#reblogs are so so so appreciated on this it fuels me to keep working on this until it's done

[kingofbodyrolls]

To Catch a Merman (m) | pjm

You don’t really enjoy your work on a trawler, but it pays the rent. When you hear some ruckus out of the deck, you go out to investigate, only to be met by an unreal sight: a blonde merman with a sparkly golden tail caught in the net, struggling to get free.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: mermaid!au, fantasy!au, magical!au → Trope: strangers to lovers → Genres: fluff / smut / romance / tiny angst → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 17.7k → Warnings (general) + triggers: multiple povs (I tried to keep them apart, but there’s some sections where they mix), a shitty ex (not Jimin or one of the tannies), blackmail (because of said stupid ex), low female rage (it’s very minor, but let me just say that reader can defend herself if need be 🤭). → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (please be safe), multiple orgasms, cockwarming, fingering, oral (male receiving), biting/marking, merfolk intercourse (it’s like a mating dance, lol), dirty talk. → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: I’m baaaaack 🥳 I really love how this one turned out and I hope you love it as much as I do! And now there’s only two more mermaid stories left 🥹 This has truly been special, and i’m so glad I stuck with it and didn’t abandon it like I feared at one moment… Anyway, any kind of feedback will be very much appreciated—it fuels my inspiration, you know? Like just one single comment or reblog can make my heart soar, make me smile and feel like ‘yeah, someone on the internet likes my writing and stories as much as I do’ and it truly helps me to keep going, especially at times where I second guess myself (happens rather often I’m afraid). Please let me know okay? And happy reading ✨ 

[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 🤭

“Don’t you think we’ve gone too far out?” Jungkook’s voice wavers, uncertainty woven into each syllable. His dark eyes dart toward the fading silhouette of home, but Jimin doesn’t pause, doesn’t even glance back. His golden tail gleams like sunlight trapped in the sea, cutting through the azure depths with an effortless sway.

“Nah, don’t be such a guppy!” Jimin laughs, his voice buoyant with adventure, rippling through the water as he propels himself faster. Each stroke carries him farther into the unknown, where the current whispers secrets only the bold dare to uncover.

Jungkook lingers, his chest tight with unease. “I really don’t think this is a good idea,” he calls, the words almost swallowed by the vastness. “We’re so far from home…”

Jimin suddenly halts mid-stroke, his brown eyes narrowing. Above them, a shadow looms, dark and colossal, breaking the soft shimmer of sunlight on the waves. The water feels heavier now, the salty tang sharper. 

“What is it?” Jungkook asks, dread curling in his gut.

“It’s a big boat,” Jimin murmurs, the words bubbling to the surface as if reluctant to leave his lips. His curiosity pulls him forward, closer to the shadow that stretches like a specter above them.

“Yeah, and we should stay away,” Jungkook snaps, his hand darting out to grab Jimin’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.” 

But Jimin shrugs him off, slipping through his grip like quicksilver. His golden tail fans wide, propelling him onward, closer to the unknown.

“Just a little closer!” Jimin calls, his voice light, but his gaze locked on the shadow overhead.

“Jimin!” Jungkook shouts, the name tumbling from his mouth like a plea. He spins in the water, struggling against the tide—and his rising anger. His voice cuts through the deep with raw emotion. “You’re going to get us killed!”

But Jimin only laughs again, a sound like the tinkling of glass against the endless blue, as the shadow above deepens, and the world below seems to hold its breath.

“It’s okay!” Jimin calls, his voice barely rising above the whispering waves. He hovers just beneath the surface, closer to danger than Jungkook would ever allow if he had his way. But Jimin’s curiosity burns brighter than his caution. The lure of the unknown pulls at him like a tide. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifts his head above the water, the ocean’s surface breaking around him in ripples of light.

His breath catches. The boat looms above him—a hulking beast of wood and iron, its hull painted in hues of brown and white, weathered by years of salt and sun. Massive cranes stretch skyward like skeletal arms, and heavy nets drape across its deck, glinting faintly under the midday sun. It is not beautiful, but it is powerful, a thing of human hands and ambition, utterly foreign to the delicate harmony of the sea.

Jungkook materializes silently at Jimin’s side, his presence a sudden ripple in the water that startles the older merman. Jimin glances at him, guilt flickering briefly in his wide eyes before giving way to fascination again. 

“Jimin,” Jungkook hisses, his voice sharp, his gaze sharper still, like an anchor seeking to tether him. “Turn back.”

But Jimin doesn’t move. His voice trembles, not with fear but with awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” His eyes dart to the figures moving along the deck, their shadows shifting like specters against the glare of sunlight. “There are people up there.”

“Hide!” Jungkook snaps, grabbing Jimin’s arm and pulling him sharply downward. The sea envelops them both again, cool and heavy, muffling the world above. “That’s a trawler,” Jungkook says, his voice low and urgent, every word a warning. “They catch fish, Jimin. You shouldn’t go near it.”

Jimin nods absently, his head bobbing like seaweed caught in the current, but his thoughts are far away, drifting beyond Jungkook’s grasp. The boat has hooked his curiosity like a lure, and no amount of scolding can break its hold.

Jungkook sighs, frustration etching lines into his usually calm expression. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around Jimin’s tail and tugging him backward with a determined kick of his fins. Jimin lets out a half-hearted protest but doesn’t fight him, his gaze lingering on the shadow of the boat until it fades into the distance.

As they swim back to Naraeum, Jungkook glances over his shoulder, his unease like a weight dragging him down. The ocean feels too still, too silent, as if even it is holding its breath. Beside him, Jimin smiles faintly, his mind adrift in a sea of wonder. 

Days have passed, yet Jimin cannot shake the image of the trawler from his mind. The boat lingers in his thoughts like a siren’s call—an enigma draped in nets and cranes. He remembers the humans, their shadows etched against the light, and wonders what it would feel like to stand among them, to know the world above the waves. His curiosity churns like the tide, restless and unyielding.

Which is why, against better judgment, his whimsical heart leads him back to where he last saw it. Alone, this time. Jungkook’s warnings echo faintly in his memory, but he brushes them aside like grains of sand. Jungkook doesn’t understand—how could he? To Jimin, the pull of discovery is stronger than fear.

The sun is high, its warmth seeping through the water’s surface as he breaks through the shimmering line between ocean and air. The trawler looms in the distance, its silhouette stark against the azure sky. No voices, no footsteps. The deck looks empty, silent. Safe. 

Jimin swims closer, his golden tail cutting through the waves with an eager flick. He dips beneath the surface again, the water cool against his skin as he circles to the far side of the vessel. His heart flutters with anticipation, the world narrowing to this single moment, this single mystery.

But as he moves to rise once more, something catches. A sudden, taut pressure coils around him—a net, rough and unyielding, tangling his tail and pinning his arms to his sides. Panic flares. He thrashes, but the more he struggles, the tighter the net pulls. The world tips and tilts as he’s dragged upward, the ocean slipping away below him, the sun blinding above.

When he finally breaks the surface, it is not in freedom but captivity. He is hoisted into the air, suspended with a writhing chaos of silver-scaled fish. Their bodies slap and squirm against him, cold and frantic. Jimin grunts, his pride stinging almost as much as his skin. Of course, he thinks bitterly. Of course I’d get caught. He’s the kind of merman who can’t even balance on a rock without sliding off. Clumsy to his core. Jungkook had warned him—warned him with exasperation and those sharp, knowing eyes—but he hadn’t listened.

Now, he lies in a heap on the deck, the net a coarse prison pressing against his skin. The trawler’s wood feels foreign beneath him, its surface warm from the sun. For a moment, there is no movement, no sound but the rhythmic creak of the boat and the faint slap of water against its hull.

No humans. Not yet. He exhales shakily, a flicker of relief warming him. Lucky, for now. But luck is fleeting, and the net is unrelenting. He twists and pulls, his tail flicking in frustration, yet the woven threads refuse to yield. 

As he struggles, the vastness of his predicament begins to sink in. The boat, the net, the world of humans looming just beyond the corner of his vision—all of it feels too big, too foreign. Yet, even in the face of danger, a part of him remains defiant, his curiosity undimmed. I’ll get out of this, he thinks. I have to.

But the trawler sways beneath him, a silent giant, and the horizon stretches wide and uncaring. The sun blazes overhead, and the sea he loves feels suddenly, painfully far away.

You hate this job. The endless hours, the stench of fish, the grinding noise of the trawler’s machinery—it all gnaws at your soul. But the money is good, and good money keeps you coming back. Still, as you stretch awake in the middle of the day, the remnants of last night’s shift clinging to you like a haze, you can’t shake the feeling that you’d rather be anywhere else. 

Weird noises from the deck break through your grogginess, jarring and unfamiliar. You yawn, dragging yourself from the cocoon of your cramped bed, the lazy heat of the cabin making every step feel like a chore. Rubbing your eyes, you shuffle to investigate, the bright daylight spilling through the doorway catching you off guard.

The moment you step outside, the world hits you. The sun blazes mercilessly above, its golden rays turning the sea into a blinding mosaic of light. The air hangs heavy, hot and thick, clinging to your skin like a second layer. And then you see him.  

A man—no, an angel—caught in the center of the deck, tangled in the coarse weave of a fishing net. Blonde hair gleams like spun sunlight, cascading over his shoulders. His chest is sculpted, every curve and ridge kissed by the sun, tapering to a tiny waist. Your gaze falters at sturdy thighs, only for your brain to screech to a halt at his dick. Completely naked. Utterly surreal.

His head jerks up, startled brown eyes locking with yours. A loud, high-pitched shriek escapes him, the sound jarring and almost inhuman. He thrashes in the net, his movements frantic as the silver-scaled fish trapped with him flop and slide against his skin. You freeze, your breath caught in your throat, every nerve firing in chaotic confusion.

What the hell is happening? You want to ask something—anything. Maybe ‘do you need help?’ or ‘who are you?’ or even the more pressing ‘how the hell did you get here?’ But your words die on your lips as he suddenly wriggles free of the net. For a moment, he’s all unsteady limbs, rising awkwardly to his feet. Then, like a fleeting mirage, he dashes for the edge of the boat, his movements fluid and oddly graceful despite his wobbling steps.

He pauses just long enough to clap his hands together in a makeshift diving pose. And then he leaps. Quick, but slow enough that you catch a glimpse of a tattoo of moon phases down his spine. 

Time slows as he arcs through the air, a golden blur against the deep blue horizon. The water accepts him in a shimmering burst, and he’s gone. You gape, your voice finally finding freedom in a startled yell. Heart pounding, you rush to the edge of the boat, gripping the sun-warmed railing as you peer over. The ocean is calm, indifferent, save for a few bubbles breaking its surface.  

You scan the water, searching, your eyes desperate to confirm what you just saw—or to convince yourself it was some kind of sun-soaked fever dream. But there’s nothing. The waves ripple serenely, as if mocking your bewilderment. 

No man. No trace. Just the endless expanse of sea, stretching into oblivion.

You stand there, stunned, the net still lying in a crumpled heap behind you, its captured fish glinting in the sunlight. The deck creaks beneath your feet, but the rest of the world seems to hold its breath. Who—or what—was that? And where did he go?  

The sea offers no answers. Only silence.

The whole day, he lingers in your mind like a shadow you can’t shake. The golden-haired man, tangled in the net, his brown eyes wide with fear and confusion. Questions churn in your head, relentless as the tide. Is he okay? Did he make it? Why was he there in the first place? And the one you don’t want to ask but can’t silence—Did he drown after he leapt into the sea?  

He hadn’t said a word, only that strange startled cry when your eyes met. The sound was raw, unguarded, like something wild caught between fight and flight. You replay it over and over, a haunting echo, as you try to piece him together from fragments: golden hair, sun-bronzed skin, a fleeting presence that disappeared as suddenly as it appeared. And those eyes—terrified, searching. You wonder what they saw in you.

A sudden hand at the small of your back drags you out of your thoughts, the warmth unwelcome and invasive. Riley. You shrug him off sharply, your frown a warning, but he doesn’t take the hint.

“What happened out there?” he asks, curiosity lacing his tone. He must have heard the ruckus earlier, but you’re in no mood to indulge him. “Nothing,” you snap, turning away. “And don’t touch me again. Ever.”

His hand retreats, but his presence lingers like a bad smell. Riley—your ex, your mistake. You curse the naïveté that led you to take this job, blind to the fact he’d be working here too. It felt like fate mocking you, trapping you on this swaying tin can with someone you can’t stand. Every day, you question your sanity for staying. But the paycheck binds you like chains, and so you endure.

Riley’s voice follows you, slick with false concern. “I can protect you, if you’re scared.” The words slither through the air, leaving a sickly taste in your mouth. You stiffen, his tone stirring something sharp and defensive in your chest.

You turn, arms crossing tightly over your body, your voice colder than the ocean below. “I don’t need your protection, Riley. I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.” Each word is clipped, deliberate, your disdain evident.

He smirks, like your anger is a game he enjoys playing. It makes your stomach churn, and you glare at him before storming away, needing space, needing air.  

Your thoughts drift again as you retreat to the edge of the boat, eyes scanning the endless sea. The sunlight dances on the waves, golden and playful, as if mocking your mood. But no matter how far you look, there’s no sign of him—the man who consumed your every thought today. Just water stretching endlessly, as inscrutable as it is vast.

A few days later, the quiet of dawn is shattered by a strange, rhythmic banging that echoes against the hull of the boat. The sound pulls you from sleep like a siren’s call, and before you can think, you’re on your feet, racing out in nothing but your pajamas, the early chill biting at your skin. The sky is a delicate canvas of pale pink and gold, the sea beneath it still dark and restless.  

The deck is empty, the vast stretch of wood as silent as the horizon. But the sound persists—low, insistent, coming from the side of the boat. Heart thudding, you approach the railing, peering over cautiously. 

And there he is.  

Your breath hitches. For a moment, all you can do is stare, your mouth falling open as if to match the endless gape of the sea below. Caught in the coarse weave of the net, a merman thrashes against his bindings. Half of his shimmering tail—gold and flecked with iridescent yellows—remains submerged in the water, while his torso, lean and sunlit, glistens with droplets that catch the dawn light like scattered jewels. His blonde hair, unruly and windblown, clings to his face in wild streaks. 

Familiar blonde hair. A face you’ve seen before.  

He struggles, his movements frantic and uncoordinated, the net tangling tighter with every thrash. “Help!” he cries, his voice raw and desperate, carried over the waves to no one in particular. His gaze hasn’t found you yet, but his fear is palpable, written in every line of his body.  

“I can help you!” you call out, your voice breaking through the morning stillness like a splash of cold water. 

He freezes, flinching at the sound. Slowly, as if time itself has slowed, he turns his head. His eyes meet yours, and in an instant, the fight drains from his limbs. Shock overtakes him, his expression teetering between recognition and disbelief. 

For a long moment, neither of you move. The sea murmurs below, the net creaks with the sway of the boat, and still, his gaze holds yours, weighing something unseen, something fragile. 

“Can you help me out of this net?” he asks at last, his voice low, wary, the tension in his shoulders betraying his uncertainty.

You nod, steadying yourself against the railing. “I can,” you reply, your words measured, reassuring. “But I’ll need to raise you onto the deck first. The net—it’s too heavy to untangle in the water.”

His lips press into a thin line, his reluctance plain, but he nods, a flicker of trust crossing his features. The moment feels precarious, like balancing on the edge of a wave.  

“All right,” he murmurs. “Just... be quick.”

You grip the railing tighter, your heart pounding as you prepare to pull him aboard. The world feels charged, like the air before a storm, and the sea watches silently, its secrets just beneath the surface.

You hear him sigh, a soft, defeated sound that seems to blend with the whisper of the waves against the hull. Slowly, he relents, letting you take control. With a steady pull, you drag him and the heavy net out of the water, your muscles straining as the glistening form of the merman rises onto the deck.  

There he lays, sprawled and still, water pooling beneath him as it drips from his sleek, otherworldly form. You step closer, and for the first time, you truly see him. He isn’t just beautiful—he’s ethereal, like something conjured from the dreams of gods. His face is serene yet haunting, framed by unruly blonde locks that cling to his skin, while his shimmering tail catches the sun, reflecting colors that defy description.  

Your breath hitches. It’s him. The man who has haunted your thoughts for days, the one you feared might have been claimed by the sea. Relief floods through you, mingled with awe. He didn’t drown. He didn’t vanish. He’s here—and he’s a merman.  

Shaking off your daze, you kneel beside him, your hands working to untangle the net from his glistening body. Each movement feels surreal, your fingers sliding over the slick scales as you free him inch by inch. When the last knot falls away, you can’t help but linger, your gaze tracing the curve of his tail. It’s a masterpiece of nature, wet and scaly, each iridescent hue shimmering like molten gold under the light. Without thinking, your hand reaches out, brushing against it.  

The texture is mesmerizing—cool, smooth, and alien. But then, just as you’re about to marvel aloud, a flicker of light catches your eye. Tiny sparkles dart around him, a strange, magical shimmer that dances like fireflies in the dawn. You blink, and suddenly, his tail isn’t there anymore.  

Your heart stops. What you’re touching now isn’t a tail—it’s skin. Wet, firm, human skin. Your hand rests high on his thigh, alarmingly close to…  

You jerk back as though scalded, a startled shriek escaping your lips. Heat rises to your cheeks as your mind spirals, but he doesn’t seem fazed. Instead, he curls into himself, folding his arms and drawing his knees up, his entire form radiating vulnerability. His golden hair falls over his face like a curtain, shielding him from your gaze, as if the transformation has stolen some vital part of him.  

Snapping yourself out of it, you scramble to your feet, casting about for something to cover him. A roll of tarp catches your eye, and you grab it, moving swiftly to drape it over his body. His wide, questioning eyes follow your hurried movements, but before you can say anything, footsteps echo from behind.  

“Hide,” you hiss under your breath, pulling the tarp snugly around him. He doesn’t protest, just shifts deeper into the shadows, his presence shrinking to near invisibility.

Riley strides onto the deck, his boots thudding against the wood with deliberate weight. His face is unreadable, but his gaze sweeps the space like a predator searching for prey. “What’s going on out here?” he asks, his tone sharp and suspicious.

“Nothing,” you blurt, your voice an octave too high. You shift your body subtly, blocking Riley’s view of the tarp-covered figure behind you. The air between you crackles with tension as you force yourself to meet his eyes, willing him to believe your lie.  

“Hmm… okay,” Riley says, lingering just long enough to set your teeth on edge. “I heard you scream, so if you need me, just let me know.” His gaze sweeps the boat once more, like he’s searching for the ghost of your secrets.  

You scowl, crossing your arms as a shield. “Fuck off,” you snap, the words sharp as broken glass.  

Finally, he shrugs and turns, his heavy footsteps receding into the distance. The tension eases its grip on your chest, and you let out a shaky breath, relief rushing in like a tide. Only when he’s gone do you feel like you can truly breathe again.  

Turning back, you kneel by the tarp, fingers trembling slightly as you lift its edge. Beneath it, the man—if you can call him that—sits curled in on himself, his golden hair a wild halo around his wary eyes. Those eyes fix on you, wide and mistrusting, their depths dark as uncharted waters.  

“It’s okay,” you murmur softly, your voice gentle as the breeze over calm seas. “I won’t hurt you.”

“But you’re human,” he replies, his voice low, tinged with fear and something unnameable. He shifts back instinctively, his posture guarded, keeping a cautious distance as if you might sprout claws at any moment.

You hesitate, not wanting to push him further into his shell. “Are you hungry?” you ask instead, steering the conversation into safer waters. You don’t press him; instead, you keep still, aware of the fragile balance between his fear and your curiosity.

His stomach answers for him, the loud, unmistakable growl breaking the tension. A blush colors his cheeks, and to your surprise, he giggles—a light, melodic sound that’s startlingly human.  

“Do you have tang?” he asks, his eyes brightening for the briefest moment, curiosity peeking through his fear.  

Tang. The word catches you off guard, but you quickly realize what he means. A smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah,” you say, nodding. “I think I have some tangy snacks in my room. Hold on.”  

You pause, glancing at his dripping figure, and add, “And I’ll get you some clothes too.”

His gaze softens, just a little, as if he’s starting to believe you might not be a threat after all.  

Rising quickly, you dart into your small cabin, rifling through drawers until you find a bag of snacks that might fit the bill. Then, with a surge of boldness, you sneak into one of your coworker’s rooms. Borrowing—stealing, really—a pair of pants and a shirt, you mutter an apology under your breath. It’ll have to do.  

When you return, he’s still seated where you left him, his form a quiet figure against the chaos of the sea around you. You hand him the clothes, and he takes them with a hesitant nod. Watching him dress is like watching a bird try to walk—awkward, unnatural, his movements jerky and unsure, as though his body resists this strange, human choreography.  

But eventually, the oversized shirt hangs from his shoulders, the borrowed pants bunched awkwardly around his waist. He adjusts the fabric with a distracted frown before shifting his focus to the snacks you’ve brought. The tangy treats vanish quickly, his hands moving with an efficiency born of hunger, though he pauses occasionally to eye the brightly colored packaging like it’s something from another world.  

You hand him a bottle of water, and he gulps it down, his throat working rhythmically, the sound amplified in the stillness between you. Finally, you settle across from him, your knees tucked close as you take him in—not just his appearance, but his presence, the way he seems both fragile and powerful, like something caught between two worlds.  

“What’s your name?” you ask softly, breaking the silence.  

He pauses, lowering the bottle, then meets your gaze. “Jimin,” he says simply, the name rolling off his tongue like a whispered secret.  

You nod, offering him a small, warm smile, hoping it will ease the wariness in his expression. “Hi, Jimin. I’m Y/N.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the ocean filling the space between your words. But curiosity pushes forward, unbidden. “What are you doing here?”  

Jimin chuckles, the sound soft but tinged with frustration as he pops another snack into his mouth. “I just wanted to see the boat again,” he admits, shaking his head. “And I got caught in that stupid net again…” He rolls his eyes, the gesture so human it catches you off guard, deflating with a sigh that seems to sink into the deck beneath him.  

But then his gaze sharpens, flicking around the empty deck as if he senses unseen eyes. “Why are you hushing and hiding me like I’m some sort of secret?” he asks, his voice tinged with curiosity but not without suspicion.  

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. “Do you really want my coworkers to find you? To know that you’re a merman?” you counter, your tone cautious but earnest.  

He considers this for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line before he exhales. “I guess not,” he mutters, the words laced with a resigned wisdom. “Humans aren’t trustworthy.” His tone is matter-of-fact, not cruel, but unyielding, as though he’s learned this lesson too many times before.  

You flinch inwardly at the generalization, but you let it pass. “I’m trustworthy,” you say, your smile growing as you try to project a confidence you’re not sure you feel.  

He tilts his head, his sharp eyes searching yours, and it’s clear he isn’t convinced. The wall of mistrust between you is a thick one, forged not in a moment, but over years, perhaps even centuries, of caution bred into his kind.  

But that’s okay, you think. You didn’t expect trust to come easily.  

“I swear, I mean you no harm,” you add, leaning back slightly, your voice quieter now, as though softer words might slip past his defenses.  

Maybe it’s all the fantasy novels you’ve devoured recently, their tales of impossible creatures and fragile bonds, but a strange determination takes root in your chest: you have to protect him. At least from Riley and the rest of your coworkers. You can already picture the chaos that would erupt if they discovered mermaids were more than just stories. The scandal. The cruelty. No—if nothing else, you owe him safe passage back to his home.  

“Have you ever been out of the ocean before? Or… on land?” you ask, your voice soft, as if you’re afraid to disturb the fragile magic of the moment.  

He shakes his head, though his posture eases, his body less coiled now. “I’ve never been to land before,” he says, his voice carrying a wistful undercurrent. “But plenty of my friends have.”  

As he speaks, his gaze drifts far away, as if caught on a tide only he can see. There’s a dreamy quality to his expression, a flicker of longing that glows like sunlight beneath the waves. “I really want to see land,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with wonder. But then it dips, quiet and heavy, as he fidgets with his hands. “But...”  

Before you can think better of it, the words tumble out of your mouth like a pebble skipping across water. “I can show you, if you want to!”  

He blinks, startled, and his head tilts slightly, those deep eyes locking onto yours. “You would?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if afraid the offer might vanish if he speaks too loudly.  

“Yeah, sure,” you say with a shrug, trying to sound casual. But your smile is warm, gentle, and you hope it will soothe his lingering doubt. “You seem nice. And curious. I can show you my world.”  

Your heart flutters at the absurdity of it all—you, befriending a merman. A mythical creature. The stuff of bedtime stories and legends. If your coworkers knew, they’d call you crazy. But you’d rather be crazy than let this moment slip through your fingers. Your parents always taught you to be kind, and if kindness means helping a creature from the deep see a dream made real, then so be it.  

His honeyed skin flushes faintly, the blush soft as a sunrise, and he murmurs, “Okay.” But then his smile falters, his hands folding together. “But I have to go back home now. My friends… they’ll worry about me if I’m gone too long.”  

The spell breaks as he rises to his feet, and you follow him to the boat’s edge. The sea stretches below, glittering and endless, waiting to welcome him back.  

He turns to you one last time, his golden hair haloed by the sunlight, and then, without a moment’s hesitation, he dives. The splash sends ripples across the surface, but before you can process his departure, the clothes he was wearing resurface, bobbing lazily in the water.  

A second later, his head pops up, grinning. “Oops,” he says, his voice bright with laughter, and he gathers the floating garments, tossing them up to you with surprising precision.  

He waves, and with a flick of his magnificent tail—shimmering like molten gold in the sunlight—he disappears into the depths. For a moment, you just stand there, staring at the water, the echo of his presence lingering like the last note of a song.  

You sigh, shaking your head. Maybe you have been reading too many fantasy novels. But as you fold his clothes, still damp and salty, you know one thing for sure: you’ll see him again.  

Jimin has never truly met a human before. He’s always kept his distance, heeding the Elders’ grim warnings—dark tales of cruelty and greed. Stories of merfolk snared in nets, dragged from the waves to live as captives behind glass walls, their freedom traded for fleeting human fascination. The thought of such confinement has always chilled him. The ocean, vast and endless, is his sanctuary—a realm where he can stretch his fins and feel the infinite embrace of freedom.  

But then he met you.  

You’re not what he expected, not at all. You’re not cruel or cold, not the predator the stories painted. You’re warm, kind, and impossibly gentle—like a rare current that carries him somewhere new. And though his heart whispers caution, he can’t help but lean closer, drawn to your presence like sunlight breaking through the water’s surface.  

There’s something about you that stirs a curiosity he’s long tried to ignore. He’s always been intrigued by the human world, yes—but not enough to chase it. Not like Jungkook, who used to live on land as a child, or Yoongi, with his endless fascination for women, or Hoseok, with his relentless fascination for breaking rules.  

Jimin has always been curious and daring, but only in measured strokes—never quite brave enough to venture beyond the safety of the waves. Until now.  

Now, he finds himself wondering. About you. About the strange life you lead aboard that towering vessel. Are you like the others, here to strip the sea of its bounty? Or is there something more to your story, something deeper? He wonders what your world is like—on land, where the tides are invisible and the air doesn’t shimmer.  

How different it must be from Naraeum, his underwater home, where coral spires rise like cathedrals and the water sings with life.  

And yet, for all his questions, one thought rises above the rest, startling in its clarity: You don’t seem bad at all.  

In fact, he thinks, you might just be good.  

Jimin knows well—thanks to Seokjin’s and Namjoon’s tales—that fish don’t swim on land, and that humans experience intimacy in ways unlike his kind. It fascinates him, though he would never admit it outright. Not that he’s thinking about you like that. No, it’s just curiosity, an innocent hunger to understand the unknown.  

He’s heard Yoongi’s endless stories of wild escapades on land, tales laced with laughter and mischief. They always stir an uproar—especially from Seokjin, whose words crash like waves against Yoongi’s tide, insisting that not all humans are like the ones his friend indulges in, fleeting and shallow. Jimin has always stayed quiet during those heated debates. He isn’t like Yoongi, reckless and bold, and he isn’t like Seokjin, careful and measured. He’s just… himself.  

Truthfully, Jimin doesn’t know what he wants from life, other than the life he already has. For years, he’s floated along, content to be a merman in the vast embrace of the sea. No mate has caught his eye, no grand ambition has stirred his soul. His parents, thankfully, don’t push—they let him be. But sometimes, late at night, he wonders if that’s enough.  

Lately, his thoughts have been restless, swimming further than his fins ever could. What else is out there? What experiences are waiting to be tasted, untried and undiscovered? Perhaps that’s why he’s drawn to you—not just because you freed him, not just because you’re kind. It’s something deeper, something he can’t quite name.  

And yes, you’re beautiful too. Not in the obvious, dazzling way of a siren’s song, but in a quiet, understated way that feels honest and real. He thinks of your smile, the way it tilted the edges of the moment into something softer, and he wonders if he’ll ever see it again.  

As the sun dips low, sending shards of gold skimming the water’s surface, Jimin darts through the waves, leaving the coral towers of Naraeum behind. The ocean stretches endlessly before him, but his destination is clear—your boat. It’s been days since he last saw you, days since you freed him from the trap of that cursed net.  

And yet, he feels it still—a strange pull in his chest, like a current drawing him toward the unknown. Toward you. He doesn’t know why he feels it, doesn’t know what he’s chasing. He only knows that he wants to see you again, to hear your voice ripple through the air like a melody he’s only just learned to love.  

He lifts his head above the water, careful to keep his distance from the boat, his gaze sweeping its silhouette until it lands on you. You’re leaning over the bow, framed by the soft gold of the setting sun. The light dances on your skin, lending it an ethereal shimmer, as though you belong more to the heavens than the earth. But your face tells another story—it’s etched with sorrow, your gaze heavy as it clings to the horizon.  

Something tugs at Jimin’s heart, an ache he can’t quite place. You don’t look like you belong on this boat, amidst the steel and salt and nets. It doesn’t seem to fit you, this life. He wonders, briefly, if you’re trapped in your own kind of net, caught in something you didn’t choose.  

The sun dips lower, casting a burning amber trail across the water, and you remain there, lost in thought. Unable to bear the weight of your sadness, Jimin swims closer, circling around the front of the boat. He keeps his movements light, the water rippling gently around him as he glides into your view.  

When your eyes finally find him, the change is instant. The sorrow lifts from your face like the breaking of a storm, and the softness of your smile is like the first light of dawn. It stirs something deep within him—a warmth that bubbles to the surface like the sea kissed by sunlight.  

He smiles back, instinctively, his heart fluttering in a way he doesn’t quite understand.  

You make your way to the side of the boat, where the nets hang ominously. He notices and keeps his distance, wary of the tangling web that had once ensnared him.  

“Hi, Jimin,” you call, your voice carrying across the water, warm and soothing like a lullaby. You wave, a gesture so simple yet disarming, your smile soft and genuine.  

“Hi!” he replies, his voice tinged with joy, his hand breaking the surface of the water in a wave. He can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face—it feels so natural now that he knows you mean him no harm.  

“Do you want to come onto land with me tomorrow?” you ask, your voice gentle, yet carrying a spark of excitement. There’s a glimmer in your eyes, a kind of light that makes Jimin’s heart skip in a way that feels both thrilling and terrifying.

He nods shyly, the corners of his lips curling into a smile. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice soft but brimming with eagerness. A giddy kind of warmth rises in his chest, the thrill of the unknown pulling him forward even as fear tugs at his edges. The thought of stepping onto land—foreign and solid and utterly unyielding—is daunting. But he figures, with you by his side, the leap might not feel so far.

“Cool,” you say with a grin that makes him feel a little braver. You glance out toward the endless expanse of ocean, the breeze teasing at your hair. “What have you been up to?” you ask, leaning onto the edge again, mirroring the easy way he found you.

Jimin hesitates for just a moment before diving into his thoughts. “Not much,” he says, though the memories bubble up quickly, bright and alive. “Just hanging out with my friends. Taehyung and I found this lake—it’s tucked away, surrounded by these beautiful willow trees, their branches dipping right into the water. It felt... magical.” He smiles as he speaks, the memory playing vividly in his mind like sunlight glinting through leaves. “And then I went with Namjoon to collect gems. He’s so good at finding the rare ones—ruby reds, deep blues... like pieces of the sky trapped underwater.”

He notices the way your face softens as you listen, the way your focus seems entirely on him, and it fills him with a kind of happiness he didn’t know he was searching for. Maybe, just maybe, you’re as curious about his world as he is about yours.

“That sounds amazing! Maybe you could show me that lake sometime... or even introduce me to your friends?” you ask, your voice carrying a playful lilt, but there’s a softness beneath it—a quiet yearning that Jimin can’t quite place. 

“You want to meet my friends?” he giggles, his laughter as light as the waves that lap against the boat. His tail shimmers beneath the surface, wiggling playfully, sending ripples out into the vast blue.

“Yeah,” you reply, a mock pout gracing your lips, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “If that sort of thing is allowed?” 

The sight of your expression tugs a laugh from him, warm and unguarded. It’s the kind of laugh that bubbles up from the depths of his chest, spilling out like sunlight breaking through water. You’re pouting, and it’s just about the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“Yeah, it’s okay and I’ll ask my friends,” he says, still smiling, though his words carry the weight of quiet rebellion. He doesn’t tell you the whole truth—that the Elders would frown at the idea, their endless warnings about humans ringing in his mind like a distant current. But rules have always felt like suggestions to him and his friends, currents to swim against rather than be swept away by. Besides, you don’t seem like the humans in the stories—how could you be? 

