#there’s a universe where it’s just them

[bookish-cravings]

No because what do you mean they were best friends as kids and Ekko had a crush on her, and then he tries to ‘rescue’ her from Silco but she doesn’t want to go with him and they end up on opposing sides as enemies and he insists that ‘Powder is gone, only Jinx is left’ but he paints a mural for Powder as one of the people they’ve lost and when he has the chance to kill her he can’t bring himself to do it because he still cares about her and she tries to blow them both up because she views death as mercy and wants to die with him and then he gets sent to another universe where she’s still Powder and he falls in love with her all over again and he goes back to his universe convinced he can save her and he has to watch her kill herself over and over again before managing to convince her to live and join the fight and they do and he wears her paint and then she just… dies anyways and now he’s lost her for like, the NINTH TIME

Arcane writers you will start coughing in 10 days

[prokopetz]

The funniest thing about how maids are depicted in a certain kind of fiction is that, like, at least half the time the people who ostensibly own the place don't even really seem to want them to be there? It's often genuinely unclear who their actual employer is, or whether they're getting paid at all – it's like looking at a universe where if you build a fancy enough house, maids just show up, like rats.

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 21/11✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hi! Would Macaque kidnap Wukong again? I read your comic, the last page, where Macaque is the kidnapping expert. And I'm very curious about it. Anyway, I love your comics! You are awesome.

Haha I don't think they really need it unless they want to do a "traditional wedding courtnapping" but it would be pretty odd since they kind of already live togehter.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I know this is definitely a LONG ways away, but, imagine: Wukong and Macaque playing the newlyweds game. What questions? What answers? Who’s asking the questions? Who’s getting the most right?

I wont list all the lesson but I think Macaque would get most of them right just because Wukong never really changed a lot during the years, while Macaque went through different stages of his life, and and he has new hobbies and tastes.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will mk have a nightmare about LBD? If yes Then we will have some angst with fluffy monkeys family moments!!!

Oh he has. He has many. Most of them he has while he is at pigsy's.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can you please shows up a flashback backstory on how MK/Wukong discovered/found out/came out as trans?? 🙏🙏🙏 Banana sundae with chocolate sauce, rainbow sprinkles, THREE cherries, and a super-deluxe one-and-only Monkie King™️ collectible spoon???

Anonimo ha chiesto: will we see any past Shadowpeach?? I’m interested to see how you frame their dynamic back 5en.

Hahah maybe in the future, I'll see

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can we get Wukong telling dad jokes? Please, I’m begging i want to see MK laughing and Macaque just being so disappointed with Wukong yet so smitten. I want to see more Monkey family domestic blissss. 🙏🙏🙏🙏

I don't have my dad jokes book here but man give Macaque an award for the patience he has with these two children

@goofybearclown ha chiesto: Hi :3 Just wanted to say I love your shadowpeach and cotl AU!!! I didn't notice you made both at first but when I did I was like "waow :0". Tbh your works are in my top 3 series on Tumblr! @fenikzia ha chiesto: I love your LMK comic so much, I look forward to reading the new additions to it when they come out every other day,and reading your comic just makes my day better. Even if it hasn't updated a particular day, I make sure to go back and reread the newest part.Keep doing what you're doing and make sure to take breaks! @skye-minecraftyt-blog ha chiesto: You! I like you! Your Bio parents Lmk au always makes me extremely happy and I regularly reread it. ((o(^��^)o)) Just wanted to say it @blazeandsilver ha chiesto: Hello, I just wanted to say your artwork is absolutely stunning, it makes my day whenever I see that you posted something new to the BioParents comic. Please keep up the good work and be sure to take some time for yourself, you’re important too.

AWWWWWW THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hihi shadowpeach au question: You mentioned in the latest comic that Mac is more lean and skinny than Wukong. Will we ever see the full extent of that?? ALSO I ADORE YOUR ART OMG ❤️❤️

A fully naked Macaque you say? Maybe.... who knows....

Anonimo ha chiesto: I come to defend Wukong acting like a man looking at a victorian lady ankles, he hasn’t seen his (ex) husband’s fur in centuries. And he probably hasn’t socialize in years either besides MK and the gang. Romantically he is stunned right? I doubt he has even looked at anyone besides Macaque anyways…

Honestly I like to think that Macaque was the only being in all the universe that was eer able to make him flustered

@mochalikesdrawing ha chiesto: So I got a question, will we ever get to see kaiju MK again?

I have a scene post AU I would like to draw. Maybe.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Ignoring all the angst because it is crushing my soul /pos, I'm lowkey convinced that Macaque knows Wukong feels some kind of way about him because he can hear his heartbeat go crazy at certain moments and isn't dumb, but just isn't calling Wukong on it because he's still trying to sort his own feelings first. BUT ONCE HE DOES OH BOY-

Hahah Macaque knows perfectly well Wukong is down for him. In the meantime Wukong is alwasy afraid he's just imagining things bc he's dense af.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Do you think Wukong and macaque would be cuddling and macaque would be watching something scary and Wukong would be trying to not pay attention to it because he hates scary stuff or would it be the other way around?

yess

@ep2nd ha chiesto: In your shadowpeach bio parents au, if MK and Wukong were created by Nuwa, with Nuwa using Macaque and Wukong as a base, has anyone wondered who created Macaque? And does Macaque himself knows?

Wait Nuwa created Wukong? If that's so I think then all the 5 monkeys were made by her, for some reason.

@boonalina ha chiesto: Sooo what exactly is the courtnapping process like? Is it just a simple "I'm gonna pick you up and carry you away" or is it an entire ceremony? Does someone have to lure the person into place? For example, Mei bringing Redson over to a secluded spot so that Mk can "courtnap" him? (Side note: I've been in this fandom for around two years now, and this comic is what made me find out about courtnapping lol)

I "think" anything that can be counted as like a sneak attack that takes them out of guard and brings them to the designated courtnapped room can be considered as courtnapping technically.

Anonimo ha chiesto: ... Hey so your shadow peach bio parent AU is better way better than season five. WOAH, WHO SAID THAT!! (no but seriously it is like a sitcom I tune on ever so often. Much love 🫶)

Haha thank you! That's a HUGE statement!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I wonder if MK has any unique attributes/abilities as a living mass of celestial material?

He's such a cocktail ofdifferent energies I wouldn't be surprised he is able to glow in the dark.

@cjtuy ha chiesto: I do have a question it's mainly about pigsy and tang when and how long have they been together as a couple and did both of them find mk are they married ?

They have been together for almost a year, but I don't think they are married, but maybe that could happen in the future??? But yeah MK found out a little after season 5 that they are together, that was also the same time he started calling Tang "Papa"

Anonimo ha chiesto: Has macaque added any personal items to the house? Like is he moved in? Have Wukong and macaque improved or changed anything else besides making the bed bigger?

Yes he did! Half of his belongins are in FFM, althought he's a little more minimalistic than Wukong. He also have been bothering Wukong to death so that he can finally organize his stuff (and they were roomates

Anonimo ha chiesto: I feel like if they were to play Minecraft or something macaque would be the base mom. He would be the only one to remember to farm food to not starve. The others would probably forget all the time that hunger is a thing in game. Wukong or Mk: oh dang does anyone have food I'm starving Macaque: (always brings extra for this reason) "sighs" yes

AH!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Remember the Minor Scale episode, from season 2? Where MK learn how to shrink himself? And there’s also the final episode of that season where MK just grow very big to try to fight LBD. I just love that part of his power and I have seen very little people showing it. Like, sometimes that power can show up when the poor boy is experiencing overwhelming emotions that can’t be contained anymore, or pure exhaustion. For example, Having many responsibility can lead to a lot of stress and exhaustion and at some point MK just can’t do more and just become tiny, not able to do more. On the opposite, maybe he experience trauma again through a nightmare (like about azure for example) and the emotional burden is to much and he just becomes big because of that. You see my vision? I love sizeshifting base on emotions :)

Aww and i love emotion-based powers, they are just so easy to play around.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Tbh the show should let macaque have a motorcycle. Wukong gets to be passenger princess

Yesss

Anonimo ha chiesto: as we get into the colder months i like to imagine MK’s first winter coat and he’s all super fluffy and warm

Cool for the monkey parents, bad for pigsy and all the hair in the restaurant from sheeding.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I think it would be so funny if MKs rock hadn't been cracked and he'd been raised on FFM by wukong. If the same thing happens in the show macaque planning to take mks powers thinking he's just Wukongs student but then while macaque and MK are training. Since macaque is so close he notices his ears. (Being raised by a monkey he gets his form sooner) suddenly putting everything on hold busting into FFM and is like WUKONG WTF

There's a fic on AO3 about it it's A Son of Two Dads

@cheese-hommo ha chiesto: Hii, fiesta I want to say I love how you draw and everything, it just looks so cool and beautiful. Now, with the last chapter of Monkey parents Au and so, with the acknowledgement of the demon etiquette and else, DBK and Wukong really misunderstand the comfort scene for a confession? Or something more? It was just so funny seeing the two of them getting so embarrassed at the end 🙂‍↕️

Ah, 2 young demons in their true forms so close to each other, blushing? Scandalous.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I've seen Mk is his Lego merch- he gots a tooth gap- so does this MK have one or did he get it filled?

Wait that was a tooth gap??? I though it was like, a detail of the smile

Anonimo ha chiesto: 🎤 what is your official (if any) opinion on Ink MK? (as a character, plot device, literary parallel, what have you)

It's ok. I personally believe "shadow" version of one character with their own fears and doubts is a clique a little bit too much used. But they give a lot of angst.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Thoughts on Macaque knowing either Japanese or Korean due to him liking anime.

I'll give you one better. Macaque always traveled to Japan pretty frequently during the centuries. Then became a weeb

Anonimo ha chiesto: Maybe it's just me but Wukong looks a bit thicker each time, is it because his fur's thickening or is he getting chubbier ??????? Anyway luv ur art

Both.

[zara-renata]

Would you love me if I were a worm?

Sylus x gn reader | A stupid, short drabble that got stuck in my head while peeling potatoes yesterday, no warnings

“Sylus, would you love me if I were a worm?”

Sylus doesn’t even look up from the book he’s reading, sprawled on one of the leather couches in his library, the full red moon spilling through the windows and blanketing him in a softly sinister light. “Yes.”

You lift your head and scowl at him from your position stretched out along his long body, hands folded under your chin, resting on his firm stomach.

“You’re not taking the question seriously.”

He lifts a dark silver eyebrow, eyes still not lifting from his book, the gold-rimmed reading glasses he’s wearing glinting in the warm light from the Tiffany lamp next to the couch. “And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“If you had actually properly considered it, you would have taken a little more time to answer.”

He finally deigns to look at you over the rims of his glasses. “I gave it the exact amount of attention that such a question deserves.”

“Why doesn’t it deserve more attention? I want to know your answer.”

“And I gave you my answer.” He returns to his book. It’s some pretentious title, about the sociology of ingroups and outgroups, the banality of evil.

“How can I take your answer seriously if you don’t think about it properly?”

He sighs. Looks over his glasses at you again. “You’ve been spending too much time with the twins.”

You sit up, leaning against the armrest of the couch opposite of Sylus. He frowns as you move away. “I don’t think I spend enough time with them, actually. They’re hilarious.”

His frown deepens. “I’m hilarious.”

“No, you’re a pretentious edgelord who won’t properly consider my question.”

“You speak so sweetly to the twins. Where’s that honey when you speak to me?”

“Honeypot’s empty until you tell me why you’d love me if I were a worm.” You prod his thigh with your bare foot.

He sighs again, sets the book on the side table. He takes your foot in his hands and begins to rub it, thumbs gently pressing into your arch. You suppress a moan.

“I’d love you if you were a worm because even as a worm, you are still you. I’d love you in any universe, in any world, in any timeline, in any form.”

You stare at him for a moment. “Now I feel bad about being mean to you.”

“As you should,” he gloats. “How will you make it up to me?”

“No, no. I’m not done.” He continues to caress your foot, one hand drifting up to your ankle, circling it between his thumb and forefinger. “You may love me as a worm, but what would you do with me? And would you seek out company in other people, since I couldn’t provide it to you as a little wiggly worm?”

“I would construct the most extravagant terrarium with all of the most luxurious provisions that a little worm’s heart could desire.” He pauses. “I’d also have to construct some sort of grate to protect you from Mephisto.”

You shudder, thinking about what it would be like to be a worm facing down Mephisto’s ruby stare. “I’d probably just be happy in some dirt,” you say, giving him your other foot. He takes the hint and begins to rub it too.

“Tch. My worm deserves only the finest in compost and enrichment activities in their terrarium. I wouldn’t be happy with just giving you some dirt.”

“Of course, and we must keep his royal snobness happy.”

“See? This is why I love you,” he smiles, just a little. “Even though your tongue is so sharp with me.”

“You’re avoiding the question about seeking other company,” you say, sinking lower into the couch as you enjoy the foot massage.

“What’s the point in answering what is clearly a trick question? You will not be turned into a worm. This whole discussion is a waste of time we could spend doing more interesting things.” He gives you an exaggeratedly lascivious once-over.

“I could be turned into a worm! Modified protocores have resulted in weirder shit happening!”

Sylus sighs yet again in resignation.

“I would miss your human company terribly, but there’s no replacing you,” he says smoothly.

You scowl at him again. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Darling, I was fine with my own company until you came into my life. I was fine with my own hand until you came into my life. I’d miss your company, and your sharp tongue, and your blow—”

You jerk one of your feet out of his hands and prod him in his stupid sexy abs. “Okay, okay. I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” he says, sliding out from under you, dropping to his knees on the plush rug in front of you. He lifts one of your legs over his broad shoulder. “I think a demonstration is in order, of all the things I’ll miss that are irreplaceable, should the unthinkable happen and your lovely human form is reduced to that of a worm. I’ll start.” He lifts your other leg over his shoulder and looks up at you smugly.

You look down at him, heart so full with how much you love him that it hurts. “Promise you’re not lying?”

“When have I ever lied to you, beloved?”

You tilt your head. You think he really would love you if you were a worm.

“I’d love you if you were a worm too, Sy.”

“Oh good, I can stop losing sleep at night,” he says, voice dripping sarcasm. You punish him by tightening your thighs, squishing his handsome face between your knees.

He laughs a little breathlessly. “If you’re trying to encourage me, it’s working, kitten.”

You laugh and release him. “Deviant,” you say affectionately.

“Your deviant,” he says, leaning forward, big palms gliding up your thighs. “Whether you’re a human or a worm, that won’t change.”

[minisugakoobies]

Match My Freak | JWW

Pairing: Voyeur!Wonwoo x Reader

Genre: smut, non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: non-consensual voyeurism, dirty talk, non-consensual use of camera/recording, masturbation (f), use of sex toy (vibrator), mentions of masturbation (m), mentions of oral sex (f receiving), cumming in pants, unreliable narrator, Wonwoo is not a good guy here (ymmv)

Word Count: 1.8k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Your neighbor loves it when you put on a show for him.

A/N: Yeah so... I just like the thought of a Wonwoo who likes to watch. 🤷‍♀️

🚨 IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH NON-CONSENSUAL VOYEURISM, DO NOT READ! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. DO NOT COMPLAIN TO ME - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO READ. 🚨

Unbeta’d as usual. If you like this, please let me know! I’d love to hear what you think (but please be kind I’m fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

The sun’s beginning to set when Wonwoo takes his seat in the ratty old armchair by the open window. He removes his glasses, carefully wiping them clean with a cloth he pulls from his pocket before placing them back on his nose. He’s a little early tonight, but it’s fine. He’ll wait. He’s a patient man. 

The minutes fall away like dominoes, each one ticking into the next. The sun dips lower, casting dark shadows over the alley that separates his apartment building from the one next door. A flicker catches the corner of his eye and turns to look, gazing into the window directly across from his bedroom. As he sits quietly, patiently drumming his fingers on the soft cushioning of the chair, a figure enters the room.

Wonwoo has loved you from the moment he first saw you. It’s been a little over six months since you moved in across the way. In all that time, he hasn’t learned what you do or where you’re from or even what your full name is. But it’s fine. None of that matters. 

He’s sure you were made for him.

You walk around your bedroom, following the same well-worn path that you do every evening. Disappearing into your bathroom and emerging a few minutes later in a silky bathrobe. Sitting at the vanity to attend to your skincare routine, gently massaging your beautiful skin with rich creams and moisturizers. Wonwoo appreciates the way you care for yourself. He likes that you have your nightly rituals. He has his own, too.

He reaches for his camera.

It’s late summer, the time of year when there’s no relief to be found at night, the air just as warm and suffocating as it is during the day. Sweat prickles on Wonwoo’s forehead, but he ignores it. He’s glad your landlord is as cheap as his. Air conditioning units would only make this difficult for him. He’d figure it out, of course, but it wouldn’t be as easy as it is now. 

Sometimes he thinks it’s a sign from the universe, how easy this is. Proof that the two of you are meant to be.

