#I felt “connected” with him more than with any character I had ever tried to create in da2 creator

[jazziejax]

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐕 *𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Things get a little heated between Smoke and Juicy…more than once. But it’s also kind of cute.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mild sensual tension, soft dom undertones, food play(??), suggestive dialogue, light language. (let me know if I missed any!)

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - this was honestly just something cute after all the love from my last chapter. If you guys keep it up with the feedback, trust, you’ll get more and more chapters out of me. ALSO, before you even start, this is heavily out of character. Halfway through, I realized this is more Stack coded and unless you’re nit-picky like me, it might not bother you. If you are, just close your eyes and imagine this is Smoke without all the trauma. I hope you guys enjoy! Sorry for the grammar mistakes and spelling errors!!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5,966+

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢 | 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑

Ever since that day after the skating rink, ever since the kiss they shared on her porch, Juicy had been over the moon whenever it came to Elijah Moore. Simply seeing him made a huge smile appear on the girls face, and though they hadn’t really agreed on what they were, even talked about it really, they were less than subtle.

Their eyes met every time the other entered the room, with stares that said more than they knew. Their lingering touches went untied, but they each felt the connection that seared between them. Their laughs were shared as usual, but there was a softness behind them that wasn’t there before.

They were not different. They were still the same.

But now new feelings were in the mix and things had started to shift into something more. Something more longing. Something more…lustful.

It first started after a long day Juicy and Mary working during the hair salon rush, she and Smoke sit on the porch alone. Stack was on her couch, asleep after the meal she and Sinclair made, and Mary was at home, getting ready for a date. Juicy was tired, barefoot, her legs in his lap while she eats from a bowl of peaches she’d sliced earlier.

Smoke watches her, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of her ankle.

“Why are you eatin’ like that?” He asked, and his voice was a bit hoarse from not speaking for a while, and now that he did.

“Like what?” The girl questioned, just before she slurped an another peach slice into her mouth.

“Like you tryna drive me crazy, girl.” He responded, causing her face to heat up at his innuendo. She let out a small laugh, but her voice is breathier than she means.

Ever since their kiss, sly comments like that have been having more of an impact on her than before. At first, she’d simply blush with a small laugh as she tried not to let her mind race, but now, she had this primal urge to pounce on him whenever she saw him, and his words didn’t make it any better.

Feeling bold, she leans forward, with the objective to feed him one of her slices and maybe say something as suggestive in response. But, just like that, his face was in bed from hers. And the world seemed to still around them as her breath got caught in her throat.

She slowly raised her fork to his lips, the dripping fruit leaking into the bowl she held up under his chin. Her eyes flickered from his intense eyes that never left her, and the fruit hanging between them.

He didn’t open his mouth until the peach was rubbed against his plump lip, and Juicy wanted to clench his legs as she watched his long tongue peek out as he took the fruit into his mouth.

He was barely done chewing before they were both leaning in, their eyes closed. And when their lips touched,she couldn’t help but think that the peach tastes way better on his lips. It wasn’t until he his tongue graced her lips didn’t she pull back from the kiss, an overwhelming feeling taking over her.

But Smoke took it as something else. He simply nodded before speaking gently. “Whenever you ready.” He said, his large hands subconsciously rubbing at her leg.

And Juicy simply continued eating her peaches, though they seemed a little closer now. And that moment stayed between them, warm and glowing like the sun touching her skin.

And those moments became more bold as time went on. Tension rose, feelings peaked and moments lingered.

The overhead bell of the Crown & Glory Beauty Supply store jingled softly as Smoke pushed the glass door open. It was dead in the store—just the faint buzz of an old fan rattling from a corner and a box TV in the top corner playing 106 & Park on low. The air-conditioning was working overtime, but it still couldn’t keep up with the summer heat beating against the glass windows. It was hot outside��real hot—the kind of heat that made everybody move just a little slower.

Juicy was behind the counter, leaning over a fashion magazine with a chewed-up pen between her fingers, glasses low on her nose, lips glossed just enough to look edible. It was new, a sparkly peach color that had a bit of flavor. He’d know, he’d tasted it when she first bought it.

Her hair was up in a messy up do, a slightly puffy roller set that was in need of a redo by her standards, with two curls escaping at the front to frame her face. She wore her name on a gold necklace and a cherry red tank top that clung to every curve like a second skin. She looked up when she heard the door, and saw Smoke stepping inside, her whole expression shifted—eyes bright, mouth soft, body leaning back with that familiar little grin she always tried to bite back.

“You ain’t supposed to be here.” She said, but there was no real protest in her voice. Only that teasing lilt he had grown addicted to. “You might make me forget I’m on the clock.”

Smoke grinned and held up a white plastic bag with ‘Thank you’ plastered over the front. “What if I said I brought you lunch?”

Juicy’s stomach answered before she could, and she rolled her eyes, laughing as she grabbed her little purse from under the counter. “Let me tell Keisha I’m takin’ my lunch break before you turn me into a damn stereotype.” Smoke chuckled low as he watched her lean over the little half-door to call into the back. “Keish! I’m takin’ my lunch now. I’ll be back in thirty.”

“You got forty-five.” Keisha called back. “But only if you bring me a pineapple soda.”

Juicy didn’t answer, just gave Smoke a playful side-eye as she walked out from behind the counter and toward the door, hips swaying with nothing but pure temptation in her denim shorts. “Come on, Mr. Delivery Boy.” She said as she passed him, while Smoke watched her as she licked his lips.

The sun hit them hard the moment they stepped outside. Smoke held the door open to his cutlass for her, parked just under the shade of a half dead oak tree off center of the stores entrance. The inside smelled like Black Ice air freshener and a little bit like him, clean clothes, cologne, and something vaguely minty.

He slid into the drivers seat and handed her the paper bag before she’d even fully shuffled into her seat. She took it, eyes wide with creepy delight, already knowing what he’d gotten her. Smoke helped her take the food out, and held the white Styrofoam to-go plate like an offering. “Figured you’d forget to eat. Got you the ten piece lemon pepper from Dock’s.”

Juicy blinked, then her lips parted in a slow grin. “You got me the good fries?”

“Seasoned and crispy. Just how you like it.”

“Mmm.” She reached out for the plate and brushed his fingers as she took it, her nails freshly done in that glittery nude pink he noticed last night when they were tangled up on her bed whispering secrets into each other’s necks. “You’re spoiling me.” She said with a little smirk, already opening the box and letting the smell take her over. “You’re gonna make me expect this every shift.” She said as she grabbed a fork to pick her fries.

Smoke leaned back in his seat, his eyes taking her in without shame. “Maybe I like spoilin’ you.”

Juicy tried not to blush, but it came anyway, spreading warm and rosy across her cheeks. She sat back in the passenger seat and picked at the fries first, licking the Cajun salt from her fingertips like she didn’t know it was killing him slowly. Smoke leaned back and watched her pick at the wings, the smell of zesty spice thick in the car. She took one bite and hummed.

“I swear, this might be better than sex.” She said with a mother full.

He arched a brow, watching the way she licked her fingers. “Might?” He questioned.

She smirked and didn’t answer, reaching for a fry instead.

For a while, they sat in easy silence. The windows were cracked just enough to let the summer breeze tease its way in. Smoke tapped a beat against the steering wheel while Luther Vandross’s ‘Take You Out’ played low from the stereo.

They hadn’t exactly told any one of their…relationship, yet. That much was understood without it needing to be said. Not Mary, not Stack, and definitely not Martin, needed to know about why they had going on. It wasn’t out of shame—at least not for Juicy. It was protection. Privacy. It was not wanting to hear her brother’s mouth or deal with Mary’s need for graphic detail or the way girls in the neighborhood would start watching her.

Smoke didn’t push. He never did. He just kept showing up.

At the end of her shift last time, he’d been parked out front with the windows down and Aaliyah playing low, just waiting to walk her to her car. The time before that, they sat in the backseat of his Cutlass for thirty minutes saying goodbye with their mouths and not a single word. His hands had found the small of her back, the inside of her thigh, the curve of her neck. None of it was ever rushed. He was always asking for permission with touch alone.

Now, watching her eat, he had to stuff his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out.

“How long you got left?” He asked.

“’Til six. Bianca’s mom coming to drop off some things, and I gotta tag ‘em and put ‘em up front.” She took another bite from a wing, eyes fluttering as she chewed. “This so good. I should slap you.” She hummed.

“You wanna slap me?” He teased, leaning in just a bit. “What happened to all that lovin’ from the other night?”

Juicy’s eyes met his as she sipped from the stare of her cup, and for a moment, everything else went quiet. The radio, the passing car, even the hum of the air conditioning within the vehicle.

“You keep bringin’ me food and walkin’ me to my car like some gentleman, you can get some lovin’ alright.”She said softly, lips curving into a grin. “You gon’ mess around and make me soft, Smoke.” She pouted, faking annoyance with him.

“Maybe I want that.” Smoke said, his voice low, head tilted. “You already soft in all the right places.” He smirked, his head tilted as he looked her up and down.

Juicy didn’t know how to respond to that, she just looked at him for a long second. Her eyes were deep brown, like pools of warm syrup, and they narrowed just enough to let him know she was feeling it.

“Anyway.” She said, turning her eyes back to her plate. “You don’t gotta keep doing all this.”

Smoke leaned closer, his hand sliding across the center console to tap her wrist. “You don’t want me to?”

Juicy’s lips parted just enough to suck in a breath. “I didn’t say that.” She murmured.

He gave her a crooked smile, one that pulled slow and easy like honey off the spoon.

“Then hush and eat.”

She smiled like she couldn’t help herself. “You gon’ wait here until I’m off?” She asked, playing with a fry.

“Maybe.” He said before glancing at his gold watch. “Maybe I’ll wait outside. Or maybe I’ll go nap and come back. But I’ll be here.”

Juicy rolled her eyes, but it didn’t match the quiet joy stretching across her face. “You need to stop acting like we go together.” She said, letting her impulsive thoughts win as typed with him.

Smoke leaned closer, voice brushing her ear. “Oh, we don’t?” He questioned, already knowing what game the bratty girl was trying to play with him, so he decided to play a different one.

She paused, the bite of her fry halfway to her mouth. Her lips twitched again, this time with something softer—something unsure but open. “Boy, go on somewhere.” She whispered, turning her eyes away from him.

But he stayed right there. Watching her eat. Watching her smile. Watching her pretend like they weren’t already wrapped up in something they couldn’t name yet—but it was definitely felt.

“Oh, I can’t be on your space now?” He questioned, leaning a bit closer over the console, his eyes trailing her face. “This my car, I can be where I want.”

“You’re gonna smell my breath, Smoke, move.” Juicy said, leaning away from him a bit, just as he was trying to trial his lips closer to her.

He didn’t flinch. “So?”

“My breath probably smells. And that fruit punch ain’t made it no better.” She said, looking over at him, her hand over her mouth as if to block the smell from reaching him. Smoke simply started into her eyes, the only thing he could see over her hands. His eye bounced between hers as he leaned a little closer, voice dropping. “Still wanna taste it.”

Juicy’s whole body went still, the corner of her lips twitching like she was fighting something. She turned to face him fully, one leg tucked under her. “You are real bold today, huh?” She questioned, letting her hand drop.

Smoke leaned in more, his palm resting on the back of her seat, his eyes locked onto her mouth. “You been sneakin’ around with me in parking lots and empty rooms for how many days now?” He retorted. “It ain’t about being bold, baby.”

She didn’t answer, only nipped at her bottom lip.

“You lettin’ me touch all up on you, makin’ me wait just to kiss you again…”

“You already kissed me.” She said, soft as a confession.

“Yeah.” He said, his thumb now brushing against her jawline. “But it ain’t enough. Not when I think about it every time you walk away from me.”

Juicy’s eyes fluttered closed for a half-second, the tension so thick it hung in the car like fog.

She opened her eyes again, and they were darker now, shaded in lust and something tender. “I’m really feelin’ you, Smoke.” She murmured. “I just don’t want nobody in my business yet. Not my brother, not Mary, nobody. Not ‘til I know this is real.”

Smoke nodded slowly. “Then let me show you it is.”

He leaned in again—closer this time—and just before their lips met, she pulled back and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Wait, wait, wait.” She said, laughing softly. “I told you. My breath probably smells like lunch.”

Smoke smirked. “I told you. I don’t care.”

Then he kissed her.

Soft at first, warm and slow, like a question he already knew the answer to. Juicy melted into it, her hand slipping behind his neck, her lips parting without hesitation. He kissed her like he’d been waiting since the rink, since the last car meetup, since every sideways glance and half-second pause between them.

She sighed into him, her body turning so her knee brushed his thigh, and his hand slid down to her waist, tugging her closer. Her fries were forgotten on the dash, the radio hummed on, and somewhere in the distance, construction work buzzed—but all she could focus on was the way his fingers pressed into her hip, the heat of his mouth, the way he kissed her like she was his favorite food and he was starving.

By the time they pulled apart, her lip gloss was gone and her heart was racing.

Smoke looked at her, thumb brushing the side of her face like she was fragile, like he was still tasting her.

“Is that real enough for you, Juicy?”

She caught her breath, smirk tugging at her lips.

“It’s a start.” She said cheekily.

Smoke laughed, low and warm, already leaning in again.

And outside, the sun beat on the windows, heavy and golden, while Aaliyah’s voice floated from the tiny TV in the corner:

“Boy, I’ve been watching you like a hawk in the sky…”

The next time was about a week later, and they were sort of high off not seeing each other for a minute.

The house was quiet. The kind that came only when the day had finally exhaled. A low hum from the box fan in the corner of her room carried through the walls, but otherwise, silence blanketed the place like the thick heat outside.

Tyson was down for bed, knocked out cold after a long afternoon of playing with his toy dinosaurs, goldfish crackers, and singing Whitney Houston songs off-key around the house. Sinclair was out on a date with some boy guy, and Martin was God-knows-where, probably laid up with the flavor of the week. The house was Juicy’s for the night, and she’d planned to take full advantage of that.

She had just slipped into her favorite silk moomoo—champagne-pink and ultra soft, loose fitting but clinging in just the right places while letting everything else breathe. Her legs were smooth, freshly shaven and moisturized, and her roller set was tightly secured beneath a silk, butter-colored scarf. Her room smelled like bag champa incense and cocoa butter, a familiar blend of calm and comfort. The lights were dim, casting a warm amber glow from her bedside lamp. Juicy glanced at the clock. 10:46 p.m.

She was leaning over her nightstand, lighting a second stick of incense when a sharp tap-tap at the window made her jump.

Her heart stuttered.

Wide-eyed, she turned slowly, suspicious, hand hovering near her dresser drawer where she kept her little knife—just in case. Another knock followed, softer this time. She crept toward the window, staying low, her silk moomoo brushing against the floor as she moved. She peeked between the slats of her blinds and gasped.

Smoke.

Standing outside her window, straight faced, his stature intense as if he could see through the blinds. His gold chain glinted under the streetlight, and he lifted his hand in a slow wave, eyes locked on hers.

Juicy let out a tiny squeal, panicking. “Oh my God,” she whispered to herself, yanking the curtain closed.

Her room turned dark again, but her mind was racing. She spun around, clutching her moomoo. Why tonight? Why when she had her scarf on, her rollers showing through the wrap? She felt so exposed, caught mid-transformation. She wasn’t cute, she wasn’t ready.

She paced, muttering, “Why the hell would he come tonight? I look crazy…” She was in distress.

Then, from outside, his voice cut through the quiet.

“I’ve already seen you in your rollers.” He said, cool and calm, like he was talking with his lips pressed against her skin instead of standing on the other side of a pane of glass. “Open the window, Juicy.”

She froze. Could he hear me? She thought.

Her breath was caught in her throat, somewhere between embarrassment and excitement. Then, with a soft curse and a helpless little pout, she padded back over to the window and lifted it with a quiet creak. A second later, Smoke was climbing through like some bad-ass high school boyfriend in a ’80s movie. It seems easy and he seemed unbothered, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

His feet touched down on her carpet and his eyes immediately swept over her.

“Damn.” He said, voice a little lower now. “You always look good, but this right here? Yeah…this different.” He said, his tongue peeking out to trace over his bottom lip.

Juicy crossed her arms, suddenly shy. “Don’t start…” She warned.

“I’m serious.” He said, taking a slow step closer. “I don’t know why you hidin’ from me like I ain’t seen you in a bonnet before.”

“This ain’t no bonnet.” She said, fussing gently, cheeks warm. “This a roller set. Whole different level of ugly.”

He chuckled. “Ugly where?”

“You’re blind, Smoke.”

“Nah.” He said, taking her hand. “I see just fine.”

And that was all it took for her shoulders to drop a little, her nerves to settle into something soft and warm.

She turned from him to straighten her bed, trying to keep her hands busy. “And now what’s given you the gall to show up this time of night?”

“Ain’t nobody home but you and the baby.” He said, settling onto the edge of her bed. “And he sleep, ain’t he?”

“Yeah, but you know how Sinclair be. If she find out you was over here this late, she gon’ tell everybody and they mama.”

Smoke leaned back on his palms, his chain sliding against his chest. “Then I guess we better be quiet.”

Juicy turned slowly to face him, chin lifted in that defiant little way she always did when she was trying to keep herself from melting. “Smoke…” She trailed off, trying not to grin as she fluffed the pillow, avoiding his eyes. “I’m serious.”

“I missed you.” He said, voice dipping again as she changed the subject. And by the way he rushed it out, it’s been meaning to come off his tongue since he first laid eyes on her. “Been runnin’ all week, tryna get shit done with Stack. I been thinkin’ ‘bout you, though. How you sound.” He began, his hands trailing over to her, pulling her closer by the fabric of her gown. “How you taste.” His raised his hand to light grace over her lips, which were buttered in chapstick. “How you make them little sounds when I kiss on that spot right there…” He reached up and brushed his fingers gently along the side of her neck.

Juicy shivered, tucking her neck a bit. “You can’t keep doin’ this…” She mumbled with a small pout.

“Doin’ what?”

“Showin’ up late, and sayin’ stuff that makes me forget why I said you couldn’t come over in the first place.”

He grinned slowly, a look Juicy knew was dangerous. “Then don’t say I can’t come over.” He shrugged, as if it was such a simple solution.

She rolled her eyes but her smile gave her away. “You get on my nerves.”

Smoke stood and stepped toward her, closing the small gap between them. “Good.” He said, hands sliding to her waist. “Then you gon’ really hate this.”

He leaned in slow, lips almost brushing hers when she suddenly pulled back a little, nose scrunching up.

“Wait.” She whispered, laughing nervously. “I just brushed my teeth…”

Smoke paused, then smirked.

“And?”

“And that’s nasty!”

“I don’t care if your breath smell like hot dogs at a block party.” He said, lowering his voice. “I still want it.”

She let out a laugh, hand lightly pushing at his chest. “Oh, you’re nasty.”

Then he kissed her, something warm and deep. And just like that, they melted.

The kiss grew, slow but intense, their bodies pressing close, her silk moomoo whispering as it moved between them. It deepened naturally, his hands resting gently on her waist while hers slid around his neck. His hands roamed gently, not grabbing but holding onto her he was trying to memorize every curve. Juicy kissed him back, one hand curling around the back of his neck, the other resting softly on his chest.

The incense smoke curled around them.

His touch was slow, reverent, but had an unmistakable heat underneath them. When he backed her against the dresser, one hand sliding along the small of her back, she gasped softly, then caught her breath in his mouth.

Her silk moomoo slipped between his fingers like water.

The incense kept burning. Outside, the world kept spinning, but inside that room, it was just the two of them, quiet and tangled, while suspended in heat and candlelight. They stayed locked in that moment, breath against breath, a love they weren’t ready to explain yet.

Eventually, Juicy pulled away, breathing a little harder, her lips kiss-swollen, eyes heavy and breath barely above a whisper. “You better go.” She whispered. “I don’t stay too long. You know I gotta be up early.”

Smoke rested his forehead against hers. “I ain’t stayin’. Just needed to see you.”

She brushed her fingers across his cheek. “I know.”

Then he kissed her once more before he turned to the window. But before he left, he glanced back at her over his shoulder and grinned. “You look real good in that, you know. Like, a housewife or some, might have to get you another.”

Juicy couldn’t fight her grin as she grabbed her pillow and threw it at him, laughing softly. “Get out, boy.”

He caught it easily, flashed a smirk before he tossed it back at her, and disappeared out the window into the thick summer night. Leaving Juicy standing in her incense filled, candle lit room, heart thudding against her moomoo, smiling like a woman who had it bad.

And then there were the soft moments between them neither questioned.

Two days later, the sun hung high in the sky, casting golden light over the neighborhood as Juicy walked over to Stack and Smoke’s place with a plastic bag hanging from her hand. She held Missy’s peach cobbler mingling with the buttery scent of her famous pecan pie. Tucked beneath it were still-warm containers from Sinclair cooking—fried catfish, cabbage, and macaroni and cheese with a crunchy, golden crust.

Juicy had just planned to drop it off. She assumed both men were home—maybe out back playing dominoes or arguing over the game on TV. So she didn’t bother calling, didn’t reapply her lip gloss, didn’t even leave with the intention of staying long. She had plans with Mary, anyway, to get their nails done and gossip.

But inside of the More residence, the house was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of weed and linen spray. The blinds were turned just enough to let in slats of warm afternoon light, stretching across the hardwood like tiger stripes. It was one of the rare days Stack wasn’t home—off somewhere chasing money or women or both—and the place felt too quiet without his usual loud presence. Smoke didn’t liked it that way.

But there was nothing he could do about it, so he had just settled on the couch, a blunt half-rolled between his fingers, when a soft knock landed on the front door.

He knew that knock. And he was giddy about it before even getting up, though his face didn't really show it.

When he opened the door, there she was. His Juicy, dressed in a fitted white tank top and jeans that hugged her hips just right, gold earrings swaying gently with every movement and and her baby fat belly peeking out proudly, crowned by a ruby-studded belly ring that glinted in the sun. She held a little plastic grocery bag in her hand like she was just dropping something off, like she hadn't planned this.

When Juicy knocked, she expected Stack’s voice booming through the door or both of them calling out to her. But instead, it was Smoke who opened it—shirtless, as usual, his chain glinting in the light and his black durag still on.

“Oh.” She said, blinking.

His lips curved. “Oh?”

“I thought both y’all was here.”

“Nah. Stack out handling something. Just me,” he said, stepping aside and nodding her in. “Come on.”

She hesitated only for a second before stepping into the house. The cool air brushed against her skin, goosebumps rising as the scent of sandalwood and cologne hit her nose. Her skin was glistening from her coco butter later and smelled like brown sugar and his eyes trailed her figure as she walked by.

She set the bag on the kitchen counter and was already turning to leave when she felt him. His presence was close, his body blocking her path without even touching her.

“Where you going?” Smoke asked softly.

Juicy tilted her head, eyes narrowing, but her lips twitched. That voice of his. That low, patient, and just on the edge of coaxing voice, always meant trouble.

“I just came to drop these off.” She said, brushing invisible lint off her shirt. “Mary’s waitin’ on me. We supposed to go get our nails did.”

He didn’t move.

“I want you to fix me a plate.”

Juicy raised a brow. “You want me to fix you your plate?” She repeated, a bit take aback by his audacity.

“I’m hungry.” He said, voice deeper now, eyes still gentle. “Come on, Juicy.” He pleaded.

She let out a breathy laugh, not even bothering to hide her smile now. “Alright, damn. Let me wash my hands.”

In the kitchen, she moved like she’d done it a hundred times before. Opened the cabinets, found the plates without asking, scooped a fat helping of mac and cheese onto a plate, along with some catfish and added a side of cabbage, warmed it up in the microwave all while Smoke leaned against the fridge and watched her with something that looked dangerously close to adoration.

When the microwave dinged, she grabbed a fork, set it on the plate, and handed it to him.

But he didn’t take it.

Instead, he jutted his head before he turned and walked to the living room, flopping back onto the couch with the blunt now behind his ear, juicy following.

When juicy stood there, his plate and fork in her hands, Smoke looked back up at her and then patted the cushion next to him. Juicy narrowed her eyes. “Boy, if you don’t—”

“Come on, Juicy.” He said again, sweet and smooth and far too tempting.

She sighed, rolled her eyes, but made her way over and sat beside him, holding the plate out to him again. But Smoke simply looked over at her again, a rare playful glint in his eyes, and Juicy was rolling her eyes at him before he even opened his mouth.

“You ain’t gon’ feed me?” He asked.

“Boy, what?” She asked, scoffing softly, though her amusement was apparent as she held a small smile at him. Smoke snaked his lips, cutting his eyes at her. “Come on, Juicy.” He said, and his voice was soft but thick with something heavier. Something that sat right beneath the surface and made her heart skip just a little. She stared at him, lips parted, that nervous excitement fluttering in her chest when she noticed how…domesticated this felt and how soft it was. She could feel her body heat rise. He was shirtless, gold chain glinting, and close enough that she could count the lashes on his eyes.

“Okay.” She agreed before she broke a piece of the fish and brought it to his lips. He took it, slow, like he was tasting her fingers as much as the food. She rolled her eyes and fed him a bite of mac and cheese next. He let out a low groan of approval that sent heat curling up her spine.

“You gon’ spoil me.” He murmured between bites.

“Ain’t that what you want?” She asked, smirking.

He looked at her, eyes soft and unreadable. “I want you.”

She cut her eyes to him as she gather food onto the fork and held it in front of his mouth. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.” And they sat down on the couch beside, and she feed him for a while, with the plate and fork in hand. The vibe had shifted into something playful to soft. The television played in the background, an episode of The Sparanos, humming low through the TV speakers.

She fed him fork after fork, laughing when he groaned dramatically at how good the food was, rolling his eyes and leaning back like he couldn’t take it. Juice wiped a bit of hot sauce from the corner of his mouth with her thumb and licked it away.

“You act like you ain’t never ate before.”

“I ain’t never ate like this.” He teased.

When the plate was clean, she started gathering it up, brushing crumbs off her lap. “Alright, I gotta go. Mary gon’ think I stood her up—”

“Hold up.” Smoke said, stretching. “I ain’t get dessert yet.”

“You want dessert?” The girl asked, a bit sassily as she placed her hands on her hip. “Yeah, I want something sweet.”

She rolled her eyes but was smiling too hard to pretend she meant it. “Fine. Pecan pie or cobbler?”

He pointed at her. “You pick.”

“That was the entrée. I want somethin’ sweet.”

She went to the kitchen and cut him a slice of Missy’s pecan pie. This time, she sat closer. Their thighs touched, as she fed him bite after bite while he kept his eyes on her, not the TV. Her fingers brushed his lips as she fed him, and he kissed the pad of her thumb when she wasn’t expecting it.

“Boy, don’t start.”

“I ain’t even done nothin’ yet.”

By the time the plate was clean, they were both smiling and too close. They laughed at something dumb on the screen and Juicy shook her head and almost dropped the fork when Smoke licked a bit of filling off her finger instead of letting her wipe it. “You a mess.” She murmured, but her tone was fond.

He took the plate and set it on the coffee table, then leaned forward, brushing his lips across her jaw before resting his forehead against hers. “Let me take you to Mary’s.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

So she gave in. Of course she did.

She climbed in his car, trying not to smile the whole time. He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh, slow strokes up and down that kept her distracted the entire ride. The windows down and the radio humming some slow R&B track that made her cheeks warm.

They didn’t talk much—just let the cicadas hum outside and the warm summer breeze float through the cracked window.

When they pulled up in front of Mary’s, she started to unbuckle, but he caught her wrist.

“Hold on.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded stack of bills. She tried to protest, but he shook his head.

“Smoke—”

“Get somethin’ extra. Gel or whatever y’all get.”

“You know I don’t need your money.” She whispered.

“I know. But I want you lookin’ good for me. You not payin’ for your own nails and toes when I’m around. That’s mine now.”

She looked at him, lips parted, unsure whether to argue or melt.

“You always doin’ the most.” She muttered, cheeks hot. And he didn’t answer, he just leaned in and kissed her, deep and slow. It was soft and slow on the cheek, just behind the curve of her jaw, before it moved to her lips. A hand found the small of her back, and before she could fully process the moment, he took a handful of her denim covered bottom into his hand, causing Juicy to let out a small yelp into his mouth. When he pulled back, and she was on her way out of the car, he gave her a light smack her on the bottom as she stepped out of the car. “Go on now, Juicy.”

She stumbled out the car, heart racing, money clutched in her hand, cheeks redder than cherry polish. She let out a tiny squeal and grinned all the way up the walkway. She walked into Mary’s house still smiling.

Mary was in the living room, filing her nails. “What you grinnin’ for?”

Juicy simply let out a sigh, fluttering her eyes to make sure this was still real life. “Don’t worry about it.” She muttered, waving her off. But the grin didn’t fade. Not even a little.

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[elvyn]

My Dragon Age elf girls

[aeralux]

"Feel It" - Lucerys Velaryon

Modern!AU Stepbrother!Lucerys x OlderStepsister!Reader

Summary: Since moving in with your new stepdad Harwin, things have been more than chaotic. Your hair products are used up, and all the chores are left on your shoulders to carry. Lately, though, you've noticed a certain article of clothing going missing from your dirty laundry basket- your panties. And you're damn determined to get them back... while simultaneously teaching your stepbrother a lesson.

Warnings: SMUT 18+; cunnilingus; handjob; virgin!Lucerys (I see a pattern here); whiny boy; kind of mean reader, but she also praises Luke; stepcest; panty sniffing; lots of “good boy”; masturbation; submissive leaning!Lucerys

Words: 8.9k

Notes: In this story, all characters are of legal age. Jacaerys is 21-22 years old, while Lucerys is 19, with the reader being slightly older. Feel free to imagine different ages, but these are the ones I used while writing this story. There is no physical description of the reader, except that she is female. If you do not feel comfortable with any of the warnings, please do not read. I am not responsible for the media you consume.

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Ever since moving in with your mother's new serious boyfriend, Harwin, life had taken on a new, chaotic rhythm. No longer was it just you and your mom in your cosy three-bedroom apartment. Now, you found yourself in a big house that felt overwhelming, complete with a large backyard, a sparkling pool, and a patio perfect for lazy afternoons. It was easy to see why your mom had fallen for Harwin—he was handsome, charming, and undeniably wealthy. Sometimes you thought, with a hint of amusement, that you might have liked him too if he weren't your stepfather.

Harwin was genuinely a nice man. He always made an effort to be kind and considerate, never pushing to replace your biological dad, and he respected your space.

But the real challenge began with his two sons. You had only glimpsed them in passing while visiting the house. Harwin and your mother had agreed to wait until things felt serious before you met, so now you were living with three near strangers.

Jacaerys was closest to your age, and you could sense the instant rivalry between you, even if you didn’t know him well. He was confident and had an attitude that seemed to dare you to challenge him. Lucerys, a few years younger, had a carefree spirit but could be just as devilish as his older brother. And then there was Joffrey, the youngest and, in your opinion, the least troublesome. He was the one who often stayed out of trouble and seemed to want to make things easier for you genuinely.

While Joffrey quietly supported you—snitching on his brothers and sharing snacks during your study sessions—Jace and Luke relentlessly wanted to annoy you. They would blast music that echoed through the halls, turning your moments of peace into a lively party you never asked for. They also had a habit of stealing your hair products, needing them to style their pretty brown curls. And as for chores? They had the ability to vanish just when there was work to be done, leaving you to do everything on your own.

