#Token of Solitude

[redrobin-detective]

Its so amazing the little moments that impact your life. My high school did Poetry Out Loud when I was a junior - a very painfully shy, weird, quiet student who read books and didn't really have friends. I was always good at memorization and, as a student who thrived on perfection, I searched for hours on the website for the perfect poem.

In the end, I chose one that now isn't one I've kept up with but sometimes bits of the dialogue come to me even though its been over a decade since then. I won my class's competition but refused to go in front of the school (due to aforementioned shyness). So it didn't help my public speaking skills but it did give me a life long love of poetry. I've now memorized dozens of poems. I have stacks of poetry books on my shelf. I have poems hanging on my walls and tattooed on my skin.

Just, idk, there's something so special about how certain things come your way out of the blue and turn into something that becomes a part of you. Ordinary events stitching together parts of your soul.

[whoreforsexymen]

The VIP Booth | Vander Smut Oneshot 🫗🤎

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairings: Husband!Vander x Wife!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked! 🤺

Word Count: 3.1k (whoops. got carried away with storybuilding)

Tags: Cunnilingus, Fingering, Face Fucking, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Semi-Public Sexual Acts, Established Relationship, etc.

Summary: You coax your husband into eating you out in the only private area The Last Drop has to offer.

Notes: AAAA!! Idk if this idea is ANY GOOD but it came to me in a moment of delusion. The last bit was probably a little rushed, too. SORRYYYY. I’ll make it up to yall later.

Also, tell me I’m wrong when I say that Vander will go to any length to eat some pussy. Do it, cowards. I dare you. YOU KNOW JUST AS WELL AS I DO THAT THIS MAN WOULD HAPPILY DIE WITH HIS FACE IN BETWEEN A PAIR OF THIGHS.

Asks/Request fics are coming soon, as well as a few more special treats for y’all!! Enjoy, my lovelies, & stay tuned. 🤍

(I can see you, minors!! Get outta here 🤺🤺. BACK! BACK, I SAY!)

Inside the walls of The Last Drop, there was one booth unlike any other—a private, exclusive spot tucked away behind the bustling central room. It was a booth reserved for those willing to pay for top-tier service, offering a secluded escape from the usual chaos of the bar’s environment. But as co-owner of The Last Drop—and wife to the main owner—you didn’t need to fork out any cash to reserve it. Especially not on a night like this. No—tonight, luck was on your side. The booth had gone unclaimed by any paying customer.

Truthfully, the undeniably significant feature were its curtains. The enormous maroon tapestries that enveloped the entrance ensured complete privacy, shielding it from prying eyes. After all, that’s what made it the VIP booth—an oasis of solitude amidst the drunken chaos of the crowd.

With the booth left unreserved, its privacy ensuring a rare moment of seclusion, and the crowd blissfully distracted by their own drunken revelry, the opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up. You had concocted a devilish plan—one that had been simmering in your mind all night. It wasn’t just about messing with your husband—it was about messing around with him.

Your overwhelming desire for your husband was impossible to ignore on any given day, but tonight, it seemed even more intense—an insatiable hunger that gnawed at you, its cause elusive and beyond your comprehension. Whatever the reason, it gripped you with a force you couldn't obstruct, leaving you restless and consumed by pure unadulterated lust.

This, naturally, allowed your plan to unfold effortlessly, as if guided by an invisible hand, bringing it closer to fruition.

To carry out your devious plan, you had carefully cultivated the trust of one of the few individuals who worked for you and Vander. They weren’t exactly employees in the traditional sense, but rather a handful of people you kept on the fringes, offering a few coins in exchange for their occasional assistance. Their loyalty was fleeting, bought with small tokens, but it was enough to serve your purpose. Especially in a moment such as this. A seemingly crucial one—at that.

You kept things vague, framing your request as though it were purely concerning a business discussion needing to be had. You asked your employee to discreetly inform your husband that someone was calling him from behind the velvet curtains of the VIP booth. You also made it clear that the employee should mirror your discretion, avoiding any mention of your name or your connection to him.

The employee appeared curious, even somewhat uneasy, at first. That was, however, prior to you slipping a generous cash bonus their way, eliciting their cooperation without room for protest.

"Go on, please," you plead with your unsuspecting employee, your voice laced with a blend of urgency and excitement. "But remember—don’t tell him it’s me."

As the employee slips into the bustling crowd, you struggle to contain the surge of excitement building within you, all while fighting to maintain a sultry—yet composed, demeanor. You adjust your hair, breasts, and clothing, making subtle moves to enhance your allure and mystery. Every gesture is deliberate, designed to keep you as collected and captivating as possible, cultivating an air of intrigue about you as you desperately await the arrival of your beloved husband.

They fulfilled your agreement as you waited—approaching their boss and informing him that someone had entered the VIP booth, insisting on speaking with him directly.

"VIP booth? Thought nobody booked it tonight," Vander remarks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a moment to process the information. Normally, you were the one who handled the VIP booth, and he’d have gladly passed this task off to you—if the employee hadn’t mentioned that the VIP “customer” specifically requested Vander. Looks like he’d have to put on a more hospitable facade and give them what they wanted.

If only he knew just what this "customer" truly wanted from him.

After a series of grunts, groans, and huffs, Vander finally made his way to the booth. After forcing a welcoming smile onto his face, he slowly pushed aside the curtains.

"Sorry for the wait. You wanted to speak to the owner—"

His voice faltered, trailing off faster than it had taken him to summon the words.

You feel your own response threaten to catch in your throat, but you won’t cave. You abandon your nerves.

"Why yes, I did. Although..." you drawl, your tone laced with playful mischief, "...'speak' isn’t exactly at the top of the list of things I want to do to the owner."

Your sultry gaze locks onto his, deliciously teasing. Vander, already an imposing figure, looms even larger from your vantage point in the booth. Seated as you are, you find yourself craning your neck significantly just to meet his eyes, the angle only amplifying his commanding presence.

A slew of unidentifiable emotions cross his face in a mere flash before fading into a singularly—equally mischievous to yours—-expression.

“Well. Seein’ as how you are the VIP patron of the night, how can I oblige you?” He queries, his eyebrow raising once more.

Your heart stutters beneath your breast as his expression shifts, his eyes darkening with a lust-filled intensity that sends a shiver through you. The chemistry between you two never failing to baffle you.

"...Serve me," you murmur, your voice soft yet determined to keep the air thick with seduction.

"And what, if I may be so bold to ask, can I serve you with?" he inquires, his voice dipping low, the provocative edge in his gaze unwavering.

"Your body." you quip, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves stirring in your gut, desperate to make it quiver.

Vander eyes you carefully for a moment, savoring the way your confidence wavers. He deliberately toys with the knowledge of how easily he can unsettle you, his gaze lingering as if relishing every flicker of hesitation you try to hide. A smirk slowly spreads across his mouth—the very one you ached for—his eyes glinting with an all-knowing, deviously sexy twinge. He nods softly, his hand rising to casually caress his beard as he watches you, the tension thick in the air.

“Mmhmm. I see," he murmurs, his tone laced with teasing amusement. "Who am I, if not a man willing to care for his loyal customers?" He phrases simply, the words carrying a heavy, unspoken promise before he moves, gracefully lowering himself to his knees across from you. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before he slowly begins to push himself beneath the table that had kept you both apart.

You don’t dare look beneath the table, almost afraid to meet his gaze at this moment, unsure of what you might see on his face now that the situation has shifted. The tension coils tighter, each passing second amplifying the anticipation that overwhelmed your senses.

You practically jump at the brush of his shoulders against your shins as he crawls to them, the rush of anticipation making every nerve in your body jolt. The aching desperation pulling through you draws attention to your core as you feel his strong hands gently caress your legs, the heat of his touch settling on your knees, sending a shiver through you. The way your teeth begin to tug at your bottom lip seemed like the only way you could physically process your eagerness.

Vander remains silent, his hands moving deliberately in opposite directions, the gesture designed to spread your legs—yet he did so with enough force to split you down the middle if he hadn’t been careful enough. It isn’t until he successfully parts them that he speaks again.

“No bottoms? My. What a dirty girl you are, my dear customer. What if someone else had walked in here, hmm? Did you plan on flashing your bits to any bloke who popped his head in?” He teases, practically groaning some of his words, the guttural tone an unintentional yet instinctual reaction to the sight of you so bare—-so clearly prepared for whatever scenario it was you anticipated happening in this little corner of the establishment.

It was obvious to your husband, from the way you were reacting, that the possibility of him crawling under the table to bury his face between your thighs hadn’t even crossed your mind. The surprise and hesitation in your twitches and subtle movements told him everything he needed to know.

The distant, familiar chatter of real customers beyond the thin barrier tightened the knot in your stomach, throwing you into the reality of the moment. It became an unrelenting presence, grounding you in the tension that hung in the air. Meanwhile, the hot, damp breath of your husband seethed against the cold slickness seeping from your cunt, a stark contrast that deepened the unease coursing through you.

A shiver ran up your spine, your body trembling as nervous spasms raked through your bones when he edged even closer—his hair grazing your skin in that familiar way you knew so well. It wasn’t uncommon for your husband to spend most of his time down here, yet no matter how often it happened, the anxiety it stirred within you never waned.

You had an even harder time controlling how your body writhed as you felt the warmth of his tongue flush itself against your sopping heat. Your nails pressed into the soft wood of the table, digging in as you braced yourself, your body jerking. The spasms faltered for a moment, your body going rigid once he started violently lapping his tongue against your aching clit. The abrasing way his beard rubbed against the skin of your thighs sent you into a spiral.

You had expected him to fuck you directly on the table, to take you in the way you were used to—but instead, he toyed with you from beneath it, the unanticipated choice leaving you bewildered. You had been aching for what felt like ages, the desperation almost unbearable. It was a struggle to keep your mouth from parting—your head tilting back, eyes closing as your husband began to ease the tension that had gripped you for so long.

All you wanted was to whimper, to cry out for him, but you couldn’t—not with the patrons so close, just beyond the curtains. If he had only fucked you as you’d expected, he would’ve easily pressed a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, as he had in similar situations before. But this time, you knew he had chosen this path deliberately, testing whether you could hold your composure.

It was his unspoken way of making you atone for the ploy you used to get him here. He was a patient lover, understanding that even though you had pulled him away from his work—which he didn’t mind as much as he let on—you were just too eager to be patient. Always attuned to your needs, he was more than willing to satisfy the cravings of his most cherished wife, finding joy in fulfilling your desires—no matter the time or place. The absence of his familiar presence behind the bar, and the slight potential for upsetting customers, felt like a small price to pay in exchange for the chance to fully indulge in you. To unravel and claim you in ways only he could.

His tongue was relentless. He sloppily sucked and licked at your needy clit, his nose rubbing against the mound of flesh above as he devoured you. His hands were as equally hungry as his mouth, and in need of something to grab. He manhandles your legs, draping them roughly over his shoulders, his fingers gripping at your plush thighs as he curls his arms around them. In doing so, he pulled you closer, your back slipping against the booth as he guided you down, drawing you nearer to him with a purposeful force. His cock was begging to be set free from its cloth prison as he sunk his tongue deep into the void of your cunt. The rhythmic, wet sounds became a melody more captivating than any song he'd ever heard, especially when paired with the soft mewls of you struggling to stay collected—and most importantly—silent.

You can both hear and feel his laugh against you, a deep, low chuckle that carries a mix of arousal and amusement, vibrating through you with every huff. He found the way he could make you squirm incredibly sexy, the reaction sparking a deep sense of pride within him. There was something about the ease with which he could unsettle you that thrilled him, and he took great satisfaction in knowing how little effort it took. He knew all too well that it only took something as simple as a certain look to have you coming undone—and right now, he was determined to make you come undone. All over his tongue.

Vander knows just how wild his fingers can make you on their own— yet especially so when paired with the mastery of his expertly quick and thoughtful tongue.

He wasted no time in combining the two, intent on making you crack under the pressure. While Vander didn’t particularly want to be caught by patrons, either—or, for that matter, by one of your employees—his desire to make you scream was always his top priority.

He grips your thighs with more gusto than before, continuing to pull them further apart in hopes of expanding his ‘workspace’. He releases one of them, the fingers of that hand moving to replace the tongue that was working its familiar magic inside you. He doesn’t give you so much as a single moment to collect your thoughts as he makes the exchange, effortlessly ramming and curling two up into your cunt as his tongue continues its prior attack on your clit.

You swore you were seeing stars behind your eyelids, your grip on the table faltering just like your efforts to stay in control. You couldn't even attempt to cover your mouth, not with the relentless—yet unintentional—way your hands found their way under the table, tangling in his hair and gripping with enough force to pull some strands loose.

You greedily buck your hips down to meet the thrusting of his digits, pulling his head as far into your cunt as possible. He doesn’t complain. He never would. Maybe it was his own type of preferred masochism, but he’d consider suffocating and perishing in between your legs in this way, a noble death.

Your toes ache from the force with which you’re curling them, your legs clutching and winding around his shoulders and neck like a python.

By now, you had abandoned all caution, hope, and effort to moan quietly. You were practically screaming over the deliciously knowing way he prodded his thick fingers into your cunt. He had long forgotten to move them in and out. He knew exactly what spot drove you mad, and he made his most conscious effort to curl them into it as rapidly and frequently as possible.

As much as Vander adored your cries, they were truly becoming far too loud. He really didn’t want any curious folks to come wandering in to spoil the moment when you were so close to your inevitable peak. He has no choice but to silence you. With the hand that remained on your other thigh, he removed it from its resting place, reaching up from beneath the table as he gazes up at you. With a smirk against your cunt, and his eyes studying how your head was still thrown back against the booth, eyes shut tighter than a steel trap—-he shoves two of his free fingers into your mouth. Your eyes shoot open. You look down at him, earning a wink from your husband as he smirks harder against your cunt. The eye contact was filthy, in the most erotic way possible. It always made you feel slightly awkward, in an oddly arousing way, when you made such a type of contact with him in the heat of a moment like this.

You willingly sucked on his fingers, now understanding the purpose for his actions after a thoughtful moment. He groans against your cunt, luckily the sound being muffled by how much his mouth was buried into it. Your tongue swirls itself rapaciously around the digits, drool falling from your mouth as you did so. Vander simply can’t tear his eyes away from such a sight. He groans more as you lower your own gaze, your expression deadly with seduction. He was almost pissy that both of his hands were occupied at the moment. He was anxious to palm at his cock, desperate to find friction of his own now.

His tongue and lips were still working their relentless job on your clit, suckling every few seconds amidst the slurping. The way his facial hair brushes against it every now and then almost sends you into hysterics—bordering on a full blown frenzy.

Your legs are quaking, twitching and spasming with every harsh lick to your clit. It was so sensitive, you couldn’t help how it shocked your nerves, causing them all to fire simultaneously. Electricity burned in your veins, desperate to chase your orgasm as it made your hips flick against his mouth faster than he could lap at you.

Your orgasm burrowed itself into the pit of your stomach, commanding you to follow it down to your cunt.

It didn’t take much longer for you to keel over the edge of your impending climax. It burst through you, your legs clamping shut around his face—a move which Vander was used to by now—-hips mindlessly gyrating against his face as you brutally cum around his fingers. Vander can feel your walls clenching and relaxing back to back with each additional thrust he gave, your voice begging to slip past his fingers as you come undone. He thought you had been dripping wet at the start of this—but he had been sorely mistaken. Your arousal was seeping out of you despite his fingers plugging you up.

“Attagirl..” He whispers against you, giving your clit a few final licks before reluctantly pulling away. The grip on his hair finally loosened as your body went almost completely limp. Your breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps, just as desperate as Vander, himself, now was. His cock was so hard, it felt like it was being choked by his trousers. But he had the patience of a saint. He could wait as long as needed for you to collect yourself once again.

“So, was the service to your liking?” he asks, his tone teasing—and entirely rhetorical—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The fingers that had been in your mouth slide free as he takes a moment to compose himself.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, clearly amused by how speechless you’ve become.

“Just don’t forget to tip your server..” He teases, alluding to the painfully obvious fact, that this situation is far from over.

[faebled-stories]

In the Shadows of Fantasy

Kinkvember Day 2: Roleplay/CNC

Shin Ryujin x Male (????)

TW: Non-Con Themes (first time writing this sort of scenes.)

6.2k words

On a quiet evening in her snug apartment, the bustling world outside felt like a distant dream, imbued with an air of surreal calmness. The remnants of a vibrant day, filled with the excitement of promoting for ITZY, lingered faintly in her mind, but like a gentle tide, it was ebbing away, gradually replaced by the soothing hum of her sanctuary. After conquering the frenetic energy of rehearsals, interviews, and eager fans, Ryujin relished stepping across the threshold into her own little bubble of peace. The muted symphony of the city—a soft hum of distant honks and faintly echoing conversations—enveloped her, whispering tales of life outside while allowing her the comfort of solitude.

Her sanctuary was a refuge, a warm hug against the chill of the metropolitan hustle. As she entered her cozy space, the atmosphere exuded comfort; the soft, golden glow from carefully placed lamps created playful shadows that danced across the walls, turning the stark lines of her apartment into something softer, more inviting. The ambiance wrapped around her in layers of warmth, a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world. As she sank onto her plush bed, enveloped in a knitted blanket, the remnants of the hot shower she had just indulged in lingered around her, a steamy embrace that melted away the exhaustion of her day. The warm water had worked wonders, loosening her tense muscles and leaving her in a state of relaxed bliss.

Wrapped in her silky pink pajamas—a delicate tapestry of fabric that brushed against her skin like a soft whisper—Ryujin felt a wave of relief wash over her. The delicate lace trim of her pajamas was not just an embellishment; it was a small act of indulgence, a reminder that even in a world that demanded strength and poise, the quiet luxuries of self-care were invaluable. Her long black hair, still damp and slightly tousled from the shower, had been pulled into a loose, messy bun, radiating an effortless elegance as if she were embodying the beauty of simplicity. In this personal space, Ryujin cherished the joy of authenticity, free from the public scrutiny that accompanied her life on stage.

Before fully sinking into the serene embrace of her evening rituals, Ryujin felt the familiar buzz of her phone. She reached for it, quickly thumbing through her messages. A smile tugged at her lips as she read through the lively chatter in her group chat with her bandmates. They were making plans for the night, a rare and precious opportunity to unwind amidst their demanding schedules. She quickly typed her response, crafting her words with care,

“Sorry, I can’t meet up later. I’ve already got plans for tonight.”

A wave of hesitation washed over her. It was true—she had plans, albeit not the kind that involved meeting friends for dinner or drinks. As she sent the message, a flutter of excitement coursed through her, igniting a spark of anticipation. The girls replied with understanding, their supportive words bringing a warmth to her heart. She locked her phone and tucked it beneath the comforting folds of her blanket, her pulse slowing as she glanced around her apartment. The gentle glow of candles flickered soothingly, the air thick with the aroma of serenity, a sharp contrast to the exhilarating chaos she had just left behind.

The scents of lavender and vanilla blended harmoniously, wrapping around her like an invisible shawl. A diffuser on her nightstand sent delicate puffs of lavender oil into the air, its calming properties weaving throughout the room, while a vanilla-scented candle flickered softly on the coffee table, casting moving shadows that danced playfully across the tidy space. Scattered around her were remnants of the day—magazines, photos, promotional flyers—tokens and trinkets of her fast-paced existence. Yet, in this tranquil sanctuary, they felt more like mementos of a bygone affair, whispering echoes of a vibrant life now tucked away as she embraced her present.

Ryujin let out a deep, contented sigh, surrendering fully to the plush comfort of her bed. As her mind wandered, she began to scroll through pictures from the day’s events—captured smiles and spontaneous laughter with her bandmates and the adoring fans who filled the venue with enthusiasm. The vivid memories—bright stage lights, pulsing music, and the electric energy of a crowd—swirled within her, a vibrant tapestry woven from moments of authenticity and connection. Yet, here, nestled in her softly lit living room, with the city humming a lullaby outside, she felt a reassuring sense of peace wash over her. This was her moment, a rare stillness amidst a world that rarely paused to breathe.

With her feet tucked comfortably beneath her, Ryujin relished every second of this quiet solitude. The world outside could wait; tonight, she would luxuriate in her own tranquility, enveloped by warmth, the scent of her favorite candles, and the knowledge that within the chaos of her life, she could carve out a corner meant solely for introspection and self-appreciation. Here, in her sanctuary, she could simply be Ryujin—the girl behind the stage lights, the one finding solace in the quiet power of her own company.

The tranquility of Ryujin's home was shattered by a sudden, deafening crash. The sound, akin to a gunshot, reverberated through the living room, its echoes bouncing off the walls and jolting the young idol from her peaceful reverie. The serene stillness of the dimly lit hallway before her was now a corridor of uncertainty, a pathway to an unknown danger that had so rudely intruded upon her sanctuary.

As the initial shock subsided, the pounding of heavy footsteps against the wooden floorboards sent waves of dread through Ryujin's petite frame. Each thud was a drumbeat of impending doom, the rhythm growing louder and more insistent as the source of the disturbance drew nearer. Her heart, a wild drum in her chest, pounded in sync with the advancing threat, the surge of adrenaline sharpening her senses to a painful acuity.

The darkness in the hallway seemed to deepen, and from its depths, a figure emerged—a menacing silhouette that moved with deliberate intent. Ryujin's instincts screamed for her to flee, but fear rooted her to the spot. Her attempt to cry out for help died in her throat, a silent scream that hung heavy in the air.

As the intruder drew closer, the dim light revealed his obscured features—a black ski mask concealed his identity, and his eyes, those piercing, manic eyes, gleamed with a dangerous intensity that sent shivers down Ryujin's spine. His presence was a palpable threat, a predator in her home, and she knew with a sinking certainty that her world was about to be upended.

With a roughness that took her breath away, the man seized Ryujin by the shoulders, his grip an iron vice that she couldn't break free from. He hoisted her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing, ignoring her frantic struggles and the blows she rained down upon his back. Her attempts to break free were met with a firm smack to her backside, a humiliating assertion of his control over her. His hands, now freed from the task of restraining her, roamed over her body with a sense of entitlement that made her blood run cold.

The journey down the hallway to her bedroom was a blur of panic and disbelief. Ryujin's mind raced, searching for a way to escape the nightmare that had ensnared her. But her efforts were in vain; the intruder's strength was overwhelming, and her bedroom—a space that had always been a haven—was now the stage for her terror.

Tossed onto the bed like a ragdoll, Ryujin's breath was knocked from her lungs. The bedframe creaked ominously under the sudden addition of weight, and she scrambled to regain her footing, to put distance between herself and the monster that loomed over her. But he was on her in an instant, his body pinning hers to the mattress with terrifying ease.

