#and with a tidal wave of children

[sunb0ts]

I hope I didn't come off as sarcastic. I hope my last messages to him didn't lose their sincerity over text. I hope they sounded as soft and fond and awful and sappy as I wrote them so he at least knew I couldn't ever have been upset to have known him. his birthday is still my phone pin

[saintobio]

sincerely yours. (13)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after. 

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+ 

tags/warnings. depression, mentions of cheating, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships, illnesses

notes. 5k wc. please note that the last few sy chapters will be shorter than usual. but on another note, thank you for the kind comforting words on my last post. i’m very grateful for all of you.

series masterlist -> episode fourteen

“I’m pregnant,” you finally confessed, voice breaking as you watched the faint tears that slipped from Satoru’s eyes. “I don’t wanna have this baby.” 

He should’ve known why. He should’ve seen it coming—should’ve expected the next words that would come out of your mouth after announcing your pregnancy. 

Yet the admission, as firm as it sounded, still tore at your chest. And the silence that followed felt deafening. His gaze flickered to your stomach, then back to your face, searching for something—understanding, hope, or maybe a way to convince you otherwise. He also seemed to be struggling with the intense contradiction of his emotions, whether to celebrate your pregnancy or whether to be horrified by it. 

That was why Satoru took a shaky breath as he reached out a hand. “Y/N,” he began, stepping closer to you, “Don’t say that. We… We can figure this out. Together. Please.” 

Your whole body trembled at the irony of ending your own life soon as you announced the beginning of another. But at the moment, it felt right. That jumping into the vast space beyond you was the best choice—for him, for Sachiro, for the baby, and for yourself. 

But seeing the father of your children at the verge of breaking down was shaking your resolve. All the guilt, the shame. You felt it all at once. 

Satoru’s hands tightened around yours the moment he was able to reach you. And before you knew it, you were being pulled down, falling straight into him as he caught you perfectly in his arms. Like you were always meant to be there. “Y/N, please…” he whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks, ocean-blue eyes swimming with desperation. “I got you. Don’t do this. Don’t give up on this baby. Don’t give up on us.”

“I can’t, Satoru,” you choked out, shaking your head. “I can’t bring a child into this mess. What kind of life could I possibly give them? What kind of life could we give them? I don’t even deserve to live.”

“You don’t understand, Y/N. Having you here with me right now is already the greatest blessing in my life,” he said quickly, embracing you even tighter as if afraid you’d slip further away. “I swear, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll be there every step of the way. I’ll… I’ll be a good father. I know I’ve made mistakes, Y/N. I’ve hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. But this—this is something I can do right. Let me prove it to you.”

You turned your face away, sobbing quietly. No, Satoru. It’s too late. You had heard of these same promises before, and only a fool would let herself believe it twice. 

“Look at me, Y/N,” he pleaded. “Please, just look at me. I love you. I love this baby. And I’m not going to let you go through this alone. I don’t care how hard it gets—I’ll be here. I’ll stay. I’ll be the man you need me to be. And the man that I should’ve always been.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, never once allowing you to breathe or call for his name. You were stuck underwater, fighting the strong current of emotions. Time and time again, and only Satoru Gojou was able to make you feel like this. 

“I swear on everything, Y/N,” he whispered, “I’ll be better. I’ll fight for you, Sachi, and this baby every single day. Just… don’t make this decision now. Not like this.”

The vulnerability in his eyes and the sheer rawness of his plea made your heart ache. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you saw the Satoru you had once loved—the man who would have moved mountains for the woman he had vowed to cherish. The man who pulled everything he can just to bring happiness to the woman he adored. 

Your chest tightened as the weight of your decision pressed down on you, and a shiver ran through your body as if you could feel your baby’s heartbeat. “Satoru…” you whispered, your voice trembling with the fragile thread of your emotions. “I’m…”

Before you could finish, the flood of guilt, sorrow, and exhaustion eventually overtook you. And his glistening blue eyes were the last thing you saw before the world blurred and you surrendered to the darkness.

— —

Satoru stood just outside the hospital room, leaning against the cold, white wall with his face buried in his hands. His heart was pounding and his thoughts were nothing but a chaotic mess. He had almost lost you—again. This time, in a way he hadn’t even anticipated.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and when he looked up, it was your older sister, Gen, who was walking toward him, her face a mix of concern and restrained anger. She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms and clearly displeased with his presence. 

“She’s resting,” Gen informed him, her voice steady but sharp. “The doctor says she needs time. Physically, she’ll be fine, but mentally? I don’t know.”

Satoru nodded, his throat tightening. “I—I’m sorry, Gen. For everything.” His voice cracked, and he looked away, unable to meet her piercing gaze. “I know I’ve been the worst. Back then, now… I never meant to hurt her.”

“I don’t even know what to say to you,” she replied in a haste and brutally honest manner. “First, my nephew, and now, my sister? Both of them were hospitalized because of you. All you do is bring in a series of bad luck to our family. Have some shame.” 

He knew she was right, and he was ashamed. But despite the hurtful truth, he accepted it all. He was a martyr ready to take all the pain away, if it meant taking it from you and your children. “I know I messed up, Gen. And I don’t deserve another chance. But that doesn’t change the fact that I love her. That I will love her until the day I die.” His eyes pooled with genuine tears. “I just want to be here for her. She’s my life.”

Gen sighed, her arms falling to her sides. “Satoru, you say you love her. You say you care about her. But look where we are. She’s always been the one paying the price for your mistakes. Always getting the short end of the stick.” Her voice hardened, and her eyes narrowed. “And now? There’s a rumor about her because of you. Do you even know what that’s doing to her?”

He clenched his fists, his head hanging low. “I know. I saw it. I—I’m already drafting a statement. It’ll be released soon. I’ll clear her name, Gen. I’ll take full responsibility. I won’t let anyone drag her through the mud because of me.”

Gen studied him carefully, her expression softening slightly, though her voice remained firm. “Words are one thing, Satoru. Actions are another. She’s given up so much for you. Do you even realize how much of herself she’s lost?”

“I do,” he said, his shaken voice barely audible. “I see it every time I look at her. I see the woman I fell in love with slipping away, and it’s my fault. But I swear to you, Gen, I’ll fix this. I’ll do everything I can to keep her, to keep our family together. I’ll be the man she deserves, the father our kids deserve.”

Gen’s lips pressed into a thin line as she looked away, her gaze distant. “Love isn’t just words, Satoru. It’s not just showing up when things get hard. It’s being there even when things are mundane, even when she doesn’t need saving. It’s about choosing her, every single day. And you haven’t done that.”

Her words cut deep, but he took them all, letting them sink into his bones. He had been selfish, careless with the one person who mattered the most. And now, he was paying the price.

“But you’re still here.” Gen’s voice eventually softened, as if this situation couldn’t be saved anymore. “And she’s still here. I don’t know why, after everything, my sister still loves you… but she does. I wouldn’t want you for her, frankly. I’d rather she’d be single her entire life than be stuck with you. But I know her stubborn heart all too well. And if you really mean what you say, if you’re truly ready to step up and be the man she deserves, then prove it. You’d better mean that, Satoru. Because if you break her again… I don’t think there’ll be any pieces left to put back together.”

For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the muffled hum of the hospital. And in sincerity, Satoru nodded, tears welling in his eyes. This wasn’t exactly Gen forgiving him, this was her choosing what makes her sister happy. “I love her, Gen. I’ve always loved her. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”

——

A dull beeping sound echoed in your ears, steady and rhythmic, as the world around you slowly came back into focus. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled your nose, and the soft hum of distant voices murmured through the hospital walls. The fluorescent lights above were too bright, causing you to squint as you tried to take in your surroundings. White sheets, an IV drip, and the unmistakable cold of a hospital bed beneath your fingertips.

You were in the ER.

Memories of the day before hit you all at once—the weight of exhaustion, the way your body had given up on you mid-conversation, and Satoru’s voice calling your name just before everything faded to black.

A gentle warmth enveloped your hand. You turned your head slightly, heart skipping a beat when you saw Satoru sitting beside you. His snow-white hair was disheveled, his usually confident demeanor subdued. There were dark circles under his eyes suggesting how little he had rested.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. There was relief laced in his tone, but also something heavier. He reached out, brushing stray strands of hair from your face. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” You swallowed, your throat dry. “How’s my… baby?”

For someone who said she wanted to get rid of her unborn child, your concern put a relief on Satoru’s face. “Baby’s okay,” he admitted, his thumb absently tracing circles on your belly. “You passed out, and they brought you here to monitor you. But you’re okay now. The doctor said you were just exhausted. You’re being discharged soon.”

Your mind was sluggish, still struggling to process everything. But then, the most important thought struck you.

“Sachiro,” you breathed, fear clawing its way up your throat. One after another. “His surgery—”

Satoru squeezed your hand gently, stopping you before your panic could take hold. “It was a success.” His lips curled into a small, tired smile. “While you were resting, everything went well. The doctors said it was a textbook procedure—no complications. He’s stable, recovering in the suite room now.”

“H-He’s okay?” Your voice broke on the last word, and Satoru nodded.

“He’s okay.”

A choked sob left your lips as you covered your face with your hands, overwhelmed. After everything, after all the sleepless nights and the heart-wrenching fear of losing your first born, he had made it through. At his young age, having to suffer such a complicated heart disease was something he didn’t deserve, but truly, he was a strong kid. And for that, you were grateful. 

Satoru didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, grounding you, anchoring you. “Y/N,” he murmured, his lips ghosting against your temple. “Sachi’s strong. He got it from his mommy.”

You let yourself melt into him for a moment, closing your eyes and breathing him in. You didn’t know what this meant for the both of you—if anything had changed, if anything ever could. But for now, none of that mattered.

All that mattered was that Sachiro was waiting for you.

Satoru pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your arms. “Do you wanna go see him?”

You met his gaze, eyes still shining with unshed tears, and nodded. “Yeah.”

——

Down the pristine white halls, past nurses and doctors bustling about their duties, your feet carried you with a singular purpose while Satoru walked beside you, his pace matching yours.

And then—there.

Room 721.

You hesitated only for a second before pushing the door open, breath catching the moment your eyes landed on Sachiro. Your poor son. Your poor little boy lay in the hospital bed, looking small and fragile against the white sheets. Tubes and wires were attached to him, aside from the steady beeping of the monitors that signaled his heart’s vitals. A ventilator was also there to help him breathe, and his tiny chest rising and falling in a rhythm was a sight that both reassured and shattered you at the same time.

“Sachi,” you whispered sweetly, stepping closer. “Mommy’s here, baby.”

Your fingers trembled as you brushed his hair back, careful not to disturb any of the medical equipment. He was still asleep, sedated for recovery, but his face was peaceful—far more peaceful than the nights you’d spent watching him struggle.

Behind you, Satoru stood motionless. His normally vibrant eyes were dulled with exhaustion, his face gaunt from two days without sleep. Yet, despite it all, he remained standing, his entire being focused on Sachiro.

The next few hours passed in a blur. Your family surrounded you, offering support, love, and quiet reassurances. Nurses came and went, checking on Sachiro’s vitals, updating you on his condition. The visiting hours brought waves of people—friends, colleagues, even some of Satoru’s acquaintances who had come to check on him.

But through it all, Satoru never moved.

While conversations hummed around him, while people embraced and whispered their worries, he remained by Sachiro’s bedside. His hand rested on his son’s small fingers, his thumb occasionally brushing against his skin.

He didn’t speak much. Didn’t react to the noise around him.

He just… watched.

Watched the slow rise and fall of his child’s chest. Watched the way the monitors flickered with steady readings. Watched the way his son fought to live.

And even as the hours stretched, as your family said their goodbyes, as the night deepened and visiting hours ended—Satoru remained.

His exhaustion was evident. The bags under his eyes had darkened, his shoulders heavy with weariness. But when a nurse suggested he get some rest, he merely shook his head.

“I’m not leaving him.”

And so, he stayed.

With red-rimmed eyes and a body begging for sleep, Satoru Gojou sat beside his son, never once looking away.

You could see the torment in his eyes as he looked at Sachiro, the helplessness of a father who could do nothing but watch. You just couldn’t bear the silence any longer, so you finally spoke. “Satoru… just go home.”

He froze at the sound of your voice, as if caught off guard, but quickly shook his head and wrapped your belly under a warm blanket. “Did I wake you up?”

“I can look after Sachi by myself,” you urged, disregarding his question. “You need to rest.”

But again, he refused. “No.”

“But—”

You opened your mouth to speak again, to reason with him, but before you could, Satoru’s voice cut through the air, breaking in a way you had never heard before. “Y/N, let me be a father to my kids… Please.” His voice cracked, the raw emotion spilling out as he looked at the ceiling with somber, tearful eyes. It was the heartbreak in his voice that made you realize that you were the only family Satoru had left. And it was the tremor in his hands that made you see through the trauma he had developed after he was led to believe for three years that his son had never existed. In a way, you felt responsible for the pain you had caused him, too. “Just please let me love you and our babies. Don’t take them away from me.”

For a moment, silence became your friend. Yet, the quiet that enveloped the room was more of a tender moment suspended in time as you let Satoru embrace you in his arms. You both remained there, connected by the warmth of his hand over yours, and the gentle rise and fall of his breath. He caressed your belly as if you were going to take his baby away—that if he closed his eyes, even for a second, he would wake up to see his unborn child gone. 

But then, a soft knock on the door shattered the stillness.. Satoru’s grip on your hand loosened as the nurse poked her head into the room with an apologetic expression on display.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. and Mrs. Gojou,” she began, her voice quiet and gentle, “but you have a visitor.” Satoru’s brows furrowed slightly, but before he could ask, the nurse continued, “Her name is Ms. Akemi.”

At the mention of her name, he immediately sat up, his body tense as he instinctively prepared to stand. You felt the shift in his demeanor, the way his hand slipped from yours as he moved to the edge of the bed. You stayed still for a minute, processing the sudden change, and your heart sinking at the thought of yet another intrusion by her.

You took a deep breath as you began to pull away, already bracing yourself for what was to come, and for the inevitable exit he would make. Like always. Choosing another woman over you. Choosing another woman over his own child. Of course, that’s what he’s about to do, right? You started to gather the strength to let him go, to retreat back into your thoughts, until the nurse spoke again.

“Oh… Actually,” she said, her eyes flicking between you both, “Miss Akemi wants to see you, Ms. Y/N… not Mr. Gojou.”

——

Two things about this moment caught you off guard. First, Satoru’s sudden overprotectiveness—firmly insisting to the nurse that Akemi had no right to call for you again and that you shouldn’t be meeting her just to “talk.” And second, the fact that Akemi actually wanted to see you.

What was the catch?

What was her motive? 

You wondered if this was going to be another Sera moment. 

And you knew, even if your mind told you that you owed Akemi nothing, you were still curious about what she had to say. Would she demand Satoru’s time that you were taking from her? Or was she about to make a scene and call you a homewrecker? 

Strangely, of all the places, Akemi wanted to meet you at the hospital chapel. 

She was already there when you came, sitting at the last row amongst the empty pews, staring at the altar as if her brown eyes were glued to the massive cross in the center. In her solitude, you silently slipped into the opposite side of the pew, not exchanging any eye-contact until she noticed your presence. 

When she turned, she seemed startled to see you. “Y/N.”

You said nothing, only staring at the cross in front of you.

“I was just…” She trailed off, glancing toward the altar before looking back at you. “I was praying for Sachiro. I heard his surgery was a success.”

Your arms crossed over your chest, but your voice was steady. “It was.”

“I’m glad.” A small, genuine smile plastered over her lips. “I really am. He’s a strong boy… just like his mom.”

A scoff threatened to rise in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t here to fight. Not anymore. Not when you were far too grateful for Sachiro’s successful operation to still be holding grudges on others. But that didn’t mean you had to fake being happy next to Akemi. All you did was nod in appreciation. 

But Akemi hesitated, then spoke again about what seemed to be her main concern of going here. “Has Satoru been here? I mean… all this time?”

“Yes.” A pause. A flicker of something unreadable crossed her expression, but your rigid expression appeared to have intimidated her. “If you’re here to ask him to go home with you, then—”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You blinked. Of all the things you expected, an apology wasn’t one of them.

“For everything,” she continued. “For being with Satoru even when I knew who you were to him. For pretending I didn’t see the way he looked at you, the way he still loved you. I was selfish. I let my delusions get to me, thinking that he’s exactly who I needed in my life to feel whole again.” She then let out a bitter laugh, one that lacked amusement. “You don’t know this, but I used to envy you. Your life. Your place in his heart. The way you had people around you. The way he loved you… The way you have a beautiful son and an equally beautiful husband. I wanted that for myself. I thought if I tried hard enough, if I gave him everything, if I tried to be like you, maybe he’d love me the same way.” Her voice wavered. “But no matter how much time passed, it always felt like he was looking past me. Like he was imagining someone else by his side. And I knew. I always knew.”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening around the edge of the pew. You weren’t expecting to hear all of those things from her. Not after everything that had happened. 

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Akemi admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor. “But I needed to say this. Because I know you’re not happy that Satoru’s been visiting me, too. At least, until he ended things officially between us. And probably until he learned about your pregnancy… Is it true?”

Your breath hitched, but you remained still.

“The baby’s a blessing, Y/N.” She lifted her chin, meeting your eyes with quiet resignation. “It’s exactly what I had hoped for myself… but I’m sick. I’m critically ill. Stage three endometrial cancer, to be exact.”

For the first time, something shifted in you. Shock. Pity. Confusion. You ended up returning her gaze—her lachrymose brown eyes that seemed to envy your entire being.  

“H-He feels bad for me,” she continued, her voice softer now. “That’s why he’s been coming back and forth. He doesn’t love me—not the way I wanted—but he can’t turn away from someone who’s suffering. That’s who he is.”

You looked away, pressing your lips together, not knowing how to navigate a conversation with the sick friend who betrayed you.

“I don’t expect anything from him anymore. And I don’t expect anything from you, either.” Akemi’s lips curved into a sad smile. “I just wanted you to know that… I’m letting go. Of him. Of the past. Of everything.”

You held your breath back. 

“I hope, one day, you can forgive him. Maybe even me. I know I lost a good friendship because of my bad decisions.”

She turned towards you, reaching for your hand that she soon softly squeezed. In that millisecond, you caught a glimpse of Nanami standing by the door, seemingly waiting for Akemi to finish her last words with you. 

“Take care of him, Y/N. And take care of yourself.”

——

When you returned to the room, Satoru was pacing back and forth, running a hand through his disheveled hair, his jaw clenched in barely restrained nerves. The second he caught sight of you in the doorway, his shoulders sagged with relief, but his expression remained taut with worry.

“Y/N,” he exhaled, striding toward you in a rush. “What did she say? Was she rude to you? Did she—”

You didn’t let him finish.

Before he could spiral further, you grabbed him by the collar and silenced him with a firm kiss.

For a brief, stunned moment, he stiffened—his breath catching against your lips. Then, just as quickly, he melted into you, hands coming up to cradle your face as if you’d disappear if he let go. His lips moved over yours, not demanding, not desperate—just seeking, just holding.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes still half-lidded with dazed confusion.

“Stop overthinking,” you murmured, fingers gently brushing the nape of his neck.

Satoru swallowed hard, searching your face for answers. “Y/N…”

But a soft noise from the hospital bed cut the moment short. Both your heads snapped toward Sachiro, who was stirring beneath the sheets, and his tiny fingers twitching as his eyelids fluttered open.

Satoru let out a shaky laugh, a watery grin spreading across his face as he rushed to his son’s side. “Hey, Sachi,” he choked out. “You’re awake.”

You moved closer, blinking away the sudden sting in your eyes as Sachiro groggily turned to look at both of you. “My baby…”

“Mama…? Dada…?” His voice was weak, but the way he reached for both of you made your chest ache.

You took his small hand in yours, pressing it against your cheek as Satoru smoothed down his hair, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead. “We’re here, baby,” you whispered. “We’re right here. How are you feeling, my sunshine?”

The nurses came shortly after, and then his doctor also took a visit. According to him, Sachiro showed good signs of recovery and ordered the medical staff to remove the devices attached to your son one by one as his progress looked promising. Soon enough, with the doctor’s advice, Sachiro could even start his rehab to be able to resume his normal activities. Everything you were hearing were positive outcomes, nothing but good news. You couldn’t help but feel as if things were too good to be true, and wondered if there was anything substantially bigger that’d come and wreck you. 

The father of your child seemed to have noticed the moment you became silent, swallowed by the anxious thought of what was to come, and he came to wrap his arms around you, securing you in his embrace, and rubbing your belly from behind. 

You could see the nurses noticing your little display of affection and so you tried to push Satoru off, but he didn’t budge. He only held you tighter and buried his face into your shoulder. 

“Let me just recharge here for a bit,” he mumbled, as though you were the battery that was giving him energy. “Just let me hold you, please.” 

——

You hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room yet, and the only real chance to do so came the following night, when Sachiro’s nanny took over in the suite. She kept you updated on his condition, while you—following your doctor’s advice—chose to finally get some proper rest at home.

But knowing your family, they’d bombard you with questions about Satoru the moment you walked through the door. Maybe that’s why you agreed to his suggestion—to stay the night at the penthouse. The same home you once shared as husband and wife.

Was it a rash decision? An impulsive one? Maybe exhaustion had driven you here, standing under the warm stream of his shower as he waited outside. It was strange how comforting this place still felt. How familiar, yet mind-warping it was. This was the same home where he had slept with Akemi. How could you feel both at ease and deeply unsettled?

By the time you stepped out, you stood in front of the vanity mirror, drying your hair as your gaze fell to your barely noticeable bump. You weren’t showing just yet, and knew that there was still time to decide. Did you want this baby? Keeping it meant Satoru would be even more tied to you. Letting it go meant sparing it from a toxic environment and the possibility of inheriting your heart condition.

Lost in thought, you barely heard Satoru’s knock before he entered, carrying your old pajamas. Without a word, he helped you into them with quiet care, his touch gentle but respectfully distant. He guided you like a loving husband would to his pregnant wife, up until you were settled under the warm duvet of your old bed, where he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Is there anything you want for breakfast?” he asked, “Anything you’re craving? Lemon bars? PB&J? I can run to the grocery store now if you want.”

His reminder of your old pregnancy cravings squeezed at your heart. It took you back to the days where you were immensely, unselfishly in love with him. “It’s almost midnight.”

“I’d do anything for you and baby.” 

Maybe this was his way to consume you with guilt, knowing you still haven’t really decided if you wanted to keep the baby, yet here he was doing his everything just to show you how he wanted to care for his youngest. Would you be too cruel to ruin his fantasy?

“I’ll sleep in the guest room,” he murmured when he didn’t get any answer. “Call me if you need me.” 

“Wait.” You regretted your words the moment you opened your mouth. “Stay.” 

Because why? Just why did you ask him to stay? Why did you want him beside you? Why did you enjoy his warmth and his presence and his love? This was the same man who wrecked you to shreds, to pieces. How could you betray yourself and still trust him? 

You didn’t need the answer right now, all you needed was Satoru’s gentle gaze, his careful embrace, and the way he caressed your face as he joined you in bed. You could tell he wanted to try for a kiss, but decided not to cross any lines you weren’t comfortable with. 

“I’m dreaming, am I?” he asked, seemingly musing at the thought. 

You sighed. “I’d hope so.” 

“Y/N.” His voice was soft as he said your name. “I love you.” 

Closing your eyes, you replied, “Give me time.” 

[pseudowho]

"Why the fuck...does this vacuum cleaner smell like cheese?"

Kento was yet to arrive home, and you saw this as only a blessing for him. Staring down the barrel of the hoover, the house finally hushed from the sounds of rowdy children, you wore your finest holey tank top, and pyjama shorts which covered asscheek, pussy and belly (but only ever two at a time, at any given time).

Your antiperspirant didn't have the same stamina as you. You swore as you trod barefoot on Lego, staggering and cussing like a mad old witch.

Bra-less, and without the time to scout the laundry pile for underwear, you hoovered crumbs and war-detritus like a skrunkly raccoon; hungry, cross, and in need of a shower. Your mind was lost, running between the alleyways of your chore-list, when the door clicked open, and closed.

You vacuumed, and vacuumed, not even looking up as you heard the rhythmic tack, tack, tack of his brown Oxfords approaching.

"There she is."

As if you were the Venus de Milo.

You grunted, lifting the rug and picking up an abandoned, squashed peach with an ugh! and cursed your sleeping offspring. You stood up with a huff, blowing sweaty hairs off your face, your breasts swinging independently of you.

"How's my darling wife?"

Pristine as ever, crisp and ironed and with the faintest tang of sweat and cologne, you wondered if Kento would ever arrive home looking like he'd been intimately acquainted with a trash can. The day had not yet come. Whiskey-deep eyes drank you in, parched.

Your heart ached with how handsome he looked, and how pathetically mismatched you were against him.

"Kento. You're home."

"Mmmm."

Either in confirmation, or having seen something delicious; you weren't sure. You suspected the latter. You scoffed as his hands reached out to slip round your raggedy waist, and you scoffed, and he shushed you, and you berated him, and he mumbled sweet nothings into your neck until you were finally folded into him, his missing ingredient.

And how he looked at you, as if you'd hung the stars and orchestrated the seasons.

You breathed him in, lax against the brick-wall solidity of him. You could have cried.

You still had sloppy peach remnants in your hand as Kento kissed you, soft and mellow and longing. You huffed against his lips.

"Kento, I am a fucking mess--"

"You're lovely--"

"--I absolutely am not--"

"--ravishing--"

"--you're ridiculous--"

"--gorgeous--"

"You're an idiot."

"I've missed you."

"God, I've missed you too. So much. You don't even know."

"I'm sure I do."

You sighed, nuzzling your face into the hard planes of Kento's collarbones, growling away a day of frustration. His chuckles rumbled up, tickling your nose. You rested your cheek against Kento's chest, your weariness bone-deep, having had no agency over your body or your time since dawn.

You surveyed the carnage together in silence; toys strewn as if the bodies of soldiers, abandoned laundry with stains of suspect aetiology, congealed meals, lovingly prepared and never eaten. You felt the weight of the day threaten to overwhelm you, feeling the panic and anxiety climbing, tidal waves on your waterline--

"Sit down. I'll make you a cup of tea."

The floodgates almost opened. "I can't do that-- you've had a long day-- so much to do--"

"And, I'll do it."

"No you won't, I--"

"Sit down. And I'll make you a cup of tea."

A single, slow kiss to your sweaty forehead. You sniffled, no strength left for another battle. You offered paltry smiling complaints as Kento nuzzled your hair, gripping you closer, growling into your neck as you squeaked and laughed.

You felt the familiar heavy press and twitch of his cock against you, and he groaned as you squirmed in his grasp, giggling. You caught his eye, as he twinkled down at you, pressing one slow kiss to your lips, possessive and full of promise.

"...I'm not apologising for anything. You look incredible."

"Ridiculous man, Nanami Kento."

[beautifulscreaminglady]

spotted my 2nd grade crush on Tinder today

[wonderjanga]

Can I Please be Your Friend?

Billy doesn’t have friends. Between being Marvel and working odd jobs, he hasn’t really had the time some. So when he got invited to join the newly formed Justice League. He was ecstatic! Sure, these people were at least a very minimum of 20 years older than him and sure they would probably talk about taxes and stuff, but superhero friends! Meanwhile, the Justice League is like, “wow this guy is so social. I like it!”

