkness greets you, from the weak light you can see the curtains that surround the bed. They are closed, the intricately embroidered material depicting myths and legends. You’re not sure when they were drawn, but you are sure that it’s early morning, close to when you would normally rise, dress for the day, and start your duties. 

The mattress is warm, but empty beside you. You start to sit up, sleep finally withdrawing from its hold on you. 

Faintly, you can hear the rumble of the King’s voice, he’s speaking to someone. But you can’t make out the words. 

Hurriedly you rub your eyes, you’d spent far too long here. You glance about for your clothing from the night before, worrying your lip between your teeth, trying to see if you can spot them without opening the curtains and exposing yourself to whichever servant was lighting the fires. 

Suddenly the curtain opens and you jump back, covering yourself with the blankets.

The King chuckles, smiling warmly and closes the curtains. He is dressed in a beautifully decorated robe that he slips from his shoulders and lets pool on the floor as he climbs on the bed, revealing his nakedness. 

“What are you doing awake?” He kisses your cheek as he slips under the blankets next to you, wrapping you in his arms and shifting closer. His legs are a little cold from being out of the bed’s comfort. 

“Warm me up?” He kisses your shoulder as he coaxes you down to lay on your side with him snuggling into your back. 

You smile. “I have to-”

“You have to lay here and go back to sleep with me. I order it.” His eyes are already closed when you turn your head to look at him, but he’s grinning as if he can picture the expression you’re giving him. 

“Your Highness-”

“Yes, that's quite right, I am Your Highness, and I demand your loyalty.” He teases.

“You have that.” 

“And obedience.” 

“Well…” You yelp as he tickles your side and then squeezes you closer. 

“Do not make the King sentence you to his cold feet.” 

You giggle. 

“I have arranged for your morning duties to be covered, do not fret my love.” He says sweetly and kisses your cheek. “Stay with me a while longer?” 

You nod and let his embrace pull you back into slumber. 

.

The next time you wake is much later, sunshine just peaking through the gap in the curtains. Your dreams had been filled of him, of his touch and caress, sweet words and soft sighs. The King’s arms are still around you, his breathing steady as he sleeps. 

You sit up, turning to look at him. He’s so peaceful, his curls fanning over the pillow. There’s some stubble growing in the usually closely shaved gaps of his beard. It looks quite good, perhaps a full beard would suit him.

Part of you wants to reach out, to stroke his face. But you do not want to disturb his rest.

As carefully as you can, you start to slip out of the covers, just poking your foot off the bed.

“And where does my beloved think she’s going?” The King’s voice is thick, full of sleep as he sits up and nuzzles into your neck. 

“I was just going to-”

“Try and escape me.” He chuckles. “Am I such a terrible host? Or do you see me as some wicked tormenter? Here holding you against your will?” He wraps his strong arms around your waist and pulls you close, pressing his chest to your back as he kisses your pulse point.  

“Maybe I’m the one ensnaring you?” You tease and he groans softly. 

“Yes, yes, very good. I hope so, very much.” 

“You hope so?” You laugh.

“Hmm,” He kisses your cheek, then lips as you turn your head towards him. 

You snort, moving fully to face him and run your fingers over his cheeks. “Your beard is growing.”

He pouts.

“I like it.” You tap his nose softly.

That makes him smile, the expression is a little surprised. “You do?” 

“I think you would look very distinguished.” 

“Oh?” 

“Very regal.” 

“I think my lady is thinking only of what it would feel like between her legs.” He grins when you laugh, resting his hands on your hips and kneading your flesh slowly. 

“I think that is what, My King, is thinking of.” 

“I like that.” 

“What?” You put your arms around his neck, more than content to gaze at the happiness on his face. 

“Your King.” He puffs out his chest. “Just for you. No one else.” 

You swallow. The smallest crack in your chest, threatening to let thoughts of Hugo and the future filter into this perfect moment. You shift, breathing in to speak, and accidentally brush your thigh against the King’s heavy cock. 

His eyes flutter closed and he lets out a gentle hum of satisfaction that he cuts short. “I apologise, my love, being close to you does things to me. Especially when you are naked in my bed.” 

“Why are you apologising?” You ask sweetly. 

“Well, I am sure you are sore and not thinking about such-”

You cut him off with a firm kiss, licking into his mouth when he happily parts his lips for you and moaning. His fingers tighten on your hips as he fights the urge to pull you into his lap.

Instead, you push him back against the mattress and quickly climb on top of him, resting your legs either side of his. 

He kisses you hungrily, groaning as you move but pulling back at the last moment. “My love, do not worry about me, let me put my mouth on you and soothe your ache.” 

You shake your head. “I want to feel you inside.” You raise yourself up and take hold of his thick length, lightly stroking him a few times to savour the velvet heat of his skin under your palm. 

He groans, his hips jolting as he fights back the urge to buck. 

“I’ve been dreaming of you,” you mutter against his lip as you press his swollen head against your entrance. 

He sighs desperately, his lidded eyes widening when he feels the arousal between your legs. 

“You are so wet, my love.” He mutters, his voice soft and reverent, hypotonic almost. “Pray tell, how have you been dreaming of me?” He sits up, chest to chest.

“Of all the ways I could have you,” you whisper and kiss him roughly. He moans, grabbing hold of your sides as you slide your hand into his hair. 

At first, there is a slight resistance as you press down against him, a slight burn of stretched muscle. But the tip of his cock quickly breaches you, stretching you wide as you sink down onto him. 

You bite your lip, gasping. 

“My love,” he swallows, trying to keep the desperate whine out of his voice, to keep the moans at bay. “Please do not if it hurts, if you are sore or in pain.” 

You shake your head. “I’m alright, it’s not unpleasant.” You breathe in, and rock your hips slightly, easing further and further. 

He moans louder, pressing his face into your neck but keeping his lower body still. The tension of his muscles radiates into you, how hard he is trying not to move and let you take what you want. 

You swallow when you finally settle against him, his entire length sheathed fully inside. He presses deep, splitting you in two and piercing your very heart. 

“Are you alright?” He whispers, pulling back to gaze upon your face with his large, soft eyes. 

You nod and shift your hips a little to adjust and he gulps audibly. 

“Sorry,” You smile bashfully. 

“Do not be,” He groans softly and squeezes you a fraction tighter. “I am the one  that is the deviant here.” He teases. 

You giggle and lick into his mouth eagerly when he leans forward and kisses you hungrily. Slowly he drags his right hand down to lightly stroke your clit with his thumb. 

Your breathing hitches as he rubs soft circles and your hips buck instinctively. 

He hums against your lips, “Ah, that’s it, my love,” his voice is thick and syrupy, “please take your pleasure from me.”

You squeeze his shoulders, arching your back ever so slightly so that you can roll your hips experimentally. He watches you move, his eyes lidded and thumb never faltering. Spikes of pleasure jolt up your spine, piercing into your nerves as he strokes you. Your movements start to grow, your body demanding that you chase your pleasure as you adjust completely to his size. 

He presses his forehead to yours, breathing in your oxygen as you bounce on him. Slowly he starts to shallowly thrust upwards, the smallest movement of his hips and revels when you gasp, your eyes widening.

“There?” He mutters, so caught up in the feel of you, how you squeeze and soak his cock, how you cling to him so tightly. 

You nod, hardly able to form words as he brushes the head of his cock against the same spot again. 

The King moans softly, the wanton sound trickling into your ears and electrifying your bones. His thumb presses harder against your swollen clit and you can’t stop yourself, can’t hold back. Not when he’s looking at you like that and holding you so close. 

You come with a sob, the sensation paralysing you for one long moment as pleasure spreads across your body. It’s gentle and slow, like a drawn out shiver running over your skin. 

He keeps stroking as you shake in his arms, stilling only when you relax. 

It's safe as he holds you, contentment bubbling in your chest as he kisses your sweaty temple. You’re quite sure it would truly be heaven just to stay like this with him forever. 

Lightly you scratch your nails across his beard and he chuckles, moving back and kissing your cheek. 

“I think…” he pauses, biting back a cheeky smile. “You have one more in you, yes?” 

You can’t help but giggle at his expression, it’s playful but soft. Inviting your rejection if that is what you wish to give him. 

“Yes, your Highness.” You stroke his neck, playing with the curls that brush against his nape. 

He groans, squeezing your thigh as he kisses you messily. “You could get me to do anything you wanted by calling me that.” 

“Could I?” You grin. 

He nods. “I mean it, absolutely anything.” He kisses you again, softer and slower. But there’s pent up heat simmering underneath, threatening to break through at any given moment. 

“I would give you anything.” You whisper as he sucks a love bite against your pulse point.

“You already have, my love.” He trails his lips lower, littering your chest with kisses before he laps at your nipples and moans in satisfaction as they pebble under his tongue. 

His cock pulses in you, practically in time with the beating of his heart. He can’t help but rock slightly, just to take the edge off as he lavishes your chest with attention. 

You moan as you cling onto him, moving your hips in a slow figure eight, deepening the shallow movements he’s making. 

He gasps loudly, breaking the seal his lips have on your skin to let out the most sinful noises. 

You can’t help yourself, you lean back a fraction so that you can watch him. Sliding one hand up his chest, you tilt his chin towards you, making him bare his neck. 

He whines beautifully, gasping and bucking weakly, trying to hold himself back. You graze your teeth up his neck and he rewards you with a whimper, his air catching in his throat. His fingers squeeze your skin.

“You’re going to make me come if you keep doing that, my love,” he swallows his voice practically pleading. And you repeat the movement.

He groans loudly, the sound going straight to your core as you start to move more fiercely, more frantically. 

A ball of tension is tightening in your belly, demanding control over your actions as pleasure spikes along your veins. 

The King gasps, his balls drawing up. He presses his hand between your bodies and rubs your clit until you’re lightheaded and on the very edge. 

He kisses you messily, warm and wet as he moves with you, pushing you closer and closer until you tense. 

You swear, moaning in his embrace as your second orgasm washes over you. It keeps you in place as he thrusts up into you eagerly, his cries of pleasure harmonising with your own. 

“God- my love,” He whines, swallowing down air as he quickly grabs your hips. “I’m sorry, I can’t-” He just manages to get enough space between your bodies to pull his cock out of you before he comes, spurting hot and thick over both of your stomachs. He groans loudly, pulling you closer so that he can smear his spend against yours and his skin. 

Part of you laments it, in that moment. Selfishly wanting him to come in you. At least then you could pretend when Hugo… you could pretend your first child was the King’s instead. 

The King hugs you fiercely, kissing your neck and soothing your tired and aching muscles. He coaxes you into laying down on your back while he wipes you both clean and then buries his face between your legs, making you shiver and shake and come one more time against his tongue. 

He laments having to leave for the after ball breakfast, pouting a little until you giggle and playfully push his face away. 

You help him to dress, kissing his cheeks when he tries to pull you into a more passionate embrace.

“You’ll be late, your Highness.”

“A King can’t be late.” He grins and you snort. 

“Still.” 

He hugs you closer, “Will you check on Guinevere for me?” He asks softly. The request surprises you a little, surely the King’s servants were taking good care of one of his treasured horses. But you nod, touched by the ask.

“Of course.”

“You are too good to me.” He kisses you again, and helps you to dress in the clothes you were wearing the night before. He keeps your hand in his as you leave his rooms until you have to part, he heads to the right, while you to the left. 

You push all other thoughts out of your mind. Let them stay at the edge, knowing that they will haunt you later. 

You’re barely at the stables, when the King’s head servant, Wymare, approaches you. It is strange to see him far from the King’s side. He bows formally, which only further confuses you, “Your help is needed in the dining hall.” 

“Oh, I… Yes, of course.” 

You follow him quickly as he escorts you, not giving you a second to think or explain where you were headed. You would check on Guinevere the moment you were finished. 

He doesn’t lead you to the kitchen, as you expect, or even to the servants' entrance. Instead down a corridor you haven’t been before, and stops before a side door. 

At first, it reminds you of the King’s personal entrance, but you must be mistaken. 

“Here,” He opens an ornate side cupboard, in the weak light you can’t fully see what he is getting out. He places it around your shoulders, guiding your arms through. It’s a long, sleeveless waistcoat. He moves so quickly you don’t even get a chance to inspect it and assume it is some sort of formal hall attire all the servants are expected to wear. 

He gives you a quick smile and another bow. “My lady.” 

You pause, shocked. But don’t even have time to question him before he opens the door and lightly pushes you out. 

