gratelove

[gratelove]

[gratelove]

My Novel

I'm writing a romantasy novel! I'd love if you'd read it and give me you raw and honest critiques! I just finished chapter 18! My goal is to get this book published once it's complete, so I'd really appreciate honest feedback! I'm thinking about posting the chapters here too, so let me know if I should! Thank you! <3

Here's the link!

[gratelove]

Hii! I know its been a while since you posted it but i recently stumbled across your Nicky fic and it was soo well written, you capture her so well!!! I read it over and over again. I am so glad to have found it because theres a worrying lack of fanfics for her here. If you don’t mind, would you please consider writing for her again?

Sorry that I’ve been MIA for a while! Ive been writing a book and it’s consuming my life right now! But, here is the fanfic as requested! I hope you enjoy 🧡

I Missed You More

Nicky Nichols x Reader

After getting released from Litchfield, you spiral into addiction and land right back inside—only to face Nicky Nichols, the woman you left behind and never truly stopped wanting. What begins with resentment and unresolved pain erupts into a desperate, heated reunion, where old wounds and buried desire ignite behind the prison walls.

Warnings: cursing, talk of drug use, 18+, sexual content

You didn’t except to come back.

You always told yourself it’d be different this time —that you’d get out and stay out. You’d read the books, sat through the NA meetings, and nodded in all the right places. You made a plan: halfway house, part-time job, find a routine. Get your shit together.

But routine doesn’t pay the bills, and rehab doesn’t prepare you for the silence that crawls in around midnight when no one checks on you anymore. When there’s no one to tell you to eat, sleep, breathe. When freedom doesn’t feel like salvation—it feels like drowning with no lifeguard in sight.

It started slow, as it always does. A little something to take the edge off. A little more to silence the voice in your head telling you you’re worthless. You swore it was temporary. You swore you’d stop.

And then the sirens came.

Now here you are—again.

Litchfield. Round two.

The familiar stench of bleach and institutional failure clings to the walls. The processing officer doesn’t look at you twice when he hands you your uniform. You wonder if he remembers your face from last time.

You do your best to keep your head low, avoid familiar gazes, but someone was bound to see you eventually. It was only a matter of time before she found out you were back.

The voice hit first.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” That familiar, raspy voice cracks through your cube. You flinch, but don’t turn around.

Nicky scoffs. “What was it this time? A needle? A baggie? Or just good old fashioned stupidity?”

You finally turn, heart kicking against your lips as your eyes fall on her. Her arms are crossed, jaw tight, an unlit cigarette dangling from her fingers. Her red hair is longer, but her eyes… they’re still the same. Still beautiful.

You feel her disappointment in your bones and it makes your chest tighten.

“Nice to see you too, Nichols.”

“Cut the shit. You promised me.”

You almost laugh. “I promised a lot of things.”

“Yeah, and you broke every goddamn one of ‘em.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s violent. You can feel it between you. All the unspoken words, the held anger.

“Do you enjoy fucking up your life, or is it just, like, a hobby at this point?” she spits, stepping closer. Her eyes narrow. “Be honest. Was it H? Pills? Did you even make it six months?”

“Six and a half,” you mutter.

She laughs without humor. “Well, gold star for effort.”

The truth is, this hurts more than it should. More than it has any right to. Because you and Nicky… you weren’t just something casual. You were each other’s crutch, each other’s craving, each other’s almost.

And for two junkies, it’s the worst fucking relationship there is.

But when you got out, you left her behind without so much as a letter. Not because you didn’t care—because you cared too much. Because if you’d stayed tethered to her, you knew you’d never learn to stand on your own.

She doesn’t see it that way. She never did.

You wanted to be sober. You wanted to get better for her, so you did what you thought you had to do to make that happen. And you failed.

“Just fuck off, alright. I already feel bad enough. I don’t need to hear your shit.”

She runs a hand through her hair, walking to the edge of your cube. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes low. “I know.”

And then she’s gone.

-

A few days pass.

Every time you catch Nicky, she’s watching you. She doesn’t look away. She holds it, challenging you. You always look away first.

Day after day, you do your best to avoid her. You can’t face her. You don’t want to.

But she doesn’t make it easy.

She corners you in the laundry room, voice low so no one else can hear.

“You just gonna pretend I’m not here? Avoid me your whole sentence?” You avert your gaze, sucking in an annoyed breath. “Do you think you’re better than me now? Or are just too ashamed to talk to me?”

“I tried,” you snap. “I fucking tried, Nicky. Every damn day, I tried. And you know what? It was worse than in here. Out there, there’s no fence to blame.”

Her expression cracks and her breath hitches. Her looks like she’s deciding whether to hate you or feel sorry for you.

“You had a chance. A fucking chance. And you blew it.”

“And what would you have done differently?” She steps back, eyes wide. “Don’t act like you’re some fucking saint.”

She gets in your face, so close you can feel her breath hitches your cheeks. “Fuck you.”

“Yeah.” Your gaze scans her features. You take in the smell of her. A luxury you’ve been forced to live without for too long. “Fuck you too.”

She slams her hand against the wall beside your head. “You left like I never meant anything. And now you’re here. I can’t deal with your shit again. I can’t play sponsor. I barely got my own shit together.”

“I’m not asking you to save me, Nicky.”

“No, but now I have to see you every day. After you left with our even saying goodbye. And I hate you.” Hey eyes are glassy. “I hate that you left. I hate that you relapsed. And I fucking hate that I still care about you.”

You blink, but you don’t cry. You used to cry in front of her, back when you thought love meant being vulnerable. Back before you knew how much it could hurt.

“I hate it too,” you say. Her jaw flexes. You can see the way she’s trying not to care. The way she wants to hate you because it’s easier than admitting she never stopped hoping you’d stay clean. That maybe if you stayed clean, it meant she could too. “You always said we were the same,” you murmur.

Nicky chuckles bitterly. “We are. That’s why we’re both back in here, remember?”

You stare at each other for the longest moment. She’s so close. Only a few inches away. She’d be so easy to touch… to kiss. You can’t help but look at her lips. You want to. You want to so fucking bad. And she does too.

But thankfully, she’s stronger than you are at this moment. She pushes off the wall and takes one last look at you before going back to angrily folding her towels.

-

You lean against the chain link fence behind the greenhouse, arms crossed.

You hear the scuff of boots against gravel. The soft rattle of her breath. You don’t turn, but your pulse picks up anyway.

Nicky steps into view, eyes glinting.

“You following me now?” She mutters

You glance over. “Didn’t know you owner the fence line.”

