#happy to post my writing again :)
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kamaluhkhan ¡ 1 month ago
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ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY
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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)
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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!
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xxplastic-cubexx ¡ 2 months ago
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personal happiness or what the fuck ever
bonus:
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#xmen#xmen comics#cherik#charles xavier#erik lehnsherr#professor x#magneto#jeans here too but ssh#snap sketches#i havent posted anything in what feels like forever and i GUESS i have to remind people i do draw sometimes. whatever.#aka in my brain i have at LEAST a five-page doujin where this gets incredibly nsft but i dont have TIME for that these days do i#so for now we get just. these scribbles. ill be able to make something exemplary again someday i swear <- optimistic#i think im going to close my comms off for the rest of december once i get through the batch i have now#which ... doesnt sound hard since the amount i have will probably take me to the end of december anyway 💀#i just need everyone to believe me i have better visions for yaoifying issue 309 .... the opportunity is right there...#like wdym the dream sequence is gon end on a panel of erik's eyes as he reinforces the idea charles needs happiness like scott and jean's..#call up your ex. right now charles.#what got me peeved about this issue is i have no idea what color eriks outfit could be vjaeLVKEJARK its like.#is he wearing a lab coat over a suit .... i think thats the intention ... or maybe it is a trench coat....#idk shit for me to figure out if i ever get the time to explore this thing again#LIKE UGH IM SCREAMING i have Such Visions that i dont have time to execute and theyre killing me#maybe ill just write them down idfk <- trying to write fanfiction ends even worse for me than trying to draw#anyways. im gonna drive myself mad good night everyone#i have to go to a christmas party tomorrow night. later tonight. whatever.#BYE
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damian-lil-babybat ¡ 5 months ago
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'Dead Poets Society' gang
Headcanon that these four drop poetry and literature quotes on their conversations unprompted.
Jason 'English-major-I-only-visit-the-manor-for-the-library' Todd-Wayne
Damian 'I-master-liberal-arts-unlike-you-plebs-PHD-holder' al Ghul-Wayne
Cassandra 'I-learn-English-thru-Shakespeare-as-god-intended' Cain-Wayne
Duke 'only-title-holder-of-vigilante-poet-and-will-cuss-you-just-as-poetically' Thomas-(future) Wayne
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hellspawnmotel ¡ 1 year ago
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even after settling down, theyre pretty cautious.....
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.......it doesnt last long
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mythalism ¡ 1 day ago
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genuinely curious how the writers and larger dragon age audience would treat thom rainier if instead of being appropriately* repentant and putting himself in prison he blew up a major orlesian government building to instigate a chevalier rebellion or tried to have someone do some necromantic blood magic ritual involving uncertain danger and possible sacrifices to bring the innocent children he ordered killed back to life
#*appropriately as in showing the expected amount of remorse in the appropriate way in a society founded on guilt and shame#i think blackwall actually tells us a lot about how dragon age's writers conceptualize justice and deservedness of punishment#im glad we get the option to forgive him but why do we get the option when anders is exiled at best?#and later characterized as a villain by dai#when solas is willfully imprisoned at best and trapped in a horrifying psychological torture chamber at worst?#blackwall gets a full redemption happy ending if inky so chooses#and im not saying he shouldnt#i forgive him every time#but its so interesting to me that narratively speaking#he seems to earn his happy ending through submission to punishment via imprisonment#as does solas but blackwall is portrayed far more sympathetically overall#there isnt the same meta-level narrative slander and clear agenda on behalf of the writing to make you feel a certain way about his crimes#as there is with anders and solas#why? whats the difference? what did he do to buy himself that narrative goodwill?#put himself in prison? why do the writers love carceral punishment so much lmfaooo#mine#if you wanna screenshot these tags and add them to the reblog feel free#im realizing i prob just shouldve put all of this in the post but its too late now#i think theres actually a strong argument that thom does not do nearly ENOUGH to right his wrongs#where is his effort to reform the orlesian military? where is his criticism of orlesian imperialism?#how does serving in the inquisition have a direct impact on the people he harmed? it doesnt#when you compare him to someone like roy mustang#yes im comparing him to roy mustang this is my blog and you are never going to escape roy mustang comparisons here#roy's political ambitions following his war crimes are directly related to those war crimes#and his goals directly benefit the same group of people he harmed#their ancestors and family members literally#meanwhile blackwall just kind of does vague “good” deeds and gets a full redemption#he really does not make much effort to repatriate the harm he did as a soldier#he just moves on#which again.... no shade to blackwall. my inky forgives him
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londonfoginacup ¡ 4 months ago
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Fuck. I missed my 10 year 1D anniversary by 17 days. September 29, 2014 SMG played on Radio 1 and I was changed.
