#i was drunk when i wrote this but idc i think i spilled | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soleilnomoon · 2 years ago

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Hello~~ It's me~~ Again, don't block me, you coward. Can I request calla lily and evening for Nami with deep kisses and goodbye kisses themes #5 and #6 please? I beg of you. I will take even crumbs, thank you.

thank u for being so patient, this was definitely a labor of love, made it extra special for you ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

1.4k words, gn reader (no pronouns, babeyyy), nsfw 18+ mdni, it's angsty and you'll love it idc <3 (i made myself sad when i wrote this ok)

💖☁️ la vie est drôle ☁️💖 starring: “cat burglar” nami x reader. calla lily (smut) at evening, deep & goodbye kisses, #5 & 6 (massage and bath).

a lively festival takes up the majority of the main street — brightly colored balloons, drinks made from the fresh fruits from the cluster of trees that huddle closely together on the east, steamed buns, fried fish, rice and beans, sauteed vegetables, tiny sponge cakes decorated with bits of fruit and powdered sugar — the party goers dine on decadence, the divinity from the festivities filling them with pretty promises of a never ending night, their bodies moving in tandem with each other to the beat of the music; drums pounding louder and louder and louder.

barefooted in the sand, you chase after her — shrieks of laughter spill from the deepest parts of her, the loveliest melody you’ll come to know in your entire lifetime. her voice is honey, words heavy with intent and intrigue, long lashes beckoning you forward. hypnotic, impetuous, dizzying. you follow without prompting, heart beating hard enough to give you pause. uncertainty brings about a fog that has you stumbling as you walk — one foot operating on its own, while the other remains put.

when she catches you, the moon sits prettily behind her — pink and full, an impressive fixture in the expansive night sky. a crown worthy of a queen. with lips parted, her sigh contemplative, doleful, a harrowed experience that pierces you thrice - heart, mind, soul.

the body is a husk of flesh and pitiful emotions that hold no place, but for her — for tonight, you keep it together.

if this isn’t love, you’re not sure what is.

hand in hand, skin to skin; one step after another, until you’re both sprinting away from the sandy beach and back to town. breathless. sweaty. a fit of giggles at the sight of your disheveled hair.

chagrin gives you the incentive to make yourself a little more presentable, tufts of dark curls that refuse to be tamed. a single touch from her stops your movements altogether. the tips of her fingers ghosting along the back of your hand; your heart sputters out of control—this, you think, this. this is love.

i like it, her words carve themselves into you, one painful letter at a time, you’re beautiful regardless.

your heart is so full it could burst — it most certainly feels that way when she stands on her toes, head tilted just so, the same mouth that uttered those life-ruining words now pressed gently against yours, minuscule butterflies flapping inside your chest, a collective warmth that calms you so suddenly you almost forget to breathe. so you revise your previous statement because this—this is love.

it’s hard to deny when you follow after her again, or when she stops to grab another pastry to eat with you, or when her whispers remind you of a forgotten lullaby from long ago.

the festival continues even after you take her to your room, drunk off of the night, feet aching from all the dancing and walking, fatigue nearly claiming your body. her laughter revitalizes you, her energy infectious, her smile devastating, cheeks lightly flushed and inviting, her fingers nervously twirling around her long ponytail.

you’re not a fan of marmalade, but you love the color of her hair. if she’s the sun, then you are the moon—always chasing after one another, unlucky enough for fate to keep you apart.

it sits in your stomach, heavy like iron, your only solace that you have the night to yourselves. her last night on the island, you remind yourself.

heartache shouldn’t crush you, but it does. it does, it does, it does. swallowing back the bitterness, refusing to cry, you smile at her — you must, for her sake alone.

the door to your balcony remains ajar, the music sailing through the air and finding you both. breathless, again; she has a funny habit of stealing your breath away without any hint of remorse. the mattress dips as you pull her onto the bed with you. hands tangled in her hair, the taste of powdered sugar on her tongue. her lips mold themselves against yours—pliable, soft, feather-light.

a dream within a dream within a dream.