Marvel: “You have a lighthouse…?” *sounds so amazed*

Aquaman: “Yeah. My dad was a lighthouse keeper so I got it when he passed.”

Marvel: “That’s so awesome! Can I come over?”

Aquaman: “Oh, okay? Sure?” *a little surprised he asked but eh whatever*

That was how Arthur spent the day showing Cap around the lighthouse. The man was a really good listener and was surprisingly very interested in listening to Arthur talk about how to use the light. You couldn’t even ask Arthur how they both ended up jumping off the railings of the lighthouse of dive into the water. You also couldn’t ask him how they ended up having a water fight, with the Atlantean calling for some sea creatures as back up. You also also couldn’t ask him how shocked a hotdog vendor was when he saw Captain Marvel and Aquaman, both of which who are supposed to be revered heroes, soaked, looking like wet dogs, asking for a couple of hotdogs after they nearly caused a tidal wave.

They got scolded by Batman a little while later for acting like children and almost causing the previously mentioned tidal wave. It was a little funny to see Batman scolding a man a solid two feet taller than him.

Soon after that whole incident, Marvel went to befriend Martian Manhunter next.

Marvel: *staring at J’onn while holding a box of cookies*

MM: *can hear him thinking about how to approach him and looks over to Marvel*

Marvel: *thinks a little too loudly and J’onn hears a nearly deafening “FRIEND”*

MM: *flinches and clutches his head* “Captain. Is something the matter.”

Marvel: “Oh uh…” *walks over and looks between the cookies and J’onn* “I was uh- wondering if you wanted to eat these with me.”

And that’s how J’onn spent the rest of the afternoon eating cookies with Marvel. J’onn had at first thought Marvel was quiet because he was something humans called awkward. But no, every now and then, when J’onn forgot that humans preferred to keep their thoughts private, he’d hear how happy Marvel was that he accepted. He’d also heard a couple other voices which was slightly concerning. He didn’t know if that was normal for humans or not.

Then, the next was Batman. Bruce honestly didn’t even know how they had started talking about this. All he knows is that they were talking about the team’s performance in the field, then that somehow transitioned into talking about superheroes in general, which then somehow led to fictional superheroes, which led to now:

Marvel: “Oh, you like Gray Ghost?”

Batman: “I was… a fan of him when I was a child.” *doesn’t know why he’s telling Marvel this*

Marvel: “Cool! Did you see the movies?”

From there on was a forty minute yapping session about Gray Ghost, his lore, the movies, the comics, the action figures, and so on.

Marvel: “I even had his comics as a kid too.”

Batman: “Really? Reprints or originals?”

Marvel: “I wanna say originals? What do you mean by reprints though?”

Batman: “Reprinting is when they take a comic, and remake it to look a little better, such as brighter colors or slightly tweaked dialogue, so they can sell it again.”

Marvel: “Oh. Then I’d say I probably have originals then.”

Batman: “Interesting. Those are collectors items now. They go for thousands.”

Marvel; “Really?!” *eyes nearly bug out of his skull* “Huh. I had no idea. Which ones did you have?”

Batman: “Mostly reprints. But I do have a couple originals on display.”

So yeah. The two were geeking out and stuff. Bruce honestly has literally no one to talk about this with so he’ll admit he was a little (a lot) happy.

We can’t forget the other JL heroes though.

Flash: “Like, he is so nice, and for what?”

GL: “I know right he let me ramble for like 45 minutes about planes! He was asking questions too!”

Supes: “And he’s always willing to help with anything. I didn’t even get to finish asking if he could cover my monitor shifts before he said yes.” *sounds slightly guiltily (he still feels bad for asking)*

In conclusion, Billy really wants to be friends with these guys, and his methods are definitely working.

[luxthestrange]

OP Incorrect quotes#67 Ballsy sea men

Giant Kraken Mermaid/Triton Monster Y/n, The number one star ruler of all the seven seas...flipping Cala Maria...if you will...and the BALLSY pirate men trying to hit that-

Younger!Whitebeard: Me sweet, I present to ye…

Kraken!Y/n*Hisses, looking down at the ship and a loud human*

Younger!Whitebeard: …a token of my love.

Whitebeard holds out a big, heart-shaped box

Younger!Whitebeard:- A symbol of my enduring devotion, my undying affection!-

Kraken!Y/n*Unimpressed by him* You talk too much.

You swim away, leaving a large tidal wave that trembles the ship, the Whitebeard pirates gasp in horror, from the giant wave as you leave

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kraken!Y/n*Is sitting on the island shore, allowing...kid shanks and Buggy to be cradled in their hand to sleep*You know fear is a useful survival response Roger...like...RIGHT NOW?~

Your eyes turn snake-like, mouth opening to show rows...and rows of sharp teeth and hair turning into snakes...the roger pirates feeling the atmosphere drop...the air is thick...with dread as your hissing voice shakes the island...

Kraken!Y/n:CAN YOU FEEL IT?~

Roger*Feeling his hands tremble*....

Rayleigh*Feels his whole body paralized by instict on fear*

(6)Buggy*Sneezes awake*...??

Kraken!Y/n*Notices the pretty hair child is awake and returns to "normal", paying attention to the children*

Roger:...Do they scare you just a tiny bit?...

Rayleigh:...Who?Them?...Yes

Roger:...Pretty hot huh

Rayleigh:...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cried the Sergeant looking up Our hero feebly answered: Yes, and then they stood him up He jumped into the icy blast, his static line unhooked And he ain't gonna jump no more

Garp*Starring at the terror monster of all the seven seas, sending ships to their ends in tides, doing the math in his mind...between you and him*....

Kraken!Y/n*Facing the hot shot new hero of the marines, seeing him holding a ring*....

Garp*Punched the hell outta ship steering while into a wing big enough for your hand , holding it up to you ,saluting his men*

Marines*Looking at their leader...saluting him back...outta respect for shooting his shot*...

Gory, gory, what a hell of way to die Gory, gory, what a hell of way to die Gory, gory, what a hell of way to die

*Sees old men*...doing gods work here-

[meadowfics]

I apologize if you're not taking requests at this time. I just have to get it down before I forget lol.

What if Kang Dae-Ho and reader meet during the games and somehow survive and get married and have a kid who one day comes home from school wanting to play these children games they learned from their classmates/teachers (the games they played) and maybe it brings up the bad memories. Like kinda angsty but with a comforting ending something.

childhood dreams, adult nightmares

kang dae-ho x wife!mother!reader

seo-ah does not understand the effect of a childhood game on you

I am adding this to my, "kang family" series since this is such a good concept! thank you for requesting <3

warning: PTSD mentions, yes dae-ho and y/n were in the games in this AU before seo-ah and byeol came along :(

there is a link to see seo-ah's little cute sneakers to make your day <3

four years ago, you never thought you would live to see this life.

the quiet suburban home in the countryside in korea.

the warm smell of baby lotion and freshly brewed tea lingering in the air. the sound of your three-year-old daughter, seo-ah, giggling as she kicks off her tiny pink strawberry sneakers by the door.

the little girl's excitement was bubbling over after a long day at daycare.

you never thought you would survive at all to see this life,

or any life outside of comfort,

or any life outside of poverty,

yet here you are.

your hands tighten slightly on the baby carrier strapped to your chest, where byeol is sleeping peacefully, her tiny face nestled against your sternum, breaths warm and steady.

byeol's weight is small but grounding, a reminder that she is real. that this life is real, and you did survive the worst.

you and dae-ho had spent the day running errands, taking turns carrying byeol, rocking her, feeding her, going through the motions of parenthood with the quiet ease of two people who had built a home out of the wreckage of their past.

when you talked to dae-ho's oldest sister, and your sister-in-law, hana, a few months back, she suggested that seo-ah is at an age where she needs more social interaction with kids her own age.

so, dae-ho and you put seo-ah in morning daycare so she can play, start her learning, and make some new mini friends.

today had been a good day.

until seo-ah says something that freezes you in place.

"eomma, we played a new game today at recess!"

seo-ah announces, pulling her backpack off and tossing it onto the floor. the girl's cheeks are flushed with excitement as she bounces on her toes.

you smile, adjusting the strap of the baby carrier, watching as she pulls out a small piece of construction paper with crayon scribbles all over it.

"oh yeah? what game, baby?"

she grins, bright and carefree, completely unaware of the way your world is about to tilt on its axis.

"I think it was called... hm? wait! red light, green light! it was red light, green light!"

your breath catches in your throat.

your hands go still.

your entire body stiffens, as if your muscles are locking up, as if your nervous system is throwing every alarm at once, a tidal wave of ice-cold fear crashing down on you.

red light. green light.

breathe.

breathe.

you can't.

your ears ring.

your vision blurs at the edges.

your heartbeat thunders in your chest, loud and panicked, drowning out the warmth of the home around you.

"eomma?"

seo-ah tilts her head, blinking up at you with wide, innocent eyes.

she doesn't know.

seo-ah doesn't know.

act normal, y/n.

you force a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"o-oh, yeah? who taught you that game?"

your voice feels distant, wrong, like it doesn’t belong to you.

"seonsaengnim said it’s really fun! we played it outside, and i won once!"

she beams, clearly proud of herself.

your stomach churns. nausea twists inside you like a knot pulled too tight.

images flash behind your eyes, unwelcome and cruel.

you remember when you won once, too.

except, you would have died if you didn't.

the sun beating down on your skin. the crack of gunfire. bodies collapsing around you, limp and lifeless. the screams. the silence.

stop. stop. stop.

"eomma?"

you snap back to the present, your nails digging into your palms as you force yourself to focus on your daughter.

on her soft voice, her curious eyes she got from you, the way she’s still waiting for your response.

before you can say anything, dae-ho’s voice calls out from down the hall.

"seo-ah, baby, use your inside voice! your sister's sleeping."

your head turns instinctively.

dae-ho is in byeol’s nursery, gently rocking her bassinet as he hums under his breath, soothing her. t

he sight of him...tall, strong, always steady...should bring you comfort.

right now, you don’t want him to see you like this.

you don’t want to trigger him, too.

"w-why don’t you go wash your hands before dinner, hm?"

you tell seo-ah, ruffling her hair.

she pouts but obeys, skipping off toward the bathroom, humming a song to herself.

as soon as she’s gone, you let out a shaky breath and press a hand to your chest, as if that will somehow slow the frantic beating of your heart.

you close your eyes. try to shake it off. try to remind yourself that this is not then.

this is not the games.

however, your body doesn’t understand the difference.

its been a while since you remembered those games. your brain tries to block that memory all of the time.

today, the memories were clear as day.

your legs feel weak as you make your way to the bedroom, setting the empty baby carrier down carefully before you sit on the edge of the bed.

your hands are still trembling, your lungs still tight.

you need to pull yourself together. you can’t let dae-ho see you like this.

you can’t—

“baby?”

your husband's voice is soft, but it startles you anyway.

you snap your head up, meeting his gaze.

dae-ho is standing in the doorway, brows furrowed slightly, his expression unreadable.

your stomach twists.

he noticed.

of course he did.

you try to muster a small smile.

“hey.”

he studies you for a long moment before stepping forward.

“what’s wrong?”

don’t tell him.

don’t tell him.

you don’t want to see that look in his eyes.

the same look he had the night you both finally got out, the night you collapsed in his arms, covered in blood that wasn’t your own, shaking so violently he had to hold you together.

the night before that when the rebellion happened. when you had to comfort a shaking dae-ho since the gunshots reminded him of his time in the marines.

he had worser PTSD symptoms than you did, if you had to compare.

however, dae-ho is patient.

he crouches in front of you, resting a warm hand on your knee.

"talk to me, baby."

you let out a slow breath, your throat tight.

“seo-ah told me that she--um--played… red light, green light today at daycare.”

he stills.

"it reminded me of.."

for a long moment, neither of you say anything.

dae-ho's fingers flex against your knee, his jaw tightens, his own breathing uneven. the ex-marine's eyes darken in a way that makes your stomach drop.

"oh."

you nod.

"yeah."

a heavy silence falls between you, thick with memories neither of you want to relive.

“i didn’t want to tell you,”

you admit quietly.

“i didn’t want to make you—”

“it’s okay,”

he cuts in gently.

“you can tell me anything.”

you can see it.

the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curl into fists before he slowly unclenches them.

he’s not okay either. but he’s trying.

just like you.

he takes a deep breath, then reaches for your hands, lacing his fingers through yours.

“she’s safe,”

he says, and you can’t tell if he’s reminding you or himself.

“she’s here. alive. she’s okay.”

you nod, squeezing his hands.

"i know. i just—" you swallow hard.

"it still gets to me."

"i know, sweetheart."

his voice is so soft it almost breaks you.

he moves to sit beside you, pulling you into his arms. the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, is the only thing keeping you from spiraling again.

"breathe with me,"

he murmurs against your hair.

so you do.

inhale.

his chest rises with yours.

exhale.

dae-ho's arms tighten around you.

the two of you sit like that for a long time, breathing together, grounding each other.

you don’t know how much time passes before you finally whisper,

“do you think it’ll ever go away?”

he doesn’t answer right away. then, he sighs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"maybe not completely but we have each other, right?"

you close your eyes, nodding.

"yeah."

"and seo-ah. and byeol."

his voice is steadier now.

"we survived, baby. we made it. no one is taking anything from us ever again."

dae-ho's words settle into your bones, solid and warm, and you believe him.

you press your face against his chest, soaking in the quiet comfort of him.

the past will always be there, unfortunately, waiting for moments like this to creep in.

you are here alive with dae-ho. together.

alive.

kang family masterlist here

[cuinaminute229]

With death comes life part 2

pairing: Agatha x Rio x reader

a/n: this is sprinkled with angst and fluff

part 1, part 3

...

The surrounding trees are all twisted and dead, with heavy vines hanging from branches too high to reach. What you see is a barrier. A makeshift fence that keeps the witches to the road.

The air carries a subtle fog that lingers just out of reach, shrouding the forest of the road into the unknown. Even the leaves that make up the path are all dead. Only magic keeps them vibrant with false life.

You almost feel insulted. 

Nothing here can sustain life. It never will.

The road is an abomination. It shouldn’t exist.

And yet here you are.

When you look up at the sky, a feeling of loss settles in your chest. The sky is not real; the moon is a false imitation, and the stars are all wrong. 

You will never not hate this place. 

The soft whispers of a conversation tug at your attention when you notice the witches at your back are talking about you. With a subtle shift, you slow your steps and listen in. 

They speak so carelessly about your reaction to seeing Agatha, about the anger they saw. About how they could use your emotions to drive a wedge where, unbeknown to them, there is a canyon. 

In the simplest of terms, they want to manipulate you to their advantage because they do not trust Agatha. 

Because you do not trust Agatha. It’s insulting in the most human way possible.

Where on earth did she find these people? Why did she find them?

There’s something you're missing, you just know it.

The moment you hear Rio's name is the moment you turn around, you do not care what they are going to say. Their little conversation ends now. The shift in your momentum is fluid as you turn around mid step, eyes narrow in suspicion. 

You keep your face blank when they all jump in union. The very obvious change of demeanor tells you they did not know you were listening in on them.

You let the silence linger as your eyes scan over the small group. They cling to each other for comfort, but it only takes a moment for you to recognize that their bonds as a coven are new. They are still easy to bend, easy to break.

“You know,” Your voice is gentle, giving nothing of what you feel away for them to see. “To betray one's cover on the road,” 

You spread your hand out to emphasize exactly where you all are. “To break the rules only punishes all.”

“She is the one that tried to cheat!” The pink dressed witch points out like you need to be taught, like she needs to tell you who Agatha Harkness is.

As if you don't know exactly who she is. It's almost laughable how much this witch thinks she knows more than you.

“And now one of you is dead. How tragic.” This is not the first and will not be the last time a witch loses their life on the road. Do they not understand that?

“But that death is not her fault.” This time your voice is cold, stern. It feels like you're scolding children. “You failed as a coven. So do not blame your misgivings as a group on her.”

When only silence becomes their response, you decide to turn back around and continue down the path. The next trial awaits, and you want to get this over with as soon as possible. 

But a voice makes you pause. 

“Why do you hate her?” The unexpected question knocks the air out of your lungs and the world seems to stop. As if everything dead and alive waits for your answer. 

Memories rush forward with such force you wouldn't be surprised if you can never breathe again.

The sight of a never ending forest, a small cottage tucked away from hunters and strangers alike. The laughter of a young boy with Agatha's hair and Rio's smile, a bright yellow flower in his hands.

The years before tragedy felt like a lifetime. 

You were happy. You were loved. 

You want to cry. 

With a small hitch in your breath, you close your eyes and push down the tidal wave of emotions. If you become overwhelmed, the road’s magic will latch onto you like a leech. You can't risk it.

“My reasons are my own. Focus on surviving the road.” Your words are final, empty of the emotions that are battling beneath your heart. You know you can never pick up the pieces of yourself that are broken. 

But for now, you can ignore them.

You will not let them see you like this. Never again will Agatha see this side of you.

When you finally catch up with Rio, you take notice of the house in the distance, the windows lit in a deep orange sunset light. The fog of your surroundings only adds to the ominous look of it.

That must be the next trial.

What catches your attention next isn't Agatha arguing with the boy. It's not the group of three walking over to settle whatever disagreement there is. No, it's the fact that Rio is leaning against a tree, feigning boredom. Her knife in hand, twisting it in her grip as if she's studying the blade.

The leaf in her hair is bright in color, almost like fire, and it stands out against the rich brown of her hair. As if she can sense eyes on her, Rio glances up. Her eyes find you in an instant and you give her a small smile.

She waits as you walk over to her and it's only once you stop in front of her, your back to the others, does she return your smile. She tucks her knife away and holds out her hand, a small flower blooming in her palm. “For you.” 

Your smile turns bittersweet as you reach for the flower, the baby blue petals remind you of a clear afternoon sky. As your fingers touch the stem, it flourishes. Reacting to the caress of your magic that trickles from your fingers. You hold the flower for a moment before tucking it beneath your coat. 

As you look back to Rio she pushes forwards, off the dead tree that she knows you won't touch. When she steps into your space, it feels like you’ve broken the water's surface and can finally breathe again.

“You look filthy.” You tease her before she can notice if anything’s wrong. The dirt that covers her skin and her clothes gives her a rough look, and yet her makeup is as pristine as ever. Her hair looks like she’s just rolled out of bed. There are twigs and leaves and who knows what else hidden in the mess of her hair. 

“Says the one who also had to crawl out of a grave.” Rio responds, leaning just a bit closer when you reach out to brush your fingers through her hair. Her hand settles on your waist with ease, her thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing motion.

“Which I'm assuming is your fault.” You voice your suspicion as you tug on the largest of the leaves you can see in her hair. 

To summon a green witch, let alone any witch to the road, is almost impossible. You don't even know why they tried it in the first place. 

Rio says nothing for a moment. She just lets you thread your fingers through her hair, pulling at the twigs and leaves you find. She licks her lips when you brush your thumb behind her ear, letting out a soft sigh as she closes her eyes.

An annoyed huff and angry footsteps causes you to pull back from her, suddenly self conscious. But Rio's hand catches your wrist before you can step out of her personal space. When she blinks open her eyes to look at you, her brow furrowed slightly. You can't help but give her a reassuring smile. 

Agatha is storming off again. Because of course she is. She will not wait for the two of you.

“Tell me later?” You know this conversation isn't close to over, but right now, time is essential. Rio gives you a small nod and only then do you step away from her.

Finding Agatha is easy. She's at the next trial, waiting for the two of you. The door is decorated with stained glass, the phases of the moon surround the centerpiece, which is the waxing moon. It's almost beautiful if you didn't know that danger lies just behind it.

You feel Rio just behind you, watching the group intently. The graze of her fingers on your back is a welcoming sensation when you realize who’s trial this is.

The protection witch.

With a quick scan, you find her easily, the witch with the red streaks in her hair. She looks the most nervous, hands shoved into her pockets, shoulders hunched.

The teenager is the one to usher her inside, voice reassuring. He calls her Alice and holds his hand out for her and once she takes it; he walks through the door beside her. The other two follow close behind, nerves elevated for what is to come.

When there is only you, Agatha, and Rio left at the door, the tension seems to skyrocket. 

You clench your jaw when she looks at you as if she expects you to go first, but you don't move. The door stays open and no one moves.

When Agatha’s patient wanes, she jerks her head to the door, her voice callous, and yet she can’t look at you when she speaks. “After you.”

It’s only when Rio pushes her knuckles against your lower back do you finally give in. The very moment you walk through the door, you’re blinded by a light as bright as a newborn star. It’s honestly a weak imitation, but that doesn’t mean it can disorient you any less.

As the world around you slowly comes into focus, you notice two things right away. 

One, the air is pungent with magic. It’s so bad you swear you can taste it. Two, when you turn to look at the others, you notice everyone is dressed in seventies fashion attire. 

Glancing down, you see that you too, have also changed outfits. You brush your fingers over the gold embroidered that stands out against the white design of your clothes. Small beads and complex stitches run in calm waves up your sleeves. As you turn your arm to follow the designs, you notice your nails are also painted white. 

“Don’t drink anything. Don’t eat anything. Don’t touch anything.” Alice tells everyone as she glances around the room with a distrust that runs deep. 

“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Rio says as she looks at Alice, brows raised in intrigue. When she catches your gaze, she’s not subtle as she looks you over. She’s adorned in black and gold. The low cut of her blouse catches your attention and you may stare a little too long. Her smile is predatory when she notices you looking. 

“The road isn’t subtle.” Alice mutters, her disdain clear.

You glance around at her words, curious about the history that this trial will bring up.

The room looks like a music lounge studio. Instruments and microphones are set out like they are just waiting to be played. The floor is covered with different rugs; the lights have a certain aesthetic and even the walls are mismatched stones with different things decorating them. 

Your eyes land on the grand piano when everyone gathers around a wall mirror that one of the witches has found, getting a clearer look at the clothes that now fit the aesthetic of this trial. You leave them to their curiosity and walk to the center of the room, a metronome catching your attention from where it sits atop the piano. 

You don’t notice her at first, brow furrowed as you brush your fingers over the edge of the piano lid. You hum a soft lullaby as your fingers tap to the rhythm in your head.

When you see her fingers graze over the piano, you freeze. When she finishes your melody, her beige nails tapping lightly against the polished black case of the piano, you step away.

You look at Agatha like she’s a ghost. 

She’s not—she wasn't—you never told her. Rio doesn’t even know.

It was only for Nicky. It was his song.  

“What are you doing?” You back up when she finally looks up at you. She can’t hide it when her eyes glance over your attire. You know her too well. The way her eyes linger just a little too long, the way she clears her throat before jerking her head back to the piano. She takes a deep breath, rolls her shoulders like she’s buying time.

She looks like she wants to say something but stops short. When she reaches for her brooch, finger tapping lightly as if she needs a physical reminder it’s still there, you understand. 

He told her. Of course he did.

Whatever Agatha is trying to accomplish by reminding you of a life you can never get back, you need her to stop.

You can't do this. The emotional whiplash is getting exhausting.

“Why are you here?” She tilts her head to look at you, her expression clouded with suspicion.

“Why are you?” You deflect her easily, asking your own question. To walk the road once and survive is akin to a miracle. Why would she come back here?

“I asked first.” She pushes into your space, eyes narrowed, her tone condescending. When you shift to move away from her, she grabs hold of your wrist. 

You don’t expect what comes next. You have no time to prepare as your magic comes alive with the contact. It’s been so long since she’s touched you that a lifetime couldn’t prepare you for her pain.

The absolute onslaught of unchecked emotions feels like agony. Her touch burns. It’s scolding hot with the centuries of anguish and hatred that Agatha has clung to. It seeps under your skin like a parasite.

You want to scream.

You need her to let go. Right now.

“I am not here for you. I want absolutely nothing to do with you.” Your words are brutal, every ounce of hatred you have ever felt is directed at her. You know you will regret this later but right now you are desperate.

Agatha steps back as if you physically slapped her. As if you ran a knife right through her heart. But she lets go, that's what you needed.

When you move away from her, cradling your wrist close to your chest, she scoffs. 

“And they call me cruel.” Her voice wavers, head turned away so you can not see her vulnerability. Your heart already hurts but you say nothing. 

The churning in your stomach makes you feel sick. You weren't expecting her to touch you. You weren't expecting your magic to respond to her.

Not like this. Not after all this time.

As you look down at your trembling hand, fingers clenching into a fist, you know one thing for certain. You didn’t feel a flicker of magic from her when she touched you. 

Agatha has lost her magic.

...

[sunsburns]

kiss of life (ii.)

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!daughter reader

kiss of life masterlist

summary: i actually suck at writing summaries but basically this is part two of part one of that soulmate au fic i posted a week ago lol

—or: luke castellan is being haunted by kronos and... well, you.

word count: 6.42k

warnings: sorry for any spelling errors, i haven’t checked yet, suppperrr angsty, luke castellan pov as he's slowly being corrupted by kronos, long reading time, descriptive injuries, blood, pre-tlt, luke is stubborn and a dick, loser!luke, annabeth smacking some sense to luke, grover being an icon, reader is lowkey unreliable tbh... cliff hanger (again... lmfao sorry)

a/n: part two!!! thank you guys for all the love on the first part! i am so grateful for everything and i love reading all the comments and reblogs. i hope this one doesn't end up flopping lmfaooo. i honestly wanted this to be a short angsty fic but i got carried away and now i'm planning a whole multi-part fic for this, phew. anyways enjoyyy <;33

At eighteen, Luke was cursed with nightmares. 

They clawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to unravel the fragile front of peace that he had fought so hard to maintain. Each night, he would awaken drenched in a cold sweat, the echoes of his tortured dreams lingering in the corners of his mind like a haunting melody.

The Hermes cabin, once a sanctuary from the outside world, now felt like a prison, its walls closing in around him with each passing moment. The moon, a silent witness to his torment, cast its ethereal glow through the window, illuminating the slumbering forms of campers. Some were children of Hermes, like himself, bound by the tenuous ties of blood and kinship. Others, however, were unclaimed, their parentage shrouded in mystery and uncertainty.

And as Luke lay awake in the stillness of the night, a sense of loneliness washed over him like a tidal wave, drowning him in a sea of doubt. In the depths of his troubled sleep, he could feel the tendrils of darkness closing in around him, threatening to consume him whole. And try as he might to deny it, he knew that his nightmares held a deeper significance, a harbinger of events yet to unfold in the shadowy pits of fate.

His nightmares were callings. A taunting voice would echo through the corridors of his mind, its insidious whispers weaving a thought of deceit and manipulation. It masqueraded as a voice of reason, a beacon beckoning him towards a destiny that promised demigods everything.

At first, Luke dismissed it as nothing more than the ramblings of a tortured soul, the byproduct of his own restlessness. But as the whispers grew louder and more insistent, he could no longer ignore the chilling realization that they were something far more sinister—a call to arms, a summons to embrace his role as a harbinger of the new world.

The nights he wasn't shaking from night terrors, he was tossing and turning at the thought of you. And he didn’t know what was worse. He couldn't escape you. The haunting image of you lingered in his mind even during sleep — your lips, your eyes, your skin, your voice, and that shared scar and your demise.