Liam was my favorite. He’s always felt like home in a very specific way. Everything that I would say has been said. He deserved the chance to get better. He deserved the chance to atone. I will always be devastated that this is how it went.
To me Liam will always be that 21 year old trying his best, because I was a 21 year old trying my best. He will always be that bit of sunshine and joy who never said the right thing but his heart was in the right place. I will miss him and the grief will hit and it will hit and it will hit, because he was part of the everything that was pure magic in my bloodstream at a time when I didn’t know magic like that existed.
I saw 1D at the age of 22, exactly 31 days before I broke up with my boyfriend (who hated them). I remember literally ONE thing from that concert and it’s the moment that Liam said something so dumb that I knew, in that moment, that when I went home and booted up my laptop, people would be dunking on him for it. And they were.
He had too much on his shoulders from the very beginning and I only wish we could’ve help.
I’ve missed him for a while and I miss him now and I’ll always miss him.
But I loved him. And I love him.
And I love you all.
To every one of you who has journeyed in any form with me, I thank you. This fandom transformed me as a person, taught me what I was missing in life. I can honestly say I would likely have gotten married at 23 to a man who would turn out to be a Trump supporter, and be perfectly miserable now, if not for all of you.
This year has been one full of burnout and learning to cope with the bad sides of being an adult, and the burnout is still there and I’m still crawling my way through, but still yall have been here with me. I cannot thank you enough.
I miss Liam already. I miss him. I don’t want go to go work tomorrow and be given condolences. I don’t want to hear strangers talking about this pain that feels so private. I don’t want it to be real. I want this to be a bad dream.
But. I am so thankful to the fandom. I wish I could pay yall back properly for the wonderful experiences you’ve given me. I love you all.
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lesbianherald ¡ 29 days ago
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I’m going to phrase this delicately because I’m so deeply grateful and awed by the support I’ve received.
But I will say it is a little anxiety inducing how many people feel they can talk about coming home whatever way they want openly and publicly because it has “numbers” or whatever (referring to my own work like this makes me want to claw my eyes out because they baffle me and I don’t necessarily feel I deserve them but it’s important for context).
This is Especially true for the way people speak under things I very much see. Art of the fic. My Twitter mutuals posts. Things I will very obviously interact with. It feels like someone is walking into my back yard and talking shit as if I'm literally not standing in said yard like this 🧍
You make something for a community for free as an act of passion and then the community in turn becomes something that isn’t quite accessible to you anymore. I’ve seen this happen to a lot of fic writers in my previous fandoms and idk man it’s just kind of a bummer.
Like. Fanfic and fanart is made by people in the fandom for the fandom. It’s not work being produced by some distant people in Hollywood who shouldn’t be in the fandom space in the first place.
Idk, it’s actually pretty rare that this happens to me but I wanted to mention I am a human who can very much read the things you say guys 😭 like if you reblog art related to my work and call it a bunch of petty names and say you had to dnf I can see that. It’s totally ok to feel whatever way you want. But maybe don't feel that way in my back yard.
Again. I’m so grateful for everything I really am. You absolutely do not have to fuck with my work. Fuck I don't fuck with my work sometimes DKLFJSDHF. This is probably the last time I’ll talk about this because the last thing I want to do is come off like I can’t take criticism and I’m ungrateful. But sometimes I really am chewing at my enclosure like IM RIGHT HERE MAN IM LITERALLY BEHIND YOU HOW DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT.
