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buldakcorn · 1 month ago

Note

Do you have anything for Choerry while I patiently await Taboo? 🥺

Morning Glory

LOONA/ARTMS Choerry x Male Reader

Genre : Girlfriend, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink

6466 words

As the soft light of dawn spilled into the room, you tiptoed out of the enveloping warmth of the shower, gently dabbing your skin with a plush towel. You couldn't help but steal a glance at Choerry, her peaceful features framed by a halo of disheveled hair, as she slept on soundly in your bed. Her gentle breathing and the faint scent of her perfume lingered in the air, a reminder of the love that had grown between you both over the past few months.

You felt a swell of affection as you leaned in to press a tender kiss to her forehead. Her eyelashes fluttered briefly against your lips, but she didn't wake. With a quiet smile, you retreated to the sanctuary of your home office, fully dressed up, ready to face the day that stretched out before you.

Settling into your ergonomic chair, you took a moment to appreciate the orderly chaos of your home office, where piles of paperwork and screens of data danced in harmony. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted in from the kitchen, a comforting scent that signaled the start of a new day.

You glanced at the digital clock on the wall, noticing that your online meeting was just minutes away. The anticipation grew as you clicked open your laptop, the screen flickering to life to reveal a series of notifications and emails awaiting your attention. You logged into the virtual conference platform, checking your appearance in the small thumbnail before you allowed yourself to be seen by your colleagues and investors.

With a deep breath, you clicked the 'join meeting' button, ready to navigate the intricate dance of numbers, strategy, and ambition that lay ahead. The video feeds popped up, displaying familiar faces along with a few new ones, and the room filled with the buzz of greetings and early morning banter. You straightened your tie, took a sip of your coffee, and plunged into the day's challenges.

The meeting unfolded with surprising ease as you navigated through the agenda, your voice confident and clear despite the occasional interruption from the hum of the early morning outside. You presented your latest financial reports with a flair that seemed to captivate even the most stoic of investors. Their nods and approving murmurs filled the virtual space, a symphony of affirmation that resonated deep within your chest. As the discussion grew more intense, your eyes flickered over to the time, noticing that it had flown by without a trace of sluggishness.

Suddenly, your professional focus was shattered by an unexpected sensation. You felt a strange force against your crotch, and your eyes shot down to find Choerry kneeling beneath your desk, her fingers deftly tracing the outline of your growing arousal through your trousers.

She looked up at you with a mischievous smile, her eyes sparkling with a mix of love and playfulness. Blowing you a kiss, she continued her ministrations, her touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. The meeting participants, oblivious to the intimate scene playing out beneath the conference table, carried on with their discussions.

Your heart raced as you struggled to maintain your composure, trying to keep your voice steady and your mind on the figures and graphs displayed on your screen. The tension grew, not only from the business matters at hand but also from the unspoken erotic dance happening right beneath your professional veneer.

The moment the conversation shifted to a colleague's presentation, you seized the opportunity to mute your microphone.

"Choerry, w-what are you doing?" you whispered, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and arousal. She giggled softly, her hand still moving rhythmically against your growing hardness.

"Just giving daddy some little motivation," she murmured, her voice a seductive purr with the pet name that sent a shiver down your spine. Despite the tension in the room, her playfulness was infectious, and you couldn't help but smile back at her. You reached down to gently tug at her ear, the silent communication between you a secret shared only by the two of you in this professional setting.

The thrill of potentially being caught only served to amplify the desire pulsing through your veins, and you felt your resolve to remain unflappable slipping away. Choerry, ever the tease, took this as a challenge, her touch growing bolder, her eyes locked onto yours with a fiery determination that dared you to ignore the passion smoldering between you.

As the conversation flowed back to you, your mind racing with the dual tasks of dissecting financial jargon and resisting the exquisite pleasure, you took a deep, calming breath and unmuted your microphone.

"As for the Q3 projections," you began, your voice a tad shakier than usual. Choerry, undeterred by the professional facade you were trying to maintain, took this as her cue.

She leaned closer, her warm breath ghosting over your skin as she took out your cock and placed it in her soft, wet mouth, her tongue flicking tantalizingly against the sensitive tip. You bit back a groan, focusing on the numbers and graphs on the screen as your body screamed for more.

"We're looking at a... a significant increase in revenue," you managed to say, your eyes darting between your presentation and the erotic show unfolding just out of camera range. The taste of your precum mixed with the bitter tang of coffee on her lips, and she moaned around you, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. You clenched your fists, trying to keep from bucking your hips up into her mouth.

Choerry's pace increased, her cheeks hollowing as she took you deeper into her mouth, the wet sounds of her suctioning echoing in the quiet room. The sudden urgency of her actions sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, and you couldn't hold back a moan that slipped out, only to be hastily disguised as a cough.

You felt your face flush with heat, hoping your colleagues had attributed the unexpected sound to a mere throat tickle rather than the illicit act happening right under their virtual gazes.

In the midst of your impromptu performance, you caught the knowing glint in her eye, the way her hand slipped into her own panties, her fingers moving in time with her mouth. The realization that she was getting herself off while you tried to keep your cool was almost too much to bear, and you felt yourself approaching the precipice of climax. The tension between keeping your business persona intact and succumbing to the rapture of her touch grew tauter with each passing moment.

As your voice grew hoarse with restrained passion, the sudden sensation of Choerry's throat contracting around your cock made you stumble over your words. One of the investors raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, her gaze piercing through the screen.

"Are you feeling alright?" she inquired with a hint of concern, noticing the tremor in your hand as it clutched the mouse. You managed a strained nod, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and desire.

"Yes, I'm... I'm just... a bit of a... dry throat," you croaked, trying to cover your discomfort with a hasty sip of coffee that nearly scalded your tongue. Choerry's eyes danced with mirth at your plight, her own hand now a blur in her lap, matching the rhythm of her mouth on you.

Her eyes never leaving yours, Choerry's mischievous smile grew wider as she shifted her attention to your balls, taking one into her mouth and rolling it around with her tongue while her hand kept a firm, teasing grip on your shaft.

The sight of her, kneeling before you, so attentive to your needs, was almost too erotic to handle. You felt the tension in your body coil tighter, your hips instinctively pushing forward despite the professional decorum you were desperately trying to uphold. Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she watched your reactions, clearly enjoying the power she had over you in this moment.

As your colleagues droned on about market trends and profit margins, you fought to keep your voice steady, your mind racing with the sensations of her warm, wet mouth and the gentle tug of her hand. The sound of her soft, eager slurps filled the silence in your mind, a stark contrast to the cold, calculated words you were forced to speak.

With each stroke of her tongue, you felt your control slipping further, the pressure building to a crescendo that you were dangerously close to losing hold of.

The room outside your screen was a blur of graphs and faces, their voices a distant murmur as Choerry's mouth and hand worked in perfect harmony. You clenched your fists so hard that your knuckles turned white, trying to hold back the inevitable. But the way she looked up at you, her eyes shining with love and lust, made it impossible to deny the primal need that surged through you.

With one final, masterful tug, Choerry brought you to the brink, her eyes locked onto yours in a silent challenge. You could feel the heat of her breath against your thigh as she sucked harder, her cheeks hollowed with effort. The dam broke, and you couldn't contain the deep, guttural groan that tore from your throat.

You came, your release spilling into her waiting mouth, her eyes never leaving yours, her smile never faltering.

You managed to muffle the sound with your hand, hoping that the cacophony of voices in the virtual meeting would cover it up. As your orgasm subsided, you saw the triumph in her gaze, the satisfaction of a challenge well met.

With a final kiss to the tip of your cock, she withdrew her mouth and sat back on her heels, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She winked at you, the picture of innocence, before slipping away from beneath the desk and leaving you secretly to face the aftermath of your secret rendesvouz.

As the final words of the meeting faded from the speakers, the screen on your computer went dark, leaving you alone in the suddenly quiet room with the echoes of your passionate encounter. You let out a deep, shaky sigh and leaned back in your chair, the leather cool against your dampened skin. Your heart pounded in your chest as the reality of what had just transpired began to settle over you.

The thrill had left you both physically and mentally drained, the rush of adrenaline and pleasure now giving way to a warm, contented lassitude. You took a moment to compose yourself, smoothing down your rumpled clothes and straightening your tie. The smell of sex lingered faintly in the air, a tantalizing reminder of Choerry's impromptu visit.

With a final, wistful glance at the now-empty space beneath the desk, you stood and stretched, feeling the delicious ache in your muscles. The sun had fully risen outside, casting a warm glow through the office windows, and the scent of breakfast wafted in from the kitchen.

You made your way to the kitchen, the scent of pancakes and sizzling bacon guiding you to the welcoming embrace of a well-deserved breakfast. As you sat at the table, the plate of steaming food already set before you, Choerry emerged behind you from the kitchen, her hair tied up in a messy bun, and an apron draped over her nightgown. She wrapped her arms around your chest, her cheek resting against your back as she leaned into your shoulder.

"Why are you starting your day with an empty stomach?!" she scolded playfully, her breath warm against your neck.

"You know you can't perform at your best without a proper breakfast." Her voice held a teasing lilt, the mischief of her earlier actions still dancing in her tone.

You couldn't help but chuckle, the warmth of her touch seeping into your bones as you took in the sight of your perfectly prepared meal, and your perfect girl.

"You're right, as always," you conceded, turning to kiss her cheek.

"I guess I had other... priorities this morning," you added with a smirk, your eyes sparkling with the memory of the meeting.

Choerry giggled, her hands slipping around to squeeze your abs gently.

"Well, now that you're all fed and energized," she whispered, her voice dropping to a seductive murmur, "I expect nothing but the best from my man today."

Her words, a siren's call, sent a thrill through your body, igniting a fire that hadn't yet had time to die down from your earlier encounter. You felt your cock begin to harden once more at the thought of her sweet, willing submission. You turned in your chair, taking her by the waist and lifting her onto your lap, her nightgown riding up to expose her bare thighs.

"Choerry," you murmured, your voice thick with desire, "you know I can't refuse you."

With a grin that was both adorable and predatory, she straddled you, her wetness pressing against your now-throbbing erection. "Then don't," she purred, rocking her hips slightly. "Punish this naughty slut, daddy."

You stood, her legs wrapped around your waist, and carried her towards the bedroom, the warmth of her body against yours setting your skin alight. The weight of her was heavenly, and you felt your resolve to keep the day professional dissolve away like sugar in hot tea.

Her loving smile never wavered as you carried her back to the bedroom, the playful lightness of the moment a stark contrast to the intense passion that had just transpired.

You couldn't resist showering her face with gentle kisses, your love for her spilling over into every touch. Choerry's giggles filled the air as she squirmed in your arms, her cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

"It tickles, daddy s-stop!" she murmured, trying to swat you away with a feigned look of annoyance. But the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her, revealing the thrill she found in your affectionate assault. You chuckled, feeling the warmth of her body against yours as she melted into your embrace.

With a playful growl, you set Choerry down on the bed, her body bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. She watched you with wide, hungry eyes, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as you began to undo the buttons of your shirt. The anticipation in the room was palpable, a silent symphony of desire that seemed to crescendo with each piece of clothing that fell to the floor.

Her gaze roved over your bare chest, her pupils dilating as your abs rippled in the soft morning light. She bit her finger, a silent plea for you to hasten your movements, her own need evident in the way her chest heaved with each shallow breath. The air was charged with sexual tension, the echoes of your earlier encounter still resonating in the space between you.

Your cock, now fully hard again, pointed towards her like a compass needle drawn to true north, a silent declaration of your intention to claim her once more. As the last of your shirt fell away, you stepped out of your trousers, revealing your nakedness to her eager eyes.

The sight of you, raw and aroused, sent a thrill through her, making her squirm with impatience. She reached for you, her hand tracing the length of your cock, her touch featherlight but filled with a promise of what was to come.

"I need you, daddy," she whispered, her voice a siren's call that you were powerless to resist.

With a growl of need, you pushed Choerry back onto the bed, the softness of the mattress giving way beneath her. Your mouth claimed hers in a deep, hungry kiss, your tongue delving into the warm cavern of her mouth as you explored the sweetness of her taste.

Your hand wrapped around her right wrist, pinning it to the bed, while your other hand began to roam her body, your fingertips tracing the soft curves of her waist, the swell of her breasts, and the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

She moaned into your mouth, her body arching towards you, eager for the touch she knew would come. Your thumb grazed the sensitive peak of her nipple through the thin fabric of her nightgown, making her gasp and her eyes flutter shut, her body responding to your every command.

"No underwear? Such a naughty girl."

Her eyes snapped open at your words, and she giggled, her cheeks flushing even deeper.

"I wanted to surprise you, daddy." she admitted shyly, her voice barely a whisper. Your cock twitched at her admission, and you couldn't help but lean down to kiss her again, your teeth grazing her lower lip before you pulled back.

"And surprise me you did, baby." you murmured against her mouth, your hand sliding beneath the hem of her nightgown to find her wet and ready. Choerry's breath hitched as you parted her folds with your thumb, her hips rising to meet your touch. The soft, slick sound of her arousal was music to your ears, and you felt your own desire swell in response.

"So fucking wet. Do you want it so badly?"

Choerry's eyes fluttered shut as she nodded, her breath coming in quick gasps.

"Yes, make me cum so hard daddy," she whimpered, her hips bucking against your hand. You took mercy on her, sliding two fingers inside her, her warmth enveloping you as she moaned with pleasure. Her walls clenched around your digits, her body begging for more as you pumped into her steadily.

Her free hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, her breath hot against your neck as she whispered some encouragement full of love and need. Her freed right hand found its way to your cock, her grip firm as she stroked you in time with your movements inside her. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of passion that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house.

"F-faster daddy, I'm so close."

"Bad girls don't get to cum easily."

Choerry's eyes snapped open at your teasing words, a playful pout gracing her lips.

"But daddy!" she protested, her voice a delicious blend of need and wantonness, "I've been such a good girl for you."

Her hips rolled against your hand, her internal muscles tightening around your fingers, as if to prove her point. You smirked, enjoying the way she writhed beneath you, her body a canvas of desire painted by your touch.

Leaning in, you whispered against her ear, "But the best rewards come to those who can wait," before withdrawing your hand and moving to kiss a trail down her neck. Her protests turned to whimpers of anticipation, her body quivering with the unfulfilled need you had so expertly woken within her.

You felt a thrill at the power you held over her, the way she submitted so beautifully to your will.

Your kisses grew more insistent, moving lower still, until you reached her pert nipples through her gown, teasing them with your teeth as your hand found its way to the apex of her thighs once more. This time, instead of sliding inside her, you gently pinched her clit, watching with dark delight as she arched off the bed with a silent scream, her eyes squeezed shut in a mix of pleasure and frustration.

Her hand tightened around your cock, her strokes becoming erratic as she attempted to coax you back to where she wanted you most. But you had other plans, your mouth moving lower, the fabric of her nightgown damp with her arousal. As you reached the juncture of her thighs, you pushed the gown aside, exposing her glistening folds to the cool morning air. With a grin, you dipped your head and took a long, lingering lick, savoring the taste of her sweetness. Choerry's eyes flew open, her pupils dilated with desire as she watched you, her breath hitching in her chest.

"Daddy..." she breathed, the single word a plea and a prayer, her legs spreading wider in an unspoken invitation.

"Oh God... Daddy eat me so well."

Taking her words to heart, you lowered your head to feast on her pussy, your tongue swirling around her clit before delving into her wetness. Choerry's legs trembled as you devoured her, her whimpers and gasps filling the room. You felt her body tighten around your fingers as you curled them inside her, hitting that magical spot that made her toes curl. Her hand on the back of your head held you in place, guiding your movements, her hips bucking against your face in a silent demand for more. The taste of her, the scent of her, the sounds of her pleasure – it was all too much, and you knew she was close.

"Fuckkk, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cu-"

Choerry's body spasmed as she reached her climax, her sweet nectar spurting forth like a fountain, soaking your face and chest. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out an ear-piercing scream that seemed to shake the very walls of the room. Her legs tightened around your neck, her heels digging into your back as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her trembling and gasping for air. You didn't relent, continuing to lick and suck at her clit, drawing out every last drop of ecstasy until she collapsed against the mattress, her body slick with sweat and satisfaction.

"We're far from being done."

"Strip."

Choerry complied eagerly, her trembling hands pulling the nightgown over her head and tossing it aside, revealing her flushed body and hardened nipples. You took in the sight of her, a goddess laid bare before you, and felt your cock throb with anticipation. You climbed onto the bed, knees straddling her thighs, and took her face in your hands, kissing her deeply, sharing the taste of her pleasure. Her legs wrapped around your waist, urging you closer, and you felt her warmth against your shaft, beckoning you to claim her once more.

Without wasting a moment, you claimed her nipples with your eager mouth, sucking and teasing each peak until they stood at attention, pebbled with desire. Choerry's breath hitched, and she arched her back, offering herself to you fully as your tongue swirled and flicked against the sensitive flesh, eliciting soft moans from her parted lips.

