#why do i write this anyway?

[cryptidmickle]

shadow milk finding pv when he was healer cookie is so interesting to me, and full of drama

[puptrefied]

Hi! Do you take requests?

If so, I think a fic bases on this excerpt:

"she can't have her parents walking in again. poor cassandra…finding your daughter with her whole face buried in between a girl's thighs is not the most ideal situation"

of your cailtyn story would be phenomenal 🙏

If you don't, feel free to ignore this! :)

　let's start by saying caitlyn knows how to eat pussy and loves doing it :3 babe could have it for breakfast, lunch, dinner and even dessert. she wouldn't call herself an expert per se, but she's quite proud of her talent.

sure, receiving it feels good—but what's better than knowing you're making a girl cum with just your mouth? to cait, absolutely nothing. the moans, the hair-pulling, the thighs clenching against her head ♡ ugh chef's kiss.

( she came untouched a few times from it but you did not hear it from me ok? )

it's usually one the first things she does when you successfully sneak into her room. like a reward for getting through massive place she calls home without anyone noticing.

your back against the bed and legs immediately spread to expose the sight she absolutely adores. god, she could just stare at it forever and it'd still have the same effect in between her own legs. new panties are needed.

she doesn't dive in face-first like an animal the second your clothes are off, even if she does feel like a starved woman. she starts by slowly kissing your thighs and caressing any bit of skin she can, hand sneaking up your abdomen and ribs to massage your breasts a little—don't mind it.

“should I continue?” cocky because she already knows the answer is a breathy ‘yes, please’.

oh and she gets way more cocky once she finally starts working on you, soft and slow stripes and twirls with her tongue. nothing fancy yet; she wants to tease a little more.

the second your hips start bucking into her mouth though? girl, grab onto something because she takes the signs IMMEDIATELY.

legs propped up on her shoulder while her hands hold your hips down to keep control of them. the slurping sounds are almost pornographic with how sloppy she's being. no whine coming from you is gonna make her stop any time soon. she's enjoying it waaaay to much already.

if she's feeling nice she will add a finger or two while sucking ๋࣭⭑ curling them just right inside you, not in-and-out like crazy. her tongue’s already lapping at you pretty fast so no need to overwhelm you…yet.

she wishes you would look down at her for a sec to see that pretty expression better, but she also understands it's her own fault that your head is thrown back against the bed, clenching around her fingers while pulling at her hair. what a curse to be so good at pleasing girls.

she knew speeding up her movements wasn't a smart thing to do so late at night as soon as the loud whine that escaped your lips reached her ears. obviously louder than the previous ones.

the heavy thump on the door when it opened proved her right.

“caitlyn.”

of course it had to be her mother out of all people.

cassandra's eyebrows furrowed as she looked away with a small huff, trying to erase the sight from her mind by blinking and observing every detail on the window. she thought caitlyn was trying to sneak out and get involved with stuff she shouldn't like she had done in the past with serious cases or something, not this!

“It is 3 am; please take your… friend out of here.” a dismissive wave of her hand showed that there wasn't much room for arguing—none really because she's already out the door with a low mumble to herself before her daughter could say anything. tomorrow's talk is gonna be awful, that's for sure.

“just keep quiet some more, then you can go home, alright?” the blue haired girl softly whispered, leaning up and kissing the soft skin on your shoulder to reassure that you're not leaving until you get a few well deserved orgasms, her fingers already going back to rubbing small circles.

she's not gonna let a pretty girl leave her bedroom unsatisfied even if it means getting caught again.

masterlist

[lucabyte]

Yeah, that about sums it up.

[tommygotwrittenoff]

i literally do not care about big emergencies on abc's 911. i want to see my characters talk to each other and have stories that are parallels to small, everyday (everyday for first responders) emergencies

[andsewingishalfthebattle]

Novice sewing pattern: Cut out shapes. Line up the little triangles on the edges. Stitch edges together. We've also included step-by-step assembly instructions with illustrations.

Novice knitting pattern: yOU MUSt uNDerstANd thE SECret cOdE CO67 (73, 87, 93) BO44 (63, 76, 90) 28 (32, 34) slip first pw repeat 7x K to end *kl (pl) 42 * until 13" (13, 13, 15) join new at 30 pl for 17 rows ssk 27 k2tog mattress lengthwise BO and sacrifice a goat to the knitting gods. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT "INSTRUCTIONS," I JUST GAVE THEM TO YOU

[mamawasatesttube]

the whole "jason rules crime alley and none of the other bats are allowed there!!1!" thing is so funny like. tim LITERALLY lives in the theater where bruce's parents died,

[bunnieswithknives]

Thanks.

Prev

[egophiliac]

another one that I'm not super happy with, but continuing to mess with it isn't going to help! so here he is! 🦇 there was a lot I was trying to get across in this one, so uhhhhh hopefully it reads.

we're almost out of unique magics now...just Ace (and maybe Grim?) left!

[wishfulsketching]

More

[nellasbookplanet]

I'm hardly the first to make this observation, but the problem with many self-proclaimed cozy stories is that they're so scared to take risks, scared to do anything that could make the reader even slightly uncomfortable, because being uncomfortable isn’t very cozy. Characters lack in flaws and messiness; conflict is lackluster or quickly resolved or avoided altogether; a darker moment must always be followed by a peptalk, never lingered on; moral ambiguity is eschewed, because anything else would be problematic and messy. If a main character has flaws it’s always those of the good victim, someone who needs to heal and be validated but not grow and be challenged. Challenge, of character or reader, is anathema.

As I'm playing Stray, I'm struck by the thought that this is quite possibly the coziest piece of media I've ever experienced. You're playing as a little kitty cat. You’re carrying around a tiny robot companion in a backpack. Your enemies are tiny white blobs called zorks. There are game mechanics to meow and scratch up people's walls and furniture and knock paint cans off shelves and take naps. The pacing rarely rushes you, rather actively encourages you to slow down. You can stop and listen to a guy play guitar, or look for flowers to gift someone, or take a nap on a cushion while beautiful scenery full of plants and fairy lights roll by.

But it’s also a game set in the ruins of a near dead world. The cute blobs will eat you alive. The robot you're carrying is an uploaded mind earnestly struggling through an existential crisis and mourning an entire species. Under the plants and the fairy lights is garbage and rust and buildings falling apart. There’s no sunlight. There are creepy eyes watching you in the sewers. There’s classism and oppression and the downfall of man.

