#and not just smut either

[sanatomis]

the lack of sung jinwoo x reader fics should be classified as a hate crime

[heartbreakincident]

nothing but respect for our troops (smut writers) but listen. i dont want to be the person to tell you this, but not every character is going to be a dom or a sub. some people. and i know this is hard to hear. but some people do have vanilla sex. and some of those people might even be The Character.

[kamaluhkhan]

ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 10.5k summary: after years away, vi returns home for the holidays and reunites with you, her ex-girlfriend. the universe (*cough cough* and your meddling families) push you together again, and neither of you can ignore the feelings that linger. (or: you, vi, and the ghosts of christmas past, present and future.) warnings: reader is ekko's older sister but not necessarily biological so appearance isn't specified; childhood friends to lovers + second chance romance; reader gets hit on by a creepy guy + gets into a fight (injury + blood mention), smut [strap mention (reader receiving), oral (both receiving), fingering (both receiving), biting, spitting, tribbing, sub!vi makes an appearance...kinda rough + possessive sex but there's aftercare too <33] (18+) ! a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR GIRLS AND GAYS <33 tbh i debated whether to post this now bc xmas was like....3 weeks ago but figured i might as well. so pls enjoy what is essentially an x-rated sapphic hallmark holiday movie.

♪: ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift (sun); winterbreak by MUNA (moon); last christmas by wham! (rising)

track 1: thank god it’s christmas by queen

(winter — age 17)

“okay, just relax your fingers — no, but keep some tension, apply a bit of pressure on the string….yep, that’s better. now, straighten your back….”

it’s dark and snowing outside, and the cold’s seeping in through the window of her attic bedroom, but vi still almost melts into the floor when you follow her advice and press against her chest. she worries that you can feel how fast her heart is beating — faster than it maybe should for someone she’d been calling friend ever since she could remember. 

you shift in her lap, her arms still wrapped around yours from when she offered to guide you through an instrumental version of wham’s “last christmas.” you tilt your head towards her, nose almost brushing against hers. 

“vi?”

“....yes?”

“maybe we should finish our lesson another time. we better hurry up, anyways. i bet ekko and powder are already arguing over whether we should watch home alone or home alone two.”

vi snorts. it’s practically a tradition at this point, along with the annual post-christmas-dinner pyjama movie night.

you try to hand her the bright pink guitar pick, but vi shakes her head.

“it’s yours. you’re gonna need it if you want more lessons.” 

“hm, or maybe i could sell it for a billion dollars once you’re a big rockstar,” you tease. “i can picture thousands of fangirls painting your portrait and writing mrs. violet lanes in their notebooks.” 

you get up, shoot her a wink, and leave vi on the bed, clutching her guitar and trying to get her pulse under control. 

neither of you say anything as you both get changed. the stereo plays the mixtape you’d made for her — you got her for secret santa this year.

“my mom loved this song,” vi hums, a warm ache growing in her chest when the next song plays. this is the second christmas without her, but vi is still not used to using past tense. “she thought freddie mercury was the best rockstar of all time.”

“i remember. you…you must miss her.” 

of course she does, and she could run through a million reasons why.

“vander says you’ll be spending new year’s at your dad’s,” is what she says instead.

you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “yeah.”

“your mom going, too?”

“just me and ekko. i swear, it’s like he’s trying to be this perfect dad to his new stepkids, meanwhile he’s the one who left us here to deal with his mess, the one who just ran away, and….whatever.” this time, you do scoff. “hey – do you have a shirt i could borrow?”

vi looks over to find that you’ve switched from the velvet dress you wore during dinner into a pair of flannel plaid pants; her cheeks flush when she sees that you’re only wearing a black lacy bralette on top. 

she clears her throat and pulls a clean jersey from her dresser, tosses it over to you. 

“that’s a shame. i was looking forward to spending new year’s eve together.”

you hum and slip the shirt over your shoulders. the only sources of light are the moon and the stars and the multicoloured christmas lights strung along vi’s walls, but she swore that your eyes flick down to her lips. 

“why’s that?” you ask. 

there’s something absolutely dizzying about being this close to you, the way your sparkly eyes wait patiently for her to respond. joni mitchell sings about skating away on a river, and vi wishes she could skate away from this conversation, but there’s nowhere to go. 

vi blinks away from your gaze and fixates on one of the many things she’s pinned up on her bedroom walls throughout the years. it’s a page torn from an old notebook of yours, something from seventh grade math class, but vi always loved your little drawings in the margins. 

vi?” you prompt, never one to let go easily.

“i want to kiss you at midnight,” she confesses.

“yeah?” 

vi nods. she’s tempted to walk out of her room, down the stairs and out into the winter night, until you weave your fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. she looks up — and you’re beaming, a smile that brightens vi’s entire being. 

“i want that too.”

vi finally, finally crashes her mouth onto yours, lips sticky with marshmallow fluff.

you taste like vanilla and gingerbread and hot chocolate that is definitely not spiked with irish cream that vi slipped into your mugs while you distracted the adults. 

you taste like home.

….

so, slight change of plans….i’m gonna stay here in london with the rest of the band. apparently the kirammans throw a super fancy holiday party with super fancy people every year, and cait convinced her parents to let us perform. fingers crossed someone important discovers us.

merry christmas, baby. and, if i don’t get the chance to say it: happy new year.

….

track 2: winter wonderland by darlene love

(winter — age 12)

you’re supposed to be looking after ekko while your parents are at work, but all that really means is making a big bowl of kraft dinner and stove-top s’mores for lunch and watching old christmas specials on the worn-out living room couch while you draw in your sketchbook and your brother, only 7 years old, programs the doorbell to play ‘jingle bells.’ 

when someone rings the doorbell, the tune floats through the house and wakes up your dog who starts barking like it’s the end of the world. 

“easy, ziggy.” you click a marker closed and run a hand through the husky’s fur, attempting to calm him down. “let’s go see who it is.”

you open the door, and there’s vi: snowflakes sparkling on her eyelashes, pink hair hidden under a knitted hat, and a toothy grin that brings out the dimple in her flushed cheeks. she’s also got a split lip and crooked nose from her last hockey game.

“we’re building a fort,” she tells you. she shuffles to the side so that you can see powder, who’s making a snow angel. “well, we’re going to. wanna join?”

you nod, smiling. “ekko!” 

your brother’s already behind you, slipping on his chunky boots and oversized coat that used to be yours before running outside and collapsing onto the fluffy snow next to powder. ziggy bolts outside, too, running circles around them. 

you stumble to get your winter gear on as fast as possible, the cold air rushing inside your front hallway as vi waits for you, kicking her snowy boot against the concrete entryway step. not even a heartbeat after shutting the door behind you, vi takes your gloved hand in hers and pulls you forward, the two of you a flurry of laughter.

…..

hey, pretty girl. i was at this party and one of your songs came on! every time i hear it, i’m in awe of how amazing it is….how amazing you are. i’m basically walking home in a snowstorm, so i’m gonna go before my fingers freeze off, but i just wanted to say that i’m so proud of my rockstar girlfriend.

i was also wondering: are you coming home any time soon? the holidays are coming up, and i really miss you. we all do.  

…..

track 3: last christmas by wham!

(winter — now)

vi should have learned from sonic youth and fleetwood mac: 

no sex or romance between bandmates. it never ends well.

it was bad enough giving into the rumors and fooling around with cait, but it’s another layer of messiness now that cait and maddie dating. meanwhile, cait is very much still bitter towards vi, vi is very much pining after someone whom she’s pretty sure never wants to see her again, and steb and lorris are very much caught in the middle. it’s no wonder the band’s manager suggested everyone take some time apart to ease the tension. frankly, while others protested, vi was almost relieved at the suggestion.

so cait’s off to london, maddie’s off to glasgow, the boys are going god knows where, and vi —

vi’s heading back home, back to you.

she wakes up in the bed of her childhood for the first time in a long time. her dad put on fresh sheets, but they’re still the same ones from back then — worn flannel with cartoon penguins. it takes a lot of willpower to untangle herself from the warmth and cloud-like softness, but eventually she heads downstairs to the kitchen.

powder still has exams so she’s not home from college until tomorrow, and vander’s gone to work. it’s just vi in her too-small christmas pyjamas (she has yet to unpack), eating a box of stale cinnamon pop-tarts for breakfast even though it’s well past noon. curiosity gets the best of her, so she peers through the window to see if anyone is next door.

your mom’s car is in the driveway, completely snowed in. there had only been a dusting of snow while vi was devouring the first pastry, but four pop-tarts in and it’s about doubled. she waits until the snow stops falling; with nothing better to do and a sugar rush to burn off, vi pulls on her old winter coat and snow boots she hasn’t worn since she was 18, grabs a shovel from the garage, and gets to work. 

it doesn’t take her long to clear the driveway, and she has some adrenaline to spare, so she decides to be a good neighbor. 

vi’s heaving one last shovelful of snow over her shoulder when she hears:

“violet? is that you?” 

she turns around. and, okay the first thing she registers is ziggy running towards her, the husky toppling her over into the snow.

“i missed you too, zig,” vi laughs. 

she gets up as ziggy’s still bounding around in the snow, and sees your mom standing in the doorway, looking a little more tired and a little more gray. but the smile on her face when she sees that it is, in fact, vi — it’s so bright that the snow might not exactly melt away, but the years sure do. 

vi remembers making snow angels with you while your moms gossiped over tea, how the two of you would stomp inside with a mess of slush and snow while laughter echoed from the living room. vi remembers your mom keeping a comforting arm around her shoulder through her mom’s funeral while you held her hand. she remembers your mom helping her pick out the perfect corsage to match your suit at prom, making a joke about how next time it might be an engagement ring, and telling vi how proud her mother would have been of her at your high school graduation party. 

with the golden glow of nostalgia comes a crashing wave of guilt at what vi said to you last time you spoke. 

“come inside, sweetheart. i’ll make you some hot cocoa as a thank you.”

vi is tempted to reject the offer, but your mom looks so hopeful and vi’s fingers are about to freeze off, anyways. 

so your mom makes hot cocoa as vi defrosts, the two of them chatting in the familiar yellow kitchen that you and vi once almost burnt down while trying to bake a cake for powder’s birthday. even the magnets and paper memories decorating the fridge are the same, with the addition of an article about vi’s band that was featured in the rolling stone, pinned up by a ceramic cow. 

“she’s an art teacher now,” your mom tells vi after giving an update on ekko. she glances at the oven clock. “speaking of which — i know you just finished shoveling our driveway, but do you mind helping me with another favor?”

“after the world’s best hot chocolate? anything.”

“i told my daughter that i’d pick her up from work, and i’m wondering if you would be able to take care of that.” your mom smiles. “i’m sensing a bad migraine coming on.”

the last sip of hot chocolate trickles down vi’s throat like cement. she knew she’d be seeing you, but didn’t quite plan for how that….reunion might go.

“of course,” vi says. 

vi puts both of their mugs in the dishwasher, about to grab the car keys from the hook by the door when your mom calls out: 

“oh, and violet?” vi turns around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”

you’re talking to a student when vi enters the art room of your old high school. nothing else in the building had changed — same boring concrete, same scratched up lockers, same graffiti immortalizing whom hooked up with whom. this room is the exception, vibrant with how students’ art is displayed all around, paintings and drawings and collages, and you’ve strung up multicolored christmas lights that give the whole space a cozy ambiance. you look the part of a cool, young art teacher: wearing a simple dark purple turtleneck tucked into black jeans and the same combat boots you’ve had since tenth grade, paint stains on your skin that is exposed by rolled up sleeves, and a marker behind your ear. you’re standing in front of an easel, talking to the student who happens to notice vi before you do.

“holy shit. is that violet lanes?”

vi watches as your face scrunches up in confusion, and then falls into shock when you see her standing there.

“it seems that it is violet lanes,” you state coolly while the student squeals. “what are you doing here?”

“oh, i, uh,” vi clears her throat, her palms sweaty. why is her body reacting like she’s a teenager about to ask out her crush for the first time? “your mom wasn’t feeling great, asked if i could pick you up from work.”

“you guys are friends?” the student asks, eyes wide as they flick between you and vi. 

“we used to date, actually,” vi clarifies. wrong move, she realizes, because you can’t help but glare at her.