She snorts and pulls something from her sleeve. A cigarette. Fuck, you could use a cigarette.

She taps it against her thumb, then lights it with a flick from a smuggled match. The flame burns bright, catching the gold in her hair for a moment.

She takes a long drag, holds it, then exhales like she’s been underwater all day.

“Want some?” she asks, holding it out.

You hesitate.

But not long.

Your fingers brush when you take it. You bring it to your lips and inhale. It burns in that familiar way—like punishment and comfort all at once.

Nicky leans her shoulder against the fence, facing you now. Her eyes scan your face, lingering a little too long on your mouth.

“You know, I’ve thought about this moment.” You glance at her, raising a brow. “How I’d yell at you if you ever got back in, if you relapsed. How I’d tell you to fuck off, or… I don’t know. Kiss you.”

She laughs quietly, but there’s no humor in it. Just that aching truth that lives between addicts—between you.

You pass the cigarette back, and she takes it. Her hands shake slightly, but she hides it with practiced ease.

“I didn’t stay clean,” you whisper.

She nods slowly. “Yeah, no shit.” There’s a beat of silence. “Neither did I.”

You watch the smoke curl between you, how it dances before disappearing. You wonder if that’s all the two of you are—just smoke and memory. Nothing solid. Nothing that stays.

Then she looks at you—really looks at you.

“I missed you,” she murmurs.

Your throat tightens. “I missed you too.”

Something shifts.

It’s not dramatic. It’s not sudden. It’s just… quiet.

The way she leans in, just a little. The way her fingers brush your wrist when she passes the cigarette back again. The way your eyes flick to her mouth, then away.

And then back.

She watches you the whole time.

“You gonna kiss me, or just stare at my mouth all night?” she asks, voice hoarse.

You don’t answer at first, just step closer. Your hand curls gently in her jacket.

“Is that really a good idea?” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, holding back a smile.

“Fuck no,” she breathes. “But when the fuck has that ever mattered.” She laugh and so does she. The sound is rich and you hold onto it. You forgot how much you missed it.

Then, you kiss her. Your lips meet and you swear it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Your finger curl tighter in her coat, pulling her into you. The kiss turns hungry.

The cigarette drops, forgotten, snuffled out beneath her boot.

She pulls you, and turns, walking you back until you hit the greenhouse wall. Her hands brace either side of your head. Her body slots against yours like muscle memory. Like she never forgot.

Nicky’s breath ghosts against your mouth, her eyes flickering between yours, searching. For permission.

And you give it to her—wordlessly, in the way your hand slides up the back of her neck and into her hair. In the way your mouth finds hers again.

She groans into the kiss, like it’s the first exhale after holding her breath for too long.

Your fingers slide under her shirt. Her skin is warm.

Her mouth finds the hollow of your collarbone, and she lingers there, teeth grazing just enough to make your breath hitch.

She pulls your waistband down just far enough. Her breath hitches when you gasp. You bite your lip to keep from crying out.

When her fingers find you, slick and hot and already trembling, your breath stutters. Your hips twitch involuntarily, grinding into her palm like your body remembers the rhythm before your mind catches up.

“Good to see you still get soaked for me.”

Your forehead falls against hers. You squeeze your eyes shut.

It’s too much and not enough.

Her other hand clutches your thigh, steadying you as her fingers begin to move—slow at first, circling, teasing, dragging pleasure through you in long, unbearable strokes. You cry out softly, biting your lip to muffle it, but she catches the sound with her mouth, drinking it in like she’s starving.

Your breath comes in sharp bursts, each one echoing against the wall. Your whole body feels stretched thin, like you’re fraying at the edges. Pressure coils in your belly, hot and bright, curling tighter with every pass of her fingers. Your thighs shake.

You arch against her, helpless.

She picks up her pace, thumb finding you clit. Your fingers dig into her should, hand fisting her hair.

“Fuck, Nicky.” You moan, head falling back.

“Fuck. I missed the way you whimper.” Her tongue runs up your neck and breaks into a kiss along your jaw.

You cling to her, your body trembling now, hips starting to roll against her hand without thinking.

“Yeah, just like that, baby.”

She pushes deeper, her fingers curling just right—pressing into that sweet, aching spot that makes your body clench and your eyes blur. Your thighs tremble as the pleasure builds, fast and overwhelming. Your nails dig into her shoulder as she works you faster, harder.

“I’m gonna cum.” You moan in her ear, taking her lobe between your teeth. She groans at the sensation.

“Cum, baby.” And you do.

Your orgasm hits like a wave breaking, crashing over you with violent heat. You cry out, clutching her like she’s the only thing keeping you upright. Your legs give way, and she catches you—eases you down, pulling you onto her lap as your body pulses and quakes with aftershocks.

You collapse into her chest, gasping, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

She’s quiet for a moment, her cheek pressed to your hair, her hand still possessive around your waist.

Then, softly:

“I missed you so fucking much.” You take in her sweet brown eyes, then brush your lips against hers.

“I missed you more.”

[gratelove]

too much is never enough

[gratelove]

[gratelove]

in the end, we’ll all become stories.

[gratelove]

I would love a smut about Smiley (from From lol) x Reader... I know, I'm weird 🫣

Ask and you shall receive! I hope you like it !🖤

You Make Me Feel Alive

Smiley x Reader

In a town shrouded by danger and fear, a you find yourself irresistibly drawn to Smiley, a monster who watches you from the shadows each night. What begins as terror transforms into a forbidden connection, leading to a night of passion that blurs the line between fear and desire.

Warnings: p in v, pain kink, blood, oral, biting, choking

The nights in this strange town were never easy, but tonight felt different. There was a weight in the air, a pull you couldn’t shake, and it came from the figure at your window.

Smiley.

He was there again, as he had been so many nights before. His tall, menacing frame cast a shadow across your room, his ever-present grin illuminated faintly by the moonlight. You couldn’t remember the first time he appeared, but now it felt like a ritual. Every night, his gaze followed you from that same spot, and though terror was your initial reaction, something else began to grow.

Intrigue.

You hated yourself for it, the way your stomach fluttered when his silhouette appeared. He was dangerous, a monster. But there was something about the way he lingered. He never broke the glass. He never made a move to harm you, though you couldn’t imagine why.

Tonight, though, you were tired of hiding your fear—and your questions.

“Why do you come here every night?” you whispered, silently praying he could t hear you. He smile grew as he titled his head.

“Why do you want me to? Why do you not shut your curtains like all the others? Why are you not afraid?” His voice was muffled through the glass that separated you. You were shocked he even heard your question.

