#dear white people final season

[projectcatzo]

Hmmmm, some of the storylines in the final season of Dear White People ended up pretty underdeveloped, it's almost like there were several minutes of each episode that served no meaningful purpose besides inflicting me with secondhand embarrassment.........

[darktrashsoulbear]

The Abyss Of Affection

Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: Aemond discovers the book his sweet wife has been obsessed with and after reading one of the scenes, a plan begins to formulate (fluff)

This was inspired by a conversation I had with the wonderful Hannah @gwaynesprincess

House of the Dragon Masterlist

Taglist

Warnings: Allusions to smut

Word Count: 2308

Divider Credit: @saradika-graphics

Not entirely show canon as Jaehaerys is alive, Maelor exists and people are happy

Any likes, comments and reblogs are always always appreciated :)

His calculated footsteps echoed in the hallways of the keep’s royal chambers, following the elder of the King’s brothers - Prince Aemond Targaryen - back to his chambers after an incredibly taxing day filled with fulfilling duties that were not his own and patrolling the city atop his beloved Vhagar, the Queen of all Dragons. Many would argue a dragon fit for a true king, Aemond would agree. Finally rounding the corner, he greeted the familiar face of Ser Steffon giving a cordial nod as he made his way through the doors of his chambers, removing his cloak as he went. 

The sight that greeted the prince was not surprising yet still brought a small, fond smile to his face. Laying on her side of the feather bed was his sweet wife curled up under the various blankets spread across the bed to combat the chill in the air as the citadel switched black ravens to white and summer turned to winter. Aemond made quick work of stripping out of his leathers and into a loose night shirt and breeches ready to join his wife in slumber.

Just as he was about to blow out the candles beside where they lay, he noticed a book beneath the blankets next to his sweet wife’s sleeping form. He picked it up ready to place it on the small table on her side of the bed before taking a look at the title and realising it was the book that had so often stolen her attention away from him during the nights they spent together before the fire. The prince’s insatiable curiosity, it seems, also extended to what on earth his sweet wife could be reading in the non-academic books she so loves.

Flipping over to one of the pages he remembers her completely raving about with her lady in waiting, he began to read and as he continued, a plan began to formulate.

She was met by a chorus of “good morrow, Princess” to which she responded with decidedly less vigour and an almost petulant expression as she discovered that her husband was in fact not in their shared chambers. This prompted the other ladies in the room to barely suppress their giggles knowing how not seeing her husband in the mornings can dampen her mood - not that the Prince fairs any better himself.

“Do any of you happen to know where my dear lord husband is at such an hour?” she discontentedly drawled.

The handmaidens exchanged uneasy glances with one another which, of course, did not escape her watchful gaze and she probed further with a single raise of an eyebrow. Silence ensued for a couple of very awkward, tension-filled seconds until the Princess’ lady in waiting - Elaena - stepped closer and stated that “we are not at liberty to say, Princess,” adding a slight curtsy at the end.

Again silence ensued only interrupted by her own chortle “what in the name of the seven do you mean ‘not at liberty’, forgive me but I am utterly confused.”

“I’m afraid Prince Aemond has forbidden us to speak of it Princess and he reminded us that if you demanded… well Princess he said for us to remember that his orders outrank yours,” Elaena hesitantly explained, shoulders visibly tense at her admission.

An even longer silence commenced, this one not so easily interrupted. Instead the Princess slightly nodded her head and proceeded to load some fresh fruits onto her plate before biting into a strawberry that was surprisingly ripe given the season. She sat with a contemplative look on her face, her ladies worried she was deeply hurt when really she was wondering what the best way to punish him would be, perhaps… 

She was pulled from her musings by a knock on the chamber doors which one of the handmaidens - Lyla - was quick to answer. She carried a written message delivered by a page boy and with mild curiosity the Princess unravelled it and began to read.

She then very calmly got up, retreating to the sitting chambers with her beloved book and instructed her handmaidens to leave her, and on their way to “inform Prince Aemond that if he wishes to have an audience he may do so in our private chambers, I am not a dog to be called to heel and told to wait in the dragon pit until he finally chooses to descend from the sky”.

Suddenly Queen Helaena turned to look directly into the Princess’ eyes causing her to startle. Helaena grasped her arms in a gentle hold and decided that “you will be very happy with it,” and while not always understanding but being kind to Helaena’s ways, the Princess confidently nodded in affirmation.

“I’m certain I will be sister,” followed by a soft squeeze of the Queen’s hands she quickly let go to ensure she didn’t crowd the gentle soul beside her.

Turning her attention to Maelor, the youngest of the King and Queen’s children, she scooped him into her arms and brought him to her lap where she proceeded to grab the second less than perfect dragon (Daeron’s first attempt) and began to play with him. Entirely encompassed by the babe's soft giggles she failed to notice the shadow of her husband nor feel the piercing but fond gaze he stared at the two of them with - giving him a few ideas of his own.

Finally sensing his presence, his sweet wife turned towards him and pinned him with a markedly less than sweet gaze. After returning Maelor to his mother, the princess stood, brushed off her dress, said her goodbyes to the children with the promise of visiting again soon, squeezed Helaena’s hand and strode straight past her dear husband without so much as a look in his direction.

Aemond Targaryen, the incredibly formidable man that he is, immediately turned and followed (and after speaking with her lady in waiting) trailed a step behind knowing that if he got any closer he may well be subject to a more physical attack.

“Sweet wife - ,” his mouth slammed shut, the sound of his teeth clacking together audible as she turned around to face him and he thanked the seven that they’d at least made it to the hall outside their chambers to give a small amount of privacy.

“How can I be of service to my Prince? Shall I draw you a bath, change your linens, perhaps wash them too? After all, your commands should certainly be obeyed by all who rank lower than you lord husband!” and Aemond’s moment of stunned silence was all she needed to turn and push the door to their chambers open, her hair almost whipping Aemond in the face. After clearing his throat and righting his already perfectly placed doublet, the prince followed after his wife. This time the nod to Ser Steffon was slightly more stiff and definitely less cordial. 

Upon entering their chambers, it became apparent that his sweet wife was just getting started on his torture as she began shedding her day clothes to ready herself for dinner that night as it had become customary for the royal family to dine together per the Dowager Queen Alicent’s request. As he walked in she turned to look at him, again raising a single eyebrow, a silent demand for him to explain himself and explain he did - after he managed to bring his eye back up to meet hers.

Aemond nervously began to describe how he had to go patrol the city earlier than expected that morrow and after his wife’s further probing he let out a sigh as he admitted that he was hiding something from her but he insisted she could not know. Instead he decided to avert her attention by apologising for his blunt and insensitive instructions, insisting his mind was incredibly preoccupied and he meant none of it. 

After a beat, his sweet wife looked back up at him and simply agreed that it was foolish of him before continuing to prepare herself for dinner. With the guilt still weighing down on him, Aemond tried once more to draw a further reaction from her and informed her that “we will not be dining with the family tonight, my heart, it shall just be the two of us so please do not feel obligated to wear something that will placate my mother”. The huff of air Aemond let out could have rivalled Vhagar’s as his Princess finally met his eye and gave a smile of her own.

The Princess very quickly decided that she would never again allow her husband to guide her through the gardens, at dusk, alone with no idea of where on earth he was going. She marvelled at how her Prince had spent the entirety of his life growing up within the walls of the keep while she had only moved here three years past when their betrothal was finalised and yet she knew the gardens a lot better than he did. They walked in silence with the occasional mumble of “I’m sure it was this way”, “perhaps it’s actually that way” and what she is sure sounded like a “seven hells this is so embarrassing”.