Her hands roamed over your back, her nails digging into your flesh as you continued to worship her breasts, your passion for her a living, breathing entity that consumed the space between you. Each pull of your mouth on her nipples sent a shiver down her spine, her body reacting to your touch with an eagerness that mirrored your own.

"The milk won't c-come out until you p-put a baby in me daddy."

"Is that so? Is that what my sweetheart wants? To be filled with my cum?

Her words were like gasoline on a fire, stoking the inferno of your desire even higher. You pulled back, your eyes locked onto hers, a silent question in your gaze. Choerry's expression was a mix of longing and need, her body quivering with the aftershocks of her recent orgasm.

"Yes! Fill me up daddy! Make me carry your child!"

With a nod, she confirmed her wish, and you couldn't resist the urge to claim her fully. You lined up the head of your cock with her slick entrance, pausing for just a moment to appreciate the view. Her pussy glistened with desire, the perfect sheath for your throbbing member.

With a growl, you plunged into her, filling her up in one smooth, powerful stroke. She gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head again, as you began to fuck her with a rhythm that was both punishing and loving.

"Oh my gosh.... So b-big..... Don't s-stop!"

Each thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure through her body, and she met you with an equal fervor, her hips rising to meet you, her legs tightening around your waist. The room was filled with the slap of skin against skin and the sweet symphony of your mingled moans.

You leaned in to capture her mouth once more, your kiss deep and possessive, as you claimed her body in the most primal of ways. Your hands roamed over her curves, gripping her hips to pull her closer, to drive into her deeper still. Choerry's nails dug into your back, leaving a trail of fire as she held on tight, her breath coming in ragged pants.

"Daddy, I love you," she whispered, her voice a hoarse whisper lost in the crescendo of pleasure.

"I love you too, baby," you murmured, your own voice thick with emotion, "now cum for me again, show me how much you want it."

Her eyes cross each other in ecstasy as you pounded into her, the force of your thrusts shaking the bed with each powerful stroke. Her nails dug deeper into your back, leaving little half-moons of pain that only served to heighten your pleasure. You could feel her walls tightening around you, the muscles in her stomach tensing as she approached the edge of another orgasm. Her breaths grew more ragged, and her cries grew louder, each one a testament to the unbridled passion you shared.

Choerry's legs tightened around your waist, her heels pressing into your lower back as she met your every thrust with equal fervor. Her hips rolled in a desperate bid to take you even deeper, her need for release becoming more urgent with each passing second.

"Yes, baby, just like that," you grunted, feeling the beginnings of your own climax coil in your lower belly. You leaned down to nip at her neck, eliciting a scream that was music to your ears. "You're going to take all of me," you growled, your voice thick with desire.

With a groan of pure lust, you released her legs, pushing them up and back until they were bent at her shoulders, her pussy exposed and open to you like a flower in bloom. Choerry's grip tightened around her own legs, holding them in place as you took full advantage of her newfound vulnerability. The angle changed, allowing you to drive even deeper into her, and she moaned in pleasure as you did so. Your eyes never left hers, the connection between you burning hotter than the sun outside the window, as you claimed her completely. Each stroke was a declaration of your love, each thrust a silent promise to give her everything she desired.

Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her chest heaving as she fought to maintain her grip on her legs. You knew she was close, could feel her tightening around you with every movement.

"Cum for me, baby," you whispered, your voice a dark caress, "let me feel your pussy milk me dry."

Choerry's eyes went wide, the heady mix of pleasure and pain in your words pushing her closer to the edge. She nodded, her teeth sunk into her lower lip as she braced herself for the deluge.

"I'm cumming now, daddy please," she begged, her voice a breathy whimper, "I'm cumming!"

And with that, you felt her walls clench around you, her body shuddering with the force of her climax. Her juices spilled over your cock, coating your abdomen as she rode the wave of pleasure. You watched, enraptured, as she lost herself to the sensation, her eyes glazed over and her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy.

As her orgasm subsided, you felt your own building, the pressure at the base of your spine growing unbearable. You knew you couldn't last much longer, and with one final, powerful thrust, you released your own flood of cum deep within her, filling her up and marking her as yours in the most primal of ways. The room seemed to spin around you as pleasure coursed through your veins, leaving you gasping for breath and trembling with the aftershocks of your release.

Choerry's legs slowly relaxed, and she let out a contented sigh, a smile playing at the corners of her lips as she looked up at you. You collapsed beside her, your chests heaving in unison, your bodies slick with sweat and love.

As the final pulses of your orgasm subsided, you couldn't help but revel in the feeling of her body, still quivering with the aftershocks of her own. Your hand moved to her belly, pressing gently to feel the warmth of your cum inside her. With a knowing smile, you pushed against her stomach, watching as the excess fluid began to flow out of her, painting her inner thighs with sticky white streaks. The sight was incredibly erotic, a tangible proof of your union, and it sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you. Choerry giggled, a sweet sound that seemed to resonate through your very soul, her eyes fluttering shut as she enjoyed the sensation.

"Look at you," you murmured, your voice filled with awe and love, "so beautiful, so fertile."

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink at your words, a soft smile playing on her lips as she opened her eyes to meet your gaze. "All for you, daddy," she whispered, her voice a sultry purr that sent your pulse racing once more.

With a groan, you pulled her closer, your cock still semi-hard against her thigh. Your hand trailed up to her breasts, playing with the sensitive flesh as you kissed her again, unable to get enough of her taste, her touch, her scent. The room was filled with the sweet musk of your love making, a scent that seemed to envelop you both in a warm, comforting embrace.

Choerry's body was still quaking from the intensity of her climax when you felt your own hand acting of its own accord. Without warning, your fingers found their way back to her soaked pussy, gently sliding through the mess of cum and her juices. The sensation of being so completely filled and then touched again was almost too much for her to bear. Her eyes shot open in surprise, meeting yours with a mix of shock and overwhelming arousal.

"Daddy, no more, I'm still sensitive!" she breathed, though the plea was weak and her hips betrayed her, moving against your hand despite the protest. You couldn't resist the urge to test her limits, to see just how much pleasure she could handle. Your touch grew bolder, your fingers moving in small, teasing circles around her clit, sending sparks of pleasure through her already oversensitive body.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out as the overstimulation built once more. You watched her intently, the way her body reacted to every touch, every stroke, and you felt your cock twitch back to life, eager to plunge into her once again.

"Be a good girl and cum for me again."

"I love to see your face when you cum. Give it to me baby."

Choerry's eyes widened with a mix of shock and excitement at your command, her body already responding despite her earlier protest. You watched as she bit her lip harder, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh as she fought against the waves of pleasure that your relentless fingers brought forth. Her breaths grew shallower, her chest heaving with the effort to remain silent. But it was clear that she was enjoying the torment, her eyes shining with a mischievous light that told you she was ready to push her boundaries even further.

With a smirk, you leaned down to capture her nipple once more, your teeth grazing the sensitive flesh as you continued to tease her clit with featherlight strokes. Her body arched off the bed, and she let out a muffled moan that was music to your ears. You knew she was close, the tension in her body building with every passing second.

"Daddyyyy!"

Her squirt was more intense than before, her juices arcing high into the air like a celebratory fountain. The force of her release soaked your hand, the bed, and even splattered against the wall. Choerry's eyes squeezed shut tightly as her body contorted with the overwhelming pleasure. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, and her breath was a series of sharp gasps as she rode the crest of her climax.

When the spasms finally subsided, she opened her mouth to speak, but only a strangled sound came out, her voice lost to the power of her orgasm. She panted heavily, her chest heaving, as she struggled to find the words to express what she felt.

"Is my baby okay? Did I went too hard?"

Choerry managed a weak nod, her cheeks still flushed and her chest rising and falling with the aftermath of her intense release.

"I'm okay," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "you're just so... amazing." She reached out to cup your cheek, her eyes shining with adoration. The room was still filled with the sweet scent of your love, and the sticky evidence of your shared passion was a testament to the depth of your connection.

You kissed her forehead tenderly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the exertion. As your hand pulled away from her still-throbbing pussy, you brought your fingers to your mouth, tasting her on your skin, the salty sweetness of her arousal mingling with the faint metallic tang of your cum.

"Fuck me more, daddy. Treat me like I'm nothing but a slut. Make me your cumdump."

Her sexual drive suprised you. But who are you to ignore an angel's request.

And so you did. The day unfolded into a tapestry of carnality, each room in your home becoming a stage for your unbridled passion. From the soft caress of the living room rug to the cool embrace of the kitchen countertop, you claimed her in every way imaginable. Her moans of pleasure and the slap of your flesh against hers became the soundtrack of the day, echoing through the house like a siren's call that drew you back to each other time and time again.

You took her from behind as both of you work your way to the bathroom to take a shower, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, and as you whispered dirty words into her ear. You had her ride you reverse cowgirl on the couch while watching your favorite shows, her ass bouncing with every eager plunge she took onto your cock. You bent her over the dining table midway through eating lunch, her legs shaking with the effort to hold herself up, as you fucked her so hard the chandelier above you swung with the force of your love. You fucked her against the windows of your office, her bare ass thumping on the glass surface, free for anyone to see. Each position brought new sensations, each touch a declaration of your insatiable hunger for one another.

As the shadows grew long and the day's warmth began to fade into the embrace of nightfall, the scent of your love lingered in the air like a potent aphrodisiac. In the dimly lit bedroom, you found yourself behind Choerry, her glistening skin bared to you like an open book. She was on her hands and knees, her back arched beautifully as she presented her soaked pussy to you. Each slap of your hand against her ass sent a jolt of pleasure through her body, her muffled cries of "more" urging you on. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, punctuated by the wet smack of your cock disappearing into her depths. Her eyes were screwed shut in ecstasy, her teeth digging into the fabric of the bed sheet as she tried to contain the moans that threatened to spill out. You watched the pink slapmarks bloom across her ass, each one a brand of your ownership, a map of your passion.

"What are you Choerry?"

Choerry's eyes snapped open at your question, a fiery determination blazing within them. "I'm your slut, daddy, a nasty whore that needs to be punished and filled," she moaned, pushing back against you, her movements frantic and desperate for more.

You grabbed her hips tightly, your grip leaving marks on her skin, and slammed into her even harder, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the room. "That's right, baby," you growled, feeling the head of your cock hit her cervix with each forceful thrust. "You're mine to fuck whenever I want."

Her pussy tightened around you, her walls fluttering with the beginnings of another orgasm. You felt your own climax building, your balls drawing up tight, your cock swelling.

"Take it all!"

With one final, powerful drive, you buried yourself to the hilt and released, filling her up once more with your hot seed.

"YESSSS push your cum deep in me, daddy. I'm cumming on that big fucking cock!"

Choerry's body convulsed around you, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. Her screams were muffled by the pillow she'd bitten into, but the intensity of her pleasure was written all over her face.

As your climax waned, you leaned over her, kissing the nape of her neck, feeling her body quiver beneath you. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.

"Good girl," you murmured, your voice thick with satisfaction, "you take it so well."

Choerry collapsed onto the bed, her chest heaving with the effort to catch her breath. "I love you, daddy," she whispered, turning to look at you with a soft, adoring smile.

You pulled out of her with a wet pop and moved to lay beside her, pulling her into your embrace. "And I love you, baby girl," you said, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

The two of you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your love, the room still heavy with the scent of sex and sweat. Your arms wrapped around her tightly, holding her close as if afraid she might slip away if you loosened your grip. Choerry snuggled into you, her head resting on your chest, listening to the steady thump of your heart.

As the night descended, you knew that the next day would bring more challenges, more responsibilities, more of the mundane. But in this moment, all that mattered was the warmth of her body against yours and the promise of more passionate encounters to come.

And as you drifted off to sleep, the last thing you heard was her sweet voice whispering, "Thank you, daddy," a soft reminder of the power and love that flowed between you, unspoken but ever present.

#loona smut #artms smut #choerry smut #kpop smut

459 notes · View notes

gilbertscurls · 9 months ago

Text

All Mine ➵ Matt Sturniolo

warnings: SMUT, softdom!matt, teasing, unprotected p in v

Matt sat in his chair, his mind already starting to wander after hours of going over endless spreadsheets, graphs, and data reports. He tried his best to pay attention, but the numbers and statistics were blurring together, and his focus kept shifting to the conversation going on between his brothers and Laura.

He zoned back in as Chris said something about their video views dropping. He glanced at his other brothers, noticing their tired and frustrated expressions. He couldn't blame them, this meeting was feeling like it'd never end.

He shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. He couldn't help but yawn, his lack of sleep from the night before catching up to him. He glanced over at the clock on the wall, silently willing the time to move faster.

Matt felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and reached in, discreetly pulling it out to check the notification. He saw that it was a text, and his heart immediately skipped a beat.

You: hey, what are you doing?

He couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement when he saw your text. He quickly typed out a reply, trying to keep a straight face while still being in the meeting.

Matt: hey sweetheart, we're in a meeting right now. bored out of my mind. wbu?

In response, he received a picture. It was you dressed in dark blue lacy lingerie. You were smirking, and the added text said, “Thoughts and opinions?”

Matt's breath hitched in his throat as he looked at the picture, a wave of desire immediately washing over him. He swallowed hard, trying to discreetly position his phone so that his brothers and Laura, who were sitting nearby, wouldn't notice. His mind quickly went straight to all the dirty thoughts and opinions he had about you at that moment. But he knew he needed to keep his cool and focus on the meeting.

He typed out a quick reply.

Matt: i think we need to finish this meeting ASAP.

He sent the message, already impatient and eager to finish up. His body was reacting in all sorts of ways now, his mind filled with thoughts of how gorgeous you looked… And what you could do once this meeting was over.

“And let's move on to the pressing issue of…” Laura babbled on, but he didn't really listen anymore.

He tried his best to pay attention to what Laura was saying, but his mind was preoccupied with the picture he had just received. He couldn't stop thinking about you and how badly he wanted you right now. He shifted in his seat again, trying to discreetly adjust himself and hoping no one would notice.

He continued to nod and give the occasional “yeah” or “uh-huh” whenever one of his brothers spoke, but his mind was completely elsewhere. He kept sneaking glances at his phone, desperate to see if you would send another text or naughty photo.

He could hear his brothers and Laura talking, but his thoughts were consumed with you. He was starting to get impatient now, wanting to leave this meeting and go be with you. He glanced at the clock again, willing the time to move faster. He knew he wasn't going to be able to focus until this was over.

And eventually, another text came. This time, it was a close-up of your tits, still clad in that lacy little bra that didn't leave much to the imagination.

He nearly choked on his own spit as he looked at the new picture, quickly glancing around to make sure no one had noticed his reaction. He felt a wave of desire wash over him, his heart racing at the sight of your body.

His phone was positioned at an angle where no one could see it, but he was still being careful as he typed out a reply.

Matt: holy hell sweetheart…

He quickly sent it before looking back up at his brothers and Laura, trying to act normal.

He could feel the heat building up inside him, and he knew he was going to struggle to keep himself together if you sent any more pictures. He shifted in his chair again, trying to relieve some of the tension in his body. He glanced at the clock again, but the minutes seemed to be passing by slower and slower.

You: i miss you :(

Matt felt a pang of longing in his chest as he read your text. He missed you too, so much. He wanted nothing more than to be with you right now, to hold you close and make love to you.

Matt: i miss you too… this meeting feels like it's never going to end. i just want to be with you.

He glanced up again, checking to see if his brothers or the manager were looking his way. They were still busy going over the spreadsheets, and he took the opportunity to discreetly sneak another glance at his phone.

The sight of the picture was still fresh in his mind, and it was making him restless. He couldn't take this any longer. He needed this meeting to end, or else he was going to go crazy. He shifted in his chair again, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it was no use. He was too worked up now, too consumed with thoughts of you.

You: i need you so bad

As he read your message, his heart raced and his body responded instantly. Your words were like gasoline on a fire. His thoughts went wild, imagining all the things he wanted to do to you, how badly he needed to be with you right now. He had to force himself to look up from his phone, his eyes darting around to check if anyone was looking his way.

Matt: i need you too sweetheart. so, so badly.

His body was alive with desire, his mind filled with images of you. He was on the edge, so close to just getting up and walking out of the meeting. But he knew he couldn't do that. He had to stay, even though every fiber of his being was screaming to be with you.

“What do you think, Matt?” Laura asked suddenly.

Matt's heart skipped a beat as he heard his name being called. He quickly looked up, trying to compose himself and act normal. He had no idea what Laura had asked him, his mind hazy with thoughts of you.

"Um… Sorry, could you repeat that?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

He could feel his brothers' eyes on him, and he knew they could tell something was on his mind. He tried to focus on Laura, but it was getting harder and harder. He hoped she wouldn't ask him anything else, or he might just lose it right here.

He tried to listen as Laura repeated her previous statement, but he was only half paying attention. His mind was still fixated on you and the pictures you had sent him. He couldn't shake the desire and need coursing through his veins. He felt like he was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode any second now.

He couldn't help but keep glancing at his phone, hoping for another message from you. The anticipation was killing him. He longed for your words, your pictures, anything that might alleviate this desperate need he was feeling.

You: when r u coming back?

He quickly read your message, his heart skipping a beat again. He was desperate to be with you, and the thought of having to sit through the rest of this meeting was torture.