And through it all, the robots who inherited the world are working so hard to find pockets of hope and happiness. They paint and play music and play games and dance and grow plants and create cozy little homes for themselves. They resist for the sake of freedom and autonomy, they create an entire language, they dream of a world most think they'll never see.

This dichotomy of dark and light is something I see often in (better) cozy media. Dungeon Meshi is a fun cozy adventure where they make delicious food and talk about self-care. It's also about grief and the inevitability of death and the impacts of social inequalities. The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet is a cozy found family road trip in space; it’s also about the difficulties of understanding each other across cultural barriers and the massive ramifications when we refuse to do so. Legends and Lattes is basically a dnd coffeshop au; it’s also about struggling to find happiness and purpose and self-worth after a life of violence, not knowing if you're able to successfully achieve anything but bloodshed. And All the Stars is full of found family and pastries and characters just hanging out; all of this happens as they're hiding and fleeing from invading aliens who see them as nothing but a resurce to be used. One of my favorite episodes of critical role is the beach episode of c2, where they basically just hang out; this happens soon after they buried their friend who died trying to save them, as they're trying to figure out who they are and what they want after his loss.

And that’s the thing, isn't it? Any story that is uniformly the same thing all the way through ends up as bland. A grimdark story that never offers respite or moments of hope will numb you to the horrors, removing their bite. A cozy story that offers nothing to be struggled against, nothing for which cozy moments and aesthetics is a break, lacks impact. A story needs ups and downs, a rhythm of misery and hope.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: people say suffering is what it means to be a shroud. you could not think more different.

WARNINGS: mentions of blood & self mutilation.

COMMENTS: PHEW THIS ONE WAS A DOOZY!!! idia stop being my muse pls 🙏🙏 i keep writing 2k - 3k word fics in one sitting because of you

“Don’t you wish the world treated him better?”

You blink, entranced by the swirls of green. The voice beckons you closer.

How was that door open...? It should have been closed, right...?

“Don’t you wish you three could live up on the surface, like everyone else?”

More voices have joined.

“Don’t you want that for him and his brother?”

It sounds beautiful, like a symphony.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud.”

You step closer, muscles relaxing as you slip under their spell. The voices are right. They deserved better. They should have been able to live where they pleased, to escape this island and their fate.

The voices giggle—they know they’re right.

They’ve reached you.

Black consumes your vision, blocking out the glowing green. You shut your eyes. Your world grows darker. There's a seizing in your chest and a fluttering in your heart as something pours into your body, staining you.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud.”

“Set us free, and we’ll set all of you free.”

—

The hallways are blaring red, but all Idia sees is the floor swimming in his vision. Ortho is by his side as he punches access code after access code into the door panels, running like he’s never run before. He has a stitch in his side but he keeps going, your face flashing in his mind.

He lost Ortho once. He’s not losing someone again.

It’s like the stairs last forever, winding deeper and deeper into the Earth. Idia doesn’t stop running once, even though he feels like he’s going to fall over and throw up. He’s almost one-hundred percent certain Ortho has carried him at some point but his mind is too messy and his vision is too muddled to care.

Time seems to slow as he reaches the bottom. He raises his head as his ears ring, and the second he lays eyes on you it’s like his vision is clear again. Ink pours out of you and the black markings on your face are all too familiar. Blue fire spits out from behind you and your shrieks are heartbreaking, like you’re wailing for something you want so badly but could never have. Wings sprout from your back, broken and crooked, feathers twisted and clumped. Your hands are worn and bloody from stretching at the walls, and that’s when Idia realizes—

You want to be free.

Guilt crashes over him and it's a critical hit. Of course. He should have been sure this is what you wanted. He should have known you’d get sick of life here, even though you said you loved him time and time again, even though you held him on all those nights that he couldn’t sleep because the thoughts were too much, even though you bonded with Ortho and stepped back for him, letting him set boundaries even though that meant not doing things you wanted to do, like holding his hand or kissing his forehead or playing with his hair.

He should have known this wasn’t the life you wanted.

The ring on his finger feels like nothing more than a heavy stone now.

—

It took years for Idia to open up to you about his family situation. In fact, he seemed to be braced for the possibility that you’d leave him in a heartbeat after hearing it. Your heart ached for him when he explained his past and his inevitable future in a soft, low voice, rushing through the whole thing as if it was the scariest thing he’s ever done.

You placed your hand on his knee once he stopped, letting his words trail off into the night.

“I understand you.” you’d said, looking him straight in the eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkness of his room, flickering like a fire about to be put out.

Idia curled in on himself that night, dragging a clump of his hair over his shoulder and twisting it into knots. You’d reached over and gently grabbed his hands, stopping him from tangling his precious hair. You’d gently smoothed out the fiery strands before kneeling in front of him, looking up at him as if paying him reverence.

“I want to stay with you.” you’d said softly, cradling his shaking, fragile hands in yours.

In that moment, it felt like his very heart was beating between your intertwined hands.

Soft sniffles filled the room that night, and you kissed each tear away. More kept coming, more and more and more, his eyes blotchy and red as he tried to keep quiet. You kept quiet too, whispering how much you cared about him and how if he would let you, you’d stay with him forever because you loved him and he deserved someone by his side. You kissed each tear well into the night, fighting his overwhelming sorrow with your love.

—

Your memories are patchy. It’s like you don’t remember who you are, or where you are. In the dark expanse of your mind, you remember two things.

Idia Shroud and Ortho Shroud.

Your throat feels heavy as your heart starts to palpate—what happened? Where is the green glow? Where are all the comforting voices that whispered your new future to you?

Where were the people you were fighting for?

“Vitals stable.” a faraway voice calls, a sharp clatter piercing through your quiet, inky haze, “Commencing full body scan for blot.”

Blot...

Your eyelids pry themselves open. All the energy has been sapped from your body, your limbs heavy and useless. The strings holding them up have been cut, and it's scary that you can’t remember how you were strung up in the first place.

“Mx, we ask that you please stay still.” the man above you is in a white coat, his hands holding a clipboard and a pen.

You nod passively. Something about him seems familiar enough.

His voice drones on statistics about your well being as your eyes slip shut again, and arms of sludge reach out from your mind and pull you back under the ink, into a deep sleep.