He brings his camera to his eye, playing with the focus, until the pretty face reflected in the vanity mirror is perfectly clear. Click-click-click goes the shutter, the only sound that can be heard in Wonwoo’s bedroom, other than his heavy breathing. 

His room is pitch black around him. Wonwoo’s always been comfortable with darkness. It hides all manner of sins. It hides him from your view on nights like this, even when you walk over to your window to lift the sash. A light breeze ruffles the bottom of your bathrobe, exposing more of your thighs to Wonwoo’s hungry eyes. His finger strokes the shutter button again. 

You undo the belt of your bathrobe, letting it fall open, and Wonwoo captures the reveal of the sheer babydoll chemise beneath. It skims the tops of your thighs, not quite covering the matching pair of panties you wear with it. Wonwoo’s gaze roams over your body, admiring the way the clingy material highlights your skin. He loves when you dress up for him. You never bring anyone home. Who else are you wearing these things for, if not him?

Of course, you’ve never acknowledged his presence. That’s part of your game, isn’t it? To display yourself for him but never look at or talk to him. Put on a show but never react to him taking your photo or touching himself. 

He’s very good at playing your game. After all, he wants to win. 

You’re a worthy prize.

You recline on your bed, propped up against a stack of pillows, and start scrolling on your phone. As he watches, shutter clicking, your free hand slides down your torso. Your fingers curl, pressing into your covered pussy, rubbing in slow circles. Oh. Wonwoo swallows thickly. 

It’s one of those nights. 

Silently, he puts his camera down again. Locates the button that switches from photo to video. And clicks it. 

The red light flickers on. 

Wonwoo quickly brings the camera back to his eye, practically cracking his glasses in the process. He fixes the focus, aiming the lens at the hand between your legs. As you start to caress harder, your legs part slightly, giving him a clearer view of your panties. The tiniest swirls of lace are visible to his eye, as is a growing wet spot. He silently thanks the universe that he splurged on an expensive camera model. 

Your nightgown is rumpled up around your waist as you press your hand more firmly against your cunt. It isn’t enough, judging by how you dip your fingers beneath your panties to glide over your slit.

“Come on, baby.” Wonwoo wasn’t planning on adding narration to this recording, but the words slip out anyway, in a low, urgent tone. “Slide them in.” He zooms in again, on the wetness gleaming on your fingertips. 

He’s disappointed when you pull your hand away, but that feeling is short-lived when he sees what you’ve reached for - the bright red toy that you keep under your pillow. It’s long and thick and Wonwoo feels his cock jump at the thought of it spreading you open. 

He could use it to help stretch you for him. 

Swiftly, rather desperately, you shimmy your panties down your legs, and Wonwoo’s mouth floods with saliva, nearly choking him as he stares entranced at your bare pussy. He wants to put his lips on it, kiss it until you’re squirming, pleading for him to slide his tongue inside. You’d make such a beautiful mess of his face. 

His earlier impatience is forgotten now as you work yourself up, dipping the tip of the vibrator in and out of your soaking folds, the quickening rise and fall of your chest letting Wonwoo know how much you’re enjoying teasing yourself. By the time the toy disappears into your cunt, Wonwoo’s just as breathless himself, and hard as a rock. 

“Yeah, just like that,” he murmurs, adjusting his lens again to capture the deft movement of your hand. “Fuck yourself for me.” For him, just him, and no one else. 

As if obeying his very command, your hand moves faster, and your mouth drops open in a pleasured gasp. Wonwoo groans. If only he could record the sounds you’re making, too. But you’re not loud enough for his camera to pick them up from here. 

He clucks his tongue. There’s no way he’ll accept such weak noises when he’s the one fucking you. He’ll coax loud cries from you any way he can. 

Your body undulates like a wave, hips canting as you plunge the toy deeper, and something inside Wonwoo snaps. There’s too much distance between you right now. With an aggravated huff, he slips off the chair, kneeling in front of his window. He lets his camera rest on the window sill as he lines up his shot. It’s better. But it’s not enough.

He needs to be closer.

As quietly as he can, he clambers out onto the fire escape. 

He’s taking a risk by being out here. There are no lights in the alley, but the glow of the moon is bright. That doesn’t stop him. He moves silently, crouching against the chipped metal railing, camera peeking through the slots, closing the distance between you as much as he can. 

For now, anyway.

His grip on the camera turns to iron. He’d rather fall off this fire escape than drop it. He glances around the alley, double checking that there’s no one else around. Once he’s reassured that it’s just you, him, and the moonlight, he refocuses - first his mind, then the lens. 

His breathing quickens as the toy slides into your folds again and again. He’s never envied an inanimate object more. He licks his lips, imagining the taste of you on his tongue. You’re not sweet, he’s sure of that. There’s nothing sweet about you, the way you tease him, leaving your curtains open like this. Inviting him to watch. 

Tempting him to do more.

His cock strains against the fly of his jeans, and he drops a hand to his crotch to squeeze himself, biting back a moan. Desire overwhelms him, but he can’t risk jerking off out here. The absolute last thing in the fucking world that he needs right now is to get caught. That would fuck up his plans. That would destroy him.  

Your other hand plays with your breasts, pushing your babydoll up until one is exposed, thumb rolling over and around the nipple. Wonwoo pictures himself there, lying beside you, head bent to take your other nipple in his mouth. He’s not sure he’d be able to hold himself back and allow you to finish yourself off. His fingers twitch at the thought of taking the toy from you and fucking you with it, through orgasm after orgasm, until you’re both drenched in sweat and exhausted.

He shoves the fantasy aside for later and retrains his steady gaze on your motions. He grips himself again when you start to pump the toy in and out faster. Your hips rise to meet each thrust, and Wonwoo might ruin his boxers at the sight. Fuck, he can see through the zoom how soaked the insides of your thighs are. He palms his erection slowly, trying to give himself just the slightest bit of pleasure, not enough to tip it over, only enough to feel good, and that’s when you start to come. 

As he gawks open-mouthed into the lens, your pretty pussy swallows the tip of the toy one last time. Then your hand suddenly lets go, grabbing a fistful of sheets instead. You shudder and writhe, and Wonwoo nearly drops his camera as he loses control too, the wet warmth of his cum spreading in his pants. 

Doubled over on the fire escape and breathing hard, it takes him a moment to regain his composure. Once he’s recovered, he stops the recording, and lifts the camera to his eye again to take another look. You haven’t moved from your bed, but you did remove the toy, and now have one hand tracing lazy circles around your clit. He wonders if you’re going to go again. Some nights you seem insatiable, seeking your high with a fervor that gives him chills to recall.

He’ll make sure you get your fill, when it’s time. 

For now, he’ll keep on watching. 

He’s always been a patient man. 

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[tiefighter]

hey im feeling nerdy and i took my meds so I'm hyperfocusing on typing for some reason so I'm gonna like

drop some shit

but that's because people are usually raised like they're in a prison. No joke. There's a social theory called Panopticon Theory (link leads to a course brief for a university that explains it pretty well) which boils down to "people behave themselves if they think someone is always watching and they'll get in trouble" which was developed for an actual prison system. Schools reinforce this, so do workplaces, and basically social gender norms also reinforce this. A lot of our media does too! Think about the movies you've watched where it's like, hey the protagonist has defied some rule they didn't know about, and now shadowy government figures are after them!!!! CONSEQUENCESSSSSSSS The result is that as a society, we tend to want to "behave" because there's like, someone watching us. And for Americans in general, there's also the history of slavery in their country that makes that a double whammy for anyone that's not white. Here in Australia, there's also a history of our native people being subjugated and literally eugenics'd nearly out of existence, and the white idiots were a colony of convicts, so there's active pushback against that sort of shit in the WEIRDEST AREAS.

There's a lot of stuff to look at that I'll mention briefly, like tall poppy syndrome, the male gaze, toxic masculinity and a bunch of OTHER SHIT that makes you more aware of WHY you feel like you're going to get into trouble if you don't do person right. And that's saying nothing of masking, autism and adhd and rejection sensitive dysphoria, which is just my personal experience. general shit here: you might get in trouble, but there's reasons why and if you know what they are, you can circumvent and sometimes even game the system and I'll tell you, it's cathartic not to give a fuck because you know the ways they're trying to make you.

Amazing how I’m a grown adult and I still cannot shake the exact same childhood feeling of thinking im going to “get in trouble”

[golden-redhead]

One thing I will say about this season is that it really emphasized just how much Silco and his actions contributed to Jinx's issues and how much his presence affected her negatively going forward.

Most of all, though, I think it proved once for all that Vander and Powder had a special bond where he deeply cared for her and genuinely saw her as his own. Especially in season 1, I think a lot of the fandom latched onto this idea that his relationship with Powder was much more shallow than the one with Vi and as a consequence, she connected with Silco so strongly. But just because Vi and Vander were close and he acted as her mentor in many ways doesn't mean he didn't care about the others and didn't have his own connection with Powder. Just because we didn't see it doesn't mean he was neglectful or cared about her any less. He and Vi had a special bond, yes, but that's because they are similar. I also think that in some ways, he saw himself in Vi, just like Silco saw himself in Jinx. He wasn't a perfect father, he wasn't without flaws, but it's clear he did everything in his power to keep his kids safe and ensure a peaceful future for them.

Through their interactions this season and that alternate universum jumping, we found out that they both deeply cared about each other and Vander fully accepted Powder as his daughter. He clearly loved her a lot and she also saw him as a father figure in her life.

Moreover, even though alternate universe Powder also dealt with grief, this time over using Vi, it's clear that Vander was able to give her the support she needed. She didn't turn violent, she didn't struggle with constant hallucinations. She grew up to be smart, resourceful and compassionate. She grew up to be a healthier, stronger version of herself. Someone who's loved, appreciated and has her own place in the world. And all that even after facing the enormous loss that Vi's death must have been.

It speaks volumes about how much Silco projected his own trauma onto her and prevented her from ever realizing her full potential. I don't think he did it intentionally, I don't think he doomed her to be like this as a choice... He certainly loved her and in his own way wanted what's best for her.

But regardless of his intentions, that's still what happened.

Hurt people hurt people.

That's one thing that Arcane made blatantly clear.

[littlelamy]

choking with rafe

the night was thick with heat, the air between you and rafe charged with anticipation. it wasn’t just the way his hands grazed your skin, or the way his lips devoured yours—there was a hunger behind it all, a deep, primal need to be close, to feel each other in a way that went beyond words. everything about this moment felt different. it wasn’t just lust. it was something darker, something more consuming. it was as if the entire universe had narrowed down to this one moment, this one room, where all that mattered was you and him.

you were pressed against the wall, your body caged by his. his chest was hard against yours, his breath ragged as he kissed you with a fire that left you breathless. every touch, every movement, was slow but deliberate. it wasn’t hurried or rushed. he was savoring you. every inch of your skin seemed to burn where his fingers touched it, and every movement of his lips was an unspoken promise that he wasn’t going to stop until he had you completely. his hands roamed down your back, the heat from his touch following the curve of your spine, until they slipped to your waist, pulling you even closer.

the heat between you both was suffocating, but you didn’t want to breathe anything else but him. there was a connection between you two that went deeper than physical attraction. it was an overwhelming force that consumed everything in its path. your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss. it was messy, desperate, full of tension you could feel building between you both with every second.

rafe’s hands gripped your body like he needed you in ways he could barely understand. and as his lips pulled away from yours for a moment, he met your eyes, his gaze dark with need, and a growl of frustration rumbled from his chest.

“fuck,” rafe muttered against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “you feel so fucking good.”

you couldn’t help but shiver. his words sent a rush of heat through your veins, igniting a fire deep inside of you. the sound of his voice, rough and needy, made your body ache for more. you wanted more. you needed more.

without thinking, your lips parted, your breath shallow as you pulled away just enough to meet his gaze. you saw the raw hunger there—dark, intense, like a storm waiting to break. your pulse quickened, and you felt the thrum of desire pulsing through every inch of your body. the connection between you two was more than physical—it was visceral, primal. the air crackled, heavy with tension, as you whispered his name.

“rafe,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, but the way his name left your lips was charged with something deeper, something that sent an electric jolt straight to his core. “choke me.”

the words barely left your lips before his body stilled. his eyes locked onto yours, and you could see something dangerous flash behind them. it wasn’t just surprise. it was like a switch had been flipped—something darker taking hold of him, something wild and untamed. the air between you both thickened, the space between your bodies pulsing with an unspoken understanding. he didn’t respond immediately, but the intensity of his gaze made your heart race faster.

he was already in control, but now it was as if he was deciding whether to push you even further, to see just how far you would go, how much you could take. you could feel the tension winding tighter with every passing second. and then, in a slow, deliberate movement, rafe cupped your jaw, tilting your head back just enough so that you were completely at his mercy. his thumb grazed over your throat, a soft touch that made your breath catch in your chest.

“you want that?” his voice was low, almost a growl, his words heavy with desire and authority.

you nodded, your body trembling in anticipation. the heat between you both was suffocating, but you couldn’t get enough. there was no turning back now.

his hand tightened around your throat, his grip strong, possessive, but not enough to hurt—just enough to make your pulse quicken, to make you gasp for air as your breath hitched. the pressure of his fingers against your throat sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“good girl,” rafe murmured, his lips brushing against yours again. the kiss was hard, demanding, like he was staking his claim over you in ways that sent your mind spiraling. you could feel every inch of him pressed against you. his body was solid, firm, and his power was intoxicating. every movement, every shift of his hands, made you feel like you were melting into him, like you didn’t want to be anywhere else but right here, right now.

his other hand moved, sliding down your body, pulling you closer. he didn’t need to speak for you to know exactly what he wanted. every movement was precise, controlled, and utterly consuming. you arched into him, your body aching for more, responding to the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands gripped you like he was determined to keep you exactly where he wanted you. there was something electric between you two, something raw and untamed, something that stripped away everything else. the world outside of the two of you didn’t exist. it was just you, rafe, and the way you needed each other, the way you could feel him in every part of your body.

his grip on your throat tightened just slightly, the pressure enough to make you gasp, but not enough to take away your breath completely. it was a sweet kind of torture, the way his hands moved over you, the way his touch sent a flood of warmth rushing through your veins. you could feel every inch of him, every inch of his need, and it made you burn with a desire so deep you couldn’t even name it.

“don’t stop,” you breathed, your voice desperate, needy. you couldn’t help but pull him closer, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, tugging him toward you, trying to get closer, trying to feel more of him.

“i won’t,” rafe promised, his voice gravelly, thick with lust, as he deepened the kiss once more. his grip on you tightened, pulling you even closer, if that was even possible. you were at his mercy now, and in that moment, you didn’t want to be anywhere else. you didn’t want anything else. the only thing that mattered was him, and the way he made you feel, the way his touch made you feel alive in ways you hadn’t even known were possible.

the room spun around you both, but it didn’t matter. all that mattered was this, right here, right now. you were his, and he was yours, and the intensity of the moment was more than you could handle. but you didn’t want it to end. you never wanted it to end.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[red-queen-on-the-heathen-throne]

Nah man. All of these things are symptoms of a book that was badly written for its genre.

This reader's general expectations are pretty clear. Shorter chapters, shorter paragraphs, not a lot of infodumping squeezed into the middle of unrelated things. So probably a more commercially geared genre like thriller, mystery or romance. Probably the latter, considering it's booktok.

So when she encounters stuff like enormous chapters, infodumps in the middle of a conversation, and page-long paragraphs, she has the reading experience to understand - not necessarily articulate, but understand - that this should not be here.

Take the long-ass chapter. Kindle says it'll take her 30 minutes to read. If your average reading speed is on the low end for an adult (220 words per minute), that's 6,600 words. If it's on the higher end (350 WPM), this whole entire chapter is over ten-thousand words long. That is too fucking long! For reference, the average novel is 90,000 words. You'd have fewer than nine chapters in the entire thing if you had chapters this long. Unless the book in question is a quarter million words, this is frankly a sign of a badly written - and massively overwritten - book. Especially in romance, where chapters tend to be shorter (somewhere around 2,000-2,500 words; some shorter books will even keep them around 1,500). She might not have articulated this the way I did, but she feels this and that is perfectly fine.

Same for paragraphs. Long paragraphs are harder to read and follow, that's why paragraph breaks exist. The longer it goes on, the less information from the middle of it you'll retain. And if what you're reading is supposed to be an easy, fun, recreational story? Yeah, reading the beginning and the end of the paragraph is probably enough to give you the important bits, considering you'd probably forget most of the middle anyway unless you put on your Scientific Reading hat in the middle of a romcom. Who wants to do that?

And let's be honest, infodumping giant paragraphs in the middle of dialogue is almost universally regarded as a Bad Thing to do to your reader.

All of those things are fine to criticise. Just because she does it from the point of view of a reader, not a writer, doesn't make it bad or invalid.

Do they know that reading is not mandatory? Nobody is forcing them to read?

[ham1lton]

SIMPLE !

pairings: jude bellingham x lewis hamilton’s assistant!reader

summary: after your first few dates with jude, everything seems to be going smoothly. however, there’s just one problem: your boss seems to hate your new boyfriend.

warnings: judeyn being dumbasses.

author’s note: part of my dream girl universe. for best enjoyment, read after the first instalment. assistant2 also makes her first official appearance!!