Despite the challenges, you appreciated Joffrey’s companionship. He seemed to prefer a sister figure, bringing a sense of connection that comforted you amidst the chaos of living with his irritating brothers. It was clear his brothers didn’t appreciate it, sometimes being even jealous of yours and the 17-year-old's bond.

Lately, however, a thought had begun to creep into your mind. You were used to the occasional missing sock here and there, but when your favourite pairs of panties and thongs started to vanish, you couldn’t help but suspect Luke and Jace.

You knew better than to just confront them outright. You’d tried that with Jace once, and it hadn’t gone well. It turned into an argument where he insisted he already had plenty of underwear from other girls, which only made you more suspicious.

No, this required a clever plan. You decided to gather the boys' laundry instead. It wouldn’t look suspicious at all. After all, you liked doing the laundry and the lighter chores around the house. So, you made your way to Joffrey's room, where you could hear the familiar sounds of his Nintendo Switch.

“Hey, do you have any laundry for me to do? Lights and darks, I’ll be doing both today!” you called out, trying to sound casual as you knocked on his door.

“Yeah, they’re in the grey box,” he mumbled, barely glancing up from the screen. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his nonchalance. “I better not find a hard sock in there!” you joked back, and you heard a muffled “Ugh! Shut up!” in response, which made you smile as you left with his dirty clothes.

Next, you headed to Jace’s room, where the loud blaring of classic rock music spilt into the hallway. You didn’t even knock; you just pushed the door open and announced, “Laundry.” It was a given that he’d have a pile waiting.

Jace groaned and looked up from his textbook, his expression a mix of annoyance and disbelief. “Can’t you knock first, seriously?” he shot back, slouching against his desk. His gaze landed on the laundry basket you were carrying, and he rolled his eyes. “Oh great, laundry day.”

He stood up and walked over to his closet, digging around to grab a handful of wrinkled clothes and tossing them into your basket. “Anything else you need, Miss Perfect?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his words.

You rolled your eyes, feeling irritation and something else entirely. There was that infuriating smirk again. It was maddening how attractive he was, even while being the most annoying person in your life. The universe had played a cruel joke on you.

You glanced into the basket; it felt unexpectedly heavy, even for him. “What have you got in here? A fucking rock?” you mocked, lifting it slightly to emphasize your point.

His smirk widened at your jab, clearly enjoying the banter. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Aw, someone’s a bit sensitive today, huh? Don’t worry; I’m sure there’s nothing too interesting in my laundry.” He patted the basket, the sheer weight of it making you wonder just how many clothes he had stuffed in there.

“Maybe I just have a lot of clothes, princess,” he said, his tone playful yet infuriatingly smug.

You huffed in response, bracing yourself as you lifted the basket. It was heavy, and you could feel the embarrassment creeping in from the struggle. The weight and his knowing smirk made you want to scream, but you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

“Just don’t be surprised when your whites come back pink,” you shot back with a scowl as you turned to leave, making your way to the storage room to get started on the first load of laundry.

After starting the first load, you made your way to Lucerys' room, where he had no clue you were on your way.

Lucerys let out a whimper as he felt his cock throb in his hand, the silky fabric of your panties wrapped tightly around his shaft. He couldn't believe he was doing this, masturbating with his stepsister's underwear like some kind of pervert. But the thought of you, of the way your ass would look in these tiny thongs, was too much to resist.

"Fuck…" he moaned softly, his hips bucking up into his fist as he stroked himself. The lace was already damp with his pre-cum, the sticky fluid coating his fingers as he pumped faster.

Lucerys' mind raced with dirty thoughts, imagining pinning you down and fucking your tight little cunt until you screamed. He wanted to fill you up, to pump you full of his hot, thick seed until it was leaking out of you. The idea of breeding his stepsister, of watching your belly swell with his child, made him throb even harder.

"God yes… gonna knock you up…" he panted, his voice rising in desperation. "Take my cum… fucking take it all…" he whined, his strokes becoming erratic. Quickly placing the thongs on his face instead, wanting to smell you.

"F-Fuck…" he whimpered, his green eyes glazing over with lust as he breathed in your scent. His right hand was wrapped around his hard cock, pumping it slowly as he sniffed your underwear.

Lucerys's breath came in short, desperate gasps as he tugged at his aching member, the slick sound of his hand moving over his shaft filling the room. His face was flushed, and he squirmed on the bed, hopelessly turned on by the intoxicating aroma of your pussy that still lingered on the thin lace.

"Mmm, sister please…" he moaned, high-pitched and needy. In his mind, he imagined burying his face between your legs, lapping at your dripping slit as he breathed in your scent directly from the source. He fantasized about plunging his tongue deep inside you, tasting your essence as he fucked his face against your cunt.

"Ahhhn, your pussy tastes so fucking good," Lucerys panted, stroking himself faster as he rubbed your thongs against his blushing face. Drool dripped from the corners of the thong and down his chin as he lost himself in his lustful daze.

As you stood outside his door you considered knocking as you had for Joffrey, but Luke had been getting on your nerves lately, so you decided not to grant him that courtesy. Instead, you swung the door open swiftly. "Laundry, now."

Lucerys froze like a deer in the headlights, his green eyes wide with shock and fear as you barged in. He yanked his hand off, his rigid cock throbbing and leaking pre-cum, the wet spot on his boxers clearly visible. Throwing the thong, he had been sniffing, behind him.

"Wh-what the fuck?!" Lucerys stammered, his face turning beet red. He quickly tried to stuff his dick back into his pants, wincing at the sensitivity. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as humiliation washed over him. He had never been caught doing something so depraved before.

"I-I can explain…" he whimpered pathetically, his voice cracking with emotion. He looked at you pleadingly, silently begging for forgiveness and understanding. At that moment, he resembled a scolded child more than a young man.

His gaze darted to the thong on the bed behind him, hoping you hadn't seen it. Lucerys swallowed hard, his mouth dry with anxiety. "It's not what you think…" he tried to protest weakly, even though it was exactly what you had caught him doing.

You slammed the laundry basket down on the floor with a thud, your heart pounding in shock and anger as you glared at him. Folding your arms across your chest, you looked at him with an expression of utter disbelief, your eyes narrowing.

"You can explain?" you repeated incredulously, your voice dripping with sarcasm and outrage. "So let me guess, you were just… admiring the lace, Luke? Checking if any holes needed fixing?" Your tone turned mocking and bitter.

You took a step closer to him, your full hips swaying with each movement, drawing his gaze to your body. "Or maybe… you were just sniffing how well your dear stepsister smells, huh? Thinking if it would actually cover my ass, hmm?" Your voice rose.

"No, I… I mean, yes…" Lucerys stammered, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. He couldn't meet your gaze, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "I'm sorry, okay? I don't know what came over me. I just… I couldn't help myself." He looked down at the floor, shamefaced and remorseful.

"I didn't mean to…," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "It was stupid and wrong of me. I crossed a line, and I'm truly sorry." He swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he clenched them into fists at his sides. "Please, don't tell anyone about this. I'll do anything to make it up to you, I swear."

Despite his shame and embarrassment, Lucerys couldn't help but let his gaze linger on your swaying hips and curves. The way your anger made your breasts heave and your eyes flash was incredibly arousing. He quickly looked away again, hating himself for his inappropriate thoughts and reactions at a time like this.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," he whimpered, his voice wavering with genuine remorse. "I don't know what to say. I just… I swear it won't happen again." He looked up at you pleadingly, his eyes filled with desperation and a hidden, lingering lust that he couldn't quite suppress. "Please, can we just forget this happened?" he asked softly.

You leaned in closer as you stared at Lucerys's flushed, pitiful expression. With a smirk, you shook your head slowly.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now? Wow… just wow," you said quietly, your tongue flicking against your cheek as you eyed him with utter contempt.

"Let me guess, you've never even had your clumsy, inexperienced hands anywhere near a real woman's pussy. Is that why you need to resort to sniffing my dirty panties like some sad, pathetic virgin? Huh?" you mocked, your brow arching in disbelief.

You sat next to him on the bed. Your voice lowered to a biting whisper as you hissed,

"And thinking about shoving my cunt in your face is supposed to do what, exactly? I mean, do you even know how to eat a pussy right?" you challenged.

He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering down to your lips as you whispered biting words in his ear. He could feel the heat of your breath on his skin, making him shudder. Lucerys's cock strained against his pants, desperate for stimulation, even as his mind reeled from your mocking.

Your eyes narrowed as you glared down at his shaking, nervous form. "Just look at you, trembling and blushing like an overgrown toddler…" you declared, your voice rising with each word. Smirking as you knew you were finally getting payback for all those times he had messed with you.

He could feel the heat radiating off your body, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to reach out and touch you.

Your mocking words stung, and he felt his face burn with shame and embarrassment. He knew you were right, that he had acted like a pathetic, inexperienced virgin. And yet, despite the humiliation, he couldn't deny the way his cock throbbed at your words.

"I… I didn't mean to take them," he stammered, his voice shaking with nerves and a confusing mix of embarrassment and lingering lust.

"And I'm sure I could learn," he blurted out, his voice barely above a whisper as he gazed at you with desperation and hidden desire.

Lucerys's hands clenched tighter in his lap. He was terrified of your reaction, but he couldn't deny the overwhelming urge to kiss you, to worship your body, to make you feel good in any way he could.

He looked up at you from beneath long lashes, his green eyes filled with a swirling mix of fear, shame, and barely restrained lust. "Please… Tell me what you need me to do," he begged softly, his voice low and desperate.

You leaned in closer, your hand coming up to gently cup Lucerys's flushed cheek. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him looking so meek and submissive, a far cry from the brat he usually was.

"You know you're rather adorable when you're being this good," you teased softly, your thumb brushing lightly over his burning skin. "Such a pretty thing, so eager to learn…" you murmured, almost admiringly.

But then you sighed, shaking your head slightly as if disappointed by his past misdeeds. "Too bad you couldn't have been this well-behaved from the start. Think of all the fun we could've had sooner." Your tone turned playful at the end, a hint of flirtation slipping through.

You had always thought that he and Jacaerys were handsome, thinking that if they weren't your stepbrothers you would have probably made a move on one of them. Too bad they got on your nerves all the time.

You let your gaze travel slowly over his trembling form, taking in the way his chest heaved with shallow breaths, the way his eyes clung to yours with desperate hope and barely restrained hunger.

"But look at you now," you purred, leaning in until your lips were a mere breath from his ear. "Aren't you lucky, getting a chance to learn from your big sister?" you whispered teasingly, your breath tickling his sensitive skin. "I have soooo many lessons to teach you, baby boy…" you trailed off, letting the promise linger between you, heavy with wicked intent.

Lucerys shuddered as your hand cupped his cheek, his skin burning at your gentle touch. He leaned into your palm instinctively, craving more of your touch despite the humiliation that still raced through him.

His heart skipped a beat at your teasing words, a small, shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew he had been a brat, always trying to get under your skin and rile you up. But hearing you call him adorable and well-behaved made a warmth bloom in his chest that had nothing to do with shame.

"Does… does that mean I have a chance to be good for you?" he breathed, hardly daring to hope. His eyes clung to yours, desperate for any scraps of affection or approval.

Lucerys's cock strained against his boxers, leaking pre-cum and creating a growing wet spot. The thought of you teaching him, guiding him and moulding him into your ideal lover made him throb with need.

"Please…" he breathed out, his voice barely audible. "Please, I'll… I’ll be your good boy… I promise." His words were punctuated by another desperate shudder, his body aching.

You leaned in close, letting your fingertips trail teasingly through Lucerys's hair as you tilted his chin to meet your stern gaze. "Oh, you're a good boy now, hmm? That's rich, coming from a brat who's done nothing but make my life a living nightmare these past months," you scolded, your voice laced with mock exasperation.

He shivered under your touch, feeling a confusing mix of shame and arousal at your mocking words.

"Cleaning up after your messes, hunting down my stolen things, finding my expensive hair products used up… do you have any idea what a pain in the ass you and Jace have been?" you huffed, your chest heaving slightly as you voiced your grievances.

Despite your words, a playful smirk tugged at your lips. "But I suppose even a dumb puppy can learn new tricks. And much as it pains me to say it… you do seem genuinely sorry." You reached under your skirt, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your skimpy white panties.

"Since you've got such a hard-on for my panties, here," you purred, handing him the dainty white cotton with its cute pink bow and noticeable damp patch. "Fresh from this morning. Why don't you show me what you usually do with them, hmm?" You cocked an eyebrow, a wicked glint in your eyes as you settled yourself back down beside him.

Lucerys snatched the offered panties from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. The still-warm fabric and the damp patch on them made his cock throb painfully in his pants. He could smell your scent, the lingering aroma of your arousal, and he knew he'd never be able to get enough.

"Th-thank you," he stammered, clutching the panties like a treasure. His cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red as he looked up at you shyly, wondering if he should do this if he dared to do this.

As he brought them to his nose, inhaling your intimate scent, he whimpered softly. "Fuck…" he breathed out, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He rubbed the fabric against his cheek, savouring the feeling and smell of your panties.

"I… I usually just sniff them," he confesses, his voice low and shaky with desire. "Over and over, until the scent fades. It's not enough… but it's the only way I can get close to you like this." He gazed at you from beneath thick lashes, his green eyes dark and hungry.

You watched, eyes narrowed and lips curved in a smirk, as Lucerys's nose wrinkled and breathing quickened while inhaling your scent from the damp crotch of your panties. "Mmm, sniffing them is cute and all," you murmured, tone laced with mocking amusement, "but you've got to do better than that if you want to prove you're sorry."

Leaning in closer, you cupped Lucerys's flushed cheek, fingers curling under his chin to tilt his gaze up to meet yours, making him look at you with wide nervous eyes. Your thumb brushed over the quivering curve of his bottom lip and he felt his resolve crumble "Lick them," you commanded firmly, voice low and authoritative. "Show me exactly how you'd use that tongue of yours to worship your big sister's pussy, hmm? Since it's obvious how badly you want to taste me." You patted his cheek a few times.

"Don't hold back, baby boy. Pretend my panties are the real thing…" You arched an eyebrow, a wicked gleam in your eye as you awaited his response.

With shaking hands, he brought the crotch of your panties to his mouth, taking a deep breath of your scent one last time before parting his lips. He extended his tongue, the tip of it brushing against the damp fabric.

Lucerys let out a low moan as the taste of your arousal exploded on his tongue, his eyes fluttering shut as he savoured it. He could feel the wetness seeping through the thin cotton, coating his tongue with your essence.

He began to lick more insistently, his tongue dragging over the fabric in long, slow strokes. He imagined this was your pussy, your dripping wet folds parting under his ministrations. He licked harder, more urgently, his tongue delving into the damp patch, trying to lap up every last drop of your juices.

Soft whimpers and needy whines spilt from Lucerys's lips as he lost himself in the act, his hips bucking slightly as he pleasured your panties with his mouth. The taste of your pussy was intoxicating, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face between your thighs and feast on your cunt until you were screaming in ecstasy.

Lucerys's cheeks burned with shame and humiliation, but he couldn't stop. He needed to prove to you that he would do anything you asked, that he would be your good boy.

You snatched the panties from Lucerys's hand, giving his flush cheek a light smack to snap him out of his lust-filled daze. "Eyes up here, perv," you teased, rolling your eyes. "If you really want to apologize, you're gonna have to do better than just sniffing and drooling on my underwear like a dog in heat."

Sighing dramatically, you crawled over to the other side of the bed and leaned back against the wooden headboard. Spreading your legs, you let them fall open slowly, revealing a glimpse of your glistening, bare pussy. The scent of your arousal perfumed the air between you.

"Isn't this a first for you, little brother?" you purred mockingly, arching an eyebrow. "I bet you've seen plenty of fake tits and ass in those porn videos you jerk off to, but a real, live cunt? That's a whole different story."

You could see the way Lucerys' eyes widened as he took in the sight, his pupils dilating with hunger and desire. A smirk played at the corners of your lips as you watched him drink in every detail of your most intimate place.

"Go ahead, get a good look," you encouraged, spreading your legs wider. The glisten of my wetness was unmistakable, and you could feel a trickle of arousal dripping down the curve of your ass.

Lucerys swallowed hard, his mouth going dry at the sight of your glistening, naked pussy mere inches from him. He had never seen anything so beautiful, so perfect. The way your lips shone with your arousal made his mouth water and his cock throb almost painfully.

"I… I've never seen one off-screen," he breathed, his voice shaking with a mix of nerves and unbridled desire. He couldn't take his eyes off your cunt, watching as another trickle of wetness slid down your folds.

Despite his inexperience, Lucerys knew exactly what his body craved. Slowly, hesitantly, he brought a hand up to your knee, his fingers trembling as they brushed against your soft skin. He looked up at you questioningly, seeking permission as he began to inch his hand upwards.

"Can I… can I touch you?" he asked softly, his eyes flickering from your face to your pussy and back again. The tent in his pants was only growing more pronounced, the outline of his hard cock straining against the fabric.

Lucerys's heart raced as you considered his request, hoping desperately, that you would allow him this small mercy. He was terrified of fucking this up, of ruining whatever chance he had with you. But more than anything, he wanted to touch you, to feel the silky heat of your skin, the slickness of your arousal coating his fingers…

At Lucerys's hesitation, you smiled condescendingly. "Oh, how rude of you," you teased, your voice dripping with mock hurt. "Don't I even get a kiss before you go exploring?"

Leaning in closer, you caught his chin gently but firmly between your fingers, tilting his face up towards yours.

"Come on, baby brother," you purred, your breath hot against his lips. "Give me a kiss and maybe I'll let you have a little taste…"

You brushed your lips against his in a feather-light caress, your eyes sparkling with barely concealed desire.

Your thumb traced the curve of his bottom lip, coaxing it to part. "That's it, sweetheart. Be a good boy for me," you encouraged softly, your voice low and laden with promise. "Kiss me like you mean it."

Lucerys shuddered, his breath catching in his throat as your thumb traced his bottom lip. His eyes fluttered shut, and he parted his lips, inviting you to deepen the kiss. He had dreamed of this moment for so long, and now that it was finally happening, he was determined to make the most of it.

Pulse racing, Lucerys pressed his lips more firmly against yours, pouring all of his pent-up desire and longing into the kiss. His hands came up to tangle in your hair, holding you close as his tongue shyly brushed against yours.

He moaned softly into the kiss, the taste of your mouth making his head spin with arousal. Your lips moved skillfully against his own, guiding him and coaxing him to be a good, obedient boy.

Lucerys's cock throbbed almost painfully as he lost himself in the kiss, one hand sliding down to grip your hip tightly. His body pressed against your own, the hard length of his erection nestling against your thigh as he tried to get as close to you as possible.

He gasped into the kiss as he felt himself losing control, his hips starting to rock instinctively against your thigh. You abruptly ended the kiss, gripping his hair and yanking his head back.

"Did I say you could hump my leg like a doggy?" you asked, eyes flashing dangerously. Lucerys flushed an even deeper shade of red, looking mortified.

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" he stammered, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

Your voice turned stern. "I thought you wanted to worship me properly, not just rut against me like an untrained puppy?" you asked pointedly. "Clearly, you need a reminder of your place."

"On your knees, Lucerys," you ordered, your tone leaving no room for argument. "The floor, now. Show your big sister the respect she deserves."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you spread your legs wide, revealing your needy cunt.

Lucerys knew better than to disobey a direct order from you. He quickly slid off the bed and lowered himself to his knees on the floor before you, his eyes never leaving your exposed sex. He swallowed hard, his mouth going dry at the sight of your wet, glistening folds.

"Like this?" he asked softly, looking up at you for confirmation. His hands rest lightly on your thighs, just above your knees. He was acutely aware of the bulge in his pants, his hard cock straining against the confines of his pants.

"I… I want to please you," Lucerys declared solemnly, his eyes filled with a mix of reverence and hunger. "Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do my very best to be a good boy for you."

He gazed at your dripping sex, feeling his head spin. The scent of your arousal was intoxicating, and he couldn't wait to taste your essence directly from the source.

You smiled indulgently at your naive younger brother, your fingers playing with his messy hair as you gazed down at him with a mix of affection and amusement. "Aww, you really are just the most adorable thing when you're being this good," you laughed softly.

"I'm not going to stay mad at you, sweetheart. Not when you look at me like that." Your voice was sweet but with an underlying current of domination.

You gave him his first instruction. "Now, I want you to start by kissing up my thighs. Slowly, sweetheart. Take your time and worship every inch of your big sister's legs until you reach the top."

You leaned back on your hands, making yourself more comfortable as you watched Lucerys through lidded eyes. Your perky breasts rose and fell with each breath, drawing attention to your pretty curves.

Lucerys shuddered in anticipation as your fingers played with his hair, a soft moan escaping his lips at your touch. He gazed up at you with wide, adoring eyes, feeling his heart swell with affection and desire.

"Thank you," he breathed out, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He knew he still had a lot to make up for, but at least he had a chance now.

Lucerys hesitated for a moment before leaning forward and pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the inside of your left thigh. He started at the knee, showering your smooth skin with tender kisses as he slowly worked his way up.

He took his time, just as you had instructed, worshipping every inch of your legs with a mix of innocence and growing hunger. His lips trailed higher and higher, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake.

Lucerys's hands slid up your thighs as he kissed them, gripping and caressing gently. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way it seemed to burn hotter the closer he got to your aching sex.

Soft whimpers and needy little moans spilt from his lips as he lost himself in the task of pleasing you, his heart racing and cock throbbing with anticipation. He lived for this moment, for the chance to worship his big sister's body as she deserved.

Biting your plump bottom lip, you couldn't help but let out a shuddery moan as Lucerys's soft lips trailed along your inner thighs. Your core clenched around nothing, aching and empty as your arousal drooled freely from your dripping cunt. "Mmmh, that feels good," you breathed out, eyelids fluttering shut as jolts of pleasure raced through you.

You gazed down at your adorable stepbrother through hooded eyes, watching as he worshipped your soft skin with clumsy yet devoted kisses. He was just too goddamn cute, his innocence and eagerness to please you making your heart race.

Lucerys continued his reverent kisses, his lips now inches from your glistening folds. Your arousal coated your pussy lips, making them glisten invitingly. The scent of your desire filled the air between you, making Lucerys dizzy with lust.

He hesitated for a moment, looking up at you questioningly. "B-big sister?" he stammered softly, his voice shaky with nerves and anticipation. "Can… can I taste you now? Please?"

Lucerys's tongue darted out to lick his lips, already tingling with the desire to taste your essence. His green eyes gazed at you pleadingly, silently begging for permission to bury his face between your thighs and feast on your dripping cunt.

Soft, almost inaudible whimpers escaped from between his trembling lips as he waited for your response. The bulge in his boxers was more prominent than ever, the outline of his hard cock straining against the fabric. It ached and throbbed, begging to be freed and buried deep inside you.

"Mmm, go on then baby boy…" you purred, hiking your skirt up around your waist and spreading your thighs wider in a clear invitation, the folds of your aching, empty cunt right in front of his face. "Don't be shy now… I want to feel that tongue of yours exploring every inch of my little hole. Bury your face in your sister's cunt and drink down every drop of my juices like a good boy."

Lucerys licked his lips hungrily at your words, feeling a surge of desperate arousal at your filthy words. He looked up at you with hooded, lust-filled eyes before leaning in, his face hovering inches from your dripping sex.

With a shameless moan, Lucerys closed the distance and dragged the flat of his tongue along your glistening slit, tasting your essence for the first time. The flavour of your arousal exploded on his tastebuds, and he couldn't get enough.

He moaned wantonly into your pussy, gripping your thighs tighter as he began to eat you out with clumsy but enthusiastic licks. His tongue pushed between your folds, lapping up your juices and savouring your honeyed taste.

Lucerys's tongue swirled around your clit, flicking the sensitive bud sharply as he felt you shudder against his mouth. He licked and sucked greedily at your dripping hole, determined to drink down every drop of your nectar.

"Mmm… you taste so fucking good," he mumbled against your cunt, his voice muffled. The vibrations of his words sent delicious jolts of pleasure racing through your body.

You felt a thrill of hunger as she watched Lucerys stumble through his first clumsy attempts to please you. His inexperienced tongue made messy swipes against your dripping folds, occasionally grazing a sensitive spot that had you gasping.

"Mmm, baby boy…" you gasped, tangling your fingers in his hair and subtly rolling your hips against his mouth. "Use more pressure, sweetheart. I need you to work harder than that…"

Soft pants escaped your lips as Lucerys finally honed in on your throbbing clit, flicking and circling the sensitive bud. Sparks of pleasure shot up your spine with each touch of his tongue, building the heat low in your belly.

"Ah! Just like that… oh fuck!" you cried out, feeling a surge of pleasure. Growing impatient with his clumsy attempts, you grabbed both sides of his head with a desperate moan. You started grinding your dripping cunt in rough circles against his eager but inexperienced mouth, chasing the pleasure you craved.

"There's a good boy," you praised breathlessly as you used his face for your satisfaction. "Worship your big sister's pussy just like this, sweetheart. Show me how badly you want to make me cum all over this cute face of yours."

Lucerys whimpered desperately against your cunt, gripping your thighs tighter as he struggled to keep up with your frenzied grinding. Your fingers tightened in his hair, yanking roughly as you rutted against his face, using his mouth for your pleasure.

He could feel your juices dripping down his chin and onto his neck, as he worshipped your pussy with clumsy but eager licks and sucks. Lucerys's cock throbbed almost painfully in his pants, leaking pre-cum at the feeling of your wet heat against his lips.

"Mmph, I'm trying… I'm trying so hard to please you," he gasped out between sloppy licks, his words vibrating against your sensitive flesh. He could feel your pleasure building, your moans and cries spurring him on to suckle your clit harder and fuck your entrance with his tongue.

Lucerys gazed up at you with hazy, lust-filled eyes, silently begging for your release. He wanted to feel your juices flood his mouth, to drink down every drop as he pushed you over the edge. His hips jerked instinctively, seeking some form of relief from the aching hardness between his legs.

Nails digging into Lucerys's scalp, you writhed against his hungry mouth, painting his lips and chin with your slick arousal. "Yes, fuck, just like that!" you cried out, undulating your hips to grind your aching clit against the boy's nose. "Fuck me with your tongue~…"

A shock of raw pleasure ignited through your core as his tongue plundered your entrance, plunging in and out in a desperate rhythm. "Unngh, shit…" you whimpered, back arching as your thighs clenched around his head.

You could feel your climax building fast, your inner walls beginning to flutter and tighten around the slick, wriggling muscle. "Don't stop, please don't fucking stop…" you panted, gripping fists full of hair as you rode his face hard, chasing your rapidly approaching orgasm.

Lucerys doubled his efforts, tongue plunging in and out of your clenching hole with desperate abandon. He felt your walls starting to flutter and tighten around his invading muscle, your juices gushing out to coat his chin and drip down onto his neck. The taste of your arousal was intoxicating, and he couldn't get enough.

"Mmm, yes! Fuck, I'm gonna… I'm gonna…" you cried out, your body tensing and shaking as your orgasm rapidly approached. Lucerys just moaned wantonly in response, sucking your clit harder and fucking your cunt with deep strokes of his tongue, determined to push you over the edge.

With a sharp cry of your stepbrother's name, your body went rigid, your back arching as pure ecstasy exploded through every nerve ending. Your pussy clenched and spasmed wildly around Lucerys's tongue, gushing out a flood of your honey as your climax hit you like a tidal wave.

Lucerys made no move to pull away, greedily drinking down every drop of your release. He held your bucking hips tightly as he licked and suckled your quivering sex, riding out your intense orgasm with you and prolonging your pleasure for as long as possible.

With a sharp gasp, you grabbed Lucerys's head and pulled his face in tight as you rutted yourself against him, muffling his cries of pleasure with your dripping sex. "Oh… ohhh fuck, yes," you panted out, your thighs clamping down around his ears as you rode the intense waves of your climax.

Your gummy walls spasmed and clenched rhythmically around his busy tongue, creaming hard into your younger brother's eager mouth. You didn't care if he could breathe or not, too lost in the throes of your release to think of anything but chasing every last spark of pleasure.

"Mmmfff… ahhh… that's it…" you moaned breathlessly, slowly grinding your hips to draw out the fading aftershocks. Little jolts of electricity still zapped through your nerves.

Finally spent, you released your grip on Lucerys's hair and leaned back slightly, letting him catch a breath. Your chest heaved as you tried to regulate your breathing, a satisfied smirk playing on your swollen, slick lips.

Lucerys gasped desperately for air as you finally released your grip on his hair and allowed him to pull back slightly. He gulped down the mouthfuls of your juices he had collected, the taste of your release on his tongue. His face was glazed with your slick arousal, chin to forehead, and a string of your juices connected his bottom lip to your thigh. He licked his lips with a dazed, lust-drunk expression.

"I… I did well?" he asked softly, hope and a touch of disbelief colouring his tone. He couldn't believe he had made you cum. The feeling of your hot, slick juices coating his face was still overwhelming to the boy.

Despite the hard, aching bulge still straining against his pants, there was a look of pure adoration and devotion on Lucerys's face as he gazed up at you. He knew he would do anything to feel your pleasure again, to worship your body and have you use him for your satisfaction.

"I hope… hope you'll let me do that again," he stammered shyly, his cheeks flushed with a mix of satisfaction and lingering arousal. "Anytime you want, sister. Anytime."

"Oh baby, you were amazing," you cooed softly, gently helping Lucerys up and guiding him to lie down next to you on the bed. You brushed his messy hair back from his flushed face and gazed at him adoringly. As he lay back on the bed next to you, he couldn't take his eyes off your beautiful face, his heart racing at the intimate murmurs and praise.

His heart swelled with pride and affection at your words. He felt himself melting under the adoring gaze and tender touch, knowing he would do anything to make you happy and satisfied.

"Such a good, obedient boy," you praised him warmly, your fingers tenderly wiping the evidence of his hard work from his chin and cheeks. You brought your coated fingers to your mouth and made a show of licking them clean. But his cheeks and chin were still messy with your creamy release, going to lick up his face clean like a kitten.

Lucerys shuddered and bit his lip as he watched you lick your fingers clean, feeling another surge of arousal at the erotic sight. His cock throbbed almost painfully in his pants, the fabric of his underwear damp with pre-cum.

"Th-thank you," he breathed out, his voice rough with desire. He couldn't believe he had the power to make you feel that good, to bring you to such an intense, toe-curling climax.

Lucerys tilted his head up to give you better access as you began to clean the sticky essence from his face with your tongue. He let out a shaky moan when you licked along his jaw, his eyes fluttering shut at the intimate, sensual act.

"I love the taste of your cum," he admitted hoarsely, reaching up to cup your face in his trembling hands.

The damp patch in his underwear had grown, his cock leaking steadily as he imagined fucking you senseless daily, pumping load after load of his hot seed deep inside your greedy cunt.

"Can I… can I kiss you again?" he asked shyly, his green eyes filled with longing as they met yours. "I want to taste your pretty lips…"

"Mmm, of course you can," you giggled, a teasing smirk playing on your lips. "You've been so good for your big sister. You deserve a reward~"

You leaned down, capturing his mouth in a messy, passionate kiss. Your lips moved sloppily against each other, mixing the lingering taste of your arousal with his saliva. Occasionally, you would nip at his bottom lip, tugging on it gently before soothing the sting with your tongue.

