YOU TASTE BETTER

YOU TASTE BETTER ☆

Frank iero x Fem! Reader

(Synopsis: He couldn’t stand the thought of not feeling her one more time before tour.)

(Warnings: SMUT, cursing, smoking weed LMAO, sub!frank, switch!reader (their rolls aren’t crazy obvious, I tried to keep it chill), also some fluff)

(Words: 2403)

* ・゚☆ 。・ * ・゚★ 。・ * ・゚☆ * ・゚☆

“Hey can you help me with the hair dye, I always fuck up the back.” Frank yells to her from the bathroom. She gets up from the couch and walks in to find him with half his hair dyed a dark black.

“Yeah, do you got gloves?” She asks and he points to the counter where they lay. She picks them up and slides them on. Then taking the bowl from his hands she has him sit on the counter as she applies the dye to his roots.

She could see him making dumb faces at the mirror in the corner of her eye but she just ignored him and finished up, removing the gloves and discarding them in the trash. Grabbing a plastic bag she put it on his head tying it tight and turning him to look at her.

“There, you look so pretty.” She says in a half truth, caressing his cheek with her thumb. He couldn’t help but laugh at her remark as he jumped off the counter and walked out to the living room.

“Thanks for the help. With us having the tour coming up next week I thought maybe I shouldn’t look totally trashed.” He jokes pulling her down on the couch with him, flipping the channels till it lands on a dumb movie for them to mostly ignore.

“He I rolled before you got here but then I got distracted with my hair, do you wanna?-“ He says to her pointing to the blunt laying on the coffee table.

“Yeah why not.” She shrugs and get up to grab the lighter she knows is stashed in drawer on the other side of the room. She throws it to him and watched as the light illuminates his face as he puts the joint to his lips. She couldn’t help but feel something burning in the pit of her stomach as she watched the smoke leave his lips. The way his body relaxed back into the couch couldn’t even make the dumb ass plastic bag on his head look bad.

“Here.” He says as she sits down and passes it to her. She wasn’t the type to smoke all the time. But when she was with him, or the guys, it was a time she could relax and not worry about the repercussions. She put it to her lips and breathed in. She would cough a little from time to time but he never laughed at her. He didn’t care what lame shit she did. He always thought she look hot doing it, so it didn’t matter much to him.

She looked at the clock and realized it was time to wash out his hair so she lets him know and drags him to the bathroom. He leans over the tub and rest his hands on the frame, she removed the bag and turned the water on. She took the handle and started to gently rinse out his hair. Soon adding her fingers to the mix as she ran them through his hair to help the process. The feeling causing him to lose it, unknowably to her. The heat rose to his face and he just prayed it would be gone by the time this was done. She had finally finished and she turned the water off. She grabbed a towel from the rack and threw it on his head making him laugh.

God, she loved his laugh.

Once he had dried his hair enough she pulled out her hair dryer. He was against it at first, but then he realized her hands would he in his hair once again so he didn’t mind. She just quickly dried the rest and then put it back away. He turned to look in a mirror and smiled. She rested her chin on his shoulder and and admired him.

“You’re so beautiful.” She complimented and he couldn’t control his blushy smile. She always used more stereotypical feminine compliments for him. She always thought it fit him better. Sure he was handsome, but he was just so gorgeous in her eyes that handsome never felt like a strong enough word to convey her emotions. She gave him a quick hug from the back and walked back to the couch. Him following close behind.

She sat down and he cuddled right up close to her. He picked the blunt back up and took a hit before passing it to her. He kept his eyes close on her lips every pass, and they would travel down every time she exhaled.

The way her chest moved up and down catching his attention. He passes the blunt to her once again and she puts it to her lips.

But this time he leans over to start kissing her neck. She gasps a little in surprise causing a few coughs to escape. But the feeling of his lips smile into her neck between each kiss made her let him keep going. The feeling of his cold lip ring against her neck made her shiver.

He was sloppy with it. The way he abused her neck and the feeling of his hands in her hair, returning the favor from earlier sending her over the edge.

He was practically on top of her as he messily kissed her moving from her neck to her lips slowly, dragging out the sensation. She swiftly put the blunt out in the ash tray on the table beside them as she blew the air out into his mouth. He moved from her lips to her chest.

Her bra having already been removed hours before due to it being many hours late into the night. Her shirt was quick to slide off as he got to his knees and continued to place messy kisses down her cleavage stopping write above her pantie line. He looked up at her with pleading eyes. She leaned down and placed a kiss to his lips giving him all the permission he needed to remove first her pajama shorts, then painfully slow he pulled down her underwear.

She moved her hips up ever so slightly to give him access. He returned to giving small wet kisses down her stomach and her thighs. Soon finding his final place in her cunt. The cold metal of his lip ring grazing her clit every few moments causing her to squirm. He paused to lick her pussy, bottom to top, ending at her clit. He wrapped his lips around it and began to work. The sensation making the heat at the pit of her stomach increase. She tightly gripped the couch as he sucked. The feeling of his tongue entering inside her making a loud moan escape her lips. A smile forming on his own for a quick second. His tongue moved rapidly and he gripped her thighs squeezing them soft as he could. But the red marks would still be there after. He removed one hand from her thigh and his tongue from her cunt causing her to whine. Which quickly turned into a loud breathy moan as he inserted a finger into her.

“Does that feel good.” He whispers as she moves a hand from the couch to his hair. Running her hands through it as he pumps in her back and forth. His face was wet and his lips looked red and plump.

“Y-yes.” She moaned and used her hand to gently push his face back down into her. He inserted another finger causing her to scream as he put his mouth back on her clit doing double time on her pussy.

The feeling in her stomach tightening made her realize what would soon happen so she tried to warn him but he ignored her and kept going pumping back and forth, in and out of her with a good rhythm. His tongue sloppily massaging her clit. She felt the feeling rise up in her and a loud sigh escaped her mouth as she came. He quickly removed his fingers and switched to his mouth being on her cunt and his fingers rubbing her clit as she rode out her high. She trembled under his touch as he used his free hand to hold her down. His tongue and fingers got slower as the shaking stopped and soon he came up for air. Placing soft kisses to her clit as he rubbed her legs gently, reminding her of how good she was for him. Her body relaxed as she breathed heavily.

He continued to leave, now wet, cum covered kisses up her body over her chest licking her tits messing with them for a second with his tongue, and ending up back to her mouth. Where he kissed her.