Eventually, the Princess abruptly stopped walking causing Aemond to turn back to look at her with wide eyes as though he was expecting her to end the night and head back into the castle (which definitely seems tempting) but instead she drew herself closer to him tracing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb and sweetly asked him to tell her where he wanted to go and she would lead the way. Confusion clouded her eyes when she saw her husband’s gaze darken with disappointment at not being able to keep the location secret before giving a rather reluctant nod and mumbling the area of the gardens.

This again caused her to still, as not long before setting off on their adventure she’d gotten to her favourite scene in the romance novel she was currently re-reading which described the relationship between two lovers from flea bottom snook into the castle’s garden and had a picnic beneath a section where two trees intertwined to look like a heart. She let out a small laugh at the coincidence before leading him in the direction of the garden’s that she learned the trees actually existed in when she went searching after her first time reading the book.

As they stepped through the clearing, fingers interlocked, Aemond’s sweet wife stopped dead in her tracks. The scene before her bringing an onslaught of tears to her eyes and Aemond’s own eye drank in her reaction feeling his chest expand with pride. The scene was exactly as described in the books - granted the royalty version - with a table in the middle of the clearing, the heart trees standing right before it. A small fire was lit as the air was cool and biting and she thanked the gods for giving her a husband intelligent enough to organise for a canopy to be set up over the table. Even the food was some of the meats and fresh fruit described in her book.

After taking it all in, the princess - now thankful for there being no escort - fisted her husband’s nicest leathers and brought him down for a bruising kiss, whispering thank you’s and I love you’s in between.

Aemond’s own heart was beating out of his chest as they finally pulled away from one another and he helped her into her seat before taking his own next to her, never letting go of her hand - not even when they began to eat, opting to do it with his left hand instead, and certainly not as his sweet wife moved from her own seat into his lap, playing with his hair and telling him just how wonderfully he had done.

If you asked anyone who crossed paths with the Prince and Princess that night, they’d tell you that never before had they ever encountered two individuals looking so shamelessly in love. They’d express their shock as they witnessed their Prince, the fierce rider of Vhagar, laugh freely with his lady wife with his arm firmly wrapped around her waist and the Princess’ hand rubbing up and down his back.

As the Prince once again encountered Ser Steffon, he greeted the guard with a slightly more reserved smile than his wife received and instructed him to have a good night while he ushered his giggling wife inside. Once they were out of sight Ser Steffon let out a small chuckle of his own before walking a few paces down the hall, away from the door.

As the very smitten couple climbed into bed the Prince once again asked his sweet wife if everything met her standards to which she simply pulled herself up and decided on showing him how pleased she was instead - but not before ensuring the punishment she decided on earlier was carried out.

[luvsupa]

001 | WORK OF ART

tags: sugardaddy!nanami x fem!reader, smut, public sex-ish, toys used, age gap (nanamis late 30s and readers early/ mid 20s), petnames, nanami is in love with reader and her art, mdni.

w.c: 2.6k

a/n: UHMM GUYS THANK U SOSO MUCH FOR 600 FOLLOWERS?! EEKKK ILY GUYSSS 🤍🤍

+ likes and reblogs are appreciated!

the convention center quickly fills up at eight o’clock as hundreds and hundreds of rich people eagerly gather to see and purchase the artworks displayed by you and your fellow artists.

you’re already over the fact that it’s art display season, as obnoxious rich patrons approach your work only to mock it and its price. your coordinator has repeatedly stated that your specific artwork isn’t as eye-catching as the others in your group.

“your art can only sell for one thousand, and that’s pushing it,” your coordinator once said.

one thousand is quite a lot of money, but everyone else’s pieces are selling for five thousand and more! their bland artwork compared to yours shouldn’t be sold for that much—now i’m just sounding jealous.

all the artists stand at their assigned sections in front of their artwork as the paid guests slowly walk in, drawn to whatever catches their attention. you glance at your friend beside you as she wishes you good luck.

the room is brightly lit with led lights, giving it a clean and modern feel. soft, instrumental music plays over the speakers, barely audible over the hum of conversations. waiters weave through the crowd, offering glasses of champagne that clink as guests accept them.

you stand awkwardly, already expecting the nasty glares at your canvas. this year, you went for an erotic art piece titled “a woman’s high.” the painting depicts a woman in an abstract way, in the moment of climax, as a blurred-out male figure gives her oral sex, with the focus solely on the female.

“don’t you think this is quite… inappropriate for an art exhibition?” the middle-aged woman clung to her husband’s arm, both looking disgusted at your erotic painting. she leaned in to read the card with your name, pricing, and title, her brows raising in amusement.

“hah! one thousand for this? oh dear, this is a mockery to all the other talented artists here,” she scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. the snobby rich couple found it hilarious, unable to control their laughter. “even i wouldn’t keep it if it were free!” she said as they walked away, still laughing as they moved on to the next pieces.

you stood there, their words stinging more than any you’d heard before. nearly five months spent on your painting, and this is how they treated you. damn that couple.

“your talent for oil painting is incredible,” a deep, husky voice said. you looked up to see a tall, middle-aged man with golden blonde hair slicked back, a few strands hanging in front of his beautifully sculpted face. he was looking at you—and complimenting your art?

you rarely got this stunned at one of your exhibitions, but wow. you shamelessly scanned his figure, muscles bulging from his white button-up shirt, a few buttons undone to show his toned chest. his black dress pants hugged his muscled thighs, and you gulped hard, eyes moving back to his-

“nanami! how great it is to finally see you!” your main coordinator appeared, twirling her hair awhile bombarding him with questions.

“there’s something i want to show you, but it requires us being alone,” she giggled, rubbing his arm up and down. you stood there awkwardly, not wanting to listen to their flirtatious conversation.

“i’m afraid i’ll pass. i’m more intrigued by this beautiful art.” he turned to look at you, making your eyes widen. no one had ever been this persistent about wanting to see your artwork. it made you feel giddy inside.

“oh nanami, this artist needs a lot of practice. i mean, look at the painting!” she pointed out, trying to embarrass you in front of this fine man.

“i wasn’t referring to the painting.”

oh.

“s-sir?” she stammered, both of you shocked at his words. he thinks i’m beautiful? he was very slick with that.

“and her skills are beyond amazing. the way she captures the perfect moment of the woman’s orgasm and highlights her expression—there’s no need for more practice,” he said, silencing your coordinator as he praised the parts of your art that he loved. you were still in shock at what had just occurred.

“however, there is one flaw about this,” nanami stated, and your smile slightly dropped. you were ready for him to treat you the same way everyone else had. your coordinator found an opportunity to bully you and your art even more.

“pfft, finally. i’ve noticed a lot wrong with her art—”

“the price,” he cut her off, pulling out a chequebook from his pocket and beginning to write. “how much?” you both gasped at his boldness.

“i-i…” you stuttered, at a loss for words for the first time, while your coordinator fumed. he chuckled at your reaction as he continued writing, then ripped the paper to hand it to you.

“i’d like for you to come see me later, beautiful,” he said, his smooth words leaving you hypnotized. and with that, he walked away as your coordinator followed him, trying to get his attention.

you stared down at the paper, your jaw dropping at the amount he was giving you.

10,000 dollars

holy fuck.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as the art exhibition continued on all night, you left your painting unattended- searching everywhere throughout the museum to find the mysterious man, nanami. hell, you even had to beg your annoying coordinator for his whereabouts. finally, she gave in.