You could feel his whimpers vibrating against your lips, spurring you on as you deepened the kiss. Your tongue pushed past his lips, swirling around his own and greedily taking in the combined flavours of your lust.

Lucerys let out a choked moan into the messy kiss, his hands coming up to grip your waist tightly. He kissed you back with clumsy passion, his tongue tangling shyly with yours as he tried to learn the rhythm. The taste of your arousal mingling with his saliva made his head spin with lust.

Pulling back, you gazed down at him with lidded eyes, taking in the sight of his flushed face and kiss-swollen lips glistening with your essence. "Made me feel so good," you praised huskily, reaching down to squeeze the rock-hard bulge still straining against his pants. "I think it's time for you to feel the touch of a girl's hand, sweetheart. Are you ready for that?"

The feeling of your fingers squeezing his aching bulge had Lucerys bucking his hips up desperately, seeking more of that sweet friction. When you finally pulled away, he had to take a moment to steady his breathing, his chest heaving as he gazed up at you with hooded, lust-filled eyes.

"I… yes," he managed to stammer out, his voice pitchy and strained with arousal. "I'm ready for anything you want to give me… please…"

Lucerys's cock throbbed and leaked against the confines of his underwear as if in agreement. He couldn't remember a time when he had ever been this hard, his balls aching with the desperate need for release.

Rolling his hips upwards in a needy motion, he looked at you with guileless, pleading eyes.

Biting your lip, you watched with amusement as your little stepbrother writhed beneath you, utterly consumed by his teenage lust. You couldn't resist teasing him a bit. "Mmm, it looks like someone's excited," you giggled, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his white Calvin's. "I'm gonna take a peek, okay?"

Without waiting for his response, you snapped the elastic band against his sensitive skin. Lucerys let out a choked moan, hips jerking upwards with the sudden stimulation. "Ohhh, sensitive!"

Ignoring his needy sounds, you slowly peeled down his boxers inch by excruciating inch until his painfully hard cock sprang free. You licked your lips at the sight, taking in every detail.

"What do we have here… impressive, Luke." you purred, wrapping your fingers around his thick shaft and giving it a slow, teasing stroke. At your touch, a bead of pre-cum drooled out of the swollen, flushed head. "Mmmm, so hard already… looks like baby bro is alllll grown up now."

He watched, eyes wide and hazy with lust, as you slowly stroked his throbbing length. His cock pulsed urgently against your palm, the skin hot and silky soft, rock hard beneath.

"I… I can't help it," he whimpered, cheeks burning with humiliation and arousal at the praise.

His hips jerked as you stroked him, his member twitching and leaking steadily. The swollen head was a deep, angry red, weeping with the intensity of his need.

"Please, I need…" Lucerys began desperately, before trailing off, unable to voice his pleas. He was too shy, too aroused, too overwhelmed by the new sensations coursing through his young body.

His hands gripped the sheets beneath him, knuckles white as he fought the urge to grab your wrist and demand that you stroke him harder, faster. He wanted to feel your touch all over his aching cock, wanted you to make him cum until he sobbed.

You tilted your head with a playful pout, giving Lucerys a look of mock disappointment. "I'll touch you with just my hand today… I don't know if you could handle my mouth yet," you teased, smirking at his inexperienced reactions.

You had to admit, you were a bit surprised the handsome 19-year-old hadn't lost his virginity already. At over 180cm tall and with his boyish charm, you would've thought plenty of girls would be throwing themselves at him. Then again, the poor thing was so shy and quiet, especially when he wasn't with his beloved older brother Jacaerys. He probably had no idea how desirable he was.

You shook your head and chuckled softly as you wrapped your fingers more firmly around his throbbing cock, giving him a few slow pumps. "But don't worry, sweetheart," you purred, voice low and conspiratorial. "I'll make sure to take gooood care of you…" You flashed him a wicked grin, eager to give your adorable stepbrother his very first handjob.

Lucerys's breath hitched, and his spine arched as your fingers tightened around his shaft, giving him the firm stroke he desperately needed. His toes curled and his thighs clenched, muscles flexing as pleasure sparked through his nerves.

"I… I don't… ah!" he gasped out, eyes wide and cheeks burning at your teasing words. He knew he should protest, should tell you that of course he could handle your mouth, but the words died on his tongue as you pumped his throbbing cock.

Your touch felt so good, so much better than his own clumsy fumbles. He could feel every ridge and vein of his shaft, every twitch and throb as you worked him closer to his peak.

"Please…" Lucerys whimpered, hips rolling up to meet your strokes. He didn't even know what he was begging for anymore, too lost in the new sensations to think clearly. All he knew was that he needed more, needed you to keep touching him until he exploded.

Your wicked grin sent a bolt of lust straight to his aching balls, making them draw up tight against his body. He could feel the pressure building inside him, his orgasm approaching swiftly, as you worked his cock with practised efficiency.

"I'm… I'm not…" he gasped, feeling the telltale tightness in his gut as his climax fast approached. "I'm gonna… gonna…"

You snatched your hand away abruptly, brow arched in disbelief. "Already?" you teased, smirking. "And here I thought I'd have more time to play with this cute cock of yours." You let your gaze drift pointedly over his straining erection, noting how it throbbed urgently in the cool air, the swollen head an angry, desperate shade of red. "Guess you're just too pent up, hmmm? Can't blame my horny stepbrother for being eager though."

Lucerys whimpered desperately as you Suddenly pulled your hand away, leaving his aching cock throbbing and leaking in the cool air. He looked up at you with hazy, pleading eyes, face flushed with embarrassment and unfulfilled lust.

"S-sorry," he stammered, biting his lip as he tried to hold back his impending orgasm through sheer force of will. "I just… I've never… aahh…"

Lucerys squirmed on the bed, the sheets twisting beneath his hips as he fought the urge to grab his own cock and finish himself off. He was so close, teetering right on the edge of his very first climax at the hands of another.

"Please…" he begged softly, voice cracking with desperation. "I need… I need you to touch me again. I can't… I can't hold back much longer…" He gazed at you with wide, vulnerable eyes.

You gaze at Lucerys with a mix of amusement and tenderness, your heart fluttering at his helpless, desperate pleas. Unable to resist his boyish charm and the way his body responded so eagerly to your touch, you lean in close.

"Oh, you poor, pent-up boy," you coo softly, your breath warm against his ear. You let out a sympathetic little sigh. "Alright then, you've more than earned this."

Sitting up, you spat lightly onto his throbbing, flushed cock, watching with a smirk as the saliva trickles down his shaft, glistening obscenely. Making Lucerys let out a choked moan, your spit providing a slick new source of friction as your hand began to pump his cock in earnest.

You wrapped your fingers around him, relishing the feeling of his soft skin, hot and pulsing with need.

Your hands started to move, twisting and pumping his thick length in a steady, purposeful rhythm. You worked him with focused intensity, your grip alternating between firm and teasing as you stroked him closer to his release.

"That's it, sweetheart," you encourage him in a low sultry murmur. "Let yourself go. I want to watch you cum for me…"

"Ohhh god…" he gasped, fingers scrabbling at the sheets as his hips rocked upwards to meet your strokes.

He could feel his release fast approaching as you touched him with purposeful intensity. His stomach clenched, and his balls tightened, the pressure building to an unbearable peak.

"Haahh, yes… yes…" he panted out, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure consumed him. Your words urged him on, spurring him towards his inevitable climax.

Lucerys's breathing grew ragged, chest heaving as he teetered on the razor's edge. His cock throbbed almost violently in your grip.

He couldn't hold back any longer. With a strangled cry of your name, Lucerys came undone. His cock jerked and spasmed as it erupted, painting thick ropes of hot cum all over your pumping fist.

"NNAAHH! Aahhh…" he wailed as spurt after spurt of his release shot out, his young body shaking and convulsing with the force of it. It was his very first time experiencing such intense pleasure, and it overwhelmed his senses completely.

Thick globs of pearly white seed dripped onto his stomach and chest, and some landed on your fingers. Lucerys trembled and moaned throughout the aftershocks, eyes rolling back and toes curling as he rode out the waves of his climax.

As Lucerys came hard, his length jerked and spasmed in your grip, painting your hand and his shirt with thick ropes of hot, sticky seed. The obscene sounds of his release filled the room as you continued pumping his throbbing cock, working him through the intense waves of pleasure that wracked his young body.

"Oh wow, so much cum for such a pretty boy," you purred, watching in amusement as Lucerys's face contorted in pleasure, his eyes rolling back and toes curling. "You really needed that, didn't you sweetie?"

You couldn't help but feel a rush of pride knowing you had brought your adorable stepbrother to such a mind-blowing climax. His spent member gave a weak twitch as the last drops of cum dripped out, and you had to chuckle at how utterly depraved he looked - shirt splattered with his own release, hair mussed, and cheeks glowing a deep shade of red.

Lucerys could only whimper and nod weakly, still dazed and trembling in the afterglow. "Y-yes, thank you…" he managed to stammer out, gazing up at you with hazy, adoring eyes. You couldn't wait to corrupt him further and make this a regular occurrence between you…

Just as Lucerys was coming down from his high, the bedroom door suddenly burst open. Jacaerys stood there, his handsome face flushed and eyes dark with poorly concealed lust as he took in the perverse scene before him - his younger brother's spent cock glistening with cum, your hand coated in the same, and the general air of sexual tension permeating the room.

"Well, well, well..." Jacaerys drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned against the doorframe casually. "Looks like someone's having all the fun without me. Thought we were going to share, little brother?"

He stalked closer to the bed, eyes roving hungrily over your curves and lingering on where your fingers were still wrapped around Lucerys's sensitive cock. "It's not fair, leaving your big brother out of the action," he complained, petulance clear in his tone. "I've been wanting a taste of her for ages now..."

Reaching the edge of the bed, he leaned down, gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his heated gaze. "It's my turn next, little sis," he murmured, voice low and full of dark promise. "So you'd better not tire yourself out too much on dear Lucerys here." He said darkly before releasing you and turning to his flushed younger brother with a grin. "Better rest up, Luke. Because I certainly can't wait much longer to bury my cock in our step-sister's tight little holes..."

[pinkmoontaco]

It all started at a Set || KMG Pt.1

Pairing: Actor-Idol Mingyu x Actress-Idol Reader Genre: Fluff, Idol romance Summary: This story is a heartwarming slow-burn romance between Mingyu and Y/N, a senior idol. It begins with them being cast as co-stars in a drama where their contrasting personalities—Mingyu’s vibrant, outgoing nature and Y/N’s reserved, composed demeanor—become the catalyst for an unexpected connection. Throughout their journey, they face professional challenges, emotional conflicts, and growing feelings for one another. Author's Note: This is the second story of my series, "It All Started..." As I was writing, the story evolved into something much bigger than I initially imagined, so I decided to divide it into three parts to give it the attention and depth it deserves. To everyone who has supported my series so far, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your encouragement and feedback have been a driving force behind my writing, and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on this part of the story. Stay tuned, because there’s so much more to come, and I promise the journey will only get more exciting from here. Thank you for being part of this adventure with me—I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed creating it!

If you have any requests for any member or any other groups feel free to do so

M.list Part one _ Part two _ Part three

Mingyu wasn’t sure what prompted him to accept the role this time. At first, it seemed like any other offer—another chance to showcase a different side of himself. But something about the script resonated with him on a deeper level.

The character's struggle to balance vulnerability and strength mirrored his own challenges in navigating fame. He felt an unspoken connection to the story, as if it was calling him to confront parts of himself, he had kept hidden.

Perhaps that’s why, despite his initial doubts, he agreed to take the leap. Maybe it was the persistent urging of his members, maybe it was his own curiosity, or maybe, just maybe, it was the script that had managed to tug at something deep within him. Either way, he found himself on the set of "Between Us," his first lead role in a drama, both nervous and excited.

The buzz around the project had been immediate, not just because of Mingyu but because of his co-star. Y/N, a senior idol, had been cast as the female lead. She was a name that carried weight in the industry—the leader of her group, a revered idol with an aura of mystery. Known for her icy demeanor and guarded nature, she seemed to embody mystery and restraint, creating an intriguing contrast to Mingyu’s radiant, extroverted charm. While her reserved nature drew admiration, it also set the stage for a fascinating interplay with Mingyu’s infectious energy, sparking curiosity about how their opposite temperaments might evolve together. It was a pairing that intrigued fans and critics alike.

When they met for the first table read, Mingyu was struck by how composed she was. She greeted him with a polite nod, her expression unreadable. Mingyu, ever the extrovert, tried to break the ice with a joke.

“Looks like we’re going to be spending a lot of time together,” he said, his signature grin in place. “I hope you’re ready for my bad jokes.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile playing at her lips. “I’ll brace myself,” she replied coolly before turning her attention to the script.

From that moment on, their interactions were polite but distant. On set, Mingyu would try to engage her in conversation, but Y/N kept her responses short. It wasn’t that she was rude; she just seemed... guarded. Mingyu couldn’t help but be intrigued. What was she hiding behind that composed facade?

As the weeks went by, they began filming scenes that required emotional depth and vulnerability. The plot of "Between Us" revolved around two people who initially clashed but slowly fell in love as they unraveled each other’s secrets. The parallels between the characters and their real-life dynamics didn’t escape Mingyu.

One evening, after a particularly intense scene, Mingyu found Y/N sitting alone by the set, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the scene.

“Hey,” Mingyu said, approaching cautiously. “You okay?”

Y/N glanced at him, her expression softening slightly. “I’m fine. Just... thinking.”

Mingyu sat down beside her, leaving a respectful distance between them. “You were amazing in that scene,” he said sincerely. “I felt like I was watching your character come to life.”

She looked at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Thank you. You did well too.”

It was the first time she’d offered him a genuine compliment, and Mingyu felt a small thrill of accomplishment. They sat in silence for a while, watching the sky change colors.

“Do you ever get tired?” Y/N asked suddenly. “Of being... this?”

Mingyu frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Of always being expected to be perfect. To smile, to perform, to never let your guard down,” she explained, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu thought for a moment before replying. “Sometimes. But I think it’s okay to not be perfect. People connect with us because of our flaws, not despite them.”

Y/N looked at him, her expression unreadable once more. But something shifted that day. She began to open up, little by little. Mingyu learned that behind her icy exterior was someone who cared deeply about her members, someone who carried the weight of leadership with grace but also with a heavy heart.

The rest of the cast and crew began to notice the change in their dynamic. During breaks, they often saw Mingyu and Y/N sharing quiet conversations or laughing at inside jokes. One day, a crew member walked in on Mingyu patiently teaching Y/N a card game to pass the time, his enthusiasm contagious as Y/N, known for her reserved nature, playfully accused him of cheating.

“Cheating? Me?” Mingyu feigned shock, placing a hand on his chest. “I’m wounded, Y/N. Truly.”

“Wounded or not, you’re still losing,” Y/N shot back with a rare grin.

Another time, during a particularly chilly outdoor shoot, a makeup artist caught Mingyu draping his jacket over Y/N’s shoulders without a word, brushing off her protests with a casual, “You’ll catch a cold.”

The director, amused by their growing rapport, once joked, “If you two don’t win Best Couple at the year-end awards, I’ll be writing to the network myself.”

Even the extras started to notice their synergy, with one commenting during lunch, “Their chemistry isn’t just acting—it’s real.” Mingyu’s consistent warmth and Y/N’s subtle but significant thawing became a favorite topic of conversation among the crew, adding a special layer of excitement to the production. The once distant co-stars were now sharing inside jokes, supporting each other through difficult scenes, and even eating meals together during breaks. Mingyu’s patience and warmth had managed to crack Y/N’s walls, and she, in turn, became a grounding presence for him.

The turning point came during a particularly grueling shoot. It was a night scene set in the rain, with both leads expected to deliver emotionally charged performances. As Y/N sprinted down the wet pavement for a pivotal chase sequence, her ankle twisted, sending her collapsing onto the ground mid-scene. The crew froze, and for a moment, the only sound was the rain hammering down. Mingyu, standing nearby, dropped his prop and sprinted to her side.

“Cut!” the director shouted, but Mingyu was already kneeling beside Y/N, his voice tinged with panic. “Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?”

Y/N tried to sit up, brushing off the mud on her hands. “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth, though the pain was evident in her eyes.

“No, you’re not,” Mingyu said firmly, his worry overriding his usual easygoing demeanor. He gestured for the on-set medic, his brows furrowed in concern. “You need to rest. This isn’t something to push through.”

Despite her protests, Mingyu carefully helped her to a nearby chair, his hand steady on her arm. His genuine concern was clear, and the crew exchanged knowing glances, murmuring about how protective he had become of her. In that moment, something shifted—not just between their characters, but in their real relationship as well.

The injury had forced Y/N to take it slow, and Mingyu took it upon himself to help her. He’d show up to set early to make sure the path was clear for her crutches, brought her snacks during breaks, and even offered to rehearse lines with her to save her unnecessary movement.

“You’re going to spoil me,” Y/N said one day, watching as Mingyu carefully adjusted her chair.

“Maybe,” Mingyu replied with a grin. “But I don’t mind.”

As “Between us” progressed, the romantic tension between Mingyu and Y/N on-screen began to mirror their growing connection off-screen. Their characters, who started out as strangers, gradually developed a deep emotional bond, with Mingyu’s warmth gradually melting Y/N’s cool exterior.

One evening, during a late-night shoot, the scene called for a quiet, intimate moment at the café. Mingyu’s character, Jae-min, had just confessed his feelings to Y/N’s character, Seo-yeon. The air was thick with tension as their eyes met, both characters hesitant yet longing.

“Are you sure you want this?” Jae-min asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as he reached out to gently touch Seo-yeon’s hand.

Y/N, as Seo-yeon, looked at him, her expression unreadable, before slowly nodding. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to try.”

In the next moment, Jae-min leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, a gentle but tender kiss filled with the promise of something new. The director yelled “Cut!” immediately after the kiss, but both actors were left momentarily frozen, caught in the vulnerability of the moment.

Mingyu quickly stepped back, awkwardly scratching his head. “Uh, sorry, was that too much?”

Y/N, for the first time in a while, let out a soft laugh, something that startled Mingyu. “No, it was good,” she said quietly, her cheeks flushed. “You just… surprised me, I guess.”

That night, as they wrapped up filming, Mingyu couldn’t stop thinking about how natural the kiss had felt—how it wasn’t just an act but something real that he had experienced with her. Y/N, despite her usually cool demeanor, had shown a glimmer of warmth, and it left Mingyu wondering if the lines between their characters were blurring.

The next scene that stood out was a pivotal moment in the drama, where Jae-min (Mingyu’s character) confesses his love for Seo-yeon (Y/N’s character) during a stormy night. They were supposed to be alone in the café, the rain tapping against the window as Jae-min, drenched from the downpour, walked in to find Seo-yeon sitting by the window, gazing out at the rain.

“Seo-yeon,” Jae-min said, his voice shaking with emotion. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. You’re the only one who sees me for who I really am.”

Seo-yeon turned to him, her eyes softening but still guarded. “But you know I’m not the person you think I am, right?”

The tension in the room was palpable as Jae-min walked toward her, his every step determined. “I don’t care,” he whispered, his face inches from hers. “I love you.”

The kiss that followed was more passionate, a moment of release for both characters. The scene was so intense that even the crew stayed silent as they filmed. When the director yelled “Cut,” both Mingyu and Y/N stood frozen in their positions, the chemistry between them undeniable.

During a break, Y/N walked off to the side, away from the set, clearly trying to collect herself after the emotional intensity of the kiss. Mingyu, sensing her discomfort, followed her quietly.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu asked softly, standing a few feet away.

Y/N paused, looking at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, just… it’s a lot sometimes, you know?” She shrugged. “This role is… difficult for me.”

Mingyu gave her a gentle smile. “You’re doing amazing. I can tell. I know acting can be hard, but you make it look effortless.”

Y/N looked at him, her walls slowly starting to crack. “Thanks, Mingyu,” she said quietly, her tone sincere.

As she turned back to the set, Mingyu watched her, his heart unexpectedly racing. They might have started out as strangers, but something was beginning to stir between them, something neither of them had anticipated.

One of the final scenes in the drama was another intimate moment between Jae-min and Seo-yeon. The two characters had gone through their fair share of struggles, and in this scene, they finally gave in to their feelings for one another. The script called for a tender, lingering kiss under the moonlight, where Jae-min pulls Seo-yeon into his arms as they both acknowledge their deep connection.

As the cameras rolled, the chemistry between Mingyu and Y/N was undeniable. The kiss was gentle at first, with both characters hesitant, but as the scene progressed, their passion deepened. Their lips met in a slow, sweet kiss that was both vulnerable and full of longing, capturing the emotional weight of everything their characters had been through.

When the director finally called “Cut,” the entire set seemed to hold its breath. Y/N, who had usually kept a distance from Mingyu, seemed to soften in his arms, the connection between them palpable even off-camera.

During the next break, Mingyu found himself sitting next to Y/N, who had become noticeably more relaxed around him since their first interactions. They were both exhausted from the intense filming, but the mood between them was no longer cold.

“I didn’t know acting could be like this,” Mingyu admitted, his voice low. “It’s… more than just saying lines. It feels real.”

Y/N looked at him thoughtfully. “Yeah, it’s like… you let yourself be vulnerable for a moment.” She paused, then added, “You’re a good actor, Mingyu.”

Her words caught him off guard. He smiled, not able to hide his feelings anymore. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

There was a comfortable silence between them, and for the first time, Mingyu felt a genuine sense of connection to Y/N—not just as his co-star, but as someone who understood the depth of their roles and the emotions they had shared through their characters.

One memorable day, they filmed a scene where their characters shared their first kiss under a canopy of stars. The setup was breathtaking—fairy lights hanging from the trees, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves, and the soft strumming of a guitar playing in the background.

Between takes, Mingyu leaned over with a grin. “They really went all out for this, huh?”

Y/N glanced around, her lips twitching into a rare smile. “It’s beautiful. Almost makes you forget we’ve been here for hours.”

The scene required them to hold hands, exchange lingering gazes, and lean into a kiss that felt as natural as breathing. When the director finally called, “Cut!” he looked up from the monitor and clapped. “That was perfect! The chemistry was off the charts.”

Another day, they filmed a playful sequence where their characters spent an afternoon at a seaside carnival. From riding the Ferris wheel to playing ring toss, the scenes were filled with laughter and lighthearted moments. While filming a shot where Mingyu’s character won a giant stuffed bear for Y/N’s character, he jokingly handed it to her and said, “This is the closest you’ll get to me spoiling you in real life.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “I’ll cherish it forever,” she quipped, hugging the bear dramatically.

The most challenging yet rewarding scene to film came toward the end of the drama, where their characters finally confessed their feelings after a heated argument. The emotions ran high, and even the crew found themselves holding their breath as Mingyu and Y/N brought the raw vulnerability of their characters to life. By the time the director called cut, there was a moment of stunned silence before the set erupted into applause.

“You really outdid yourselves,” the director said, visibly moved. “This is the kind of performance that stays with people.”

Through these scenes, their bond grew stronger. Whether it was the stolen glances that felt too real or the way they naturally gravitated toward each other during breaks, it was clear to everyone that something special was blooming between them.

[ay-chuu]

DISCOVER. L, I, M, P, Say it.

!! (Self aware bsd boys)

WARNING! Obsessive behaviour in some and angst.

A/N: Sorry for any grammer mistake i made!!

Self aware!Dazai, Chuuya, Jouno, Fyodor, Ranpo, Sigma x Gn! Reader

You really was the most airheaded human, in Dazai's eyes. Because he learned everything about you in just few weeks, while you only knew him as a popular 2d... character? Dazai knew he didnt thought himself as a human but being a non human in different world with a canon fact hurted him. He's not gonna even talking about the... writer version himself in your life. He just wanted something really clearly over his life and it was YOU. You, who made him self aware by mistake. You who made him fell for someone really. You, who made him want to live for a little longer to know you...

"Cute." Chuuya thought. You were really looking cute trying to sew a plush version of him while looking at the manga's colored page to match his features. He hated it when you closed the page tho. Yes he could always try to put himself that is connected with his... other self's but manga was the easiest one since he was origannly from here. He wondered. What would you look like in here too? Would you have powers? Would you meet him? Would you be... his love interest? Well he was never gonna know the truth. The only truth that he know was he was falling- no. Already fallen in love with you.

Jouno hated how stupid and complicated this situation was. And he hated how he couldn't do anything, even a simple thing for you. He hated how pathetic this... no he was. He fallen for you, who was a REAL different version of human. Who was in another reality. He knew that you didn't even knew what you did to him. In your eyes, he was just a character that you enjoyed... reading. Ah he guessed that life was giving him a punishment because of his brutal actions for others. How brutal....

You really wondered that if your pc got a virus or something. Because everytime you try to search or write something there was a thing that made you remember fyodor. Like when you try to an essay for your study, your computer would always write "fyodor" that any word that starts with f. Or when you opened a website you would always see fyodor's manga version. But you thought you just freaked out because... what kind of virus would do that right? Wrong. You were wrong for thinking you were wrong. Fyodor, who hacked all of your system would always make you remember who loves you most. He wanted to engrave himself into your subconscious. Because one day, when he finds a way to bring you into his universe, you would not lose your way to find him...

Ranpo had always thought he was smart. Or rather, it was like that in the past... Because ever since he met you, he saw himself as the smallest-brained person in the world. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many times he reaches different thoughts, he couldn't reach you. While you could always reach him with a single page turn or google, he barely understood that you were from another universe... At first he thought you were just one of the games of Poe's books. He wished you were. Maybe if you were, he would never have fallen in love with you so hard...

Sigma was so surprised when he was able to discover you for the first time. But more than being surprised, he felt very close to you. Because you... were like a different universe version of him. He was born from a book. For him, you were a book that born in a different universe and watching him. The day you read the story about him and smiled because you felt close to him, he realized that he was in love with you. But if there was one part that wasn't surprising at all for him, it was that he couldn't reach you. Ah, because it wasn't just people playing with him all his life. His life was the biggest user playing with him. After all, It didnt change the fact ... he was really just a written person. In any reality.

[amiaenn]

Habits

Harumasa × reader

Note:I was so deeply imbued with this character that I was inspired to pour out my thoughts here a little bit. (+I myself have problems with my lungs and heart, so I understand this bro as much as possible).I apologize in advance for my mistakes, this is my first experience in writing (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

genre/warnings: nope.It's just fluff, don't worry.

wc: ~800 words

Ever since you started dating Harumasa, it has seemed to you that your apartment is slowly turning into a medical office and new habits have appeared in your life. An abundance of various pills, ointments, saline solutions and many other things, the names of which you have not even heard of until recently, filled your shelves. Any pharmacy would envy such supplies of medicines.

And of course, your everyday life has changed too. No, of course you understood that it would change with the appearance of another person in your apartment, but you could not have imagined that Harumasa would bring new activities into your routine that you could not even think about until now.

First, maintaining order in the house. It cannot be said that you were completely dirty in this regard before, but sometimes you can put off sorting out some dusty shelf for later, right? Now forget about it. Asaba is the kind of person who starts a coughing fit from a single speck of dust, and you were sincerely sorry to see and hear him cough, and knowing about his lung problems, you immediately thought that now wet cleaning will be daily, no matter what it costs you, even despite Harumasa's eternal words that he is not a weak guy who can get sick from such household trifles (although his body's reaction says otherwise).

Secondly, now you have increased knowledge about various diseases (especially those related to the heart and lungs). How and what affects this, what is a state of remission and how to maintain it. Well, of course, in connection with this, you began to go with Harumasa to pharmacies to buy the necessary medications. And going out on such shopping, you remembered more and more the names of these pills. You can even confidently say that you remembered this entire list as long as the Great Wall of China.

Third, this is cooking. Yeah, for people who get sick easily, a special diet is needed. A balance of proteins, fats and carbohydrates. It is unlikely that a weak body will tolerate an abundance of chemicals in food, so you need to be more careful with this issue of cooking and selecting ingredients, so you will have to exclude all this harmful food, or at least limit its consumption to a minimum. To support Harumasa in this difficult matter, you decided to give up all the harmful food that you had previously consumed and switch to a healthy diet. One day, you impulsively got rid of all the snacks and bought vegetables and fruits, creating real chaos in the kitchen. Soup is boiling in one corner, vegetables are baking in another, while fruits are being cut on the table and, seeing this picture, Asaba only chuckled and said "Need help?" To which you nodded aggressively, and the guy already went to put on his apron.

Well, and the most interesting thing. A bitter taste began to be felt on your lips more often. You couldn't say that you were a doomed lover of bitter, on the contrary, you tried to avoid bitterness. Once you tried espresso and the fact that it was not a very pleasant experience is to say nothing. But with the appearance of Harumasa, you began to feel the taste of bitterness on your lips. And, you guessed it, all because of his kisses. It's no secret that Harumasa takes pills more often than food and this leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. But he stopped noticing it a long time ago, because years of taking medications give an addiction to this taste and it becomes unnoticeable. But you feel it fully, but to your surprise it felt.. nice? Yes, that's right. Strangely nice, for a lover of sweets like you. When you felt this taste for the first time, your eyes widened and the question "How can he calmly consume such bitter medications?" was spinning in your head. He noticed your surprise and involuntarily wondered what he did that caused such a reaction. Harumasa decided not to hesitate with the question and casually asked, "Something wrong, baby?"

You just awkwardly shrug your shoulders at this question, as if you don't understand what he's talking about, "No...no, everything's fine, don't get hung up on it."

After this incident, you began to get used to it, and after some time, the taste of bitterness began to be associated with something good and familiar. Something that brings a smile. Even more, now you wanted to feel it more often and you began to kiss Asaba at every opportunity that was given to you. He came from a successfully completed mission? What a good boy, he deserved a kiss. Are you making breakfast together? How cute, you can kiss him. Is he just relaxing? A great reason for a kiss! To be honest, it bordered on addiction, but for now it was on a fine line, because you skillfully control yourself and if you are told to tone down your ardor, you will do it without question.

And yes, why did you start liking espresso? It's strange...

[helenofsparta2]

Percy did nothing wrong in Battle of the Labyrinth

Buckle up, this is going to be a very, very long post.

I’ve already made two posts about Percy getting blamed for things he had little to no control over, or some criticism just being extremely unfair towards him, but I’ve never really talked about battle of the labyrinth.

Especially on sides like tiktok, people really drag Percy for how he acted in this book, and I have never really understood why, so since Percy is my favourite RR character, I’ve finally decided to make a post trying to untangle this whole mess.

Generally I’ve seen three main criticisms against him in this book. If you know of others, please let me know.

Him & Calypso

His relationship with Annabeth

The situation with Rachel

Calypso

The criticism I’ve seen here is mostly based on these three topics:  

He didn’t immediately go back to Camp Half-blood

He forgot about Annabeth and his friends while spending time being happy with Calypso

He hesitated when Hephaestus told him he could go back & called Calypso his biggest what if

Let’s tackle these one by one.

He didn’t immediately go back to Camp Half-blood after waking up

Well, he … couldn’t.

Shortly before arriving on Ogygia, Percy had gotten burned alive with lava. A feeling he described as a pain “worse than anything he’d ever felt” (194) .  And He’d blown up a volcano, an action so powerful, the mortal authorities were forced to evacuate almost half a million people, which made ash fall as far as Lake Tahoe in Vancouver and closed off the Mount st. Helens area within a hundred-mile radius.  

