#it is to early in the morning to be feeling this much rage

[singwhenyoucantspeak]

that last post i just reblogged just reminded me about how my mom's cousin has been out and known to be gay for my whole life and altho no one in my family made a big deal about it they also never mentioned his dating life or that he had a partner and i only just found out that he got married to his long time partner as soon as it was legal in Wisconsin and i feel like this is a great example of how consevatives operate. they will treat people who they *already* consider to be "their people" with kindness and respect but they can still be deeply homophobic in their worldviews and attitude towards anyone who is not already in their social circle and also they just... dont talk about it because even tho they love and accept the individual person they are still uncomfortable with gayness as a concept.

anyway i was so angry when my mom mentioned that we should have arranged to stay with Craig and Mark on our roadtrip as tho I would already know who Mark is (Craig's husband) and as tho i didnt spend my whole life assuming that the only reason my family was ok with Craig was that he wasnt *acting* on his sexuality. that aassumption was incorrect but how was i to know any different when no one ever mentioned him actually doing gay things and dating men????

and then i also get so angry when i think about the fact that when I came out my mom tried to walk back her homophobia to just be about "concern for my well-being because being gay in this society is really hard" and like yeah! it was hard for me for a long time but ONLY BECAUSE OF HER!! literally the only person who made my life hard because I was gay was my mother! everyone outside of my family has been extremely supportive. ugh like yeah we are moving forward making progress fixing our relationship etc. but sometimes when I really think about these things and remember how it was and what happened i am still just so angry and i dont feel like she ever actually took responsibility for any of it.

[fist-amidst-the-hands]

tagged by @blackberrywars to do wip wednesday! does anyone else remember when I said I was aiming for posting a wip weekly? yeah me neither

since I haven’t been writing lately this one is from maybe a month ago, just a tiny snippet that’s (as usual) much bigger in my mind. may or may not write up the whole thing, so I put some additional context / plans in the tags!

—————————-

A simple request. No... not a request. An order. Two words. Quiet at the onset but growing steadily in Izzy's mind, blooming and spilling over to cover every corner.

The whisper of a smile at the corner of Ed's eyes meeting the desperation swimming within them. The soft pair of footsteps padding from above deck to below contrasting the heavy pounding of Izzy's heart echoing in his head, the intensity threatening to shake apart the blossoms that had so recently taken residency.

All of it sharp yet muted, loud yet far away.

[spikeyjo]

squidward eye twitch.gif

[theskyexists]

The pro Israel anti islam nationalist party won for the first time here. So many people just don't give a fuck. This is very bad timing for my sense that anything can ever be done or people are any good

[fangswbenefits]

Double-edged Sword

Summary: Miguel knows he has to let you go before you can be his. But it’s not that simple. Especially when you keep on testing his limits…

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x spider-woman!reader

Word count: 2.2k

18+. Miguel POV. Obsessed and jealous Miguel. Soft/inexperienced reader. F*ngering.

Part 1 (if you're just starting out) - Previous part

By the time Miguel rose from his slumber, he was met with a pair of curious eyes glaring at him.

"You snore."

A sleepy yawn worked its way out of his throat as he lifted his wrist to assess the time. It was still fairly early in the morning, and he allowed himself to relax against your soft pillows.

You were on your side, both hands tucked under your head, and your trademark sweet smile curling your lips.

"Did you sleep well?"

Miguel nodded, mustering the will to sit up against the bed rest. He soon realised he had fallen asleep on top of the comforter with just a blanket covering him, whereas you were nicely tucked inside your bedsheets.

A distinct barrier between you two.

He looked down at you through sleepy eyes, wishing he could plant a soft kiss to your temple.

You looked so peaceful and it brought a sense of calmness to him as well.

"I was thinking of meeting Tom today.." you began, as you flopped onto your back. "Think you can get someone to cover for me? Just for a while?"

And just like that, Miguel's stomach turned uncomfortably. "Today? Already?"

Your head turned to him. "Why? Do you think I should wait? Do we have something important today?"

"Maybe you should wait a little longer," he said with a sigh. "Take some time to figure out the best approach."

"I've been waiting for months... I just... I really need this," you whispered, now facing away from him.

In reality, Miguel knew there wasn't much he could say to deter you from this. He couldn't really blame you from wanting to set things right with someone who meant so much to you.

He would have given everything to be able to get that opportunity with Gabriella.

However, the less rational side of him was seething with jealousy. After all, you had revealed you had feelings for him.

But what truly fueled his escalating jealousy was what had happened last night. The kiss, him touching himself in front of you, and you touching yourself in front of him. Intimacy had engulfed you both so unexpectedly, that he wondered if it had been a mistake.

He dreaded that thought, so he promptly pushed it away.

"Sure. Take your time."

You then shifted to sit next to him, your shirt briefly clinging to your breasts, letting him know you were braless.

Of course.

He groaned inwardly at the sight of the small protuberances on each nipple.

And you caught him staring, arching a brow in amusement. "Want to see them again?"

He cleared his throat and shook his head. The last thing he needed now was a raging boner.

But it seemed that you were hellbent on torturing him, so when you got on your knees, briefly crawling to him, and finally settling on his lap, he knew he was fucked.

You were wearing nothing but a shirt and sleeping shorts, and when you looped your arms around his neck, he instinctively closed his eyes, bracing himself for yet another erection.

He had expected you to lean in for a kiss, but you remained still, eyeing him with utmost interest.

"This place can be so isolating," you sighed.

Miguel gripped your hips, adjusting you back to prevent having you seating on his crotch.

"Nueva York is overflowing with spiders, yet you still feel so lonely, you know?"

He did know.

It was lonely at the top.

While many spiders had relationships of their own and managed to build their lives around them, Miguel had nearly forgotten how used to being alone he had gotten.

"So you feel lonely here?"

You seemed unsure. "I have you to keep me company, though I figure that doesn't really count. you were forced to babysit me when I forgot got here."

"I wasn't forced to do anything," he corrected, slightly frowning. "I saw the potential in you and wanted to harness that."

Your fingers were absentmindedly caressing the nape of his neck. "I feel really comfortable around you."

That caught him slightly off guard.

"I never thought I'd be able to reveal that secret to anyone... you whispered, shifting to sit on his growing erection. "And last night.."

The not knowing was killing him. On one hand, he was scared to find out that it had been nothing but a hear of the moment thing, but he yearned for more than that... and that part of him needed to kn more.

"Was is because of loneliness, then?"

You pressed your lips tightly together.

"Well, I suppose loneliness gets the best of us, eventually," he sighed, trying his best to seem as casual as possible. "Sometimes, using your hand just doesn't quite do it."

At this, you widened your eyes, before averting your gaze. "It wasn't because I felt lonely... I... I just... you're really attractive and.."

Miguel decided that was enough.

He brought his hand to the back of hour neck and pulled you closer until your lips grazed along his.

"Can I kiss you?"

You swallowed, pressing yourself down on him. "Do you always get this.. excited so easily?"

He gripped your chin between his fingers, tilting your head to have your eyes meet his. "Only for you."

It was a simple confession mixed with desire, but it was enough to startle you.

Fuck.

You leaned back as if snapped from a daydream. "Do you mean that? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

Miguel took a deep breath. "I mean that, and you can feel it," he proved his point with a roll of his hips.

You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut and mouth dropping open.

His sweet girl was so, so responsive...

Instinctively, you tried to match the sway of his hips, but it felt clumsy and Miguel brought both hands to your hips, gripping them tightly.

Your breaths were coming out shaky as he guided you on his clothed cock, guiding you on how to move your body alongside his.

"Does that feel good?" he asked seductively.

"Yes..." you gasped. "I... I'm.."

Miguel felt the first beads of precum drip from his tip. "You're what?"

Your hands came to grip his shoulders, and you took a deep breath before one of them slid down to your

body.

Miguel immediately knew what you meant, but he intended on having things go differently this time.

" can do that for you... he offered, gripping your wrist gently, as your fingers prepared to slide inside your shorts.

You bit your lip, eyes still squeezed shut. "You have to...”

"I want to," he said firmly.

Nodding, you brought your hand up to his shoulder again, and he took the chance to gently slip his fingers past the waistband.

You immediately shuddered and leaned to rest your face against his neck.

He trailed down carefully and his cock twitched once he reached your clit.

"Is this okay?"

You moaned in response, wrapping your arms around him.

Your clit was already swollen and Miguel felt his fangs threatening to drop once he began to slowly roll the pad of his finger around it.

It didn't take long until he felt your wetness seeping through the layers of fabric and staining his suit.

"Please... Miguel..." you groaned, now jerking your hips against his touch.

He began to drag your wetness along your folds to coat your clit with it. You were soaked for him, your body already working on preparing you to take his COCk.

But he would have to be gentle.

He would have you riding his fingers first.

"Please what, sweet girl?" he cooed, planting a kiss to your temple."

You answered by trying to have his finger slide down to your entrance.

So eager...

"Can you take one finger?"

You halted your hips and took a few seconds to nod.

"I can take it..."

He could cum just from your shaky voice and how much you craved him.

As one finger reached your opening, he felt you tense up lightly.

"I'll be gentle," he promised, tracing the sensitive spot. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

"Don't stop..."

He pressed yet another kiss on your flushed skin, and slipped the tip of one finger inside, feeling you immediately squeeze around him.

Miguel realised that if he were to be your first, he would be utterly fucked. The way you gripped his fingers with your walls nearly tipped him over the edge. He couldn't imagine how ridiculously good it'd feel to have his cock inside you instead.

"Try to relax.."

And you did try.

Until his thumb pressed down on your clit.

Your hips immediately bucked into him, encasing his finger inside you until he was buried knuckle-deep.

"Easy..." he growled, his fangs emerging right away from the overload of sensation.

He doubted you'd be able to take another thick finger of his, so he settled for having just one sliding in and out, drawing the sweetest gasps from you.

"You're doing so well.." he praised.

You rolled your hips instinctively, fucking yourself on his finger as best as inexperience allowed you.

"Take... take your... suit..." you pleaded, clawing at his chest with one hand.

The digital layer vanished down to his waist. He didn't want set his cock free or he would cum in an instant.

Then, he saw you roll up your shirt with trembling fingers, exposing your breasts.

He nearly came rigth there and then.

But nothing could have prepared him for what you were about to do.

You desperately brought your pierced nipples to graze against his bare chest, slowly raising your before sinking down around his finger.

Miguel was now certain that you would be the death of him.

He felt your wetness dribbling down his hand, but kept a steady pressure on your pulsing clit. With each undulation of your body, he was able to feel the cool metal of your piercings digging into his skin, and couldn't fight back the growl that emerged from deep within him.

As expected, he was embarrassingly close, and needed to do something about it.

"Lift your hips."

You groaned in response, stilling for a moment.

"Wait….. why?"

"I'm close.."

You slowly clenched around his finger, and his hand came to grip your hip tight.

"Too close..

The beginning of a pout settled on your face, but you did as requested, finally putting a stop to the near excruciating pleasure he was feeling.

Now he could focus on you.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck to anchor your with each flick of his finger and with each sway of your hips.

"Are you okay?"

You didn't answer, but he could tell from your erratic breathing that you were nearing your peak. Your whimpers increased in intensity, as you clumsily rode his finger, chasing after your bliss.

The sound of his watch beeping broke the rhythm for a second, but Miguel ignored it.

As long as no canon event was involve, he wouldn't shift his attention from you.

It beeped again.

But you were so close.

"I... I think I'm.."

He didn't need your words, your body language spoke to him in ways he didn't know he craved.

The movement you started convulsing against him and tightening your grip around his neck, he knew you were coming undone. Your walls clenched around his finger as the orgasm tore through your body.

Another beep, which Miguel ignored again.

Miguel allowed himself to enjoy your tightness, realising you would need far more preparation than this if you were to take his cock.

Your legs were shaking slightly, as he kept pressing the pad of his thumb against your pulsing clit.

But what really made his cock twitch was the way you kept mumbling his name in between sobs, eventually slumping against his chest.

He slowly withdrew his finger, earning a deep sigh from you.

<CANON EVENT IMMINENT: ANOMALY DETECTED>

Miguel's heart nearly burst out of his chest from the unexpected announcement, and you jolted into him, still descending from your peak.

Instant bones killer.

Much against his will, he brought himself to suit up and carefully set you aside on your bed with a kiss pressed to your forehead, before jumping to his feet, quickly clicking through his watch.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled hurriedly, glazing at you as he neared the bedroom window.

You were a panting mess, but quickly tried to gather yourself. "Don't apologise. Just go."

He hopped onto the window sill and took a deep breath, throwing you a final glance. "TIl find you once I'm done."

"You don't have to... I have to do this on my own."

He nodded. "Don't deactivate your mic."

Your straightened your shirt before sitting on mattress. "Miguel... it'll be fine."

"Do as I say."

You eventually nodded.

He hated having to part from you, but his duty came first, and he couldn't step away from it.

Not even for his sweet girl.

"Lyla, summon squad 12, and give me the readings on the anomaly."

Before swinging into the cool morning air of Nueva York, Miguel saw you crossing your legs and stare at him with those sweet eyes that he was so addicted to.

But he would be there for you again.

He would find you.

And he would make sure your devotion would he his.

Not Tom's.

Once Miguel was done with the canon disruption, he threw himself into a portal to get to you.

Your mic wasn't working, and your bio readings weren't available, and he could only assume you had switched off your watch.

Luckily, he had checked Tom's file before deleting it as you had requested.

He knew exactly where to go.

The sun had began to set on the horizon, engulfing the city in shades of orange that helped mask his movements across the innumerous rooftops. He refrained from using his web often, as the laser-like flashes would draw too much attention.

So he took it to jumping and clawing his way up the steep walls of the building opposite to where he lived on all fours, already being able to pick up some interference coming from your mic.

You were close.

"... you want me to leave."

Miguel reached the metal railing of an emergency exit, and balanced himself on it, feeling his heart stammering against his chest.

"You're so good at that, so go ahead."

From there, he was able to spot you in his apartments, near a window. He caugjt a glimpse of Tom and immediately decided he hated him.

He was scowling deeply at you, arms crossed, and words sharp as knives.

How dare he?

His claws were digging into the railing, and Miguel felt droplets of venom spill from his fangs.

This Tom individual wasn't even attractive to begin with, so he figured your previous attraction to him had to based on something else.

"You hurt me! You cannot do this and expect me to pretend nothing happened."

Clearly not based on personality.

Your voice was so low, Miguel was barely able to make it through the mic. "Tom... it was also hard for me..."

Miguel was visibly seething at this pint, wishing he could just drag you out of there. You deserved better than someome who didn't bother listening to you.

"Please leave."

There was a long pause and Miguel held his breath, not wanting to miss out on your reply.

"Don't do this..." you whispered, and he could hear the sadness in your words.

It was itching him to put an end to it.

But...

Deep down, Miguel knew you needed this. Closure. Even if things didn't go as you had hoped, you had tried your best to remedy this situation.

His heart hadn't wanted you to go visit Tom, but his mind spoke differently. He had to let you go to him, to have you as his.

A double-edged sword.

"You left me for months. Ignored me for months. You don't get to do this without a decent explanation," the idiot went on, further angering Miguel. "And since you don't want to tell me the truth, I want you gone."

This time, you cleared your throat and stormed out of the room, not exchanging another word.

Miguel considered dealing with Tom in his own way, but you came first.

He plunged from the rooftop and into a deserted alley, pacing quickly to meet you as you exited through the door, zipping up the hoodie that hid your suit underneath.

Miguel called after you, but you didn't turn to face him.

"I don't want to talk, Miguel."

Not wanting to be spotted by some passer-by, he urged you to walk into another alley.

"I heard some of it," he said softly once you were both out of sight.

You pressed your back against the wall, looking absolutely defeated. It was almost criminal that someone like you had to ever feel this way.

"You did what you could," he went on, placing one hand on your shoulder. "Maybe one day he'll understand."

Miguel didn't want him to be near you ever again, but he had to comfort you somehow.

You lowered your gaze and fixed it on a small puddle of water at your feet. "I deserve this."

"You do not."

"I don't want your pity."

He shook his head. "You won't have it."

In fact, he was willing to give you his heart if you'd take it. But he wouldn't dare say that out loud. Not in this moment.

He waited for your to make a move, but you remained quiet.

"Let's go back to Nueva York," he suggested, placing one hand on your shoulder.

You sobbed softly, and he saw a couple of teardrops drip from your face.

He just couldn't bear seeing you like this, so he took a step closer and you quickly wrapped your arms around him.

"Thank you... thank you, thank you..." you kept on repeating in between sniffles.

He held you tightly in absolute adoration and devotion. "I'm here for you."

"You're a great friend, Miguel..."

Friend.

That word made his heart sink violently.

"Just as a friend?"

There it was... his obsession for you creeping in.

You pulled away from his grip, teary eyes narrowing at him. "Oh... with benefits?"

That was somehow even worse.

Your face twisted into something else as you patted your face dry. "What do you want from me, Miguel?"

Anything.

Everything.

"Anything you're willing to give me," he said truthfully.

Maybe he shouldn't have been so straightforward, but he was merely answering your question. He didn't want to lie, and didn't want to go back to having to hide how he truly felt.

"I don't know if I can give you much more than this."

Your words lingered in the air after hitting him hard and he felt as though his body had been plunged into freezing water.

"Why?"

Your gaze wavered and you began chewing your lip. "Because I don't know if I'm ready for anything serious..."

Miguel straightened to his full height. "Anything you can give me... I'll take it."

He sounded desperate, and deep down he knew that it was probably working against him. Being intimate with you only could only satisfy him for so long if nothing was to come of it.

As much as his body yearned for you touch, his heart was seeking something that wasn’t skin-deep.

"Can I ask for something?"

Anything.

Everything.

He would give it all to you.

You cleared your throat. "I need time."

He could definitely work with that.

However...

"Do you... like being with me?" Miguel carefully asked. "And I'm not talking about being with me like earlier today." Your fluttering orgasm was proof enough.

Your eyes widened and he could tell you had not expected his bluntness. "Of course I do... I... just need time."

He pressed his lips together into a fine line. In truth, he didn't want to be just friends with you. He didn't crave that level of human connection. He needed much more than that from you.

"You only want me as a friend."

It wasn’t a question, and it sounded more like an accusation.

Was he being fair with you? Was he being fair with himself? These questions kept on looping inside his head, but his emotions had a stronger hold on him.

"I trust you," you said in a whisper. "I don't trust people easily."

That did ease some of the uneasiness within him, but he still wanted more. The grip of his obsession for you was tightening around him viciously, and it was getting harder for him to keep it at bay.

"Maybe I want more than that."

"Miguel..."

He leaned in, bending his head just enough for his lips to almost meet yours, searching for the comfort of your warmth.

He could feel you slipping through his fingers again.

You turned your head lightly and pressed a lingering kiss on his cheek instead.

His eyes fluttered shut, and the dreadful feeling that you were parting from him suddenly overcame him.

"Maybe you should go back..." you said after parting from him. "I'll stay here for a little while..."

"Because of Tom?" he could feel the poison dripping from his words.

You shook your head vehemently. "Because of me."

Part 7

Masterlist

[lilaceatingsnow]

What if the fae boys go into heat unexpectedly and the reader is the only one that can help their problem?

╰┈➤ ❝ [Heat] ❞ 【Headcanons】

Summary ► characters get into heat! how do they get help with it?

About Reader ► AFAB, people use they/them to refer to you.

Warnings ► smut, receiving oral, period sex I think, fingering, author never wrote about heat

Characters Featured ► Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

NOT PROOFREAD.

Malleus Draconia ►

it was early in the morning when you got a text from THEE Malleus Draconia. asking you to come and meet him up for something in his dorm room.

“Child of Man. I need you to come immediately to my room. it is an emergency.”

naturally, you were concerned about the matter in your hands early in the morning. so you rush out of Ramshackle to meet up with the dragon Prince asap.

once you reach Disomnia, you immediately run to Malleus' room and knock on the door to his room before he allows you in.

“Malleus, I got your message! What's the matter!?”

“....I've gotten into heat. I need your assistance with that.”

this caught you off guard, but you didn't complain, no. who would complain when a dragon Prince is begging you for help.

“Of course, I'll gladly help you out!”

the dragon Prince smirks and gives you a come here gesture with his finger, which you immediately obey and come over.

“Strip for me, my dear.”

the tone of his voice melts in your ears at how soft it was. his words and tone make you want to obey his every word, and so you strip off your clothes as you look away from shyness.

he grabs your hand and pulls you in his bed as he begins to shower you in kisses on your whole body.

whole body means pussy included. and so he loves the smell of your arousal. dear Sevens, it's such a sweet and addicting smell for him addicting enough for him to eat you out.

his forked tongue teasing your clit had you seeing above and beyond. it was such an addicting feeling that couldn't help, but grab his horns as you ride his face.

he didn't mind that you wrote his face, no no, he was so happy as he got to eat, lick and suck you of your juices.

his tongue did wonders and tried to reach such levels that no normal human would. it was an amazing feeling to feel him eat you like a starved man, like you were his last meal.

his hand was groping your chest for the sake of keeping his hand occupied as well as kneeding your ass gently.

your orgasm didn't take too long to happen, thanks to his tongue teasing your clit so much. though he doesn't give you the chance to let out your orgasm, he backs away halfway there.

you whine, and he laughs at you for the state he brought you through.

“Forgive me, Yuu, but I am far from done, and that means you too are far from done.”

Lilia Vanrouge ►

it's that time of the month when the smell of blood is around and a vampire such as Lilia could smell it around.

and who else other than you would have a smell such as that? the smell of your cycle was strong enough for Lilia to go into heat.

he needed to feast, breed. he needed to do so much with little time. and he makes sure not to waste any time by asking you to meet up in his room.

having to deal with a raging boner during school hours was impossibly hard for him, but he made it through out and that's what matters.

upon meeting him, Lilia apologized for his behaviour and, of course, asked you for permission to do as he wished. when you gave him permission, he was so happy to have a mutual understanding.

he immediately pins you down and bites your neck to suck some of your blood. his eyes rolled all the way back at the taste of your blood. he almost nutted right then and there.

he knew that cycles were a pain, and so he decided to ease that pain by teasing you. while he drinks your blood, his hand is in your pants, drawing gentle tight circles on your clit, making sure it was enough to distract you from your cramps such a nice gentleman.

not only was his thumb glued to your clit, but his fingers were inside you, taking the pain off for your mind.

he's an old man who knew how to treat you so well.

he makes sure to be very gentle with you.

A/N ► sorry that Lilia's part was short, he's like a grandpa figure for me so idrk how to write for him— also this is like the first fic I write after my surgery and it being smut is WILD. hope you enjoyed it tho :33

[ariestrxsh]

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️ content warning: smut, masturbation, edging, voyeurism, humiliation, getting caught

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️ summary: matt wakes up with a raging boner and takes care of it, forgetting he has an audience

pretty boy

Matt lazily rolled over in bed onto his stomach, still half-asleep, checking the time on his phone. It was too early to be awake but late enough that the sun was starting to come up over the horizon and pour in through the curtain. He shut his eyes again, delighting in the way his erection was pinned perfectly between the mattress and his tummy. He let out a soft mewl as he rolled his hips forward, creating a wonderful friction against his member.

One of Matt's favorite rituals was taking care of his morning wood first thing after waking up every day when he was most responsive, and his senses were in their most heightened state.

He continued, sleepily rutting his hard on into the soft sheets beneath him again, evoking a few more pretty sounds from his pouty lips. The handsome boy loved taking his time, going as long as he could without making direct contact with his throbbing cock, teasing himself until he couldn't take it anymore.

He reached down and gently squeezed it through his flannel pajamas, biting his lip at the sensation. He could feel the sticky, wet precum pearling at his slit seeping through the cotton fabric.

He grinded into the bed a little more fervently, gripping onto his pillow beneath his head as he relished in the delicious feeling of treating himself to another early morning masturbation session. His whimpers were needy and desperate, his cock begging to be touched.

The pretty, brunette boy rolled over again onto his back, knowing it wouldn't take much for him to finish, but he wanted to draw out the experience as long as he could. He had recently noticed that the longer he made himself wait, the more intense his orgasms would feel.

Matt reached into the waistband of his pajama pants, pulled them off, and freed his swollen member. A chill ran down his spine, and goosebumps popped up all over his body as he gently ran the tips of his fingers along the veins on the backside, exciting his favorite nerve endings. Beads of his precum spilled onto his tummy as he wrapped his long, thin fingers around his girth and started gently tugging the skin up and down. He needed this.

The muscles in his face softened, his eyelids fell closed, and the corners of his lips curled up in a sweet smile as he pleasured himself. He spread around the clear liquid glistening on his cock head, loving the way it was his natural lubricant and utilizing it to its full potential.

He massaged the tip, letting out a needy sigh while his thumb grazed that sensitive place on the backside of his dick where the shaft met the head. He loved teasing that spot, and anytime he'd caress it, he couldn't control the way his whole cock would twitch beneath his touch. "Fuck," he whispered, stroking his shaft a little faster now.

Matt had many methods for helping get himself off. Sometimes, he'd watch porn when he was in a hurry. Other times, he'd read fan fiction about himself or look at the comments under edits of him because he secretly loved the attention. He adored the idea of being a hot commodity, the thought of being worshipped, and he relished in wondering how many fans would get off to their fantasies of him daily.

Sometimes, he'd just visualize his own deepest, darkest fantasies coming to life while playing with himself. Or he'd reminisce on previous sexual encounters he'd had.

But times like this, he wouldn't even be thinking about anything. He'd climb out of his head for twenty minutes or so and dissolve into the pleasurable sensations his body was experiencing, completely letting go of anything that anchored him to his mind.

He felt himself getting close, but he backed off, pacing the way he fisted his length, slowing his breathing and relaxing all his muscles. Matt had become a pro at edging. He knew exactly how to get right up to the tipping point, flirt with it, and still manage to bring himself back down before busting into his hand. He knew this technique well by now, and he practiced every morning, teasing his pretty cock relentlessly to ensure he receive the maximum satisfaction possible.

The needy boy picked up the pace again, moaning loudly in his bed as he gripped his cock, tugging on it urgently while he flooded his system with dopamine, tricking his brain into thinking he was gonna give in this time, but at the last possible second, he ceased all stimulation, ruining his orgasm again.

The next time he grasped his member, he could feel the rhythmic throbbing against his palm. His cock was so needy and sensitive and pleading with him to relieve all the pressure he'd built up. He used both his fists this time, gripping his rod and twisting his wrists in opposing directions, almost as if he were using a pepper grinder.

The muscles in his forehead contracted, he tightly shut his eyes, and his jaw fell slack as he brought himself to the finish line. He was panting and whimpering loudly while bucking his hips up and driving his cock fervently into the grip of both of his hands. The stimulation was too much for his sensitive nerve endings.

As his palms slipped around all over his length and his tip, he finally let go. He moaned over and over again at a higher volume than he meant to while he lost himself in the throes of ecstasy, his orgasm cascading and crashing over him like a tidal wave. He couldn't get enough. He curled his toes until they started going numb.

Several hot spurts of his load shot out of his slit and made a mess on his warm flesh along with the blankets and sheets he was all wrapped up in while he writhed around and whimpered at the delicious feeling. He pumped his hands back and forth over his pulsating dick until he'd squeezed himself dry and was too sensitive to withstand any more stimulation.