it’s not nearly enough, and yet you feel completely full from it all. it’s not greed that motivates you, it’s love—that’s what you tell yourself when you kiss her again, that’s what you keep telling yourself when you roll her onto her back, tongue finding hers; star-crossed, ill-fated. you have no intention of stopping now. her nails dig into your forearms, sinking into the skin, the pain a reminder that you’re running out of time.

your inhales mix with her exhales and vice versa; her mouth is a treasure trove of wonder and miracles. you kiss her slowly, to taste and memorize; fate is a cruel thing that loves to take and take, but here at least, you’re in control.

she follows your lead, peeling off layer after layer of clothing until you’re both naked, until you’re both too caught up to notice the tears that stain your cheeks. are they hers or yours? you’re not sure. at a certain point, she kisses the tears away, and when your fingers graze her nipples, her soft whimpers echo all around, a pleasant parting gift before she leaves you forever.

with skilled hands, you knead her breasts, coax more sounds from her, her hips lifting to meet yours, mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses down her abdomen, tongue darting out to sample her skin one last time. a breeze coasts by, a shiver traipsing down your spine, but you keep going.

what’s the word that the flirtatious and professionally-trained cook in her crew likes to use?

oh. nutritional.

that’s what comes to mind the moment your tongue swipes at her cunt; her arousal greeting you without shame. with her legs spread like that, an invitation to a private feast; she’s several meals and dessert all at once.

you devour her with fervor, devout in your worship, tongue lapping at her wetness, brazen and practiced. she gasps loudly, her lithe fingers working their way into your hair, tugging as her hips roll forward, her pussy the most tender piece of fruit you’ll ever have the pleasure of sampling. sweat accumulates along her brow, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in an attempt to keep her moans quiet.

but she can’t; you’ve deliberately rendered her weak, and she gives in, allowing for the lewd noises that you bring out of her to come center-stage. it makes her helpless, desire staking its claim, her chest heaving as you continue crafting your love letter to her. you’ve never been fond of your name, but when she moans, your name a breathy whisper that follows suit—it reminds you, painfully, that this is love.

slipping your fingers inside of her, you bring her to a different plane; wrist angled, fingers curling, her plush, warm walls closing around your fingers snugly. you look up at her and are met with a mesmerizing sight—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, reddish-purplish bite marks along her tanned skin. when you suck her on her clit, she shatters underneath you, writhing uncontrollably as your fingers scissor delightfully. her orgasm is a tsunami that knocks both of you over; you drown in the waves of her pleasure as she drowns in you.

if this is love, she doesn’t want it; she’d rather not breathe or remember that she was allowed to have a sliver of this feeling.

you lick your lips and fingers, the flush on her skin is enough to keep you happy for the rest of your life. she sits up shakily, pulls you towards her, and kisses you deeply, the taste on your tongue intoxicating her further. you’re both panting, both sweaty, both too tired to continue.

light on your feet, you bring her to your bathroom and draw a bath. the water warms quickly; you climb in first, she sits in between your legs, easing back against your chest, your hands finding hers again, fingers laced. she turns, melancholy taking hold of her face; you brush your lips against hers, leaving behind a warm kiss — one that will haunt you both.

are goodbyes actually final? can’t you simply say i’ll see you again? you’re unsure, and even as tears spill down her cheeks again, you don’t stop kissing her, wanting to savor this moment, despite the messy feelings that attach themselves, despite the impulse that courses through you to tell her to stay behind. with you.

it’s love that keeps you in the bathtub with her for longer than necessary; and it’s love that has you holding her close to you, afraid that if you give her any room to breathe, she’ll disappear and take those precious moments and memories of the weeks you’ve spent together with her.

🌙 credit to @leafsea for the cute crescent moon divider 🌙

#all done at last #fic request #cat burglar nami #one piece smut #one piece imagine #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #nami x y/n #nami x reader #ask and ye shall receive; only 4 u mi corathon <3 #nami smut #🌙 la vie est drole event 🌙

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imaginedxlan · 4 years ago

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Alpha Pt. 3 (Grayson Dolan)

a/n: I think its actually been two years since I wrote the first two parts of alpha but idc I’m actually in college now i feel like I have actual insight on how Mr. Alpha of ATO would act around y/n.

