#smutty smutty vibes.

[ejunkiet]

apparently all I can write at the moment is smut jfgkasdf

[bluejeanstrash]

manspread.

pt. 2 mansplain, pt. 3 manipulate

okay but arrogant and borderline chad cheol who’s your college dorm mate. you were high-key into him when you saw him move in, and even flirted with him at the housewarming party. but then he opened his mouth and you realised everything that comes out of it is insufferable. 

and now, it’s dorm movie night and he’s sitting on the couch manspreading like a fucking douchebag who couldn’t give a fuck that you’re smushed in the corner. throughout the movie his thigh is pressed right up against yours which makes you feel kind of lightheaded. halfway through, one of your dorm mates heads to bed while the other steps out for a smoke but cheol still doesn’t move.

annoyed, you get up to leave and ask why he can’t sit like a normal fucking person and he throws his head back and laughs at your question, making you feel slightly self conscious. he tells you his cock is too fat and he needs the space to sit comfortably. you scoff, disgusted, but can’t help but wonder if there’s any truth in that sentence. he asks if you don’t believe him and want to see. he’s messing with you but it makes you feel something in the pit of your stomach. but you roll your eyes and tell him you’d rather die and go to your room. 

still drunk from the night, you lie down. the room’s spinning but your thoughts keep circling back to cheol. his heavy eyes with those pretty pretty lashes, those thick thighs that fill out his sweatpants so well, that silver ring that sits on his veiny hands, and his thick dick?…you wonder how it would feel if he slapped it against your face. you doze off thinking about him.

2 hours later you wake up at midnight with a dry mouth, feeling tipsy and thirsty…so fucking thirsty. you stumble over to the kitchen and see cheol still watching tv - legs spread and hands behind his head. the room is dark except for a single light and the flickering light from the tv.

he looks at you and asks if you’ve changed your mind. you ignore him and grab a drink of water but can’t help but look over at him. his hair is messy in front of his eyes and it irritates you. you want to push it back. ‘can you even see anything?’ you don’t know why you’re asking. he says he can see everything he wants to see and stares at you a second too long. you feel your cheeks burning as you look around the kitchen for something to eat. you’re not hungry but you don’t want to leave yet. the air is oppressive but intoxicating. 

as you struggle to reach for a snack on the top shelf, cheol gets up and stands behind you to grab it. his entire body is pressed up against you and you know you want him. fuck it you think and turn around - nothing that happens between 12 am to 4 am counts anyway.

he looks down, a faint smirk on his lips, as if he knew this was always going to happen, and kisses you, pushing you up against the counter. you grab onto his body to steady yourself and fuck, he feels so thick, so strong, so solid. you know you’ll regret this in the morning.

he pushes his tongue into your mouth and as your kisses become sloppier, you feel his cock growing against you. you look down to see his dick print forming in his sweatpants and feel almost feral. you have to know how thick it is.

‘come’ he grabs you by the throat ‘let me show you’ he says almost like he’s read your mind and drags you to the couch. he sits, legs spread as you kneel in front of him, scrambling to get his sweatpants off. he chuckles, satisfied by your desperation.

he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls to make you look up at him ‘who knew you were such an easy slut’ he says and smiles at you so sweetly, dimples and all. it’s sickening but it makes you feel that familiar knot in your stomach. the sweet sound of degradation.

it also makes you pull his sweatpants off faster. as you pull them down, you muffle a gasp. fuck, it’s definitely better than what you were imagining just 2 hours ago. his cock is thick and heavy, and when you wrap your hand around it your fingertips almost don’t touch. ‘mmmh’ he lets out a lazy moan as you start to jerk him off.

‘put it in your mouth’ he says a few seconds later. how dare he tell you what to do. asshole. you can’t stand him. yet…you reach forward and take him in your mouth. but it’s difficult. he’s too thick and you’re having a hard time opening your mouth that wide.

‘too big for you?’ he asks, already knowing the answer. ‘lick then’ he says putting just the tip in and starts to jerk off in your mouth. ‘look at me while i use your fucking mouth like a fleshlight...’ like reflex, you legs squeeze together at his words. shit.

you feel his body shake as he laughs at you. a loud mocking laugh. ‘did hearing that turn you on? pathetic…’ he jerks off with one hand, while the other grabs at the tank top you’re wearing and pulls it down, exposing your tits. he squeezes them, twisting and pulling at your nipples before letting go. 

you look up at him. you can’t believe you’re kneeling in the middle of the common living room with your tits spilling out, licking cheols cock. it’s humiliating. how did this happen? what’s wrong wi-

he notices you start to think and instantly slaps his cock against your face. he doesn’t want you to think, he wants you to be stupid and suck. it works. his cock feels so heavy and big and you love the sound it makes as it hits you. it’s hypnotic.

he slaps it again as you look at him, lips parted and your eyes slightly glazed over. at that moment cheol promises himself he needs to see you like this again.

he needs to see you completely thoughtless, just mindlessly craving his cock. he can’t wait. 

‘open your mouth’ you obey. he takes three of his fingers and pushes them in, fucking your mouth with his fingers. ‘try again’ he says pulling his fingers out and rubbing the saliva across your mouth. you lean forward and as you slowly start bobbing up and down, taking a little more every time, a dull ache spreads across your jaw. ‘fuuughck…that’s it…’ he groans.

‘again’ as you continue sucking him off, you feel your jaw start to loosen up a bit. suddenly, he pushes the back of your head down with his hands as he bucks his hips up, his dick hitting the back of your throat. he holds you there counting down ‘3, 2, 1’ and releases as you start coughing. ‘there you go…see? all you’ll need is a little practice’

your stomach turns at his words. why is talking like this is going to happen again?

‘breathe..’ there’s a strange silence as you try to catch your breath - it feels like an invitation to stop if you want.

but you don’t want to stop. you want him.

so, you take his cock in your hand and start to jerk him off again, bending to lick his balls. ‘hmmn, fuck yes’ he leans back on the couch, his t-shirt riding up to show a hint of his toned stomach, hands interlocked behind his head, and eyes shut as he smiles lazily to himself. he’s never looked hotter.

‘okay now’ he opens his eyes a few minutes later and starts gathering your hair into a ponytail. ‘you going to make me cum?’ it’s not a question.

with a tight grip on your hair he pushes you down onto his cock and starts to fuck your face.

‘good slut’ he groans his rhythmic thrusts starting to get a little sloppy. ‘i’m going to cum in your dirty little mouth and you’re going to drink up every last drop...understand?’ he asks as you moan in response, your pussy throbbing. 

‘fuck’ you hear his breathing becoming heavier. 

you feel yourself getting wetter the more aggressive his thrusts become and when his hips start moving frantically, you know he’s close.

‘fuck…fuck…fu..’ he groans with a final thrust as warm cum starts to fill your mouth. he holds your head down as he continues cumming, his cock twitching.

you feel yourself running out of breath as you desperately push him back but he holds you in place for a second longer and then lets go. you gasp for air, cum and saliva spluttering out of your mouth. you’re a mess. 

you feel cheol staring at you as you try to pull yourself together. you can tell he’s pleased with how used you look. he grins, scooping the cum dripping out and pushes it back in your mouth. ‘i said every. last. drop’

you lick the excess from his fingers without thinking. your head’s reeling from the lack of oxygen and your mouth feels worn out. but there’s a feeling…a strange satisfying feeling that you can’t put a word to.

you look up at him. he’s sitting just like he was a couple of hours ago - relaxed, satisfied, cocky. you hate him.

‘you did good’ he wipes the saliva around your mouth. ‘next time i’ll allow you to cum on my face. hmm? how’s that sound?’ he asks so sweetly it almost feels condescending.

‘there’s not going to be a next time’ somehow your words don’t sound too convincing.

he smiles. it’s like he knows something you don’t.

‘yes, there will’

smug asshole. you really fucking hate him.

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | nine

🐴Chapter summary: You haven’t talked to Jimin in months— he has been successful in avoiding you since he saw Yoongi kiss you. But when a charity gala forces you together, will you erupt like an active volcano? 🐴Chapter title: Take the Rain Away 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: yelling and curse words 🤭 Jin’s pink slipper is finally here (though it’s not him wielding it lol) 🩴 🐴Status: completed 🥳 🐴Word count: 8.2k

🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,

🛑 psa to all you lovely people on the taglist, I’ve seen that some of you aren’t interacting… I’m wondering if you’re still reading or not— do you wish to be removed from the taglist? It’s okay if you don’t like it anymore, I can remove you if you want to 🛑

🐴Now playing 💿 “Take the Rain Away” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: can you tell I wrote this chapter while severely depressed (as I did the previous)? 🥲 But, it was very easy to channel all my feelings into it, so I wrote it in like a day while crying most of the time. But here it is! Also, again I’m sorry. I’m really going through it and dealing with my depression, so I’m sorry if I take longer to reply… I do look at your messages though! I don’t know, life is hard and I’m waiting to get a referral from my doctor… all that shit takes such a freaking long time! But yeah, I’m still struggling, but I’m doing my best to hang in there; bad days and a few good days finally. Thank you all so much for reading and for sticking with the story, tbh there were a few times in the latest chapters where I just wanted to delete it all and stop posting.. But yeah, thank fuck🫂 Also… I really hope you’ll love the next chapter and please don’t hesitate to let me know your thoughts in either a comment or a reblog ☀️💦 🐴Author’s note #2: I'm sorry… today I'm feeling extremely emotional and anxious. It’s making me cry and my head is so heavy with a lot of thoughts… I hope you still like the chapter, right now I’m afraid it’s crap, so I’ll go hide (don't mind me, this is 50% my anxiety speaking). See ya on Thursday lovelies!

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

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“Take the rain away Take the rain away Give me hope Give me love Make it sweet from above Take the rain away Oh take the rain away Give me praise Give me heart Take the rain away”- ‘Take the Rain Away’ by Rebecca Lavelle

The rain pelts on your windows, a rhythmic symphony against the glass that serves as the melodic backdrop to your dance with the paintbrush. Each stroke elicits a clench in your heart, a poignant harmony with the emotions that escape onto the canvas. Despite a tear finding its way down your cheek, you persist. The canvas becomes a vibrant tapestry, weaving through an array of red hues, from the delicate blush of pink to the profound richness of vermillion. In this intimate dance, you surrender to the guidance of the brush, allowing the strokes to tell a story only your heart understands.

The paintbrush becomes the voice of your unspoken thoughts, an ethereal extension of your mind that guides you through an escape. It whisks you away to an alternate reality, a place where joy and serenity prevail. Yet, as you gaze upon your canvas, the illusion shatters – a mosaic of red tones, a stark reflection of your inner turmoil. You’re aware of the truth it conceals, reluctant to acknowledge the lingering ache for a man who remains silent, a man whose choices have been clear and that choice wasn’t you. But why the heck would he decide to date someone that looks like you?

The baffling revelation still eludes you, a persistent enigma that has gnawed at your thoughts for days since the girls disclosed it. The meaning behind it remains a puzzle, and you find yourself grappling with the uncertainty. There’s an urge to confront Jimin, to seek answers, but the apprehension holds you back. 

Instead, you retreat to the solace of your bedroom, losing yourself in the strokes of your paintbrush. Each canvas becomes a testament to your emotional turmoil, saturated in shades of red that echo anger and sadness. The thought of whether anyone would buy these artworks fades into insignificance; the therapeutic process takes precedence, offering a semblance of peace in the midst of your inner storm.

For a solid week, the relentless rain has played its melancholic symphony, a constant companion to your shifting moods. While you don’t inherently despise the rain, its prolonged presence begins to cast a subtle veil of gloom. The weather, once a neutral backdrop, now becomes a weight on your shoulders, a persistent force tugging at the edges of your mind, leaving a trace of subtle melancholy in its wake.

Perhaps a twinge of bitterness creeps in, accompanied by an admission of jealousy as you observe Jungkook becoming a frequent overnight guest. Their shared moments are anything but discreet, the resonance of their love making echoing through the walls. You’ve mastered the art of drowning out those sounds, resorting to nocturnal strolls when needed. In the depths of your heart, you yearn for the same intimacy, but with Jimin. 

You sigh, feeling utterly deflated. Life never goes the way to want it to. Why can’t you just have something good happening for once?

In the dead of night, raindrops patter on your skin as you venture out once more for a solitary walk. The rhythmic percussion of raindrops becomes a welcome reprieve, drowning out the less-than-subtle sounds emanating from your sister’s room. Ugh. it’s just great— now you can’t stand people in love anymore! Despite your genuine happiness for your sister and Jungkook, witnessing their affectionate gestures becomes a bitter pill to swallow. The kisses, the embraces, the whispered words—all of it, a poignant reminder of what you yearn for with Jimin. 

If only you could have that.

You know that jealousy is a nasty feeling and it leaves you feeling bitter inside.

The rain penetrates your jacket, seeping through to your skin—a subtle reminder of your lack of preparation. Cursing under your breath, you navigate through the yard, each step burdened with the weight of your drenched attire. As you reach one of the paddocks, darkness envelops you, the atmosphere dense and humid, mirroring the warmth and heaviness echoing in your chest. Yet, you yearn for this feeling to dissipate, much like the wishful thought that the rain will cease, allowing the sun to once again cast its hopeful rays upon you.

Lifting your gaze to the sky, the night sky unfolds above you, a vast canvas adorned with innumerable stars shimmering in their cosmic dance. A sigh escapes your lips, a blend of appreciation and melancholy. The celestial display, though undeniably beautiful, carries a bittersweet weight tonight, stirring emotions that twirl like distant constellations in the vast expanse above.

With the rain as your shield, you ponder whether it’s safe to return inside again or not. Opting to let the rhythmic dance of raindrops cloak you further, you choose the soothing drumbeat of rain over the potential moans echoing through the walls. It’s better to give them more time to finish whatever they are doing, instead of going back and having to listen to it.

As the rain clings to your clothes and skin, an uncomfortable yet strangely welcomed sensation, you yearn for more than just the soothing touch of the downpour. Hoping against hope, you wish the rain could wash away the turmoil in your chest, or perhaps, deliver to you the one thing you crave and need the most—love. 

Jimin.

In the recesses of your heart, the truth echoes loudly— he is the one meant for you, and the regret gnaws at your soul for not confessing your feelings earlier. The fear of disrupting and jeopardizing his current relationship hangs heavy, a bitter pill you swallow. His decision is made, and you must bear the weight of it. 

Frustration clenches your hands as you yearn for a conversation, a connection—anything to breach the walls he’s created, leaving you to wonder why he’s avoiding you or won’t acknowledge you at all.

As your breath quickens, tears intertwine with the raindrops on your cheeks, a blurred fusion where your own sorrows become indistinguishable from the weeping sky.

Your clothes cling to you, saturated by the persistent rain, and you decide it’s time to retreat from the star-studded night. With a silent farewell to the celestial display, you make your way back into the house, yearning for the solace of a quiet room, and silently hoping your sister and Jungkook have concluded their love making.

As you open the door and traverse the hallway, the muffled exchange of hushed voices reaches your ears, causing your heart to sink. Determined, you press on and step into your bedroom, conveniently situated next to your sister’s. Lately, you’ve cursed this proximity, contemplating the idea of seeking refuge downstairs in the guestroom.

The rhythmic creaking of the bed and muted moans persist, making you release a weary sigh, hastily snatching your pillow to shield your ears from the intimate sounds infiltrating the air.

Morning arrives, and you’re weary, having fallen asleep with the pillow cocooned around your head. Your once-neat hair now resembles a bird’s nest, and your body, feeling rigid and sore, yearns for the elusive embrace of a restful night’s sleep.

Fatigue clinging to every step, you drag your weary body to the bathroom, performing the mundane rituals of brushing teeth and washing your face. The mirror mercilessly reflects the under-eye bags, taunting reminders of restless nights. A scoff escapes your lips as you splash water on your face, a futile attempt to shake off the lingering exhaustion and rouse yourself from the morning haze.

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Jungkook steps out of your sister’s room, wearing a sheepish yet gentle smile. Weariness etched on your features, you respond with a weary nod, acknowledging his presence.

Apology etched in his expression, he inquires, “Did we disturb your sleep?” 

Concern lines his face, yet beneath the surface, a subtle smirk plays on his lips as his eyes sweep over your tired form.

“It’s fine,” you sigh, the weight of exhaustion evident in your voice, though deep down, you acknowledge that ’fine’ is a distant echo from the truth. 

“We’ll keep it down,” he assures, a warm smile gracing his features as he absentmindedly scratches his head. A soft chuckle escapes you, an acknowledgment of the genuine sweetness and kindness that radiate from him.

“Jungkook, really, you don’t have to worry. I’ll grab some earplugs or whatever,” you laugh, the sound devoid of true joy. Despite your attempts at humor, each forced smile or chuckle only serves as a reminder of the hollowness and sorrow settling in your chest.

Jungkook gives you a reluctant nod, a silent acknowledgment of your weariness and the deflated emotions you carry. With a heavy heart, you retreat into your room to get dressed, the weight of the morning and the unresolved thoughts lingering in the air.

As you descend and enter the kitchen, the comforting aroma of Ha-rin’s nearly finished breakfast fills the air. Offering a hand, you assist her in setting up the table in the cozy dining room. The rarity of having everyone gather for a meal is not lost on you; usually, you’re consumed by solitary, hurried bites as the demands of the ranch beckon. However, today unfolds differently, marked by an unusual slowness in the rhythm of ranch life.

“You look tired,” she observes with a gentle concern in her voice as the two of you collaborate in setting the table. A soft chuckle escapes you, a mixture of acknowledgment and self-deprecating humor. It’s as if they’ve pointed out the obvious—yes, you’re aware you don’t look your best, but must they bring attention to it?

“Thanks. Jungkook and Jessi kept me up again,” you respond with a weariness that seeps into both your voice and posture, a tiredness underscored by a stifled yawn.

As you turn your head, Jungkook and Jessi stand in the doorframe, wearing apologetic expressions that mirror the remorse evident in their eyes.

“We’re sorry,” your sister offers a sincere smile as she pulls out a chair, settling down. Jungkook follows suit, immediately diving into the meal with an eagerness that hints at his hunger.

“It’s fine,” you brush off their apologies with weary eyes and a nonchalant wave. “At least you’re getting some,” you jest, but an awkward hush descends upon the room. The atmosphere turns dense, and their uncertain expressions reveal they’re unsure how to react. “Don’t mind me; I’m just... frustrated. Not at you, though!” you quickly reassure them, taking a seat and joining in the meal.

For a few minutes, an uncomfortable silence descends, wrapping around the room like an unwelcome guest. It’s the kind of awkward stillness that feels stifling and peculiar, and you find yourself yearning for someone to break it, to utter anything to shatter the tension lingering in the air.

“We actually have something to tell you,” your sister begins, and as you meet her eyes, you notice a sparkle of excitement, maybe even love, dancing in them. Her happiness is contagious; a radiant smile graces her lips, and a delicate pink hue adorns her cheeks, complementing her beautifully. It’s a sight that warms your heart, pulling a genuine smile from you in return.

Jungkook gently moves his hand over Jessi’s, giving it a tender squeeze, and his eyes gleam with a radiant light, an unmistakable shimmer of affection, you presume. Their laughter dances in the air, and their shared smiles are like a silent declaration of the love that binds them.

“We’ve been meaning to share something with you,” your sister begins, her voice laced with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Jungkook and I are dating,” she announces, and you can’t help but feel your smile broaden. You observe the subtle exchange of glances between them, a blend of happiness and nervousness, as if unsure of how you’ll react to this newfound chapter in their relationship.

Your eyes glisten with unshed tears, and you can’t help but beam, your emotions laid bare. “That makes me so happy to hear!” A single tear escapes, and you playfully scold yourself, but deep down, you’re overwhelmed with joy for your sister and Jungkook.

Your sister’s concern deepens as she leans in, her eyes reflecting worry. “Are you okay with this? You seem a bit sad…”

With tear-streaked cheeks, you point to your clearly emotional face, chuckling through the joyful tears. “This? I’m just thrilled for you. I just... wish I had that too. But I’m genuinely happy for you.” Sniffling, you manage a smile, though your plate is nearly obscured by your overwhelming emotions.

Jungkook, your sister, and Ha-rin exchange concerned glances, but wisely refrain from prying further. You believe they’ve caught on; your weeks of moping and the emotional rollercoaster have left little room for secrets. It’s ridiculous, you scold yourself internally, navigating the intricate maze of your own emotions. The irony of grieving a relationship that never truly existed weighs heavy on your chest, and you can’t help but feel a pang of sorrow for what could have been.

Genuine happiness radiates within you for their newfound relationship, and you don’t perceive it as strange. Sure, there was a fleeting encounter with Jungkook, as Jessi pointed out, but it was just that—a passing moment. You never harbored romantic feelings for him; your joy stems from seeing them genuinely happy together. Yet, an undeniable pang echoes in your heart, a yearning for that elusive connection you witness in them, to have that special someone— and that someone is Jimin.

Caught in the whirlwind of conflicting emotions, you grapple with the uncertainty of your feelings for Jimin. Every attempt to navigate this emotional maze has hit a dead end – avoiding him, attempting conversations that fall on deaf ears, and even embracing silence only to be met with his intense gaze. 

The enigma that is Jimin remains beyond your comprehension. Your desire for him lingers, leaving you in a perplexing predicament with no clear path forward.

“Relax your shoulders,” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the rhythmic sounds of hooves against the earth, offering guidance as a fiery-red mare gracefully circles you in the pen. Perched atop the fence, Yoongi, accompanied by Hoseok, shares his insights. Lately, with the challenging task of taming wild horses, Hoseok has become an invaluable ally, contributing his skill and energy to the shared pursuit.

His involvement extends beyond mere assistance; he actively contributes to the preparations, occasionally joining your rides and, on other occasions, simply sharing moments as you engage in the day’s tasks. Today, he observes with keen interest, his presence an unspoken support in the rhythm of your work.

You attempt to find your focus, and you let your shoulders sag, reminding yourself of the importance of a calm and clear mind in handling the unpredictable nature of the horses. Despite your efforts, stress and frustration linger, making the task more challenging. Today seems particularly difficult. Your gaze repeatedly drifts toward Yoongi and Hoseok, seated closely. The air between them carries a subtle tension, Yoongi fidgeting with his shirt, an uncharacteristic unease marking his demeanor. It’s funny how being around someone you like can change the way you behave.

You let out a soft chuckle, finding Yoongi’s crush on Hoseok endearing. The uncertainty of whether Hoseok reciprocates, or even what his preferences are— if he’s into men, women or both. You have no clue, but you genuinely hope that Hoseok shares Yoongi’s feelings; knowing that Yoongi could use a guy like Hoseok in his life.

The red mare’s whinny echoes through the air as it breaks into a wild gallop, gracefully navigating the pen with powerful bucks. This one, a recent addition, demands more patience than its counterparts. However, you embrace the challenge, recognizing that each horse is unique, and you’re willing to invest the time needed to build trust and understanding.

You let the spirited mare run around the pen, attempting to divert your attention from its antics. Instead, your gaze returns to the two men on the fence. They’re engaged in casual conversation, possibly about work, but the genuine smile on Yoongi’s face has an inexplicable effect on your heart. Hoseok’s eyes light up at every word from Yoongi, and it feels as if your heart could burst into a garden of blossoming flowers. In that moment, you yearn for a connection as beautiful and captivating as the one unfolding before you.

As your gaze drifts, it travels up to the yard, settling on the house that holds the thoughts of the man who occupies your every waking moment—Jimin. The silence between you two persists, leaving you in a state of anticipation. Every now and then, you catch glimpses of him with Deiji, their laughter echoing through the air. Despite the small flower in your chest withering at the sight, you remind yourself it’s okay, even though anger still lingers.

“Watch out!” Hoseok shouts, leaping down from the fence with Yoongi in tow. Before you can react, you find yourself sprawled on the ground with a thud. A frustrated groan escapes your lips as you rub your back, rolling over to your side.

You spot Yoongi approaching the red mare, hands raised in the air, skillfully redirecting its attention away from you. Meanwhile, Hoseok is already down on his knees beside you. As your eyes flutter open, a wave of confusion washes over you.

Concern fills Hoseok’s voice as he asks, “Are you okay?” 

Your gaze meets his, lingering confusion evident. Meanwhile, Yoongi persists in his attempt to soothe the red mare, now employing a gentler approach, his words whispered in a hushed tone.

Your eyes lock with Hoseok’s as you ask, “What happened?” 

His outstretched hand becomes your anchor, pulling you up into a sitting position, your fingers instinctively rubbing your sore back again.

His words hit you, “The horse ran you over,” accompanied by a subtle chuckle. Yet, his eyes reveal a deeper concern as he carefully scans you, ensuring that you’re genuinely okay.

You glance around in confusion at the sandy expanse of the pen. 

“It did?” you inquire, perplexed, your gaze shifting down to the ground where you find yourself. You must have blacked out or something. You assess your body, feeling a general lack of pain, at least not as much as you expected.

“I think I’m fine,” you assure Hoseok, allowing him to help you up as you stand. You dust off the sand from your pants and shirt, trying to regain a sense of composure.

Yoongi, having calmed the mare, walks over to you. “Are you sure you’re fine?” he asks, raising a brow as he looks you up and down. You chuckle, dismissing any concern with a wave of your hand. There’s no need for a fuss over a simple fall.

“I’m fine. I was just pushed. No biggie!” you declare, gesturing with your hands to reassure them that everything is under control.

“Maybe we should take a look at you at the house?” Hoseok suggests, and you instantly flinch, a wave of apprehension washing over you.

“Oh god no. I’m fine, and I really don’t want to go in there,” you state firmly, a pressed smile on your face. The last thing you need is to see Jimin with Deiji again; better to stay clear of them, as you’ve been doing recently. Both Yoongi and Hoseok laugh, and you notice the way they look at each other, as if there’s something you’ve missed. For a split second, you feel left out before joining in the laughter yourself.

You ask Yoongi to finish working on the red mare while you and Hoseok take a seat on top of the fence. From there, you observe him letting the horse run about, much like you did earlier. Yoongi always appears so relaxed when he’s working. His ability to keep his mind sealed off and clear during tasks is incredible. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for you or Hoseok. The dynamic between the three of you is unique, each with your own way of approaching the work at hand.

The happy-go-lucky man next to you appears captivated by watching Yoongi work; his eyes shine as bright as the sun. The way he holds his breath, as if the air is too thick with something, sparks a glimmer of hope within you. Perhaps it’s because he might harbor feelings for Yoongi.

You meticulously apply eyeliner and mascara, ensuring you look flawless. Returning to your room, your eyes fall upon the elegant purple satin gown laid out on your bed. The floor-length attire boasts a sweetheart neckline, perfectly complemented by a pair of carefully chosen low heels that you gracefully slip into.

Before stepping out, you steal a moment to gaze at your reflection in the mirror, and what stares back at you is nothing short of captivating.

As you step outside your door, you encounter your sister, adorned in a floor-length gown of deep blue that borders on the verge of velvety blackness.