“Thank you,” you say, your smile brightening like the morning sun cresting over the horizon, chasing away shadows. It’s a smile that lingers, and it strikes something in him—a mix of excitement and trepidation, a feeling that maybe showing you his world might not be such a risk after all.

“Do you like working on that boat?” he asks, his voice slipping out before he has a chance to second-guess it. The question has lingered at the back of his mind ever since he first saw you on deck, that distant, wistful look in your eyes that seemed to carry a quiet sadness.

For a moment, your face falters, your gaze slipping away as if the weight of his question pulls something heavy from inside you. A soft sigh escapes your lips, deflated, like the last breath of air from a slowly sinking balloon. “No, not really,” you confess, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He tilts his head, genuinely puzzled, unable to grasp the why. “Then why do it?” he asks, as if the concept of choosing something without passion is entirely foreign to him.

You lower your gaze, shoulders slumping in surrender. A groan slips from your throat, a mixture of frustration and resignation. “I guess I only do it for the money,” you murmur, the words heavy in the quiet space between you. “I know, it sounds super lame... But it pays really well. It pays my rent, keeps me afloat, you know?” You trail off, uncertainty flickering across your features. “I don’t know if you have money and rent down there…”

“We do, so I get it,” he says, his voice soft but steady, an unspoken understanding passing between you. His gaze is warm, like a patch of sunlight breaking through the clouds, reassuring you without judgment. “It still sucks though,” he adds, a quiet sympathy in his tone. “Sounds kinda soulless.”

You let out a long, weary exhale, the weight of the words settling deep inside. “It is,” you agree, the truth hanging in the air like a shadow that refuses to leave.

“I’d love to do something else, but I don’t really know what,” you admit, your voice heavy with frustration. “I’ve always felt a connection to the sea, to everything in it—but catching all these fish, it’s like my soul is slowly being chipped away.” You let out a deep sigh, your eyes distant, haunted by the sight of the ocean’s wounds. “And the plastic... it’s everywhere. It clogs the water, suffocates the life. It’s maddening, you know? People are stupid,” you mutter, the anger in your chest bubbling over.

Jimin’s soft laugh cuts through the tension, and it takes you by surprise. His eyes, full of warmth, reflect the same frustration. “I agree,” he says, voice laced with quiet conviction. “The plastic—it’s everywhere. I’ve had to help so many fish and turtles get out of plastic bottles and containers. It’s heartbreaking.” His lips curl into a gentle scowl. 

Then, a smile breaks across his face, soft but genuine, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “But hey, I can help you brainstorm alternatives to catching fish on that boat,” he offers, the glint of curiosity in his eyes.

You laugh, the tension easing in your chest, your heart fluttering at the simplicity of the moment. “Yeah, we can do that tomorrow. I’d love to hear your ideas,” you say, a sense of ease settling between you. 

Jimin smiles, his heart racing slightly at the thought of tomorrow. As you talk, the conversation flows easily—your questions about his home, Naraeum, the life he leads there. He tells you that there’s no ‘work’ in the way you understand it, that their society values freedom above all else. Merfolk can take on roles if they choose, but many, like him, simply exist, untethered by obligation.

The sun begins to dip, casting its final, golden light over the water. You glance at the sky and realize it’s time to go. “I should head inside to get some dinner,” you say reluctantly, feeling the pull of the boat’s steady rhythm, but also the weight of your own hunger. 

Jimin nods, though a twinge of regret flickers in his eyes. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, his voice soft, filled with something unspoken.

He waves you a quiet goodbye, and with a flick of his tail, he dives into the water, his figure disappearing as he swims toward home—his heart a mix of eager excitement and a flutter of nerves, knowing tomorrow will bring him closer to a world he’s never truly known.  

The next day, Jimin glides through the dawn-touched water, the ocean aglow with soft gold as the rising sun kisses its surface. He reaches your boat just as the world begins to wake, his heart thudding with a mix of trepidation and anticipation. You greet him with a gentle smile, helping him aboard with the net he so despises. It entangles him briefly, like a stubborn remnant of the sea reluctant to let him go, but it’s the easiest way to bring him aboard without a fuss.

“You can hide in my room until we reach shore,” you whisper, your voice low and soothing, like the calm of the ocean before a storm. You hand him clothes—simple, unfamiliar garments—and he places them carefully on the wooden planks. He waits in silence, his shimmering tail already beginning to fade as the magic of transformation takes hold. When his legs return, he moves with an endearing awkwardness, pulling on the human clothes with clumsy hands before following you below deck. 

Your room is small, a haven carved out of the ship’s heart, yet it feels barren, like a place you exist in but do not truly inhabit. The walls are plain wood, the cream linens unremarkable, and the single duffel bag on the floor overflows with your life in disarray. Clothes spill out like secrets, but nothing in the space speaks of who you are. Jimin scans for something personal—a photograph, a trinket, a scrap of you—but finds nothing. It feels like a shell, a husk waiting to be filled, and he wonders if it mirrors how you feel here, adrift and longing.

As he settles into the quiet, he can’t help but wonder about the place you call home. Is it warm, filled with mismatched pieces of you—a kaleidoscope of colors and memories—or is it restrained, earthy and neutral, a sanctuary of simplicity? The thought lingers as he sits alone in your absence, his curiosity pulling him further into your world, one question at a time.

Jimin flinches slightly when you step through the door, the soft creak of the hinges breaking the quiet. You’re holding a plate in your hands, the aroma wafting toward him like a gentle invitation. His wide eyes soften as you pass him the food, and he takes a tentative bite. The flavors bloom on his tongue, unfamiliar yet comforting, like the memory of a warm embrace he didn’t know he’d missed.

“You made this?” he asks, glancing up at you, his eyes bright with curiosity and quiet admiration.

Your cheeks flush, and you glance away, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, I did.”

“It’s really good!” he exclaims, his grin unguarded as he dives back into the meal. The crisp, vibrant vegetables catch his attention—they taste fresh and alive, reminding him of the sea’s bounty.

You smile, a mix of relief and pride lighting your expression. “I’m glad you like it. We’re sailing back to land now, but it’ll take a while before we arrive. I need to go prepare for docking. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

He nods, his confidence warm and reassuring. “Oh, I’ll be fine,” he says easily, though his eyes flit around the room, seeking distraction. Then, something catches his attention—a book perched on your nightstand, its pages slightly curled from wear. “Can I read that?” he asks, pointing.

You follow his gaze and nod, a little surprised but pleased. “Sure,” you say, stepping out, leaving him with the quiet hum of the boat and his newfound curiosity.

The book feels delicate in his hands, its cover smooth and inviting. He opens it to find himself drawn into a tale of tangled fates: a woman, lost in the vast embrace of the woods, stumbles upon a brooding stranger whose silence hides his own scars. Jimin reads with rapt attention, imagining the dappled forest light and the quiet intimacy of strangers finding solace in each other. The words seem to pulse with life, vivid as seafoam and just as transient.

He’s just beginning to sense an undercurrent of tension—something deeper stirring between the characters—when the door swings open, and your voice pulls him back to the present. “We’ve docked,” you announce, your excitement barely masked under a layer of calm. 

Jimin sets the book down reluctantly, his mind lingering on the unfinished story. But then he looks at you, and it occurs to him that perhaps he’s stepped into a story of his own.

Jimin closes the book with a quiet snap, trailing after you as you reach for his hand. Your fingers intertwine with his, and he follows you onto the deck, his heart racing—not with fear, but with anticipation. The morning air greets him with familiar scents of salt and brine, mingled with the faintest trace of diesel and earth. Above, seagulls carve arcs against the blue sky, their cries a lilting symphony of the shore. 

The harbor is alive with motion with workers hefting crates, passengers milling about, and the rhythmic creak of moored boats swaying in the gentle tide. Jimin’s wide eyes take it all in as you weave through the crowd, his senses overwhelmed by the vibrant chaos. The sunlight gleams on water-slicked wood, and the reflections from the sea ripple across the hulls of nearby ships—small fishing boats and grand yachts alike. He stumbles once, distracted by the sheer newness of it all, but your hand steadies him, your warmth anchoring him amidst the tide of humanity.

“I want to show you my favorite place,” you muse, your voice lilting with quiet excitement. You glance over your shoulder at him, a teasing glint in your eyes that sparks his curiosity. 

“What’s your favorite place?” he asks, tilting his head to study you. His voice is quiet, though he can’t hide the wonder in it.  

“You’ll see soon,” you reply, your smile playful and soft. The secret wraps itself around the moment, and Jimin can’t help but feel giddy anticipation thrumming in his chest. Your hand fits so naturally in his, and the simple gesture sends a warmth through him, like the sun spilling over the waves.

As the crowd thins, you lead him down a quieter street lined with colorful storefronts and weathered cobblestones. The sounds of the harbor fade into the distance, replaced by the hum of life in this quaint corner of the world. Jimin moves to walk beside you now, his steps falling into rhythm with yours. 

Then, you stop before a tall, gleaming structure—its glass facade catching the morning light and scattering rainbows across the pavement. Above the entrance, bold letters spell out Ocean Wonders. Jimin freezes, a laugh bubbling up from his chest as the irony strikes him.

“This is your favorite place?” he asks, turning to you with amusement glimmering in his eyes.

“It is,” you say, grinning as you squeeze his hand. “You’ll see why.” There’s a spark of pride in your voice, and Jimin doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up as you lead him toward the entrance. The glass doors slide open with a soft whoosh, welcoming you into the heart of your secret place. As you step inside to purchase tickets, Jimin feels the excitement settle in his bones, like the pull of a current. If this place is a reflection of you, he knows it will be something truly extraordinary.

“Don’t you find it ironic, taking a merman to an aquarium?” Jimin chuckles as you hand over the money for your tickets. His tone is light, teasing, but his gaze carries the flicker of genuine amusement. You nudge him with your shoulder, a playful smirk gracing your lips.  

“Maybe, but you’re the best tour guide I could ask for,” you quip, stepping into the cavernous space.  

The air inside feels cool and alive with an undercurrent of the sea’s presence, the walls painted in deep blues and verdant greens. Overhead, glass ceilings allow rays of sunlight to dapple through, casting shifting patterns of light on the floors below. Jimin’s gaze drifts upward to the massive windows that frame the ocean in the distance, the waves visible beyond the aquarium’s curated worlds. 

Your footsteps echo softly as you approach a shallow touch pool filled with flat fish, their mottled skins blending with the sandy bottom. You lean over, rolling up your sleeve as you extend your fingers into the water, but the slippery creatures evade your touch with a practiced finesse. Jimin watches, amusement flickering in his eyes, and when he speaks, it’s not to mock, but to marvel.

“Flatfish have a trick,” he begins, his voice gentle but sure, “when they’re scared, they bury themselves under the sand, leaving only their eyes exposed. But they’re not just hiding; they’re watching, waiting.”  

His words captivate you as much as the fish do, and you glance up at him, intrigued. The informational placard nearby doesn’t say a word about this, but of course, Jimin would know. These creatures are his neighbors, after all. His world brims with secrets science has yet to uncover, and you realize, once again, how little humans know about the depths beneath the waves.

“Keep going,” you urge, your voice laced with wonder. Jimin grins, launching into more facts about the sea life before you, his knowledge as endless as the ocean itself.  

The two of you meander deeper into the exhibit, passing a chilly enclosure where penguins waddle and dive with unbridled joy. The cold air nips at your skin, and you instinctively press closer to Jimin, your arms brushing against his. He stiffens for a moment, surprised, but then relaxes, leaning into your warmth as if drawn by a tide he can’t resist.  

“Warmer now?” he murmurs, a hint of a laugh in his voice.  

“Much,” you reply, tilting your head to smile up at him before continuing toward the heart of the aquarium.  

You find yourselves before the massive central tank—a sprawling, shimmering pool alive with schools of fish, sleek rays, and prowling sharks. From the upper level, you both peer down, watching as a keeper tosses food into the water. The sharks move with a lethargic grace, their power undeniable but softened by the dreamy quality of the water. Jimin stands close, silent, observing not the animals but the awe on your face as you take it all in. 

When you venture below to the tunnel beneath the tank, the world transforms into an underwater cathedral. Light dances through the glass, rippling across your faces as the sharks glide overhead. Jimin’s fingers tighten around yours as you marvel at the creatures, your expression one of pure wonder.  

“It’s funny,” he says softly, his voice breaking the spell of silence. “I see this every day, but through your eyes, it feels…different. More magical.”  

You glance at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. A blush colors your cheeks, but you quickly deflect, pointing toward a particularly vibrant fish darting by.  

Jimin laughs, his chest rumbling lightly as he shares personal anecdotes about the creatures you pass. Stories about turtles he’s untangled from nets, rays he’s raced through coral canyons, and even sharks who’ve stubbornly refused to move from his favorite sunning rock. His tales are sprinkled with humor and affection, each one painting the ocean as not just a habitat, but a home.  

You listen, enraptured, giggling at his antics and marveling at his world. And as you walk together through the aquarium, you realize that this day isn’t just a glimpse into your favorite place—it’s a bridge between your worlds, built with each shared story, each laugh, and each lingering look.  

You guide him to the large pool that stretches before a neat row of seats—a shimmering expanse of water where visitors can slip beneath the surface and swim with the fish. This is your favorite place, a sanctuary of dreams just beyond your reach. “I’ve always wanted to dive with the fish,” you muse softly, your voice carrying a wistful longing as you gesture toward the glass, where iridescent fish dart and glide in hypnotic rhythms.  

Jimin watches you, a gentle smile gracing his face. He doesn’t say anything, but he feels your yearning as if it’s a song only he can hear. Swimming has always been second nature to him, as essential as breathing, and for the first time, he considers what it might mean to long for something so ordinary to him, yet so extraordinary to you.  

As you wander further, voices drift toward you—animated chatter about seals and feeding time. Jimin’s ears perk up, curiosity lighting his features. “I think they’re going to feed the seals,” he says, turning to you with a spark of childlike wonder in his eyes. “Can we go see?”  

“Of course,” you reply, unable to resist his enthusiasm. You take his hand and weave through the crowd, stepping out of the building and into the golden warmth of summer.  

The sun kisses your skin as you approach a stone-encased inlet, a small haven of water bordered by a bridge. Beyond the enclosure, the ocean stretches endlessly, a liquid mirror reflecting the azure sky. On a central platform, three seals lounge in anticipation, their sleek bodies gleaming under the sunlight. Jimin’s eyes widen as employees emerge with buckets of fish, tossing them to the eager creatures.  

The seals move with a playful grace, leaping and spinning for their rewards, drawing delighted gasps and cheers from the gathered crowd. Children press against the rails, their laughter ringing out like wind chimes, while elderly onlookers smile with quiet contentment. Jimin takes it all in—the shared joy, the simplicity of this moment, and the warmth of humanity’s connection to the creatures of his world.  

When the feeding ends, the crowd disperses, leaving only you and him. Hand in hand, you wander to the edge of the bridge, the faint murmur of the sea your only companion. The breeze is soft, carrying the scent of salt and the promise of freedom, and it stirs your hair like a whisper. The horizon glows faintly, the sun beginning its slow descent, painting the world in hues of gold and peach.  

You stand there, side by side, the ocean sprawling endlessly before you. Jimin feels the rhythmic pulse of the waves as if they’re beating in time with his heart. He glances at you, your gaze fixed on the water, your expression peaceful yet contemplative. The salt clings to your skin, the light dances in your eyes, and Jimin thinks there’s something magical about the way you fit into this moment—part of his world, yet entirely your own.  

“I can see why this is your favorite place,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a ripple in the air between you.  

You turn to him, your smile soft, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  

Jimin doesn’t reply right away, his thoughts caught between the beauty of the view and the person standing beside him. Finally, he nods, a faint blush warming his cheeks as he looks back to the sea.  

And as the waves lap gently against the stones, and the breeze carries the songs of the ocean to your ears, you stand there together, two worlds colliding in the quiet hush of twilight.

“You know, I’ve always loved the smell of salt in the air. There’s something about it—about the sea—that pulls at me,” you confess softly, your voice carrying a note of wistfulness, as though the waves have always whispered secrets only you can hear.  

Jimin nods, his expression warm with understanding. “I get it,” he replies, his voice as calm as the tide. But before you can say anything more, he begins to shrug off his clothes.  

Your eyes widen in alarm, your voice faltering. “Jimin, what are you doing?”  

He doesn’t answer, only grins mischievously before leaping into the pool with a joyful laugh, his golden tail flashing into existence as he hits the water.  

“Jimin!” you hiss, leaning over the railing, your hands clutching his abandoned clothes. “Someone is going to see you!”  

But Jimin only pops his head above the surface, his wet blonde hair plastered against his forehead, a cheeky glint in his eyes. The seals gather around him, chattering and circling like old friends. They nuzzle him playfully, their sleek bodies weaving through the water as though they’ve found one of their own.  

He laughs—a sound so free and unguarded that it momentarily quiets your worry. He dives beneath the surface, the faint sunlight catching the shimmering scales of his tail as he glides effortlessly from one end of the pool to the other. The seals follow, mirroring his playful energy, leaping, spinning, and splashing around him. It’s as if the world has turned into a living watercolor, the water glittering in shades of gold and sapphire under the afternoon sun.  

You watch, caught between panic and awe. Jimin looks so at home in the water, so alive. The grin on his face is radiant, brighter than you’ve ever seen it, and for a moment, you forget to breathe.  

Finally, when his energy wanes, Jimin pulls himself up onto the platform in the center of the pool. His golden tail glimmers briefly before vanishing, leaving him human again. You rush forward, his clothes clutched tightly in your hands, the edges of your worry returning.  

“Here,” you whisper urgently, holding the bundle out to him. He dresses quickly, the playful grin still lingering on his lips as you hover, scanning the area nervously.  

“Someone could have seen you,” you scold gently, your voice low but firm as you glance around to ensure the coast is clear.  

“But no one did,” he says, his voice brimming with unrepentant glee. “And I’ve never swum with seals before. It was amazing!”  

His smile is infectious—big and bright and full of a joy that feels like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Despite yourself, you let out a breath of laughter, shaking your head.  

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, though the corners of your lips betray you with the faintest hint of a smile.  

Jimin only chuckles, his gaze soft as he looks at you. “You should try it sometime,” he says, his tone playful but sincere. “You’d love it.”  

The seals bob in the water behind him, their curious eyes following his every move, and you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he’s right.  

You huff softly, the sound tinged with reluctant amusement, before grabbing his hand and tugging him back inside. Together, you explore every pool, tank, and glowing monitor, each filled with vibrant tales of the underwater world. Time slips through your fingers like grains of sand as you wander, sharing smiles, laughter, and awe over the secrets of the sea.  

When the day finally gives way to night, the two of you make your way toward the beach, the cool evening air laced with the scent of salt and the soft murmur of waves. The moon, a luminous pearl in the sky, casts its silver light across the water, while the stars sparkle like scattered diamonds above.  

You hold his hand a little tighter, reluctant to let go, your footsteps slow and lingering as you near the shore. The rhythm of the ocean mirrors the quiet thrum of your heart.  

“Today was really fun,” you murmur, your smile soft and genuine, your eyes shimmering under the moonlight.  

Jimin gazes at you, warmth spreading across his chest. “It was. Thank you for sharing it with me,” he replies, his voice gentle, the sincerity in it as deep as the ocean he calls home.  

“And thank you for all the extra details I never would’ve known,” you chuckle, squeezing his hand lightly. “You made it even better.”  

He pauses, hope glimmering in his eyes as he asks, “Can we do it again sometime?” His voice is quiet, like a wish spoken to the wind, but his expression holds the weight of his yearning.  

Your face brightens, a joyful laugh escaping your lips. “Yeah. I’d love that,” you answer, and the simple promise sends a warmth rippling through him.  

For a moment, the world feels infinite—just the two of you beneath the starlit sky, the waves singing softly in the background. Jimin can’t help but think how much lighter he feels in your company, like the pull of the tides no longer weighs him down.  

Boldly, he lifts your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against your skin, his touch reverent, his gaze lingering. You let out a small, melodic giggle, and the sound feels like sunlight breaking through the night.  

With a smile that’s both tender and bittersweet, Jimin takes a step back. “Goodnight,” he whispers, his voice like the whisper of waves upon the shore.  

Then, as if the ocean itself is calling him home, he sheds his clothes and steps into the cool embrace of the water. His golden tail flashes in the moonlight before he dives beneath the surface, becoming one with the deep blue expanse.  

You stand there for a moment longer, the sea breeze tousling your hair, your heart warm despite the night’s chill. Above you, the stars seem to shine a little brighter, as though echoing the promise of another day, another adventure, together.  

“Can I talk to you?” Riley’s voice cuts through the ambient hum of the trawler, low and serious. The weight in his tone drags at your thoughts like an anchor, and a heavy sense of foreboding blooms in your chest. It’s been days since you last had peace, days since the ocean felt like a friend and not a prison.  

“Yeah?” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady, though your stomach twists like a knotted rope.  

“Come to my room in five minutes,” he says curtly, his words sharp and clipped. He turns on his heel before you can respond, leaving you alone with the pounding of your pulse and a growing sense of unease.  

The minutes crawl, each one heavier than the last, and yet curiosity tugs at you as strongly as dread. You follow the path to his room, the confined corridors of the ship feeling tighter with each step. When you enter, you find him waiting—arms crossed, his frame rigid, his expression unreadable but intense.  

“What is this about?” you ask, though your voice wavers, your throat tightening as the walls seem to press closer around you.  

“I saw you,” Riley says, the words sharp and deliberate, laden with something that feels more like a trap than an explanation.  

“Saw me?” you repeat, your confusion laced with a thread of panic.  

“With the merman,” he declares, his lips curling into a wicked smile that makes your blood run cold. The way he says it—like he’s just unearthed treasure or a weapon—sends a shiver down your spine.  

Your breath catches. Ice floods your veins as your eyes go wide. You know, with unshakable certainty, that this is bad—very, very bad.  

“I saw him—your little merman—at the aquarium,” Riley sneers, his voice a venomous whisper that slithers through the room. He pulls out his phone with a flourish, the screen lighting up to show a video. Jimin, bare and vulnerable, diving gracefully into the seal pool, his golden tail shimmering like sunlight dancing on the waves. He’s laughing, carefree, playing with the seals. It’s beautiful—and damning. Your stomach drops like an anchor.  

“I’ve got a neat little video right here,” Riley continues smugly, shoving the screen closer to your face, his words dripping with malice.  

Your heart sinks, the weight of dread pressing down on your chest—until it’s eclipsed by a sudden, white-hot fury.  

“You followed us?” you snap, your voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Are you stalking me?”  

Riley doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t deny it. He just keeps playing the video, his grin as sharp as broken glass. “I’m going to send this to every news outlet,” he says, his tone oozing malice. “Expose your little fish boy for what he is.”  

Rage boils inside you, threatening to erupt. God, you hate him. Hate that you ever let him close enough to your life, close enough to know you. Four years since you’d broken up, and yet he lingers like a storm cloud, his presence heavy, suffocating, and vile.  

Without thinking, your hand darts out, snatching the phone from his grasp. Your fingers move with precision, deleting the video in seconds. You shove the phone back into his chest, glaring daggers.  

“I’ve got backups,” he sneers, his voice sickly sweet, like poison laced with honey.  

Your vision tunnels. Fury burns brighter, hotter, until it takes over, your voice a low, dangerous growl. “If you so much as breathe that video to anyone—hell, even your mother—I swear to God, I’ll cut off your dick with a fishing wire.”  

Your hand clenches into a fist, trembling at your side as you glare at him. His smugness falters for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. You don’t give him a chance to respond.  

You step closer, the gap between you closing in an instant. Your hand drops to his groin, your grip ruthless and unyielding. He yelps, his smirk shattering into something closer to panic. Your voice is a venomous whisper as you lean in, your eyes locked on his.  

“I’m not afraid to use force. And you know I’ll do it.” Your grip tightens, his breath hitches, and you feel your anger seeping into every word. “Stop being a pathetic, jealous little fuck who follows me around like a lovesick puppy. We’re not together, Riley. We never will be. Dating you was the dumbest mistake of my life.”  

You release him with a shove, and he stumbles back, the air between you thick with tension. Every nerve in your body is alight with fury, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of showing any more. Instead, you don’t look back as you storm off, your footsteps heavy against the wooden floorboards, your breath shallow and sharp. The sea air greets you outside, but even its salty balm can’t soothe the fiery knot in your chest. You hate him. You hate the fact that you’re trapped on this godforsaken trawler with him for two more endless days, the horizon a prison of water. The thought of jumping ship flickers through your mind—a tempting escape—but the anchor of practicality holds you steady, bitterly tethered to this floating hell.  

When the morning sun rises, painting the waves in gold, Jimin surfaces beside the boat, his arrival like a breath of fresh air. His golden hair gleams in the light, and when he spots you, his eyes soften with concern. You crouch by the edge, confiding in him the storm Riley brewed the night before. You tell him how you’ve been scouring job boards, eager to chart a new course in life, and how you’ve managed to secure an interview when you return to land.  

Jimin listens intently, his tail glimmering beneath the water as he leans closer, the faint scent of the sea clinging to him. “I’m happy for you,” he says, his voice gentle but resolute. “Not about Riley, but about the job. You deserve to find something better.”  

You smile softly. “I’ll handle Riley. I always do.”  

Two nights later, under a canopy of stars and the watchful gaze of the moon, you meet Jimin by the beach. The waves kiss the shore in gentle whispers as you kick off your shoes and settle into the cool sand, the world feeling softer here, freer. Jimin lingers in the water, his tail flicking languidly beneath the surface, the golden scales catching the moonlight like shards of starlight scattered across the ocean.  

“I’ve got good news,” you say, unable to suppress the smile that spreads across your face, warm and radiant.  

“Oh?” His eyes brighten with curiosity, his tail swishing with anticipation.  

“I got a new job,” you announce, pride coloring your voice.  

His grin matches yours, wide and full of delight, as his tail flicks with an excited splash. “That’s amazing! What is it?”  

“At the aquarium!” you beam, your excitement spilling out like the tide.  

“That’s perfect for you,” he says, his delight as luminous as the moonlight on the water. His tail wiggles with unrestrained joy, sending ripples across the ocean’s surface.  

You nod, your heart full. “It really is. No more trawlers, no more Riley.” The mention of his name makes your expression harden for a moment, but it passes quickly. “I reported him to the police and got a restraining order.”  

Jimin’s gaze sharpens briefly, but he nods in approval, his protective instincts tempered by the knowledge that you can handle yourself.  

“And now,” you add, your smile returning, “you can come visit me there. We can hang out at the aquarium—or here at the beach. Wherever you like.”  

He chuckles softly, the sound rich and warm like waves lapping against the shore. “I think I’d like that,” he says, his eyes reflecting the stars as he looks at you.  

For a moment, the world feels perfect, the night serene and endless. The future, once shrouded in uncertainty, glimmers with possibilities as vast as the ocean itself.  

The past two months with Jimin have felt like a dream spun from sea foam and starlight. Every date has been a treasure, each moment with him brimming with charm and sweetness that leaves you glowing for hours afterward. He took you to meet his friends, and you remember that day because it was filled with so much laughter your stomach hurt. Or that time he took you snorkeling still lingers vividly in your mind—the feel of his hand warm in yours as you glided through the cool water, the sunlight rippling across the ocean floor, revealing patches of vibrant plants and curious little fish. His laughter, soft and soothing, danced through the water, carrying with it a joy you’ve never known before.

Tonight is another of those magical nights. Jimin insisted on coming to your place alone this time, so you’ve been pacing slightly, anticipation coiling in your chest like the rising tide. When a knock finally echoes through your apartment, your heart leaps.

Opening the door, you’re greeted by the sight of Jimin in a simple gray t-shirt and black sweatpants—nothing flashy, yet somehow, he looks devastatingly perfect. His soft smile lights up the hallway, and your knees weaken beneath its warmth. He’s holding something in his hands, and as he steps forward, he reveals it—a beautiful seashell, its surface polished smooth by the tides and dappled with shades of ivory and blush.

“This is for you,” he says, his voice soft yet earnest, his cheeks dusted with a bashful pink as he extends the shell toward you.

“For me?” you ask, cradling it gently in your palms as though it were the most delicate treasure. You run your fingers over its grooves, marveling at its beauty.

“I found it when I was with my friend Taehyung on one of his treasure hunts,” Jimin explains, glancing down shyly. “It reminded me of you.”

Your heart swells, full to bursting with affection. Without a second thought, you step forward, wrapping your arms around him. His scent—clean, with a faint trace of salt and something uniquely Jimin—wraps around you as you press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you so much, Jimin,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I love it.” You guide him inside, carefully placing the seashell in a special spot on your display cabinet. The cabinet gleams under the soft light, filled with your collection of oceanic treasures, and now this—this piece that feels more precious than all the others combined.

“Come in, sit down,” you say, turning back to him with a bright smile. “I’ve made dinner.”

You gesture toward the sofa, where the table is already set, the aroma of the food filling the room with warmth and comfort. Jimin follows your lead, his eyes softening as he watches you, and you can’t help but think that tonight is just another reminder that sometimes, life’s greatest treasures aren’t found in the depths of the ocean—but in the small, quiet moments shared with someone you love.

He settles onto the sofa, and the two of you begin to eat, the soft glow of the television bathing the room in flickering hues. A documentary on the ocean plays, its serene narration filling the air. But it’s Jimin’s quiet interjections that captivate you most—he leans closer, offering rich, vivid details about the creatures on screen, things the narrator doesn’t know, weaving a story of his own. His voice is soft yet full of life, making you smile between bites.

When the documentary ends, you find yourselves drawing closer, as if by an invisible thread pulling you together. His warmth envelops you, steady and calming, and the rhythmic beat of his heart becomes a lullaby against your senses.

His gaze meets yours, deep and earnest, the kind that seems to hold unspoken worlds within. “I’m really grateful to have met you, you know?” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere, carrying the weight of emotion unhidden.

You hum in response, your fingers brushing over his hand, a small but comforting gesture.

“I used to think humans were… bad,” he admits, his words tinged with vulnerability. “But you’ve only shown me kindness. You’re so nice, so sweet, and I…” His other hand reaches up, tenderly combing through your hair, his fingers a soothing presence.

You’re sitting in his lap now, his arms wrapping around you in a cocoon of comfort. His frame surrounds you, a perfect shield against the world. “All this time we’ve spent together,” he continues, his voice softening like the tide pulling back, “it’s only made me realize how much I like you.”

You feel the curve of his smile against your temple, a quiet and unspoken joy radiating from him.

“Well, I like you too, Jimin,” you say, your voice a gentle melody as you nuzzle deeper into his embrace. His hold on you tightens, protective yet tender, and he leans down to press a delicate kiss to your temple.

“I want to do something for you,” he murmurs, his voice brushing against your skin like a warm breeze. “Repay the favor, or… something.”

You shake your head softly, a smile spreading across your lips. “You’ve done plenty, Jimin. You don’t have to do anything more than simply be here.” Your words are quiet but firm, carrying the truth of how much his presence alone means to you.

He hums in thought, the sound resonant and deep, as though he’s weighing something in his mind. “Can I…” he starts, but hesitates, biting his bottom lip as uncertainty flickers in his expression.

Your gaze tilts up to meet his. “What is it?” you ask, chuckling lightly, your voice teasing and warm. “What’s on your mind?”

His eyes drop for a moment before returning to yours, nervous yet earnest. “I was wondering if I could touch you?” His voice is almost a whisper, laced with vulnerability, his cheeks faintly tinged with pink.

“You are touching me,” you reply, playful but soft, a knowing smile curving your lips. Still, there’s a glimmer in your eyes, a gentle understanding of the deeper meaning behind his words.

“That’s not what I mean,” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly strained, as if he’s holding something back. He exhales, a hint of frustration slipping through as his lips hover near your ear. “I want to have… you,” he finally admits, his tone steady, yet laced with yearning.

You can’t help but chuckle, the sound soft and inviting, as your body instinctively shifts against him. His hardening cock behind you responds immediately, pressing into your back. Turning your head slightly, you meet his gaze with a mischievous smile. “I want you too, Jimin,” you whisper, your voice dripping with warmth. “You can touch me.”

Your words barely leave your lips before you press them to his, drawing him into a kiss that’s tender yet electric. His lips part, and the moment deepens—a dance of warmth and hunger. Your moans, soft and unrestrained, spill into his mouth, and he swallows each sound as if it were a secret meant only for him.

His hand trails downward, slow and deliberate, the pads of his fingers grazing your bare thigh before finding the waistband of your shorts. With a deft motion, his hand slips beneath the fabric, venturing under the delicate lace of your panties. His touch sends a shiver cascading through you, and you exhale sharply, arching your back into him as anticipation coils tight in your belly.

When his fingers find the sensitive bud of your clit, already slick with arousal, your breath hitches. He moves carefully at first, testing, his touch featherlight. His lips graze your cheek as he whispers into your ear, “Like this?” His voice is low, smoky, and devastatingly intimate.

“Yes—” The word escapes you on a shaky breath, your hips shifting to meet his hand as his fingers begin their deliberate, intoxicating rhythm. He circles your clit with just the right pressure, each motion igniting sparks of pleasure that radiate through you.

His lips find your ear, teasing it with gentle nibbles, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs, his voice dipping into a groan as he feels you respond to his touch, your body soft and pliant against his.

