#but one that is now beginning to be shaped by friendship and love

[basilibino]

Season 8 was like 6 years ago(I feel old) and I know ppl have differing opinions on the Mr Echo thing (but it was intended, made it to storyboard and blocked animation and then dropped, soooo) but. I can see his recruitment p easily tbh. Bc the whole reason Dr J was in that lighthouse was because he was resurrected, forced there, and ordered to build Skulkin vehicles by Samukai. But Samukai in the flashback we see has already been deposed as leader of the Skulkin/Underworld. Which means the orders to do so most likely came from Garmadon.

And since Mr. E is one of the head honchos, he's likely an early arrival to the team, so I don't think Harumi has a whole lot figured out at this point, she's just got her Trauma and some Bad Influence Friends and an obsession with Lord Garmadon. So. Like. Plausible deniability road trip that she's just visiting important markers of Ninjago's recent past, all of which involve Lord Garmadon in some meaningful way; its sightseeing, its cathartic, and it gives her time to develop her dream Motorcycle Gang/Resurrection Cult. She's not looking for anyone at the Lighthouse, but she is looking for vehicle blueprints so she can be the Koolest leader on the block. But oops she looks in the basement and there's an Echo.

And she's flipping out bc??? A Ninja???? In the Lighthouse basement??? I mean it makes sense that it would be this one but???

Except this rusty old robot has no idea what she's talking about with this Ninja stuff, he's just waiting for his dad to come back.

And Harumi pauses.

Because how long has he been waiting? He's not sure, he had no proper way to measure time in the basement, and he doesn't have the best view of his clockwork heartpiece. But it was after his father saw a strange ship docking; Echo was worried it was the People who had locked up his father in the first place, but instead his dad sounded happy when he saw whoever was out there. It could have been a front, though, as clearly it was never safe to let Echo back out. Then Dr J popped down briefly, while everyone above was resting, to tell Echo he was desperately needed elsewhere, that it wasn't safe to bring Echo, but that he'd be back in no time.

And the pieces are fitting together for Harumi. And she's like. Your dad's dead, bro.

And he's like. What? Did he die doing what was needed of him?

And she's like. Oh, no. He died a few years later.

And he's like. Why didn't he come back for me????

And she's like. Probably because they kept him away.

And he's like. Who's they?

And she's like. The Ninja I was talking about earlier.

And it surely can't be hard in universe to find pictures of Zane and Dr J post s2-pre s3, so she pulls one up and shows Echo who is freaking out bc why is that one kind of like him and Harumi explains that that was the droid his father created first, that he became a Ninja, and that hes probably the one who took their father away and kept echo waiting for years.

But Echo has doubts, shocked as he is abt a new older brother, he wants to believe the good in the situation so he's unsure. But Harumi mentions that the Ninja's failures to uphold more than their self preservation/interests has led to uncountable losses and devastation in Ninjago time and time again, before delving into her own story. And she seems so kind, and so hurt, and I do think there's a genuine connection btwn these two that forms from this shared emotional torment that they decide came from the Ninja, and now Echo is more receptive.

And then Harumi gets to start her Garmadon pitch because wait! If Echo was made here, then that could only have happened because of Lord Garmadon. And she reiterates that he's the reason she and her city could have even survived The Great Devourer. And maybe Echo's family-by-creation left, maybe they were untrustworthy and lacking, but that's OK bc if you look at it all a certain way, Garmadon is more of a father to Echo than Dr J was. And Echo is a vulnerable, overwhelmed mess who just found out his dad fucked off for years without him and also died, and also he has a brother??? Who their dad clearly seems to have favored??? Did they even know about Echo??? Did they delight in their life free of him???

Basically. Kinda Spinel-core but getting abandoned and left completely alone does that to you. Especially when the first person to find you after being abandoned is a deeply hurt and misguided teen who is probably kinda desperate for someone, anyone else to see the Ninja the way she sees them.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the butchery of the beloved, the boulder, the bimbo and the brilliant

kinktober, day twenty-five

a/n: ahhh, it's finally time to share the kinktober fic you all helped shape!! it turned out so fucking unhinged and i love it. happy halloween, folks!

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

summary: “they–… they were right…” the warnings your now deceased friends had given you since the moment you got involved with the frat boy buzzed in your mind, though when they’d light-heartedly called him a psycho, you never in your wildest dreams thought that they would have been correct in their choice of words, “I can’t believe they were right…”

warnings: dark!rafe cameron x innocent!reader, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, slasher au, final girl!reader, 00’s slutty horror movie vibes, found family, nonverbal, murder, violence, blood, gore, crying, alcohol consumption, smoking, possessiveness, jealousy, mask kink, kissing, size kink, belly bulge, manhandling, dirty talk, just the tip, pussyjob, oral, spit kink, impact play, pain kink, choking, bondage, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, references to anal/painal

word count: 7400

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2024

It all started at a lunch table, as so many friendships do. 

The first one to sit was Hana, the nurturing soul of the group who had been a genius even back then. The next to join was Brian, the blonde bombshell whose smile brightened any room he entered. Then came Oliver, the guy who at twelve years old had stood up to the bully you couldn’t face yourself and swore from that day on he’d do so for each and every one of you till the end of your days. And lastly, there was you, in many ways the glue of the little pack. 

To say that the four of you were thick as thieves didn’t even begin to cover it, as you’d been there for each other in every up and down in each of your lives since adolescence. Even when your mother passed, especially when your mom passed, that’s when you truly knew that they weren’t just your pals, but your family. 

“Oh wow,” you breathed as you gazed out the window to the destination you’d finally reached, “is this really your dad’s cabin?” you glanced over your shoulder at the man behind the wheel, a proud smirk ever on his lips.

“Yep,” Rafe nodded and reached down to put the car in park. 

You’d met him at the beginning of this semester and it hadn’t taken you very long at all to fall embarrassingly and completely head over heels for the guy. 

Though he wasn’t the first boyfriend to grow to be a part of the tight-knit clique, he hadn’t been welcomed with open arms as you remembered Jerome, Brian’s partner, had two years ago. The gentle giant of few words had melted into your dynamic so naturally that none of you remembered any longer a time before him. But it wasn’t like that this time, not with Rafe. For some reason, your friends just couldn’t warm up to the frat guy you loved so dearly. 

As you heard the other car roll to a stop behind you, the vehicle where the four remaining resisted, your fingers dipped down into your pocket and fished out your phone to snap a photo of the luxurious lake house and its breathtaking views, though that’s when you noticed the lack of bars up in the upper corner of the screen.

“Oh, damn it…” you squinted down at your phone, “is there seriously no service out here?” 

“Yeah, sorry I forgot to tell you,” Rafe snatched out the keys, “this place is pretty off-grid, you have to probably walk half an hour or something to get any signal.”

The dry leaves on the forest floor crunched beneath your shoes as you stepped out of the car and tipped your head back to glance up at how high the surrounding pine trees stretched up towards the cloudy sky. 

As Rafe hopped up onto the wide porch and fiddled with a bundle of keys to unlock the place, your gaze kept finding him as you hung back a while and helped your friends unload their car.

“Can you all please promise to play nice this weekend?” you quietly asked them. 

“Yeah,” Oliver huffed, yanking out a heavy duffle bag, “I’ll play nice if he does, which I sincerely doubt since I haven’t yet discovered one kind bone in his body.” 

“Oh, come on,” you defended your beau, “he’s the one who suggested this trip so that you could all finally discover what a sweet guy he actually is,” before you all ascended the short steps and filtered into the abode. 

Not soon after you all crossed the threshold, Rafe’s arms seized your waist and drew you back against him, whispering in your ear that he wanted to give you the grand tour of the house. 

However, when you reached the room that was to belong to the two of you for the rest of the weekend, his ulterior motives for the journey around the cabin became crystal clear. 

At first, when he wrapped his arms around you from behind as you gazed out the tall windows at the foot of the bed, a giggle bubbled in your belly as you felt his desire poke the small of your back. Though it was already during his palm’s swift voyage under the hem of your shirt and up towards your boobs that he let slip what crucial item he’d neglected to pack. 

“You didn’t bring any condoms?” you twisted around to glare at the persistence that still sparkled in his eyes.

“Oh, come on, don’t let that fact spoil our fun,” he pulled you back into his arms, “don’t you want me to dick you down this weekend, huh?” he murmured in your ear.

“Well, I don’t wanna get pregnant,” you slowly pushed him back, “so it’ll just have to be another weekend.”  

But then he seized your hand and brought it down to the palpable tent in his jeans, “babe, come on. Just feel how hard I am. You can’t just leave me like this, not when it’s your fault to begin with.”

Your mouth then fell open as a shy scoff rolled off your tongue, “I literally haven’t done a thing, how is it my fault?”

“Come on, don’t act like a prude,” his grip around your wrist shifted and it slid down to rub your palm against his hardness, “be a good girl and at the very least get down on your knees.”

“No,” you chuckled lightly and pushed yourself off of him enough to stumble closer towards the bedroom’s exit, “if you’re so desperate, then take care of it yourself.” 

Even though winter was creeping ever nearer, each one of you still dared to go down to the lake’s small pier and soak up the mild rays of autumn sun that peeked out behind the clouds. Both Hana and Oliver even gathered enough courage to take a dip in the cool water, though weren’t successful in any of their attempts at talking the rest of you into the same. 

Though when your friends in the water began to splash at one another, Oliver teasingly let some splatter upon Brian as he sat on the edge, eyes closed and face turned up towards the sky as he relaxed back against his boyfriend. 

“Oh my god! Don’t!” he tensely straightened up, his tone startling Jerome enough that his palm that rested on Brian’s waist tightened, “stop! You’re giving me flashbacks to summer camp!” 

As you heard your grinning friend in the lake apologise, you opened your mouth to note, “that’s right, I forgot you went to camp when we were kids.”

“Yeah, it was honestly revolting,” Brian recoiled slightly at the recollection, “mosquitoes, terrible food, even worse people. Had a big old lake just like this one,” he gestured to the surrounding landscape. 

“Actually,” Rafe then spoke up, his voice booming to your ears as he sat directly behind you, his legs slotted on either side of your frame as his chin rested atop your shoulder, “this place used to be a summer camp too back when my dad bought it.”

“Really?” Hana glanced up from the water, their childish game now halted. 

“Yeah, I mean,” Rafe cast a glance over his shoulder at the structures on the bank just behind him, “it had been abandoned and completely deserted for a long time, but a lot of the buildings, the main house and the shed and stuff, they’re the original cabins just renovated.”

“Your dad bought an abandoned camp?” Oliver scrunched up his face, “okay, creepy…”

“Oh, hell no, I’m out,” Brain began to unravel, “babe, if we wake up in the middle of the night to a ghost child standing at the foot of our bed, it’s your job to take care of it,” he glanced over his shoulder at Jerome, “I’m too delicate and pretty to deal with the paranormal, especially if it’s kids,” to which his boyfriend simply hummed in agreement and soothingly let his palm run down his partner’s arm.

“Oh, this place isn’t haunted,” Hana said after she’d swam up to clutch against the side of the pier, “calm down.”

“Well, you don’t know that, it might be,” the blonde man behind you shrugged, “especially with what apparently happened here back in the day…”

“What are you talking about?” you looked back at him. 

“Well, back like forty years ago or something, when this was still a camp, there was this one counsellor who one day just went nuts, like snapped and murdered every single person there,” Rafe told, purposely making his tone more ominous the further into the story he got, “that’s why the place was shut down and abandoned, why no one ever wanted to return it to its former glory. It’s one of the most gruesome unsolved cases in this entire corner of the country.”

“Wait, unsolved?” Brian clutched his imaginary pearls. 

“Yeah, the guy was never caught, supposably never even left these woods…” he then leaned in and attempted to truly spook you all, “at night if you listen closely, you can still hear him sharpening his blade, getting ready to hunt his next prey…”

Hana, assuming that he was only joking, let out a dry laugh to cut the tense silence that had fallen over you all, “okay, very funny, ha-ha.” 

“Yeah,” you gently rubbed your boyfriend’s arm as you tried to shake the tale off of you, “let’s maybe not joke about psychopaths running around a rural area when we actually are in a rural area,” though goosebumps still pricked and tingled every inch of your skin. 

“Wait, how did it go?” your giggle mingled with Oliver’s as you both leaned against the kitchen counter, nearly bumping your foreheads together from how hard you were laughing, “was it…” and you began to hum a faint melody. 

“No because, remember, at the end it went,” your friend cut you off and then made his own attempt, though much more accurate than your own, causing your eyes to promptly light up with recognition before they crinkled together in laughter as he tried to hit the high note at the end. 

Once the woods surrounding the cabin had succumbed to darkness, the group of you all decided to wrap the day up in a bit of merriment, going through Rafe’s father’s liquor stash and turning up the music. 

During your and Oliver’s secluded moment in the kitchen away from the rest, your laughter caused you to sway even closer to one another, your palm naturally planting itself on his chest as your faces nearly touched. 

Though just as the pair of you were doubled over, a figure appeared in the doorway.

“Oh,” your grin continued as you spotted your boyfriend, “hey baby,” though your laughter finally began to fade. 

Staring daggers at the man beside you, Rafe then uttered coldly, “hey,” before his feet carried him straight towards you, seized your waist and twisted you away from your friend and towards himself to capture your lips. 

“Okay, right,” Oliver exhaled as Rafe kept marking his territory, kissing you way more passionately than he needed to, “I’ll just see you guys back in the living room then…”

You tried to tilt away enough to utter your friend a reply, though your boyfriend didn’t allow you, only let you go once Oliver was long gone and Rafe returned to his original plan of cracking open the fridge to get a cold beer for himself. 

Walking back out into the living room while your boyfriend scavenged for a bottle opener, you plopped yourself back down on the couch, on the opposite side to where Brian and Jerome were snuggled up. Next to where the lit fireplace crackled sat Oliver in a chair and not far from his feet on the fuzzy carpet rested Hana, legs crisscrossed as she held up her wine glass to stare through it. 

When Rafe rejoined you all, a freshly glowing cigarette trapped between his lips as he sauntered out of the kitchen, he situated himself right beside you, making space for himself where there hadn’t really been previously. In his hand, he didn’t just balance his own drink, but also a stout glass filled with an amber liquid, one he swiftly handed off to you even though you hadn’t asked for it, yet that had still been the routine of the evening, and after the first one was sloshing on your belly, the others became harder to deny and not accidentally sip absentmindedly, especially when he’d playfully help you along by tilting the glass the remaining distance up towards your lips. 

“Sweetie,” Hana soon leaned closer to utter for your ears only, “don’t you want a glass of water instead?” 

Though your boyfriend beside you unfortunately overheard and grasped his cigarette between two of his longer fingers, a puff of smoke accompanying his words as he answered before you got the chance to, “she’s fine.”

From across the couch, as Hana scooted back to her spot on the carpet, having not caught the quiet interaction, Brian then suggested, “why don’t we play a game or something?” 

“What, like truth or dare?” Hana leaned back against an unoccupied armchair. 

“No, this isn’t a slumber party. Isn’t there like board games here?”

Brian’s glance then drifted to Rafe as he smothered his cigarette in the nearby ashtray and, without warning, pulled you into his lap and caught Oliver’s eye from across the room as he shamelessly let his hands wander across your frame.  

“Uh, yeah. There should be some in the cabinet over there,” Rafe vaguely gestured before his lips began to nip at the side of your neck, making your eyes flutter and only half watched along as Brian then got up to skim through the aforementioned cupboard. 

“Okay,” he glanced through the options, “there are cards, so we could play poker or something,”

“No way,” Oliver swiftly shook his head and shot a glance at Jerome’s bulky form, comfortably slumped on the couch, “I’m not repeating that fiasco again.” 

“Aw,” Brian glanced back at his friend, “but it was so cute seeing my boyfriend fucking demolish you,” and Jerome, the quiet man he was, just let out a grunt in agreement.

“No, pick something else,” Oliver waved a hand. 

“Well, we’ve got monopoly, scrabble, cards against humanity–, uh! There’s clue!” he excitedly picked up the box and spun around, “oh, work! Let’s play that!” 

With his kisses still dancing along your skin, they then suddenly ceased as Rafe announced, “you guys go ahead, I think Y/n is ready for bed.” 

Shooting a concerned glance at how your intoxicated form wobbled slightly as your boyfriend helped you up on your feet, Hana uttered, “oh, are you sure?” 

“She is,” Rafe’s touch clung to you, “aren’t you babe?” 

“Oh, uhm…” you hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that he mentioned it, as if he himself planted the thought in your hazy mind, all of the alcohol had in fact made you pretty sleepy, “yeah, I guess so.” 

“Alright, well then,” Hana’s voice stayed slightly hesitant, “sleep tight.”

“I love you guys,” you blew the group kisses as Rafe helped you over towards the stairs. 

His kisses made you even more dizzy than you already were, so when you stumbled over the threshold into your shared room, you flopped down onto the mattress, though you weren’t quite sure if you’d just fallen or if Rafe had manhandled your intoxicated and pliant frame, giving you a push before his form was atop of yours. 

Though now that you were horizontal and with the weight of a frat boy squishing you further down into the bed, that was when you truly noticed just how much you’d had to drink that evening. 

The room was spinning as Rafe made out with you, his palms raking across your body like a wild storm, squeezing every soft curve he could get his hands on. As one hand disappeared up your skirt, his kisses wandered down and over your throat to the bit of your chest that was exposed in the neckline of your top. Wasting no time at all, he then yanked down the hem, catching one of the cups of your bra as well as he unwrapped your tit like a present. 

As his face was buried in your boobs, surely giving you hickeys from the way that he sucked at your pebbly nipple and the surrounding sensitive skin, a breathless attempt at halting his affections left your lungs, “baby–” 

Though he didn’t take the whimper as you’d intended it and simply continued, “shit, you’re so fucking hot,” he yanked down the other sliver of mesh fabric covering your other boob, “god, these tits are just insane.” 

Weakly, you ran your fingers through his buzzed hair and gasped as you felt his hardness grind into your covered core, “Rafe, I–” 

“Yeah?” his lips began to flutter back up to your own as he let himself rock against you with more intent, “you want this big dick, huh?” 

“No, we can’t, we don’t have a–”

“Oh come on, baby,” he shifted, slipping a hand down under the waistband of your skirt and into your underwear, not hesitating to sweep his fingers through your wetness and bully your little button, “I know you want to…” 

“Stop, that feels too good,” you tried, but couldn’t yank his strong hand away, “you can’t–, I have to get up and brush my teeth.” 

“You know, all my exes let me tap it raw,” he purred in your ear and attempted to guilt you, “why won’t you? Don’t you trust me?” his touch then suddenly disappeared, but only to tug down the zipper on the side of your short skirt.

“Of course I do, I just–”

“Then why won’t you let me make you feel good, huh?” he yanked both your skirt and panties down your legs, so fast it nearly gave you whiplash. Crawling off of your jelly-like form, he stood tall and loomed at the foot of the bed. Wasting no time, he yanked your core closer to the edge before he desperately freed his fat cock. The taps he then offered your glistening cunt, letting you reel in the weight of his length, “doesn’t that feel nice, baby?” he smirked at the way your mouth fell open, “because it sure seems like your little pussy thinks so, just look,” you followed his command and glanced down to spot how his intimidating girth nudged at your weepy petals. 

Even after months of dating, you still hadn’t gotten used to the daunting size of him. 