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courfee ¡ 4 months ago
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for day 9 and 26 of @jeguluskinktoberr <3
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saetoru ¡ 2 years ago
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al-haitham’s the kind of guy who tilts his head slightly for a kiss before you even lean in to give him one. he just knows it’s coming. expects it. trusts it’ll happen.
he’s yawning when he sits at the table for breakfast, hair slightly disheveled from sleep. he sits down and when you place the mug of coffee in front of him, his head angles a little for that kiss you place on his cheek.
he’s drowned in endless paperwork at the akademiya when you stop by to visit, chuckling when he gives you that look of despair at the all the work he has to do. you don’t even manage to walk up to him fully before he’s leaning in and waiting for the kiss to the top of his head.
he’s shirtless in the bathroom, brushing his teeth at night when you walk in to brush yours too, bumping hips with his as you giggle. you don’t even have to turn before he’s tilting his head so he’s exposed and ready for that gentle peck you leave at his jaw.
“have you ever noticed how demanding you are for these,” you chuckle one day, pressing a kiss to his cheek to prove your point.
he grunts, leaning in and burying his head into your neck as you greet him at the door after a long day. “what makes you say that,” he mumbles.
“you’re ready for one before i’ve even come close,” you grin, “what if one day i don’t kiss you?”
“you’d stop kissing me?” he asks, squeezing your hips as he nuzzles into your neck. something tells you he already knows your answer.
and he’s warm. he’s close. he’s here and he’s everything all at once. he’s all you need and everything you’ve ever wanted. he’s the messy hair of your mornings and the pouty lips of your afternoons and that shirtless back of every night. he meets you halfway—maybe even takes the first step so you don’t have to.
he leans in for that kiss before you do. because he needs you, wants you, loves you—and he never lets you forget it. so you turn your head, press your lips against the side of his head and run your fingers through his hair as he sighs in content.
“no,” you hum, falling in love all over again, “no i’d never stop kissing you.”
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l4tchk3y ¡ 1 month ago
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All alone.🔥
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kasieli ¡ 4 days ago
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sometimes I get stressed then I remember they made Damian/Raven canon in the DCAMU and then suddenly everything is fine
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calmlb ¡ 8 months ago
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Domestic skk where Chuuya gets home after a long day at work, only to find the apartment empty, with no Dazai in sight.
The lights are off, not a sound to be heard, but Chuuya can feel Dazai’s presence— some kind of sixth sense they’ve both been cursed with since they were 15.
Chuuya slowly removes his coat & shoes, letting his eyes rove over the empty kitchen & living room, till his eyes finally catch the top of a familiar head of mussed, brown waves.
Tension he didn’t realize he was holding releases at the sight, & Chuuya takes a deep breath before padding around the couch. It would do no good for his own stress to add to Dazai’s, if tonight was indeed one of those nights.
As Chuuya rounds the sofa, he finds pretty much what he expected. Dazai is curled up against the armrest, looking small despite his gangly limbs.
What Chuuya hadn’t expected was for Dazai to be fast asleep— soft breaths puffing against the expensive fabric of the armrest.
Chuuya blinks in disbelief, but can’t help the fond smile that steals across his face. Dazai always has such a hard time sleeping, so finding him like
this was a welcome surprise. Especially compared to the more somber situation that Chuuya was worried he’d be faced with.
Chuuya removes his hat & gloves, laying them aside as he crouches in front of the couch. He shamelessly studies his partner while he can’t be teased for it.
Dazai looks peaceful— cheeks rosy with sleep, & unfairly-long lashes dusting his faint spattering of freckles.
Those freckles felt like Chuuya’s little secret, because the only way to know they existed was if one got close enough to see.
And it was no secret that Dazai didn’t let people get that close.
Chuuya finds himself brushing a finger over those freckles, following the perfect slope of Dazai’s nose, tracing his high cheekbones down to the contour of his smooth jawline.
Chuuya pinches Dazai’s chin between his thumb & forefinger, tilting it at just the right angle to press a gentle kiss to Dazai’s forehead. He bites his lip to hold back a laugh at the way Dazai’s nose scrunches at the disturbance, but he really doesn’t want to wake the brunet. He obviously needs the sleep if he fell asleep here, still in his work clothes.