“he’s going to his car, something about a gift for me!” she exclaimed. you didn’t buy it for a second, but you headed towards the elevator, stepping in to pressing‘P’ as the button illuminated. the doors closed, and the elevator descended to the parking lot.

the button stopped glowing as the doors opened, revealing the eerie parking lot filled with cars on every level. you walked out, your heels clicking against the cold concrete as you quickly rushed to see where he could be.

“are you following me?”

you stopped where you were, hearing his deep voice. you turned around to see his beautiful smirk plastered on his lips, holding his black jacket on his shoulder. fuck, he’s so hot.

“i just wanted to thank you so much for purchasing my art,” you nervously said as he eyed you down. you squeezed your thighs tight as the tension thickened.

“come with me,” he said, smiling as he formed a sinful idea in his mind. he honestly couldn’t control himself, thinking about how delicious you looked in your black mini skirt and white button-up shirt similar to his own.

cute, he thinks.

you wasted no time, immediately picking up your steps as he strode down the long parking lot to his car. finally, his car came into view—a luxurious sports car you’d only seen in movies and tv shows. how rich is he?

he unlocks the driver's door as you stand in front of his car, listening to the muffled chatter and honks of the city coming to life at night. from the corner of your eye, you see him pull out a box as he shuts the door, catching your attention.

"i want you to put this on," he says, walking closer and towering over you as he hands you the box. you carefully read it, and your jaw drops for the second time that night.

bluetooth vibrator.

"i-i can't, i have to be talking to people this whole night," you stammer, attempting to hand the box back, but he doesn't take it.

"that's the whole point, sweetheart. live a little- have fun." he coos, bringing his hands to cup your face, caressing it. "you always seem so serious. let me show you how to enjoy yourself." for the first time your body betrays you as you start feeling aroused by him.

shamelessly, you bring one of your free hands to pull his neck lower to your level, smashing him into a heated kiss. he smirks into the kiss as you suck harshly on his lips, smudging your lipstick onto his. nanami places you against the hood of his luxurious sports car as the box slips from your hand, making a loud thud on the ground.

"eager, aren't we?" he murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension and desire.

nanami parts your thighs with his knee, allowing you to grind on him. your hips move rhythmically as you whimper into the kiss, growing wetter by the second.

he snakes his hand down to your thighs, moving his knee, eliciting a needy whimper from you. wanting more. he replaces his knee with his thick fingers, easily reaching your clothed cunt through your short skirt. he rubs your leaky slit through your panties, and you moan into the kiss. he pulls away, chuckling at how quickly you became this wet.

"such a good girl," he teases, his tone both patronizing and seductive.

you look up at him with needy eyes, craving more of his touch—more of him. you need him.

“i’ll see you inside,” he says, pecking your lips and sliding his hand away from your heat. he walks away, wiping the smudged lipstick off his mouth, leaving you sprawled out on the hood of his car. how can he leave you like this? you’re contemplating on whether you should continue on or leave- oh fuck it.

“w-wait, i’ll put it on,” you say, rising from the hood of the car and wobbling towards him as you quickly pick up the box. he chuckles, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. 

“my sweet girl, i knew you’d give in,” he says, turning around to see you almost losing your balance. he holds you steady as you start unboxing the toy, wanting nothing more than a good release from him.

you stare at the oddly shaped vibrator, confused about how to put it on.

nanami grabs the pink toy from your hand as he kneels to the ground. “may i?” he asks, wanting to insert it for you. you eagerly nod as he bunches up your skirt to your waist, and you stare down at him, watching his every move like a hawk.

he places a soft kiss on your clothed clit, making you nearly fall over. nanami swiftly tugs down your panties, and you step out of them as he rises from the ground, standing tall as he shoves your wet panties into his pocket. how nasty he is.

“geez, you’re soaking,” he points out, swiping two of his fingers along your slit and watching your arousal coat his digits. he brings the toy to your hole, aligning it with the tip before slowly inserting it. you hiss at the stretch of the toy within your velvety walls, the girth painfully good as you bite your lip hard, clenching rapidly around the silicone toy.

you whimper as he positions the other half of the toy against your achy clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to ensure it’s perfectly aligned with your sensitive nub. he’s determined to see you crumble.

nanami smooths down your skirt, pulling it back into place so no one can see the lewd things happening between you two. he retrieves his phone from his pocket and connects to the app, pressing the power button. your knees buckle as the vibrator springs to life, the dual stimulation nearly making you roll your eyes back at the slow, teasing intensity.

“you did so good, baby,” he coos, his praise making you hum in pleasure as he steadies your balance, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your head. he increases the intensity, and broken moans slip from your lips. he finds your reactions amusing as he guides you back to the elevator, pressing the button and standing behind you, holding you in place.

“y-you clicked the wrong f-floor,” you manage to gasp, breathless. he chuckles darkly behind you, making your skin crawl. your eyes shoot up in horror as you realize he’s selected the floor where all the guests enter to get to the museum.

“oh, did I? silly me,” he says, a smirk evident in his voice. as the elevator doors open, you’re met with a small group of guests, including the middle-aged couple who had mocked you earlier. you feel a fleeting sense of relief as he finally turns off the vibrator, but the situation remains unbearably tense.

the elevator is packed with guests, and you’re pressed intimately close to nanami. the heat of his body against yours only heightens your need, as you’re unconsciously grinding against his bulge, desperate for release.

“nanami, i didn’t realize you were with her,” the familiar woman says, clinging to her husband. the bitch who flat out insulted me..

“mhm, yes, i am,” nanami replies smoothly, his hand slipping lower to discreetly control the vibrator. “have you seen her work? i think everyone should join. she’s got a beautiful speech prepared, don’t you?” he adds, his gaze shifting to you with a knowing smile. heads turn in your direction, intrigued by the fact that nanami kento is involved.

“oh, yes, i suppose i’ll prepare something as well—mmf,” you try to stifle a moan as nanami cranks the vibrator to its fullest intensity. you squeeze your thighs tightly, fighting to keep your arousal from dripping down your thighs.

“and what will it be about?” a businessman in the elevator asks curiously. you can barely focus on anything except the overwhelming pleasure of the vibrator thrusting in and out at a relentless pace, your poor clit being ruthlessly stimulated.

“haven’t—hahhh—i haven’t f-finished,” you stammer, casting a pleading look at nanami, desperate for the torture to end. he only smiles in response, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction.

ding!

you’ve never been so eager for the elevator’s arrival. the guests say their goodbyes, but just as nanami tries to guide you out, you stop him, hitting a random button.

“what happened to speaking to everyone the whole night, hmm?” he says, his voice dripping with mockery as he gazes down at your dazed expression.

“fuck them,” you mutter, reaching up to kiss him, but he pulls away, eliciting a pout from you.

“such a dirty mouth—do you expect me to kiss you?” he says, bringing a hand to your face. you melt into his touch as he slowly brings his thumb to your mouth, smudging your lipstick. he rests his thumb on your bottom lip, and you open your mouth, looking sultry into his hazel eyes.

you take his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and slightly bobbing your head as if giving a messy blowjob. nanami watches, his blood rushing to his growing bulge as he takes in your bratty attitude.

you release his thumb with a slight pop, leaving it glistening with your saliva. nanami, shocked by your filthy display, grabs your face and crashes his lips onto yours. this kiss is hungrier, more eager than the last.

ding!

the elevator’s arrival chimes, and the doors start to open. your coordinator, her face a mask of horror, sees you two and screams in shock. she’s so upset that storms off. the doors quickly close, leaving you and nanami in the privacy of the elevator.

you chuckle at her reaction. “i have to get back, nanami,” you say, your hands roaming his chest, a whimper escaping as you remember the toy still buried deep inside you.