“oh my god.” the student squeals again and reaches in their pocket to whip out their phone. “i need to tell alyssa that ms. l/n was in a relationship with the violet lanes. are you guys gonna get back together? oh my god, have you come to win her back —”

“layla,” you clip, and by the furrow of layla’s brow, it seems like you’re not usually so stern. you smile at layla, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you’ve done some great work today, but you’ll have to finish this when we’re back from winter break. do you mind giving ms. lanes and i a minute?”

layla nods once, gathers her things. when she walks past vi, she can’t help but ask for an autograph. vi complies, of course, even lets her take a selfie. a fan is a fan, after all.

and, quite frankly this is the only part of being in the band that she still enjoys: hearing how excited young girls are at the music she writes, the music that vi wished she had growing up, about girls liking girls, about girls falling in and out of love with each other. everything else is just an occupational hazard that vi’s getting more and more fed up with. 

when vi turns her attention back to you, you’re finished putting all the material away, wiping your hands with an already paint-stained towel.

“i meant what you’re doing back in town,” you explain, not quite meeting vi’s eyes. you pack away some books and your laptop into a supple leather briefcase, and slip on your coat. vi’s cheeks flush when you catch her watching you. 

“it…it doesn’t matter. i’m here for a while, though.” 

you sigh. “okay.” and you don’t say anything more. vi keeps up with you as you switch off the lights, lock the door, and stride to the parking lot in silence. when you get to the car, you extend your hand.

“i’m driving,” you say, gesturing at her to give you the keys. “we both know that you’re a terrible driver.”

“i’m not a terrible driver,” vi guffaws. 

“says the lesbian who gives the rest of us a bad name,” you quip, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips, like the first bout of sun after a winter storm. “c’mon, pretty girl. i’m not giving up, so unless you wanna freeze to death….” 

the nickname slips effortlessly from your tongue, so much so that you don’t even seem to realize it, but vi’s breath hitches and she’s more than happy to fold to your every whim if it means hearing you call her pretty one more time. 

“so….” vi glances over at you from the passenger seat. a snowy landscape passes outside the window, and you tap on the steering wheel to a generic christmas song that plays through the stereo. “you’re teaching high school now?” 

she wonders if you remember the last fight you had, almost two years ago to the day.

you keep your eyes on the road. “yeah. guess i graduated from finger-painting with kindergarteners.”

vi feels her cheeks heat up all over again. 

so, you do remember. 

she wonders if you’ve replayed it over and over again and hoped for a different ending like she did. she should have thought more about what to actually say to you —

“you know, i never understood why you liked this song so much,” you suddenly say when the radio starts playing dolly parton’s cover of ‘i’ll be home for christmas.’ 

vi can read between the lines, but she’s waiting for you to point out the irony in her preference for a song that’s about someone wanting to go home for christmas, something vi has deliberately avoided at all costs these past few years. 

“it just seems kinda sad,” you continue. 

“you love ‘last christmas,’ and that one’s pretty sad,” vi points out.

“sure, but it ends hopefully.”

“oh?” vi tilts her head towards you. “how’d you figure? 

“sure, it’s someone singing about heartbreak and how much it sucks during christmastime, but then there’s this hope that they still find true love down the line. it’s a maybe that isn’t hopeless.” you shrug. “meanwhile, your song ends with the lyric ‘if only in my dreams,’ which just seems too accepting of the fact that going home for christmas, being with the person they love — it might just be a dream.”

“i don’t know. some dreams do come true,” vi muses. 

by now, you’ve made it home. you put the car in park but keep the engine going, presumably to avoid becoming icicles. neither of you make a move to leave. 

you glance over at vi. “your dreams sure came true, ms. violet lanes,” you joke, but there’s an air of sadness to it.

“not all of them.”

“yeah? which ones haven’t?”

vi swallows the lump in her throat and hopes that you understand the look in her eyes. “let’s just say i’m working on them.”

you blink away and cut the engine.

….

you’re still dealing with the shock of seeing vi back in town when your brother, freshly home from college, suggests going skating. 

he can be fairly convincing, especially when he mentions that it’s a christmas season tradition, so, you prepare for what is essentially a double date with your brother, his girlfriend/your ex-girlfriend’s sister, and your ex-girlfriend, with isha as a fifth wheel.

should be fun. 

it turns out, despite all her past hockey experience, vi really cannot skate. in fact, skating seems to be the complete opposite of riding a bike: she’s terrible at it after years off the ice, essentially reenacting that scene from bambi. it’s easier to ignore vi’s presence when she’s sitting next to the snack bar, by herself, but then powder skates up next to you and asks if you’d be kind enough to please help her sister have a good time. you roll your eyes at her shit-eating grin, but it is a bit sad, watching vi on the sidelines. she’s wearing a beanie and a pair of sunglasses to hide her identity, and now she kinda looks like a divorced dad watching his grown kids pass him by while he’s stuck in a midlife crisis.

you convince vi to give skating another shot — it’s tradition after all — and pull her out onto the rink. you start by holding her from behind, keeping her hips steady until she gets the hang of it. you try to let go, but vi stumbles and reaches out for your gloved hand, and you melt into the familiarity of her fingers curled around yours. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, first with you pulling vi along, then with her taking the lead, until vi almost knocks into a small child.

“see what i mean by you being a bad driver?” you jest, successfully maneuvering to avoid collision. 

then, you follow where vi’s eyes have settled — on powder and isha laughing and chasing each other around the rink. vi had asked earlier when isha had dyed her hair blue; you still have some residue under your nails from last weekend, when powder came for a study break and the three of you ended up helping isha achieve a new look she’d apparently been itching to try. 

“you know powder’s graduating this year?” 

“she overloaded her credits so she could get out of there as soon as possible,” you explain, having had many conversations with powder leading up to the decision. 

vi nods, her jaw clenched. you already know what she’s thinking, and frankly, you agree: that vi hasn’t been here, literally and figuratively. you also feel the warmth of vi’s skin radiating through her glove to yours, notice the slight flush to her freckled cheeks, how chapped her lips are from the cold, so much so that you’re tempted to share the vanilla chapstick you’ve got on your own lips, to kiss her deeply like you did last time you were here, together.

it’s only been three days since vi’s been back home. this is only the second time you’ve seen her, and you’re already falling back into old patterns, tempted to ask her to stay, to try again, even though you already know the answer.

except….not staying isn’t the deal breaker it used to be, so maybe trying again isn’t as hopeless as you think it is.

vi squeezes your hand, and you realize that you’ve stopped skating entirely. 

“hey. you still with me?”

you nod, decide to enjoy this moment for as long as you can, and the two of you glide across the ice.

…..

when you suggest making stove-top s’mores, it’s another item on the list of things she’d missed. 

a list that’s been growing a lot these past few days.

vi offers to make more once you’ve all run out, and ekko follows her into their kitchen while you, powder, and isha keep watching christmas specials in the living room. she turns on the gas stove, stabs a marshmallow through a wooden skewer and waits for it to roast — and, for ekko to say something.

“i don’t know what happened between you and my sister, but i need you to promise me that the tabloids aren’t true. that you and that kiramman chick didn’t hook up…at least until after y’all broke up.” 

“or, what, you’re gonna challenge me to an arm wrestle? think you can finally beat me?”

“oh, i know it.”

a pause. the marshmallow catches on fire and vi blows on it to quell the damage.

“i didn’t cheat on her.” she throws out the burnt marshmallow and gives it another shot. “i would never. does….does she think i did?”

ekko shrugs. “not sure. some of those articles are pretty convincing. but, since you’re promising me that you didn’t…”

“i didn’t.”

“then that saves me from kicking your ass.” ekko nods once and uncrosses his arms, handing vi some graham crackers and chocolate. “actually, i could use your help with something.”

“sure.”

“she applied to this great art residency in new york, like, on whim. the only people she’s told are me, powder, and vander….i think she’s nervous to tell mom, at least until she knows for sure she’s gotten in, but this is the most excited i’ve seen her be about something in a while, and she worked really hard on her application…” 

“i’m sure she did,” vi states. “what do you need my help with?”

“convincing her to go.” 

“i’d love to help, but i’m not sure i’m someone she’d wanna hear from, especially about this. she was never a fan of me leaving to pursue my dreams.”

“she was never a fan of you leaving,” ekko corrects. “she’s still a fan of you pursuing your dreams.” he juts his chin out at the article stuck to the fridge. 

vi had just assumed that your mom had pinned that up.

“okay.” vi says. “i’ll talk to her.” 

a plateful of semi-burnt s’mores later, and vi and ekko return to the living room with the rest of you. 

vi forgot how nice this felt, all of you cuddled on the couch, ziggy included, watching how the grinch stole christmas. she half expects her mom to walk in through the door without even knocking, shake the snow off her hair, and hold up a batch of pre-baked gingerbread people she’d gotten for the kids to decorate.

but that’s not happening. other than isha, none of you are kids anymore and things can never be the same.

and yet — you glance over at vi and give her a sticky marshmallow smile, and she feels her heart grow three sizes.

….

baby, i swear it’s not what it looks like. the record label thought it would be good promo to get a picture of me kissing under the mistletoe…’tis the season and all that…..cait and i were both really drunk and things got a bit out of hand….but it looks worse than it is. i swear on my mother’s grave that nothing happened.

please call me back, baby…..i’m so fucking sorry….please. 

it’s not christmas without at least hearing your voice. 

….

track 4: river by joni mitchell

(winter — age 23)

it’s hard to believe that hours ago, you were kissing vi backstage and showering her with praise after the concert. she was happy to indulge in your excitement, even though she was all sweaty and her ears were still ringing from the crowd. 

more than happy, in fact. phone sex can only go so far, and it’d been too long since vi had seen you writhe and heard you whimper for her firsthand. 

“i missed you so fucking much,” you groan, tightening your grip on vi’s hair. it’s now an inky black instead of fuschia — the band’s starting to lean more punk rock. 

a particularly hard thrust is her way of telling you that she missed you too. so fucking much. she throws your legs over her shoulders, pushing the strap deeper inside you and digging her knees into the mattress as she coaxes you through another orgasm. you pull her down for one last searing kiss, your tongue searching each crevice of her mouth. 

“i can’t believe you’re here,” vi continues a few moments later, after you’re both cleaned up and getting dressed. she wants to add something along the lines of i love you, but she bites back the sentiment. she’ll save that sappy shit for later tonight, when she finally gets down on one knee for you. 

you glance back at her from where you’re pulling out a sparkly silver dress from your side of the closet (and isn’t that such a slip of the mind? your side, as if it’s a shared closet and a shared bedroom and a shared home; if she thought about it more, though, she would realize that, though she has no problem asking you to marry her, she’s still terrified at the thought of staying in one place for more than a few months).

“me neither,” you smile. 

vi walks over to you, presses her half-dressed body against your lingerie-clad form (vi’s sure you wore this fuschia set just to drive her insane; it’s working). she lodges her hand behind your ear and pulls you in closer, kisses you deeply because you’re here and she missed you so fucking much and she’s so ready to make you her wife.

she could write a whole record just about the taste of your lips: the sweetness of vanilla chapstick, the saltiness of sweat and the headiness lingering from the wetness you lapped up from between her legs.

you pull away first. vi tries not to stare at how your chest heaves, your breasts straining against intricate lace. 

“we, um.” you clear your throat. you slip your hand underneath vi’s blazer, and she groans when you make contact with the exposed, burning skin of her abdomen. vi thinks you’re about to suggest another round, or two, or ten, but instead you untangle yourself from her and say: “we should probably get ready.”

the after party is going well. the club’s busy, the music’s good, and the drinks are flowing.

you seem to be having a great time until someone (probably cait or maddie, on cait’s behalf) lets it slip that the band’s heading to london later in the month to start recording their new album before the end of the year….something vi decidedly did not want to tell you until later tonight, after the high of the proposal, after she’s promised you that she’s dedicated to this relationship, that she’s always been dedicated to you. 

instead, vi’s trailing behind you as you angrily stomp towards the bathroom, her mind scrambling to come up with a way out of this argument.

there’s a line, but you cut in front and slip inside as soon as someone walks out. 

“wait, what the fu —”

you slam the door and lock it behind you once you’re both inside, ignoring the subsequent banging and jiggling of the handle.

“please, baby, let me explain —”

“i can’t fucking believe you,” your voice is steady, measured, and for some reason that makes vi even more nervous. “you give empty promise after empty promise that you’ll be more present, but something always gets in the way, is always more important than —”

“don’t you dare say that you’re not important to me. i offer to fly you out anywhere to be with me, but you’ve only taken me up on the offer once. twice, now.”