A ringing filled his ears, and a tranquil state overcame him as he came back down from the intense experience. His cheeks were pink and damp with sweat as he tried to regulate his breathing again.

Before rolling onto his side and falling back asleep, Matt's eyes shot wide open, and his stomach dropped. He knew it would be a bad idea to fall asleep on his twitch stream, but he had given in after all the fans had begged for it. Too bad he didn't remember this before taking part in one of his most intimate solo activities.

He had just edged himself and busted all over while on live with at least a couple thousand people watching.

"Shit, shit, shit," Matt whispered, urgently jumping out of his soiled sheets and trying to hide his junk behind his wadded up flannel pajama pants. He rushed to the computer monitor that was conveniently pointed directly at his bed, and before shutting it off in a panic, his eyes scanned over the comments going crazy in the chat.

"Pretty boy. Please cum for us again."

"Good boy. That was so fucking hot. One more round. I'm begging."

"Please fall asleep on stream with us more often."

"Don't be shy. Show us the mess you made."

The humiliation he felt and the praises in his comment section were almost enough to send blood rushing to his dick again, but he ended the stream and buried his head in his hands in shame, dreading the fact he'd have to relive this through fan edits and wondering how long it would be before his brothers found out about his major slip up.

this fic was inspired by matt, saying he would fall asleep on stream but would be too worried about waking up with a boner. 💖 (i think the real reason is that he would forget about us and probably end up in a situation like this. 🫦 all the more reason he should do it honestly lmao.)

taglist: @bsturnzmtt @sturniolo-girl @munchingmini @butterbean-01 @coolasice01 @theyluvme-2315 @zariyam @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @mattsfavbigtitties @new2024cats4life @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @jaysturniolo @sturniolosweetheart33 @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @luvhsien @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @karttpet @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @slxtformatt @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mynameisuser834 @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx @sturniolocharms @mickelodeon-2003

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 15 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: cursing, mentions of taehyung getting slapped, alcohol, a haunted house (and a clown), fear of someone possibly committing the irreparable, confessions <3, explicit content: implied penetrative sex

☆word count: 7.4k

☆a/n: finally the end of the angst :') hope you guys enjoy <3 and thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Friday, October 11th

You don’t think you’ve slept. You’ve lied in bed all night, chasing the smell of Jungkook from last night on your sheets. You hoped he’d reappear, materialize here in this room where you and him always made sense, but he stays gone, and you stay alone. 

Lonely, like the moon in the sky up above. 

The morning is grey, colourless. The sun rises like it didn’t care about you and Jungkook, like its heart perhaps never imploded on itself. But yours has, the second you had to watch Jungkook walking out of the door.

He’d closed the door softly behind him, and you’d turned towards Taehyung. You’d seethed, “I fucking hate you”, through your teeth, and Taehyung had offered you a sad, apologetic stare.

“You’ll understand that this is the best for you,” he’d said, and you’d walked up to him and slapped him, hard enough for your hand to sting.

He’d taken it, barely even flinching, and as his cheek had reddened, you’d said, “You should have fucking stayed in Paris.”

And then you’d fled to your room, and he’d let you do it.

It was the first time you’ve ever slapped him - or anyone, for that matter - and you really hope it’ll be the last. Perhaps because it came from such ugly feelings, from heartbreak and betrayal and everything in between, and it raged through you only to leave a pathetic shrivelled shape behind.

You’d meant it last night - you miss Jungkook. And you miss him more than ever now, as you’re faced with the irreversibility of your falling out.

Ariane came back home after you’ve gone to bed last night. You heard her walking in, heard her speaking to Taehyung in the living room before the sounds faded as they moved to their room. And as you lied there, you’d wondered, why did Taehyung even come back home so early?

Why couldn’t he stay at the movie theatre long enough for you and Jungkook to fix your relationship? Long enough to have that much needed conversation, long enough so you’d never said that last night was a lapse of judgment?

You regretted the words the moment they were out. You don’t think you truly meant them - yesterday night was heaven on Earth, a step out of time to a past you were trying to move on from.

This morning, you know you’ll never be able to move on from Jungkook. Not when your feelings for him were strong enough to make you hate the one person who always cared for you, who always was there for you growing up.

Because with the grey light of dawn you realize that you do truly hate Taehyung. You don’t think you’ll be able to see him again without blowing up in his face, so you remain hidden in your room as he and Ariane get up. He doesn’t text you if you want breakfast, doesn’t say anything at all.

You think it’s a relief - you don’t have it in you to fight anymore.

Jungkook hasn’t texted you either. You’ve debated sending him a message for most of the night, but you haven’t figured out what. You reckon he might need space after last night, after the roller coaster of emotions that everything was, and so you think it might be okay if you haven’t texted him yet.

You rub the tiredness out of your eyes, sighing deeply as the sounds in the apartment fade when Taehyung and Ariane leave for their morning classes. You get out of bed then, putting on clothes before you head to the kitchen.

Taehyung left you a plate of eggs and bacon on the table, with a scribbled note next to it. I’m sorry is all that’s written, and you wonder if Ariane forced him to write it.

It’s unlike Taehyung to ever apologize for anything after all. You crumple the piece of paper, throw it out in the recycling bin, and then eat the food even though it’s gone cold since Taehyung left it there. It’s still food, and though your appetite doesn’t show up, you still manage to eat half of it.

You text Nabi that you won’t make it to class before heading back to your room, the heaviness of everything that happened in the last twelve hours catching up to you. You feel bone-deep exhausted, and you hide underneath the covers of your bed, tears pricking at your eyes.

It’s nothing new - you’ve been crying on and off since Jungkook left last night, and that, most of all, must have been the reason why sleep evaded you all night long.

You grab your phone, quickly moving to your text message app. You find Jungkook’s conversation, rereading his text from September.

[09/08/24] JK: hey.. do you want to talk?

You’d ignored it then, but today, you find yourself in his position. Find yourself writing a message similar to the one he’d sent, and you reread it a thousand times before you find the courage to press send.

[9:37 am] You: i’m sorry about what i said last night. can we talk?

Anxiety flushes through you as the message delivers. It’s adrenaline in your blood, and you remain on the conversation for five minutes, hoping Jungkook might reply right away.

He doesn’t. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t reply all morning, and you busy yourself by going back to the dorms, not wanting to stay at the apartment knowing that Taehyung is going to come back eventually. 

You find the dorm room to be empty, which you reckon is a relief. You don’t think you’d have the strength to see anyone right now, not when the exhaustion is almost enough to make you crumple on yourself.

You end up taking a nap for most of the afternoon, waking  up drenched in sweat from a nightmare you forget the second your eyes open.

Perhaps the presence of Nabi and Ria, sitting on Ria’s bed next to you, contributes to your forgetfulness after all.

“Morning,” Ria teases.

You frown, shutting your eyes again as you hide your face in Nabi’s pillow. “Morning,” you mumble in reply.

“Why’d you miss class this morning?” Nabi asks.

You let out a noncommittal sound.

The mattress dips next to you as someone sits there. “What’s wrong?” Ria asks.

The tears are spilling over a second later, and you tell them everything. You tell them how your conversation with Ria yesterday inspired you to do the same thing with Jungkook, but that you never got the chance to tell him how you feel. You tell them about Taehyung, about Jungkook leaving without a single look back. You tell them about the text that sits unanswered on your phone, and you tell them you’re tired, oh so tired.

Ria runs a soothing hand on your back through it all, while Nabi says she’ll go buy ice cream. You sit with Ria in silence for a while, before glancing at her.

“I hope things went better between you and Seokjin,” you say, voice rough from all the crying you’ve done.

She offers you an apologetic smile. “It did. But we don’t have to speak about it right now.”

You take a deep breath, wiping your cheeks dry even though you haven’t shed a tear in a few minutes. “No,” you say after. “Tell me everything. I just need to stop thinking about Jungkook for a while.”

There’s a knock on the door, startling the two of you. Ria throws you a quizzical look and then gets up to open the door. 

Yoongi’s on the other side, a six-pack of beer in hands. “Nabi said to meet you guys here,” he says to Ria, then looks behind her to see you sitting on the bed. You must look like hell, because he lets out, “Shit.” 

It makes you laugh, and then you pat the bed next to you. “No clue if beer mixes well with ice cream, but come here.”

Yoongi grins, and then he walks in, kicking off his shoes. Turns out beer does not mix well with ice cream, as you find out half an hour later when Nabi’s returned with a one-liter tub of vanilla ice cream with fudge ripples in it.  The two tastes clash in your mouth, but you shrug it off.

It’s Friday evening, and though Jungkook still hasn’t replied, you want to have fun with your friends. And you really try to - Ria drags you all to a board game bar near campus, and you play as you drink and eat your fill.

You’re walking home, arms hooked with the girls while Yoongi leads the way, when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You can’t see who’s texted you, but your heart picks up its pace, like it knows.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say to no one in particular.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder. “You suck at board games.”

He bursts out laughing as you let out an offended sound, and Ria and Nabi pull you back as you try to jump on Yoongi. 

“You’re a dick!”

He just laughs harder, until everyone joins in. 

Until joy pierces the clouds in your mind, and weight seems to be lifted from your shoulders. You feel lighter - who needs a man when you have your friends?

“For real though,” you say once the laughter subsides. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

Nabi rests her head on your shoulder. “Good thing that you don’t have to live without us.”

“You’re such a sentimental drunk,” Ria teases, yet she pecks your cheek all the same. “Love you, bitch.”

“Love you too.”

Later, when you’re about to hop in the shower at the dorms, you finally look at your phone. You’d all but forgotten the earlier buzzing, but the message that waits for you is a bomb awaiting explosion, and you think it explodes right in your chest.

[11:26 pm] JK: i honestly don’t think we should talk rn. sorry

You swallow the rumbles of your beating organ, but they cut on the way down until you’re bleeding out standing there, naked save for the flip flops on your feet.

The clouds come back to your head, thickening until all light seems gone.

[11:58 pm] You: okay… i really am sorry

Jungkook never replies to that, and you cry yourself to sleep that night.

Sunday, October 13th 

Each year like clockwork a fair comes into town around Halloween. It’s a fair of light and music, games and plush toys to be won, with a haunted house and a corn maze. It’s not exactly in town - it’s a fifteen-minute drive from the outskirts of town, but Namjoon has a car, and so does Seokjin.

You technically do too, but you left it to Taehyung when you moved to the dorms. 

You get there with Nabi and Namjoon, Yoongi riding in the backseat with you. Ria and Seokjin are going to get there later, which you think is a good thing.

They have months of catching up to do, and you can’t blame them for wanting to be alone. Especially not when you see just how much Ria has been glowing the last few days.

You have to park the car in a field, and you’re glad you chose to wear your frat party shoes - the field is muddy from yesterday night’s rain. Nabi complains about it, and Namjoon immediately offers her a piggyback ride to cross a large puddle of mud.

You turn to Yoongi.

“Can I piggyback you too?” you ask, lips jutting out in a small pout.

He snorts. “No.”

You roll your eyes, though you chuckle as he walks around the puddle as best as he can. It’s useless - there’s mud everywhere, and your shoes are entirely dirty by the time you make it to the fair grounds. You head to the ticket booth, though you have to wait in line for a while before you manage to finally get in.

“I want a plushie,” you say the second you see the first game a little while later.

It’s a game where you have to throw rings on the necks of glass bottles. Your friends follow you to it, and you’re quick to make a competition of who’s going to succeed the most. To your surprise, it ends up being Nabi, and she wins a small dragon plushie that she gives to you immediately.

You cradle it to your chest as you make your way to the next game, though your heart drops to your ass when your gaze connects with Taehyung’s as he stands next to the stand.

“Nope,” you let out, turning around to head in the other direction.

“What?” Yoongi asks, but he soon falls into step with you. “Y/n, what’s wrong?”

“Just saw my asshole of a brother, and I have no interest in talking to him tonight,��� you explain as your heart races in your chest from newfound adrenaline. “Or ever, to be honest.”

Yoongi winces. “Can’t blame you.” He looks behind you, nudging you with an elbow. “We’re clear though. He didn’t follow.”

You nod, stopping to glance behind yourself too. Nabi and Namjoon are nowhere to be seen, but you think it’s okay - at least you’ve got Yoongi. And Yoongi is a fun partner, though he beats you in most of the games you end up playing with him. He makes you laugh, and you think that’s what’s most important right now.

To have fun with your friends, lest your heart runs back to a doe-eyed boy who’s decided to leave you in the past.

“Want to do the haunted house?” you suggest to Yoongi.

He seems unconvinced, yet he still says, “Sure.”

Seokjin and Ria find you in line for the haunted house, joining you in the middle while apologizing to the people behind you, though they barely even pay attention to you. You hold a smile in at the sight of their entwined hands, and you nudge Yoongi to point towards it.

He rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The smile freezes on his face a second later, and you glance in the direction he’s looking.

It’s the guy from the reception at the gym. He recognizes you, and you wave hello as Yoongi turns beet red next to you.

“Want to go talk to him?” you say, wiggling your brows.

“You say a single other word, and I’m going to murder you,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth.

“Damn,” Ria lets out. “Someone’s angry.”

Yoongi scoffs, though his cheeks remain fully flushed up until you make it to the front of the line. It fades when you walk into the haunted house, though you think it might be because a clown jumps in his face the second you walk in.

Yoongi raises his fists in a defensive stance, and you burst out laughing as the clown moves to Ria, who shrieks so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if she ripped your eardrums.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to punch them,” you tease Yoongi.

He glares at you in the dim light. “Maybe I should punch you.”

“Try me bitch.”

At that he laughs, and then tension finally goes out of his shoulders. You spend the rest of the haunted house startling whenever someone jumps in front of you, letting out small shrieks that are entirely shadowed by Ria’s screams. Seokjin doesn’t fare any better, and you and Yoongi make fun of them, so much so you find yourself wiping happy tears from your eyes when you finally walk outside again.

“Never doing one of these again,” Seokjin deadpans, which only makes you and Yoongi laugh again.

Ria punches his shoulder. “You were supposed to protect me.”

“I was scared too!” Seokjin lets out, massaging the spot she hit. “I don’t ever do haunted houses!”

The two of them start bickering, though the teasing twinkle in their eyes tells you that it’s all in good fun. And it’s beautiful to see, though you can tell Seokjin is not all the way in yet.

You can’t blame him - Ria did lead him on for a while. But you can only hope that they’ll make it despite everything. When he throws an arm around her shoulder to pull her in, kissing the top of her head, you reckon they will.

If anyone makes it through the college experience without breaking up, it’ll be them, and Nabi and Namjoon. At least you hope so.

You meet up with Nabi and Namjoon when you go to the area where multiple food stands have been erected. You and Yoongi get corn dogs, only because you haven’t eaten them in forever and you feel like indulging tonight.

Like forgetting that, three days ago, you broke your heart and Jungkook’s heart with words you didn’t mean, all because your brother took you by surprise while you were with Jungkook.

Speaking of Taehyung, you notice him on the other side of the food court-like area, surrounded by his group of friends. He sees you, waving halfheartedly at you like he expects you might have forgiven him already.

You haven’t. As a matter of fact, the sight of him out and about enjoying himself after he caused Thursday’s heartbreak makes you hate him even more, and you turn away from him to focus on your friends’ conversation. But you can’t join in - your thoughts have run back to Thursday, to the feeling of Jungkook’s gentle hands all over you as you’d had sex, and then as you’d taken a shower together.

Your thoughts run back to your love confessions, that you both didn’t register because you were too angry, too caught up in the moment. But you know he said he fell in love with you, just like you did with him.

And that, most of all, is the reason why you hate Taehyung. Because no amount of loving Jeon Jungkook could save the relationship when your brother was so keen on destroying it. 

You take a deep breath as heaviness settles on you, and Nabi sidles closer to you, nudging you gently.

“Don’t think about it right now,” she whispers for just you to hear. 

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “It’s hard.”

“I know,” she gently says. “I know it’s hard, and I know you probably wish you weren’t here right now. But this is a good distraction, no? You loved it last year.”

You did. You’d ended up coming here four times before the fair closed shop for the year, and each time you had had the time of your life, messing around with your friends with not a single care for the world around you.

Needless to say, you’ve lost that unbothered attitude now, the frivolity of it completely forgotten.

You sigh, meeting Nabi’s gaze for a few seconds. “I’m trying. It doesn’t help that Taehyung is here, though.”

“You want me to go kick his ass?” Nabi asks. You chuckle, and a smile tickles at the corner of your lips. Nabi grins at the sight of it. “You’re going to be okay,” she promises. “We’ll make sure of it.”

You can only hope that she’s right.

After eating, you all head to the maze. You team up with the girls, racing the boys to the end. Evidently you get lost, and you manage to laugh around with your friends even through the heaviness on your shoulders. You’re lost somewhere in the middle of the maze when your phone rings in your purse with three incoming text messages.

You reckon you know who texted you. Considering that all of your friends are here with you tonight, there’s only one person you think could have texted you.

So you stop walking, Ria and Nabi stopping a step ahead of you, and you pull your phone out of your purse, heart dropping to your ass.

[7:27 pm] JK: hey so i’ve been thinking and there’s some stuff i need to get off my chest [7:27 pm] JK: sorry for the long message [7:28 pm] JK: I want to apologize for everything. I’m sorry, so sorry that I couldn’t make it work. I’m sorry Paris happened, I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you right away. I wish I’d been, maybe we’d be together now. But I had to fuck it up, multiple times honestly and I think it’s proof that I definitely am not ready to be in a relationship. I wanted to try tho, I really did. I think you and I could have been something great. And lately I’ve been wondering if, maybe we made it in another universe. Like… I can’t accept that there’s no universes out there where we make it, you know? Because I really love you. I’ve loved you since the day I met you and you ran into me. I fell for you the second I saw you, and then I found out you were Tae’s sister, and the rest is history. But I wanted you to know it, to know that I love you and that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I fucked it up. I’d take everything back if I could, I’d save you the heartbreak, but life doesn’t work that way. so yeah… i’m really sorry peach… I hope we can make it in the next life

You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe for a whole minute as you reread again and again, and Ria and Nabi stand next to you, asking what’s wrong. You can’t say anything - you think your heart has stopped beating altogether.

You hand your phone to Ria, and she and Nabi read the messages while tears prick at your eyes, adrenaline flushing through you.

“Holy fuck,” Ria curses under her breath, and she meets your gaze. “Y/n, do you know where he is?”

You don’t. You have no clue where he’s gone to hide after he left Thursday, and you think you might be sick. “I don’t know,” you answer. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Tears fall from your eyes, and you grab your phone, immediately pressing on the call button. It goes to voicemail right away, and you choke on a sob as Nabi grabs your arm, pulling you behind her.

You were almost at the end of the maze, luckily, and the second you’re out you take off, your friends yelling your name behind you. Apparently, the boys made it out first, because there’s a chorus of ‘What is going on?’ as you run back towards the last place where you saw Taehyung.

Your brother is not there, and though you’re out of breath, you sprint down another alley, where a bunch of artists sell paintings and bracelets and everything in between. You try calling Jungkook again, but it once again goes to voicemail.

You’re about to throw up. You’ll fucking throw up your corn dog, you’ll fucking lose him, irreparably. The fear takes hold of you, sweeps through you until you’re shaking, tears falling freely like they have a mind of their own. You can barely think around the loud beats of your heart, around the sound of the blood gushing into your ears. 

You can’t think around the thought that Jungkook is about to hurt himself.

“Y/n!” Namjoon says behind you, and you spin around to see he’s the only one who managed to follow you. Your other friends are just now turning into the alley, and they rush towards you.

“Where’s my brother?” you ask, and you choke on another sob.

Taehyung is likely the only person here who might know where Jungkook is.

Namjoon looks over his shoulder as Ria skids to a halt next to you. “I don’t know,” he answers, and you almost want to punch him.

How is he so intelligent and doesn’t fucking know that?

“Have you guys seen Taehyung?” you ask your other friends as they all stop next to you. “I need to find him.”

They all nod, and you disperse throughout the fair, searching for your brother.

“Why don’t you call him?” Yoongi asks, and you startle - you didn’t notice he’d followed you.

And you find yourself stupid for not thinking about it before. Instead of trying to call Jungkook again - you’ve been trying constantly since you received his messages - you go to Taehyung’s contact, calling him.

He picks up on the third ring. “Finally talking to me?” he drawls.

“Where are you?” you ask.

He must hear the panic in your voice, because he answers, “In line for the haunted house. Is something wrong?”

You hang up, not replying, instead sprinting towards the haunted house. You indeed find Taehyung next to it, though he’s not in line anymore, like he knew you’d come see him.

“Where’s Jungkook?” you ask, the panic in your voice so stark you see the colours fading from his features.

“Why?”

“Where the fuck is Jungkook?” you repeat, and tears once again roll on your cheeks.

Ariane steps closer to you, resting a hand on your arm. “Y/n, what’s wrong?”

You break down. You fully break down, hiding your face in your hands. Yoongi explains the situation while Ariane pulls you into a hug, and you cry on her shoulder, clutching the fabric of her sweater - Taehyung’s sweater - as if that'll stop you from breaking.

“He’s at home,” Taehyung says, pulling you from Ariane’s arms. “He’s at home, Y/n. Let’s go.”

You nod, and you both take off, leaving Ariane and Yoongi behind. They don’t try to follow, clearly sensing that this is something you and Taehyung need to do alone. 

You’re frantic on the ride home, one leg bouncing up and down as Taehyung drives, and you urge him to go faster.

“It won’t do us any good if we get in an accident before getting home,” Taehyung answers, but you notice he does accelerate.

“Should we call the police?” you ask when you stop at a red light.

It only then occurs to you that you might walk in to find Jungkook hurt.

“We’re almost there,” Taehyung says gently. 

You are. You’d likely get there before the police would.

You’re crying again, the panic and terror swimming through your blood so loud you can’t think anymore.

You don’t know what you’ll do if Jungkook hurt himself. If you get home to find him…

You don’t dare finish the thought.

It feels like an eternity before Taehyung finally parks the car near the apartment, and you’re flying out of it before it’s gone to a full stop. Taehyung doesn’t comment, and you’re sprinting faster than ever, climbing up the stairs to your apartment in a record time. You try the door, but it’s locked, and you curse as you search through your purse, but you don’t have the keys.

You don’t have the keys.

“I got you,” Taehyung says as he reaches the top of the stairs, keys already in hand.

He unlocks the door in no time, and the second it’s open you crash in, skidding to a halt as you scan the apartment with your gaze. The door to the bathroom is open, revealing that it’s empty. So is the kitchen, but light filters from underneath Jungkook’s bedroom door.

You run to the door, push it open as your heart beats so fast you’ll likely go into cardiac arrest.

Jungkook is sitting in front of his gaming PC, and he turns his head towards you, gaze going wide at the sight of your distressed state.

“You came?” he lets out.

You just stand there, watching him. Taking in the sight of him, alive and unharmed, playing computer games like he always does. It’s enough to make you break down again, and you fold on yourself, tears streaming down your face. 

“I uh…” Taehyung trails off from behind you. “I’ll let you guys talk.”

Soft footsteps move towards you, and gentle hands pull you up and inside the room. You don’t see anything through the blinding waterfall in your eyes, and all you can do is sob harder when you’re pulled into someone’s arms.

Jungkook’s arms. They wrap around you, strong and steady, holding you close to him. Your fists clench on the fabric of his oversized white t-shirt, and you cry as you rest your forehead on his chest.

He holds you as all the anxiety rushes out of you in the form of endless tears, and you just cry and cry, the relief that he’s safe and sound so intense you feel whiplash. 

Eventually, Jungkook makes you sit down on his bed, and he gently takes off your shoes. He then lies next to you, pulling you down, and you rest your head on his chest, the flow of tears finally slowing down.

It comes to a full stop when Jungkook kisses the top of your head, his arms around you momentarily tightening.

“You’re an idiot,” you say, voice raucous from all the crying.

“I assume this is about the message I sent you?”

You frown, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are red-rimmed, and you only then realize that he’s been crying with you all along. “Gosh, Kook,” you let out, fresh tears welling up in your eyes, but you manage to blink them away. “I thought you were going to hurt yourself.”

“Oh.” He worries at his piercings for a few seconds, then adds, “I wasn’t.”

“You sounded like you were.”

His eyebrows almost touch over his eyes. “Oh?”

“‘I hope we can make it in the next life’” you narrate. “Doesn’t that sound like what someone would say before…” you trail off, unable to say the words, the fear still impacting you despite the fact that you’re realizing he was never in any danger.

He winces. “Now that you say it like that, I guess it does sound bad.” He scrunches up his nose. “Sorry?”

“Fuck,” you curse. “Jungkook.”

“I really am sorry, I didn’t want to worry you,” he insists. He pulls you down, forcing you to rest your head back on his chest. “I just wanted to tell you how I feel. And I knew I’d say it wrong if we were talking face to face, so I just put everything down in that message.” He chuckles, though you hear him gulp. “I wrote it all in my notes app before sending it to you.” He pauses, and his lips ghost the top of your head. “My therapist said I should write down how I feel, and reading it after, I realized I wanted you to know too.”

Your hand is resting on his abdomen, and you shift it until it’s wrapped around him, pulling his body closer.

“I love you too, Jungkook,” you whisper. “Maybe not for as long as you… but I love you too.”

“I know,” he murmurs in the same tone. “I know, peach.”

You blink away the new onslaught of tears that threatens to spill on your cheeks, and coincidentally on his shirt. “We do need to talk, though.”

“I know.”

You take a deep breath, trying to find courage. As if speaking to Jungkook is scary, dangerous.

But then again, this is just Jungkook. This is the man who took care of you when you were upset on Valentine’s Day, who took care of you at every party you attended last semester.

This is the man who was ready to lose his friendship with his best friend if that meant having you. And you realize then that there’s nothing to be scared about. It’s just you and Jungkook.

It was always going to be you and Jungkook, wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry too,” you admit. “For being so afraid of Taehyung’s reaction. And I wasn’t wrong to be.” You lift your head to eye the purple-turning-to-yellow mark on his cheek. It’s streaked with a linear scab, where the punch cut his skin. “I can’t believe he punched you.”

“I was expecting it.”

You look a little higher, meeting his gaze. “Why didn’t you try to stop him?”

His Adam’s apple bobs and he takes a deep breath. “I thought I deserved it.”

“Jungkook…”

“I did,” he affirms. “Did you know he told me not to touch you, ever, before I even met you?”

You frown. “That sounds like Taehyung.”

“Yeah…” Jungkook takes another deep breath, and you move your hand to hold his shoulder, thumb ghosting on the side of his neck. “And yet I did.”

“I’m happy that you did,” you whisper. “All the time we spent together last semester… I loved it, you know? I really fell for you.”

“I’m lucky you did,” he replies, and he pecks the top of your head. “But then again I treated you like shit. I should have pushed Gabrielle away before she even kissed me. But I just thought I was helping her.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I stopped being upset with you about it the second she told me everything.” You hold him a little tighter for a few seconds. “She was rooting for us, you know?”

Jungkook nods. “I know. She told me.” He sighs, and his lips brush the top of your head again, as if he’s trying to anchor you here.

To anchor himself here, with you, just lying in his bed, slowly forgetting the world.