"Stop! Who are you? What are you doing?" Ryujin's voice was a tremulous whisper, laced with the kind of fear that claws at the throat and threatens to suffocate. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison, the air thick with the scent of her own fear and the sickening sweetness of the intruder's breath.

His response was a cruel laugh that seemed to mock her vulnerability, he silenced her attempts to scream. "Silence," he hissed, the command a low growl that filled the room and silenced the last of her protests. His hands, calloused and rough, tore at her clothing with a ferocity that left her exposed and shivering in the cool air.

Ryujin's heart pounded in her chest like a trapped animal desperate for escape as she lay there, her wrists firmly ensnared in the iron grip of her captor. His hands, large and unyielding, were like manacles, pinning her to the cold, unforgiving surface beneath her. Her struggles were futile, her strength no match for the brute force that held her captive.

Tears carved rivulets down her cheeks, each one a silent testament to her terror. Her voice, once strong and defiant, was now a mere whisper as she begged for mercy. "Please, don't do this," she pleaded, her words laced with desperation. But the intruder, his eyes darkened with a lust that brooked no room for compassion, was deaf to her entreaties. He was a man possessed, his mind clouded by a perverse obsession that had consumed him whole.

"You’re mine now," he declared, his voice a guttural growl that resonated with the promise of unspeakable acts. The words hung in the air like a specter, filling the room with a palpable sense of dread. Ryujin's body trembled, not just from the chill of the room, but from the deep-seated fear that gripped her soul. She knew that her life was hanging by a thread, and that the man above her was the only one who held the power to sever it.

His breath, hot and ragged, washed over her face as he leaned in closer, his intentions clear. Ryujin felt a wave of nausea rise within her as she realized the horror that was about to unfold. She closed her eyes, trying to transport herself to a safer place, a happier memory, but the reality of her situation was an unbreakable chain that tethered her to the present.

The intruder's hands roamed over her body with a sense of entitlement, each touch a violation, a desecration of her being. Ryujin's mind raced, searching for a way out, a miracle that would deliver her from this nightmare. But as she lay there, helpless and afraid, she knew that her fate was sealed. The only thing left to do was to endure, to survive by any means necessary, and to hope against hope that she would live to see another day.

The roughness of his hands scraped against her soft skin, leaving a trail of dread in their wake. Ryujin's heart pounded in her chest, a frantic drumbeat that echoed the turmoil in her mind. Each grope, each unwanted caress, sent shockwaves of revulsion through her. His touch was a violation, a harsh juxtaposition to the gentle caresses she had once known.

His fingers, unyielding and intrusive, pried at her most private sanctum, a sacred space now desecrated by his relentless, cruel exploration. The intimate touch that should have been filled with warmth and mutual desire was instead laced with a cold, brutal possessiveness. It was a reminder of her loss of control, her autonomy stripped away by force.

Ryujin felt her very essence recoil from the abomination of his touch. Her body, once a vessel of joy and pleasure, now served as a battleground, a site of abuse. With each passing moment, the vile invasion further tainted her, leaving her feeling irreparably soiled, her spirit crying out against the defilement of her temple.

In the depths of her being, Ryujin's mind railed against the horror, a silent scream reverberating through her consciousness. She clung to the fragments of her dignity, a desperate act of defiance against the physical and emotional ravaging of her person. With each heartbeat, she fought to preserve a piece of herself untouched by the brutality that surrounded her, a small flame of resistance flickering in the darkness of her ordeal.

His depraved taunts sliced through the air, each word a lash against her dignity. "God look at you getting wet, I knew you were a slut hiding as an idol," he sneered, his voice dripping with malicious glee. His words were not just spoken; they were a deliberate and cruel violation of her spirit, an attempt to strip her of her identity and reduce her to nothing more than an object of his twisted desires.

Ryujin's denials were fierce, yet they seemed to dissipate into the ether, unacknowledged and invalidated by the monster looming above her. She mustered all her strength to form coherent words through her sobs, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and outrage. "No, please, you're wrong!" she pleaded, her eyes wide with terror, reflecting the shattered remnants of her once untouchable world.

But her tearful pleas fell on deaf ears. The intruder reveled in her distress, feeding off it, his smirk growing ever wider as he watched her struggle against the nightmare he had forced upon her. With each passing moment, her torment seemed to intensify, a crescendo of emotional and psychological pain that threatened to consume her entirely.

The man who claimed to be her fan, who had morphed into her captor, traced the contours of her vulnerability with a touch that was both invasive and terrifying. With a single finger, he probed her innocence, curling it in a gesture that was as much a violation as it was a perverse display of control. Scooping the essence of her fear and arousal, he brought it to her tear-streaked face, a macabre exhibition to prove his twisted point. "See? Even when you deny it, you love it," he sneered, before indulging in the taste of her terror, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as she watched, paralyzed by the moment, her struggles futile under his oppressive grip.

The chill of his words cut deeper than the physical intrusion. "I've been watching you for some time now, I even attended your fan meet," he growled into her ear, the proximity of his breath a violation in itself. "The way you spoke to me, I knew you wanted this, wanted me." His statement was a delusion, a fabrication born from his obsessive desire to possess her.

With no regard for her well being, he forced his three longest fingers into her, cruelly exploring her depths as she fought against the invasion, her legs flailing in a desperate attempt to deny him access. A swift, stinging slap to her thighs served as a harsh reminder of her helplessness, and he pinned her legs open with his knees, ensuring her resistance was crushed under his relentless assault.

His hands were unyielding, pistoning with a ferocity that ignored her pleas for mercy. The slickness of her own arousal betrayed her, fueling his relentless rhythm. Each thrust was a reminder of her captivity, each cry that tore from her throat a testament to her suffering. But Ryujin was not one to surrender easily. With a surge of adrenaline, she mustered the strength to fight back, freeing a leg and landing a kick that momentarily freed her from his grasp. The brief respite was a fleeting victory, as her attempt to escape was swiftly thwarted by his longer reach and quick reflexes.

"You never know when to quit, do you?" he taunted, a smirk playing at his lips. "I should have seen this coming; you were always so strong." His eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of admiration and malice. "But that only makes it sweeter—knowing how satisfying it’ll be when I finally reduce you to nothing but a toy." His words, dripping with twisted admiration, laid bare the sinister depths of his obsession.

The room that was once a haven of tranquility and self-expression, a scene of unfathomable horror was unfolding. The room, bathed in the dim glow of a solitary lamp, bore witness to a transformation that would leave its occupant forever scarred. This was no longer a sanctuary; it was a site of a struggle that would test the very limits of human resilience.

The walls, once adorned with vibrant colors and personal mementos, now stood as silent sentinels to an act of domination. As the assailant's eyes swept across the room, they settled on an object that would chill the blood of any onlooker: a length of rope, its very presence an ominous harbinger of what was to come. The rope, an everyday item twisted into an instrument of torment, lay coiled and waiting—its innocent origins now a distant memory in the face of its dark new purpose.

With a grip born of malice, the assailant seized the rope, its fibers a cruel contrast to the softness of the skin it would soon bind. The victim, a soul whose light had drawn many, now found herself ensnared by the very space that once celebrated her essence. As she was dragged towards the bed, a symbol of comfort turned into an altar of suffering, the rope in the assailant's hand became a grim portent of her impending entrapment.

"What is this for? You're a kinky little bitch, huh?" he sneered, the words a vile distortion of intimacy. Ryujin's denial was written in the frantic shake of her head and the terror etched across her face. Her gaze flickered towards a drawer.

Noticing her glance, he leaned over and pulled it open, his expression twisting with dark amusement as he uncovered the hidden item. "Well, well," he murmured, lifting the rainbow-colored dildo wrapped in cloth. "Looks like you've got your secrets." His tone was laced with cruel satisfaction as he held her private joy aloft, a personal item now transformed into a weapon for her degradation.

In a swift and brutal motion, she was thrown onto the bed, the force of the action resurfacing memories of what happened just moments ago. The assailant, driven by a desire to dominate and degrade, secured her hands to the bedpost with ruthless efficiency. The rope dug into her flesh, each strand a thread in the tapestry of her suffering.

The decision to leave her legs untied was a calculated one, a means to leave her completely and utterly vulnerable. The sense of exposure was all-consuming, rendering her utterly defenseless against the violence that was to follow.

Ryujin, whose name evoked images of a fierce idol known for her strength, grace and power. Now found herself trapped in a human drama of the darkest kind. Her heart raced, a frantic drumbeat against the silence that enveloped the room. With each desperate pull against the restraints, her unyielded spirit shone through the darkness of her situation, a beacon of resistance that refused to be extinguished.

The moment of violation arrived with a swift and violent plunge, an act that would seek to strip away her sense of self. The toy, once a source of personal enjoyment, was now an extension of her assailant's twisted desires. Its rainbow markings, a grotesque contrast to the act they were now part of, stood in stark contrast to the vibrancy they were meant to represent.

The struggle was internal as much as it was physical. I can't… not like this she thought, but her body, a finely tuned instrument honed through years of dance and performance, betrayed her. A quiet gasp slipped out, her legs trembling as she fought to maintain a composure that was being systematically dismantled. The toy filled her in a way that was impossible to ignore, its movements an unwelcome rhythm dictated by hands that had no right to touch her.

Teetering on the edge of her endurance, her mind spun in a desperate search for an anchor—a lifeline to cling to amidst the relentless onslaught. But the man, a specter of menace was unrelenting, a manifestation of her deepest fears made flesh.

With each passing second, Ryujin felt the invisible grip of inevitability tighten around her. It's too much, she realized, the thought piercing through the haze of her resistance. And just as this realization coalesced into a stark acceptance, her body tensed, betraying her final shred of resistance. A soft cry, born of a place where strength and vulnerability intertwine, escaped her lips as she let go, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation that threatened to consume her whole.

The orgasm that followed was not just a physical response; it was a shattering of the self, a detonation that rippled through every fiber of her being. For a moment, everything else vanished—erased by the pulsating, all-consuming release she had tried so hard to deny. "No, no, not like this—" she gasped, but her plea was lost in the tempest that raged within. The orgasm crashed through her like a rogue wave, her entire body seizing with the sudden intensity, leaving her breathless and exposed.

Her legs shook violently, her control lost to the tide of pleasure that surged through her core in overwhelming pulses. Each throb was a testament to the power of her adversary, a man who watched with a dark satisfaction etched into the harsh lines of his face. His gaze was fixed on her, a predator savoring the sight of his prey coming undone in his arms.

Ryujin's body arched into the pleasure she had tried so hard to resist, her mind too clouded with sensation to mount any further defense. Her composure, once a fortress, lay in ruins, each shudder tearing away the last remnants of her armor. She was completely vulnerable, exposed to the cruel whims of her attacker, a man who seemed to revel in the unraveling of her defenses.

With her legs trembling and the last of her resistance shattered, her orgasm wracked her until there was nothing left to give. She lay there, spent, her breaths coming in shallow bursts as the aftershocks pulsed faintly through her limbs. He held her, still reveling in the sight of his idol succumbing so completely to the moment.

The assault on her dignity continued as he began to undo his pants, letting her glimpse his hardening cock—a sight that was both repulsive and terrifying. He repeated his previous actions, dipping his fingers and letting Ryujin see just how wet she was from being handled against her will. "Just accept it, Ryujin, you're a slut, a slut who loves to be ra-" His words were cut off as a glob of saliva hit his face. Her defiance was palpable, "how dare you say such things, let me go, you freak," she tried to intimidate him despite her position.

This only made the man chuckle, a sound that was incongruously light against the gravity of the situation. He wiped the spit from his face and, without warning, he slapped her pussy and suddenly inserted his full length into her throbbing folds. A sharp gasp escaping Ryujin's lips as her body adjusted to the sudden abuse. His pace was relentless, each movement rough and mechanical, offering no reprieve from the overwhelming sensation.

"Stop… please…" Ryujin whimpered, her voice barely audible as she fought to hold on, her body bucking beneath him as she tried in vain to push him away.

"You want this," he hissed in response, his hips slamming into hers. "You knew what would happen, all those times you were up on the stage, shaking your ass with nothing but shorts that didn’t even cover your ass, you know what you were doing, don’t pretend you didn’t."

The words sent a shudder through her. In the privacy of her home, the fear took hold—would anyone even know to come help her? She should've just gone with the ITZY girls, but this was what she had wanted, a moment to herself, a chance to stay home and relax. Now, her desire for solitude had backfired, trapping her in a nightmare. Her mind rebelled against the raw brutality of it, while her body betrayed her with its responses.

"I… I don’t…" Ryujin gasped, her voice trembling as his thrusts became more punishing, forcing her to feel every inch of him inside her. The sensation was overwhelming—pain and pleasure mixed into one confusing, intoxicating wave.

The man grunted, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "You will take it. You’ll take everything I give you." He forcefully grabbed her hair, using it as a handle as he thrusted harder into her. If she just slightly brought her eyes down, she would be able to see the assault happening to her precious core, a sight that would haunt her long after the physical scars had healed.

Tears of frustration and shame spilled down her cheeks as Ryujin struggled to process the overwhelming intensity. Each brutal thrust tore through her, making her feel both powerless and consumed. Her body quaked with each movement, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she fought the conflicting emotions warring inside her.

"Please… stop…" Ryujin whispered again, but the plea fell on deaf ears. Her body, traitorous in its response, began to react to his touch, a warmth pooling deep within her core, betraying the turmoil of her heart and mind.

This scene, fraught with a harrowing mix of fear and arousal, is not just a moment but a narrative that underscores the intricate and often misunderstood nature of human sexuality and consent. Her voice, barely a whisper, laced with a mixture of fear and desperation, "No… No… I can't cum like this, not again," underscores the internal conflict that many victims of sexual coercion face. The struggle within her was palpable, a conflict between the primal urges of her flesh and the clear boundaries she so desperately wanted to maintain.

Yet, her tormentor was relentless. "You can, and you will. You want it, your body craves it," he growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within her, stirring feelings she wished would remain dormant. His words were not just a statement but a command, an assertion of control that left her feeling powerless and exposed.

The intensity of the situation was undeniable, pulling her closer to the edge despite the tears that streamed down her face. Each sob was a silent scream, a plea for mercy that went unheard. She hated how much her body had betrayed her, how it responded to the very touch that repulsed her mind. The paradox of pleasure and pain intertwined, creating a storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Just as his brutal thrusts reached their peak, his voice broke through in a ragged growl. “Fuck, your tight pussy is making me cum. I’m gonna fill you up so well,” he groaned, his member starting to pulsate inside her.

Panicking, Ryujin tried one last time to regain control. “Please don’t—anything but that. I’ll swallow everything, please don’t cum in me. I need to keep my job, please!” Her voice was desperate, her pleas frantic. But he ignored her, too far gone, the sound of her cries only pushing him closer to his inevitable release.

With a final, forceful slam of his hips, he buried himself deep inside her. His body tensed, grunting as the rush of his climax took hold. Ryujin’s body, pushed to its breaking point, betrayed her in the worst way possible. A choked, involuntary cry escaped her lips as she felt a molten heat bubble up from her core. “No, no, no—I can’t cum like this, I can’t—OH FUCK! NO!” Her protest turned into a scream as an intense orgasm ripped through her, unstoppable, her body convulsing against her will..

Every nerve was on fire, her entire being wracked with sensation as her climax overtook her. She could feel him inside her, his length pulsing, pumping one wave of release after another, spilling every drop of his cum deep into her womb. It was too much, her body buckling as the pleasure overwhelmed her.

When it was over, she lay there trembling, her limbs weak and unsteady. Conflicting emotions tore at her—shame and disgust mingled with the unsettling, undeniable relief her body had experienced. She felt a profound sense of humiliation, haunted by the fact that even under such circumstances, her body had responded so intensely, climaxing harder than ever before.

Her breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps as she tried to make sense of the chaotic swirl of sensations and the hollow feeling left behind. Finally, his movements slowed and stopped, his weight pressing heavily into her, pinning her further into the bed. For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing, thick with exhaustion, filling the air like an unwelcome reminder.

But then, something shifted. He slowly peeled himself away from her, his movements hesitant, as though the air had grown thick between them. She felt him exit her, and a cold breeze hit her core, leaving her to shiver and her pussy pulsing. He stood, silent, and as Ryujin looked up, she saw him reach for the mask he had been wearing. He pulled it off, the fabric falling to the floor.

Her gaze followed it, and then she looked up, meeting his eyes. Something in his expression made her heart lurch. It wasn’t anger or disgust that she felt now—it was guilt. Sympathy and regret welled up inside her, twisting her stomach.

You stood there, staring down at her with a look of conflict, your shoulders heavy as if the weight of the moment had just settled on you.

“Did you… like that?” you asked finally, your voice soft, uncertain, almost fragile.

Ryujin blinked, trying to sort through the storm of emotions inside her. She had liked it, loved it even—there was no denying the raw intensity of what had just happened. The power of the orgasm had been overwhelming, consuming her entirely. But seeing the guilt in your eyes now made her chest tighten. She hadn’t realized the toll it had taken on you.

“I did,” she admitted softly, sitting up and pulling the blanket around herself for comfort. “But… I didn’t think it would be like this for you. I thought you’d enjoy it too.”

Her voice was tender, her eyes searching for understanding. She hadn’t anticipated this outcome, hadn’t realized that what had been a moment of intense release for her had left you feeling something much different. The realization hit her hard, and suddenly the thrill of the moment faded, replaced by the weight of everything left unsaid between you.

You let out a slow breath, running a hand through your hair. “I thought I would enjoy it. But halfway through, it stopped feeling like an act. It felt… too real.” You shook your head, guilt flashing across your face. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ryujin. Even if it’s just role-play.”

Ryujin’s heart sank as she heard the strain in your voice. The plan she had been so excited about—the one she’d been texting you earlier, coordinating in secret—suddenly felt like a misstep. She had wanted to explore this fantasy together, to push your boundaries, but now she saw how deeply it had affected you.

Seeing your troubled expression, Ryujin immediately reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. “You didn’t hurt me, I promise,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth and reassurance. She shifted closer to you, her fingers brushing through your hair, trying to comfort you. “I trusted you completely, and you didn’t cross any lines. You gave me exactly what I wanted.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at her, but the weight of your emotions was still evident. “I just didn’t expect it to feel so real. Seeing you like that—so vulnerable—it scared me. I wasn’t sure if I should stop. I wanted to make you feel good, but then it felt like too much.”

Ryujin’s heart ached seeing the guilt and confusion in your eyes. She could sense how much you had been battling internally, pushing through the moment for her sake. Her fingers gently traced your jawline as she spoke. “I know it felt intense. I know it was a lot. But you did everything right. You didn’t hurt me. It’s okay to feel unsure sometimes—it means you care, it means you’re thinking of me. And I love that about you.”

She pressed her forehead against yours, her breath warm and steady as she tried to ease your anxiety. “I’m sorry if I pushed you too far,” she whispered, her hand gently squeezing your shoulder. “This is our time, not just my time. If it ever feels too real, or if you’re uncomfortable, we stop. That’s what the safe word is for, remember? We’re always in control together.”

You exhaled, your body relaxing a little as her words sank in. You knelt beside her on the bed, your hands resting on her thighs, drawing strength from her presence. “I didn’t want to ruin it for you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “You looked so caught up in it, and I didn’t want to let you down.”

Ryujin shook her head gently, her heart full of affection as she cupped your face in her hands. “You could never let me down. You did exactly what I asked of you, and you did it because you love me. That means more than anything. We tried something new together, and that’s what matters. The fact that you care enough to worry about me—that’s what makes this work.”

Your eyes filled with gratitude as you leaned into her touch, feeling the weight of your worry begin to lift. “I’m not mad,” Ryujin continued, her voice soothing as she spoke. “We don’t have to rush back into this. I know it was intense, and maybe we can try again in the future if we both feel ready. But not until you’re comfortable.”

You nodded, your forehead resting against hers. “Thank you… for understanding and for being patient with me. I really didn’t like seeing you cry, even if it was part of the role-play.”

Ryujin smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I know. I could feel it when you hesitated, but I also knew I was safe with you. You did everything right. It’s okay to take things slow next time. We’ll figure out what works for both of us.”

As she spoke, Ryujin wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close. She could feel the tension slowly ebbing away from your body, replaced by the quiet understanding that, while you hadn’t shared the exact same feelings during the moment, your love and trust remained strong.

“I love you,” Ryujin whispered into your ear, her voice steady and full of care. “We’ll always figure this out together. Don’t carry this weight by yourself.”

You hugged her tightly, your grip firm but tender. “I love you too. I just… I want to be what you need.”

Ryujin pulled back slightly, her eyes locking with yours. “You already are. Just by being here, by talking to me like this—you’re everything I need.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and Ryujin could see the relief wash over you, your shoulders relaxing as the guilt you’d been carrying finally started to dissolve.

You sat together, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the earlier intensity now softened by the quiet hum of the room. The air, still charged with the echoes of your shared vulnerability, gradually became a sanctuary of comfort. The rhythmic thrum of Ryujin’s heartbeat under your ear anchored you, a gentle reminder that in this moment, safety and love surrounded you.

The night hadn’t unfolded as either of you expected. While it was intended to push boundaries, it ended up brushing too close to an edge that felt unsettling. But here, in the quiet aftermath, the true strength of your bond revealed itself—not in flawless moments, but in facing the imperfect ones together.

Ryujin’s hand moved with a tender steadiness, fingers threading through your hair as she held you close. Her eyes, soft with understanding and glistening with unshed emotion, searched yours. The apology she whispered carried the weight of sincerity. “I’m sorry again for making you do something you weren’t comfortable doing,” she said, her voice low and earnest. The kiss she placed on your forehead lingered like a promise, warm and reassuring. “We should always both be enjoying it, okay?”

You felt a lump rise in your throat, a mixture of relief and gratitude. Her words resonated in the space between you, washing away the remnants of doubt that had lingered in the corners of your mind. You nodded, the gesture small but full of resolve. “Okay. If it ever feels like that again, I’ll tell you,” you said, your voice steadying as her hand tightened over yours.

A smile broke through the lingering tension on Ryujin’s face, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she nestled closer. The room felt warmer, filled not just with the heat of bodies, but with the shared understanding that mistakes were not failures—they were lessons. The moments of discomfort were laid to rest, and in their place grew something deeper: the affirmation that your love thrived not in perfection, but in how you navigated the imperfect.

Ryujin’s embrace became your refuge as the minutes passed, her breathing synchronizing with yours in a comforting rhythm. The world outside fell away, leaving only the steady beat of two hearts, learning and loving as one. Trust, communication, and care—these were the foundations of what you had. And in that moment, it felt like more than enough.

[connorsui]

Capitano would occasionally find himself caught in moments when the weight of his duties seemed to pull him too far from you. Even though his responsibilities demanded the best of him, he could never forget the quiet joy he found in small acts of care, his affection wrapped in parcels, far away yet never distant.