“Wow, you look stunning,” you compliment your sister, and she responds with a soft smile, her fingers nervously dancing with the edges of her purse.

“Thanks, you look incredible too,” she smiles warmly, and together you descend the stairs to join the other girls.

Ara, Soo-ah, and Ha-rin await you downstairs, adorned in stunning gowns for the night’s gala in town. The charity event, featuring an auction, aims to raise funds for the local hospital’s children’s ward. Ara stuns in a radiant red dress, Soo-ah elegantly dons baby blue, prompting you to ponder if it’s her favorite color, and Ha-rin exudes sophistication in a black gown. The quartet, a vision of beauty, gathers in the kitchen, the air buzzing with excitement for the glamorous night ahead.

“Ready for an enchanting evening, everyone?” you inquire, casting a smile across the group, your eyes dancing with anticipation.

“Yeah!” Soo-ah cheers with infectious joy, and without a second thought, you all rush to the door, hitch up your dresses, and dash into the yard, the relentless rain already kissing your gowns with its playful touch.

You hastily hop into the car, and Jessi swiftly ignites the engine, reversing out of the yard. The rain’s symphony dances on the windshield, while the sun gracefully sets, painting the sky in captivating shades of gold and pink.

Jessi navigates the road with precision, and the group settles into a comfortable ease. Casual conversations and light-hearted jokes fill the air, yet your mind strays elsewhere, tethered to thoughts of Jimin. Anticipating his presence at the gala, you resolve to keep a careful distance, aware that the crowd might offer a shield for the avoidance you seek.

Navigating the rain-drenched roads adds extra time to your journey into town, but finally, you pull up in front of City Hall. The building itself seems to have donned its best attire for the occasion, adorned with banners and a vibrant red carpet that unfurls invitingly through the grand entrance.

As Jessi skillfully parks the car, you hastily step out, seeking refuge under the overhang of the building to escape the relentless rain. A quick scan of the parking lot reveals the presence of Jimin and Jungkook’s trucks, instantly causing a pang in your chest. The prospect of encountering Jimin tonight tightens your heart, and you brace yourself for the emotional storm that might follow.

“Ugh I fucking hate the rain,” Soo-ah groans beside you, her disdain for the downpour resonating with your own sentiments. Your chuckle, a small escape from the damp reality, lingers in the misty air.

Ensuring everyone is prepared, you lead the way into the grand hall. The opulence hits you instantly – a symphony of golds and reds creating a lavish spectacle. The vast space is adorned with small, round tables draped in rich red cloth, each topped with flickering candles. Towards the front, a podium commands attention, surrounded by carefully curated art pieces. Among them, proudly displayed, are a couple of your own paintings, awaiting their moment in tonight’s charitable auction.

Approaching the guys, you’re met with a sight to behold—Jungkook impeccably clad in a black tux adorned with subtle stripes, while Yoongi and Hoseok exude charm in their tuxedos, each strand of hair meticulously styled. Embracing them warmly, your attention shifts to Jimin, not far off, accompanied by his stunning girlfriend. The duo radiates elegance, and you can’t help but curse Jimin silently for his undeniable allure— his ass looks so good in those pants. His tux drapes his frame flawlessly, accentuating every curve, and you catch yourself practically drooling before quickly averting your eyes.

Spotting his gaze directed your way, you respond with a silent nod. Despite your desire to keep your distance, you choose the path of politeness, offering this small acknowledgment in the crowded elegance of the gala.

The room swells with a mix of familiar faces and strangers. Across the expanse, you catch sight of Namjoon and Seokjin at a neighboring table. With a warm smile, you extend a friendly wave in their direction.

As the auction commences, you navigate through the crowd toward a table, silently grateful for opting for low heels to spare your feet. A glass of champagne in hand, you join Yoongi, Hoseok, Soo-ah, and Ara at a table. Meanwhile, Ha-rin has engaged in a lively conversation with Namjoon and Seokjin across the room, their friendship evident even from a distance.

Jessi and Jungkook are stationed at a table alongside Jimin and Deiji, and a scoff escapes you when your gaze lands on Jimin. The silence between you two remains, a lack of surprise settling in as a familiar companion at this point.

He appears incredibly alluring, like a full-course meal, and something stirs within your veins—a concoction of anger and jealousy, perhaps. The desire to speak to him, to feel his touch, clashes with the urge to tear him apart. Later, the thought of dancing with him lingers, but the awkwardness stemming from his radio silence and the undeniable truth that he isn’t yours keeps you at a wary distance.

The auctioneer’s voice becomes a distant murmur, his words lost in the whirl of paintings and various items on the stand. Your attention, however, is not tethered to the auction; instead, it’s ensnared by the intensity in Jimin’s gaze. The way his eyes lock onto yours mirrors a familiarity, reminiscent of the look he gave you weeks ago during Jessi’s cast celebration dinner. The unspoken depth in his eyes unsettles you, inducing a subtle sweat, nervous energy, and an involuntary gulp.

With no refuge in sight, you attempt to anchor yourself in the rhythm of your heartbeat, a desperate bid to quell the storm of emotions swirling within you.

Indeed— sin personified gazes your way, but what does it matter? His silence, his refusal to engage, grates on your last nerves. You know you’re at an auction right now, and it would be weird to talk at this event, but dammit, he could just come over and ask you for a talk, pull you off to another room. Anything, really. 

A sly smile graces your lips as Yoongi playfully nudges your shoulder, and you, in turn, lean into the comfort of his presence. A subtle shift in Jimin’s gaze doesn’t go unnoticed, the intensity of his eyes deepening as the unspoken tension weaves through the air.

Hoseok playfully nudges you as your vibrant red painting graces the auction stage. Surprisingly, an elegant elderly lady becomes enamored with it, bidding generously and claiming it as her own. Gratitude swells within you, knowing that the proceeds will contribute to a worthy cause.

Jimin’s unwavering gaze continues to linger on you, an irritation bubbling within. You question why he can’t redirect his attention to his girlfriend or, at the very least, the ongoing auction.

The auction unfolds in the background, but your focus remains unyielding to the bidding, stolen by the persistent gaze of the blonde man. His intense gaze feels like he’s stripping you down with his eyes. Yet you remain nonchalant, indifferent to his silent advances.

During a brief respite, as delectable appetizers circulate the room, you discreetly savor the miniature delights, determinedly diverting your attention from Jimin as per your original strategy.

Abruptly, you interject into the group’s conversation, “Is there something on my face?” Their perplexed gazes pivot towards you, uncertain of the sudden inquiry.

As you munch on a bite of food, you nonchalantly toss in, “Jimin keeps giving me these intense stares, and I just don’t get it.”

Yoongi and Hoseok share a knowing chuckle, their eyes reflecting a camaraderie that Soo-ah and Ara immediately catch onto, shooting you looks of playful understanding.

“No, there’s nothing on your face,” Soo-ah says with a teasing smile, her words dripping with a playful undertone.

“Maybe you should talk to him?” Ara suggests, her voice carrying a gentle note of encouragement, like a flicker of a candle in the dim room of uncertainty.

“He doesn’t want to talk, and I hardly think this is the place for it…” you say, the words hanging in the air like a fleeting sigh, drowned out by the buzz of conversations around you as you take a thoughtful sip of your champagne.

You redirect your attention to the auctioneer, a black vase taking center stage this time. As the bidding unfolds, you indulge in another sip of champagne, feeling the effervescent bubbles dance teasingly across your tongue, a subtle distraction from the tension in the room.

As the final gavel falls, signaling the end of the auction, a wave of relief washes over you. The speakers come alive with soulful melodies, casting a warm ambiance over the room. To your surprise, the atmosphere becomes infectious, and you observe couples from other tables swaying to the rhythmic tunes. A chuckle escapes you, realizing you’ve never been one to dance at such formal events. Nevertheless, the music’s allure beckons, and you find yourself succumbing to the rhythm, ready to embrace the unexpected joy of the night.

Yoongi seizes your hands, whisking you onto the dance floor in a whirl of laughter and joy. The dance is a delightful blend of fun and friendship, his every move resonating with an infectious rhythm. As you twirl under the dazzling lights, you catch Hoseok’s gaze fixed on Yoongi. Leaning in, you share a whispered observation, “Hoseok’s eyes are practically glued to you, you know?”

His laughter reverberates through the air, a melody that resonates with a warmth you find comforting. “I know,” he chuckles, the sound a harmonious note in the symphony of the evening.

As he smirks, a playful glint in his eyes, you can’t help but reciprocate with a grateful smile. He twirls you around, a dance of understanding, letting you sway out of his embrace only to draw you back in. Oh, the dance you share with him is a temporary refuge, a wishful escape from the reality you yearn to change. However, your joy falters as you catch Jimin’s gaze; his eyes, far from angelic, hold a mysterious intensity that pierces through the rhythm of the music.

With a chuckle, Yoongi leans in, “Jimin’s got his eyes on you too.”

“I’ve felt his eyes on me since we walked through that door,” you admit with a sigh, your gaze wandering over the dance floor where your sister twirls with Jungkook, and Ha-rin gracefully dances with Seokjin.

“You should consider talking to him,” he suggests again, but you dismiss the idea with a subtle shake of your head.

“I doubt it would make any difference, honestly,” you laugh, pressing your body into Yoongi’s. His warmth envelops you, and for a brief moment, in his embrace, everything feels like it might just be okay.

Taking a step back from Yoongi, you express the need for a break. As you make your way back to the table to sip on more champagne, you observe Yoongi inviting Hoseok to dance, a proposal met with a willing agreement. Soo-ah joins you at the table, casting a gentle gaze in your direction.

“You danced with Hoseok?” You inquire, your gaze softened with curiosity.

“I did,” she admits with a smile. “He’s a really nice guy.” You nod, acknowledging her words. However, you can’t shake the understanding that someone in your circle might end up with a bruised heart, considering both Yoongi and Soo-ah have affections for Hoseok.

As you watch Hoseok and Yoongi gracefully moving on the dance floor, impressed by Hoseok’s skilled control over his body, a genuine smile plays on your lips. However, that fleeting moment of joy is interrupted as you sense the weight of brown eyes piercing into your back. Turning around, you find Jimin dancing intimately with Deiji, the intensity of his gaze making your smile fade.

You observe Jimin and Deiji dancing cheek to cheek, their bodies pressed tightly together, making you scoff and redirect your attention to Soo-ah. Just as you try to shake off the unsettling sight, a tap on your shoulder interrupts your thoughts. You turn around to find Hoseok, his bright smile inviting, “Do you want to dance?”

You seize his hand, allowing him to whisk you onto the dance floor, reminiscent of how Yoongi did earlier. Hoseok effortlessly twirls you around, evoking laughter that bubbles up from deep within. Knowing you’re not the most adept dancer, you surrender to his guidance, and he proves to be exceptionally skilled at leading you through the dance.

Amid the enjoyment, a surge of audacity overcomes you, prompting an uncharacteristic move. “What do you think about Yoongi?” The words spill out unexpectedly, catching Hoseok off guard, a reaction vividly displayed on his face. A chuckle escapes you as you revel in the spontaneity of the moment.

“What do you mean?” he asks, catching off guard. 

Unable to contain your mischievous grin, you lean in and tease, “You know he likes you, right?” As the words escape your lips, you’re conscious of the trust you might be breaking but convinced that mingling is the key to any potential connection. Hoseok, though initially shocked, isn’t repulsed as you feared. Instead, his eyes widen, and a subtle pink tint adorns his cheeks, leaving you wondering how he’ll respond.

“He does?” Hoseok stammers, caught off guard and missing a beat. Your chuckle only intensifies as you nod in confirmation. The revelation lingers in the air, and you sense that you might not have to do much more to set things in motion.

As you continue to dance, a comfortable silence envelops you both before Hoseok breaks it, his words hanging in the air, “You know Jimin likes you too.”

You roll your eyes, well aware of the situation. “Yeah, not much to do about it when he has a girlfriend,” you admit with a wry smile. Despite Hoseok’s good intentions, you’ve firmly decided not to act on your feelings while Jimin is still in a relationship. It’s a line you won’t cross.

You dance a little longer until Yoongi is at your side again, grabbing your arm and pulling you into his embrace. He wears a curious smile as he asks, “What were you talking about with Hoseok?”

You chuckle softly, “I told him.”

He glances at you, a puzzled expression on his face, “Told him what?”

“That you’ve got a crush on him,” you declare, matter-of-factly, in a hushed tone meant just for the two of you. However, with the rain tapping on the roof and the music playing, it’s a challenge to catch every word.

Yoongi’s expression doesn’t exactly radiate joy, but there’s a subtle softness to his features, an almost-relaxed demeanor. He releases a frustrated sigh, raking a hand through his hair in apparent exasperation.

“I’m sorry. I know it isn’t my place to say anything. But he actually seemed intrigued!” You share, your words riding the rhythm of the music as you sway with Yoongi. His tension eases, and he responds with a soft expression, a subtle acknowledgment of the revelation.

“It’s okay,” he breathes out, “it wasn’t your place, but it’s fine.” 

You lean into him, embracing him gently and offering a reassuring pat on the back. In that moment, you catch Jimin’s gaze fixed on you once again. The repetitive stares leave you puzzled. Why is he focused on you instead of his girlfriend?

You feel your heart quicken, your nostrils flare, and your hands clench around Yoongi’s back. He pulls you away, confusion etched on his face, questioning what’s wrong. But you see red. It’s reached a boiling point. The anger simmers inside you, consuming every inch of your being, and with determination, you let go of Yoongi and stride purposefully over to Jimin and Deiji.

Standing before them, you take a deep inhale, a turbulent storm of emotions brewing beneath your skin. “Why the hell are you staring at me like that?” Your voice slices through the ambient sounds, a piercing question that fractures the comfortable cocoon around Jimin and Deiji. Jimin slowly turns to face you, his expression shifting from surprise to a somber acknowledgment, as if he’s been caught in the act of something he’d rather keep hidden.

“Shouldn’t your eyes be on your girlfriend, huh? Why the fuck do you keep gazing at me? Look at your damn girlfriend!” you hiss, your hands tightly clenched at your sides, radiating with anger.

“And while you’re at it, why the fuck can’t you talk to me like a normal human being?” you raise your voice, the anger boiling so fiercely within you that you feel breathless as you unleash your words.

“You’re a damn coward, aren’t you? You shouldn’t be casting your eyes my way when you have a girlfriend right there!” You jab your finger accusingly at her, and she flinches, uncertain about how to react. Jimin simply gazes at you, as though you’ve lost your marbles—and maybe you have, because the words keep pouring out.

“You fucking jerk. If you had the decency to communicate, to use your damn voice instead of making baseless assumptions, we wouldn’t be in this ridiculous situation!” You huff, the waves of anger radiating from your body. The sudden realization hits you that the entire room is now fixated on the spectacle, and an eerie silence envelops the space, punctuated only by the intensity of your heated words.

Yoongi steps up beside you, a silent force attempting to ground you, but you refuse to yield. The torrent of anger surges within you, and with an accusatory finger, you unleash your fury on Jimin.

“I fucking hate you! You’re stupid. I hate you. I fucking hate you. I love you. I fucking hate you. I hate you so fucking much!” Your words, laden with venom, spill from your lips in a torrent of conflicting emotions. You seethe, feeling strangely lighter, though the room spins around you. Yoongi releases your arm, his face a mix of shock, and confusion mirrors the peculiar glances from those around you, leaving you wondering why everyone is now looking at you even more strangely than before.

“You fucking bastard. Stop looking at me like that,” you hiss at Jimin, catching him off guard. Deiji wears a displeased expression, and Jimin’s features soften in a way that leaves you utterly bewildered. 

Deiji appears visibly irritated, and you’re left wondering if her frustration is directed at you or if she shares your exasperation for Jimin. As the tension simmers, Jimin unexpectedly breaks into laughter, his audacity fueling the fire of your anger. The laughter grates on your nerves, aggravating you further. Why on earth is he finding amusement in this situation? There’s nothing remotely funny about it, intensifying the blaze of your already fiery emotions.

You jab your accusatory finger at him once more, your voice cutting through the tension, “Stop laughing. This isn’t funny!”

Your voice may carry the tone of an angered child denied its desires, but you couldn’t care less. In this moment, you’re finally confronting Jimin, even if the conversation seems to be one-sided.

You observe as he parts his lips, ready to utter words that you don’t wish to hear.

“I don’t want to hear it! You know what? I’m done!” You hiss in frustration, ready to pivot away from the awkward situation, aware of the collective gaze of all the guests upon you. As you start to turn, Jimin’s firm grip on your wrist stops you, compelling you to face him again.

“You can stick your dick where the sun doesn’t shine!” You shriek, wrenching your arm free, and storming out of the building. The erratic thumping of your heart resonates like a dissonant ringing in your ears, mirroring the chaos within.

Gasping frantically for air, your breath catching in turbulent spasms, you step outside, feeling as if your body is unraveling at the seams. Collapsing on the stairs, you surrender to the tremors of anger pulsating through you. Attempting to regain composure, you strive to slow your breath, but the task proves as challenging as holding back a tempest.

Regret floods your senses, a torrent of remorse for every word unleashed in the heat of anger, half of them lost to the haze of fury. The weight of all eyes fixed upon you, their gaze searing into your soul, amplifies the desire for the ground to open up and engulf you whole. 

What transpired in that room, and how did it all spiral into such chaos?

A symphony of hooves shatters the tranquility of your peaceful slumber, jerking you awake. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you hurry to the window to witness the commotion outside. In the distance, a captivating spectacle unfolds — a wild herd of horses, led by the majestic brown stallion, thundering across the landscape. These creatures have become frequent visitors, drawing nearer to the ranch with each passing day. Curiosity grips you; what secrets do these untamed spirits carry, and why do they venture closer to your haven?

With a contented sigh, you wearily make your way back to your bed, sinking into its welcoming embrace. A spontaneous yawn escapes, accompanied by a luxurious stretch that sends waves of relaxation through your well-rested body. The simple joy of a peaceful night’s sleep settles over you, like a comforting blanket enveloping your weary soul.

Entering the bathroom, you brace yourself for the day ahead. Under the rejuvenating spray of a quick shower, you allow the cascading water to serve as a cleansing force, washing away not only yesterday’s mistakes but also the lingering regret that clings to your every thought. The steam clouds your reflection, a metaphorical veil between the past and the potential for a better today.

The bracing cold water jolts you into wakefulness, a refreshing prelude to the day ahead. As rivulets of water cascade down, you ensure every trace of sleep is banished, emerging invigorated and ready for the rigors of another day on the ranch. Donning a weathered shirt, worn-in pants, and your trusty boots, you complete the ensemble with the signature hat that shields your face from the sun’s relentless gaze. Descending the stairs, you find Ara in the kitchen, skillfully crafting a sandwich for her morning appetite.

“Hey there!” you chirp, a grin lighting up your face, buoyed by the rare joy of a restful night’s sleep. A subtle acknowledgment forms in your mind—thankful for your sister and Jungkook opting for a night at his place, granting you the serenity that fueled the upbeat mood.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Ara inquires, her attention focused on putting away the butter, as if carefully choosing the moment to meet your eyes.

“Actually, leave it out. I could use one too,” you interject, and Ara obligingly retrieves the butter, finally meeting your gaze. “As for how I’m doing—just fine.”

She hands you the butter and a knife, a wry smile playing on her lips, “Some party, huh?”

She chuckles, and you roll your eyes. The weight of her laughter only intensifies your embarrassment, a vivid reminder of the scene you created at the gala. You find yourself wishing for the ground to open up and spare you from the aftermath of your emotional outburst. Why did you have to make such a spectacle?

Damn you and your relentless emotions. Now the whole world, or at least everyone at the gala, knows the depth of your disdain for Jimin, you assume. You bury your face in your hands, releasing a frustrated grunt. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to create such a spectacle.”

Ara’s laughter rings out, much to your dismay, intensifying the furrow in your brow. You don’t see the humor; you’ve practically made a fool of yourself in front of everyone.

“Well, we all had a blast,” she laughs, a beautiful smile playing on her lips, “I’m sure Jimin is having a good laugh about it too.”

You roll your eyes once more, highly skeptical. After all, you called him so many terrible names, didn’t allow him a word in, and basically told him to stick it in his ass.

Wonderful. Great. Peachy. Words that utterly fail to capture the chaotic storm of emotions swirling within you at this very moment. The vivid memories of your passionate outburst yesterday haunt you, casting a shadow over any semblance of composure. There’s a lingering wish to escape the possibility of encountering Jimin and his girlfriend again, but deep down, you acknowledge that luck doesn’t favor you so generously.

You hastily slather butter onto your bread, devouring it in its pure simplicity. The imminent need to depart gnaws at you; the day awaits, beckoning you to gallop over to the Bell ranch, where the untamed spirits of the wild horses entwine with the shared endeavors of you and Yoongi.

“I have to go,” you declare, snatching the bread in your mouth, and dash outdoors toward the barn. The sun, now radiantly shining, bestows a sense of hope upon your day, propelling you forward with anticipation.

As you saddle up Marshmallow and guide him outdoors, a faint sound begins to patter on the roof—a soft, rhythmic reminder of the rain.

Out in the open, the rain embraces you in seconds, a relentless downpour that draws a scoff. Undeterred, you plant your foot in the stirrup and swing the other leg over, urging Marshmallow into a full gallop. The rain pelts your face, but you ride on, indifferent to the weather’s challenge.

As you ride, thoughts of Jimin’s expression at the gala linger in your mind. Despite his initial composure, his face betrayed offense and anger, as if restraining the urge to shout back. He stood there, his girlfriend by his side, absorbing every word you hurled at him. Regret tugs at you, but the words are irreversible, a turbulent exchange you can’t undo, even if you wished otherwise.

A yearning lingers within you, hoping that Jimin would have retorted, engaged in a verbal sparring, or at least defended himself. However, his silence echoes louder than any words, leaving you to ponder the significance of his unspoken response.

You sense that words were poised on the tip of Jimin’s tongue, ready to spill out, but a conscious decision to shield yourself from his potential revelations compelled you to shut down any communication before it began.

The peculiar weather paints a contradictory scene: raindrops cascade, yet the sun defiantly radiates its warmth, creating a surreal ambiance. In the midst of this meteorological paradox, a double rainbow graces the distant horizon. The sight, both enchanting and whimsical, elicits a genuine smile, urging you to spur Marshmallow into an even faster gallop. Each rhythmic beat of his hooves seems to synchronize with the cadence of your heart, a determined attempt to outride the persistent thoughts of Jimin that linger in your mind.

As the ranch emerges on the horizon, a welcoming sight after the turbulent events, you guide Marshmallow down to the pen where Yoongi and Hoseok eagerly await your arrival. Skillfully securing Marshmallow to the fence, you exchange greetings with the two men, the atmosphere pregnant with anticipation for the day’s tasks on the ranch.

Hoseok’s laughter greets you even before you utter a single word, prompting an eye roll from you in response.

As Yoongi dedicates himself to the fiery-red mare once more, you find your way to the fence, settling in next to Hoseok with a sense of camaraderie.

“Nice gala, huh?” Hoseok teases, raising his eyebrows in a way that suggests he’s well aware of the evening’s drama. You respond with a loud groan, wondering why people find the need to rub your failures in your face.

“Shit. I regret how I behaved. It’s so embarrassing,” you confess, closing your eyes as if wishing to erase yesterday from existence.

“I understand. But it was fun to watch,” he laughs heartily, his entire being pulsating with mirth.

You shift your gaze downward to Yoongi in the pen, “Have you noticed the herd of wild horses getting closer?”

Yoongi nods knowingly, “Yeah.”

You observe the mare’s lively movements before turning your attention back to Yoongi, “What do you think it means?”

Yoongi looks up from the mare, his expression serious, “Nothing good.”

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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[crazy-ache]

13 on the kiss prompt for Elucien pretty please!

13...discreetly

"Please, Lucien," Elain bit her lip, looking over her shoulder. "A little discretion would be appreciated, given my entire family is watching us from the window."

But the hand that was currently sneaking up her bare leg from beneath her skirts did not stop. Finger by tantalizing finger, they crawled up from her ankle, to shaking knee, to clenched thigh. With a feigned neutral face, Lucien looked over his shoulder toward the house, where peering eyes waited.

"Just smile and wave, Elain." Without missing a beat, her red-haired mate flashed the most rakish smile at their onlookers.

Elain inhaled a sharp breath, lifting a hand to wave at her sisters and their mates. She and Lucien were having a picnic in the garden. They were facing the river, while their backs burned from their curious and nosy stares, always eager to monitor their courtship.

Just as she met Feyre and Nesta's eyes, his devious fingers now found themselves between her legs. Only by the mercy of the Mother was her throbbing core covered from view by the thick fabric of her skirts.

She gripped the blanket and fought every muscle that ached to arch and grind into his touch. "You absolute scoundrel," she gritted through her smiling teeth.

"Don't worry dove, I won't let them find out about your wicked ways." Lucien winked, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on her lips, swallowing her moan with a grin.

Kiss prompts.

[izartn]

On Blue Lock, Episode Nagi movie:

It was like one of those outsider pov fics from a secondary character pov but official. Given that's one of my fave genres of fic amd I knew that about the movie coming in I enjoyed the perspective it offered, and also the melodrama of NagiReo xD

Also why was the ost so much better than in the anime itself? Did I blitz too quickly through the episodes? It made the kinda recap this was, entertaining as it got, much better. Why XD I hope that ost is in season 2.

Liked how NagiReo were the last ones to cross that door and that Ego had to bait Ngi into it. Would have messed up his 300 teens plan for Blue Lock is these two refused lol though I think he was absolutely prepared for that. Funny how Nagi is the one who gets the Blue Lock mentality despite being the reluctant of the pair.

I loled at how little the other guys in V mattered though, and at the replay of the match against Z, Nagi getting more and more fixated in Isagi and football for himself, to Reo alarm and happiness respectively.

I am not the only one who thinks Nagi is/was depressed due to a lack of challenge and isolation in his life, right? That whole, leave me I don't want to even try, just want to stay in my comfort zone idling the days away....

Going to other matters....

Also. Why did that Isagi and Bachira separation at Stage 2 look 100% more gay than it was in the anime? I swear it was the typical Shonen friendship on the season. Ah I know. Because Nagi, BL character that he is, was there remembering himself and Reo in rosy flashbacks. Hilarious taking what happened just before between them. But then Nagi is confident on their friendship in a way that Reo just isn't.

The contrast between their mental states re:change are so fucking funny in a sad way too. Reo is so insecure, compared to Nagi, I guess it comes from his family reputation and money being all he was before he meet Nagi and so he's insecure about his own merits but really. He's coping about as well as my bestie in HS did to her situationship with another girl collapsing when she was 14, that's the level of gay ass failing were talking about. That Nagi just didn't voice aloud the emotional reassuring parts to Reo during the breakup was so teenage boy of him, he just thinks he's being clear enough and then, everybody else can see Reo is just. Not manging it well. Love that they just fucking went pass Nagi being brutal to Reo on the 3vs3, like. Yes this is Nagi PoV the movie no you don't get to see what the fuck was he thinking. I personally imagine he was trying to like, do a reverse psychology on Reo, but it didn't work(?) (except it kinda did) bc Nagi has a 0 in interpersonal communication. Who knows though. Maybe the manga?