After their date, or forced casual hangout according to y/n, Grayson doesn’t necessarily keep his end of the deal.

y/r/n = your roommate’s name

warning(s): sexual allusions, cussing, drinking

(part one/part two)

_______________________________

When you return home from your, well you’re not actually sure what to call it, with Grayson, your roommate immediately sits up to see your face, looking for any indication of how your night went. She throws her chem textbook to the side and give you a look as to say well?

You close the door behind you before putting your face in your hands and taking a seat at your desk. You keep shaking your head, there is not a chance in hell you have feelings for this boy. The boy who preyed on a freshman at her very first college party. The boy who stalked you around all of your classes, got your phone number and somehow found out all about your life in the span of a week. You keep reminding yourself of the weird and uncomfortable things he’s done to distract you from the way he planned out an entire evening for the two of you, or that he actually helped you find your sister and her friends or how good he looked when the setting sun hit his tan skin in his topless Jeep only hours ago. Jesus, y/n, snap out of it.

“Come on, spill!” Your roommate begs, she had to deal with your ranting about not wanting to go all afternoon, she deserves to at least know how it went. “What did you do? What was he like? How’d he dress? Oh my god did you hook up?”

“Ew, y/r/n, no!” You gasp at her last question. How could she expect you to hookup with someone you hate? “It was fine. We ate dinner in some park then he took me to that neon sign museum. Nothing fancy, he had a shirt on which was a first. He acted nice but I don’t buy it for a second.”

“Neither,” She replies, knowing the boy only from how you’ve described him. “He’s probably just trying to get in your pants so he can bug your sister about it.”

She’s right. You can’t fall into his trap, he has ulterior motive. They always do. You just have to go on and find some boy on your floor to kiss and get him out of your head for good. Every part of you wishes your sister hadn’t broken up with her boyfriend, he would’ve given Grayson a piece of his mind if he knew that he was bothering you. Unfortunately for you and her ex, y/s/n does not like to be tied down and she needed to “have her fun” for her last first semester. You and y/r/n talk for a little while longer, about classes and whatnot, but mostly end up talking about Grayson again.

“We should go to bed.” You finally say, yawning and looking down at your phone screen that read 12:47 am. Your roommate huffs, obviously wanting to hear more about your night with the infamous Alpha Dog of ATO. “Recruitment starts tomorrow, we have to meet our groups at eight in the morning, remember?”

“I know, I know,” She replies, slipping out of her bed so she can gather her things to get ready for bed. You grab you toiletries bag as well and head toward the bathroom with her. “We’re talking about this tomorrow, don’t think I’ve let up.”

Recruitment happens over the span of four days, this weekend and next. It’s a dry rush period so no potential new members can be seen on frat property, giving you a good enough reason to avoid Grayson. Going into recruitment you’re already around ninety-two percent sure you’ll end up in Delta Gamma, just like your sister and your mom. The next few days of recruitment go well, you meet new friends from your rush group who help through the stressful process. Throughout the week you get sporadic texts from none other than Grayson Dolan wishing you luck with those days rounds, giving you unsolicited pointers of where to pref, and telling you that he saw you walking on greek row. You don’t respond to any, hoping he gives up on trying to woo you. So much for leaving you alone after one date. You pref Delta Gamma and Kappa Alpha Theta, but end up ranking DG first, not wanting to end your legacy but also because you felt you fit in most there. It was no surprise when you got a bid. Your sister is over the moon, shrieking over how her biological sister is now her deegster. You still have to get used to the lingo.

You come to find during bid day, which is Space Cowboy themed of course, that your new pledge class will be going out for bid-night with your bid day bigs. You don’t understand half of the things they’re saying to you, the language of sorority girls still lost on you. You’re added to a GroupMe with the new pledges of Alpha Tau Omega, just when you thought you could escape that fraternity as a whole, your bid night is with them. You almost immediately get a text from Grayson.

following in sissy’s steps? see you tonight miss delta gamma, anchor down ;)

What is it with him and these nicknames? You show your sister and she fake gags, saying she can’t believe he’s still texting you after all this time. She still has no idea about last weekend, you intend to keep it that way. When you get back to your dorm, you and your roommate talk all about bid day, she ended up going Kappa. Her bid night was with Phi Gamma Delta, or Fiji. If only you could have been so lucky. She can’t help but snort at the fact that you’re going to ATO tonight, she says it’s the universal pulling you and Dolan together.