—

Idia is chewing on his fingernails again.

He wishes you were here to scold him for it and paint a new coat over them so he wouldn’t chew on them anymore, being too sentimental to mess up your hard work and too repulsed by the taste, even though he would only ever tell you the latter and—

You were still asleep.

Your vitals are stable, You are fine.

You are fine but there are still black scars all over your body.

Your vitals are stable but the marks will stay there forever.

You almost died and it’s his fault.

You want freedom and he took that away when he said “I do.”

He kissed you and he sucked the soul right out of your body, keeping it clutched in his hands because he’s selfish and stupid and why in the world did you even fall in love with him in the first place?

He has nothing to offer you.

Nothing but this.

Suffering and loneliness and contempt and headaches and cold nights and machines that fill your whole day, leaving no room for the whimsical leisure you enjoyed before. There are no more board games, no more trips to the school store, no more fresh air and nighttime walks, no more watching movies and eating gummy worms, no more talking to anyone who isn’t him.

The ring on his finger burns.

—

You don’t know how long it's been since you went to sleep.

You wake up to a room with dark walls and metallic shelves above your head. The bed (cot?) is firm underneath your body, which is adorned by a gray uniform. There’s a desk right across from you with a tablet and a chair. You can’t see anything it’s hooked up to. The one constant among all of these things seems to be the triangular details, criss-crossing and curving and connecting with each other.

They make your vision spin, so you look away.

You stay in bed.

For some reason your face and neck sting, as does your back. You trace the parts of your face that burn, finding that the areas are almost symmetrical on both sides.

What happened?

“...Idia?” you whisper, your left hand resting over your smoothly beating heart.

The door opens.

Your heart lurches into your throat when you see a dark uniform, fiery blue hair that swings well past his elbows, and eyes that are sunken in. His skin is as pale as ever, his lips chapped and bitten by worry, his nails stubbed and torn, but—

He came.

But it’s him.

He came when you called.

“...Idia—!” you gasp, choking on your words as you lurch forward and cough, black ink splattering all over your gray shirt.

“Easy!” he yelps, rushing to your side. You feel his cold hand press against your back and you lean into the touch, starved for it.

“What happened?” you ask between smaller coughs, following his hand and he lays you back down.

Idia bites his lip. He does not answer.

Instead, he turns his back to you and moves over to the desk grabbing the tablet. He still doesn’t look at you as he taps a few bottoms. He gnaws on his lower lip before twisting the chair to face you and sitting down.

“How much do you remember?” he counters your question with another question, eyes heavier than usual.

“I remember green.” you whisper, the intriguing whispers poking into the corners of your mind again, “I remember voices...they said sweet things to me.”

Idia winces as if that’s the last thing he wants to hear.

“You overblotted.” he says, so blunt it surprises both of you, “You went...deeper than you should have, and you overblotted.”

You touch your face. The burning sensation wiggles as if it’s been recognized, and is pleased. It’s like there's something under your skin, something alive and yearning,that was waiting for him to say it.

“Oh.” you whisper, and in turn, the voices begin to beckon you again.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud. Don’t you wish you three could live up on the surface, like everyone else? It’s not fair, is it? He deserves better. His brother deserves better. You all do. We can help you, we can make that happen, you just have to help us—”

“They were phantoms.” you breathe, tracing the lines on your face over and over and over and over and over—

You don't notice when he gets up and reaches for you. Idia grabs your hand when it looks like you’re pressing too hard, your nails digging into your skin. You stop immediately, looking up at him with glossy eyes and trembling lips.

“Idia...is this what it means to be a Shroud?” you ask, forming each word carefully.

The phantoms said as much.

But he says nothing.

“I don’t blame you if you decided this isn’t what you want, you know.” he says, tone flat and disinterested, like you’re someone he doesn’t even know.

“What do you mean?”

“Your phantom looked like it wanted to be free.” he says, tablet still in his hand.

He pulls up the footage of your rage and shows it to you—your crooked, clumped wings and your bloody, inky hands and your screams as you cry for freedom, freedom—

He misunderstands.

“Not for me!” you seize his wrist, squeezing it so hard you fear it’ll break but this important, “For you! Freedom for you! It’s always you and it always will be you! I wanted you to be free and Ortho to be free. I wanted all of us to be free—!”

You start coughing again, this time even harder. Ink splatters on your bed and this time Idia is on you, he’s truly with you, cradling you against his chest as the ink stains his uniform as well. It pours out of you like a dead, polluted river, and yet in a twisted way it’s a symbol of how much you care.

You vaguely feel his nose pressing against your head in the haze, whispering what sounds like swears and pleads but none of it reaches your ears over the sound of your coughing. By the time you’re done, both of you are thoroughly painted with the remnants of blot.

The voices are gone.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” he whispers it into your head like it's a confession, meant for your ears and your ears only, “I thought you...wanted to leave here. Leave me.”

His arms are around you like a vice grip.

You’re grateful you’re alive to see him be selfish.

“Idia...my love.” you say, equally as soft, “How many times do I have to tell you that I want to be with you?”

“It’s hard to believe!” he protests, voice cracking.

He pulls away from you, just enough to look over your face. His eyes are watery and he’s so vulnerable—you really scared him. His thumb traces down the parts of your face that burned, the parts of your face you know will be scarred for life now.

“Good thing I’m still here then.” you smile weakly, cupping his face, “I’ll remind you every single day.”

His ring no longer burns.

His left hand rests over your left, and your rings clink together as they connect.

You’re okay. You still want him. You’re alive.

“You’re crazy.” Idia groans, stepping forward and falling into your arms, “You are absolutely crazy. Any normal person would be running for their life right now, calling me a freak and hyperventilating. A normal person would never want to come back—”

His slumps over you like a big cat, arms encircling you in warmth once again. It’s his way of hiding his expression when he’s getting a bit too into his feelings—you know this by now.

“Goodness. It’s a good thing I’m madly in love with you then.” you laugh, hands splayed out on his shoulder blades as he hugs you again, “You know what they say about love making you do crazy things.”

“Please don’t ever do that again—oh Great Seven.” he squeezes you even tighter and you let him, putty in his hands.

“I’m not planning on it. I promise.”  you reassure him, “I don't want to leave you—”

“It’s not about leaving me, you could have died!” he protests, cradling the back of your head, “I’d be fine if you just left! If you were somewhere else...somewhere safe!”