Just a quick reminder of Percy’s physical state after all of that:

“I was really weak. I couldn’t stay on my feet more than a few hours. Whatever I’d done in Mount St. Helens had drained me like nothing else I’d ever experienced.” (203)

I woke up feeling like I was still on fire. My skin stung. My throat felt as dry as sand. (196)

I tried to sit up. My muscles felt like they were melting. (196)

I looked as if I’d lost ten kilos I couldn’t afford to lose.” (198)

My knees buckled, and I would’ve landed face-first in the grovel if Calypso hadn’t caught me. (200)

Maybe I was just really weak and thin (200)

Even after a few days/ weeks his legs were still stiff, and he was still getting dizzy from standing up for too long (203)

I hadn’t been in control of myself in that mountain. I’d released so much energy I’d almost vaporized myself, drained all the life out of me.

So, he was not able to physically leave, despite very much wanting to.

2. He forgot about Annabeth and his friends, while enjoying his time with Calypso

Also pretty easy to defend, because, again, he didn’t.

He never stopped thinking about Annabeth, and his other friends. Not once.

Even before waking up, Percy said their names in his sleep so often that Calypso knew them when he woke up (p. 199)

His first reaction to Calypso telling him that he could heal in safety was:  

“But my friends-“

“Annabeth”, she said. “And Grover and Tyson.”

“Yes!” I said. “I have to get back to them. They’re in danger.” (199)

He tried to use his empathy link with Grover several times on Ogygia to find out if he, Tyson and Annabeth were okay, but couldn’t make any contact (P. 203)

“I thought about Annabeth, Grover and Tyson constantly.” (P. 204)

The first thing he does after Hephaestus arrives on Ogygia is asking him about Annabeth’s well-being (207)

3. He hesitated when Hephaestut told him he could go back

This is the first time, the sentiment is somehow connected to the text, because Percy did hesitate for a little bit:

“I wanted to say yes. Of course I would. But the words were stuck in my throat. I found myself looking out at the lake, and suddenly the idea of leaving seemed very hard. (209)

Afterwards, he walked along the beach for several hours, thinking of what to do next (210)

But if you actually read the chapter, you very easily understand that Percy never really, seriously considered staying:

When Hephaestus insinuated, he might not return to camp half-blood he immediately said: “What do you mean? Of course I’m coming back.”

The first thing he says, after Calypso offered him to stay forever on Ogygia was: “But… my friends.” (211)

His immediate verbal response after Calypso admitted she was in love with him was to say: “I can’t. I would never do anything to hurt you, but my friends need me. I know how to help them now. I have to get back.” (212)

We also need to consider his reasons for hesitating in the first place. He did not hesitate because he was in love with Calypso. Yes, he thought she was cute when she laughed, thought she was more beautiful than Aphrodite, and didn’t want to make her feel sad, but she is not the reason he hesitated. His biggest what if is not Calypso herself. His biggest what if is what she represents: Peace, Happiness, and a way to avoid the responsibility of the prophecy.

Through Stolen Chariot, we know that Percy’s biggest fear is making the wrong decision and dooming everyone he cares about:  

“I stood paralyzed. This was the moment I had always dreaded: the prophecy that was supposed to come about when I was sixteen. I would make a choice that would either save or destroy Olympus. Now the moment was here, and I had no idea what to do. The camp was burning. My friends looked at me, begging for help. My heart pounded. I couldn’t move. What if I did the wrong thing? (The Stolen Chariot)

The first thing Calypso says to convince him to stay is: “You could leave the fight to others, Percy Jackson. You could escape your prophecy.”(211)

He also considered the possibility that it might be best for his friends if they believed him to be dead:

“Now I found out I’d nearly destroyed the Northwest US and almost woken the most horrible monster ever imprisoned by the gods. Maybe I was too dangerous. Maybe it was safer for my friends to think I was dead. (208)” She was cute when she laughed.

 

And even if he did develop a little crush on her, which I don’t even believe, I just think he really liked her and felt bad for her, how would that be his fault or something we could blame him for????  Since when can people control who they have or don’t have a crush on???

And the most important thing is: he left. As soon as he knew how to, as soon as he was healthy enough, he left. He went back to his friends, missing out on a peaceful and probably very happy life, shouldered the prophecy once again, and left.

His relationship with Annabeth

I can not say enough how much Percy actually supported Annabeth during the course of battle of the labyrinth

He reassured her constantly, that she would do a good job in leading this quest, when she doubted herself: (“You’re doing great. Besides, we never know what we’re doing. It always works out. Remember Circe’s Island?” She snorted. (P. 120))

He hugged her when she needed a hug: Then she did something that really surprised me. She blinked back tears and put out her arms. I stepped forward and hugged her. (Chapter 4, P. 76)

He trusted her; despite knowing she didn’t tell him the entirety of her prophecy

There are only three points in which they have some kind of conflict in. One of them is the whole thing with Calypso, but I’ve already dealt with that. The other two are the scene after Kronos overtook Luke’s body and then the whole situation with Rachel.

The scene after Kronos overtook Luke’s body

One of the main criticisms people have of Percy here is that he didn’t comfort Annabeth immediately after that scene. While that criticism is somewhat true, it's important to note that he didn’t act out of any malicious intent. After Annabeth collapsed, sobbing with her head between her knees, he didn’t rush to her side—but this was not because he meant to hurt her.

Percy himself was shocked and traumatized by the experience

After she asked him what happened, Percy was as gentle as he could be when he told her: “He gave himself over to Kronos,” I said. “I’m sorry Annabeth, but Luke is gone.” (291)

He only snaps at her, when she continues to defend Luke and accuses Percy of wanting him to be evil: “You want him to be evil, is that it?” Annabeth yelled. “You didn’t know him before, Percy. I did!”  “What is it with you?” I snapped. “Why do you keep defending him?” (292)

If we’re being honest, there is nothing Percy could have said to her, which would have helped her, and with the history he has with Luke, I personally can’t blame him for not being able to comfort her about his death or being annoyed that she still defends him after everything

As a reminder, at this point in time, Luke had tried to kill Percy multiple times, told him that he should have died in Tartarus, tortured Annabeth and was completely okay with killing every single kid in camp half-blood

He still wanted to comfort her after that, but he simply didn’t know how to: I wanted to comfort her, but I didn’t know how. I still felt stunned, like Kronos’s time-slowing effect had affected my brain. I just couldn’t comprehend what I’d seen. Kronos was alive. He was armed. And the end of the world was probably close at hand. (292)

Avoiding an argument might have actually been the smartest thing he could have done after that

When it was time to continue on their way, he still treated Annabeth gently “I knelt next to Annabeth. “Hey, I’m sorry. We need to move.” (292)

Did Annabeth need someone to talk to? Yes, obviously. Was Percy snapping back at her unnecessary and the last thing she needed in the moment? Also yes. This girl has suffered an unimaginable lot in this book and all the previous ones, especially because of Luke.  I’m not blaming her here for the way she acted. She loved Luke, and this might be one of the worst fates imaginable for a loved one. Everyone would have cracked in one way or another.

But is it also insane to criticize a 14-year-old boy, because he did not properly comfort his friend, who grieved the death of a guy, who tried to kill that 14-year old boy for the last two years? Also, yes.

They were two traumatized teenagers with the weight of the world on their shoulders, in a very shitty situation, and I think blaming either of them for how they reacted in this moment is entirely unfair.

Overtaking her quest, by asking Rachel for help

So, I hope we all realize, that this is a stupid argument, and I don’t need to elaborate on why, right? Like, they needed Rachel’s help. Obviously, it’s shitty for Annabeth that she had to rely on a mortal girl, especially a girl with a crush on Percy, but that doesn’t change the fact that they didn’t have another choice. Rachel was vital for the success of their quest,

Percy also sometimes told Annabeth to lay off Rachel, but, like, Annabeth was acting mean towards her, and Percy is a nice person, who knows that Rachel didn’t deserve this treatment.

I think these are all of the criticisms I have seen, and as a really huge fan of Percy, I’m getting so tired of seeing all of them. Please inform me if I have overlooked any!!!

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Please read:  Little note from me about him and one more about our community In summary: This is a swan song fic. The fic was never really about "him" as much as it was a fictional story and character I got to create and share with you all. I hope you still love reading it as much as I still love writing it. xx

Chapter 18- 'Birthday Baby' | 'Aperture'

word count - 12.8k

[Crashing Down - Kali Uchis ft. d4vd]

Things had been… different since London. Not loud or dramatic or marked with any real shift—but quieter, steadier. Like something fragile had been mended between you and Trent that night in the hotel, and now, you were both walking carefully over the seams, pretending the cracks weren’t still visible in certain light.

You hadn't talked about love since LA. Since that stupid night where it spilled out of him in a breathless, broken release like he knew he shouldn’t have said it then but couldn't stop himself. You hadn’t brought it up since. And he hadn’t said it again. Still, things felt lighter lately. Like maybe you were both starting to feel safe again in something that never felt entirely real when it hurt too much to hold.

The afternoon had been simple. You’d grabbed lunch in a quiet part of town, nothing flashy, nothing for anyone else. Trent had kept his hood up and smiled every time your knee brushed his under the table, purposefully nudging yours back reminding you he wanted the touches and reminding himself you were actually there. And you—well, you tried not to read too much into the way his fingers found yours without even looking when he drove you home. One hand on the steering wheel, the other laced with yours across the middle console. You two holding hands was a new phenomenon that was occurring more since those three words were uttered. Suddenly, intertwined fingers were somehow more intimate than sex could ever be. Like they meant something real. So you stared down at your intertwined hands like they were trying to tell you something. The shape of your fingers slotted into his. The soft scratch of his thumb over your knuckle, absent but intimate. You told yourself not to spiral. But he kept glancing over like he was memorizing you, like he hadn’t had the chance to before today, like he didn’t understand how the world let him have you like this again and again. You caught his gaze once and he looked away too quickly, eyes flickering back to the road ahead, like he’d been caught feeling something he shouldn’t say out loud.

And maybe that was what scared you most—how easy it would be to believe he loved you if he just said it again. How maybe he already did and it was you who didn’t know how to ask. When he pulled up outside your building, the street was slick from the morning rain, the grey sky starting to warm with the lazy orange blush of late afternoon. But Trent didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t lean over and peck your cheek like he sometimes did when he was trying to behave, trying to not hurt your hearts that were aching for more even when more would feel like not enough. 

No, this time… he leaned in slow. His hand slid up your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath it with that maddening softness that always turned your thoughts to liquid. And then he kissed you—lingering, unhurried. His perfect plump, soft, lips against yours. Like he was tasting honey and didn’t want to waste a drop. Like the world could wait a little longer while he held your mouth on his. He pulled back just enough to look at you, lips still grazing yours, smile crooked and smug like he already missed you. That boyish glint in his eyes always made your heart stutter.

“Baby,” he said, voice lazy, undeniably loving. Your eyes flickered with hope. “You busy Friday afternoon?” Your breath caught. Friday. Your birthday. You felt your heart crack slow. Not a sharp break—but a delicate fracture, like a porcelain plate dropped on the counter. Still intact. Still beautiful. But not quite the same. You blinked once. Twice. He didn’t laugh, didn’t say only joking. Just smiled at you like it was any other week. “I’ve gotta run a few errands. Was gonna see if you’d come with, beautiful.” The disappointment settled over you like fog. Heavy. Inevitable. You nodded. Quiet.

“Yeah. Sure.” You replied softly. You didn’t want to seem dramatic. Didn’t want to be the girl who expected surprises or attention or magic. You weren’t that girl. You weren’t desperate but maybe desperation would’ve spared you the hurt you were feeling right now. So you’d waited. Silently. Hoping. Wanting him to remember you without being reminded. Trent hesitated. Just for a second. And maybe in that second, he felt guilty. He didn’t like that he could see the hurt of feeling forgotten flashing in your eyes. But not guilty enough. No. The plan had to be set in motion even if it began with hurt. 

“Alright, good.” His voice hummed like it was coming from far away. But he wouldn’t let you drift too far, he cared too much about you to do that, even for another few days. So instead, he kissed you again—deeper this time. Like he needed to seal the moment shut before the truth slipped through. His hand cupped your cheek, fingers pressing into the soft spot behind your ear, kissing you until your mind went hazy and you almost forgot the way your stomach had just dropped through your feet. You pulled away and smiled, soft and small. 

“Thank you for lunch, T.” Your voice was light, but inside you felt hollow. You slipped out of the car and onto the wet pavement, the cool air biting at your skin as you shut the door. Trent exhaled, guilt rushing back. You didn’t look back at him. Not until you heard the slow whir of the window rolling down.

“Don’t forget, beautiful,” he said, leaning across the passenger seat, voice soft but full of something else. “Friday. I’ll need you.” You looked at him. Really looked. His face was glowing in the soft grey light. His lips curled gently, soft, annoyingly kissable. Eyes a little too bright. He winked. That wink used to flip your stomach. Now it just… sank. Like your body knew something your heart didn’t want to admit. You nodded and he drove off. Taillights disappearing into the golden mist of the coming dusk. And you stood there a moment longer, on the curb, the sky stretching wide above you—two people in the same moment, the same day, the same city. But somehow, not in the same story. Not yet.

—

The gallery had the hush of someplace sacred. Early afternoon sun gently spilled in through the high, arched windows, gilding everything in liquid gold. The white walls glowed with it, kissed with amber light that shifted as shadows danced across the hardwood floors. The faintest smell of fresh-cut flowers and polish lingered in the air, mingling with something even softer—like anticipation, or hope. Campbell stood in the center of the room, holding her breath as she spun slowly in place, taking it all in. It wasn’t just a birthday surprise. It was cinematic.

Every corner of the space had been transformed. Flowers were beginning to be laid in soft, sweeping arrangements—nothing rigid or too polished. Just wild, beautiful things, white camellias, hundreds for now. Like a painting brought to life. Like the softness of you, made tangible. And then the walls. Image after image, hung with intention and reverence, curated and compiled with the help of your bestf riend and the boy who was so madly in love with you he enlisted her help. They were photos Trent had taken over the past year. Or ones others had taken of the two of you together. But mostly his. Candid shots, selfies and stolen glances, moments only someone deeply in love would notice—let alone keep. You in his hoodie, curled into the passenger seat of his car. You dancing barefoot in Delaney’s kitchen with friends. Asleep on his chest in your bed. You laughing too hard to breathe, head thrown back, eyes lit like stars.

“I’m gonna cry,” Campbell murmured, almost a giggle of disbelief, brushing a knuckle beneath her eye and pretending it was dust. Trent stood a few feet away, fidgeting with the cuff of his jumper. His stomach twisted like he’d swallowed bees. “She’s gonna love it,” she said again, firmer this time, catching his eye.

“Yeah?” He gave her a small, lopsided smile—grateful, but still wracked with nerves. Before she could answer, the door to the gallery space slid open.

“OH MY GOD.” Foster’s voice sliced through the gentle quiet like a cymbal crash.

“Jesus Christ,” Kieren muttered, visibly jolting as he spun around from his place in the corner of the room trying to work out how the lighting in the gallery should be later for you.

“T!!!” Foster squealed, her eyes wide, hands thrown up like she physically couldn’t take it. “Are you fucking serious right now?!” Trent rubbed the back of his neck, his ears going pink.

“You good?” He raised his brow mocking her overzealousness but frankly, her reaction was merited. The fact that Trent even asked for help spoke volumes. Foster ignored him completely, spinning in a slow, dramatic circle. 

“This is the most insane thing I’ve ever seen. This is like her— in gallery form. This is like cinematic universe level devotion. What the actual—”

“Alright, lads,” Leon cut in coolly as he strolled in behind her, dapping Trent and Kieren up without missing a beat. “Place looks mad.”

“It’s so good,” Campbell said, laughing as she exchanged a look with Foster—equal parts I told you so and can you believe this man?

“Alright, shhh, yeah?” Trent chuckled nervously, glancing around like the gallery owner might come back in and shoo them out for being too loud. Then Campbell froze, her gaze snagging on a particular photo as she continued to help.

“Oh… my god…” She stepped closer, reaching out like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to touch it. Her fingers hovered near the image hung. The photo was grainy and dark, but beautiful in that way intimacy always is. You, tangled in Trent’s lap in his cinema room. A night that had gotten away from the both of you. His shirt on you unbuttoned entirely, hair mussed, thighs bare. His hand cradling the back of your head like he was trying to memorize the way you felt in his palms. You were smiling into his skin, lips at his neck. Utterly, shamelessly in love. He took the selfie but you were too lost in the moment to notice it. Campbell’s jaw dropped. “Oh… my god.” She repeated. Trent didn’t even try to suppress the smirk blooming on his face.

“Okay, seriously, keep it hush please.” He rubbed a hand across his mouth, half-sheepish, half-smug. The people who mattered most—your people—were finally seeing it. The truth of it. The quiet, unrelenting devotion. The knowing. That he didn’t just love you—he understood you. Knew every curve of your smile, every version of your laughter. Knew the map of your skin in darkness and daylight. Foster snatched the photo from Campbell with a gasp.

“Ugh, she’s so hot. Are you joking?”  She held it up to inspect it closer. “Look at her. Look at you! You’ve got her purring in your ear don’t you, T?” She teased. The photo looked like a whole dream, your lips glossy, his dimples deep, your hand cradling his jaw like saying mine without speaking. Trent looked down, but the way his lip curled gave him away. “Lucky you, T,” Foster added, nudging him gently. He shrugged, trying and failing to appear nonchalant. 

“Dunno what you’re on about.” But he knew exactly what they were on about. It was all there, in every photo. Every frame. Every stolen moment hung on the wall like it belonged in a museum. A whole gallery of proof that he didn’t just love you—he saw you. And later, when you walked in, you’d finally see what he saw too.

“Fos, alright shhh,” Leon muttered, low and amused, tugging her gently into his chest like he could absorb her volume by osmosis. He pressed a kiss to her temple, grounding her. But Foster only wriggled out with a grin, mischief burning bright in her eyes as she snagged another photo from the display table—this one of you in Trent’s kitchen, half-wrapped around him, arms around his shoulders, hair still damp from a shower you likely took together, your cheek resting on his bare back like it was your pillow, your safe place. You looked so at home in him, like you belonged nowhere else. Foster held the print up like it was incriminating evidence. 

“Oh stop… Come on. We’re all here aren’t we? Bit obvious now they fuck.” She smirked, correct and honest. Foster to a T. Leon groaned quietly, dragging a hand over his face. She turned away from him with a wicked little look. “And you’ve been fucking.” She teased swiveling to Trent, daring him now, “You probably tell them everything she’s told us too.” Trent’s jaw ticked—amused, caught, and maybe a little flustered. He didn’t offer a rebuttal. Couldn’t. The silence was louder than anything he could say. His ears went a shade pinker again. “Mmhmm.” Foster smirked.

“Yeah?” Trent challenged softly, tilting his head toward her, eyes narrowing with fondness. “And what’s she tell you, then?” Before she could reply, Campbell chimed in from across the room, plucking a photo from the wall with delicate fingers. 

“Oh we’ve heard things.” She gave a cheeky shrug, her mouth quirked in a knowing grin. You’d share the types of things only girls told their best friends. But even so, the truth was, no one knew everything—not the late-night whispers, not the tremble in your voice when you talked about him like it hurt to hold it in. But they didn’t need to. It was written in the way you looked at each other. Blatant. Bare. Like the kind of love that made other people shift in their seats. It was making everyone sick, honestly. Sick and soft and completely obsessed. Campbell wandered back over and slipped her arm around Trent in a side hug, voice low. 

“Gonna tell her?” He didn’t look at her at first, eyes still on the print in Foster’s hand.

“She knows,” he said. Quiet but sure. Like his bones believed it. Campbell turned to look up at him. 

“Gonna tell her?” she repeated, softer this time. No teasing, no bite—just the weight of a best friend who wanted you to have the world and the man who could give it to you. Trent finally met her eyes. 

“Yeah,” he said, exhaling slowly. “I’mma tell her again.” But his gaze drifted—somewhere behind her, beyond the frames, into the unknown. Past the blooming florals and the photographs and the soft orange light that painted the walls. Past all the proof that his love had been real for a long, long time. He was scared. Scared that loving you out loud meant risking it all. That the silence you sometimes met him with was fear, not affection. That maybe you loved him too, but not in a way that stayed.

“Gonna ask her, lad?” Kieren’s voice broke the quiet. He nudged Trent’s shoulder with a sly pinch, disrupting the spiral, the doubt. Trent rolled his eyes, shaking his head like he could shake off the vulnerability, but he didn’t step away.

“I’m gonna try.” He said it low, like a promise. Like a prayer. Campbell squeezed him tighter, her warmth pressed into his side. Her hand rubbed slow circles into his back, grounding him. Letting him be scared, but reminding him he wasn’t alone. The room buzzed with the hush of friends who’d seen it all, who knew the ache behind the silence, the softness behind the swagger. Who knew what it meant to love someone so much that your body felt too small to hold it. He loved you. He wanted you. Now, he just had to tell you that. And hope—God, hope—that when the door opened, you’d be ready to hear it.

—

[Fade into You - Mazzy Star]

The sky was bruised with clouds, heavy and slow, rain that came this afternoon falling in soft, delicate sighs as it painted the windows of the car. You hadn’t paid much attention to where you were going, legs curled under you, the rigid denim [ref index] pinching your skin but you didn’t care, your sandals on the floor juxtaposed by your jacket you maybe didn’t need. It was subtle, something you supposed a boy wouldn’t notice–wearing something sparkly on your birthday—and now you sort of wished you hadn’t. You pressed your cheek lazily to Trent’s shoulder, watching the city blur and weep. You’d said you’d help him run errands today—groggily agreeing with a half-hearted shrug over a phone call this morning, assuming it was something trivial, maybe trainers or food, maybe something for his brother. The morning of your birthday felt cold. No call from your friends or delivery of flowers from your mum could warm your soul up. You wanted him to know you. You just wanted him to remember you. You thought he would and yet you found yourself in his car, still cold. But then… reality came creeping in, you were somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere… wrong for errands and a warmth in your chest began to bloom. 

Your brows furrowed as you stepped out beneath Trent’s outstretched hand holding an umbrella, shielding you both from the drizzle. He still hadn’t explained a thing, only tugged you gently forward, fingers brushing yours until he properly laced your hand with his—an act that was rare since LA, since everything between you had become both closer and yet infinitely harder to name. But the warmth of it was magnetic. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to. If he tried, you’d let him every time. 

The building he led you into was tucked off a small street, anonymous and whitewashed from the outside—barely even noticeable. You blinked against the sudden change in light as the door clicked shut behind you. And then…You froze. Your breath caught. Your lips parted. Your fingers slackened in his but he didn’t let go. The world had fallen away and become something else entirely.

The room was soft-lit and cavernous in the quiet way that galleries always were—white walls glowing dimly, shadows and softness dancing where light touched it. But the floor… The floor was blanketed in white camellias, hundreds—maybe thousands— like they were a part of the floorboards beneath your feet. A sea of fragile beauty, pure and calm. The scent hit you next: delicate, green, clean like tea leaves and soap and something faintly citrus. It wrapped around you like a memory. Like a hand smoothing over your skin. But it was the walls that undid you. Prints. Almost a hundred of black and white prints. Of you.

Your breath hitched. You took a step forward. Then another. Each image—hung deliberately, carefully spaced—was one you didn’t know existed. Some, maybe you remembered. The back of your head walking toward his car, a grocery bag trailing from your hand. Your bare legs tucked up on a sunlit balcony, coffee between your palms. You laughing, mouth open, head thrown back—smiling in a way you didn’t recognize, not because it was staged, but because it was real. Unaware. Unfiltered. Seen. You moved slowly, reverently. Your fingers hovering near the wall but never touching. Photos stitched into thick horizontal strips—moments strung together in time. You saw yourself sleeping in a hoodie you’d stolen from him. You saw yourself squinting in the mirror fixing your lip liner, Trent rolling his eyes at you. You saw yourself blurry and spinning in a club, your smile wild and wide. You saw yourself. The way he saw you. The girl behind the camera, now on display. Your throat burned.

"Trent," you whispered, barely audible. The sound like a prayer. Or maybe a gasp. But he didn’t speak yet. He only came up behind you, wordless, and wrapped his arms around your waist—slow and certain. His chest flush to your back, his chin resting gently on your shoulder, his scent curling into your lungs like something holy. Like rain on concrete, clean and warm and real. He let the silence hold for a moment longer, your breathing shaky against his ribs, your heart trying not to shatter from the weight of what this all meant.  His arms stayed around you like he wasn’t sure if the gravity in the room would hold you otherwise. His voice, when it came again, was low. Meant for only you.

“You’re always the one behind the camera,” he murmured, chin resting on your shoulder, his words soft like light spilling through curtains. “Always the one capturing everything and everyone else… but never really letting yourself be seen.” Your breath caught. “But I see you,” he whispered. “Lucky enough too.” His fingers gently tightened at your waist like he needed to ground you—to ground himself. “You’re in the front of every composition I carry with me. Even when you’re not in the frame… you’re there. In the way I think about light. In the way I notice beautiful things now. It’s all because of you.” You felt something in your chest ache. It was the kind of ache that came with being understood. Known. Warm. “I just wanted to try to give that back to you,” he said, voice almost breaking with how much he meant it. You turned your head slightly, just enough to feel the stubble of his jaw against your cheek. Your eyes blurred, your chest rising and falling far too fast. His next words barely a breath: “I wanted you to know you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.” A pause. “And I wanted you to see it, too. See what I see when I look at you.” A pause. A heartbeat. A pulse skipping through time. Then, whispered against the shell of your ear, soft and certain: “Happy birthday, baby.” You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. You ran your hands over his in a state of shock, letting the weight of love unspoken fold itself into the space between your ribcages. His arms locked tight around you as if he could hold you in this moment forever. And you? You let him. Because this wasn’t just a gallery. This was a heart—his heart—turned inside out, beating across the walls in silver and black and white. And he had given it to you.

—

You barely noticed the warmth of his chest pulling away until it was gone. Trent took a half-step back, and the absence of him made your breath catch in your throat. Like you were free-falling. Like your body didn’t know how to exist without the shelter of his. Instinctively, without thinking, your hands found his—pulling them gently back against your stomach, holding them there, holding him there, like a quiet plea. Don’t go. He looked at you then. Really looked. Something passed behind his eyes that made your skin prickle. You didn’t say a word—but he heard you all the same. There was just no way he was real. A soft, husky laugh fell from his lips, barely audible over the hum of the dim gallery.

“I still haven’t given you your presents yet,” he whispered, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “Can I get them?” He smirked softly. 

“This is a present, Trent.” You blinked up at him, dazed. Your voice cracked on it. Quiet. Fragile. Honest. “I don’t need anything else.” His smile faltered. His expression softened into something raw and unreadable, something close to adoration but heavier somehow. Like it hurt to feel this much. But he didn’t say anything—he just leaned in and kissed your temple, then let go. He disappeared for a moment into the room, and the silence that followed made the flowers seem louder, like they were rustling secrets between their petals. When he returned, he was holding two bags. The matte black ribbons danced as he walked toward you, and you nearly laughed because of course—Chanel. He set the first bag down on the nearby bench and knelt beside it, 

“Well c’mere. Come open this f’me.” He purred and so you did. You took the box from him with trembling hands, pulling the ribbon, undoing the tissue paper, opening the dust bag in what felt like slow motion until you pulled out a black purse [ref index.] It wasn’t a purse though. Not really. It looked like a quilted camera only Lagerfeld could come up with, glinting under the soft gallery lights.  “Little on the nose but made me think of you,” he said casually, his voice low and quiet, like he didn’t want to break the magic of the moment. You stared at it, at him, and giggled—lightheaded with disbelief. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything. This…” You gestured to the room, the flowers, the photos, him. “This is everything.” But he was already reaching into the same bag again. Another box. Your breath hitched. “T… Seriously, stop.” You cautioned him. It was too much. You didn’t need another gift. And certainly not anything that came in a smaller box with the bigger price tag you knew was coming inside of it. 

“If you don’t want to open it, I’ll do it for you.” He smirked, devastatingly, lethal, and like a punch to the stomach scarily reminiscent of the way his lips curled when you first met. And yet, he wasn’t the same. Not one bit. No, because he’d opened himself up to you in a way you couldn’t have ever imagined. And he was about to do it again. He opened the box slowly. Nestled in velvet, a delicate gold and diamond Coco Crush bracelet shimmered back at you. The diamonds catching the soft light. So small. So intentional. So achingly beautiful. Tears burned behind your eyes before you could stop them. You blinked, but they spilled anyway, slipping down your cheeks as you turned towards him, pouting in disbelief. You stared down at the bracelet—at the way the diamonds glimmered like they belonged against your skin, like they were always meant to catch the light there. You couldn’t speak. Not because you didn’t have words, but because you didn’t know where to begin. The ache in your chest swelled, not from sadness, but from the impossibility of it all—of being this seen, this known, this adored. Trent didn’t just get you things. He got you. He knew everything about you like it was a part of him. He noticed how you always reached for gold before silver. How you tucked your fingers under the strap of your camera bag when you were nervous. How you liked your things to be timeless but not boring.

“Thank you.” You whispered. But that didn’t feel like enough. So you said what was really sitting at the base of your throat. “No one’s ever made me feel the way you do,” you whispered again, but it didn’t sound the same this time. Your voice was waterlogged, thick with disbelief and devotion and something dangerously close to forever. He knew you. And something about that knowledge—not just the gallery, not just the flowers or the photos, but this—this material echo of being paid attention to—shattered you. Tears burned again. And this time, you didn’t blink them away. Because love like this didn’t arrive with fireworks. It came quiet. It came in details. It came in the things no one else ever saw, or if they did, didn’t care to remember. But Trent had remembered. He had remembered everything. Still, Trent just looked at you like he’d been waiting for this—for you to see yourself through his eyes. And then he pulled you in, pressing a kiss to your mouth so tender it made your knees wobble. He didn’t rush it. Didn’t deepen it. He just held you there like he couldn’t stand the thought of you floating away. Like if he kissed you carefully enough, maybe you’d believe it too. Soft. Slow. A kiss that tasted like every word neither of you had said out loud. His lips pressed against yours like a promise—like he couldn’t help himself.  When he finally pulled back, your lashes fluttered open just in time to feel the brush of his lips ghosting yours, his breath warm and steady against your face. His mouth barely against yours, breath warm and steady, tethering you there.

“I’ve got one more,” he whispered, the words slipping into the space between your lips like a secret too sacred for distance.  But even if he hadn’t said a thing more, you were already undone. Because he could’ve given you nothing but this room and that kiss and you'd still be certain of it—you were completely, devastatingly in love with him. And you had been.

—

You blinked, lashes sticky with tears as Trent reached for one last box. It wasn’t as glossy as the others—no Chanel ribbon, no tissue paper rustling like music. Just a small, matte black box, inconspicuous and simple. But something in your chest tightened the moment you saw it. Like your body already knew this one would wreck you because you recognized it. You knew what store used these boxes. Your fingers trembled as you peeled the lid back, breath snagging in your throat. Inside, nestled in soft velvet, sat a perfectly refurbished vintage Polaroid camera. Ivory cream with gold-rimmed buttons and the faintest marks of time on the body—like it had lived a life before this one, but was made to end up here, in your hands. You stared at it, eyes wide and glassy.