“you’re really gonna leave me like this?” he growls, referring to his raging hard-on. you chuckle, feeling a thrill at his reaction. “hmm, you can still toy with me the entire night,” you purr.

nanami reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a business card, his name and phone number neatly printed. “call me when you’re ready to leave. i’m not done with you,” he promises, making you feel excited for what he has planned.

you give him a quick peck on the lips and press the ‘open’ button on the elevator. just as you’re about to step out, you feel a sharp sting on your ass cheek. you hear him hum behind you.

oh how he’s going to cause so much trouble.. 

[okwonyo]

﹙ ✉️ ﹚ ──MIDAS TOUCH. in which 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽.

엔하이픈 성훈 ⠀ ノ⠀ female reader 11OO non-idol au fluff established relationship ⠀⎯⠀⠀ not proof-read skinship making out⠀， recueil . . .

a/n. for @bywons’s on our love event and also to celebrate @cupidhoons & @sainns return ! 😚 for @atrirose because that picture showed a side of her i never saw ... read until the end i swear it’s worth it ^^

if you had to pick a favorite season, it would definitely be summer.

the sun shining bright as you wake up. the birds chirping heavenly at you window to welcome you in the morning. summer break starting. going shopping whenever you can, meeting your friends. finally stepping foot in the sand and greeting the sea after a long time being away from it. waiting for it during most of the year, there is just joy that fills your body when you can see the season peeking it’s nose — you already plan your summer’s hang outs at the end of spring.

it’s a perfect season, really. even the heat waves people tend to complain about are perfect. you always go through the most hot days of summer with a water bottle, your dear fan and the cold floor of your room you lay on during the whole day. curtains covering the window but not totally, you are almost in the dark for the entirety of your day— it’s not good for your eyes, your mom always scolds you, but you don’t care. during a weather like this, you barely do anything, anyway, if it’s not staring at the celling, though you can’t properly see it, and go to the kitchen when you need to.

this is the reason your back rest on the bare floor while you wear an oversized tee and a short right now.

today is the most hot day of the year and you doing fine, really fine even. the cold floor added to the fan hitting directly on your face prevent you from melting right then and there. you would be perfectly fine if your boyfriend didn’t erupt in your room without any sort of warnings. his tall and muscular frame appearing right in front of you, the light of the opened door he stands under showing off his biceps with his tank top perfectly, claiming that your parents let him in, before flopping right on top of you like he weighted nothing. which is far from the truth, those muscles made you let out a tiny ‘oof’ that he brushed off with a giggle.

the first ten minutes of it were fine. you fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair as his nose rested in the crook of your neck. barely any words were exchanged, too scared that your tongues would disappear into thin air if you even tried to talk. however, his weight added to the unbearable heat were threatening to be the end of you, and not in a good way.

“sunghoon,” you dare to speak, only to call your lover. he doesn’t respond entirely, only giving you a hum that vibrates on your skin. “get off of me.”

he lets out a groan. only moving to further put his nose in the crook of your neck, the tip of his nose seems to want to cut through your skin and makes a home for itself inside of your flesh. you can practically feel the sweat flooding all over your body. from your wet hair to your sticky body, the heat doesn’t spare you at all.

it is the same for sunghoon. his sweat is far from smelling bad, it reminds you of caramel and vanilla drowned in milk together. when your hands find his torso, with much difficulty, you can feel his white tank top being soaked against his pecs, can feel his muscles through the fabric, against your sweaty palms. the heat must be messing up with your brain, this feeling you feel in the pit of your stomach can’t be real. you stay still for a moment, his voice cuts through your trance like state.

“don’t be shy,” he whispers against your skin, his warmth breath sends you into a spiral. you can hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks again, “you can go a little lower.”

the blush appearing all over your body must be ten times hotter than the weather out here, “w-what do you mea—” oh, his abs. you shut your mouth immediately. closing your eyes, biting your lower lip, you do everything to get yourself back on earth. this man is crashing your bones, making you melt with his body warmth and has the audacity to play with you. you push his chest, he barely budges, “get off of me.”

sunghoon stays still at your words. then, he licks his lower lips. the ghost of his tongue tickles your neck, you almost combust on the spot. another silence fills the room for a moment, only the sound of the electric fourniture sending you cold air reaches your ears. after a while, you simply accept your fate, but you swear if the summer heat wasn’t taking half of your energy, the man on top of you would already be sent flying through the window by now.

you sign, freeing your hands from between sunghoon’s chest and yours, “i’m so hot.”

these three words seem to be the only ones you needed to say for your boyfriend to finally get off of you. you can’t see him well, but the light escaping through the slightly opened curtains lets you see his face being colored by a red taint a little in the dark. he pins each of his palms next to a side of your head. he towers over you as you look at him, his wet hair hangs right above you, his breath is heavy, his face is sweaty.

still, he grins while he looks directly at you, “yes, you are.”

you want to say something back, anything. alas, your body heat gets ridiculously higher and your throat is too sore to spit out any sort of sound. the look in his gaze weights on your lips, you can’t really see is eyes properly, but you can feel lust, desire in them. a droplet of sweat lands on your cheek, you would have cringed normally, but you don’t mind this time. you can’t focus on such meaningless things when sunghoon is looking at you like that. like his whole body is craving for you.

the warmth breath you felt on your neck a moment ago gets warmer and warmer on your mouth as he leans in. he falls onto you slowly, carefully, “s’hot,” he mumbles against your lips before capturing them.

a salty feeling fills your mouths when you kiss, the sweat on your lips is somehow sweet on both of your tongues. he is soon to be all over you again, his chest meets yours as he makes a total mess of your mouth. the way his mouth moves against yours makes you go crazy, you feel yourself getting weaker and weaker, gripping onto his wet hair for dear life. somehow, the room gets even hotter and the van is only here for the fun of it. his tongue slips inside of your mouth when he tilts his head to the side slightly, it feels like he is devouring you whole, sucking your soul like a sort of vampire. it’s the first time he kisses you like that, dizzying lovesick, you surely hope it’s not the last.

suddenly, his hand finds the one of yours who is free, his skin is so hot against yours. you don’t know if it’s the summer or, just, him. he pulls away from the kiss, because, right, you have to breathe. he puts your palm against his chest, on his beating heart, the pulse is so loud that you can feel it vibrating in your entire body. he goes back to kissing you before any words can leave your mouth. his hands guides yours lower as the kiss goes, you are way too busy going crazy on him tilting his head again to put his tongue in your mouth to realize that you are now touching his abs. he lets out a shuddered sigh as your fingertips presses against his soaked top, his abs well sculpted under it, your touch captivates him, his body aches for you.

you love summer and whatever it’s heat waves makes to sunghoon’s mind.

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open ⎯⎯ click

[netherfeildren]

Cannibals : 1. House of Fools

An At the Restaurant story

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It's two days til Christmas, and the two of you sit side by side, thighs pressed warmly together, giggling at one another for absolutely no reason other than it’s been such a good day. All the best things the two of you do, wrapped into a perfect set of twelve hours.

It's two day's til Christmas, and one of the more bizarre aspects of life is how everything can fall apart from one moment to the next.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship to real love AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alternate Universe; Modern AU Din Djarin; Holiday Season AU; Fluff and Angst; Angst with a Happy Ending; Unhealthy Relationships; Emotionally Unavailable Idiots; But Also, Idiots in Love; Complicated Characterizations of Imperfect People; If that's not your thing, click away dear reader; Grief; Unprotected Sex; So Down Bad it Makes You Look Stupid; Commitment Issues; Found Family; Self Esteem Issues; Insecurity; It's Called Fuckboy Conversion Therapy Look It Up; Toxic Relationship

A/N: Happy New Year, beautiful people.

