#my cheeks are warm and my heart is beating too fast

[ellewritesx]

explore me slowly

(part two of the teach me slowly series)

Summary: Firsts aren't always easy. Lucky for you, Harry's got patience— and a plan.

Warnings: early stages of a relationship, age gap, lots of talk about virginity and sex, fingering, brief oral (f!receiving), sexual guilt (it's so common and it's time we start talking about it)

Based on: this ask!

A/N: hi lovelies! sorry this update took foreverrr. i've had a rough week, but i'm back now and working hard on creating new content for you guys :) i'm so happy to see the love i received on part one of this, thank you all sososo much. series tag list is open x

Word Count: 4,319

...

You're nervous.

Not the jittery, wide-eyed kind of nervous, but the quiet kind. It simmers just beneath the surface, where your stomach feels light and fluttery, and your thoughts are buzzing too fast to catch.

You're sitting with Harry on his couch, tucked beneath the blanket that always smells like him, like fresh, warm laundry and cedarwood and something a little sweeter underneath. The movie he put on a while ago has turned to static now, background noise, barely audible under the sound of your pulse in your ears.

Your mind keeps drifting back to last Friday night, to that first conversation you and Harry had about your virginity, turning it over in your head, trying to decide what you want.

But now you know.

You pull back a little, tilting your head to look at him properly, and your voice is smaller than you mean it to be when you speak up. ''I think… I want to try something tonight.''

That gets his attention.

His arm, which had been draped along the back of the couch and absentmindedly stroking your shoulder, stills. He turns to face you, scanning your features with those sharp, observant eyes like he's trying to understand everything you're not saying. ''Try something?'' he echoes, but it's not teasing. It's curious. Encouraging.

You nod. Your fingers curl in the hem of your shorts, anchoring yourself. ''I don't know what exactly. I just… I trust you. And I want to explore. Whatever you think is best to start with.''

He stays quiet for a beat, his thumb brushing the side of your thigh under the blanket. ''Are you sure?''

You nod again, firmer this time. ''Yeah. I've been thinking about it a lot. I'm not trying to rush into anything I'm not ready for. And I'm not ready for... everything, but we could do something else, right?''

Harry's expression softens into something tender. You can see it shift, the subtle change in how he's holding himself. The way he sinks a bit deeper into the cushions, like the weight of your blind trust, and his responsibility for it, slowly settles onto his shoulders.

''Okay,'' he says. ''We'll go slow. If you're okay with it, I'd like to understand where you're at. What you're comfortable with. What you like, what you don't like, y'know?''

You inhale deeply, your shoulders relaxing at the sound of his calm voice. You hadn't realized how much tension you'd been holding until now. You hum in response, heart thudding steady in your chest.

Harry's eyes flick to your lips, your eyes, your hands in your lap. He shifts slightly so he's facing you more directly. ''So… when you say you want to try something, what does that look like for you tonight? Is there something you've been curious about?''

You chew your lip. ''I don't know, really. That's the thing. I've never done any of this before, so I don't really know where I'm supposed to start, what I'm supposed to explore. That's why I'm asking you to... I don't know, lead. To tell me what to do.''

''I can do that. Is there anything that's off-limits tonight?'' he asks carefully, his hand moving to rest lightly on your bare knee.

You think about it for a moment, then shake your head. ''I don't want to… you know. Go all the way. Not yet.''

''Okay,'' he smiles, squeezing your knee softly in reassurance. ''What about me touching you? With my hands, or my mouth?''

Your breath catches, heat rushing to your cheeks. The words make you squirm, but you manage to give him a curt nod, forcing a tight-lipped, nervous smile. ''Yeah. I think I'd like to try that.''

He smiles gently, fingers brushing your neck, waiting for any sign of hesitation. When all he sees is curiosity etched onto your features, he dips his head under yours, pressing soft kisses to your neck.

Your heartbeat pounds under your skin as Harry caresses your arms, rubbing them up and down soothingly. You gasp when he sucks lightly on your skin, taking his time getting you in the mood.

''Do you want me to show you what feels good? Or do you want to tell me what to do?'' he murmurs, his lips brushing your collarbone.

You bite your lip, throat dry. ''I… I want you to show me.''

He stands up, then holds out a hand.

''Come here, love.''

You take it, and he tugs you to your feet, pulling a huffed laugh from you. He puts his hands on your waist and begins slowly walking you backward, firm and deliberate, toward his bedroom, not breaking eye contact once. Something about it, the effortless confidence he exudes, the air of nonchalance, makes your breath hitch.

And when your back hits his bedroom door, he pauses. He leans in, foreheads touching, his breath mingling with yours.

''You're sure?'' he whispers.

You nod. ''I'm sure.''

And then he kisses you, deep and passionate, his hand fumbling for the door handle behind you. He chuckles against your lips when he clumsily opens the door, and you both stumble in with a laugh.

Harry's bedroom is dim, the lamp on his bedside table painting the room in a soft yellow. You turn around, taking in his space. It feels intimate. It's simple, minimalistic, but so Harry.

There are sticky notes attached to the small notice board above his desk, filled with hasty scribbles like yoga pushed to 7 this Thursday!!! and pick up mum from the airport!!! and a nonsensical jumble of random words and phrases. Lyrics for new songs, you think.

The door clicks shut behind him and you feel his presence behind you, steady, unfaltering, unlike the beat of your heart. For a second, neither of you speak. You're not sure when the room got so quiet, but your pulse thrums in your ears, the sound of your shallow breathing seeming to mute everything else.

Then his arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you back into the solid heat of his chest. He dips his head to your height and presses a kiss just behind your ear, then another one to the slope of your neck, and you melt into him by instinct.

His fingers find the hem of your hoodie, his hoodie, technically, the navy one you borrowed weeks ago and never gave back. It still smells faintly like his cologne, the way his clothes always do when he forgets them on your couch. He gathers the fabric, lifting it inch by inch until it bunches beneath your waist, right above your grey shorts.

It had felt a little silly when you put it on after your shower this morning, but his mouth twitches into a smile when he recognizes it, his fingers toying with the material. ''This mine?''

''Yeah. You were outgrowing it anyway,'' you tease, turning around in his hold and playfully squeezing his biceps. He's been frequenting the gym increasingly more often, and it shows. You assume it's his way of blowing off steam now that he's not performing.

''Hm. It does look better on you,'' he grins, pressing a kiss to your temple as his hands trail lower. He gently tugs at the hem, waiting for your approval. ''Can I take this off?''

You hesitate, just a second, but it's enough to make him pause, watching you closely. It's not that you don't trust him, or don't want to, but you can already feel the air on your thighs, your stomach, the dip of your lower back. And the idea of being completely bare under his gaze, no barriers, no fabric, no layers to hide behind, suddenly feels a little too exposed. Too vulnerable.

Your hands catch his quickly, wrapping around his palms, though you know that Harry wouldn't move an inch without your consent.

''I… would it be okay if I kept it on? Just for now?'' you ask, cheeks burning. ''I don't think I'm comfortable being fully naked yet.''

There's not even a beat of silence before he nods, brushing your hair back behind your ear. ''Of course. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. You look beautiful like this, too.''

Your hesitation doesn't frustrate or deter him. Instead, he reaches for the hem of his own shirt, and in one smooth motion, he pulls it up over his head and carelessly tosses it aside.

Your breath catches. He's so close that you can see the faint freckles adorning his collarbone, the gold cross nestled between his pecs, the trail of ink curling down his strong arms.

You reach out before you can second-guess it, fingers brushing across the small tattoos above his heart, the ones you've only ever seen half-hidden beneath his clothes. Your hand grazes the tattoos that trail down the skin of his left shoulder, his bicep, his arm, like a river that meanders delicately through a forest.

He watches you, quiet and confident, as your palm flattens over his chest. His skin is warm under your fingers, smooth and solid and real. You trace one of the swallows across his collarbone, then dip lower, brushing your knuckles down the line of his sternum. The ridges of his abs flex slightly beneath your touch.

''You're so…'' you trail off, suddenly embarrassed by your own awe.

Harry gives you a lopsided smile, like he knows what you mean without needing to hear it. ''Thank you, baby. You can touch me as much as you want,'' he says, voice thick with something more tender than lust. ''Take your time, darlin'. I'm not going anywhere.''

You lean up to kiss him, and when your hands settle around his hips, he presses forward just enough to guide you backward toward the bed. Your knees hit the edge of the mattress and you land with a soft thud. Harry follows, kneeling between your legs, one hand curling around the back of your thigh to pull it around his waist.

You shiver when his knuckles graze the edge of your shorts, and he catches the reaction immediately.

''Still okay?'' he murmurs against your lips.

''Yeah,'' you whisper. ''I just… don't know what I'm doing.''

''You don't have to,'' he insists. The sheets are cool against your skin, grounding, while Harry hovers over you, broad and warm and impossibly gentle and patient. ''That's what tonight's for, yeah? You tell me what feels good. What doesn't. I'll listen.''

His fingers stroke over the outside of your shorts first, featherlight at first, then with a little more pressure. Just enough to let the heat pool low in your belly, your thighs pressing together instinctively at the unfamiliarity of it all. You let out a soft, shaky breath.

He looks up at you, lips curved, eyes kind. ''That feel alright?''

''Mhm.''

''Use your words for me, baby,'' he teases lightly, but there's no pressure. Just playfulness.

You swallow. ''It feels… really good.''

That earns you a kiss, warm and sweet, and this time his hand drifts over your stomach, fingers brushing under the hem of your hoodie. He doesn't try to lift it again, just slips his palm beneath the fabric, splaying it over your skin, stroking your bare side.

His hands don't rush. They just keep tracing the shape of you, mapping the curves and valleys like they're sacred terrain. Then his fingers slide down past your navel, knuckles grazing your skin, brushing the waistband of your shorts.

You draw in a shaky breath.

''Still good?'' he asks, watching you.

You nod. ''Yes. Please.''

He smiles reassuringly and continues his trail down your shorts. His fingers move over the cotton, just the faintest pressure, barely there. But even that is enough to send a jolt through you, hips twitching in surprise when he brushes against your clothed clit.

You're more sensitive than you expected. Everything feels heightened: his breath on your cheek, the press of his fingers through the fabric, the weight of his gaze on your face.

''Feels good?''

You nod, unable to speak.

He strokes over the same spot a little more firmly this time, slow and rhythmic. ''You're already wet,'' he groans, almost like he's in awe. ''I haven't even done anything. Fuck, that's so hot.''

You flush, turning your face into his shoulder, and he chuckles softly. ''You don't have to be shy with me,'' he whispers. ''Nobody's around. It's just you and me, yeah? I've got you.''

You nod bashfully. His hand slips under the waistband of your shorts and slides your panties aside with a gentle tug. For the first time ever, someone else touches you where you've barely explored yourself, the pad of his finger dragging softly through your folds.

You tense instantly, just from the unfamiliarity of it, but he doesn't push. Just keeps it slow, gentle, careful, learning the way your body responds, noting every soft whine and every stutter of breath. It's a different kind of touch than your own. More assured. Confident, but not cocky. He's paying attention to every shift in your body, like your pleasure is a language and he wants to be fluent.

He finds your clit and circles it with the pad of his finger, light and teasing, until your hips lift from the bed with a choked whimper, and his pace quickens. You didn't know it could feel like this. Every nerve is lit up, like your skin is catching fire in the best way.

''Oh,'' you breathe out, your body sinking into the mattress as you sigh contently, the tension in your muscles melting away.

Harry smiles. ''Yeah?''

You nod, eyes fluttering shut, head thrown back against the pillow.

Harry glances up again, pride flickering in his expression. ''That good?''

''So good,'' you whisper.

He grins, but it's soft, not smug. He eases you further back onto the bed, and you go willingly, your legs falling open around his waist as he crawls down your body, pulling your shorts down with him as he goes, just enough to expose your panties to him.

Then he leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. And another, closer to the edge of your underwear. He hums low in his throat, like the scent of your arousal has undone something in him. His hand is still between your thighs, and he pushes a finger inside, just one for now, testing, studying your reaction, while his thumb keeps stroking your clit to keep you relaxed.

Your breath catches at the stretch. It's not painful, just… new. Unfamiliar. Full.

But it feels good. Better than anything you've ever felt on your own.

Harry leans his cheek against your inner thigh, watching your pussy accomodate to the stretch of his finger with awe etched onto his face. His eyes flick up to your face, searching your expression for any discomfort or pain. ''Too much?''

You shake your head. ''No. Feels… good.''

Then he kisses your thigh again, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his hot breath against your cunt, and you realize what he's planning.

But when you feel the first swipe of his tongue, it's too much.

You gasp and your hand flies to his hair, not tugging hard, just enough to pull him back. ''Wait. Sorry. That's... a little overwhelming.''

He pulls back instantly, looking up at you with such gentle understanding it nearly makes your heart burst out of your chest. ''Don't apologize. That's totally okay.''

''I don't know why,'' you say, cheeks warm. ''It's just… a lot.''

''It's okay, love. This is all brand new to you,'' he soothes, pressing a kiss to your thigh. ''We can save that for another night, yeah? We have all the time in the world to go slow, baby.''

There's no disappointment in his voice. No pressure. He's just... here. With you. For you. The realization tugs at your heartstrings.

You nod, and he climbs back up your body, propping himself up on one arm, letting you catch your breath as he hovers over you. The warmth between your legs lingers, building slowly as his hand starts to move again, hushed praises falling from his lips.

His touch is focused, fingers slow, right where you need them. This time, you relax into it. Let the tension coil in your belly, growing tighter and tighter with every slow circle of his fingers, every kiss he presses against your shoulder, your jaw, your temple.

Your breathing stutters. Your thighs clench. Your fingers dig into his forearm, making him groan. He curls his finger slightly and your back arches with a sudden, gasping moan.

''Harry, fuck—''

''There she is,'' he breathes. ''There you go, darlin'. That's it. Let go for me. You don't have to think. Just feel. I've got you.''

He keeps the rhythm steady, his thumb circling your clit, his finger curling inside of you. Your thighs tense, your hips stutter, and then your whole body locks up with a choked sound as the pleasure spills over all at once. Your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, sharp and sweet and overwhelming in the best way. Your fingers grip the bedsheets, and you can barely hear yourself moaning his name like a prayer, your breath stuttering out in broken gasps.

Harry's voice is low and tender as he eases you through it. ''That's it, baby. So good. So fucking good. You did so well for me.''

You're shaking while he helps you ride it out, only pulling his hand out of your shorts when you whine quietly in overstimulation, your chest heaving. His attention shifts to you immediately, cradling your face in his palm, brushing sweaty hair from your temple.

''You okay?''

''Yeah. Just…'' you swallow, blinking up at him, dazed. ''I think… I think that was my first real orgasm, Harry.''

He stills, his mouth curving into a slow smile. ''Yeah?'' he says, and he sounds so proud you could cry. ''That was your first?''

