#Best carving tools

[puppyeared]

Remember how they pointed out that Palistrom wood was becoming rarer? Because Belos kept over harvesting it and not giving it time to grow back?

The University’s tree is blue. Its a big ass Palistrom tree

[scoobydoodean]

What's going on, Cas? Since when does Uriel put a leash on you? My superiors have begun to question my sympathies. I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel I've begun to express emotions. The doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment.

Castiel’s Motivations [ 4 / ? ] | 4.16 On The Head Of A Pin

[jasperthehatchet]

Image dump time!! Here's a collection of little things I have been working on. Those black boots I painted/embroidered was the last project I was working on before I got covid :(

But I had the opportunity to work on a few smaller things while I was recovering! I am doing better now, I am quarantining for a little longer just to be careful 💚

[Image ID: The first image is of a little fishbone stamp I made out of an old eraser. It's a little messy looking and I used red ink to stamp it onto paper.

The next two images are of a rectangular white cotton patch, with a red vertical line on the side and about 15 blue horizontal lines throughout it with a blank gap at the top, mimicking notebook paper. This project is unfinished currently.

The next three images are of a headband with foam antlers I painted to look as realistic as I could, and both antlers are wrapped with leaf ribbon and wire-stemmed pink and white flowers. There's a little fake bird glued to the top of the right antler.

The last two images are of a flowery pillowcase that I mended using little squares of scrap cotton fabric underneath, with visible stitching throughout it to secure the entire patch onto the pillowcase. The hole I mended was about the size of a penny I think. End ID]

[solradguy]

Sealed all the cracks with Liquid Nails and patched the remaining bubbles from the last Bondo sanding. 24 hour cure time and rain tomorrow.... Gonna be busy this week, so might not get it sanded again until next weekend. Dying to know if the Liquid Nails will fix the segment cracks or not but I won't know until it's sanded 😒

I considered 3D modeling a specialized trowel to make applying Bondo to the side plate layers easier because my putty knife does a shit job at it, but I have to resist the temptation. Literally no one is going to be able to tell if the side layers have layer lines or not from the 3D printing process. But I'll know...

[skunkes]

i wanna do more relief printmaking

[tuulikki]

Okay, but I feel this fear is, happily, moot

Because since when have stencils meaningfully helped anyone. Those things aren’t made to cover uneven spherical surfaces (i.e., pumpkins) and it always guarantees that the end product looks fucked

It’s the way it’s supposed to be

[sociolabs]

Unleashing Success: Sociolabs, the Best SEO Company in Los Angeles

[14dayswithyou]

Give Redacted a kiss for me!!!

Do you have any dark/creepy headcanons for Redacted? I’m very curious ^^

✦゜ANSWERED: I know you asked for [REDACTED] specifically, but everything mentioned below could also apply to Ren as well ^^;

cw: mentions of gore, torture, (one line about) cannibalism, NSFW themes, and just general creepy behaviour

I'm sure most people already know about Ren's red room days, but for the newer folks: he used to livestream himself torturing his victims on the dark web. He would also harvest and sell their organs for extra cash.

His red room phase began after a group of upperclassmen started livestreaming themselves bullying people (Angel included) for attention online. If those teens wanted a taste of online fame that badly, Ren would be all too happy to give it to them — especially after he heard all the degrading things they said about Angel during their stream.

Ren has probably sniffed (licked???) Angel's underwear on multiple occasions lmao

He also keeps a bunch of their discarded cups, mugs, bottles, etc. — and on the days when he's feeling especially lonely — Ren likes to put his lips where Angel's would've been and treat it like it's an indirect kiss.

If Angel is fine with it, Ren would be more than willing to carve his name into their skin. He'd have to use an ample amount of his numbing cream though (typically reserved for when he gives himself tattoos and piercings), since he doesn't want them to be in any pain.

Similarly, he'd also be willing to carve their name into his skin as well — as many times as Angel would want. But he already has multiple tattoos of their name on his skin, so.... gksgsjj

I'm sure everyone already knows this, but Ren has an entire shrine dedicated to Angel. He keeps all his sentimental and stolen items there.

Ren genuinely has no empathy for anyone other than Angel, so if they were to ask him to murder his own mother (or his sister, his best friend, etc.) and bring back their heart, he'd do it with a smile on his face.

Because he has no empathy, Ren would probably enjoy watching snuff films like it's any other B-tier horror film. To him, it's just more research material on how he can get rid of his competition.

I've mentioned this in the past, but Ren has jacked off to the thought of Angel while in the library lol

I made a post back in 2022 that mentioned how Ren would willingly offer up any of his body parts to a cannibal!Angel, and I think the point still stands!!

He likes to put Angel's stolen laundry on his body pillow and rut into/hump it 😟

I once mentioned that Ren would slap a barcode sticker on his sledgehammer to make it look less... questionable whenever he carries it around in broad daylight — but alongside that, I think he'd also carry around some tools and an unopened can of paint to make it seem like he's just doing renovations. In reality, he'd probably force his victims to drink paint or gargle nails teehee

Builder AU except Ren mistook a body for plywood??? Why is he hammering so many nails into them?? Why is he feeding it into a wood chipper???

Builder AU except Ren gives Angel a different meaning to getting nailed and railed???????? Jackhammering???????? Getting screwed sideways????? KGJDSGNK It's 2AM I'm losing da plot now T_T I'll shut up

[prokitchendeals]

The 5 Best Knives For Carving Pumpkins At Home

Pumpkins are a popular decoration for homes across the country, and with good reason. They’re easy to carve, look great on a table or mantelpiece, and can be filled with all sorts of delicious ingredients to make pumpkin pie. You don’t need any special tools to carve pumpkins, but you do need the right knives. In this article, we’ll take a look at the Pumpkin Carving Tools At Home at home and tell you all about their features so that you can make the most of your pumpkin-carving experience.

What are the 5 best knives for carving pumpkins at home?

If you're looking to carve some pumpkins this Halloween, here are the five best knives for the job!

The Artisan™ 8-inch Chef's Knife is a sturdy, heavy-duty knife that's perfect for carving. It has a 3-inch blade and is made from stainless steel for durability.

The Wusthof Classic 5-inch carving knife is also a great option for those who want an easy and comfortable experience when carving pumpkins. It has a sharp, 5-inch blade made from high quality stainless steel and comes with a leather sheath for storage.

If you're looking for something more specialized, the Ginsu 7-inch Gyuto Carving Knife is perfect for detailed carving work. It features a thin, razor-sharp blade made from Japanese Steel and comes with an etched guide to make sure your pumpkin turns out perfectly shaped every time.

Finally, if you'd like to go with a budget option, the Hamilton Beach 6-inch Chef's Knife is perfect for novice carvers who want something simple but effective. It has a sharp 2½ inch blade made from high quality stainless steel and comes with a soft grip handlefor added comfort and control while carving.

So which of these five knives is right for you? The choice really depends on your individual needs and preferences as each one offers its own unique benefits and advantages when it comes to carving pumpkins - so be sure to

[ahqkas]

“HEAVENLY — jason todd.

PAIRING! jason todd x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! every moment with your boyfriend felt heavenly — even when he forgot to close the window

WARNINGS / TAGS! pure fluff

WORD COUNT! 1.9k

NOTES! it started snowing recently in my town soo i rewrote one of my older stuff . header below by @/v6que

�� ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

HAVING JASON TODD AS A BOYFRIEND WAS LIKE INVITING A STORM TO STAY, both exhilarating and daunting. Some days, he was a menace—a tease with a roguish smile that made you want to throw a pillow at him even as you melted under his gaze. He'd linger in doorways with that devilish gleam, challenging you with his sarcasm, pushing just enough to light your fuse and revel in the spark. But he was also the blessing you'd never quite expected, with moments of gentleness, like finding a patch of blue sky amid dark clouds. He'd wrap his arms around you on nights when silence grew heavy, his warmth chasing away shadows you didn't realize were creeping in.

Waking up to the unsettling prickle of a shiver running down your body was hardly the best way to greet the morning. With a groggy sigh, you turned your head to the left, squinting at the vintage clock on your nightstand—the one Alfred had gifted you under the guise of "decor." In reality, it was less an adornment and more a tool of accountability, meant to ward off excuses like the last one you'd made: "I stayed up late because I lost track of time." It had been Alfred's gentle yet firm way of reminding you to take care of yourself. And while you had to admit it worked most of the time, today you were reluctant. The clock read 8 a.m., a perfectly reasonable time to wake, yet all you wanted was to sink back into the warmth of your blankets, to slip back into dreams.

Of course, that weariness was Jason's doing. Last night, he'd coaxed you into staying up late—well past the witching hour, maybe until 2 or 3 a.m. You'd lost track as the hours slipped away in the quiet comfort of each other's voices, filling in the gaps that too often felt like chasms in your time together. With his double life, Jason was like a ghost haunting the city's shadows, fighting to make Gotham safer, a noble but lonely battle. So when he could carve out time just for you, you treasured it, sleeplessness and all. He'd made you laugh, drawn you into those moments of closeness only the midnight hour allowed, where the world faded, leaving just the two of you. It was worth every yawn, every reluctant rise from your pillow this morning. Moments like that, with him, were a rarity you'd gladly lose sleep for.

You shifted slightly under the covers, your gaze drifting to Jason, who lay beside you. The sight of him, with his dark lashes resting softly against his cheek and his lips slightly parted, made a smile tug at the corner of your mouth. He looked so much like the term innocence in those rare moments of stillness, his usual sharp edges softened in sleep. His strong arm was draped across your waist, holding you close in that possessive yet tender way he always did, even in his sleep. The weight of it was comforting, grounding—like a reminder that no matter how chaotic his world was, you were his anchor, just as he was yours. His breathing was slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest the only movement in the room, save for the faint sway of the curtains from the morning breeze. You could tell he was still exhausted, his body betraying the fatigue that even sleep couldn't fully chase away.

As you lay there, your attention shifted from Jason's peaceful, sleepy form to the source of the chill that had pulled you from your slumber—the open window. The faint light of dawn filtered in, casting a soft glow over the room, but it did little to combat the cool draft creeping through the crack in the glass.

Shivering again, you curled closer into Jason's side, the cold air clashing against the heat his body radiated. His arm tightened slightly around your waist, almost as if sensing your discomfort, but he remained blissfully unaware, lost in the kind of peaceful sleep you rarely saw from him. His body was always so tightly wound, even in his rest, like a coil ready to spring at any moment. But now, his relaxed form and steady breathing made you feel safe, even with the chill around you.

A quiet realization settled over you as your eyes lingered on the open window. It hadn't been you who left it open. Jason, of course. He must've forgotten to close it after stumbling in last night, exhausted from his patrol. You could picture it—him half-dazed, muscles aching, eyes clouded with the weight of the night's work, and then . . . the window left ajar, as if his mind couldn't juggle the simple task with everything else on his plate.

You couldn't help the smile that crept onto your face as you watched him, still wrapped in the softness of sleep, completely oblivious to the cold creeping into the room. You reached out, your fingers brushing gently through his hair, tucking the messy strands away from his forehead. The motion was so familiar, so gentle, that it almost felt like a silent promise, a reassurance that you were there, even in these small moments.

Jason stirred slightly, the warmth of your touch pulling him from his dreams. His face twitched, and his eyelashes fluttered against the pillow as he tried to shake off the fog of sleep. Still, he didn't open his eyes, his lips parting in a soft sigh.

You continued, fingers grazing the soft waves of his hair, brushing them back with a tenderness that made your heart skip. The movement was slow, gentle, just enough to stir him without fully pulling him into wakefulness.

"Jay," you whispered, your voice playful but still soft. "Did you forget something last night?"

He groaned softly, his body shifting as if to pull you closer, but you pulled back just enough to keep him from falling back into slumber. His forehead creased as his eyes barely fluttered open, still trying to hang onto the warmth of sleep. The half-conscious look he gave you was adorable, though tinged with confusion.

"Hmm? What?" His voice was rough from sleep, a soft rasp that only made your heart ache in the best way.

You gave him a teasing smile, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "The window," you said, your tone laced with mischievous scolding. "It's freezing in here."

Jason blinked, clearly processing the words, before his eyes finally focused enough to glance toward the open window. Realization dawned on him slowly, and he groaned again, his face half-buried in the pillow as if wishing to escape the responsibility. But the corner of his mouth twitched upward into that familiar, apologetic grin he often sported.

"Guess I forgot," he muttered, though his voice was still full of sleep. "Sorry."

"You're lucky I'm comfortable here," you teased, brushing your fingers through his hair again, this time a little more deliberately, letting the soft texture soothe both of you.

"Yeah, I'm really lucky," he murmured, pulling you back against him, his arm tightening around your waist. "I'll close it in a minute."

You couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped your lips. "Nope, I'm not letting you off that easy."

Jason groaned, clearly not thrilled about leaving the warmth of the bed, but the glint in your eyes was enough to get him moving. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his bare chest exposed to the chill in the room. His dark sweatpants hung low on his hips, the fabric clinging to his frame in a way that left little to the imagination.

For a moment, you just lay there, frozen in the softness of the morning light, admiring him as he moved to close the window. His muscles rippled with each movement—his broad shoulders, the defined lines of his chest and abs, all sculpted from the life he led, one of endless challenges and unspoken battles. There were scars, of course—some faint, others more pronounced—etched into his skin like a map of his past, each one a testament to the strength he carried, the price he paid for the man he was now.

You didn't need to ask about them; they were part of him. And though they were reminders of the violence and pain he'd endured, they didn't repulse you. If anything, they made him more real, more human. More Jason.

You felt your heart swell as your gaze lingered on him, his broad back flexing as he pulled the window shut with a soft click, his body turning toward you. The air felt warmer now, the room no longer biting with the chill it had moments ago. But the warmth you felt wasn't just from the room—it was him. It always had been.

Jason caught your gaze as he turned, his lips curving into that signature, lazy grin, completely unaware of the way you were drinking him in. "See? All fixed," he said, voice thick with sleep but still holding that certain edge.

You smiled back, but it was softer, more sincere than you realized. "Yeah, thanks." Your voice caught in your throat for just a moment as your eyes wandered over him again, and you had to blink a couple of times to keep the heat from rushing to your cheeks.

Jason's smile faltered as he noticed the way you were looking at him, that quiet admiration on your face. He took a slow step forward, his posture casual but with a subtle vulnerability underneath, something that always seemed to surface when he felt the weight of your gaze on him. "What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, but there was a touch of humor in his voice. "Something on my face?"

You shook your head, trying to snap out of your daze. "No," you said, voice a little quieter now, "just—just you."

He stepped closer, his expression softening like it always did in your presence. "What about me?"

You smiled again, but this time, it was all warmth and affection. "I love you," you said simply, your voice barely a whisper, but it was the truth. Every scar, every muscle, every part of him. It was all Jason.

Jason stood there for a moment, eyes locking with yours, as if reading the quiet sincerity in your gaze.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his voice a little raspier than usual, thick with emotion. He reached up, his hand brushing gently against your cheek, a soft gesture that seemed to speak volumes more than words could.

You nodded, your smile still there, but now tinged with a softness that only Jason could bring out of you. "Yeah," you whispered again, a little breathless, "just you, Jason."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. He just looked at you, his gaze deep and knowing, like he was searching for something in your eyes. And then, with a slight curve of his lips, he whispered it back, his voice so raw, so full of everything he usually kept hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and nonchalance.

"I love you."

It was simple, but the way he said it—the way his hand lingered on the apple of your cheek, the way his eyes softened, like the weight of the world didn't matter as long as you were  there—made the words feel more real than anything.

You felt your heart skip a beat, warmth blooming inside you at the truth in his words. This was Jason, in every imperfect, beautiful way. And you loved him just as much, maybe even more, for all of it.

[kabuki-writes]

A Reflection Of Venus

chapter: 1 chapter 2

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: For years Acacius was able to keep his precious and only daughter away from the Emperor's eyes. But after his latest victory, he couldn't evade the already inevitable.

warning(s): mention of alcohol consumption | swearing | sexual implications | semi-edited | english is not my first language, faults may occur | please let me know if i missed anything

Note: Reader is the daughter of General Acacius and his wife, which is not Lucilla in this fanfiction.

word count: 3.1k

General Acacius was a hero for the Roman Empire, a sun that was burning brighter with every new victory he won in a new war campaign ordered by Emperor Geta and his twin brother Emperor Caracalla. The reign of the twins was nothing compared to one of their deceased father Emperor Septimius Severus, who was once one of the closest friends and brother-in-arms of Acatius. While Severus fought wars mainly to protect the borders of the already massive Empire, his sons' hunger for expansion became clear from the very first day they inherited the title "Emperor". And general Acacius became their tool in this project. Nothing was too expensive, they backed him with legions, war-ships, the best equipment and supply, and the capable general became an unstoppable force, a soldier of the God Mars himself. But at what cost?

As the years went on, he'd rarely been home, always travelling with his marching soldiers and being on the front line of every battle he fought. And when he came back, he felt sick from all the pomp and gold the Emperor's threw at him, the victory processions through Rome, while the smell of blood still lingered in his nose and the cries of the women and children echoed in his mind. It was one of those days. The sun stood high over the wide street that lead to the Palatin, the sides filled with the cheering crowd - common people, soldiers, slaves, senators, merchants, they all celebrated his victory in a triumphant procession. His marching soldiers were led by Acacius chariot, clothed in the white armor of a victor. His face could've been one to be carved in marble, stoic and upright, facing the great Palatin, where the Emperors would await him.

Geta and Caracalla - the twin-sons of Septimius Severus, Emperors of Rome. They stoof there in golden Armor like sun gods with their golden crowns on top of their short gingerblonde hair. Their unusual pale skin was a testament to their wealth as they could afford to stay out of the sun, which burns especially hot on summer days like this one, and of course on the battlefields in Africa, where Acatius' men had to fight against the rebellious Nubians. They awaited their victor with proud smiles on their lips, while Acacius' procession ended at the footsteps of the Emperor's palace. He walked the marble steps towards them, his long cloak moved in tact with his walk. He didn't look forward to see the faces of Rome's tyrants again, but they hadno idea.

Instead, he greeted them as he was used to. His hand on his chest, speaking the words.

"I greet you, my Emperors. Nubia is no more. I present a new victory to you, to the realm and to the Roman people."

With a proud look on their faces and a wide smile, the twins stepped forward. Emperor Geta hold the laurel wreath of victory in his hands and places it on top of Acacius' greying hair.

"And Rome rewards it's heroes with gratitude and admiration. We bow to your victories, General Acacius."

With those words, he offered him to turn around and face the celebrating crowd. Geta and Caracalla took their places at his side, giving him a moment of spotlight, applauded by the people, while they did benefit from it as well. Acatius was their general, their armored knight. Every victory he presented was another triumph for their own reign and power. After the earned celebration in front of the common folk, the Emperors and Acacius retreated inside, where servants quickly served them wine for a toast.

"Another great victory, you never disappoint us, dear Acatius," Geta expressed and hold his glass up for a toast, his brother Caracalla following the gesture. "To the glory of the Roman Empire".

"To the glory of your reign", Acacius lied and took a sip from his glass, trying to numb himself a bit with the taste of the alcohol. How he hated conversations with both of them.

" But don't get too comfy here, my brother and i were already discussing another campaign soon. You'll get everything you need, just tell us how many soldiers and ships and it will be granted," Geta explained, which left a bitter taste in Acacius mouth. His jaw clenched for a moment, while he tried everything not to show his distaste about another war campaign.

"Please forgive me, my Emperor, but isn't the realm big enough already? Rome has already difficulties to feed the people. Further expansion would-"

"They can eat war", Emperor Caracalla threw in with an almost diabotical grin, while Acacius got a warning eye from Geta. It was clear that his words weren't the ones both wanted to hear right now.

"Don't worry about things like that, Acacius. You're a military general, your job is to win battles - nothing more. Do you understand?"

"I understand," he answered, even though he hated to hear that he was reduced to this. He'd experienced war and peace alike and therefore he knew about the dangers of continuing this madness. Moments like this really let him question if those maniacs were of the same blood as Septimius Severus.

"But you're right, you've earned yourself at least a bit of rest - one or two weeks. Don't worry, we've taken care about the wellbeing of your family. They got everything they needed and more in our attempt to show our gratitude for your service to the throne. Speaking of which.... we expect you to join us for a great feast tonight - here in the palace. A party to celebrate your victory, it is accompanied by a couple of fights in the arena tomorrow," Geta explained joyfully, while Acatius tried to keep his mask up.

"I am incredibly honored, but would prefer to spend time with family after being away for such a long time."

"The Emperors show you their gratitude and you're insulting us. We expect you to come and you will come", Caracalla hissed with a sudden shift of tone, his eyes staring at Acacius in clear anger, while his brother placed his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. But his staring eyes were warning Acatius once again.