“You taste so good.” He sighs between kisses.

She wasn’t done though. The taste of her on his lips making her go crazy. She pulls off his shirt revealing more of his tattoos causing her to smile. She loved the way he looked so soft, contrasting the fact that his body was covered in ink.

She flipped him over to lay him down on the couch. Her bare tits rubbing against his chest as she ran her fingers through his hair. She sat in a straddling position with her legs on opposite sides of him. She looked him in the eyes and without warning pulled his hair back, just hard enough to not hurt him too much. She started to kiss his neck, sucking on it every few moments. Leaving purple marks there for the morning. She could feel his dick growing hard under her bare cunt through his lose plaid pajama pants. The sensation making her even more wet.

She continued to his kiss him roughly as she moved her hands down to his pants pulling them off enough so he could kick them down. Returning the favor from earlier she slowly removed his boxers as she placed small kisses down his dick. The feeling making him whine with pleasure. But he practically begged for more as he gripped her hips running his hands from there to her tits. He pulled her up and looked in her eyes.

“Please.” He breathed out soft enough to barley be a whisper. He was fully erect now and ready. She went down quickly to suck him off a few times. The feeling of her lips around his dick making him moan. After a few passes she removed her lips swiftly grabbing a condom from the side table drawer and sliding it on for him. He groans as she positions herself up to him and she quickly inserts him into her. Heaving breaths escape his lips as his back arched. She bopped herself slowly… painfully slow on his cock up and down his hands gripped her waist tightly.

The feeling of him inside her sent her over the moon but she didn’t want him to know that quite yet. She kept almost a poker face of content pleasure aa she bounced herself around him. The feeling of him rubbing against her walls causing a small tear to roll down her cheek in ecstasy. She pulsed, clenching every few moments at the feeling. She wanted more, she wanted it faster. She wanted him to scream her named as she fucked him so the whole neighborhood knew he was hers. But she controlled herself for now and leaned down, placing messy kisses to his lips. Him not even being able to keep his mouth closed for more than a second as uncontrolled moans escaped him. She bit at his lip ring pulling a little knowing it would make him twitch. The feeling of it in her cunt making her smile. She sat back up straight and started going faster. The muscles in her legs tightened as she moved her hips up and down in circular motions.

The sight of her tits moving up and down as she pumped mesmerized him. He pulled her chest down to him as he massaged one tit, the other in his mouth. As he played with her nips with his tongue, he licked and sucked till she felt raw. She let out a moan making him pleased. She continues to move rapidly on his dick as he holds on to her practically leaving long scratches to her hips in the process. She kept feeling him twitch inside her. The feeling of him hitting her g spot each time making her feral. Just as he’s about to cum she stops for a second. And a groan leaves his lips.

“What do you say?” She says slowly lifting her hips up. Knowing she would soon come to her second end of the night. But she wanted him to beg.

“P-Please.” He whines. Loudly. So she leaned down placing a kiss to his lips. But mid kiss she slams back down and she smiles continuing to move up and down at a fast pace. His loud moans filled the room making her go insane. He started to buck his hips but at this point she didn’t care to correct his as a loud breathy moan left he lips. He would hit her spot repeatedly as his dick shook inside her. Letting her know he was ready. She moved her hips up and down quicker and she felt it. She felt him cum. He practically screamed her name as she rode out his high. The heat coming from the condom being the last thing she needed before she released on him. The feeling leaving her cunt happy and her cum all over his cock as he pulled it out. He removed the condom and tossed it aside, his hands shaking. Before he could do anything else she leaned him back down.

“Let me do this.” She says still wildly out of breath. She put her lips around him and slowly started sucking him clean. She licked him from the base to the head a few last times before quickly bobbing her head in a circular motion, knowing what it would do. He was always quick after the first fuck so he came for the second time that night. Fast. And as his cum enters her mouth spilling down her chin she didn’t care. She placed disgustingly wet and cum induced kisses all over his body till she got to his lips. The sounds of his heaving moans making her smile.

“You taste better.”

Worship you

Alex turner x fem!reader

(Synopsis: Alex and her are both on the same tour together and they need some space from the tour bus for a night. That’s when they find an old church which happens to have the door unlocked.)

(Warnings: SMUT, little plot, they fuck in a church so…., weed)

(Words: 1474)

* ・゚☆ 。・ * ・゚★ 。・ * ・゚☆ * ・゚☆

After the show they just did, both her and Alex where looking for a few minutes to escape from all the chaos. Just a moment alone. They got high as they walked the streets of whatever town they where touring in that day.

They where stumbling around when they noticed an old buildings door was cracked open, his doped up mind couldn’t help but walk in. Her following close behind. They stumble into the large church and are immediately taken back by the beauty of the room. Large stained glass windows were illuminated by the moon. Giant sculpture like carvings engraved into the walls, and a glimmering large cross was hanging right above the altar. He ran his fingers across the pews as they passed each one till they got to the stairs.

She walks a little ahead of him, giving him a nice view of her little black skirt swaying in the cold air. Her knee high boots making her a few inches taller than normal, which drove him crazy. She looked like a goddess as she turned around at the top of the stairs to look at him.

She put her hand out calling him to her. He stands at the bottom step and takes her hand. Placing a kiss to the back.

“Isn’t this gorgeous.” She says looking around the place. A lazy smile playing on her lips. She didn’t even notice him staring at her with a soft look on his face. She was to mesmerized by the light. But he was mesmerized by her.

“Yes you are.” He says lightly bringing her attention back to him.

“Huh?” She grins.

“You belong in a place like this.” He says running his fingers down her arms.

“What do you mean?” She questions, a subtly confused look resting on her features.

“I’d worship you.” He says, his voice a little horse from the amount of singing he had done earlier in the night. He starts walking up the last few steps and places his lips to hers.

His hand runs across her waist under her oversized leather jacket. His other resting softly on her cheek as he deepens the kiss. The feeling of his lips on hers driving her crazy. He pushes his hand delicately under the lining of her shirt and she assists in his efforts dropping the jacket from her arms, giving him access to remove her shirt. She pushed him forward softly as he takes a few steps backwards down the stairs. He slowly dips to his knees in-front of her and looks up. The lace of her bra against her skin, and the draft from the old building in the cold wind, making her look like a piece of art. He delicately puts his hands on her hips gripping the fabric draped on them and pulls her skirt down. Slowly. The black lace covering her up underneath causing him to sigh.