Word Count: 7.5K

Read on AO3

House of Fools

Glass shattered on the white cloth  Everybody moved on Help, I’m still at the restaurant

The tree is set with multi-colored lights and tinsel and care. It’s a good tree, the one the two of you put up together as his little brother cheers you on. Too tall, fluffy and charmingly droopy, shoved into the corner of the two bedroom bungalow you’d helped them move into months ago. 

Three years is a long time to know a person. It is an even longer time to love someone. 

And yet, sometimes, it remains a half-full sort of love. 

You watch as he lifts his brother’s small frame above his shoulders to set the star atop, final touch sparkle, and you’re still looking in through the window of this honest and heartbreaking home of two, even from your seat within their warm living room. 

Finally, Din turns, and gives you that pink-glow smile, the one you love. Right corner of his mouth, pulling upwards—a dimple, tan skin and the flush of his appled cheek, and he’s really beautiful, sometimes yours, dedicated to many things before he is dedicated to you. But you’re here. And you’re grateful. The spaces for the shiny red ornaments you’d been assigned, carefully chosen and hung on the tree. Your imprint is there, in this small decision. Your mark on their home, on their Christmas tree. Your handwriting, looping and careful on the tags on the gifts you’d helped him wrap beneath the branches. Grogu, not Greg, thank you, written out with all the care and consideration you feel for the small boy who you’ve come to love as much as you love his brother. 

The two of you had come to some sort of staid agreement in the past year. Together. That’s what you are. Afraid of each other, too. Perhaps. Afraid of what you feel, of what could become of it. But aware enough now that you can both understand you can not be without one another, so that any sort of lingering fear or trepidation was forced to become secondary. There were eggshells still, to be treaded on. A carefulness about the way the two of you approach one another day in and day out. An awareness on your part, that there is so much past loss and even more future responsibility awaiting him so that he’ll always live his life afraid and with bated breath for the worst still yet to come. On his part, the awareness of an easily broken heart and a willingness to give more of yourself than is right. And a promise to be careful with those things. Or at least to try. 

But you’re together and it’s not easy, per se, but it’s necessary, and you don’t ask for more even though you want it. Even though there’s still that small bit missing. And every time you look at him, every time he’s sweet and considerate and so aware of you it’s almost overwhelming, and when he touches you in that way that is so delicious it should be illegal, you’ll say: I like you so much, Din because you’re afraid to say the stronger word out loud. 

You prepare for the holidays with frenzy. In between classes and your thesis and a reading list so long you’re afraid your eyesight will never recover this finals season, you still find the time to do your gift shopping and help him with his. The three of you go out one evening in early December to buy their tree. Taller than Din, is Grogu’s stipulation and the decree that leads to the slightly hunched behemoth with the lopsided star held on by the sheer force of a zip tie’s will. 

The two boys meander slowly amongst the evergreens while you trail behind, watching them. The way Din towers over the young boy, occasionally bopping him over the chunky green hat with the droopy knit ears, listening intently at Grogu’s excited chatter. The sweater Din has on had been carefully chosen between you and your mother for his birthday, navy blue half-zip knit that makes him look so sexy and is so, so exciting to unzip, bearing the sharp edges of his collar bones, keeping him warm so that when you slip your hand beneath the hem and up against his hard stomach his skin almost burns. 

Or maybe it’s just you, the burning. Maybe it’s what you make together. 

Grogu had vetoed seven trees thus far—not fat enough, not tall enough, too wimpy, doesn’t have the right “vibe”. The kid said it needed to be wide enough so that all the naked little angel babies he loved to collect, and for which he’d been soundly sent home from school two weeks ago for—and this is a direct quote from the principal Mrs. Armorer as per Din—‘enabling a covert trading ring as if these artifacts were the most insidious of contraband being distributed amongst the most derelict of city streets’. An exaggeration surely, but Din’s own hatred for the little angels only reinforced the gravity of the boy’s crime. And as he’d so eloquently put it, “When I looked up in the shower the other day to find twenty of them watching me wash my dick, I knew we had a problem.”

If only he also knew you were the one constantly buying them for the kid. 

When you blink your daze away, resurfacing from your thoughts, the boys have disappeared. You can hear the sound of Grogu’s voice in the distance, high pitched and laughing, and when you look up at the dark night sky, the first flurries of snow are starting their spiral fall. The warmth of the cocoa the three of you had bought at the entrance of the Christmas tree farm has long since left you, and you burrow further into the damp warmth of the scarf wrapped around your neck, suddenly unable to catch any sound but the rhythm of your own breaths. 

You take a few more steps forward, peering through the trees and seeing no one—there had been so many people just minutes ago—when a strong tug at the back of your puffer pulls you between the branches of two of the larger evergreens. 

His breath is warm on your face, you can smell the sweetness of the chocolate and marshmallows, but his lips are cold when they press against the corner of your eye, pulling you in close against him, pushing you deeper into the pines.

“Kiss me. I’m cold,” he pouts, another flutter of lips to the apple of your cheek, the point of your chin, and then he’s licking against your mouth and his tongue is hot as sin, sweeter than the chocolate. You open for him, pulling him against yourself as tightly as he pulls you, pressing up on your tippy toes to get even closer.

“I couldn't find you. Din—” you gasp, kissing him again, again. 

“Can’t get lost in the snow, baby.” The puff of his laugh is warm against your face, the tip of his cold reddened nose nudging against your own. You cling to him more tightly, feeling unfocused, almost drunk—the tip of his tongue against the arch of your cupid's bow. There are snowflakes catching in his eyelashes. The deep green of the trees, the sky, dark and falling above you, the cold everywhere except for where he touches you, presses against you. 

“Need this kid to pick out a tree so we can go the fuck home and get in bed,” he says, shivering and grouchy. “Still gotta strap it to the car, lug it inside…” He buries his face in the warm space between your throat and scarf and whines. 

His hair is long enough right now it sticks out the back of his beanie, curling against the edge, and you tangle your fingers in the soft locks, holding him there pressed against you. You can hear Grogu sing-songing your names, coming up behind where you’re embracing with loud stomping gallops, bulldozing into your back hard enough he’d knock you over if you didn’t have his brother there to hold you up. The boy wraps his arms around your waist, shaking the two of you out of your daze, demanding you stop making out and get moving. 

“Don’t whine, I’m going to help you.” You say it laughing, fond and grateful. Grateful that you get the chance to be here with the two of them. 

-

“You use laundry softener?”

 Wham! plays softly through the overhead speaker of the empty grocery store. It’s early on a Friday, and both of you had found yourselves with the rare treat of being off work and out of classes at the same time. It would be a busy weekend for him, the last home stretch before Christmas. The 23rd and he’d be swamped at the bar the next two nights, facing the revelers returning home for the holiday, eager to get drunk on booze and merry joy. 

“Yeah. Don’t you?” He turns to press his mouth against your temple where you cling to his arm, slumped over the shopping cart he's been slowly pushing through each aisle. He has a list he’s not looked at once, throwing things into the basket thoughtlessly. When you get home, you know he’ll complain he got too much he didn’t need, but you keep quiet, happy to see him have his indulgence. 

“I do. Yeah.” You don’t know why the sight of the lavender scented softener makes you pause—the same one your mother buys for your parent’s home. Maybe because in some moments, the reminder that Din is also someone’s mother is more sobering and obvious than others. 

“Smells good,” he says as he reaches for a box of Scooby Doo fruit snacks. Two boxes of granola bars go in next, peanut butter protein for himself and double-chocolate puff for Grogu. 