“I-I don’t know. I am afraid,” you said, standing from your bed to meet him at the window.

“Maybe, but you also want me to come inside.” You shook your head at his claim.

“No,” you declared. “You’d kill me if you did.” He let out a low laugh.

“Let’s find out if that’s true.” With that, he walked away. Panic shot through you as his figure disappeared. You ran for your bedroom door, but then you heard it. You saw it.

The door creaked open.

Your blood ran cold. Your heart pounded as you froze in place.

“Shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” a low, gravelly voice teased.

Your breath hitched as you began to back away. Smiley stood there, in your room, impossibly tall and imposing. The grin that seemed so distant at your window was now close enough to send chills down your spine.

You stumbled back, your legs giving way as you sank to the floor. Panic coursed through your veins, and you stared at him, wide-eyed and trembling. “H-how…?”

He didn’t answer, only watched you with an intensity that made the air feel thick. Then, to your surprise, he sat down on the floor, leaning casually against the wall as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

“Relax,” he said, his voice calm but still carrying that dark edge. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it by now.”

Not exactly comforting, but it stopped your heart from racing quite as fast. You pressed your back against the wall, trying to put as much distance between you as possible. “Then what do you want?”

He tilted his head again, considering you for a long moment before answering. “You’re different.”

You frowned, confused. “Different? How?”

“You don’t scream,” he said, his grin faltering slightly, revealing something almost contemplative beneath the surface. “You don’t cry. You just… watch me. Like I watch you. Why do you watch me?”

Your chest tightened. He wasn’t wrong, but hearing him say it out loud made your stomach twist. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re different too, I suppose. Why do you watch me?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, he chuckled—a low, gravelly sound that sent a strange shiver down your spine. “Maybe I like watching you,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

You blinked, stunned. “But… why? Why me? Why not someone else?”

“I told you, you’re different. I don’t know what it is,” he continued, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful. “But there’s something about you. You’re… interesting.”

“Interesting,” you repeated, shaking your head in disbelief. “I’m not sure if I should feel flattered or terrified.”

“Why not both?” he said, his grin returning in full force.

You laughed nervously, the sound shaky and uncertain. “This is insane. You’re insane.”

“That’s for certain, sweetheart,” he voice was low, his smile growing. “But you’re not running.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. He was right—you weren’t running. And despite the fear that lingered in the back of your mind, you didn’t want to.

“I don’t know why I’m not,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

He leaned forward slightly, his grin softening. “Because you see me. I see you, too. I see the darkness in you. We’re the same.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you hated how his words made your stomach flutter. “No, we’re not. You’re a monster. This is wrong,” you whispered, more to yourself than him.

“Wrong doesn’t mean you don’t want it,” he countered, his voice low and deliberate.

The tension between you was unbearable. His presence filled the room, suffocating and intoxicating all at once. And then he moved, crawling toward you slowly, his movements smooth and deliberate.

You pressed back against the wall, your breath hitching as he came closer. “What are you doing?” you asked, though your voice lacked the conviction to stop him.

“Showing you why you don’t run,” he said, his face now inches from yours.

Before you could respond, his hand moved to your face, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes. His touch was surprisingly gentle, sending a shiver through you. And then, without warning, he kissed you.

The world seemed to stop. His lips were rough and demanding, yet there was a strange tenderness in the way he held you. Your mind screamed at you to pull away, to push him back, but your body betrayed you. You kissed him back, your hands tangling in his shirt as you gave in to the moment.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a mix of warning and temptation.

You didn’t.

Instead, you pulled him closer, the kiss deepening as the intensity between you grew. His hands moved to your waist, his grip firm as he guided you down to the floor. The heat of his body against yours was overwhelming, and you found yourself drowning in the sensation.

His lips moved with a desperate kind of hunger, yet there was a control to his touch that surprised you. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t taking more than you were willing to give, and that only made the heat pooling in your chest spread further. The rough pads of his fingers skimmed your jaw, down your neck, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

You couldn’t explain what was happening—why you wanted him like this, why your body refused to fight him. Maybe it was the adrenaline, the thrill of danger wrapped in the intimacy of the moment. Or maybe it was him, the creature you’d feared for so long, now kneeling before you with a softness you never thought possible.

“Are you still afraid of me?��� You stared at him, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you reached for him, your fingers brushing against the sharp line of his jaw. It was your answer, silent but undeniable.

A dark smile spread across his face—not the predatory grin you were used to, but something softer, something just for you. He leaned in again, his lips capturing yours with a slow, deliberate intensity that made your toes curl. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your waist as he pulled you closer.

Your body pressed against his, and you could feel the strength in his frame, the raw power he held back. It thrilled and terrified you all at once. His fingers found the hem of your shirt, then he was pulling it over your head. He tossed it aside before his lips found your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as heat coursed through you.

You couldn’t hold back the soft whimper that escaped your lips, your body arching against his. His hands were everywhere, exploring, claiming, yet there was a care in his movements that left you breathless. He wasn’t just taking; he was savoring, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling in your haste to remove it. He chuckled, the sound dark and teasing, before helping you shrug it off. Your hands roamed over the hard planes of his chest, marveling at the contrast between his monstrous presence and the warmth of his skin.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your head spin. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you onto his lap as the kiss grew more fervent. You could feel the tension in his body, the restraint he was holding onto with sheer willpower.

“I could ruin you,” he growled against your lips, his hands tightening on your hips. “You know that, don’t you?”

You cupped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Maybe I want you to,” you said, your voice steady despite the tremble in your body. His grin returned, sharp and wicked, but there was something else in his eyes—something that looked dangerously close to reverence.

His mouth returned to your heated skin. He sunk his teeth into the part of your breast that was pooling over your bra and you gasped at the pain and the pleasure of it. He unclasped your bra, pulling it off. He took your nipple in his mouth. He rolled it between his teeth as he ran a hand up your thigh. Your nails dug into his back and he groaned.

“Do it again,” he demanded. You raked your nails over his skin and he arched into it. His large hand found your throat and his faces was only centimeters from yours. “Harder, sweetheart.” You did it again, digging your fingers deep into his skin. He moaned at the pain, a wide smile spreading across his face. With his hand still around your throat, he crashed your lips into his. The kiss was rough and urgent. He took your bottom lip between his teeth and bit down until you tasted blood.