The entire hall is watching you as you come out of the King’s private entrance. They are seated along the long table, the King at the head and closest to you. 

For a second you catch Hugo’s gaze, he is sitting with his mother about halfway down the table. He gives you a quizzical expression and you quickly look away. Though, their position halfway down the table must sting a little. Before he and his mother had been seated much, much closer to the King, closer to his favour. 

“Ah,” the King grins at you, the expression blinding as he stands, forcing all the nobles to quickly abandon their food and scrabble to their feet. “There you are, my beloved.” He holds out his hand to you and quirks an eyebrow. An undeniably cheeky expression plastered all over his face. 

Thank you for reading!

Taglist 1:

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@romanarose @strangerhands @steven-grants-world  @blushingrn @to-be-a-sunshine

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If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[minnielvrr]

Letter Games Pt. 1

Lee: Hannie Lers: Chan, Minho, Jeongin Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: thank you for being so patient with me everyone! and thank you for the ones who checked up on me during my absence🥺 it means a lot to me🫂🩷 i hope you guys like this!!🤗💖

Tags: @itzsana-kiddingmenow, @lajanaa, @bbybumblelee, @hearted-anon, @lunalattae,

@jungwon-is-the-one, @reginald-stay09, @dusk-mp3, @lezleeferguson-120

“You two, quiet down! Hyung is sleeping,” Jeongin hissed for the third time that day, rolling his eyes when Han stuck his tongue out at him. Minho sighed, eyes falling on their leader, curled up and snoring away quietly on one corner of their picnic blanket.

The trio had covered him in their jackets, then munched on some snacks as they whispered to each other. The warmth of the sun, the cool of the breeze and the members hushed voices had lulled him slowly to dreamland.

Innie had propped his head up on his bag and Chan had fallen asleep in seconds, strands of his dark hair weaving between lush green blades of grass.

It was an adorable sight and one that reminded the two why they had to be silent. It was rare to see him so peacefully asleep. Chan needed this nap. And so they settled down too, Han pointing out clouds and comparing them to random objects in an attempt to keep them entertained.

“Look that one looks like Chan hyung’s butt…or maybe Binnie hyung’s. And that one looks like a wahahalrus!” He whispered, dissolving into a fit of giggles when it got both Minho and Jeongin to crack up.

Oh how they missed Changbin. The dwaekki had been stubborn about going to the gym today and so was missing all this.

It was a couple of hours later that Chan woke up, brought back to consciousness by his bandmates quiet snickers.

“Hannie hyung I swear if you wake Channie hyung up, you’re gonna get wrecked so bad!” Innie threatened, although the smile in his voice and crescent shaped eyes stole any real weight to his words.

“I’m up!” The oldest announced, a fond smile playing on his lips as he sat up and stretched. “Man, that was exactly what I needed. Plus,” he added, glancing at the ace. “I had a very… enlightening dream. Innie come over.”

Eyes wide with curiosity, the maknae leaned over, shoulders rising when the leader’s breath tickled his ears. Hushed whispers were followed by a deep red flush overtaking Jeongin’s face, both amusement and admiration shining in his eyes as he leaned away to look back at Chan.

“Hyung that… that… Can he even survive that?” He asked, unable to stop his gaze from falling on Han, who now resembled a scared hamster— worry lines showing on his forehead as his eyebrows knitted in suspicion and concern. Were they talking about him?

There was no way it was that right? That would be ridiculous! Because why on earth would Chan be dreaming about tickle tactics right now?

The same was done for Minho, the kitten now sporting a grin that could only be described as demonic. “I don’t like this. What are you plotting hyung?” Han demanded, looking warily at the mastermind of all this.

“Alright,” Chan announced, “Let’s play a game Hannie: you spell your name, and for each letter, we find a tickle spot and rate it. Sounds fun, right?”

“Nope.” The ace stood up abruptly, taking a big step away from the others, “Nuh uh. Like hell it does. Why am I the one getting targeted? Innie is much more ticklish and Minho hyung is a wayy more satisfying conquest.”

His comments flustered the two, Minho glaring playfully at his while Jeongin groaned in annoyance. “Get back here hyung-ah!” A burst of action followed, Chan and Jeongin jumping up and chasing after the quokka, who stumbled as he fled for his life.

Minho laughed in second-hand embarrassment. Around them, couples and families had stopped to stare, watching three grown men tearing through the grass like kids on a playground.

It was an exposed tree root that was Hannie’s undoing. “No no no no no!!”

He tripped, landing face first on a patch of tall grass. Before he could even stand up on his own, two hands grabbed his waist, hauling him over their leader’s shoulder. He gave in then, slumping in their hold and breathing hard.

“Yes yes yes Han-ah~ We’re gonna have to get you extra good for trying to run,” Chan teased as they walked back to their spot.

Innie bullied him all the way back, discussing earnestly with Chan on which spots to get, the smirk on his face telling Han that this was meant to tease him. And it certainly did.

His chubby cheeks were rose tinted when he was put down, Minho tackling the ace into his arms. “Mhmhm nohohoho!! Youhu cahan’t dohoho thihis to me!” He squirmed uselessly when the three pinned him down, a small part of him giddy with anticipation.

Hannie’s body tingled at the way all their eyes zeroed in on his hips. They wouldn’t start with his hips right? He couldn’t handle one of his worst spots being tickled right off the bat.

“Oh yea? And who’s gonna stop us? You?” Minho mocked, hands resting on Hannie’s ribs and tapping away as if to remind him of his current predicament. He gulped, looking away when he felt his cheeks warming up. Gods if he was already this flustered….

“Now, you remember the rules right? It’s simple. You spell out your name and we tickle you on one spot for each letter. And,” Chan gently tilted Hannie’s face so he was looking right at him, “for every letter you forget or mix up, we will tickle an extra spot that we pick. You got that?”

The ace chewed his bottom lip as he nodded, utterly mortified when he felt butterflies dancing in his belly. He was so excited!

“Go on hyung-ah, spell your name for us. You know you want to~” Innie crooned and Han wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. Their dear maknae had grown very cocky since he’d started bulking, having already gotten his long due revenge on Hyunjin and Seungmin.

A tense silence followed, during which the ace’s urge to get wrecked warred with his want for self preservation. Minho magnanimously helped him along, his fingers dancing lightly against Hannie’s neck to keep him giggling adorably.

“Arghahaha! Hyuhuhung youhuhu cahan’t tihickle mehehe untihil ihihi spehell!” He protested, his train of thought derailing right into tickle land.

“Oh? Whoever said we couldn’t tickle you before you started? There weren’t any such rules Hannie~ Coochie coochie coo~” he teased, mischievous smile stretching his lips as his fingers sped up, making the younger squirm under him.

“Fine! Fihihine Ihihi’ll sahahay it!” He yelped, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. “…H.”

All hell broke lose then. “Hips!” Jeongin yelled like a student getting the right answer in class. His shirt was tugged up and hands were immediately fighting to knead and scribble and drill into the quokka’s hips.

“Fuhuhuhuck nonono!! Ihihit tihihihckles sohohoho bahaHAHAD!!” Han couldn’t tell who was doing what, the ticklish sensation consuming his every thought, giggles spilling from his lips unrestrained.

Chan, sitting on his hands was doing the scribbling while Minho on his thighs was drilling in like this was his last chance to.

Innie on the other hand had moved to his side to knead into one hip at a time, alternating just to watch the poor lee twist and turn, trying and failing to lean away. “Wow hyungie, it’s like you become more ticklish each time we tickle you!” He marveled at the older’s ability to endure the sweet torture.

“Ihihi hahaha HAHATE YOUHUHU GUHUHYS!! AHHH MINHO HYUHUHUHUNG PLEHEHEASE!!” Hannie was thrown into hysterics, giggly laughter morphing into frantic cackles when Minho bent down to blow a raspberry on one hip.

Chan took mercy on him though, Hannie’s face was bright red, his wide, heart shaped smile on full display as he laughed and writhed under their hands. “Just spell the next letter when you want us to move on.”

“A! A! Plehehease Ihihihi cahan’t tahake ihihit thehehere anyhymore!!”

“Oh you asked for it baby. Too bad your first letters spell out your worst spots one after the other~” The leader chuckled at his plight. It was too amusing to stop though. So he dived right in, then stilled when an idea popped in his head.

“How do you want us to get you here Han-ah? Should I go light like this?” He cooed, slipping his hands into Hannie’s sleeves and brushed the sensitive skin lightly with the lips of his fingers. He watched as Hannie’s previous sounds quietened down, sweet bubbly giggles escaping his lips.

“Or rough?” He hooked his thumb into the hollow and vibrated in quickly, thrusting the poor lee into belly laughter, head thrown back and legs kicking the ground behind Minho. “LIGHT! PLEHEHEHASE CHAHAHANNIE HYUHUHUNG GO SLOHOHOW! IHIHIHI’M BEHEHEGGING!!”

“As you wish baby,” the leader promised, switching back to gentle tracing and light back and forth strokes of his nails. It was just enough stimulation to keep Hannie’s melodious sounds filling their little corner of the park, but not so rough that he’d get overwhelmed.

“Hyuhuhung ahahaha ihihit tihihickles hyuhuhung! ihihihit tihihihihckles!!” Hannie told them, watery eyes blinking up at them. “Does it now? And do you like it? I can feel you leaning in you know?” Chan looked at him, amused and endeared.

Their little ace really was the cutest ever. Poor Hannie blushed even darker at being outed, hiding his face in his arm. “Shuhuhuhut uhuhup! Youhuhu mahade mehehe dohoho thihihis!”

“Do you want us to stop then, baby?” Minho asked, a knowing smile on his face as he brushed Hannie’s bangs back from his sweaty forehead.

“Mhmhmhm myhyhy nahahame stihihill has mohohore lehehetters tohoho gohoho youhuhu knohow!” He mumbled between shy laughter, peering at them from his hiding place.

“That’s right! Hyung still has seven more letters to go. You’re so cute Hannie hyung. You can just say you like this~” Innie teased, throwing in a quick scribble to the older’s belly to make him jump. They really adored this shy side of their friend.

Han whined then. They were enjoying his flustered state wayy too much! It wasn’t fair. Just a twitch of Chan’s fingers and another bout of laughter slipped past his lips. It soon grew unbearable, the soft tickles sending tingles down his whole body, making the lee feel like he was a live wire.

“N!! Nehehehext spohohot plehehease!” He begged, gasping for breath. The unshed tears were more prominent in his eyes now. His blush had spread down his neck, color bleeding into his chest.

“Aww is this too much for you Hannie? I’m tickling you so gently and you still can’t take it?” The leader taunted but paused to give the younger a break.

“N is for Navel!” Jeongin cheered, wiggling his fingers at his hyung. It made Hannie’s breath hitch. The trio waited till the ace’s breathing had evened out, Minho rubbing soothing (and slightly ticklish) circles into his waist.

“You ready?” Minho asked, voice soft when he looked at Han, making sure the younger really was okay with continuing.

“I'm okay, hyung. Um... will you... uh... tickle me on more spots if I spell multiple letters at once? Just wondering… Is that one of the rules?" Han asked hesitantly, boba eyes looking right at Chan.

"Hmm, well it wasn't... But now that you mention it, maybe it should be one of the rules. Do you want it to be baby?" Chan's mind was running a mile a minute with that idea, playing with all the ways he could try this game on the rest of the members back at the dorms.

Hannie blushed hard but nodded. He wanted more. And he was curious what spots they would pick for each letter.

And maybe a teeny tiny part of him really wanted this too— to see how much he could take and how merciless his lers could be. After all, these three were probably the most sadistic ones he knew.

“Go on, spell for us.” Jeongin whined impatiently, taking his seat on the older’s calves. Now Sungie really was pinned completely.

“J…I…S.” His next words came out as a surprised screech when, without warning, Jeongin’s hands found his thighs and squeezed. “J for joints!” He spoke cheerfully, squeezing and scribbling and massaging the spot.

“Wait! Nohohoho Ihihihi dihihihidn’t thihihink thihis throughuhuhu ahaHAHAHAHAHH!!” A squeal cut through his bubbly laughter once Minho and Chan also joined in.

“Hey you can’t complain! You asked for this Hannie~ You even thought of it yourself!” Chan chided him, hands busily moving from his waist and up to Hannie’s ribs, clawing and pinching the skin.

Minho had leaned back, massaging his thumbs into the younger’s inner thighs to have Jisung screaming incoherently. It really wasn’t fair that his name covered so many of his worst spots!