But at least, you'd given up on him by then. Your persistent efforts to reach out to Luke gradually dwindled into nothingness. Though you were still everywhere, a shadow that seemed to torment his every move, you no longer gave him even a fraction of your attention.

Gone were the days of you seeking him out, your footsteps no longer echoing in the halls of Camp Half-Blood in search of him. You refrained from asking for Chris's help, no longer burdening him with questions on Luke's whereabouts. The notes you once left behind were now relics of a time long past, their words fading with each passing day.

And as the full moon rose once more over the waters of the lake, you no longer waited by its shores.

Luke turned in bed, his mind restless as he tried to shake the image of you. He pulled the covers tighter around himself, seeking comfort in the warmth they provided, but the chill of unease still lingered in the air.

His gaze drifted across the row of beds, each a testament to the diverse personalities that inhabited the Hermes cabin. The floor was strewn with a chaotic array of sleeping bags, toys, and discarded clothing, while a collection of rocks adorned one corner near the closets, and drawings adorned the walls.

Despite the usual chaos that reigned during the day, the cabin now lay quiet and still. The children of Hermes, along with the unclaimed children and the ones of minor gods, had finally settled into the embrace of sleep. 

But amidst the calm, a sense of unease gnawed at Luke's consciousness. He couldn't shake the feeling that had settled over him after he noticed the empty bed and the slightly ajar door. 

Luke pushed back the covers and rose from his bed. His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way toward the empty bottom bunk, hoping not to wake anyone. The sight of an old penguin stuffed animal discarded at the foot of the bed made him edgy. His eyes trailed to the traces of blood splattered on the hardwood floor, stark against the dim light filtering through the cabin windows.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Luke picked up the toy, its soft white and black material now stained with crimson. Clutching it tightly in his hand, he made his way out of the cabin, the urgency of his steps echoing in the stillness of the night.

He knew all too well who the missing camper was – five-year-old Penelope, one of the newest arrivals to Camp Half-Blood and possibly one of the youngest campers. Found wandering alone in the woods near the camp hill just a week ago, she had been brought to safety by a group of fellow demigods on a quest. Luke couldn't shake the resemblance she bore to a younger Annabeth, with her wide eyes and insatiable thirst for knowledge. He wouldn't be surprised if Athena claimed her as her own one day–that is if he ever found her.

Luke's worry for Penelope weighed heavily on his mind, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest as he combed through every inch of camp. The traces of blood he discovered fueled his unease, each droplet a stark reminder of the dangers lurking just beyond the safety of the camp's borders.

In his search, Luke traversed familiar paths and hidden corners, his footsteps echoing in the quiet stillness of the night. He scoured the armour, the climbing wall, and the camp store.

Luke had known all about campers disappearing, whether it be on a quest or to escape and try to live a normal life with humans that never really lasted long enough as monsters would dwell within the shadows outside of camp. 

It was in the dim glow of the kitchen lights that Luke finally caught a glimpse of Penelope, perched on the counter in her pyjamas, her hair adorned with two loose pigtails. A sense of relief washed over him at the sight of her safe and sound, yet it was short-lived as he noticed she wasn't alone.

His hand hovered over the door, hesitating as he listened to the soft murmur of conversation from within. With a steady breath, Luke pushed the door open ever so slightly, peering through the crack to catch a glimpse of Penelope. And you.

You, who looked older than when you first met in the infirmary. There was an air of maturity about you, a gracefulness that hadn't been there before. Your features seemed more refined, your presence commanding attention in a way that spoke of inner strength and resilience. Luke couldn't help but notice how your beauty had blossomed, surpassing the standards of mere mortal allure. It was a beauty that seemed to defy classification, uniquely yours yet undeniably captivating.

Despite this, Luke sensed a shift in your demeanour—a resignation, perhaps, to the reality of his ignorance. You had lost any hope you once harboured for him. His guarded nature would forever keep you at arm's length. And while part of him knew that this was for the best, a small, almost imperceptible part of him couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret.

For in the crossroads of his heart, amidst the shadows that threatened to consume him, there lingered a faint glimmer of longing. The thought of being intertwined with someone who could offer solace in his darkest moments, who could bring light to the depths of his despair, held an undeniable appeal. And as much as he tried to deny it, the chance of you approaching him once more tugged at the fringes of his resolve, tempting him to let down his guard and allow you closer than he ever dared to imagine.

"So, you wanna tell me what you're doing up this late?" You approached Penelope with a gentle smile, a cookie in your hand as a peace offering. 

Your words hung in the air, gentle and coaxing, as you tried to draw Penelope out of her shell. Luke watched from the shadows, his gaze flickering between you and the young camper, a sense of admiration stirring at how you spoke to Penelope.

Penelope hesitated, her gaze shifting between the cookie in her hand and you. 

"You don't know?" You persisted, your voice a soft murmur that carried a hint of playfulness. You settled beside Penelope on the counter, your posture was relaxed as you leaned in closer to her. "Is it... a secret?" you whispered.

Luke noted the subtle change in your demeanour, the way you seemed to adapt effortlessly to Penelope's shy nature. It was a side of you he hadn't seen before, one that resonated deeply with him.

As Penelope nodded in response to your question, you continued, your tone gentle and reassuring. "Let me tell you a secret," you offered, holding up your pinky finger as a symbol of trust. "I am the best secret keeper in this camp. I pinky promise."

After a moment's hesitation, Penelope tentatively reached out, her tiny finger linking with yours in a hesitant pinky promise. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Penelope murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I got hurt."

"What?" You gasped in genuine concern, your eyes widening as you shifted your attention to the young camper. "Can I see?"

Penelope nodded silently, her arm outstretched towards you. Luke observed from his vantage point, his heart twisting with worry as he noted the faint hint of red near Penelope's elbow.

You took Penelope's arm into your hands gently, your touch tender and reassuring as you rolled up the sleeves of her pale pink pyjamas. Luke couldn't help but notice the familiarity of those pyjamas, a subtle reminder of Annabeth's kindness and resourcefulness in making Penelope feel at home.

"Oh, wow, that looks like it hurts," You remarked softly, your brows furrowing in sympathy as you retrieved a first aid kit from the nearby cabinets. "You're handling it very well," you praised Penelope, your tone gentle and encouraging. "So brave of you."

Penelope watched you attentively as you began to clean her wound, her small frame tense with discomfort. "I don't feel brave," she admitted quietly.

"No?" You glanced up at her, "why not?"

"I miss my mommy."

Her words were tinged with a sense of longing that struck a chord with both you and Luke.

Luke chewed on the inside of his cheek, his thoughts drifting to his own longing for his mother. Penelope's admission resonated with him deeply, reminding him of the ache that never truly faded, no matter how many years passed, no matter how deep he tried to bury it. 

It was a sentiment shared by every demigod at camp, a silent ache that echoed through the cabins and training grounds. Yet, it was a pain rarely spoken aloud as if verbalizing it would make it all too real, too unbearable.

The yearning for a parent, for someone to fill the void left by their absence, weighed heavily on each camper's shoulders. It was a burden they carried silently, masking their vulnerability with bravado and determination. But for Penelope, the longing was raw in its innocence.

At just five years old, she was too young to fully comprehend the extent of her emotions. She couldn't grasp the complexities of her situation, the world of gods and monsters that surrounded her. All she knew was the absence of a mother's embrace, the absence of a comforting presence to soothe her fears and wipe away her tears.

It was a pain she didn't deserve, a burden too heavy for such a young soul to bear. The gods, in their arrogance and indifference, seemed oblivious to the lives they had shattered, and the pain they had inflicted upon their own children.

"Yeah?" You responded gently, "How much do you miss her?"

"This much," Penelope replied, her small hands spreading wide.

"Wow! That's a lot," you remarked, a sombre note underlying your tone as you processed Penelope's words. After a beat of silence, you shook off the heaviness of the moment and mustered a smile for her. "There we go. All cleaned up," you announced cheerfully, pressing a bandaid onto her elbow.

Penelope's smile widened in response, a glimmer of gratitude shining in her eyes as she kicked her feet. In a quiet voice barely above a whisper, she murmured her thanks to you.

"So, you wanna tell me how you got hurt?"

"I don't know." This had been the most Luke had ever seen Penelope talk, and while her voice was still timid, the words slipping out hesitantly, she seemed to confide in you. "I woke up because my arm hurt."

"The cut was just there?" You asked, and when she nodded, you hummed sympathetically. "...I get those too, you know."

Penelope's eyes widened, "You do?"

"Yes," you affirmed with a soft chuckle. "A lot of people do. You get them from your soulmate. Did your mom ever tell you about soulmates?"

"Sometimes."

"Well, a long time ago, humans used to have four arms, four legs, and two faces," You explained.

"What?"

"I know, right? Super freaky. So freaky that Zeus decided to split them in half. So, now we have two arms, two legs, and one face."

"What happened to the other half?"

"That's our soulmate. Our other half. And Aphrodite gave us a gift to help us find our soulmate." The smile that had adorned your face slowly waned, "Every time you get hurt, your soulmate gets hurt too."

"Is that why you have a cut on your face?"

The question lingered, hanging in the air like a whispered secret. Luke held his breath, his gaze fixed on you, waiting for your response. But instead of answering, you reached out to Penelope, a bittersweet smile gracing your lips as you guided her off the counter.

"Let's get you back to your cabin."

Your words were gentle, a soft reassurance for Penelope's sake, but Luke could sense the undercurrent of sadness that ran beneath them. As you led Penelope away, Luke's heart ached in a way that felt so familiar yet foreign at the same time. It burned the same way it did when he returned from the quest when he hated the world and everyone in it, but this time, the only person he could find himself hating was himself.

He retreated from the door, clutching the stuffed animal in his hands. He felt a fleeting reminder of the times he would hide from the monsters with Thalia.

Luke's mind swirled with discordant emotions, each thought a whirlwind of uncertainty. He knew he didn't deserve your answer, didn't deserve the solace of your words. He had made it clear too many times to count that he never wanted a soulmate, never wanted you.

But despite his protests, despite the walls he had built around his heart, Luke couldn't deny the tug that pulled him to you, the hunger in his soul that refused to be ignored. It was a longing he couldn't shake, a yearning that whispered of a connection he dared not embrace. Knowing that keeping you away was the only way to protect you from the darkness that lurked within him was what kept him sane.

"Luke?"

The sound of his name tore Luke out of his thoughts like a violent gust of wind. He spun around, finding you standing on the porch to the kitchens, Penelope at your side. She held your hand, a small beacon of warmth and light in the dimness of the night. 

It seemed too perfect, too surreal, and Luke couldn't help but feel a pang of disbelief. Were you trying to kill him? It had been too long since the last time he spoke to you, let alone stood so close to you, and here you were, the epitome of what a demigod should be, even if you were still in the dreaded bright orange camp shirt.

"Hey," he managed to say.

You continued to descend the stairs, each step cautious and deliberate. "What- uh, what are you doing up?"

"I was actually looking for Penelope." Luke motioned to the girl hiding behind your legs. When he caught her eye, Penelope grinned and let go of your hand, darting over to Luke and jumping into his arms. He lifted her easily, a small smile tugging at his lips as he handed her the stuffed toy she had left behind. 

"Oh." You hummed, "I didn't know you're a Hermes kid?"

"I'm unclaimed," Penelope chimed.

"For now," Luke's voice was gentle as he held Penelope in his arms. "And what were you doing up?"

"I was looking for a bandaid. I got lost." Penelope's words were punctuated by a soft yawn, and she nestled her head against Luke's shoulder, her exhaustion evident in every movement.

You hesitated, your gaze shifting to meet Luke's. "I found her by the canoes... near the dock."

The silence that settled between you felt heavy, suffocating almost as if it threatened to engulf you both. Luke found himself wandering back to the memories of you waiting for him at the dock during the summer nights and the regret that weighed heavily on his heart for never approaching you. He remembered the countless times he stood among the trees, watching you from afar, paralyzed by his own insecurities and fears.

Were you waiting for him there tonight? 

No, you couldn't have.

Guilt gnawed at him, threatening to consume him whole. "Listen, I-"

"I'm gonna go." You cut him off abruptly, your voice carrying a hint of tension. "Counsellor duties and all. I've got cabin checks in the morning so... you know, I gotta print papers... and stuff..."

Luke frowned at your lame excuse. "It's midnight."

"It's never too early to start now." You huffed defensively. "Bye, Penelope."

"Bye," Penelope mumbled sleepily, her hand lazily waving in your direction as you walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the night and the trail leading to the Aphrodite cabin.

As they made their way back to the Hermes cabin, Luke held onto Penelope tightly, feeling the weight of her small body in his arms. The night air was cool against his skin, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of shame for the unease he noticed in you earlier. He wanted to say something, to bridge the gap that seemed to have formed between you, but the words remained trapped in his throat.

Once they returned to the warmth of their cabin, Luke moved with a careful grace, mindful not to disturb the sleeping campers around them. He gently placed Penelope back on her bed and tucked her in. But as he began to step away, her small hand shot out, wrapping around two of his fingers. Luke froze, eyes wide with surprise.

"Luke?" Penelope's voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence of the cabin like a knife.

"Yeah?" Luke's voice was equally quiet.

"I think your soulmate is really cool." 

Penelope's words hung in the air, a simple statement that carried more weight than he could have ever anticipated.

Seven hours later, the memory of your face lingered in Luke's mind like an unshakeable ghost. Tossing back and forth in his bed, he tried to rid himself of the image, but it clung to him like a shadow. Each time he closed his eyes, your face flashed before him, haunting his thoughts. Even when he turned away, the spectre of Kronos lurked in the depths of his subconscious, a reminder of the choice that still loomed over him.

As morning broke over Camp Half-Blood, Luke found himself seated at the breakfast table, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of his fellow campers. Annabeth's presence brought a brief distraction.

She slid into the seat in front of him during breakfast and gave him a strange look, slightly out of breath from the morning rush, a half-eaten apple in hand.

"Hey," she greeted him, her voice carrying a note of concern. Pausing to tie back her braids, she studied him intently. "Who you looking for?"

Luke's response came too quickly, "No one," he replied, his voice strained. Thankfully, Chris had left earlier because he was in charge of the climbing wall in the morning, he wasn't there to tell Annabeth that Luke had been looking for you. His eyes scanned the sea of faces in the dining hall, a futile attempt to catch sight of you amidst the crowd. He felt pathetic. "What's up with you?"

Annabeth raised her brows. "Archery? Together? Remember? Or did you forget?"

"No. I didn't forget."

She only stared at him, skeptical.

"What?" he asked, "why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Oh, I get it," Annabeth's smirk hinted at a newfound understanding, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She let out a laugh, the sound echoing through the dining hall, as she shook her head and rested her chin on her hand. "How long are you planning to keep this up for?"

Luke frowned, confused.

"This entire act you have with... you know," She didn't need to say your name for him to catch on. "It's getting out of hand, no?"

"I..." Caught off guard by her directness, Luke hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Choosing to play dumb, he feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right." Annabeth's knowing look pierced through his facade. She was always too perceptive for her own good. Fixing him with a narrowed gaze, she gave him a playful kick under the table, the impact enough to draw a startled reaction from Luke. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she took another bite of her apple before teasing him further. "Well, Grover said you're killing yourself."

"What?" He blinked at her, taken aback, "I'm not killing myself. Grover's just being dramatic."

"I don't think so." She said, slowly, carefully forming her words. "I mean, if I had a soulmate..."

Luke's defences bristled at the mention of soulmates, a topic he preferred to avoid. "Is this all you wanted to talk about?" 

"I'm allowed to worry, "Annabeth reminded him, her words tinged with a gentle insistence. "Family, remember?"

The word 'family' carried weight, a reminder of their shared history and the bond they had forged over the years. It was a phrase Annabeth often employed to coax Luke out of his shell, to encourage him to confide in her. When they were younger, 'family' meant everything to Luke, thanks in no small part to Annabeth's influence.

"You don't need to worry," Luke assured her, though uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his resolve. "I know what I'm doing." But did he? Luke longed for the simplicity of a time before he met you when the idea of having a soulmate seemed like a distant fantasy. Now, every decision he made, every scar he bore, carried weight, knowing it could impact you in ways he couldn't comprehend.

"The least you can do is get to know her before she leaves."

Her words struck a chord within him, prompting Luke to cast a discreet glance around the dining hall, searching for you amidst the bustling crowd again.

"She's leaving?"

"Not forever, "Annabeth clarified with a chuckle, "Just on a quest. Search and rescue. Nothing fancy."

"...How do you know this?" he said after a moment.

"Chiron told me," Annabeth shrugged nonchalantly. "He also told me to tell you that the ceremony is tonight. I hope that doesn't kill you."

It did kill him a bit. At least, it felt like it did. Luke Castellan moved through camp with a sense of urgency, his strides purposeful yet tinged with a hint of apprehension. His fingers, calloused from years of wielding weapons, throbbed with a dull ache with the burn from the bow and arrow. 

Shoulders tense, skin prickling under the relentless glare of the sun, he scanned the bustling campgrounds.

The weight of his bow rested heavily on his shoulder, the familiar weight offering a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos. With practiced precision, he counted the arrows in his quiver, his movements fluid and sure. 

Then, he heard it—the sound that drew him like a siren's call. Your voice, lilting and laughter-filled, cut through the clamour of the camp, pulling him toward you like a magnet. There you stood, leaning against the doorway of the Hephaestus cabin, a clipboard clutched to your chest as you exchanged banter with Atticus, the skilled swordsmith whose craftsmanship had forged Luke's sword.

There was something different about you today, something delicate, more approachable than he had ever seen before. Last night, with Penelope, you had worn a similar expression—gentle, caring—but it was a side of you that Luke had never been privileged to witness. With him, you had always been guarded, reserved, as though afraid that he would cut or maim you.

As you scribbled something onto your clipboard, Luke found himself intrigued by the way your smile softened. It was a stark contrast to the confident facade you often wore, and for a moment, Luke felt a pang of guilt for pushing you away so soon.

Unbeknownst to you, you were drawing closer to Luke with each step, your path inexorably leading you toward him. Part of him craved to reach out, while another part hesitated, unsure of how to talk to you after all this time.

"Hey," Luke finally managed to utter as you drew near, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You paused, a hint of surprise flickering across your features as you registered his presence. "Hi?" Your response was tentative, laced with a hint of confusion. After a moment's hesitation, you glanced down at your clipboard, "I'm not changing my rank on your cabin. I know three is low, but I was being generous."

A ghost of a smile tugged at Luke's lips. He was all too familiar with the chaotic nature of Cabin Eleven, where overcrowding was the norm and taking turns on the sleeping bags was treated as a game. "No, no. I just..." He trailed off, suddenly realizing he hadn't thought through the purpose of seeking you out. "I think we need to talk."

The confusion in your expression mirrored his own, and for a moment, there was a palpable sense of uncertainty hanging between you. "Talk?" you echoed.

Luke nodded, his gaze meeting yours earnestly. "Yes."

"You want to talk...? To me?" 

"I hope it's not that bizzare."

He tried to smile for you, but it felt wrong. Luke couldn't shake the weight of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew all too well that he hadn't been the embodiment of an ideal soulmate. In his mind, there lingered a pervasive belief that you harboured nothing but hatred towards him, something that you made obvious with every interaction between you two.

He wondered if this was the way you felt during the days he avoided you. 

Luke had noticed the shift. There was a calculated recklessness to your actions, a deliberate disregard for your own well-being that bordered on self-destructive. You stubbed your toe on roots and table legs, tugged too hard at your hair, and scraped your knees. You started to pull your punches while sparring with Clarisse, just enough to ensure that he felt the sting of every blow. You never blocked a hit in the face, a twisted satisfaction in the knowledge that your pain mirrored his own. Together, you would limp into the infirmary, bloodied and bruised where you'd be grinning far too wide, barely offering an ounce of guilt when Luke held ice to his face.

You lowered the clipboard from your chest, letting it rest against your side as you faced Luke. The warm rays of the sun filtered through the dense foliage above, casting dappled shadows that danced across your features and forced you to squint against the brightness. The noise of children's laughter and the sound of feet pounding against the earth filled the air.

Your voice cut through the noise, "You've made it pretty clear that you want nothing to do with me, Luke," you began, your words carrying the weight of unspoken hurt. "You can't blame me for being surprised."

As you began to walk toward the next cabin, Luke fell into step beside you, "Can you just give me a chance—" 

"I think you're too late for that."

"I know, I just—" Luke's words faltered, his thoughts tumbling over one another in a desperate attempt to articulate his feelings.

"I have nothing to say to you," you declared abruptly, stopping in your tracks and turning to face him. Luke skidded to a stop just in time, his gaze meeting yours as you regarded him with a mixture of sadness and frustration. "Seriously. I understand, okay? Did I come on too strong? Maybe. Yeah, I'll admit that" you acknowledged, your expression softening slightly. "Maybe coming to you hours after your shit quest was stupid, but I gave you space when you asked—"

"I just wanted to wish you luck on your quest," Luke interrupted, his voice gentle yet tinged with a hint of remorse.

With a quiet "Oh," you stepped back, your eyes momentarily averting his gaze. Were you embarrassed? Were you disappointed? Did you want to fight? 

"Sorry," you mumbled, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Thanks. I'm, uh, I'm seeing the Oracle after this. So... not technically a quest yet."

"It's your first one, right?" Luke's voice softened, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

"If you're worried about getting another scar, don't worry, I doubt it's anything dangerous," you reassured him, though your words held a hint of hesitation. There was a fleeting moment where your gaze lingered on him as if expecting a sudden change in his demeanour, but Luke remained still, his expression unreadable. "I just need to find Eros and go from there."

"Eros?" Luke's pace slowed, curiosity dancing in his eyes as he raised his brows in interest. Yet beneath the surface, a seed of annoyance sprouted, tendrils of jealousy winding their way through his thoughts. Your quest sounded far more intriguing than his own, and a bitter brew of envy churned in the depths of his stomach. Despite his inner turmoil, he attempted to play it off with a forced chuckle. "Has Cupid gone missing?"

"Apparently," you muttered bitterly under your breath, the resentment palpable in your tone. Luke sensed the edge to your words, though he pretended not to notice.

You sighed, "Is this conversation going anywhere? I really need to finish these cabin checks. I'm busy enough as it is."

Your words held an unspoken plea for him to leave, and though Luke understood, a pang of disappointment nagged at him. He couldn't entirely blame you; after all, he'd been an ass for months.

Both of you hesitated just outside the door to cabin eight, and Luke could feel your eyes on him. When you began to step away, his hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. You froze, eyes wide with surprise.

“I also wanted to thank you,” He said, words rushing off his tongue.

“For what?” you asked.

“For last night.” He wasn't sure why he brought it up, why he felt like he needed you to know. "With Penelope."

"It was nothing," you said, voice barely audible. "We gotta look out for each other, right?"

Then, you left, you hurried up the short staircase to the cabin door, barely sparing him a glance before knocking. From his place, Luke could hear someone welcoming you into Artemis's cabin. He watched you until the door was shut behind you, vanishing you from his sight.

As the ceremony approached, the hues of twilight painted Camp Half-Blood in a golden glow, a serene yet foreboding atmosphere enveloping the surroundings. Luke's unease mounted with the setting sun, casting stretched-out shadows that seemed to carry something unnoticed. He couldn't shake the image of the figure from his nightmares, its monstrous visage haunting his thoughts with each passing moment. Yet, amidst the creeping darkness, there was an allure to the unknown, a temptation that beckoned him; its words, its promise of seeing the truth.

His gaze remained fixed on the white marble archway, half-expecting the nightmare to materialize at any moment, its twisted form emerging from the shadows with outstretched fingers. However, it was you who appeared, ascending the steps with graceful determination. Your presence seemed to dispel the shadows, bathing the surroundings in a radiant glow that eclipsed the fears that had once gripped Luke's heart. You were a blinding vice.

"Didn't think I'd see you here."

A sudden jab to his side sent him recoiling, a sharp pain shooting through his ribs. Luke winced, his gaze flickering to you as you flinched, subtly reaching for your own side. Quickly diverting his attention, he focused on the girl who had spoken.

Clarisse arched a brow at Luke, a smirk dancing on her lips. "Jumpy."

"Give him a break," Chris interjected, joining Luke's side and draping an arm over his shoulder. "Luke had a rough night, he lost a kid."

"Is that so?" Clarisse's grin widened. "And Chiron doesn't know? I'm assuming he doesn't otherwise, he wouldn't have picked you for this."

Luke scoffed and crossed his arms, "I'm the best swordsman at camp."

Clarisse's sarcasm was palpable. "Oh, I don't doubt it. The most humble, too," she retorted, unfazed by his glare. "But let's face it, a search and rescue isn't exaclty your thing anymore. You're more of an action kind of guy. You live off the glory of victory. Chiron knows that."

She was right, Chiron did know that. Which was why he rarely requested Luke to stand in unless there was a catch. Then, the flames in the torches flickered to life, and silence enveloped the candidates. Each demigod chosen by Chiron swiftly took their place, standing tall and resolute by a marble pillar, eager to showcase themselves as the prime choice for the quest. Anything for Kleos. Anything for glory.

Chiron nodded, his gesture sharp and decisive, as he placed a firm hand on your shoulder before addressing the assembly. 

"The Oracle has confirmed that this quest is a search and rescue," he stated, casting a brief, confident glance in your direction. "One where you will use all your best efforts to bring Eros back to the safety of Mount Olympus and restore the lost balance. I'm sure you know where to find him." His gaze then shifted to the rest of the candidates. "Here, I have selected some of our most compelling candidates from which you will choose one to join you on your quest, ensuring your success. Annabeth Chase, Atticus Brang, Chris Rodrigues, Clarisse La-"

As Chiron listed the candidates, you carefully evaluated your options, your eyes calculating. In the dim torchlight, Luke could just discern the thin line etched across your face, stretching from the end of your brow to your-

"I choose Luke."

The ensuing silence felt like something they could all drown in, leaving everyone stunned. Even Annabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes as she spotted Luke's bewilderment. Surely, he must have misheard. There couldn't possibly be any way you had chosen him, could there?

Chiron turned to you, his tone measured. "Are you sure?"

You never shifted your gaze from Luke, who refused to meet your eyes as he stared fixedly at the pillar across from him. Yet, the clenching of his jaw, whether from anger or annoyance or something else, was enough to elicit a satisfied smile from you.

"I'm sure," you affirmed.

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[iwrite0]

Shota Aizawa x Reader

"Importance"

Quirk: hyper-empath

Quirk: Hyper-Empath

Requests are open!

Growing up, you were always told you'd be better off behind a desk — maybe as a medical assistant, maybe behind a computer. Something "safe." Something "useful." People said your quirk made you too sensitive, too soft for the field.

But you didn't want to be safe. You wanted to fight.

So the second you got accepted into hero school, you clung to that opportunity with everything you had. You trained harder than anyone else — not because you were the strongest, but because you had to be. You hated your quirk. You hated being aware of everyone's emotions — the tension, the grief, the terror. And worst of all, the pain. Every drop of agony they felt, you felt too. It was overwhelming, all-consuming.

A curse, not a gift.

Still, you fought. You learned to hold your own. You became a pro hero — one with a reputation for compassion and precision in the field. You learned to ground yourself, but it never got easier.