As his other hand joins in the exploration, it trails lower, fingers slipping between your folds. You’re soaked now, your arousal coating his fingers as they explore your entrance. One finger slides in, slow and deliberate, sending a gasp tumbling from your lips.

“Ahh—” Your breath catches, and your words come out in a broken plea. “You can add another finger.”

He obliges, his movements careful, his second finger pressing in to join the first. He curls them inside you with precision, brushing against that soft, perfect spot that has your back arching and your voice spilling over in desperate cries of his name.

The heat between you intensifies as you grind back into him, feeling the hard length of him against you, evidence of his own growing need. He moans your name into your ear, his voice a heady mix of reverence and desire, the sound sending a rush of heat through your veins.

“You feel so good,” he breathes, his voice shaky, his control slipping as his fingers continue their exquisite work, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body trembles as the crest of your climax surges through you, a tidal wave of euphoria unleashed by his touch. When his fingers pinch your clit, it’s the final spark that ignites you, and your voice breaks in a desperate cry of his name. “Ah, Jimin!” you groan, your body thrashing in his arms as pleasure consumes you. Your walls pulse around his fingers, and he doesn’t stop, coaxing you through the high with ease, his voice a soothing hum of reassurance.

When the aftershocks make you hypersensitive, you shift off his lap, your chest heaving as you fight for air. The room feels electric, charged with the heat of your shared intimacy. Your hands tremble slightly as you strip away your shorts and panties, baring yourself fully to him. “I need you,” you murmur, voice breathless but determined. “I want to feel you inside me.”

Jimin’s eyes widen, his pupils blown with lust, dark as the midnight sea. His arousal is evident, straining against the fabric of his black sweatpants. When you tug them down, revealing his dick—he’s bare beneath them, as always—you bite your lip at the sight. It’s a fact that never fails to make your pulse race.

“You’re never wearing underwear,” you whisper, your voice tinged with amusement and heat.

His cheeks flush, but he doesn’t get a chance to respond before your fingers wrap around him. He hisses through his teeth, his hips twitching forward as if drawn to your touch by magnetic force. “Your dick is so pretty,” you murmur, stroking him slowly, savoring the feel of him in your hand.

“T-thanks,” he chokes out, his voice a strained mix of pleasure and restraint. You smile softly, leaning forward to press your lips to his flushed tip, tasting the salt of him. His groan is low and guttural, a sound that vibrates through your core as you take him into your mouth.

You tease him with languid, deliberate movements, your lips sliding over his cock while your tongue flicks against the sensitive underside. His hands tangle in the fabric of the couch, his breath coming in sharp gasps as you explore him. But just as he begins to unravel, you pull away with a soft, wet pop, leaving him trembling beneath you.

“Maybe I’ll give you a proper taste another time,” you tease, your voice thick with desire. “Right now, I need you to fuck me.”

Jimin’s head falls back, and he releases a shaky laugh, his hands flexing at his sides as though grounding himself. “Yeah, sounds good,” he stammers, his voice hoarse with want.

You climb onto his lap, your knees pressing into the soft cushion on either side of his powerful thighs. Your hand wraps around his dick, guiding him to your entrance, and you sink down slowly, inch by inch. The stretch is delicious, a sensation that has you throwing your head back with a moan. “God, Jimin,” you breathe, your fingers clutching his shoulders as you take him fully inside you.

He groans, deep and guttural, his head tipping forward to rest against your collarbone. “So tight,” he pants, his grip firm on your hips, as though anchoring himself in the moment.

You chuckle softly, rolling your hips experimentally, savoring the way he fills you. “It’s good, isn’t it?” you murmur, brushing a hand through his hair.

“Better than good,” he grunts, his voice rough as the sea during a storm. His hands guide you, encouraging your movements as you begin to ride him, your bodies moving together in a rhythm as old as the tides.

A playful smile curls your lips as you lean closer, your voice light with mischief. “Better than merfolk sex?”

His laughter is strained but genuine, a sound that melts into a groan as your pace quickens. “It’s… different,” he manages, his words punctuated by the hitch in his breath.

You lean forward, brushing your lips against his as your movements slow, rolling your hips languidly to draw out every sensation. “Good different?” you whisper, your voice barely audible above the sound of your ragged breathing.

His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. “Perfect,” he murmurs against your lips, and in that moment, you know he means it. It sends shivers down your spine as you pick up the pace. You ride him with a ferocity that leaves no room for restraint, your body taking what it craves as his dick fills you perfectly, over and over again.

Jimin’s head falls back, his golden hair cascading around his face like a halo, shimmering even in the dim light. His beauty is almost otherworldly, but it’s the raw humanity of his reactions—his moans, his gasps, the way his lips part in ecstasy—that makes your heart race even faster.

Your hands grip his shoulders for support, and you lean in to kiss him, pouring every ounce of your desire into the connection. Your lips crash together, tongues tangling, and the sound of your shared groans fills the air like a symphony. When his hips begin to rise and meet yours, thrusting into you with a powerful rhythm, you cry out.

“There!” you scream, your voice trembling with bliss as he strikes that perfect spot deep inside you, sending your mind spiraling into chaos.

He laughs breathlessly against your lips, his tone tinged with mischief and triumph. His fingers grip your hips firmly, his touch possessive as though anchoring you to him. He kisses you again, slower this time, his lips devouring yours with unspoken promises.

“I want to have merfolk sex with you too,” you pant, the words spilling from you unbidden as your eyes lock onto his, searching for… something. Something intangible, something only he can give you.

Jimin’s breath hitches, his smile faint but wicked. “Later,” he murmurs, his voice strained yet teasing. “Right now, I just want to feel this.”

You groan, your chest pressing against his as his hips surge upward, faster and harder, the rhythm pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Fuck,” you gasp, feeling the heat coil tight and hot in your core. “I’m going to come again soon.”

His response is a low, broken moan, his lips brushing against your ear. “Yeah?”

Instead of answering, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, your lips finding the tender skin there. You kiss him softly, your teeth grazing just enough to make him gasp, and when he mirrors your actions, nibbling at your neck, goosebumps ripple across your skin.

Your breath catches, your body shuddering as his thrusts grow rougher, deeper, each one stoking the fire inside you until it finally erupts. “Jimin…,” you cry out, his name a prayer on your lips as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. You collapse against him, your head resting on his shoulder as you tremble through the aftershocks, your walls squeezing him tight.

“Shit,” he rasps, his voice cracking as he feels the way you pulse around him. “I didn’t think it could get tighter. Fuck.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, the sound breathy and light, which only makes him groan louder, his hips faltering. His need is palpable, every thrust a desperate chase toward his own release.

“God, it feels so good,” he pants, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

“It does,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his neck. Your fingers thread through his hair as you murmur in his ear, “Now come inside me. Fill me up.”

Your hips move together in a rhythm that feels almost sacred, each motion drawing you closer, tethering you in a shared moment of bliss. Jimin throws his head back, his golden hair glistening with a faint sheen of sweat as he gasps your name, the sound reverberating like music in your ears. His body shudders beneath yours, his release spilling into you as his breaths come in ragged pants.

“Holy—,” he starts, his voice cracking with the remnants of his climax, but you smile, running your fingers through his tousled locks, grounding him.

“It was amazing,” you finish softly, leaning in to kiss him. The kiss is languid, unhurried, your lips brushing his with the tenderness of someone who knows this moment will linger in your memory forever.

You remain still, savoring the aftershocks coursing through both your bodies, the quiet intimacy of him still buried within you. His cock twitches faintly, and you giggle as you feel the first trickles of his release slipping out of you, warm and unhurried, down to his thighs.

“Maybe we should clean up,” you say, a playful lilt in your voice.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, his laughter soft and warm, “it’s definitely sticky.”

“Come take a bath with me,” you suggest, sliding off him with care, your fingers intertwining with his as you pull him to his feet. Together, you make your way to the bathroom, your giggles echoing in the quiet space as you both use tissues to clean up.

The bathwater fills the tub in a cascade of steam and heat, and when it’s ready, you shed the last remnants of your clothing, stepping in with Jimin close behind. The water embraces you like a warm cocoon, and as you settle down, Jimin takes his place behind you, his sturdy thighs cradling you as they had on the couch. His hands move to your hair, working in gentle strokes as he massages your scalp, letting the warm water cascade over your skin.

“This is nice,” you murmur, your head tilting back to rest against his chest.

“It is,” he agrees, though there’s a soft chuckle in his voice. “But I’ll probably shift into my merman form soon.”

You smile, turning your head just enough to press a kiss to his bicep. “I love when you’re a merman.”

He beams at your words, and with a shimmer of light, golden sparkles dance around him like fireflies, transforming his legs into a resplendent golden tail. The fins spill over the edge of the tub, their iridescent sheen catching the bathroom light, making the moment feel dreamlike.

You shift slightly, giving him more space as the water ripples around his transformation. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close again, his tail flexing gently beneath the surface.

“Do you… maybe,” he begins, his voice tentative, but there’s an almost boyish eagerness in his tone that makes you smile.

“Just say it, Jimin,” you tease softly, leaning further into his embrace.

He laughs, his breath warm against your temple as he gathers his courage to speak.

“Do you want to date me? Become my mate?” Jimin’s voice carries a quiet hope, his brown caramel eyes searching yours as if the entire ocean hinges on your answer.

“Like a girlfriend? Like a relationship?” you ask, tilting your head, your gaze diving into the endless warmth of his eyes.

He bites his lip, hesitating for a moment before his words tumble out. “Yeah. It’s a relationship, but being mates is more than that. It’s a promise—a bond for life. At least, that’s what it means for merfolk.” He pauses, his voice softening. “But we can take it slow if you want to.”

A chuckle escapes your lips as you nuzzle your head into his chest, the steady thrum of his heart grounding you. “I want to be your mate,” you whisper, the truth of it blooming in your chest like a sunrise over the waves.

Relief floods his face as he kisses your forehead, his golden tail flicking above the water with a ripple that catches the light. It’s such a simple motion, yet it sends your heart fluttering like the wings of a butterfly.

You sit there for a while, submerged in the warmth of the water and the closeness of him. His lips find yours, soft and sweet, and your hands wander—tracing the smooth scales of his tail and the hard planes of his chest. Time seems to dissolve, lost in the salty scent of him, the ocean a mere echo in the distance.

Then, like a sudden wave crashing on the shore, a thought surfaces in your mind. “Do you maybe want to help me with a work thing?” you ask, your voice tinged with a hopeful excitement.

He chuckles, his lips quirking in that way that makes your stomach flip. “What is it?”

“Well…” you begin, unable to keep the grin off your face. “I’m hosting this merfolk event at the aquarium for kids. I’ve got this mermaid costume and everything, but I thought… maybe you could show up as a merman in the big pool? We could dive and swim together—give the kids a show they’ll never forget. Obviously, I’ll tell them you’re wearing a costume too,” you add quickly, your cheeks warming at the thought of how much you want this—not just for the kids, but for yourself.

Jimin blinks at you for a moment before his face lights up with a smile as dazzling as the sunlight on the waves. “Sure,” he says, his voice warm. “I’d love to.”

He leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss, deeper this time, and it’s then that you realize you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of him. Not his salty scent, not his plush, addictive lips, and certainly not the way he makes your heart feel like it’s swimming in its own current of joy.

The day of the merfolk event has finally arrived, and the aquarium is alive with an energy you’ve never felt before. Laughter and whispers of anticipation fill the air as kids clutch their parents’ hands, eyes wide with wonder. The normally tranquil space is transformed into a shimmering underwater dreamscape. Seashells and trailing strands of faux kelp adorn every corner, while cardboard cutouts of merfolk in a spectrum of skin tones stand as guardians of the magic. Soft, ethereal music hums overhead, making the air feel thicker, as if you’ve already slipped beneath the waves.

Backstage, near the pool you adore, you wrestle with the fabric tail of your mermaid costume, trying to coax it into place. It’s always been your favorite spot in the aquarium—the big pool where the water gleams like liquid sapphire, reflecting the ceiling’s soft lights.

You’re muttering to yourself when Jimin appears, his presence as effortless as a tide rolling in. His golden hair is swept back, and his smile—wide and warm—makes your heart skip.

“Oh, hi, babe,” you say, flashing him a quick grin as you tug futilely at the tail.

“Hi, babe,” he mimics with a laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your predicament.

“You don’t have to put that on,” he says, stepping closer with a glint of mischief. “I have something better for you.”

From behind his back, he reveals a bundle of something strange yet mesmerizing—a ribbon of kelp, but unlike any you’ve seen. Its tendrils shimmer with an otherworldly glow, the orange hue reminiscent of a sunset bleeding into the horizon.

“What is it?” you ask, reaching out to touch it.

“This,” he says, his fingers brushing yours as he places it in your hands, “is Merwhisper Kelp. It lets humans become merfolk for one hour.” His voice is soft, filled with excitement and affection. “I thought you might like to swim with me today as a real mermaid. Make it… special.”

The idea leaves you breathless, your thoughts spinning as you meet his gaze. “Special how?” you tease, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “We could show them a merfolk mating ritual.”

Your cheeks flush crimson as your jaw drops. “Like… having sex in front of the kids?!”

He bursts out laughing, the sound rich and musical, shaking his head. “No, no, no. It’s not like human sex, I promise,” he explains, his voice steady despite his amusement. “There’s nothing explicit about it—it’s more like a dance. A connection. Trust me, it’ll be beautiful.”

The sincerity in his eyes melts away your embarrassment, replacing it with intrigue. “You’ll guide me?” you ask softly, your fingers tightening around the kelp.

“Always,” he says, his smile gentle as the tide.

Your heart stirs, and with a nod, you release the fabric tail you’d been fighting with. “Okay. That sounds… amazing.”

He leans in then, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that feels like a promise, warm and lingering.

“I’ll head out first and start the show,” you say, your voice lighter now, a mix of nerves and excitement. Grabbing a robe to cover yourself, you glance back at him, your smile mirrored in his golden gaze. “Wait for me, yeah?”

“Always,” he says again, his voice steady and sure, as you step out toward the glowing auditorium.

You stand before the vast, crystalline pool, its surface shimmering under the soft glow of the aquarium lights, and the crowd of children before you vibrates with barely-contained energy. Their laughter bubbles up like champagne, effervescent and infectious, as their wide eyes focus on you with wonder.

“Hi, everyone!” you begin, your voice bright and warm, your hands clasped over your heart. “Are you excited to be here today?”

A chorus of giggles and shouts fills the room, their enthusiasm washing over you like a wave.

“That’s wonderful! Today, I have something very special to share with you,” you continue, leaning in as if confiding a grand secret. “Today, I’m asking you to believe in magic and fantasy—to let your imaginations take you somewhere extraordinary.” Your eyes sparkle as you gesture toward the pool.

“My boyfriend and I are going to show you how merfolk swim and dance underwater,” you announce with a grin, watching their faces light up in awe. “We’re going to wear costumes, of course,” you add with a playful wink, “but I want you to imagine it’s all real. Because, really, anything is possible if you can dream it. Right?”

The children nod eagerly, their cheers like tiny waves crashing onshore.

“Oh, and let me introduce someone special,” you say, gesturing toward your coworker. “This is Simon, and he’s going to narrate everything while I’m underwater!” Simon gives a mock bow, earning a ripple of applause and laughter.

With a final smile and wave, you step backstage, your heart racing, where you find Jimin waiting for you. His soft smile is a beacon of reassurance, grounding you as excitement tingles through your veins.

“You’re really about to make my dreams come true, you know that, right?” you say, your words spilling out in a giddy laugh as you reach for the Merwhisper Kelp in his hands.

“That was the whole point,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a mischievous smile as he leans in to kiss you, soft and lingering.

As the kelp touches your tongue, an electric sensation ripples through your body. Your legs feel strange—like they’re dissolving and reforming all at once. Sparkles erupt in a dazzling cascade around you, and a gasp escapes your lips as you collapse gently to the ground.

You gape in amazement at the transformation. A shimmering silver tail, adorned with translucent scales that catch the light like diamonds, extends where your legs used to be. Your torso is now clad in a delicate seashell bra that feels as though it was crafted from the ocean itself.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice filled with wonder as you trail your fingers over the scales. The tail feels strange yet beautiful—foreign and familiar all at once.

Jimin kneels beside you, his golden eyes alight with admiration. “You look stunning as a mermaid too,” he says softly, his hand brushing over yours. “Now, go on. Jump into the water—I’ll be right behind you.”

You nod, still breathless with awe, and begin sliding toward the edge of the pool. The smooth tiles give way to the cool embrace of the water as your tail dips in, sending a shiver of delight up your spine. Tentatively, you let yourself slide further, the pool enveloping you.

The moment your body is fully immersed, it’s as if the world has shifted. You float effortlessly, your tail moving with a fluid grace you never imagined. Tiny bubbles rise to the surface, carrying your laughter with them. The water cradles you, weightless and serene, and you can’t help but giggle at the pure magic of it all.

Words fail you—this feeling is beyond description, an ethereal blend of joy and wonder. You glance up, and through the rippling surface, Jimin smiles down at you. In this moment, the world feels limitless, and magic is not just something you believe in—it’s something you live.

You feel the warmth of a hand at the small of your back, where the delicate curve of your skin meets the smoothness of your shimmering scales. Jimin glides up beside you, his smile a radiant beacon in the water. Without hesitation, you swim into him, pressing your lips to his in a quick, electrifying kiss before gliding forward, emerging into view for the children to see.

Your heart swells—so full of love, it almost feels as though it could burst from your chest. You reach for his hand, and the connection between you is a thread of pure joy, binding your hearts together with unspoken promises. Together, you swim effortlessly beside the swaying kelp, darting through rocky formations, surrounded by the shimmering world of the deep, until you come to the massive glass wall that separates you from the fascinated eyes of the children.

As you break through the surface, the children’s gasps of awe and delight fill the air, their faces alight with wonder. You wave, your heart fluttering as Simon spins tales of merfolk—stories gifted to him by Jimin himself.

Turning toward Jimin, your gaze finds him, and the world around you seems to melt away. His eyes, soft and deep, hold your universe within them, a world built on love and unspoken understanding. He reaches for both your hands, lifting them in front of your faces as he gently presses his body against yours. His chest against yours feels like coming home.

With a slow, tender movement, he begins to spin you in the water, guiding you in a dance as old as time. You laugh, the sound bubbling through the water, as your tails entwine in fluid harmony. His kiss comes then—deep, slow, full of longing—as if he’s been waiting for this moment all his life. In the embrace of his lips, you feel like everything has led to this. Like you were born to dance like this, to love like this. It’s as if two worlds—yours and his—are colliding, fusing together in one seamless, breathtaking whole.

This is what merfolk love must be—this swirling connection, this surrender to the current of passion and tenderness. The kiss deepens, the world slipping away into a blissful haze, and for a moment, you can’t hear the laughter of the children. All that matters is this—a love so pure, so magical, it transcends everything. The only thing that exists in this moment is Jimin, the love you share, and the extraordinary gift he’s given you.

The world is perfect here, in the waters where love flows as effortlessly as the ocean itself. And you are exactly where you belong, with him.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle

→ Series taglist: @allie-in-the-moon @bangtannie7 @suker4angst @women-kisseer @13-manggaetteok

→ Author’s endnote: waaaah 🤧 Personally, I think this one turned out so much better than Tae’s (not that I don’t think that was good!) but I guess it’s just a lot easier for me to write Jimin? Anyway. What do you guys think of this one? Are you still excited for the last two? ✨💜

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[timeausterrors]

LINE UP LET'S GO!

[nickfowlerrr]

https://www.tumblr.com/nickfowlerrr/760258643802406912 BEEFY BUCKY PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE *gasping breath in* PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

change of pace

pairing: beefy!bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut. unprotected sex. a little bit of fluff. not edited!

words: 1.1k

notes: ask and ye shall receive 😌 lol when i reblogged that post you know he was all i was thinking about 🥴 lol thank you for sending this, e! 🫶🏻

thank you in advance for reading! as always, comments and reblogs are welcome and so appreciated. hope you enjoy this little drabble! 🩵

“Oh, fuck,” he whines, his eyes squeezed shut while he’s breathing heavy, his hands clenching the back of the couch threatening to break the wooden frame of it. Bucky’s head is thrown back in pleasure as you slowly sink down on his throbbing cock.

He can’t see the way your lips part at the stretch of him, or how you stifle your own moan as you take him in, or the twinkle in your eyes at the sight of him already flushed and lost in the feeling of you straddling his lap, your hands on his chest as you sit on his cock.

His fingers flex as he grips the couch, doing his best to control himself and let you set the pace. Your hands glide up his chest to around his neck as you lift yourself off his lap, until just his tip is inside you, your fingers in his hair as he gulps a breath. You stay for a moment and wait until you see him relax for just a second before you sit back down, his thickness impaling you in the best way.

He whimpers the most beautiful moans you think you’ve ever heard as his eyes scrunch tighter, his lips in a pout as you slowly start to really ride his cock.

“Baby, please,” he begs softly, cheeks pink as he turns his face away from you. His eyes are still closed tight, he’s both too shy and too worked up to look at you right now.

“What’s the matter?” you ask breathily, your torturous movements not faltering as you lean closer to him, your breasts pressing against his chest and your fingers curling in his hair as your soft lips ghost his ear before you lightly kiss his face, another pathetic moan slipping from the beefy man beneath you at the gentle kiss.

His bright blue eyes flutter open then as he turns his face toward you, pout still in place, his eyes much darker than they were a few minutes ago, but that gleam in them ever present.

You titter as your noses brush and you know exactly what he wants before he even says it.

You’re sinking lower on his dick as he finally speaks.

“Kiss me,” he pleads, not even trying to hide how desperately he wants to feel your lips on his. You don’t keep him waiting too long before you give in to his request. Your kiss is soft at first as you keep rolling your hips, the feeling of his tongue slipping into your mouth and his moans against your lips fueling your movements.

Slowly, Bucky lets his arms fall from their place along the back of the couch before he drags his hands up your thick thighs. You don’t stop him so he keeps going.

His heavy palms finding your ass, squeezing the ample flesh there as he follows your movements up and down his fat cock.

His touch dances up to your back and then his hands find their place settling on the curve of your waist meeting your hips. All the while, Bucky kisses you greedily while you let him, your own moans muffled by his mouth.

He squeezes your waist lightly and you don’t know what snaps or takes over you but suddenly you’re spurred on in your movements. It’s not slow rolls if your hips anymore, no. Now you’re bouncing up and down his thick cock as he chokes out a moan in surprise. His big hands are gripping you tight but he doesn’t dare deter you or want you to slow down. He just needs to feel you, needs to touch you and your soft fucking body that he won’t ever get enough of. The way you take him, the way you make him feel, it’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. You’re indescribable. You’re incomparable. You’re fucking everything.

He doesn’t know how or why he’s suddenly so overcome with emotion but he feels his eyes sting as he watches you, mesmerized by you on top of him, your breasts bouncing with every raise of your hips, your mouth open as you breathe heavily, soft moans of pleasure spilling out of you.

It feels so good. Everything feels so good, he can’t stop himself. He cries meekly, the most pathetic noise leaving him as his balls squeeze tighter and tighter with your every bounce. His hands tight on your hips and he whimpers again, “Baby, fuck, ohhh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grits, puffing as he tries to hold himself back. You speed up your movements, feeling your walls squeeze even tighter around his thick length as you get closer too.

Bucky slips his hands from your waist to your heavy breasts, grabbing them and squeezing them in his big hands before he lets his lips and tongue slide all over them, kissing them, licking them, before he wraps his lips around one of your pert nipples, sucking and licking the sensitive bud as you whine and moan in the intense pleasure it sends through you. He’s moaning as he takes his pleasure in kind, showing the same dedication to your other breast as you move atop him.

He’s so close. So fucking close. He buries his face in your chest as he holds you close, whimpers and pleas spilling from him as you fuck him perfectly.

“Please let me cum, baby, please,” he grips your hips again. Eyes squeezed shut, he’s almost pained from how badly he wants to just let go. To fill you up and keep you leaking him for the rest of the day. His balls twitch at the thought and he cries out again.

You reach a hand down behind you and gently squeeze him and he almost doesn’t even hear your permission to cum inside you as he shoots his load despite himself the very second he felt your touch. Groans and debauched whimpers leaving him as he holds you down on his lap, finally letting himself move as he bucks up into you.

You have to hold onto him as he fucks into you. Your own moans and whimpers mingling with his as he brings you to your own orgasm without even really trying, your silky walls tightening around his cock and milking him as he rides out your shared high.

His head is on your chest as he keeps you in place on his thick lap, heavy breaths and sighs leaving you both as you hold his head to you, your fingers playing in his hair.

“I love you,” he breathes against you, his eyes closed in bliss as you pet him. You smile down at him, and he doesn’t see it, but he feels it when you place a kiss on head and hold him closer. His arms tighten around you before he carefully turns you both so you’re laying down on the couch now, him on top of you, head still on your chest as you murmur back with that same soft smile,

“I love you, too.”

[yunhoszn]

save a horse, ride a cowboy

PAIRING jeong yunho x f!reader

WORD COUNT 12.25k

GENRES fluff﹒angst﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, reader is a city girl but i tried not using too many gendered terms, cowboy!yunho RAHHHHH, mentions of food, reader has a boyfriend for most of the fic (an oc) but there’s no real infidelity, reader embarrasses themselves on what i’d say is a few occasions too many, yunho is down bad, masturbation (m! and brief f! receiving), lowkey voyeurism, a really bad dad joke, horse riding scene bc i feel that’s pivotal for a cowboy fic, lots and lots of kissing, marking, teasing, vaginal fingering x2, oral sex (f! receiving) x2, multiple orgasms, very slight edging, praise, pet names (baby, babe, and princess oops), unprotected sex (BE SAFE PLS I BEG), cowgirl position, pull out method, missionary position, creampie lol, ending is cute but also kinda up for interpretation? i guess <3

SUMMARY when your grandparents decided to retire and take a summer’s long vacation in celebration, they leave their house in your care. at least you don’t have to worry about feeding the farm animals. but you do have to worry about the tall, handsome cowboy who does.

MORE AND SHE’S DONE oh my god, this fic actually pulled so much out of me i think i was the one seeing stars by the end.. 😭 but i’m so proud of it and the goals i tried meeting while writing. first of all the length??? insane for me. i can hardly get myself to write anything longer thank 5k 😞 THATS ENOUGH ABOUT ME THO,,, this fic was heavily inspired by the django performance if u couldn’t tell by the banner 😝 and i’d first like to thank the academy aka @kimsohn for encouraging me to write this and fueling my delusions ilysm maya <3 i’d also like to give a huge thank u to @bro-atz TYSM FOR BETAING AND HELPING WITH SCENES BRO ur my life saver fr <3 PLS PLS PLS REBLOG IF U ENJOYED!!

Growing up, you weren’t the biggest fan of trips to your grandparents’ farm in the rural countryside. 

You were born in a big city, full of all the glitz and glam. There were bright lights that lit the skyline at night, distracting from the stars that illuminated above. The wide open space was blocked by high towers and large skyscrapers. You were accustomed to the sound of bustling pedestrians and the obnoxious honking of cars in the streets. There was seldom an evening of complete silence. 

Everything was so tightly packed together, within walking distance if you didn’t feel like hopping in a car for a fifteen minute drive. You appreciated the insanity of the train station in the mornings before school, the metro so busy with students and working class individuals. You came into contact with numerous strangers throughout your day to day life. 

However, every summer until you were a senior in high school was a different story. 

Your parents wanted to keep you humble, you supposed, shipping you off to your grandparents’ for three months. Living in the city kept people too sheltered, too primped and polished for the real world. They wanted you to have that exposure, to experience what it was like to live without the fanciness of urbanization. The nine months out of the year that you spent in the city stunted that exposure, though.

When you’d arrive at their farm, luggage stacked like you were taking a trip to London or Paris, you felt like a glorified version of Regina George. Maybe Blair Waldorf. Elle Woods? You weren’t even rich like that. Your parents were nice, middle class people. There was just something about cow manure and the fear of stepping on a freshly laid egg that made it difficult to adjust to the setting.

It was most likely your stubbornness throughout your childhood that held you back even as you got older and more educated. You thought after graduating high school, the three-months-long “retreat” would come to an end. You’d only need to visit when necessary, maybe a week max. And that was true to an extent. During your university years, you only visited the farm around once a year. You were too consumed with school to even go home sometimes. 

And then your grandparents decided to retire. 

Their farm had supplied the town over with produce and other home-grown items for as long as you could remember. But they were getting older and no one in the family was willing to inherit the farm or its responsibilities. In celebration of their retirement, they planned a grand vacation to visit multiple countries. Their itinerary spanned an entire summer, just like your trips to the farm when you were younger.

Because you were the only one familiar enough with the area, they enlisted you to housesit while they were gone. You tried to get out of it, but they didn’t trust anyone else as much as you, despite your convictions about country life. So you reluctantly agreed, packing up your things to prepare for another grueling summer at the farm one last time. 

But there was a bit of a setback.

”What do you mean someone’s living in the farmhouse behind their house?” You shriek into the receiver, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear as you zip up your final bag. Your mom sighs on the other end.

”Your grandma just only now told me, apparently it slipped her mind,” you can hear the sympathy in her tone. “He’s this boy who grew up in the town and he’s gonna take over the farm for them on the condition that they still live on the property. She said he shouldn’t get in your way and he’s expecting your presence. You’ll only see him if you ever actually go out to the farm and when he brings groceries to the house.”

”Great. Another thing I didn’t sign up for.” You mutter, giving your bedroom a once over to make sure you’re not forgetting anything. “Is there anything else I should know before I get there, like a secret pet or maybe a family living in the attic?”

”Watch the attitude, Y/N,” she warns, and you shut up immediately. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. You’re a grown adult and you’d rather spend your summer going out with your friends, but you already told your grandparents you would do this for them. It’ll be over before you know it.”

You sigh, nodding even though she can’t see it. At least you didn’t have to worry about caring for their farm animals. It was time to think of this as a staycation rather than torture. Sure, your friends were going to be living it up in the Bahamas for a week and your boyfriend was going to be here while you were surrounded by nothing but flat landscape for acres. 

Perhaps it was good for you that there would be someone else on the property. You might’ve started to feel scared being alone in the middle of nowhere for so long. Though, your boyfriend probably won’t be the biggest fan of you staying within the vicinity of another man for three months. You’d just deal with that later. 

The drive to your grandparents’ farm is actually more peaceful than anything else. Driving for long periods of time wasn’t your favorite thing to do, but doing it by yourself with nothing but your music filling your ears was a sort of therapy. It allowed you to come to terms with your fate for the summer and what it could entail, even if it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. 

Seeing the lush greenery for miles upon miles as you neared their home evoked a sense of tranquility within you. If you kept a positive outlook on your situation, you would make it through these next few months unscathed and your sanity still intact. Maybe you despised the wide open space for years when you were a kid, but now that you’re an adult, you think you could learn to appreciate it and its beauty. 

As long as the guy living in the farmhouse didn’t bother you like your grandmother said, everything would be—

Oh. 

You pull up in front of the house, already thrown for a loop by the tall, very handsome stranger walking his dog back from the mailbox. His dark hair obscured his eyes, a bandana tied around his neck to match with the one hanging off the Border Collie’s collar. The two turn around at the sound of your engine, stopping in their tracks once you’ve parked. 

He brings a hand up to shield the sun from his eyes, watching cautiously as you park slowly. You don’t know why you’re so anxious, it’s not like you’ll be interacting with him much during your stay anyways. There’s something about his slender figure and the fact that he was so clearly dedicated to what he does upon first glance that it makes you feel shy. You suck in a sharp breath before deciding to exit your vehicle, wiping clammy palms on your denim shorts. You’re starting to regret not dressing a little cuter, a little more presentable. 

His features soften upon recognizing you, the pretty granddaughter that your grandparents showed him prior to leaving for their trip. The hand sheltering his face falls to his side and he gives you a warm smile, somehow warmer and brighter than the sweltering summer sun. You’d always been told not to talk to strangers, to keep your distance for your own safety, but you can’t help mirroring his expression with a small wave. 

“H-Hi,” your voice wobbles and you kind of want to die just a bit. “I’m Y/N. My grandparents mentioned you lived in the farmhouse out back, but didn’t give me a name or face to expect.”

He extends his arm out and you shake his hand, albeit slightly nervously. His eyes squint when he glances between you and his dog. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’m Yunho, and this is Yeoreum.”

The name is fitting for the red and white colored Border Collie, her tongue sticking out as she stares up at you with big eyes that almost resemble her owner’s. You bend down to pet her, patting the soft tufts of fur on her head and appreciating her licks of excitement. Yunho laughs, whistling to catch her attention. 

“Yunho and Yeoreum,” you repeat, a tiny grin on your face. “Befitting. Does she come with the property?”

“Unfortunately, no. She’s spoken for,” he teases, a pout on his features. “But she can visit whenever you’d like. Jokes aside, did you need any help moving stuff into the house?”

”That would be great, actually!” You scratch the back of your neck, lips pursing. Yunho waits for you to unlock the trunk of your car and places Yeoreum’s leash in your possession, making quick work transporting your bags inside. What was just supposed to be some light assistance, has evidently become him doing everything on his own while you stand and look pretty with his dog.