Your sister won’t being coming out with you tonight, having a lab tomorrow morning that she simply cannot miss. You’re partly grateful for it, now Grayson can’t let it slip to her that you two went out together. You end up getting ready in the room of a girl of your floor who you met today at bid day, wanting to base your outfit on someone else’s to blend in as much as possible. With the massive group of girls coming into his house, surely he won’t be able to find you. You meet up with your bid day big along with the girl on your floor’s and you all walk toward the ATO house together. You’re nervous, extremely nervous, but you don’t show it. As you near the house, you’re met with the mix of conflicting basses coming from any frat basement on the block. There are a few girls waiting outside the familiar house, and thats when you see it.

Grayson Dolan at the door, personally greeting every single one of your new sisters, his eyes scanning over every single one of the freshman walking into the door, earning him plenty of groans from the older girls. You don’t mean to say anything out loud, but you let an oh god slip. Your bid day big turns to you with a confused look.

“My sisters warned me about him,” You tell her, which is half of the truth. “Real scumbag I’ve heard.”

She just laughs, not even needing to agree with you for you to know she feels the same way about him. The closer you get to the front door, the more your stomach aches. If only you could be in your dorm watching Barbie Mermaidia with your roommate like last night. You try your best to hide within the group you came with, but it’s no use, he has his single file, one over strategy down to a science.

“Hello you.” He greets you with a shit-eating grin. You hope the girls with you don’t catch him singling you out. “I’ll see you inside.”

“Fuck off Dolan,” Your bid day big calls over to him. “She’s not one of your play things.”

She pulls you inside before Grayson can say anything else. Luckily he doesn’t follow the two of you either. She gets you a drink and you socialize with the girls and some of the guys. You’re more focused on making girl friends tonight, as much as you’ve loathed your time at ATO, finding a group of girls to wander around greek row on a Saturday night is and essential part to your freshman year plan. You don’t even realize how drunk you’re getting, you follow your sister’s order to never take a cup from a brother, only ever allowing something you or one of your sisters have mixed to travel down your throat. You recall the words of your sisters earlier in the night, ‘bid night means black out ladies.’ You certainly don’t want to black out, but getting a little tipsy won’t hurt anyone. Toward the middle of the night you’re all dancing, body to body in their packed and sweaty basement. You have to admit, you’re actually kind of having fun. When you feel a pair of hands dig into your hips you don’t even flinch, simply moving your hips along to whatever shitty remix is coming from the massive speakers. You swing yourself around to face the boy and wrap your arms around his neck while his stay on your hips. You don’t recognize him, but from what you can see under the dim colored lights he’s cute. Mostly everyone in ATO is. He gives you a grin, letting one of his hands travel closer toward your ass, you don’t mind it, at least it’s not Grayson.

Grayson. Where is that boy? He said he’d meet you inside and it’s been at least an hour and a half. You don’t know why your mind is suddenly wandering off to Grayson. How he must look right now, definitely shirtless with some stupid phrase painted across his chest. How the sweat from the sheer amount of bodies in the house is probably making his tan skin glisten under the LED lights. How his hands are probably wrapped around a red solo cup so perfectly. You don’t even realize you’re biting your lip until your lips are connected with the boy you’re dancing with. You don’t hesitate to kiss him back, suddenly feeling all hot and bothered after picturing Grayson, wherever he is in this house. Snap out of it. Finding Grayson even remotely attractive would go against everything you stand for, your sister would probably smack your head to make sure there is still a brain in there.

You keep drinking, everything practically going down like water at this point. Your speech is slurring and the room spins around you. You leave the boy you’re dancing with for another drink, finding the stairs to the main floor and gripping onto the handle for dear life. You stumble towards where some boy is pouring a mystery liquid into a cup and stop in front of it. Your new drink is swiftly taken from you and placed back on the table and you’re pulled from the crowd of people.

“How much have you had to drink.” It’s Grayson. He looks so good, you think. He’s shouting over the music for you to answer him. “I’m serious y/n, I need a number.”