She was a rockstar. No matter how ethereal she looked. A small part of her would always remind him who she was. She was rough under the beauty, and she knew how to be in control. Weather it’s with a crowd or him. The thought of her voice made him week.

She sat down on the top step. Her legs on either side of him as his knees became red from the stairs. He threw his head back in frustration. He was hard. Practically on fire. The sight of her sending his body into overdrive. He leans in placing his lips to hers as his arms reach around to her back unclasping her bra. He slides the straps down her arms removing it. The cold air making her nips hard as she lets out a barley audible gasp. He moves his mouth to her neck. At first leaving soft wet kisses but the feeling of her chest against him making him give up restraint. He starts to suck on her neck, nipping slightly. Light moans escaping her mouth. He moves down to her collar bone peppering kisses to her cleavage. He stops for a second to remove his t-shirt which, at the moment, feels extremely restricting. He then lays her down on her back. Her chest bouncing at the movement. He looks at her and moves a strand oh hair out of her face. He puts a hand on her shoulder almost preparing her for the sensation of his tongue running over her chest.

She moves a little causing him to place some pressure on her shoulder. His other hand messing with the little metal bar pierced through her nipple. She lets out a more audible moan than before as he sucks. She feels herself clench at the sensation. She’s antsy, not used to not being the one in charge. But he’s just so sweet. How could she say no?

She brings her hands to his hair massaging his scalp, running her fingers through his black hair as she clenches again. She can’t wait anymore. She can’t help but let out another noise.

“Alex please.” She whimpers.

He removes his mouth from her chest and brings sloppy kisses down her stomach in response. Positioning himself between her knees he removes the black lacy underwear from her body leaving her damp cunt to feel the cold air against it. The draft was almost painful to her bare skin as she lays on the floor of the church. But he would be able to tell after feeling her warm core on his skin.

He places his lips to her others and glides his tongue from bottom to top, ending at her clit where he places a kiss. Making a sweet sound escape her.

He moves his lips to suck on her making a loud moan leave her mouth. A tight feeling in his stomach occurring as he listened to her panting. He stops for a second bringing his fingers to her face. He looks at her and she complies as he puts them in her mouth, using his other hand to rub his knuckles against her wetness to keep her satisfied.

Removes his fingers from her mouth and he placed a soft kiss to her cheek.

“You’re perfect.” He whispers before placing his lips to hers. Simultaneously pushing two fingers into her cunt. Making her gasp into his mouth. He pumps back and fourth and she wines.

He leans his head down to continue sucking on her chest. The taste of the metal bar in his mouth making him grin.

Her voice was always beautiful, but the way she sounded now would always be his favorite. Cause it was all his fault. He uses his thumb to simultaneously rub her clit as she rides his fingers. Bucking her hips in rhythm. Which was a little painful on the hard floor of the chapel. But she didn’t mind.

His fingers are skilled from the years of guitar. So the sensation of him rubbing against her walls, pushing all her buttons made her pulsate. He kept going till he hit her spot. Her moans sounded like screams at this point as he kept hitting it. Her legs started to shake as he pumped one more time and she was done.

She released all over his fingers causing him to pull them out and lick them dry. Only to use his tongue to clean her up, inside and out, letting her come down from her high.

She let her body relax down onto the floor, looking up at the sparkling window above her. The feeling of his lips leaving kisses on her things making her let out a deep sigh. He got up to her face and looked down at her, him resting on his arms at either side of her face. He smiled down her obviously tired from the work he just did. But he tried not to show it. He enjoyed it just as much as her and he wanted her to know.

She couldn’t help but look up at him with the biggest smile. He’s beautiful. His sleepy eyes and dumb grin making her flush. Still weak in the knees she sits up from under him and he moves to sit next to her. He starts helping her get dressed. Clasping her bra in the back and sliding her shirt back over her head, placing a kiss to her forehead. She slides on her underwear and skirt. Standing up to throw on her jacket.

They exit the church. Holding hands in her pocket, they set off for the tour bus. They find it parked outside the venue and they climb in, seeing everyone is already there. Alex let’s the driver know they are ready to go and he sets off. They head back into the bunks and get ready for bed. Throwing on pajamas and brushing their teeth.

They lay in their bunks across from each other and talk into the night. Lulling each other to sleep with the sounds of their voices.

Literally in love with this

the ocean's daughter

victoria de angelis x fem!reader

synopsis: while on holiday in italy, an encounter derails your life enough to make you pack up on a whim and move to the very city in which you first saw her — the ocean's daughter.

warnings: swearing; alcohol consumption; drowning as a metaphor; my terrible attempts at roman dialect & italian; mild, fade-to-black smut (please dni if this makes you uncomfortable, or is not the kind of content you signed up for :))

word count: 5.7k

a/n: after a brief (okay, so, nine months) lapse in writing for måneskin, i am back!! i hope you can forgive my lack of interaction with you all, as my first year of university was a busy one. please take this fic as an apology and an attempt to wheedle my way back into your hearts <3

⭒

The problem with beautiful people in foreign countries is that there is absolutely no way you might ever run into them again, even by pure coincidence. 

But you couldn’t get her out of your head. 

Walking along the shoreline as the sun set over an unnamed beach on the Italian Riviera coastline, the light turning her skin and her hair to gold, the whole world forgotten as she reached out a hand to touch the waves which crested at her side, as though the ocean were walking with her. Everything was golden at this time of day, but nothing shone like her. 

And oh, how she delighted in the life about her, as though this day, and every day hence, were the best of her life. 

It was not an unnamed beach on the Italian Riviera coastline because you could not remember its name, or had never known it, but simply because it was so small a stretch between the colourful buildings hiking up the cliff face that no one had thought to name it. 

You thought of it now as her beach, the woman you’d seen, illuminated in sunlight like it loved her too much to let her go, if even for a moment. 

La sua spiaggia. 

You hadn’t spoken Italian, until you’d come back from Italy and enrolled in Elementary Italian at the public university close to where you lived. 

You couldn’t get her out of your head — the way she’d laughed, made her way along the shore and sung as though she was speaking to the water, its rush and flow, a tempest contained within each wave. 