When he was away on missions, he made sure that even in his absence, you always felt his presence. Wrapped gift boxes would arrive at your door, carefully packed with gifts chosen to nurture your spirit and keep you connected to him during the long, quiet hours.

Inside, there would always be an array of paints, vivid, rich hues, each one selected to reflect the shades he imagined you’d bring to life. Brushes with fine, supple bristles and palettes made of polished wood were nestled alongside spools of lace in intricate patterns, delicate and elegant, meant to inspire your craft. Every item was a token of his devotion, a gesture that spoke of his desire for you to find beauty and solace even when he was far away.

The paints and lace became tangible extensions of his love, ways of saying, I’m with you. They were silent promises, bridging the gap between him and you, even when he couldn’t be by your side. Each time you mixed a color or traced your fingers over the soft, intricate weaves of lace, it was as though you felt his presence, grounding you in his unwavering affection.

Upon his return, the sight of your finished creations, paintings filled with emotion or lacework that adorned your shared home, always filled him with a quiet, unspoken pride. Capitano, so stoic and commanding to the rest of the world, would find himself softened by these glimpses into your heart.

Sometimes, you would tuck small pieces of lace into the lining of his coat or paint tiny, intricate designs on a corner of his gauntlet; hidden details that only he knew were there. These small tokens, created with your own hands, were treasures he carried with him wherever he went. During quiet moments in the midst of battle, or when the solitude of his duties weighed heavily, he would trace the painted edge of his armor or run his gloved fingers over the lace tucked away in his coat.

“It’s like you’ve become a sentimental fool, Capitano,” one of his comrades might jest, smirking as they noticed his softened gaze lingering on the lace or paintwork.

Capitano would never respond to such remarks. He didn’t need to. The truth was, he wore those small details like armor, reminders of the love that awaited him beyond the battlefield. For him, they were anchors, tethering him to a life that was more than duty and chaos.

No matter how far his missions took him, no matter the storms he faced, he always carried a piece of you with him, stitched into the fabric of his life, painted onto the edges of his world. And when the weight of the world grew too heavy, those small, cherished pieces gave him the strength to carry on, until he could return to you again.

[munipe]

hi!! could you write something about first kiss with saiki? and btw i love your writing okay bye🫶

How to have your first kiss! (A foolproof plan)

Waiter waiter! More clueless kusuo! I was challenging myself to finish this before my phone died (Began with ten percent)

Against all odds, Kusuo Saiki, token Psychic of PK academy, has obtained a partner—a romantic partner.

Shocker.

It was by pure odd and chance. One might even say luck on your part. But now, he was kinda outta luck. He was no fool, he could read your thoughts. It would only take so long until you would wonder why he wouldn’t initiate affection with you.

He, honestly, genuinely, and frankly just didn’t know how to.

It felt too sudden, then too cheesy. Too public and then too private. Too forced and then too casual. It’s not like he doesn’t want to kiss you, but it’s just out of his knowledge. He figures a lot of people dream for an ideal first kiss—would it be mean if he just only gave you a peck? Truthfully, he didn’t know, he was just a teenage boy at the end of the day.

So he devised a plan.

Get the setting right

Kusuo thinks you’re a miracle, sent from an angel that pitied him and used its last feather on its wings to give him a blessing. In the midst of his park (coffee jelly) date with you, Yuta had unfortunately appeared.

A bummer, there was barely anyone around, he was sure he’d be able to finesse a kiss. No matter about the first crinkle in the plan…he just needs the kid to leave.

Which was clearly impossible—something above was conspiring against him, it seemed. The devil works hard, but your love worked harder.

He watches in his solitude as you chase Yuta around the playground playing tag. You give slack, giving the boy a sense of accomplishment. You two tire rather quickly, leading Yuta to scrape his knee in a dramatic sense

2. Impromptu #2: admire you as you work magic

He wasn’t particularly sure how you managed to comfort a crying child. He figured maybe it was how tenderly you bounced Yuta on your hip, or maybe your gentle coo’s to the boy—as if he wasn’t old enough to brush it off. Nevertheless, Kusuo couldn’t blame the boy for wanting to prolong his time in your comfort— coming constantly as the sheep flying over a sleeping baby’s cradle.

Maybe it was your gentle pout at the boy. Maybe it was the tenderness that your hands held the (dramatic boy). Kusuo couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Maybe it was pity for you having to deal with a child? No, it was your gentle face. The one you always gave him when you realized his irritation whenever his senses overwhelmed him at times. It was the one you dealt whenever he instinctively teleported to where you were when he saw a cockroach under the trashcan.

Kusuo was doomed.

3. Back on track: begin affection

He had convinced you both to sit back down, leaving Yuta to his own devices. He couldn’t be bothered to let the boy interfere with his plans—he mentally said today, so today it was. How would he start? You were on your phone next to him—silent relaxation next to each other was mandatory with each date.

Could he wrap an arm around your shoulder? No, that’s too obvious and cheesy. Lay his head on your shoulder? No. his antennas would get in the way. Why does love have to have nuance! As he stares hard at you, your eyes gently glance at him. He stared at you as if you held the secrets to the world, the good, the bad and, the ugly (he figured the secrets lived in your love). With a quick type up of your phone, you show him your notes app: You okay?

He figured you were far too lazy to speak—which was weird, but he loved you, nonetheless.

He nodded, and scooted closer, pressing your shoulders together. You offered your pinky to his, which he interlocked with his own. Success.

4. Go on and kiss the girl (sha-la-la-la) [get the little mermaid ref please]

It was near sunset, Yuta was deep in a nap on your right side of your waist, and you were sure you have been interlocking pinkies with Kusuo for near half an hour.

He couldn’t interlace your fingers. He was scared he’d hold onto you too tight and you’d go kablooey. He couldn’t say that though, along with the fact his palms were already slathered in sweat. He knew that it was silly, holding his phone in his left hand, hiding a message from you—that he typed: Is yuta asleep?

He knew that the boy was, but the reassurance was helpful, he didn’t want to scar the boy with two teenagers kissing. So he sat dumbly for a while, gripping onto your pinky with his.

“Any more holding onto my pinky and you’ll lift me up,” you murmured in jest. Though he knew that was, unfortunately, a large possibility. His clammy hands didn’t let yours go—it was like his pinky got trigger finger around yours. He was sure once he tried to relax it, it’d make a large pop.

Of course, you were no idiot. With gentle mumbles of his name in hopes to relieve any sensations and sensitivities, you resorted to your last weapon: Affection. With a gentle sigh, your gentle lips grazed his pinky hair.

“Sai?”

He was a goner. He decompressed and nudged his head back up into your lips. He got a lick of love, and suddenly he needed to lap the cup of affection you so graciously served him until his heart was glutted with your gentle kisses. Oh how delicious your gentle kiss was—oh how wrong he was for judging those who chased affection.

With a smile, you pressed more kisses to his hair, then he tilted his head to the side so you’d press some to his cheek. Then to his forehead, and then to his nose. He needed your affection sprinkled on him like he was confectionery. As teenagers do, his neck fumbles in the chase of affection, leading a gentle ghost of your lips on his.

He thinks it was like instinct, how his latched onto yours like magnets. It was tentative—testing the waters at first. Then yours reciprocated, and suddenly it was like doves in the wind. Suddenly, maybe, the world was sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns.

Success?

IM ON TWO PERCENT

[writingjourney]

Closer to the Gods || Alicent

Years into her marriage Queen Alicent permits only you to share in the more intimate parts of her routine. Despite the deep bond that connects you to Her Grace you are not certain that your feelings are returned – until she shows you.

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x lady-in-waiting!reader

Content: 3.1k words, repressed feelings, yearning, religious guilt, somewhat post-partum alicent, no y/n, smut (wlw, thigh riding, body worship, oral, v fingering, gentle smut), 18+ MDNI

Masterlist – Ao3 link

Her hair smells like citrus. The fragrance, enhanced by the steam of the hot water rising from the surface of her bath, mingles with the one of the perfumed oils that slick your hands as you weave them through her tresses. The scent makes you light-headed, as does the sight of her bare skin above the water. Her Grace sighs deeply when you massage her scalp, leaning into your touch with all the weariness she carries. You breathe her in, subtly, applying some pressure to her temples where you know her headaches to linger.

Born into a lesser house you were sent to be raised at court at a young age, a token of loyalty after the coronation of King Viserys. However, life at court changed after the death of his first wife and as a lady-in-waiting you soon became the new queen’s favourite. Ever since the birth of her first son she keeps you closer than any of the other ladies, allows you to take on the more intimate chores such as dressing and undressing her, brushing and washing her hair, keeping her company during the late hours of the day, singing and more often than not reading to her. Two years into her marriage now the queen will allow only you to take care of her in such a way and send away her servants once the more menial tasks such as filling the tub have been completed.

By now you know her whims and preferences better than your own. You feel an intimate affection for her Her Grace and it translates into the gentleness with which you touch her. Most evenings it is only you and her – unless the king requests her presence. Those nights you spend thinking of her in her soft white nightdress with her auburn hair falling in waves over her pale breasts underneath. You try to distract yourself from the thoughts of him touching her smooth skin, lacking the gentleness you know she desires. No one else but you is allowed to see her in any state of undress, let alone touch her. But he simply takes what he wants, what he thinks he is owed by right of being her husband. By right of being the king. Would that you could give her what he does, but you can never sire a son, you could never be anything but what you are now.

In front of the fire with your hands covered in scented oils you feel a shameful heat rising to your face, the immoral thoughts of replacing her husband a constant source of guilt. Rinsing her hair, you finish your routine. The water has cooled down and you know Her Grace will want to retire soon. During these moments she prefers solitude, as she told you once, dedicating herself to prayer or silent contemplation.

“I will have the servants remove the tub.” You absent yourself from her side, drying your hands on a piece of cloth. “If that would be all, Your Grace, I shall retire for the night.”

You are already turned around, placing her nightdress on the nearby table. Your hand traces the delicate ornaments of Myrish lace when her voice reaches you again. “Wait.”

You hear Her Grace stepping out of the tub and keep your gaze lowered respectfully. Once her robe is fastened around her narrow waist you dare look up again. She approaches you on bare feet, drops of water glistening on her skin like morning dew on the petals of a soft pink rose.

A damp thumb comes to swipe along your cheekbone as she considers you, soft eyes roaming your face. “You look lovely with your cheeks flushed.”

Her lip trembles as she says it, as though the confidence she displays is nothing but an act. Your queen has complimented you many times before but never in a such a way that you feel her words caressing your very soul. For a moment you are quite out of breath.

Her fingers dance along your collarbones then, toying with the seams of your dress. “I do not know why you should be allowed to see me and yet I am deprived of the same pleasure.”

“My queen, I do not know–”

Her face falls as she misreads your words for rejection. You catch her hand before she manages to tear it away and press it to your heart instead. Looking down you see that she must have been biting her nails again, her skin red and scabbed where she pulled at it.

“What I mean is…” You feel tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, the sting of insecurity and hesitation. “I am not much to look at. Not compared to Your Grace.”

She shakes her head, dismissing your words. “Call me Alicent.”

“I would not–”

“Please, for once let us not hide behind curtesies. I have grown tired of it, I have grown tired of you leaving when I want you the most.”

Her words claw their way underneath your skin, your heart racing at the implicit confession. You always thought your feelings to be unreciprocated, that Her Grace merely considers you a companion, perhaps a friend. But her eyes are wet with unshed tears, her hand pressing against your aching chest as though she is trying to reach inside.

“You would truly want me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“Every night you leave,” she says and it sounds like an accusation, laced with pain and longing.

“But Your Grace, you wished it so– I did not–”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I know.”

Her other hand moves to cradle your cheek, wiping a stray tear from your skin. She looks away for but a moment, as if to collect her thoughts, and when your eyes meet again her gaze is fierce, determined.

“I have tried to repress my feelings,” she says, her lips trembling again. “But I cannot stop– I cannot stop thinking about you. When you are not here I have to restrain myself not to call for you. I have to fight off the urge to run to your chambers to be near you. I am… so tired of pretending.”

You lean into her touch, closing the gap between you to rest your forehead against hers. “So am I, Alicent. So, so tired.”

“It is sin,” she whispers, brushing her nose against yours, her fingers ghosting over your lips. “To covet another, to covet–” Her words trail off, the thought left unspoken. “And yet I never feel closer to the Gods than when you touch me.”

Your queen swallows the air between you when she presses her lips to yours. Tentative and searching her mouth moves against yours with a softness that almost pains you. She tastes like sweet wine, smells of lavender and citrus. Unsure where to touch her you mirror her movements, stroking along her warm cheekbone, tracing the line of her jaw down to her neck where a few droplets of water have gathered. Your other hand still holds hers against your chest but then she slides it upwards to grasp your throat and you gasp into her mouth, warmth pooling into your belly. Her tongue grazes yours and she winds her fingers around the curve of your neck until they press against your spine and she can pull you in closer, lips firm and bruising.

You can feel her body through the garments between you, soft and pliable. She deepens the kiss and you get dizzy, your head spinning at the taste of her. The sensation is new, thrilling and addictive. When you break away she glances down at your dress and you make to untie it, glad to have chosen one that is not quite so hard to take off.

In your shift, you feel well-nigh naked. The cool sea air has goosebumps spreading all over your body, a breeze streaming in through the wide windows that overlook Blackwater Bay. Alicent takes you in, her eyes following her hand that drags the neckline of the sheer fabric down your shoulder until her fingers dance across your bare skin. The loose undergarment falls once it slips from your arm and you are fully bared to her. Instinctively, you cross your arms in front of your chest but she soon takes your wrists to pull them down.

“You are beautiful,” she whispers. “Do not hide from me. I have longed to see you as I have felt seen by you for a long time. Let there be nothing between us from now on.”

You nod and she unties the robe around her waist and lets it fall from her shoulders, silky fabric pooling at her feet in iridescent waves. Even though you have seen her bare many times before this time feels different. You do not have to hide your admiration, do not have to worry that she might catch you staring. Instead you allow yourself to revel in the sight of her, a body that has never truly been her own, changed from the months she carried her child, from the way she lent it to the king so he might have his son at last. Even though she does not look much changed when she is wrapped in her beautiful gowns you are witness to the subtle changes she wears underneath, the lines that run across her abdomen where her skin used to be stretched, her hips fuller and her breasts hanging lower than they used to.

To you, she is even more beautiful than ever before.

“May I kiss you?” she asks. The answer is a desperate nod.

She is more bold this time, even if you still hesitate, still wonder how you can ever touch her freely when she is your queen, when she can never truly be yours. The apprehension soon dissipates when you get drunk on the taste of her, of the feel of her soft curves following the shape of your own when she pulls you close. Her nipples brush yours and you moan wantonly, craving her so much that the feeling is akin to physical pain. Your whole body is burning, melting, your blood hot and heavy as it gathers between your legs.

You tentatively begin to run your hands over her body, following the line of her hips over her lower back, then up the ridges of her spine. She shivers underneath your fingertips, the same goosebumps that cover your body spreading across her still damp skin. As her tongue flattens against yours, her own hands curling firmly around your backside, you cannot hold back the desperate whimper that falls from your lips.

“I want you,” she whispers into your mouth. “I want all of you.”

“I am yours, Alicent,” you say. “I will always be yours.”

She breaks away and takes your hand to lead you over to her bed. Your lips are already swollen, your mind clouded by your need of her. She gently pushes you onto the soft mattress, expensive, silken fabrics welcoming you in her space. It feels too intimate, to be here, to lay where she lays. When she comes to rest on top of you it is like a vision from the Heavens, her slowly drying curls falling like a veil over your face until it is only you and her, breathing in tandem as the world around you blurs into nothingness.

Her mouth is hot when she kisses you and you meet her eagerly, pull her down until your bodies touch and you feel her weight on top of you. She moves her leg between yours, her thigh pressed against your core, and you whimper as the warmth of her touch spreads within you. A throbbing pain settles there and you cannot help but cant your hips to rub against her, soon grinding more feverishly as her tongue delves into your mouth. Alicent's hands roam your body but you hardly take note of each individual touch, so focused on the pleasure that builds inside of you.

"Please," you whisper, inching ever closer to a tipping point, your lungs struggling to inhale enough air.

Alicent looks down at you through heavy-lidded eyes, as though she wants to fully take in your reactions, helping you along as she presses her thigh firmer against your cunt, fingers teasing at your nipples. You gasp, forgetting to breathe as the pleasure tears through your body in hot tingling shudders. Alicent swallows your moans with her mouth, reaching between your legs now to feel your release, two fingers pressed against your wet core until they enter you easily. She carries you through your crest with slow rolls of her hand but soon the pressure builds again and you clench around her intrusion, unable to hold back.

When the rolling waves of pleasure finally subside, kisses turn slow and aimless and you take a moment to calm your racing heart. Alicent presses her lips to your face and neck with an ardent intensity while you hold her in your arms, fingers curled around her thigh. You can feel her arousal dripping against your fingertips and begin to stroke her there, revelling in the gasps she releases against your skin. The gentleness with which she touches you sends tears to your eyes, for what you are not quite certain. Perhaps it is the realization that you have never been loved like this, the fact that it is your queen, the woman you have been dreaming about for years, who holds such affections for you.

"Alicent," you say and she lifts her head to meet your gaze. "Please, I want to taste you."

At first she seems hesitant, almost like the young girl she used to be, uncertain whether your intentions are true. But after a moment she seems to come back to herself and remember who you are, her gaze softening, gaining confidence and trust. She settles on her back beside you, propped up by silken pillows with her skin glowing like embers, draped in the faint light of the fire and a dozen candles.

She is beautiful with her lips swollen by your kisses, her pale breasts exposed and hardened, a faint line of hair leading from her belly button to a thicker tuft at the apex of her thighs. You admire her for a moment, kneeling in front of her with your limbs still trembling in the aftermath of your pleasure. What love you held for her before this night has grown insurmountably and you believe with all your heart that this cannot be sin, that it cannot be wrong when it is nothing short of worship.

You gently spread her thighs, revealing her to you fully. Reverent kisses to the insides of her knees, down her thighs that feel so soft against your lips. She moans when you caress a particularly sensitive spot and the sound is like music, urging you to leave more kisses all over skin, following the lines on her abdomen up to her breasts. You take one into your mouth, sucking gently at her hardened nipple until it is pink and swollen. Alicent weaves her fingers through your hair, the other hand caressing your shoulder. Her hips buck, wanting for attention, and you finally succumb and settle at her core.

With your eyes locked on hers you leave a kiss on her mound. Alicent links her fingers with yours and presses your intertwined hands to her abdomen as if to ground herself. Her other hand brushes a stray curl from your forehead. You slowly press your mouth to her cunt, tongue dipping between her folds to taste her. She moans again, louder this time, and you continue to attend to her, dipping your tongue into her and kissing every part you can reach. You forget yourself after a moment, lost in the whimpers and gasps that fill your ears, her soft skin and sweet taste.

As her pleasure builds, Alicent's hand fully tangles in your hair and she pushes your face deeper against her, her other hand gripping yours so tight that you begin to feel a distant pain. You cannot help your own wanton moan, wanting to make her feel like she made you feel. As you focus on her pearl, applying gentle pressure to her most sensitive areas, you use your second hand to spread her folds and dip your finger into her entrance. When you meet no resistance you add a second one and begin to rub them back and forth inside of her. It does not take long until her hips stutter as she rolls them against your face, the music falling from her lips now muffled by her hand.

You can feel her release as though it is your own, her muscles clenching around your digits, her release wet on your tongue as her whole body shudders. You continue until she pushes your face away, looking up at you see chest rising and falling rapidly, her brow damp and lips parted. A sense of deep bliss settles inside of you at the realization that you made her feel such pleasure, that she allows you to see this intimate side of her that you are not sure anyone else has ever seen.

She releases your hand to brush her hair back and you sit back on your heels to clean your face, taking in the sight of her without shame this time. You are not sure you could leave her now, not sure if you could ever have enough of her, already feeling the need again to touch her, kiss her, worship her.

After a moment Alicent reaches out, her hand wrapping around your wrist before she pulls you toward her. Curling against her side you sigh at the softness of her body, hiding your face at her neck. She welcomes you, arms slung around you tightly as you notice her calming down more and more. You are exhausted, in a way, and yet you are not sure that the night will come to an end so soon. Her hand in your hair and the fingers trailing the curve of your breast remind you that she has not had enough of you either.

For the moment you are both content holding the other close. You breathe in the scents of her bath, listen to the slowing rhythm of her breath. Alicent trails gentle kisses along your brow, then her arms tighten around you and her mouth comes to rest by your ear.

"Promise you won't leave again."

You pull back, shifting to bring your mouth back to hers. “Promise you won’t make me.”

Thank you so much for reading! Kudos, comments, reblogs etc are as always much appreciated but most of all I hope you enjoyed the story ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

[aventurineswife]

Poly relationship hcs with moze and jiaoqiu, please and thank you, take your time.

-Smooch Anon 💋

Poly Relationship HCs With Mozeqiu!

Tags: Moze x Reader x Jiaoqiu, Headcanons, Poly Relationship, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Suggestive at the end, Protective Partners, Tender Moments, Moze being Moze (aka a clean boy 🫧).

(art by: Minrou on X)

You’re at the center of two drastically different personalities. Moze, the silent, controlled assassin, often needs solitude and order to recharge, while Jiaoqiu, the warm yet deeply contemplative healer, enjoys meaningful conversation and emotional connection.

You end up being the bridge between their worlds, and your presence helps create an unspoken balance in their lives. They respect each other’s contrasting natures and both trust you as the anchor that keeps them grounded.

Though Moze appears cold and detached, being in a relationship with you and Jiaoqiu encourages him to confront his buried emotions and past traumas. Jiaoqiu’s own approach to healing becomes more personal when he sees how much Moze needs emotional healing, and Jiaoqiu uses his insight to gradually help Moze open up. You’re a supportive presence for both, providing a safe space for Moze to express his vulnerabilities and for Jiaoqiu to explore his own unspoken fears.

Moze is highly protective, though in a quiet way—he rarely expresses worry directly but will always position himself subtly nearby when he senses danger. Jiaoqiu’s protectiveness is more comforting and direct, ensuring you and Moze are physically and emotionally well. They each have their own way of keeping you safe: Moze watches over you in silence, while Jiaoqiu reminds you both to eat well, rest, and find time to enjoy life despite the surrounding chaos.

Moze has a strong need for cleanliness, so he establishes little routines to feel in control, like polishing his weapons or arranging items precisely. Jiaoqiu joins in these routines to help calm him, often making tea or incense to create a peaceful atmosphere. You become part of this ritual too, with the three of you sharing quiet moments where everything feels calm and orderly. It becomes a shared, intimate habit that brings them both a sense of stability.