You winced and he pulled back, that grin on his face, his lip now tinted red. He ran his tongue over his lip, taking in the taste of your blood in his mouth. “You taste better than I could have imagined.” You ran your finger over your bottom lip. You looked down at your stained index finger, then met his gaze. It was dark, animalistic. He grapped your wrist and sucked on your finger. His eyes never left yours. Your mouth fell open in want, in need, of the creature in front of you.

He put his hand on your chest, pushing you back. You let him move you until your back met the cold wood floor. The chill sent goosebumps across your body. His hands unbuttoned your shorts. He wasted no time taking them down, along with your panties. He moaned as he took in your naked form. He ran his hands up your bare thighs and you sucked in a breath.

“You’re braver than I expected,” he murmured, his voice almost reverent as his gaze roamed over you.

“And you’re softer than I expected,” you replied. He chuckled and wrapped his hands over your knees. He spread them apart, revealing your, already wet, sex. He lowered his head between your legs. He kissed your inner thigh. He grazed his teeth against your sensitive skin and you moaned. He bit down and sucked on the skin. He worked a few different areas and you basked in the beauty of the pleasure and the pain.

His tongue finally found your center. He ran a tongue through your folds and your whole body tensed. He nails ran down your thighs and the burn made you squirm. He locked up you again, but stopped at your clit. He took it between his teeth and you let out a cry of rapture. He sucked on your bundle of nerves and sunk two fingers into you. One hand worked at pumping in and out of your soaking pussy, while the other dug into your hip.

Your back arched as your hands tangled in his red hair. A symphony of moans fell from your lips. You tighten around his fingers as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. You rocked against his hand, pushing his fingers further into you. Just as you were about to explode, all pleasure ceased.

He lifted himself from you and you saw that predatory smile. He unbuttoned his pants and slid them down to reveal himself. His cock hit his stomach as it sprang from his underwear.

He crawled on top of you, hands on either side of your head. He moved a strand of hair away from your face. He placed a soft kiss on your lips.

You’re so… alive. It’s so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rasping and low, carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. His fingers traced the curve of your shoulder, down to your waist, his touch igniting every nerve.

“And you’re not?” you asked, breathless, the question spilling out before you could stop it.

His grin returned, sharper this time, but there was something in his eyes that made your stomach flutter—a vulnerability he didn’t quite try to hide. “Not the way you are,” he said simply, the words laced with something close to awe.

Before you could reply, he kissed your inner thigh fiercely. He guided himself to meet your entrance. He slowly slid in the tip and you moaned. He pulled out, then repeated his action, going in a little further. He removed himself again and you groaned in frustration.

“Stop playing with me,” you whined, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“But I like tormenting you. I like watching you squirm,” he whispered in your ear, deliberately going as slow as possible to fill you. You couldn’t take it. You ground yourself into him until he was fully inside you. You moaned and his chuckle filled your ear. “So impatient.”

“Just fuck me. Please,” you begged and as if that was all he was waiting for, he pulled out, then slammed into you. He repeated his movements, his thrusts were hard and rough. You didn’t want him to be gentle. You gasped in his ear as he buried himself deeper and deeper. Each thrust went further in, hitting the innermost parts of you. Your fingers dug deep into his skin and he moaned.

“Harder,” he whispered and you did it again, sure you may have drawn blood. He pounded into you and you felt you getting closer and closer to your climax.

“I’m close,” you cried and he grabbed your hands, pinning them above your head. Your wrists dug into the wood and he held you firm in place. Your gaze met his face and he was watching his cock slide in and out of your pussy. He loved seeing himself buried inside you. Your legs began to shake at the utter gratification. His hungry eyes met yours and he watched you as your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open. Your muscles tightened around him and you released.

Pure ecstasy washed over you. It was blinding, like a flood of light and warmth sweeping through every corner of your being. Your breath caught, your chest arching as a soft cry escaped your lips, the sensation so powerful it felt like the world had tilted on its axis.

For a moment, there was only him—his hands steadying you, his voice a low murmur in your ear, grounding you even as your body shuddered with the force of it all. It wasn’t just physical; it was something deeper, something that left you feeling bare and weightless, like he had peeled away every layer of fear and left only raw, unfiltered need.

When it finally subsided, he laid on the floor next to you, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and you felt the faint rumble of his chuckle against your skin.

“You make me feel alive,” he whispered in your ear. You looked up, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“You make me feel alive, too.”

[gratelove]

you were soft wool and he was a sacrificial knife, it's not your fault - it's what had to happen

Deaf Republic - Ilya Kaminsky // Still - Noah Kahan // Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain // Their eyes were watching God - Zara Neale Hurston // The sacrificial lamb, Agnus Dei - Josefa de Óbidos // Love in the time of cholera - Gabriel García Márquez // Would've Could've Should've - Taylor Swift

[gratelove]

"There was no answer, except the beating of their two hearts; hers, faint and broken, like the dying embers of a fire; his, heavy and strong, like the march of a relentless army. The room was dim, the light pooling in warm tones of amber and brown, yet neither could see anything but the void between them, and the bitter taste of all that had been unsaid hung like coffee on their tongues."

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

[gratelove]

via @ arylleth - Tumblr // “If We Were Villians”, M.L. Rio (via @ picsfrommeg - Pinterest) // Aaron O’Hanlon (via @ crystaldy3 - Pinterest) // via @ t33thmarks - Pinterest // Jill S. Alexander, “Paradise” (via @ jelayneia - Pinterest) // via @ nottad7 - Pinterest // Brené Brown, “Rising Strong” (via @ laughingmage - Pinterest) // Alian de Botton, “Essays in Love” (via @ koscovaveronika - Pinterest) // via @ serenitysierra2 - Pinterest // Chris Mc Geown, “Dead of Night” (via @ abengtson0337 - Pinterest)

[gratelove]

[gratelove]

Stephanie Foo, What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma

[gratelove]

[gratelove]

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

— Albert Camus

[gratelove]

me reading smut and calculating in my head the positions the characters are in

[gratelove]

Stay This Time

Bjorn Lothbrok x Reader

Separated by fate but reunited by fire, a childhood bond between Bjorn Lothbrok and a fierce shieldmaiden reignites into a passion as untamed as the storm that brews between you. Bound by choice, not need, you demand your own legacy — but Bjorn vows to stay, not to claim you, but to stand beside you as your equal.

Warnings:p in v, fluff

The clash of steel filled the air, ringing out against the chatter of onlookers. You were locked in a heated practice fight, your breath coming in short, determined bursts as you sparred against one of Kattegat’s men. He was twice your size, but that only drove you to push harder, your movements swift and precise.