"Of course, we don't just invite you, but your whole family. Bring your wife and... you have a daughter, if i'm not mistaken? We haven't had the pleasure of getting to know her yet, since you never brought her to any festivities. I am sure she will be delighted, if you don't plan on hiding her again."

Acacius stood there in silence, a reaction that made Caracalla burst out into laughter as if he'd just heard the funniest joke from his brother. The respected general didn't even look at him, why should he. Standing here in front of them should've been an honor, yet it felt like a disgrace. They were nothing but spoiled kids with the power of an empire in their hands. And now they even forced him to reveal his dear daughter to them. Something he tried to avoid for too long, knowing fully well about the debauchery and excessiveness of Geta and Caracalla.

"We're waiting for an answer, Acacius?", Caracalla purred with a wide grin on his pale face, revealing his gold tooth.

"It will be an honor to be your guest... together with my daughter."

_____________________________________________

You watched the face of your father sunken away in his thoughts, as you made made your way to the palace in a palanquin carried by a couple of slaves and protected by soldiers. The city was painted in darkness which made the palace seem like a temple with all the lights that welcomed you. It was an exciting moment for an upper-class lady to be a guest at the palace, especially for you, a woman that usually stayed away from the most parties. Not because you wanted to, but because it was an order from your father. You obeyed, yet it bothered you, even more when you'd reached the age of a young woman - the age in which it was expected from you to find a proper husband.

"Why are you so worried, father?", you finally managed to get off your lips, pulling Acacius out of the battle he fought in his head. He couldn't just tell you that he despised all of this and especially the Emperors himself as he couldn't be sure if someone outside this palanquin could hear him. So he simply took your hand and placed a soft and caring kiss on the ring that had been a present for your last name day.

"I guess I'm rather tired than worried. The parties in the palace are always quite excessive, music, dances, feasts... i just came back from the desert and now i have to enjoy all those things", he sighed and looked at you. "And i don't want to stay too long, especially not till the orgy starts. The servants will come and bring us home before that." And even you knew he would rather go and murder Dyonisos himself than allowing his daughter to stay and witness this.

All those words and yet you knew it wasn't everything.

"I'm glad that you take me with you this time. I've only known the imperial palace from afar," you confessed, while you straightened the long, blue dress you wore. It was decorated with all sorts of silver embroidery and jewelry, encapturing the stars and moon. Your long hair was styled by your servant Yanna into a high braid and finalized with a silver diadem. For the first time you really got the chance to make yourself so presentable that you almost felt like a princess. In the end, you were about to meet the Emperors which made it important to look like the woman you were - the daughter of a general. And you also presented his household tonight, because your mother felt sick tonight. She often suffered from migraine, which kept her a prisoner for days sometimes.

"You really look beautiful", your father said to you, it was honest, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes, which you still couldn't grasp. But there was no chance to take this conversation further as the palanquin stopped. Acacius got out first to help you out. He knew the way as it wasn't the first time for him to attent an official ceremony or party here. Through a long corridor you reached a large room with with an open access to the garden terrace facing the beautiful gardens. It was packed with people from the Roman upper-class, wealthy merchants, politicians and military officers, who were accompanied by their wives, sons and daughters. While they chatted and feasted on the large selection of delicious looking food, a group of musicians played their melodies to which professional dancers moved their bodies.

All those private parties at the homes of your friends seemed to vanish straight from your mind, nothing could be compared to what you were seeing now. It nearly took your breath away, while two royals were watching you from the other side of the room.

_____________________________________________

Geta and Caracalla were sitting on a higher ground, which was highly decorated with two golden chaise longues, cushions and velvet drapes. They were accompanied by a selected group of slaves, women and men, who were assigned to bring them anything they wanted, to do anything they wanted.

While Geta was in in a conversation with one of the senators, which clearly bored him according to his facial expressions, it was Caracalla, who noticed the new guest first, while he fed his little monkey Dondus a grape.

"Such a shame that he hid his daughter for so long. She is a gorgeous looking bird, don't you think? ", he whispered to his brother with a mischievous grin, patting his arm so that he would turn his attention to Acacius and you. Geta's eyes quickly went to you, admiring the way your dress hugged the shape of your curves.

"The gods must've sent us Venus herself to honor us with her presence," Geta answered, while an unreadable smile played on his lips. „No wonder our dear General is so protective of her. Is she already promised to someone?“

„Why do you ask me!?“ Caracalla snapped back, as if his brother didn’t know that he had a lot of spies around the city, who delivered him the newest gossip from the streets of Rome. With an annoyed eye roll, he leaned forward, adjusting the golden laurel wreath on his head. „No, she is a blank parchment. Probably untouched too.“

Geta still watched you with an intense interest as if you were a rare diamond, he needed to claim. But he was not the only one in this room, because Caracalla stared at his brother, noticing the way he looked at you. There it was again, the old melody. Whenever he wanted something, Geta wanted it too. They already shared the title of Emperors, their wealth, their whores… It was already something that cooked in him for a long time. But now he had an eye on you and wasn't happy about the fact that Geta might try to get you too.

Before he could even bring this thought to an end, his twin brother Geta already stood up from his chaise lounge and made his way through the crowd, the direction was clear. Caracalla's nose twitched in a mixture of nervousness and anger, and he got up quickly as well, not as gracefully as he wanted to, but he didn’t care. He had to tame the inner urge to backstab his brother before he could even reach you.

_____________________________________________

You still stood at the side of your father sipping on your first goblet of fine wine, while your eyes went over all the different guests and the excessive decor. Your father was sunken in a conversation with another general, Marcus Galbanus, an old friend and brother-in-arms of Acacius. But their conversation quickly stopped as soon as the Emperors approached them. Both your father and Marcus Galbanus lowered their heads and greeted them according to the etiquette, while you curtsied deep. This was the very first time you got the chance to meet the Emperor's of Rome Caracalla and Geta. And given the importance of those two figures, you even felt a little nervous.

"We almost feared you wouldn't show up to your own party, Acacius. But we're happy you made your way here... we already heard that your dear wife lays sick. Please, send her our best wishes. Nonetheless we would be delighted if you could introduce us to your company tonight", Geta demanded in a playful tone, knowing how much Acacius had tried to delay this. Caracalla stood at his side, his staring blue eyes drilled themselves into your appearence. Even though he was a man that had tasted a lot of men and women, one even more sensual than the other, your whole appearence, your face, your lips, your smile, everything - you reached a sentience in his mind that could only be gifted by the gods. The mere thought of having you infected his brain like a curse.

You could sense the tension that raised in your father as if everything in him resisted the situation. Yet he placed his hand softly on your shoulder and did as they wished. "This is my daughter, y/n..."

"I'm honoured to meet the Emperors of Rome", you said in a soft voice, earning you an appreciating smile by Geta and an unreadable grin of Caracalla.

"Oh the pleasure is on our side, my dearest. How do you like this Ceremony in honor of your father's victories?", Geta asked. But before you could even answer, his brother added, while he took another sip of his wine "Your father is a Roman hero through and through, isn't it right Acacius?" His tone had something else in it, almost as if it was some kind of mistrust. But you needed to ignore the irritation you felt and simply nodded.

"It is breathtaking. I've never witnessed something like this and it makes me incredible proud to see the gratitute he earned himself through the love he has for Rome and its people," you answered, trying to remind the Emperor's of Acacius loyality, which was undoubtful.

"Then you'll enjoy the ceremony in the arena tomorrow as well, i'm sure. Please, we invite your father and you to be our guests."

"I don't think that such entertainment is suited for a young woman of her status," your father suddenly interfered in a calm yet set tone, only earning the laugh of Caracalla. "Let your daughter decide for herself, General."

The atmosphere shifted to an unspoken intensity. You could sense your father's worries and given all what you've heard from the colosseum, you didn't really think of it as something worth to witness. Seeing people die in such a terrible way only for the pleasures of the masses seemed like a farce. Acacius always called it the most needless form of brutality amongst humans, he despised this himself and therefore avoided going into the arena whenever he could. But you also read the eyes of Geta and his brother, who waited for your answer and would not accept a simple 'No'.

"It would be an honour," you answered, and Geta leaned forward a bit, which made your father's jaw clench in anger. Not because of your answer, he was aware that a choice was not existing, when facing an Emperor, but because the way the twins looked at you as if you were a price they could simply claim. But you were a smart girl and definitely not naive, so he fully relied on that.

"So this is a 'Yes'?", Geta asked again and you looked him straight in the eyes, not backing off. "Yes."

"Excellent!", Caracalla shouted and clapped into his hands. "We'll have a lot of fun tomorrow."

The corners of Geta's mouth twitched to a smile and he nodded in response to his twin. Yet he hid his displeasure of having him as a rival in this little game. It was clear that Caracalla had layed his eyes on you too, but he won't allow him to simply take and fuck you like you were a common whore. Maybe you could've potential for something more and strenghten his position as well as his popularity. Because both Emperors were still unmarried - and it was expected from them that this would change sooner or later.

[beansprean]

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oh my god they're engaged to be engaged...

(also this is entirely separate from the izzyguana series fyi, but my god I have drawn their little island so many times by now)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Wide shot of Stede and Ed's ramshackle house on a hill of long grass, a forested mountain sliding into the sea behind them as the sun peeks above the waves, painting them orange and yellow. Some work has been put into the house since they found it: the holes in the roof have been boarded over or covered with tarp, a rickety porch railing and staircase off the left side have been built on from scraps, oil lamps have been hung on each corner, and an addition on the right side is in progress, rocks stacked on the wood-slat roof and tarps hanging from unfinished walls. Planks of wood, tools, and fishing poles are leaned up against the porch, the path to the house has been cleared out and defined by stones and shells, and a wooden sign out front has the words "Best Little Inn By The Sea! +fishing equipment" carved into it. Stede and Ed, wearing a teal blouse with brown leather trousers and purple tee with black leather trousers respectively, are standing on the porch and looking out over the land, arms around each others waist. Stede raises his arm in a wave and shouts, "Great to see you two! Come again any time!" In the foreground, Pete and Lucius are walking down the path away from the house, looking tired. Pete has one arm around Lucius's shoulders and his eyes are closed, head listing to the side. Lucius covers his mouth as he yawns, lifting the other to throw a halfhearted wave over his shoulder. 1b. Waist-up in profile of Stede and Ed on the porch, sunrise behind them. Closest to the viewer, Stede stares out after their guests, hand lowering, smile fading to something a little bittersweet. Ed leans into Stede, free hand in his pants pocket, and rests his head in the crook of his neck as he follows Stede's gaze with a thoughtful smile. Ed asks, "You ever think about that for us?" 1c. Repeat. Stede's hand drops further, wrist dangling, as he turns his face toward Ed with a bewildered smile. "What?" Ed straightens from his cuddle, embarrassed, but keeps his right hand on Stede's waist. His left gestures randomly as he scrunches up his face, avoiding Stede's gaze. He explains, "Y'know...the matie-monie thing, whatever."

2a. Zoom out slightly; Stede takes a step back toward the house to face Ed as he pivots with his back toward the yard. They are still connected waist-to-hand. Stede plants his free hand on his hip with a smug little smirk and says, "Well I certainly hope that's not your proposal." Ed waves his free hand in a 'stop' motion, flustered as he meets his partner's eyes, and splutters "Wha- no! No, mate, I just... 'M having a dialogue." 2b. Repeat, zoom in. Ed dips his chin to look up at Stede through his lashes, red-faced and accepting defeat as he mumbles, "...How would you want it to go, though? Hypothetically." Stede giggles helplessly, free hand leaving his hip to rest fingertips on Ed's chest. 2c. Repeat, the background cutting out in favor of the sunrise occurring between them. They are almost forehead-to forehead, both of Stede's hands now pressed to Ed's chest and idly playing with the tips of his hair. Ed stares at his face with hooded eyes. Stede smiles, gaze lowered to focus on his hands, and says "Oh, I don't know. A bit of romance, you know. Dazzle." 2d. Repeat, zoom in to bust, background now mottled oranges and yellows. Ed raises his head to look past Stede with a frown, brow furrowed in confusion as he repeats blankly, "Dazzle." Stede hums idly to himself, concentrating on petting Ed's chest. 2e. Repeat. Stede lifts his head with a little smile, putting them nose-to-nose and adds, "I wouldn't say no to some fireworks." Ed flusters at the pointed reminder of their first time, cheeks turning red and a wobbly smile creeping across his face.

3a. Repeat. Stede asks, "What about you?" Ed leans back from their embrace, smile turning incredulous as he repeats, "Me?!" 3b. Waist up of Ed as he turns, sunrise at his back, to lean his left arm against the porch railing. He glances over the yard with a resigned little frown, fiddling with a piece of his hair with his right hand. He replies, "I dunno. Never really thought about it." 3c. Chest up of Stede as he mirrors Ed's pose with a fond if slightly amused smile, stairs and forest behind him. Offscreen, Ed continues, "Bet you had a whole scrapbook of ideas, eh?" 3d. Repeat. Stede straightens with a "Well!" and turns his body to face the house. 3e. Knees-up from the house POV as both men lean against the porch railing, the yard, ocean, and brightening sky beginning to streak itself with orange beyond. Stede is facing the viewer, back to the yard, leaning with his elbows braced on the railing. He aims his gaze to the side with a bit of a pained smile and says, "When Mary and I were engaged, a scrapbook wouldn't have been much use." Ed is turned toward Stede, left elbow propped on the railing. He scowls and sticks out his tongue at mention of Mary. 3f. Repeat. Stede turns his head toward Ed, who quickly tucks his petty tongue back in his mouth and schools his expression into one of interest. Stede continues, "Everything had been decided for us already. Never really got to the proposal part."

4a. Repeat. Ed turns his body more fully toward Stede, folding his arms on the railing and leaning his head over them with a warm smile. Stede raises his eyebrows in surprise and goes slightly pink as Ed says, "I'll have to make it really good, then." 4b. Stede turns his body toward Ed, left arm sliding against the railing behind him and right hand cupping Ed's chin as he leans closer, nose to nose. Ed's eyes hood, looking at Stede's mouth as is curls into a loving smile. Stede responds, "Can't wait." 4c. Repeat. Ed suddenly goes pale and blurts out, "You'll say yes, though, right?" Stede freezes in surprise, lips puckered in preparation of a kiss. 4d. Repeat. Stede throws his head back in a loud bark of laughter, straightening up and turning fully toward Ed to cup his cheek in his right hand and his shoulder with the other. Ed aims an embarrassed, besotted smile at him as Stede replies, "Ed, of course! Who could say no to you?"

5a. Repeat, both now in profile. The orange and yellow light of the sunrise is slowly spreading across the sky from the left. Ed straightens up from his lean to bring their foreheads together, still a bit red-cheeked and with a nervous edge to his smile as he lowers his gaze. He says, "You can say no if you want, though." Stede smiles at him with every ounce of tenderness he has, hands firm on his cheek and shoulder. He replies, "There's nothing I want more than to say yes to you, Ed. Permanent ink, remember?" 5b. Repeat. Stede moves his right hand from Ed's cheek to hook around his back, tugging him closer as he leans himself back. Ed stumbles forward with a helpless grin, cheeks even redder, bracing himself with his right hand on Stede's chest. When their eyes meet, Stede's smile turns teasing and faux-sinister, continuing, "You're stuck with me regardless. Foreverrr~" 5c. Repeat, larger and brighter, as Stede and Ed finally come together in an affirming kiss, the land behind them retreating to allow the sea and sky to fill the background. The sun finally breaches the horizon, sending glitter sparkling across the waves and gilding the pair in warm golden light. Ed's right hand is cupping the side of Stede's neck, thumb tracing through his sideburns, and Stede's right is hooked fully around his shoulders, cushioned in his soft hair. They are both smiling into the kiss, unhurried and in harmony.

6a. Repeat as they pull back from the kiss just far enough to meet each other's gaze, arms still around each other, Ed's right hand brushing Stede's cheek and Stede's buried in the back of Ed's hair. Ed smirks flirtatiously, eyes hooded, and says, "You know... I hear there's a traditional engagement sex sabbatical, too." Stede matches his expression, left hand sliding down Ed's shoulder to press against his lower back. Stede replies playfully, "Oh, is there? I suppose I can plan that part, then." 6b. Repeat. Ed brings his left hand up to mirror his right, cupping both of Stede's cheeks, and arches up on his toes to lean over Stede with a teasing grin. His movement forces Stede to arch his back in the first motions of a dip, hands briefly flying free of their grip on his future fiance to try to catch his balance. Their lips a centimeter apart, Ed hums, "Mmm, gimme a rehearsal, first." Stede tosses his head back with a giggle in response, eyes closed, cheeks pink. Hearts float above their heads. 6c. Shot at the bottom of the hill Stede and Ed are stationed on, the packed-dirt path to the house curving upward in the background, the stones and shells now more conservatively scattered. Amidst the tall grass and tropical plants lining the way are handmade wooden signs shaped like arrows pointing the way to the inn. Words carved into them say "this way!" and "best inn!" Pete and Lucius are in the foreground, walking down the hill towards the viewer, Pete's right arm still looped around his husband's shoulders. They still look very tired with dark circles beneath their eyes - Pete still hasn't opened his. Lucius has, barely, and is scowling his way forward with a furrowed brow, declaring, "We are leaving them the worst review." Pete nods solemnly. Text nearby points to them and says 'kept up all night by noises'. Pink hearts and exclamation points spill out behind them from the bend in the path, echoing the lovey-dovey noises from above that must have made their stay so insufferable. /end ID

[rainrot4me]

Rain’s Kinktober 2024 - 09

Jason the Toymaker x Female Reader - Cockwarming/Waxplay

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Creampie, vaginal, cockwarming, wax play, desperation, begging, wax dripping as a punishment, pain and pleasure, teasing, forced restraint, orgasm denial

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 2.7k

A/N: First time writing Jason!!! Ate him up fr

Jason was a very busy man.

His life was full of quick calculations and harrowing demands, unrest always eating away at him to finish whatever project he was up to.

His only relief? You, his perfect girl. In his eyes, you were chosen. His perfect playmate, his girl, exactly what he had been searching for.

You were hesitant at first, understandably so, but he brought out the best in you and coaxed out the reciprocated feelings he knew you had. It didn’t take long, the universe had already made up its mind: you were made for him. Jason spent all his time searching for the perfect playmate, testing so many girls that had let him down countless times, but you held. So, of course, being separated from you was incredibly difficult.

Running errands, collecting supplies, tidying his workspace- the redhead kept you by his side no matter what out of instinctual fear of losing you. Jason had searched his entire life for a girl like you, someone to be his perfect playmate; it would take hell or high water to get you away from him now.

So, of course, you were perched in his lap while he worked at his desk. Your head rested on his shoulder, body shifting and wrapping around him every time his hands moved to work on the tiny wax figurine he had in front of him. The fireplace was lit, fire crackling and popping in the brick hull, the lateness of the night surrounding you both in warmness. It would have been so wholesome, so comfortably domestic, if not for-

“Jason…”

The fiery redhead smiles.

“Yes, my lady?” He tries to hide the smirk in his voice, focusing on carving out the features of the doll he’s working on, the wax molding easily under his tools. You cling onto his back, nails digging into that pretty waistcoat he always wears, his muscled back sat straight as you tag at his white buttoned shirt. He can feel your thighs shake and tense as you try to adjust, to let some weight off of your knees as you straddle his lap. He knows you’re trying to be discreet, holding out the best you clench your gummy walls around him, a subtle hint. “What’s the matter, dear?”

“You know what…” You huff, burying your nose into the crook of his neck and taking deep, calculated breaths, trying to recenter yourself. Jason tilts his head, eyeing down at the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing that covers the pretty view of your body plastered against his. Maybe he likes to be a tease, to hear you say it instead of hiding your face in his neck.

You’ve both been here for about an hour, your body so heavy and tired from holding this position that you could cry. Every time you try to force yourself up, just enough to feel the swell of Jason’s cock nudge your insides, he grips your hips and holds you back in place. You try it again, rutting your ass just a little to nudge the divot of his cockhead against the swell of your cunt, but his low hum of warning stiffens you back against his chest.

Stupid doll, stupid Jason.

You’re nearly dizzy, your walls fluttering and clenching against him, but left unsatisfied altogether. “Are you done yet…? M’so tired…”

When he asked you to come sit with him while he finished working on his project, you didn’t expect to be hauled onto his lap with slacks unbuttoned and heavy cock lying against his hip so expectantly. You were giddy, placing your hands on his shoulders and slowly sinking down, but losing all of that excitement when he didn’t let you come up, holding you there as he began carving and smudging his metal tools on the toy.