“Oh, fuck…” your brows knitted together. 

“Just listen to that,” he flicked the bulbous tip through your slick folds with more vigour, causing the melody of your want to echo even louder throughout the bedroom, “you’re so fucking wet. You want it so bad…”

You then felt yourself fade away into the intoxicating sensation, letting him continue to fuck your fold and make your pussy drool even further till your eyes fluttered shut. 

However, it didn’t take very long at all, through all of the hazy motions, before the very tip of him caught your entrance and slipped inside. 

“Rafe!” you gasped, eyes snapping back open as your spine lurched off the mattress just an inch. 

“Fuck,” he let out a loud groan, “sorry, babe. You’re just too soaked, it slipped in,” though didn’t move at all to pull it back out, since it had secretly been completely on purpose, “christ, you’re so tight…”

As he slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side, you pleaded once more, “Rafe…” quietly begging for him to take it out through the conflicting haze as the familiar sensation of him stuffing you full always shut your brain completely off.

“This doesn’t count,” he claimed as he began to move, pumping just the bulbous head of himself in and out of your little hole, “not really. I can fuck you with just the tip, right?” a few of his fingers then lowered to strum your clit and summon a loud moan from deep within your soul, “yeah, that’s what I thought…”

As he removed his fingers from your clit, he then stuffed them in your mouth, muffling your soft whimpers and letting you suck them clean of your juices. As the taste of yourself coated your tongue, your own hands came up to clutch his, holding it near as you soon let your pecks wander across his palm and even down to plant a soft kiss to the gold ring that never left his finger.

“Oh–,” a gasp then left your lungs as he suddenly pushed in a bit more of his length, “Rafe, that’s too deep,” selfishly letting himself feel more of your warmth. 

“No, that’s not too deep,” he began to fuck you properly, making you lose your breath, “you wanna know what is too deep?” a purposefully harsh thrust then buried itself so far inside of you that a tingle of pain joined the pleasure, “that’s too deep,” he then retracted just a tad, though still filled you up completely with each long stroke, “this is just right.” 

“We can’t–,” you foggily tried to shake your head. 

“Yes, we can. Just look how good you’re taking me, baby,” the palm you’d been clutching then escaped your grasp and scooped behind your head to tilt your neck and lock it there, directing your glance down between your bodies and forcing you to spot the faint bulge that appeared at each one of his mind-melting thrusts, “you don’t wanna stop…”

Feeling that all too familiar high begin to fuzz up your periphery, you trembled, “o-oh, fuck…” 

“You feel so fucking good…” he grunted as your pussy began to clench around his fat girth, “just let me use you for a bit, yeah?” 

“I–, I–,” gasps of air expanded your lungs as his pace then thrust you over the edge, “holy shit…” and your cunt helplessly clambered around him. 

In your orgasmic haze, Rafe then abruptly flipped you around for you to lay on your stomach, and you barely managed to process it before you felt the weight of him settle atop of you, smooshing you down into the mattress as he slid back in. 

“Ah!” you yelped at the way he didn’t hold back, “Rafe, it’s too much,” not even bothering to grant you a chance to recover, but simply fucked through your soreness, “I can’t–”

“Oh, shut up, you can take it,” he growled in your ear, his feet hooking your ankles and spreading your shaky legs further for him, “take it like the good little slut you are.”

It was strange how he’d taught your body to love the pain he inflicted. Even if the source was just his god-given gift of a girth, or curse, all depending on your point of view, and not the roughness he occasionally let slip out of the dark depths he tried to hide his jagged sides in for you and you alone.  

“Fuck,” you soon heard him groan as his heavy sack slapped against your cunt at each one of his furious rocks, “I’m gonna cum!” 

“Pull out–,” you managed to mumble into the sheets.

“What?” he kept on pounding your poor pussy. 

“Not inside,” you tilted your head a bit to beg, “please!”

“Oh my god, fine,” he then begrudgingly pulled out and with one hand flipped you back onto your stomach as the other wrapped around his cock and he began to fuck his fist. Pushing himself up onto his knees, he crawled further up your body till his thighs caged you in, denting the mattress on either side of your face. He didn’t even wait for your lips to part before he shoved his dick down your throat, making you gag as he groaned loudly above you, “fuck…” and fed you his load.  

When he soon flopped down on the bed beside you, the both of you catching your breaths, you instinctively gulped down what he’d given you before you curled your frame into his side. 

As he wrapped an arm beneath your head, his glance then flickered down to you as he caught your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting you up to him before he asked, “did you swallow it?” digging his digit slightly into your skin and making you open your mouth for him, letting him discover the answer him himself, “fuck… that’s my girl…” he groaned before dipping down to kiss you. 

The peck however didn’t carry on for long as his warmth then suddenly disappeared. 

“Where are you going?” you watched as he got up, reaching out your arms to him in a silent plea for cuddles. 

“I’m thirsty,” he zipped his pants back up, though didn’t bother with his shirt, “you just try and fall asleep, I’ll be right back.” 

Flashing him a drowsy smile, “okay,” you then tug the duvet over your form and let your gaze shadow him as he made his way out of the room. 

You thought you hadn’t managed to fall asleep, but evidently, you had as when the door to the room suddenly burst open, you were jolted awake, Rafe as well stirring as he was now settled behind you with an arm draped over your frame. 

As three of your friends rushed to slam the door behind them, Rafe propped himself up and mumbled, “hey, what the fuck–”

But Hana then cut him off, a downright terrified look plastered not only all over her own face, but the rest as well.

“Oliver’s dead,” she uttered through the tears that thickened up her voice. 

Still groggy, you slowly sat up and murmured, “what?”

Snapping her bloodshot eyes to lock with yours, she bellowed, “Oliver is fucking dead!” 

As your gaze flickered over the group in search of any sign that what she claimed wasn’t true, you heard Rafe behind you exhale, “okay, this isn’t funny.”

“Oh shut up, you dick!” Brian shot back, doubled over in the corner, hyperventilating as Jerome kneeled before him, trying to calm him down. 

“Hey, hey,” you gently raised up a hand, “don’t talk to him like that. What the hell do you mean Oliver is dead?”

“I mean that he’s dead as in dead, dead,” Hana explained, her words causing the world to suddenly crumble all around you, “Jerome went outside to get something from the car and found him on the porch, not moving and with his head stuck under the water in the hot tub.” 

With tears now stinging the corners of your eyes, you struggled to suck in a breath of air, “what?”

“It’s that fucking ghost story you told us,” Brian panicked in the corner, “it’s real, isn’t it?” 

“Okay,” Rafe uttered as the both of you leapt out of bed and scrambled to get some clothes on, “let’s all just calm down.”

“We gotta call the police,” Hana said, to which Jerome swiftly pulled out his phone, only to then curse quietly as he discovered what Brian too noticed when he glanced over his shoulder. 

“Fuck, we can’t, there’s no signal!”

Hana then glanced around at everyone, “well then one of us has gotta drive and find some, right?” 

“Hell no,” Brian shuttered, “if there’s some psycho out in these woods, then I’m not staying behind to get murdered. We’re all going.”

So that’s how, after you’d all scurried downstairs and filtered out through the sliding door to the porch, that you saw the truth with your own eyes. 

Even though his head was obscured beneath water, the unmoving corpse of your dear friend still caught your eyes and stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh my god…” you sobbed, your blood running cold. 

But before you could let your feet carry you closer to the scene of the crime, Rafe seized your arm and uttered, “baby, come on,” before pulling you along the last short distance towards the cars, “I’m sorry, but we gotta go.”

Though when you did reach the vehicles and attempted to start them, neither one of them would as they’d seemingly been tampered with, forcing the panicked lot of you all to run back inside. 

“Shit…” Brian clutched onto the back of the couch in the living room for support, “what do we do now?”

“We can’t go on foot, not in the dark through this forest,” Rafe spoke, “so we gotta stay here till morning.”

Glancing around the space, Hana uttered, “then we gotta make this place safe. Lock all the doors and windows, find somewhere to hide.” 

“Yeah, good idea,” your boyfriend nodded before suggesting, “let’s split up, it’ll be faster that way. Y/n with me, we’ll take that side of the house, and the rest of you stay over here.” 

And before anyone could protest, he’d yanked you down a dark hallway.

You nearly stumbled twice as Rafe dragged your shaking visage through the lake house, only stopping once you’d reached a large closet. 

“In here, baby,” he shoved you inside, though began to shut the door before he nuzzled himself in as well. 

“No, what are you doing?” tears streaming down your face, you attempted to stop him. 

Though he only halted his efforts a second, grasping your face as he uttered, “please, just stay here.”

“No, it’s too dangerous,” you clutched onto his dark t-shirt, “you can’t–”

“Babe, I can’t let anything happen to you. I can’t lose you,” he then collided his lips with your own, a sob escaping your lungs as he briefly kissed you, “please, just stay right here, hide, for me.” 

Slowly, you loosened your trembling grip on his shirt and cried, “I love you.” 

“I’ll be right back!” he promised before shutting the closet door and bathing you in darkness. 

You had no idea how much time passed, if it was only a few seconds or hours that you stayed in the dusty and dim abyss of that closet, but then when a loud crash and a shrill scream suddenly found your ears, your shaky hand pushed the door back open.

You’d never in your life been as terrified as you were when you found yourself tip-toeing down that long, dark hallway. Though, as you sneaked past the ajar door to the study, your entire body suddenly froze up at the massacre that met you within. 

Unmoving and slumped over the threshold, there lied Jerome, his face beaten to a pulp, rendering it nearly unrecognisable as blood slowly trickled into the tight curls on the top of his head. 

Past where Hana was lying in the middle of the room, battered and coughing, in the corner you saw as a tall figure, masked by a dark motorcycle helmet, crouched over the still form of Brian and landed the last few blows to claim his life. 

“Please,” Hana’s words were gurgled by blood as the killer slowly straightened back up. Twisting ever so slightly, the assailant plucked out one of the clubs from the gold bag that leaned against one of the tall bookcases, “just let me go,” your last living friend begged as you watched the murderer wrap his long fingers around the handle and take the few steps to where Hana lied, “just let me–” 

As he took a wide swing and hit your friend right in her temple, the loud crack that echoed throughout the cabin made you shutter in terror and let out an uncontrollable scream, causing the killer’s head to snap up to spot you in the dark hallway. 

For a second you both just stood there, frozen and staring at one another, like two deer in headlights. But then, as he began to move, taking his time as he stepped over the bodies littering his path, you stumbled back and collided with the wall directly behind you. 

You tried to run, but even though you managed to slip out the wide glass doors and escape a good distance into the dark forest surrounding the house, the masked man still caught up to you and flung you against a tree. As he had you cornered, you felt him drag the cold tip of the golf club up your right leg and over your shuttering skin, drawing a crimson line of your beloved’s blood across your goosebump-ridden flesh. 

“P-please don’t kill me, please–,” you cried, but just then, the moonlight that streamed through the dense treetops caught in a glint of gold that adorned the hand that clutched the club, a recognizable ring that caused your heart to drop. 

As your eyes then flickered up to the dark helmet, that too seemed oddly familiar now that you truly looked at it. 

In some sick and twisted way, you hoped that the killer had just stolen the jewellery from your boyfriend as a trophy of the night’s conquest and not the horrifying alternative. 

But when you then tried to slip away and the man pushed you back, your hands defensively shot up, though only managed to knock the helmet off his head and let it tumble to the dark forest floor below, unveiling the earth-shattering truth. 

“Oh my god…” you gasped, eyes wide as you now stood face to face with your boyfriend. 

“Shh,” he took a step closer to you, caging you in even further, “calm down, baby. Don’t do anything stupid now.” 

“They–… they were right…” the warnings your now deceased friends had given you since the moment you got involved with the frat boy buzzed in your mind, though when they’d light-heartedly called him a psycho, you never in your wildest dreams thought that they would have been correct in their choice of words, “I can’t believe they were right…”

A low sigh then escaped Rafe’s lungs. 

“You really should have just stayed hidden like I told you to… I didn’t want you to find out this way… it would have been so much simpler if you’d just bought into the story I made up…” 

“You killed my friends…” your chest ached with every painful gasp of air, “how–… how could you?” 

“Oh, honey…” his head tilted slightly as the corners of his lips twitched, “do you really think this is my first time?” 

Staring back at him in horror, you sputtered, “w-why?”

“Because of you,” he uttered as if it was obvious, “it was all for you,” his feet shifted him even closer to you, “they were a bad influence, so this was the only way.”

“They were my family!” 

“They were like a poison, all of them, trying to control you, trying to take you away from me,” he inched in even closer, making you wish the harsh bark that scratched up your spine would simply open up like a portal and let you escape, “I know Hana was trying to get you to break up with me… Oliver always followed you around like a lost puppy, just hoping you’d one day spread your legs for him… and Jerome and Brian? They were just plain annoying,” his hot breath fanned across your skin as he petted the edges of your features with a knuckle of the hand clutching the golf club, “I did it all for you, for us, because I love you… fuck, you have no idea how much I fucking love you, baby…” he uttered before bringing the bud of the improvised weapon down upon the side of your head and knocking you clean out. 

When you came to, the flicking light from a lit fireplace was the only source of light in the dim room you found yourself in. Arms folded up behind your head, a long rope was tangled around them and stretched up to a beam in the ceiling above. Your legs too were tied, keeping your naked frame upright and locked in place in the middle of the room. 

“Fucking finally,” a low voice echoed from the chair across the chamber, causing you to wince as the tone pierced your soul and worsened your splitting headache, “you really took your sweet time waking up.” 

Blinking back at your boyfriend as he leaned back in the seat, pants undone and his hard length tight in his fist, a murmur escaped your lips, “…you knocked me out…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he got up and walked towards your suspended form, “but you didn’t give me any other choice.” 

As he slowly neared you, your glossy eyes flickered up to meet his.

“Rafe, please,” you heard your voice break as you tried to keep your tone soft, “you don’t have to do this. Just untie me, I promise I won’t be mad at you.”

“Oh yeah?” a small scoff slipped through his smirk. 

“Yes. I’ll do whatever you want, just please let me go,” you begged, “please don’t hurt me.” 

“Shh, shh,” his palm rose up to stroke your hair before letting it rush down and over the curves of your exposed body, “but you’ve been such a bad girl. I think you deserve a lesson that hurts a little bit,” his palm then slapped your pussy, still soaked and sore from earlier, rendering you to let out a shrill yelp, “it’s okay, you can cry…” he briefly leaned in to kiss your cheek before he shifted, though still staying so close that his nose ghosted along your skin as he made his way around to stand directly behind you, “you look so pretty when you do…”

You then squirmed as he reached down to grasp his cock and nudge at your sensitive entrance, “Rafe, please–, ah!” a cry then left your form as he ruthlessly rammed his way inside, plugging you up so completely that his balls nuzzled against your slick skin. 

“Fuck!” his moan tickled the shell of your ear as he tangled his arms around your torso, “you’re so perfect…” he began to move, finding a selfish pace to wreck you with, “so perfect and all mine…” 

As his thrusts caused your tits to jiggle, one of his wide hands soared up to grasp one while the other one snaked up to wrap around your throat. He then squeezed it fiercely enough that all your noises eventually faded away and he kept you completely quiet for a good moment before his hold slackened and he once again granted you the privilege of gasping for air. 

“This is all you need, just me, only me,” he grunted, “just like this, using your pretty little hole for exactly what it was made for… you were made for me and nobody else… no one…”

His grip then drifted down to dent your hips before he lifted them, raising your bound frame till your tip toes were barely grazing the cold floor. Your back arched slightly as he repeatedly brought your hips back to him, his balls sloppily slapping against your swollen clit each time he manoeuvred your body and treated you like a toy. 

When he then hooked an arm around your front to keep moving your body greedily against him, it granted the other one the grace to roam your frame freely. 

As his fingers found one of your nipples in a harsh pinch, he let out a groan at the way you began to clamper down around his fat girth, “are you gonna cum, baby? Huh?” his palm then slapped your tit, “because it sure fucking feels like you’re close,” before he suddenly retracted completely, slipping out of your drooling cunt and causing a shy whimper to slip from your lips, one he swiftly cut off when he smacked your cheek, “too bad. You’re not allowed to.” 

As you shakily struggled to stay on your unsteady feet, you panted, “Rafe, my legs, I can’t–”

“Oh yeah?” he mockingly pouted at you as he sauntered around to your front, “do they hurt? Are you tired?” and as you offered him a nod, his fingers grasped your chin, “well,” his thumb slowly stretched up to trace your bottom lip, “if you promise that you’ll be a good girl for me, then I’ll give you a little break.”

“Yes, I will,” a tear rolled down your still stinging cheek. 

“You will what?” his palm briefly slapped the side of your face once again before returning to the same hold. 

“I’ll be your good girl, I’ll do whatever you want,” you begged and as he then sank down to his knees, grabbed a pocketknife resting on a nearby table and held up his end of the bargain, slicing through the ropes at your legs and cutting them loose. A new wave of sobs tumbled out of your form, “thank you! Oh, thank you so much!”

Tossing the blade far away before he rose back up, “you’re fucking welcome, baby,” he then caught you off guard as he suddenly plucked your lower half up into his arms. 

“W-wait, I thought you’d give me a break!” your legs trembled in his grasp as he slide you back onto his fat cock. 

“Yeah, your legs were tired, so I’m being nice and giving them a break,” the wet claps of your skin roughly colliding once again filled the dark room, “your pussy doesn’t deserve one yet… unless of course, this is you begging me to fuck your ass…” a wicked wish that he’d been begging you for ever since the very first time he banged you. 

“No! No, not there, please, I’ve never–”

“Oh, I know you haven’t,” he smirked, “that’s what makes it so much more fun…”

“Please, Rafe,” you blinked back at him, “don’t.”

“You told me I could do whatever I want…” he angled his bucks right against that spot that caused your teeth to dig into your lower lip, “you promised to be a good girl for me and just take whatever I give you…” 

“I will,” your eyes couldn’t help but flutter, “just please not that.”

He then let a dollop of his spit splatter directly against your face, “alright, but only because I love you,” before he dipped down to plant a feverish kiss against your lips, “tell me that you love me too.”

“I love you,” you murmured against his mouth. 

“Huh?” one of his hands let go of you and he shifted to balance you with only one, letting the other instead drift down between your forms to bully your puffy pearl, “what was that?”

“I lo–, a-ah!” you suddenly whined as he pressed one of his fingers inside your pussy, not caring in the slightest that you were already completely filled up as he forced his digit in alongside his fat cock. 

“Come on, baby,” he stared down at you, “tell me you love me,” and kept up his ruthless pace as he hooked the finger inside of you, “tell your soulmate just how much you love and adore him, how you want nothing more than to worship him at his feet.” 

“I–, I–, Rafe,” you gasped, feeling as if he was splitting you in half, “it’s too much–”

“No, it’s not too much, it’s exactly right, you can take it, baby.” 

“I can’t–”

“I don’t fucking care,” he continued to fuck you without remorse, slamming his intimidating length so deep inside of you that you nearly couldn’t breathe, “I wanna feel you cum, just like this.”

“Rafe–”

“Do it or I’ll get a lot meaner,” he warned you before he finally got what he wanted. Your squirt drizzled down on the floor as the intensity caused a scream to erupt from your form, “there you go, fuck,” he groaned as he watched your pussy gush around his girth, “that’s it,” before the way your cunt clambered down around him caused him to let go as well, “shit,” and pump you full of his cum. 