With a final twist of your wrist, you swept his legs out from under him and planted your foot on his chest. The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter, and you allowed yourself a proud grin.

From across the training field, a familiar pair of piercing blue eyes watched, filled with curiosity. Bjorn Lothbrok had returned to Kattegat, and though he looked different—stronger, broader, with the air of a man who had seen battles—you recognized him immediately. He was no longer the boy you had once called your best friend, but a warrior who carried himself with a quiet confidence.

Bjorn’s gaze lingered on you, a spark of recognition dawning on his face. It had been years since he left with his mother, and yet here you were, standing tall and fierce before him. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he were piecing together a puzzle.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around your neck and a deep laugh erupted in your ear, breaking your locked gaze. The arms of Rune, your long time friend and recent sexual companion. He left a sloppy kiss on your cheek and you laughed, grabbing his forearm with your small hands. He began to drag you away, but not before you got one last glance at Bjorn, who was still watching you.

_

Later that evening, Kattegat was alive with celebration. The great hall was filled with laughter, the smell of roasting meat, and the clinking of cups. You felt a strange excitement coursing through you, knowing Bjorn was somewhere in the crowd. You stood away from the crowd, leaning against a pillar.

As you sipped from your horn of ale, a voice spoke close to your ear. “I thought I recognized that fierce look on the training field,” Bjorn said, his tone laced with amusement. “You always had the same look on your face when we fight as kids.” The voice made its way to stand directly in front of you.

“If I remember right, I always kicked your ass too.” He laughed, only a few inches away from you. You leaned your head against the wood pillar, tilting it up to meet his gaze. He stood several inches above you, and was definitely not the boy you remembered him to be. He was all muscle, scars, and tattoos now. A true Viking male.

“It was only because I let you win.” You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes.

“Is that what you tell yourself to help you sleep at night? Can’t help being beat by a girl?” His index finger found one of the curls of your hair, playing with it. You breath hitched at his touch.

“Not much of a girl anymore. You’re a woman now.” You raised an eyebrow, trying your hardest to not let him see he’s affecting you.

“Yes, as you are now a man,” you say as your eyes travel down his body, then back up to his eyes. A playful smirk finds his lips as his hand travels down to grab yours.

“Will you dance with me? Or will your boyfriend be angry?” You furrow your brows at his accusation.

“What makes you think I have a boyfriend?”

“I saw that boy you were with earlier.” Your eyes widen in realizing you laugh.

“Rune? He is not my boyfriend. I am no man’s. I belong to no one.” Bjorn smiles and pulls your hand so your flush against him.

“How does such a beautiful woman not have a boyfriend.” He tilted his head in question.

“Because, I will never be known as someone’s wife. I will be known as a shield maiden. People will know my name, not because of who my husband is, but for the person I decided to be.” An expression flashed on Bjorn’s face, one of appreciation. One of respect.

“Good, then you will dance with me.” His gaze was intense on you, his eyes sharp and playful.

“I never said yes.” You squinted at him.

“Come on,” he said, his voice rough with amusement. “Or have you grown too proud to dance with an old friend?”

“Proud,” you shot back. “If anyone’s proud, it’s you.”

He laughed, his grip firm as he tugged you into the swirling crowd of bodies. People moved aside, giving him space as he pulled you in front of him, his hands sliding to your waist with the confidence of someone who never asked permission. You stared up at him, your breath caught in your chest as the world around you blurred into flickering lights and music.

“Show me, then,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart pound harder than the drums. “Show me if you’re still as wild as you used to be.”

You tilted your head, arching a brow, unwilling to back down. “You’ll have to keep up, Bjorn.”

He grinned, his hands gripping your hips with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. The music shifted to a deeper, headier rhythm, the steady thump of the drums echoing through your veins. You moved together, your bodies falling into sync as if no time had passed at all.

The air grew thicker with every beat, every sway of your hips. His eyes stayed on you, watching every movement like a predator stalking prey. You matched his energy, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, knowing exactly what you were doing. His grip tightened in response, his fingers pressing into your sides as his gaze flickered down to where your bodies were almost—but not quite—touching.

“Still think you can handle me, Lothbrok,” you teased, breathless from the thrill of it all.

His eyes snapped back to yours, sharp as a blade’s edge. “I don’t think,” he said, his voice low, rough, and far too close to your ear. “I know.”

Heat spread through you like wildfire. His hands slid up your sides, his fingertips tracing slow, deliberate paths, sending sparks along your skin. The space between you disappeared as he leaned in, his lips so close to your ear you could feel the brush of them when he spoke.

“You’ve grown dangerous,” he murmured, his voice dark and smooth as honeyed mead.

Your heart thundered in your chest, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter. Instead, you spun in his grasp, your back pressed against his chest now, your head tilted just enough to catch the sharp smirk on his face.

“Careful, Bjorn,” you said over your shoulder, your voice a little too breathless for your liking. “You might not be able to handle me after all.”

His breath was hot against your neck as his fingers splayed wide over your stomach, pulling you flush against him. “Try me,” he growled, his voice rough with something far more dangerous than playfulness.

The crowd around you blurred into shadows and firelight. It was just you and him, the rhythm of the music a steady pulse between your bodies. Every movement was deliberate, every roll of your hips matched by his. It wasn’t just dancing anymore — it was a challenge, a battle of control, of tension, and neither of you was willing to surrender.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps as you tilted your head back against his shoulder, the warmth of him seeping into your skin. His hands stayed firm, guiding you in a way that felt more like claiming. He wasn’t just following the music — he was commanding it.

“You know how many times I thought about you while I was gone,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His hands moved from your hips, running up the small of your waist. You spun back around before he had the chance to move further.

“I always knew you had a crush on me,” you teased, as you tangled your hands in his short blonde hair.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, and suddenly his mouth was on yours. The kiss was nothing short of wildfire — fierce, consuming, and utterly unstoppable. His lips were rough but sure, moving against yours like he had been waiting for this moment for far too long. Your breath hitched as you gripped his shoulders, your fingers digging into the leather of his tunic. He pulled you in tighter, crushing you against him as if he could fuse you together.

The crowd around you barely existed now. There was only him — his warmth, his strength, the taste of him on your tongue like honeyed mead and salt. His hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp. He took advantage of it, his tongue sliding against yours with a slow, deliberate intensity that made your knees weaken.

But you weren’t about to be undone by him.

Your hands moved to his jaw, your fingers tracing the sharp edges of his beard, then fisting in his hair as you tilted his head back, taking control of the kiss. He groaned, low and deep, a sound that rumbled through his chest. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, his grip unrelenting, as if he was afraid you might slip away.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. His eyes were still on yours, wild and unyielding, his lips swollen from the kiss. You were sure you looked just as wrecked.