Anyways I'm really happy about that post-credits and additional time! So season 2 is gonna start from the jump after the 50 days timeskip, huh? Not surprised at all by who I saw there as the starting 11 for the U-20 match, of course our protags and company are there.

That after all the movie they end up bringing it back to NagiReo kinda having maked up, and Reo having friends/rivals telling him to quit the sad face, they're gonna be the best is soooo funny. Yes Reo you have friends, you're there on the 25 of 300 even if you're on the sidelines right now, relax XD Happy for him he seems to get friends other than Nagi, he needs more than a (boy)cough(bestie) friend.

And that was it!!! Thanks to @ashen-sky for telling me to wait for the post credits! Very appreciated given almost my whole sala walked out.

[brattybottombunny]

willing read two books in a series back to back knowing that the third won’t be released until march 😭 and now i just finished the second and of course there’s a huge cliffhanger and im Sad

[ssunkissedsunflowerss]

“Nice and toasty”

no plot, no direction whatsoever. i cannot sleep, i cannot get the hush scene out of my head, i have much love for shuri, there is a sara x shinobu fanart (genshin) that i saw and has been stuck in my head ever since, simply wanted to blow off some steam. ***needless to say, it’s smutty towards the end.***

“I’m coming back. I’m coming back for you.”

“Liar.” You mutter, voice soft and shaky, small tendrils of clouds escaping out of your mouth as warm breath collides with the icy cold air.

Around you, fluttering from the sky with such beauty and elegance are a flurry of fluffy white snow. Some of the tiny ice blossoms softly kisses you on your cherry suffused cheeks while others keep making their descend until they grace the ground with their velveteen presence.

Meanwhile, you walk the white carpet, drenched to the bone like a drowned rat, swaying and wobbly on your feet like a sickly leaf precariously hanging onto its branch. It has been amidst creating snow angels on a thick blanket of snow, giggling like toddlers and savouring the little flavourful bits of your shared moment together, that your fun has been rudely spoiled. After all, your girlfriend has left her nation not to have a date with you but to attend an important conference.

Going out tonight with you has been a risk she is willing to take, and you, having been missing her sorely after being apart for quite a spell, have had no reasons to say no. However, walking back to your apartment snow soaked and alone is definitely not how you have pictured the grand finale of your date. You have been having such great time, stealing sweet kisses and drenching each other in saccharine words. Making the most out of your little time together, you have been squeezing it for all its worth. Not a dot is to leave unspared. How anticlimatic that it has to end the way it is.

As your mind has been plagued with rampant thoughts, it is no surprise that you fail to notice the presence of another until a hand is tightly pressed over your mouth. Startled, you struggle. Nothing but foolish attempts that bear no fruits as an arm slithers across your waist. It maintains a strong, unyielding grip, as you are pulled into a body, and being pulled further still into a dark alleyway. Your struggles, however, do not cease, writhing and kicking your feet with all your might.

“Shhh, it’s me, love.”

The warmth of her breath softly caresses the tip of your ear. Her voice, husky and hushed, is a tranquilliser, dissolving in you ear like warm cocoa. Only then do you calm.

Caged in her arms and sandwiched between her body and the wall is you, and suddenly, you find the cold no longer a bother. You watch a finger finding home on her lips, a silent hint for you to keep quiet. As she peeks her head out from your hiding place to survey the vicinity, all you can feel is your heart throbbing giddily. How she can make but a plain gesture, something as mundane as hushing, ridiculously, arrestingly captivating is beyond you.

“I think I’ve lost them.”

She looks mighty fine simply standing before you. So, finding your fingers wandering towards her waist, too, is beyond your control.

She welcomes you eagerly, unclasping your fingers on her waist only to reposition them behind her back. “Come here.” Her arms then find home across your back, gathering you into her chest and keeping your bodies firmly pressed together.

It feels as if a thick, cosy blanket has been settled over you. Her body heat alone seems to instantly thaw the chill in your very bones as you feel pleasantly warm all over. Your face has found sanctuary in the little nook of her neck where you nuzzles her like an affectionate kitten.

“Hmm, you’re so warm.” When you hum, she counters. “You’re so cold.”

Her hands leave you. They are instead brought over to her mouth where she blows warm air into the little cocoon, rubs them against each other. Once satisfied, she settles them atop your cheeks, gingerly cradling the frozen cherries in the warm palms of her hands.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come back sooner, my love.”

Her forehead descends onto yours, her lips whisper-soft as she kisses the lovely, little arch of your nose.

“But, I know just the thing to make you warmer.” You feel her smile on your lips when she presses a kiss that, to your disappointment, do not linger. “Come. Let’s quickly get ourselves out of here.”

And that is how you find yourself back in your apartment, straddling your girlfriend’s thighs as the mighty panther feasts on the succulent swells of your breasts.

Her eyes are a mesmerising dark, two black holes pulling you in as wicked lips leave nebulae in their wake. Like a starved man, she suckles your tender flesh with frenzied desperation. Stars burst beneath her mouth. Fireworks explode behind your eyelids. Your waist is a home to her hands, and her nape, a home to yours. A harsh suckle coupled with a flick of her twisted tongue has you mewling wantonly, back curving and fitting flawlessly into your lover’s front. Two puzzle pieces coming together.

By the time her warm mouth detaches from your soft mounds, she is as salacious a mess as you are. A thin glistening line of saliva bridging the two of you, your breasts are dewy with drool, as well as her face for there are little rivulets of spit raining tantalisingly down her chin. Your lover looks every bit the portrait of a majestic panther, ravenously devouring you as though you are her little morsel. In fact, you are, and the realisation has liquid lava pooling in your gut.

Greatly galvanised and irrevocably aching, you are but a moth to a flame, diving down for her mouth like a madman. She receives you all too eagerly, careful yet determined digits digging into your ribcage as your fingers venture into her healthy curls. They hold her there, grip white-knuckled tight.

“There. I’ve thawed my sweet little meal and made her nice and toasty. Ready for the taking.”

As she fuels your needs with her sinful remarks, all you can think in your hazy head is that there is no better way to end the night than being undone by your mighty panther’s cleverly wicked mouth. After all, you can confirm from experience that they are capable of unimaginable crafts that will have your eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

[ryanlockheart]

— ₊ ° . ☆ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒊𝒏 was practically gabriel's second home. he'd never expected to love his job so much, but he guessed it made sense when his oh so cute boyfriend spent as much time in there as he did. it always brightened his day to see rory with his nose buried in a book in the corner of the quaint little bakery. he'd been there all day, silently giving gabriel the motivation to get through the day. rude customers and huge orders were 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 for the joy that his tiny little boyfriend brought him. — ₊ ° . ☆ 𝒈𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒍 𝒔𝒂𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 to rory's table as the night came to an end. the two boys were the only people still left in the store. gabriel had stacked up all the chairs on their tables, wiped down all the counters, and made sure that the freezer was locked shut. his only task left was to pry rory from his computer screen. he'd spent all day studying — and, of course, he always wanted the 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 for rory... but he always wanted to make sure rory was taking proper care of himself, too. gabriel had to remind him to take breaks to eat a little snack and drink water. the raven-haired boy's hand came to shut rory's laptop with a gentle smile on his face. "hi, honey bee," gabriel chirped. "no more studying — i'm putting an 𝒆𝒏𝒅 to it. 's time to spend time with me," he singsonged playfully. before rory could protest, he was swooping up all of rory's things and tucking them away in his bag. gabriel slung his bag over his shoulder, and soon enough he was lifting his tiny boyfriend up in his arms bridal style. "y'can't work yourself too hard, y'know?" he said with a little pout. he pecked rory's cheek quickly. "besides, 'm sure shakespeare and emily dickinson don't have 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 on what i've got planned for ya when i getcha home!" / @kitbogart

[roslynnnikole-blog]

It's taken me days to try to articulate what I feel about Crescent City in one, coherent rant. Specifically, this first book..

There was SO much world building; I was practically pixelating into Lunathian, itself, watching the buildings rise around me, the river, the people.

Then? The story. Already ripping my heart out in just a few chapters. Now... The story continues. Twists, turns, surprise, and realization. This is NOT first person narration. The main characters hide much of their thought process until it's time for a reveal. We get to be surprised alongside other characters.

Now, let's get into SJM's ability to make all Hel break loose in the final 100 pages. I was STRESSED. I was INVESTED. I was... Completely, utterly, and unapologetically SHATTERED. I've never cried so hard, felt so much heartbreak, anxiety, and hope in such a short span of a book.

I still haven't fully recovered, even after finishing the series. My throat catches in desperate love and devotion amongst these characters. All I have to say from here? "Light it up." 😭🌙⚡✨

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | ten

🐴Chapter summary: When Mikrokosmos goes missing, you don’t know what to do and when Jimin suddenly starts talking to you, wanting to help find your horse, you’re not sure if you should accept or not. When you can’t find Mikrokosmos and have to spend a night with Jimin in the wide open land, will old feelings bloom? 🐴Chapter title: The First Touch 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: explicit smut in the form of unprotected sex; sex in public (they are outside in nature by themselves), oral (both male and female receiving), very very brief anal play (female receiving), nipple play, hair pulling, sweet/dirty talk, pet name (babe), cock warming, multiple orgasms, a loooooooot of kissing (so much that it should be illegal), just very slow and tender love making. Jimin is very gentle, but he is also a devil 👿 🐴Status: completed 🥳 🐴Word count: 16.4k (whoopps, but it’s smut!)

🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “The First Touch” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: hello, how are you doing? After weeks of leaving you high and dry and potentially crying, I finally come bearing a gift in the form of slow and sensual smut. I really hope you love it, otherwise, shame on you (I’m sorry I just really love it, and it will get dirtier later (yes, that was more smut promised!)). This chapter was so fucking fun to write, and can you belive I wrote it in a day? The last three previous chapters have been harder to write, because they were more angsty, but this, oh dear god, when I write smut and fluff, the words just flows differently 🥰 So I really hope that you enjoy this, I ended up turning myself on with the smut, so yeah… I hope that means that it is good, please let me know okay???

And I am so sorry for all the angst I put you through, if you need therapy like me, send me the bill, okay? 🥹 We also finally get some answers to Jimin’s behavior the last chapters!! I really hope you enjoy, and I hope you haven’t given up on this series 😭

PSA! For the ultimate reading experience, I recommend grabbing a warm blanket and something nice to drink (whatever you like; water, tea, cocoa etc) 🫂

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there.Wanna see the book cover?

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“When I finally touch you Soft upon your skin You travel to the heart of me And so it begins” - ‘The First Touch’ by Rebecca Lavelle

You find yourself yearning for the ground to swallow you whole. The aftermath of the gala weighs heavily on your mind, and you’ve been evading Jimin ever since. Anger still lingers, but embarrassment overshadows it. Why on earth did you let yourself unleash such a torrent of emotions on him?

You release a frustrated groan, urging Marshmallow to stretch his stride, his powerful hooves churning up the earth beneath. The wind whips through your hair, carrying with it the anticipation of your imminent arrival at Bell Ranch.

Praying to avoid any encounter with Jimin or his undoubtedly furious girlfriend, you navigate the winding path to Bell Ranch with a knot of apprehension in your stomach. The thought of further embarrassment looms over you like a storm cloud, urging you to keep a low profile and escape unscathed.

Marshmallow ambles toward the pen, Yoongi immersed in his labor. Presently, his focus is on a horse adorned with a tapestry of brown and white spots, each stroke of his skilled hands an intimate dance with the wild spirit captured within the creature’s untamed gaze.

You bring Marshmallow to a stop, securing the reins to the fence, before settling into your customary perch. From this vantage point, you observe Yoongi, his hands orchestrating a ballet with the untamed energy of the horse.

Suddenly, a stir in the vicinity of the house catches your attention, prompting you to shift your gaze. There, you spot Jimin making his way toward you, an unusual limp in his stride suggesting he might have overexerted himself today. Despite the evident fatigue, he’s adorned in a button-down shirt, sleeves casually rolled up, revealing the golden hue of his skin and the well-defined contours of his biceps. A gentle breeze plays with his blonde locks as he traverses the yard.

A curiosity nags at you as you observe Jimin’s solitary figure, wondering about the absence of Deiji and the distant expression etched across his face, brows knit in contemplation. The air seems to carry the weight of his thoughts, leaving you to ponder what might be troubling him. Just as you’re caught in this web of speculation, the abrupt roar of an engine pierces the air, drawing your attention. Swiftly, Jimin mounts his blue dirt bike, tearing out of the yard with an intensity that propels him over hills and into the expanse of a distant paddock.

He’s likely headed off to some task, a sentiment that resonates with your own responsibilities awaiting attention. A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you shift your gaze back to Yoongi, his tender gestures toward the spotted horse capturing a moment of tranquility amidst the ranch’s bustling routine.

Yoongi’s playful grin widens as he teases, well aware that your attention involuntarily drifted towards Jimin once more. “How are you doing?”

A light chuckle escapes you. “Well, hanging in there. Just grappling with the lingering sense of embarrassment, you know?”

He erupts into laughter, the kind that reveals his gums and sets his chest into a hearty jiggle. “Got it. I heard Jimin’s girlfriend was less than thrilled with your little performance at the gala.”

You scoff, indifferent about his opinion. Regret lingers for your harsh words, a realization that an apology is overdue—a bridge you’ve yet to cross.

“I understand, but I was just so mad, and I couldn’t hold back,” you admit, your scuffed tone matching the internal storm that rages within, hands tightly clenched atop your legs.

“It’s alright. I don’t think Jimin minds. You’ve given him plenty to ponder,” he mentions, continuing to pat the spotted horse. Your raised eyebrow prompts him to elaborate.

“What do you mean?” you ask, curiosity sparking in your eyes, eager to understand his insinuation.

“The house has been unusually quiet since the gala. Maybe Jimin has taken your words to heart?” he suggests, eyebrows dancing in speculation. You scoff, skeptical of such a notion.

“Let’s shift the conversation, shall we? I’m done with Jimin,” you declare, though a part of you acknowledges that you’re far from finished with the unresolved tension. Uncertain whether you should approach Jimin – preferably without yelling this time – or wait for him to make the first move, you consider extending an apology to both him and Deiji.

Yoongi chuckles, orchestrating a rhythmic dance with the spotted horse as they traverse the pen at a leisurely pace. “Sure,” he replies with a hint of amusement in his voice.

A heavy sigh escapes you, and a pregnant pause lingers, only to be broken by Yoongi’s next words.

“I have a date with Hobi,” he announces, a radiant smile gracing his face, yet beneath the joy, a subtle tremor betrays a touch of nervous anticipation in his voice.

A grin spreads across your face, mirroring your genuine excitement. “That’s fantastic!” 

Your enthusiasm bubbles over, revealing just how genuinely thrilled you are for him.

Your eyes light up with genuine joy as you congratulate him, “I’m so happy for you, Yoon.” Your smile reflects the warmth and sincerity of your words.

A playful glint in his eyes, he teases, “Thank you, I’ll tell you how it goes.”

Anticipation bubbles within you, eager to hear the tales of their date, whenever they get to have it. As your thoughts wander, a silent wish lingers in the recesses of your mind—hoping for a touch of joy not just for Yoongi but for yourself as well, because you both deserve it, dammit.

“Are you ready to get Mikrokosmos home?” Yoongi’s question jolts you from your daydreams, nudging your focus back to reality. You silently curse yourself for entertaining thoughts about how their date would go and then your mind instantly wanders to sex. Damn, you really need to get laid. Why does your mind always have to go there?

You laugh nervously, your excitement bubbling to the surface. “Absolutely! I can’t wait to welcome Mikrokosmos home at last.”

“I’ll wrap things up here, and then we can ride her home together, sound good?” he suggests, a hopeful smile lighting up his face. You eagerly nod; a ride with the wind in your hair always has a way of soothing your heart.

As Yoongi wraps up his work with the spotted horse, coaxing it into accepting the halter, you watch attentively. Once done, he opens the gate, guiding the horse into a paddock. Together, you make your way to the stables to saddle up Mikrokosmos.

With unwavering patience, you nuzzle Mikrokosmos gently as you expertly fit the bridle and saddle onto her. Leading her out of the barn, you make your way down to the pen where Marshmallow awaits, tethered to the fence.

“Mind if I take Marshmallow? Later, Soo-ah or Ara can give me a ride home,” he proposes, deftly unfastening the reins from the fence. With a fluid motion, he swings one leg over Marshmallow’s sturdy back, securing himself in the saddle.

With a nod, you replicate the motion with Mikrokosmos. Grasping the stirrup, you press your weight onto your foot, smoothly swinging your body over the black mare’s back. A soft, airy whinny escapes her as you settle into the saddle.

“Let’s go!” you exclaim with enthusiasm, gently pressing your legs against Mikrokosmos’s side. She eases into a lazy canter before bursting into a steady gallop. Yoongi follows in your wake, and together, you ride over the hills, the sun casting a warm glow on your skin. In companionable silence, you savor the moment, connecting with nature and the rhythmic pulse of the horses beneath you.

Your heart races within your chest as you revel in the sensation of riding Mikrokosmos. Her movements feel like a dance, as if she’s carrying you to extraordinary places. Today, that destination is home. The anticipation builds as you look forward to having your horse with you at last. Countless hours of hard work have led to this moment, and the thought of bringing her home fills you with excitement and satisfaction.

The wind gently tousles your hair as you grip the reins, relishing the familiar sensation of freedom while riding. There’s a profound joy in being so intimately connected with nature. This feeling, the rush of wind, the rhythmic gait of the horse—it’s something you’ve truly missed. Since your dad took you away from the ranch, you’ve felt the absence keenly. Now, as you ride, you’re determined to reclaim everything you lost, to rediscover the simple yet profound joys that the ranch offers.

In no time, you and Yoongi arrive back at the familiar embrace of home. Guiding your horses up to the barn, you expertly stow them away, each finding comfort in their respective stalls.

As you and Yoongi make your way to the house, the air is suddenly pierced by the thunderous roar of an engine. Turning, you spot Jungkook’s sleek bike charging into the yard, your sister snugly positioned behind him. With a smooth halt, he steadies the bike, kicking the stand into place and plants his boots on the ground, unveiling his disheveled black hair as he removes the helmet. Following suit, Jessi frees her own brown locks, letting them playfully dance around her face in the breeze, a tandem display of casual grace as the bike’s engine settles into a quiet hum.

Your hand rises in a friendly wave, reciprocated by the warm smiles adorning both Jungkook and Jessi’s faces as they draw near.

“Hi,” resonates in perfect harmony from both, your sister’s fingers intimately intertwined with Jungkook’s. A twinge of happiness for them pulls at your heart, yet it’s hard not to let a tinge of personal sadness creep in as well.

Yoongi strolls up to Jungkook, nodding toward the bike, “Mind if I borrow that to ride home, in case you’re crashing here?”

Jungkook laughs and gives a casual nod, “Sure thing. Jessi’s playing chauffeur for me tomorrow.”

Yoongi grins with satisfaction, sharing a quick hug and bidding you farewell. He hops onto the dirt bike, revving the engine to life, the sound echoing through the air.

You stand there, watching as Yoongi rides off into the distance, a cloud of dust rising in his wake, the roar of the engine gradually fading into the peaceful surroundings.

“I’m going to grab a quick snack before dinner, do you want some?” You cast a casual glance toward your sister and Jungkook as you leisurely make your way toward the house.

“As long as it’s a sandwich, count me in,” Jungkook chuckles, with your sister in tow. The duo follows you into the house and converges in the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you survey the available ingredients for sandwich-making. Jungkook and Jessi settle at the small table on the side, eagerly anticipating the creation of the culinary delights.

You retrieve the bread, butter, and a medley of ham and cheese from the fridge. Your hands move with a rhythmic grace, deftly assembling the ingredients, all the while humming the sweet melody of a love song that resonates in the air.

“Have you talked with Jimin since the gala?”Jungkook’s question punctures the air, shattering the peaceful rhythm of your sandwich-making. The ingredients lay untouched as you turn your attention to him, his words echoing in the kitchen.

Without turning away from the task at hand, you respond to Jungkook’s inquiry, your voice laced with a mix of uncertainty and a tinge of regret. “No, and I’m not sure he even wants to talk to me after everything that happened.”

As you continue working, your back facing Jungkook and your sister, you sense his understanding nod and his voice carries a gentle insistence. “I really think you should talk to him this time.”

You pivot, your eyes locking onto Jungkook, a giant question mark etched across your face. 

“Why?” You inquire, curiosity and a hint of reluctance evident in your expression.

A sly smirk lingers on his lips, aggravating you further. The infuriating knowledge he possesses irks you to no end. “I think he has something to tell you,” he teases, and you find yourself caught between irritation and curiosity. A sarcastic chuckle escapes your lips as you refocus on the sandwiches, allowing the knife to slice through them, the sharp blade echoing your conflicted emotions.

“Here,” you offer, presenting Jungkook with a plate laden with half a dozen sandwiches, though your sister politely declines any.

You snatch one for yourself, shooting a casual yet meaningful glance back at them, “Enjoy.”

Savoring each bite of the sandwich, you ascend the stairs to your bedroom, where your eyes linger on the canvas mounted on the easel. The palette has shifted, with softer tones emerging – hints of pink intermingling with delicate whites and purples, forming a composition reminiscent of a blossoming cherry tree.

Sinking into the soft embrace of your bed, a cascade of thoughts floods your mind. The weight of an overdue apology to Jimin and his girlfriend hangs over you, a lingering echo from the turbulent gala. Yet, Jungkook’s mysterious hint at something he knows adds an intriguing layer to your contemplation. Recognizing the need for resolution, you resolve to extend the olive branch of an apology first, aiming to pave the way for a more composed and genuine conversation with Jimin. The anticipation of what both interactions might unveil stirs within you, pushing you to take the first step towards reconciliation.

In an unexpected twist of events, you drift into an unplanned slumber, the embrace of sleep enveloping you so thoroughly that dinner becomes a distant echo. No one ventures to rouse you, and you awaken later on your bed, a half-eaten sandwich still clutched in your hand. The rhythmic resonance of hooves reverberates, drawing you to the window. A herd of wild horses, led by the imposing brown stallion, unfolds in the yard, remarkably close. Its flaring nostrils and challenging hoof scratches paint a vivid picture of defiance. Despite the intriguing spectacle, weariness tugs at you as you wearily retreat to your bed.

A disquieting sensation grips you, seeping into the very marrow of your bones and settling like a heavy stone in the pit of your stomach. An unsettling intuition whispers that things are amiss, and you can’t shake the ominous feeling that something, somewhere, has gone terribly wrong.

Emerging from your bed, your hair a tousled bird’s nest, you scan the room, finding the familiar unchanged. In the bathroom, the routine of brushing your teeth provides a momentary distraction as foam swells in your mouth, only to be expelled and washed away. The warm shower cascades over you, but an indefinable unease persists. Hastily drying off, you return to your room, donning a shirt and pants with urgency. Boots secured, hat in hand, you bound down the stairs, a sense of urgency propelling each step.

Entering the kitchen, a picture of concern greets you — Jungkook, your sister, Soo-ah, Ara, and Ha-rin all wear furrowed brows, leaving you bewildered as to the unfolding situation.

“What’s happened?” You urgently inquire, your voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and foreboding, a silent acknowledgment that your unsettling intuition might have been onto something significant.

“The herd of wild horses were here last night,” Jungkook informs, a flicker of annoyance crossing his gaze as it shifts from your sister to you.

“Half of the horses are missing,” she exclaims, her voice tinged with frustration, a deep sigh escaping her. You stand there, gaping at them, a sinking feeling settling in. Half of the horses gone? The implications of this revelation weigh heavily on your mind, leaving you bewildered and searching for answers.

“How in the world are half of the horses missing?” you demand, furrowing your brows in disbelief. Nausea churns in your stomach as you contemplate which horses might be gone, a sense of urgency and worry gripping your every thought.

In a calm voice, Ha-rin explains, “It was the stallion. He kicked down the fence, and the horses bolted…”

You nod solemnly. Yoongi’s cautionary words about the troublesome stallion echo in your mind.

Your voice trembles with fear as you ask, “Which paddock?”

Jessi’s voice drops, “The East paddock,” she says, her anger seeping into every word as she sinks into a chair.

Realization crashes over you like a tidal wave. After stalling Mikrokosmos for the night, you released her into that same East paddock for some freedom—whatever freedom a fenced enclosure could offer. Oh, no. Could Mikrokosmos be among the missing horses?

“Mikrokosmos?” The word escapes your lips, a desperate plea wrapped in the echo of your worst fears. You don’t need them to confirm it; the sinking weight in your chest tells you everything. The truth is etched across their faces, mirroring the dread that’s settled in your bones since you woke up.

Fury courses through Jessi’s words as she spits out the painful truth, “She’s gone too, along with some of the other mares.” Her hand crashes down on the table, a symphony of anger and frustration. Jungkook steps in, his calming touch a feeble attempt to soothe the storm unleashed.

Hatred drips from Jessi’s words like venom as she rages, “That’s why I hate those damn wild animals! Always stealing our horses. That stallion probably wanted Mikrokosmos back…” Her words pierce the air, causing an uncomfortable twist in your stomach. Is she implying this is somehow your fault?

You begin to protest, “I didn’t have anything to do with this,” but Jessi dismisses your words with a quick and dismissive wave.

“I don’t think you did. I’m not blaming you. I’m just furious at that wretched stallion,” she explains, her anger palpable and raw, but there’s a softer edge to her words too.

It’s a relief to know she doesn’t pin this on you, that you’re not burdened with the blame. A soft sigh escapes your lips.

“So, what’s the plan then?” You inquire, scanning the faces in the crowded kitchen, a sense of urgency in your voice.

“We need to mend that fence, Jungkook, can we count on you for help?” Your sister implores, turning to him with a hopeful expression. He responds with a firm nod and a reassuring grip on her shoulder.

“Of course.”

“Feel free to track down the wild horses and check if you can locate them. Unfortunately, we’re short-handed today,” your sister suggests, rising from her seat and gazing out the window.

“No worries. I’ll head over to Yoongi and see if he can spare some time to join me,” you assure them with a gentle smile. Beneath the surface, a mix of sadness and frustration bubbles as you long for Mikrokosmos to return.

With determined steps, you rush out of the house and bound up to the stables, the urgency echoing in your every movement. In the quiet embrace of the stable, Marshmallow awaits, his presence a comforting balm to your racing thoughts. Swiftly, you open the door, embracing him in a soft hug before gearing him up with a bridle and saddle. Together, you emerge from the barn, and with a decisive leap, you saddle up, urging Marshmallow into a gallop, heading towards the Bell ranch with determination in your heart.