You nod again, cheeks hot. ''I thought I'd already had one, but it's never felt like that before. Not even close.''

He leans in to kiss you, cradling your cheek like you're the most precious thing he's ever laid his hands on. ''Fuck, baby. Thank you for letting me be the first. That means more than you know.''

He rolls over and plops down on the mattress with a content sigh, one arm falling over his eyes. You rest your head on his heaving chest, heart still pounding, and his other arm instantly wraps around you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

Your body feels weightless, boneless, like you've melted into the sheets completely. The air around you is warm and still, the silence only broken by Harry's pants beside you.

The hem of his hoodie is still bunched around your thighs, and you're vaguely aware of the dampness between your legs and the faint throb in your muscles. It doesn't hurt, it just lingers, like your body is still catching up to the memory of being touched.

Harry presses a kiss to your temple, then leans up on one elbow, brushing your hair back gently.

''Stay here,'' he whispers. ''Gonna get you some water and a towel to clean you up, alright? I'll be right back, promise.''

You nod, dazed. His voice is so soft. So safe.

A few minutes pass while he moves around the room. You hear the faucet turn on in the bathroom, the clink of a glass against porcelain, the shuffle of his feet across the floorboards.

Everything is ordinary. Normal.

But the longer you lie there, the tighter your chest becomes.

It starts slow. A little whisper in the back of your mind. You did that. You let someone do that to you. You gave it away. It's over.

Your thighs are still damp. You feel the stickiness on your skin and suddenly you can't breathe quite right. Your heartbeat starts to pick up. A sour kind of shame crawls up your throat, thick and hot, choking you before you can swallow it down.

You shift in the bed, curling your legs up to your chest. Your fingers tighten in the sheets, knuckles turning white from your grip.

It was good. He was kind. You wanted it. So why do you feel like this?

The door creaks open again. Harry enters quietly, carrying a glass of water and a warm washcloth. His eyes go to you first, always to you, and the second he sees how you're curled in on yourself, his face tightens, his brows furrowing.

''Hey,'' he calls out gently, setting everything on the nightstand. ''What's wrong?''

You try to speak but your throat closes up. The tears come suddenly, a choked sob leaving your chest. One moment your eyes are just stinging, the next they're spilling over, silent and hot, streaming down your cheeks faster than you can wipe them away.

Harry's at your side in an instant.

''Baby…'' He kneels beside the bed, cupping your face in both hands, eyes scanning yours like he's desperate to read your mind. ''Talk to me. Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?''

You shake your head, but your voice is caught in your chest.

''Do you… do you regret it?'' he asks, and you hear the break in his voice. ''Did I do something wrong?''

''No,'' you whisper, your voice hoarse and cracked. ''No, it's not you. You didn't, Harry. You didn't do anything wrong. You were perfect.''

His brows pinch together, eyes searching, lips parting like he wants to understand so badly, but can't. ''Then what is it? What's hurting you, love? Please talk to me. Tell me so I can fix it.''

You swallow hard, wiping your tears in silent frustration, your voice small and scared. ''I just feel… gross. I feel dirty. I don't know why. I wanted it, and I don't... I don't regret it, but now that it happened I...'' you hiccup a sob. ''I feel so fucking ashamed.''

The words are like acid in your mouth. Saying them aloud makes them more real.

Harry's eyes soften instantly, his whole body folding toward you. He takes a seat next to you on the bed, pulls you into his arms gently. ''Oh, baby,'' he breathes out, cradling you against his chest. ''I'm so sorry, love. I should've realized how you were feeling sooner.''

You press your face into his shoulder, fists curling in the fabric of his sweatpants. ''It's not your fault,'' you whisper. ''I promise. I just… it's me. Something's wrong with me.''

''Nothing's wrong with you,'' he says, kind, but firm. Definitive. ''Nothing. This is so much more common than you think, baby. Especially when it's your first time.''

''Really?'' you ask, timid.

He pulls back slightly to look at you. ''Yeah, love. You can want it, and it can feel amazing, and you can still feel overwhelmed after. It's okay to feel both things at the same time,'' he gives you a pained smile, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. ''It's not because you did something bad. Not at all, baby. It's because we're taught to feel shame around sex. Especially women.''

You sniffle, the words loosening something in your chest.

''I just feel like I lost something,'' you say quietly, shame sinking into your bones. ''Something I can't get back. And I know I chose it. I don't regret it, I really don't, but it feels... sinful, almost. Like I should've saved it longer, or done it differently, or just… I don't know.''

Harry kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there. ''You didn't lose anything, darlin'. You shared something. With someone who loves being trusted by you. You didn't lose anything.''

Your eyes blur again at the softness in his voice. ''But it feels so wrong, and I know that doesn't make sense. You were gentle, and I wanted it, I loved it, and I still feel like I did something wrong.''

Harry wraps his arms tighter around you, holding you close like he can protect you from your own insecurities. ''It makes perfect sense,'' he says. ''You're not wrong for feeling this way. You're human. You're taught that virginity is something that gets taken from you. It's not. It's an experience you share, but nothing fundamental changes.''

You bury your face in his neck, your voice muffled. ''But why do I feel so small?''

''Because it was a big step,'' he says simply. ''Because it mattered. You've built this up in your head for so long, and maybe part of you started to think doing this would change you forever. But you're still the same person you were yesterday, baby.''

Your breath shudders and you collapse into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist, and he just holds you, rocking you softly and murmuring sweet reassurances and praises into your hair.

Eventually, the tears ease. The ache in your chest dulls. You feel whole again, grounded. And you stay there, in his arms, breathing in the safety of his skin, until the world feels quiet again.

Harry kisses your hair and whispers, ''Wanna try that water now?''

You sniffle and nod, still tucked against him. ''Yeah. Thank you.''

He reaches for the glass and hands it to you, his fingers brushing yours. You bring it up to your lips and gratefully take a few sips before handing it back to him with a shaky smile.

''You okay to stay here with me tonight?'' he asks as he puts the glass back on his nightstand.

You nod again, taking in a shuddering breath. ''Please.''

He helps you under the covers and slips in beside you. You curl into his chest and he strokes your hair like it's second nature. Like holding you is something he was made to do.

''I think I'm in love with you.''

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502 @angeldavis777 @run-for-the-hills @postsexfistbump @hobireasns @madilee7802 @spinninc @practistyles @qrapejuices @fangirl509east @sstylezzz @hontpwk @lichi-dunkera @prettygurl-2009 @violinheartxx @gotthecinema @ghstyles @triski73

teach me slowly series tag list

@maddiesalvatore1839 @mleestiles @imaginexxharry

...

[shosweet]

i feel like akaashi keiji has a genuine, unshakable, unironic love for tangled.

𐙚 he’s most likely dressed up as flynn for halloween and if he wants to switch it up, he’ll be rapunzel!

“why do you look better in that dress than i do?” you ask, smoothing down your navy blue vest.

“i dunno, maybe it’s a sign that it’s who i’m meant to be,” he sighs, looking out the window with longing, wind favoring his pretty black strands. he takes a deep breath, feeling familiar guitar strings play in his head.

“wrap it up, keiji, you’ll never be her.”

“GOD FORBID A GUY HAS A DREAM?!”

𐙚 he’s probably tried to convince you to get a pet chameleon.

he won’t tell you straight up, he’d just softly hint at you — primacy effect!

when you go to the bathroom, he’d sneak on your phone, search up pictures of chameleons, and leave it like that for you to come back to. when you do, he’ll just wait with patient eyes.

when you go to the pet store or just walk by it, he’d linger on a chameleon’s display window, whispering sweet promises to it.

“you’ll come home with me soon,” he giggles, tapping the window gently as he admires the little reptile.

finally caving in, you take him to the store once more and grant his wishes.

“you really want one, kei?” you smile.

he looks at you with wide eyes, literally sparkling as he nods so fast he might become a fan.

now at home, he’s cuddling with his new favorite friend.

“i think i’ll name youuu…. pashcal. you can’t beat the original, but you’re my special little boy,” he whispers to it, stroking its head lovingly with his fingertip.

𐙚 he’s most definitely sang “flower gleam and glow” when brushing your hair.

he has a gentle hold on your strands, weaving the brush through them softly. it’s his favorite pastime with you, especially if he needs to unwind after a long day. sometimes, he’d whisper (what he considers) sweet nothings.

“i promise i won’t cut off your hair and sell it,” he says with a genuine smile. you tense up a bit, fighting the urge to call the police, but you can’t interrupt this man’s happy time. thus, he keeps going, rubbing his toes together in his fuzzy socks happily.

on days when he’s exhausted, he’ll lay his head in his lap, silently asking for you to do the same to him. you give a small peck to his forehead before running your fingers through his hair, scratching and massaging his scalp the way he likes.

sometimes, he’ll look up at you with wide, sleepy eyes, signaling you to do something. getting the hint, you smile and sing his precious little song. after you do, he smiles and closes his eyes, melting into your touch.

𐙚 he love love loveees lanterns!!

for your one year anniversary, you took him to the park at night, candles and a small meal prepared on a soft blanket. there’s fairy lights on the trees surrounding you, illuminating your little spot. grabbing something from your bag, you tell him to close his eyes.

“no peeking, kei!” you giggle.

“i’m not, i’m not,” he chuckles.

“okay, open!”

his eyes see two paper lanterns in your hands, still unlit, but he noticed intricate patterns on the paper. his breath hitches, feeling his heart swell and eyes sting.

“you didn’t…”

“happy anniversary, kei,” you bashfully say, twisting your body left and right out of excitement. he takes one lantern into his hand, cheeks warm with tears. with your free hand, you cup his cheek and wipe them away.

“awh, don’t cry, baby,” you coo. he only feels more tears coming, dipping his head into your shoulder.

“i love you so much,” he sniffles. you smile and rub his back, kissing the side of his head.

“i love you, too.”

after a bit, you light up your lanterns and send them into the sky, hands intertwined. each anniversary, no matter which one it is or where you spend it, you’ll always end off the night with a pair of lanterns.

in bed, as the world grows quiet, you’re cuddled close to him, breathing in his faint, sweet vanilla as he kisses your head. every night, he whispers the same thing with more love in his heart than the day before.

“you’re my dream come true.”

[novaimperia]

★ nerd!nanami x popular girl!reader getting dirty in a closet

“we shouldn’t do this,” nanami whispers. 

rolling your eyes, you continue unbuckling his belt. his pants fall down his legs, revealing the Calvin Klein boxers you got him on a day which happened to be his birthday. you rub up on the bulge in his boxers. “you say that but, ken, you’re hard. have some shame, won’t you?”

as the most popular girl on campus, you have a reputation to uphold – no one can see you with the nerdiest guy around. always with a book and those stupid glasses that get in the way, nanami isn’t someone you want people knowing you’re fucking. and honestly, if you had it your way, he’d be thrown in the dust along with all the pathetic idiots you’ve let in your bed, but…nerdy as he is, he’s also really goot at sex. 

he’s got a huge dick too. 

“i can’t help that,” he grouches. “just leave first and i’ll come out soon; i need to wait for this to go down.”

clearly nervous, you can see, even in the dark, the way his eyes keep darting from your cleavage to the gap in the door. there’s a party happening out there and you have to go on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear just so you can be heard over the heavy bass, obnoxious chattering and whooping.

someone’s closet isn’t even the freakiest place you two have gotten it on – you’ve fucked in your car, in his, in a classroom, in the dean’s office, in a park, in the gym, under the bleachers, in the locker room, and so on and so forth. 

yet he's always just as jittery as all the other times. one would think he's still a virgin if they didn't know all the nasty positions he'd folded you into.

“ngh! s-stop, please.” 

shaky hands try to pull your hands away from his hard and leaking cock. his mouth isn’t very honest but thankfully his body is. already wet, you easily slot his cock in between your thighs, letting it rub on your slit. he moans through gritted teeth. fuck, he’s warm and firm and you can feel every vein on his long length. how unfair that this dick had gone so long without being used. thank god you're here now. he really ought to be more grateful.

“shush, kento. you can leave at any time and you know that, so cut the shit, and move your hips.” his forehead falls on top of your head. you feel his breath fan your face. hands gripping your hips, he keeps you still as he rocks back and forth, coating his cock in your juices. “good boy.” 

he throbs. 

in the cramped space, you two struggle to find a rhythm as you jostle around, trying to make the most of what you have. tightly packed together, you have no choice but to cling to his stupid vest. his heart beats fast under your cheek. cute.

his cock head catches on your clit and the friction is delicious. "hmm, just like that, ken. yeah, that's nice. you know just how i like my clit rubbed, don't you?"

breathless, he replies, "yeah."

annoyingly, his voice drops an octave into something seductive and sinful when he's in deep focus, which happens either when he's studying and scolds you for trying to get in his pants or when he's balls deep in your cunt and he's trying not to cum prematurely.

soon, with the party in full force and the crowd growing thicker and more drunken, he speeds up, unable to help himself. you’ve sprayed more perfume than usual today; it gets him whimpery when he can’t smell anything other than you. it's just one of the ways you like to make sure you're in control at all times.

“keep quiet, ken. you don’t want them to hear you, do you? you don’t want them to see you with your pants down and your pretty cock out, right?”

fingers dig into the fat of your ass cheeks through your skirt. your legs tighten and he groans, all choked up and needy as his pace increases until he’s rutting against your pussy with no rhyme or reason. “n-no. i don’t want them to see you like this either. i don’t want them to see your p-pussy or your pretty face when you orgasm. y-you’re mine.”

you sigh. that would be the sign to leave, to ditch the loser and move on, but ah, fuck, you’re close. any second now you’re going to cum all over his cock and you’ll make him clean you up. 

maybe you’ll give him one more chance. he’s a quick learner after all.

“yeah, ken. i’m yours. now, make me cum.”

he grabs hold of your face and smashes his lips to yours. clumsily and messily, he kisses you, shoving his tongue in just to taste you. you forgot he likes to kiss right before he cums. guess you do too because, at the same time like some shitty cliche, you two shudder against each other, skin slapping and juices flying.

“oh, fudge! t-thank you. thank you so much.” he’s wrapping his arms around you, suffocating you with his chest. good thing he practices good hygiene and actually smell good. much better than some of the other guys around, that’s for sure. another reason why you keep his clingy ass around. 

hot cum floods your panties and you curse the fact that you’ll have to dance with that mess between your legs. 

“yeah, yeah. hurry up and get on your knees. you know i like to cum at least three times before i party.”

nanami also looks good with your juices on those plump lips of his, oh and you do like it when his glasses fog up and he looks dazed with your taste. hmm, for a nerd, he is quite pretty, especially when those blond locks of his get all messy after you’ve had your way with him. if only he'd be better dressed and would pick up a sport or two.