“it’s been five years, vi. five years of us staying together because….god, at this point i don’t even know why — ”

“do you not understand how much i love you?” vi raises her voice over the sound of the club music outside. “i was gonna propose tonight.”

you stare at her, then start to laugh.

“please tell me you’re joking.”

“i’m not.”

“if you think marriage will save us, then you’re delusional. what was your plan — call me your wife while we’re thousands of miles apart, but not even have the time to answer my calls? we’re barely in a relationship now, vi. all that’s left between us are missed calls and voicemails —” 

“oh that’s really all that’s left between us?” 

“i love you, violet. i have since we were kids. but, now, there’s also all this — the parties, the crowds, the fame….you’ve gone all over the world, and you can’t even be bothered to visit your family during the holidays.”

“well i’m sorry that my ambitions are bigger than that nothing town we grew up in,” vi snaps. “i can’t believe you’re throwing a tantrum because i’m not making it home for christmas. for what? so we can all reminisce by the fireplace, pretend that we can be kids again, even though things can —” vi chokes back a sob, soothes it with a healthy dose of anger. “things can never be the same. you need to grow the fuck up.”

“maybe you should be the one to grow up!” you finally yell. “convincing yourself that this relationship is working, meanwhile you’re running away from everything and everyone you grew up with because it reminds you of your —”

“at least i’m not afraid to actually go after my dreams,” vi cuts you off before you can finish that sentence, uses the broken shards of your words against you. “don’t you want more for your life than finger-painting with a bunch of kindergarteners? you’re gonna end up just like your deadbeat mom, going nowhere, drinking yourself to sleep, all alone, with nothing to show for the life you’ve lived.”

as soon as the words leave her mouth, vi wishes she could take them back. you don’t bother swallowing your tears, letting them rush down your cheeks. vi digs her nails into her palms to prevent herself from reaching out and wiping them. it wouldn’t make sense, anyways. she’s the reason you’re crying. 

you take a deep, shaky breath.

“yeah, well, i’m glad that your mom isn’t alive to see what a selfish asshole you’ve become.” there’s a pause, and vi feels her stomach turn at your casual cruelty, your quiet anger. “i’m gonna pack up my stuff and catch the first flight out of here. merry fucking christmas and happy fucking new year. have a nice life.”

vi screams and throws the velvet box against the door you’ve slammed shut behind you. the hot tears that were building in her throat finally boil over. the engagement ring clatters onto the floor.

…..

vi? it’s me. not sure if you’ve blocked my number. i wouldn’t blame you. i know it’s been, like, a year, but it feels weird not hearing your voice for this long, especially around the holidays. well, i guess i could just turn on the radio….it’s not the same, though. anyways, merry christmas. happy new year, too. and….and i’m sorry. 

please come home.

…..

track 5: i’ll be home for christmas by dolly parton 

(winter — now)

karaoke at the last drop used to be one of vi’s favorite christmas traditions, so you decidedly avoided it at all cost since the breakup. vander always tried to convince you to join, but he understood and even made sure to not give you a shift during that time after you started working there at 21. 

you kept the job because, evidently, high school art teachers don’t make a ton of money, and you would one day like to move out of your mother’s house. 

which, as it turns out, might happen sooner rather than later. you applied for this artist residency in new york, and, yeah, you put time and effort and heart into your application, but you were sure that you’d be rejected. while you got your acceptance email this morning, and you were so fucking overjoyed at first, the thought of leaving still terrifies you, so you’ll postpone worrying about that until after the holidays. that’s what they’re for, anyways: a break from reality, a peek into a cozy snow-covered world where everyone is festive and joyous and worry-free.   

right now though, you’re feeling neither festive nor joyous. gert called in sick, and no one else is able to cover for them, so you’re stuck at the last drop on christmas eve, listening to one of your old high school classmates drunkenly fumble the lyrics of darlene love’s ‘christmas (baby, please come home).’

about three verses in, vi walks into the bar with mylo and claggor, flakes of fluffy snow melting into her grayish pink hair. you’re already pouring their drinks before they reach the counter. mylo and claggor offer their sincere appreciation, chattering away as they leave to snag a booth in the corner. vi stares at her drink before grabbing the beer glass. 

“you remember.” 

“are you surprised?”

vi smiles. “no. it’s just nice. cait keeps insisting i order gin martinis instead. says it’s classier.” 

something sour curdles in your stomach. “yeah, well. i’ve always liked you the way you are.”

that probably ended up sounding like you’re still pining after vi (which you’re….not) rather than the bitter comment you intended it to be. 

vi’s soft blue eyes search yours. 

“i better get back to the boys,” she finally says. “maybe sign up for a song or two.”

you’re busy clearing a table when you hear her voice again. actually — a silence fills the bar, and it’s replaced by the lush rumble of vi singing ‘last christmas.’

you watch her as she performs, eyes locked on yours, and it’s over before you know it. you feel like you should go say something to her, but then there are a bunch of excited fans that she has to attend to, signing autographs, taking photos.

as you swallow your disappointment, the normal chatter of the bar resumes. you’re walking back to the kitchen when you feel someone pinch the back of your thigh, right under your ass. you whip around to find that old classmate who butchered a christmas classic an hour or so before (james, you think his name is, from ninth grade science), with the most arrogant smirk.

“hey, gorgeous. my friends and i were just arguing over who should take you home tonight.” he gestures towards a table of guys who look like equally preppy assholes. “i won the chugging contest.”

“good for you,” you say, balancing a tray of empty glasses. “grope someone in here again, and you’ll be sorry you did.” you turn around to get back to work, but james grabs your wrist and stands up abruptly so you’re chest-to-chest.

“i don’t think you understand what i’m offering, baby.” you gag at the nickname and the stench of beer on his breath. you’re a bartender, you’re used to getting hit on, but creeps like this are the worst.

you rip away from his grasp. 

“i’m not interested,” you snap. “and i’m not your baby.”

“listen.” james puts his hands on your shoulders, and if both of your hands were free, you would promptly push him away. everyone’s having a good time and you don’t wanna cause a scene, so you try to think of ways to get this asshole out of the bar and into the snow without much of a fight. “you know, santa might come down your chimney on christmas eve, but if you’ve been a good girl this year i’ll come down your —” 

“there you are!” powder’s voice is loud over the sound of someone singing another generic christmas carol. she knocks into your side, breathless. “sorry we’re late. had some car trouble.”

“well, hello.” he removes his hands from your shoulders, shifts his predatory gaze from you to powder. 

oh, fuck no.

“powder,” you keep your voice steady even if your heart is racing. “go back to the table. i’ll be there in a sec.”

james reaches out for powder, but you punch him square in the jaw before he can so much as touch her, the tray of glasses crashing on the floor. 

james’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only egotistical, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a blow to their ego. 

in fact, he’s angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face.

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but powder manages to catch you before you tumble into the broken glass. she holds you as people start yelling. you think that vander rushes over, too, shouting at james to get the fuck out of his bar and never step foot in it again. 

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is all a bit fuzzy. powder tries her best, but you slump your body weight into hers and she almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” vi’s surprisingly calm voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you. 

somehow, you find yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the counter as vi stands between your legs. she carefully examines your injury, but you notice how she avoids making eye contact. 

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while.

“remember teaching me how to throw a punch?” the question slips past your lips before you can stop it.

vi looks slightly amused, and she finally meets your gaze. “‘course i do,” she hums. “you tried to convince me to help you start an all-female fight club at school.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the pain from your nose.

she remembers. 

somewhere within her, vi holds on to fragments of you.

“thank god the principal vetoed it. would’ve been a disaster,” she continues.

vi wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of her silk red button-down now stained a darker crimson. “how’s your hand?” she asks. 

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

vi smiles sadly. “i guess you’ve been the one protecting my sister while i’ve been away.”

while i’ve been away. 

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart. 

vi’s back home, sure, but only for a limited time. 

her fingers graze your cheek, and the breath hitches in your throat.

“you know, i only wanted to start that fight club as an elaborate plan to spend more time together,” you confess, opting to preserve the delicate bubble of nostalgia you’d stumbled into together. “we were each so busy….i had studio, and you were always away at hockey games. it wasn’t realistic in the end, though.”

“i would’ve stayed if you asked,” she tells you, and you wonder exactly what she might be referring to. 

you swallow the lump in your throat. “it’s what you loved, though.”

“but i - i loved you, more. you had to have known that.”

“yeah, well. i loved you, too,” you explain, and it’s clear that neither of you are talking about a lesbian fight club. “whether it was hockey, or music….as long your heart was in it, it was more worth it to let you go, to not stand in the way of your dreams.” 

“you were my dream.”

you scoff, cheeks heating up, and look away. “you probably say that to all the girls.”

“no.” vi guides your chin towards her. “just the one.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on vi’s— messy, urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. she cradles your face in her hands, and you wrap your legs around her waist to bring her closer. you taste beer on her tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the adrenaline, but dizzy from her. vi’s gaze is heavy on yours as she traces your top lip with her thumb.

“vi,” you whimper, itching to kiss her again. 

“you’re still bleeding.”

vi wipes away the blood with the sleeve of her shirt. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s a knock on the door. vander, wondering if you’re okay and if maybe you could hurry up and get back to work. 

you can’t sleep that night. before, staying up on christmas eve was an elaborate operation to catch santa. now, it’s overthinking a very hot kiss and all the unresolved tension between you and your ex-girlfriend next door. 

logically, you knew that you missed vi, everything about her and who she is, the way you would laugh and argue and make love. but the rush of feeling her tongue licking into your mouth, her body melding into yours after being apart for so long….

you’re scared that she won’t feel the same, but you’re even more terrified of letting the moment slip through both your fingers without at least trying. 

so, you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to her, when by some christmas miracle you get a text from her.

she climbs through your window not long after, wearing plaid boxer shorts and a zaun university sweatshirt you’ve been looking for, for about five years. you didn’t bother to change, either, only wearing an oversized shirt. you sit cross-legged on your bed as she waits by the window. vi stares at your chest for a good few seconds, and you remember that you’re wearing one of her band’s concert tees, faded from years of wear. 

“so, um,” vi starts, her voice as soft as the well-worn cotton of your shirt. “we have so much shit to talk about and figure out, but, i, uh, can’t stop thinking about early tonight —”

“vi.” the swarm of butterflies in your stomach is replaced by something more delicate, more urgent. “do you wanna come sit?”

vi swallows thickly, looking between you and the still open window. a winter breeze rushes through. you shiver, thinking she might just turn around and disappear into the cold night. instead, she shuts the window, removes her snow-covered boots, and settles onto the bed next to you.

you place a tentative hand on her cheek, still cold and slightly flushed. she shudders when you run your thumb over the tattoo under her eye.

“i know there’s a lot we have to work through.” you take a deep breath as she shifts closer, suddenly dizzy from the familiar scent of her winter pine old-spice body wash. “right now….right now, i just want you.”

“yeah?” vi smirks, her shyness melting away. she settles a warm hand on your bare thigh. “how do you want me?”

you exhale sharply when her hand travels higher, dull nails scraping at the fabric of your underwear. 

“it’s cute that you’re flustered,” she quips, leaning in even closer. her breath is warm and heavy against your lips. “because i’ve spent so many night replaying all the dirty, nasty things we used to —”

you tug her sweatshirt and pull her back onto the bed, feeling her body solid against yours. the vibration of her groan shudders through your body when you crash your lips onto hers with such hunger, you’d think you had been starving without her. 

“how’s about an encore, superstar?” you drawl. 

you bite your lip hard at how vi nods at you desperately, eyes all dark and lustful.

“you read my mind,” she breathes. by now, her hand has reached the hem of your shirt, and she pushes up the cotton to reveal the supple skin of your stomach. you give her permission to remove it, leaving your top half exposed.

her lips nip and suck down your body until she reaches the waistband of your panties. she pulls it up with her teeth, the elastic snapping back when she lets go. you whine her name, and she looks up at you with dark eyes. 

“can i?” her breath fans over your navel, her nails digging into your hips as she waits for your answer.  

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel vi smirk against your inner thigh before sinking her teeth into it. you whimper, and vi salves her tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. she positions your legs over her shoulders for better access to where you need her most.

vi moves her tongue and fingers in all the ways she remembers makes you shake, curl your toes, and grind down on her face. in return, you grip her pink hair, tightly, and utter praise in all the ways you remember makes her shake. 