Rafe pressed a peck to your forehead before he pulled out of your warmth and you breathlessly glanced down to watch as his hot load began to leak out of your quivering hole. 

“Alright, baby,” he exhaled and then uttered words that caused a shiver to trickle down your spine, “foreplay’s over. I think you’re ready for your punishment now.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[mywritersmind]

THE BOOTH - LN4

summary : The booth. A notorious club in the heart of london, where y/n and lando met again after two years of silence.

listen up : fewtrell!reader. She sits in his lap. no smut, just hot and suggestive. creepy guy in the beginning! Prob my fav short i’ve written omg

word count : 1732

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“No.” I giggle out of uncomfortableness at the man getting closer to me.

“C’mon, let me buy you a drink.” the man reeks of alcohol and has fucked up teeth. I’ve seen enough. I pull down the bottom of my mini dress as I stand.

“No.” I repeat, pushing past him. The club is crowded and sticky, I see my friends but a hand around my wrist pulls me back.

“Really? Too good for me?” He scoffs in my face but the next thing I know he’s being pushed away from me.

“She is.” The voice comes from the man in front of me, the guy who pushed this dickhead away. “Piss off. She’s with me.”

The guy seems intimidated enough because he gives me a dirty look and leaves. “Thank y-” I pause when the man turns around.

I pause because the man is my childhood crush, brothers best friend, and fucking formula one driver.

“Lando?” I’m genuinely shocked that the britt I haven’t seen in two years is standing in front of me.

“Y/n!?” He looks me up and down, his mouth open, “Fuck… You look good.” I could say the same for him, in a navy button down, jeans, and his jewelry adorning his hands. He’s ridiculously hot.

I laugh, “Careful Lan, my brother could be lurking.” I switch my weight onto one leg as he smirks.

Max loves Lando. Max loves me.

Therefore, Max HATED the thought of us even speaking. We were all friends in childhood but our teens hit and suddenly I was completely off limits. I’m pretty sure he noticed how much I asked about Lando and swore that he would kill both of us if anything happened.

Someone walks behind him, causing him to get closer, his hand brushing against my hip, “Don’t scare me, yeah?”

I bite my lip at the thought, we start walking across the room, Lando’s hand firmly on me now as he ‘guides’ me. “Don’t worry. Idiots in Monaco… which means we have free rein.”

I see his jaw clench, his drink slide onto his lips again, “I’d like to keep my friendship.”

“I’d like to lose my panties.” I’m quick to reply, messing with Lando used to be my favorite thing.

You see, Lando is Max’s best friend. He feels bad lying and this would definitely be considered a betrayal of trust.

But for me… Max is my brother. I can lie and do whatever I want with no remorse. Lando is something I could do easily and as much as it would make me happy to piss off my brother, Norris has always been that one guy in the back of my mind.

“Christ Y/n. Missed your remarks.” We make it to the wall, it’s a bit quieter over here.

“You mean you missed my flirting?” I look up at him, he just bites his lip, hiding his smile.

“I missed you.” He surprises me with this.

“I missed you too.” I push my hand through my hair, “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Really good.” He smiles big and I know it’s because of his racing.

“Watched your win in Zandvoort.” I sigh, “Simply lovely was brutal.” He rolls his eyes, laughing and leaning his head back on the wall.

“Not you too!”

“It was hilarious! I liked it!” I hit his arm and the way he looks at me… it’s like every emotion that I've tucked away and only opened up in the darkness of my bedroom after midnight, comes out then. “I like this too.”

My hand goes to the back of his neck, playing with his curls that shape his baby mullet.

“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head, his eyes cut into me, his voice weak.

“What?” I say innocently.

“You always do this.”

“Do what, Norris?” Lando never was that much taller than me, but something about the two passed years has changed that.

His tongue runs over his teeth, he’s about to say something but two guys appear next to us, “Mate! We’ve been looking for you!” Another British man speaks, Alex Albon to be exact.

“Found a friend?” Carlos sainz eyes me, dressed in all black.

I smile at the drivers, Lando eyes Carlos. “Max’s sister. Y/n.” They both nod and look much too interested in how Lando says it, “Y/n… this is Alex and Carlos.”

“Pleasure.” I smile wide. I am an F1 fan, it’s a bit weird seeing Lando on the grid but I’ll sit and watch with Max almost every weekend that we’re together.

“Pleasures all ours! I’ve always wanted to meet Lando’s childhood crush!” Lando hits Carlos, making him grab his stomach, “Worth it!” The Spanish man chokes out.

Lando scratches the back of his neck, not looking at me. “Are you here with anyone?” Alex asks me, I knew he would be nice.

“Yeah! I’m not sure where they are but…”

“That’s okay. You have us now!” Alex and I end up getting a drink, Lando stays back with Carlos who’s definitely teasing him.

I get a vodka lemonade and four shots. Alex and I are already best friends and laughing so hard that Carlos and Lando won’t stop asking us what’s so funny.

They don’t know that I showed Alex a photo of Lando and I as smurfs when we were five.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

LANDO NORRIS

Describing Y/n is something i’ve done many times. To friends, for context in stories, but if i’d really describe her… I don’t think I would have an ending point.

She’s got long blonde hair. She cut it all off when she was fifteen and I almost fainted when I didn’t recognize her. She loved it.

She’s confident, you can see it in her walk. Her hips sway and the click of her heels is something I'll never forget.

When she talks to you, all attention is on you, her eyes are hazel, appearing brown in the dark but if you get close enough… you’ll see the green.

She never quite had an awkward stage, always been beautiful, probably always will be. I haven’t seen her in years yet she acts like I talked to her yesterday.

Y/n sucks on a lime after her shot, smiling and clapping her hands together, “God, I feel like i’m in highschool!”

I obviously didn’t go to school with her. She’s a year younger and Max would non stop complain about her. She was more popular than him, going out, and was basically friends with everyone.

I remind myself again that Max is the reason why my arm is around the couch and not her waist.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Y/N

“Norris!” I stand, holding out my hand, “Picture time.” I smile as he stands with me.

“What?” Carlos asks.

“Called the booth for a reason, Sainz!” I grin at the boys, gripping Lando’s hand tight and maneuvering us through the crowd.

There’s one photo booth in the back corner of the club. It’s notorious for famous photos and making everyone look good.

I look back at the boys who all look confused. All except Lando.

We came to the booth when Lando was in town from F2, we were 17 and 18. Max had gone off with some girl and we found ourselves in this exact booth.

We swore never to talk about it.

But I’m all for repeating history.

“Fewtrell…” He warns in my ear as we walk to the starred booth.

I glance back, dragging out his name, “Norris.”

He gets in first, unlike us as teens, only one person can fit. I smile and watch Lando’s face drop, I sit down on his lap, “Playing with fire here, love.” he says in my ear.

“I don’t mind getting burned.” He slips two coins in, his hand moving to my waist and holding me steady.

We smile first.

SNAP

I move a bit and give him bunny ears.

SNAP

Lando clears his throat, gripping my skin tighter as he looks at me. I move again, my skirt riding up a bit. “Trying to kill me?”

I smile and kiss his cheek, feeling something hard against me.

SNAP

“Of course.” I look at him, “The memories in here… You remember?”

“I’d be an idiot to forget.”

His hand moves down my hip, closer to my thigh. I look at him again as the photo booth starts up for the second time, “I shouldn’t.” He whispers, my face centimeters from his. I hear the whistles outside.

I shift once more, turning more to him. He groans, his head falling backwards and his eyes closing, “Give me a good reason.”

SNAP

He opens his eyes, meeting mine. I know I've got him. My hand rests on his neck, my rings pressing against his skin. He mumbles something but it’s too loud, “Speak up, Norris.”

“Never spoken.” His eyes flick to my lips, trying to get me to promise this is a secret.

“Never ever.” He leans in closer.

SNAP

“Come on rule breaker… I believe in you.” I whisper in his ear and it breaks him. I’m pulling his head closer to me, his lips on mine, a relief like no other.

He grabs ass, pulling me closer in the tiny space. I slip my tongue in his mouth, whimpering a bit. He bites my lip. I’m melting into him. It’s hot and needy but so much more than I could have ever wanted.

SNAP

Kissing Lando at Seventeen was scandalous and drunken. Kissing Lando at Twenty Three flat out sexy.

“Need you…” He whispers into the kiss which makes me almost come undone right then and there.

Someone bangs on the booth, “Alright Lovebirds!” Lando laughs but I'm the one to pull away.

“I can’t leave this booth.” He says quickly, his face red and sweaty.

“You’ll be fine-” I understand what he’s talking about when I go to leave and something brushes against my leg, “Oh.”

He looks away from me, blushing.

I smile, proud of myself for the boner and his pink cheeks, “Aw come on! I’ll cover you.” I wink and he rolls his eyes, He walks out behind me, his arms firmly on my waist again.

The two drivers grin at us, “You covering a boner?” Carlos starts but gets punched for the second time tonight by Lando. He holds his stomach again, “Still worth it!”

[malusokay]

5 Classics for girly girls 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Emily of New Moon

The bittersweet process of growing up and finding where you truly belong... The perfect read for the start of a new school year. After her father’s death, Emily Starr is sent to live with her snobbish relatives at New Moon farm. Thrust into an unfamiliar and often cold environment, Emily faces numerous challenges. However, as time passes, she begins to adapt and discovers the beauty in her surroundings. With the support of her new friends—Teddy, Perry, and Ilse—Emily not only finds solace but also discovers her own creative talents, helping her carve out a place for herself in this new chapter of her life.

“If it's IN you to climb you must -- there are those who MUST lift their eyes to the hills -- they can't breathe properly in the valleys.”

Jane Eyre

A true classic for all my fellow gothic-lit enthusiasts, Jane Eyre, reminds us that everyone deserves a love that consumes, challenges, and transforms the very core of your being, offering both profound joy and deep heartache (we love a good situationsship). Following Jane Eyre, an orphaned and mistreated girl who endures a harsh upbringing but grows into a strong, independent woman. As she takes a position as a governess at Thornfield Hall, she encounters the enigmatic Mr. Rochester, sparking a profound and tumultuous romance. Their intense connection is marred by secrets and personal demons, revealing the complexities of their relationship.

“Jane, be still; don't struggle so like a wild, frantic bird, that is rending its own plumage in its desperation." "I am no bird, and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being, with an independent will; which I now exert to leave you.”

The Secret Garden

Mary Lennox, a spoiled and neglected girl, is sent to live with her uncle after the death of her parents. Initially ill-tempered and withdrawn, Mary’s curiosity is sparked by rumours of a hidden, abandoned garden on the estate. As she explores and begins to restore this secret garden, she experiences a beautiful shift (glow-up era). The once gloomy and sickly Mary starts to bloom alongside the garden, rediscovering happiness, vibrancy, and a sense of belonging, making the story a heartwarming tale of growth and recovery.

“At first, people refuse to believe that a strange new thing can be done, then they begin to hope it can be done, then they see it can be done--then it is done, and all the world wonders why it was not done centuries ago.”

Pride and Prejudice

Truly a classic that has shaped my romantic expectations hahah... Elizabeth Bennet battles societal expectations and her own misjudgments in 19th-century England. When the aloof Mr Darcy (he'd totally be a ghoster in the 21st century just saying...) first crosses her path, their initial encounters are fraught with tension and misunderstanding. However, as Elizabeth delves deeper, she uncovers the complexities of Darcy’s character and her own heart.

“I could no longer help saying that I loved him. I loved him not only for his sake but for his own sake. I loved him because he was the only person who had ever really loved me for myself. I loved him because he had made me feel that I was worthy of being loved.”

The Little Prince

A young, otherworldly prince from a tiny planet travels across the universe, meeting various inhabitants and learning profound life lessons. His journey brings him to Earth, where he encounters a stranded pilot and shares his reflections on love, loss, and the essence of human connections. Through whimsical adventures and encounters, The Little Prince explores the importance of seeing with the heart rather than the eyes and reminds us of the value of friendship and innocence.

“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched; they are felt with the heart.”

you guys asked for more academia/book stuff so I thought this might be a nice start, especially since I know that many of you are just getting into classics; these are all very much suitable for beginners!! <3

love ya ･:*₊‧✩

[esouliie]

DON’T YOU LOVE THE DEVIL?

– pairing | wanda maximoff x fem!reader

– synopsis | wanda was everything you wanted in a mom. she was kind and loving, even to those who weren’t her own children. she, however, loved you in a very different way…

– warnings | porn with plot, non con that turns kinda dub con, smut, mommy kink, spanking, thigh riding, overstimulation, aftercare, wanda is a perv lmao (18+)

[word count: 3.4k]

Summer was always your favourite time. It meant avid beach trips, ice cream dates and - most importantly - bestie sleepovers. You enjoyed staying at Natasha's house, which was much larger than yours. Wanda, her mother, was always very kind to you, even more so than your own. Because of this, throughout high school, you found yourself always at the Maximoff’s. When you were going through a difficult time, you would always turn to her for support; she was a solid shoulder to cry on as her hushed whispers soothed you.

Much like your house, Natasha’s dad was never in the picture. And because Wanda never seemed to date, it was always just them two and sometimes you. Their house was your safe haven and Wanda was your beckoning angel. Now in your last year of college, you still find yourself coming to the older woman…

Countless nights, you wished she was your mom instead.

Reaching into your pocket, you fumble around for the front key, feeling its familiar shape between your fingertips.

This was your usual routine – Natasha would text when she was nearly home from work, and you’d arrive shortly after, letting yourself in with the spare key she had given you months ago.

The door swings open with a soft creak, revealing the warmth of the home beyond. The living room is empty, just the faint hum of the TV can be heard.

As you step into the kitchen, the warm aroma of burnt vanilla envelops you. Wanda stands against the island, dressed in a large, red sweater and black skirt, with one hand scrolling through her phone as the other holds a glass of red wine. She looked radiant as ever. A grown woman confident in her own skin and her ability.

“Hey, Wanda.”

She places her phone down and greets you warmly. “Hey there, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m good.” You take a seat next to her and she busies herself with pouring you a glass of red. You watch her, marvelling at how effortlessly she moves around the kitchen, her movements always graceful and fluid.

"So," Wanda begins, setting the glass in front of you, "another bestie sleepover?"

“Yep! Natasha’s going to be busy with Bucky next week so we’re spending as much time together.”

Wanda scoffs at the mention of her daughter’s partner, “Yeah, she said something about going to his parent’s lake house for the week.”

You hum, reaching for a sip of the wine, awkward in the revelation of Wanda’s distaste for her daughter’s boyfriend. I mean, it’s not like you like him either. You hate him actually. He was always so weird about your friendship with the redhead, always starting arguments around how much you guys hang out together and how he thinks you have a crush on her.

Plus, Natasha was way out of his league and he sometimes treated her like shit. It was only last week when Natasha was complaining about how they had an argument during their date and Bucky left her to find her own way home…

“I really don’t know what she sees in him.”

You sigh, setting the glass back down. “Me neither. He’s an asshole.”

Lost in thought, you fail to notice Wanda’s approach until an arm laid upon your shoulder, and a hand twirled around your curls.

“You know, I always thought Natasha would end up with you.”

Shocked by her confession, you try to respond - to deny that nothing would ever happened - but your mouth is unable to move as her nails scratch against your neck.

Wanda settles down in the stool beside you, hand retreating to stroke down your arm.

"I just don't understand. He’s boring and doesn’t deserve Tasha, whereas, you’re… you’re so much better than him.” She admits softly, her gaze fixed on you.

"You’re so much more than him.”

You shrug, expelling a shaky breath as you watch her manicured nail draw patterns against your exposed skin.

Silence envelopes you both, Wanda deep in thought and you pretend to act calm about the fact that Wanda’s touch has trailed down to your hands, resting in your lap.

“You know if I were her…” Her breath flutters against your ear, “I wouldn’t even think about anyone else… when I have you.”

Your heart skips a beat at her admission.

"I..." you begin, your voice catching in your throat as you struggle to articulate the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling within you.

It felt so wrong, and yet you didn’t want her to stop.

To keep stroking your hand,

To keep whispering in your ear.

To keep close to you.

“I think… I want to kiss you.” Wanda murmurs, her thumb gently running over your lips.

But before you could say anything, she leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a soft, tentative kiss.

“So pretty.” She whispers, lips closing in once again, but the sudden closing of a door upstairs startles you both as you pull away. Eyes wide in fear that Natasha could’ve seen you kissing her mom.

Wanda leaves her seat, an unreadable expression on her face, and disappears into the living room, Natasha’s thundering footsteps break you from looking at her as she comes downstairs. Her hair is wet, her bangs clinging to her forehead. She must’ve been in the shower.

“You made it!” Natasha exclaims before briefly hugging you and dragging you with her upstairs, “Come on. Let’s watch a movie.”

…

A few hours later, and a few movies down, you end up back in the kitchen, in search of a drink. You spot Wanda in the living room watching a show, her presence both comforting and unnerving. No longer elegantly dressed, she lounges in a maroon satin night gown. The thin fabric barely covers her long legs as it glows complimentarily against her pale skin.

Summoning as much courage, you take a seat on the other end of the sofa. The drink long forgotten. She recognises your presence but you both don’t say anything, engrossed in some reality show on TV. This distraction works for a while but then, like a shadow in the morning sun, the memory of the kiss surfaces. Heat blossoms against your cheeks but you feel it weighing on your mind, a heavy burden demanding acknowledgement.

“Wanda,” your voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear it, ‘I think we should talk about earlier.”

With a delayed hum, she turns towards you, waiting patiently for you to continue. Your words stumble out clumsily, faltering as you try to convey the complexity of your emotions. You want to explain that the kiss was wrong, that she was your best friend’s mom and that nothing like that could happen again, but you don’t want to hurt her feelings in the process.

Her expression was unreadable, you could almost hear the pounding of your own heart, the uncertainty hanging thick in the air between you. And then, finally, she speaks.

“I’m sorry, darling. I thought- it was silly and inappropriate of me.” She reaches over to briefly squeeze your hand.

“Let’s forget it happened.”

You exhale with relief, “Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

Quick to change the conversation and clear the awkward tension, Wanda asks, “How come you’re down here anyways? Where’s Natasha?”

“Oh she fell asleep.” You giggle at the unattractive image of your best friend, snoring somewhat loudly and taking up your side of the bed.

“Besides, I’m not really tired, so I thought I’d come down for a drink.”

Wanda hums, a smile on her face at the sight of you giggling so cutely.

But you notice her hands run over bare arms, soothing the goosebumps and the slight shiver, “Are you cold?”

She looks at you for a moment, eyes taking in your concerned features before she nods.

“I’ll get you a blanket.” You move to stand but a grip on your wrist halts you.

“Don’t bother. Just sit here.”

She leans back against the pillows, legs parting slightly. Your brows furrow in confusion.

She tugs your wrist softly, “Don’t think, just come here.”

She pulls you to sit between her thighs, flush against her front as she winds her arms around you. It wasn’t uncommon being hugged by the older woman but it’s never been like this. But despite earlier, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort wash over you. The room even felt cosier now all that tension was gone. So, you lean back into her embrace, feeling her steady heartbeat against your back and her warm thighs brush against yours.

“Hm, much better. You’ve always run hot.” Her face snuggles into your curls and you giggle.