Pressing your face into the hard muscle of his shoulder, you inhale deeply. Silently agreeing with a nod of your head, pressing your fingers into the swell of his bicep beneath the thick fabric of his dark hoodie. 

Tipping his chin, he gives you a sly, knowing look. “What?” He asks—half-crooked smirk. But you can’t even say, and anyways he knows. You drag your fingernails against his muscle, tummy going tight, hiding your face in the warm cotton, shaking your head. 

His laugh is soft and gently teasing. 

The post office is a mess after the grocery store, and the two of you stand in line for forty-five minutes, waiting to buy stamps and post the last minute Christmas cards to your friends you’d entirely forgotten about in the mania of turning in the final draft of your thesis to your advisor. Another thing that was in the home stretch—your fight to get your masters had been a long journey of indecision and self doubt, but you were so close to being done you could taste the freedom. Your edits were going smoothly, and your advisor, Luke, had been a great help this past year. Disheveled beard and mind in a million places at once, a little bit of a hippie, but always patient and kind and in tune with your wants and ideas when you were really desperate for him to be so. Din had been so supportive, as well. Staying up late with you when you needed to study or write, perfecting the art of a BLT and keeping you fed, because as he put it, there was much more to the construction of it than just bacon, lettuce and tomato. Even though they always ended up being nothing more than just that, it was the action that counted. 

You’d be presenting at the end of January, and you were looking forward to being done with school once and for all and being able to work. You’d been offered a position at the public library as the junior librarian over heading the non-fiction department, and you were more eager than words could express. It wasn’t only the idea of leaving behind your little job at the bookstore and being able to come home with something more than a meager paycheck, it was also the notion that you’d finally done something. You’d made a decision for your life, and you’d seen it through, and come January 19th with no extraneous tragedies, you’ll have succeeded. It wasn’t something you were used to, making a sure decision and seeing it to completion. Throughout the course of your program there had been so many times when you’d felt as if it was all a play-act, a game you were taking part in through each step and that eventually, the rouse would be up and you’d realize you weren’t actually passing your classes or enjoying the field you’d chosen for yourself or doing well at this thing you’d so agonized over the decision of. 

But here you are now. You’d committed to something and you’d seen it through and not only had you not coasted by, but you’d excelled to a degree that had gotten you a job you were extremely happy with. 

And amidst all this, there was also something about doing this and having the people in your life see you do this—having Din see you do this. Having Din see you commit to something and stick to it with your whole heart. You wanted him to know you were capable of such a thing. 

After the post office, he obliges you with a wander through the frantically busy Old Port streets. Picking up some last minute wrapping paper you’d been eyeing for the little box of earrings you’d gotten your mother, delicately hand-painted trees and golf leaf holly, some cigars for your father’s stocking. You purchase a box of assorted salt water taffy when his back is turned, large enough it should last him at least half the year, hopefully, considering the way he goes through it. And you stop to get a little cup of gelato to share between the two of you despite the twenty degree day. You walk slowly, your arm looped through his and your hands twined together, your fingerless gloves folded warmly into his fleece covered palms, protected. And this is how you best love being with him—sharing bites of sweet cream gelato from the tiny spoon held in his long fingered hands, he feeds you every other step—when he feels so yours. When he’s most like your boyfriend, and the whole world can see that the two of you are together so that it’s real, so that there’s proof and witnesses you can revel in. 

Perhaps it’s insecurity, this feeling. Low self esteem that demands constant reassurance. Perhaps it’s pride. Candid and unashamed elation you feel when people see the two of you on the streets together and know you belong to each other. 

He drives you over the bridge and into the Cape after lunch to pick up a package from your parent’s house that had been mistakenly delivered there. The place is quiet, neither of them home yet, but you can see the Christmas tree lit up and sparkling warmly through the large bay windows in the family room, your mother’s heirloom hand-blown ornaments backlit and glowing.

The kid is at a sleepover tonight, the last Christmas celebration for him and his friends before the 25th, smores and ghost stories and a game of white elephant. Making the most of your freedom, the two of you pick up large coffees before heading to the North Viewpoint to sit together for a few hours before Din has to head in for his shift at the bar. The sun begins to set at about four this time of year, and you’re able to catch the last fiery burst of it slipping beneath the water’s edge before you’re left in the murky darkness of the oceanfront. The horizon turns to a purple grey frisson you feel imitated in the over-eager beat of your heart. All there is to hear is the sound of your synchronized breaths and the furious salt spray crashing against the rock cliffs. It’s like you’re the only two people left in the whole world. 

It’s been a perfect day so far. 

Twin splashes of the Baileys you’d nicked from your parents house while Din hunted for your package, go into your coffees, and the two of you settle into a contented silence. The heater is on full blast, warming your frigid fingers and toes, while your Irish coffee melts you from the inside out. Makes you go all soft. The sweet of the drink makes you tipsy fast, and you eagerly go for a second helping from the thermos he’d prepared while he paces himself for his shift later. 

Frank Sinatra’s I’ll Be Home for Christmas comes on the radio, and Din drops your fingers he’d been playing with to turn up the volume. 

“This is my favorite one,” he says softly, reaching for your hand again and bringing it up to his mouth to press a kiss against the quickly warming skin. Your fingertips buzz and tingle, suppressing a heart-set-to-burst sigh, and you want to say that it’s your favorite too, all of it. The two of you here together, the overwhelm of the water, so dark if you were to fall in you’d surely disappear off the face of the earth never to be found again. The suspended stillness of you sitting here before it. 

This is the neighborhood you grew up in, the exact spot you’d had your first kiss at thirteen and then clumsily gone to second base a couple years later with your highschool boyfriend. Din had found that small piece of your history endlessly fascinating, knowing he was sitting in the place of your ‘historic first fingering’. You’d tried to throttle him when he’d said that, flushing with embarrassment from head to toe, and then a flush of a different sort when he’d made you come on his own hand afterwards. And in record time, lest he be outdone by the competition of your teenage past. 

But it was true, this was a place significant to your history, and now, it had become a place the two of you found yourselves at often, together. The playground of your upbringing you’d been able to share with him as much as he’d allowed. All the times he’d driven you over the bridge to your parent’s house to spend the night—never coming in, but always kissing you soundly and waiting to drive off until you’d made it safely inside. It didn’t hurt your feelings, you wouldn’t let it, his not coming in. And anyways, you’d never formally asked him except for that time your father had thrown your mother’s fifty-fifth birthday party. A large and extravagant thing because he claimed double fives were lucky. Din had played dumb until the last minute, and then politely refused, sending flowers in his stead. You hadn’t been upset because you’d expected the refusal. He’d claimed he couldn’t find a babysitter, lied, but you knew it was a hard limit for him. The metaphorical line that could not be crossed. Whether that was because it would inevitably be a hallmark simply too serious and devoted to come back from. Or, and more devastating an option to consider, because it was too hard for him to see the happiness that still lived through your family, the care and love you and your parents had for each other. The closeness. You knew. You know. You could see it in the look in his eyes when he dropped you off once a week for family dinner and a sleepover, wine nights and board games and things he couldn’t understand. Saw the way he’d look up at you the moment before you’d open the front door, eyes full of yearning and hurt for parents who would never again be. A look that said he didn’t think he could ever belong to something like that. 

His twelve minute drive to drop you off was enough. It meant more to you than perhaps it meant to him, his bringing you to the doorstep of your home full of love and parents who were still alive. So you didn’t, wouldn’t, let it hurt your feelings, his refusal to join you. 