“you have an exam tomorrow – maybe we should -hah- study for that.” not wasting any time in worming his tongue into your hole, he expertly hikes up your thigh over his broad shoulder, pressing his face up tight against your pussy, uncaring of the fact that his cum is mixing on his tongue.

you roll your eyes. “ugh, fine. but we’re fucking in your car before and after, alright?”

he smiles. your heart squeezes.

“good girl.”

“w-whatever.”

[alinathinkstoomuch]

GAME NIGHT, RUINED

18+ MDNI

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader (was supposed to be nanny!reader but lit rally no mentions of her being a nanny LOL) summary: one question you refuse to answer gives you the best sex of your life. warnings | an: p in v sex, choking, one bite, fingering, oral (f receiving), praise kink?? hotch profiling reader and its so sexy i want to kith him on the mouth, there is aftercare i just didn’t write it, oopsies, established relationship word count: 2.9k

✧ masterlist

In all fairness, you hadn't actually read the rules of the game before suggesting it tonight. But maybe Penelope had – and maybe that's exactly why she'd wrapped it in floral paper with a gingham ribbon, like it was some sweet little gift and not a trap in disguise.

Because now here you were, cheeks warm, pulse ticking too fast, staring down a question that made your soul want to leave your body.

Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad.

You liked being manhandled. Liked a little choking – nothing too wild, just enough to feel it. Worst things have happened. Honestly, it wasn't even that big a deal.

Until you looked up... and saw Aaron’s eyes on you.

You swallowed, looking back down at the card again just as a breathless little laugh slipped out.

Name a turn-on your partner doesn’t know about but should.

“Pretty sure we’ve already had this one,” you said, maybe a little too brightly, as you tucked the card neatly under the deck like it was nothing. “Next!”

You barely brushed the edge of a new card before Aaron’s hand closed over the stack, pulling it right out of reach.

“Oh, are we done playing?” you asked innocently, sitting up a little straighter as your hands slid to your thighs. “Good idea.” You were on your feet now. “Pretty sure there’s a pile of laundry upstairs with my name on it –”

“Sit.”

Your hands hovered for a second before landing on your hips, a half-formed protest catching in your throat, but you obeyed, lowering yourself back down onto the couch, trying to act unbothered. Trying to ignore the way your heart had picked up speed.

“We haven’t been playing this game long enough to get the same card twice,” he said calmly, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Really? Huh. Could’ve sworn we already had that one.”

He arched a brow. “What was it?”

“Aaron come on,” you deflected, waving a hand like it didn’t matter. “It was something silly.”

He didn’t say anything, just flipped the deck over in his hand, eyes scanning the top card.

“Name a turn-on your partner doesn’t know about but should,” he read aloud. “Hm. Definitely don’t recall hearing your answer to this.”

“You don’t?” you said weakly.

“Just because you keep repeating everything I say doesn’t mean you’re going to get out of answering.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

“You begged to play this game,” he continued calmly. “And now you’re skipping cards?” He gave you a dry look. “That hardly seems fair.”

You let out a quiet huff and leaned back into the couch, suddenly very interested in the ceiling. Your heart was beating faster than it should’ve been. Not because you didn’t trust him – you did. Completely. You knew he’d never shame you or make you feel small for wanting something.

But he’d also seen the worst of humanity. He’d spent his career staring into the darkest corners of people’s minds. You weren’t sure how he’d feel knowing his girlfriend got turned on by things like rough hands. The feeling of being pinned down and utterly helpless, even when she wasn’t.

It sounded a lot messier out loud than it did in your head.

“I just…” You hesitated. “It’s not a big deal. It’s probably not even your thing.”

“Well, if you’re unhappy in that department, I’d absolutely like to know what it is.”

“Oh my God – no, no. Not at all. I’m not – unhappy.” Your voice pitched as high as your hands flew up in protest, and now you were spiralling. “I’m very happy. I’m, like, obscenely happy. I think your ability to give me more orgasms in one night than I’ve had in my entire life before meeting you should be studied. Or patented. Or possibly banned in several states –”

He blinked once. Then bit back a smile.

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I do, unfortunately,” you muttered into your palms.

“Then tell me,” he said, voice dipping just a little. “Or am I going to have to profile it out of you?”

You peeked out from between your fingers. “You wouldn’t.”

He gave a mild shrug. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

Your heart thudded.

“You get flustered when you lose control of the conversation. Especially with me. You fidget more. You avoid eye contact like you’re doing right now.”

You shifted almost immediately.

“You like routine and structure. You’re organised to a fault, but the second I step into your space and do something unexpected, you melt.” He tilted his head. “You act like it annoys you, but I’ve watched you for long enough to know it doesn’t. When I back you against the counter. When I pull your hair back mid-sentence just to kiss your neck. When I don’t ask and take instead. You don’t stop me, you lean into it.”

Your mouth went dry.

“You like being told what to do,” he said simply. Like it was a fact. Like it was always obvious. “In little ways. Safe ways. And when you’re overwhelmed, your instinct isn’t to push back, it’s to submit.”

He watched as your throat worked around a hard swallow.

“You like it when I’m in control.”

Your legs pressed together tight. Too late to pretend it hadn’t happened.

He smiled. “You throw around sarcasm, roll yours eyes, push back, pretend to fuss when I get bossy. But the second I tell you what to do – really tell you – you listen.”

You stared at him, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

“And the truth is, you don’t want to say it out loud because you think it’ll sound messed up. But it doesn’t.” He paused for a second. “I understand you and I’m not judging you. I want to give you what you need.”

Another moment of silence passed before he added, “But if you keep pressing your thighs together like that, I’m going to start thinking we’re done playing this game.”

You let a breath out before speaking. “I…I think we’re done playing,” you managed, voice hoarse.

“Yeah? You sure?”

You nodded before your brain could catch up. “Yes.”

“Then get upstairs.”

You rose on shaky legs and turned towards the stairs, amazed you didn’t trip over yourself on the way up. You could hear him following behind unhurried, while your vision nearly swam from what he’d managed to do to you with just words.

Inside the bedroom, you stopped at the foot of the bed, unsure whether to turn around or stay still. But you didn’t have to ask.

“Turn around.”

You obeyed immediately.

He stepped in close, the heat of him pressing into you just as his hand gripped a firm handful of your hair giving it a tug.

“I can feel you shaking,” he murmured, his mouth brushing against your neck. “You’ve been so worked up since downstairs.” His lips trailed along your jaw slowly, down the curve of your neck, before you felt him bite down gently, his tongue smoothing over the sting.

“Clothes off, sweetheart.” He took a step back, giving you space.

You reached for the hem of your shirt and peeled it up over your head, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes tracked every inch of newly exposed skin, like he was cataloguing every place he intended to touch.

You pushed your pants down next, shimmied them over your hips, then stepped out, standing there in just your bra and panties, chest rising and falling.

“All of it.”

Your fingers trembled as you reached behind and undid your bra, letting it slide off your shoulders. Then finally, you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and slid them down your legs, stepping out of them and standing bare in front of him.

He nodded toward the bed.

You turned and sat on the edge first, heart racing, then eased yourself down, your back meeting the cool sheets as you settled into place beneath his gaze.

It didn’t take long before he was hovering over you, one hand spreading your thighs as he settled between them, the other coming up to rest lightly – so lightly – around your throat.

You whimpered.

“There it is,” he whispered, kissing just beneath your ear. “That little sound you make when you’re starting to let go.”

Then his fingers found your clit, and you arched off the bed with a gasp, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure landed exactly where you needed it

“I can’t possibly imagine why you’d think this isn’t ‘my thing.’” His fingers kept working you. “Feel what you’ve done to me.”

Your hand moved down between you, palming him through his jeans – and Christ, was he hard. Straining against the fabric, so much so that it almost felt painful.

He groaned at the contact, his hips instinctively pressing into your touch.

“See?” he murmured, slipping a finger inside you without warning, drawing a moan from deep in your chest. “This is exactly my thing. And you—” he kissed the corner of your mouth, “you like this is my thing.”

You gasped, your back arching again, but his other hand was already moving, finding your neck again, pressing down just enough to hold you in place.

He leaned in close, brushing his nose along your cheek, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear as he added a second finger. “You don’t even realize how pretty you are when you’re desperate, do you?” he whispered. “The way you shake. The way you clench around me when I take my time.”

“Aaron…”

He smiled against your skin. “I could keep you like this all night.”

“Please –” was all you managed, the word falling out in a half-broken whimper.

His hand at your throat tightened just enough to make your breath hitch, the same time he curled his fingers inside you. You clenched around him so hard you thought your body might unravel right then and there.

“Fuck – I – I –”

“What is it? Tell me exactly what you need.”

You bucked against him, unable to stop it, hands flying to his forearms – not to push him away, but to hold on. He didn’t move, didn’t ease up either of his hands.

“Or… do you want me to decide for you, hm?”

You couldn’t answer, not in words. Your mind was a haze of heat and ache, your breath catching somewhere between a sob and a moan. Your nails dug into his forearms, desperate for some sort of release.

“Too overwhelmed to answer?”

And then he stilled.

Fingers deep inside you, his body caging yours, hand still resting at your throat but no movement. No friction. No relief. You whined, your hips shifting in an attempt to chase more.

“I’ll decide, then,” he said softly, like he was offering kindness. “You want release? Earn it.”

He withdrew his fingers slowly, achingly slow, and the loss had you nearly sobbing. But before you could even begin to beg, he brought his slick fingers up between you and pressed them to your lips.

“Taste it,” he murmured. “Taste how worked up you are. Taste what you do to me.”

Your lips parted without thought, wrapping around his fingers. You moaned as your tongue slid over them, tasting yourself on his skin. He pressed a little deeper, a little further down your throat, and you hollowed your cheeks, sucking greedily.

“Good girl,” he whispered, voice rough now. “So fucking good for me.”

He began making his way down your body, peppering kisses over your chest, you stomach, your hips. You could feel him everywhere, his breath fanning against your skin, his hands sliding down your thighs, spreading you open again.

He lowered himself between your thighs, and when his mouth finally met you again, it was everything.

His tongue lapped at you, circling your clit before dragging lower to taste all of you. He groaned into you, the sound deep, pushing you that much closer to the edge.

You couldn’t stop yourself from moving – hips bucking, thighs twitching, grinding against his face, desperate for more. But he only gripped your hips harder, strong arms pinning you down like it was nothing. Like your squirming didn’t even faze him. Like it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

You whimpered, barely coherent and all you could think about was how badly you wanted those bruises. You wanted to see the outline of his fingers tomorrow. You wanted to remember exactly how they got there.

The pressure built low in your stomach, your thighs beginning to tremble, clenching around his face.

“S’okay baby,” he mumbled against you, voice muffled by your skin. “I’ve got you.”

And that was all it took.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your hips jolting up off the bed, and you cried out, high and breathless, one hand flying to your mouth, the other tangled in the sheets. You writhed beneath him, overstimulated and soaked, gasping through the aftershocks. Your whole body was twitching, lips parted, chest heaving.

He finally pulled back, mouth and chin glistening. “You should see yourself. You don’t even know how beautiful you look when you come.”

You were still catching your breath when you heard the sound of his zipper, the clink of his belt hitting the floor. You reached up to brush a strand of hair off your damp forehead, but your hand dropped the second you felt him between your thighs again, tip dragging slowly along your soaked slit.

Your entire body went still, mouth falling open and he hadn’t even pushed inside you yet.

“You okay?” he asked, pausing just long enough to check in.

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes wide. “More than okay. So okay.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Now you want to talk?”

“I’m just –” you started, breath catching every time the head of his cock slid through your folds. “I’m just saying, I didn’t know it could feel like this, and I – God, Aaron –”

And then he thrusted into you.

One deep stroke that filled you completely, stealing the rest of the sentence right out of your mouth. Your eyes flew open, a strangled gasp caught in your throat as your head tipped back against the pillow, hands flying to his shoulders to hold on.

“Yeah,” he gritted out, his voice hot against your ear. “I thought that might shut you up.”

You could only whimper in response, nails digging into his skin as he stayed there, buried to the hilt, giving you no room to think.

“You feel that?” he murmured, rocking into you once, slow and deep. “You take me so fucking well.”

You nodded, mouth open, breathless. “I wasn’t done talking,” you managed to whisper.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to drag the tip out to your entrance and paused. “Go ahead,” he encouraged. “Try.”

“Fuck y–”

He slammed back in, cutting you off mid-word with a thrust somehow deeper than the last.

“Fuck you?” he echoed smugly. “Yeah. I think I will.”

And he did – hips rocking into yours, each thrust pushing you further into the mattress. Then his hand came up, wrapping around your throat again and you clenched around him, a moan escaping your lips. He let out a low tsk, like he’d caught you misbehaving.

He leaned in closer, his chest pressing against yours, his thrusts slowing. They were deeper now, rougher, grinding into you with so much intensity you weren’t even sure where your body ended and his began.

“This,” he murmured, squeezing just a little tighter, “this is what you were so scared to ask for?”

You opened your mouth to answer, to give him something, anything, but he slammed into you before the words could form, another deep, brutal thrust that knocked the breath out of you.

“I—Aaron, I—” you tried again, voice thin.

Another thrust. Harder.

You gasped, your back arching off the bed. “You’re not even letting me –”

He did it again, cut you off with a stroke that had your vision going white at the edges.

“Fuck—you’re doing this on purpose,” you whimpered, dazed and desperate.

“I sure am.” His hand tightened just a little more at your throat. “You want to know what my turn-on is?” he muttered, not waiting for an answer. “Seeing you fucked senseless.”

Another thrust hit that perfect spot, making your entire body jerk beneath him. You tried to speak, to respond, but he snapped his hips again and you mewled out whatever nonsense your uncooperative tongue could muster.

“You want to come?”

You nodded frantically, words useless now, tears brimming from the sheer overload.

“Good. Then do it.”

He reached down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, setting a pace in perfect sync with his thrusts. Your hips began to stutter as you screwed your eyes shut, the pressure building too fast to stop.

It took mere seconds before your body seized around him.

“Jesus – fuck, that’s it,” he groaned. “You’re so fucking tight when you come –”

His rhythm faltered, stammered and then he was slamming into you one last time, your name falling from his lips as he came.

He loosened his grip on your throat, both hands sliding to your ribcage, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

Neither of you spoke. Both of you were too focused on catching your breath, sharing the same shallow air like it might not be enough.

Finally, after a minute, he leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “Think we should play card games more often.”

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic

dbf!bodyguard!hotch using food as foreplay coming up next to an alina-blog near you!🌟

dividers by cafekitsune

[kamaluhkhan]

ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY

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

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

track 1: thank god it’s christmas by queen

(winter — age 17)

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

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

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

“vi?”

“....yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i remember. you…you must miss her.” 

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

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

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

“your mom going, too?”

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

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

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

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

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

“why’s that?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

“yeah?” 

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

“i want that too.”

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

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

you taste like home.

….

