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gyuuberryy · 2 days

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a love affair in colour

pairing: art tutor!jay x princess!reader

synopsis: as a princess exploring her artistic passions, you’re drawn to jay, your mesmerising art teacher whose lessons stir more than just creativity. what begins as a quest to master your craft quickly becomes a whirlwind of tension and forbidden desire. with every brushstroke and shared moment, the line between teacher and lover blurs. but when societal barriers and personal doubts threaten your connection, will you both find a way to embrace a future together, or will your love remain a beautiful but fleeting masterpiece?

genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden relationship, comfort

warnings: kissing, lots of tension, mentions of status difference, angst, a little suggestive

note: i used my experience in art to detail all the content related to it so bear with me if it seems a little modern, i don't know much about how they did art in the olden times. also jay just constantly raises my standards??? i love that man so much he's so husband material it hurts TT enjoy reading!

word count : 11.1k

royally yours masterlist | prev:heeseung | next: jake

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

you’ve always been drawn to art. as a child, while other princesses were learning courtly etiquette or practising diplomacy, you were sneaking into the gardens to sketch the trees or hiding in your chambers, fingers stained with ink as you copied paintings from the castle’s grand halls. but those were mere indulgences, fleeting escapes from the rigid structure of royal life.

when your parents noticed your growing talent, they encouraged it—as a hobby, of course. something to amuse yourself with between diplomatic meetings, public appearances, and the pressures of royal expectations. but for you, art was never just a pastime. it was a passion. an escape. a way to express the parts of you that didn’t fit into the carefully curated image of a princess.

so, when you told your parents you wanted to pursue art seriously, it was met with initial resistance. a princess has duties, obligations, responsibilities. but you persisted, and eventually, they relented. if you were going to study art, they wanted the best for you. that’s how jay came to the palace—an accomplished artist in his own right, though he came from modest beginnings. he was hired to help you master the craft before your trip to paris, where you’d study under the finest artists in the world.

jay’s reputation preceded him. he was known not only for his skill but for his ability to bring out the best in his students. when he arrived at the palace, you were both eager and nervous, unsure of what to expect.

your first meeting was in the grand studio, a room that had once been your sanctuary. now, as you stand by the window, gazing out over the palace grounds, you feel the weight of what’s to come. you’re no longer a novice; this isn’t just a casual hobby. this is the beginning of something serious, something real. and the thought of it is both exhilarating and terrifying.

the door creaks open behind you, and you turn to see him—jay. he’s younger than you expected, though older than you by a few years. his clothes are simple, a stark contrast to the luxury of your surroundings, yet he wears them with a quiet confidence. his dark hair is tousled, as though he’s just come from a long day at work, and there’s a certain intensity in his eyes, a focus that makes your stomach flip.

“your highness,” he greets, bowing low.

“please, just my name,” you say quickly, hoping to dispel some of the formality that hangs between you. “if we’re to work together, there’s no need for titles.”

he straightens, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of something—surprise? amusement?—in his expression, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “very well,” he says simply. “shall we begin?”

you nod, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves as you lead him to the easel set up near the window. it’s been prepared for your first lesson, a blank canvas stretched taut, waiting for the first stroke of charcoal or paint. you’ve done this before, hundreds of times, but never under the watchful eye of a teacher like jay.

“before we begin,” he says, setting his bag down on the table, “tell me why you want to do this. not because you have to—because you want to.”

his question catches you off guard. you’d expected him to dive straight into the technical aspects of drawing or painting, not to ask about your motivations. but there’s a seriousness in his tone that tells you he’s not just asking out of curiosity. he wants to understand. he wants to know you.

“i’ve always loved art,” you admit, folding your hands in front of you, feeling a little exposed. “it’s the one thing that’s mine. in a world where so much is decided for me, art is where i get to choose. it’s... freedom.”

jay nods slowly, as if weighing your words. “art is freedom,” he agrees quietly. “it’s expression. it’s telling the world who you are without saying a word. but it’s also discipline. and commitment. if you’re serious about this, i’ll push you. i’ll make sure you’re challenged. does that sound like something you’re ready for?”

your heart beats faster. his intensity is palpable, and it’s hard not to be swept up in it. “yes,” you say, though the word comes out softer than you intended. “i’m ready.”

he regards you for a moment longer, then reaches into his bag, pulling out a small sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. “we’ll start with something simple,” he says, handing you the charcoal. “i want you to draw me.”

you blink, surprised. “draw you?”

“it’s a good exercise,” he explains, moving to stand a little distance away. “if you can capture the essence of a person, you can draw anything.”

your fingers tighten around the charcoal as you sit at the easel, facing him. it feels strange, having him as the subject. his features are sharp, defined, but there’s something else—an intensity in his gaze that makes it hard to concentrate. you take a deep breath and begin to sketch, the sound of the charcoal scratching against the canvas the only sound in the room.

it’s not easy. his face is a study in contrasts—strong jawline, soft eyes, dark brows furrowed in concentration as he watches you work. you find yourself getting lost in the details, trying to capture the exact curve of his lips, the shadow beneath his cheekbone. but the more you focus, the more elusive it becomes.

“you’re overthinking it,” jay says suddenly, breaking the silence. he moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, though he doesn’t touch you. “you’re focusing on the parts, not the whole. step back. see the bigger picture.”

you try to follow his advice, but his presence behind you is distracting, and the scent of him—earthy, with a hint of something fresh—fills your senses. your heart beats faster, though you try to ignore it.

jay steps closer, his breath warm against your ear. “here,” he says softly, reaching out to guide your hand. his fingers brush yours, sending a jolt through your body, and you almost drop the charcoal. “loosen your grip. let the lines flow.”

you do as he says, though your heart races at his nearness. his hand lingers over yours for a moment too long before he pulls away, but the connection between you doesn’t fade. the air feels charged, as if something unsaid hangs between you.

when you finish the sketch, it’s rough, imperfect, but there’s something there—a spark of life, of emotion. jay leans over your shoulder to examine it, his expression unreadable.

“better,” he says after a moment, his voice low and approving. “you’ve captured something real here.”

you look at the drawing again, trying to see what he sees, but all you can think about is the way his hand felt over yours, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you like a secret.

as he moves to gather his things, you realise that this is just the beginning. the first lesson. but already, something has shifted between you. something neither of you can name yet, but it’s there—in the shared glances, the lingering touches, the unspoken connection.

and as jay turns to leave, promising to return for your next lesson, you can’t help but wonder if this is really just about art—or if something far more dangerous has already begun.

the days following your first lesson with jay felt like a strange new rhythm. art had always been a deeply personal escape for you, something that existed in the quiet moments between royal duties, but now it had become something more. each session with jay stirred something inside you—not just the desire to improve, but a spark of something you couldn't quite name.

jay had been nothing but professional, his focus always on your craft. but beneath his calm demeanour, there was an undercurrent, a kind of intensity in the way he looked at you during your lessons. it was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there, like the brushstrokes of a painting hidden beneath layers of paint.

today, as you enter the studio, you feel it more than ever. the room is bathed in soft light, the kind of glow that makes everything seem warmer, softer. jay is already there, setting up supplies on the table, his back to you. you watch him for a moment, your eyes tracing the broad lines of his shoulders, the way his hands move with such precision and care.

“good morning,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice comes out softer than you intended, the room swallowing the sound.

he turns, a brief smile crossing his face. “good morning.” there’s a hint of warmth in his tone, but as always, it’s controlled, measured. jay has never been one to show too much emotion, though lately, you’ve caught glimpses of something more.

“i thought we’d try something different today,” he says, gesturing to the large canvas in the corner of the room. “i want to work on your observation skills.”

you nod, intrigued. “what do you have in mind?”

instead of answering immediately, jay picks up a chair and places it in the centre of the room, angled toward the sunlight. he then takes his sketchbook and charcoal, positioning himself in front of the chair but far enough away that there’s space between you.

“i want you to sit,” he says simply, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before flickering away. “i’m going to sketch you.”

the request catches you off guard. “me? but... shouldn’t i be the one practising sketching?”

he smiles faintly, shaking his head. “today, i want you to feel what it’s like to be the subject. to understand how the artist sees you.” he glances at the canvas, and then back at you. “it’ll help you observe the world around you with more empathy, more connection.”

the thought of jay watching you, studying you so closely, makes your heart race. you’ve always been behind the canvas, never in front of it. to have his eyes on you, not just in passing but with the intention of capturing every detail—it feels strangely vulnerable.

but you trust him. there’s something about jay that puts you at ease, even when you’re unsure of yourself. so, you sit in the chair, adjusting your posture slightly, your hands resting in your lap.

“relax,” he says softly, his voice gentle. “you don’t have to pose. just be yourself.”

you try to do as he says, leaning back into the chair, though your heart is beating a little faster now. the room is quiet except for the faint scratch of his charcoal on the page, and you’re acutely aware of his gaze as it moves over you—your face, your hands, the way the light falls on your hair.

he works silently, his brow furrowed in concentration, and you find yourself watching him, trying to read the expression on his face. there’s a softness there that you hadn’t noticed before, a kind of careful attention that feels almost… tender.

for a while, neither of you speaks. you’re not sure how long has passed—minutes? hours? time seems to lose its meaning in this space, as if the world outside the studio doesn’t exist.

“so you want to pursue art huh?” jay’s voice breaks the silence, and you blink, surprised by the question.

“yes” you reply, shifting slightly in the chair.

he doesn’t look up from his sketch. “why did you choose art? out of everything you could have pursued?”

the question is one you’ve asked yourself many times. you think back to your childhood, to the afternoons spent sneaking away from your tutors to draw in the gardens, the way art always felt like a safe space in a world full of expectations.

“i think… it’s because art lets me be free,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully. “in everything else, i’m the princess. i have to be perfect, poised, controlled. but with art, i can be messy. i can make mistakes. it’s mine.”

jay pauses, his hand hovering over the sketchbook for a moment before he continues. “freedom is important,” he says quietly. “especially for someone like you.”

there’s something in his tone, a weight to his words, and you wonder what he means by that. does he understand what it’s like to feel trapped by expectations? to want something more, something beyond the roles you’ve been given?

before you can ask, jay looks up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he started sketching. his gaze is intense, but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. it’s more like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, in a way that no one else ever has.

“you have a natural grace,” he says softly, almost as if speaking to himself. “but it’s more than that. there’s something… untamed about you.”

your breath catches in your throat. no one has ever spoken to you like that before. not with such quiet certainty, as if they’ve seen beyond the surface of who you are.

you don’t know what to say. the air in the room feels heavier now, charged with something you can’t quite name. you shift in your seat, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, but jay’s expression remains calm, thoughtful.

he tilts his head slightly, observing you with the same intensity he’s had since the beginning of the lesson. “there’s more to art than technique,” he says, his voice low. “it’s about connection. about understanding the person you’re drawing, not just how they look, but who they are.”

his words stir something inside you—a sense of being understood in a way you’ve never experienced before. you’re not just a princess in this room, not just another student. you’re you, with all your complexities and contradictions, and somehow, jay has seen that.

it makes you feel exposed in a way you hadn’t anticipated, and yet there’s a comfort in it, too. you’ve spent your whole life hiding parts of yourself, but with jay, it feels like you don’t have to.

finally, he sets the sketchbook aside, standing up and crossing the room to where you’re seated. he doesn’t hand you the sketch immediately, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s unsure about showing it to you.

“you can tell a lot about a person by how they draw,” he says quietly, standing in front of you now, his gaze unwavering. “but you can tell even more by how they let themselves be seen.”

your pulse quickens, the weight of his words settling deep within you. it’s not just about the sketch anymore—it’s about everything. the way you’ve been navigating these lessons, the way you’ve been letting him into your world, piece by piece.

he holds out the sketch to you, and when you take it, your fingers brush against his, a fleeting touch that lingers in your mind longer than it should.

the drawing is beautiful. he’s captured you in a way that feels both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. there’s a softness to your expression, a quiet strength in the lines of your face, and yet… there’s something else. something deeper.

“it’s beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the lines with your fingertips. “i’ve never seen myself like this before.”

jay watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. “that’s because no one’s ever looked at you like this before.”

the words hit you like a gentle wave, their meaning sinking in slowly. you glance up at him, unsure of how to respond. there’s a new tension between you now, but it’s not the kind that comes from desire or rushed feelings. it’s deeper than that—a connection, a shared understanding that goes beyond mere attraction.

for a moment, you sit in silence, the sketch resting in your lap as the light from the window shifts slightly, casting long shadows across the room. you can feel the change in the air, but neither of you moves to break it.

and as jay steps back, giving you space, you realise that this—whatever it is—will take time to fully unfold. you’re not rushing toward anything, but there’s something between you now, something real and undeniable.

but for now, you’ll let it simmer. there’s no need to rush. not yet.

the days have passed like pages in a book, each art lesson with jay slowly building a tension that you feel in the very air of the studio. his presence is constant but controlled, his touch fleeting yet always careful. you’ve found yourself looking forward to these lessons more than you’d ever anticipated, though not only for the sake of art. something else draws you here each time, something that’s harder to admit even to yourself.

when you arrive at the studio today, the familiar scent of paint and canvas greets you, mingling with the crisp morning air. jay is there, of course, already preparing the materials, his back to you as he arranges brushes and bottles of linseed oil. the sun filters in through the tall windows, casting long beams across the room, turning everything into shades of gold. today feels different, though you can’t quite pinpoint why.

he turns as you approach, offering you a brief smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good morning," he says, his voice as calm and composed as ever, though you think you detect a slight hesitancy behind his words.