“I know you like your film cameras,” Trent started quietly, a hint of nervousness curled into the edge of his voice. “The ones that take their time. The ones that make you wait. But…” You looked up at him, and he was scratching the back of his neck like he hadn’t fully rehearsed this part. “I thought maybe… I just liked the idea of this one, that’s all. Because it prints instantly. And I dunno,” he chuckled, sheepish now, “sometimes it feels like every second you exist is something I wanna capture and print out right then and there. So I can tuck it away in my pocket.”  Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The tears slipped down your cheek. Trent saw them and laughed—soft and shy, a little helpless. “Baby,” he said gently, stepping forward to catch one with his thumb. “Didn’t mean to make you cry so much, beautiful.”  You shook your head, unable to stop the way your mouth quivered.  “It’s just…” he trailed off, gaze flicking around the gallery like he needed it to hold him steady. “Sometimes it feels like my brain’s this room. Full of you. All these images of you, just… popping up. Everywhere.” He looked back at you, voice lower now. “So I thought maybe having them print out might be nice. So you could see what I see, like this, real time.” You were already ruined. Already folding into yourself, undone by the way he said it. So casually, so earnestly. As if it wasn’t the most devastatingly romantic thing you’d ever heard. He lifted the camera carefully from its box and turned it over in his hands, adjusting the lens, checking the light.

“Gonna let me take one of you?” He softly smirked and you shook your head reluctantly. 

“Now?” You blinked. His eyes softened. 

“Yeah. Just like this.” And even though you felt messy and fragile and far too full of feeling to be seen—you nodded. Because if it was Trent behind the lens, you’d let him see anything. You stepped back, into the sea of camellias and film, and lifted your chin. He raised the camera, and something in the air shifted. The silence wrapped around you like silk. Through the viewfinder, Trent saw you in a way no one ever had. You weren’t just pretty. You weren’t just his. You were this living, breathing paradox—delicate and strong, composed and falling apart, glowing under gallery lights like you belonged somewhere like the Louvre, not in a moment with someone like him. Your cheeks flushed, your lips parted in a shy half-smile. Your hands fidgeted at your sides. And even in the quiet, you burned. Because no one had ever turned the camera on you before. Not like this. But he had. Again and again. You had spent a life behind the lens—chronicling others, finding beauty in the unnoticed, building a career on seeing what no one else could. But now? Now someone saw you. And it was Trent. The boy you met on a thoughtless holiday. The man who had waited. The one who somehow knew exactly how to love you—not in grand declarations or perfect timing—but in attention, in meaning, in seeing. He snapped the photo. The click echoed through the room like a secret. A soft whirr.  Then, like magic, the print slid out, slow and humming with heat. Trent caught it with a little grin, but then frowned, squinting at the grayish sheet in his hand.

“Oh—shit,” he muttered, pouting. “It’s gray or something. I messed it up, didn’t I?” You giggled—soft, breathy, still teary-eyed. 

“No, baby. Perfect. Just wait…,” you whispered, stepping closer. And as you said it, Trent exhaled because he’d wait a million years for you. “Even Polaroids take a minute. Gotta be patient.” You softly spoke, taking the image from him wafting it in the air in an effort to speed up time but all you wanted to do was pause it. He looked at you then, like maybe you hadn’t just been talking about film. And then the corners of his mouth lifted, slow and adoring as he took the photo back. He watched as the image bloomed between his fingers—your smile coming into focus, the glow of you framed in a gallery of yourself, surrounded by memories he had spent months collecting, curating, cherishing. A portrait of you in your element, yet finally, for once, inside the frame.

And then he handed it to you. But as you took it, you realized— it was thicker than one photo, there were two prints so you shifted the one on top. The photo of your reflection, reframed through love moved to the side. The second wasn’t an image. It was blank, entirely white except for a handwritten note scrawled carefully across it in Trent’s unmistakable script.

You read it once. Slow. Then again. Slower. And then the breath left your lungs.

I developed feelings for you faster than any photo ever could. But I know real things take time. You taught me that—just like you taught me film does. I’ll never rush you. I’d never want to rush this. I just need you to know that I’m patient. And I’ll be patiently, desperately in love with you… probably for the rest of my life. No matter how you feel or what you decide you feel. No matter how long it could take even if you never come to find me. I’ll be there. Loving you and waiting for you. Happy Birthday, baby.

Your Trent. 

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. Your fingers shook. The tears spilled before you even realized they were coming again, warm streaks cutting down your cheeks. Something inside you cracked wide open—something soft and aching that had tried so hard to stay guarded. Before you could speak—before you could even think—he stepped forward and gathered you into his arms. He didn’t think of how you’d react. He wasn’t prepared and yet he was still strong and gentle, the way only Trent could be. 

“Shhh,” he murmured, holding you close, one hand on your back, the other threading through your hair like he’d done it a thousand times in dreams. “Don’t have to say anything.” You sobbed softly into his chest. His hoodie smelled like clean cotton and a cologne that had long since started to feel like home. He held you tighter. His own vulnerability starting to leak out. “Just…” he paused, breath catching in a way that told you this was hard for him too. “Just think about it.” He leaned back enough to look at you—eyes searching yours, shining. “We’ve got time, baby,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “You’ve got time with me… always.” And that was the thing about Trent. He never asked you to fall, but he built the safest place for you to land.

–

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, still clinging to the last note of his voice. You’ve got time with me… always. Your fingers tightened just slightly over the fabric of his hoodie. His heartbeat was a steady thrum beneath your palms. Like he was reminding you he was here. Still here. Still yours, if you wanted him. The words sat behind your ribs, soft and pulsing like light through sheer fabric. But your body knew what to do—what it had always done with him. You looked up. Still trembling. Still clutching the two Polaroids like they were evidence of something you couldn’t name—but felt in every bone of your body. He was so close now. So warm. So real. His hands hadn’t left you, and yours hadn’t let go either. Your lashes fluttered. A tear caught on the corner of your mouth. You didn’t wipe it away. Neither did he. His lashes were damp. Whether from the rain or something else, you couldn’t tell. He was close enough that you could count the freckles dusting under his eye. Close enough to see the pulse ticking faintly in his neck. Close enough to fall, if you hadn’t already. And then—slowly—you lifted your hand to his jaw. Your thumb brushed over the corner of his mouth, soft and trembling. A reverent kind of touch. The kind that says I see you. I know you. I’ve always loved you, I think. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just let you study him, like you were the one holding the camera now—framing him in your mind’s eye, etching this version of him into memory: eyes full of hope, a little heartbreak, and every quiet promise a heart can make. And then, with a breath that sounded almost like a prayer, you kissed him, slowly, so slowly, your lips grazed his. Barely a whisper of contact. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a surrender. And it broke him.

You tilted your head and pressed your lips to his like it was the only way to say everything you never could out loud. It was soft, at first. Barely there. But he understood. His hands came to your waist. Yours slid into his hair. And the kiss deepened, not with urgency, but with knowing—like you’d both finally arrived at the truth you’d been circling. He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours between breaths. His nose brushed yours. He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a year. Like every second since LA, he’d been praying for this moment without ever daring to believe it would come. His hand came up to your face, fingers feather-light at your jaw, thumb catching the tear that had spilled but hadn’t fallen. His eyes never left yours. Not even when his mouth finally—finally—met yours in full. It was so gentle. So reverent. Like he was kissing you in prayer. Like your mouth was something sacred. You melted into it, melted into him, into the warm press of his chest, the protective cradle of his arms, the soft groan he gave when your fingers fisted in the back of his shirt like you needed him to stay anchored to you forever. He didn’t rush it. Because this wasn’t about hunger. It wasn’t about want. It was about love. And Trent Alexander-Arnold kissed you like a man who had fallen quietly, fully, and undeniably in love. The kind that lingers. The kind that doesn’t ask for anything in return, but hopes. When he finally pulled back, he didn’t move far. Just rested his forehead against yours again, eyes shut, both of you breathing like you’d survived something. Maybe you had. Maybe he didn’t. You didn’t say anything. The kiss had spoken for you. And in the hush of that gallery—surrounded by white camellias, memories printed in silver halide and heartache, soft light spilling in from the overcast sky—it was enough. You were enough. And he was still holding you like he always would be.

—

You stayed like that for a while. His arms wrapped around you. Your hands tangled in the cotton at the base of his neck. The kiss still blooming between your mouths like something sacred. Something neither of you wanted to disturb. But eventually, reality crept in—the kind that doesn't slam, but taps. The kind that reminds you how fragile it is to feel this much. You pulled back just an inch. His face stayed close. Still searching. Still open. And your lips parted, trembling slightly with the weight of something trying to escape.

 “I…” your voice cracked on the vowel, barely audible. You blinked hard.  “I—” again, softer. Helpless. His brows knit, worry folding across his forehead. But he didn’t speak. Didn’t rush you. “I’m scared,” you breathed. The words slipped out like confession, like surrender. “I’m so scared, Trent.” It wasn’t fair—the way his expression fractured. His entire face falling into something so visibly gutted, it felt like the floor cracked beneath you. Like your fear had hurt him more than silence ever could. His throat bobbed. His hands didn’t leave your body. But he was still. His mouth parted like he wanted to say something, anything—but he didn’t. And you couldn’t take it. Couldn’t bear the pain you saw in the softness of his eyes. So you leaned forward again, holding his face between your palms, and pressed your forehead to his. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice already wet with tears. “Thank you, baby.” And that wrecked him. His eyes squeezed shut. His shoulders curled toward you like you were gravity and sanctuary all at once. Like your thank you had sealed something inside him that had been breaking open for too long. He didn’t kiss you again right away. He just held you tighter, like your body could hear the words he still couldn’t speak. Like his touch could tell you what his heart had been screaming for months: That he loved you more than anything. That he would wait forever. That even if your fear never left, he never would either.

“I’m here,” he murmured eventually, voice cracked and low against your temple. “No matter what, I’m here.” And for the first time in so long, you let yourself believe it. The rain kept falling outside. The lights dimmed to gold. And in the gallery filled with memories of you, you let him make another one—this one quiet and unfolding and true.

—

The car ride was gentle. Trent had his hand on your thigh, thumb brushing in slow, lazy arcs across your jeans, but he was quiet. Thoughtful. Like he was trying to tuck his heart back into his chest before you noticed it had fallen out entirely. He told you you didn’t have to say anything but he wished you did. He wanted you to. He prayed you would. He gave you everything. He gave you himself and still those words he wanted so badly didn’t come from your lips. You leaned into the silence, your head resting against the window, the sky still swollen with rainclouds and streaks of fading sun. Everything glowed in that melancholic blur that follows crying—the world looking softer, more vulnerable, like you. When you arrived at Leon and Foster’s, the door flew open with warmth. Music spilled into the driveway. So did laughter, a blur of hugs and excitment.

“Happy Birthday, babe!!” Campbell was already dragging you inside with a glass of champagne that had a little pink bow tied to the stem. It should’ve felt perfect. And in some ways, it did. The house smelled like vanilla and candle wax and fresh flowers. Foster had cooked her famous lemon garlic pasta. There were balloons strung across the dining room with polaroids of you and your friends clipped to a ribbon between them. 

“Birthday girl!” Leon came over, arms wide and dimple deep as he kissed your cheek and shouted. But underneath the laughter, something lingered. A thrum just beneath your skin. Trent stayed close the whole time. His touch never far—brushing your waist as he passed behind you, refilling your drink without asking, his hand warm on the small of your back when someone got too close. And when Campbell turned the lights low and called everyone into the kitchen for cake, he pulled you back against him with a low murmur of your name.

You tried to laugh, the sound came out it did—giddy with champagne and all the love in the room—as they carried out the cake but in a way it hurt. A soft chocolate sponge with whipped icing, a single sparkler flaring on top and golden candles flickering beneath. And Trent was behind you. Chest to your back. One arm slid low around your waist, the other braced on the countertop beside you, caging you in like instinct. Like he couldn’t help it. Like he didn’t want to let go—not even for this. Not even if you didn’t love him back.  You felt his breath on your shoulder. Quiet. Heavy. The kind of exhale that carries more than air. Everyone sang. You smiled so hard it almost hurt, cheeks flushed and heart fluttering—but it was there. That ache. That hum in your bones that something was missing, even as you were surrounded by everything. You closed your eyes. Took a breath. Made a wish. And as you blew out the candles, Trent did too—behind you, unseen. His chest rising with yours, his breath leaving him slow and almost trembling.

He didn’t say what he wished for. He never would. But he didn’t need to. Because as the candlelight snuffed out and the kitchen burst into cheers, he looked at the back of your head with the kind of ache that only love can create. He wished for you to love him someday. And even if you never did—not the way he loved you—he’d still be here. Still close. Maybe still wishing.

—

[Party 4 U - Charli XCX]

Campbell had waited all night for a quiet second with him. The moment she saw Trent alone, rinsing a glass under the kitchen tap like he needed something to focus on besides the heaviness in his own chest, she tugged him by the wrist down the hallway.

“Okay, okay—but wait,” Campbell hissed, grabbing Trent’s wrist with a bounce in her step, her glossy lip gloss catching the twinkle lights overhead. “You have to tell me what she said. About the gallery. About the flowers. About the bracelet, Trent, please.” She practically dragged him through the hallway, giddy and glowing, already preparing her emotional reaction like she hadn’t cried three times setting up the exhibit with him. Her voice was all sparkle and hope, eyes shining with the glow of someone who believed in grand gestures and earned love. She’d helped him plan it for weeks, seen the way his hands shook opening the box of prints, how he ran his thumb over the bracelet like it was too delicate to touch. She knew how much he cared. How deeply he wanted you to feel seen. But when Trent turned, his expression didn’t match hers. His lips were tight. Pained. Like they were trying to survive having touched yours. So when he didn’t smile back— When his lips didn’t quirk, didn’t even twitch— So un-Trent. Campbell’s heart and stomach dropped. “What?” she whispered, the light dimming in her eyes. He shrugged. A slow, defeated little rise and fall of his shoulders that felt like watching a tide go out for the last time.

“It didn’t happen, Cam.” Trent looked at her like he’d lost something. No, someone. His voice was soft. Almost apologetic. “It just didn’t happen.”

“What do you mean it didn’t happen? You didn’t say—?” Her brow knit. 

“I said it,” Trent said softly. “I just… I don’t think she feels that way. I misread the whole thing. She doesn’t want it. And I wasn’t gonna ask her to be something she doesn’t want after that.” His voice was raw. Like he’d scraped it across gravel just to get the words out. It shattered something in Campbell.

“T, come on.” She blinked. 

“I said it.” He swallowed, eyes fixed somewhere just past her. “Told her I loved her. Meant every word of it.”

“Okay…” Campbell’s chest was tight now, a slow pressure building like rising water.

“She didn’t say it back.” The silence that followed felt louder than the party still humming down the hall.

“No,” she said too fast, shaking her head. “No, Trent, she—she does. You know she does.”

“Cam.” He gave her a look—tired, a little broken. “Please don’t. Don’t try to convince me.”

“I’m not—I’m not convincing anyone. I just—she probably just got scared, you know? She’s just—” She panicked, heartbroken, confused, unable to articulate something that made no sense. 

“She shouldn’t need to be convinced to love me,” he said, gentle but resolute. “That’s not how it should work.” Campbell stared at him, her jaw slack with disbelief. 

“Trent… no. She does—she just—she probably froze. You know how she gets when she’s scared.” He shook his head, gently, like the movement itself hurt.

“Don’t.” His voice cracked. “Don’t try to explain it away. Don’t make it easier for me.”

“Then let me talk to her.” She offered. 

“I don’t want you to.” He looked her in the eye for the first time. “I love her. She doesn’t love me. No one should have to be convinced to love me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Campbell winced. 

“I know,” he murmured. “But it’s how it feels.” His throat worked as he swallowed again, emotion lodged like gravel. “She doesn’t owe me anything,” he added, voice barely audible over the bass down the hall. “I just needed her to know. And now she does. It’s not her problem.”

“Yeah but you’re still in love with her though.” Trent gave a short breath of a laugh. 

“My heart’s hers, Cam. Whether she wants it or not. She knows that… but it wasn’t enough. The gallery. The gifts. The words. The kisses. Me.” She felt sick. Sick for him. For you. For the night that should’ve ended in joy but now glinted like broken glass in the dim. Campbell’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. Trent looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter. I meant what I said. My feelings aren’t going anywhere. She doesn’t have to love me back. It’s not her fault. My heart’s hers either way.” And that was it. He walked away, and Campbell stood frozen, her own throat tightening. And then, just like that, the hallway disappeared. The music surged back to life, voices rose in chorus, the pulse of the party beating against the bones of the house. People laughed and swayed and toasted into the night like nothing had cracked open in the quietest corridor. But Campbell saw everything. She watched as Trent leaned against the kitchen island, one hand braced as if to keep himself from falling, shoulder slumped, gaze pulled magnetically to where you stood across the room in a pool of warm light. You were radiant—bathed in candle glow and soft laughter, wine glass in hand, your smile blooming wide at something Delaney said. Trent stared like he’d never seen something so painful and beautiful in his life. He smiled hearing you. It was quiet and pained—barely-there—but it was real. He looked like someone who’d been punched in the chest and asked for another. 

You turned slightly, catching him watching, and he straightened like he hadn’t been caught. You didn’t say anything. But then you moved closer. You slid between him and the counter, his hands instinctively landing at your hips—like he didn’t need permission. Like muscle memory. Like the place he was always supposed to be. Glasses clinked. Laughter roared from the other room, but everything slowed—like a movie reel skipping frames—as Campbell followed the flicker of you and him through the crowd.  You reached behind him, dipped your pinky finger in the frosting on the cake still resting nearby, and smudged it on the tip of his nose with a smirk. His lashes fluttered, mouth twitching into the faintest smile.  And when you softly giggled, carefree and melodic— Trent blinked. He closed his eyes tighter this time. Just for a heartbeat. You laughed and it hurt. But he’d pretend he was breaking inside for you.  Because even the sound of your laughter was enough to bring him to his knees. Just for a heartbeat. Just to feel what it was like to stand inside the sound of your happiness. Even if it wasn’t love. 

—

Later, when the party mellowed into golden haze, you found your way to him again. Settling into the space of his body like you were made for it. Your knees slung over his lap, head tucked beneath his chin, your hand curled around the fabric of his shirt like a tether like the most natural thing in the world listening to Leon and Foster tell a story simultaneously, cutting each other off with eagerness and laughter. And Trent held you close, fingers drawing shapes along your arm. From far away, it looked perfect… It looked like love. But Campbell saw it. Saw him blink a few times too hard. Saw the way his hand faltered for half a second on your shoulder. She followed the flick of his gaze to the edge of the counter, where your bag sat open and the corner of a polaroid peeked out—his handwriting barely visible in the low light. How he held you like he’d already lost you. How he never stopped looking at you like you were celestial—like your very existence hurt and healed him at once. He hadn’t stopped looking at you all night. Hadn’t stopped loving you since he met you. Like you were the moon and he was just a boy on earth, aching to understand how something so far away could still pull his whole tide. And as the party carried on—people dancing, drinking, slipping into that glittery blur of celebration—Campbell watched a boy bleed quietly in a room filled with candles and cake and the girl he’d never stop waiting to love him back.

—

The night had turned syrupy and slow, humming with the kind of warmth only good friends and red wine could summon. Laughter lilted low from the other room, blurred with the soft echo of music and the occasional clink of a glass. Your limbs were loose, your heart full—buzzing with the love that surrounded you, but aching quietly with the one you hadn’t let yourself say. Trent. Your Trent. You could feel him like gravity all night. Always in your periphery. Always nearby, and still—somehow—not close enough. And maybe it wasn’t fair. He’d done so much. Given so much. That gallery. The photos. The note he’d handwritten, more vulnerable than anything he’d ever said out loud. He’d told you he loved you. And you hadn’t said it back.

But the ache of that moment, the tremble it left in your chest, was beginning to dissolve in the heat of wine and the softness of celebration. You were full of sugar and nostalgia, of the sweetness of candles and cake—but more than anything, you were filled with need. The kind that pulled your body forward before your mind had caught up. You found him mid-conversation, half-laughing with Kieren, that same low-lidded grin he always wore when he was a few drinks in. His head tipped back, smile lazy, bicep flexing where he gripped a glass. You reached for that arm without thinking, curling your fingers gently around it.

“Can you come with me?” you whispered, voice soft and shy but lit with something slow-burning. Trent turned to you instantly, smile melting into something far softer, far more undone. He didn’t answer, just nodded once, setting the glass down and following you without a word. Not even a glance back to Kieren.

“You alright, birthday girl?” he asked, voice lower now—cooing, intimate. Charming even when he was breaking.  You turned as you walked backwards, hands still wrapped in his. 

“Mhm,” you murmured, biting your lip, unable to look at him too long without your stomach twisting. There it was. That flare of something too close to love in your eyes. And Trent saw it. God, he felt it. He followed you into the next room—one of the guest bedrooms left untouched by the party. The door clicked shut behind him with a low finality, muting the world in one soft swoop. And then it was just you. You, standing inches away. Your eyes wide, glazed with wine and something else—something real. You stepped closer, your hands finding the edge of his shirt, smoothing it down like you needed the contact to steady your nerves.

“Thank you for tonight,” you whispered, voice velvet.

“’Course, beautiful.” Trent smiled, lazy and wrecked by the sight of you. Like he didn’t even care you hurt him if it meant he got you alone. Like he was lucky to be the one you were breaking. His hands found your hips like they always did, like they were made for it. He tugged you flush against him, his palms warm and large as they settled, anchoring you to him. But his chest was beating fast. You felt it. You felt everything.

“Can I have one more birthday present?” you asked suddenly, your breath catching just slightly at the end. Greedy. Unfair and greedy. Trent’s eyes flickered down to your lips. His grip tightened.

“Anything you want, baby,” he murmured, his voice a rough prayer. His thumbs brushed slow over the curve of your ass, his whole body aching, desperate. In his mind, he was screaming. Please say you love me. Please say it back. You swallowed hard.

“Can I have another kiss?” Your voice was barely a sound, your request so tender it felt like it would break in the air if he didn’t catch it fast enough. “Just for my birthday,” you added quickly, cheeks flushing. You were scared he’d say no. Scared he’d finally stop giving and start protecting his own heart. Trent stilled. His hand slid up, gentle, holding your neck with a reverence that made your knees weak. Who was he to deprive you, deprive himself. His forehead met yours, breath brushing over your lips, his eyes heavy with a thousand things unsaid.

“For your birthday…” he whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “For you… forever, baby.” And then he kissed you. Slow. Devastating. Sacred. His mouth moved over yours with the kind of tenderness that made your chest ache—like he was spelling I love you with every pass of his lips, like he was trying to breathe the words into your skin. You whimpered softly into him, arms winding around his neck as your body melted, your hands grabbing at his curls, his shirt, anything to bring him closer. You kissed like you needed him to keep you from falling apart. He kissed like he’d been holding this in for years. It was messy and perfect, too much and not enough. The kind of kiss that made time irrelevant. That turned the air to gold. That whispered I love you even when you still weren’t ready to say it. But your body told the truth. Your mouth did. And Trent felt you unraveling for him. Because of him. With him. And he let you. Even if it wasn’t the words he was waiting for.

The kiss deepened, slow and hungry, like you’d both been starving for each other in silence. Trent’s hands slid up beneath the hem of your top, splaying across your bare back like he needed to memorize every inch of you—like he’d forget how to breathe if he didn’t touch skin. And you let him. Let him press you close, let him taste the truth from your mouth because even if your lips wouldn’t say I love you, they sure as hell felt like they did. You kissed him like he was home. You kissed him like you’d never been kissed by anyone else. Like the past didn’t exist and the fear that’d been holding you back was folding into this moment, this reckless, raw need to just feel something true. Trent groaned softly into your mouth, thumb tracing slow along your spine. He was pouring himself into it. Every ounce of love. Every second of missing you. Every imagined future he kept tucked behind his ribs. And you could feel it. He kissed you like he loved you. And you kissed him right back like you loved him too. Because you did. You did. But the words— They wouldn’t come. Why wouldn’t they fucking come out? They caught in your throat like a scream. Trapped and trembling and terrified. Because saying them meant changing everything. Meant trusting that if you gave him your heart, he wouldn’t run. That he wouldn’t break it. That maybe you wouldn’t. So instead, you kissed him harder. Clutched at him like he was the only thing tethering you to earth, fingers fisting in the soft fabric of his tee. Your mouths moved like they were trying to speak in touches, in sighs, in the slide of lips and breathless gasps. You didn’t realize the tear had fallen until it slid warm and slow down your cheek. Until Trent pulled back just enough to see it. His brows furrowed. A soft, broken sound left his throat—like something inside him cracked.

“Baby…” he whispered, voice wrecked and shaking. His thumb brushed the tear away so gently it made your heart ache. You gasped—just slightly—your breath hitching as your chest caved in on itself. You could feel it. You were hurting him. The silence between your kiss and your truth was killing him inch by inch. “Please, baby…” he said again, barely a sound, like it cost him something just to say it. And you knew what he meant. Please don’t cry. Please tell me I’m not alone in this. Please say it back. Please love me. But you didn’t. You just surged forward again, mouth colliding with his in a desperate blur, needing to feel the thing you couldn’t say. Needing him close because close was safer than honesty. He kissed you back instantly, hands fierce and trembling, dragging your body into his like he wanted to disappear inside you. Like maybe if he held you hard enough, the words might come. That maybe your love would spill out without you even realizing. But it didn’t. Only the kiss. Only this. And it was beautiful. It was bruising. It was everything. But the silence? The silence was killing him. 

—

The bedroom was dim, golden light seeping through gauzy curtains, the music from the other room a muffled pulse behind thick walls. It smelled like something sweet, something warm. A contrast to the party outside, which pulsed with bodies and bass and artificial joy. Here, it was just the two of you. You were warm with champagne and attention, cheeks flushed from being celebrated, but none of it touched the place inside you that only he could reach. Trent kissed you like he always did—like he knew you down to the marrow. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth again, just in case it was the last time. Your hands were in his curls, his were anchored on your hips, and every slow press of his lips said what you both kept swallowing.  Slow. Searching. Starving. It was your birthday. But it felt like he was the one falling apart from it. You wouldn’t say it. And that’s what broke him. Because he did love you. Had for ages. Loved you through silence, through anger, through touch. And still—still—you wouldn’t let the words out. Wouldn’t free him.  His mouth moved against yours with the reverence of someone memorizing the taste of something he thought he might never get again. And maybe he wouldn’t. That was the cruelty of it—you, so close, pressed into every inch of him, and still somehow miles away. And Trent could feel it—fuck, he could feel it. In the way you clung to him like you were afraid to fall, but wouldn’t say why. In the way your hands were trembling where they rested at his jaw, thumbs brushing his cheeks, tender like you loved him—but never saying it. His heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest. Because every kiss from you felt like a promise, but every silence was a betrayal. He couldn’t do it. Not tonight. Not when he knew—knew—that he’d give you every part of himself and you’d still be holding something back. He pulled away. Not far, just enough for the air to stretch thin between you. His lips were parted, raw, kiss-bitten. His eyes full of something he hadn’t let you see before—hurt. Real, sharp, undiluted. His breath shaky, like the distance physically hurt. You leaned into him like a reflex, nuzzling into the curve of his neck like you hadn’t even noticed he’d retreated. And that hurt worse. That you didn’t feel the shift, soft and thoughtless and it made his heart ache sharper but you had. 

“Come on, birthday girl…” he tried, voice barely steady. “Gotta get you back.”  He made it sound teasing. He tried for cheeky. Tried to be the version of himself you liked best—easy, light, charming. But his voice cracked halfway through, and his hands—traitorous hands—were already sliding up your spine like they missed you. Your nose skimmed the sensitive skin beneath his ear, your breath warm there, making his eyelids flutter shut.

“MmNm,” you hummed into him, drunk on closeness. He hated how much he loved the way you said no. How you always said it like yes. Your nose buried in the warm column of his throat. You didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to be seen by anyone but him. Didn’t want to be reminded that the rest of the world still existed when this was happening. Whatever this was.

“They wanna see you.” His voice was hoarse, weighted, control unraveling by the second. His arms had gone soft around you again, unwilling to let go. “Can’t keep you all to myself.” God, how he wanted to though.His fingers were curling at your waist again, pulling you in, palms splayed wide like he wanted to hold all of you at once. 

“I just wanna see you though,” you whispered, pulling back, just enough to look at him. The shift was seismic. 

A thud—silent but heavy—landed in the room between you. It was the weight of everything unspoken. Of your eyes meeting his and holding, glassy with unshed meaning. Of all the things you wouldn’t say but he could feel blooming between your ribs.His jaw ticked. His eyes narrowed—not with anger, but with effort. With restraint. Willing himself not to give in to the hope that shimmered in your gaze. Why couldn’t you just say it? Why couldn’t you love him out loud? Still… still… he softened. Trent’s breath stilled. Your eyes—wide, glassy, smudged with makeup and meaning—were staring straight into his. There was so much in them. All that unspoken affection and fear and longing. It hit him in the chest like a punch. You weren’t trying to hurt him. But you were. Because he could see it—right there—and still held back. You were holding it hostage behind your teeth. He tried not to show how badly it broke him. His eyes narrowed slightly, jaw clenched—not with anger, but with effort. With restraint. Willing himself not to give in to the hope that shimmered in your gaze. A quiet fight. Heart vs. pride.

“You’ll see me,” he managed, voice softer now, sadder. “I’ll be right there. Keep my eyes on you the whole time.” Your fingertips trailed up his chest, slow and deliberate. You leaned in again, brushing your body against his, voice a whisper of silk and smoke. It wasn’t fair. Using physicality to mask something so emotional. 

“And your hands?” you asked, laced in velvet and sin.  He exhaled hard, breath catching on a groan and a grin.

“Yeah… can do that too.” His hands found the small of your back. Warm, familiar. Home. Greedy in his own right. “How about I keep ’em right here?”

“Lower,” you whispered, and your eyes were liquid now. All innocence and desire and heartbreak. You said it like it hurt to ask, breathless, eyes wide and pleading like it hurt you not to be touched the way you needed. He stared at you, chest rising and falling too fast, lips parted, utterly undone. 

“Little lower, huh?” You didn’t wait. You moved his hands yourself, dragging them down until they cupped your ass. His fingers flexed instinctively. You could feel how hard he was against you. How much he still wanted you. Despite everything.

“T…” you whispered, like you were asking for something and apologizing for it all at once.

“Mm.” His eyes fluttered closed. A tremor ran through him.

“When the party’s over…” Your voice cracked. You were shaking, just slightly. “I want to tell you something.” you whispered, and the way you said it—it didn’t sound casual. It sounded like you were about to change the weather in his chest. The room went still. Trent’s eyes snapped open, searching yours. His hands on your body stilled, his heart stopped. The possibility of it—the thing he had dreamed about, begged for in silence—hovered between you, terrifying and magnetic. He didn’t say anything but his heart slammed into his ribs. He just held you tighter. God, please. Like maybe this time, you’d be real. “And after…” your voice was thinner now, tremulous, “I want you to lay me down. I want you to take off all my clothes. I want you to do whatever you want.” Your lips brushed his with the lightest tease. Not a kiss. A promise. A prayer. He nearly crumbled. Trent’s hands tightened on you. His breath hitched. Jesus Christ.