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

📍 berlin, germany.

tagged: judebellingham

liked by ham1ltonshaderoom, jobebellingham and 2,837,918 others.

yourinstagram: the photos he takes of me vs the one i take of him. i think you all can see the better photographer.

view all 1,108,928 comments

user1: LOVE seeing hot people date each other.

-> user11: i love seeing two hot people be BESTIES.

user2: JUDE IS TAKEN ???!!!! NOOOOOOO

-> user3: babe… you didn’t have a chance at all. like please be serious.

-> user13: thank god they aren’t actually dating tho.

user4: my gf <3

-> judebellingham: who even are you.

-> user4: we can share <3 i can keep her satisfied thru the weekend u have the weekdays king.

jobebellingham: love this yn. he looks so depressed and ugly.

-> judebellingham: U JEALOUS ASF 😹

-> jobebellingham: yn i’ll paypal you £50 rn if you post more ugly pictures. which is all his pictures really.

-> yourinstagram: challenge accepted 🫡

lewishamilton: you look good yn!

-> user5: and what about jude??

-> lewishamilton: what about him?

-> user6: NOT YN’S HUSBAND HAVIN BEEF W/ HER BFF 😭

user7: lip combo?!!??

-> yourinstagram: i’m not a gatekeeper. it’s on my tiktok!! my most recent one <3

user8: you did my king so dirty with that one pic…. LMFAO DO IT AGAIN

-> yourinstagram: 🫡🫡

user10: their friendship is so cute!!

user12: yn is moving up in the world!!! from bts delulu to besties with JUDE BELLINGHAM

-> yourinstagram: blocking you! 😃

-> user12: you can block me but you can’t erase ‘hobisbabymama’

-> yourinstagram: HELLO?2&/9£/

user9: WHERE IS LANDO?!

-> user10: she blocked his main and his ten other side accounts because she’s secretly in love with him and wants to leave loser jude for him.

-> user9: hi lando 😁

user10: no roscoe pic?

-> yourinstagram: sorry babe :(( he’s at home with his dad and i’m on holiday. assistant2 has some highlights of him on her page!! <3

judebellingham: why do i look so depressed

-> yourinstagram: idk <3 want to get ice cream?

-> judebellingham: .. yeah

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title: my girlfriend’s boss (l,39) hates me and it’s ruining my relationship. help?

hi all, i don’t really post on here, but i’m at my wit’s end and need advice. i (j, m21) have been dating my girlfriend (y, f24) for a couple of months now, and it’s been brilliant. she’s smart, funny, beautiful, and honestly the kindest person i’ve ever met. here’s the catch: her boss (l, m39), who also happens to be an insanely famous athlete and very wealthy, clearly hates me.

y works as his personal assistant, and from what she’s told me, l has always been good to her. she’s known him for years, and he’s helped her out a lot in her career. she always says he’s like family, but ever since she introduced me to him, he’s been awful.

it started small, like him calling me “mate” in that condescending way that makes you feel about two feet tall. but last week, i went to pick y up from work, and he gave me this look—you know the type, the kind that says, “you’re not good enough to breathe the same air as her.” i tried to play it off, but it’s eating at me.

another time, we ran into him at a café, and he made this offhand comment about how “footballers aren’t known for their brains.” y tried to laugh it off, but i felt like an absolute idiot.

then there was the incident with the tickets. y mentioned she’d been offered two box seats for a big match, courtesy of l, and we were both so excited to go. but when she told him i was going with her, he suddenly “remembered” he’d promised them to someone else. i know it sounds paranoid, but it feels deliberate.

to make matters worse, y thinks i’m overreacting. she says l is just protective of her because they work closely together, but i can’t help but feel like there’s more to it. she brushes off his weird behaviour, but come on—this is the same man who asked her to taste-test a box of chocolate truffles because he couldn’t decide which to order for himself. (weird, right?)

it’s not just the comments, though. y told me l doesn’t usually care who his staff date, but she mentioned he’s suddenly started asking loads of questions about me, like whether i’ve been in trouble before or if i’m serious about her. it’s like he’s looking for a reason to disapprove. y thinks he’s being protective, but i swear he just doesn’t like me. here’s the problem: i’m pretty sure he hates me. actually, scratch that—i know he hates me.

i’m spiralling here. what if l starts sabotaging our relationship? y says she’s not going anywhere, but i can’t shake the feeling he’s got some weird power over her. am i just being insecure, or is there something seriously wrong here? what do i do?

top comments:

soggy_pigeon: nah, this is classic alpha behaviour. he’s marking his territory. he probably sees her as more than just an assistant, if you know what i mean. tread carefully.

fluffybananas: footballers aren’t known for their brains. maybe he has a point.

spicy_gravy: dude, he’s probably jealous you’ve got abs and a girl who loves you. chill.

randomuser_123: sounds like you’re dating your boss’s work spouse.

tofu_throwaway: i think l’s just jealous because y spends more time with you now. he’s like a toddler upset that someone’s playing with his favourite toy.

ladybantheboys: ok but what if it’s the opposite? like, what if l approves of you but is being mean on purpose to test if you’re good enough for her?

football4ever: j, mate, you’re overthinking. l’s just a famous bloke who doesn’t want to lose his assistant to some random guy. show him you’re not random. take him out for a pint or something.

memequeen420: this reminds me of when i had a cat and got a new dog. the cat hated the dog at first but now they’re best friends. just give it time.

plshelpme1998: have you tried googling “how to win over your girlfriend’s boss”? there’s bound to be a wikiHow.

bananabreadbae: mate, if he wanted her, he’d have made a move by now. maybe he just doesn’t like footballers. not everyone does, you know.

user2847: honestly, the truffle thing makes me think he’s the weird one. does he do this with everyone or just y? if it’s just her, he’s probably got some weird older-brother complex going on.

ultimategoblin69: maybe he wants to adopt you. famous people do weird shit like that.

yogurtbutter: ok but what if you’re the problem? maybe you’re just a bit annoying and he senses it. famous people have great instincts.

iamnotanon: have you considered sabotaging him back? like, nothing serious, but maybe show up in a better suit than him one day. alpha vibes only.

opinionatedowl: this is a power thing. l’s rich and famous, and he’s used to being in charge. stand your ground, but don’t disrespect him. he’s probably testing you.

thecheeseman: it sounds like a bad rom-com where l secretly approves of you but can’t admit it because he’s emotionally constipated. if i were you, i’d play the long game.

spicywaterlover: wait… what if l is secretly in love with y and you’re the obstacle? plot twist.

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edit: wow, ok. this has been a ride. thanks for all the comments, even the wild ones. i think i’ll try the “pint” suggestion, but i draw the line at sabotage. will update if anything changes (or if i get adopted).

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liked by messyassuser, lando11priv and 1,938,882 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: football star jude bellingham seen cuddling and being affectionate with his new girl! she has been identified as yn yln, she is the personal assistant of f1 icon lewis hamilton. they were spotted outside a restaurant in las vegas after the grand prix all boo’d up! according to sources, they were all loved up at the after party. they ‘didn’t leave each other’s space’. what do we think about this new couple ham1ltons?

view all comments

user1: who tf even is she

-> user2: a baddie. she’s seriously so funny and sweet. you guys should see her tiktok or insta pages. jude is punching above his weight.

user3: oh!

user4: HOTTIES!!!

user5: why they doing the most in public???

-> user6: they’re in love? girl lmao.

-> user7: she’s his beard or he’s hers. idk yet. i need to consult the stars.

-> user8: ^ me when i’m off my meds.

user9: am i the only one who thinks they’re cute? good for them!!

user10: um i think she’d be happier with lando.

-> user11: lando please how are you still making new accounts.

-> user10: i’m totally not the handsome and gorgeous lando. i’m actually… pando. hi.

user12: my gf and my bf are dating??? i’m gonna be sick.

-> user13: they got two hands.

user14: they’re rlly dating???

-> user15: no bitch. they’re just coworkers 🙄

-> user14: oh! thank you :D

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

UPDATE: my girlfriend’s boss (l,39) hates me and it’s ruining my relationship. help?

hi all, it’s j again. thanks for the advice on my last post—it was a mix of helpful, hilarious, and… well, a bit unsettling. but it gave me the push i needed to talk to l. here’s what happened:

i decided to man up and ask him out for a pint to clear the air. i figured it was the most normal thing to do. well, turns out l’s teetotal (thanks, y, for not warning me properly). when i suggested a pint, he just looked at me for a second and went, “i don’t drink, mate,” in that calm, terrifying way he has. i panicked, said something about tea, and left feeling like an absolute idiot.

but two days later, he called y at work and told her to invite me round to his place for tea. TEA. this man lives in a house that looks like it’s straight out of a Bond film, so you can imagine how intimidating it was to rock up with a packet of biscuits like some budget offering.

long story short, we had tea, and he cleared the air. he admitted he’d been giving me a hard time because he wanted to make sure i was serious about y. he said she’s like family to him (didn’t say “work spouse,” thank god), and he needed to know i’d treat her right. honestly, it was a bit awkward, but also kind of sweet.

so yeah, we’re good now. he even said he’d save me a seat for the next big race. i don’t know if that was a peace offering or a power move, but i’ll take it.

thanks for the push, reddit. you lot are mad, but in a good way. most of the time.

comments:

ladybantheboys: told you he was testing you! this is literally every rom-com ever. next step: you accidentally bond over an inside joke, and he becomes your biggest fan.

bananabreadbae: this is so british it hurts. “sorry i was mean, let’s have tea.” mate, at least you passed the test!

football4ever: called it! blokes like him just want to make sure you’re solid. now you’re in his good books, you’re set for life. congrats, mate.

memequeen420: so… what kind of biscuits did you bring? was it something boring like digestives, or did you go all out with hobnobs? we NEED to know.

randomuser_123: this is like when my dog hated my boyfriend at first but then they bonded over cheese. sometimes it just takes time.

tofu_throwaway: glad it worked out, but honestly, i’m still a bit scared of l. even through your post, he sounds like he could crush a man with a single stare.

iamnotanon: congrats on passing the test. now don’t mess it up, or i guarantee he’ll make you disappear. rich people have connections.

ultimategoblin69: you went to his house?! are you sure it wasn’t a trap? like, did he subtly scan your fingerprints for future blackmail material?

plshelpme1998: like, this whole thing is giving weirdly protective father vibes. good luck, mate.

user2847: what does his house smell like? no, seriously. i feel like rich people’s houses have that “old money” smell, like leather and expensive wood polish. was it intimidating?

(deleted): send feet pics.

opinionatedowl: so… when’s the wedding? i’m assuming l will walk her down the aisle now that you’ve been knighted into his inner circle.

thecheeseman: this is the most British solution ever. “i made you feel terrible, but here, have some earl grey, and now we’re mates.” glad it worked out though!

memequeen420 (again): STILL no answer on the biscuits. j, you’re avoiding the REAL questions here. were they branded or store-brand? did he eat one? this is important.

weirdcookieperson: did he sniff you when you walked in? like, does he have a heightened sense of smell? rich people are weird, man.

alphamale_uk: mate, you handled this all wrong. never apologise, never offer tea, and NEVER back down to another alpha. you should’ve walked in, sat in his chair, and asserted dominance. that’s how you gain respect. next time, bring steak, not biscuits. real men bond over meat, not tea.

j (op): l’s vegan, mate. bringing a steak would’ve been like waving a red flag at a bull. also, this isn’t Planet of the Apes, it’s just tea. chill.

────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ──────

j (op): wow, i forgot how weird reddit is. for the record: branded hobnobs. because i’m not a monster. no sniffing, no fingertip scanning and i’ll get someone to update you if i go missing. cheers for the laughs.

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @aliciaablueprint @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @theblueblub @23victoria @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

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[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 🥰

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Celebration - Professor!Logan x F!Reader (NSFW)

Summary: You celebrate your gratuation with your friends at a small pub, when Professor Logan Howlett comes in. Your plans are forgotten, when your friends make you go talk to him.

Warning: SMUT, like almost Porn with no plot (40% plot/60% porn), sub!Logan (if you squint), but defo dub!Logan, Age gap (not described but there is). So please do not interract if you're under 18.

AN: So I aske dyou all a question a while ago what you'd prefer Professor!Logan or Professor!Peña, and democracy won, choosing Logan :) No beta read all the mistakes are my own... And I am not a history know it all, so apologies if I messed something up. I listened to an amazing Steven Rodriguez writing this, so I recommend this: Like you mean it

Words: 12 875 (let's just establish I can't write anything short, ok?)

The pub hummed with life as you stepped inside, your friends at your side. It was a cozy space, nestled between two old bookshops, with wooden beams that creaked under the weight of a hundred conversations and warm, amber lights casting shadows over shelves lined with bottles of spirits. The smell of hops and laughter filled the air, carrying with it the sweet release of months of hard work and sleepless nights. You, Kate, and Ethan found a booth near the window where the noise was lively but not overwhelming, and you could savour the first celebratory drinks as newly minted graduates.

Kate slid into the seat across from you, her auburn hair falling in waves that shimmered under the pub lights. She raised her glass, eyes glinting with mischief. "To history—and making it ourselves!"

Ethan, ever the practical joker with his sharp grin and mop of dark curls, added, "And to you surviving Professor Logan Howlett’s class with an A, of all things. Who does that? Seriously, cheers to the legend sitting right here."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up with a mix of relief and triumph. The past year had been a marathon of research, late nights in the university library, and the constant weight of expectations. But tonight, it felt like the world had paused in recognition of your efforts.

The conversation flitted between shared memories, plans for the future, and teasing hints of freedom that came with finishing your master’s. Then Kate’s eyes flicked over your shoulder, and she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't look now, but the Professor is here."

Your heart stumbled, then thudded in your chest. Professor Logan Howlett. You didn’t have to turn around to conjure the image: intense hazel eyes that seemed to strip the world down to its truths, sharp cheekbones, and that perpetual five o’clock shadow that gave him a rugged, almost cinematic presence. He was a paradox, embodying the kind of strength that could either crush or uphold.

Ethan smirked, nudging you with his elbow. "Go on. Say hi. He can’t be that scary now that you’ve graduated, right?"

A pulse of panic and excitement washed through you, your fingers tightening around the condensation on your glass. Talking to Professor Howlett outside of the academic halls was like stepping into a new, unscripted world. You'd spent two years working under him, first as a student, then as a teaching assistant—your admiration morphing into something deeper, something unspoken.

“Do it,” Kate urged, her eyes wide and teasing. “Or we’ll drag you over there ourselves.” As you sat there and glared at them, the memories of your first class with him came floating around in your head. 

The lecture hall was cavernous, its high, vaulted ceilings making the room feel more like a courtroom than a place of learning. Afternoon light slanted through the tall, arched windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the heavy silence. Students settled into their seats, shuffling notebooks and pens, whispering speculations about the infamous Professor Logan Howlett.

You were seated in the second row, close enough to see the fine lines etched at the corners of his eyes when he entered, but not so close as to draw unwanted attention. He walked in without hesitation, his stride confident and direct, the leather-bound notebook in his hand looking worn and familiar. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms marked with faint scars, as if he had spent years grappling with more than just books. A single glance from him silenced the low murmur of conversation.

“History,” he began, the timbre of his voice deep and almost harsh, “is not a collection of anecdotes to pad out your evenings or score points at a dinner party. It is humanity’s attempt to interpret its own mistakes and, if we’re lucky, avoid repeating them.”

The air seemed to thicken with each word. He scanned the rows, eyes sharp and assessing, daring anyone to interrupt him. Some students shifted uncomfortably; a few glanced at each other, already regretting their choice of elective. You, however, felt your pulse quicken, a spark of defiance lighting somewhere inside you.

“Let’s start with a question,” he said, placing the notebook on the lectern and crossing his arms. “The Treaty of Westphalia. Why is it heralded as the cornerstone of modern statehood, and why is that view so fundamentally flawed?”

A heavy silence followed. It stretched on, pregnant with challenge, and you saw a flicker of annoyance cross his face. Without giving it much thought, your hand rose.

His eyes landed on you, their intensity making you feel momentarily pinned. “Yes?” The single word carried the weight of expectation.

You swallowed, your voice steadying as you spoke. “The Treaty of Westphalia is praised for ending the Thirty Years’ War and introducing the concept of state sovereignty, but it didn’t resolve the deeper conflicts. It merely froze them, ensuring that the problems would fester beneath the surface for years.”

A few heads turned, eyes widening at the audacity of challenging the professor in the opening moments of his lecture. Logan Howlett’s brows lifted, but it wasn’t disapproval that shone in his eyes—it was interest.

“Go on,” he said, the room holding its breath.

You sat up straighter, emboldened by his response. “The Treaty was a political bandage, not a cure. It shifted power among nations but ignored the religious and economic fractures that had fueled the conflict. It set the precedent for power politics without addressing the human costs.”

A silence, sharper now, fell over the room. He stepped away from the lectern, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back as if appraising a painting. A smile ghosted across his lips, subtle and fleeting.