That felt like forever ago now, your pussy gushing and twinging with need every time his length twitched with excitement.

“I’m nearly there, you’ll be alright for a little longer.” But you didn’t know if you would be, back aching and hips stuttering just to flinch upwards, knowing the movement would be useless. “Jason, please…”

The redhead huffs, setting his tools down and pressing back against the workbench chair, forcing you to sit up and look him in the eyes. The adjustment made you moan, his cock nudging just a little deeper inside, rubbing sweetly against that pocketed nerve. He rests his grimy hands on your hips, patting at your shaky thighs with an annoyed glare.

“My girl. You know you’ll get what you want, you just have to be patient.” He talks sternly, eyebrows furrowed just enough to make his harrowing green eyes bore into yours. You huff, trying your best to discreetly shift your legs a little wider to push him further to the hilt, rubbing against your g-spot.

Jason takes notice, snagging your upper thigh and holding you there as you groan, pleading with him. He lets out a hearty chuckle.

“Right. Seems we need a little incentive to stay still, huh?” Ruffling the bottom of your shirt up, Jason hauls the heavy fabric over your head, exposing the entirety of your naked body. You flush, embarrassed redness high on your cheekbones as he examines you. “Having a hard time listening today, dear?”

You shake your head, groaning a little when large hands press against your back to force you against his chest again, back into your original spot. You whine when his cock slips a little, tugging against your swelling entrance and beckoning for more. You stare into the fire behind you, the flames crackling and popping and warming your now exposed skin as you claw against his shirt.

You hear things shuffling, tools moving, and draws opening against his workbench, but you stay seated- defeated and all too pent up.

Until you hear the flicks of a lighter, the sparks snapping against the metal as Jason flicks a flame. You try to turn, to see what he’s doing, and his free hand presses you back firmly against him. “Jason?”

“Shhh, quiet, my dear.” Anxiety pools in your gut, unsure of what intentions he has as the lighter sounds extremely close to you and your bare skin.

“I want you to listen now, alright?” He cooes into your ear, widening his legs and shifting your weight a little as you nervously wait. You hear a subtle drip, drip, plopping against the wooden table behind you, the noise so ominous until you feel his arms press closer.

“Every time you move, try to sway those pretty little hips-” A sharp sting on your back has you jumping, clawing at his shoulders as the liquid- wax- runs down your exposed shoulders and onto your shoulder blades. “This’ll be your little punishment, alright?”

Another drop, then another trails onto your skin, hot stings of scalding wax dribbling and then hardening on reddened flesh. Jason has collected the excess wax from the doll he was working on, rolling it all together and holding the lighter underneath to melt the stuff right onto you. You shrieked, arching your back away from the sensation when you tried to flinch away again.

Until you sat still, forcing your chest against his, did he finally take the droplets away, setting the lighter back onto the workbench. “Good girl. See? You can listen.”

You panted into his neck, taking deep, settling breaths of his scent and centering yourself back. You didn't want to admit it, didn’t want to let him win over you- but as the wax dried and crusted onto your skin, you realized just how good it had felt.

After the initial shock, the initial wave of pain, the sting was euphoric and fun. You sat for a moment, contemplating just how serious he was as you felt him get back to work on his project. Did you dare?

But when you felt his hard cock twitch inside of you, flinching against your swollen walls, you knew you physically couldn’t restrain yourself any longer.

Pressing your hands against his chest, you dared to shift your hips, pressing your ass back far enough to shallowly ride him back and forth. Jason huffed, a tsk leaving his gritted teeth as you felt him reach for the lighter again, flicking the flame to life.

Before the first drop could even reach your skin, you shakily forced your hips up, snapping your ass back down with an obscene slap that echoed in the small workshop. Jason choked, your shrill moans as the wax dripped achingly slowly onto your bare shoulders, soaking their way down to your spine. You forced yourself back up, the redhead’s hands too occupied with the wax and lighter to force your hips still.

“Fuck- fuck, you little brat.” He groans, digging his heels into the floorboards as he tries to forcefully ignore the way his cock twitches and rings with excitement every time your ass makes contact with his bony hips. “I said-”

And then you’re sliding your hips up and down, snapping your ass back as you ride him with such depravity it leaves the redhead choking out a moan. He grits his teeth, wax sharply dropping lower and lower onto your back until the drops reach the plump curve of your ass, colorful liquid decorating your red skin. “S’too good, Jason- F-fuck you’re so- hah-”

His cock is swiping across your sweet spot, pressing in so hard you can’t help but let the tears pooling at your waterline trickle down your cheeks, face so puffy and red from built-up frustration. Jason seems to have lost some hold on the tools he was using to reassess you, the wax dripping across the swell of your ass and trickling down onto his clean slacks, staining the fabric. The sting is euphoric, every pinch of the burning liquid egging you to bounce your pretty ass faster.

Above you, Jason is lost, teeth gritted so tight he might chip a tooth at just how good the swell of your cunt feels constricting and tugging his veiny cock. He’s soaked inside of you so long you’re all warm and gushy, your arousal glistening down his length and pooling on his hips. He was satisfied just warming himself inside of your pretty cunt, but now that you’re moving and riding him as you need him, it’s all he can do not to give in to your minxy little rebellion.

“Jason- please, please. Just wanna- wanna cum so bad-”

Shit, the sweet sound of your tired voice sends chills all down Jason’s aching body, gnashing his teeth to withhold your desperate claws down his shoulders.

“[Y/N].”

“Jason-”

Using the last of his restraint, the redhead flames the light across the remaining stick of wax as close as he can, forcefully heating up the stick to a high degree. You’re bouncing on him, taking his cock all the way to the hilt each time, your thighs screaming for rest as they work over and over. Dropping the lighter onto his desk, Jason wraps around the small of your waist, holding you still for just a moment as he presses the stick of gooey hot wax right in the middle of your shoulder blades.

You cry out, pressing your bare chest as close to his as you can, and moan gutturally through the striking wave after wave of flashing pain. It’s only reasonable that he leaves you with a mark, the skin already turning red and blistered as the rest of the liquid dribbles down your spine and onto your flushed ass. It’s such a sight, your whines and labored cries moving closer to his ear as you nip at his neck. Jason groans, your lips pressing behind his blushing ears and sending chills down his body.

“Don’t cry when I give you what you want, my dear. I won’t- hah- I won’t stop now…” Wrapping his arms tight around your waist, Jason spreads his legs, digging his feet into the floor as he shifts your hips up onto him. You smile sickly, letting out a hearty moan when you feel his hips begin to snap up into yours, his cockhead ramming your cervix with cruel intent.

You gush around him, cunt shining with the sheen of your arousal and staining his nice clothes, the squelching, and slapping of built-up neglect obscene to listen to. The redhead claws against your back, fingernails digging into the trails of colorful wax and smearing the crusted liquid across your skin further. You huff, sobbing into his shoulder with every heavy thrust he delivers you, an even better punishment than the one before.

“Hah- Is it worth it? To be such a brat?” He pants, snagging a handful of your ass and digging his nails into the excess skin. You smile into his shoulder, sniffling your tears as the ache from your back subsides with the immense pleasure from your gut.

“Yeah.” You hum into his ear, nibbling the skin of his earlobe to make the man choke on his words. You dig your knees again, bouncing your ass down in time with his cock curving into the swell of your cervix and abusing the nerve over and over again.

Jason’s face is flushed, cheeks nearly matching the redness of his hair as his balls tighten and strain with every slap against your ass, his harrowing pace faltering just for a moment when you arch into it, tightening your gummy walls onto his veiny length. “Hn- My dear-”

Tears stain into his white button-up the same as the juices from your pussy stain his slacks, your cunt fluttering and constricting terribly tight around the hilt of his cock. Jason can feel his hips ache, his gut swell and knot every time the divot of his cock nudges your sensitive g-spot. He knows you’re close too, each bounce of your hips leaving you shaking for just a moment before you force yourself up to meet him again.

He leans close, sweat building across his brow as he pushes fiery strands out of his face to whisper close, “C’mon, dear, you wanted it so bad, now let me feel you cum with me inside, alright?”

It only takes a few more calculated thrusts up into your pussy before you’re snagging your fists into his hair, holding on for dear life as wave after wave of nauseating orgasms wracks your body. You cry into his shoulder, thick globs of tears staining your cheeks as your cunt clenches something awful around the thick girth still fucking its way inside you.

“Inside- inside, Jason- You’ve been in this long, don’ pull out now-” You choke, snarling into his neck.

That's all the poor, utterly feral redhead needs to cum. He’s clenching his eyes shut, digging his nails into the small of your back to force your hips impossibly closer down onto his cock as he delivers pulse after pulse of globs of cum up into your messy cunt. You rut your hips, riding out the crashing high that has Jason gripping you by the arms and forcing you off of his chest, staring with heavy, droopy eyes at the mess he’s made of you.

He trails his bright eyes down to the absolute mess of stains as his cock flinches and pulses, buried so snugly inside of you. You dizzily glance down, thighs still shaking as you’re met with the lewd sight of your pussy being absolutely stretched, lips so puffy and red as they grip so tightly around his girth. The sight is enough to make you moan again, weakly trying to sit your hips up and slide him out of you, desperate to see the mess he’s made inside also.

Until fingers dig into your hips, forcing you back down to the hilt and keeping you pistoned right there, unmoving. You feel the warmth of his cock back inside, cum soaking into your gooey arousal. “I’m not done just yet, my lady.”

Pushing you back against the workbench, Jason reaches for the lighter, another stick of wax held tight in his other hand. It’s not a moment before the droplets of fiery liquid are dripping onto your chest, running down the curve of your tits. His hips flex, nudging his cock in and out at a terribly infuriating pace, just barely reaching as far as it was.

“I say another round’s in order, don’t you, dear?”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[kingofbodyrolls]

Deep Dive (m) | knj

You’ve been searching for gemstones deep on the seabed— having found a broken piece of blue aquamarine. Searching for the missing piece and your new rival, you find it and much more with the blue tailed merman Namjoon while on a quest for crystals.

→ Pairing: namjoon x reader (female) → AUs: mermaid!au, fantasy!au, magical!au, soulmate!au → Trope: strangers to lovers → Genres: fluff, smut, angst + a very small sprinkle of comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 19.8k → Warnings (general) + triggers: not much, honestly it’s all very very fluffy, lovey dovey and cute (you’ll probably get a cavity). There’s also a lot more lore and worldbuilding in this one compared to the others, as this is the first time we’re properly introduced to the seacity🧜It’s also rather existential and philosophical.  → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (please be safe), oral (male and female), multiple orgasms, dirty talk, love making, kissing, breast play (licking, sucking, biting), handjob, fingering, clit play, hair pulling, creampie, very brief cockwarming. → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note(1): I really don’t know what happened when writing this one; my fingers totally slipped and most of this is just world building 🫣 At least I had a shit ton of fun writing it! I tried to make the smut a bit different than I normally do, because I just feel like what I write is getting very repetitive… So I tried changing the pace of it a bit, but I don't know if it worked or not. Anyway, I really hope you like this one too, and I managed to finish it before Namjoon’s birthday, which means I’ll release it on that day 🥳 Please do let me know what, and if you liked it, and if you’re excited for the rest of the mermaid stories ✨

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a collection of series that are stand-alone one-shots, but all of them are set in the same universe. They are slightly connected though 🤭

The boat sways gently with the rhythm of the waves, each crest and trough sending a flutter through your stomach, a tantalizing whisper of the adventure awaiting below. The sea has always been your muse, its vast, enigmatic depths a sanctuary where you’ve carved out your own livelihood. As a freelance scuba diver, you descend into the ocean’s embrace, hunting for hidden treasures—crystals and gems, and occasionally, the rarest of finds. These treasures are not just artifacts; they are fragments of the earth’s ancient soul, preserved in the watery depths.

Hae, your best friend and partner in this aquatic quest, stands beside you, her hands steady as she helps you prepare for the dive. She runs a holistic and spiritual webshop called Soulful, a name that seems to capture the essence of her being—a blend of spirituality, sustainability, and an eye for the aesthetically divine. The gems and crystals you unearth find their way into her shop, where they are revered not just for their beauty, but for the energy they carry. The world has turned its gaze towards the mystical these days, and her shop has become a beacon for those seeking solace and healing in the arms of nature.

With your wetsuit snug against your skin, fins secured, and the weight of the oxygen tanks settling on your back, you feel the familiar thrill course through you. Hae hands you your goggles with a smile, and before placing the mouthpiece between your lips, you flash her a grin. “See you soon,” you say, voice laced with excitement. The small tool bag—your fanny pack of excavation tools—rests comfortably at your side, ready to assist in your quest for nature’s buried wonders.

You take a deep breath and plunge into the ocean, the water swallowing you with a resonant splash. As you breach the surface, your arms stretch forward, parting the water with a smooth, practiced motion. The ocean welcomes you, wrapping you in its cool, serene embrace. Here, beneath the waves, you are home, surrounded by the vibrant tapestry of sea life. Jellyfish drift by, their tendrils trailing like delicate threads of silk, while schools of tiny fish scatter at your approach, shimmering in the filtered sunlight that dances through the water. Deeper you dive, into the world where time slows, and the ocean whispers secrets long forgotten by the surface. The seafloor is a hidden gallery of nature’s artistry, where crystals and gems lie in wait, forged over eons by the earth’s elemental forces. Each one tells a story—of undersea volcanoes, tectonic pressures, and the alchemical dance of minerals. Hae often speaks of these gems as if they are living beings, infused with the spirit of the ocean itself, each one a relic of the deep’s quiet, patient creation.

You smile to yourself, recalling her poetic musings, almost as if you were reading straight from her website. But you know the truth behind the beauty—these crystals, formed through evaporation, precipitation, and the intricate dance of minerals, are more than just pretty stones. They are pieces of the earth’s heart, shaped by the hands of time and nature’s immense power. Sodium, magnesium, calcium, potassium—their chemical symphony plays out in each crystal, each gem a unique testament to the forces that birthed it.

To you, they are not just beautiful—they are a testament to the majesty of the natural world, a tangible link to the planet’s deep, unspoken history. Hae’s customers, too, are drawn to this connection, to the knowledge that each crystal was not mined en masse, but discovered and unearthed by your hands alone. This makes each piece not only ethically sourced but also one-of-a-kind, carrying with it a story that can never be replicated. And then, there’s the healing. The myriad of spiritual properties attributed to these gems opens another world entirely, one that you and Hae have only begun to explore. It’s a world where science and spirituality entwine, where the physical and the metaphysical dance in harmony. But for now, as you dive deeper into the ocean’s embrace, you’re content to simply marvel at nature’s handiwork, knowing that whatever treasures you find will carry a piece of this underwater realm back to the surface.

A glint catches your eye in the distance, a shimmer that pulls you deeper into the ocean’s embrace. You’ve lost track of how far you’ve dived—perhaps just a few meters, or maybe more. Time seems to stretch and compress down here, as fluid as the water around you. A quick glance at your watch reveals that only ten minutes have passed, but you know you must be mindful of the oxygen left in your tank. Still, the ocean’s siren call urges you onward, tempting you with secrets yet to be unveiled.

Something blue sparkles ahead, its brilliance cutting through the murky depths, and you find yourself drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Your body moves with the fluidity of the water, each motion a dance of instinct and harmony. Down here, you’re not just an explorer—you’re a part of the ocean itself, swaying gently in time with the currents. The source of the light reveals itself as you approach a small rock formation, where gems of varying shades of blue glisten like forgotten stars scattered across the ocean floor. Aquamarine, calcite, and amazonite—Hae’s voice echoes in your mind, recalling the knowledge she’s shared with you. Aquamarine, the “Sea Water Stone,” born from the cooling magma of the earth’s depths, its color an echo of the ocean’s own hues. It’s a stone that calms the mind, eases stress, and sharpens communication, a talisman of courage and clarity. Blue calcite, a crystal forged from calcium, carbon, and oxygen, soothes like a lullaby, its gentle presence calming nerves and quieting anxieties. It also opens the mind’s eye, enhancing intuition and inner vision. And then there’s amazonite, a gem you’ve always favored. Its cool blue-green tones speak to your soul, a “Stone of Courage” that promotes truth, honor, and positive communication. It balances the masculine and feminine energies within, weaving harmony into the fabric of life. You reach out, your fingers brushing the rough texture of the rock, marveling at the beauty before you.

Carefully, you pull out your tools—a smooth flat file and a soft silicone hammer—and begin to work. The gems yield to your skillful hands, and soon, you’ve gathered a small collection of aquamarine, blue calcite, and amazonite, each piece a perfect reflection of the ocean’s quiet majesty. You tuck them safely into your bag, their weight a comforting presence at your side.

But the ocean isn’t done with you yet. You swim further, your eyes scanning the seabed where kelp and other sea plants sway like ethereal dancers. A small cave catches your attention, its entrance barely large enough to accommodate you, but you’re compelled to explore. You squeeze through the narrow opening, and the sight that greets you steals your breath away.

Before you lies a treasure trove of green crystals, their surfaces shimmering like serpent scales. Serpentine—Hae has spoken of this gem, formed deep within the Earth’s mantle by the transformation of silicate minerals through water. This is your first time finding it, and you can’t help but marvel at its beauty, the green hues reminiscent of a forest hidden beneath the waves. You run your fingers over the rough surface, feeling the ancient energy thrumming within the stone. Carefully, you chip away a few pieces, their weight adding to the growing collection in your bag.

But the bag is heavy now, laden with the ocean’s gifts, and a glance at your watch tells you it’s time to return. With a reluctant sigh, you leave the cave behind, swimming back toward the surface, your heart still lingering in the depths. As you break through the water, the sunlight dazzles your eyes, and Hae is there, her hands reaching out to help you back onto the boat. The weight of your gear is a burden you’re glad to shed, and you push the bag toward her, eager to share your discoveries.

“Wow!” she exclaims, her eyes wide with wonder as she sifts through the gems. “You really found a lot—and serpentine? You’ve never found that before. My customers are going to be over the moon!”

Her excitement is infectious, and you can’t help but smile. “That makes it all worth it,” you say, pulling off your hydro fin shoes with a satisfied sigh. “But I’m keeping one piece of serpentine for myself—it’s too beautiful to part with.”

Hae nods, still mesmerized by the treasures you’ve brought to the surface. The joy in her eyes is a reflection of your own, and you feel a deep contentment settle over you. The ocean has shared its secrets with you once again, and as you breathe in the fresh air, you know that the bond you share with the sea is stronger than ever.

You sail home under the setting sun, the ocean’s breeze carrying with it the scent of salt and adventure. The rhythmic lapping of the waves against the boat lulls you into a state of serene satisfaction. Back on land, you join Hae in her cozy apartment, where the warmth of the evening light filters through the windows. Her small photo studio, a creative sanctuary tucked into a corner, is ready for the treasures you’ve unearthed. Together, you arrange the crystals with care, each one glistening like a piece of the ocean’s soul captured in stone. The camera clicks, preserving the gems’ beauty for the world to see, as Hae’s artistic eye transforms them into visions of wonder. The process is swift but meaningful, a quiet ritual that binds your shared passions. Soon, the crystals will grace her webshop, ready to bring a touch of the sea’s magic to those who seek it.

“This collection is huge, Namjoon,” Hoseok remarks with a warm smile, his gaze sweeping over the shimmering array of gems that adorn the older merman’s room. “There’s so much history embedded in these walls,” he adds, pointing to the meticulously arranged stones, and Namjoon feels a flush of pride rise to his cheeks. He’s poured countless hours into curating this collection, each gem—some calcite, larimar, jasper, peridotite, amazonite, and serpentine—bearing the weight of time and the ocean’s secrets.

Yoongi casts a sidelong glance at Namjoon and his prized collection, murmuring with a wry grin, “It’s impressive... but also incredibly dorky.”

Hoseok bursts into laughter, his joy so radiant that for a moment, Namjoon thinks they don’t need the sun in their underwater world—Hoseok’s light is enough to illuminate the depths.

“I’m not a dork,” Namjoon protests, crossing his arms over his bare torso in an attempt to feign indignation, but his stern expression does little to sway the younger mermen. Their laughter echoes through the water, a melody of friendship that only strengthens the bond between them.

“Nerd, then,” Hoseok offers through another burst of laughter, his voice rippling through the water like bubbles rising to the surface. Yoongi, ever the skeptic, merely rolls his eyes, already weary of the conversation. Namjoon can sense that Yoongi’s thoughts have drifted elsewhere—likely back to his bed, where he longs to sleep away the rest of the day. But Namjoon’s heart beats with a different rhythm, one that craves adventure. He usually embarks on treasure swims with his friend Soo-ah, but she’s preoccupied with her fiancé, Seokjin, as they prepare for their upcoming wedding.