“I’m sorry about Lisa,” he adds after a few beats of silence. “I really didn’t expect you to ever show up like that.”

“I should have texted you first,” you say as your heart clenches in your chest at the memory of Lisa in his shirt, of every scene of them together you imagined during your countless sleepless nights. “You had every right to try to move on with someone, you know?”

“But you didn’t,” he points out. “I should have held out for longer.”

“Jungkook,” you say sternly, lifting your head to meet his gaze again. “You couldn’t have known that I’d come back. You had the right to move on.”

His gaze is lined with silver, big doe eyes shining softly in the dim light from his PC monitor, and from the LED lights strung all around his room. They shine a gentle yellow tonight, so unlike the red you’re used to.

“I’m still sorry about it,” he murmurs, lower lip quivering.

“Stop,” you whisper, cupping his cheek. “Stop, Kook. I can’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt, but I was never mad at you for it. Not even for a single second.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, and tears spill from his eyes.

You’re quick to dry them with your thumb. “It’s not a question about who deserves who or what,” you say, and you move until you can pull his face into your chest. “It’s never been about that.”

“But I don’t deserve you.” He chokes on the words, and you run a hand through his hair, massaging his scalp soothingly.

“You do,” you say. “You really do, Jungkook. You were here for me all those months. You treated me well despite Taehyung being a concern, despite the fact that I never really fully gave myself to you because of him.” You blink away the wetness in your gaze. “You deserve me because you love me,” you add, and your heart warms in your chest.

It only occurs to you then how real the feelings are. They’ve always been there, always been strong, but now they have a name, and you think it’s the most beautiful name in the universe.

You were right to chase cars around his head, after all.

“You deserve me because you love me,” you repeat, “and because I love you.”

“I do love you,” he says softly. “I really do.”

You can’t help yourself - every single second of your life has led to this moment. You pull away, and he looks up at you as you lean forward. As you softly press your lips on his, and as you swallow the soft sigh he lets out. You kiss him gently, your heart syncing with his, the cars now chasing themselves around both of your heads.

And you do forget the world, as you kiss him. It’s just you and him, like it’s always been meant to be. Just you and Jeon Jungkook, and your souls fusing into one. And maybe the three words aren’t enough, maybe ‘I love you’ can’t convey everything that you feel for Jungkook, but you reckon you have an eternity in front of you to demonstrate the feelings, in all of their glory.

And you kiss for your own little eternity, not ever falling into desire and passion territory. You ride the wave of the love between you and Jungkook - a gentle wave, like those a soft breeze summons on the surface of a lake in the summer. No, you just kiss with all of the love you share, and it burns brighter than the moon ever could, rivalling the Sun.

You wonder, do the stars see you shining in the sky outside? Do they know of the love that was born between you and Jungkook all those months ago?

The kiss ends gently, much like it started. Your eyelids flutter open to meet Jungkook’s soft gaze, and you take in the emotions swirling in the depths of his eyes, reflecting those in yours.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He frowns slightly. “For what?”

“For telling me how you felt,” you reply. “For sending that message, even though I misinterpreted the end.”

He offers you a small smile, his lips barely curving upwards yet his eyes shining bright. “You deserved to know.”

“And you deserved to know that it’s all reciprocated,” you say. “I’m in love with you, Jeon Jungkook.”

The sparkles in his eyes explode into the most beautiful fireworks. “You’re getting cheesy on me,” he teases.

“And what about it?”

He pulls you down in another kiss, though this time it’s much shorter, more a quick peck than a deep love confession.

“I like it,” he admits. “Be as cheesy as you want.”

“I will be,” you promise, eyes twinkling with mischief.

His answering laugh is oh so healing, and you use it to cure the wounds on your heart.

To cure those on his heart, too.

“I do need to say,” you say a few minutes later, after you’ve laid your head back on his chest, “that I’m sorry about what I said to Taehyung Thursday. It was never a lapse of judgment, and I really don’t know why I said that.”

“It really hurt,” Jungkook admits, and you hold him tighter, trying to erase the past. “But at the same time, I do get why you said it. You were just trying to get Taehyung off our backs.”

“I was, but it wasn’t the right way to do it,” you say. “It was stupid, and hurtful, and I really didn’t mean it at all.”

“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s mouth brushes the top of your head, and he adds in a whisper, “It’s okay.”

You don’t think it is, but then again, there’s a lot of things you need to leave in the past if you want to be able to move forward with him.

You both made mistakes, a lot of them, but holding onto them won’t bring you anywhere positive.

“You know,” Jungkook says. “I suck at relationships.”

You lift your head to meet his gaze. “You don’t.”

“No, but I do,” he insists. “I’ve never had a real girlfriend. As you know, Gabrielle was just… a cover?”

“Yeah…” you trail off, resting your head on his chest again. “Did you guys ever…”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Once, when we were seventeen. She said she couldn’t really know if she was gay if she didn’t try having sex with a guy once.”

“How did that go?”

You hear the wince in Jungkook’s tone as he says, “Poorly. It was my first time, and hers too obviously, and it was entirely shit.”

You laugh, patting his chest. “Don’t worry, you’ve gotten a lot better.”

“Oh did I now?” Jungkook teases and he pushes you off his chest, forcing you to lie on your back so that he can climb over you.

Your laugh turns into a giggle as he hides his face in your neck, his breath tickling you, and you retaliate by tickling his sides.

He bursts out laughing, falling on the side next to you. “How dare you!”

You rest your hand on his stomach, stopping him before he can climb on top of you again. “I want to know more,” you say, falling serious.

He cocks an eyebrow, his grin slowly fading. “Know more?”

“About you,” you say. “I feel like I don’t know a lot about you, despite all the time we spent together.”

Maybe because there always were too many secrets between you and Jeon Jungkook. 

But not anymore, not ever again.

“What do you want to know?” he asks.

“Everything.”

He widens his gaze, laughing softly. “It’s going to take the whole night.”

“I don’t care,” you insist. “I want to know everything that makes you, you.”

He wets his lips, toying with his piercings. “And do I get to know more about you, too?”

You nod forcefully. “I’ll answer every question.”

There’s a silence as you just share a look, until Jungkook turns on his back, looking up at the ceiling. You just stare at his profile, wondering what question he’ll ask first.

“We should go on a date,” he says, taking you by surprise. He looks at you again, before adding, “On a real, proper date. Like in the movies. And then you could ask me all your questions.”

You snort. “You want to go on a date with me?”

“Of course,” he says. “Friday night at eight pm. Wear your best clothes.”

“You’re deadass?”

He narrows his gaze at you. “Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, cheeks dusting with pink. “Does that mean that we’re…”

“That we’re?” Jungkook presses when you never finish the sentence.

“That we’re dating?”

Your heart beats out of your chest at the question - it holds the weight of the universe. Two hours ago, you would have never believed you’d get to ask Jungkook that, ever.

Yet here you are, and when his gaze fills with all the warmth of love and summer days and everything in between, you know the answer.

“Well…” he trails off. “If you want to. We can also take it slow if you prefer?”

“What about a little bit of both?”

Jungkook chuckles. “How would that work?”

“I mean…” You lie on your back, looking up at the ceiling as you search for the right words to say. “As you said, you suck at relationships, and so do I. So maybe we can learn along the way? Do things the right way this time around?”

He’s smiling when you turn your head to look at him again. “Yes,” he agrees. “One day at a time.”

The kiss that follows starts slowly, softly, gently, but it escalates quickly, led by the lingering fear that you could have lost him tonight. It burns with passion, Jungkook’s tongue pushing into your mouth, and you let out a breathy sound as he climbs back on top of you, his knee parting your legs.

You wrap them around his waist to hold him closer, your arms snaking around his neck. 

It’s all kisses and soft moans and whispered confessions until you’re naked, entwined, your bodies joined in the most intimate of ways. Jungkook muffles your moans with his lips on yours, and you pour all of your love into the kisses, in the way your hips lift to meet his.

When Jungkook climaxes, you hold him even closer - you’d be dumb to let him go. Not when it was always meant to be him. Not when your love for him is growing, flourishing inside of your heart, of your soul, to form the most beautiful garden.

A garden of you and him, of feelings shared and confessed, of yearning and longing that only led to this beauty. To this moment of you and him together - to this first moment of you and him together of the long list that will follow.

And later, before you fall asleep in his embrace, you whisper against his skin, “I love you.”

He whispers it back, and the reciprocity of the feelings shines on you through the night, like it will shine on you from this day on until you dwindle into stardust, to be carried on a wind of eternity.

Prev | Chapter 15.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

I told you the angst was almost over :') which is good, bc there's only two chapters left. I hope this one managed to heal you guys a little, tho it started off sad. The last two chapters are for healing but first, what did you guys think of this one?

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

FROM FAR DISTANT WATERS

PAIRING: Merman!John Price x F!Artist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There’s something in the water - you're going to figure out what it is, and why it chose to save you.

WORDCOUNT: 16.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, murder, death/near death, assault, injury, gore, mystery, mentions of suicide, angst, protective!John, pining, sickness, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The little boat rocks as it slips through the expansive water, a thin hanging of mist in the air. The curtain-like film it leaves makes it nearly impossible to see the dark rocks of the shore a far distance away, and the dip and push of the oars through the chilled waves leaves splashing droplets connecting to your cheeks. You touch the flesh delicately, brushing away the spray as your eyes slide over dark, lapping water—deeper than anything. 

In your lap, sitting below the high waist of your skirt, was your sketchbook; the tweed material was all the rage these days, though you never focused much on that. The thick item kept out the chill of the, very, early morning, and that was all you cared about, though, it seemed you lacked the foresight to pack a proper coat. A large woolen shawl sat over your shoulders, hiding the plain white blouse but not its cuffs; not the slight poof of the bottom part of the sleeves. 

Your numb fingers fiddle with the pencil in your hands, your open sketchbook filled with page after page of images ranging from the common sea-bird to great ships and shorelines. 

“I still have to ask why you feel the need to tag along,” is the voice that breaks the silence, and you blink away from the cloud of condensation from your exhalation. Your ear twitches, but only a small flick of a smile pulls your lips at the older man’s garbled words. “So cold my damn hands are going to fall off. Why am I always the one bloody working the oars?”

Otto Whitworth was a man far into his later years—one who entertained your fascination with the raging waters and the need to immortalize them on paper; that draw to the sights and sounds. Graying, covered now in a large coat and his boots, with the long fishing rod knocking around by your feet, he grumbles more than he speaks sentences, content with only the pipe in his breast pocket and the promise of fresh fish for breakfast. 

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” you chuckle, glancing over at his wrinkled face—the glare of dark eyes set into a deep browline that’s more for show of annoyance than genuine emotion. “Gets the blood pumping harder, Mr. Whitworth.” Your vision slides to the shadows of the black rocks, and your pencil finds your palm before the sound of it meeting parchment echoes over the nothingness. “Isn’t it lovely? Listen to the Gannets.”

“Don’t need my blood pumpin’ harder,” the old man grinds out, scoffing. “Gonna make my fuckin’ heart stop, Girl…” Otto sighs, shaking his head as you chuckle. He growls under his breath. “And, no, I’m not listening to the birds—they’ll be trying to steal my fish soon enough. Greedy bastards.”

Your eyes roll in their sockets, pencil shading in the rough shapes of misty rocks, your face cold but still eager for something. There was a type of magic to this place—to Southern England and the small coast town you had settled in nearly a year ago: Redthorpe. 

It seemed your talent for the arts was appreciated here, you had a shop to your name and friendly compliments from the locals every time the door was pulled open. People here liked the attention to detail in a place where they had most likely lived for a good ninety percent of their lives.

You tilt your head at the paper as Otto lets the oars drop back into the water, grasping for his fishing rod that you kindly move closer with your foot. 

The man takes up the item and sets the line, whipping back the pole and snapping it forward with a wizz and a grunt—a cracking of old bones. 

“Now hush,” Otto sighs, settling back. 

You send a silent look upward, and at the same time as he does, you say out loud in a soft voice.

“You’ll scare away the fish with all that blabber.”

A heavy glare is leveled at you, but you raise a hand innocently and laugh under your breath. 

“I’m as silent as the fish, Mr. Whitworth.”

“Cheeky Bird,” Otto sighs loudly, shifting in his seat until he faces the water, eyes glinting. “You’re too wild for this place, then, eh?”

“For most places,” you breathe, smiling as you study the rocks again before going back to your work. It’s only after there were the wiggling bodies of three fish set into a fisher’s basket that the oars are taken back up and the silent water is again forced back by ripples. 

Pencil finding the middle of the spine, you close your sketchbook, the routine is as simple as it always is. Otto will complain about having you at his dock, he’ll begrudgingly invite you in and cook three fish: one for him, the second for his cat, Harriet—older than England itself and missing most teeth; as blind as a bat—and then, finally, you. After that you’re back in your shop finishing up your piece of the misty shoreline, working until the candle burns through both ends and the oil paints are swirling colors as your eyes bug. Bed, and finally, repeat. 

A splash of water makes you blink quickly, your head jerking over at the slide of movement from the corner of your vision. Eyes wide, you swear a fin had cut the surface of the water like a knife through butter. 

Your body moves closer to the side of the boat immediately, leaning over eagerly. 

“Hey!” Otto barks, steadying himself as the vessel shakes back and forth. Your eyes shimmer, a smile overtaking your lips. “Watch yourself—you’ll send me overboard!”

“Did you see that?” Your eyes dart over the water. “I think I saw a fin.” 

“You got excited over a fish?” The older man’s voice is unimpressed, hissing in the crackling of age. “Hell, I got three in the basket if you’re that bloody impressed.”

“Shh,” you wave one of your hands, unblinking. “It was bigger than a fish, Otto!” 

Your ears twitch to his scoff, his hands grasping the oars harder before he shoves the boat forward. Body looming, the intense pull of adventure dims the longer nothing happens, and after a minute or two of dead mist and water, you hum under your breath like a fool and sit back.

“Lost it,” your numb lips murmur, breath puffing out softly. “Damn.” You shake your head as the wooden dock gets closer, more boats tied and shifting with the waves. “It was strange,” you admit. “Like a deep navy color—with specs of silver along the spine.”

Otto pauses, his hands tight over the oars. He blinks over at you, face for the first time showing an emotion other than annoyance. You barely notice before the sheen of crafted blankness is back. 

You smile down the length of the boat, curiosity plain to see. “Do you know of any animal like that around here?”

“No,” Otto grunts out quickly, and your excitement dims sharply, blinking through shock. 

Your brows furrow after the silence falls stiffly—the boat had never been uncomfortable to you, the atmosphere quiet, of course, but always easy to charter. Now the air was…muddy. Something had changed as fast as a fish being yanked out of water. 

Fingers twitching, you sit back slowly onto the plank, pulling your sketchbook the tiniest bit closer to your abdomen. Face open, Otto continues to row and the entire ride is silent until the boat is docked and tied to the pole by calloused hands. Your digits grasp your shawl and wrap the fabric harder, shifting down to hide your chin into the wool as you shiver. 

“...Need help?” You ask, eyes still shifting back to the water like always. 

There’s something now that makes your attention drift like the waves themselves—and it wasn’t only the shadows of the rise and fall, it was Otto’s strange behavior. The man wasn’t one to just say one word and nothing more. He could bounce off you like it was a game; you often thought he enjoyed your company just so he could insult someone. Jokingly, of course. It was the companionship he craved, it was why he always let you on his boat in the mornings. 

Otto lived alone. You never asked about it. 

“Don’t need any help,” he grumbles out, tying off the last knot to the pole and stepping back with a smirk of satisfaction. “M’not in the grave yet, Girl. Been working the boats since I was out my mum’s womb.”

“Feel sorry for her.” Your mutter meets the air as light streaks through the mist. Breathing hot air into your free hand, you rub it over your arm repeatedly and sigh, fingers of the other limb tightening over your book. Absentmindedly, your head turns back to the open water one last time, for one last glimpse of anything you want to commit to memory while you paint—

The fin is back. 

“Otto!” Feet swiftly dart to the end of the dock, you stop only an inch away as your skirt whips over. “It’s back! Look!” 

A hand grasps your wrist and yanks you away. 

Gasping sharply, you stumble until the harsh bark of, “Get back!” echoes across the dock just as it does through your ears. 

“Whoa!” You’re quickly let go of, a shadow shielding you from the view of the water as you scramble to make sure your sketchbook won’t slip from your hold. Head jerking to stare in shock at the middle of Otto’s curved spine, your heart stutters in confusion and a bit of hesitation befitting one who was just manhandled. Standing up straight again, your tight face pulls in, the pound of your heart telling you something is wrong. 

Glancing past a still frozen Otto, the water is utterly devoid of life again—only ripples to show there had ever really been something there at all. 

“You go back to the ocean,” Otto yells, spittle flying from his mouth, fishing boots stomping against the wood as he moves forward a step, pointing. “Go back to the bloody hole you swam out of! There’s nothing for you here! Nothing!” 

You watch, struck dumb. 

“...Mr. Whitworth?” Your lips mutter out, eyebrows shifting from the waves to the man—utterly confused down to your chilled bones. Who was he talking to?

Perhaps time had caught up to him—was he mistakenly taking the rocks for people? The waves for whispers? All you had seen was a fish’s fin, nothing more, nothing less.

“Otto,” you call again, concerned. You should get the man inside; get him warm and let him cook his breakfast. “Let’s just go.” Your eyes blink lightly, fingers twitching over your book. “Alright…? My eyes must have been playing tricks on me, it’s nothing important.”

His form waddles past you, more in tune to his sea legs than the ones on land, and under his breath, you hear him snarl out a low, “You’ll not take her like you did Eleanor. Mark my words, I’ll be stringing you up by the tail first.” 

Withered hand connecting with your shawl’s edge, you’re dragged back with more force than you’d anticipate Otto still having, but you go with him nonetheless. 

Looking at the water, there’s nothing to see beyond the stretch of nothingness.

—

You dare to ask when you’re pushing the fish bones over to the side of your plate, slipping some mashed-up scraps to Harriet who lays in your lap purring. The rough scrape of a tongue licks your fingers, and deep gray fur caresses your palm.

“Who were you talking to back there?” Your voice carries over the small hut that Otto calls his own, the sounds of the water meeting the rocks plainly heard seeing as his property was as close to the cliffs as you could get without going over them. “I never took you for someone to believe in spirits.” The joke was a small jab, but even your own amusement was dim in the situation. Your hand puts down the fork and moves to rest along Harriet’s back, lightly petting the old cat as her half-missing tail flicks in satisfaction.

The man’s back over at the sink tightens. 

“You watch yourself near the waters, Girl,” Otto grunts, dark eyes glancing over his shoulder. “By God, you watch yourself. There’s things out there—terrible things.” 

“What kinds of ‘terrible things,’ Otto?” Your head tilts, sketchbook resting still on the table, your gaze flickering to it. Terrible had a nice ring to it. But something else was swirling in your gut now, a hesitation of a special sort that only comes out with the unknown paths of life. 

What could make a man born and bred on the waters so reserved when speaking about them? Your interest had been piqued—your curiosity unsated until you were given a clear answer. You’d only been here a year, that wasn’t enough time to know the secrets of Redthorpe; to be let into those deeper circles. 

Otto licks his cracked lips, the wrinkles of his face leaving behind something akin to a scrunched dog’s visage—worn by time and improper care from the damage of the sun. He’d been at work on his boat for decades, and while you took his advice with a grain of salt usually,  this time he carried himself differently: you wanted to know why. 

He glares with no venom, taking out the scrubbed pan from the soapy water and barking, “What’s it with the younger generation and their bloody pushing? Listen to what I’m telling you and take it as it is, Girl. You don’t go on the water,” he blinks, face grim, “unless I’m the one ferryin’ you through it, eh? That’s the end of it. I’ll say no more.” 

Frowning heavily, you sigh under your breath and shake your head. Letting your eyes slip down to Harriet, you scratch under her chin and stare into her milky eyes as she lets out a little chirp.

“So much for answers,” your lips mutter. 

But a fire had been lit in your breast now—a low simmering pull like a rope had been tied to your wrist, drawing you closer and closer to the rocky shore, to a boat tied on the dock which you knew was steadily rocking to the deep, dark waves of this isolated place. 

To a navy-colored fin in the water, and a shape far larger than any you’d seen before. 

Blinking to look out the window of Otto’s home, your eyes find the ocean, and the longing that you’d always had for it grows ten times larger as your sketchbook begs to be filled.

—

It was only fate, you guessed, that you had come to Redthorpe—a tiny, unimportant dot on the map—when the way of life you’d chosen had led you astray. This place was a way to start over. Fix yourself. You’d picked the least-known town in all of Europe, and that was exactly what you wanted.

One trait, though, that could never be squashed from your psyche was the lust for the unknown. It was an obsessive lover; a toxic hand on the back of your neck that dragged you back over and over, until there was only yourself to blame for the repetition of disappointment. 

It was the reason you found yourself on the shore two days after you sighted the dark fin that cut the water. 

Your lace-up boots were atop a large boulder, shifting as your body turned from left to right, eyes patiently dragging the expanse of nothing. Waves lap only inches below, spraying up to get absorbed into your skirt, shawl whipping with the wind. The breeze is stuck with the sounds of birds, the very beings darting above your head, playing their games with varying cries that sound like throaty groaning. 

Bending, your arms wrap your waist, lips flickering. You were cold, limb-numbingly so, but even if you saw nothing today, or tomorrow, the push and pull of the ocean was enough—the call of the birds, the hypnotic sway of water. Calling to you, even if it had no lips to do so. 

Taking down a lung-shaking inhale, you chuckle, sketchbook sitting in the small purse around your shoulder. 

“What am I doing?” You ask yourself, shaking your head. “It was just a big fish—that old man was just being paranoid, anyways.” Eyes caressing the line where water meets the sky, your smile pulls your chilled cheeks. “There’s nothing out here worth my time. I need to finish my work.” 

Leaning back, you rub your hands up and down your biceps, nonetheless enjoying your time despite the burning of something in the back of your head. A knowledge that the fin was nothing documented before? A hope of discovery? A need for adventure? Oh, who can really say—what can be known are only three things: 

One, the weather was getting worse, two, the water was getting wilder, and, three, you had forgotten the way the rock you were standing on had shifted when you stepped up to it. Shuffling, your boots connect to the right corner, and your hands extend to keep your balance as you hiss a low breath, purse beginning to slip. 

There’s a gruff call from the water.

“Careful, then.”

Your head snaps up to the sound of a man’s voice, and you startle sharply, gasping as your foot slips. A quick cry is all you get out before you’re suddenly plummeting downwards headfirst into the frigid water. 

The feeling of liquid is all-consuming as it seeps into your nostrils and ears, all sound muffled entirely beyond the roar of it leaving you so stupendously—a flare, and then nothing. Eyes bugging, limbs slashing through the waves, the chill hits you in the chest with the force of a stone, smashing through your ribs to weigh you down with concrete stuck in your lungs. It was entirely a bodily reaction to gasp. 

Through the blue and the bubbles, you start to drown. 

Fingers twitching, you claw at nothing as the darkness settles its hands over your panicked eyes, not for a moment thinking about who had called to you in the first place—or who was poking a head out of the water before you’d gone over. Obviously, it was a trick of your senses; no one could survive being out in water like this.

You certainly weren’t going to. 

Legs slashing, something is darting in the corner of your eye before your vision fails, but the rapid fear in your heart masks the hand gripping at your shirt’s collar. It hides even the feeling of strong arms until the point where you’re yanked upwards with little effort as one curls your waist. It doesn't hide, however, the way you vomit up water as you’re heaved to the rocky shore moments later.

Choking, you hack up salt that burns your esophagus until your lunch quickly follows—all spilled with little care for your hands caught in the crossfire. Spine arching as if a cat, air can’t come sweeter as it is drawn in rapidly; nearly hyperventilating on the ocean-smooth stones as your clothes are utterly ruined. 

Panting, gasping, shivering violently, your head pulls itself weakly upward. It doesn’t take long for your mind to scream at you, and your head snaps behind you in a panic.

But there’s nothing but the raging water and the splash of a large navy-colored tail as big as your entire body disappearing back into the depths. 

Your fear can only stay for so long before the threat of a frigid death becomes more and more probable. In your race back up the cliff face to your shop, your purse is completely forgotten, trapped on the top of that shaky rock where it had fallen from your shoulder before the great plunge. 

Your shawl is seen floating out to the open water before it’s grasped from below and suddenly plucked—vanishing without a single trace.

—

The fire rages with the inferno of a million suns, and it’s not nearly hot enough. Wrapped in every blanket, sheet, and warm item available, you still can’t stop shivering hours later. A teacup was stuck in your hands, the liquid sloshing over the edges to slip over your quivering fingers and absorb into the cocoon of heat. 

Breathing through your shaky lungs, you keep the rim of the cup to your lips, eyes wide and horrified. In the still moments after you’d stripped and tried to stop the onset of sickness that you could already feel coming, there was a flash of realization from your strange and fantastical ordeal. 

There had been a man. 

The sensation of hands around your waist—the gruff voice that had spooked you so violently. A man. In the water. Every time you blink, you see a shadowed image, a tiny glimpse as you’d turned to the sound of human speech above the shriek of birds. 

Short brown hair and narrowed blue eyes set into sockets of pale skin. A bearded face, mustache…square jaw…

“What in God’s name?” You stutter in question over your tea, shaking your head. “That isn’t possible.” 

Outside your shop, the wind screams, pushing against your exterior shutters as night sets in. A storm was coming; there’d be no other adventures for you. Sipping your drink, you shiver again, curling in tighter to yourself as wood crackles. The light dances over your easels and side tables, piled high with jars of brushes and pallets—bottles of linseed oil and liquin, labeled with little pieces of hanging paper at the necks. 

There are paintings in the tens—in the twenties—hanging on the walls and set to the corners, all blue and gray; misty and clear. The water is a staple in all of them, and the cliffs as well. Perfect imitations of this place, as if you could reach a hand through the canvas and enter a mirrored world. Great ships are in some of them, or little fishing boats, with the birds overhead. Sometimes, it’s only the water itself, and to you, those were perhaps the best of your work. 

There was a beauty in the nothingness. A mystery. Who knows what’s under that thin surface? Well…apparently, it wasn’t human. 

You swallow down saliva and your lips thin. 

The thing in the water wasn’t… unattractive, you had to admit. Beyond the waterlogged hair and dripping beard, a large nose sat—full cheeks with an odd mole over them. The more you thought about the brief flash of a visage, the more you grew to hang onto it, strangely. And that navy tail? It had been incredibly unique. 

Spiney, nearly—four thin bones going down on both sides, branching out from the tail starting with the shortest that was perhaps only as long as your hand until the final was as lengthy as your entire arm. There was webbing between each spine to help the thing through the water quickly, it spread to the end of the barb until it sunk back in a ‘U’ movement, before once more arching out again to connect with the next spine. Small gasps in the caudal fin calling to either battles or a natural state of being—for show in it…his?...species. 

Could you even assign it a human gender? 

You close your eyes tightly in your shop, trying to will the image away from yourself. “What in the hell is going on?” Your voice is scratchy and low. 

Yet, the undeniable truth was that the fish-man had saved you. It couldn’t be overlooked. Not by you, who now can sit in front of this very fire because of it. Like a moth to the flame, the surge of cautious confusion is burning your wings. 