He typed out a reply, his fingers trembling slightly.

Matt: asap. this meeting is taking FOREVER. i need to be with you now.

He felt like he was on the edge of a physical breakdown, his body was aching with the need for release and the need to be with you. He couldn't keep his mind focused on the meeting for even a second, his thoughts consumed by the images and the memory of your body. He just wanted this all to be over so he could go to you.

You: i might need to start without you ;)

As he read your message, his eyes went wide and he felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. The thought of you touching yourself without him was both maddening and arousing, and it only intensified his need to be with you.

He quickly typed out a response, his hands shaking slightly.

Matt: baby please don't… i can't take this much longer

He shifted in his seat again, trying to find some sort of relief but only finding more discomfort. His body was aching for release, for your touch. He glanced up again, checking to see if anyone was looking his way. No one seemed to have noticed anything, but he knew he was close to snapping.

His mind was a constant battle between the need to be professional and stay in this meeting, and the need to go to you right now. He tried to focus on the words being spoken around him, but all he could think about was you. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this worked up.

The meeting dragged on and on, and it seemed to be endless. He couldn't tell if time was actually slowing down, or if it was just his perception, fueled by the need for you. He kept sneaking glances at his phone, hoping for another message from you, something to help him through this. His body was on fire, every inch of him aching for your touch.

“I know you guys are tired, but there is one more, long matter…” Laura kept talking.

Matt felt a pang of frustration as he heard Laura's words. Another long matter? He couldn't take it anymore. He was so close to the breaking point, and now he had to sit through another long discussion.

He tried to keep his composure, but it was getting harder and harder. His thoughts were consumed by you, by the burning need to be with you. He couldn't stand another minute of this.

He was starting to feel a hint of irritation mixed with the desire. He tried to pay attention to what Laura was saying, but his mind kept drifting back to Victoria. He wondered what you were doing, if you had stayed true to your word and started without him. The thought alone was enough to make his body twitch in response.

He shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it was useless. He was so pent up now that he was struggling to think clearly. The only word that kept repeating in his mind was “now”. He needed you, now and immediately. The thought of waiting any longer was almost physically painful.

“Hey, you good, man?” Chris asked quietly, leaning a little closer to him.

Matt jerked his head up, suddenly aware that he had been zoned out for a moment. He looked at Chris and quickly plastered on a smile.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm good. Just tired, you know.”

He tried to sound casual, but he knew Chris could read him well. He wouldn't be fooled by a simple fake smile.

He shifted in his chair, hoping to subtly adjust his crotch which was now visibly tenting against his pants. He avoided Chris's gaze, knowing that if he looked into his eyes, his brother would know something was going on.

He tried to focus on the meeting again, but his mind was in a loop between the need for you and the need to pretend everything was normal. He knew he was treading on thin ice, and all it would take was one more message or picture from you to completely send him over the edge.

And as if on cue, you sent him a short video. It showcased your body, still clad in lingerie, and your hand was trailing down your skin.

As the video played, Matt's body reacted with intense need. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from moaning. He was sitting at the table, surrounded by people, and he had to act like nothing was wrong. He felt like he was going to explode any second now.

He kept his face neutral, trying to look disinterested. But inside, he was going crazy. He wanted to get up and go to you right that minute, not caring about the meeting or anything else. He watched the video again, drinking you in, his mind replaying your words, your touch, your scent. He was so lost in the moment that when you sent him another text, he almost dropped his phone.

His heart raced as he saw the notification. He quickly picked up his phone, careful not to show the screen to anyone else. He opened the message and read your words.

You: i can’t take it anymore baby, i need you.

Matt's body responded instantly to your message. His need for you grew even stronger, and he had to fight the urge to just get up and go to you.

He quickly typed out a message, his fingers shaking slightly.

Matt: i need you too. so badly. you're driving me crazy.

He sent the message and waited for your response, his body thrumming with need and desire.

Vee: fucking laura

He read your message and couldn't help but let out a small huff of laughter. He knew how frustrated you were because he was equally frustrated. But the fact that you were thinking about Laura right now… It was both funny and incredibly arousing.

He quickly responded, his thumbs flying over the keypad.

Matt: i know baby. i feel the same. she is taking forever. i want to leave and be with you.

He tried to keep his focus on the meeting, but it was getting more and more difficult with every message from you. He was on the verge of losing his mind, his body on fire with need for you. He wanted to go to you, to touch you, to taste you, to make you scream his name.

The meeting was entering its second hour, and Matt wasn't sure how much longer he could take this. He could feel his composure slipping, his need for you growing more intense with each passing minute.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the meeting adjourned and everyone was getting up to leave. Matt quickly packed up his things, eager to get out of there as soon as possible. He glanced at his phone, checking for any messages from you, and thankfully, there was none. You seemed to have enough self-control to not send him anything more while the others were still in the room.

Matt took a deep breath and tried to compose himself as his brothers approached. He was still feeling frustrated and pent-up, but he couldn't show it. He forced a casual smile.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

He led the way out of the room and towards the parking lot, his steps brisk and purposeful. He had to get out of here and to you as soon as possible. The need for you was like a physical ache inside of him, demanding immediate attention. Every step further away from you made the ache worse.

He tried to make small talk with his brothers, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't focus on anything but the thought of you, of the way you would feel in his arms, the way your body would press against his, the way you would gasp and moan his name.

They reached the car and Matt quickly got into the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. He kept his eyes on the road, but his mind was still racing with thoughts of you. It was taking all his self-control not to speed, knowing that the faster he got to you, the better.

His brothers chatted amongst each other, but Matt was only half listening. All he could think about was the images he had received earlier, the sound of your voice, the need he felt for you. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, praying that he would get to you before he completely lost his mind.

The drive felt like it was going on for an eternity. Matt's knuckles were white from the tight hold he had on the steering wheel, and his jaw was clenched shut tightly. He tried to focus on the road, but his mind kept wandering back to you, to the things he would do to you when he finally got there.

He was aware that his brothers were talking, but he couldn't make out the words. The only thing he was aware of was the aching need in his body, the need to be with you, to feel you, to make you his. He had never felt this level of desperation before, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

He finally pulled the car onto their street, and relief washed over him, mixed with the intense need. He parked in the driveway and turned off the engine, then turned to his brothers, who were gathering their things to get out of the car.

“I'll see you guys later,” he said quickly, trying to sound casual.

His brothers nodded, not noticing the edge in his voice, the urgency in his movements. Matt quickly got out of the car and made a beeline for his front door.

He fumbled with the keys for a moment, his hands shaking with excitement and anticipation. Finally, he got the door open and rushed inside, shutting it behind him. The house was quiet, and he knew you were waiting for him somewhere, probably in their bedroom.

As he walked towards the hallway to the bedroom, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He was so close to getting what he needed, what he had been craving for hours. When he reached the door, he didn’t even bother to knock. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

You were already laying on the bed, a teasing smirk on your face, and you were wearing that same damn lingerie.

As soon as you came into view, Matt’s breath caught in his chest. Seeing you there, waiting for him, wearing that lace and silk, was enough to drive him over the edge. He closed the door behind him and locked it, making sure they wouldn’t be interrupted this time.

“Hi there,” you greeted him teasingly.

He couldn't find words to respond to you, he was too overwhelmed by your appearance and his own need. He simply continued towards you, his gaze fixated on your body. When he got to the bed, he reached out and touched you, his hands gently tracing over the lace of the lingerie.

His touch was gentle, but the fire inside him was anything but. He ran his hands up your sides, feeling your soft skin under his fingers. He was so close to losing control, but he forced himself to maintain some semblance of restraint.

“You like the new set?”

His eyes raked over your body, taking in every inch of you, every curve, every dip. He could feel his control slipping, but he managed a strangled reply.

“You're killing me.”

He moved to lie down beside you, pulling you close to him. He couldn't resist touching you, his hands roaming over your skin, taking in the feel of you under his touch. You were warm and soft, and you fit against his body perfectly.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, tugging at it to bring him closer. He allowed you to pull him down, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. As soon as your mouths met, all his restraint went out the window. He kissed you deeply, hungrily, his body pressing against yours. One of his hands found the bare skin of your thigh, and his fingers traced small circles on your flesh.

His other hand tangled in your hair, holding you closer to him, his tongue exploring your mouth. He was drowning in your kiss, in the way your body felt against his, in the way your scent drove him wild. His free hand started to wander over your body, tracing the lines of your curves, his fingers teasing the edge of the lace fabric.

He broke the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. He could feel you shiver under his touch, and it only fueled his need. His mouth traveled lower, down your collarbone to the valley between your breasts.

“God, I need you so bad,” you whispered breathlessly.

He moved his mouth from your chest to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. He placed a small kiss on your earlobe before whispering back.

“You have no idea how much I need you right now.”

His hand on your thigh slid upwards, under the hem of the lingerie. His fingertips grazed the edge of your underwear, and he could feel your body respond eagerly to his touch.

He continued to kiss and nibble at your neck and earlobe as his hand moved further up your thigh, his touch growing more possessive. He was losing himself in the feel of you, in the way you responded to him.

“I need more,” he whispered against your skin, his voice rough with desire.

He gently pushed you onto your back, positioning himself between your legs. His hands ran up your arms and pinned your wrists to the bed, his body pressing against yours. He lowered his mouth to your ear again and spoke in a low, rough voice.

“I need to feel you. All of you. Now.”

“I'm all yours,” you whispered.

Those words sent a wave of heat through his body, and he let out a low growl of satisfaction. His hands released your wrists and began to explore your body again, this time with more urgency. He slid them under the fabric of the lingerie, slowly peeling it off your body.

As more of your skin was exposed, his lips started to follow. He kissed and nipped at your chest, your stomach, your thighs. He was like a man possessed, driven by a primal need to claim you completely. His hands continued to wander, exploring every inch of your body as he made his way back up to your face.

When he got there, he looked into your eyes with raw hunger. He had almost completely lost control now, his body on fire with desire.

When he felt your hands on his skin, his body reacted instantly. He lifted his arms so you could pull the shirt off from over his head and toss it aside.

As soon as his chest was bare, your hands were back on him, running over his skin and igniting a fire in his veins. He kissed you again, his mouth hot and demanding against yours, his body pressing your back into the bed.

His hands roamed your body, exploring every contour, every curve. He was drunk with the feel of you, the way you responded to him, the way your breath hitched and your moan echoed in his ears. His lips moved back down your neck to your shoulder, his teeth lightly biting at your skin. He needed you closer, needed to feel all of you, to possess you completely.

His hands slid under your body, cupping your backside and pulling you up against him. He could feel your bare skin against his, the heat of your body driving him wild. His mouth found yours again, his tongue demanding as it invaded you. He was consumed by you, lost in the feel and taste of you. He wanted more, so much more.

His hands moved up your back, tracing your spine. He could feel the heat in your body, the way you arched against him, craving his touch just as desperately as he craved you. He started to lower his body in between your legs, positioning himself against you.

“I can't wait any longer,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I need to be inside you, now.”

You had to surpass a moan. “Please…”

Your plea only heightened his need, and he couldn't hold back any longer. He reached down, unzipping his jeans and quickly pulling them off. He was fully exposed now, his body taut with anticipation. He positioned himself between your legs again, his eyes locking onto yours.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice ragged with desire. “And you're all mine.”

He paused for a moment, looking at you intently, taking in the sight of you lying there beneath him, your body waiting for him, completely open and vulnerable. It was a sight that always took his breath away, always filled him with an overwhelming sense of possessiveness.

He reached down, his hands moving to your hips, holding you firmly. He started to press into you slowly. He watched as your eyes fluttered shut, your head falling back against the bed. A gasp escaped from your lips, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

He started moving inside you, his body and yours finding a rhythmic dance that was both familiar and new at the same time. His hands were still on your hips, his grip strong and sure, as he began to move faster, deeper. His mouth found yours again, claiming you as he took you, owned you.

The sound of your moan was like fuel to the fire burning within him. He moved his lips to your neck and sucked on your skin, hard, leaving a mark that would be there the next day as a reminder of this moment.

“You're mine,” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “All mine. I'm never letting you go.”

He punctuated his words with a particularly deep thrust and the moan that escaped from his lips.

He needed to hear you, wanted to know that you were as lost in this as he was. He moved his lips back to your ear, his voice low and ragged.

“Tell me you're mine. Tell me you're mine, and nobody else's.”

“Yours,” you choked out in between the moans. “Only yours.”

Your words sent a wave of possessiveness through him, and he claimed your mouth in a rough and hungry kiss. He had you. Completely, utterly. You were his, and no one else's.

His body moved against your, finding a furious pace. He needed you, needed to claim you completely, to make you his in every possible way. His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of you, as if trying to memorize your very existence.

Every moan, every gasp, every breath that escaped your lips only served to drive him on. He needed to hear you, to know that he was giving you everything you wanted, everything you needed. And you were giving him the same, the sounds of your pleasure filling his ears and feeding the fire within him.

He moved his lips down your body, his teeth nipping at your skin. He wanted to leave his marks all over you, to brand you as his. He knew he was being rough, but he couldn't help it. The primal need to claim you was too strong.

“Fuck, Matt…” you moaned loudly, your hands finding themselves on his back.

The sound of his name on your lips, the feeling of your hands on his skin… It only fueled the fire inside him. He wanted to hear that moan again, to feel your body shaking under him, lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

“You're so beautiful when you moan like that,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I love hearing you say my name like that.”

He continued to move inside you, his body moving against yours in a fevered rhythm. He could feel himself getting close, but he needed you to be there with him. He needed you to come undone completely, to completely let go.

“Matt, close, I… Please… Don't… Don't stop…”

He was getting closer, and your pleading words were like an accelerant to the flame. He moved his lips to your ear again, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

“I won't stop,” he assured you, his voice ragged with desire. “I'm gonna make you come, baby. And I'm gonna come with you. But I need you to let go, I need you to give me everything. Can you do that for me?”

He could feel your body tightening around him, and he knew you were close. He picked up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate.

“Let go, baby,” he whispered in your ear, his voice a low growl. “I want to hear you, I want to feel you. Give it to me, give me everything.”

And with one last deep thrust, you came, his name on your lips, and your nails digging into the bare skin of his back.

The sound of his name and the feel of your nails on his skin, the way your body convulsing around him… It was all too much.

He didn't even have time to warn you before he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering violently as he found his own release. He buried his face in your neck, gasping for air and trying to catch his breath.

“Oh, god,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “God, I love you.”

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice still unsteady.

He buried his face against your neck, inhaling deeply, the scent of your skin filling his senses. He was still breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. After a moment, he spoke again.

“You were so beautiful,” he said softly. “I've never seen you more beautiful than you were just now.”

He lifted his head to look at you, taking in your flushed face, your mussed hair, your breath still coming in short gasps. You were the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen, and the fact that you were all his only made you even more perfect.

He gently pushed some loose strands of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin.

“You're mine, you know that?” he whispered. “You're completely mine. And I'm never letting you go.”

1K notes · View notes

cressidagrey · 2 months ago

Text

Supernova

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri realises that his daughter is more similiar to his wife than he thought. Set in Summer 2023.

Notes: Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri verse. Happy Birthday, Oscar!

Enjoy Oscar having a nervous breakdown about his tiny daughter being a genius.

Warnings: mention of toxic parents, I think that's it?

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Actually, maybe Oscar shouldn’t have been surprised.

Maybe he should have seen it coming.

That’s what you got when you married a woman whose mind burned brighter than a supernova.

Still…nothing had prepared Oscar for the moment he realized—

Bee was different.

Not in the soft, every-parent-thinks-their-kid-is-special way. No.

His daughter’s brain didn’t just work faster.

It raced.

Oscar had always known Bee was clever.

She’d hit her milestones early, sure. First words before she was one, stacking blocks in color groups before she could really walk straight, always watching, always listening. But he’d chalked it up to her being sharp—inquisitive. Like her mum.

Then came that afternoon.

It was raining outside, the kind of soft, steady drizzle that made everything smell like damp leaves and sleepy chickens. Felicity was running errands and he had a free weekend after a triple header.

Oscar was home with Bee, who was two and a half and curled up on the carpet with her coloring book and a collection of crayons that were organized by shade and tone like she’d invented her very own personal Pantone system.

He was sitting on the couch with his laptop open, watching race footage while taking notes, when she looked up and said:

“Papa, your car had too much rear degradation in the third stint.”

Oscar blinked.

Looked up slowly.

“…What?”

Bee didn’t even glance away from her coloring. “The tires. On the back. They slid more.”

Oscar’s brain stalled like a bad engine.

“Where did you hear that?”

“You said it.” She pointed to the screen. “You said ‘rear deg was bad.’ And the yellow line goes down. That’s bad. It means grip is going bye-bye.”

Oscar stared at the tire degradation graph on the screen. The yellow line. The drop-off at lap 29.

His daughter—a toddler—had connected his own debrief to a data graph she’d only just glanced at.

And used the phrase “grip is going bye-bye” with the complete confidence of someone who understood the concept.

He slowly closed the laptop.

Stood.

Walked to the edge of the rug and crouched down.

“Bee.”

