#just... hardness giving way to softness and sweet tender healthy love!!!

[bwabys-scenarios]

Senshi SFW/NSFW HCs

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

warnings: foodplay, face sitting, breeding, oral(f!receiving), cockwarming

A/N: People have been BEGGING for Senshi content… so I have delivered. He’s not my fav, but I had to feed the Dungeon Meshi crowd.

SFW

-Such a dad. You tell him all the time that you’d be happy to start a family with him… and he would be a perfect father.

-Senshi is surprisingly very into PDA, often holding you in his lap while he cooks and softly explaining each step he takes while giving your neck and cheeks tender kisses.

-you’re one of the only people allowed to really play with his hair, sometimes even putting little bows or hair ornaments in his beard. He wears them with pride, enjoying his lover’s gifts.

-he absolutely adores everything you do, from the way you talk to the way you drool a little when you sleep next to him. You’re everything to him, and he wants to appreciate your entire being.

-when the two of you fight, it’s often resolved quickly. It’s not often the two of you verbally apologize to each other, instead he brings you your favorite dish and the two of you share a soft kiss and tender touches.

-speaking of food, he is always secretly collecting ingredients for your favorite dishes. There’s no task too dangerous when it comes to making you happy.

-Senshi is very needy sometimes, needing your comfort and affection. He’s woken up with nightmares of his past, tears rolling down his cheeks as you hummed soft melodies to lull him back to sleep.

NSFW

-when I tell you this man’s cock is just dangling between his legs and swinging around… it’s huge.

-the girth… the size… you’re surprised it even fits inside of you, to be honest. Senshi does so much prep, not wanting to hurt your pretty pussy in the slightest!

-as you can imagine, he’s a master of pussy eating. His tongue is heavenly, and he can make you cum within a minute. When he starts it’s hard for him to stop. You just taste so sweet, his favorite meal is your steaming hot pussy, dripping wet.

-when he does finally push his fat cock into you, it takes forever for you to adjust. He often has to rub your clit and get you to cum all over his cock before he can start moving. He later invests in lube.

-Senshi is a very gentle lover, hurting you is out of the question. No hitting, spanking, or choking for him. But… he wouldn’t mind you being a bit rough with his body. Your nails digging into his back while he fucks into you does get him going…

-foodplay… this man loves covering you in honey, treasure bug jam, anything sweet that he can lick off of you. He also loves feeding you while you cockwarm him.

-speaking of cockwarming… he does get a little embarrassed when you cockwarm him while the others are present. Your skirt is hiding the fact that his cock is nestled inside of your pussy and twitching like crazy… but his face is red and everyone is worried that he’s sick or unwell. In reality, he’s been cumming inside of you over and over for the past hour, lightly bouncing you with his knee when he gets close.

-he LOVES your ass and thighs. Sitting on his face will make his dick stick up straight, precum beading at the tip before you even fully lower your pussy onto his face. He’ll squeeze your asscheeks, his tongue deep in your cunt as you whine and ride his face.

-Senshi has a huge breeding kink. He wants a family that will keep him company in the dungeon, so he always cums deep inside of you, and feeds you foods that make you more fertile and healthy.

[avocado-writing]

I had this thought this morning and I have had no peace since and I have to share it with somebody!

I think that Wyll, because he has spent his life being very kind and restrained (something it feels like he forces on himself sometimes, even when it would be healthier to let himself react with other "negative" emotions), would actually get a lot of pleasure from taking a dominant role if you were to bring BDSM into your relationship. I think it would be the first time he ever let himself be "cruel". His favorite is teasing and edging you relentlessly until you feel like you're on the edge of madness, and only once you are a pleading whimpering mess, begging him for release, does he give it to you. If he's feeling extra mean, he'll overstim you after all of that teasing, telling you how beautiful you look as you cum for him repeatedly. I just feel like it would give him a sense of control and release over any negative feelings he feels like he has to suppress in his day-to-day. And of course the aftercare is top notch with this man, so sweet and tender. He loves you so much, and goes back to being a ray of sunshine after reducing you to a babbling mess. Of course there are just as many times where he is just the most tender partner in bed, I just think it would be such a healthy release for him and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, I love him so much.

I don't have the writing skills to make a fic of this, but I'm hoping someone who does feels inspired by this so I can read one, hehe.

~🪷

rated e, minors dni

Your husband must be a devil, for he certainly acts like one on nights like this.

“Please, please, please…” you murmur, sex alight with need, limbs splayed out and restrained to the four posters of the bed. You trust Wyll absolutely but that doesn’t mean he won’t reduce you to a needy mess. Together it is one of your favourite pastimes: he allows himself to be a little more dominant, a little more wicked, and you lay back as he teases you to madness.

“Please what…?” he asks, his mouth breathing a trail of warmth down your thigh. You attempt to clasp his head between your legs but are thwarted by the soft silk bindings. You mewl in frustration.

“I need to come, Wyll, please let me come…”

“Hmmm… I’m not sure if you deserve it… have you been good enough?” he mutters, thinking it over playfully. You harrumph. You’re not sure how long he’s kept you like this for. Not enough for you to lose the feeling in your ankles and wrists - he is surely too attentive to let that happen - but enough that your sex is aching, desperate to be sated, calling out for your husband’s touch like it would be the sweetest salve.

From between your legs, Wyll looks up and you and grins. He has the loveliest smile, even when he is trying to drive you out of your mind with pleasure and need in equal measure.

He is delightful. He is evil.

Four times? Five? He’s taken you to the edge and left you there with his clever tongue, skillful fingers, then just let your release ebb away again. All you know is lust for him. When his tongue traces you, you yelp.

“Please! Please, Wyll! Please let me come, I need you! I’ve been good!”

As if he was waiting on those magic words he finally dips his head down and lets his mouth finish the job. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to sweep over you and he laps up every drop you give him - and it is a lot. You’ve eked this out for a while, after all.

It hits you so hard that your vision goes black and then bursts with stars, your climax a wave over your body, quenching a drought he brought on you. He is both giver and taker like this, and truly you’d have it no other way. You’ve never come so hard in your life since your husband revealed this side of himself.

You remember when he first suggested it: he was so worried, so quiet., as if you’d reject him outright and consider him a villain It was a side you hadn’t expected from him but you were thrilled. You’d snapped the book you were holding shut and made him tie you up immediately. Ever since then this side of him would rear its head, and you were always more than happy to accommodate him…

As you come down from your high, you’re aware of Wyll undoing the ties around you. Your arms and legs relax into the mattress and he wraps you up in his embrace before feeding you a glass of water which he always keeps next to the bed. You drink it down thirstily and nuzzle into his chest. He laughs, his kind self back, the ruthless persona he slips into banished for the night.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice soft and full of concern. When you nod enthusiastically he chuckles again, and you can hear it from inside his ribs along with his heartbeat. A lovely melody.

“Well, I could probably sleep for about twelve hours after that orgasm, but apart from that I’m fine.” 

Wyll smiles and begins to gently massage the skin where the knots lay, soothing you in body and soul.

“If that’s what you desire, then sleep, my love.”

You bury yourself deeper into the safety of him and indulge.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget @useless-contributions @beardedladyqueen @snoozeeebee

[prouvaireafterdark]

hi! i absolutely LOVE all of your writing- especially how you write smut. it’s filthy nasty but also very tender and loving and true to the characters. as someone who’s getting into fanfic writing, do you have any tips on writing good smut? how do you create that balance? thanks xx

Aww, that's so sweet, thank you! And yeah totally!

My first piece of advice is the advice I gave to myself the first time I ever wrote smut: Go big or go home. That isn't meant to like talk down on people who don't want to write really filthy stuff btw, that's just what helped me get over my anxiety about whether I was writing something "too filthy" for the beautiful degenerates on AO3 bc I'd never written anything like that before and didn't know if I was going "too far." I decided to just throw that line of thinking away and write what I wanted. If people don't want to read explicit fic, they won't. If they click on explicit fic, they probably will enjoy it if it's filthy nasty, so, be free. Write the filth you wanna see in the world.

That brings me to my second tip: Write what you think is hot. There may be moments where you're like "are other people gonna like this?" but I'm telling you, don't worry about what other people will enjoy because everyone enjoys different things and you'll never please everyone, especially if you're writing fetish content. If you enjoy the idea, you'll be motivated to finish it and you'll write a better fic because of it. It might take some workshopping and editing until it's where you want it to be, but if you're reading your work and you like it and think it's hot, other people will too.

Those are my two big tips for getting started. When it comes to creating balance between filth and tenderness, I would say my one big tip I have is to try to focus on what the POV character would be feeling and thinking in the scene. Tab A goes into Slot B is a fine way to begin constructing or plotting out a scene, but it would be a pretty boring thing to read if it just ended there without anything else added in there to give it emotional dimension.

I try to break up mechanical descriptions about positions or movements with descriptions of physical sensations or emotional responses to physical stimuli. I also like to add in a healthy amount of dialogue.

Let's take Armand and Daniel for an example: When Daniel is squirming beneath Armand and begging for a taste of his blood, is he begging with words or with the desperation in his eyes or his hands as they grip at Armand's clothes? How does that make Armand feel? Physically, does the movement of his body against his feel good? Can he feel how hard Daniel is where he's rubbing up against him? Emotionally, does Daniel's submission and begging make him feel powerful? Or is he overcome with devotion, like he'll give Daniel anything he wants just to make him stay?

Taking the time to ask and answer these types of questions can reveal a lot about the characters and also give you a lot of fodder for description in a scene. It can also help you set the tone you're going for. Maybe this fic is just pure smut, PWP, with a bit of a hate sex vibe, so Armand is really getting off on the power play and denial. Or, maybe it's a more angsty smut fic where you want to explore how Armand is dominant, but also deeply insecure and feeds Daniel's blood addiction to keep him coming back. It all really depends on the vibe of the fic and what character traits you want to explore through the smut.

Another good tip is to try to engage all five senses when possible. Ex: What does Daniel feel like beneath him? (ex: warm, soft, hot, hard) What does he smell like? (ex: cigarettes, sweat, the expensive cologne Armand bought him) What does he taste like? (ex: martinis, smoke, blood that's welling up from a split lip from one of Armand's fangs) What does he sound like? (ex: desperate, like a whore, his voice high and thready with need) How does he look, spread out beneath him? (ex: flushed cheeks, messy curls, pink lips open and gasping). You can have a lot of fun with all five senses.

I could go on, but I'll leave you with this last bit of general writing advice: If you get stuck, don't be afraid to write out of order. Who cares if you start at the end? You can always edit it all seamlessly together, and then you haven't wasted hours trying to brute force your way through a scene when you had a different idea for a later part floating around in your head practically begging to be written. You make the rules!

Okay, that's all for now. I hope it helps!

[filthyfluffyfantasies]

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . DL;DR - this fic is not meant for anyone under the age of 18 as it contains the following: dirty talk, use of petnames ( sweetheart, princess, etc ), unprotected p/v sex, -wrap it before you tap it, darlings, swearing, mention of oral sex, body fluids, creampie -because Harrington has a weak pullout game, kissing/saliva and just a pinch of biting/marking. writer does not give permission for her works to be reposted, with or without permission. ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

prompt two - lovemaking

character | fandom - steve harrington | stranger things

reader | original character - female reader, roommate & non -or vague, description.

words - roughly 4.2k

tagging - < taglist here >

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . a storm. your roommate Steve decides to take your mind off of said storm. just a lil soft and oh-so sweet tender lovemaking, ftw✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

❝ Its just a storm, woman.❞ Robin’s laugh on the other end of the line has you pouting. Holding a red telephone away from you as you flip it off.

As the lights flicker throughout the apartment, you shriek. . ❝ That was my freaking ear, good Lord. Relax.❞ Robin's coaxing doesn't do a thing to soothe your frazzled nerves though.

There's only one person who can but he's working late tonight and if I were to tell him storms freak me out -or anything I may or may not be keeping from him lately, pretty sure it's only going to mess up everything. - the thought is frustrating for you because lately, telling him everything is all you seem to want to do. The urge to do so has gotten so bad that you're trying as hard as you can to keep a healthy distance from Steve.

This storm just might have the potential to undo all of your efforts, especially if it worsens - and God forbid there's a blackout, you pause and glare up at the overhead lights in the kitchen as they choose that exact second to flicker even more. The loud clap of thunder and the way strong wind gusts send a branch right into the fire escape outside, a violent crash both ways is met with another scream from you.

❝ Steve should be there in another hour. With Keith in the store, it takes at least thirty minutes for Steve to close. But then your big, strong, manly man will be home.❞ Robin’s taunting you, snorting in laughter through loud static on the line, as she throws in, ❝ Y'know…you could do something. He's always been a sucker for the damsel in distress thing. He needs someone to do something. He's been real down lately.❞ she pauses.

 You sigh, shaking your head despite your best friends inability to see you. You know what she's saying is true. What she doesn't seem to understand is that you've tried. Too many times to count. But the words always get hung in your throat or it's not a good time, it's not the right time, he's heading out the door on another of his dating attempts. It's frustrating for you, but you have tried. In the only ways you know how. If only subtle worked.. - you think to yourself, pacing the living room of the apartment you share with Steve as the storm picks up even more outside, the lights inside the apartment flicker even more.

❝ Gee, I wonder why that is..❞ she hints again. 

But as usual, you don't pick up on the not-so subtle hint and you muse aloud, ❝ I don't know. Maybe his date with that girl he talked about didn’t go the way he wanted it to? He's definitely seemed moodier lately..❞ as you pout a little. 

You’re selfishly glad it didn't work out but you're also sad for him. You love him and you hate to see him hurt or upset. And Heidi had been all wrong for him from the word go, your own personal opinion.

 ❝ Or…hear me out, woman..❞ Robin counters, a pause to rub the bridge of her nose as she thinks of the best way to clue you in, hoping that maybe this time you'll believe her, ❝ Maybe it's because he thinks that you, the girl he really wants, isn't interested. Maybe that's the reason?❞

You laugh. ❝ Right. And I'm actually Madonna, I swear on the Bible. He doesn't see me like that, Robbie. If he did, it'd be painfully obvious by now how I feel about him.❞

Robin grumbles, it's something about how impossibly stubborn you happen to be and in the midst of all that, the power goes out. The bad storm outside is downright nasty now, winds howling as the thunder rolls, constant.

You don't even get the luxury of a dial tone when the power goes, you're left holding the landline in your hand as you jump at every single little noise.

❝ God I hope he's safe coming in. The sooner, the better.❞ you mumble to yourself as you flop back against the couch dramatically.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ ･ ｡ﾟ ───

It felt as if Keith wasn't ever going to shut the fuck up. And then, because of course that's how it'd go, Steve thinks to himself as he rushes through closing procedure so he's not out in the worst of the storm that's rolled into town -and so he can rush home to you, where he'd rather be to begin with, Robin rushes in, whatever she's got to tell him is apparently life or death and no, it absolutely can't wait until their next shared shift.

❝ Steve!❞ Robin throws up her hands, exasperated because she can tell he isn’t listening to her, ❝ Were you listening to me at all?❞ 

❝ Yeah?❞ he replies, sheepishly. ❝ Okay, alright. Sorry! Look, can't you just try to tell me I'm wrong and I'm an idiot tomorrow? When there's not a goddamn storm outside?❞ 

He makes a step to the door but Robin blocks him and she's ranting, going on and on about how the two of you are the most stubborn individuals she's ever had the pleasure of knowing. 

❝ Just say it, Robin.❞ Steve murmurs, gazing at his best friend, throughly confused.

❝ She’s in love with you, idiot! ❞ Robin blurts it out as she thrusts a piece of  paper that you'd doodled on earlier in the week when you came in to hang out with her on his day off at him and nods to it, ❝ If she wasn’t, she wouldn’t constantly doodle her first name and your last all over everything! Girls..we don't uh..we don't do that unless we're head over heels, idiot! She does it all the time! And she's always waiting up when you’re out with the guys or some random girl. She constantly talks about you.. I'm telling you, she really loves you, shes just…scared.❞ 

Steve stares at the sheet of paper with the Family Video letterhead on top of it, dazed.

❝ She’s at your apartment and when I talked to her a few minutes ago, this storm had her freaking out. Do something, idiot. She won't because she's scared it's going to make things awkward.❞ 

❝ Wait…what do you mean, freaking out?❞ he's concerned as soon as Robin hints that there's something wrong, that you're even a little scared right now.

Robin shakes her head and laughs. ❝ Storms, Steve. She’s scared to death of storms. Kind of happens when you've lived through a hurricane and at least 10 tornaodes.❞ 

Steve gapes at this. One of his hands raises, fingers tug at shaggy brown strands as he inhales deep and then exhales slowly. Like he's just gotten the breath knocked right out of him. And in a way, he has.

❝ She’s there.. Waiting for me..❞ Steve questions. Robin nods, ❝ All alone in this storm. Scared.❞  she places heavy emphasis on the fact that you're alone and scared because she knows you both entirely too well at this point. He needs to feel strong. Protective. Whenever he gets all strong and protective, it melts you completely.

Steve blows out a ragged breath. A hand rested against the back of his head as he stares down at the doodled piece of paper. 

Your first name and his last.

It fits together so perfectly. Everything falls into place and he looks at Robin. ❝ You.. You’re not kidding.❞ 

❝ No, dingus! Just go! I'll take over tonight. Just go! Do something or I swear to God..❞ Robin laughs as Steve pockets his keys and grabs his jacket in a rush, nearly walking straight into the closed door of Family Video in his hurry to get to you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ ･ ｡ﾟ ───

The power is out and the storm is getting so much worse. You’re pacing the living room, pausing every few seconds to stare out the big window that leads to the fire escape as you hug yourself.

❝ God, I just hope he's okay and he doesn't let Billy or Tommy or Eddie con him into going out in this crap after his shift.❞ you mumble to yourself, shrieking as the lightning strikes the tree across the street. 

You're so caught up in the storm and freaking out about it that you don't hear the door when Steve unlocks it from the outside. Or the way he pauses to call out your name because the rumbling thunder drowns out his voice.

But he hears you just as you've shrieked at how close the lightning is getting.

Strong arms circle your waist from behind and you jump, shrieking again with a dirty look as Steve turns you around and shines the old red flashlight beneath his chin, just barely illuminating the lower portion of his face. He chuckles and as the husky sound fades, you pout up at him.

❝ Are you okay?❞ - he's quieter when he asks, honey eyes so tender as they fix on you in concern. He’s chuckling too but only a little.

He doesn't like the thought of anything scaring you.

❝ Y-yeah.It's dumb.❞ you laugh, the sound quiet, a sheepish shrug as your head tilts just the slightest to look up at him. ❝ You'd think after I lived through a hurricane on the coast and at least ten tornadoes, this.❞ you gesture to the raging storm outside the big window, ❝ Wouldn’t bother me at all.❞ 

❝Hey, hey.❞ he coaxes as he pulls you against him, ❝ You’re okay. Its okay.❞ and the way his hand skims over your back sends a shiver racing through you. You pull away a little to look up at him and nod. Through shaky breaths, you mumble ❝ I..I know.❞ -the sound is muffled because a louder clap of thunder sends your head into his chest as you seek comfort.

His fingers drag through your hair and for a minute or two, he stands in the darkness, holding you close. He's not saying a word and neither are you at first but then the silence is too much, it's too thick and you just can't take any more. You pull away a little and he frowns to himself because he misses the soft warmth of you pressing against him. 

❝ I'm..❞ you pause. Take a deep breath or two and stare up at the way the moonlight and lightning highlight a strong and stubble-lined jaw. 

❝ You’re what?❞ Steve questions, fingers tuck beneath your chin to get you looking up at him again. ❝ C'mon. I can’t help if I don’t know whats wrong.❞

❝ I..I'm glad you’re here right now and...❞ you're stumbling over your words and trying to make your usual internal filter work but it's just about gone, you manage a quieter ❝ Nevermind..its probably dumb t' say.❞

He tilts your chin upward again because you're looking down, a steady gaze fixed on his chest. You can't help it, the more you look at him, the harder it is not to completely bare your soul. ❝ No, just say it.❞ he coaxes. When you try, the words that have been threatening to burst out, those three big ones, they're lodged in your throat and it's frustrating for you, so very frustrating.

❝ You are, huh?❞ he chuckles to himself after a few seconds of the thick silence, the sound dying out quietly as he stares down at you. What you said, that you're glad he's with you, that starts to sink in. And he’s on autopilot.

❝ Yeah. I was worried you'd be stuck driving in the worst of it. Or you'd let one of the guys talk you into drinks again tonight. ❞ you mumble quietly as you take a deep breath. ❝ I always worry about you when you're out...❞

His heart is so goddamn full when you say it that he thinks it just might explode. ❝ You were, huh?❞ he questions as he makes you look up at him all over again, ❝ I wanted to come home. To make sure you were okay.❞ he admits, going quiet for a few seconds.

You're the one stunned silent, you blink at him in surprise as you try to process what he's just saying. He wanted to come back. To the apartment. To make sure you were alright.

You try to give him just a little space as you tell yourself he obviously meant it in a friendly way, not the way you wish, the way a concerned lover would mean what he's just said. You pulling away has him frowning to himself in the semi darkness.

❝ Where are you going,hm?❞ his voice husky, full of affection that he can't just keep holding back. He pulls you close all over again and he can feel the fast thudthudthud thud as your heart hammers against your chest. He can feel the way you're shaking just barely.

Robin is right he thinks to himself one of us needs to say something. Do something. And I can't fight anymore.

You breathe in the scent of his cologne, the faint trace of cigarette smoke and buttery popcorn that clings to the scratchy green Family Video vest he's yet to take off. And you’re trying so hard not to invade his space any more than he allows but he pulls you even closer and before you can stop yourself, you're melting into him. Strong arms wrap around you tighter. 