Namjoon casts a glance at his friends, hoping they’ll soon take their leave so he can slip away into the inviting embrace of the sea. The room feels too small for his restless spirit, and the ocean beyond the walls calls to him like a siren’s song. He had initially invited them over for their monthly book club, but the gathering has devolved into something else entirely—Hoseok couldn’t stop laughing at the protagonist’s ridiculous misadventures, and Yoongi, true to form, had forgotten to read the book altogether. The story, plucked from the land above, strikes Hoseok as particularly odd and amusing, especially since he’s never set foot on land himself.

“Book club’s over, right?” Yoongi asks with a resigned sigh, his voice heavy with fatigue, as if the very mention of reading has drained him further.

“Yeah, but do try to read the next book for next month,” Namjoon chides gently, though he knows his words will likely fall on deaf ears. Yoongi merely shrugs, not even bothering to pick up the worn book as he drifts toward the door. Namjoon watches them go, rolling his eyes as Hoseok flashes him a soft smile and a thumbs-up before they swim off to their respective homes.

As their laughter fades into the distance, Namjoon finally feels the freedom to pursue the adventure that has been stirring within him all day. The sea awaits, vast and full of mysteries, and he is eager to explore its depths once more.

Namjoon exhales a deep sigh, the weight of his thoughts momentarily heavy, but he renews his energy by nibbling on some fresh kelp. The taste is crisp and briny, filling him with the vitality he needs for the journey ahead. With a determined glint in his eye, he slings his backpack over his shoulder and sets off on his adventure. The sea has always been his home, its vast expanse a comforting embrace. His parents, both scholars dedicated to preserving the rich history of their underwater city, have instilled in him a love for the past. But while they focus on teaching the young minds of the city, Namjoon’s heart has always been drawn to the secrets hidden within the earth—gems and stones that hold their own silent histories.

He propels himself forward, his baby blue tail cutting through the water with graceful precision. As he gathers speed, the fish scatter in a dazzling display, their scales catching the light as they dart away. The underwater world rushes past in a vibrant blur of color, until something shimmering in the distance catches his eye.

Ahead, perched on a rock formation, are gleaming clusters of calcite and aquamarine, their surfaces dancing with the light that filters through the water. The sun’s rays, fractured by the waves above, cast a spectrum of blues across the gems, making them shimmer like the sky at twilight. Namjoon’s breath catches in his throat, as it always does when faced with such natural beauty. Each gem is a masterpiece of time and pressure, a testament to the earth’s patient artistry. He reaches out, reverently running his fingers over the cool, smooth surfaces, feeling the ancient energy thrumming within them.

He pulls out his tools, careful not to disturb the surrounding environment, and begins to collect a few of the precious stones. As he works, he remembers Soo-ah and selects a particularly radiant piece to bring back to her, a token of their shared love for the ocean’s treasures.

But his heart skips a beat when he notices something unsettling—many of the gems have already been harvested, leaving only a few scattered remnants behind. A frown creases his brow as he wonders who could have beaten him to this spot. None of his friends share his passion for collecting gems. Sure, Taehyung enjoys gathering trinkets and curiosities, but stones have never been his interest. The thought of another collector in these waters feels strangely alien, a mystery that tugs at the edges of his mind.

Who else, he wonders, could be drawn to these underwater treasures with the same fervor that drives him?

You find yourself submerged once more, the embrace of the ocean welcoming you into its depths as you embark on yet another treasure hunt, eager to unearth new crystals. Your path leads you back to the familiar cave where you previously discovered the serpentine and calcite, their beauty still vivid in your memory. Yet, something feels different this time—there are fewer crystals adorning the rock formation and scattered across the seabed. The ocean’s depths, a canvas for nature’s exquisite artistry, have always been a sanctuary for the many fascinating crystals that dwell there. But you’ve never encountered another diver who collects them as passionately as you do. The realization leaves you momentarily puzzled, until a flicker of purple catches your eye in the distance.

Intrigued, you glide through the water with graceful urgency, approaching the new discovery. As you draw closer, you recognize the delicate gray and rose-hued crystals as lepidolite, known for its ability to enhance astral travel and lucid dreaming. You’ve rarely come across these gems in your dives, and even now, only a few precious stones cling to the rock formation. Carefully, you retrieve your tools and begin to collect the lepidolite, tucking each piece into your bag with a sense of reverence.

Continuing along the seabed, you pass by schools of vibrant fish, their colors a blur of life around you, until something extraordinary catches your attention—massive aquamarine crystals, far larger than any you’ve ever seen before. They seem to pulse with a quiet energy, drawing you in with their mesmerizing blue hue. As you approach with a gentle hand, you feel an inexplicable connection to the gems, as if they are whispering tales of the ocean’s mysteries and the magnificence of the world beneath the waves.

Gingerly, you touch the aquamarines, and a surge of calm washes over you, a tranquility deeper than anything you’ve ever experienced. The sensation is strange, yet profoundly soothing, as if the ocean itself is sharing its serenity with you. 

Taking your time, you inspect the crystals, standing tall on a rocky pedestal surrounded by pink sea bushes and kelp that sways in the water’s current. A few curious fish glide by as you carefully chip away at the base of the crystal, hoping to extract a substantial piece. When you finally succeed, you notice something peculiar—the crystal’s twin, the piece that once stood beside it, is missing. The jagged edge where it was removed is unmistakable. The question lingers in your mind, unsettling and persistent: Who has taken the other piece?

As you wonder who else might be drawn to the allure of these hidden gems, your hands continue their careful work, collecting a few more of the larger pieces, along with several smaller ones. You know that the smaller stones, though modest in size, still carry the same potent energy as their grander counterparts, and some people cherish them all the more for their delicate beauty. Each crystal, whether large or small, holds within it the ocean’s quiet wisdom, waiting to be shared.

Gently, you tuck the treasures into your bag, the weight of them a comforting reminder of the sea’s generosity. With a final, lingering glance at the shimmering aquamarines, you propel yourself upward, your body moving effortlessly through the water’s embrace. As you break through the surface, the world above greets you with a rush of air and sunlight. Hae is there, her arms open wide, her smile as warm as the sun. She helps you back into the boat, her touch gentle and reassuring, as if she understands the wonders you’ve just encountered below.

Once you’re back in the boat, the weight of your gear feels heavier than ever as you remove it, but your heart is light with the excitement of your discoveries. You eagerly reveal your treasures to Hae, each crystal glinting in the sunlight as you lay them before her. With a grin, you hold up the largest aquamarine, its cool blue depths mirroring the ocean below. “This one’s mine,” you declare, the gem feeling like a piece of the sea itself in your hand. But then your tone grows more serious as you add, “I think there’s another diver out there collecting gems. So many were missing from the formation.”

Hae’s eyes widen, her smile fading into a look of concern. You can almost see the wheels turning in her mind, already strategizing, perhaps even considering whether it’s time to move to a new, more secluded spot. The thought of competition makes her uneasy, her gaze drifting over the precious stones as if they might vanish any moment.

Sensing her anxiety, you place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” you say with quiet confidence. “I’ll dig around, find out who it is. We’ve come too far to let this unsettle us.” Your words are meant to calm her, to remind her that together, you’ve weathered challenges before. After all, her webshop, with its unique blend of spirituality and sustainability, has always stood out in a sea of imitators.

Hae exhales softly, her tension easing as she meets your gaze. “Okay, thank you,” she murmurs, her hands gently gathering the remaining crystals, leaving you with your cherished aquamarine. The stone gleams in your palm, a symbol of the bond between you and the sea, and now, a silent vow to protect what you’ve both worked so hard to build.

The pull of the ocean is undeniable, a quiet voice in the depths of your soul that beckons you toward the gem, as if it carries the very essence of the sea within its crystalline heart. You know instantly that this piece belongs by your side, a reminder of the ocean’s mysteries and your bond with its vast, hidden world. The sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the water as you sail back to shore, the quiet lapping of waves a soothing lullaby.

Returning to your apartment, you flick on the light, the familiar space bathed in a soft glow as you carefully place your ocean gift on the nightstand beside your bed. The gem catches the light, its surface shimmering like the sea at dawn. With a contented sigh, you brush your teeth, the routine grounding you after the day’s adventure. But as you lay in bed, your mind drifts back to the ocean, and sleep comes quickly, filled with dreams of underwater realms and the treasures that lie beneath.

Yet, even in sleep, a question nags at you. For days, the mystery has lingered in your thoughts—who could be venturing into the depths to collect gems alongside you? Your research has led you nowhere, each inquiry a dead end. No diver you know is as daring, or perhaps as mad, as you, willing to plunge into the ocean’s deepest reaches. The puzzle gnaws at you, an itch you can’t quite scratch, and the frustration builds like a storm on the horizon. It feels as if the answer is just out of reach, hidden beneath the waves, and the more you dwell on it, the more it drives you to the edge of your patience, a riddle you are desperate to unravel.

Driven by a spark of determination, you’ve hatched a bold plan—to dive back into the depths and catch the mysterious intruder who’s been claiming your precious gems. Hae thinks it’s a dumb idea, but she indulges you, knowing your spirit is as restless as the ocean itself. And so, once again, you find yourself out on the boat, with Hae in the vast expanse of the ocean under the midday sun. The boat sways gently, a rhythmic dance on the water’s surface as you methodically pull on your gear—your oxygen tanks, goggles, and hydro fins. The final touch is your backpack, securely fastened to the tank, ready to hold whatever treasures you might uncover.

With purpose in your heart and a steely resolve, you press your arms together and plunge into the ocean’s embrace. The world above fades away as you descend into the deep, your body slicing through the water with graceful determination. Thoughts of the smaller boats you saw earlier linger in your mind, fueling your hope that this dive will lead you to your elusive rival.

As you dive deeper, the current cradles you, guiding your body as you sway with the ocean’s rhythm, until you reach the seabed. The familiar terrain unfolds before you, a place you’ve visited many times, yet now it feels different, touched by the presence of another. Only a few small gems remain, their glint a reminder of what’s been taken. You scan your surroundings—kelp sways like dancers in the current, fish dart about in a symphony of colors—but no sign of competition yet.

Undeterred, you press on, swimming further along the seabed, following the contours of rocky formations. Your heart quickens as you reach a familiar spot, the place where you once unearthed a magnificent aquamarine. But as you approach, your breath catches—the rock’s surface is nearly barren, the aquamarine all but vanished, save for a few remaining shards that catch the light. Your fingers hover over the stone, tracing the empty space where the gems once gleamed, now a haunting reminder of what’s been lost to unseen hands.

A sudden jolt, like a spark of electricity, tingles through your fingertips, and before you can react, a blur of blue fills your vision, distorting the world around you. You blink rapidly, trying to clear the haze, but it remains—an ethereal presence in the water. Then, you feel a light, almost playful poke against your cheek, and a startled scream escapes into your mouthpiece, sending a cascade of bubbles spiraling upwards.

Instinctively, you jerk backward, heart pounding, as you struggle to comprehend what’s before you. No—this can’t be real. It’s not another diver. It’s not even human.

In front of you, suspended in the water like a living dream, is a merman. His face, heart-shaped and adorned with eyes like dragon-like darkened amber, is framed by short, blue hair that floats gently around his soft cheeks, jawline and pointed chin. Thin soft eyebrows arch over those wide, curious eyes—eyes that seem to hold all the wonder of the deep. His lips, thick and juicy are slightly parted in a soft ‘o,’ convey a mix of curiosity and surprise. Your gaze travels over his tall frame down to his bare chest, lean and strong, and then to the tail—an iridescent baby blue, shimmering with every subtle movement, a perfect extension of the ocean’s beauty. 

A wiggling tail instead of legs.

You blink again, desperate to make sense of the vision before you. A merman… It has to be.

He drifts closer, his tail flicking gracefully as he reaches out to poke your chin once more, his voice resonating through the water with an almost melodic quality. “Are you human?” he asks, his tone gentle yet filled with the wonder of a child discovering something new.

Your mind races, and you nod frantically, unable to speak with the mouthpiece still in your mouth, your feet paddling in the water as you fight to steady yourself. The reality of the moment crashes over you like a wave—this is no fantasy. A merman is right in front of you.

As your gaze falls on the backpack strapped to his shoulders, you notice a subtle shimmer, a gleam of something precious. In that instant, the pieces fall into place—he’s the one. He’s the mysterious collector, your unexpected rival in this underwater hunt for gems.

“I’ve seen humans before,” he continues, his voice carrying an almost casual tone as he swims around you, studying you like a creature from another world, “but I’ve never seen one dressed like you.”

Your heart aches to respond, to ask a million questions, but with the mouthpiece in place, all you can do is let him circle you, his eyes filled with an innocent fascination. The silence between you is heavy with unspoken words, each glance exchanged like a whispered secret between the ocean and the sun.

As you take in the sight before you, your eyes are drawn to a necklace resting against his chest, the small piece of aquamarine nestled between the firm contours of his titties—chest, you mean chest! The gem, cradled in the hollow where his muscles meet, glimmers softly, almost as if it’s alive with the very essence of the sea. You can’t help but stare in awe, the allure of it tugging at something deep within you. Thank heavens for your goggles, masking the blush that would otherwise give away your wandering thoughts.

“You look funny,” he remarks, his voice laced with innocent curiosity as he reaches out to grab one of your hydro fin shoes. The unexpected touch throws you off balance, and for a moment, you find yourself flipping weightlessly in the water, your body twisting like a leaf caught in a gentle current.

“Is this supposed to be like a mermaid’s tail?” he asks, holding your foot aloft as though it were some ancient relic to be deciphered. His brow furrows in concentration, and you can’t help but feel a mix of amusement and bewilderment at the sight.

Instinctively, you jerk your foot back, breaking free from his grasp, and you push against the water with frantic kicks, a glance at your watch reminding you that time is running out. As much as you wish to linger here, captivated by the merman’s presence, the pressing need to return to the surface propels you upward.

“Hey! Where’re you going?” he calls after you, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation, but you’re already too focused on reaching the surface to notice the distress in his expression. The thought of what could happen if you don’t make it in time isn’t one you’re willing to entertain.

Breaking through the water’s surface, you take off the mouthpiece and  gulp in fresh air, scanning the horizon until you spot your boat, a distant speck where Hae waits, the other vessels having long since disappeared. It seems manageable, this swim back to the boat, as long as you stay above water—your oxygen tank now empty, its weight a reminder of how close you cut it.

But before you can begin the swim, something solid collides with you, stopping you in your tracks. “Ow,” you exclaim, startled as you float backward, only to find yourself face to face with a familiar figure, his blue hair dripping wet above the waves.

“Hi,” the merman says with a smile, his dimples appearing like little pools of light in the sun. The simple word carries a warmth that catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re lost in the easy charm of his grin, the ocean around you feeling suddenly smaller, as if it were just the two of you in this vast, endless world.

“Hi,” you greet him with a soft smile, still astonished that he followed you to the surface at all. A swirl of unspoken questions rises in your chest, but they tangle in your throat, leaving you staring at him, wide-eyed and speechless. The world seems to blur, save for the merman before you, his wet blue hair plastered against his forehead, his dragon-like eyes sweeping over you with a curious intensity, as if he’s memorizing every detail.

“What’s all that stuff you’ve got on?” he asks, pointing a slender finger at your goggles and then at the oxygen tanks strapped securely to your back.

“These?” you say, finding your voice as you point to your goggles. “They help me see underwater,” you pause, feeling the weight of the tanks pulling at your shoulders, “And these let me breathe while I dive—they hold the oxygen I need when I’m down there.” You gesture to the tanks behind you, your explanation feeling small in the face of his wide, unblinking curiosity.

He hums thoughtfully, nodding as if piecing together a puzzle. “Makes sense,” he says at last, though his gaze strays past you, catching sight of Hae waving from the boat that rocks gently on the surface, her silhouette framed by the scorching sun.

“I... I have to get back,” you mumble, pointing toward your friend, the words feeling heavy as they leave your lips. You try to steady your thoughts, but they swirl like the currents beneath the sea, a thousand questions dancing just beneath the surface, questions you don’t quite dare to voice.

“Okay,” he says, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation, perhaps. “But before you go…” His voice halts your movements, drawing you back to him like the pull of the tide. You turn toward him again, heart fluttering in the quiet space between you, as if the ocean itself is holding its breath, waiting to see what comes next.

“What’s your name?” His voice is soft, carrying a gentleness that ripples through the water.

“It’s ___,” you reply, offering him a smile that’s both shy and warm.

“That’s pretty,” he says, and when his lips part into a smile, his dimples carve deep into his cheeks, making him almost impossibly cute, but dangerously so. 

“I’m Namjoon.” 

His name lingers between you like a secret, sweet and mysterious. “Will I see you again?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his brow raised in curious hope.

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face, the warmth filling your chest. There’s something about him—this enchanting creature of the deep—that makes you feel drawn in, like the tide itself is pulling you closer. You nod, the joy bubbling up inside you as you answer, “See you later, Namjoon.” There’s more than one reason you want to see him again. The unspoken questions whirl in your mind, but there’s also the thrill—because maybe, just maybe, you want to get your hands on the best crystals before he does.

As you turn and swim back toward Hae, your thoughts a mess of wonder and disbelief, a blush warms your cheeks. Did you just make a date with a merman? The thought sends a tingle of excitement through you. But when you glance back to where he was, Namjoon is already gone, having disappeared beneath the shimmering surface, like a dream fading with the dawn.

You finally make it to the boat, the sun still hanging high, bathing everything in golden light. As Hae helps you out of the water and hands you a towel, her eyes are wide with confusion. “Who was that? And how did he just vanish into the water like that, without any diving gear?”

“A merman,” you pant, peeling off your oxygen tanks and goggles. The words slip out of your mouth so naturally, like it’s something you’d say every day. Not the revelation of a magical creature, but a simple truth.

Hae stares at you, eyes nearly bulging from their sockets. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A merman,” you repeat, more firmly this time.

“A merman?” she echoes, her voice faint and incredulous, as if the very idea is too fantastical to grasp.

“Yes. A goddamn merman,” you say, grinning wide as you meet her disbelieving gaze. “Scaly tail and all.” And then the absurdity of it all hits you, and before you know it, you’re laughing—a bright, bubbling sound that lifts the tension from your chest.

Hae blinks, her mind racing to catch up with the truth you’ve laid before her. When she finally does, her gaze shifts to the shimmering crystals you’ve collected, and without another word, she turns the boat towards home, lost in thought as the ocean waves lap against the sides. And all you can do is sit there, the excitement of your encounter buzzing through your veins, as you wonder about the next time you’ll meet Namjoon beneath the waves.

The next time you set sail, the open sea stretching endlessly before you, a current of giddy anticipation courses through your veins. Thoughts of the blue-haired merman, Namjoon, fill your mind, sparking excitement deep within your chest. Will he be there today, waiting beneath the waves? You wish you could speak with him underwater, to ask him the thousand questions swirling in your heart, but the surface would have to do for now. You can’t help but smile at the thought of seeing him again.

Hae steers the boat through the shimmering water, the horizon vast and infinite. As you slip on your gear and dive beneath the surface, the ocean’s cool embrace pulls you into its depths. You swim purposefully, eyes scanning the underwater world, searching for both gems and a glimpse of Namjoon. 

Suddenly, something blue catches your eye, sparkling in the distance. Your pulse quickens as you think, just for a moment, that it might be him. But as you swim closer, your heart sinks—it’s only a cluster of aquamarine, glittering like pieces of fallen sky. You feel a bit foolish, letting your hopes get the better of you. Shaking off the disappointment, you turn your attention to the task at hand, collecting the gems with careful precision, though your thoughts continue to drift back to the mysterious merman.

You move to a new spot, finding a hidden cave adorned with larimar crystals. The stones are breathtaking—swirls of blue, white, and gray blending like waves crashing upon a shore, smooth and radiant. The sight brings a smile to your face, the beauty of the moment settling into your heart. You gently gather some of the crystals, placing them in your bag with reverence, as if each one carries a secret.

Just as you’re about to leave the cave, a shadow falls across the entrance. Your heart skips a beat, startled by the sudden presence. But then, the familiar voice reaches your ears, warm and apologetic, and you see him—Namjoon, his figure filling the space, his smile soft and full of quiet charm.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his hand nervously scratching the back of his head, his eyes filled with a gentle sincerity.

Relief washes over you, and with a playful wave of your hands, you signal that it’s okay—that he needn’t worry. How you wish you could speak to him down here, let your words float freely in the water like the bubbles escaping from your gear. But for now, your gestures will have to suffice. Your smile says the rest—you’re just glad to see him again.

“You’re collecting crystals, right?” Namjoon asks, his voice cutting through the liquid silence as he gestures toward your already bulging bag. You nod in response, still catching your breath from the weight of the gems you’ve gathered.