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

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

….

track 2: winter wonderland by darlene love

(winter — age 12)

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

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

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

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

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

you nod, smiling. “ekko!” 

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

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

…..

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

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

…..

track 3: last christmas by wham!

(winter — now)

vi should have learned from sonic youth and fleetwood mac: 

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

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

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

vi’s heading back home, back to you.

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

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

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

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

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

“violet? is that you?” 

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

“i missed you too, zig,” vi laughs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“of course,” vi says. 

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

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

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

“holy shit. is that violet lanes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

vi feels her cheeks heat up all over again. 

so, you do remember. 

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

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

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

“it just seems kinda sad,” you continue. 

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

“sure, but it ends hopefully.”

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

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

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

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

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

“not all of them.”

“yeah? which ones haven’t?”

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

you blink away and cut the engine.

….

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

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

should be fun. 

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

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

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

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

“you know powder’s graduating this year?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“hey. you still with me?”

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

“oh, i know it.”

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

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

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

“i didn’t.”

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

“sure.”

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

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

“convincing her to go.” 

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

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

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

“okay.” vi says. “i’ll talk to her.” 

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

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

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

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

….

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

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

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

….

track 4: river by joni mitchell

(winter — age 23)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“me neither,” you smile. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“wait, what the fu —”

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

“please, baby, let me explain —”

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

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

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

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

you stare at her, then start to laugh.

“please tell me you’re joking.”

“i’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you take a deep, shaky breath.

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

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

…..

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

please come home.

…..

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

(winter — now)

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

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

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

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

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

“you remember.” 

“are you surprised?”

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

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

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

vi’s soft blue eyes search yours. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you rip away from his grasp. 

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

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

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

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

oh, fuck no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she remembers. 

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

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

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

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

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

while i’ve been away. 

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you were my dream.”

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

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

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

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

“you’re still bleeding.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yes. please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

unacceptable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

….

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

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

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

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

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

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

“shit, i — did you want some?”

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

vi nods.

okay? okay? vi thinks she might have whiplash. 

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

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

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

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

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

“i do.”

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

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

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

“ekko talked to you, huh?”

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

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

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

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

vi hums knowingly. she presses her forehead against yours. 

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

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

“anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“sounds like a plan,” you smile.

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

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

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

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

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

“i better go.” 

“....yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

....

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

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

i’ll see you later. love you!

[cinnamongrl2006]

JASON TODD thinks he doesn’t know how to love, but…

a/n: I missed writing for my man!! Also, thank you for 600 followers I can't even begin to explain how sweet and welcoming this Tumblr community has been, I love u all! cw: mentions of sex, fluff, fem!reader

Jason Todd thinks he doesn’t know how to love, but when it's late at night and you're tired he'll undress you and take your make up off with gentle but clumsy hands. His eyes glued to your face like his life depended on it, like he needs to memorize it, engrave it in the back of his brain before you go away.

He thinks he doesn't know how to love but he never lets you walk on the side of the pavement closest to the road, always keeping a steady hand at your waist.

Jason Todd thinks he doesn't know how to love because he can't bring himself to say the words out loud, they catch in his throat, get jumbled up into a ball and come out weird. He fears if he says it out loud the spell will break, the bubble will burst, and you'll see something you won't like in him.

He makes up for it by showing you how much he loves you.

He memorizes your coffee order, knows exactly how cold it has to be before you ask for his jacket, and he gives it to you before you can even notice the discomfort; he knows each and every expression you make, can feel your gaze on him from the other side of the room, warm like a blanket, holding him tight like a boa constrictor, taking his breath away.

He thinks because he isn't saying it you won't notice, but you do. You notice how there's always flowers and coffee in his hands when he comes home too late in the morning, apologetic smile on his lips and a purple bruise blooming on his jawline.

You notice how the ac always works, no longer stops in the hottest days of the year, how the sink is no longer dripping in that constant manner, how you never register that you're feeling cold before he carefully drapes his jacket over your shoulders.

"Should've brought yours, told you it'd be cold, ma." He'd mumble, the twitching of his lips and the glint in his eyes betraying his annoyed expression.

Jason Todd thinks he doesn’t know how to love because he's surly and standoffish, sort of like a cat. His physical affection comes slowly at first, he tests the waters, proves to himself that you want to touch him as much as he wants to touch you. An arm slung over the back of a couch, fingers grazing your shoulders, the back of your neck; or maybe a hand on your thigh in the car, his eyes on the road but his mind on you, heart beating so fast he could have sworn you heard it.

His touch comes hand in hand with his trust, and once he's assessed you can be trusted his hands are on you constantly, eyes wide and filled with love as he looks up at you from in between your thighs, presses kisses up your legs and down your stomach.

He thinks he doesn't know how to love, but he touches you like you're holy, like you're made to be worshipped. He is enthralled by the way you pant when he's knuckles deep inside you, the way you arch your back and let out whiny breaths and broken moans, the way you call his name like a siren.

Jason Todd thinks he doesn’t know how to love because he's clumsy, tripping over his own two feet for his girl, but he doesn't know that's what love is about. It's the clumsiness, the blushing cheeks and brushing hands, the kisses with too much teeth and drool, the awkwardness, the 'lights on or off?' conversations.

Jason Todd thinks he doesn’t know how to love but you know better.

tags: @cherrycolaheartss @xoxorory @laceyfaeryy

[megapteraurelia]

"you're doing it again."

kenma's voice was quiet, the soft tenor of his flat, but not quite annoyed. never really annoyed with you, sometimes unimpressed, other times confused, but mostly just observant. and he did, he noticed everything.

unlike you, it seemed. you hadn't even realised that your hand had crept under the hem of his hoodie, fingers sliding across the soft warmth of his stomach, the hair underneath his belly button tickling your fingertips like a cautious little kiss. you hadn't even touched him for any reason. you did just…because.

because he was warm, and you liked warm. you liked his warm.

innocently, you blinked up at him, your chin resting on his shoulders, legs tangled on the couch as some random video played in the background. you blew onto his neck and he shifted slightly, "doing what?"

"that thing," his eyes scurried over to you and back, the golden of his iris getting smaller, "your hand. my hoodie. sneaky."

you grinned and stole a kiss from his shoulder, "i'm not sneaky. you just never stop me."

kenma huffed, shaking his head slightly, the tips of his hair brushing your nose, yet — he never moved your hand. if anything, he leaned into you a little more, his body seeking the flush of your own close to him; there was a faint blush crawling across his cheeks, settling on his skin gorgeously. his thumb continued to scroll through his phone, but like a betrayal to his attitude, you could feel the way his chest expanded underneath your fingertips, breathing slowing under your palm like he'd started to relax the moment you touched him. his heart beat a cute melody against your head when you rested your cheek against his chest, fast and tripping.

"you're like a cat," he mumbled, warm air brushing your forehead.

"says you."

"i'm not a cat."

"yeah, you are."

"am not."

"are," you smiled against his hoodie, letting your hand rest there, fingers still splayed slightly over his skin, caressing his stomach and he squirmed a little underneath your touch. he wasn't ticklish, you knew that, but he fidgeted like he didn't know what to do with all the feelings of your hand on his abdomen, soft and full of affection. it was quiet for a moment and when you stopped teasing him, he finally settled, too.

then he spoke again, softer this time like he was hesitant to admit it: "…i like it."

he didn't look at you, refused to like always, too shy and too embarrassed; his ears flushed and burning.

"i like when you do that," he added, barely audible, "it— it feels nice. like you're there."

you squeezed him gently, cheek mushed against him, "i am here, dummy."

behind the curtain of his hair, kenma smiled too, the kind where it was all crooked, all soft, the one he only could with you. he shifted slightly again so he could press his cheek on top of yours, his voice disappearing between your hair, "then stay there a while."

and you did — hand under his hoodie.

TAGLIST | @takes1 @classicalelephant

[strangerexee]

ᴘʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ɪᴛ, ʙᴀʙʏ | ꜱᴀᴍᴍɪᴇ ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ!ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Set in Mississippi, 1932 Black!Fem!Reader x Sammie Moore (Smut | NSFW | 18+ | semi-public | oral (f!receiving) | praise kink | dirty talk (but soft and sweet) | preacher boy being filthy with his mouth | reader being shy but loving it | Sammie adoring her.) ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ : ᴀɴᴏɴ… ᴡᴄ : 1.9ᴋ

The barn was alive — music rolling like a river, laughter booming, stomps on the wooden floors in time with the beat.

It was damn near midnight but nobody had slowed down yet.

You’d been dancing for what felt like hours — sweaty, breathless, twirling under the hazy glow of the lights — and somewhere in the middle of the crowd, Sammie Moore had found you.

That voice — God, that voice — smooth like smoke, low like thunder, sweet enough to steal your good sense.

And now — now —

You were laughing against his chest, hands clutching the front of his jacket, as he half-dragged you toward the back of the barn.

Your shoes skidded on the rough wood, the hem of your dress twisting between your knees. Sammie was laughing too, that soft, breathless chuckle that made your heart flip.

"Where you takin' me, preacher boy?" you teased, grinning.

Sammie just shook his head — smiling wide, eyes burning — and pushed open a closet door.

Light dim inside.

Dusty.

Perfect.

You barely made it inside before his mouth was on yours — kissing you like he hadn't just seen you thirty seconds ago — like he’d been starving.

One hand grabbing his shoulder, the other going to the back of his neck to pull him closer if possible — and you gasped against his mouth, dizzy with how fast this was happening.

Somebody — Slim, from the sound of it — hollered out a laugh from the other side of the barn.

"Ain't no hidin', Sammie!" "Boy too loud!"

You laughed into Sammie’s kiss, breathless.

He laughed too — a low rumble in his chest — but he didn't pull away.

If anything, he kissed you harder.

Hands gripping your waist like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

You pulled back just enough to breathe — your forehead bumping his.

"You sound real good up there," you mumbled, cheeks hot. "When you was singin’. Sound better than anybody else here."

Sammie huffed a soft, bashful sound — but the way his eyes darkened, you knew he liked hearing that.

"That right, pretty girl?" he said, voice dragging like silk across your skin. "You like my singin'?" "Mmhmm," you nodded, kissing on his jaw. "'Specially when you hit them notes."

You weren't thinking — not really — just talking and laughing and letting yourself get drunk off the heat of him.

So when he lifted you up and set you on the old table in the closet, your brain barely caught up.

Not even when he dropped to his knees.

Dropped to his knees.

You blinked — the sweat cooling on your skin — heart pounding as you felt his hands push up the hem of your dress.

"Sammie —" you gasped, pushing at his shoulders. "Wait, wait, wait — I walked here — I been dancin' all night — I ain't — I ain't even clean —"

You were babbling, mortified.

But Sammie just kissed the inside of your thigh — slow and hot — then smiled up at you, mouth glistening.

"Don't care," he said simply. "You beautiful just like this." "Sweaty, messy, mine."

You slapped a hand over your face, half in embarrassment, half because you couldn't believe this was happening.

You heard him laugh low.

Then he grabbed your wrist — firm but careful — and pulled your hand away from your face.

"Lay down for me, baby," he murmured, thumb stroking your wrist. "Let me take care of you." his voice, you were gonna die. Die because of the way he was distracting you, all while pulling down your panties, all the way down, and letting them fall from your ankles.

You swallowed thick.

Nodded.

And laid back — the old wood creaking under your weight — the barn lights flickering somewhere behind your shut eyelids, your whole body trembling with a mix of nerves and something deeper. Darker.

You felt Sammie’s hands sliding up your thighs, warm and calloused, felt the press of his palms as he gently eased your legs open, spreading you like something sacred — like he was about to pray at the altar of you.

Cool air brushed your inner thighs, kissed the heat between them — and then came the softest groan, deep from his chest.

“Damn…” he murmured, more to himself than to you. "So damn sweet."

His breath fanned over your wetness and you shivered, lips parted, eyes fluttering as your fingers gripped the table edge.

Then — his mouth was on you.

Hot. Slow. Focused.

His tongue slid through your folds, parting them with gentle precision, until he found your clit — and sealed his lips around it.

Sucked. Soft. Steady.

Your entire body jolted — hips twitching off the table in shock.

“Oh my God — Sammie —”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop.

He groaned into your pussy like he’d just tasted divinity, like the sound of your moan had gone straight through him.

His hands slid underneath your thighs, fingers curling tight over your hips, anchoring you down, so you couldn’t run, couldn’t flinch, couldn’t do anything but take it.

And you took it.

Your thighs shook around his head, your breath coming out in choked gasps —

you tried to be quiet — tried to bite down on the sounds spilling out of you — but he made it impossible.

The way his tongue worked — lapping, circling, flicking that sensitive spot again and again, so tender but so filthy — made your body rise with every pass.

Your hand slipped to the back of his neck, cradling him there.

He moaned against you like you fed him, like he needed this, like he was starving for it.

“Preacher boy —” you gasped, the nickname tumbling out on instinct.

He grinned against your pussy, let out a low, filthy hum that made your stomach clench.

And when he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Say it again,” his voice was so deep, so wrecked with lust — you thought you might fall apart from just that alone.

You could barely breathe.

Could barely think.

But you obeyed, barely above a whimper.

“P-Preacher boy…”

He hummed again — deeper this time — and then you felt him slide two thick fingers into you without warning.

You cried out, back arching off the table — as he filled you and stretched you slow, deliberate — his tongue still working your clit — his mouth soft while his fingers curled inside you, firm and sure.

He moved like he’d done this before — like he knew how to pull sounds from a woman’s chest. He licked you like it was Sunday service. He fucked you with his fingers like he meant to make you confess something.

“That’s it,” Sammie murmured, voice honey-slick and ruined. “C’mon now. Give it to me, baby. C’mon, let go for me.”

You came like the barn was shaking — like the wood beneath you would snap — like he’d stolen your soul from between your thighs.

And he didn’t stop. Not until you were trembling and leaking and gasping, his mouth dragging every last ounce of pleasure out of you like he needed it to breathe.

When he finally slowed — pressing a soft kiss to your swollen clit, then the inside of your thigh — you lay there stunned.

Eyes glassy. Breath gone. Heart stuttering against your ribs.

He rose to his feet slow — and when you looked up at him, you felt a flush run all the way down your chest.

His mouth was shiny with you. His lips swollen and damp.

His eyes? Wicked.

He leaned down — one hand cupping your cheek — and kissed you.

Deep. Slick. Sweet.

You tasted yourself on his tongue. You let him feed it to you like communion. And you swore you could still feel his moan in your mouth.

"Told you," Sammie whispered against your lips. "Ain't no hidin', baby. You mine now."

You only pushed him away with a scoff, still catching your breath.

You sat up slow — the old wood of the table creaking under you — your dress all bunched up around your hips, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing.

Sammie was standing right in front of you — tall and breathing hard, eyes fixed on you like you were something holy.

You caught your breath — swallowed thick — and reached for him.