She looked up at him with impossibly serious eyes.

“Do you… know what tire degradation is?”

She tilted her head, crayon still in hand. “It’s when the rubber gets tired and stops holding on.”

Oscar made a sound he’d never made before. Something between a laugh and a stunned breath.

Bee frowned. “Did I say it wrong?”

“No,” Oscar said, reaching out and brushing a curl behind her ear. “No, Bumblebee. You said it exactly right.”

Oscar sat back on his heels, feeling a little dizzy.

Okay.

Don't panic.

Bee just sat there, perfectly unbothered, organizing her crayons with the precision of an entire McLaren pit crew mid-tire change.

Oscar rubbed his hand over his face.

She was two and a half.

She wasn’t supposed to understand rear tire degradation.

She wasn’t supposed to diagnose race data off a glance.

Sure, Felicity had joked before — lightly, fondly — about Bee being "too smart for her own good," about how she needed bigger puzzles, bigger books, more challenges.

But Oscar had always thought that was just parental pride, the way any parent thought their kid was clever.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Now he was staring at his daughter, who had just casually, effortlessly, decoded live telemetry like it was a bedtime story.

Bee glanced up at him again, frowning slightly. “Papa?”

He blinked. “Yeah, Bumblebee?”

She held out a crayon toward him. “Do you want to help? You can do the red ones. They’re the soft tires.”

Oscar choked back a sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a sob.

Red. Soft tires.

She even knew the color codes.

He reached out, took the crayon from her tiny hand, and sat down cross-legged next to her.

Bee went back to coloring, her little tongue poking out in concentration.

Oscar looked at her — his daughter, his brilliant, impossible little girl — and felt his chest squeeze so tightly he thought he might actually break.

He needed to call Felicity.

He needed to tell someone.

Someone who would understand that this wasn’t just cute.

This was different.

Because Bee wasn’t just clever.

She wasn’t just bright.

She was gifted.

And if they weren’t careful — if they didn’t get this right — the world could very easily mistake her brilliance for something else.

Something inconvenient.

Something wrong.

Oscar sat there, coloring in slow, stunned silence, while his two-and-a-half-year-old daughter explained the “different compounds” of her crayons like she was hosting a pre-race strategy meeting.

He swallowed hard.

He would do anything — everything — to protect that mind. To give her the space to be exactly who she was, at exactly her speed, no matter what the world expected.

Bee leaned against his side, warm and trusting, and pointed at a particularly dark green crayon. “This one is the soft tire,” she said seriously. “It goes zoom fast but wears out quickly. Like in Spa.”

Oscar blinked at her.

Bee beamed at her own brilliance, then went back to coloring.

Oscar stared at the crayon in his hand, then up at the rain drizzling against the window outside.

Maybe he should have suspected it earlier.

Maybe he should have known.

After all, that’s what you got for marrying a woman whose mind burned brighter than anything he’d ever seen.

The rain had deepened to a soft drumbeat by the time Felicity pulled into the drive.

Oscar heard the car door shut, the gentle thud of boots on the porch. Bee didn’t even look up, too busy giving Button the frog a full race briefing using her crayon-coded "compound chart."

Oscar scrambled to his feet, heart still pounding with the kind of stunned, proud panic he hadn’t been able to shake for the past half hour.

He met Felicity at the door, practically vibrating.

She was peeling off her rain jacket, cheeks pink from the cold. She took one look at him—wide-eyed, disheveled, practically buzzing—and froze mid-motion.

“…What happened?” she asked, calm but sharp.

Oscar opened his mouth. No sound came out.

He tried again.

"Bee—" he croaked. "She—"

Felicity raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. She slipped off her boots, hung up the jacket, and stepped past him into the kitchen like she didn’t have a husband clearly moments away from a full existential crisis.

Oscar followed, helpless. “She—she diagnosed rear tire degradation, Felicity."

Felicity didn't even blink.

"Yeah," she said casually, reaching for a tea tin. "She does that sometimes, Oz."

Oscar gawked at her. “You’re not surprised.”

“Nope.”

“You knew.”

“Suspected. She identified geometric symmetry in a butterfly wing when she was nineteen months old, so I started to wonder,” Fliss said lightly, setting the kettle on."The way she watches. The way she categorizes everything. The way she remembers the smallest details."

Oscar ran a hand through his hair. "You suspected months ago and didn’t think to—?"

Felicity turned, one hip leaned casually against the counter, tea mug in hand. "I figured you’d figure it out when you were ready."

Oscar opened his mouth. Closed it.

He stared at her, at her easy calm, like she hadn’t just dropped a grenade in the middle of his neatly organized world.

Oscar sank onto the edge of the kitchen counter like someone who had just realized they were living with a small wizard. “She asked me why understeer felt like a bad dream.”

“She’s very intuitive.”

“She told me Button the frog prefers oversteer because it’s ‘more exciting.’”

Felicity didn’t even blink. “I mean… same.”

Oscar dragged his hand down his face. “Felicity, I know every parent thinks their kid is special but I think we might be raising a genius.”

Felicity finally looked up, eyes soft. “Oscar. We are.”

He blinked. “You knew.”

“I had a spreadsheet,” she said casually.

“A—” He paused. “Of course you did.”

“I’ve been tracking her vocabulary progression, math intuition, pattern recognition, memory retention, and motor skill crossover since she could talk.”

Oscar stared at her like she had grown a second head.

“She also has synesthesia, by the way,” Felicity added drily. “Numbers have colors. She says three is green and ten smells like soap.”

Oscar made a helpless little noise. “I thought she was just creative.”

“She is creative,” Felicity said. “And scarily perceptive. And analytical. And basically a tiny version of what I could’ve been if anyone had let me be weird and brilliant at the same time.”

"How are you so calm?" he asked hoarsely.

Felicity smiled again, stepping closer to him, brushing a thumb along his cheekbone.

"Because I married a man who's going to show our daughter what it means to be loved exactly as she is."

She paused."And because I am her mother. I know exactly what it feels like to have a mind that doesn't fit the molds."

Oscar opened his eyes then — really looked at her — and saw it all there:

The knowing.

The fierce, quiet certainty.

The promise that she would burn the whole world down before she let Bee be boxed in.

His heart ached with love.

He kissed her forehead, lingering there for a moment.

Behind them, Bee’s soft voice floated from the living room.

"Papa, I made the medium compounds yellow! Like the chart!"

Oscar laughed under his breath, chest tight and too full.

"See?" Felicity whispered against him. "She's going to be just fine."

Oscar held her tighter.

No, he thought fiercely.

She's going to be magnificent.

And he and Felicity were going to be right there, every step of the way — holding her up, cheering her on, fighting for her when she needed it.

Because Bee wasn’t just brilliant.

She was theirs.

He tugged Felicity into a quick kiss — grateful, overwhelmed, so completely in awe — and then they both headed into the living room.

To where their tiny, brilliant daughter was waiting.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri smau #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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theflyingsealion · 2 years ago

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I'm sorry this is driving me insane -

There is no label on the y-axis what on earth are those percentages supposed to mean???

If you want to know why people have lost faith in capitalism, this might help

#like cool graphic but- that doesn't- that doesn't mean anything???#160% of WHAT? What it was in 1985? That can't be right because 1985 is 0%#Is it how much it's increased since 1985?#That... doesn't seem right because it says it's inflation adjusted and this would suggest the median household income #has substantially increased since 1985 which-#wait #Is it median??? Is it average??? What fucking data are we using here???#If it is increase since 1985 that would...feel right for rent #but also has interesting connotations for the fact household income is rising as well-#The point is. Including a vague source is great but label your graphs holy shit #it speaks

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pukefactory · 2 months ago

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Okay I’ve gotten way to much back into ENA and I had an idea of Ena from dream bbq with reader were the reader speaks a whole new language and Ena takes time to learn and understand this new language just to feel closer to reader. I’m not sure if it should go romantically or more platonically lol

I more just wanted to put my thoughts out there! Thank u if u do write for this! Have a good week <3

•☽────✧˖°˖ SOMEONE WROTE THIS SONG BEFORE ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Salesperson Ena X Reader Who Speaks An Unknown Language

★ Character(s): Salesperson Ena (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ Salesperson Ena was immediately fascinated when she realized you spoke an entirely unfamiliar language. “A rare commodity! A unique dialect with limited market exposure! Tell me—what’s the valuation on fluency?” She started taking notes right away, promising to invest time into learning.

☆ “WHY CAN’T I UNDERSTAND A SINGLE THING YOU’RE SAYING?! WHAT ARE YOU, SOME KIND OF ORACLE?! SOME COSMIC JESTER?! A MESSENGER OF GØD WHO WON’T JUST SPIT IT OUT?!” While her Salesperson side was taking a structured, strategic approach, Meanie Ena was screaming into a dictionary, shaking it like the words inside might rearrange themselves into something she could grasp.

☆ Ena’s learning methods were… questionable. At one point, she tried to absorb your language through osmosis, pressing her forehead against yours while mumbling, “Downloading linguistic data… recalibrating neurons… okay, that’s not working.” Then she switched to frantically gesturing at objects and waiting for you to name them.

☆ One day, Ena decided to fully commit. She put on a little presentation, flipping through a self-made slideshow. “Ladies and gentlemen of the universe, I present to you—MY NEW LANGUAGE ACQUISITION BUSINESS PLAN. Featuring: memorization! Pattern recognition! And my personal favorite—aggressive trial and error!” She even had graphs, though they didn’t make any sense.

☆ As she improved, Ena started offering (unwanted) translations to everyone in her bizarre world. “WORRY NOT, CITIZENS! I HAVE DECODED THE ENIGMA THAT IS MY PAL’S SPEECH!” She would then proceed to provide the most inaccurate translations imaginable. “They just said… ‘All business transactions should be made in good faith!’ See? Deep philosophy!” (You had actually just asked for a snack.)

☆ There was a moment—rare, fleeting—when Meanie Ena stopped shouting and just sat in quiet contemplation. “You… really spent time teaching me,” she murmured, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “That’s… nice, I guess. Ugh, shut up, I didn’t say anything sappy!” (She totally did.)

☆ Ena started mixing your language with her usual speech patterns, much to the horror of those around her. “DEAR CUSTOMER, LET ME OFFER YOU A ONCE-IN-A-LIFETIME DEAL ON—” she suddenly switched mid-sentence into a phrase in your language that made zero sense contextually. Even she looked confused. “…Wait. Did I just say ‘fermented pancake’ instead of ‘investment opportunity’? Oh dear.”

☆ One day, she threw you a curveball. “Now it’s YOUR turn!” Ena decided you had to learn her speech patterns in return. Suddenly, you were being quizzed on sales jargon and cryptic Meanie Ena-isms. “QUICK! WHAT’S THE CORRECT RESPONSE TO ‘SPONSOR MY BUSINESS’?” (…There was no correct response. Only suffering.)

☆ Once Ena became confident, she started using your language for private jokes and secret commentary. If someone was annoying her, she’d lean over and mutter something in your dialect that made you stifle a laugh. “Ugh, what did she just say?!” a bystander demanded. Ena grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just business talk!”

☆ Finally, after who-knows-how-long, Ena approached you with something clutched tightly in her hands. “TA-DA! My final product!” It was a handwritten letter, completely in your language. The grammar was awful, the spelling was questionable, but the message was clear: “Thank you for being my friend. I hope we can talk like this forever.”

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gyuswhore · 9 months ago

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Statistically Speaking...

part of the svt TA collab

[full fic here]

kim mingyu x reader

est. word count: 10-15k [fat chance]

est. release date: 10th September

warnings: TA! mingyu, fluff, smut [MINORS DNI], angst, statistics, more to be added in final post

synopsis: In all your years of academic endurance, you’ve never failed. A 100% success rate, despite you cutting it close at times. However, the line graph that is your life starts tanking somewhere around the time you began taking this hellsent Statistics in Psychological Research class. With a professor that wouldn’t know his ass from his head, and an overworked, overenthusiastic, and overcaptivating TA, it couldn't possibly get any worse than this. However, statistically speaking,…it could.

‼️ JOIN THE TAGLIST by sending an ask or replying under this post. AGE INDICATORS ON YOUR BLOG ARE NECESSARY. ‼️

[a/n]: first look into the TA collab fic!!! @camandemstudios has been along time in the making and I cant wait for you all to read all of the fics in full. accept this piece offering from me and please let me know what you think of it so far!

masterlist

“Right. How can I help you?”

Pulling out your printed assignment, you bring the sheets of stapled paper to the centre of the table, writing facing him.

One look at the sparse format of the cover page, Mingyu blows a full mouth of air at the sight of recognition. Without you having to say a thing, he flicks to the very last page, finding the rubric printed on a separate page.

“It’s a 37,” you inform him like he couldn’t see the bold 37/100 in the bottom Total cell.

“Do you think you deserved a better grade?” he asks. It would have sounded direct, an accusation even. But he asks with an intonation of genuinity, like he genuinely wanted to know.

It stumps you regardless.

“Well…I know I can do better, at least,” you decide to answer.

“You’re here, which means you’re at least willing to try. That’s a start,” he murmurs. His eyes are laser focused on the sheet beneath him, holding it open as his eyes move faster across the page than you can keep up with. Somehow talking to you while taking in the words on the paper.

“I remember marking this,” he says, looking up to address you. “Your concepts are nearly there, but your structure and wording were the problem.”

“You marked them?”

He raises his brow, “I hope that wasn’t an accusation. I need to stick to the rubric.”

“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”

“He’s…supposed to.” There’s a forced reservedness in his voice. “I mark them and he puts in his comments if he has any. But I’m not sure you’d fare any better than this if it was him behind that pen either.”

Every question that floated in memorisation, from the form and structure, to the nitty gritties of the data presentation, all evaporate as you realise you’re at a loss for words.

Even more embarrassingly, you feel tears prick the back of your eyes as the next words leave you in a low voice, “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“That’s alright,” he says as reassurance, though it sounds awfully rehearsed. Like he says it everyday. “We’ll work through it.”

He lets out a big sigh, adjusting in his chair and running a hand through his hair. The motion has you noticing the dishevelled nature of the mop on his head, un-uniformed and sticking out at certain places, yet still somehow cohesive with his look. His shoulders are straight and taut, fingers working as they fiddle and flick the pen in his hand.

Despite it all, his shirt is ruffled and creased, unbuttoned at the first couple steps. The buttons are misaligned, one side of his collar higher on his neck than the other. It takes an effort to not reach over and fix it for him.

“Lab reports can be quite tricky if you aren’t sure what you’re doing. Did you refer to the tutorial?”

You mean the one that did nothing to help? “Yes.”

“You got those bits right, format and whatnot. But—”

“It was a lump of writing about subheadings and word counts,” you say plainly.

Mingyu lips are in a tight line. “Well, yes, but it helps—”

“I know the results are supposed to go in the results section. I don’t need a PDF to tell me that,” you cut him off. Your voice is reserved, and you hope it comes off as a point across and not a complaint. Although it was a complaint. “I want to know why the entire section was ruled off as incorrect when we were never properly taught how to write it in the first place.”

“Dr. Cho—”

“Is no help.”

“I understand—”

“He can’t even mark his own papers. I’m quite sure that’s not in your job description. It’s supposed to be him here. Not you.”

It’s silent. There was nothing in your voice that suggested you wished to pick a fight, on the contrary, quite calm and matter of fact. Mingyu’s fingernails are going white as his grip on his pen and paper grow stronger.

“And yet, we continue to show up. Because we do what we must.” He raises his head in control, a small smile on his face, eyebrows unnaturally raised. “And, better that I’m here rather than no one at all. I can help you too.”

Help, he did.

Mingyu had made it quite clear his time with you was limited, but by the end of the near 25 minute session, nearly every inch of your printed assignment was covered different colours of notes and corrections, additional papers and post-it notes pasted on the back as you remain careful to not lose them as you slip the stack in your bag.

It’s only then that you spot the segregated stack of papers in your bag that you remember.

“I almost forgot,” you say, grabbing the pile and placing it in front of him.

“Where did you find this?” he asks sharply.

“You left them at the desk of the lecture hall last week,” you say, before quickly adding, “There was a class right after you left. I took them off the professor’s hands before they got lost. Thought it might be important.”

“I’ve been looking all over for these,” he says as he goes through the pages and files. Random sticky tabs and highlighted regions across the pages. The leather strap watch with the broken clock face remains on top, and he picks it up. He looks up to you with wide, sparkling eyes and a smile that feels genuine. “Thank you.”

You flush for some reason, “O–of course, couldn’t just leave them there.”

It isn’t till you’re pushing yourself out of your chair that he says something. “You can come in at 3:30 tomorrow.”

“Pardon?”

He’s stood up as well. “I have a free thirty minutes before office hours formally start. I can help you out a little more without the crowd.”

Feet planted on the ground, there’s not much you can do but stare. “Um, sure. I can come in a little early.”

He nods casually, “Thanks again for the papers. And the watch.”

You smile, “No problem.”