You didn’t bring too much with you since you didn’t have plans to leave while you were housesitting and your grandparents weren’t so old fashioned that they didn’t have a washing machine. Still, you felt useless allowing this stranger you’d just met to do all this manual labor on your behalf.

”Does he always do this?” You murmur to the Border Collie, falling to a seat on the lowest front porch step. She doesn’t give you a response (not that you expected her to), but pants happily in lieu of one, craning her head so you can scratch the spot behind her ear. 

“You’re a guest, it’s just good hospitality for me to help.” Yunho says as he comes out of the house, stationing himself in front of you with his hands on his hips, thumbs in his belt loops. 

“There’s a difference between helping and doing the work yourself. You’re just being modest,” you push yourself up to hand him Yeoreum’s leash. “But thank you anyway, that was really nice. I’m so tired from driving up here, so I think I would’ve collapsed doing all that back and forth.”

”You should go rest,” he glances at the house behind you. “There’s a whole three months of farm life ahead of you, so don’t wear your pretty little self out just yet.”

Yunho salutes to you and takes his leave, walking around your grandparents’ house toward what you assume is the farmhouse. Your eyes are wide and your cheeks feel hot, and you’re well aware that it’s not because of the summer heat. Your fingers clutch at the material of your t-shirt and you shake it to fan yourself. 

It seemed like you were in for a bumpy ride these next few months. But like you reiterated prior to arriving, everything would be just fine so long as you and farm boy went your separate routes and lived your separate lives. 

Yeah. Things would be alright. You hope. 

It’s a week into your stay on your grandparents’ farm when you bump into Yunho again. 

You’re toweling your neck after getting out of the shower, heading into the kitchen to make yourself another bowl of cereal for breakfast. So far the only downside has been your inability to cook a decent meal. Takeout or your boyfriend sleeping over were usually your saving grace, but without having either of those options, you’ve stuck to microwaveable things.

The sight of Yunho unloading groceries onto the counter has you squealing and nearly jumping out of your own skin. He flinches at your volume, knocking over the bag of rice resting against the vase in the center. Thankfully it was still sealed shut, if not there would’ve been a mess of rice grains all over the island counter. His clumsiness has you slapping a palm over your mouth to silence your giggles, not wanting to embarrass him.

”Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you…” You apologize sheepishly, folding your towel over your arm and placing it on a barstool nearby. 

“N-No, you’re fine! I shouldn’t have just let myself in, it’s kinda just a habit. You deserve your privacy without having to worry about whether or not I’m gonna barge in unannounced.” He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand. “I’ll just put these up for you and then I’ll be on my way.”

”Can I help?” You waddle over to him, fingers laced behind your back. “I’d feel bad watching you put my groceries away for me after going out and getting them.”

Yunho gestures for you to occupy the space beside him with a small smile that takes solace at the corner of his mouth. The two of you do everything in complete silence, still not entirely used to each other’s presence because of the lack of crossing paths. As you’re finishing up, you start grabbing the items you need for your cereal. He raises an eyebrow at you.

”You don’t want something a little more filling?” He suddenly questions, jutting his chin at your bowl.

”I would love that if I knew how to cook,” you laugh. “Ironic isn’t it? The granddaughter of two farmers can’t cook to save their life.”

Yunho shakes his head with a chuckle, ruffling his hair. “Well, I don’t have to feed the horses for another hour if you’d like for me to whip up something better than a bowl of cereal.” 

“Really?” Your eyebrows furrow. Despite growing up with the mindset that you were above the farm life your grandparents tried to impose on you, you hated feeling like you were coming across as entitled. You didn’t want Yunho to think you were lazy or that you were too good. “You don’t have to do that. I can survive on instant ramen and cereal, I swear.”

”Y/N,” he says your name with a certain authority to it, and you’ve never loved the sound of your name coming out of someone else’s mouth so much before. “I want to. I’m not the world’s greatest chef or anything, but I have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”

”Okay, then,” you nod, taking a seat at the island. You watch in awe as he dances around the kitchen and prepares something for you. It’s weird, not in the sense that you feel awkward around this complete stranger, but because you feel the opposite. You feel comfortable around him, like you’ve known him for a while. It’s almost like Yunho has been a casual part of your life for much longer than a week. He’s easy to get along with, easy to mold into what you’re used to.

And that’s weird because you have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who cooks dinner for you most nights, but somehow has never made you feel this taken care of. It throws you off. That should definitely not be the case. How is this man doing this in one week and your boyfriend couldn’t in two years? 

The guilt settles in the pit of your stomach quickly. Sure, your boyfriend might’ve had a habit of forgetting important dates and didn’t give you half as much attention as he should’ve, but did that warrant the emotions brewing in your chest? Could that excuse this notion that maybe it was time to finally call it quits?

You zone out as Yunho finishes cooking your breakfast, too inside of your head to even fawn over the doting and slight coddling he was doing. Maybe you need to have a long conversation with Seojun about your relationship and where you want it to go. Perhaps it was a nice idea to invite him out to visit the farm, it could do you both some good. 

“Ta-da!” Yunho holds out a plate to you, the sparkle in his eyes effectively pushing out any thoughts of your boyfriend and the shame that was picking at you. You can’t help but reciprocate his expression when you see how delicious the food looks.

He’d made you omurice, the ketchup on top in cute squiggly lines to form whiskers and a little dog face. You accept the plate gratifyingly, your fingers brushing as you do so. He smiles shyly, eyeing you carefully while you take the first bite. You don’t remember the last time you had a home cooked breakfast, accustomed to the occasional muffin at the coffee shop near your house.

”’Not the world’s greatest chef’ my ass,” you grumble, pouting at his humbleness and his inability to be bad at anything. “I might just ask you to have breakfast with me every morning if you can chef it up this well.”

That melodic laugh of his rings in your ears, his elbows resting on the island and his chin in his palms. “I’m sure Yeoreum would appreciate a companion who isn’t me.”

“How long have you had her?” You ask, shoveling more omurice into your mouth. If you weren’t so hungry and so appeased by how delicious it was, you’d feel bad for ruining his hard work. The ketchup no longer looked like a dog, but rather a splatter of red all over your plate. 

“Almost four years now. I had her for a year before I met your grandparents. She adores them, so it’s no surprise that she likes you too.” He has this fond gaze in his eyes as he talks about his beloved Border Collie and it makes your heart ache. 

The fact that he has such a good relationship with your grandparents seals the deal for you. Well, it would seal the deal if you were single. Yunho is like the ideal man that every parent would want their daughter to bring home. He knows how to cook, knows how to clean. He’s adept around the house, skilled in yard work and other random jobs like fixing leaky pipes and installing new appliances. He’s gentle, but doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. 

Your parents would never meet him, though. After the summer was over, you’d be back in Seoul and he would still be here, a distant memory. You forcibly laugh away the thought, excusing it as your response to his words and continuing the conversation about his dog. 

Perhaps this stay would be harder to get through than you thought. 

As the weeks pass you by, you find yourself becoming more and more infatuated with Jeong Yunho.

Cooking breakfast for you in the morning has become a regular thing. Monitoring him at the stove with sleepy eyes and a mug of fresh coffee in your hands has ingrained itself into your routine. Yeoreum called the spot beneath your stool her own now, laying there as her owner made your food. You think the transition from seeing him as just this comforting presence, this kind individual, to wanting something more was almost too smooth.

Especially right now as you sit on the back porch sipping on some lemonade, admiring the cowboy as he transfers bales of hay from the bed of his pickup truck to the pigpen and the cattle pen. He pauses in between trips, stripping off his flannel and tying it around his waist. He lifts the hem of the white tank top he’s wearing and uses it to wipe sweat from his forehead, revealing the toned abdomen he had been hiding from you up until now. 

You feel like you’re going insane, trying to pretend like you’re reading your book as you not so subtly gawk at his muscles straining with each bale he lifts. It’s crazy really, the effect he has on you doing his fucking job. You’ve made it a habit to sit out here and stare at him under the guise of various other things. Aside from being borderline obsessive, it’s horrible because you’re still very much in a relationship.

Most people would feel a hell of a lot worse than you do, like their entire world was crumbling between their fingertips just for finding someone else attractive. But for some reason, as time has continued to roll on, that guilt— that self-preservation— has faded. You’re dipping into another emotion that you’re too scared to explore. 

Yunho takes a break from his labor to guzzle down a bottle of water, his chest heaving up and down from exertion. Had you been paying attention to anything other than the view of the handsome man, you would’ve noticed the glass sliding out of your grasp, the condensation becoming far too dense to keep a solid grip on the cup. In the midst of drooling over him, your lemonade falls to the ground with a loud clanging noise.

Your reflexes are only swift enough to save your book, but the drink spills everywhere else and you wince at how embarrassing the situation is. You hurry inside to grab a towel before he can see the mortification enveloping your features. He seemed like the observant type, like one scan of your face could tell him everything he needs to know without a single word exchanged. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, blowing a raspberry while you attempt to regulate your blood pressure.

Through the window above the kitchen sink, you make out a confused Yunho, brows furrowed as he looks in the direction of the house. He worried over you entirely too much, particularly when you take into account the fact that all you did was think about him in manners not necessarily safe for work. Maybe you were just delirious. That was the only logical explanation for why you’re spiraling.

The high temperatures of the summer coupled with your surroundings are contributing to your change in behavior. Yes. That made sense. You weren’t crazy.

With a bit more reprieve, you’re able to grab a tea towel and head back outside to clean up your mess. (Not unaccompanied by a couple glances in Yunho’s direction, but that’s fine. Perfectly healthy even. It’s normal to check up on a friend. At least, that’s what you tell yourself, but who’s holding you accountable?)

“You know you’ve been making me breakfast every morning without asking for anything in return,” you speak up one morning, chin resting on the island. “Is there anything I can do to repay you?” 

Yunho purses his lips as he hands you your plate. “Nah, I like cooking for you.”

You try to ignore the way that has your heart fluttering in your chest, try to ignore the warmth blooming beneath your skin. Your eyes glance down at your food to avoid eye contact, bringing your chopsticks up to your lips. “Okay, well I wanna do something for you.”

Despite mumbling the words, he hears you anyway and smiles to himself as he takes a sip from his mug. He rolls up the sleeves of his denim button up, reaching down to scratch behind Yeoreum’s ear, the area that you’ve learned is her favorite. She pants joyfully, jumping on his leg excitedly. He looks between the two of you.

”Missy here needs a bath,” he says, cooing at her. “I was gonna give her one later, after I cleaned out the stables, but if you don’t mind doing it.”

”I’d do just about anything for that precious girl,” you nod enthusiastically. “Consider it done.”

This is how you end up out back, dog shampoo in one hand and the water hose in the other. 

Yeoreum’s signature bandana and collar lay on one of the rocking chairs on the porch, the dog looking so different without her accessories as you prepare to bathe her. You wet her fur generously, squeezing enough shampoo into your palm to lather it on. Compared to your childhood pets, she’s pretty well behaved.

She’s probably one of the only dogs who’s ever actually enjoyed taking a bath, sitting still for you while you scrub and rinse and repeat. You take your time with cleaning her, wanting to make sure you do your best as a thank you for every plate Yunho has ever made you. Usually, this isn’t something you would jump at the opportunity to do. Somehow, being back at the farm this past month or so has done everything your parents tried to do when you were younger.

It could’ve had to do with the desensitization of being here every summer for so long that it just never stuck when you were grade school age. But now, fully grown and experiencing this all over again on your own, with new faces at your side, it’s like you’re being exposed to something different. You can see why your mom and dad didn’t want the city life to become a dependency. 

You preferred the view of cabs and cafés over cows and chickens in the past, but now you found a sense of familiarity in them. You’d always want to go home as soon as you got here. Unlike other kids, you wanted your summer to be over as quickly as possible. You couldn’t imagine going home after this, though. This unveiled attachment to the farm you detested when you were younger could only be accredited to one person, and it was a little frightening. 

He constantly brought out parts of you that you didn’t know existed. This enigma, the one that emphasized how big of a role he’s fulfilling in the short period of time you’ve been here, drills itself into your brain every day. You knew you had to acknowledge it sooner or later, but it was just less of a hassle to act like it wasn’t screaming at you. Your fear of change was a more pertinent issue to ignore, so you let it consume all else. 

While getting lost in your thoughts, Yeoreum starts shaking and startles you, causing your hold on the hose to loosen, water spraying everywhere. The diversion has you losing your footing and slipping in the mud. You shriek, though it does nothing to block the stream that drenches you, your clothes getting wet. The universe decides it’s not on your side, because you happened to wear a white shirt. Why you chose to do that when you knew you were bathing a dog, you have no clue, but it was a little too late for regrets.

Yeoreum jumps out of the basin you had her in and runs to the farmhouse just as Yunho’s walking out, fresh from the shower. You forgot that he was cleaning the stables at the same time you were giving the Border Collie her bath, but now you’re starting to wish you waited until afterward just in case you needed the assistance. And well, you definitely needed the assistance. 

Plucking the tail end of the mishap, Yunho’s initial reaction is to laugh at your misfortune, but the closer he gets to the scene, the laughter dies out in his throat. Your top is sheer enough that he can map out the outline of your black bra. It leaves very little to the imagination and he thinks he might fall to his knees right here.

Since your grandparents told him that you’d be house sitting while they were away and proudly showcased a photo of you, he’s been enthralled by you. You had the face of an angel, or maybe a really enticing demon, he hasn’t cogitated it much yet. 

He swallows thickly, hoping to keep his composure as he makes his way to you. His hand is a little shaky when it reaches to take the hose from you, squeezing his eyes closed and switching off the water. He stays there for a few seconds to mentally prep himself for an up-close-and-personal look at you, even going as far as holding his breath. 

“Uh— you— um— you should go inside and dry off before you catch a cold,” Yunho keeps his eyes cast downward. He’s grateful that you don’t note how red the tips of his ears are, or how he thinks the sky is suddenly much more interesting than your face.

Your head cocks to the side in confusion. “What do you mean ‘before I catch a cold’? It’s, like, a million degrees out.” 

“The temperature drops at night and the sun’s setting soon. I’ll handle it from here. Yeoreum ran off, so I gotta chase after her anyway and I don’t think you want her to soak you more than she already has.” He’s insistent on shooing you away and getting you inside of the house. You huff.

”Okay… If you say so…” 

Reluctantly, you spin around and traverse back. The draft of the air conditioning has you shivering, rubbing up and down your arms as you enter the bathroom to inspect the damage. Your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when you finally see yourself. No wonder Yunho was so adamant on staving you off like you were the plague. 

In your defense, you didn’t think the hose won the battle by that much. You assumed you’d just gotten everything above your shoulders wet, but no. You were practically doused head to toe. And the clear display of your brassiere under your clothes was the last thing on your mind.

He was stronger than you. Actually, he was a more respectful person than you. You would’ve gawked at him shamelessly if the roles were reversed. But at least you’re self aware! Right? The first step in recognizing that you have a problem, is admitting that you have a problem. That’s what you think they say in those addiction commercials, but you could be wrong. 

Wow. Now you were comparing him to drugs. Though, you suppose there isn’t that huge of a difference. Both had equal success rates in terms of getting people high and then making it hard to wane off their effects. 

You really had to quit it with the metaphor usage. 

It’s around midnight that night when the lightbulb in the bathroom goes out, halting you from finishing your bedtime routine. 

You’re exhausted to say the least, face damp from washing it and one of those fuzzy hairbands with the animal ears perched on your head. You were ready to crash out, but there were still a couple things you needed to do before that. It was proving to be a little difficult in the pitch black bathroom. The window above the shower was too narrow to provide any sufficient moonlight.

With a low grumble, you shuffle into your slippers and make the short trek from your grandparents’ house to Yunho in the farmhouse. You hug yourself when a strong breeze blows past, your flimsy t-shirt and sleep shorts doing hardly anything to block the cool summer night’s air. 

A piece of you feels a little bad for bothering him so late, but you have no idea how to change a lightbulb. You don’t even know where the lightbulbs are. Besides, you think you’d electrocute yourself if you made an attempt to do it on your own. 

You huff out a sigh and bring your knuckles up to knock at his door, waiting patiently for a response. He’s not asleep, you know this because he’s mentioned that his internal clock doesn’t turn off until two in the morning. Circadian rhythms were an odd concept, so to each their own. 

“Yunho! It’s Y/N! Open up!”

When a few minutes have passed, you try the knob. Maybe it was a bit… too presumptuous of you to enter his home without explicit permission. Yes, you’d known each other for the better part of a month and a half, and yes, you’d gotten very close in that timeframe, but did that constitute your actions?

Whether or not the answer to that question was a yes or a no, you really wish you would’ve just waited outside. As you venture further in search of the cowboy, you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have. 

Standing in the hallway on the other side of his bedroom, the door ajar at least an inch, you catch a glimpse of him on his bed. That white tank top you’re so used to seeing him in is between his teeth, eyebrows knit together in pure pleasure as he fists his cock with a purpose. His nostrils are flared and whiny moans escape from behind the fabric. 

His head falls back every now and then, eyes fluttering shut when he runs his thumb over the slit. He’s so focused that he doesn’t notice you, too entranced with chasing his high. Your lips part as you watch him fuck up into his hand, his shirt slipping from his mouth when he groans out a curse. 

Just as quickly as you become distracted by the sight of Yunho jerking off, you become aware of what you’re doing. You flee the scene before you get yourself caught, exiting the farmhouse as quietly as you can. The lightbulb can wait until morning, it wasn’t that important, honestly. You’re in a daze the entire walk back to your grandparents house, goosebumps littering your arms and the image of him in such an obscene state burned into your brain. 

You fall backwards onto your bed, staring at the ceiling in hopes of willing away the path your mind is beginning to wander towards. All you can think about is the sight of him so desperate for release, large hand wrapped around his dick, abdomen contracting with need. You know you weren’t supposed to see, weren’t supposed to bear witness to something so personal. 

It’s difficult to push out the nasty, inappropriate thoughts clouding your head. His expressions contorted into absolute bliss. His slender fingers could probably do so much more than your own, could probably reach places you’d never even dreamed of. And fuck, his dick, prettier and bigger than any other you’ve ever seen. 

Your chest blushes with heat, an embarrassment washing over you when you realize you’re turned on. You should feel terrible for intruding on Yunho’s privacy like that, especially without him knowing, but all you can do is want him more than you already do. That craving for something deeper, carnal, fans the flame engulfing you, dragging you further into the sick and twisted hell you’ve created for yourself. 

Yunho has been nothing but welcoming, kind and gentle with you, someone he didn’t even know the name of until last month. Someone who’s done everything in their power to repress this lifestyle for so long. And for some reason, it just comes so easily with him. You don’t feel forced to enjoy living on the farm. He makes you laugh and puts a smile on your face effortlessly. He has you wondering if life can actually be this simple. 

But when all is said and done, there will be somebody else waiting for you back home. Somebody who doesn’t know how to whip up omurice with freshly laid eggs. Somebody who isn’t even a dog person, who thinks pets are nuisances. Somebody who doesn’t live in the farmhouse behind your grandparents’. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

If you touch yourself with tears streaming down your cheeks to the thought of the man who has eyes that resemble the night sky, well that’s between you and whatever higher being exists out there. 

You sit across from Yunho with bated breath, afraid that if you opened your mouth he would know your dirty secret. You avoid his eyes for the same reason, like one good look at you would reveal what you were trying to hide. 

Yunho himself was doing his best to pretend like he hadn’t masturbated to the thought of you last night. He liked to think he was good at keeping his feelings under wraps. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you were in a relationship, he’s heard you on the phone before. He stays silent as he fries rice in a pan and has some bread in the toaster. The only sounds in the kitchen are sizzling and the pants coming from Yeoreum under your stool. 

In the time that you’ve been here, never once has it been awkward between you like this. The conversation usually doesn’t stop flowing, rolling on and on and filtering into things that don’t pertain to the original subject. He rarely has his back to you for too long, turning over his shoulder to shoot you a grin every here and now. 

Both of you go to speak at the same time as a means of salvaging the morning from eternal strain. You stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Truly, you were two birds of a feather, or however that saying goes.

”Sorry, I don’t know why I’m being so quiet today,” Yunho says, though he knows it’s a lie. “I guess I had a long night.”

”Oh, that reminds me,” his mention of the previous night has you recalling the reason you went out to the farmhouse in the first place. “The light in my bathroom went out, do you think you can fix it for me?” 

“Yeah, for sure,” he begins preparing your plate. “Actually, I have this joke about lightbulbs. You wanna hear it?”

Your lips curl into a smile, already attempting to hold back your laughter. With a raised eyebrow, you respond, “What is it?”

”What did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” He asks nonchalantly, taking a bite from his own piece of toast. You’re failing miserably at acting like you don’t think the joke is funny, although he hasn’t even told you the punchline yet.

”I dunno, Yunho, what did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” 

“‘You turn me on.’” 

There’s a pregnant pause as the joke resonates and you can’t stop yourself from cackling at how stupid it is. He joins in, but mostly because your laughter is contagious. His chest swells with pride at his successful landing, feeling like he’s on top of the world just for bringing a smile to your face. God, he was down tremendously bad. 

Your spoon clatters onto the counter as you lean over, a hand clapped over your mouth as your boisterous laughing simmers into a giggle. Yunho leans into you slightly, matching your energy as he munches on his toast. This is what has you conflicted, so at war with yourself. The proximity should have you pulling away, but something about him always reels you in, despite the consequences that await.

And unfortunately, those consequences come to a head today.

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N?” 

You and Yunho jump back, whipping towards the source of the voice. Seojun stands there, his bags at his feet and his face crestfallen, disbelief written all over it. He shakes his head and turns to leave, you stumbling off of the barstool to follow behind him. The guilt you’ve only ever felt momentarily settles deep in your chest and deep in your stomach, though you technically haven’t done anything wrong.

Your abruptness startles Yeoreum and she’s up in a heartbeat, tailing behind you curiously. Yunho has to rush to stop her, but a part of himself wants to do the same. No matter how much he likes you, he’s never wanted to be the cause of your relationship falling apart. He wanted you organically, not like this.

”Seojun! Wait!” You call after him, holding up a hand to block out the harsh sunlight, tripping over your slippers. He scoffs. 

“What am I waiting for? You to spew some bullshit about how nothing’s going on between the two of you? I’m not fucking stupid, Y/N. I’m not blind.” He pops open his trunk and throws his bags in haphazardly.

”You’re being unreasonable,” you exclaim, rounding the car so you’re directly in front of him. “There is nothing going on. We’ve just gotten to know each other since we live in the same vicinity. Did you want me to stay here for three months and hole myself away with no other human contact?”

“He was just supposed to be the guy who lived in the farmhouse. He wasn’t supposed to bother you. That’s what you told me, remember?” Seojun is losing his patience, something that has always been the root of the problem when you’ve gotten into past arguments. “How do you expect me to react when I come to surprise you and see you being so close to another man?”

“I was laughing at a joke he told me. You’re making this a bigger deal than it is and blowing everything completely out of proportion. I’m sorry that it never came up that we became friends, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve never once cheated on you in the three years we’ve been together and for you to accuse me of that is so fucking low of you.” You’re not going to cry, not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s won. He thrives off of seeing your vulnerability and you won’t let him have it. 

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” he seethes, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “I know that look because that’s how I used to look at you.”

A laugh devoid of any humor leaves you and he blinks. “That’s how you ‘used to’ look at me? When did you stop? And why am I just finding this out?”

”That’s not— that isn’t what I meant, Y/N—“

”No, Seojun. You did,” you glance away from him, nipping at the inside of your cheek. “We’re grasping for straws. We aren’t going anywhere anymore and we haven’t for a while now. That’s why we're standing here arguing over this. I just want to know why you didn’t just tell me.”

”I’m too complacent,” he sighs, breathing through his nose. “I was too comfortable with you and I didn’t know how to let you go or walk away. But you’re right, there isn’t anything for us to save, and it seems like we’re both ready to move on.”

“What does that mean?” 

“I saw how you were looking at him, too. You might not have acted on it, but you have feelings for him. I’m not gonna stay and hold you back.” Seojun unlocks his car, opening the door. “And for what it’s worth, you won’t be wasting your time.”

You don’t respond, instead humming and letting him drive off. Once his car is far enough out of your view, you go back into the house. There’s an indescribable emotion that hostages you, binding your wrists and tying you down metaphorically. You can’t seem to shake it. 

Yunho is still in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with Yeoreum to keep her calm. He gazes up at you expectantly and you feel the tears you were suppressing from Seojun bubbling up. If you weren’t going to cry in front of your (now ex) boyfriend, you definitely weren’t going to cry in front of him. 

With a trembling exhale, you force yourself to say, “I need to be alone.”

He understands empathetically, clipping on Yeoreum’s leash and leaving the house in the same breath. That in itself has you crying like a baby the moment you’re all by yourself. You hold your face in your hands, body shuddering with each sob you release. 

I saw the way he was looking at you. 

I saw how you were looking at him, too. 

You had a lot to think about, and everything always seemed to circle back to Jeong Yunho. 

A couple days escape you before you register you haven’t seen much of Yunho. After your breakup with Seojun, you really did need a bit of room to process it all, but you hadn’t realized just how much you depended on the cowboy’s presence until you were missing it. 

You hadn’t meant to push him away, if that’s how he saw it. A night of bawling your eyes out with a pint of ice cream and The Vow was enough to cure you. However, it appears that he thought you needed more, going as far as putting a pin in your daily breakfast ritual. You aren’t sure how to extend an olive branch when you weren’t even trying to cause a rift between you in the first place. 

Being with someone for three years may not seem like a lot, but that fraction of your life is stuck with you, like a thumbtack that refuses to come out of the wall. You’d had boyfriends before Seojun, but they weren’t nearly as serious. There weren't formal introductions between parents, no late night conversations that bleed into early mornings, no sleepovers and quick kisses before work. 

Of course, after a certain point, those had just become habitual. You weren’t doing them because they evoked a sense of love or care anymore, but rather because you were familiar with them. It was safer to continue the pattern of waking up and falling asleep to Seojun on the other side of the bed, the intrusion of sunlight and the cacophony of traffic outside your window, even if you didn’t really want to. 

And then you came here. 

Somehow, returning to your grandparents’ farm was exactly what you needed to break through that cycle. As much as you would love to attest it to your location and discovering the appreciation your family wanted you to feel for it, you know the real reason. It’s all thanks to a certain cowboy.

Yunho’s feelings for you run far deeper than he could’ve imagined. He doesn’t know the extent of what happened with you and Seojun, but he thinks putting distance between you is better in the long run anyway. On the off chance you’re still together, he wants to preserve his heart. He’s handed it to someone else too easily in the past and he doesn’t want to make that mistake with you if you don’t feel the same. 

But even on the off chance that you’ve broken up, he still wants to stop himself from falling further and harder than he already has. Without ill will, he doubts that you would give up the life you have in the city for this, for him. He’ll be perpetually chained to being a faint imprint on your memory of the summer. You’ll think back to the months you spent here and he’ll have played only a minor role. 

It was wishful thinking, too hopeful of him to presume this would lead to a happy ending. You were from different worlds, led different lives. It was time for him to be realistic. And that meant implementing the space that was supposed to exist between you from the get go. 

Though, you make it difficult when he bumps into you on the way back from the mailbox. Déjà vu, anyone?

Yeoreum is excited to see you, jumping onto her haunches to lick your face when you kneel to her level. You giggle, squeezing one eye shut as you balance yourself and hold her still so her weight doesn’t clamber you both onto the ground. Your fingers pet to top of her head softly as you coo, “Who’s a good girl?”

Yunho physically winces when his chest tightens at the sight of his two favorite girls. The word ‘distance’ bounces around his head like a pinball, reminding him what he’s supposed to be doing. He just can’t bring himself to walk away. Especially when you look at him with those pretty eyes of yours. 

“Hey…” You start, steeling your tone to ensure it’s even. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was avoiding you or something. I needed some time to myself to figure things out. It wasn’t my intention to shut you out and put you on the back burner.”

”No, it’s okay. I had to figure stuff out on my own, too,” he uses his bandana to dab at the sweat perspiring on his forehead. “Did you sort through whatever you needed to?”

“I did,” you nod, standing upright. “Seojun and I broke up, so I had to sit with my feelings for a bit. We’ve been together for so long, I think I needed to remember what it was like to be without him, and then I realized that’s basically what I’ve been doing since I came here.”

”Oh.” Yunho’s lips form an ‘O’ shape, hands dragging down the sides of his pants. “I’m sorry— um— about your breakup.”

”Don’t be,” you smile, dismissing his sympathy. “It was a long time coming, honestly. We weren’t really in the relationship wholeheartedly anymore. There wasn’t a point in stringing it along, you know? But that’s enough about me, did you figure your own things out?”

”I thought I did,” he says, which is true considering he’d been mulling over what to do with his emotions subsequent to your argument with your ex. “And then I kinda steered off course. It’s alright, though, I think I like the new conclusion I’ve come to a lot better.”

You might be on the same page now, but there was an entire discussion that had to happen to solidify that. Following a very emotionally charged past couple days, you could do without that today. You’re both just glad that the air is cleared and you can resume building the bond that began forming the moment you stepped foot onto the farm, no restrictions whatsoever.

“Have you ever ridden a horse?” 

You glance up from your book, this time genuinely reading it as Yunho fed the chickens and cleaned up their coop. He towers over you while he asks the question, his shadow thwarting off any direct sunlight. Your nose scrunches. 

“When I was in, like, middle school? It’s been a minute,” you answer, making sure to bookmark the page you stopped at. “Why?

”Would you let me teach you how to do it again?” He nips at his lower lip, like he’s nervous you’ll say no. The truth of the matter is you’d say yes even if he asked you to commit arson, which is kind of a problem.

“That sounds fun,” you shrug. “What time should I be ready?”

”Uh, now?” 

Okay, so sitting on a horse did not seem this scary when you were twelve.

It probably had to do with you being fearless and whatnot, but also because you did whatever your grandparents asked just to appease them. The faster you got off the damn horse, the faster you could go back inside and situate yourself in front of the TV. They thought they were making progress with you, but really you were outsmarting the outsmarters. 

Sweat glazes on the underside of your hands, disrupting the security of your grasp on the reins. Yunho thought it would be wiser if he stayed on foot, guiding you and the horse around the perimeter of the pen. You hoped you didn’t look as afraid as you were, but you’re certain the slight quiver of your bottom lip gives it away. 

“You’re doing fine, Y/N,” he reassures, maintaining a comforting amount of eye contact with you.

”Am I? Or does it just seem that way because you’re pulling the horse?” You quip, gripping the reins tighter when it steps over a rock and you sway a little. Your tone is laced with sarcasm, something Yunho hasn’t heard much of from you since you’ve met, but he thinks it’s cute that you resort to violence when you’re scared.

You notice the quirk of his mouth and how he’s trying not to laugh at your terror. It pisses you off solely because his humor isn’t unwarranted. You are being a bit over dramatic. He unties his bandana from around his neck and tosses it to you. “So you don’t callus your hands.”

He’s too thoughtful, too considerate for his own good, but that’s what roped you in. Even when you met for the first time, he had you figured out. The longer you stare at him, the more you realize just how perfect he is. If you were still in school and you were tasked with writing an essay about the summer you spent here, you’re sure the words would flow onto the pages flawlessly, without skipping a beat. Your prose would be so beautifully written, that even the most notable authors would be envious of your experience.

The only downside of this was the fact that time was beginning to seep through your fingers. There was mutuality in your feelings for each other, that was almost unequivocal. You were both just hesitant in taking that first leap. The uncertainty lied with that goodbye at the end of August, the one that’ll hurt a lot more than it was supposed to. But you know that postponing your unceremonious declaration of feelings would just do more harm than anything else. 

One consistency you’ve singled out since coming back to the farm is this common theme of divine intervention, or fate, whatever you want to call it. Right when you’re on the brink of an epiphany, you’re always forcefully shoved into it, like a freight train crashing into its platform traveling at full speed. This moment is no different. 

Yeoreum barking at a squirrel on the other side of the pen scares the horse who’s back you were currently on. It bucks up and you release the reins in alarm. You fall quickly, but Yunho’s quicker, catching you in his arms like it’s been a childhood dream of his to be a superhero. He searches your face for any indication that you might be hurt, a hand coming up to cup your cheek. 

The eyes you’ve grown to adore examine your own with so much care that you find yourself melting in his hold. Your face instinctively leans into his palm, fingers still clutching the fabric of his shirt like he may drop you. 

It’s nearly second-nature to minimize the gap between you. 

You never understood what novelists meant when they described kissing scenes. And you think that’s because you’d never truly had a kiss like this before. It was as if they were all talking about this second, this blip in time. The sparks that shoot from where your lips meet to the tips of your fingers, the thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat in your ears, the sensation of never wanting to escape, never wanting to stop. 

Yunho’s hand snakes behind your head, tangling in your hair to deepen the connection. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Everything that had been stacking on top of each other was leading to this, the collision that rivaled the Big Bang. You whine into his lips, an invitation but also an inquiry. 

He parts from you just so he can catch his breath, his forehead resting on yours. “Can I take you inside?”

You nod fervently. “Yes. Please.”

He wastes no time hauling you to the farmhouse. His grip on your wrist is gentle as he pulls you into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and trapping you between his legs. Your restraint wears thin, nimble fingers fumbling with the rest of the buttons on his denim shirt. You push it off of his shoulders, a bit shell shocked when you discover that he’s wearing a regular t-shirt as opposed to his usual tank top. 