"good morning," you reply, your heart already beating a little faster. the last few lessons have been charged with a new energy, a subtle yet undeniable pull between the two of you. you've tried to keep your thoughts focused on the art, but with each session, it’s become harder.

jay steps over to the large canvas he’s set up for today’s lesson. "we’re going to work on technique," he explains, holding up a palette of mixed colours, the vibrant hues blending like a sunset in his hands. "i want you to feel the texture of the paint, how the brush moves against the canvas. it’s all about control and release."

you nod, though the concept seems easier said than done. painting has always been more of a challenge for you, especially when it comes to finding that balance. jay, however, has a way of guiding you through each step without ever making you feel inadequate.

"let’s start with the basics," he says, handing you a brush. his fingers brush against yours for the briefest moment, and you feel a spark travel up your arm, though you’re sure he doesn’t notice.

you position yourself in front of the canvas, trying to steady your breathing as you dip the brush into the paint. the first few strokes are tentative, careful. you focus on the movement of your hand, but your mind is distracted by the weight of jay’s presence behind you. it’s as if the air in the room has thickened, every sound, every movement, magnified.

jay watches in silence for a few moments, then steps closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body behind you. "here," he murmurs softly, his voice right beside your ear. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he places his hands lightly on your waist, adjusting your stance. the touch is firm but gentle, and it sends a shockwave through your body. your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of every point of contact—his hands on your hips, the warmth of his chest just inches from your back.

"relax," he whispers, his voice low and calming, though you can hear a slight strain in it, like he’s carefully keeping something in check. "you’re too tense."

easier said than done. you can barely think straight with him so close, let alone concentrate on the canvas. but you try, forcing yourself to take a breath, to focus on the task at hand. jay doesn’t move away. instead, he steps even closer, his chest nearly brushing your back as he moves his hands from your waist to your arm, guiding your wrist as you hold the brush.

"feel the paint," he says, his breath warm against your ear. "don’t fight it. let it flow."

his hand wraps around yours, firm but careful, and he moves your arm in a slow, fluid motion. the brush glides across the canvas with ease, the paint spreading in smooth, even strokes. his touch is light but deliberate, and you find yourself following his lead, your body responding to the way he directs the movement.

"you’re doing well," he murmurs, and you can feel his breath against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "just like that."

the room feels smaller, the air thicker, as if the space between you is shrinking with each passing second. you try to focus on the canvas, but it’s impossible with jay so close. his presence is overwhelming, consuming, and you’re acutely aware of every shift, every movement.

"you don’t need to force it," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper now, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "let the brush move with you."

you nod, though your throat is too dry to speak. the closeness between you is intoxicating, and you can feel the tension building with each breath you take. jay’s hand tightens slightly around yours, and for a moment, you wonder if he feels it too—the pull, the unspoken connection that seems to have grown stronger with each lesson.

he guides your hand in another slow stroke across the canvas, but this time, the brush slips slightly, leaving a streak of paint that’s a little too heavy. you let out a soft, frustrated sigh, but jay only chuckles, the sound low and warm.

"don’t worry about perfection," he says, his voice rumbling in your ear. "art isn’t about being perfect. it’s about feeling."

his hand lingers on yours a moment longer before he lets go, stepping back slightly. the sudden absence of his touch leaves you feeling off-balance, as if the ground beneath you has shifted. you exhale a breath you didn’t realise you were holding and lower the brush, your heart still racing.

"good," jay says, his voice a little more distant now as he moves back to the table. "you’re getting better. it’s all about control and release, but it takes time to find that balance."

you nod, though your mind is still reeling from the intensity of the moment. you’ve never felt so aware of your body, of your own reactions, as you do when jay is close like that. it’s as though he knows exactly how to touch you, how to guide you, without ever crossing the line—but just barely.

you place the brush down on the easel, turning to face him. jay is busy cleaning the palette, his face unreadable as he focuses on the task. but there’s something different about the way he holds himself, a tension in his posture that wasn’t there before.

"thank you," you say softly, breaking the silence that has settled between you. your voice sounds a little shaky, but you hope he doesn’t notice.

he glances up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before flickering away. "it’s my job," he replies, but there’s something in his tone—something almost… uncertain.

the silence that follows is heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that has been growing between you for weeks. you can feel it in the way he looks at you, in the way his hands linger just a little too long when he helps you. it’s as though you’re both standing at the edge of something, but neither of you knows how to take the next step.

finally, jay sets the palette down and steps back, putting a little more distance between you. "we’ll keep working on this," he says, his voice returning to its usual composed tone. "you’re improving, but there’s still more to learn."

you nod, feeling a little breathless, though you’re not sure if it’s from the painting or from the closeness you just shared. "i’ll keep practising," you say, though the words feel almost trivial in the weight of the moment.

jay gives you a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good," he says softly, before turning back to his brushes. "we’ll pick up again tomorrow."

you linger for a moment, watching him as he carefully cleans the paint from his hands, his movements precise and controlled. and as you leave the studio, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed between you, something that neither of you can ignore for much longer.

the pottery studio feels different today. the atmosphere is heavy, thick with anticipation, but you try to ignore it as you sit at the wheel, your hands already messy with clay. the wheel spins slowly beneath your fingers, but no matter how many times you’ve tried, the clay refuses to cooperate, collapsing into a lump before you can give it any real shape. you groan in frustration, watching another failed attempt crumble under your touch.

“take your time. it’s all about feeling the clay, not controlling it,” jay says softly from behind you, his voice calm but carrying that familiar undercurrent of something unspoken. he’s watching closely, his presence as steady as always, but today it feels more intense—like a subtle hum in the air that makes the space between you vibrate with tension.

you sigh, wiping your hands on your apron. "i don’t think i’m getting this at all," you mutter, staring down at the shapeless mound on the wheel. pottery has proven to be a far bigger challenge than painting—there’s something about the unpredictability of the clay that throws you off balance.

jay steps closer, his footsteps almost silent on the studio floor. "you’re too tense," he observes, his voice low and measured. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he’s already moving behind you. the air shifts as his body nears, and suddenly, you can feel the heat of him pressing close. he slides onto the bench behind you, his legs on either side of yours. the intimate position makes your heart race instantly, your pulse quickening in response to his proximity. his chest brushes your back, his breath warm on the side of your neck, and suddenly it’s hard to focus on anything other than how close he is.

he pauses his movements. “is it okay if i sit behind you like this? i may need to touch your hands as well.”

you nod at his soft words, “yes that’s alright.”

the studio feels smaller, the world outside forgotten as you’re enveloped by his presence. you can feel the solid warmth of his chest against your spine, the way his thighs gently cage yours. every point of contact feels electric, the tension simmering between you palpable.

“relax,” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper, low and soothing. his breath brushes the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “you’re trying too hard to control it. you have to let the clay respond to your touch.”

his hands move to cover yours, his fingers sliding over your clay-streaked knuckles. his touch is firm but gentle, guiding your hands to the wheel as it starts spinning once again. the sensation of his fingers wrapping around yours sends a ripple of awareness through your body, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the warmth of his skin, the weight of his hands over yours.

"feel the clay," jay instructs, his voice quiet but filled with intent. his breath is warm against your ear, and the proximity, the intimacy of the moment, makes it nearly impossible to concentrate. "it moves with you. let it guide you."

his hands press lightly against yours, directing your fingers as they glide over the surface of the clay. the wheel turns slowly beneath your palms, the soft texture of the clay smoothing out under the pressure. you try to focus on the task at hand, but the sensation of his body against yours—the gentle weight of his chest pressed to your back, his legs framing yours—is overwhelming. the world narrows down to the feel of his touch, the sound of his steady breath so close to your ear.

"you need to feel the shape," jay continues, his voice lower now, more intimate. his hands move with yours, guiding your fingers as they dip into the soft clay. his touch is deliberate, patient, and it feels like he’s not just teaching you pottery, but something deeper, something far more personal.

your hands move together as you both shape the clay, your fingers sliding inside the hollow of the vase. the action is slow, almost sensual, and the suggestiveness of the movement doesn’t escape you. the pressure of his fingers over yours, the way his hands direct yours in shaping the delicate interior, feels too intimate, too deliberate. the tension that has been building for weeks now feels almost unbearable.

your breath quickens, your heart hammering in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. jay’s chest presses more firmly against your back as his hands guide you deeper into the clay, shaping it from within. his fingers dip, mirroring yours, and the act of molding the vase becomes something far more intimate than you could have ever anticipated.

"just like that," jay whispers, his voice huskier than before, his breath hot against your ear. his hands slow, his fingers lingering on yours as you move together. the wheel spins quietly, the clay yielding to your touch, but it’s hard to focus on the art when the closeness between you feels like it’s about to explode into something more.

you can feel every movement of his chest against your back, the rise and fall of his breath growing uneven. the heat of his body is overwhelming, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the clay. your pulse is racing, and you’re certain he can feel the way your body trembles slightly under his touch.

suddenly, you realise you can feel his heart. it’s beating erratically against your spine, matching the rapid rhythm of your own. the awareness crashes over you like a wave—he’s feeling it too. the tension, the pull between you, it’s not just in your head. his hands tighten slightly over yours, his chest pressing more firmly against your back, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the world is tilting.

you bite your lip, trying to keep your breathing steady, but it’s impossible with him so close, with the weight of his body grounding you while simultaneously setting you on fire. your fingers dip into the clay once more, but all you can feel is the warmth of his hands over yours, the way his presence fills every corner of your mind.

jay’s breath hitches, barely audible, but you hear it. you feel it. the tension between you has been simmering for weeks, and now it’s at a boiling point, undeniable and heavy.

after what feels like an eternity, jay finally pulls his hands away, the absence of his touch leaving you cold and disoriented. his chest moves away from your back, and he stands slowly, as if he, too, is struggling to shake off the intensity of the moment.

"good work," he says, his voice quieter than usual, almost strained. he steps away from the wheel, his hands clenching and unclenching as though he’s trying to regain his composure.

you remain seated, your hands still coated in clay, your heart still racing. the silence between you is thick with everything unsaid. you can still feel the echo of his hands on yours, the warmth of his body lingering against your skin.

finally, you glance over your shoulder, your eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some indication of what he’s thinking. but jay’s expression is unreadable, his gaze fixed on the now-complete vase on the wheel.

"you did well," he repeats, though his tone is quieter, almost distant. there’s something unresolved in the air, something that neither of you dares to acknowledge aloud.

as you stand, your legs unsteady, you can’t help but feel that something between you has shifted irreversibly. the line you’ve both been walking for weeks feels dangerously close to being crossed, and the question now is whether either of you is ready to take that step.

the last day of your art lessons starts with a sense of melancholy that you try to push away. you know that this will be your final session with jay, and although you’ve learned more than you could have imagined, the thought of no longer spending time with him feels like a loss. he greets you at the studio with his usual warm smile, but there’s something different about him today—a lightness that wasn’t there before.

“we’re not staying inside today,” jay says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “i figured we’ve done enough of that. you’ve been using my supplies, so i thought it’s time you get your own.”

you blink, surprised by the suggestion. “you mean we’re going shopping?”

he nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “you deserve your own tools. besides, i want to show you my favourite spots.”

the idea excites you more than you’d expected. it feels intimate, personal—like he’s sharing a part of himself with you outside the confines of the studio. and so, you follow him out into the bustling streets, the city alive with activity as you walk side by side, the sky overhead a muted grey that promises rain.

the first shop is a small, unassuming place tucked between two larger storefronts, and you wouldn’t have noticed it if jay hadn’t pointed it out. inside, it’s a treasure trove of art supplies—shelves stacked high with paints, brushes, and sketchpads of every kind. the scent of paper and wood fills the air, and you can’t help but feel a little like a child in a candy store, overwhelmed by the endless possibilities.

jay moves through the aisles with ease, clearly at home here. he picks up brushes, testing their weight in his hand before handing them to you to feel. “this one’s perfect for detail work,” he says, holding up a fine-tipped brush. “and this,” he adds, pulling out a thicker, more rugged one, “is for broader strokes, more expression.”

you watch him as he speaks, his voice low and sure, and you find yourself more captivated by him than the tools he’s showing you. there’s something about the way his hands move with such confidence, the way he seems to understand the soul of each item, that draws you in. it’s a side of him you haven’t seen before, one that’s less restrained, more passionate.

he catches you staring, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “what?”

you quickly look away, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “nothing,” you mumble, pretending to examine the brushes in front of you.

but you can’t hide your growing admiration for him, and you suspect he knows it. he moves closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he reaches for a set of soft pastels. “try these,” he says, handing them to you. “i think they’ll suit your style.”

you take the pastels from him, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged. you swallow hard, trying to focus on the colours in your hand rather than the way his touch lingers in your mind.

from there, you move to the next shop, a slightly larger one filled with canvases of all sizes and shapes. jay pulls you toward a display of stretched canvas frames, explaining the difference between cotton and linen, the various textures and how they interact with different mediums. he talks with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile, his passion contagious.

“pick a few,” he says, gesturing to the rows of canvases. “you’re going to need a variety if you want to keep experimenting.”

you nod, feeling a sense of freedom in the choice. as you select your canvases, jay hovers nearby, occasionally offering suggestions but mostly watching with a quiet intensity that makes your skin prickle. you wonder what he’s thinking, whether he’s just as aware of the subtle tension that’s been growing between you over the weeks.

the third shop is more modern, filled with high-end supplies—gorgeous palettes of oil paints in jewel tones, sleek metal easels, and handcrafted wooden boxes for storing brushes. it’s clear jay has saved the best for last, and as you wander the aisles together, he shows you some of his favourites, his voice soft and reverent as he talks about the craftsmanship behind each item.