Now you were in class every Wednesday night, repeating sentences and sounding as stupid as could be, but you forewent every shade of embarrassment for determination, and never had you been so fixated on anything in your life, to gain understanding of the language in which this woman had spoken. Because it seemed to you that the waves had composed their melody in the image of her voice, and you wanted to know how to speak like that, to be the waves beneath her fingertips. 

You knew you sounded crazy, and possibly were crazy, but for some unfathomable reason, you didn’t care. 

You couldn’t get her out of your head, and so be it. You were happier for it, the memory of her flirting with the sun, the sun blushing deep in the evening sky. And who could have blamed the sun? You would have blushed too.

When the night grew dark earlier in winter, you curled up on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around you, and watched Italian movies without subtitles. 

Most of the films were dramas, often romantic, because these were the most easily accessible in any language. 

In summer, you sat outside in the garden and drank wine, listening to a radio that played Italian music. 

Most of the music was mellow, but occasionally, the host announced some sort of rock band, and amidst the quiet calm of traditional ballads, you relished the uncomplicated anger and infatuation of the rock music. There was something accessible to that, too. Something universal and simple. 

It was the simplicity you appreciated, perhaps mostly because there was little of it in learning a new language. That which is sparse is precious, like the sunlight in her hair at the end of the day. Like the moments in which she had been in your life, so quickly gone, like a dream grasped at in waking. 

Had she ever been there at all?

She had. You held onto that memory like a lifeline. 

Every day, it got you up in the morning. Silly, for something so small to have an impact so great, and yet, it did. 

There she was, in your mind, every time you thought you could no longer take what the world threw at you. Smiling, the sun setting on the water. 

Dancing, the ocean’s daughter. 

⭒

A year down the line, and you were back aboard a plane. You’d bought your ticket and packed your bags and were heading back to Italy, this time for good. 

Each day, you’d spent hours learning, practising, perfecting, but one could only go so far in a classroom setting. All the people you knew who spoke more than one language had said the same thing, the same thing that your teachers had said: the best way to learn was through immersion. 

You’d spoken at length with your work superiors, and they had verified that it was no trouble for you to work remotely. Having nothing you would miss too much in your homeland, you’d decided it was time for a change, and a new start, at that. 

What better way to start anew than to cast yourself into the abyss of the unknown, off to a place you’d never lived, to speak a language you’d only just learnt to speak? 

To find a woman you didn’t know, for but her laughter and her golden hair.

At this thought, you laughed a little yourself. In part, you recognised the madness of your endeavour. But mostly, your vision was too foolishly rose-tinted, with dreams that dallied only just out of your reach, and you thought that if only you could reach them, all would be right. 

Such was the nature of a dreaming heart, a hopeful mind. Had you been a character of Greek myth, it would have been your Achilles’ heel. 

The city lights glittered outside of your window.

⭒

You collapsed on your bed with a heavy sigh. It was of tiredness, it was content. 

Beyond the window, the black sand beaches of Cinque Terre shimmered in the setting sun, the town alight with the fiery light of evening. The turquoise ocean turned tangerine in the fading day, and you thought almost that you could hear the water lapping against the rocky edges of the cliff face upon which the village was built.

Riomaggiore. 

Built up like biscuit tins in a hundred different colours, abundant in boats constructed for fishing and places meant for sitting and looking out over the wide world. There was a quiet age in the winding streets, lined with plants and people, buildings as old as time. 

It smelt of salt and bread, lemon and olives and basil, of the best pesto you’d ever tasted — at the bar tucked away beneath residential balconies, between stone-paved streets — of wine and sea air. It prickled on your lips.

 With those thoughts lingering in your head, you decided it was time for dinner, and got up from the bed to change. 

Afterall, it was almost nine o’clock, and therefore the perfect time to eat. 

⭒

You ended up at a quaint little place with wicker chairs and wooden tables, crowded beneath parasols that remained up in the evening as much as in the day. Amongst these parasols were strung warm paper lanterns which made all beneath them glow, continuing the endless sunshine of summer into the night. 

Having been shown to a little table in a corner, with a view of the darkening ocean, you ordered a glass of wine in Italian clearly more fluent than the waiter had expected. 

“Parli molto bene l'italiano,” he complimented you. He then proceeded to ask, in a conversational manner, where you were from and what brought you here, to which you answered with continued fluency, and he replied again how good the accent was with which you spoke. 

 You carried a companionable conversation with the waiter for a handful of minutes, until he apologised for not yet having brought you your wine, and also for having other tables to attend. 

He brought your wine after a short interval, along with a small decanter of water, and a basket of bread with oil and balsamico. 

With this acquired, you sat back in your chair and contemplated the menu. It was written entirely in Italian, indicative of a restaurant not much frequented by tourists. You were pleased to realise you had no trouble reading it. 

After a while, however, you began to struggle. Not because you didn’t understand the words on the card before you, but because you felt the tingling sensation of someone’s eyes on you. 

Tilting the booklet slowly, you peered over the top of it in what you hoped was a surreptitious manner. 

But when your eyes fell upon the other pair in question, you all but dropped the menu to the ground. 

Because leaned back in a wicker chair only two tables away, sunglasses perched atop her blonde hair beneath the cover of the table parasol, was the one person you’d come here hoping, beyond all reckless and silly hope, to see in the first place. 

The ocean’s daughter canted her head, and tipped a finger against her lips. 

“I know you,” she said, in careful English.

You sputtered, “Pardon?”

She smiled enigmatically, with a soft-curving mouth and gently crinkling eyes that were lit in a way that betrayed mischief, or some secret knowledge. 

“I know you,” she repeated. “You were on the beach, last time I was here.”

You blinked, searching for something to say. Anything, to respond vaguely in the affirmative, without giving away exactly how much you had thought about this golden stranger since you last had seen her. “You don’t live here?”

“Not in Riomaggiore, no.” She smiled again. “I’m from Rome. But you’re not from here, either.”

You laughed. “What gave it away?”

She was drinking Peroni from a bottle, and at your question, she picked this up, stood, and swept over to your table. She sat down in the chair across from you. 

“There,” she said. “Now we don’t have to shout at each other.”

Mildly surprised at her coming to sit down with you, and with your question still hanging in the air, you stared at her. 

“Just a good guess, is all,” she answered finally, lifting a shoulder. “And, you answered naturally in English.” She reached out her hand. “I’m Victoria.”

You shook her hand and gave her your name. Her skin was soft, a blushy pink. Her eyes churned with the colour of the waves that had danced beneath her fingertips a year ago.