Hannie twisted and writhed as best he could, only managing to shake his head and flap his feet and occasionally jerk his torso away from one of Chan’s cruel hands.

“FUHUHUHUHUCK!!! SHIHIT IHIHI CAHAHAN’T OHOHO MYHYHY GAHAHAHAHAD!!” Hicuppy laughter flowed from his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut as if to clock out the sensations racing across his skin.

“Yah! There are kids here! You can’t curse, Jisung-ah,” the leader scolded. And his hands sped up, punishing poor Hannie with even more tickles which kinda did their job.

Now any curse words that came up would die in his throat until nothing but pure, unfiltered sounds of joy escaped. He laughed and laughed and laughed, forgetting how this stupid game even begun in the first place.

“Three more letters baby. What the last ones?” Minho prompted, noticing how out of it their ace looked.

“IHIHI CAHAHAN’T REHEHEMEHEMBER! PLEHEHEASE SLOHOHOW DOHOHOWN!! IHIHI CAHANT THIHIHINK!” He gasped out finally, and the three obliged, slowing their hands until they were merely resting on the tortured spots.

Han panted, chest heaving as he caught his breath. Then he remembered. The last 3 letters. Oh god. Which spots would they target? U for underarms, N for neck and G for…? Damn he couldn’t think of any…

“Uh…U, N and G! That’s all the letters.” He spoked regardless. He wondered what spot the others would target for his last letter.

“Okay U for underarms,” Minho nodded in satisfaction. “N for neck, of course!” Chan followed. They all turned to Jeongin, who smirked cockily. That brat had something up his sleeve!

“Ghost spots~” He said and was greeted with three matching looks of confusion. “You’ll see!” He reassured and let the oldest duo start.

Minho hooked his thumbs into the younger’s hollows and alternated the sides he would tickle, giggling when it had Hannie flailing left and right like a fish out of water.

“Nohohoho!! Mihihihinhohoho hyuhuhung stoHAHAHAHAP BEHEHEING MEHEHEAN!!” His laughter doubled in volume when Chan joined at his neck, trailing his fingertips before scribbling at the soft skin.

Jeongin observed the scene for a moment, taking in the bright pink of his hyung’s chubby cheeks and the tears now dripping down the sides of his face. His beautiful heart shaped smile stretching his lips as he kicked and squealed helplessly.

Then he went in for the kill. “Tickle, tickle, tickle Hannie hyung~” He taunted, drawing attention to himself and delighting in the way Hannie’s crescent shaped eyes followed his hands with a kind of desperation. “NohoHOHOhoho!! Stahahay awahahay frohom thehehere!!”

He then brought his wiggling fingers to hover just millimeters over the lee’s belly, loving the way Hannie tried to suck in his stomach, only for it to spasm with his laughter.

His skin would brush Innie’s fingers and flinch away only for the maknae to move his hands to another spot and repeat it.

“Ihihihihie youhuhuhu’re ahahan ahahahass!” He whined through his giggles after the maknae switched spots for the third time, teasing him relentlessly. That was when the youngest struck. Not his belly? Then that’s exactly where he would aim.

Just when Han threw his head back in frustration, Innie’s hands found the skin of his belly, using all ten fingers to vibrate into the spot.

“ACK! NOHOHOHOHO GOHOHOHODS IHIHI SAHAID NOHOHOT THEHEHERE!!” He screeched, laughter loud and high pitched. He gasped and squealed and kicked and twisted but there was no escape. He was here, pinned down and he would have to take it.

Han felt like he was losing his mind, the tingly sensations taking over nerve and thought of his and filling his brain with how much everything tickled.

After a minute of non stop tickling, Hannie was like putty in their hands, his limbs like jelly, no strength left in them to even squirm anymore. His laughter began to die down, wheezes punctuating every sound until the trio let him go.

“What a mess you’ve become,” Minho huffed out a laugh at his state— hair and clothes messed up beyond saving and tear tracks lining the sides of his face.

Chan handed him a bottle of water that he gulped down hurriedly and Innie wiped his flushed face carefully. “Youhuhu guhuys are insahane… We should definitely make the rest of them suffer too!” He grinned.

With immediate agreement from the other three as well, that is exactly what they did. But for now, Hannie would be getting his well deserved cuddle time to recover from his own tickle attack.

[serinoodles]

Do It For Me. +18

fanart credits: burgeonoli on any platform.

Notes: This was actually revealed to me in a dream, I've never wrote smut and I am not really an active smut reader so I was just freestyling. chapter 1/1. Read on ao3. Recommendation: Do It For Me - Rosenfeld

Tags/Warnings: Smut/ Fluff/ Gentle Sex/ Bathroom Sex/ Semi-Public Sex/ Public Sex?/ cock in vegina sex/ Girl Penis/ No use of y/n/ cho hyunju x reader/ F!Reader/ Hyunju Has Not Had Bottom Surgery/ Vanilla/ loving lesbians/ no rough sex/ Lesbian Sex/ Vaginal Fingering/ Vaginal Sex/ Vaginal Penetration/ Trans Female Character/ idk just loving lesbian sex

''Hyunju~'', you said her name while you sat on a chair in the middle of what it seems to be a military base.

she stood next to your chair with her hand on your shoulder, ''yes, my love'', she lowered her gaze to look at you.

''This hoodie is suffocating me, can't they give me a regular shirt?'' you complained waving with your hands for some fresh air.

She giggled, ''I told you, you didn't have to help with the training hunn, we had enough volunteers''

''I just wanted an excuse to be around you''

''My role in the training is over, I'll ask get you to the changing rooms to get your clothes back.

You nodded, and she guided you holding your hand towards the building. she walked you to the locker and handed you your clothes.

''Help me take it off, I am reallyyy tired'', you teased.

She chuckled approaching you with a step, ''you played an injured civilian, did that take your energy away?''

You nodded pouting your lips, you know it's her weakness when you act all tired and sweet like that. Her hands lifted the hoodie you were wearing, leaving you with just a bra on, the heat caused your body and especially your face to become a sexy shade of red, your tits sat well in your push up bra.

Her gaze immediately fell on them sitting beautifully, and you caught her staring, you bit your lips pulling her towards you from the gear on her uniform.

''You look so sexy like that my love~'', you can see her cheeks blushing already, her arm wrapped around your neck.

''and you can't tease me in here''

you chuckled, ''I absolutely can'', you looked up at her while your hands travelled to her waist.

''No sweetheart, not here''. It was so obvious that your were giving her a hard time, quite literally, as you can feel her cock poking your lower belly, even through the thick uniform fabric.

''Please, I really miss you'', you whined rubbing your body against her, and she can feel it grow hotter in temperature, and so her breath.

Your puppy eyes weren't helping her either, she could never deny you a request; and you know that really well.

''Just some kisses'', you smiled licking your bottom lip.

''we both know it ain't going to be just some kisses'', she whispered, and in the next second her lips were already devouring yours, the kiss was hungry, she sucked your lips one by one as if it was a death row meal, yet she was so soft and taking her time. Her hands touched all over your naked burning hot skin, massaging your breasts on top of the bra.

In a quick movement her fingers unclasped your bra sliding it off of your body, she teased your hard nipples with her finger tips. You let out a soft moan but it was silenced by her tongue crashing into your mouth, she swallowed your moans while you melted against her.

''no one is going to walk in right?'', you spoke between fastening breaths.

''They might'', she giggled. ''Let's move to the bathroom'', she lifted your body easily from your waist and walked to the last bathroom stall. As soon as she put your body down she went back to her favorite meal, your now swollen lips.

The more the kiss kept going and your nipples between her fingers were teased, your rubbing against her body grew hungrier, and your moans; though soft; they echoed in her mouth.

You unzipped your pants and grabbed her hand to put it on top of your soaked cunt, she could feel the warmth and the wetness through your silky panties.

''fuck'', she groaned adjusting her fingers on top of your clit making you almost choke on a moan you were holding back.

She rubbed her finger slowly on top of the soaked fabric while leaving soft kisses along your jaw line, neck and collarbone. Your moan came in a bit loud and so she had to put her thumb in your mouth.

''You can't be loud my love, as much as I want to hear you, please stay quiet'', she whispered to you lovingly and you nodded sucking on her thumb.

Her finger kept rubbing slow circles on you, but you grew impatient, ''Baby~ please finger me already''

She nodded, ''spread your legs a bit sweetheart'', you obeyed as she moved your panties to the side leaving you feeling as if is empty, for her to fill it with her two fingers. Slowly she managed to easily slide them through you dripping wet entrance. You unintentionally bit her thumb trying to hold back your moan.

''I am sorry'', you whimpered.

She nodded, ''it's okei, you are taking it so good'', she left a trail of sloppy kisses on your neck while her fingers slid in and out in a very slow pace, you could feel your orgasm building in your stomach bit by bit, she could feel it too by the way your walls tightened around her fingers.

Suddenly you moved her hand away from your cunt, ''are you okei? did I hurt you?'', she asked, worried. You shook your head, ''I want to cum while you're inside of me'', your voice low and sexy.

''we can't in here'', she whispered to you cupping your cheeks between her hands.

''I beg you, I really need you Hyunju'', your hands massaged your own breasts. The sight of you begging and pleasuring yourself did something to her, she let out a groan, her eyebrows frowning in pleasure.

She knew her weakness was you telling her what you needed her to do for you, she actually doesn't like you begging so much for something she can give you easily.

She nodded for you to unzip her pants, and so you did. You watched her veiny thick cock drip precum as you stroked it looking into her eyes, her lips parted slightly in pleasure.

She turned your body making your hard nipples rest against the cold tiles, she held your left thigh lifting it up a bit spreading your hungry edged pussy, the wetness making a line dripping on your other thigh.

The tip of her cock slid back and forth before she stroked it inside of you. though you were wet, your tightness almost prevented her from going in fully inside of you.

She pushed her body against yours resting her knee under your lifted thigh so she could use her hands on you. Her left hand played with your tits and her other hand held your chin with her index in your mouth.

''Baby you feel amazing'' she moaned in your ear moving her cock in and out of your sloppy cunt, the sound of her pelvic smacking against your ass along with the wet lewd sounds made her almost go crazy, but she kept the slow gentle pace going.

You were barely able to hold your moans in, letting them out in low hums, your eyes rolled back feeling her thrusts in and out of you while her finger played with your sensitive nipples.

You could feel the knot in your stomach loosening and your walls clenching around her. You fingers rubbed your clit while you whispered, ''I am close, please cum in me'', she hummed breathing heavily trying to keep her pace, she knows you love it slow and loving, you love feeling every inch of her without a hurry.

You let out a crying moan finally cumming around her, grabbing her arm tightly as you could also feel her shooting a thick warm load inside of you. She kept thrusting through your juices mixing them in an even slower pace until she stopped sliding her trembling cock out, causing her cum to drip out of your swollen, spread cunt alongside your thighs.

She turned your body facing her kissing your lips while moving your hair away from your face.

''we should be really grateful no one caught us'', she chuckled.

''I don't know about that but I'll always be grateful for being your girl''

[mullermilkshake]

One year later.

Part 2 <- -> Part 3

Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader x Kento Nanami

Tags -DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,Stalking,Gunshot,Hunting,Creepy,Death,Blackout

Click. Click. 

You never got used to the sound of your husband loading a rifle.

Click. Click. Click. 

He never got used to you loading one either.

Click. 

That was what Satoru Gojo’s presence did to you, or lack of. Over the last eleven months there had been no sign of him, no deranged bouquets or cards written in his sickeningly sweet cursive or a strange and eerie phone call in the middle of the night.

Just… nothing.

Click. Click. Click. 

Kento made sure he could protect you and you knew he hated it if there was ever a time when the two of you were split up in the day and he had no control over it. You guessed your paranoia had finally worn off on him, recognising that look in his eyes, the same that night before he left for his trip.

Never having to say a word to you, he knew he felt guilty that he hadn’t fully believed you, yet pandered to you all the same. You couldn’t blame him it was obvious that it ate away at him.

That was why he had taken you to this place, almost coincidentally a year to the date. A cabin his father left him he called it, though he’d never mentioned it to you before, it seemed homely enough. A cabin he proposed that you and him move to a few months after the incident and began working remotely.

Desperate in his own right not to be that far away again when the inevitable happened.

Satoru Gojo would come back eventually.

That’s how it went in the movies, right? The bad guy came back eventually for one last fight before someone ultimately died. That’s how the cliche'd trope always went.