Tonight, you and Aizawa had been on patrol — separate routes, same shift. When the patrol was quiet, you'd text. Just little things.

“You find anything?”

“Nothing worth losing sleep over. You?”

“Still quiet. Weirdly quiet.”

But the quiet didn’t last.

The alert came in like a shockwave: multiple civilian casualties, villain attack, mass destruction. You were the closest. You responded first.

And you felt it.

Every scream. Every cry. The agony. The panic. The fear. It hit you like a tidal wave, nearly knocked you to your knees. But you didn’t stop. You couldn't stop.

By the time backup arrived — by the time he arrived — you were already in the thick of it. Covered in smoke and blood and grief. You were helping children out of rubble, hands trembling, barely able to breathe through the emotional overload that pressed on your lungs like a vice.

Aizawa found you kneeling beside a collapsed building, cradling a girl with a shattered leg and a face soaked in tears. Your eyes were glazed, distant — the way they always got when the emotions of others overwhelmed your own. You weren’t bleeding, but you looked broken.

He crouched beside you silently, placing a steady hand on your back.

"I'm here," he said, low and even.

You flinched.

“Shota…” you whispered. “It hurts.”

“I know.”

“I can’t— I can’t make it stop. I can’t turn it off.”

“I know.”

His voice was calm, a tether anchoring you to the ground. Slowly, steadily, the panic started to recede. Not because it wasn’t there — but because he was.

Once the girl was taken by the medics, you let yourself sink back against the wall, finally trembling. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t scold you for pushing yourself too hard. He just sat next to you, shoulder brushing yours.

“I hate this quirk,” you whispered.

“I don’t,” he said.

You blinked at him, startled.

“You feel what people can’t say out loud. You feel what they bury. That’s rare. It’s powerful.” His eyes met yours — tired, but steady. “You don’t realize how much you matter.”

Your breath hitched.

You weren’t used to hearing that. You weren’t used to being seen.

“I feel like I’m drowning,” you admitted.

He used his quirk to cancel out yours.

You didn’t speak again. You didn’t need to. He stayed by your side, his presence a calm pulse that steadied your wild heart.

In a world full of noise, Shota Aizawa never asked you to be quiet — only to stay.

And for the first time in a long time, you believed you could.

[bobbedazzled]

TIDAL

pairing: rafayel x reader | sea god x bounty hunter  word count: 3.3k content: enemies and lovers (?), some violence, stabbing, dub con, hypnosis/spell casting, minor blood/knifeplay(?), fingering, unprotected sex, tongue branding, blood tasting, wound licking, idk why I wrote this  a/n: taking a break from the college au, sorry I disappeared I got sick and had to study for a final for a class I hated. I got lazy near the end so in case the fight scenes don’t make sense…yes theyy do.

Under the shroud midnight light, your work is whispered about in the gilded halls of nobility. An assassin of efficiency, and utter discretion. Your blade serves the highest bidder, those draped in velvet and adorned by rings and guilt alike. You are both a sword and shadow hidden in the thick of political disputes.

Yet, even the bloodied hands of nobility do not require constant cleansing. When the seasons shift and the power struggles settle, your contracts grow sparse, and you are left to seek coin by other means. Bounties. Less refined, less personal, but profitable nonetheless. The work is grittier, the targets less acclaimed, but coin is coin, and survival does not afford you the luxury of idleness.

It is during one lull, while scanning the ever-changing board of wishes and hastily scribbled contracts, that your gaze lands upon a peculiar ticket. Unlike the others, it bears no name of a scorned lover or a debt-dodging merchant. Instead, it is a plea, written not by a single trembling hand, but under the weight of collective desperation. The nobles one again, faceless in their cowardice, have set their sights on something they cannot control.

The God of Sirens. A rebirth of the God of the Tides, awoken with a fire that replaced his missing heart. He reclaimed the seas and went after those who enslaved his children. A myth from long ago that reentered chamber walls after a city went to ruins for reasons unknown. It’s said he sits in the palace idly, waiting to be challenge.

A trickster, a lingering echo of something too powerful to be dismissed yet too dangerous to be allowed to roam freely. He is the embodiment of temptation, of illusions spun so intricately they unravel the minds of those who listen.  He stands before you, neatly condensed into a single offering of wealth great enough to make even the most seasoned hunter hesitate.

"Wrong." His voice cracks through the dawn like a snapped wire. A second later, the world twists as gravity betrays you, the air slicing past your ears before instinct takes over. A pivot, a breath, and the cold marble railing catches your boots. You crouch low, steady, but his scrutinizing glare chases after you like a predator unwilling to let its prey recover.

"Try again," he calls from above, lounging in his window like a bored god surveying those below. 

Your face contorts at his tone. You have no interest in being toyed with. Your bounty has already spotted you, there’s no point in staying. It’s time to retreat, to cool down. But as you turn, a flicker of fire licks your cheek, searing the skin before you can react. A slow burn spreads across your face as you cup the scorched surface, eyes snapping upward.

He leans further out of his chamber, expression unreadable. 

“I don’t usually repeat myself.” He goads. His gaze does not meet you as an adversary’s would, not even as a nuisance. But as something far worse. A plaything. His smirk holds the mirth of a child poised over an anthill. You narrow your eyes, fingers twitching toward the blade at your belt before walking away.

When you return to the bounty board, you toss his ticket back to the merchant who had so smugly handed it to you. Laughter erupts around you, rolling in waves of mockery. You ignore it, though the sting to your reputation is undeniable.

Not every bounty can be fulfilled, and it’s better to admit that than to die for the money.

The others are too proud to concede. One by one, they pick up where you left off. None return. The dunes outside his palace swallow their remains. 

Under the moonlight, the sand glows like a sea of silver, its ripples forming a pathway that calls to you, daring you to return. A question sat in your mind. 

Why didnt he kill you as quickly as the others? Is this a game worth playing?

──   .⋆｡𖦹 . ঔঌ ˖°

Flames flicker at your feet. They curl around your boots, beckoning you to come forward. You don’t immediately obey, wincing as it burns through your sleeve.

“Careful,” he murmurs, back still turned. “I don’t conjure natural fire.”

You seize the moment, fingers tightening around the weapon hidden at your side. The instant you raise it, he scoffs. A snap echoes through the air. Instinctively, you drop your weapon as it’s set ablaze, ash scattering to the ground.

“Sloppy.” He exhales, more disappointed than amused. “I expected better.”

He rises from his lounging position, movements unhurried.

“I’ve never met a female hunter before,” he muses, eyes smiling. “Has my bounty gone down?”

“You’ve killed plenty,” you counter. “Naturally, that’s done the opposite.”

“So, my price has turned me into nothing more than a lottery?”

“I’m not confident. I’m curious.”

“Curious?” His voice lilts upward, mockery woven into the syllables. “How insulting.”

“Why haven’t you killed me?”

At this, he turns. His gaze is an ocean, dark and endless, with pink gleaming in its depths. You understand, now, why others have fallen under his influence. The thought makes your stomach twist.

Something sharp glints in your periphery—you duck, evading his blade and returning a weapon in one breath. He catches it between two fingers, unimpressed.

“Sloppy,” you echo.

He hums, stepping forward, the room shrinking between you. “You think I find you entertaining?” He flips the blade in his grip, offering it back to you. “To call you that would be an understatement.” He leans in, close enough that your breaths mingle. “I find you fascinating.”

You shove a hand against his chest. He barely budges. In one swift motion, he seizes your wrists, pinning them above your head as he presses you back against the cold stone wall.

“Compared to the others, you’re far less desperate.” His nose grazes yours, lips a mere breath away. “It’s disappointing.”

You turn your head, unwilling to meet his gaze. He tuts, grasping your jaw and forcing you back to him. His grip is firm but not painful, fingers featherlight as they trace your cheek.

“You saw my bounty,” he murmurs, voice lowering, “and had the audacity to trespass just to marvel at me.” His lips brush yours as he speaks, a phantom touch. “I find that rather offensive.”

The flames at your waist flicker higher, eating away at your clothing . The hand pinning you move to the skin uncovering at your waist. You refuse to cry out as the dull drag of his nails mark your skin. Instead, with your wrists freed, you strike.

A razor, hidden beneath your sleeve, slices across his torso. He barely reacts, expression unreadable as he watches the surrounding flesh redden, blood staining his garments. Then, with a single effortless movement, he retrieves his dagger from the wall, steel gleaming. The blade bites deep into your shoulder. You choke on a gasp, shoving him away and stumbling back, your arm quickly slick with crimson. He exhales, slow and deliberate, pressing two fingers to the shallow cut at his stomach. A smirk tugs at his lips as he watches you falter.

His blade twirls between deft fingers, feet bringing him closer until he towers above you. Your knees scrape against the tile as his fire coils around you, framing your silhouette in flickering gold. He halts an inch from your whitening knuckles, gaze alight with amusement.

He extends the dagger to you once more. “Try again.” His smile barely hides his teeth, his pupils blown wide. His very presence hums with something heady, intoxicating.

Your pulse quickens, adrenaline crackles beneath your skin. As you reach for the dagger, it flicks out of your grasp before you can claim it. 

Pain ignites in your palm. A ball of fire unravels where the blade separates your flesh. Your scream rips through the chamber, raw and unbidden.

“You were taking too long.” He teases through your cries, slipping the metal from your flesh. His voice is silk, his eyes gleaming. He watches, enthralled, twirling the knife in his grasp before  tossing the dagger.

You collapse against the wall as his gaze engulfs you. When losing, you’re used to looks of disgust, disdain. But him, intoxicated by his excitement, your body trembles. He kneels before you, his presence suffocating. The heat of his flames flickers dangerously close, picking at the edges of your tattered frame. Fingers tighten along your jaw, tilting your face toward the fallen dagger across the room. His lips ghost along your cheek, voice velvet, poison-laced.

"Fetch."

For a moment, you don't move. Won't move. Your pride coils in your gut, hissing, demanding you refuse him. But then his grip shifts— just enough to let you feel the raw strength beneath his amusement. Your voice cracks through the cold air, “Does it always take you this long to kill?”

“Kill?” His voice lowers. “And what fun would that be with you like this?” He leans away from your face and grabs your wrist, marveling at the blood painting your skin. He lifts your palm, still raw and bloodied, to his lips. “Why would a fish play with their food?” He murmurs.

His thumb slides beside the opening of your wound, pressing down against the flesh. His mouth is agape as you scream, watching, as if truly entertained by your agony. His tongue slips slowly over the raw opening, setting your nerves on fire. 

“It’ll be easier to eat after breaking you down.” 

His mouth is dirtied by your blood. He leans in, fingers press against your pulse. His nails ghost down your throat as if debating whether to carve further.

"You're hesitating," he taunts, grip loosening just enough to let you scramble free. The moment your feet touch the ground, you bolt. But you don’t run for the dagger— you run for the window.

He watches as you leap, landing hard in the palace garden. His dagger nearly misses your ankle as you gather yourself, dashing through the lush palace yard to escape his heavy glare.

──   .⋆｡𖦹 . ঔঌ ˖°

The memory of his fire clings to you like the scent of something burned too deep into fabric. A single spark from a passing lantern makes your fingers twitch. The smallest ember makes your breath hitch.

The bounty board is quieter now, the crowds that usually gathered has thinned. The Siren’s posting remains, its price climbing higher with each passing week. As he said, he became a game of chance. A death wish dressed in gold. You trace a scar along your hand, a parting gift from the last time you entertained the idea of collecting.

And yet, despite the warnings carved into your own skin, your feet still hesitate before walking away. Nobles continue to complain as they lose hunters by the day, and you can’t help but be proud at how desperate the city is to have his head. 

──   .⋆｡𖦹 . ঔঌ ˖°

Rafayel lazed over his furniture, the ornaments adorning his body gleam against the setting sun. Fish swimming at his fingertips ignite and scatter around the room, lighting his candles. Melted wax hangs from their silver plates, branded with a royal emblem he does not own. A hum escapes him as the breeze tickles his neck.

“A visitor?” He sings. His head tilts upward to hang from his seat, a smile already playing at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve missed you, my dear.”

Your laugh is short, amused at how quickly he recognized you. Your heart quickens under his gaze. “Have you charmed me, siren?”

He smiles knowingly, “Amplifying the emotions that are already present is far more exciting. Why else would you come back to me?”

You shrug, “I’ve come to congratulate you. Your life bothers the inner city so much that your head no longer has a set price.” 

It’s true. After collecting from another mission, you noticed his poster. His face decorated a large canvas, emboldened by red spelling. Under his picture, the price tag reads: 

⋆ ANY ⋆

His bounty is now a blank check.

“Ugh, that explains why I’ve been so bored lately.” He swings his head, leaning over the lounge chair to meet your eyes.

“How should we celebrate?”

A dullness stirred in your stomach. The orchid in his eyes bloom as a smile dances across his face. His color becoming clearer, more vibrant, more beautiful than before.

“Come closer, my love.”

Your heart pounds, you fully acknowledge that you’re under his spell but feel no need to fight the thoughts his power amplifies.

Slowly, you approach him. “Curious, what does a fish want to do with a palace anyway?”

He laughs slightly, “Humans. Curious but not cautious.” he mutters, reaching a hand out to you. Your palm slips into his grasp, body following as he guides you on the lounge chair. “Invade my kingdom, take my children as pets.. . and then question why I retaliate.” He lies in the chair’s silk as you climb in. The room shrinks at the sound of his voice, melodic and heavy. 

“Such filthy resolve.”

You sit atop him staring into the colors of his eyes. Your fingers brush against his lips as they move, inattentive to the scorn leaving them.

“You, Ms. Hunter.”

An idle hand explores his chest, drawing lines in his neck down to his collarbone. His darkening gaze flickers through his lashes as your hand treads down, tracing the muscle of his torso. 

“You’re getting cockier with every visit.” 

You lean dangerously close as you study the jewelry that wreathed his hips. His nose nudges your cheek, he speaks against your lips.

“Do you enjoy how I favor you?”

“Favor?” a small laugh leaves you. “Do you scar all your toys?”

“With my reputation, would it make sense for you to leave me unscathed?” He hums as his fingers trace your jawline. “I’m protecting you, my love.”

Inattentive to him undressing you, his hand slips past your clothing as his voice continues to charm you. He feels cool against your flushed body, dragging against the uncovering skin. You lean into him the lower he trails, accepting his touch. 

“You’re so cute.” He murmurs.

His hand drags down your body before slipping between your legs. Your breath hitches as he fondles your slicked folds. A moan escapes you as slender fingers slip into your slit. Shallow breaths settle in the haze between the two of you. He becomes restless, his free hand roaming your waist. His cock twitches at the sight of you grinding against his hand, almost jealous of the hand surrounded by your soft velvet. He pumps another finger inside, taking in the cries escaping you as he maintains his rhythm.

“Almost there baby?” 

Your grip on him tightens as you nod against his shoulder. He watches as your hips roll into his knuckles, body twitching as you inch closer to your release. Suddenly, his ingers slip from your warmth. Irritated and empty, you whine— body searching for something to finish you off. He kisses down your neck as he pulls away from you.

“Do something for me first.” He cups your face, planting tender kisses against your lips, “Then I’ll reward you.”

He holds you by the waist, tapping a finger to your lips with his other hand.

“Open.” He commands, voice colder than before. You follow, parting your lips and meeting his gaze. His thumb glides against your tongue as another hand holds your face steady. His nail pierces through the surface of your tongue. You flinch as his fire carves lines down the muscle.

“Shhh, almost done.” He coos, watching you wriggle in pain.

A hint of smile tugs at his lips as his thumb rubs against the scar. The softness of your tongue is disturbed by the roughness left behind. He presses against the muscle and is pleased by your obedience. He watches you shamelessly wrap the injured muscle around his finger as he retrieves his thumb.

“A brand for my favorite pet.” He murmurs. His lips rake up your jaw, settling against the tender skin under your ear. “You’re mine now.” He says, voice rough.

His hand presses against the small of your back, pushing you close once more. “Want your reward?” His cock springs from the easy access of his garments, the heat of him rubbing against you. You grind down on him as his lips find yours, hungry and eager as he tears off what’s left of your clothes. 

He teases himself between your folds, rimming the tip around your throbbing entrance. You grip his shoulder, breath uneven as he lowers you down his length.

“That’s it, take me like a good girl.” He purrs. An encouraging hand holds your waist, directing your body to move. You melt into him as you moves. 

His breath is hot against your neck as the pace quickens. Your moans echo through the night as your hips collide. Hands finds solace on your ass, kneading the skin as you lose yourself in his ecstasy. He feels so soft, his embrace suffocating yet addictive. You cant help the noises that escape you as the knot in your stomach aches to unravel. A trail of kisses tickle up to your neck while a hand holds your waist, “That’s it baby, leave yourself wide open to me.”

Rafayel stills himself, watching as you ride closer to release, as you unravel against him. A dull pressure breaks through your skin— A blade penetrates your dorsi. You suddenly stiffen, body twitchy from your interrupted orgasm. Your wails rip through the haze thickening the room as he nuzzles his smile into your neck.

“You sound so beautiful, my love.” He pulls you closer to continue his praise. His kisses do nothing to distract from the pain welling around your wound. 

Hand prints stain your skin as he strokes your cheeks, untucking the hair past your ear. “Why aren’t you moving? Have I played too rough?”

You find the strength to fight out of his hold. You knock him in the head as you lift a leg, kicking him away and off the lounge chair. You both fall to the floor, a strained groan escaping from you as you unsheathed the blade from your flesh. A hand ghosts over your figure, desperate to keep you from escaping. The blade twirls in your palm before you turn to face the figure behind you. You pin his hand to the floor with the blade, imitating a move done to you nights before. 

You don’t meet his eye, hurrying to your feet. The siren sits there silently as your blood trails out the nearest exit. He scoffs, tossing the weapon aside. The wound barely bleeding as it closes itself. He lies on the ground, chest still heaving from the fight he started.

“Ah, I wasn’t finished.” He sighs. 

The sand is still warm between your feet as you run through the desert. The city’s light reflects off the dune’s curves, guiding you to its gates. His voice echoes through your ears, his unwavering spell following you through the darkness. You shake your head, heart thumping with adrenaline. You’re far enough from his palace walls but it feels like he hasn’t let go of you. 

You return to the city completely tattered and injured. The people of the night quickly look over you in contempt as you drag your body through the crowded streets. 

──   .⋆｡𖦹 . ঔঌ ˖°

His oceans are strongest the nights he craves you most. Nights you spend fighting against his spell, ignoring his melodies. You see him, hear him, feel him. His whispers and praise tickles your neck. The ghost of his fingertips graze your skin and prickles its surface. His voice taunts you the more you try to ignore.

“Come to me. Return to me.”

Nights have passed and your return to the city has left you restless. The scar he left on your tongue brushes against the roof of your mouth as you stroke the wound healing on your back. You so carelessly allowed him to brand you, leaving his spell to continue to haunt you. 

ه*:･゚ঔঌ ৡ

[cryptotheism]

The city was drowned slow, its ankles tied to the moon as the tide rose to meet it.

Blind and reaching, its tongue cracked and split with thirst, its thousand iron throats burning with salt and pollution, desperate to drink, the head of Teleth Avaris sank deeper beneath the waves. A hundred more hydroelectric dynamos. A thousand. Ten thousand. Breathe in, let the sea flood your lungs. Let it pressed its weight upon the sternum of Teleth Avaris, and beat upon it with a tidal rhythm to spur its thousand hearts. Breathe out, feel the salt burn as it escapes your lungs. The sea staunches the atomic piles, distilling itself on the city's fever heat.

There was an impulse to abandon the low places, to cast the unwanted and unworthy into the dark, to climb higher, to build on their corpses. But not here. The pumps refused to die. As the great sprawl of Teleth Avaris was cast to the sea, the pumps continued. Time would march on. The low places were scoured of their materials, their technology, their working masses. Yet the pumps continued. The city built higher, piling itself above the waves, sealing its orphaned thralls in its cast-off shells. Yet the pumps continued. For all the filth the high places cast into the dark, the pumps continued.

The gates were sealed, the old blocks quarantined. Networks of communication died. Diagnostic panels went dark. The nature and structure of the deep was lost to history. Yet the pumps continued.

Time passed. Records were lost. Official inquiries into city infrastructure returned only ancient blueprints and useless maps. Inquiries became expeditions, surveyor teams sent deep to explore the abandoned cargo shafts. The roots of Teleth Avaris became unmapped places. Theories turned to stories. They said the old machines are still running, whole automated armies of maintenance drones. They say legions of lobotomite husks keep the water-wheels turning. Stories turned to legends. They say the deep is a lost nation, a rouge state that lives of the trash from the city above. They say it is a bunker, a guarded enclave where the old lords are cloistered in paranoia. Legends to myth. They say the deeps are a holy kingdom, a paradise where life is long and beautiful and the old world never died. They say it is a city of ghosts, a hell where sinners turn the dynamos for all eternity. Expeditions became pilgrimages. Yet the pumps continued. There was something in the deep.

Slaves combed through the runoff. Prisoners and lobotomites on stilted prosthetics picked life debts in the processing basins, minds mirrored along cybernetic proxies under careful watch. They worked without rest, their hands whittled into probes for testing the value of bodies and machines. Rigged overseers in military armor scanned for mechanical faults and disobedience as field techs kept watch over minds and circuitry.

Time passed. Peasants worked the processing fields. Children born with tall shins and smooth dense flesh sang as they trawled the processing basins. Plumber-knights patrolled the far marches. They returned with songs of strange beasts and great hunts. Irriation-sages tended to the forest reefs where the bodies necrosed to crops. The abandoned processing basins bloomed with lilies in the summer, roots tangled with old bones and neurocircuitry. The king was dead.

Lay-clerics divined wisdom from the bodies in the water. Salt-spoiled bones and corroded motherboards became syllables of the divine hymn. Discarded knuckles were whittled to dice for children's games. Bloated stomachs were dried and tanned for ballgames. It was winter in the deep and the water was cleaner, cooler from snow-melt on high. The Holy and Sacred Order of Water Treatment wore cloaks woven from synthetic furs and reclaimed silver wire. They did not need to, but it helped fight the chill. The druids built shrines of pseudo-driftwood and terracorals about the diagnostic stations. They would sit in silent meditation beneath the wireless towers, relay-staves thrust into the wires in communion with the diagnostic spirits. It would be a good harvest this year. Long live the queen.

At the root of the pumps were the mourning stacks. Where bodies and machines were piled for processing. Work lines became necropoli, morgues for holy burial. Here augments were cut from flesh, metal sorted by its alloy, organs preserved and reclaimed. At the north lay the tomb of the old king, his body embalmed in resin lest he rise again one day.

Above bloomed the sanctum. In a time now lost to history, it was little more than offices and residences. Old-world bioconcrete melded with terrestrial coral, cut and shaped by secret geometries into a cathedral of municipal irrigation. Verandas of sea-green fan corals, colonnades of deep blue staghorn, great arches of maroon finger coral, all carved over centuries into a living basilica of the pumps. Within, beside an empty throne, sat the queen.

(more)

[blainesebastian]

best behavior

word count: 9,441 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for some smut, suggestive sexual language and expletives) summary: While you're excited to see your brother when he comes to visit, you know that it'll also come with a dinner with your parents. And that's something you're never looking forward to. notes: just wanted an excuse to write some protective and supportive nick 🥰 notes2: gifs from here, masterlist is here!

Smoothing a hand over your face, you sit down on the edge of your bed where Nick is on his stomach reading a book. It’s a lazy Saturday, just spending time with one another, a long day of hanging out at his place in the pool and eating way too much food after the fact. He drove you back here with the windows down and the music a little too loud, his hand stretched across the divide to lace fingers together, resting his palm along your thigh. Your cheeks are warm from wine and a shower with the water too hot, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You’ve been dating Nick for two years and somehow, days like this always make you feel like the very beginning. Butterflies in your stomach, a warm glow behind your ribs. Just utterly in love with him. 

That’s always been the easy part. 

The hard part? Well. You’re still working on it. 

It’s always been a little difficult for you to open up, to share things with Nick. It’s not him, exactly, that’s hard to talk to. It’s just that you’re used to people judging, used to them not understanding, not seeing you. It’s unfortunately been a staple in your life—with family, with friends, with relationships. 

Granted, it only takes one instance with Nick for you to learn that that’d never be the case with him. 

It’s a combination of things, you realize, happening at once. 

You’ve bottled things up your entire life. Your parents aren’t exactly the poster-children for handling or managing their emotions well. They never talk about how they really feel or why it’s important to vent or share before tidal waves swallow them. The sad part is, this isn’t even something that’s passed down to you—this is memorized behavior. Your father is a block of ice, a deaf ear, and your mother has somehow convinced you that oversharing (or rather, sharing in general) isn’t attractive. 

Distantly, you know that’s not healthy and you do your best to unlearn it in relationships that mean something to you—your brother, friendships, boyfriends, but it’s a lot harder than it seems. Especially when you put up resistance and no one pushes, no one gently tries to take down a wall that you’ve carefully crafted around yourself to keep your feelings in. 

No one, until you start dating Nick. 

Which is probably why, when he senses something is off and asks you for the second time in different and supportive words if you’re okay —that bottle that’s been tipping back and forth inside of you for about two days explodes. 

You love your job at the bookstore, it’s one of the things that feels most put-together in your life. Especially for a future that you want working with kids, becoming a teacher—you’re able to spend time reading books and help develop reading programs and activities for the kids that come in. You made the mistake of trying to tell your parents about an event that you put together because you were excited about it. In turn, you get a twenty-minute lecture about how your future job needed to have more ‘substance’. 

A conversation that’s not new, yet is painful all the same. Something that you’ve learned to swallow, smile and nod about and then move on. To brush it under the rug where it belongs because lingering on it will do nothing but hurt. 

And yet you’ve let those feelings build for far too long, and when Nick gently tries to pry you open, because he can tell you’ve been upset for the past few days, a wave of emotions come crashing down—hard. 

Your face crumples and you try to hide the reaction with your hands but you’re not quick enough, a sob bursting out of your mouth before the onslaught of tears comes. Embarrassment stings in your chest so sharply that you attempt to turn away from him, 

“Hey,” Nick gently reaches for your elbow, tugging you closer. “Oh, hey. C’mere.” He whispers, wrapping his arms around you. He holds you tightly, absorbing every shuddered cry that rocks your body.

He has to think this is so pathetic, the fact that you’re crying over something that happened two days ago, that you don’t have to listen to what you’re parents are telling you about what to eventually do with your life, like it’s somehow written in stone—that this is the first time in a long time it feels like someone actually cares enough to hear what’s wrong. 

But of course, Nick doesn't make you feel like that at all. 

He doesn’t try to ask you what’s happened, just keeps you against his chest for the worst of it, his one hand mapping circles up and down your back while the other threads his fingers through your hair. He presses so many kisses against your forehead and temple that you begin to lose track. 

Eventually, when you pull back to look at him, Nick cups your cheek. He brushes his thumb along the bone underneath your one eye and offers you the softest of smiles that somehow lightens the heaviness in your chest. 

Which is why when your breathing evens out and the tears stop, you tell him everything. 

Still. It’s not always easy. You’ve gotten a lot better at it, but the moment something happens that you want to tell him, something that’s important…you feel yourself clam up, snap shut, bury it. 