“Still think I can’t handle you?” he murmured, his voice rougher now, like it had been dragged over stone.

“Not bad,” you admitted, a slow grin tugging at your lips. “But you’re not the only one who’s learned a few things.”

His laugh was deep and raw, the kind that made your chest tighten in the most infuriating way. His gaze dipped down to your lips again, and he leaned in, his voice nothing more than a husky whisper. “Then show me.”

Your heart pounded so hard it echoed in your ears. For a moment, you glanced around at the hall — the firelight, the laughter, the crowd still dancing and drinking. None of it mattered. Not anymore. The only thing that mattered was the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm, the unspoken challenge in his eyes, and the heat that had coiled low in your belly, too strong to ignore.

“Follow me,” you said, your voice low but certain.

His eyes flashed with something wild and untamed. Without hesitation, his hand slid down to grip yours, his fingers lacing with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. He let you lead him, weaving through the crowd.

The cool night air hit your face as you stepped outside, but it did nothing to cool the fire burning under your skin. His fingers stayed locked with yours, his grip firm but never controlling. You led him through the winding paths of Kattegat, past dimly lit streets and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore.

Your home wasn’t far, but the walk felt longer with him so close behind you, his eyes boring into your back. Every step felt like an eternity, every brush of his fingers a spark against your skin. When you finally reached the door, you glanced over your shoulder, catching the way he was looking at you — his eyes half-lidded, his breathing uneven, like a wolf that had just found its prey.

“Are you going to stand there staring,” you teased, reaching for the latch, “or are you coming in?”

The words barely left your mouth before his hands were on you again, spinning you around and pressing you back against the door. His mouth was on yours before you could finish drawing breath, his kiss searing, desperate, and all-consuming. You fumbled with the latch, both of you too caught up in the pull of each other to care. The door gave way behind you, and you stumbled inside, still tangled in each other’s arms.

He kicked the door shut behind him, his hands already moving over your back, your waist, pulling you against him. His fingers traced the curve of your spine, pressing you closer until you could feel every inch of him, hard and unyielding. Your fingers worked at the laces of his tunic, tugging them free with urgency, and he let out a sharp breath against your lips, his forehead resting against yours for just a moment.

“You’re impatient,” he murmured, his voice thick with that familiar cocky edge.

“Don’t pretend you’re any better,” you shot back, pulling the leather from his shoulders.

His grin was wicked and full of promise. “Fair point.”

He pushed you gently, guiding you backward until your back hit the wall. His lips were on your neck now, slow and deliberate, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your jaw. Your head tipped back, a gasp escaping your lips as your hands found his bare chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle. Every scar you touched was a story he’d never have to tell, and you found yourself memorizing each one.

His lips returned to yours, his kiss more focused now — no longer a clash of wills, but something deeper, something hotter. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and his groan reverberated against your lips.

“Tell me to stop,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice so low and raw it sent a shiver down your spine. “Tell me now, and I will.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. They were dark, wild, but there was something steady there too — a flicker of restraint, a promise to pull back if you asked. But you didn’t want him to pull back. Not tonight.

“Don’t stop,” you said, your voice steady, your gaze unwavering.

His eyes searched yours for half a heartbeat, then something inside him snapped. His hands were on you again, rough but never careless, lifting you with ease. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you further inside, his lips never leaving yours. Your back hit the fur covered bed and Bjorn quickly reconnected your lips.

Bjorn’s hands were everywhere — rough, warm, and possessive as they roamed the curves of your body. The air in your home was thick with the scent of pinewood, firelight flickering against the walls, but none of it mattered. The only thing you could focus on was him — the weight of him above you, the feel of his body pressed so tightly against yours it was hard to tell where you ended and he began.

His mouth was on yours again, hungrier than before. His kisses were fire and steel, each one hot enough to sear away every rational thought. His beard was rough against your skin, but you didn’t care. If anything, you welcomed the sensation — the way it grounded you in the wild, electric storm of him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just hard enough to draw a low, guttural groan from his chest.

“Still think you’re in control?” he rasped, his lips brushing against the hollow of your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

“Don’t mistake patience for surrender,” you shot back, breathless but still defiant. Your legs tightened around his waist, locking him in place. “If I wanted to stop you, Bjorn, you’d already be on your back.”

That earned you a sharp, wicked grin. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in just hard enough to make your heart race faster. “Is that right?” he muttered against your collarbone, his voice rough like the scrape of stone on steel. He nipped at your skin, drawing a gasp from you, and then soothed the spot with his tongue, slow and deliberate. “I’d like to see you try.”

“You will,” you promised, tilting his head up so his eyes met yours, fierce and unyielding. “But not tonight.”

His breath caught, his grin faltering for half a heartbeat before it returned, sharper now, more dangerous. “Then I’ll take what you give me,” he said, his eyes locked on yours with a heat that threatened to consume you both. “But know this — I’m not gentle.”

“Good,” you said, your lips brushing against his. “I don’t want gentle.”

The moment you said it, he surged forward, capturing your mouth with a kiss so fierce it left you breathless. There was no more teasing now, no more restraint. His hands were on your waist, pulling you closer, his body pressed so tightly against yours it felt like he was trying to carve himself into your bones. The heat between you was unbearable, every brush of his skin against yours sending sparks down your spine.

You fought back, of course. Your hands explored his chest, nails raking lightly down his skin, tracing old scars and new ones alike. His muscles tensed under your touch, and you felt his sharp inhale, his body shuddering slightly under the weight of your touch.

His hands found the hem of your tunic, sliding under to rest against the bare skin of your waist. The warmth of his palms sent a shiver down your spine, and you arched into him, your breath catching as his thumbs stroked slow, lazy circles against your skin.

“You’re quiet now,” he teased, his breath hot against your ear. “Where’s all that clever talk from before?”

“Careful, Bjorn,” you warned, turning your head just enough so your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “You might regret what you’re asking for. Most men don’t want a woman who dominates them.”

He growled, the sound raw and primal, vibrating low in his chest. His eyes met yours again, his pupils blown wide with something wild and untamed. “I want all of it,” he said, his voice low and dark as a storm on the horizon. “Every part.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears. You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, he was on his back, his eyes wide with shock before a grin broke across his face. You were straddling him, your hands on his chest, pinning him down with a grin that matched his own.