The wind tenderly weaves through your hair once more, a melancholic symphony echoing the turbulence within. Fueled by a potent mix of sorrow and frustration, your heart clenches with a resolute desire to reclaim what’s rightfully yours. Your grip tightens around the reins, a silent vow etched in your clenched fists, urging Marshmallow to race faster, the earth stirs in a tumultuous dance beneath his thundering hooves.

The pen materializes on the horizon, and there, amidst the rhythmic ballet of wild horses, you spy Yoongi immersed in his labor. Urging Marshmallow to a thunderous gallop, you charge towards the pen. With an abrupt tug on the reins, the air fills with the gritty harmony of skidding hooves as Marshmallow halts, an abrupt punctuation that seizes Yoongi’s attention. Descending from Marshmallow, you plant your feet on the ground with a flourish, the dust settling around you like a curtain call.

“What’s wrong?” He queries, a flicker of concern lighting up his features, as your uncharacteristic entrance sends ripples of tension through the air. 

“The damn stallion,” you seethe, your breaths punctuated with fury, “he’s run off with Mikrokosmos.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen in shock, but without hesitation, he declares, “I’ll help you search for her.” You nod in gratitude as he leads his brown horse out of the pen, and you guide Marshmallow to the stables, anticipation coursing through both of you.

Prepared and determined, you and Yoongi lead your horses by the reins out to the yard, a shared sense of urgency fueling your quest to find Mikrokosmos.

Yoongi gathers the reins in his hand and directs your focus to the task at hand, “We’ll start looking at the Eastern paddock, okay?” Just as the urgency builds, Jimin emerges from his house, adding an unexpected twist to the unfolding events. You shoot him a questioning look as he stands before you, curiosity and apprehension blending in your gaze.

“What are you up to?” Jimin questions, catching both you and Yoongi off guard. The unexpectedness of his inquiry leaves you standing there, dumbfounded, your shared silence reflecting the tension that lingers between you and Jimin.

“The wild stallion snatched Mikrokosmos last night; we’re going to search for her,” Yoongi explains, his voice filled with urgency, his movements swift as he places his foot in the stirrup and gracefully swings his body over the horse’s back. The gravity of the situation hangs heavy, and you can feel the collective determination to retrieve your horse cutting through the morning air.

“I can help,” Jimin offers, his voice carrying a light and airy tone that catches you off guard. You stare at him, momentarily questioning your senses—did he really just say that? The unexpected offer hangs in the air, and you’re left wondering what might be going on in his mind.

Yoongi and you both fixate on him, and Jimin responds with a soft chuckle, the contours of his chest subtly moving beneath his shirt.

“I can assist. That way, Yoongi can focus on his tasks,” he suggests, approaching Yoongi and motioning for him to dismount so they can swap positions. Yoongi glances at you, seeking approval for the change. Meanwhile, you continue to stare blankly at both Yoongi and Jimin. The situation feels oddly surreal—Jimin offering to help you search for your horse, especially considering the tense silence since the heated exchange at the gala. This ride might just turn out to be the most awkward one of your life.

“Sure,” Yoongi concedes, dismounting from the horse. He hands the reins to Jimin, who skillfully collects them in his hands. With a swift motion, Jimin places his boot in the stirrup and swings his body over the horse, mirroring Yoongi’s earlier move.

Silent as a shadow, you remain grounded, words held captive within the walls of your thoughts.

With a subtle tug on the reins, Jimin redirects the horse, casting a teasing glance your way, “Are you coming or what?”

Jimin’s playful remark snaps you back to the present, and without a second thought, you slip your foot into the stirrup, effortlessly swinging your leg over Marshmallow’s back.

You trail behind Jimin, bidding farewell to Yoongi, who lingers with a knowing smile. Silently cursing him for abandoning you in the company of Jimin, you brace for the imminent awkwardness. Despite the uncertainty, the urgency of finding Mikrokosmos eclipses any reservations—you’re grateful for any help that might lead to her return.

Jimin confidently guides his horse, setting the pace as you both return to your ranch. The eastern paddock looms ahead, where Jungkook and Jessi ardently mend the broken fence. Their curious gazes lock onto you, expecting Yoongi but finding Jimin at your side instead.

Venturing deeper into the forest, the towering trees cast a verdant embrace around you. Silence hangs heavy between you and Jimin, a palpable tension that begs to be shattered. It dawns on you that speaking up might be the only way to dispel this awkward atmosphere before it becomes a permanent fixture.

Amidst the rustling leaves and dappled sunlight, you finally muster the courage to break the awkward silence. “I’ve been meaning to say, I’m sincerely sorry about the gala. I hope my words didn’t cross a line with you or upset Deiji too much,” you confess, your gaze sweeping through the foliage in search of any sign of the elusive wild horses.

His laughter dances through the air, a warm melody amid the rustling leaves. “It’s fine. Did it feel good getting off your chest?”

A subtle blush graces your cheeks, and you admit, “It did. I’m still sorry, though. Sorry that your girlfriend had to hear that, and for pointing at her like that.”

You release a soft sigh, reminiscing about the regrettable way you conducted yourself.

He laughs again, the sound echoing like sweet melodies in your ears, yet the mystery behind his continuous laughter leaves you utterly perplexed.

“She did not like it,” he starts, weaving his words with the rustling leaves as you venture into uncharted territory beneath the expansive canopy of a towering, ancient tree.

“I deeply regret my words and actions,” you offer in earnest, the weight of remorse evident in your voice.

“It’s fine. We actually broke up,” his words hang in the air, a revelation that jolts you, and you swivel your head towards him so swiftly you fear a case of emotional whiplash.

Your words tumble out rapidly, laced with uncertainty, as you press him for answers, “You broke up? Why?” The shifting dynamics between you two send your heart racing, and the reins in your sweaty palms seem to tighten with anticipation.

In a hushed tone, he reveals, “She was tired of being compared to you.” 

His voice carries a soft, steady cadence, devoid of anger, as though he’s entrusted you with a profound secret. He turns to face you, a gentle smile playing on his lips, revealing his slightly crooked teeth. His eyes disappear behind lowered eyelids as he adds, “She isn’t you.”

A suspended moment, as if time itself hesitates, your heart momentarily halts its rhythmic dance within your chest. Breath catches, and for a beat, you’re left in breathless suspension—did he truly utter those words? The weight of his revelation seeps into your weary frame, and a blossoming warmth unfurls within your chest. The air lightens, the sun bestows its gentle touch on your skin, and you find yourself smiling at him, words caught in the surge of emotions.

“I also had a conversation with Yoongi,” he reveals, and you find yourself gaping in astonishment. The horses have settled into a leisurely walk, a welcome reprieve as you grapple with the influx of information, making it nearly impossible to focus on the ride.

“He mentioned the kiss,” he confesses, and you detect a glimmer of pain in his eyes. Yet, it doesn’t weigh as heavily as it once did; there’s a newfound lightness in his demeanor as he continues, “Yoongi explained that he’s gay, and that the kiss was merely a friendly gesture.”

You nod, each word he utters peeling away layers of weight from your shoulders. It’s precisely the message you’ve been struggling to convey all along. However, you hesitated to betray Yoongi’s confidence by revealing it. Yet, confessing to Hoseok about Yoongi’s feelings for him seemed to work wonders, paving the way for their upcoming date.

“That’s what I desperately wanted to convey that day, you know... but you slammed the door shut in my face,” you confess, a tinge of sorrow sweeping over your heart at the memory of the pain etched on Jimin’s face that day. While you comprehend the source of his hurt and anger, the lingering confusion remains about why he refused to engage in conversation or hear your side of the story.

“I’m sorry. I was just so hurt at the time. Later, when I noticed how close you were to Yoongi, I jumped to conclusions and assumed you were dating him,” he chuckles, the sound carrying a tinge of sadness as he reminisces about the past. “Fortunately, he clarified things for me, assuring me that you two are just friends and always have been.”

“That’s right. We’re just best friends. Honestly, he’s like the annoying brother I never asked for,” you chuckle, a weight lifting off your shoulders. Yet, an indescribable sensation begins to bloom within your chest, a mix of warmth and tingles, leaving you intrigued by its unfamiliar presence.

“I’m so sorry. I really should have talked to you and listened. I’m so sorry.” As Jimin utters his apology, his voice echoes with remorse, a melody of regret that resonates within you. It’s a bittersweet symphony, soothing to finally hear, yet you ponder the missed opportunities for dialogue that could have averted the storm unleashed by this stupid mistake and now your recent outburst. The apology, though overdue, forms a bridge between you, and you find solace in the fact that, at last, you stand on the same side of understanding. 

“I had hoped for you to listen back then as well. But, let’s leave the echoes of the past behind, shall we?” Your suggestion carries the weight of anticipation, a sense of hopeful exploration into uncharted territories. He nods in agreement, yet a palpable silence, thick with the unsaid, envelops you both. The journey continues in quietude, but within that stillness, you sense the unspoken words echoing in the lingering gaze of his brown eyes, a silent conversation that paints the canvas of possibility.

As twilight descends and the hours in the saddle accumulate, your fatigue is etched into the soreness of your seat. The weariness must surely weigh on Jimin too, his body silently protesting the prolonged ride. Amidst the encroaching darkness, Mikrokosmos remains elusive, a mystery yet to unfold, and the elusive presence of the wild horses eludes your diligent search.

Frustration settles over you like a heavy cloak, and an audible sigh escapes your lips, carrying the weight of your disappointment. Just as the gloom threatens to deepen, a rebellious rumble emanates from your stomach, capturing Jimin’s attention and coaxing a playful laugh from him.

“Hungry?” His question, a beacon of concern, draws a nod from you, and you respond by absently rubbing your stomach as if coaxing it to silence the persistent growls of hunger.

As the undeniable pangs of hunger echo through your stomach, you admit with a rueful tone, “I forgot to eat before we left,” the regret audible in your voice.

In a gentle yet scolding tone, he remarks, “That’s not good, you know. It’s important to eat.” Leaning towards you, he suggests, “I think we should call it a day and head back. It’s getting late anyway.”

As you nod, a flicker of disappointment crosses your face. The elusive search for Mikrokosmos remains unfulfilled today. Yet, a spark of hope ignites within you as you remind yourself, there’s always tomorrow, right?

“Then you can get something to eat, a good night’s sleep and then I’ll pick you up tomorrow and we can continue the search?” His soft smile and warm, glowing brown eyes captivate you, quickening your heartbeat. With a hopeful nod, you sense something stirring deep within your stomach — a sensation that goes beyond hunger, something akin to the birth of hope.

The rhythmic tapping on your door pulls you from slumber, and you respond with a drowsy yet receptive, “Yes?”

You emit a groan of protest as the door inches open, revealing a fully alert Jimin. Clad in a snug white tee, its slight transparency inadvertently exposing the soft hue of his pink nipples, you chide yourself for letting your gaze linger. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you note his dark blue jeans, strategically torn at the knees, leaving you curious if it’s a deliberate fashion choice or a result of untamed adventures. His hands nonchalantly find refuge in his pockets, drawing your attention to the pronounced veins that traverse his arms, subtly visible in the soft light of dawn.

As you rise from your bed, a sudden awareness floods your mind, recalling the choice of your sleepwear—a camisole paired with shorts that might be deemed too short for comfort. Hastily, you reach for the duvet, intending to conceal a portion of your body, only to inadvertently accentuate the contours of your chest. The fabric presses against your breasts, and you can’t help but notice the subtle shift in his gaze, his eyes lingering on the unintended display of cleavage.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” he chuckles, advancing deeper into your room. His gaze sweeps across the array of your personal belongings, lingering on the easel in the corner adorned with a painting bursting with vibrant hues— a stark contrast to your previous, darker works. Despite your eye roll, you pull yourself out of bed, allowing the duvet to cascade from your body. In that moment, you sense his eyes tracing every contour of your nearly naked form.

“Just a minute,” you reply, swiftly retrieving a t-shirt and pants from your closet, tossing them onto the bed. Jimin’s gaze lingers on you, a subtle intensity that sets your hair on fire, the air thick with an indescribable energy. “Mind if I take a shower first?” you ask, breaking the charged silence.

He chuckles, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair. “No time for that. Besides, you already smell nice.” His playful demeanor adds a spark to the moment, making you smile in spite of the urgency.

A blush tints your cheeks. Did he just say you smell nice? You did take a bath yesterday after dinner, but you’re not entirely convinced you actually smell nice. Nevertheless, he’s spot on about time slipping away – you can’t afford to lose daylight like you did yesterday.

“Fine,” you hiss, the word escaping through a playful smirk. Chuckling softly, you grab your clothes from the bed and dash out of your room, disappearing into the bathroom. 

Returning to your bedroom, you discover Jimin holding a photograph featuring the three of you. His smile reflects the captured moment as you take the frame from his hand. “I found it a few weeks ago. Isn’t it just adorable?” The warmth of nostalgia floods the room, threading through the air as the image triggers shared memories.

A smile graces your face as you gaze at the photograph capturing the innocence of childhood, featuring you, your sister, and Jimin at the tender age of eight. Bright, childish smiles illuminate the image, with chubby cheeks and round faces. You and your sister playfully squish Jimin in the middle, a moment frozen in time that radiates cuteness. Reflecting on it, you marvel at the transformation; once adorable, Jimin now exudes a different allure, an almost dangerous charisma, akin to the allure of sin.

“It was good times,” nostalgia colors his words as a warm smile graces Jimin’s lips. Without a word, he walks past you, hand reaching out to intertwine with yours, a gentle pull guiding you downstairs to the kitchen. In that touch, echoes of good times and cherished memories bridge the gap between past and present.

“Here you go,” Ha-rin offers you a bundle of carefully prepared food, a thoughtful gesture that instantly makes you feel cared for. Simultaneously, Jimin secures water bottles, gearing up for the day’s journey. The barn becomes a hub of activity as his sleek black horse stands poised, laden with sleeping mats and saddlebags filled with provisions. The air buzzes with anticipation as you prepare for the adventure ahead.

“You’re really prepared,” amused by the thorough preparations, you share a light chuckle while heading into the stable to retrieve Marshmallow, your trusted companion for the impending journey.

“Yeah, that way, if we still don’t find her, we can just sleep out there instead of having to ride all the way back and start over again tomorrow.” His practical explanation resonates with you as you prepare Marshmallow, donning him with a bridle and securing the saddle. Anticipating the possibility of an extended search, you fasten saddlebags, graciously accepting the additional supplies from Jimin, ensuring you’re well-equipped for the journey ahead.

His strategic approach resonates, and you nod in agreement, a surge of determination coursing through you as you gear up for the mission to locate Mikrokosmos.

Guiding Marshmallow from the stable into the morning sunlight, you revel in the warmth that has lingered for months. With reins in hand, boots in the stirrups, and a shared determination with Jimin, you swing into the saddle, urging your horses into a brisk trot toward the Eastern paddock.

The silence becomes a tangible presence, weaving an awkward tapestry around you. Armed with the knowledge of Jimin’s recent breakup, a peculiar tension lingers. He’s now within reach, available, and your desire for him simmers beneath the surface. The challenge lies in navigating this uncharted territory, uncertain of how to bridge the gap between longing and action.

After a few hours in the saddle, you take a well-deserved break, replenishing your energy with a quick snack and a sip of water. The brief pause allows you to catch your breath, fortifying yourself before embarking on the ongoing quest to find Mikrokosmos.

Between bites of the delicious sandwiches Ha-rin crafted for you, you cast a concerned glance at Jimin. 

“Are you okay?” Your attention focuses, especially on his leg, as you inquire about his well-being.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he reassures you, as though casually dismissing the likely pain he’s enduring.

“I know that long rides can strain your leg, and I don’t want you to push yourself too hard,” you express with concern, your voice softening. The last thing you want is for him to endure any pain because of you.

“It’s okay,” despite his soft smile and dismissal, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s in pain. It reflects in the furrow of his forehead and the way he favors his left leg, dragging his right leg more than usual. Stubborn, you think, as you let him have his way, but deep down, you know he’s masking the discomfort.

As you take a sip of water, you gently probe, “I remember you telling me about your accident, but what was it like for you afterward?”

With a gentle smile, he begins, “As I told you earlier, I underwent surgery after the accident. It lasted for hours, leaving me with numerous scars on my hip. I despise them; they keep reminding me of that day,” his voice resonates with a mix of sadness and lingering anger. “It happened when I was alone, unable to move or feel my legs. My foot was trapped in the stirrup, the horse struggling to rise immediately after the fall.”

Empathy wells up within you as he recounts the harrowing details. It sounds truly dreadful. Reflecting on the first time he mentioned the incident, you realize he held back so many of these distressing details.

As he exhales, a poignant mixture of sadness and defeat tinges his voice. “Finally, the horse got up and ran off, presumably back home. A few hours later, Jungkook found me and took me to the hospital,” he shares, his recollection carrying the weight of a painful memory.

“Learning to walk again was also pretty hard. But I managed,” he confides, a resilient smile lighting up his eyes. In that moment, you find yourself smiling back, realizing the depth of his strength. Despite the pain, he’s willingly embarking on this quest with you—a testament to the extraordinary kindness that defines this man. He is truly too kind for his own good.

“I’m so sorry,” you utter, a genuine ache in your voice, yearning to alleviate even a fraction of the pain etched across his features.

“It’s life, I guess,” he murmurs with a touch of vulnerability, his shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug as he concludes his sandwich, deftly stowing away the remnants into the saddlebags.

“Ready to continue?” He inquires, rising to his feet and dusting off his pants. Following suit, you tidy up, brushing away the dirt from your clothes. Grabbing the reins of Marshmallow, you mount him once more. With the sky shifting from orange to purple in the approaching dusk, the urgency propels you to search fervently for Mikrokosmos.

You’re hit with a wave of disappointment as the realization sinks in that Mikrokosmos won’t be found today either. Frustration knots in your stomach, and a heavy sigh escapes, echoing your dejected feelings.

“We will continue tomorrow,” under the star-studded sky, Jimin’s comforting words envelop you like a gentle embrace. The vast expanse of the open land, with trees and mountains on the horizon, hints at the distance you’ve covered—perhaps even farther than the previous day. Tomorrow holds the promise of a new search, a fresh chance to reunite with Mikrokosmos.

“Fine.”

Resigned, you dismount Marshmallow, carefully removing his bridle and saddle, placing them on the ground with a sense of weary determination. Jimin mirrors your actions with his own horse, unfurling sleeping mats that create a makeshift bed beneath the starlit sky. Blankets join the ensemble, and side by side, you both recline, gazing upward. The stars, like distant diamonds, twinkle in the vast canvas of the night sky, creating a breathtaking image of beauty.

As you lay there, surrounded by the gentle rustling of grass and the fragrant whispers of wildflowers, a part of you can’t help but believe that this is the stuff dreams are made of. The soft earth cradles you, a natural mattress beneath the vast expanse of the cosmos, each star above a guardian in the nocturnal symphony orchestrating your descent into slumber.

The night breeze plays a gentle melody around you, and you sense Jimin shifting beside you. Your eyelids flutter open, and you gracefully turn your head to meet his presence in the tranquil darkness.

“You know that brother’s talk…” in the hushed embrace of the nocturnal wilderness, Jimin’s voice resonates like a sacred incantation. He breaks the silence with a low, calm tone, his words weaving through the night’s symphony of your shared breaths, distant crickets, and the flickering dance of fireflies.

His words, like an unexpected gust of wind through the serene night, jolt you awake. Tension grips your body, and a nervous gulp escapes your throat, shattering the fragile cocoon of impending sleep.

His words cut through the tranquil night, each syllable heavy with the weight of his vulnerability. In the dimness, his eyes lock onto yours, revealing a hurt that lingers like a shadow, haunting the depths of his gaze. “It really hurt... seeing you with Jungkook,” he confesses, laying bare the ache that still throbs within him.

As your heart sways with remorse, your hand moves instinctively, bridging the gap between you and Jimin. Gently, your fingers trace the contours of his cheek, a silent apology etched in the tender gesture. “I’m so sorry. Both that it happened and that you had to see it,” your words hang in the night air, a delicate offering of regret that seeks solace in the quiet.

Jimin’s hand intertwines with yours, and his touch becomes a comforting anchor in the obsidian night. “It’s okay. Stuff happens. I just like you so much, it made me really angry,” his words, a vulnerable confession, echoing beneath the starlit canopy. 

“I’m sorry. I really like you too. And I didn’t know he was your brother at that time, I’m sorry.” The apology lingers in the night air as you gravitate closer to Jimin. His breath, a gentle caress, plays on your skin. Proximity tightens the space between you until your noses almost touch. A symphony of rapid heartbeats reverberates in the silence. 

An electric charge courses through you as Jimin cups your cheek, his gaze penetrating into the depths of your soul, intertwining two fates under the starlit embrace.

A subdued moan escapes your lips as his touch fans the flames within, setting ablaze the desires you’ve long suppressed. It’s that magnetic pull, the sensation lingering each time Jimin’s presence envelops you, a denial unraveling at last. The tension snaps, akin to a taut elastic band reaching its limit. Eternity seems to pass as you lock eyes with him, noses grazing. Inevitably, his plush, inviting lips find yours. Your hands eagerly cup his cheeks, drawing him closer, intensifying the kiss—a convergence of longing and surrender, an electric union that transcends mere touch.

His lips, plush and tender, evoke the sensation of cotton candy—irresistible, almost ethereal. 

In this stolen moment, the kiss becomes an endless dance, a rhythmic exchange that could easily stretch into eternity. A dormant ember within you, quiet for far too many moments, now kindles to life. The realization floods your senses, a surge of awareness that travels down to where desire ignites. Your panties dampen, awakening the passion swirling between you and Jimin.

Jimin expertly rolls you over, maintaining the unbroken connection of your lips. As he gracefully assumes the position above, a tantalizing dance ensues. The subtle pressure of his hips against your crotch sends shivers through your being. You can feel his erect cock, concealed beneath denim, pressing fervently against you. In a harmonious rhythm, he grinds down, a symphony of need escaping him, as he moans into your mouth.

You gasp for breath, the air thick with lust, your eyes locking onto Jimin’s, both sets heavy-lidded and pupils dilated, mirroring the intoxication that courses through your veins. It’s a heady sensation, a collision of longing and desire that feels almost surreal but undeniably right. Your fingers find his cheeks once more, a possessive urgency guiding your movements as you draw him down towards you. As your lips meet in a fervent kiss, the hunger between you intensifies, a voracious yearning that’s been building for months. Each brush of your lips against his is a moment suspended in time, where your need is laid bare, and the surreal truth of it all leaves you breathless – a fantasy finally materializing into reality.

Jimin gently pulls away, a glistening strand of saliva lingering between your parted lips like an invisible tether, a tangible testament to the magnetic force pulling you both back. His breath hitches, a raw intensity in his eyes as he utters, “Fuck. I want you so bad.”

He exhales, a tangible wave of frustration emanating from him as he plunges back into another searing kiss. His tongue, a silent plea, prods at the barrier of your lips, and in a breathless agreement, you grant him entry. Tongues entwined, a passionate dance ensues, heightened by the rhythmic grind of your core against his. The ache of desire consumes you, a primal need that has been dormant for what feels like an eternity. It’s a shared hunger, an unspoken acknowledgment of mutual longing, as if both of you are starved for each other’s touch.

His hands travel down, tracing the contours of your stomach beneath the fabric of your shirt. A soft, involuntary giggle escapes your lips, betraying the ticklish sensation that dances across your skin. His touch ventures further, slipping beneath the shirt, and you’re met with a surge of anticipation. The warmth of his palms cups your breasts, the delicate barrier of the bra heightening the sensory encounter. A moan escapes into the heated exchange of the kiss, the responsive melody to his skilled touch, as your nipples respond, hardening within the confines of your bra.

You reluctantly part, the air charged with desire, and you confess breathlessly, “I want you so bad too, Jimin.”

Your fingers glide along the contours of his snug shirt, tracing the rhythmic dance of his abdominal muscles beneath the fabric. The aftermath of your prolonged kisses paints his lips a tantalizing shade of red. His tousled, golden locks only add to the captivating disarray of his appearance, a visual symphony that threatens to engulf your senses. Rising with a newfound determination, you assertively push him away, breaking the intoxicating proximity. “I need that shirt off,” you declare, a hunger lingering in your eyes, aching to explore the canvas beneath.

You eagerly tug at his shirt, a silent invitation that he willingly accepts, lifting his arms in a seamless motion to unveil his honey-colored, velvety skin. As your hand grazes over his pectorals, the rhythmic pulse beneath your fingertips resonates with the accelerated beat of his heart—mirroring the anticipation that courses through your own veins. Your gaze traces a tantalizing descent, capturing the sculpted landscape of his face, collarbones, and the inviting expanse of his stomach, where a subtle trail of brown hair beckons you further. The air is charged with desire as your fingers deftly find his belt, unbuckling it, each deliberate motion a step closer to unraveling his dick hiding in his pants.

A throaty moan escapes him, a vulnerable symphony of desire, as you expertly undo his belt. Returning to him, your lips meet in a kiss, the touch soft and tender, like an intimate promise whispered between you two. In the gentle exchange, he tastes like a blend of love and flowers, a heady combination that lingers in the air. Brimming with anticipation, your hands deftly navigate the delicate task of unbuttoning and pulling down his pants, a challenging feat in the confined space of your current sitting position.

Your hand boldly cups his cock, the fabric of his underwear the only barrier between your skin and the pulsating dick beneath. A soft hiss escapes his lips, a symphony of pleasure and anticipation, as you sense the subtle twitch, a physical manifestation of the intensity building between you. The desperate yearning within you intensifies, aching for him with every heartbeat, and as you explore the contours of his cock, the undeniable thickness in your grasp fuels the flames of desire, leaving you breathless with need.

Breaking away from the intoxicating exchange of kisses, you lock eyes with his nearly obsidian orbs, the depth of his gaze holding a universe of unspoken desires. 

“Can I touch you, Jimin?” you inquire, the words charged with both vulnerability and a raw, palpable need.

His teeth capture his bottom lip, a silent struggle playing out as he releases a frustrated exhale. Finally, with a resolute nod, “Fuck, yeah.” 

He raises his hips in anticipation, granting you the freedom to skillfully peel away both his pants and underwear, leaving them discarded somewhere behind you in a forgotten tangle. In this suspended moment, you revel in the sight of him, completely exposed in all his naked glory—an embodiment of your deepest, most intimate fantasies. His beauty surpasses even the vivid images painted by your most explicit dreams. With unabashed admiration, your eyes roam over his form, settling on the scars that grace his hips, perilously close to his crotch. A particularly long one commands attention, stretching from the pinnacle of his hip and tracing a courageous journey downward, almost reaching his knee. Your fingers delicately follow the path of this scar, a silent tribute to the tales etched into his skin.

As your touch navigates the landscape of his scars, you witness the subtle interplay of tension and release in his body, a testament to the vulnerability that accompanies such intimate revelations. His cock responds with a telltale twitch, betraying the electric charge that courses through him in response to your every caress. 

Among the prominent, sprawling scar that graces his hip, you notice a constellation of smaller, shorter scars, each telling its own story. With a delicate touch, your fingertips embark on a tender exploration, tracing the intricate map of his history etched into his skin. 