Deep blue eyes like the ocean. A navy tail. A gruff, hard voice.

You open your eyes and glare into the fireplace. 

“What has this place been hiding in the water? And why did it bloody save my life right after it nearly ended it?” 

More importantly…you had to think of a way to get your sketchbook back without getting on its bad side.

With a heavy chest, and more than a little fear in your heart, it was resolved to do something about all of this tomorrow. There was no use leaving the shop now. Glancing at the shaking window, you could hear the ocean rampaging over the cliffs; hear the slam of the rain hitting the roof like pounding feet. 

But that voice played in your ears like a gramophone's bleated chorus. 

You shiver again, not from the cold.

Careful, then. 

—

There was no question if you’d gotten sick because of your impromptu bath in the ocean—the evidence was in your salt-covered shirt and the stockings that were still drying on the hearth. 

Pressing a handkerchief to your mouth as you cough haggardly. You’re bundled in a nice fur dress coat, walking along the street with a skipping heart, a simple cloche hat over your head to protect you from the elements; dark blue in color.

The irony was not lost this morning when the hue had a striking familiarity to a fish-like tail, but it hadn’t stayed in your hand. A small drizzle slapped the fabric, and you were thankful you had brought the hat and coat along with you on the move from the big city. 

You weakly smile and nod to the locals you consider friends—at the very least acquaintances. But before long, you’re at the place you feel you need to be to gain answers, too nervous to go back to the shore immediately.

The library.

Something Otto had said came back to you last night, in the throws of insomnia. The two sentences he’d called out on the docks that day—You’ll not take her like you did Eleanor. Mark my words, I’ll be stringing you up by the tail first.

Eleanor? Who was that and how did it correlate to the beast in the water that wears a man's face? Maybe, the local records would tell you the answer—there had to be something about this person, ‘Eleanor,’ in them, right?

If not, there was only one option left, and that was going down to the shore and getting the results first hand…you’d rather exhaust all of your resources on solid land first. 

Slipping into the library with a deep breath and a cough in your throat, you sigh and nod slightly. Time to get to work.

“Oh,” the librarian looks up from her desk, standing as you shuffle over. “Hello, Dear,” she breathes through a chuckle, eyebrows pulling in softly. “My, you look a bit under the weather, don’t you? Would you like me to get some tea going…?”

“No, thank you,” you wave an easy hand. “I’m here on a bit of an errand, actually, and I was wondering if you could help me with something? I need to ask about your records.”

“Records?” The woman’s face shifts to confusion, her body slipping out to stand next to yours, you bring back up your handkerchief and sneeze into it, groaning. “What kind were you thinking, then?”

After you can push away the sheen of sickness to your eyes you take a breath and clear your throat of the stuffiness. “Births and work records? Addresses?” You make a small noise in the back of your mouth. “I guess I don’t know…anything that might help me?”

The librarian chuckles a bit, amused. “How about you tell me what it is you’re looking into, and I’ll try and grab any public knowledge that I can find. We’ll work together, then.” 

Weight is loosened from your shoulders and you nod appreciatively. “Deal.”

“Go on then,” she walks over to a shelf on the far side of the room, standing as her fingers run the spines. “Occupation I can start with, Dear?”

“Well…” you pause, shuffling after as your head looks from one sizable book to another. “No, unfortunately. Only a first name.”

“You’re lucky Redthorpe is small,” the woman laughs. “Otherwise I would have told you you’re lacking your senses with only something like that to go off of.” 

“Eleanor,” you comment, licking your lips and staring at a spine labeled ‘1890-1900 financial records - Redthorpe’. “E-L-E-A-N-O-R, or at least that’s the common spelling, I believe.” 

The librarian’s body is stone-still. Comparable to the immovable rocks of the shore as the waves bash against them; the raging of the wind. When you glance over, confused at the silence that infects the building, you’re reduced to a meek hesitation at the blank eyes that dig into your face. 

“...Or…maybe it’s N-O-R-E?” 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” is the hurried answer, and then the woman moves past with fast feet, heels clicking over the hardwood rapidly. “There hasn’t been an Eleanor in Redthrope. You’re mistaken.” 

“Wait,” you follow, stuttering. “I don’t understand, there has to have been—Otto was talking about her not days ago!”

“You’re mistaken,” is the repeated, firm answer, the librarian’s body swirling to face you again, pointing a finger at you. “Go back to your shop. Mr. Whitworth is old, he sees things that aren’t there. Don’t take what he says to heart—”

“I saw it!” You bark, fed up. Your mind was sick of these games being played, left out of the loop like you hadn’t formed a relationship with the people of this town. 

The woman’s mouth locked shut with a clack of teeth, something darting over her expression…fear?

She backs up slowly. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dear.”

Your lips twist, a threatening sneeze in the back of your nose. “I’m done with the word games! It dragged me out of the water like a sack of flour and tossed me to shore! It saved me!” Her hands are held in front of her as you stalk closer, trying to brush what you’re telling her aside as she struggles to string words. 

“It…it wouldn’t do that—that’s not how it acts. You’re just imagining things; you’re under the weather!”

“Who’s Eleanor?” You huff, stubborn as you cross your arms in front of you. “And what in the hell is a man with the tail of a fish doing living just below these cliffs?”

Wide eyes meet glaring ones, and the librarian’s lips move up and down in a panic. 

“I…” she begins, feet tapping the floor nervously as the rafters creak above the both of you. “I can’t talk about it. It’s not something to be said out loud—especially so close to the water.” 

You bark incredulously, “There’s a bloody monster that lives down in—!”

A hand is snapped over your mouth and you startle, blinking through the twitch of your body. 

“Shh!” The librarian panics, shaking her head, with flaring eyes. “Stop it or you’ll end up being dragged down to the ocean floor like Eleanor was!” You tense behind the hold, shoulders pulled in. It’s a quick spit of whispered words like a fast breeze. “Do you want your body showing up on the rocks?! Stay away from it!”

Your heart pounds in your chest, vision darting back and forth before she finally lets you go in a quick jerk of her body. The woman backs up, quivering as her eyes go to the window, nearly panting from fear. 

She looks back at you, blinks, and mutters out a quiet, “If you’ve already seen it, it wants you. Don’t go back to the water,” before she rushes into the back room and slams the door shut with the slipping of the lock. 

Left standing in the open library, the shelves sit stationary as if sentinels to your raw distress—this had only left you with more questions and a handful of jumbled answers. 

“Careful, then.”

You shake your head harshly and pivot to leave the library in a stupor, shoving your chin back down into your coat’s collar as the wind slaps your face once more. The call of the ocean is like a knife to the back of your neck.

—

Call you whatever name in the book, but you wanted your sketchbook back.

No one in town was giving you anything that was of use, and Otto was tighter-lipped than a lockbox. There was only so much you could do—could speculate—before the need for your belongings was too strong to ignore. It took two more days of pacing your shop before it was decided. 

Taking up the heavy cast-iron pan above your fireplace, you slip the thing into your coat, shove on your hat with a defiant grunt, and force the front door open. It’s a ten-minute walk to the shore, and all the way there, dread fills you up like soup until you’re bloated with it by the time your boots hit black rocks. Yet, there’s a point where a woman’s courage outweighs the sense of caution, and today was currently that day. 

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you grab your skirt and hike it up, placing your boot carefully on the first of the larger stones leading out to where you’d been previously. 

“Don’t look at the water,” you mutter quietly as you move, not shuffling forward until you know the rock isn’t going to topple this way or that. “Don’t even think about it.”

But that tail…that face…

With a growl under your breath, you grind your teeth and continue on. 

The weather today was much more agreeable, but cold. It was always chilled in Redthorpe—dreary as if the clouds never left far above. You didn’t mind, and in your coat pocket, the reassuring weight of your pan left you much warmer than you’d like to admit. 

The heat of protection, so to speak.

“Even a fish-man can die, I’d wager,” you utter, grunting as you ascend a larger rock, palm slapping the wet stone before you heavy upwards, slamming your boot to the top much like a schoolboy as your skirt bunches. “If I hit him hard enough in the skull. I wonder though,” you sneeze, shuddering, “if he even bleeds? If I crack his head open…will blood seep out, or salt water?” 

You shiver, and it’s not from the cold. “Fucking hell, you do like making it harder on yourself, don’t you.”

Lightly panting, you brush down your coat on the top of the rock and turn to look at the boulder where you’d fallen previously, blinking. Pausing, your eyes find not only your sketchbook sitting there…but also your shawl. 

Struggling for a moment to try and justify your actions, you swiftly look over the surface of the water, seeing the gentle push and pull of waves. No fin. No tail. 

You aren’t sure if the feeling in your chest is joy or disappointment.

Licking your lips, you take a large breath before your face turns grim.

“Grab it and run,” your voice echoes in your own head, heart pounding with adrenaline the more steps you take to the boulder, water sloshing at the sides. You had thought perhaps that the rain—the storm—would render all of your lost belongings null, but as you bent and snatched your items to you, shawl hanging from your arm, you were pleasantly surprised. It was all dry; impossibly so. 

Amid your shock, your slack jaw, and the weight of your pan in your coat, your shaky fingers open your book with bated breath. 

Everything was in pristine condition, if not only slightly curled at the corners due to…your eyebrows pull in, expression struggling to take on the emotion of anything other than pure awe.

“Fingerprints?” 

Eyes slipping from one page to the next, flipping them only to see the press and pull of a long gone thumb, shiting the paper to gaze at the back, where a forefinger would have been. A hand laced in water had been turning the pages, just as you do now—and, yet, there wasn’t an inch that was damaged; nothing smeared. 

Shoulders loosening from their tensed position, your wide stare is utterly transfixed as your digits rub the material softly, feet shifting. 

Lowering your sketchbook, your small huff of amazed laughter, mind running. 

He’d been going through your drawings—he’d somehow protected these items from the rain and salt. How? Why? But another question wrapped its hands in your skull.

Did he like them?

Shuffling the book into the crook of your arm, you carefully wrap your shawl over the material to further keep it safe, not able to find your purse, though the only thing it ever held was your sketchbook in the first place; it wasn’t too important. 

Rising your head again, you gaze openly outward, lips opening and closing in a small stutter. Was he out there, this strange creature with a strong face and those deep eyes? That navy tail, looking like a beautiful imitation of kelp…was it just under where you now study the waves?

So many questions, so few answers. 

You clear your throat, holding your items tighter. There’s magnetism in your blood, and it sits on your tongue like salt.

“Thank you!” Your voice calls high, joining the chorus of birds far above on the cliffs. Eyes skating the rocks, the shore, the ocean, everything. Call you prideful, but perhaps the best way to gain your favor is to know that someone, whatever bit strange and fantastical, had enjoyed your work to the smallest degree. 

The way your eyes spark is still embarrassing, though, but it comes naturally after the heat that simmers over your face. 

“Truly,” you shout to the wind. “You have no idea how much this means! If you’re listening, I’d like to extend my gratitude…” Your face is beaming, and you can convince yourself that all of your fear over this is gone, even if that would just plainly be untrue. “My artwork is everything to me, I do hope you enjoyed it!” 

A creature so easily curious about your skills wouldn’t drag you to the bottom of the ocean…right? 

Hell, he’d already had a chance to do that—a perfect one—and yet, here you are. What the Librarian had said had to be false, it made no sense otherwise.

Seeing nothing, and knowing that you were needed back at your shop, you chuckle under your breath and back up swiftly, walking the distance back to the surrounding rocks and slipping off softly. Grunting under your breath, your boots hit the stone, and you carefully begin back-tracking. 

“You’re good at it,” you halt in a fraction of a second. “The images. Where’d you learn to do that?”

It’s a long moment before you turn with a cautious tilt to your head, and find the very same visage as you had a glimpse of days ago. You fight a fast inhale, but your straightening spine tells all the story it needs to. Like a fool, you lose the words in your mouth, as if trying to catch a bird of prey with a butterfly net.

A strong face is poking out of the water only a mere five feet away.

Your eyes slip to the soaked beard, the peak of bare shoulders—broad, of course—and the prying orbs that you feel will never leave; he wades there, arms under the dark water only a flash of pale skin before they’re gone again. 

“I…” you lick your lips, blinking through the moment of animalistic panic. You were on land, there was nothing to fear. The sight was still something to be remembered, though. “I was self-taught, Sir.” 

Blue eyes blink, serious face only made more so by the twitching of his large nose, which water drips from periodically. Droplets stay stuck to his dark lashes, and you’re near bursting with questions. 

But silence persists long after your sentence filters out to nothing.

“You pulled me from the water,” you state slowly. “And I don’t even know your name.”

The man looks you up and down, not arrogant, no, but in a way that is comparable to how you did the same to him. Studying you as if your body was strange to him. The realization almost made you laugh—perhaps it was strange to him.

You want to see that tail of his again. Your fingers itch to sketch its likeness and commit it to muscle memory. 

“I scared you,” he grumbles, sighing. “It wasn’t my intention to send you over.” Eyes still stay stuck. “My own fault.”

“I won’t deny you there,” you huff, gaze shifting away for a moment before filtering back. A slash of amusement curls in the thing’s eyes, and he hums. “Forgive me,” your breath wafts out over the air, face going what you can assume to be sheepish. It astounds you, though, that the conversation comes easily. “But I haven’t the faintest bloody clue as to what to call you.”

“John,” is the reply. Accent like gravel. He doesn’t waste his breath, seems. 

“John?” You lick your lips, legs shuffling over the stone. The name leaves you holding back a loud laugh. “Well, I suppose I could have guessed that, then. I’ve met more than enough ‘Johns’ so far.”

“Funny, are you?” The response, however dry, is tinged with something you can’t name. 

“I try,” you nod jokingly, motioning with a hand. “Just didn’t expect a man with a fishtail to act so….human. Certainly not be named like one, either.”

“Hm,” John grunts, blinking slowly. A hand slips above the water, and you watch it flex and drag to itch at the back of his neck, hair over the arm slick to the flesh. Your face heats, and your eyes dip to see the small shadow under the water almost graze the surface, rippling the waves intimately, as if tail and liquid were of the same sound mind. 

It wasn’t out of the question to say you longed for a glimpse. 

What would it feel like to touch it?

“You live here?” Your voice is hoarse before you clear it quickly. “Right below the cliffs?” 

“You’re the woman that goes out in the boat,” John firmly interjects, and you blink, taken aback. 

“Yes, that’s me.” You explain, pulling at the lip of your hat to force it down further over your head. “Otto goes fishing in the mornings—I like to sketch the shore. He isn’t the worst company, of course. He’s kind enough to let me along with him.”

But you won’t be kept down. There’s magical curiosity in your chest now.

“Your tail,” you take a step forward, boots being licked by icy water. John’s eyes widen a smidge, not expecting you to actively move closer. His head tilts as if a bird, confusion brimming though he hides it expertly. You imagined he considered you a bit mad. “Forgive me, Sir, but I must know,” your uttered rambles make his hidden lip twitch, a little twist to your expression that shows wonder. “Is it attached to you, or do you slip out of it like a pair of pants? O-or even like wearing a stage costume? Oh, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

John can’t find the words for a moment, only able to watch and assess as he always did in times like these. You were…different, he supposed. But he knew that the moment you had shifted your body over the side of that old man’s boat—looking for a glimpse of something unknown. He could see it in your eyes. 

The water calls to you. It lives in your veins already, waiting. More salt and seaweed than earth and grass. Sand, rock, gulls, they all cry in the back of your mind, and your fingers itch to catalog them into immortality in a way that John was fascinated over—the skill of parchment and memorization. Mastery over detail.

He doesn't know why he’s speaking to you, truly. He’d done his penance; saved your life. But he knows he doesn’t dislike it, and that in and of itself needed to be understood. John couldn’t leave his analytical brain lacking an answer to a question as big as that—a woman of all things? A human one? 

Blue eyes can’t seem to slip from yours, as you await a gruff reply.

“No.” You blink, pulling back a smidge when John’s voice is low and graited. “Go back to your home. It’s late.”

“Hey, wait—!”

But he’s already gone under the waves, and you’re left with a waterlogged boot, a cast iron pan, and the two items that had survived because of a grizzly creature's compassion. Your lungs heave, and the cloud of condensation rises into a gray sky.

You stay there far longer than you’d like to admit.

—

You struggled, slipped, and climbed your way back to that point on the rocks every other day, and yet, there was nothing more to be seen of the man with the tail. You knew he was out there, felt it in your bones, and still…you were left here staring out at far-off boats and half-hopes. Wondering. Waiting. 

In the days that passed, you would explore the shore further, going in nooks and deep bends that extended into the cliffs during low tide, cringing away from the slippery fingers of kelp stuck to the walls. Dead fish, mucus-lined snails—you had made the important decision of leaving your sketchbook at home, the pages already filled with the perfect reflection of a man’s face peeking above the water. 

Taking off your hat, you huff on a similar day to those others, this time slipping inside a cave with a direct connection to the ocean. There wasn’t any wind in here—and you sigh in relief as your breeze-bitten cheeks can finally get a rest. You didn’t know what you expected to find doing all this fruitless searching, but it didn’t erase the fact that you enjoyed it; looking for a glimpse of something out of the ordinary. 

Brushing your hat of sand and other such items, your head swivels softly, a delicate smile on your face as water drips from the rock ceiling, stalactites like broken fingers reaching for the ground. A pool of sorts takes up most of this place, the thing extending to the ocean through a medium-sized opening in the stone.

You turn in a half-circle. 

“Beautiful,” your lips murmur, voice echoing. 

Walking forward, every so often your body stoops to carefully grasp shells and smoothed shards of colored glass, beaten down by waves and reduced to harmless trinkets. Continuing, you care little about your boots or your coat, only for the pull in your chest that tells you to keep going until your legs are weak and weary—shaking from a day long spent in selfish adventure.

When you find the pile of rings, sitting in soft kelp, you nearly walk right past them until the glint of metal takes you by surprise. Pausing, your pulse warms as your eyes slash to the side, getting sucked in as easily as cookies to a child. 

Only hesitating a second, you slowly walk until you’re inches away, seeing different styles and gems like starlight sitting as if unaware of their raw beauty. 

“What are you doing in here…?” You ask yourself, your own voice responding from the walls as it bounces. 

Picking up one of pure gold, you shift the band to stare openly at an emerald nearly the size of your knuckle set into it. Lips parting, it’s as if your breath is stolen by a quiet thief. But the sudden arrival of splashing snaps you out of your stupor quite quickly.

Dropping the ring immediately back into the pile, your hand jerks to your chest as an increasingly common face shows itself once more from the water. 

You clear your throat, face burning as John raises a slow brow, glancing at the stash of rings silently. 

“One day you’re going to make me keel over,” your voice berates, pointedly avoiding his blues. So the items were his. 

“A thief as well as an artist?” John asks after a moment, tilting his skull as his body drifts closer to the rocky side of the pool. The next sentence is no question, only a statement. “You’ve been looking for me.”

You take a long breath, sighing, before you shove your hat into your coat’s pocket, glaring lightly. “You left so abruptly, I never got to ask my questions. Quite rude of you to keep a lady waiting, John.”

As you say his name, he glances over, but not before his sizable hands slap to the side of the rock and he hoists himself up with a single push of his forearms. The man grunts, lips pulling, before you’re left breathless. 

Eyes stuck on the upper half of his body, the water dripping down the hair-layered bulge of visible muscle, your wide vision skates from one point to another, flesh on fire the more you stay mute. But the tail—that was something you could never describe. 

The beginning was all you could see; scales of dark navy and a spread of muddled silver-like dots, nearly impossible to make out except at this distance. They began at the top of where hips should be, the scales, smaller and blending into the skin easily, only becoming larger the more the tail extended down; the appendage was far larger than legs would be, that you can tell easily. You can’t see all of it, as perhaps a little less than half still sits swaying in the water…but even this was enough for now.

This moment would be stuck in your sketchbook for all of eternity. 

It’s only after your jaw is slackened that you realize John has been watching you the entire time.

Forcing it shut with a tiny clack of teeth, you try to regain any composure you can. The being’s beard curls in a smirk, cheek pushing to show the lines near his eyes. 

“If someone’s avoiding you, Sunshine,” he grunts out, voice low. From the corner of his eye, he watches as his hand rises to itch at his beard. “They usually don’t want to have a conversation.”

“I think it’s fair,” you huff. “You can’t just disappear when I have so many unanswered questions.”

John blinks, attention not moving for even a second. Your own is less than firm, fighting to not dart down to openly study every dip and bend of his bones. He was so…stoic. Gruff. But there were moments of amusement—even annoyed interest. 

“I don’t have time to fuckin’ entertain others,” he thins his lips. 

Your arms crossed, face dripping into seriousness. “And what else is so much more important, then?” You raise a brow. “Scaring other women into the water?”

He huffs under his breath. “It was an accident—wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so jumpy, eh?” 

“It’s not like I expect to see fishmen pop out of the water,” you defend. 

“Mer-man, Love,” he licks his lips, sighing, as his eyes shift to glance at the opening of the cave. Your face bleeds into a slight expression of satisfaction, arms over your chest tightening as your feet rock back on their heels.

“Well,” you chuckle. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

An emotionless glare is all you receive. 

It was no surprise that you ended up blurting out inquiry after inquiry—what does having a tail feel like? How do you breathe underwater, or do you only hold your breath like a human? Do you have gills somewhere, or lungs? What other creatures are out there like you?

You have no idea what time it ends up being, and you have no intention of stopping soon. It’s a pleasant surprise, then, that John answers all of your quick words with full answers; giving slow, but not condescending explanations. 

A few times there had been tiny chuckles, and the little conversations amounted to you sitting on a rock right near the water, only feet away from where the tail drifts in the waves; John’s hands keeping his upper half straight as his palms meet slippery stone. 

“And the rings?” You breathlessly wonder, attention darting to the pile. “Do you find them out there? Keep them?”

John tilts his head in an affirmation. “Shipwrecks. There’ll be hundreds of them—I’m not one to keep many belongings, but the bloody things were nicely made.” He sighs. “Seemed a waste to leave them down there.”

You huff a sound of amusement. “I see. Fascinating.”

In the small pause, your eyes once more study the cave, seeing little breaks in the walls where cubby-like indents are. In them, your focus drifts from one glimmering object to another, all previously missed by you when you’d first entered. 

You blink. “You live here?”

“Affirmative,” John stares. His body shifts, tail flickering as your focus snaps back to it, almost lost in the way the ends so nimbly slice the water. Like wispy fabric. Your eyes soften like molten metal. You look back at him and find his eyes already locked to yours. 

Breath caught in your throat, you chuckle meekly to dispel your embarrassment. John’s face minutely relaxes, stern brow loosening.

“And…” you lick your lips, knowing it was time to leave. The sun no longer shines through the crack in the rock. “If I were to come back, would I be able to find you here?” 

There’s a flash of that same indecipherable emotion as before over his bushy face. 

The man was anything but small—everything to the swell of his tail; body hair for, what you assume, is to keep out the constant chill of the water. You’d never imagined that you’d find it all so attractive down to the navy scales that shimmered above the push of his side. That healthy layer of meat was eliciting far more of a physical reaction than you’d care to admit to anyone, let alone a priest of any religion during a confession.

Perhaps that fall into the water really had killed you.

“I’ll be here,” John responds lowly, gravel in his throat.

Swallowing down saliva, you push back the ravenous smile that threatens you.

“...Okay.”

—

And this affair became such a constant, that most of the people in town had begun asking about you as you snuck to the waters. Otto was largely concerned, but would not say anything more for some unseen fear—nor the Librarian, who avoided your eyes any chance she got. 

Dragged to the ocean floor. Body on the rocks. 

The sheen of discovery could be a powerful vice, and for those first two months, you never asked John about the woman named Eleanor or who she might be—what correlation she had to beasts of the water. Then again, you didn’t have to ask. He managed to get around to it himself. 

Your eyes blankly stare at the page of your sketchbook, the merman’s rough shape chicken-scratched with small lines into the parchment, and your pencil stays still to it, immobile. From across the cave, John’s face tightens as his eyelids narrow. You’d been quiet today, he had noticed. Usually so bright with your words, the walls had barely echoed with the symphony of your speech, and, more importantly, John’s ears hadn’t twitched to it. 

He had become fond of your company, he admitted to himself. A strange human woman with her fur coat and hat, the little sketchbook that held such wonderful imitations of life. John was anything but dull—he knew you drew him, and he entertained the activity. In fact, the thought at one point or another may have made the brute of a man blush a bit. So, when you were as still as the stone you sat on, he had concerns. 

He liked it when you spoke, even if it was only a tease. And the tightness of his chest when you don’t look his way is enough to leave his tail twitching in confusion as it sits in the water.

“You’re quiet today,” he starts, frowning. 

Your fingers jerk, sending a line over your paper as you blink, looking up as your heart skips a beat. Glancing at John’s face, the thoughts inside of your head slip until you can understand what he said. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, and the man’s face pulls. “You can speak if you want. I'm just a little distracted.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Love, yeah?” John grunts, hands shifting over the stone. He looks you up and down, tail sitting still below him. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” your lips mumble, and you shake your head. “It’s one of my questions again.” You pause, closing your book. “A difficult one.”

John’s lips flicker. “Well, we’ve been at this for ages. Can’t see how this one is more difficult than the others.” He nods softly, voice a low and somewhat smooth mutter. “Go on.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you huff, standing and placing your sketchbook in the driest part of the cave before walking closer. Bending right in front of John, your face is tight. The man likes it like this—having you closer. He can feel the heat roll off you, and his eyes flutter even when nothing on his face gives away the pull he senses in his chest. 

John hums and swallows stiffly.

“Why not?” His head tilts, and he clears his throat to get rid of the raspy scrape of his vocals. “Something going on up there?”

Up there. 

The Merman had asked about Redthorpe, as well as the rest of the people who lived there. The atmosphere, the way of life. Your meetings were more of an exchange of information and stolen glances than anything else, the other none the wiser to this magnetic attraction. It was a delicate thing, knowing that there was something more and yet unable to fully express the way it makes you feel. Neither of you knows what to call it.

“More so in here,” you smile tinily, pointing at your head as your cheeks grow hot. 

“Then speak to me,” John frowns, trying a low smirk. “Think we both know I’m a good listener then, Love. There’s time,” he glances at the entrance. “Won’t be near dark for a few more hours—don’t want you climbing at night.”

“Awe,” you breathe, beaming suddenly with that glint back in your eyes. John hides the sagging of his shoulders, only offering a hum under his breath as he looks over at you. His kelp-like fins twitch, and he wonders what it would feel like to have you touch them. It was obvious you wanted to.

Not yet. 

“Hurry up, Sunshine,” John grinds out, that accent all the more sandy. 

There’s a small grunt and a shuffle, and, soon, a warm body is plotting itself next to his own, arm touching his, and a pair of bare feet slipping into the pool. Blue eyes widen in surprise, head darting to where your form rests so simply—so near the crook of his shoulder that he could reach over and draw you to him if he so wanted. 

Your feet shift as the hem of your skirt gets soggy with water, and John barks out a firm, “You’re going to get cold.” 

“It’s not as cold here as it is out there,” you shrug to him, smiling with a side-eye. “Besides, I’m right next to you—you’ll keep me warm, won’t you, John?”