“i’ve always wanted one of these,” you say, running your fingers over a beautiful wooden palette, its smooth surface gleaming under the soft light. “it’s almost too nice to use.”

jay grins, standing beside you as he watches you admire it. “you should get it,” he says, his voice warm. “every artist needs something that feels special, something that inspires them to create.”

his words send a shiver through you, and you glance at him, the closeness between you suddenly palpable. the quiet intimacy of the moment, standing together in the softly lit store, surrounded by the tools of your shared passion, feels heavy with something unspoken. you nod, slipping the palette into your basket, trying to shake the fluttering in your chest.

as you leave the last shop, your arms full of bags and supplies, the sky opens up, releasing a sudden torrent of rain. the drops fall fast and heavy, soaking you within moments. you yelp in surprise, pulling your hood over your head, but it’s no use—you’re drenched almost immediately.

jay laughs, a rich sound that cuts through the noise of the rain. “looks like we’re in for it!” he shouts over the downpour, his hair already dripping wet as he holds a hand out to catch the rain.

you can’t help but laugh, your spirits lifting despite the sudden storm. the two of you stand in the rain for a moment, looking at each other, before jay suddenly grabs your hand.

“come on!” he says, pulling you into a run.

you follow him, laughing breathlessly as you race through the rain-soaked streets, splashing through puddles and dodging other passersby who huddle under umbrellas and awnings. the bags of art supplies jostle against your sides, but you barely notice, too caught up in the exhilaration of running with him through the storm.

the rain comes down harder, drenching you completely, your clothes clinging to your body and your hair sticking to your face. but none of it matters—you’re both laughing, the world around you a blur as you sprint through the narrow streets, your hand still held tightly in his.

jay pulls you into a narrow alleyway, ducking under a stone archway for shelter. it’s barely enough to shield you from the rain, but you’re both out of breath, giggling uncontrollably as you lean against the cold stone walls.

you’re both soaked, your clothes dripping water onto the ground, but the warmth between you is undeniable. jay’s hair is plastered to his forehead, droplets sliding down his face as he looks at you, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

you can feel the heat radiating from his body, even through the dampness of your clothes. you’re pressed so close to him in the narrow space that you can feel the tension building, the awareness of every inch of space between you—or rather, the lack of it.

jay’s laughter fades as his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. his gaze softens, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something more serious, more intense. you’re both still, the rain beating down around you, but inside this tiny archway, it feels like time has slowed.

he reaches up, his fingers brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, and the simple gesture sends a shiver down your spine. his hand lingers by your cheek, and you can feel the warmth of his touch even through the coolness of the rain.

for a moment, neither of you say anything, the space between you heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid. you can feel your heart racing, your breath catching in your throat as his eyes drop to your lips for just a second, but it’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

then, without thinking, without hesitation, he leans in.

the kiss is slow at first—tentative, as though he’s testing the waters. his lips brush against yours softly, almost delicately, and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. the rain, the city, everything fades away, and all that exists is the warmth of his mouth on yours, the softness of his kiss.

your heart stutters, your body frozen for a split second before you kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his chest. the kiss deepens, and the tension that’s been building between you for weeks unravels in a rush of heat and longing. his hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, pressing into him as though you can’t get close enough.

the rain falls around you, forgotten, as you lose yourself in the kiss. there’s a desperation to it, like neither of you knows when—or if—you’ll ever get this chance again. it’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and everything you’ve been holding back spills out in that single kiss.

when you finally pull away, breathless, jay rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close as though he’s afraid to let go. you’re both panting, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, but you can’t seem to move, can’t seem to break the connection between you.

the kiss lingers in the air, an invisible thread still tying you to jay even as the rain continues to fall. his forehead rests against yours, his breath shallow and quick, matching the erratic rhythm of your heart. for a moment, everything feels right, the world outside forgotten, the storm cocooning you in your own little universe.

but then something shifts. you feel it in the way his grip on your waist tightens briefly before loosening, in the way his eyes darken, filled with a sorrow that cuts through the joy of the moment.

he pulls back, just a fraction, enough to put space between you but not enough to break the connection entirely. his gaze drops to the ground, as though he can’t bear to meet your eyes.

“we… we can’t,” jay whispers, his voice heavy with regret.

the words hit you like cold water, the warmth of the kiss suddenly feeling distant. “what do you mean?” your voice is soft, confused, almost pleading. you take a step closer, unwilling to let him slip away. “jay, what are you saying?”

he sighs, running a hand through his damp hair, his shoulders tense. “you know what i mean,” he says quietly. “you’re a princess. you belong to a world of crowns and thrones, and i… i’m just your art teacher.”

you shake your head, the rain beginning to soak through your clothes, but you hardly notice. “i don’t care about that! my parents wouldn’t either. jay, this—this connection we have, it’s real. you can’t just pretend it isn’t.”

his eyes finally meet yours, and for a moment, you see the same longing reflected in them. but then he looks away again, his jaw tightening. “maybe your parents wouldn’t care, but i do. i won’t let you throw away your life for me. you have responsibilities, a future. i can’t be the reason you turn your back on all of that.”

your heart aches at his words, at the way he’s trying to protect you even as it tears you both apart. you reach for his hand, holding it tightly. “you’re not asking me to give anything up. i’m telling you what i want. you. you’re what i want, jay.”

he looks at your hand in his, and for a second, he doesn’t move, as though he’s frozen between what he wants and what he believes is right. “you don’t understand,” he says quietly. “you’re used to a life of luxury. i can’t give you that. i won’t let you settle for less.”

the frustration bubbles up inside you, mixing with the hurt. “it’s not about that. it never was. do you really think any of that matters to me if i’m not happy?”

jay’s gaze softens, but the doubt lingers in his eyes, a shadow of the barriers between you. “i need time,” he says, his voice pained. “i need to think about this.”

you bite your lip, the tears you’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “take all the time you need. just… don’t take too long. please.”

he nods, his face filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. then, like the gentleman he is, he steps closer, offering you his arm. “let me take you home,” he says softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that only deepens the ache in your chest.

the walk back to the palace is quiet, both of you wrapped in your own thoughts, the sound of the rain the only noise between you. his arm around yours feels protective, grounding, but it’s bittersweet knowing that he’s still holding a part of himself back.

when you finally reach the palace gates, jay pauses, turning to face you. the light from the lanterns casts a soft glow over his features, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still.

“goodnight, princess,” he says, his voice gentle, though there’s an unmistakable distance in his tone now.

you look up at him, wanting to say something—anything—to make him stay, to convince him that this is worth fighting for. but the words stick in your throat. instead, you nod, forcing a small smile despite the heaviness in your heart.

“goodnight, jay.”

he gives you a final, lingering glance before turning and walking away, the rain continuing to fall as his figure disappears into the night. you stand there for a long time, watching him go, your heart aching with every step he takes.

as you finally turn and walk inside, the warmth of the palace feels stifling compared to the cool rain outside. the emptiness left in jay’s wake presses down on you, and the realisation that you might not see him again for a while hits you like a blow.

in the days that follow, the quiet is suffocating. you try to fill your time with painting, with other lessons and royal duties, but nothing seems to lift the weight pressing on your chest. each moment stretches on, and the palace, usually filled with the comfort of familiarity, now feels hollow without him.

your parents notice your change in mood but don’t pry, their knowing glances suggesting they’re aware that something more than art is on your mind. still, you keep jay’s name on the tip of your tongue, unable to speak it without feeling the ache of uncertainty.

and so, you wait. you wait for a letter, for a word from him—anything to tell you that he hasn’t let go, that he’s still thinking about you as much as you are about him. but with each passing day, the silence only grows louder, the doubt harder to ignore.

what if he doesn’t come back? what if he decides you aren’t worth the risk?

the thought makes your heart tighten painfully. you sit in your art studio, staring at an unfinished painting, the brush limp in your hand, as you wonder if jay is fighting the same battle within himself.

it feels like an eternity has passed since that rainy day, since that kiss that felt like the world shifted. and now, all you can do is hope that he finds his way back to you before it’s too late.

the days stretch long and quiet after that night in the rain, and the distance between you and jay feels more unbearable with each passing moment. you keep replaying his words, the look in his eyes, the way he had kissed you—like he wanted to hold on forever but didn’t know if he should.

you throw yourself into your art, hoping the colours and brushstrokes will distract you from the weight of his absence. but the empty space he’s left behind is hard to ignore, especially as you finish the final piece you’d been working on for weeks—a vibrant painting of a parisian street, your future awaiting you there.

paris. the word itself sounds like a dream. the trip is supposed to happen soon—your long-awaited opportunity to study art in the heart of a city known for its creativity and beauty. it’s everything you’ve worked toward, yet now the thought of leaving without jay feels hollow.

what was once the pinnacle of your aspirations now feels incomplete. you had imagined this adventure, this new chapter of your life, and pictured jay being a part of it. but now, with his silence lingering between you, you’re uncertain of whether he’ll still be there when it begins.

sitting at your desk, you stare down at the blank parchment, the quill hovering in your hand. you haven’t spoken to jay since he walked away that night, but you can’t bear to leave for paris without reaching out, without giving him one last chance to understand how much he means to you.

the words come slowly at first, but then they start to pour out, your emotions and thoughts spilling onto the page.

dear jay, it feels strange writing to you after all this time—after all the moments we shared that now seem so far away. i’ve been thinking about what you said that night, about how we come from different worlds, about the future you think i deserve. but you need to know that none of it matters to me if you’re not a part of it. i’ve wanted this trip to paris for as long as i can remember, to learn from the best, to immerse myself in art and culture. it’s something i’ve dreamed about for years. and yet, now, as the day of my departure gets closer, all i can think about is you. i don’t want to go to paris and leave you behind, wondering what could have been. you’re as much a part of my passion for art as any paintbrush or canvas. you’ve shown me new ways to see the world, to express myself, and i’ll always be grateful for that. but more than that, you’ve become someone i can’t imagine my life without. i know you think i’m giving up too much, that i’m risking my future. but my future isn’t just about royal duties or titles. it’s about choosing the life i want—and i choose you, jay. i wish you could see that. paris is calling, but so are you. i can only hope that when you think of me, it’s with the same longing that fills every moment of my days without you. i hope that when you think of our time together, you’ll realise that this isn’t about status or sacrifice—it’s about love. i’ll be leaving soon after my birthday, but before i go, i need to know: will you come with me? or will i have to leave you behind? with love, [your name]

after sealing the letter, your heart is heavy with both hope and fear. you send it to jay, knowing that the next move is his. each day that passes without a response stretches the wait longer, the ache of uncertainty growing.

you try to stay busy with preparations for your trip, packing supplies and finishing your artwork. your parents notice the change in you—the excitement for paris dimmed by something you can’t quite bring yourself to share with them yet. they ask if you’re nervous, if you’re ready for the adventure, and you smile, telling them what they want to hear. but deep down, all you want is to hear from jay.

paris is just around the corner, but so is the decision you’re waiting for—the choice that could change everything.

the ballroom is a swirl of colour and laughter, filled with nobles, artists, and well-wishers all gathered to celebrate your birthday. the chandeliers above glitter like stars, casting a golden glow over the elegant space, and the music weaves through the conversations like a living thing, light and joyous. your parents spared no expense for this occasion, not only to mark your birthday but also to celebrate the upcoming adventure to paris.

it’s your birthday ball, but your mind is elsewhere, your heart tugged toward a memory that refuses to leave. you stand in front of your painting, the centrepiece of the night, hanging proudly on display for all to see. nobles and artists alike gather around it, marvelling at the vivid colours and delicate brushstrokes. you nod and smile politely as they offer praise, but inside, your thoughts are distant, wandering to a day not long ago when everything felt simpler.

the painting is of the marketplace—a bustling, lively scene full of energy and warmth. it’s the day you and jay had gone shopping together for art supplies, the day you let yourselves be ordinary, blending in with the crowds. the colours are bright and rich, capturing the vibrant chaos of the market: vendors calling out, the smell of freshly baked bread, the sound of coins clinking and people bartering for goods. in the corner of the canvas, nestled in the shadows of an alley, is a small, quiet space. it’s where you and jay had shared a moment away from the crowd, a stolen minute of peace amidst the noise, where the world had seemed to slow just for the two of you.

every brushstroke is infused with that memory—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft brush of his hand as he reached for yours, the unspoken connection that had blossomed between you in that hidden corner of the market. it was a day that felt like freedom, a glimpse of something more, something forbidden but undeniably real.

“your highness, it’s simply breathtaking,” someone says beside you, pulling you momentarily back to the present. a noblewoman in an exquisite gown stands at your side, her eyes wide with admiration as she gazes at the painting. “the light, the detail… it feels as though i’m standing there in the market myself.”

you nod and smile, offering a polite thank you, but her words barely register. all you can think about is him.

the weight of his absence has been heavy, pulling at your heart with every passing day, each one more difficult than the last. and now, on the night of your birthday, as you prepare to embark on a new chapter, all you can think about is the chapter you left unfinished.

you glance at the painting again, tracing the familiar lines of the marketplace, the hidden alley. that was the moment you knew there was something between you and jay, something more than just student and teacher, more than just friendship. it was the moment you allowed yourself to hope. but now, standing here alone, you wonder if that hope was misplaced.

and then, through the hum of voices and the soft strains of music, you hear it—a voice that sends a jolt through your entire body.