Meanwhile, his eyes remain hooded, a veil of pleasure shrouding them, while his head arches backward, supported by his hands resting behind him. The cadence of his breath is a slow, deliberate rhythm, accentuating the intimate atmosphere that envelops you both. His teeth find refuge in his bottom lip once more, a silent testament to the waves of sensation cascading through him at your every touch.

“My scars are ugly, don’t look at them,” he confesses, his voice carrying a weight of vulnerability, as if he bears the weight of shame. The realization hits you like a wave—perhaps no one has ever taken the time to remind him that, even adorned with scars, he is undeniably beautiful. Gazing into his eyes, you speak with a gentle resolve, “You are beautiful, and so are your scars.”

With tender determination, your fingers resume their exploration, tracing the intricate paths of his scars. The touch is a reassurance, a gentle affirmation of his worth, and as your fingertips dance along the imprints of his past, a ripple of shivers courses through him. In response, an involuntary twitch emanates from his cock between his legs.

He dismisses your words with a subtle shake of his head, skepticism clouding his expression, but you’re determined to rewrite the narrative etched into his self-perception. He needs to understand the depth of his beauty and uniqueness. Your fingers resume their tender dance, tracing teasingly along the ridges of his scars, each touch carrying the weight of your conviction. “These scars,” you affirm, “they tell your story, a story of resilience and strength. And, my god, they are beautiful, just like you.” 

The words hang in the air, a testament to your unwavering belief in the profound beauty etched into the very fabric of his being.

Witnessing the softening of his gaze, a solitary tear breaking free from the confines of his eyes, you seize the poignant moment to plunge back into a kiss with his lips—soft and plush, like a velvet haven. It’s a moment that transcends time, and in those stolen seconds, you realize you could lose yourself in the artistry of his lips for an eternity.

Heaving with the weight of shared intimacy, his breaths resonate with depth and intensity. As he withdraws, the shadows of his eyes glisten with unshed tears in the night. With a voice that trembles with sincerity, he utters, “Thank you,” a phrase that echoes with layers of gratitude and vulnerability.

Gazing into his eyes, you observe a vulnerability that renders him utterly exposed, laid bare before you. In the depth of his gaze, a profound mixture of emotions surfaces, the hues of desire and longing mingling with the rich brown of his eyes. Embracing him, you pull him into the sanctuary of a hug, your lips brushing against his ear as you murmur, “I’ll keep telling you forever, because I feel like you need to hear it.”

Gently trailing your hand down the terrain of his stomach, your fingertips navigate the uncharted territory until they encounter his neglected cock. The moment your touch cradles him, a guttural groan, steeped in the heady brew of desire, escapes him, echoing in the charged air around you. Your fingers embark on a careful exploration, appreciating the girth and thickness of his dick, veins almost popping out of the poor thing. The flushed redness of the head and a delicate sheen of precum only intensify the allure. Licking your lips in anticipation, you lower yourself. Your lips encircle the engorged head, and in response, a deep, primal moan reverberates from him, resonating with the harmonious dance between pleasure and need that binds you together.

Reclining amidst the soft embrace of grass and wildflowers, you have somehow trailed off your sleeping mats, but you don’t care. Your tongue embarks on an intricate exploration, tracing a sinuous path along his cock, each lick an artful dance that circles around him with an unspoken promise of ecstasy. You’re drooling, and your saliva runs down your cheeks, down his cock and down to his balls.

His dick fills your mouth with a perfect fullness, a tangible overflow of desire. The parts that don’t fit in your mouth are skillfully tended to by your left hand, ensuring no inch of him is left untouched. His legs, betraying the intensity of the sensations, exhibit a subtle yet enticing twitch as you move rhythmically, a symphony of pleasure in every rise and fall.

Your devoted attention centers on his frenulum, a delicate dance of your tongue that elicits the softest, most melodic moan you’ve ever been privy to. The sound, a harmonious melody that resonates like a sweet lullaby, fuels your determination to continue this enraptured dance, even as your eyes threaten to mist with water. The need for air tugs at the edge of your consciousness, yet the ethereal music of his moans compels you to keep sucking.

The air is punctuated by squelching sounds, an audible testament to the fervor with which you suck him, utilizing every ounce of your skill. His hand, a gentle guide, finds solace in the maze of your hair, fingers intertwining as you diligently navigate the rhythmic ascent and descent along his pulsating dick. Sensing the subtle tension beneath your touch, you discern the hastened cadence of his breath, a telltale sign that he might be close.

You surface from the intoxicating depths of his crotch, parting from his cock to catch a breath of much-needed air. In that fleeting moment, as your eyes lock with his, you’re ensnared by the sinful intensity of his gaze. It’s a look so profoundly wicked, so enticingly feral, that you sense the very essence of your being might either melt into a puddle or evaporate into the charged air. 

Pooling a teasing amount of saliva in your mouth, you audaciously release it onto his dick, eliciting a surprised yet lustful chuckle from him. As your mouth envelops him once more, you revel in the tangible connection, savoring the unique sensation he offers. Yet, the sensation also sparks a cascade of anticipatory thoughts, your mind drifting to what it will feel like with his cock deep inside your pussy, and you feel it clench pathetically around nothing. Oh, god, you’re so wet already, it’s like a waterslide in your panties.

In rhythmic harmony with your measured breaths through flared nostrils, you descend along the full length of his dick. The audible moans that escape him blend with the sensation of his fingers tensing in your hair, creating a symphony of pleasure. Gradually, you sense him responding, pushing up into the warmth of your mouth with a deliberate slowness, each controlled thrust an exquisite dance. You relax your jaw and let him thrust into your warm walls. It’s slow and tender, like he’s very mindful not to hurt you.

In a breathless maneuver, you inhale deeply, creating a vacuum of anticipation as you envelop him in the suction of your mouth. A subtle, resonant hum reverberates against his pulsating dick, a seductive melody that prompts a tantalizing twitch within him. His fingers assertively tug at your hair, commanding a release that you give in to. With a sensation-laden pop, you surface from his cock, leaving an electrifying echo of desire lingering in the charged air.

“It’s so fucking good. But you have to stop. I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he pants, his voice a raw fusion of vulnerability and urgent need. As he leans up, the desperation in his tone intensifies, “I want to come inside you.” 

You might as well be surrendering to the abyss, for the power this man holds over you is staggering. The softness in his eyes is laced with an intoxicating lust, and the sly smirk he graces you with sends an electric current straight to your pussy. The dampness between your thighs becomes an undeniable testament to the effect he has on you, as his mere expression ignites a storm of arousal, leaving you helplessly entrapped in the spell he effortlessly casts.

With a firm yet gentle pull, he elevates you into a seated position, an unspoken desire lingering in the air. Urgently, he tugs at your shirt, mirroring the unveiling you orchestrated for him. As the fabric succumbs to gravity, revealing your form, he takes a moment to appreciate the canvas before him. His fingers trace a tantalizing path from your collarbones, across the curve of your breasts, and down to the waistband of your pants. Eyes locked with yours, he skillfully unzips your trousers, teasingly patting your ass before lifting them and guiding the denim down your legs.

The night air caresses your bare skin, its touch not a chill, but a soothing embrace. Despite the darkness that cloaks the surroundings, the lingering warmth from the day creates an intimate ambiance, allowing the freedom of being naked outside to feel not only acceptable but almost cocooned in a sensual comfort.

“Babe,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping between your open legs, a single finger delicately tracing the contours of your pussy, “You’re soaked.” 

You bite down on your lip, a flutter of lust coursing through you, as his finger skims the exterior of your panties, causing them to uncomfortably adhere to the contours of your folds. The urgency intensifies, a palpable desire radiating from your core, a silent plea echoing in your mind—you need them off, and you need it now.

“No need to silence yourself; it’s just us beneath the open sky,” he gently reminds you. With his reassuring words, you liberate your teeth from the captivity of your lips, allowing the unabashed moans of pleasure to cascade freely from your mouth, blending with the nocturnal symphony surrounding the two of you.

His fingers dance over your clit through the fabric of your panties, coaxing a guttural groan from the depths of your stomach. The subtle tremor of your thighs betrays the exquisite intensity of the sensation, a response that echoes through the sultry night air like a secret shared only between you two.

A smug smirk graces his lips, a silent promise of the pleasures yet to unfold, as his hands maneuver deftly up and behind your back, skillfully releasing the constraints of your bra. It cascades down to your lap, unveiling your liberated tits that eagerly spring forth. His hands, warm and purposeful, eagerly grope the newly revealed treasures, gently massaging your boobs.

Diving in with hunger, he presses kisses atop them, an unhurried descent leading him further down and to the left. His plush lips encircle a pert nipple, initiating a sensory dance that sends ripples of ecstasy through you.

“Fuck,” escapes your lips in a resonant moan, a symphony of pleasure commencing as he avidly sucks at one nipple while his fingers skillfully engage with the other. The sensation is beyond exquisite, a tidal wave of arousal surging through you. A fleeting realization of your panties still sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Yet, the relentless attention he bestows upon your breasts holds you captive, rendering you powerless to do anything but surrender to the intoxicating pleasure.

And take it you do, as his tongue deftly laps at your nipple, each stroke a rhythmic dance that occasionally escalates into a teasing bite, sending electric sparks that illuminate your vision with stars. Simultaneously, his fingers tug at the other nipple, orchestrating a symphony of pleasure that resonates through your body. As his exploration continues, you feel the warmth of his saliva tracing a tantalizing path down your breasts, descending over your stomach like a sensual cascade. The molten trail reaches the brink of your panties, a frustrating barrier to the carnal desire that courses through you.

With a tantalizing pop, he releases your left nipple, ascending to your mouth for a kiss that’s both needy and all-consuming, as if he can’t satiate his hunger for you. The fervor in his lips translates into an intense connection, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. 

Descending once again, his focus shifts to the other nipple, where he wraps his lips around it, initiating a dance of sucking and biting that elicits unrestrained moans from deep within you. Simultaneously, his fingers weave an intricate symphony on the previous touched nipple, propelling you into a realm of uncharted pleasure. The crescendo builds, and you moan unabashedly, teetering on the edge of an orgasm, the anticipation of release hanging in the charged air.

He persists in his relentless assault, biting and pulling with an intensity that coils a spring deep within your stomach. As the tension reaches its zenith, the spring snaps, unleashing a torrent of arousal that surges through you, adhering to your panties in a sticky testament to the powerful release. The realization hits like a thunderbolt – you just came without the direct touch on your clit. The sheer amazement washes over you, compounded by the rhythmic pants for air, transforming the aftermath into a heady cocktail of astonishment and unbridled ecstasy.

He relinquishes his hold on your breasts, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as if savoring a delectable feast. With a hungry gaze, he looks at you, and you can almost feel the intensity of his desire – as if he’s contemplating devouring you whole. 

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, a prelude to a ravenous declaration, “I want to taste your pussy too.” The words hang in the air, charged with a primal hunger that echoes the undeniable craving between you.

Your pussy continues to pulsate, a rhythmic echo of the recent orgasm, its clenching sensation persisting even in the absence of direct touch. Biting your lip, you nod your head in silent agreement. The desire intensifies, a relentless ache for the magic of his lips and the dance of his tongue on your pussy.

His fingers trace a tantalizing path to your hips, teasingly tugging at the edge of your panties. With deliberate intent, he pulls them off, a gentle yet purposeful maneuver that leaves your arousal adhering to the fabric, forming a glistening string of liquid in its wake. 

His gaze lowers between your legs, and he licks his lips with a deliberate slowness, an anticipation building with every inch he descends towards the place you ache for his touch. But just before he immerses himself in your pussy, he looks up, locking eyes with you. In that fleeting moment, he bestows upon you the softest look, so angelic and innocent, creating a deceptive contrast to the sinful delights you know he’s about to unleash upon you. 

As the first tantalizing touch of his tongue graces your folds, an instantaneous moan escapes your lips, and a kaleidoscope of stars seems to burst behind your closed eyelids. His tongue skillfully dances across your lips, a deliberate sweep that not only dissipates the lingering echoes of the previous orgasm but also revels in the unique taste of your essence. 

His tongue, a sinful indulgence, possesses a length that seems to explore the depths of your walls with deliberate precision. The unhurried entrance sends shivers through your core, each languid movement a seductive dance that unfurls the layers of pleasure. 

He fervently licks at your folds, savoring every essence, his tongue a relentless tide that laps up the intoxicating cascade of your juices. As you lean back on your arms, the anticipation of a new orgasm steadily builds within the depths of your stomach. Suddenly, a finger makes contact with your clit, and a moan of desire escapes your lips. Panting and gasping, your naked chest rises and falls above him, caught in the rhythm of a primal dance, as he devours you with the hunger of a man starved.

His skillful touch initiates a hypnotic dance, tracing sensuous circles around your clit. 

“Fuck, Jimin, I’m—” you begin to say amidst breathy pants, and suddenly, a new sensation courses down your ass. The realization hits— it’s one of his slickened fingers, probing at the hole there. 

Gradually, he eases his finger inside, and an involuntary clenching reaction coupled with erratic breaths engulf you. Thoughts scatter, the intensity of this entirely new sensation overwhelming your senses. It’s foreign, yet undeniably not unpleasant; in fact, it’s oddly good, a revelation that surprises you. As his finger delves a bit deeper, you feel the subtle stretch, accompanied by a moan that weaves into the midnight air.

“You said I should stick it up my ass. How does it feel with my finger up yours?” he taunts, his voice laced with a provocative edge that sends a shiver down your spine. As you clench around his invading finger, a surge of arousal releases a trickle of liquid from your pussy. The sensation is overwhelming, igniting a primal heat that consumes you entirely. Fuck, why is this so hot?

With deliberate tenderness, he eases his finger into your hole, maintaining a steady rhythm that tantalizingly grazes the threshold of previous depths. The sensation is nothing short of exquisite, sending ripples of pleasure cascading through every fiber of your being. But as quickly as the euphoria engulfs you, he withdraws his finger, leaving you to groan in a poignant emptiness that echoes through the night air. 

He lifts his head, locking eyes with you, his gaze penetrating the depths of your blown-out eyes. “You liked that, huh?” he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper that reverberates with a potent mixture of satisfaction and desire. The intensity of his stare ignites a fire within you, each word laden with the weight of pleasure and unspoken longing.

You bite your lips, a fleeting moment of hesitation passing through your mind as you contemplate the truth. But the honesty between you is palpable, a silent understanding that binds you together in this intimate moment. “I did,” you confess, your voice carrying the weight of undeniable desire, a raw admission that lays bare the depths of your longing.

“That’s good to know,” he chuckles, the sound reverberating through the night like a whispered promise. With a hunger that borders on desperation, he kisses you again, his lips consuming yours in a full embrace that tastes of your essence. It’s a kiss that’s wet and sloppy, needy and unapologetic, yet every sensation only serves to deepen the flames between you. And as you savor the taste of his lips against yours, you’re reminded of the intoxicating allure that drew you to him in the first place, igniting a flame that burns brighter with each passing moment.

He returns to your pussy with a hunger that borders on obsession, his lips eagerly tasting every inch of you while his skilled fingers tease your clit with a maddening precision. His tongue, devilishly good, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, compelling you to arch your back and press your core deeper into his face. The sight of his glistening cheeks, adorned with your essence, ignites a primal urge within you, a visceral desire to consume and be consumed in return. With his head between your legs, he becomes a vision of untamed passion, his devotion to your pleasure evident in every caress and every lingering kiss.

With the skill of a master, he works his fingers over your clit in a mesmerizing dance, tracing circles that send sparks of ecstasy coursing through your veins. His touch is both gentle and assertive, at times pulling on your sensitive nub, eliciting a chorus of moans that echo in the heated air around you. Each movement sets your body ablaze with a searing intensity, every sensation heightening your arousal until you feel like you’re consumed by a blazing inferno of desire.

As he continues his relentless assault on your senses, you feel the coil of desire winding tighter and tighter, on the verge of unraveling at any moment. The dual sensation of his sucking at your clit while his finger expertly rubs it pushes you over the edge, and with a primal cry, the coil inside you finally snaps. 

A powerful wave of liquid cascades over his face, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure that consumes you. Gasping for air, your vision momentarily blurs, spots dancing before your eyes as the intensity of the moment washes over you. You feel the liquid trickling down your folds, leaving a trail of evidence on the grass or flowers beneath you.

As Jimin continues to lick and coax you through the euphoric waves of your orgasm, you ride out the intense sensations until you gently tug on his blonde hair, a silent signal that it’s becoming too much to bear. Sensing your need, he obediently returns, his lips meeting yours in a modest kiss that speaks volumes of his reverence for you. 

“You’re so hot, you know that?” he murmurs against your lips, his words laced with genuine admiration and a hint of awe, leaving you with a lingering warmth.

For some inexplicable reason, a blush graces your cheeks, a subtle yet undeniable testament to the torrent of emotions swirling within you. It’s a curious juxtaposition, considering the uninhibited pleasures you’ve shared thus far. Yet, amidst the intoxicating haze of desire, there’s a deeper sensation stirring within you—a profound sense of being utterly and unequivocally full, not just of passion, but of an overwhelming and boundless love.

“Can I make love to you?” he asks, his voice a tender whisper that reverberates through the charged air between you. As his eyes search yours, a silent plea etched into their depths, his breath washes over your face, carrying with it the intoxicating scent of him—sweet and musky, a heady blend that envelops you in a cocoon of desire and longing.

“God, yes!” you moan fervently, your voice a breathless plea that echoes in the heated space between you. With an instinctual urgency, you open your legs wider, a silent invitation that beckons him closer, drawing him into the intimate embrace of your pussy with an irresistible pull.

He lays you down gently on a fragrant bed of bluebonnets, their sweet, flowery scent wrapping around you like a comforting embrace, infusing the night air with a delicate fragrance that speaks of love and serenity. As you pant softly, your eyes drink in the sight of Jimin poised above you, a vision of strength and vulnerability intertwined. His scars, a testament to his journey, only add to his allure, while his tender gaze holds you in a spellbinding trance. With deliberate movements, he hovers closer, his hand stroking his dick.

“Do you happen to have a condom?” He asks, a note of realization creeping into his voice as he acknowledges the crucial detail he nearly overlooked. 

You shake your head, a sense of disappointment washing over you like a wave crashing against the shore. Despite the nagging concern for safety, your desire burns fiercely, eclipsing rational thought with an unyielding craving for closeness. 

“No, I don’t. I’m on the pill and I’m clean, are you?” You inquire, your voice laced with a mixture of longing and urgency, a silent plea for reassurance amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

He chuckles softly, the sound a mixture of amusement and apprehension. “Yeah, I usually always wear protection too, but I really didn’t plan on this happening tonight,” he admits, his words tinged with a hint of uncertainty. “You’re okay without it?” He asks, his gaze searching yours for any sign of hesitation or doubt, his concern for your well-being evident in the furrow of his brow.

“I’m good, just fuck me, Jimin,” you pant, your voice trembling with a raw mixture of desire and urgency. With a fervent desperation, you spread your legs even wider, your glistening pussy shimmering in the moonlight, a beacon of temptation that beckons him closer. The sight leaves him licking his lips in unadulterated lust, his gaze fixated on you with a hunger that mirrors your own.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he strokes his dick once more, a silent promise of the pleasure to come. Aligning himself with your eager entrance, he begins to push his cock into your welcoming embrace, each inch a tantalizing reminder of the intimacy you’re about to share.

As he enters you, a surge of sensation washes over you, and you’re struck by the realization that he’s thicker than you anticipated. A fleeting moment of panic flits through your mind as you remember that he didn’t stretch you beforehand, but to your surprise, the slickness of your arousal makes the slide effortless. There’s no discomfort, only a delicious feeling of fullness that leaves you breathless with pleasure.

He reaches the deepest recesses of your being, his balls grazing your folds, and a primal moan escapes your lips as he ignites a firestorm of sensation within you. 

Every inch of him stretches you to your limits, leaving you feeling gloriously full and alive with desire. With each withdrawal, a shiver races down your spine, only to be replaced by an electrifying jolt of pleasure as he thrusts back in. 

The intensity of it all is overwhelming, sending you spiraling into a frenzy of ecstasy that surpasses even your most vivid fantasies. It’s everything you’ve ever imagined, and yet, so much more—so much better than your wildest wettest dreams.

You revel in the sensation of his dick twitching inside your pussy, a primal confirmation of his arousal that sends a thrill coursing through your veins. With each powerful thrust, the simplicity of the missionary position becomes a conduit for profound intimacy, every movement drawing you closer together in a passionate dance of desire. You’re soaking wet, to be honest, you’re dripping. His cock feels like a revelation, igniting flames of ecstasy that consume you wholly, leaving you utterly lost in the intoxicating rhythm of your passion.

His hands, initially anchored on either side of your hips, move across your trembling form. Each caress leaves a trail of tingling sensations in its wake, electrifying your senses with a fervent urgency. As his fingers glide over your curves, they pause upon the soft swell of your breasts, lingering there with an almost reverent touch. With a gentle tug on your nipple, he elicits a fervent moan of pure pleasure from your lips, each sensation unraveling you further in the throes of unabashed ecstasy.

As he continues to thrust deeply into you, his fingers teasing your sensitive nipple, you find yourself drawn to the raw intensity etched across his features. His expression, a captivating blend of desire and longing, captivates your gaze, his furrowed brow a testament to the depth of his passion. His eyes, wide and dilated with arousal, hold you in their hypnotic gaze, each glance igniting flames of longing within your core. His plush, red lips beckon to you with an irresistible allure, stirring an overwhelming urge to taste him once more, to lose yourself in him.

“Kiss,” you pant, your voice a desperate plea that hangs heavy in the air, and he chuckles softly at your fervent request. Without hesitation, he leans down to meet your lips, his kiss a fiery collision of passion and need, even as he continues to drive his dick into your heated depths with unwavering intensity. 

Each brush of his lips against yours sends shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your body.

“Fuck, you’re amazing babe,” he groans, his voice laced with a mixture of awe and desire, as he drives himself into you with a fervent urgency tempered by tender affection. Each powerful thrust is a testament to his adoration, his movements a symphony of passion and intimacy that leave you breathless with longing.

“Jimin, I—” you gasp, the words caught in your throat as he delves deeper into your depths, a surge of pleasure coursing through you as he gathers your legs and presses them against his shoulders, driving himself even further into your pussy.

Your gasping, overwhelmed by the depth of sensation as he plunges into you, exploring places you never knew existed, igniting sparks of pleasure that ripple through every fiber of your being. It’s as if he’s reaching parts of you that have long remained dormant, his every movement sending shockwaves of ecstasy cascading through your body, leaving you teetering on the edge of blissful oblivion.

When he delivers a particularly powerful thrust, you surrender to the overwhelming wave of emotions coursing through you, your heart soaring as you release the words that have been simmering within, “I love you.”

With a husky grunt, he responds, his voice a low rumble filled with an undeniable tenderness, “I know, babe.”

Gazing at him through a veil of desire, your breath ragged with anticipation, you press him for clarity, your voice trembling with curiosity, “What do you mean, you know?”

A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he withdraws completely, leaving you with a sense of emptiness that mirrors the sudden absence of his presence within you. “You told me at the gala,” he explains, his voice carrying a hint of amusement and fond remembrance, casting a glow of warmth over the memory.

Your expression morphs into a puzzled question mark once more, prompting another bout of laughter from him as he teasingly teases at your entrance once more.

“When you told me you hated me, you also said you love me,” he reveals, his voice laced with a mixture of humor and desire, before driving his dick back into you with an intensity that leaves you gasping, your cries of pleasure echoing in the night, mingling with the sounds of nature around you. You’re almost afraid you might startle the horses with all your noises.

“Fuck, I did?” you gasp incredulously, your voice tinged with disbelief and arousal, feeling the powerful grip of your pussy tightening around his cock, as if it’s instinctively pulling him deeper, craving the connection with an intensity that matches your own desire.

“Yeah. It was actually really hot. Do you know how sexy you are when you’re mad?” He leans down, gently pressing your thighs against your stomach, drawing you into an intimate embrace as he lowers his lips to your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as he whispers, “I love you too.”

You’re consumed by a surge of sensation, questioning whether he’s grown larger or you’ve become tighter, the intense throbbing and twitching of his dick inside you driving you to the brink of madness. Every nerve in your body is alight, ablaze with desire, leaving you gasping for breath as if on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

As he ascends, his hand resumes its gentle ministrations on your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. The intensity is overwhelming, pushing you to the brink of release once more. Every fiber of your being is electrified, teetering on the edge of ecstasy. You feel like you could come at any moment now.

Despite the exhaustion that blankets your body with the way that he fucks you, you’re enveloped in a whirlwind of love and desire that leaves you feeling utterly spent yet infinitely fulfilled.

“Ahhh, fuck!” You cry out, the sensation of him delving so deep sends shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through every nerve ending, igniting a kaleidoscope of sensations that leave you seeing stars and unraveling at the seams.

“That’s it, babe. You’re taking me so well,” he pants, his voice thick with desire and need, echoing the frantic rhythm of your own breathless gasps. “I’m almost there. Are you close?”

“Yes,” you moan, elongating the word as if savoring its taste, your voice a symphony of pleasure and desire. Every nerve in your body ignites with a fiery intensity, fueled by the intoxicating sensations Jimin evokes. His touch, his presence, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, a blissful surge that consumes your very being.

As Jimin’s pace intensifies on your clit, perfectly synchronized with the depth of his thrusts, you surrender to the torrent of sensations cascading through your body. 

Every touch, every movement, sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, a culmination of the emotions that have been simmering beneath the surface for months. With each exquisite moment, you release the pent-up tension, allowing yourself to be consumed by the raw, unbridled passion between you and Jimin— you simply let go.

“Jimin!” The cry tears from your lips like a primal invocation as you spiral into your third orgasm, a deluge of ecstasy flooding around his throbbing cock. 

You’re left panting, a disheveled portrait of desire, as your core tightens around him, pulsing with each wave of release, coating his dick in a glistening sheen of your arousal.

“Fuck!” His voice is a raw mix of frustration and longing, his body trembling as your insatiable pussy seems to draw him deeper into your depths, culminating in a primal moan of your name as he spills his essence inside you.

You’re both left breathless, your bodies suffused with a warmth that courses through every inch of your skin, igniting a tingling sensation that dances along your nerves. It’s not just the aftermath of passion; it’s a shared ecstasy that leaves you both on the brink of shivering, though not from the chill of the night air.

As you ride out the waves of your climax, he continues to thrust inside you, his warmth flooding your depths, and you revel in the raw intimacy of it all. Even as his dick gradually softens, he remains nestled within you, both of you panting for air.

Droplets of sweat trickle down from his forehead, teasing your breasts with their warm caress. Despite the exhaustion etched on his face, he still radiates a captivating allure that leaves you breathless.

You feel the warmth of his semen trickling out of your pussy, tracing a tantalizing path down to your ass, leaving you feeling both sticky and sweaty.