This cabin was in the middle of nowhere really, just snow capped mountains in the distance with a quaint little stream running past the foundations. Not many people, no enemies and no emergency services. Perhaps that’s why Kento wanted to come and live here. If that evil bastard returned, he wouldn’t need to rely on the police to deal with him. 

Kento Nanami had one massive axe to grind.

In woods like these where people relied on guns and ammunition to hunt, they were used daily. Most shooting noises were not unreasonable and it was safe to assume that a deer dropped to the ground. 

Crack. 

One single round to echo in the air and Satoru Gojo would be no more. You weren’t sure if Kento would go through with it. Shooting a living person to the point you assume their death changes people.

It changed you.

Yet for some reason Kento stayed by your side.

“Darling, I’m heading out.” Click. Click. The weighted metal scraped the chamber as your husband loaded the small capsules inside.

“Alright.” You said, your knitted blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders to nurse out the cold. “Please be careful Ken, it’s snowing heavier today.”

Snow seemed to absorb the sound in the woods, floating down to collect and pie up at the sides of the cabin and easily covering up footsteps in no time. The hustle of the city sat as a distant echo off way far, where here was deathly silent and deadly surreal. A slow motion to the point it was a dreamscape.

Kento nodded and slid on his neon high vis jacket, his hat covering his ears perfectly to keep out frostbite, even inside the cabin, the air was not humid but rather sharp despite the insulation.

“I will. Wrap up tight today. I’ve brought more wood in from outside but I could be a while.” The daylight hours were getting shorter and shorter by the minute.

You wore a hat inside most days, and two pairs of socks. Heating did not cut it, not even the crackling of the fresh fire could settle the burn in your bones. Being out here was nothing like your internal heating back at the old house.

“I’ll bring deer back tonight, that one keeps giving me the slip.” While that was true, and Kento took it as competition to get the little fucker, you also knew it was another reason to survey the area.

“Alright.” Kento never left for long and he rarely ever went far either.

“You’ll be fine, why don’t you read that book I got you? Take some time for yourself.”

A bubble bath sounded like the right thing to do on such a wintery day. “I will actually-“

The darkest corners of the room grew darker, the lights flickered off, the refrigerator stopped its usual humming.

Kento mumbled and cursed under his breath. “Stupid fuses.” 

He put the rifle down on the table by the door and wandered over to the small box on the wall. “Remember which ones I showed you if the board goes again?” 

The black plastic switches, make sure all them were moved to black and none in red. You nodded and joined him in the open plan kitchen, beating him to it and opening it to show him you had actually retained that information.

“Good, just do that again if it goes out while I’m away.” Everything came back to life quicker than they faded. 

“When were they going to send out the repairman?”

“Once the roads are cleared, they won’t come out until then.” Of course. 

“Maybe I should quit my own job and take up the repairman position then? Never know, it might be one of my talents.” 

“Perhaps. But I think you’re better suited for other things you’re talented at.” Some would say that was an insult, but if anyone knew what positions Kento had you in last night, well, they would know exactly what your husband meant.

“Maybe I should, I have other talents I could show you, say… tonight?”

There was a ghost of a smile across his face, you didn’t see that very much anymore. “I’m sure that could be arranged. Have dinner with me?”

Candles, bubble bath, fucking. Since then Kento had grown more forward than he had ever been before. It took a while to get used to immediate Kento, forward facing Kento. It only improved your sex life.

“It’s a date.”

“Good. I’ll be back before it gets dark.” He lent in and placed a delicate kiss on your lips. “Take care, Darling.”

It made you melt how he spoke to you sometimes. More commanding now, authoritative without even trying, it just settled a neat buzzing tingle in your stomach. 

You watched him leave, trudging out of the front door into the heavy snow crunching under his boots, the usual creak of the wooden steps bowing due to age. His high vis jacket was still visible until it wasn’t and you watched him leave until the vibrant orange was out of sight.

It was early, early enough before lunch that you could sit back and tuck into the book sitting on the coffee table by the sofa. A thriller novel, a story absorbed with murder, scorned lovers and isolation in an enormous house to find who the really killer was.

An exciting read that got you so enthralled, you hadn’t realised just how late it had gotten. It was way after lunch and there was only an hour or two left before the sun would start to set, the fire was starting to die down too. Kento hadn’t returned so you decided it was time for that bath after stretching your legs that seized in the looming cold. 

You slipped extra logs into the burner and closed the cast iron door with a clang, locking it and trudging off to the bathroom to fill the tub before Kento came home. If you timed it right, there was a chance the Kento would make it just in time to join you.

But he wasn’t. By the time the tub filled up with plenty of bubbles and lavender aromas, Kento still wasn’t home. A bath alone. You’d make sure he made it up to you later because nothing was better than bathing with someone. Bathing alone was boring.

Stripping your clothes off, only your toe touched the water before everything went dark, only the lit candles surrounding the bath drew flickering light in. The stupid power went out again. Tutting, you grabbed your robe from behind the door and wrapped up, the light escaping the short day fast and clouds gathered outside. It was eerily quiet with no environmental noises because of the snow absorbing them. 

This is a trope in a fucking horror story… 

Lone woman, naked and vulnerable searching for the stupid breaker switches that flipped again leaving the house in a dingy mess, only the log burner crackling away that let on any movement.

Perfect set up to get murdered.

You flicked each switch, click, click, click each on so the corresponding area came back on, light by light and that low hum of the fridge that you heard heading back to the bathroom to soak for a while. You hadn’t soaked long and the front door opened. Finally Kento was home, you were going to get out, but decided against it and called your husband over instead. 

“I’m in the bath, Love. You’re welcome to join me if you want!” No answer just yet, he must have been exhausted tracking that deer.

He probably hadn’t heard you, or he was frozen stiff from the snow. You got out of the welcoming warmth of the water and wrapped yourself up again, leaving wet footprints right through to the living room. 

“Ken, you haven’t frozen over have you? The bath is getting cold.” Nothing. No one.

Nothing but drawn curtains and flickering candles on the coffee table next to the burner. “Ken?”

Rose petals on the floor, leading up to the little table in the middle. You wandered over to the closed toilet door just past the living room. “Big idea for a date, I’m guessing you got the deer then?”

A big celebration for your husband getting the jump on that deer and the anticipation was killing you.

“Well. I didn’t get the deer, but I think I’ve earned some time with you.” Your blood ran cold, that wasn’t your husband.

You couldn’t tell where that voice came from, one you knew so well. Darting around the room, you couldn’t see him, you couldn’t find the nightmare from under the bed that was alive in your living room. 

“I’m very real, you’re not dreaming.” His voice was so clear, so in your ear that he was close, but you couldn't see.

“You thought I wouldn’t find you up here? Your husband really thought he was clever taking you away from me in the middle of nowhere. It is a cute little cabin though.”  

You stood there frozen on the spot, eyes now trained on a darkened corner of the room as dusk approached. Right there. It was the only explanation. Anyone could hide in the darkness if they put their minds to it.

“Got you.” He grabbed you, pushing you up against the wall in just your robe.

Involuntarily you screamed and struggled to keep quiet with Satoru Gojo pressed up against you as your noses touched. “W-where is Ken… What h-have you done with him?”

He completely ignored you and looked down at your robe. “Y’know I was really pissed that you actually had the gall to shoot me. But,” He sang that last word in a way that made your stomach twist. “I was really proud of you for following through for once. Takes a lot of balls to stand up to a loved one and even though it hurt like hell, it was pretty badass of you. So I’ll forgive you…”

His pause took all the air out of the room. “But it won’t happen again.”

This was it, he was going to kill you. Strangle you within an inch of your life and laugh for even daring to shoot him. He’d probably bury you in the woods, no one would see for years to come until you were nothing but unidentifiable bones.

Ken will find my body, he’ll find it and then Satoru will kill him too, slowly probably and one will know what happened.  

“I… this can’t keep going on Satoru… When are you going to stop?” They were barely words, barely anything at all but he still heard you.

“When I’m sure you won’t leave me again.” There was no poison in his words, vitrol or a hard hitting sharpness. It was more like he was actually human.

A cheap ploy to push your guard down further than it already was, barely dressed with another man pressed up against you all wet and dripping while he played to your caring nature. It wouldn’t work, this man had already taken a bullet and you searched anxiously around for anything. 

You were nowhere prepared like last time and unless Kento came bursting through the door any moment with that rifle loaded and pointed to inflict harm, there wasn’t much you could do but what he said.

It was hard to choose what to say in fear of upsetting him. “I-I’m married, Satoru. We can’t be together-”

“Then we get rid of your husband.”

Fuck. “No. No you can’t do that please. Please don’t hurt him.”

Satoru caressed your cheek with his thumb and smiled sweetly. “Shh, it’s alright; I tell you what, I’ll make it quick, painless and I won’t even ask you to watch. How about that? Then you won’t need to do anything.”

It was clear your year's absence had obscured his vision and twisted it into something far more deranged and disgusting than before. A gunshot wound from someone he claimed to feel something for enough to suggest killing for them.

“Satoru…” Tears slipped down your cheeks, not the water dripping from your sodden hair you hadn’t towel dried. “Please don’t do this. I love him so much, don’t- don’t-”

“Where’s your love for me, huh? I was here first and you didn’t even give us a chance; I mean, how was I supposed to take that?” His teeth gritted and his fingers pinched your arms as he held them.

“You’re hurting me.” 

“How is he even worth the ring on your finger? I asked you so many times to marry me and you didn’t even think about it. Every time you told me no, you took a piece of me with you. I looked for you for years and I find you’re married with a happy little life and then you fucking shoot me?”

“I don’t want to be with you-”

“I am amazing. Anyone would want to be with me, but you refuse. I don’t get it-” His own voice caught in his throat as soon as the front door opened.

“Kento…”

He had blood on his coat and rifle slung over his shoulder, clumped snow around the base of his boots with white knuckles on his tight grip on the front door. He didn’t look at you or acknowledge you had even spoken. 

“Outside. Let’s settle this.”

And like a mutual understanding, Satoru let go of you and chuckled. “Well it’s about time.” He looked back at you and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I won’t be long, baby. We’ll take that bath when I’m back.”

Satoru turned and left, waltzing past Kento and out of the house. Your husband took one long look in your direction, nodded and pulled the door keys from the lock and slammed it shut before you could get to him. 

“Ken. Open the door!” You banged your fist, knocked harshly and waited, running around the living room still dripping wet to uncover the windows to see where they had gone. 

But it was like they had vanished, the pair of them just gone. The back door. Running carefully through to the kitchen, you could get outside that way. Even that was locked, like it was premeditated. Did Satoru lock it? The keys were nowhere to be found, none hanging from the little shelf in the corner or on the side by the door. 

Nothing.

You contemplated breaking a window and getting out that way, but if they were actively fighting, one smash could turn the tide and distract Kento. So all you did was pace and wait, changing into proper clothes so fast it almost made your head spin, until there was a single gunshot that cracked through the air and your heart broke.

“No… No, no, no!” Running back to the door you pulled at it, kicked it with screams and tears like a floodgate with no control.

Someone was dead, you sensed it in your bones with no idea who it was. You were a widower with no escape for all you knew, or free from Satoru for good. The latter didn’t instil confidence, you just wanted your husband. 

“Kento!” Bang the door went repeatedly, you hand throbbed against the door shaking and shaking though never budging. “Ken-”

You backed away from the door when you heard the keys jingling in the lock, so far away you didn’t stop until your back was against the closest thing. The opposite wall at the other end of the room. 

It’s Satoru, he’s killed Ken and now he’s coming for me. I just know it.

"Get the hell away from me, Don't come ant closer!" Pulling your arms up to defend yourself would not have stopped an attack.

The door opened with a creak, you didn’t dare look. “Darling…”

“Ken…”

When you gathered the courage to look, he was all bloodied, lip busted and swollen so bad he was only breathing through his nose. Kento’s eye was as dark as the night sky and that rifle was no longer wrapped over his shoulder.

“It’s over…” Raspy breaths and he limped inside. “You don’t have to... be afraid anymore.”

“It’s… over?” It really was? Pushing off from the wall you went to him, realisation sinking in with each step until you were running to him. “He’s-”

“Gone; he’s gone.”

He's dead.

Kento never did tell you where he hid his body, not that you ever really wanted to know. Since the first time you had ever let Satoru Gojo into your life, you finally slept without issue. No nightmares or sweats and terrors that plagued your head every time you closed your eyes. 