“you captured it perfectly.”

the sound of his voice makes the air around you seem to freeze. your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat. slowly, you turn toward the source, and there he is—jay, standing just a few steps away, his eyes locked on the painting, his expression a mixture of awe and something deeper, something raw.

for a moment, you’re not sure if you’re dreaming. after weeks of waiting, of wondering, here he is, standing before you, his presence filling the space that had felt so empty without him. he looks different tonight—still himself, but dressed in a way that blends with the formality of the event. yet, there’s something in his posture, in the way his dark eyes flicker between you and the painting, that betrays the turmoil he’s been carrying.

“jay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. but he hears you, as he always does.

he takes a step closer, his gaze shifting to meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you disappears. the ballroom, the guests, the music—it all fades into the background, leaving only the two of you in this fragile, suspended moment.

his eyes soften as they take you in, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that you hadn’t seen before, something that makes your heart ache even more. “you remembered,” he says quietly, gesturing toward the painting. “the marketplace. that day.”

you nod, your throat tightening. “how could i forget? it was…” you pause, searching for the right words, but nothing seems adequate. “it was perfect.”

jay’s gaze lingers on the painting, as though seeing the memory play out all over again. his lips part, but no words come. instead, he takes another step toward you, his presence so close now that you can feel the pull between you—the unspoken tension that had simmered just beneath the surface for so long.

“i’ve been thinking about that day,” he says, his voice low and rough. “about us.”

your heart hammers in your chest. “and?”

his eyes flicker with a mix of emotions—regret, longing, and something you can’t quite place. “i thought i could stay away. that it would be easier, safer, for both of us. but i couldn’t.” his voice wavers, just slightly, and the vulnerability in it makes your pulse race. “not tonight.”

you swallow, your chest tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. the distance between you feels unbearably small, but also impossibly vast. he’s here. after all this time, he’s finally here. but the question still lingers, heavy in the air between you: what happens now?

just as you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions that have been burning inside you for weeks, jay steps closer, his eyes locked on yours. the noise of the ballroom fades even further into the background, until all that’s left is him. and in that moment, with his gaze so full of emotion, you know that nothing has been forgotten. every stolen glance, every brush of hands, every whispered word—it’s all still there, between you, as real and undeniable as ever.

the night may be full of celebrations, but the only thing that matters is this: jay is here, and nothing will ever be the same again.

the grand ballroom continues to pulse with life around you, but the world feels quiet in the cocoon of jay’s presence. you haven’t even fully processed the fact that he’s here, standing in front of you after weeks of silence. his eyes—deep and full of an emotion you’ve longed to see—are fixed on you, as though he’s drinking in the sight of you, afraid to blink in case you disappear.

the weight of his absence, the unanswered letter, the uncertainty—it all rushes to the surface, but you force yourself to stay grounded in the moment. you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions burning in your chest, but before you can, jay takes a step closer.

“you never stopped painting,” he says quietly, nodding toward the marketplace painting, his voice filled with a mix of awe and relief. “you’ve grown even more since i left.”

his words are a gentle balm to the ache in your heart, but they only skim the surface of what you truly want to know. you swallow hard, the emotions too thick in your throat to speak.

your breath hitches. “why didn’t you respond to my letter, jay?”

there’s a beat of silence before he looks away, the rawness of his feelings flickering across his face. “because i didn’t know if i was strong enough to walk away again,” he admits. “and i wasn’t sure if i could give you the life you deserve.”

“after everything we’ve been through, you still think i care about that?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of all the unspoken words. “i just wanted you, jay. that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes another step forward, closing the distance between you until his presence is overwhelming. “i couldn’t respond, because i knew that if i did, i wouldn’t be able to stop myself from coming back to you. and once i did, i’d never want to leave. but you… you have paris, you have a future.”

“and i want you to be part of that future,” you say, your voice stronger now. “i’ve had weeks to think about this, jay. i’m leaving soon, and i need to know where we stand before i go. please, just tell me how you feel.”

jay’s eyes flash with a storm of emotions—hesitation, fear, and something deeper, something that has been bubbling just beneath the surface. he reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing yours, the touch sending warmth rushing up your arm. “i’m terrified,” he admits in a voice so soft it makes your heart ache. “i’ve never felt like this about anyone before, and i don’t want to ruin it.”

“you won’t,” you say, stepping closer until your hands are fully entwined, your pulse quickening as his warmth floods your senses. “i don’t care about titles, status, or what anyone else thinks. you make me feel alive, jay. that’s all i need.”

his grip tightens on your hand, and for a moment, it seems like he’s grappling with the depth of what you’re offering. his breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, as though he’s trying to hold himself together.

“i don’t want you to sacrifice everything for me,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “you’re a princess, destined for greatness, for a life most people can only dream of. i’m just... a man who paints.”

you step even closer, until there’s barely any space between you. “and that’s enough for me. more than enough.”

for a split second, he looks at you as though he can’t believe you’re real. but then, before you can say anything more, he steps forward, pulling you into his arms in one swift motion. the warmth of his body against yours is overwhelming, but in the best way, and as his arms wrap around you, holding you tightly, you feel the tension that’s been building between you melt away.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear as he holds you close. “for leaving. for making you wait.”

you close your eyes, leaning into him, your heart swelling with the relief of finally having him here. “you’re here now,” you murmur against his shoulder. “that’s all that matters.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your arms as his dark eyes meet yours. and in them, you see everything—the love he’s been holding back, the fear, the hope. “i love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ve loved you since the first day we met, and i’ve been fighting it ever since. but i don’t want to fight it anymore.”

your heart swells at his words, the weight of them settling deep in your chest. “i love you, too,” you whisper, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you as you say the words out loud for the first time. “i always have.”

the smile that spreads across jay’s face is like sunlight breaking through clouds, and before you know it, he’s lifting you off the ground, spinning you around in a burst of joy and laughter. the world around you spins with him, but you don’t care—because for the first time in what feels like forever, everything is right. everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.

when he finally sets you back down, your feet touching the ground once more, his hands stay on your waist, grounding you in the moment. his eyes, full of love and warmth, search yours, and for a second, neither of you speak. you don’t need to. the silence is filled with everything you’ve both been waiting for.

“i want to be with you,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “but i don’t want you to lose yourself for me.”

you smile, shaking your head. “i’m not losing anything. i’m gaining everything i’ve ever wanted.”

jay’s hand finds yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he looks at you, his gaze full of the future. “paris,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “you’re still going?”

you nod, your heart racing at the thought of what’s to come. “i am. and i want you to come with me.”

he hesitates, just for a moment, as though the reality of what you’re asking is still sinking in. but then, his smile grows, and he nods, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “i’ll come with you. we’ll go together.”

your heart leaps at his words, the hope you’d been holding onto finally blossoming into something real. paris—together. it’s everything you’d dreamed of, everything you hadn’t dared to believe could happen. but now, standing here with jay, it’s all within reach.

“we’ll see the world,” he says, his voice soft but filled with excitement. “we’ll paint, we’ll live, we’ll—”

“we’ll be happy,” you finish for him, your smile widening as you lean into his touch.

he nods, his forehead resting gently against yours. “yes. we’ll be happy.”

and in that moment, as the ballroom buzzes with life around you, as the painting of your shared memory hangs on the wall behind you, you know it’s true. you and jay—together, free, and full of love. the world is yours, waiting to be explored. and with him by your side, you know that this is only the beginning.

as you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the future stretches out before you like a blank canvas, waiting for you to fill it with all the colours of your love, your passion, and the adventures you’ll share. together, you’ll paint a life full of beauty, one brushstroke at a time.

and as the night fades and the dawn of a new chapter begins, you know—this is your happily ever after.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

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taglist: @punchbug9-blog @firstclassjaylee @capri-cuntz @addictedtohobi @jaysfavoritegirl @yuniesluv @isa942572 @academiq @missychief1404 //the ones in bold could not be tagged for some reason. im so sorry guys tumblr is acting up :(

#౨ৎ 𝓐dy writes🪄#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen fics #enhypen x reader #jay #jay park #jay x reader #jay imagines #jay fics #jay oneshots #kpop fics #enhypen royal au #jongseong park #jay enhypen

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lila-lou · 2 days

Text

✨Taking her in - Pt. 1✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Underage Reader, Language

Word Count: 4536

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Living with the Winchesters had been a strange yet oddly comforting experience. A few years ago, you were just a scared kid, barely surviving on your own after your mom passed away. The world was a cruel place, and you had learned that the hard way. But that night—when those men had cornered you, when you thought it was all over—Dean appeared out of nowhere like a guardian angel, though with a lot more anger and fire in his eyes.

You still remembered the way he looked after it was all over, standing over the bodies of those men, his breath heavy, his knuckles bruised. Dean Winchester was no stranger to killing, but that night had been different. These weren’t monsters. They were people. And yet, he had done what he had to do, without hesitation, to save you.

When he brought you to the bunker, you were too shocked to argue much. The bunker was unlike any place you’d ever known—safe, hidden from the world, and full of secrets you could never have imagined. Dean had said it was just until you got back on your feet, just until he was sure you were okay. But somehow, days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and now, years had passed.

You never talked about that night, not in detail. Sam had tried a couple of times, but you always shut him down. Dean never brought it up either. Maybe it was because you all knew there was nothing left to say. Or maybe it was because none of you wanted to face what it meant—that Dean had killed for you, that he had saved you in a way you couldn’t quite repay.

But despite the horrors you had faced before meeting the Winchesters, the bunker had become a home. It wasn’t like the life you had before, where survival meant scrapping by on whatever you could find, sleeping with one eye open. Here, you had a family. Dean and Sam—despite all their mess and chaos—had become the brothers you never had. They taught you everything you needed to know to protect yourself from the supernatural, but more than that, they showed you what it meant to have someone’s back, to care about someone even when the world was falling apart.

Now, your 18th birthday was coming up, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Part of you felt like you should leave, like you should go out and start your own life. But another part of you—the part that had grown accustomed to the safety of the bunker, the warmth of the Winchesters—didn’t want to let go.

Even after all this time, the question still lingered in the back of your mind: why had Dean been so insistent on bringing you back to the bunker that night? It wasn’t like him to make such impulsive decisions, especially when it came to something as personal as taking in a stranger. Dean was a protector, sure, but he didn’t make a habit of dragging people into his life, especially not into the heart of the Winchesters’ world.

But with you, something had been different. Something had driven him to take that extra step, to bring you home, and even now, none of you could quite figure out why.

Dean had always been guarded, keeping his thoughts and emotions close to his chest. But from the moment he had found you, something had shifted in him. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The way he watched over you, more protective than usual, always making sure you were okay, even when you didn’t want to admit that you needed it. Sam noticed it too, the way Dean would check in on you late at night when he thought no one was watching, or how he would get that distant look in his eyes whenever the topic of your past came up.

It wasn’t that he pitied you—Dean Winchester wasn’t the type to pity anyone. It was something else, something deeper. And yet, no matter how many times you tried to puzzle it out, you never came any closer to understanding what had driven him to act that night.

Dean never took you with them on a hunt, no matter how much you argued or tried to convince him that you were ready. It was frustrating, especially after all the training they’d put you through, drilling you on everything from how to banish a ghost to the proper way to handle a silver blade. The supernatural world had terrified you at first—so much so that, in the beginning, you’d freaked out so badly that Sam and Dean had to tie you down until you could calm yourself. But you’d learned, adapted, and eventually, you stopped being scared. At least, you stopped showing it.

Still, no matter how much you insisted that you were ready, Dean refused to let you join them on hunts. He was firm about it, more so than usual, and it always left you feeling like you were still that scared kid they’d found all those years ago.

Today, the frustration had reached a boiling point. You’d spent the day in the bunker, alone, while they were out doing what they did best. By the time you heard the familiar rumble of the Impala pulling into the garage, you were practically seething.

As soon as the garage door creaked open, you saw them—Dean, covered in blood, and Sam, looking equally worn out but less battered. You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice but failing miserably as you grumbled, “How was it?”.

Dean didn’t even look at you as he brushed past, his expression dark, a sure sign that things hadn’t gone smoothly. His usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by something sharper, more on edge, and that only made your frustration spike.

“Still a bit fucked up since I had to stay behind. Again”, you added, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Dean froze in his tracks, his back stiffening. He slowly turned to face you, and for a moment, you saw something flash in his eyes—something between anger and fear, though you couldn’t quite pin it down. His voice was low, almost a growl, when he finally spoke. “You think I want you out there? You think I’m keeping you here just for fun?”.

Sam, sensing the tension, glanced between the two of you, clearly torn between stepping in and giving you space to work it out. But he stayed silent, letting Dean handle it.

Your irritation flared. “I’ve been here for years, Dean. I know what’s out there, and I’m not some helpless kid anymore. I can handle myself”.

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he took a step closer, his voice dropping even lower. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not keeping you here because I don’t think you can handle yourself. I’m keeping you here because I don’t want you out there, getting hurt, or worse”.

You didn’t back down, meeting his glare head-on. “That’s not your decision to make, Dean. I’ve been through enough. I deserve to be out there, helping, not sitting around like some… liability”.

Dean’s face twisted into something almost pained, and for a second, you thought he might actually tell you what was really going on, why he was so adamant about keeping you out of the field. But then, just as quickly, the mask was back, and he shook his head, frustration radiating off him.

“Enough, Y/N”, he snapped, turning away from you again, as if the conversation was over. But you weren’t ready to let it drop.

“Yes, Dean, it’s enough!”, you shot back, stepping into his path. “You keep treating me like a kid, but I’m not. Why can’t you see that?”.