“Sure it’s not my birthday?” he rasped, voice breaking on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. A boyish lilt, one last defense before he caved completely. You shook your head, so slowly. His hands tightened where they rested. Possessive. Careful. He didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do here. Lead with his heart, and risk it shattering again? Or stay quiet and let this moment pass him by?

“Alright… Whatever you wish for,” he said, the words a benediction against your lips.

“Need,” you breathed, correcting him, eyes so full of him it made his knees weak. His smirk faltered, jaw tensing, reverence sliding in. 

“Yeah… you need me.” He doubled down because no matter how much it hurt inside his chest, outside his body was purring for yours. 

“Need you,” you whispered an echo. This time when you kissed him, it was trembling, soft but urgent, like you were begging him not to give up on you before you were brave enough to give him everything.  And he kissed you back like a dying man taking one last breath. Because maybe—just maybe—after the party, you’d finally say it. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to bring him back to life. He didn’t know whether to let go or hold on for dear life. Because somewhere between love and lust and longing, he was losing his grip—and all you had to offer him was a maybe.

—-

[Answering Machine - Ruby Haunt]

The party didn’t end all at once. It leaked, like something punctured. Like a slow deflation. One by one, the bodies slipped out of the house in a trail of perfume and aftershave and laughter grown too tired to last. The music was still playing—muffled now, barely there, more background than beat. Empty glasses littered the countertops, glitter stuck to the tiles. The house had the scent of friends and champagne and over-perfumed hugs goodbye. And with every guest that left, it was like the air changed. The silence crept in like a tide. And with it… the words. Those words. They crept up the back of your throat, tentative and heavy, sticky with fear. Each footstep toward the door—each final wave, each echo of ‘happy birthday’ slurred with Moët—seemed to carve the path clearer.

Campbell was on the couch, curled beneath a throw blanket, watching it all unfold with a look that could only be described as exhausted dread. Like she was witnessing the tail-end of a love story she knew was either about to blossom or explode. Her eyes flicked between you and Trent as he trailed behind you like a shadow, soft and loyal and helpless. And she knew—she knew—that this was gonna end in tears no matter how good it felt in the moment, she just wasn’t sure who’s they’d be. You glanced at her. She raised her brows. You looked away. Back to him. He was slouched in the doorway now, shirt wrinkled, smile a little messier than the beginning of the night. Eyes never leaving you as promised. The soft amber light from the kitchen hit the sharp edges of his cheekbones and made him look too beautiful to be real. And maybe that was the whole problem. Because Trent looked at you like you were already his. And you knew you’d never stop wanting him. But wanting wasn’t the same as saying it. Not when love meant ruin. Not when love meant no take-backs.

“You ready?” he asked quietly, voice coarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. You nodded. Didn’t move. He pushed off the doorway, came to stand in front of you. The energy between you pulled taut like thread. His body grazed yours. You exhaled.  You pressed your palm to his chest and felt the thud of his heart—fast, unsteady, too big for his body. 

“Can I still sleep with you?”  The words came out trembling. A question soaked in guilt and need. Your voice was soft, scared. Begging for him to not make you do this. You tried to convince yourself you wanted him to reject you so you didn’t have to confront your fears but Trent didn’t want that. He wanted this and he knew you did too. So he exhaled looking down at you, startled by the simplicity of it. By the sadness tucked into the way you phrased it like a question. Like you didn’t know if you’d crossed the line. Like touching him meant something else now—something more dangerous.

“Baby, you know I’ll never say no to you.” His answer was breathless. Immediate. That was the problem. You both knew it. His lips twitched at the corner, not quite a smile, but something softer. His eyes flicked across your face, studying you like he could read the confession on your skin before you ever spoke it aloud. Campbell sat up behind you. Her expression was tight. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. You could feel her thoughts echoing in your chest like a second heartbeat.

Say it. Or let him go.

But you didn’t say it. Not yet. Instead, you let Trent take your hand. You let him lead you upstairs. The hallway was quieter than it had any right to be. Your fingers intertwined, warm and steady, and he didn’t speak—just kept glancing over at you like he was waiting for you to speak first. You passed Kieren asleep on the sofa, Leon and Foster curled together on a chair for one, Delaney’s heels kicked off in the hallway. And when he finally opened a bedroom door, the air inside was cooler than before. Quieter. Like even the walls knew what was coming. He let go of your hand only to touch your back, gently guiding you in. Then the door shut behind you with a softness that betrayed the weight of what was about to happen. That borrowed room felt like limbo. Not yours. Not his. A purgatory made of crisp sheets and white walls that didn’t hold your history. A single bedside lamp cast a golden glow, too warm and too cruel—highlighting your faces like a painting neither of you felt brave enough to finish. You turned. Your chest rose and fell too fast. He didn’t touch you. He waited. Waited for you to speak. Waited for the slow leak to finally rupture. Waited for the thing he knew he wanted to hear, but his pride wouldn’t dare let him beg for.

•

Thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 19 - Still

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[alexthebordercollie]

Ford's autism

K so I don't think I need to defend the interpretation Ford is on the spectrum. People make jokes about him being autistic all the time. We all see it. What I want to do here is sort of connect together some character details and examine them through the lense of my own autistic experiences.

I wanna start with his hands. It's an observation I've seen from multiple people that Ford is insecure about his hands and often hides them behind his back or in his pockets. And yeah, he is obviously insecure about them. He even mentions his six fingers at times when they aren't really relevant to anything. It just showcases the space this physical deviation of his takes up in his mind. And yes, it makes sense that he's insecure about them because he was bullied for them growing up. I want to add to this observation.

Ford would have been bullied regardless.

The problem was never really his hands. When you're on the spectrum people around you can tell that you're weird. Uncanny. Something is different and feels wrong about you to NT people, especially kids. They will pick any shallow superficial thing they can find as an excuse to bully you and justify the sense of revulsion they feel around you but can't articulate. If Ford had been born with normal hands they just would have made fun of him for something else, it would have been his glasses, or the movies he liked, or hell maybe some good old-fashioned antisemitism. Literally, any excuse they could find.

I know growing up I tried for years to change the things about me that I was made fun of for and it never made things any better. The bullying never stopped. "Fixing" things about myself didn't work because the thing that was actually "broken" was something fundamental to who I am. That realization as a kid was soul-crushing. That there was nothing I could do that would ever make me "normal", that would ever make people like me. I felt like an alien born on the wrong planet.

Ford continues to latch onto his hands as a sore spot because they're something simple and obvious he can point to as an excuse for why he's so outcast. He probably knows by this point that the hands aren't actually the problem. I'd argue this journal entry and his comment about "another failed social interaction" shows that he's aware his hands aren't actually the problem. But, it is a lot easier to fixate on those than to dwell directly on that sinking feeling that at the core of you're being you are fundamentally weird, wrong, unlovable. Ford's a genius. If his polydactyly bothered him that much he could have removed the extra digits. The hands aren't the problem, they're a symbol of a more fundamental kind of pain.

Looking at it through this context also makes the gloves Fiddleford gives him an extra sweet gift given what they represent. A kind of wholehearted acceptance of who Ford is and even a willingness to adapt to his unique needs just to show him love and affection. I think something that hurts me so much about their relationship is that Ford had someone who very clearly loved him as is and would have never wanted him to be someone or something else, and Ford was too stubborn to fully appreciate that.

The same is true of Stanely by the by. He never had a problem with his brother being weird. Another relationship with someone who loved Ford as is but who Ford took for granted. He needs these kinds of relationships in his life. People who embrace and accept him for the weirdo he is. He needs them desperately, which gets me to my next point.

Ford's ego. So it's also a common observation that Ford has a massive ego. He's kind of an ass, to put it mildly. But I have had someone in conversation frame it like the pressure to prove themselves was just on Stanley and Ford just spent his whole life being hyped up and told he was hot shit. This isn't true, or at least it's a flattening of his experiences.

Ford was praised for his genius. This is true. But his own father only gave a shit when said genius showed signs of netting material gains for the family. It only mattered cause Ford could be useful. Furthermore, this genius never netted him social acceptance from his peers growing up. He was still a bullied, weirdo, loser most of his childhood. Add that seeing Stanley kicked out would have drilled into Ford's head that if he couldn't make something out of himself his family wouldn't want him either. Stan was an unspoken threat of what this family does to failures.

Gonna bring up my own personal experiences again. Having set the stage for how it feels growing up on the spectrum. That feeling of alienness that you can't really explain. I loved to write and draw from a very young age. Moreover, as I got older I realized that when I drew, people were nice to me. The only time I got social acceptance was when people were admiring or praising me for my art. So I did it more and more, I devoted myself feverishly to my art. I loved it anyway and would have hyper-fixated on it regardless but the positive reinforcement turned art from something I loved to a need. I NEEDED to be an artist. I needed to be the best at my school. I needed all eyes on my work because it was the only way I could make friends. The only way I could prove that I had value. That I deserved a place in society.

I see that in Ford. I see his ego not as shallow narcissism but as an overwhelming need to prove his value as a person. To be loved and accepted and believing that no one will want him if he isn't brilliant. If he doesn't change the world. If he isn't useful. This is also why he couldn't bring himself to destroy his research even knowing it was the safest and most responsible option. Burning down everything he worked for would mean finally giving up on the fantasy of ever being accepted or valuable.

The sad thing is he's so single-mindedly fixated on this personal goal of proving his worth to the world that when people do come along that love him unconditionally he takes them for granted. These people are statistical anomalies in his life. Nice to have around, but not enough to fix the bigger problem. They aren't reflective of society at large. They aren't enough to prove that he, personally, is loveable. Just that on occasion he meets another weirdo. For a while it's nice. Like a campfire in a barren tundra. But he has to keep moving, he can't stay. Warmer lands are ahead if he can just get to them. If he can just keep moving.

This also is why Ford was so susceptible to Bill. Bill told Ford what he wanted to hear. That he was destined for greatness. That, the fundamental wrongness he felt all his life was something incredible other people just couldn't see. Bill promised Ford exactly what he wanted, but not what he actually needed. Ford never needed the world at large to accept him. He just needed a few good people.

I also think his chemistry with Bill was connected to his autistic experiences as well. Bill is literally an alien. There's no pressure to mask around him. To try and "act normal". Ford can just be himself with Bill and not have to think about it. And sure, he could be himself around Fiddleford, but Fidds is still human. The anxieties of human social expectations are still present. Like when Fidds get him a gift for the holidays and Ford feels a bit guilty that it didn't even occur to him to do the same. He doesn't have to think about these social nuances with Bill.

That said I'm sure Bill isn't what his world would have considered neurotypical anyway. Not that Ford would know that. But Bill was also a strange freak in his own society. Just as outcast, possibly more so. I think Bill sees a bit of his own experiences reflected in Ford. I think he relates to him on a level. Not that he would ever admit it outright due to his own ego. I think Bill's fixation on him after the breakup also stems from Ford rejecting the path that Bill chose for himself. Bill still lives with some sort of deeply repressed guilt for what he did. Imagine how validating it would have been to see someone else like him burn their own world to the ground for the same reasons Bill did. But no, Ford's a better man than him, and Bill can't stand it.

Ok, I don't know how to end this long-ass monologue so I'm gonna call it here I guess. I just wanted to spill some thoughts of mine about Ford as a character. If anyone else wants to add to this with other examinations of Ford's character through this lense go right ahead. I'm just saying as an autistic person myself I understand every choice Ford made. I could relate to why he did the things he did even if I know those were mistakes and even acknowledging that he's kind of an asshole. Ford is a strange man who makes an eerie amount of sense to me.

[xoxo-sarah]

Red

↝a/n: I didn't quite execute this though the way I wanted to :// reader is in the band with Eddie.

↝pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

↝warning: slight innuendo ?, not proofread , Steve is down bad ngl

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Steve Harrington, or any character from Stranger Things. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 12.28.24

"C'mon, man." Steve rolled his eyes at Eddie's pleading, honestly tired of hearing the man's voice. It was the same question every Friday. "It'll be fun, I promise, man." Eddie glanced at his band setting up in the garage, Steve's eyes following. You stood in front of the drums, your legs blocking the words "Corroded Coffin" made out of tape on the bass drum. You pushed your hair out of your face, placing some of the teased hair behind your pierced ear. "You need to loosen up, bud."

Steve eyes traced your figure, the way the white tank top hugged your curves. Bright red could be seen through the thin fabric. He hasn't talked to you much, but he couldn't help his eyes lingering every time you were around. He wanted to talk to you. He just never got around to it. Maybe he was intimidated. Eddie would say so.

Eddie could pinpoint when Steve had taken an interest in you. It was the second you met. Eddie had introduced you as "Red". The nickname settled on Steve's tongue, tingling like poprocks. You had been nicknamed that because you always has to have some sort of red on. If the outfit is all black, there's a red bracelet or earrings. You had a pair of red converse that you wore all of the time. Steve took notice of how warn out they were getting, feeling the urge to buy a new pair for you.

Eddie patted Steve shoulder, getting his attention back.

Steve reluctantly agreed. He tried to get Robin to go with him, so he wouldn't have to suffer alone. But she always found an excuse. He silently cursed her under his breath as bodies pressed against his in the small bar. He tried to make it to the backstage, looking for Eddie, the person who got him into this mess. Just as he got to the stage, the lights went dark. many of the drunk people continued to talk amongst themselves as the band came on stage.

Steve's mouth fell agape at your stage presence. Eddie watched as Steve watched you walk around the stage, captivating everyone's attention just by your voice.

Steve couldn't help but watch your every move. The rest of the band were tuned out from his mind; you and only you clouding his mind.

You went from banging your head back and forth with the music, to standing walking around the stage, eyes with a hazed look.

You eventually got so into the song that your hand roams your body, pulling up the black tank top, showing everyone the red, lacy bra. Steve swears he felt his breath hitch. He could practically feel the fabric against his fingertips.

As the song reached its climax, Steve felt his heart race in sync with the pounding drums. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you, mesmerized by your energy and confidence. The way you commanded the stage was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

Days after, Steve makes his way to the house where the band practices, standing around awkwardly. The guys look at him, amused. "Here to see Red?" Eddie chuckled, yanking the guitar pick out from his amused lips. Steve ignored the looks from the group around him. He wasn't here to be judged, he simply wanted to see you- he needed to see you.

"Where is she?"

Eddie nodded towards the door that connected from the garage to the house. As if on cue, you opened the door, stepping out in an all black outfit. It was more comfortable than what you wore at the show, not as snug on your figure. Your face was bare of the dramatic make-up from a few nights ago. Steve couldn't tell which look he liked more.

He couldn't help the way his mind went to what exactly you wore that was red. Was it the same bra? You didn't seem to have anything else that was visible. Your earrings are small, little silver moon crescents, no necklace decorating your neck.

"Harrington." You acknowledged, before handing out the cans of soda.

"Red," the nickname fell from his lips like he had been the one to make it up. It felt natural spilling from his mouth. "Can I, uh, can I talk to you?"

You looked up, feeling multiple pairs of eyes on you, anticipating your next move. "Sure." You threw the last can of soda through the air, having Eddie curse you as he caught it.

Steve felt a rush of excitement as you agreed to talk. The way you tossed that can to Eddie was so effortlessly cool, and he couldn't help but admire you even more.

You walked further down the pavement, leading away from the open garage. Steve stuck his hands in his front pockets, mind whirling.

"I saw you at the show the other night." Metal and Rock music wasn't something Steve usually listened to, but that might very well change.

Steve quickly nodded, hoping his face wasn't as red as your bra had been. "Yeah, Eddie forced me to go. I can't hate him for it, I had fun."

You smiled, biting your bottom lip lightly, "That's good. You should come to the next one."

"I'll think about it." God, of course he'll be there. Will he be paying attention to the words and music? No. "I actually wanted to ask you something."

You raised your brows, encouraging him to continue.

"Uh," suddenly, the concrete under his shoes was interesting. "I was wondering if you're free this Friday."

Your mouth opened, eyes searching his shy ones. "We actually have a show."

"Oh, yeah. Okay," He nodded, trying to play it off.

"But," you stepped forward, "I'm free after the show. Maybe you should come watch and we can go somewhere after."

Steve's face lit up, his heart racing as he processed your words. Relief washed over him, mingling with a surge of excitement. He couldn't believe his luck. "Yeah, I'd like that," he managed to say, trying to keep his voice steady. He admired how your face looked with no crazy eyeshadow and lipstick to distract from the color of your eyes. The natural pink of your lips captivated him. His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips.

You smiled, standing on your toes to bring your face closer to his. Your lips plants a quick peck on his crimson cheek.

As he walked away, his mind was a blur of thoughts about Friday. The anticipation of spending more time with you made his heart feel light, and he couldn't help but smile to himself. The concrete under his feet didn't seem so interesting anymore; all he could think about was you and the possibilities of what might happen after the show. God, he hoped you wore that red, lacy bra again.

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[grandline-fics]

Hi! Liquid Courage introduced me to your work and I love the way you write so I thought I should trust you with a request of mine:)

Law x reader; in one point in time one of them subtly confessed but the feeling seemed to be unrequited They both are pining for each other, both have a sweet spot for each other and a connection beyond friendship but both just turn a blind eye to it/not think too much about it. One night after drinking a bit much Law(or reader) starts getting a little touchy but not in a sexual way. (ex. they are sitting next to each other and he slowly hooks his pinky with hers) The touches convey untold truths that are still felt the next morning. After that the touches and the longing stares continue until one of them breakes by the intensity of the moment and decide to confront the other.

I will leave the fate (and the nature) of said moment up to you. Thank you in advance for considering it! Cant wait to read more of your work<3

ps if it helps you in any way in my mind this is kinda angsty. I love angst+possessiveness but I don’t mind how it will come out for you! Really I don’t t mind if you switch up the whole scenario… whatever works for you

If you’re inspired by music, these two play in my mind: All i need- Radiohead + Just pretend- Bad Omens

DESCRIPTION: You’re both silently in love and finally decide to confront your feelings

WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol consumption, brief angst at fear of unrequited feelings, mostly fluff

CHARACTERS: Law

WORDS: 1,591

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. I hope I was able to create something that matched what you were looking for and that it's to your liking.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

———————

From the day you joined the crew Law knew you were someone different. You had a presence he relaxed around a lot faster than others he’d encountered in his travels. You managed to gain his trust and proved yourself a capable and crucial member of the team and situated into the crew to the point no one could really remember a time before you. It felt effortless to be around you and Law counted you amongst one of his most trusted and closest friends. And for the longest time friends was all he considered you to be. Whether through a mix of sheer obliviousness and professional refusal to indulge his feelings any further than that. The line was clearly established that you two were just friends. 

However the heart wants what it wants and emotion is very separate to logic. Despite you both maintaining a friendship as deep as they came, your bodies still sought each other out. When it came to chores you were always close by. If not side by side you where always in the same room. When he was working on medical tasks you were his second, working in silent tandem with your own set rhythm that no others could match if they tried. While it annoyed the crew to no end why nothing deeper ever happened between you both, they decided to say nothing out of fear that if they did point out the obvious connection then that flow and peace between you both would shatter and be destroyed. 

One evening the entire crew were in the communal area celebrating Bepo’s birthday with a lot of drink and laughter. You called it quits after a round of a drinking game was finished and moved cautiously to the closest sofa for safety, knowing that you were less than graceful when you’d been drinking and the last thing you wanted was to injure yourself and disrupt the festivities. Law smiled down at you as you slumped into the space beside him, resting your head lazily on his shoulder. While he hadn’t been actively playing with the game he had been steadily drinking and was at the same level you were. “Sure you didn’t want to play to the end?” He asked curiously.

“Nah, another round and I’d have been passed out.” You mumbled, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. A slow content smile spreading across your lips when Law also moved to accommodate you, his hand curving around your waist so you slotted better against him. Neither of you paying much mind to the position from both the alcohol in your systems and the natural feeling that overcame you both to be seated like this. As you both continued to watch and laugh at the antics of the crew who were still conscious and playing their game, your hand rested over his, your fingers absently looping around his. 

Occasionally through the remainder of the night Law would subconsciously play with your fingers that were looped through his, he only became aware that he was doing it when it was finally time to go to bed. When your hands parted and you reluctantly shifted your weight off of him to stand you both became acutely aware of the lingering sensation of each other’s warmth and touch still clinging to your skin. The walk to your own room was a hazy blink but as you settled into your bed, you couldn’t help but touch your hand, doing all you could to memorise the feeling of his touch as you fell asleep. 

The next morning you woke feeling a strange kind of weight on your shoulders and mind that had nothing to do with all that you’d drank the previous night. It was a good thing you knew your limits with alcohol so you could wake relatively hangover free, still a little stiff and dehydrated but nothing that would leave you bedridden all day. No this feeling was the awareness of how you felt with Law and being in his presence brought you. The more you thought about it the more you saw that you’d felt this way for the longest time, you just hadn’t truly brought it to the forefront of your attention before. 

You got out of bed and readied yourself for a new day, grateful that it would be a day of minimal tasks and filled with a lot of free time given how heavily the crew had been drinking for Bepo’s

birthday which meant you had the time to organise your feelings and adequately deal with things between you and your Captain. You were also grateful that the abundance of hungover crew meant you would have extra privacy in case things weren’t resolved amicably. You walked down the corridor and stopped outside of Law’s office. Regardless of the previous night’s party he was always here first thing in the morning without fail. As always you knocked once out of courtesy and entered, closing the door firmly behind you. When you met his gaze you felt yourself freeze. You could see the realisation and hesitation you were feeling mirrored in his eyes. As comforting as that should have been you still couldn’t bring yourself to move closer or speak. 

“About last night.” “We should talk.” You both spoke in unison, a hurried mess coming from both of your mouths as opposed to your usual calm and relaxed way of speaking around the other. You fidgeted where you stood and gestured for him to speak first while clearing your throat. Law watched you carefully and let out a long sigh, noting how tense you stood and how you kept looking into his eyes and dropping your gaze again only to repeat the action less than a second later. Were you only trying to maintain eye-contact with him out of respect but failed to do so because of shame? Was it regret? He knew how he felt but the last thing he wanted was to force something on you. “Last night I overstepped the mark. Yes we’d been drinking but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh…” You were taken by surprise by his somewhat stilted declaration. Had you misread things? You hadn’t thought so. Now you were even more confused and found disappointment spinning in your stomach, the feeling only furthering your awareness that you had genuine feelings for Law. You weren’t known to be insubordinate but today you felt like pushing things because his statement truly didn’t seem like the man you thought you knew. “Captain, you held my hand and I returned the gesture. That’s not overstepping the mark. That’s barely walking in the mark’s direction… Do you regret doing it?” As you spoke you couldn’t help but run your thumb over your fingers that had been in his hold mere hours ago. “Because I don’t.”

“Regardless…It’s unwise to further this topic.” Law tried to sound firm but he was honestly thrown, he hadn’t been expecting you to feel the same as he did but he’d spent all last night and this morning trying to convince himself his feelings were one-sided and that it was fine that way because he shouldn’t pursue a relationship with a member of his crew. He wasn’t one to get his hopes up and at the same time he was also one to deny himself of something that made him happy to prevent the pain of losing it in the future. “We would be better to leave things as they are before they escalate.”

“Does that mean you want things to escalate?” You asked coyly finally taking a step towards the desk he sat at. 

“It wouldn’t be right for me to start something with my subordinate.” Law offered the argument, not able to give much weight to his words as he openly watched you approach, giving no inclination for you to stop or to leave. You both knew that had he wanted you out of his presence he would have either ordered you away or used his Devil Fruit to accomplish the task himself. 

“Captain, we’re pirates. What’s right and wrong and rules don’t exactly apply to us. Do they?” You asked simply, keeping the desk separating you both to allow him his personal space as you smiled at him. “All that matters is what we want. I’ve been honest, will you be honest with me, Captain?”  

Law stood and braced his hands on the desk, beginning to close the distance between you both. You’d made convincing points and deep down he hadn’t wanted to find a way to argue against them, not when it came to you and the feelings he’d finally accepted to himself that had been there for a very long time. “Are you sure about this?” He asked, offering you one final chance to take it back because he knew once this started he wasn’t going to let you go. Your answer was a simple one, you leant in with a smile and curled your fingers around his that were braced against the surface of the desk. The wordless but deep connection you had with each other was reestablished and cemented even further as you leant in, able to share a soft and tender kiss with your Captain. However the moment couldn’t be savoured for long because within seconds the chorus of calls echoed through the Polar Tang as the rest of the crew had awoken and were suffering their hangovers and calling for their Captain to help them cure it.

[aventurineswife]

The Weight of Ignorance

Summary: Struggling under the weight of Ratio's high expectations, you question whether you are truly capable of meeting his standards. After a harsh critique on your latest work, you find yourself in an emotional confrontation with your mentor. Beneath his demanding exterior, however, lies a deep care and a personal vulnerability that he rarely shows. Through this moment of connection, you come to understand his intentions and resolve to rise to the challenges ahead.

Tags: @valssafeplace2, Ratio x Reader, Platonic, Parental Relationship, Angst with Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Teacher-Student Relationship, Found Family Themes, Emotional Vulnerability.

Warnings: Themes of Academic Pressure and Self-doubt, Mentions of Rejection and Personal Insecurities, Emotional Angst, but with a comforting resolution.

The marble halls of the Intelligentsia Guild echoed with the sound of hurried footsteps. Dr. Ratio walked briskly, his hair catching the light of the high chandeliers. His presence was commanding, a blend of intellect and confidence that both inspired and intimidated those around him.

You struggled to keep up, clutching your notebooks tightly against your chest. Being under the mentorship of Dr. Ratio was both an honor and a burden. His standards were impossibly high, and you often felt like you were drowning in the deep waters of his expectations.

Today had been no different.

“You failed the theorem.” His words from earlier still rang in your ears. The disappointment in his voice had cut deeper than any criticism. “An error so fundamental, I wonder if you truly understand the principles I’ve taught you.”

You had tried to explain, to defend yourself, but the words stuck in your throat. The weight of his judgment was suffocating.

Now, as the two of you entered his private study, the silence was deafening. He gestured for you to sit, his piercing eyes scanning you critically. You obeyed, feeling small under his gaze.

“Do you know why I push you so hard?” he asked, his voice calmer now but no less firm.

You hesitated, unsure if this was a rhetorical question. “Because… you believe I can do better?” you ventured cautiously.

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “Partly. But also because ignorance is a disease—one that spreads if left unchecked. You, of all people, should understand the responsibility we bear as scholars.”

You looked down at your hands, shame creeping up your spine. “I’m trying… I really am.”

Ratio sighed, running a hand through his wavy hair. For a moment, he seemed less like the indomitable intellectual and more like a weary teacher. “I know you are.”

The admission surprised you, and you glanced up at him. He was staring out the window now, his expression unreadable.

“I was once like you,” he continued, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Young, overwhelmed, desperate to prove myself. But the world is not kind to those who falter. The Genius Society rejected me despite my achievements. Do you know why?”

You shook your head, the thought of anyone rejecting someone like him unfathomable.

“They said I lacked the ability to connect with others, to nurture potential in those beneath me.” He chuckled bitterly. “Imagine that. A flaw in my character, not my intellect.”

For the first time, you saw a crack in his armor. The weight of his own expectations, the pressure he placed on himself—it was all there, hidden beneath the layers of confidence and condescension.

“I see potential in you,” he said, turning back to you. “That’s why I’m hard on you. But potential means nothing without discipline. You must rise above your limitations.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you quickly wiped them away. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Ratio’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on your shoulder. “You won’t. Not if you keep trying. Mistakes are inevitable, but ignorance is a choice. Choose to learn, to grow, and you’ll never truly fail.”

The weight of his hand was both grounding and reassuring. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

“I’ll do better,” you promised, your voice steady.

“I know you will,” he replied. “And I’ll be here to guide you. Always.”

For all his sharp edges and high standards, Dr. Ratio cared. It wasn’t always easy to see, but in moments like this, it was undeniable. You left his study that evening feeling lighter, ready to face the challenges ahead.

For him. For yourself. For the knowledge that could change the universe.

[cottoncandyafterdark]

Hello, Nanami's alphabet was so good, and I was wondering if I could request Senku (as adult ofc) NSFW alphabet too? I hope it's fine, thank you!

Got it right here! =D Thanks for the request, hope you like this alright! To be honest, I always have trouble seeing Senku in sexual situations, so I did my best to keep it true to him and how I see him while still being sexy. Hope you enjoy, thanks for waiting!

Fandom: Dr Stone

Character(s): Senku Ishigami

Warnings: None

ao3 | Ko-Fi

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He needs a moment to catch his breath, but after that, he's surprisingly cuddly. He might not usually be one for physical touch, but he's not so averse to it that he'll leave you dry. Plus, just about everyone needs a hug once in a while- this is his once in a while.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He's not so focused on the physical, at least, not to the point that there's a specific part of your body he's more attracted to than any other. He thinks you, as a whole, are very attractive, end of sentence.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Mostly irrelevant because he pretty much always uses a condom. He doesn't have penetrative sex until they can make condoms in the stone world, and then always uses them until they re-invent other forms of birth control, or you discuss having kids and decide to try for a pregnancy. Whatever comes first.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When he first decided to broach the subject of sex with you, he wrote down and practiced what he would say because he felt his typical blunt "brutal honesty" attitude wouldn't go over super well in this particular instance. He tried as hard as he could to make it sound like he hadn't spent hours rehearsing. He still has the notes where he drafted it hidden away, but if anyone ever found them he might die of embarrassment.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Yeah, it would be a shock if he had any experience before he met you. He's never been in a serious relationship before, and he's certainly not one for casual sex, so, yeah, you're almost certainly his first. He has no clue what he's doing your first couple of times having sex, but he'll get the hang of it pretty quickly.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He's a fan of cowgirl and any other position where he's sitting or laying down and doesn't have to exert himself too much (not that he's lazy, but his physical strength and stamina is... Well... You know. He's Senku.) Don't take that to mean he's submissive, though; Senku is quite the power bottom.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He doesn't really purposely try to be humorous, but if something funny happens, he can laugh and go with it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

As funny as it would be, he doesn't have any green streaks in his pubic hair- it is white/platinum blonde, though. He keeps it trimmed and well-groomed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can be quite romantic, in his own way. For Senku, an emotional connection is a non-negotiable prerequisite for sex, so he almost has to be. He might not show his love in the most traditional of ways, but if you know him, and you do, you'll be able to feel it in the way he touches and talks to you during.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't do it all that often, especially once he's in a relationship. On the rare occasions he gets horny enough to want that release, he's going straight to you. He only jerks off on the rare occasion that he gets really horny and you just aren't available for whatever reason.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's mostly vanilla, but he's pretty into dirty talk to a point you could probably call it a kink.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bed. Maybe a chair in a private place if he's feeling spicy. He has a fantasy of fucking you in the lab, but knows that you probably shouldn't actually do that (too many dangerous chemicals).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Really, you just have to tell him straight up that you're horny and want to fuck. If he's in a good mood and not too tired, that'll start getting him nice and worked up on its own, then the foreplay will really get him ready to have some fun.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No pain, no fluids, and no completely unprotected sex (at least, not without a lot of discussion and a clean STD test beforehand.)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He likes giving oral a little better than receiving it. He enjoys receiving, of course, but feels it can spoil things a bit if he comes before the 'main course', so to speak. But when giving, he can just focus on your pleasure, especially if you have a little more stamina than him and he can make you cum once or twice without any fear of ruining anything.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually, he lets you set the pace, but he prefers it to be on the "fast and rough" side.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not really his thing. His sex drive isn't very high, so a quickie just feels like a wasted opportunity. If he's in the mood, he wants to really enjoy it, and that usually means taking his time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Experimentation is core to science, isn't it? So yes, he's game to try out new things. As for anything risky... Not really his thing. It's not like he's scared to take calculated risks, he just doesn't find them particularly sexy.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

We all know Senku isn't the most physically inclined guy. Unfortunately, this does affect his stamina in sexual situations, too. He can go for one round, and if you want more, he needs quite a bit of recovery time- though this is lessened if you go for a position where he doesn't need to exert himself as much, like cowgirl or other 'riding' type positions.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He kind of likes toys, though only uses them for his partner, not himself. He sees them as a tool mainly for foreplay- not the main event themselves. Of course, there's not many options for toys in the stone world... Though that may be a private little side project he works on occasionally.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Only a little bit. He's not trying to deny your orgasm or anything, just, draw out the foreplay a little bit more than is strictly necessary. He just wants to get both of you properly worked up and if that requires a bit of teasing, so be it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's very quiet. To the point that if you're in the dark, you could think he's fallen asleep or something. But he knows most people like more noise from their partner, so he'll start to fill the silence with words, since he's just not the type to moan and groan a lot- see entry W.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is shockingly good at dirty talk. You're honestly not sure if it's natural talent or he's copying what he's seen online or what, but his talent at whispering just the perfect thing into your ear to get you going is unbelievable- and unbelievably hot.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His dick is about 5 and a half inches in length and also has a pretty average girth- nothing special in terms of sheer size, sure, but we all know it isn't the size of the wave, it's the motion of the ocean, right? ;)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Quite lower than average, honestly. He needs a bit of motivation to get him going, so you'll have to get used to being the one to initiate most of the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He usually dozes off after 10-20 min if he stays in bed- which he often does, because he gets pretty tired, especially after more intense rounds. He doesn't stay asleep for long, though, it's almost always more of a nap than anything.