You thought of him on occasion, though as time went on it became less and less as each year until any memories of Satoru Gojo hid themselves inside the very back alley’s of your brain.

Through the chaos, it brought you and Kento closer together.

And Satoru was the man who pushed you into your husband’s arms. 

What a fool.

Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate all the kind comments and I can’t wait to share more! ❤️

Tag list - @yourhornysister, @suyanlogs

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[radiantinvocation]

may I request a PLATONIC hurt/comfort elder faerie x little child! reader who is an outsider and not a faerie? Like as a baby, reader was found abandoned and injured alone in Beast-Yeast near the faerie kingdom, and was taken in by the faeries Reader would grow to be a cute little kid, an absolute kind-hearted sweetheart and at that time the events of beast-yeast chapter 1 and 2 occur with the beasts being released and Elder faerie being attacked by SMC... and since reader is so young and just a little kid, they dont understand what is going on and they are scared and traumatized- too young to have to see all of this Could elder faerie comfort reader through all of this? We all need fatherly hugs from him sigh...

Elder Faerie + Child! Reader

Tags: platonic dynamics (found family)!!! angst with comfort sprinkled in (whoops), no beta we die like yk who

“O, mighty silver tree.

Watch over us from above

And protect the peace and chaos from the world…?”

“No no- that's not right.” You let out a frustrated sigh.

“And protect the peace and balance of this world of chaos.” Elder Faerie corrects you with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Recognizing his voice, you spun around to face him. He gently ruffled your hair as he seemed to reminisce about something.

It felt like yesterday that you were just an infant small enough to fit in his arms. Out of everyone in the faerie kingdom, he was the one closest to you.

When Silverbell found you, an ordinary cookie infant abandoned in the outskirts of the faerie kingdom, he immediately took you to Elder Faerie. His majesty being the gentle soul he is, took you in without much of a question. He’d raise and protect you as if you were his own child.

He was abruptly snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of your voice.

“Elder Faerie sir! What are you doing here? You should be resting right now shouldn’t you?” You asked worryingly. You were aware something was up for the last couple of days, but you were shielded away from the truth. You’re just a child and Elder Faerie just couldn’t bear to tell you of a possible impending disaster.

“My dear child, you shouldn’t be near the silver tree right now. It’s for your safety.” He states gently.

He took your hand into his own as he glanced at the rift in the silver tree. The rift is progressively getting wider… At this rate it’ll only be about time before the beasts escape and spew havoc if he doesn’t act soon. As much as he is the ruler of the faerie kingdom and guardian of the silver tree, he was also your caretaker. He simply couldn't fathom failing to protect you and the kingdom.

Before you could question why Elder Faerie wanted you away from the tree, Mercurial Knight and Silverbell made their way to where both you and Elder Faerie are.

“Your majesty, you called?” Silverbell started before quickly being distracted by your presence. For a moment he smiled and waved at you and naturally you waved back at the adorable looking faerie.

Elder Faerie smiled at the exchange while Mercurial Knight only nodded at you and Silverbell’s antics before giving his majesty his undivided attention.

“Yes I have. Silverbell, I trust that you can look after the young one while I handle some affairs.” Elder Faerie asked while giving Silverbell a knowing look.

“Oh…! Yes! Yes I can, your majesty.” Silverbell replied as he went to pick you up. Since you weren’t a faerie you obviously lacked wings like the rest of the citizens in the faerie kingdom so Silverbell preferred picking you up for easier travel.

Silverbell gave his majesty a nod before departing with you in his arms. Elder Faerie watched as you two left and waited for you and Silverbell to be a good distance away before resuming his talk with Mercurial Knight.

“As for you Mercurial Knight, let us go find the others. We only have limited time left before things can get worse.” Elder Faerie continued.

“Understood your majesty.”

-

“Ah..! That scroll is a little tough for you to read, is it not?” Silverbell asked alarmingly. Most if not all scrolls in the library were written in music notes, so he questioned if his majesty taught you how to understand the notes. Thinking about it, he probably did.

You continued on attempting to decipher the scrolls even asking Silverbell for help when you got stuck. Looking up every once in a while, you noticed that there weren't as many faeries around as there usually are. It was eerily quiet.

Getting up from your spot on the floor you turned to a shelf to put back the scroll to pick up a new one. Spotting one on a high shelf you stood on your tiptoes, only to lose your balance and fall to the ground at the sound of a shriek.

“THE SEAL…!”

As if on queue the ground shook as more screams seemed to come from the direction of the silver tree. Silverbell immediately was at your side trying to haul you up quickly.

“The rift in the silver tree must've opened…!” The faerie next to you said in a distressed tone.

The rift? Is that what that was the entire time? Your mind was trying to process what was going on yet your mind kept going back to one specific thing. Or should you say a specific cookie.

“Elder Faerie…!” Finding your balance you immediately tried to find the exit of the library. You had to find your caretaker–Make sure he's ok!

Not wasting any time, you ran out of the library. You could hear Silverbell attempting to get you to stop but it was futile. Kids surprisingly get quite far in such a short time apparently. Your little legs can only get you so far in such time but you'll make it!

Every corner you turned there was mass destruction. Deceit was spreading all over the kingdom and you watched as many faeries turned to embrace the chaos–turning into mere puppets of deceit.

Silverbell was hot on your trail desperately trying to catch up. He knew exactly where you were headed and he was worried. A child like you shouldn't be experiencing any of this. You can't see the state his majesty is in you just can't.

The silver tree was finally in your view. Looking frantically you looked around for a certain cookie. He had to be ok, he just had to.

Just as you set your eyes on who you were looking for, you could only look in fear as your view was obstructed by a beast.

“Ahhh fresh air! Feels nice to be out of that place!” The beast said as it seemed to stretch its arms.

You were frozen in place out of fear and were about to stumble backwards. Silverbell now at the scene as well was able to catch you before you fell. He also watched in fear as the beast took a look around the area.

“I see I have QUITE the audience today!”

“Let's see here who do we haveee…!”

“I already said hello to Pure Vanilla, that's one. Some… annoying looking cookies that makes five. Ah, two faeries! Seven! Oh and I CAN'T forget about Elder Faerie! Oh? A rather young cookie too..? Oh well, the more the merrier!”

Tensing up at the last part of the beast’s sentence, Elder Faerie looked back and spotted you–with Silverbell trying his best to comfort you.

Weighing his decisions, Elder Faerie turned his back on the beast and rushed to be by your side. He failed halfway to get to you as half of his energy was depleted to revive another's life.

“Your majesty!”

Seeing him fall to his knees horrified you and you ran to his side. Tears started to well up in your eyes as you took in the gravity of the situation. Seeing your caretaker struggle to keep himself up scared you.

As for Elder Faerie he was sorry. Sorry for you. Sorry that he couldn't do more in time to prevent the situation altogether.

Using what little strength he had in him he gathered you in his arms and let his wings wrap around you. It was his best attempt at trying to get you to look away from the sight of the beast.

“It'll all be alright dear. Don’t look at him. Look at me.” Elder Faerie said as he checked around your face and arms for any scratches.

Shadow Milk only grumbled at the sight. “Uh HELLOOO, main character still HERE. Cmon! No need to be so toothrottingly sweet right now.”

Elder Faerie grimaced at the shrill sound of the jester's voice. He had to get you away from the area. For what he was about to do, would send your mind spiraling. He’s sorry, but there is no other way. Not in his current state anyway.

He glanced at Shadow Milk then at you. Standing up with you in his arms, Elder Faerie approached Silverbell once more and passed you to him– not without leaving you with some words of comfort and farewell.

His last words to you? “It’ll be over before you know it, young one. Do not worry about me.” His voice faltered as he noticed a blue hyacinth flower on the ground. Plucking it off the ground he inspected it before handing it over to you.

“Rest up child, tomorrow is another day.” He smiled at you. Without even letting you make a sound of protest and he brought his hand over to cover your eyes. Silverbell watched curiously as his majesty put you to sleep.

“Your majesty! We cannot hold back the beast much longer!” Elder Faerie and Silverbell regarded Mercurial Knights' warning before facing each other again.

“Your majesty...” Silverbell started to tear up knowing the fate of his majesty.

Giving one final command to Silverbell, he instructed for you to be taken away to your chambers to rest. Silverbell obliged his command and promised to be back to help if time allowed it.

Elder Faerie thanked Silverbell before turning back to face Shadow Milk. The jester in question grinning from ear to ear ready to put on a show.

His majesty has no regrets but one. His only regret being he could not spend more time with you and watch you grow and walk the path you choose.

Note: Guhhh sorry for the wait anon! Had to brainstorm how to keep some canon story elements like him biting the dust while also trying to provide comfort. I'm a sucker for found family and Elder Faerie.

I hope I could bring justice to your request.

[veliseraptor]

got tagged in this one by @paradife-loft a while ago and decided to finally get around to it!

tagging @brawlite, @silvysartfulness, @anghraine, @ameliarating and uhhh anyone else who feels like it

5 Things You'll Find in My Writing

Grief/mourning, or loss more generally. I'm not totally sure why this has been such a recurring thing in my fic (and has been for years) but it is certainly something I keep circling back to. I think there is something to me very compelling about both the emotion itself and the...presence of absence, if that makes sense. The way someone can still be there even when they aren't there anymore. It doesn't come up in everything but I think even when it's not direct it's often there obliquely in ways that don't have to do with death itself.

Recovery arcs. At one point I might've said "redemption arcs" but I actually think that's less accurate to the kind of stories I'm more interested in, which are less about atonement or making good than they are about people going through it and finding some way to "get better", whatever that might mean - and it can mean a lot of things. It's much more about the character's internal experience and outlook on the world than it is about any external validation or judgment by the narrative. I'm much more interested in how characters reconcile with themselves than how the world reconciles with them, is maybe a pithy way of putting it.

Poorly adjusted trauma reactions. I mean this goes hand in hand with the kind of characters I tend to write, who generally have some kind of trauma baggage and are handling it in the worst way possible, usually externalized and often both self- and other people-destructive, but at least other people-destructive for sure. I find this particular kind of ugliness and messiness very compelling to explore, both in terms of what it says about how trauma can shape people for the worse and also, on some level, as a way of exploring the idea that people who do bad things can still be worthy of compassion.

Very different people coming to an understanding. Usually when I'm doing this the people hate each other, but it's not necessarily a requirement - I do like to start from a place of distrust at the very least, though. It's a character dynamic that I can trace going all the way back to some of my earliest (original) writing. I think in a lot of ways one of the things I'm fascinated by in writing terms comes down to communication - how people communicate with each other, how they don't, where it breaks down. What it means to communicate with someone when it's the last thing you want to do. I think that's what this is really digging into at the base of it, but the form it specifically takes most often is this one: people with profound differences, often outright hostility, finding some way to cooperate. It's curious to me that on the face of it this seems like a very utopian trope but I never intend to execute it that way.

The Aftermath. In some ways this goes back to the grief/mourning thing and probably that has a lot to do with this, but one of the things I am always most interested in digging into is the what comes after of a situation. This is most obviously what's behind the ex-villain project, which is specifically asking the question "what happens when your redemption equals death gambit fails", but it crops up other places too. It's probably why on AO3 "Post-Canon" is one of my most frequently used tags. This doesn't even have to be about a post-canon scenario, though - it's about looking at something that is typically an ending and tugging at it to go but what here remains unresolved? What is still complicated? What now?

Another thing I thought of that does come up a lot is questions of agency/choice, but I thought of it later so I stuck with the ones I came up with first.

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Volume 2, Chapter 39

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so. ALSO, apologies for no chapter last week! We had severe weather here which made writing difficult, but this week's is a little longer and quite eventful, so I hope you enjoy!

Potential Trigger Warnings: mentions of violence, rape, therapy, depression, SMUT

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

After finishing the bottle of wine and endless teasing and sharing, the chef finally comes out to join us. He treats us to some top-shelf whiskey as he and Jensen catch up. I pay attention for a while, trying not to be rude but then leave them to their conversation while I scroll through my phone. I give Stella a quick text catching her up on everything and promising to call tomorrow and give her more details. Then, half an hour or so later the men stand up and call it a night. Jensen orders us a ride, agreeing that we can come and get the car tomorrow after his friend agrees to move it into the locked staff car park around the back. 