“Interesting perspective,” he said, a challenge threading through his words. “But you’re missing the other side of the argument. Yes, it wasn’t perfect. Yes, it allowed the wounds to fester. But it also introduced diplomacy as an alternative to the perpetual war that defined earlier centuries. Would you rather the conflict had raged indefinitely, bleeding nations dry?”

The corner of your mouth twitched, a thrill running through you as you realised he was inviting the exchange. “Diplomacy born out of exhaustion isn’t sustainable. The treaty was signed not out of genuine reconciliation but mutual weakness. It was a temporary truce, not a triumph of peace.”

He nodded slowly, the light catching in his hazel eyes as if amused by your boldness. “Well argued. But if history were only about pointing out what didn’t work, we’d all be critics instead of scholars. The point is to study why such measures are taken and how they shape the world that follows.”

The room seemed to exhale collectively, but you held his gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. In that moment, you knew two things: this class would not be easy, and you were more than ready for it.

Your heart thudded in your chest as Kate's nudge sent a jolt through you. The warmth of the pub, with its golden glow and the chorus of laughter and clinking glasses, faded into the background as you glanced over at him—Professor Logan Howlett. Logan. The name still felt too intimate to think, let alone say, but tonight, that barrier seems thinner.

He stood at the bar, broad shoulders relaxed in a rare display of ease as he listened to a colleague recount some story, whiskey glass cradled in his hand. The way the light caught in his hazel eyes, illuminating flecks of green and gold, tugged at something deep inside you. He was an enigma: a man whose severity was legendary in lecture halls but who, behind closed doors, revealed glimpses of something more. Something human and achingly real.

You respected him, profoundly so. He wasn’t just another academic; he was the academic, the kind of professor whose passion for history electrified a room. His lectures weren’t just lessons but challenges, daring students to question and confront the world’s recorded past with new eyes. He had inspired you to follow in his footsteps, to envision a life dissecting history’s layers, guiding minds through its labyrinthine tales. You’d spent long nights thinking about that future—lecturing, debating, shaping students’ perspectives the way he had shaped yours.

Yet somewhere along the way, between debating treaties and arguing over the nuances of your thesis, your admiration had blurred into something messier. It was during the late hours of grading papers together, the silence punctuated only by his dry humour and the scratch of pens, that your heart began to betray you. He was different in those moments. Still grumpy, yes, but there was a warmth that surfaced—a sardonic smile when a student’s essay was especially absurd, a teasing jab at your meticulous note-taking. And once or twice, when the moon hung low and the world outside seemed distant, you could have sworn he flirted with you.

But that was impossible. Why would a man like him—sharp, captivating, deeply passionate about his work—pay attention to you in that way? It was foolish to even entertain the thought.

Kate’s voice brought you back. “Go on, before he leaves.”

You glanced at Ethan, who shot you an encouraging grin. You took your glass with you, fingers trembling just enough to make you clench your fist to steady them. The walk to the bar felt long, every step magnifying the flutter of nerves in your chest. You’d faced him in debates, you’d defended your research under his unsparing gaze, but this felt different. This wasn’t a controlled environment; this was the unpredictable space of real life.

He turned as you approached, his expression shifting from neutral to surprised, and then softening in a way that made your breath hitch. His eyebrows lifted just slightly, a fleeting look of recognition followed by something you couldn’t quite name.

“Congratulations,” he said, the rough edge of his voice sending a thrill down your spine. His eyes caught the light, making them appear warmer than usual, and for a moment, you felt like the only two people in the room.

“Thank you,” you managed, feeling a rush of relief that you hadn’t tripped over the words. “It’s… good to see you, Professor.”

“Logan,” he corrected, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile, but enough to suggest amusement. He glanced at the empty space beside him and shifted, subtly making room. “Join me?”

You didn’t need more than that. You slid into the space, feeling the heat of his presence like a tangible thing. The din of the pub receded just a little, replaced by the thrum of your pulse and the stolen glances that spoke of memories shared late at night over half-empty coffee cups and stacks of research papers.

Logan signalled to the bartender, his hand briefly brushing against yours on the counter as he gestured toward your half-empty glass. “A gift,” he said, his voice smooth, low, and rich with that unmistakable rasp, “for making it through the gauntlet and surviving me. Some people never do.”

His eyes lingered on yours, his gaze sharp but softened by the teasing glint that rarely broke through his usual stern demeanour. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, even as the warmth spreading through your chest made it harder to breathe evenly.

The bartender placed a fresh drink in front of you, and you stared down at it for a moment, letting the hum of the pub—the chatter, the golden glow of the lights, the low thrum of music—blur into the background. But it wasn’t the atmosphere that anchored you; it was Logan, his quiet confidence and magnetic pull, the way his focus never wavered.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He raised his glass, taking a measured sip of whiskey, the motion deliberate as if he were savouring it. His eyes never left yours, the intensity behind them making your skin tingle. “So,” he began, his voice carrying that heavy, deliberate weight, “what’s next? I can’t imagine someone like you doesn’t have the next step planned out.”

You couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across your face. “What makes you think I have a plan at all?” you teased, arching a brow as you lifted your glass to your lips.

The laugh that followed was deep and unrestrained, the sound warm enough to melt the tension in the air while simultaneously sending a shiver down your spine. He set his glass down and leaned forward, his broad frame angling toward you, his focus entirely on you.

“Because I know you,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost conspiratorial. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, amusement playing in the depths of his gaze. “And knowing you means I’d bet you’ve got the next thirty years colour-coded and cross-referenced.”

The heat in your cheeks was immediate, and you looked away, biting the inside of your cheek to hide the bashful smile tugging at your lips. It was ridiculous how well he knew you—how effortlessly he could strip away your defences with a single comment, leaving you feeling both exposed and undeniably seen.

“You shouldn’t look so smug about that,” you muttered, though your voice lacked any real bite.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, resonating somewhere deep in your chest. “You’re right,” he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping an octave that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “But it’s hard not to be. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

The words hung in the air, sinking into your skin, making your pulse quicken. His eyes, dark and steady, locked with yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to blur into irrelevance.

“It’s why I asked you to be my TA,” he added, his tone softened but no less intense.

The memory of that moment surged forward, vivid and sharp like it had happened just yesterday.

***

His office had been its usual state of organised chaos—books stacked high, papers scattered across the desk, and the faint scent of leather and cologne clinging to the air. The room had always felt like an extension of him: commanding, unrelenting, but with a quiet depth you couldn’t help but admire.

You had entered cautiously, the soft creak of the door announcing your arrival. Logan hadn’t looked up immediately, too engrossed in whatever notes he was reviewing, his brow furrowed in thought.

When he finally lifted his gaze, his sharp, assessing eyes pinned you in place. “Close the door,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. You obeyed, your pulse quickening with a strange mix of excitement and apprehension.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, leaning back in his chair with a creak of worn leather. His fingers tapped against the desk, his eyes studying you with a piercing intensity. “I need a teaching assistant next term. But not just any TA. Someone who won’t nod along to everything I say and write my lectures in their sleep.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his words. “Me?” you stammered, half incredulous, half hopeful.

“Yes, you.” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, softening the edge of his expression. It was a rare sight, one that made your stomach flutter. “I don’t usually need help,” he admitted, leaning forward, elbows resting on the desk. “But you challenge me—and that’s not something I’m willing to waste.”

The weight of his words hit you, their meaning sinking in. This wasn’t just an offer. It was an acknowledgment, an admission that he saw something in you worth nurturing.

“It would be an honour,” you said, your voice coming out softer than you intended, tinged with a reverence you couldn’t mask.

“Good.” He stood, crossing the room until he stopped just shy of your personal space. His presence filled the room, his gaze holding yours with a quiet intensity that made your breath catch. “Don’t make me regret this,” he said, but the teasing edge in his tone softened the warning.

“I won’t,” you had promised, the conviction in your voice leaving no room for doubt.

The way he looked at you then—like he believed you entirely, like he knew you would surpass every expectation—was something you’d carried with you ever since.

***

The memory slipped away like smoke, fading into the background as Logan’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the pub. “You know,” he said, his tone carrying that familiar teasing lilt, “most people would kill for a compliment like that from me. And yet, here you are, blushing as if it’s the first time anyone’s told you you’re remarkable.”

The flush in your cheeks deepened, and you ducked your head, trying to hide the effect his words had on you. “It was more than an honour,” you murmured, voice shy but unwavering. “Working with you made me realise how much I wanted to teach. Your classes… They made me sure of what I wanted for my future.”

Something flickered across his face then, a shadow of pride mixed with something you couldn’t quite name. He got closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the subtle warmth radiating from him. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice dropping into a tone both playful and low. “I’m glad to hear it. If I inspired even half of what you’re capable of, then I’d say I did something right.”

His words sent a warmth curling through your chest, but it was the way he looked at you—steady, unflinching—that made your pulse flutter. He wasn’t just paying you a compliment; he was studying your reaction, watching you with a heat that felt almost tangible.

The smoky scent of his cologne teased your senses as he leaned in, close enough that the noise of the pub faded into a faint hum in the background. “Careful,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Blushing like that could make a person think you’re flustered.”

“I’m not,” you shot back, though the warmth blooming across your cheeks betrayed you.

He laughed softly, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. “Good,” he said, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. “Because I like seeing you off your game.”

You swallowed hard, torn between embarrassment and exhilaration. “You’re impossible,” you whispered, trying to muster some semblance of control over the situation.

“And yet,” he said, his voice a low drawl as he raised his glass and tapped it lightly against yours, “here you are.”

The moment stretched between you, heavy with unspoken possibilities. It was a tension you’d never dared to acknowledge until now, and yet, sitting here beside him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

***

The night unfolded slowly, the warm glow of the pub sinking deeper into the evening. Despite the bustling crowd, you remained anchored in the space beside Logan at the bar. Each shared glance, each quiet laugh between the two of you, felt like the room itself was narrowing its focus, pulling you closer together.

When you reminded him, more than once, that you could buy your own drinks, he waved your protests away with an easy smile. “Consider it back pay for the TA work,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “And believe me, you earned it. I’m still convinced you deserve a medal for grading that batch of essays on European revolutions. I don’t think I’ve ever seen ‘Napoleon’ spelled with so many variations.”

You laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “To be fair, some of those students were probably just guessing who led the French army.”

“God help them,” Logan muttered, taking a slow sip of his whiskey before his eyes found yours again, softened by amusement. “How’s the thesis holding up under post-graduate scrutiny? Still proud of it?”

“Mostly,” you admitted, swirling the liquid in your glass thoughtfully. “There are a few parts I’d tweak if I could go back. But it did the job, right? Even impressed you.”

“‘Impressed’ might be underselling it,” he replied, his voice quieter now, rougher. “It was ambitious. You could’ve played it safe like most do, but you didn’t. You took a risk. That takes guts.”

The warmth in your chest grew at his words, a kind of pride that felt almost too big to contain. “I learned from the best,” you said softly.

Logan’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. For a moment, the din of the pub seemed to fade entirely, leaving only the sound of his voice and the unspoken connection hanging in the air.

The conversation drifted easily between you, shifting from the late-night research sessions you once shared to the quirks of students you’d both encountered. You told him about the time a student had submitted a paper on the American Revolution that inexplicably included a section on The Beatles. Logan nearly choked on his drink, his deep laugh drawing a few glances from nearby patrons.

“Still proud of the next generation?” you teased, grinning.

“Barely,” he muttered, shaking his head before his smirk returned. “So, what now? What’s next for you outside of history?”

“Outside of history?” you quipped, leaning closer, the bubble of energy between you tightening. “Is there anything outside of history? I don’t know, Logan. I’ve spent so much time buried in books, I might as well be a mediaeval monk.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement, but the way he leaned toward you, just slightly, was enough to shift the atmosphere again. “A monk, huh?” he said, his voice low. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

The weight of his words sent a spark racing down your spine, your breath hitching slightly under the intensity of his gaze. Whatever barriers had once existed between you felt thinner now, more fragile. And for the first time, you found yourself wondering what it might mean to finally cross them.

Logan smirked, his sharp eyes tracing the contours of your face, lingering just long enough to make your heart race. “Here’s a real question,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Any current boyfriends? Partners? You know, so I can adjust my expectations for the night.”

The question landed like a spark, setting your pulse racing. You hadn’t expected him to go there, but the weight of his attention and the soft buzz of the evening’s warmth had lowered your defences.

“Ha,” you laughed, sharper than intended, but his grin didn’t waver. “Uni didn’t leave much room for that. Most of the guys in my classes weren’t exactly my type—more interested in keg parties than real conversations.” You hesitated, the alcohol nudging your tongue loose. “And, well… let’s just say it was usually me and my hand at the end of the day. Boys are boys, after all.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, his lips twitching in amusement before he burst into laughter. The sound was deep, rich, and genuine, drawing curious glances from nearby patrons, but you didn’t care. Watching him like this—relaxed and utterly unrestrained—made your chest tighten with something unfamiliar.

“God, I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, shaking his head and wiping at the corner of his eye. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“Is that so?” you countered, emboldened by the way his attention seemed to orbit you entirely.

“Oh, it is,” he replied, his voice dipping into something quieter, more intimate. He leaned closer, and the space between you buzzed with an almost electric anticipation.

His hand rested on the bar, the slight movement of his fingers brushing against your arm in a touch so casual it felt deliberate. Your skin prickled at the contact, the warmth of it lingering far longer than it should. Logan was watching you now, his gaze steady and careful, testing your reaction, waiting.

The moment stretched, the tension building with every heartbeat. His fingers moved again, this time trailing lightly over the back of your arm, and the sensation sent a spark straight to your core. You inhaled sharply, your eyes meeting his, and the unspoken words between you hung heavy in the air.

“You know,” Logan said, his voice dipping lower, rougher, “I’ve always liked that you never missed a chance to challenge me. Kept me on my toes.”

“I didn’t think you liked being challenged,” you said, your voice softer now, unable to mask the tremor of excitement beneath it.

“Only when it’s you,” he replied, his tone stripped of humour. There was no teasing in his expression now, only the kind of intensity you’d once seen when he was deep in thought, dissecting an argument. But this was different. This wasn’t about academics or debates—this was about you. His hand moved deliberately, resting fully on your arm, his touch grounding and possessive all at once.

Your heart thundered in your chest as the realisation hit you. Logan Howlett—your professor, the man you’d admired from a distance for so long—was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room. Like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had, even if you’d never dared to hope.

“Why now?” you whispered, the words slipping free before you could stop them. “Why tonight?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Because tonight, you’re not my student.” His voice was a low rumble, rough and magnetic. “And I’m done pretending I haven’t noticed the way you look at me.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words settling over you. His touch, his gaze—they made you feel exposed in the best way, like you were finally being seen for exactly who you were.

“And how is that?” you managed, your voice trembling under the intensity of his stare.

Logan leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours, so close you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. The scent of whiskey mixed with something distinctly him—earthy, warm, untamed. “Like I’m not the only one who’s been waiting for this,” he murmured.

The tension snapped, and before you could respond, he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss was warm at first, almost hesitant, as if testing the boundaries of something unspoken. But as you leaned into him, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck, his restraint faltered.

Logan groaned softly, the sound vibrating through you, and the kiss deepened. His hand moved from the bar to your waist, gripping firmly as he pulled you closer. The heat between you was undeniable, every brush of his lips against yours igniting something that had been simmering for far too long.

“I want you,” he whispered, his voice raw and full of intent.

His hand slid down your side, his fingers splaying against your hip, and his lips pressed into the curve of your neck. The scrape of his stubble sent shivers down your spine, each touch deliberate, each kiss a promise.

Logan pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze darkened with hunger. “Want to get out of here?” he asked, his voice low, tinged with urgency.

“Yes,” you breathed, the answer spilling out without hesitation.

A satisfied smile curved his lips, and he stepped back to let you grab your phone, quickly messaging your friends. Logan signalled the bartender, his impatience visible in the set of his shoulders as he paid the tab.

Outside, the cool night air was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin. Logan hailed a taxi with ease, opening the door and guiding you in with a hand on your hip, the touch lingering.

The ride to his apartment was both too long and too short. The tension simmered between you, heightened by his hand resting on your thigh, his fingers pressing with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. You let your fingers trail up his arm, teasing, testing, and the muscle in his jaw flexed as he exhaled sharply.

“You’re going to drive me insane before we even get there,” he muttered, his voice gravelly and laced with heat.

“Good,” you whispered back, leaning in to brush your lips against the edge of his jaw.

His groan was low and full of promise. “Just wait until we’re alone.”

When the taxi finally stopped, Logan paid quickly, his hand never leaving you as he guided you up the steps to his apartment. Inside, the air seemed to shift, the quiet intimacy of the space wrapping around you as Logan closed the door behind you.

Instead of pulling you close again, he surprised you, walking to the kitchen. He returned moments later with a glass of water, handing it to you with a touch that lingered, his eyes scanning your face

“Drink,” Logan said, his voice softer now, the usual teasing edge replaced with something deeper, more serious.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “Logan, I’m fine. I’m not—”

“I know,” he interrupted, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smile, though his eyes stayed steady, sincere. “But I need you to be completely sure. About this. About us. I don’t want any second thoughts in the morning.”