❝ Nowhere, I..I just thought..❞ your words are cut off by his mouth as it crashes against your mouth, clumsy. Sweet. You can taste the cigarette and soda on his breath and it takes a second but you realize what's happening and melt into him even more, your hand raised and raking through damp brown hair as your mouth falls open, willing. 

Steve bends down slightly, hands on your ass as he pulls you up his body. The kiss deepens, you're breathing for each other now and one of your hands settles soft against his stubbled cheek. He nuzzles against your palm as he steps over to the sofa and sinks down, arranging you in his lap.

His hands are all over you, his nose brushes against your neck as he nuzzles some fallen hair out of his way. Your breath catches in your throat as rough lips dance hot against your pulse, latching against soft skin here and there. 

You're shifted forward in his lap as he makes a clumsy attempt to adjust himself and pull you closer at the same time. When you whine out softly against his neck as your lips stray from his, he pauses, staring up at the way you're perched on his lap. The moonlight highlights your delicate features and he’s mesmerized by you, a hand leaves its resting place on your ass to settle against the column of your neck. Before he can stop himself, he's leaning in, his mouth crashing against yours, devouring as a groan leaves his lips to hang in the air, followed by a whine from you as you squirm around in his lap, desperate for the friction you were getting a few minutes ago.

You're the one who deepens the kiss, your small, soft hand rested up against his neck to pull him in. His hand leaves your hip to card through and pull lightly at your thick hair as he deepens the kiss even more.

His other hand slips between your joined bodies as you pull apart to breathe, staring at one another wide-eyed and in awe. It settles beneath the hem of the shirt you've sneaked out of his laundry to sleep in most nights lately.

❝ Steve?❞ - you breathe his name out against his mouth as another loud pop explodes outside and sends you straight for the safety that only he has ever seemed to offer you. Your face is buried in his neck for a few seconds and he attempts to adjust himself, thick digits dig in against your thigh and lower back when you squirm a little, his cock pulsing, pushed against the zip of his favorite jeans. ❝ Yeah?❞ - his breath tickles your neck, the sound of his voice thicker, desire dripping from the word.

He tilts your chin, gets you looking up at him. He's barely hanging on, his restraint is a thin thread that frays just a little more every time you rub yourself against him or your lips graze his neck just right. ❝ What’s up, princess?❞

❝ I-I..❞ the words hang in your throat just shy of saying them. It's frustrating because all you want to do is tell him how much you love him. 

❝ You what, hm? C'mon, you can tell me.. I-I mean it. You can tell me anything, okay?❞ he mutters, dipping his mouth, placing soft little pecks against your face and neck as the hand on your thigh slips under the shirt you're wearing, tenderly caressing, the touch of his hand making you whimper and rock yourself against him. He bucks himself up into you, a hand raised to brush some hair out of your eyes. 

❝ I love you.❞ it finally slips out and as it does, so does the rest that you've held back for weeks now. ❝ I love you.❞ he mutters, his lips dance down your throbbing pulse as he murmurs quietly, ❝ I love you too, princess..❞ his lips latch against your skin, ❝ so, so much.❞ looking up to lock eyes with you before giving a glance to the marks he's left against your skin.

His hand creeps higher, when he starts to rub you through your panties, he growls quietly when his hand comes away wet, bucking himself up into you. ❝Want you so bad, princess.❞ he mutters, dazed as he stands, you wrapped around him, breathless. Muttering his name like he's your God and you're worshipping him. ❝ Lets see if we can take your mind off the storm, baby.. do you want me to help you do that?❞

You nod, back up against the cool wooden door, the knob poking at your side and your legs around his waist. His hands -and mouth, are all over you as he ruts himself into you, the battle with his restraint lost.

❝ Please?❞ you gasp out as you rub against him clumsily. He's marked up your neck and no doubt, come the morning, there will be a few handprints left behind against your skin because he's holding onto you and squeezing you like your lives depend on it.

The storm is forgotten, you're tossed gently onto his bed as he follows you down, his body engulfing yours, holding your legs apart by the way he settles between them. The Family Video vest finds its way to the floor and everything is happening fast and yet, not fast enough. He’s tugging down pretty pink cotton and as your panties settle on his bedroom floor, he leans down into you closer, a hand between your thighs, ❝ I did this..❞ he murmurs against your ear as soon as he feels the way you're already dripping for him. He's dazed, he hasn't really done anything to you yet and there's already a little wet spot forming below you on his bed. And you're so responsive, every touch or kiss, every time he squeezes and rubs your warm, wet sex you're whining, you arch yourself towards him like he's not as close as he can get already. 

❝ You’re wearing too much.❞ you whine out against the shell of his ear in frustration as your legs circle his waist and you keep trying to rub against him to chase the friction you've gotten so desperate for. Your hand finds the bottom of the snug fit brown and cream striped polo he wore to work and you're trying to tug it upward. Steve chuckles quietly as he raises up, pulling off his shirt.

The polo settles on the floor of his bedroom beside your discarded panties and he settles himself back down against you, his lower body keeping your legs open wide as his mouth strays from your mouth and his lips latch against your pulse, suction forming a bruise you can feel as he sucks your neck, marking you.

❝ — ah fuck.❞ he growls quietly as he ruts himself against you, chasing his own friction. ❝ W-wanna taste you, princess.❞ his breath is warm against your skin, soft pecks fall from rough lips, settling on your soft and warm skin. His hands linger at the bottom of the soft golden colored sweater you stole from him to wear. You bite your lip as you stare up at him, begging. His name falls out of your mouth like a prayer, urgent; needy. 

He chuckles to himself, pulling you up as he works the oversized sweatshirt over your head, letting it fall from his fingertips and settle on his bedroom floor with the other clothes. 

You go for the button on his jeans and there's this cute little shy smile you give as the two of you lock eyes while you're doing it that drives him wild.As you unzip his jeans, he gasps because your hand grazes against the way his cock is straining against soft navy cotton, begging to be freed. His head falls back for a second or two, honey eyes flutter closed as you just barely drag your finger over the thick outline. 

That's how you find yourself pushed back against the bed seconds later as soon as he's kicked jeans and boxers free from his ankles.

You swallow hard, eyes roam his body slow. Desire making your pupils big enough they blot out the usual color of your irises. It's the first time anyone has ever looked at him with more than temporary lust in their gaze. He’s pushed you against his bed now, you were so caught up in staring at the man you love that you never saw it coming when it happened.

One hand pins your wrists above your head as his other hand squeezes your curvy little body and he takes in the way it feels to cage you in beneath him, skin against skin and the cookie sweet scent of your cheap perfume filling his lungs as he nuzzles into your neck and breathes it in deep.

He rocks himself against you, the thick length of him dragging right between your folds and when you shiver and whine, he raises up, hand leaving your hip to caress your cheek as he stares down at you, in awe. ❝ So pretty, baby.❞ he mutters as he settles down into you all over again, the tip of his length teasing you, making that white hot ache that's built up inside of you boil over. 

❝ You’re the pretty one.❞ you mumble softly as your lips latch against his hot skin. Your soft,full lips against the top of his chest -right over the way his heart is about to beat right out of his chest, it feels so good that he gasps quietly.

He releases his hold on your wrists because he'd rather be holding your hand. His fingers lace with yours and he takes a little nip at your bottom lip when he goes in for another kiss, a string of saliva keeping your mouths connected after you break apart to breathe. 

❝ Don't let me hurt you, princess.❞ he mutters soft against your ear as he settles himself down into you fully, his thick length pushing into you, drawing a gasp out as you feel the burn of being stretched out. 

He feels you tense up slightly and he stops right away, making you whine in need as you pout up at him. ❝ I don’t wanna hurt you.❞ he murmurs as he presses hot and gentle kisses and bites against your bare skin, leaving his mark behind as many times as he can because he wants everyone to know you’re taken, you’re his girl now, absolutely no doubt.

❝ Please? I-I..I need you now, Steve.❞ you beg as you try to rock yourself up into him as the burning subsides and its replaced by all the dopamine you’re currently flooded with being thisclose to the man you love, the feel of his body engulfing yours. Steve starts to fuck into you and its slow, its gentle and so deep that every inch of him is felt as he buries inside you. 

You raise a hand, letting it catch against his cheek and he laughs softly, nuzzled against your palm. His forehead settles against yours.

The way you clamp around him so tight has him groaning your name with each lazy little thrust. He tries to speed up a little but he can feel himself getting closer so he comes to a slow stop, kissing you long and deep enough to totally steal your breath.

The nasty storm outside has been completely forgotten and it's come to a slowdown, the loud and angry thunder replaced by the soft pitter-patter of rain against the windows. Neither of you notice or care, too focused on what's happening between the two of you instead.

You meet his deep thrusts with clumsy little rocks, your hips meeting his perfectly in sync. ❝ S' good f' me, baby. So so good.❞ he grunts against your neck as he bottoms out, cock pushing against the spongy softness of your g-spot as your nails dig against his shoulders and rake over his back. ❝ Gonna cum f' me, princess? That's it, cum all over my cock.❞ and the command is all it takes to send you crashing, your orgasm blinding as it washes over you and you cling to his body, moaning his name as you clamp around his cock and nearly push him straight into his own orgasm.

❝ Let go, Steve. Cmon baby.❞ you coax because you're dying to feel him come undone, you want him to fill you up. He bites your lip and his thrusts get clumsy as he fucks through his own orgasm, hot seed painting your insides. He falls to the bed beside you, spent. You’re pulled on top of him and he wraps you in his arms, pulling you down against him completely. 

❝ You’re amazing, princess.❞ he mutters softly just as you're both starting to doze off..

[matenrou-fan]

Could I request Jakurai, Hifumi and Doppo's s/o surprising them with a gift basket full of homemade sweets as a job well done?

Matenrou with s/o who's surprising them with a gift

ahhh such a cute request <3 here!!

NBreader, fluff, just wholesome stuff;;

-Oh.. Is it all just for him?

-He's so flattered, as a person who gets used to serving humanity and being the one who gives, it's so nice to receive something.. Especially something with such a sweet smell and delicious look.

-"Hehe.. You make me speechless, s/o.." - he takes the basket from your arms, softest smile you've ever seen playing on his lips now and you can see light sparkle in his eyes.

-Despite Jakurai is always really caring and tender in your relationship with him, he also likes to be a little bit mysterious and teasing sometimes. But today.. You melt his heart and make his soul tingle, he can't help but keep smiling the whole day.

-His calm gaze now so joyful and loving as he leaning closer to you. One of his hands moves a strand of long purple hair from his face and he kisses you softly.

-"I didn't expect such a present from my beautiful angel today, so I don't have anything to give you back.." - he whispered, faces so close as you touched each other's noses. His loving gaze almost hypnotizes you with this heavenly blue shine. His eyes are just like two deep oceans, and you can see so much love and affection in their depths - "But maybe a couple of kisses will be a good reward for you right now? I promise, darling, next time I will also surprise you with something so delightful.."

-Your basket will stand in his kitchen for a long time, as Jakurai don't really love to eat many sweets, it's not really healthy. Also, he just wants to save your gift as long as he can.

-It's just so soothing, when he walks inside early in the morning to prepare himself breakfast before a long hard shift in the hospital, and the first thing he sees is your cakes, tarts, cookies.. He immediately smiles, as thoughts about your hard work for him warms his chest.

-Even when Jakurai eats all your homemade sweets he will keep the basket as a little reminder of how cute and precious his partner is.

-"Do you have any plans for today, s/o..?" - he asks you after a few days, when you visit him during lunch break in the hospital. - "I hope to spend this evening with you, in my house.. What do you think?"

-When you will pay him a visit later that day you wouldn't expect much, thinking it's just a casual small date. But when you go inside, the delicious smell of your favorite food hits your nose almost immediately.

-"Oh, come here, s/o.. Don't be shy." - Jakurai chuckle, noticing how your adorable eyes widened a little. - "I decided to return a favor in the same way, so.. please, enjoy. I hope my little feast will please you as much as your present pleases me before.."

-He may not be a great cook and don't have enough skills, but he has enough heart, love and care that he puts in these dishes, just for you…

-Ahhh!! So happy happy happy!!

-He is good at cooking and baking so he knows how hard it is to make so many sweets. So he really appreciates that from you.

-"Haaa~ S/o, you such a cutie and sweetheart, hehe..! I'm gonna have diabetes after so many biscuits and donuts, huh!!" - Hifumi giggles, it looks like he is even more cheerful than usual after your reward. He hugs you tightly, holding you so close to his chest as he pepper your face with kisses - "Now I'm gonna work even harder, if it means I will get such gifts from you, hehe..!"

-Expect him to be really clingy for the next few days as he can't stop complimenting you, his hands are always on you, hugging your waist or shoulder, playing with your hair, holding your hand or stroking your cheek before soft kiss..

-Hifumi just wants to show how much joy and happiness you bring to him, as his heart can't stop beating so fast when he eats your sweets before work. So delicious and sugary, full of your affection for him..

-"My precious darling.. For me, it's not just baking, it's like your love transforms into a physical form - the same warmness, softness and sweetness I can feel from this dough as I feel from your heart, s/o..!" - charming smile plays on his lips after such a pompous speech. Hifumi was already in his gray jacket when he got closer to you, holding your hands softly. - "There's nothing that would be more delicious than your cooking.. Mm, but maybe your lips?~"

-He would brag about your gift for him to anyone he knows. None of his kittens will surprise him as much as you, his precious little star. And he wants the whole world to know about that!!

-"Ooh!! You're finally here, hehe..!" - Hifumi opens the door, meeting you in his pink apron and immediately dragging you inside - "Come on, come on, hurry up..!"

-You didn't know why he called you, so you were so surprised to see a whole table covered with extravagant dishes. Everything looked so good and delicious, almost as if you were looking at pictures of the menu in an expensive restaurant. After all, Hifumi is in the top ten best cooks in Shinjuku, how can you expect something lower than that from him?

-"Here..! It's my little party as a thank you for being such a doll..!" - his hands squeezing yours as he looks at you with the brightest smile. Hifumi always looks like a little sunshine, but near you he lights up even more, radiating his positive and love for you - "Hehe, we can even feed each other, what do you think?"

-Somebody, call an ambulance asap, this man has a heart attack.

-So many things?? And just for him?? Are you sure he can eat it all alone??

-"I.. um.. thank you.." - he mumbles with bright red cheeks, hands trembling as he looks at a basket full of sweets. Despite his thoughts that keep screaming that he didn't deserve such a gift and such an adorable partner, his heart keeps telling him how cute you are and he definitely should be grateful, not pessimistic. - "You're like an angel, s/o.. You are always blessing my poor life with your presence, and now.. So many sweets.. I will never forget that, and will work even harder for you now…!"

-He's touched to the depth of his soul, as he gets used to being treated badly. Just your attention is enough for making him feel bright happiness, but the whole homemade baking..? He's almost bursting in tears as something keeps trembling inside his chest and tickling his stomach, is this what they call butterflies?

-"I.. I know that maybe I ask too much, y-you already make me so happy, b-but.." - his voice trembling a little as he got closer and touched your hands. Shy, but so sincerely deep loving gaze on his face as he tries to get the courage to continue - "But.. Can I kiss you now? I just.. I really want to show my love.."

-Oh just how much he wants to eat all the sweets in one moment..! Everything just looks so delicious, his mouth already watering from the alluring warm scent. Sorry, Hifumi, but for this man your food will be the best thing in life, even if you're not as good at baking as shiny blondie.

-But he needs to control himself and spread the fun over several days. And Doppo will take your cakes and cookies as lunch for work, so he would enjoy at least something good in this goddamn office. He always cheers up after lunch break now, because all the time he was sitting in the break room, eating your tarts slowly and sloppy, thinking about how much time you spent just to make him a gift..

-That's right! If you always make him smile, then he should also try hard to make you the happiest person in the whole world..! You deserve to know how much he actually values you, even if it's hard to say in words for him..!

-"H..hello? Oh, s/o, I'm not interrupting or anything, a-am I? Would you.. would you like to visit my house this weekend..?" - it was much easier to talk through a phone call, as Doppo nervously fiddled with his fingers, waiting for your answer. - "N-nothing serious, just please, if you can.."

-Of course if he said "nothing serious" you were not expecting something serious, but when you came over, Doppo was standing there, really nervous, you could feel the smell of baking powder and sugar from his hands.

-Oh, so he was trying to bake you a cake..! When you congratulate him for hard work you mention that one of the cakes in the basket is your favorite, so he was trying to make that thing..

-"I.. I'm sorry..! It's look much worse than yours one, I'm sorry..!" - he sobbed, looking at his crooked cake - "You can not eat it if you don't want to..! Aahh, I can't even show my gratitude for you normally…!"

-It's look not that good but the taste was still delicious, and a little praise from you made Doppo smile again, as he promised to get better at baking and spoil you with something more good-looking next time.

[brookpub]

Best Pub Food near Mill Road Cambridge | Best Pub Food Cambridge

Here at The Brook Pub, we take great satisfaction in creating delicious food that will satisfy your every want. All your friends and family will love the selections from our appetizer menu. If you're searching for something to nibble on with your drinks or a flavorful way to start your meal, go no further than our starters. 

Check out our New Menu at the Brook Pub:

Bread and Dipping Oil:

Our Bread and Dipping Oil is an all-time favourite appetizer since it's simple but delicious. Warm handmade bread drizzled with olive oil laced with lemon and balsamic vinegar is a sensory treat. We provide a variety of dipping oils, from classic garlic oil to oils flavoured with balsamic reduction and herbs. Immerse yourself in this delicious medley of flavours and textures for a gastronomic adventure unlike any other.

Battered Halloumi:

If you're looking for a start to satisfy your craving for decadent flavours, look no further than our Battered Halloumi. The halloumi cheese is delicately coated in our proprietary batter, resulting in a crunchy outside and a creamy interior. A sweet chilli dipping sauce or spiced mayo is served on the side to complement the creamy, savoury Halloumi. If you love cheese and are searching for a new taste in appetizers, try this vegetarian delicacy.

Filo Prawns:

As an appetizer, try our Filo Prawns, which have juicy prawns encased in layers of crispy Filo pastry to highlight their subtle flavours. The prawns are marinated in a delicious mixture of herbs and spices, then wrapped in dough and deep-fried till golden. With the crunch of the filo, the tenderness of the prawns, and the acidic creaminess of the aioli, this meal, served with a sweet chilli dip, is a beautiful mix of textures and tastes.

Chicken Kebab Bites:

Our Chicken Kebab Bites are a great appetizer choice because they are filling and flavorful. Chicken breasts are skewered and grilled until tender, and the marinade is absorbed, creating a flavorful and aromatic dish. Chicken lovers and adventurous eaters alike will enjoy these kebab nibbles, which feature a wonderful blend of smokey and herbaceous overtones and are served with a cooling mint yoghurt dipping sauce.

Here at The Brook Pub near Mill Road, we're proud to say that we use only the finest, freshest ingredients in all of our delicious meals. Our appetizers are thoughtfully crafted to accommodate various tastes and preferences so everyone may find something they like. Our starters are the perfect way to kick off your meal with us, whether you're stopping in for a quick bite or planning on staying for hours.

Cheese Burger:

The Cheese Burger is just one example of how The Brook Pub strives to provide exceptional dining experiences. This traditional American dish will satisfy your appetite because it is prepared with only the freshest ingredients and a touch of culinary magic. Indulge your taste buds in our scrumptious Cheese Burger, topped with delicious condiments. Fries, lettuce, tomato, red onion, pickled gherkins, coleslaw, American mustard, ketchup, and pickled gherkins top our cheeseburger.

The combination of flavours in our Cheese Burger will make your mouth water with joy. Our dedication to using only the finest and freshest ingredients guarantees that every bite will be an extraordinary adventure in flavour.

Halloumi & Avocado Salad:

You won't get enough of the delicious flavour and smooth texture of our Halloumi and Avocado Salad. This healthy salad balances flavour and nutrition thanks to its abundance of fresh, nourishing ingredients like herby French dressing and crispy croutons.

Halloumi, a brined, semi-hard cheese originating in the Mediterranean, is the salad's shining star. Our Halloumi is delicately grilled to create a golden, crispy surface while keeping the soft and chewy centre that gives it its signature texture and mild, salty flavour. The grilled Halloumi provides a welcome contrast to the coolness of the salad's other ingredients.

Our Halloumi and Avocado Salad is an excellent option if you're looking for a vegetarian dish that won't sacrifice flavour for healthiness. This salad is a healthy and refreshing lunch or light dinner option. 

The Halloumi and Avocado Salad at The Brook Pub is a dish not to be missed. Each salad celebrates flavour and health thanks to our dedication to utilizing only the freshest and finest ingredients. Our Halloumi & Avocado Salad will surely be a highlight of any meal, whether you're dining single or with friends or family.

Best Wine Bars in Cambridge

Kids Menu at the Brook Pub near Mill Road:

We provide a special kids menu for those in your party who are younger than 12 years old. There's something for everyone on our menu, as we aim to please various palates. Our delicacies, whether you're in the mood for traditional pub fare or want to try something new from around the world, are all made with the finest care and attention to detail so that you have a wonderful meal. Try out some of our most popular products with me!

Fish Fingers with Chips:

Everyone, from kids to adults, loves our Fish Fingers with Chips. It's a traditional British dish. We utilize flaky fish fillets delicately breaded and fried till golden and crispy. This meal, especially with crisp, hot chips, is tasty. Fish and chips are traditionally served with tartar sauce, which adds a zingy acidity to the meal.