You gently lower your legs from his shoulders, allowing them to find solid ground beside him. Gasping for air, a wide grin spreads across your face, punctuated by playful giggles. Jimin leans in, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss that elicits a soft moan from you. Breaking away, he grins, revealing his endearingly crooked teeth—a sight that never fails to warm your heart. Damn, you love this man.

You lose track of time with him nestled on top of you, his warmth enveloping you as he remains inside your pussy. The gentle thud of his beating heart against your chest creates a soothing rhythm, one that seems to sync perfectly with your own. 

In that moment, entwined together, it feels like your souls are dancing to the same beautiful melody.

As he withdraws from you, he gracefully shifts onto his side, beckoning you to join him on his sleeping mat. You comply eagerly, settling yourself beside him, relishing the warmth of his body against yours. With a tender gesture, he draws both blankets over your entwined forms, cocooning you both in a comforting embrace against the night’s chill.

Entwined in each other’s arms, you drift into slumber, lulled by the rhythmic cadence of his heartbeat, a comforting lullaby in the stillness of the night. With your head nestled against his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing beneath you, you find solace in the intimacy of the moment. Your fingertips trace delicate patterns on his pectorals. As you lie there, embraced by the tender embrace of nature, the symphony of the wilderness envelops you, a melodic harmony of chirping crickets and dancing fireflies. Above, the celestial canopy twinkles with a myriad of stars, casting a celestial glow upon your sanctuary, a sanctuary where time stands still and love knows no bounds.

As the first light of dawn paints patterns of gold through the foliage, coaxing you from slumber, you awaken beside Jimin, cocooned in the warmth of his presence. Stretching languidly, you feel the gentle weight of his body beside you, a comforting anchor in the hazy morning. Nestling closer to him, you bury your face into the curve of his chest, savoring the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. With a contented sigh, you greet the new day softly, your voice a whispered melody against the tranquil stillness, “Morning.”

He stirs beneath you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, a sound that resonates deep within your core. His gentle touch traces the curve of your spine, sending shivers cascading down your skin, igniting a familiar heat within you. The memory of last night dances at the edges of your consciousness, teasing and tantalizing, as his fingers linger on the curve of your ass, coaxing your body to life with every caress.

“Good morning, did you sleep well?” His voice, warm and inviting, rouses you from the haze of sleep, like the first light of dawn piercing through the darkness. You blink away the remnants of dreams, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. His laughter, a melody of morning, dances in the air, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. As he opens his eyes, you find yourself captured by the depth of his gaze, a silent exchange of morning greetings between two souls entwined in the quiet serenity of dawn.

“Amazing,” you exhale the word against his chest, the warmth of your breath mingling with the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Soft kisses pepper his skin, each one a testament to the tenderness between you, yet there’s a playful edge as your teeth graze his flesh, drawing forth a soft chuckle from him, like music to your ears, a sweet symphony of affection.

He moves with a fluid grace, rolling you over and settling above you as the weight of his presence envelops you once more. His lips meet yours in a gentle caress, carrying the essence of dawn itself, a blend of morning flowers and the earthy musk of the forest. You inhale deeply, savoring his scent as it ignites a primal longing within you, tightening your core with desire. With a soft moan, you surrender to his kiss, your hands pulling him closer, as if trying to meld your beings together in a timeless embrace, unable to quench the thirst for his lips.

You sense the subtle twitch of his cock against your crotch. The warmth of his skin against yours reignites the embers of desire, and you become acutely aware of your nakedness, a lingering sensation from your passionate sex last night, that you still feel wet from. The memory of his touch lingers, and your body responds instinctively, still tingling with the echoes of pleasure. As your mind drifts, envisioning how easy it would be for him to slip right into your walls again, a shiver courses through you, your breath catching at the mere thought, while your core instinctively clenches, yearning for his familiar touch.

“Are you okay, babe?” Concern colors Jimin’s voice as he notices the faint furrow of frustration on your brow. 

You offer him a soft smile, your fingertips tracing the contours of his cheeks with affectionate tenderness. “I’m absolutely wonderful, Jimin,” you confess, your voice laced with longing and a hint of playful desire. “I just miss you and I want you inside of me again already.”

“Oh, yeah?” His teasing tone sends a shiver down your spine as he playfully grinds his cock against your drenched pussy. You gasp at the sensation, overwhelmed by the flood of arousal coursing through your veins. How could you still be so wet, so ready for him, even after everything? 

It’s like your body has a mind of its own, craving his touch with an insatiable hunger.

His dick presses against you, throbbing with anticipation, and as he eases his fully erect cock between your slick folds, a rush of pleasure surges through you, igniting every nerve ending. Your moans escape in soft gasps, lost in the bliss of his touch, as you feel the heat of his dick melding perfectly with your own.

Each movement of his cock inside you feels like a divine symphony, a perfect rhythm that resonates through your entire being. With each deep thrust, he fills you so completely, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through your body. Your breasts sway in tandem with his movements, a visual testament to the intense pleasure he’s giving you, each pull and thrust sending you spiraling into euphoria.

As your hands find their way to his back, you grip onto him with a fervor you didn’t know you possessed, the intensity of pleasure coursing through you like electricity. Then, as you tilt your head to the side, your eyes catch a glimpse of it— Mikrokosmos.

“Jimin-ah!” You pant urgently, your voice breaking the rhythm of your thrusts. When he catches sight of your startled expression, he halts his movements, his gaze instantly flooded with concern.

“What’s wrong, babe?” His voice carries genuine concern, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress.

“It’s Mikrokosmos!” You exclaim, a mixture of awe and urgency in your voice as you tear your gaze away from Jimin to focus on the majestic sight. Sensing the shift in your demeanor, Jimin withdraws from your folds and joins you, his eyes following your gaze to where your black horse grazes lazily nearby.

You rise to your feet, embarking on a quest for your scattered garments, your fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties, eliciting a frustrated groan. Resolving to not put them on, you swiftly opt for your pants, slipping into them with haste. With determination, you locate your bra and shirt, swiftly adorning yourself in a flurry of movements. Meanwhile, Jimin is engaged in a similar pursuit, his efforts mirroring yours as he hastily dons his own attire. 

Amidst the shared chaos of dressing, your laughter fills the air, a delightful symphony blending with the rustle of fabric and the gentle morning breeze.

As you don your attire with practiced efficiency, you slide your boots on, the leather molding comfortably around your feet. With deliberate steps, you approach Mikrokosmos, the ground yielding softly beneath your weight. Jimin shadows your movements, his presence a reassuring anchor amidst the morning serenity. Each stride brings you closer to the majestic creature, your heart echoing the rhythm of hoofbeats as you draw near.

“Come here, girl,” you murmur, your hand extended like an open invitation. Mikrokosmos raises her head, her gaze fixated on you, a mysterious glint dancing in her eyes, elusive yet captivating. 

With measured steps, she saunters toward you, a graceful dance of trust unfolding with each stride. As her velvety muzzle meets your outstretched hand, a surge of warmth envelops you, a sense of belonging washing over your soul. With a gentle whinny, she nuzzles against your palm, a silent affirmation of the bond between kindred spirits. “Good girl,” you whisper, your voice a tender melody amidst the tranquil embrace of nature.

You pivot slowly, no halter, no rope, no nothing, your gaze fixed ahead with quiet determination, “Let’s go home.”

Mikrokosmos follows your lead with unwavering trust, her hoofbeats falling into rhythm with your purposeful strides. Jimin’s eyes reflect admiration as he watches your natural affinity with the majestic creature. Returning to the other horses, you secure a rope around Mikrokosmos’s head, just in case she should get any ideas of leaving again, before tending to your belongings with practiced efficiency.

You saddle up Marshmallow, feeling the familiar comfort of the leather beneath your hands. Leading Mikrokosmos by the rope, you guide her onto the path, her presence beside you a reassuring anchor amidst the vast expanse of wilderness. 

The serendipitous encounter with Mikrokosmos fills you with an indescribable joy, as if destiny itself had intervened to bring you together. With each step, your heart swells with gratitude and happiness, a feeling that courses through your veins like a warm embrace.

As the trail meanders homeward, you turn to Jimin, a soft smile gracing your lips. “Thank you, Jimin,” you whisper, the words carried away on the gentle breeze, a heartfelt acknowledgment of his unwavering support. 

His warm smile washes over you, and you feel a rush of gratitude for his understanding. “No problem at all. I’m just glad to be here and help,” he murmurs, his eyes reflecting the same tenderness that fills your heart. Drawing closer, you intertwine your fingers with his, the simple act weaving a thread of intimacy between you. In that moment, riding side by side, the world fades away, leaving only the comforting embrace of each other’s presence.

His question catches you off guard, but the warmth in his voice draws you in. “Do you remember your fifth birthday?” he asks, a playful glint in his eyes, as if unraveling a cherished memory. His lips, so inviting and tender, curve into a smile, inviting you to journey back to that moment in time with him.

You chuckle softly, because you do remember, the memory flooding back like a cherished melody. You recall the innocence of that day, the laughter shared between you and Jimin as you played hide and seek, weaving tales of fantastical adventures. In that moment, surrounded by the whispers of childhood dreams, you realize the depth of your love with Jimin, sensing that perhaps there’s more to your bond than just friendship. It’s a realization that tugs at the strings of your heart, igniting a spark of hope for something more.

“Do you remember when you told me that guys couldn’t be friends with girls, that you’d get boy-lice or something?” he grins, his voice laced with nostalgia as he squeezes your hand gently. You roll your eyes playfully, the memory sparking a smile on your lips, because yes, you remember that too.

“I know I was insufferable back then,” you confess, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you wave off the memory.

“You weren’t. But you were oblivious to the fact that I had feelings for you back then, weren’t you?” He chuckles again, his laughter like a sweet melody that resonates deep within you, leaving you longing for more.

“I honestly didn’t. I just thought you were being a typical boy. But hey, I was five—how was I supposed to grasp the concept of love at that age?” You laugh lightly, a soft smile playing on your lips as you reminisce about the innocence of childhood.

He chuckles softly, his gaze holding a hint of curiosity, “It doesn’t matter now. But I was wondering…”

You find yourself lost in his hazel brown eyes, their warmth enveloping you, as you’re drawn to his captivating smile. With a soft breath, you respond, “Yes?”

With a tender gaze, he lays his heart bare before you, his words echoing with sincerity and vulnerability. “If you want to be my girlfriend. I don’t want to waste anymore time. I love you and I want us to be together,” he asks, his voice tapering off, a hint of uncertainty creeping in. Yet, you offer him solace, intertwining your fingers with his, leaning into his side, and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, affirming your affection without words.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Jimin.”

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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[artemiseamoon]

He JUST got on screen and I’m already 😍😍😍

Bad boy Boyd with tattoos + gold jewelry just -

I’m already freaking out.

Me

[novelconcepts]

The best experience I ever have writing is when I pop open a document and a whole story unravels, fully-formed, just like it was always meant to be there.

Unfortunately, my much more common writing experience is going “okay, I’ve got three images and some Vibes; wheeeeere are we going, and why is that cliff getting closer with every step?”

[ladysif8]

Primal Attraction 18+

One late night, as I was aimlessly scrolling through TikTok, I came across those pheromone perfume ads and, of course, a steady stream of Logan TikToks. It sparked something, and thus, Primal Attraction was born.

•Pairing: Logan Howlett/Witch Original Female Character

•Rating: Explicit

•Tags: X-men Universe, Mutants, Wolverine, Witchy Vibes, Familiars, Pheromone Perfume, Smut, Possessive Logan, Kitchen Sex, Unsafe Sex,

•Summary:

Join Logan and Indica as they navigate wild magic, pheromone-fueled chaos, and all the possessive, steamy moments you could ask for. 😏💜 From kitchen counters to sweet (and spicy) moments, this fic is packed with love, laughter, and just a little bit of trouble! 😉

Nestled near the quiet town of Banff, Alberta, stood a small stone cottage that looked as if it had been plucked straight from a fairytale. Its walls were made of weathered gray stones, framed by black trim that outlined the windows and roof. The front door, painted a dark, enchanting shade of purple, seemed to beckon visitors into a world filled with secrets and stories. Towering spruce and cedar trees shaded the house, their branches swaying in the breeze and casting playful patterns of sunlight over the stones, adding to the cottage's timeless, rustic charm.

A large white fence surrounded the cottage, its posts carved with runes—symbols of protection that whispered quiet magic. Just inside the gate, the air was fragrant with rosemary, planted in neat rows that flanked the entrance. Beyond the herbs, a lush garden thrived in vibrant shades of green and purple, showcasing the bounty of each season under the careful, loving care of its gardener. Vegetables and herbs of all kinds flourished, while chickens wandered freely, pecking at the earth and clucking softly, adding a lively touch to the serene scene.

The front porch creaked softly as if welcoming every step, and the feeling of stepping into another time deepened once inside. The cottage was a Victorian-style marvel, with ornate trim that framed doorways and windows, and each room was washed in deep, cozy hues that contrasted beautifully with the streams of natural light pouring in from large windows. Despite the dark colors, the abundance of light bathed the space in a warm, inviting glow, creating a perfect balance between light and shadow. Plants cascaded from every available surface, their leaves catching the sun, adding vibrant splashes of green that enhanced the cottage-core vibe of the home.

The kitchen, a true heart of the home, featured wooden butcher block countertops that gleamed softly in the morning sun. Open shelving lined the walls, filled with an array of jars containing dried herbs, spices, and bubbling jars of sourdough starter. Fresh herbs hung drying from hooks overhead, filling the air with their earthy scent, and vintage copper pots were neatly displayed above the stove. This space invited creativity and comfort, blending Victorian elegance with rustic cottage warmth effortlessly.

Through an open set of double doors, the sunroom awaited like a secret garden within the house. Tall, arched windows lined the walls, reflecting the greens of the outside garden. Sunlight streamed in, warming the terracotta tiles underfoot and casting dappled patterns across the room. Whitewashed wooden beams arched overhead, adorned with delicate hanging plants that swayed gently with every passing breeze. Potted herbs and flowers thrived in every corner, reaching toward the sunlight, while vintage wicker chairs with plush cushions and cozy throws invited you to sit and soak in the serene beauty. The room was alive with the scents of lavender, rosemary, and warm earth—a space where the line between the indoors and nature blurred effortlessly.

In the living room, a large stone fireplace with a sturdy chimney served as the focal point, radiating warmth and comfort. Above the mantel, antique candlesticks and a collection of small curios told stories of the past. A large flat-screen TV subtly blended into the old-world charm of the room, perched on a wall opposite a small, cozy sectional. The sectional was draped in soft throws, flanked by vintage side tables topped with lamps whose intricately detailed shades cast a soft, golden glow. The walls were adorned with pictures of ancestors—sepia-toned portraits in ornate frames, their eyes peering out from the past, lending a sense of history and belonging to the space.

The bathroom was a moody retreat, its dark-painted walls making the space feel like a comforting cocoon. A large window overlooked the side yard, where bees buzzed around vibrant plants that fed them. In front of the window stood a clawfoot tub, its porcelain surface gleaming—a perfect spot to soak and watch the play of light and shadow outside. Plants trailed from shelves and perched on windowsills, their lush greenery offering a refreshing contrast to the deep, moody colors. The tile shower featured eucalyptus hanging from the showerhead, releasing a fresh, invigorating scent with every hot shower. Fluffy towels and neatly arranged bath bombs promised relaxation, making the bathroom a haven of comfort.

Across the hall from the bathroom was the master bedroom, an enchanting space where modern comfort met Victorian elegance. The walls were painted a rich, dramatic black, which made the white ceiling feel all the more expansive. A large, old black vintage iron bed frame took center stage, its frame sturdy and elegant, dressed in soft, inviting bedding. Faux ivy intertwined with delicate fairy lights trailed along the headboard, casting a soft, magical glow that made the room feel like a dream. It was a space designed for rest and escape, every detail thoughtfully considered—from the textures of the bedding to the gentle twinkle of lights that sparkled like stars above.

In one corner of the room, a vintage vanity with an ornate oval mirror stood, its wooden surface polished and rich with age. The vanity was adorned with candles, their soft light flickering gently, casting dancing shadows against the walls. Bottles of perfume, each with intricately designed glass stoppers, sat alongside antique trays holding an array of cosmetics—creams, powders, and delicate brushes. The scene was completed by a plush stool tucked neatly underneath, inviting moments of quiet reflection. It was a space that whispered of old-world glamour and everyday rituals, adding a touch of personal charm to the room.

Tucked away at the end of the hall was a second bedroom, currently storage but maybe one day there would be a little one sleeping in crib.

Sound asleep and nestled in the king-size bed, Indica Howlett lay wrapped in sage green bamboo sheets, a thick, cozy duvet draped over her. The morning sun rose steadily, its rays filtering through the large windows, casting a soft, golden light that danced across the room. Indica shifted slightly, stirring against the warmth of her bed. Her auburn hair, streaked with hints of blonde and woven with a few delicate dreadlocks, fanned out across the pillow in a tousled halo. The sunlight caught the different textures, giving her hair a warm, golden glow. A light dusting of freckles graced her pale skin, adding a touch of character to her serene, peaceful expression.

Beside her, sprawled comfortably on the bed, was a massive ball of black fur: Ranger, her devoted 100-pound German Shepherd. He lay with his legs stretched out and his head nestled near her side, his thick coat shimmering under the morning light. His deep, steady breaths matched the gentle rise and fall of Indica's chest, a quiet rhythm of comfort and companionship. Ranger's ears twitched occasionally, half-listening to the waking world while still lost in his own dreams. His calm, watchful presence added a sense of security to the tranquil setting, his protective instincts ever-present even in sleep.

As the sun climbed higher, Indica slowly drifted from sleep, her mind gradually surfacing as she stretched her limbs under the soft duvet. She arched her back, feeling the satisfying pull of a full-body stretch. Ranger, waking with her, let out a deep, lazy yawn, his jaws stretching wide as he blinked his eyes open. He hopped off the bed with a soft thud, his paws landing lightly on the wooden floor. Stretching out fully, he extended his back legs behind him, his front paws spread wide in a perfect downward dog pose, a picture of relaxed contentment.

Indica shifted to the edge of the bed, her bare feet brushing against the cool floor. She reached out to Ranger, her hand smoothing over his head and sliding gently down to his snout, her fingers sinking into his soft fur. Leaning down, she pressed a light kiss to the bridge of his nose. "Good morning, handsome," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. Ranger's tail wagged slowly at first, then picked up pace, a steady rhythm that matched the easy, calm start to their day.

Glancing at her cell phone on the bedside table, Indica noted the time—a little before 8 AM. She smiled softly, setting the phone back down as she turned her gaze back to Ranger. "Guess what, big guy? Daddy's coming home today." Her voice was filled with quiet excitement. Ranger's ears perked up at the familiar words, and his tail wagged a little faster, as if he understood and shared her anticipation.

Indica pushed herself up from the bed, her long auburn hair tumbling down her back, brushing just above her waist. The soft dreadlocks mixed with loose strands gave her hair a unique, natural look that suited her free-spirited style. The oversized tee she had worn to bed slid up her bare thighs, a cozy, well-loved favorite that moved easily with her every step. She stretched her arms above her head once more, feeling the satisfying pop of her joints as she fully woke up. With a contented sigh, she walked over to the window, her bare feet making a soft, whispering sound against the floor. She paused there, gazing out at the day unfolding beyond the glass. Her heart felt light with the thought of her partner's return, and Ranger by her side, ever her faithful companion in their quiet cottage home.

Her steps were slow and unsteady as she made her way to the bathroom, eyes still half-closed. She relieved her aching bladder with a sigh of relief, the early morning quiet wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. Returning to the bedroom, she caught Ranger's expectant gaze. "Alright, let's get you outside," she murmured, her voice soft with lingering drowsiness. She opened the side door, letting him trot off into the yard with his nose to the ground. She propped the door open slightly, allowing the crisp, cool fall air to creep into the house, its chill brushing against her bare legs and waking her up a bit more.

Indica headed to the kitchen, still groggy but comforted by the familiar routine. She started the coffee pot, the sound of dripping water and the rich aroma of brewing coffee filling the air. She leaned against the counter, arms folded loosely as she waited, savoring the peacefulness of the morning. The early sunlight filtered through the windows, casting soft shadows across the walls and floor, painting everything in gentle, warm hues. Once the coffee was ready, she poured herself a steaming cup, the warmth seeping into her hands as she held the mug close. She called Ranger back inside, and he followed her up the stairs, his nails clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floors as they returned to the bedroom.

Indica settled down at her vintage vanity, the oval mirror reflecting her sleepy expression. She placed her coffee mug carefully beside her, the steam curling up in lazy tendrils. Her reflection showed the early signs of the day—hair tousled with a mix of loose waves and a few dreadlocks that framed her face, her eyes still heavy with sleep. Her gaze shifted to the photo tucked into the corner of the mirror, and a soft smile spread across her lips. The picture captured a perfect moment of herself and her wonderful husband Logan Howlett to the rest of the world Wolverine. Indica's hair in the photo was shorter, falling just past her shoulders in a mix of loose waves and dreadlocks. Her sapphire blue eyes twinkled behind thick-rimmed glasses, radiating happiness and a touch of excitement. The picture captured the moment perfectly—the day they had closed on their little cottage. Indica's smile was wide and genuine, her joy almost leaping off the photograph. Logan stood close behind her, his broad frame nearly enveloping her as he held her tightly, their happiness reflected in the way they clung to each other. His strong arms wrapped snugly around her thick waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. His broad, muscular frame easily dwarfed her, his 6-foot-4 stature slightly hunched to meet her height. His messy brown hair was tousled as if he'd just run his hands through it, and his hazel eyes sparkled with warmth and a touch of mischief, a look she knew well.

The cottage had been a dream come true for both of them, a cozy sanctuary nestled away from the bustle of everyday life. Indica remembered the way Logan had looked at her that day—his hazel eyes soft with love and pride as they signed the final papers. She'd been nervous about such a big commitment, but with Logan, it had all felt right. The excitement of that day still lingered in her mind, and every time she looked at the photo, she could almost feel the warmth of Logan's arms around her again, the thrill of their new beginning captured in that single, perfect moment.

Indica traced her fingers along the edge of the photo, her heart swelling with affection. Logan's presence in the picture felt almost tangible, his grin infectious even in stillness. "Just a few more hours," she whispered to herself, her voice tinged with anticipation and a bit of impatience. The thought of Logan's return filled her with a warm, fluttering excitement. Ranger nudged her leg gently with his nose, his tail wagging softly as if he could sense her mood and shared in her joy.

She took another sip of her coffee, savoring the rich flavor as it spread warmth through her body. The oversized tee she wore to bed shifted slightly, brushing against her bare thighs as she adjusted in her seat. Indica glanced around her bedroom, taking in the soft, golden glow of the morning light that bathed everything in a gentle brightness. The vintage vanity with its oval mirror and scattered candles, the bottles of perfume and cosmetics neatly arranged, the comforting mess of her life—everything felt just right.

Indica hopped happily down the steps, the hem of her high-waisted sage green skirt fluttering with each bounce. The soft cotton fabric swayed around her thighs, catching the morning light as she moved with a buoyant energy. A playful sliver of skin peeked out between the waistband of her skirt and the dark gray square-neck crop top that stretched snugly across her chest, highlighting her natural curves. Around her neck, layers of delicate necklaces shimmered, their pendants catching the light as they gently clinked with her steps, adding a subtle melody to her cheerful rhythm.

Draped over her shoulders, a long black cardigan flowed with her movements, its cozy fabric trailing behind like a soft, comforting shadow. Her bare feet, with black-painted toes peeking out from beneath her skirt, softly tapped against the floor as she hopped down the stairs. Indica's auburn hair was pulled into a carefree bun, beads, and charms woven into her dreadlocks, peeking from the back of her head, adding a touch of whimsy and individuality to her look. The beads glimmered with each step, catching the light, a small yet personal statement of her unique, effortless style.

Indica felt light and free, the crisp fall air brushing against her exposed skin, adding to the sense of renewal that filled her with every step. She couldn't help but smile, her lips curving upwards as she descended the stairs, the thought of Logan's return filling her with a warm, bubbling excitement. Everything about her felt right and true to herself—from the effortlessly chic outfit to the playful sway of her skirt, and the way her jewelry softly tinkled like a gentle reminder of her happiness.

Ranger followed closely behind, his tail wagging in sync with her upbeat pace, his ears perked and alert as if sharing in her joy. Indica glanced back at him, her smile widening at the sight of her loyal companion, and gave him a quick wink. Ranger responded with a soft woof, his tail swishing even faster, matching the light, carefree energy that filled the room.

Indica grabbed her long, wide wicker basket from the kitchen, the familiar weight resting comfortably against her hip as she made her way out the back door. The cool morning air greeted her, carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers and freshly turned earth.

Indica stepped off the path out her side door and into the dewy grass, the cool moisture kissing her bare feet as she walked further into the yard. She set down her basket and stood still for a moment, arms lifting to her sides with elbows tucked in, palms facing upward. Her chest rose with a slow, deliberate breath as she closed her eyes, her toes flexing into the soft earth beneath her.

She felt it immediately—the hum of energy from the land beneath her feet. The power of Mother Nature surged up from the ground, flowing through her like an ancient current. Indica exhaled slowly, focusing her mind, letting herself connect deeply to the earth. She imagined the energy like roots from a tree, spiraling up into her body, and she soaked it in, drawing it into every fiber of her being.

The warmth of it spread through her, filling her with an undeniable sense of peace, strength, and belonging. The soft energy wrapped around her, soothing, healing, and energizing her all at once. She smiled faintly, feeling the pulse of the earth underfoot, her body vibrating with life as she continued to ground herself in the moment, in the energy freely offered to her.

Like her husband, Indica was a mutant—though her gifts were of a different nature. While Logan's abilities were grounded in raw physicality and survival, hers were ancient and elemental, deeply intertwined with the world itself. She was a witch, and a powerful one at that. She had walked the earth for over a hundred years longer than Logan, carrying the wisdom and power of centuries in her veins. Time had taught her the secrets of nature, the elements, and the mysteries that lay between life and death.

Her skin began to glow faintly, shimmering in the soft morning light, as if absorbing the energy of the earth like a flower soaks in the warmth of the sun. This was not a grand display of power, but a quiet communion with the forces that surrounded her. The centuries she'd lived had taught her patience, control, and a deep respect for the magic she wielded. She knew that true power was not in the loud, explosive moments, but in the quiet, steady strength that came from being in tune with the world around her.

Unlike most mutants, Indica's abilities weren't just tied to her DNA. They were rooted in the ancient magic that had been passed down through generations of witches before her. She could feel the life force of everything around her—the trees, the wind, the animals hidden in the forest—and she could call upon that energy, bending it to her will if the need arose.

But today, she needed nothing more than the peace of connection. Her glowing skin was a testament to the energy she drew from the earth, a soft aura of magic that surrounded her like a protective blanket. Despite the peaceful scene, there was always a wildness in her—an untamed force, like a storm waiting to be unleashed. It was the kind of power that lay dormant until it was needed, and when it was released, it was devastating.

