Fluff work 1 (224 words)

His breath is warm against the shell of your ear, as steady as the beat of his heart against your back. His body is flush with yours, still yours. His eyelashes graze your shoulder as his fingers splayed across your stomach tighten, pressing into your skin like he’s afraid you might vanish.

"Still warm... so warm, my baby..."

His lips brush the shell of your ear again, kissing the curve gently, as if you're made of glass and he’s afraid to break you. Right now, he's at peace in your arms—touching you like a secret, like something sacred.

He feels your fingers shift over his hand, caressing the inked tattoos like it’s a lover.

"Did—... did I make you... happy?"

His thumb drags across your knuckles, as if bracing for you to joke, to tease, to leave. As if bracing for you to stop loving him before the night’s out. He hates how shaky the question sounds, how bare it leaves him. He hates how much he needs your answer.

A faint breath of a kiss lands on your shoulder—the kind that belongs in a confession booth.

"...You know I don’t just do this for anyone.”

He hates how close his voice trembles to breaking.

Outside, the city breathes. Inside, he does too. Slow, soft, and waiting for you.

For everything you’ll say next.

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Pub: 26 Jul 2025 17:30 UTC

Views: 6