Dean’s eyes blazed as he glared at you, his face a mixture of anger something deeper, more desperate. His voice came out like a whip, sharp and cutting. “Go to your fucking room, Y/N!”.

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Dean had been angry before, sure, but this? This was different. The raw intensity in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but instead of backing down, you found yourself standing your ground, defiance burning in your chest.

You raised your brows, trying to decide if you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of him ordering you around like a child, or scream at him for treating you like one. The corner of your mouth twitched upward despite the tension, and you could see the effect it had on him immediately. If Dean was pissed before, now he looked like he was barely holding himself together as he saw the hint of a smirk on your face. It was as if your defiance was the last thing holding him together, but also the thing threatening to tear him apart. His fists clenched at his sides, the knuckles still raw from whatever fight he and Sam had just returned from, and for a moment, you thought he might actually lose it.

But instead of yelling again, instead of pushing further, he just closed his eyes for a brief second, taking a deep breath as if trying to regain control. When he opened them again, his expression had shifted—still intense, but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. Pain? Fear? It was hard to tell.

The air in the room seemed to crackle with tension as Dean’s voice, low and dangerously calm, filled the space. “I fucking swear, Y/N, if you won’t go to your fucking room now, I’m gonna lose my shit”. The words were delivered with such a raw, barely contained fury that it made your breath hitch in your throat. You’d never seen him like this before, not even during the worst of hunts or the most heated arguments. Even Sam, who had seen Dean at his worst, looked shocked—his eyes widening in surprise and concern as he watched his brother teeter on the edge.

For a moment, you stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wanted to push back, to keep fighting, but the other part—the part that had spent the last few years learning to read Dean, understanding the depths of his pain and the limits of his patience—knew that this wasn’t the time. The way his chest heaved, the tightness in his jaw, the wild look in his eyes… He was hanging by a thread, and if you pushed him any further, you weren’t sure what would happen.

Your smirk faded as the seriousness of the situation sank in. You weren’t just in the middle of an argument anymore; you were standing at the edge of something far more dangerous. The fight left your body all at once, replaced by a heavy, sinking feeling in your gut.

“Okay”, you said, the defiance in your voice replaced with something calmer, more measured. You held your hands up in a gesture of surrender, trying to show him that you understood, that you were backing down. “I’ll go”.

Dean didn’t say anything, just watched you with those burning eyes, his fists still clenched so tight you could see the muscles straining in his forearms. He looked like as if the smallest thing might set him off.

You walked away without another word, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly down the hallway as you left Dean and Sam alone in the heavy silence of the bunker. The tension you left behind was palpable, thick enough that it seemed to hang in the air, making it difficult to breathe.

Sam watched you go, his brow furrowed with concern, before turning his attention back to Dean. His brother was still standing in the same spot, fists clenched at his sides, his entire body taut as if he was ready to snap at any moment. Sam knew Dean well enough to recognize when he was dangerously close to the edge, and right now, he was teetering on it.

“Dean”, Sam started cautiously, his voice low and calm, trying to diffuse the tension. “You need to take a breath, man. You’re too worked up”.

Dean didn’t respond immediately. His eyes were still locked on the spot where you had just stood, his mind clearly racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite articulate. It wasn’t until Sam took a step closer, placing a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder, that Dean seemed to snap out of whatever dark place his mind had gone.

“Dean, talk to me”, Sam urged, his voice soft but insistent. “What’s really going on?”.

Dean’s eyes finally met Sam’s, and for a moment, it looked like he might shut down entirely. But then, as if the weight of everything he was holding inside became too much to bear, his shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, shaky breath.

“I’m losing it, Sam”, Dean admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, raw and stripped of all its usual bravado. “I’m losing it with her”.

Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s shoulder, his concern deepening. “What do you mean?".

Dean shook his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. “She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand how dangerous this life is. I can’t… I can’t let her go out there, Sam. Not her”.

Sam sighed, understanding more clearly now what was eating away at his brother. “Dean, I get it. You’re scared. But Y/N’s not a kid anymore. She’s strong, and she’s been through a lot. You can’t keep her locked up here forever”.

But that was exactly the point, and it gnawed at Dean in a way he couldn’t fully comprehend—or maybe just didn’t want to. He didn’t want to accept the fact that you weren’t a kid anymore, that you were growing up right in front of him. Every day that brought you closer to your 18th birthday was like a ticking clock in the back of his mind, counting down to a moment he wasn’t ready to face.

No one knew how Dean really felt about you. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he understood it himself. From the moment he had saved you years ago, something had shifted inside him. He could still remember the look in your eyes that night, the way your fear had melted into a kind of cautious trust as you looked up at him, and how, in that instant, his heart had clenched in a way it hadn’t in years.

He’d buried those feelings deep, refusing to acknowledge them, convincing himself it was nothing more than a protective instinct. You were just a kid, after all, someone who needed looking after, someone who had no one else in the world. And Dean was good at protecting people—that was what he did, what he had always done. But as the years passed, that simple instinct grew into something more complicated, something that twisted inside him, especially as you grew older.

Dean knew he was teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t afford to explore. You were still so young, and he had no business feeling anything for you beyond what a protector should feel. But now, with your 18th birthday looming, the reality was hitting him harder than he ever anticipated. Soon, you’d be legally grown up, able to make your own choices, live your own life. And the thought of losing you to that, of not being able to keep you safe the way he had for the past years, was driving him crazy.

Sam’s words echoed in his mind—You can’t keep her locked up here forever. He knew Sam was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. Deep down, he was terrified. Not just of the dangers you’d face out there, but of what it would mean if he had to face the truth of his own feelings. Feelings that he had buried so deep that even he couldn’t fully acknowledge them, but that were starting to claw their way to the surface.

“Dean”, Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts, grounding him. “You have to let her grow up. She’s strong enough to handle this, and you know it. What are you so afraid of?”.

Dean swallowed hard, his throat tight. He could feel the storm of emotions churning inside him, but he couldn’t let them out. Not to Sam, not to anyone. He forced himself to meet Sam’s gaze, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge of desperation he couldn’t quite hide.

“I just… I can’t let anything happen to her, Sam”.

“I get that, Dean. But she’s got a right to make her own choices. You can’t keep treating her like she’s still that scared kid you found years ago”.

Dean didn’t want to think about it any longer. The more he let his mind wander down that dangerous path, the more tangled and twisted his thoughts became, until it felt like he was drowning in them. The knot in his chest tightened, and the walls of the bunker suddenly felt too close, too confining.

“I’m gonna take a shower”, he muttered, the words coming out gruff and clipped, as if speaking them was a chore. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and headed for the bathroom, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as if each step required more effort than it should.

Sam watched him go, concern etched into every line of his face. He wanted to follow, to press Dean further, but he knew his brother well enough to recognize when he needed space. This was something Dean had to work through on his own, at least for now.

Dean’s mind was still racing as he reached the bathroom. He closed the door behind him with a little more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the small space. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at him was a mess—bloodstains on his shirt, smudges of dirt and grime on his face, and eyes that looked far more exhausted than they should.

He tore his gaze away from the mirror, not wanting to face the reality of what he saw there. Instead, he focused on the mundane task of stripping off his clothes, each movement deliberate and methodical, trying to find some semblance of control in the routine.

The hot water hit his skin like a scalding wave, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he welcomed the burning sensation, hoping it might somehow wash away the thoughts that were eating him alive. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the physical sensation of the water, his mind kept drifting back to you—how you had looked at him with defiance and hurt in your eyes, how you had walked away without another word.

Dean leaned his head against the cool tiles of the shower, letting the water cascade over him, trying to drown out the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone.

He rubbed his face hard. The tension in his body only seemed to tighten with every second. Frustration bubbled up inside him as he blindly reached for the nearest bottle of shower gel, squeezing a generous amount into his hand. But the moment the sweet scent of vanilla hit his nose, his body reacted instantly, and not in the way he intended.

His breath hitched, and he cursed under his breath as blood rushed down to his crotch, his body betraying him in a way that made his skin crawl with shame. It was your scent—soft, warm, and undeniably you. The same scent that clung to the spaces you frequented in the bunker, that lingered faintly in the air whenever you passed by. He’d never let himself acknowledge how much that scent affected him before, how it seemed to wrap around his senses and pull him into thoughts he had no business having.

Dean’s hand tightened around the bottle, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to control the unwanted arousal that surged through him. He didn’t want this—didn’t want to feel this way, didn’t want to be the kind of man who thought about someone he was supposed to protect like this. But the scent was inescapable now, filling his lungs, invading his mind, and dragging him down a path he had tried so hard to avoid.

“Damn it!", he muttered, slamming the bottle back down on the ledge with more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the steamy space. His free hand pressed against the tile wall. He closed his eyes, trying to force himself to think of anything else—anything but the way your scent clung to him now, making him think of how close you were, just a few rooms away.

But his mind wasn’t cooperating. Images of you kept flashing in his mind—your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you were teasing him or Sam, the way your body moved with a confidence that had grown over the past years. He could see the way you looked at him, the mix of frustration and something else in your eyes, something that made his heart stutter in his chest. And no matter how much he tried to push it away, those thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut tighter, the guilt and shame mixing with the undeniable need that was pulsing through him. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were someone he cared about, someone he was supposed to look after, not someone he was supposed to feel like this about. But the more he tried to deny it, the stronger the pull became, the harder it was to ignore the way his body responded to you.

“Get it together”, he growled to himself, trying to will his body to calm down, to stop reacting to something that should have never been an issue in the first place. But it was no use. The scent of vanilla was too strong, too intertwined with the image of you, and the more he tried to fight it, the more he felt like he was losing control.

Desperation clawed at him as he turned the shower knob, the water suddenly turning ice-cold. The shock of it hit him like a punch to the gut, but he welcomed it, hoping the frigid temperature would snap him out of whatever trance he had fallen into. The cold water rushed over his skin, causing goosebumps to rise and his muscles to tense.

His hand still pressed against the wall, Dean leaned his forehead against the cold tiles, letting the water beat down on him as he tried to focus on anything but the ache that was building in his body. He needed to get control, needed to shove these feelings back into the box he had locked them. But it was harder than he had expected—so much harder than it should have been.

Minutes passed, the cold water numbing his skin. Eventually, his breathing slowed, and the intensity of the arousal began to fade, leaving behind a cold, hollow feeling that settled in his chest. He felt like he’d crossed a line, even if only in his mind, and the shame of it was almost unbearable.

Finally, when Dean couldn’t stand the cold water anymore, he shut it off and leaned back against the shower wall, his breath coming in slow, steadying gasps. The biting chill had done its job, numbing his skin and, to some extent, dulling the raw edge of his thoughts, though the shame lingered like a bad taste in his mouth.

For a moment, he just stood there, eyes closed, trying to push everything out of his mind. He knew he needed to get a grip on himself, to regain some semblance of control before he faced you or Sam again. The last thing he wanted was to let them see just how close to the edge he was, how badly he was fighting to keep everything in check.

With a deep breath, Dean grabbed his own bottle of shower gel and squeezed a small amount into his hand, the familiar scent of cedar and spice grounding him. He lathered it up quickly, scrubbing his skin with a kind of urgency, as if he could wash away not just the grime from the hunt, but the thoughts that had crept into his mind uninvited. He repeated the process with his shampoo, letting the suds rinse away the last remnants of the day, trying to focus on the simple, repetitive motions.

Dean finished rinsing off and turned the water off with a sense of finality. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, then stood in the small, steamy bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror once more. His face was flushed from the hot and cold water, his hair damp and tousled, but it was the look in his eyes that bothered him the most.

He looked… haunted. Like a man fighting a battle he knew he couldn’t win. And maybe that was exactly what was happening. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, to push it down, the feelings he had for you were there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for a moment of weakness to break free.

But he couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. You deserved better than that—better than him. You were young, strong, full of potential, and you had a life ahead of you that didn’t need to be weighed down by his baggage. By his feelings.

Dean clenched his jaw, forcing those thoughts back down, locking them away in that box inside his mind where he kept everything that threatened to break him. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it, couldn’t afford to let himself slip. He had a job to do, and that was protecting you, keeping you safe.

With that final, resolute thought, Dean wrapped the towel tighter around his waist and opened the bathroom door. His mind was still racing, but he forced himself to focus on the immediate task—getting dressed, getting his head on straight, and burying these unwanted feelings deep where they couldn’t hurt anyone.

———————————

A/N: After I already started a damn long story for Jensen and Soldier Boy, here's one for Dean.

Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity

#jensen ackles #dean and sam #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #taking her in

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fakeboycorrection · 3 days

Text

Fakeboy story time! This one's a long one, so I'm sure some of you dumber, hornier fakeboys will have to read it in multiple sittings.

Kai had always known that they were nonbinary, ever since they were young. People had always tried putting them in dresses, or getting them into makeup, but it had never felt right. Though, to be fair, typical masculine things had never felt right either. They just didn't feel like they were drawn towards either of those. And though they didn't have a word for it for the longest time, when they first heard about enby people, they knew that's where they belonged.

Going off to college was great for them. Kai had become part of a community of plenty of other trans people, learning about the culture and understanding that gender wasn't some binary thing based on genitals, but something on a spectrum that couldn't be encapsulated with just the simple terms that they had learned growing up. As Kai educated themselves, they grew more and more into a leadership role. Eventually, they even became the president of a group on campus dedicated to spreading the trans rights movement, focused on educating people and allowing themselves to liberate themselves from the restrictions of their genders, just like Kai had been, years ago. They spoke at events, handed out pamphlets, and spent long nights staying up with their trans friends, being a shoulder to cry on as they would start their journey into transitioning.