Beef Burger with Fries:

The flavorful Beef Burger at our restaurant is a customer favourite. We begin with a juicy beef patty grilled to perfection, then layer on tomato slices, lettuce, and crunchy red onions. A layer of melted cheese is added for richness, and the resulting balance of flavours is sublime. This burger is a timeless classic and pairs perfectly with the crispy golden fries.

Chicken Nuggets with Fries:

Our Chicken Nuggets with Fries are always a hit with the whole family. Chicken nuggets that are tender and full of flavour are breaded and fried until golden and crispy on the outside while still being juicy on the inside. The dish is excellent for sharing or eating on your own as a delicious snack, thanks to the addition of properly cooked fries.

Penne pasta with tomatoes and garlic toast:

Our Tomato Penne Pasta with Garlic Bread is the ideal meal for people pining for a taste of homely Italian cuisine. Penne pasta cooked to al dente is mixed with a savoury tomato sauce flavoured with fresh herbs and spices. The warm, freshly baked garlic bread that comes on the side of this robust pasta meal is the perfect accompaniment to the bold flavours of the pasta.

Brook Pub What’s On Events

Brook Pub Food Offers:

Start your week well with a Get Burger Meal or Curry Bowl and a Pint for just £ 12.99 from 5–7 PM, Monday–Friday. On Fridays and Saturdays, in addition to our regular menu, we also provide authentic biryani. Come down to the Brook Pub in Cambridge for some of the finest British pub grub.

Conclusion:

At The Brook Pub, we're proud to have a menu that suits various preferences. From American standards to exotic specialities. Our dishes are cooked with love and care. We serve some of the finest drinks, best summer pitchers, best cocktails, Wines and many more. We love to entertain our guests with Karaoke nights, live music nights, Open mic nights etc. Relax with us as we serve you these tasty treats and various drinks. When you dine at The Brook Pub Outdoor garden , thanks to our welcoming staff, you can count on terrific cuisine, fantastic company, and amazing memories.

[thedragonagelesbian]

fellas is it gay to get into a fight with a stranger who had the nerve to tell u that drowning urself in negativity isnt the radical praxis u think it is, and realize that the anger you experienced in that moment was the first time you had felt something in years so you abandoned every part of ur old life just so u could go w him on his road trip to california bc he makes you Feel Things Again

[startrekandberryrolls]

The Eloise x Footman John content we deserve

(Somewhat mature, we will call this PG 16)

Make Me Feel Alive

John didn’t have a last name.

A bastard born of backstreet brothel houses, he’d never meant to climb this high. He should have stayed there in the shadows. He should have loved the cobblestone floors. And yet, here he stood. Here he flew.

John always knew he should have stopped there: a cushy job as footman for a well bred family. A roof over his head and enough coin to scrape together a pint of lager on weekends. Or two. Instead, though, it just fed his hunger. For new knowledge. A chance to see the worlds his stolen books taught him to love. New ideas and climes. The second Bridgerton girl’s lovely grey eyes. In his eyes, maybe, those three things had become one and the same. All dreams he could never let himself know: unattainable, heart wrenching and warm. Somewhere in the man’s jumbled mind, the western American shores smelled like orange zest and sweet pomade. Paris felt like silk in his palms. In the end, it seemed, he was nothing but a man. Something that w a n t e d. Her lips against his. The far flung worlds’ milky, dark skies. Something that screamed for the touch of a woman he could never quite have. The urge to dance through the stars. To kiss her hard. Wanting. The kind that tightened his breeches at night. The kind only her touch could take away. God knows he himself had already tried. Too many times.

Maybe that’s why he stuck to small smiles. Little smirks with the time distracted eyes could provide. Just enough to keep him from breaking, to keep his swollen heart from aching. He’d always held together, you see. Never tearing at the seams. He’d been happy for her, truly, when she found a man with which to spend her time. A young lower born man that looked just a bit too much like him to give John release from that little ‘what if?’ in his mind. Just enough to keep haunting his nights. That’s why he’d never expected to shatter when Eloise’s tear stained face appeared from the print shop’s dim yellow lights. Why he’d never expected the sight to tear him in two. Not like it did. Not that visceral, chest breaking aching.

They were never meant to happen. A noble lady, however she may have been scorned, did not belong in the arms of a fatherless servant, just barely a man. Yet in that moment, it’d been too simple to imagine her there. Her soft, dark brown hair, threaded between shaky fingers. Her soft, sleeping cheek pressed to the bare expanse of his chest on cold winter days. It was like he held the world in his arms. His world. All that mattered, encapsulated there. He felt want, a primal urge that disgusted him. Just as much as he wanted to rock her to sleep, kiss the tears away and bring back her mischievous smile. John wanted to hold his girl in his arms, shelter her from the storms. And yet, in all parts of the ton lay prying, sharp eyes. He pulled with great effort away, knowing the tenderness with which he cradled her body not to be proper in the aristocracy's mind.

“Do I need to give him a black eye?” He whispered softly, lost in the quivering of her lips, the sharp gasps of her breathy, heartbroken cries. “Has he dishonoured you? In any way?”

Eloise just stared, with blank, teary eyes. “No- I just-“

She paused, burying her face into his collarbone with a pitiful whine.

John understood. He always would.

***

It took three months for his girl to regain that healthy shine in her eyes. To sharpen her tongue back to the edge it always had. She’d begun to once more take drives at his side, perched in the front seat once away from the house’s prying eyes. She even took the reins from him at times, urging the horses along with the brightest of smiles. Laughing in ways that made him half drunk and alive. He relished the overcorrection of her ungloved, soft hands: the one chance he got for their fingers to so artfully intertwine. To feel the hitch in her breath as he leaned in to whisper words to her. To pick up the slack, to pull left or right. The cinnamon pomade and orange zest scent at the junction of her jugular, heart racing fast enough to hear its beating. It was the one moment he got to forget how he could never be her man. How he’d never get to hold her writhing form through the night.

It was really only a matter of time until she went back to the rallies, he supposed. They were the outings he was hesitant to enjoy. Always, John loved her wild side: her sharp wit, opinions and beautiful mind. How she’d talk for hours on various topics of life. But these public talks of feminism and equal rights, as much as he supported these girls’ cries, were dangerous places to reside. They sent him on edge, sponsoring a sense of danger inside his nervous mind. Maybe that’s why he was so fast to move, to step in and push her safely aside. He’d barely caught the old drunk in time, just seeing how his greedy fingers reached between her thighs. It was a miracle he could hear the man’s sexual jeers over the blood that screamed through his ears.

Men with no real names learn very quickly to fight. With no father’s claim, there’s no protection but whatever your own fists can provide. Later, he’d know that’s why he’d been so fast to get that old man to cry. Why the crunch of the drunk’s jaw beneath his hands didn’t faze his rattled mind. Why he kicked and clawed as if climbing out of hell. He did it so fast cause he’d done it before. He’d done it so quickly, so thoughtlessly, because brothel boys were never spared any more time. And maybe he moved just a heartbeat faster, knowing that his girl lay fixed in that bastard’s eyes. He was too incensed to correct that possessive pronoun in his mind.

She’d dragged him away from it all, away from the crowd’s shocked and prying eyes. He’d been so alive, drugged out on the bliss of a fight, drunk on that little voice that screamed out to others, buried so deep inside. The one that yelled ‘She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine.’ Thrown into that carriage by nervously thankful grey eyes, he’d been nothing but a man, all poor judgement and totally wild.

“I- you didn’t need to do that, John. You-“ she stuttered, still shocked to see such violence from a man who’s manner she’d known to be so gentile and kind.

Still shaking, he stared up at the woman he’s sworn never to hold. How she leaned in closely, gently threading slim hands through his hair.

“Where’s my wig?”

At that, Eloise snorted and smiled. “That’s your main concern- at a time like this one? After this most recent fight- really John-“

He’d gotten lost in her lips. The sound of his name on her sweet, lovely voice. He was gone for this woman. Drunk and high and sharply alive. Enough to break the dams of his resolve, of his fatherless name and the shadows from which he had first crawled.

“God please, please Eloise- Just this once, just stop talking.” He gasped, grabbing her waist and closing his eyes. He’d become nothing but a lust driven man.

She squeaked softly, tensing just enough for the man to coil back in horrified surprise. Breeches still tight, heart racing too hard to be sure he was alive.

“I- my lady-“ his whole world came crashing down. “I’m sorry I-“

She was the one to cut him off that time.

The kiss was desperate and young and unpracticed and full of frustrating nights. By God, this woman was sure to drive him wild. Her hand in his hair, his hands on her thighs. She writhed in his arms with whimpers and sighs, and he couldn’t hold back his groan when her hips started to instinctively grind.

“God- are you hurt, John?” She gasped, pulling away in shock and surprise. Still, she squirmed.

“No- just” he moaned a bit louder, all his dreams in his laps, causing a mind numbing kind of friction in between his thighs.

Slowly, he watched her brows rise. Vaguely, he heard her shift away with an embarrassed, soft cry. Quickly, he grabbed her again, pulling her softly into his shaky, strong arms. “Don’t run away this time.”

He untensed only at her affirmative sigh. There were things he could teach her, things he could tell her. The ways he touched himself at night, how he dreamed of her desperate hot cries. How right and tight and warm she would feel inside. How he wanted, together, for them to grow old. To have children and a garden and to argue over Sunday teatime. For now, though, he’d settle for how her gentle sighs made him feel alive.

[edenmemes]

misc poetry sentence starters

❝  one gets so used to one’s own horrors, one forgets how they must seem to other people.  ❞ ❝  you remind me what love lives in this skin.  ❞ ❝  you are the most phantom-like of all; you are a mere dream.  ❞ ❝  i’m not telling you a story so much as a shipwreck—the places floating, finally legible.  ❞ ❝  the world was made so we can find each other in it.  ❞ ❝  the night isn’t dark; the world is dark. stay with me a little longer.  ❞ ❝  i want you desperately. i want your strength and your softness, your hands, all of you.  ❞ ❝  is that too much to expect? that i would name the stars for you?  ❞ ❝  against your cheek my hand is warm and full of tenderness.  ❞ ❝  the world grows green again when you smile.  ❞ ❝  your share of pains would fill a sea.  ❞ ❝  i’m so stuck on the ‘was’ of people.  ❞ ❝  what i love in you is your power of loving, a bit wild, a bit primitive, but absolute.  ❞ ❝  i like figuring you out. you are so human and puzzling.  ❞ ❝  the unwillingness to try is worse than any failure.  ❞ ❝  you wanted happiness. i can’t blame you for that.  ❞ ❝  i did violence to my own heart.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth.  ❞ ❝  like a magpie, i am a scavenger of shiny things: fairy tales and dead languages.  ❞ ❝  and here you come with a shield for a heart and a sword for a tongue.  ❞ ❝  you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry.    only the sun has come this close, only the sun.  ❞ ❝  sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof you’ve been ruined.  ❞ ❝  when will it cease, this monstrous rage of yours?  ❞ ❝  i will plant my hands in the garden. i will grow, i know, i know.  ❞ ❝  i had it all and i want it back again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.  ❞ ❝  we are two reflections that cross swords with each other.  ❞ ❝  as for me, i am a watercolour. i wash off.  ❞ ❝  do you dare send me away as though you were were waiting for something better?  ❞ ❝  my dear, you are in danger of being burned by your own flame.  ❞ ❝  i am three oceans away from my soul.  ❞ ❝  you, occasionally, glimmer with a light i’ve never seen before. it frightens me.  ❞ ❝  i went to sleep last night so i could see you.  ❞ ❝  even the eyes of gods must adjust to light. even gods have gods.  ❞ ❝  how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?  ❞ ❝  it does me no good to be good to me now.  ❞ ❝  i may look alright, but if you were to look more closely you wouldn’t find a single healthy bit in me.  ❞ ❝  i must clothe myself in other worlds.  ❞ ❝  suffering is the privilege of those who feel.  ❞ ❝  sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.  ❞ ❝  the vigor, the fire, that enables you to love and create. when you lose that, you’ve lost everything.  ❞ ❝  i can be bold, because i have you with me always.  ❞ ❝  you are shaking fists and trembling teeth. i know: you did not mean to be cruel. that does not mean you were kind.  ❞ ❝  not that i want to be a god or a hero, just to change into a tree,  grow for ages, not hurt anyone.  ❞ ❝  i laughed today. for a second i was unhaunted.  ❞ ❝  you are sunlight through a window, which i stand in, warmed.  ❞ ❝  there’s something electric in your blood.  ❞ ❝  you say you are broken,   but broken mirrors like you create the most beautiful patterns of light.  ❞ ❝  time doesn’t obey our commands.  ❞ ❝  i love you quite passionately, and with a touch of tragedy.  ❞ ❝  to feel anything deranges you. to be seen feeling anything strips you naked.  ❞ ❝  i love you --- like a storm bursts overhead --- i must confess it; all the more fiercely because you burn and bite.  ❞ ❝  and i have seen rivers, not unlike you, that failed to find their way back.  ❞ ❝  i am less a god now that you’ve touched me.  ❞ ❝  your words are gentle; but my blood runs cold to think what plots you may be nursing deep within your heart.  ❞ ❝  you said i killed you --- haunt me then.  ❞ ❝  your soul is frail and solemn, loyal and spring-like.  ❞ ❝  you look like you’ve eaten the sun, like you drank so much sunlight you’re drowning in it.  ❞ ❝  strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.  ❞ ❝  you will hear thunder and remember me.  ❞ ❝  ever think it’s possible for us to be happy?  ❞ ❝  and i would wonder across all the deserts of this world, even after death, to search for you.  ❞ ❝  since we’re bound to be something, why not together?  ❞ ❝  i am ashes were once i was fire.  ❞ ❝  this mouth will destroy you the moment you mistake it for something soft, for something that is yours.  ❞ ❝  it’s no easy thing to bear, the weight of sweetness.  ❞ ❝  kill the light! i’d rather wallow in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i have thought of you often since the darkness.  ❞ ❝  with your presence the sun becomes irrelevant.  ❞ ❝  there is no god left in this skin. there’s just the ash. just the ash.  ❞ ❝  open your eyes, look more sharply, see me as i am.  ❞ ❝  what the hell is tragedy? i am.  ❞ ❝  i’ve got a lot of feeling for you. you’re kind.  ❞ ❝  how beautiful it is, how beautiful, that glow before the stars break.  ❞ ❝  so much to do today: kill memory, kill pain, turn heart into a stone, and yet prepare to live again.  ❞ ❝  i am myself. that is not enough.  ❞ ❝  i may be mad, god-seized, but i will stand outside my madness.  ❞ ❝  my power, which to me is still a curse ---  ❞ ❝  ocean sea with its caressing swell; it has so often cooled my heart.  ❞ ❝  do you bathe in perfume, and dry yourself in light?  ❞ ❝  i like you; your eyes are full of language.  ❞ ❝  let me tell you what i do know.    i am more than one thing and not all of those things are good.  ❞ ❝  you are the cause and the cure --- both.  ❞ ❝  i have kisses for the back of your neck.  ❞ ❝  your beautiful glance is unbearably cruel.  ❞ ❝  we might meet again, someday between dreams at dawn.  ❞ ❝  suffering is a terrible fire; it either purifies or destroys.  ❞ ❝  lately it hurts more to imagine you are a stranger rather than a destroyer.  ❞ ❝  and i say to myself: a moon will rise from my darkness.  ❞ ❝  since you walked out on me, i’m getting lovelier by the hour. i glow like a corpse in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i will not whine. i will obey and be forever still.  ❞ ❝  you move like the moon.  ❞ ❝  my eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears.  ❞ ❝  in your eyes, the fires of twilight.  ❞ ❝  do not haunt my soul; i have done well forgetting you.  ❞ ❝  i am no one. i cannot love. it’s in my blood.  ❞ ❝  you’re wearing your armor to protect your heart. who can blame you? it only makes sense in a world like this one.  ❞ ❝  you are not real. you are a dream of a dream.  ❞ ❝  there are so many things i’m not allowed to tell you.  ❞ ❝  i am indeed a shameless, evil-minded and abominable creature.  ❞ ❝  come this evening --- i am eager for stars.  ❞ ❝  i am on fire with that soft sound you make, in uttering my name.  ❞ ❝  i want you mostly in the morning when my soul is weak from dreaming.  ❞ ❝  to me you are the desert and the sea; everything secretive.  ❞ ❝  i thought i was wounded to the core but i was only bruised.  ❞ ❝  it is a dead heart. it is inside of me. it is a stranger.  ❞ ❝  i live --- but i’m mutilated.  ❞ ❝  if there is a light then i am going to swallow it.    if there is a god then i’m going to make him cry.  ❞ ❝  i am condemned to be a saint or a monster: unable to be the one, unwilling to be the other.  ❞ ❝  you will open your wounds and make them a garden.  ❞ ❝  i come home --- and i feel like a ghost returning its haunt.  ❞ ❝  i planted roses, but without you they were thorns.  ❞ ❝  everything inside me is in revolt.  ❞ ❝  how this darkness soaks me through and through.  ❞ ❝  give me my robe, put on my crown; i have immortal longings in me.  ❞ ❝  say something dangerous like i love you.  ❞ ❝  listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?  ❞ ❝  in times of crisis, we must decide again and again whom we love.  ❞ ❝  breathe the scent of little, earthly things. let the twilight touch you.  ❞ ❝  my heart is just like the ocean, has storm and calm and tides.  ❞ ❝  you became for me a sacred being, not to be touched save in adoring thoughts.  ❞ ❝  gods are stubborn. so am i.  ❞ ❝  is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?  ❞ ❝  there’s something soft in me. i killed it and it’s rotting.  ❞ ❝  beware. beware. there is a tenderness.  ❞ ❝  half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. real gods require blood.  ❞ ❝  i’m alive. like a wound, a flower in the flesh, the path of aching blood is open within me.  ❞ ❝  you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth.  ❞ ❝  i have it in me...to scare myself with my own desert places.  ❞ ❝  my mouth still houses century-old magic.     in my ears i hear a ringing and singing and no god.  ❞ ❝  keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.  ❞ ❝  i’m full of poetry now. rot and poetry. rotten poetry.  ❞ ❝  this skin is sick with loneliness.  ❞ ❝  memories are sharp. they bite. i have spent most of my life trying to grow a thicker skin just to make sure i would not bleed out whenever i felt those teeth scrape up against me.  ❞ ❝  i wonder if i will ever find a language to speak of the things that haunt me the most.  ❞ ❝  after fury, what do you do with the remains?  ❞ ❝  come on, dance with me. the earth is spinning. we can’t just stand on it.  ❞ ❝  let’s admit, without apology, what we do together.  ❞ ❝  try to find the right place for yourself. if you can’t find it, at least dream of it.  ❞ ❝  it takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations.  ❞ ❝  i am too full of life to be half-loved.  ❞ ❝  today you want nothing because wanting comes too close to feeling.  ❞ ❝  there’s nothing more terrible, more alluring, more mysterious than love.  ❞ ❝  heavenly wine and roses seem to whisper to me when you smile.  ❞ ❝  my soul is devoutly and wholly under your spell.  ❞ ❝  will you see the human in my being?  ❞ ❝  if i had a flower for every time i thought of you…i could walk through my garden forever.  ❞ ❝  part broken part whole, you begin again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know if love’s a feeling. sometimes i think it’s a matter of seeing. seeing you.  ❞ ❝  i wonder which will get you killed faster, your loyalty or your stubbornness?  ❞ ❝  whether you come as a lover or an exeutioner, i am ready to receive you.  ❞ ❝  i think i understand your longing. it looks so much like mine.  ❞ ❝  i’ve had so many knives stuck into me. when they hand me a flower, i can’t quite make out what it is.  ❞ ❝  i like the sea: we understand one another. it is always yearning, sighing for something it cannot have; so am i.  ❞ ❝  do i not live? badly, i know, but i live.  ❞ ❝  something of you stuck with me. a splinter.  ❞ ❝  i clung to your hands so that something human might exist in the chaos.  ❞ ❝  sometimes i shut my eyes, and shut my heart towards you, and try hard to forget you because you grieve me so, but you’ll never go away. oh you never will.  ❞ ❝  my golden love, if only you knew, what precious honey you are for me.  ❞ ❝  i had an old wound once, but it is healing.  ❞ ❝  always this in-betweenness, this almost, this it might be that...  ❞ ❝  when i close my eyes, i see you. when i open my eyes i want to see you.  ❞ ❝  dark as it is --- you see, that little flickering, is the light of my soul.  ❞ ❝  am i a monster or is this what it means to be a person?  ❞ ❝  i am talking about evil. it blooms. it eats. it grins.  ❞ ❝  sapphires are those eyes of yours, ravishingly sweet.  ❞

[kythed]

what love tastes like

terushima yuuji x reader

synopsis: in which you learn that falling in love tastes like monster

--

“Taste,” he says. He holds the cold rim of a freshly opened can to your lips, and first it’s metallic, salty, but then it’s sweet. 

You take a sip. 

“So you’re telling me you’ve never tried Monster before?” he asks, taking a drink himself. The two of you are sitting on a park bench across the street from a gas station. He licks his lips-- the silver ball embedded in his tongue winks at you, a shallow token of youthful rebellion that somehow seems more significant on him. 

“Never. I’m more of a Dr. Pepper girl.” You reach for the can again, letting the saccharine liquid sloshing inside coat your tongue. It’s really too much for me, you think. But of course, you won’t tell him that. 

“Not anymore,” he says, and he slips a firm hand around the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and daring you to look away with a wicked grin-- it’s attractive, to say the least. “Now you’re my girl.” 