Why is Dazai out here? If he knew he was this tired, why not at least lie in bed?
Chuuya absently brushes Dazai’s bangs away from his eyes as he leans into the touch, releasing a contented sigh.
Oh. Chuuya’s eyes widen. He was waiting up for me.
Or, trying to, at least.
This time Chuuya doesn’t stop the warm chuckle from slipping past his lips. He presses another soft kiss to Dazai’s temple, then carefully scoops him into a princess hold. He carries his sleeping partner to their room, smiling as Dazai nuzzles his face into Chuuya’s neck.
His partner really is such a cat.
Chuuya sets Dazai down on the bed, careful not to wake him, & draws the blankets up under his chin, just the way Dazai likes it. He doesn’t bother getting him into comfier clothes— obviously, he was comfortable enough to fall asleep as he was.
Chuuya does change his own clothes, though, & brushes his teeth before turning off the light & slipping into bed next to Dazai.
He turns to wrap himself around Dazai from behind, but before he can, he finds himself with a face full of mackerel.
Soft hair tickles Chuuya’s chin as Dazai snuggles into him again— always seeking out the nearest heatsource.
“I thought you were asleep, you malingerer,” Chuuya scolds quietly.
“Shh, I am asleep,” Dazai whispers, nose digging into Chuuya’s breastbone as he tries to burrow into his partner’s chest.
Chuuya rolls his eyes, but he can hear the grogginess in Dazai’s voice that tells him he wasn’t faking it. He doesn’t fight the urge to bring a hand up to card through Dazai’s fluffy waves.
Dazai doesn’t grant him a response other than to press himself even closer to Chuuya, so that they’re practically melded together. Chuuya smiles, pressing one more, languid kiss to the crown of Dazai’s head— pausing to breathe him in— before closing his eyes & letting sleep overtake them both.
Chuuya version
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feyshed ¡ 1 month ago
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I find it so sweet when Smitty like tries to include John as much as he can whenever they play games together. Like if John dies early on, he will (if there's a way too) mostly/only focus on bringing him back to life, or if it's not possible then if it's pretty early they maybe restart or if not Smitty will mention wanting to speed up the game so that they can start a new round (not necessarily to the others, but just saying it out loud or when he's alone).
And it's not only them that do that, yk like make sure everyone has fun and also gets good content out of it. I've seen others do it too and no matter who it is I find it very nice and sweet every time. Like duh they're friends and they want to make sure everyone has a good time, but it still makes me happy whenever I notice it. That being said I have noticed Smitty does it more often then the others and specifically to John :)
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youremyonepiece ¡ 1 year ago
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soft terror
zoro x gn!reader (no pronouns used), zoro's pov
in which zoro attempts to identify what he feels for you. (he's not entirely successful.)
warnings: none, just fluff (please lmk if there are any i should add!)
word count: 2.3k
part 2
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honestly, zoro is scared of you.
terrified.
it's a strange, unknown feeling to him. in fact, it isn’t until many long months after you’ve joined the crew that he even recognizes the emotion.
no, he had felt no apprehension at all when he first saw you. you were being held prisoner on a pirate ship, one that had engaged the merry in battle in hopes of cashing in on the straw hats' massive bounties. in the midst of the gunpowder plumes and flying splinters he had seen you, cowering on the enemy deck with your wrists cuffed in front of you, trembling but eyes bright and determined. he couldn’t keep his own eyes off you, distracted as they tracked your path to what he assumed was the edge of the enemy ship. what were you trying to do?
zoro swung absentmindedly at a rope that was thrown over the rail of the going merry, realizing the strength behind his swing too late. all he could do was tear his eyes away from you and watch as the force of his blade traveled across the water before slicing the enemy ship clean in half.
a silence fell over the scene, everyone seemingly frozen on both sides as the two halves of the ship began to slowly tilt inwards on each other, before--
“whoo! nice one, zoro!” luffy cried out, arms thrown up in the air. his yell was immediately followed by the panicked sounds of the enemy pirates as they began to scramble in hopes of survival, the straw hats entirely forgotten.
usopp crawled out of his hiding spot, cheering as he made his way to the merry’s railing to watch the enemy ship’s slow descent into the murky water. “perfect! exactly as i planned!”
he glanced nervously over at zoro to see if the swordsman would call out his lie, but zoro’s attention was back on you. were you-- were you going to jump? what were you thinking? still, he couldn’t help but admire your tenacity. you really weren’t going to give up, willing to even brave the ocean with your hands bound to escape.