#seventeenTAcollab #mingyu #mingyu smut #mingyu fluff #mingyu imagine #mingyu fic #mingyu x reader #svt #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen angst #seventeen fic #seventeen fic recs #svt fluff #svt smut #svt angst #seventeen x reader #svt x reader

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unsolicited-opinions · 2 months ago

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3/26/25

Haviv Rettig Gur on deaths in Gaza:

The full list of Gazans killed in the war has been released in Gaza. Possibly. At the very least, as Israeli analysts are now finding, there aren't duplicate ID numbers or other tells one finds in obviously manipulated data sets. But here's another reason to trust the data: It shows just how much Israel's warfighting tried to separate combatant from civilian. It seems unlikely that a faked Gazan data set would show such a result. The graph in the first tweet of this thread shows male to female deaths. If female deaths are assumed to be a civilian baseline (the age distribution is roughly the general Gazan population's age distribution), then the enormous spike of the blue line, right in the area of the graph that represents fighting-age men, is the best likely measure of combatant deaths. According to this analyst, the gap comes to over 16,000 dead, or almost exactly a third of total deaths. That's a Gazan data set, not an Israeli one. And it's the most complete one so far, the only one that claims to give all the names of all the dead, the one most likely to be an honest recording of the actual dead. And according to this data set, the death toll in Gaza is two civilians to each combatant, well in line with the highest standards of modern democratic armies. To be clear - this caveat is obvious, but it's important enough to say it explicitly nonetheless - the debate isn't over whether children died in Gaza or crimes were committed. The answer to both is yes. There were definitely and unquestionably war crimes committed in Gaza, air strikes that should not have been carried out. And there are thousands of dead children in this data set. The debate is over the extent, whether these are at a level consistent with the inevitable costs of even the most legitimate kind of war, which will always be horrible, or whether the best data we have shows wanton Israeli killing and disregard for moral rules and international laws. Israel's haters will tweet pictures of dead children in response. If they did that for every war, I'd take them seriously and sympathetically. But the vast majority of them don't. They don't care about dead children, only about destroying Israel. And so they can't actually tell us anything about whether our army, broadly speaking, has fought morally. But this data set can. All war is evil, all war is hell, all war is a kind of civilizational failure. But war is sometimes nevertheless legitimate and inevitable. International humanitarian law came about not to end war, because ending war is impossible, but to mitigate its evils. If this data set is correct - again, a data set released from Gaza and not at all intended to validate any Israeli argument about its battlefield standards - then the costs imposed on Gaza by Israeli warfighting methods are consistent with what is generally considered in the West to be moral and legitimate. It is a comparable ratio to the 2016 Battle of Mosul in which Iraq, the Kurds and America drove ISIS out of the city. War is bad. I respect people who vehemently oppose this one, who question the Israeli political leadership's decisions, who use the war to debate the larger question of Palestinian independence and statehood. These are all legitimate responses to the suffering of Gazans. As is the argument I personally agree with that this war was the only path available to us to rid ourselves and Gaza of the neverending and endlessly destructive scourge of Hamas. But it nevertheless matters - indeed, it may be the most important thing over the long term - that this war's civilian casualties were not worse than other comparable wars, and that even Gazan data sets show that to be the case.

The thread to which Haviv refers is here

#jumblr #Haviv rettig gur #israel #Gaza #I/P

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sirfrogsworth · 27 days ago

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So Elon has decided to skip the imminent disaster of global climate change and just move on to a calamity 5 billion years in the future.

If you ever need to understand Elon's motivations, it's all this.

Okay and a little bit the woke mind virus.

But mostly this.

He wants to get to Mars more than anything. It's why the only thing he can speak intelligently about is his rockets. He has put in the time and effort to learn about them because this is his singular passion.

A lovely Youtube physicist did a video about SpaceX and she said half of the rockets blow up and Elon just wants more money. And it was disappointing to hear her say that because she is a scientist and both things are inaccurate.

SpaceX would be an amazing company without Elon. His leadership is the only thing really holding it back. They have put lots of cool shit into space. Their Falcon program is the most productive and cheapest rocket program in history. They put more stuff into space than everyone else combined.

They had to blow up part of the graph just so you could see the competition. Half of the SpaceX rockets are *not* blowing up.

Starship is a specific prototype. It has nothing to do with their main rocket business. Starship is Elon wanting to go to Mars. It is basically him trying to send a 3 story building into space. And he keeps blowing it up because that is the fastest way to develop a rocket. He's wasting a lot of money by trying to speedrun a trip to Mars in his lifetime. And these tests are bit more like crash test data than expecting the rocket and Starship to actually function properly. It's a process and they have goals for each launch, and for the most part, they reach those goals. Any success after those goals is gravy to them. But they are pretty certain it is going to end in fireworks at this stage of development.

I don't know if they will get it to work. It would be nice because a functional spaceship that size could do a lot of cool science. But Elon's goals and NASA's goals are going to conflict in a major way at some point in the future. And I'm worried that may damage space exploration.

Starship is very different than their Falcon program. It's a science experiment. Falcons rarely blow up. They get shit to space like the James Webb telescope.

And as far as Elon just wanting more money... sort of.

His personal wealth has not been a huge concern of his for a while. Otherwise he wouldn't have let Tesla fall apart like it has. The wealth he is actually concerned about is not his own. Going to Mars is a trillion-dollar-plus endeavor. Even the richest man in the world cannot raise that much money.

Only a government could fund that.

Elon knows this. He figured it out a while ago. And when he saw an opportunity to get his hands on the government purse strings, he jumped at the chance.

He jumped in the shape of an X like a giant loser.

I'm *positive* Elon thought, "If I could save the government a trillion dollars, they'll give it to me so I can go to Mars."

But it is probably breaking his brain right now after learning he isn't this super genius who can figure out government bureaucracy in a weekend with a bunch of coding dorks.

He got depressed and realized his cool plan to get to Mars was falling apart.

Whoops.

Elon will say anything to get to Mars. He will lie about anything to get to Mars. He will consort with anyone to get to Mars. If you are ever unsure why Elon is doing something, it's to get to Mars. His moral calculus is based on this. In his delusional mind, everything is justifiable to save the human race.

He does have side quests. He wants to repopulate the Earth with his seed. And he uses IVF because you can drastically increase the odds of getting a boy if you pay extra. And he is angry at his trans daughter because he wants boys to continue his mission to spread Musk seed. He spends $50,000 extra to make sure he gets boys and she is messing with the plan.

Oh, and he really really wants people to think he is good at video games. And he wants people to like him. And he wants to kill the woke mind virus because he didn't get the boy he paid for.

But Mars is *almost* all he cares about.

Elon thinks Earth is doomed and he wants immortality from being the man who saved human civilization. He truly believes our existence is dependent on being "multiplanetary." It might be the only thing he believes.

Saving the human race is supposed to be his legacy.

And it is killing us.

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itsbenedict · 6 months ago

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That's Right: It's Another Hot Take About That Dead Healthcare CEO

The websites are abuzz with debate on the utilitarian calculus of whether some guy getting shot was a good thing. What are the odds that the assassination will scare the horrible greedy health insurance companies into changing their ways and fixing the system? Is it worth killing someone over? Will the fear of being blasted by some guy with stylishly-engraved bullets put the fat cats in line? Or will their greed win out over their fear, leaving the nightmarish system unchanged?

Well, what if that was totally irrelevant?

You may have seen a graph that looks like this:

I've seen a few of these going around. These are the rates at which various health insurance companies say "no, you don't get the money" when someone says "hey I need money for this medical thing". UHC, the one whose CEO got shot, is notably really bad in this respect. They've got algorithmic claims denials and all kinds of nasty things that people don't like. All that money they're saving on paying out on claims must be making them rich, right? Let's look at their own financial reports:

Whoa! Big numbers! Six percent looks like a small number, but multiply and they make like thirty billion dollars doing this! That's a lot, right?

Well hang on. They're an insurance company. We can roughly model their profit as the amount people pay them for insurance, minus the amount they have to pay out for claims. Let's look at 2023: simple subtraction, their expenses are $339.2 billion. We simplify other overhead and assume that's all claims. So... that represents those 67% of claims they don't reject. What happens if they approve all the claims?

Multiply: $506.3 billion. They don't have that kind of money. They have $371.6 billion in revenue. So okay- they have to deny some claims. That's pretty normal. But let's pretend they're extremely afraid of assassins now and want to be completely non-greedy: they're okay making zero profit. They make $32.4 billion in profit- how many otherwise-rejected claims can they now afford to approve?

...uh. Well, they can afford to pay out, at most, 73.4% of claims. Still a denial rate of 26.6%, higher than most of their competitors. Not a huge improvement. And in reality, they can't afford to make 0 profit- a company that's making 0 profit is a company investors pull out of immediately, leaving it to collapse, because they can make more money investing in the ones that aren't as afraid of assassins. They've got to at least hover around the same profit margin as their competitors. Which is...

That's average profit margins for the whole US healthcare industry. So, okay, if we match those other companies' profit margins and try to hover around 3-4%... uh. Wait. Hang on. Here's another graph with more recent data on UHC specifically:

Wait, they're still just making that little 3-4% profit margin, even with all these shady automated denials- so how are those other companies doing better on claims? They're obviously not less greedy. They must be making more money somehow, right?

(My guess, sight-unseen, would be that they charge more for their plans, or offer less comprehensive coverage, or use a network of less expensive providers, or other things that make the amount they have to pay out smaller and the amount they're taking in larger. I don't feel like doing a comprehensive consumer review of what every insurance provider's healthcare plans are, but there's always these tradeoffs to make. UHC seems to be offering the tradeoff of "better or cheaper care, on paper" for "but there's a higher risk of getting denied", which is one annoying tradeoff among many.)

Okay But That's Enough Graphs

"Yeah yeah yeah shut up about profit margins and coverage tradeoffs. Is it a good thing that the CEO got shot or not?"

Well, their profit margin at the time he was shot was 3.63%. A company can't survive making 0 or less, so whatever effect fear of assassination has on UHC's greediness, it is going to be no larger than 3.63%.

They may learn the lesson that having their denial rates too high will get them assassinated. Accordingly, they may decrease that metric- by charging higher premiums, kicking expensive doctors out of their network, or reducing their stated coverage. They will not (because they cannot, without ceasing to exist as a company) simply start approving more claims without squeezing their customers elsewhere. They legally cannot do that. No matter how afraid you make the CEOs, you cannot make them afraid to a degree larger than their profit margin.

Well What The Fuck, Then

Like, what, are we supposed to accept that things will literally never get better and that this horrorshow is the best we can hope for? That's some bullshit! If we can't scare the CEOs, who can we scare?

Man I dunno.

Like, for some reason healthcare is stupid expensive! People can't afford to pay for healthcare without insurance- it's like thousands of dollars for basic procedures! Why? Maybe...

Doctors inflate their prices 10x because they know insurance companies will use complicated legal tricks to only pay 10% of the asking price, and this is a constantly escalating price war that serves mainly to fuck over the uninsured

Drug manufacturers and health technology companies fight tooth and nail to maintain monopolies over treatment, so they can charge gazillions to make back the gazillions they had to spend on FDA approval trials

(Trials those same companies lobby to keep necessary because the more money you have to pay for FDA approval, the harder it is for competitors to enter the market since they don't already have the gazillions)

Doctors operate as a cartel and lobby to gatekeep access to medical training so that they can keep doctoring a prestigious and exclusive position, and keep their own salaries high enough to pay their medical school debt and make them rich afterwards- leading to a (profitable) shortage of medical professionals

There is no limit to how expensive things can get but how much people are physically capable of paying, because frequently the alternative to "pay a ridiculous amount for healthcare" is "die", and so healthcare is subject to near-infinitely inelastic demand

Also like a thousand other equally annoying and complicated perverse incentives and stupid situations

This is the human condition: Shit is annoying and complicated and difficult to fix, pretty much 100% of the time forever. A few bullets in some fucko's back isn't really going to make a dent.

(But like, sure, fuck that guy. He probably sucked, as do the hundred other identical suits in line to replace him. Just... don't expect this to help.)

#uhc ceo discourse

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furioussheepluminary · 15 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬

Pairing: merman!hyunjin x marinespecialist!afab!reader, fantasy au

Synopsis: meeting a merman at work wasn't on the schedule. neither was having feelings.

Warnings: gore a teeny bit, fantasy fluff, strange sounds and feelings, language barrier, confused feelings, innocent curiosity

A/n: inspired by @ssickmagnolia8's losing my breath for you. If you have extra eyes for errors no you don't . I tried so hard to get out of my writers block 😭 I barely have inspo but my drafts are crazy full 😭

You weren’t raised on fairy tales. You were raised on currents. Your father was a sailor, your mother a coastal ecologist, and the ocean was their god. Family vacations were tidepool cataloging. Bedtime stories were legends about deep-sea creatures that mimicked men but weren’t. But you didn’t believe in monsters—not really. You believed in data. Pressure changes. Temperature shifts. Migration patterns. At seventeen, you watched your mother drown. Not in a storm. Not in a dramatic, cinematic scene. No. Your mother simply walked into the tide, arms wide, eyes blank, whispering something only the water could hear. Her body was never found.

You never went near the shore for five years.

But obsession is the child of grief.

You became a specialist in acoustic telemetry, tracking marine life through sound and signal. You hunted the sea with sonar instead of boats. Your reports were clinical. Clean. Controlled

Still, you pushed forward. You had a name to clear, a memory to honor, and a gut feeling you couldn’t shake. Something was wrong with the ocean.

The SS Kismet was a research vessel outfitted for deep-sea tracking, manned by six specialists and one quietly fraying you. The day was standard. The sun overhead bleached the deck white, waves slapped rhythmically against the hull, and the equipment hummed with numbers and graphs. you stood near the stern, notebook in hand, listening to the low-frequency pings returning from their latest scan.

“Same patterns as last week,” murmured Aaron, the lead sonar tech. “Migration normal. No anomalies.”

You didn’t respond. Her eyes flicked to the live display:

Depth: 145 meters. Movement: Moderate. Bio-signature: 3.4

Everything made sense. That was the problem.

The sea was too quiet. After five hours, the crew packed up. Equipment retracted, samples secured, reports logged. The boat turned back toward shore under a rose-gold sky, and conversation rose around you—light, casual. But you stayed at the edge of the boat, watching the way the water seemed to stretch too long. Like it was holding its breath. They docked by sunset. Seagulls screamed over the marina. Lights from the harbor winked like tired eyes. The others disembarked, laughing, boots hitting wet wood. You trailed behind them… until she saw it.

Far off. Barely visible in the waning light. Something was moving. Not in the water, from the shore. It was tall. Human-shaped, but too fluid. Staggering like its bones didn’t fit right. Its skin—if it had skin—glinted wet like oil on pavement. It moved into the surf, slow and steady. Not fighting the pull. Letting the sea take it back.

You squinted. No one else noticed. You opened your mouth to speak, but your throat clenched. Because the thing paused.

And turned.

And though it had no eyes you could see, you felt it look at you. Right at you.

Your voice cracked in the thick evening air as you called out, “Guys? Hey—HEY!”

But your words dissolved into the wind, carried off with the laughter of the team now too far along the dock. Their boots were on asphalt. Yours were still on splintered planks. Alone.

You cursed under your breath. The figure had disappeared into the surf, but her gut twisted with the knowledge, it was still there. Half-lost in the tide, half-drenched in something darker. Not seaweed. Not shadow. Blood.

Your hand slipped into your gear pouch, fingers wrapping tightly around the hilt of a folding blade. Not large. Not elegant. Just sharp enough to buy you three seconds if things went wrong. And something told you they were about to. The dock faded behind you as you stepped off onto the wet sand, shoes sinking slightly. The air was cooler down here, closer to the sea’s breath. You moved carefully, knees bent, eyes squinting into the low mist as the tide rolled in slow and deliberate like it was trying to lull you.

Then you saw it. He was collapsed at the edge where sea met sand, half-submerged, slumped like a dying god. Not a man. Not entirely.

His body was long, too long. From the waist up, he looked almost human—shoulders broad, chest marked with faint violet ridges that pulsed softly, like gills. His skin was damp, luminous, stretched over lean muscle and speckled with gashes, torn open by jagged coral or perhaps claws of his own kind. But from the waist down…a tail. Not cartoonish or shiny. This was monstrous beauty. Deep, obsidian-blue scales etched with silver patterns like ancient runes. Fins like torn silk fluttered weakly at the edge, trembling with effort. Blood—dark, almost black—pooled beneath him in the sand and hissed quietly when it touched saltwater.

His hair was soaked and tangled, clinging to his sharp cheekbones, framing a face too sculpted to be human. Ethereal. High-boned. Lips split at the corner. Eyes—

Oh God, his eyes. They snapped open at your approach.

Sharp. Slit pupils. The color of storm-lit seawater green and grey and gold all at once.

And then he hissed. Low. Defensive. His lips peeled back just enough to show teeth—sharp, serrated like a predator’s.

You froze, raising your free hand. “Hey—hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

But he didn’t understand. Or didn’t care. His arms pushed against the wet sand, trying to lift himself. A growl reverberated deep in his chest as he whipped his tail, sending a spray of water across your face. The movement tore open a gash along his hip, he let out a strained cry, somewhere between rage and agony, before collapsing back with a choked gasp.

