// Start a tiny riot //
He’s lucky, he knows that. There are many people in his life who care for him, who love him. It feels like their love comes with boundaries though, with a sense of responsibility that applies pressure more than comfort. It’s a love that tries to shape him into something safer, something better. Hers has never felt like that.
With her, it’s always been more unconditional. She sees all the parts of him—the bright ones, the easy ones, the stupid ones, the broken ones—and doesn’t flinch. Maybe even loves the wrong ones best. So her words, tender and very her, wrap around something fragile in his chest and make it feel steadier, stronger. He doesn’t know how to say thank you for that, only how to pour it back into her. Into this moment. Into the way he touches her like a dream made real. Into the way he plans to love her not just tonight, but in all the quiet ways that last.
“I can live with just this one,” he murmurs, nose brushing hers, his lips hovering at the corner of her mouth. "There's still one wish I'm waiting on," he adds with a soft grin. He thinks of the night sky, of a falling star and the hope he tucked into it. He can’t tell her, it would break the magic, but gods, if one more dream could come true, it’d be that one. "It's just waiting on you," he says slyly, pulling back to meet her gaze. He smiles like it’s nothing, just a tease—but his voice catches at the edge of it, like the words know what they’re holding. It’s not just a moment. It’s a promise he wishes he could make real.
Her motion stills him. All he can do is watch as her shirt lifts, revealing skin he’s never let himself take in like this—not with hunger, though it simmers low and steady, but with reverence. Like witnessing the first starlight break into the night, something quiet and luminous that doesn’t belong to him, but is offered all the same. His palm drags across her ribs, then upward to cup her breast. He doesn’t grope, but rather he holds, he worships. His thumb brushes softly over her nipple, and his breath catches at the way her body responds beneath the touch.
Closer. He feels it like a commandment, not rushed or frenzied—just true. He shifts, careful and sure, pressing their bodies together until the full length of her warmth curls beneath him. She’ll feel the hard line of him nudging against her, so ready it hurts, but he doesn’t move to take more. He just lets her feel what she does to him, how badly he wants her, how much deeper than want it goes.
His lips brush hers again, laden with something thick and full. A feeling that’s been growing for years and is finally, impossibly, real in his arms. His mouth drifts down to her chest, finding one perfect breast while his other hand slides low, fingers ghosting the hem of her underwear. He doesn’t press forward—yet. “Tell me what you want.” His voice is hushed, reverent. Tell me how to love you right, while we still have time.
With her, it’s always been more unconditional. She sees all the parts of him—the bright ones, the easy ones, the stupid ones, the broken ones—and doesn’t flinch. Maybe even loves the wrong ones best. So her words, tender and very her, wrap around something fragile in his chest and make it feel steadier, stronger. He doesn’t know how to say thank you for that, only how to pour it back into her. Into this moment. Into the way he touches her like a dream made real. Into the way he plans to love her not just tonight, but in all the quiet ways that last.
“I can live with just this one,” he murmurs, nose brushing hers, his lips hovering at the corner of her mouth. "There's still one wish I'm waiting on," he adds with a soft grin. He thinks of the night sky, of a falling star and the hope he tucked into it. He can’t tell her, it would break the magic, but gods, if one more dream could come true, it’d be that one. "It's just waiting on you," he says slyly, pulling back to meet her gaze. He smiles like it’s nothing, just a tease—but his voice catches at the edge of it, like the words know what they’re holding. It’s not just a moment. It’s a promise he wishes he could make real.
Her motion stills him. All he can do is watch as her shirt lifts, revealing skin he’s never let himself take in like this—not with hunger, though it simmers low and steady, but with reverence. Like witnessing the first starlight break into the night, something quiet and luminous that doesn’t belong to him, but is offered all the same. His palm drags across her ribs, then upward to cup her breast. He doesn’t grope, but rather he holds, he worships. His thumb brushes softly over her nipple, and his breath catches at the way her body responds beneath the touch.
Closer. He feels it like a commandment, not rushed or frenzied—just true. He shifts, careful and sure, pressing their bodies together until the full length of her warmth curls beneath him. She’ll feel the hard line of him nudging against her, so ready it hurts, but he doesn’t move to take more. He just lets her feel what she does to him, how badly he wants her, how much deeper than want it goes.
His lips brush hers again, laden with something thick and full. A feeling that’s been growing for years and is finally, impossibly, real in his arms. His mouth drifts down to her chest, finding one perfect breast while his other hand slides low, fingers ghosting the hem of her underwear. He doesn’t press forward—yet. “Tell me what you want.” His voice is hushed, reverent. Tell me how to love you right, while we still have time.
Kaisel
// Stop being so goddamn quiet //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