“Well, Y/N, what brings you to Riomaggiore for the second summer in a row?”

“I could ask you the same,” you countered. 

Victoria leaned back again. She had a curious look in her eyes that you couldn’t place. 

“I asked you first,” she said wryly, folding her arms. The strength in her grace was not lost on you; doubtless, her arms were strong. 

Mirroring her action of earlier, you sipped your drink. So went the saying, ‘imitation is the highest form of flattery,’ but not only that: you knew that mirror neurons had a direct link to the brain chemistry involved in romance. 

You’d pushed the first pawn across the chess board. The next move was hers. 

“For the pesto,” you replied. 

She laughed succinctly. “And here I’d thought you’d come here for the same reason as me.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Which was?”

The corner of her mouth turned up slowly. “To find you, of course.” 

She lifted the glass bottle to her lips. Her eyes did not leave yours.

Oh she’d moved her piece all right. 

You looked out over the sea so as to not look at her, to not reveal how her words had affected you. But of course, in the sea, you saw her. 

Abruptly, the waiter returned, saving you from making a response. He seemed surprised that there were two patrons where before there had only been one, but he took it in stride and asked whether you’d had time to consider the menu. 

You nodded, but it was Victoria who spoke first. 

“Avremo la pasta al pesto, per favore.” 

The waiter looked between you, “Entrambi?” Were you ordering the same thing?

Victoria looked at you, in askance. 

You squared your shoulders. “Certo,” you told the waiter.

“Bene,” he said, and informed you that it would not be a long wait. Then he left. 

You turned to Victoria. “How did you recognise me? I was just sitting on the beach.”

“You were staring at me.”

Recalling that day, there had been many people staring at her. You told her as much. 

“Yes,” she agreed, “but none so beautiful as you. I would have noticed you anywhere.”

You baulked at this. Victoria was the kind of person people noticed. You were not. 

“You’re a little intimidating, you know,” she said, to which you frowned. “I think that’s why you think people don’t notice you.” 

Then, as though privy to your thoughts, she expanded upon her own. She seemed to have a knack for reading you. 

“You think people don’t notice you, because they don’t necessarily talk to you. But I think they don’t talk to you, because they are intimidated. I could not imagine not noticing you.”

You felt a little light-headed at her words, an unfathomable thrill washing over you like a tide. “Then you are the first person brave enough to speak.”

Victoria’s eyes glinted puckishly. “I take pride in that.”

The sun sank farther in the sky, turning the water red and rouging Victoria’s cheeks till tiny freckles stood out beneath her eyes, over her nose, upon her lower lip. She smiled coyly, and you realised you were staring again. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled with a half-laugh. 

“No,” she shook her head. “Look at me all you like.” A gentle breeze ruffled her hair, and she pushed the fringe from out her eyes. You nearly reached over to do it for her. 

“Makes me feel warm,” she said quietly, like a confession. 

Paradoxically, there were goose bumps raised along her arms.

“You look cold to me,” you responded. 

She wrinkled her nose. “Sea air, sun going down, no suffocating heat like Rome in the summer.”

Standing, you shrugged off your cardigan and side-stepped the table, reaching her side. She watched you move in silence.

“May I?” you asked, holding out the cardigan. 

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Nodded. 

You sank halfway into a crouch, and draped the garment over her shoulders, pulling the edges around her to meet at her throat. 

Suddenly, time had slowed to a dripping treacle, and you were hyper aware of her eyes tracking your movements, eyelashes low on her cheeks, of the rise and fall of her chest, breath suddenly shallow. There was a slight flush to her skin, though it was golden, touched by sunlight. Those faint freckles on her face traced a speckled path down her neck, over her collarbone and farther still, past where the open collar of her shirt fluttered over her breasts — only just hidden by the white cotton fabric. 

“My eyes are up here, cuore,” she said smugly, and the clichedness of the line shattered your trance as the fever of embarrassment rose beneath your skin.

“Yes, I — ”

“Pasta al pesto per due?”

You started at the voice of the waiter, practically falling into your chair as you stepped back to your side of the table. 

Victoria seemed unfazed. “Sì, grazie mille,” she smiled up at him. 

The waiter smiled tightly as he set down the plates. “Parmigiano?” 

“No, grazie,” you said, wanting him simply to leave as soon as possible and spare you further embarrassment. 

“Più vino? Birra?”

“No, no, grazie.” You did not want more wine. You wanted him to leave. Now.

Victoria was leaned back in her chair again, still beaming. “Prenderò un'altra birra, per favore.”

“Certo,” said the waiter, and left, equally as fast as you’d wished him to. 

You were leaning your forehead on the palm of your hand, still reeling from the embarrassment of the waiter witnessing your fawning over Victoria. 

But you took a breath and composed yourself, picking up your fork for something to do with your hands. 

“So, tell me about Rome,” you inquired of Victoria, without looking up from your food. 

But she gave a little laugh, and before you knew it, her hands were over yours. 

You looked up. 

“Not like that, cara.” She took your hand, and stabbed the trofie — pasta pieces wound into long, tight coils — properly. “And when it’s spaghetti or linguine, you twist, no spoon.”

She let go of your hands, but you felt the warmth of them still. You could scarcely remember how to breathe with the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. 

She picked up her own fork and speared the pasta. 

“You can call me Vic, if you like,” she said. Then, “Rome. Hot, this time of year. Lots of tourists.”

You laughed, partly because the way she had phrased it was amusing, and partly to diffuse the sudden tension which had come between you just before. “You dislike it that much?”

“No, I was just being realistic. But I suppose you want the sun-soaked boulevards and flowerpots and music.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Victoria nodded. “And there is that too. Rome’s a little bit of both. Isn’t everything?”

“Both optimistic and pessimistic?”

She pointed her fork at you. “Exact.”

“Exactly?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Shut up, I know I’m not fluent in English.”

You swallowed your pasta, waving a hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to seem like I expected that of you. But I also didn’t want to assume that you weren’t fluent just because you’re Italian.”

A strange expression came across Victoria’s face, something between surprise and admiration. 

“Thank you,” she answered laconically, her voice soft as though her gratitude should have been secret. 

Once more lost for words, you could do nothing but nod, and push another pile of trofie onto the tines of your fork. 