You’ve barely parted your lips to respond before his mouth is on yours, tongue halfway down your throat, and you’re whimpering into the kiss as he snakes a hand down your back and presses your body to his. The whole ordeal tastes like Monster and feels far more energizing than the packaging promises. 

Within your first day of meeting him, Terushima Yuuji has already claimed you as his own. 

And you’re okay with it.

--

He’s about as healthy for you as the Monster is-- which is to say, not at all. 

In your next couple months of dating him, this becomes apparent. He takes you to the edge of the woods at twilight and lights your first cigarette, laughing as you take a draw and end up coughing. Plucking it from your fingers, he holds the cig high as smoke curls into the hazy sky and eventually melds with the faintly orange cumuli. “Guess it’ll take a little practice before you can smoke with the big dogs, huh?”

You flush and snatch it back, determined to prove your aptitude for defiance. By the end of the night, you can blow smoke rings-- he applauds, and for some odd reason your heart swells at his lazy grin. 

(The next kiss tastes like tobacco and novelty.)

He shows you each of his tattoos, some of which peek out from underneath his clothes, some of which aren’t exactly visible to the onlooker’s eye. There’s a tendril of ivy climbing down his forearm, a flock of wild cranes taking flight from his left shoulder. A dark silhouette is on his chest, kneeling low to who knows what. You trace the image of an unlit candle on the back of his neck, asking what it means-- for a millisecond, his mouth tightens into an expressionless line, but then he laughs. “Why, you want one too? Let’s go to the parlor then.” 

When you decline, he takes a permanent marker from his bedside table and prints a small label on your inner wrist. ‘Mine’ it says, accompanied by an oddly appropriate smiley face. “Then this will have to do.”

(This kiss tastes like ink and enigma.) 

He brings you to a decrepit manor on the outskirts of town-- legend has it a young, newly wealthy couple purchased it twenty years ago, unaware its foundations rested on a centuries old cemetery. The spiteful spirits drove them to the brink of madness. The sort of madness that could only be alleviated by the resounding finality of death. 

“They were found hanging from their bedsheets in the west wing,” Yuuji whispers to you, his breath tickling your ear. An unwanted tremor runs from your head to your high-tops. You don’t believe in ghosts, so it must be because you’re cold. (At least, that’s what you tell yourself.) “I want that kind of love.” 

You turn, surprised to see his expression remains entirely serious. “The kind where you die for one another?”

“The kind where you die with one another,” he corrects, wistfully gazing into the dingy bay windows protruding from the manor’s anterior. 

You remain silent. 

“Life is just an accumulation of bad decisions, and love is just an accumulation of bad decisions you make with another person,” he muses, still peering at the grandeur of the lonely estate. He turns to you, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Wanna make a bad decision with me?” 

The next hour is spent in the modest company of Yuuji, a couple of baseball bats, and the empty halls of a long dead house. There’s no one to witness the two of you shattering each dusty antique vase save for the portraits on the wall. Soon, their frames, too, receive a violent visit from a vindictive bat, usually accompanied by Yuuji’s unadulterated glee and a resounding whoop. 

You’re not a fan of destruction. Especially not the destruction of rare, precious items reminiscent of a life bygone. Yet, it’s exhilarating to indulge in it, to swing your bat with a meaningless vengeance and watch as whatever priceless heirloom that evoked your baseless wrath fractures into pieces. You demolish a set of fine china found in the dining room cabinet and Yuuji gathers you into his arms, kissing you fiercely (it tastes like some sort of perverse, seductive joy, rosewater mixed with ashes). He chuckles into your mouth when you push your tongue into his, retribution for your first kiss many weeks ago. It’s deliciously gratifying. 

If Yuuji is right, and love is just a mosaic of bad decisions and desire-- maybe you’re okay with that. Maybe this is all I really need, you think, watching Yuuji from the corner of your eye on the drive home. Yellow street lights cast irregular shadows on his angular features, lending him an otherworldly sort of beauty. 

“What is it?” he asks, without taking his eyes off the road. One of his hands inches up your inner thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before retreating to the responsibility of the steering wheel. 

You hesitate, just for a second. An unseen force constricts around your throat; you banish it with a hard swallow. “I love you.” 

One second passes. Then two. 

He says nothing the rest of the ride home, and you sit in mortified silence, watching traffic blur by with glassy eyes. You must’ve misread this whole thing. You’re just a fling Yuuji plans on discarding whenever he grows tired… your mouth goes dry with regret. 

When you pull up in front of your house, he walks you to your front door. You can hardly stand to look him in the eye. 

“Well, thanks for today,” you say, examining your shoelaces with false interest. “I had a lot of--”

“I love you, too.” 

Startled, you look up. “I- what?” 

“I said,” he says, stepping close, putting a hand beneath your chin to tilt it upwards. Your body is eclipsed by his larger one, and you’re overwhelmed with the sudden urge to hide from his penetrating gaze. “I love you, too.” 

A beat of silence.

“Oh,” you breathe, and, suddenly, his lips are on yours, kissing you fervently— but this time, it’s chaste, it’s… loving (and it tastes like honeyed laughter). Only for a second though.

Then his hands are on your waist, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises; he’s aflame with a hotblooded passion-- your body is his Holy Grail and your mouth is its rim. He leads you into the hallway, fumbling to close the door behind him. You gasp when he pushes you up against the wall and harshly sucks at the sensitive skin beneath your jaw, your nails digging into his back through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. 

“I love you,” he mumbles, painting your neck with a line of ardent kisses, trailing from right below your ear to right above your collarbone. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

--

There’s something a little too tender in the way he caresses your face the next morning to wake you after he’s slipped his clothes back on, in the way he smiles softly at your bleary eyed confusion, in the way he holds you in his embrace a fraction of a second longer than you hold him in yours before saying goodbye. 

Terushima Yuuji may play the part of a reckless delinquent, but he’s not your average troublemaker. There’s something inscrutable behind his gaze, even as he sprays obscene graffiti on stop signs and shoplifts alcohol from the neighborhood drugstore, a walking cliche of hoodlum culture. 

There’s something a little too careful about the boy who claims to be careless. 

Yuuji is still fun, of course. He takes immense pride in being fun. He invites you to one of his friends’ gigs, some sort of grunge-esque affair with a heavily pulsating bass line and a preponderance of cheap liquor in red plastic cups. The drummer winks at you during one of the songs-- later Yuuji slugs him in the jaw, taking a few hits in the process, and makes a show of kissing you sloppily while the poor drummer nurses his rapidly forming bruise with a pack of frozen peas. (The kiss, of course, tastes like blood and pride.) 

He teaches you how to use a switchblade-- “Just in case,” he says, wrapping his hand around yours in an effort to show you the proper grip. In exactly what situation you’d be forced to use a switchblade remains unclear, but when you ask he just laughs and shrugs, spinning the knife in between his slender fingers. “You never know.”

(He tells you a story of a fist fight years ago and lifts his shirt to point out a pale, faded scar-- the other guy brought a knife concealed in his sleeve. You then agree it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.)

The two of you trespass on the regular, scaling fences and picking locks to dip your feet in private pools, to run barefoot on the soft grass of a golf course late at night, to explore taped off tunnels and underpasses. 

All of it is fun, all of it depicts your relationship as something accidental, something reckless, the convergence of two beings as coincidental as the convergence of the two cells that provoked the Big Bang. 

But your intimate moments, the faintest imprints in between the lines, tell a different story. One onlookers don’t see. 

They don’t see how Yuuji places a hand on the small of your back to guide you over a crosswalk, or how he pours a coffee and carefully blows on it before bringing it to you. They don’t see how he laughs when you laugh and smiles when you smile. 

They don’t hear what he whispers to you under the sheets-- sweet nothings that would make Cupid himself blush-- as he touches you slowly, purposefully, following your curves deliberately as a sculptor molding clay. 

They don’t feel his kisses, delicately placed on your lips, your neck, your stomach and thighs. They don’t feel his eyelashes fluttering on your cheek as he allows himself to rest with you in his most vulnerable state. 

It’s during these moments that deep secrets are so shyly exchanged in the sleepy haze of late nights and early mornings. He bares his soul to you in all its imperfection (you suspect you are the only one to have ever seen it in this state). He shatters himself bit by bit like the vases you splintered so long ago, offering you the fragments so you can gradually piece together the entire portrait. 

“You know how I told you my dad taught me how to fight?” he asks one of these times. Your head is in his lap as he strokes your hair ever-so-lightly. You nod, looking up into those sweet brown eyes-- they look sad today. “That’s only half true. He didn’t teach me, but I had to learn because of him.” 

You take his hand and brush your lips over his knuckles, humming softly, and he takes this small act of comfort and stores it away like he always does. 

I’m sorry. 

“I’m scared of trying to be someone different than I am now, but I want to be. I wish I could be.”

You can. 

“I’m sorry for getting you into so much trouble these days.”

Don’t be.

“I think we should run away, just you and me. We could make it, you know.”

I know. 

Of course, all good things come to an end. You know that. 

You just aren’t anticipating something so good to end so soon-- as suddenly as Terushima Yuuji becomes yours, he disappears. 

One morning, he’s sleeping in the bed next to you, and the next he’s gone without a trace. Literally. He leaves behind no extra t-shirts, no stray sock or phone charger, no note. You pad down the hall, ducking your head into each room.

“Yuuji?” you call. “Is this some sort of joke?”

It’s not. 

You call his phone and reach his voicemail. Hey, this is Terushima. Not available right now, probably busy doing somethin’ stupid or taking a piss. Leave a message if you want. 

The sound of his voice grows more and more painful to hear over the next six months. At first, you call every day, then every week, then every month. At month six, you’ve stopped calling at all. If he wanted to answer, he would. You don’t even know why you’ve kept it up so long when he obviously left for a reason. 

So, you pick up the pieces of your broken heart and cobble them together again. It’s not a graceful recovery, but it’s a recovery, and that’s what matters. The gaping hole he left is gradually filled by your family, your friends-- you don’t go on a single date, but that’s okay. (You’re just not ready. You tell yourself that you will be, someday.)  

Soon, you’re whole again. As you discover, there are ways to find yourself other than falling dangerously in love with a dangerous boy. 

You run into him one day, eight or so months after his disappearance. You’re filling your car at a gas station, and at the park across the street, he’s sitting next to a girl you don’t recognize. She laughs at all his jokes and sips a can of Monster he offers her. As if he can feel your stare, Yuuji glances over and catches your eye. He jogs across the street, dodging traffic, and you two exchange tentative pleasantries before the conversation comes to an uneasy rest on the taboo-- why he left.

It wasn’t because of you, it turns out. At least, not really. You were just the catalyst.

“I was the problem,” Yuuji says, laughing, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You remember how I once told you I thought love was making your bad decisions with someone by your side?”

You nod, and the wound has scabbed over enough for you to remember it lightly, with a slight curve of the lips.

“You showed me that wasn’t true.” He tugs on the collar of his t-shirt absentmindedly, not quite meeting your gaze. “I started wanting to make good decisions instead. And that just wasn’t me. Love isn’t for me.”

“It could’ve been,” you say simply. He stares at you, momentarily unable to form a response. Then he laughs it off, a sound you used to adore that now sounds harsh and grating. 

“Maybe someday,” he says, but his expression tells you otherwise. It tells you how scared he is of ever being that person.

The thing about love is that it gives you something to lose. It gives you a reason to make good decisions. It gives you something to fear for. 

As he turns to leave, Yuuji freezes in his tracks. He throws a look over his shoulder. “Just for the record-- it hurt. Leaving. I did love you.” 

You smile. It’s a genuine smile, but it’s sad, too. “I know.” 

And the thing about fear is that some people can’t bear it well enough to let themselves love someone. 

You watch his retreating back for a brief moment before climbing into your car. It’s not until you’re halfway home that you realize you’re crying. Tears roll down your cheeks into your lap, staining your jeans. 

You hope he comes to love that new girl, the one he’s sharing a Monster with. You hope she loves him back with all her heart. You hope she spends hours and hours picking through his pieces and reassembling him from the bottom up. You hope she comes to find that his kisses taste like tobacco and novelty, like ink and enigma, like rosewater and ashes and joy. You hope that, to her, those kisses never taste like regret. 

You hope that this time, he’s scared. But not so scared he can’t let himself stay.

[yanderenightmare]

ooh I wanna see ua bakugo frustrate with his affection over this clueless moron, kinda like shoto, like he gives her like a flower and she's just like wuut .__.

yandere ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

This is so cute, I can’t. Don’t know if this is what you wanted hahahaha, but I have a weak spot for like Luna Lovegood girls, like Alice in Wonderland derpy pigtailed pastel Melanie Martinez lookin’ cupcakes. And made this still in the UA au... hope that’s ok!

goodiebag WARNINGS: slight yandere, slight dubcon theme, profanity, anxiety, hallucinations, stalking

SCARY LOVE

He felt like such a stalker, like a wolf hiding in the grass, just a disgusting waste of a human being standing and ogling her from the safe distance, far enough away that she wouldn’t care to look up, but just close enough to see the color in her eyes from where she was planted in the shade under the campus willow-tree.

Why was she so fucking cute?

Her locks knotted up into two big messy buns, big splendid pastel bows tying them both into place, one blue, the other pink, matching puffy scrunchies decorating both her wrists. Cute. Small wisps of light flowing hair falling in front of her face, tickling her nose, making it scrunch like a how bunny would every now and again. Cute. White ruffled socks reaching halfway up her leg. Cute. Her knees baring pastel-colored band-aids and small scrapes and purple bruises, in the same state her elbows were. Cute. Nimble fingers handling the book that seemed so out-of-place in its size where it weighed down heavily in her lap. She looked like such a fucking fairytale. A soft-tinted cotton-candy daydream. 

Ready to have his bloody hands fuck up everything.

Bloody hell. What the fuck is he doing?

He can’t just stand there like some lovesick freak and do nothing, simply waiting for the school-bell to sound off its alarm, making her jump up like a little bunny popping up from its rabbit-hole where she’ll struggle with carrying that ridiculous book and sit down in class only to daydream about going back outside, but not before she’ll walk past him, allowing him to smell that sweet perfume that always has his heart clenching furiously in his chest and his cock growing warm and heavy in his pants.

What is wrong with him?

He can’t be thinking of her like that. This sweet precious little flower sitting so quietly with no wish to bother anyone, so soft and sweet he bet she’d cry if she so much as stepped on an ant. He wondered if she was a crier, if she’d be this adorable little crybaby ball of sobs and wet moans beneath him. He wondered what types of sound she’d make if he shoved his cock inside her. If she’d squeal and gasp and hiccup at his size, if she’d mewl, if she’d whimper, if she’d scream.

Fuck.

He needed to calm the fuck down.

To think he would never have met her if he hadn’t been forced to sign up to that stupid side-course. To think he was so mad that he didn’t make the cut for the class about war-theory and was forced to take philosophy with a bunch of air-headed freaks instead. To think he almost didn’t meet her. To think- fuck, he’s even starting to sound like one of them fucking philosophy-ditzes.

To be or not to be, or to drool over the girl sitting beneath the willow-tree.

Maybe that’s what he should submit next time they have one of those moronic poetry sessions. Perhaps then she would look at him with interest, with surprise and even praise, maybe even reverence, mirroring the look he gives her when she stands on the podium reciting her swirling words and artful descriptions, looking as though she’s entirely in her own world, dreaming, not just speaking but preaching, preaching to him about gods he’s never heard of yet somehow always believed in.

He used to believe gods drank blood and could only be celebrated through pain, that they made creatures like him, crafted him from dragon bones and fire and everything sharp and deadly, crafting him from war for war to become war itself, to find purpose in conquering, to find worth in glory. But now… looking at this creature, this creature who celebrates life and not death through laughter and daydreams and love far away from pain, he knows he’s had it all wrong.

He’s no good with words. He never has been. Except when insulting people, then he turns into a fucking lyric. What she can do is a gift. Either that, or she’s simply just insane. Either way, he doesn’t really care. She’s still soft, a tender type of madness, sweet and small and would look so good with a couple of love-bites to crash that display of milk and cream and cotton, so fucking brilliant with his handprint marking her ass… and he’s doing it again.

Fuck.

None of that will happen if he doesn’t grow a pair and go talk to her. But he can’t just talk to her. He has nothing to say. Or he has plenty to say, but nothing she could hear. He needed to find the most straightforward approach, however… while it needed to be unmistakable or lest she misunderstand, it couldn’t be aggressive. That would frighten her and he couldn’t risk spooking her away. He couldn’t risk ruining everything. It was apparent she didn’t think too much of him except that he was an angry looking boy in her Friday-classes, he needed to prove he too could be… sweet… or at least something akin to it.

He was wrong in thinking that anything would make her look up from her book. Even as he stood a mere meter away from her, she didn’t look up, completely lost and submerged in her own world as she always was. Only when he cleared his throat did she finally lift her gaze, eyes fluttering from traveling the pages and blinked softly to look up at him.

Cute.

He forgot to say anything, with a hand reached out, fisting the air, knuckles whitening in his grip, where inside the seemingly furious hand was something to contrast his otherwise deadly red stare.

The look of puzzlement on her face was insurmountable. Her small hands giving no indication to receive whatever he was offering.

“Is this a threat?” Came her soft voice, shaking him out of the faze he’d slipped into, though quickly plunging him into another one, this time not so much anticipation but confusion.

“What? No!” The both of them simply looked at each other for a moment. Bakugo’s hand still protruding out towards her, the thing in his hand no more tempting to accept than before to the girl who was still planted, making no action to get up from her spot.

“I don’t understand…” She admitted, wondering if he perhaps wanted her seat in the shade, but wasn’t given the time to ask the question as he decided to clear things up.

“It’s a flower.”

She could see that. It was a flower ripped from its root, an otherwise healthy flower before being suffocated in Bakugo’s death-grip.

“It’s a dead flower…” She corrected, a hint of sorrow on her features and he knew he was already failing in his pursuit, wanting to make things right before they could derail even more.

“It’s pretty... like you.” That came out as even more an ominous threat he realized, indicating she’d end up like the proven pretty dead flower in his chokehold.

“Are you sure this isn’t a threat?” The fact that she felt the need to ask him not only once but twice told him all he needed to know of her thoughts regarding him. She obviously thought he was a deranged explosive beast from the Hero-course.

“Goddamn it, no, I…” He frustrated, finding it hard to arrange the words, finding it hard to even find the words. “You… You’re so… You-” She was oblivious to how much he was struggling it seemed, as her personality suddenly shifted and she jumped up, book thrown to her side rather recklessly, skirt with ruffles and all bouncy with the same vigor as her tits.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together, eyes wide with such bright light Bakugo almost felt blinded by, it even managing to frightened him a bit. “Thank you, that’s very good to know! I’d be terrified if I was anyone but me!” His brows lifted in dawning realization, feeling safer by being calmed by the reminder of how he was talking to a ditz, a complete mental-case… though… a mental-case who’d managed to dance her way and get lost in his heart. “Pardon me for being so blunt, but I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t ask.” Preparing him for her question, she leant in just a bit more, looking at him intently. “Are you yourself today, Bakugo?”

As absurd as the question was to him, when it rolled off her tongue it nearly seemed like the most casual of things to ask someone, as though she was requesting his thoughts on the weather. And though it was the epitome of peculiar, the more he thought about it, the more he realized how appropriate the question was, because he were, in fact, not at all feeling like himself.

“… No.”

She gave a contemplative look and a hum. “Then you must be Baku-gone…” He couldn’t hold back the snort that followed her statement, again being reminded of what a complete klutz she was, something so far away from his cynical view of the world and something far more relaxing than what his fears had managed to conjure of her rejection. It seemed so ridiculous now, that he’d thought she would run away or scream, never having let himself imagine her in what he knew was her true nature, light-hearted and incapable of doing any harm, at least not on purpose. “Wow, you really must be, huh?” She continued, fishing him out of his curt chuckling. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh. Come to think of it… I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you smile.” She mused, admiring the small pleasantness stretched upon his face.

But then his brows furrowed, the happiness seeping from his features and leaving them contorted with annoyance, much to her dismay, regretting her choice of words. “I smile.” He argued, looking at her as though demanding she explain herself.

She cocked her head to the side, eyeing him, scrunching her brows and biting her lip for a second or two as though she were in deep thought, not wanting to upset him any further, though not wanting to speak without candidness. “No… you… bare teeth… like a wolf eager to catch its prey.” His ears retracted, features taken aback by her observation, finding he couldn’t quite say otherwise, though he’d never viewed it that way, but again, the more he thought about it, the more all her strange words made sense as he found them to be true. Silly of him to think his wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing approach could fool her, silly of him to think he could fool himself into believing she’d ever consider going out with someone so… predatory.

Though, minds are easily swayed, he reminded himself of. Her opinion of him wasn’t set in stone after all. “Does it scare you?” He finally asked, finding that was the only thing he was actually curious about. Though… perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing if she did fear him just a bit, because god knows how terrified he is of her and how she makes him feel as though he’s bleeding or falling or stripped of everything, cut by the knees and naked and so very needy to have her just look at him.

“I would say no, but I cannot lie.” His heart sunk upon hearing her admit it, disappointed, not sure if it was in her or in him.

She’s scared… Of course, she is scared! Who wouldn’t be? Dumb of him to think anything else.

“But, that’s rather the point isn’t it? To scare people?” She took a step forward, eyes bright and hopeful, hating to think she’d upset him.

“Not you.” It was barely above a whisper, words simply cast out there, and it left the girl looking perplexed, curious and even guilt-stricken or ashamed.