“You would pull something like this today of all days,” you laugh breathily, untucking the shirt from his pants. He reciprocates the sentiment, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck while you undress him. 

“Is it evil of me to say I was sorta hoping this would happen?” He speaks into your exposed collarbone, nipping, sucking, biting the skin. Your appreciative sigh goads him, his tongue gliding across the abused surface as a form of relief. 

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head, fast to yank off his shirt and run your nails down his abdomen. “I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

“Yeah?” Yunho flips the two of you easily so you’re the one on the bed now. He pushes up the hem of your shirt, pecking your stomach to your clavicle as he shows more and more of your skin until the fabric is removed from your body. “Can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

You involuntarily moan, completely untouched and because of his words alone. Every part of you feels like it’s lit ablaze, burning with want and need and everything in between. This ran further than just what-ifs and late night fantasies. Your relationship with Yunho tiptoed on the edge of something you’ve never known before, and that makes this so much more special. 

He glances up at you when his fingers reach for the button of your shorts, a silent ask for permission. You give him the green light and hold yourself up on your elbows, watching with your breathing trapped in your throat as he rids of your panties along with them. His hands push your knees to your chest, kissing your inner thighs and right around the place you need him most, but never there. 

“Yunho…” You warn, but it comes across as a broken whimper rather than an establishment of authority. He laughs and then his lips are pressing to your clit, a sweet kiss that has all rationality taking a vacation from your brain. Your head tips back and you fist at the sheets. 

He drags his tongue through your folds, swirling it around the sensitive bundle of nerves each time it makes its return. It’s almost criminal how good it feels to have his mouth on your cunt, eyes already heavy lidded with pleasure. He sucks on your clit at the same time he decides to insert a finger into your entrance, curling it experimentally just because he can. Like you predicted, it reaches that spongy spot at the crook of your pussy, brushing it once he’s sure he’s found it. 

While you walked in on him fucking his fist, the only thing on his mind was you. He was so absorbed in the mental image of what you would look like beneath him, wiggling, writhing, squirming with indulgence. His social awareness was at a zero. This replayed over and over until he came, his thoughts so vivid he could’ve swore it was real.

But this, the actual thing, was so much better; his forearm pinning your hips down, his middle finger curling and uncurling inside of you, his mouth working overtime to inch you towards the edge of that steep cliff. He moans when your eyebrows practically coalesce, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. You look so gorgeous like this, so disoriented all because of the bliss he was providing. The vibrations of the sound have you arching your back, uncontrollable whines running from your mouth.

“Feel good?” Yunho asks, disconnecting his mouth and replacing it with his other hand, ring and middle digits swiping across your clit with practiced pressure. 

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, eyes on the brink of rolling to the back of your head. “Feels so good, Yun… Just like that, ‘m almost there.”

That’s all he needs to hear, switching his hand and mouth once again, focusing on alternating harsh and gentle sucks of your clit, adding a second finger to pump in and out of your hole. The doubled change in stimulation knocks the wind out of you, the precipice of your orgasm so close you can taste it. You’d never been brought to the summit this early in the past, and you think Yunho deserves some sort of reward for being the first to do so.

You’d worry about that later though, because you’re blindsided by it before you can even conjure your next thought. You cum with a cry, tears springing to your eyes from the immense amount of ecstasy coursing through your veins, swimming in your bloodstream. Yunho coos at you, not stopping until you’ve relaxed in his hold. “That’s it, baby, you’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your head feel airy, like empty space unoccupied by anything. If you paid attention in chemistry, then you’d know that’s highly impossible, but you didn’t. The only chemistry you even remotely care about is the one between you and Yunho, the tension that has piled higher and higher for days on end until its crescendo now. 

You sit up to kiss him roughly, savoring the taste of yourself on his lips. He smiles into it, a hand raising to caress the underside of your jaw. He climbs onto the bed, scooting you up so you’re positioned by the pillows. It doesn’t take much effort for your bodies to swap, his back to the headboard. You clumsily seat yourself on his lap, a knee on either side of him and sighing wistfully when his mouth trails down your throat and sternum, slender fingers sneaking behind you to unclasp your bra.

He aids you in removing his pants, still simultaneously prioritizing kisses all over your bare chest. When you’re both fully naked, you take your time admiring his cock. It’s just as pretty as you remember, long and thick. Your hand wraps around it gingerly, stroking the length as you lean down to kiss him again. You don’t think you could ever get enough of his lips on your own. 

“I’m not exactly getting any action over here, so I don’t have any condoms,” he says into your kiss, voice no louder than a whisper. 

“That’s okay,” you run your fingers through his hair. “Wanna feel you anyways, all of you.”

”Fuck, Y/N, you can kill a man with those words.” He groans, nails digging into your hips. You giggle, but it’s interrupted by him sitting you fully, his dick slipping through your lower lips. A whine brushes his ear when the tip catches your clit, repeating the movement until you can’t stay still.

The closest you’ll ever get to Heaven on earth is Yunho’s cock pushing inside of you, filling you up so deliciously you think you could die like this. Your jaw slackens, hands coming up to support yourself on his shoulders. Even if this is a one time thing, something that never happens again during your stay at the farm, he wants you to remember this when you go back home. He wants you to recall this sliver in your timeline and never forget it, wants his name engraved in your memory like a branding iron.

Once he feels you’ve adjusted to him well enough, he pulls you off of him almost entirely, just to ram back in without mercy. He punches a voluminous moan from you, eyes watching where he disappears in you and reemerges. You’re tighter and so much warmer than he dreamed you’d be, but it’s perfect. You suck him in like a vacuum, as if his cock was made to be inside of you, as if you didn’t want him to part from you.

“You’re s-so deep, Yun,” you mewl, pulling him in for another headache-inducing kiss. “Don’t wanna stop.”

He exhales through his nostrils, mumbling out a curse when your walls squeeze around him. He wanted to last a while for you, wanted to hold out and prolong this moment until you were both on the crest of passing out. But you feel like a glove, your silk-adjacent cunt begging for more and more. 

“Think I might cum soon, princess,” he groans, tossing his head back and just about losing every ounce of his sanity when your lips start marking the column of his throat. 

His big hands move under your thighs, holding you in place so he can fuck up into you. The pace at which his cock drills in and out of your pussy has you seeing stars, eyes snapping shut and nothing but colorful spots decorating your vision. You were already abhorrently sensitive following your first orgasm, so it didn’t really take much to introduce the second. 

Your hips stutter and it washes over you like a tidal wave, your body shuddering and collapsing into his top half. He pulls out of you quickly, mouth stationed by your ear as he jerks himself off until he’s painting your backside. He moans, a lot like the sounds he was making the other night, and you feel the need to just kiss him again. 

Your lips lock sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous actions. Yunho curves a hand on your cheek, seperating from you the smallest distance so he can admire you. The smile that etches onto his expression makes you dizzier than anything else. However, the cutesiness can only span so long before the setting gives way. 

Yunho’s hand snakes in between you, his forefinger sliding up and down your slit teasingly. Your breath comes out shaky, your face finding purchase in the crook of his neck. He replaces the digit with his middle finger, parting your pussy lips in search of your clit. It doesn’t take him very long to find it, rubbing tight circles into the engorged skin. You moan into his shoulder, resting your forehead on it to see the way he works your cunt. 

“You’re so wet, baby. Have I not fucked you enough?” He whispers into your ear huskily. Yunho talking dirty to you is something you didn’t know you needed in your life. His finger slips downward, thrusting up into your hole with ease. He keeps massaging your clit with his palm, the stimulation making your head woozy.

“Mmmph— Yun, god. Feels too good.” You whine, gyrating your hips on his hand. 

“Is that right, babe?” He encourages, adding a second finger and increasing the speed of their thrusts, almost like you hadn’t been in this position already. “I can’t wait to feel this tight little pussy around my cock again. Gonna fuck you harder than the last.”

Your whimpers raise in volume, focusing on the way he curls his digits in you, applying pressure with the heel of his palm to the circles he’s rubbing into your clit. You can sense your third orgasm approaching, warmth flooding your cheeks at how embarrassingly fast he worked you back up. Your walls clench around his fingers, alerting him of how close you are. He pauses, worming his body down so his face is eye level with your cunt again.

Yunho does the whole teasing thing a second time, kissing and suckling the hot skin of your belly, knowingly denying you of your release. You grab a handful of his hair, tugging at the ends to spur him on. He groans, giving into you and licking a straight line up your slit. He inserts both fingers again, this time using his tongue to manipulate your swollen clit.

The heat of Yunho’s mouth makes your insides ache, the necessity to cum intensifying. You keen loudly, desperately, needily, the sight of the brunette between your legs so incredibly arousing. He sucks on your throbbing clit, his long fingers as deep as they can go, and you crumble. 

“Oh my god— oh my god— I’m cumming! I’m—” You cut yourself off, convulsing under him. He laps up as much of your juices as he can, coating his chin with your release. You moan as you pull him towards you to unify your lips, a mixture of your saliva and cum connect your mouths in strings. At this point, the sex is messier than anything you could’ve plucked from your wildest dreams. 

One hand trails down your body, using your nimble fingers to play with your sensitive clit when he starts fisting his cock in preparation to enter your pussy again. You use your free hand to scratch at his contracting abs. He hisses, propping himself up with one arm next to your head and his eyes trained on the way you finger yourself at the same time. You can feel his breath on your cheeks and being in this proximity to him fuels your yearning.

“Please, Yun… Need you back inside of me,” you whimper. Rubbing your clit with your own fingers isn’t satisfying enough, not with him here in front of you, not when you know how good he can make you feel.

“Fuck, baby, when you beg like that I don’t know if I can hold back.” He chuckles lowly. It rumbles from his chest, shooting to your core. 

“So don’t,” you rouse. “This is more than just a one time thing for me, Yunho.”

His eyes widen just a bit, your confession catching him off guard. That’s all he needs to line himself up with your hole, hooking his forearm under your knee as he slides in, stretching your cunt so perfectly with his perfect cock. “Shit— you’re so tight, princess… It’s almost like I didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life.” He moans and spreads your legs wider. He bottoms out with a grunt, throwing his head back from the feeling of your velvety walls. A near deafening cry is ripped from your vocal cords. He nips at your neck, starting to piston his hips. 

His thrusts don’t slow but become calculated, speeding up and diving deep simultaneously. It only took a short amount of time to figure out what you liked and he used it to his advantage. Yunho hikes your knee to your chest, groping your tits with his free hand. He twists and tugs at your nipples just hard enough that it contributes to your pleasure rather than hurts you.

It’s as if he doesn’t feel buried inside of you sufficiently, because he decreases his pace to press and fold your other leg up, his hips ramming into your ass with each thrust now. The tip of his cock kisses at what feels like your cervix. That familiar coil begins to fasten again, keening with every drive into your cunt. The squelching noises would’ve made you cower in shame with anyone else, but with Yunho it turns you on further.

You moan, and he flattens his hand on the lower part of your stomach. Yunho groans, biting the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. Your fingers find your clit again, circling insatiably to get yourself off. 

“You gonna cum for me again?” He rasps, his hold on your legs almost painful. The backs of your thighs burn, but you endure it for the sake of the moment. You reach up and behind yourself, grabbing at the headboard in an attempt to match his force. 

“Oh my god, yes— yes yes yes yes,” you babble, the syllables blurring together like your mind. “Gonna cum so hard for you, Yunho. Keep going, please.”

His lips attach to yours, tongues tangling sloppily. The position you’re in is on the opposite end of the spectrum from how you were expecting this summer reunion to go. Had you not been made aware of Yunho living here at the last minute, you probably would’ve backed out of your commitment to staying. Deep down you’re a little too thankful that your grandmother mentioned him when it was too late to reconsider. 

“I think I’m in love with you, Y/N,” Yunho whispers into your mouth. 

You let go of the headboard, cupping his jaw and kissing him lovingly. “Me too.”

Your fingers speed up and so do his thrusts, perfectly timed with each other to shove you both towards your highs. You’re on the cusp of falling apart, arching into him to close the gap between your bodies. 

“Wanna cum inside you. Can I?” Yunho grunts. 

“Yes yes, please. Fill me up, Yun, want all of you.” 

He continues to abuse your cunt, pounding into you like his life depended on it. You sob, clamping your walls around him. He freezes, suddenly spilling into you. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock.” The warmth of his release and his words coax your orgasm, the fluttering of your cunt milking every single drop from him that it can. Even with his dick plugging you up, you can feel it dripping out of you and onto the sheets below. 

He rocks into you languidly until you’ve calmed down enough for him to pull out. His forehead is flush on your chest, rising and falling with it, both of you so spent from the intense physical activity you engaged in. You stare up at the ceiling with heavy eyelids, carding your fingers through his hair to soothe him. 

“You meant what you said right? About this not being a one time thing.” Yunho says hesitantly, like he’s afraid of permeating the atmosphere you created. 

“I don’t think I can go home at the end of the summer and forget the way I feel for you, Yunho.” You admit out loud. There had been a constant struggle in your head over whether or not to follow your heart, but as he looks at you with those sparkly eyes of his, you know your answer. And you feel a little stupid for ever considering the counter. 

“And what exactly are those feelings?” He pushes, folding his hands on your sternum and laying his cheek on top. You giggle, brushing his hair out of his view. As tempting as it was to divulge your theatrical journey in assessing your emotions, you’re too exhausted to stay awake. It would have to wait for another day. 

“You have the rest of the summer to find out, cowboy.”

© yunhoszn. do not steal, claim, or repost. 

[hwachronicles]

▸ Love You Again. ✦ C.SN

♡ | pairing — choi san x fem!reader

🜚 | genre — smut, a lil fluffy at the end, established relationship, nonidol! san, nonidol! y/n. — MDNI !

！ | warnings — rainy evening sex, biting, praise, slight dirty talk, tiny hints of possessive san, use of protection, fingering, pussy eating, clit sucking/biting, finger sucking, nipple biting/sucking, slight dacryphilia, implied squirting, they keep their promise rings on at all times, oral (reader receiving), reader cums twice, they love each other v much, usage of pet names (baby & angel)

✧ | wc — 1.5k!

୨ৎ | nova’s voicemail — hi my stars—i’m finally back, & i’m here w my sannie ★ please enjoy! sorry it’s kinda longg & the end seems rushed >< likes & reblogs are greatly appreciated!! thank you ♡

The sound of heavy rain tapping against your high-rise apartment windows, thunder softly crashing far away, and the background noise of a long-forgotten movie your boyfriend—San, mindlessly picked out still playing on the TV created just the perfect setting for the night in.

You were gently being pressed into the mattress by San’s warm body—his fingers slowly tilting your chin upwards, just enough for him to take his time capturing your lips in a passion-fueled kiss. He’s slotted in between your thighs, you both pelvis to pelvis with only shorts in between. You pressed upwards into him—chest to chest—trying to take control, however, you quickly failed. The smell of his cologne overtakes your nostrils, and you just can't get enough.

“Shit—I need you so bad..” You couldn’t help but mutter, your voice almost a whisper as he moved from your lips—down to your collarbone. He created a trail of marks and tiny bites along the sides of your neck and shoulder, licking over them with a chuckle. “Alright.. okay, angel. Let me take my time with you though.” 

San wanted to take care of you slowly—to watch you fall apart on his cock over and over, but even he knew that he couldn’t hold himself back for too long. “You said that the other day.. and you somehow came first..” Your giggles quickly turned into a gasp at the sudden chill against your nipples; he slid his hands underneath your shirt and bra, kneading and squeezing the soft, plumpness of your breasts. He would intentionally rub his promise ring against your quickly hardening bud, the coldness of it making you mewl.

Your hands wrapped around his neck, holding on just to feel even closer to him. He smirked, efficiently ridding of your shirt and bra—haphazardly tossing them away in the dark room. San immediately looked down at the ring, watching it glimmer against your chest.

 

San had promise rings custom-made for the other to wear; made with an expensive silver adorned with both of your birthstones and as well as the wearer’s signature on its inner side. He suddenly surprised you one evening with them—neither of you taking it off from that day forward. 

He would finally latch his teeth onto your nipple—rolling it back and forth gently just how you liked. You mewled, reaching down to his dark hair, tugging a bit. “So cute. I can touch you anywhere, and you’ll immediately whimper.” His voice was practically dripping with desire, and it got you all the more wet. After a few failed attempts at closing your trembling legs, you began to beg, “S-San, please. I need to feel all of you..” 

“You’re right. I can’t kiss every inch of you if your clothes are in my way.” He made quick work of removing your shorts and panties, and then he began to slowly pull his shirt off—teasing you with his flexed abs as he stretched. You watched, sitting up to meet him standing at the edge of the bed. “Why are you so cute just standing there? I wanna eat you up.” 

He ruffled his hair, smiling softly as he tugged his sweats down. “No way. I’m doing all of the work tonight. I want to please you, baby.” Your head swirled with thoughts of what he might do to you. 

The idea of his fingers curling right into that spot inside you, turning your vision blank white. Or, his sweet, honey-like voice talking you through your 3rd orgasm of the night.

Snapping you out of your daze, San pulled you closer by your thighs—rubbing himself against your wet folds. He focused his tip on your clit—eliciting a loud moan from you, sheer wanton pleasure written all over your face. You tilted your head back, laying so perfectly beneath him. "Look at you, angel. You're practically twitching underneath me.” 

And you are. You just can’t help it. It felt like his voice alone had a profound effect on you; your body just followed whatever he wanted you to do. “Baby, you’re teasing me.. please. I need more..” He looked down at you, dipping his tip in and out of your dripping wet hole. “More? Hm, I wanna taste you first. I can’t just fuck you so soon, baby.” 

He was on his knees in a second, holding you down perfectly still on the edge of the mattress. San looked up at you for approval, his sharp gaze aroused you, keeping his eyes only on yours the entire time. He started at your clit, sucking first. He moaned—sending a pleasant vibration throughout your pussy. A cold shiver rushed down your spine, his teeth just ever so slightly grazing your clit. His skilled tongue glided through your folds, swallowing the juices that pooled there.

“Fuck.. my sweet angel tastes so good.” A quiet sob escaped you, and you tried biting your lip to stop yourself from screaming. San smirked, noticing this—swiftly diving back into your pussy with fervor, earning himself the softest whines of his name. “I.. Sannie.. you’re gonna, fuck.. make me cum..” 

After all this time of him teasing you, of course it wouldn’t take too long to get you on the brink of releasing on his tongue. After some time, he would add 2 of his fingers—his jaw feeling tired from all the effort he’s putting into devouring your pussy. He started to suck your clit—rubbing the sensitive bud between his teeth—tempted to bite it. “I can feel you squeezing around my tongue and fingers. You gonna cum soon?” Some of your precious moans were being drowned out by the thunder as the rain picked up; San didn’t appreciate that. He loved to hear every whine and sob from you. 

“Oh my—fuck, I’m gonna cum, San..! It’s too much..” You had a few tears streaming down your face, the results of your beloved boyfriend’s work—and he was more than proud of it. A smirk played on his lips, his eyes rolling at the feeling of your cream covering his fingers. His skilled tongue glided through your folds, swallowing the juices that pooled there. 

Your legs started to twitch harshly, locking him in between your thighs—only pushing him closer into your clit. “Oh, fuck! W-Wait… pull awayyy…” You pitifully sobbed, your orgasm crashing over you like a tsunami. Your eyes rolled closed as tears rolled down your cheeks, and tiny whimpers practically fell from your lips. You silently begged him to give you a break—but you failed to realize that you subconsciously started riding his face. You could feel San smirk, quite enjoying you using him to ride out your orgasm. 

“Ah, you came so hard.. look at my face.” Your eyes slowly fluttered open, a deep blush spreading across your face as you scanned his face—immediately noticing your liquids dripping from his chin. His whole face from the nose down is wet. “O-Oh.. fuck. You’re—”

“Wet? Well, I’m not complaining. Hm, you should taste,” Within milliseconds, he pulled out his fingers, absolutely drenched and dripping with your cum, and stuck them in your mouth. San looked down at you, his eyes almost demanding you to suck them. Who were you to refuse? You obediently sucked them, you both moaning at the same time—one at the feeling, and the other because of the taste.

It was almost like a distraction. Your mind was in such a haze, and you couldn’t even register him letting you know that he was rolling a condom onto his length, and plunging deep into your hole. “God… I might cum right now..” That’s all you heard. He grabbed your thighs, pushing your legs behind your head—almost folding you completely. 

“Oh my God.. San.. I—I literally just came..“

You could barely speak. You couldn’t even get across that you just felt so sensitive—him eating you out like that got you so weak. You knew that this wouldn’t last long for either of you. 

“Please.. fuck me. I’ve been wanting to feel you so deep.” He took that as his cue to start moving. He started with slow, deep strokes; he was so deep, you could feel him in your stomach. He would gradually speed up, whimpering with every single movement of his hips.

Everything was just too much. The rain, his breathy whines, the sound of skin slapping together, and the noisy, wet sound of your pussy greedily swallowing his cock—San was done for.

“Shit—Y/n, baby, I’m gonna cum. You’re so tight and warm…” He breathed out pathetically, both of you were just so fucked out—but pleased. You wouldn’t be lasting any longer either—your walls convulsing around him like crazy. The moans got louder, and that oh-so-familiar knot in your stomach snapped almost immediately. “I’m cumming againnn…”

Everything blanked—your release was so strong, you were in such a deep headspace where you couldn’t even think. You would later come to realize that he had cleaned up the both of you and gotten you into new clothes before settling you comfortably into the fresh, new sheets. Honestly, the warmth of sleep overtook you yet again before you could fully thank him for taking care of you again. 

“S-San… thank you..” Your cute attempt at telling him was not in vain—he heard it. You felt him plant a gentle kiss on your temple, then a kiss on your cheek. 

“You know I’ll always care for you. You don’t have to thank me, my angel.”

[winterrrnight]

mystery of love

PAIRING: husband!soft!rafe cameron x wife!fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe started to get more busy with his business, and you couldn’t help but start to feel neglected by him.

WARNINGS: soft soft SOFT rafe, he's so lovesick for his wife it is crazy (no it isn’t that’s practically canon), slightly suggestive content but it’s written with a fluffy intent, usage of nicknames like goddess & baby, and just loads of sweetness over all, very very slight angst (?) and intentional use of lower case

EDITH SPEAKS: this fic is more on this, you can’t look at that picture and not think that’s rafe, cause it is! thank you so so much to @glimodejun who commented their idea which prompted me to write this 🫶🏼 i was supposed to write a blurb but I got carried away, clearly, and this is pushing 2k words 😁

anyways, please please reblog if you liked this and feedback is always appreciated! thank you so much for reading 🫧

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oh will wonders ever cease? blessed be the mystery of love

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

it was starting to get a little out of hand.

you always knew how important rafe’s business was to him, especially after he inherited it all from his father. the burgeoning fire in him to make the business bigger and better than it had ever been and be so much more powerful than his father, who couldn’t give him an ounce of attention or praise his entire childhood was one of the biggest things fueling his motivation.

that, and wanting to give you everything you could possibly need in great abundance so that you never felt you were at a loss of anything under his roof.

so you knew he tended to sometimes spend longer hours at the office, to get everything done, to not let a single mistake fall into place in front of his eyes, everything perfectly coordinated and right up to his standards.

he always made sure to call you or send you a text if he was going to be late, informing you why he was going to be late, the tentative time he should be back home, with a small ‘i love you’ and ‘i miss you’ accompanied with the occasional red heart he only ever used for you.

since the past few days, unfortunately you hadn’t been receiving the texts you always did. if you did, it was short, something along the lines of ‘i’ll be late’. but no explanation as to exactly what had been keeping him busy, and no words of endearment at all. he started coming home really late, most of the times when you had tried your best to stay up till he comes home, but the exhaustion would always defeat him in the race and you’d be out like a light.

and the next morning wasn’t close to being better than the night. if you were lucky, you would catch him getting ready for work, and you would always prompt him to stay for at least breakfast. but he would be in a hurry and shake his head no, saying something like ‘i have to leave, it’s important’ and leaving you with a chaste kiss to your lips.

whatever you’d ask, his answers to you would be short, concise and quick, and you felt as if you’re catching the subtle drift of vexation and annoyance in his tone. was it actually there or were you just imagining it? you didn’t know.

and if you weren’t lucky, you wouldn’t even get to see him leave. by the time you would be up, you would only feel the cold wrinkled sheets next to you, the faint scent of him lingering in the air as a burning memory of the love of your life.

this specific night, exactly one week after since the first day this peculiar behavior of his started, you were seated on the edge of the bed after a shower, applying your lotion on your arms as you prepared yourself for another night of waiting for rafe, falling asleep in the process, and letting it be a mystery solved only by some higher power if you would see him in the morning or not.

as you were rubbing the lotion into your skin, you couldn’t help your wandering mind. how were you supposed to deal with this situation? were you supposed to confront him and demand answers? or were you supposed to tread slowly? you knew you were nearing the end of the american fiscal year; 30th of september being right around the corner. it involved loads of financial and accounting work, preparing end-of-year accounts and statements, and what not. so him being busy felt justified. but he should be able to spare a moment to at least send you a proper text, shouldn’t he?

no, you shake your head. you’re his wife, for god’s sake. you shouldn’t be reducing your worth down to some text. heck, you should be getting proper calls from him. you’ve been so wonderfully patient, not complaining for a second for the past week. the least you can get is a proper conversation with him.

as you made up your mind firmly, your thoughts were cut through firmly when the door to your bedroom opened. you looked up to see rafe entering inside the room, his blazer off and resting on his shoulder, and his sleeves messily rolled up to his elbows.

“hey,” he muttered as he closed the door behind him, keeping his bag on the side and disappearing behind the washroom door.

“hey,” you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the floor as you heard the washroom door close. you remained seated on the edge of the bed, clad in a satin black robe which he swore made you look even more of a goddess than you already did as you waited for him to come out.

you heard the shower run inside for some time, after which the door opened and you were greeted with rafe sporting a pair of grey sweatpants, his upper body bare with some water droplets still trickling down his skin.

as he came out, he saw you in the same position at the edge of the bed as before. “hey why aren’t you going to sleep hm?” he asked as he busied himself with applying his moisturizer to his face.

“no reason,” you muttered, your back to him as you kept your gaze down at your feet.

rafe was very quick to catch the dejection in your voice, and before you knew it, he was making his way around the bed to you, standing right in front of you as he looked down at you.

“baby, look up please,” he murmured softly, one of his hand coming to rest on your cheek.

you lifted your head up to meet his gaze, your eyelids heavy as you look up at him through your lashes. “yeah?” you mumbled.

rafe exhaled softly at your bleak tone. he sank down on his knees in front of you, his gaze coming to your level.

“listen baby,” he sighed softly, placing both his hands on your thighs right below the hem of the robe. “I… I haven’t been the best husband the past week and I’m… so so sorry about that,”

his heartfelt words reached your ears and caused your eyes to widen, your mind started to work away the gears to process his words.

“I haven’t been giving you the attention and love I vowed to give you on day one,” he whispered looking deep in your eyes, his own eyes softened to such an extent it had you melting completely. “I haven’t been communicating well with you I…” he muttered, running one hand over his prickly buzzed hair, “I didn’t mean to do that baby I’m so sorry…”

you wanted to say something, anything, for that matter, but you were rendered completely speechless when you started feeling him press kisses over your thighs.

“I hope you can forgive me,” he whispered into your skin, “I hope you can forgive me for everything I did… I’ll make it up to you I promise…”

your lips parted to let out shuddering gasps as you felt him slowly move the satin of your robe up to reveal more of your thighs, his lips pressing kisses against your inner thighs and trailing over your outer thighs.

“I’m so sorry… so sorry, my goddess…” he whispered. “i won’t ever do this again… you’re my top priority, always, and there will never be a second where you don’t feel that way…”

his words left a searing mark on your skin, his lips trailing up to your left hip bone. one of his hands came to rest on your right hip, rubbing gentle circles onto your hip bone through the satin of your robe, and his other hand shifted your robe even higher to grant him more access to your skin. his lips landed on your hip bone and he pressed the most tender kisses along the bone, a soft gasp escaping your lips at his actions. your hand came to rest on the side of his face, your head leaning back as you felt the sensations of his lips on your sensitive hip bone thrum all throughout your body, lighting up each and every nerve that constituted you.

“I love you so much…” he whispered against your skin, starting to gently suck on your skin, his eyes fluttering shut. a hum of pleasure tumbled past your lips, your own eyelids getting heavier. “I love you so so much darling and I’m…” his lips started to trail over your lower abdomen, pressing kisses through the soft satin of your robe that still covered your upper half, “I’m never making this mistake ever again I promise... please forgive me…” he pleaded, his lips making over to your other hip bone and kissing on it, before gently sucking on it the same way he did earlier.

“you only deserve the best…” he murmured, lips trailing a path down to your inner thigh again. “just the best… cause you are so amazing…” he whispered, nipping on the soft skin of your inner thigh. your fingers curled over the nape of his neck to give you some leverage, soft gasps leaving your lips, your eyelashes fluttering, and your chest starting to heave from every kiss and nip of his lips and teeth.

his both hands now rested on the sides of your thighs as they gently kneaded into the flesh and his lips peppered insistent kisses all over your inner thighs. he looked up from your thighs up to you, a pleading expression in his eyes, his lips slightly parted as breaths escaped them.

“please forgive me, my beautiful goddess…” he implored, his voice a mere whisper. “please please forgive me, I’ll never do the same I promise…”

you looked down at him, your fingers trailing to the side of his face to gently cup his cheek. he snuggled into the warmth of your hand almost immediately, his eyes closing for a moment as he let out a soft sigh, letting his lips press a chaste kiss to your palm.

“I forgive you, rafe…” you whispered.

that made him look up at you, his eyes widened and the pleading expression draining out to be replaced with a hopeful one.

“yeah? you do?” he asked, squeezing your thighs in return.

“yeah,” you whispered back, giving him a small smile as you trailed your fingers to the side of his neck, gently scratching your nails against it. he let out a soft exhale at the sensation, letting his head drop to your thighs as your fingers made their way to the back of his neck, continuing the scratching motion. he almost purred in your lap at the feeling, nestling his face into your thighs.

“thank you…” he whispered against your skin. “I won’t disappoint you again, I promise,”

you let out a gentle sigh as you looked at his buried face in your thighs, your expression softening more.

“I know you won’t,” you mumbled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his head.

that night, he held you in his arms and kept you pressed against him, his warmth lulling you in the most beautiful slumber you had experienced in that past week. he made sure you fell asleep comfortably, his lips always pressing random kisses to whatever part of your skin he could succumb to, whispered sweet nothings stumbling past his lips to your ears to alleviate you to great heights.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @mistress-amidala @sadfury @sage-burrow @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @noahkahansorangejuice @rafesgiirl @theoraekenslover @fals3-g0d @personalfavsthatarerandom @b1mb0slvt @babypoguelife @ilyrafe @ladyinbl00d @thisisntannie @zyafics

[fueledbysano]

𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒~!

how they deal with an ovulating and very horny wife.

♱ c/w: MATURED. MDNI. afab!reader, mentions of periods and pregnancy, breeding, creampies, fingering, praising, baby trapping, overstimulation, fluff/smut.

♱ ft. kazutora, mikey, hanma, sanzu, ran.

♱ a/n: the most evil horny of them all. also, happy 4k! thank you so much for all the love in my fics. also, I may have a different writing style with hanma because it was intended for a different fic with a more romantic tone. but I decided it worked just fine for this one too.

♡ tags; @manilamikeyswifey @blueparadis @tokyometronetwork

reblogs appreciated!

♡ Kazutora

As soon as he woke up, Kazutora already felt how slightly warmer you felt in his arms, almost as if you had a fever. That morning, you were in a particularly good mood as well, especially with your husband clinging to you. He gave you a moment to absorb his gaze before softly grinning. Good morning, baby girl…”

Before you could say anything, Kazutora's lips touched yours as his fingertips lifted your chin up. He waited motionlessly for your approval, which you offered by gently pressing your lips against his. You were unable to resist as your kiss got more intense. You felt a surge of lust that fueled the kiss and drew his body close to yours. After what seemed like a flash, you separated from one another.

“Want to stay~?” You asked him, never letting your gaze leave his so he could make no mistake as to what it is that you wanted. Knowing what was going on, Kazutora cleared his throat. Before you went to sleep last night, he observed you check your period tracker app. He remembered that you had noted that today had a blue mark on the calendar, signifying that you are ovulating and most fertile.

You mumbled quietly into his palm, locking eyes with him as you gently rubbed your nose against his. "Honey, please," you begged. You were certain that the lust was becoming stronger as he continued to stay silent, merely his gentle breath touching your neck.

Kazutora's long hair tickled your cleavage while he bit little patches of your skin in the crook of your neck; your heavy breaths and noises getting him bricked up in an instant. He lifted the band shirt you borrowed from him before trailing his hands down your chest, and lingering them above your thin panties.

“I love how pretty your pussy looks…” His mouth almost watered at the wet print on your panties before he pulled them off in one swift movement. “It’s like a flower~” He praised before keeping hot eye contact with you the whole time he lifted your leg up his shoulder lustfully. Soon enough, he attacked the inside of your thighs with hungry kisses. As if you couldn't have been doing it enough, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your back arched in pleasure.

Your hands reached to clench his streaks as you felt Kazutora's lips lap at your sensitive core, and you could feel his lips smiling at your breathy moans of his name. He would shift between quick tongue flicks, languid licks, and sporadic light clitsucking.Kazutora easily inserted a finger into your wetness and curled up with it. Your head dipped back when he slipped a second finger and made the same movement.