In the back of the Uber, Jensen is unusually clingy. His hands never leave my body and as the car stops in front of his house he leans close so his breath ghosts against my ear and whispers, “I got one last one for you…Never have I ever…Had sex on a first date”. I ignore him as I search for his wallet to pay the driver. He stops me, pulls out a $50 and hands it over before pulling me out of the car with him, without a word to the driver. I apologise and thank the driver just as he speeds off. Jensen puts his arms around my waist and pulls me against his body as he starts kissing down my neck. I try to pull away but his hold is too tight. I feel claustrophobic in his usually comforting embrace but try to stay strong. 

When he doesn’t get the message I get firmer, “Jensen! Stop! Let me go!” He instantly lets go, but his gaze is dark and unfocused. I think back to the restaurant and realise that each of his questions was designed to make us both drink while I tended to target him. I try to remember how many times he refilled his glass, but I wasn’t paying enough attention. Then there was the whiskey after I blocked him and his friend out completely. He tries to reach out and grab my wrist again but I step back and hold my hands up in front of me. “Jens, not tonight.” I take the chance while I’m free to input the code for the gate and let us into the front yard.

As soon as the gate slides shut behind us, he steps closer again, “Com’on, baby. Just want you,” he slurs.

“And I’m right here. But you’re drunk, babe. Come on, where’s the keys?”

“Gimme a kiss.”

“This is not a transaction, give me the keys.”

He wraps his arms around my waist and starts kissing my neck again. “Jensen, I mean it! I’m not doing this tonight, not now.” He sighs and drops his head to my shoulder. I use the opportunity to slip my hand into his pocket for the keys but all I can find is his wallet and phone. “God damnit, Jensen. Were the keys on your keyring with your car keys?” He nods and starts to giggle, like actually giggle. I can’t help but laugh with him as I throw my head back to the sky. “Looks like we have two options. How good is your alarm system?” He just shrugs. “For fuck’s sake.” I lead him to the porch and urge him to sit down, “Sit.”

“I’m no dog…”

“Right now you may as well be. Sit.” He obediently sits on the edge of the porch and watches me with a grin. I shake my head. Despite the situation, I smile. It could be worse, he could be violent or mean, but instead, he’s giggly and clingy; not at all what I expected. I crouch down to his level. “I know this is probably a dumb question, but Jensen, do you have a spare key somewhere?”

He looks up and then says, “Jared.”

“Of course…” I pull out my phone and check the time, it's half past midnight. There’s no way I’m waking up a guy I met once to deal with this. I’ve dealt with worse. “Alright. Stay. I’ll be right back.”

“No..Don’t leave.” He pouts and I kiss his cheek.

“I promise I’ll be right back. I’m not leaving.” I stand up and he reaches out for my wrist. I sigh and then something occurs to me, “Nesnej, stay.” He nods and drops his hand. I walk around the side of the house. All of the first-floor windows are shut and locked. I try the sliding doors around the back, but they’re locked too. I turn around and survey the backyard. The deck area has a few reclined deck chairs and a gas firepit. Though I loathe to sleep out here, I figure it’s only a few hours and then we can call his chef friend or Jared. The only bad part is that as I look at the water I suddenly have the urge to pee. “Fucking great,” I sigh. I look back at the house and windows. I briefly wonder how mad he would be if I broke one to let us in, but then consider the alarm system. Having not told me the code yet, I realise that we’d likely have to listen to it going off all night until he sobers up. I like that idea even less. 

Trusting that Jensen–or Nesnej–is still out the front I slip off my heels and pad over to the garden and do something I haven’t done in years–since my time on the trails with Snowball–relieve myself on the dirt. Part of me feels ashamed, but desperate times. I stand back up and straighten my clothes before walking back out to the front porch. Jensen is still sitting where I left him and he lights up when he sees me. I hold my hands out to help him up. “Come on, let’s have a campout.” I lead him out the back and onto a deck chair. He sits back obediently while I light the firepit to combat any overnight chill and then pull another chair close to his. I sit back on my own chair and he reaches his hand across the small distance. I take it, feeling slightly more comfortable with his touch. After a few minutes, he sits up suddenly and pulls back his hand. I watch him, confused. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over me and then lays back down and takes back my hand. I blush, even drunk he’s the biggest gentleman. When I look back over at him, his eyes are closed and he’s snoring lightly. Confident he’s asleep and too drunk to understand anyway, I whisper, “Goodnight, babe. And by the way…I love you too”. With the weight of those words off my chest finally, I pull Jensen’s jacket tighter around me and try to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. 

I feel the heat of the morning sun beating down on my face and squint as I pull the make-shift blanket up over my face, but then it exposes my bare thighs where my dress has ridden all the way up to my waist overnight. I instantly try to pull my dress back down and then look over at Jensen. He’s still out. I smirk and then roll on my side so I can face him. Then, in a slightly louder than normal voice say, “Good morning, Nesnej”. He groans and rubs his hands over his face. “Sleep well?” He shakes his head. “Yeah, well, it’s your fault so…” He gives me a look like he doesn’t understand. “Keys…” 

He flops his head back against the chair before pulling out his phone and calling someone. I sit up, stretch and do my best to straighten myself up, figuring that we’ll have guests soon. Feeling extra exposed in the morning light, I slip Jensen’s jacket on over my dress. As I turn back around I catch Jensen staring at me. He looks away quickly and focuses on his phone call. When Jensen hangs up the call he looks at me with a sheepish expression. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t remember much yet, but I quite obviously messed up,” he says gesturing at our surroundings. 

I give him a soft smile. “It’s okay. We all have our moments. I got to meet Nesnej, after all.” He groans. 

Jensen nods and stands up, stretching his arms above his head. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“No need. It was…an experience.” Then, feeling a little extra bold, I say, “You never answered you own last never have I ever though.” He shakes his head not understanding. “Well, I guess you won’t khow my answer either.”

“Maybe that’s for the best?”

“Never have I ever…had sex on a first date…”

He drops his head in his hands. “God, I’m so sorry. I-”

“It’s alright, you were drunk. And you stopped when I told you to.”

“Still, you shouldn’t have to-I’m so sorry.”

“I would’ve drank. And had you not been drunk, maybe…”

“Darlin’. Sober me would never-I mean-”

“I know.” I get up and sit on his chair next to him. “I’m just saying. You told me you loved me yesterday, I didn’t miss that. I may not have been able to say it back, but I do.” He turns to face me and places a hand on my waist. He looks into my eyes and then leans forward slightly, but then pulls away suddenly as a car door shuts.

“Come on, let’s take this inside.” He reaches for my hand and then we walk back around the front of the house to greet our savior. 

As we round the house we see Jared standing there swirling a set of keys around his finger with a massive smirk on his face. “You two look like you had quite the night,” Jared remarks.

“Shut up!” Jensen says as snatches the keys with his free hand. Jared rolls his eyes at Jensen and shoots me a wink. “Thank you for this, now if you’ll excuse us we’re going to get some actual sleep.”

I lightly slap Jensen on the upper arm, “Be nice.”

“Yeah, you should be nicer to me,” Jared remarks, his grin never faltering. “But, nah, I should get back. I’ll see you guys on Friday, enjoy the rest of your week.”

“Jared, before you go,” I stop him. “Any good hiking trails around here?”

“Heaps.” He looks over at Jensen, “Take her to Lady Bird Lake. I’ll send you a map of the best trails.”

“Thanks,” Jensen and I both say at the same time.

“Anytime. You guys have fun,” Jared says with a wink before climbing back into his car and reversing out. We wave him off before finally going inside. The cool air conditioning that we left on is instantly refreshing. I sigh.

“Now, I wasn’t gonna say anything ‘cause you’re always beautiful to me and it’s my fault we were outside all night. But you should probably hit the shower,” Jensen says as he gestures at his face.

“Screw you, Ackles,” I call out, but I’m already climbing the stairs, eager to wash off my makeup and sweat.

He rushes up the stairs behind me and captures me at the top, wrapping his arms securely around my waist. He then whispers against my ear, “Only if you insist, Sweetheart.” My breath catches in my throat. I flounder for a response but nothing comes. He then loosens his grip, but the loss is worse. I turn in his arms and stand on my tiptoes, slip his jacket off my shoulders and wrap my arms around his neck before pulling him into a passionate kiss. He’s eager to reciprocate, his hands fall to my waist as he effortlessly lifts me up. He walks us forward, but I don’t pay attention to where I give him my undivided attention. I only pull back slightly when I feel his fingers on the zip at my spine. Against my lips, he breathes out, “Tell me to stop…Tell me you don’t want this.” I look into his dark eyes, now clouded with lust, but they’re still caring and full of love. I shake my head. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Don’t stop. I want this. I want you, Jensen.”

He groans, “I want you too”. He slams his lips back against mine while sliding the zip down my back until my dress falls loose against my body. He pulls away and untangles my legs from his waist so I stand. “Let me see you.” I obey and slowly slip the straps down my arms so the fabric falls in a heap at my feet. I swear his eyes darken further as he takes in the matching lace set barely covering my most intimate areas–areas that no one else has seen or touched in too long. 

He steps forward to touch me but I step back. “I believe you’re still overdressed, Ackles.” He groans and throws back his head briefly but then starts trying to unbutton his shirt at speed. The second his shirt is on the floor I step forward and run my hands over his chest. He lets me explore without touching me. His hands are in tight fists by his side. “It’s okay, you can touch. I trust you.” With my permission, he brushes his warm fingers down my bare sides. Goosebumps ignite all over me, but I feel like I’m on fire. I glide my hands back down his torso, over his toned abs to his gold belt buckle.

“It’s all you, baby. You’re in charge of how far this goes, but I’m all yours.” I pull the black leather through the buckle and let the sides hang loose over his hips. I hover my fingers over the button but hesitate. I know I want this–him–but a part of me is still scared. I know if I tell him, he’ll stop it all, so I keep my mouth shut and force my fingers to work the button loose. He brings his fingers to my chin and tilts my head up. His face is flushed and covered in a light sheen of sweat, likely from all the restraint. Without breaking eye contact I slide my hand over his tense bulge and he hisses. I push his pants down past his hips so they fall in a heap at his feet. He kicks them away and toes off his socks as he draws me back to his chest, capturing my lips. His skin burns against mine but I can’t help but want more. He steps backwards, pulling me with him and then I hear water splashing against the tiles. I feel his fingers slide over my back and linger at the clasp of my bra before unhooking it, but we’re pressed too close together for it to fall. Then, in one too-quick movement,t he pulls away, pushes down his boxes and steps back under the water. My lacy bra falls to the floor and without letting myself overthink it, I push down my underwear and step under the spray with him. “So beautiful…” he breathes out as he reaches for me. I don’t dare look down, I keep my eyes locked on his face as his fingers graze my arm. I want to reach out and touch him too, but I’m too hyper-aware of how naked we both are. As if noticing my hesitation he spins me around. “It’s okay. Talk to me. Tell me what you want.” I shake my head. “You want me to stop?” I shake my head again. “Use your words, Darlin’.”

I focus on the glass in front of me and try to steady my jumbled, lust and anxiety-filled mind. “I need…Slow…But don’t stop.”

He kisses the space behind my ear before whispering, “I got you”. His arm reaches up past my head to a basket full of bottles of liquid soaps, shampoo and conditioner, none of which look manly enough to be his normal taste. He rubs his hands together creating a foamy lather before gently massaging over my shoulders and down my arms. He relathers and then moves to my sides and over my stomach. But as he ducks down to kiss my neck he moves his hands to my thighs. I whimper slightly as his fingers brush my inner thighs. He brings his hands back up to my sides and then as he continues to kiss my neck, runs his hands under my breasts. He kisses back up to my ear and breathes out, “Tell me your safe word, baby.”

“Brisket,” I breathe out.

“Good. I’m going to touch you now, but say the word I’ll stop.” I nod and he finally takes my breasts in his hands. His calloused thumbs flick over my hard and sensitive nipples and I throw my head back against his chest. Water splashes against my face and I quickly try to turn, but Jensen just shuffles ever so slightly forward so I’m out of the stream. I know the air must be cool but I can’t feel it as my blood runs hot and the steam surrounds us. He continues softly kneading my breasts in his big hands as he kisses down my neck again. I’m suddenly hyper-aware as I feel his left hand leave my breast and travel slowly over my stomach and rest at the peak of my thighs. As I lean back against him I feel his erection rub against my back, I know he’s desperate, but doing his best to hold back. I reach up for the soap and then turn around in his arms.

“Can I?”