“You would not be okay with that. Don’t pretend to be.” you chastise him quietly, and you know you’ve won when he goes quiet, “You want to keep me here, and you want me to stay. I want the same thing. You don’t have to pretend I’m a sacrifice that can be made. I didn’t fall in love with you because you’re noble or a goody-goody.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Then—

“I love you so much.” he mumbles.

It’s a rare confession, one that has never lost his sweetness even after years together.

Now this, this is what it means to be a Shroud.

It means staying with each other no matter what.

It couldn't be farther from loneliness.

“I love you too.” you murmur back, and his thumbs trace your blot scars as he presses a single, barely noticeable kiss to your forehead.

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

He’s staring at him.

Steve Harrington is staring at Eddie Munson.

The thing is, people don’t just stare at Eddie. Not for any reason that means anything good for Eddie. So when, completely unprompted, the fucking King of Hawkins High walks up to Eddie and says, “I need to talk to you,” Eddie thinks he’s entirely justified in the squeak he lets out.

“You? Talk? To me?” Wow. Great job, brain.

“Please,” Harrington whispers, and Eddie thinks desperately this must be some kind of joke, except he’s good at reading people, and he knows the desperation in Harrington’s eyes.

“Okay,” he says, stammers. “Um. There- there’s, behind the school, a, uh-”

“Table,” Harrington nods. “That works. Just…” he sighs, rakes a hand through his hair. “Leave the lunchbox at home.”

Eddie’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Then what the fuck do you want with me, dude?”

“I can’t explain. Not here, not now. Just. Please. After school, okay?”

Eddie looks at him. Really looks, studies his face, understands the lines by his eyes, the tightness of his mouth. His heart thumps as he realizes. He’s scared. “Okay,” he says, and means it.

Eddie’s a man of his word, so after school he makes his way to the table, pausing when it comes into view. Harrington’s already there, sitting with his head in his hands. Eddie calls out from a couple of paces away. “You sure you don’t want anything from the lunchbox?”

Harrington jumps, hands up, eyes round. Relaxes a little when he sees Eddie. “No. I- I’m good. I can’t, actually.”

Eddie frowns. “What, like, a sports thing? No one’s gotta know, dude, I’ve never been busted, I can keep a secret.”

Steve gives him a half-smile. “No. It’s- it’s not a sports thing. Just… sit down? And promise to listen?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, because he knows how comforting it can be to just have someone there, and he’s not a dick; clearly Harrington’s going through something. Though why he approached Eddie, of all people, he doesn’t know.

“Okay,” Harrington repeats back, taking a breath before starting. “If I were to tell you I’m from the future, a future in which we know each other, how would you ask me to prove it?”

Eddie blinks. He was ready for a lot of things, but not time travel. “Um. I dunno, man, I haven’t really thought about it.”

He takes another deep breath. “Can I try?”

“To- to prove you’re from the future?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie laughs, a little hysterically. “Man, where the fuck do I get the strain you’re on?”

He blinks. “What?”

Eddie gestures at him. “Come on, man, you have to admit you’re not really making sense here.”

Harrington sighs. Takes another breath. Says, “You live with your uncle Wayne. Your father taught you to hot wire cars when you were nine. You listen to Dio and Metallica and Ozzy Osbourne but your favorite song is I Will Always Love You, by Dolly Parton, because it was your mom’s favorite. The guitar pick you wear around your neck was hers. She taught you guitar. You love The Hobbit. Stop me when I’ve said enough.”

Eddie’s never been more scared in his life. “Listen, man, I dunno where you heard all that-”

“Eddie,” he says, implores, and digs something out of his pocket. Opens his hand to reveal a ring.

A ring Eddie already has on his finger.

“What the fuck,” Eddie whispers. Grabs for the ring before he can tell himself it’s a bad idea. Examines it, sees the dent from where his finger had gotten smashed in a door.

His hands start shaking.

“I’m from 1987,” Steve Harrington says, sure as anything. “And I’m trying to stop something terrible.”

“And what would that be?” Eddie asks, feeling strangely detached from the whole thing.

“Your death,” Steve Harrington says, still sure as anything.

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect

[karikarasuno]

part six | part seven | part eight

you cannot for the life of you find the bag full of clothes for donation anywhere in your garage. you packed it a few months ago and you swore you set it between a stack of boxes by your washer and dryer. you really need to reorganize this place, it's not funny anymore.

you had just put the trash and recycle containers at the end of your driveway for pick up in the morning and with your garage door still open you searched and searched and searched for that damn bag of clothes. but it's a pointless endeavor. you're officially a mess.

"hey," law's voice makes you jump about a thousand feet into the air, a sharp yelp leaving you as you turn to face him. your heart hammers in your chest from the scare and your hand flies to your chest to settle your breathing.

"oh jesus, law, you scared me!" law doesn't laugh like you expect him to. he's not the least bit amused. instead he looks tense. you'd argue even maybe angry. his presence is larger than usual. it's unexpected, so much so that your spine straightens and you shift awkwardly in place.

"is everything okay?" you ask, trepidation settling into your voice. law's shoulders immediately sag. his head falls forward slightly. but he doesn't seem exhausted like he usually does after work. something else is wrong.

"yeah, long day," he answers, taking a single step towards you. his stride is long. he cuts the distance between you almost in half. you involuntarily take a step back. the door to enter the house digs into the space between your shoulder blades since you never closed it earlier. you feel the cool air of your home against the back of your neck.

"did you wanna talk about it?" your question rings a bit hollow. if he wanted to talk you absolutely would, but law doesn't seem like he wants to come in for a cup of tea and some chatting.

"no, not really." the distance divides itself again when one of his steps turns into another. you're frozen when his eyes meet yours. his gaze is intense, hungry. you feel like cornered prey about to be devoured.

"that's okay," you swallow. "i made curry for dinner if you wanted to come in and eat. you're probably hungry."

law is so close now. your head is angling to stare up at him. his expression is stern. determined. his breaths are even, but the rise and fall of his chest is noticeable. heavy.

"thanks, but i don't really have an appetite right now."

"ok," you nod, unable to look away from him. "did you still wanna come in?"

his arm extends over your shoulder and his chest is nearly touching you, but not quite. he smells like freshly cleaned laundry and leather. his cologne is stronger tonight. intoxicating. he presses the button to close the garage door and it starts to shut with it's usual grating noise.