You try and do the mental math but the only clear thought in your brain at the moment is how good he looks with his shirt off. You start to count on your fingers but lose track at five so you just shrug. He rolls his eyes, knowing that if anything were to happen to you your sister would beat his ass like it was somehow his fault.

“Why do you care, dad.” You mock him as he tries to think about what he should do with you. “I have to drink this much, I’m in a sos-sorotity you know?”

He can’t help but laugh at the way you’re butchering the words coming out of your mouth, the slurring evident on your tongue. “Okay, miss sorotity, follow me.” He grasps your hand, interlocking your fingers and begins to pull you up another flight of stairs that you’ve never been up. This house is massive. He pulls you into a room and locks the door behind him. Even with the room spinning you can make out a few features. A bed with a white comforter that lies low to the ground, a big frame holding what looks like a yearbook page of girls, and a lava lamp.

“Is this your room?” You ask, leaning up against the wall for some stability. He just nods, fiddling with something in his drawers. “I’m not having, s-sex with you Grayson. You can’t make me.”

“I don’t want to have sex with you, sweetheart.” He mumbles back, pulling an article of clothing out of the open drawer. Once you process what he says all you can think is ouch. He’s fucked practically every girl on at this school, are you so repulsive you’re excluded from the campus wide Grayson Dolan body count? “Oh don’t be sad, I meant I’m not having sex with you tonight, y/n. Contrary to your hilarious nickname you came up with for me the first night we met, I don’t fuck drunk girls.”

You realize you may have said ouch out loud, have you been doing that all night? He’s only telling you this because he’s almost one hundred percent certain you’ll remember none of this in the morning. Between the jungle juice and natty seltzers, the only thoughts in your brain tomorrow will be getting to a toilet bowl immediately. He pulls out a shirt and a pair of boxers and tosses them your way. You don’t catch them, just start stripping your shirt off.

“Jesus, y/n, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were giving me a little strip tease.” He jokes with you, turning his head away from you, letting you keep at least part of your dignity. “Tell me when you’re done.”

“I can’t put them on, Grayson.” You whine, your drunken brain unable to comprehend how to put on a t shirt. You pick it up off the ground and hold it out for him to grab. “Help me.”

He huffs out and takes the shirt from your hands, he should at least be getting paid for babysitting you like he is. He pulls his shirt over your head and forces your arms through their respective holes. As he’s about to walk away from you again, you put and point at your shoes and jeans. He rolls his eyes and pulls both your shoes and socks of both feet before carefully undoing your zipper and shimmying the fabric off your sweaty legs, then pulling the pair of boxers over your hips. He’s usually taking underwear off girls, not putting a second pair on. His breathe hitches at the oddly intimate moment he’s sharing with you, you won’t remember any of it but he doesn’t usually do this. You suddenly feel very tired, almost collapsing on top of Grayson before he steadies your hips. He pulls back his comforter for you to slide under. You sink into his mattress and smile at your need for a bed being fulfilled. The lights shut off and you hear him unlock and open the door.

“Wait!” You call after him, making him stop in his tracks. “Can you stay?”

“You’re one needy chick when you’re drunk, huh?” He asks, walking back into the room and locking the door behind him again. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, you know that?”

You just give him a cheesy smile, not sure if he can even see you in the dark room, but you don’t care. You hear his shoes hit the ground and the bed dips next to you. You can still hear the music coming from the basement, it’s muffled but you can still make out every word. You roll over to face Grayson and he’s already looking at you.

“What’re you looking at?”

“You.”

A goofy grin graces your lips when he says it. If you were sober you’d probably protest, whack his arm or something, but now you don’t care. You let your index finger drag along his bicep, up over his shoulder and neck, around his face and then boop his nose. You can feel his face shift when he smiles.

“You have a pretty smile,” The words leave your lips before you can even think if it’s an okay thing to say. He lets out a short laugh, finding your drunk self’s inability to filter your thoughts amusing. “You’re handsome, Grayson.”

“You’re drunk, y/n.” He teases you. “You need to stop talking before you say something you regret.”

You whine, faking a pout on your lips. “I think it when I’m not drunk too.”

He can’t contain his smile, pushing a piece of hair that has fallen into your face. “We’ll talk in the morning. Goodnight, y/n.”