Reached for the buttons on his pants, fingers fumbling a little from how bad you still felt your climax rattling through you.

Sammie’s eyes darkened instantly.

"Baby —" he started, voice low and rough. "You sure?" "Mmhmm," you nodded, staring up at him with glassy, hungry eyes.

You slid your hands over the front of his pants — felt him already thick and hard underneath — and bit your lip.

"I want you," you whispered.

That was all Sammie needed.

He bent down — grabbed your face in both hands — and kissed you deep.

Hot and filthy, his mouth tasting like your own arousal.

You moaned into the kiss — grabbing onto the waistband of his pants — trying to pull him closer.

Sammie chuckled against your mouth — low and breathless — and let you work at his belt.

You popped it open — the soft snap loud in the tiny closet — and dragged the zipper down, your fingers shaking just a little.

He caught your hands for a second — squeezing them.

"Take your time, baby," he whispered. "Ain't no rush."

But you wanted him — wanted him so bad it hurt.

You kissed him again — desperate, messy — hands slipping under the waistband of his briefs, feeling the heavy, thick weight of him.

Sammie groaned into your mouth — deep and broken — his hips jerking forward when you wrapped your hand around him.

You stroked him slow — feeling the silky heat of him — and Sammie gripped the edge of the table like he might break it.

"F-Fuck, baby," he breathed, forehead pressing against yours. "You tryin' to kill me?"

You just smiled — shy but wicked — and kissed him again, tongue sliding slow against his.

You wanted more.

You needed more.

So you shifted — still trembling — and pulled him closer between your legs.

Sammie sucked in a sharp breath — one hand sliding up your thigh — pushing your dress higher, until he could feel how wet you still were for him.

"Damn," he muttered against your mouth. "Still so sweet for me."

You nodded — desperate — and guided him closer.

But Sammie pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes — his gaze hot and serious.

"Ain't fuckin' you on no damn splintery table," he growled. "You deserve better than that."

You whimpered — frustrated — but he kissed you slow, calming you.

"Next time," Sammie promised, voice low. "Next time, baby, I’m takin' you somewhere proper." "Where I can hear you scream without worryin' who hear us."

You shivered — God, you wanted him so bad — but you trusted him too.

You trusted him to mean it.

You trusted him to come back for you.

So instead — instead, you pulled him close again — and let him grind against you, thick and hard between your thighs, while you kissed him deep and dirty.

Sammie kissed you like he was carving your name into his soul — slow and aching and desperate — his hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that made you both moan.

It wasn't enough.

Not nearly.

But it was everything all at once.

And when you finally pulled back — cheeks burning, lips slick — Sammie rested his forehead against yours and smiled.

"You my girl now," he whispered. "Ain't lettin' you go, baby."

And you smiled too — still trembling — but more sure than you ever had been before.

"Good," you whispered back. "'Cause I ain't goin' nowhere."

A/N: brb - I need to go touch some grass...

[ivyues]

Cold Hands, Warm Hearts: Stray Kids’ reactions to their S/O always having cold hands

warm hands equivalent

Bang Chan

The soft hum of music played in the background as you sat back on your boyfriend’s bed, scrolling absentmindedly on your phone while he worked on his laptop beside you.

Chris reached out absentmindedly, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand. His hand paused. Then, he touched your hand again, this time with more intent.

His brows furrowed as he turned to look at you. “Are you cold? Do you want me to turn the AC down? Or do you need a hoodie?” He was already shifting like he was about to get up and grab something for you.

You felt your face get warm. “Chris, stopstop, it’s fine—” you stammered, covering your face with your sleeves. “I’m not even that cold.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned back, watching you with amusement. “You sure?”

“I’m sure!” You peeked at him through your fingers, only to see the teasing glint in his eyes. “My hands are just always cold.”

He reached out again, this time taking your hand properly and wrapping his fingers around it. His grip was warm, steady, and familiar. “Well, even if you won’t take a hoodie, at least let me warm your hands for a bit.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t even doing much – just holding your hand – but the way his thumb gently rubbed against your skin made it feel so much more intimate. You wanted to melt.

Trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped, you huffed. “You’re so annoying.”

Chan only grinned, his dimples appearing. “Yeah, yeah. But you love me.”

And, well… he wasn’t wrong.

Lee Know

“Tch.” Minho shook his head as he noticed you rubbing your hands together for warmth. But before you could defend yourself, he grabbed one of your hands, his warm fingers wrapping firmly around yours. Without a word, he shoved both of your hands into the pocket of his coat.

Surprised, you glanced up at him, but he was already looking ahead, a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. “I swear, you’re a hassle,” he muttered, tugging you along with him as we walked.

“You’re the one who grabbed my hand,” you teased, enjoying the warmth that spread from where our hands were joined.

Minho scoffed, squeezing your fingers lightly. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to hear you complaining about having cold hands again.”

With that, he picked up the pace, his steps quicker than before. You stumbled slightly, trying to match his speed as he dragged you along.

“Minho, why are you walking so fast?!” you gasped, struggling to keep up.

“You were walking too slow before,” he said simply, glancing at me with a smirk. “And you're warming up this way.”

“I swear, you just like making me suffer,” you muttered under your breath as you tried to match his strides.

Minho let out an amused chuckle but didn’t slow down. If anything, he tugged you closer, ensuring that even as he sped up, our hands stayed firmly together in his pocket. The warmth of his hand, the way he stubbornly held onto me despite his teasing, made my heart race a bit faster.

Minho turned his head slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Nah,” he said, squeezing my fingers again, “I just like keeping you close.”

Changbin

“Binnie~” you cooed, snuggling closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He chuckled at your tone, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you even closer. “What is it, baby?” he asked, amused.

“I just love you so much,” you said sweetly, peppering his cheek with soft kisses. Your fingers traced small his arm as you sighed dreamily. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

Changbin’s heart melted at your sudden burst of affection. He adored how cuddly and cute you could be, and he wouldn’t trade these moments for anything. “Aww, what’s gotten into you?” he teased, though he was clearly enjoying the attention.

“I just wanna love you,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his torso. You nuzzled into his neck, your lips brushing against his skin as you whispered, “You’re so warm.”

And he was. That was the whole point. Because, unbeknownst to him, your hands were freezing.

You slowly slid your hands under his shirt, pressing your icy fingers against his warm back.

“AH—!” Changbin jolted, his entire body tensing as he let out a strangled yelp. “Y/N, what the—?!”

You burst into laughter, holding onto him as he squirmed. “I was cold!” you confessed between giggles. “And you’re so warm, Binnie~”

He whipped his head around to glare at you, but his pout only made you laugh harder. “Wah.. All that cuteness—just to attack me with your freezing hands?”

You pouted, batting your eyelashes innocently. “But I love you…”

Changbin groaned, but his ears were red, and you knew he secretly enjoyed your antics. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to warm you up without you sticking your hands up his shirt.

Hyunjin

The moment you stepped back into the room after washing your hands, you found Hyunjin sprawled across the couch, his limbs taking up the space. The soft glow of the room made his features look even more delicate. But the pout on his lips told you something’s up.

“Love,” he whined, stretching his arms. “Come here.”

You raised an eyebrow, walking closer. “What’s wrong?”

He let out a dramatic sigh and shifted to sit up, looking at you with those warm brown eyes that never fail to make your heart race. “My face feels puffy,” he mumbled. “And your hands are always cold. Can you put them on my face?”

A soft giggle escaped your lips as you shook your head at him, but your heart melted at the request. “You just want an excuse to be pampered, don’t you?”

Hyunjin grined but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he pat his cheeks with a finger. “Please?”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you stepped closer and placed your hands on either side of his face. The instant your cold fingers made contact with his warm skin, he shuddered dramatically, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Ohhh, that’s nice,” he murmured, leaning into your touch. His lashes fluttered shut, and for a moment, he looked completely at peace.

You couldn't help but smile, your thumbs gently brushing against his soft skin. “You’re so dramatic.”

Hyunjin cracked one eye open, smirking. “And yet, you love me for it.”

You laughed, but he’s not wrong. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and his arms immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

“Now you’re stuck,” he humed. “Gotta stay and keep my face cool.”

Han

Han had invited you out for a late-night stroll after practice, claiming he needed fresh air – and an excuse to see you, as he later admitted with a sheepish grin.

Walking beside him, you glanced at him curiously as he wordlessly pushed his sleeve down over his hand, wrapping it in the fabric until only his fingertips peeked out. Then, in an exaggeratedly careful manner, he reached his bundled-up hand out towards you.

You blinked. “What… are you doing?”

He didn’t meet your eyes, feigning nonchalance. “What do you mean? I’m just, y’know… offering my hand like a normal boyfriend.”

You stifled a giggle, eyes flickering to his sleeve-covered fingers. “Are you scared of my hands?”

“I am not scared,” he insisted immediately, though the slight pout on his lips told another story. “I’m just… preparing myself! Last time felt like grabbing an ice cube straight from the freezer. I have to take necessary precautions.”

Shaking your head fondly, you took his offered hand, feeling the warmth of his palm even through the fabric. Han let out a small, satisfied hum, as if proud of his clever solution. After a few moments of walking in silence, he finally glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Not bad, right?” he murmured.

You squeezed his hand lightly, your cold fingers pressing against the soft material of his sleeve. “Not bad at all.”

Han grinned. “Good. Because I plan to keep holding your hand all night – and without dying.”

Felix

Felix had always been an affectionate person. But every time he tried to lace his fingers with yours, you always found a way to avoid it – adjusting your bag, fixing your sleeve, pretending to check your phone. At first, he thought it was a coincidence, but after months, he knew better.

And so, one evening, he decided to ask you.

"Baby… Can I ask you something?" His voice was soft, uncertain.

You turned to him, slightly caught off guard by his serious tone. "Of course."

"Why don’t you ever hold my hand?" He looked down, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. "I’ve tried so many times, but you always dodge it." His eyes flickered up to meet yours, warm and a little nervous. "If you don’t like it, you don’t have to, I promise. I just… wanted to know why."

Your stomach twisted with embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to make him feel rejected – it was the last thing you wanted.

"It’s not that I don’t want to," you admitted. "It’s just… my hands are always cold."

Felix blinked. "Cold?"

You nodded, rubbing your palms together. "Like, ridiculously cold. Ice cube levels. I just figured… it wouldn’t be pleasant for you." You hesitated before adding.

For a moment, Felix just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached for your hand.

"Felix—"

He took it in both of his, his warmth instantly wrapping around your fingers. He squeezed lightly, as if to reassure you.

"You weren’t making me uncomfortable," he said firmly. "I just want to hold your hand because it’s yours. I don’t care if it’s cold."

Seungmin

Seungmin lounged comfortably on the couch with you, his phone in one hand and a lazy smile tugging at his lips. Setting his phone down, he reached into his hoodie pocket.

“Ah, here,” he said simply, tossing something at you.

You barely managed to catch it, blinking down at the small, round object in your hands. It was a hand warmer, soft to the touch, with a cute puppy face printed on it. 

“Where did you—?”

“Just take it,” he interrupted, leaning his head back against the couch. “I swear, every time we go out, you’re always complaining about how cold your hands are. This way, I won’t have to hear it anymore.”

Despite his teasing tone, there was something undeniably fond in his expression, in the way he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, as if checking to see if you liked it.

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip. You turned the hand warmer over in your palm, unable to stop the small smile forming on your lips. “It’s a puppy,” you pointed out, amused.

“Yeah, well, you like cute things,” Seungmin shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “And you’re basically useless when your hands are cold, so it’s a win-win.”

You scoffed, tossing a cushion at him, which he dodged effortlessly. “You could’ve just admitted that you’re being nice to me.”

“Don’t get used to it.” But his voice was light, and the corners of his mouth twitched as if he was holding back a real smile. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Then, with a teasing glint in his eye, he added, “But don’t you dare forget it the next time we go out.”

I.N

It was freezing outside, and despite being bundled up, the cold still seeped through your fingers. Your boyfriend was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, scrolling through his phone, completely unaware of the mischievous plan forming in your mind.

A smirk crept onto your lips as you slowly inched closer. You knew he hated the cold, and his reactions were always priceless. Silently, you slipped behind him and pressed your freezing fingers against the warm skin of his neck.

“AHH!” Jeongin practically yelped, his whole body jerking as he scrambled forward. He whipped around with wide eyes, hand clapping over his neck as he stared at you in betrayal. “Yah! Why would you do that?!”

You burst into laughter, clutching your stomach. His pout deepened, and he crossed his arms. “That was so mean,” he whined.

Still giggling, you reached out, but he flinched away dramatically. “No! I don’t trust you anymore,” he huffed, scooting further from you.

“Aww, come on,” you teased. But before you could get any closer, Jeongin lunged at you, pinning you down as his fingers found your sides.

“No—AH! Stop!” you squealed, writhing under his relentless tickles. You kicked your legs, trying to escape, but he showed no mercy.

“If you get to mess with me, then I get to mess with you,” he laughed as you gasped for breath.

“Okay! Okay! I won’t do it again!” you cried between giggles, tears forming in your eyes.

Jeongin finally stopped, letting you catch your breath. He sat back with a triumphant smile

You glared at him playfully, rubbing your sides. “This isn’t over,” you muttered under your breath, already plotting your next move.

masterlist

[flwrstqr]

❛ COMPLETELY ◟ ⟡ WHEN THEY KISS YOUR POUTY LIPS

𖹭 【 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀 】 ｡ 𝗂'𝗆 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅.

' 𝒏. boyfriend!enha & fem!reader 9OO. ୨୧ established relationship fluff reaction ✶ petnames skinship kissing ◜ᯅ◝ 𝑙’ click

다니 ܃ thank you kimibubs for helping me find a song as a title & introducing me to a whole new song :0 and hope you enjoy as this is a remake of my old fic TT

HEESEUNG

heeseung leans in real close, close enough that his nose brushes yours, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he tilts his head, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “do you want me to kiss it better?” he whispers, voice low and warm, and your breath hitches at how close he is—how soft his gaze is even though he’s clearly enjoying how flustered you look. before you can answer, he’s already pressing his lips to yours, once, then again, then again. he kisses you over and over, lips brushing against yours in soft, fluttery pecks until you’re breathless and giggling. “there, better?” he murmurs, thumb stroking your jaw while his other hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer. “my pouty baby,” he teases. “can’t stand seeing you like that. guess i’ll just have to kiss you forever.”

JAY

jay sighs softly when he sees the pout on your lips, and before you can even say a word, he’s already reaching out, fingers tilting your chin up so you’re looking right at him. “don’t give me that look,” he mutters, but his voice is far too gentle to be scolding. his thumb traces the corner of your mouth, eyes flicking down to your lips like he’s already given in—and he has, because he always does when it comes to you. “you know i can’t resist you when you do that,” he whispers, then leans in and kisses you. his hand cradles the back of your head, the other resting lightly on your waist, keeping you close. “my pretty princess,” he murmurs against your lips, brushing another kiss there, “you always get what you want, don’t you?”