The two of you ate quietly for a while — because Victoria suddenly could not look at you, and you still knew not what to say. The wind blew through the cobblestone corridors of Riomaggiore, and stars in the sky began to replace the sparkling of the ocean surface by sunset. You could smell mingled spirits and spices, hear laughter and chatter in a dozen different languages. The chatter was different; the laughter sounded the same in every language. 

Victoria’s fork clattered to her empty plate, momentarily startling you. 

She took a breath. “Do you want to do something crazy?”

You put the last piece of pasta into your mouth, chewed, swallowed, your heart beating fast at the unspoken promise held by her words. “Like what?”

“Like leave, now that we’ve finished eating.”

Your eyes widened, and you lowered your voice. “Victoria, if you saw me, a tourist, leaving a restaurant after finishing dinner, you’d be horrified. This is Italy. You don’t just leave after eating.”

The smile that twisted your insides graced her pink-red lips again. She leaned forward, and your eyes darted involuntarily to her mouth. Her eyes were a thousand different shades of blue.

“Told you it was crazy.”

Then she straightened up again, stuck a hand into her pocket, retrieved a bundle of plastic Euros, placed them on the table beneath a glass, and once more extended her hand to you. 

There was a command in the action, and you obeyed. 

When her hand was in yours again, it felt like sanctity, a warm flush spreading through your body at her innocent touch. 

She drew you up from your chair, and before you knew what was happening, she was holding your hand like the memory of her that had held you enraptured for a year, and you were running through the streets of a seaside village, your footsteps loud, your laughter resonant in your belly, in your chest and your lungs, upon your lips. 

You ran and ran, hand in hand, and if anybody had asked, you wouldn’t have known how to explain the energy which had suddenly made a rollercoaster of your veins. 

The streets wove and turned like a labyrinth, like a web, and all these strings ran in one direction: to the sea. 

It was only when there was sand in between your toes that you realised that you had reached the end of the road. You kicked your shoes off without a thought, as Victoria discarded her borrowed cardigan into the sandy dunes.

And then she was pulling you toward the rushing waves and the dying sun ever and ever closer to the horizon, and the water was sloshing up over your ankles, your calves. 

Another laugh burst forth from your chest, and you turned to splash Victoria. 

She shrieked, because the day had been hot, but the water was still cold, and the difference was jarring. 

When she looked at you, her hair was soaking wet, bangs dripping down her face like the water that had made her makeup run, and somehow, she was even more beautiful now, in what should have been ruin but instead was triumph, like every grain of sand on her hands was residual stardust from her soul, though still was nothing when compared to the light in her eyes. The laughter was still warm in your chest.

She shivered, and your moment of trance shattered like sugar glass. You took her hand this time. 

“Come on,” you said, leading out of the water like she was Venus born of a Botticelli vision. “Let’s go dance this cold away.”

Against your own, her pulse fluttered, and her clammy palm in yours, with its calloused fingertips and short-cut nails, was suddenly the most important thing ever entrusted to you. 

You swallowed, before letting go of her hand to put your shoes back on. She sat down beside you.

“Y-you like to dance?” Her wide eyes were wider beneath the smudged makeup. The devious glint in them was gone as she shivered, the sun nearly gone now. 

I could learn to love anything if I was with you, you thought. It was a dangerous thought, to be told. You dared not speak it aloud. 

You pulled on your cardigan, but only to drag the sleeve down over your wrist and press it carefully under her eyes, blotting away the remnants of mascara. 

Her eyes closed slowly, and you breathed in tandem to the sound of the breaking waves. 

You tugged off your cardigan again, and set it around her shoulders once more before she had the chance to protest. 

When she opened her eyes again, her lips parted too. She might have leaned in, if you hadn’t spoken then. 

“When in Riomaggiore…” you murmured, and were rewarded with her gentle laughter. 

Victoria stood and pulled you up. When you were fully on your feet, she nearly lost her balance, but you caught her arms before she fell to the sand, and instead she fell against your chest. 

Her breath was on your collarbone, laboured — presumably from the adrenaline rush of the ground disappearing from beneath her feet. Her fingers were against your back, curled to keep herself standing. 

Already your thoughts were gone from the beach, from the light still left on its shore, deep now in the midnight dark that would soon follow, fast-forwarded to a fantasy, of her body against yours, every part of her as soft as the skin of her palms, and flushed a pretty pink, her open mouth against your collarbone, your fingers in her hair, her fingers on your back drawing the visceral, unspeakable sounds from your mouth. 

The seaspray brought you back to reality. 

But apparently Victoria’s thoughts had been lost as well, because now it was not her breath on your collarbone, but her lips, and you weren’t dreaming that she was kissing you there. 

Your breath had gone shallow in the space of milliseconds, and her mouth moved up to linger on your neck, your jaw, your cheek. Her arms were wrapped around you, and that open-collared shirt was against your chest, warmth bleeding from her to you. 

Finally you could take it no longer. You took her face in your hands and pressed your mouth to her mouth.

When you kissed her, she tasted of salt and wheat and sugar. Her lips were soft and warm as the summer air, and when your fingers tangled in her hair, her hands were on your elbows and your heart was in your mouth. 

You were kissing a stranger in a foreign land, and you felt as though you’d known her forever, disintegrating in her arms like salt in the sun as her kiss came up to meet you like a wave, and you couldn’t remember the right way to breathe. There was nothing left to your identity for but the memory of what it was to kiss her, and else nothing mattered. You would not have cared, if this ocean’s daughter had drowned you. You would have gone willingly to that watery grave. And had she tried to leave you, you would have traded your soul to have even a moment more of hers.

Because here it was: your heart, exposed in how you held her, how desperately you kissed her. 

How much you adored her, after knowing her so little. 

She angled her head and her teeth bruised your lip as she deepened the kiss, eliciting a gasp from you. You thought she might have laughed — softly, behind your mouth — a quiet, secret laughter meant only for your ears, and new heat surged through you at the thought. 

She was only kissing you, and yet, she was tearing you asunder. Pulling you apart at the seams with only her touch. 

“Vic,” you breathed, and it was all you managed. 

You were staggering back, falling against the sand, and she was pressing evanescent kisses to every square centimetre of your skin, and you’d never felt so alive in your life, with the heat of her body against yours and her pulse against your own like a metronome gone rogue. 

“Fuck dancing,” she murmured, between kisses. “I want you.”

Her words were like an open flame to oxygen, burning inside of you. 