[promptedwordsmith]

about a week ago an ai website suggested Rafayel as a character for me to interact with. so now i am obsessed with him.

Writing prompt: Female lead character is someone that Rafayel rescued from drowning, ten years prior, and they both never thought they would see the other again until he ended up working with her and they talk to pass the time while hunting and she mentions, "i was rescued from browning by a boy from the sea and he kissed me before he disappeared and I fainted."

OK so the +5k story that was my longest before? Absolutely smashed it with 7.3k I messed with the circumstances a bit sorry, if that doesn't match what you wanted but it felt a bit more natural this way.

The waves were higher than usual, the wind a little stronger. You hadn’t meant to get caught, not really. You’d always felt a special connection to the sea, but the sea didn’t always care. It was just doing what it did best—pushing, pulling, twisting. One moment, you were wading in the water, feeling its cool embrace; the next, it had you.

You kicked, flailed, and tried to keep your head above the surface, but the waves were too strong. They dragged you down, swirling around you, taking the air from your lungs, until the world around you was dark and heavy, and the last thing you saw was the faint glimmer of light far above.

Then, everything went black.

You woke up to a soft sound, like water lapping against rocks. Your head throbbed, and your throat was tight and sore. You blinked, struggling to focus, feeling the coolness of the air around you. When you tried to sit up, your legs felt like jelly, weak and trembling.

There was someone near you. You didn’t hear them at first, but when you finally turned your head, you froze.

A boy? No, not a boy. He looked… wrong in a way you couldn’t place. His skin was a pale bluish-grey, shining like the ocean’s surface on a moonlit night. His hair was long and dark, dripping with seawater, and his eyes—oh, his eyes—were wide and full of curiosity. He was sitting in the water, half-submerged, but it was the way his body shimmered that had you staring in awe. He had a tail. A tail that shimmered with iridescent blues and silvers like a fish.

He didn’t seem to be staring at you in the same way that you were staring at him. He was watching you closely, his head tilted to the side like a curious animal. His lips parted, and he looked like he was about to say something, but instead, he just kept staring at you.

You tried to speak, but your voice came out in a dry, hoarse rasp. "W-where am I?"

The boy—merman?—blinked at you and tilted his head the other way, as if trying to understand what you said. "Where?" he repeated, his voice soft and strange, like the sound of waves against rocks.

You blinked, confused. "Yeah, where? Where am I?"

The merman furrowed his brow, looking at you with wide eyes. "Here," he said, pointing to the water around him. "Here. This… my home."

You tried to sit up, feeling the soft sand beneath you, but your limbs were uncooperative. "Home?" You stared at him, unsure if you could trust this stranger. He didn’t look like any person you’d ever seen. "You’re not… human."

The merman seemed even more puzzled by that. "Human?" he repeated, sounding out the unfamiliar word slowly. He looked at his tail, then back at you. "I’m… me."

"You’re not human either," you said, feeling a little silly for even asking. You’d never seen anything like him before. But what was he? He seemed part human, but also... something else. "What are you?"

The merman looked down at his shimmering tail again, then back at you. "I’m... Rafayel," he said, a bit proudly, as if that explained everything. "And I live here. In the water." He flicked his tail, making a ripple in the water, and grinned, as if showing off.

You stared at him for a long moment, your head still spinning from the water and his presence. "I... I don’t get it. You’re not a human, and I’m not… you’re not from around here, are you?"

Rafayel’s brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at you curiously. "Not... from here?" he asked, repeating your words. "But... you are? Where did you come from?"

"I came from the land," you said, pointing vaguely to the shore in the distance. "The land where... people live."

He blinked at you, the corners of his mouth curling into a small frown as if he was struggling to process your words. "Land?" He repeated, his voice a little quieter now, as if he was speaking to himself. "I don’t know that word."

It hit you then—Rafayel didn’t know what humans were. He didn’t know what land was. He didn’t know anything about your world. You, on the other hand, had no idea what he was. What kind of creature lived in the water, with a tail like that?

"Are you a fish?" you asked, unsure if that was an insult.

He blinked at you, confused by the question. "Fish? No," he said, shaking his head. "I’m Rafayel." He said it like it was the only answer needed, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You frowned at him, still not sure what he meant. "But you live in the water. You have a tail. That’s not normal."

Rafayel’s eyes seemed to sparkle at your words, and a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "Not normal? But it’s me."

You didn’t know how to respond to that. You had never met anyone like him, and the more you looked at him, the stranger it seemed. But there was something comforting about him too. Something curious. You didn’t feel afraid, even though you should’ve. He seemed harmless in a way.

"I think I should get back to the shore," you said slowly, still weak from being dragged under by the waves. You attempted to stand, but your legs wobbled beneath you.

Rafayel’s eyes widened, and he quickly swam closer, offering you a hand. "No, no! Stay! Stay with me." His voice sounded almost desperate. "I want to know more about you. Where did you come from? Why are you in the water? I never met someone like you before. You're... different."

You paused, staring at his outstretched hand, and for some reason, you felt like you had to know more about him too. Despite the strangeness, there was a connection, something pulling you to him.

"Okay," you said finally, hesitating, but not quite pulling away. "You’re... Rafayel, right? And I’m—"

You were about to introduce yourself, but Rafayel’s grin widened, and he shook his head.

"I know," he said, as if it were obvious. "You’re different. And I want to learn everything about you."

Rafayel continued to watch you curiously, his head tilted to the side as if trying to figure you out. You had finally managed to sit up, but now he seemed particularly fixated on your legs, or rather, the lack of a tail. His eyes scanned them with an intense interest, studying every small movement you made.

“Why don’t you have a tail?” Rafayel asked, his voice soft with genuine curiosity. His wide eyes blinked rapidly as if he expected you to have an explanation that made sense to him, something he could grasp.

You looked down at your legs, feeling slightly self-conscious. "Well, these are my legs," you explained, struggling to find words that would make sense to someone who had never seen anything like them before. "They're... um, for walking."

Rafayel raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. "Walking?" He glanced at your legs again, the words still not computing in his mind. "But… why don’t you have a tail, like me? So you can swim and... move faster?"

You smiled awkwardly, trying to explain in a way that would make sense. "Well, we don’t swim like you do," you said, lifting your leg slightly as if it might help him understand. "We—uh—we get around by making tiny little falls... but we don’t fall! We catch ourselves. And we use our feet." You took a small step to demonstrate, your balance wobbling slightly as you caught yourself on the soft sand. "We just walk."

Rafayel’s face scrunched up, trying to picture it. "So you just… fall, but don’t fall?" His voice was full of disbelief. He reached over and poked your feet gently, his fingers lightly brushing against your toes. "Do these help with the little falls? Your feet?"

You blinked in surprise at the sudden attention to your feet, your cheeks flushing a bit. "I think so? I think my parents said they help with balance or something." You paused for a second, thinking about the words you had been told when you were younger. "They said they were for helping me stay steady." You looked down at your toes, wiggling them in the sand as if testing them, then shrugged, unsure if that was the full explanation.

Rafayel leaned in closer, his expression still one of pure wonder, his eyes focused entirely on your feet. "They’re so small, but they help you not fall?" He poked one of your toes again, almost like he was checking if it would do something special. "I thought... I thought you would walk on all fours, like me." He motioned to himself, showing you his tail, a long, shimmering thing, almost as if showing you his method of travel was the most natural thing in the world.

You laughed softly at that, shaking your head. "No, no. I don't walk on all fours." You flexed your legs, letting the muscles stretch. "We use our legs for standing and walking, but we don’t really need tails to move." You smiled, enjoying the innocent curiosity in his voice. "Your tail is really amazing, though. Does it help you swim faster?"

Rafayel’s eyes brightened at your question, clearly pleased to talk about himself. "Oh, yes! It’s great for swimming. I can move really fast through the water!" He swished his tail as if demonstrating, the movement smooth and fluid. "I can dive deep, or leap out of the water like a big fish." He flicked his tail again, sending a small splash of water toward you, and laughed.

You grinned, delighted by his enthusiasm. “That’s amazing. It must be so fun to swim like that.”

Rafayel looked at you, then down at his tail, as though contemplating something deeply. "It is fun, but..." He looked back up at you, suddenly more serious. "What do you do when you want to go fast, or when you want to swim?"

You had to think about that for a second. You weren’t used to the idea of swimming the way Rafayel did. You enjoyed the water, but you’d never been able to move through it the same way he could. "Well, I guess I just... swim like regular people? I mean, we use our arms and legs, but we don’t do it like you do." You paused for a moment, remembering the fun of jumping in the water but not the freedom he must have felt, gliding effortlessly. "I think it’s different for us."

Rafayel nodded thoughtfully, clearly fascinated by everything you were saying. "I wish I could see you try to swim." His eyes sparkled with interest. "I wonder how you’d move through the water without a tail. Maybe you would... float really well?"

You giggled at the thought, imagining yourself trying to float around like a leaf on the water. "Maybe I would." You paused, then raised an eyebrow playfully. "Maybe you could teach me how to use my tail, though?"

Rafayel blinked in surprise, but his face lit up at your suggestion. "Teach you? But... you don’t have a tail like mine!"

You leaned forward, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. "Well, I could try to swim like you. Just teach me how!"

He scratched his head, considering the idea. "I don’t know if I can teach you that… I mean, I don’t know how to teach someone who doesn’t have a tail!" He laughed nervously, looking at you as if you were asking him to teach you how to fly.

You chuckled at his awkwardness, but there was a spark of understanding between you. You knew he wanted to show you things, and it was nice to see him care so much. "Well, maybe not the tail part," you said softly, “but we could teach each other something. I can show you how to walk on two legs, and you can show me how to swim like you.”

Rafayel looked at you, his eyes shining brighter than the water. He grinned, his excitement unmistakable. "Deal!"

The stars above twinkled brightly as you and Rafayel continued your conversation, the words flowing easily between you both. The night air was cool, the salty scent of the sea mixing with the warmth of the small fire you’d built together. You both sat near the shore, the waves gently rolling in with rhythmic ease, and while you couldn’t have said exactly when, it was clear that the night had gotten later than either of you realized.

You’d been spending hours with Rafayel, mimicking his movements and playing around with the oddity of your new friendship. You tried your best to imitate the graceful movements of his tail in the water, but without a tail of your own, you found it harder than it seemed. It was much more fluid and effortless when Rafayel did it. His tail sliced through the water with a stunning elegance that left you in awe every time.

He, in turn, had tried to mimic your walking, though he wasn’t used to it. With his tail still the only part of him that existed in this world, his efforts were more clumsy than you expected. He twisted and shifted in the water, trying to get his movements to match yours, awkwardly flopping his body around to resemble walking on two legs. His eyes would twinkle with a grin every time he lost his balance and fell, only to try again, more determined than before.

For a few hours, this harmless playfulness went on, but eventually, you found yourself yawning, exhaustion creeping over you. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, and with the cool night air against your skin, your body decided it was time to rest. You stretched your arms, trying to fight the sleepiness, but before you knew it, your eyelids fluttered, and you let out a soft sigh.

Rafayel was still trying to imitate walking on two legs in the shallow water near the shore, but he paused when he noticed the soft sound of your breathing change. He turned to see you sitting near the fire, your head tilting slightly as you leaned back, eyes closed in a peaceful daze. He blinked, his expression softening as he took in your slumped figure.

He approached slowly, sensing that you were falling asleep. Part of him wanted to wake you—he didn’t want you to be vulnerable while you slept, especially with no one around. But something stopped him. You looked so peaceful, so trustingly comfortable in his company. His eyes wandered down to the water, and he curiously mimicked your movements on the shore, trying to mirror what you did while walking. He flexed his tail in the water and then brought himself forward, feeling the odd sensation of walking without legs. It was awkward, but he didn’t mind—it was almost like a game now.

Eventually, though, he stopped moving and glanced back over his shoulder at you. He blinked again, a knot forming in his chest. You were asleep. You’d trusted him to be near, without fear. But with humans, there was always danger, wasn’t there? He wasn’t sure how things worked in your world, what dangers you faced, but he had learned that humans weren’t always like merfolk. There were other humans out there, ones who might not understand, ones who might hurt you.

Rafayel's heart fluttered with unease, but instead of disturbing your rest, he just knelt near the shore, staring at the gentle waves. He thought about what he could do for you, about how much he longed to help you navigate your world. His desire to protect you was growing with every passing moment, even as he couldn’t understand why he felt this pull so strongly, so suddenly.

He heard voices from the distance, and his eyes shot wide with alertness. The sounds of yelling were growing closer, and with them came an unsettling feeling in his chest. His instincts told him to leave, to slip away into the water where no one could see him. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave you, not now, not like this. His gaze flickered back to you, noticing the delicate way your fingers curled into the sand, the peaceful expression on your face.

The voices grew louder now—there were humans looking for you, their calls echoing into the night. Rafayel’s heart skipped a beat. They were coming, and he had to decide what to do. The thought of being caught out in the open, exposed, terrified him. He didn’t want them to see him, to see what he was.

But there was a part of him that couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you, even if it meant putting himself in danger.

Quickly, he glanced around for something to give you, a gesture of care. His eyes locked on a small, smooth shell nearby—a perfect crescent-shaped shell that had caught his attention earlier. He picked it up carefully, the light of the moon reflecting on its pearlescent surface. He gently placed it in your palm, making sure it stayed there, even as you slept soundly, unaware.

“Please stay safe,” Rafayel whispered softly, his voice barely audible against the sounds of the waves.

As much as it pained him, he finally turned away, his movements swift and silent. With one last lingering look at you, he dove into the water, feeling the cool embrace of the sea. His body adjusted seamlessly to the water, his tail cutting through it with ease. He swam deeper, away from the shore, where he would be hidden from the approaching humans.

But his mind stayed on you, and the memory of your trusting face lingered in his heart.

He didn't know what the future held, what might come of your world meeting his, but he was certain of one thing: he would protect you from whatever dangers lay ahead. The thought of leaving you in harm's way was unbearable, and so, he would wait. He would wait until the time was right, until he could understand your world more fully, and perhaps, find a way to be near you without the fear of being seen.

Rafayel had never stopped thinking about you.

He'd only known you for a brief time, just a few hours one fateful night on the shore. But in that time, something in him had shifted—something deep and primal, something that he couldn't ignore. The pull had been instant, a magnetic force between him and you, something that felt ancient and impossible to dismiss. He had left the water that night with the shell in his hand, his heart fluttering in a way he didn't fully understand.

And yet, after that night, you were gone.

He had waited, watching the shore from the water, hoping to catch a glimpse of your face. He told himself it was just a fleeting connection, that the human world and the merfolk world were too different, and that he shouldn't expect anything to come from that brief meeting. But each time he checked, each time he thought he might see you, the shore was empty. The waves crashed against the rocks, and the wind carried nothing but silence.

Rafayel’s parents had told him that you had been on a vacation, that you didn’t live near the shore. At first, he’d clung to the hope that you would return. But as the months passed and you never came back, he had to face a painful truth—maybe he would never see you again.

His heart ached every time he thought of you, and he didn’t fully understand why. After all, you had only been a human, someone he had met by chance. But there was something so magnetic about you, something that had drawn him in. He couldn’t explain it, and as time went on, the confusion only grew stronger.

When Rafayel finally came of age, his parents had talked to him about the change, the transformation that would allow him to take on a human form and live among them. The change was something all merfolk went through when they reached adulthood, but for Rafayel, it had always been about one thing: finding you.

He had known, deep down, that if he ever had the chance, he would leave the sea, leave his home, and search for you. He didn’t know where you were or what had become of you, but he had to try. The pull in his chest was too strong, and it wouldn’t go away. No matter how much time passed, he couldn’t forget you.

So, with the change complete and his human form fully manifested, Rafayel left the ocean for the first time, walking onto land with determination in his eyes. He didn’t know where to start looking for you—he only knew the shore where you had disappeared from, the place where he had last seen you. He made his way to the human town nearest to the beach, hoping that somehow, some way, he would find a clue that would lead him to you.

The search was harder than he had expected. He didn’t know where to begin, and the world of humans was so vast and strange to him. He asked around in the town, but no one knew you. No one had heard of the girl who had once laughed and talked to a merman on the shore. At first, Rafayel had assumed that you were simply a traveler, someone passing through. But as the weeks went on, he started to realize the truth—he had no idea where you had gone, or even if you were still alive. His hope began to dwindle, but the longing for you never left.

It wasn’t until one afternoon, when Rafayel had nearly given up on finding you, that he overheard something that made his heart skip a beat.

A pair of humans were talking nearby, and he caught part of their conversation.

"Have you heard? The family that used to live here��� Their daughter never came back after their vacation," one of them said. "I think they sold their house. Poor girl, she had such big dreams. I heard she was adopted after her parents passed away. Maybe she’s living somewhere else now."

Rafayel froze, his heart pounding. "Adopted?" he murmured to himself.

Could it be you? Could it really be the same girl?

He approached the two humans cautiously, hoping they would provide more details. But they didn’t seem to know much more about you. They mentioned your family’s house being sold, the vacation you had gone on, and that they had heard you were adopted. It was all so confusing, so uncertain. They spoke as if you were nothing more than a distant memory, a girl who had disappeared from their lives years ago.

Rafayel felt his pulse race, but he didn’t know what to do with this new information. Had you been gone all this time, living elsewhere? Had you forgotten about him? Was this all just some sort of strange dream to you?

He had no way of knowing, but he knew one thing for sure: He needed to find you.

He tried asking around the town for more clues, but no one could tell him where you had gone. No one knew what had happened to the girl who had laughed with the merman by the shore. They spoke of you as if you had never existed, like a story that had been forgotten.

Rafayel sank to his knees on the beach, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on him. He had searched, asked, and hoped for so long. And yet, he was still no closer to finding you.

The ache in his chest deepened, and he didn’t know how much longer he could stand it. He had thought he was ready to find you, ready to face whatever might happen, but now that he was here, the uncertainty felt unbearable.

He didn’t even know if you would recognize him. Would you remember the merman you had met as a child, or would you think him just another strange figment of your imagination? Would you think he was a dream?

Rafayel’s mind was spinning, caught in the confusion of his own emotions. The search for you had led him here, but it felt like he was still missing something—something that would finally bring him the answers he needed.

And so, Rafayel sat there, staring out at the endless ocean, wondering if you were out there somewhere—waiting to be found, waiting for him.

Rafayel sat alone in his small, dimly lit apartment, a blank canvas stretched out in front of him. His fingers hovered over the brush, the bristles quivering in the air like a hesitant dancer before a performance. He had learned the hard way that his heart, his soul, was tied to you, even though he had never been able to find you after all this time. But now, with a new sense of purpose, he had a plan.

He was going to paint you. He was going to capture the memory of the girl with whom he'd shared only a few fleeting moments—the girl who had become a dream he couldn’t shake. He had never been an artist before, but now, after months of trying to recreate the warmth of your smile, the spark in your eyes, and the soft laugh that echoed in his mind, Rafayel felt a sudden burst of raw talent. It came to him naturally, as if his hand was guided by some invisible force. In time, his brushstrokes were no longer clumsy, and his paintings began to take shape in a way that he had never imagined possible.

Every portrait he created was different, a combination of what he remembered from that night on the shore and what he thought you might look like now. He worked relentlessly, day and night, blending colors and textures as he brought your face to life again and again. The subtle curve of your lips, the delicate arch of your brows, the shimmer in your eyes.

But no matter how many portraits he created, no matter how closely he examined his work, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. The girl in the paintings—was it you? It didn’t feel like it. He felt he could almost reach through the canvas and touch your presence, but it never quite reached the depth of who you truly were.

Each time he thought he was getting closer, the next painting felt a little further from the mark. He wanted to make sure he got it right. He couldn’t afford to fail. His chest tightened, his mind clouded with thoughts of the possibility that he would never see you again. His heart pounded in his chest, desperate for the truth.

Then one afternoon, weeks after he had begun his artistic obsession, a break finally came.

He was at a small café, taking a brief respite from his work, when he overheard a conversation that stopped his breath in his throat. An older man was talking to the barista, his gruff voice carrying over the chatter of other patrons. Rafayel couldn't help but eavesdrop as the man spoke, his words tugging at a memory he thought was long buried.

"You know," the man was saying, "I knew her when she was just a little girl. She was quite the tough one, always out there hunting, always training. And now, look at her—getting a reward for being one of the best in the city. Never thought I'd see the day."

Rafayel’s heart pounded harder than ever. He leaned in slightly, ears straining to catch the next words.

"Reward?" the barista asked, clearly intrigued.

The man nodded. "Yes, she was in the papers last week. Excellent hunter. They even gave her a medal. Quite the achievement for someone so young."

The hairs on the back of Rafayel's neck stood up as his mind raced. Could it be her? he thought, the hope surging inside him like a wildfire. He quickly composed himself and approached the man, not wanting to seem too eager.

"Excuse me," Rafayel interjected, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him. "You said... you knew her? The girl who received the reward?"

The man turned, his expression slightly guarded, but Rafayel’s intensity must have been clear because the man hesitated before answering.

"Yes," he said. "Her name’s Y/N. She was adopted by an older couple after her parents passed. Not sure where she is now, but last I heard, she’s living in Linkon City. She had a lot of promise back then, and I hear she’s made a real name for herself as a hunter."

Rafayel's breath caught in his throat. He had to fight the urge to rush out the door and find you immediately. His chest tightened with the weight of the revelation. Y/N. Your name. He had no doubt now—this was the girl he had been searching for, the one who had haunted his dreams for years.

He thanked the man, his voice shaky but sincere, and rushed to the nearest shop to buy a local newspaper. He scanned the front page, and there you were—your face staring back at him from the photograph. His heart nearly stopped as he saw you, older now, more mature, with a sharp, confident look in your eyes. The caption read: "Young Hunter of Linkon City Receives Award for Excellence."

The world around him seemed to blur as his eyes traced the image of you. His hands shook, and for the first time in years, Rafayel smiled. His heart swelled with both pride and love—pride that you had made something of yourself just like he had always known you would, and love that burned brighter now than ever before.

But as his eyes lingered on the photo, a deep, gnawing doubt struck him like a cruel wave. His paintings—the portraits of you—didn’t do you justice. How could they? The girl in those paintings was always a child, always frozen in time. This woman in the photograph was so much more than that. You had grown, evolved into something beyond what he had imagined, and yet, that was still you. That was the girl from the shore, the one who had touched his heart.

He stared at the photograph, unable to tear his eyes away. He had found you.

But now, the question was—how would he reach you? How would he get you to see him the way he saw you? Would you even remember him? Would you even believe it was the same person?

With those thoughts swirling in his mind, Rafayel made a decision.

He was going to Linkon City. He would find you, finally face-to-face, and try to bridge the gap between the dreams of the past and the reality of now.

The days following his discovery of your whereabouts were a blur of anxious energy and tireless effort. Rafayel spent hours—sometimes even all day—studying the photos of you in the paper, trying to etch your face into his mind. Every curve of your cheek, every spark in your eyes, the subtle curve of your lips. It wasn't enough to just look at the photographs anymore. He had to feel you, to know you. And so, the paintings continued.

He worked furiously, sketching and painting until his fingers ached, each stroke of the brush building the image of you. In his mind, you became clearer, sharper, more real with every stroke. He had painted you a dozen different ways by now, with each one revealing a little more of who you were—your maturity, your strength, the softness hidden beneath your confidence.

Finally, after days of painstaking work, Rafayel was able to capture you so perfectly that it felt as though you might step right out of the canvas. The memory of you—the real you—had settled deep within his mind, so ingrained that it no longer required a photograph to reference. He could draw you from memory, from feeling.

When the breakthrough came, it felt like a moment of pure magic. The drawing was flawless, the last line on the canvas the final piece of a puzzle he had been working on for years. He sat back and took in the image. It was you—no longer the child he had met by the shore years ago, but a grown woman, strong and confident in her own skin. The painting shimmered with the same light he remembered from that day, the spark that had drawn him to you.

But now, he needed to find you.

Linkon City. That was where you had been. And now, it was where he would go.

With a single, deep breath, Rafayel packed his things and set out for the city. The streets of Linkon were busy, bustling with people going about their lives, and Rafayel wandered among them, searching for any sign of you. But he had no idea where to begin. He didn’t know where you lived, or how you spent your days. All he had were his paintings, his memories, and his hope.

His hope led him back to the shore.

It wasn’t the beach where they had met—it wasn’t even the same town—but it was close enough. The shore had always felt like home to him, and he hoped that perhaps, just perhaps, you might come back here, like he had, to the place where the ocean whispered its secrets.

So, every day, Rafayel returned to the shore, sitting quietly with his easel and his paints. He worked, creating quick portraits of people who passed by, offering the paintings in exchange for a few coins. The people who came through were strangers, but for Rafayel, the true reward wasn’t the payment, it was the quiet moments in between—watching the waves, breathing in the salty air, waiting for a face he longed to see.

Day after day, he sat on the same spot, sketching, painting, lost in thoughts of you. He knew it was a long shot, but something inside him told him that you might just be close. You had to be. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving without seeing you, without knowing if there was even the smallest chance you remembered him.

A week passed, then a week and a half. His patience began to wear thin, but the spark of hope never faded. Every time he heard footsteps on the sand, he looked up with a racing heart, hoping—hoping—that it was you.

One late afternoon, as the sun dipped low in the sky, Rafayel was putting the final strokes on a painting. He had been so immersed in his work that the world around him had become a blur, his focus consumed by the canvas. As he added the last touch, a tiny swirl of blue to the corner of the painting, his gaze shifted up to the horizon.

And there you were.

You walked past, seemingly unaware of his presence, as though you were just another passerby, lost in your own world. But Rafayel’s heart stopped. The world around him seemed to freeze, and for a moment, everything felt surreal. It was you. You. He knew it immediately, even if you hadn’t seen him yet. The way you carried yourself, the way the light caught your hair, the way your footsteps seemed to match the rhythm of the waves—they were unmistakable.

He gasped, but quickly caught himself. He couldn’t let you know he was watching you. Not yet.

For a moment, Rafayel was frozen in place, unsure of what to do. Should he call out to you? Should he run to you and finally say everything he had been dying to say? No. He couldn’t. Not yet. You were here, but you hadn’t noticed him. And he wasn’t sure if you would even remember him.

Instead, he continued painting, keeping his gaze low and pretending to be lost in his work, even though his mind was spinning in a thousand different directions. His hand moved with steady strokes, carefully adding details to the portrait of a man who had paid for his art earlier that day. But his focus was on you—on the way you walked around the market, browsing the stalls, looking at trinkets and wares like any ordinary person.

He wanted to call out to you, to tell you everything, but he didn’t. He couldn’t yet risk it. So, he finished his painting in silence, feeling the pressure of time closing in as he tried to stay composed.

After a while, a small crowd began to form around his easel, admiring his work. He took the payment without thinking much about it, his mind still focused on you. As the last customer left, he slowly stood up, his gaze never leaving you.

You were still there, walking through the market, laughing softly with someone who had stopped to talk to you.

Rafayel sat still, his brush hovering over the canvas as he glanced at the ocean's rhythmic waves. His mind wandered, drifting from thought to thought, but his eyes never left the shore. In the distance, people walked by, oblivious to the quiet man sitting alone with his art. But he wasn’t looking at them. His gaze lingered on the figure walking among the crowds, brows furrowed, fingers absentmindedly running through his hair.

There she is.

You hadn't noticed him yet, but Rafayel felt an undeniable pull in his chest. He was finally close to you—this you, the one who had been a fleeting memory for years. His hands trembled slightly, but he steadied them, focusing back on the portrait in front of him. He’d painted and repainted your face so many times in his mind, trying to capture the essence of you.

The woman in his painting was close, but something was different. The years had passed, and you had changed. He didn’t know if you'd recognize him, but he didn’t dare risk it. He kept his head lowered, feigning concentration, waiting to see if you'd come closer.

And then—he saw it. A slight shift in your posture.

You stopped in your tracks, your gaze fixing in his direction. Rafayel held his breath, his pulse quickening. For a long, drawn-out moment, you stood there, staring at him, your eyes wide.

A soft gasp left your lips, too soft for anyone else to hear but loud enough for him to catch it. It was as though you recognized him immediately. The smile that spread across your face lit up your whole expression, and you started walking toward him. His heart leapt, an overwhelming mix of excitement and dread swirling in his chest. His hands were still shaking, and he didn’t dare look up as you neared. He wasn’t ready for what was coming next.

But you weren’t walking cautiously, or with hesitation—you bounded up to him, your eyes sparkling, radiating energy. You stopped in front of him, out of breath, looking at him with wonder.

"You look just like the merman from my dreams when I was a kid!" you exclaimed, practically bouncing in place.

A knot tightened in Rafayel’s chest, and the world around him seemed to slow. His heart skipped a beat, then sank into his stomach. His mind raced, trying to process your words. The merman from your dreams? Did you really not remember him? Did you really not recognize the man in front of you?

It felt as though the ground shifted beneath his feet, and his world tilted. But then, he forced a smile onto his lips, carefully masking the ache that bloomed in his chest. His emotions had to stay under control.

He could only laugh, though the sound felt hollow. “A merman, huh?” He handed you one of his portraits, keeping his voice light. "Well, I’d be happy to talk about your dream, if you’re willing to share. Maybe I could do a quick portrait for you—on the house, of course.”