“Fucking hell,” he puffs out, shaking his head as he rips it forward once more, clenching his jaw. Your scent seeps into his nose, and when your leg slips along the side of his scales under the water, he all but goes a blank-faced scarlet. 

You hide a chuckle, shivering at the chill but more so at the unimaginably smooth sensation of John’s tail over your flesh. Your legs move through the water to cross at the ankles, your right hand resting to directly touch John’s left. With every pump of your blood, his own mirrors.

Yet, your mood sobers, and the joy leaks. 

“There’s a woman that no one speaks about in Redthrope,” you begin, and John settles to listen, brows furrowing in concentration as your skin sits so well next to his own. “Eleanor.” 

The man pauses abruptly, and you keep talking.

“And for some reason,” you sigh out a low breath, turning to look at John and his still face; emotionless. “Everyone seems to blame you for whatever happened to her. I don’t know if she’s missing, or…”

Your words trail off, insinuation clear.

Not noticing any chance on John’s face, you lightly bump him with your elbow, expression going concerned. “Hey, are you alright?” Your opposite hand raises, moving out between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything, I would just really appreciate anything you might know about it.” Eyes imploring, your heart pours itself. “I don’t think you’d do something like that.”

John blinks slowly, finally opening his mouth. “What makes you say that?”

“If you were some murderous creature,” you shrug, “I don’t think you would have tried to pull me out of the ocean in the first place.” Lashes caressing your cheeks, you smile. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” the man huffs, quirking a brow. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“Knew it,” you whisper, eyes crinkling as you side-eye him.

John chuckles, half rolling his eyes as he leans to your ear as he grumbles. “Gettin’ cheeky, are you?” 

If you were a bird, you’d be preening your feathers, eyelids narrowed. “Perhaps, John.” 

It is a wonder, then, that the two of you don’t lock lips that very instant—long fins curling around legs and shoulders stuck together, pinkies unconsciously sitting atop the others as if pieces of parchment. Blue eyes shift smoothly to your lips, but before you can register that they have, John’s head is already moving back and his spine is straight. 

The man flattens his lips, tilting his skull. 

“I knew of a woman named Eleanor—she would come down with her husband, Noah, and they would walk along the shore. Got close to this place a few times.” Dark brows tighten. “Found her body in the water after a storm about two years ago; brought it back to the rocks so someone could retrieve it.” Your face loosens as the information settles in. John makes a noise in his chest. “Interesting that I’d be roped into it, but it’s understandable. Always someone to blame, eh?” 

“I don’t blame you,” you whisper. “That must have been horrible.”

Blue slips over to you silently, and it’s a long moment before John only hums under his breath, blinking away softly. 

“Scared me when you fell in.” Listening, your heart clenches in your ribs. To think about what must have been going through his head at that instant was sad to you, and even worse so when you know he would have blamed himself if you might have ended up seriously hurt.

“Well,” you lean into him, face on fire, “it was a good thing you were there to drag me out, then. A little water never hurt anyone, so long as a handsome merman is there to take them back to shore.” 

John huffs out a laugh. “Handsome?”

“Oh, very,” you joke. “The tail is a bonus.” Your expression lightens, eyes glinting. “Since when did you know that navy is my favorite color?”

The feeling of the cold water is only a back-drop to the way John’s fins twitch against your bare legs intimately, and you chuckle as the beard can only hide so much red skin. 

“Bugger off,” he grunts. 

You’ve never heard a smile so clearly before in your life.

—

Your paintings were selling far better than they ever had, and you had to thank the new muse of them for that fact. 

John’s appearance in your work had started small—a glimpse of a fin, the presence of a shadow in the water—and had steadily grown. Now, hidden like a present, there was the image of some fishtailed man somewhere in all of them, a steady injection of magic into the veins of cerulean blue and ivory black. It showed you that fewer people knew about John than you had previously thought. 

Initially, you had imagined that everyone knew and the reason you didn’t was because you were relatively new here, but no. Most had been enamored by your work when they found the ‘strange fish-man’ in one, pointing and chucking to themselves, talking about how adorable it was. No one was shocked, no one sent looks. 

By the end of the week, you had been convinced that it had been narrowed down to Otto and the Librarian—

The bell of your shop dings.

Looking up from your easel, you smile and stand automatically, thinking about closing soon so you can go and see John. Nowadays, even the thought of him makes your blood pump heavy. 

“How can I help you today, Sir?” Your brushes find the side table you had set up, locking eyes with a tall, thin man in his late thirties. He wears a suit, and in his breast pocket, there’s the gleam of a gold chain attached to a pocket watch. 

“I’m here to ask about a detail in your paintings, Miss.” He’s well-spoken as well, and you’re shocked to know you haven't met him yet if he lived in Redthorpe—he doesn’t seem familiar at all.

“Of course,” you nod, perplexed. “I’m sorry, I think I missed your name.”

“Noah Moore,” is the even response. Noah is already walking around, bending to look into some of your work which hangs on the wall. “My neighbor brought home one of your pieces; I found I liked it very much. Had even considered commissioning.”

Noah? You blink slowly, watching. Wasn’t that Eleanor’s husband?

“Thank you,” your lips move, thinning. “That’s very high praise, Mr. Moore.” 

“This creature,” Noah stands, and dark eyes set on you. For some reason, the hair along your arms stands on end. “The man with a fish tail. Have you seen him?”

Your instant reaction is to lie, and that in and of itself is a telltale sign that something is wrong. Noah makes the alarm in the back of your head go off for no reason other than the way he’s trying to pry with that unblinking gaze of his. The rich apparel; the attitude. He isn’t right.

“Seen him?” Chuckles echo off the walls. “Who? The beast? No, Sir, that…thing…is just something I made up.” You wave a hand, but back up a step, trying to create distance. Your hip lightly bumps the side table, and your materials jerk. Gasping under your breath, your head snaps down, catching your brush before it can fall. “Oh my, clumsy me.” you laugh stiffly. “Apologies, Sir, but that’s the truth. I wanted to create something that all of Redthrope might enjoy; a local legend of sorts, see.”

Your eyes had siphoned back with a dread in your heart. The man mutely stares, a deep frown pulling his lips. As if the conversation had never happened, after a long stretch of tension, Noah smiles widely. 

“Ah,” he huffs, “of course. It was silly of me to ask.” Dark eyes are emotionless, and the pull of his eyelids is not there. Spine so tight it could snap in half, and your fingers curl around the brush before you place it down stiffly. “Though,” Mr. Moore clicks his tongue, taking one step closer. 

Your eyes widen, but you say nothing. Your mind flashes to John, and there’s a longing for the ocean so strong, it seems a good idea to you, to rush out the door right now and sprint for it; hurl yourself to the waves, if need be. He’d find you—you know he would.

“Though,” Noah continues, tilting his head. “There is a striking resemblance to a creature I recall seeing from the cliffs, the day my wife’s body was found at the rocks.” 

Backing up another step, your muscles ache with how you hold them like a shield to your organs. 

“As far as I know, only two others were searching at my side that day. And in it I am certain,” he hums, “you weren’t even here.”

Otto and the librarian, you think quickly, mind a mess of information and fear. It’s why they’re so spooked. They think John actually killed Eleanor and left her—they saw him bring her body to shore.

It’s a lack of foresight on your part, that the next bark is more of a reaction to the panic than proper knowledge, cracking under pressure. 

“John would never kill an innocent woman!” 

It’s as if a switch goes off, and, suddenly, there’s a ruthless hand grabbing at your throat. Yelping, you stagger back and snap your fingers to Noah’s wrist, clawing until there’s blood under your nails; air is sucked in with a wheeze. In the back of your head, there’s wild screaming, and you can’t tell if it’s the pounding of your blood or the internal sensation of primal fear. 

Raging eyes shove themselves right in front of yours, faces so close you can feel Noah’s hot breath moving over your burning face. You try to cough but find you can’t as one of your hands struggles to slap to the side table—searching fruitlessly. 

“John?” Noah sneers, holding tighter. “The thing has a name?”

Your easel clatters to the ground, back being shoved right into it. Mouth opening and closing, the cut of oxygen reduces your mind to acting purely off instinct—breaking down like glass to fracture to only one thing: survival.

“It was perfect,” Mr. Moore growls, eyes ablaze. “I had it all planned out, only to be ruined by a freak of nature at the last moment!” 

Your nails gouge the wood, dragging, searching, slapping. Anything—anything at all to help as your boots scrape from under you. You can’t even comprehend the words being said; all of it is a blur as blackness peels the side of your vision. 

Tears splatter down your cheeks.

“Two years, and then you had to come along and fucking speak to it! What did it tell you? Eh? What did it see that night?”

Your hand curls the glass bottle where you store your brushes and without another thought, you slam the side of it to Noah’s head. 

Shouting, the man releases you in an instant, glass leaving long lines of blood splattering out to sprinkle your face as it shatters, collapsing into itself. Connecting to the ground, your hacking can only take place for under two seconds before your boots scramble for purchase, stumbling and flailing at least once; lungs gasping. 

Shoulder connecting with the side of the door frame as you bang it open, an enraged scream follows you into the rainy afternoon, the rumble of deadly thunder far overhead. 

Running, you don’t know how to stop, and it’s even harder to catch your breath by the time you’re down to the rocks, looking over your shoulder as if Noah would be right behind you. He wasn’t—but the fear was enough to keep you going until you were bathed in sweat and barely strong enough to fall into the entrance of John’s cave, fingers cut up and raw from grappling over stone.

There’s a quick call of your name from across the enclosed space, but your ears are ringing too loud to hear—whipping around to stare at the entrance as you struggle back on your hands, legs shaking. 

“Love!”

Your eyes slash to the side, and through the quivering of your lashes, through the blur of tears, you lock onto the desperate slash of grayish-blue that’s a near-perfect reflection of the ocean itself. Painting, the realization comes a moment too late, as pale fingers touch your cheek and you flinch back with a deep pain in your neck. 

Pulsing veins echo along your entire body, but there, at the point of where hands had wrapped your flesh, it burned with a horrible fire that made thin noise escape your lips.

“Hey,” John breathes, having dragged himself at a moment’s notice across the floor of the cave. “Hey,” he repeats slower, eyes slashing you up and down for any sign of injury. 

His hand is outstretched, but he doesn’t try to touch you again seeing how you’d jerked away. The man’s heart had stopped at that—his concern shooting up similar to how he felt when you’d raced through the entrance as if a fire was on your heels. A near panic at the fear on your face, leaving his body on high alert; eyes skating the surrounding quickly.

But the splatters of blood on your face were something to reduce him to an enraged beast.

“What is going on,” he tries to keep the rough anger from his tone, attempting to leave it soft and smooth. There’s only so much he can do, though, as you shake and pant. 

Your body gradually slows itself, attention seeping back to allow you to take control of your limbs. The first thing you see clearly is John’s outstretched hand, and, then, the clench of his jaw—the eyes that follow every teardrop down the flesh of your cheek.

Openly gazing, when John sees you’re back, his blues slip to a softened caress. 

“Love,” he mutters, face tight. 

You shove yourself into his arms and let off a sob that echoes louder than any laughter could. Curling into his chest, water seeps into your shirt, but the all-expansive hand that keeps you close is worth every clothesline you would have to hang. 

“Shh,” John breathes, knowing that he’d get an explanation when he calmed you down, even if his mind was breaking itself to try and understand. “I’m right here, Sunshine. Breathe, then…I’m right here, yeah?” 

His nose pushes itself into your scalp as your head hides away, quivering body curled like a cat around a fish—no air between the two of you, chests running across the others. So little space, and yet this breathlessness was one you could welcome time and time again.

John watches, eyes always open as he glares into your hair, grip tightening the longer you cry; a feeling so potent brimming in his chest, he would be a fool to ignore it.

You were more precious to him than any ring, than any trinket he could stash away and forget about. The way his heart bent to yours was stronger than any storm. 

Breathing down your scent, John sighed, kissed the top of your head, and lightly rocked you back and forth. 

He’d wait as long as it took.

—

When it became apparent you couldn’t speak beyond broken little coughs and wheezes, John was quick to bring you to the water of the pool.  

Now, perhaps hours later, you sit with the burn and fatigue of crying eyes, sniffling as you shove away the stain of red on your cheeks. 

“Careful,” John lightly comments, grasping your hand and pulling it away. His own replaces it, wet from the water he now wades in to help. “Let me get it, eh?”

Your eyes stay stuck to his nose as fingers push away the crimson of blood easily, firm but still utterly delicate. 

“I’m not glass,” you croak, one hand near your throat. 

Blue eyes blink at you. “Never said you were,” he grunts, frowning, and you see his Adam’s Apple bob. “Don’t like seeing you with blood on your face, Love.”

Like it had never happened, the fingers return, and a moment later, he grumbles out, “And stop talking—you’ll make it worse.” 

You hadn’t explained, not yet, but by the utter rage you see John trying to hide from you, you know he understands how you might have gotten the swelling now present on your neck. His heart had been visibly pumping the entire time you’d been here; you could hear it when he was holding you, a relentless, thump-thump-bump, thump-thump-bump in your ear.

The brunette had been clenching his jaw more as well, grunting as if a boar after every sentence, a nervous habit, perhaps. He was trying to mask it for you, but you weren’t blind. 

John pauses his cleaning, glancing at your throat. 

He studies your face after he hums under his breath, having to dart his gaze away for a moment. 

“...Can I?” You pause, swallowing as the burn persists. 

Nodding after a minute of slow contemplation, cold hands shift to press carefully—not tightening, not holding you there—resting to give relief. You only tense a little, but as the seconds draw, John watches you sag forward with a large sigh through your nose. 

He lets a small sliver of calm enter him.

“Easy,” John whispers, blinking. He keeps the chill of his hands at your neck, fins shifting the water to keep him still. “When you’re ready, explain it to me, eh?” His head tilts, voice a low tease. “Glass or not.” 

Your lips twitch, and the way your eyes melt could only be compared to safety. You open your lips, and John mutters lowly as your fingers brush over his own, “Quietly, now. Can hear just fine—don’t push yourself.” 

Blue flickers to your touch, fingertips trailing his knuckles as the man grunts, attention fluttering back. 

All you say is one name. 

“Noah.” 

There’s a moment of confusion on John’s face, skin wrinkling, before the understanding settles swiftly—he wasn’t a fool. From there, his expression changes ten times over; that rage, then fear for you, confusion, and stubbornness. It’s of little surprise to you that a man so loyal was reduced to a dog. 

A dog with scales, that is.

Your body is still running hot—your heart still pumping, though the adrenaline has left with all of its stimulation. You’re tired, yes, that much is obvious. But you want John to hold you again. 

When you shift your body, the man’s eyes widen, and he blinks quickly in shock as your legs then slip into the waves inch by inch.

A noise exits the back of his throat, and John’s mouth moves in serious question. “What are you doing? Fucking hell, would you just stay still and let me have a look at you—”

Arms grapple around his waist, and a warm head burrows into his neck. 

You rest against him, body suspended in the water of the deep pool, a merman’s tail swishing to shove you the tiniest bit closer unconsciously. John’s chest bounces with every emotion, but all he does is stop you from sinking by holding you. Your eyes close at the dig of his hands, and, letting the water move the both of you, the smooth scales along your legs feel as if the finest silk. A thumb caressing up and down your spine; breath at the top of your head.

You both say nothing, and it’s a long while before either of you takes any action to leave.

—

When your words could be strung together and not broken every other sentence, you explained all of it, and the hunch you’d strung together in the meantime.

You fiddle with one of John’s rings—the emerald one—as you glance up and speak softly, voice still delicate. The pain still blossomed, but some things needed to be explained.

“I think he killed his wife.” 

By the way John stops massaging the flesh of your neck, letting you rest your head in the crook of where his tail begins and skin ends, you knew he already pieced that together a while ago. Your clothes were still heavy with water, and a puddle had formed around the both of you on the rocks.

“Hm,” is all John says, fixing the position of his lips as he looks away.

He shakes his head, growling out, “You’re not going back up there. Not while he’s still walking the streets.”

You frown, but John glares without any venom. “It wasn’t a question, Love.”

“What will you do,” you whisper, voice hoarse. A brow quirks. “Run after me, John?”

The man stares, not taking it as lightly as you. “If I have to.”

Your breath hitches, hands resting numbly over the ring as John’s fingers once again continue their touching—as if he can rub away the swelling; the damage of the veins. 

“You don’t have legs,” you utter, having to pause in the middle of the sentence to breathe deeply. 

“I’ll crawl,” he grunts.

“The rocks are sharp.”

His face is immobile. “Then I’ll bleed.”

Your mind memorized the stubbornness of his expression—the pull of the crow’s feet beside his eyes. There wasn’t an ounce of a joke in John’s eyes; no lie. Watching him, your face is loose with wonder, and water drips from your temple to connect with those dark navy scales, glinting with the light from the outside sun growing low. 

The ring in your hands is frozen, stopping its turning as your pulse soars.

John licks the corner of his mouth, glancing at the item of gold and green. 

“Keep it,” he mutters, tilting his head to the ring. “More of a use to you.” 

Larger fingers capture yours, and in one deft motion, the elegant item is slipped onto your digit, sitting comfortably as if made just for you. 

John shrugs. “The rest of ‘em, too, if you want the damn things.” His blues card over the view of your hand, and imagines fingers filled with every bit of gold and silver obtainable to him, brought up from the ocean just to sit pretty atop your flesh. Necklaces, bracelets, belts, and accessories; the things he’d seen from far distant waters. 

Oh, but they’d pale in comparison to how you would wear them. 

A muse to a song. A painter to a portrait. 

A women to the water.

He’d seen your latest sketches—you’d brought them down to him here—and when you were exploring this cave, he had taken a peak. Unlike him, yes, but there was a pull to it, that parchment bound by leather. He’d not seen anything like it, and as he had watched you work on occasion, he was entranced as he’d listened to you explain it. You’d told him that you could even manipulate color, and that had left his eyes widening in awe.

You were incredible, and when he saw his own likeness littering page after page, John had been unable to take his eyes off of you. A silent appreciation—a voiceless devotion. He’d never been…captured like this, so to speak. A mirror image. Details he didn’t even know himself, and yet there they were. 

Beauty marks across his cheeks and nose, the scars that littered his flesh that he’d all but forgotten about, the list was endless. 

But he looks at you now, and he can understand why there’s a draw to immortalize the mortal. 

His fingers stay at yours, and they brush skin as they dip along your hand, falling to your wrist. You stare up into his eyes, he stares down into yours. There’s little air to be taken in between the two of you. 

“John,” you utter, blue gaze stuck to your lips. 

He hums, tilting his head, his body looming over yours like a shadow. By the time his face is so near to yours, you don’t want to fight it, you don’t want to think about the strangeness of this predicament you’ve found yourself in—a creature living in the cliffs, handsome and half-inhuman.

When smooth lips brush over yours, and your eyelashes begin to flutter, the shouts from outside break whatever spell had just started weaving itself. 

Head snapping up, John’s body tenses as you push upward quickly. Attention slashing to the cave entrance, it’s not long before you realize what’s going on with a sharp breath and a leap to your pulse. 

The smash of something connecting to rocks echoes like a feral killing song. Yells. Yowls. 

“John,” you say hurriedly, flinching from the pain in your throat. Your eyes dart to his tension-ridden form, his arms wrapping above your body. “You need to run,” you choke out. “Go! Quickly!”

You only get a glance, and the clench of his jaw is as stubborn as it always is. Your brain already knows it’s fruitless. He won’t leave you here alone.

“They’ll kill you!” Your hands push at his chest, finger grasping at the bristle of hair to try and shove at an iron will. 

“Stay under me,” John mutters, voice low and nothing more than a chilled order. Yet, even he knows there’s little that he’d be able to do. His eyes flashed to every trinket and bauble he had collected, the new ones he’d yet to show to you, but there was few in the way of weapons. A dagger or two from a trench, a sword from under a ship—a spearhead. All too far away and rusted for it to even matter. 

There was a sharp feeling in John’s chest. A need. An oath that he gave to himself the moment he’d seen the way your little stick could breathe his image onto a sheet made of fibers. 

He was to watch over you whenever you were in his sights, and that had extended itself to gliding through the water as he watched you climb and grunt your way to his cave; a careful eye that he had no need to tell you about. That was just how he was. 

“John!” You try to bark again, growing desperate. 

Yet, it was already too late, and the merman hadn’t shifted even an inch before Noah, Otto, and the Librarian burst through the entrance like bats from hell.  They hold all manner of weapons, though the more you blink in a panic, the less afraid of them you seem, at the very least, the older man and the woman.

Otto held a cut-up and dented club, nothing more than something you’d keep for a home invasion beside the bed—the Librarian, a heavy book that seemed to contain every bit of information available to the world, so large it strained in her hands. Noah, though, was a different story. 

He had a sharp, long knife and eyes that could cut flesh by themselves. 

Half of Mr. Moore’s face was sliced up, cuts leaking blood to the ground—skin hanging and an eye completely poked with glass; shards in its gentle makeup. 

You swallow saliva and stutter through a shaking breath, and John’s glare could burn cities as he feels it reverberating against him. 

“There!” Noah shouts, balking closer. “See! I knew it was here—seducing the next woman to take to the ocean!” 

Your wide eyes try to take it all in, hands slapping the ground sending droplets of collected water flying. John’s face hones in, digging in like how the glass from your brush container had into Noah’s visage, and, somehow, you think that dead stare can cause more damage. Grasping the merman’s waist, you attempt and silently urge him to go. 

“Girl!” Otto calls quickly, eyes darting from you to John and back. Even if you could yell, you’re not sure you would. You wouldn’t even know what to say. “Get away from it!”

“I’d put that down,” John grunts to Noah, disregarding the old man and the librarian entirely. He clenches his jaw. “‘Fore you end up hurting yourself. Leave.”

“Otto,” you start, glancing at the woman beside your friend who looked like she was about to pass out when John had started to speak. The man in question’s face pulls, wrinkles thinning. “You have to listen to me, please, it’s not how Mr. Moore told you—”

“It speaks!” Noah barks, pointing his knife harder at John. “Freak of nature, it already has its hold on her.”

“Oh my,” the Librarian gasps. “Noah, it’s horrible—look at the tail.”

Your eyes flare with rage as John doesn’t react.

“Hey!” You shout, but instantly slap your free hand to your throat, coughing raggedly until your spine hunches. The merman brings you closer, but you’re already pushing until you’re on your feet, stumbling for a moment as John gives you a sharp look.

“You watch your bloody mouth,” you grid out, glaring, whipping your hands to get rid of the water droplets. Noah licks his lips as John grabs onto the back of your knee, fingers resting firmly. Sending a look down to him, your shoulders loosen at the expression he levels. You can almost hear the words.

 Steady. Keep your head on.

Though, a slash of silent pride made your heart stutter a small bit.

Your eyes glint. “Drop your weapons,” your sentence is crackling but nonetheless sharp. “Leave. John is innocent—he told me all of it.” You turn to Otto. “Mr. Moore attacked me in my shop, I smashed a glass container into his head so he would release me.” Otto tenses, club getting strangled by his fingers. 

“Noah killed Eleanor,” you breathe, John’s grip pulling a bit tighter as if sensing something you have yet to see. Noah shifts quickly, boots squeaking along the rock as he growls. 

“Absurd—!”

“He pushed her over the rocks and blamed John when he saw him bringing back her body,” you interrupt as fast as you can, pain bouncing off your throat. “You all saw it on the shore, the lie was simple enough for a man like him. Saying she drowned to a creature.”

It didn’t surprise you that John was quiet, that he was studying more the stance of men instead of talking or trying to defend himself. While he could be hard-headed and stiff, he was never dull—he never missed ques. So when Noah launched himself at you, Otto and the Librarian more confused and concerned than anything, there was only a heavy push on the back of your knee that left you buckling with a gasp, and then the explosion of water as John sent you both quickly to the water.

Hands whipping to snare around the merman’s shoulders, you’re only able to get a quick breath in before you’re completely enveloped in water, with John’s hand setting itself over your mouth just in case. The sudden rush is comparable to a heavy wind, yet far more cold and nearly like a slap to the back of your spine. 

You both disappear into the deep with a spray, Noah’s muffled yells of terror seen far above near the surface, arms captured by the Librarian and Otto—held at his sides. There’s a flash of those dark eyes, horrible things, and then John’s fins hide the rest as they slash through the water. 

When you both resurface, retreating far back near the watery entrance of the cave, John keeps you firmly behind him, your arms around his waist as you gasp for air. He keeps his head slightly turned to the side—always having you in the corner of his vision. Above the spread of his shoulders, you peek softly, legs suspended below. 

“Lier!” Noah screams, face contorted. “She’s lying!”

You look at Otto and see the grim way he’s already looking back, struggling to keep the younger individual from breaking free. He was sensical, but stubborn in his ways. Otto had a choice just as the librarian did—believe a woman who’d been here a year or someone they’d known nearly their entire lives.

“Noah,” Otto grunts, gritting his teeth. “Breathe, boy! Stop spitting, let her speak—”

The knife in Noah’s hands slashes the air, and suddenly there’s a yell from the librarian and a spray of blood. 

“Otto!” You scream, fingers flinching. 

The old man stumbles, hoarsely crying out as he grasps at his neck. Your eyes widen, mouth ajar as John pushes his hand into your head, shoving it into the back of his hair as he watches blankly, eyes glinting with a deadly hate. 

“Don’t move,” he utters quickly, sternly, to you as your breath breaks, mouth slack to stare at nothing. Scales skate your legs, great kelp-like fins curling your ankle. “Keep still. Focus on my words, Love.” Under his breath is a tight, “Fuck!”

John speaks above the gargling—the spillage of blood to stone. He mutters through the screams of the Librarian as Noah slips trying to run to the entrance, scrambling with bulging eyes. 

“Don’t look,” John says to you lowly, shifting his body as he keeps your face hidden away and let him hold you like a corpse to the earth. The sounds…oh, the sounds were horrible. 

But the man holding you tries very hard to hide them.

Your body quivers violently as the slam of a body hits the ground, the frantic calling of the woman still here with the both of you; the loud calls from the fleeing murder outside the walls.

“That’s it,” John’s fast lips are on the top of your head, muttering and trying to make his voice as even as possible. “That’s it, then. Doing good, don’t move until I say so, alright?”

When you don’t answer, only shoving your visage deeper into his neck, his spine-breaking-hold squeezes once, and his pounding heart bounces opposite yours. You don’t have to say you know him to understand that he’s only holding onto a thread of good manners, and that was certainly only for our own sake.

Otto was dead.

John leads you out, the gold and emerald of your ring glinting in the moonlight as he holds your body to his, the powerful make of his tail doing the work as it shines in the water. He leaves you outside, where the still running form of Noah is visible, yet the only person noticing is John himself. Your hands are so shaky that it would be impossible to hold your sketchbook, let alone a pencil. 

John takes one of them as Mr. Moore gets too close to the shoreline, slipping and getting his foot caught in between two stones. He panics, yelling loudly, as water is lapping up to his knee.

“Hey, hey, you hear me?” John asks, uncaring to the man, as he sets you down softly on a flat rock shelf. Fingers move to sit at your chin, and, through tight sniffles, you make delicate eye contact. He blinks, trying a tight smile—a flash nothing more. “There she is. Good...I need you to listen one last time, yeah? Just like before; don’t look until I say so.” Your face creases lightly, blinking through a haze of senses and horror. Otto was dead. 