He nods and lets his hands rest on my waist. “All yours.” Copying his earlier actions, I massage his shoulders, chest and stomach. I look up and his eyes are closed. His breath is heavy. I bring one hand to his erection and wrap my fingers around it. He bites his lip as he curses. I set a steady rhythm and rub my thumb over the head as it leaks pre-cum. I keep watching his face as I move faster and he moans out. “Darlin’...Y/N…So good…’m so close.” I nod and after a few more strokes he cums all over my hand and his stomach with a strangled moan that comes out as a beautiful string of curses and my name. I rinse my hand under the falling water as he cleans himself. 

As he catches his breath he says, “You didn’t have to”.

“I know. I wanted to. You’re always taking care of me.” After a few moments of silence, I confess, “Also, I-I was at my limit with you…”

He puts his hands on my shoulders. “That’s okay. This was a major leap. Your comfort is the most important thing. My only concern is you.”

“I’m okay. I’m more than okay. But…Can I?” I gesture at the water.

“Of course, take your time.” He presses a quick kiss on my head before stepping out of the shower. He wraps a towel around his waist and then disappears into the bedroom. My skin is already well and truly wrinkled and we’ve used so much water I feel guilty, so I just quickly wash my face clean of my make-up and step out.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never, @deansimpalababy,

@winchesterwild78, @kr804573, @chriszgirl92, @smoothdogsgirl

@speakinvain, @deans-baby-momma, @1967winchesterimpala

@lmg14, @superrey, @kamisobsessed, @ladysparkles78

[littlejackets]

✩˚｡⋆ What's Up, Tiny?

pairing ¦ cg!travis little!nat

summary ¦ Nat manages to get sick during winter from the hunting, and Travis is there to take care of her when she regresses from it.

tags ¦ sfw, fluff, age regression, swearing, sickfic

Ao3 User (if you wanna support there 🫶) ¦ fictionalstorms

Hunting during the winter was a pain in the ass. It was cold, it was wet, there were almost never any animals outside, and no matter how many layers of clothing you put on your body, it almost never felt like enough in a Canadian winter.

But alas, it was Travis and Natalie's job and they had to do it. However, hunting day after day in the snow definitely tired them out. Travis usually wouldn't make out too bad by the time he was done, usually just coming back a bit cold. Nat on the other hand, would pretty much always come back freezing and barely able to walk due to how sore her legs were after trekking through the snow with heavier clothing on.

One thing that neither of them had ever considered, on the other hand, was the concept of illness. I mean, what were the chances they would actually ever get sick? They were only ever around the rest of the group and far away from civilization, surely that was enough to keep any possible sickness at bay.

Until this morning.

Nat woke up feeling like her throat was getting skinned from the inside, and she could barely breathe through her nose. She tried to sit up, but she felt too weak to even do that. She let out a groan and rolled over to see Travis, who was already awake and looking down at her with concern.

"Are you okay?" Nat asked him, already knowing that was a very stupid question.

"Yeah, but do you feel okay? You're really warm and you look kind of rough." Travis replied, brushing Nat's bangs out of her eyes.

Fuck. She got sick somehow. The blonde frowned and pushed herself away from him a little bit. "If I'm sick, you shouldn't be around me."

Travis shook his head, offering her a soft smile. "Well I mean, someone should be here to take care of you. And I don't think you want to deal with Misty." He said while he wrapped an arm around her to pull her closer, trying to show her that he wanted to help. She groaned again in response.

Nat wanted to push him away again and spare him from catching whatever she had, but his embrace immediately calmed her in a way that she hadn't felt in a long time.

She felt fuzzy, her mind and body light. Like she was floating on a cloud. It had been a while since she regressed and she did the best she could to avoid it happening. She didn't want to be a burden.

But when Travid softly kissed her shoulder, she couldn't fight it any longer. Nat rolled over and snuggled up against him with a loud whine, burying her face in his neck and bunching up some of the blanket in her hand.

Thankfully Travis caught on immediately. He remembered all of the signs of her regression from the last few times it happened, which made it way easier to tell. He placed a hand under her chin and tilted it up so she could look at him, and he smiled. "What's going on, Tiny?"

Nat huffed. "Cold." She said quietly with a little pout.

Travis pulled up the blanket a little over her shoulders and wrapped her in it, then pulled her closer in hopes that she would get a little warmer. He was concerned about how warm she actually felt, despite her saying she was cold, but whatever made her comfortable is what he cared about. "Better?"

The blonde shrugged and sniffled, the movement having cleared her nose for a split second before it got stuffed up again. When she couldn't breathe again, she started crying. She didn't like being sick, she wanted to feel okay, but she just felt so weak.

Travis shushed her quietly and put a hand behind Nat's head to fully hold her against his chest, gently scratching her scalp to comfort her. It usually helped, after all. He didn't really speak for a while, allowing her to let her feelings out before he started asking her questions. Instead he just whispered little reassuring words.

Once Nat started to stop crying, he kissed the top of her head. "How old are you right now, Nat?"

Nat hummed quietly in response. Words were hard, but she didn't feel like using her hands right now. Travis took the hint and nodded. "Younger than three?" He asked further. Nat nodded.

"Two?" Nat shook her head.

"One?"

Nat didn't respond for a second, trying to navigate her own mind before nodding.

Travis smiled. "Alright, little guy. Why don't you go back to bed for a bit, and then we can see how you're doing after?" He suggested.

The little nodded again and put the corner of the blanket in her mouth, since having things in her mouth always made her fall asleep faster. She let out a sigh before closing her eyes, while travis took his hand off her head to start rubbing her back. "I'll be with you the whole time, don't worry."

He assured her, knowing sometimes she would get anxious about people leaving her, especially in vulnerable states. Nat hummed once more as a sign of acknowledgement before falling asleep almost immediately.

Hopefully she'd feel a little better when she woke up.

[crimsonbubble]

ATEEZ Masterlist Vol.2 <3

last updated; 3/22/25

status: ongoing

bold- smut, italics- suggestive, normal- fluff

Kim Hongjoong

Pup!Hongjoong blurb

Hongjoong blurb

Descent

Hongjoong blurb

Hongjoong twt links

Off Limits

Hongjoong blurb

Hongjoong blurb

Hongjoong blurb

Hongjoong blurb

Just One Time

Captain's Little Mate: Round 2

Hongjoong blurb

Hongjoong blurb

Park Seonghwa

Fluff

Jeong Yunho

CEO!Yunho blurb

Yunho twt links

Yunho blurb

Yunho blurb

Triggered Surrender

Yunho blurb

More Than Enough | Yunho blurb

Yunho blurb

Yunho blurb

Yunho blurb

Kang Yeosang

Held In My Hands

Choi San

San blurb

San blurb

Behind Closed Doors

Under The Surface

Long Night

San blurb

Song Mingi

Mingi blurb

Mingi blurb

Jung Wooyoung

Wooyoung blurb

Wooyoung blurb

Choi Jongho

Jongho blurb

Jongho blurb

Jongho blurb

Driven Wild

Multiple Members

Bassists Do It Deeper - Rockstar!MinJoong x reader

Hybrid!YunSan blurb

More Than This - HoHong x reader

ATEEZ twt links

Silk & Sin - SanHwa x reader

HoHong blurb

[waywardsalt]

rough rough draft of chapter 1 of the bellum x linebeck fic

Though the storm had passed and the sun finally shown upon the sea again, Linebeck felt gloomy. He leaned against his ship’s rope railings and stared at the horizon. The night before, the pounding of the rain had put him at ease. Now, the bright afternoon had brought back that familiar anxiety. After some thinking, Linebeck pushed himself away from the railing and resolved to begin his morning chores.

                As the only person on his ship, it was up to Linebeck to take care of it- and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. He knew his beloved steamship like the back of his hand, and he collected a bucket as he blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes. Firstly, he gathered seawater to dump into the engine’s storage tank. The ship was drifting at the moment, but once Linebeck would turn it on, the heat would build up in the engine and the water would boil and evaporate and build up steam to get the wheels moving.

Linebeck knelt at the lowest edge of the deck and dunked the bucket into the water for the ninth- tenth? - time. He’d have to do some extra engine maintenance before he got moving. He’d been traveling during the entire storm, likely pushing the engine to its limits. But after the water gathering, Linebeck checked the hull for barnacles and scratches, checked the railings for damaged rope, checked his food and water supplies, barely giving himself a moment of rest while he went through the familiar motions.

Since he began sailing, Linebeck’s life had been altogether monotonous and unpredictable. His ship was one he had designed himself, and knew better than anyone else how to take care of and operate it. He had no desire to take on a crew, and knew from experience that they’d only hold him back- trying to teach new people how to work his ship was incredibly tedious and often led to them making mistakes and doing more harm than good. The last bastard he’d temporarily hired and bothered to teach about his ship- Linebeck scowled and shook his head. Not even worth thinking about, now.

The storm had replenished his fresh water supply. It had been bad enough to obscure visibility across the sea, so Linebeck had done some fishing. If he cared for gods, he would have thanked one that he made it through without getting sick.

He didn’t need a crew. Linebeck hadn’t had a long-term crew member for what- seven years now? They just made him feel uneasy and he could never muster up the patience to put up with them.

Or maybe he kept finding the wrong people. That had certainly happened before. He was never particularly good with other people. Linebeck was almost certain that he’d made a good few new enemies just in the last month. His eyes scanned the horizon as he walked back out onto the deck. Linebeck tightened his grip on his mop’s handle. He was totally alone. And yet his skin prickled with unease.

“…No point worrying,” he mumbled to himself. He started mopping the deck, forcing himself to keep his eyes trained on the wood. His last chore of the morning was always the most soothing. He moved slowly and rhythmically, beginning at the prow and slowly making his way back to the cabin. His ship was small, though large enough to be comfortable for him. The deck sloped upwards a few feet from the cabin and plateaued, about a foot higher and better to accommodate the rooms and machinery beneath.

The air was warm and humid; Linebeck brushed his hair out of his face and behind his shoulders. He considered removing his coat, but he was nearly done mopping- no point in wasting the time. The heat was never a big issue for him. He was perfectly suited to the sea, and Linebeck felt more than confidant handling every aspect of this life on his own. No problems whatsoever. No good reason for the anxiety that refused to leave his mind.

Maybe there was a good reason, the same reason why he kept scanning the horizon.

Finished mopping the deck, Linebeck turned to admire it. The storm had cleaned it well enough, but now that the sky was clear he wasn’t just going to cut out part of his morning routine.

With everything done for the morning, Linebeck gathered up his mop and the bucket and moved to put them away. The bucket would be dumped out and left with other containers in the storage room, the mop left in the engine room… and then the engine would need to be started up. The nearest inhabited island was two days away (with good conditions), so while Linebeck had no need to get going right that moment, he felt safer with the engine running.

To get the engine started, Linebeck pulled a lever by the wheel up and waited a moment as he heard the hissing of steam start, and then stop. He knelt down in front of the storage tank. Enough water for the day, that was for sure. He withdrew his matchbox from a pocket in his coat and struck a match, humming idly to himself as he tossed it in the space below the water. It would only be a few minutes before the ship could get going; over the years, Linebeck had gone back and forth on the design of the engine, and managed to make it especially efficient with different materials and methods, and was quite proud of it. While the water heated up, he shut the tank door and sat back, resting a moment.

He’d gotten… some sleep last night. He’d dreamed briefly, and didn’t feel as terrible as he usually did. Some sleep. Better than no sleep at all. Linebeck laid down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. He stared at the winding pipes at the tops of the walls and then shut his eyes. If he was lucky, he could perhaps find a few minutes to nap. Just a few minutes…

The ticking of the machinery around him slowly faded in as the engine properly started up. The sound melted into with the noise of the ocean outside, and Linebeck felt his anxieties ease. The familiarity of his daily routine eased his mind like nothing else.

The next island was north of his position… Linebeck let out a long breath. He’d have to at least position his ship facing north, and get started within the hour. He sat up and stretched. If he got started now, he could reach the island by late tomorrow. The engine was ready to go, and Linebeck smiled to himself as he fiddled with some of the smaller levers and switches, listening to the subtle changes in the ticking and clicking around him.

He paused when he heard up an unfamiliar noise. Linebeck stilled his hands, suddenly feeling cold.

Without thinking, Linebeck kicked the engine into proper operation and after a moment, the wheels on either side of the ship started turning and he quickly steered the ship in the opposite direction of that odd sound. He heard it again, from outside his ship- the unmistakable sound of cannon fire, and Linebeck was not brave enough to stop and check to see if it was aimed at him.

It was usually aimed at him, anyways.