The three of you develop a unique understanding that goes beyond words. Moze is reserved, so you and Jiaoqiu learn to pick up on his subtle cues—like the slight tension in his shoulders when he’s anxious or the way he avoids eye contact when he’s uncomfortable. Jiaoqiu becomes adept at reading these signs, gently coaxing Moze to share his concerns without pushing him. With you, Moze feels that he doesn’t have to say much, as you understand his intentions and emotions intuitively.

Jiaoqiu’s empathy and patience help both of you navigate difficult conversations. He guides you and Moze through emotionally charged moments with his calm, perceptive nature, encouraging each of you to open up when you’re ready. Moze, who is typically closed off, finds it easier to trust because of Jiaoqiu’s genuine warmth and quiet wisdom. You often observe Jiaoqiu’s influence in the way Moze becomes a little more open over time, showing glimpses of vulnerability.

Living together with Moze and Jiaoqiu means creating a space where each person has a bit of their own sanctuary. Moze has his corner of the home, meticulously organized and clean, where he sharpens his blades or meditates in silence. Jiaoqiu has his alchemical setup, with various herbs and elixirs that lend a calming scent to the air. You bring in elements that blend their spaces, placing flowers, candles, or keepsakes to add warmth and unite the atmosphere.

Since Moze isn’t one to display affection openly, he shows his love through quiet, deliberate actions. He’ll leave small tokens or thoughtful notes for you and Jiaoqiu, often concealed so that only you two would notice. Jiaoqiu, in turn, appreciates these gestures and gently encourages Moze’s subtle ways of connecting, which gradually helps Moze feel more comfortable expressing affection. Your warmth and encouragement make it easier for him to show that he cares.

Since Moze values peace and solitude, nights together are often calm and reflective. You, Moze, and Jiaoqiu will spend evenings in a comfortable silence, maybe sharing a soft drink or warm tea, finding peace in each other’s company. These moments of stillness allow Moze to unwind, and Jiaoqiu often finds himself lost in his thoughts or offering insights into recent events. For you, it’s a time to bask in the tranquility of being with them, feeling the unspoken bond that ties you together.

Jiaoqiu teaches you and Moze about herbs, healing, and the importance of internal wellness, offering practical and spiritual wisdom. Moze, in turn, imparts a sense of discipline, showing both of you the importance of resilience and perseverance, even if he rarely speaks of his methods directly. The two of them broaden your understanding of both the strength of the body and the mind’s need for peace, shaping a relationship that is both physically and spiritually enriching.

Despite his solitary nature, Moze begins to see a future with you and Jiaoqiu, and it’s a hope he rarely allows himself to feel. Jiaoqiu’s presence helps him begin to believe in the possibility of lasting companionship, and your love solidifies it. They both find themselves thinking of a life beyond the darkness they’re used to, and together, you all start to imagine a place where duty, healing, and love coexist.

Both you and Jiaoqiu know that Moze needs his solitude from time to time, so you develop a quiet understanding of each other’s boundaries. Jiaoqiu respects Moze’s space, even when his healer’s instincts want to comfort him, and you do the same. Moze appreciates this patience and in return, tries to open himself up a little more, knowing that neither of you will push him beyond what he’s ready to share. This mutual respect strengthens your bond, making it one where everyone feels seen and respected.

Jiaoqiu has a lighthearted side that sometimes comes out, especially to brighten Moze’s mood or lift the group’s spirits. He’ll occasionally tease Moze or playfully ruffle his hair, coaxing a rare smile or soft chuckle. You join in on these playful moments, enjoying the way Moze’s usual stoicism softens just a little. Though Moze may pretend to be unamused, you can see the slight warmth in his eyes, hinting that he secretly enjoys this levity.

After long days, especially if one of you have been in a dangerous mission, Jiaoqiu tends to insist on “healing time” for everyone, pulling out soothing balms and herbal compresses. Though Moze initially resisted, over time he came to accept it, lying quietly as Jiaoqiu and you take turn massaging his shoulders or applying the remedies. These intimate moments become a kind of emotional healing as well, and you three often fall asleep in a tangle of limbs, reassured by the steady warmth of each other’s presence.

Moze and Jiaoqiu often exchange lingering glances filled with unspoken tension, especially when they’re alone with you. Moze’s reserved nature adds an alluring mystery, while Jiaoqiu’s gentle touch and soft-spoken words create an atmosphere that’s both tender and intense. You, often the playful instigator, love teasing Moze to break his composure, sliding close and whispering just enough to see him tense, while Jiaoqiu watches, amused. The build-up of quiet anticipation becomes a cherished game among them, often ending in a passionate closeness that leaves you three all breathless and content.

[the-unidentified-author]

The Lord, The Lady and The Long Winter | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon

Chapter 1/5?: House Baratheon

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 - Comming soon

Cregan Stark x House Baratheon Reader

One or more parts in this story will include the following:

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], smut, minors DNI, new relationship, arguments, harsh words,longing, p in v, creampie, cum play, a little rough, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another 🚨SLOW BURN🚨

Summary: You’re betrothed to Cregan Stark. The pair of you navigate this relationship of convenience and perhaps even find love.

Word Count: 2,545

Not my image, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

"What do you think the Warden of the North is like?" your younger sister inquired; her eyes gleaming as she admired the fine gowns your father had procured. She was only seven years old and completely obsessed with dresses and pretty things. These gowns were not a token of your fathers' kindness; rather, your mother had insisted on them, knowing your southern dresses wouldn't keep you warm in the northern chill. You'd barely had a chance to glance at the garments before your two little sisters burst into the room. The youngest, Alanna, was already sifting through them, fascinated by the thick, elegant fabrics crafted to withstand the harsh climate you’d soon call home. She pulled a pair of fine but warm leather gloves from the ornate wooden trunk and pulled them on. They were made for your hands so dwarfed her own, but she didn’t seem to notice, playing with the expensive fur at the cuff.

"I heard that the Northmen are all savages." Ellyn remarked, her arms folded as she sat on your bed, her gaze distant, a scowl adorned her face.

She was the middle sister, your mother only having three girls. Your five older brothers had all been born before yourself. Your mother always joked that the gods gave the three of you to her after she had carried out her duty to the Baratheon house. And as such, your upbringing had been relatively indulgent, with your mother often doting on you and your sisters more than perhaps she ought to have. She had a soft spot for her daughters, allowing little luxuries and moments of leniency that your brothers might not have experienced. This favouritism wrapped your childhood in a blanket of warmth and comfort, granting you a sense of security that only a loving mother could provide. Such spoiling may have shielded you somewhat from the harsher realities of life, but it also meant that facing the impending changes and responsibilities of your new life in the North felt even more daunting.

You knew that Ellyn's comment had not come from a place of spite but rather sadness. The weight of change lay heavily upon Ellyn when the news of your northern betrothal reached her, she was not one to embrace change but rather shy away from it. Ellyn was unsettled by the tides of change and the unsettling murmur of an uncertain future. The betrothal, while a grand step for you, felt like a shattering of the familiar bonds she cherished so deeply. It wasn't just the inevitable separation that gripped her heart, but the unnerving thought of standing on shifting sands, where duty once stood firm. She dreaded the solitude that might creep into the corners of her life, casting long shadows on the once warm and light-filled halls of her existence. It wasn’t just your future that tugged at Ellyn’s heartstrings, but the looming prospect of her journey into the unknown, leaving familiar comforts behind. Inwardly, you promised resilience for your younger sisters, showing them that the shadows of uncertainty held no real threat. Yet, with your wedding day fast approaching, each tick of the clock seemed to unnerve your resolve, making it a true test of strength to maintain composure in the face of impending change.

"Northmen are just different from what we are used to, we have all heard the stories that surround Lord Cregan Stark. He is a fierce warrior and a noble leader. You shouldn't speak so cruelly about him, or you might not be allowed to visit." you stepped forwards, looking at Alanna, who had stopped rifling through your clothes at the mention of a visit.

"May we come and visit you?" inquired Alanna, her large, bright eyes sparkling with excitement at the thought.

"If she's not too busy raising a Northerners babies," Ellyn countered, her tone slightly harsh yet carrying an undercurrent of teasing sarcasm. Alanna's face, previously alight with excitement, now sagged with disappointment.

"If you continue being so cruel, you won't be welcome at all." you muttered, your tone harsher than you had intended. Her harsh words mixed with the stress you were feeling, bubbling up into anger that shouldn't have been directed at her. The words had slipped past your lips, unintentionally carrying more bite than you had wished for. Guilt swam in your gut as you watched Ellyn's crinkle into a frown, the impact of your harshness becoming all too clear.

Ellyn's frown deepened as she stood up from the bed, tears brimming in her eyes. "I hate you," she spat, storming towards the door. "I can’t wait to never see you again.

Your mother appeared at the door as Ellyn left, brushing, past her.

Your mother looked at you with a raised eyebrow, and you let out a weary sigh and moved to follow your younger sister. But instead of letting you pass, your mother stepped forwards placing her hands on your shoulders. You looked at her, and the look she returned threatened to collapse the walls you had been so carefully building after your betrothal.

"Let her go, you know what she is like. She will come around." your mother said, gently pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back.

Wrapping your arms around her, you let her hold you for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of her lavender perfume. A lump formed in the back of your throat, and you fought to swallow it, lest you become a blubbing mess in her arms. She pulled away gently and cupped your face with her hand, offering reassurance in the warmth of her touch.

"You will be okay," she nodded, her voice soft and comforting. Then, turning her attention to Alanna, who was still fussing with the clothing sprawled out on the bed, she added, "Alanna, can you return to your room, please? It's getting late."

Alanna sighed, wanting more than anything to watch you try on the beautiful garments, but she nodded. She moved around the bed and stepped into your mother's waiting arms, hugging her tightly. Your mother kissed her on the head and then ushered her out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. You had always admired your mother; she never once wavered from her duty to your father. Their match, though one of convenience to unite two noble families in the south, had blossomed into a deep and sincere love.

"What if this marriage is different from what you and Father have?" you whispered, unable to hold back the wave of emotions that had been brewing since the announcement. "What if he is as cruel and cold as the Northmen are rumoured to be?"

The weight of uncertainty pressed down on you, making your heart race. It was a daunting realisation that life outside the warm embrace of your home was fraught with danger and unpredictability. All the fears that fluttered in your mind formed a dark storm, and you found yourself wishing for the comfort of familiar surroundings, for the laughter shared with your sisters, and the safety that came with loving arms. The thought of marrying a stranger, of stepping into the unknown, made everything feel so much more overwhelming. You yearned for reassurance, a sign that everything would turn out well, but all you had was the chilling whisper of doubt echoing in your thoughts, leaving you questioning what lay ahead.

"Do you think your father would wed you to a man people thought of as cruel?" your mother asked gently, her voice laced with the soothing wisdom that had guided you through so many dilemmas in the past. Her eyes, often seen brimming with pragmatic resolve, now softened as they searched your face for the fears you tried to mask.

"I think that the love he has for me doesn't always eclipse the honour and duty he must uphold to the kingdom," you replied softly, your words carrying the weight of understanding that had settled upon you. Your gaze rested on the floor, tracing invisible patterns as you spoke, a forlorn truth wrapped around each syllable. As the ambient light cast flickering shadows around the room, you lifted your eyes to meet your mother's, seeking solace in her steadfast presence. Her patient nod encouraged you to continue. "I understand yours and fathers' situation is unique. That people of our station do not often find love and must settle only for companionship, but is it so wrong for me to hope for love?"

"Oh, my love," she murmured, stepping forward with a tenderness that enveloped you, and you dropped your head to her shoulder, allowing yourself to be held by her warmth. Her embrace was a sanctuary, a familiar place that offered solace against the waves of uncertainty crashing within. "It is not a silly thing to wish for at all," she reassured, her voice a gentle balm over your growing concerns. She rubbed soothing circles on your back.

*****

The cold was biting, surprising for early autumn in this part of the country. The air held a sharpness, to it, your breath leaving your lips in a cloud. You felt its sting on your cheeks, turning them a rosy hue as you breathed in the crisp, frosty air. The ground beneath your feet was firm and dusted with a light frost, the leaves crunching softly as you moved. It was as if the North were reaching out, giving you just a taste of the winter you would soon experience, a forewarning of the snowy embrace that awaited you. Even the distant howl of the wind seemed to carry a whisper of winters yet to come, hinting at the icy realm that would become your home.

You stood in front of the carriage that was to take you to the North, to your future husband and home. Your mother had spent the last night in your room, stroking your hair the same way she had when you were a child, suffering nightmares. In that quiet moment, you realised how difficult this must be for her, her first daughter being sent so far away. Not once did she mention her heartache; she simply held you through the night. When morning came, she was back to her usual self, folding the clothes that had been bought for you and packing them back into the chest with a practiced efficiency that spoke more of love than words ever could.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," whispered Ellyn as she stepped forwards and wrapped her arms around you. Her grip was both firm and gentle, as if trying to say that she never really wanted to let go.

"It's okay, I know you didn't mean it," you whispered softly, letting the hug linger as long as she needed it to, feeling her breath steady against you.

She stepped away, and you could see the tears threatening to fall from her eyes, but she was holding them back as well as she could.

"Will you build a snowman?" Alanna asked, stepping forward to hug you tightly. "I heard it's something you can do with snow, and it's supposed to be fun!"

You wrapped your arms around her, lifting her from the floor. She didn’t quite grasp how far you were about to go or how long it would be until you saw her again. It was something your mother would have to handle when reality set in, knowing you wouldn’t be returning to the family home in the same way you had left it. You placed her gently on the ground, and she untangled herself from you, stepping back in line with Ellyn. Your brothers had already bid you goodbye in the days earlier. The nature of their duties meaning that it would almost be impossible for all of them to wave you off. You felt a slight relief that they weren't all there, knowing that watching your whole family fade into the distance as the carriage carried you away from your childhood home might have been too overwhelming to bear.

Your mother stepped forward and gently cupped your face, her touch warm and tender against the coolness of the morning. She nodded at you, a silent acknowledgment of the strength she wished to convey, before pulling you into a close embrace. As she pulled away, you caught a glimpse of the emotion flickering in her eyes, revealing the struggle beneath her composed exterior. Turning to your father, you saw the hint of a smile playing on his lips, though his eyes betrayed the softer emotions he rarely displayed. He extended his hand, steady and reassuring, guiding you as you took the step-up into the carriage that would carry you toward your fate.

Your father stepped up behind you just as you weer about to sit down, the carriage groaning under the shift in weight. Settling himself across from you with a calm certainty, he leaned back, observing the interior with a faint, practiced disinterest. With a deliberate motion, he closed the door behind him, his hand rapping firmly on the side to signal your departure.

The wheels began their slow, laborious turn, the carriage lurching into motion with a rhythm that echoed the unsettled beat of your heart. The time that you had been dreading all summer was finally upon you. Every fibre of your being pleaded for you to wrench open the door and run back to your family. But you sat there, your hands folded in your lap, ignoring every instinct to flee. Each rotation of the wheels pulled you further from everything you had known, as the grim realisation settled deep within your chest—this journey marked the end of your old life and the beginning of your new one.

As the carriage picked up speed, you moved to the window, drawing back the heavy drapery for one last glimpse of your family. There they stood, clustered together in the chilly morning light. Your mother with a solemn expression, your sisters wrapped in cloaks, waving with both excitement and trepidation. You watched as your mother stepped slightly apart from your sisters, clasping her hands as if in prayer, while your father's Stoic demeanour couldn't hide the softening of his eyes.

Each familiar face, lined with love and farewells, imprinted itself onto your memory—a cherished keepsake tucked away in the corners of your heart. You didn’t know when you would next see them all together. Your lives now would be fast-paced, your sisters when they reach your age also fated to be wed off to a distant Lord. The next time all three of you would be together would likely be in the event of a death in the family, not something that you were going to look forwards to.

With a resigned sigh, you let the curtain fall back into place, drawing your hands into your lap as the chill of anticipation prickled along your skin. If it were cold, here, what would it be like up in the North? Across from you, your father watched with a quiet understanding. He didn’t speak, perhaps not knowing what to say, so the space between the two of you was filled only with the soothing rumble of the carriage wheels.

Chapter 2

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-fluffy-folio]

Woolycorn – Small celestial, lawful neutral

Wandering across the endless and desolate snowy plains, the woolycorn spends extended periods of its time alone – exposed not only to rough weather and tiring conditions but to its very own spiraling thoughts. And as much as it enjoys its sweet solitude, it is a quite sociable creature after all – at least from time to time. Thus, the woolycorn seizes any opportunity to find itself in company. Be it by guiding a blind drifter safely through otherwise impassable terrain, by sharing a story with a likewise lost traveler or by making itself at home within the legendary halls built by the keepers of the runic forge.

🔮 If you like my work, kindly consider to support me on Patreon to gain access to monster pages, tokens & artwork of over 300 quirky creatures as well as dozens of potion & item cards based on their lore.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

if you go I go

Dr. Oscar Piastri had always been a man of few words, his life dominated by the cold precision of surgery and the quiet solitude that came with being the best in his field. Yet, when he met you, everything changed. You were the light to his dark, the calm in his storm. You filled the silence of his world with laughter, joy, and warmth. To Oscar, you were everything—the pulse that kept him going, the reason he woke up every morning. He loved you more than words could express.

The two of you had been married for two years, and it was your wedding anniversary. Oscar was known for being meticulous, but even he couldn’t keep up with the chaos of the day. As much as he wanted to surprise you, he had been so focused on work and the pressures of his surgical career that he’d forgotten to plan. You, being the loving and understanding wife, had taken it upon yourself to surprise him with a gift—a token of your love for him.

It was early in the afternoon when you decided to go out. You had picked out a sleek, beautiful wristwatch for him, something to mark the special occasion, and you couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he opened it. He had always worn the same old, worn-out watch, and you knew he’d love the new one.

But fate had other plans. As you were driving home, a car ran a red light, crashing into your vehicle with a terrifying force. The impact was deafening. The world around you spun out of control as the car flipped, the screech of metal on metal and the shattering of glass echoed in your ears. You tried to scream, but the pain—sharp, sudden, and all-consuming—cut off your breath. Your head collided violently with the steering wheel, and the world went dark.

Oscar’s day was just beginning to take a turn when his phone rang. At first, he thought it was another case, a consultation, or an update. But when he saw the name of the hospital flash on the screen, a chill ran down his spine. The voice on the other end was calm, clinical—but Oscar could hear the faint tremor, the underlying urgency that spoke volumes. His heart sank when he heard your name. He didn’t need to hear the details; the panic that gripped him in that moment told him everything he needed to know.

Without hesitation, he rushed to the hospital. The drive was a blur, his heart pounding in his chest, his thoughts racing. He couldn’t even remember the route he took, but all that mattered was getting to you. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong.

When he arrived, the first thing he saw was the stretcher—the one carrying you, the love of his life. The sight of you, so pale, so still, sent a wave of panic crashing through him. He wasn’t sure if he could breathe, or if his legs would even hold him up. The world around him felt like it was collapsing. His perfect, peaceful world had been torn apart in a split second, and all he could do was watch as they wheeled you past him, unconscious and battered. The stretcher was stained with blood, and Oscar’s heart clenched, his thoughts spiraling into an abyss.

“Oscar, we need you in the OR,” a nurse called out, snapping him out of his trance.

Oscar nodded, but his eyes never left you. He followed the team as they rushed you into a trauma room. The fear in his chest was suffocating, but he forced himself to push it down. He couldn’t break down. Not here. Not now.

Once inside, the beeping of monitors filled the room, a steady rhythm that seemed to mock him with its mechanical nature. He was no longer the detached surgeon—the one who had learned to separate himself from his emotions. As he looked at you, barely recognizable from the blood and bruises, all the walls he’d carefully built around his heart began to crumble.

Your breathing was labored. A blood-soaked bandage was wrapped around your head, but it wasn’t enough to stop the bleeding. You had fractured ribs and internal injuries, but it was the internal hemorrhage that worried him the most. A small tear in one of your arteries had gone unnoticed earlier, and now it was slowly, quietly, tearing you apart from the inside.

Oscar could feel his hands trembling as he worked quickly to assess the damage, each moment more desperate than the last. His mind was a mess, but he had to keep it together. He had to save you.

But seeing you like this—the woman who had been his sunshine, his reason for waking up every day—made him feel more helpless than he’d ever been. His wife, his world, was slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His professional mask was shattering, piece by piece, as his panic threatened to overwhelm him.

He was a doctor. He had saved countless lives. But you? You were different. You were his. The thought of losing you was unbearable.

And then, in the sterile chaos of the trauma room, when he couldn’t keep his emotions in check anymore, the words escaped him, a whispered confession that broke the silence.

“I don’t want you to die,” Oscar muttered, his voice rough with emotion. His hands shook as he held the scalpel, his mind racing with terror. “I can’t lose you. You’re all that I have…”

There was no response from you, only the steady hum of the machines and the frantic activity around him. But Oscar couldn’t stop. He worked tirelessly, desperately, knowing every second was a battle for your life.

The next few hours were a blur, but in the depths of his mind, he couldn’t shake the haunting thought that he was about to lose everything.

Somehow, against all odds, you made it through. The surgery had stopped the bleeding, and though the road to recovery would be long and uncertain, you were alive. But for Oscar, the terror of nearly losing you didn’t go away so easily. The fear still clung to him, gnawing at him in the quiet moments, in the spaces between breaths.

Months had passed since that day, but the memories never fully left him. They lingered, haunting him in the dark corners of his mind. And on one particularly restless night, the memories came crashing down with full force.

Oscar awoke suddenly, drenched in cold sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. The nightmare had been so vivid, so real, that he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had lost you all over again. In the dream, you were gone, your blood spilling out in front of him, his hands unable to stop it. He had been too late, and in the horror of that realization, his world had turned to ash. No colors, no joy, just a hollow, aching void.

He sat up in bed, gasping for breath, his chest tight, his hands trembling. His pulse was erratic, and the cold sweat clung to him like a second skin. The nightmare felt like a cruel replay of his deepest fear, and it made him feel helpless, powerless, and empty in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since the day you were injured.

His heart was heavy, and despite his desperate attempts to calm himself, he couldn’t escape the feelings of loss and dread that had consumed him. He slowly slid out of bed, careful not to wake you, and stumbled down the hallway to the living room, where he collapsed onto the couch. His body shook as the sobs he’d been holding back for months finally broke free.

He was a doctor. He was supposed to be strong, unshakable. But right now, in the silence of his home, with the memory of that nightmare still fresh, Oscar felt completely shattered.

You awoke to the cold emptiness of your bed. The space beside you was vacant, and a chill swept through your chest as you noticed Oscar was gone. Panic stirred in your heart. You knew something wasn’t right. As you slipped out of bed, your bare feet padded softly across the floor, the house eerily quiet, save for the soft sniffling you could hear coming from the living room.