"you need new tracks," he says simply, leaning over so that his nose brushes your temple.

"i know," you whisper meekly. this is so different. the air is thick. so thick that every time you swallow you fear you might choke. the tension is palpable. like two magnets waiting to snap together, but being held back by an unimaginable force.

you straighten again where you're pressed against the door, but this time when you shift your face towards him your nose touches his cheek. you hear his inhale. it's a short, sharp sound. like the contact shocked him. he's just so tense. his shoulders are tight and his breathing seems forced. and when your eyes track over his face, you can see how pinched his eyebrows are.

"law?" your hand rises to rest tenderly on his chest, just your fingertips touch the soft fabric of his black t-shirt.

"yeah?" you try not to shiver at the roughness of his voice.

"are you sure you're okay?"

"i..." his free hand finds your waist and his fingers waste no time gripping you. "i've been thinking about you a lot today."

"oh?" you tilt your head, your palm flattening against his chest. "what about me?"

"just you," he says. his forehead drops to yours. his exhale mingles with your inhale and greedily you swallow it. "and about how much i've come to need you."

"need me?" you doubt law needed anyone. so this confession surprises you.

"yes you," he finally releases a laugh and it feels like you took a shot. an alcohol-like warmth bursting in your gut and blossoming deep in your belly. you know what this is. desire. primal and raw. "i missed you."

this confession is softer. but just as heavy as it sits on your shoulders and just about buckles your knees. law missed you.

"it's only been a few days," you tease, but it's empty. there's no joke hidden beneath your words.

"what? i can't miss you?" his head drops to your shoulder and his nose drags across your collarbone. you fight the urge to drape your body around him. to succumb to the carnal energy that's pulsating off of him in steady waves.

dear god, he's hardly even touched you and you feel your pulse start to race and something flutter expectantly between your legs.

"law." you can't help but whisper his name. it's full of disbelief and need. you don't want to get your hopes up, but this feels like the moment. the moment that months worth of tension and anticipation has built up to.

and strangely, you can't fight your nerves. every lick of confidence you've gathered over the years disappears. every fantasy of you romancing and seducing law into your bed vanishes. you were a vixen, a temptress, a siren in your dreams of him.

but now you just feel painfully human. wracked with nerves and trembling desire. you had no idea what to do. or where to start.

"you say my name a lot." his words are damp against your skin. a flurry of goosebumps travel up your neck when his lips graze the sensitive skin there.

"what?" your fingers curl slightly in his shirt. your eyes are shut. you don't even remember closing them.

"i like the way you say it," he explains, pressing a brief kiss to the base of your throat. you're being seduced in this reality. a victim of his lust.

"you always say it differently. sometimes it's a gasp or a sigh." he pauses to kiss you again. his lips travel up the column of your neck.

"my favorite, though, is when you're annoyed." his chuckle is dark and humorless. and you sigh out something pathetic. "your voice drops and it gets all firm. and you look up at me like you're about to roll your eyes but you never do." three more kisses follow until his lips sit just below your ear. he's liquifying you and you have a hard time understanding how you even got here.

"you always bite your lip too." his face comes into view. his eyes are half-lidded. his gaze is dangerous. starving. he brings his hand up to cradle your cheek his thumb caressing your bottom lip and pulling them apart. "i don't even think you realize it."

"are you-" your voice is unrecognizable to your own ears. it's just air that your words barely ride on. you swallow again, eyes stuck on law's lips. "are you trying to kill me?"

he laughs again. truly this time. the sound comes from his gut and punches out his throat with mirth. even that glides down your spine sensually. you honestly don't know how you're still standing. maybe its the grip he has on your waist. or just sheer willpower.

"no, but you," his hand wraps around the back of your neck, pulling you towards him so that your lips are mere millimeters apart, "you've been torturing me."

"no," you shake your head. "that's where you're wrong." you rise onto your toes, both of your hands latching onto his shoulders. "you're the problem. you're the reason i can't sleep anymore without the thought of you in my bed. you don't understand how badly i need you."

his kiss is bruising. it clatters through you, pain blossoming on your bottom lip. but it's not enough. the dam has been broken. if you don't undress him this instant you might not live to see tomorrow. it's not an exaggeration. its fate.

your hands are immediately in his hair and his arms are enclosing around your waist to pull you flush against him. your feet are barely on the ground with how securely law is clutching on to you.

the doorframe shakes when law swings the door shut behind your tangled bodies. it makes chopper bark, but neither of you have the patience to pay him any mind. you're too focused on not tripping over each other.

your legs hit the back of the couch and his large hands find your hips. he pins you in place, most of your body propped on the edge as he towers over you. as he kisses you with a ferocity that has your toes curling. he moves to your neck again. this time any tenderness he was displaying before is gone. he bites you. your body jolts from the brief instance of pain, but he licks it right away. melting the pain into pleasure. melting your mind into a goopy marshmallowed mess.

you whimper and he groans. your legs try to hook around his hips and your arms try to tug him to lay down on the sofa. you're almost successful. he nearly follows you down and a spark of excitement lights low in your belly.

"no," he pulls away.

"but-" your petulance dies in your throat when his hand comes to rest at the base of your neck. there's no pressure in his placement, just the weight of his heavy hand makes your head spin.

"not here." his breathing is ragged. animalistic in a way. "i need more space."

one second your body is teetering precariously over the edge of your couch and the other you're floating. law scoops you off balance. your feet are on the ground but he's moving so fast you don't comprehend the cold tile rubbing across the balls of your feet.

another singular second passes, and your back is on your bed and law is tearing off his shirt over his head. you're reeling. this has to be another dream. definitely wet given the state of your poor panties right now.

next he's undoing the drawstring of your sweatpants. he pulls until the elastic waistband is loose enough to tug over your hips. you wiggle in an attempt to help him but you're kind of useless. law is half-naked in front of you and the sight of his muscles working to take your clothes off has your mouthwatering and your mind glazing over in awe.

what is he doing to you? you've never felt anything quite like this. it feels as if the world could end if you didn't have him as close to you as possible in the next five seconds.

once your pants are gone, law's hands are smoothing up your calves and over your thighs. his inked fingers are a particular interest of yours. they're just so solid and stable and sexy.

your fingers fist your comforter when his find the elastic band of your underwear. you hiss as his nails scrape sensitive flesh when they hook beneath the thin fabric.

his head snaps up at the sound. his eyes are wild and unfocused. you blink at him doe-eyed and helpless. your lips part to say something but you don't have the brain to formulate anything worth saying. you watch acutely as his face softens. as his expression finds the fondness you're used to.