“luffy!” he called out, pointing you out in the chaos.
luffy, hearing the urgency in zoro’s voice, looked in the direction he was pointing at and quickly found you, understanding what zoro was requesting of him almost immediately. he reached forward, gummy arms stretching far before wrapping themselves around your waist and retracting with the same speed.
you stumbled as you both lost and found the ground from under your feet in a matter of seconds. it didn't take you long to find your footing, however, and you quickly produced a roughly carved wooden stake from the folds of your tattered clothes. you held it defensively in front of you, eyes darting wildly between the straw hats as you tried to gauge the situation. "what- what the hell?" you breathed out, eyes wide with panic.
at your words, zoro sheathed his swords and held his hands out in front of him reassuringly (he knew he'd be able to handle you and the stick you clutched desperately, even unarmed-- despite your apparent confidence in your makeshift weapon, he could tell it wouldn't withstand a single hit, and you yourself were at least a good foot shorter than him). he cleared his throat before speaking, still a few feet away from you. "i'm not going to hurt you. none of us are. are you okay?"
unexpectedly, zoro found himself trusting you-- at least, trusting you to not be a threat to the crew. you couldn't be, he tried to justify to himself. you were too shaken, too frail, too exhausted to have been faking it. the terror in your eyes as they darted between his crewmates was too real for him to even consider suspecting you.
(looking back, zoro definitely thinks his decision had been unwise. he had been correct, of course: you would never do anything that would put the crew in danger. that isn’t the problem.
the problem is that he had believed you way too quickly.
but he also knows he doesn't regret it, because it had been you.)
it had taken a good fifteen minutes for the crew to calm you down and convince you that they weren't planning on killing you or taking you prisoner. zoro still remembers the relief flooding your eyes, your shoulders sagging for what seemed like the first time in months, the gratitude cluttering your mouth and spilling out all at once in a jumble. your flimsy weapon slipped from your fingers and laid indistinguishably amongst the debris from the fight. luffy stepped towards you, his friendly demeanor disarming your alarm as he easily broke off the wooden cuffs around your wrists. tears of exhaustion dropped from your eyes as you collapsed on the merry's deck, still conscious but too overwhelmed to keep standing or even properly cry. but the joy on your face was unforgettable.
(he doesn't want to admit it to himself, but he remembers every face you've made from then till now. he remembers it all. he can't help but to.)
he had let luffy take over introducing the crew to you, instead choosing to hang back against the wall of the kitchen and watch you. you were still slightly guarded, not entirely believing you were truly safe but not having any fight left in you to question it at the moment.
when your lips finally curved into a small, cautious smile, zoro had felt a strange sort of satisfaction deep within him. as if an itch that started when he first saw you had finally been scratched. and then-- and then you turned to glance back at zoro. his breath caught as his eyes met yours. yours were hopeful, searching, as if looking for confirmation that this was all really happening, that this wasn't too good to be true. he remembers being taken aback, surprised that you had looked at him of all people, but he hadn't shown it. instead, he'd just nodded once, and that'd seemed to be enough for you-- your smile had grown and your shoulders had relaxed by another inch.
that was the first time he had felt the strange feeling stirring within him. he hadn't known what it was, and that meant he didn't like it.
it had surfaced a few more times as you slowly but surely began to integrate yourself into the crew. at first, the plan had been to drop you off at the next town they found along their way, but that was quickly forgotten. you fit in well with the crew, like a puzzle piece they hadn't realized they'd been missing. it took a bit, but soon you opened up and were laughing as loud as luffy, usopp, and chopper during meal times. your love for reading helped you bond with robin and nami, and of course the damn cook was infatuated with you, what with how nice you looked.
you looked so nice, in fact, that zoro found his eyes glued to you whenever you were around.
which, unexpectedly, had seemed to be increasingly often in the weeks that followed. he had begun to notice you hanging out in his vicinity whenever he'd been taking a nap. same with when he'd been training.
at first, he tried to ignore you. tried to pretend like everything was normal and that your presence didn't make him feel strange things he'd never felt before. but it was hard to do. you were like a magnet; he was unavoidably drawn to you.