When you found him, the sight of him—slumped on the couch, his face buried in his hands—broke you. Oscar, the stoic, the composed, was in pieces, vulnerable in a way you had never seen before.

His body trembled as he cried, a raw, heartbreaking sound that shattered your heart. You knelt beside him, your hands gently touching his shoulders.

“Oscar…” you whispered, your voice filled with concern. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

He looked up at you, his eyes bloodshot, his face streaked with tears. For the first time in months, he allowed himself to feel it all—the fear, the grief, the terror of losing you again.

“I’m so scared,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I saw you… I saw you die, and I couldn’t do anything. I don’t know how to live in a world where I’ve lost you. I don’t know how to breathe without you.” His hands gripped your shirt as though he were afraid you would slip away again.

You pulled him close, wrapping your arms around him, holding him tightly against you.

“I’m here, Oscar,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’m right here. And I’m never leaving you. You won’t lose me, I promise. We’ll face this together, always.”

Oscar let out a shaky breath, his body relaxing slightly in your arms. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured. “I was so scared… I thought I was going to lose you forever.”

“You don’t deserve this pain, Oscar,” you whispered, your fingers gently stroking his hair as he clung to you, the warmth of his body pressing against yours like a lifeline. “But you do deserve me, and I’m not going anywhere. You’ll never lose me. I promise.”

He pulled back slightly, looking up at you, his eyes raw and red from crying. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his professional armor was gone. There was no mask of calm detachment, no wall of control. There was only Oscar—the vulnerable, terrified man who had almost lost the love of his life and couldn’t bear the thought of living without you.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” Oscar said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re the only thing that makes sense in this chaotic world. Every day I wake up and I see you beside me, and it’s like the world is okay again. But when I lost you… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. Everything went dark. I couldn’t stop it… and I still can’t shake that fear.”

You gently cupped his face, guiding his eyes back to yours. His hands trembled against your skin as if he were afraid to let go of you, to face the world without you by his side.

“You don’t have to fight this fear alone,” you whispered, your voice filled with tenderness. “I’m here, Oscar. I’ll always be here. You can lean on me. We’re stronger together. We’ll always find a way through the dark, no matter how much it hurts.”

Oscar’s lips parted, his gaze softening as he searched your face, looking for reassurance in the depths of your eyes. For a brief moment, the frantic anxiety that had consumed him faded, replaced by the quiet comfort of your presence. He took a shaky breath, his hands finding yours, holding them with an almost desperate intensity.

“I thought… I thought if I lost you, everything would shatter,” he admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “But then I realized something. I don’t have to face this alone. We face it together. You’re not just my wife. You’re my strength, my heart, my reason to keep going. And I’ll never let that go. I’ll never let you go.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you leaned in, kissing him gently on the forehead. “And I’ll never let you go, Oscar. You’re my heart, too. Without you, I wouldn’t be whole. We’re a team, always. Together, we’re unbreakable.”

A moment of silence passed, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. But in that silence, there was a peace—an understanding that neither of you could imagine life without the other. The fear, the pain, and the scars of that near-loss would always be a part of you both. But it wasn’t the end. Not now. Not ever.

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment, his face buried in your neck as he finally allowed himself to rest, to let go of the suffocating anxiety that had gripped him so tightly for months. He felt the warmth of your arms around him, the steady beat of your heart, and for the first time in so long, he let himself breathe.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, but full of emotion. “I love you more than I’ll ever be able to say. Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice soft but unwavering. “Always. And I’ll never give up on you. We’re in this together.”

For a long while, neither of you spoke, content to just hold each other, to let the quiet calm of the moment fill the empty spaces where fear and grief had once lived. Slowly, the tension began to leave Oscar’s body, his breathing evening out as he finally allowed himself to relax in your embrace.

The nightmares that had haunted him for months didn’t vanish overnight. But in your arms, he found something he had lost: hope. The kind of hope that only love could give. He knew the road ahead would still be hard, that the scars would never fully fade. But as long as you were by his side, he could face anything.

Oscar gently pulled away, his eyes searching yours with a softness that only you could bring out of him. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, fragile but real.

“I’m so glad you’re still here,” he murmured, his hands holding yours. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You smiled, your heart full of love. “You never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, Oscar. Not now, not ever.”

And as you both sat there, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s embrace, you realized just how deep your love ran. It had been tested, scarred, and nearly shattered, but through it all, you had come out the other side stronger, more united than ever.

Because without each other, neither of you would have survived.

But with each other, you were unstoppable.

[koyagifs]

𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾

pairing: pirate!wooyoung x mermaid!reader au: pirate au genre: angst with happy ending word count: 6.984k synopsis: wooyoung searched far and wide for his lover, regardless of the consequences. warning(s): toxic family relationships, screaming match. please let me know if i miss anything else!! now excuse me while i go cry bc i actually really love this couple :(

part one

Yn swam swiftly, the cool water embracing her like an old friend as she made her way behind the ship. The familiar silhouette loomed in the distance, its massive hull cutting through the water like a silent sentinel. Her heart ached with every stroke, but she knew she needed this—this space, this distance, to breathe.

As she glided deeper into the shadow of the ship, she couldn't help but glance down, her hand brushing against the smooth surface of the shell that Wooyoung had given her. The one they had picked out together, so long ago, while laughing and talking about dreams they both thought would never end.

The shell had always been a symbol of something deeper between them—a quiet promise, a token of their bond. It was delicate yet strong, much like their friendship, and Yn had never been able to part with it, even as things between them started to shift. But now, holding it in her hand, she felt the weight of what she had just walked away from—the weight of the words she couldn’t say, the feelings she didn’t know how to handle.

She sank lower into the water, letting the pressure surround her, blocking out everything but the rhythm of her breathing and the gentle pull of the ocean currents. She needed to escape, to think clearly, but even in this solitude, all she could hear was Wooyoung’s voice, his plea, the raw emotion in his words.

Why did you have to say it, Wooyoung? she thought, her chest tightening at the memory. Why did you have to make me feel this way?

She clenched the shell tighter in her hand, but even the coolness of the ocean couldn’t calm the storm inside her. Her heart was torn in two, caught between her love for him and the fear of losing everything. It’s too dangerous, she thought, the words repeating like a mantra in her mind. It’s too dangerous for both of us.

And yet, even as she told herself that, part of her longed to turn back, to swim back to him and just hold him. To tell him everything, even if it meant risking it all. But she knew she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she figured out what to do with the mess of emotions he had stirred in her.

As Yn approached the familiar, shimmering reef that marked the edge of her underwater home, the sense of comfort she usually felt was replaced with a growing dread. The vibrant coral, the swaying seaweed, and the soft hum of the ocean currents seemed to mock her unease. She knew what awaited her within the grand, shell-encrusted structure that she had called home for so long: the voices of her mother and father, heavy with disappointment and concern.

Her movements slowed as she approached the entrance, her fingers brushing against the intricate carvings along the coral doorway. She hesitated, her chest tightening as the imagined weight of their words pressed down on her. But the soft glow of the bioluminescent crystals inside told her she couldn’t avoid this forever.

As Yn swam deeper into the grand expanse of her underwater home, the familiar sight of guards stationed along the corridor came into view. They stood at attention, their tails shimmering faintly in the glow of bioluminescent coral lining the walls. Each one lowered their head respectfully as she passed, their deference a constant reminder of the expectations placed on her.

But instead of comfort or pride, Yn felt the weight of dread pressing harder against her chest with every stroke she took. The closer she got to the central chamber, the heavier her limbs felt, as though the water itself resisted her movements.

She could already hear the faint murmur of voices—her mother and father, undoubtedly waiting for her. Their tones were muffled but unmistakably stern, the cadence of concern woven tightly with disappointment. They would have known she was near the surface again. They always knew.

The ornate archway of the main hall came into view, encrusted with shimmering shells and pearls that gleamed like a beacon of tradition and authority. Yn hesitated for a moment, her fingers brushing the edge of the cool stone frame. She closed her eyes, drawing in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself before swimming inside.

As she crossed the threshold, the full weight of their presence struck her. Her mother, regal and poised, turned first, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. Her father, standing beside her, exuded quiet authority, his arms crossed over his chest. Both pairs of eyes locked onto her, heavy with unspoken questions and accusations.

"Yn," her mother said, her voice sharp but steady. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"

Yn clenched her fists, holding her head high despite the dread pooling in her stomach. "I’m here, aren’t I?" she replied, her voice more defiant than she intended, though it trembled with the effort.

Her father’s eyes narrowed slightly. "You’ve been near the surface again. Near him, haven’t you?"

Yn didn’t answer right away. She stood tall, her posture defiant, but her gaze stayed fixed on a point just beyond them, refusing to meet their piercing stares. The weight of the shell in her hand was grounding, a reminder of the fleeting freedom she felt whenever she was with Wooyoung.

"Yn," her mother’s voice cut through the tension, softer than her father’s but no less filled with urgency. "Please, look at us. This isn’t a game. Do you know how dangerous this is? For all of us?"

Yn’s lips trembled, but she still didn’t answer. Her silence hung heavy in the water, the tension in the room thick enough to feel. Her father let out an annoyed groan, his patience clearly fraying. "Yn," he said, his voice sharp and cutting. "This is not the time for games. Answer me."

Her mother, more measured but equally concerned, sighed deeply, swimming closer to her. "Yn, sweetheart," she said softly, her tone a mix of worry and frustration. "We’re not trying to fight with you. We just need to understand—"

But before her mother could get any closer, Yn instinctively swam back, putting more distance between them. Her movements were quick and defensive, her eyes darting between them like a cornered creature. She gripped the shell tighter, as if it were the only thing tethering her to her emotions.

"You are to be wed to Prince Taeyong," her father declared, his voice echoing with finality throughout the chamber.

Yn froze, her mind spinning as his words settled like a stone in her chest. "What?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Her mother turned her head away, unable to bear the heartache etched so clearly in her daughter’s trembling voice. Guilt flickered across her face, but she remained silent, unwilling or unable to challenge her husband’s decision.

Her father’s tone remained cold and unyielding. "And you are to stay away from that boy," he added, his words cutting through the water like a blade. "A guard will be assigned to you at all times until the wedding. Do you understand me?"

Yn’s breath hitched as her father’s command struck her like a tidal wave. Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as anger and despair clashed within her. "You can’t do this," she said, her voice shaking but defiant.

Her father’s eyes narrowed, his expression hard as stone. "I can, and I will, if it means keeping you in line. This is not up for discussion, Yn. Your reckless behavior ends now."

Tears welled in Yn’s eyes, her vision blurring as her chest tightened. "I’m not some prisoner you can lock away!" she cried, her voice cracking with the force of her emotions. "This isn’t fair!"

"Fair?" her father scoffed, his voice filled with frustration. "Life isn’t fair, Yn. Sacrifices have to be made for the greater good, and this is yours. You’ll learn to accept it."

Her mother flinched at his harsh words, but still, she said nothing, her silence cutting deeper than any reprimand.

Yn shook her head, her tears falling freely now, the ache in her heart almost unbearable. She took a step back, the familiar corridors of her home suddenly feeling like the walls of a cage. Unable to bear the emotional wave that course through her body, she swam away.

She took a step back, the familiar corridors of her home suddenly feeling like the walls of a cage, each shimmering pearl and ornate shell a cruel reminder of the life she couldn’t escape. The weight of her father’s decree pressed down on her chest, suffocating and unrelenting.

Unable to bear the emotional wave coursing through her body, Yn turned and swam away, her movements fueled by desperation and heartbreak. The tears she had fought to hold back now spilled freely, dissolving into the water around her as she darted through the labyrinth of her palace.

Her mother called after her, her voice trembling with guilt and worry. "Yn, wait!"

But Yn didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The overwhelming sense of betrayal and confinement drove her forward, her tail slicing through the water with speed she didn’t know she possessed. She barely registered the concerned glances of guards and attendants as she passed, her only focus being escape—anywhere but here.

The glow of the palace faded behind her as she swam into the open expanse of the ocean, the familiar safety of home replaced by the vast, cold depths. The silence out here was deafening, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she could breathe, unbound by the crushing expectations and suffocating rules of her family.

Wooyoung perched in the crow’s nest, the salty breeze whipping through his hair as he scanned the endless expanse of ocean below. His heart was a mix of hope and dread, pounding in his chest as he clutched the spyglass tighter in his hand. The rhythmic creak of the ship beneath him was the only sound besides the distant crash of waves and the occasional call of a gull.

He had been up there for hours, his eyes flickering over the water’s surface in search of any sign of Yn. Every ripple, every shift in the current, made his heart leap, only to fall again when it turned out to be nothing.

"Come on," he murmured under his breath, his voice carried away by the wind. "Where are you, Yn?"

Wooyoung’s heart ached as he gripped the edge of the crow’s nest, his gaze fixed on the endless waves. The guilt that gnawed at him since his confession hadn’t eased—it had only grown. He hadn’t meant to put you in this position, torn between your world and his. But he couldn’t take the words back, nor could he deny the feelings he had kept bottled up for so long.

He sighed, running a hand through his wind-tousled hair. "I’m sorry," he whispered to the ocean, as if you could hear him.

He knew how much your parents hated humans—how they feared them, mistrusted them, and saw them as nothing but trouble. And yet, every time you defied their rules to visit him, it felt like a fleeting miracle. Wooyoung cherished every laugh you shared, every story you told, and every moment you spent together, even if they came with the risk of discovery.

But now, he couldn’t help but feel like he had pushed too far. The memory of your tear-filled eyes haunted him. He had wanted to protect you, to offer you a place where you could be free to be yourself. Instead, he had only made things harder for you.

He gripped the spyglass tightly, scanning the horizon again. The guilt weighed heavy in his chest, but it was no match for the fear of losing you. He had to see you, to know you were safe.

"Please," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. "Just let me see you again."

" hyung! "

Wooyoung’s head snapped down at the sound of Jongho’s voice. He saw him standing on the deck, waving up at him with his usual calm but firm expression. Beside Jongho stood Hongjoong, arms crossed and gaze piercing as it fixed on Wooyoung.

Wooyoung felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to stay in the crow’s nest, out of reach and away from Hongjoong’s scrutinizing stare. But he knew better than to ignore his captain.

With a heavy sigh, he began his descent, climbing down the rigging with a practiced ease that didn’t match the tension in his body. As his boots hit the deck, Jongho stepped back to let Hongjoong take center stage, his presence as commanding as ever.

"Wooyoung," Hongjoong said, his tone measured but firm. "Care to explain why you’ve been up there all day, staring at the horizon like a lost puppy?"

Wooyoung hesitated, glancing at Jongho, who simply raised an eyebrow as if to say, You’re on your own with this one.

"I, uh..." Wooyoung scratched the back of his neck, avoiding Hongjoong’s sharp gaze. "Just... keeping watch. You never know when trouble might show up, right?"

Hongjoong wasn’t buying it. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Trouble? Or someone?"

Wooyoung’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth to respond, but Hongjoong cut him off.

"You’ve been distracted, Wooyoung," Hongjoong said, his voice low but not unkind. "Ever since we left port, your head’s been somewhere else. And I don’t have to guess where."

Wooyoung kicked his feet against the deck, avoiding eye contact with Hongjoong as he heard Jongho’s footsteps fade away. The quiet left a heavy tension in the air, thick with the weight of unspoken words and the truth Wooyoung wasn’t sure he could face.

Hongjoong stopped a few paces behind him, his gaze sharp but silent for a long moment. Wooyoung could feel his captain’s presence without needing to look up. There was no anger in Hongjoong’s silence, just a deep concern that Wooyoung couldn’t ignore.

Finally, Hongjoong spoke, his voice quieter than before but no less serious. "You’re not the only one who cares about her, Wooyoung."

Wooyoung stiffened, his heart clenching. He didn’t want to hear it—not now. "I know," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I can’t help how I feel."

Hongjoong’s sigh was barely audible, but Wooyoung felt the weight of it. "I’m not telling you to stop caring about her," he said, his voice softening. "I’m telling you to think about what comes next. About what happens when you take this too far."

Wooyoung’s chest tightened, a hiss of annoyance leaving his lips as Hongjoong walked away. The quiet between them was suffocating, and Wooyoung could feel his temper rising. He wasn’t angry at Hongjoong—no, it was the situation. The weight of everything. The uncertainty. The pressure that had been building for so long.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "What does he know?" Wooyoung muttered under his breath, his gaze following Hongjoong’s retreating figure. It wasn’t like the captain was wrong, but Wooyoung couldn’t shake the feeling that Hongjoong just didn’t understand. He didn’t understand what it felt like to care for someone so deeply, to feel that pull in your heart every time you thought about them.

"Hey, Youngie," a familiar voice called out, pulling Wooyoung from his spiraling thoughts. He snapped his head toward the sound, his heart still racing from the intensity of the conversation with Hongjoong.

Luna stood there, her smile warm but knowing, her eyes soft with understanding.

Wooyoung didn’t immediately respond, instead running a hand through his hair in frustration. Luna’s presence, as comforting as it was, only reminded him of how tangled everything felt.

"You know Captain means well," Luna added, her tone light but laced with the kind of wisdom that made Wooyoung sigh deeply.

"I know," he muttered, glancing away. "It’s just... I don’t think he gets it, Luna." His voice was rough, the frustration of the conversation with Hongjoong still simmering beneath the surface.

Luna’s smile faded slightly, her expression softening into something more serious. She took a step closer, her presence grounding him in a way that only a friend who knew him well could.

"Wooyoung," she said quietly, her voice gentle but firm. " captain would be the only one to understand.

Wooyoung turned to look at her, confusion flickering in his eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice a little sharper than he intended.

Luna gave him a soft, knowing smile. "I mean that Hongjoong isn't just some captain with a rigid sense of duty. He's been through things you can't even imagine—things that might make him understand what you're going through more than you realize."

Wooyoung frowned, processing her words. "I know he’s been through a lot, but—"

A sudden thud broke his thoughts, interrupting the flow of his words. Wooyoung’s head snapped toward the sound, heart racing as he quickly turned toward the railing. Luna, sensing his shift in attention, followed his gaze as both of them hurried to the side of the ship.

There, just below, emerging from the ocean, was Yn. Wooyoung's breath caught in his throat as he saw her, her wet hair clinging to her face, her eyes wide and searching. The sight of her made his heart race, but before he could take a step closer, he heard Hongjoong’s voice cut through the tension.

“Drop the net!” Hongjoong shouted, his tone commanding as he rushed to the railing. He glanced at Wooyoung, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and authority, and gave a sharp nod.

Yn swam toward the net, her heart pounding in her chest as the crew pulled it upward. She gripped onto the rope tightly, her tail swishing freely behind her as she was hauled up toward the ship. The coolness of the ocean clung to her, contrasting sharply with the warmth of the ship’s deck she was about to reach.

As San and Yeosang tugged the rope, Yn's muscles burned, but she didn’t let go. She wasn’t sure if it was the fear of being trapped again or the need to be close to Wooyoung that kept her holding on, but something deep inside her drove her forward. She could feel the weight of the crew's eyes on her, and though their intentions were to help, she couldn't shake the feeling of being caught once more between two worlds.

Wooyoung stood by the rope, his heart hammering in his chest as Yn got closer, her tail glistening in the moonlight as she swam toward him. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, as if every second that passed was drawing him closer to something both beautiful and uncertain.

As the net was pulled higher, Wooyoung stepped forward, eyes locked on Yn. There was so much between them—so much they hadn’t said, so many fears and doubts—but none of that mattered now. All he could focus on was her, and the desperate need to be by her side, to hold her, to help her in whatever way he could.

The footsteps of the crewmates faded into the distance, leaving Wooyoung and Yn in a silence that felt heavier than any storm. The ship rocked gently beneath them, but for a moment, the world felt like it had stopped spinning entirely.

Yn's breath hitched as her emotions broke free. The tears that had been simmering beneath the surface finally flowed freely, her body trembling as she clung to Wooyoung. She buried her face in his chest, feeling the warmth of his embrace envelop her, even as her heart threatened to shatter.

Wooyoung's heart ached for her, and his grip tightened around her, as if he could hold her together when the world seemed intent on pulling her apart. His hand gently stroked her hair, murmuring words of admire.

She sobbed quietly into his chest, her voice muffled as she clung to him. "I’m so scared, Wooyoung. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what to say anymore."

Wooyoung's heart clenched at her words, his own throat tight with unshed tears. He could feel her shaking, the depth of her fear sinking into him. He wanted to promise her that everything would be okay, but he knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy.

" what happen? i haven't seen you cry this hard since san accidentally ate fish in front of you." Wooyoung asked.

Wooyoung’s heart skipped a beat as he gently helped Yn sit on the base of the ship, the weight of her words sinking in. His brow furrowed in concern, but when she let out a small laugh, he couldn’t help but smile, relieved to see even a hint of lightness in her eyes.

"Don't remind me," she muttered, her voice cracking slightly as she wiped away the remnants of her tears. "You know how much I hated sannie for that."

Wooyoung chuckled softly, relieved to see her trying to smile. "I won't," he promised, his tone soft. He moved to sit beside her, their shoulders touching, the warmth of his presence steadying her.

Then, Yn’s voice grew quieter, filled with the depth of everything she had been carrying. "My parents, Woo… I love you so, so much," she said, her words trembling as she glanced up at him, her eyes still shining with tears. "When you confessed to me, I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to say yes, but… everything with my family, the ocean... it’s just so much. And I’ve always been stuck between two worlds."

Wooyoung’s heart seemed to stop at her words. The air around them felt heavy, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He pulled back slightly, just enough to see Yn’s face, her eyes still red from crying, but now filled with something that was both painful and determined.

“I’m betrothed to another, Woo…” she whispered again, her voice barely audible, as if saying the words out loud made them real in a way she hadn’t been ready for. Her gaze dropped to the ground, the weight of her confession settling in the space between them.

His mind raced, trying to process what she was saying. The world suddenly felt far too small for the two of them, caught in this unbearable tension. "What?" Wooyoung breathed out, his voice cracking slightly. "Yn, no, you can’t... you can’t be—"

“I didn’t want this, Woo,” she interrupted quickly, her voice sharp with frustration, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as him. "But my parents… they’ve already arranged it. It’s been decided, and I don’t have a choice. I… I can’t just run away from it."

Wooyoung’s heart shattered seeing Yn in so much pain. He hadn’t realized until now how deeply the weight of everything had been affecting her. The tears falling from her eyes mirrored his own, and for a moment, they just sat there—two souls bound by love but torn apart by circumstances beyond their control.

Yn picked at her scales absentmindedly, her fingers trembling as they traced the delicate lines of iridescent blue and green that decorated her skin. Her gaze was far away, lost in thoughts she couldn’t voice. Wooyoung’s chest tightened at the sight of her distress.

He shuffled slightly away, giving her space, though he didn’t want to. His own emotions were a whirlwind, and he needed to process everything, but it broke him to see her so lost.