Linebeck steered his ship away and locked the wheel in place; he felt his heart pounding in his chest as more muffled canon fire reached his ears. One sounded closer than the rest, and he managed to tear himself away from the wheel and run up to deck. Running away was nice, but he needed to know where to run away to.

It seemed like he was getting chased more and more. Linebeck figured he ought to start a list of the crews that had it out for him; that was something to do once he was safe. He stumbled out onto the deck and leaned over the rope railing, staring at the southern horizon. Sure enough, he could see a pirate ship in the distance heading his way, and the wind was in their favor.

Linebeck gripped the railings until the rope started to dig into his skin. The hell did he do to them? He recognized the decorated sails as the sails of the ship that’d been pursuing him before the storm. Their captain was one he’d cheated out of several hundred rupees in poker- or was that a different crew? No time to think it over while they got closer and closer. More cannon fire rang out, and Linebeck jumped back as the cannonball splashed into the water dangerously close to his ship.

Sailing in a straight line was a terrible idea. Better to leverage his steamship’s advantages and focus on disrupting their aim. Linebeck wildly looked around. No rocks or islands in sight. His best hope was to run for it and hope that either they’d run out of cannonballs or the wind would die down. He raced back inside.

He was just one man; why did all of these pirates decide that being slighted by him once marked him as the biggest threat to them on the entire Great Sea? Pirates were so petty. He flinched when he heard a muffled splash and felt the ship rock. Linebeck gripped the wheel tightly and started turning the ship west, his sweaty hands almost slipping off. He gritted his teeth as the cannon fire sounded closer and the ship rocked again.

The last time he’d been pursued like this, a cannonball had burnt his hull and cost him several days of sleep. Linebeck turned the ship far enough around to spy the pursuing pirates again; the moment he heard the cannon fire again, he spun the wheel to sail in the opposite direction. Turning was slow, but his ship never stopped moving. He’d had nightmares about one of the wheels being damage, and Linebeck felt weak in the knees just thinking about it.

As the pirate ship slipped out of view, the waters around his ship were more violently disrupted, and Linebeck yelped as his ship was more violently rocked by the waves. There was no cannon fire, no sound of a cannonball hitting the waves- and the water was clearly churning too violently for it to have been a cannonball. He clung to the steering wheel for dear life, his knees nearly buckling underneath him, and the cacophonous sound of an especially large wave made him wince. The ship rocked again, but still no cannon fire. Instead, Linebeck picked up a new muffled noise.

…Splintering wood?

The wood of his own ship was fine, there was no motion asides from the violent waves rocking his ship, but the distant splintering continued, and with it, faraway screams. For the second time in barely five minutes, Linebeck’s curiosity prevailed over his fear. On shaky legs he stumbled up onto his deck- slick with water that had poured onboard, and nearly fell over the railings when he reached them.

The pursuing pirate ship was being torn apart by something. Something had pulled the main mast down and split it in half, tearing through the sails and ripping the vessel in half. Linebeck squinted, hardly seeing anything that could be causing it, then caught a glimpse of what looked like a thick black rope curled around the prow, tearing it clean off and dragging it into the sea. The way those ‘ropes’ moved; Linebeck slowly slid down into a crouch as he realized that a sea monster was what was attacking that ship.

One pirate jumped from where the prow had been, likely trying to escape and swim away, but a black tentacle shot out of the water and grabbed them midair and yanked them below the water. Linebeck felt frozen to the spot, more than grateful that he wasn’t the creature’s target, but he feared that if he took advantage of the chaos and sailed away, he would be attacked next.

The pursuing ship began to sink, and the sharp cracking of wood was piercing as it reached Linebeck’s ears. The hull was torn in two, more tentacles appearing to crush them into unsalvageable wreckages. The fear that shot through Linebeck urged him to straighten back up. He started to hurry back into the engine room, but stopped in his tracks as the tentacles withdrew back into the water.

The pirate ship’s remains slowly sank, survivors clinging to any floating pieces. Linebeck stared at the water around his ship. That… thing had stopped. That sea monster that he and those pirates had the misfortune to disturb.

That sea monster- Linebeck had researched every possible hostile creature that had been seen on the Great Sea, and that certainly had to have been one of them. He grabbed onto his railing again, feeling too sick to move his gaze from the sinking ship down to the waters just below him. He stood at the end of the railing, steady on the sloping deck despite the way his limbs shook and his heart hammered in his chest.

There was a sea monster in these waters. It had just wiped out an entire pirate crew in hardly a minute. From what Linebeck could recall, that pirate crew was rather prepared and experienced, and their ship certainly wasn’t some glorified piece of driftwood. This wasn’t just an overgrown gyorg or some other typical sea monster- he was at the mercy of the kind of sea monster that had stories passed around. The kinds that endured for decades or even centuries and were either worshipped or feared. He’d never seen a regular sea monster that had those kinds of tentacles and was that quick and deadly.

One of the stranded pirates was suddenly and violently pulled under water. Linebeck lowered himself back down to a crouch, staring at the now-empty patch of water. After a few moments, a faint red hue bloomed from deep under the surface.

I’m going to die.

The thought seemed to echo in Linebeck’s head. It wasn’t a thought he was unfamiliar with, but it was much, much more frantic now than ever. He was going to drown or be eaten. Even if he got out unscathed, his ship likely wouldn’t, and that sounded just as bad as if he got injured. Linebeck shakily stared down at the water mere feet from him. Every tiny wave and ripple in the water heightened his anxiety, and his mind raced. Another pirate was pulled under the water, eaten, and the waters were still for a moment. Then, there was a subtle ripple further away from the wreckage and closer to Linebeck’s ship.

How do I get out of this?

Linebeck’s terror forced him to his feet, and he raced into his ship’s cabin. That monster was more than capable of catching up with that pirate ship, and Linebeck stumbled on his way down the stairs as his ship rocked slightly.

This monster was capable of killing and catching him with ease, and it tore apart that pirate ship with ease, and it was eating the survivors, and Linebeck was up next if he didn’t think fast. His feet brought him into his ship’s cramped kitchen, and he stood still in the doorway for a moment. His fear and quick-thinking seemed to crash into each other, and his mind went blank as he stared around. Linebeck switched his attention from his utensils to the fish he’d recently caught and had yet to clean to the cupboards. Why the hell had he run here?

The sea monster killed all of the pirates. It was probably chasing after him now. It tore apart the ship, and… ate the pirates. Ate the pirates. Linebeck stared at his recently-caught fish. There were a pair of smaller amberjacks he’d picked up during the storm, a seabass he had a few different plans for, and then a large loovar he’d been planning to sell. He suddenly felt itchy looking at that loovar. He was going to sell it. It was a large, pristine loovar, with sleek, undamaged scales and was over five feet long and took up the entire counter that fit in the narrow kitchen. It was valuable and would net him a good sum of rupees at the next island he docked at.

Linebeck’s ship rocked again, violently enough to knock him off balance. The terror finally mixed with his quick thinking and he grabbed and yanked the loovar off the counter, stumbling a moment under its weight. He slung it over his shoulder and hauled it up the stairs, his shoulder aching before he was even in the engine room. Goddesses, his coat was going to reek if he made it out of this alive.

He paused to grab his mop and tuck it into the crook of his elbow and stumbled a bit, stubbornly keeping the fish from touching the floor. The ship rocked under his feet again, and Linebeck shuddered and hurried out onto the deck. The water around his ship’s hull ripped every few moments, and Linebeck didn’t hesitate in letting the loovar drop onto the wood. He kicked it off the deck, and it fell unceremoniously into the water and floated barely a few inches from the hull- too close.

With the mop he prodded at it and sent it floating slowly away from his ship. And so, Linebeck huddled at the edge of his deck, leaning against his mop for support. For just a moment, the waters were still. The loovar bobbed on the water’s surface and the sunlight glinted off its scales. Linebeck exhaled slowly. For all he knew, the monster could have already left. He could probably grab the loovar if he was careful.

Linebeck started to reach back out with the mop, but drew it back as the water around the loovar suddenly started to ripple. The rippling grew more furious, and the water began to bubble and small waves started rushing out from around the fish- a dark shape was just barely visible deep in the water. The shape rushed to the surface, and Linebeck only got the quickest glimpse before falling backwards onto the deck as the largest waves yet set his ship violently rocking.

It was huge, easily half the size of his ship, and a stunning yellow. For the split second he saw it, Linebeck couldn’t discern any detail, but he didn’t miss the mouth full of sharp teeth that engulfed the loovar. Linebeck had fallen onto his back and didn’t dare move as the sea calmed down, the blurry image of the beast burnt into his mind. He stared up at the sky and realized that the fear in his chest had eased. Had he appeased the creature? The rocking of his ship slowly stopped, and he felt he was in no hurry to get up.

There was a slight splashing, and Linebeck jolted upright. He stared off the edge of the deck, at where the loovar had been floating. It stared back at him. The sunlight glinted off its yellow body, greenish in some spots, and golden in others. Under the water, the rest of it was just a murky shadow. In its mouth, encircled by those teeth, was an eye that stared back at him, the tiny pupil within a burning yellow and orange, surrounded by deep black. A monstrous eye, and one that Linebeck could’ve sworn he’d seen somewhere. Something about the thing’s unblinking gaze made a sense of visceral horror return to Linebeck, and before he could think it through, he scrambled to his feet.

The creature didn’t move in the water, but its eye followed his movements. Despite the hammering of his heart, Linebeck couldn’t tear his gaze away from that eye. His limbs felt locked in place, and his breathing came in in ragged gasps and he realized just how bad his situation had gotten. There was no way that loovar was enough to save him. He’d seen the way the creature had torn apart that pirate ship. He’d seen the way it had grabbed and killed those pirates. There was nothing keeping it from killing him next.

Then, without any sound but the sounds of the water, the creature sank down into the ocean and out of sight.

Linebeck immediately hurried back into his cabin, just barely remembering to snatch up his mop.

He wasted no time in getting his ship up and running again, and set a course for the island before even thinking of relaxing. Linebeck anxiously surveyed the sea as he steered the ship away, but spotted nothing out of the ordinary.

…Maybe the loovar had satisfied that… thing. Linebeck tried not to think much about it. But his nerves were still shot by the encounter, and he stiffly steered until the sun began to set.

He didn’t anchor the ship until stars glittered in the sky. Linebeck moved gingerly around his ship, half expecting that monster to return. But the evening was quiet, and Linebeck eventually felt relaxed enough after doing his rounds. He collected every book he had that mentioned sea monsters and went out on deck to read and rest.

Linebeck rested against the prow. He set the books in his lap and started flipping through each one, quickly skipping through what turned out to be a catalogue of common seafaring enemies, and finding a short collection of short stories based on powerful creatures around the world. As the sun dipped further below the horizon, Linebeck finally reached a much more informative book- one that had been gathering dust at the edge of the shelf- and flipped through more slowly, inspecting each illustration. Dragons, sentient plants, fish creatures, and Linebeck slowed down upon reaching the chapter reserved for deities. It didn’t take long for him to turn a page and find a familiar illustration.

It was little more than a collection of sketches, but that eye was unmistakable. Linebeck leaned over the book with a small spark of triumph in his heart. He was right- it was one he’d heard of before, a creature named ‘Bellum’. Apparently a powerful, demonic sea monster.

Linebeck felt a faint shiver down his spine and he sat up and stared off across the sea. He shut the book and gathered up the rest. Back in the cabin, he locked the door out, and hesitated with his hand on the knob. That nearby island was his destination, a small island with a small town that he’d been for. He needed supplies, needed to restock on food and parts and whatever else eluded him at the moment.

He double-checked the lock and silently headed down into the storage room. Linebeck left the volume with the information on Bellum on the table, and put the rest back on the bookshelf behind the thin bar that kept them from falling out.

Bellum.

Linebeck turned and stared at the book on the table. In the dim light of the few lit lanterns in the room, the book seemed almost ominous with its dark cover and elaborate spine. Where had he picked this one up? Was it one from home, or something he’d bought on a whim a while ago? Either way, it was worth reading through and taking notes on- even if the information he wanted seemed to only take up two pages.

Linebeck idly rubbed his hands together. The only indication of his lingering anxiety was the thin layer of sweat on his palms. Most sea monsters were known through shared stories and rumored sightings. Once he got all he could from the book, he could start asking around at islands. With any luck, though, he wouldn’t have to see that thing again.

[keeps-ache]

think this is funny. anyway. the Thoughts are back at it again