Logan knew that side of her well. He'd often teased her, saying that while he could survive almost anything, it was Indica who truly scared him when she was pushed too far. Her power, unlike his own, wasn't something that could be fought or overpowered. It was subtle but immense, like the slow rise of the tide that you only notice when it's already swept you away.

She wore that power with a quiet grace, moving through life as though she carried the weight of the world effortlessly on her shoulders. And in many ways, she did.

Indica stepped into her garden, the dewy grass cool under her bare, and took in the sight of her plants, thriving in the warm spring sunshine. This was her favorite way to start the day—hands in the soil, surrounded by the quiet hum of nature, and the sense of peace that came with nurturing her little piece of the world.

She crouched down among the rows of vegetables, the hem of her skirt brushing against the soft soil. Carefully, she plucked ripe, plump tomatoes from their vines, placing them gently into her basket. Next, she moved on to the peppers, their vibrant colors standing out against the green leaves. She selected a few zucchinis and squashes, their firm skins still cool from the morning air. A large head of cabbage, nestled among its leafy companions, found its way into the basket as well, along with a few heads of broccoli, their bright green florets crisp and fresh.

Indica then made her way to her herb garden, where the fragrant scent of thyme and lavender filled the air. She snipped generous bundles of each, tucking them carefully into the basket, their earthy and floral scents mingling with the vegetables. She paused for a moment, inhaling deeply, letting the soothing aroma ground her in the quiet morning.

With her basket now brimming with fresh produce and herbs, Indica walked to the chicken coop. She set the basket down on the ground, glancing at Ranger who was never too far away. His watchful eyes tracked her every move, his ears perked and alert, always on guard and always protecting. She smiled at him, a silent thank you for his steadfast presence.

Indica opened the coop, stepping inside to greet her flock. The chickens clucked softly, flapping their wings and pecking at the grain she scattered on the ground. She moved carefully among them, her hands deftly collecting nearly a dozen warm eggs, each one nestled gently into the straw-lined sections of her basket. The chickens clucked in approval, their gentle noises creating a peaceful soundtrack to the morning's tasks.

With her basket full and her chores nearly complete, Indica paused for a moment, soaking in the serenity of her surroundings. Ranger trotted up beside her, his nose twitching at the scent of fresh eggs and herbs. She gave him a gentle pat on the head, appreciating the quiet companionship he offered.

As Indica turned back toward the house, the sun had climbed a little higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the garden. The light filtered through the leaves, creating dappled patterns on the ground as she walked. She glanced down at Ranger, his loyal form trailing just a step behind her, ever watchful.

"Come along, Ranger," she said softly, her voice carrying the gentle authority of someone who knew he would follow without question. She adjusted the wicker basket on her arm, its weight a pleasant reminder of the morning's harvest.

Ranger perked up at her words, his ears twitching as he fell into step beside her, his presence a comforting shadow. Together, they walked toward the cottage, its cozy silhouette framed by the early morning light. The cool breeze brushed against Indica's skin, the scent of freshly picked herbs and earth mingling in the air, making her feel connected to the land she cherished.

As they approached the back door, Indica paused for a moment, taking in the peaceful scene around her. The garden, the chickens pecking contentedly in their coop, the quiet hum of nature—it was all a part of the life she and Logan had built together.

Pushing the door open, Indica stepped inside with Ranger trailing close behind, his nails clicking softly against the wooden floor. The familiar comfort of the cottage wrapped around them like a warm hug, the scent of home mingling with the fresh air she'd brought in from outside. She moved into the kitchen, the cozy heart of the house, where sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow over the rustic wooden countertops.

Indica set her basket down and began washing the vegetables she'd just picked. The cool water splashed over the tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, squash, cabbage, and broccoli, washing away the last traces of garden soil. She worked with practiced ease, humming softly to herself as she laid each piece out to dry. Once the vegetables were cleaned and set aside, she moved on to her herbs, bundling the thyme and lavender with twine and hanging them by the window to dry. The fragrant bundles swayed gently in the morning breeze, filling the kitchen with their fresh, earthy scent.

After washing her hands, Indica reached for one of her prized jars of sourdough starter sitting on the counter. She cradled it carefully, knowing the effort and care that had gone into nurturing the culture over time. She could already imagine the tangy aroma of fresh bread filling the cottage—a scent that always made the house feel like a true home.

With her sleeves rolled up, Indica began the familiar process of making two loaves of bread and a dozen bagels. She measured the flour with precision, her movements fluid and sure, a dance she had perfected over countless mornings. The dough came together under her hands, soft and pliable, as she kneaded it with care, folding in the promise of a hearty, delicious meal. Ranger watched her from his spot nearby, his eyes tracking her movements, content to keep her company as she worked.

As she shaped the dough into rounds for the bread and bagels, Indica felt a quiet joy settle in her chest. There was something deeply satisfying about creating with her hands, about filling her home with the warmth and comfort of freshly baked bread. She glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of the sun now fully risen, bathing the garden in golden light. With Ranger by her side and the simple, soothing rhythm of her morning chores, Indica felt at peace, eagerly awaiting the moment Logan would walk through the door and make their little cottage feel whole again.

After finishing the bread and bagels, Indica carefully transferred the warm loaves and golden bagels onto the cooling rack, the rich, yeasty aroma filling the kitchen and spilling into every corner of the cottage. The scent mingled with the lingering hints of thyme and lavender from her herbs, creating a comforting, homely blend that made the space feel alive. She wiped her hands on her apron, glanced at the clock, and saw there was still plenty of time before she needed to meet Logan. Deciding to make the most of the morning, she grabbed a light sweater and stepped outside to check the mailbox at the end of the brick path.

Ranger trotted beside her, his ears perked up and tail wagging, alert to every sound and scent around them. The morning sun was now bright and cheerful, warming Indica's skin as she strolled down the brick path lined with wildflowers. Their colorful petals swayed gently in the light breeze, adding splashes of purple, yellow, and pink against the lush green backdrop. Indica couldn't help but feel a sense of peace; mornings like this were what she loved most about their little cottage.

Reaching the mailbox, she opened it and found a small stack of letters along with a neatly wrapped package addressed to her. Curious, Indica tucked the letters under her arm and carefully opened the small box. Inside was a delicate vintage perfume bottle, ornate with a golden cap and a beautifully etched glass design that caught the sunlight. It sparkled softly in her hand, looking like something out of an old movie. She spotted a folded note inside and pulled it out, her heart warming as she read the familiar handwriting: "To Indi, love Nessa."

Indica's smile widened, and a warm feeling spread through her chest. She gently uncapped the bottle and brought it to her nose. The scent was divine—citrusy and sweet with just a hint of wildflowers, bright and refreshing, yet grounded by a soft floral undertone. It was the kind of fragrance that instantly lifted her spirits, light and invigorating, like a small burst of sunshine captured in a bottle. She couldn't resist spraying a little on her wrist, inhaling deeply as the scent settled on her skin. It felt like a personal little gift of happiness, a reminder of her friend's thoughtfulness.

Back inside, Indica set the mail on the kitchen table, still smiling as she glanced at the perfume bottle again. She carefully wrapped the fresh bread and bagels in soft linen cloths, tucking them neatly into their places in the pantry. The kitchen felt cozy and complete, with the fresh loaves on display like a testament to the simple joys of her morning. She paused for a moment, just enjoying the sight and smell of her work, the way the sun streamed through the windows, making everything feel warm and golden.

Realizing she still had a few things to take care of before meeting Logan, Indica grabbed her bag and checked her list of errands. She needed to pick up a few essentials in town—fresh produce, a couple of things from the hardware store, and perhaps a quick stop by the local market for some special treats to welcome Logan home. The day already felt full of promise, and she was eager to make the most of it.

She gave Ranger a gentle pat on the head, feeling the soft fur beneath her fingers, and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door. With a final glance around the cozy kitchen, she headed out the door, her thoughts already drifting to the moment when she'd finally see Logan again. As she walked down the path, the citrusy, floral notes of the perfume lingered in the air around her, mingling with the fresh morning breeze.

Indica climbed into Logan's old, beat-up blue Ford truck, its paint slightly faded but still holding a certain charm. The engine rumbled to life with a reassuring growl, and she steered the truck down the gravel driveway, the wheels kicking up tiny clouds of dust behind her. She drove along the winding road, the crisp mountain air filling her car as she rolled the windows down. The morning sun bathed the landscape in a warm, golden light, making the journey to town feel like a serene escape. As she rounded a bend, she spotted a small roadside stand brimming with fresh produce. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the baskets of peaches, their vibrant orange hue gleaming under the sun. She smiled, thinking of Logan and his love for her peach cobbler.

Pulling over, she parked and stepped out, the earthy scent of ripe fruit filling her senses. The old man running the stand greeted her with a friendly smile, and she picked through the peaches, selecting the ripest ones that would be perfect for her cobbler. She paid the vendor and placed the basket of peaches gently in the passenger seat, giving them a fond glance before getting back on the road.

The road into town wound through the picturesque town, framed by the dramatic peaks of the surrounding mountains. The sun shone brightly, casting long shadows of the jagged peaks across the streets. Banff was a quaint, charming place with a mix of rustic and modern elements. Small shops with colorful awnings lined the main street, their windows filled with local crafts, souvenirs, and cozy café signs. The streets were busy with tourists and locals alike, giving the town a lively, vibrant atmosphere.

Indica parked the truck in front of the hardware store, a modest building with a red and white striped awning that offered a touch of old-fashioned charm. She stepped out of the truck, taking a deep breath of the crisp mountain air. The town's fresh scent, a mix of pine and the faint aroma of brewing coffee from nearby cafés, filled her senses.

Indica strolled through the hardware store, scanning the shelves for the items on her list. It didn't take long for her to notice the way the male employees' heads turned as she walked by, their eagerness to assist almost palpable.

One of the workers, a lanky guy with a name tag reading "Evan," approached with a bit too much enthusiasm. "Can I help you find anything, miss?" he asked, his eyes darting over her face and lingering on her form longer than necessary.

Indica offered a polite smile. "Just browsing, thanks," she said, moving on, but she caught him leaning in subtly as if trying to catch a whiff of her perfume. She arched an eyebrow but kept walking, shaking her head slightly.

Further down the aisle, another employee, stockier with a mop of curly hair, was stacking bags of mulch. His eyes drifted south the moment she passed, staring shamelessly at her chest. Indica shot him a pointed look, and he quickly turned back to his task, cheeks reddening as he fumbled with the bags.

By the time she reached the checkout counter, the young cashier couldn't have been more than nineteen and looked utterly flustered. His eyes widened when he saw her, and he stumbled over his words as he tried to make small talk.

"Uh, hi, ma'am! I mean—hey! Uh, find everything okay?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Indica nodded, placing the bags of chicken feed and dog food on the counter. The cashier's hands shook as he scanned the items, his fingers hitting the wrong keys on the register repeatedly. He mumbled an apology, cheeks turning pink, clearly overwhelmed.

"Uh, s-sorry," he stammered, glancing up at her with wide eyes. He knocked over the pack of gum by the register in his haste, and Indica bit back a small smile, trying not to let her amusement show.

"It's okay," she said gently, passing her card over the reader. The cashier nodded, his hands still shaking as he bagged her items, practically tripping over himself to finish.

Indica smiled softly, trying to put him at ease. "Don't worry about it," she said, watching as he finally managed to ring up her items.

The cashier fumbled with the receipt, dropping it twice before finally handing it over. "Uh, have a great day!" he squeaked out, avoiding eye contact as Indica gave him a kind nod and walked out of the store, the sound of his relieved exhale following her out the door.

Indica took her bags, giving the cashier a nod of thanks as she turned to leave. As she stepped outside, she exhaled a slow breath, shaking her head slightly. The over-the-top attention was almost comical, but she wasn't about to let it get to her.

Driving to the liquor store, Indica noted the mix of calm and hustle that marked the late afternoon in Banff. The store, a modest establishment with a faded sign that read "Banff Liquor Store," had been a regular stop on her errands. Inside, the aisles were neatly stocked with everything from local craft beers to imported wines, and the familiar clinking of bottles filled the air.

As she scanned the shelves for Logan's favorite Molson beer, she became aware of the attention she was drawing. A pair of frat boys, clearly tipsy and a little too eager, followed her movements, their whispers and low chuckles not going unnoticed. Indica kept her focus on the task at hand, pulling two twelve-packs off the shelf and setting them in her cart.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them called out, a smirk plastered on his face. He was tall, with messy blond hair and a backward cap, the epitome of college arrogance. "Need some help with that? Looks heavy for someone like you."

Indica rolled her eyes internally but maintained a polite smile. "No thanks, I've got it." She pushed her cart forward, trying to ignore the way they continued to trail her through the aisles.

The second one, shorter but stockier, with a jersey that looked like it hadn't been washed in days, stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "You know, we could use some company tonight. What do you say? You, us, a couple of drinks... maybe more?"

Indica sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Not interested, guys. Just here to grab some beer and go."

Undeterred, the first guy leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. "Aw, come on. Don't be like that. We're fun. You should give us a chance."

Before Indica could retort, a voice boomed from behind the counter. "Indica! Hey there, kiddo!"

Indica looked up to see Mickey, the store's owner, an older man with a grizzled beard and a cap that seemed permanently affixed to his head. His eyes were sharp as he took in the scene unfolding in his store.

"Everything all right over here?" Mickey asked, his gaze fixed on the frat boys with a steely look that could cut through glass. "These fellas bothering you, Indi?"

The frat boys exchanged uneasy glances, suddenly looking like school kids caught by the principal. Mickey's reputation as a no-nonsense guy—and his long-standing friendship with Logan—clearly struck a nerve.

"Uh, no, we were just talking," the taller one mumbled, his earlier bravado quickly dissipating.

Mickey didn't budge. "Well, how 'bout you talk yourselves right outta my store? Ain't got time for any funny business today."

The frat boys muttered a half-hearted apology, shuffling out of the store with their tails between their legs. Indica watched them leave, shaking her head slightly before turning back to Mickey.

"Thanks, Mickey. Those guys were getting a bit too friendly," Indica said, her voice laced with relief.

Mickey nodded, a wry smile breaking through his gruff demeanor. "Ain't no problem, Indi. I've known Logan too long to let punks like that give you any trouble. You're practically family around here."

As Mickey rang up the beer, he glanced over his shoulder at a small display behind the counter. "Oh, by the way, just got a fresh batch of Logan's cigars in. You want me to add a pack?"

"That'd be great, thanks," Indica replied, genuinely appreciative. She watched as Mickey added the cigars to her purchase, his weathered hands moving with the ease of someone who'd been in the business far too long to be rattled by much.

He handed her the bag, his expression softening. "Take care of yourself, Indi. And tell Logan I said hi. Don't need folks like those boys bothering you 'round here."

Indica smiled, feeling a warmth that came from more than just the friendly gesture. "I will, Mickey. Thanks again."

She headed out, beer and cigars in hand, reflecting on the odd string of encounters that seemed to shadow her day. With a sigh, she started up the truck, the engine rumbling to life as she set off for the small-town grocery store, hoping the rest of her errands would be less eventful.

Indica moved through the grocery store with the ease of someone who'd been through these aisles a hundred times before. She grabbed a bunch of bananas, added them to her basket, and moved toward the leafy greens, mentally going over her list. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, blending into the hum of the store's atmosphere. It was supposed to be a routine trip—get in, get out, and go home. But something was clearly off today; she had been approached multiple times by men she'd never talked to, some men she didn't know from around town.

She could sense him before she saw him.

Indica spotted him lingering by the cucumbers, pretending to look at the produce but clearly watching her, waiting for a moment to pounce. Indica sighed, her grip tightening on her basket. She wasn't in the mood for this.

She ignored him and moved to another section, trying to make it clear she didn't want any interaction. But, of course, that didn't stop him. He followed her, slithering through the aisles like an unwanted shadow. Every turn she made, he was right there, just a step behind.

When she stopped to pick up some apples, she felt his presence even closer than before. She turned, ready to give him the standard cold shoulder, but he was standing too close—way too close. Close enough that she could smell the faint, stale scent of cologne on him; before she could step back, he leaned in, took an audibly deep breath, and sniffed her.

Indica froze for half a second, disbelief flooding her mind. The guy actually sniffed her. This had crossed a line.

"As if the fuck off stamped across my forehead wasn't clear," she said, her voice low and firm, "to leave me alone."

He sneered, his smile creepy and self-assured, as if he thought her irritation was cute. "Aw, come on. I'm just tryin' to talk to ya," he purred, his eyes roving over her in a way that made her skin crawl. "You smell good, by the way.....really...really good."

That was it.

Before he could react, Indica's hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. His cocky expression shifted to shock, his mouth opening in protest as he realized that he wasn't just being grabbed—he was being lifted off the ground.

His feet dangled helplessly a few inches above the grocery store floor, eyes wide with panic as the realization of what was happening sank in. The basket in her other hand dropped to the ground with a thud, apples rolling away, but she didn't care.

"You've been warned," Indica growled, her voice low and deadly. "I've had enough of you following me around like a creep. I told you no. That means no."

The man's eyes flickered in terror as he stared at her, now fully aware that she wasn't just some ordinary woman. There was something else about her, something dangerous. His lips trembled, but he was too stunned to speak. His hands clawed at her grip on his shirt, but it was no use.

"And if you don't leave me alone," Indica added, her voice dropping even lower, "you're going to regret it."

Then, as if to punctuate her throat, her eyes began to glow—a soft, fiery amber that lit up her face with an ethereal intensity. The man's breath hitched, his entire body going rigid as he stared into those glowing eyes, realizing he was dealing with something far beyond his understanding.

"I—I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice shaking as he scrambled to get his words out. "I—I'll leave you alone. I swear."

Indica's lips curled into a tight smile, more predator than anything. "Good."

She released him, and he stumbled back, nearly falling on his ass in his hurry to get away from her. He turned and bolted toward the exit, not bothering to look back as he disappeared into the parking lot.

Indica took a deep breath, the glow in her eyes fading as she collected herself. She glanced around the produce section. A few other shoppers had noticed, some staring wide-eyed, but no one dared approach her.

Grabbing a few items from the ground, Indica shook her head. "Freaks everywhere," she muttered to herself, turning her attention back to her groceries.

She was more than done with this trip—time to head home.

As the X-Jet, the Blackbird, descended smoothly toward a secluded clearing near Logan's cottage, the engines' soft hum filled the cabin. Storm expertly guided the jet down, landing on a tranquil stretch of land surrounded by dense forest, with the rugged peaks of the Rockies visible in the distance. The hatch opened, and Logan was the first to step out, the crisp Canadian air hitting him as he stretched, rolling his shoulders. Scott followed, still grumbling about something Logan had said earlier.

"I'm just saying," Scott argued, his voice tinged with irritation. "There's no way the Leafs are making it to the playoffs this year."

Logan scoffed, grabbing his duffle bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Shows how much you know, Slim. That new goalie they got? Kid's a wall. Mark my words; they'll be there."

Scott rolled his eyes, clearly not interested in Logan's sports opinions. "Yeah, sure. Just like you said, the Bears would win the Super Bowl last year, right? How'd that work out?"

"Hey, that's different," Logan shot back, pausing at the edge of the jet to pull his last cigar from the box. He bit the end off and spat it onto the ground, fishing in his pocket for a lighter. "Bears had injuries; the whole season was a wash."

Scott made a face, crossing his arms as Logan finally got his cigar lit, the tip glowing brightly in the early morning light. "Excuses," Scott muttered under his breath.

Storm, watching their back-and-forth with an amused smile, followed them down the ramp. "Do you two ever stop arguing?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with humor. "You're like an old married couple."

Logan smirked, taking a deep drag of his cigar. "He's just pissed 'cause I'm always right." He exhaled a thick plume of smoke, the scent of tobacco mingling with the crisp mountain air.

Scott snorted, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

Storm turned her attention to Logan, a playful gleam in her eyes. "Speaking of impossible, you got anything special planned for Indica's birthday?"

Logan's expression softened slightly at the mention of Indica. He grinned, his eyes glinting with a mischievous light. "Yeah, I got plans," he said, winking at Storm. "Gonna keep her in bed all day if you catch my drift."

Storm laughed, a musical sound that echoed in the open space around them. "That sounds like you, Logan. Just don't forget the flowers—or something a little more romantic."

Scott made a face, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief. "I don't know why she puts up with you, Logan. She deserves better."

Logan shot Scott a pointed look, his smirk widening. "Wouldn't you like to know, bub?" he quipped, taking another puff of his cigar. Scott grimaced, looking away with a disgusted shake of his head as if trying to banish the thought entirely.

Jean, Rogue, and Bobby emerged from the jet. Next, Jean's red hair caught the morning light as she descended the ramp. "What's all this about flowers and picnics?" she teased, catching the tail end of Logan's conversation. "You going soft on us, Logan?"

Logan's grin widened as he tapped the ash from his cigar. "Nah, just got a special day planned for Indica," he said, his voice taking on a rare, softer edge. "Found the perfect spot—a field full of wildflowers, tucked away from everything. Place looks damn near magical like it's out of a fairy tale or somethin'."

Rogue smiled, her Southern accent slipping through as she spoke. "Well, ain't that sweet. Ah, never pegged ya for the romantic type, Logan."

Logan shrugged, playing it off. "What can I say? Indica's got a way of bringing that out in me." He took another puff of his cigar, the scent mixing with the fresh mountain air.

Bobby nudged Rogue, smirking. "Logan's got a soft spot; who knew?"

"Watch it, Iceboy," Logan warned, though his tone was more amused than threatening.

Jean looked at Logan, genuinely impressed. "That sounds lovely, Logan. I'm sure she'll love it."

Logan nodded, a flicker of pride in his eyes as he thought of Indica. "Yeah, she will," he said confidently. "Gonna pack a picnic, take her there, and let her just soak it all in. Ain't nothin' she loves more than a place that feels like it's got a story to tell and that field—it's got somethin' special."

Storm gave him an approving look, her smile full of warmth. "That's really sweet, Logan. You know, sometimes you surprise me."

Scott, overhearing the exchange, made a face as if the conversation was almost too much for him. "Wildflowers and picnics? Who knew you had it in you, Logan," he muttered, half-sarcastic but tinged with a reluctant acknowledgment.

Logan shot him a sideways glance, a sly grin still on his face. "Like I said, Slim—you'd be surprised at what I got in me. Indica's just got a way of bringin' it out."

Scott shook his head, his exasperation clear as he turned back toward the jet. "Whatever you say, Logan. Just don't screw it up."

Logan's smirk didn't falter. "Not a chance," he called after him. "See ya around, Scott. Try not to be so uptight."

Storm chuckled, giving Logan a knowing look. "You're a piece of work, Logan. But I think you've got this one right."

Logan nodded, his eyes glinting with determination. "Damn right, I do," he said.

As the group reboarded the jet and took off, the roar of its engines fading into the distance, Logan turned his gaze toward the dirt path leading to his cottage. The wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant colors popping against the lush green of the surrounding forest. It was quite peaceful, a hidden gem tucked away from the rest of the world. Logan took a moment to breathe it all in, imagining Indica's reaction when he brought her here.

Slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder, Logan set off down the dirt path toward his cottage. He'd already planned every detail down to the last sandwich in their picnic basket, and he couldn't wait to see the look on Indica's face when she saw it all. The thought kept him going, his steps steady as he made his way home, the scent of wildflowers lingering in the air and mingling with the faint trace of cigar smoke. Logan couldn't help but smile—it was good to be home.

Logan approached the cottage, the faint crunch of gravel beneath his boots, the only sound breaking the stillness of the morning. The air felt crisp, carrying the earthy scent of pine and damp soil, but as he crossed into the boundary of their property, something else tingled in the air.

It was subtle at first, like the quiet hum of electricity just beneath the surface, but Logan could feel it—an almost tangible buzz of energy. He paused for a moment, taking it in. The sensation was familiar, a steady, comforting pulse that surrounded the land like a protective blanket. Whether it was the intricate protection spell Indica had woven around the property, making it impossible for anyone—man or mutant—to find them unless she allowed it, or whether it was simply Indica channeling her powers today, Logan couldn't quite tell.

Either way, it felt like home.

The energy hummed in his bones, warm and steady, like a quiet heartbeat that matched the rhythm of the forest around them. It wasn't intrusive, just there—always present, always protecting. He knew that as soon as he crossed the invisible line, he was safe. No one could track him here. No one could find them. The spell was old magic, ancient and powerful, like everything Indica did. It wasn't flashy, but it was unbreakable.

As he took another step closer to the cottage, Logan's lips curved into a faint smile. The sensation of the spell, or maybe just the natural energy Indica drew from the earth, wrapped around him like a familiar embrace. He'd never been one for magic, but this? This was different. This was her.

He could feel her essence in the land, in the way the leaves seemed to sway a little softer, in the way the sunlight filtered through the trees just right, casting warm, golden rays across the ground. There was a peace here that he hadn't felt anywhere else—a calmness that settled deep in his chest, reminding him that he wasn't just a wandering soul anymore. He had a place, a home.

And that home was with her.

The closer he got to the cottage, the stronger the buzz became, like a low hum thrumming just beneath the earth. Maybe she was channeling today, grounding herself as she often did, drawing power from the land and sky. Or maybe it was just her presence—her very being—that made everything here feel alive, like the world itself bent to her will in the gentlest, most natural way.

Either way, Logan found comfort in it. It wasn't just the protection or the magic that made him feel at ease. It was knowing she was here that she had created this space for them—a sanctuary away from the chaos of the world.

He took a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs as he reached the front door, feeling more grounded with each step. Yeah, this was home. And whatever buzz of energy lingered in the air, he'd never get tired of it. It was Indica. It was them.

And it was exactly where he wanted to be.

As Logan pushed open the cottage door, he couldn't help but announce himself. "I'm home!" he called, his deep voice filling the cozy space.

Almost instantly, Ranger was there to greet him, tail wagging and eyes bright. The German shepherd nudged his leg affectionately, the connection between them more than just a man and his dog. Ranger had been Indica's familiar for as long as Logan could remember, a loyal companion who had walked beside her through countless years. In his past life, Ranger had been a sleek, black cat named Nightshade, or Spicy Cat; Wade liked to joke. Logan had heard the stories of how Nightshade had prowled beside Indica, full of attitude and sass, just as Ranger was now, though in a different form.

"Hey, buddy," Logan murmured, scratching behind the dog's ears as he closed the door with a gentle push, the familiar thud of the purple wood hitting the frame making him chuckle.

That damn purple door.

Logan still remembered the day Indica told him she wanted to paint it purple. He had stood there, paint can in hand, brows furrowed in confusion. "Why in the hell are we painting the front door purple?" he had asked, popping the lid off the can with a little more force than necessary. "Doesn't that throw off the feng shui or whatever?"

Indica had only laughed, that melodic sound that always made him feel lighter. She'd grabbed the paintbrush from his hand and dipped it into the vibrant color. "Purple is a symbol of wealth, prosperity, and peace, Logan. It also represents the magic that lives here, in us, in this space. It's an invitation for those who understand and a warning for those who don't," she explained, her eyes sparkling with that ancient wisdom she carried so effortlessly.