"I don’t know what to do, Woo," she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost drowned by the sound of the ocean. She continued to pick at her scales, a nervous habit she’d developed whenever she was overwhelmed. "I love you so much, but my life... it’s like it’s already been decided for me. I don’t know how to change that."

Wooyoung swallowed hard, his heart aching at how powerless he felt in this moment. He had never felt so helpless before. But he had to remind her, even if he wasn’t sure how to fix everything yet.

Yn wiped her eyes quickly, startled by Hongjoong’s sudden appearance. Her heart skipped a beat, a mix of confusion and uncertainty swirling inside her. Wooyoung instinctively pulled her closer, his protective instincts kicking in, though he didn't release her.

Hongjoong’s smile remained soft, but there was a knowing glint in his eyes. “I may be able to help with that,” he said again, his voice calm but firm, as if he had an idea that could change everything for them.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, glancing at Yn before looking back at Hongjoong, the skepticism clear in his expression. “Help with what, hyung?”

Hongjoong’s gaze flickered to Yn, and then back to Wooyoung. “I know you both are in a difficult situation, but I’ve been paying attention. I think I might have a way to give you both more time—to find a solution that isn’t as... permanent as the one your parents have set for you, Yn.”

Yn’s brow furrowed as she sniffled again, still unsure. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice tentative, though her eyes were filled with a flicker of hope.

“I know it’s not much, and I’m not promising that this will be easy,” Hongjoong began, stepping closer to them both. “But... I think there’s a way we can buy you some time—time for you to figure things out without immediately being forced into that betrothal. Time for you to make your own choice.”

Yn clung tightly to the hammerhead shark, her fingers brushing against its rough, slick skin as it glided effortlessly through the water. The creature, a loyal companion and protector, seemed to sense her distress, its large head tilting slightly as it swam beneath her, providing her with the stability and comfort she needed in that moment.

The cold, deep waters of the ocean felt almost like a sanctuary compared to the heavy, suffocating pressure she had just left behind. The hammerhead shark, an imposing figure with its wide, angular head, was a reminder of the strength and resilience she still had within her, even when everything felt so out of control.

Yn’s heart raced as the shadows of the ocean grew longer, the dimming waters swallowing the light of the surface above. The hammerhead shark swam steadily beside her, its large head cutting through the water, but Yn felt an unsettling pull, a sense of dread that seemed to come from the very depths of the sea itself. It was as if the darkness beneath her was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Her tail flicked nervously, pushing her forward, but the ocean felt heavier now, as if each movement required more energy. She glanced over her shoulder at the ship trailing in the distance, the sound of creaking wood and faint voices carried by the wind. The weight of her decision hung in the air, the impossible choice between her love for Wooyoung and the demands of her family.

But now, there was something else lurking, a feeling that there was more at play than just her own fears. The shark beside her, once a comforting presence, now seemed more like a sentinel—silent, focused, as if it too sensed the danger.

Yn felt a shiver crawl up her spine, a sudden coldness settling in her chest as the shadows beneath the ocean deepened. The light from above was almost gone, swallowed by the growing night and the vastness of the sea. The shark moved more urgently now, its tail swishing faster as if it had sensed a shift in the water.

The closer they came to the ship, the heavier the air became. Yn’s pulse quickened, and she instinctively swam closer to the shark for protection. What was it? What had changed in the ocean’s current?

Suddenly, a dark shape flickered in the depths below—a ripple in the water that sent a jolt of panic through Yn’s chest. Her breath hitched, and her instincts screamed at her to swim faster, to get away. The hammerhead shark surged forward, pushing her onward, but it too seemed wary, its movements more frantic now.

“W-what’s down there?” Yn whispered to herself, her voice trembling in the water. She felt the pull of something dark, something ancient, something far beyond her comprehension. The ocean was vast, and it had its secrets. And right now, it felt like one of those secrets was waking up.

A low, rumbling growl echoed from the depths, vibrating through the water and shaking Yn to her core. She froze, her eyes wide with fear. The shark beside her turned, its body tensing as it swam in a tight circle, its instinct to protect her clear. But Yn’s gaze was fixed on the shadow moving beneath them, rising up from the depths like a predator. The water around them rippled as something enormous stirred in the dark.

Before she could process what was happening, the surface of the water above her began to ripple violently. The ship—a beacon of light and safety just moments before—suddenly seemed so far away.

The hammerhead shark hissed, its body bracing for something larger approaching, and Yn felt the sea itself shift, the ocean turning from a place of solace into one of danger.

Yn's breath caught in her throat as the shadows in the water cleared, and there, in the dim light filtering through the waves, she saw the unmistakable figures of her father and his guards. Her heart sank into her stomach, her pulse thundering in her ears. They were here.

Her father, his stern figure cutting through the water like a shadow, was flanked by two of his elite guards. They moved with an eerie grace, the sharp glint of their armor visible even in the depths. They were not here to negotiate. They were here to bring her back.

The hammerhead shark, her loyal companion and protector, let out a sharp, warning hiss, but before Yn could fully process the danger, the creature swam away, retreating into the deeper waters. The shark, once so steadfast at her side, was now gone—pulled away by some unseen force or by the overwhelming presence of the guards.

Yn's heart thudded painfully as her companion disappeared into the shadows, leaving her alone in the vast, suffocating ocean. The coldness of her father’s approach seemed to fill the water around her, and she could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on her, even from a distance.

"Yn," her father’s voice, low and commanding, cut through the water like a blade. "You’ve gone far enough."

Her breath hitched, her body frozen in place, and she didn’t respond immediately. The sting of his words—the disappointment, the anger—was too much to bear. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. The father who had always been her protector was now the one chasing her down, the one who would take her back to a life she didn’t want.

" no" yn said, surprising herself and her father. The word escaped Yn’s lips before she could fully process it. It was quiet, almost a whisper, but in the tense silence of the water, it rang out with a weight she hadn’t expected.

Her father’s eyes widened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something like uncertainty in his gaze. The guards, too, stopped in their tracks, looking at each other as if unsure whether they had heard correctly.

"No," Yn repeated, her voice stronger this time, though it trembled with the weight of her own defiance. The water around her seemed to thicken with the tension, as if the ocean itself was holding its breath.

Her father’s face hardened, and the anger that flashed in his eyes was a stark contrast to the brief softness she had seen. His jaw clenched, his posture shifting as he swam closer, his authority palpable in the water around them.

"You dare defy me?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous, each word cutting through the current like a blade.

Yn’s heart was pounding in her chest, her tail flicking nervously beneath her, but there was no turning back now. She had said it. She had spoken the words that had been trapped inside her for so long.

"I’m not going back," she said, her voice firm, though the words felt foreign on her tongue. "I won’t marry him. I won’t live my life the way you want me to."

The fury in her father’s eyes was enough to send a shiver through Yn’s body, but she stood her ground. The desire to flee was overwhelming—her instincts screaming at her to swim away from the storm that was about to break. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything she had just said.

Her father’s glare bore into her, his tail lashing angrily behind him as he swam a few paces closer. The tension in the water thickened with every passing second, and Yn felt the weight of his disappointment like a physical force pressing against her chest. The ocean around them seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the next move.

“You really think you can defy me?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His normally controlled demeanor had shattered, and now the anger was raw, unchecked. “You are my daughter, Yn. You were never meant to have a choice. You belong to the kingdom. You belong to your people. Do you understand what that means?”

Yn swallowed hard, but her resolve held steady. She could feel the pounding of her heart in her ears, the fear and anger swirling within her, but she refused to show it. This was her moment. The one moment she would take for herself.

"Daddy, I love him!" Yn cried out, her voice breaking as she struggled against her father's iron grip. Every movement she made felt like she was being pulled further away from everything she wanted—away from Wooyoung, from the life she had begun to imagine with him. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of the love she felt, and the overwhelming fear of losing it all.

Her father’s grip tightened, his eyes flashing with both anger and something colder, something deeper. "Enough, Yn!" he snapped, his voice sharp like a whip. "You cannot love him. He is human. You are of the sea, and that is where your loyalty must lie, not with a mere human."

Yn’s tail swished violently through the water, trying to free herself from his grasp, but her father’s strength was too much. His fingers dug into her arms, and with every pull, she was dragged further and further away from the ship that still held Wooyoung’s presence. The sight of the ship growing smaller in the distance filled her with a new wave of desperation.

"You don’t understand!" Yn cried, her voice thick with tears. "I don’t care that he’s human. I don’t care about the rules. I love him. Why can’t you just let me be happy?"

Her father’s face twisted in fury, his patience wearing thin. "You are a fool, Yn. You think love can change everything? The ocean does not care for love. It only cares for power and tradition. You cannot have both."

With a final, desperate tug, Yn broke free from her father's grip, her tail propelling her forward with all the strength she could muster. The rush of freedom surged through her, and for that brief, fleeting moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. She could feel the pull of the ocean behind her, but it wasn’t enough to drag her back. Not this time.

"I can and I will!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the water, filled with the determination that had been building up inside her for so long. The words felt like a declaration—both to herself and to her father. She would no longer let the fear of consequences stop her. She would no longer be bound by the traditions and expectations that had never felt like her own.

Her heart raced as she swam faster, pushing herself toward the surface, toward Wooyoung, and toward the ship she had almost lost. The water around her seemed to resist her movements, but her resolve was stronger than ever. She could do this.

Behind her, her father’s furious roar echoed, but she didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She had already made her choice, and she wasn’t going to let anything or anyone take that away from her.

The light of the surface was within reach, and with every stroke of her tail, it seemed to get closer, brighter. The ship loomed above her, and she could see the outlines of her friends on deck, the ship’s sails fluttering in the wind. But most importantly, she saw Wooyoung standing near the edge of the ship, his eyes scanning the horizon, looking for her.

A breathless cry escaped Yn as she surged toward the surface, breaking through the water and into the open air. The wind hit her face, and she gasped in a mix of relief and exhaustion, her eyes locking onto Wooyoung’s.

“Yn!” Wooyoung’s voice rang out, filled with both relief and concern as he rushed to the edge of the ship, his arms outstretched as if he could catch her.

Without thinking, Yn propelled herself forward, her heart leaping in her chest. She was here. She had made it. She was free.

With a final surge, she reached the ship, and Wooyoung’s hands were there to help pull her up, his touch warm and steady as he guided her onto the deck. He didn’t say anything at first—he didn’t need to. His eyes told her everything: that he was just as relieved as she was, that he was proud of her for making it.

Yn collapsed against him, her breath ragged as she held onto him tightly. She could feel the tears in her eyes, but they weren’t from sorrow anymore. They were from the overwhelming relief of knowing she had made it to where she truly belonged.

" did you get it?" yn asked, finally catching her breath.

Wooyoung smiled as it reached his eyes, he pulled out a iridescent pearl necklace that shine brightly. Wooyoung placed the necklace around her neck, Yn gasped as she felt the weight of the iridescent pearl necklace settle around her neck. The cool, smooth pearls brushed against her skin, and the moment the clasp clicked into place, a sudden warmth enveloped her entire body. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the unmistakable sensation of her tail slowly fading, replaced by a pair of legs. The transformation was both strange and beautiful—like her entire world was shifting beneath her.

Her once shimmering tail now felt like distant memory as the magic of the necklace took hold. She stared down at her new legs, flexing them slightly as the sensation of movement in a whole new form became clearer. Her fingers brushed the pearls of the necklace, their soft glow reflecting the hope in Wooyoung's eyes.

"You did it," she whispered, her voice a little unsteady. She looked up at Wooyoung, her heart swelling with gratitude. "You actually did it."

Wooyoung’s smile widened, the joy and relief in his expression lighting up the space between them. "I said I would." His eyes were full of warmth as he gazed at her, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of them, here, in this moment.

As Yn took a few tentative steps on her new legs, she stumbled slightly, still adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation. Wooyoung reached out, steadying her, his hands gentle but strong. "Easy," he said softly, his voice filled with affection. "You’ve got this."

Yn laughed lightly, the sound of it filling the air as she gained her balance, standing tall in front of him. Her eyes sparkled with newfound wonder, looking at Wooyoung with awe and affection.

Yn threw her whole body onto Wooyoung, her arms wrapping around him tightly as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms. A joyous laugh bubbled up from her chest, the kind that she hadn’t felt in so long, and the world seemed to brighten around them. Wooyoung spun her around, the two of them twirling under the open sky, the sea breeze ruffling their hair.

Her heart soared with every spin, the excitement, the relief, and the love all mixing together in a whirlwind of happiness. Yn felt weightless in his arms, as if she were flying, her heart soaring with the freedom of the moment. Her lips parted in a soft sigh as she leaned into Wooyoung’s kiss, the warmth and tenderness of it sweeping through her like a wave. The world around them seemed to disappear—the ship, the sea, even the sky—until it was just the two of them, entwined in the embrace of their love.

Wooyoung’s hands gently cupped her face, his fingers tracing the soft curve of her cheek as he deepened the kiss. Yn melted into him, her hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders, feeling the strength and steadiness of him beneath her touch.

It was a kiss filled with everything they had fought for: freedom, love, and the hope of a future they could finally share together.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested against one another, both of them breathless and smiling, eyes locked in a silent understanding. Yn’s heart still raced, not from fear or uncertainty, but from the sheer joy of knowing that they had crossed an impossible boundary to get to this point.

"You’re mine," Wooyoung whispered, his voice a soft promise.

"And you’re mine," Yn whispered back, her heart full.

[heartseungs-archive]

lucky strike | l.dh

word count: 2.3k | genre: arcade employee! haechan, high school au, (sort of?) f2l, mc and hc are very cute | warnings: none

Haechan notices you the moment you step foot into the arcade. After all, it’s not every day that his crush walks into his workplace, unaccompanied and teary-eyed. You stick out like a sore thumb amongst the neon red and blues of the pinball machines, pristine white shoes thudding against the cement floor which hasn’t been cleaned in years.

He hasn’t had the opportunity to speak to you much, considering the both of you are in entirely different social circles. However, he does know you’re a responsible class representative and someone who never hesitates to greet him with a smile in the morning, which he shyly returns. His friends have teased him endlessly for the way he seemingly becomes mute when you approach, his cheeks always heating up. Haechan is extroverted, but he supposes even he becomes withdrawn in the presence of your warmth and friendliness.

Which is why the unfamiliar sight of you crying immediately sends a pang to his heart, but he’s not entirely sure how to approach you without making the situation become uncomfortable. You likely want solitude, and it’s the least Haechan can do to let you have it, both as a well-behaved employee and an almost-friend.

It’s a quiet weekday at the arcade, and Haechan’s eyes follow you as you move from the token machine to a few different games, until you finally settle on the fishing one. Throughout, your expression remains unchanged, even though you occasionally sniffle slightly.

Fuck it, Haechan thinks. Before he knows it, he’s made his way over to you, and he knows how clear the difference is between the both of you. While Haechan wouldn’t call himself a delinquent, he’s definitely not the model student you are. He’s had one or two tardies this semester, and his red Converse is definitely not in line with attire rules. Still, you light up at the sight of him, a wobbly smile making its way onto your face.

“Oh, Haechan-ah. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Haechan wants to say that your appearance here is even more unexpected, but instead, he rubs the back of his head nervously. “I work here.” Your mouth drops open in a silent ‘o’ of understanding, and he can’t help but think it’s one of the cutest things he’s seen.

“You shouldn’t play at the same seat. You’ll have a higher chance of winning if you switch the player more often,” Haechan blurts out. He’s afraid of allowing the silence to become too awkward, and so he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “Really? I didn’t think it made a difference. Thankfully you work here. Do you want to sit and play with me?”

“Huh?” Haechan’s eyes widen, slightly taken aback. You’re asking him?

“Sorry, I forgot that you must be busy considering you work here. Please don’t let me disturb you.” Your cheeks are red from slight embarrassment, and you’re mentally kicking yourself for even making that ridiculous request. He must have just wanted to say hello. Now you’ve put him in a spot, Y/N.

He shakes his head fervently, so hard that it startles you. “No, I’m not busy at all. I’d love to. Besides, if I play with you, we can get more tickets.” Haechan immediately pulls a chair over, and you pass him your stack of tokens. The both of you play a few games, enough for you to realize that Haechan is much better at this than you are.

However, when you remark on his skills, he shrugs nonchalantly. “I used to play this every day when I was a kid.” Your eyes widen, and you grin a little. “Really? Me too!”

“Well, you’re quite bad at it for someone who says she plays often,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. ‘Okay, whatever you say.”

It’s interesting how rapidly your mood lightened the moment Haechan appeared, a wide smile on your face compared to your previously glum expression.

He clears his throat then, eyes shifting around. “What is it?” You ask, looking around as well.

“I just…sorry. This might be a bit too nosy of me. You don’t have to reply or anything. But your eyes were a little red when you came in. Are you alright?” The genuine concern in Haechan’s voice is surprising to you, considering the nature of your acquaintance. However, his doe-brown eyes are earnest as they stare into yours, and you find your gaze escaping to your feet, which tap on the floor nervously out of habit.

A small laugh escapes you, and you nod. “Yeah. It was just a bad argument with my parents. You know how it is. I just came here because I needed a distraction.” Haechan nods, sympathizing with your situation. If anything, he finds his fondness for you growing. The way that you’re so kind and welcoming to everyone at school, and to him, even if you’re having a bad day.

“Well, feel free to drop by whenever. Though preferably on weekdays, since that’s when I work. The other guy, Jaemin, is really strict about tickets. I’ll throw in freebies for you though.”

Haechan’s words allow your smile to grow even brighter, and he feels a sense of pride in seeing the way your shoulders gradually become less sunken and a familiar twinkle returning to your eye.

Suddenly, he gets up from where he’s sitting, causing your eyes to fix curiously on him.

“I’ve got a place to show you. Come on.” You immediately get up to follow after Haechan, who winds past the claw machines and basketball hoops to a more isolated part of the arcade.

A faded wooden sign dangles above the capsule machines, neatly lined up in rows . The light barely reaches this side of the arcade, and Haechan turns on a lightbulb that flickers precariously in the smaller space. Compared to the almost-deafening noises outside, this feels almost therapeutic in some way.

“MBTI Fortunes? I haven’t seen this in a while,” you mutter in mild surprise.

“This is one of my favourite sections. Try it.” You immediately head over to the roller machine and turn the knob, stainless metal cool against your fingers. Barely seconds later, the familiar sight of a red ball rolling gently down the chute enters your vision, before it lands neatly in your hand.

You tilt your head towards Haechan. “You try it too,” you say, smiling. So he’s an ENFP, you think, as he walks over. It makes sense, you suppose. Haechan’s definitely extroverted from the way he acts with his friends, and he’s constantly the center of attention. If anything, you wish you had more of his effortless confidence. There’s no way you could ever approach someone like he did. But you’re impossibly grateful for his presence.

“Should we open it?” He says, throwing the red ball up and catching it smoothly as he makes his way back over to you.

It takes a while, but the both of you eventually manage to twist the capsule open, unrolling the tiny folded piece of paper. Haechan holds it up to the light, squinting to read the writing.

“Take a chance. It just might be a lucky strike,” he mutters, humming in thought.

However, your voice rings out much clearer than his and causes Haechan to pause. “A heart-fluttering event will happen to you today.” You clear your throat nervously, cheeks immediately reddening. Right now, there’s only one person in mind, and he’s standing right in front of you.

“Ah…don’t get too bothered by it. These are all just random anyways.” Haechan is perturbed by the slight stutter in his voice, the way his pulse is speeding up, and how he’s unable to look at you for too long. It’s just because you’re pretty, he thinks. It’s not good to look at pretty people for too long, or his ego will be hurt.

When the both of you make your way back to the main area of the arcade, the silence becomes awkward, but it’s an almost endearing sight. You fiddle with your fingers, but you’re unaware of the fact that Haechan is the exact same.

“Well, thank you for today. That was fun. I should let you get back to work. I’ll see you in school?” You mumble, a faint smile on your face. Haechan nods eagerly. “Yeah. I'll see you.” He wonders if he’ll be able to strike up the same conversation in school. He thinks this is the longest time he's ever interacted with you, and he hopes it isn’t the last.

Haechan can’t help but feel slightly forlorn as he watches you make your way towards the exit of the arcade, red capsule ball in hand. His work is going to feel much longer without your presence. His eyes inevitably drift to the piece of paper that he, for some mysterious reason, hasn't yet thrown away. Take a chance, it says. Haechan's a spontaneous person. The most spontaneous one he knows, actually. Still, he finds it a bit hard to make rash decisions when it comes to you. Maybe it’s because your work is written in neat, clean lines while his is more of a legible scribble. Or that your stationery is neatly categorized in the same color while Haechan’s is more of a haphazard rainbow.

Still, he hopes you’ll accept the slightly disorganized mess that is him.

“Jaemin’s going to kill me for this,” he complains, as he makes his way towards the area containing all of the redeemable prizes. Still, he thinks it’s a worthy tradeoff, facing the wrath of the grumpy blue-haired man who acts like he’s so much older than Haechan when he’s just a college student.

You’re just about to turn a street when you hear the thundering of footsteps on cobblestone behind you, and you’re quick to turn around, alarmed. Haechan almost crashes into you, out of breath and face flushed.

“Haechan? Is something wrong?” There is evident alarm on your face, and Haechan shakes his head vehemently. Just then, you look down at what he’s holding in his hands and let out a slight laugh.

“Did you run all the way here…for this?” You ask.

“Yeah. It’s…for you.” Haechan extends out the Cinnamoroll plushie to you, an expression of anticipation on his face. You take it from him, smoothing your hand over its fluffy ears. A certain sense of warmth fills you. Maybe this was the heart-fluttering event the paper mentioned. Because you’re quite sure that your pulse is now fluttering wildly as you look at Haechan.

“Thank you. But how did you get it? I definitely didn’t have enough tickets for this.” There's a curious glint in your eyes, and Haechan lets out a little scoff.

“Well, I have some benefits as an arcade employee, I suppose,” he says nonchalantly. What he doesn't tell you is that he's now in crippling debt to Jaemin, and will likely spend much more money winning the tickets to pay it off than if he just bought you the plushie.

Seeing the radiant smile on your face only encourages Haechan to make another rash decision. Maybe he’ll fall flat on his face, but he wants to at least try.

“My shift ends in an hour. I know a really good tteokbokki place,” he says, the words coming out of him in a rush, and then realises the abruptness of his statement.

You smirk slightly, and it’s an unfamiliar expression to Haechan to see you so playful, but he doesn’t mind it at all.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Your confidence is sudden, but you find that it comes more easily with Haechan around.

“It can be one. If you want it to be,” Haechan replies immediately. His gaze is much more determined now, and you’re almost intimidated by it. But you refuse to back down, especially when this is everything you’ve ever wanted.