JAKE

“one more. i’m not done,” jake mumbles between kisses, his voice breathless as he chases your lips again, not even giving you a second to pull away. your pout had him the second you walked in and now he’s obsessed, holding you close. he kisses you once, twice, then again, over and over, but he doesn’t stop. “baby, your lips…” he whispers, eyes fluttering open to look at you with a smile, “you know that pout’s my weakness.” he brushes his nose against yours, pulling you even closer, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “i love your lips,” he says with a sheepish little grin, “but i love kissing you more.” then he’s leaning in again, completely smitten, and you're never escaping his arms.

SUNGHOON

you let out a sigh, loud on purpose, and before you can finish it, sunghoon’s already pulling you against his chest and kissing your pouty lips without warning. it’s quick, and it shuts you right up. “yeah, i knew that’d shut you up,” he mutters, trying to sound all nonchalant, like his heart isn’t beating stupidly fast just from the way you look at him. his arms stay wrapped around you though, his hand rubbing small circles into your back like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. “stop pouting,” he adds, avoiding your gaze as he presses another kiss to your lips—softer this time, like he’s afraid of how much he likes it. “it’s annoying.” but he doesn’t let you go. if anything, he holds you tighter, like he’s hoping you’ll never move. and when you smirk against his lips, he kisses you again, totally whipped and not even hiding it anymore.

SUNOO

sunoo stares at you for a second too long, completely frozen like—why is that the most kissable thing he’s ever seen? your lips are all pouty from being teased, brows slightly furrowed, arms crossed like you’re mad but he knows you’re not. “baby,” he coos, leaning in closer, voice all soft and playful. “don’t look at me like that.” that’s when he loses it. he giggles, before closing the distance, kissing you so sweetly you forget what you were pretending to be mad about. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he whispers against your lips, eyes twinkling. “my pouty baby.”

JUNGWON

jungwon presses his lips against yours like it’s his personal mission to make you stop sulking, and honestly? it’s working. you’re sitting across from him, arms crossed and lips pouty because he was teasing you again—something about how cute you look when you're annoyed. and now he’s pulling you onto his lap, hands firm on your waist, eyes soft that makes your heart flip every time. “baby,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back with his fingers, “don’t be mad at me, yeah?” “you’re so cute, i can't stand it,” he grins against your lips, resting his forehead on yours. he’s so in love with you it’s ridiculous. and you? well, you’re not pouting anymore. not with him holding you like this.

RIKI

riki sees your pout and immediately mimics it, sticking his bottom lip out in the most exaggerated, mocking way possible. “wahhh, why’s my baby sulking like this?” he whines, voice teasing, eyes glinting with mischief. you roll your eyes, trying to stay annoyed, but it’s kind of impossible when he looks that amused. “don’t mock me,” you grumble, crossing your arms tighter, but he just laughs and cups your cheeks with warm hands. “you’re too cute, i had to,” he says, then without warning, he kisses you. not the quick peck you were expecting, but like he’s trying to make up for all the teasing in one go. when he pulls back, he rests his nose against yours, grinning. “i mess with you a lot, huh?” he whispers. “but i love you. like, a lot.” you sigh. how are you supposed to stay mad at him now?

[satoblue]

“A FOOL” — gojo satoru

prank gone… right? | wc: 0.8k

f!reader, established relationship (you are dating), a little angsty but there’s a happy ending i swear, satoru needs to find better jokes, may or may not be your not so typical proposal, he has the worst comedic timing (or timing in general) | dividers made by me

“i think we should break up.”

you turn your head to face him so fast that satoru could almost feel the whiplash you got from the action himself.

“what?”, you ask, genuine confusion written over your features.

he has to stifle a laugh.

this was always the fun part — the confusion. and little did you know what he had up his sleeve. he’s never made a joke to this extent before, but knowing what he has planned, he’s sure you’d have mercy on him this time.

folding his arms over his chest, he leans back on the couch. satoru shuts his eyes, tilting his head with a smirk. “you heard me. i think we should stop dating.”

this is the part where he should’ve stopped right away, noting how quiet it is — too quiet for comfort. as if the warmth within you was snuffed out.

when you speak up with a low “why..?”, so soft like a mouse that satoru could not pick up on the shakiness of your breath, he turns to you, leaning in with a close eyed smile.

“because… we should get married! april fools!”

his voice echoes throughout the room until it falls into dead silence. lips stuck in a grin, he waits for a reaction.

. . . nothing. eh?

when his eyes flutter open, it doesn’t take long for his smile to falter.

there you were, sitting in front of him with a frown, brows knit together and glassy eyed, a tear about to shed any second and run down your cheek.

not on his watch.

“oh, baby. no no no, d-don’t cry! it was just a prank.”

“that’s not funny…”, you sniffle, rubbing at your face and sockets with your fists to fight the onslaught of tears.

his eyes soften, lips downturned, the amusement of the situation gone. he forgets about the somewhat proposal entirely, only focused on you and your disheartened eyes as you cry.

“i know… and please don’t rub your face like that.” he whispers, as if to afraid to speak higher lest you shatter like delicate glass. “you’ll hurt yourself, my love.”

gently pulling your hands away by your wrists, both of his go to cup your wet cheeks, his touch warm and comforting as he wipes away the result of his foolishness.

how could he fix this? he almost broke your heart entirely, even though a small part of him is delighted at how much love you hold for him that you’d have a reaction like this instantaneously — now is not the time to gloat.

“i am a fool…”

“you are.” you pout up at him.

the clenching of his heart releases at the sight of you acting so cute, and he feels something inside his chest flutter. with a small smile, he apologizes.

“i’m sorry...”

he is a fool. a complete and utter fool — your fool. and you were stuck with him and his stupid pranks for infinity because it is ridiculous to think he’d ever leave you. never has the thought crossed his mind — and you weren’t allowed to walk out on him either. like he said, it will always be him in your life.

the both of you sit like that for a few more seconds, staring into each other’s eyes, enjoying the shared company and fleeting touches as satoru tucks your hair behind you ears after the tense moment.

“can i just say something..?”, you speak up.

with furrowed brows, he gives a concerned nod. “yes, of course.”

you grin, the picture perfect definition of the devil incarnate.

“april fools, satoru...”, and your boyfriend feels shivers run down his spine.

silence.

and then another beat of silence.

it takes a while to register in his head. but then, with a hand over his heart, a sound rings out from his mouth, a squawk — one of absolute betrayal and disbelief.

he stares down at your evil smirk with wide, blue eyes as you clean off the residual salty tears with the back of your hand.

the tables have turned, and you have bested him at his own game. but he expects nothing less from the (maybe — if you are not mad at him) future mrs. gojo.

extra:

“you’re so cruel! what happened to my sweet and innocent angel?”

“what can i say? i was tired of being pranked all the time that i turned evil.”

satoru pouts.

“i hope this is a lesson learned to not mess with your queen, joker.”

he sighs, “yeah, you’re right.”

“i know.” you huff proudly. “also, baby, april fools day isn’t today — it was yesterday.”

“…”

“might want to buy a calendar before a ring so you don’t mix up our wedding date too.”

he blinks, suddenly remembering his semi-proposal. “wait, so is that a yes?!”

p.s. — last minute, you thought to say april fools to make it seem like you had the upper hand the whole time because there is no way you’ll ever let satoru know you genuinely cried over this. oh, to be gullible… but now, satoru will never mess with the true master of him, his home, and this day ever again. you won.

[matt-murdockk]

Time

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader

words: 2.8k

summary: On their wedding night, (Y/n) disappears in Matt’s arms-blipped without warning. For five years, he mourns her, tormented by grief and hallucinations. When she returns, unchanged, he’s convinced she’s not real. (angst mostly with fluff ending)

warnings: angst, cussing, lack of proofreading rip, set in infinity war - endgame timeline (reader getting blipped, etc)

a/n: Listen, my boy Matt is the PERFECT practice for writing angst. I just like to put him in situations and watch him like he's in a fish tank and I'm outside tapping on the glass. This man absolutely cannot catch a break and while I am partially to blame (cause I'm writing it this time), just how Matt is written in general is in a way that it just makes sense to put him through shit. He is a walking amalgam of Catholic Guilt, adrenaline, and poor decision making and I love him so much. This one is a boatload of angst but I threw in some fluff in the ending because well, we deserve good things.

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The apartment door creaked open with the softest thud, and then her back hit it as Matt pressed her gently against the wood, lips grazing her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. He was smiling.

That rare, devastating smile he only wore when it was just them.

“You’re supposed to carry me across the threshold, remember?” she whispered, breathless with laughter.

“Oh, I didn’t forget,” Matt murmured. “Just wanted a moment alone with my wife first.”

Wife.

The word made her stomach flip in a good way- warm and giddy and ridiculous.

He scooped her up easily, one arm beneath her knees, the other at her back, and she looped her arms around his neck like she’d never let go. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“I’m legally required to now,” he said with a smirk. “It’s in the vows. Carry you everywhere. Worship the ground you walk on. Try not to lose my mind over how good you look in that dress.”

“Flawless delivery, Murdock,” she teased. “Truly. I can tell you definitely wrote your own vows.”

He chuckled against her shoulder as he carried her through the doorway into the quiet, dimly lit apartment. Candles flickered. Soft music still hummed faintly from the speaker they forgot to turn off before the ceremony.

And for a second- just one perfect second- it was all stillness. Just them. Just this.

He set her down gently, hands lingering at her waist. They kissed again, slower now. Softer. Everything feeling like it had finally settled into place. She pressed her forehead to his, heart beating a little too fast.

“I think I’m going to cry.”

“I’ll beat you to it,” he murmured, eyes closing, nose brushing hers. “You’re here. You’re mine. We made it.”

She smiled, eyes glassy. “We did.”

They stood there for a while. Just holding each other. Breathing the same air. Wedding bands warm against skin.

But then-

She shifted slightly in his arms. Her brows furrowed.

“Matt?”

He straightened a little, instantly alert. “Yeah?”

“I feel... weird.”

He tilted his head, concern filtering through his features. “Weird how?”

She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I don’t know. It’s like- I just got dizzy all of a sudden. Like the room’s moving.”

Matt gently guided her toward the couch, helping her sit down. “Okay. Just breathe. You might be dehydrated. Or just- adrenaline crash.”

She tried to smile. “Yeah. Big day. Lots of emotions. Too many speeches.”

She stood too fast. Her hand slipped from his.

“Careful,” Matt said, already reaching for her again. “Take it slow- ”

“I think I need to throw up,” she mumbled, voice shaky.

“Okay, yeah,” he nodded, already guiding her. “Bathroom’s just- ”

She staggered.

Her balance tipped.

Matt caught her by the waist before she could fall. “Hey. Hey, I got you. It’s okay- ”

She didn’t answer.

Her body felt... lighter. Unsteady. Like her weight was shifting in his arms.

He tilted his head, trying to focus on her. “(Y/n)? You with me?”

She looked up at him.

Confused.

Scared.

“M-Matt, I...”

And then her voice just- cut out.

His arms were suddenly empty.

He blinked.

No sound. No step. No breath.

Just... gone.

The faintest warmth lingered against his fingertips- and then something like dust scattered through them.

“What the- ?” he whispered, stepping back. “(Y/n)?”

His hand shook. Her scent was still in the room. Her heartbeat-

No. No, that wasn’t right.

He turned, listening harder, straining his senses.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

The silence grew louder. His throat closed up.

“(Y/n)?”

He moved down the hallway. Checked the bathroom. The bedroom. “(y/n), c’mon. Say something.”

No heartbeat. No motion. Not even the creak of a floorboard. Like she’d never been there. Matt’s chest started to cave in.

“Okay, this isn’t- this doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “Maybe you passed out. Maybe you hit your head. Maybe- ”

His foot bumped something.

Her ring.

Her wedding ring.

Lying on the floor.

His knees hit the hardwood before he could stop them. “No.”

He crawled forward, hands blindly reaching, as if she might be hidden just out of reach.

“(Y/n)!” His voice cracked. “Where are you?!”

Still nothing.

Just the flicker of the candles.

Just the soft sound of ash settling.

“No, no- God, no!” He stood again. Stumbled. Slipped.

“(Y/n)!” He shouted so hard it tore something in his throat. “Talk to me!”

He made it to the front door. Opened it. Nothing. No one. No footsteps. No sounds of retreat. Matt’s breathing picked up. His fingers trembled as he unlocked his phone, nearly dropping it before hitting Call.

Foggy.

It rang once. Twice-

Pick up.

The sound of the city outside had changed. He could hear it.

Screaming. Tires screeching. Glass shattering six blocks over. Someone crying for help. Sirens multiplying like wildfire. It all surged into his head at once- too much, too fast.

He pressed his palm against his ear, gritting his teeth. “Too loud. I can’t- ”

Click.

“Matt?” Foggy answered, out of breath. “Hey, shouldn’t you be- ?”

“She’s gone,” Matt said immediately, voice fraying. “Foggy- she was right here, and then she just... disappeared.”

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?”

“I mean she turned to ash in my hands,” Matt snapped, breath catching. “I was holding her. She said she felt sick and then- then she just... she was gone.”

There was a pause.

“Matt, hang on- wait- ” Foggy’s voice shifted, panic creeping in. “I think... Matt, something’s happening. It’s not just her.”

Matt stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I’m outside and people are vanishing. Right in front of me. There was a guy walking beside me- just turned to dust. A woman screaming for her kid, and the kid vanished. A guy in a cab just disappeared behind the wheel, Matt. It crashed into a light post.”

Matt pressed a hand to the center of his chest like he could anchor himself to the sound of Foggy’s voice. But even that was drowned out by the chaos around him.

“I can’t hear her,” he whispered. “Her heartbeat- her breathing- it’s just gone. Like she was never here, foggy.”

Foggy’s voice came through again, strained and tense. “It’s happening everywhere. I can’t keep up. There’s shouting, people running- I think half the crowd outside just vanished. I’m not exaggerating.”

Matt stumbled toward the couch, hand landing on the coffee table. “She was right here.”

“I’m coming to you,” Foggy said quickly. “Stay there, Matt. Don’t go outside- Jesus Christ, someone else just- ”

The line crackled. Cut out. Came back.

Matt’s hands were shaking as he reached for the remote.

The TV flicked on.

"...mass disappearances reported in New York, Chicago, London- this is now confirmed to be a global event..."

Footage played- Times Square chaos. Pedestrians turning to dust mid-step. News anchors looking off-camera in horror. Phones on the ground. Car alarms going off in every direction.

“We are receiving reports that approximately half the world’s population has- vanished.”

The camera panned to a child’s stuffed toy, untouched, lying in a pile of ash. Everything was still. Except the noise. And the empty space beside him on the floor.