His laughter was sharp and wild, his eyes bright with pride and something else — something hotter. “There she is,” he said, his voice full of approval, his hands gripping your hips with bruising strength. “That’s the girl I remember.”

“She’s still here,” you said, leaning down so your face was just inches from his.

“And by the gods, how I’ve missed her.” His eyes darkened, his grin fading into something more serious, more dangerous. His hand moved from your hip to the back of your neck, pulling you down into another kiss, this one slower, deeper, like he was no longer rushing to win. No, this wasn’t about victory anymore — it was about savoring every second, every taste, every inch of you.

His hands roamed your back, your sides, gripping, holding, claiming. You felt his heart pounding under your palm, wild and fast, just like your own. The steady thrum of it matched yours beat for beat, as if the two of you were caught in the same storm.

“Say it,” he muttered against your lips, his voice hoarse with need. “Say you missed me.”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, those blue eyes that had haunted your dreams for years. “I missed you,” you admitted, breathless but unashamed. “More than you’ll ever know.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, something softened in his gaze. His hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness you hadn’t expected. “I missed you too,” he said, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “More than I should have.”

For a heartbeat, the world slowed. The only sound was the distant crackle of the fire, the only light the flicker of its glow. His eyes searched yours, his gaze raw and open in a way you hadn’t seen before. The weight of it settled deep in your chest, warm and aching all at once.

But then the storm returned.

His lips were on yours, fiercer than before, his hands pulling you down against him like he never wanted to let go. Your hands were in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. He flipped you again, his body pressing you into the bed, his weight a welcome, grounding presence.

There were no more words after that, just the sound of your breaths mingling, the scrape of rough hands on soft skin, and the steady, unrelenting crash of two people who had been apart for far too long. It was wild. It was reckless. And it was everything you had been waiting for.

Your fingers clawed at his back, your legs tangled with his as the heat between you grew unbearable. Every touch was fire, every kiss a clash of wills. You lost track of time, of space, of anything but him. His name was a whisper on your lips, and yours was a growl on his.

He quickly undid the ties of his pants, pulling them down. You did the same to yours, neither of you seemingly able to move fast enough. He grabbed your hands, pinning them above your head. He buried himself in you and you let out a cry of pleasure. He was true to his word. He was not gentle. His thrusts were fast and rough, and you basked in the immense pleasure of him pounding into you. Your head fell against the pillow, your eyes rolling back. He was hitting you deeper and deeper with each thrust.

You met his gaze and he was a thing of beauty. His blonde hair clung to his forehead and his piercing blue eyes drank in your appearance. His muscles tightened under his scarred and tattooed skin as he relished in the pleasure of his cock inside you. If you could see this for the rest of your life you may die happy, you thought to yourself.

With your legs wrapped around his waist, you used your strength to flip yourselves over, once again. You were now on top, palms flat against his muscles pecks. You pushed into them, using them as leverage to grind on him. You moved your hips back and forth, watching as his mouth fell open in pleasure. His hands squeezed your waist, pushing you back and forth with more speed. Your head fell back as you began to bounce up and down on his length. You let out a loud moan at his deep he was entering you.

His hands clasped your breasts as you bounced faster and faster. He let out an animalistic groan and you matched it with your own moans. You could feel the pressure building in your lower stomach. You were so close to the edge.

“Bjorn,” you moaned his name, earning a moan from him. Your movements became sloppier as you reached the edge. You finally tipped over the edge, a wave of ecstasy washing over you.

You kept up your movements until Bjorn hit his climax. You felt him spill into you and you let out one last moan, before falling next to him on the bed. He wrapped his arm around your naked body, pulling you into him.

When it was over, you lay tangled together, your breath still coming in shallow gasps, the heat of his body a steady, grounding presence against yours. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm, his head resting against your shoulder as he lay beside you.

Silence hung between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that comes after a storm, calm and steady, like the world had finally decided to give you peace.

“You’ll stay this time,” you said softly, turning to face him.

His eyes met yours, steady and sure. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m done running,” he said, his voice firm with resolve. “I have nothing to run from anymore.”

Your eyes searched his, looking for doubt but finding none. You nodded, your heart a steady thrum of warmth and certainty. “Good,” you murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Because I won’t let you leave again.”

He didn’t answer at first. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you wondered if he would say something reckless, something that would make you shove him right back out the door.

But then he smirked, his thumb brushing slow circles over your skin. “I thought you didn’t want a man tying you down,” he said softly, his voice teasing but not cruel. “Didn’t you say you didn’t need a husband or a man to be remembered?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you tilted your head toward him, letting your fingers trace the edge of his jaw. His beard was rough beneath your fingertips, but his eyes were soft now, softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I don’t,” you replied simply, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I don’t need a man to carve my name into the sagas.”

His grin widened, slow and wolfish, but he didn’t interrupt.

“But,” you continued, your voice strong and clear, “if I choose to have one at my side, he’ll be there because I want him to be. Not because I need him. And not because he defines me.”

His grin faded, replaced by something deeper. His eyes, sharp as they were, held something raw and unguarded now. His fingers squeezed your hip, his grip firm but not possessive. “You are an exceptional woman. I never wish to change you. I never wish to define you. I will stay,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours like he was making a vow before the gods themselves. “I will stay because I want to stand beside you. It would be an honor to be know as yours.” His voice lowered into something rougher, more honest. “If you’ll have me.”

You blinked slowly, the weight of his words settling into your chest like a steady, thrumming beat. It wasn’t possession. It wasn’t control. It was choice. And that made all the difference.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his, your eyes closing as the warmth of him surrounded you. Your voice was soft but steady when you replied, “Then stay, Bjorn Lothbrok. Stay and see if you can keep up.”

His sharp inhale was followed by a low chuckle, his breath warm against your lips. “I’d like to see you try and leave me behind,” he murmured, his voice filled with a challenge you both knew would never truly be tested.

You tilted your head, brushing your lips against his, slow and deliberate. “I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to.”

[gratelove]

Home for Christmas

Kenny Liu x Reader

On Christmas Eve, Kenny surprises you by decorating your home with a tree, a crackling fire, and a present. He wanted to be able to bring Christmas to you. You surprise him with a gift as well, and your night becomes something more as you share a kiss.

The cold winter air stung your cheeks as you hurried up the path to your house, boots crunching softly against the thin layer of snow. It was nearly nightfall, and that familiar sense of dread hung over you like a storm cloud. Get inside before they come out. It was a rule everyone knew. No exceptions.

Your house stood quietly at the end of the street, tucked away behind a patch of frosted shrubs. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. Your safe space. Your little slice of comfort in a world that didn’t offer much of it.