Her large hands dip, holding softly onto your hips, pulling you even closer with a silent groan, before descending to your thighs. A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine, but you maintain composure, thinking nothing of the surely innocent touch as you focus on the TV screen in front of you.

Her touch is gentle, sending a warm current through your body with each stroke. You feel your legs widen, following in the direction of her strokes, not wanting the caress to stop. The show on the TV fades into the background as your attention becomes solely fixated on her.

She leans in closer, her breath warm against your ear as she whispers, “Pretty girl... feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod, allowing yourself to melt further into her embrace, your head resting against her shoulder instead of watching her hands.

Wanda tuts, “No, baby, head up.”

A single hand moves from your thigh to hold the back of your head, forcing you to look down at your entwined legs. Another hand wanders higher than expected, tracing small circles into your inner thigh, jarring you out of your trance as you go to wiggle free from her grip. “Wanda… that’s-”

Your speech is cut off as fingers slip under your shorts, and you gasp, squirming with renewed vigour. But her hold refuses even the feeblest motions as she wraps an arm around your waist.

“Wanda… please!”

“Don’t think, baby.” She warns again, fingers gliding further into your shorts. “Just let yourself feel good.”

You fight harder, hips snapping away from her touch as hands pry at her wrist. “Get off me!”

“No, you’re not getting up.” You squirm again, and without warning, she digs her nails harshly into your soft skin. “I said, you’re not getting up.”

You whimper in pain and stop your movement. Instantly, her nails pull back from your skin, leaving red angry crescent marks. Those fingertips gently caress the marks to soothe them before moving up under your shirt.

“Good girl.” Those words bring an odd warmth to your body and suddenly you think that letting Wanda have her way with you couldn’t be as bad as you initially thought…

But light fingers caressing up and down your stomach, inching closer to your breasts reminded you of the position you’re in.

This was your best friend’s mom.

Natasha didn’t deserve this.

“Wanda, we can’t… it’s not right. What about Nat-?”

“It’s fine, princess.” She interrupts, placing a few chaste kisses against your neck. “She won’t find out.”

Suddenly, those hands slide up over your bare breasts and gently squeeze. You take in a deep breath and exhale slowly with a soft whimper. Pleased with the response, she begins to knead them kindly alternating between light and firm pressure.

“You like that, baby?” Wanda coos then nibbles on the side of your ear, descending your neck carefully to not leave bites and marks in place.

Your back arches slightly, pressing your breasts deeper into her adept grasp, and your defiance fades ever so quickly with each breathy moan.

“Hm, so needy, so responsive…” thumbs swipes over your perked nipples, “and all I’m doing is playing with your tits, princess.”

Your increased whines answer in reply and Wanda doesn’t bother wasting time anymore. Lifting a hand from its spot under your top, she glides down under your shorts. Her lithe fingers ghost over the soaked underwear, travelling low enough to feel the wetness seep from your slit, and she moans lowly at the sensation. “You’re so wet… fuck, is this all for me?”

Battling between not wanting this and giving in to her, you also fight the urge to thrust your hips upwards, to search for some needed friction, to end the maddening ache between your thighs.

The older woman’s light touches feel like heaven and hell as nimble fingers slide up and down the fabric that clung to you, purposely missing where you needed her most.

“That’s it, baby. Relax… let go for me.”

A strange fuzziness washes over you completely as you relax - moral sobriety long forgotten - as your legs spread apart limply for Wanda to grope in every direction.

 “M’kay.” You reply, barely hearing yourself, lost in the moment.

Wanda sighs contently, forever pleased she’s put you in this headspace with such little fight.

Focusing back on your neck, she licks along the flushed skin, and as she bites against your pulse a little harder, the slight pain has you quivering.

You melt into the warm heat below you, head resting against a firm shoulder, as you let out a moan laced with pleasure and slight frustration. Hips bucking slightly back into Wanda’s hoping she’d take the hint and get on with it.

The quicker you gave her what she wanted, the quicker it would be done.

Finally, her index finger slides higher, the tip of her nail just brushing against your clit slightly. Your thighs shake at the motion, wanting to clamp shut around her but never doing so in fear she would stop. A cry falls from your mouth in surprise as her finger finally reaches, circling your swollen nerve endings in a slow yet firm motion.

Your words stumble out clumsily, unable to string a full sentence together as Wanda practically purrs against your ear.

“Oh, you’re doing so well, baby.” She coos, before pressing open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, “So well for me… come here.”

Tipping your neck up, she dips forward, pressing her hot lips against your own. A choked note of dismay comes from you as Wanda forces your mouth open and shoves her tongue inside. The older woman dominates the clashing of tongues, making sure that you know your place.

You fail to notice Wanda pull your shorts and panties down from your hips until her fingers press against you harder, and you can’t help but grind against it with such aching desperation. She marvels over how pathetic you look… one minute begging for her to stop and now humping against her like a bitch in heat, swallowing her tongue down your throat.

Such a depraved mental image and yet it only feeds into her desire for you.

To claim you as hers, no matter if you wanted it or not.

Because she didn’t care.

She could feel herself getting wetter, as she met your grinding with her own thrusts, your ass pressing flush against her soaked panties.

The kiss eventually comes to an end, a few hungry strands of saliva briefly clinging to your lips, linking you together. Wanda gazes lovingly at the sight of you, a growing smile on her lips, as you writhe in building pleasure.

“Can you look at me, princess?”

Wanda asks in a sultry tone and you struggle to open your eyes, squinting against the light as her blurry face comes into focus. Her pupils are blown out, partly consuming those emerald irises, her cheeks painted a flushed pink, and her lips part as she pants freely.

She looks so beautiful.

Her green eyes shine clouded over in a different colour than Natasha’s…

Natasha.

Dread seeps into your bones, your body ripped from its relaxed trance as you recall your best friend and how she’s sleeping upstairs as you’re fucked by her mom.

You don’t want to think about how upset she would be to find you like this.

“Baby…” She reels your mind back to focus on her, noticing you’re beginning to spiral. “You ready to come for me?”

Her fingers speed up perfectly but you shook your head in defiance, your mind no longer free to just enjoy Wanda’s touch.

“No,” she coos, “you don’t want to come for me, baby? Don’t want to come for Mommy?”

A whiny no leaves your lips, not giving in to the beautiful temptress behind you.

Annoyed, Wanda rolls her eyes, clearly upset that you wouldn’t just give in to her and that you’re not nestled in that special little headspace anymore.

Without warning, she twists your thigh over the other, ass on show as she lashes out with a sharp slap. You cry out at the unexpected blow, your hands grabbing tightly onto whatever part of the woman you can reach. You weren’t sure if you were trying to push her away or pull her close.

“I thought we were done with that, baby.” She unleashes a few more spanks, “Thought you were going to be my good girl, hm?”

You gasp for air at the same time Wanda gropes your marked flesh, pulling your cheeks apart as she rubs in soothing circles. The breath turns into a choked moan as Wanda spanks you one more time, before returning you to your original position, back to pressing firm circles against your clit.

Once again, you fight her touch. Hips wiggling in each direction until ankles wrap around your legs, locking you in place.

Tight circles turn to quick taps, the once pleasing hand now bringing pain upon your pussy in rapid succession, not allowing you to writhe in her generosity for too long before returning to cruelty.

A beautiful blend that muddled all of your defying thoughts until there was nothing left.

Your body betrayed your mind. Your legs fell completely limp, as you lay at the mercy of the older woman. Taking whatever she deemed necessary to give.

Finally, she had you.

“I don’t care if you don’t want to. You’re going to cum all over my fingers for me.” She concludes with a kiss on your cheek.

And not caring if you cry loud enough to wake up the rest of the house, her fingers speed up for the last time, sending you headfirst over the edge.

…

After what felt like hours, Wanda was done with you. You had moved into her bedroom, deciding the sofa was not adequate to continue. Now her head rests against your stomach after she had spread you open to lap up your next orgasm.

Your body spasms randomly, wave after wave of aftershock rolling over you. A warm hand cups your core firmly, and you buck away from the sensitivity, not wanting her touch anymore. But her fingers remain, gliding slowly up and down your slit, marvelling at your swollen skin, before pushing against your entrance.

You’re overwhelmed. What little fight you have left mentally can’t keep up with the fatigue of your exhausted body. If she wanted to, she could have her way with you. Again and again. Fresh tears fall from your eyes as you sob inconsolably into hands covering your face.

Wanda leaves you be, moving up your body to grab onto your wrists.

“Hey, baby… it’s okay, you’re okay…” she coos, fingertips wiping away your tears, “Mommy went too hard on you, didn’t she?”

You struggle to find the words, and Wanda shushes you, stopping you from thinking too much in such a delicate headspace.

You feel movement, feel Wanda get off you, and your eyes snap open in a slight panic but she sits beside you and swiftly draws you onto her lap.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t cry.” She says gently, reeling you in with false empathy. She was glad she pushed you too hard you broke.

“Mommy couldn’t help herself.”

You scoot closer, close enough to bury your head into her neck as fingers trail up and down your back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, baby. Can you forgive me?”

Her soothing words are music to your ears as you whimper softly against the woman, not willing to talk or move away. You just want her to hold you.

“Say it, princess. Say you forgive me.”

She guides you out of her neck to look at her.

“I forgive you.” You choke out, upset you’re no longer buried in her chest, as your hands run back to cover your eyes. Too ashamed to even look at her.

“Sweet girl, come here.” Wanda doesn’t wait, moving your hands to wrap around her neck as she kisses you hungrily, swallowing any little disapprovals as you push languidly against her chest, trying to force her mouth off of you.

It’s fine, it’s fine,” she ushers against your swollen lips, “I just want to make you feel better.”

You whine in disapproval but your arms wrap tighter around her.

“You love me, don’t you?” She whispers against your cheek, but doesn’t let you reply, as you choke on her tongue, stroking deep against yours.

“Say you love me, baby.” She moves to kiss your forehead, before moving down against your collarbone.

Hands groping your ass as she rocks you steady against her thigh.

“I love you,” a few tears burn down your throat as you hiccup,” I love you, I love you.”

Wanda mumbles her gratitude into your skin, fresh marks blooming against your chest as she fucks you against her.

“Keep saying you love me, baby.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” flies from your mouth in quick succession, your mind once again empty as the tell tale signs of another orgasm come into view.

“I love you too, princess.” She returns to your lips, tongue prodding past them as she coaxes your tongue into her mouth.

“Come on. Be good for me.”

It slams into you, body tense as you fall over the edge, pressing your face deep into her neck. She shushes you, not letting go of your body until the convulsions stop, and even then, you’re curled into her chest. Unwilling to part from her.

She allows you to sob freely, your body shaking uncontrollably as hands stroke all over until you calm down. Almost asleep in her arms.

A hand runs through your damp hair, “That’s it, baby. We’re done.”

“No more.” You mumble out, eyes already shut as exhaustion washes over.

“No more, baby. Go to sleep.” Wanda shifts you down her body, your face now against her chest, as she covers you both with her duvet.

Unable to resist any longer, you drift off in Wanda’s warm embrace.

[vin-taege]

Hi! I loved your awkward chishiya flirting sooo much <3 The way you write is so in character even with him being nervous about showing affection. Can you write him being completely oblivious he’s liked yn the whole time they’ve been through the games; he thought he was just protecting them out of trying to be a better person until Kuina is like you moron you’re clearly in love w them!!

And he’s like oh fuck, what are feelings?? I have them?? His thought process as he tries to deny it and then him having some awkward interactions w yn bc he doesn’t know how to act now he’s aware he likes her and then is desperately trying to flirt with no idea how to at all

Tokens of Appreciation

Summary: Chishiya tells himself that he sees you only as a friend, despite doing his best to give you a gift.

Genre: fluff

Pairing: reader x chishiya

Words: 2.4k

Note: I tweaked this a little to show more of him being in denial and still in the middle of processing it ^^ I didn't want it to be too close to the other awkward flirting fic, but I hope you still like it! Also god, I;m so sorry it took more than a year ; O; Good news is that I'm almost done with my thesis, so I have a bit more time to write :DD

Chishiya set the screwdriver down with a frustrated sigh. The music box sat in front of him, open yet still without song. He saw this on the day of the six of clubs game. The car that was supposed to pick them up got a flat tire and stranded them for a good hour. As much as he hated the militants for their incompetence, he was grateful that he had extra time to scavenge around the nearby shops. It was in one of the metalwork stalls where he found it.

It was fairly light, small enough that you could hold it when you brought both hands together. The outside looked like a small pot, with the lid having scalloped edges. Ornate, gold vines swirled around the sides of the box, leading up to the front. At the center of it was a teardrop-shaped gemstone that refracted prisms under light. Inside was a small rabbit instead of a typical ballerina. It posed with its arms up mid-dance, pointy ears curved back as it looked up.

That was what made Chishiya decide that this was the perfect gift for you. At the beginning of your friendship—before you had worn down his walls with “incessant” conversation—you had off-handedly mentioned a memory of your childhood toy.

“Oh, look at that!” you picked up the small piece of candy. The packaging still boasted its classic colors of red, blue, white, and black. Turning around, you held it out to Chishiya. “I used to eat this all the time when I was a kid.”

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. This was the ninth room around the Beach that you’ve ‘investigated’—a fancy word you liked to use instead of ‘snooped around.’ “You don’t know how long that’s been there. Plus, you’ll get cavities.”

“Candy doesn’t expire,” you stuck your tongue out at him, swiftly unwrapping the sweet and popping it in your mouth. You smoothed out the wrapper, particularly the area around the illustrated rabbit.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true—”

“He looks like the bunny plush I had.” Chishiya knit his eyebrows in confusion before glancing at the wrapper. He shrugged, feigning indifference.

“All rabbits look the same.”

“No, idiot. This one has pointy ears instead of rounded ones.”

“What’s that?” Kuina’s voice nearly made him knock over the entire thing. He flinched, throwing a blanket over his project. Clearing his throat, he stood up and narrowed his eyes at the girl.

“What did I tell you about knocking?”

Despite his small frame blocking the table from view, Kuina side-stepped around him, swiftly pulling the cloth right off. He hissed, moving to take the music box, but Kuina was faster, swiping it off the table and bringing it up to her eye level.

“Wow,” she enunciated, dragging the word. “This is for them, isn’t it?”

“No,” he tried not to stutter. He reached for it before Kuina held it above him. Her eyes were glued to the meticulous details. “If you drop that, I will kill you next game and make it look like an accident.”

She chortled, throwing her head back. Her loudness grew on him—is what he always told himself. Being his only friend when the Beach was only starting to form, he learned quickly how to tolerate Kuina’s more bubbly personality.

“What’s it for? Their birthday coming up?”

“No. I’m just making sure all our pieces are in place.” Kuina let him nab the item back. She watched as he wrapped it in the blanket, tucking it safely back into a drawer. 

“You totally like her,” she snorted.

“No, I don’t!” It came out too fast, too loudly. Chishiya’s face was starting to redden. His lips were pressed in a thin line, eyes downcast. It took a moment for him to collect himself. “We need her for the plan.”

“Yeah, right. It’s been half a year. Whatever long game you’re playing is over,” she smirked at him, plopping on his bed. “If anything, you’re the one getting played.”

“I don’t like her that way,” he crossed his arms defensively.

“Keep telling yourself that, lover boy,” Kuina chuckled, throwing a pillow at him. Chishiya swatted it away, face beet-red.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what, lover boy?”

“Kuina!”

Three soft knocks interrupted their banter. Chishiya froze when you opened the door, slipping in with a mischievous grin. Your arms were behind your back, hands hidden from their view. A faint crinkling gave Chishiya a hint as to what you were holding. 

You stepped towards him, making him instinctively block the drawer the music box was in. Your grin spread wider, making your cheeks look unbearably adorable. Wait, did he really think that?

“I have something for you,” you said almost teasingly. You thrust your hand to his chest, pressing a package of biscuits on him. He wasn’t religious, but he prayed that you couldn’t feel his heartbeat thrumming out his rib cage.

Glancing down, he gave the biscuits a curious look-over. The wrapper was pink and white, with small cartoon strawberries spread around it. Attempting to take it from you gently, his fingers grazed over the back of your hand, flustering you both. Quickly, you whipped your head towards Kuina, chucking her the other item.

She caught the lighter with ease, excitedly flicking it on. Kuina was certain the militants threw it out after the pool fire incident. Totally not your trio’s fault. “Woah! Where’d you get these?”

“I was in Tatta’s storage space,” you beamed proudly.

Chishiya’s blood curdled. He squeezed the biscuits, though still careful not to break them. Shifting his weight to one foot, he scrunched his face in distaste. “What were you doing with Tatta?”

“Nothing, we were just hanging out. Ann dragged him into the hallway for a quick conversation so I had time to ‘investigate,’” you motioned with air quotes.

“What are you hanging out with him for?” The blunt words left his mouth before he could process them. 

His heart shrivelled a little when your smile faded. Taken aback, you clasped your hands, suddenly self-conscious. “I thought he was nice and making another friend around here didn’t seem like a bad idea.”

“Well, what if he’s just another sleaze like Niragi? You know how some of the men slobber like dogs here. And you’re in a closed space with just him? Just the two of you in a room? Together? Do you know how stupid that is? What if something happened and Kuina and I were in this room and we couldn’t hear you and—”

“What Chishiya is saying—” Kuina spoke over him, sending him a sharp glare despite her pinched smile. “—is that we just want you to be careful around here. I think Tatta is a fun guy too, but don’t let your guard down that easily okay?”

You nodded wordlessly, avoiding Chishiya’s eyes. Unbeknownst to you, his look softened, fingers releasing their tight grip on the biscuits. He slouched, silently berating himself for sounding so harsh, especially after you’ve just given him a gift. Oh god, you gave him a gift! He looked back at the cookies, strawberry-flavored no doubt. Perhaps it was your attention to detail that chipped at his armor. The way you remembered how he took two teaspoons of sugar with his tea and how you’d sometimes take his hoodie after a rough game and bring it back smelling of fabric softener.

Just normal things good friends would do for each other. Because that’s what you were—good friends.

“Chishiya?”

“What?” He blinked slowly, glancing at Kuina through silver hair framing his face. 

“I said I’m gonna get us drinks from the bar. You sound like you need it.” She stood up, motioning for you to take her place on the bed. You shot her a small smile, though your mood has obviously been dampened. 

Kuina passed near Chishiya, lowering her voice to whisper, “Fix your mess.”

When the door shut with a soft click, it was quiet for a few awkward moments. The room felt like a held breath, with Chishiya still standing, holding the biscuits like an idiot, while you were sitting on his bed, regarding him a huge eye sore in the middle of the spacious hotel room. Being a high-profile diamonds player bought him certain luxuries, despite how unnecessarily flashy he deemed them. 

“I know you’re just looking out for me, but you really could be nicer sometimes.” He almost didn’t catch what you said, your voice soft. “I just wanted to get you something nice.”

He sighed, more so at his own stupidity. He pushed himself off the drawer and sat beside you, your knees touching. Pinching the corner of the wrapper, he ripped the packaging open, angling the biscuits towards you. Your knee tensed beside him, making guilt claw at his stomach more.

“Take one,” he said, almost demandingly. You huffed, gingerly taking a piece. It was a small, pillow-shaped shell. You bit into it, bringing your hand back to look at the strawberry filling inside. Chishiya hummed in approval as soon as the sweet cream hit his tongue.