You stepped forward instinctively, breath shallow.

He was shaking. Drenched. Wild. And yet… vulnerable. This was no sea monster.

This was someone. And he was dying. Your heart hammered as you stepped closer, sand slipping under your boots. Your hands were up—one still holding the small knife, the other palm-out, slow, nonthreatening.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” you whispered, voice thick with breath. “You’re hurt. I—I can help.”

But he didn’t understand your words. He only saw movement. A human form. Something closer. With a feral grunt, the merman twisted, shoulder muscles flaring, tail slapping the sand in a weak arc. He tried to crawl back toward the surf instinct pulling him to the safety of the ocean, of away. But pain lanced through him again. His shoulder gave out. One of the wounds split wider, the dark ichor spilling fresh and hot.

He cried out, low and guttural, collapsing again with a strangled wince.

You flinched but didn’t move away. Her pulse skipped, but your feet stayed rooted.

You dropped to your knees a few feet from him and carefully pulled your field pack open. Out came a fabric square, military-grade wound wrap, waterproof and heat-reactive. Not exactly meant for mythological sea creatures, but she had to try.

You slid forward. Close enough now to hear the rough sound of his breath—shaky and uneven. “I’m going to touch you now,” she murmured, voice trembling. “Please don’t—don’t freak out.”

He snarled again, a rumble in his throat, but it wasn’t as sharp. More confused than aggressive now. He tracked every movement of your hand with those uncanny eyes. You leaned in, breath soft, and gently pressed the wrap to the gash along his ribs. His skin twitched beneath her touch warm, slick, and… not completely alien. The scales shimmered faintly beneath your fingertips, flexing and fluttering as if responding to her. He hissed again, low and tight. Not from anger this time from pain. But he didn’t strike. Didn’t move away.

The bandage clung instantly, sealed by body heat. You pulled another out and looked at him.

“I can help with the rest,” she said softly, holding the next strip up. “If you let me. If you can… I don’t know, trust me?”

He blinked. Slow. The growling had stopped. His eyes scanned your face, lingered on your lips, your eyes like he was trying to read something in you, some language you weren’t speaking. He shifted, inching forward on trembling arms. His head dipped slightly. One of his fins curled inward. And then—quietly, hesitantly—he leaned toward you.

You sucked in a breath as he drew closer, breath brushing your cheek, cool and wet like fog. His tail slid across the sand with a soft drag. He was allowing it now. Allowing you. His body gave the answer his voice couldn’t. You moved gently, methodically, patching another wound on his side, then his forearm. The gashes were bad—too deep for you to handle on a beach. He needed more. He needed help. But he was still looking at you.

And not like you were a threat anymore. You sat back on your heels, hands trembling just slightly from the cold, the adrenaline, the impossibility of what you was seeing. You’d patched him up best you could with what you had, but they couldn’t stay here. Someone would find them. Your team would come looking. And he… he couldn’t defend himself like this.

You looked down at him, where he was half-curled in the sand. Still bleeding. Breathing hard. “Can you walk?” she muttered aloud, half to herself, her voice barely above the hush of the waves behind them.

You realized how stupid it sounded the second it left your mouth—he had a tail, not legs.

But still, she made the motion with her fingers, as if puppeteering invisible legs. A silly little walking gesture, the way you’d signal to a child. To your absolute disbelief, his eyes followed the motion. His brows furrowed in that elegant, ocean-slick face. He looked at his own tail. Looked at your. Then—

He began to shift.

Slow at first. Painfully. The sound that came from his throat was low and rough, like gravel pulled by the tide. But his body began to change. The fin that had glimmered like black opal under moonlight began to split, crackling, warping, folding in on itself like liquid glass folding into clay. The deep iridescent scales retreated, melting away like dew drying off skin. His tail was gone. In its place: long, pale legs, scarred and sleek. Powerful thighs. Knees bent awkwardly as if unfamiliar. The bruises from earlier still colored his skin. Salt and blood clung to him in places no human anatomy textbook could prepare you for.

Your lips parted, jaw slack. “What the actual—”

He looked up at you, panting. Exhausted. On his hands and knees now, shivering in the wind and the wetness, completely bare and utterly other. But also… human. Or something achingly close. You stumbled to your feet, ditching the knife completely now, and bent to hook an arm under his. “Okay, alright. Come on. I’ve got you.”

He flinched as their skin touched, his reflexes still caught between fight or flight. But this time, he didn’t pull away. He let you help him.

You pulled his arm over your shoulder, feeling the sharp weight of him, every muscle trembling under the strain of transformation. His wet skin pressed against your clothes, soaking through instantly. He leaned heavily on you, and she tightened your grip, breath hitching as he groaned again. They stumbled together across the beach, two shadows limping toward the faint lights of the Marine Center in the distance. You kept your head low, whispering reassurances under your breath, some for him, most for yourself.

“Just a little further, okay? We’re almost there. You’re doing good… god, you’re doing so good.”

You used the back entrance of the Center—you’d done it a hundred times for late data drops, but never with a naked injured merman draped over you like seaweed.

Somehow—by divine panic and dumb luck—they made it across the dark, tiled hallway, up a flight of stairs, and into your tiny staff dorm tucked behind the labs. You kicked the door shut behind them and locked it in one motion.

Inside: warm, quiet, safe.

You turned to him. He was half-collapsed against your twin bed, blinking slowly, skin clammy, lips slightly parted in pain and confusion. So much humanity in his expression. So much… fear. You swallowed hard and dropped beside him.

“I don’t know what the hell you are,” you whispered, brushing hair—still wet, still tangled with seaweed and blood—out of his eyes. “But I’ve got you now.”

You moved quickly now, your brain scrambling to shift from shock to survival mode. You rummaged through the spare shelf under your bed and yanked out a clean, fluffy gray blanket—one you usually used for late night writing sessions or curling up with ocean current charts. Not for covering up the naked sea man bleeding out in your room. You turned back to him, and he was watching you. Dazed. Alert, somehow, but like he was in a completely foreign world his body shivering, his mouth slightly parted, hair clinging to his cheek in stringy wet ribbons.

“Okay,” you breathed, kneeling down. “I’m not gonna look. Promise. Just—just let me…”

You draped the blanket over his hips carefully, gently, shielding his body from view. He flinched at the sudden warmth, but didn’t stop you. His eyes stayed locked to yours.

God. He was beautiful in the kind of way nightmares made you want to stay asleep. His features sharp, yet soft where it mattered, scars across his chest, jaw taut, lashes too dark for someone that alien. That injured. You turned away for a second and grabbed your first aid kit from your bottom drawer. The click of the latch opening echoed like a scream in the quiet room. You pulled out antiseptic, gauze, butterfly stitches, and waterproof medical tape.

“Okay, okay…” you whispered, settling beside him again. your hands hovered over his ribs, hesitant. “You’re not gonna hiss at me again, right?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. You smiled nervously. “Yeah, I didn’t think you understood that.”

Still, you took the silence as permission and began cleaning one of the slashes along his side. He tensed immediately, but didn’t strike or pull back. Just let out a low, shaky sound somewhere between a growl and a breath. His muscles tightened under your fingers.

“Sorry. I know. This probably stings.” He made a small noise in reply. It wasn’t a word, but it wasn’t nothing either. It sounded like… acknowledgment. Like he was trying to echo your tone, mirror her comfort.

“That’s right, okay…” she murmured. “You’ve got a bit of sea glass in here. Jesus, what happened to you?”

No answer. But the way his fingers curled into the edge of the blanket made you think—something bad. Something he couldn’t explain. Or didn’t want to.

“You’re not from here, are you?” you whispered. “God, what am I even asking… Of course you’re not.”

Again, he didn’t respond. But he watched you. With that eerie intensity. You moved to his arm next, patching a shallow puncture wound near his bicep. His skin was oddly soft under your hands. Like velvet soaked in sea salt. And warm. Too warm. “I don’t even know if this stuff works on you,” you muttered as you applied ointment and sealed the wound with gauze. “I mean, for all I know, you could be allergic to—”

Knock knock knock.

You froze.

Three crisp knocks. Familiar. Then a voice.

“Y/N? You in there?” Her heart dropped into her stomach.

It was Maya—from the marine lab downstairs. Always checking in. Always conveniently around when you didn’t want to be disturbed. You turned sharply to the merman and whispered, “Stay quiet. Please, just—don’t move.”

He blinked slowly. Stayed perfectly still.

“Yeah!” you called, scrambling to her feet, trying to sound normal. You stepped toward the door, heart slamming in your chest. “I’m just—uh—getting ready to crash. What’s up?” Maya’s voice was muffled through the wood. “You alright? I didn’t see you with the others after landing. We were gonna go over sonar readings in the morning but—if something’s up—”

“No! No, I’m good,” you replied, too fast. Too bright. “Just tired. You know how the sea gets to me.”

A beat. Then, “Alright. You sure?” You looked over your shoulder. The merman’s eyes were on you. Unmoving. But… calm.

“I’m sure,” you said, softer this time. Another pause. Then footsteps retreating.

You exhaled all at once, sagging against the door. You turned back to him, letting your back slide down the wood until you were sitting again. His head tilted slightly at you, like he understood everything and nothing all at once.

“Okay,” you whispered. “You just became my biggest secret.”

The antiseptic sting was nearly done now—just a few more cleaned cuts and sealed bruises. You moved with careful hands, your breath soft and slow as you finished wrapping a particularly deep laceration just under his collarbone. The moment felt still. Thick. Like the air around them had pressed pause to let something ancient slip in between.

You gently pressed the last bit of gauze in place, smoothing it down with your palm.

“You’re not bleeding anymore,” you murmured. “That’s a start.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. He was staring. No��focused. Brow furrowed, mouth slightly parted. Not in confusion… in concentration.

“Are you—are you okay?” you asked, softly. “Does anything still hurt?” His lips moved. Just a little. Then again. She paused.

“Wait… did you—did you say something?”

He did it again. This time, slower. And then—barely audible—a whisper, rough like gravel washed up on shore:

“…Hyun…jin…”

You blinked. Your heart skipped.

“You—your name?” you whispered, eyes wide. “Is that your name?”

He gave a weak nod, eyes fluttering as if even that had drained him. “Hyunjin…” she repeated softly, like it was a sacred word. “That’s beautiful. Well, mine’s Y/N.”

His mouth twitched—something like a smirk, but more like relief. Then he tried again, speaking low, gravelly, the syllables pulling against his throat like he wasn’t used to forming them.

“I… learn…”

You leaned in instinctively, every hair on her arm standing on end. Your lips parted, disbelief creasing her brows.

“…your… speak. Lips. Words.”

You sat up a little straighter, realization blooming in your chest like heat. “You’re reading my lips,” you breathed. “You’re trying to talk like me…”

He nodded again. Slow. Exhausted. But committed.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, scrambling to the side table for your small, water-stained notebook and a pencil. You scribbled something down quickly, mouthing the word as you wrote it. “That’s… that’s incredible. You’ve been watching how I talk and trying to mimic it—do you know how hard that is?”

Hyunjin blinked. His shoulders rose and fell, barely able to shrug—but his gaze never left yours. You set the book down and looked back at him, your voice gentler now.

“Can you tell me what happened to you?”

He blinked. Then glanced toward the floor like he was searching for a word buried in the shadows.

“…dark…” he rasped.

You leaned in, eyes flicking across his lips, helping him find the rest. “Dark?” she echoed. “You were… somewhere dark?”

He nodded. Struggled.

“Chains,” he whispered next, the word thick and ugly in his mouth. “Hurt. Hunt. Run…” Your stomach dropped. The pencil in her hand went still.

“They hunted you?”

His eyes darkened. He nodded once. The memory laced with something almost feral, something wild and buried.You placed a hand on your notebook, the other gently touching his arm.

“I won’t let them find you again,” she said. Firm. Soft, but sure. “You’re safe here, okay? I promise.”

He stared at her. And this time, something deep in his chest shifted. His head tilted forward slightly.

---

The rain had started again—soft, misty, tapping against the dorm window like fingers too shy to knock. You set your kit aside, tucking bandage scraps back into their place, then wiped your hands on the towel draped across her lap. Hyunjin sat propped against the bedframe, now cloaked in the oversized blanket you’d given him earlier, the dark fabric falling over his lap and down his hips, obscuring the freshly formed legs that still trembled when he moved them too quickly.

“You must be starving,” you said, more to yourself than to him as you stood and stretched your arms above your head.

“No.”

You paused. Turned slowly to him, brows slightly raised. He had spoken clearly. Not perfectly. The edges of the word still had a rawness to them, a beginner’s sharpness. But it was unmistakable.

“No?” you repeated, a smile tugging at your lips.

He shook his head, still watching you.

“Okay…” you murmured, moving toward your desk. “I’ll eat something myself, then. You sure you don’t want something? Just a snack? Fish—oh. That might be offensive.”

He didn’t laugh. But you caught the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth. You opened a granola bar instead, taking a quiet bite while flipping through your research journal. But even as you tried to distract yourself with the scribbled notes and observations from that morning’s dive, you felt him watching.

Your gaze slowly lifted. Hyunjin hadn’t moved. Not even a blink. He was staring. Unapologetically. Eyes fixed on you like you were the only real thing in the room. The only solid thread holding him above water. You cleared your throat and looked back down at the pages, pretending not to notice the burn of his gaze.

You turned a page. He was still staring. You tried adjusting the chair. Shifted your posture. Took another bite. Still. Eyes on you.

“I can feel you watching me, you know,” you muttered, not unkindly. You glanced up again. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Hyunjin tilted his head slightly. Like he didn’t understand the question. Like that wasn’t unusual.

You leaned forward on your elbows, eyes narrowing slightly, but your smile stayed.

“I’m not that interesting,” you teased. He nodded.

You blinked. “Wait. You’re saying I am that interesting?” Another slow nod.

And still—his gaze didn’t falter. You bit the inside of her cheek, cheeks heating. “You really are learning fast.”

Hyunjin’s eyes softened a little. As if your amusement pleased him. As if your presence, chaotic and human as it was, brought something to his chest that hurt a little less. You sighed, shutting your notebook and setting it aside. You stood and walked slowly over to him.

He straightened—just slightly. Still weak. Still wrapped in layers of pain. But attentive. You sat at the edge of the bed, cross-legged, and faced him.

“You don’t have to keep staring like I’m going to disappear,” you said quietly. “I’m not.”

He didn’t answer. But the way his eyes dropped—for a moment—to her hands resting in your lap… then slowly lifted back to meet yours…

It said everything.

The room had settled into a gentle quiet. The rain outside had softened to a drizzle, a constant hush against the glass. The kind of lull that made time feel slower, suspended in a fragile bubble of calm. You stood, brushing invisible lint off her shirt before turning to face Hyunjin. “I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you said, half-expecting no reply. “Don’t touch anything. I mean it. Don’t go poking around or—” you paused, narrowing her eyes, “—biting my electronics.”

Hyunjin blinked up at you from where he sat on the bed, cocooned in the blanket like it was part of him now. His lips moved, just a little—mimicking the shape of your words. But he didn’t speak. You smiled, gave him a little nod, then grabbed your towel, clean clothes, and a small caddy of products before disappearing into the bathroom. The door shut with a click. The soft shuffle of clothing followed, then the metallic hiss of the shower turning on.

At first, Hyunjin did nothing. Just sat there.

But… the sound of the water. The echo of your voice still lingering. The delicate scent of her body wash in the air. It was unfamiliar… intoxicating. And more than anything, his curiosity was gnawing at him. Was she… cleansing her scales?

Like he did in the moonpools beneath the reef?

He shifted his legs off the bed—still new, still foreign. They trembled under his weight, but he managed to stand. A soft grunt left him as he staggered toward the bathroom, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. The floor was cold against his soles. Each step felt uncertain.

He reached the door. Didn’t knock.

Didn’t even think to. The door wasn’t fully shut. Just barely ajar. Enough for him to press a hand against the wood and nudge it open silently. Steam rushed out instantly, curling like seafoam around his feet. The air was thick with warmth and lavender. His dark eyes flicked upward.

And there you were. Silhouetted through the fogged glass of the shower.

Water traced down the length of her body—rivulets running along her shoulders, down her back, catching the curves of her waist. Her hair clung to her skin, dripping. Her skin glowed under the bathroom light, radiant, almost otherworldly.

Hyunjin's breath caught. His heart thudded.

She… she didn’t have scales.

Not visibly.

But your skin—it shimmered slightly in the heat, smooth like moon-polished shells. Unmarked. Unnatural in the way it tugged at something deep in him. Your limbs, the way you moved, the grace—

He wondered, foolishly, if you were like him. A creature hiding among humans. Then you turned. You reached for a small bottle, arm extending, her gaze shifting—right into his. They locked eyes.

Everything froze. Your expression contorted in a split second from relaxed to horrified.

“JESUS—HYUNJIN!”

You fumbled for the shower door, practically slipping in place. “GET OUT!” you shouted, voice bouncing off the tile walls, echoing in his ears. Hyunjin’s eyes widened like he’d just been caught stealing a royal treasure. His cheeks flushed a violent red—deep, warm, crawling all the way to his ears.