"you can tell me to stop if i'm being too rough with you," he says apologetically. but there's nothing to be sorry for.

"don't do that," you breathe. "stop second guessing this. stop hesitating. please i just-"

you reach to unbuckle his belt and with shaky albeit determined fingers you undo his jeans. " i need you to please, for the love of god, just fuck me."

you can tell law has always lived a life of skepticism and questioning. of necessary control. you couldn't blame him really after knowing his past. but there is no use for it here. now. and you can see the moment that clicks into place in his mind. the epiphany writes itself like constellations in his eyes.

he shakes his head before he straightens. he’s looking down at you like you’ve done something incredulous. unbelievable. he removes his belt. the buckle clangs on the ground when he drops it. his thumbs loop into his open jeans. you cannot take your eyes off of him as he drags them over his hips until they fall to his feet. breathing is now a foreign concept. you don’t remember the last time you inhaled.

he’s hard in his boxer briefs. and he’s leaking through the cotton. you don’t know what to do. it’s like you’ve never had sex before. it feels new. tempting. as if you’re about to do something bad. sinful.

if law is the reason your ass ends up in hell then so be it. you would make this exact decision again and again in every lifetime. you rip off your shirt and toss it on the ground. law is still standing at the foot of your bed watching you.

“i would’ve put on something nicer if i knew you’d be coming over,” you joke, scooting backwards on your bed until you reach your pillows. you aren’t exactly self conscious, but again you’ve been fantasizing about this for forever. and a sports bra and boy shorts were never part of that fantasy.

“it doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.” law finally crawls towards you. his weight sinking into your mattress. your bed isn’t as big as his. he makes it look absurdly small actually.

his hand wraps around your calf, the heat from his palm radiating up your body, and he yanks you down until you’re flat on your back again.

“you’re perfect just like this.” you’re certain you’re delirious now. he doesn’t necessarily say the words to you. his eyes are locked on his wandering hand. a hand that’s currently drifting over your inner thigh. your hips twitch.

he drops a kiss to each of your cheeks. then he peppers wet kisses down your jaw. his lips find your ear the moment his hand cups your pussy. “it’s not like you’ll be wearing anything for long, anyway.”

his teeth nip at your earlobe and his fingers find the wet patch on your underwear and he presses against it. the moan that falls from your lips is borderline pitiful. he seems to relish in it though. it spurs him on as he continues his onslaught of kisses to your neck again. after so many times of almost sleeping together, you’ve figured out that law really enjoys your neck. not that you can complain. because every time his lips suck right at the spot behind your ear you turn into putty. it’s a special button only he has access to. a button that has even more slick pooling in your panties.

he must feel the way you soak through them because his fingers start rubbing against you. and shamelessly every time he makes contact with your clit you can’t stop the way you rut against his fingertips. his lips descend down over your collarbone and he mouthes at your cleavage. he groans when your hips jump as he swipes his tongue beneath the constricting fabric of your bra.

“this is fun.” he’s referring to your sports bra, his breath a small chuckle when he notices that it’s the kind that zips in the front. law decides to unzip it with his teeth. meanwhile, you decide he has to be a demon. something sent to both please and punish you. for what you aren’t sure yet.

when your bra falls away and your tits are exposed to him, his mouth is enclosing around your nipple in seconds. it’s warm and you gasp. he’s not being rough but he’s not being gentle either. he’s just being a man who ultimately is getting what he’s been wanting for who knows how long.

as his mouth occupies itself with your chest, his fingers go on an entirely different adventure. he manages to shimmy you out of your underwear with positively no help from you because your brain is no longer sending signals to the rest of your body. but when he parts your folds, when he finally feels the absolute mess he’s been making of you, his groan sends a shock through your system. in truth, it’s more like a purr. it’s low and deep and reverberates through his body straight into yours.

you whimper. it’s embarrassing and unexpected. but it doesn’t give him pause, instead two of his fingers are sliding into you. so easily you should be ashamed. he makes it hard to be though.

“sometimes i don’t understand how you’re real,” he murmurs into your chest, his words are slurred around your nipple.

“i swear you’re just so-“ he starts to scissor his fingers inside of you and the sticky wet sounds hit your ears so loudly you nearly cringe. you undulate your hips in the hopes that his fingers will at least graze your g spot, but law is one step ahead of you. always shifting his fingers away just so whenever he comes close to feeling the spongey tissue.

“please,” you really aren’t above begging. and maybe that’s what he wants. except it doesn’t help. he’s toying with you on purpose. “law, please.”

“again,” he demands, but you don’t know what he wants. you only know what you want. what you need. and the answer to both is to come.

“say my name again,” he says when you don’t respond. he lifts his head from your breasts, both covered in his spit. the same spit that moistens his lips. “come on, baby. say it and i’ll give you whatever you want.”

to sweeten the deal he presses his thumb to your clit. you jolt beneath him from the dual sensation. if he keeps this up he’ll force an orgasm from you and he barely has to do anything. his fingers aren’t even moving inside of you anymore yet you feel like an exposed wire. sparking and twitching under his attention.

“la-aw,” he hooks his fingers inside of you, effectively slicing his name in half. your eyes nearly roll back but they don’t because looking at him is so much better. his broad shoulders and handsome face are the only things taking up your view. he starts rubbing his thumb in insistent circles on your clit and his fingers push against your g spot in a carefully coordinated attack to unravel you. you knew law was good with his mouth but his fingers. he must have known you in another life. that’s the only explanation for how quickly and easily he’s hurdling you to your finish.

“that’s it.” you squirm at how harsh his voice has gotten. it’s dropped an octave and it forces a shiver to rattle down your spine. “fuck, look at you. such a pretty girl.”

his gaze lights fires across your skin. the flames lick at you, fierce and brutal. you can’t stand it. it’s too much. just as your orgasm hits you turn your face away from him, your back arching and you inhale so abruptly it dries out your throat. you muffle your cries into your comforter. your vision flaring with spots before it goes completely black. his fingers still wiggle inside of you even as you come down. he wants to wring every last drop of pleasure from your body. and it’s working.

your back meets the mattress again. your cries whimper off into choked breaths. your vision slowly, but surely returns to you. but he’s still moving. you grab his wrist with weak fingers, barely mustering the energy to push him away.