“Do you want me to show you a cave with lepidolite?” he mumbles, his tone casual but a bit uncertain. “They’re pretty rare, but I know of a cave that’s full of them.” For a fleeting moment, you wonder if this is the ocean’s version of Netflix and chill, the awkwardness of the offer landing with the charm of a bad pickup line. You can’t help but smile at the thought. 

Still, you nod, knowing that Hae would be thrilled to get her hands on more lepidolite, and besides, you’re curious. You figure underwater Netflix and chill is a bit different from what you’re used to anyway.

Namjoon leads the way, his brilliant blue tail weaving effortlessly through the water, shimmering like sunlight caught in a sapphire. You trail behind him, captivated by the rhythmic sway of his form, the way his muscles ripple across his broad back like waves sculpted by some divine hand. You can’t help but wonder—do they even have gyms down here? The sight of him, so fluid and powerful, is mesmerizing, and before you know it, time seems to slip away, your focus narrowing to the subtle dance of his movements.

“This is the cave,” he suddenly announces, pulling you out of your reverie. You hadn’t realized just how long you’d been swimming, utterly absorbed by the quiet beauty of the journey and him.

You follow him inside, and the sight that greets you takes your breath away—deep violet lepidolite, sparkling in the dim light like stars scattered across a twilight sky. You’re awestruck by the sheer abundance, the rare gems nestled into the cave walls as if nature had painted this secret world just for you.

“Beautiful, right?” Namjoon giggles softly, his voice echoing gently through the cavern as you nod, too taken by the sight to speak. You pull out your tools, carefully beginning to gather the precious stones, all while feeling the warmth of his gaze lingering on you. His silent watchfulness stirs a strange flustered feeling inside, like he’s studying you with the same intensity you’ve used to admire him.

Once your bag is heavy with lepidolite, Namjoon takes you on a quiet tour of other hidden gem spots. Each place he shows you feels like a secret whispered by the ocean itself, and soon your collection grows so large that the weight of it tugs at you, as if the sea itself is trying to pull you back down. When Namjoon offers to carry your bag, you try to refuse at first, clinging to your independence. But as your arms grow heavy, you relent, watching in awe as he effortlessly takes your overloaded bag, slinging it across his broad frame with ease. He carries it as though the weight is nothing, his strength as graceful as the tides themselves.

With a raised arm, you gesture that it’s time to surface—your oxygen running low, the familiar ache of needing air settling into your chest. He seems to understand immediately, and together you ascend, the world around you turning brighter as you rise toward the surface.

Breaking through the water, you gasp in the fresh air, peeling off your goggles and mouthpiece, eager to speak to him in the open air. Namjoon surfaces beside you, droplets clinging to his skin as the sun catches the water in his hair, casting a shimmering halo around his smiling face.

“We should do this again,” he says, his voice warm and full of excitement. “Wasn’t it fun?”

“It really was,” you reply with a smile, your heart still buzzing from the underwater adventure. “Thank you for showing me all those caves. My friend, Hae, is going to be over the moon,” you say, casting a glance toward the boat swaying gently in the distance.

“That’s great to hear,” Namjoon replies, his voice as smooth as the rippling waves.

A flicker of frustration tugs at your chest, and you bite your lip. “I just wish I could talk to you down there,” you admit, your words heavy with a longing that feels both simple and profound.

“It would be nice, yeah,” he muses, his soft smile brightened by the sunlight. “But I don’t mind coming up here to talk. I like the air up here too,” he adds with a gentle chuckle, his gaze warm and steady.

“I have so many questions,” you blurt out, the words escaping you before you can hold them back. There’s too much wonder bottled up inside you, too much curiosity, and it needs to spill over.

Namjoon laughs, a sound so genuine it feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Shoot,” he says, his dimples deepening like two small whirlpools at the corners of his mouth.

You pause, your mind swimming with possibilities, before settling on the most obvious. “Are you the only merman, or… are there more of you?” you ask, your voice tinged with awe.

“There are more,” he says with pride, his chest lifting slightly. “There’s a whole city beneath the sea—Naraeum, where we live.” His eyes gleam with the pride of someone who belongs to something ancient and wondrous.

A thrill runs through you at the revelation. An entire city of merfolk hidden beneath the waves. The thought makes your pulse quicken, the realization that you’ve stumbled upon something so extraordinary, so secret, that few on the surface could even imagine it. You feel as if you’ve been let in on the universe’s greatest mystery, and it fills you with a giddy excitement that hums like electricity in your veins. 

“Are there cities or kingdoms beneath the waves? What are they like?” you ask, your voice soft with curiosity, eager to glimpse the world he calls home.

Namjoon’s eyes light up with a quiet pride. “Naraeum is a vast kingdom,” he begins, his words gentle yet full of wonder. “There’s pink coral stretching as far as the eye can see, ancient golden buildings weathered by time, and bright green kelp that sways like dancers in the currents. Dark caves hide beneath the surface, teeming with life—fish, crabs, creatures of every kind. And at night, everything glows with bioluminescent light, turning the ocean into a dreamscape.” A faint blush rises on his cheeks as he adds, “Maybe I can show you one day.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the thought of seeing an underwater kingdom beyond anything you’ve ever imagined. “That sounds unbelievable. I’d love to see Naraeum,” you say, barely able to contain the excitement bubbling within you. The idea of diving so deep, into a world untouched by human hands, feels too surreal to grasp.

“There are other cities too,” Namjoon continues, a smile tugging at his lips. “Some are smaller, some are larger, but Naraeum is like the heart of our region, the capital of sorts,” he adds, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

Your mind whirls with possibilities, questions tumbling out before you can stop them. “Do you have art? Music? Stories? How do you create them underwater?”

Namjoon laughs, a full-bodied sound that echoes across the waves. “We do,” he replies with a sparkle in his eyes. “Human books, for one—we’ve learned to preserve them so they don’t dissolve. Otherwise, we etch our stories on stone, carving our history into the bones of the sea. For music, we use instruments that echo your drums, flutes, and strings, but they’re crafted from merfolk hair, delicate yet strong.”

He pauses, a wistful look crossing his face. “Naraeum is ancient, filled with art and stories older than any of us. But,” he adds, adjusting the heavy bag on his back, “I fear I don’t have enough time to share them all right now. This bag,” he says with a light grin, “is starting to weigh me down.”

“Oh right, the bag!” you exclaim, snapping back to reality as a wave of panic ripples through you. You mentally scold yourself for letting the moment sweep you away, your feet kicking gently against the water as you make your way toward the boat. Namjoon swims by your side, effortlessly graceful, his shimmering tail flickering beneath the surface. 

Hae is there, waiting with a patient smile, and as she pulls you aboard, you reach out to take the heavy bag from Namjoon’s hands. “Thank you so much,” you say, a warm smile spreading across your face despite the unspoken whirlpool of questions still swirling in your mind. You wish you could ask him everything, but those wonders will have to wait.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Namjoon replies, his voice soft like the lull of the ocean. His own smile is tender, a quiet acknowledgment that leaves you feeling light despite the weight of the bag. 

Hae chimes in with a grin, “So, you’re the famous merman,” she teases, still a little wide-eyed as Namjoon flashes his bright blue tail above the surface, the sight leaving her speechless. The tail vanishes just as quickly, a flicker of the magic below.

“I’ll have to go now,” Namjoon says, his voice carrying a gentle farewell as he begins to swim backward, his gaze lingering on yours. “But I’ll see you again soon, ___.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks, and despite yourself, you smile and wave, heart fluttering in a way that’s both exhilarating and unsettling. You watch him dip beneath the waves, his form disappearing into the deep blue, leaving the water still and the air quiet.

Hae turns to you with a knowing look. “You’ve got a crush on the merman, don’t you?”

You can’t deny the warmth spreading through you, but you push the thought aside, the reality of it sinking in. He’s a merman. You’re human. It feels impossible, like something from a dream. But maybe—just maybe—being friends isn’t out of reach. Friends, you think, as if convincing yourself. That can’t hurt... right?

In the following weeks, you find yourself swept into a world beyond imagination—each adventure with Namjoon feels like diving into a storybook of magic and wonder. He takes you to hidden underwater realms where gems glimmer like stars, and schools of fish, dolphins, and whales glide by as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s as though the ocean has opened up just for you, revealing its secrets with every dive. The more time you spend with him, the stronger your heart tugs, pulling you deeper into your feelings. You try, futilely, to convince yourself you’re just friends, but every shared laugh, every meaningful glance, makes that harder to believe. 

Namjoon is an incredible friend, one who listens to your ramblings with genuine interest. His conversation is as vast and deep as the ocean itself, leading you into existential tangents that leave you pondering life and its mysteries long after the talks are over. You wish for more—there’s an ache that grows inside you—but how could that even be possible? He’s a merman, you’re human. It feels like some impossible fairy tale. Yet, you’ve caught him stealing glances, his cheeks tinged with blush, and sometimes he gazes at you with an intensity that makes your heart flutter in ways you can’t ignore. But does that mean anything? How do merfolk even love? You wonder if their hearts beat the same as yours.

One quiet afternoon, as you sit with the sun lazily dipping below the horizon on the boat, you find yourself asking the question that’s been gnawing at your mind. “Are there any consequences if a merman falls in love with a human?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. 

Namjoon, floating beside the boat, nearly chokes on the beer you brought him, his laughter turning into a cough as he searches for air. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, more careful. “There aren’t really... any consequences,” he murmurs, the tips of his ears turning pink. His eyes flicker nervously to your lips, then meet your eyes again, a quiet vulnerability swimming in their depths.

Good to know, you think, your heart skipping a beat. But before the blush overtakes you, you scramble to change the subject, your curiosity pulling you in another direction. “Is there magic in the ocean, like the old legends say? Can you control it?”

He laughs softly, the sound like the ebb and flow of waves. “There is magic, but no, I can’t control it. None of us can. There’s a Sea Witch, though—she’s the only one with that kind of power, as far as I know.” His words are laced with mystery, and your mind spins with possibilities.

“Can merfolk live forever?” you ask, half-dreaming of a life that stretches beyond the boundaries of time.

“Yes and no,” he replies, his voice thoughtful. “We can live for so long it feels like forever, but we’re not truly immortal.” His gaze drifts across the water, as if pondering the weight of time itself. 

“Interesting,” you murmur, your thoughts swirling. “What happens when a merperson dies, then? Is there an afterlife?”

Namjoon’s smile is wistful as he explains, “When a merperson dies, we hold a celebration—a spiritual send-off, really. There’s singing, dancing, it’s more of a party than a funeral. We celebrate their journey into the afterlife.” You must look puzzled because he quickly adds, “In the afterlife, we become ghosts. But if friends and family don’t send you off properly, there’s a chance the spirit might come back to haunt them.” He chuckles lightly, and you gasp, wide-eyed at the thought.

A cool breeze dances over the water, and for a moment, the world feels suspended between reality and the dreamlike expanse of the sea. You sit there, awed by the depth of his world, your heart both heavy with questions and light with wonder. And in that moment, despite the impossible distance between your two worlds, something seems to shift—something delicate and unspoken. You don’t know what the future holds, but maybe, just maybe, there’s magic enough to bridge the divide.

He passes the beer back to you, and you take a gentle sip, letting the taste linger without wanting the haze of drunkenness to settle in. Out here, in the middle of the endless ocean, everything feels both vast and intimate. A small taste is enough.

“Do you ever feel lonely in the vastness of the sea?” you ask, a quiet melancholy softening your voice as you gaze out at the seemingly endless horizon. The sea is breathtaking, yes, but the weight of its endlessness stirs something in you—a humbling reminder of how small one can feel in such a world.

“Sometimes,” Namjoon admits, his head dipping as his gaze finds the water. “There are moments when the ocean feels too big, too quiet.” His voice is soft, vulnerable. “But I have good friends,” he continues with a faint smile, “and I have my books when the solitude feels too heavy.” He looks at you with eyes warm and reassuring, as if to say that the sea might be vast, but he’s found beauty in its stillness.

“Oh, what books do you like?” you chuckle lightly, trying to brighten the mood, though his quiet sincerity tugs at your heart.

“Human books,” he replies with a gentle grin. “I love historical tales, but fiction is my favorite—stories that let me dream of other worlds.”

You smile, curiosity dancing on your lips. “What kind of fiction? Should I bring you some next time?” The words tumble out before you can catch them, your eagerness spilling over into the space between you.

A blush blooms across his cheeks, so deep it even colors the tips of his ears. In a shy, almost bashful voice, he says, “I... I like romance.” His admission is soft, as if he’s unsure of how it will land.

You can’t help but smile, your heart swelling with affection. There’s no shame in it, not to you—if anything, it’s endearing. “I have some romance books I can bring next time, if you’d like,” you offer, your voice gentle, feeling the warmth of your words fill the space between you.

Namjoon’s eyes sparkle, a soft wonder lighting them up as his blush deepens. “I wouldn’t mind that,” he murmurs, his voice as tender as the evening breeze.

The sun has begun to sink lower, casting a golden glow over the water. Namjoon glances at the sky, then back at you with a smile that feels like the closing of a chapter. “It’s getting late. I was thinking... next time, I could show you Naraeum.” His voice is proud, almost glowing with the thought. “If we go at night, the whole kingdom shines,” he adds, a spark of excitement in his eyes as he recalls the bioluminescent beauty he once described to you.

Your heart leaps at the thought. “I’d love that,” you say, feeling the pull of the ocean’s magic once more. “I’ll ask Hae to man the boat, so I’m not alone when it’s time to head back.”

Namjoon nods, his smile softening as the sun dips lower, its light casting golden hues over both the water and his blue hair. “See you soon,” he says, waving as he begins to slip beneath the surface.

You wave back, feeling the warmth of his presence linger, even as you sail toward the shore, the fading sunlight a reminder that the ocean holds many mysteries yet to be uncovered. And with each adventure, your connection to him deepens, like a current pulling you both to something inevitable.

"I’m telling you, you’re totally whipped, man," Yoongi says with a playful eye roll, his voice teasing but laced with truth.

“I’m not,” Namjoon protests, crossing his arms defensively, but deep down, he knows resistance is futile. His friends have been relentless, teasing him ever since you entered his life—how his smile stretches wider, brighter, after spending time with you, how your name slips into conversations that have nothing to do with the human world. It’s like you’ve seeped into his very soul. He knows he’s fallen, and fallen hard, but the weight of his feelings confuses him. He has no idea how to navigate them, unsure of your heart, or if you could even feel the same pull toward him. And how could it ever work between you two? The thought of venturing onto land to be with you dances through his mind like a fragile dream, but there’s a storm of questions swirling beneath the surface—questions he’s too afraid to ask, too scared to drown in all the unknowns.

“Just don’t get your heart broken,” Yoongi mutters, his voice softer now, tinged with caution. Namjoon nods, the words settling heavily in his chest like stones sinking to the ocean floor.

“Hey man, don’t throw your past experiences at Joonie like that!” Jimin chimes in, smacking Yoongi’s shoulder, a little too forcefully judging by Yoongi’s wince. “If he’s in love, he should go for it. Take the dive, see where the current leads him,” the blonde merman insists, eyes sparkling with mischief and optimism, trying to fill Namjoon’s heart with hope, pushing away the shadows Yoongi’s cynicism casts.

Namjoon, though, can only sigh. “I just don’t know…,” he mumbles, fingers trailing along the spines of his beloved books, rearranging them in some futile attempt to quiet the storm inside him. Anything to busy himself, anything to keep thoughts of you from consuming him. But it’s hopeless—why does his mind keep drifting back to you, like the tide, relentless and unyielding?

“It will never work,” Yoongi shrugs with a quiet scoff, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s seen too many relationships slip away. His words linger in the air, heavy like the deep sea.

Jimin, unphased, shoots him a scolding glare. “You never know that,” he says firmly. “Just because your love life’s been a shipwreck doesn’t mean it’s the same for everyone else.” There’s a sharp edge to his words, a flicker of irritation.

“And look at Seokjin and Soo-ah!” Jimin adds, his voice lifting again, the gleam of an idea flickering in his eyes. “Soo-ah was human once too, remember? She turned mermaid for love. Maybe ___ would want to become a mermaid as well? Who knows what fate has in store,” he grins, ever the romantic, eager to plant seeds of possibility in Namjoon’s mind.

Namjoon’s heart stirs at the thought, but even the idea feels like a dream too distant, too fragile to reach. Could you really be part of his world? Could love, like the sea, find a way to bridge the impossible distance between you?

“I would never put that on her. She has a life—one she’s likely content with on land. I couldn’t ask her to leave it behind,” Namjoon says, his voice laced with breathless resignation, as though the weight of his own feelings has left him deflated, crushed beneath the impossibility of it all. 

“She’s a good friend. I’ll just... enjoy what we have for now,” he adds softly, placing the book you’d given him gently on his nightstand, his fingers lingering on the cover. He already treasures it, not for the words it contains, but because it came from you. Though he hasn’t yet reached the end, he finds himself lost in the pages, immersed in the tale of a woman struggling with feelings for her best friend—torn between preserving their friendship or risking everything for love. If Namjoon sees a reflection of his own heart in those pages, he’ll never admit it, not even to himself.

“Love sucks anyway,” Yoongi mutters, his voice sharp and bitter, like a wound still raw and bleeding.

“You’re killing the vibe, Yoon,” Jimin sighs, shaking his head as he swims closer to Namjoon, his energy warm and comforting. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Jimin adds, draping an arm around Namjoon’s broad shoulders, trying to lift the weight that presses down on his friend. “He’s the last person you want advice from when it comes to love. He’s forgotten what it means to believe in it.” Jimin shoots another glare at Yoongi, who merely shrugs, unmoved.

Namjoon lets out a weary sigh. He likes you—no, more than likes you. Perhaps he’s even in love, but he’s still learning to come to terms with that revelation. What if telling you his feelings drives you away? What if, in confessing his heart, he loses the precious friendship you’ve built together? You, who’ve brought laughter and life into his days. He’s never been close to a human before, not like this, and the thought of losing you weighs heavier than the ocean above him. 

It’s not like he hasn’t ventured to land before, tasted fleeting moments with humans—flings that flickered out as quickly as they began. But this, you, feel different. And he’s in deep water now, uncertain of the way forward. It doesn’t matter to him that you’re human. If you were a mermaid, he doubts it would make things easier. What draws him to you isn’t your species, it’s your soul. 

It’s the way your hair dances in the wind, or how it clings to your skin when it’s soaked from the sea. The way your cheeks flush red, that soft blush that dusts even the bridge of your nose. The way bubbles rise and swirl around you when you dive beneath the waves, how your lashes flutter like the wings of a butterfly. The way your presence calms the storm inside him, as though you carry the quiet strength of the sea itself.

Yes, Namjoon thinks, his heart heavy with the undeniable truth. He’s got it bad.

“Hae, I don’t know what to do,” you sigh, the weight of indecision pressing down on you as you sit at the coffee shop, staring at the steam rising from your untouched cup. You feel like you could pull your hair out, frustration boiling inside as you wait for the coffee to cool, though it’s really your emotions that need calming.

The midday sunlight filters through the window, casting soft golden light over your table, but you can’t appreciate the warmth. Your mind is too restless. What are you supposed to do with these feelings?

“It’s actually quite simple,” Hae says, her tone far too casual for the magnitude of what you’re feeling. She takes a sip of her coffee—how does she drink it so scalding hot?—and you scoff softly, half out of envy, half in disbelief at how calm she seems. “You just have to talk to him.”

You groan, the sound louder than you intended, pulling curious glances from the tables around you. Embarrassed, you lower your voice, but the frustration lingers, tugging at your insides like a tangled knot. 

“It’s not that easy,” you say, pushing your coffee aside. “What if he doesn’t like me? What if I ruin everything between us?” Your voice drops to a whisper as your hands fall to your lap, palms sweaty and clammy. “How would it even work? He’s a merman, Hae. I... I’m just me.”

Hae raises an eyebrow, amused. “Girl—have you seriously not noticed the way he looks at you?”

You blink. “What do you mean? He looks at me... normal.”

She gives you a look that suggests you might be the most oblivious person on the planet. “Nah. He looks at you like he’s ready to drown in your eyes—like you’re his whole world.”

Her words hit you like a sudden wave, stealing your breath for a moment. Could she be right? You’ve never seen Namjoon look at you like that, at least not in a way you could recognize. 

“Really?” you whisper, unsure, heart fluttering with both hope and fear.

“Yes,” she emphasizes, laughing a little as she sets her cup down. “You’re kinda stupid for not noticing.”

You finally take a tentative sip of your now-warm coffee, trying to hide the way her words unravel you. As the warmth settles in your chest, your mind starts racing, replaying all the moments you’ve shared with Namjoon, all the times he’s looked at you, spoken to you with that gentle smile. Had there been something more in those glances? Had you been too blind to see it?