“just like that, pretty girl,” you encourage, practically melting into the mattress. it feels so good — dangerously good, intoxicating, even — to be devoured by vi.  “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

vi’s moan vibrates throughout your body and she becomes faster, reaches her tongue deeper, bringing you over the edge. she leaves a few more bites on your body on her way up to meet you and when she does, vi’s lips and chin are shining with your release.

you lean forward slightly to lick it up. you ghost your mouth over hers.

“your turn,” you taunt and run your thumb over her tattooed cheek. 

you twist your calf around vi’s leg and flip your positions. she lets out a yelp when her back hits the mattress. once you’re hovering over her, legs and arms on either side of her body, you do what you’re sure you’d never get tired of doing: you kiss her, passionately, deeply. you bite her lip as you pull away. 

there was always a bit of jealousy that gnawed at you, became your very-own shoulder devil that you just couldn’t shake when you were together, no matter how hard you tried. it was no secret that vi was admired by many, that girls around the world were crushing on her, hoping they’d catch her eye, get their chance with her. you never felt like she was yours, and yours alone. 

but you do get a deep satisfaction knowing that right here, right now, you’re the only person who gets to see her like this — pink hair splayed across the pillows like her very own halo, but the rest of her telling a much less-angelic, much more sinister story: her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her cheeks a devilish shade of red, her eyes dark and lustful and waiting for you to make the next move. 

"you want me to have my way with you?" you whisper, voice honeyed with desire.

vi whimpers, a sound that fuels the fire in your abdomen. "yes."

you practically rip off her sweatshirt, kiss down her jaw, her neck, her exposed chest and sternum down to her stomach. vi lifts her hips from the bed so that you can remove her boxers, and you’re delighted to find nothing else underneath. 

you’re greeted by her glistening pussy. blowing onto her folds, you run your tongue from her hole to her clit, loving how you already feel her slick coating your lips. vi spread her legs even wider, and you take the opportunity to sink two fingers into her cunt. you know her body, as well as you know your own, as well as she knows yours. you flick your gaze up, view slightly blocked by the pink curls of her bush, but you can still picture it — how her eyes roll back, how her mouth opens to release a perfectly delicious gasp.

"god, i've barely touched you and you're already about to cum. did you miss me that much?" you tease, feeling her clench around your fingers. as if you aren’t subtly rutting your hips against the mattress, eager to ease the throbbing between your legs. 

all you get in response is whine. it’s muffled, and you crane your neck upward to see her biting down on her knuckles, so hard you’re worried she might break skin. 

unacceptable.

the rest of the world gets to hear her every day, any time they please. you want to be serenaded by the lyrics of her want, the notes of her desire. all for you and you alone.

with your other hand, you reach up to pinch one of her pierced nipples, always so sensitive. "answer me, violet."

vi props herself up on her elbows to look at you, just as you remove your mouth from her.

"yes!" she sings, practically sobbing. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the throbbing between your thighs intensify, hearing the frantic lilt of her voice — like she needs you and only you. "i missed you so fucking much. please, just do something."

at her request, you move up the bed so that the two of you are face to face, one of your hands holding her chin while the other is two fingers deep in her cunt. you add another, just to reveal in the timber of her sultry moan. she tries to bring her hand back, to quiet herself, but you shake your head. 

with your thumb, you trace over her lips, uneven and scarred and imperfectly beautiful. "open." 

vi obeys you instantly. you spit in her mouth, heart racing as you watch her swallow the combination of your saliva and her cum without question.

you continue fucking her with your fingers until she moans, louder and louder as she reaches her peak.

removing your fingers from her pussy, you lock eyes with her as you bring your syrupy fingers to your mouth and suck off her juices. then, you kiss underneath her ear, lips sticking slightly to her skin, and you whisper: "now i know why they say you have the voice of an angel.”

“fuck,” she exhales, the breath turning into a chuckle as you kiss underneath her chin, where you know she’s ticklish.

"one more time for me, okay, pretty girl? i want to feel you against me," you whisper. "i want to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."

vi nods, allowing you to adjust your positions so that your cunts are touching. you start fucking her down into the mattress and she sits up slightly so that your nipples brush against each other, the cold metal of her piercings encouraging the roll of your hips, her nails digging into the curve of your ass to bring you impossibly closer. 

“i missed you too. so fucking much,” you finally admit.  you flick one of the silver rings before leaning down and wrapping your lips around her nipple. 

“i missed these, too,” you add as you release her nipple with a pop, and vi moans. you’re grinning from ear to ear because, holy shit, vi is here and you’re together and you’re both happy, if only at the ecstasy of your silken cunts gliding against each other, at the taste of the other slicking your tongues, as thick as nectar and twice as sweet.

she laughs — love and magic and everlasting bliss — and you have to capture her lips now if you want to swallow the sound. you feel it bounce through your ribcage, awaken something deep within you that you feared was lost to time.

vi thrusts her hips upwards, presses harder against the seam of your cunt until you’re gushing against each other, not quite sure who’s making what mess. 

strings of cum connect you as you remove your body from hers. for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath. vi drapes an arm over her eyes, chest heaving. 

you throw on some clothes and leave the room, hoping that vi’s still there when you get back.

….

vi worries that if she opens her eyes, she’ll wake up from this dream. 

she’ll be in some uncomfortable bed in london or tokyo or los angeles. the dull ache between her legs would be thanks to some girl who’d be eager to text all her friends and spill all the details about what vi likes in bed, or caitlyn who would tell vi to shave next time, darling, or i won’t let you fuck me again anytime soon.

instead, vi hears the creak of a door opening, feet tiptoeing along the floorboards. the mattress shifts with the weight of someone between her legs, though their body is not touching hers. 

“vi, baby,” a gentle coaxing, a familiar voice, pulling towards something she forgot she needed. her heart soars when she finds you kneeling on the bed, holding a damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in another. 

“yeah?” her voice is hoarse, but her throat doesn’t sting in the same way it does after a concert. it feels tender, well-used, well-loved.

you hold out the cup of water, watch vi eagerly gulp down half of it before she realizes what she’s done.

“shit, i — did you want some?”

you smile and shake your head. “i had some downstairs after my shower.” it’s then that vi registers the water dripping from the ends of your hair, soaking the fabric of her (fine, your) sweatshirt. “i’m gonna clean you up. is that okay?”

vi nods.

okay? okay? vi thinks she might have whiplash. 

it’s been a while since someone has fucked her so well she’d be satisfied for years and then touched her so tenderly afterwards. you run the damp cloth over vi’s sticky, sweaty skin, occasionally leaning down to press soft lips where you’d left teeth marks and bruises before. 

“there.” you throw the cloth on the floor. “so, um. do you wanna stay….?” 

you bite your lip as you wait for vi to answer. you start picking at your nail polish, too. vi sits up and grabs your hand. 

“i do,” she soothes. “do you want me to?”

your smile brightens the entire room and you kiss vi before muttering:

“i do.”

vi slips on her boxers as you settle into the bed next to her, leaving her top half bare. she notices the sketchbook on your bedside table, and she lifts it up at you, a silent question if she can flip through. you take it from her as you shift to sit between her legs, her chest warm against your back. the room’s only illuminated by the string of multicolored christmas lights you’d left on, but vi can see the talent, the passion behind your work as you walk her through your sketchbook. you tell her about the techniques you’ve been working on and new mediums you want to explore, about how you want to make the kind of art that makes people appreciate the beauty in the everyday. 

“i always loved your art,” she muses. vi cranes her neck slightly, places a kiss on your shoulder then one on your cheek. “the world would be more beautiful if you shared it.”

you hum and place the sketchbook on your bedside table. you each shift to your sides, facing each other; vi notches a leg around your hips, and you throw an arm around her waist, fingers trailing down her tattooed back. 

“ekko talked to you, huh?”

“i would have said that even if he hadn’t,” vi promises. “so….have you heard anything yet?”

“well….yeah,” you sigh, smiling shyly. “i got in, actually.” 

“really? that’s amazing, baby.” she beams at you, excitedly cupping your face in her hands, leaving small kisses across your cheeks until you’re giggling. 

“okay, okay,” you laugh. “i don’t know if i’m gonna go yet.”

vi hums knowingly. she presses her forehead against yours. 

“i know you’re scared, baby,” she says softly. “but sometimes it’s just a leap of faith.” 

“i know.” you pause, gnawing at your bottom lip while your eyes fixate on the scar on her upper lip. “can i ask you something?

“anything.”

“when you proposed to me….” her body tenses up, but you brush your hand over her bicep and the tension in her muscles dissipates. “was that a leap of faith? like, were you scared?”

“well, not at first.” she takes a shuddery breath, her voice suddenly small. “i always thought that we’d be together….i just didn’t think through how we’d make it work, i guess. i didn’t mean to mess things up, though.”

“hey.” vi leans into the hand you cup around her cheek. “we both messed up. we never actually talked, you know? but….i’m glad we are, now.” you swallow. “i still love you, vi.”

vi exhales. “you know, girls tell me that they love me pretty much every day.” 

you can’t help it — you roll your eyes, and vi laughs. because, truthfully, her heart has felt more full at your admission of love just now than it ever has for an area of screaming fans.

“there’s a point to this, i promise,” she says, nudging her nose against yours. “i used to get such a thrill from it….but then i think about what you said earlier. my heart — it’s just not in it anymore. all the band is now is drama and gossip and compromises of fame over art, and…. i don’t know. it’s not really what i want anymore. i want to be with you. for real, this time.”

you blink at her; she can feel your chest pulsing against hers like a hummingbird.

“would you, um, if i were to take that leap of faith and do that artist residency, would you —”

“anywhere you wanna go,” vi promises. she thinks about it a bit more….how nice it’s been to be home for the holidays, how nice it would be to come home year round.  “preferably close enough so we can have dinner at home on the weekends.” 

“sounds like a plan,” you smile.

the two of you twist closer underneath the flannel sheets, sink into the mattress, and gaze up at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling until you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

you jolt awake a few hours later, several firm knocks on the door and ekko shouting:

“it’s christmas! get the fuck up before ziggy eats all the bacon!”

beside you, vi protects you from the frosty winter morning. her body radiates warmth, and her eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, as you gently shake her shoulder. 

she groans, turning on her back, rubbing sleep from her eye. 

“i better go.” 

“....yeah.”

you flush when you glance over as vi’s slipping on her sweatshirt, rose-petal bruises delicate across her skin. she opens the window, hair still mussed up, and a gust of frigid air rushes into the room. 

the image is so familiar: vi, one leg in your room and another out the window. you feel like a teenager again, scrambling to get dressed and avoid anyone hearing that you’d snuck your girlfriend into your room late at night. but there’s something else now, too — you imagine this becoming routine: waking up next to each other every day, swapping clothes, kissing over coffee and pancakes at breakfast. a place where the two of you might create some new memories, build a shared life together. and much more, so much more that feels like it could be your reality, sooner rather than later. 

you’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice vi rushing back towards you. she kisses you and kisses you, until your lungs are burning.

"merry christmas, baby,” she mumbles against your lips.

you grin back at her. “merry christmas, vi.”

....

hi baby, i know you’re at studio right now, but i forgot to ask you this morning: how do you feel about sending out holiday cards this year? i know they’re kind of cheesy, but it seems like the type of thing married couples might do…..

anyways, we’ll talk about it when you get home. i’m test-driving this new recipe for brussel sprouts to bring to dinner at my dad’s. 

i’ll see you later. love you!

[lxnarphase]

i suppose it’s considered baby trapping but it’s not bc you both are married and both want a baby really badly, but you and your husband are both so unsure when to go for it…so you both decide to indulge in the slightly taboo thoughts of not specifically saying you’re trying for a baby before sex but doing things that will def get you knocked up

he’ll tug the condom off right before slipping back inside with a pathetic groan, muttering ‘I just want to feel you a lil bit’

you’ll keep your heels pressed into his back so that he can’t do anything but feel you, and locking your ankles together when he cums inside your sweet cunt, eyes rolling back at the warmth of him flooding you

he can’t help but wonder if you realized he didn’t even try to pull out of you, not noticing that you wouldn’t have let him

he goes out and buys condoms, but purposefully buys them several sizes too small that there was no way he’d be able to squeeze one on his deliciously thick cock

when you find them, you throw them out, not even realizing they aren’t the right size. if they aren’t there, he can’t use them, right? you both are married…a night or two without a condom won’t hurt

[shouyuus]

making hickeys. on vi’s abs. thats all.

send me vi thirsts and i'll give u my hand in marriage

kissing down her abs till she's gasping, and she'd make the prettiest noises, wouldn't she? little pitched whines and bitten-off keens at the back of her throat, her fingers spearing through your hair, her hands uncertain of what to do -- whether to press you closer or to pull you away; there's a gasp stuck in her throat, heat coiling in her stomach, a disparate, untamed hunger licking up the length of her spine, tingling down her arms as she does her damned-well best not to flip you both and pin you beneath her.

but a part of her wants this too, yearns for the softness with which you treat her, the back-arching sweetness that collects beneath your tongue as you press kiss after kiss along the defined lines of her abs.

at first, to tease her, to watch them flex and relax, the lines carving into her skin like footprints on a tide-strewn beach. but then, after a while, you'd fallen into the well of her hitching breaths, the darling little moans she tries to tuck into the sides of her cheeks, no matter how often you tell her that you love her noises.