“Okay. It’s a date.” You can’t hide your smile when you say it, and immediately saunter back in the direction of the arcade. Haechan, who still can’t wrap his head about the reality of the situation, automatically follows you. His crush agreed to go on a date with him. You, Y/N, model student and the girl who Haechan thinks has the most beautiful smile he's ever seen in his life, has agreed to eat tteokbokki with him. It's a small start, but a start nonetheless.

“Wait, actually? Also, why are you going back to the arcade?” He asks, confused.

You hold up the soft toy, not even looking back. “Apparently, someone’s in debt. I should return the favor, right?” Oh fuck, I said that out loud. You don’t bother to reply his first question, and Haechan’s quite sure he looks rather ridiculous with how big his smile is.

When the both of you are back, you immediately make a beeline for the fishing game again, looking even more committed to it than previously. The soft toy is placed gently in your lap, and you occasionally hug it unconsciously. Haechan's heartbeat has finally slowed down from it's breakneck pace, but he thinks the fondness he feels at the sight of you is an even more exhilarating feeling.

You’re his lucky strike, he thinks, and he'll gladly take as many chances as needed for you.

[tojisitchyfoot]

Levi Ackerman was never really vocal. But, he would always show up for you—cooking, cleaning, or even just lending a silent, comforting presence.

He’d be the type to remember all the small things, from how you take your tea to the little quirks that make you laugh. He’d find subtle, endearing ways to show his affection—holding your hand a little tighter when no one’s looking, or quietly sitting with you during a storm to make sure you’re not afraid. Being his spouse would mean you have a partner who may not always say “I love you” outright, but would consistently show it through every action, word, and look he gives you. He could be quizzed on you and ace it, he knows everything about you. How your nose scrunches a little when you really smile, and how you tend to hit people when you laugh. It’s endearing for him.

While Levi is famously strict and intense, he’d be a surprisingly attentive and sensitive partner once he feels secure in your bond. You’d see glimpses of his humor—dry, sarcastic, and subtly teasing—that he rarely shows anyone else. Levi’s way of caring would be unique; he might scold you for staying up too late or forgetting your coat in cold weather, but these moments would be his way of showing how much he worries for you. This protective, attentive side would be one of the greatest comforts of being with him.

Levi didnt realize how much he loved you until you died.

It would leave a wound that would never fully heal. Levi would carry on, but with an emptiness that only those closest to him would sense. The loss would be a heavy burden, one that Levi would shoulder in his typically silent, stoic way, bottling the pain within himself. His eyes, once softened by the warmth of love, would harden once again, his expression becoming as guarded as it was in his lonelier days. Still, the memories of you—small, cherished moments, lingering scents, your quiet laughter—would haunt him, flickering into his mind in moments of solitude.

Levi wouldn’t talk much about his grief, as he’s always been a man of few words. But those who knew him well would notice subtle changes: the way he’d linger for a second too long in a place you used to visit together, or how he’d keep his room exactly as it was when you were there, as if preserving a piece of you. The stupid little notes you’d write him. He might be seen sitting in a quiet spot where you once spent time together, staring off into the distance with a distant look in his eyes.

Levi would hold onto small mementos, tokens that had belonged to you or reminded him of you, as anchors in a world that now felt even more perilous and empty.

Levi would carry your memory forward with honor and dignity. He’d likely use his sorrow as fuel, a reminder of why he fights and what he’s lost. In battle, he would be even more unyielding and precise, as if every swing of his blade was a tribute to you and what you shared. He might also become even more protective of those under his care, determined to shield them from the kind of loss he now carries. Your love, though it came to a tragic end, would remain an ever-present force, shaping him in ways only you could.

sorry guys I’m having way too much fun with this app lmfao..I was gonna make this a smut but then I realized that writing angst is much more fun..hehe😚

[dm-tuz]

Play as an enigmatic Arachne. Commonly, these arachnoid humanoids are content with the company of themselves, but some individuals leave their solitude to seek influence, fame, and riches in the adventuring life! The Arachne player race has you covered with four different types of spider ladies to play in your 5e game. Which one will you choose?

If you enjoy this content consider subscribing to my patreon for the Arachne Premium Edition which will features additional player options, such as the Phaser subrace, has more artwork, and gives you VTT tokens and Handouts! If you are not a fan of patreon, consider checking out my kofi page instead!

[earthlybeam]

Just some random headcanons i think that fit Legolas (my opinion) Request by @justaloserxx

↓

↓

↓

Legolas version below.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

What's their love language? Legolas’ love language is a delicate, intimate expression of his deep connection with his significant other. He shows his affection through acts of service, quality time, and physical touch, each one reflecting his nature as an Elf—thoughtful, serene, and attuned to beauty and harmony.

Acts of Service as Legolas’ care for his partner goes beyond the typical gestures. He observes their needs and desires with an unmatched attention to detail. Whether it’s making sure their gear is well-maintained, creating a sheltered space to rest, or ensuring that they’re well-fed with the freshest fruits and herbs, he takes great pride in making their experience as peaceful and pleasant as possible. His love is often expressed in the quiet, everyday tasks that he performs without expecting anything in return. His gifts, too, are subtle but meaningful—an intricately carved wooden bracelet he made himself, a beautifully arranged bouquet of wildflowers he picked on a morning walk, or a rare, perfectly round stone he discovered during his travels that reminds him of their strength. To Legolas, these small offerings are intimate tokens of his affection.

Quality Time To Legolas, time with his partner is an irreplaceable treasure. He finds peace and connection in shared moments of silence, often leading them into tranquil settings where they can escape the chaos of the world. Whether nestled among the trees, gazing out over a sparkling river, or standing atop a high cliff watching the sun set, these moments away from the noise of battle or the daily grind are when he feels most connected. The lack of words in these moments doesn’t feel awkward for Legolas—it feels natural. He loves simply being in the presence of his partner, sharing in the beauty of the world together. Their presence is enough for him.

Physical Touch Although not one to display affection publicly, Legolas’ physical touch is tender and deliberate. A soft brush of fingers as they walk side by side, the warmth of his hand resting briefly on their back when comforting them, or a fleeting but meaningful touch on their arm when they’re near. His reserved nature means that he only shares deeper, more intimate physical affection in private, where he feels safe to be vulnerable. In moments of solitude, he may hold them close, offering gentle, lingering embraces that communicate his love without needing words. His kisses are always slow and deliberate, a soft brushing of lips, an expression of his deep and tender feelings. Legolas is not one to demand attention or grandiose gestures, but the way he expresses his love through actions speaks volumes. Every small gesture, every quiet moment, and every soft touch is his way of showing how much he values and cherishes his partner. For him, love is felt deeply in the smallest of acts, and it’s in these subtle ways that he reveals the depth of his affection.

How do they view their significant other? Are they the light in their life? Best friend? Savior, etc.? To Legolas, his significant other is not just a companion, but a profound presence in his long and often lonely life. He sees them as a source of strength, inspiration, and deep connection, and their relationship brings him a sense of joy and meaning that transcends the passing of time. His Light in the Darkness Having lived for thousands of years, Legolas has witnessed the destruction, pain, and sorrow that often accompany the passage of time. The world has changed, his people have faced endless struggles, and many of his friends and loved ones are gone. But his partner represents something different—a beacon of light in the midst of the shadows. They bring warmth to his heart, reminding him of the beauty in the mortal world, the fleeting but precious nature of life. Their laughter, kindness, and the simple joy they bring to even the darkest days rekindle his own hope. With them, Legolas is reminded that there is still good in the world, and that even amidst loss, love can thrive. His partner is the one who helps him find the beauty in moments he might otherwise overlook.

Best Friend and Confidant In his partner, Legolas finds not just love, but deep friendship. They are his closest confidant, the one person he trusts with his innermost thoughts, doubts, and fears. The unspoken bond between them allows Legolas to share even the things he rarely speaks of—his moments of doubt, the burdens of leadership, the heavy weight of the past. He admires their wisdom and often seeks their counsel when faced with difficult decisions, trusting their judgment above all others. The moments they share together, whether in conversation or in comfortable silence, are sacred to him. Their understanding and empathy offer him a sense of peace, and he finds solace in knowing that no matter the trials they face, they have each other.

A Partner in Adventure as Legolas has always thrived in the thrill of adventure, the challenge of battle, and the beauty of exploration. But with his partner by his side, those experiences take on new meaning. He delights in showing them the world as he sees it—the ancient forests, the vast mountain ranges, the quiet beauty of nature that few others truly appreciate. While his partner may not possess the same longevity or elven grace, Legolas admires their bravery, resilience, and willingness to learn and grow alongside him. He is proud of their courage, and he finds joy in helping them become stronger, guiding them through the challenges they face together. Their partnership is not just about survival—it’s about discovery, growth, and mutual respect. Together, they face the unknown, and that shared experience deepens their bond, strengthening their connection. For Legolas, his partner is not just someone he loves—they are an integral part of his life, his closest friend, and a constant reminder of the hope and beauty that still exists in the world, no matter how much darkness he has seen. They are both his light and his anchor, grounding him while also inspiring him to continue adventuring in this ever-changing world.

How do they act when falling out of love? When Legolas begins to fall out of love, his behavior shifts in subtle, almost imperceptible ways. His deeply ingrained sense of honor and respect for others, especially his partner, means that he would never be openly cruel or dismissive. Instead, he becomes quieter, withdrawing into himself, unsure of how to navigate the complexities of fading emotions. His actions may not be overtly harsh, but those closest to him will notice the change.

Guilt and Inner Conflict as Legolas’ elvish nature compels him to remain true to his emotions, and when those emotions begin to fade, he is struck by an intense sense of guilt. He knows that love is sacred and that his partner deserves someone who can fully return their affection. This causes a deep internal struggle, as he fights to reconcile the warmth he once felt with the growing distance he feels now. He cannot easily brush aside his feelings, and the conflict tears at him, even if he doesn’t show it. While he never intends to hurt his partner, the quiet shift in his demeanor and the absence of the once-present tenderness he showed them speaks volumes. His guilt prevents him from being as affectionate as before, and even simple gestures of love—like brushing their hair from their face or offering a comforting touch—become increasingly rare.

Reluctance to Speak Though Legolas is normally a straightforward and open communicator, when he begins to fall out of love, he struggles to put his emotions into words. His nature is not one to openly address emotional discomfort, preferring instead to withdraw into himself and reflect in solitude. This hesitation to speak can lead to a sense of confusion or distance in his relationship, as his partner might sense something is wrong but cannot easily reach him. Instead of initiating heartfelt conversations or addressing the issues, Legolas retreats inwardly, unsure of how to express his own disconnection without causing further harm. He may distance himself physically as well, pulling away from the intimacy they once shared. In his mind, he hopes that time will either resolve the feelings or that his partner might notice the change and ask what’s wrong. The avoidance of difficult conversations leaves him in a state of quiet turmoil. Despite this, Legolas is not malicious, nor does he seek to cause pain. His actions are borne from a place of internal conflict—he values his partner too much to be deceitful or unkind, but he struggles with how to handle the slow, painful process of falling out of love. In these moments, he is often most conflicted, feeling torn between his sense of responsibility toward his partner and the quiet, inevitable drift of his heart.

Will they do anything for their s/o? Will the crocodile tears win them over or are they stubborn on not giving in? Legolas is unwavering in his devotion to those he loves, offering a loyalty that is profound and unshakable. He will go to great lengths to ensure their happiness and well-being, but this devotion is rooted in a deep sense of respect, honor, and trust. He will not blindly follow, especially if he senses dishonesty or manipulation. Crocodile Tears as Legolas is exceptionally perceptive, and his years of experience have honed his ability to see through deception. If his partner is genuinely in need, he will move mountains to help them, whether it’s protecting them in battle, navigating dangerous terrain, or offering emotional support when they’re struggling. He’s not just a protector in action; he will invest time and energy in making sure their needs are met, and he finds great fulfillment in doing so. However, if his partner attempts to manipulate him—using false tears or exaggerated claims—Legolas will remain firm. His sense of honor and deep respect for truth prevents him from indulging in anything that feels disingenuous. He may not call them out directly, but his actions will become distant and measured. He’ll no longer offer the care and attention he once did, sensing that his trust is being betrayed.

Stubborn Loyalty Once Legolas has committed to someone, that bond becomes one of the most important parts of his life. His loyalty is steadfast, even in the face of adversity. If his partner is in danger, or if they need him in any way, he will put aside his own desires or comfort to help them. This loyalty extends beyond physical actions; it’s a deep emotional commitment as well. If his partner is suffering, Legolas will stay by their side, offering support and solace, even when it’s painful for him. He might take on burdens that aren’t his to carry, because he cannot bear to see his loved one suffer. His devotion comes with a price, but he would willingly pay it to ensure their happiness and security. However, this loyalty also means that once his trust is broken, the consequences are grave. He does not easily forgive betrayal or lies, and even if he still loves someone, he would struggle to ever fully trust them again. Legolas’ devotion is a rare and precious gift, one that he gives only to those who prove themselves worthy. His actions are always thoughtful and deliberate, and he never acts out of impulsiveness. When he commits, he does so fully—willing to make sacrifices and endure hardships, but only as long as his trust remains intact.

How do they kiss? Legolas’ kisses are a rare blend of gentleness and intensity, imbued with the depth of his feelings and the reverence he holds for the one he loves. His approach is thoughtful and deliberate, as if he’s savoring the moment, fully aware of the significance of every touch. Slow and Deliberate When Legolas kisses his partner, he takes his time. His lips brush against theirs in a soft, lingering caress, each kiss purposeful, as though he’s memorizing the sensation. He doesn’t rush, instead allowing the moment to deepen and unfold at its own pace. Each kiss is a quiet confession of his affection, a subtle yet profound way of showing his love.

Cradling Their Face In these intimate moments, Legolas often cradles his partner’s face with his hands. His touch is gentle, but there’s strength in the way he holds them—protective, tender, and full of adoration. He’ll run his thumbs along the contours of their cheeks or gently stroke their jaw, feeling the softness of their skin. This touch is both calming and reassuring, a reminder of his devotion and care.

Deeper Kisses in Private When the world is away and they are alone, Legolas’ kisses grow more intense. There is no rush; the deepening of his kiss is a natural progression, an expression of the passion and love he holds in his heart. His lips move with increasing urgency, though still with the same reverence. He may pull them closer, holding them as if they were the very center of his world. Occasionally, his kisses will trail down their jawline or along their neck, as he savors every inch of their skin. These kisses are full of unspoken words—pure emotions shared through touch. It’s a silent language that expresses more than words could ever convey. Each kiss from Legolas feels like a treasure, rare and precious, a reflection of the deep connection he shares with his partner. It’s a tender act, but one that carries the weight of centuries of unspoken emotion—gentle, but with the quiet intensity of someone who has lived through countless seasons, and yet finds something eternally beautiful in the presence of their loved one.

What's their favorite part of their s/o? While Legolas loves every part of his partner, there are certain qualities that captivate him in ways words can scarcely describe. These features resonate deeply with his Elvish soul, and they remind him of the rare beauty and fleeting nature of mortal life, things he holds precious.

Their Eyes as Legolas is drawn to his partner’s eyes above all else. He believes that a person’s soul is reflected in their gaze, and he finds solace and wonder in the way their eyes communicate emotions without words. Whether it’s the brightness of joy, the softness of vulnerability, or the intensity of shared love, he often gets lost in their depths. He can stare into their eyes for what feels like an eternity, feeling an unspoken connection that transcends time. In their gaze, he sees a reflection of everything that is worth fighting for—hope, beauty, and warmth in a world that has seen so much darkness.

Their Hands as Legolas is captivated by the way his partner’s hands move, the strength they possess, and the softness they convey. He loves how their hands feel in his—whether it’s a gentle touch or the comforting pressure of their palm in his. He admires the way their hands express their personality through small gestures, like the graceful way they wave, the warmth of their touch, or even the way they hold something delicately. To Legolas, holding their hand is a moment of deep peace, a grounding act that connects him to the present and makes him feel secure in their bond. Each of their fingers carries a unique story—one that he treasures deeply.

Their Voice To Legolas, their voice is the most enchanting sound he knows. Whether it’s the soft, melodic way they speak, the warmth in their laughter, or the gentle hum of a song, their voice brings him a sense of calm and joy. He finds himself listening intently to the rhythm of their speech, the way their words seem to paint vivid pictures, or how their laughter sounds like music to his ears. Every whisper, every shared story, is a treasure to him, and he delights in hearing the voice of someone he loves—a voice that makes him feel understood and at home. Each of these features—eyes, hands, and voice—are more than just physical traits to Legolas. They represent a deep connection to his partner’s inner world, a world he has come to cherish and protect. To him, they are the most beautiful parts of his partner, the qualities that embody the love, strength, and vulnerability they share together.

Are they protective? Absolutely. Legolas’ protective nature is woven into his very being, though it manifests in a way that is both gentle and vigilant. He’s not overbearing or suffocating, but rather quietly steadfast in ensuring his partner’s safety and well-being. Trust in Their Abilities While Legolas has great faith in his partner’s strength and intelligence, he cannot help but feel a deep responsibility to look out for them. He admires their courage, and he is always respectful of their autonomy. However, in situations of danger, his instincts kick in, and he takes the lead, though always with a sense of quiet respect for their abilities. He would never act as if they were helpless, but there is a certain comfort in knowing that he’s there to protect them, especially when the threat is too overwhelming.

Keen Senses as Legolas’ Elvish senses are unparalleled. He has the uncanny ability to detect even the faintest hint of danger before others, whether it’s the rustle of a leaf in the wind or the subtle shift of a shadow in the distance. He is often the first to spot threats, whether from creatures lurking in the forest or from hidden dangers in unfamiliar places. This heightened awareness allows him to take swift action to protect his partner, often positioning himself between them and the danger before they even realize the threat exists. A Silent Guardian Despite his vigilance, Legolas’ protective nature is not always loud or dramatic. He will never demand that his partner stay behind or be overly cautious. Instead, he might subtly guide them away from harm, using his presence to create a sense of security. If they’re engaged in battle, he will always position himself in a way that shields them from the worst of the danger, but he trusts them enough to fight by his side.

A Sense of Calm when Legolas’ protection extends beyond physical danger. When his partner is feeling anxious, lost, or overwhelmed, he is there with calming words and a steady presence. His unshakable confidence and sense of purpose help ground them, allowing his partner to feel that no matter the storm, he will always be there to weather it alongside them. In essence, Legolas is protective in a way that is both strong and tender. His commitment to his partner’s safety never feels oppressive; instead, it is a testament to how deeply he cares, a constant reassurance that he will always be there when they need him.

How far will they go to take care of their sick s/o? When his partner falls ill, Legolas’ devotion to their well-being knows no bounds. His love compels him to be incredibly attentive, taking meticulous care of them, and going to great lengths to ensure they are as comfortable as possible. His actions are not just born out of duty, but out of a deep-seated desire to ease their suffering and protect them. Knowledge of Herbs and Remedies as Legolas has an extensive understanding of the natural world, a skill honed over centuries spent living in the forests of Mirkwood. When his partner falls ill, he uses his vast knowledge of plants, herbs, and healing remedies. He’ll gather fresh leaves, flowers, or roots, carefully preparing medicinal teas to soothe a sore throat, create poultices for aches, or concoct calming brews to help them sleep. His gentle hands work with purpose, showing how much he cares in every detail, from grinding herbs to applying soothing oils to their forehead. The aroma of his healing concoctions fills the air, comforting both body and soul.

Comfort and Constant Vigilance as Legolas is rarely far from his partner’s side when they are sick. He ensures they are always warm and comfortable, bringing extra blankets if needed, or making sure the fire remains stoked to maintain a steady warmth. His presence is calming, a silent reassurance that they are not alone in their suffering. Even if they insist on resting, he’ll sit nearby, watching over them, his eyes never straying far. His protective instincts shine through here as well—he’ll adjust pillows, tuck them in, and attend to every little need, whether it’s fetching them water or simply sitting in quiet companionship. Determined to Find the Best Care If their illness surpasses his ability to treat, Legolas’ determination takes over. His connection to the natural world is vast, but his love for his partner makes him willing to go to extraordinary lengths to find someone who can help. If it means traveling across dangerous terrain or leaving the relative safety of his home, he will not hesitate. He’ll seek out the finest healers, ancient remedies, or forgotten magic, even if it means crossing miles of untamed land or seeking counsel from distant realms. He would not let them suffer if he could prevent it, regardless of how far he must journey.

Endless Patience While Legolas’ nature is usually calm and composed, when it comes to caring for his sick partner, he displays an infinite patience. He doesn’t grow frustrated or impatient at their condition; instead, he quietly reassures them, telling stories of their past adventures or speaking of brighter days ahead. His soothing words, though not many, are full of warmth and love. Even when they are too weak to respond, he will continue to care for them, acting as a steady and unwavering source of support. In essence, Legolas will go to any lengths to ensure his partner’s recovery. His care is thorough, patient, and unconditional, his devotion boundless. Whether using his skills with herbs, seeking out the finest care, or simply staying by their side, he will do whatever is necessary to bring them back to health. His love fuels every action, making him not just a protector, but a constant source of comfort and hope when his partner is most vulnerable.

How do they cheer their s/o up when they're down? When his partner is feeling low or burdened by the weight of the world, Legolas is there in a quiet but profoundly supportive way. His method of cheering them up is not through grand gestures, but rather through his deep understanding of their needs and his gentle care. He provides comfort through small, meaningful acts that show his unwavering love and attention to their well-being. Encouraging Nature Walks as Legolas believes deeply in the healing power of nature, and when his partner is down, he’ll invite them to join him for a peaceful walk through the forest or along a riverbank. The soft rustling of the leaves, the scent of fresh pine, and the sight of sunlight filtering through the trees bring a calmness that he hopes will soothe their soul. As they walk, he’ll listen quietly, offering his hand if they need support, letting the natural beauty of the world around them work its magic. Often, during these walks, he’ll point out small details of the environment that they may have overlooked—a hidden flower, the song of a bird, or the way the light dances on the water—reminding them that even in difficult times, beauty can still be found.

Small Tokens of Affection as Legolas has a tender way of showing his love, often giving small, thoughtful tokens to lift his partner’s spirits. Whether it’s a delicate flower he plucked from the forest, a feather he’s found on one of his adventures, or a simple sketch he’s drawn of a scene from their shared memories, these gifts are small but deeply meaningful. Each one is a reminder that they are cherished, and his attention to detail speaks volumes about how much he cares. He often tells them the story behind the gift, making each token even more special—a way to remind them that their struggles are not unnoticed and that he’s always thinking of them.