“Well… I shouldn’t fear things I know too little about… that would be silly…” She felt the urge to touch him, wanting him to truly hear her words, wanting to enforce them by touch, yet as her hands reached out to take his all so brazenly her eyes fell upon the flower again. She didn’t really have any wish to touch something dead, it always being such a cold and empty feeling running like ice through her veins, yet she reached out to receive the flower anyway, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “So, if not my fear, what is it this Bakugone wishes of me then?” She slipped on a tender smile, genuine and perfect, her soft fingertips brushing against his.

“I…” He was so focused on how she was touching him, the pressure, the elegance, the perfection, so focused he forgot the words again, so focused on her soft fingertips, her warmth, her pastel-manicured nails, he didn’t realize how the movement had stilled.

“You want to eat my heart.”

Her voice made him look up from where they were conjoined, crimson orbs dragged slowly to meet the oddity of her voice no less her words, yet as he looked, he continued to search because he found no eyes looking back at him, only whites, wide gleaming glowing void whites staring at him.

“You want to rip open my ribcage and feast.” Shaken and confused his brows twisted as he yet again tried to find her eyes. “You want to see me burst and bloom for you.” He hadn’t tried pulling his hand away, not really wanting to either, but he realized he perhaps wouldn’t be able to even if he’d wanted with how hard she was now digging her once soft fingers into his wrist. “You want to cripple me. You want to hear my deathbed confession. You want to lick the sin from my expression.” Her brows were the ones to crinkle now as she inhaled a shuddering breath, her hand shaking as she held onto him, seemingly as though her life depended on it. “You want and you’ve been wanting for so long. You want and want, there’s no end to what you want.” Her voice was now frantic, sporadic, hitched and frightened. “You want more and more and more and more and more-” She shook so much she lost her footing and tripped, staggering back and hitting the dirt with a sharp thud, knocking her out of whatever trance she’d slipped into, no more words coming thundering from her lips except for a cute little exclamation of oof, fluffy skirt puffed out around her like a jellyfish.

“What the fuck!” He shouted once she let go, flower falling to the floor, dropped in the midst of his shock and confusion as to what had happened, yet also feeling embarrassed with how she’d seemed to have caught him red-handed, and shaken with how much she knew, disturbed with how it all had been phrased, yet concerned, concerned because he knew he’d failed, he’d scared her so much she nearly melted, but somehow even more concerned with how she’d hit the ground. “I’m-” She looked up at him and he was left dumbstruck with how wide her eyes were and how full they now seemed with the return of her irises and pupils. No longer looking like wax, but like great gems or galaxies he couldn’t help but fall prey to, especially with how glossy they were, shining and glimmering and wet, wet with tears.

“No wonder you feel gone.” She suddenly mumbled, or it wasn’t exactly a mumble, but in contrast to whatever voice she spoke in before it surely seemed subdued. “Someone’s run off with your heart!” She clumsily got back to her feet, gripping his shoulders, nearly making him stagger back and fall with just how intense and vivid her actions were thrown at him. “You’re in love!” She squealed, nearly screaming it at him, before reeling herself back in, probably only now realizing how she’d attacked the boy. “Excuse me, I mean pardon, I mean I’m terribly sorry if I frightened you.” She backed away, fingers playing with each other as she tumbled through her sentence. “It’s my quirk you see. It has a habit of living its own life. I didn’t mean to spout out your desires like that, it was a total invasion of your privacy and completely rude and unethical on my side. I really am so sorry. Would you forgive me?”

Wasn’t he the one who should be apologizing to her?

He remained stunned and confused and growing even more so by the second as she spoke. “Perhaps I could make it up to you? Perhaps I can help you in your quest to retrieve your heart? Who is the thief?”

And there it was.

She was so overwhelmed she didn’t even pick up who the emotions were for.

Silly thing.

This made him ease up. He hadn’t spoiled everything yet. In fact, she seemed even more enthusiastic now than before, even more eager to talk to him and help him even. “Is it that green-haired boy? What was his name again? Something with D or M, I can’t for the life of me remember! Or perhaps it’s the floaty one? You know, the one with the big brown eyes. No! I know who it is, it’s the one with the shark teeth, and the spikey red hair-” She rambled, and even though some of her suggestions revolted him, he couldn’t bring himself to stop her when she was so… so bouncy with thrill, so cute with how her tits squeezed together in her top and jumped for him with every word that fell from those lushes pink lips that would feel so good to bite into and feel on his neck and down his chest and-

“You can help me.” He suddenly blurted, whipping her from her rambling.

“Really?!” Big eyes, filled with such expectancy and acceptance of whatever he was about to request even without a shred of knowing what. “How?” It was as though it were her life wish to help, that denying him would mean death or something even worse in her eyes.

“By making it up to me.”

His grin returned, the one that lacked… not exactly happiness, because there was still a certain glee to it, a certain enjoyment, yet lacking altruism and was instead left looking greedy and gluttonous and as though he was made up of… teeth, and only teeth, and too many teeth, and that those teeth were too sharp.

“Oh.” She seemed drained of her vigorous passion, like a light snuffed out, swallowing thickly. And though she knew it all to be in her head, knew it all to be but a figment of her fears, she still took a step back as though she’d seen something that worried her, and was quickly followed by what had worried her as Bakugo paralleled her backtracking, leaving her no further away from his hungry open-mouthed smirk.

“Kiss me.” She realized she’d backed all the way into the tree, her back meeting the hard trunk seemed to shake her from her vision as the biting image submerged and left her with a quite normal-looking Bakugo towering over her, no longer Bakugone or just a toothy grin, and she was left deciding whether it was any better or maybe even worse than what she had been picturing.

Yet, she had no time to think as Bakugo’s hand raised to cup her cheek, where in the seconds it took for him to do so, she needed to prepare herself for all his obsessive lovesick thoughts she knew would yet again flood her mind, only now she wouldn’t shake from them, and what more, now she knew who they were about. Poor thing had taken Bakugo’s heart without knowing, without knowing to prepare for Bakugo’s blood-stained scarred hand to reach into her chest and hold her own terror-wide heart in a chokehold as he too took it for himself. Without knowing how to protect herself from his many sharp teeth that would steal and eat to satiate what livid hungry fire, what desperate thirst she’d awoken inside his heart, to relieve the pain of it all, to finally breath again, to find safety, to find belonging, to find life. And she had no way of preparing for it, no way of protecting herself from it, no way of hiding from Bakugo’s sharp teeth… but when his hand, his calloused sandpaper-textured palm handled her cheek she was met with a new image, a soft-tinted mellow yet dramatic rhapsodic fire, one that she rather cherished than feared, one that she felt like chasing, one that seemed like it was calling her.

Bakugo leaned in slowly, as though asking for permission, receiving no complaints, just a set of large eyes staring at him. Her hands, feeling as though their fingertips had plunged deep into the bark of the tree behind her, ripped loose to touch him, feeling the simmering plethora of brutally violent passions swimming beneath them as they hovered on top of his skin. Tasting it on her tongue as he captured her soft lips with his own stiff ones. She could taste the hunger, the teeth, the longing, the pain, the fire, the waiting and time he’d suffered in the darkness all alone, she could taste the war, but more… she could taste the fear, the fear of losing or not having at all, and at the very tip of her tongue, stronger than anything else, she caught it, the flavor crystalized like sugar… hope… love.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

[myaimistrue]

del myaimistrue’s underrated destiel fic recs! (part 1)

these are all fics i’ve read and realllllllly enjoyed, and they’re all ones that i don't often see people discussing on here. bc of that they all either have less than 10k hits OR were published pre-2015 OR both. i hope you all like them, and if you do, please consider giving the authors some love and leaving a comment saying so. we fic writers live off that kinda stuff :)

list under the cut, organized by word count!

I Know! Straight Out of a Telenovela, Right? by @credentiast

quick 800ish word meta joke about y yo a ti. so sweet and domestic and lovely. i read this right after it was uploaded and have gone back to read it multiple times since then. always makes me smile!

strap the wing to me by a_good_soldier (aka @s11e17)

as i’m sure we all know, basically everything a_good_soldier writes is wonderful. this little 1.9k bit of sweetness is one of my personal favorites of theirs, and is sorely underrated. a bit of conversation between dean and cas about how much cas loves him. nothing like holy devotion to a human man!

The First Thing There Is by bendingsignposts

cas seals off dean's memories as part of the effort to stop michael, and amnesiac dean immediately realizes that cas loves him. 5k of really sweet, in-character moments and a healthy dose of humor.

Eyes Like the Texas Sky by RogueTranslator

do you hate john winchester? do you want to read about dean’s queer awakening and how that relates to his love of cowboys? do you love sweet stories about finding love and acceptance in places you didn’t expect? this 5.6k fic is for you! dean tells cas the story of the first guy he ever had feelings for, and boy is it sweet and heart-wrenching and wonderful.

Nothing Equals the Splendor by RurouniHime

7.8k fic in which 15x20 was all part of a djinn dream. perhaps my all-time favorite finale fix-it (which is why it’s on this list despite having like 12k hits shhh) featuring full-powered angelic cas blowing out all the lights in the bunker when he and dean have sex. beautifully written and so sweet. and the sequel is also great--highly recommended as well

Telemetry by scifive

DEAN STUDIES FIC!!! 9k set during the first seven episodes of season 4 that actually addresses and deals with dean’s ptsd and trauma from hell. dean’s voice is absolutely perfectly in-character. also it’s pre-relationship destiel but the moment with them at the very end is so tender and lovely.

the pie isn’t a metaphor (it’s just pie) by noviembre

9.3k post-canon fic in which dean and cas get comfortable with their relationship and bake some pies together. it’s a very soft little story that features dean being head over heels and cas being beautifully sarcastic.

Talk Therapy by shara

9.3k of dean figuring out what he wants from cas and how to be in a relationship with him. sex-focused, but intentional about what details are shared so it feels very natural and sweet. cas is so steadfast as dean tries to unlearn what he’s been taught his whole life.

it’s such a mystery (the way you know me) by fleeceframe

another memory loss fic, except it’s cas this time! 10k words about cas getting hit with a temporary memory loss spell and his rediscovery of love and friendship. straight up this one made me cry happy tears. fleeceframe writes beautiful stuff, and this one is no different--the language is just gorgeous.

killing time by orestespdf

11.2k post-canon fic. it’s kind of a day in the life of dean and cas in the lake house they’ve made their home that doubles as a cas character study. very cathartic and romantic.

Kingdom Come by ahurston

17.3k cas comes back from the empty fic featuring a road trip and lots of cas introspection. dean and cas’s interactions are so so so in-character the entire time, and the final moments of the story are absolutely perfect. one of my personal favorite fix-its.

a certain light by flightagain

24.3k au in which cas works at a gas-n-sip and dean’s a customer that comes in a lot, with a supernatural twist! this story is so gorgeous and gentle, and dean and cas’s relationship is portrayed beautifully. if you’re a cas fan, this story is his from pov and nails it in a way that i think is really hard to do in an au. 

Peace And Good Luck to All Men by KismetJeska

31.3k human au in which dean is anna’s boyfriend she brings home for christmas, and he and cas immediately click. i am not a big au person, especially when it comes to angel characters, but this fic is so genuinely in character and still hilarious. also a long time fandom classic.

Everybody Needs the Light by opal_bullets

46.5k words of another banger by opal_bullets of poet dean fic fame! actually i might like this one just a little better which should tell how great this one is. it takes place pre-series. dean stops at an old motel in minnesota that cas is running, and something strange is going on… this fic has one of the most interesting conclusions i’ve read in a spn fic and there is such a cool atmosphere to the whole piece. highly recommended if you’re a fan of mysteries and/or supernatural’s angelic dynamics and/or pre-series dean.

Smells Like Roses by orphan_account :(

53.8k words. an absolute classic. seriously, if you haven’t read this, ESPECIALLY if you’re a dean girl, it’s a must-read. set in season 5, dean has a vivid djinn dream of an entire life he spends married in domestic bliss with cas. when he gets pulled out of it, he struggles to readjust and focus on the coming apocalypse. dean is so in-character and so heart-breaking. def a dean thesis fic with a healthy side of destiel sweetness.

The Hanged Man by ellispark

87.6k words. PARK RANGER CAS. literally need i say more?? if that alone hasn’t sold you, the story is that he finds dean out in the woods after someone has tried to kill him, and the mystery unfolds from there as the two of them grow closer. the plot is really interesting and in-character despite being an au. also, if non-verbal dean is something you like/find interesting, you will really love this fic. absolutely worth the read and frankly deserves more hits!

[amethystpath-writes]

A Lesson Learned

(NOT A PROMPT)

Hello :) Could you write a piece where the extremely flirtatious villain notices that the hero isn’t taking care of themselves and tries to get them to and promises not to do anything (capture them, etc), but (surprise!) then they do? Haha sorry if it’s a bit specific, adore your writing!

******

“Why, doll,” Villain cooed from behind the bench which Hero sat upon. The bench was old, wood in the process of rotting. Speaking of rot- Villain rounded the park bench, coming face to face with that once-handsome, now-perished face. “Don’t you just look like you sprang from Hell? Yeesh.”

Hero shrugged, not even caring that Villain was here to taunt him yet again- to pick at him with compliments. Usually, anyways. Now, she was insulting him. Did he really look that out of it? Hero felt like it, so it shouldn’t have been so surprising to him. “Don’t feel great- get out of here.”

“And do what? I’d miss the grumble in your voice too much. Come now, my dear, tell me what has that pretty hair of yours so tangled.” Villain’s hand grazed the locks atop Hero’s head, fingers skimming his scalp. She hummed her delight. “How pretty,” Villain whispered into Hero’s ear. “Even if it is greasy.”

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for this.”

Good God, what is that stench? Villain could gag- not could; Villain did gag on the smell. “When was the last time you showered, sugar?” Hero certainly didn’t smell like sugar, but it was in Villain’s nature to shoot a flirt at him anyways.

“Don’t know. Would you get your hand out of my hair?”

“You don’t know?” Villain sighed, dropping her hand and rounding the bench until she came to the front, facing Hero and his abnormally large eye sacks. “Oh, darling…” you have jellyfish beneath your eyes. “You should take better care of yourself. I could help you, you know?”

Hero’s eyes grew as wide as they could with eyelids made of lead. “Help me do what? Bathe?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind helping you do that- think of how close we would be, my sweet doll.” She sat beside the broken-beyond-repair hero, dragging a fingertip along his dirtied pants. Villain sighed, slightly bored of this game of chess. Her flirtations were slipping away like a wet bar of soap. What an ironic comparison.

Villain said, “What I meant is this; I’ll give your handsomeness a break- or your ugliness, rather. You need to regain your looks, hence the break.”

Ignoring the insult, Hero said, dead-panned, “And I’m supposed to believe you.” A soft tut.

“Have I given you any reason not to? On this pretty night?”

“Beyond the not-so-subtle insults,” Hero thought aloud, and finished with, “I guess not.”

With a scoff, Villain said, “I wouldn’t call those insults. I could have said much worse- and anyways, you know I’m a tease. I feel even more concerned that you’ve forgotten such a vital detail about me. More reason to leave you alone. Right, my love?”

“I still don’t know if I believe you.”

“Why would it matter what I did or didn’t do when you don’t even care to look after yourself?”

She makes a good point. Still… “What would you do then?” Hero didn’t particularly care to have this conversation right now, but- well, he was a hero. Even if he were too exhausted to take care of himself, it was still his responsibility to protect the people. Just because Villain was saying she’d leave Hero alone didn’t mean she’d leave the citizens alone.

“What would I do? Sulk, mostly. I’d miss your pretty little face while I sat alone on my couch.”

“Right. Because I always sit on a couch with you.”

“There’s a taste of that precious fire. You’re beautiful when you’re sarcastic- and healthy.”

Hero sighed. It didn’t matter what he said, did it? He could tell Villain she looked like a horse’s rear-end mixed with a jackal’s paw and she’d continue sticking around. “You said you’d give me a break.” Of course, Hero still didn’t believe Villain’s words. It was her one and only nature to torment him with pointless compliments- and harmful insults apparently.

As if I didn’t already know I look like crap. I’m tired; that’s all. No motivation to do anything but sit on the park bench. He didn’t even feel like getting up to stretch his legs, despite knowing it needed to be done. Hero would rather deal with the aches of standing than to be forced into using so much energy while sitting. How draining it was- standing up from his position now. That’s why he stayed put, even with Villain’s hand circling in his hair once again.

This time, the hand in Hero’s hair was actually soothing. The tender scrape of Villain’s nails against his scalp. The gentle pull through the hair as her fingers caught on tangles, though the larger knots were a tad painful. Hero hummed his delight at the two former feelings, finding himself leaning into the arm which offered such relief.

On a regular day, one not so adorned with absent motivation and sourness, Hero would have slapped Villain’s hand away- would have told her to go find a dog in the park to pet. Naturally, he would have regretted saying it, thinking that Villain might claw its eyes out instead of petting it. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t do something that serious, but she might have stepped on a puppy’s tail, making it screech- if only to horrify the owner.

“Isn’t this a nice break, sugar?” Villain asked, but, of course, there was more to it than this scalp massage. When Hero fell asleep, with his head on Villain’s shoulder, she would give herself a break- not him.

******

Eyes still closed from having just woken up, Hero pulled his shoulder back against the hard- hard? I thought I was in- His eyes cracked open.

White ceiling. Or, mostly white, at least. There was some water damage that Hero could see even through his blurry and freshly woken eyes. The yellow and orange stains did not belong on his ceiling.

He shifted slightly, body still stiff, but he wasn’t willing to stretch yet- just in case there was…a certain someone…paying attention. Damn Villain, Hero thought, because who else’s home could he be in if it weren’t his own?

It was with this thought in mind that Hero sat up. No use in lounging around. Better off to find a way out before Villain-

“Nice to see those starlit eyes of yours.”

Great. Turning his head, he saw Villain casually sprawled across a couch.

Well, one thing was for certain; Hero had the motivation to get up and run again. At least he could thank Villain for something, even if it were simply the desire to escape.

Sitting up, slowly and stiffly, Hero said, “A break. You were supposed to give me a break. It’s what you said, what you told me you’d do. You would give me a break to take care of myself and you would sulk.”

He could almost imagine Villain’s voice answering with an easy lull, ‘I didn’t say what the break would entail, love.’ Love. Darling. Doll. My dear. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.

“I gave you a break. Two of them, if we’re being technical. The massage and the shelter. Actually,” Villain smiled at him from her couch cushion, eyes closing just slightly as her cheeks gathered higher and higher. “I might call it liberation- instead of a break. Infinite freedom versus periods of mass depression and showerless nights.”

Hero felt his jaw tick. “What are you talking about?” he asked, voice low- just the way Villain liked.

He wasn’t helping his case any, now, was he? Being all cutesy. It only allowed Villain to enjoy this whole situation more.

“You wake up in your stalker’s home and don’t even think to check your body for modifications? What a pity you are sometimes,” Villain giggled. She meant it as a compliment; it was her way of calling the hero cute and favourable.

Stalker. Well, Villain might as well have been considered as such. She showed up just about everywhere Hero was, only to hold hostages for no other reason than to have control over someone, to hear the fear in their high whines- and to see the fear glistening low in their eyes. Villain was wicked, and she was wicked always in Hero’s presence. Stalker- maybe that’s what the news would start calling her if they, or Hero, ever managed to stop Villain.

Villain grew impatient with Hero’s procrastination of observation. “Explore yourself, won’t you?”

And Hero did now. He looked down his arms, torso, legs, anything that was in his perspective, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, except- “Do not tell me you actually washed me.” His arms were speck and dead-skin cleaned.

“A wet rag against your arms and legs, nothing else.”

Hero simply took her word for it, trying not to imagine how he’d feel if she were lying. How horrendous.

Then what is it? Nothing- absolutely nothing- was irregular, so why was Villain going on about…Hero’s fingers skimmed something along his neck- one of the few things he couldn’t see with his own eyes.

No…no. Not just along his neck. There was something inside of Hero’s neck. “What did you do to me?” His voice came out as a horrifyingly quiet whisper, one that squeaked in the back of his throat.

“You wouldn’t take care of yourself, Hero. I had to step in.”

“I don’t- no. No. Whatever you’re doing, you- you need to- I need to go home. I need you to stay away from me and I need- I need-” Oh no. Was he hyperventilating? He couldn’t- God, he couldn’t breathe. Hero was panicking, scratching at his neck, at the irregular shaped lumps. Get out. Get. Out. Getout. Getout. Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout.

A gasp sounded in the room as Hero’s head hit the ground, trying to dodge the zap that occurred at the front of his throat, right where he was scratching so madly.

“Well, I guess that’s a lesson learned rather quickly. Darling, you didn’t even know what those were, and yet you were trying to rip them out. It might have killed you.”

“Uhah.”

Villain quirked her head to the side. “Didn’t get that, sorry. Must have fried your vocal cords- better that than you build up a bunch of infectious bacteria.” Truth be told, the zap wasn’t so bad that it would permanently damage Hero- only give him little tics and make him fret.

“You’ll be so very happy that I took that rag over your skin- otherwise you’d have woken up to your own stench while I was injecting the little stun rods. That would have been difficult,” Villain laughed, legs extending until they laid on the arm of the couch.

“Now,” Villain piped, “there is an outfit laid out in the bathroom- down this hall here”- she pointed- “and second door to the right. Get a shower, bath, whatever you want, and get dressed. I have plans and I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Swerving her legs over the arm- despite having just put them there- Villain planted her feet on the ground and placed her elbows near her knees, leaning forward, all amount of humour aside. “I’m the only one who gets to torment you, you hear me? Not even you have my permission to do harm to yourself or otherwise slack in personal healthcare. If you are in any kind of bad condition, it will be because I allowed it. M’kay?”