Soon enough, Kazutora's cock was straining so hard in his boxers that it itches for a relief inside of your walls. So he reached for the side drawer for the box of condoms you always kept there. However, before he could grasp the wooden knob, you quickly reacted and grabbed hold of his wrist. “It’s okay…” You assured with a soft smile. Kazutora questioned as if you weren't fine with it; he'd rather end the situation before something serious occurs. “Yes, my love.” You exhaled, placing your hands on his shoulders.

Kazutora felt his stomach turn at this confession. All the thoughts he had about getting you pregnant and starting a family with you was at its breaking point, especially now that you had said yes to him. “D’you want me to give you a baby, pretty girl?” He makes sure once more and yet again, you agreed.

“I’ll give you as many as you want…” Kazutora sat you on his thighs in a cradle before rocking upwards to you, placing your arms on his chest as a brace. You raised your hips and felt his length slip out before lowering your cunt on it abruptly.

Pleasure was making you slightly dizzy on top of him, but you made an effort to maintain your eyes on Kazutora at all times. By this point, your hips were colliding with each other with each thrust, evoking gasping groans from both of you as you watched your bodies connect.

“I’m not going to last any longer…” Kazutora admitted, feeling the pre cum from his tip coat your cervix. “That’s okay, I’m close yoo.” You insisted. You felt a little jolt as he abruptly shoved his hips upward. You gasped in shock before giving him a seductive glance.

It was excessive. Your orgasm overcame your senses and knocked the air out of your throat as it descended. Despite wanting to see Kazutora’s vulnerable expression, your eyes screw shut at the sensation of clamping your walls around his dick. The pleasure shook throughout your body.

Your husband was keeping an eye on you, and seeing you at your climax was all it took to push him over the edge. He finally lost it due to your grip, releasing all of his pent-up seed. It was so enthralling that he didn't want the moment to finish.

“You’re so amazing, my darling.” Kazutora praised as he laid your fragile body on the sheets.

♡ Mikey

Emma and Draken had just left your home after collecting their infant, who had been under you and his uncle Mikey's care for the entire morning and afternoon. If it wasn't for Draken who restrained him while Emma took the baby back, Mikey wouldn't have wanted to let go of the little bundle of joy.

“[ Y / N ], just give Manjiro a baby already.” Emma remarks in jest before Draken bids goodbye and closes the door behind them, leaving a very flustered Mikey behind. You chuckled at your husband's reaction before pressing a delicate kiss on his forehead, “Go get cleaned, honey. I'll make the bed.” He hummed affectingly, closing his eyes in alleviation before murmuring into your ear, “Love you so much~”

If his scratchy voice didn't already drive you crazy, your heart sure did skip when Mikey's hands found their way to your hips, slipping under your shirt and onto your skin before tracing delicate circles. You froze. You balled the collar of his shirt, closed your eyes, and pressed your cheek to his hair before gasping out. Mikey made a gesture that typically you found sweet, but tonight, it switched something inside you. He secretly blushed from the sound you made before withdrawing from your embrace and then doing his business upstairs.

The entire time you prepared for bed, you couldn't resist the thoughts of having your husband touch and fondle you in such sensual ways; It's nothing out of the ordinary to lust for your husband, yet tonight, you felt more drawn to him than usual. it's like... hold on.

Glancing at the calendar, you realize that it has been two weeks since your period. of course, you are ovulating. Explains the baby fever you felt too while watching you and Mikey's nephew. While it is a guaranteed card to get laid, the intense lust almost aches; the only thing plaguing your mind is having Mikey touch all over your body as he pumped your pussy full of his cum.

“Good night, my darling wife.” From underneath the covers and your shirt, Mikey’s hand cups your breast and starts to massage it gently, twisting and pulling at your nipple. His other hand was caressing your legs, and his fingers tickled as they softly moved up your inner thighs. You were enjoying his touches so much you didn’t realize the pooling mess in between your legs that began to soak through your panties. “Is this what you wanted, baby?” Mikey muttered and toyed with your clit slowly before pressing soft kisses on your neck.

Your heart is aching from eagerness, melting, and ready to breach from your chest at any moment. Fortunately, Mikey also got impatient and tugged your panties aside, making you feel his erect shaft, which had been straining in his pants ever since he spotted you splayed on your marital bed. “Good girl,” He praises, sinking into you again and again.

Normally, Mikey would whimper and grunt into your ear during sex. But tonight, feeling how significantly aroused and tight you are, Mikey didn't bother to strain the pornographic moans in his throat as he drove into your puffy g-spot.

Your hands flew up in an instant, encasing his face in your palms. He was ready to pause and kiss you, until you muttered something that had him reeling. “Knock me up, honey.” Although his head hadn't yet absorbed the words, his body had, and the words had come as a surprise to him. He came abruptly and forcefully, his head falling to nuzzle your neck as a heavy grunt erupted from his chest. Mikey’s orgasm had brought you to yours as he rode it out in shallow thrusts.

Mikey rolled off you to lay down at your side; your legs entwined as he was still inside you. “I love you….” he muttered lovingly.

To be connected with him in the most intimate ways was always so enchanting. You two stayed like that, just snuggling as you caught your breath, knowing that whatever happened in the future because of tonight, you two would do it together with love.

♡ Hanma

Hanma took you into a romantic weekend getaway at a cabin house. The day of birdwatching and camping was long over and when the navy blue took over the cerulean blue sky. 

Upon arriving in your cabin, you two settled down on the settee positioned by the warm fireplace, the sound of burning wood and the scent of pine trees completed the atmosphere. You notice that his eyes have the same sparkle that you admired when you first met him after exchanging a lingering stare with him. 

Hanma's pulse was hammering as he leaned forward to take in the view, his heart pounding at how stunning you looked with the continuous stream of sunlight streaming into the cabin room. He leaned in close enough that the points of your cupid's bows touched for another fiery kiss.

As you closed the distance between you and him, your hold on his jaw loosened. You pressed your lips against his, eyes peering up at his, as if checking to see if he was still down with it.Your lips brushed across his tenderly before you firmly planted them there. His brows knitted together and eyes remained open until your hand reached up to cradle the soft patch of locks at the back of his head and your tongue flicked at his lower lip.

Instead of touching you, he lets you touch him, allowing you to find your own degree of comfort. Both yours and Hanma's coats slid down your back, falling off your shoulders. You started unbuckling your belt straps as you stared down at him. As you reached the buttons on your blouse, the leather dropped about your waist. As you unfastened the buttons one by one, he attentively watched you, his eyes memorizing every piece of exposed skin. Even though you've done it countless times already before, seeing you undress just for him did something to him that he couldn't put into words. It was an image that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

“You're finally off your period, baby?” Hanma remarked as your lips pressed together again, hot and heavy. He last initiated to be intimate with you while you were in the middle of your period, but you gently rejected. So he has been waiting ever since.

He was speechless as to what you were doing to him. He felt weightless, like if he were soaring through the air, rising higher with each kiss and amount of contact between your hips. “Yes…”

Before slowly moving his hands over your exposed abdomen, he waited until you were stripped down to your cotton bra. As he played at the cloth beneath your breasts, his eyes followed you, looking for permission to push his fingers past it. As his hands excitedly stroked and kneaded the skin of your exposed breasts, you tugged the garment up and over your head completely, flinging it aside and leaning over him.

He bit back a low grunt as your hand cupped his bulge, stopping his hips from arching into the warmth of your palm. He did as he was told and unbuckled his belt. As he drew out his erection through his pants, his warm stare didn't flinch away from yours. He didn't consider himself a nervous person, but something about being completely at your mercy was too much for him to stand.

His hands reached down to your thighs and circled your pelvis, just above your core, tickling the sensitive area there. You groaned in agony, your legs swaying in anticipation. He indulged you because he sensed your impatience. As the touch of his rough fingers ran across your sensitive bud, his eyes narrowed and a cry dropped from your eager lips. Then he rested his finger there, leaning in close to you and curling the digit against it again and over, causing your lips to open, body tensing, and stars flashing in your eyes.

"You like that?" He said in a low, sultry tone, eyes locked hard on your dazed expression. Of course he knew you loved that.

"That's my good girl. Feel good?" You nod, out of breath and dizzy. He grinds himself up against you and brushes his member up and down your wet folds, enclosing you in his embrace. Your body jerks, his smooth cock sliding against your excessively sensitive bud, eliciting a small sequence of aftershocks that lead him to tut and smile smugly. Then he pushes himself halfway into you and waits a moment for you to open up for him. Slowly, his hips pull back, almost entirely separating him from you before plunging in further deeper. He goes through the motions once more, sliding out only to sink back in with ease all the way to the hilt.

A string of curses fall from his lips as your hips grind against him haphazardly, too thrown by the cusp of your orgasm to be able to match his rhythmic thrusts. As the coil finally snaps you clamp down hard on his cock, a loud moan tearing out from you as you cum wholly wrapped up in him. For a moment his hips still, letting you fuck yourself through your orgasm before he still for a moment, head thrown back and words slipping out quickly, "Where do you want it?"

"I-In me." Your breathy moans of his name were enough to make him shoot his release, pouring it deep inside you just as you wanted as he reached his climax.

You collapsed on top of your husband, his member still deep inside you while the two of you caught your breaths, bodies fitting together like a puzzle.

You two stayed like this for a moment, letting yourselves peacefully bask into each other's embrace intimately by the fire and reminiscing what may be the start of the final days of being "just you two".

♡ Sanzu

Your heart was beating impossibly fast as your back slammed against the door of your bedroom, Sanzu reaching blindly to open it before he had his hands on yours once again. You were thrilled that your husband was just as needy as you are, after all, you were the one who first dragged him out of Bonten's afterparty at the club directly below your penthouse.

Your knees struck the edge of the mattresses as Sanzu pushed you into the bed. The metal bands on his fingers sent goosebumps on your skin as his fingers trailed down your back to unzip your dress. Sanzu broke the kiss to allow himself to soak in the sight of your body, concealed only in your panties.

You responded by reaching up to seize his undone tie, luring him into another lustful kiss while you took turns removing his clothing.

“I don’t have a condom.” Sanzu bit his lip after the lie, waiting for your response. He had been thinking about hitting it raw for several days now and he just couldn't wait any longer.

“It’s okay…” You insist, murmuring against his lips with a smirk. “I want this…” Your whisper is followed by a soft gasp when Sanzu pushes you to the bed. He groaned at the feeling of your soft breast pushing against his, as he pulled your panties off.

You reached your hands to cup his face in your hands, leaning up to press a hungry kiss to his lips. And that was when Sanzu pushed himself inside you. Your moans were synced, both consumed by the pent-up tension you two have been holding onto.

He precisely filled you up, pressing into every little crevice and nerve as he thrust. Your legs lifted up to his shoulders, the new angle allowing Sanzu's tip to nudge against your cervix. He let out a vulnerable moan, his hands fisting the mattresses tighter with every blow.

You moaned his name loudly, hands reaching above your head to brace yourself on the cushioned headboard.

Sanzu pressed a thumb on your clit in response, leaving open-mouthed kisses over your leg as he kept a steady pace.

“I’ll make you a daddy~” You flashed him a mischievous grin as your legs fell to wrap around his waist, locking his member pistoning inside you. Moans echoed through the room louder than you initially planned to, but Sanzu loved it.

Sanzu's body felt like it was on fire when the nickname escaped your lips. “You’ll make a pretty mommy.” He moaned in between thrusts, one hand gripping the headboard behind you for better traction.

“Let's cum together, sweetheart.” That was all you needed before you were pushed over the edge into an earth-shattering orgasm. Your nails sank onto Sanzu's shoulders, clinging onto him as he rode out your orgasm.

“So perfect, baby…” Your husband's moans were rough and low, choking on a grunt as he pushed his cum deep inside you.

♡ Ran

Even though you have only been at work for four hours, you are already regretting leaving your husband in bed, wishing nothing but to be in his arms right now. You weren't usually clingy to Ran, in fact, it was the other way around. However, today you felt a stronger yearning toward him than usual.

“What’re you thinking about, miss?” Her assistant jokes.

You shook it off, realizing you had been zoning out yet again. You’ve been thinking about so many things about Ran, but there’s no way you could tell her that.

“Nothing, just a little sleepy.” Yes, sleepy is the way to put it…  “I’d be glad to take over for you, ma’am.” She insisted. “Are you sure? Alright, thank you so much. Ring me up if you need anything.” You smiled at your assistant before handing her the papers, waving on the way out.

1PM. Ran is usually in his own office at the Bonten HQ around this time. You cannot wait to go home to him tonight and you wanted to be sure that he'd feel the same way, thinking about nothing but hving you for the rest of his work.

So, on the spur of the moment, you scrolled through your personal "intimate" photo album, specifically selecting one in which you wore a set of black lace lingerie that Ran had purchased for you.

sent 3 images

miss you, honey ♡

You were pretty proud of your text, knowing that Ran might get in trouble once he opens it while at work.

However, as minutes pass, you start to wonder what he may be up to this time. You could only hope that it was a good time to send that text, or maybe he may really get in trouble for causing him such distraction.

“[ Y / N ]-sama, a package for you at the door.” Your assistant says over the intercom. You took a breath and placed your hand at the door. You didn’t even get the chance to look up before you heard an unmistakable voice clear their throat.

“Where’s my hello, darling?” You immediately blushed, your eyes hesitantly looking up to meet the source of the voice. And there was your husband, clad in all black. A few strands of his lilac hair hovered over his eyes as he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed together.

“Baby,” You breathed. Ran uncrossed his arms and locked you in his embrace. “You called for me, angel?” A slight rasp in his voice as he whispered drove you crazy.

“Ran...” You grabbed a fistful of his shirt and brought your lips up to meet him in a fiery kiss. He smiled against your lips, gladly obliging to your request as your lips spoke for the pent up desire you held for each other. 

Your breaths picked up, as did your heart rates as Ran’s grip on your waist grew tighter, wanting more. Suddenly, his hands effortlessly hoisted you onto your desk. He knocked off a few things to make room for you on the surface. 

As Ran’s fingers crept higher up your skirt, your legs spread wider to make space for his petite waist. Ran held you flush against his body, one hand roaming your back as you held each other close. “My naughty wife needs me…” He whispered, undoing his pants before bringing himself closer to you as he set your panties aside.

The tip of his shaft brushed your clit. You moved his member along your folds, thoroughly soaking the tip. Ran felt goosebumps in his arms as you both exchanged breathless gasps in pleasure.

“You’re such a good girl to me…” He whispered, kissing you softly. Slowly but surely, you took the entirety of his length just before he hits your cervix due to the position you're in. Ran slowly withdrew before slamming back into you in exactly the same spot he stopped at.

“Am I taking you well, honey? D’you hear that? Fuck, you dick me down so good.” You praised, whispering seductively into his ear. You felt Ran’s length throb inside of you upon hearing those words before he pushed one deep thrust with a grunt,

“Keep talking like that and I might just blow my load deep inside you.” You and Ran had always been careful. But his suggestion puts ideas in your head.

You are aware that you have a high chance of getting pregnant today, and that only pushed you into agreeing to your husband. Ran had always been vocal about dreaming of having children with you, but he is also very considerate and respectful of your decisions so he waited for the right time for you.

You are happy with the stability in your life and would dearly love to expand your small family with Ran.

He started to dive into you a little harder as he could feel himself releasing shortly. By how you clenched his shaft a lot tighter, he could tell that you were close to your climax too. 

“Where do you want it, baby—?” Ran whispered, holding your body softly.

You wrapped your legs around his waist just in time. Ran came hard and suddenly, straining his moans against your lips in a kiss. That answered his question and was all he needed to pour his load into your pussy as you came together.

[catcze]

not particularly a request if u don't want it to be but as a fellow wriothesley enjoyer I wanted to share this idea

fontaine is based off of france right? so the thought of wrio being able to speak french and absolutely using that to his advantage to be a flirt has been driving me insane. he would be INSUFFERABLE (especially if his s/o isn't fluent) and I'd be loving every second of it

(also love your works <3 it's the main fuel that's been making me so horrifically down bad for him)

OH ?!!? MY GOD ?!?! HEHAKJDJ FUCK I HAVE TO WRITE THIS I CANT NOT !! It's a little short and a little sweet, but i hope you like it!

(Translations listed at the end! I used google translate, so if there's any mistakes, please feel free to correct me!!)

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

Wriothesley has started to say things to you on the regular— but for the life of you, you can't understand. It starts first on a slow day. You're lounging in his office, reading a random book you've plucked from his shelves. He's just looking through some papers, doing nothing too important.

Then, Wriothesley glances up from his papers, lets his eyes fall on you. "Tu me rends si heureux."

And you're furrowing your brow in confusion, staring at him. It's a phrase form his mother tongue, that much you know. But you're not sure what it actually means. The way his smile is a bit too mischievous, you don't think that he intends for you to understand, anyway.

"I'm... sorry?" You ask. What else can you say? You're pretty sure from his insufferably smug expression that he's not going to tell you what it means anytime soon. At the very least, you're pretty sure he's not shit talking you to your face.

Your eyes narrow.

Probably.

He can see the question on the tip of your tongue, the suspicious glance you cast his way. Wriothesley just chuckles and goes back to the papers on his desk.

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart."

The next time, he does it as you're having dinner across from each other in the cafeteria. Your meal is halfway done, having been practically shoveled into your mouth. It probably paints an unflattering picture, but you're too hungry to really care. Resting on the table, he's stubbornly gripping your hand in his own, fingers intertwined. Even though it made eating much more difficult, Wriothesley would scowl and reach back for your hand whenever you tried to take it away, so you just considered it a lost cause.

Lost in filling your stomach, you're almost don't hear what he says.

"Je ne peux pas imaginer le reste de ma vie sans toi." Wriothesley mumbles, thumb stroking the back of your hand tenderly.

You narrow your eyes again, a silent question.

Wriothesley just smiles secretively and raises a hand to his mouth, miming zipping up his lips and locking it with a key, then tossing it away. He winks at you, and you roll your eyes. No answers today, apparently.

"Are you ever going to tell me what it is you've been saying?" you ask once you've swallowed your food.

"Mm. Maybe one day. If I feel like it." And he's grinning again— the cheeky one that he wears whenever he one-ups you, that showcases his dimples and his teeth. You kinda want to punch him, but it also makes you remember how handsome he is when he smiles.

"Fine," you grumble, sighing. You busy yourself once more with your food. "Keep your fucking secrets. See if I care." You do. A lot, actually. You're very curious now.

Wriotheley just smiles and lets you eat.

But he slips up, one evening. To be fair, it's late at night after a hard day's work. Both of you are exhausted— a tangled mass of limbs and sheets on your bed, both of you halfway asleep already.

Your head is cushioned on his chest, nose pressed against his collarbone, and his arms wrapped around you. Wriothesley's nose is pressed into the crown of your head, breathing in the smell of your hair. His breaths are deep and slow, and you can tell without even looking that his eyes are fighting to stay awake. You're no better, though.

Just before you nod off though, you can feel the brush of his lips against your hair. "Je t'aime. Je t'aime tellement," he says quietly, lips brushing the strands in affection. If you had just been the slightest bit more asleep, you might not have even heard it.

But while you may not be fluent in his language, may know little else aside from the most basic of phrases, you recognize that one. It's hard not to, when it's arguably one of the most popular phrases from his mother tongue. Je t'aime. I love you.

Something gooey finds its way into your chest, and the blood rushes through your body as you're overcome by the sheer sweetness of the man you're laying on. Slowly, you crane your neck up to face him, and can see the slight widening of his eyes, the quiet oh shit that runs through his head.

"Is that what you've been saying?" you ask, voice just as quiet as his. Wriothesley hesitates, arms tightening their hold on you.

"... generally, yes."

You smile gently, scooching up enough to press a kiss to his jaw, then to his lips, giggling when he leans down to make it easier for you. You bury your head into his neck then, resting your cheek against him. "I love you too, Wrio."

Translations:

Tu me rends si heureux. — You make me so happy. Je ne peux pas imaginer le reste de ma vie sans toi. — I can't imagine the rest of my life without you. Je t'aime. Je t'aime tellement. — I love you. I love you so much

[kaleldobrev]

Please Don't Leave

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dean's lucky to have you in his life and honestly doesn't know what he would ever do without you

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Cursing (3x), Fluff, Vulnerable/Angry Dean

Authors Note: The gif makes me sad | This might seem a little non canon but at the same time I honestly feel like Dean would react this way (fight me if you want, but I said what I said) | I just love this man so fucking much | Dream/Flashbacks are in italics | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

Dean didn’t have a lot of consistencies in his life, but you were one of them. Out of everyone he had known in his life, you were one of the only people that had remained with him through all the heartbreak, all of the death, all of the blood, sweat, and tears that this life had. You had been through it all with him: Sam going to Stanford and leaving him behind, his fathers death, him selling his soul, the year that Sam went to Hell, the year the two of you were in Purgatory, the few months he was a demon, his bloodlust fueled by the Mark, him being possessed by Michael. He had an endless list of things that the two of you had been through together, things that would cause any normal or rational person to throw in the towel; but not you. “You can’t get rid of me Dean Winchester, not even if you kill me yourself.” You had joked. And that was something that he had almost done – and on several occasions too. And yet, you never left him. “I guess I’m just stupid.” You said. “Or maybe the sex me and you have is just that good.”

The sex he had with you, now that was something. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced; and he has had quite a lot of sex during his lifetime (not that he bragged about it of course). When the two of you initially met, it was only supposed to be a working relationship, a friends with benefits sort of deal. But eventually it turned into more. He wasn’t sure where him or you had gotten your wires crossed but they did; and it turned into you and him always finding each other at the end of the night regardless of the different men and women that had hit on both of you at the bar you two were at.

The sex used to be quick, usually done in either a drunken haze or after a tough hunt. But it eventually turned into something that either one of you would initiate through soft touches: a kiss on the forehead, a simple hand hold, or cuddling into each other. Once, in the middle of sex, he wasn’t sure why he had said it but he did. He kind of just blurted it out. “I love you.” Now that was something he never thought he’d ever say during sex before. But here you were beneath him, staring up at him with those doe eyes of yours that you frequently had during sex and said, “I love you too.” It was something he didn’t expect.

Dean didn’t know what he could or would possibly do if you weren’t in his life; and that was something he didn’t want to think about. But it was something that has been an unavoidable thought as of late. Waking up to you was one of the worst but best things after a nightmare of losing you. He would wake up in a panic, his heart racing, sweating; afraid that you were gone for good this time. But without fail, every single time you would be right there next to him. Either sound asleep or awake enough to tell him, “It’s okay, I’m right here.” He would always reply the same way. “Just…please don’t leave.” It was a simple yet complicated sentence. “I’m not going to. I’d never leave you.” Those words that you always uttered back should have been comforting to him, but it was just an empty promise – even though he knows that’s how you never intended it to sound. In your heart you loved him deeply, and he knew that. He knew that you’d never leave him; the two of you have been through everything together. But when it came to this life, it was hard to make and keep promises like that.

“Dean, I just can’t do this anymore I’m sorry.” Your words had cut into him like a knife. Like he’d been shot hundreds of times. The torture he received from Hell combined with the loss of his mother was child’s play compared to what he was currently feeling. He just started blankly at the two duffel bags at your feet as you stood in the doorway of the room the two of you shared. Well, formally shared that is. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” You asked, your question snapping him out of whatever trance he was in.

“There’s nothing to say.” Of course there were hundreds, no thousands of things that he had wanted to say to you, but he knew that he couldn’t say any of it. As much as he wanted to beg for you to stay, he wasn’t going to make you stay. Once you made up your mind that was it; there was no convincing you.

You looked at him with a confused expression. “You don’t even want to know why I’m leaving?” You asked, and Dean simply shook his head. “Why not?”

“It doesn’t really matter.” He tried to keep his voice even, to make you believe that he was okay. But he could tell that you knew he wasn’t (you knew him long enough to know when he was or wasn’t okay).

“Dean.” You said, your voice sounding more heartbroken than his.

“It’s alright. You don’t…you don’t have to explain yourself.” He said, taking a seat on the bed you two once shared.

“I feel like you deserve an explanation. We were together for almost twenty years Dean.” You sat down next to him on the bed. He had just wanted to push you away or wrap you in his arms. Two completely differently reactions, but that’s the way he felt. “Dean.” You touched his shoulder and he flinched, you quickly removed your hand. “I love you, and I know you know that but –”

“Please just…stop talking. I really don’t want to hear what you have to say.” His voice was more hurt now, and he could feel himself trying not to say or do anything that he was going to regret. He wanted to cry, but he didn’t want you to have to see that, despite seeing him do it so many times before. “Just, leave if you’re going to leave.” You didn’t move, simply just staring at him. “Go!” He snapped, and that’s when you got up.

You walked over to your bags, slinging one over your shoulder and holding the other one in your hands. “Goodbye Dean.” You said, before walking out of the room. For a while he heard the sound of your boots down the hall, but they suddenly became faint, almost inaudible. The Bunker door opened and closed again. You were gone. Gone for good this time.

“You said you’d never fucking leave.” He whispered to himself. “Said you’d never fucking leave me.” He pounded the bed with his fist. “You fucking lied!” He got up from the bed and he felt himself start to lose control; no longer in control of the emotions that had been building up when he had started watching you pack up your bags.

Dean woke up abruptly, sitting up. He was panicked, his heart racing. His breaths were heavy, his chest moving up and down. He rubbed his face, trying to fully wake himself up. There was no way he would be getting back to sleep for a while; not after that nightmare. “Y/N -” he began to say as he looked over to his right side; your side of the bed. You were gone. “Sweetheart?” He asked, his hand reached out and touched the emptiness next to him: it was cold.

He looked up at the door to the bedroom which was slightly ajar. The only light in the room came seeping in from the hallway. He didn’t remember having the door open, the door was always shut whenever the two of you slept. Despite how safe the Bunker was, sleeping with the door closed added an extra layer of safety, not just for him, but for you as well.

A shadow appeared, blocking some of the light. He reached over and opened the drawer of his nightstand, slightly gripping his gun that he always kept there. Before he could fully wrap his hand around the weapon you squeaked inside the room and shut the door again quietly. A huge amount of relief washed over him in that moment as he let go of the gun and closed the drawer. “Dean?” You questioned, upon hearing the drawer close. “Baby are you okay?” You asked, walking to sit on his side of the bed. He looked at you as you placed a hand on his cheek. Your eyes full of worry.

“You were…” his eyes flickered to your side of the bed that had been empty when he woke up before looking back at you again. “You were gone. When I woke up you…”

“It’s okay. I’m here.” You reassured him, your voice calm.

“Where did you go?” He asked tiredly.

“The bathroom. I really, really needed to pee.” You said, Dean chuckled a little at your comment. “You know I wouldn’t willingly leave you right?” You reassured him again. You felt him nod in your hand.

“I know.” His voice sounding just a hint sad. “I uh, I feel stupid for freaking out.” The sentence was a whisper.

“There’s nothing to feel stupid about Dean.” Another reassurance. Dean had every right to react the way he did; he had lost so much, even before you had met him. You had been with him through everything. Witnessed so much loss and endured just as much. “Was it a nightmare?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was the…the one where you break up with me.” You hated that one just as much as he did.

“I’m never going to break up with you. I love you too damn much.” You said, giving him a smile. You crawled into bed next to him getting underneath the covers. “Come here.” You held out your arms for him, and without hesitation he went into them. He wrapped his arms around your torso and rested his head on your chest; your arms wrapping around the back of his neck. Your fingers started playing with his hair, gently massaging his head.

The two of you sat there in silence, both of you with your eyes closed. You weren’t sleeping, but you were unsure if he was. Even if he wasn’t, his breathing was starting to get more even, he was starting to calm down. Hearing the sound of your heartbeat always calmed him down. “Y/N?” Dean asked.

“Yes my love?” You asked, opening your eyes.

He looked up at you briefly, tiredly. “I know I don’t tell you enough but…I’m really lucky to have you in my life. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.” He kissed your neck, as that was one of the only spots he could currently reach.

“I’m lucky to have you in my life too.” You responded, giving him a kiss on the top of his head.

“And Sweetheart?” He asked again.

“Yeah?” You asked.

“Thank you…thank you for not leaving me.” His voice sounding a little pained. The sound of this sentence had broken your heart a bit. Leaving Dean was never an option for you, no matter what had happened between the two of you. Being with him wasn’t easy, but you couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. He was your person, the love of your life, your soulmate. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You kissed him on the top of the head again, and you could feel his smile.

That night, Dean didn’t have another nightmare, but he did dream. He had one of his favorite dreams; one that always gave him a sense of calmness and normalcy. The two of you would be just lying in bed together watching some random horror movie on tv. It was something that the two of you have done hundreds, no, thousands of times, so there would be no reason why it would be his so called favorite dream. What made it his favorite though was purely based on one small detail, a detail that made it known to him that it was in fact a dream: wedding rings would be on both of your fingers.

Someday maybe, he thought.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 @jackles010378 If you'd like to be on a tag list, just message me!

[unforth]

Alright not to like liveblog my breakdown on main but yesterday was a really bad day after a really bad, like, 4 months, and I've hit a bit of a breaking point and one of the only things in my life that can give is running @mdzsartreblogs , @tgcfartreblogs , @svsssartreblogs , @erhaartreblogs , @tykartreblogs , and @cnovelartreblogs , so that is what has to give. It's been a 99-out-of-100 days thankless job. A small number of people do say thank you and yall I appreciate you so much (HUGE shout-out to the artist I met at Flamecon who gifted me a zine when I said I ran these blogs, @bonesblubs you rock) but I have never done an act of fandom labor simultaneously this labor intensive yet this invisible before and, uh. It sucks. I spend an hour or more a day on this every day, if it's under 2k hours since I started the first of these in September 2020 I'd be shocked. And I do it because I love it but doing it means I don't have time or energy to do other things I love. And I really don't want to just quit, but I can't keep this up.

In a last-ditch effort to try not to just give up, I'm making the following changes:

1. Only watching one tag per fandom for the MXTX fandoms. I am going to check *only* #tgcf, #svsss, and #mdzs. Artwork posted to any other tag, I will not see unless a mutual reblogs it.

2. Reduced tagging (even more). I'm only going to tag characters and maybe overarching au type (eg, "modern au," "fantasy au"). I'll no longer tag creatures. I will continue to tag the same common trigger warnings I already tag.

3. If a work's appearance doesn't make it obvious what it is AND the tags aren't clear, I'm not going to reblog. I can't keep spending 5 minutes or more trying to figure out what I'm even looking at, scared that if I guess wrong the artist will get mad at me for mistagging their work. If I do reblog, I'll tag only the artist name and/or whatever else I can identify for sure.

4. I am no longer going to follow #link click. The fandom is just too big. I've started dreading checking it. If I was more into it and less busy I would make another spin off just for it but neither of those is true. (The art is so good, I hate to do this, but. If you love link click, highly recommend the main tag, lots of great stuff there.)

5. I will no longer tag any non-cnovel content in the art/post. Like, if someone draws, idek, Xie Lian and Marinette from Ladybug, I'm not gonna put any tags for Marinette, just for Xie Lian.

6. Basically if I run into something hard to tag or confusing or unclear, my new policy is I'm not gonna fricken bother.

I think those are everything but idefk, I cried for 3 hours last night and got 4 hours of sleep so I'm mostly fueled by exhaustion and desperation right now and my memory is even more fried than usual.

How artists can help. This is obviously all optional. You do you. But since some people might want to know what would make my life easier, I'm sharing. I'm not claiming I feel entitled to dictate how people fandom or anything like that.

1. Put the tags for the character(s) and ship(s) early in the tag list.

2. If you make art for a fandom that isn't one of the big ones (right now the only big danmei fandoms on tumblr as far as I can tell are the MXTX fandoms and maybe 2ha) I am begging you to use my tracked tag #cnovelartreblogs

3. Do mdzs art? Tag #mdzs. Do tgcf art? Tag #tgcf. Do svsss art? Tag #svsss.

4. Not only artists, but everyone, *please* stop tagging fandoms not discussed and/or depicted in your post. It's gotten to be stupid common for people to blanket the danmei fandom tags with posts only about one fandon (like, svsss-only works also being tagged mdzs and tgcf and 2ha for some damn reason). This isn't about just my sideblogs tbh this is just fandom etiquette that seems to have been forgotten or never learned by many. Tagging unrelated fandoms isn't "reach," it's annoying. People go into the #mdzs tag to see mdzs, not whatever not-mdzs stuff people have decided to tag for ~reach~, and seeing the same post in 8 tags, none of which it's related to, is so damn irritating, and makes scrolling the tags looking for content that IS relevant take that much longer. Knock it off.

Okay. I think that's as much as I'm prepared to meltdown where everyone can see. Thanks in advance everyone for your understanding, and apologies to everyone about to see this 8 times as I reblog it to each sideblog.