"p-princess -- please --"

her voice is ragged, though you've not moved an inch below her belly button, she already sounds debauched.

"but i'm not doing anything," you tease, grinning as you pillow your cheek against her now hickey-marked abs. she puffs out a breath, carding her fingers through your hair to stroke at your neck.

"if people knew how mean you really were --"

you lean down to nip at the line just above the waistband of her pants, making her hips jump up, her head tipping back as she gasps.

"i'm not mean." though you can't help the smirk that twists your lips as you catch her looking back down at you with those dark, blown-out pupils, her lashes fluttering, gaze half-lidded with want.

"such a pretty little liar," she says, with no malice at all, rubbing a thumb along your cheek. you crinkle your nose at her words, sighing as you finally relent and sit back up, letting her pull you across the length of her body for a long, heart-settling kiss.

"its your fault, you know," you murmur, after she lets you pull away, her hand still at the back of your neck, holding you close. she chuckles, her voice low.

"my fault?"

"yeah. for having such kiss-able abs."

she laughs then, the sound bright as windchimes, and just as sweet.

"right, right," she says, tucking you more comfortably into her side, "it's all my fault, and you're just a sad slave of consequence to my extremely kiss-able abs, right?"

you grin, nuzzling deeper into her embrace, "right. as long as you know it."

vi laughs again, dropping a kiss into the seam of your hair.

"yeah. trust me, pretty girl. i do."

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - love, rewritten

╰┈➤ pairing ; love hater!jungkook x hopeless romantic!reader

╰┈➤ genre/tags ; strangers to friends to lovers, sunshine x grumpy, fake dating (on some occasions), hopeless romantic x cynic, oblivious idiots to lovers, bartender!jungkook, fatherless!oc, romantic comedy, smut, fluff, some angst

╰┈➤ summary ; Step one: Find a really, really hot guy to fall in love with.

Totally doable. Easy peasy. You could do it in your sleep.

Except.. there is that small, minuscule fact that ever since you were two years old and could comprehend consonants and syllables and all those other things that create a coherent sentence, you had been told that you never needed a man. Your mother, your grandmother, great-grandmother — all women who reproduced without the help of a man (well, as far as biology would let them. There was indeed a penis involved, albeit it wasn’t one that stuck around long enough to see the product.)

You refuse to be like them. In fact, it’s your life’s mission. Move to New York City, date a man, fall in love, get married, have babies. That’s the plan.

And the plan’s going great — except Jungkook Jeon, the man who saved you from one of the worst dates of your life, is determined to help you on your mission; falling in love with him, someone who detests romance with a passion, wasn’t really part of the deal, though.

Or, in which there’s thirty dates, one generational curse, and zero idea you already met the one.

also available on: wattpad (coming soon .ᐟ.ᐟ )

𐙚₊˚⊹ PLAYLIST HERE 𐙚₊˚⊹

[ SERIES ; PART ONE RELEASE DATE TBD ]

date one, date two, date three, date four, date five, date six, date seven, date eight, date nine, date ten, date eleven, date twelve, date thirteen, date fourteen, date fifteen, date sixteen, date seventeen, date eighteen, date nineteen, date twenty, date twenty-one, date twenty-two, date twenty-three, date twenty-four, date twenty-five, date twenty-six, date twenty-seven, date twenty eight, date twenty-nine, date thirty

╰┈➤ extras!

✎ the date diaries: an excerpt from the taehyung entry

✎ a bar napkin left abandoned: a note by jungkook

✎ jungkook’s dirty 30th birthday bash [his POV]

✎ bodega brides: leaked messages from the groupchat

✎ lr!jk instagram

✎ lr!oc instagram

comment to be a part of the taglist!

© dreamersparacosm. 2025.

[sheepmc]

Dilf Professor Zhongli and Dilf Professor Neuvillette

Dilf Professor Zhongli and Dilf Professor Neuvillette brainrot hitting HARD rn like just imagine

Dilf Professor Zhongli making you ride him on his chair during one of his breaks when Dilf Professor Neuvillette caught the both of you only to join in kissing you sloppily devouring your moans whilst rubbing his cock through his pants

Both Dilf Professor Zhongli and Neuvillette will create excuses to either make you stay back or excuse you from classes just because they want to breed you

[kindalonely-ngl]

i think you guys need to stop using the terms top/bottom for heterosexual relationships. Just keep using dom/sub but for the love of God stop doing top/bottom thing for otome characters they don't even fuck men

Hmm I have to disagree with that. From what I understand and interpret the terms, dom/sub means dominant/submissive which specifically explains the power roles of the partners. Dominant = perceived to have the upperhand and control over the sub, is responsible to provide a safe space for the sub; Submissive = the one who's actually have the control over the flow, what the sub says goes, is taken care of by the Dom.

Top/bottom are simply the position of the partners involved during the intercourse and how they contribute to it. Top = the one at the top, actively giving pleasure, does all the work (lol jk). Bottom = the pillow princess (Edit 2: this one is an exclusive term too. Did some reasearching and it's originally used by/among lesbians but I've also seen plenty articles using "pillow princess" in heterosex relationship discussions) the receiving ends, the one who lays back and enjoys.

That's why the "you wanna top?/ Can I do the topping tonight?" Is just as relevant in heterosexual relationships.

There's also a "dom bottom" and a "sub top", and many more dynamic roles in sexual relationships.

When I say LADS men bottoming, I didn't necessarily mean the boys taking it from behind and MC/female lover pegging them (which is hot, want, need, but no, I don't always mean that). I only mean them letting themselves be the receiver instead of giver, and letting their lover do whatever they want to certain extent. So using the term top/bottom in heterosex relationship isn't weird and irrelevant, nor the term exclusively belong to the LGBTQ++ community (Edit 1: it is actually an exclusive term for the queer community 😯, now we know. Credit to @auggofroggo for their informative reblog). (Edit 3: thanks to @lycheejelli I did some digging and found out that the term top/bottom/vers is used by straight couples specifically under the context of pegging. If a woman prefers to peg and uses strap-ons in a sexual relationship, then she's a top. If a man prefer to be penetrated by his woman, he's a bottom. If they enjoy penetrating/pegging and be penetrated, they're vers).

But thanks for bringing it up for discussion though! ✨️

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Friday Night Entertainment (+18)

Time written- 11:05 p.m

Jason Todd/fem!reader smut

“C’mon pretty girl, jus’ like that.”

His rich, gravely voice always provided the proper encouragement, surging with pure arousal as his broad hands settled along your hips. His gaze remained ever so mesmerized with your beautiful, bouncing body, the loud contact of your thighs against his, amplified by your glistening juices after properly fucking orgasm after orgasm out of you.

You were a sight to the man slumped back against the cushions of his couch. Sweat dampened curls merely obscuring his vision of your lust dappled skin, love bites crowding your flush skin like an exotic choker.

Crescent moons along your hips from his hands alone, not to get him started with various hand prints. The view of those gorgeous, bouncing tits made it harder for Jason to resist, suckling a breast into his mouth as your lingering strength wavered, resorting you to merely rocking against his lap.

You were tired, well fucked out since the second he pulled you on top of the couch. The man couldn’t have bothered less to get his own pants off, merely unbuckling himself with a quick hand before smacking the tip of his fat, heavy cock against your quivering cunt.

At the start, the living room was filled with a chorus of loud moans, followed by a seemingly endless Clink! Clink! Clink! of his belt buckle with every thrust into your perfect pussy.

Now, your chest flattened against his, your lungs gasping for warm air as Jason’s hand reached down your body, guiding his stiff, soaked cock from your hole to rub against your folds. The groove of his tip nearly teasing your throbbing clit with each intentional rock of his hips.

“I know, baby. Oh, I know,” he cooes against your quivering lips before kissing them, noses brushing against one another while spending a second taking your bottom lip in between his teeth.

Your muscles ached for rest, trembling with nearly every few seconds after finishing three times, to Jason’s delight. How he was able to hold out so long was incredible, watching you writhe through thick lashes as you completely soak through the fabric of his boxers and jeans, but he knew he wasn’t going to last forever.

On a good night, he would’ve last just a bit longer, but now, he was tempted enough to almost go easy on you.

“Just one more,” Jason mutters, making the effort to maintain your gaze with a slight head tilt. “Come on, repeat after me. Just one more.”

“Just—“

You failed on the spot with a quivering cry, hips nearly jolting at his unsuspecting fingers pressed against your abused nub, purposely rolling the pearl along the calloused pad of his thumb before casually raising it to his lips, brushing off your sweet essence along his tongue.

“I’m waiting.” He states. What a bastard.

“Just one more!” You immediately whine out, your overstimulated embers growing a new, small hungry frame only he could appease and satisfy.

“Fuck, Jason. Just- just one more… please.”

Oh, you just had to throw in a please.

“That’s my girl,” Jason smirks, shifting his thighs slightly before reinforcing his hold on your hips, the sounds of wet skin resounding against each other growing considerably loud in seconds, fucking into you with a newfound, vigorous staccato.

[b1mbodoll]

since we are on the topic of vampires, vamp! jay is such a sweetheart when it comes to his human gf <3 he’ll take his time with you, kissin you until you’re needy n pliant in his lap n rubbing his thumb on the pulse point of your neck before licking that spot, sinking his teeth deep into your throat, the pleasure completely clouding your mind.

he’ll drink until he satisfied n he’s so gentle with you afterwards, running his tongue over the wound n pressing a delicate kiss to it as well, making sure you’re still with him <3 you always get so ditzy too n it’s not long before you’re pawing at his shoulders n baring your neck, whining for more :( jay really tries to hold back, he knows he shouldn’t take so much but you smell divine and it sends him into a frenzy, latching onto you again and making an absolute mess of your neck n his chin with blood.

he feels awful when you pass out n to make up for it, he prioritizes your pleasure when you eventually get needy, letting you use his body however you want. if you’re too tired, your sweet bloodsucker eats you out for hours, using his fingers and skilled tongue to draw orgasm after orgasm from you.

[asexualbuthorny]

you know what i hate?

when bitches wobify Mu Qing and make him into a twink and i especially despise it when they do it for a ship with Feng Xin.

and okay he's not as muscular and more lean (hence being describes as looking scholarly) but do y'all fucking forget the man is a martial god in his own right? by no means is that man a damsel in distress that needs Feng Xin to constantly save him. he's smart, he's cunning and yeah he had a few vulnerable moments but by no means is he a poor wet meow meow he would kick your ass and laugh at you for being a failure. and yeah he's more lithe, especially when he's constantly next to Feng Xin who is kind of hypermasculine in fandom portrayals and impo (general "gigantic masculinity" anyone?) and those two are THE SAME FUCKING HEIGHT so why is Mu Qing always drawn to be much shorter than Feng Xin. and also maybe let's factor in the fact that Mu Qing was poor when growing and likely had to go without food so the lack of proper food while growing probably had an effect on his development(this just a hc btw but still it tracks). also this whole thing kind of smells really bad when people take Mu Qing, who is described as scholarly, and feminise him. it's really giving "EUGH!!! school is for girls!! only boys play sports!! academics=lame, feminine girly, war=cool, MASCULINE, done by REAL MEN URGH!!!"

y'all saw a man who is a war good who doesn't conform to your idea of a "war god" and went "no❤️that one is a femboi catboi twink who gets bent over by that one who DOES conform to my basic, no nuance idea of a war god"

get bent xoxo

[radio-writes]

What is Left of Me Without You?

Synopsis: Your husband didn't love you, not yet at least—that's what he told you. First, he wanted to see just how much you loved him.