The weight of his words hung between you, settling like a tangible thing in the air. His expression, open and earnest, made your chest tighten. There was no bravado now, no teasing grin or cocky smirk—just Logan, stripped bare of any pretence, laying everything out in front of you.

You reached for the glass he offered, taking a small sip. The cool water was calming, but more than that, it gave you a moment to breathe, to steady yourself under the intensity of his gaze. He watched you closely, his posture relaxed yet commanding, a quiet possessiveness in the way he moved a step closer as you placed the empty glass down.

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, the truth ringing clear in your words. “I’m not going to regret this.”

Logan exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing as relief softened the edges of his expression. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Because I want you to remember this. All of it. How I’m going to make you mine.”

Your breath caught at the promise in his words, your pulse quickening as his head dipped closer. This kiss wasn’t like the ones before. This one was unrestrained, searing, filled with the hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long. His hands found your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you flush against him, your body moulding perfectly to his.

Your fingers slid into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly, and he groaned into your mouth, the sound reverberating through you. The kiss deepened, and he guided you back, his movements steady but urgent, until the edge of the couch met the back of your knees. You sank down, pulling him with you, and he followed without hesitation.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, lingering there before moving lower, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. When his teeth grazed your skin, you gasped, the sharp sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

Logan paused, pulling back just enough to take in the flushed look on your face, the way your chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. His dark eyes roamed over you, full of intent and unmistakable hunger, and he shook his head slightly, as if marvelling at the sight before him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice raw and gravelly.

His hand slid down your side, his fingers splaying out at your hip, the weight of his touch grounding you. He pressed a lingering kiss to the curve of your neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin, followed by the faintest pressure of his teeth. The shiver that coursed through you drew a satisfied growl from him, low and primal.

Every movement, every touch, every whispered word was deliberate—each one a promise. One you felt to your core.

The room buzzed with a charged energy, electric and palpable. Logan’s eyes met yours again, and in that moment, the world seemed to slow. The way he looked at you—like you were something he’d been waiting for his entire life—made your breath hitch and your heart race.

His hands tightened at your waist, his fingers pressing into your sides as he leaned down once more. The kiss that followed was a heady mix of tenderness and intensity, his lips moving against yours with an urgency that left no room for doubt. Logan kissed like he fought—fiercely, unyieldingly, and with everything he had.

Your hands explored his shoulders, tracing the firm muscle beneath his skin, feeling them shift and flex as he braced himself above you. His weight was a steady presence, comforting yet thrilling, a reminder of his strength.

When his lips left yours, they travelled lower, down the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, and lower still. His mouth and hands mapped out your body with an unhurried reverence, like he wanted to memorise every inch of you.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice hushed but commanding, his lips brushing against your skin. His eyes met yours again, dark and unwavering, filled with a determination that made your pulse quicken all over again. He was waiting, giving you the choice, the control, his intensity balanced by the care in his gaze.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, surprisingly soft despite its wildness. You bit your lip as his mouth moved along your neck, his lips warm and insistent, nibbling with a mix of playfulness and purpose. You instinctively arched toward him, seeking more of his touch, and he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

There was a soft smile tugging at his lips, a tenderness that contrasted beautifully with the raw hunger in his eyes. Then, without a word, he buried his face back into the crook of your neck, the scrape of his beard sending shivers down your spine.

His lips lingered on every inch of your skin, his kisses deepening the sensations until you were lost in him. A sharp nip at the sensitive curve of your neck made you jump, a small cry escaping your lips. His low, rumbling chuckle reverberated against your skin as he soothed the spot with a gentle lick.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” you whispered, your voice light but breathless.

He pulled back just enough to smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “And it won’t be the only one,” he replied, his tone low and gravelly, full of promise.

Logan’s hands slipped beneath your shirt, his roughened palms gliding over the soft warmth of your skin. When his fingers reached the clasp of your bra, he let out a quiet growl, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. With one smooth motion, he lifted you effortlessly, holding you against him as though you weighed nothing. The sheer strength in the gesture left you breathless, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“I need you in my bed,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice thick with longing. “Comfortably sprawled out... while I take my time with you tonight.”

His words sent a flush rising to your cheeks, and you pressed your face into his neck, both embarrassed and exhilarated. Logan laughed softly, the sound a low, rich rumble that sent heat pooling in your core.

“Oh, this is going to be fun, darlin’,” he teased, clearly revelling in your reaction.

“You’re being mean,” you mumbled in protest, your words muffled against his skin.

“Mean?” he repeated, his smirk widening as he felt the soft kisses you pressed to his neck in retaliation. His grip tightened on you just slightly before he laid you down on the bed, his movements controlled yet brimming with urgency. His leg slid naturally between your thighs as he leaned over you, pressing his weight into you just enough to draw a delighted squeal from your lips.

His gaze roamed over you, slow and deliberate, his eyes darkened with desire. There was something primal in the way he looked at you, as if nothing else in the world existed but this moment. His hand moved to your waist, trailing up your side with maddening slowness, leaving a path of warmth and tingling anticipation in its wake.

You shivered beneath his touch, your own hands finding their way to his broad shoulders. The firm lines of his muscles tightened under your fingertips as you explored the expanse of him, marvelling at his strength and the way it contrasted with the tenderness in his movements.

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. The tenderness was fleeting, quickly giving way to something deeper as the kiss intensified. His hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your head to deepen the connection. Each movement was deliberate, like he was savouring every second, and when he finally pulled back, his lips hovered a breath away from yours, his voice rough and low.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his tone heavy with need. “Every look, every touch... it drives me wild.”

His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt again, the calluses on his fingertips grazing your skin in a way that sent sparks dancing across your body. He pushed the fabric higher, his lips following the path his hands had traced, leaving feather-light kisses along your abdomen. Each touch, each kiss, built the tension inside you, the anticipation becoming almost too much to bear.

You arched into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his hands and mouth explored you with reverence. Slowly, he worked his way back up, his lips brushing along your collarbone, up the curve of your neck, and finally capturing your lips again. His kiss was firm and consuming, leaving you dizzy with want as his hands continued their journey, touching you in ways that made you feel cherished, adored.

“I want you to relax,” he murmured, his rough hand gently cupping your cheek as his eyes locked with yours. The intensity in his gaze was grounding, reassuring. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

A shiver ran through you at the quiet promise in his words, and you gave yourself over to him completely. He continued his slow, deliberate exploration, his lips and hands igniting a fire that burned through every nerve in your body.

With a slight shift of his weight, he pulled your shirt over your head, his movements unhurried but filled with purpose. His eyes roamed over your newly exposed skin, darkened with desire but soft with tenderness. You’d never felt so completely seen before, so utterly appreciated.

Logan’s hands returned to your sides, his touch brushing over your ribs as he leaned down again, capturing your lips in a kiss that made your heart race. His movements were deliberate, savouring the moment like he had all the time in the world to worship you.

When his lips left yours, they continued their journey, trailing kisses down your neck, along your shoulder, and lower. Each press of his mouth sent a spark of warmth radiating through your body, the sensation heightening with every touch. His hands followed, his touch both firm and gentle, exploring your curves with a possessiveness that made you feel treasured.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered against your skin, his voice hushed but heavy with intensity. His gaze locked on yours, searching, waiting for your answer, his expression promising he would give you anything.

The vulnerability of the moment made your heart stutter, the quiet intimacy of it wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “I just need you,” you murmured, your voice trembling as the words spilled out, barely audible.

Logan’s lips curved into a faint smile against your skin, his rough beard scratching deliciously as he pressed a gentle kiss just above your heart. “Then I’m all yours,” he replied, his voice a low, gravelly promise that sent shivers cascading down your spine.

He moved you carefully, effortlessly guiding you to the centre of the bed. His arm stayed firmly around your waist, holding you close as though you might slip away if he let go. Every movement was slow, deliberate, his sharp eyes reading you like a book—every gasp, every shiver, every flutter of your lashes catalogued and responded to with tender attentiveness.

His fingers trailed down your skin, warm and rough against your softness, until they found the waistband of your jeans. With practised ease, he unfastened them, and you instinctively lifted your hips, helping him slide them off. He tossed them to the floor, where your shirt had already landed, and then sat back on his heels, taking you in.

His gaze was intense, primal—darkened by a hunger that seemed endless, almost dangerous. His eyes roamed over your form, lingering on every curve, every exposed inch of skin. That look alone made you feel like you were aflame, a heat pooling low in your belly under the weight of his stare. You swallowed hard, feeling shy and bold all at once in your barely-there panties, ones you’d chosen that morning for a little extra confidence, never expecting they’d be seen like this.

“You’re being mean again,” you teased, your voice soft but playful. “You’re still fully clothed.”

Logan raised a single eyebrow, his lips twitching into that damn smirk that made your knees weak. “Mean, huh?” he repeated again, his voice a teasing rasp. Shaking his head, he reached for the hem of his flannel shirt, starting to pull it over his head.

But before he could, your hand shot out, landing on his arm to stop him. “Can I do it?” you asked, your tone soft, tentative, but unmistakably eager.

His smirk deepened, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back to your eyes. “You wanna take the lead, princess?” he murmured, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a challenge.

With a quick, fluid movement, he grabbed your waist and flipped the two of you, his strength effortless, leaving you straddling his lap. His large hands rested firmly on your hips, holding you in place. You let out a surprised laugh, swatting his shoulder playfully, but the sound faded when you felt the hard length of him pressing against you.

“Then I’m all yours,” he growled, his smirk widening as you shifted your hips experimentally. The deep rumble that escaped his throat made your breath hitch, a quiet growl that sent a thrill racing through you.

Your hands travelled over the hard planes of his abdomen, tracing the lines of muscle that flexed beneath your touch. Slowly, teasingly, you reached the first button of his flannel and began unfastening it, one by one, revealing inch after inch of warm, firm skin. Dark hair covered his chest, trailing downward in a line that disappeared into his jeans, and you couldn’t stop yourself from running your fingers over it, savouring the roughness against your fingertips.

Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then began a slow, deliberate path downward, your lips brushing along his jaw, his neck, and the curve of his shoulder. Your kisses turned to nips and bites, your teeth grazing his skin in a way that had his hips jerking beneath you. When your lips closed around his nipple, biting just hard enough to make him hiss, a low chuckle rumbled through him.

“You’re trouble,” he growled playfully, though his hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you into a slow rhythm against him.

You brushed his hands aside, smirking down at him. “I’m in control, Professor,” you said, the title falling from your lips like honey.

His reaction was immediate—his eyes widened slightly, darkening further as he twitched beneath you, his arousal impossible to ignore. “Interesting,” you mused, your grin turning wicked as you kissed your way down his chest, tracing the lines of his ribs with your nails, drawing a satisfied groan from him as the faint sting lingered.

Reaching the waistband of his jeans, you unfastened them with the same slow care he’d shown you earlier. Hooking your fingers around the band of his boxers, you gave his hip a light tap, silently urging him to lift, which he did without hesitation. You slid his jeans and boxers down, tossing them to join the growing pile of clothes.

“Looks like we’re uneven now,” he joked, his tone husky, though his focus was entirely on you as your fingers ghosted over his thighs.

“I left your shirt on, didn’t I?” you teased back, flashing him a mischievous smile.

He started to reply, but it dissolved into a groan as your hands moved upward, tracing along the lines of his stomach, stopping just shy of where he was waiting for you, hard and aching. You leaned down, pressing soft kisses to his abdomen, following the trail of hair downward, your lips deliberately avoiding the most sensitive part of him. Each breath that grazed him made him twitch, his hands fisting the sheets as he tried to stay patient.

But Logan Howlett wasn’t a patient man.

His voice was a low, guttural growl. “Princess, if you keep teasing me, I’m not gonna stay still much longer.”

You smirked, brushing your lips lightly along his inner thigh, your eyes flicking up to meet his. “Then don’t,” you whispered, the challenge clear in your tone.

And the way his eyes burned at your words made you feel unstoppable.

"May I remind you, sweetheart, that I’m not a patient man?" His voice was a low, guttural growl, each word strained as his restraint frayed under your teasing. Your lips ghosted up his chest, leaving a warm trail of kisses along the curve of his neck. His skin was taut under your wandering hands, which moved deliberately, sliding over the firm muscle of his chest, down the sculpted planes of his abdomen, until they stopped just shy of their target.

A bead of pre-cum glistened at his tip, a testament to how close you were to driving him over the edge. The sight alone sent a thrill through you—he was teetering on the brink of control, and you loved it. Still, even as his desperation stirred a wicked delight in you, the ache building within your own body was undeniable. You wanted him just as badly. No, more.

Leaning up, you captured his lips in a soft, deliberate kiss, then broke away to whisper in his ear, your breath hot and laced with seduction. "May I suck you off, Professor?"

The sound that tore from him was a low, primal groan—half frustration, half desire—and when you pulled back with a feigned innocence, his restraint snapped. He surged forward, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss, his hands gripping you with a fervour that made your stomach twist deliciously. He poured his want into that kiss, and you revelled in the way he crumbled beneath your touch.

Your hand slipped lower, wrapping firmly around him, and his sharp intake of breath sent a wave of heat surging through your body. Seeing him bare before you was one thing, but feeling him—his heat, his size, his sheer need—had your own breath catching. The thought of taking him, of having him inside you, sent a shiver of anticipation skimming down your spine.

Pulling back, you locked eyes with him, the dark hunger in his gaze urging you on. Slowly, you brought your hand to your mouth, licking your palm in a deliberately seductive motion. His lips parted as his chest rose and fell heavily, watching every move you made. Your slickened hand returned to him, circling his length with a teasing swirl. His head fell back, a deep groan escaping his throat, as his body surrendered to the sensation.

Experimentally, you brushed your thumb over his tip, collecting the bead of wetness there. Without breaking eye contact, you brought it to your lips, tasting him for the first time. He was salty, heady, but somehow addictive—a taste you could already tell you’d crave. His groan turned guttural as your hand began its slow, deliberate rhythm, stroking him with increasing confidence.

"Logan Howlett," you thought, a flicker of triumph lighting within you. This untamed, commanding man was utterly under your spell, and you hadn’t even begun to show him what you could do.

Leaning in, you pressed your tongue to the base of his throat, dragging it upward in one languid motion. His cock was hot and impossibly hard in your hand, smooth yet throbbing with vitality. You smirked as you murmured against his skin, your voice a sultry hum. "You feel incredible in my hand, Professor. I wonder…" You nipped lightly at his collarbone before trailing down his chest and stomach, closer and closer to where your hand worked him in steady strokes. “…how you'd feel in my mouth."

“Fuck,” he rasped, the word trembling on a breathless moan as you quickened your pace, his hips twitching in response. "You can try it, sweet girl. I bet a good girl like you would love it."

His challenge lit a spark in your eyes. Without hesitation, you trailed your hand to his base, preparing for the length you couldn’t take fully. Then, holding his gaze, you ran your tongue up his shaft in a slow, deliberate stripe, savouring every inch. His breath hitched, and he let out another ragged "Fuck," his head tipping back in unrestrained pleasure.

You smirked around him, your lips brushing against his skin. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long," you murmured, your hand working him with practised strokes as you watched his chest rise and fall, his breathing ragged. His eyes were heavy-lidded with lust, entirely focused on you.

Without breaking your rhythm, you leaned forward and took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling expertly as you enjoyed the weight and heat of him. His reaction was immediate—a guttural groan that made your pulse race. Every sound he made, every twitch of his body, was yours to command, and you planned to make the most of it.

You leaned down, your gaze locking with his as you parted your lips to take him in. The intensity in his dark, lust-filled eyes sent a pulse of heat through you, heightening your desire. Slowly, you enveloped him, letting your tongue swirl around his tip with deliberate, teasing strokes. Every second felt electric, the weight of him on your tongue igniting something primal within you.

Encouraged by the raw, guttural groan that escaped his lips, you took him deeper. The sound spurred you on, your body responding instinctively as you pushed yourself further, the stretch of him filling your mouth almost too much to bear. A choked gasp escaped you as you fought to adjust, and when you pulled back slowly, the suction made him shudder. Your tongue flicked out, lapping up the bead of pre-cum that lingered at his tip, savouring the salty, heady taste with a soft moan.

You let your tongue explore him fully, tracing the sensitive underside of his length with delicate precision. Each movement of your hand at the base added to the sensation, your fingers tightening just enough to draw a deep, unrestrained moan from him. The sound sent a thrill through you, and a smug smirk tugged at your lips. Seeing a man like Logan—always so composed and commanding—reduced to this state of pure need made you feel intoxicatingly powerful.

Unable to resist the temptation, you reached for his clenched fist, guiding it gently into your hair. His hand opened reflexively, his fingers threading through your locks with surprising tenderness. At first, his grip was tentative, his raised brow and the flicker of surprise in his gaze betraying his hesitation. But those eyes—dark, hungry, and more captivating than ever—held a new vulnerability, a raw honesty that made your pulse quicken.