The man that brought you out on his boat—the man that cooked you fish and acted as if a guardian to you. His cat, who would take care of her? It seemed a silly thought given the circumstances, but you can’t stop your mind from running. The house, the boat, the cat. The blood. 

“There’s nothing out here that can hurt you,” John grunts, grasping your hands and holding them, letting calluses and scars speak. “So long as I’m here, I won’t let it.” 

He nearly growls out the words. In one movement, he puts your hand to his heart, and your brain latches onto the rhythm as your own rampages in your ears. 

Noah is still screaming, but now it’s for help.

John’s voice lowers as he utters, “Hey,” the man licks his lips, eyes dancing to the side every once and a while. You stare, swallowing down bile. He says as fluidly as possible, keeping constant locked gazes. 

“Stay here. I won’t be long.”

Fingers glide down your neck again, feeling that swelling, and just as you register the kiss that’s leveled to your hand, to that gifted ring, John’s already away; his tail slipping over your flesh, fins gripping, writhing with their film. 

Yet, you have no trouble following his advice. 

The rising screams from Mr. Moore are numb to you, and the following wave of water that swallows him is only accented by the hand that grapples for his neck. 

John always seemed the one for revenge.

—

With the Librarian's newfound cooperation, the story became simple. 

Mr. Moore, distraught over the death of his wife, had finally lost it all when down on the beach with Otto, yourself, and the local Librarian—attacking and killing the old man in response to being so near to where he and his wife always traveled to. Afterward, he’d walked into the sea and had taken his own life. 

The authorities weren’t going to dispute it. 

You sold Otto's house a week after his death, seeing as he’d named you the sole inheritor of his estate and belongings. There was no need for two properties, and sitting in that small place was akin to torture. After all, he’d been doing what he thought was right, and dying for a lie is nothing short of cruel to those left behind who knew the truth. 

Harriet stays in the shop with you, where she’ll probably live out the rest of her nine lives peacefully. She’s quite fond of the fireplace. 

Most days, people find you near the water, and it’s something that wasn’t going to change even after Noah’s body was found in the rocks—freakishly close to where Eleanor’s had been. Some were calling it poetic and you’d have to agree…but for different reasons.

“You shouldn’t be giving me all of these,” you huff months later, sitting on the rock looking out over the water. A large collection of John’s trinkets is piled high in a wrapping of seaweed, shining bright as you mess with your pencil, leaning to stare at him.

John’s lips flicker into a smirk. He hums, content to watch you, from where he rests not an inch away. You lean into him, sighing, as the innumerable glinting rings on your fingers shimmer. 

“Want to,” he grumbles. 

Rolling your eyes, you look back down to your book, three of four replicas of the man’s scale pattern sitting, shaded and duplicated—lifelike. His tail sways with the water, half of it lost below. 

Your hands reach for them now, the scales closest to you, and you lightly poke and prod as John grunts above you, silent but willing in a way that speaks volumes. He’d let no one else touch him like this for the rest of his life—the softness of your fingers and the care on your face more precious than gold. You revered that tail of his; as if it gave over magic like a wishing well. 

Shivering, John’s breath hitches as your exploring moves, pushing lightly at where the top of his hips would be.

Your talent was fascinating to him, just as you were. If you wanted to ‘paint’ him, he’d allow you to do all the studies needed. Not only to give you a distraction….but because he can’t bear to be away from you anymore. It makes him nervous, and that in itself is an incredible feat.

“Where do you come from, John,” your question moves the air, and the man moves to pull your jacket higher up your body to stave off the chill. You glance at him, smiling, before your attention returns to your drawings. Sketching more, John resets his lips and tries not to stare at your face. It was getting harder to deny that pull. 

That near kiss.

“No answer, Love.” You stare as he quirks a lip, voice lowering. “I won’t be going back to distant waters anytime soon.”

John glances down at your sketchbook, seeing every scratch and bend of care. The both of you were strange creatures, perhaps. Unique—made for one another despite the obvious. 

He nods his head to it softly. The water laps at your boots from below, but you care little before John shifts your feet carefully further up with a push from his tail. You chuckle at him breathily, face heating.

“Getting water on you, Love,” he breathes. “New painting soon?” John asks when the silence settles once more, with you shifting your legs to sit under you. He still isn’t sure what painting entails, but you had told him that you would show him soon, so he knows to be patient. But yearning for anything regarding you is ingrained into his mind now—instinct.

“Mhm,” you smile softly, sending a look at your paper and the images. A huff escapes your mouth. “I think I’ll make this one a portrait.”

John blinks, tilting his head slightly. “Portrait? Why’s that?” 

Your lips find his, moving back up in an instant. 

For a second, the man’s surprised eyes pull back; only lowering as he hums moments later, fingers curling up under your chin as he sags. Lids flutter closed, and his tail twitches lightly.

“I have a subject that’s caught my eye.” You mutter into his flesh when you pull back, face burning as deep blues sear your mind, turning it into mush. Your skin tingles as chilled digits trail your chin, dripping water down your healed throat.

John watches, lips parted, as you continue on. 

“And I’d be a fool if I let him swim off.”

The both of you were going to be perfectly fine.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[btsvt-bar]

off my face

pairing ꩜ fuckboy!wonwoo x afab!reader

sequel to this drabble, read it first to understand their dynamics ♡

warnings ꩜ smut, mdni!, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, belly cumshot.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・

fuckboy!wonwoo who’s obviously whipped, but won't admit to it. when you say your hookup was a one time thing, he gets lowkey upset, but pretends he doesn’t care.

fuckboy!wonwoo who stops following you around like a puppy. he misses being around you, but he’s stubborn and decides it’s for the best if he takes some time away to get over you.

fuckboy!wonwoo who gets really drunk at this one frat party and kisses some random girl. in his head, he pretends it’s you. however, it’s not as good as it was with you on your night together.

you see the pathetic scene from across the room and roll your eyes at him. if you’re being honest, you expected him to chase after you. so you’re kinda disappointed when he walked away.

Nayeon sees your sour expression and nudges you lightly. "You should’ve told him how you feel" your sunbae comments while you take a large sip from your beer.

"He’s not interested, I chose well when I decided to keep my mouth shut" you reply before turning your back, deciding you had enough of Wonwoo drama for the night.

fuckboy!wonwoo who scans the room to see if you were watching. He feels his blood boiling when the realizes you’re chatting with his friend DK at some secluded corner.

fuckboy!wonwoo who leaves the party. You really ruined the night for him.

fuckboy!wonwoo who locks himself in his room for the rest of the weekend. It’s been a while since he played so much videogames, but he needed the distraction.

fuckboy!wonwoo who sees you walking around campus with DK by your side. he feels so fucking jealous when he sees you laughing and smiling so cutely at Dokyeom.

It’s Friday night and you’re at another frat party. You’re outside chilling with DK by the pool, with your legs inside the warm water.

"Have you noticed he’s obsessed with you?" DK points out, grabbing your attention from whatever Mina was saying.

"Who?" You play dumb.

"Wonwoo" the brunette sips from his cup. "He can’t stop looking our way".

You shrug. "He doesn’t care, he’s made it clear".

DK scoffs, sporting an incredulous look. "You don’t possibly believe that".

"I do" you try to convince yourself more than DK.

"Want me to prove you wrong?" DK smiled slyly. "How about we kiss? You’ll see he’ll lose his shit".

You analyze the boy by your side, from his prominent nose, cute crescent-shaped eyes and large smile. Dokyeom is handsome, eager to kiss you and you honestly would like to kiss him too.

"I’m not a home wrecker" you say, thinking about preserving DK’s and Wonwoo’s friendship.

"We don’t live together." That’s all it takes for you to throw your best sense out the window and pull DK in for a heated kiss.

fuckboy!wonwoo who sees the exact moment you kiss his friend. He lets his beer cup fall from his hand, wetting his and Jeonghan’s sneakers.

"What the fuck?!"

Jeonghan follows his gaze and lets out an amused laugh. "Looks like our Kyeomie got what we all wanted!"

fuckboy!wonwoo who gets up early the next morning and goes straight to your dorm. He spent the night raging and came to realize he likes you and wants to be with you.

fuckboy!wonwoo who knocks on your dorm door and wakes you up. Your hair’s disheveled and your eyes are barely open when you answer it.

"Wonwoo? Did something hap-"

"I like you, Y/N. I really, really, like you and it killed me to see you with someone else last night" he cuts you off and spits out his confession before he could chicken out.

You blink slowly, your face scrunched up in a confused expression. "You what?"

"I like you. I lied when I said that night was a one time thing for me, because it wasn’t. I only said that because you said it first".

"I only said that because I thought that’s what you wanted". You notice some people are crowding the hallway, listening to your conversation. "It’s better if you come in".

fuckboy!wonwoo who shuts the door behind him. Your roommate is nowhere to be seen, and it makes him feel more comfortable.

"Look, me kissing DK meant nothing. It was a dumb idea, I didn’t want to hurt you".

"It’s ok. I was — well, am — jealous, but it’s ok" His cheeks tint red at his confession. "But you can make it up to me".

fuckboy!wonwoo who basically jumps you when you allow him to. He gets you both naked in no time, sliding between your legs and kissing down your body.

fuckboy!wonwoo who eats you out diligently, licking and sucking on your lower lips and clit with enough expertise to make you see white in no time. He keeps teasing your fluttering whole with his thick fingers, but never gives you what you want.

fuckboy!wonwoo who can’t wait to get inside you and turns down a blowjob. "We can do that later" he promises and he positions himself at your entrance.

He pushes in slowly, making you both moan out loud. You’re sure everyone is listening to what you’re doing, but you honestly don’t give a damn.

When Wonwoo bottoms out, his hips move hard and quickly.

fuckboy!wonwoo who grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers. You smile brightly and, with your free hand, pulls he in for a loving kiss.

fuckboy!wonwoo who makes you cum first before letting himself go. He pulls out and empties his balls on your stomach, you’re so spent that you don’t even mind.

He falls by your side on your small bed, sparing a few moments to catch his breath. He lays so still you think he fell asleep, but he sits up and asks "Do you have wet wipes?"

fuckboy!wonwoo who cleans you up and helps you get dressed again. He puts his dark blue boxers back on and cuddles you, feeling his eyelids weighting a thousand pounds.

"Nonu?" you call him by the nickname only you used. "Yeah, pretty?"

"What are we?" you ask with a shy tone. You needed to be sure, so you could rest. Wonwoo gets up on his elbow to look at you before answering:

"Boyfriend and girlfriend." He states. "But give me a few hours so I can ask you properly. You deserve something better than this".

fuckboy!wonwoo who nearly melts down when you smile so prettily at him. You kiss him again, feeling super happy.

Wonwoo lays down again and pulls you close to his chest, almost instantly falling asleep with you on his arms.

fuckboy!wonwoo who sneaks out to buy flowers, chocolate and a huge bear so he can officially ask you out.

The next day, everyone is talking about how the shy angel managed to tame the infamous fuckboy.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・

© btsvt-bar, 2024

m.list ♡

[ceoofglytchell]

Daughter Of The Sea

Summary: Crushed by the burdens weighing on his shoulders, Aegon takes you, his wife, on a flight on Sunfire to a special place, where he can forget the raging war and the burdens of the crown for at least a short time and at the same time start an attempt to get closer to you.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Tully!Wife!Reader 

Word count: 4108 words

Warnings: fluff, obvious pining, brief angst (communication is hard), mentions of past smut, Aegon having dirty thoughts about you, very brief hint of a breeding kink, brief making out, no mention of Y/N 

Notes: I am a little stressed at the moment so this will be the only fic coming from me this week, but I will most certainly be back with another one on Saturday 💛. As always, feedback and criticism is always appreciated and please remember that english is not my native language.

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"No, no, fat old Lord Tully can either raise my banners or see his burn," Aegon said firmly, scanning the members of his Small Council. It was only early in the morning and he was already having to hold one of those miserable council meetings that just always tired him out. He would rather drink wine in his chambers or go out into the city to the Street of Silk, but he was no longer allowed to do that either. He was the King, after all.

"Lord Tully has another proposal, Your Grace. One that doesn't involve any bloodshed or fighting. A marriage alliance. His daughter is not yet married, but she will be soon if the pretender realizes that too. In this way, with this alliance, we could unite a large part of the Riverlands under our banner and expand our army with their men."

A small murmur went around the table and he could immediately see his mother looking at Criston with her dark brown eyes and they shared a long, knowing look. It was decided without him even having the chance to say anything about it and give his own opinion.

Once again, a decision was made over his head and he was forced to do something he did not want - just like the crown on his head, which was never meant for him.

He was going to get married and he didn't even know you.

You were different than he had expected.

A little more than a month had passed since the wedding, which had been held in small circles in front of a High Septon and your families in the great Sept in King's Landing. You were a pretty little thing. A little younger than him, loving and innocent. You had actually blushed when he had pressed a small, fleeting kiss on your lips to seal the marriage, which had then given him the motivation not to get drunk to the point of insensibility during the banquet so that he would not have to endure your company.

Instead, the opposite had been the case, for he had quickly grown to enjoy talking to you, hearing your soft voice and seeing the warm expression in your eyes. You were a little shy and you did not have much in common, but as the evening progressed, as the moment drew closer and closer when you would have to retire to your marital chambers to consummate the marriage, Aegon had noticed how you were picking at your cuticles and how you kept raising your hand to your face to bite your nails out of nervousness.

It was a habit he himself had, so he knew exactly how you must be feeling.

At that very moment, the king had felt something for you for the first time. He had realized that not only had he been forced into this sudden marriage, but that you had also suffered from this decision, and that you knew him as little as he knew you. Here, you were both the victims.

Aegon had been gentle when he had you lying beneath him in his bed and taking your innocence. He had tried as best he could to make it as comfortable as possible for you, but your little whimpers and the big tears that had rolled down your cheeks as he did his duty broke his heart and he had vowed to be good for you. You were now his wife, his queen, and soon probably the mother of his child, if his seed had taken root in your womb that one time, which is why he wanted to be a better man for you.

He had to get to know you first and maybe at some point your heart would open up to him and you could love each other as if this had not just been a political alliance but a marriage of love from the start.

"Nothing."

This very word clouded his every thought as he wandered through the cold, bare corridors of the Red Keep in search of something. He was the king, but at the same time he was completely powerless, at least when it came to his own life, because as long as he can remember everyone has always decided for him or over him and that was no different now. The only person who had decided absolutely nothing for him or forced him to do anything so far was you.

That was probably why he had instinctively walked to your chambers without even looking where his feet were taking him, and now found himself in front of the closed doors.

He could hear a faint noise from inside and as he took a step closer to the wooden doors he realized that you were humming. He did not recognize the melody nor could he hear you clearly, but for some reason your soft voice alone was soothing him immensely, as if you were a distant light in a world that consisted only of darkness. He only had to approach you and reach for your light.

He carefully opened the door and stepped into your chambers, which he had only briefly visited once before, when you had just furnished them after you had come to King's Landing. Back then, the interior had been sparse, but now every inch reminded him of you. It was comfortably furnished with plenty of seating, cushions and plants. The tapestries that hung on the walls were not about any sexual practices, unlike his, but yours were embroidered with small fish, aquatic plants and it was all in the colors of your house - red and blue - to give you a feeling of home so that you could properly settle in. On the shelves were piles of books, more embroidery and small pictures that you had painted on parchment.

You sat on an armchair in the corner of the room, rocking back and forth slightly as you gently stroked the cat that had curled up on your lap and you hummed a calm tune to it. He didn't remember the name of the small, orange kitten, but he knew it was a parting gift from your younger brother Oscar, so you wouldn't feel lonely in your new surroundings.

Aegon didn't want you to be lonely - or unhappy. Quite the opposite, he wanted to see you happy and above all he wanted you to be happy with him, as you would probably be together for the rest of your lives unless - gods forbid - a tragedy happened and you were taken away from him, which he would never allow. You were his wife and he would be damned if he couldn't protect you. If he wanted to be strong for anyone, it would be for you.

Approaching footsteps made you look up from your little friend in your lap and you froze when you saw your Lord Husband standing in your doorway and your eyes widened as he was the last person you expected to come visit you. Your marriage had been quite cold up until now, except for the consummation on your wedding night, but that was it. After that, you hadn't even kissed or touched each other in any way, except for the occasional kiss on the cheek before supper.

However, you would be lying if you said you didn't long to be close to him. You did not want to live a life without love, but to get it you also did not want to break the promise you had to make to him at the altar.

"Husband? What are you doing here?"

He wanted to approach you, but something inside him wouldn't let him move and he remained rooted to the spot at the door, which he at least closed behind him so that you could talk to each other alone.

What was he doing here? That was a good question. One that he himself didn't have an answer to. He wanted to get closer to you, but he didn't want to force his company on you either. However, he knew of a way that would allow him to be close to you, to show you a different side of him, while you would probably enjoy it too. He might even see you smile, but not the kind, respectful smile you always had on your lips, no, a real, loving one that was only meant for his eyes. He had not heard your laughter yet either.

"I wanted to see you." You blinked in confusion and scratched the cat a little more behind the ear, as if it would take away your nervousness itself, which wasn't the case, as your heart was beating so fast you were afraid it would burst out of your chest. He wanted to see you? Why? He had never voluntarily come to you to spend time with you, but you suspected there was a first time for everything.

"Why?" A rather unpleasant thought entered your head and for a moment you feared that he had only come to do his duty and then leave again, like the first time. You longed to be close to him, but you still wanted to get to know him a little better and learn to love him before you let him into your bed again. Hopefully he saw it the same way. "Have you come here to do our duty?"

The king immediately shook his head so that his short, white curls fell into his face, but that didn't really bother him. What bothered him, however, was that you thought he had only come here for that reason, but at the same time he could understand why. In your eyes there could be no other reason why he should come, since after a month of marriage you still barely knew each other.

"No, I... I wanted to ask you if you already have plans for today?"

The cat jumped off your lap and disappeared into your bedchamber next door, leaving you all alone with him, and you immediately felt a little more tense again. You wanted his attention, but it happened so suddenly that you were at a loss for words for a moment.

“No, not really. Do you have anything special in mind, husband?”

“I wanted to ask if you would like to ride with me? Just the two of us?”

You didn't know if it was his hopeful look or your longing and desire for freedom that made you accept his offer, but you did. The only thing you hadn't seen coming was that he wasn't leading you to the royal stables, but to a carriage that would take you to the dragon pit.

"I do not think I am made for the skies, Aegon," you said carefully as you heard Sunfire's gentle chants and the golden dragon slowly moved out of the darkness of the pit into the light to greet its rider. His mount was nothing short of beautiful. The dragon shone in a variety of colors when the light shone on it, and the dull pink of its wings reminded you of the many flowers that often grew on the shores of the small lakes in the Riverlands. Despite everything, the thought of flying on the back of such a winged beast filled you with fear and awe.

"No, small fish like you belong in the sea and that is why I am taking you there." For a moment you just stared at him, unable to believe that the first time he voluntarily spent time with you, he was granting two of your dearest wishes - to get closer to your husband and to see the sea again. Of course, there was a good view from the highest towers of the Red Keep, but just seeing it was not the same as feeling it, and you didn't want to disturb the fishermen at the harbor at their work just because you felt the need to stroll barefoot across a sandy beach.

The young king held out a gloved hand to you and tried to smile invitingly at you while he gently stroked the shiny scales of his mount with the other. He hadn't been out riding for a while and was already looking forward to flying through the air with you and seeing how you would feel about being able to see the world from above. On Sunfire's back he had always felt completely free, free from the annoying duties, free from the weight of the crown, free from the burdens of his name, free from everything, and you might feel the same. At least he hoped so.

You took a deep breath to calm your nerves before you walked closer to the beast, which seemed to be watching you curiously from the side.

Aegon helped you climb onto the saddle and then sat behind you to assure you that you would not fall off during the flight and that he would be a widower a month after the wedding. The warmth of your body so close to his, the sweet scent of your hair and the way your body clung to him drove him to the brink of madness in the first second, which was why he quickly gave Sunfire the command to take to the skies so that he would no longer have to think about you while you were so close to each other.

A small cry left your lips as the dragon, along with you and Aegon, rose into the sky above King's Landing and you saw the city from above for the first time. Instinctively, you pressed yourself closer to your husband's chest and grabbed his arm, which was wrapped securely around your waist, your fingers pressing so tightly into the fabric of his tunic that it was a wonder he hadn't objected to the touch.

Sunfire rose higher and higher until it almost reached the clouds, and Aegon couldn't help but grin like a fool when he felt you reaching for him in search of protection and safety, holding on so tightly as if you were afraid you might slip off the saddle and fall into the depths at any second.

As if he would ever let that happen.

"Are we nearly there?" you called over the wind that whipped against your ears and messed up your hair, while your narrowed gaze was fixed in fascination on the landscape below you.

"Soon! Be patient a little longer, wife." Aegon answered close to your ear, sending goosebumps down your arms as his voice made you realize just how close you had been and how much trust you had just put in him. You didn't even know where he was taking you except that it would have something to do with the sea.

After not too long of flying, you saw the outlines of a small group of islands appear in the distance, although they seemed to be uninhabited. The dragon suddenly began to fly a little lower and when your husband gave no other orders to contradict this, you realized that this must be the place he wanted to take you to in order to spend time with you - an island in the middle of the sea.

The island you landed on was small and had nothing more than a few rocks, some grass and a few plants and a small beach where the waves gently crashed. The sun was high in the sky and the sea was completely calm, which was a huge relief for Aegon, as he knew from experience that in the event of a storm, most of the small island would be swallowed up by the waves.

You landed on the ground again with wobbly legs and you could immediately smell the salt in the air and feel the sun burning on your skin. A smile formed on your lips as you stared into the horizon and saw the endless blue stretching out before you, which for some reason warmed your heart and made you feel more free again.

Riverrun, your home where you grew up, was not directly at the sea, but the castle had been surrounded by river water on all sides and you loved to ride to the coast with your younger brother to spend the day there, which made you miss the sea and nature even more. When you and Aegon had children together, you swore that they would not only have a dragon egg laid in the crib, as you knew was the Targaryen tradition, but you would also show them places like these and maybe even your childhood home at some point.

As Aegon dismounted behind you and Sunfire rose back into the air to circle over the island or just fly around a bit, and he saw your broad smile, he could feel a lump forming in his throat. He had always thought you were beautiful, but only now did he realize that you were much more than that. You had a beauty that he had never known before, and he was a fool for staying away from you for so long.

"Have you known this place for a long time?" You asked him, turning back to him to look into his eyes, which appeared a light purple tone in the blazing sun that reminded you of lavender.

"I come here occasionally. It is quite relaxing and simply... beautiful."

"Peaceful. It is peaceful," you responded then, whereupon Sunfire made a noise that reminded you of your cat. It sounded almost like an agreement - if a dragon could understand humans at all. He seemed to understand his rider well enough, even if he barely spoke High Valyrian.

"Yes, that too," Aegon gently patted Sunfire on the flank, causing the dragon to straighten up, flap its wings and take to the skies again, flying circles over the island group as they stood on the small beach and looked at each other.

"What do you do when you are here?" You asked him, lightly playing with your wedding ring on your ring finger, as it was a better distraction than biting your nails.

"Laying around and doing nothing, mostly," he felt a little bad telling you that, as it did not sound particularly like kingly behavior, but it was the truth and he did not want to deny you that. After all, he was doing this entire trip with you to get to know you better.

You nodded your head, an idea coming to you as you heard the sound of the waves slowly hitting the sandy beach and you could smell the salt that was hitting your skin. However, you didn't just want to smell it, you wanted to feel it too. "I will go swimming, I think."

Aegon blinked, as this was certainly not what he had expected you to do. He had expected you to lie down and talk, but not that he would suddenly see you starting to undo the laces of your dress and reveal your thin white shift and parts of your supple skin that he would love to caress and kiss if you let him one day.

"Be careful, please," the king asked gently, as he was not about to come with you and sink into the salty sea water and feel as free as a fish himself, but hopefully you would. He wished that you would feel as free and carefree as you did before marrying him.

"I will be," your blue dress fell onto the ground, while you walked into the waves in your white undergarment until you were surrounded by water up to your shoulders, while he sat down on the ground and quietly watched you from afar.

You reminded him of the old tales about nymphs who were said to have seduced men at lakes with their beauty and then dragged them into the depths never to be seen again, but he also knew that you were different. You were definitely tempting him right now- not that you knew-  but you would also never harm him. A small part of him wanted to join you, to see if he had managed to make you feel happiness again, but his courage failed him and instead he merely kept on watching you.

You swam through the cool water for some time, and each and every minute you could feel his eyes following your every move, while your husband's dragon flew around in the sky above you the whole time. Two dragons were watching you, and you had hoped one would join you, but he did not. Of course not.

Aegon had lost himself in daydreams the longer he watched you swim. He dreamed of a life where he had met you under different circumstances and he had married you because he wanted to and not because he was forced to. It would have been love, not obligation.

Lost in these sudden daydreams, he did not notice you rising from the waves again, the now soaked shift you were wearing being practically see-through now, the thin fabric clinging to your curves like a second skin.

When his gaze focused again and he saw you like this, his amethyst colored eyes widened immediately and you stole his breath away by not even doing anything. You were heavenly.

You dropped into the sand next to him and lay down, your eyes fixed on the blue sky and your hair spread out beneath your head like a halo. He couldn't take his eyes off you anymore and he couldn't help but let his eyes wander over every inch of your body. Under the thin material of your shift he could see your hardened nipples and little pearly drops of water running down inside your cleavage, making him look at your breasts for a moment longer than necessary, which caused a lump to form in his throat and to feel something stir deep inside him.

Gods, now he would have to control himself.

"You could have joined me," you said suddenly out of nowhere and turned your head so that you could look at your husband's handsome face, which was catching the rays of sunlight in such a way that you thought he was glowing.

"I did not want to force my company on you."

You quickly rolled onto your side, giving him an even better glimpse of your cleavage and he had to actively bite the inside of his cheek to avoid making any noise that would ruin the beauty of this moment and that would force him to explain himself.

"Aegon, I enjoy your company. I just wish you would give me more of it. You are my husband and I barely know you."

The disappointment in your voice broke his heart, but at the same time he cursed himself for not being able to think of anything other than ripping off the last piece of clothing that covered your body and repeat your wedding night, but this time properly and not just giving yourself to him because it was your duty as his queen to give him heirs. But he restrained himself.

"My little wife enjoys having me around, huh?"

"Come on, you are not that bad. I am sure you are more bearable than Aemond." You giggled and the sound made his heart beat faster and a warmth spread through him that he had not felt before with a woman yet.

"You would not have survived marriage to him, little fish. He is too... fierce."

"Do you not know what they say? Tough on the outside, soft on the inside. Perhaps I could have softened him."

Aegon laughed and shook his head firmly, as he was a thousand percent sure that even your kind nature and sweet disposition could not have changed his little brother's stoic demeanor, even if you both shared a common love of books. "No, my love. Even you could not have done that."

"And what of you? Do you think I am able to warm your heart?"

The king did not have to think about his answer for a second and he replied to you without thinking of any possible consequences: "You already have."