You wake up with a pounding headache and no recollection of last night past kissing some boy in the basement of ATO. You rub your eyes, shielding them from the light coming in the large window. Large window? This isn’t your dorm, you’re not in your bed and that is certainly not your roommate passed out next to you.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” You whisper repeatedly as you try your best to slip out of the bed you’re currently in. Your shirt and jeans and shoes are strewn across the floor and your in someone else’s shirt and pants. Underwear is still on, two pairs now which is comforting. In your attempt to sneak out of whoever’s room this is you ram your knee into the dresser beside the door. “Goddamnit!”

Before you can continue gathering your things, the figure that you were just sleeping next to takes in a deep breath and let’s out a loud groan, stretching out his arms. “Y/n?”

You know that voice from anywhere, you’re so fucked. “Grayson?”

He sits up and runs his hands through his hair. The contrast of his tan skins against the white comforter is breathtaking. His hair is going in all different directions but he still looks good, how does he always looks good? His silver chain hangs loose around his neck and falls just belong his collar bone. You genuinely believe, at least physically, he is without flaws.

“Surprised?”

“Obviously I am!” You shout back, hurting your own head in the process. “Oh god, oh fuck, did we?”

“God, no, y/n.” He stops your spiralling. You let out a breath of relief that you didn’t even know you were holding. “You think I would have sex with you if I had any doubt that you would remember it in the morning? No, you were hammered and about to keep drinking and I saw where the situation was going so I room you out of it. End of story.”

“So I changed myself?”

“You were meant to, but you started whining like a three year old that you didn’t know how to put a shirt one.” He replies. You’re not really sure how to feel about it, but it’s better than the alternative. “I put your clothes on and put you to bed.”

You let out a sigh, plopping yourself back onto the bed now that you know who it belongs to. You wish you could remember last night, knowing you probably did and said some things in your drunken state that you’re sure you’ll regret if you ever hear of them. Grayson just looks at you, wondering what’s going on in your mind and thinking about what you said to him last night. How you complimented his smile and called him handsome. He couldn’t get it out of his mind. When you turn your body to face him, he scans your features. Hair a mess from both the dingy basement and the hours of sleep you just got, your mascara has collected under your eyes but you still look pretty.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You pull him from his thoughts of you, he didn’t even realize he was staring. He shakes his head and puts on his signature smirk to prevent you from thinking anything other than that he’s an asshole who’s mind is on girls 24/7. He has a reputation to keep and all.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to kiss me or something.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you.”

“Oh fuck off, Dolan.” You scoff at him before he makes the decision to bring himself just inches from your face. So close that you can feel the warmth from his body. Your first instinct is to touch him somewhere, anywhere, but you don’t act on it. “What are you doing?”

“Just getting a better look,” He replies making your eyes roll. Anytime you think you’re letting yourself fall for him he says something gross. “Do you want me to be doing something?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, y/n.”

It’s silent. There’s nothing to say. Your chest is moving up and down at a rapid pace, you’re not sure why you can’t seem to catch your breath but you can’t. His eyes flicker between your and and your lips. Before you can stop yourself you reach your hand to sit on his cheek and inch your body closer to his. The closer you get the more you can feel his hot breathe on your lips and without a second thought you bring your lips to meet his. Your brain is fuzzy and your body feels like it’s on fire but it feels right.

It doesn’t take long for Grayson to kiss you back, he’s actually shocked you gave in given the way you ignored him for weeks. He rolls over so that he can steady himself with him one arm beside you and the other gripping your waist. You can still barely breathe and he notices. He pulls away from you and give you the biggest shit eating grin. “Can believe you gave in.”

“Shut up before I change my mind.”

#grayson dolan #ethan dolan #the dolan twins #the dolan twins imagine #grayson dolan imagine #ethan dolan imagine #dolan twins

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sapphoesie · 7 years ago

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Dress | Morrigan x Selene (Viviane’s Sister)

This is based on Dress bu Taylor Swift. Idc what/who this song was originally written about, I’m now convinced it’s about two secret wlw lovers (thanks, @nessiansmut ). Viv’s sister’s name is taken from an older fic @shallandavars wrote but her characterisation is quite different. Tags: fluff, angst, secret relationship, implied smut, takes place during ACOWAR, songifc AO3 LINK

Our secret moments in your crowded room

The party downstairs was the last thing on Mor’s mind. She turned in a circle, taking in every detail of the room. She felt as though she had been given a precious glimpse into Selene’s life and she was not going to waste it. Books were scattered on the shelves, arranged more by personal preference and sentimental value, rather than any logical system, sheet music covered the table and nightstands, and various fur coats and knit sweaters were draped over the backs of chairs. It was so her, Mor thought with a smile.