And anyways, your mother knew all there was to know about him. Your father, aware of his existence but unwilling to extend the benefit of his doubt or any sort of grace because he held it against Din that he’d never shown his face in their home. He couldn’t understand, thought that getting the chance to be with you should’ve been enough to cure whatever past trauma kept Din from committing himself fully to his little girl. Your mother was keener, though, more understanding. Especially after you'd run into him once at the grocery store together. He’d had to run in unexpectedly for last minute cookie supplies Grogu had conveniently forgotten to mention he needed for school the next day. And the way Din had blushed and stammered, shaken her hand no less than three entire times, babbling about how he was so glad he’d gotten the chance to meet her, the glaze in his eyes when he’d looked at you, like he was begging you to see how pleased he was, how ashamed, how confused and hurt and shy and out of his depth. How desperate he was to be approved of but how unwilling he was to let himself be. 

Your mother had held your hand afterwards, in the car on the way home, while you’d been unable to hold back a few helpless tears for the heartbroken boy you couldn’t help but love. And still, you promised yourself your feelings weren’t hurt. You promised yourself it was enough and that you could understand. 

He takes a long pull of his warm drink, and you watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, pressing your thighs together to assuage the tight heat in your belly. His cheeks are flushed with bright red splotches from the bite of the cold outside and the blasting heat of the car’s vents, the spike of whiskey, and you can see his eyes swing from one end of the dark ocean to the other. Wondrous, almost. You’d tell him you feel the same if you didn’t want to keep him. 

“What’re you looking at?” He says without turning, half smile and the flash of a dimple. 

“I think I’m buzzed already,” you mumble, cheek smooshed against the seatback. 

He laughs softly, corners of his eyes creasing so endearingly that your heart gives a stupid, pitiful throb. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Finally, he turns to look at you. You cross your legs tightly, can’t help it, and his gaze flashes briefly, knowingly, to your legs. “My little light weight. Can’t handle shit.” He chucks you under the chin, voice full of fondness, pinching the soft skin to pull you towards himself. 

“You know whiskey makes me drunk fast,” lashes fluttering as he presses a bitter sugared kiss to your mouth. 

“That’s your excuse for everything we drink.” You pout against him, breathing a don’t tease against his mouth when he kisses you again, changing the angle, deepening it, giving you his tongue. “It’s alright, I like you just the way you are.”

The sound of his favorite song throbs in your ears before it floats away, and then it’s just the sound of your heavy breathing again as you tug him closer by the collar of his sweater, wanting to pull him over the console and on top of you. His mouth slides a wet path over your cheek to suck on the sensitive spot beneath your ear he loves best, humming deep in his chest at the taste of you. 

Nothing has ever felt better than touching him. 

The hand at the back of your neck moves to your front, slowly pulling the zip of your jacket down; the sound loud and shocking amidst the heave of your panting. Despite the heater, you’re wracked with shivers as he pushes your jacket open and over your shoulder, cupping your breast as he sucks on your neck. 

“You gonna get in the backseat and fuck me?” He murmurs between wet kisses and a soft bite. 

He pulls you across his lap after your mad scramble between the seats into the back of his little 2008 hunk-of-junk Corolla, silver and shitty but reliable, according to Din. The space is too small for his tall frame, and the burst of biting cold that’s let in during his thirty second spin to join you in the back has you shivering against his broad chest. Long legs bent against your back and spread wide but allowing you ample space to sit on strong thighs. Now it’s your turn to taste him, scraping your teeth against the hard edge of his jaw while your cold fingers sneak their way under his hoodie, dragging your nails over the hard planes of his abdomen, pulling a gruff whimper from his throat. You spread your thighs wide, grinding down against the hard bulge in his jeans, finding the perfect angle to press your clit against the seam of denim. 

“Fuck, baby. Fuck me—” he moans your name and it’s the greatest sound in the world. Worth everything. 

Your kisses turn sloppy, desperate, fingers twisting tightly into his hair, pulling his mouth against yours until it hurts. And there’s something about the fact that no matter how many times the two of you do this together—whether it’s hard and fast in the back of a shitty car in the freezing cold or slow and deep and helpless, when he wakes you in the middle of the night, warm and naked in his bed, sliding over you and between your thighs, tasting your cunt before he’s pressing inside, needing inside of you—it’s always, always bursting with a sort of frenzy. A desperation, even in the slow, that helps make up for other things that might be missing—that proves a point. A promise in the way he touches you, like he’ll never get enough, like he’ll always want more, even if it’s just of this. 

When you pull him from his jeans, hot and heavy in your palm, his breathing goes ragged and the flush in his cheeks meets the hot splotchiness of lust crawling up his neck and over his jaw. His moan is broken, needy, head falling back against the seat and eyes rolling backwards, the soft curls around his ears damp with sweat. You lick your palm, gripping him tight and slick, twisting at the thick head as he tries to fuck himself into your fist, hips jerking helplessly. He’s yours like this. Gorgeous and vulnerable in the palm of your hand, moaning that you make him feel so good, that you’re doing it just right, that you’re his good girl. He wants you so much like this, gripping your hip with one wide palm, the other clutching at your ass to pull you in closer. You wrap your fingers halfway around the wide base, squeezing, other hand concentrated at the tip, working him round and round. You’d make him come like this, quick and sloppy in seconds if he’d let you, show him how good you are and how quickly you can make him feel better than anyone else ever has. 

But soon he’s demanding, “Inside. Want inside your cunt,” and shoving you sideways to rip your boot and one side of your leggings off, yanking the center of your thong aside to slick his tip against your swollen wet before he’s pressing against your entrance. All “Let me in. Let me in. You’re fucking perfect—” Chest heaving. 

He works himself inside slowly, in stuttered thrusts of his hips, moaning while he goes. Clutching at your hips and rocking you forward while he forces his way in from below. The sticky wet sound of your grinding against him, your clit rocking against his pelvis until you’ve taken him so deep the pressure is just this shy of painful so that you know you’re going to come quick and hard and wet. 

His hand snakes it’s way beneath your sweater, and you can feel the tremor in his fingers as he makes his way up your back, gripping tightly at the nape of your neck, squeezing, his other palm flat against the base of your spine to hold you imobile. Allowed nothing but the helpless jerk of your hips, chasing your pleasure, desperate for your orgasm while you feel him throb against the deepest part of you. 

“Please, Din.”

“Wait. Wait. Not yet. You feel so fucking good.” 

The sex is messy. He tells you he wants more. The wet sound of his thighs slapping against your ass as he starts to thrust again, gripping the swell of your bottom to bounce you on his cock, meeting each other on the up and down. In tune with one another’s bodies in a way you've never been with anyone else. Your cunt clenches tight, it almost hurts, and he laughs, bends his head to bite at your breast over the thick knit of your sweater. Please, baby, I want more. Hold on just a little longer. Your face and throat flush hot, burning, you can feel the sweat collect at your temples and along your spine as he tugs gently at your nipple with his teeth, fucks into you with snapping hips, the rock forward of your clit sliding against his hard stomach. 

It’s dizzying. You can’t help it. You come with a cry of his name, clutching him to your breast, wrapping your arms around his head as his bite turns reprimanding, “Fucking lightweight, I told you.” Another laugh that turns into a strangled moan when the heat of his come fills you as your muscles clench tightly around him. The gruff sound he makes: masculine, vulnerable again—the way you wish he’d always be—a mix of your name and a whine. Now that, that makes all the rest of it worth it. 