Which is how you’ve been sitting on this particular nugget of information about your family for the past week. Something reaches deep into your chest and clutches, creating a heartbeat in your ears. 

Nick bumps your leg with his elbow, snapping your attention to him. The brush that was sitting on your thigh almost tumbles onto the floor. You manage to catch it, a soft hum of amusement from your boyfriend. 

“Fast hands.” 

You smile a little, a small sound rumbling in your chest. “You would know.” 

Nick sets his book down, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your knee. “I would.” 

He shifts on the bed until he’s seated behind you. There’s a silent conversation as he kisses the back of your shoulder, his arm slipping around your waist. You’re not wearing much, just underwear and one of his t-shirts, but the touches here and there are not inherently sexual. It’s more of a deep-seated intimacy, something that fills you up so entirely that you’re not sure how you didn’t have it before. 

His one hand rubs at your waist while the other reaches for the brush on your lap. You close your eyes when his fingers begin to thread through your damp hair, guiding the brush to follow afterwards. The touches are deft and measured, getting tangles out. But it’s not just about combing out the strands, there are gentle questions he’s not asking, because he knows you. Can sense the tense lines in your shoulders, can feel the way words are tucked underneath your tongue. 

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” He asks softly, his breath fluttering along the back of your neck. 

Despite the soft sigh that leaves your chest, a twinge of a smile tugs the corners of your mouth. Because he understands what you need. It’s almost frustrating how well he’s able to see right through you. Almost. You appreciate that no matter how tightly wound you might appear, he’s always there, gently encouraging you to open up. 

There’s a tender, knee-jerk reaction to keep him out, to hide, but his hands brushing your hair unwind some of your hesitation. “My brother and his fiancée, Gina, are coming to visit from New York on Tuesday.” 

Nick doesn’t pause in his ministrations but you can tell he’s listening to you, calm and even breaths that sweep against your back every so often, encouraging you to keep talking. You glance down at your hands, wringing your fingers on your lap. 

“I haven’t seen him in a few years, not since we moved here, so,” You swallow over an emotion in your throat.  Truth is, you get along amazingly with your brother. He’s one of your favorite people in the world. Much like Nick and his relationship with Maddie, you and your brother, Alec, have been inseparable since you were kids. Despite the fact that he’s five years older than you, you’ve grown up playing together, looking out for one another, and getting into trouble for shared shenanigans. That closeness has never been diminished, not even from living further away, even though you miss being able to just show up at his place without an invitation to hang out or check in. 

You can’t wait to see him, even though sometimes his presence comes as a double-edged sword. Your parents have done their best work at trying to drive an invisible wedge between the two of you where it doesn’t belong. For whatever reason, he’s always been the golden child all throughout growing up. If anyone were to meet Alec though, you’d never know that he was constantly put in the center of attention, he’s never let that praise go to his head. He’s down to earth, kind, funny, and dedicated—everything that he has, he’s worked his ass off for. And yet, for reasons that feel like a briar patch in your lungs, your parents practically worship the ground he walks on. Like everything he touches literally turns to gold. 

You’re not saying that there’s no justification to praise Alec for any of his accomplishments, especially lately. He’s working as one of the youngest positions in a supply-chain company and gets paid really well for it. He’s also been putting funds together to fix up an old brownstone to eventually move in with his soon-to-be wife. Gina is practically a Disney princess; she's so sweet, not to mention successful in her own right. They’re just a really good couple. Textbook, almost.

You couldn’t be happier for Alec, he deserves it. 

And yet…it always seems like some sort of competition between the two of you in your parent’s eyes. Even though it’s never been like that privately for you and him. Neither you nor Alec take much stock in that commentary, it’s just something to smile and roll your eyes over. You’ve learned a long time ago that your parent’s approval is not the be-all-end-all to how you feel about yourself. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. Though it doesn’t make it any less painful when it’s pointed out. 

You don’t even realize you haven’t finished your thought process until Nick speaks up, starting on the other side of your shoulder. He runs the brush through the locks there, over and over, and it settles your heartbeat in your throat better than anything else. 

“I’m sure you’re looking forward to seeing him.” 

You nod, leaning back a little until your shoulders bump against his chest. Nick stops brushing your hair, his arms wrapping around you from behind. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, tipping his chin down to press a kiss to your jawline. 

“Yeah, I just wish my parents weren’t ruining it by having some sort of overzealous dinner.” 

That’s totally bogus, anyways? You know them. They just want to show off and pretend to be something they’re not in front of Gina because she comes from money. Despite Gina being one of the most grounded people you’ve ever met, it’s like your parents think they need to impress her, that she’ll report back how everything was to her own parents. 

You roll your eyes, your head tipping until it rests on Nick’s collarbone. He doesn’t comment but instead, gently squeezes you. He’s only met your parents a handful of times but it doesn’t take a genius to put two-and-two together to figure out that Nick doesn’t like them. Or rather, he doesn’t respect them and it’s directly related to how they’ve made you feel. How they continue to make you feel. 

Regardless of that, Nick has always been a perfect gentleman around them. He’s never said anything outright to your mom or dad, has never caused waves, has always been polite and respectful. A mask that fits in with a few others you’ve seen sliding over the features of his face, indistinguishable if you don’t know him well. You understand that mask perfectly well, after all, you tend to wear your own when handling your parents’ disappointments. You’ve already told him that it wouldn’t be worth it to get into it with them, anyways. You’ve been dealing with their sour mood swings all your life, you can take it. 

Nick lets out a long breath out of his nose, “You said it was on Tuesday?” 

Chewing on your lower lip, you nod, “Yeah, I was hoping you could…” Then the upcoming week slams into view as your eyes snap to the calendar hanging above your desk. Fuck, “Shit, I didn’t realize it was the same night you had that fight scheduled.” 

You can feel Nick shake his head but you keep talking, so annoyed with yourself that you didn’t put it together when it came to those dates. As much as you hate watching Nick fight in the ring, you’d much rather be there than at a dinner table with your parents. 

“Lion’s been trying to organize that for forever and I can’t—” 

Nick squeezes you again, “Hey,” He whispers in your ear, waiting until you turn a little in his arms to face him, “I’ll be there.” He holds your gaze, nuzzling your nose with his own until a ghost of a smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. “Okay?” 

Admittedly, there’s a bubble of relief that bursts in your chest when you know you won’t be going to that dinner alone. You’re definitely excited to see your brother, you don’t want your parents to ruin it or take that away from you. But it’ll make you feel better to have someone in your corner. 

You nod, wanting to thank him but you know you don’t need to. He wouldn’t let you anyways, that’s not what he’s after. He just wants to be there for you, as he has been since you’ve met him. And you can’t help but love him a little more for that. 

Planting a kiss to his cheek, you turn as he shifts so that you’re both leaning against the headboard of your bed. He’s propped up against a pile of pillows while you get comfortable against his chest. 

“Can’t promise the food will be good either.” You mumble. 

A soft laugh rumbles in Nick’s chest that you feel more than hear, “We’ll go to the diner after—french fries and milkshakes.” 

“Something to look forward to.” You agree with a grin and finally feel your body slowly begin to relax against him, one muscle at a time. 

—

Smoothing your hands over your plaid dress for what has to be the fiftith time, you chastise yourself for wearing something so fucking uncomfortable. This is a typical occurrence for you, unfortunately. Despite settling into the fact that no matter what choices you make your parents will probably never be happy with the things you do, wear, or say…there’s still that niggling inside of you to try and appease them. 

Hence this stupid dress. 

It’s something your mother bought you three Christmases ago and it’s not your style in the slightest. Maybe if it didn’t have puffy sleeves, or if it was more low-cut than the stifling high neck…maybe if it didn’t feel like it was suffocating you. You got ready at Nick’s house, kind of hiding out there until this dinner reared its ugly head. You should have brought options instead of just…this.

“We can turn around,” Nick says, not looking at you as he drives, but his one hand leaves the steering wheel to squeeze yours that’s on your thigh. “Or stop at a store, buy you another dress.” 

A laugh rumbles up out of your throat, “Right, because I have money to burn for that.” 

Nick’s lips twitch, like you don’t already know that he’d buy you whatever you needed, whatever you asked for. “Can forgo the dress altogether then.” He shifts at a red light, turning his head to look in your direction. 

“Oh yeah, that’ll really be something to talk about at the dinner table.” 

He shrugs his one shoulder, his eyes giving you a heated onceover despite this stupid dress choking the life out of you. “I know what you’re wearing under there, I’ve got zero complaints.” 

A small snort leaves your nose, your cheeks flushing as you playfully poke his side with the hand he’s holding. You appreciate his offer, even moreso at his attempt to distract you as you head to your parent’s place. You wish this dinner was somewhere public, as if the bustle of a busy restaurant might help detract from whatever conversations are going to spin between your family. 

He eventually pulls into the long driveway that leads up to your parent’s house. You don’t come from near as much money that Nick does, or apparently what Alec is marrying into, but you’ve always been comfortable. You’ve never wanted for anything a day in your life and you know most have it far worse off. You also know that the profession you’re interested in is severely underpaid when it comes to teachers. Which is probably another reason why your parents are against you becoming one, they’ve always been the type of people to crave things they don’t need, including acceptance and notoriety. The only thing they asked about when you told them you were dating Nick is what his parents do (and then once more when they realized Nick was directly responsible for a successful ride-share app). 

When he parks, you squeeze Nick’s hand after he pockets the car keys. He looks over at you, raising his eyebrows when nothing comes out of your mouth. Your jaw ticks, gaze wandering towards the front door. You don’t want to say anything, exactly? But…

His eyes soften as he follows your gaze, lifting your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles, “I’ll be on my best behavior,” He teases, “Promise.” 

You let out a long sigh, but there’s the softest of smiles pulling the corners of your mouth, “I owe you one.” 

He shakes his head, opening up the car door, “You really don’t.” 

You follow him out of the car, a small grimace crinkling your nose because…you’re not sure about that. The night still has yet to happen and you already know there’s a ton of better things you and him could be doing that’s not this. 

His hand reaches for yours again while approaching the front door, fingers lacing absentmindedly. You tug him a little closer, “I don’t know, I can easily think of a few ways I could make this up to you.” 

Nick smiles and rings the doorbell, turning his head to kiss the bridge of your nose. “I’ll take you up on that if we survive.” He winks, nipping at your lower lip before offering a small kiss that melts some of the remaining nerves. When the door opens, you look over as your mother lingers in the doorway. 

Carole gives a small smile, her eyes instantly grazing over your dress before humming, “Don’t you look beautiful?” Then, “Though maybe another size up would have been more comfortable.” 

You let out a breath, tipping your head towards Nick to change the subject, “You remember my boyfriend, right mom? Nick?” 

Your mother’s gaze snaps to him standing beside you and even though she’s smiling, you can tell that you’ve thrown her a bit off kilter with him being here. You didn’t let her know you were bringing him in case your parents attempted to feed you bullshit about not being allowed to have a guest at a so-called ‘family dinner’. 

She clears her throat, nodding, stepping aside to let you both in, “I do. How are you Nick?” 

Nick slides his leather jacket off, handing it over to your mother to hang up as she opens a side closet door. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans that probably could pass as black and an expensive short-sleeved, collared, cream colored sweater. His accent jewelry is the same, a tiny bit of gel in his hair to tame the wild curls near his forehead. Your stomach does a flip as a waft of his cologne, combined with something that’s purely him, brushes your nose. 

“I’m good Mrs. Y/L/N, thank you.” 

She hums, not asking any additional questions and certainly not offering for him to call her ‘Carole’. Which is just fine for Nick; the moment your mother stops speaking, his attention returns to you, his hand reaching out for yours. 

Though before he can manage that, you hear your brother come down the hallway with a boisterous, “I thought I heard Y/N.” He grins when he reaches you, picking you up in a spinning hug that easily makes you laugh. When he sets you down, he grimaces at the dress, “Really?” 

“Shut up.” You laugh, swatting his chest, but god—it’s really good to see him. 

Alec is dressed in a pair of light colored jeans and a dark blue button down rolled up at the sleeves. It’s almost unfair how casual he can dress and probably nothing was said about it. But your usual style is met with commentary and not so subtle looks as if you’re wearing a dead fish and not long silky dresses paired with spiky heeled boots. 

Your brother squeezes your arms, bringing you back from your thoughts. He’s taller than you but he’s got similar features that leave no doubts to you two being related—same hair color, eye color, and a dimple in his one cheek when he really smiles. He glances over at Nick, raising his eyebrows.

“You must be the boyfriend that I’ve heard so much about,” He offers his hand and Nick takes a step forward to shake it. 

“Hopefully good things.” Nick offers back. 

You smile, your hand finding his when he’s done greeting Alec, “Only good things.” 

“And the occasional rant,” Alec teases, winking in your direction before motioning down the hallway. “C’mon, Gina is excited to see you too.” 

Your mother clasps her hands together, humming, “Dinner should be ready in a few minutes here.” 

Drawing in a breath, you glance over at Nick and press a kiss to his cheek as you follow everyone towards the kitchen. Gina is there in an apron, helping your mother put the finishing touches on anything that still needs to be done. She’s got her long, blonde hair tied up in a loose ponytail, a pretty pink lipstick bringing out the shades of blue in her eyes—she’s the type of easy beauty you wish you could pull off. When she looks up and notices you, she gives a bright smile as you all come in. 

Introductions are gone through again and Gina gives you a firm hug before offering a piece of cucumber that she’s cut for the salad that’s in a bowl in front of her. You take it with a hum, popping it into your mouth. You don’t see your dad anywhere, but knowing him, he’s probably in front of a football game in the living room as he waits for everything to get set up. Or maybe even trying to figure out what bottle of wine to put on the table to go with the food at dinner. 

“We’re going to need another plate setting.” Carole comments and even though her tone is light, you know her well enough to detect a slight edge. “Not sure if there’s going to be enough food…” 

“There will be more than enough,” Alec comments, pouring himself some more water. He cuts off the fabricated hysteria before it can start and you give him a small, grateful smile. 

Leaning your elbows against the counter, Nick stands beside you, his hand resting on your lower back, “Want some help?” You ask Gina, she’s been cutting cucumbers but there’s still other things to do. You feel like doing something with your hands will only help with the nervous energy.

“Sure,” She grins and shares the cutting board with you, grabbing a knife so you can begin slicing cherry tomatoes in half. “Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it?” She asks and you nod—within the next month. “Did you decide what you wanted to do? Alec said you were thinking about Italy?” 

You scoff out a laugh, “I wasn’t being serious. I just said it’d be cool to go one day because I’ve never been.” 

Gina lets out a romantic sigh, glancing at your brother, “I’ve been trying to convince him to do our honeymoon there. So I understand the pull.” 

You grin, “Let me guess, he’s happy with going to Disney World.” 

“Hey,” Alec huffs, playfully smacking your leg with a dish towel, “It’s the happiest place on earth.” 

Another laugh leaves your lips and Nick brushes a kiss at your temple; you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I’m not debating that. Cinderella’s castle is super romantic.” 

Gina rolls her eyes but it’s that kind of love, you recognize, in which she’d do anything for Alec. Even a honeymoon in Disney. But knowing your brother, he already has something up his sleeves that involves Italy, just like his fiancée wants. It’s one of the reasons you were talking about it on the phone, not just your whims for a birthday trip. Though it’d definitely be nice. 

“I’ve been taking Italian lessons just in case,” Gina then shares, gathering up a small stack of cut cucumbers into her hands and plopping them into the salad bowl. “Waking up in Florence, can you imagine?” 

“I told Y/N that’s where we could go,” Nick shares, raising his eyebrows with a soft smile. 

And he has. He’s offered you that getaway option for your birthday. You, him, Lion and Jenna escaping to Italian cities, as many as you could fit in distance-wise the week of you turning a year older. But…you can’t possibly shirk responsibilities for that, right? You’ve got a day job and college classes coming up to fill for your teaching degree. Not to mention you’re kinda strapped for cash unlike the three of them are. Nick has never suggested for a moment that you’d need to pay for anything but…you’re not sure if you’re comfortable with that. 

Regardless of how romantic it is. 

“And I told Nick that it’s way too much.” 

He smirks a little, which is mostly just air leaving his nose. He squeezes your side almost in a purposely ticklish place so your body arches closer to his own, “And I told you that your birthday is worth it.” You know what he’s saying, that you’re worth it. You can’t help but smile, shaking your head as you lean over and plant a quick and soft kiss to his lips. 

Gina hums, her eyes darting between the two of you, “Alec, I hope you’re writing down notes on romance.” 

Alec grunts but he’s smiling, mostly at Gina, “Actually I’m ignoring everything that has to do with my sister at the moment.” He does motion towards the other end of the kitchen though, where it leads into a study, “You any good at pool, Nick?” 

Nick nods, “I can hold my own.” 

You playfully bump your hip against his, encouraging him to follow your brother in that direction. Dinner is almost done anyways, so it’s not like there’s much to do in the kitchen as you and Gina finish this salad. You’ve been wondering why your mother has been so silent but it’s then you realize she’s left the kitchen at some point, probably to go find your father. Relief splinters throughout your body that she didn’t hear about your birthday aspirations. Though you know that just means that dinner will probably have even worse commentary than if she would have been in here to give her criticisms on all the Italy talk. 

Nick pulls away slightly, his gaze finding yours and holding it for a moment. He’s making sure you’ll be alright if he leaves and while you appreciate the sentiment, you like the idea of him getting to know your brother, having some time with him. When you nod, he leans forward and brushes a kiss over your forehead before following Alec out of the room. 

Letting out a long breath, you look up at Gina, who’s wearing a warm expression. “What?” You laugh. 

“Nothing,” She shrugs, “He’s really sweet. Nick.”

You hum knowingly, grabbing another tomato to cut in half, “He is.” And a hundred other things running through your thoughts, “Still not sure what he’s doing with me,” You joke, “I dunno how I got so lucky.” 

Gina just smiles, her gaze wandering towards where Alec and Nick went. “I know exactly what you mean.” 

—

After helping Gina with the salad, you wander past the study in search of your father to let him know it’s time to eat. A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth as you hear the soft echo of Nick and Alec ribbing one another over the pool table, not keeping score but having a good time anyways. It touches something deep in your chest that they’re getting along, both of them important to you in different ways. Especially with how difficult family can be. 

Speaking of, you round the corner and pause at the small wine cellar that’s attached to your father’s office, watching him examine a bottle in his hands. 

“Dinner’s ready, dad.” 

He looks up, adjusting his glasses, “Oh, Y/N.” There’s a once-over on your dress, a prickle between his eyebrows because he recognizes it, then, “I’m just preparing you, your mother wants to talk about a few things at dinner.” 

You sigh softly—that can only be about one thing. 

“Even though the ‘prince that was promised’ is here?” You mumble under your breath and then wince about that because…your anger, your jealousy, is not with your brother. Not really. Rubbing the back of your neck, you straighten your shoulders. 

“Shouldn’t we focus on Alec? There’s plenty to ask him about his business and the wedding.” There’s no need to talk about me, whispers against the back of your mind, almost out of your mouth. 

Your father gives you a tired look, like this song and dance isn’t new, so why are you putting up a fuss? “You know your mother. This wouldn’t be so painful if you considered what she’s trying to tell you. We only have your best interests in mind.” 

Except it doesn’t feel like that at all. Instead, it feels like the fifth time in the variation of this conversation, of not being heard, of being disregarded. You think that hurts the most—what you want isn’t considered. It’s merely pushed aside as something irrelevant.

“Dad…” 

“Y/N.” He replies, tone final, taking his glasses off. He looks at you calculatingly, like one would a bottle of wine. 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, the bridge of your nose stinging as you shake your head, dismissing the words stuck in your throat. What would be the point? The acquisition might be led by your mother, but your father is just as complicit—a silent bystander, never adding to the conversation but never being helpful, either. Never on your side. 

You turn to head upstairs, slipping inside the bathroom to compose yourself. You don’t dare look at yourself in the mirror, afraid of what you’d see there. That stupid fucking dress feeling like it’s getting tighter around your throat by the minute. You stare at the porcelain sink, your eyes filling with tears. Blinking rapidly to clear them, you sniffle, wiping one away that skitters down your cheek. 

Taking a few moments to breathe and run your fingers under your eyes, you eventually open the door, turning to go down the hall towards the dining room—

And see Nick waiting for you right outside the bathroom. He’s leaning against the wall, his gaze drinking you in the moment you’re in his frame of view. 

He takes one look at your face before, “We can leave if you want.”

A wet scoff leaves your lips, “I wish that’s what I wanted.”

But he reads the unspoken words beneath the ones you’ve said. You wish your parents supported you, respected you, that they’d just make things easy. Like they do with Alec. 

There’s a question in his eyes as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb over the bone where the rest of your tears haven’t fallen yet. You bite down on the side of your tongue so that they don’t. It’s not worth it. You know that. 

And then, like you’ve been trying to do more of, you share how you feel with someone who’s always been in your corner. “My dad basically just said to grin and bear it through dinner.”

Nick’s face clouds over in a telltale sign that he is not pleased with what’s been said to you—that you basically just have to endure whatever hurtful words are spat over the tablecloth and fancy dishes. 

Sighing softly, you shake your head. “Don’t.” You whisper. “It’s one dinner.” 

“It’s not.” His voice is quiet but sharp, a knife wrapped in velvet. “That’s another reason why I’m pissed off.” 

Meaning they’re like this to you all the time, any time they feel like they can get away with it. And that’s why it’s even more fucked up—your parents aren’t doing this to be malicious. They just…don’t consider your feelings, don’t seriously take how you want your future to go. There’s a lack of respect that you can’t understand. But you’ve lived with it your whole life, you’ve tried to fight those battles, you’ve stood up for yourself the best that you can. What else is there? Totally cutting yourself off from your parents? You’re not sure if you’re ready for something like that…if you could do it. 

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. “Best behavior,” You tease lightly, trying to steer him away from looking so murderous. “Remember?” 

He lets out a slow breath out of his nose, a halfhearted eyeroll. His jaw clenches but eventually he nods, tone gentle and at odds with how upset he is. Angry on the behalf of you. And it means more to you than you think you can voice without crying. 

“Come here,” Nick encourages you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. He squeezes you tightly, as if he can convey without words how much you mean to him. You read him loud and clear, allowing your eyes to close so you can focus on stopping your lower lip from wobbling. 

Your arms snake around his waist, one of your hands holding onto his sweater like a lifeline, until your pulse slows. And when you eventually have to pull apart, he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and holds onto your hand to lead you into the dining room where your family is waiting. 

—

Dinner starts off as it usually does—easy. The conversation is light as dishes are passed around and drinks are poured. Your mother has made your brother’s favorite meal, which is lasagna. Even though you’ve never been a fan of fennel, you pile a large piece onto your plate and eat your fill of it. You’re mostly just here for the warm bread and butter and your dad’s apple pie dessert. After finishing one piece of bread, the basket suddenly appears by your plate again and when you turn to glance at Nick beside you, he offers a playful wink. 

You can’t help but smile, grabbing another piece and lathering it up in butter before having a bite. Nick’s mellowed out a little as everyone started eating, but you think it’s for your benefit more than anything else, to help you feel relaxed. You’re not going to lie and say it hasn’t helped. 

Pushing thoughts of the words exchanged with your father aside, you pay attention to your brother as he fills your parents in on how his job is going. He just got a raise last year, so he’s headed in the right direction with his company. You’re perfectly happy with the conversation bypassing you, flitting through the air back and forth between Alec explaining aspects of his job or life in New York and your parents offering encouraging sounds and hopeful words. 

Except you know better, because it never stays like that. 

“That’s what we’ve been trying to discuss with Y/N.” You tilt your head up at your name being said, eyes landing on your mother. So it begins. “A job needs to have a clear ladder of success.” 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek—by ‘success’, you know she means ‘money’. 

Alec lets out a breath, but he’s smiling as he purposely twists what she’s saying by using the job you have now instead of the one your mother is talking about, “Oh c’mon mom, Y/N climbs ladders every day at the bookstore.” 

A soft giggle rumbles in Gina’s chest, her hand slipping over Alec’s in solidarity and you can’t help but smile at your brother too. Your parents don’t approve of the direction your life is going in, but what else is new? You’re pretty sure you could pick anything under the sun to pursue and they’d have some sort of issue with it. 

It just so happens you want to be a teacher, maybe elementary, maybe middle…you haven’t decided yet. But that’s the whole point of college, to figure it out. At the very least, you know you want to teach art, so you’re navigating what classes line up with the education ones you need. But you’re really serious about it…and everyone that matters has been supportive. After talking with your father, you’re reminded that even if you followed what your parents wanted to a T— went to the college they picked, pursued the job they selected, eventually married whoever they deemed worthy, they still wouldn’t be satisfied. 

You take a very small amount of comfort in that. 

Nick clears his throat, turning to look towards your father, “My dad mentioned the company that you work at the other day, Mr. Y/L/N. Something about a joint project coming up?” 

Your father’s eyes light up a bit at the attention and you could practically kiss Nick over his plate of lasagna for the shift in discussion. Even though he’s listening to your father’s reply, his hand moves under the table to rest on your knee, giving it a comforting squeeze. You lean a little into the touch, allowing it to distract you as you put another small portion of food on your plate. You’re getting full but even so, you’re hoping Nick meant what he said about a diner stop after this. You feel like a cleanse of crispy fries and thick milkshakes is just what you need. 

When everyone eats what they want, the table lingers and talks before dessert and coffee. You’re almost hopeful at getting through this dinner with your parents unscathed but…it’s wishful thinking as the conversation pendulum swings back in your direction when Alec asks, 

“So you ready for college?” He has another sip of wine after Gina fills his glass, “You know, I was thinking about that arts and crafts program you do at the bookstore—it'll probably look great on a resume for your teaching job.” 

Warmth spreads throughout your chest at being seen. Alec’s always encouraged your journey in figuring out what you want to do with teaching and the fact that he brings it up means more to you than you can express with words. But that same warmth is quickly snuffed out when your mother interjects, 

“I’m still unsure how that is part of your responsibility at the bookstore,” She shakes her head, “It’s like taking care of someone else’s children at a daycare.” 

You straighten your shoulders, letting her words roll off. You give yourself a moment before you reply, not wanting to say something you’ll regret, and have another forkful of lasagna. It’s beginning to taste like ash on your tongue.

“It’s something I asked my boss if we could do,” You shrug, “There’s a lot of kids who come in after school and places like libraries have those sorts of things all the time. I just figured it might be a good idea.” 

Not to mention, a lot of the kids stick around and then pick out books to read—and really, isn’t that the whole point? To get them excited about reading? 

“It is,” Nick reassures about it being a good idea, his hand squeezing your knee again. Your own slips under the table and brushes your fingers over his, playing with a ring that’s on one of his fingers. 

There’s a blinking red light in the back of your mind that tells you to stop while you’re behind, but your mother’s tone digs right under your skin. That she can’t find anything worthwhile about the time you’re spending building experience with what you want to do with your future, that you obviously love art and working with kids. That teaching is something you want to do. 

You draw in a calming breath, trying to straighten your spine and not feel like a deflated balloon. “Besides, teaching will be a lot more than that?” You tell her, “Looking after someone’s kids, I mean. It’s—”

She gives you a look that is almost amusement but it’s obviously at your expense, like you’re the one misunderstanding here, and it cuts you off at the knees— “I’m just trying to get you to understand that you can find a job that not anyone can do.” She has a slow sip of her wine, cutting into another piece of lasagna. “You can pull a random person off the street to become a teacher.” 