“We really have to go back,” Selene repeated. “They’ll notice we’re gone.”

Mor turned around to face the woman who was standing in the doorway of the room, her hand extended towards her beloved. She looked breathtaking. She always did, but there was something about Selene—her chestnut hair wild and unbound, cascading around her shoulders, eyes wide and sparkling, ivory skin reflecting the light almost like the satellite she was named after—that made Mor feel overcome with a rush of emotion. “Let them notice.”

***

They’ve got no idea about me and you

She watched, utterly transfixed, as Selene laughed at something her friend had said. The sound was like wind chimes blowing in the wind and Mor knew that she could listen to Selene’s tinkling laugh for the rest of eternity and never get bored. She was dazzling.

As if reading her thoughts, Selene turned and gave her a conspiratorial smile before turning back to the other Winter Court fae. It lasted for the briefest moment but Mor was already shaking her head and laughing to herself. She turned her attention towards Selene’s friends. They were complimenting Selene on the party she had thrown for her sister’s birthday and chatting about silly things like the decorations and the design of the invitations.

Mor felt Selene move so that the back of her hand brushed against her own and an electric current rushed through her at the contact. Selene didn’t turn to look at her, but she hooked her pinky finger with Mor’s and squeezed it quickly three times. Morrigan instantly looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and she felt Selene start to let go of her finger after noticing her reaction. She didn’t let her let go.

***

All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you

She watched from the side of the room as the fae male twirled Selene around and caught her into his arms. He was no one—just a random Winter Court fae Viviane had introduced her sister too. They were only being friendly, but it hurt to watch her dance and embrace someone so openly without worrying who might see. She wanted that for her. She wanted Selene to be happy with whoever she was and not to hide her relationship from the most important people in her life, but she couldn’t offer her that. Not yet.

Cassian turned his head and followed her gaze. His eyes softened in understanding and he wrapped an arm around Mor’s shoulders. “Let’s go get more wine, old sport, and then we’ll show these amateurs on the dance floor how it’s done.”

Mor’s lips quirked up in spite of herself and she leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder and closed her eyes for a second before they both headed for the bar.

***

Say my name and everything just stops

They closed the door behind them and Mor barely had time to twist the key and lock it before Selene collided with her. Her kisses were fevered and desperate and Mor responded in kind, tangling her hand in the soft curls at Selene’s neck and brushing her lips against her own. Selene’s hands were shaking, and she fisted her fingers in the fabric around Mor’s waist and pulled her closer.

Mor’s hands caressed Selene’s waist, ribs, the bare skin of her arms, and she parted her lips with of tongue wanting— needing —to taste her. Selene opened up instinctively and when she their tongues brushed, she made the most delicious sound in the back of her throat—a sound of pure longing.

Mor pecked the corner of Selene’s mouth, and trailed her lips to the underside of her jaw, and to the slim column of her neck. She was drunk off the taste of her skin, high off the intoxicating aroma. She sucked on a sensitive spot above Selene’s collarbone and her lover’s hands flew to the back of Mor’s head as she moaned her name.

***

I don’t want you like a best friend

Mor detached and looked into Selene’s blue eyes. She raised her hand to cup her cheek, her thumb smoothing over the soft skin of her cheekbone. Their eyes held all the promises and confessions that they had never dared speak aloud, but Mor hadn’t felt this way in a long time, and she had thought she’d never feel this way again so she needed her to know. She needed to say it.

“Sel, I—I…”

“I know.” Selene brushed the tips of her fingers over Morrigan’s mouth. “I know. You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready.” In her eyes, Mor found more understanding than she thought she would ever receive.