“Sorry—sorry—!” he blurted in a mangled rush of syllables, then staggered back, nearly tripping on his own feet as he yanked the door shut behind him.

Thud. A beat of silence. Then the sound of water slapping tile resumed.

Hyunjin stumbled backward into the room, hands clutched over his face. He fell onto the bed like a sack of kelp, groaning softly, curling into himself beneath the blanket.

His heart wouldn’t slow down. You looked like a sea spirit. A siren. A goddess. He buried his face into the pillow and whispered to himself in broken syllables, “She’s not… mermaid? But… so… shining…”

He wasn’t sure what he’d just done. But he was absolutely sure he would never be able to look you in the eyes again without drowning in heat.

The door creaked open slowly, steam billowing out like a slow exhale from a sleeping giant.

You stepped out, wrapped in a thick towel, your damp hair clinging to your shoulders, droplets tracing the slope of your collarbone. You clutched your clothes to your chest with one hand and rubbed the towel dry against your temple with the other. Your skin was flushed from the heat of the water—and maybe a little from what just happened.

Hyunjin was sitting on the bed, perfectly still, legs crossed beneath the blanket like a chastised child. His gaze was fixed firmly on the floor, ears beet-red, and his fingers fidgeted with the fabric on his lap.

You raised a brow, then—softened. You tried to keep your expression firm, tried to muster the energy to be mad, but the sheer look of guilt on his face, the nervous way he sat there like a drenched cat in trouble, made your laugh.

“Well,” you said as you padded closer, “if you were trying to sneak up on a woman—you failed miserably.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widened. He scrambled to shake his head, hands waving in front of him in frantic denial. “No! No sneak—I was… just… see? Curiosity!” His voice was breathy, each syllable clumsy but earnest, like he was still tasting every word for the first time. You tilted your head and crossed her arms. “Right. Curiosity. Sure.” You couldn’t help the smirk curling at your lips. “That what you say to all the girls you spy on in the shower?”

“I didn’t know you were…” Hyunjin gestured wildly at your towel, his cheeks darkening again. “No fins. No… shell armor. Just skin. I think—maybe you were like me.”

You blinked. “You thought I was a mermaid?”

He nodded shyly.

You let out a laugh then light, amused, the tension in your shoulders slipping away. “God. You’re a disaster,” you muttered fondly. “But I get it. You’re new to… all this. Just—next time maybe knock? Or don’t open the door to the sound of running water?”

“Okay,” Hyunjin whispered. Then, with a bit more strength, “Okay. No door. Knock. First.”

“Good,” she smiled, grabbing a long shirt from her dresser and slipping into it over the towel with your back turned. “Now get some rest. You’ve been through a lot, and your wounds are still fresh. You need sleep.”

You turned around again, drying your hair with the towel. That’s when he said it. Softly. Like it had been resting on the edge of his tongue the whole time, unsure whether it should be spoken.

“Beautiful.”

You paused mid-pat. Your arms dropped slightly.

You looked at him.

His head was tilted, his long hair falling across his cheek, still slightly damp. His lips were parted just enough to prove he’d said it on purpose. And those dark, wide eyes still locked on her like you were the most fascinating creature in the entire world.

“I’m… sorry?” you said, a little thrown off her rhythm.

He straightened up a bit, the blanket slipping down his chest. “You are,” he said again, slower this time. “Beautiful.”

There was no stutter. No nervousness. Just sincerity. Your heart did a little stumble in your chest. You blinked again, unsure if you should laugh, thank him, or hide.

“…That’s probably the first compliment I’ve ever gotten from someone who tried to break into my shower.”

Hyunjin’s brows furrowed. “Break?” You giggled and waved it off. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

A beat passed. “You’re not too bad yourself,” you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to him. But he heard it. And the shy smile that tugged at his lips was brighter than anything you’d seen him wear so far.

“Sleep, merboy,” you said, grabbing a blanket to toss over him. “You’re gonna need all your strength tomorrow.”

He nodded, but his eyes stayed on you just a moment longer before they fluttered shut—content, safe, and still trying to memorize the shape of you.

The soft click of your pen was the only sound filling the room now. You sat at your desk beneath the glow of your small reading lamp, scribbling into your worn leather-bound logbook. Your handwriting flowed like gentle waves as you recounted everything: the field report from earlier that day, the strange movement you’d seen on the shore, and most of all—the merman.

You paused, eyes flicking toward the bed where Hyunjin lay now, blanket pulled loosely around his waist, his breathing deep and even. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers curled slightly near his face—it all looked so… human. But you’d seen his tail. You’d seen the shimmer of his scales and the way pain bent his body like a broken current.

He wasn’t human. But somehow, he didn’t feel entirely otherworldly either.

You sighed, placing your pen down and closing the log gently with a satisfying thud. You stared at the bed again, then made your quiet decision.

You grabbed a spare pillow and a folded fleece blanket from the closet, spread it out on the floor beside the bed, and slid down into the makeshift sleeping space. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but you didn’t care. He needed the bed more than you did. And somehow, you liked the idea of being close. Close enough to keep watch.

Sleep took you slowly, like the tide, and you drifted off with the faint sound of the ocean still playing in your head.

---

A loud, unfamiliar clink stirred you awake.

Then another—followed by a slosh. Your brows furrowed, lashes fluttering as you pushed the blanket off your face. The light pouring in from the window told you it was early. But something else reminded you you weren’t alone in the room.

Splash.

Y/N sat up immediately. And then blinked.

“…Hyunjin?”

Your voice was rough with sleep, but the sight before you yanked you into full alertness.

The door to your small bathroom was wide open. Inside, the floor was gleaming with droplets, like a trail of spilled moonlight. And in the middle of your bathtub—full, nearly overflowing with water—sat Hyunjin. He was half-submerged, his elbows propped on the edge of the tub, chin resting on his forearm like a lounging sea prince. His hair was wet again, slicked back to reveal his sharp cheekbones and curious gaze, which locked on yours the moment he heard your voice.

And trailing out of the bathtub—spilling onto the tile floor—was his tail.

It shimmered in the light, the scales shifting colors with every ripple of water: deep ocean blue, obsidian black, hints of silvery green. It flicked lazily now and then, the end curling like a question mark, his fin slightly translucent at the edges.

You stared, eyes wide.

“You… turned back?” you whispered, rising slowly to your feet. “How did you—?”

“I woke. Body… ache,” he said in his soft, careful voice. “Needed water.” He gestured to the bathtub with a small, proud smile. “Tub… good. Like sea. Not same. But… good.”

You looked around. He’d figured out the faucet. The floor was wet, sure—but not flooded. He’d used one of your measuring pitchers to balance the temperature—no idea how he got that down. And here he was. Tail out. Glowing like something carved by the sea gods.

Y/N ran a hand through your hair and groaned with a small laugh. “You… literal fish man. You really filled my tub with your sexy dolphin tail.”

He tilted his head. “Sexy… dolphin?”

“Never mind,” you chuckled, rubbing your temples. “Just—next time, ask. Or at least… splash quieter.”

Hyunjin’s laugh was soft but genuine, almost like bubbles rising to the surface.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, grabbing a towel to mop the floor. “Now we’re both going to smell like salt for the next two weeks.”

He watched you as you moved around, his smile warm. When you glanced back at him, his tail gave a little flick of contentment.

“Tub good,” he said again, like it was the highest compliment.

You shook your head, biting back a grin. “I’ll add that to my log. Merman approves of modern plumbing.”

The bathroom was thick with the scent of saltwater, warm mist curling lazily in the air as sunlight spilled through the cracked window. You stood at the threshold, arms folded loosely across your chest, watching the way Hyunjin’s tail stirred the bathwater like it was second nature.

He looked so at peace there. As if the bathtub, as absurdly small as it was, offered him a sliver of his world again—something familiar. Something that didn’t bleed pain.

You leaned your shoulder against the doorframe. “You look… better.”

Hyunjin opened one eye, gaze drifting up to your face. He blinked slowly, lips curling just slightly at the corners. “Water helps.”

You nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a second. “Yeah, I figured.”

A pause settled. Not awkward—just thick with thought. You stepped closer and sat on the closed toilet lid, knees brushing the side of the tub. Your voice came quieter this time.

“Hyunjin…”

He tilted his head again, curious. “We have to figure out a way to get you back to the ocean.”

At first, there was no reaction.

Then, slowly, his shoulders tensed. The warm contentment in his gaze flickered, lips parting just slightly in confusion—or hesitation.

“I mean,” you rushed gently, “you can’t stay in my dorm forever. As much as I’m enjoying the company of a bathtub-dwelling sea prince, I don’t think my RA will approve.”

He gave a breath of a laugh, but it was hollow. He dropped his gaze to the water, scales catching in the light. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The water lapped quietly against the porcelain. When he finally did respond, it was soft. Barely a whisper.

“Not… ready.”

Your heart ached at that.

“Is it because of what happened?” you asked gently, reaching out to rest your hand on the edge of the tub near his own. “Are you scared to go back?”

He looked at your then, really looked eyes dark like the deep, searching for something in your expression. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Struggled with the words.

Then, carefully, he said, “Scared… of alone.”

The silence that followed hit like a wave crashing the shoreline.

You blinked, your chest tightening. You hadn’t expected that. Not from a being who came from an entire world beneath the surface. But now… now he was stranded in yours. And he didn’t want to be alone in either.

“You’re not alone,” you whispered.

He nodded slowly, as if he wanted to believe you. His hand brushed yours, just barely like the kiss of tide on a docked boat. You squeezed it gently. “We’ll find a way to get you back home. Together.” Hyunjin exhaled through his nose, his tail flicking once like a nod of agreement. Then he looked at you again, lips twitching into something soft and shy. But when you glanced up, his expression wasn’t dreamy anymore.

It was far away. Cold. Haunted. You lowered her voice. “Hyunjin?” He blinked once, then slowly met your gaze.

“I remember,” he whispered.

Your heart stumbled in her chest. “You remember what?” He hesitated—like dragging words up from the deep cost him something.

“The cages,” he said softly, and your breath hitched.

He looked down at the water, hands gripping the edges of the tub, knuckles pale. “They came. On boats. Bigger than yours. With hooks that burned. With nets that… screamed.”

You felt your throat close. He wasn’t just recounting—he was reliving.

“They pulled us out. My family… my brothers… We didn’t understand. We tried to speak. They laughed.” His jaw trembled. “They cut us open. Not to eat. Not for anger. Just… to look.”

“Hyunjin,” you whispered, moving closer, your hand brushing his arm gently.

His tail shifted beneath the surface like a restless tide, voice shaking. “They said we were myths. That we shouldn’t exist. But we did. We lived. We danced. We sang under the moon.” He paused, a tremor rushing through his body. “And now… they are gone.”

You sat in silence, the ache in your chest thick and rising. Your fingertips curled into the towel on your lap.

“All of them?” you asked softly. His eyes slowly lifted to yours, endless, broken.

“I’m the last.”

The room went quiet. No ocean, no gulls, no passing footsteps. Just the sound of a tub barely large enough to hold grief this deep. You reached for him. Not out of pity—but reverence. Your hand slid over his, grounding. held him like you weren’t afraid of the saltwater or the sorrow or the truth that he carried in his bones.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, and you meant it with your whole being. “You shouldn’t have to carry that.”

“I don’t want to forget them,” he said.

“Then we won’t let them be forgotten,” you replied, tears burning the edges of your voice. “Tell me everything. Their names. The songs. The dances. I’ll write them all. I’ll remember with you.”

His lips parted, chest rising unevenly. Then, slowly, he gave a tiny nod—his hand tightening over yours.

He didn’t thank her with words. He didn’t need to.

Because when you’re the last echo of an entire people, the quiet presence of someone who sees you… is the loudest mercy of all.

---

The morning had unraveled gently around them, filled with soft conversation and the occasional sound of water lapping against porcelain. Hyunjin had calmed, though shadows still lingered beneath his eyes. You were crouched in front of your closet now, pulling out a simple change of clothes—comfortable sweats and a hoodie that would look oversized even on you, let alone on him.

You placed them on the edge of the bed beside a small plate of fruits and crackers. “This should keep you a little full,” you said, giving him a soft look, “I know you said you weren’t hungry, but… in case your stomach changes its mind.”

Hyunjin was sitting on the bed, towel-dried hair falling messily over his collarbones, legs tucked up to his chest like he still wasn’t quite used to them. His tail had faded with the morning light, and in its place were long, lean limbs that still trembled slightly with every shift of movement. But he was healing. Slowly. Carefully.

“I have to go… just for a few hours,” you murmured, grabbing your ID badge and stuffing it into the front pocket of your hoodie.

He looked up fast, eyes wide and sharp. “Go?” His voice was raspy, like the word didn’t sit right in his throat. “Now?”

You smiled gently, walking over to sit beside him. “I don’t want to, trust me. But if I don’t show up, they’ll come looking. And I really don’t want them knocking on this door and finding you trying to nap in the tub.” He tilted his head, visibly uncomfortable. His fingers flexed at his sides like he didn’t quite know what to say—but his eyes said it all. Stay. Please.

“I’ll be back,” you reassured him, brushing a strand of damp hair behind his ear, “I promise. I just need to clock in, finish some reports, act like I didn’t rescue a literal myth from the shoreline last night, and then I’m yours again. Sound fair?”

He didn’t answer right away, but his shoulders slumped, the tension bleeding out with a quiet exhale. “I don’t… like it.”

Your heart pulled. “I know.”

“Danger,” he murmured, voice low. “Land is… danger.”

“I’ve survived it this long,” you smiled, though it was sad around the edges. “But thank you for caring.”

Then, you stood, walking to your desk to grab a notepad and scribbled something down. Walking back, you handed it to him.

“If anyone knocks—anyone at all—you go into the bathroom, lock the door, and don’t make a sound. There’s a towel in the cabinet and a curtain you can pull over the tub. Got it?”

Hyunjin studied the paper like it was sacred. Then, nodding slowly, he whispered, “Hide.”

“Good boy,” you grinned, ruffling his hair gently. He blushed hard—cheeks blooming red under his damp skin—but he looked pleased.

You leaned down, grabbed a soft knit blanket from the end of the bed, and draped it over his lap. “Just rest. Try on the clothes if you’re comfortable. Explore. Don’t break anything. And don’t open the door, even if someone says my name.”

Hyunjin’s brows furrowed like he wanted to say more—but instead, he reached out slowly and brushed your pinky with his, like he was trying to hold on to you in the smallest way he knew how.

You looked at him, then gently squeezed his hand. “I’ll be back before sunset.”

As you turned to go, bag slung over your shoulder and heart heavy in your chest, you heard him say softly behind you—

“Y/N?”

You turned. “You smell like the ocean.” A faint smile pulled at his lips. “I think that’s why I trust you.”

Your throat went tight. You didn’t know how to respond. So, you slipped out the door, locking it behind you.

---

The sun was sharp overhead, glinting off the glass walls of the Marine Research Center as Y/N swiped her badge through the scanner. The soft beep welcomed her back to the real world—where mythical creatures didn’t exist, and last night’s discovery would’ve landed her in a padded room if she ever breathed a word of it.

She plastered on a neutral smile as she passed the lobby, offering a quick wave to her supervisor, Dr. Malia, who was already deep in conversation with another researcher over a cup of instant coffee.

“Y/N, you’re just in time,” Malia called over, barely glancing up from her tablet. “Need you in Lab 3—readings from yesterday’s dive are showing some unusual activity along the southern ridge.”

Y/N nodded politely, her voice calm. “On it.”

She moved quickly, weaving past teams in wetsuits, interns in scrubs, and walls lined with aquatic maps. But her thoughts were miles away—in a warm dorm room with closed blinds, behind a locked door, where a water-dwelling boy was hopefully still curled up on the bed.

She exhaled through her nose, trying to focus. Inside Lab 3, the familiar hum of machines and the smell of sea salt clung to the air. The monitors flickered with sonar readings and temperature charts, but the moment she saw the movement spikes from the southern ridge, her heart skipped.

That’s where she found him.

The readings pulsed—faint tremors of large movement—but they were irregular, like something had been moving there for a while and suddenly stopped. No wonder the team wanted it flagged. If only they knew.

She sat down at her console, running diagnostics. Her fingers moved, but her mind kept drifting. To Hyunjin's voice, unsure but velvet-smooth. “You good?” a voice asked, breaking through her daze.

She blinked. It was Lani, one of her coworkers, tilting her head curiously as she leaned on the desk beside her. “You seem… somewhere else.”

Y/N forced a soft laugh. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Lani narrowed her eyes teasingly. “Didn’t sleep much or didn’t sleep?”

“Oh my God, not like that,” Y/N scoffed, cheeks warming way too quickly. “I just… got caught up with notes. You know me and my midnight logs.”

“Mm-hmm,” Lani smirked, clearly not buying it. “Well, just don’t die on me before lunch. You owe me ramen.” Y/N waved her off with a small chuckle as the screen lit up again with another pulse. Her heart jumped, but she masked it under a yawn.

She needed to finish up these reports, make an excuse to head back early, and double-check that Hyunjin hadn’t started opening windows or something.