Wordlessly, you shared the biscuits—his own form of apology. You scooted closer to him, a silent act of forgiveness he quickly picked up on. Always the clever man, yet he could never figure himself out.

“I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Anyone with eyes can see how beautiful you are. If anyone here tried anything on you, I’d have to put rat poison in their alcohol. Do you know how troublesome that is?” he wrinkled his nose, pointedly munching.

A grin crept into your face. Your eyes flitted towards his face, dark brown eyes meeting yours. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Chishiya was stunned for a second. Blood rushed to his cheeks and the furrow in his brows deepened. He stammered, “No. No! That’s not what I meant. I mean that I’m just worried about you!”

You brought your face just a tad bit closer to his. “You worry about me?”

“No, no! I mean, you’re just a good ally and I don’t have any other strong feelings about you. I’m doing this for the sake of our alliance—”

He didn’t notice as you took the last biscuit, gingerly pushing it against his lips. He froze, eyes wide as he took in your appearance. An orange glow from the setting sun wrapped around your silhouette. You looked heavenly, like an angel beckoning him to the next life. Despite all logic screaming at him, he would gladly take your hand and go wherever that may be. 

You pushed the biscuit past his lips, the soft pair almost chasing after your fingertip as you pulled away. Curling your finger, you wiped the corner of his mouth with the edge of your knuckles. His breath stilled in his chest.

Chishiya leaned closer, your pull towards him magnetic. Shakily, he brought a hand up, about to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He’s seen this move once before, during a promotional commercial for a drama. He was reviewing for his finals at the time, taking only a few seconds to stare coldly at his roommate because of how loud the TV was. Evidently, he never put it into practice before.

“Ow!” you jolted back, hands cupping your face. Somehow, despite his brilliant mind, he accidentally poked you in the eye. You grit your teeth in pain, globs of tears running down your cheek. 

“Shit, I’m sorry!” He tried prying your eyes away from your face, using his free arm to wrap around your back. “I’m so sorry. Shit. Don’t rub it, it’ll get worse. Come here.”

Assisting you through your blurry vision, he managed to walk you to his bathroom. He turned the faucet on, making you bend over the sink. Forcing stillness into his hand, he caught the water, gently splashing it against your reddening eye. You hissed, jolting back at the contact, though a firm hand on your back kept you in place.

“I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to.” The distress was evident in his voice. You’ve never seen him in such shambles before, not even during games where he was at the brink of death.

“I know, ‘Shiya. It’s okay,” you managed to smile at him. He wiped your eyes with a soft towel, bringing it down for a second to gently grip your chin. He nudged your head up, only enough for him to check on your eye. He let out a deep sigh before pressing the towel back. At least the pain has died down a bit now. “How bad is it?”

“It’s not fatal.”

You snorted, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. His lips twitched almost into a grin, though he was still slouched over in embarrassment. “I can’t believe this is the thanks I get for feeding you.”

“I… I-I didn’t mean to. Honestly!” He shoved his other hand into his hoodie pocket. Suddenly, the floor was the most interesting thing in the room. You chuckled lightly at his antics. There was something so boyish about the way he stood, almost as if he wanted his hoodie to swallow him whole.

You brought your hand up, wrapping it around his on the towel. His cheeks heated up, though still defiant in meeting your gaze. You stroked the back of his hand with your thumb, surprised that he hasn’t pulled away yet.

“I’m sorry I poked your eye. I was just trying to…” he trailed off. How was he even going to explain himself out of this one? “There was dirt on your face. You should take a bath from time to time.”

“I do take baths!” you exclaimed, swatting at him again. You jabbed a finger to his chest, tone riddled with tease. “You’re just so obsessed with me.”

He finally allowed himself to smile, the smile that made everything feel normal again. At that moment, you weren’t players in the Borderland fighting for your life every other day. You were just two friends, for now. Chishiya is a tough nut to crack, but between your laughter sounding like tinkling bells and the euphoric buzz he gets from being around you, he’d be able to sort himself out. He just needs to take it one step at a time, starting with making that music box sing for you again. 

Because that's what good friends do. God, he was such a good friend.

Back in the main room, the entrance door swung open, followed by the sound of glass bottles clinking against each other. Kuina proudly declared, “I got us the stuff!”

“Did you bring ice?” Chishiya called out to her.

“Of course!” Even from the bathroom, you could hear her huff.

“Good, because we need a bunch of it here.”

[inkedinshadows]

The Greatest Gift

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: Being introduced to a partner's family is always nerve-wracking, especially when Azriel has never talked much about his mother and you don't know what to expect.

Warnings: pregnant reader, barely edited, maybe rushed ending?

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: so sorry for being late in posting this one! Literally wrote the last part today and edited quite quickly so I could post it. Hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

Main Masterlist | Week Masterlist | Azriel Masterlist | AO3

@sjmxreaderweek

“Stop fussing. You look lovely.”

You looked at your reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time and frowned. You could see why Az thought that, but there was still something that felt… off. You just couldn't put your finger on what it was.

“Something's missing,” you murmured to yourself, smoothing out non-existent creases on your dress. You had picked your most beautiful one—a nice summer dress that flowed to your feet and hugged your body perfectly. Just tight enough to reveal the small bump that was beginning to show.

Your hair was styled in a low bun at the nape of your neck—classy and delicate, but not too formal. You didn't want to come off as too concerned with appearances. For that same reason, you had kept your makeup minimal and natural.

Maybe that was it. Maybe you should have done more. It wasn’t too late, you could still—

“Y/N.”

Azriel came up behind you, his arms sliding around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your neck. “There's no need to be so nervous, my love.”

Your eyes met in the mirror, but, unlike every other time, his soft smile did little to calm you.

“I just don't want to make a bad first impression,” you murmured. You tasted blood on your tongue and realized you were chewing on your inner cheek again. You stopped immediately.

“And you won't.” His hands came to rest on your hips as you both looked at the reflection. “Look at you. You're gorgeous, Y/N.”

You were beautiful—you could admit that much. But you didn't feel perfect, and that's what you were aiming for.

Turning around to face Azriel, you placed your hands on his broad chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your palms. He had also dressed up nicely, and you knew he had done it for you, to help you feel more at ease. He didn't have to, after all. It was his mother you were about to have lunch with. He didn't have to impress anyone.

“I don't want to disappoint her.” You looked into the depths of those beautiful hazel eyes. “She's your mom.”

“And you're my mate, who's also pregnant with my child,” he answered, his hands now resting on your belly. “You have nothing to worry about. She's going to love you. Trust me.”

Hearing the certainty in his voice, you finally relaxed. You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his, breathing in his familiar scent.

Despite having been mated for a few years—and all the decades of friendship first and being in love later—you had never met Rosalind. Every time he visited her, after Winter Solstice and for both their birthdays, you never accompanied him. He had never asked you to, and you had never pushed him about it. You knew how he felt about his mother, how he wanted to keep her sheltered from a cruel world that had already taken so much from her.

She's a kind soul, he always said. You didn't doubt it.

That's why you had been so surprised when he had come home after his last visit and told you he would like you to meet his mother.

And here you were now.

Azriel kissed your forehead before pulling back. “You're ready to go, baby?”

You nodded, turning to take one last look in the mirror. And that's when you realized what was missing.

“Wait! Hold on…” You opened the top drawer of the dresser and rummaged through it until you found what you were looking for. “Aha!” you exclaimed triumphantly, holding a little necklace between your fingers.

The jewelry itself wasn't anything special—a thin chain with a small star-shaped pendant—but it held a symbolic meaning: it was one of the first gifts you had ever received from Azriel, back when you were nothing more than friends, and every time you wore it, things went well. It might be just superstition, but it quickly became your good luck charm. That's why it was reserved for special occasions such as this one.

“Your lucky necklace?” Azriel took it as you offered it and stepped behind you to put it around your neck. “I thought we were meeting my mother, not going on some kind of adventure.”

You whirled, worried that your nervousness was starting to annoy him. Instead you found him with an amused smile on his lips, looking down at you with a softness that made your heart flutter.

“Y/N, my love.” He cupped your cheeks, his voice low and gentle. “All that matters to me is that you're comfortable. We can reschedule, if you want.”

You shook your head and a small smile appeared on your face. “No,” you said firmly. “I want to meet her. I'm just a bit nervous.”

When he arched a brow, you chuckled. “Okay, maybe more than a bit.”

Azriel leaned in to brush a kiss across your lips. “I know. But I can already tell you she's going to adore you. Trust me. Everyone does.”