“You should confess your feelings,” Hae says, matter-of-fact, sipping her coffee like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

But it’s not that simple, not for you. The thought of baring your heart feels like standing at the edge of a precipice, with no way of knowing if there’s solid ground beneath you—or a fall. What if she’s wrong? What if you’re wrong? 

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t know if I can. What if I ruin our friendship? What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Hae gives you a knowing look, but you’re already spiraling, lost in your own thoughts. Maybe... maybe you could watch him a little longer, try to see what she’s seeing, catch more evidence that there’s something there, something more. 

Because the risk of losing him over your feelings—that terrifies you more than anything.

It’s a few nights later, and the sea is a blanket of darkness as you and Hae venture out into its endless expanse. The sky above is nearly pitch black, save for the delicate shimmer of stars scattered like diamonds, casting faint light upon the inky water. The moon hangs low, its pale glow mirrored perfectly on the surface, creating a fragile bridge between the heavens and the sea. You pull Hae into a hug, murmuring your gratitude for her being here, for her unwavering companionship on this strange, otherworldly journey. She laughs softly, her voice breaking the silence of the night, and tells you she wouldn’t let you drown—not when she’s here to keep you safe. Her words bring a smile to your face, easing the quiet tension in your chest as you pull on your gear in the dark.

You slip into the water, the sea swallowing you whole. Beneath the surface, it’s as black as ink, the deep blue fading into a near-impenetrable navy that borders on oblivion. But there is no fear, only the pull of the unknown as you dive deeper, surrendering to the quiet pull of the ocean. Your breath is steady, your heartbeat louder in your ears than the sound of the waves above.

And then, there he is—Namjoon, his gentle smile waiting for you like a beacon in the depths, dimples carving softness into the darkness. His presence is steady, grounding, and for a moment, you forget you can’t speak, forgetting that the words you wish to say—I’m glad I’m here, thank you for this—are trapped behind the mask of your breathing gear.

Suddenly, his hand reaches for yours. The touch surprises you at first, a flicker of warmth against the cold of the sea, sending a soft spark up your arm, a silent current that makes your heart stutter. But then you relax into it, realizing how right it feels—his hand in yours, the silent understanding between you. It’s just a hand, you remind yourself, but even the smallest gesture carries weight in the depths of the sea.

“It’s dark,” he gestures to your joined hands, his voice a whisper through the water. “I’ll guide you.” You notice, even in the dim light, how his eyes shift nervously, and if the ocean weren’t so dark, you’d swear there was a blush creeping across his cheeks.

Together, you swim deeper, your hand still clasped in his as the world around you begins to change. In the distance, something gleams—a glint of gold, faint but unmistakable. As you draw closer, it becomes more defined, taking shape as towering structures rise from the seafloor like monuments from another world. Tall, ancient buildings glitter beneath the water, their surfaces gleaming with gold, adorned in intricate lettering and symbols you can’t begin to decipher. The curves and arches remind you of something familiar, some echo of human architecture, though far grander and more ancient than anything you’ve ever seen. These aren’t just buildings—they’re castles, palaces from a forgotten fairy tale. Everything is bathed in the ethereal glow of bioluminescent light, soft blues and yellows emanating from plants that pulse like stars, making the entire city shimmer as if alive with magic. It’s breathtaking—otherworldly in its beauty—and you feel your breath catch in your throat, mesmerized by the impossible splendor before you. 

How many wonders exist beneath the surface, hidden from the world above? you think, the weight of it all is almost too much to grasp. That such a place could exist, a vast city of gold and light, thriving in the deep—how could you have never known?

“Welcome to Naraeum,” Namjoon says, his voice soft, gesturing toward the city center that teems with life. Merpeople of all shapes, colors, and ages drift through the streets, some lost in their own rhythms, others laughing and chatting, and children darting through the water in playful games. The whole scene is alive, vibrant, and full of warmth, and the sight of it fills you with something indescribable—joy, wonder, perhaps even belonging.

A smile spreads across your face, unbidden, as the reality of this magical place settles over you. For the first time, you feel like you’ve truly discovered something beyond the world you’ve known, something boundless and beautiful. And with Namjoon beside you, it feels like you’ve only just begun to understand its depths.

“This is the city hall,” Namjoon gestures toward the tallest of the castles, its golden spires reaching upward like fingers trying to touch the ocean’s surface. “The royal family lives there too.” His voice is soft, but there’s a weight to his words, something ancient and significant about the building that looms over the city like a silent guardian.

You glance at him, blinking, wishing you could ask more, the curiosity burning inside you. If only you could speak, but the water and the mouthpiece keep your questions trapped behind your lips. The tug of his hand interrupts your thoughts, and once again you’re being gently pulled deeper into the heart of Naraeum, where the city unfolds like a dream in slow motion.

The water sways with life—delicate kale and other greens move in rhythm with the gentle currents, shells glint beneath the sandy floor, and tiny crabs scuttle between the rocks, oblivious to your presence. Shoals of fish—bright yellow, orange, and black—dart past, their quicksilver bodies flashing through the twilight water. And now, the eyes of the merpeople are on you. Their gazes, curious and shimmering, follow you as you move through their world, and for the first time, you feel like a true visitor in a land not your own.

Three merpeople approach, their figures graceful and effortless in the water. One, a striking merman with a pink tail that shimmers like rose quartz in the dim light, looks you over with an intensity that makes you feel seen in a way both comforting and unfamiliar. You notice his hand intertwined with a mermaid beside him, her tail a stunning shade of purple that gleams like amethyst. Together, they are radiant, like a pair of jewels. They look perfect together, you think, a bit in awe of how seamlessly they belong to this world.

“This is ___?” the pink-tailed merman asks, his voice smooth, his eyes darting to Namjoon for confirmation.

Namjoon nods, and the mermaid smiles, her face brightening with warmth. “Pleased to meet you,” she says, her voice light like a melody. “I’m Soo-ah, and this is my fiancé, Seokjin.” You nod in response, acknowledging them with a smile behind your mouthpiece, feeling a sense of camaraderie in their presence.

But before you can speak—or even think of what to say—your eyes catch on the third figure. A dark-haired merman with a tail the color of midnight, streaked with gold that glimmers like starlight. His aura is different—colder, detached. His black eyes flicker over you briefly, then, with a dismissive scoff, he turns away, arms crossed over his chest as if to close himself off from the world. 

Namjoon sighs, his voice edged with irritation, “That’s Yoongi.” The name comes out rough, almost an apology. “He forgot to take the stick out of his ass today.”

You can’t help but chuckle, bubbles escaping from your mouthpiece, rising toward the surface like tiny pieces of joy. Even in this underwater kingdom, humor survives, softening the tension. But Yoongi, unmoved, swims off into the shadows, his figure disappearing into the vastness of the sea. 

“Don’t mind him,” Namjoon mutters, squeezing your hand a little tighter. “Come on, I want to show you the rest.”

Soo-ah and Seokjin swim alongside you as Namjoon leads you through the winding streets of the marketplace, stalls lined up like sentinels, though empty now in the quiet of night. The architecture is both foreign and familiar, illuminated by the soft glow of bioluminescent plants. Everything feels untouched by time, and yet alive with history. You pass the grand library next, its shelves filled with tomes both ancient and new, merfolk stories and human books resting side by side. You can almost feel the weight of untold stories and hidden lore that fills the space, waiting to be discovered.

Namjoon’s excitement builds as he takes you to a fitness center unlike anything you’ve ever seen—massive bars with stones at either end, weights crafted from various-sized rocks, and machines clearly designed for strength and agility in the water. It’s a glimpse into the life of these beings, how they build themselves in this weightless world.

After a while, Soo-ah and Seokjin bid you farewell, their presence a quiet comfort as they swim off together, leaving you alone with Namjoon. Your pulse quickens. His hand, still clasped in yours, feels warm even in the cold depths of the sea. The way he glances at you—those fleeting, secretive looks that you’ve caught out of the corner of your eye—makes your heart race even more. Hae’s words echo in your mind, whispering truths you’re not sure you’re ready to admit. 

Could it be? you wonder, as the two of you drift toward his home.

“This is my place,” he says softly, his voice reverberating through the water as he turns on the light—an iridescent seashell hanging from the ceiling that casts a gentle, pearlescent glow throughout the space. His home is carved into the heart of a cave, the walls smooth and cool to the touch, like the sea itself has shaped them over countless years. Your eyes fall on his bed, draped in what looks like a soft, inviting duvet, but as you get closer, you realize it’s woven from delicate strands of kelp, swaying ever so slightly in the currents. It’s an unexpected beauty, intricate and organic, like everything in this underwater world.

The longest wall is dominated by a towering bookshelf, its shelves lined with books, arranged meticulously by color and size. It’s mesmerizing, this ocean of stories he’s collected, and you can’t help but wonder what worlds and lives he’s explored within these pages. You want to tell him, to say how beautiful it all is—his home, his soul, him. But your words are trapped beneath the weight of the sea, tangled with the breathlessness of being in his presence. 

Your fingertips brush the spines of the books, imagining all the narratives they contain, each one another layer of who Namjoon is. You glance down at your joined hands—his fingers laced with yours, and in that quiet moment, you swear you can feel something electric passing between you. A pulse of warmth, a silent exchange of emotions you can’t speak. You want to kiss him, more than anything. The way he’s gazing at you, his eyes soft and full of something unspoken, the gentle curve of his lips hiding a blush you wish you could see more clearly.

But here, in this quiet cavern beneath the sea, there’s nothing you can do. You can’t ask him what you’re dying to know, can’t lean in and feel the warmth of his lips against yours, can’t tell him that you’re falling, deeply, helplessly. All you can do is float here, heart aching with the weight of everything unsaid. 

He clears his throat, nervously scratching the back of his head. His mouth opens as if he’s about to speak, then closes again. There’s something he wants to say, you can feel it, lingering in the air between you. He tries again, and this time his voice, soft and hesitant, finally breaks the silence. 

“Thank you for letting me show you my world.”

You squeeze his hand gently, pouring all the gratitude and affection you can’t voice into that single touch. You hope he feels it—the appreciation, the awe, the quiet longing you carry for him. And in that touch, you wish you could invite him into your world, share everything that you are with him, even though he’s been on land before. But you don’t know if he’d want that. You’ve never asked, never dared to imagine what it might be like to share your lives across these two worlds. You’re afraid to impose, afraid to hope too much.

The moment hangs fragile between you, but like all perfect moments, it begins to fade as reality presses in. You feel the pull of time, the reminder that you need to return to the surface. Namjoon feels it too. His eyes flicker with understanding as he leads you back out into the city, guiding you through the soft glow of bioluminescent lights, past the merpeople still moving gracefully through their midnight routines. 

The silence between you stretches as you swim toward the boat where Hae waits, but it’s not the kind of silence that weighs heavy. It’s filled with possibility, thick with everything you haven’t said. Your heart beats faster as you realize that, once you’re back above the water, you’ll have the chance to speak. To ask. The thought of it sends your pulse racing, a swirl of excitement and terror mixing in your chest. 

What if he doesn’t feel the same? The question spins through your mind, gnawing at the edges of your courage. But the way he looked at you, the way his hand feels in yours, gives you hope. And maybe—just maybe—that will be enough.

As you break the surface of the water, you push your goggles up to rest like a headband, feeling the cool night air kiss your damp skin. It’s crisp, almost electric, filling your lungs with a freshness that makes the world above feel more alive than ever. Namjoon surfaces beside you, offering you a soft smile, but your attention is caught by the subtle blush dusting his cheeks, a faint rose bloom in the moonlight. He seems hesitant, his uncertainty mirroring your own, as if you’re both standing on the edge of something vast and uncharted, too afraid to take that first leap.

For a heartbeat, he swims closer, his presence looming gently in your space. You hold your breath, your pulse quickening with the thought that he might—maybe—kiss you. Instinctively, you close your eyes, ready to surrender to that moment, but instead, his fingers brush your cheek, and he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear with such tenderness it sends a wave of warmth through your body. His touch lingers, delicate and deliberate, and though it wasn’t the kiss you imagined, it makes you blush all the same. The heat rises to your cheeks, flooding you with a mixture of longing and disappointment.

But then something stirs within you—some reckless courage sparked by his closeness—and before you can think it through, you lean in. Your lips find his, a soft, quick kiss, almost like a whisper. It’s gentle, just a peck, but his lips are warm, softer than you ever imagined, like the sea breeze caressing your skin on a summer evening. 

When you pull away, you see the surprise flicker in his eyes for just a moment before his features soften into something tender and full of quiet affection. His ears burn red in the moonlight, and his dimples deepen as he gazes at you with a look that leaves you breathless. His brown eyes—dark and shimmering, like polished amber—glow with something more, something deeper. You think, just for a second, it’s desire, simmering beneath his calm exterior.

“Thank you for tonight,” you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the soft lapping of the waves. You squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth and strength of him, and smile. “It was so beautiful.”

Namjoon doesn’t speak; he simply looks at you, his dragon-like eyes full of quiet intensity, his dimples softening the tension in the air. It’s a look that makes your heart skip, that holds a thousand unsaid words between you. And as you reluctantly pull away, swimming toward the boat, your mind is still spinning from the kiss, from the closeness, from everything left unspoken.

Hae pulls you up into the boat, and as you sit, catching your breath, you catch her sly grin. You know she saw everything—the kiss, the blush, the way Namjoon looked at you—but for now, she stays silent, letting the moment hang in the air. You wave to Namjoon, watching as he offers one last gentle smile before disappearing back into the deep, dark waters, the night swallowing him whole.

And even as the waves settle, your heart still swells, full of the hope and mystery that the night—and Namjoon—left behind.

The days pass in a blur of anxious thoughts, your heart heavy with doubt. Every dive into the ocean feels colder without a trace of Namjoon, and the silence is deafening. Each time you resurface alone, your mind spirals further into uncertainty. Did you overstep? The kiss lingers on your lips, but now you wonder if it was a mistake. It feels as if he’s vanished into the depths, leaving you adrift. Is he avoiding me? The question gnaws at you, twisting your insides. Maybe this is his way of saying he doesn’t feel the same, that he wants nothing more to do with you.

Hae, ever the caring friend, drags you to a fancy restaurant in an attempt to soothe your restless mind, insisting that you’re worrying yourself to death. You look like a dog that’s been kicked, she had said with a shake of her head, trying to make you laugh. But now, as you sit across from her, poking at the salad you barely have the appetite to eat, the weight of your uncertainty presses down even harder. Your stomach twists with every bite, the anxiety clinging to you like a shadow.

“Maybe he’s just busy, or caught up in merfolk stuff?" Hae suggests, her voice light, trying to pry you from the dark corners of your thoughts. But your mind won’t let you escape. Busy? No, your treacherous thoughts whisper, he’s avoiding you—he’s forgotten you, and the kiss meant nothing.

You say nothing, only stabbing your fork into the salad with a kind of quiet fury, each jab into the leaves an outlet for the storm brewing inside you.

“Uh, ___?” Hae’s voice breaks the tension, but you barely lift your head. She stumbles over her words, clearly uneasy, her tone cautious as she leans in closer. “There’s a man—blue hair—he’s looking at us.”

At her words, something stirs in you, curiosity overriding the anger for just a moment. Blue hair? Your heart skips a beat, and before you can stop yourself, you turn around, almost instinctively, as though drawn by an invisible thread. Your gaze collides with a pair of deep, brown eyes that hold all the mystery of the ocean. Namjoon.

His eyes glisten like the sea at dawn, reflecting both depth and tenderness, swirling with something unspoken—regret, maybe even desire. You swallow hard, feeling the magnetic pull that has always existed between you, but this time, it’s stronger. The air around you thickens as he walks toward the table, his presence unmistakable, sending your pulse into a wild rhythm.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says, his voice soft, laced with an apology that doesn’t need to be spoken yet. The smile he offers is gentle, almost shy, and you can see the guilt in the way his eyes search yours. He knows. He knows he shouldn’t have disappeared without a word.

“Hi, Namjoon,” you manage to reply, the sound of his name on your lips stirring something deep inside you—something that’s a mixture of relief and frustration. You’re a little mad, of course you are. But as your heart races, you know you can’t stay angry with him, not when he’s standing there with that look in his eyes. He’s here now. And that’s enough for your heart to forgive him.

Your eyes travel down to his legs—strong, toned, perfectly human. He’s traded the water for the land, just for you, standing there in beige shorts like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And yet, your mind spins with the impossibility of it all, as if he’s a dream made flesh, and part of you still can’t believe he’s really here.

The air between you is thick with unspoken words, a tension that seems to ripple like the sea itself. Namjoon scratches the back of his head, his eyes shifting with uncertainty. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone,” he begins, his voice low and sincere. “I didn’t mean to disappear like that, but something happened in Naraeum—”

Before he can finish, the weight of your own anxiety breaks through, forcing the words from your chest. “I thought you didn’t like me, or just forgot about me.” The admission tumbles out, raw and trembling, the very fear that has haunted you for days finally taking shape between you. As soon as the words leave your lips, you feel exposed, vulnerable. You brace yourself for his response.

For a moment, he just stares, his expression frozen in disbelief, like your words have knocked the wind out of him. Then, his face softens, eyes wide with something close to shock. “Baby, no,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, the nickname slipping from his lips so naturally that it sends a flutter of warmth through your chest. He steps closer, worry etched in every line of his face as his gaze falls on you, sitting there with your heart in your throat.

Baby?

“I’d never forget about you,” he continues, his voice trembling slightly as he bites his lower lip, as if trying to hold something back. The intimacy of that small gesture makes your breath catch.

Hae clears her throat opposite you, breaking the charged moment. She rises from her seat, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, drawing both your gazes toward her flushed face. “Namjoon, please, take my seat and talk. I’ll go home and shower this tension off,” she says, her tone teasing but kind.

You open your mouth to protest, but then close it, realizing she’s right. The tension is palpable, thick as the ocean depths, and part of you is grateful for the space she’s offering. Even though nerves twist inside you like a storm, you know this is a conversation you need to have.

As Hae leaves, Namjoon sits down across from you, his eyes soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry I worried you, baby,” he murmurs, leaning forward slightly. His hands rest on the table, inching closer to yours, like he’s afraid to cross that final distance too soon.

There’s that word again—baby—and it stirs something deep inside you, butterflies rising in your chest, fluttering wildly, desperate to escape. It’s more than just a nickname; it’s a promise, a reassurance that melts the cold fear that has been gnawing at you for days.

“It’s okay,” you reply, your voice softer now, the storm inside you beginning to calm. “My mind just... got the better of me.” Your gaze flickers to where his fingers hover near yours, and your heart beats wildly at the nearness of him.

Namjoon is here, in front of you, and you realize with a quiet, overwhelming relief—he’s never really been gone.

“I could never not like you,” Namjoon murmurs, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the truth is too delicate to be spoken aloud. “I think I... love you,” he finishes, the last words barely audible, yet they linger in the air between you like a fragile secret.

Did he just say love? Your heart stumbles, and for a moment, you forget to breathe. “You do?” you ask, your voice trembling with disbelief, your pulse fluttering wildly in your chest. Could it be real? Could he feel the same way?

A flicker of uncertainty dances across your mind, and you can’t help but press further, needing clarity. “Wait—do you think, or do you know?” Your question is gentle, but it carries the weight of hope, a hope that has been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

Namjoon smiles at himself, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “Sorry,” he says, the sincerity in his eyes unmistakable. “I know. I know I love you.”

Time seems to slow, the world slipping into a dreamlike state where everything feels soft, suspended, as if wrapped in the warm glow of your shared confession. The air between you feels charged, but also tender, like the fragile moment before the first petal falls. You can feel it now—he’s there with you, and this love, this real thing, is finally mutual.

You reach out, taking his hands in yours, and lean in closer. “I love you too, Namjoon,” you whisper, the words feeling both daring and true.

For a moment, silence settles between you, but it’s a comfortable silence—one filled with the weight of what’s just been said. His hazel eyes, flecked with warmth and softness, hold yours, and you swear you could drown in them. Drown and never wish to come up for air.

The pull between you is magnetic, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out, unfiltered and bold. “Do you... want to come see my place?” The second the words leave your mouth, heat rushes to your cheeks. The invitation is brazen, filled with unspoken implications, but you know it’s what you want—all of him, not just this moment, but something more, something deeper.

Namjoon’s breath catches, and he stands, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yes, baby,” he replies in a voice that is almost a whisper, but carries the weight of everything he feels. That one word—baby—sends shivers spiraling down your spine, and you bite your lip, holding back a smile.

Hand in hand, you walk together through the quiet night, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth building between you. You don’t need words now; the simple contact of his hand in yours is enough, grounding you as you lean into his strong frame. It feels so natural, as if you’ve always been walking beside him, as if this was always meant to happen.