“She was right here,” he said again, softly. Like it might undo it.

“She was right here.”

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five years later

She came back mid-step.

One foot lifted toward the bathroom- and when it landed, everything was wrong.

The apartment was darker. Colder. Rearranged.

The soft glow from the corner lamp was unfamiliar. The kitchen counter had a different crack. The rug was new. The air carried a different scent- like dust and time and a city that had moved on without her.

“Matt?” she called, voice hoarse.

Silence.

She stepped further in. The living room looked lived-in, but not by her. Not anymore. Not for a long time. The coffee table was cluttered with open case files. There was a cane by the door she didn’t recognize. Her heart pounded faster.

“Matt-?”

And then he was there. He stood in the doorway like he’d been carved from stone, unreadable and unmoved. Then, quietly- too calmly- he said, “So. You’re back.”

She stopped cold.

“Matt-”

He tilted his head slightly, almost as if studying her. “Took longer this time.”

“What…?” she breathed.

“Usually you show up around hour thirty-six,” he said, like it was a fact. “Right after the exhaustion hits but before the whiskey does anything useful.”

Her stomach twisted. “Matt, I’m not-”

“Don’t,” he cut in, sharp. “Don’t do that.”

She swallowed hard. “This isn’t what you think.”

“No?” His voice was soft, even, lethal. “Because it looks a hell of a lot like every other time I’ve lost my mind and imagined you standing in this room.”

(Y/n) blinked, her chest rising and falling too fast. “Matt, I- I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, no trace of humor. “You wouldn’t.”

“I was just- I felt sick and then it was cold, and everything looked wrong and-" Her words tangled, tripping over each other. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Matt?”

Nothing.

She took a tentative step forward. “Please. Say something. What happened? What- what’s going on?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His voice, when it came, was low and sharp, like a scalpel slicing through skin without even trying.

“Don’t do this to me again.”

Her breath caught. “What- what do you mean, again?”

“I know your routine now,” he said, voice tightening with each word. “You show up, confused. You ask questions. You cry. And then just when I start to believe you might be real- when I almost let myself feel something again- you vanish.”

“Matt, I don’t- ”

“No,” he snapped. “Stop. Just stop.”

She froze. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his jaw locked, eyes unreadable.

“You know what it’s like to bury someone without a body, (Y/n)?” he asked. “To sit in this apartment with your ring in my hand, trying to convince myself that ash on the floor was all that was left of you?”

She shook her head, tears spilling freely now. “I don’t remember anything-”

“Exactly,” he said, bitter. “You never do. That’s the trick, isn’t it? You pretend like you’re all confused. Like you don’t know what’s happening. And I- I fall for it. Every time. Like an idiot.”

“Matt- please, just listen to my heartbeat-”

“I did,” he cut in. “I’ve heard it before. Right before it disappears.”

Her lips trembled. “I swear I’m not-”

“You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice suddenly shaking, but no less cruel. “You don’t get to come back here like nothing happened. Like you didn’t leave me bleeding on the floor that night. Like I didn’t spend years trying to claw my way out of what you left behind.”

“I didn’t leave you,” she whispered.

“But you’re dead,” Matt hissed, stepping close enough for her to feel the heat off his skin. “You died. And whatever this is- this illusion, this dream- it doesn’t change that. You don’t get to hurt me again.”

He said it like a closing statement. Like a sentence passed down after a trial that never had a chance. But he didn’t stop there.

“You think this is easy for me?” he went on, voice low, cracking at the edges now. “You think I want to keep seeing you in doorways? Hearing your voice when I close my eyes? You think I haven’t begged for it to stop?”

(Y/n) stood frozen, lips parted, tears streaking silently down her face.

“I have spent five years trying to forget the exact way you said my name before you disappeared. Five years trying not to hear it in someone else’s mouth. Five years waking up thinking you might be there- just once- and then realizing that all I’ve got left is a bed that’s too big and silence that’s too loud.”

He was pacing now, hands in his hair, breathing hard, unable to stop himself.

“You were my wife. You were supposed to be the rest of my life. And I had you for minutes. You were ripped out of my arms before I even got to love you properly. Do you understand that? Do you even get what you left behind?”

“Matt-”

“I grieved you like a man who’d never believe in God again,” he growled. “I went back to that night a thousand times in my head-wondering if I missed something, if I could’ve saved you, if I’d just done one thing different-”

“Matt-”

“I begged,” he snapped. “I begged God to bring you back. I lost everything trying to survive you. And now you show up here, looking exactly the same, like time hasn’t touched you, like you’re just picking up where you left off- like you didn’t burn me to the fucking ground-”

“Matt.”

She said it once.

Quietly.

And then she reached for him.

He flinched on instinct, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, gently, deliberately, she took his hand in hers- still trembling from the weight of his words- and guided it up between them.

To her chest. To her heartbeat. Right there. Steady. Real. Alive. His breath hitched. She kept his hand pressed there, fingers wrapped around his wrist like she could anchor him to this one undeniable truth.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m not in your head. I don’t know how or why or what the hell happened, but I’m here.”

Matt didn’t move at first. Just stood there, hand pressed to her chest, like he didn’t trust what he was feeling. Like it might stop if he acknowledged it out loud. Then- suddenly- he let out a shaky breath and pulled her into him, hard.

His voice was muffled against her shoulder. “What the fuck.”

Her hands gripped his shirt like she was afraid he’d drop her again. “Yeah, what the fuck. I don’t know what’s happening.”

He laughed once, breathless and half-broken. “Yeah. Me neither.”

They just stood there for a second. Breathing each other in. Trying to recalibrate. Then, against his chest, she mumbled, “You look like shit, by the way.”

It slipped out before she could stop it. Matt let out an actual laugh- short, incredulous, almost like it startled him.

“That’s not funny,” he said, wiping at his eyes, still half-laughing.

She smiled weakly. “Little bit funny.”

He shook his head, still not quite believing any of it. “God, I missed you.”

And then he kissed her.

Desperate and real and messy- too much force, too much urgency, like he didn’t trust it to last. His hands found her face, holding her like he needed proof she was solid. She kissed him back just as hard, fingers in his hair, anchoring him to now. To her.

It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. And that was enough.

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a little bonus content because well it was funny in my head

A few days later

She was curled up next to him on the couch, legs tangled, one of his old hoodies hanging off her shoulder. The TV was on, volume low, neither of them really watching.

She was still catching up- on everything. The blip. The aftermath. The years she missed. Sometimes it hit her like a freight train. Other times, like now, it just snuck up and poked her in the ribs.

She turned to look at him, brow furrowed. “Wait a second.”

Matt tilted his head toward her. “Uh-oh.”

She sat up a little. “So… technically, you’re five years older than me now?”

He blinked. “That’s what you’re choosing to focus on right now?”

“It’s a valid question,” she insisted, grinning. “I married a man my age, not some grizzled thirty-something.”

He scoffed. “Grizzled?”

“I mean, I don’t see any grey hairs, but-”

“I’m blind, not deaf. I heard that smirk.”

She tried to hold back a laugh. Failed. “So you’re like… what, thirty-eight?”

“Thirty-seven,” he corrected flatly.

“Oh no. I married an older man.”

Matt deadpanned, “And I married a time traveler. Guess we’re even.”

She bumped her shoulder into his. “You gonna start calling me ‘kid’ now?”

He turned toward her, a slow smirk tugging at his mouth. “Only if you want to see how fast a five-year age gap doesn’t matter.”

Her face flushed. “Okay, grandpa.”

Matt groaned. “Regret. Immediate regret.”

She laughed, leaning back into him again, warm and solid and finally, finally real.

“Still married me,” she said, smug.

“Still would,” he replied, without hesitation.

And that shut her up for a minute.

[inseobts]

😭😭 need Monster trio (separately) x pregnant reader. all fluffy

like their reaction and how would they be during it 😓

but if u dont want to just ignore this!

Pregnant 🫵

how would they react at your pregnancy?

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji

words count: around 0.5k - 0.8k each

next part: 🫵 into labor - 🫵 made him a dad

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The sea breeze is warm as you stand on the Sunny’s deck, heart racing. Luffy is lying nearby, hands behind his head, smiling at the sky. His straw hat rests on his face, rising and falling with his steady breaths.

You swallow hard. This is it.

You walk up to him and poke his cheek “Luffy.”

His nose scrunches up, and he lifts his hat just enough to peek at you “Hmm?”

You sit down next to him. Your hands shake a little. He notices. His hat slides off his face completely, and he blinks at you “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath “I… I have something to tell you.”

Luffy sits up fast. His eyes are wide, full of curiosity “Oh! Is it something cool?!”

You let out a small laugh “Yeah… really cool.” You reach for his hand and place it gently over your stomach. “Luffy, I’m pregnant.”

He stares at you. Blinks once. Then twice. His fingers twitch against your belly.

Then— “WHAAAAAAT?!” he jumps up so fast that he nearly topples over. His hands flail before gently grabbing your shoulders “Really?! A baby?! OUR baby?!”

You nod, laughing at his reaction “Yeah.”

Luffy’s grin stretches wider than you’ve ever seen. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing tight “This is awesome!! I’m gonna be a dad?!” he pulls back, eyes sparkling “Wait, wait—does this mean there’s a tiny me in there?! Like—super tiny?!”

You giggle “Kind of.”

Luffy gasps dramatically “That’s so weird—but so cool!!” he crouches down and presses his ear against your belly, pouting “Oi, baby! Can you hear me? I’m your dad! Your super cool, super strong dad!”

You ruffle his hair “It’s too early for them to hear you, Luffy.”

He sits back, looking thoughtful. Then he beams again “I gotta tell everyone!!” Before you can stop him, he takes a deep breath and then—

“GUUUUYS! (Y/N) HAS A BABY IN HER BELLY!”

Footsteps thunder across the ship as the crew comes running. Nami facepalms, Zoro groans, Sanji faints, Usopp starts panicking, and Chopper yells something about medical checkups.

Luffy just sits there, hands on your stomach, grinning like he’s just found the One Piece.

Months Later

Luffy is… something else during your pregnancy.

He pokes your belly every day, fascinated by how it grows “It’s getting huge!!” he exclaims one morning, eyes wide “Are you sure there’s only one baby in there?!”

He steals extra food from Sanji’s kitchen and piles it on your plate “Eat! The baby needs to be strong, like me!”

He refuses to let you do anything dangerous “No fights! No running! No carrying heavy stuff! That’s my job now!” He puffs out his chest making you smile softly at him “Captain’s orders!”

At night, he talks to your belly in a serious tone “Okay, listen, baby. When you come out, we’re gonna have so much fun! I’ll show you how to stretch like me! And how to eat tons of meat! And we’ll go on super cool adventures!”

One night, as you lay in bed, his arms wrapped protectively around you, he mumbles sleepily “Love you. Both of you.”

Your heart melts. You smile, placing your hand over his “Love you too, Luffy.”

He grins even in his sleep, dreaming of the greatest adventure yet, being a dad.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

The evening air is warm as you stand on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, watching the ocean waves. Your heart beats fast, but not from battle or danger, but from the words you need to say.

Behind you, Zoro trains like always. His swords cut through the air with sharp precision, muscles flexing as he moves. His brows furrow in focus, sweat dripping down his forehead.

You take a deep breath. Now or never.

“Zoro”

He stops mid-swing, turning to you “Huh?” His tone is rough, but his gaze softens when he sees your expression “Something wrong?”

You step closer, gripping the hem of your shirt. Your nerves make your fingers twitch, but you push through. You have to tell him.

“…I need to tell you something important.”

Zoro sheaths his swords, sensing your seriousness. He crosses his arms “Yeah?”

You swallow. Then, carefully, you take his hand and place it over your stomach.

“I’m pregnant...”

Silence.

Zoro doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. It’s like the words haven’t registered yet. His hand rests on your stomach, fingers barely pressing into the fabric of your shirt.

“…What?” His voice is quiet, actually too quiet for him.

You squeeze his hand “We’re having a baby, Zoro.”

His breath catches. He stares at you, eyes flicking between your face and where his hand rests on your stomach. His fingers twitch slightly. A baby. His baby.

Then, suddenly, you’re lifted off the ground.

“Zoro—!” you laugh as he picks you up effortlessly, holding you close. His grip is firm but careful, like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

When he finally sets you down, his hands linger on your arms, steadying you. His face is unreadable for a second, and then a smirk.

“Tch. Guess I really have to get stronger now.”

You raise an eyebrow “Why?”

Zoro’s smirk softens just a little. His thumb brushes your stomach lightly “To protect both of you.”

Your heart swells. He’s serious.

You press your forehead against his “You’re already strong enough, idiot.”

Zoro scoffs “There’s no such thing.”

Then, after a pause, he mutters “…Are you okay?”

The question is so simple, but the weight behind it makes your eyes sting.

You nod “Yeah. Just… nervous.”

Zoro’s arms tighten around you “Me too.”

You pull back slightly, surprised “You? The great Roronoa Zoro? Nervous?”

He clicks his tongue “Tch. This is different” he glances at your stomach “Fights, enemies, swords—I know how to handle those. But this?” His hand brushes your belly again, softer this time “This is new.”

You smile, lacing your fingers with his “We’ll figure it out together.”

He exhales, like a weight has lifted from his chest “Yeah.”

And for the first time in a long time, Zoro doesn’t feel lost at all.

Months Later

Zoro is the most overprotective person ever.

He watches you like a hawk. If you so much as sigh, he’s next to you in a second.

“You okay?”

You roll your eyes “Yes, Zoro. For the hundredth time, I’m fine.”

He grumbles but doesn’t stop hovering.

He always refuses to let you lift anything.

You reach for a barrel and then “Put that down.”

You try to carry plates from the kitchen and he goes “I got it.”

You bend down to pick up a book, Zoro glares and “What did I just say?”

He even walks with you everywhere.

“You don’t have to follow me to the bathroom.”

“What if you trip?”

“Zoro.”

“…What if an enemy attacks?”

You groan, but he just folds his arms and stays put.

He also naps closer to you now.

Zoro still sleeps a lot, but now he always makes sure to be near you. Some days, he dozes off with his head on your lap, his arm draped over your growing belly.

You run your fingers through his hair, feeling his slow, steady breathing. He won’t say it out loud, but you know he’s nervous, and this is how he comforts himself.

One time, you catch him talking to your stomach when he thinks you’re asleep.

“You better not kick too hard in there… Your mom needs to sleep” His voice is quiet but gruff. Then, after a long pause, he adds, “…Can’t wait to meet you, though.”

Your heart melts.

Later that night, you whisper “Are you scared?”

Zoro is silent for a moment. Then, he exhales “A little.”

You lace your fingers with his “Me too.”

He turns his head to look at you, eyes steady “We’ll figure it out.”

You smile “Yeah.”

Zoro presses his forehead against yours “Get some sleep.”

As you drift off, Zoro stays awake a little longer, hand resting on your belly.