---

The walk back from the Marine Center was a blur. You had shoved your reports into your bag, mumbled something about needing to rest, and practically sprinted the last two blocks to your dorm with a plastic bag swinging at your side—filled with warm rice bowls, fresh fruit, and the kind of seaweed snacks you figured a merman might vibe with. Your key fumbled in the lock for a second—your heart already racing ahead of your hands.

Click.

You swung the door open—

—and the world softened.

There he was. Hyunjin was sprawled lazily across your bed, legs tangled in the sheets, water clinging to the tips of his constantly-damp hair as it curled messily around his face. You’d have to figure out where the heck the water came from. He was hunched over the tiny wooden chess set you kept on your shelf for decoration, eyes narrowed in fascination as he moved a knight and immediately tried to counter it with a bishop—against himself. Like he was having a full-on strategic war solo.

He looked up the moment the door creaked open. His eyes lit up like sunrise on open water.

And then he chirped—a soft, echoing, melodic sound that rippled from his throat and filled the room like a song sung underwater. It was strange and beautiful, rising and falling like a tide, and loud enough to startle you into stillness.

You blinked.

“…What was that?” you asked through a surprised laugh, dropping the bag onto your desk. “Was that—was that a hello?”

Hyunjin’s lips curled into the most angelic, boyish smile as he sat up straighter, fingers still ghosting over a rook. “It means…” He touched his chest, then motioned towards yours, and looked you in the eye. “Warm return.”

Your breath caught. “You mean like... welcome back?” He nodded, then shyly added, “But more.”

You didn’t know what to do with that for a second, heart thudding stupidly hard. “Well… warm return to you too, I guess,” you teased, brushing your hair back and walking over to him. “I brought food.”

Hyunjin tilted his head, sniffing the air like a curious cat. “It smells… green.”

“It’s seaweed,” you grinned. “And rice, and a few other things that won’t kill your stomach. I promise.” He took the bag from your hands slowly, reverently, like it was a gift from a goddess. You handed him chopsticks, and he stared at them like they were mini swords.

You sat beside him, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “So… how was your day, Fish Prince?”

“Strange,” he said after chewing thoughtfully. “The mirror makes my face look upside down if I bend over it. And the blanket trap is warm.” You snorted. “It’s called tucking yourself in. And you’re supposed to sleep under it, not roll into a sushi burrito.”

Hyunjin mimicked “sushi burrito” to himself and giggled behind the rice bowl. Your chest bloomed at the sound.

Once he’d eaten his fill, you leaned back against the headboard, pulling one leg up and chewing your lip.

“I’ve been thinking,” you said softly, eyes flicking to him. “We… we can’t keep you here forever. You need to get back to the ocean. I know where. Quiet, but… it’ll be hard, but I think I can get you there soon. It’s just—people might be watching the coast. We’ll need to be careful.”

Hyunjin’s eyes darkened slightly with understanding. “Return?” he asked, voice gentler.

You nodded. He looked down at his hands, curling his fingers in thought. Then he whispered, “I trust you.”

You reached over and brushed a bit of rice off his cheek. “Then we better make a plan.”

You sat cross-legged on the bed, notepad in hand, your brows furrowed as you sketched out a rough timeline. A coastal tide map was open beside you, and your pencil tapped restlessly against the paper.

“We’ll need to leave before dawn,” you murmured, half to yourself, half to the echo of the plan forming in your head. “Maybe tonight. I can grab wetsuits, maybe—”

You felt it again. That unrelenting gaze. Without even looking up, you sighed through a soft laugh. “Hyunjin… I’ve warned you about staring.” His voice came slow, curious, like he was rolling the words on his tongue. “But you’re… beautiful when you think. Your eyes talk.”

That made you blink up at him. He was sitting at the foot of the bed now, curled in the blanket he refused to let go of, legs drawn up like a question mark, hair falling in soft curtains around his face. His eyes were impossibly focused—on your lips, your cheeks, your very being.

“Humans…” he started slowly, “How do they show… when they love?”

You tilted her head. “Love?”

He nodded, a gentle seriousness washing over his face. “Like… like how I feel when you smile. Or when you came back, and I thought the room had air again.”

You didn’t speak for a second. Your heart was stuttering, and your mouth had gone dry.

“Well…” you said, voice a bit shaky but trying to sound casual. “We hug. We hold hands. We kiss. We say things—sometimes silly, sometimes deep. It depends.”

Hyunjin listened like a student before a sacred text. “And what does a kiss mean?” You looked at him then. Really looked. “It means… I see you. I trust you. It’s… a kind of giving. A promise. Sometimes it’s just fun. Sometimes it’s everything.”

There was a pause. A silence soaked in something heavy and gentle.

Then—

“In my world,” Hyunjin said softly, “We sing in pairs. The song is just for the one we love. It never sounds the same with anyone else. And we dance, too. Not with our feet… but with the way we move through the water together. Like… like we’re breathing in the same rhythm.”

You smiled, heart tightening. “That’s beautiful,” you whispered.

He studied you for another long beat. “Can I… try it?” he asked. “Your way. The human way.”

You blinked, startled. “You… you want to kiss me?” He nodded, slow but sure. “I think I love you,” he said simply. “And I want you to know. I want to speak it in your language.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to tell him that you both were nothing close to a relationship, but your breath caught somewhere in your throat—and he moved forward, leaning in with a hesitancy that felt sacred. Like he was approaching a sunrise.

His fingers brushed your cheek, light as a question. His gaze dipped to your lips.

And then—

He kissed you. You were beginning to think he’d seen other people do this for him to know what to do. A couple by the sea, workers on deck sneaking around. It was soft at first—like he was learning her shape. Testing how their worlds aligned at the edges. His lips were warm, gentle, tasting of salt and curiosity. He lingered for a breath, then another, before pulling back just slightly… and resting his forehead against hers.

You hadn’t moved. Couldn’t move.

He whispered, “Did I do it right?”

You let out a breathless laugh, eyes closing. “You did…it? I guess…”

Your fingers hovered near your lips, the ghost of his kiss still blooming like an aftertaste. Hyunjin was watching you again—his eyes wide, waiting, like he wasn’t sure if he’d crossed a line or unlocked a door. “That was…” you cleared your throat, heart thudding as she tried to find her voice. “Really good for a first time. But um… kissing has a bit of a rhythm to it. Like your songs, remember?”

He tilted his head. “Like a… duet?”

You smiled despite herself. “Exactly.” He leaned forward again, a little too eager, and you giggled, pushing him back gently. “Okay, no pouncing. Let’s take this slow. Follow my lead.”

You shifted closer on the bed, cupping his face softly. His cheeks were so warm under your touch. “When we kiss,” you whispered, “don’t just press in. Feel it. Think of it like… listening with your lips.” He nodded once, completely enthralled. Why were you doing this? You’re teaching a merman how to kiss? Not like he’s going to need it in the future or anything. Your noses brushed, breaths mingling—and then you kissed him again.

This time, it was slower. Softer. Your lips met in a careful rhythm, Hyunjin mimicking your movements like a dancer finally learning the steps. He let out the smallest sound—something between a hum and a purr, low and delicate, and so intimate it sent a shock down your spine.

Your body tensed involuntarily.

That sound. It curled around your spine like heat. It wasn't just affectionate—it was sensual, primal in a way he likely didn’t even understand. You gasped, pulling back suddenly, your eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

Hyunjin blinked, confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No, no—” you laughed nervously, waving your hands, desperate to cool your face and your hormones. “That was… you’re doing great. You’re… a very fast learner.”

He beamed. “So, we kiss more now?”

“Absolutely not!” you squeaked, scrambling for your notepad like it was a lifeline. “We’re gonna focus on the plan, okay? The plan. The whole get-you-back-to-the-ocean thing. Remember that?”

Hyunjin pouted, flopping back onto the mattress, watching you with lidded eyes and a pout that was frankly unfair. You kept your gaze firmly on your scribbles.

“Okay,” you muttered to herself, “tonight tops, avoid the main marine patrol routes, smuggle you through the south dock…”

“I like kissing,” Hyunjin said helpfully behind you.

“Hyunjin,” you warned, voice tight.

“Yes?”

“Please. Let me focus.”

“Okay,” he said sweetly. “But after?”

You buried your face in your hands.

God help you. You were going to need a stronger distraction than a map and a marker.

---

The cold air bit at Y/N’s skin as she tightened her hoodie around her body, footsteps soft against the gravel path leading away from her dorm. Midnight painted everything in shadows and silver light. The marine center’s lab lights were off for the night, save for the emergency glow that hummed faintly near the edges of the supply shed.

Clutching a small bag and her keycard, Y/N glanced over her shoulder once more. Every step away from Hyunjin made her chest tighten, like some part of her knew he was still watching her from that tub, curled in warmth, eyes glowing in moonlight.

She just needed supplies. Just gauze, saline, maybe a blanket or two. Nothing traceable. Nothing suspicious. She’d just swiped her card through the lock when—

“Y/N?”

She flinched like a thief, spinning fast. A flashlight flicked on, landing on her face. Oh crap.

“Layla?” she blurted, blinking against the light.

Layla—a fellow researcher and one of her dorm neighbors—lowered the flashlight, brows raised, dark hair tied up in a sleepy bun. She was in sweatpants and a coat, holding a mug of tea like she’d only just come out for air.

“What are you doing out here? It’s almost 1 AM.”

Y/N froze. Her mind raced. Say something normal. Say something smart.

“Oh! Uh… I forgot I left my sketchbook in the lab,” she lied quickly, offering a sheepish grin. “Needed it for some ideas I had about tide cycles.” Layla tilted her head. “You’re sketching tide cycles? At midnight?” Y/N laughed nervously, cringing internally. “You know me. I get randomly inspired. Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d be productive.”

There was a long beat. Layla sipped her tea slowly, watching her. “…You okay though? You look kind of… flushed.”

“Flushed?” Y/N swallowed. Was she still red from the kissing? Oh God. “Probably just the chill. I was in bed and didn’t think I’d be out long.”

“Hmm.” Layla nodded, then smiled, yawning. “Well, don’t stay out too long. If Dr. Malia catches you raiding the supply kit again, she’ll have a fit.”

“Noted,” Y/N said, exhaling as her friend turned to head back to the dorm. Y/N waited until she disappeared from sight before slipping into the shed. Her fingers were shaking—part nerves, part adrenaline.

She gathered what she needed in under five minutes: more gauze, protein bars, wet cloths, a heating pad. As she stuffed the supplies into her bag, her heart thrummed like a drumbeat in her ears.

Not from fear. From urgency. Hyunjin needed to go back. And soon.

Because the longer he stayed…the harder it was going to be to let him go.

Y/N’s hand hovered above Hyunjin’s shoulder, hesitant to wake him. He looked peaceful in her bed, for once. The soft light of dawn hadn’t broken yet—only a bluish tint stretched across the room, casting shadows on his long limbs tangled in the blanket. His hair was damp against the pillow, tail gone now, legs stretched awkwardly, human again—but still otherworldly.

She knelt beside him and gently touched his shoulder. “Hyunjin,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Wake up. It’s time.” He stirred immediately, blinking hazily. When he saw her face, something in his gaze shifted—alert now. He sat up, brows furrowing. No questions. He trusted her.

She offered a towel and a pair of her loose marine trousers. “Dry off. You’ll need these,” she murmured, glancing at the door.

Hyunjin obeyed, fumbling with the fabric but managing to wrap the towel around his waist and slide the pants on, even if a bit clumsily. His legs were stronger now, steadier. She helped him with the drawstring, their fingers brushing—brief, electric.

They moved like ghosts through the building—silent, invisible. Y/N led them down the emergency stairwell, the soles of their feet brushing the cold tile, their breaths caught in their throats. Every creak of a door sounded like a shout. She held her breath when they passed the night guard’s office, her hand clutching Hyunjin’s tight.

He looked at her like she was leading him to the stars. Once they hit the back doors, Y/N paused, peering through the narrow glass pane. The coast behind the center was calm, the water like ink under the faintest touch of moonlight.

“Now,” she whispered, and they slipped out.

The small boat was waiting—an old rowboat with a modest engine, one she’d repaired herself last year during maintenance season. Hyunjin stepped into the shallows with careful feet, his balance off but improving. She helped him in, her hands steadying his arms.

He sat on the edge of the bench seat, watching her like she was a miracle in motion. Y/N climbed in behind him, heart thundering, hands quickly working over the ignition. The soft whirr-click of the engine starting filled the air.

They were moving.

The boat glided over the glassy water, away from the shore, away from the dorm, the marine center, the human world—just the two of them under the sliver of a moon. Wind tugged at her hair. Salt kissed her lips. Hyunjin was quiet beside her, eyes wide as he watched the horizon.

Y/N gripped the steering handle, jaw set.

This was it. No turning back now.

The boat rocked gently under the hush of the very early morning sky, the sound of soft waves licking against the sides blending with the distant hum of the world still asleep.

Y/N had steered them just far enough—beyond the line where marine patrols might sweep through, but close enough that she could come up with a believable excuse if someone questioned her presence.

“We’re not far,” she muttered, cutting the engine so they drifted in silence now. “This should be okay, but I still have to think of what I’ll tell them—God, maybe I’ll say I came out to chart the tides or observe plankton migration. No, that sounds stupid—ugh, maybe I can say I dropped something, like a waterproof recorder—do I even own a waterproof recorder?”

She kept talking, eyes darting around, hands nervously adjusting the rope tied to the oar, the bag at her feet, anything to keep from looking at him.

“You have to go now,” she said, finally turning. “We don’t have time, and if they find me out here with you—”

Her voice faltered when her eyes met his.

Hyunjin wasn’t moving. He wasn’t scrambling to dive in, or panicking. He just sat there, elbows resting on his knees, watching her with those impossibly soft eyes—dark, vast, unreadable, like the very ocean they sat on. His gaze held her steady, like he was anchoring her to this moment.

She swallowed hard.

“You have to hurry,” she tried again, forcing the words through the tightness in her throat. She looked away, blinking fast. “Please. Before someone sees.”

But her voice betrayed her—too brittle. Her hand tightened around the edge of the boat, nails digging into the old wood. She couldn’t let herself feel this. They haven’t even spent a week together and she felt like it’d been a year already. It was probably the kiss.

Not now.

Not when he was looking at her like that. Like she was home. Hyunjin tilted his head slightly, the sea breeze playing with the strands of damp hair framing his face. He reached out gently, not touching her yet—just hovering his fingers near hers.

Still, he said nothing.

He didn’t have to. The boat drifted in a hush, the world wrapped in that soft pre-dawn blue that made everything feel suspended in time.

Hyunjin stood barefoot on the edge of the boat, trousers abandoned in a loose heap beside him. His tail shimmered into view under the moonlight—pearlescent blues and silvers catching the glow like he was carved from the ocean itself. Water dripped from his skin, running down the length of his scales in lazy trails, and yet… he hesitated.

He looked back at you.

You stood there, arms crossed like you were trying to hold yourself together, chin tilted up in some desperate attempt at bravery—but your eyes were glassy, your throat tight. What was wrong with you?

“You need to go,” you said softly, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “Now, Hyunjin.”

But you didn’t sound convincing. Not even to yourself. And maybe he sensed it.

Because he didn’t jump. He turned to you fully, sitting on the boat’s edge, and leaned in. His hand cupped your cheek so tenderly it undid the dam you were trying so hard to hold up and before you could even breathe, he kissed you.

It was soft, warm, filled with something far more permanent than either of them had planned for. He pulled back an inch, just enough to see your stunned face.

And then he kissed your again—deeper this time, like he wanted to remember what you tasted like. When you finally pulled apart, you gave a breathless laugh, blinking through the tears brimming in your lashes.

“You’re getting better,” you whispered, brushing your fingers down his jaw. “Every time.”

Your smile faded. “But you seriously have to go now. Before it’s too late.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, to stay just one more second, to soak you in a little longer. Before you could counter your actions, you gently pushed his shoulder.

“Go,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Please.”

He let himself fall backwards into the sea with a graceful splash, tail flicking in one final arc.

You didn’t waste time. She threw a decoy box—full of ocean samples, broken equipment, anything you could gather last minute—into the water. It hit the surface right as a voice called out behind her.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing out here?” It was your manager.

You snapped your head toward the shore. “Oh—hey! Sorry! I dropped a specimen container during a test dive last night. I came back to look for it before the tide took it.”

The manager frowned, clearly annoyed but unconvinced enough to challenge you. “At this hour?”

You forced a tired laugh. “I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d get it done now before the boats start moving.” He gave a grumble of approval and walked away without another word. You turned back to the sea, breath caught in her throat.

The surface rippled gently… and there he was. Just beneath the water, Hyunjin’s eyes gleamed in the dark. He looked at her with that same softness from before. One last goodbye.

Then, as if the ocean itself responded to his emotions, he let out a sound—not a word, not a call. Just a song. A pulse of something deep and ancient and mournful that rippled across the water like a shiver.

It hit her like a memory she never had, aching in her chest.

Her tears finally slipped free.

Just a few. But enough.

“Goodbye,” she whispered.

I hope it's okay I'm getting better ideas I promise 🙏

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