Her lips touched your earlobe. “Do you want me?” she whispered. 

“Yes,” you replied, heart thundering. 

And you had been trying to play down your attraction to her, to hide it so that she wouldn’t see how much everything she did affected you — when she bit her lip and you wished it was your teeth instead of hers, that coy smile she always turned to the ground like she knew exactly what it was doing to you, her long fingers drumming on the table, already in time with your pulse. 

And now there was nothing subtle about it. 

Her hand was in yours, and you were running again, up into the town, pushing her against an alleyway wall to steal a kiss as she asked, 

“Mine or yours?”

“Unless you’re one street over too, then mine is closer.”

Her laughter tickled your lips, seaspray in the wind. “That eager?”

“You kissed me first.”

“Touché,” she whispered, her breath coming sharp and short against your mouth, sticky with her lipstick, warm with her scent, her touch. 

The last of the climb to your rented rooms was a stumble, Victoria pressing messy kisses to your shoulder, into the crook of your elbow, as you fumbled for your keys and tried, impossibly, to keep quiet.

By the time the two of you stumbled through the door, she had unbuttoned your trousers, and had your blouse in her fist. You reached for her and found yourself bare for but your bra and underwear, while Victoria retained only her white shirt and panties. 

You paused. 

Slowly, as her chest rose and fell, she took your hands and guided them to the buttons at the ridge of her breasts, and slowly, you unbuttoned the few remaining, tantalising buttons of her white shirt, letting the garment fall to the ground like a flag. Like surrender.

You stared at her for heartbeats, in awe of how she breathed and obsessed with the way she moved. 

Then, as though she could wait no longer, she crushed you against her and kissed you, sucking your lower lip into your mouth and biting down, evoking from you a desperate whimper, for anything more of her that you could get — all of her, if she would give it to you. 

You drew back from her lips to kiss the rest of her, pushing her into the mattress to press your mouth to every bit of skin you could find. When her fingers found your hair and pulled, your kiss left a bruise on her neck, and then her shoulder, before she pushed you down on the mattress and your thighs apart. 

Her palm was already there for you when you groaned, and you felt her smile of satisfaction against your mouth when her fingers brushed over your clothed folds. 

“God,” she murmured, “you’re so pretty when you know what you want.” 

You managed only a hoarse whisper in return. “Then give it to me.”

She laughed and it tickled your skin, and then your bra was gone as well, and her fingers were curled around the elastic of your underwear. She took too long for your liking, and you pushed her hand, leaving yourself exposed to her mercy and the cool night air.

But she was merciful if nothing else, this ocean’s daughter, and her fingers were inside of you before you could utter another plea. 

Already she needed no guidance, played you like the strings of a harp with a flick of her wrist and those long, gently curling fingers. 

Her eyes never left yours, half-lidded in the same haze you felt cloud your mind when she touched you, when your back arched up from the already untidy sheets, when her other hand travelled up your thigh and your stomach, finding a resting place beneath your breasts as she pushed you into the bed, held you there as you writhed. 

When you came, you pulled her down with you until the moon sank into the sky as well, until the sun dawdled once more on the horizon. 

And perhaps, you thought, this was where the moon and sun went in those small hours of the night when neither could be seen by those still awake on Earth — they were together, entwined in a beautiful, impossible duality of silver and gold, at last unfettered by human imagination. 

⭒

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you remembered Victoria. Remembered her breath as it whispered against your legs, her lips the inside of your thighs. Already, the memories were imprinted upon your mind like whorls of sand, and on your tongue the salt of her demise as she’d gasped beneath your touch with her head tipped back in ecstasy — and god, she had been so unfathomably pretty. Endlessly so.

Now, you reached out to touch her, to sweep the gold strands from the eyes of your very own gold dust woman. But the sheets were empty.

Fear gripped your heart in a sudden vice, that she should have left you with so little, so early, so soon. 

But the light trailed her still in the wake of morning, and as your eyes followed it, you found her outside, leaning against the railing of your balcony, summer-sunshine hair falling down her back, her legs still bare though her upper half was hidden by your cardigan — and oh, how good she looked in your clothes. You wanted to see her like that all the time. 

Slipping out of bed, you took a leaf from her book and tugged on her long white shirt, before pattering out onto the balcony. 

She turned at the sound of your approach, and smiled sleepily. Her hair floated atop her shoulders, over her back and her chest in waterfalling waves, blonde strands twining messily and yet perfectly in what could easily have been sunbeams, returning to her as though she were the very star they had awaited all along.

“Buongiorno,” she murmured. The wide blue sky arced above her head, and the streets below your balcony had begun to crescendo in the sounds of waking, the morning routines of a thousand strangers beneath your feet, the waves washing ever over the shores in their ethereal clockwork.

“Morning,” you replied. It appeared she was only wearing your cardigan and her underwear, and in her shirt and your own underwear, you were no better. Your heart filled with lightness at the thought that she should be so uninhibited in your presence. No one had ever been so easily open with you before. 

She held out a hand as you drew nearer, and you slid your fingers into hers. Before you could react, she pulled you flush against her, wrapping her arms around you and kissing you, ardently but achingly slow like the dawning day, lips tender but her hold on you fierce, as though she could not have let go had she tried. 

Her hand came to rest on your cheek, her thumb brushing over your lower lip. 

“I want you to know,” she said breathlessly, “that this is not all I wanted from you. I just couldn’t help myself.” Your pulse quickened, the strings of your heart tying themselves in knots. “I want everything of you, if you want that too.”

A smile found its way to your face, and you wound your fingers through hers. She looked down at your intertwined hands, and you fell apart a little at the fond look on her face. 

“I do.”

Her hands slid to your waist as she came to stand behind you, with her chin leaned on your shoulder and her gaze returned to the view beyond the balcony, though you felt her lips briefly touch the space between your neck and collarbone. 

The daughter of the ocean, in your arms at last.

You knew little about her, still. But summer held many days yet, and when she turned and smiled at you in the sunshine of the new day, you knew that she would give every day to you, if only you asked.

⭒

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My Sunset 𓆉｡˚ ✧ ༉‧₊˚

Eddie Vedder x Fem!Reader

(How does one cope with a love that’s lost to the waves)

(Warnings: angst, fluff, cursing)

(Words: 1397 )

𓆉｡˚ ✧ ༉‧₊˚ 𓆉｡˚ ✧ ༉‧₊˚ 𓆉｡˚ ✧ ༉‧₊˚

“This next song is black.” He said running his fingers through his long wavy hair. Grabbing a fist full of the microphone he starts to sing as the strumming of guitars are heard in the background.