“I want you to show me how you like it, Logan,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry, the deliberate use of his name landing like a spark in the charged space between you.

Something shifted in him. His pupils dilated, and his lips curved into a wicked smirk that made your stomach flip. “Are you sure, sweet girl?” he asked, his tone deep and laden with warning. “I can be... aggressive.” His low chuckle was both a tease and a promise, but the way his hand flexed in your hair revealed just how much your words had affected him.

You felt the heat rising between you, a silent challenge hanging in the air. “I want to make you feel good,” you whispered, your voice trembling with sincerity.

For a moment, his expression softened, the ferocity in his gaze giving way to something warmer. He patted your cheek gently, almost tenderly, before exhaling a shaky breath. “You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered under his breath, before adding in a growl, “Good girl.”

The praise sent a rush of arousal through you, emboldening you as you took him back into your mouth. You started slowly, relishing the stretch as you worked to accommodate him. Your lips strained as you descended further, inch by inch, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. You paused there, breathing through your nose, willing yourself to relax as you adjusted to his size.

The weight of him was overwhelming, but you welcomed the challenge, pressing forward to test your limits. Your hand moved in tandem with your mouth, stroking the base of his cock where your lips couldn’t reach. Every groan, every strained breath from above you fueled your determination.

When his hand tightened in your hair, a subtle but unmistakable tug, you felt the shift in his control. It wasn’t forceful, but it was guiding, encouraging you to take him deeper. The act of surrendering to his lead sent a wave of heat cascading through you, and you moaned softly around him, the vibrations drawing another sharp groan from his throat.

Logan Howlett, the untouchable, unshakable force of nature, was unravelling in your hands—and you couldn’t have been more proud.

Every sound he made only added to the unbearable ache pooling between your thighs. You were soaked—so much more than you’d ever been before. The slickness, the heat, the undeniable need coursing through you—it was unlike anything you’d felt. Sure, you’d given blowjobs before, but they were nothing like this. This wasn’t a chore or a routine act of pleasure. With Logan, every moment felt electric, every touch feeding the fire inside you.

As your hand and mouth worked together to bring him closer, the growing need within you begged for attention. Slowly, one hand trailed down your own body, seeking some relief, your fingers pressing lightly against the wetness that had soaked through your panties.

But the sharp tug at your hair brought everything to a halt, a high-pitched gasp escaping your lips as you broke away to look up at him. His dark, lust-filled eyes burned with a mixture of amusement and dominance.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his tone laced with teasing authority, though the edge in his voice made it clear he expected an answer.

“I—I just thought—” you started, but the wicked smirk that spread across his face silenced you.

“Pleasuring you is my job,” he interrupted, his words sending a thrill through your body. “Go on, sweetheart. Be a good girl for me, and I promise I’ll reward you.”

A rush of arousal coursed through you at his command. Any other man saying something like that would have earned a sharp slap and a swift exit. But Logan? His voice, his touch, his sheer presence—it left you feeling raw, exposed, and more wanted than ever before. You nodded, a small, breathless smile playing on your lips as you returned your hand to his hip.

Lowering your head again, you let your tongue trace a slow, deliberate path down the length of his cock, sampling the taste of him as you collected the salty pre-cum that had begun to drip. His groan was low and guttural, a sound that spurred you on as you began to bob your head, taking him deeper and deeper into your throat with every motion.

But Logan wasn’t content to let you set the pace. His hand tightened in your hair, pushing you down suddenly and forcing your nose to press against the base of his cock. The sheer size of him stretched your throat, and you pulled back with a coughing gasp, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck!” he hissed, his voice strained. His other hand reached for your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. “You okay, princess?” The damn pet name only made your pulse race faster.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice raspy but eager. “You just surprised me.”

He smirked, but the concern in his eyes was genuine, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “Good. Use your words, pretty girl.”

“I want to feel you again,” you said breathlessly, your hand resuming its slow strokes along his length. Your eyes travelled to his lips, then back to his smouldering gaze as you bit your bottom lip. “I want to feel you come in my mouth, Sir.”

His eyes darkened at the word, his grip in your hair tightening just enough to make you shiver. “Good. Fucking. Girl,” he growled, his voice rough and full of praise. “Go on, then. Show me just how perfect you can be.”

This time, you didn’t hesitate. You found your rhythm, relaxing your throat and taking him even deeper than before. Saliva spilled down his length, glistening in the dim light as you worked him with a messy, unrestrained enthusiasm. The sounds of his pleasure—grunts, groans, and muttered curses—were music to your ears, spurring you to go further, to do more.

Logan’s hips began to move, his thrusts matching the rhythm of your mouth. The hand in your hair guided you with increasing urgency, his movements growing rougher, more desperate. “Oh, right there, princess,” he groaned, his voice strained as his control started to slip. “That’s it. You’re so fucking good for me.”

You moaned around him, the vibration pulling another strangled sound from his lips. He was twitching now, his cock pulsing against your tongue, and you knew he was close. You focused on his tip, swirling your tongue around it before taking him as deep as you could once more.

“C-coming,” he choked out, his voice rough and breathless.

You didn’t falter. Instead, you tightened your grip at his base, hollowing your cheeks and pressing your lips flush against him as he reached his peak. His hips bucked, and with one final thrust, he spilled into your mouth. The taste of him—salty, raw, and uniquely Logan—flooded your senses, and you swallowed every drop, savouring the moment.

With a soft pop, you pulled back, licking your lips and opening your mouth to show him you’d taken everything he had to give. The satisfaction in his gaze made your chest swell with pride.

“You are fucking perfect,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse. Before you could respond, he pulled you into a searing kiss, his mouth crashing against yours with unrestrained hunger. He didn’t seem to care that he could still taste himself on your lips—if anything, it seemed to drive him wild.

“You’re not done with me yet,” he murmured against your mouth, his smirk returning as he pulled you closer. “Not even close.” 

Once again, Logan shifted your bodies effortlessly, rolling you beneath him until you lay sprawled out, vulnerable and waiting. The weight of his gaze made your breath hitch—hungry, predatory, as though he were revelling in every inch of you before even touching you. For the first time that night, nerves began to creep in, a shiver of uncertainty. You were exposed, clad in nothing but your underwear, your body bared for him in the dim light. But then he looked at you, really looked at you, and the intensity in his eyes made your doubts dissolve like smoke.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, each word laced with longing.

He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His teeth found the sensitive spots just below your ear, nibbling gently, drawing a gasp from you as your back arched instinctively toward him. You were already so ready, the ache between your thighs unbearable. Tilting your hips, you sought to close the gap, to meet him where you needed him most.

But his hand came down firmly on your hip, pinning you back against the mattress with a knowing smirk. “Impatient, are we?” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “Looks like I’ll have to teach you some patience. After all…” He leaned closer, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, “…I am a professor.”

The kiss that followed was searing, his tongue slipping past your lips to tangle with yours. His weight pressed down on you, holding you in place, his length achingly close but just out of reach. You whimpered against his mouth, your body trembling with anticipation, your hands clawing at his shoulders in frustration. When he pulled back to look at you, his smile turned smug. He could see it all—the half-closed eyes, the way your lips chased his, your complete surrender beneath him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone almost a purr. “So ready. And I’ve barely even touched you.”

His lips found your neck again, trailing hot, deliberate kisses down to your collarbone. Then lower. He lingered at your chest, his hands deftly unclasping your bra. The cool air brushed against your hardened nipples for only a moment before his mouth claimed one, his tongue swirling as he sucked, his teeth grazing lightly. The sensation shot through you like lightning, and a low whine escaped your throat.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin as his hand found your other breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “So sensitive,” he said softly, his voice full of pride at the way your body responded to him. Switching sides, he made sure to give each peak the same attention, his lips and tongue worshipping you as though nothing else in the world mattered.

His kisses continued their descent, leaving a trail of heat down your stomach. Wet, open-mouthed kisses mixed with playful bites that made you hiss—not in pain, but in sweet, agonising frustration. He paused at your hip, nipping the delicate skin there, and your hand flew to his shoulder, clutching him tightly.

“You’re torturing me,” you whined, your voice a breathless plea.

His response was a soft, almost tender kiss against your lips, a stark contrast to the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Am I?” he murmured, his fingers slipping lower, brushing against the damp fabric covering your core.

“Oh, God,” you gasped, your head falling back against the pillows as his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you.

With one smooth motion, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slid it down your legs, leaving you completely bare beneath him. He sat back for a moment, his gaze raking over you with unrestrained hunger.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So perfect. So fucking ready.” His lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Does getting me off make you this wet, princess?”

“You’re cruel,” you shot back with a breathless chuckle, only to gasp as he slid one thick finger into you with ease.

“Cruel?” he echoed, his smirk widening. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re just getting started.”

He leaned down, trailing kisses down your stomach and lower, pausing just above where you ached for him most. His tongue darted out, teasing you with the lightest touch, and you bucked against him instinctively. His free hand pressed firmly against your stomach, holding you in place.

“Patience,” he reminded you, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

When his mouth finally descended, the first touch of his tongue against your clit sent a cry spilling from your lips. He groaned in response, the sound deep and guttural as he tasted you. “So sweet,” he murmured against you, his lips brushing the sensitive nub. “So fucking good. Only for me.”

“Only for you,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He growled low in his throat, the deep vibration coursing through you like a shockwave. His tongue moved with practised precision, alternating between soft, teasing flicks that left you gasping and firm, deliberate strokes that made your toes curl. Every movement was calculated to drive you higher, to wring every ounce of pleasure from you.

Then, his lips latched onto your clit again, sucking gently before his teeth grazed the sensitive nub, sending a sharp, delicious jolt through your core. The cry of his name that tore from your lips was almost instinctual. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured against your skin, his voice gravelly, warm, and thick with lust. “Let me hear you.”

You couldn’t do anything but obey. His tongue began to work you relentlessly, each lap and swirl pulling moans and gasps from deep within you. “Logan, oh god, yes!” Your words spilled out in breathless chants, and you writhed beneath him, your body responding to every masterful flick of his tongue. Of course, he was skilled—far beyond anything you’d ever experienced. He wasn’t some fumbling boy trying to impress you. He was a man—a raw, primal force—and tonight, he was yours.

When a third finger stretched you, your back arched off the bed as you screamed his name. His answering smirk was devastating. That damn smirk. It would be your undoing. You could feel him—his arousal, hot and heavy against your thigh, already primed for more. Yet he wasn’t rushing, wasn’t hurrying to take you. He devoured you like a man starved, his fingers filling you perfectly, his free hand pinning you down as you squirmed beneath his touch.

“Be a good girl for me,” he rasped, his tone a dangerous mix of command and tease, “and tell me when you’re about to come.”

The ache inside you built to a breaking point, sharp and all-consuming. The pressure coiled tighter and tighter until it was unbearable, and you whimpered, your voice trembling as you confessed how close you were.

And then he stopped.

The absence of his touch was like being plunged into ice water. You opened your eyes, glaring at him with a mix of disbelief and fury.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you hissed, your voice trembling with frustration.

Logan leaned back on his heels, his broad shoulders shaking with a low, wicked laugh. His smirk deepened as he looked at you, flushed and furious. “You’re adorable when you’re angry,” he teased, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I’m not adorable,” you huffed, your cheeks burning, both from arousal and his taunting.

“You’re even more adorable when you’re flustered,” he chuckled, brushing his thumb along your cheek.

Before you could retort, he kissed you hard, swallowing any protest. Without warning, his hand returned, and he thrust three fingers deep inside you, curling them expertly. He found that perfect, spongy spot with devastating accuracy, and when he pressed against it, you screamed his name so loudly you were certain the neighbours would know exactly what he was doing to you.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, his voice rough and brimming with satisfaction. “Let go for me.”

One more precise swirl of his fingers, and you shattered. The climax hit you like a lightning strike, blinding and all-consuming. Your body convulsed around him, your hands gripping the sheets desperately as wave after wave of pleasure wracked your body. It was different—deeper, more intense than anything you’d ever felt before.

But Logan didn’t stop.

“Logan, stop, I can’t,” you gasped, your voice shaking as your body trembled from the aftershocks. “I…I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he coaxed, his voice soft but insistent. “Come on, give it to me, baby.”

The new pet name broke something in you. Before you could process it, another orgasm tore through you, more overwhelming than the first. Your legs clamped shut around his hand as your body convulsed, your arms falling limp at your sides, too spent to even move.

When the waves finally subsided, you lay there, panting and trembling. “That was… God… That was the best fucking orgasm of my life,” you muttered breathlessly.

Logan grinned smugly, clearly pleased with himself.

“Don’t look so smug!” you protested weakly, swatting at his chest, though the laughter in your voice betrayed you.

He lifted his hand, still glistening with your release, and raised an eyebrow. “No one’s ever made you squirt before, right?”

Your eyes widened, embarrassment washing over you as you shook your head.

“Idiots,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss you softly, his lips gentle and warm against yours. “Seeing you like that…that’s the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

His words melted your embarrassment, and you smiled up at him, your hand drifting down to wrap around the hard length pressed against your thigh. His breath hitched at your touch, his control visibly fraying.

“You sure, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice softening, the tenderness in his tone stark against the raw hunger in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt ya.”

His care, his patience, his sheer presence—it all left you breathless. How had you gotten so lucky?

“I want you inside me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I want to feel you—and your release—in me for the next week.”

The sharp inhale of breath and the way his eyes darkened at your words sent a thrill through you. “I’m on the IUD, and I’m clean,” you added, and his nod confirmed the same.

Logan leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled softly, “Then let’s make you feel exactly how much I want you.”

Logan sat back on his heels, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing as he pulled off the shirt he still wore. The faint scars scattered across his skin caught the dim light, a testament to his raw strength and resilience. His feral intensity was softened, for a moment, by the way his hands trailed down your legs, spreading them open with deliberate care. His touch sent a shiver through you, not from cold, but from the overwhelming anticipation that coursed through your body.

Gripping his cock, he positioned himself at your entrance, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “I’m not small,” he said with a low chuckle, his voice gruff but tinged with tenderness. He knew his size could be overwhelming; with his usual flings, he wouldn’t have hesitated, but this wasn’t just a night of mindless release. This was different. You were different. He cared about you, and that thought made him slow down, made him want to savour every moment.

The swollen tip of his cock slid easily through your slick folds, and you inhaled sharply at the slight sting of the stretch. He was bigger than anyone before, and for a fleeting moment, the discomfort was sharp—but it faded just as quickly, replaced by a moan of pleasure as he pushed deeper. Slowly, inch by inch, he worked his way inside, letting you adjust to him.

“Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth when he bottomed out, his forehead dropping to yours. He was buried so deeply you swore you could feel him everywhere, filling you in ways you hadn’t thought possible. “So tight,” he muttered, a small, breathless chuckle escaping him. “Damn near came already.”

He kissed you then, slow and deliberate, his lips trailing down your neck as his hand came up to cup your breast. His thumb flicked over your nipple, drawing a gasp from you as his hips began to move. The first few thrusts were slow, measured, giving you time to adjust.

You looked up at him, and the sight stole what little breath you had left. Logan Howlett was beautiful in his raw masculinity—the glistening sweat on his chest, the way his muscles rippled with each movement, his eyes dark with lust and something deeper. His hands left your breasts, moving to grip your thighs, lifting them to rest on his shoulders as he pressed even deeper inside you. The angle made you gasp, your hands gripping his forearms for stability.

“Faster,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need as you leaned up to whisper in his ear. ”Please”.

He growled softly, his lips brushing against your temple as he pulled back to look at you. “So fucking polite,” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips before his pace shifted.

The next thrust slammed into you, and a cry tore from your throat, your body arching off the bed as he began to pound into you with an intensity that bordered on feral. He moved with precision, each snap of his hips purposeful as though he was searching for something—and then he found it.

Your gasp turned into a strangled moan, your lips forming a perfect O as he hit a spot deep inside you that sent white-hot pleasure ripping through your body. His smirk widened at your reaction, and his hand moved down to your clit, circling it with rough but deliberate pressure that made your voice rise in a chorus of his name, breathless pleas, and mindless cries of “yes.”

“Come on, princess,” he commanded, his voice low and growling. “Come on my dick.”

You shattered at his words, the orgasm ripping through you so hard your body trembled uncontrollably. You cried out his name, gripping the sheets tightly as your walls clenched around him. But he didn’t stop. His hips kept driving into you, harder and faster, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you knew you’d wear the marks tomorrow.

“Logan, stop, I can’t—” you whimpered, though your body betrayed you, climbing toward another peak.

“Yes, you can,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. “Give me one more, my sweet girl. One more.”

When he murmured your name, it was over. Your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, so intense your legs clamped around him and your arms fell limp at your sides. The sensation of his cock twitching inside you, the warm flood of his release spilling into you, heightened the euphoria.

When he stilled, his chest heaving, he leaned down to kiss you. It was soft, tender, so full of care that it almost brought tears to your eyes. As you blinked them away, his thumb brushed over your cheek, catching the tears before they could fall. He pressed gentle kisses to the corners of your eyes before pulling out of you with a shared hiss.