“i can’t,” you whine, sighing when his fingers slip from inside you. “holy shit.”

you peek up at him through wet lashes and heavy eye lids. his breathing is ragged, and you follow his gaze down to his hand. he’s spreading his fingers to see how your cum strings between them. he’s mesmerized. he brings his hand to his mouth. his eyes fall shut when he licks you clean off of him.

he’s a liar. he absolutely is trying to kill you.

without another word he’s slinking off the bed. you don’t have it in you yet to question what he’s up to. instead you watch as he gathers his jeans from the ground and pulls his wallet from one of the pockets.

“shit,” he swears, eyes screwing shut as he shakes his head. you’re confused. “i forgot to grab a condom.”

“oh.” and you giggle, your heart settling down and the endorphins give you that fuzzy feeling again. you lean over off of your bed and reach for the cabinet on your nightstand.

“that’s okay. i have some.” you toss him the unopened box. he spins it in his hands, reading it over with the most amused expression on his face.

“when did you get these?”

“last week,” you admit. “after you left for work.”

“right,” he nods, “of course you did.”

“don’t give me that, you’re lucky i’m prepared. if not i would make your ass go to the nearest pharmacy and pick some up tonight.”

he laughs again as he tears open the box, throwing it onto the foot of your bed after he pulls out a condom. he kicks off his underwear while he’s there too. and a sudden surge of giddy excitement courses through you. out of nowhere a flurry of energy starts drumming within you.

law is actually about to fuck you. it’s hard to believe. after so many close calls you don’t want to jinx it but you know this is it. you throw your bra off the bed having forgotten it was still on from earlier and you wrestle your comforter out from beneath you to situate your body under the flat sheet.

law is looking at you peculiarly.

“what?” you deadpan.

“why are you laughing?” you hadn’t realized you were.

“just get over here,” you grab his arm and jerk him so hard he practically falls on top of you. you throw the blanket off of your naked body so that law could get beneath it too. “i’m just excited, i guess.”

he’s laying between your parted thighs now. this is the closest you two have ever been and it feels so natural. his weight on top of you. his face a few inches away. his scent mingling with yours in a drunken dance.

law can’t stop the smile that tugs at his lips as he looks down at you. he drops a brief peck to your lips before he begins to line himself up with your entrance.

“wait.” his tip is actively pressing into you when he halts in place. “i’m nervous.”

“are you alright?” his eyes are concerned as he brings his hand back up to push the hair from your face and caress your cheek.

“yes.” weird emotions are building in your chest. feelings that are far scarier to admit out loud. it feels like an end of a chapter, but also like the beginning of a different book entirely. “but why do i feel like this is my first time?”

he actually scoffs, his head drops down and he sighs your name so heavily maybe the exhaustion of the day has finally caught up with him. “do you think before you say things or do you just say them?”

“listen i’m very vulnerable right now and honestly i came so hard a few minutes ago i think you broke me.”

“i didn’t break you. look,” he pokes at your side and you flinch away. his fingers tickle up your waist and you writhe while trying to suppress a laugh. “see you’re not broken.”

“you don’t get it,” you giggle lightly and swat his hand away when it gets way too close to your armpit.

“for what it’s worth,” he drops to his elbows, most of his weight now bearing down on you and he rests his forehead on yours. “i’m a little nervous too. i’m just way too hard right now to focus on anything other than the fact that i’m about to be inside you.”

“so you’re also excited?” his words are worth all the treasure in the world because your nerves evaporate. as if they were never there at all.

“very.” he kisses you. soft and slow. his tongue slides across your bottom lip and you part them immediately. as your tongues glide against each other you sneak a hand between your bodies. your fingers make contact with latex, and your wrap them around his dick as soon as you’re able to reach. he gently thrusts into your palm. his tip slips between your folds in a languid grind.

you rub him against you until his kisses are interrupted by his own stuttered exhales. when you open your eyes you see how his face is scrunched up and how his breath leaves his lips in quiet wheezes. ok, fine he really does look tortured like this. a small thrill shoots down into your stomach when you realize that it's because of you. you do this to him.

you line him up, tilting your hips towards him just as his head catches your entrance and during the next roll of your hips he sinks into you. the stretch has your head falling back and he groans against your cheek.

"fuck, baby, you feel so good," he moans right into your ear and with another roll of your hips he sinks deeper into you. "s'tight, fu-"

your own moan cuts him off. you're still sensitive from your first orgasm, and law's cock is actually made for you. he fills you up perfectly, thick enough to make you drool. his thrusts start out shallow as you adjust to each other. his hand has found your hip, his fingers digging into your fat and you know-- hope-- that marks are left behind when you wake up in the morning.

control is only yours for a few more moments though because law's hips start to find a rhythm of their own. each slap is heavy and deep. each one scoots you further up the bed until your head brushes your headboard.

you hardly feel the dull thuds though. not with the way law hooks your thigh over his elbow and presses your knee towards your chest.

"shit," your nails dig into his bicep as you try to withstand how deeply he's fucking you. the pillow beside your head crumples beneath the weight of his forearm when his hand comes up to rest between your crown and the headboard.

"sorry," he apologizes hurriedly, "for this." his pace quickens, your eyes roll back, and his hand gets tangled in your hair.

"harder," you gasp, your thighs attempting to shut around his waist. his legs bend at the knees and it lifts your hips from the bed. the angle allows him to fulfill your request. and a sob claws its way out of your throat.

"i'm gonna cum," he grunts out between gritted teeth, his face buried in the space between your neck and shoulder.

"inside?" you whine, hopeful, even though deep down you know he's wearing a condom. how unfortunate.

"yes, love," he rasps, his thrusts getting slightly faster as he gets closer to climax. "if that's what you want i'll give it to you."

"yes, yes, please, fuck, ple-" if you're crying that's none of your business. you can't possibly control anything right now. your body is completely his. and you gave it to him willingly. with no intentions of asking for it back if he continues fucking you like this.

you only regret one thing. not being lucid enough to witness law's orgasm with your own eyes. you hear it, feel it, but when your second one quakes through your trembling body, you miss seeing it.

your limbs are numb. your thoughts are murky and disjointed. when he collapses on you, you welcome the weight of him like a security blanket.