His voice echos through the room giving me full body chills in the front row.

I had forgotten how much I love the way his voice feels. The rasp of it almost cuts into your skin as each bite passes.

“Sheets of empty canvas

Untouched sheets of clay

Where laid spread out before me

As her body once did..”

His once tightly closed eyes opened for a second. A brief second. And I could he knew eyes was here. He found my gaze and in almost an instant you could see the intensity rise in him as his eyes close once again.

“All five horizons

Revolved around her soul

As the earth to the sun”

His arms flexed as he grasped the microphone in his hands tighter. He looks up to the ceiling, his hair falling back out of his face and you could see his skin glisten. He was beautiful…. He is beautiful.

He looks back down only to meet my eyes and keep the contact for more than I was prepared for. I mean…. He’s my best friend, and the love of my life. To this day I felt bad about how that night ended. And I can tell in his eyes he’s hurt. Bad…

“Now the air I tasted and breathed….Has taken a turn”

I was almost pleading with him to look away. Give me space to breathe. To understand what he was feeling. But he didn’t. His gaze wouldn’t let go. And I deserved it. I threw us away. Whether it was intentional or not. I let him leave.

“Oh and all I taught her was everything

Oh I know she gave me all that she wore

And now my bitter hands

Chafe beneath the clouds

Of what was everything

Oh the pictures have

All been washed in black

Tattooed everything”

As he says those last words I subconsciously reach fir my forearm where are matching tattoos lay. Like a reminder. I can tell he saw the subtle reach of my hand and he looks away.

“I take a walk outside

I'm surrounded by

Some kids at play

I can feel their laughter

So why do I sear”

His words transport my mind back into that old playground on the seaside where we sat lazily on a swing set. We were sopping wet and the sun was setting.

“You souls go hook up your board to the car it’s getting late.” I said but he wasn’t listening.

“Ed… Eddie what are you staring at?” I laughed awkwardly.

“You..”

“Why is there sand on my face?” I questioned.

“It’s just… you’re so beautiful. You mesmerize me.” He whispered as he leaned his swing closer to mine.

“Eddie…”

“Y/n…”

We shared are first kiss that night as the waves crashed behind us. But he’s right I haven’t been to that swing set since. The happy kids playing around it just reminds me we’re not kids anymore. And life’s not always as beautiful as a sunset. It can be dark. And cold. And black.

“Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin

Round my head

I'm spinning

Oh, I'm spinning

How quick the sun can, drop away”

His hair swung softly as he sang with such intensity. His emotions flowed through his music into the crowds ears. It almost felt to person. To uncomfortable. Like it was a secret you weren’t supposed to know.

“And now my bitter hands

Cradle broken glass

Of what was everything

All the pictures have

All been washed in black

Tattooed everything

All the love gone bad

Turned my world to black

Tattooed all I see

All that I am

All that I'll be, yeah”

I wish I could forget. The emotions he gives me. But I can’t. And honestly I don’t truly want to. I wish I could just redo that night. Make everything good again.

“Uh huh, uh huh, oh

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life

I know you'll be a star

In someone else’s sky

But why

Why

Why can't it be

Oh can't it be mine”

He stared straight into my eyes boring holes into them, grasping at my soul. It felt wrong. Mean even. But I know he meant it. Every word.

“Eddie I’m sorry I can’t.” I cried. My legs crossed on the bed all those months ago.

“You’re the happiest part of my life y/n. You can’t just leave me. All for what? You hate it here!” He exclaimed the tears welling up in his eyes.

“This is my life. This was our life. I can’t just drop everything for a tour. Eddie please, you have to understand.”

“No you don’t understand, God! I love you, I’ve loved you since we were 13. And you know that. I love the way your hair falls in your face when your nervous, or the way you dance around all crazy to loud music as you brush your teeth, or the way you snore when you sleep, or how you subconsciously hold your own hand when your lonely and mines not in reach. I love you and all your awkward and all your sadness and happiness. And nothing could ever change that.” Tears slowly fell down onto his cheeks.

“Eddie….”

“Don’t stay, please come with me.” He begged.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” I said removing his grip from my waist where it once’s laid and headed for the door.

“Y/n please.” He cried as I exited the home, walking to the only place I could think of… the swing set.

I just sat and cried. Almost if shame. I mean I was afraid. Afraid of leaving my own little town and going out into the world. It didn’t feel safe or comfortable. But you never know unless you try. I should have just gained some courage that night. And went with him.

Oh god how I wish I went with him. Nothing felt right after he left. It felt like a part of not only the town, but me went missing.

“We belong, we belong together!”

His eyes had to be pulled away from me by his own thoughts as he practically screamed into the microphone. The hot tears felt like acid on my skin as I looked at him. He was right. We belong together. Yet here I was… sitting in pain as he was up there on stage. Which felt so…… so far away.

I found him after the filming of unplugged was over. He was just standing there with a water in his hands as he fiddled with his hair. He looked so innocent. So helpless. I put a hand out to touch his shoulder.

“Eddie…” I said softly as he turned around to face me.

“You came.”

“I got your letter. I mean this was amazing, I’m so proud of you.” I smile softly trying to break the tension. But I could tell he needed the confrontation. He needed answers. So I let it happen.

“Why did you abandon me…” he asked and I was taken aback by his wording. Is that what I had done? I have never felt more awful.

“I- I was scared. Scared of life, and leaving the comfort of our town. I just wasn’t ready. But you were.” I explain and he fidgets with his fingers.

“I wish you could have explained that then. I didn’t want to make you feel scared. It’s just that big things were happening.” He says looking up at me.

“I agree, I should have been honest about what I was feeling I just, didn’t want to hold you back.”

“You weren’t a weight on my shoulder. You made me feel lighter. I just…… you still hold your own hands.” He says abruptly and I notice he’s looking and my hands which were indeed clasped. My thumb nervously rubbing the side of the other.

“What…. Oh yeah, I guess I do.” I say and we meet eyes.

“I miss you (y/n).”

“I miss you too, ed.”

“Could we try again, I just….. I miss my best friend.” He smiles bashfully.

“I’d like that.” I say and he takes me into his arms.