Your smile grew, and with one last look at your reflection, you finally stepped back. “Alright. I just need to grab the pastries and we can go.”

~~~~~~

Azriel winnowed you to the outskirts of a little village. Though the street was quiet, peppered only by a few houses, you could hear children laughing and screaming playfully in the distance.

The manor in front of you—Rosehall, Azriel had called it—was smaller than anticipated, with colorful flowers in every window.

You smiled at the sight and let Azriel guide you to the red-painted door.

When he didn't knock, you looked up at him and found his eyes already on you.

“What?” you asked, brows furrowed.

“You're doing it again.” His hand came up to cup your face. “Stop biting your cheek, love. It'll bleed.”

“I didn't even realize I was— sorry.” With a sigh, you cleared your mind of the nervousness that was starting to rise again. Then you gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

Azriel nodded, and his hand fell away from your cheek to knock on the red wood. It took only a few seconds for the door to open, revealing a smiling Illyrian female.

Her hair was the same black as her son's, just like her hazel eyes—both common Illyrians traits. But you knew Azriel's face well enough to notice they shared the shape of the nose, the curve of the mouth, the slightly upward tilt of the eyes. He wasn't the spitting image of her, but no one could have mistaken them for anything other than mother and son.

“Oh, my boy! It's so nice to see you again so soon!” Rosalind hugged her son, who could embrace her with only one arm, the other one holding the wicker basket with home-baked pastries.

“Hi, mom,” he replied, his tone as soft as the one he usually reserved for you. She smiled as he leaned down to place a kiss on the crown of her head. She was several inches shorter than him, just like you.

Rosalind then turned to face you, and a second later her arms were around you. “It's such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

You were so stunned by the sudden display of affection that it took you a moment to return the gesture, and another one to find the words. “The pleasure is all mine.”

When you pulled back, Rosalind’s smile was even brighter than before, and it was enough to make you forget any semblance of anxiety.

“Come in. Come, dears,” she said, stepping aside. “Come inside. Let me take a good look at you, Y/N.”

Azriel placed a gentle hand on your lower back to set you walking, and as you passed by his mother, you caught a glimpse of the wings Rosalind kept tucked behind her back. Twin long scars ran down both of them—clipped. A wave of horror coiled in your gut, and you had to swallow to keep your composure.

“Are you alright?” Azriel whispered close to your ear. Ever the observant mate.

You gave him a nod, then quickly took the basket from him just to have something else to occupy your mind. When his mother closed the door and guided you to the sitting room, you offered it to her with a smile. “I made these for you, since it was your birthday last week. It's pastries.”

Rosalind took it, lifting the lid to peek at what was inside. Her eyes gleamed as she looked up again, a bright smile on her lips. “You're too sweet, darling. You didn't have to. Thank you.”

Despite having just met her, you could already see why Azriel always said she was a kind soul. If Rosalind had been your mother, you would want to protect her from such a world too.

The Illyrian female handed the basket to her son, instructing him to take it to the kitchen and if he could please start setting the table. Azriel brushed a kiss to your hair, then disappeared down the hallway.

His mother turned to you again.

“Oh, Azriel said you were beautiful, but…” Her hands hovered over your baby bump, but she didn't touch it. “You're glowing, Y/N.”

You smiled back at her. “Thank you. Az never told me much about you… I'm glad I finally met you.”

Rosalind shook her head. “Of course he didn't,” she said with a soft laugh. “He thinks even talking about me will put me in danger.”

You couldn't help but chuckle with her. You were very aware of Azriel's overprotectiveness. It had only grown since you got pregnant.

“It's because he loves you,” you offered gently.

“Oh, I never doubted that.” Rosalind gestured for you to sit on the plush couch, then followed to settle beside you.

The sitting room was large and inviting, with sand-colored rugs layered across the wooden floor and shelves filled with old books and trinkets. Only a few paintings hung on the wall, and your gaze lingered on them as you leaned back against the deep red cushions of the couch.

“But I think he loves you more.”

You turned to look at Rosalind, opening your mouth to protest that she couldn't compare the two things. But she leaned in as if to reveal a secret, a smile playing on her lips.

“He always talks about you,” she murmured.

Your lips curled. “He does?”

Rosalind nodded. “Oh, yes. He can go on for hours about you.”

Your eyes darted to the hallway, at the end of which you'd caught a glimpse of the dining room as Azriel had walked away to follow his mother's instructions. Now you could hear the faint rustle of dishes being arranged on the table.

“He'd done it since he met you, you know,” his mother went on. “The first time he told me about you, he said you were the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. And that you were so nice and sweet, he hoped you'd fall in love with him one day.”

Your smile grew. Azriel, usually so reserved and quiet, had been talking to his mother about you since the beginning. That shouldn't have surprised you—you'd always been close, after all—but the things he'd told her… You never thought he'd so open about it from the very start, even with his own mother. Maybe you'd just assumed that since he didn't talk to you about her, he wouldn't talk to her about you.

As if on cue, Azriel appeared in the doorway. “The table's ready,” he announced.bhh

His eyes darted between you and his mother, and he arched a brow when twin complicit smiles bloomed on your faces.

Rosalind rose to her feet, wings shifting awkwardly behind her. “Well, I should go check on the food,” she announced. “It's probably ready, or it’ll be soon. So you can start getting comfortable at the table.”

On her way out, she placed a hand on Azriel's arm. “Thank you, dear,” she said with a smile before continuing down the hallway.

Azriel watched her go, then turned to you with a questioning look in his hazel eyes. “Did I miss something?”

Walking up to him, you tried to suppress your smile but failed. Biting your lip was the only way. “Did you really spend hours telling your mom about me?”

He stilled, and you noticed the tips of his ears turning a faint shade of red. For a moment, he didn't meet your eyes.

“She told you about that, I see.”

Mother above, he was adorable when he got flustered.

“She did,” you grinned, leaving the room with him following close behind. You glanced at him over your shoulder. “She also said you hoped I'd fall in love with you from the very beginning.”

Azriel's ears were now completely flushed. But his lips quirked up at the corners as he said, “Of course I did. You were perfect.”

You reached the dining room—smaller than the sitting room, yet just as cozy. Cushioned chairs suited for Illyrians surrounded the table, and sunlight poured in through a large window.

But before you could turn to face Azriel and answer, his arms were already around you, pulling you back against his chest.

“I was perfect?” you repeated as you turned your head back to smile at him.

“Mhm,” he hummed, brushing his lips against yours. “You always have been.”

His broad hands slid down to rest on your small bump.

“And now you're even more perfect,” he murmured.

You finally turned around in his arms and looped yours around his neck. “That's also thanks to you, you know,” you replied with a smile.

His hands found your hips and he pulled you flush against him. "Some days I have to remind myself that,” he admitted quietly. “That there’s a wonderful new life inside of you. And I helped create it.”

He didn’t have to say more. You knew why he needed the reminder—that someone like him could create something so beautiful. After everything he had been through and he had done, he had convinced himself he would never be good enough to create such a miracle. And now he was being proven wrong.

“You did,” you replied, nails gently scratching the nape of his neck. “And this wonderful life will become a wonderful baby. Our baby. And you will be a wonderful father.”

His eyes locked with yours, and slowly, another smile appeared on his face. “Our baby,” he repeated.

Then leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss—a silent thanks you, a testament to the love you shared. And even after you broke apart, the feel of his lips on yours lingered like the last warmth of the sun before it sets.

The delicious smell of roasted lamb pervaded the room, and followed by the quiet rustle of dishes and pans that announced Rosalind's entrance.

She glanced at the two of you still standing there, a warm smile curving her lips as she placed the serving plate in the center of the table, where Azriel had left space for it.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took a small step back from him.

Even after your chat with Rosalind, being caught kissing her son felt oddly awkward. You weren't quite sure why—you were mated to him and pregnant with his child, after all. And Rosalind didn’t even seem bothered by it.

She gestured toward the table and the chairs. “Come sit, dears,” she encouraged. “We don’t want it to get cold, now do we?”

Azriel placed a hand on your lower back and gently guided you to a chair, pulling it out for you. As you sat, he leaned down to murmur in your ear, “Your cheek, my love.”

He was already moving to sit next to you before you even glanced at him.

You offered him a grateful smile, then helped Rosalind serve the food, realizing only then what she had cooked.

Roasted lamb. Baked potatoes. The same blend of herbs you always used—flavors that bloomed across your tongue at the first bite.

“This is delicious,” you said, smiling. “And it's one of my favorites, too.” With a look toward Azriel, you added, “What a nice coincidence.”

“Yes,” he replied, far too casually. “A lucky coincidence.”

His mother chuckled and you playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“I wanted to make a good impression,” Rosalind explained. “It's not every day I get to meet my son's mate.”

At least you weren't the only one who'd been worried about first impressions.

You turned back to her with a smile. “It's not every day I get to my mate's mother,” you replied. You nodded toward the basket of pastries you'd made, now waiting on the sideboard, ready for dessert. “I asked him too, for the pastries. I wanted to get you a real present, but.. I've never been very good with gifts.”

Azriel had told you not to worry, that you could show up empty-handed and his mom wouldn't mind. But it hadn't felt like enough, yet you always struggled to find the right gift for your friends, so how were you supposed to pick one for your mate’s mother? So you'd asked him what she liked best and baked it yourself.

Rosalind slowly set her fork down and reached across the table to take your hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Don't worry, dear. I have everything I need here.” Her smile was soft, reassuring. “And you've already given me the greatest gift I could ask for.”

At your confused frown, she gave your hand another squeeze. “You make my son happy,” she explained. “It's all I ever wanted.”

Your heart swelled at her words. “Don't worry,” you assured her. “That's all I want too.”

Your gaze drifted to Azriel. His eyes were already on you, love shining in their hazel depths. Beneath the table, his hand came to rest on your knee.

“I told you both you’d like each other,” he said softly, glancing between you and his mother. “You were both nervous for nothing.”

Picking up your fork again, you replied, “That's because you never introduced us before, Az.”

He looked like he was about to protest, but then he sighed instead. “Yes, that's fair,” he conceded. “Maybe I should have.”

“Oh, it's alright,” Rosalind chimed in. “We're all here now and that's what matters.”

You nodded, and while you and Azriel returned to your delicious meal, Rosalind fell silent, a thoughtful expression replacing the smile she often wore.

After a moment, she spoke again.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, looking first at her son, then at you. “A favor, if it’s not too much trouble.”

You nodded without hesitation. “Yes, of course.”

Azriel looked curious now, though he remained silent. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to ask anything, either.

Rosalind hesitated for a second before continuing. “When the baby arrives… could you visit me more often?” She paused, then quickly added, “Or maybe I could visit you? But I’d like to be a part of the baby's life and watch them grow.”

You blinked, stunned by the suddenness of the request. Of course you wanted her to be involved, to know her grandchild and be part of this growing family.

But the emotion behind her words caught you off guard, stealing whatever answer you might’ve given.

Before you could find your voice, Rosalind turned to Azriel.

A new vulnerability shone her eyes—his eyes. A mix of sadness and tenderness in equal parts, as though she were remembering something from their past.

“I didn't get to be the mother you needed when it mattered most,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. Still, she went on. “So let me try to make it up by being the grandmother your child deserves.”

All you could do was watch, your heart straining, as Azriel’s throat bobbed once.

“You were—” He stopped, shook his head, then tried again. “You are the best mother I could ask for, mom.”

They shared a heartfelt smile, and for a moment, you felt like an intruder on a private, sacred moment.

“Of course we can visit more often,” he said gently. “Or you can finally come to Velaris, if you'd prefer. Rhys and Cassian would be happy to see you again.”

Rosalind's eyes lit up, her smile blooming bright. A mother, happy to reunite with her son's world. With his chosen family, and the new life he was building.

You watched her, and wondered—would you wear that same expression when your baby arrived? That same fierce, unwavering love that would never make your child doubt they were wanted and adored.

You hoped you did.

You knew you would.

Azriel already had that look. He'd had it since the moment you told him you were pregnant.

“I'd love to see them again,” Rosalind said. “It's been too many centuries. And maybe…” She chuckled softly, “it's about time I visited Velaris.”

A flicker of uncertainty sparkled in Azriel's eyes, as if he still wasn't sure his mother should be exposed to the potential dangers of the world, even in a city as safe as Velaris. But it was there and gone in a heartbeat, so fast you might have missed it if you didn't know him so well.

Rosalind didn't seem to notice, though, and the conversation flowed easily from there. She asked you many questions—about your childhood, your passions, your job—eager to know you as you were, and not just through Azriel's stories.

You got to know her just as well, and during the few hours you spent together, a connection began to take shape. Quiet and natural, it settled between you like it had always been meant to grow there. You wondered why you’d even been nervous in the first place.

Maybe it was because of your lucky necklace.

When you and Azriel finally left, just before dinner, Rosalind made you promise to return the following week—and to start planning her visit to Velaris.

*lovely divider by @slytherin-pen

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34 @yesiamthatwierd @lreadsstuff @littlest-w01f

[theastrohub]

friendship synastry 👯‍♀️

@astrobaeza observations vol. 3

in conversations and the use of synastry, it’s often associated with romantic relationships. however, while love is a central theme in life, friendship is equally, if not more, significant. after all, the strongest relationships often begin as friendships or platonic connections. even though you don’t typically consider astrology when forming organic friendships, examining your friends' charts alongside your own can offer insights into how you can better complement each other's lives.

*disclaimer: these are my opinions. if you have a different take, share them in the comments please and thank youu.

to compliment this post, I am now offering friendship synastry readings for $40! this service will provide you an outline of the compatibility between you and (1) friendship of your choice, karmic aspects, the purpose of the relationship and how to strengthen your bonds and be a better friend. PM me for a sample reading, only 5 slots are open for right now!

here are some observations I had:

彡 their planets in your 1st house 一 love at first sight. first house synastry amongst friends is like the friend you made your first day of junior high and became the godparent to your child since you are that locked in. I say love at first sight because much like it, you guys were probably very drawn to each other immediately and maybe became inseparable. this makes for a powerful bond where they strengthen your self image and identity, helping you become more confident in self expression. everything flows quite easily whether it be communication, vitality, beauty, and/or harmony. this is one of the best synastry placements in my opinion as it's the most open-ended and the pros outweigh the cons.

彡 their planets in your 2nd house 一 the hype-man / woman friend. the friend who you go to for outfit and makeup opinions, the one you give your haul to when buying new things. the person that can really boost your confidence (and also make you feel really bad about yourself). the friendship is focused on money - making but especially spending it. you guys love to go out to eat, try new things, and be a tad bit boujee together. this is also someone who shapes your mindset as this is probably a friendship on shared values (if it's healthy) - **they have a direct impact on how you feel about yourself. if your self image is unstable, this synastry can be detrimental to your wellbeing so be careful.

彡 their planets in your 3rd house 一 the yappers. there is a mutual love of talking specifically to one another. your minds are on the same page as is your intellect and it makes for a lovely bond on shared interests. according to my poll, most of you guys are mercury-dominant. my mercury-dominant readers, find you a friend you share 3rd house synastry with!! this will make you feel more comfortable in your innate self-expression and have better quality of friendships.

彡 their planets in your 4th house 一 the my friends are my family placement. this friendship dynamic makes for someone who feels very safe with you. the bond, irrespective of what you guys do together, is built on a foundation of trust and reliability. you guys most likely are very close, maybe your families are very close or familiar with one another. you guys spend time at each other's homes hanging out a lot, maybe you have sleepovers. you are familiar with one another's cultures, maybe this is a friendship on shared backgrounds or cultures.

ex 1: lilo and stitch share 4th and 11th synastry. they care for each other like family <3

彡 their planets in your 5th house 一 girls just wanna have fun! you guys do everything together and see each other as the fun friend or the goodtime friend. this can be bad but for the most part the pros outweigh the cons. you lovee each other's company and seek each other out whenever you're about to go do something fun. this is the friendship where you share your dating life with, maybe go out to meet people with or talk about love matters with. you might have more dating options being friends with them. they can show you something you are missing when it comes to matters of casual dating and encourage you to put yourself out there more. this synastry also indicates a relationship where your kids might be very close with them as well, or view them as a prolific " cool aunty/uncle" figure.

彡 their planets in your 6th house 一 workout buddies. you guys most likely workout together, share new diet fads and weight-loss tips together and keep each other healthy. maybe one or both of you are athletic or athletes and you inspire each other to really sweat. there is a lot of wisdom to be shared here in matters of work and routine and they can illuminate something you are missing or aspire to do for your job. this friendship dynamic is centered around being of service in practical matters that will help long term. the friend who either uplevels or diminishes your lifestyle.

彡 their planets in your 7th house 一 the friend who's a significant other. since seventh house synastry in romance is considered ideal for "marriage", this is the friendship that truly fulfills your platonic love languages. when your bf or gf is being annoying, they are right there ready to love on you! just joking, but in its best, this synastry really serves as an example of how you want to be loved in a romantic partnership. this is the friend you talk about deep romantic commitments with and your ideal partner, your relationship problems, and have right by your side when taking that big step in getting married. this friendship is centered around the more serious aspects of life like marriage, if you want to start a business, long-term partnerships. the friend you might trust to do business with or manage your business. friends I've had this synastry with I go to for help with the real stuff. members of the opposite gender that I've had this synastry with I've ended up crushing on or vice versa. at its worst, this can result in a friend who openly dislikes you and may even bully you.

彡 their planets in your 8th house 一 the friend who's damn near a significant other. someone who transforms you, for good or for worse. much like 11th house, they show you how to manage your money and resources and to take pride in them. someone you can trust with heavy stuff, the person you go to when you need to cry or vent. this is the friend that will keep you in check because they really do care about you and your emotional well-being. the friend you talk about your s3x life with or lack theorof -- the friendship where nothing is weird. a negative manifestation is someone who tries to control you and your resources, is way too obsessed with you and overpowers your autonomy. can cross major boundaries without you realizing.

ex2: Blair and Serena share 4th and 8th house synastry. their intense friendship is characterized by major transformations and sharing of ahem resources (men and clothes lol)

彡 their planets in your 9th house 一 philosophical friendship. you guys come from the same religious or spiritual background, have a connection through shared belief systems, may be the friend you met in high-school or university or through some form of formal learning. the friend that traveling with can shape how you view the world or the friend that wants to travel with you. someone who expands or limits your belief system about yourself and the world. you love sharing ideas and having deep conversations with them as they are receptive to these talks.

彡 their planets in your 10th house 一 you achieve new social standings together. they might love being seen with you, love going to important places. they might expand your reputation or lead you to alignment in matters of your career and legacy. on the flipside, they can harm your public reputation. you most likely have similar ambitions and this friendship keeps one another on the straight and narrow. this is a little bit more stale, but good for ambitious individuals. you guys strategize together, plan for the future, and can even build an empire through continuously bouncing ideas off of one another. they are very supportive of your professional ambitions and want to see you accomplish your biggest goals and be there every step of the way.

彡 their planets in your 11th house 一 you achieve goals together. this is for people who value dependable, stable friendships centered around longevity and shared vision for the future. like instead of a power-couple you're a power friendship duo. someone who can help you make money, someone you love socializing specifically networking with, the friend that shows up for you time and time again. the visionary friend that supports your craziest theories and dreams. the friend you introduce to your other friend groups without fear of overlap or not fitting in.

彡 their planets in your 12th house 一 spiritual friendship. they see you for who you are, and who you might not even see yourself to be. they highlight traits that you want to embody more of, and can really almost gentle parent you in new directions. this dynamic can result in a mentor style friendship and can grow into a deep bond that transcends mundane things. I've seen this synastry in friendships where one person guides the other into a new religion or way of living life as a whole. they can heal any wounds to your subconscious mind and help you process anything that's cumbersome mentally. this can be very beautiful, and develop into an unconditional bond, where they are there for you through thick and thin. on the flip side, they can be someone who is elusive and seeks to secretly harm you under the guise of friendship.

pt 2 coming soon.

thank you for reading 💋

@astrobaeza

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[solbaby7]

Make You Feel Something

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: sexual tension, some anxious themes, probably typos, some swearing, and two best friends—they might kiss

summary: You paint a certain Shadowsinger like one of those French girls

[ inspired by that quote “Art isn’t supposed to be perfect, it’s supposed to make you feel something.]

—

“Just stay still.”

“I don’t know—I feel like I’m not doing this right.”

You sigh, a soft smile stretching across your features watching Azriel attempt to stop his fidgeting. “You’re doing perfect, just get comfortable and lay there—I’ll do the rest.”

The paper was thick, a little yellowed but the charcoal in your hand seems to enjoy such conditions. Your back settles into the plush cushions on the couch, a throw pillow tucked against your thighs and every now and then you glance over the sketchbook to peer over at the partially bared body before you. “What’s this for anyway?”

“Practice,” You mumble, clearly distracted when roughly outlining the shape of him, the throne of a seat he was splayed over, shirtless with his fighting leathers hanging dangerously low on his hips and large wings shuffled behind him. “Why are you so nervous? You’ve been shirtless around me a million times.”

His left arm shifts again before you can draw the outline of it. “No one’s ever painted me before.”

“Technically, I haven’t gotten to the painting part yet. This will eventually become my reference photo for that.” The words don’t soothe him how you’d hoped and after a while Az is moving enough to have you settling down the charcoal, eyes sliding to his own. “What’s going on in your head?”

“I don’t know where to put my hands.” The shadowsinger sheepishly admits, looking more boyish than you’d seen him in centuries. Dark hair falls over his forehead and judging by the neat lines along the perimeter of his head, Az had recently gotten a haircut.

He attempts to hide his hands, tucking them behind his head or shoving them under pillow until you make a move to shuffle off the couch and finally it all makes sense. The fidgeting wasn’t because your best friend laid half-naked before you but the creeping insecurity of his scars ruining the final product. “Lay like this,” Azriel’s like putty in your grasp, malleable and easy to guide when you shift one leg to casually drape over the arm rest. He’s at a bit of an angle but the way you position him gives off attractive arrogance, effortless masculinity mixed with a boyish charm. “They’re beautiful,” Your voice is filled with uncapped love, lips soft when you take both of his hands in your own and press a kiss on the back of each. “Art isn’t supposed to be perfect—it’s supposed to make you feel something.”

Hazel eyes take you in, memorizing the slight furrow of your brow as you make a few final adjustments; his hands on full display while you mumble under your breath, something about the lighting and your nose scrunches a little when his shadows tickle at your cheeks. “What do they make you feel?”