Your heart gave a small jolt as you noticed a faint glow from inside. Golden light flickered through the curtains — not the steady hum of a lantern, but something softer. Your pace quickened, boots crunching faster. Did I leave something on? You didn’t think so, but you couldn’t image what that light was.

You reached the door, fingers fumbling for the key. The lock clicked, and you pushed it open.

The smell of pine hit you first. Crisp, earthy, familiar. Your eyes widened as you stepped inside, and your heart nearly stopped.

There, in the corner of your living room, stood a Christmas tree. Not a perfect, store-bought tree — no, it was wild and a little lopsided, branches sticking out at odd angles. But it was there. Tinsel wrapped clumsily around it, bits of fabric tied like ribbons on the branches. At the very top, a carved, wooden star.

Tiny lanterns hung on the tree like makeshift ornaments, their soft glow flickering like Christmas lights. The glow you’d seen outside wasn’t from the lanterns, though. It was from the fireplace. Actual flames danced in the hearth, warmth seeping into every corner of the room.

Your breath hitched in your chest, tears already prickling at the edges of your eyes.

“Surprise.”

You spun around, your eyes landing on Kenny standing in the kitchen doorway, hands shoved into his coat pockets, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. His jacket was dusted with snow, and his hair was a mess, strands sticking up in every direction. His cheeks were pink from the cold.

“You…” You blinked rapidly, taking a step closer. “You did this?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but his gaze stayed fixed on you, watching your reaction. “You kept talking about how much you love Christmas, how it’s your favorite holiday, so…” He scratched the back of his head, eyes darting toward the tree. “Figured I’d bring Christmas to you.”

You stared at him, lips parted in shock. Your heart swelled so suddenly it felt like you might burst. A single tear slid down your cheek and a small laugh broke from your lips. You were in disbelief that he remembered. Every word you’d said about your family, about missing Christmas, about how much it hurt to be alone this year — he’d listened. Not only did he listen, he made it happen. He brought Christmas to you.

“Kenny,” you breathed, your voice shaking. “This is… this is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He glanced down, a small, shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well, I figured if we can’t be with our families, we can at least be with each other. I want you to know you’re never alone here.”

That was it. That was all it took for you to throw your arms around him, burying your face into his coat. He stiffened at first, surprised, but then his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight. His embrace was steady and solid, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head.

“Thank you,” you mumbled against his chest.

“Anytime,” he murmured, his voice low and soft.

—

After you’d changed, you sat with Kenny in front of the fireplace. The soft glow of the flames cast golden light across his face, flickering shadows making his features look even softer than usual. His jacket was draped over the back of the chair, and his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms as he sat cross-legged on the floor beside you.

The tree glowed softly behind you both, its handmade decorations swaying gently whenever the flames flickered too hard. It felt like a dream — like for just one night, this town wasn’t so bad.

“I have something for you,” Kenny said suddenly, reaching into his coat pocket.

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “What, you didn’t do enough already?”

He chuckled as he pulled out a small, wrapped bundle of fabric. It was tied with a simple string, but the fabric had been folded so neatly, you knew he’d spent time on it. His hands lingered for a second before he held it out to you.

“Go on,” he said, nodding toward it. “Open it.”

You took it carefully, fingers brushing over the fabric. You glanced at him once more, and his eyes softened in that way that made your chest ache in the best possible way. Slowly, you untied the string and unwrapped it.

Inside was a small, hand-carved figurine. It was rough, the edges a little uneven, but you knew exactly what it was. A wolf. Its face was tilted upward, howling at some invisible moon. The details weren’t perfect, but they didn’t need to be.

Your fingers traced over the carved lines, breath catching in your throat. “You made this?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze flicking between you and the fire. “Found a piece of wood behind Colony House. Took me a while to get it right.”

You stared at him, heart thudding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

“I remember you telling me about that wolf you used to see near your house,” he said softly. “Thought maybe it could keep you company.”

“Kenny, I…” Your voice cracked, and you laughed, shaking your head. “I made you something too.”

His eyes widened, head tilting in surprise. “You did?”

You ran to the kitchen, grabbing the present that you wrapped with newspaper. You’d spent hours on this. Every night after curfew, you’d stayed up by lantern light, making sure every detail was just right. Your fingers still ached from it, but it had been worth it.

You made it back to your spot on the floor, and handed it to him, chewing your bottom lip nervously.

“Don’t laugh, okay?” you said, only half-joking.

He took it slowly, his gaze darting from you to the package, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would I laugh?”

“Just… open it.”

His fingers were careful as he peeled back the paper. Slowly, it revealed a canvas. The moment he saw it, his breath hitched. He pulled the paper away entirely, his eyes going wide as he stared at it.

It was a painting of him.

But it wasn’t just him. It was him sitting in front of the chessboard at Colony House, his brow furrowed in focus, his lips pursed in that determined way he always did when he was thinking too hard. His hand hovered over one of the chess pieces, mid-move. The firelight flickered behind him, casting warm oranges and deep shadows across his face. Every detail was there — his strong jawline, the crinkle between his brows, the steady focus in his eyes.

For once, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at it, his eyes scanning every part of the canvas like he couldn’t believe it was real.

You shifted nervously, heart pounding. “It’s not perfect,” you blurted, feeling the need to fill the silence. “The shading on your face is off, and I couldn’t quite get your hair right, but—”

He looked up at you so fast it made you stop talking.

“Are you kidding?” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s incredible.” His gaze dropped back to the painting, his fingers brushing lightly over the canvas, like he didn’t want to smudge it. “You did this? For me?”

“Yeah,” you said, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “For you.”

He shook his head, letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh. His fingers ran over his face, then back through his hair, eyes still on the painting.

“I don’t even know what to say,” he muttered, glancing at you with the softest, most grateful expression you’d ever seen on him. “I’ve never had anyone do something like this for me.”

Your heart swelled.

“Good,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “Because you deserve it.”

He blinked at you for a moment, something shifting in his eyes. He leaned forward, and you didn’t move. You didn’t want to move. Slowly, he cupped the side of your face, his fingers warm against your skin.

His eyes searched yours for just a second longer, like he was making sure you were okay with it. Then, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was slow, soft, and warm — like the glow of the fire behind you. His lips lingered on yours, steady and sure, like he’d been thinking about this for a long time. When he pulled away, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered.

You smiled, eyes still closed. “Merry Christmas, Kenny.”

For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like you were just surviving.

For the first time, it felt like home.