Quiet Support and Gentle Words as Legolas isn’t one to offer empty words of comfort, but when he speaks, his words carry a quiet, hopeful strength. If his partner needs to talk about their troubles, he listens intently, his eyes filled with understanding and empathy. If they need perspective, he speaks softly, offering a poetic view on their situation. He might say something like, “The dark forest always gives way to dawn. Even the longest night eventually turns to morning. Your strength is like the roots of the trees, deep and enduring. You will overcome this, just as the rivers carve their way through the rock.” His words aren’t rushed; they are chosen carefully, meant to inspire resilience and hope.

Physical Comfort If his partner is particularly down, Legolas might not speak much at all. Instead, he’ll offer them the comfort of his presence. Sometimes a gentle touch on the shoulder or a hand held quietly in his will say more than words ever could. He has a way of making them feel safe and secure simply by being there, his steady energy a constant source of reassurance.

Creating a Quiet Sanctuary as Legolas also knows that sometimes the best way to cheer someone up is by creating a space of calm. He might build a small fire or prepare a quiet evening for them—setting up a secluded spot where they can rest, free from the demands of the world. In these moments, they can share a quiet meal, listen to the sound of the fire crackling, and just be in each other’s company without the need for words. Ultimately, Legolas’ way of cheering up his significant other is not through dramatic gestures but through his deep, steady presence and thoughtful actions. Whether through the beauty of nature, a small gift, or a few well-chosen words, he knows how to lift their spirits in a way that is subtle yet profound. His quiet understanding and unwavering support create an atmosphere where his partner feels not just loved, but truly seen and cared for.

How do they react when they find out their s/o is dead? When Legolas learns of the death of his significant other, the grief he feels is profound and all-encompassing. Though he is an Elf, long accustomed to loss over the centuries, this death cuts deeply. His emotions, however, remain largely private, a quiet storm of sorrow and heartache that he doesn’t easily share with others. Grief and Isolation as Legolas’ first reaction is a deep, silent devastation. He retreats inwardly, shutting off from those around him. His grief isn’t explosive or outwardly angry, but it’s an overwhelming sadness that takes hold of him, leaving him numb. In moments like these, he will seek solace in the forests, away from the noise of others. The wilderness, where he’s always felt connected to the natural world, becomes his refuge. There, he may walk for hours, moving as if in a trance, searching for some sort of peace amid the trees that witnessed so many of his moments of joy with his lost partner. The air is thick with memory, and each familiar path or quiet glade seems to hold echoes of the time they spent together.

Songs of Lamentation as Legolas, ever the poet and lover of beauty, turns to music to express his grief. Alone in the solitude of the woods, he will sing haunting Elvish laments—songs passed down through the ages that speak of loss, love, and eternity. His voice carries with it the weight of centuries, soft yet piercing, the lyrics filled with sorrow. These songs, though in his mother tongue, carry an essence that anyone listening could feel, even if they don’t understand the words. They are not just mournful but deeply soulful, a raw expression of his broken heart. Each note he sings is laden with the memories of their love, the beauty they shared, and the anguish of losing them. His songs are a tribute to the life they lived, to what they meant to him, and to the world that now feels emptier without them in it.

Honoring Their Memory Despite the pain, Legolas is determined to carry on in a way that honors the life they shared. He would never want his partner’s death to be in vain, so he vows to continue living as they would have wanted. He might dedicate himself to causes they cared about or fulfill dreams they had left unfulfilled. To remember them, he keeps a token that belonged to his lost love—perhaps a piece of jewelry, a small trinket, or something that always had significance in their relationship. This token serves as a constant, grounding reminder of the love they shared and the lessons they imparted. It becomes his quiet touchstone, something he often holds when he feels the sting of their absence.

The Weight of Eternity For Legolas, whose life stretches over millennia, the loss of a mortal partner is uniquely tragic. He knows the pain of outliving loved ones, but it’s different with someone so close—someone who was his equal in heart and spirit. His immortality means he will live on, but the pain of losing someone who won’t is one of the hardest truths he faces. And yet, he will find strength in this knowledge, learning to hold their memory within him as a source of resilience. Though the grief may never fully leave him, he will learn, over time, to carry it with grace. In the end, Legolas’ reaction to the death of his significant other is one of profound sorrow, but also a deep reverence for the love they shared. His grief is quiet but unyielding, and his love for them never fades. Even as he moves forward, he does so with the knowledge that their spirit lives on in him, in every song he sings, in every quiet moment he holds their memory close.

What makes them worry about their s/o the most? Legolas’ concern for his partner’s well-being runs deep, and his worries are often tied to the stark contrast between his immortality and their fleeting mortal lives. His love for them is tender, yet filled with an underlying anxiety, as he knows that they are vulnerable in ways he is not. The greatest source of Legolas’ worry is the knowledge that, unlike himself, his partner’s life is fragile and finite. This disparity is something he struggles to reconcile. Despite the beauty of the mortal world and the bond they share, the knowledge that one day they will age, grow frail, and eventually pass away fills him with sorrow and dread. Every moment spent with them is both a blessing and a reminder of the inevitable. He often finds himself holding them a little tighter, gazing at them a little longer, knowing that these precious moments are limited. He worries about them in the quiet hours, especially when they show signs of weariness or sickness, as every ache or ill turn of the season reminds him of their limited time. The thought of losing them is something he can hardly bear, and yet, he faces it with a kind of resigned acceptance that weighs heavily on his heart.

Legolas admires his partner’s courage—especially if they’re someone who is willing to take risks in order to help others or to protect the ones they love. However, this bravery can also make him anxious, particularly when it leads them into dangerous situations. Whether they venture into the woods to confront a threat or pursue an adventure that might be beyond their abilities, he can’t help but worry. He’s seen too much of the world’s dangers—creatures, orcs, and perilous terrain—and the thought of his partner being exposed to such risks makes him uneasy. Though he will never stifle their spirit or desire to fight for what’s right, he can’t help but feel the weight of concern, especially when they act impulsively or rashly. His love for them makes him want to keep them safe, yet he knows that their courage is part of what makes them so special. So he worries quietly, his protective instincts sharpening with every close call or dangerous situation they put themselves in.

Illness or Injury Knowing that mortals have a more fragile constitution than elves, Legolas is particularly sensitive to even the slightest indication that his partner is unwell. A cough, a bruise, or a small cut can trigger a wave of concern in him that others may see as disproportionate. He’s well-versed in the healing arts and the use of natural remedies, but he is always conscious of how easily mortals can succumb to illness or injury. When his partner falls ill, even with something as simple as a cold, Legolas’ anxiety heightens. He will carefully monitor them, ensuring they have everything they need, from warm blankets to healing herbs, and will refuse to leave their side until they’re fully recovered. His worry extends to any sign of fatigue or injury—when they’re wounded, no matter how minor the injury may seem, it pulls at his heart. He cannot bear the thought of them being in pain, and if they ever endure an injury that cannot be easily healed, the grief is almost unbearable for him. These worries, while rooted in his deep love for his partner, also highlight the essence of Legolas’ internal conflict: his desire to protect them from all harm, and his ultimate powerlessness to shield them from the inevitabilities of mortality.

How often do they stare lovingly at their s/o? For Legolas, his love for his partner is something that he constantly observes, as if capturing the beauty of their presence in every fleeting moment. His affinity for them manifests in his gaze—an unspoken, constant adoration that never quite leaves him. Almost Constantly Legolas’ sharp elven eyesight allows him to take in the details of his partner’s movements with an ease that most would overlook. Whether they are deep in conversation with someone else, moving through a crowd, or simply standing still, Legolas is always aware of their every action. His eyes linger on them without being obvious, finding solace in the soft curve of their smile or the way the sunlight catches their hair. These moments, brief as they are, fill him with an overwhelming sense of warmth and affection. His gaze becomes more intense in quiet moments—when they are simply sitting together in the stillness of nature or walking side by side through the woods. It is a silent way for him to cherish them without ever needing to speak the words.

Subtle Glances Even when they’re within arm’s reach, Legolas can’t help but steal glances. His love is reflected in his quiet admiration, his expression softening into a fond smile whenever their eyes meet, even for the briefest of moments. When he catches them looking at him, there’s a spark of joy in his eyes, a silent connection between them. His gaze will soften with affection, and he’ll often look away quickly, only to glance back again a moment later. His appreciation for them is written on his face—his love is gentle and patient, always lingering in the way he watches them, silently taking in their essence as if committing each detail of their presence to memory.

In Quiet Moments When they’re alone, he is less reserved in his admiration. If they sit together in a quiet spot, like a tranquil grove or beside a fire, Legolas will gaze at them openly, his eyes filled with admiration. His gaze is often accompanied by a small smile, one that’s personal and private, as if they share a secret that only the two of them understand. When they aren’t speaking, he might still be watching them—letting his gaze fall on their features, the curve of their neck, the gentle movement of their hands. It is a way for him to revel in their beauty and presence, feeling a deep sense of peace when they are near him.

Secret Glances as we all know Legolas’ love also manifests in the more hidden moments, when he thinks no one is looking. In crowds or during shared moments with others, he will find opportunities to glance at his partner when their attention isn’t on him. His eyes will briefly flicker over their face, always with the same tenderness, before he looks away. These secret glances are a silent reminder to himself of how much he cares. He may find himself watching them as they talk to others, noting the way their laugh lights up their face or how they tilt their head when listening. These glances are never meant to be seen, but in them, there is an intimacy—a quiet understanding that only he fully knows. They are a way for him to steal precious moments with his partner, savoring their presence even when they’re not directly engaging with him. Every glance, whether fleeting, prolonged, or secret, carries with it the depth of Legolas’ love—a quiet adoration that he expresses through the simple act of watching them, savoring the time they have together.

How do they impress their s/o? For Legolas, impressing his partner is not about seeking praise or admiration; rather, it’s about showing them his skills, knowledge, and deep devotion in the most subtle and meaningful ways. His expressions of love are intertwined with his sense of honor and grace, showcasing his desire to keep them safe and cherished. Legolas’ talent with the bow and his agility in combat are legendary, but he doesn’t show them off for attention. When the opportunity arises, he’ll demonstrate his prowess in a way that feels effortless and natural—whether by swiftly and accurately shooting an arrow at a target or performing an elegant combat maneuver. It’s not about impressing them with his skill, but rather offering them reassurance that they are protected. His grace in movement, especially when traversing difficult terrain, will often make them watch in awe as he moves through the forest or climbs with the ease of a creature born to the trees. These displays, while showing his strength and abilities, are a subtle reminder that, with him by their side, they are safe and cared for.

Knowledge and Stories as Legolas is an Elf who has lived for centuries, and his experiences in the world have granted him an incredible wealth of knowledge. When he shares these stories with his partner, he does so with the quiet enthusiasm of someone who finds joy in imparting wisdom. He might recount tales of ancient kingdoms, forgotten lands, or adventures with friends and companions from ages past. His voice, soft and melodic, carries the weight of history, making his stories captivating. Through these tales, his partner learns not just about the world, but also about his deep connection to it. They’ll come to realize that Legolas is not just a skilled warrior, but also a man of wisdom, respect, and ancient beauty—a timeless spirit who holds the world’s secrets in his heart. His knowledge of nature, the stars, and the intricacies of the world around them are often shared in quiet moments, where he’ll point out the constellations or explain the significance of a particular flower or tree. Through these stories, he shows the depth of his affection by revealing the richness of his soul.

Thoughtful Gestures as Legolas doesn’t rely on grand displays or material gifts to show his love; instead, he showers his partner with small, meaningful gestures. A woven garland of flowers, collected during a quiet walk through the woods, might be draped over their head as a simple token of his affection. He may carve a small figurine from wood or stone—perhaps an animal or tree—something that reflects their personality or their shared connection with nature. These gifts, though humble, hold profound significance because they are made with care and attention to detail. He might also surprise them with carefully chosen items—something as small as a rare flower he’s found on his travels or a delicate leaf from a tree he knows they love. These gestures come from a place of deep understanding and affection, showing that he pays attention to the little things that make them unique.

Quiet Acts of Service Another way Legolas impresses his partner is through actions rather than words. Whether it’s building a shelter, lighting a fire, or ensuring their safety in battle, his every movement is driven by his desire to take care of them. These acts of service, though seemingly small, speak volumes about his commitment and love. He never hesitates to step in and help with whatever is needed, and his efforts are always done with a quiet elegance that mirrors his nature. It’s in these simple, everyday moments that his love is expressed most strongly—through the way he looks out for them and tends to their needs.

In Moments of Vulnerability While Legolas is strong and capable, he also has moments of quiet vulnerability with his partner. In these rare moments, he opens up about his past—the pain of watching the world around him change, the loss of friends and loved ones, and his sense of loneliness in a world that has moved on without him. Sharing these deeper, more intimate aspects of himself is a way for him to impress his partner, not through grandeur, but through the honesty and trust he places in them. It’s his way of saying that he values them enough to let them see the side of him that is not often revealed to others. Through all these actions, Legolas impresses his partner not with superficial charm or grand gestures, but with a genuine, unwavering devotion that proves he is a partner of unparalleled depth and loyalty. His love is as enduring as the ancient forests he adores—a perfect balance of passion, thoughtfulness, and devotion.

Extra bonus (these parts just for fun, love writing them 😈🙈)

𖧧 Legolas talks to the trees As a child of the forest, Legolas has a deep bond with trees. Sometimes, when alone, he can be seen standing with his back against a great oak or whispering to the wind through the leaves. It’s a calming ritual, as if the trees are offering him their wisdom. (I think this is well known fact 🤌)

𖧧 He’s a people-watcher, Legolas finds humans and other races fascinating to observe. Their mannerisms, expressions, and the way they interact with each other intrigue him. He’ll often sit in the background during campfires or gatherings, quietly watching people and analyzing their behaviors. He finds comfort in observing the complexity of mortal life.

𖧧 He dislikes wearing jewelry Despite Elves being known for their ornate jewelry and accessories, Legolas is very minimalist. He doesn’t wear rings or necklaces, feeling they are unnecessary distractions. The only piece of jewelry he wears is a simple pendant that has sentimental value, but he rarely takes it off. As the Prince of Mirkwood, he also dislikes wearing his regal Elven attire, which his father often insists he wear for formal events. Legolas finds the elaborate robes and crowns uncomfortable and feels stifled by the royal expectations, preferring the simplicity of his everyday attire or battle gear.

𖧧 He gets homesick Even though Legolas has roamed Middle-earth for many years, the call of his home in the forest is always a pull on his heart. When he’s away from the forests of Mirkwood for too long, he becomes quietly withdrawn, and there’s a subtle sadness in his eyes.

𖧧 He likes to hide things in his hair: Legolas has long, golden hair, and he sometimes hides small items in it when he’s on the move. It might be a leaf he found during his travels or a small token from someone important to him. He enjoys the secretive nature of it and the way it connects him to moments or people from the past. (Probably has comb in hair, that’s why his hair always neat and tidy 🤣)

𖧧 He has an odd fascination with clouds When he’s not staring at the stars, Legolas is fascinated by clouds. He finds the way they change shape and color over time to be incredibly calming. Occasionally, when there’s nothing else to do, he’ll lie on his back and watch them shift across the sky, lost in their endless movement.

𖧧 He’s surprisingly bad at keeping secrets While Legolas is generally reserved, if someone tells him something exciting or important, he has a hard time keeping it to himself. He’ll drop hints or sneak looks in the direction of the person he wants to tell. Eventually, his curiosity gets the better of him.

𖧧 He hates shoes as Legolas finds shoes to be incredibly restricting. As an elf, he’s used to feeling the earth beneath his feet, and the thought of covering them up seems unnatural. When he’s not in combat or on formal missions, he prefers to go barefoot or wear sandals if absolutely necessary. The feel of shoes makes him uncomfortable, and he’ll often take them off as soon as he can.

𖧧 He always remembers small details about people as Legolas has an extraordinary memory. He remembers the smallest details about people, like their favorite flowers, a funny thing they said once, or a quiet moment shared. He holds these memories dear, using them to make his loved ones feel special.

𖧧 He hums when he’s alone, Legolas has a habit of humming elvish songs when he’s alone, lost in thought. It’s a soothing, melodic sound that gives him peace and connects him to his roots. Sometimes, he’ll even hum while working—such as cleaning his bow or preparing arrows.

𖧧 He’s an early riser As someone accustomed to the rhythms of nature, Legolas wakes up with the sun. While the rest of the group is still sleeping, he enjoys the quiet moments of dawn, where he can gather his thoughts, check his surroundings, or just meditate in the calm light of morning.

𖧧 He values silence over conversation While Legolas is capable of deep and meaningful conversations, he values silence just as much. He believes that some moments are best shared in quiet, especially when he’s with someone he trusts deeply. There’s a deep peace in simply being present with another person without words.

𖧧 He’s a hopeless romantic, but can’t express it as Legolas has deeply romantic feelings but finds it incredibly awkward to express them. He often gets tongue-tied, tries to be overly composed, and ends up saying something completely embarrassing, like, “You… uh, have a good… um, presence?” His attempts to be smooth always backfire, and while his partner might think it’s endearing, he’s mortified and immediately retreats to the safety of the forest to avoid further embarrassment.

𖧧 He gets overly excited about simple things if Legolas is calm and composed most of the time, but there are certain simple pleasures that make him childishly excited. For example, if someone offers him a particularly delicious fruit or if he stumbles upon a beautiful flower he’s never seen before, his face lights up with genuine joy. He might go on about it for longer than necessary, rambling about how amazing it is, much to the amusement of those around him. (golden retriever energy ✨🙌)

𖧧 Always Eavesdropping (Accidentally) Legolas has exceptional hearing, so when he’s in the company of others, he sometimes picks up on conversations that aren’t meant for him. This leads to him overhearing awkward or private discussions. He tries to look nonchalant and avoid drawing attention to himself, but his facial expressions betray him. His eyes widen, his eyebrows furrow, and occasionally, his mouth twitches like he’s trying to stifle a laugh or an awkward comment. He quickly clears his throat and pretends like he didn’t hear anything.

𖧧 Loves to Fidget When he’s not in a battle or on a mission, Legolas often fidgets with small things—like running his fingers along a piece of fabric or flipping a stone between his fingers. It’s his way of soothing himself, especially during moments of rest or when he’s feeling anxious. The problem is, his fidgeting can sometimes distract others, especially if he starts playing with something in the middle of a serious conversation.

𖧧 Avoiding Eye Contact (In a Sweet Way) Legolas has trouble making and maintaining direct eye contact during intense or emotional moments. He might glance away when saying something vulnerable or when he’s trying to process his feelings, often focusing on something nearby, like a tree branch or his boots, rather than looking directly at the person he’s speaking to.

𖧧 Not a Fan of Surprises as Legolas dislikes sudden, loud noises or surprises, especially when they break his focus. A loud crash or someone jumping out from behind a tree will leave him momentarily startled, and it takes him a while to regain his composure. It’s not that he’s scared—it’s more that it throws him off balance and leaves him feeling a little frazzled. He likes to know everything that’s going on around him, and unexpected events disrupt his sense of control. If something catches him off guard, you might catch him muttering to himself, trying to process what just happened or mentally preparing himself for the next surprise.

𖧧 Struggles with Small Talk While he’s excellent in meaningful, deep conversations, casual chatter often leaves Legolas at a loss for words. He might give awkwardly long pauses after simple questions like “How’s your day going?” or offer overly detailed answers to “What’s up?” It’s not that he’s rude—it’s just that he doesn’t quite grasp the point of small talk, preferring more substantial exchanges.

𖧧 He has odd sleeping habits. Or rather, trancing habits. Sometimes, he’ll stand perfectly still, eyes wide open, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was awake. (This video perfect 🤣🤌)

𖧧 He names everything. His knives, his arrows, even the random squirrel following him on the journey. (Named it rondir), A Tree He Sleeps In, A Random Rock He Finds Beautiful, His canteen. Literally he names everything. Everything deserves a name, according to Legolas.

𖧧 Legolas’ Very Expressed Face: Legolas is incapable of masking his emotions, and his face is an open canvas for every feeling he experiences. Whether it’s a quiet moment of reflection, intense concentration, or a fleeting thought, his face shifts and molds accordingly. His eyebrows often lift in surprise or furrow in concern, and his eyes shine with joy or narrow with suspicion. Even when he tries to maintain composure, his emotions are so deeply etched into his expressions that it’s nearly impossible to hide them. His face constantly gives him away, so anyone who knows him well can tell exactly what he’s thinking—be it amusement, frustration, or admiration—just by the subtle (or not-so-subtle) changes in his features. It’s both endearing and, at times, a little amusing to those around him, as his feelings are almost always written all over his face. (Example of what I mean here can’t hide his expression 😂 being sassy bitch 💅✨)

[dustysalmon]

Immortan Joe Imagine - Finding you relaxing in his grotto springs

It's been a long and trying day in the Wasteland. Joe personally sent you and a couple of War Boys to neutralise a rival warlord on the rise.

After spending days on the road, chasing and fighting, you come back to the Citadel completely drained and sore.

Your muscles hurt, your back too, and sleep alone won't solve everything.

You are not technically allowed in Immortan's personal quarters but what the hell, you completed the mission in record time and you decide that you deserve a little reward.

You sneak into the grotto as Immortan is holding a war council with his associates.

After carefully folding your clothes on the edge, you sink slowly into the warm water, letting it envelope you like a cloak. Steam and solitude, just what you needed. But it doesn't last.

It's only been a few minutes, but you hear heavy footsteps slowly making their way towards the grotto. You could recognise those anywhere.

Immortan says your name, his tone a careful and authoritative.

"I wasn't aware this place had been... offered to you."

You turn around, the water resting just below your clavicle, and lift your gaze to meet his, a slight smile playing on your lips as you notice his eyes briefly roaming over you.

"You take liberties. Not many would dare." He remarks.

"I needed a moment. This seemed... accommodating." You say shrugging.

He weights his options. He could punish you for trespassing, like he would do with anyone else, make an example out of you for defying the Immortan.

"I have something for you." You continue, and Joe does his best to maintain his composure as you emerge from the water, completely bare. His eyes don't know where to look as you are revealed to him inch by inch, the water trickling down your chest, your hips, and between your legs.

Try as he might, Immortan can't hide the small intakes of breath, his apparatus making it all the more obvious. Small victories....

You hand him a small object and drop it in the hollow of his palm. A golden tooth, ripped from his enemy's body earlier this morning. A small token of loyalty, in case there was any doubt.

Immortan finds it hard to focus, and momentarily feels a slight stirring below the belt. Surprisingly, he enjoys the power play, the teasing, but most of all, your boldness. Because how come is it him who feels disarmed, when you are the one fully unclothed?

Not quite trusting his voice, he nods at you. He will let you off easy this time. However, he decides as you disappear into the water, he will have to make you pay for that little display, he already has some ideas...

Disclaimer: reminder that Joe is a very bad and nasty man and that nothing he does or represents in the movies should be celebrated. That being said, this is fiction, and so I can confirm that I would let him ******* my ***** with his big **** all day long. Thank you for your attention.