You didn't know if he had closed the gap or if it was you, but suddenly your lips were on his and you lost yourself in the way he held you tightly and deepened the kiss with a sense of urgency you had longed for.

Maybe you would not have to wait forever for love to blossom.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

[solbaby7]

Make You Mine

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, sexual tension, toxic relationships, possessive themes, violence, ( just a fuck ton of bad decisions babe, i can’t help it, live for a feral Az )

summary:

[ part one ]

—

Sometime after dinner, once the adrenaline and underlying excitement had quelled; you’d decided to keep Damien around. While proving to be generally horrible, he also perfectly filled the place of a pawn.

A pawn in a game that only you knew you were playing.

One that pushed the line of entirely too far when you showed up at training the following day with hickeys lining the length of your neck—the same place Azriel’s lips had pressed their kisses into at dinner. The same lips you’d pictured when Damien was putting them there, hands groping at your ass as he eased the hem of your black dress over your hips.

Azriel notices you the same time you spot Nesta, striding past the shadowsinger without a hint of acknowledgement but you could feel his eyes glued to the fit of your leathers. “I thought it wasn’t your place to be out here playing with swords?” Nesta drawls out, almost bored as her opponent shuffled out of the ring nursing a bruised jaw.

“If that’s the case, then show me where I belong, Lady Death.” You peer up at her and the five finger grip on her hip, practice sword held loose in her free hand.“Unless, you can’t?”

“I’m surprised you still have enough energy to bother,” Nesta gestures to her own neck and you subconsciously tug your shirt higher. “Long night?”

A slow grin grows at the corner of your mouth, hands bracing your weight to hoist yourself into the ring and briefly you all but preen when you feel the shadowsingers rage permeating the air. Toying with Azriel’s poor restraint never ended well but surely he wouldn’t actually kill anyone. Pride overwhelms common sense and you can feel the chill of his shadows slinking around the edges of the ring as if summoned; watching, listening. “Early morning.” Nesta’s grip tightens on the hilt of her practice sword with full intent of taking you up on your offer but when her lips part no words form.

Instead, she makes a noise, not quite a scoff but not exactly a hum either. “So, there is something decent about the company you keep after all.” You don’t take it offensively and you’re certain Nesta’s readying herself for more but it never comes. A brow raises, head tilting to the side but the silence makes sense when the towering figure behind you blocks the warm sun from bare shoulders.

“Actually,” The husky tone tickles the shell of your ear. “—you’ll be sparring with me today.”

“I’d rather not.”

Azriel’s hand curls around your arm, holding firm but not hard enough that you can’t break free if you tried—if you wanted to. You refuse his gaze, focusing on anything but him and his centuries of trained muscles stuffed beneath the fabric of his fighting leathers. He’d ditched the jacket, tunic too, both tossed in a heap near Cassian. Left in nothing but the sleeveless undershirt that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination; broadcasting the sharp lines of his neck and the soft curls of inky tattoos that resided there. “You don’t get to make the decisions here anymore,” His free hand raises to cup your jaw, tilting your head to the side and he can’t fight his body’s natural reaction to snarl at the very thought of another man’s mouth on your skin. “Not when you keep proving that you make such poor choices.”

You jerk away from his grasp, twisting out of the grip on your arm and a foot smacks at the back of his knees. Finally looking at him—looking down at him, Azriel sees the fire in your eye; the hatred and anger. The betrayal at his hands and the person you had to become because of it. “You have no right to judge my choices.” It’s barely a whisper, concealing as much as you could with so many eyes watching—so many ears listening. “You mean nothing to me.”

“We both know that isn’t true.” Curse your body for reacting to his touch; warm hands sliding up to cup at your waist. The smell of him sinking into your nostrils and seducing every nerve like a walking aphrodisiac.

“I think I have feelings for Elain.”

The reminder snaps you back to reality, hand reaching out to smack him clear across his face. His eyes lower to slits, right cheek going red but you’re too pissed to even register the stinging pain in your palm. “Fine,” Azriel says too casually, jaw ticking with barely there restraint. “We can play this your way.”

It’s gone quiet save for the two of you, the others pausing their fighting to see the scene unfold, waiting to witness the spymaster make an example of you. Certainly, they must’ve forgotten that you’d been doing this since you were old enough to wield a sword; fighting males bigger than Azriel.

Fuck feelings when you had a point to prove.

“I’m not here to play with you, Az. I just want to fight.” It was a cheap shot; using the stupid little nickname to your advantage but his body always reacted so obediently to his name on your tongue. He’d just barely gotten back to his feet before you strike at him, throwing a quick succession of jabs his way in a style that he didn’t teach you.

Maybe all of those weeks away traveling the other courts after his confession had left marks that he hadn’t learned yet.

Something about you that Azriel didn’t know.

The very thought leaves him distracted a second longer than he’d have ever allowed if it was anyone else. He’s quick to recover, blocking and dodging, throwing hits of his own but eventually you grow tired of the refrained punches—the obviously subdued responses to your rage and it only adds more fuel to the fire. “If you aren’t even going to try and be a challenge then just yield so I can spar with Nesta like I planned.”

He hadn’t reached for his sword once, not a single finger twitched to grip at the daggers holstered at his hips and sure, hand-to-hand was fine but with Azriel it felt too close; too intimate. “Is that what you want?” He takes a step closer and immediately your face turns away from him, refusing to acknowledge him or that low tone he took with you and only you. “A challenge?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” Except to have been the first choice. One that he was sure in. Not second guessing if every special moment had only felt like that for you. “Not anymore.” The thought alone has your skin flushing with embarrassment, completely turning around to hide but Azriel just shifts to accommodate.

“You don’t mean that.” There’s worry etched in his brow, skewing the whole canvas of his face and it was like your soul wanted nothing more than to appease him. Battering and clawing at your bones, scrambling for the freedom soothe every line and give him everything he’d ever dreamed of and more.

“I want to.” Azriel watches the stone wall you put up, rounding up all that love and adoration, cradling at the sobbing affection that no longer had a place to call home. It takes everything in you to leave it all, to ignore the desire to toss aside better judgement and fall into the need. The softness in your eyes dies with the squaring of your shoulders as you retake your stance, regarding him as nothing more than one of the recruits. “Fight me or leave the ring—I don’t exactly have all day.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to leave. Forfeit and grant you a worthy opportunity but that is not the case.

You should’ve known better.

Azriel’s determination was a force to be reckoned with, skilled swipes of his sword followed by combat moves he only saved for the battlefield. A particularly rough strike is blocked but it still makes you stumble. “Is this challenge enough for you?” Azriel demands, swords interlocked, faces so close you could smell the minty scent of toothpaste on his breath. Golden eyes are piercing under the suns rays, barely concealing how impressed he truly was with the way you’d kept up. Swift and limber, light on your feet and efficient in every step taken but there’s a certain chaos to your moves—something fresh and unpredictable. “This right here,” The fight, the passion, the frantic thrum of your blood rushing in your ears from the pure adrenaline that erupted at the sight of him. “—is why we will never be over.” He’s not even breaking a sweat, syllables breaching perfectly kissable lips while looking like he belonged on a throne in the deepest chasms of Hel. “I know he doesn’t make you feel like this—not like I do.”

“Stop.” It takes more effort now; balancing keeping up that stone wall and maintaining your composure under his attacks. A deep breath to settle your thoughts and you completely drop your sword, effortlessly switching to something more hands on.

“Don’t you see that I can’t?” The restraint in his voice slips, a vein bulging in his neck and your fingers scream for you to reach out and trace it. “Not until you see that he will never be able to do for you what I can.” Azriel’s shadows swirl around your arms, clamping them close to your body as he pulls you into him—his chest on your back and those hands attempting to disarm you. Your breath hitches when you feel the trace of warm skin down the length of your holsters and the weapons fastened to them. A barely there that sends your body in a pure frenzy; one that demands all things Azriel until the end of time. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what it felt like—you and me.” The stiff length of his cock pressed into the curve of your spine and it takes everything in you not to actually moan. “Just say the words and I’ll remind you. Right here in front of everyone if that’s what you wish.”

Do it. Your thoughts shout. Do it. You know you want to.

“I think I have feelings for Elain.”

Sharp jabs of your elbow to his abdomen. A hand that clamps down around the thick bulk of his arm and all that manly strength is used against him when he’s flipped right over your shoulder. Legs straddle at his waist, one blade shoved at his throat while the other pressed gently at his chest. “No, he doesn’t make me feel how you do.” You confess, breathless and your shoulders slump ever so slightly. “But, at least with him, I know I was his first choice. At least with him,” Your words shake and Azriel can’t handle the way you have to force the composure. “—I never have to worry about being second best.” The swords clatter to the ground, not bothering to retrieve them as you get back to your feet.

You’re nearly at the edge of the ring when he calls out, still on the ground and propped up on his elbows. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Neither do you, Az.”

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - three

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; smut!; rafe is a red flag; guns; mentions of human trafficking; 80% of it is smut you've been warned;

word count: 7.9k...

part i; part ii; part iv

Growing up, you had to develop a thick skin.

With two deadbeat parents, it wasn't a choice—it was a necessity. Unlike JJ, you never blamed your mother for leaving. She was a victim too, and despite your nightly wishes and prayers that she had taken you with her, you found solace in knowing that at least one of you had escaped the torment of the Maybank household.

You learned early on to rely only on yourself.

While you had your younger brother, you never placed that burden on his shoulders. As the older sister, it was your responsibility to take the blame for everything and to shield him from Luke's drunken or drug-fueled rages.

You never resented JJ for it, you couldn’t—neither of you asked to be born into that situation.

You tried to take each day slowly, avoiding the house and staying at John B's as much as possible.

It was easier said than done; it was hard not to feel like a burden to your friends, especially since you were the one who had to be the adult in the group.

Kie, Pope, John B…weren’t supposed to take care of you. And yet, they did. They took you in, shared their homes, and gave you the semblance of family you craved but never had. It was a weird balance, living with a foot in both worlds: the chaotic storm of the Maybank household and the calm haven of your friends' places.

At John B's, despite its share of brokenness, it provided a refuge where you could breathe without the constant fear of violence.

You often found yourself on the porch, watching the sunset over the marsh, your mind wandering to dreams of freedom. Those moments were precious, tiny pockets of peace in your life. But no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from the fucking chaos, it was always there, lurking in the background.

Luke Maybank’s shadow was long and dark, and it followed you everywhere. Each time your phone buzzed with a message from JJ, your heart would race, fearing the worst.

It was a burden you bore proudly, protecting your brother from a world that seemed determined to break you both.

You eased into being the provider, to think, to act, to protect. It became second nature, an ingrained part of your identity forged from necessity.

While others your age worried about stupid matters, you were strategizing the best ways to keep your brother safe, figuring out how to stretch what little money you had, and ensuring that there was always something for JJ to eat, even if it meant you went without. 

You learned how to calm Luke down when he was on the brink of a violent outburst, and how to read the signs of an impending beating in his eyes.

You figured out which neighbors might turn a blind eye to your requests for help, and which ones might call social services if they saw too much. There were moments, rare and fleeting when you allowed yourself to dream.

You imagined a future where you and JJ were free from the chains of your upbringing. But dreams were a luxury you could rarely afford.

So, when Rafe told you—no, demanded—that you stayed in the deadbeat motel room while he met up with his contacts, you lost it. 

He'd gotten the text earlier in the morning and decided he was smart enough to lure you out of this. Except he wasn't.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going.”

You didn’t take it lightly to people making choices for you. Your eyebrows shot up, mouth opening in indignant shock, "You think you can just order me around like I'm some puppet? I'm not staying here while you go off and do God knows what.”

Rafe's eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him, you knew that. His expression hardened, the arrogance, and entitlement you’d grown to familiarize yourself with flaring up again.

"It's for your own good," his tone was condescending, like you were a child, “You don't understand the kind of people I'm dealing with. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" you laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You think I don’t know what danger is? Look around, Cameron.”

Rafe opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. You’d done a lot of that recently.

"It’s my life on the line too. And I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to come back like some obedient little bitch.”

His face practically matched the color of the deep red curtains in your room, “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, Maybank.”

"No, you are," you fired back. "I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He took a step away from you, fingers pointed at his temples, “What part of fucking dangerous do you not get?”

“If it’s dangerous for me, it’s dangerous for you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. His gaze bore into yours, and you’d be damned if you were the first one to look away.

“This isn’t a game,” he said, clearly growing frustrated with your stubbornness, “You have no idea what these people are capable of.”

“Maybe not,” you conceded, “But I’m not staying behind and you’re not going alone.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand along his grown-out hair. 

“They chew up people like you.”

 “I’ve been chewed up by worse.”

He knew that.

And then, he saw the determination in you, that unyielding resolve that drove him up the fucking walls and he understood that he wasn’t going to win the fight. Unless he played dirty. 

“You’re too stubborn, y’know that, right?”

You chose to ignore him, grabbing the simple sweater he’d gotten for you the day before at a local market, “So, when do we leave?”

He almost sprinted to the door, “Now.”

You moved to follow him as he stepped outside into the hallway, but before you could follow, he grabbed your arm.

"Wait."

You almost pulled away, frustration boiling over.

"What now?"

His grip tightened, "This might hurt.”

"What?" You tried to twist free, glaring at him.

"Change of plans."

Before you could react, he pushed you back inside the room, slamming the door shut. He didn’t push you hard enough to fall, but the treason came so suddenly that you nearly lost your balance as you heard the lock click, the sound echoing in the small space. 

"Rafe! You piece of shit!” You pounded on the door, “Let me out! You can't do this!"

His voice was muffled but firm from the other side. "Stay here.”

"You motherfucker!" You screamed, kicking the door. But there's no clipped answer from the other side. The only sound was the echo of your own frantic breathing.

He was gone, the stupid bastard.

You collapsed against the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Rafe just left you there, locked like some helpless child. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

You were a Maybank, damn it, and Maybanks didn’t back down from a fight, even when their choices were taken from them.

In any other situation, you would’ve jumped out the window. You’d done it enough times back home, but this was different.

Your room’s floor was too high and even though you could get away with just a few scrapes or a broken finger, you couldn’t risk putting yourself in such a vulnerable state. You needed your body intact in case danger was nearby. If you had to run for your life, you needed both legs functioning. 

You glanced around the room, eyes landing on the bed, the frame sturdy.

That’s it! 

You thought to yourself as you rushed over and began to strip the sheets from the mattress, working quickly as you tied them together, creating a makeshift rope.

And they said pogues weren’t fucking smart.

It wasn’t your best work, but it was the best you could have under the circumstances.

Once you had fashioned the rope, you secured one end to the bed frame, testing it to ensure it could hold your weight. Satisfied that it was strong enough, you tossed the other end out the window, watching as it unfurled down the side of the building. 

You gripped the makeshift rope tightly and began to lower yourself out the window. It wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew better than to rush. Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly inched your way down the side of the building.

Finally, your feet touched solid ground, and you released a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You tried to remember bits and pieces of information Rafe had laid out the night before, about the meeting, something about a dingy marine bar, a bartender named Miguel. 

You rushed back inside the motel, ignoring the puzzled look from the front desk guy as you practically demanded information about the bar. He hesitated clearly taken aback by your urgency, the way you blurted out the words, but you didn’t have time for explanations or politeness.

"Just tell me where it is," you pleaded, “It’s important.”

He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper and thrusted it into your hand.

"It's not far from here," his tone was wary, "But be careful. That place is no good for a lady on her own.”

So, nothing new, you wanted to tell him.

Any place infested with men or drunk men was a trap of its own. But instead, you only offered him a curt nod of thanks before running out the door again. You needed to find Rafe, you couldn’t afford to waste any time. 

You nearly raced through the streets, the address clutched tightly in your hand. And then, before you could process what the hell was going on, a hand enveloped your upper arm, fingers digging dip in your flesh before you could make a turn, dragging you to the dark alley you’d avoided.

The situation felt all too familiar. Your heart leaped into your throat, adrenaline pumping in and out of your veins. Instinctively, you struggled against the unknown grip, kicking and clawing in a desperate attempt to break free. Were you getting mugged?

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the narrow walls of the alley, “I got nothing on me, let me go you stupid fuck!”

With a surge of adrenaline, you mustered all your strength and delivered a sharp elbow to your captor's stomach, causing them to grunt in pain and loosen their hold for a moment.

You wrenched yourself free, stumbling backward as you scrambled to put some distance between you and your attacker. You were about to land the best punch of your life as you spun around to face them, but as you finally got a good look at him, fear turned into anger. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“Me?” Rafe barked, all up in your personal space, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You jumped out a fucking window?!”

He knew you wouldn’t back down so easily. So he waited around the corner, hoping you were smart enough to keep still even though he knew you would never.

You blinked, the shock of seeing him in front of you momentarily overriding your anger. "You... You locked me in there!"

"Yeah, because you wouldn't listen!" he shot back, his frustration evident in his tone, “Fuck—Jesus fucking Christ.” He was shaking his head wildly, his hands balled into fists as he cursed away like a mantra. 

"I told you; I'm not staying behind while you go off risking your life!" You nearly spit but managed to tone down just enough.

"And I told you, it's too dangerous for you!" Rafe's voice rose with each word, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His pacing intensified, “What the hell were you thinking? What were you gonna do? Walk in and what, huh? You don't even have a gun on you!"

“So? Give me yours!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Give you, my gun?! Did you hit your fucking head against the concrete?

“I’ll hit your head against the concrete if I have to.”

His left eye twitched in irritation, the look he gave you filled with enough ire to leave a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, “Maybank, I have half a mind to spank you right now, don’t fucking push it.”

You ignored him, “You’d rather I go in there unarmed?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “I can do it.”

“Clearly. Look at you,” Rafe’s voice was sharp,“You think I wanted to leave you behind? You think I liked putting you in that room?”

“You didn't give me a choice! You think I was just gonna sit around waiting for you?”

Rafe sighed, palms pressing into his eyes “I’m trying to protect you, God fucking damn it. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Save it,” You hissed out, pressing a hand to your chest as though to keep everything in. “How am I supposed to trust you when you pull this—this shit!”

Rafe reached into the waistband of his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled out his gun, lifting his shirt in the process. He took your hand and dropped it into your palm.

“Show me.”

“Uh?”

He nodded towards the gun in your hand. “Show me you know how to handle it.”

The sudden changes in his attitude always left you speechless. You hesitated, staring at the weapon in your hand. You had never held a gun before, let alone fired one. But the authority in Rafe’s eyes spurred you to action. With trembling fingers, you checked the safety and made sure the gun was loaded, trying to mimic what you had seen in movies.

“Alright,” Rafe said, his voice low. “Now, point it at me.”

“What?!”

“I said point it at me,” he repeated, “C’mon.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the gun. This was crazy. With shaky hands, you raised the gun, aiming it at his chest. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the weapon feeling heavier with each passing second.

“Good,” Rafe nodded in approval. “Now, pull the trigger.”

“What the hell?! Rafe?!”

“Trust me, Maybank, just once.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Pull the trigger? He wasn’t fucking serious, was he? You couldn’t actually shoot him, could you?

But Rafe’s expression remained unwavering. He was being dead serious.

Maybe months ago you would’ve done it without a second guess, but now?

“I’m not pulling the trigger.”

“Just do it. You’re not going to hurt me, okay?”

With a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger, half expecting the gun to recoil in your hand. But nothing happened.

Oh. You had forgotten to chamber a round. He knew that already.

Rafe’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, as if the entire situation was normal, “You forgot to chamber a round.”

You watched him carefully, his bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss him.

You lowered the gun, your hands shaking with adrenaline. You had just fired a weapon for the first time in your life. He reached out and gently took the gun from your hand, expertly chambering a round before handing it back to you. 

“Try again.”

This time, when you aimed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger, you felt the recoil jolt along your body as the bullet fired. The sound echoed off the walls of the alley, causing your heart to race even faster.

“Atta girl.”

“I’m still pissed, Cameron.”

“I know,” Rafe conceded as he reached up to brush your hair from your eye, fingers grazing the side of your neck.  “I panicked, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He’d done so much for you over the past weeks, it shook you to the core. The countless times he had gone above and beyond, selflessly putting your needs before his own. So maybe, just maybe…you could let it go. 

“Okay.”

"Let's go.”

“Wait, right now?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said, his tone brisk as he holstered the gun. "We’re late.”

⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Hours later, you collapsed onto the bed, wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into, again. The events of the meeting replaying in your mind like a broken record. You’d never met such a group of people before. And you didn’t want to, ever again.

"Human traffickers," you muttered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "I can't believe we just met with human traffickers."

Rafe nodded solemnly, "Yeah.”

"I don't trust them. What if... What if they decide to snatch us up and... Oh my god, what if this is all just a ploy..."

“We’re in this together, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You wanted to believe him.

Your brow furrowed, your mind racing with questions. “How do you even know these people?”

He hesitated, “Barry. It’s... a long story. But right now, what’s important is that we got a way out, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, realizing that asking him for more information wouldn’t get you anywhere.

There were more important things to worry about. 

You didn’t know what was worse, running from Ward Cameron, finding yourself at the mercy of human traffickers, or potentially developing feelings for someone who’d ruined so many lives. 

God, if your brother saw you now…you’d be the greatest disappointment of his life. The mere idea consumed you entirely. The things you’d done.

The way you’d let Rafe into your bloodstream.

You hated yourself for it. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of your grasp, and you hated it.

What would you even tell him? You didn’t even know if had made it, but something told you that he did. He always did. And that meant that sooner or later you’d see him, and you’d have to watch him gradually despise you. 

And then there was Rafe.

The very thought of him made you want to stop breathing altogether. How could you even begin to reconcile the feelings you harbored for someone who had brought so much pain and destruction into your life? It felt like a betrayal to even consider it.

“You good, Maybank?”

You dragged your gaze away from the swirling fan on the ceiling to meet Rafe's concerned stare. He was studying you intently. You shifted on the bed, turning to face him fully. 

"I don’t know,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, “You?”

He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch always surprised you, how surprisingly light it felt.

“I don’t know.”

He had every reason to abandon you, to wash his hands clean of the entire situation, but he hadn’t.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat.

It was hard to believe that someone like him could be capable of such tenderness, such vulnerability. But there he was, lying beside you, his attention fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“They’re about you.”

"Me?" you repeated confused, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment between you. 

Rafe nodded, scanning your face for any sign of understanding. "Yeah. You."

Your brows pulled together, “What is?”

He visibly gulped, pressing his lips together, blinking several times before releasing a held breath “The nightmares.”

You almost stopped breathing, "What about them?" 

He shifted uncomfortably, “They used to be just about my mom. Then dad. Now, it’s—uh, it’s just you. Ever since that night, it’s just you. Dying, because of—yeah.”

Oh. 

You hadn’t realized the extent of the impact that night had on him, on both of you

It was a lot to process, and you handy had the time to figure everything out yet.

His fingers brushed over the scar on your arm, and memories flooded your mind. The gunshots, the crippling fear you felt when they got to you, how Rafe reacted, how he touched you. 

“You should’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You flinched instinctively at his touch, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, allowing the warmth of his hand to chase away the ghosts that haunted you.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours; it was warm against your skin. 

You shook your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not anymore."

His fingers continued their path up, eventually reaching your cheek as he cupped it tenderly, carefully, as if he’d break you if he rushed it. 

You closed your eyes, savoring the closeness between you. And then, almost hesitantly, you felt him lean in, his mouth brushing against yours in a delicate caress. You hardly had to move to kiss him, only tilting your chin up.

It was tender, different from the ones you had before, just so quiet that it made you want to burst into tears. 

You kissed him back, tentatively at first, then with a growing hunger that mirrored the longing you had been feeling deep within your soul. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid to let you slip away. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dangers lurking in the shadows, not the weight of your past sins, not the uncertain future that lay ahead.

All that existed was the intoxicating feeling between you and Rafe. But as the kiss deepened, a voice of reason scolded you in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of your actions. You pulled away, breathless and dizzy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“We shouldn’t…”

Rafe only stared, before he nodded, understanding dawning in him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I know,” he sighed, “Just get some rest.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction. With a heavy grunt, you lifted yourself off the bed, making your way to the bathroom to change into some booty shorts and a simple tee.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Rafe was already settled on the bed, only in his boxers, his attention fixed on some point in the distance. You hesitated for a moment before joining him, the distance and closeness between you feeling suffocating. 

You wanted to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat like a lump of lead.

Instead, you settled for a nod, and a quiet “Goodnight.” 

You slipped under the covers, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a false sense of security. 

“Night, pretty Maybank.”

You shut your eyelids, willing your racing mind to quiet down. But no matter how hard you tried, sleep eluded you, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound of passing cars sent a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened to the point of paranoia. You shifted restlessly in bed, the new sheets tangling around your legs like shackles, trapping you in a prison of your own making. 

You heard Rafe's voice beside you, breaking the silence of the room, “Can’t sleep if you keep moving.”

“Sorry.”

Rafe reached out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, “What is it?”

“I can’t sleep.”

His hold tightened around yours, "I know, Maybank," he spoke in a ushed tone, "But you're safe here. Try to relax, okay?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, already feeling the upcoming headache, “I don’t know how to.”

It was quiet again for a minute and you feared you’d bored the man to sleep with your insecurities, but then he spoke again.

“Turn around.”

You opened your eyes, even though you could barely see him. Was he telling you to spoon him?

“What?”

Rafe's thumb gently brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm, “Turn round f’me, kay?”

With a soft sigh, you did as he asked, turning onto your side to face away from him.

He moved closer, his body pulling against yours as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against his chest. His warmth enveloped you like some kind of shield as he pressed a light kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering against your skin. 

“There,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. “Better?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

These were dangerous waters.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you sure as hell weren’t about to do it now. All you could think about was that night, how he felt, how he touched you, how he fit right. 

An almost overwhelming feeling of arousal took over you, and with whatever courage you had left from the day, you moved again, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him. His warmth seeped into your skin, melting away the tension that had coiled tight in your muscles during the day, you could feel every ridge and turn of his body.

Your touch drew a low, guttural groan from Rafe, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed closer, his arousal unmistakable against your back. His teeth grazed your shoulder, followed by the flick of his tongue, and you released a breathy sigh as he lowered his head to bite the area.

His arm tightened around you as you traced the contours of his fingers, mapping out the familiar territory with ease and want. His heartbeat echoed against your back, a steady rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your own heart.

His lips brushed against your neck, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core, “Relax,” he murmured, his hoarse, “’M right here.”

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you shifted your hips, grinding back against him, seeking the friction that would ease the ache between your legs and your head.

Rafe's reaction was immediate, his hands roaming over your body with a fervor that left you dizzy. His fingers found their way to the hem of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin with feather-light touches. You twisted your fingers into his long hair, tugging lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from him.

“Tell me to stop, please,” His mouth brushed against your ear again, words coming out a slurred mess.

You ran you finger over his leg, where his boxers had risen, the warm skin driving you insane. If you lifted your fingers just a little higher, you’d be able to feel all of him.

You had to bite back a squeal when his thumb brushed over your covered nipple, “I can’t.”

You felt the tension in his muscles as he paused for a moment, his grip on you tightening. An unrestrained, almost desperate plea escaping his mouth, "Are you sure?"

You swallowed hard. This was so fucking wrong. But underneath it all, you knew what you wanted.