There’s a brief pause and you can’t make eye contact for a few seconds, fearful that if you did your resolve would break and you’d be too busy trying to take his clothes off to worry about the poor beginnings of your drawing. “I couldn’t tell you honestly without ruining our friendship,” His brow quirks, throat bobbing with a gulp. “—but if I didn’t like them I wouldn’t have asked you to model for me.” Relief spreads when a smile tugs at his mouth, head dipping down to hide the warmth that blooms at his cheeks when you waggle your brows at him. He’s much more relaxed when you return to your seat, a slow breath releasing from you as you twist your neck, fingers gripping around the charcoal once more and Azriel can’t seem to take his sights away from you.

Painted toes wiggle softly at the edge of the cushions, bare knees drawn up and your hair is gathered in a ponytail. You hum when you focus, some song Azriel’s never heard of before seeming to aid in alleviating the self-consciousness and pleasantly distracting his brain. Five minutes turn into ten, then fifteen before Azriel breaks the silence, being sure to keep his body exactly as you’d placed it. “What’s that song?”

“Not sure,” His body was an artists dream, all hard lines and alarmingly perfect symmetry; the golden light casting through the room, scattering moody shadows along the angles of Az’s face and your thighs clench slightly when you’re forced to pay such close attention to the plush curve of his mouth. “My mom used to sing it when I was really little—can’t remember all of it but it calms me down.”

“You’ve seen me shirtless a million times, what’s there to be nervous about?” Your eyes roll at his harmless teasing, huffing at the way he’d thrown your words back at you and it’s become increasingly harder than you make it look to get a fucking grip on your body’s reaction to him.

The response is instinctual, fingers rubbing the page to soften edges and your brain wanders to what it would be like for real. “You’re not exactly hard on the eyes and I’m not used to having a reason for examining your body for this long.” The warmth of his skin beneath your hands. The free will to travel the contours of his muscles and kiss each and every scar, ripple and divot formed by countless hours of training and dedication. He’s easy to draw when you spend so much time oggling, bottom lip caught between your teeth when mimicking the lines of his abdomen, the inky trail of hair that disappeared beneath dark grey fabric. “It’s truly annoying how perfect you are—could probably get some sort of sexual gratification from how satisfying it is to draw you.”

There’s no room for embarrassment when Az is so easy-going, the same laugh you’d always yearned for pulling from his throat and you have to swat away a few creeping shadows from sneaking a peek before the final result. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

“It’s true,” The fireplace crackles behind you, a warm glow filling the room and kissing at the exposed skin of the model before you. Sharp jaw, soft smile; the hard line of his brows smoothed out by the light in his eyes—like sweet honey and sunshine. “I’ve never once drawn someone like you.”

“I’d hope not.” Azriel’s head tilts just a little, brows furrowed in thought. “Who else do you ask to get half-naked for the sake of practice?”

He’s fully aware of how it sounds—the jealousy lacing his tongue and you have to pull your hands away from the paper a moment before the slight tremble threatened to ruin the flow of the strands of hair you’d been steadily shaping around his head. “Not many seeing as I usually prefer painting models that are nude. I figured for the sake of our friendship I’d spare you.”

“Spare me?” He scoffs in a way that reminds you of Rhys, a little cocky and entirely too confident. “I’m not sure your heart would’ve taken seeing me nude. Certainly, it was me doing you the favor keeping the rest of my clothes on.”

Azriel’s skin goes hot at your lack of response, gaze sliding thoroughly over the length of his body from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes and a slow smile appears. “You sound awfully confident,” You shift in place, adjusting your legs and stretching out to see him better. “Take it off then.”

His mouth parts, words caught in his throat for a few beats of time before letting out a breath. His hands hesitate before untying the leathers and shimmying them down his thighs. There’s no hiding the desire that clouds your vision when taking in the simple black material that held snug against his cock. His thumbs hook in the waistband, shoving them down and tossing them aside.

It’s not the most simple task to tweak at the preexisting sketch, snuffing out dark lines and fading them into the background enough to make it easier to map out the thick lines of his thighs and calves—the generous length hanging confidently between it all. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually do it.”

“Should I not have? Are you uncomfortable?”

Your head shakes in denial, brows furrowed in focus and Azriel can’t place how it feels to be looked at as a specimen rather than a person. Your gaze is admirably respectful, quick glances with your tongue peeking through when perfecting soft lines and adding shading here and there. “Believe it or not, I couldn’t be more relaxed.”

He believes it too, your heartbeat is steady and controlled, limbs perfectly lax and Azriel is more than grateful for the view when you’re all laid out; sleep clothes shifting with each move and desire burns in his belly when you flick your ponytail off your shoulder, exposing the curve of your neck. “Where do you plan on putting this?”

“Nowhere, it’s private.” For viewing pleasure only, for those late nights when picking up a random male from Rita’s didn’t quite scratch the itch. “Once the painting is finished I’ll give it to you and keep the sketch for my portfolio.” You move on to his wings, tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth when you slide from the cushions, bare toes sinking into the throw rug when you stand before him. “Can you put those up higher?” Azriel complies with ease, craning his wings higher but the furrow of your brow doesn’t subside. “Spread them a little.” Your head shakes when he moves and you reach up, fingers millimeters away before glancing down at him. “May I touch?”

He should’ve said no—maintaining some sort of boundary because drawing him naked was one thing but standing before him asking to touch; all the resolve in the world wouldn’t be able to save him. Azriel’s mouth opens, intent on saying no but by some sick sense of self-indulgence he nods in agreement, eyes fluttering shut when the scent of your shampoo enters his space. Warm skin grazes his own and while the shadowsinger is a tense mess beneath you, you’re the picture of serinity, completely in your element when carefully adjusting the membranous wings how you pleased. He tries to hold it back but your hands are so soft and the rough groan that fills the silence has goosebumps raising.

“You can feel all of that?”

Azriel traces a finger up the outer side of your thigh, pausing at the hem of your shorts. “Can you feel that?”

“Right, stupid question.” Maybe you linger longer than necessary, tracing over a texture you’d never felt before; not leathery, softer than that but just as sturdy. Warm to the touch and they shudder when you smooth over the thin seam at top that fused everything together. “They’re beautiful.”

“I’m flattered, really,” His voice is strained, hands clenched in tight fists and when you glance down past inky strands, his cock is standing at attention against his stomach. “—but I think you’re overestimating my self-control.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Not unless you asked me to.”

The swallow you force down is audible, hands shaky when you tuck them back at your sides but you don’t make a move to step away this time. Instead, you stand before him, fingers coated in charcoal and there’s a little smeared at your collarbone. His hand is up and touching before common sense can deter him; pure fire burns beneath each fleeting touch, knuckles grazing at the curve of your jaw and there’s no hiding the rising beat of your heart when he wipes your skin clean. “Thanks.”

“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” His head falls back, words low and barely contained. The hands he pulls away keep drawing back like a magnet, touching greedily at the sides of your thighs and stopping at your waist. “I’m supposed to be helping you and my thoughts are not very helpful.”

Years of denying himself the simple pleasure of touch and the powerhouse of a male on the battlefield is reduced to a simpering baby, grappling for more touch, more of your silky clothes shifting against his skin and the sweet smell of vanilla and cocoa, sugar cookies and warm milk filling his nose when he pulled you in closer. Better judgement makes you wonder if you should pull away, find a way to comfort him and keep it friendly but the more distance that closes between you the more of that hard length you begin to feel against you. “Az—“ He doesn’t let the warning fully come to life, hands twisting behind the back of your knees until you’re sat above him, resting on bare thighs and your hands brace at his shoulders.

“I know,” Azriel repeats it over and over under his breath, face buried in the dip of your throat, mouth grazing at the sensitive skin there and the little whimper he draws from you has that hard cock between you twitching against your stomach. “I thought I could handle it but you just feel so fucking good.”

It was wrong.

So fucking wrong.

Shit like this never ended well; mixing fucking and friendship but while you kept thinking no your body stubbornly arched into his touch. You bared more of your throat to him when he buries his nose there, taking in your smell while he memorized the feel of you. The slope of your shoulders, the flare of your ribs and the soft curve of your stomach. You grind onto him, searching for more friction when Azriel follows the length of your legs down then up to cup the fat of your ass. “Take it off.”

You feel weak; too captivated to acknowledge your backbone when you tug the shirt from your head and throw it somewhere behind you. His mouth is insatiable when pressing kisses to every inch of exposed flesh, holding you closer with each breathy moan and whispered plea for more, more, more. Nothing could’ve prepared you for his mouth finally slotting over your own.

Azriel’s careful now, slow and attentive, maintaining a pace as you got to know one another in ways you’d only thought about when you’d snuffed out the fire for the night and shuffled under the covers, fingers hiked up your nightgown for a few minutes of uninterrupted pleasure. He groans into your mouth when tongues touch, fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close.

You hand slides between the two of you, wrapping around the stiff length of him and the moan he lets out has him sinking back into the chair. Preening under the attention you continue, gaze locked on the half-lidded hazel eyes before you, his arms flexing at his sides, hands holding onto your thighs for stability because your hands were so soft, holding him so firmly and the steady drags up and down was enough to have his thoughts muddled and hips bucking up into your touch. Swears spill from his mouth like prayers, pleading and begging for you to keep going and watching him crumble beneath you was a greater high than any smokes or powders. “Feels so fucking good.”

“You look good under me,” Draped across a throne like some entitled High Lord finally receiving his birthweight as promised. “You close already?” Azriel’s cock throbs in your hands, pre-cum oozing from his slit and the thumb that curls to swipe over it is torturous. “Poor Illyrian baby—I’ve barely even touched you yet.” A cruel laugh accompanies the choppy breaths and hazel eyes kept falling victim to the backs of his lids. “The High Lords spymaster. The feared Shadowsinger. A great warrior with seven Syphons to hold onto all that power and here you are,” Your pace speeds up, pure feminine satisfaction building when watching such manly power submit beneath a woman. “—falling apart just for me.”

You feel his release coating your palm and you use it for better slip when you keep going, riding out his pleasure until he’s pulling your hands away, chest heaving.

He watches you slip from his lap while he catches his breath, catching a towel tossed his way for the mess. “Clean up for me, I need to finish this before the lanterns burn out.”

Azriel doesn’t listen though, rising from the throne and clearing the distance between you in no more than three steps and his mouth is right back on your own.

Fuck it, some of the best art was left unfinished anyway.

[jam3sacaster]

I’m a slave to her, slave to her love.

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion: A sweet anon 🫶🏽

Song Inspo: Hotel, Montell Fish.

Disclaimers: 18+ FANFIC. Super angst and a lil smut mention 🥰 Reader character aged at 21. Hope you enjoy! 🩷

It came as a surprise to no one that Declan O’Hara detested dinner parties — a night of carousing that included supercilious, conceited socialites that kept their reddened noses either stuck in their whiskey glasses or other people’s wives. The men were suited, tight-lipped and impossibly drunk. Their wives were similarly drunkenly provocative and scantily-clad in tight cocktail dresses. Thankfully, he was seated opposite Rupert Campbell-Black, who was swigging a glass of whiskey with ease and conversing with a face he recognised all too well. You had encountered Declan numerous times — at Venturer meetings where you were now a shareholder, at the Bar Sinister of many a drunken night and, eventually, his bed.

Excruciatingly for him, you looked extravagant tonight — rolling tendrils of tawny hair, silken golden skin, crimson red lipstick and a tight, bandaged black dress. Rupert’s nimble fingertips were caressing the length of your svelte arm, his jaw rested against your shoulder. Taking his seat, Declan quietly thanked the waitress that poured him a large whiskey and flapped an ironed napkin across his lap. “Darling, you smell ambrosial.” Rupert growled, inching his face towards your neck with and inhaling the sweet aroma of Anaïs Anaïs. You giggled fantastically towards him whilst sipping at a glass of white wine. Declan’s top lip twitched, jealousy beginning to seep through his body. “Would you like?” The accented waitress asked him, waving a serving tray of prawn cocktail in front of his face. “No thanks.” Declan muttered, holding up his hand.

Momentarily, you glanced over to Declan, who was scanning his eyes furiously over tonight’s menu. He looked incredible. Ink black suit with a matching bow tie, his ringlets of chocolate curls gelled backwards and his moustache bristling under his curled lip. He felt your lecherous gaze washing over him, but kept his eyes trained on the laminated paper. “What are you doing after this?” Rupert began, now sat up and tracing shapes onto the palm of your hand. There wasn’t a soul on the planet that could rival your friendship with him. Declan’s grip around his whiskey tumbler tightened, his knuckles growing white. “God. Nothing. Boring myself to sleep, probably.” You chuckle, using your free hand to lift your glass of wine to your mouth, gulping greedily. “Perfect. Come back to mine.” Rupert replied, an almost pleading tone washing through his voice. “Really? Why?” You asked, nonchalantly observing Declan’s face turn puce with rage. “I’ll show you why.” Rupert chimed in response. That was enough.

Declan’s vice like grip across his glass grew tighter, until it exploded in a downpour of tiny, crystallised shards. The drunken chatter of the room instantaneously quietened and forty beady, judgemental eyes turning to glare at him. “Are you okay, old chap?” Rupert asked with furrowed brows, but Declan simply excused himself and marched outside. Sensing his enraged envy, you subsequently excused yourself and followed him outside, where he was leant against the red brick wall and puffing at a cigarette. “Light?” You asked, cigarette teetering between your crimson lips, and Declan pulled a silver metal lighter from his pocket. “What tha’ fuck was all that about?” He spat, unable to meet your gaze. “What do you mean?” You huffed exasperatedly.

“You and… h-him. He’s a fucking rat. Why tha’ fuck are you sleeping with him?” Declan questioned, his heart thumping rhythmically in his chest. “Sleep w-Declan! I’m not fucking Rupert, we’re just friends! Why do you care so much anyway?” You reply in disbelief, throwing your lit cigarette to the ground and closing the gap between you both. “I think ya’ know why. I can’t stop fuckin’ thinkin’ about ‘ya.” He breathed huskily, his hand raking through your hair, his lips pressing against yours in want.

[cassandraclare]

website questions

Vanessa:

 In the past you said that Dru would have a group of friends, but you didn't want to say much because you were far from TWP, now that you've started writing, have you thought about this group (if it was maintained) could you talk a little about it, if there will be Any notable characters? and do Ty and Kit have a group of friends or colleagues? Even if they are not important in the narrative of the story, could they have appeared or been commented on in some chapter, a chapter about Ty in Scholomance and Kit in Devon?

Hi Vanessa! I totally get that you want to know everything about what happens with Kit and Ty and Dru in TWP. All I can say is that in the current draft of LKOF, neither Ty nor Dru nor Kit spends much time at school or home at all. We may meet some people they know at school, and hear about their lives before the beginning of the events of TWP. We do see other students at the Academy with Dru, and we know about Anush and Thais and even Kit's maybe-a-werewolf ex, and may hear about some of the other people Kit and Ty have encountered in the passing years, but they are not important in LKOF. Like you said, aside from Anush and Thais, they may get commented on but that's about it.

Marina: I know TLKoF is a long way off, but just out of curiosity, will Kit and Ty's romantic advance be worked on from the beginning? we might have their first kiss on TLKoF.

We might. You never know. I will say both of them know these are romantic feelings they have, not confused friendship feelings or something, and that yes, this is a romance pretty much from the beginning. For any of you that have read romances, which I'm going to guess is 100%, we all know that takes many different shapes. :)

Josué: Hey, Cassie! I'd like to know if Mina will have some kind of power like James and Lucie. She has Tessa's blood after all. And we know that Mina is too young in TWP, but there is a short chance that one day we meet her power? Thank you for your time! I love your books.

You never know! She is still quite small in TWP. Also, there is the question of the fact that Belial no longer exists and when he disappeared, Lucie and James power went with him. Now, Tessa still has some of her power so whether she passes anything along to Mina at all is to be seen.

[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

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[boundbyeclipse]

“does it make you nervous when i stare” WITH KIRK LORD PLEASE

hungry eyes

genre : smut

word count : 1982

tags : friend!kirk, female!reader, some swearing, rough!kirk, fingering, choking, cum swallowing, public sex, unprotected sex

from the prompt list : 1. “does it make you nervous when i stare?”

a/n : almost ended up with 2k words with this one (and that's crazy). so far this is the longest metallica fic i have written, and i am so happy that i could pull off a longer one! happy reading, i hope that it's good! x

You have had a massive crush on your close friend Kirk for quite some time now. Ever since you graduated school, you both signed up for guitar classes and attended them together. Four days a week, he would knock on your door and wait outside before catching a bus for a ride to the studio. Four days a week, Kirk would walk you home and make sure you were safe and sound, even if it was still light outside. This choice not only made you two grow closer, but also sparked something more. But neither of you were able to understand and grasp onto the way you felt, having all the attention on practicing and classes was like a fence blocking it. Yet, here and there, from time to time, you would find yourself thinking about him which was unusual, because he was your friend. The last time you liked someone this much was three years ago and you were not sure if you could accept it or if the better option would be to just hide it until it goes away. The last thing you wanted was to ruin the friendship. 

And so did he. 

It was a gloomy Wednesday afternoon, and you were in the mood to read something cool for a few hours. So you gave Kirk a call asking if he wanted to join you at the library, which he said yes to without much thinking. And here you were, going through the shelves and  looking for the perfect books to try out. 

Once chosen, you found a table and sat across from each other, beginning to read.

You sighed in the midst of reading as the story was not progressing too well, catching Kirk’s attention immediately. He paused and looked at you with a small frown in between his dark eyebrows.

“Is the book not good?”

The curly locks falling in his face made him look so adorable that you quickly realized you haven’t said anything yet, you’ve just been looking at him.

“You okay?” he snorted lightly, a worried look on his face.

“Uh- Yeah,” you laughed it off awkwardly, pulling a strand of hair behind your ear. You were never this awkward around him, but in this moment, something about him having his eyes on you set your body on fire. 

“It’s just the plot,” you crossed your legs, one accidentally touching the side of Kirk’s calf, “oh, sorry” and you moved your chair a bit back to not hit him again. Why in the world were you so clumsy today? The moment where your hair got caught on his necklace after hugging when you met up was the start of it all. Can this just stop happening? 

“You’re good, don’t need to worry” he smiled without showing his crooked teeth. He found it cute how you kept having little accidents like these, it also reminded him of that time when you accidentally knocked a cup over and it spilled all over the floor. Or when you were making hot dogs and spilled the ketchup on yourself in some way. It never failed to make him laugh and adore you. Especially when you were so quick to get embarrassed and blush along with it. 

A few minutes later, Kirk found himself looking up at you again, but this time, he couldn’t get his eyes off of you. Every little detail about you he just loved. From your beautiful hair, long curvy eyelashes, to the shape of your nose, and the way you had your lips slightly pursed while your head rested in your palm. And he felt intrigued. He soon realized that he was beginning to wonder how you would taste like - Kirk thought about kissing your lips. But when his eyes landed on your exposed chest and neck, the lust took over him and his mind reminded him of what you did earlier with your feet. Even if it was unintentional. Kirk licked his lips, bucking his hips up as he leaned back in his seat, dragging the book closer and placing it against the edge of the table. You didn’t think much of it, you just thought he’d changed the way he was sitting. When in reality, Kirk was now using the book to make it look like he was still reading it. 

And it didn’t take too long for you to sense the piercing gaze. You looked up to find your friend staring, lips slightly parted, those chocolate irises sending your heart straight down to your toes. 

It left you shy and you looked back at the book quicker than the lightning, realizing how nervous he just made you feel. Clearing your throat, you attempted to continue reading, but failed to concentrate because of a pair of doe eyes you had on you. The way it made you feel was visible to him. Clear as a day. 

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” Kirk broke the silence. 

For a moment, you hesitated to speak or look at him due to the amount of frustration.

“It… it does, but…”

“But what, hm?” 

“We’re out in public, you know? You… You look a bit scary” you tried to act innocent, but he just wasn’t going to buy it. A person who’s scared wouldn’t really blush, don’t you think? 

Shit.

Kirk smirked as he closed the book and grabbed yours too, standing up as he pushed the chair under the table. 

You have never seen him act this way. It was different.

But oh, did he look hot.

“What are you doing?” you whisper-yelled as you caught up to him as he put the books back in their places. He towered over you, eyes dark and a smile still plastered on his face, making you feel even more fired up. Kirk knew that at this moment, you wanted him as much as he wanted you.Though, you tried to mask it by acting. But at this point you were simply lying to yourself. 

He replied, voice husky and lower than his usual.

“I’m doing what’s necessary, doll” 

Doll?

You felt as if your soul had just left your body. Kirk had such a strong effect over you and it wasn’t something you ever thought was possible. He’s got you under his thumb now.

Saying nothing else you followed him outside, looking like a lost puppy next to a stranger. Kirk stopped  in some dark alleyway, which kind of scared you. What the hell was he up to? 

“I know you like challenges, and adrenaline, that’s why I decided this was the place” 

“Place f-for what?” you lowkey panicked, looking around. No people were in sight.

Kirk took a step closer, your back hitting the cold wall as you looked up at the boy. It wasn’t pitch black, it was dark, but the moon shining down on you was enough of a source for some dim light.

“For this” 

Cupping your face with both of his large hands, he pulled you into a warm deep kiss that sent you over the edge, butterflies raging in your stomach. Maybe he was a freak for dragging you out to such a place, but you kind of enjoyed it. The weather was a bit cold, but you weren’t too worried because kissing on its own was a way to stay warm.

Your fingers got lost in his brown curls as you tugged on them every now and then, him biting your lower lip in return, his hands all over you. 

“Kirk” you took a breath as you pulled away. 

“Yeah? Am I going too far?”

You shook your head.

 “No, no, you’re not. I… I want you” you confessed, throwing your leg around his waist as you searched for more friction. 

“Fuck, I never knew I’d hear that” he groaned, grabbing the back of your thigh and squeezing it hard, pulling your skirt up and ghosting his fingers over your heated core. But he was a gentleman and wasn’t going to open the door before knocking first. 

“Can I?” 

“Yes, please. Do whatever you want” 

The way you whimpered once he ripped your tights at the crotch area made him moan, his voice sounding so heavenly to your ears - like a melody. He found his way to your clothed cunt, slipping under the fabric of your lace underwear, running his middle and ring finger up and down your folds, your wetness coating them and his palm. You writhed under his touch when he began to rub circles on your sweet spot, causing you to kiss him to cover up a loud moan. This made it even harder for him to keep his rock hard length in his tight jeans. Kirk really wanted and needed to get rid of the uncomfortable pressure. 

But he just had to stretch you out with his fingers first. 

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, feeling how tight you were, “you’re so freaking hot” 

Your eyes rolled back as the pads of his fingers hit the right place, picking up the pace as he left some wet kisses on your neck.

A whine left your lips.

“Kirk, please, I want more” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes”

He removed his fingers from you and unzipped his jeans, finally setting his length free that was coated in precum, ready to fulfill your desires. 

You did not expect it, but Kirk lifted you against the alleyway wall and slipped his member into you slowly, both of you moaning at the feeling. Your legs were tightly wrapped around his waist as you had your arms around his neck, one hand lost in his bouncy hair, while the other had a grip on his shoulder. His length was the perfect size for you, curved just right, it hugged your walls and hit the most sensitive spot like no other, causing you to lose yourself completely. It was addicting, and never have you ever thought that this would actually happen, thinking you’ll never be able to even admit your feelings for him. 