Warnings: dubcon, smut, oral - m receiving, sex, abusive relationship, heavy manipulation, gaslighting, some misogyny, angst

Tags: married, one sided romantic love, Alastor x Reader, female!reader, reader is somewhere on the ace spectrum too

MDNI

To everyone in your town, you and your husband were the picture perfect couple.

Alastor, the bright, charming, down-right intoxicating radio host, walking down the street with you, his absolute darling of a wife on his arm.

Smiling, giggling, sharing hushed whispers. It looked as if the two of you were lost in your own lovely little world.

Even behind closed doors, Alastor proved himself to be the perfect gentleman. You never wanted for anything, never grieved, never felt lonely. 

If you so much as glanced at something by a storefront, Alastor would have it tied with a bow at the foot of your bed.

If anything caused you grief, or even inconvenienced you the slightest bit, Alastor would have dealt with it by the end of the day. 

If you ever felt lonely, well...

You supposed you didn't really have the right to feel lonely. Alastor was always there, wasn't he?

You woke up to the sound of your husband's humming. His smooth voice glided over each note skillfully as you peeled your eyes open.

The sight before you wasn't anything new: the other half of the bed empty and already fixed up. 

You turned to sit up, and found Alastor in front of your vanity as he straightened his bowtie. He caught your eye through the reflection, and his smile broadened.

The greater half of New Orleans would probably kill to be in your place right now. Seated in a lavish bedroom, your famous, dapper husband walking to your side of the bed to place a kiss on your hand. 

"Well good morning, darling! Don't you look adorable in this state." His sweet words greeted you.

It was there again, that odd feeling that sunk in your gut. What was that?

"Good morning, my dear." You greeted him back, ignoring whatever it was. A tired smile graced your lips as you peered up at him. "Headed to work already?" You asked him. 

"Why, of course! Who else would wake up New Orleans and tell all those sleepy bones to shake a leg and hop to work?" He struck a pose, hand on his chest. "Only yours truly, of course!" 

His warm chestnut eyes met yours through the lenses of his glasses. You let out a tired, soft laugh as you glanced away to hide the heat that rose to your cheeks.

You adored this man—every single bit of him—so you found it hard not to get flustered over him, even after all this time. Hell, you were still counting your lucky stars that he chose to marry you of all people.

Why? Well, you tried not to ask yourself that.

He'd already given you his answer, hadn't he?

Alastor placed a chaste kiss to your cheek, quickly pulling you out of your thoughts before they could spiral. You looked back at your husband as he said something about having to run off or risk being late.

You remained sat in your bed, smiling and watching with hearts in your eyes as your darling husband waved on his way out of your room. 

"Looking forward to what you'll cook up this evening, sweetheart!" Alastor grinned, right before the door shut behind him.

And it was there again.

The gnawing feeling was coming by more and more frequently now. What was it?

Was it actually loneliness? But that would be so silly, wouldn't it?

Your husband didn't love you, but he trusted you. And that should be enough for now.

At least, that's what he said when he proposed.

You and Alastor knew each other for a very long time, and basically all of New Orleans knew you took a very strong liking to him.

Alastor had raised the proposition back then. You remember how he had explained that it would be a good thing for both your sakes. How you'd get to be with someone you loved oh so much, and how convenient it would be for him to finally get marriage out of the way. And even more so with a cherished friend like you!

Sure, you hesitated back then; unsure if you really wanted to marry a man who didn't love you the way you did him. But he sung you praises, he sung you promises.

You were darling, you were beautiful, you were smart, you were kind. How could he not grow to love you in your marriage? How could he resist falling for a such a doll who was offering him her heart?

So you said yes. 

Because you loved Alastor with every bit of your heart, but he simply just wasn't ready to love you back yet.

And he was such a lovely man who never failed to shower you with affection. Maybe you were just asking for too much—fretting over such small things—for you to feel upset about waking up without your husband beside you. 

And—and he was a radio host, after all. Of course he had to get to work early.

You really didn't need to spare it another second of thought.

No, what you really needed to focus on was how you could help your dear, hardworking husband.

You shook your head and slapped your hands softly against your cheeks. You've got to knock that annoying feeling loose. It was all so pointless.

With a more determined look, you got up from the bed. You neatly fixed the sheets and pillows, taking extra care to make sure every single wrinkle was smoothened out.

You silently ran over the list of tasks you had to do today.

Obviously there's cleaning and making sure the house was in order. It would be a real shame if Alastor came home to an untidy space. He's already out working late for both of you, the least you could do was make sure he had a clean home to rest in.

You ought to make time to drop by the market for some fresh meat to cook up. Alastor would surely be famished after work, right? And your mama always did say that the quickest way to a man's heart was through his stomach. 

You could also drop by the tailors and get the hem of one of your Alastor's dress shirts straightened out. He hasn't said anything about it, but he's avoided using that particular one for a while now. You knew the uneven stitches had to be bugging him.

Oh, you really needed to pass by a locksmith, too. That dang lock on the basement door still had not budged no matter what Alastor did, and you just could not find the key anywhere.

You've been waving the issue off for a while now—Alastor was right in saying there's no real rush to it, nothing really important down there, anyway—but it'd be nice to have the extra storage available to you again.

You let out a huffed breath and placed your hands on your waist. You held your head high and ready. "Right. Let's get this show started."

It was a busy day, as it always was for you. The hours ticked by as quickly as loose sand through an open palm.

You didn't have time to feel lonely, not when you were too busy scrubbing with all your might against a particularly stubborn grease stain on your sink. 

When the house was finally all neat, you got yourself ready to head out. Hair done, just a touch of make up, and a rather modest dress—at least as modest as Alastor had bought you. That man did lean towards the more finer tastes.

You felt it was a bit much just to do a few errands, but you were the sweet wife of a local personality. You had an image to uphold. You had to make sure you didn't do anything to tarnish your darling husband's reputation. 

This was just part of the whole package, you supposed. Nothing that can be done about it.

Heading out into the afternoon sun, you painted on a bright smile for all the kind people that greeted you. Cheery, happy, friendly. Oh, but not too friendly.

Meek, quiet, all prim and proper. The makings of a fine lady worthy of her spot by the dapper radio host's side.

You dropped your husband's shirt off by the tailors first. They seemed to be more than happy to rush your request once you let slip who it belonged to. They promised they could have it ready in just a few hours. You thanked them softly, and noted how they were such jolly workers, laughing even as you left the store.

You dropped by the locksmith before the market, not really wanting to carry out a bunch of raw meat as you went about your day.

The nicely dressed man was a bit—difficult to talk to. He seemed to think you had no idea what a door even was. He had just started explaining how you open a doorknob when you felt your cheeks start to strain from how hard you worked to maintain a smile.

"Oh dear me, would you look at the time," You politely cut him off, pretending to be shocked at how late into the day it was. "I am so sorry, sir, but my husband should be coming home any minute now and I haven't even started on dinner!" 

A lie. Alastor always came home late.

The man raised a brow at you in disbelief. Not that he didn't buy your act, but more judgmental that a woman would be so careless as to forget to take care of her spouse.

You ignore the look he gave you, keeping your shy smile on. "Maybe you could just sell me the tools. I could get my husband to work on it."

"Sure thing, sweetheart," The man shrugged. "I'll get what you need in a split, so you can run back and make a quick stew at the very least."

He ended up selling you the tools, along with a bunch of other needless things, with the assurance that your husband would definitely need them all.

You bit your tongue as you smiled and thanked him.

Why on earth would you need a box of nails and a bottle of glue to split a lock open?

But you really did not have it in you to stand in that shop any longer.

Besides, how would it look if the papers caught whiff of Alastor's sweet little wife yelling and lecturing a local shop keeper.

You couldn't burden your husband like that.

You hurriedly rushed to the market before they could close, buying the best cut of meat they still had at this hour, before you made your way back to the tailors to check on the progress.

The workers snickered as you entered, but you really didn't think much of it until they pulled out the dress shirt you dropped off.

A large, nasty stain of lord-knows-what sat right at the center of what used to be its pristine white color.

Your smile strained badly. "Oh dear, what on earth happened?" You asked with feigned worry. You already knew what happened.

"Afraid we spilled a bit of lunch on it, sweetie." One of the ladies explained, her companions giggling behind her. "Couldn't be avoided, unfortunately."

You felt your eye twitch.

"I'm sure a lovely doll like you could find a way to fix it. Wouldn't want that hotty husband of yours to leave your pretty face for something like this, would ya?" She went on.

"You better run, though. I heard the cleaners were planning on closing up early today." Another bitch woman spoke up.

Had you been any less horrified at your husband's ruined shirt, you would have been fuming.

You quickly took the shirt and paid, rushing out before you did anything stupid. Like cry.

Oh Alastor's rivals would have a field day twisting a story like that.

As you left the ladies called out "We did straighten the hem, darling!" And a more snarky, muttered comment, "Although, you'd think someone as handsome as Alastor could find a gal that could do something that simple herself."

The walk back home was probably the most tiring part of it all. Having to keep your back straight, your smile lovely, your voice friendly. Never letting the kind people know anything was wrong.

Because you knew those kind people were all itching to have any reason to gossip about your husband.

And you just couldn't have that.

Your shoulders finally sagged as you closed the door to your house. Your smile dropped immediately as you leaned against the door in exhaustion.

You stuffed the ruined shirt in your bag, thinking maybe your can throw it out later on, but you just knew Alastor would notice it was missing. He won't be happy with you, that's for sure.

Never mind that you've bent over backwards for the better half of a year to cater to him. Never mind that you've hidden all your faults under the rug. Never mind that you've been absolutely devoted to him even before your marriage.

You had to be perfect.

But you weren't. And you knew that. It seemed every other woman in New Orleans knew that. And now with the ruined shirt, Alastor would know that too.

He'll see you as less.

It's there again, that's stupid heavy feeling in your gut. Whatever it was.

You sighed in defeat. If you couldn't get the shirt fixed, maybe you could at least make sure he had a good meal to come home to? Maybe that could make him overlook your faults this time.

You burnt it. Somehow,—despite normally being an amazing cook every other time besides tonight—you managed to burn dinner.

You put your hands over your face, groaning in frustration, just absolutely exasperated. Why on earth was everything going wrong today. Why couldn't you just do one thing right? Why couldn't you just be of some help to Alastor? Why—

You lifted your face from your hands, attempting to slow your breathing. Your eyes glanced around your ruined kitchen and your burnt dinner, and that stupid shirt peaking out of your bag, and...the door to the basement? 

Right! Maybe there could still be one thing you could do right today.

You wiped your hands over your apron, immediately scrambling for the tools you bought earlier today. 

While you weren't the smartest when it came to these things, surely you could figure something out to try to loosen the lock.

You've watched your gentle husband fiddle around with the lock many times before, never opting to break the thing. You suspected he didn't want to look in any way violent in front of you, but you always thought it was so needlessly complicated.

You grabbed a hammer from the pile of junk and made your way towards the basement door. You tested the lock's strength with a few, rather light, taps of the hammer head. It didn't feel that sturdy. You thought you could definitely break it with a bit of force on your end.

You gripped the handle with both hands and brought the hammer down on it.

Once. The sound of metals clashing echoed in your house

Twice. You had to do at least this today.

Thrice. You can't be useless to him.

You smashed the hammer down onto the lock one more time and the battered thing fell to floor. 

Your eyes widened, lips spreading into grin out of relief.

Thank heavens, you managed something today. Alastor would be glad to hear this, at least. 

You bent over, picking up the fallen lock from the floor.

A weight pressed against you from behind.

Startled out of your wit, you stood up straight, just in time for whoever it was to flatten your body right against the basement door.

"What a lovely sight that was." You hear Alastor's voice right by your ear.

His head found home where your shoulder and head met. His nose trailed up against your skin as he breathed you in.

A gasp escaped your parted lips as you feel his hands squeeze the flesh of your hips harshly.

"Alastor?" You were partly dazed, confused what was happening.

His hips pressed against yours at the sound of his name from your mouth, and you all but recoil.

Alastor was rarely handsy, and that was fine by you. You actually realized that you much preferred it that way. Alastor's love being the only thing you ever really wanted from him.

Moments like these have always caught you off guard.

Because your husband knew that. He knew you weren't comfortable with being intimate. He knew you'd much rather have him just sit by you. He knew you weren't one to jump his bones.

And Alastor normally respected that.

"What a naughty little doll you are," Alastor's breath hot against your skin. "Welcoming a man home all bent over, presenting yourself." He whispered.