She stood, walked several paces to where Hero still sat on the floor and patted his cheek. “I’m making myself food before we leave and while you take a shower. Don’t disappoint me by trying to escape, my dove. You’re in my cage now.” Villain gave Hero a tap on the head as she pulled a remote control out of her pocket with her other hand. For extra measure, she held one of the buttons for three seconds, sending Hero onto his back once again, writhing on the floor- though avoiding scratching his neck.

A lesson learned indeed.

“Believe it or not, I do intend to be kind to you. I just wanted to show you what happens if you decide you’re not worth taking care of again.”

One last click of the button and she was gone, leaving a panting hero behind in the dust.

[keilemlucent]

pretty eyes & starshine: iii

(Mostly SFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i   ||   part ii   ||   part iii​​ (epilogue)

word count: ~2.2k

Nothing ever really ends. It just grows in different ways with different parts. 

warnings: description of post-injury, reader and hawks being traumatized but coping, a soft epilogue

the ending folks :’^) thank you for reading this far. here is something gentle for all of us, with some future, past, and the present for sweet starshine and keigo :’^)

enjoy loves 💞!!

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

Keigo doesn’t break promises. 

He loves white lies, the silly kind where he can rib you for a minute or two before soothing any ruffled feathers with quick kisses. He never leaves big wounds, nothing gaping or jagged, just loving pokes in your sides to get you to laugh and quip back at him.

He never goes back on his words that count.

His journeys out of the house remain short and rarely surprising. He never leaves without a goodbye, whether that’s a sleepy fuck or two, or a hand-written, tooth-rotting note on a scrap of paper next to a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen island.

Keigo’s used to the open skies, rolling forever. The curve of the horizon is his primordial friend that he never got to say goodbye to, but he still chases it a few times a week. Little drives he takes by himself, hikes, and things that he let him feel a bit of that free wind in his shaggy hair. 

It takes you a while, but you don’t look forlornly at the door anymore.

The awareness that of his absence from your little bastion lingers as you move throughout your day, but you know he’s good for his word. He always returns, bearing a toothy grin, and usually an armload of snacks or takeout. 

It’s better, and you’re both a bit more alive. 

...

Spring in the mountains reminds you of something you can’t place. 

The memory of it is foggy, far-off and untouched. Probably a bit dampened from, you know, a year of trauma, but the feeling of it makes your quirk burst to light without fail.

It comes when you notice the little patches of wildflowers that spring up in new grass that rings around the porch. Heat flares in your eyes when you see the little seedlings you and Keigo planted into the window boxes begin to bud and flower. 

The days get longer, sweeter, and the summer comes easily.

...

The bad days never cease, but you both learn to cope to some degree.

Your scar... cracks one day. You’re doing some half-assed stretches in the living room (mostly arching your back so Keigo gets a good peek of your ass) when it happens. Your right leg bends at the knee, and a resounding ‘crack’ and shatter echo off the walls of the cabin. 

You both panic. 

Keigo instantly urges you on the couch, trying to soothe your own panic with little coos from the back of his throat. You feel numb as Keigo shoves up your pant leg, looking for any damage.

The scar looks relatively unchanged. It hasn’t writhed since your days at the hospital, and its edges have only faded a shade or two with time. It’s long, obtrusive, and something you still avoid looking at.

All the same, Keigo traces the gnarly flesh, nimble fingers searching for the source of the sound. Any bit of pain he can identify and soothe, ideally, remove. The pads of his fingers drift to the crook of your knee, pressing against the shiny, black seam of the scar.

His eyes go wide before awe shines through, without a lick of fear. 

He warns you to take a deep breath, ‘breath with him’, before pinching at the glassy center and pulling. There’s a bit of resistance as he pulls, you’re not sure what he’s doing, and you see ‘it’ before you really put it together.

Keigo holds ‘it’ up for you to see.

The inky glass of the scar.

Literal rock. Inky obsidian pulled from your flesh, about the size of your pinky and painfully jagged. 

“W-what is that?” You asked, grabbing his wrist to examine the bit. “That’s... the scar?”

Keigo nods his head, scrutinizing it with you, pinching at it, “Weirdest scab I’ve ever seen.”

Scab.

You have never thought about calling the ugly root of the scar a ‘scab’ but looking at the way it so easily was pulled away, it makes sense. After a bit of examination and tender prodding, the tissue around it looks healthy, albeit thick and burned. The scar goes deep into your flesh, feels raw to the touch, but the skin that’s beneath it is somewhat alive. Maybe too alive, given how sensitive it is.

Nonetheless, you marvel at the little piece of volcanic glass that Keigo had pulled from you like it’s the most precious stone in the world. 

...

It takes a long time to convince both of you.

Keigo never receives another call from Suits, ‘president’, what the fuck her name is. Thank fucking god. His snap seemed to have scared her and her crumbling organization away. You can only hope that it was for good.

The potential return comes from kindness rather than demands. 

Calls from both Endeavor and Miruko, ‘Enji’ and ‘Rumi’ as they insist you call them. Rumi chatters on the phone for hours with Keigo every few weeks, puts the phone on speaker, and has you give your piece as well. You like her, she’s funny and loud and Keigo smiles when he talks to her.

Enji actually visits. 

Once or twice, maybe more. You stop counting when the extra bodies in the cabin don’t have you breaking into a cold sweat anymore. It had taken a great bit of coaxing, but you opened your cabin up for the former pro and his entourage. 

He brings along his daughter and the ‘Three Musketeers,’ as the media calls them. The boys train in the mountains nearby, never lingering too far based on the shouting from the blond one that echoes against the hills. 

The rest of you settle into the walls of the cabin whenever they come to visit. It feels warmer than normal; it makes sweat gather under your arms and in droplets on your forehead. Even if you wanted to attribute the heat to the old flame hero’s presence, it wouldn’t account entirely for your thumping heart. 

You work through it, slowly. 

You like watching Keigo and Enji. They both look worn. Keigo’s a bit too young for grey hair, but Enji has more than his fair share around his temples. The beard around his jaw glints silver in the lowlight of the cabin whenever he tilts his head to sip at his tea.

They smile like old friends, talk like it too. 

You end up in the kitchen a lot during their talks, distantly cooking and observing. You’re always listening to their stories, the banter. It’s hard to keep up with, a lingering vestige of Keigo’s old persona that clings to him and his mannerisms.

You don’t mind it, even if it feels foreign.

...

“Can you pass me that honey, dear?” Fuyumi asks, voice sweet and close.

You nod, sliding her the jar across the corner top. She carefully spoons a glob of the thick liquid into the four waiting mugs, humming just under her breath. 

The cabin feels warm, and it’s not just the ambient heat Enji gives off. 

The ‘three musketeers’ plan to camp in the mountainside and ‘rough it’. You couldn’t imagine the freshly-greened hills giving them too much trouble. They bicker, you have found, constantly. Blunt jabs from Enji’s son, met by explosive remarks from the blond one (why is his hero name so long? You can never remember it well.) Consider your growing aversion to loud noise, you like Deku the best. He seems like the peacekeeper (and peacemaker) of the trio and compliments your cooking. What a gem.

The guest room has been polished into an actual guest room. Fuyumi takes it, and Enji, bless his heart, takes the creaky fold-out couch. He doesn’t mind, he tells you, something about enjoying tending to the hearth at night.

Keigo calls the nights where they fill the house ‘sleepovers’, and he adores them.

They’re a bit overwhelming for you if you’re being honest. But Enji is far less intimidating now that you’ve seen him nodding off and slack-faced on your couch. Fuyumi has patience you’ll never fully understand, and babies you a bit, which you don’t welcome but don’t refuse either. 

She does just that, scooping up three mugs after pushing your own toward you. You regather and sit next to Keigo at the kotatsu, slipping your legs under the thick blanket and sagging with the heat. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he presses you into his side, pressing a few kisses to the top of your head. It’s an idle action, habitual and welcomed as the conversation flows.

(Something about one of Keigo’s old sidekicks. Another about Endeavor’s agency, still chugging along with him at the helm, albeit not as an active hero. The new hero charts, the new rules established, legislation. Things are getting... safer, a semblance of order being re-established now that much of the League has been apprehended.)

(Things are settling, as horrifying as the change is.) 

The thought of so much makes you sleepy, long-standing exhaustion heavy in your bones. You nod off at some point to the kind, safe voices. 

Keigo coaxes you awake once the conversation dies down.

“Love,” he purrs, rubbing your side, “let’s get up now and get you to bed.”

You follow him, the way he rises and guides you to the bathroom to help you ready for bed. Enji is settling on the couch, tugging a few throws over himself on the futon. You give him a shallow wave with half-lidded eyes, meeting his own.

Eye contact feels hard, but you manage to hold it for a few seconds.

In the bathroom, you pop onto the counter and slowly brush your teeth. Sleep clings to you, and you know it’ll return quickly, but the process of moving and interacting wears you down so easily. Your toothbrush almost slips from your grip.

“Just a little more, and then you can rest, dove,” Keigo urges, reverent as he finishes his own routine in tandem. You watch as he splashes water on his face, wetting the tufts of hair that fall around his face.

The cabin feels warmer. 

You notice it as you enter the bedroom, Keigo already hopping into bed to assemble the ‘nest’ as both affectionately refer to it. The old throw, a few extra soft blankets, and a buttery soft duvet must be arranged just right before he is satisfied. 

 Keigo knows it’s a remnant.

He carries plenty of them, little chunks of him that are old and worn, old and unused. He can shake them, can’t bury them, they just simply are.

The birdish ones are nice, he thinks. He likes that he can preen you. He loves that you can preen him. That you’ll indulge him in that way, running your hands through his overgrown hair. You detangle any knots, soothe the snarls and rub at his neck until he’s liquid in your lap. 

He likes nesting. The cold of the cabin can be almost forgotten in the little nests he makes. The mountains of bedding and pillows that you both can settle in. It’s peaceful, and it's shared, and things are okay. 

It’s all slow, and a bit tedious, things that the remnants of ‘Hawks’ scream and thrash at. But, really? Keigo has no reason to listen to a ghost. He tries not to let himself be haunted. 

He indulges himself for the first time in his life, probably.

As Keigo nestles you into the sheets beside him, he gives you a bit of room to get comfortable. Adjusts your pillows how you like, tangle your legs together in the comfiest way. Your own version of nesting that makes his palms sweat and his words turn to mush.

You settle together, chest to chest, Keigo’s chin hooked over the top of your head. 

“Did you have a good day?” You ask, soft and sleepy.

Keigo nods easily, “I did. Enji doesn’t seem to quite as much of a square as he was a few years ago.”

You snort, muffling a giggle into his chest, “He’s definitely a little bit of a square. But I like him.”

“He offered to host us at the estate if we ever want to go back.”

You swallow, thick and slow, and try to bury yourself deeper in him, “... Do you want to go back?”

“No.” He pauses. “Maybe. Not yet, and not anytime soon. But the offer is on the table. It’s nice to have, even if we don’t take it.”

It’s insurance, somewhere else to tuck yourselves away if the mountains stop favoring you. 

The thought of the future makes your head spin, as it tends to. The scar aches, but maybe it’s a tad duller than it was a few months ago. The pains only last a few moments, only stab so deeply. The place where the little chunk of obsidian fell out doesn’t feel quite as tender. 

You lay your cheek on Keigo’s chest, your breath coming in time with his. 

“‘M tired,” You murmur into his chest. “Can I sleep?”

“Of course, starshine.” He pushes back your hair, clears your forehead to press his lips to the skin, lightly. Little kisses piling up on top of each other. “Get some rest.”

“You too, pretty eyes.”

You both need it. For more than just a day with the folks who stuck around. You and Keigo need more rest than a being can responsibly accumulate during a human life. There are things to be stitched, worn parts of you that need tending to, and burns that’ll need salve until the day you die. It’s not any less than it was in the month’s past.

But it’s easier to manage. 

You snuggle into Keigo’s chest, drifting off to the thought of fresh coffee and crackling heat.

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

thank you for reading!!💞

ko-fi

[auty-ren]

Tainted Heart: Chapter 2

The Agreement (Western AU)

Pairings: The Mandalorian x Reader. Din Djarin x Reader. Outlaw!Din x Reader. (Reader is female/fab)

Rating: Mature

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of blood/injury. Cursing. The kid being adorable. The reader is his babysitter. Pet names. Teasing. Soft-core Smut (kissing, heavy making out, groping, dry humping, mentions of virginity/inexperience, a few touches, unintentional edging.)

A/n: Thank you guys for being so patient, I hope it was worth the wait! We’re finally seeing a little action. Enjoy babes. (gif by @javier-pena​)

Tainted Heart Masterlist | My Masterlist

The wool was rough under your fingertips, a heavy dull gray that almost burned under the harsh tint of the midday sun. They were heavy, soaking with water and suds as you lifted them from the wash pan, squeezing what excess you could out of the fibers. A coo broke through the static that had filled your mind, numb with the monotonous action of wet, wash, rinse, repeat. The child stayed strapped in the high chair, peeking at you through white sheets you hung to dry, his inquisitive hands stretching out when the breeze blew white cotton out close, but just barely grazing the reach of his fingers. He babbled again at the sight of you, squealing when you threw the curtains of laundry away and broke the makeshift barrier between you. 

He repeated the snarl you had given him, playful and disappearing between fits of smiles and giggles.

“Are you a monster, little one?”

He was meant to scare you, giving a growl that was far cuter than it was fearsome in his pretend game of monster.

“You’re too sweet to be a monster.”

He kicked his feet in excitement, gnawing at the bread you tore into pieces on the plate attached to his chair. He offered you a piece of it, forming unrecognizable syllables as he prompted you to take it from him.

You wanted to be selfish, to hide away with your newfound companion and keep him perched on your hip permanently. None of it should be temporary.

It had been years since your home felt so warm; since the fogged windows were lit with a bright, new life that fumbled over every surface. It was sticky, the feeling you had laying on your chest when you were woken to the sound of shrill cries; the ache in your tired bones all but faded at the tear-soaked smile that greeted you in the dim mornings.

Maybe you were just lonely, growing tired of the same life you lived each day when it was just you and Papa. 

Maybe you had mistaken content for boredom.

And now it was unpredictable, a welcomed unpredictability.

You learned the hard way not to leave the little one unattended, even for a moment; not for a few measly seconds. The broken porcelain of an old vase had been enough of a warning, luckily it wouldn’t be missed and after you had cleaned up the mess, you could hardly notice any wrong had happened. 

At least, your father didn’t notice. 

But the child was just curious and his cries as he sat horrified at the pieces of glass surrounding his feet had been enough of punishment for the both of you. 

This arrangement took too much convincing on your father's part.

He only wanted to protect you, but at this point, you doubt he was thinking straight. Your father had sacrificed too much to keep you safe; to carve out a simple life for you on the edges of the real world, to keep it from crushing your spirit the way it did his.

You assumed your father’s anxiousness about the situation stemmed from something you didn't think you could understand; loved ones lost long ago to the evil that had spread to your quiet town.

But there were some things that only time could heal and it seemed for him there was never enough.

He wanted to send ‘Mando’ packing as soon as the wounds stopped bleeding, and the sun lit up the morning sky.

But you convinced him otherwise.

There was no way he would've made it twenty minutes without hurting himself, more so since he had to care for a child. A child who you found very difficult to say no to, especially since he became such good company.

Mando could stay until he was healed. But there was work to be done.

Mando’s right arm had been wrapped in a makeshift sling, leaving his less dominant hand available to carry out whatever your father asked of him. Although you argued he shouldn't be working at all, both of the men disagreed with you. Papa decided it was only fair for him to work, to repay the debt he owed you.

You wouldn't call it a debt, but you kept that to yourself and let your father negotiate the terms of Mando’s stay.

There wasn't much argument, Mando would work odd jobs around your homestead, things that Papa was unable to do anymore, and things he hated to ask you to do; in return, he and his child would be allowed to stay until Mando healed. But there were conditions, terms that your father had laid out and would be considered law as he saw fit.

Mando would not be allowed to sleep in your home.

Your father made sure to bolt the doors once Mando had left after dinner, checking each of them before he could settle enough to try and sleep. A place was made for him in the barn, blankets and an extra pillow for him to sleep with, the least you could do for someone about to work your entire harvest for practically nothing. 

The child would be allowed to stay inside.

Papa had gone into the attic in the early morning after he agreed to let Mando stay, and pulled down the old crib that had been yours once upon a time. You aired and cleaned all of the blankets and toys you had sorted inside of it, hoping that maybe they could get one final use before they crumbled from age. He slept in your room, just down the hall from where you and your father stayed.

You didn't like the idea of separating someone from their child, but your father insisted and Mando made no objection otherwise.

Your attention for the past week was wrapped completely around the fingers of a grinning child, smiling and keeping his curiosity at bay when he grabbed at anything within reach. He used unsteady legs, you being his shadow for the entire day; picking up the small toys that were left in his wake of discovery. 

He was a healthy little boy, just barely big enough to explore some on his own, and he had the energy to prove it. There were only a few times he slowed enough to nap, sleep that weighed heavy on his eyelids as he crawled into your arms, puffing small breaths into the crook of your neck while he rested.

He refused to fall asleep alone, if his fingers weren't gripping yours with an unusual force he didn't allow himself to sleep; he just cried, wailed until you picked him up again, and finally settled when the sound of your heartbeat was within reach.

You couldn't imagine what this child has been through.

There were a few things only you and Papa had spoken about, conversations and theories about your guests, the stranger who slept in the loft of your barn, and his precious companion. Papa wasn't very sentimental towards them, he was gentle with the child and polite to Mando; but the sooner both of them had left, the easier he would sleep at night. 

He repeated the same thing before bed, his voice shaking and eyes worrisome in ways you had never thought would come from him. You didn't protest, just nodding your head and trying to soothe the lines seemingly etched into his brow. You drifted off as he squeezed your fingers in his, tighter than he ever had before, and pressed a worried kiss to your hand.

“Do not trust him.”

You hadn't told Papa about what happened between you and Mando once he had gone to bed, and you'd keep it from him so long as you stay sane. He would never know about how much you thought about it, how part of you wanted something like that to happen again, how you wanted to feel that blossom of heat in your chest ten times over.

Papa was under the impression the two of you had never spoken and it was best it stayed that way. 

He couldn't be a good man.

He had the scars to prove he was a fighter, most of the wounds old and standing out sharply against his skin.

You remember how they looked, how tender and soft the damaged flesh felt when you ran your fingers over it.

That doesn't just happen.

He carried a gun, and two more sat on the saddle of his horse. One fell from the pockets of his rucksack when you lifted it off the horse's back, the other a long rifle that was heavy and awkward in your arms.

You didn't tell Papa about that, you just hid them in the haystack of the barn and hoped he wouldn't find them.

But he was kind.

He hadn't spoken much, not to you. Maybe to your father but, he hardly looked you in the eye; his face was mostly hidden behind the brow of his hat and sometimes by the cloth he wore over his face when he worked.

Or he was cunning.

Maybe Papa was right, maybe the sooner they left the better.

You didn't want them to leave.

Mando wasn't like other men, he had an attachment; something you doubt most low-lives ever considered having.

And you wanted to know why.

The baby was squealing for your attention again, and he giggled loudly when you shifted him in your arms. Papa looked in your direction, watching the two of you sitting on the porch. You gave him a small smile, one he returned in genuine, with promise that reached the crinkles in the corner of his eyes. You busied yourself with taming wisps of the baby’s hair, for the hundredth time that day, soft curls that gently framed his face sticking out in every direction. He giggled again, his hands reaching out in curiosity as he curled his fingers into his palm and babbling away as you sat him on the porch floor. He took a few unsure steps, then taking the lead as if he knew exactly where he was going and you kneeled behind him ready to reach out when he lost his balance.

He made his way to the railing, stopping above the steps that led down to where Papa sat working.

He had bushels of food sitting at his feet; vegetables that had been growing in the fields you kept behind the house. It wasn't too impressive, just enough to suffice with a little leftover that was sold at the end of the season; but it took far too long to pick any of it when the time came.

After years of practicing medicine, your father had fumbled his way through becoming a farmer. Papa had already been working for a few days, and at dinner last night he gave Mando the task of starting the harvesting of the far-garden in the morning while he’d work what had already been picked.

Mando wasn’t much of a talker; he was polite, sometimes even kind when he spoke to you, but it was few and far between. He did everything asked of him, sometimes even more.

You had mentioned at dinner last night you were planning to wash laundry in the morning, gathering clothes and sheets and rags Papa unintentionally littered about the house. It was tiresome and took most of the day, the clothesline filled with garments that took hours to dry even on a summer day. The chill in the air wasn’t the problem at all this time, the heat was.

It was tedious to fill and heat the washpans, sometimes you’d think it better to ignore that step, but the constant cold on your raw fingertips told a different story.

You hurried to eat this morning, making sure the baby was fed and occupied, so you could begin filling the tubs for laundry. 

But someone beat you to it.

You found both of the tubs were sitting out by the clothesline, filled to the brim with steaming water and the laundry stacked beside them.

Papa had been with you all morning, he couldn’t have done it.

You wanted to thank him, but it felt silly to do so, your cheeks getting warm with the thought like some smitten schoolgirl.

You had seen him one other time today, when he came in for some lunch, his boots kicking up dust that tracked from the back door into the kitchen. His pants were just as filthy from digging in the gardens all day, but his sleeves had been pushed up his arms, and his hands were still damp from when he had washed them.

At least he's not a slob.

You don't think he notices you, standing on the far side of the kitchen, quietly watching as he removes his hat, pulls down the covering on his face, and sits next to the kid. He checks on him with a ruffle of his hair, the baby babbling away with a grin on his face as he watches Mando stuff his mouth with some of the bread and meat you sat out for him on the kitchen table.