At least I'm not tagging it to everywhere. 🤣🤣🤣

[justlemmeadoreyou]

harry in love (headcanons)

okay, so what about harry in love? like truly, madly deeply, completely in love? he'd be so adorable :(

when he would wake up, he would always look at your face the first thing, always saying how it makes his day better. when you're both far away, he would just keep a picture of you as his wallpaper, remembering to look at his phone the first thing in the morning

he would be your chaperone, offering to drive you and be with you anywhere you wanna go-you want to get your nails done, he's ready. shopping? check. groceries? he's your handyman. you wanna go for a girls night? he'll drive you there and then come to pick you up coz it's not safe for a pretty cupcake like you to uber at midnight :(

he would talk to you every night, how your day was, did you eat properly, did you drink enough water, is your car okay? or do you want to get it serviced, get fuel filled? listening closely while he rubs lotion on your hands and legs, occasionally giving you back rubs

expect so many love notes from him. i love you's on text randomly, notes on the fridge and beside table when he has to leave for work early. he would even insert some silly jokes, so you don't miss that adorable dork too much :((

you want something, he would bring 20 varieties of it the next day. you want to try yogurt, multiple flavours that you haven't even heard of are in the refrigerator the next day

he would always cook with you too. chopping or washing vegetables to just stirring the pot or standing there admiring you, he would be by your side. always.

if somebody hurts you or goes over the line, the pure anger in his eyes is unforgiving. he knows he can’t do too much physical harm, but he never lets go off that easily either

when you cry, he's your shoulder to put your head on, he's the hand that wipe the tears off your cheek. he holds you close, rubbing your back and kissing your forehead, your cheeks. he never stops you or pushes you away, knowing just how bad bottled up emotions can be

and he would be so cute when you're on your period :( making you hot chocolate, bringing you chocolates and sweets, keeping the heating pad ready because he knows how much your cramps hurt :( he would cook for you all the time, wanting you to eat all the best food you can.

and don't expect him to freak out and shout when he sees blood ridden sheets. he'll gently wake you up, telling you that your period has started, and that he has run a bath for you, there’s clean clothes, there’s warm clothes, whatever you need. you scurry to the bathroom, making a mental note to clean up the mess on the bed later. but when you come back, the sheets have been replaced and already put in the washer. the room smells fresh, there’s breakfast for you on the table, and he comes back in with a heating pad :( and an adorable smile. when you ask him about the sheets and why is he not freaked out, he says, "i'm not a boy, love"

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

please like, comment or reblog if you like this, i really appreciate every note 🥺🥺

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @babyiamperfectforyou @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely @whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge @mypolicemanharryyy @theendx888 @ladscarlett @whotfisade @youcan-nolonger-run @prettythingsworld @chesthairrry

tags in red couldn't be tagged :(

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 50

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: 50 chapters?!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don't sleep, you just lay in an achy stupour. The sun limns the door as Loki's shadow darkens beneath it. He sat there all night, you could hear him, leaning against it, sighing, sometimes pleading for you to come out.

He groans as the door shifts with him. He exhales and you hear some cracking as he moves. He must be just as stiff as you. 

“Pet,” he taps on the wood, “are you over your tantrum?”

His words sting. He speaks to you like a child. You wish he'd leave you alone, let you out, just disappear!

He stands with another long groan and you feel him leaning on the door. He jiggles the handle then hits the wood in frustration. He hisses. Good, you hope it hurts.

Tears spring as you feel guilty just as quickly as that spiteful thought rose. You don't want to hurt anyone. You never have. You just want to be.

“You cannot lock me out forever. I must clean up,” he demands.

You don't argue. You don't mention he has another bathroom. Two even. You don't have the energy.

“Must you persist in this stubbornness?” He snaps. 

All he ever has for you is criticism. Just like your father. And you're just the same useless girl.

You don’t answer. You get up, keeping your back to the door. You tell him over and over to leave you alone. It doesn’t work. So you’ll just ignore him.

You go to the tub and crank on the faucet, the water splashing down loudly as you flinch as the sudden gush. You hear a thump on the door but focus on testing the temperature of the water with your fingers. You don’t listen to see if he goes, to you he’s just not there.

You strip off the camisole nightie and step into the tub before it fills. You lay in the burgeoning depths as it slowly rises over you. Goosebumps rise on your body yet the water offers little warmth for you. Even as it steams up to your shoulders.

You sit forward to twist off the tap and lay back with a sigh. You wet your hands and drag them over your forehead, the water trickling down to dampen the bandage across your nose. You don’t know what you’re doing or what to do. You never really did have much of a plan. Life was always just day to day. Survival.

Your lashes close as dampness lingers on them, fueled by a new flow from within. Your tears trickle out and you sniffle. Your mind wanders to a woman you never knew.

Was this what it was like for her? Confusing? Scary? Or did she love your father? Was he different when it was only her?

How can you even begin to know her when you don’t even know yourself? You are not your mother’s daughter. You are no one’s. You are no one.

You don’t languish long in the tub. You drain it and sit shivering on the toilet lid, wrapped in a thick cotton towel. You stare at your hands and think but you’re empty. You can’t live inside your mind, just like you can’t live inside this room.

You stand up and storm towards the door. You stop short and gulp. You won’t let him lock you up. Not any longer. Maybe your mother was a brave woman and maybe you can be too.

You flip back the lock and pull the door open. The bedroom is empty. He’s gone. You deflate. Just as you found a semblance of courage. 

You cross to the other door. The handle won’t turn. You expect as much, just like you should’ve expected him to leave before he could hear you.

You back up and peer around. Your eyes narrow on the window and you tilt your head. You can go too. 

You rush over to the closet and push the door open. You search through the hanging garments clumsily, hangers whining on the bar. You pull down a plain black blouse and equally simple pants. You dress as you peek over and over at the door. You don’t have shoes but you don’t care. You double up socks and go to the window.

What do you even care about shoes? You don’t have anything.

You hook your fingers into the notches along the bottom of the window and lift. It doesn’t budge. You whimper as your knuckles ache from the effort. You pout at the glass, contemplating the best way to shatter it. Your gaze wanders up to the latch at the top. Oh, it’s locked!

You slide the lock back and try again. It opens. You can barely believe it. A way out, but what comes after. You don’t have to think of that now.

You poke your head out and peek around the green lawn. The birds tweet and the trees sway with the breeze. You stick your arms out next and rest your stomach against the sill. You lift one knee and haul yourself over the ledge, dragging your other leg out awkwardly.

The roof is steep and offers little traction. As you manage to crawl onto the slope, your head spins from the drop just below the eaves. Don’t look down, that’s the first rule right. You search for a safer descent than the vision of yourself plummeting to the ground.

Just along the far side of the house, just at the corner, the ivy lines a faded trellis. You can try to ladder down on that and if not, you’ll turn back and act like nothing happened at all. No, there’s no going back. Just go.

You move carefully, turning to face the house. Your fingers grip beneath the bricks as you place your feet against the shingles, little grip through the socks. That was a bad idea.

As you inch along, flush to the roof, wriggling bit by bit, you hear the low hum of an engine. You don’t think much of it, it’s probably just a passerby. You focus on your own flight. You won’t have a car, just your feet. How far can you get?

The sudden ring of the gate frightens you. You jerk and nearly lose your bearing. You whimper and slide down to the eaves. The metal trough is tenuous as best as you feel your weight testing the bolts. Your heart pounds in your ears.

The bell rings again but you don’t let it faze you again. You’re nearly there, just a little further.

“What on earth–” Loki’s voice makes you flinch. 

The eaves creak and tremble under you as you curl your fingers over the shingles. You glance over fearfully, surprised by your discovery and all too aware of your treacherous escape. Loki’s nostrils flare as he glares out the window at you.

“Get back here! Are you mad, you’re going to get–”

The gate bell once more pierces the air and a sudden crack sounds from behind you. You slip down the shingles with a yelp, grasping at the roof as your feet meet only air. Your catch yourself on the edge, just barely, and whine as you dangle over the grass.

“Gods!” Loki blusters as you hang perilously.

Your heartbeat blocks out the noises all around you. The birds’ songs fade and the rippling leaves quiet. It’s only you and the horrid drop below. Don’t look down, you repeat. You’ve seen the movies, that’s the worst mistake you can make.

“Pet, don’t panic,” Loki clambers down the front steps as he calls to you, “just hang on. I have you, darling.”

You squeak as your arms burn and your fingers throb. You’re not that strong. You don’t think you can hold yourself. You hear him running as a car door shuts. 

“Hello?” Frigga’s voice carries over the lawn, “is everything alr–” She gasps, “oh, dear, what is going on? Loki, let me in.”

“Mother, one thing at a time,” Loki’s voice fades away as you hear him running.

“Oh my,” Frigga remarks, “dear, you just want to hold on. Try not to move too much, you’ll lose your grip.”

You close your eyes and focus on just that. Her advice is little help but you don’t even have the ability to tell her that. You’re terrified and weak. You feel your fingers about to give. You wrestle with your own mind, it would be easier to just let go and let what happens happen.

“Here, here,” Loki hollers as a metal rattle accompanies him.

Your eyes stay sealed as you fear even a glimpse of your ground. You whimper and whine, eyes once more wet and leaking. Something hits the roof not far from you and you hear a strange tempo, steady but harried. A hand closes around your wrist.

“He’s got you, honey,” Frigga shouts from the gate.

You don’t react. Loki grunts and his arm wraps around your back. You let your eyes open just a crack and look over at him. He urges you to him as he leans over the side of a ladder.

“Get your foot here,” he directs you to the rung above his own feet, “come, darling, come, I’ve got you.”

You follow his direction. Your adrenaline swells over and leaves you hollow. He gets you onto the ladder, just in front of him, and he takes a step down. You cling to the rungs as he continues until he’s stood on the grass.

“Go on, I’ve got a hold on the ladder,” he assures you.

You push your foot back and shakily dip it down. You put it on the next step before you dare to move the other. Your descent is slow and shaky. He helps you onto solid ground with his hands on your hips.

As you pull away and face him, you find his expression pinched. You push your lips out and mop up your tears, “I’m sorry, I–”

“Not now, I must deal with my mother first,” he hisses.

You wince and nod, pressing your tight fists to your cheeks. He gives you a long look and he rolls his shoulders. “Straighten yourself up, pet. Do you want her to see you in such a state?”

You shake your head and heave. He spins on his heel and marches away. You swipe away the last of your tears and swallow your sobs. You follow him, jittering as your legs move at a staggered pace. It’s almost as if they aren’t your own.

“Mother, you weren’t invited,” Loki accuses, “and we are not currently receiving guests.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What is going on here? Why was she hanging from the roof like a cat on a clothesline, Loki?”

“It is my concern, I don’t need you sticking your nose in–”

“Don’t speak to me as such, I am your mother,” her tone sharpens as you wobble towards them, “now you let me in, that poor thing must be frightened and you’re not even comforting her.”

“She is not yours to worry about,” he rebuffs.

“Nonsense, you left so fast, you didn’t let us the chance–”

“Go,” he snarls.

“Loki,” you babble as your legs fold, your sight splotchy and off kilter. As you crumble into the gravel he turns. He rushes towards you as you hold yourself up on your hands, slumping over the drive.

“Pet, it’s alright, I’ve got you,” he hooks his arm around you, “you should go inside.”

“Please… I don’t feel good,” you utter.

“Let me in, son,” Frigga demands urgently, “I can help her.”

“Just like you helped her before–”

“You know we had no idea,” she barks, more viciously than you could ever imagine her sounding.

“Loki, please,” you lean into him and tilt your head up, it lolls dangerously on your neck, “please, let her in.”

He considers you, his features drawn but no longer in anger. You see the fear he’s been holding onto. You reach to touch his shoulder and wilt into him.

“Please, I’ll stay,” you sniffle, “if you let her in. I won’t try to run again.”

He sucks in a breath and looks over his shoulder. He huffs and turns back to you. He scoops you off the ground and stands with a grunt.

“Mother, I trust you can wait until I get her somewhere safe?”

“Not long or I shall knock this gate down,” she sneers, “but perhaps I’ll let him take the wheel. Your father won’t hesitate.”

“Father…” Loki echoes.

“Oh, he’s here too, I told him to stay in the car thinking I might talk some sense into you,” she bites out, “imagine if I told him what I’ve walked up upon.”

“Let me get her inside,” Loki says tersely.

He carries you towards the house. You drone and sink into his arms. You don’t know what you were thinking. You don’t know what came over you. You need sleep, your temples are like drums; boom, boom, boom.

“I’m tired,” your murmur.

“I know, pet, I know,” he brings you up the steps and through the front door. As he comes to the stairs, you reach out and grab the banister, latching on with all your strength. He stops.

“Please, don’t,” you bat your eyes and pout at him, a glisten in your vision, “don’t lock me away or I’ll jump next time.”

He waves and his throat tightens, “don’t talk like that.”

“It’s the truth,” you eke out. “I only… I only ever wanted to see the garden, you know?”

He lowers his eyes guiltily and frowns. He backs away from the stairs and instead, carries you into the den. He lays you on the sofa and puts a pillow behind your head. You relax, happy to at least be out of the room. Still, your prison remains.

“We will talk later but first, my parents,” he strokes your forehead before he stands straight.

“I could make tea,” you offer and try to sit up.

“You will not move,” he points a long finger at you, “not one inch. Do you want tea?”

You look at him. Is he really asking? 

“Yes,” you squeak.

He nods, “very well, you will have tea. Stay,” he wags his finger again, “first, I will fetch my mother and father, then tea.”

You try to smile, “thank you.”

“Hm, curse the hour,” he sneers under his breath, “I could do with something a bit stronger.”

He leaves you with that remark, striding out rigidly as his fingers twiddle at his side. You feel the same dread as him about your guest. You’re in no state to receive them, and in less to be reminded of the last time you met.

[pockets-full-of-roses]

Stick to the Books

short summary: you’ve been trying to get hermione to take a break from studying, but she keeps dismissing you. now all you’re trying to do is get her attention.

hermione x reader; second person; no use of y/n

“Hermione! Hermione! Hermione!” you called out in a strained whisper, tugging at the end of her sweater.

Hermione Granger, the girl you so heavily fancied, threw a glare in your direction. She took your hand from her sweater, going back to write with her quill. “What?” she hissed.

“You’ve been studying for too long. Take a break,” you tried, flashing a smile that you hoped looked charming.

She furrowed her brows, shaking her head. Her gaze went back to her paper, only halfway finished. “No. I have to finish this.”

“It’s due in a week! You can work on it during your free period tomorrow morning and finish!”

Hermione grumbled something in response, dismissing you. But all her dismissal did was fuel your hopes of getting her to take a well deserved break.

The second attempt was much more playful. Hermione was in the middle of reading a textbook to add more information to her essay, eyes frantically looking left to right as she scanned the words.

“Hey.. Hermione..~!” you sang.

“What,” she mumbled, half paying attention to you.

“I have your favorite chocolate bar~! Right here.”

You held out your hand, and fifteen little hershey kisses were in your hand. Hermione eyed them warily. “I’ll give you one if you give me one,” you raised both of your brows suggestively.

Hermione seemed to be oblivious, tilting her head with a confused expression. “You want to give me one if I give you one? So I’m not getting chocolates?”

“No, Hermione-”

“I have to finish.”

The third time was a bit more flirty as you tried to shoot your shot. Hermione and you had a platonic relationship, and of course you wanted more. Since she was half listening, you thought it’d be good practice if you tried.

“Hermione, are you listening?” you whispered, tone as soft as you could manage.

She didn’t move, eyes glued to the paper.

“You are awfully pretty. Your hair always seems to move in such a graceful manner, just as you are now,” you began in a hushed tone, leaning on your arms. “Eyes such a common hue, yet it’s so different when it comes to you. Poised and perfection, like a dream come true. Merlin, how much could I possibly fancy you?”

You sighed softly, putting your head down on the table. Your arms hid your face from view, keeping you from seeing a flustered, wide eyed Hermione staring at you.

send some love to the person who made this divider ( @strangergraphics ) all writing by pockets full of roses. please do not repost without permission. likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[shadeops21]

Cosplay Guide 2.0 - Release V1.0

Hello everyone!

With MWIII around the corner and me only about 10% through the MWII multiplayer operators, I realise that I am NOT going to finish the complete guide in time for release, not with the time I have available.

SO, I am going to release the guide in stages, first with all the 'story' characters added (that I could get assets for) and then later with Multiplayer operators, and then with additional faction AI/NPCs after that.

In parallel, I will also work on MWIII loadouts as a separate project as assets for that become available too. Honestly cannot give an ETA for when to start expecting those, but they will be coming at some point.

Now, without further ado, I preset to you:

THE [UN]OFFICIAL MODERN WARFARE COSPLAY GUIDE

Clicking to the above will take you to a Google Drive download link, where the PDF will be hosted. As versions are posted, I will announce this via posts like this and provide new links, and delete the old version too.

V1.0 is story characters only, and total size is 525MB. Pages are 5100x3300px size, so quality should be fairly high with minimal compression artifacing.

This has been the culmination of literal months of work on my part, and if you would like to show your appreciation, I have enabled tipping on this post (and will on future posts for version updates). I have zero intentions on pay-walling content, as I believe knowledge and information like this should be shared freely. But my research and ASD-borne levels of focus are driven by copius amounts of tea and sugary foods, so if you want to 'fuel' me and keep this going, I won't say no!

A huge thanks to everyone that has reached out to provide their own insight on gear and equipment, either via notes and reblogs on the different guide posts I've made, or via my ask box, or through my DMs. You've helped fill my blind spots and further enhance the accuracy of my research. Many thanks to those, you all know who you are!

Thank you for your support! Seeing the daily batch of likes and reblog notifications for these guides, even after all this time, serves to motivate me and keep this project going!

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

#1 - Scenario » Dark!Peter Parker

Pairing: Dark Peter Parker x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

WARNINGS: Kidnapping; NONCON.

AN: Just an idea I had.

Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

When Peter took you, he truly assumed that you would - eventually - come around and warm up to him. 

Peter’s not a bad guy, is he? No. 

He doesn’t keep you chained. He doesn’t make you starve. He doesn’t force himself on you. He actually lets you walk around the apartment freely. He plans cute date nights with your favorite movies and snacks. He takes care of you. 

He. Does. It. All.

Why? Cause he’s 110% sure that you’re meant to be together, he just knows it. And he wants you to be happy. With him. 

Peter gets that being taken away from the comfort of your home can be traumatizing and shocking. He’s understanding about that, he really is. 

But it’s really hard to stay positive when you seem determined to shatter the sweet happy dreams he imagines for the two of you. He hates to admit it but you can be a little bitch when you want to.

You destroy the gifts that he lovingly offers you. You enjoy trashing your room (and his). You talk nasty things back. You curse at him. You try to hurt him innumerous times.

It really hurts his feelings. 

It breaks his heart when you reject his touch. You can barely manage to utter a few words to him, let alone let him touch you. Like you’re repulsed by him. 

You abruptly snatch your arm away from him, moving away to another division whenever he tries to cuddle you. At night, the presence of a pillow wall is mandatory as if you can’t even stand the sight of him. 

At first, Peter is deeply hurt, although comprehensive of your situation. Time should heal things. But no. They only get worse.

Peter blames himself for that. Your snappy attitude, the mean behavior. It’s all his fault. Tony also agrees with that, assuring him that had he been more strict with you, none of this would happen. 

Slowly, Peter starts to believe in that too. He’s always too nice with you, letting you walk away from misbehaving without any punishment. But he doesn’t want to punish you, he only wants your love and appreciation. 

Peter just wants to feel the warmth of your body, he’s desperate for a gesture of affection. He needs it. 

Finally he snaps. It was bound to happen one day. 

You’re in a bad mood that day and so is Peter. You have a fit, throwing plates to the floor and to the walls, screaming like a banshee. Peter is tired of your attitude, he’s tired from a long day at work and coming home to you acting like a crazy bitch doesn’t help.

He’s tired, moody and exhausted. 

You barely have time before he’s pouncing over you, a harsh slap making you yelp. Peter is quick in grabbing you by the hair, dragging you to the room, uncaring of the way you try to kick him away. 

Enough is enough. 

You want to behave like a bitch? Then you’ll be treated as one cause he no longer has patience for you. 

Webs tightly bind your limbs to the bed and Peter jumps on you, ripping your clothes and pushing your panties into your mouth, silencing your pleas. 

Your eyes glow with tears, but most importantly, with dread and Peter notices that. He smirks at your frightened reaction. Finally you’re giving him some respect - respect that he deserves. 

He slides his hand down your arms, your legs, the smooth skin feeling like heaven and he almost drools at that. You quiver and shake under his touch, completely vulnerable and it feels good. To have you at his mercy, unable to do anything. 

Peter kisses your wet cheek, promising to take it easy on you, that he won’t hurt you.

He lies. 

The bed violently hits the wall, a result of Peter’s rough thrusts. His stamina never waves down, his desire for you fueling the multiple orgasms he’s already had yet wanting for more.

Beneath him, you’re almost passed out, limbs still glued by his webs. You barely cry, too weak and hurt to keep with your whining. 

Peter is not being gentle, fucking you hard so it almost seems like he wants to merge into you, he’s finally unleashing all his frustration.

He fucks you over and over again, the loud sound of skin against skin echoing in the room. Dumping sticky loads of his cum inside you, vigorously abusing your sore hole. He’s insatiable tonight, his hunger for you surpassing any compassion or humanity.

He wants you, he needs you. 

When he’s finally had enough, that’s when it hits him what he’s done. 

You don’t say a word, a broken look in your eyes, dried tears decorating your face. 

Of course Peter feels guilty, you look so sad and gloomy but hey, at least now you’re not fighting him. You let him shower you, unable to fight him back after the assault that he’s put you through, you don’t say a single word, only flinching when he touches you. 

And when he takes you back to the bed - after changing the huge mess he’s done - you don’t push him away when he wraps himself around you, sniffing your sweet aroma, his heart content to be so close to you. 

Maybe what happened is a good thing.

Maybe now you’ll learn to love him, that’s what Peter thinks to himself as he kisses your hair, falling asleep with you in his arms. 

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 6 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Six: There's Blood On The Side Of The Mountain

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Attempted Su!c!de, Idealization of Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attack,

Word Count: 9.2k (I’m sorry this is so long wtf)

A/N: Istg. Make sure you read ALL the warnings! This chapter is going to be sad by the way. It’s extra sad. Keep your chin up, girl. You got this. Also, yes, ofc the song I chose would be Can’t Catch Me Now by Olivia Rodrigo, it makes sense tehe.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Can’t Catch Me Now by Olivia Rodrigo

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

KING’S LANDING, THE BATTLE PIT — DAY

From where you stand, the pit feels like a hollow reflection of King’s Landing itself—a stage for brutality, where bloodshed is applauded and violence wears the crown. Your sneer twists in disdain as you watch Ser Gregor "The Mountain" Clegane slice through a prisoner with disturbing ease, lifting the poor soul high on his greatsword. Blood streams from the prisoner’s mouth, his eyes wide in terror before The Mountain tosses him to the sand like discarded meat. The sound of his body hitting the ground is drowned out by the murmurs of the onlookers, but it echoes in your ears nonetheless.

Cersei watches, her eyes cold and calculating, as a line of prisoners stand chained, awaiting their fate. Each filthy, ragged figure, a nameless body lined up for slaughter. You feel a bitter twist in your gut—this spectacle, this violence—meant to terrify more than entertain.

One of the guards barks orders, shoving the next prisoner forward like livestock.

“Go on, move it,” the guard snaps, his tone indifferent to the man’s terror.

The prisoner stumbles forward, his trembling hands reaching for a meager weapon at his feet. You catch a glimpse of his wide, panicked eyes—he knows his fate. Still, he holds the weapon like it might mean his survival, like it might hold off the inevitable for even a few heartbeats longer. But the outcome is written in the blood that already stains the sand beneath him.

The first prisoner attacks The Mountain with desperation. He lunges, wild and reckless, but The Mountain is faster, his sword cleaving through flesh with a sickening ease. The prisoner’s body folds as he’s disemboweled in one stroke, his life ending in a gruesome heap at the giant’s feet. 

The next prisoner, shaking, drops his weapon entirely, sinking to his knees. Tears mix with the dirt on his face as he pleads for mercy.

“Mercy, please. Please, mercy,” the man cries, his voice breaking, filled with the kind of hopelessness that makes your chest tighten.

Cersei watches with an air of indifference, her lips curling ever so slightly as The Mountain delivers a series of savage overhead blows, reducing the prisoner to nothing more than a broken corpse. The sand beneath him darkens with blood, and you force yourself to keep watching, not out of morbid curiosity, but as a reminder. This is the city you’re in. These are the people who rule it.

Cersei steps forward, her gaze fixed on The Mountain. “Ser Gregor,” she says smoothly, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Welcome to the capital. Thank you for riding here so quickly.”

You note the lack of warmth in her tone, the way she speaks to him as though she were addressing a weapon, not a man. In truth, that’s exactly what The Mountain is to her—just another tool.

Cersei’s gaze flickers down to the bodies strewn about the pit. “You seem to be in good form.”

The Mountain’s reply is as cold as it is simple. “Who am I fighting?”

Cersei raises a brow, her expression as detached as ever. “Does it matter?”

The Mountain shakes his head. To him, it truly doesn’t. Flesh is flesh, no matter whose body it belongs to.

But you think otherwise.

As you stand there, your eyes narrowing at the towering figure of The Mountain, you wonder how many lives he has ruined, how many people have died in his shadow. A thought sharpens within you—among the things victims have lost, how many things can they ever truly reclaim? You can’t help but wonder if any of these prisoners were thinking the same, if their last thoughts were of the homes they’ll never return to, the families they’ve left behind.

It’s not justice they seek in these final moments. There’s no glory here. The only thing left to reclaim is their honor—what little remains of it. Some might hope for forgiveness, for mercy. But you know better. In King’s Landing, where the powerful feast on the misery of others, revenge is often the only way to regain even a fraction of that lost honor. Only then, in the pursuit of vengeance, can one truly begin again.

You look at Cersei, at The Mountain, and think to yourself, Forgiveness has no place here. Not in this city. Not when men like The Mountain are allowed to walk free, spilling blood for sport, for the amusement of those in power. No, here, revenge is the only way to claim victory, to bring balance to the scales. You keep your thoughts to yourself, but deep down, you know—glory through revenge may be the only true path to the starting point.

There are no second chances.

KING'S LANDING, TYRION'S CELL — EVENING

You knew Bronn was smart enough to fear the Mountain. One misstep, and anyone facing that monstrous man would be dead in an instant. Yet, as you moved quietly through the shadowed halls, following Oberyn down to Tyrion’s cell, an unsettling dread filled you. Oberyn had already made up his mind. His determination was palpable, and it terrified you.

You’d trained yourself to move unseen, your footsteps silent on the cold stone floors of King’s Landing. Perhaps Oberyn knew you were trailing him, but he didn’t seem to care. His confidence radiated from him like the warmth of the torch he carried, unwavering, even as you concealed yourself in the shadows.

Inside the cell, Tyrion sat in the dark, his posture heavy with defeat. The door creaked open, and you pressed yourself against the wall, listening intently.

Oberyn stepped inside, his torch casting flickering light across the damp, narrow space.

"I imagined you'd be back at the brothel at this hour," Tyrion remarked, his voice filled with a bitter, tired amusement.

Oberyn’s tone was smooth, as it always was, with a hint of mischief. "I did spend some time with an absolutely stunning blonde the other day."

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly at the mention, a sharp twinge twisting in your chest. But you kept your eyes on the scene before you, your heart quickening as their exchange continued.

"Do tell," Tyrion replied, managing a slight smirk. "I've got every kind of filth down here except the kind I like."

Oberyn placed his torch down, the flame casting shadows that flickered along the walls as he took a seat beside Tyrion. The light softened his features but couldn’t chase away the gravity in his words. 

"Your sister," Oberyn said.

"Oh," Tyrion replied, his expression falling.

You relaxed slightly as the realization settled within you. Oberyn had meant Cersei. The tension in your chest eased, but the conversation soon shifted, becoming darker.

"Cersei approached me. We spoke a great deal about her daughter," Oberyn explained, his voice lowering. "How worried your sister is about her. She was trying very hard to pretend she had not come to sway me against you. I think she may have even believed it herself."

A small smile tugged at your lips. Oberyn was always clever, always able to see through the intricate webs of deception spun by those in King’s Landing. It was a quality you both admired and envied.

"Making honest feelings do dishonest work is one of her many gifts," Tyrion said with a grim chuckle, leaning against the wall.

"It was difficult for her to hide her true intentions," Oberyn continued, his voice calm but full of insight. "It is rare to meet a Lannister who shares my enthusiasm for dead Lannisters. She desperately wants to see you killed."

"She didn't need to bother you," Tyrion responded with a bitter laugh. "It looks as though I've taken care of that myself. The joy she will feel when my head leaves my neck... She’s wanted this for a long time."

Oberyn’s gaze darkened slightly, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. "Yes, I know. We met, you and I, many years ago."

Tyrion blinked, looking puzzled. "I think I would have remembered that."

"Unlikely," Oberyn replied, his tone shifting as he recalled the memory. "You had just been born. Our father brought me and my sister Elia with him on a visit to Casterly Rock. My first time away from Dorne. I didn’t like anything about the Rock. Not the food, not the weather, your accents. Nothing." His voice hardened as he continued. "But the biggest disappointment... was you."

Tyrion’s face fell, his usual armor of sarcasm failing him. "You and my family have more in common than you might admit," he muttered.

You watched closely, frowning as Oberyn recounted his tale. You understood disappointment more than anyone. After all, your own mother had cast you away the moment you were born, sending you to a life of servitude.

Oberyn continued, "The whole way from Dorne, all anyone talked about was the monster that had been born to Tywin Lannister. A head twice the size of his body, a tail between his legs, claws, one red eye, the privates of both a girl and a boy."

Tyrion forced a smile, though it was joyless. "That would have made things so much easier."

"When we met your sister," Oberyn said, leaning forward, "she promised she would show you to us. Every day we would ask. Every day she would say, ‘Soon.’ Then, finally, she and your brother took us to your nursery, and..." He paused, his gaze intense as he spoke the next words. "She unveiled the freak."

Tyrion’s expression remained stoic, though you could see the faint hurt in his eyes. Oberyn continued, his voice cold but full of truth. "Your head was a bit large. Your arms and legs were a bit small. But no claw, no red eye, no tail between your legs. Just a tiny pink cock. We didn’t try to hide our disappointment."

Oberyn’s face hardened as he remembered the moment. "That’s not a monster," I told Cersei. "That’s just a baby."

You swallowed hard, fighting the wave of emotion as you listened. You knew cruelty well—perhaps better than anyone in that room.

"And she said," Oberyn continued, his voice heavy with disgust, "‘He killed my mother.’ Then she pinched your little cock so hard, I thought she might pull it off. Until your brother made her stop. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she told us. ‘Everyone says he will die soon. I hope they are right. He should not have lived this long.’"

You felt a lump in your throat as tears threatened to well up in your eyes. How cruel could Cersei truly be?

Tyrion’s voice cracked slightly, though he tried to keep his tone casual. "Well... sooner or later, Cersei always gets what she wants."

"And what about what I want?" Oberyn’s voice was sharp now, full of purpose. "Justice. For my sister and her children."

Tyrion’s gaze darkened, his voice low. "If you want justice, you’ve come to the wrong place."

"I disagree," Oberyn said, rising to his feet. The flickering torchlight cast deep shadows on his face, highlighting the fierce determination in his eyes. "I’ve come to the perfect place."

You watched him closely, your heart racing. You knew what was coming, but you were powerless to stop it.

"I want to bring those who have wronged me to justice," Oberyn continued, his voice steady, each word a promise. "And all those who have wronged me are right here. I will begin with Ser Gregor Clegane, who killed my sister’s children and then raped her with their blood still on his hands before killing her too."

Oberyn turned to Tyrion, his voice echoing in the dim cell. "I will be your champion."

Your heart plummeted, the weight of his words crushing you. No. You’d seen it—the vision that haunted your every step. Oberyn’s demise. His fate, as cruel and certain as the tides.

As the heavy door creaked open, the flickering torchlight danced across the stone walls, casting deep shadows in Tyrion’s cell. You watched from the darkened corridor, your breath shallow as Oberyn stepped out, the light fading with him as the door slowly shut behind. Darkness swallowed the room once more, the soft click of the latch sealing the quiet tension that hung in the air.

For a few heartbeats, you stood there, your hand pressed against the cool stone wall, the lingering warmth of Oberyn’s presence still felt in the space he had just left. Then, with silent determination, you slipped into the cell.

Tyrion, huddled in the shadows, looked up at the sound of your approach, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. The small torch outside barely cast enough light to illuminate your figure as you slowly pulled back your hood. His tense expression softened with relief.

“I thought you were an assassin sent by Cersei to kill me,” Tyrion murmured, his voice a mix of dry humor and genuine fear.

You tilted your head slightly, a faint, cold smile playing on your lips. “You’re wrong on one of those things.”

Tyrion’s face tensed, the weight of your words unsettling him for a moment. His sharp mind was already working through possibilities, but before panic could fully settle in, you took a step closer.

“I’m not here to kill you,” you said softly, your voice calm but with an edge of bitterness. 

Tyrion let out a shaky breath, his shoulders easing slightly as he watched you carefully. You walked across the small cell, the sound of your steps soft on the cold stone. Taking a seat near one of the wooden poles, you leaned back against it, the silence between you both thick with unspoken truths.

“Do you recognize me?” you asked, your voice low, a challenge hidden in the question.

Tyrion furrowed his brow, studying your face. “You’re one of Sansa’s maids,” he finally said, his tone uncertain.