Your eyes widened, attempting to turn to face him, but his body kept yours pinned to the door.

"Baby, no. I," Your breathing had gone a bit ragged. "I was just picking up this lock here."

You raised your hand, showing the broken, battered lock in your grip. "I finally managed to open the stubborn thing." You tried to smile up at him over your shoulder, expecting praise.

Alastor's eyes stayed on the lock for a second too long you think, before his hand circled your wrist and yanked your arm behind your back. His swift hands made your other arm follow after it immediately.

The ache in your limbs, the grip he had on you, the shock of it all made the lock tumble right out of your grasp.

Alastor let out a hum of disappointment. "That's a real shame, sweetheart. I thought you were finally opening up to me." He said, his voice still filled with mirth. "Could have really used it tonight, too."

You felt him ground his hips against your clothed ass. His half hard cock evident against you.

He used one hand to keep your arms where they were, the other made its way to caress up your torso. His large palm trailing past your breasts, ending up by your soft cheeks.

Contrasting with the ones that held you still, his fingers were gentle against your face. His fingertips barely ghosted over your skin.

"I had a rather rough day at work, you see. Could you blame a man for wanting a little comfort from his wife?" He whispered.

The words hung in the air. Your lips unable to deny him, but unable to agree all the same.

A heartbeat passes, and suddenly you were free. Alastor stepped back from you, your body relaxing at the absence of his towering figure. 

"But what kind of ruffian would I be to force a lady to do that against her will," Alastor said, his tone rather carefree.

You turned around to finally face him, only to see him looking else where.

Your eyes followed his line of sight and you noticed the ruined shirt, pulled out of the bag, sitting right next to a burnt dinner, all framed by a horribly messy kitchen.

Alastor looked back at you, his charming smile ever present. "I'm sure you excel at all the other aspects of being a wife, anyway." He says, as if he hadn't just seen the failure you've made of your day.

He began to walk away, and your hand reached out before you could even think. Almost as if on reflex. Almost as if it's what you had to do.

You meekly pulled him back. His eyes watched you, almost expectantly, as you cupped your palms against his cheeks, and invited him down to meet you.

Your lips brushed chastely against his as he let out a satisfied hum.

You pulled away just enough to speak, your eyes looking up at him as your breaths mixed. "What...what can I do for you, my love?"

Alastor's smile stretched, his lips dipping down to meet yours again for a second time. His hand quickly found its way to the small of your back, heavy as he ushered you out of the kitchen.

"I think that's better discussed in the bedroom, darling." He purred against your ear.

You swallowed thickly against your tightening throat. 

Normally Alastor's hands on you were cherished, but you wanted nothing more than to squirm away from his hold right then. You knew where this was heading, but it just was not something you ever found appealing.

But you could do it for Alastor, right? You have done it for him before, anyway. 

Even if you didn't particularly enjoy it, at least you'd be satisfying your husband. At least you'd be close to him. At least you'd be useful to him.

Alastor, like the chivalrous gentleman he is, opened the door of your bedroom for you as he lead you in. You heard the click of the lock behind you, right before you were quickly tossed onto your bed.

You squealed as your felt your body bounce against the soft sheets. Your dress bunched up your thighs as you adjusted your legs.

Alastor stood at the foot of your bed, working his bowtie off with nimble fingers. "Darling, why so tense? It's only me." He says, his voice almost soothing.

But it was there again. That annoying feeling. It seems heavier than ever.

Was it really loneliness? 

How could you even be lonely now, when the man you love was waiting to mount you.

"I'm just nervous, that's all, darling," You managed to say honestly. "It hurt quite a bit last time."

Your eyes watched closely as Alastor's hand made quick work of the buttons in his vest, shrugging it off and placing his knee on the bed. His eyes trained on your reactions all the while, enjoying the flicker of uncertainty on your face as you bit your lip.

"I know a way we can ease that," He said. He reached out his hand to you, inviting you to take it.

Your shaky hand didn't hesitate. Because you'd do anything for this man.

You loved Alastor, so much, with your whole body, but he seemed to revel a bit too much in that knowledge.

He knew you could never deny him. So when your hand was in his, he pulled you closer, watching with delight as you awkwardly crawled to the end of your bed.

"Care for a box lunch, darling? It'd hurt less if we're a lot more slick." Alastor teased, chuckling as you looked at him with confusion.

The gears seemed to click in your head when one of his hand rested on your hair, the other worked his belt off.

"Oh," Was pretty much all you managed to squeak out. It was definitely not what you expected. 

You hadn't noticed that you tried to pull away until Alastor applied a bit more pressure on your scalp to keep you still. 

He pulled his heavy cock free from its confines. He ran his hand over it, lazily pumping the hardening member in his palm as his gaze was transfixed on you.

Your wide eyes watched every movement of his hand. Panicked, you seemed. Not unlike many panicked does he's shot down in the past.

Not unlike many panicked other things he's felt lose life under his hands.

"Something wrong?" Alastor mused, head tilting as he watched you flinch at the sight of his dick twitching.

Your eyes finally pulled away from your husband's groin, looking up to meet the man's lidded gaze behind his glasses. "We haven't really tried that before and," You bit your lip, unsure on how to proceed. "It just seems a bit deviant." 

"Well then it's lucky we're both in such safe company then, isn't it?" The hand in your hair loosened it's grip, opting to softly comb through your hair. The slight tension in your shoulders melted away. "I've been rather curious about what all fuss was about, didn't really have a partner I trusted enough before to try, though." 

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. He saw how bad you messed up today, didn't he? He saw how miserably you failed at the simplest of tasks. But he still trusted you? He still trusted you enough to do something as unorthodox as this?

"I suppose I've been rather curious about it myself." You smiled up at him nervously, your hand reached out by your own choice to hold his hefty cock in your palm.

You were lying.

He knew you were lying and he loved it.

"Then open up, my dear." You heard him say, gently guiding your head closer to his crotch.

You decided looking up at your husband was easier than watching your own hand pleasure his shaft. You kept his gaze as you parted your lips, letting your soft tongue meet the skin of his head before wrapping your lips around it.

There was a rather salty taste in your mouth, a bit of his precum leaking onto your tongue. You tried not to cringe at the taste, choosing instead to focus on the way Alastor's brows furrowed when you took more of him into your warm, obedient mouth.

"How do I taste, darling?" He teased, knowing you couldn't answer. 

He looked down at you expectantly. Not knowing what else you could do, you began to slowly bob your head, keeping your lips wrapped around his shaft.

You took your time, slowly letting more of him past your lips each time you sank your head back down. Eyes trained on your husband's face, part of you wondering if he'd praise you if you did a well enough job. But it seemed your efforts offered far too little friction for Alastor's patience.

His hips started moving against your face. Softly at first, but he soon began to push at your head to meet his thrusts.

The head of his hard cock nudged your throat and you choked. Your hands immediately went to his hips, nails digging in with how hard you held onto him. 

Tears forms in your eyes as you looked up at your husband, and your heart immediately filled with panic when you were met with a look of disappointment. 

"Hmm. Seems this might have been too much for you to handle." He sighed, finally pulling you off his dick.

A string of saliva stayed between the head of his cock and your lips as you coughed and gasped for air. 

But even as your jaw throbbed, you went to reach your hand out and tried to lean back in towards his dick. "No, no. I can do it, I promise," You said hurriedly.

"There's no need to force yourself, my darling wife," Alastor tutted, pushing you back by your shoulder, stopping you from getting another chance to prove yourself. "We can't help that you have your limits."

"I just need practice." You swore, looking up at your husband. You hated that you disappointed him again.

His fingers reach out to tilt your chin up, making space for his lips at your neck as he slowly pushed you back into the bed with his own body.

"If you ask nicely enough, I'm sure we can have you try again another time," Alastor said softly, as if granting you such a troublesome request.

The back of your head softly met your pillows as Alastor nudged your legs apart with his knee.

He slotted himself between your legs, grinding his slick cock impatiently against your panties. His groan was practically breathed into your ear.

You wanted to hear more of it. While you weren't particularly eager for sex, you were starved for your husband's praises. And if this is what it took then so be it.

You bucked your hips up to remove your underwear, your groin meeting his lazy thrusts as you did. 

"And here I was beginning to think you didn't want me." Alastor jested as he parted from your neck to help you rid yourself of your underwear. His long fingers slid the flimsy thing down one leg and let it stay on the other.

"There probably isn't a woman in this apple that doesn't want you, my love." You half-joked, but your soft laugh abruptly ended in a gasp.

Alastor pressed the thick head of his cock at your entrance, teasingly pushing in just the smallest bit. "You're most likely right," He said, watching as your eyes closed at his trespass. "But you are the only one lucky enough to have me."

And you should know it.

Your back arched as your husband pushed past the tight hole of your entrance. What little resistance your walls made barely bothered him as his throbbing head forced your walls apart.

His hands dug into the sheets by your body. The smooth covers wrinkling in his grip as he strained to stay still.

"This alright for you, darling?" He asked, running his thumb softly under your eye to coax you into looking at him.

Your heart fluttered. Even when in such carnal need he cared about your silly little wants. You pry your eyes open to see Alastor peering down at you with a smile.

"I could stay with this much if you need me to." He told you, rocking hips barely moving. The head of his cock nearly slipping out before he pushed back in, just until it disappeared again into your warm walls.

He was being so kind and accommodating, you couldn't bring yourself to be so needlessly selfish.

Your cunt strained to take even just his very tip, but it was so pointless to let something like that get in the way. Your petty little apprehensions shouldn't matter. Not when you're with your husband.

Your lips strained to force a smile. "I think I can take more, my dear."

It was all Alastor really needed to hear. he dragged his dick out of you, letting it slip out. Wanting you to feel how empty you were without him. Before he rammed his hips against yours; sheathing his cock fully in your warm cunt.

"What a gal," Alastor praised. "Loving, kind, and gentle, but takes a cock like she's on the clock in a call house."

Alastor loved the way you keened at his words.

He loved the way you yearned for his touch, even when you both knew it wasn't your game.

He loved the way you worshiped him, always so desperate to please him.

Oh, how he loved how you were always so ready to give him everything. 

Alastor loved you, but just not in the way you hoped.

When you woke up the next morning, the view in front of you wasn't anything new.

Alastor's half of the bed was empty. The previously rumpled sheets for the previous night's rendezvous were pristine and smoothened out once more.

It was there again. Whatever that feeling was. 

You assumed it's going to be here for a while.

Alastor seemed to have already headed out before you awoke, not that it felt any different from other mornings.

With a sigh you made your bed. Once again going over everything you had to do for the day.

You had to clean—because you always had to clean—but more so now knowing you left quite the mess yesterday. You have to stop by the market once more, maybe look through clothing stores to find a new shirt for Alastor.

You didn't want him upset with you over that after all. While he didn't bring it up, you knew it still likely bothered him.

You made your way to the kitchen, ready to get the day started.

Except something glimmered as you walked by it. Your head turned to its direction, seeing the same padlock you broke the night before in perfect condition—back on the door to the basement.

Your brows furrowed as you approached it. Fingers gingerly examining the cold metal.

But, how could it be back on here? You swore you broke this stubborn thing last night.

From the corner of your eye, you see a note on the counter, immediately recognizing Alastor's messy handwriting. 

Yes, of course. He must have replaced the old one and fixed whatever damaged you did on the door while you were asleep. That would easily explain it.

You picked up the note, smiling softly to yourself at how silly it was to be confused.

It was a brilliant bash, my darling, but it seems this lock is just much too sturdy :(

Don't fret! I'll find a way to open it eventually! Do try to stay away from the tools though, dear. We wouldn't want you hurting your soft delicate hands!

Yours, Alastor

P.S.

I'd prefer a little less char on the meat this time! Haha!

You tried to reread the note several times, wondering if your husband was pulling your leg again. 

You broke this lock, you knew you did.

You swung a hammer at it thrice and it broke. 

Thrice? Or was it four times?

Whatever, the count didn't matter.

Or did it? 

You remained where you stood, confused at what to believe. The note still clutched in your hands.

Did you really break the lock last night? Or were you just so desperate to get something right that your fooled yourself into thinking that?

If you broke the lock then why was it still there now? Why would your darling husband tell you otherwise?

The only reasonable conclusion was that you didn't.

Surely, that made sense, right?

Your eyes stared at the note. Alastor's name seemingly bright against everything else. 

No other possibility made sense. Besides, if Alastor trusted you enough to marry you, it only made sense to return that privilege.