He ate in silence, quick and rushed as if someone would take it from him before he could get enough to be satisfied. You stood at the other end of the kitchen, watching him eat and interacting with his kid. He said something to him, something so quiet you barely heard it but you saw the way his hand brushed over the curls on his boy's head; just like you had been doing almost every day you watched him. He finished as he drank glass fulls of water, over and over until the pitcher was nearly empty. 

His eyes are like saucers when he turns around to see you standing there, and his mouth opens and closes as if he was thinking of some defense.

Definitely didn't see you standing there.

You try your best to smile at him and move to ask him if he'd like more to eat, but he's gone. He grabs his hat from the table and mutters a thank you before slamming the door closed behind him.

It couldn't be easy with just one arm, nothing your father had given him was gentle and no matter how much he dismissed it, you could tell he was still in pain. Even with the medication given to him regularly, he winced at the slightest movement and was slow compared to your father.

You could barely see his silhouette, still moving out in the gardens and shadowed by the sun setting behind him. He takes a moment, sitting on his ass and looking up at the painted colors of the sky. Delicate pink and orange hues fill a blue sky, mixing until there is a symphony dancing above your heads, dusk settling over the land as everyone prepares for sleep. He stretches his neck from side to side, wiping his face with his sleeve with a huff and pulling himself back to his feet.

“He's a very sweet kid.” 

Papa’s voice interrupted your watching, your eyes snapping over to him taking a seat in his chair, patting his lap, and asking for the child to join him. He waddled over, reaching up with grubby hands and squealing as he was lifted in your father’s lap.

“Why don't you take some time and wash up for dinner.” Papa insisted, nodding towards the door as he settled the child on his lap. “I’ll call for you when it's ready.”

“Nonsense,” you sigh, standing up with a smile and turning towards the door. “Someone has to help you.”

“And that someone has to be you?” He’s grinning, nothing evil or malicious; mostly playful, with just a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes.

Your earlier intentions of dinner are forgotten as you lean against a wooden doorframe, the aged wood scratching at your arm when the sleeve of your dress is pushed up. You watch Papa coo at the child, patting his head with careful hands as the toddler yawned and laid against his chest. Your feet ache as you look down at the worn boots you wear, the leather cracked and crumbling from age at the soles of your feet; they throb as you roll your ankles, switching your weight from one foot to the next until some of the pain subsided.

 It’s just your breathing for a moment, the simple, rhythm rise and fall of your chest; occasionally dueted with the squeak of Papa’s old rocking chair.

“Looks like I'll need help taking this into town,” you gestured to the bushels sitting at the edge of your porch steps, cutting through the silence with a huff of your breath. “Kuill will be excited to see everything we've got for him.”

“Has he said anything to you?”

He took you by surprise, the change in subject hitting you with a force that had your chest seizing up. How pitiful you felt, your heart racing at the mention of a man who probably didn’t remember your name.

“No,” you offer meekly, hoping your father didn’t notice the change in your pitch. “Why?”

“He’s hardly spoken a word since he's been here.”

He rocks his seat back and forth in a steady motion, gentle as the baby in his arms drifts into slumber.

“Maybe he likes to keep to himself.” You shrug, moving to lean against the porch railing and face him.

Your father considered your reasoning, his brows knit with heavy thought and a frown set on his lips.

“Or he's guilty of something.”

There’s something you barely catch in Papa’s words, something like malice but with less bite as the words hit your ears.

“It's only for a few more days,” you pick at the splintered wood under your hand, the edges rough and pointed as they press deeper into your palm. “We'll manage.”

Papa nods his head, patting the baby’s back as he sleeps on his chest; his limbs stretching for just a moment before he settles back to sleep. You run your hands along the child’s back, soothing the tired grumbles that fell from his lips. Leaning forward, you pressed a kiss to your father’s temple, squeezing the free hand he had perched on the arm of his chair.

“You know they would've died if we hadn't helped.” You whisper it into his hairline with another kiss, turning to head back inside before anything else is said.

You keep quiet, somehow afraid of speaking nightmares into existence. They were safe for now, healing and resting what little they could on your farm. A stranger and his baby that dug tiny holes in your chest that you doubt were closing anytime soon. Part of you feared when the time came, you wouldn’t want to let your precious companion or his father go.

“I know.” 

-

An intake of breath is all he allows.

He says nothing, and his face is blank, staring in front of him with discipline as your father digs into his shoulder again. His wounds are still tender, pink, and fresh against his tan skin but he doesn’t even wince; there's barely a twitch in his eye, and the shaking push and pull of his breath is the only indication he felt any of it.

He does groan when your father pours alcohol over it, remnants of blood washing away from the openings in his shoulder, thrown away stitches sitting on the cloth with your father’s tools.

You didn’t ask how his stitches had broken, you could only assume it happened today while he was working, and it was almost dinner before you noticed the tint that had stained his shirt red.

You hold the child a little closer in your arms, turning his head and busying him when he reaches out for Mando. 

The painting hung mounted on the wall, just low enough it was about eye level with you and the child. You pointed to flowers caked in oil paints, their colors faded from years of the sun that breached the windowsill. He cooed as he followed your lead, tracing the petals with his fingers until he gave a big yawn.

You placed a kiss on the top of his head, the soap you used to wash him earlier still lingering on your lips as he laid on your chest. His blanket wrapped around him, the wool warm and green as you kept him snug in your arms.

“It’s time to say goodnight.”

You stayed at the threshold of the kitchen, Mando’s back turned to you as your father put new stitches into his shoulder. Papa paused for a moment, nodding his head in your direction until Mando turned his profile murmuring a ‘goodnight’ to the baby in your arms. He looked at you as he said it, something pulling deep in your belly as his eyes bore into yours; almost black in the darkness and twinkling from the light of your father’s lamp.

Papa cleared his throat, pulling your eyes towards him as you felt heat rush to your face. 

You hoped he couldn’t tell, that you didn’t look as flustered as you felt. When didn’t bring it up later, once the two of you were alone and everyone had gone to bed, you felt the pressure that built up in your chest dissipate. He went right to sleep, snoring loudly beside you while you laid wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling.

You're not sure what time it is, or how long you have been ‘asleep’ but everything blurs; your mind racing too fast for your drooping eyes to catch any sort of rest.

You laid warm beneath woolen covers as you watched the windows tint with fog, the barest hints of a cold breeze slipping between the cracks and leaving a chill in the air.

It must be very cold out in the barn.

You wouldn’t entertain the idea. Mando was a grown man, he didn’t need you to care for him or coddle him like he was a child.

Staying in bed was the right decision, but decision making was never your strong suit.

The doors to the barn looked wicked under the dim moonlight, tall and intimidating as you reached a shaking hand out to them. They groaned as you pulled open, the track they rested on squeaking and shrill in the quiet night.

You just hoped he was a heavy sleeper.

You carried the two blankets you had been washing just this morning, something Papa kept around for emergencies; thick, wooly blankets that were itchy and coarse on your skin.

They were better than nothing.

There was only one lamp lit, everything mostly covered in shadow save for the few feet of orange glow coming from the middle of the room. Hardly any sound in the air, nighttime completely dead save the occasional grunt and snort of the horses sleeping in their stalls. His belongings sat stacked in one corner, next to the makeshift bedding you had left in here just over a week ago. They were in a neat pile, a shirt and coat, his hat, the cloth he used on his face, and his holster.

He was nowhere to be found.

You put the blankets on his bedroll, hoping he would connect the dots whenever he came back. The hay crunch underneath your feet, even with your attempt at tiptoeing through the barn. You pulled the knitted shawl you wore tighter around you, shivering from the chill that seeped from cracked insulation in the walls.

You hadn’t even stood up before you jumped under the sudden baritone of his voice.

“Where are my guns?” 

The chill that ran down your spine wasn’t from the cold, but rather from accusation; deep, rich words that dripped from his words and held no real malice.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” You offered over your shoulder, slowly turning to face him head-on.

His arm was still in a sling, fresh bandaging that stood stark white against his worn clothes. He looked almost handsome in the orange hue of an oil lamp; his eyes bright even with the exhaustion pulling at his cheeks, his lips pouting and curls sticking out at his neck as if you had woken him in the embers of early morning.

“I know you didn't take them,”

He walked towards you, each step he took followed by your retreat until your back landed against the wall with a thud. Your eyes never leave him, never daring to break your stare even as your hand scrambled for purchase on the smooth wood at your back.

“So where are they?”

You counter him, thinking you're clever with a smile and a half-concocted comeback, batting your eyes when his lips quirk in response.

“How do you know I didn't keep them?”

He laughed, amusement hiding behind the rich color of his eyes and biting with the sparkle of his teeth.

“I doubt you've ever held a gun in your life, sweet girl.” His voice lowered at your pet name, sinful words that swirled at the base of your spine until you squirmed.

“I know you didn't take them.”

You take a deep breath, your cheeks burning when his hand comes to rest beside your head, his body coming just a hair closer until you feel pinned beneath him.

“I hid them.”

His eyebrow arches, questions stuck in the back of his throat that filter into one word.

“Why?”

You fiddled with the loose thread of your gown, wrapping the line excess around your finger until it pinched at the tip. Your ears thumped with the sound of your heartbeat, loud and racing as Mando drug his hand from your shoulder, across your neck. He cupped your jaw, squeezing your face in his hand for just a moment.

“You afraid of me, sweet girl?”

His voice rumbled, deep from his chest as he drags every word from smirking lips.

“Don't call me that.”

Any bite you had laced in your words was betrayed by the way you leaned into his touch, sighing when his fingers scratched at the hairs on the back of your neck.

“Yeah?” 

His lips were gentle, chapped, and sweet against yours with a tender kiss.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

You kissed him this time, testing the waters with a playful nip to his bottom lip; earning you a chuckle before he consumes you. Your lips slot lazily together in a clash of tongue as you taste one another, slow and sensual until your fingers thread his hair, tugging until he growls into your kiss.

“Thank you,” His breath puffed on your cheek, warm and wet on your skin as he trailed kisses over your face and neck. “For taking good care of my kid.”

“He's a sweetheart.” You huff out the words around a smile, your fingers tugging on Mando’s curls.

You almost moan when nips at your throat, his teeth leaving a mark on the juncture of your neck until he groans at the salty-sweet taste of soap on your skin.

“And you're beautiful.”

He steals the breath right from your lungs, gasping in between the short moments when his mouth wasn’t molded against yours. His hand on the back of your neck kept you pressed to his chest, your fingers ghosting over the stitches you could feel through the thin material of his shirt.

His leg was firmly pushed in between yours, his body supporting most of you as he hitched your leg to rest over his hip. The muscle of his thigh flexing when you barely rocked your hips against him. The cotton material of your nightgown did nothing to hide the feeling of rough denim on the softness of your thighs, scraping and molding red indents from the back and forth motion your hips made.

You nearly shout when he snakes his hand in between your bodies, cupping your mound while his fingers work against the bundle throbbing in between your legs; sparks of electricity shoot down to your toes and into the tips of your fingers with the slightest of touches. You ache against him, your body moving with him and seeking an unfamiliar end, a delicious coil in your belly that wound tighter and tighter with every swipe of his two fingers.

You’re panting, muffling pathetic whimpers against his ear while he mouths at the deliciously tender spot on your neck. You can hardly hold your head up, your mind swimming in a thick, intoxicating fog until the world blurred around the edges. You feel the build-up at the base of your spine boiling over, almost all-consuming to the point it tingles every nerve in your body with anticipation. 

You grip his forearm until your nails leave pale, pink marks in your wake, and push him away to finally breathe again.

He is about the only thing keeping you upright, slowly he dropped your leg until you stood alone; his touches stopped, leaving a dull, unsatisfied ache that seeped into your bones. The sweat gathered at your hairline was annoying, tickling you to the point of discomfort until you swiped it away with the back of your hand.

“I don’t want Papa...”

You can’t think, nothing on the forefront of your mind coherent enough; like you were hopelessly lagging while your thoughts raged and laid stuck on the tip of your tongue. You squeeze your eyes shut, rubbing your temple with your eyes opened, and find Mando looking right back at you.

If your father woke up to you gone, you’re not sure what he would do, other than assuming the worst.

And you certainly didn’t want him to catch you in the barn, not like this.

“I-I don’t…”

His eyes were almost gentle, sharp and consuming as always, but kind behind the harsh set of his brow.

He brushes pieces of your hair behind your ear, his touch still burning as it did before but with half the intensity felt a few moments ago.

“Go get some sleep.”

You collect yourself, pulling the shawl on your shoulders tight as you tuck your hands underneath your arms. He steps back once you regained composure and watches you even as you walk away.

You only make it a few steps before he calls after you.

“Tomorrow?”

There’s a hint of something in his voice.

Tease? Promise? Flirt?

Something that pulls harsh at your little heartstrings he had wrapped around his finger.

“How'd you like to go hunting?”

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[generallybarzy]

under twinkling lights.

an: christmas in april? sorry this took so long.. but here’s a little bit of established relationship and soft cute Christmas smut! Its been too long since we had something so sweet and smutty about our fav cute ass couple. It’s all sweet and soft and cute and then it gets filthy... the perfect dynamic, i want what they have. i was only inspired to finish this because of barzys hatty tonight haha, he deserves everything. I didn’t really spell check this yet, just needed to post finally!! Personally, I think its the hottest thing I've ever wrote. Lemme know!!! 💕

tagging: @softboybarzal​ @fallinallincurls​ @matbaerzal​ @npatrickz​ @canadianheaters​ @selenophileangel​ @deleausvp​ @colecaufields​ @hockeyhughes11​ @nazdaddy​ @barzysreputation​ @comphybiscuit​ @aboveaveragehockeyboys​ @ifiwasshawnmendesidslapmyself​ @petey-patty​ @starswin​ @heatherawoowoo​ ​

word count: 6.5k

You never believed you’d find someone to spend your life with. If anyone told you your holidays would one day be spent cuddling up with your boyfriend of almost two years in the apartment that you had just moved into together earlier that month, you would have told them they were wrong. Flat out wrong. Things as beautiful and destined as that only happened in movies, and you certainly weren’t lucky enough to get something like that. But, now, here you were.

And here was Mat.

Even after two years with Mat, there was still nothing better than spending the evening cuddled up with him on the couch. No matter how many fancy, expensive dinner dates he took you on at upscale restaurants in the city or how many helicopter rides you took together out in B.C. when he was showing you his home, or how much you loved hanging out with his friends and his family and his teammates, nothing was better than cuddles at home. As much time you spent together, you still felt as giddy and comfortable and safe and at-peace as that first time with him. Things didn't simmer down, that spark didn't fade away after a bit like you feared they would. But they became more subtle. You no longer had to ask him to come to the couch to cuddle, you no longer worried that maybe he wouldn't want to. It was a habit, at this point, to fall into his arms at the end of the day just the same as he did with you. You were each other’s safe havens, the place you laid your head to rest. You loved each other, and there was no place you’d rather be than together.

You’d spent the evening baking cookies, decorating the new tree, and wrapping his family member's Christmas gifts- a book his mom had been wanting, along with some of the cookies you'd made and various at-home spa items; hockey memorabilia and classic jerseys for his dad; and some new pieces of technology and the latest eye shadow palette that his sister had been wanting, along with some stupid jokes gifts that he wrapped in duct tape like the annoying older brother he was. Now, after the sunset bared its last light over the horizon and through your window, you lay together in bliss, with the tree twinkling its colorful lights across the room as you and Mat snuggled on the couch under a fluffy blanket, and everything felt right. 

"I don't know why we went through all that work to decorate the tree if we're not even spending Christmas here." Mat grumbled playfully, his head on your chest, partially hidden under the blanket. 

"Well," your face glowed in a smile as you remembered the flight out to Vancouver you had in a few days. Spending holidays with his family was always your favorite. Your family wasn’t the best, and it wasn’t too healthy to spend your holidays with them, but you always had Mat and his family. They were so welcoming, so kind, and for as many years now as you’d gone as Mat’s girlfriend, they had accepted you like family. "Because this is our home, Mat. It'd be wrong not to decorate it for the first time." 

"I don't need a tree for this to feel like home." 

“Aww, baby.”

“It’s true.” He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees above you on the couch, bringing his face level with yours. His warm breath hit your lips as he brushed his nose against yours, eyes slipping shut and grinning. “I love you. Always.”

“I love you always too.” 

"I'm so glad you're here. I'm so happy we live together, finally." 

"I'm glad we live together, too." 

Mat snuggled down into your neck, the locks of dark hair that had been growing out lately tickling your face. You reached up to brush them aside and curl your hand around the back of his head, cupping his head against you tenderly . His hair was getting so nice and long, and you knew he’d have to cut it soon, per the team's guidelines, but god, you were gonna cherish it now. 

"I actually have something for you, Maty."

"A Christmas present?" 

"Well, an early Christmas present." You smiled at the excited look on his boyish face as he leaned back, the lights from the tree highlighting the sparkle in his eye. "You can't open it at your parent's house, so we're gonna do it here instead."

"What is it?" 

"Try to figure it out." 

He sat up then, his eyes scanning the room for anything that might seem out of the ordinary, anything that might be hidden. He was looking for his present, and you had to hold back a laugh at the sight. 

"Maty…" 

"No, no, I'll find it."

"Babe…"

"I got this."

"Let me give you a hint, at least." You sat up with him and took his hand in yours and cupped it against your cheek, turning your head to the side to kiss his fingers. He smiled at the touch, melting back into you and tracing his thumb across your skin. 

"Alright, gimme the hint."

You pushed his hand down the smooth skin of your neck, the swell of your breasts, down the curve of your waist, and to the hem of his hoodie that swallowed you up. "It's right in front of you, baby." 

"For real?" The joy in his eyes was the same you saw the first time you told him you were ready to take that step, almost two years ago now. No matter how many times you were together, he was always just as excited.

“You say that as if we’ve never done this before.”

“It always feels like the first time.” 

You glowed and let go of his hand to reach up and cup his face between both of you. His words came so simply and without hesitation that you knew he was sincere. “Aw, Mat…”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re so sweet tonight.”

“Maybe I just really want to lay some love on you.” He hitched his hands under your thighs and tugged you close, lying you back against the couch once again. His hands slid up the soft skin of your tummy and waist, dipping under your shirt momentarily, and causing your breath to hitch in your throat- his hands always managed to do that to you- as you breathed out the words against his lips. 

“Maybe I’m gonna let you.” 

With one last grin, his face dipped down to yours, locking your lips together in a familiar, electric dance. Soft, gentle lips moving against yours had never felt as good as with any other boyfriends as they do with Mat. His touch was intoxicating, made your mind wander and your heart race flushed your skin and shocked you to the core. Ever since the very first time his hand grazed against yours when he reached out to hold it for the first time, to the first time your bodies connected in passion under the covers, it felt the same. Like fire. Even two years later, he drove you insane, and all you wanted, and frequently achieved, was to drive him insane as well. In the best way possible. Mat broke apart from your lips momentarily to slip the hoodie over your head, revealing his gift. “Fuck…”

Right there, in front of his eyes, your breasts were covered only by a lacy crimson fabric, held together behind a pretty red bow. With each heavy breath of anticipation, your chest was heaving softly before his eyes, and he found himself hypnotized by the gentle rise and fall. 

“You like it?"

“Holy shit, you’re hot.” 

“So are you.” 

His eyes were wide, warm, and gentle, looking over you. He dragged his gaze away from your chest even though you could tell how hard it was, and shook his head. “Not as much as you.”

"Mmm", you took the liberty of taking his hands from where they had frozen beside you and placing them, big and warm, over your chest. "Go ahead, baby." 

"No, no, I wanna savor this first."

His mouth dipped down, soft hair tickling your neck as he nibbled at your chest, laying little love bites and kisses along the tender skin. He cupped your boobs and squeezed them around his face, humming in content. You couldn’t help but laugh as he buried his face against you, and you could feel his grin break out against your skin. “Having fun, baby?”

“Oh my god, yes. You’re gorgeous. So soft.” 

“Mmhm.” You sighed into his touch as he kissed his way back up your chest.

“Baby.” He spoke softly to get your attention, and your eyes opened lazily to see him, biting his lip and holding the delicate ribbon between two fingers. “Can I?”

“Please.” He gave a gentle tug, and with one last heave of your chest, the lacy bralette fell open, revealing one of Mat’s favorite parts of your body. 

“Fucking Christ.” 

“Bub, you can’t be swearing like that so close to Christmas.” 

“How do you expect me not to when you’re…. God, just so perfect…” You saw the way his eyes glazed over mid-sentence in the colorful lights of the tree, the way his jaw went slack as you arched your chest up towards him. He reached out, slowly, as if worried you were going to disappear if he moved too quickly, and when the large, rough hands curled around the side of your waist and slid up and down, you felt goosebumps pop up along your skin. 

“Your fingers are cold.”  

“But you love it.” He ran the pad of his thumb over your nipples, watching as they pebbled under his touch in the cold air. “So do I.” 

“Warm me up?”

“Always.”

He dipped his head down, his mouth hot and wet along the peaks and valleys of your chest, down your stomach.

His fingers traveled over the familiar layout of your body, colored in soft golden and red and green in the dancing Christmas lights, tracing each recognizable landmark with specific care- every memorized freckle and birthmark he had kissed since your first night together and every dimple in your skin that he cherished, every spot that had his fingerprints imprinted onto like memory foam after so many nights spent holding you tight with everything in him, as if you'd slip away. As if you'd want to. With each inch his hands followed, he found more, there was always more territory to be marked down, jotted down in his brain for future reference. He was always finding something new. Something more to use against you, to use against you in the best way possible, to push you further and further to that blissful end goal.