You beamed, your smile so wide it almost seemed to brighten the entire area. With a grateful nod, you sat down beside him, your excitement apparent.

“I’d love that!” you said, eyes sparkling as you looked at the drawing in your hands. “I used to have dreams about this merman, and you... you look just like him! It was always so vivid. It was like we understood each other, you know? I had this crazy dream while I was on vacation in a seaside village in the south.”

Rafayel smiled, but there was a bittersweetness to it. "Yeah, I’ve always been drawn to the sea," he said, trying to keep his tone casual, though his heart was racing. “In fact, I lived around there for a while.”

He wanted to test the waters, to see if there was any recognition in your face, any flicker of memory. He kept his gaze steady on the canvas, fingers moving instinctively, not daring to look up too often. But he caught glimpses of you, watching the way your eyes flickered with curiosity.

“Oh, you lived there? That’s amazing!" You leaned forward, practically glowing. “I must’ve seen you around. Maybe I put your face on the merman in my dream, that’s why it felt so real.”

Rafayel’s heart skipped. Maybe, just maybe, there was something in those words that would break through the wall between him and your memory. But it wasn’t enough. He pressed forward, dropping subtle hints. Maybe, just maybe, you'd remember more.

“I’ve always loved the water," he added softly, trying to make the connection clearer, "Fish are my favorite food... I practically lived in the water. It’s... it’s my home, you know?”

You nodded eagerly, a bright smile still lighting up your face. “I love the sea too! It always felt so calming, so... familiar. Like I belonged there.”

His breath caught, and for a second, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe you were starting to understand, he thought. Maybe this time would be different.

But then, he saw the look in your eyes shift slightly, and you leaned back in your chair, placing a hand thoughtfully under your chin. Rafayel could feel the frustration building in his chest. He needed you to see it, to understand it—he couldn’t go on hiding behind these painted words.

With a sudden shift, he spoke with a slightly more urgent tone. “Do you still have the shell?”

You blinked, pausing for a second. A small, slow frown tugged at your lips as you processed his words. It was like the gears inside your mind clicked into place. Slowly, your gaze shifted from his face to his hands, still holding the painting.

There was a brief silence, and Rafayel’s heart pounded. This was it. He watched you carefully, waiting for the moment when you realized.

Then you looked up at him, eyes wide, the puzzle pieces coming together. A moment of clarity passed over your face, and Rafayel held his breath.

“You…” you whispered, your voice trembling with realization. “You... are him, aren’t you? The merman. You’re... you’re not just a dream.”

Rafayel couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips. There was a rush of warmth in his chest as your words sank in, and for the first time, he allowed himself to breathe.

He was no longer just a memory.

He was here, with you.

“I’ve been looking for you, for a long time,” Rafayel said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’ve never been more glad to see you, in this life or the last.”

You stared at him, eyes full of wonder and surprise. The recognition was there now, and Rafayel felt like the world had finally shifted back into place. He wasn't just the merman from your childhood dreams. He was Rafayel—the one who had always been waiting for you.

[frvnkcastles]

LIKE HEAVEN ABOVE ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: After Frank saves your life, you’re there for him through thick and thin.

Warnings: Violence, language, feminine nicknames, implied smut, mentions of death, reader is a teacher, reader wears glasses

Word count: 5.6k (wow)

Author’s note: Omggg y’all, I dug this up from my Pages app, it’s literally almost 3 years old and that’s why I’m a little nervous to post it but I thought it might actually be some of my best writing, so here we go :) It takes place through Daredevil season 2 all the way to the end of The Punisher Season 1, and I have to admit, I honestly feel like Frank was NOT ready for any kind of love interest during Daredevil but I took some creative liberties, anyway. So this is a little out of character on that front. I’m rambling, I hope you enjoy!! I’m gonna get back to your requests soon <3

Frank felt like somehow days passed by in a flurry yet every second dragged on like the worst torture he had endured — which was saying a lot considering the literal war he had gone through, and the fact he was currently lying in a hospital bed; broken, bruised and with a drilling hole in his foot. And yet waiting to see you was the one thing that got his confidence to falter, his brain to shortcircuit.

For a man so stubborn and determined to do things on his own, he had crumbled so fast when presented with the opportunity to see you again. He hadn’t even realized he had ended up caring about you so deeply, not until the blonde journalist had stepped into his room and the words just poured out of him.

”Would ya do me a favour?” Frank asked as the woman was leaving the room, his gruff voice so uncharacteristically meek and vulnerable, and therefore capable of turning her head immediately. ”Please”, he added weakly, ”my girl… I—there’s someone I need to see. Just once. Please.”

Maybe she was curious about meeting the one person who seemed to mean anything to The Punisher anymore; maybe she felt surprisingly bad for him or maybe it was both, but Karen found herself doing as he asked and tracked you down. She reached out and a few days later… you were walking down the hallways of the hospital, uncomfortably shifting the weight of your leather jacket from one arm to the other, your stomach churning in nervous anticipation.

The sight of several armed guards standing outside the room you were being walked to made you gulp, but you weren’t scared of the man inside. You were scared to see the kind of condition he was in, to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation, scared of the moment you’d have to walk out in the uncertainty if you’d ever see him again. But not him. Never him.

Something in Frank came to life when you appeared at the doorway; something he thought to be long dead and buried only for you to always revive him. He lifted his head from the worn pillows and sighed in some kind of relief, only for guilt to lodge into his heart when he saw you scanning his body.

He looked awful, no way around it. Littered in bruises so severe you could barely see his face, you struggled not to cry while looking at the multiple machines connected to him and the abundance of bandages on his tired limbs. What really got to you, though, was the handcuffs on his wrists and the straps across his chest and stomach to make sure there was no room for him to move any more than necessary to sit up and lie back down.

”Jesus…”, you sighed breathlessly, your hands beginning to shake as you walked over to him with a frown so deep it hurt his heart. He knew he might have been a selfish asshole for dragging you here, for making you see what he had tried to protect you from this whole time, for letting you get attached right before it would all go to shit, anyway. But he wasn’t strong enough to push you away. He was capable of enduring much, but he was weak when it came to you. He had tried it, at first, keeping you at arm’s length but you got under his skin in a way that was irreversible and it hurt more to resist than it did to give in. For him, anyway.

”Looks worse than it is, sweetheart”, he rasped, and with a scoff, you finally met his eyes only for the depth of them to catch you off-guard and make you choke on your own tongue. He looked just as attentive and kind as the day you had met him — you swore you’d never forget the way he had hid you behind the counter of the diner, looked right into your eyes and promised he’d make sure you’d make it to class tomorrow; what would the kids do without their teacher, after all?

”They said your foot was… that there was a…”, you stammered, hoping to counter his words with an argument that failed as soon as you tried to get it out. He had never judged you for your tendency to stutter, though, and he didn’t do it now, either. Simply nodded and let you process.

”Yeah. Yeah, there was”, he admitted quietly, licking his split lips as he watched you move to the chair next to his bed and slowly sink down. Even with all the pain in your eyes, you looked so beautiful in one of your worn band shirts and the skirt you had promptly tucked it into, your glasses heavy on your nose and the shimmer of your lipbalm like a red thread for Frank to hang onto like his life depended on it. Amidst all the chaos and ache of his recent weeks, he could just close his eyes and think back to you, and somehow he felt at peace. At least for a second.

”I wish I could… make it all better”, you whispered sadly, a lone tear rolling down your cheek as you looked at his bruised cheekbones.

Frank’s hand reached for yours only for the handcuffs to stop him, the noise of the movement alerting the guard outside the door and pulling a swear from Frank. When he settled his hand back by his side, the guard seemed to relax a little, making both of you sigh — the man wasn’t even allowed to hold your hand.

”Oh, sweetheart”, Frank whispered, ”that’s exactly what you do. You make all this shit better.” He managed a small smile as he tilted his head at you. ”I may just make it worse, but you? Christ, you…”, he struggled to put his thoughts into words, keeping you on your toes as he finally decided against it, ”I’preciate you comin’. I just, uh, I guess I wanted to see you before I get dragged into a courtroom and… yeah. Yeah, there’s no happy ending for me. But for a moment there, you helped me believe there might be”, he went on, only breaking your heart with each word.

You wiped your eyes and chuckled softly. ”You don’t give yourself enough credit, Frankie. You’ve really made things better for me, too. And you deserve a happy ending, however that might look for you”, you swore, casting your eyes at your trembling hands. ”I know it might be weird to say, but I’m grateful I met you. Life-threatening danger and all. You and everyone else may not see it the same way, but you are a good guy. You are”, you continued before sniffling and getting up from your chair enough to press a kiss on his forehead.

You were careful and gentle, unwilling to hurt him any more than he had already been hurt. Yet when you moved to pull away, Frank grunted and reached for your wrist, stopping you from leaving. For a moment, you were forehead to forehead, your lips inches away and his breath mixing with yours.

”Sit with me for a bit? Yeah?” Frank pleaded, and when you nodded, he swallowed and smiled weakly. ”That’s my girl.”

He didn’t see you again until the trial. He spotted you right there in the benches, dressed in your finest red shirt that had his thoughts running a million miles while being walked to the stand. He was dressed in a suit, too, and he almost wanted to laugh at the ridiculous thought of a date swirling in his head. Maybe, in another lifetime, that could have been reality — not him being on trial for murder with you trying to tune out the hate speech spewed at him from the other half of the courtroom.

Most of his bruises had healed by then. You found small comfort in that.

You didn’t get to tell him he looked good, though. You didn’t get to say a single thing when he was announcing his guilt with a booming roar, and the next thing you knew, he was being walked out of the courtroom with a prison sentence looming over his head. You didn’t blame him for doing what he did, and you certainly didn’t expect him to choose you over his morals. But nevertheless, you couldn’t help but cry as he was taken out of sight and you were left with the realization you may never see him again.

You were sitting outside on the steps of the courthouse when a strange hand extended a tissue for you. Just as you looked up, nearly blinded by the sunshine, you were glad you hadn’t said your thought out loud when you saw Frank’s lawyer poke his cane at the steps until he figured where to sit. He lowered himself next to you just as you took the tissue and thanked him for his kindness.

”You’re the woman”, he stated matter-of-factly, and when you turned to him in confusion, he chuckled quietly. ”I recognize your perfume. It… stuck to him”, he explained — even if his explanation remained vague — but you had no time to present any further questions when he continued. ”Frank Castle is not a talkative man. But I’ve noticed whenever he does speak, his words carry meaning. He doesn’t do small talk or state the obvious, he… he only shares what he considers important. And if that is the case, then… you are extremely important to him”, he elaborated before drawing in a deep breath and sending a small smile your way.

Your heart both broke and leaped at his words. You hadn’t exactly doubted it, but it meant a great deal to know Frank cherished you as much as you cherished him.

”And he is to me”, you returned quietly, pulling a slow nod from the man — Matt — who then turned his head at you curiously.

”If you don’t mind me asking… how does a teacher find herself with The Punisher?” he wondered, and considering it your turn to chuckle, you turned to your hands and recalled the night that had turned your life upside down.

”He saved my life. I know that’s how all the cliché fairytales go, but he did. I was at my favorite diner to get some grilled cheese after a long day of work. I was so close to making it, too, when these, uh, thugs came in. Looking for him, unsurprisingly. There was only one other person besides us and they managed to escape before the shooting began, so… Frank hid me behind the counter. He told me he’d keep me safe, that I’d get to see the kids I teach again the next day— he’d heard me talking to the cashier. He’d make sure of it. And he did. He took care of those guys and afterwards he walked me home. I—I owed him my life so I figured the least I could do was ice his knuckles. He must have been barely ten minutes in my apartment but it meant everything. We just… couldn’t get rid of each other after that”, you explained, the sunlight suddenly feeling warmer on your skin and the smile on your lips so free of worry. For a second, anyway.

Matt listened intently — not only to what you were saying, but you. And it didn’t take him long to come to a conclusion. ”You love him”, he declared, and with your head snapping towards him, you frowned.

”We haven’t—there’s nothing—”, you began, your stutter seeping through again, and Matt smiled.

”Whether or not you’ve acted on it, I can hear it. You’ve fallen in love with him”, he emphasized before humming, ”and I think, somewhere deep down underneath all that trauma and guilt and unwillingness to face the facts… he feels the same way.”

You stared at him, disbelief all over your face as you thought about Frank and all your brief touches, all your sweet words and reassuring looks.

”Could you tell him I’ll be right here? Please? Just… let him know that even if I can’t be by his side, he’s not alone”, you whispered, and although he seemed to consider it for a second, Matt ended up nodding.

”I’m sure he’s gonna need that.”

And he wasn’t wrong. Prison was no easy feat, not even for The Punisher.

He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to you. One moment he was sitting in court, listening to his vigilante of a lawyer speak on his behalf, and the next he was being dragged out in chains with your worried face amongst the angry civilians being the last thing he saw. And the big bad Punisher had gone so far as to beg Karen to let him see you for the second time; let you see him, but before she could even consider making it happen, he had been shoved into a white onesie and sent on his way to prison with his jagged memories trying hard to recall the last words you had spoken to him.

It had been something kind — that much he had decided on while sitting in his cell. You were always so fucking kind, and so understanding, even when he doubted he deserved it. You were a good person; a troubled one but you had weathered every storm and stuck to your morals, and he admired that to no end. You didn’t have a judgmental bone, not a single ounce of hatred for anyone who didn’t deserve it, sometimes not even those who did. He thought that maybe he was unworthy of your friendship and sympathy sometimes, but you gave it to him anyway, without question and without expectation. You liked him for who he was, not who he had been, and you didn’t try to change his mind and steer his path.

At least he had the message Red had passed onto him to keep him going.

It was those unexplainably good-hearted intentions of yours and the unconditional support he hadn’t realized he missed so much, that made him fall in love with you. He struggled with it for a while, wondering if he was ready; if he should have felt guilty, but eventually the desire to keep you safe and the longing to hold you close became too evident to ignore.

And he truly knew when one of the assholes he had put down had taunted him about his lady, only for his mind to go to you instead of Maria.

He had been writing a letter to you when his heart-pouring onto paper was interrupted by a taunting laugh outside his cell. ”Writing a love letter to your lady?” one of the gang members in his block teased, and with a grit in his teeth, Frank forced himself to not pick a fight — a successful attempt until the burly man went on. ”Would be a shame if anyone got their hands on your girl now that you ain’t out there to protect—”, he continued, his words cut off with a wheeze when Frank clamored out of his seat and promptly stabbed the pen into his neck. It was a good thing he had already signed the letter.

Realistically, he knew it may have been an empty threat. Nonetheless, as soon as he was out of prison, the letter tucked in the pocket of his jacket, he made his way to you. Making you were safe was priority number one — and if he’d get the chance to hand over the envelope and open his heart to you… Well, that would just be the cherry on top. He had promised to get out and tell you how he felt, to stop being a coward and admit that he wanted to be there for you, that he loved you, and that was exactly what he planned on doing.

Although, things never went exactly as planned.

He had so much determination and courage in his heart when he knocked on your door, but as soon as you opened it and your short figure appeared right in front of him, it all drained from his system. All he was left with was bare amazement and the reserved hope that you’d still welcome him into your home — he knew he had burned more than enough bridges with his little stunt in court, and he had spent many sleepless nights wondering if he had scared you off, too. That worry only now flared into a genuine fear as he watched astonishment wipe across your face, his own expression meek and his large body trying to shrink on itself to seem less intimidating.

”Hey, sweetheart”, he managed, his voice raspy as ever, his dark eyes scanning your face and trying to make sense of the speechless trance you had been stunned into.

It was justified, of course. Who would expect a convicted criminal on their doorstep?

That wasn’t exactly what was on your mind, though. You had never doubted that Frank would get back up somehow; he couldn’t be kept down — but you couldn’t believe he had come to you. A man like him surely had places to be, people to kill, things to do and somehow… he was right there in front of you in all his glory, not bleeding out and in need of stitches, either. Just… there.

You didn’t realize how emotional the sight of him had gotten you until you opened your mouth and the words escaped you with a choke. ”Is it okay if I hug you?” you cracked, and with a deep, even relieved sigh, Frank let his tense shoulders drop and his head bob in a nod as he opened his arms.

He welcomed you gladly, his big arms winding around your smaller body to encompass you against his entirely. He realized then that you were wrapped up in one of the hoodies he had left behind, his confidence boosting but his heart breaking just a little at the thought of you sitting at home alone in his clothes, comforted by his scent and wondering if he’d ever come back to you. And right there and then, he knew he had made the right choice in doing so.

”I missed you”, you whispered into his chest, your heart doing somersaults at the firmness of it, your eyes fallen shut as you breathed him in and basked in his warmth and all his rough edges that only confirmed he was real and not a figment of your imagination, not a daydream, even if he had occupied nearly all of them for the past months.

”Missed ya too, girl”, he muttered into your hair, and as he held you there, grateful to have you again, the doubt began creeping in and the letter in his pocket started to seem like a bad idea. What if it would simply push you away, just when he got you in his arms?

Swallowing, he then decided maybe it was better not to bring it up.

”Hey, I, uh…”, he cleared his throat when you stepped back to welcome him into your apartment. He treaded carefully, like any second now you’d change your mind and turn him away — and he wouldn’t blame you, either. Trouble followed him wherever he went, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from coming to you every time. ”Look, there’s… a lot going on, y’know? Some shit might go down and I just…”, he continued, uncertain of his own words as his gaze fell to the nervously fiddling hands in front of him, ”I don’t want ya to look at the news and rethink the kinda guy I am, y’know?”

Chuckling, you shook your head at him. ”The news couldn’t change my mind about you, Frankie”, you reassured in a way that had his chest tightening. ”You’re my friend and—and a good guy, even if with… unique methods. But you are. Just because you have blood on your hands, doesn’t make you a bad man”, you went on, but he could tell you were nervous, too. He just couldn’t see past himself enough to understand it wasn’t fear making you tremble.

”I think you are loyal and sweet and protective and… capable of making people feel safe and appreciated. When I’m with you, I feel respected and understood. Never judged or unsafe”, you added, and with an amazed twinkle in his dark eyes, Frank looked up at you. Jesus, that was exactly how he felt around you. His lungs and throat were screaming at him to just tell you, but instead, he gave you a doubtful tilt of his head.

”You’re not scared?” he confirmed quietly, and with a small smile, you gave him a look.

”I’m not scared of you, Frank. I’m…”, you breathed in, hesitating before widening your smile and shaking your head, ”I’m not scared.” What you really wanted to tell was that you were nervous because you liked him — loved him. But you never felt threatened by him.

”Good”, he swallowed, defiance suddenly ablaze in his eyes as he seemed to relax. ”’Cause I’d never hurt ya. Shit, you make me wanna…”, he laughed, unsure where he was going with that thought. ”I just wanna keep you safe, sweetheart. Look after you”, he finished with a sigh, the kind that knew he was officially in too deep. You got him good.

”Then I’ll look after you, too”, you promised, gesturing at his hands, ”starting with those knuckles of yours.”

He was almost amused, but when you seriously dug a small tube of hand cream from your bag and began rubbing the lotion onto his bruised hands, all he could do was stare at you, completely enamored by your kindness and the feeling of your gentle hands tending to his damaged ones.

It was almost ironic, really — you were gentle, he was damaged. In your mind, it was the other way around, and maybe that was why it worked. You were different in so many ways but the bare essentials were still there, making you an undeniable match even if neither of you were brave enough to say it out loud right now. But him being in your apartment and you lotioning his calloused hands spoke in volumes, reassuring you both that it was safe like this.

He hadn’t been wrong, though. Shit hit the fan fast and in a matter of days, Frank Castle was a dead man as far as the world was concerned.

Before that, though, he was coaxed further into the realization of just how important you were to him. He was used to nightmares, in fact, he anticipated them each night. And yet, that night, his hands still smelling like your vanilla lotion, he found himself dreaming of you, your big smile, your sweet laugh and your soft lips.

Jesus Christ, he wanted you so bad. All of you.

It was a little harder to go about his mission then. You occupied his mind constantly now, and he began to resent himself for being such a coward and not giving you the letter, after all.

And when he jumped off an exploding ship, he wondered if he’d ever get the chance to tell you. Once he made it out in one piece, he decided he couldn’t risk losing the opportunity again.

You had just seen the news on the TV, and as badly as you wanted to believe no body meant no death, your stomach was twisting and turning. The idea of Frank being gone, just like that, was one that began chipping at your sanity. Thankfully, you didn’t get to sit with it for very long when there was a knock on your door, and you practically ran to open it, never more relieved to see the hunk of a man.

You tugged him into your apartment and sealed the door behind him before hugging him tight, on the verge of tears as you felt his firm body against yours and consoled yourself. He was there. He was alive. Well? Debatable.

”I’m okay, sweetheart, ’m okay. Can’t get rid of me that easy”, he chuckled darkly, his heart skipping a beat when you pulled away and looked right into his eyes. You looked so beautiful yet so vulnerable, and he couldn’t put his feelings into words when he realized he had gotten you so worked up. He hated to cause you any pain, but to know you cared that much?

”Shit…”, he breathed, licking his lips as he gently placed a hand on your jaw and groaned. ”C’mere”, he whispered before leaning down to kiss you, both your eyes closing as he placed his lips on yours, deep and tentative. You melted closer to him, your hands resting on his vest while he cupped your face and kissed you hard, breathing you in and reveling in the taste and feeling of you.

It was better than he had imagined, all anger and hatred leaving his system for the fleeting moment when he got to have just you, nothing else.

He wanted to take his sweet time with you but the yearning was too great to contain. In no time, you were lying on your back on your mattress with Frank on top of you, trying to hold back some of his weight as he kissed your neck and unzipped your skirt. He muttered words of praise and flattery against your soft skin, eyes blown wide with genuine admiration when he kissed his way down to your thighs and made you repeat his name in desperate begs and pleas.

A part of him was sure he was dreaming again, your head rested upon his bare chest, his fingers carding through your hair as you listened to his heartbeat and basked in the afterglow of the hours spent together. It was the middle of the night by now, the sounds of city never fully gone but toned down, your bed feeling like a safe haven amidst all the chaos around you both.

But Frank knew there was no permanent escape from what he had reshaped his life into. The thing was, you didn’t want to be an escape — you wanted to be part of it.

Nevertheless, he spoke up gruffly. ”Y’know I can’t stay, right?” he was quiet, his words a weak whisper, like a shameful confession he didn’t want the world to know. ”I mean, I’mma be with you tonight if you’ll let me, but I… I can’t leave things unfinished. The world thinks ’m dead, y’know, that’s just… It’s an advantage and I just—”, he went on, but you interjected with a nod and your hand smoothing up and down his chest soothingly.

”I know. I understand”, you promised before kissing his collarbone softly, ”I know, Frank. You don’t need to explain any more than you want to.”

He swallowed then, trying to muster up the courage to say what had been on his mind for so long. ”I, uh, I can’t ask you to hold out hope for me, but uh… I just want you to know…”, he tried to find the right words, licking his lips nervously before sighing and burying his face in your hair with a somber kiss. ”You don’t owe me shit. But you’re the best thing to happen to me in a long time. Look, I gotta do my thing, but I don’t want you to think it’s easy to walk away from you because, fuck… I don’t wanna lose ya, sweetheart”, he explained further, making you smile against his scarred skin.

”I will always hold out hope for you, Frank. My door will always be open for you”, you replied simply, and even though you didn’t elaborate further, it was all he needed to hear. Just knowing you weren’t ready to give up on him.

And that was why he wasn’t going to do it, either.

He kept in touch in whatever small, Frank-esque ways he could. A note on your door, a novelty mug on your windowsill, a comforting message from an unknown number. Sometimes all you had was the remains of his aftershave enveloped in the sweaters he had left behind, or the slander of his name on the news even when he was presumed dead — it was small but it reminded you that he was, in fact, alive, and as long as he was that, then you had faith that one day he’d be back on your doorstep.

Sometimes he felt like an irredeemable asshole for making you wait for him. If only you had the chance, you would have told him to get his head out of his ass — you had fallen for him, and whether he wanted you to be there or not, you would have thought about him, worried over him, longed for him. He could have tried to distance himself from you if he wanted to, but he was so deeply entwined into your life by now that all the roots simply couldn’t be plucked out anymore.

And he may have been stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid. Knowing how he felt about you, how being away from you made him ache, he suspected you shared the yearning and he knew that trying to push you away wouldn’t have healed either of you from it. So he kept in contact however he could, but not too close to keep his enemies off your trail.

You checked the news every day. And when you saw Billy Russo’s face plastered across your screen, his arrest making the headlines, you knew it was a good day.

Accordingly, there was promptly a knock on your door, and you felt your heart soar as you peeked through the peephole and saw the only man worth waiting for on the other side. You swung the door open, and in an instant, a smile stretched across his bruised face as he help up a bouquet of daffodils, making you grin, too.

”Hey, sweetheart”, he murmured, pulling you into a hug that shut off your senses from everything but him — all you smelled, felt and heard was him, your systems threatening to fail as you clung onto him like your life depended on it and felt his lips leave soft kisses on your forehead and hair. ”There ya are. As goddamn beautiful as I remembered”, he whispered, relieved to be holding you again, even a little proud of himself for making it here.

It wasn’t like he needed the extra motivation on all those long nights away — avenging his family was all the fuel he craved, but knowing that at the end of it all, he had someone to fall back on, encouraged him even more.

”I could say the same about you”, you chuckled while pulling away enough to place a gentle hand on his face and observe all the purple and yellow markings left there. It was obvious he had taken a beating, but if the news was to be trusted, Billy had suffered a fate much worse. And despite all the slowly healing scars on Frank’s sharp features, he was alive, and he was right there for you to admire and tend to.

”This ugly mug?” he snorted while kicking the door shut and pushing his hood off of his head, his hair grown out again and begging for your fingers to run through. Regardless of the mangled appearance, though, he seemed almost hopeful, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you with a twinkle in his dark eyes. He seemed exhausted physically, but mentally, a little less tired. And that made you indescribably happy for him.

”I’m proud of you”, you breathed out, a smile crawling to your own face, ”you did what you needed to do, right? You… you did good. You deserve to rest now.”

Frank looked a little taken aback by your words. Not in a bad way, but it was obvious no one had told him before nor had he expected anyone to. But the quiet chuckle that rose from his throat was genuinely flattered, as was the squint of his eyes as he leaned forward and gave you a tiny nod.

”Thank you, sweetheart. Really”, he rasped before taking in a deep breath, ”any chance I’d, uh, get to rest here? With you?” The look in his eyes was almost boyish, almost nervous, and it made your heart soar the same way his gaze had the first night you had met.

”Always, Frankie”, you promised before placing a hand on his chest and beaming up at him, ”I was hoping you’d say that.”

He licked his lips and looked down at you, hand coming to your neck tenderly with his thumb brushing across your chin. ”I feel like shit for the way I left you back then. I, uh, I hope you didn’t feel like I was just… tryna get in your bed, y’know? It was more than that to me. You are more than that to me. It’s, I dunno, hard for me to put it into words but I care about ya. More than I have about anyone in a long time, I guess”, he explained awkwardly, but you didn’t doubt his sincerity for a single second.

You leaned up to briefly kiss him, and the way he leaned forward to get more made your stomach churn. Nevertheless, you pulled apart to speak your turn, your smaller hand still resting on his bruised cheek.

”I know. I never doubted it. And I don’t expect you to be anyone else but you. I want you as you, Frank”, you reassured, and with a heavy sigh, he dropped his forehead to yours.

”Girl… I want you”, he urged, and you smiled as he briefly touched your lips with the tip of his finger.

”I’m all yours, Frankie.”

[amyhayanora]

KHOC WEEK 2024 Day 2 - Past

the things for my OCs are now the only ones I do, so, off with the annual @khoc-week appointment.😂

The protagonist of this post should have been Aspis, my little Anguis kid, but since Aspis is deeply connected to another character, it's probably better that I start with some headcanons I have about the Foretellers. Between those and the designs, at this point they feel a bit like OCs too. even tried to do a Nomura-esque version for the occasion.

The assumption is that the Foretellers were one of the many attempts on the chessboard of the Master of Masters to face the Darkness. He gathered under his protection a group of lonely and desperate kids, with a tormented past, acting in the grey area more than out of affection. He bet on them. He sought out children who possessed specific flaws of distinct deadly sins, trained them, and made them his apprentices on a journey designed to make them overcome their "sin" and use it as a virtue that will be essential to their future "roles." For example…

Gula, who lived on the streets as a feral child, has known hunger, and food is also how MoM attracted him. Gula suffered from bulimia and nervous hunger for years, before managing to direct his anxiety towards logic and study, becoming an analytical boy "hungry" for knowledge.

Ava, sold away by her once rich family fell in disgrace, wanted EVERYTHING back. everything she had lost, or that she wanted but could no longer afford. Mom was the one who has bought her, she's too young to understand the extent of the family tragedy. that's why she later was the perfect one for the task of choosing any wielder she desires or attracts her eye, without limits, collecting the Dandelion.

Aced has always used his muscles to win easily, alone, without effort and without ever really try to improving himself, until carelessness cost him his tribe and an eye… he is now a loyal follower and uses his strength to defend the group, the arm of the law under Ira.

Ira, balances strength in combat and intelligence, which are also the qualities of his union. stubborn and rebellious, as an angry teenager he ran away from home, losing his path. He was the first one found by Mom, and he owes him his life. He learned to control his anger because of him, obtaining determination, willpower and the courage that made him choose as Leader.

Luxu carried the burden of being an unwanted child, the result of an affair, from an early age he felt cursed by that because of a big birthmark on one eye that vaguely resembles an X. shy, insecure and reserved, people pleaser, until life with his apprentice companions brought out his mischievous and creative personality. His being a people pleaser made him incredibly attentive to the behavior of the people around him and the ideal candidate to infiltrate among people and live their lives, one after the other.

Finally, Invi.

like all the other foretellers, her name is more of a title. Her real name is Nivea, and she was isolated from her village because white hair was considered a bad omen. The resentment of having to survive alone, with a little brother to support, he too with lighter hair than was welcome, soon turned into Envy, gnawing at her insides every time Nivea stopped to observe the normality of other families, lurking and hating everyone but her brother Aspis.

MoM saved both, proposing a deal to Nivea: he would take care of them, they would have a roof over their heads, education, a future, as long as she studied under him.

With no other real choice, the children accept out of desperation.

Nivea and Aspis initially lived together, but as they grow older she is forced to uphold her end of the bargain, spending more and more time at the clocktower. Aspis and Nivea's relationship is ruined irreparably, as Invi begins to enjoy her studies and the company of her peers, spending less and less time with her brother "for a higher purpose".

On the other hand, Aspis, who has always remained silent about a subtle hostility from the inhabitants of Daybreak Town due to his bad temper and sharp tongue, is left almost alone. His only wish was not to be a burden to his sister, who therefore always believed everything was fine and let him go without regrets. Aspis is full of resentment towards Mom, blaming him for brainwashing his sister, now obsessed by Light and darkness, when she clearly only wanted a better life for them.

Aspis and Invi do not hate each other, but the lack of communication makes it difficult to make peace, they will miss their chance before the War.

Aspis eventually made some friends along the way, that made his loneliness bearable. he is in a sort of trio with Lupe and Leonna, and a little girl who for some reason adores him like a big brother, Velcia (she's @alchemist-of-thebes 's oc). he'll never admit it, but he would die for her.😂

concluding this post with some old foretellers art dump xD