When you reach your apartment, you fumble for the keys, unlocking the door with a nervous flutter in your chest. As the door swings open, you flick on the light, and for a moment, you glance around, hoping he won’t find your space too cluttered or small. You’d cleaned just the day before, but still, anxiety lingers.

Namjoon steps inside, his eyes roaming the space, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he looks at you, his gaze heavy with something unspoken, something that makes your heart race. His hand tightens around yours, and you feel yourself being pulled further into his orbit, like gravity drawing you closer.

You look up at him, studying the moles that dot his skin, noticing the way his features are softened by the low light. He’s so close, and in this moment, with his warm eyes on yours and his hand gently holding yours, you think—this is what it means to truly be seen, to truly be wanted. And God, does he look so handsome.

Then, without hesitation, he dives in, his lips crashing into yours with a desperate, urgent need. The moment you let out a soft moan against his mouth, he releases your hand, now free to explore you. Both of his hands cup your cheeks tenderly, yet with a fierceness that pulls you deeper into him. The kiss consumes you, leaving you feeling like water melting in his palms—soft, fluid, and utterly surrendered. His lips tease yours, grazing them in a way that demands more, and when he seeks entrance, you grant it willingly. Your tongues meet in a slow, intoxicating rhythm, moving like waves crashing together under a moonlit sea.

Another moan escapes you, and you feel heat pooling deep inside, a yearning that’s overwhelming. And it’s only a kiss—yet it has you unraveling like a ribbon coming loose.

When he finally pulls away, his gaze locks onto yours, desire simmering in the air between you, thick and electric. “Baby, I want you so bad,” he breathes, his lips curling into a soft pout that makes your heart melt. How does he look both fierce and endearing at once?

You can’t help but smile, your own need burning just as fiercely. “Me too... Please call me ‘baby’ more,” you whisper, fluttering your lashes as you cling to the warmth in his eyes. “I love it.”

He chuckles, the sound like a low rumble of thunder. “Oh, I’ve noticed,” he says, amused. “Every time I call you ‘baby,’ your eyes dilate.”

You didn’t know that, but you feel the truth of it—the way that simple word makes your heart race, how it draws you even closer to him, making you crave more.

“I want you...” You pause, feeling the boldness rise within you, “I want you to fuck me.” Your voice is breathless, your gaze holding his with an unspoken plea.

Namjoon grins, a softness creeping into his eyes. “Oh, baby, I’m going to make love to you,” he whispers, and the words are like honey dripping slow and thick. “Don’t you worry,” he adds, his lips capturing yours again with a hunger that makes your head spin.

Each kiss sends you spiraling further into him, your sanity slipping, but God, you love every second of it. It strikes you then how much of a romantic he is, how the passion in his touch mirrors the stories he loves in his books.

He pulls back, his breath hot against your lips. “Where’s your bedroom?” he asks with a playful chuckle.

You point, and before you can say another word, his strong hands find your waist, lifting you effortlessly. You wrap your legs around him, straddling his hips as he carries you across the room. He opens the bedroom door with a sweep of his foot, not bothering with the light, and gently lowers you onto the bed. Laughter bubbles between you, soft and sweet, as his lips claim yours again in a kiss that is both feverish and tender.

Your fingers tangle in his blue hair, tugging at the strands, and he hisses in pleasure, the sound sending shivers racing down your spine. He grinds against you, his erection pressing firmly against your core, and you feel yourself unraveling again, melting beneath him. God, he feels big, you think, your body aching to know him, to feel him completely.

Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, your fingers brushing against his skin as you tug the fabric upward, longing to see his bare chest again. You know what lies beneath—his broad, muscular frame, every inch of him beautifully sculpted, chest rising and falling with each breath. And you need to touch him, to feel his strength beneath your hands.

In this moment, nothing else matters—just him, you, and the gravity of everything that has led you here.

He pulls away, sensing exactly what you want, and in one fluid motion, grabs the hem of his shirt, peeling it off in a way that feels almost sinful. The sight of him should be illegal—holy hell, the way his muscles flex as he undresses is enough to take your breath away.

Your hands move instinctively, drawn to the expanse of his chest, a perfect blend of softness and strength. The skin beneath your fingers is warm, and the way he feels—solid, yet yielding—is intoxicating.

“Like what you see?” he teases, his voice low and full of that gentle confidence, and you can only gape at him, feeling the warmth of your admiration blossom into something deeper.

“God, Namjoon, you’ve always been beautiful... inside and out,” you murmur, your voice filled with reverence, because while his looks are striking, it’s his soul that captivates you.

His lips curve into a soft smile, his gaze tender as he leans down, brushing light kisses along the curve of your neck. The sensation sends waves of laughter bubbling out of you, light and breathless, as the tickle of his lips spreads joy and heat all at once. He keeps moving lower, trailing kisses down your body like a map only he knows how to navigate.

When he reaches the waistband of your pants, he pauses, eyes flicking up to meet yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Can I?” he asks, his voice both eager and gentle.

“Yes,” you whisper, and as he unbuttons your pants, you arch your back to help him slide them off, heart racing. He pauses again, staring for a moment, captivated by the sight of you, the evidence of your desire already showing.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he says, his voice hushed and full of wonder. “All for me?”

You nod, breath hitching, your body already trembling with need. “Yes, Joon. You make me so damn wet,” you pant, writhing beneath him, desperate for more. “Please, just touch me.”

His gaze darkens with lust as he licks his lips, then dips his head lower, trailing kisses across your stomach, inching closer to where you need him most. Every touch sends sparks of pleasure through you, and you giggle softly, unable to contain the lightness you feel even as desire coils tighter within you. His lips press against the hem of your lace panties, nothing extravagant, yet he looks at you like you’re the most exquisite thing he’s ever seen.

With agonizing slowness, he hooks his fingers into the waistband, pulling them down with deliberate care. The cool air of your apartment contrasts sharply with the warmth between your thighs, and you gasp, aching for him. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but in the most delicious way—his gaze heavy with desire as he takes you in.

“Joonie…” you moan softly, voice trembling, as his eyes linger on your glistening pussy, admiring you. You wonder if he finds you beautiful like this, spread bare before him, and his awestruck expression tells you everything.

“Damn,” he whispers, voice thick with astonishment. “You’re so pretty… already dripping with need.”

Your breath catches as his words wash over you, and when he asks, “Can I taste you? Can I touch you?” you can barely manage a nod as you spread your legs wider, inviting him in.

“Please,” you beg, feeling delirious with want, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation.

His touch is featherlight at first, a single finger brushing over your swollen clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. You flinch, already overly sensitive, a gasp falling from your lips as your body responds immediately.

“More,” you plead, rolling your hips into his hand, urging him to press harder, to give you what you crave.

His fingers glide over you, warm and sure, stroking your slick skin with precision. Every movement sets off another spark, and a moan escapes you—high-pitched, breathy, and filled with need. His touch is both tender and demanding, and with every stroke, you feel yourself unraveling, caught in the storm of pleasure.

His fingers continue their rhythm, rolling over your sensitive clit with perfect precision, each movement making it throb with want. Your body reacts instinctively, hips rising to meet his touch, chasing more—chasing everything. You need all of him, and the craving is almost unbearable.

Namjoon watches you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken, his eyes filled with both desire and wonder as he works you with his fingers, and then, slowly, his lips find the tender skin of your inner thigh. His kisses are featherlight, but they leave a trail of fire in their wake, and you tremble under his touch. With each kiss, he moves closer, until finally, his mouth finds your pussy, his warm tongue lapping at your slick folds, tasting you with reverence.

He groans, the sound vibrating against your core, and your hands instinctively tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you want him to drown in your pleasure. His tongue flicks over your sensitive nub, teasing, tasting, and the sensation makes your whole body tense in anticipation. His fingers slide to your entrance, probing gently before slipping inside, one at a time. The stretch feels divine, his fingers curling to reach deeper, and soon two, then three fill you, stretching you in the most perfect, delicious way.

Your toes curl, your breath comes in ragged gasps as you feel the wave of your climax building, rising with every flick of his tongue, every stroke of his fingers. “Joon,” you gasp, a warning, but he only sucks harder, his lips and tongue working in tandem as his fingers thrust deeper, hitting that spot inside you that sends you spiraling.

The world tilts, and your back arches as the orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and electric. You thrash beneath him, pulling at his hair as pleasure floods your body, and all you can do is moan his name in a broken, breathless whisper. Even as your body shudders, he doesn’t stop, his mouth still on your clit, drawing out every last wave until you’re trembling with overstimulation. You tap his shoulder weakly, and finally, he pulls back, his face glistening with your slick, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his hand brushing softly over your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His touch is light, reverent, and though you’re still floating in the bliss of your release, you feel the need to return the favor rise within you.

“Let me take care of you,” you whisper, your voice thick with desire as you shift, pushing him down beside you. He opens his mouth to protest, but the words are swallowed by a low groan as you straddle his lap, feeling the hard bulge of his cock press against your wet core. You grind down on him, teasing him with the friction, and he lets out a ragged moan that makes your pulse quicken.

“I just want to make you feel good,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on him. “I don’t know how mermen make love, but as humans—I want you to feel good too.”

He chuckles softly, his hands resting on your hips, eyes dark with hunger. “It’s definitely not the same,” he admits, voice low and breathless, and that’s all the encouragement you need. You slide down his lap to the floor, your eyes locked on his, your intentions clear.

Your fingers find the waistband of his shorts, and he helps you pull them down, revealing his muscular thighs. When you see the thick outline of his cock straining against his boxers, your mouth waters, anticipation making your pulse quicken. Tugging down the last barrier, you free him, and his cock springs forward, thick and long, the head flushed red with need. A bead of precum glistens at the tip, and your breath hitches at the sight of him, hunger twisting deep inside you.

You lick your lips, your hands moving with purpose—one resting on his thigh, the other wrapping around the thick base of his shaft, feeling the weight of him in your palm. Slowly, you begin to pump, your fingers sliding over the velvety skin as you build a steady rhythm.

Namjoon groans, the sound so deep it reverberates through your core, and you can feel him tense beneath your touch, his body reacting to every stroke. His groans are like music, deep and sinful, and they make you want to push him further, to hear more of those primal, desperate sounds spill from his lips.

Damn, you need more of him.

You glance up at him, mischief in your eyes as you give a playful wink before taking him into your mouth. The taste is salty, a mix of his precum and something else, something almost elemental, as if the sea still clings to him. It sends a shiver down your spine, urging you to lose yourself in the act. You move with intent, your lips and tongue working in unison, breathing deeply through your nose as you take him deeper, each stroke making his body tremble beneath you.

He gasps your name, his voice barely a whisper, like it’s the only thing tethering him to the moment. His hands find their way to your hair, gentle, not controlling—just resting there as if he’s entranced by the sight of you. He glances down, watching the way your mouth moves over him, and his breath quickens, as if the very air has become too thin.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice strained, “you’re so damn good at this.”

You smirk inwardly, already knowing, but the praise sends a thrill through you. There’s something intoxicating about the way he fills your mouth, the way you feel him pulse against your tongue. It makes you wonder how your pussy will take him, how it’ll feel when he’s buried deep inside you, stretching you wide.

You’re making a mess of him—your saliva slicks his length, dripping down onto the sheets—but you don’t care. Not when he’s like this, writhing beneath you, his muscles taut with need. Your hand moves lower, cupping his balls, rolling them gently in your palm, and you feel them tighten as he draws closer to the edge.

“Damn,” he rasps, voice rough with desire, “you look and feel so fucking amazing.”

The sound of his praise sends another wave of heat rushing through you, making you wetter, a needy ache building low in your belly. You take him deeper, determined, your throat tightening as you try to swallow him down. But your gag reflex protests, and you pull back slightly, not wanting to push too far. Instead, you focus on teasing the head, your tongue circling slowly before flicking across his sensitive frenulum. He groans sharply, his hips jerking, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you.

He’s unraveling, his control slipping, and you love it—love the power you hold over him in this moment, love seeing him lost in you.

Suddenly, his hands come to your cheeks, stilling your movements as he looks down at you with hooded eyes, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. “Baby,” he rasps, his voice thick with both lust and affection, “you’re dangerous with that mouth. If you keep going, I’m going to come right down your throat… and I want to make love and come inside you.”

You release him with a soft pop, a teasing smirk playing on your lips as you lick them slowly, savoring the taste of him. “You can always come down my throat later,” you murmur, your voice low and sultry. Rising to your feet, you peel off your shirt, followed by the clasp of your bra, letting it fall to the floor. Your breasts spill free, and the heat in Namjoon’s gaze intensifies as his hands instinctively find your hips, his grip firm yet tender.

“Is every inch of you just perfect?” he breathes, awe in his voice. The compliment sends a flush of warmth to your cheeks, and you chuckle softly, not answering because his words feel rhetorical, like they’re part of the worship that’s building between you.

Instead, you lean down to kiss him, pouring every bit of your desire into it. His cock twitches beneath you, hard and throbbing against your thighs, but you take your time, savoring the kiss—long, slow, and tender. You straddle him, hovering just above his cock, your body aching to sink down, to feel him inside you. But instead, you pause, letting yourself get lost in the depth of his gaze, his eyes like molten gold, swirling with emotion.

He kisses you again, his lips soft but insistent, and in that moment, you feel weightless. Like you’re floating, caught in a current, drifting between pleasure and affection. You feel cherished, like a treasure he’s unearthed from the depths of the ocean—glimmering, precious, and adored like the gems you’ve been collecting.

He groans, a deep, feral sound vibrating from his chest, and his hands tighten around your hips, the pressure promising bruises that’ll bloom as tender reminders of this moment. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, baby,” he pants, his eyes dark and hooded with lust, as if he’s trying to memorize every curve of your face. His lips search for yours, hungry, desperate to close the space between you again.

“Likewise,” you breathe out, your voice shaky, your pulse racing. One of your hands trails down his body, fingers grazing his taut abdomen before wrapping around the thick length of him. You lift yourself slightly, feeling the heat of him against you. Just as you’re about to guide him inside, his deep voice cuts through the haze of desire.

“Should we use a condom?” he asks, his words momentarily shattering the tension, leaving the air thick but still.

You blink, slightly caught off guard, but quickly recover. “We don’t have to,” you murmur, sensing his hesitation. His brow furrows, so you add, “I have an IUD, and I’m clean. It’s… it’s been a long time for me.” Your words taper off, embarrassment creeping into your cheeks, suddenly feeling vulnerable beneath his gaze.

He studies you for a second, his expression softening before that same, dark hunger returns. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure,” he rumbles, his voice like molten velvet, sending shivers racing down your spine. The sound of him, the depth of his tone, makes your body respond instinctively—your pussy clenches with anticipation, aching for him to fill the emptiness inside you. “It’s been a long time for me, too. So, I’m sorry if I don’t last long…”

You shake your head, silencing his concern with a gaze that speaks louder than words. You need him, now. The heat between you both is unbearable, every second a sweet kind of torture. You guide the head of his cock to your entrance, teasing yourself by gliding him along your folds, feeling his hardness slick against your wetness, sending delicious tremors through your body.

Slowly, you position him at your opening and sink down.

The stretch is exquisite—a burn that ignites every nerve as he fills you inch by glorious inch. He’s thick, and the sensation of him sliding deeper feels like nothing you’ve ever known. Your breath catches in your throat, and you swear you hear him curse under his breath, his grip on your hips tightening as he savors the feel of your walls closing around him.

“Fuck…,” he groans, his voice wrecked, vibrating through you like a shockwave. “So damn tight.”

“Yeah…” you pant, your head spinning, your body adjusting to his size. Inch by agonizing inch, until finally, he’s fully seated inside you. You pause, trembling, your insides fluttering as he twitches deep within. You let out a soft moan, your lips searching for his in a fevered kiss, one that feels more like a collision than anything tender.

When you pull away, your gaze locks with his, your voice barely above a whisper. “You feel so fucking good… like you’ve always belonged there.”

He hums in response, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he traces your body with his hands, unable to take in enough of you. “You’re perfect,” he breathes, the words low and reverent.

Bracing your hands on his broad shoulders, you lift yourself slowly, your body trembling with anticipation. Then, with a burst of need, you slam down, impaling yourself on his cock, a scream of pleasure ripping from your throat. Namjoon moans, the sound guttural and raw, as you ride him with renewed vigor, losing yourself in the rhythm.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, catching his attention, and without hesitation, his hands move to cup them. His lips trail down to one nipple, his mouth warm and eager as he takes it between his lips. You gasp at the sensation, a surge of heat flooding your core, and you feel a gush of wetness coat him as your body responds to his touch. You didn’t realize you’d come until the tremors hit, your pussy clenching tightly around him, your body quivering in waves of pleasure.

His tongue circles your nipple, flicking it gently before his teeth graze the sensitive bud, and the sensation sends you spiraling. Your breath stutters as he switches to your other breast, his hands roaming, kneading your skin, every touch heightening the electricity between you. Just as his mouth closes around your other nipple, his teeth accidentally bite down harder than intended, and a sharp cry escapes your lips—his name, ripped from your throat like a plea and a curse all at once.

He freezes, eyes wide, concern flashing across his face. But the look you give him—wild, consumed with lust—tells him everything he needs to know.

“I’m so fucking sorry—,” he gasps, but his words barely register through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind. Your gaze softens, your eyes half-lidded with desire, a gentle delirium swirling in their depths.

“No, no, it was good, Joonie,” you whisper, your voice a breathy melody. Your hand drifts to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair, tugging lightly. “I loved it.”

He pauses, a chuckle rumbling from deep within his chest, and you feel the twitch of his cock still buried inside you, a silent promise of more. His lips descend to your chest again, worshipping your skin with slow, languid kisses. His tongue finds your nipple, teasing it with a delicate flick before sucking, nipping just enough to make you moan his name, the sound a song on your lips.

Your body trembles, another orgasm crashing over you like a summer storm, your walls tightening around him in waves of bliss. He groans, a low, primal sound vibrating through your entire being. “Fuck, you—” His voice breaks with need as he rises from the bed, lifting you effortlessly, his body still entwined with yours. In one swift motion, he turns and lays you back down, pressing you into the sheets, his hips surging forward with raw intensity.

“This fucking pussy,” he growls, the words so feral, so laced with hunger that it sends a jolt of heat through you, your toes curling as your body responds to the deep, relentless thrusts. You moan, overwhelmed by the sensation of being pushed up the bed, your fingers gripping the sheets in desperation. Could you come again? Already, your body is teetering on the edge, caught in the rhythm of his passion.

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “You look so gorgeous, baby,” he rasps, each word dripping with lust as his hips drive into you again, leaving you breathless, your chest heaving as though all the air has been stolen from your lungs.

“Are you gonna come again?” he asks, his voice rough with need. You bite your lip, uncertain if you can, but the fire in your core tells you otherwise. Your hand slips between your bodies, fingers seeking out your clit. Everything is so slick, so impossibly wet, but you manage to find that perfect rhythm, circling the sensitive nub as your breath hitches in your throat.

It’s like the tide pulling you under—a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you with blinding force. Your orgasm overtakes you, your body shaking beneath him as you cry out his name, each syllable a desperate plea, a prayer to the god of ecstasy. You thrash beneath him, lost in the throes of release, and still, he keeps thrusting, deep and deliberate, as your body flutters around him, the aftershocks rippling through you.

“Fuck, that was so hot,” he groans, his voice thick with desire as his cock twitches inside you, on the edge of release. “I’m not gonna last much longer.” With a final, powerful thrust, he spills into you, his warm seed filling you as his orgasm hits him hard, his body trembling with the force of it. His face—god, it’s beautiful in this moment—the way his lips part, how his brow furrows in pleasure, how he keeps moving, riding out the last waves of his climax until he begins to soften inside you.

Both of you are left panting, gasping for air like you’ve surfaced from the depths of the sea. He collapses beside you, pulling you close, your bodies still warm, still trembling. Your chests rise and fall in sync, the silence between you heavy with shared satisfaction.

“That was amazing,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp against your ear.

You chuckle, cheeks flushed and glowing. “Yes… we should definitely do that again.”

He turns on his side, his fingers brushing your arm tenderly as he gazes at you, eyes filled with warmth. “We really should.”

But then, out of nowhere, a ripple of anxiety courses through you, tightening your chest. You turn to him, your heart suddenly heavy. “Can we really make this work?” you ask, your voice small, vulnerable. “You, being a merman… and me, human?”

Namjoon’s expression softens, his gaze tender as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. His hands trace soothing circles along your back, grounding you in the moment. “Yes,” he whispers, his voice filled with quiet certainty. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll make it work. We have to.”

In his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, the world feels possible again.