You nodded slowly. “Just a servant, if anything. But yes.” Leaning forward, you began rolling up your sleeves, exposing your arms in the pale sliver of moonlight that crept through the small barred window. The scars, the burns, every mark of torment etched into your skin told a story of survival. 

“Do you know the rumors?” you asked, your voice harder now.

Tyrion’s face shifted, a shadow of horror crossing his features as realization dawned on him. “You… you survived…”

Your eyes, cold and lifeless, met his. A small, bitter smile flickered on your lips as your jaw clenched. “Yes,” you said, leaning back against the wall, your arms folding across your chest. “Your reputation becomes rumors, and rumors become your reputation. That’s how it works, doesn’t it?”

Tyrion swallowed, clearly unsettled by the weight of your words. "Did you… did you poison Joffrey?" His voice was quiet, but the question held a note of accusation.

You shook your head, your expression flat. “No. I may have set the plan in motion, but they caused their own ruin.”

Tyrion’s eyes searched yours for deception, but when he found none, he nodded, accepting your words as truth.

“No one recognized me, not for the longest time,” you continued, your voice quiet, introspective. “Until… Prince Oberyn. Of course, he would. Every bit of information about his sister’s death... he sought it all. His own kind of hell.”

Tyrion remained silent, watching you closely as you spoke. 

“I sometimes wonder,” you mused, your eyes distant as you stared at the stone floor. “The solidarity between victims, and the solidarity between perpetrators. Which of them is stronger?”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, the sound hollow. “I’ve spent years in this place. Pouring wine, slicing pies, fetching, folding. Day after day, step by step. Every moment leading to this point.” You scoffed softly, your frustration evident. “Keeping myself going… it’s exhausting. I’m so tired of it.”

Tyrion exhaled shakily, his eyes filled with a deep understanding of that particular weariness.

“Oberyn… he has been kind to me. He is the only joy in my unfortunate life,” you said, your voice softening at the mention of him. “He has eight daughters waiting for him. Depending on him. I can’t let him throw his life away. Not for this.”

Tyrion’s brow furrowed, confusion and disbelief crossing his features. “So… you plan to kill me yourself, then?” His voice held a strange mix of resignation and curiosity.

You shook your head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “No.”

Tyrion’s confusion deepened as you met his gaze, your voice steady as you spoke the next words. “I will be your champion instead of Oberyn.”

For a long moment, there was only silence. Tyrion stared at you, incredulous. “Forgive me for saying this, but… Oberyn would never allow a lady such as yourself to fight a beast like the Mountain.”

Your eyes darkened slightly, a flicker of something dangerous flashing across your face. “You of all people should know what it means to be underestimated, Lord Tyrion.” Your voice was cold but not unkind. “It just means I have nothing left to lose.”

Tyrion’s gaze softened as he understood the gravity of your words. This was no grand act of heroism. No selfless gesture. “I’m not fighting for you,” you admitted, your voice low. “This is purely selfish. Oberyn deserves justice, as much as I do, but I can’t let him die. Not when I’ve come this far. I will die on my own terms.”

“He has a chance. How are you so sure that he will—”

“I’m sure. I’ve seen it. Gods, I’ve seen it.”

Tyrion studied you for a moment longer, his face unreadable. “And how, exactly, do you plan to convince Oberyn to take your place?”

You smiled then, a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Leave that to me.”

The door to your quarters closed behind you with a soft thud. You leaned against it, letting out a long sigh. Tomorrow would be the day—victory or defeat, life or death. The weight of it pressed down on your chest, heavy as armor.

You took a step forward, lost in thought, when a figure in the shadows caught your eye. Heart racing, your hand instinctively reached for the dagger hidden beneath your cloak.

“Oberyn?” you breathed, startled. 

He emerged from the darkness, leaning casually against the wall with that familiar, mischievous grin. “Relax, little dove. If I wanted to surprise you, I’d have done a better job,” he teased, his voice smooth and playful.

Your breath caught in your throat. The sight of him here, in your private space, unnerved you—but not in the way you expected. “What are you doing in my quarters?” you asked, trying to steady yourself, your pulse still racing. 

Oberyn’s smile widened as he pushed away from the wall and stepped closer. “I came to see you. Is that not allowed?”

“I—” you stammered, the shock of his sudden appearance blending with the rising tension in the room. “You scared me.”

He chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Good. You’re far too comfortable sneaking around King’s Landing. It’s time someone made you nervous.” His tone was light, but there was a warmth in his gaze that made your heart ache.

Your momentary fear melted away under his charm, but then your mind shifted, weighed down by the question that had been gnawing at you. You couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Oberyn,” you began, your voice growing serious, “have you known all along that I… approached you on purpose?”

His teasing expression faded, replaced by something softer, more knowing. “Yes,” he said quietly.

You blinked, thrown by his straightforward answer. “Since when?” you asked, stepping closer, your voice lowering. “How did you find out about the connection between me and your sister?”

Oberyn watched you for a moment, as though weighing how much to reveal. “I knew every detail of when and how she died along with every single rumor,” he said, his voice soft yet deliberate. “And you—” he gave you a small, almost fond smile—“you seem to be around the age that the child who served her would be now. I figured it out the moment I heard your accent.”

His words hit you like a sudden gust of wind. You had been careful, so careful, but of course Oberyn had seen through you.

“I knew from the start you would want to use me,” he continued, his voice like silk, though there was no accusation in it. “The brother of Elia. It made sense. When I put all the pieces together, I realized I was the man you needed. The one who would do your bidding without question.”

You swallowed, his words twisting something deep inside you. “And you were fine with that? Knowing I was using you for my revenge?”

He smiled, a sad, knowing smile. “I told myself I’d be of use to you. That I’d come running whenever you wanted to use me. Wherever it was, whatever it cost.” His dark eyes held yours, no longer teasing. “But I wanted to be there before your guilt caught up with you.”

Your breath hitched, the honesty in his voice cutting through your defenses. You tried to speak, but the words tangled in your throat. Oberyn’s hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch grounding you.

“When your sister died,” you finally whispered, “I thought I’d find someone to latch on to. So I approached you. Then I realized something—how could I even think of doing such a thing, just because I’m a victim? You’re a victim too.”

Oberyn’s gaze softened, and he let out a slow breath. “For a moment I thought I wasn’t your type,” he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “But now… you have no reason to use me anymore. If you refuse me, it’ll be for love. Not for revenge.”

Your chest tightened as his words washed over you. Tears welled in your eyes, the weight of tomorrow’s trial pressing down like an iron hand around your throat. You knew what you had to do, the price you’d pay to save him.

Your voice trembled as the tears slipped down your cheeks. “Then… help me. Until the end.”

Oberyn stepped closer, cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear. His dark eyes held yours, filled with a tenderness you hadn’t allowed yourself to see before. “I will serve you,” he said, his voice a quiet promise, “until the end.”

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP – EARLY MORNING

The first light of dawn filtered through the narrow window, casting a soft glow over the room. You had half-expected Oberyn to have slipped away in the night, seeking the comfort of Ellaria or losing himself in his vices. But when you woke, he was still there, lying beside you in the small, cramped bed that barely fit you both. His arm draped around your waist, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

The night before had been unexpected—no grand seduction, no teasing beyond his usual wit. Instead, you’d stayed up talking, sharing dreams and desires you thought long buried beneath the weight of revenge. It had been… peaceful, in a way you hadn’t known in years. For once, sleep had come easily, a deep and untroubled rest. But now, the morning was here, and with it came the knowledge of what you had to do.

You shifted carefully, trying to untangle yourself from his embrace without waking him. Oberyn mumbled something in his sleep, his grip tightening briefly before loosening as you gently pulled away. Slipping from the bed, you began dressing quietly, moving with the practiced ease of someone who had learned long ago how to move in the shadows.

As you buckled your tunic, you felt his eyes on you. Turning, you found Oberyn watching you from the bed, his dark eyes half-lidded and full of sleepy mischief. “Leaving me already?” he teased, his voice a husky murmur. “I was just getting comfortable.”

You couldn’t help but smile, though your heart ached with the weight of what you were about to do. “Someone has to get ready for the day,” you replied, forcing a lightness into your tone that you didn’t feel.

He sat up, the blanket falling from his chest as he stretched lazily. “You know, you could stay a little longer… I wouldn’t mind.”

Your throat tightened, but you masked it with a chuckle. “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” you said softly as you crossed the room. The closer you got to him, the harder it became to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

Oberyn reached for you as you approached the bed, his fingers brushing your wrist before you leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss. It was passionate, raw, as though it carried every unsaid word between you—every regret, every longing. For a moment, you allowed yourself to drown in it, to feel the warmth of his skin, the press of his lips. But you knew you couldn’t stay there.

With a soft gasp, you pulled away, your heart hammering in your chest. His eyes were still clouded with desire, his breath uneven, when you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Before he could react, you pressed your fingers to a pressure point at the base of his neck. His body stiffened for a heartbeat before his eyes rolled back, and he slumped into unconsciousness. Your hand trembled as you laid him gently on the bed, your chest tight with the enormity of what you’d just done.

Tying him up was harder than you expected. The sheets you wrapped around his wrists felt like chains around your heart, binding you to this moment of betrayal. But it was necessary. He couldn’t stop you, and you couldn’t let him die for you. Not today. Not when he had so much left to live for.

You left a note by his side, your hand shaking as you scrawled the words. You told him the truth—Dorne needed him, his daughters needed him. He had a future. But you… you were already ruined, with no family, no purpose left beyond vengeance. If things had been different, perhaps you would have let yourself love him fully. Perhaps you could have been more than the ghosts of your pasts. But now… now you had to see this through, and he couldn’t follow you into the fire.

When you met Serena in the hall, she was waiting with a worried expression. You pressed a pouch of coins into her hand, whispering instructions she already knew. “Untie him when the trial ends,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "He must live."

Tears welled in her eyes, and she gripped your hands tightly, her voice breaking. “Please… don’t die. Come back.”

The words struck you harder than you expected. For a moment, you stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. She pulled you into a hug, clinging to you as though she could stop you from leaving, from walking into the jaws of death. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you wrapped an arm around her, patting her back awkwardly. “Thank you,” you whispered, the words heavy with finality.

KING’S LANDING, FIGHTING PIT – DAY

The bells tolled in the distance, a grim reminder that the day had arrived. Tyrion shuffled out toward the arena, his chains clinking with every step. The Lannisters watched from their seats, and Ellaria stood nearby, her eyes scanning the crowd for Oberyn.

You stepped into view, the sunlight glinting off your armor. It was simple but well-made—light enough for movement, but sturdy where it mattered. No helmet yet, your hair loose as the breeze tugged at it. A dagger was strapped to your thigh, hidden from view, while your hand rested on the hilt of a long, slender sword—a weapon you had saved for, piece by piece, over the years. 

Tyrion’s gaze flicked to you, his brow furrowed with worry. “Look like very light armor,” he commented dryly.

You shrugged. “Not really.”

The Mountain loomed on the other side of the pit, fully armored and wielding a massive sword that seemed to cleave the air as he moved. Ellaria’s eyes widened as she looked between you and the towering figure before her. “You’re going to fight that?” she asked, alarmed.

You let out a sigh, your grip tightening on your sword. “Hopefully, I’m going to kill that.”

Ellaria’s hand shot out, gripping your arm. “Where is Oberyn?”

You met her gaze, your eyes steady. “He’s safe. I swear it.” You paused, glancing at the Mountain and then back at her. “Take care of him.”

Pycelle’s voice rang out across the arena, ancient and raspy. "In the sight of gods and men, we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of this… man, Tyrion Lannister. May the Mother grant them mercy. May the Father give them such justice as they deserve. And may the Warrior guide the hand of our champion..."

Tywin, bored and impatient, gestured for the fight to begin. The horns sounded, echoing through the arena.

You met Tyrion’s gaze one last time. He nodded to you, his voice barely audible as he whispered, “Good luck.”

You gave a small nod in return, your hand tightening on your sword hilt as you stepped into the pit. The Mountain loomed ahead, but this wasn’t about fear anymore. This was about survival, vengeance, and the weight of every choice you had ever made.

Today, you would fight. And one way or another, everything would change.

MAIDENVAULT, GUEST CHAMBERS

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP — DAY

Oberyn awoke slowly, blinking against the morning light that filtered through the window. A dull ache settled in his neck, and when he tried to move, he found his arms pinned, bound to the bed with sheets tightly knotted around his wrists. His mind raced for answers, and then it hit him—you. He had kissed you, and then… darkness.

The sound of soft footsteps drew his attention. A young woman stood by the door, wringing her hands nervously. She was small, her eyes wide with a mix of guilt and fear. Oberyn narrowed his gaze, his voice hoarse. "Who are you?"

"I—I'm Serena," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m… a maid. She—she told me to wait until after the battle. I promised."

Oberyn’s heart pounded, realization dawning on him. “Untie me,” he demanded, his voice steady but urgent. “Now.”

Serena shook her head, biting her lip, tears welling up in her eyes. “I can’t. I swore I wouldn’t, not until it was over. She made me promise. I—I’m sorry.”

Oberyn tugged against the bindings, frustration growing with each passing moment. His eyes scanned the bedside table, where a crumpled piece of parchment lay. His heart clenched. “What is that?” he asked, his voice barely a breath.

Serena hesitated, then stepped forward, placing the note in his hand.

Oberyn quickly unfolded the paper, recognizing your hurried scrawl. His eyes moved over the words, and with each line, the pit in his stomach deepened.

Oberyn,

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. I couldn’t let you fight, not when so much depends on you. Dorne needs you, your daughters need you. You have a future, Oberyn. I can’t let you throw it all away for my revenge.

This is my fight, not yours. I’ve been ruined long before we met, and there’s nothing left for me but this. No family, no husband, no purpose beyond this one thing.

If things had been different, maybe we could have found a better life together. But now, all I can do is ask for your forgiveness. You were the one good thing that happened to me, and for that, I thank you.

Serena will untie you when the trial ends. Don’t come after me. Please. Live, for Dorne, for your daughters. For the future you still have.

Goodbye, Oberyn.

The note trembled in his hands as Oberyn read it, his heart shattering with every word. His chest tightened, breath coming short as if the air had been stolen from him. "No," he muttered, shaking his head. "No, no, no!"

He turned to Serena, his voice breaking. “Untie me. I beg you. I have to stop her.”

Serena’s eyes filled with tears, her lip trembling as she clutched the hem of her dress. “She—she made me promise. I’m supposed to wait until—”

“Damn the promise!” Oberyn roared, his desperation clawing at the edges of his voice. “She’s going to die, Serena! Do you understand that? She’s going to die, and I can’t let that happen. Please. Please, untie me. I can save her.”

Serena’s hands shook violently, her resolve crumbling. She looked at him, at the raw pain in his eyes, the pleading in his voice. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she struggled with the weight of your last request. “She said Dorne needs you,” Serena whispered. “She said you have so much to lose. I—I can’t...”

Oberyn’s voice cracked, softer now, filled with a grief that was almost unbearable. “I’ll lose her. Don’t you see? If you wait… it’ll be too late. I’ll lose her forever. She’s… everything. Please… untie me.”

Serena’s hands moved to the bindings, her fingers trembling as she hesitated one last time. “Promise me… promise me you’ll save her,” she whispered, choking on her sobs.

“I swear it,” Oberyn said, his voice raw with emotion. “I swear on my life. I will save her.”

With a deep breath, Serena finally gave in, loosening the knots and setting him free. As the sheets fell away, Oberyn leapt from the bed, his heart racing as he grabbed his cloak, his mind already on the trial and the bloodshed to come.

Serena watched him go, her hands trembling, knowing that she might have just sent him to his death.

KING’S LANDING, FIGHTING PIT — DAY

The sun beat down on the fighting pit, the crowd's chatter falling into murmurs as you stepped into the arena. Eyes followed you, curious, some confused. You were no one to them, just another faceless fighter stepping up to die. But you felt the weight of their stares, especially the piercing gaze of the Lannisters, high above on their platform, surveying the pit like vultures. They didn’t know who you were, not yet.

Your eyes found the Mountain, hulking and monstrous, towering over you with cold indifference. You raised your voice, cutting through the air, “Do you know who I am?”

Gregor Clegane’s laugh was deep and cruel. “Pity,” he spat, his voice loud enough to carry across the pit. “Some dead whore.”

He lunged. His sheer size made the earth quake beneath your feet, but you were ready. You dodged, his sword cleaving through the space you had been a heartbeat before. He was fast, impossibly fast for someone of his size, but you had spent years preparing for this moment. All those nights spent training, fighting men four times your size, all of it led to this.

As you spun out of his reach, you screamed out to the crowd, “I was the maid of Princess Elia Martell!”

A ripple of whispers spread through the spectators. The name Elia Martell always had that effect, even here in King’s Landing. The Mountain charged again, his blade whistling through the air. You blocked his strike, feeling the force of it reverberate through your arms, but you pushed back, slashing at the vulnerable joints in his armor. The soft spots.

Gregor stumbled but recovered quickly. He came at you again, enraged. “I'm going to hear you confess to all these people before you die,” you spat, circling him. “Tell them how you raped her. How you murdered her. How you killed her children.”

His next attack was brutal, a wild swing that glanced off your arm, leaving a burning line of pain. You gritted your teeth, ignoring the blood soaking into your sleeve. You were faster, smaller. You had to be smarter. And so, you fought, with the fury of someone who had waited their entire life for this moment.

“You raped her!” you screamed again, your voice ragged with rage and pain. “You murdered her! You killed her children!”

You moved in, quick as a viper, stabbing him deep in the gut. He faltered, his massive body reeling from the blow. But you knew better than to get close to a wounded beast. He caught you off guard, his enormous hand closing around your throat. You gasped, your sword clattering to the ground as you struggled in his grip. The world narrowed, the crowd’s roar fading into a dull hum as your vision blurred.

But then, with a final burst of strength, you reached for the daggers hidden at your thigh. In one swift movement, you sliced through the ligaments in his knees, then his ankles, his elbows, his shoulders—every joint you could reach. The Mountain dropped to his knees, immobilized, his weapon far from his reach.

The crowd gasped. You kicked his sword aside, watching as he floundered, his monstrous frame now reduced to helplessness. You sliced off his right hand, the brutal act met with stunned silence from the spectators.

Your boot pressed down hard against his throat, your voice raw with fury. “Confess!” you shouted, eyes blazing as the crowd murmured in shock. Leaning in closer, your voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “You may have forgotten but these people haven’t.”

The Mountain coughed, blood splattering from his lips, but still, he refused. So you pressed harder, forcing the confession from his broken body. “Confess!” you screamed, your voice cutting through the stillness.

“Elia Martell,” he rasped, his voice thick with blood. “I killed her children. Then I raped her.”

Your chest heaved, your body shaking as you stood over him, your heart pounding in your ears. “Do you remember me now?” you asked, seething, your voice a low, dangerous whisper.

Gregor’s eyes flickered with the faintest recognition, and then he growled, his voice thick with venom. “You’re the bitch I burned. I burned you, and I enjoyed every moment of it.”

The words hit you like a slap, a fresh wave of rage rolling over you. But this time, it wasn’t uncontrollable. It was cold, calculating. “That’s right,” you muttered, your eyes narrowing as you stared down at the man who had haunted your nightmares for so long.

Gregor Clegane, the monster you had spent your life waiting to kill, was bleeding out before you. The crowd was silent, frozen in shock, their disbelief palpable. You could feel their eyes on you, but you didn’t care. This wasn’t for them.

“Ser Gregor,” you sneered, “death is too kind of a punishment for an animal like you. I’m not a good person—I plan on becoming worse every day. But today, I will be kind.”

With that, you raised your longsword high and brought it down, severing his head with a clean, decisive stroke. Blood splattered across your face and armor, but you didn’t flinch. You stood there, breathing heavily, caked in dirt and blood, staring down at the lifeless body of the Mountain.

The crowd erupted into chaos, screams and cheers echoing around the pit. But you barely heard them. You turned slowly, your gaze drifting to the platform where Lord Tywin and Cersei stood, their faces pale with shock. They hadn’t expected this. No one had.

As you began to strip off your armor, the crowd’s cheers faded into a stunned hush. Piece by piece, you removed the heavy metal, letting it fall to the ground until you stood in the pit, exposed. Your skin, marred and scarred, told the story of your past, of the torment you had endured. The crowd gasped, some weeping at the sight of you. But your eyes—your eyes were empty, a void where once there had been pain. Now, there was nothing but calm.

Oberyn pushed through the throngs of people, heart pounding, eyes wild with panic as he scanned the crowd. The moment he stepped into the pit’s edge, his breath caught in his throat. His world stopped. You were there, in the middle of it all, a figure painted in blood and dust, screaming out for justice with a voice that could tear the heavens apart.

His heart clenched painfully at the sight of you, fury blazing in your eyes as you danced around the Mountain’s monstrous frame, every strike of your sword precise, every movement a testament to the fire that burned within you. You had trained for this. You were prepared. But watching you battle the creature who had haunted his nightmares, who had torn apart his sister and everything Oberyn held dear—it was more than he could bear.

His body surged forward on instinct, but Ellaria’s grip tightened around his arm, her fingers digging into his skin. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear and anguish. “She’s chosen this.”

Oberyn’s breath hitched, his mind warring with itself. How could he stand here, watching the woman he cared for, the one person who seemed to understand his pain, fight alone? His every instinct screamed at him to run to you, to stop this madness, to be the one to end it for you. But Ellaria was right—this was your choice. You were fighting not just for Elia, but for yourself.

His prayers, silent and desperate, echoed in his mind. Keep her safe. Please, gods, let her live.

And then, just as the Mountain loomed over you one last time, bloodied but still alive, you moved like lightning. One moment, you were in his grip, your life hanging by a thread, and the next, you were free, your daggers flashing like vengeful stars as you cut him down, piece by piece, until the Mountain—the monster who had destroyed so many lives—fell to his knees, defeated.

Oberyn blinked, his heart in his throat, as the Mountain’s confession rang out across the arena. “Elia Martell. I killed her children. Then I raped her.”

A sickening wave of relief and horror washed over him. It was done. The Mountain had confessed. But you—gods, you were still standing, barely. Covered in blood and dirt, your scarred arms laid bare for the world to see, the evidence of the hell you had endured etched into your skin.

Tyrion, still chained but now free of the weight of death, was weeping with joy, unable to believe the miracle before him. You had won. The gods had chosen justice—your justice.

But Oberyn’s eyes flickered to the Lannisters. Lord Tywin, sitting stone-faced on his perch, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrest of his chair. Cersei, beside him, her face a twisted mask of rage and disbelief. Their plans had crumbled before their eyes, and there was nothing they could do.

“The gods have made their will known,” Tywin said at last, his voice cold and measured. “Tyrion Lannister, in the name of King Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, you are hereby granted mercy.”

The words dripped with bitterness, but Tywin could do nothing to change the outcome. His gaze shifted to you, and the venom in his eyes was palpable. He stared at you as if he could will you dead on the spot, but you, bloodied and exhausted, raised your chin defiantly. Your shoulders straightened, and despite the pain, you walked with purpose, never looking back at the crowd.

Oberyn could see the weight of the battle on you, the way your steps faltered slightly as you moved toward the edge of the arena. But before you could collapse, before your body gave in, you found him.

“Oberyn,” you breathed out, a ghost of a smile on your lips, just as your vision blurred, the world spinning out of focus. You reached for him, and he ran toward you, catching you before you fell.

“My beloved,” he whispered, cradling your head in his arms, panic flooding his veins. He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice thick with emotion. “Stay with me. You’ve won. You’ve won.”

But your vision darkened, his face fading into shadows as you whispered, barely audible, “I’m sorry. For all of it. I’m sorry.”

Then everything went black.

Oberyn held you tighter, his heart racing as he carried you away from the pit, the cheers of the crowd fading into a distant roar. Ellaria trailed behind him, her face streaked with silent tears. And as the sun began to set over King’s Landing, Oberyn prayed once more, but this time, it was not for vengeance.

It was for you.

A FEW DAYS LATER...  

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — DAY

You inhale slowly, your eyelids fluttering open as a heavy fog of disorientation lingers. The cushion beneath you feels impossibly soft, too luxurious to be real, and the silk sheets that drape over your body are unfamiliar against your skin. For a moment, you wonder if you're still dreaming. Blinking against the blurriness, you take in the room—this isn't your quarters. It’s far too grand, too opulent. The deep burgundy tapestries hang from the walls, trimmed with gold, casting the space in a warm, regal glow. 

Your confusion deepens as your gaze drifts around the room, eventually landing on the man seated beside you, his presence both grounding and comforting. Oberyn. His dark eyes are focused entirely on you, a mixture of concern and anger etched into the lines of his face. He’s holding your hand tightly, as if letting go might mean losing you.

When he notices your eyes fluttering open, his grip tightens, his thumb brushing over your knuckles with a kind of desperation that makes your heart clench.

“You scared me,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, strained by emotions he usually keeps in check. The frustration bleeds into his words, but there’s an overwhelming sense of relief as well. His brow is furrowed, and for a second, it seems like he doesn’t know whether to scold you or hold you closer.

He leans in without hesitation, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that is both gentle and fierce. His hand cups your cheek as though he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn't hold on. There’s a warmth in the kiss, but you can feel the anger there, too—the worry that he almost lost you, the unspoken terror that gripped him during your absence.

As you pull back from the kiss, your head still spinning, you can’t help but think of Ellaria. The question tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. “Wait… Ellaria…”

Oberyn sighs, his thumb still grazing the back of your hand as if to soothe away your concerns. “No…” he begins softly, his voice gentler now, though the tension in his posture remains. “We—both of us—have things to discuss.”

You shift beneath the covers, the comfort of the sheets doing little to ease the guilt that's settled in your chest. "I didn’t mean to cause problems,” you whisper, your voice small, barely above a murmur. 

His eyes soften as he watches you, his grip tightening for a moment before loosening again. “It wasn’t you,” he reassures you, his tone filled with a sincerity that makes your heart ache. “None of this was your fault.”

But still, the weight of it all lingers. You can’t shake the feeling that you've upset the delicate balance between them, between you, and the heavy silence presses down on you. "It kind of feels like it," you admit, your gaze dropping to the silk sheets beneath your fingers as if avoiding his eyes will make it easier.

Oberyn studies you for a moment, his intense gaze never wavering. When he speaks, his voice is soft, coaxing, but there’s a thread of steel underneath, as though he won’t let you hide from this. “What is it? Tell me.”

You hesitate, the words thick and difficult to force out. It feels vulnerable, admitting this to him. But you’ve never been one to shy away from the truth, and Oberyn deserves that, at least. You take a shaky breath. “I don’t like to share,” you confess, your voice barely a whisper as you look up at him, afraid of what you might see in his eyes.

For a moment, there's silence. Then, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips—not mocking, but understanding. “Ah,” he says softly, a faint chuckle escaping him, though it holds no malice. His fingers lace through yours more tightly, and he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You don't need to worry about that right now.”

His tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s something deeper in the way he looks at you. Something reassuring. “We’ll figure it out,” he adds, his voice calm, steady, as if this problem is not insurmountable, as if you and he could face anything together.

You can’t help the way your heart warms at his words, at the way he so effortlessly defuses your fears with that simple, quiet confidence of his. You offer him a tentative smile, still feeling a little raw, a little unsure, but his presence, as always, is enough to make the world seem just a little bit easier to face.

For now, in this moment, the tension fades. It’s just the two of you, hands intertwined, the weight of your worries shared between you. And somehow, that’s enough.

Everything seemed to be falling back into place, except for one thing—you couldn’t stay. You had already resigned from your position as a servant to the Lannisters, knowing it was only a matter of time before they dismissed you.

That morning, after bidding farewell to your duties, you left a good sum of gold for Serena, thanking her for all she had done. It wasn’t nearly enough to repay her, but it was all you had. She had been your silent ally, and you owed her your life.

You had recovered well enough, and when the time came, you scribbled a note and left it on Oberyn’s desk. Just a few words, playful but loaded with meaning:  

“Do you want to come see the ocean with me?”

The sun was sinking into the horizon, casting the sky in soft shades of gold and lavender as you and Oberyn strolled along the coast. The sea breeze brushed against your skin, cool and salty, but comforting. It tousled your hair, lifting the loose strands in gentle waves. Beside you, Oberyn’s hand was warm, his fingers entwined with yours as he led you along the shore. His voice, rich and smooth like velvet, floated through the air, serenading you with a Dornish love song. His words, though foreign, melted into the air, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace.

You looked up at him, his face glowing in the fading light, his eyes reflecting the endless ocean beside you. In his presence, the world seemed smaller, quieter. The chaotic din of King's Landing, the bloodshed, and the weight of everything that had come before—it all faded into the background. Here, it was just the two of you, walking along the edge of the world.

Oberyn’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “You look peaceful,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. 

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his affection settle deep in your chest. "I feel peaceful. For once," you whispered, your eyes meeting his, drinking in the tenderness you saw there. 

As the two of you made your way to a small dock, you found an old crate to sit on, the wood weathered and worn by years of salt and sea. You sat side by side, legs dangling off the edge, sharing a bottle of Dornish red wine. The world around you felt infinite—expansive ocean stretching out before you, stars beginning to shimmer in the twilight sky, the rhythmic lull of the waves breaking against the shore.

The wine was sweet, its taste lingering on your lips as you passed the bottle between you, laughing between sips, sharing stolen kisses in between stories. Oberyn’s hand slid along your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. He was so close, and yet, for the first time, you felt the distance growing. 

There was a part of you that ached, knowing how this perfect moment would end.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “Oberyn,” you murmured, your voice quiet, barely louder than the waves.

“Hmm?” He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss into your hair.

You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent—the mix of sun and leather, and something uniquely him. For a moment, you just listened to the sound of his heartbeat, steady and sure. You wanted to bottle this moment, to keep it forever, but you knew that was impossible.

“I love this,” you whispered. “I love… you.”

Oberyn smiled against your hair, his lips brushing your skin. “And I you.”

You stayed like that for a long time, the two of you wrapped in the silence, the kind that didn’t need words. The sky above grew darker, stars spilling across the night like scattered diamonds. Everything felt right in that instant, perfect even. But you knew better than to believe in perfect endings.

When Oberyn stood to fetch more wine, you watched him walk away, your heart already breaking with every step he took. He looked back, flashing you a teasing grin, unaware of the storm brewing inside you. You held on to that image of him—happy, carefree, the man who had brought light into your world.

You waited until he disappeared into the distance before you moved. You pulled the small seashell from your pocket, the one you'd found on the shore earlier. You placed it carefully beside the note you had written earlier, your hand trembling as you set it on the crate where you had shared so many stolen moments with Oberyn.

Your breath caught in your throat as you re-read the words you had scrawled:

“We’re at the final destination. This is the end. Goodbye.”

The weight of it all settled over you as you stood there for a moment, staring out at the endless sea. Your heart ached in a way you couldn’t describe, torn between love and the inevitability of your decision. You closed your eyes, letting the wind caress your face one last time before you turned and walked away, leaving only the note and seashell behind.

By the time Oberyn returned, laughing with another bottle of wine in hand, you were already gone.

He looked around, the smile slipping from his face as he called your name. Panic crept into his voice as he scanned the dock, eyes landing on the seashell and the note. His hand trembled as he picked it up, his heart hammering in his chest as he read the words.

The bottle of wine slipped from his grasp, shattering on the ground, just like his heart.

ATOP THE CLIFFS — EVENING

The wind howled as you stood at the edge of the cliffs, looking down at the jagged rocks and the sea below. You had built a small fire, watching as the flames consumed the journal you had written in for years—pages full of unsent letters, regrets, and broken dreams. The smoke curled into the twilight sky, taking with it the pieces of you no one had ever seen.

Tears streamed down your face as you whispered into the wind, "I hope that in the end, whether I’m in the world or not, your world will be full of me. I want you to resent every moment of your life so much that you feel it deep in your bones. Let me do that. I’ll be the one who kills me."

The ocean roared beneath you, the cliffs standing as silent witnesses to your final moment. You stepped closer to the edge, the weight of the world lifting as you prepared to let go.

But then—  

“Help! Please help! Save him!”

You turned slowly, tears still blurring your vision. Standing at a distance was Ellaria Sand, her face stricken with panic. Her voice trembled as she called out, “If this is the end you were preparing for, then you should already know. What if… Oberyn chooses this end too?”

You stood frozen, silent, tears streaming down your face as Ellaria took a cautious step toward you. Her voice was thick with emotion as she continued, “I met with Serena. She told me about you. She told me everything—about where you came from, how you ended up here.”

Ellaria’s voice cracked as she pleaded with you. “This isn’t the way things should end. When Oberyn told me he wanted to help you get revenge, I gave him my permission. So please… give me your permission to save your life today.”

You could barely breathe, your chest tight with grief and confusion. 

Ellaria’s eyes were wet with tears as she took another step forward. “Whether I have to hang on to you or jump with you, I will save you. I need you to help him—help Oberyn escape his hell so that he can choose to live.”

You stared at her, your tears flowing freely now, and your gaze drifted back to the ocean, where the sun had almost dipped below the horizon. Stars began to streak across the sky, as if the gods themselves were watching, waiting for your decision.

End Notes:

Okay OKAY LISTEN LISTEN, I know it doesn’t make sense that Ellaria shows up there. It’s all fantasy. But if we assume that there were tiny bits of divine intervention here and there, she could appear on those cliffs because she wanted to save you.

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@greenwitchfromthewoods @shessweetsour @christinamadsen