Right.

Your eyes lifted from the note, to the kitchen in front of you. The mess you made still loud and present and ugly. 

There was no use standing there fretting over such a silly, pointless, thing. Not when you had more pressing matters to attend to.

Who really cares about a dumb little lock, anyway? Didn't you have such a long list of tasks to do today?

Like proving your worth

To yourself

To the world

To your husband. 

Part 1 of 2 I hadn't intended for this fic to run as long as it did, and the best part was yet to come. It would have taken ages to get this out if I didn't cut it into half. Anyway, Read part 2 of 2 here!

[fbfh]

Sjjememdj

Leo eating a sleepy reader out 💔💔

PLEAse I'm ovulating for this man 😔

I. BABES. You know that trend where someone will say all their dog’s favorite words or boyfriend’s favorite words to see how they react??? You got me with Leo, sleep, and eating out reader. Truly. 

In the words of luv note by chloe moriondo, for Leo sleeping has never been so easy. Not since he met you. Since he started sleeping in the same bed as you. Leo was genuinely surprised when he fell asleep like a goddamn log with his head on your chest, or with you pulled snug and close in his warm arms cuddled into his warm chest while he spoons you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. I’m getting distracted by (in the most literal sense) sleeping with Leo. He’s so warm and it’s always in a way that makes you feel so cozy. His breath is so warm on your neck, his hands are all over you. Leo also does do cricket feet right before he falls asleep. He is not aware of this but you are. He goes from tapping out messages in morse code on your skin (he will ALWAYS find a way to wiggle his hands under your clothes. Mans is KING of skin to skin contact. Despite how cold he gets he will never toss an opportunity to sleep as stripped down and close to nakey with you as possible, just to feel your body heat against him. You are his weighted blanket, you just… quiet his mind. And you know each other so, so intimately. You know him, you know each little cue. You know how he lets out a big sigh when he starts to fall asleep, you know how his hands will eventually still and be briefly replaced by his feet rubbing against each other for a few minutes before he falls asleep. If you’re cool with it he also will do cricket feet against your feet too. Might feel weird at first but it’s so goddamn cute that he subconsciously does self soothing stuff to you too. It’s like how animals will groom each other on instinct. On some deep base primal level of caveman monkey amoeba brain, his instincts go oh this is relaxing and soothing, let’s soothe our mate too. If we need comforting and soothing we’re gonna comfort and soothe our mate too. Duh. obviously. And it’s so fucking sweet and you could never put into words how deeply and profoundly those mundane little moments are. How much they affect you, how deeply and vastly they really mean to you. 

And the thing is your EXISTENCE soothes Leo. It really does. He just thinks you’re so goddamn cute. Like he actually gets occasional cuteness aggression because of you. He can and will bite you. Leo was NOT a biter before he met you. But then again you didn’t scream laugh until you met him. Really a sign of true love. So sometimes in the morning when you’re all sleepy and soft, all flushed and warm and mushy he just. Can’t help himself. It’s like a dream of a playground all for him. He kisses you and touches you so you don’t wake up too fast. He mumbles little sweet things into your ear. He pulls you sideways so you’re at an angle on your bed. You’re both probably close to being naked to begin with since we established how much this man LOVES skin to skin contact. Needs it even. He never slept in his underwear or naked before you. He does it BECAUSE of you. So he adjusts you and he adjusts himself until he’s kissing your stomach, your hips, your thighs. You’re probably just in undies and one of his big old MIT shirts (he got a few in the biggest sizes they had before he graduated so you’d have extras as big loose sleep shirts. He was successful.) so he pushes your shirt up enough to kiss your tummy, all soft and relaxed since you’re still mostly asleep. Or at least pretending to be. If he’s feeling particularly playful he might stick his tongue in your belly button, just to see if you’re awake by if you start giggling or not. Regardless, soon he gets down to the real meat and potatoes of it all. He holds your legs, he kisses your thighs, he just… takes his time. He revels in you, in touching and feeling and smelling every inch of you. He nibbles at that fleshy little part of your upper inner thigh that he just loves to bite and suck on so much, he’ll leave a few hickeys on those spots (leo obsessed with hickeys anon you are SO RIGHT I didn’t forget about you dw <3) and he won’t say this out loud because he always worries he’ll sound like some kind of psychotic cannibal or something, but he loves the taste of your skin in his mouth. He never, ever felt that before you. He didn’t know you COULD feel that before you. You’re both just so compatible on a chemical, primal level that it’s really mind blowing. He loves the way your skin kind of sticks to his a little when you’re both warm and cozy and a little clammy from sleep. He eats that shit up. Would it make him want to peel his fucking skin off when it happens with anyone else? Sure! But he LOVES that shit with you.

He’s just reeeeally gonna take his time with this. He just rubs his face into your mound or bulge, nuzzles in and takes a big deep breath of that raw, warm, sleepy you smell. He hums contently, kissing and languidly mouthing at you through your underwear until they’re nice and wet with his spit and your juice. If he’s feeling extra cheeky he will remove them with his mouth and teeth too. And lemme just say this one very concise statement. Leo Valdez eats you out for his pleasure. The thing is he knows EXACTLY what to do and how to do it to make you sing like a goddamn canary. He knows your body so well, so intimately that it’s freaky at times if you think about it too much. So on mornings like this, he can really just slow down and appreciate you. Each and every little drip and twitch, every ridge, every bump, every soft little wet achy squishy part of your insides. He eats that shit up.

Literally and figuratively. It’s sensory fucking heaven for him, and by the time you finally wake up, dripping and blissed out from the countless orgasms he’s coaxed right into his waiting mouth, you seriously think this is another wet dream for several minutes. Also he’s doing all of this with no hands. He loves using his hands on you a lot, but on slow mornings when he’s trying to keep his thoughts from going too fast right out the gate, while he’s waiting for his adderall to kick in and needs something to focus on, what he focuses on is you. How you taste in his mouth, how you make his whole body feel tingly and fuzzy and crackly, how he can feel ripples of pleasure working steadily through him as he ruts and grinds into the mattress a little, too distracted by how you feel and taste and smell, by the sound of his mouth expertly vacuum sealing onto your hole while he tongue fucks you to think about anything else. Anything at all. His nose is rubbing and bumping against your sensitive spot while his tongue rolls and rubs and flicks like he was born to do it. His hair, a little frizzy from sleep and smushed flat on one side, tickles your stomach. 

By the time you DO eventually wake up, you might as well stay in bed. Hell, you’re already soaking wet (and he’s about to bust a nut at any moment) and you know you won’t be able to walk anyway. Besides, who could function after waking up to something like that? No one. There will NEVER be a better opportunity to let him go down on you while you play with his hair, just so you can turn the tables and overstimulate him right back than mornings like this. It’s really a perfect moment in a string of perfect moments, all because they’re spent together. 

[microwave-core]

Could you write a Rika (from pokemon S/V) with AFAB reader who has major anxiety and is super nervous because it's their first time having sex with Rika? Like reader's brain is noisy and won't hush up enough to relax. Whether Rika is using a strap-on or not is totally up to you. Comfort, fluff, smut (go as nsfw as you desire) and aftercare.

um this is from august. anyways.

This is more, like, broaching the topic of your first time. It's not my best work imo but I need to set this down before I keep fiddling with it. Also the keep reading break keeps moving stop that.

So, we all know Rika fucks. Even though I've characterized her as someone who's secretly a disaster behind closed doors because fuck she loves her girlfriend, she's gotten plenty of action before getting with you.

To Rika, sex is just all about making each other feel good. She's had many partners before, a casual fling or two here and there. It's not a big deal to her, but she understands that not everyone feels that way. So when you draw boundries at touches that were too close and intimate for you to handle, she backs off, careful to not pressure you into anything you aren't alright with.

It starts with a simple make out session, her body practically glued ontop of your own on the couch. The proximity, her warmth, the tongue exploring your mouth, it's all so much, your head buzzing, above the clouds. You can't help but want it to continue forever. That is, until, you feel her hand, the one previously perched upon your hip, travel down, finding a new home on the waistband of your pants.

Rika pulls back the moment you pull your lips away from her own, face flushed, clearly nervous. It takes her a moment to realize that she took things a bit too far. She apologizes quickly, cupping your cheek gently, asking if you're alright with moving any further, and when you say no, that's that. She presses another kiss to your lips, this time chaste and quick, content to cuddle for the rest of the night (not before taking care of herself in the bathroom first).

She was dissapointed that things ended early, sure, but youre her girlfriend. Her sweet, lovable girlfriend. And the last thing she'd want to do is make you uncomfortable, push your boundries in a way you wouldn't enjoy. She gives you a bit of time, a few days or so, before bringing the topic up again, wanting to understand where you fall on all of this.

It's a simple question, really. "Why didn't you want to go any further?" No bitterness, no upset, just your girlfriend wanting to know where your boundries lie so she understands how to best navigate the intimate aspect of your relationship.

When you tell her you're a virgin, she really isn't surprised. Again, Rika's been with many people before, some who are wise beyond their years with experience and other's having none. Your shy touches whenever she was so close, the clumsiness in your actions and uncertainty of where to place your hands, it all was a give away, honestly. Not that she'd tell you, though. The last thing she wanted was to make you feel ashamed for something that really wasn't a big deal.

So she waits. She tells you as such. She'll wait for you to feel ready before trying to press forward again, but she does let you know that she'll be treating you to the best night of your life if you came around to the idea.

She doesn't show you but honestly she's so fucking excited. Being your first time? Setting the standard for any of your future partners, should you have any past her? Corrupting you? It's kinda hot to her. She wouldn't bring up the last part, though. Rika Corruption kink is real to me, but she's not going to spring that on you. Your first time should be sweet and gentle, about you and your pleasure. So she'll reserve that idea for when she gets off on her own.

The day you tell her that you think youre ready, she is over the moon. It's a little sudden on your part. You had been thinking about it for days, and wanting nothing more than to feel her all over you, over the most intimate parts of you, but were just too anxious to actually make the push. What if it wasn't all that you thought it would be? What if you messed something up? What if you did something really gross and it turned Rika off so much that she didn't even want to touch you? But your want eventually outweighs your worries.

It's a stammered confession, holding her hand, playing with her fingers as you get the words out, embarrassment burning up your face, thoughts going a million miles per minute, but you try your best to focus on Rika, the way her face brightens up at your words, the way she grabs your hand and squeezes it tight, her lips pressing on your forehead, the reassureance in her voice as she tells you that tonight she'll take care of you. Pamper you like you deserve.

Maybe telling her in the morning was the wrong decision, because you go through the rest of the day completely distracted, overthinking and worrying about what will happen when you get home, yet still excited at the prospect, left pressing your thighs together while trying to get any meaningful work done.

You get home before her that night, as you typically will, trying to act normal. Make some dinner, get cleaned up, don't overthink ever little thing. Normal nightly activites. Your heart stammers in your chest as you move around your apartment, but practically stops when the front door creeks open, a call of "I'm home!" echoing through the halls. She finds you quickly, pulling you into her arms, kissing you gently, complaing about the work day. You mention dinner, her face brightens, quickly returning to the kitchen to eat. Your normal nightly routine.

Rika's demenour is normal, but youre fidgeting and anxious. Bouncing your leg as you eat, trying to ignore the heated pit in your stomach. You can't think straight, simply nodding and humming along as Rika talks. How can you focus on her words at a time like this? She notices, obviously. She knows you, although anyone could look at you and tell something was up just by looking at you.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when her hand touches your thigh, not heated, just gentle, enough to make you look at her in the eyes for the first time since this morning, worry evident on her face.

"Do you still want to go through with this?" It's soft and quiet, for your ears only. You can only nod, placing your hand on top of her own. You were ready for this, you were tired of running away from what you wanted from overly anxious thoughts. A smile works it's way back onto her face, soft on the surface, but laced with an unmistakble heat, quickly standing up, ready to wisk you away to the bedroom. As much as she'd like to take you, taste you, right then and there, she was going to give you a proper first time.

[nateezfics]

[bxriles]

I’m sure that this is not a hot take and that a lot of people feel the same way but like…

The question “does it have spice?!🌶️🔥” makes me want to jump off a cliff. I’m out here looking for gothic book recommendations on Reddit, tumblr, and goodreads and WHY is this the first question so many people ask 😭

Look, I love erotica as much as the next person but come on. There have got to be other things that matter when recommending books or choosing to pick one up, my GOD.