Her words hit like a slap to the face, your cheeks heating with embarrassment even though you know what she’s saying isn’t true. But the fact that she’s equated teaching with being an ‘easy’ profession that anyone can do…it just goes to show that she knows nothing about what being a teacher is. It’s so much deeper than people give it credit for, it’s so much more than just building and carrying out curriculum. 

Nick bristles beside you, his hand shifting to grip yours when it begins to tremble. Fuck, you should have known better than to try and have this conversation right now, so openly at the dinner table. It’s not worth it—your mom is someone who will never see eye-to-eye about this. You knew this was coming and yet you still pushed forward, tried. You feel like a fool even though you know that’s the furthest thing from being true. 

You clear your throat, trying to remove the lump that’s found a home there, not daring to look across the table at your brother or Gina because you don’t want to do something stupid like cry. 

“Well, I guess we can agree to disagree.” You reply, voice as even as you can make it. You just want the subject to shift into something else. Nick’s thumb brushes over your knuckles and when your mother makes a soft noise of contempt, you chance a glance at your boyfriend. 

“We’re not going to ‘disagree’ about something as important as your future.” 

Nick’s body is still but there’s an undercurrent of ice settling in the usual warmth of his brown eyes, a muscle flexing in his jaw like he’s grinding his molars so he doesn’t say something. He lets out a slow breath from his nose, picking up his water to have a sip—

“You’ll end up a glorified babysitter, it’s not a job to be taken seriously.” 

And then his restraint snaps. “That’s enough.” 

The phrase is sharp and commanding, settling in the room like a nuclear bomb. The aftermath is utter silence in which you almost need to hold your breath, like you might have imagined Nick speaking up. But you didn’t, because your mother’s face almost turns red at being scolded. 

“I beg your pardon?” She’s practically choking silverware in her hands. 

You’re holding onto Nick’s hand so tightly that you’ve got to be hurting him, but all he does is brush a soothing thumb along your knuckles again. You want to say something, to cut this conversation in half, to somehow…move on? But you know by the stance of Nick’s body that he’s not backing down from metaphorically stepping in-between you and your mother. He might not be in the ring but it doesn’t change that he’s geared up for a fight. 

“With all due respect, you heard what I said.” To his credit, Nick’s tone doesn’t change. His voice doesn’t elevate, his anger is cold. Which somehow makes it worse. “You’re belittling her into making her feel like she’s less than she is because, what? She wants to be a teacher?” He lets a slow breath from his nose. “I can think of worse things. Like monotonously clicking open a spreadsheet or endless conference calls with China over what supplies they need to order. There are other ways a job can pay that has nothing to do with money.”  

He glances towards your brother. “No offense.” 

Alec’s lips twitch into an almost smile, shaking his head, “None taken—it’s definitely not for everyone. And neither is teaching, that takes someone special.” Which goes directly against what your mother has said about how ‘anyone’ can jump into that job. 

Your father at least has the decency to look a tiny bit ashamed, but he doesn’t intervene. He never does. At this point in your life, you don’t expect him to. He never wants to deal with the backlash so he just lets her be like this. Because it’s easier. 

Your mother just lets out an offended gasp, her hand resting near her collarbone like she’s trying to control her reaction. Her animosity, however, is not directed towards your brother at all—her lazer focus is on Nick. 

“Your father will be severely disappointed when he hears how rude you’re being after you were invited into our home—to a dinner you weren’t supposed to be at, mind you.” 

You get the implication immediately. You never told her Nick was coming, that your mother considers this a family only dinner. 

But Nick is your person. 

When he feels you tense up beside him, ready to defend him, he shifts his hand so that he’s squeezing your wrist, stopping you from saying anything. Your mother’s comment lands flat, Nick’s not threatened or flustered in the slightest as he calmly puts the napkin that was on his lap onto the table in front of him. 

“The only thing my father is going to be disappointed in is the fact that I didn’t open my mouth sooner.” 

Your mother actually sputters but Nick doesn’t respond with anything else, the implication is clear: she can say whatever she wants about him, but he’s not going to sit here any longer and listen to her disrespect you. 

Whatever Carole is about to say, it’s silenced by your father putting his hand on her arm. She straightens her back, hard lines on her face as her eyes alight with flames, “I think it’s time you showed yourself out.” 

Nick is standing before she even finishes her sentence and you begin to follow him, tossing your napkin on the counter. You’re certainly not staying here without him. Alec clears his throat, 

“I think you owe her an apology, mom.” 

“Don’t,” You manage softly, finding your voice, “It’s alright Alec.” 

It’s not, but you appreciate him. His jaw ticks, like he wants to argue, but eventually nods softly before looking over at Nick. 

“Really nice to meet you.” And you can read right through that too, he likes Nick, approves of what’s just happened with the attempt to put your mom into her place. 

It probably won’t help in the long-run, but you can’t help but feel a flicker of warmth behind your ribcage at being so thoroughly stood up for. It means everything to have him in your corner.

Nick gives him a small smile before nodding his head at Gina too, “Yeah, likewise.” 

He puts his hand on your lower back, guiding you out of the dining room and down the hall to where his coat is hanging up. You can hear the hushed voices of Alec arguing with your mother but you don’t try to listen to what they’re saying, you’re just happy to be leaving. Your boyfriend tugs his leather jacket from the closet and you follow him outside towards his McLaren. 

He pauses in front of the car, turning to drape his jacket over your shoulders. He gently pulls the fabric closed over your chest, using it as momentum to tug you closer. You let out a soft sigh, not even realizing that you’re still shaking a little bit until you slide your arms through the sleeves. 

Tilting your chin up to look at him, you whisper a small, “Thank you.” 

Nick shakes his head, “You alright?” 

You manage a small smile because…no. Not really. Despite having Nick stand up for you and how good that felt, it unfortunately doesn’t change the fact that he needed to do it in the first place. It’s heartbreaking and discouraging that your mother is so against something that obviously makes you happy? Your father seems indifferent, but that silence does nothing but fuel your mother’s fire. 

Nick’s gaze softens, his hands cupping both of your cheeks before he leans down and kisses the corner of your mouth. You swallow over that lump returning to your throat, closing your eyes before tears can form, the bridge of your nose stinging. He shifts to wrap his arms around you, drawing you against his chest, his one hand clasping the back of your neck while the other rubs up and down your spine. 

He holds you for a few minutes, your face tucked into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his laundry detergent and something purely him. 

“C’mon,” He says softly, “Let’s get you home,” His house, which honestly feels more like home than where you just left. “Cut that dress off you.” 

You sniffle out a laugh as you pull back, nodding as he opens the passenger door for you. That awful feeling that lingers from dinner automatically begins to dissipate the moment Nick’s hand finds yours as you back up out of the driveway. 

—

Nick holds that promise, he uses scissors to cut you right out of that dress despite the zipper working perfectly fine. A series of occasional giggles leave your lips, your hands covering your mouth, but you think that’s his intention. He presses random kisses along your body—your arm, your waist, your hip, your thigh…and then lifts you up onto his bathroom counter. He slips down between your legs, your dress falling in a flourish to the floor, forgotten about. He kisses the center of you, the seam of your lips through your underwear. 

Your breathing shudders, your hand running through his curls, keeping him as close as possible. 

He tugs your underwear aside, sliding his tongue along your slit and the moan that leaves your mouth echoes against the tiles of the bathroom. He definitely smirks against you, your legs widening as much as you can without losing the ability to ground yourself. Your eyes flutter closed when he begins to circle your clit and it takes such a short amount of time for Nick to have heat spinning through your veins. It begins to gather in pulsing waves in your lower belly, building and building—

Then his tongue slips inside you and fuck. The way he’s able to use his mouth should really be studied for science. 

“Nick,” A breathless noise leaves you, warning him you’re about to cum. 

He hums, bringing his attention back to your swollen clit, and within moments you shatter. You completely fall apart against him. He holds you steady, drawing out your orgasm until you begin to close your legs from sharp sensitivity. Your hips jerk with a soft whimper and Nick shifts as you lean back until your spine rests against the mirror. 

He smiles up at you, lips wet from your arousal, curls mussed from your fingers running through them. His elbows rest on either side of your legs until you cup his cheek, encouraging him closer by playfully pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. Leaning down to kiss him, a soft moan leaves your throat, your other hand attempting to slide down between your bodies. 

But Nick leans away, shaking his head a little, his fingers squeezing your wrist. Your eyebrows draw together, voice slightly breathless when you talk, “But you didn’t…” 

“I know,” He whispers, running his thumb along your pulse point, “That was just for you.” 

That warm, fuzzy feeling behind your chest blooms outward and you can’t help but smile as your lips brush his, drawing him into another kiss. It’s something lazy and languid that takes time until he pulls you into his arms, carrying you to bed. 

—

Once you’ve both changed into comfortable clothes, which consists of a t-shirt and a new pair of underwear for you, Nick in his boxer briefs and an open zip-up hoodie, you lean against a pile of pillows along the headboard. The fries that you picked up at the diner are a little worse for wear since it took you so long to get to them, but neither of you seem to be bothered by it. Picking up your milkshake from the nightstand, you have a long sip, humming at the pleasant taste of chocolate smoothing over your tastebuds. 

Your phone buzzes with a few texts from your brother, 

Alec: sorry about mom, should have said something sooner Alec: Nick’s a really good guy, I like him…even though his confidence in pool is questionable Alec: hang out tomorrow? Just you and me? 

You smile at the messages, hearting the one about Nick and giving a thumbs-up at the last one before setting your phone face down on his nightstand. Giving up on the fries, you turn to lie on your side, propping yourself against Nick as your TV plays a random movie. You’re not paying attention to it though, for the most part your gaze keeps wandering towards your boyfriend. The light reflecting from the TV is pretty against his skin, against the soft gold in his curls and you can’t help but smile a little, tucking your chin along his shoulder. 

You press a soft kiss there and Nick turns his head, his lips grazing your temple. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offers—tonight, your mother being the absolute worst, your father’s silence, any of it, all of it. And while you appreciate the offer, his concern, there’s nothing to really discuss. No matter how many times your mother is put into her place, regardless of how you try to explain to her your wants and needs, she’s going to continue to be utterly blind to them. Selfish. There’s nothing to change that. 

But dinner kind of made you feel like…maybe that doesn’t matter. You’ve always had people on your side, but tonight solidified just how important it is to only listen to the voices that don’t mean anything. 

“No,” You whisper, closing your eyes when he kisses the bridge of your nose, “I’m okay.” 

You knew that tonight wasn’t going to be the best, it was to be expected given that you know how your family can be. And yet, you’re so grateful Nick was there, you’re not sure if it would have been something you could have stomached without him. 

A twitch of amusement tugs the corners of your lips, remembering something he said when the dinner was brought up in the first place, “So…that was you on your best behavior?” 

Nick smirks, eyes warm as he looks down at you. You can read the unspoken words right in his eyes—he has zero regrets about how he acted at that dinner, the things that left his mouth, the way he’s protective over you. 

“Definitely.” 

[jakescapes]

ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ

pairing: stranger!jake x reader (f)

synopsis: When a plane crash leaves you stranded on a deserted tropical island with an unreasonably attractive man you've never met, survival is your only priority—at first. What will happen once you both let your guards down around each other and sparks start to fly?

warnings: angst, fluff(?), slight age gap (jake is in his early twenties and reader is in mid twenties), kind of proof read, explicit smut, sub jake (kinda), there is one sexual scene where it seems like non-con/dub-con but i swear they are consenting pls dont take it that way 😭🙏

word count: 12k

author's note: omg i'm finally done with this fic i actually like how it turned out and there's kind of a plot twist but omg smut scenes are so hard to write for what (also ik i put mutual virginity loss in the original warnings for the teaser but i ended up changing my mind lol)

mood board

-------------------------

The flight was supposed to be the start of everything new. A clean slate. A fresh beginning. You had packed up your life into a single suitcase, clutching your boarding pass with a mix of nerves and excitement. The airport had been crowded, bustling with people coming and going, but you barely noticed them. Your mind was already in the future, in the life that awaited you once you landed.

This was supposed to be the moment you left everything behind, the doubts, the regrets, the people who didn’t believe in you. You told yourself this was your chance to start over, to finally become the version of yourself you’d always wanted to be. And for a while, as the plane soared smoothly through the sky, you believed it.

Then, everything went wrong.

It happened so fast, yet somehow, it also felt like slow motion. One moment, you were staring out the window, watching the clouds stretch endlessly beneath you. The next, the plane jolted violently, sending your stomach lurching into your throat. 

Gasps rippled through the cabin. Then came the screaming.

The oxygen masks dropped from above. People fumbled with them in blind panic, hands shaking as they secured them over their faces. The lights flickered. The whole aircraft trembled like it was being shaken by an invisible hand. You gripped the armrests, knuckles white, heartbeat thundering in your ears. The gut wrenching drop, the way gravity seemed to forget its own rules. The sharp, deafening crack of impact, metal screaming as it tore apart, salt water swallowing the wreckage whole.

The plane dropped. Plummeting so fast that your body lifted from the seat, the seatbelt digging into your stomach. The sensation was sickening, like a free fall with no end. Children were crying. Someone else was praying. Others were saying their last goodbyes to their loved ones. The pilot’s voice crackled through the speakers, but you couldn’t process the words, just the sheer terror laced in them.

A violent, crushing force. Cold water, so much water. The world spinning, tumbling, breaking apart. A desperate struggle to breathe, to move, to live.

And then, nothing.

-------------------------

When your eyes fluttered open, the first thing you saw was blue. The sky, bright and cloudless, so painfully beautiful that for a second, you forgot where you were. You blinked, feeling warmth on your skin, something soft beneath you. Sand.

Am I dead? 

Wait, no.

You’re alive.

The thought rushed in like a tidal wave, overwhelming and disorienting. You sucked in a sharp breath as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, sand clinging to your damp clothes. The world tilted, your head throbbing in protest. You took a moment to steady yourself before really looking around.

Blinking the blur from your vision, you take in the scene around you. Wreckage is scattered across the shoreline, twisted metal, suitcases, bits of the plane that no longer resembled anything recognizable. A life vest fluttered in the breeze, tangled in the branches of a palm tree. The ocean, impossibly blue and endless, stretched toward the horizon, calm as if it hadn’t just swallowed an entire plane.

Panic gripped your chest.

There should be people. Survivors. Anyone.

You forced yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you. Turning in desperate circles, you scanned the beach, someone has to be here. Your breath came fast, shallow. The silence is wrong, deafening. Where is everyone?

Then, movement.

A few yards down the beach, half buried in the sand, lay a figure.

Your heart stuttered. 

It’s a man. Tall, lean, his clothes damp and clinging to his body. His dark hair was messy, strands sticking to his forehead. One arm was draped over his face as if blocking out the sun. For a second, he looked too still, and a fresh wave of panic surged through you.

Then, he moved.

Your breath caught as recognition hit. Not by name, but by memory. You saw him on the plane. Maybe in the terminal, maybe in passing as you boarded. 

And now, on this deserted stretch of sand, with no one else in sight, he might be the only person in the world left with you.

The breath in your throat was shallow as you staggered toward him, legs still weak from the crash and the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Each step felt like you were moving through a dream, one where the world was too quiet, too surreal, too broken.

You dropped to your knees beside him, reaching out hesitantly. "Hey," your voice was hoarse, throat raw from saltwater and fear. You hesitated before shaking his shoulder gently. "Are you okay?"

His eyelids fluttered, and with a small groan, he turned his face towards you. Deep brown eyes, clouded with confusion, met yours. There was something almost childlike in the way he blinked up at you, dazed and vulnerable, yet his sharp jawline and broad shoulders betrayed a quiet strength beneath it all.

His eyelids fluttered, and with a small groan, he turned his face towards you. Deep brown eyes, clouded with confusion, met yours. His gaze lingered, tracing the curve of your jaw, the salt streaked strands of your hair, the worry in your expression. A flicker of recognition passed through his features, as if he was piecing together a distant memory.

"You were on the plane," he murmured, voice rasping like he hadn’t used it in hours. He pushed himself up slowly, wincing at what was likely bruised ribs or worse. "We crashed..."

"Yeah," you whispered, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "We crashed."

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, staring at each other as the weight of it all pressed in. The vast emptiness of the island. The missing people. The unknown.

"Are you hurt?" he asked suddenly, his gaze dropping to your trembling hands.

"Just… shaken," you admitted. "You?"

"Same." He pushed his damp hair back and exhaled deeply before glancing around. "We should look for others."

You nodded, though you both knew that if there were others, you would have found them by now. Still, it gave you a purpose, something to cling to other than the gaping silence.

He braced his hands against the sand, pushing himself to his feet with a slight wince. You followed, steadying yourself as the world spun for a moment. The two of you stood there, scanning the shoreline, listening for any sound that wasn’t the rhythmic crash of waves or the whisper of the breeze through the trees.

"Maybe they washed up somewhere else," you murmured, though the words felt hollow.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he took a slow step forward, then another, his gaze sweeping the wreckage strewn beach. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in his jaw, a quiet wariness in his posture.

You trailed after him, stepping carefully over debris, pieces of luggage torn open, clothing half buried in the sand, shattered plastic and twisted metal. The sight sent a chill through you. This wasn’t just wreckage; these were remnants of lives, scattered and broken.

The man crouched near a battered suitcase, running his fingers over the torn fabric before shaking his head. "Nothing useful," he muttered. He stood and turned, eyes narrowing as he spotted something farther down the beach. Without a word, he started walking.

You hurried to keep up, your breath shallow. "What is it?"

"There’s more wreckage over there," he said, gesturing ahead. "We should check."

You followed his gaze. Farther down the shoreline, tangled in seaweed and foam, were larger pieces of the plane. The sight sent a jolt of fear through you, but you pushed it down. 

The two of you picked your way through the sand, the silence stretching between you, heavy and oppressive. As you walked, you couldn’t help but glance at the man from the corner of your eye. His jaw was set, his brows furrowed in quiet determination. He moved with purpose, but there was something else, too. A weight in his steps, a hesitation in his breath.

You reached the larger wreckage, pausing just short of it. A piece lay cracked open, wires dangling like severed veins. Nearby, a broken seat jutted up from the sand, a safety pamphlet fluttering in the wind beside it.

He let out a slow breath. "If anyone else survived… they should be here."

You swallowed hard, nodding. But as you both stood there, staring at the remnants of what had once been a plane full of people, the truth pressed in with suffocating clarity.

If anyone else had survived, they would have found you by now.

The silence stretched, thick and final.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. "We should keep moving."

"Yeah," you agreed, even though your chest ached. "We should."

That night, after scavenging what little supplies they could find, you and the man sat near a small fire you guys surprisingly were able to make on the beach with your combined efforts (though it took more than a few tries). 

The warmth licked at your skin, the flames casting flickering shadows against the sand. Above, the sky stretched endlessly, stars twinkling like distant beacons.

You hugged your knees to your chest, staring at the fire. "I still can’t believe this is real."

The man was quiet for a moment before exhaling softly. "Me neither."

The waves murmured in the distance, a constant rhythm against the shore. You glanced at him, watching the way the firelight flickered against his sharp features. He was staring at the sky now, his expression unreadable.

After a beat, you spoke again. "I guess… since we might be stuck together for a while, we should probably know each other’s names."

He turned to look at you, surprised, as if he hadn’t even realized you hadn’t exchanged names yet. Then, after a pause, he offered a small nod. "Jake."

You gave a faint smile, offering yours in return.

Jake repeated it under his breath, as if testing how it felt on his tongue. Then, hesitantly, he extended a hand toward you. You took it, his grip warm despite the chill of the night air.

For a moment, neither of you let go.

Then he cleared his throat, pulling his hand back and rubbing the back of his neck. "So… what did you do? Before all this?"

You exhaled a soft laugh, shaking your head. "Feels like another life, doesn’t it?"

He nodded, waiting.

"I was—" You hesitated before sighing. "Just figuring things out, I guess. Trying to start over. The flight was supposed to be the beginning of something new for me."

Jake studied you, something thoughtful in his expression. "Guess we both got a fresh start, huh? Just… not the way we expected."

You chuckled softly, though there was no real humor in it. "Yeah."

The two of you lapsed into silence again, listening to the waves, the crackling fire, the wind rustling through the palm trees. The weight of everything still loomed, but for the first time since the crash, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

And that, at least, was something.

The next morning, the sun rose slowly over the horizon, casting a soft, golden light across the beach. The heat of the day had yet to fully settle in, and the air was still cool with the remnants of the night’s breeze. The world felt strangely peaceful—too peaceful, given the circumstances.

You awoke first, the salty scent of the ocean and the warmth of the fire from the night before still lingering in your senses. You were lying on the sand, the waves lapping gently at the shore just a few feet away. The sand was oddly comforting beneath you, though it clung to your skin and stuck to your damp clothes, a constant reminder of the wreckage and the life you’d lost.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows and looked over at Jake, who was still asleep, his back to you. His hair was tousled from the night, and the rise and fall of his chest was slow and steady. He was your only company, the only person you could rely on now.

A sharp pang of hunger gnawed at your stomach, reminding you that food would need to be a priority today. You hadn’t eaten anything since the crash, and while the adrenaline had kept you going last night, you knew it wouldn’t last much longer. You stretched, trying to shake off the grogginess that clung to you. The beach was quiet now, the crashing waves and the occasional squawk of a distant bird the only sounds filling the space.

Glancing back toward the wreckage, you felt the weight of reality pressing down on you. It wasn’t just survival now. You had to figure out how to stay alive for however long it would take to get rescued. The world had changed overnight. There was no going back.

The need to move, to do something, overwhelmed you. You gently nudged Jake’s shoulder, your hand lingering there for a moment before you pulled away.

"Jake," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the previous day. "Jake, wake up."

He groaned softly, shifting, before opening his eyes. They were clouded at first, the confusion of sleep still hanging in them. His gaze met yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. It was a strange sort of silence, one that held both the weight of the crash and the unspoken understanding that you were both stuck in this together.

"Morning," he muttered, his voice low and rough. He sat up slowly, wincing as he moved. The bruises were becoming more evident now, the purple and blue patches on his skin a testament to the violence of the crash. "How are you feeling?"

"Shaky," you admitted, glancing down at your own hands, which still trembled slightly. "Hungry."

"Yeah, me too." He rubbed his eyes, pushing himself up to sit cross legged on the sand. "We need to find food, and we need to figure out what to do next."

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. You hadn’t really thought about what to do next. The reality of survival had set in late last night, and now it was all too clear: food, shelter, water. You both needed all of those things.

"We should search for fresh water first," you suggested, your voice more steady than it had been the night before. "And maybe try to salvage anything from the wreckage."

Jake looked toward the crash site, his expression distant. "We can’t do much more with the wreckage, but I agree. Water’s the first priority."

You both stood up, your legs shaky at first, but you forced yourself to move. Every step felt surreal, as if the island and its surroundings weren’t really real. The sand beneath your feet, the palm trees swaying above you, the wreckage scattered across the shore—it all seemed too impossible to be happening in the moment.

Jake moved ahead of you, his posture tense, his eyes scanning the area as he walked. You followed close behind, keeping your gaze fixed on the ocean, the cliffs in the distance, the wreckage ahead. It all felt so vast and empty. How could anyone possibly find you out here?

As you reached the edge of the wreckage, Jake paused and knelt beside a large chunk of debris, an abandoned seat. It was broken and twisted, but the seatbelt still worked. He carefully removed the seatbelt and tied it into a crude strap. "We could use this to carry things," he said, his voice a little more focused now, the practical nature of the situation slowly sinking in.

You nodded, though the thought of turning the crash site into a resource felt almost too grim. "I’ll keep an eye out for anything else useful."

You both spent the next few hours scavenging the beach. It was slow work, the wreckage still fresh and the pieces scattered across the sand like a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve. Among the broken bits of luggage and metal, you found a few things that could be helpful: a few water bottles, some torn clothing that could be used for bandages or makeshift shelter, a few survival items from the emergency kit—flashlights, a flare gun, a few small packets of food. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give you a glimmer of hope.

By midday, the sun was beating down, and the heat of the day began to press against you both. You found a small inlet of water, a stream trickling down from the cliffs into a rocky basin. It wasn’t the best water, but you figured out how to boil it carefully over a small fire you managed to start. It tasted earthy, but it was enough to keep you going.

"You think we’ll be found?" you asked Jake, as you both sat down near the fire, the warmth of it chasing away the chill from your skin.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stared out at the ocean, his expression unreadable. "I don’t know," his voice distant. "I want to believe we will be. But… we can’t sit around waiting. We need to survive until then."

You both fell silent again, the weight of his words settling between you. As the day stretched on, it became clear that survival wasn’t just about finding food and water, it was about holding on to the hope that, no matter how impossible it felt, you would both make it out of this somehow.

That night, you and Jake sat by the fire again, your backs against the sand. The stars were even brighter tonight, the world feeling both vast and suffocating at the same time. You didn’t know how long it would be before someone found you, but as the warmth of the fire surrounded you, and the company of Jake was the only thing that kept you grounded, you held onto the quiet belief that you would somehow survive this. Together.

-------------------------

The next evening, you and Jake were working on a shelter together using bits and pieces you’ve found together on the island. As the shelter began to take shape, you and Jake were working side by side, securing palm fronds and using what little you could salvage from the wreckage. You were both silent for a while, concentrating on the task at hand, but then, curiosity nudged at you again.

“So,” you started casually, testing the waters. “What were you doing before... all this?” You gestured vaguely at the wreckage and the island. “You know, before we were stranded on this beach.”

Jake hesitated for a moment, clearly thinking. He wasn’t the type to talk about himself much, but you were determined to get to know him better. After a moment, he spoke. "I was in college," he said, his voice steady, but there was a little bit of something in his tone that made you raise an eyebrow.

You paused, mid motion, looking up at him in surprise. "College?" you repeated.

Jake gave a sheepish smile. "Yeah.. In fact, I’m actually still a student. Just... didn’t really seem that important to mention."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, you’re younger than me?" You couldn’t help the playful teasing tone that slipped into your voice. "You look older than you are."

Jake laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I get that a lot. I guess I’ve always looked older than my age."

You smirked, clearly amused. "I feel kind of bad now, assuming you were older. You seem... I don’t know, not like the typical college student. You’re really focused and, like, putting this thing together with me like it’s a class project."

He laughed again, clearly not expecting that. "I guess I am kind of focused. I’ve always been really into my studies. I don’t really know how to stop once I start."

"So you were a total overachiever back in school? Like the kind of person who aced every test and got perfect grades in every class?"

Jake gave you a little shrug, though there was a glint in his eye. "Maybe not perfect grades, but yeah, I worked hard. I played soccer too, so I had to balance that with schoolwork."

You blinked, surprised by that little tidbit. "Wait, soccer? That’s... impressive." You looked him over, suddenly noticing the athletic build he had beneath the casual, damp clothes. "I should’ve known, actually. You’ve got that athletic vibe about you."

He chuckled at the way you were eyeing him. "Yeah, I was on the team for a while. It was a good balance to all the studying, you know? Soccer was the one thing that helped me unwind."

You raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "That’s way more balanced than I expected. I figured you’d be the type to sit in the library all day, studying nonstop. But you were out there on the field too, huh?"