(you still are; he still is.)
when he couldn't take it anymore, when tamping down his nerves with strong doses of denial stopped working, he finally asked you, "what're you sitting here for?"
you smiled and he felt the familiar pit begin to form in his stomach. "where else would i sit?"
he jerked his head to the side, indicating with his eyes. "with everyone else."
your eyes followed his to the kitchen, from where the sound of some of the others laughing drifted out from behind the closed door. your smile didn't waver as you responded, "but being with you is... peaceful." your eyes found his again and your smile widened. he felt the pit grow, his heart thrumming loudly in his ears-- was he dying? "calming,” you continued. “i'd rather stay out here with you, if that's okay."
he barely managed a nod before turning back to continue his workout, desperately trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck and hoping you had, too.
it was that night as he lay in his hammock staring at the ceiling that he finally recognized the strange feeling that overtook him every time you were near.
fear.
you are terrifying to zoro.
now that it’s occurred to him, he is sure of it. of course it’s fear. it explains the way he's always aware of you when you’re near, the way his pulse seems to quicken when you draw close to him, the way your eyes on his seem to freeze him in place. and of course he didn't recognize it at first. he’s roronoa zoro-- he didn't feel fear.
at least, not normally.
(somehow, you are always the exception to all his rules.)
it's not that he thinks you could hurt him or the crew that makes you scary-- he knows you wouldn't, even if you could.
he thinks it's your smile, wide and unabashed-- or maybe it's your laugh, so bright and sunny and full of joy. it could also be your eyes, with their tendency to display your thoughts to him in high resolution, vibrant as a flower field in bloom and just as alive.
no, that's not true. he knows what it is-- it's you. all of you. your hands that seem to be so gentle when helping chopper tend to the crew's wounds, but also so determined as they clutched your weapon of choice in battle. your legs, the way they always tucked underneath you so neatly as you folded yourself into odd positions whenever you took a seat. your lips, that he could not help but dream of, to long to touch.
you are so soft.
you are the complete opposite of him, he who had been forged in combat. he who only knows of sharp edges and swift force. he, who is so afraid of what will happen if he ever dares to allow himself to grow accustomed to your touch.
because it is so tempting.
he remembers the first time he touched you like it happened yesterday. it was so innocent, so inconspicuous and not even really anything worth remembering, but he did. of course he did.
he had just taken his seat at the merry's dining table when you passed him his plate of riceballs that sanji prepared for him. his fingers brushed against yours as he took the plate from you-- and that was it. see, nothing, just a whisper of a touch-- and yet, to him, everything.
your fingers had been so warm. he couldn't stop wondering how your entire hand might feel, held in his, and he later dreamt of it when he took a nap on deck in the warm early evening sun-- the sun that always reminded him of you.
he felt so pathetic, so torn apart and undone at just that slight brush.
the second time you touched him had been considerably more significant. it had been just after a fierce showdown with a family of sea kings; your exhaustion after taking down one entirely on your own had you stumbling as you walked back to the sleeping quarters. luckily, he was right behind you, also hoping to get some more rest after the spontaneous morning exercise, and caught you in his arms before your knees hit the ground when you suddenly collapsed.
your eyes widened slightly in surprise before you looked up at him with a sheepish smile, cheeks pink. "thanks. guess i was more tired than i thought."
he wasn’t able to fall asleep once you both made it back to your own respective hammocks a few minutes later. instead, he listened to the faint sound of your breathing as it evened out and slowed down. the soft breaths barely reaching his ears were meditative, trance inducing, and before he knew it you were stirring and stretching, urging the sleep to leave your bones after having resided there for a few hours. he remained still, pretending to be asleep as you quietly slipped away so not to disturb him. it wasn't until your footsteps faded away that he was finally able to sleep, no longer electrified by your presence.