***

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

They stumbled over to the bed and collapsed together on top of the silk sheets. They were a mess of tangled limbs and starved hearts, alone and together at last. They both struggled to breathe, as if their love and passion was a flame, burning all the oxygen out of the room.

They slowed, and Selene’s gaze was tentative as she regarded Mor. She slid her fingers under the strap of Mor’s dress and cupped her shoulder. She brushed her thumb over her collarbone in soothing circles and looked at Mor before going further.

“Is this okay?”

“Selene,” Mor said, her voice thick. “I’m yours.”

***

Inescapable, I’m not even going to try and if we get burned, at least we were electrified

It was all-consuming, what they had. She felt Cauldron-blessed for having Selene in her life; she felt blessed for being unconditionally accepted and loved. They were as close as they could be—flesh against flesh, breaths mingling together—and it still didn’t feel close enough, but for the first time in a long time, Morrigan felt truly alive.

***

I’m spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we’re both drunk

Selene laughed and splashed more foamy water at Mor. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol but her eyes were still bright. Mor put a hand on her ankle and tugged, making Selene slide further down into the bathtub. Water splashed over the sides, and Selene let out the most unladylike snort which only caused her to laugh harder, absolutely no shade of embarrassment on her face. Selene was entirely and unapologetically herself, and Mor adored her for it.

At once, Selene stopped laughing and Mor knew she had been caught staring. Selene fake-gasped, a cheeky smile on her face, and leaned forward in the tub. “Love, I think you might be running a fever!”

“Maybe I’m slowly starting to boil in this bathtub because of the ridiculous temperature you keep the water at. Like a lobster in a pot,” Mor teased back. Selene shook her head, trying to look serious.

“No, that can’t be it. I’m sure you’re running a fever.” She put a hand on Mor’s forehead but her eyes never left hers. “Yes, I was right. You’re really, really, really hot right now,” she declared, waggling her eyebrows. Mor laughed and swatted Selene’s hand away.

“What’s the diagnosis?”

Selene bit her lip so as not to smile before saying in a sing-song voice: “you’re loooooovesick.” Both women were grinning broadly, and their noses were only inches apart. “There is only one cure.”

“Wha—”

Mor was cut off by Selene’s lips pressing against her own—her lips were always so soft! It was a sweet kiss, barely more than a peck, but Selene dragged it out and made it feel like pure electricity. She drew back and leaned against her side of the tub, a soft smile on her face. “You’re cured now.”

Mor shook her head slowly. “Not even close, Sel.”

***

Even in my worst times, you could see the best of me Even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me

Mor knocked on the door and tried to keep her hands from shaking. She felt like she was going to vomit. The door opened, and Mor saw Selene’s face sober up when she took her in. She knew how she must have looked: pale, sickly skin, desperate eyes and messy hair.

“Come in,” was all Selene said. She led Mor to the bed, sat down next to her and interlocked their fingers, staring at their hands while Mor was looking straight ahead into nothingness. She didn’t busy herself with offering a blanket or a cup of tea or even asking what Mor needed. She didn’t embrace Mor, or ask her to talk about what had happened. She was simply there. And that was all Mor needed.

Mor wanted to speak. She wanted to explain to her why she had done it even though she’d explained herself before. She knew Selene didn’t approve—only because she thought it was harmful to Mor—but that she’d never judge. She couldn’t bring herself to really talk about it. All she felt was emptiness, and sadness, and confusion. She wondered if maybe she should have stayed away from Selene, to spare her from all the mess. She couldn’t bare even thinking of being away from her.

“It was Helion,” was all Mor said. Selene started rubbing soothing circles on Mor’s wrist and kept quiet. Mor didn’t need her to say anything.

They stayed like that in silence for a while, but their silence spoke louder than any words:

I understand.

You’re not a bad person.

I see what is underneath.

And I love it.

I love you.

Every single piece of you.

Mor heard and felt the words with every stroke of Selene’s fingers against her wrist. She felt them every single time Selene was simply there for her when Mor showed up unexpected in the middle of the night. She felt them when Selene kept their love quiet for her sake, even though Mor knew she was ready to shout it to the world. She felt them when Selene didn’t ever leave her.

And Mor’s heart beat the same rhythm back to her: I love you. I love you. I love you.

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