He just shrugged, his smile a little more bashful now. "I mean, I’d study a lot, but soccer was definitely my escape. I loved it."

"You know, I never would’ve guessed. You just don’t seem like the type who’d play sports."

He looked at you, slightly confused. "What type did you think I was, then?"

You grinned mischievously. "I don't know... maybe the quiet, bookish type who just liked to sit and read all day. You definitely don’t strike me as a soccer guy."

Jake gave you an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Gee, thanks," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm but clearly amused. "I didn’t think I was that predictable."

His smile softened, his gaze flickering to the shelter you’d nearly finished building together. "And you... you’re a lot more fun than I expected.”

You tilted your head, curious. "What do you mean by that?"

Jake chuckled softly, rubbing his hand over his face in slight embarrassment. "I don’t know. You just... seem like you’ve got a lot of energy, even in a situation like this. It’s kind of hard to keep up with you sometimes."

You snorted, unable to stop the laughter that bubbled up. "Oh, come on, you’re making me sound like a total handful."

Jake grinned, clearly teasing. "Well, you kind of are, but in the best way possible."

"I’ll take that as a compliment."

He shook his head with a soft laugh, clearly enjoying the banter. "I guess you’re a lot more fun than I thought.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence again, but this time it felt different. The barrier between you had lessened, and there was an easy camaraderie now, built on shared effort and the surprise of learning new things about each other.

"You know," you said after a beat, "I’m kind of glad you’re here. Even though we’re stuck in this crazy situation, it’s good to have someone who’s... not totally awful to be around."

Jake gave you an exaggerated look of mock offense. "I’m not totally awful? I thought I was doing pretty well, considering."

You raised an eyebrow. "Okay, okay, you're not totally awful. But we both know I’m way more fun than you."

Jake laughed, shaking his head. "I’m not so sure about that, but I’ll let you believe it."

With that, you both continued to work, the evening sky darkening and the fire crackling beside you, feeling for the first time in days like maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright.

-------------------------

A few weeks had passed on the island. By now, the strange tension of being stranded had started to ease into a strange, peaceful rhythm. The awkwardness that once existed between you and Jake had long disappeared, replaced by an effortless camaraderie. You two had settled into a routine: scouting for any signs of people, keeping an eye on the horizon for ships or planes, maintaining the fire, and collecting rainwater in makeshift containers. Your SOS signs were bigger now, more visible, scattered across the beach in a pattern that seemed impossible to miss. You’d even found ways to wash clothes and make the shelter more livable, the island slowly transforming from a place of fear into one of quiet survival.

You two spent your days working, laughing, and even making small talk, finding solace in the little things. The tropical island, though harsh and unpredictable at times, offered a sense of beauty that kept both of you grounded. The swaying palm trees, the endless ocean, and the colorful sunsets became the backdrop of your days. Despite the situation, you’d somehow made the best of it, and Jake couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to be around you.

But what he hadn’t expected was how much he’d come to like spending time with you. When he first woke up on the island, his mind was foggy, disoriented, his body aching from the crash. And when his eyes had opened, the first thing he’d seen was you—a stranger, a beautiful girl who somehow felt like a mystery, someone who had quickly become his entire world. You were smart, witty, and had a way of making even the most mundane tasks feel light and almost enjoyable. He remembered how your laughter filled the air, how you could turn any situation into something to smile about, and how you never seemed to let the hopelessness of the situation get to you.

There was a part of him, deep down, that had wondered if this was real, if he was truly stuck on an island with you, or if his mind had conjured up this perfect version of a person to get him through the days. But the reality was that you were real, and you were there, right beside him, helping him get through this as much as he was helping you.

Jake found himself growing more comfortable around you as time went on, and while there was no longer that barrier between you two, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being a little out of place. Sometimes, when you’d laugh at something he said or flip your hair in that casual way you always did, he’d catch himself staring for a moment longer than he should. He was drawn to you, to the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke, and the way you seemed to carry the weight of the world with such grace, as if the island didn’t faze you in the slightest.

But it was more than just your outward beauty, it was your sharp mind and your confidence that made him feel a little... small. He’d noticed how you treated him, and though you didn’t say anything to make him feel this way, he could sense it. He thought you acted as though he was your younger brother, the one who followed your lead, not as an equal, not in the way he wanted. It made him feel uneasy at times, as though he wasn’t really seen the way he wanted to be.

Jake couldn’t help but wonder, in the quiet moments when you weren’t looking, if you had started to look down on him. He knew you didn’t mean to, he just felt it sometimes, especially when he’d catch you giving him a knowing smile after a particularly good idea of yours. It made him question whether you saw him as someone worth more than just another island companion.

Still, despite the unease that would creep in now and then, there was something about being with you that made everything else feel bearable. Every laugh, every conversation, even every moment of quiet as you two worked in sync, it was comforting. And, oddly, it gave him something to look forward to each day.

Jake wanted to know more about you. He wanted to know where you came from, what made you laugh so freely, what made you look up at the stars with a faraway look in your eyes. He wanted to understand the real you, the person behind the quick wit and the beautiful smile.

There was an undeniable pull between the two of you, something unspoken yet so present in the air. But Jake didn’t know how to navigate it. Should he make a move? Would that make things awkward between you two, or worse, make you uncomfortable? You had become his constant, the person he leaned on when the days felt too long and the nights too quiet. The thought of you not being there, of leaving the island and not being part of your life, felt too heavy to even think about.

But then, in the same breath, the question loomed over him: Would we even make it off this island? Would you guys ever see the shore of the mainland again? The idea that you might not be part of his future terrified him, even though he had no idea where that future would take him.

But one thing he was sure of: If you did make it off the island, if you both somehow found your way back to safety, he wanted to be part of your life. He wanted to show you that he wasn’t just the quiet guy who worked hard but that he was someone who could be there for you, no matter what. Even if he didn’t make a move now, he would make sure you knew just how much he cared.

In the meantime, Jake kept his eyes on you, from time to time, but he never said anything. Not yet. But he wasn’t sure how long he could hold onto that distance between you two. He just hoped that when the time came, you'd see him differently, the way he saw you.

-------------------------

Later, one random day, the sun was hanging low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the beach as you and Jake lounged near the shoreline. It was one of those rare moments where the island felt almost normal, as if you were just two people enjoying a lazy afternoon vacation by the sea. The soft, rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled the air, but other than that, there was nothing but the occasional call of a bird in the distance.

You two hadn’t done much today, just passing the time with a few small tasks and some light conversation. But now, as the heat of the day started to ease, you both found yourselves bored out of your minds. You had already gone over the wreckage and scavenged for supplies earlier, and there was only so much you could do to keep busy.

Without much thought, you stood up from where you were sitting, stretching your arms above your head. You glanced at Jake, who was lying with his hands behind his head, eyes closed, enjoying the peace of the moment. A playful thought bubbled up in your mind, a spontaneous idea born out of sheer boredom.

"Jake," you called out, a grin spreading across your face. "Come on. Let’s go for a swim!"

His eyes fluttered open, and he turned his head toward you, a look of surprise flashing across his face. "Huh?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion.

You, however, weren’t waiting for him to get his bearings. In a burst of energy, you started pulling off your shirt, then your pants, revealing your underwear beneath. The fabric hit the sand as you stood there, completely unfazed by the way the breeze made the air feel cooler against your skin.

You didn’t give him a chance to protest or even respond, already moving toward the water, laughing as you felt the cool waves rush up to meet you. "Come on, Jake!" you yelled over your shoulder. "Don’t be a wimp, the water’s perfect!"

Jake stayed still for a moment, staring at you, his expression caught between shock and awe. His eyes lingered a little too long on your body, and you could see him freeze up for a split second, before his gaze snapped back to your face. You couldn’t help but smirk at the way his expression shifted. He was clearly caught off guard, trying to process what was happening.

For a heartbeat, it looked like he was about to stay behind, still trying to wrap his head around the situation. But then, as if he couldn’t resist the pull of the water and the challenge in your voice, he pushed himself up from the sand, pulling his once loose shirt over his head. You heard his footsteps behind you as he caught up, and soon the two of you were wading into the cool water together.

As you splashed around, laughing and feeling the waves tug at your legs, you began to notice Jake in a way that was a little more... focused than before. Sure, you had always found him attractive, his broad shoulders, his strong arms, his easy smile. But now that you were both in the water, there was something different about the way the sunlight hit him.

His chest gleamed in the sun, water droplets clinging to his skin like tiny diamonds. Every movement he made caused his abs to ripple slightly beneath the surface, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles shifted with ease, the strength in his frame undeniable. His broad shoulders loomed over you as he moved, his tall height making him seem even more imposing in the water. And when he reached out, grabbing onto you in the playful way he always did, you felt his powerful arms engulf you, his grip gentle but strong.

For a moment, you stopped, caught in the middle of a wave. Your breath slowed as you took him in—really looked at him. The way his dark hair clung to his forehead, the way the water ran down his body, the way he towered over you, even now. There was something so magnetic about him in this moment. You hadn’t really noticed just how much you admired the way he moved, the strength he exuded without even trying.

"Is something wrong?" Jake’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you blinked, realizing you had stopped moving entirely. He was looking at you with a smirk, a playful glint in his eyes. "What is it? You staring at me now?"

Caught completely off guard, you realized you had been staring for longer than was probably appropriate. But instead of feeling embarrassed, you felt something else. Something bold. Something you couldn’t quite ignore. You couldn’t just look at him anymore. You had to do something about it.

With a sudden burst of courage, you took a step forward, closing the space between the two of you. He didn’t have time to react before you cupped his face in your hands and pulled him down toward you, pressing your lips against his. It was a quick, decisive kiss, but it was full of everything you had been holding back, the attraction, the tension, the way you wanted more from him, from this moment.

Jake froze for a split second, surprised by the sudden shift, but then he relaxed into it, his hands moving instinctively to your waist, pulling you closer. He kissed you back, his lips warm and soft, and everything else seemed to disappear; the sound of the waves, the heat of the sun, even the worry that always lingered at the back of your mind. It was just the two of you in that moment, surrounded by the island that had become your world.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you smiled up at him. "What are you waiting for?" you teased softly, brushing a wet strand of hair out of your face. "You gonna just stand there, or are you gonna kiss me again?"

Jake laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made you feel lighthearted despite everything else. His hand gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb grazing the skin of your jaw as his gaze softened.

"Guess I’ll have to," he said, his voice low and steady. "Since you asked so nicely."

And before you could even react, he leaned in again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was even deeper this time, as if he was making up for the moment of hesitation. This time, you didn’t hold back either. You kissed him like you meant it, like you wanted him to know how much you had been holding onto that feeling. It felt right, like everything in the world had lined up to bring you to this moment.

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t quite so alone anymore.

-------------------------

That evening, you two had settled over the island, and the fading sunlight gave everything a golden, almost magical glow. The air had cooled just enough to make the day feel like it was coming to an end, but the warmth of the sun still lingered on your skin. You and Jake had spent the afternoon on the beach, your energy drained from playing in the water and basking in the heat. Now, you were lounging on a patch of sand, taking a break and munching on some safe fruit to eat, including cherries you both had discovered and gathered on the island earlier.

You were still in your underwear, the fabric drying on your skin after your impromptu swim. Jake, similarly shirtless, sat a few feet away from you, his gaze more focused on you than the scenery.

With each bite of the fruit, you let the juice drip down your chin, savoring the sweet taste of it, making sure to fully enjoy it. As you popped each piece into your mouth, the remnants of the juice clung to your fingers, and you licked each one clean with exaggerated slowness. The sound of your finger sucking echoed slightly in the quiet air. You weren’t doing it on purpose, but the way your tongue worked over your fingers seemed to be the only thing he could focus on, the fruit’s sweetness lingering on your lips.

It seemed you were unaware that Jake had been staring at you for the past ten minutes, his eyes fixated on the way you ate, in complete awe. It wasn’t the fruit that kept him mesmerized, it was the way you moved. The way your lips parted as you took the fruit, the delicate, almost sensual way you sucked off each finger clean, completely unaware of the effect it was having on him. The sound, soft and almost seductive, lingered in the back of his mind, and it stirred something inside him he wasn’t prepared for.

He tried to look away a few times, but his gaze always found its way back to you. Every movement you made, every little detail, your fingers, your lips, the way you casually tossed the fruit pit aside. It was like a magnet drawing him in deeper. He could feel his heart beat faster, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand, not when you were sitting there so casually, so innocently. The way the area around the crotch of his shorts grew just a little tighter, and how his breathing became more ragged and slowed. It made him feel conflicted, unsure if he should look away or allow himself to enjoy the view a little longer.

But what Jake didn’t know was that you weren’t oblivious. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the way his eyes were fixed on you, and you couldn’t help but feel a small spark of awareness. You had noticed it earlier but chose to ignore it, trying to convince yourself it was just his usual quietness. But now, with the lingering tension between you, it was undeniable. He was watching you, and in a way, it made you feel both empowered and strangely nervous.

Your gaze shifted sideways toward him, catching his eye for a brief moment before he quickly looked away, as if he hadn’t been staring at you for the past several minutes. You smirked, licking your last finger clean, enjoying the power that came with his unease. You weren’t sure where the feeling was coming from, but something inside you enjoyed the effect you were having on him.

"Something on your mind, Jakey?" you asked, your voice teasing but light. There was a playful edge to your words, as if you were testing the waters, trying to see if he would admit to it.

He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at you. "Uh, no. Just… enjoying the view," he muttered, his voice betraying him as a flush crept up his neck.

You chuckled softly, running your fingers through your hair in a casual, yet purposeful motion, letting the strands fall effortlessly around your shoulders. "I see," you said with a grin, not hiding the fact that you were enjoying his reaction. "Glad you’re getting some use out of those eyes of yours."

Jake shifted uncomfortably, the heat in his cheeks making him feel like he was caught in a trap. But the moment passed quickly as you casually laid back, propping your head up on your arm and looking at the sky. Yet, you could feel Jake’s presence beside you, still lingering. His eyes might have moved away, but you knew exactly what was going through his head. And it made you feel alive in a way that surprised you.

Your playful smile didn’t falter as you picked up another cherry, bringing it slowly to your lips, letting it roll around your fingers as you took another bite.

You glanced over at him, teasing with a slight tilt of your head. “Want one, Jake?” you asked, your voice light and airy, but there was a definite hint of challenge in it this time.

Jake, clearly thrown off, didn’t even try to hide the way his eyes were locked on you. His gaze was hungry, not for the fruit, but for you. He swallowed hard, his breath catching as his eyes stayed on you, taking in each little movement you made. When you swirled your tongue around the fruit and sucked it off your finger with a soft moan, it was as if time itself slowed down. You felt his stare on you, making your pulse race, and you couldn’t deny the effect it was having on both of you. “It’s sooo sweet.” 

He licked his lips nervously, almost unsure of how to respond, and his voice trembled when he spoke. “No, I’m… I’m good,” he gulped. His eyes, though, never left you.

You could see the way his words didn’t match his actions. You could see that his mind was somewhere far from the fruit, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, your heart racing a little faster as you watched him fidget in place.

“Good, because it was the last one anyway,” you playfully teased.

“Right…” he mumbled, still not really paying attention, his thoughts clearly drifting elsewhere, his focus solely on you.

You let the moment hang there, letting Jake stew in his own nervousness for a second. But it was your turn now, and you couldn’t resist leaning into the tension. With a teasing smirk, you tossed the cherry pit aside and pushed yourself up, closing the distance between the two of you.

You looked him in the eye, reading his expression, and in that instant, it was like everything else faded away. The island, the heat, the isolation, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the way he was looking at you, the way you were looking at him, and the way you both seemed to be caught in this moment.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, but your voice was filled with that same playful edge. “You can still have a taste…”

Before he could even process your words, you leaned in, tilting your head slightly, and kissed him.

At first, Jake froze, completely caught off guard, his body stiffening as your lips met his. But that hesitation didn’t last long. Something inside him snapped, and his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you back with a fierce intensity. The kiss was nothing like the one before. It was more intense, raw, and driven by a deeper sense of desire and urgency.

You pulled away just enough to catch your breath, your lips still tingling from the touch. Jake’s eyes were wide, but there was a softness in them now, like the nervous energy had melted away, replaced with something more genuine, more vulnerable. He seemed to be searching your face, trying to figure out if this was real or if he was just imagining it.

You grinned, your heart racing as you slid your hand to his chest, feeling the heat of his skin. “You wanted a taste, didn’t you?” you teased, your voice low and playful.

Jake swallowed again, still breathless from the kiss, and nodded slowly. “Yeah… I did.”

You hummed. “There’s still more of me to taste.”

And that was all it took for Jake’s sanity to crumble, smashing his lips onto yours once again. Surprisingly, he was the first to slip his tongue into your mouth, very much enjoying the sweet and raw taste of the cherries mixed with your combined saliva.

He groaned against your lips, roaming his hands all over your body, trying to feel all of you. His grip was so firm, it felt as though he was afraid the tide might pull you from his hold. 

But up until now, you were getting too worked up, craving more, craving to feel him without any barriers between you. It had also been a while since you’d had any kind of romantic interaction with a boy, and now, with Jake’s hands roaming all over your body and his lips leaving trails of heat against your skin, you felt like you were rediscovering something you hadn’t even realized you missed.

You straddled him partially, your bodies tangled in a slow, heated makeout session. Your hands trailed down his arms, guiding them to where you wanted them, pressing them firmly against you as if daring him to hold on tighter. You led them down to your mostly bare ass, as your lips and tongues moved in sync. Jake let out a shaky breath against your mouth, his hands now resting on the curves of your cheeks, fingers pressing into your skin as if memorizing the way you felt beneath them.

“You can touch me, you know,” you teased between kisses, your voice sultry yet playful.

Jake chuckled softly, though his grip tightened instinctively. “Trust me,” he murmured, his lips grazing your jaw, “I’m trying to keep myself together here.”

You smirked, tilting his chin up so your eyes met. “Then don’t.”

Jake was starting to feel a little nervous now. He wasn’t sure if it was obvious, but deep down, he knew he wasn’t as experienced as he sometimes let on. Sure, he had been with a few girls before, but his focus had mostly always been on his studies back in school. He wasn’t the type to chase fleeting romances or get caught up in distractions. And now, here he was, caught in this moment with you. Someone older, someone who carried a type of confidence that made him feel both drawn in and a little out of his depth.

The thought made his grip on you tighten slightly, his heart pounding as he tried to keep up with your pace. He didn’t want to overthink it, but his nerves were creeping in, and for the first time in a long while, Jake felt out of his element.

Still, despite his unease, one thing was certain—-he wanted this. He wanted you. And if anything, he wanted to learn you, to understand what made you tick, what made you feel good, and what would make you look at him not just as a boy stranded on an island with you, but as a man worth being close to.

Instead of hesitating, Jake took a deep breath and steadied himself. He wasn’t about to let his nerves ruin this moment. If anything, he wanted to prove to himself and to you, that he could meet you where you were, that he wasn’t just some younger guy fumbling his way through this.

So instead of backing down, he leaned in, his grip on you growing firmer as he took control of the moment. His hands, once hesitant, now moved with purpose, tracing slow, deliberate paths along the sides of your thighs as he pulled you closer. His lips met yours again, this time with a newfound confidence, deeper and more sure.

If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

But you on the other hand, were growing impatient, as you undid the clasps of your bra with a practiced ease, not breaking the heated kiss between you and Jake. Then, you found his hands once again, leading them up your sides, all the way to your now unclothed breasts, encouraging him to touch you the way you wanted. Jake swallowed hard, his breath unsteady as he looked up at you. His fingers hesitated for only a moment before they settled against your chest, warm and firm. 

He experimentally pinched your right nipple, eliciting a short whimper from you. You urged him to do it again, gazing down at him with a sultry, knowing look. So this time, he brought both of his hands up, pinching both nipples at the same time, and enjoying how his slightest touch sent such a raw, immediate reaction through you. You gripped his shoulders to balance yourself out of desperation, while he played with your tits, pinching and grabbing at them like he basically owned them. 

Your whines were growing louder the more he fondled and touched you, sensing your panties growing damper with every passing moment. But then finally, he latched his lips onto your flesh with no warning, causing you to throw your head back in sheer pleasure. “Fuck!” you whined shamelessly. 

Your words only fueled his desire, as he timely shifted from your left to your right boobs, as if he were devouring both with the hunger of a starved man. The sensation you felt from his teeth grazing your skin, nibbling and sucking, leaving behind purple marks as a sign of possession. It sent you into a frenzy, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity.

It was then that you were now beginning to feel his clothed dick growing, from where you were sitting on him, momentarily realizing for a brief second, that he was much larger than you had expected. 

Too turned on to even think properly, you began to bounce yourself slowly on his lap, grinding against what you wanted so badly. This caused him to groan against your chest as his brows furrowed in ecstasy, finally being able to feel some relief in his pants, where you were basically dry humping him at this point.

But it wasn’t enough. 

“Jakeee,” you cried, incessantly tugging at his hair, forcing him to look up at you. He panted softly as you both locked eyes, his lips glistening, coated with a sheen of saliva. The look you gave him was intense, filled with desire and unspoken promise. Your eyes were half lidded, your lips parted slightly as you took in the moment, your expression a perfect mix of vulnerability and challenge. It was as though you were daring him, inviting him to follow the unspoken invitation in your gaze. You didn’t need to say a word, he understood everything in that single, charged moment.

Jake then shifted his position, carefully guiding you so that you were lying on your back with him leaning over you. His body hovered just above yours, the intensity of his presence grounding you in the moment. You both paused, breathing heavily as the energy between you lingered. His eyes were still locked onto yours, before his lips found yours again in a desperate kiss. The air was filled with an undeniable connection, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away.

As you two kissed, Jake managed to start pulling the hem of his shorts lower and lower until his large cock finally sprang free from the constraints of his pants, revealing his v-line. It slapped against his abdomen impatiently, coating his skin with precum. 

You broke away from the kiss curiously, wanting to finally see it. And boy, were you far from disappointed. 

"Oh my," you gasped, your eyes widening in awe as you glanced down at the space between the two of you. Jake couldn't help but chuckle softly, his gaze filled with admiration for how cute you looked in the moment. 

He smirked playfully. “What? Don’t think you’ll be able to take it?” Without hesitation, you shook your head, showing him with certainty that you were ready. He chuckled again, shaking his head. "I'm just messing with you," he said, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

As he took his length in his hand, pumping it a few times, you eagerly slid your panties off, anticipation building with every moment. 

This was it. You were going to have sex with him.

You never expected the boy you found lying on the shore, looking so lost and helpless, to be the one you'd end up sharing such a deep, intimate moment with. He had been a stranger, someone you thought you might never see again, yet here he was. His presence was overwhelming in a way you never anticipated. The shift from survival partners to something more had been unexpected, yet somehow felt like it had always been meant to be. 

As you snapped out of your thoughts, you noticed Jake was quietly waiting, patiently giving you the space to make the next move, his expression soft but expectant. His posture was relaxed, but you could see the subtle tension in his body, waiting for your cue. It was clear that he was just as invested in the moment as you were, yet respecting your pace. The silence between you both felt like it held so much potential, and you realized that this connection was more than just physical. It was something deeper, a shared understanding that went beyond words.

You nodded at him, signaling that you were ready. And in no time, Jake was slowly shoving his length in between your legs. However, it didn’t matter how slow or gentle his movements were—it still hurt. Really badly. 

“You okay?” he asked, though his tone was everything but comforting. You could tell he was losing his composure. It sounded so desperate and willing, while his eyes were sewn shut, jaw clenching. He wanted to ram into you so, so bad. But honestly, who could blame him? He was a man. A very kind and respectful one, but still, a man. And every man has their own needs and desires. 

At first, the idea of being stranded on a deserted island with a random stranger in the middle of nowhere seemed like your worst nightmare—or any girl's, really. But as you got to know the lost boy, whose shy, almost teenage like personality made him seem harmless, you started to think, well, it could be worse. And it's ironic to think that, for many men, Jake's situation might actually feel like a dream, stranded on an island with a beautiful young woman and no escape. 

But the surprising part was that Jake never made a move on you until you kissed him. Despite being stranded in such a close, intimate situation, Jake tried to restrain himself. Even though his feelings were clearly there, he was a shy boy at heart, and that made him hold back, even when the situation practically begged for it. Plus, he finally didn’t need to secretly jerk off when you weren’t there anymore. He no longer had to pretend he wasn’t blatantly staring at you or try to suppress the dirty thoughts that inevitably crossed his mind whenever you were near. Because, now, he knew that the feeling was mutual. 

So, instead of impatiently pushing his hips into you, he reminded himself to calm down and take it slow, especially considering you were likely in some form of pain right now. 

When he finally bottomed out, he let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, stilling his dick inside of you and hoping that he wouldn’t fucking cum already. 

And after a few moments passed, your body was finally getting used to Jake’s massive size, giving him a subtle nod, letting Jake know it was okay to begin. Thank the fucking lord.

He began slowly, pulling back just a bit, and gently thrusting in. Jake felt like he was seeing stars at this point, overwhelmed by desire and ecstasy. Your pussy was too fucking good to be true. You squeezed him just right while you were still adjusting, milking his meat perfectly. He looked down at you while he carefully thrusted, maintaining eye contact. 

You were so beautiful. You were sprawled out beneath him, your hair tousled and glistening from the earlier sun, the light making it seem almost ethereal. Your lips were swollen from the previous kissing, still pink, and your eyes had that glimmer of intensity that made him feel both nervous and captivated at the same time. Your skin, glowing from the warm sun, had a soft, dewy look to it, and the way you breathed, just slightly out of rhythm, made him feel like he was looking at someone both incredibly strong and delicate. You were a beautiful mixture of vulnerability and confidence, and it made him feel like he was seeing you in a way he never thought he would. 

Losing his composure a bit, his movements began to speed up, ramming into you with more force as his mouth hung open in pure bliss, short groans escaping with each breath. Jake hasn’t had sex with many girls in his lifetime, but surely none of them even came close to you. He couldn’t help but compare this moment he was spending with you to everything he had experienced before, and nothing had ever felt this intense.

The way your body was in heat, clenching around his poor cock in desperate need to release. The way your tits bounced slightly with every thrust of his hips. The way you looked so damn good, getting fucked by him. Your presence, the way you moved, and the way you made him feel, everything about you was different. 

As the moments passed, the sounds between you both grew louder. Soft whines and gentle groans slipped from both of your lips, almost in sync, creating a rhythm that felt intimate. 

“Fuck,” he said raspily, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. “I…I think I’m close.”

"Me too," you murmured softly, your voice contrasting with Jake’s. He leaned in, foreheads gently pressing together before his lips met yours once more. This time, it was messier and nastier with a hint of urgency. Saliva was dripping down both of your chins, as you both moaned into each other’s mouths with no care in the world. 

Jake’s pace was getting relentless by now, thrusting forcefully into you like a madman. The sounds of skin slapping echoed and filled your ears, making you very aware. It was as if his hips had a mind of its own. He had only one goal now anyway, and that was to cum. Inside you.

And after a few more moments, his thrusts finally slowed to a stop, briefly pausing inside of you, before he was unleashing his thick, white cream into your exhausted pussy. 