He made his way down, down, down, until his breath was hot over your lace-covered core, his hand gripping your hips tightly. Mat smiled as your hands found his hair, curling your fingers through a fistful of the dark locks before releasing and smoothing it back into place again. Mat's favorite thing about going down on you, besides the way it pleasured you, was the way your hands felt on his head, massaging and grabbing and twisting and pulling. It was heaven to him, letting you guide him around like that. 

“Can I take them off?” 

“Hmm.” As much as you wanted him to ravage you right there, with those soft, sultry eyes he was giving you, he was wearing far too many clothes. “You first.” 

Mat didn't say anything else before stripping out of his dark crew neck sweater and jumping up off the couch to kick his gray sweats down. His smile was contagious as your gaze dropped from his face, down his bare chest and the little chain you’d gotten him for your anniversary, down towards the tent in his boxers with a silly, excited grin. He laughed. "Not tired of seeing me yet?" 

"Never."

"You sure you’re not getting bored of my dick yet?"

"No, baby. Definitely not.” You grinned, the thought of spending the rest of your life with him bouncing around your mind. “Why? Are you getting bored of me?"

"No way." Mat leaned down to lace your fingers together and lock lips. "How could I?"

"How could I get tired of you, Maty?"

Mat hummed. He loved this little play, the little banter, the back and forth. He'd loved it since you first started dating, and he always would. He knew you loved him endlessly, but he played along. "I'm just a hockey player."

"No, you're my hockey player. My boyfriend. My pretty, pretty baby."

Mat settled back down between your legs with a warm smile. "Yeah, I am. So can I take these off now?" He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties. "C'mon, I know how much you love my tongue."

Your thighs squeezed around him at the words. “Fuck, please.”

“Anything for my baby.” 

You lifted your hips for him as he tugged the lacy fabric down your thighs with nimble fingers, stopping momentarily after they were off to just look at you. He let out a sigh, his eyes finding yours again with a soft look as you squirmed a bit beneath him- not because you were shy, no, you were long past that point in your relationship, but because you just needed him to do anything to you. Mat had spent the past two years helping you love and appreciate your body, and this, right here in this moment, was the perfect showcase of how much he helped- as he was gazing down at your naked body and the only thing you felt was just the absolute need and desire for his body to move against yours and his warmth to cover you up. No nerves. Only love, and need. 

“Shit, you’re gorgeous.” 

“I know.” 

The lack of hesitation in your reply had Mat bending over you and laughing. “That’s your response?”

“Yeah! I mean, you let me know. You make me feel so confident.”

“Mmhm, good, babygirl.” He scooted back down to lay his head against the soft, naked inside of your thigh gazing up at you through his eyelashes. “I always wanna make you feel good. Physically and mentally.” He turned to lay open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, and any thought of response you may have had dissolved completely as you leaned back and waited for him to do his magic. His hand reached up to cup your heat, just feeling you against his palm for a moment before swiping a long finger through your fold, smiling and raising his eyebrows at you. “Oh? Already so wet for me?” 

“Always, baby. You should know this by now.”

“Yeah?” He dipped his fingers at your opening teasingly and his head dipped down to connect his lips with your clit, kissing it gently and watching you squirm. “Ugh, I could fuck you right now if I was in a rush. But you know the foreplay is my favorite part.”

“I know. And you’re so good.” 

“Good.” 

He went silent then, his tongue wide and wet, licking a long stripe along your slick and gathering the wetness at your clit, giving it soft, kitten licks and wet kisses. He listened intently for every soft sigh that left your lips- music to his ears- and felt every tug on his hair when he flicked his tongue in small circles around that spot like he knew you loved. And the best part was that he knew. You didn’t understand how couples could get tired of each other after years. You didn’t understand how the excitement could flicker away or how they could get tired of each other’s bodies or minds. Never in your relationship with Mat have you felt as excited as now, two years in. The thought that he knew your body inside and out, maybe even better than you did, was just so overwhelming in the best possible way, and the longer you lay there, with Mat’s mouth on you, you couldn’t stop thinking that this is your man.   

Mat was lying flat against the long couch, his face between your thighs and his hands holding your legs open for him. His dark hair was a wild mess, and you could see the gentle movements of his lower back and ass and the back of his thighs illuminated golden in the lights, rolling lazily against the couch cushion- covered by a blanket, of course- to provide any friction for his sadly untouched cock. 

You hadn’t even noticed the noises dripping from your lips until Mat pulled back, and the lack of feeling his mouth against your core had you whining for him.

“Fuck, I’ll never get over you.” 

“Mmmmat.” You hummed his name, dragging out the “M” in the way you knew he loved.  

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Please keep touching me.” 

He sat up, between your thighs, knees digging into the couch, and his bare thighs and torso on display for you. You loved him, all of him, and all of his body. His legs, his abdomen, his chest, his arms… all of it was amazing. Perfect to look at and perfect to touch, to grab, to dig your nails into as he railed you. To ground yourself with. “Baby, you know I love eating you out. But I just gotta see you right now. And talk to you.” His big hand slid up the inside of your thigh, and your breath caught in your throat when he started rubbing soft, small circles against your clit. “So this position will have to do, okay? I promise I’ll spend all day before our flight eating your pussy.”

“I’ll remember that.” 

“I hope so. God, this fucking thing. Could eat it for days.” He pushed a single finger inside you, slow and steady, but enough to make you clench around him. His fingers were so much better than yours, just a little longer and a little thicker in a way that had you squirming for more. “So fucking tight and wet. So hot. I’m so lucky to have you.” His free hand left your hip, leaving nothing but cold, empty fingerprints on your skin, and rubbed against the bulge in his dark boxers. You could see how much he was aching, and you were determined to make it better. 

“Mat, c’mere.” 

“I’m knuckles deep in your pussy, babe, how much closer do you want me?” You laughed at him, rolling your hip down against said finger. How he could be so funny and sexy at the same time was beyond you.

“Lie down with me. I wanna touch you.” You held your arms out for him and scooted to the side, and he obliged quickly, lying on his side between you and the back of the couch and hooking your left leg over his right thigh. His hand dipped back down between your thighs, pressing into you before you could even catch your breath, feeling exhilarated at the much more intimate position. “Oh, fuck, Mat.” You reached out to him, willing and eager to reciprocate the feeling. He drew in a sharp breath at the way your hand rubbed over the thick bulge in his boxers, pulling the waistband down just enough to release him from his cotton prison.  

His cock jumped up against his lower belly, stiff and pink and needy for you and only you. Your hand, your mouth, and you could tell by the way Mat’s fingers paused inside you that he was anticipating the moment your fingers wrapped around his length. “Oh, that feels so good. Always does, baby.” And then, as you worked your hand against him, he pumped his long fingers inside you, bringing his other thumb to rub mercilessly at your clit. But still, even with the way he was fucking you on his hand, the most intense part of this moment was the way he held your gaze; the lust, the need, the twinkle of amusement in his hazel eyes at the sheer amazement that he got to do this with you; and the love- the pure, unadulterated love that soaked from his skin to yours, in every touch, in ever moment spent together, every kiss, and every time you laid together, bare and vulnerable, in the heat of passion, under the twinkling lights or in the dark, safe haven of your home to show each other how much you loved each other. His warm eyes glittered in the light, reflecting the gold and green and red lights from the Christmas tree that illuminated the room, and the city lights outside the window of your apartment lit up his body and highlighted every muscle. Your apartment, the one you own together, and the one you knew you were going to make countless memories in. His eyes glittered with love, with the question of “can you believe we still make each other feel so good?” and with the statement “I want to kiss you so bad right now”. Your hand pumped his length, pulling a soft moan from his lips, one that you had used to have to work so hard to hear. “I want to hear you, baby” You had used to say, practically begging him to let himself go as he bit his lip to hold back the moans. It had taken a bit of encouragement, but now he never held back with the sounds that left his pretty mouth. You lay there, vulnerable and exposed to each other, staring into each other’s eyes as with hands between each other's thighs, cheeks pink and hearts full of love as you helped each other climb to that climax. 

You broke eye contact first, laughing breathlessly and feeling your cheeks go hot under his gaze. Despite the lack of shame you felt in front of him, he could still get you so flustered and giggly. 

“What’s so funny, beautiful?” He asked between shaky breaths. 

“You’re so beautiful, Mat. Those moans are so pretty. I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah?” He smiled with another laugh. “I can feel how wet you are. It’s crazy.” He slipped the tip of a third finger into you, your hole aching and pulsing around them already. “Oh, fuck, I love your moans too.” And you could tell he did, as his hips jerked helplessly up into your hand. “Faster, baby.” 

“Only if you kiss me.” 

Without hesitation, he leaned over and his lips locked onto yours, needy and begging but oh, so willing to go slow and passionate. The hand that had been teasing your clit came up to grab at you face, squeezing a tit on the way up, and you reached a free hand out to tangle in his dark hair as you leaned in and continued to jerk him in your hand- up and down, and up and down, twisting around the head just like he liked. “I love you.” He whispered against your lips, breaking apart for only a moment to look down at you one more time in awe. “I love you so fucking much.” 

“I love you, Mat.” 

“Fuck, I love you.” His lips crashed back against yours again, his fingers plunging deeper inside you as he kissed his promise into your lips, the promise that he was there and he’d always be there. He was yours. And you were his. Simply that. The heel of his palm rubbed against your clit as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting that wonderful spot and making fireworks twinkle behind your eyes. He groaned into your mouth as your hand curved over the head of his cock, palms getting slick with his pre-cum, and stroked back down to cup his balls gently. He let out a breathy laugh at the tender feeling. 

“Baby, look at me.” You cupped his cheeks between your hands and pulled him back when you began to feel your peak rising. He whined when your hand left his cock, aching and hard, and his fingers halted inside of you, cupping his palm against your heat.

“Oh, baby,” His eyes locked on you, making a show of how they were scanning up and down your body. “I’m looking.”

“I need you inside, right now.”

His bottom lip was sucked between his teeth and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the words. Even after so long, he still couldn’t handle hearing those words. His eyes fluttered shut. “Fuck, say less.” He rolled over you to sit upright on the couch, finally pushing his boxers all the way down his thighs and onto the floor. He gripped his cock in his hands and slid between your thighs, bending down over you to kiss your lips. “How do you want it?”

“Just like this.” Your hands fell to his hips and pulled him close. 

“Yeah?”

“Wanna see your face. Maybe it’s basic, but I love this position.”

“Yeah. It’s simple, but so intimate. I like it too.” He paused and leaned back for a moment, looking down at his sweatpants on the floor for something. “Shit, ugh, I don’t have a condom here, hold on-” 

“No, no, no.” Before Mat could run off to the bedside drawer, you grabbed his hands in yours, pulling him back to you. His eyes went soft and cautious for a few moments. 

“No? Babe, shouldn’t we…” 

“We’ve had conversations about this, right? About doing it without?” Mat nodded, a little smile beginning to pull on his lips. “I’m still on the pill, and I know I remembered to take all of them recently, so we’re still pretty safe, if you want.” 

“Fuck, I want.” He settled back down between your knees. “Are you sure?”

“A hundred percent.” 

“Alright.” Mat chuckled in boyish excitement. He reached a hand down between your bodies to adjust himself, nudging the blunt head of his cock against your clit and rubbing his pre-cum along your slit, lining up with your tight entrance and sending sparks through your body. “God, my God, I can’t wait to come inside you. Feel you around me completely. See my cum on you.” One last time, he bent his body down over yours, his weight warm and heavy, the metal of his chain cool between your chests, and pressed his mouth to yours, breathing in your warmth. One of your hands curled around his waist, slid to the small of his back, just like he always did to you, and the other cupped the back of his neck, fingers curling into the hairs and playing with the chain around his neck and pulling him in closer to your face. He broke away slightly with a sigh against your lips, his forehead bumping against yours and his nose nudging yours in a familiar gesture. He didn’t need to say the words anymore, because his quiet affections were ones that you’ve known for a long time. 

His question was loud and clear, and your answer was just as obvious. 

Mat brought a forearm down next to your head to steady himself, stroking the pad of his thumb against your warm cheek as his hips finally pushed against yours. Hands tightened their grips on each other’s bodies, sliding across hot skin slicked with sweat, and a euphony of moans mingled together in the air at the initial feeling of finally being connected in such a primal way again. His hips were flush against your own, and the weight of his thick cock inside of you was heavy and intoxicating; you could feel his tight abdomen expanding and contracting with every heavy breath and shudder through his body. He let out a long string of moans, his head dipping down to nibble at your throat, and fuck, did you know what he meant. You were connected, everywhere- heart, skin, and mind. “Fuck, oh my God, baby, hot as ever.” 

“Oh, Maty…” 

“I’m gonna give you so much love, beautiful.”

“Please.” 

The first withdrawal of his hips from yours was painstakingly slow, and all you wanted was for him to plunge back in again and again and again. And he intended to do that, in time. Mat loved to take his time, but it didn’t take him long to fulfill his promise, sliding back against you, his cock hard and aching inside your wet cunt. He found a steady, easy pace rolling his hips into yours, each stroke like electricity through your body, long and languid, taking his time to draw your pleasure out, taking the time to feel your body around him. His knee dug into the couch hard, steadying himself and getting more traction so he could pull closer to your body, snapping his hips against yours with slaps that had you both gasping for air. 

“Oh fuck…” 

“Feels so good, Mat.”

“You’re fucking amazing.” He let out another high-pitched whine and arched your leg over his hip. “More?”

“More, faster, please baby.” 

His hips slapped against yours with a groan, his big hands holding behind your knees and opening you wide for him. He leaned back to take a good look at you, at the scene in front of him, trying to take in every image he possibly could. Because these were the best moments. Not only the sex- god, but the sex was good- but just being together, being close, being intimate and so so close, yet only craving to become closer and closer. “God, you’re so hot, babe. So tight, so wet, all for me, right?” When you couldn’t answer, too overwhelmed with the way he was pounding against you, he took it as a sign to keep running his mouth. God, you loved to listen to him talk. “So wet, all for me. Getting all turned on over this big cock inside you, yeah?” You nodded your head enthusiastically, pulling his body closer to yours. He followed without hesitation, down and down until your bodies were glued together and he was just pushing against you, his hips driving yours into the couch cushions. “All fucked up for my cock, are you? Fucking beautiful.” 

“It’s so good, Maty, baby, so big, fills me up so good.”

“I love you. I love you, (Y/N).”

“Oh my God, Maty, I love you.” 

His mouth locked onto yours, sealing your lips together and swallowing your moans down. Dark locks of his hair shielded your face and tickled your cheeks, and as soon as he inched away to take a deep, shaky breath, your eyes opened up. He steadied himself on strong arms, framing your face, his veins prominent, and you curled a small hand as far around his thick bicep as you could, watching in awe as his head jerked back, throwing his long hair off his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut as he concentrated on pounding against your dripping cunt. 

Slowly, his body peeled back off of yours, away, away, and he brought himself up to his knees in front of you. You let your eyes roll slip the long length of his torso, decorated with glittering reflections of gold and red and green, shining off the sheen of his sweat, and you looked from his thick neck, covered in your love-bites, down his chest, down the hard muscles of his abdomen and tummy, and down the V of his hips to the small patch of prickles that rubbed against your clit with every thrust. His thighs were spread open with your legs wrapped ever so gently around his hips, and his cock was stilled, aching inside of you. He shifted around on the couch momentarily, readjusting his knees on the cushions. “Ya know, we’d be a lot more comfortable in our bed than out here.” 

“But it’s so pretty out here. All the pretty twinkly lights on you…” 

“On me?” He laughed, “Look at yourself, babe. I’m fucking lucky.” 

His big hands traced down your cheeks, squeezed down your chest, curled down the curve of your waist and hips, before finally wrapping around the backs of your thighs and pulling you closer, hoisting your legs up, up, and over his shoulders and spreading you wide open in front of him. 

“Ooh, Mat…” You giggled a bit as he easily positioned you in the way he wanted, smirking down at you wickedly and rubbing his thumbs up and down the wet slick of your pussy. 

“Gonna make you fuckin’ come, babe, my god… you want that?”

“Yeah, yeah, please, Maty.” 

“Just a little bit longer, ‘kay?” He rolled his hips against yours again, starting up that steady pace again. His hands held your thighs open, lifting your legs up the length of his torso and locking them over his shoulders, and he never failed to make you seem tiny compared to him. You watched, mesmerized, as his abdomen tensed and hardened and spasmed as he tried to keep himself under control. 

“Please.”

“Little… longer.” 

With one more low moan, your boyfriend bent closer to you, his chain dangling in your face tauntingly as he got back to pounding away at you, heavy balls slapping against your ass with every erratic movement, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier and his breaths getting deeper. He was so goddamn close to that edge. He could tell you were getting there, too. You’d been on the edge ever since he started pounding you, but now, you were only a few feather light touches away from falling over that edge. And Mat was ready for it, he could barely hold his own seems together, he could barely think about anything except how rock hard he was and how your tits were bouncing so perfectly in rhythm with his hips, the way your eyes were rolling back and the way his cock felt inside you, fully covered in your slick, both your lower halves sticky messes. He was ready to fall apart completely, and ready to help you reach your own. “You look so fucking good taking my dick like this, babygirl. It’s so big, isn’t it? But you just take it so good, yeah? My good, good girl with her perfect fucking pussy, taking that cock so well.” He reached his fingers down to roll his thumb lazily against your clit, ever so gently, but enough to make you fall apart. Your eyes rolled back as you gasped out for him. 

“Please, M- Maaaat…” 

“Oh, you- you want it, don’t you?” Mat’s words were getting shaky, his sentences choppy. He was so close, so close his mind couldn’t comprehend anything beyond just fucking letting go. “Want your boyfriend’s hot cum filling you up, just flooding that- ugh, that tight little cunt, yeah? My balls emptied inside you? You want that nut so bad, you’re so desperate for it, huh? Tell me, baby. Tell me how you want the love of your life to just… fucking f- flood your pussy.”

“I want it, Mat, I want you to cum, baby.” 

His thrusts became erratic, his hand leaving bruises on your thigh and his thumb absolutely torturing your swollen, sensitive clit. He was getting desperate, too. “Where? Where do you want my big fucking load?”

“Cum inside, fuck, fuck, please, Maty-”

“Ohh, gonna fucking nut inside you, babygirl-”  

“I’m gonna cuuuum, Mat…” 

“Ohhhh, fuuuuuck, oh, oh (Y/N)...!” Mat let out a long, strangled moan, his voice shaking and whiny and breathless in exasperation. His hips stuttered and his thighs trembled beneath him as he nearly collapsed onto you, absolutely flooding your aching, spasming hole with his cum. Your mind went fuzzy and white when you finally felt his stitches come loose, and he finally emptied all of himself- all his hot, gooey warmth- inside of your throbbing cunt. And flood, he did. It felt like the thick ropes of cum were never ending, filling you to the brim, until finally, he was done, his eyes squeezed shut and hair falling into his eyes above you.

Forming sentences would be a miracle at this point, but you reached up to curl a finger around Mat’s chain and yank him down to your face, ushering him to collapse against your body. And he did, eyes glancing open for a moment and lips locking with yours, always thankful to be able to fall onto you after a hard day, after absolutely spending himself. He groaned against your lips and buried his face against your neck, panting against your skin and kissing your neck and breathing in your scent as your hand found it’s rightful place at the back of his neck.  After a few moments of stillness, he reached down lazily and let his cock slip out of you, both of you whining and the loss of contact, and you felt a familiar wetness on your tummy as his cum dribbled down the head of his spent cock to fall on your warm skin. 

You were silent, panting for a few minutes, just letting your heartbeats steady back to normal and your heads to recover from the dizzying orgasms. Then, a breathless chuckle vibrated through Mat’s chest and into you. “Merry fucking Christmas to us, right?” 

“I think that was the hottest thing we’ve ever done, Mat.” Mat hummed in agreement, squeezing you between his arms. “Now you see why we couldn’t do this at your parent’s place?”

“I mean… what’s stopping us?” 

“Mat, I know for a fact you can’t keep quiet enough to fuck in your parent’s house.”

“Says the one who was just screaming my name.”

“As if you weren’t moaning mine just as loud.”

“Hmm.” Mat laughed again at the banter, the playful back and forth, and rolled to the side, his back to the back of the couch, and pulled you against his side. “How do you feel, anyway? About… me coming inside? Still feel good about it? Wasn’t too much?”

“No way. I really… really enjoyed that. Everything about that. A lot.” 

“Mm, that’s good. So did I.” 

“But… I kiiiiiinda feel like we should clean up. It’s starting to feel… sticky, like, everywhere. And not a good sticky.” 

“Yeah, how about we take a bath together? A nice warm bath in the lights of the pretty Christmas lights you love so much? How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like heaven, Mat.”

So Mat scooped you up in his arms, his own legs weak and shaky after an unbelievable orgasm, and he pressed kisses against your cheeks as he carried you through your brand new home, lit in the pretty pinks and gold of the Christmas lights, stopping before the bathroom door only momentarily to ponder on the beginning of the rest of his forever with you. This truly might be the beginning of the best years of his life. The beginning of an even more serious relationship with you. He felt your fingers playing with the chain that still hung around his neck, the one the guys teased him about the charm on the end, but the one he always wore for you, and he glanced down, his eyes warm and contemplative as he searched yours. This. This was eternal love.

“I love you, babe. Always.” His heart felt dipped in syrup when you smiled up at him with that soul melting look. Yep. You’re it for me.

“I love you, bubs. Always.”