For a moment, you thought he might collapse beside you, like so many others before him had, but instead, he murmured, “I’ll be back in a sec. Don’t move.”

Too spent to argue, you closed your eyes, letting the haze of exhaustion wash over you. When you felt the warm, damp cloth against your sensitive core, you flinched slightly, startled.

“Relax, baby,” he murmured, his voice full of affection as he cleaned you up with a care that left you speechless. He’d even taken the time to warm the water. Could this man be any more perfect?

“I brought you some water,” he added, holding out a glass as he sat beside you on the bed.

You took it gratefully, managing a soft chuckle. “I don’t think I can move,” you said, half-joking but entirely truthful.

For a brief, vulnerable moment, fear crept into your chest. This was the part you dreaded—the moment where he’d send you on your way, reducing everything you shared to a meaningless one-night stand. You braced yourself for it, but it never came.

Instead, Logan stretched out beside you, his large hand resting on your thigh as he looked at you with those impossibly soft eyes.

“Then stay,” he said simply, his voice rough but sincere. “The bed’s big enough. And not to brag, but I make a damn good omelette.”

The smile he gave you melted every bit of fear in your chest, filling it instead with a quiet joy that made your heart ache in the best way.

You finished your water and curled up against him, your head resting on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your ear.

“I think I like that,” you murmured, your voice drowsy but content.

And in that moment, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[takumiraine]

Once Upon A Time chapter 5

<first> <prev> <next>

Jason Todd knew it was only a matter of time until his bubble burst and one of his brothers found out what he was getting up to. He was just hoping he could pull it off for a little longer. Even though the pit still reacted at the strangest times, he felt calmer, more normal, than he had in years. He wanted to hold it close and make sure nobody could take it from him.

From Replacement: you went back to college? Does B know?

Fuck.

—

Danny had been wary at first. Rich boy Jason Todd-Wayne in his college classes. The man was older than Jazz, though not by much, and a freshman with him. Either the guy was a bad influence or Danny just had really shitty luck.

He and the universe both knew the answer to than one really. But 60 bucks a week to reteach the guy basic math and Jason always gave him dinner in the deal? Danny wasn’t going to look that particular gift horse in the mouth. If there was one thing Danny had forgotten during the past almost two years it was how hungry his human side got. Not having money and being on the run meant opportunities to eat were few and far between.

What Danny didn’t expect was how sarcastic and assholish the rich guy could be. He loved trading snark. Danny assumed that it came from them both having older siblings. But between that and the half formed core that was slowly shoring up, Danny found himself growing attached. He had missed having friends. Getting to talk to Sam, Tucker and rarely Jazz through a conspiracy message board wasn’t enough. Most of the time it was just a way to make sure that nobody had been captured by the GIW. They had a way to pass longer messages but to do that too often would be suspicious.

“So I don’t get it,” Danny said, gesturing at Jason with some fries almost a month into tutoring, “What do people actually do at Galas? The tabloid pics just show a bunch of people in uncomfortable looking suits standing around with champagne.”

“….thats really it. It’s boring as shit.” Jason kicked his chair back on two legs, leaning against the wall. “If I liked you less I’d invite you.”

“If you liked me less?”

“Oh yeah. Because then you’d have to meet my brothers, the assorted not quite adopteds, my dad and scarier yet, our butler.” Danny choked on his laugh.

“Your butler is the scary one in that situation?”

“Alfred is like a ghost. Always there when you turn around.” Jason put on the accent “Master Jason, you really must come home more. Nobody quite enjoys my cooking like you.” He let the chair legs settle on the floor. “Now imagine that from behind you in a dark kitchen at two am while you’re half drunk and trying to make a sandwich.”

“Okay, yeah, I could see it being that scary. My sister was….” Shit he hadn’t meant to mention Jazz. “She was the only one who cared sometimes.” May as well rip that bandaid off.

“Yeah?” Jason asked, taking a drink from his coffee cup. “Didn’t know you had a sister.”

“My family and I don’t see each other anymore. It’s for the best.” He hoped Jason wouldn’t ask more questions, because ‘my parents sold me out to the government that only knew where I was because of the Justice League which is why I hate them and by association your dad, and now my sister is in hiding in a different state with a new identity’ was way too difficult to explain. “I left before they could kick me out.”

Danny watched Jason’s face twist into a frown. “Bigots suck. Sorry man.”

“Yeah…. Well…” Danny busied himself with finishing his burger. Then, once he chewed and swallowed. “Wait. Is your dad the one that fell into the champagne tower last year?”

Jason groaned, “he’s not always like that I promise.”

“No I get it. A weird ‘Family Friend’ invited us to his fancy party so he could hit on my mom once. I accidentally on purpose took out the entire buffet table including a cheese fountain so we had to go home.”

“Cheese fountain?”

“You know those chocolate fountains?” Danny asked. Jason nodded. “Like that, but with fondue cheese instead. And before you ask why, all I can say is it was in Wisconsin.”

Jason watched him with an unreadable expression for a moment, and Danny assumed he was processing it, because when the expression broke, Jason was laughing.

He looked so much younger when he laughed like that, and Danny remembered that they had both had, in their own ways, a rough life. “Yeah. I know. I was finding cheese in the weirdest places for weeks.”

“Did you get invited back?” Danny’s heart ached with the fact that a month or so later, Everything Fell Apart.

“No… I…” he cut himself off, remembering the horrified looks his parents gave him as their weapons, the ones he fixed, were turned against the ‘beast’ that ‘possessed’ their son. The looks mimicking the ones they gave him when the party screeched to a halt as he did his best impression of a Scooby Doo villain being unmasked. The screams of shock turning into ones of horror. The -

“-anny? Danny?” He blinked and shook his head.

“What? Oh, sorry.” He took another drink from the coffee, emptying the cup. “No. I never was asked back. You done?” He looked at their empty plates and grabbed the tray. “We should get to the library. Though I’m sure someone as good looking as you has plenty, these x-es won’t find themselves.” He was overcompensating for zoning out now, words coming out faster than normal.

“Yeah… are… you okay?” Jason asked, as Danny bussed their tray and grabbed his backpack, a backpack bought by his tutoring money. A tutoring gig he desperately did not want to fuck up with his own bullshit.

“Me? Fine. More than. I just zone out sometimes. Come on.” Danny’s words were still coming out too fast. He took a few breaths during the couple seconds Jason took getting his things, trying to ground himself as much as possible. He was going to be normal. He was going to be normal if it killed him. Again.

The walk to the library was quiet and Danny was thankful for that. He needed to get his head on straight if he was going to be any help to Jason and he still had his own homework to do after. As they walked in, both Danny and Jason instinctively looked towards the desk where Barbara usually worked, but she wasn’t there, some other guy was checking in books with quiet beeps.

Danny had learned over the last month that while Dick, Tim and Damian were Jason’s official siblings, Barbara was an unofficial one and he liked her the most.

It made sense, since she didn’t seem to pry into Jason’s life the way Jazz would have if she was here. Not that he would have minded her prying for how much he missed her, but four years ago he would have hated it.

—

Jason knew the haunted and hunted look that had settled into Danny’s eyes. The way he trailed off into something vacant. How his breathing seemed to get stuck in his chest. Which is why he tried to interrupt the cycle before he could spiral. Something big happened to him, and Jason knew he wouldn’t want to break down in a cafe in front of people.

Thankfully he seemed to snap out of it quickly, instead overcompensating into energetic. The message was clear. ‘Don’t ask about what just happened.’ Carefully, Jason let Danny lead him into the library, aware of his positioning and making sure not to follow too far behind or loom too much. Considering he had at least six inches on Danny, that last part was hard, but he tried.

He could feel the pit spiraling in him, circling and coiling like a dragon deep in his chest. Itching to do…. Something. It wasn’t punch or claw or fight. This was new. He didn’t like it in the slightest.

He looked over to where Babs usually was, then remembered she had a class, criminal justice degree, how apt, as he and Danny went towards what was now their spot. Jason found he had the sudden impulse to pull Danny’s chair out for him, and shoved that particular useless idea back down into the abyss it belonged in.

—

Danny looked over at Jason who stood at the edge of the table looking…. Angry? Confused? and pulled out his own books. “I promise, my zoning out isn’t contagious.” He said, looking up at Jason and kicking the chair across from him out from under the table for Jason to sit. He gave a wry smile, “if it was, I don’t think anyone in my high school would have made it.”

Jason snorted a laugh, snapping out of whatever thoughts he had been thinking. Jason pulled the chair out further and sat, sitting more comfortably than he used to. More of the true Jason, Danny was realizing, less of the person he was supposed to be. In another lifetime…. But no. He couldn’t… not while he was being hunted. It wouldn’t be fair to Jason to have to hide such a huge part of himself and his past.

Not to mention he hadn’t ever come out to Jazz and his friends. Well he had…. But more in the ‘hey I’m dead but not really’ way and less in the ‘so I like guys’ way.

But in spite of those barriers, this tentative friendship with Jason was enough to keep him happy.

Which made the next kick in the teeth from the universe completely expected.

All he had wanted was to walk home in peace. Sure it was almost midnight, in Gotham, but still. He made it most of the way, and was slinking through the Bowery when it happened.

Guys with dark clothes and weapons were suddenly in front of him. He turned only to see more at his back. There had to be five in total? Or was it six? Danny didn’t have time to count.

“Hey guys.” He hedged, muscles tensing as he raised his hands to show he wasn’t a threat. “Don’t mind me, I’m just trying to get home. Long walk and all that. If I could just…. Scooch past you?” Danny took a step to do just that and the lead goon swung at him with a baton.

He hopped back slightly, dodging the hit when it came. “Not a chance. Boss needs some…. Help with his latest ideas. You’re coming with us.”

Danny ran through his options in his head. Option 1: get kidnapped. Option 2: get the shit kicked out of him. Option 3: beat the shit out of them and get labeled as a possible bat to be or possible rogue to be. Option 4: go fully ghost and either escape unscathed but wind up more firmly on the GIW’s radar.

Option two or three would wind up happening, because he wasn’t going to put himself at the mercy of the Bat-ass again, and he wasn’t going to offer himself up on a silver platter to the GIW.

The moment one tried to grab him, Danny dodged out of the way, and that seemed to bring the goons on him en masse. They seemed well practiced, but considering it was Gotham, there wasn’t a big surprise there. The next few minutes were a flurry of elbows and knees, punches and kicks, batons and clubs.

Danny would dodge and counter, disarm one and fling their weapon across the street. He would have sore ribs and bruises from his elbows to his knuckles come morning but he was slowly winnowing them down. He had a brief thought about the conservation of ninjutsu, as the fewer goons there were the stronger they seemed to get. The realistic answer was they were less concerned with hurting each other when there were fewer of them, he knew that. But everything was more fun with ninjas.

When there were three left, one threw a punch that connected with his nose. There was a pop and crunch and a hot rush of blood down his face even before the pain set in. He spat out the blood that collected in his mouth from the way his head snapped back when he was punched. Another one came at him, and his own years of training caught the guy’s arm, judo throwing them into another look and sending them both careening into a wall. The move was trickier with gravity, but he made it work.

Danny looked up at the last remaining goon. He grinned, teeth too sharp and stained with his own blood, eyes glowing just the faintest green. “Run.”

They did.

Unfortunately for the goon, they ran smack into the chest of one Batman.

[theonottsbxtch]

99 PROBLEMS | MV1

an: this is literally a crack fic, i had the idea when i was listening to 99 problems by jay-z and i was talking to @iamred-iamyellow please enjoy

summary: max never expected to one day have a 17 year old son. he didn't know he was a father. but now he's got to try and figure out how this nerd is his son. and also teach him how to live a little.

wc: 3.3k

Max never thought he’d be a single dad to a teenage boy, but shit happens.

One minute, he was in Monaco celebrating another podium win, champagne-soaked and grinning for the cameras. The next, there was a seventeen-year-old with his eyes and an attitude to match standing on his doorstep with a duffel bag. His name was Noah—“not ‘Dad,’ just Max”—and he wasn’t here to bond. No, Noah was here because apparently the universe thought karma would be funnier this way.

Max was on the balcony of his Monaco apartment replying to a few emails, the city’s lights flickering like a postcard behind him. He could hear Noah inside, rifling through the fridge, muttering complaints about the lack of “real food.”

“Hey, don’t knock the caviar!” Max called over his shoulder. “It’s got protein!”

“Caviar’s not dinner!” Noah fired back, slamming the fridge door.

Max smirked, chuckling a bit. The kid had a point. The life of a Formula One champion didn’t exactly prepare him for raising a teenager. Most days, it was all jet-setting, high-end sponsorships, and a new girl on his arm by sundown. It was messy, but it was his kind of messy. Now? Now, he had to figure out how to squeeze fatherhood in between the chaos.

“You seriously live like this?” Noah asked, stepping onto the balcony, holding up one of Max’s custom helmets. His tone wasn’t admiration—it was judgement.

“Like what?” Max said, not looking up from his phone.

“You know, like...this. Cars, women, parties. I mean, isn’t it exhausting?”

Max chuckled low, pocketing his phone. “Don’t have time to be tired.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “Right. So, uh...where do I fit in this circus?”

Max turned, his smirk fading just enough to let a flicker of honesty show. “Haven’t figured that out yet. But we’ll make it work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Max glanced back at the city below. “Now, go grab a drink or something. Just...not the champagne.”

And that’s how it started: the driver, his kid, and a life moving faster than either of them could control.

Max hadn’t had a conventional childhood and he could tell this kid did, well as conventional as it was to be dropped off at your dad who you’ve never met’s house a few weeks before your 18th birthday.

He thought that maybe while he was here he could teach him a few things, take him to a few races or something. 

Max didn’t really know what to do.

The private gym was tucked into the corner of Max’s penthouse, all sleek machines and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. It was rarely used. Most of Max’s training happened at the Headquarters. or with his team, but Noah had been dragging his feet around the apartment all week, so Max figured a little sweat might do them both some good.

“Alright, kid,” Max said, tossing a pair of dumbbells onto the mat. “Let’s see if you’ve got anything in the tank. Ever lifted before?”

“Sure,” Noah replied, unimpressed. He sat down on the bench press, giving the machine a once-over like he was deciding whether or not to trust it.

Max crossed his arms, watching as Noah pushed through a few hesitant reps. “Not bad. But if that’s your warm-up, we’re in trouble.”

Noah glared, setting the weights down with a clink. “Not all of us need muscles for a living.”

Max laughed. “Touché. So, what do you do for fun then?”

“Fun?”

“Yeah, fun. You know, like hobbies, friends, maybe a girlfriend?”

Noah shrugged, grabbing a water bottle. “Not much. I play some video games, read, I guess. Nothing crazy.”

“Read?” Max frowned. “What, no parties? No sneaking out? You don’t go out?”

“Go out where?” Noah’s voice had that dry teenage edge to it. “I’m seventeen. I lived in America my whole life. You can’t even get into a bar without a fake ID there.”

Max froze mid-stretch, eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve never had a drink?”

Noah gave him a look like he’d just asked if the sky was blue. “No?”

Max stared at him, dumbfounded. “God. If only you knew what I was doing at your age when my dad had his back turned.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Oh, let me guess. Clubbing in Paris. Drinking champagne with supermodels. Living the dream?”

“Belgium, but close,” Max said, leaning against the bench press. “Keg parties in the back of some guy’s trailer in Hasselt. Terrible beer, worse decisions, and my trainer yelling at me the next morning. Still, though. I can’t believe you’re seventeen and haven’t even had a sip.”

“I mean, it’s not a big deal,” Noah muttered.

“Not a big deal?” Max barked out a laugh. “Mate, by seventeen, I’d already figured out my go-to drink order. Vodka tonic. Not classy, but it got the job done.” He leaned in, his grin borderline mischievous. “We’ve got some work to do.”

Noah held up his hands, shaking his head. “Oh no. You’re not turning this into some wild ‘how to live’ project.”

Max raised his eyebrows, mock-innocent. “Hey, I’m just saying. Gotta live a little.”

“Maybe I don’t want to end up like you,” Noah shot back.

Max laughed again, but this time it came quieter, almost thoughtful. “Trust me, buddy. Nobody ends up like me. Now, come on. Two more sets, and then I’ll show you how to make a proper protein shake. Don’t worry—I won’t spike it.”

Noah snorted, shaking his head as he got back to work. It was just another morning, another disagreement, but Max couldn’t help feeling like they were inching closer to something real. Something like family.

By the end of the week, Noah was starting to think his dad was running some kind of unofficial competition.

On Monday, it was Marie. She was Monegasque, blonde, and talked like she was auditioning for a perfume ad. “Bonjour, mon cher,” she’d purred at Noah, ruffling his hair like he was ten. Max had barely noticed her leave, too busy scrolling his phone for his next big sponsorship deal.

Tuesday brought Yasmin, a Brazilian model who walked around the apartment in Max’s oversized shirt, pretending not to notice Noah glaring at her from the couch. She’d tried to make conversation, something about school and books, but Noah had just shrugged until she gave up.