The sensation it gave you was so raw and overwhelming, unlike anything you had ever experienced before. It made everything around you fade away, leaving only the intensity of the moment. Your mouth hung open in shock, your eyes squeezed shut as a gasp escaped your lips. Your body shook, overwhelmed by the intensity of the feeling. Jake finally collapsed onto you, exhausted, but also satisfied from his long needed release. You both caught your breath, feeling the effects of the post orgasmic bliss. A light laugh escaped your lips as you wiped the sweat from your brow, your body still humming from the previous pleasure. “That was something,” you said, still catching your breath. You waited for Jake to reply, but as you glanced at him, you realized he had already drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

-------------------------

The muffled sucking sounds escaping your mouth ringed in Jake’s ears like a mantra that’s been going on for the past five minutes. “Don’t stop,” he whimpered pleadingly, as he watched your head bob up and down in between his legs. 

You hummed in response, tilting your head to look up at Jake, enjoying the effect you had on him. You loved the way you had him entranced, the way his eyes darkened with desire and how his breath became ragged. His chest heaved with every breath, and his lips were slightly parted. The flush of his skin and the tension in the air showed just how much you had gotten under his skin, making him lose his usual composure. 

The squelching and slurping noises radiated off your mouth so intensely, leaving Jake’s mind too numb and too fucked out to process a single thought. He just watched you in amazement with his shoulders propped up, giving him the perfect view of his cock going in and out of your mouth. And in and out. 

Your mouth and chin was completely smothered in his precum at this point as you basically made out with his dick, taking it in all the way until you couldn’t. 

Then, a loud gasp escaped his mouth when he felt your hot and slimy tongue trail all the way down to his balls. You took one in your mouth as you massaged the other with your hand. Then you switched, alternating and sucking onto the other one. 

Jake had never had his balls sucked this good, or ever, matter of fact. His senses were being so overstimulated to the point where he could only focus on the feeling of your warm mouth, sucking him off so good. He couldn’t even process what you were saying anymore, forgetting that you said anything at all.

“Does it feel good Jakey?” you asked slyly, replacing the balls that were just in your mouth back to his dick. But all you got was just a weak moan in response, momentarily looking up to see Jake’s head thrown all the way back. 

Slightly chuckling to yourself, you returned to slobbering on his cock, picking up the pace and deepthroating it until it hit the back of your throat. You couldn’t help but gag a little, however, that just sent Jake even farther up in a haze. He pushed his hips up instinctively, making you take his dick even deeper, evoking his dick to twitch in between your lips. And it wasn’t long until he was groaning bluntly and cumming on your tongue, subconsciously thrusting up inside your mouth a few times. 

After swallowing every single drop of his fluids, you removed your mouth and began to crawl onto him, until you were hovering right above his softening cock. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” he asked in a daze, still coming off of his high.

“Shhh..” you hushed him. You slid your shorts and panties to the side and grabbed his dick harshly with your other hand. 

“W-wait! Don-” he began in panic. But it was no use, because the next thing he knew, you were slamming your hips down onto him, forcing his cock inside of you. 

You let out a sigh of pleasure, feeling his cock immediately harden back up inside your hole. The walls of your pussy began to milk it as you sat up and then back down, slowly riding him to a rhythm. 

Jake on the other hand was feeling way too overstimulated and restless. He had just orgasmed not even ten seconds ago, and here you were already shoving it back inside of you. You gave him no time to let his dick recover. 

He began to cry out frantically, “Wait! It’s still sensitive!” His arms flung out to try and stop your movements, but they just froze in the air, unsure of what to do. He noisily whined out in discomfort, but nothing. You just rode his delicate and fragile dick, ignoring his pleads to stop. 

“Come on, you can take it Jake. I know you can.”

-------------------------

The fire crackled softly, the only sound breaking the silence of the night. The air had grown colder, and you could feel the chill seeping through your clothes, making you shiver slightly. You pulled your jacket tighter around you, staring into the flames, lost in your thoughts.

Jake’s voice interrupted the quiet, breaking the calm with a soft question. “Do you ever think we could get off this island?” he asked, his tone laced with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

You shrugged, your eyes never leaving the dancing flames. “I don’t know, but I hope we do,” you said, trying to push away the lingering doubts that always crept in when you let yourself think too much about the future.

Jake shifted beside you, his voice more hesitant this time. “But what will happen to us?” he asked, his gaze turned toward the sky, like he was trying to find an answer in the stars.

You furrowed your brow, confused by the question. “What do you mean?”

He paused, as if gathering his thoughts, then his eyes met yours. “I like you a lot,” he admitted, his voice low. “But what if we go back to our normal lives and I never see you again?”

You were quiet for a moment, processing his words. The thought of parting ways with him was something you hadn’t allowed yourself to truly consider. But now that he mentioned it, it felt a little too real.

“Well, that’s not gonna happen,” you said, your voice firm, though you didn’t know for sure. “But even if it did... we’d have to move on. Life moves forward, you know?”

Jake looked at you, uncertainty still lingering in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly, a sigh escaping him. “I guess you’re right.”

The quiet settled between you for a moment, both of you lost in your own thoughts. Then, Jake spoke up again, his curiosity piqued. “So, why were you even on the plane?” he asked, his voice light but inquisitive. “What brought you out here?”

You took a deep breath, staring at the flames for a second before answering. “I was moving,” you said slowly. “I had a bad breakup with an ex of mine, and it kind of sent me into a spiral. I got pretty bitter about relationships after that. I ended up losing a lot of friends, and things weren’t great with my family, either... until recently.” You didn’t want to go into too much detail, but it felt good to say it out loud, even if it was just to Jake.

Jake nodded, listening quietly as you spoke. He didn’t interrupt, giving you space to share. “What about you?” you asked, curious now.

He chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck. “I was visiting my brother,” he said. “He lives in another city, and I was going to spend a few weeks with him. Things were kind of... complicated with my family too, but it felt like the right time to reconnect.”

You could hear the hint of hesitation in his voice, but you didn’t press him for more. Instead, you both sat in the silence for a moment, letting the crackling fire fill the space between you.

It felt odd, talking like this. In a way, you hadn’t really expected to open up so much, not in this place, and certainly not with someone you had just met under these bizarre circumstances. But it was easy with Jake, easier than you’d ever imagined.

“So, what now?” you asked, breaking the quiet. “Do we just keep going, day by day, hoping for a miracle?”

Jake looked at you, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I don’t know... maybe. But I think, for right now, we’re okay. We’re still here. And I think we’re gonna make it out of this.”

Just as he finished speaking, almost on cue, the sound of a plane flying overhead broke the stillness of the moment. Your heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, you bolted upright. “Oh shit!” you shouted, panic rising in your chest. You quickly started flailing your arms, yelling at the top of your lungs, trying to get their attention. Your mind raced as the plane seemed to be soaring higher, farther away, like it was already losing its connection to the island.

Jake was right behind you, his footsteps pounding in the sand as he followed your frantic movements.

“Jake! Get the flare!” you screamed, your voice cracking with urgency. The plane was almost out of sight now, and you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. Every second counted. "Hurry!"

He sprinted off toward the spot where you’d left the flare, his eyes wide with realization. You could hear the beat of your heart in your ears, each moment slipping by faster than the last.

Finally, Jake came back into view, flare in hand, and you watched as he aimed it at the sky, his expression tense. As the bright light shot into the air, a wave of frustration hit you. The plane was already too far gone. 

The flare fell back to the ground, its glow dimming, and you stood there, breathless, feeling the weight of the moment. Jake’s face mirrored your own, a mix of disappointment and disbelief.

“We... we almost had them,” he muttered under his breath, but there was no use in saying it now. 

“There’s no way they saw us or our SOS sign,” you said, your voice low and heavy with frustration. “Especially not at night when it’s so dark.”

Jake nodded, his face tense with the same realization you were grappling with. He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as the weight of the failed attempt hit him.

“I know,” he replied quietly, still staring into the dark sky. 

You glanced at the flare on the ground, its brief burst of light already fading into the night. It seemed like everything was slipping away, no matter how hard you fought.

“Well, at least we know,” you muttered, trying to hold onto a sliver of hope. “There’s still a chance.”

Jake’s eyes darkened with a mix of frustration and hope as he looked up at the sky again. “Yeah, maybe someone noticed the flare,” he said, his voice more hopeful this time. “They might be calling for help. We should keep an eye out for any more passing planes in the next few days.”

You nodded, your heart beating faster as a tiny spark of hope flickered. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The thought that someone might have seen that brief flash of light and was coming to help was enough to keep you going for now.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you agreed, looking out over the horizon. “We can’t give up now. We’ll be ready if another plane comes by.”

-------------------------

You and Jake lay back in the sun, enjoying the warmth as you fed each other pieces of fruit. The conversation drifted from light-hearted plans to deeper thoughts about the future.

“You know,” Jake said between bites, “once we’re off this island, I think I’ll finally take a break. I’ve been studying so much, I forgot what it was like to just enjoy life.”

You smiled, enjoying his relaxed tone. “Yeah, I get that. Maybe we could actually take a trip somewhere. I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. Or maybe travel around Europe for a bit.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds perfect. I’d love to see the world, maybe live somewhere by the beach and just... take it easy.”

You paused, your smile faltering slightly. “Yeah, but... if we get off this island, we’d probably have to go back to our old lives, right? You know, school, work... all that stuff. I’m not really sure I’m ready for a relationship right now, after everything that happened with my ex.”

Jake looked at you for a moment, his smile slowly fading. “I mean, I’d like to go back to normal too, but… what if we never see each other again? What if this is it? Just us, here.”

You shrugged, keeping the tone light, though there was a faint ache behind your words. "I don’t know… It would be tough, but it’s inevitable.”

He sighed, his eyes shifting. “I get that, I do. But I guess I’m just... not ready for things to go back to the way they were before. I’ve had more fun here with you than I have in a while."

You smiled softly, gently running your fingers through the sand. “Yeah, I’ve had a good time too... But if we get off, it’ll be the best of both worlds, right? We can go back to living our lives, but with this whole new chapter behind us.”

Jake was quiet for a beat, and you noticed his unease. But you didn’t push him, instead keeping the conversation light and hopeful, knowing that things might change, but it would be okay either way. 

“Okay,” you said with a yawn, your body beginning to relax as the sun's warmth lulled you. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up in a few hours?”

Jake gave a small, affectionate smile. “Of course.”

As you drifted off, your breathing slow and steady, Jake remained by your side, sitting quietly and watching you sleep. In the soft light of the day, with the gentle sounds of the ocean and the rustling of leaves in the breeze, you looked so peaceful, so at ease, and it struck him in a way he couldn’t put into words. Your features relaxed, your body still, and your chest rising and falling with each breath, it all felt so perfect. He couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by how beautiful you were. For a moment, it was just the two of you, the world around you fading away, and it felt like everything was right.

Jake had never thought of himself as the kind of guy to get lost in such moments. He had always been focused, driven by the constant need to do something, to achieve something. But now, sitting here beside you, feeling the warmth of your presence and the peace of the island, he realized how much he had missed out on. All those years spent locked away in his books, pushing himself toward the next goal, the next success, it felt so far removed from the quiet joy of just being here, of being with you.

What if he didn’t have to go back? What if this life—this simple, unhurried life—was what he really wanted? The thought made his chest tighten, his heart racing in ways he wasn’t used to. He had spent so long trying to fit himself into a mold, trying to be the perfect student, the perfect son, always chasing after something. But here, now, he realized it didn’t matter. With you, he was finally living, truly living, and he didn’t want to lose that.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a sudden, unmistakable sound, the roar of an engine overhead. His heart jumped in his chest, and before he even realized it, he was on his feet, looking up at the sky. Another plane. It was there. The opportunity for rescue, for freedom, was right in front of him. His hands trembled as he ran back to retrieve the flare, instinctively preparing to signal.

But as he stood there, flare in hand, something stopped him. The adrenaline coursing through him mixed with doubt, and the weight of everything he had been thinking in the moments before seemed to settle into his bones. The thought of being saved, of leaving this island, of leaving you, hit him like a wave. What would happen to you two after that? Would he just go back to his old life, to the endless cycle of studying and striving, or would he somehow find a way to hold onto what he had with you?

For a moment, he imagined the plane flying off into the distance, taking with it everything he had found here. The certainty of what lay beyond the island seemed so distant, so unappealing now, compared to the quiet connection they shared in this place.

With a quiet breath, he let the flare drop from his hands and turned, walking back toward you as you slept. And there, with his back to the plane, he sat beside you, the weight of his decision settling over him like the sun. He sat down beside you, carefully keeping his movements quiet to not disturb your peaceful slumber. The rays were warm on his skin, and the gentle sway of the breeze seemed to echo his own quiet thoughts. Maybe, just maybe, he'd found something more important than escaping the island.

And as he sat there, his gaze drifting over your sleeping form, he realized that for the first time, he wasn’t thinking about the future, about what he would go back to. He was thinking about the present, about this moment, and that was enough.

[wandasdove]

GROSS-ERY SHOPPING

Pairing(s): mommy!wandaxautistic!reader

Summary: in the grocery store, reader experiences sensory overload but doesn't communicate their distress to their mommy wanda. acting out and refusing to continue shopping, the reader's behaviour escalates until they push Wanda in a moment of panic. wanda, initially angry and confused, takes them to the car, where the reader finally explains their struggle. realising the reader's distress, wanda softens, offering comfort and understanding, and promises to be more attentive in the future. they drive home, with wanda ensuring the reader feels safe and supported.

Warnings: contains descriptions of a small sensory overload and emotional distress, which might be triggering to readers sensitive to themes of anxiety and panic. it also includes moments of verbal conflict, a physical confrontation where we push wanda and she is maddd, and elements of a dominant/submissive relationship

You feel the weight of the fluorescent lights bearing down on you, the cacophony of shoppers, and the overwhelming colours and smells of the grocery store making your head spin. Your breaths come shallow and fast as you try to keep it together, following Wanda through the aisles. She chats lightly, oblivious to the sensory overload that's threatening to swallow you whole.

“Hey, can you grab that for me?” Wanda asks, pointing at a box on a high shelf. Her voice sounds distant, muffled by the storm in your mind. You didn’t really hear her, and stare into the distance. “Y/N?”

You zone back in, hearing her tone and nod mutely, reaching up, but the sudden movement makes you dizzy. The box slips from your fingers, clattering to the floor. Wanda turns, her eyes narrowing slightly as she surveys the scene.

“Careful,” she admonishes, a hint of frustration creeping into her tone. “Are you paying attention at all?”

You nod again, more vigorously this time, hoping she'll let it go. But she doesn't. Instead, she steps closer, her presence amplifying your anxiety.

“You've been acting up all afternoon and I don't appreciate it,” Wanda says, her voice low and stern. “What’s gotten into you today?”

Her proximity is too much, her intense gaze too penetrating. The world seems to shrink around you, walls closing in. You can feel the panic rising, a tidal wave you can’t control. Desperate, you roughly push her away, needing space, needing air.

Wanda stumbles back, surprise and hurt flashing across her face. She regains her footing, her expression hardening into the one from the photo, a mixture of confusion and disappointment.

“Seriously? You push me now?” she snaps, her voice trembling slightly. “I can't believe you're acting like this.”

Tears blur your vision as the sensory overload reaches its peak. You barely register Wanda's next words, your mind a whirlpool of chaos.

“I don't want to be here anymore,” you say, your voice coming out harsher than intended. “I hate this place, I never wanted to come here. I want to go home.”

Wanda’s eyes narrow further. “Excuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to in that tone? We're almost done. Just a few more items.”

“No!” you nearly shout, crossing your arms defiantly, and stomping your foot like a child. “I'm not getting anything else. Didn’t you hear me? This place is awful, and I want to leave right now!”

Wanda takes a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure. “Listen to me, young lady. You need to calm down and stop acting like a spoiled bratty children. Remember your place. We have things to get, and you're going to help me.”

The harshness in her tone feels like a slap, and you shrink back, feeling the sting of her words. But the overload is too much, and you can't stop yourself from lashing out.

“Why should I? You never listen to me! You don't care how I feel!” you spit back, the words burning on your tongue. You know it’s not true, but in the moment you’re so worked up and can’t stop your mouth.

Wanda's face tightens, her patience wearing thin. She steps closer, her voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper. “You are walking on very thin ice, sweetheart. You need to watch your tone.”

Her proximity is suffocating, her stern gaze too intense. The world seems to close in around you, the panic rising like a tidal wave. Without thinking, you shove her away again, desperate for space.

Wanda's eyes widen in shock as she stumbles back, hurt and confusion flashing across her face once again. She regains her footing, her expression hardening once more.

“Fine,” she snaps, her voice trembling with controlled anger. “We're leaving. But we are going to have a serious talk about this and don’t think you won’t get punished.”

You don't respond, tears streaming down your face as you follow her out of the store. The moment you sit down in the car, the world goes quiet, the storm in your head beginning to recede.

Wanda starts the car, her silence heavy and uncomfortable. She doesn't speak until you've driven a few blocks, her anger seeming to cool as she notices your rapid breathing and tear-streaked face.

“Hey,” she says softly, glancing at you. “What's really going on?”

You take a shuddering breath, the words finally coming out. “It was... too much. The lights, the noise... everything. I'm sorry.”

Her face softens immediately, the sternness melting away to reveal concern and guilt. “Oh, sweetheart, why didn’t you say something?” She pulls the car over, turning to face you fully. “I thought you were just being difficult. I didn't know you were struggling like that.”

You shake your head, feeling a wave of relief at her understanding. “I didn’t want to bother you. I thought I could handle it.”

Wanda reaches over, gently wiping a tear from your cheek. “You never bother me. Next time, tell me. Please. I don’t want you to suffer in silence.”

You nod, leaning into her touch, the tension slowly easing from your body. “I will. I promise.”

She smiles, pulling you into a tender hug. “Good. Now let's get you home and settled, okay? No more stores today.”

You close your eyes, feeling safe and understood in her arms. “Okay Mommy.”

[readychilledwine]

Pieces of You pt 3

Summary - After losing Feyre to childbirth, Rhysand finds himself leaning on one of her friends much more than he'd ever expected.

Warnings - self doubt, slight manipulation, discussion of moving forward after the death of a spouse, hurt people hurting people, HOFAS spoilers *slightly* (a lot of us had this theory to begin with and I just played with it to fit this)

A/n - It can only be uphill from here, right?.. Special thank you to @honeybeefae and @thehighladywrites for helping me think through how quickly I should let reader and Rhys move on, and for convincing me that I should continue writing this. (Ps friends - sorry I can't tag you. I evidently hit the max tag amount with my taglists.)

✨️ Pieces of You Masterlist ✨️

The 3 month milestone had changed your and Morwenna's lives forever. Rhys had finally convinced you to move into one of his homes. He was insistently whispering to you over and over that the small cabin wasn't going to work anymore, that Cassian and Azriel barely fit inside it, that once his Little Mor and sweet Nyx began to move you four would need more space.

It had been also heartbreaking, entering the home Feyre had crafted, each room so individually thought of for who it was intended to belong to. Above all else, though, it had been lonely.

It wasn't your home. It wasn't the finely crafted wooden arches your mate had assembled by hand. It wasn't the rooms you had spent hours picking colors for. It wasn't cozy. That lack of security and warmth was why you were once again up at 3am. Despite the babies now sleeping for longer chunks of time, you never did. Regardless of if it was a night Rhysand spent at your side or one he spent tucked into the room he had shared with Feyre.

You leaned your head back against the exterior of the home, looking up at the glittering sky, and it finally happened.

3 months of mourning in silence. 3 months of screaming into your pillow. 3 months of stress, of anger, of overflowing love, 3 months of feeling like a shell of the female you were, of feeling as though your body was no longer yours, it crashed into you like a tidal wave. And it swept and destroyed everything in its path.

Rhysand shot awake in bed, feeling something was off. His chest ached, begging him to get up, to move, to search. He pulled on pants, glancing at Nyx and Morwenna sleeping peacefully, but you, once again, had not come to the room. He waited for the wraith to appear, feeling her just moments after he called. “Is it y/n,” Nuala nodded to the question, moving to admire the sleeping babes. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. She is mourning. That is her right.”

Rhys sighed, moving to your room without hesitation. He had hoped getting you out of that house would help. He had hoped the luxury he could offer you would have helped. He knocked on the door, listening for the broken come in that followed. “Why haven't you come to bed?” You were taken back by the question, taken back by him holding that perfectly tanned hand out. “Come to bed. Let me hold you until those sorrows melt away for the night.”

He knew you didn't feel it. That soft string that had made him scream, made him question all he knew about love and life. Part of him hoped you never did. Part of him hoped he would never have to explain to his family how it had taken him a miniscule 3 month period to fall in love with you and for a Mother given mating bond to snap. Part of him hoped he would never have to experience losing you, to add you to his list of things he would bury too deeply to properly mourn.

“I was unsure if I was wanted there.” That hand reached for yours, clasping it. He was so warm. Always so warm. You could bask in his warmth like he was the sun if given the chance. You shook the feeling mentally, though. “It is-”

“Our room,” he finished softly. “It is our room. Where our children are sleeping. Come to bed.”

Morning came much too soon for Rhysand. It had come much too soon for you as well. You took both of the babes, laughing as they spoke to each other in a language only they knew. They had begun taking more interest in each other, in toys, in the world. They were making life the greatest adventure, even if a lingering pain came from both of you seeing them smile so brightly.

It happened at the worst possible time. You were holding Nyx, forearm under his little tummy and letting “fly” as he worked so very hard to stretch his growing wings. Rhysand was watching you from the doorway, Morwenna on his hip as she looked up at him. Her thoughts were jumbled baby speak, all so happy. Nyx's were elated and fast. When you looked to the doorway, your wide smile fell as that string finished itself and settled deep into your chest.

Rhysand had never watched someone's mental walls fall as quickly as yours did. The silence in the room almost made the giggles of the two unknowing parties fade to background noise. “I was shocked too, darling. It's okay.”

Rhysand had dinner without you that night. He flew to the House of Wind with Nyx to eat with the Inner Circle. He wanted to give you time. He remembered the moment Azriel and Nesta came home, questioning their bonds after exploring those damned caves with the Quinlan girl and learning how the Cauldron had been corrupted. He knew you needed to process. He had too after all.

He took his seat trying to ignore the one that sat empty next to him. Everynight a plate was still sitting there. Even when you came, that chair sat empty, plate untouched. It was a screaming sign that the Inner Circle had not moved in. That they may never move on.

“It just makes the two mates theory make more sense,” Cassian and Amren were deep in a debate again. “If the Daglan, asteri, whatever the fuck we want to call them, did something to the Cauldron to ensure the mating bonds were taken over by it's creation for breeding purposes, then the existence of a Mother Blessed Bond must also be there.”

Amren sighed, “So which do you two have then?” Nesta stiffened at the question. “A Mother Blessed Bond is meant to be true love. It's who we are technically meant to find as a soul mate. A Cauldron made Bond is evidently strictly for breeding. Which do you two share?”

The table hushed. It was a valid question and point. “To continue,” Amren took a drink from her glass before setting it down with a gentle click. “If we come out and tell other courts about this, how many other fae will begin to question their bonds? Kallias and Vivienne? Tamlin and Briar? Helion and Saraya? Lucien and Elain? How do we even begin to prove which bond is which? Does it mean they love that mate less? Rhysand would not have loved Feyre less regardless of the bond type. He will never remarry. Never move on.”

Azriel flicked his eyes to Rhysand. He knew about the bond Rhysand shared with you. He had given Rhysand his blessing to move on and pursue. He had asked his brother to find happiness again. He watched the words land on Rhysand's features, watched his eyes dull.

“If Rhysand did find a new mate,” Azriel spoke softly. “We would all support him moving forward with the bond.”

Nesta scoffed from next to Cassian. “Imagine being that poor female. Living in the shoes of Feyre Cursebreaker. No one could compare.”

But you did, didn't you? Rhysand's grip on his thigh tightened before relaxing. You were just as special, as kind, as loving. You were beautiful. Gods knew you were absolutely beautiful. You were selfless.

“I wouldn't want to try to sit in her place. I would reject the bond,” Mor sipped her wine, leaned back with one arm across her stomach.

Cassian and Azriel both looked to where Rhysand was dead silent. “I need to take Nyx home. He's getting hungry. I'll be right back.”

When Rhysand came back to the House of Wind without his son, he had no intentions of coming back to you that night. So, he never did.

3 awkward weeks passed between you and Rhysand. 3 absolutely strange weeks of either heated kisses and touches or nothing. Not even a good morning. You sighed as you laid Morwenna and Nyx down in the nursery before taking the few strides to Rhysand's office.

He was avoiding you, and it hurt. It hurt knowing your mate, this beautiful unasked for second chance was avoiding you. He was hunched over his desk, reading over some papers and signing a few. “Are we going to talk about why you are avoiding me?”

“I am not avoiding you. I am busy.”

“Yes, busy avoiding me.” You sat across from him, feeling so cold and informal. It was as if you were nothing more than his employee. “Our children are asleep. We should talk about this while we can. I deserve to know if I did something wrong.”

He didn't even look up at you as he replied. “You didn't do anything wrong. As I said, I am busy.” This wasn't the voice of the male who coaxed you to sleep. The one who whispered his dreams to you. “You can go.”

The dismissal made the bond go taunt, and when he felt the first wave of your confusion and hurt, he locked it down more. “Rhys-”

“I think we should sleep in separate rooms again. Our relationship has crossed some lines.”

You blinked at him. Stunned and almost dead silent. “I don't understand where this is coming from?”

“It's the truth. I am your High Lord. You are my subject.” It killed him to say it. His own heart was screaming to stop, but that first brick wall now stood, waiting for the other 3 sides. “We cannot continue blurring that line.”

“You're my mate,” your broken whisper almost made him stop, but he dug in.

“Something we will need to discuss at a later date and time. Surely there will be away for us to reject the bond without causing a downfall and hurting your ability to nanny Nyx.” A second wall stood in place of you and his heart. He knew it was a low blow, and he watched your brows knit and mouth slightly open.

“Rhysand.”

“High Lord,” he corrected.

“Why are you doing this?”

“The bedroom you were in previously is fine.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“I am establishing a boundary, y/n.” He watched as you began to cry, holding in his own tears as he did. “Our relationship needs to remain appropriate.”

"Do you not want me? We are blessed with this second chance, and you are just turning your back on it. Please, is it me? I know I am not the beauty she was, I know I am not as special as she was. But I'd fight to make you happy, for our children-”

"Nyx isn't yours. Stop acting like he is.”

He watched as you crumbled inside of yourself, that last wall forming around his heart by destroying yours. He didn't mean a single word, but how else was he supposed to save you? All the Mother had ever done to Rhysand was take and take.

You recovered from the blow quickly, nodding as you aggressively wiped the tears from your face. "You have the weekend to find someone else to do what I am. Wen and I are leaving.”

"You can't just take her from me.”

"Yes I can," he knew what was coming, that new bond screaming for him to stop this all. "You aren't her father. Stop acting like it.”

You wanted to slam the door as you walked away before his act fell, before he gripped his chest and warded the room to sob. Little Mor had quickly become his everything. That dark hair, that button nose, those deep blue eyes. She looked like his sister, but you didn't know that when you threatened to take her away. Hadn't known why all three winged males so quickly became attached to her.

And now he was losing her. He was losing you. He was losing everything.

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