But here you were, all fucked out at his mercy, bodies colliding as Kirk thrusted faster and faster with each minute. His hand reached out and wrapped around your throat, which gave you so much satisfaction, you swore you saw stars. There was no way you were going to last any longer with the way he was pounding into you, and he could tell from the way you started to loosen up and how your head was thrown back. You were so under his control. 

“Are you cumming, doll?” 

Yes, you were, but couldn’t get words to come out of your mouth.

“Are you?” he asked again, his grip around your throat even tighter as he slammed his hips into you harshly. The way your body shook was the hottest thing that he has ever witnessed in his life, it never came to his mind that he’s ever going to see you like that.

“I am- Fuck” you squealed into your own palm as you came hard, shaking uncontrollably in his arms as he continued to move.

Seconds later, you were on your knees, bobbing your head to help him reach his own high. Kirk held you by the back of your head to guide you, his chest heaving as he was about to finish. 

The groan that left his lips was so hot that you wanted to hear it more than just once. How Kirk sounded could probably make you cum anytime, any place, just from the way he moaned once he was done. And being the good girl that you are, you swallowed everything that he spurted inside your mouth. 

After a long way home, you asked him to stay over, wanting to spend some time with him and have him around. That night, you both ended up finally confessing your feelings that you’ve had for so long.

[lnfours]

* ✰. — supernatural | l.n

summary: this love’s possessing me, but i don’t mind at all ; a new year with the same boy, but in a different way.

warnings: fluff, another friends to lovers!au brought to you by yours truly, based off ‘supernatural’ by ariana grande, pining so damn hard, a hint of language, not proofread bc i can’t sleep and i have this on my mind

masterlist | listen

✧˖°.🪐⋆｡°✩

you weren’t really sure when things changed with lando. how the once platonic touches turned into lingering ones that left a fire burning beneath his fingertips. how quick glances turned into longing stares before the other would notice and a quick shift of vision. everything suddenly meant something.

of course, everyone had put money on it years ago. they all had a gut feeling that at some point, things would come clear to the both of you that you were meant to be all along. how all those past relationships, situationships and failed first dates never worked out because no one could compare. and as always, the two of you would always shut it down. quick to reassure your other friends that if it ever were to happen, it’d ruin a life long friendship which was far more important.

they didn’t want to hear it though. always giving a slight nod, a ‘sure’ or a ‘we’ll see about that’. and boy were they right. they were onto the both of you before you even started. assumptions slowly coming to life as they all watched how the two of you acted around the other all of a sudden. how he’d always have an arm around you, not in a protective way, but in a ‘i need you right here with me’ kind of way. they all noticed how you never backed away, how you’d simply melt into him as the night progressed. your head leaning back on his shoulder as you talked. or how you would slip a hand around his back, occasionally drawing shapes onto the thin material of his shirts. a simple giveaway to them about something you didn’t even know was happening yet.

but now it was new years, the house party buzzing with people and music and everything in between. a celebration of the end of another year and into a new one with new beginnings. manifestations of good things in the air as the music played through the speakers of the house.

you were sat on the couch, drink in hand as you laughed with some of your mutual friends. lando couldn’t help but keep glancing over at you, eyes dancing over the way your eyes sparkled in the dim lighting. how your eyes creased when you laughed and smiled, how suddenly you were all he could see in a room full of people.

“mate,” max’s voice brought him back to earth, “did you hear what i said or were you too busy eye-fucking y/n?”

lando turned to his best friend, eyebrows pulled together, “what?”

he was trying not to get defensive. trying so hard not to tell his best friend that he wasn’t eye-fucking you, but rather looking over at you lovingly. looking at you as his heart went a mile a minute, scanning over all the features of your face for the millionth time, but all of a sudden taking this time, right here, right now, to try to memorize it. memorize everything little thing that made you perfect to him.

“c’mon, mate,” max sighed, almost as if he was tired of the same story, “you’ve been staring at her for the past five minutes. when are you going to go tell her you love her?”

lando swallowed the sip of his drink, rolling his eyes at his friend, “i don’t know what you’re on about.”

“please,” pietra joined the conversation now, arm linked on max’s, “you’re a terrible liar. you both are.”

he looked at the blonde with curiosity in his eyes. you both are? what was that supposed to mean? could it be-

he was about to ask before she spoke, “listen, you’re both single. clearly you’re into each other, just go talk to her!”

and with that, the couple was gone. off to join the circle of people in the living room who were counting down to midnight. he looked at the time on his phone, twenty minutes to the new year. to the new chapter he had desperately been craving.

he took another sip of his drink before he felt a hand on his shoulder, a soft ‘excuse me’ echoing in his ears. he looked up, a smile on your face as you squeezed past the person next to him to stand beside lando. he was quick to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him in the crowded area.

you smiled, tucking a strand of hair from your face, with your free hand as the other wrapped around his neck, “hey,”

“hey,” he smiled right back at you, “feeling okay?”

you nodded, “i am now, yeah.”

oh if his heart wasn’t already flying out of his chest, it sure was now. your smile alone could send him over the moon. your fingers absentmindedly reaching towards the curls at the nape of his neck, twisting them lightly between your fingers. you loved when he kept his hair a little longer than normal so you could do this.

little did you know, he kept it a little longer just for you to do it.

“want something to drink? i can go grab you something,”

you shook your head, “i’m okay, thank you,”

he nodded back at you, “so, find your new years kiss yet?”

you scrunched your nose, looking around the house, “have you seen the people here? i don’t think i’ll have much luck. you?”

he shrugged, “haven’t had much luck either, but i also haven’t even really been looking.”

you laughed softly, “you haven’t?”

he shook his head, looking past you to look at the clock. ten minutes.

“i mean,” he started, “there’s one girl but i don’t know if she’s into me.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying not to let your face fall as your heart went to your feet, “well, what’s she look like?”

he swallowed a sip from his drink, “she’s gorgeous, even when she thinks she isn’t, she is. she’s really smart, possibly the smartest in the room right now. and she likes to go out, but she’d much rather curl up on the couch and put a movie on or read a book or something. and she keeps me in line, knows when to bring my ego back to earth.”

you smiled softly, “she sounds great.”

“she is,” he scanned your facial features, “she’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

you sucked in a breath, “is she here?”

“yeah,” he smiled softly, “she’s right in front of me.”

suddenly the world stopped. it felt like time stood still as you stood in front of him. it was like you two were the only ones in the room.

“lando,” you breathed out, unsure of what to say. every birthday wish, every shooting star, you had used for this very moment. and now it was unfolding in front of you, and nothing has made you feel so many things at once quite like this has.

five minutes to the new year.

he smiled back at you, the toothy grin you had learned to fall in love with no matter how much he picked it apart whenever he would take pictures. you loved the little gap between his teeth, the way the moles and freckles charted his skin like constellations. constellations just for you. it was right here in this moment that everything everyone has ever said started to make you realize it has been him all along.

“i know it’s scary and new and every thing we always thought was something that was going to ruin our friendship,” he said, “but i can’t help it. i’m falling in love with you.”

the people around you started counting down, “59, 58, 57…”

“i’m falling in love with you, too,” you said, eyes scanning over his, green with specks of blue and oh so pretty, “i’ve been in love with you since the moment we met.”

he stood now, pulling you closer to him. 30, 29, 28…

“i want this,” he said, “i want you. i always have, and im sorry it took me this long to finally admit it.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck as his snaked around your middle. he was holding you as close as possible, and although it wasn’t a new experience to be this close, to take in the smell of his cologne, the smell of his shampoo and the cream he used to style his stupidly perfect curls. it wasn’t new to experience everything that made him ten times more irresistible, but right now, your heart was about to fly out of your chest at the feeling of him being this close before. a step into uncharted territory and you were growing impatient by the second. wanting nothing more than to just call him yours already. to let the world know that he was yours and yours only. to let your friends know that they were right all along, ready to hear the ‘i told you so’s as long as it kept him right here.

“i’m sorry, too.” you said. and you meant it. you had wished this had happened sooner, you couldn’t help but wonder that if it had, where you two would be now. what your little life would’ve looked like right about now.

with ten seconds left on the clock, he smiled and mumbled to you softly, “be my new years kiss,”

you smiled back at the curly haired boy you’ve loved your whole life, “i wouldn’t want you to kiss anyone else.”

five, four, three, two, one…

there were yells of celebration in the air, the echo of the fireworks on the tv. everyone either toasting to the new years or ringing in a new year with their loved by celebrating with a kiss. but you paid no mind to any of it, to any of the noise circling around you as you took in the way his lips slotted against yours. how his lips tasted like the cherry lip balm you had lent him earlier on in the night with a hint of the whiskey he had been nursing. his hands holding you in place in front of him, yours wrapping around his neck as he took it a step further and licked against your bottom lip.

everything about it sent butterflies straight to your stomach because after all this time, all the dreaming about this moment, it finally happened. you two had managed to crack, let down the facade. and truthfully, it felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders and it made you question why neither of you came clean sooner.

his nose pressed against yours and you laughed softly, meeting his eyes. he was smiling back at you, wrapping a strand of your hair around his finger before slotting it back behind your ear.

he licked his lips, the both of you basking in each other after years and years of pining, “wanna get out of here?”

“please,” you sighed, and with that he led you through the crowd around you. led you to the door of the house party, nodding and bidding his few goodbyes before heading out. you held onto his arm the whole way, until he was unlocking the doors to the mclaren parked down the street. he opened the door for you, just like he always had, and you slid in. this time as he closed the door, you couldn’t help but notice the shift of energy. the way everything was unfolding was nothing less than exciting.

he climbed in on the drivers side, starting the car before slotting his hand with yours.

“mine or yours?”

you shrugged, looking over at him with a smile, “doesn’t matter,”

he nodded, pressing your hand to his lips as he pulled away from the curb. and really, it didn’t matter to you. because you would follow him anywhere. even to the ends of the earth and back.

which, of course he knew that. because he’d do the same for you.

[amuyyi]

y/n + her plants .

synopsis; just 3 little drabbles of y/n being the only extrovert and obsessed with plants.

trope; le sserafim x 6th member!reader, platonic , just silly poorly written stuff

wc; 2.0k

cw; none

a/n; im ngl this is just a self indulgent self insert of the author. i love female friendships! also i was half asleep writing this, but i really like the 2nd clip idk it makes me giggle a little :3 i had planned to write more, but i got tired soooo... also did not spellcheck at the end zzz please read my other works if u actually want decently written stuff

Clip 1: 

It was your turn to turn in a vlog for the week, and you decided to utilize this time to do a room tour. You grin into the camera as you make your way to you and Yunjin’s shared bedroom, opening the door and showing the interior to the camera. It was a spacious room, with posters and photographs plastered all along the walls alongside other decor such as string lights, unique shaped mirrors, and endless figurines and trinkets lined on the shelves. One of the most prominent features of the room though was the amount of pure green all throughout. There were plants quite literally everywhere. On the windowsill, hanging off the ceiling, held up on the wall, on the floor, the tables, the shelves. It felt like just about any free space was touched by mother nature herself.

You grin sheepishly as you explain, “Not many people know this– well I guess now many people will know this, but I am a super big plant person!”

The camera slowly pans over all of the plants as well as some of Yunjin’s belongings, including her guitar, glasses, and some smiski’s you two co-parent. “Thankfully Yunjin doesn’t mind me hogging up some space for my babies, and I pay her back in smiski figurines!!” Grabbing hold of a little green man on the table that was struggling to put on a sweater, you shove its face into the camera as you giggle, “I think this one's my favorite, me and Yunjin are still trying to come up with a name for him.”

You look around, trying to figure out which plant to showcase first before you catch sight of one particular plant you enjoy. “Oh! I want to show you guys my favorite pot…” The camera pans to a comically large and rather beat up leather boot, which humbly held home to a mini monstera within its space. 

“It was a random shoe I found near a river during filming one time. Viney here seems to enjoy it,” You grin, accidentally letting it slip that you name every single one of your plants as well as touch random garbage you find outside before you showcase another “pot,”  being a mug that had the words “Live Laugh Love” plastered boldly on the side as you snicker, “this one just makes me laugh. Jen hates it, but I don’t think she can recognize the beauty in irony.”

You let out a sigh as you make your way towards your bed, plopping down onto it as you speak. “Y’know, I personally believe I’m a great candidate to collaborate on a show with Chuu, Tsuki, and Yuqi sunbaenim,” the ramble starts, completely derailing from the original topic of plants as you speak. Your tone is lighthearted and playful, but you’re being completely serious as you continue, “I want to do a bunch of random jobs and harass random people on the street!! I’m perfectly capable of doing that! I’d do that even if I wasn’t getting paid!” 

You start to laugh, realizing how ridiculous you started to sound, but you didn’t care, you pressed the topic on. “If I weren't an idol I’d make a great farmer! Why haven’t I gotten invited to be a farmer with Chuu sunbaenim??” An endless string of various other jobs as well as explanations behind why you would qualify for every one of them begins to spew out of your mouth. You were always a major talker, and quite literally had no filter nor shame when it came to what you had to say. More often than not, you were leading conversations at social events if Chaewon hadn’t already beat you to it– and having alone time with your own thoughts and a camera to record it all was a recipe for disaster.

At the end of your rant, you find yourself slightly winded before making direct eye contact with the camera, pointing your finger directly into it as you announce, “If any TV company is out there watching this right now, this is my application to be a guest on one of your shows! Any job will do, I’ll do it! But just know I’ll leave you farmers in the dust if you put me out in the fields. Watch your back.”

As a last “threat” to broadcasters all around the world, you threateningly do a “I’m watching you” gesture with your hand before placing your hand over the camera, ending the vlog.

Clip 2:

Eunchae spins around the dorm building, giving the viewers on the livestream a living room tour as she looks around, coming up with random things to showcase on the spot. So far, she’s shown off the inside of the fridge, their oven, and underneath the couch. The young girl’s eyebrows furrow as she contemplates what to show fearnots next, her eyes landing on your precious arrangement of houseplants that you lovingly arranged in front of the balcony door. Eunchae clears her throat dramatically as she turns the camera towards your plants, squatting down next to them as she makes sure the audience can see both her and them within the frame.

“As you guys can see here, we have y/n’s plants… She's COVERED the apartment full of them, Chaewon unnie has to scold her every time she brings one home.” She giggles into the camera before shaking her head, “I’m convinced she loves those things more than us…” 

Faint rustling could be heard within the background, and Eunchae turns her head, opening her mouth as if to call out to whoever was home, but she pauses.An imaginary light bulb goes off in her head as Eunchae gasps, looking straight into the camera as she grins mischievously. “I have an idea… Watch this!” She scrambles onto the floor, laying flat on her stomach on top of the floor tile as she props her phone up against the wall hidden behind a stool. The camera perfectly showcases the plants, the living room, and the curtains covering the screen door. 

[ynniez] – oh no… [huhjin001] – this is going to be good [2ningz] - 🥸🥸🥸

The giggles can't seem to stop as Eunchae hops onto her feet and immediately dashes behind the curtains, pressing her finger up to her lips towards the camera in a “shh…!” motion before she disappears. 

“Eunchae?” your voice rings out as you return to your living quarters, grocery bags in hand as the camera perfectly captures your entrance. You don’t think much of the silence that follows as you place the bags down, making your way over to your plants with a grin.

 “Hello my lovelies~” You say to your plants, squatting down to examine them individually before grabbing hold of the watering can nearby. As you lift up the can, Eunchae suddenly bursts through the curtains, exclaiming “BOO!” as loud as possible, resulting in you screaming at a decibel twice as high. 

Unfortunately for the maknae, she had failed to foresee the possibility of you watering your plants at this exact moment– resulting in you blindly chucking 90% of the water inside the can towards the culprit in a panic. Eunchae stands there frozen, oversized sweatshirt and hair absolutely soaked with her mouth agape as she stares at you in complete shock. 

“What THE FU– EUNCHAE??” You yell out, watching the younger girl simply freeze in front of you like a wet cat. You switch to English for just one moment, simply saying, “Girl…” as you clutch your hand over your heart, trying to steady the rapid beating.

Eunchae’s shocked expression shifts into one of glee as her mouth still remains open, now smiling as her body rotates to where the phone hid, silently pointing in the general direction of the camera as she tries not to burst out into laughter on the spot.

You stare at her in complete confusion before following her finger, eyes finally landing on the livestream as your eyes widen, suddenly feeling very exposed in her own home. “No way you just got all of that on camera…”

Eunchae finally allows the laughter to flow, as she suddenly spreads her arms out, inching her way towards you. “You did this to me, unnie!!!” She roars, making attempts to trap you in a hug as you scream, running offscreen as the live abruptly ends.

Clip 3:

You’re seen with your face comically close to the camera, a habit that soon became a signature of your livestreams as you watch the viewers and comments roll in. You glaze over them before flipping the camera around, showing Sakura within the kitchen, wearing a pink apron and plastic gloves as she cuts up some vegetables. “Hi everyone!! Today, Kkura unnie and I are making omelets for the girls with microgreens I’ve grown MYSELF in OUR apartment!!” You loudly exclaim, shoving the camera close to the cutting board as Sakura rolls her eyes, chuckling at the sight as you eventually point the camera elsewhere.

��You did a very good job growing these y/n-nnie. They look great.” The comment from the older girl made you shy, and you flip the camera back to your face as you place a hand on your cheek, “hehe, thank you Kkura-unnie~” you coo, shifting your gaze back to the viewers before sighing.

“I grew all kinds of stuff in here, like basil, arugula, cilantro, kale…” You trail off, counting the number of edible plants you’ve grown on your finger before continuing, “but I could make so much more if I had a full blown garden!!” You whine, and Sakura could be seen in the background rolling her eyes, playfully commenting, “not this again…”

You dramatically lean on Sakura’s back with your own despite her already being hunched over while chopping as you sigh even louder this time, “I’m serious unnie!! The stuff I could grow for you guys.. You would have a whole salad in one place!!”

Leaving the older member to her task, you place the camera down before grabbing some eggs and cracking them into a bowl, impressively doing so with only one hand each as the comments complimented your skill.

[makna33] – master chef y/n?? [nay00n1] – girl what cant u do…

A laugh escapes your lips as you beat the eggs, “guys, its not that impressive. Besides, I don’t cook nearly as often or as well as Kkura-unnie.” The compliment garners a small smile from the other girl seen in the corner of the screen as you continue on, “anyways, if I had my own garden in the building, I would graft the best tomatoes ever… I’d be real life Frankenstien creating the perfect tomato!” You start, knowing that most likely nobody would actually care for your facts, but you shared anyways, this was YOUR live after all.

“Oh! We’re also using my basil today in one of the omelets. Guys, if you’re ever growing your own basil at home, make sure to pinch off the flowers! It makes it tastier!!” You point the chopsticks you used to whisk the egg at your phone camera, and some of the yolk is thrown onto the screen as your eyes widen, looking back at Sakura to make sure she didn't see what you just did. 

You quickly wipe off the gunk before returning to your kitchen duties as if nothing happened, “These eggs are gonna be so good… Though, I did have a pretty bad mealybug problem with the greens at some point… Do you guys know what those are? They’re like these little white dusty bugs that suck the sap out of your plants if you don’t do anything about them. I had SO MANY. But I refused to give up on em and now they're critter free!”

“Yah! Y/n! Don’t talk about the bugs in your plants!! The girls won’t want to eat it then!” Sakura scolds, playfully kicking your side with her leg as she focuses on frying the eggs.

You giggle as you look into the camera, “oops– don’t tell them that there used to be bugs in their food.” 

“WHAT?!”

The sound of Kazuha and Chaewon’s shrill voice rings out in the live, and you immediately slam your phone down, giving the viewers a black screen before the live ends.

[cheralith]

karasu is so lover boy coded, i can literally see him getting ready for a little friendship date with roommate!reader, getting ready to ‘more than a woman’ by the beegees… (HE HAS A BIG FAT CRUSH ON HER AND WE ALLLLL KNOW IT).

pls tell me u see this… maybe even a drabble on it 🌝

oh nonnie i see and hear everything oh so clear and vivid for this scene oUUAgh yes yesss... karasu tabito loverboy supreme! i hc his older sister was the one that did all the whipping in shape for him to treat women right so admittedly, he's probably the most boyfriend amongst the roomies—even above yukki dare i say? but that's for u to decide ahehe

karasu can hear the songs of your "getting ready" playlist leak through the walls, upbeat melodies of all sorts somehow making him more antsy by the minute—the love songs in particular don't help, especially one particular bee gees anthem.

he feels as though he should be used to this routine now, this orderly fashion of going out with you down to the farmer's market to welcome spring into the air since summer is just right around the corner, but even after a month of heading down together (just the two of you only. yukimiya has his little modelling gigs usually on the weekend and otoya sleeps in until noon.), he still can't get over that flutter of anticipation when you ask if he's still good to go for saturday grocery trips.

he's never been one to be particularly picky for fashion, but there's something so daunting about choosing the wrong shirt that unsettles him today. yukimiya had gifted him an artsy long sleeve button-up decorated with inky koi fish awhile ago and karasu has yet to touch it, thinking that the former bought it more on his own behalf rather than karasu's.

but when he noticed how out of place he seemed to be at your side, looking rather lazy in appearance with his ten-year-old band t-shirt and basketball shorts, he figured he should show at least the same effort you were giving for this weekend trip. otoya and yukimiya always looked put-together during outings, with karasu usually being the one with the simplest attire amongst the four of you.

was he doing this as to not embarass you? as to not embarass himself? that, karasu had yet to decide on without trying to blush at the picture of a more stylish version of himself by your side.

he studies the shirt with a pursed lip, picking at it loosely. it stands out so much against the rest of his closet with a rather intimidating spirit. karasu figures it's possibly why he hasn't touched it until now.

he stands in front of his mirror, cladded in jeans and a white tank-top. chewing his cheek, he goes to layer over the shirt in front of his chest again and again, trying to get used to the image of him in it without bubbling some sort of apprehension in his stomach.

he sighs in defeat. karasu figures it's too outlandish for someone like him and thinks he'll just retreat back to the safety of a light sweater instead—something that's all the familiar to him. at least the jeans add a nice touch, even if they were uncomfortable.

a soft knock at the door turns him away from beginning to hang the shirt on a hanger again.

"come in!" he calls out.

the latch clicks from his doorknob and you poke your head in, humming.

"hi," you greet with a smile, one karasu returns back with a nod of acknowledgement. "you ready?"

"nearly," karasu responds, "gimme another five, i think? ya can start the car if ya want, key's hanging near the door."

"gotcha, i'll bring the baskets down with me then," you throw him a thumbs up but suddenly crane your neck to see what he has in his hands. you blink curiously.

"that's a cool shirt," you compliment, pointing to the troublesome button-up laid on his bed. karasu perks up, going to focus his gaze on you again and how you admire the shirt that he was about to put away. "for sure that'll get you a bunch of compliments down at the market."

with that, you throw him another glimmering smile and close the door, skipping away to revv and ready his car for the drive.

karasu stares at where you just were a few seconds ago, your words playing again in his head. then, he goes to glance at the shirt laid limply before him.

he sighs, feeling a tug at the corner of his lips, his fingers delicately beginning to unbutton it.