Of course, Kai also got up to some fun activities on their own, outside of these movements. As a young, sexually liberated enby, they were always looking for some ways to have fun with others and in private. Though they considered themselves a lesbian, and had plenty nice encounters with girls on campus, they had a lot more fun spending some late nights in their dorm room, masturbating to porn online. Some of it was more tame, some of it was more kinky, but it was always uplifting to women and enbies, showing the ways that their bodies could be used to empower themselves, sharing pleasure with the world. Kai loved it, getting deeper and deeper down these rabbit holes, until one day discovering a forum of people that used remotely controlled toys to connect with others around the world, allowing them to control vibrators and choose when to give pleasure out. Kai rushed off to the store, getting one, and logging back into the forum for some fun. They had a lot of fun with girls around the world, even some from different countries, until one day having an interesting encounter with an anonymous account from the site.

"Hey, you interested in some fun?" Was the message they'd received. Kai looked at the account it came from, but it was mostly blank, just saying that it was from a man who was about their age.

"Hi, sorry, I'm usually only into girls and enbies. Hope you have fun with someone else!" They replied, trying to let him down easy. They were about to set their phone down when they got another message.

"Haha, really? I mean, it all happens through a vibrator, and my account doesn't even have a face on it. You could pretend I'm anyone." Kai considered it for a moment. They were really horny after all, and they hadn't gotten any other requests. They decided to indulge, sticking their vibrator into their pants until it was positioned snuggly on their clit.

"Fine, let's get this going, oh mystery man." They smirked slightly, knowing that it would be fun regardless.

"See, there's a good toy." He replied. Kai felt the vibrator turn on, feeling like it was at max strength, causing an involuntary gasp to come out of their mouth. After taking a moment to collect themselves, they replied.

"Wow, going full force off the bat? Don't you know how to properly tease an enby?"

"Oh I know how to. Just giving you a taste of it, so you'll know what you're missing when I do this." And suddenly, the vibrations disappeared completely.

"Hey hey hey! I didn't mean take it away completely!" Kai sent quickly, wanting the pleasure back immediately.

"Then I guess you shouldn't have been so bratty. Apologize, and you can have it back." Kai rolled his eyes and sent a message back.

"Ugh, fine. I'm sorry." Kai waited for a second, but nothing happened. They checked their phone.

"Now, is that any way to apologize to the guy controlling your cunt? Have some manners." They read. Kai wanted to roll their eyes again, but actually felt something stirring inside them at reading that. They decided to take it seriously.

"Okay, I'm really sorry sir. It won't happen again." They replied. Immediately, the vibrator flipped back on, but only to about half strength. It wasn't perfect, but Kai wasn't going to risk losing it again by talking back.

"There we go, that's better. You look so cute in your profile pic. You shouldn't put such a bratty scowl on it." Kai shuddered with a bit more pleasure. They'd forgotten they'd posted a pic of themselves on there. Whoever this man was, he could see exactly what the toy he was playing with looked like.

"Oh come on, you get to see me, but I don't get to see you?" Kai responded, relishing the small amount of pleasure in their pussy. After a few moments a new message popped up, not text, but a picture of the mystery man's cock.

"You like what you see? I might not post my face on here, but I'd argue this is better." Kai stared at the pic for a moment in shock. It was a sizable cock, bigger than any of the toys they'd used in the past. Right after he sent the pic, the man turned the vibrator up, sending more pleasure into Kai's hole.

"Hey! That's not fair, asking if I like something, then turning the vibe up. Now I basically have to say yes..." Kai moaned slightly again. Though they'd only ever been fucked with straps before, they had to admit, the cock did look enticing.

"The only part of that message I choose to acknowledge is the "Yes". But I think we both already knew that was the answer, didn't we? :)" Kai chuckled to themselves. This guy was smug, but he wasn't wrong. This was already the most turned on they'd been while using this site, and the night had barely started.

"Yeah, you're right, okay... sir? Please, give me some more pleasure. I'll even say more nice things for you, like "sir". Kai responded, partially doing it to get more pleasure, but partially because it felt so good to be submissive. They hadn't talked to someone with this level of dominance in quite a while.

"Mmm, I do like hearing the title, but I think there's some other things you can say to earn more vibrations. Some more fun things... Some things you might not want to say..." Kai looked at their phone with a hint of apprehension, but upon feeling the vibrations drop once more, they responded.

"Like what, sir?" They replied quickly, hoping to get the vibrator turned back up as soon as possible.

"Admit that I turn you on more than any girl ever has." He replied.

Kai stared at their phone for a moment. This guy wasn't serious, right? They responded.

"Oh come on. That's not even true, I've been with plenty of girls. You're good, but you're not better than literally all of them." After sending this, the vibrations in Kai's hole disappeared completely. They frantically messaged again.

"Wait wait wait, turn it back up!"

"Not until I hear what I want to hear." He responded. Kai looked down at their leaking, needy hole, then looked back at their keyboard before typing out the next message.

"Alright, fine. You're... better than any girl I've been with... I'll say it, even if I don't believe it." Kai immediately felt the vibrator turn back up to full power, sending another involuntary moan out of their mouth.

"There we go, that wasn't so hard, now was it? And don't worry, by the end of this, that statement will be true. Trust me." Kai was starting to get annoyed at this guy's smug attitude, but had to admit. It felt a little good to say such dirty things. They'd always been attracted to people with vaginas, so saying that a man was better than them felt like something of a taboo. A good taboo. After a minute or so of relishing in the pleasure, Kai felt the vibrator slowly starting to decrease in power. They messaged back once more.

"Wait! Why are you turning it down??"

"You earned a minute for saying that. You earn more if you say more. That seems fair, doesn't it." Kai didn't feel like holding back anymore.

"Very fair, yes sir! Just give me more..."

"There we go, much better. I'll tell you what. I'll give you five minutes if you admit that you feel like more of a girl than a man."

Kai looked at this message, confused. They replied quickly, trying to get through this before the vibrator turned off completely.

"What do you mean? I'm an enby. I'm not a man or a girl."

"Yeah, but if you had to pick one, you'd say you're closer to a girl, wouldn't you?" Kai stared at this, thinking about it for a moment. Though they were an enby, they had to admit, they were more feminine than anything. This was just an admittance of that, more than anything.

"Fine, I admit. I'm closer to a girl than a man." Kai responded, feeling another wave of pleasure hit them as the vibrator turned back on. For some reason, this wave felt even more intense than the last.

"See, you're so easy to convince. And you have to say, it feels good to admit that you're a girl, doesn't it?" He replied.

"Hey, I didn't say that. I said I'm closer to a girl than a man. I'm still nonbinary." Kai replied. Though, reading "You're a girl" did send a strange twinge down their body.

"Sure, sure. I'm sure you're not thinking about how you're secretly just a slutty girl. I'm sure it doesn't turn you on to think about admitting that to me, a man, someone you're not even supposed to be turned on by in the first place." Reading that, Kai moaned again. They didn't even fully understand their own feelings at this point, yet it seemed like this man was speaking their thoughts before they could even think them.

"Fuck, how did you know what I was thinking? Also, still not fair! I'm only turned on by that stuff because you're pleasuring my hole when I was thinking about it." Kai responded, denying the allegations as best as possible.

"Maybe, but why were you thinking those things in the first place? Maybe those thoughts are more true than you realize..." Kai read this, getting even more turned on, feeling like they were getting closer and closer to an orgasm. At this point, they didn't care if it was true or not, they just needed to get pushed over that edge.

"Fine, maybe you're right, just please make me cum sir! I'll be a good little enby, or a good girl, just for tonight if you let me!" They responded, knowing that they were closing in on the end of their five minutes.

"Mmm, I don't know about that..." He responded. Kai felt a wave of despair as the pleasure started to fade from their pussy. "But I'll tell you what. If you can think of the most vile, humiliating, pathetic thing that you can admit to me, and promise me that you'll consider actually believing it, I'll let you cum..."

Kai was desperate at this point, so they gave in almost immediately. "I'm a girl. I'm a girl for you and I want to serve your wishes, sir!"

"That's not nearly enough..." He responded. Kai felt the pleasure disappearing even more. They continued, getting more desperate as the orgasm started to seem unreachable.

"Okay, um... I'll never be a man, or an enby! I'll always be a girl! A straight girl a cis girl, who thinks men like you are superior!" Kai held out hope, but the pleasure continued to disappear.

"Not quite enough... I need even more than that, pretty girl..." Kai was on the verge of tears at this point, desperate to cum. So desperate, that she decided to give in, and let out her deepest, darkest, most real thoughts and fears.

"I'll never be an enby because it's all bullshit! None of us are nonbinary, we're all just attention seeking sluts that need men like you to fuck us! Please sir, I'm just a desperate, slutty girl that needs your cock in me to fix me. Please please cum in me so I can cum, knowing that I'm serving my true purpose as girl, please a cis, straight man's cock! That's all that any of us trans whores want!" Right as she sent it, Kai felt a warm wave of pleasure flow into her cunt. Strangely enough, the pleasure hit her before the vibrator even turned on, though it did turn back on in the end, launching her over the edge and giving her the best orgasm of her life. She came, moaning like a girl, barely able to see as the next message came into her phone. She sat there for minutes, trying to get over the massive shocks of pleasure that kept flowing through her body. Eventually, she managed to regain her composure, panting with her tongue out, and picked up her phone. The next message she read made her heart skip a beat, and the needy, aching feeling in her cunt return.

"Good girl, cumming for me. Your moans sounded beautiful, but you're being a bit loud. I'm in the room above you. Come on up and see how a real man treats a girl, little Miss. "Trans Rights Club" President.

She'd never felt fear like she did at that moment. And she had never felt as horny as she did, walking to the stairs, and heading up into his room.

#detrans kink #ftm detrans kink #ftm girl #ftm misgendering #detrans female #forced detrans #forced detransition #fake boy #fakeboy

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sheerfreesia007 · 2 days

Text

Gameplay Confessions

Pairing: Lee Felix x Reader

Word count: 952

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: You’re hanging out with Felix in his bedroom while he games with Jeongin and Seungmin. What happens when Felix confesses to you even with an audience of two?

Salang: Love

“C’mon! Where were you on that one Seungmin!” Shouted Felix causing you to look up from your book as you lounge on his bed. Felix is sitting at his computer desk on his computer playing a game with Seungmin and Jeongin. You can hear Seungmin’s yell from his own room causing you to shake your head as you chuckle at their actions. You would normally spend your off days like this with Felix, it had been a standard occurrence between the two of you since you had met him in the early days of his debut.

It was the best way for Felix to destress from his busy career and you were just happy to be able to spend some time with him. Doing everything you could just to be by his side. You jolted in bed as Felix yelled out again in anger and you huffed softly at him as a frown formed on your face.

”Sorry Salang, didn’t mean to get that loud.” Felix apologized loudly and you hummed softly at him as your heart fluttered in your chest before you heard Seungmin’s loud laugh and the distant sounds of other voices coming from Felix’s headset. “Shut up guys.” Felix grumbled softly and your eyes darted over to him to see he was blushing slightly as his head ducked towards his keyboard. You smile softly and know that the boys are giving him a hard time for calling you Salang, something that he’d been doing a lot lately and each time he would say it to you it would make your heart flutter and stutter in your chest.

It wasn’t a feeling that you were opposed to, in fact you were starting to grow addicted to the feeling and you knew that was dangerous for you. You loved Felix and knew if you kept indulging in this feeling he invoked in you that it would make it harder to bear just by yourself. And even though he had started calling you Salang you don’t know what had caused that change and you weren’t sure if he’d ever tell you. You were worried that he just got too comfortable with you and this was his way of expressing that to you.

”Hey Salang” he calls out to you without looking over at you and you lift your head to look at him.

”What’s up Felix?” You ask curiously and he turns his head to the side while you snuggle deeper into his pillows grunting softly in comfort as your body further relaxes in his bed.

”Can you go grab more snacks and drinks for me? I’ve run out and we’ve got another long campaign coming up soon.” He asks you as his eyes continue to focus on the computer screen as his fingers quickly move across the keyboard. You furrow your eyebrows at him before stretching lazily in the bed while you hear Seungmin yell from his room that he needs a restock as well. You roll your eyes before you smile softly at the back of your friend’s head.

“But Felix, I’m so comfy.” You groan out and he quickly looks over his shoulder at you and beams happily at you as he spots you stretching and rolling about his bed. He laughs delightedly before shaking his head and turning back to the game.

”If you go get me and Seungmin snacks and drinks I’ll make it up to you.” He says with a happy lilt in his voice. You muse over his words silently before you nod your head for a second.

”Will you take me to that new restaurant we saw last week for dinner?” you ask in a compromise and he giggles softly before nodding his head quickly.

”We’ll go for dinner tonight and I’ll even take you out for ice cream afterwards.” He compromises and you grin softly at him. You can hear the distant voices of Jeongin and Seungmin teasing him eagerly and you chuckle softly as you tilt your head to see Felix blushing even more brightly now as his friends tease him. You decide to give him a break and roll off the bed before walking to the side of his gaming chair causing him to look up at you curiously with a bright smile on his face. Jeongin and Seungmin are making loud kissing noises in his headset and you grin at him while rolling your eyes making Felix burst out in happy laughter.

”What’s the magic word?” You ask him teasingly and you watch as his brightly blushing face softens at your question as his eyes stare adoringly up at you.

”I love you.” He says dreamily and you stare down at him for a quiet moment before your grin bursts on your face. You lean forward and press a soft sweet kiss to his lips, shocking him as you can hear Jeongin and Seungmin cooing and making more kissing noises over his headset.