Logan had scratched his chin, still skeptical but trusting her judgment as always. "And the runes? All those carvings you did in the doorframe and throughout the cottage?"

Indica had smiled softly, her fingers tracing one of the intricate symbols carved into the wood. "They're protection. Each one has a purpose—to keep us safe, to ensure no unwanted visitors find us, and to help the house feel... alive. A home, not just a place to live."

Logan had stared at her for a moment, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Well, alright then. Purple it is."

That memory always made him smile. He still got a kick out of how serious she was about those little things, but in the end, it all worked. The cottage was their sanctuary, protected by her magic and the love they'd poured into it.

He was pulled from the memory by the warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. His stomach rumbled in response, the smell filling the small space with a sense of comfort and home. "Babe?" Logan called again, his voice softer this time as he headed toward the kitchen.

"I'm in here!" came Indica's reply, her voice warm and full of life.

Logan smiled, giving Ranger one last pat before making his way down the hallway, eager to find her and sink into the warmth of their little home once more.

Logan stepped into the kitchen and stopped, his gaze falling on Indica. She stood at the counter, her delicate hands working a crumble mixture as she leaned slightly over a bowl filled with sliced peaches, the golden fruit glistening with spices. The sweet scent of cinnamon and nutmeg filled the air, mixing with the warmth of the freshly baked bread she must've pulled from the oven earlier.

Without a word, Logan crossed the small space and wrapped his arms around her from behind. His presence was solid, comforting, as he pulled her against his chest, rumbling a low, content sound deep in his throat. "Missed you," he muttered, his voice rough but soft with affection.

Indica smiled, her hands stilling for a moment in the bowl of crumble. Logan lowered his chin to her shoulder, having to hunch down a bit to accommodate the height difference between them, and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Her warmth, the scent of peaches, spices, and the faint trace of lavender in her hair—it was all home to him.

"I missed you too," Indica murmured, her voice soft and full of that deep connection they shared. She paused her work, wiping her flour-dusted fingers on her apron before looking over her shoulder, her gaze meeting his.

Logan didn't need an invitation. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. It wasn't rushed or hurried, just full of the quiet love they'd built together over the years. His lips moved softly against hers, and for a moment, the world outside their little kitchen seemed to disappear.

When they finally pulled away, Logan rested his forehead against hers, a content smile on his face. "Smells good," he rumbled, glancing at the peaches. "But you smell better."

Indica laughed softly, the sound as warm and comforting as the kitchen around them. "Flatterer," she teased, nudging him playfully before turning back to her task, but not before stealing one last kiss.

Logan nuzzled into the crook of Indica's neck, pressing soft kisses along her warm skin. The familiar, intoxicating scent of her hair—lavender and something earthy—mixed with a new, sweeter aroma that hit his senses all at once. It was citrusy and bright but with an underlying note of wildflowers that seemed to wrap around his mind, making it hard to think of anything else.

He inhaled deeply, the scent taking hold of him like a drug, stirring something deep and primal inside. "Mmm, what's that smell?" he murmured, his voice already rough as he buried his face deeper into her neck, his lips moving against her skin. "You smell... different."

Indica didn't get a chance to answer before Logan's instincts kicked in. The sweet, wild fragrance wrapped around him like a vine, pulling him closer as his hands began to roam over her body. His fingers found her waist, his grip tightening as he pulled her back against him, feeling the warmth of her body through the fabric of her cardigan. A low growl escaped his throat as his lips brushed her pulse point, his nips turning more urgent, more possessive.

He nipped at her neck, teeth grazing the soft skin before soothing the sting with a slow, heated kiss. "You're driving me crazy, darlin'," he rumbled, his voice thick with desire as he moved to the other side of her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste her. He couldn't get enough, the citrusy sweetness making his senses hum and pushing him closer to that dangerous, feral edge he kept so well hidden.

His hands moved up, one sliding under the hem of her shirt to grip her bare skin, the other slipping over her chest, pulling her even tighter against him. "Damn, Indica," he growled as he sucked a mark onto her skin, the scent clouding his mind, turning every thought into need. "Smell like sunshine... like somethin' wild..."

He groaned low in his throat, the scent flooding his senses, making him want to devour her, to claim her in every possible way. His lips returned to the sweet spot just below her ear, nipping and sucking, his body pressed flush against hers as his hands wandered, possessive and hungry.

Whatever that scent was, it had him hooked, pulling him deeper into her orbit, where nothing else existed but her.

Indica felt Logan's warmth seep into her as his lips moved hungrily along her neck. Her breath hitched, and her fingers instinctively gripped the edge of the counter in front of her, trying to steady herself against the surge of heat flooding through her. The scent of peaches and spices from the crumble she'd been working on faded into the background, replaced by the intoxicating mix of Logan's rugged presence and his rough, demanding touch.

She melted against him, her body surrendering completely to his. The strength of his arms around her, the way his hands roamed over her skin, made it impossible to focus on anything else. Every nip and kiss sent shivers down her spine, a soft moan escaping her lips as she pressed her back into his chest, wanting more, needing more.

Logan's growl rumbled through her, vibrating against her skin as his teeth grazed her neck again. Her knees weakened, and she clung to the counter for balance, her knuckles turning white as she tried to ground herself. But it was useless—he had her, completely and utterly, and there was nowhere else she wanted to be.

Her breath came out in a shaky exhale as she tilted her head to the side, giving him better access to her throat. "Logan..." she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. She arched her back, pushing herself closer to him, feeling the hard lines of his body against hers, the possessiveness of his touch igniting something deep inside her.

He responded with another growl, his hands gripping her tighter, pulling her even closer. She gasped, her fingers slipping from the counter for a moment as she leaned into him, her body pliant, her heart racing. Logan's scent—earthy, raw, masculine—mixed with the sweet, citrusy wildflowers clinging to her, enveloping them both in a heady cloud of desire.

Indica's breath hitched again as she let herself go, surrendering to him completely, the world around them vanishing until all that existed was the feeling of his lips, his hands, his body pressing her deeper into that primal, electric connection they shared.

Indica's heart throbbed fiercely against her ribcage, each beat echoing Logan's intense desire. Her hands reached up, tangling in his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp in a way she knew drove him wild. She could feel the rumble of his growl against her skin, a vibration that spurred a deeper arousal within her.

"Logan," she breathed out again, this time a plea mingled with exhilaration. His response was a deeper groan, almost animalistic, as he pressed his body harder against hers.

His kisses moved with more urgency now, tracing fiery paths down her neck, over her collarbone, each one stoking the flame higher. Logan's hands were relentless and gentle all at once, exploring with a familiarity that only heightened the thrill. The edge of his fang-like canines grazed her skin softly, dangerously, reminding her of the wildness within him that matched the storm he stirred in her.

The sound of her heartbeat filled the kitchen, mingling with the crackle of the oven behind them and their labored breaths. Indica's fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to erase any space left between them.

With a growl, Logan lifted Indica effortlessly, his strong hands gripping her hips as he hoisted her onto the counter. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as she clung to him, their lips crashing together in a heated kiss. Neither of them noticed the chaos they were creating—too lost in each other to care.

As he leaned into her, one of Logan's hands swept the counter, knocking over the tub of flour. It tipped and spilled, sending a white cloud puffing into the air around them, dusting their skin and clothes. Indica let out a breathless laugh, but it was swallowed by Logan's hungry kiss as he pressed even closer, his lips capturing hers with unrelenting intensity.

In the midst of it all, the sugar tub teetered, then fell, scattering across the counter and onto the floor in a sticky cascade. Eggs, forgotten from earlier, rolled across the counter before slipping off the edge, landing with soft thuds on the hardwood floor.

Neither Logan nor Indica seemed to notice—or care. Logan's hands roamed over her waist, her back, her thighs, pulling her closer, deeper into his embrace as he nipped at her lips, his breathing ragged with desire. Indica's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him in as she kissed him back just as fervently, her body arching toward his, eager for his touch.

Flour dusted her dark skin, and she barely registered the soft crunch of the sugar under her bare feet as Logan pulled her further to the edge of the counter. The mess around them grew, but their focus remained entirely on each other—on the electric connection that sizzled between them, making everything else fade away. His strong hands ran up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher, his touch sending electric shocks through her veins. Indica moaned softly, her body reacting with an intensity that surprised even her; she was lost in the sensation, in Logan, in the overwhelming desire that coursed through them both.

Logan's eyes, usually a calm sea of blue, now mirrored the storm raging inside him. His gaze was intense, almost predatory, but filled with an undeniable love that made Indica's heart swell even as her body ached for him. He kissed her deeply, passionately, a kiss that spoke of raw need and fierce protectiveness.

Her fingers traced the muscles of his back, feeling them tense under her touch as he deepened their kiss. The world outside this burning circle of passion might as well have ceased to exist—they were here now, everything else fading into insignificance.

Breaking the kiss, Logan trailed his lips across her cheek to her ear, whispering words thick with emotion. "You have me spellbound, darlin'. Completely."

Indica's response was a mix of laughter and breathless desire. "And you have me... more than spellbound, Logan. You have me enchanted, ensnared." Her words tumbled out between gasps as his mouth once again found her neck, sending tingles spiraling down her spine.

Logan chuckled, the sound dark and enticing. "Ensnared, huh?" He teased lightly, his breath hot against her skin. "Just where I want you." His hands settled on her hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles through the fabric of her skirt, each touch sending waves of anticipation coursing through her body.

Indica felt a surge of power well up within her—a wild, thrilling energy that seemed to pulse in sync with Logan's own feral intensity. She leaned back slightly, looking into his eyes with a daring smile. "Maybe," she whispered huskily, "it's where I want to be."

The heat in Logan's gaze intensified, a flare of desire so strong it nearly took her breath away. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers softly, teasingly. "Is that so?" he murmured against her mouth, the words barely audible yet laden with promise.

Indica nodded, her eyes locked on his, reflecting the fire she saw burning within them. She pulled him closer, eliminating any remaining distance between them. Their lips met again, this time in a kiss that was nothing short of explosive. Logan's hands moved with purpose now, tracing the contours of her body as if memorizing every detail through touch alone.

"Need you," Indica all but whined, her voice breathless as she clung to Logan. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in lightly as she pulled him closer, her body trembling with anticipation. The raw need in her voice sent a shiver down Logan's spine, his desire for her flaring even hotter.

"Yeah?" he rasped, his lips brushing against her ear as his hands roamed her body, tracing her curves through the fabric of her clothes. "You got me, darlin'. Always."

Logan's voice was low and rough, the primal edge in his tone matching the intensity in his eyes. He leaned in, kissing along her neck, each press of his lips more urgent than the last. Indica's body responded instinctively, arching toward him as she whispered his name, her need for him a palpable force between them.

His grip tightened around her waist, and he kissed her fiercely, swallowing her soft whimpers.

Her hands wandered down Logan's back to tug at the hem of his shirt, seeking skin, craving the warm contact of flesh on flesh. He obliged without hesitation, pulling the garment over his head and discarding it carelessly to the floor.

As the shirt hit the floor, Indica's breath caught at the sight before her. Logan, bare-chested, was a sight to behold. His muscles rippled beneath his skin, his broad chest covered in a layer of coarse hair that only added to his raw, rugged appeal. His physique was a perfect balance of man and beast—primal, powerful, and utterly mouthwatering.

The deep grooves of his abs led down to his waistband, each muscle flexing as he shifted closer to her. His arms, thick with muscle, bore the marks of countless battles and the strength that came with being Wolverine. There was a raw energy about him, something untamed and dangerous, but beneath that wild exterior was a man who loved her fiercely.

His chest rose and fell with each breath, his body exuding heat and power. Indica's eyes traced the scars scattered across his skin, faint reminders of the wars he'd survived, only to heal and come back stronger. But it wasn't just his strength that made her heart race—it was the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in his world.

Logan stood there, every inch of him dripping with masculinity, and she couldn't help but bite her lip at the sight. He was raw, untamed power, yet the way he was with her—the way he surrendered only to her—made him even more irresistible.

"Like what you see, darlin'?" he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, a smirk tugging at his lips as he caught her staring. His eyes glinted with that feral edge, a promise of everything to come.

Indica reached out, her fingers barely brushing over the surface of Logan's chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath her touch. "Always, my love," she whispered, her voice filled with both admiration and desire. His skin was warm—hot, even—like the very heat of him was rising to meet her, pulling her closer with every pass of her fingers. The muscles under his skin rippled with each subtle movement, every breath he took vibrating through him like restrained power waiting to be unleashed.

Indica's hands moved slowly, savoring the feel of him, her fingertips gliding over the firm planes of his chest and down toward the valleys between each sculpted muscle. There was a raw energy in him, an untamed force that hummed beneath her touch. With each stroke, the connection between them grew deeper, more tangible, crackling like electricity in the air between them.

Her fingers mapped his chest, lingering on old scars that told stories of battles fought and survived, her touch soft and reverent. She was in awe of him—of the sheer strength and resilience that radiated from his body, yet how he allowed himself to be so vulnerable in her hands. It was an intimacy few knew, a side of Logan that only she was privileged to witness.

As her hands moved lower, trailing over the ridges of his abdomen, the air around them seemed to hum with a potent energy—a spark ignited between them that only grew hotter. Logan let out a low growl, his body responding to her touch, muscles tensing under her fingertips as if aching for more. The tension between them was almost too much to bear, and yet Indica savored every second, knowing that this moment was theirs alone.

Logan's hands were not idle either; they moved up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts, teasing her over the fabric of her crop top, which suddenly seemed far too much of a barrier between them.

The scent of her—sweet and citrusy with a hint of wildflowers—hit him again, and this time, something snapped. Logan's grip tightened on Indica's hips, his breathing turning ragged. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with feral intensity, pupils blown wide with desire. The perfume that clung to her skin, mixed with the raw magic he could feel pulsing through her, was driving him wild.

Without warning, Logan's hands moved with rough urgency, tugging at her clothes, fingers gripping the fabric as he pulled her shirt over her head, his growls low and primal. He wasn't gentle—not this time. His need was too strong, too immediate. The sound of fabric tearing filled the air as he yanked her closer, his lips crashing against hers, swallowing the soft gasp that escaped her.

As the fabric fell away from her body, completely exposing her large breasts to the cool air of the kitchen and then to the heat of Logan's gaze, a sense of vulnerability swept over her, quickly chased away by the depth of desire she saw reflected in his eyes. His touch was reverent as he traced the lines of her body now laid bare before him.

Indica leaned back on her hands, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each heated breath. Logan's fingertips danced across her skin, exploring every curve and contour as if he were mapping a precious terrain.

"Beautiful...most beautiful thing I've seen in my life," His lips followed, pressing against her flesh with a mix of soft kisses and slight nibbles that drew small, delightful sounds from her throat.

As Logan's broad, hairy chest pressed against Indica's, he could feel something more than just the heat of her body. It was a sensation that pulsed just beneath her skin, a subtle energy—her magic—coursing through her and into him. His muscles tensed slightly as he felt it, a tingle that began at the point of contact and spread outward like sparks flickering through his veins.

The deeper his fingers dug into her hips, the more the sensation grew, as though her magic was responding to their closeness to his touch. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was impossible to ignore. He could feel the hum of power she carried within her, like electricity dancing beneath her fingertips, sparking against his skin.

It was intoxicating, the way her magic blended with the raw physical connection between them. Logan groaned softly, burying his face in the crook of her neck as the sensation intensified. "I can feel it," he growled, his voice thick with desire, "your magic... it's in me."

Indica smiled, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps as she trailed her hands down his muscular arms, fingers tingling with the same power he felt. "It's always been yours," she whispered, her voice laced with a mix of passion and something deeper, a connection that went beyond the physical. "You bring it out of me."

The warmth of his mouth journeyed across her collarbone and delicately down the center of her chest, hovering over her heart as if he could feel the rampant beat echoing his own. Indica's body arched towards him, seeking the pressure of his touch, craving more of the intoxicating mixture of pain and pleasure only he could deliver.

Logan's gaze met hers, intense and unyielding. In that look, she saw the wildness of the beast within him, restrained but palpable, held back only by the thin thread of control he maintained. It thrilled her; it terrified her—a delicious terror that only fueled the flames higher.

He lifted her slightly, his hands firm under her thighs, shoving her skirt up, bringing her even closer, the strength in his arms unquestionable. Logan's lips found hers again, the kiss deep, consuming as if he could somehow draw her very soul into his.

Indica responded with equal fervor, her own passion matching his, stroke for stroke, kiss for kiss. Her hands roamed over the broad expanse of his shoulders and down his back, feeling every muscle tense under her touch.

Her fingers shook as she struggled with the button and zipper of his Levi's, her mind consumed by the searing heat of Logan's lips on her neck. Each kiss left a trail of fire that burned through her body, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the task at hand.

As the button finally gave way and the zipper descended, a rush of excitement surged through her veins. With a swift movement, Logan tugged down his jeans and boxer briefs.

His thick, flushed cock erupted from his pants, pulsing and throbbing with desperate need. The intense pressure and heat burned through every nerve in his body as he ached to release his desire.

Indica's gaze locked onto him, her eyes dark with want and a touch of wonder. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she touched him, her fingers wrapping around his girth. Logan groaned, the sound deep and guttural, filled with raw need. His eyes closed for a moment in sheer pleasure at her touch.

His rough, calloused fingers traced a path up her trembling inner thighs until they reached the fabric barrier of her panties. With a primal growl, Logan hooked his fingers in the waistband and yanked them down with a force that left red marks on her skin. The scent of her arousal filled his senses as he exposed her throbbing wetness.

"Indi, darlin'," he whispered hoarsely, his voice strained with desire. He opened his eyes, locking on to hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "Please."

The single word was a plea filled with longing and anticipation. Indica nodded slightly, understanding his need, feeling it mirrored in her own body. She shifted her position slightly, guiding him closer with a gentle tug of her hand. Logan obliged, stepping forward until he was nestled between her thighs.

Indica throws herself back onto the counter, knocking over the vase of flowers and scattering sugar across the kitchen. She bites down hard on her lip, eyes locked with her husband's as he leans in and sucks a pert nipple into his mouth. The scent of citrusy perfume fills his lungs, clouding his mind and igniting a primal urge within him. His higher brain struggles to maintain control as the beast inside of him roars, begging to be unleashed and ravish Indica without mercy.

"I'm going to devour you, my little witch," he snarls, his voice dripping with primal hunger as he positions the thick, fat head of his cock at her sloppy entrance.

With agonizing slowness, he begins to press inside her, torturing her with each millimeter of penetration.

Indica bites down hard on her lip, suppressing a whimper as she feels the pressure building inside her. The anticipation coils tightly in her body, setting every nerve on fire and making her ache for release. With a shaky breath, she nods in consent, giving him the permission he seeks.

"Harder...fuck me harder, my beast," she gasps out, surrendering herself completely to the wild desire that consumes them both.

Logan's response is immediate and powerful, his body responding to her plea with an intensity that matched the ferocity of his nature. He drives into her with a primal force that leaves no room for gentleness; each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The sound of their bodies colliding fills the kitchen, blending with Indica's gasps and moans.

The kitchen becomes a blur around them, the world narrowing down to the intense connection of flesh on flesh, the raw, nearly animalistic sounds filling the air: the slap of skin against skin, their mingled breaths, and growls of unrestrained desire.

Logan sets a punishing pace; each thrust sending waves of pleasure radiating through Indica. He leans into her, his hot breath against her ear. "Mine," he whispers fiercely between gritted teeth, each word punctuated by another deep drive that sends shivers racing down her spine.

"Yours," she whimpers.

Indica feels herself spiraling toward oblivion, every nerve ending screaming as she clings to Logan, her fingers digging into his muscular shoulders. The world tilts and spins, every sensation heightened to an almost unbearable intensity. She feels as if she's teetering on the edge of a precipice, one more touch, one more thrust away from plummeting into ecstasy.

"Logan," she gasps, her voice breaking with the force of her passion. "Don't stop."

He growls in response, a sound so primal and unrestrained that it sends another wave of desire coursing through her. His hands grip her hips firmly, guiding her to meet each of his thrusts, the connection so deep that it feels as though they are merging into one entity driven by the same wild hunger.

"Won't stop.....never gonna stop," he growled in response, hips snapping forward hard.

Above them, the kitchen lights flicker as if resonating with the energy they are generating, a low hum filling the air alongside the scent of citrus and arousal. Indica's senses are overwhelmed; the scent of Logan's skin, the taste of his kisses, and the feeling of him moving within her fuse together in a dizzying crescendo of sensation.

Each thrust pushes her closer to the edge, and she can feel her body tighten around him, her climax building like a storm on the horizon. Logan senses it too, his movements becoming more desperate, his balls heavy and tight, the growing pressure at the base of his spine; he became more focused as he seeks their mutual release.

Indica's world narrows to the electric connection between them, each point of contact sparking with raw energy. Her cries grow louder, less inhibited as she nears the peak of her desire. She grabs Logan's face, pulling him down for a fierce kiss, their teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance in a dance as old as time.

The tension in her builds to an almost painful degree, her entire body wound tight as a bowstring. And then, with one final, deep thrust, Logan sends her over the edge. Her climax washes over her in waves, powerful and relentless.

"L-Lo—nngh," she cries out back arching off the counter.

Logan groans deep in his chest, feeling her velvety blood hot walls massage his aching cock. "Fuck!"

She clings to him, nails digging into his back as she rides the waves of her release, each contraction pulling a deeper growl from Logan's throat. His own climax follows close behind, spurred on by the clenching of her body around him. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, his body shuddering with each pulse as he empties himself into her, cum spurting out in thick milky ropes marking her as his in the most primal way possible.

The world seems to pause, their heavy breaths and the slowing thud of their hearts the only sounds in the now silent kitchen. Gradually, they come back to themselves, the haze of lust dissipating slightly as reality begins to seep back in.

Logan lifts his head to look at Indica, his eyes still dark with residual desire but softened with something deeper, a tender yet fierce affection that sends a warm flush through her body all over again. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead before easing back slightly to look at her.

"We might have gotten a bit carried away," he says with a rough chuckle, his voice still husky from their exertions. A sheepish grin crosses his face as he takes in the disarray around them—the overturned vase, sugar spread across the countertop, their clothes discarded haphazardly on the floor.

Indica laughs, a light, joyous sound that fills the kitchen. She reaches up to brush a damp lock of hair from his forehead, her touch gentle and affectionate. "Maybe just a little," she agrees, her eyes sparkling with amusement and love. "But I can't say I minded it."

He nods, his eyes locking with hers, intense and burning yet filled with an emotion so deep it makes her heart swell in her chest. He bends down to capture her lips once more, this kiss tender and loving, a stark contrast to the passion-fueled ones that had preceded it. It's a confirmation of something beyond their physical desire—an affirmation of their deep, unwavering connection.

Logan took a deep breath, that scent hitting him again, he felt his cock stir. "What the fuck are you wearing? Smells too damn good..." His voice was rough, teasing, but there was a glint in his eyes—like he still hadn't gotten enough of her, even after everything.

Indica chuckled softly, sliding off the counter and pushing her skirt down her legs before pulling on one of his t-shirts. The shirt, oversized on her, fell to just mid-thigh, and she padded barefoot over to the kitchen counter, where the small bottle of perfume sat. She picked it up, sniffing it once more just to test how strong it was before handing it over to him. "Here, see for yourself," she said, smiling.

Logan didn't even need to remove the lid to catch the scent; it hit him full force. He took a deep breath, his nose flaring. "Smells like pheromones," he muttered, more to himself than her, as his brow furrowed in curiosity.

As Indica leaned on the counter, her gaze dropped to the floor. A small brochure, glossy and folded, lay there like it had been waiting to be noticed. She picked it up and read it quickly, her eyes widening before she burst into a fit of giggles. Leaning heavily against the counter for support, she couldn't stop the laughter from bubbling up.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. "What's so funny?"

Still giggling, Indica handed him the brochure and the little card that had come with the perfume. "Here, read this," she said, trying to catch her breath.

Logan scanned the brochure, his expression shifting from confusion to amusement as he read the bold print: Pheromone-Infused Perfume: Enhance Attraction, Elevate Desire.

Logan held the perfume bottle between his fingers like it might explode at any second, his brow furrowed as he stared at it before glancing back up at Indica. "Who the fuck sent you this?" His voice was gruff, laced with curiosity but edged with a little annoyance.

Indica's lips twitched into a knowing smile. "Vanessa," she replied, watching as his reaction shifted from confusion to that trademark grumpy scowl.

Logan grunted in response, his face hardening as he handed the bottle back to her like it was some sort of dangerous contraband. "She's almost as meddlesome as her husband," he muttered, shaking his head as if dealing with Wade's antics in spirit, even when the man wasn't physically present.

Indica couldn't help but laugh at that, setting the bottle back on the counter. "You know they mean well."

"Yeah, sure," Logan grumbled. "Well-meaning chaos, just like Wade."

Indica grinned, still laughing softly. "That's probably why every guy in town was acting crazy around me today. I didn't realize I was walking around wearing literal pheromones."

Logan let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head as he tossed the brochure on the counter. "No wonder. Damn near drove me feral myself." He pulled her close again, his arms wrapping around her waist as he buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. "But hell, I don't need pheromones to want you, darlin'. You do that just fine on your own."

Logan stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Wait... what do you mean 'acting crazy'? Was somebody hitting on you?" His voice grew rougher, a low growl slipping into his words.

"Logan—" Indica started, trying to calm him down, but before she could say more, she was hoisted up and slung over his broad shoulder with no warning.

"I'll be damned if someone's hitting on my old lady," Logan grunted, marching through the kitchen and living room with determination.

Indica giggled, lightly tapping his back. "Where are you taking me?"

"To bed," he rumbled, his grip tightening possessively on her thighs. "We aren't leaving this house again until you smell like mine," he declared, giving her a playful slap on the ass as he stomped up the stairs, each step filled with intent.

Indica's laughter echoed through the house, warmth filling her chest. She knew Logan was serious, but his protectiveness had a way of making her feel cherished. She relaxed against him, content to let him be feral and wild, knowing all too well how much they belonged to each other.

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[eemcintyre]

Ok but I was listening to the comedy radio station the other day and I don’t remember the exact context but a comedian was talking about about a guy who really loved some lady and trying to figure out why, and he said smth about “She must make him pancakes and suck his dick while he’s eating them” and l was immediately like “Absolutely me as a wife”

[cemeterysgirl]

ㅤㅤ" i did a bad thing. " the dried blood on her hands compensated for the vagueness of her words. there was no tremor in her voice, just a steadiness — a cold confidence — because she thought that the bad thing could also be the good thing. " he's still in my motel room— wanna see? "

open starter. any connection, i.e., someone she's sleeping with, a regular (she's a pr*stitute), p*mp, dr*g d*aler, brother's friend, someone that wants to protect her, etc.!

[coronam]

where are the dark academia novels with no fantasy/magic? every google search gives me an overlap of the two