You turned your head slightly, your lips grazing his jawline as you muttered a "Yes."

You gasped when Rafe raised his thigh, placing it between your own, as he used his hands on your hips to guide you back and forth, grinding you down against his skin. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever felt so out of control, so desperate for someone’s touch. The thin barrier of your shorts and panties felt like an unbearable hindrance, a small but significant obstruction to the shattering desire you needed to reach.

One of his hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, the other splaying across your stomach, holding you firmly in place. His fingers found you slick and ready, a whimper vibrating across his chest at the discovery.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his fingers starting a slow, torturous rhythm against your clit.

You bucked against his hand, seeking more, needing more. Your head fell back against his shoulder, and you turned slightly to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

You felt his tongue press against yours and you nearly came on the spot. He slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into him, “I can’t stop touching you.”

You struggled to form words as breathy moans escaped your mouth, “Please don’t,” you rasped, your thoughts turning to mush as he dipped the tips of his fingers inside you, gathering your wetness. When you finally found your voice, it was a mere screech, “Rafe...”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured back, finally pushing two fingers inside you, at an agonizing pace, “I’ve got you.”

Your jaw went slack as he curled his thick fingers, a gasp escaping when he found that spot that made you see stars. Your nails involuntarily dug into his skin. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit, pulling another moan from you. With his other hand still on your hip, he pushed you back, guiding you to grind against his fingers.

The rhythm he set was maddening.

His breath was hot against your neck, his voice a growl as he removed his fingers, making you whine in protest.

He glided one between your folds, the wetness easing up the process, “You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his words sending a thrill down your spine. “Can’t get enough of you.”

“Ra—You’re gonna make me come,” you gasped as his arm left your waist, sliding underneath your ribcage and resting on your chest, kneading your breast through the fabric of your shirt, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s the point,” he purred into your ear, two fingers sliding inside you again, so suddenly you threw your head back again, thighs clenching together tightly as he pumped his fingers in and out.

At this point, you were lightheaded, fucking yourself back onto him, grinding down as you chased your orgasm. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Rafe...”

His fingers quickened their pace, each thrust sending oceans of pleasure down your body. “Not stopping,” he promised,“Want to feel you dripping around my fingers.”

His words sent you spiraling, the buzz inside you building to an unbearable peak. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the intensity of your approaching climax. Rafe's touch was relentless, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“Rafe—” you cried out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating from your pussy.

Your body convulsed, and you clung to him, nails digging into his arm as you rode out the ecstasy.

Rafe held you without a break, his fingers never slowing, drawing out every last tremor of your release. When you finally came down, breathless and spent, he withdrew his fingers, not giving you a break to breathe as he shuffled behind you, pulling his boxers down, just enough to release his aching cock, doing the same to you as he slid his length between your folds.

The sensation was…everything, his heaviness pressing against your sensitive, slick entrance, the heat of him making you shiver. You bit your lip, suppressing a scream as Rafe's hand gripped your hip, holding you steady.

“Shit shit”, you breathed out, barely able to form coherent thoughts. The anticipation coiled inside you again, your body already aching for him, “’M sensitive.”

“Shhhh,” he purred, his voice husky against your ear. “Just relax, pretty.”

He rocked his hips slowly, the head of his fat cock teasing your entrance, not pushing in but sliding between your folds, spreading your wetness over his length. 

Holy fuck, you’d gone to heaven.

Rafe's breath hitched, his grip on your hip tightening as he tried to control himself.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, “So perfect.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, biting your lip when his tip bumped against your clit, “I need you to—Shit, just fuck me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he angled his hips and began to push inside you, inch by tantalizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, slowly filling you in a way that left you gasping, your body accommodating him with a shuddering breath.

“Jesus,” Rafe hissed, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as his cock twitched inside you. “So tight.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the thrill and the sensation of being filled to the hilt almost too much. You could feel every part of him, the way he throbbed inside you, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. You felt his breathing against your skin, coming out in uneven and ragged breaths.

He started a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deep, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in.

His other hand found your breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh through your shirt, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

You couldn’t hold back the mewls that escaped your lips, each movement driving you higher, the tension building again. Rafe’s breath was ragged against your ear, his lips brushing your skin in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

He gently bit your earlobe, withdrawing his hips until only the tip of him remained inside you, before slowly pushing back in with deliberate, languid movements. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair once again.

“Rafe... harder, please,” you begged, shame thrown out the window, “I need it harder.”

He moaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he complied, his hips snapping against you with more force, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His hand slid down from your chest to your clit, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.

You felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

“Can’t belie—fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you again.”

You curved your back again, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, your body craving the release that was so so close.

“I c-can’t hold on much longer,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper.

“Then let go,” Rafe growled, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

You groaned, “I want to see you when I do.”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from him, making him groan, but you shut him up as you turned to face him, dragging your shorts and panties out of the way, not looking where you threw them as you quickly lifted your body and settled over his, hands pressed to his naked chest as you rubbed yourself against him. 

Rafe's hands gripped your hips firmly as you positioned yourself above him, “You tryn’ to kill me, pretty Maybank?”

You smirked, leaning down to press a quick peck against his lips, “Yeah.”

Without any warning, you lowered yourself onto him, both gasping at the sensation of being joined once again. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way, his tip touching your cervix.

Your movements were slow at first, savoring all of him, every sensation that rippled from end to end of your body. But soon, the slow burn grew into a raging inferno, and you found yourself moving faster, chasing that peak of pleasure one more time.

“Get this fucking thing off,” He growled, pulling at your shirt. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t so desperate to feel him.

You sat up, quickly tugging the shirt over your head and tossing it aside. Rafe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in your bare chest, his hands immediately finding your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp and arch into his touch.

You started to move again, lifting yourself up before sinking back down onto him, each movement sending waves of desire through both of you.

A filthy kiss followed, all spit and tongues tangling messily as if trying to devour each other whole.

The taste of him filled your mouth, cigarettes and toothpaste, his moans mingling with yours.

The kiss was a brutal assault, his teeth nipping at your lips, drawing blood, which only seemed to fuel the frenzied rhythm of your body. Rafe's grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, and encouraging you to take him deeper, pounding into you, abs flexing.

You leaned forward, your hands bracing against his sturdy chest, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, your cries, and the rhythmic, filthy, slap of skin against skin.

“Fuck, this pussy can’t be real,” Rafe groaned, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Ride me harder, baby. Wanna watch you.”

You increased your pace, the friction and fullness driving you closer to the edge with each thrust. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, holding you steady as you moved, his touch grounding you even as you felt like you were about to come apart at the seams. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tight, precise circles that had you crying out his name.

“Oh god, Rafe, I’m s-so close,” you panted, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your release, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“Come for me, pretty. Wanna to feel you drippin’ all over my cock.”

That was all it took.

With a loud moan, you came, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his chest as the phases of your pleasure crashed over you. Rafe watched you, his expression one of pure awe, jaw slack open as his hands never left your body.

As your climax subsided, your breathing ragged and your limbs trembling, he gently kissed your temple, his lips tender. He murmured soothing words and you swore you were on cloud nine.

You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong against your own. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, calming you, bringing you back to earth. 

But as the pleasure subsided, you became acutely aware of Rafe's cock still hard and throbbing inside you. His breath was ragged, his eyes void of any color, and you knew he was on the brink. You lifted yourself slightly, feeling him slip almost out of you before you sank back down, taking him deep again, despite the way your thighs burned, the way your hole ached.

"Rafe," you called, “Need to feel you come inside me."

His grip on you tightened, his eyes briefly closing as a guttural moan escaped his lips. He released you for a moment, only to bring his hand down sharply, delivering a stinging smack to your ass,

"Watch your fucking mouth.”

The sudden impact made you gasp, the pain amplifying your desire.

Rafe's eyes snapped open,"You like that, don't you?" he growled, "Look at you."

You could only nod, breathless and aching for more. His hands returned to your hips, guiding your movements with a renewed urgency. The sting from the slap lingered, a delicious reminder of his dominance, the only place you'd let him take the lead.

You started to move again, your pace slow and deliberate, your movements designed to drive him wild. Each time you sank onto him, you could feel him throbbing, his control slipping with every passing second. His fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he tried to hold on.

"Please, baby," you whined, "I need to feel your cum."

The pet name did it.

With a growl, he shifted, flipping you onto your back and pinning you beneath him.

The sudden change made you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his ass as he drove into you in a mean mating press. His pace was relentless, like he’d die if he stopped.

The sounds of your “oh’s” mixed with his grunts, only amplified the passion. You could feel the tension coiling inside him, the way his body strained against yours, every muscle taut with anticipation.

"Gonna fill you up,” he grounded out, his voice strained, "So fucking close."

You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. "Come for me, baby," you urged, your desire reigniting at the thought of him finding his release, “Need you so bad.”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a feral intensity. "You want my cum?" he growled, thrusting harder, making you cry out in pleasure. "Beg for it."

"Please, Rafe," you gasped, feeling the pressure building inside you, "Fill me up. I need it. I need you."

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe's body stiffened, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he let out a hoarse cry. You felt the hot rush of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he emptied himself inside you. His entire body trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You could feel him pulsing, the warmth flooding you as he let out a primal growl, his grip on you almost bruising.

And right there, another orgasm ripped through you, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting and trembling. His weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your skin, his earlier roughness giving way to a tender aftermath.

You held him close, your hands running soothingly over his back, feeling the ridges of the muscles you had just marked with your nails. Your own body still buzzed with the aftermath of your pleasure.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met yours, a look of pure adoration in his gaze that left you speechless. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

He cradled your face in his hands. "We’re gonna be okay," his breath felt warm against your lips.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as his lips touched yours again, the faint tender kiss so different to the man you used to know. You tried to hold back, to keep the overwhelming tide at bay, but you broke, and a sob escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, concern etched across his pretty features. "Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. "What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, "No, it’s not that," your voice trembled, “I’m scared.”

Rafe's expression softened, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Shh, it's okay," he soothed, "Let it out, baby. I’m right here."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his skin. The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and his hold were the only thing keeping you together at this point and if you weren’t feeling so much, you’d feel pathetic for relying so much on someone else.

He held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair as you cried, releasing the pent-up anxiety.

"We—I, I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted through your tears, your voice muffled against his chest. "I’m really, really scared.”

Rafe kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering, "I know, Maybank," he whispered,"I’m scared too.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. "You are?"

He nodded, his attention never wavering from features.

"Yeah, I am. This...And—don’t know what I’m doing either. But I want it. I want you."

“But it’s wrong.”

“I know, pretty.”

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. Rolling onto his side, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nestled against his chest.

“I’m sorry for jumping out the window,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin, “You just...make me so angry.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair in soothing strokes. "I shouldn’t have locked you in.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the last of your tears dry against his skin. You knew things wouldn’t be easy, but his reassurance gave you a little strength.

After a while, Rafe shifted slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. 

"We’ll figure this out, Maybank.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly.

Promises weren’t something he was used to making, you knew that. But then he nodded.

“Promise.”

[teamatsumu]

kinktober 2023 -> day 15

morning sex - bokuto koutaro

word count: 1064

kinktober masterlist

Volleyball season was tough on Bokuto.

The practices began early morning and ended late at night during off days. And he usually had to stay behind after practice to get his serves and receives better polished. On game days, the routine became even more dizzying, with pre-game practice and warms ups, the game itself, after-game conferences and sometimes going out for drinks with his boys later. Bokuto loved the hustle and bustle, of course. He thrived in it. But it left almost no time for you, his beautiful fiancee.

He would get up at the ass crack of dawn to leave for a run and make it to practice on time, leaving your warm, sleeping figure under the covers, and he usually returned so late that you were already in bed, breathing quietly and curled into a cute little ball that Bokuto loved wrapping himself around. Sure, he texted you constantly during the day, and called you whenever he could, but it wasn’t the same as being in your presence.

And he was really starting to miss you. Emotionally and physically. Afterall, Bokuto was still a man. A healthy, young man. And he had needs.

Today found Bokuto in a predicament he was often met with these days. He woke up not to the sound of his alarm, but to the hypersensitive feeling of his raging boner. He blinked a couple of times, groaning softly when he realized what exactly the problem was and what woke him up.

That’s another thing he was struggling with. Bokuto had a high sex drive. Like, really high. Much higher than his peers. He knew it had to do with his unending stamina. But he had never had a problem with it before. And when he woke up like this, the small vestiges of his wet dream still clinging to his mind, with your warm, pliant body right next to him, it was really hard to control himself, no pun intended.

Bokuto pouted and grumbled, turning his back to you and closing his eyes again. He blearily stared up at the clock hanging off the wall, nearly groaning when he realized his alarm was about to ring in ten minutes.

He could probably cum in ten minutes…

Bokuto bit his lip in contemplation, turning to look at your sleeping figure again. Should he do it? You had given your permission to wake you for sex one time weeks ago. He had never done it, but maybe now…?

You sighed in your sleep and shifted, and Bokuto’s eyes shot down to your ass. God, he hadn’t felt you up in so long. You wouldn’t mind, right? You had said you wouldn’t. So what was stopping him?

His erection gave another painful throb, and Bokuto threw caution to the wind, he pressed his front into your back, sighing in relief when his crotch made contact with your ass, easing the pressure a bit. You were sleeping in his old jersey, as you usually did, and tiny sleep shorts. Bokuto made quick work of them until your lower half was bare, shirt pushed up to your waist. He pushed his shorts down just enough to free his dick and gave it a few pumps, mouth dropping open at the sensation. It felt good. But he knew what would feel even better.

He couldn’t hold back his groan when he finally slid home, your pussy tight as anything, sucking him in even in your sleep. Bokuto shifted down a little, trying to hit deeper in the position he was in, jaw going slack when you unconsciously clenched around him. For a split second, he wondered how he had gone this long without feeling you wrapped around his cock like this. He also knew that now that he had done this once, there’s no way he was not doing this every single day going forward.

You shifted and moaned, and your sharp intake of breath told Bokuto that you were awake. Fuck, thank god.

“Kou?” Your voice was husky with sleep. Bokuto nearly came.

He wasted no time in hooking his hand under your knee, pulling your leg up and spreading you out enough for him to start pumping into you faster.

You gasped and arched back into him, presenting your bare neck to him. Bokuto licked a stripe up the skin, tasting salt on his tongue. He slid his other hand under you, wrapping around you so he could grope at your clothed breast, soft as ever and fitting in his hand perfectly. God, he had missed your body. He bit gently into your neck, reveling in the little sounds escaping your throat. The thought that he was making you feel good was intoxicating. It had always been a huge turn on of his. He didn’t need praise, just hearing you moan as his cock drove into your cunt over and over was validation enough for him.

Your walls were fluttering around him like mad, and Bokuto was so sure he would bust any moment. He picked up the pace and angled his hips just right, trying to chase that one spot in your pussy that he knew made you see stars. He felt himself grin a bit when you cried out and clenched hard around him, indicating he found it.

“Kou, ‘m gonna cum.” You slurred out, and Bokuto pounded into you faster. He wanted- no needed- for you to cum together. He’d missed you so goddamn much. He needed this. As much as he needed to win his next match.

The sound of both your moans as you finished drowned out Bokuto’s phone, which started chiming his usual wake up tune. Bokuto could give less of a shit though, his thighs shaking as he emptied his load into your hot opening, reveling in the way you pushed your ass eagerly back on him, whimpering and whining through your own orgasm. As he came down his high. Bokuto wrapped his arms tight around you, not bothering to pull out, wanting nothing more than to feel every inch of your body against his.

“Kotarou,” you whispered affectionately, and Bokuto’s heart skipped. “Your alarm is still going off, babe.”

Bokuto hummed into the back of your neck. “Let it.”

You giggled and sighed, finally slumping against him. Bokuto thought his chest might burst from how content he felt.

“Good morning, by the way.”

Taglist:

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A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!

[str4ngr]

Hello!! Could u do number 5 angst with megumi jjk??

no. [crying.]

just not now.

m. fushiguro. | my drug, my addiction.

cw: angst, foul language, unrequited love, rejection, gn! reader. wc: 629. notes: we're not friends. not proofread

His eyes met yours like a scalding hot burn, piercing your soul in merciless indifference,

"Sorry, but no."

Megumi's voice echoed in your head, no longer the song that made your heart sing but what made it shatter. Your breath felt like it shrunk in your lungs while each word and emotion began to ball up into a lump in your throat. Your eyes were blown wide, staring right at him but it felt like you couldn't see him. The warm curves of his cheeks turned into the creases in his forehead as he raised a brow at you,

"What? Look, y/n, I don't see you like that."

It felt like autopilot, robotic smile on your lip as you nod, letting him walk away with a dry expression as he turned his back on you. He didn't look back, the uncomfortable glare of unreciprocated feeling lingering on your face as your back faced his. it felt hard to swallow, it felt like your head was coming unscrewed from how fast it was spinning. Were you truly that delusional?

They always say when a door in life closes, another open, but right now? Right now, it feels like every single molecule of space around you is a door slamming shut and squeezing you alive. Your feet dragged back to your dorm, phone discarded somewhere, muted as regretful texts from Kugisaki lit up your lockscreen.

Curled up beneath a behemoth mountain of sheets, you still felt cold, the reminder of his dismissive stare, his hands in his pocket, the way all those bubbly feelings in your heart bursted into searing rejection that felt like they tore apart your chest.

The wall felt happier to stare at then yourself. God, maybe you really were wearing rose-tinted glasses. You pursed your lips, think to every time your mind brought you to a hopeful la-la-land of your ideals.

Every time Megumi 'stared' at you, was he staring at you, or was it because you were sat next to Panda, who he was talking to? Or... when he remembered your favorite snack! Or maybe it's because Itadori told him, since he was the one who was supposed to get them. And he was the one you had told... How about your birthday? No, all he did was contribute to the collective gift given by the other first-years.

With how dehydrated you were, you weren't sure if it was now that you became deranged, or before. But probably the latter, considering your mind was now brutally slapping you in the face, each memory of your pathetic puppy love followed by the raging reminder of rejection.

Maybe today wasn't the day to feel confident, maybe you shouldn't have hyped yourself up in the mirror this morning.

Early morning practice was a weekly shenanigan; shenanigan because most of the time, those who were not dueling to the half-death were goofing around. Today was just another one of those days, with Maki and Kugisaki going head to head in a close combat training. Megumi had. just finished with Itadori, and fuck did he look beautiful, wrist wiping the sweat on his forehead, his fringe flipped back as his chest slightly heaved.

You couldn't help but admire the way the just risen sun's light glimered off each bead that trailed down his defined cheekbones, or how his sharp eyes glared into Itadori at some stupid joke he had made. Megumi had decided to go refill his water bottle, and you decided to trail along. God, did you regret that now.

How much more fucking obvious could it be? You were being delusional, desperate, grasping at the straws of romantically meaningless, platonic, actions, playing make-believe as if they meant anything at all.

Class would be much harder from now on.

notes: oh my gee i havent used y/n in so long....

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Too Sweet

A/N: Hi friends. I haven't written anything in a while, as I've been tussling with my mental health and raging SAD from the weather near me. Please accept this Mandalorian drabble? Rambling? Takes place between the end of season two and Din's appearance in the Book of Boba Fett. Tags: The Mandalorian, Mandalorian x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader, Mandalorian x F!Reader, Apostate!Din WARNINGS: None Summary: You've been a safe place for Din Djarin for years. He comes to you at his most vulnerable, but always has to leave before you're ready. Title inspired by the Hozier song of the same name.

Word count: 1.6k+

Hours later, you’re still in shock.

Din Djarin is in bed next to you, sans helmet.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be in your home- hell, it would be more unusual for him not to be there between jobs. Your Mandalorian had spent years visiting, hovering somewhere in between a lover and a partner. He shows up in the afternoon one day, and is gone early in the morning before you wake. When he returns, beaten and bruised, you chastise him for leaving without saying goodbye. The routine was comfortable. Familiar. 

Except every other time he had been there, you had never seen his face. 

It feels like a dance each time he comes. You tend to his wounds quickly but gently, lathering cuts and bruises in bacta before wrapping bandages or slings where necessary to let the medication heal. Once you’ve played nurse, Din secludes himself to your study to eat dinner. And each time, without fail, he leads you to the bedroom to extinguish the fireplace and blow out your candles. His hands find your body, and he ravishes you in the darkness. 

Key word being darkness.

Today was the same song and dance. He’d limped into your cabin without greeting, shaking snow from his armored body and settling himself into a kitchen chair while you fussed. A tube of bacta and half a roll of bandages later, he silently trudged away to eat in the study. There was a distinct lack of little green child with him today, which was a major concern after the past year. You suspected it had something to do with the oppressive sense of sorrow following him through the house. So you carried on with your usual routine, asking little to no questions. It wasn’t until he’d crowded you up against the sink, bowl still in your grip as you rinsed it, that he spoke. 

“Mesh’la.”

Strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, and you leaned back into an unarmored chest. In hindsight, you chastised yourself for not noticing the words lacked the electrical buzz of a vocoder. 

“Din.” You returned.

He only grunts, right hand gliding up your side. It grips your shoulder, and presses until you turn to face him, bowl still gripped in your damp fingers. 

“You know, words are- Din!”

The porcelain bowl shattered as it collided with the kitchen floor. You’d dropped it out of pure instinct, hands flying up to cover your eyes. As much as you’d tried to forget what you saw, it was burned into your brain. Wavy hair, long nose with a scar crossing the bridge of it. Big, brown eyes that couldn’t possibly belong to someone so stern and ruthless. It flashes across your mind, and you almost tear up at the thought of Din breaking his Creed after all these years. 

But he’d pulled your hands away and explained - while your eyes are still pinched closed- that he was an apostate. The Child was returned to his own people, but at the cost of Din’s Creed. It had taken minutes of coaxing and reassurance, but you’d opened your eyes and cursed the universe for being so cruel as to hide such a face. From the set of his brow to the nervous biting of his lip, you basked in seeing so much bare skin. It took less time for him to attach his lips to yours and lead you out of the kitchen.

He’d taken you to bed, and now here you sit. 

Your room isn’t anything special. Quaint and cozy if nothing else, with two small windows that face out over the mountain’s edge. A fireplace flickers opposite the bed, its warmth trickling out to the sheets and heating your toes. Two bookshelves border either side of your headboard, with a nightstand tucked on Din’s side of the bed. On it, the usually extinguished candles burn bright. 

The firelight flickers against Din’s tan skin, highlighting each bead of sweat and curled tendril of hair where it sticks to his forehead. He’s naked, back propped against the headboard and covered in a maroon sheet from the waist down. You’ve donned a short silk robe, black and bordered with laces where it plunges between your breasts. You lay between his legs above the sheets, head on his chest. One of his large hands caresses your scalp and trails to the ends of your hair. The other hand is occupied by a half-full glass of old Corellian whiskey. 

You trace a line of yellow bruises on his hip where they extend below the sheet on his lap. 

“What happened to you?”

His chest rumbles. “I fought an Imperial Moff. And Imperial battle droids.”

Your eyes widen, and you sit up. Din’s hand leaves your hair to grasp at your waist, pulling you to face him.

“Stars, Din.” You reach out to touch a patch of black and blue skin over his collarbone. “No wonder you’re so beat up. I’ll get you some more bacta before we go to sleep.”

He lifts your fingers from his collarbone to his mouth, kissing each fingertip. “You’re too good to me, cyar’ika.”

“You deserve it.” Is your instant reply. 

If there was anything you knew about Din, it was that he never quite comprehended the good he brought to the world. 

The Mandalorian brings the whiskey to his lips and takes a swig. You opt to push an errant curl behind his ear. 

“I’m not a good man,” Your name falls off his tongue like honey. “Spent my whole life as kyramud.” 

You tilt your head at the Mando’a. He’d called you some pet names for years- mesh’la, cyar’ika. But this… kyramud was new. Without his helmet, hearing anything out of his mouth was like a drug. But Mando’a warmed you to the core, building off Din’s comfort and fondness when he spoke the ancient tongue. You yearned to know more. 

“Teach me Mando’a.” You kiss him gently, tasting the whiskey where it lingers on his lips. “So I can tell you why you deserve every bit of kindness.”

Din adjusts your legs so you’re sitting square between his, rear end on the bed and legs straddling his waist. He props you up with the ridiculous amount of pillows lying around. 

“I’ll teach you anything you want.” Din strokes your knee. “Where do I start?”

You chew on your bottom lip. “What am I to you?”

“Ner cyare.” He pauses, debating. The whiskey makes another appearance, and you’re distracted by his Adam's apple bobbing deliciously in the column of his throat. “Naysol uj par ni. Each day I see you is aay’han.”

“What does that mean?”

Din tilts your chin up. “My beloved. Too sweet for me.”

You blush. “What about the end? Ay-hen?”

“Aay’han. Mourning and joy. At the same time.” He finishes the whiskey. “I mourn when I leave you here.”

Much to your annoyance, tears prick your eyes at the reminder that when you closed them, he would be gone before you woke. “Don’t remind me. Please.”

Din leans forward to capture your lips with his. The sensation only serves to make the stinging behind your eyes worse, and a single tear drips down your cheek. He’s quick to kiss it away, large hand curling into your hair. You climb all the way into his lap, suddenly desperate for closeness. His skin is hot and damp, and you’ve never felt anything better. 

“Ni ceta. I never meant to hurt you.”

You sniffle against his neck. “Just promise me you’ll say goodbye from now on.”

He wets two fingers with his tongue and extinguishes the candles before cradling you in strong arms. Two words are murmured into your hair, quiet but sound.  

“I promise.”

You grip him tighter than ever, warmth sadly fading as the dread of morning envelopes you. 

*

The reflection of daylight off snow-covered ground wakes you. 

It bounces in your windows, bathing the room in cool white light. You blink slowly, a heaviness settled on all of your limbs. It’s a familiar soreness that aches from your shoulders to between your legs, dredging up memories of the night before. Din’s bare face, and all the sweet words in Mando’a that he tried to teach you before you remembered he can never stay as long as you’d like. You sigh, letting one of your arms dangle off the edge of the bed. The thought of turning over and seeing the candles, thinking about him blowing them out on each visit was too fresh. It’s easier to lay and stew in your sadness, watching fluffy flakes of snow fall. The clock on your wall reads ‘1457’, another unintentional reminder of your late-night escapades.

You hate to admit that the feeling makes you tear up again. So you lay in bed, curled beneath a thick comforter while the fireplace crackles its last few breaths towards your feet. It’s easier to stare at the snow than it is to close your eyes and think about Din. 

“Damn it.” You breathe. 

“What are you damning?”

You swear that you stop breathing for a moment. Despite the fact that he had already spoken, you ask aloud, “Din?”

The sounds of bare feet padding across the floor nears, and the Mandalorian appears in your vision. Barefoot and clad only in a pair of loose gray lounge pants that tighten at his ankles. His abdomen is without cover, displaying an array of healing bruises and deep scars. You sit up, letting your feet hang off the bed. 

“You’re still here?” You look at the clock again. “At 1500?”

Din smiles, kneeling in front of you. He presses a mug of steaming Caf into your hands and a kiss to your forehead. 

“If it’s alright with you… I might be for a while.”

It’s your turn to smile as he smoothes away your bedhead. 

“No arguments.” You sip at the warm mug. “I’ll keep taking my Caf in bed, though.”

___________________________________________________

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