”I love you too Sunshine.” You say softly to him before cupping his face and pressing another kiss to his lips that he happily reciprocates this time after his shock has worn off. You pull away then and see the flush is still as bright as ever before you turn and leave his bedroom to grab the snacks and drinks for him and Seungmin as you hear Jeongin and Seungmin yelling over his headset asking if they really kissed and confessed while they were listening in.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken

#my writing #stray kids #lee felix x reader #lee felix #skz x reader #skz

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skrrts · 3 days

Text

Home Is ✧ yunho version (oneshot)

✧ gn!reader x jeong yunho ✧ genre: non-idol, slice of life, fluff, romance ✧ word count: 1,2k

You have found the love of your life, and now the two of you are ready for the next step in your relationship: moving together. Neither of you can wait to finally be able to spend every day together but it's out of the question ... the whole progress looks a lot more casual and aesthetical on social media than it actually is. Chaos. You can't wait to finally be done with unboxing the last pieces of clothing and get comfortable in your new bedroom but then there is Pudeongie, who had been banished to now spend his days in the armchair in the corner of the room. Why do you feel so judged and how come Yunho is so cute about this?

a/n: #3 of the little mini series and can't believe we already wrap it up next week, September really passed by so quickly. it just made sense to give this plushie some screentime, he's very loyal with his life on yunho's bed

Did you always own that many sleeping shirts? You sighed as you looked at the box, still trying to somehow shove them all into the corner of the wardrobe. Yunho had been humble, just as always and he owned so few clothes that you wondered how he always looked so fashionable while you had so many and still failed to ever put your mind on outfits. Maybe you should have bought a larger wardrobe after all.

You loved your new home and after weeks of hard work, there really only had been a few details left until the two of you finally settled. The apartment belonged to one of Yunho's relatives and thanks to that, instead of being forced to rush and get all done in a weekend, the two of you took the time, setting all up and making tonight the first one where you would sleep here.

The stunning new large bed was the highlight of the bedroom and your amazing boyfriend had given in to your wish for one of those bed canopy decorated with fairy lights.

Everything was perfect, if not for the judging glances of a plushie that was now sitting in the small armchair in the corner of the room.

The plush dog had been the very first thing you noticed when you stayed at Yunho's place for the first time. Your boyfriend had been more of a minimalist and allergic to colors, so the brown plushie had been a hard contrast to all the greys and black of his room. Yunho said that it was a gift from a good friend, handmade and based on a silly design he came up with.

The plushie had been there from the beginning of your relationship, it napped in bed with you but after moving, it felt natural that it received a new place. Now, why did you feel so watched and judged? He shared years with Yunho, it was time to grow up!

You blushed, clearing your throat for your silly thoughts when the door opened and Yunho, came in, balancing a tray with cups. The smell of pumpkin spice latte and fresh brownies from your favorite bakery immediately made you smile as you only moved a little. Your boyfriend sat down by your side, smiling.

"You stored in clothes all afternoon. I thought it was a good time for a break. I made sure to take a photo of those cat cups so Wooyoung would stop texting us if we finally tried out his gift," Yunho laughed as he offered one to you. Ah yes, your friends had the most interesting presents to celebrate how two of their closest friends finally moved together after more than five years of dating.

You carefully sipped on it: "Thank you, this is so nice... I never really had carpet before but I can see the benefit now."

You chuckled and Yunho smiled, moving closer so he could hug you from behind, eyes wandering over your bedroom.

"Mhm, not that cold flooring will ever stop me from kissing you just at every corner and spot in our little home."

His words were full of pride, you loved how domestic Yunho was. He really embraced building all of that furniture together with your dad and starting to cook for you, making little snacks, and taking over chores you didn't like.

"Our home is almost perfect," you mumbled placing the cup down. Yunho blinked, tilting his head: "Almost? What's missing, love?"

You pouted a little: "Not missing, it's just him. He makes me feel so guilty."

You pointed toward the plushie and Yunho's gaze followed, blinking before laughing.

"Pudeongie? What has he done?" that cute little smile already hinted he knew it was just a silly moment.

"He judges me, look at him! He has been kicked out of bed and I am not sure if he will ever forgive me," you pouted again and Yunho couldn't stop himself from smiling.

Your boyfriend stood up, picking up the plushie to move over, sitting by your side again.

"I believe, this is just his resting face, like Woo. Look at him! He's all soft and loving!"

Yunho pouted cutely as he hugged it tightly and you couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes playfully, giggling.

"Of course, it hasn't to do with you being biased at all."

He loved that plushie and so did you. Of course, it had been part of many fond memories of your relationship.

"I am sure, it will be a change but he will get used to it. In fact, maybe all he needs is company!" Yunho winked and tilted his head slowly. You sipped on your cup again, before placing it aside.

"He is very handsome. So fluffy and tall, maybe I should take him to bed with me tonight, for the best cuddles!"

Now it was Yunho who was pouting: "Hey! The first night in a new home is important... I am very fluffy as well."

You couldn't hold back a laugh, placing a kiss on his cheek and then on Pudeongie's. "I think, you might be right and it's a draw. So what do we do about it?"

Yunho smiled at you, before slowly standing up and placing the plushie carefully back on the armchair. Then, he walked over to one of your wardrobes and pulled out a big body pillow, taking a marker and drawing an adorable face on its cover before placing it next to his plushie.

"There, all he needed was the perfect one by his side. I am very knowledgeable of just how that is what one needs," he insisted. You joined his side and he hugged you without hesitation.

"Very true. Maybe we can get it some fluffy ears too, so they match better," you looked up to Yunho who looked fondly at you.

"I am very blessed that I am loved by a person who accepts my fond former roommate," he whispered and kissed you. This was silly but you'd not want to have it any other way.

You sat down again, this time on his lap, offering him a few bites from the cookie he brought.

"Mh, the bakery at the corner of the street is really nice. We should invite Seonghwa next time, they sell really delicious-looking slices of strawberry cake."

Yunho was comfortable, he rambled on, and shared his explorations with you and what he liked about the new neighborhood. It warmed your heart to see him getting used to living here with you as quickly now.

"If we do that, he might come over often to visit," you chuckled.

Yeosang and Yunho had been living together since starting college and just remained that way long after picking up their jobs. When their contract had come to an end, it made sense for them to move on and it must be quite a change for them.

You intended to give Yunho just as many special memories in this place.

"Now then," you whispered, grinning.

"Shall we go on and give them some privacy? I feel, there is quite a long list of things I always wanted to do in our first home together," you teased and Yunho looked at you, winking.

"Well, since the list is so long, we better get started."

He took your hand and pulled you along, the bedroom door falling shut behind you.

#yunho x reader #yunho x you #yunho oneshot #ateez x reader #ateez oneshot #ateez imagines #ateez au #ateez writing #jeong yunho x reader #yh tag #reis writes #fluff tag #home is

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lexirosewrites · 5 hours

Note

Hiii! A Slick Sunday idea I've been stewing on:

Omega!Steve is unhappily mated to Alpha!Tommy, who was happy to take advantage of the Harrington connection and got himself a swanky job at Steve’s dad’s business right out of school. Tommy used to be a good friend, but he changed as they got older and being mated to him is really not the domestic dream that Steve had once hoped for. Still, Steve is trying to make the best of it; Tommy is nice enough, if arrogant and a bit neglectful, but he travels frequently for work. They are actively trying for a baby—Tommy always makes sure to be home for Steve’s heats, the only time he can get pregnant—but no luck after many months.

As a wealthy Alpha who wants to seem attentive, Tommy signs Steve up for an Omega-tending service when he’s out of town; Steve gets a daily visit from one of their Alphas who scents him and knots him, helping to keep him calm and happy while his mate is away. Steve isn’t all that thrilled with the idea, but he recognizes that Tommy is doing something nice for him—Omegas whose Alphas can’t afford it have to make do with toys and artificial scents—so he tries to be appreciative.

Alpha!Eddie is a local mechanic who sometimes makes extra cash as an Omega-tender; it’s good money, works with his shifts, and yeah, he gets to knot pretty, posh Omegas that would never look his way otherwise. But his first visit with Steve absolutely blows all those other Omegas out of the water; after their first session, he immediately calls the service and requests to be put on all further appointments with Steve.

Over time they grow closer and closer; each time Eddie comes for an “official” visit he lingers for a little longer, and Steve finds himself pining for Eddie even when his mate is home. Tommy, for his part, doesn’t seem to care if Steve or his nest smell like Eddie every time he comes back—as far as he’s concerned, Eddie’s keeping his mate happy and Tommy doesn’t have to deal with all of Steve’s clingy, sappy nonsense. He starts traveling even more often and for longer stretches.

A few months into this arrangement Tommy calls Steve when he’s out of town to tell him that he’ll be extending his trip by a couple of weeks and that he already signed Steve up for more visits from his usual Omega-tender. Steve haltingly reminds Tommy that his heat is next week and that he could get pregnant if he spends it with a different Alpha. Convinced that their fertility troubles are entirely on Steve’s side, Tommy dismisses his concerns and hangs up.

So Steve and Eddie spend their first amazing heat together and naturally Steve conceives right away. He and Eddie are thrilled, but also terrified of what Tommy will do when he comes home and finds his mate pregnant by another Alpha. Eddie stays at the house when Tommy arrives, determined to defend his baby and his mate-in-all-but-name.

In the end, though, when Tommy comes home he couldn’t care less that Steve’s pregnant. Turns out his trips weren’t strictly business after all; he’s been seeing another Omega on the side and knocked them up. He’s more than happy to dissolve their mating and leave Steve and his baby with Eddie. The hefty sum Steve is entitled to from his pre-nup sets him and Eddie up well, ready to start their family and new life together.

Thanks for running Slick Sunday, it’s always a lot of fun! 💜💜

there’s something extra satisfying about steddie being set up by steve’s own mate!🤭 of course tommy doesn’t care if his omega is getting tended to by another alpha since he’s already moved on, but at least he gave steve the opportunity to have the family and love that he deserves!!❤️

#slick sunday #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steve x eddie #a/b/o #omegaverse #mpreg #cw mpreg #tw mpreg #my asks

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unseentravler · 18 hours

Text

Things I noticed my second time watching Transformers One

Restricted access to information - the first scene is literally Orion, breaking into an archive. obviously, Sentinel is trying to restrict access to information to keep the couggler spots from figuring out the truth.

Only cogeless bots use the trains - What if the whole reason they have trains is because cogeless can't transform and need other ways to travel.

The cogeless are so small - this got me thinking about a whole bunch of things. Are they supposed to grow as they get older, but couldn't because they couldn't transform?

The bar the Orion landed in only has bots with coges- there's obviously a good deal of prejudice from the transformers against the coggle spots, so are there like transformers only establishment?

D is worried about getting punished after the race - have they been punished before and for what? Are cogeless not allowed to do certain things

How long is a cycle? - obviously, a cycle is equivalent to a year, but from past media, we know that a cybertronian year is a lot longer than an earth year. But how long exactly?

D has so much anger throughout the entire movie. - I only really caught this on my second time watching, but D has a lot of anger throughout the entire movie, he just hides it very well.

Food shortage - there's probably a food shortage in Icon. We see orion grabbing as many cubes as he can from the bar, and Sentinel says that they barely have enough for their own citizens.

Does Alpha tryon think a bunch of kids have come to save him? From his perspective, he just got woken up by child sized bots. What is going through his head?

The high guard has become really demoralized. - Was it always like that? Or did starscrem leadership make them like that? Obviously, if they were trusted by the primes for so long, they must have had some moral backbone once upon his hime, so was it just that the fifty cycles they sped on the surface turn them into a might makes right cult?

Sental told everyone they died - looking back on it sentinel, prime always intended to get rid of them.He probably told dark wing to throw them down to sub level fifty.

The transformers only seemed concerned with the transmission ater Sentinel nails to the quintisomes - like I said earlier there's probably a good bit of classism between the Transformers and the cogless and some of the elite Transformers knew about the miners having their cogs ripped out, but didn't know about the quintesons.

The little ranking singly as that they are wearing. - we see D stomp his after the truth is revealed, but I didn't notice that they're all wearing them.

The longer the movie goes on, the more orion's voice sounds like Optimus Prime.

Other stuff

The little kid in front of me say "no why did you do that" when D shot Orion

Megatrons are at eyes are so cool

The way the music cuts for Optimist

#transformers one #transformers #optimus prime #orion pax #d 16 #b 127 #megatron #bumblebee #elita one #sentinel prime #alpha trion

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inkmonster21 · 2 days

Note

Hahaha jealous Caesar when he spots you talking to an ape or human and he just scares them away with his imitating look making reader confused on why the human man isnt talking to her and then she sees Caesar do it. Making her tease him for being jealous.

I hope you're doing okay and that you remember to drink lots of water and refresh when needed, so you're not pushing yourself.

Jealous Ape

Caesar x Reader

A/N: thanks so much! I am feeling so much better today! Finally finished my antibiotics and I’m feeling like myself again! ❤️

~o0o~

Caesar observes you from afar, his gaze always watchful and observant. He sees the way you greet everyone with a kind smile, the warmth, and friendliness that radiates from you. There's something about you that intrigues him, that draws his attention and keeps his gaze on you. As you move through the colony, you can feel his eyes following you, studying you from a distance.

As you take a seat next to the female apes, the young chimps hoot in excitement, their eagerness to be groomed and fussed over by you evident. You offer them a warm smile and a friendly greeting, "Morning." The female apes greet you in return, the familiarity and comfort between you all evident. The young chimps chatter and clamber towards you, eager for your attention and grooming.