By Wednesday, it was Clara, who had an annoying laugh and kept calling Max “babe” like they’d been married for years.

Thursday was a whirlwind—two girls, both of whom Max forgot to introduce. One of them waved awkwardly at Noah as they left, heels clicking on the tile floor.

By Friday, Noah wasn’t even fazed. He sat at the kitchen counter, eating cereal while Max brewed coffee, shirtless and looking entirely too smug for a guy running on five hours of sleep.

“How?” Noah finally said, his spoon clinking against the bowl.

Max glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “How what?”

“You know.” Noah waved vaguely toward the hallway where yet another pair of heels had disappeared moments ago. “Them. How do you...?”

Max chuckled, shaking his head as he poured his coffee. “Not that complicated.” He took a sip, leaning against the counter like he was about to deliver some ancient wisdom. “They like fast cars and big dreams. I’ve got both.”

Noah squinted at him. “Yeah, but don’t they know what they’re getting into? Like...you’re not exactly giving ‘dad of the year’ vibes.”

Max laughed, the sound echoing through the kitchen. “Oh, they know. Trust me, they all think they’re the one who’s gonna ‘change me.’” He set his mug down, smirking. “Spoiler alert: they’re not.”

Noah frowned, stirring his cereal. “Doesn’t it get old?”

“What?”

“The whole thing. Girls coming and going. Don’t you ever want...I don’t know, something normal?”

Max tilted his head, studying him for a second. “Normal’s overrated. Besides, why are you so interested? You got someone back in the States?”

Noah snorted. “No. Not unless you count my English teacher who used to give me extra credit just to stop talking in class.”

Max grinned, pushing off the counter. “Smart kid. Learn from me, though—don’t waste your charm on teachers. Save it for someone who can actually keep up.”

Noah rolled his eyes, standing up to put his bowl in the sink. “You’re insane.”

“And yet,” Max said, raising his coffee in a mock toast, “I’m still your dad. Crazy how that works.”

Noah shook his head, walking out of the kitchen. But as he headed toward his room, he caught himself smirking. Max was a mess—there was no denying that. But, annoyingly, there was something kind of fascinating about watching him pull it off.

He had to give him some respect. Three time world champion but he lived his life like an unbothered bachelor that didn’t have a multi-million contract under his belt.

Two days later, Max was standing in front of his wardrobe, trying to decide between a black shirt and a white graphic tee. He ended up tossing the black top onto the bed, shrugging into the white tee. His phone buzzed on the nightstand—a message from the group chat reminding him that their table was already reserved at Jimmy’s.

Max grabbed his watch and headed toward the living room, adjusting it as he walked. Noah was sprawled on the couch, scrolling his phone with the kind of disinterested focus only teenagers could pull off.

“You wanna come?” Max asked casually, pulling his car keys from the counter.

Noah didn’t even look up. “I’m seventeen.”

Max leaned against the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And I’m Max Verstappen.”

Noah gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah, that’s not how laws work.”

Max stepped into the room, tossing his keys in the air and catching them with one hand. “Relax, kid. You’re with me. No one’s checking your ID.” He raised an eyebrow, adding, “Unless you want to stay here and eat more cereal while I’m out having the time of my life.”

Noah hesitated, sitting up slightly. “What, and hang out with you and your harem of club girls? Hard pass.”

Max grinned, crossing his arms. “It’s not just girls. My friends will be there. Good music, good drinks, a little chaos. You could use some chaos.”

Noah snorted. “I don’t think I fit your ‘chaos’ aesthetic.”

Max walked over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to fit. You just show up, keep your head up, and let the good times come to you. Trust me, kid—it’s not rocket science.”

Noah looked at him, torn between scepticism and curiosity. “And if I hate it?”

“Then you call it a night, and we’ll come back. No harm, no foul.” Max shrugged. “But at least you’ll know what you’re missing.”

Noah sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But if anyone tries to buy me a drink, I’m out.”

“Deal.” Max grinned, slapping him on the back. “Now, go change. You’re not wearing that.” He gestured vaguely at Noah’s hoodie and sweatpants.

“What’s wrong with this?”

“It’s not wrong; it’s tragic. Go put on something that says, ‘I’m seventeen, but I could still be cooler than you.’”

Noah rolled his eyes but got up and headed toward his room. Max leaned back against the couch, chuckling to himself. This was either going to be a disaster or the most fun he’d had in weeks.

Fifteen minutes later, Noah emerged in dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It wasn’t flashy, but it worked.

Max whistled. “There you go. Almost looks like you know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t push it,” Noah muttered, grabbing his jacket.

“Alright, kid,” Max said, swinging an arm around his shoulders as they headed for the elevator. “Welcome to the good life. Try to keep up.”

Jimmy’z was everything Noah expected and nothing he was prepared for. The place was loud, packed, and drenched in neon lights that pulsed to the bass of some remix he didn’t recognise. Max walked in like he owned it, breezing past the bouncers and slapping hands with a few familiar faces on his way to their table.

The VIP section was cordoned off with velvet ropes and framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. A couple of Max’s friends were already there, leaning back with drinks in hand, laughing at some story one of them was telling.

Max clapped a hand on Lando's shoulder, said something about ordering another round, and then turned to Noah with a grin. “Alright, kid. First drink’s on me.”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to drink?” Noah muttered, looking around nervously.

“You’re not supposed to get caught drinking,” Max corrected, flagging down a waitress. “Two rum and cokes. Easy on the rum for him,” he added with a wink.

Noah sat awkwardly, trying to ignore the curious glances from Max’s friends. When the drinks came, Max slid one across the table. “Here. Cheers.”

Noah picked up the glass and took a cautious sip, immediately grimacing. “This tastes like gasoline.”

Max burst out laughing, nearly spilling his own drink. “Yeah, it’s not exactly a milkshake, but you’ll get used to it.”

Noah frowned but kept sipping, each drink slightly less terrible than the last. By the time the glass was empty, he didn’t hate it—but he definitely wasn’t in a hurry for another.

“Alright,” Max said, leaning back and draping an arm over the back of the booth. “Time for your next lesson.”

“Lesson?”

“Yeah.” Max grinned, nodding toward the dance floor where a group of girls was laughing and swaying to the music. “How to get a girl.”

Noah blinked at him. “I’m seventeen.”

“And you’re eighteen in three weeks,” Max shot back, smirking.

Noah raised an eyebrow. “How do you even know that?”

Max sipped his drink, looking almost offended. “I pay attention. I’m not that bad of a father, you know.”

Noah snorted. “Debatable.”

“Hey, come on,” Max said, leaning forward and pointing at him with his glass. “I’ve got three weeks to turn you into someone who doesn’t spend prom night sitting in the corner playing Angry Birds. Let me work my magic.”

“I didn’t go to prom,” Noah mumbled.

“Exactly my point.” Max gestured to the dance floor. “Now, watch and learn.”

Noah shook his head, but he couldn’t help smirking. Watching Max in his element was like watching a lion stalk the savanna. Ridiculous, over-the-top, and somehow annoyingly effective.

Noah leaned back in the plush booth, his gaze flicking nervously between the drink in his hand and the dance floor. “This feels illegal,” he muttered under his breath.

Max, already halfway through his second rum and coke, let out a loud laugh that turned a few heads. “Illegal? We’re in Monaco.” He gestured broadly at the glittering club around them, as if the name alone erased all laws. “The girls here don’t care how old you are, as long as you’re pretty enough.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “And what if I’m not?”

Max leaned forward, smirking. “You’re my son, so of course you are. Trust me, kid, you’ve got the genes. Now, you just need the confidence to back it up.”

Noah rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint flush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, sure. Because confidence is something you can just magically summon.”

“Exactly,” Max said, snapping his fingers like it was that simple. “It’s all in the attitude. Look, you don’t need to be the smartest or the funniest guy in the room. You just need to act like you know something they don’t. Makes them curious. Curiosity’s half the battle.”

Noah stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s the dumbest advice I’ve ever heard.”

Max grinned, sitting back and gesturing to the waitress for another round. “And yet, here I am. Multi-millionaire. World champion. Living proof it works.”

“Yeah, but you’re—” Noah hesitated, then gestured vaguely at Max’s whole presence. “You.”

“Exactly. And you’re half me. Which means you’ve already got a head start.” Max leaned in, lowering his voice like he was letting Noah in on a secret. “Here’s the trick: don’t overthink it. If you go out there looking like you’ve got something to prove, you’ll scare ‘em off. Just...be cool.”

“Cool,” Noah repeated, deadpan. “Got it. Thanks for the groundbreaking advice.”

Max smirked, pushing his chair back and standing up. “Fine. Don’t believe me. But if I come back with two numbers before you even finish that drink, you’re buying me breakfast tomorrow.”

Noah shook his head as Max strolled off toward the dance floor, impossibly confident and infuriatingly charismatic. It was hard not to admire it, even if it made him feel like an awkward kid in comparison.

He stared down at his empty glass, debating whether to order another drink or just leave, when a girl about his age walked past and glanced his way. She gave him a small smile, and Noah froze, his heart racing.

Max’s words echoed in his head. “Just act like you know something they don’t.”

Noah took a deep breath, set his empty glass on the table, and stood up. His palms felt clammy, and every nerve in his body screamed at him to sit back down. But then he caught Max watching from the floor with an infuriating smirk before turning to whichever woman he was talking to this time.

Don’t overthink it, Noah reminded himself. Just be cool.

The girl was standing near the edge of the dance floor with a friend, laughing at something on her phone. She looked up as he approached, her eyes flicking over him in curiosity.

“Hey,” Noah said, trying to sound casual. “You looked like you needed saving from a bad joke.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? And you’re the knight in shining armour?”

“Something like that,” Noah said, stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Or at least I’m not the guy who made you laugh like that.”

Her smile widened, and her friend nudged her playfully before disappearing toward the bar. “Smooth,” she said, tilting her head. “Do you use that line often?”

“First time, actually,” Noah admitted, his lips twitching into a nervous grin.

The honesty seemed to win her over. They started talking—light, easy banter—and before Noah knew it, she was laughing at something he’d said about his dad being a “professional bad influence.”

From the booth, Max had a clear view of the whole thing. He nudged Lando, grinning like a proud idiot. “Lan, look!” He pointed toward the dance floor. “The son of a bitch did it!”

Lando squinted, then let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

Max chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat. “He’s my kid. Of course he’s got it in him.”

Noah returned to the table a while later, looking flushed and slightly dishevelled. His lips were swollen, and there was a faint lipstick smudge on his cheek.

Max raised his glass in a mock toast. “Atta boy!”

Noah slid into the booth, trying to suppress a grin. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Oh, it’s already a thing,” Max said, slapping him on the back. “You’re officially part of the club now.”

Lando smirked. “Better keep an eye on him, Max. He’s almost got more potential than you.”

“Potential? He’s a damn prodigy,” Max joked, laughing. “First drink, first girl, all in one night. Kid’s got a better batting average than I did at his age.”

Noah rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling. As much as his dad’s teasing drove him crazy, there was something undeniably cool about seeing Max so proud.

“Alright,” Max said, clapping his hands together. “Now that you’ve got your feet wet, let’s see if you can do it again.”

Noah shook his head, laughing. “Not a chance. One’s enough for tonight.”

“Fair enough,” Max said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “But just so you know—you’ve officially graduated from boring.”

For once, Noah didn’t argue.

the end.

[marriiemeii]

little hands

genre: fluff, playful banter, butterflies (digest them), drabble, unviersity au, one mention of mingyu, skewed perceptions of height, reader is 5'4 but you can make them any height tbh, reader hate bugs

“so are you actually afraid of bugs?” wonwoo asked from across the table.

“i don’t like bugs that are big or creepy looking. there’s a difference,” you told him.

the two of you were eating in your guys’ university cafeteria, waiting for time to pass before you head over to your next class. you both weren’t necessarily friends but you had a lot of classes together and you had mutual friends. because of this, the two of you started getting to know each other since you saw each other everyday.

“but those are the best kind,” he says. you look at him with your nose scrunched in disgust.

“oh, are you the type that likes bugs?” you ask him, wondering if he was offended by your blatant dislike for insects.

“i mean, i don’t like them but they’re cool, i guess,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

“well big bugs are gross, there was literally a spider as big as my hand and i couldn’t even look at it after the first time,” you shiver from your memory. he smiles at you finding your dislike for bugs amusing.

“you probably have little hands anyways,” he dismisses your experience. you look at him in shock.

“excuse me? i like to think i have average sized hands,” you argued, looking slightly offended at your attacker.

“yeah, for a girl,” he chuckles. your eyes narrow at him.

“your hands shouldn’t even be much bigger than mine,” you retort. “aren’t you only a little taller than me?”

he looks at you as if you had grown another head. “how tall are you?”

“5’4, what about you?” you ask him confused.

“6 feet.”

“you’re lyingg,” you accused him. he looks at you in shock.

“i swear,” he promises. you stare at him as you look from his eyes to the top of his head.

“you look like you’d be 5’8 or something,” you say. “proof or i won’t believe you.”

“i am not that short and what proof?” he asks.

“bring a tape measure.”

“who brings a tape measure to school?” he complains, offended that you thought he was that short.

“5’8 isn’t even short. isn’t that the average male height?” you argue. he sighed with disgruntled look on his face. “also, you would bring a tape measure if you wanted to prove your TRUE height. i need proof or else you’ll forever be 5’8 in my mind.”

“i actually hate that.”

“sounds like a personal problem?” you shrugged off his troubles.

“you’re a punk.”

he continues to stare at you with a blank look on his face. you look away from the unconscious staring match. you look back over to him when you hear him get up.

“what do you think 6 feet looks like?” he asks, standing at his full height. even as you looked at him now he didn’t really seem that tall, especially compared to your mutual friend, mingyu.

you get up from your seat on your side of the table and hold your hand up about 8ish inches above your head.

”i feel like if you were 6 feet i would need to tilt my head to look at you.” you tell him. he continues to stare at you. “and look i’m not tilting my head, am i?”

he stays quiet, before walking over to your side of the table. as he got closer you noticed the top of his head actually was reaching where you had put your hand. he stopped right before your hand, which was held just a little bit in front of you. your hand almost brushing against his fluffy hair that was tousled from the wind and him brushing his hand through his hair so much.

there were three things you realized at this point.

1. he actually could be 6 feet and your perception of 6 feet was, more likely than not, skewed.

2. he was really close to you.

3. he was REALLY close to your face.

out of the whole time you knew him for this semester, this was the closest you two have ever been. it definitely made you feel butterflies in your stomach from the proximity. it doesn’t help that your playful banter has been happening more.

“seems like i am 6 feet based off what you think 6 feet looks like,” he smiles at you. you snap out of the trance you were in and pout at him.

“fine, i guess you are 6 feet, probably,” you accepted your defeat. you were happy that he didn’t take notice of you zoning out. “that probably means i do have little hands then.”

“that’s fine, you have nice little hands,” he states nonchalantly.

[your-resident-boat-person]

Also, kinda prophetic considering how many people acted like any kind of endorsement of the cannon ending makes you a bad person + genocide enthusiast.

Like, "Wow! This show for children which consistently had prominent themes of redemption and forgiveness REDEEMED the big bad at the end?! Who would have expected this?! They should have killed them to death! SURELY they're not trying to say that THE REAL LIFE ADOLF HITLER can be redeemed, right?! Kind of problematic, actually."

Like, this also ties in to people's lack of understanding of nuance too. Is the big bad of SU comparable, if not worse, than many real-life dictators? Yes. Are the showrunners trying to impart the moral that being kind to genociders can and will make them stop genociding? Absolutely fucking not. You need to understand that this is a show for CHILDREN. Children encounter lots of people on a daily basis, especially other children, who they earnestly believe to be completely irredeemable and evil for extremely benign reasons. Children are not fully developed emotionally, and this is meant to prime them to try and handle these situations that they PERSONALLY encounter with some level of empathy and understanding. Steven universe is not making a statement to the president of the United States that they think evil dictators just need a hug. People need to understand the intended context of who the show will be watched by, where, and when. A show for adults like Bojack Horseman MIGHT be trying to make a statement about society at large, and geopolitics, and things that concern adults. But shows for children are not. Steven Universe contains some pretty heavy shit for a kids show, but again, these are typically in relation to a given persons personal relationships, and not politics. For example, Steven Universe tackles lots of different kinds of abuse. This is useful for children and adults alike, twice as much for children who will grow into adults. I think part of the problem is that people were primed by the discussions of serious themes like this into expecting more "realistic" handlings of other things. Like space dictators.

Like, I just can't help but think of this meme.

Like, the sentiment of "I am angry that [children's show] was written with children in mind in terms of both theme and execution" will never cease to baffle me, in regards to any show. Some of my favorite shows are made for children. There's no shame in enjoying media for children, but expecting it to cater to adults merely because adults enjoy it is just unrealistic. Teaching children that some people just have to be killed and can't be redeemed just isn't a good idea. Most children, even once fully grown into adults, won't be dealing with Hitlers on a daily basis.

So anyway, yeah, I thought Steven Universes ending was fine.

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