For the first time, he’s facing a future he can’t predict, a battle he can’t train for.

But he knows one thing for sure—he will always protect you. And your child.

No matter what.

── .✦ Vinsmoke Sanji:

The smell of fresh bread and sizzling butter fills the Thousand Sunny’s kitchen as you sit at the counter, watching Sanji move. He hums to himself while stirring a pot, completely in his element. His blonde hair falls over his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to care.

You take a deep breath, heart racing. It’s time to tell him.

“Sanji...” you say softly.

He turns instantly, smiling “Yes, my love? Dinner will be ready soon.”

You shake your head “I… need to tell you something first.”

Sanji notices your serious tone and wipes his hands on a towel before walking over “What is it, sweetheart?” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, concern in his ocean-blue eyes.

You take his hand and press it against your stomach.

“I’m pregnant”

Sanji freezes.

His fingers twitch slightly against your belly, his usual smooth confidence suddenly gone. His mouth opens, but no words come out. His cigarette almost falls from his lips.

“…What?” his voice is barely a whisper.

You smile nervously “We’re having a baby.”

Sanji stares at you, his eyes wide. Then—

THUMP.

His legs give out, and he falls to his knees in front of you. His hands stay on your stomach as he looks up, completely overwhelmed.

“You’re… serious?” His voice shakes “I—I’m going to be a father?”

You nod, tears prickling in your eyes “Yeah.”

A sharp inhale. Then, suddenly, Sanji buries his face against your stomach, arms wrapping around you so gently, as if he’s afraid to break you.

“Mon amour… I don’t even know what to say” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. You feel his breath against your skin, warm and shaky “This is the greatest gift you could ever give me.”

You stroke his hair, heart swelling “So… you’re happy?”

Sanji pulls back slightly, grinning through tears “Happy? (Y/N), I feel like I just won the whole damn world.”

Then, his hands cup your cheeks, and he kisses you—soft, deep, full of love.

“Wait—!” He pulls away suddenly, eyes wide “You need food! Proper nutrition! I need to—” He rushes toward the kitchen, grabbing ingredients at lightning speed “I’ll make you something right now—no, I’ll make ten meals—no, twenty! The baby needs to eat too!”

You laugh, watching him run around in a panicked, love-struck frenzy.

Sanji is going to be the best dad.

Months Later

Sanji is the most devoted, doting, over-the-top partner ever.

He refuses to let you do anything.

You try to stand up? He’s already pulling out a chair for you.

You reach for a glass? It’s in your hand before you can blink.

You sigh in the heat? He’s fanning you immediately.

“Sanji, I’m pregnant, not broken” you groan.

“My love, you are carrying our child!” He places a dramatic hand over his heart “I refuse to let you lift a single finger!”

Sanji cooks nonstop for you.

“Here, sweetheart, eat this.”

“Sanji, I just ate five minutes ago—”

“The baby might still be hungry!”

He talks to your belly constantly.

“Hello, little one! This is your father speaking.” He presses a kiss to your stomach “I hope you’re nice and comfortable in there. When you come out, I’ll make you the most delicious food in the world!”

Then, more seriously, he whispers “And I’ll take care of you. You and your mother. Forever.”

Your eyes tear up every time.

At night, Sanji holds you close, his hand resting protectively over your growing belly.

“You should sleep” you murmur, noticing he’s still awake.

“I’m just… thinking” he admits.

“About what?”

Sanji sighs softly “I never thought I’d have this,” he says “A family. Someone to love… and now, both of you.” He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It’s like a dream.”

You smile, lacing your fingers with his “Then let’s make it the best dream ever.”

Sanji chuckles, pulling you even closer “Oui, mon amour.”

As you drift off, you feel his lips brush against your stomach once more.

And you know, without a doubt Sanji will love this baby with everything he has.

[bunnis-monsters]

I'll keep this one simple: Shy merman you befriend as a child and visit as often as you can throughout the years. He slowly gets more confident over time and- that's all I thought of- Whether it be sfw or nsfw is up to you! (I think I'd prefer either both or just sfw) Sorry if this is too vague!

A/N: this is a request for my 5K event! I am doing ALL requests I get within the next 24 hours, send one while you can!

It had been a few months since you last saw him. The two of you grew up together, friends ever since you helped untangle his tail from some fishing line.

He didn’t tell you why, but every summer since his 13th birthday he had been traveling away during the fall, leaving you all alone and missing him.

This time, when he returned during the winter, he was… different.

Large scars littered his belly and arms and he looked hungry and weak… but strangely satisfied. When you rushed to meet him, tears streaming down your cheeks, he smiled wider than he’d ever smiled before.

“I did it, (Name)…”

He gathered you in his arms, making sure you didn’t touch the icy cold water. You could barely make out anything he said through your tears, but blubbered out a quick response. “D-did what!? You’re hurt, I-“

He quieted you with a kiss, setting you down gently on a rock so he could move his face to your neck and deliver a mating bite.

“I defeated a great white… now… I can officially become your mate…”

Your mind was reeling from the new information and fuzzy feeling his kisses and bites gave you. You attempted to speak again but his tongue was already down your throat.

He seemed desperate, as if he wanted this for a while.

“All these years, I’ve never been able to beat one. Since I was 13, I knew I wanted to be your mate…”

He undid your thick pants, pushing them down to your thighs. He was too focused on pushing into your warm cunt to bother with undressing you completely, wanting to form the mating bond as quickly as he could.

You cried out as his large cock entered you, his webbed fingers holding onto your hips as he fucked into your needy cunt. His eyes were half lidded, animalistic noises leaving his lips as he mated you for the first time.

“I love you… I’ve always loved you, since the day you saved me… I’ll always be yours, and you’ll be mine…”

He kept fucking you, filling your womb with his cum until your thighs and ass were red from the cold. Despite wanting nothing more than to breed you until your stomach was heavy and swollen, he took you back to shore to make sure you didn’t freeze.

“I… missed you…” you said, still processing everything. You felt too good to care much about the cold or how fast it all happened, your heart soaring at the way he cooed and kissed you as he kept your body above the water.

“And I missed you, my love…”

From then on, you made sure to save up and get a house on the beach where you could visit your mate… and make sure he could see how your belly swelled with his young.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Sweet

Sevika x Female Reader

Soft, emotional sex with Sevikidiki where you end up sobbing ‘cause she’s too sweet.

Cw: Sex: fingering, strap on, praise. Soft dom Sevika. Sub Reader.

MEN DO NOT INTERACT!!!!!!!

Proofread || Note: It was so fun writing this, I hope you enjoy :) Also, please ignore any spelling/grammar mistakes, i tried my hardest to keep them out!

Her flesh arm wrapped around your waist and you found yourself pinned against her chest. Her lips latched onto hers as she kissed you with an abundance of care and love. Never was there a moment of roughness, of the slightest bit of pain; being a grip or a pull.

Sevika’s hand slithered down to your shorts, entering from your front and pressing against your clit. She slowly moved, causing your breath to heavy and your heart to spike.

Your bedroom was prepared for a movie night, a night where you and your girlfriend could just cuddle. But, things seemed to escalate. There was a change of plans.

The warm light from your lamp illuminated the room, and your freshly lit candles now made the situation much more romantic. The room smelled heavenly, and so did Sevika’s kissing. She was gentle with how much pressure she applied, not wanting to get too intense. You didn’t mind her softness, matter of fact you actually wanted more of it. She’d taken off her prosthetic in order to cuddle with you better. In order to keep away any sharp metals from you. That was the kind of woman she was; only with you, however.

Her middle teased your entrance, finertip going in before slipping right now. She was testing the waters, seeing if you she’d need lube or not— she didn’t. Tongue slipping out of your mouth, lips unattaching, Sevika pulled back with a heavy breath, her eyes opening and she met yours.

“Can I?” Her voice quieter, slightly shaky. “Yeah, I want you to.” And with your approval, she let her finger, carefully, move in. “Y’want me to add another? You don’t have to.” Her grey eyes watching as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. “Uh-huh, go ahead.” You, barely able to hold yourself together, nodded. A hand on her cheek with the other on the side of her neck, you hold back a whimper as she added another. It didn’t hurt, no, but it definitely took you a few seconds to get used to. Considering Sevika’s fingers were quite large. “Does it hurt? Tell me to stop if y’need me to, alright?” Her dark lips pressing a kiss on your forehead, letting you know you could say no whenever you wanted to.

She slowly picked up her pace, from slow curls to harder ones, the tips of her fingers found her target and she hit it. You clung to her as she did so, moaning into her shoulder all the while having her kiss your neck. “Is this good, baby?” Her low voice vibrating through you. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s.. good.” Awsome was what you wanted to say. It felt awsome.

Her warm breath brushed against your heated skin, causing you to feel hot. Burning hot. The fast beating of your heart and the heavy breaths you were taking only added to the fire; your body was sweating. And the thought of Seika being in you had your mind giddy, had it working extra hard to make you feel good. And you did. Even in the process of making you cum you felt a sort of high you’d only experience with your girlfriend.

“God, you’re so beautiful like this,” she’d whisper with a suck at your neck, leaving a trail of hickeys. “Don’t stop.. Sev.. that’s so.. fucking good— don’t stop, please!” You’d ramble on, jaw dropping at the familiar pooling in your core. “Y’think I would? I’m offended, love.” Her lips hidden and curled into a smile, she was proud of herself.

Your walls squished against her middle and ring, responding to the experienced curling she was doing inside of you. Your girlfriend even commented; “Feeling good? You’re all tight.” And, yes, it made your face feel hot. How could it not? Her smugness added to the sensation she was, lovingly, providing. It was the way she acknowledged how you reacted that made you whine, made you embarrassed. It even made you further more attracted to her.

“My pretty girl’s so close, I can feel it.” Smothering your neck with hickeys and kisses; only so you’d have a constant reminder of her. “Mm-hm, I am.” Your breathless words causing your woman to fasten her pace. “I can’t.. please! god it’s so good..”

Your hands clenched onto her shoulders as you, yourself, clung onto her. A cry of pleasure escaped your lips and your hips slightly shuddered against her as she helped you ride out your orgasm. Sevika even pulled back to see your face, watch as you came all over her fingers, it was a sight she never truly got used to. It was addictive being able to make her girl so happy.

“Perfect. You were perfect.” Slipping out of you and pulling you close with her wrists; her hand avoiding any contact. “How’d that feel, pretty thing?” Lips pecking yours before she gave you a chance to talk. “Like you said, it was perfect.”

A low humm of acknowledgment came from your girlfriend and she nuzzled into you, forehead resting against your shoulder. “It’s only ten. Can I get the strap?” Know this stuff knocks you out in a few.” She was reffering to the fact that she, herself, could have you asleep faster than any melatonin could. “Sure, but only one round.” You were already exhausted from a little fingering, you doubted you could get through Sevika’s pounding.

At your approval, she quickly grabbed, and slid on, the strap. Clicking the belt in place before plopping down next to you. “What position, ma’am?” Tone all teasing as she had a hand on your arm. “Mm.. I dunno? From the front? That’s the easiest?” She nodded in agreement. “You don’t mind if I have on my mech, do ya?” “Nope.”

From the front was what you got.

Ankles on her shoulders, arms overhead, and your body ready, your girlfriend pressed the tip of her strap to your entrance. Her mech and flesh holding onto your thighs as she slowly, and oh so carefully, pushed inside. Sevika’s strap was thick and long, easily larger than her two fingers— and it took you a while to get used to. “Deep breaths, babe.” Flesh hand pressing down on your lower abdomen, it was her way of making you feel more.

“Trying.” Was your breathless response, head tilted to the side to see the bulge in your skin. Sevika only smiled down at the sight, soaking in the way her strap looked with you wrapped around it. “Convinced every inch of you is beautiful.” The woman leaned forward, holding onto your ankles and slowly beginning to thrust. Your body, as usual, recoiled, and your hands clenched onto the the pillow beneath your clouded head.

Your eyes rolled back as Sevika’s hips rolled deep into you, hitting her target all the while rubbing against your tight walls. She could feel the pressure, the repeated squishing everytime she entered, even the way she had to push hard into you. You were wet, soaked, and it made the job easier. Louder, too. The quiet yet noticeable squelching noises from you filled the room, thanks to your girlfriend.

Not even a few minutes in and you were feeling your stomach pool again. The same heat that would make you feel good formed and you found yourself utterly taken away by the sensation jolting throughout your body. Every part of you enjoyed it.

“Close already?” The woman grunted, wrapping your legs around her hips and deciding to pull you against her chest. “I can’t..” you managed to say, barely able to keep yourself composed. “Sev, I.. fuck— it’s too much,” “need me to stop?” She knew you’d say no, she’d never heard the word leave your mouth. “Don’t.. please, I’m close.”

And she didn’t. Sevika never slowed her pace. Her only goal, at the moment, was to make you cum, all the while feeling loved. She showed so by peppering your forehead with kisses, intertwining her fingers with yours, holding your hands above your head, and whispering soft words in your ear. “You’re doing great, love,” she’d say as she pressed a kiss on the shell of your ear. “Gonna cum for me, hm? Go ahead, baby.” All the while pounding into you. “My girl sounds so pretty, don’t you?” As she lets you burry your face into her shoulder and whimper, moan, as much as you wanted to.

Even though your girlfriend was thrusting hard, she wasn’t being rough. She knew how you needed it, how much you could handle. She’d never push your limits, if that had even crossed her mind. “Vika,” your voice shaky as you sniffle against her skin. Her warmth mixing into yours, her grunts sending a light shiver through you, and her breath tickling your neck. “Is something wrong?” Her pace slowing as she wiped at your wet cheek. “No, don’t stop.. please.” Heart racing in your chest as you said those words. You’d repeated them a thousand times; but they really were true.

“Baby, I’m not.” Sevika, though worried, fastened her pace again and leaned on her arms to get a better look at you. Brows furrowed, eyes lidded and wet, lips parted, with your face heated. As cute as you looked, she had to ask the question. “What’s wrong?” Grey eyes staring deeply into yours. “Later.. I’ll tell.. you later.”

There was nothing wrong, just the fact that you were overwhelmed with the amount of care and love she put in every thrust, every touch. It was adorable and just so sweet that it had you sobbing.

Your orgasm was just as good as the last and, afterwards, Sevika slipped off her strap and decided to cuddle you. “Too much?” She asked, voice quiet and soft, “No, I never said that.” Your face showing your embarrassment. “Then, what? Did I hurt you?” your girlfriend had her prosthetic off again, so her flesh hand did most of the touching. “No, you’re just really nice. That’s all.”

“Nice? I’m really nice?” She repeated, “what does that mean?”

“It means I love you.”

“Oh? That’s.. new.” Her brows raised in surprise. “I love you, too. Even though you cry over stupid things.”

“Those were happy tears—“ “Yeah, alright. You had me worried about happy tears.”

[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”