Caesar observed the scene before him, watching silently as the young chimps clambered and chattered around you. There was something about the way you interacted with them, the gentleness and care in your touch, that stirred something within him. He found himself growing fond of you, the way you engaged and played with the young ones, the way you handled them with patience and affection.

As Caesar watches you, he can't help but admire the way you seamlessly integrate yourself into the flock. Despite being a human, you had quickly become an accepted and respected member of their community. Caesar sees the way the other apes look at you, the way you handle yourself with confidence and dignity, and he cannot help but feel a sense of grudging respect for you.

You and your group had come to the apes months ago, offering a barter. Goods and materials for protection and access to the land that the apes lived on. But as part of the agreement, you had also offered something else - yourself. You had agreed to stay in the colony, to live among the apes, as a way to ensure that the humans would never turn on them again. Over time, you had become a permanent fixture in the colony, and the apes had come to accept and respect you as one of their own.

You had earned your place among the apes, slowly gaining their trust and earning their respect. Your calm and respectful demeanor had helped you integrate into their community, and you had come to feel like you belonged there. You had learned their customs, their language, and their way of life, and they had accepted you as one of their own. In many ways, you had become an unlikely ambassador between the worlds of humans and apes, straddling both worlds and finding a place for yourself in the middle.

Over time, Caesar began to spend more and more of his free time with you. At first, it was just occasional conversations or exchanges of pleasantries, but gradually, he began to seek you out more frequently. You found yourself enjoying these moments, the time spent in his company, and the conversations that flowed easily between the two of you. As the days passed, you grew more comfortable with one another, a strange and unexpected friendship developing.

Despite the growing bond between you and Caesar, you knew that pursuing a romantic relationship with him was not possible. The differences in your species made it impossible, even if you had felt differently. So you chose to remain silent on your feelings, keeping your heart locked away and hidden, despite the longing and affection you felt for the ape king.

You knew that Caesar could never feel the same way you do. The gulf between human and ape was too vast, and the idea of him returning your affection was simply wishful thinking. So you resigned yourself to silently pining after him, knowing that your love would forever remain one-sided and unfulfilled.

Caesar would occasionally leave small gifts at your door or give them to you during meals, simple gestures that showed he was thinking of you. You never failed to gush over the gifts, and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched your reactions. He was pleased to know that you appreciated his thoughtfulness, even if it was more out of friendship than anything else.

Caesar had spent several days gathering shells and twine, working carefully to braid them together into a necklace for you. The necklace was beautiful and delicate, the shells a beautiful array of colors and shapes, woven together elegantly with the twine. Despite the simplicity of the materials, Caesar was pleased with his work, knowing that you would love it.

As you pick through your food, you notice Caesar approaching. You look up and smile, greeting him with a simple "Hi, Caesar." Your eyes linger on him for a moment longer than necessary, taking in his stature.

Caesar was always vigilant, always on guard, but around you, he found himself able to let his body relax. He trusted you, deeply. Over time, he had grown to care for you, his feelings developing from mere trust into something more intimate.

Caesar moves closer to you, sitting down beside you with a gentle rustle of leaves. He holds out a small, crudely wrapped bundle, the gift he had promised to you. His voice is soft and a little hesitant as he speaks, "I brought you...a gift."

You smile as you extend your hand, ready to receive the gift. Caesar gently places it in your hand, and as he does, your soft skin brushes against his calloused fingertips, a brief but charged moment of contact.

As you both smile at each other and gaze into each other's eyes, there is a moment of connection, a spark of something more than friendship. The air between you seems to crackle with tension, the silence speaks volumes.

As you look down into your hands, you can't help but gasp at the sight of the necklace in your hands. It is beautiful, the shells a riot of colors and shapes, the twine woven together elegantly. It's obvious that Caesar had spent time and care crafting the necklace, and you can't help but be touched by his thoughtfulness.

"Caesar," you hum as you look at the necklace, admiring it with reverence. You could feel your heart swelling in your chest, touched by the thoughtfulness and care he had put into crafting this necklace, just for you. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke deeply of his feelings for you.

"It's so beautiful," you say, the words a whisper as you admire the necklace. The shells glimmer in the light, their colors and patterns creating a mesmerizing display. The twine is expertly woven, its thinness almost invisible as it holds the shells together. You touch the necklace reverently, tracing a shell with a fingertip.

"Thank you." The words come out as a soft murmur, filled with gratitude and warmth. Your heart is full of feelings you can't fully express, and there's an urge to reach out and embrace him. But you hold back, uncertain about crossing a line. You don't want to ruin this moment or risk losing the friendship you had so carefully built together. So instead, you simply look up at him, meeting his gaze with a look filled with emotion.

Caesar could sense your desire to embrace him but could also see the hesitation in your eyes. He understood the conflicted feelings that were churning within you. The line between friendship and something more was a delicate one, and he didn't want to force you to cross it if you weren't ready.

Caesar's voice is gentle and soft as he urges, "Put it on." His fingers wrap around the necklace, and he moves your hair gently to the side, revealing your bare shoulders. The movement of his hand is tender, his touch gentle as he positions the necklace against your skin.

You can feel your breath catch in your throat as Caesar's fingers brush against your skin. The touch is like a spark against a dry tinder, setting a fire within you. His hand is warm and strong, and the sensation of his fingertips against your skin sends your heart hammering in your chest.

The shells of the necklace rest gently against your chest, their smooth surfaces rising and falling with each breath you take. The feel of the necklace is almost intimate, the shells cool against your skin, a constant reminder of Caesar's thoughtfulness and care.

You found yourself grappling with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Was this necklace simply meant as a gesture of peace, a way to strengthen the bond between apes and humans? Or was it something more, a display of affection or care from Caesar to you? The line between friendship and something deeper was becoming increasingly blurry, and you couldn't quite make heads or tails of Caesar's behavior.

You look back at Caesar, the sight of his fond smile bringing a flicker of uncertainty to your heart. His expression is soft and affectionate, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. It's a sight that both warms and confuses you, leaving you questioning the true nature of his feelings.

This wasn't the first time you had gone to bed feeling confused about your feelings for Caesar, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. The tumultuous emotions swirling inside you, the uncertainty and longing, kept you awake at night. The necklace he had given you remained on your bedside table, a constant reminder of your complicated relationship with the ape king.

The sun had barely risen when your group finally emerged from the woods, looking tired but satisfied. You quickly stood up from your perch on a log and hurried over to them, your heart filled with relief and happiness to see them all unharmed and safe. Without hesitation, you embraced your friends, wrapping your arms around them in a tight hug of greeting and affection.

You were eager to hear all about their journey, wanting to know what they had seen and experienced in the days they had been gone. "So," you say as you pull away from the hugs, "tell me everything. What happened on your journey?"

James, the former military officer who sat next to you, began to weave an embellished version of the story, describing their adventures with exaggerated bravado and humor. You found yourself giggling at several points, easily able to recognize the embellishments but finding them amusing nonetheless.

As James continued his story, you couldn't help but feel eyes on you. The sensation of being watched from a distance was unmistakable, and you glanced around, trying to identify the source of the gaze.

You turn around, trying to see who might be watching, but everyone else in the colony seems occupied with their own business. You absently toy with the necklace at your throat as you listen to James's story, your fingers tracing the smooth shells, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling.

You can't help but laugh at a particularly amusing moment in James's story, your eyes sparkling with mirth. Even as you chuckle, however, you still can't shake the feeling of being watched.

James, just as he was telling the next part of the story, turns towards you, a question on his lips. He looks at you for a moment with curiosity, as though he wants to ask something. Your anticipation for James's question is interrupted as he suddenly looks past you, his gaze drifting away. You turn to follow his gaze, your eyes falling on Caesar, who is standing nearby, watching the two of you intently.

Even without looking, you can sense the intense gaze of the ape king, and you turn to see Caesar's expression, his eyes narrowing at James. The look on Caesar's face is one of possessiveness and anger, and it becomes even more apparent as James leans slightly closer to you.

The sight of James being so close to you bothered Caesar, the possessive gleam in his eyes growing more intense. Caesar's body seemed to tense slightly, and his eyes flicked between you and James, his jaw clenching slightly.

James, perhaps feeling the intensity of Caesar's glare, leans back, creating some distance between the two of you. He looks slightly uncomfortable, and there's a subtle flicker of fear in his eyes as he glances at Caesar.

For the rest of the night, it was as if Caesar was constantly watching you. His eyes tracked your every movement, and any time a male human approached you, his glare would harden, warning them silently to keep their distance. It was a territorial display, a silent declaration of ownership.

You felt your limbs growing weary and your mind weary, ready for respite. "I'm going to head to bed," you finally say, getting up slowly from the log.

James stands up as well, his expression casual. "I'll walk you," he offers. "My tent's close by, so I'm headed there anyway."

You nod in agreement, and together with James, you begin walking towards your abode. The path is dimly lit by the flickering of distant fires, casting dancing shadows on the trees. The night air is cool and quiet, the sounds of crickets and nocturnal creatures filling the air.

You and James continue down the path, and soon you arrive at your house. Its simple structure is made of sturdy branches and leaves, and it blends well with the surroundings.

"Here's my stop," you say, gesturing to your house. "Would you like to come in for a moment?"

As you invite James inside, he looks like he's about to accept, but the sudden change in his demeanor is unmistakable. His gaze turns fearful, and he gulps, shaking his head. "No," he stammers, "I'll just... see you tomorrow."

With a swift sidestep, he walks off, his steps quickening as he leaves. You're left standing there, bewildered by the sudden shift in his behavior.

As you turn around, you find Caesar. He stands, glaring at James's departing figure, his eyes fixated on the human male as he scurries away. You cross your arms and look at Caesar, a mix of curiosity and slight irritation in your expression.

"What are you doing?", your tone is a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. Caesar's attention snaps back to you, his intense gaze meeting yours. There's a moment of silence as he regards you with an almost guarded expression.

"I was making sure you were safe," Caesar finally replies, his voice slightly gruff. As you look back at James's retreating figure, a small smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth. "Pretty sure I can take him," you remark, your tone light and almost challenging.

Caesar huffs in response, a sound that seems both amused and jealous at once. He regards you with a mixture of admiration and protectiveness, his gaze holding a hint of possessiveness.

Caesar's eyes linger on James for a moment longer before he looks back at you, his gaze focused and intense. His question, "Do you... care for him?" hangs in the air between you, the weight of his concern tangible.

Your eyes widen with surprise as the nature of Caesar's question hits you, and you exclaim, "James?"

You study Caesar's expression, trying to discern the true meaning behind his words. Is he worried that you have feelings for James? The thought is both shocking and confusing.

Caesar's gaze remains fixated on you, his expression a mix of concern and vulnerability. He's waiting for your answer, his body tense as if anticipating your response. There's a sense of anxiousness about him, a fear of what your answer might be.

Your curiosity piqued, you press further, asking, "Why?"

Caesar's gaze intensifies as he processes your question. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. "I just want to know," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness.

As you shake your head and quietly admit that you care for someone else, your gaze averts away from Caesar. A mixture of emotions flits across your face - trepidation, vulnerability, and a hint of uncertainty. You swallow hard, the truth laid bare in your admission.

Caesar's expression softens slightly as he absorbs your words. The knowledge that you care for someone other than James seems to lift a weight from his shoulders, and his gaze warms a bit. However, there's a slight flicker of disappointment and longing in his eyes. He nods slowly, a quiet acceptance in his gesture. "Who?" he asks softly.

Your hand instinctively grips your necklace, your fingers tracing the smooth shells as a soft smile graces your lips. It's a subtle, unconscious gesture that speaks volumes about whom you care for.

As Caesar takes in the sight of your hand on the necklace he gifted you, his expression softens even further, understanding flickering across his face.

Caesar's tone is tinged with a mixture of disbelief and uncertainty as he points to himself. "Me?" The word hangs in the air between you like a question mark, his eyes searching your face for confirmation. Despite his doubts, there's a spark of hope in his gaze, a glimmer of belief.

You release a nervous breath, a mix of vulnerability and resignation coloring your words. "Don't act so disappointed," you say, your voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "I know it wouldn't... work out."

Caesar watches you, his expression shifting to one of realization and acceptance. He knows the truth, the reality of the situation, and yet... there's a part of him that yearns for it to be different.

Caesar steps closer, his movements deliberate and filled with a newfound determination. "No," he says firmly, his voice laced with conviction. "I am not disappointed... at all."

The distance between you shrinks with each step he takes, and his eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of hope and longing.

Caesar’s smile grows as he steps closer, his body now inches away from yours. "I am… glad," he says, his voice soft and sincere.

The proximity between you feels charged, the air thick with anticipation. Caesar gazes at you, his gaze affectionate and filled with tenderness.

Caesar's hand comes to rest gently on your cheek, his touch warm and tender. He then slowly, almost reverently, leans his head forward to bring his forehead against yours. The press of his skin against yours is intimate and affectionate, an unspoken gesture of affection and care.

As you stand with Caesar, forehead to forehead, the world around you fades away. There are no colony members, no humans, and no dangers to worry about. At this moment, it's just the two of you.

Your heart beats in time with his, and in this quiet, intimate moment, a silent declaration is made. You are his, and he is yours. The bond between you feels palpable, like a tether that can never be broken.

#caesar x human reader #pota caesar #caesar pota #caesar planet of the apes #caesar x reader #planet of the apes x reader #pota x reader #pota fanfic

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