(he dreamt of you, of course.)
after that, though, zoro lost count.
it had been as if him catching you that day had broken a spell-- suddenly, he found himself encountering your casual touches almost daily. you seem more at ease around him, slightly leaning against him when sitting next to him on a bench or playfully poking him when talking to him. and all zoro can do is gather these memories like precious stones and hoard them away in his heart.
but he never reciprocates. he can't. because what if he gets used to you? your soft touches and smiles and laughs and eyes and god, what is he supposed to do if he can't imagine life without you?
he knows.
he knows that you're dangerous-- tempting.
he can see it so clearly, a life by your side, sharing every moment with you. he wants it, he dreams of it, he aches for it with all his heart, but he fears it all the same.
because he already has a dream.
(is he allowed to have two dreams, or is that being too greedy?)
it’s only at night, when he's keeping watch over the merry and staring across the endless silence of the black-blue sea, that he allows himself to question what he feels for you.
he wonders if maybe he loves you instead.
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wolfpants ¡ 11 months ago
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long haul - a drarry fic
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Long Haul | E | 8.6k
The last person Harry expects to run into on a long haul flight to New York City is Draco Malfoy.
Tags: EWE, NYC, mile high club, professor Harry, ward expert Draco, a history of missed opportunities, past background ships, drinking, sleeping together, competent Draco, flirting, mentions of infidelity (not between Drarry), hung Draco, public sex, dirty talk, pet names, mild D/s elements, mild humiliation kink, praise, blow jobs, deep throating, face fucking, light choking, exhibitionism, facials, these tags are kind of ott but this fic is v cosy I promise, kissing, morning sex, hand jobs, anal fingering, finger sucking, spanking, rough sex, anal sex, happy ending
Harry glances at Draco’s hand again, and this time, Draco catches him looking. “Oh.” Draco spreads out his fingers, turning them over. “That.”  Harry blushes. “Sorry. I’m being nosy.” Dry and amused, “Subtle as ever.” “It was in the paper.” Harry shifts, turning to rest his arm on the back of the couch, his head in his hand. Draco does the same, mirroring him, crossing his legs. Their knees graze. He doesn’t move away. “The announcement, I mean,” Harry says. Draco pulls in a measured breath and nods, looking at his naked ring finger. “That was a long time ago.” He looks up with a smile. “They only gave us a few inches. You must have been looking very hard.”
read on ao3 here
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front-facing-pokemon ¡ 8 months ago
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#this is one of my favorite pokémon of ALL time. this is one of those pokémon that#when it first came out‚ i had such a Visceral reaction to. i couldn't get over this fucking dog. and i still can't#THEY CAN'T FUCKING SEE!!!!!! AHJGSAKDGASJGDSKCGAJVCKABCKB#i love it SO much it's so fucking. cute. it's so fucking cute. so happy to see that blue haired bitch in the sv dlc having one#DAS IST MEIN BABY. I LOVE IT. lord this is the best. gushing over this dog#while also listening to discO-zone for the first time in a Long time#which is one of my favorite albums of all time. right next to probably vylet pony's cutiemarks and the things that bind us#and burn pygmalion from the scary jokes#there you go. there's my music taste lain out flat. kinda all over the place but discO-zone is one of those that i've loved since i was#a real youngin. and i just rediscovered it last night and UUUUUUUGGHHHH IT'S SO GOOD#MUSIC!!!! AND DOGS. feeling GOOD this morning#by the time this posts‚ it'll be like. two weeks later. but past me was feeling great when she posted this#about to start shiny hunting pawniard for a friend's birthday. technically getting eggs as i write this#wish me luuuuck..! it'll probably be his birthday by the time this posts. lemme check#oh yeah this is gonna post two days After his birthday. hopefully by the time this goes up i've already got the pawniard#HI FORGOT TO TAG THIS ONE#hisuian growlithe#hi from the future again lol his birthday was like a month ago by this point because i ended up queueing up this guy before all the gmax#forms. i totally forgot them. and this whole time i've been queuing them up and shoving them Above this guy. so it was even longer ago#that i queued this guy up at this point. teehee!
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