"that was..." law can't even finish his sentence. not that he needs to. because you know what that was. it was euphoric. your own sick form of exaltation.

you follow his warmth when he eventually rolls off of you. you paste yourself to his side. and in the quiet moments of bliss that follow, law's hand draws comforting symbols down your arm and across your spine. sleep is somewhere nearby. you feel her whisper at your senses to rest. but you're too greedy to let go of this time with him. not yet. you'll sleep later.

"thank you," he whispers into the top of your head. not really loud enough for you to hear, but it's so silent and you're so attune to him that it would've been impossible for you to miss it.

"the last time you thanked me, you avoided me for days," you complain, burrowing your face into his chest just in time to feel his laugh rumble through him.

"last time was different," he pauses, and you could hear the contemplation in his tone. "last time i was an idiot who should've kissed you good night."

"oh, so this time you made sure to get what you wanted," you teased, your finger gently poking at his side like he did to you earlier.

"this time i realized that after a shitty day all i wanted was you. however you would have me." his hand is tilting your chin so that you're looking up at him. and all you can see in his eyes is an earnest devotion. one that settles over you so intensely you're not sure if alarm bells that you're in too deep are supposed to be going off. "being with you like this is just a bonus."

"well," you sit up so that you're propped up on his chest. "are you gonna tell me why your day was so shitty?"

he sighs, his lips pressing into a thin line as he thinks. "i almost lost a patient today. everything is fine now, but it's moments like that that have me question if holding someone's life in my hands is worth it. feels like i'm gambling. like i'm tempting fate somehow."

“when was the last time you lost a patient?” you ask, your fingers making odd shapes over his heart.

“it’s been a few years,” he sighs. “but that fear never really leaves you.”

“it sounds to me like you’re incredible at what you do and that even with the scare today, you still managed to save a life. tempting fate is what we do as humans, you’re just better at it than anyone else.”

he gives you a small smile. and in his eyes you can see the reflection of something you know you hold in your heart. a type of fondness that transcends simple companionship. he leans forward to kiss you. it has none of the lust or desperation from earlier. but something even more tantalizing. something that you used your fingers to spell out on his chest. just four quick letters that you etch superficially into his skin like a secret.

"i called off tomorrow,” he responds eventually. his hand is propped behind his head as you both relax in each others arms.

"oooh, i'll play hooky with you,” you say, giddiness returning at the prospect of having him all to yourself for an entire day.

"good, because i have big plans for you in the morning,” he twists so that he’s facing you, his arms looping around your waist and pulling you further into his chest.

"care to share?" you ask, already knowing what your plans are for him. all of which include little to no clothing.

"mhmm, you and i..." he leans in really close, his nose nuzzles yours and his lips brush featherlight between your own, "are cleaning out that fucking garage."

you groan. your head falls back and you playfully hit his chest with a loose fist. “i told you it was bad.”

"it’s worse than bad. if i wasn't so distracted i probably would've dropped from a heart attack." and although he’s scolding you, when you try to pull away he chases you.

"ok, drama,” you roll your eyes, turning around so that he’s spooning you. "just don't wake me up too early unless you amend your plans to include rolling around in my sheets again."

"i'll consider it."

part nine

[teh-inggris]

I need to chew both of them like a stress toy

[saetiate]

The man standing behind the island of the most stunning, grandest kitchen you have ever seen tells you he is your husband. He tells you he is Itoshi Sae, that he plays football for a living.

You don't recall him at all.

You think you must've gotten lucky, sitting in a beautiful house with a beautiful man who seems as steady as can be, despite the circumstances. He slides food from the pan and onto a plate with an easy grace.

Sae sighs as the plate lands a little too loudly, the clang of ceramic to counter echoing through the walls.

You flinch.

His eyes widen just slightly at that, something like dread settling inside of him. But the pause he makes in the silence must've been too loud, too clear. Because then you're scrambling.

"I'm sorry," you tell him quickly. The plate scrapes against the counter as you pull it towards yourself, the clang of cutlery bites like winter snow. He shakes his head at you, to gesture to you that there's nothing to be sorry for in the way you used to know he did, but you keep your eyes downcast as you chew.

His hand moves instinctively, hovering just over your head —

And then you see him in the corner of your eye visibly catching himself, dropping it back down to his side.

~

Sae remembers the parts of you coated in fear near the beginning of your relationship. The loud noises you turned against, the hesitance you held before touching your hand to his.

He remembers the way he coaxed you into his arms and onto his lap, took your hand in his and stood with you in the sun until the lightness leaked into you and you smiled at him, so bright he couldn't help but return something soft right back to you.

But even at your most scared, you've never been scared of him.

The way you flinched at him replays in his mind. How frightening it must've been, for a man you don't know to tell you he is your husband, to put food in front of you and expect you to eat it, take all of this in without mercy.

He should've known better. Should've done better. Should've —

"I love you."

That shocks him more than the scalding hot water that pours over his hands and the dishes, his head snapping towards yours, meeting your sheepish gaze.

"I know I don't remember you. But when I look at you, I feel — I feel like I love you. I feel warm and- and I feel it everywhere."

Your eyes dart this way and that even as you step closer to him, the rushing water forgotten. The hot water means nothing when can feel your body heat so close to his, your cheek just centimeters from leaning against his shoulder.

"Even though I don't know you, I feel like I know. I feel like I know that I love you."

Your voice is almost a whisper now, and it's like the friction slide of tectonic plates inside of him — your meekness compared to the way you used to jump and wrap your arms around him, the way you used to take up all his space and time.

The tap turns off. He breathes in deep, like a boat lulling before a wave crash.

"I love you."

Something about the way he says it, even with the way he looks at you, makes it seem like the words are foreign in his mouth. Rolls against his tongue like a candy you're trying to figure out the flavor of.

"When we first met, even though I didn't know you before…"

He's not looking at you anymore. He's looking at the tap, he's drying his hands, hoping he can wipe away the heaviness of how he feels with the water.

"I felt like I had always loved you."

Like an anchor to the seabed, it strikes anyways.

You take his hands in yours, your fingers brushing against his heated palms, turning him towards you with an easiness only you are capable of bringing out of him.

"Okay," you lace your fingers with his, heart tumbling into a gentle smile, carrying the softness of hope along with it. "Let's start there."