→ Taglist: @allie-is-a-panda @jeonsbabygirlsworld @bangtannie7 @suker4angst → Disclaimer: the banner is obviously partly made with AI— I just want to point that out, to clear the air. I’d normally never use AI in my work, but for this specific fantasy series, I just came up really sort with making them myself with pre existing images of bangtan 😭 Because I want a certain aesthetic (no, a moodboard is not what I was looking for), I decided to use AI to crunch out the merman— I did not, and I repeat this, I did not write any of their names for the prompts, which is also why I do not want to show any faces in these banners, because I know how the guys feel about making AI with them, and I agree. Which is why, this is in short just generically made images that are prompted by a scene in the story. In the end, I still made the banner— did retouching, color grading, added and/or removed stuff, added background etc. Just to let you know. Normally, all my banners and graphics are made by me, unless otherwise stated! (lol, what I mean here is that I’m making them myself, I still sometimes use stock photos and vectors made by others in my work (the banners)). → Author’s note(2): Only four mermaid stories left now! 🥳I hope you’ll like the other ones as well, and please let me know what you liked; you’re always welcome to leave me a comment, a reblog or an ask 🥰 Thank you so much for reading, love you 💜

[nowoyas]

Trying to make sense of the Nanowrimo statement to the best of my abilities and fuck, man. It's hard.

It's hard because it seems to me that, first and foremost, the organization itself has forgotten the fucking point.

Nanowrimo was never about the words themselves. It was never about having fifty thousand marketable words to sell to publishing companies and then to the masses. It was a challenge, and it was hard, and it is hard, and it's supposed to be. The point is that it's hard. It's hard to sit down and carve out time and create a world and create characters and turn these things into a coherent plot with themes and emotional impact and an ending that's satisfying. It's hard to go back and make changes and edit those into something likable, something that feels worth reading. It's hard to find a beautifully-written scene in your document and have to make the decision that it's beautiful but it doesn't work in the broader context. It's fucking hard.

Writing and editing are skills. You build them and you hone them. Writing the way the challenge initially encouraged--don't listen to that voice in your head that's nitpicking every word on the page, put off the criticism for a later date, for now just let go and get your thoughts out--is even a different skill from writing in general. Some people don't particularly care about refining that skill to some end goal or another, and simply want to play. Some people sit down and try to improve and improve and improve because that is meaningful to them. Some are in a weird in-between where they don't really know what they want, and some have always liked the idea of writing and wanted a place to start. The challenge was a good place for this--sit down, put your butt in a chair, open a blank document, and by the end of the month, try to put fifty thousand words in that document.

How does it make you feel to try? Your wrists ache and you don't feel like any of the words were any good, but didn't you learn something about the process? Re-reading it, don't you think it sounds better if you swap these two sentences, if you replace this word, if you take out this comma? Maybe you didn't hit 50k words. Maybe you only wrote 10k. But isn't it cool, that you wrote ten thousand words? Doesn't it feel nice that you did something? We can try again. We can keep getting better, or just throwing ourselves into it for fun or whatever, and we can do it again and again.

I guess I don't completely know where I'm going with this post. If you've followed me or many tumblr users for any amount of time, you've probably already heard a thousand times about how generative AI hurts the environment so many of us have been so desperately trying to save, about how generative AI is again and again used to exploit big authors, little authors, up-and-coming authors, first time authors, people posting on Ao3 as a hobby, people self-publishing e-books on Amazon, traditionally published authors, and everyone in between. You've probably seen the statements from developers of these "tools", things like how being required to obtain permission for everything in the database used to train the language model would destroy the tool entirely. You've seen posts about new AI tools scraping Ao3 so they can make money off someone else's hobby and putting the legality of the site itself at risk. For an organization that used to dedicate itself to making writing more accessible for people and for creating a community of writers, Nanowrimo has spent the past several years systematically cracking that community to bits, and now, it's made an official statement claiming that the exploitation of writers in its community is okay, because otherwise, someone might find it too hard to complete a challenge that's meant to be hard to begin with.

I couldn't thank Nanowrimo enough for what it did for me when I started out. I don't know how to find community in the same way. But you can bet that I've deleted my account, and I'll be finding my own path forward without it. Thanks for the fucking memories, I guess.

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 1

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 4k

notes; This is my first time writing fan fiction. I hope that you guys will like it, and since English isn't my first language, please don’t hesitate to mention any mistakes <3. The story takes place when Rhys was in the early stages of being the High Lord of the Night Court, around 300-350 years old, so 200 years before ACOTAR actually began. I'm not sure yet how many parts this story will have, but I hope that you all will keep reading it ;)))

here is the link for part 2

---

The sound of hammer striking hot iron echoed through the narrow streets of Velaris, mingling with the melodies of the city—the distant hum of conversation and the ever-present whisper of the Sidra River. Within the heart of the Rainbow, a district renowned for its vibrant arts and crafts, a new shop had begun to draw attention. It was an unassuming place at first glance, yet the sheer force of energy within its walls set it apart. This was no ordinary smithy.

You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, your hands expertly maneuvering the red-hot blade beneath your hammer. Sparks flew with each strike, the heat from the forge wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace, both comforting and overwhelming. The rhythmic clang, clang, clang of metal against metal was music to your ears, a symphony you had been conducting since childhood.

Velaris was in your blood. Though you had been born here, your early memories were of the forge and the sound of your master's hammer. Your mother, a powerful and kind high fae, had died giving birth to you, and your father, unable to bear the weight of his mate’s passing, had followed soon after. You had been raised by a close friend of your father’s, a Master in the art of blacksmithing, who had taken you in as his own. It was under his watchful eye that you learned the craft, your small hands gradually growing strong and sure as you worked beside him, day after day.

With your master, you had traveled across the courts and to the far reaches of the continent, learning from smiths of every kind, studying techniques and secrets long forgotten by most. But no matter where you went, Velaris always called to you. And now, after hundred years of honing your skills, you had returned to the City of Starlight to forge your own path.

The shop itself was a reflection of your work—functional, yet beautiful in its simplicity. The front room was a gallery of sorts, with weapons and tools displayed like pieces of art. Gleaming swords, daggers with intricately carved hilts, and axes that looked as though they could fell the mightiest of trees hung from the walls, each one a testament to your skill. The floor was of polished wood, dark and smooth, with rugs from the weavers of Velaris adding warmth to the space. The light streamed in through tall windows, catching on the steel and iron and casting a soft glow across the room.

The shop had been open for only a few months, yet it had already begun to stir curiosity among the citizens of Velaris. Word spread quickly in the Rainbow—whispers of the new blacksmith who had come to claim a place among the best. But you rarely dealt with the customers yourself. That task fell to Alexander, your young apprentice. At only ten years old, he was sharp as a blade and twice as charming, with a quick smile and a mischievous glint in his eye. The boy had a knack for reading people, knowing just what to say to put them at ease—or to convince them that they needed a new sword or dagger.

As you plunged the heated blade into a trough of water, the hiss of steam rising into the air, you heard the familiar chime of the shop’s bell and the light patter of Alexander’s footsteps as he went to greet the newcomer. You allowed yourself a small smile as you heard his cheerful voice, already launching into his well-practiced routine.

“Welcome to the finest smithy in Velaris!” Alexander’s voice rang out, full of enthusiasm. “You won’t find better craftsmanship anywhere in the city—or the continent, for that matter. What are you looking for today? A sword? A dagger? Or maybe something a bit more… unique?”

There was a pause, and then a voice, low and measured, responded, “I’m looking for the blacksmith.”

Your hands stilled, your grip tightening around the hilt of the blade you had been shaping. It was rare that someone asked for you directly. Most customers were content to browse, to admire the work and perhaps make a purchase. But something in the tone of that voice, the way it cut through the air, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Ah,” Alexander said, his voice tinged with a hint of surprise. “You’re in luck. She’s right here. Let me fetch her for you.”

You took a deep breath, wiping your hands on a cloth as you made your way toward the front of the shop. The bell above the door chimed softly as it closed, and you stepped into the light, your eyes adjusting to the brightness. Alexander was standing by the counter, his wide eyes flicking between you and the figure standing in the center of the room.

As you rounded the corner, you finally laid eyes on the stranger. The words of welcome you had been preparing died on your lips as your gazes locked, and you felt a strange sense of familiarity wash over you, as if this meeting had been fated long before you had returned to Velaris.

Alexander, sensing the shift in the air, stepped back slightly, his usual exuberance giving way to a quiet curiosity. “This is Y/N,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “The best blacksmith in Velaris.”

The stranger’s eyes never left yours, and you found yourself holding your breath, waiting for whatever would come next. He took a step closer, towering over you despite your own considerable height, his presence imposing. His dark hair contrasted sharply with his piercing violet eyes that seemed to take in everything with a single glance.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice smooth and rich, hinting at depths of authority and power. “I’ve heard much about your work, and I find myself in need of your particular expertise.”

The chill from the incoming winter seemed to linger around him, a reminder of the cold that had swept through Velaris with the approach of the Winter Solstice. Despite the warmth of the forge, you felt a shiver run through you—not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m honored, my lord,” you replied, maintaining eye contact, feeling the weight of his presence. “What can I do for you?”

Rhysand’s expression was serious, and his next words carried an air of significance. “The Solstice celebrations are approaching, and with the colder days upon us, I’d like to commission two sets of weapons—a sword and a dagger—for my brothers. I want them to be special, crafted with the utmost care and consideration for their owners.”

Your mind whirred with ideas, but you needed more information to tailor each piece to its future owner. “To create something truly fitting, I’ll need to know more about your brothers. What are their personalities like, and what are their preferences in combat?”

Rhysand’s face softened slightly as he spoke of Cassian and Azriel. “Cassian is a warrior through and through—strong, fiercely loyal, and a born leader. His weapon should reflect that strength and his role within the Illyrian legions.”

You nodded thoughtfully, picturing a sturdy, bold design for Cassian’s sword. “And Azriel?”

“Azriel operates in the shadows, precise and strategic. His weapon should be subtle yet deadly, embodying his role as spymaster.”

A smile flickered across your face. “I have the perfect idea for him—a sleek design with a hidden element, perhaps.”

Rhysand’s approving nod encouraged you to continue. “Since those two are illyrian maybe we can include syphons in the design. It might be best to work with their olds ones. If you could send those to me, I can restore them and integrate them into the new weapons, preserving their familiar feel while enhancing their function.”

“That sounds ideal,” Rhysand agreed. “I’ll arrange for some of their old syphons to be brought to you tomorrow. They are quite worn but hold significant meaning for my brothers.”

You glanced up at him, reassured by his confidence in your abilities. “I’ll ensure the weapons reflect both their personalities and their needs.”

Rhysand’s smile was genuinely warm now. “Thank you, Y/N. I look forward to seeing your craftsmanship.”

With that, he turned to leave, his cloak swirling around him as he stepped out into the cold Velaris air, leaving a trail of frost in his wake. The bell above the door chimed softly, signaling his departure.

Standing in your forge, you felt the weight of the responsibility settle onto your shoulders. This commission was more than just a job; it was a chance to craft pieces that would be carried by some of the most formidable warriors in the Night Court. You had done works for other lords, kings or fighters, but every time a new challenge would come up your excitement increased so much. The idea of those people working with your creations was just incredible. 

As the cold seeped into the shop, you turned back to your workbench, pulling out parchment and charcoal. Your sketches began to take shape, influenced by the discussion and your insights into the characters of the two brothers. Powerful, elegant, and deadly—just like the men they were meant for.

The forge called to you, and as you answered, diving into your work, you felt a sense of purpose. These weapons would be more than just tools; they would be extensions of the warriors themselves, forged with skill and imbued with the spirit of the Winter Solstice.

After a few more hours of work and locking up the smithy, you and Alex headed up to your cozy apartment. It was adorned with all the comforts of a true craftsman's home—polished wooden floors, local Velaris art, and big windows that showcased the night sky. Your personal collection of swords decorated the walls, each blade a story from your past travels with your old master.

At the foot of your bed lay Stellan, your faithful direwolf companion. His thick, snow-white fur contrasted sharply with his deep, dark eyes that held a world of wisdom and loyalty. You had found him as a pup during one of your early travels—a small, shivering ball of fur huddled against the cold. From that moment on, Stellan had been by your side, growing into a majestic creature whose presence was as comforting as it was formidable.

Your apartment, while only boasting two bedrooms, mostly saw both you and Alex sharing the larger one. Alex had claimed a corner of it with his makeshift bedding, but as the night deepened, he inevitably migrated to your bed, preferring its warmth and the company.

Tonight, you were sitting in bed with your sketchbook, the moonlight and candlelight mingling to create the perfect ambiance for drawing. Stellan's gentle snores provided a soothing background hum, his large form curled protectively at the bed's end. Alex, lying next to you, propped himself up on an elbow to get a better look at your work.

"So, Nana, this one’s going to be for the High Lord, huh?" Alex's voice was soft, filled with awe and curiosity.

"Yeah, it is," you nodded, continuing your sketch. "Every piece needs to be perfect, though, no matter who it’s for. Whether it's a High Lord or a local warrior, they all deserve the best." Despite the illustrious clientele, you held every piece to the same standard of perfection, knowing well that each creation bore your signature, no matter the buyer.

Alex grinned at that. "I know. That’s why your stuff is the best. But hey, why’d you let me call you Nana again? It’s nicer than just ‘master’ or something too formal."

You chuckled softly, a slight blush on your cheeks. "Because you said it fits well, and I guess it does. It’s kind of endearing, Alex."

He blushed, pleased with the affirmation, then leaned closer to peek at your sketchbook. "Show me what you’ve got so far. I bet it’s epic."

You tilted the sketchbook towards him, revealing detailed designs of the sword intended for the spymaster. "This blade needs to embody stealth and strength, reflecting who it's for. It’s not just a weapon; it’s a piece of art."

As you spoke, Stellan lifted his head, ears twitching as if acknowledging the conversation. His dark eyes flickered open, observing you both with a gentle, protective gaze. With a soft huff, he repositioned himself, laying his head back down on his massive paws, content to simply be in your presence.

Alex nodded seriously, taking in every line and curve you had drawn. "It’s amazing, Y/N. They’re gonna love it."

As the evening wore on, Alex's questions and observations gradually slowed as sleep began to claim him. His head eventually found a resting place on your shoulder, his breathing evening out as he drifted off. You smiled down at him, setting the sketchbook aside. His trust and the simple title of 'Nana' he'd given you felt more precious than any formal recognition.

Stellan, sensing the room's quieting energy, stood up and stretched, his movements graceful despite his size. He padded softly around the bed, finally settling down closer to you and Alex, his body a warm barrier against the night’s chill. His presence was a comforting constant, a silent guardian watching over your small family.

With the room now quiet, save for the soft sounds of Alex's sleep and Stellan's rhythmic breathing, the distant hum of the night city served as a lullaby. You felt a peaceful end to the productive day. The weight of creating something worthy of the Night Court was significant, but it was a challenge you were ready to meet with your usual dedication to excellence. Slipping under the covers, you settled in next to Alex, the moonlight casting a gentle glow over you all. With Stellan's protective aura enveloping you, you allowed yourself to drift off, thoughts of tomorrow’s forging dancing in your dreams.

On the other side of the city at the townhouse, the evening was filled with laughter and good spirits. Cassian was in fine form, regaling the table with a joke about an Illyrian warrior who mistook a glamour-spell for his opponent in a sparring match. The table erupted in laughter, appreciating the absurdity of the tough warrior swatting at thin air.

As chuckles subsided and glasses were refilled, Azriel steered the conversation toward local news with his typically quiet but clear tone. "Have you heard, Rhys?" he began, capturing the table's attention. "There’s a new blacksmith in Velaris."

"Actually?" Cassian's interest was piqued, his expression curious.

"Yes, I’ve checked on her—she's already established quite the reputation," Azriel continued.

"Her, like she is a female?" Cassian asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Yes, 'her' like that, Cassian…" Azriel replied with a slight smirk, enjoying the moment of revelation.

Rhysand joined in with a knowing smile. "She's not just any blacksmith. She’s made quite a name for herself, especially with blades. She’s worked with several high lords across Prythian."

Cassian choked slightly on his drink, surprised. "A female blacksmith, swinging hammers with the high lords? She must be quite skilled."

"She is," Rhysand confirmed, his voice reflecting a mix of respect and intrigue. "Her blades are reputed to be some of the finest—well-crafted and balanced. The detail and precision are said to be exceptional."

The brothers shared intrigued glances, the atmosphere buzzing with new interest. The conversation seamlessly wove around various artisans they knew, but the topic of the new blacksmith lingered, sparking a particular fascination.

"So, what's her specialty? Just weapons, or does she do armor too?" Cassian probed, clearly intrigued.

"Primarily weapons. She has a particular talent for swords and daggers," Rhysand explained. 

As the evening wore on, Rhysand found a moment to lean towards Azriel. “By the way Az, could you drop a box off at the blacksmith's tomorrow? "

Azriel nodded, sensing the significance of the task, though his eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. "Anything else I should know?"

"Just the box," Rhysand responded, his tone firm yet enigmatic, giving nothing further away.

Both Azriel and Cassian looked at each other, their curiosity clearly piqued, but recognizing that Rhysand was keeping his cards close to his chest. They returned to lighter topics, but the mention of the new blacksmith had woven itself into their conversation, adding a thread of intrigue to the vibrant tapestry of Velaris’s ongoing stories.

—

Back in your smithy, the clanging of metal and the heat of the forge filled the air, mingling with the lively chatter of customers at the front of the shop. Alexander, navigated skillfully among the patrons, his arms laden with weapons. His voice, bright and enthusiastic, carried over the din as he extolled the virtues of your craftsmanship.

"Feel the balance of this blade!" Alexander exclaimed to a curious couple, holding up a finely crafted sword for inspection. "Forged right here, each swing is as smooth as the Sidra's flow!"

With the Winter Solstice drawing near, the shop was bustling with activity as each order demanded meticulous attention and finesse. You had just put the finishing touches on a stylized hammer, commissioned by one of the lords of the Illyrian camps, when the bell above the door chimed.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a figure cloaked in shadows enter. It was Azriel, Rhysand’s spymaster, moving with a quiet grace that seemed almost unnatural. His presence caused a subtle shift in the atmosphere as he approached Alexander first, speaking in hushed tones before your apprentice pointed him towards the back.

Wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you pushed through the curtain that separated your work area from the shop. Dressed in a revealing black top and overalls that were unclipped at the top, leaving much of your torso exposed due to the heat of the forge, you approached the visitor. Big gloves covered your hands, protecting them from the forge’s heat. As you came into view, you caught Azriel's gaze flick momentarily—almost imperceptibly—downwards before meeting your eyes again. Though brief, it didn’t escape your notice.

“Who is it?” you asked, your voice echoing slightly in the busy shop.

“I need to deliver something to you,” Azriel stated, his voice even and calm, holding out a small, intricately carved box.

Before taking the box, you carefully removed your heavy gloves, revealing hands marked by the rigors of your trade. You took it, feeling the weight and the latent power it seemed to hold. Curiosity piqued, you looked up at him. “From the High Lord ?”

“Yes. He said you’d know what to do with it,” Azriel replied, his gaze now fixed firmly on your face, any earlier distraction gone.

You nodded, understanding that the contents of the box were likely tied to the commission Rhysand had mentioned previously. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll handle it from here.”

As Azriel turned to leave, Alexander’s voice once again filled the shop, drawing new customers' attention: "Every piece has its own story, crafted with the finest skills learned from the great forges of Prythian! See for yourselves!"

You couldn’t help but smile at Alexander’s enthusiasm as he continued to engage the customers with his lively banter. Azriel, the enigmatic shadow singer, had left as quietly as he had arrived. There was something undeniably captivating about him—his mysterious aura only added to his allure.

Standing for a moment, you held the box, feeling its potential. But the demands of the day pulled you back, and you returned to the forge, your mind already racing with ideas for the contents of the box and the work that lay ahead. 

Just as you were about to reignite the forge, Alex poked his head through the curtain, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“He was hot, right?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with teasing curiosity.

You paused, a smirk forming as you glanced back at the retreating figure of Azriel. “Aren’t you supposed to be ten?” you retorted playfully, raising an eyebrow at Alex.

Alex chuckled, undeterred. “Maybe, but I can tell when someone’s cool. He’s like a shadow knight from those legends you told me!”

Laughing, you shook your head and turned back to your workbench, the plans for Rhysand’s commission spread out before you. “Get back to the front, Alex. And keep your comments about the customers to yourself, even if they are high lords or shadow singers.”

Alex laughed and ducked back through the curtain, his voice soon mingling with the customers once again. As you focused on the intricate designs of the new commission, you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement for the challenge ahead, your heart still light from the brief yet intriguing encounter.