-

You’re supposed to meet Bo and her girlfriend for drinks at a new wine bar at half past eight. A cosy little place tucked into the cobbled streets of downtown you’ve all been desperate to try. She’d mentioned the plan every day for two weeks, giving away her nerves at the prospect of the three of you getting together. Likely afraid of your reaction at what you’re sure will be the announcement that she and Fennec are planning to move in together, news you've been expecting for a while and which you’ll take more than happily. They’re in love and your friend, who had always been known to be light and wandering as a butterfly in love, was ready to settle down and commit herself to someone she truly wanted to be with in a real way. There was never the possibility of your being anything but happy and excited for the two women. After all, you and Bo had been waiting for this for a long time, steadiness, commitment, a forsaking of that fear of forever you’d always found camaraderie in. 

And it only added to that keen sense the past few months had brought along, that the two of you were growing up in a real and immeasurable way. Your lives were changing, moving on, who you were as people was evolving. Leaving behind the last vestiges of your frivolous youth full of too much partying and more fun than anyone should probably rightfully have for something steadier, more reliable. Grown up. As much as you’d miss your friend, your housemate of the past five years, this move spoke well of what was to come for the both of you. 

Din makes the two of you a quick dinner before you have to part ways for the night—a creamy mushroom risotto and a crisp glass of white wine for you. The man likes to get you drunk and slutty. Watching him move around the kitchen, lithe and capable, makes you squirm for more of what he’d given you earlier, the sound of his moans in your ear and the wash of his hot breath against your throat while he throbs inside of you. 

The house is cozy, the warmth of the tree, the toys strewn across the living room floor, the precariously leaning tower of Din’s cookbooks at the edge of the kitchen counter, the overflowing pile of laundry on the sofa waiting to be folded and Grogu’s art pinned by spaceship magnets to the refrigerator door. Something you’d always admired in the way Din had taken on parenting his brother, the way he'd nurtured and preserved Grogu’s childhood, giving him the space and safety to be a little boy for as long as he needed without the pressure of feeling like he had to grow up too fast. Not the way Din had. 

He brings your dinner to you on the sofa, presenting it to you with a flourish of steam and his beautifully proud grin, like, look what I’ve made for you, aren’t I a nice boy? And the two of you sit side by side, thighs pressed warmly together, silverware clinking as you watch each other eat, giggling softly at one another for absolutely no reason other than that it’s been such a good day. All the best things the two of you do together, wrapped into a perfect set of twelve hours. 

Then, one of the more bizarre aspects of life: how everything can fall apart from one moment to the next. 

“You and Greg should come to dinner at my parents tomorrow night.” You don’t know why you say it, or where it comes from. “My mom would really love to have you, and she makes a great Christmas Eve roast.” Probably because it’s simply the truth. You want him there, quite desperately. Both of them. And your mother had asked. Your dad too, why he wasn’t joining you all, why he didn’t want to. 

You suppose you also want to hear why he doesn’t want to. What excuse he'll give. 

He goes silent, fork halfway to his open mouth, and a stupidly shocked expression on his face you could slap off of him. 

Suddenly, you’re angry enough you could cry. 

“My dad got some really nice wine too, something about a two thousand ten harvest—he said it’s something real special,” you press. “Do you want to come? My mom can make up a room for you guys so you don’t have to drive back, and then on Christmas morning we can—”

“No,” he says abruptly. “We can’t. What are you doing?” He sets his plate down loudly on the coffee table, the rattle of his fork making you jerk. 

Your throat convulses around a swallow, your own plate held shakily in your lap. You should stop, but you feel ruinous. Half-full and ready to self implode. 

It had been such a perfect day, resplendent with that knick of time possibility. That maybe forever tease. But in the end, what is this casual intimacy, and why does it always feel like a wait in line for the execution block? He should want to spend tomorrow with you, let it be another perfect day. 

“Why not? Why can’t you?” 

“We have plans already.”

“What plans? You’re just going to be here. My father wants to meet you.”

“Well I don’t want to meet him. What is it that you’re trying to do here?”

You close your eyes, shaking your head quickly in a nod. Okay. Okay. Open your eyes again. “Okay. Then tell me what your parents were like.”

He jerks back in a flinch. “What?”

“Tell me. You’ve never told me about them before. Not really. I want to know what they were like. All I have to go by is a fucking photograph I had to rifle through your drawers for. Do you have traditions for Christmas they left you with? What were they like? Tell me, Din.” Your tone is perfunctory, cold and biting, too fast and not the tender sort a conversation like this requires. 

And he gives you a sort of look—one that asks, are we really doing this? But you’ve already decided you won’t let him get away with it this time. You’ll ruin it all if you have to. And you know he won’t ever tell anyone else, so he might as well tell you. Right? You, who knows and cares and asks. 

Who else will ask you these sorts of things? You want to say. Who else will help you remember? Who’s going to love you like I do?

Your gaze is persistent, and he nods once, swallowing acceptance, finally understanding what it is you’re doing—ruining it all. 

“What is any parent that’s gone like? Perfect in your memory. I don’t know… They were real and busy and kind and thoughtless. All the things all parents are. But they’re absent now. That’s all I'm left with, which I hate. They’re dead, and that’s all they’ll ever be and I resent them for it. What else do you want me to say? What would I do at your parent’s house? I don’t know what I…I wouldn’t belong—We wouldn’t—” His jaw is set in anger as he says it, choking on his stumbled words. 

Your chest aches with a repressed sob, and you refuse to blink and miss a single second of this. 

“What were you like as a child?” He looks at you like he can’t understand why you’re doing this to him. 

“Solitary, but not lonely.” I’m equipped for this in reverse, you think. “And then Greg was born, and I was a kid for only a very short time longer. Why are you asking me this? I don’t have anything for you but sorry answers. Is this really the shit you want to talk about?”

You clutch your plate more tightly. “I want to kn-know you. I—”

“You do!” His voice goes from measured to a yell very quickly. “You know me better than anyone else! What more do you fucking want from me? Jesus Christ—” he spits, shoving himself off the couch to pace away from you, running his fingers through his hair, agitated, angry. You’re never satisfied, he says at the wall. 

It’s true. You’re not. 

It’s helpless. You feel big and greedy. You’re never going to be able to stop wanting more. And you’d always told yourself, tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow, it will—he will—be different. Something will change because it has to, because everything always changes. 

But you realize in this moment that maybe the only change here has ever needed to come from you. 

You realize that you’ve been eating your own illusions for too long, selling yourself snake oil. 

“I don’t want to be alone in this anymore,” you tell him. “I want more.”

“But what? What more is there? You’re not alone, and I don’t—” he makes some choked noise of frustration, “This is all I have to give. Can’t you see that? I don’t know—” The look he gives you, palms out and pleading, like some infinitely lost boy—half abandoned child, half apology. 

“I don’t know either,” you cut him off, setting your plate down next to his with a surprisingly steady hand. 

It’s a lost battle, no more starry eyed sleight of hand, all the cards are on the table. 

When you look back at him you can see the emotion choked behind his eyes. That you’ve pushed him beyond the line of his own reasoning and into hurt. But his comfort had to become secondary to yours eventually. You couldn’t tend to it forever with as much care as you’d always done without hurting yourself. 

And everything has a breaking point. 

“Maybe I wanted you to think of someone other than yourself for once.” You see the blow land. The snapping bone, wrong-thing-said reaction. It’s a lie, after all, you know it. A terrible lie, a terrible thing to say to someone who has so obviously given up everything and their whole life, their youth, for the sake of another, and done so gladly. 

Perhaps a wiser person would take this as reasoning enough for Din’s behavior. For his lack of ability to give more of himself to a relationship. Perhaps for someone more mature or with more experience, with a greater sense of self, it would be obvious, the fact that a person who’d lost so much of themselves so young found it hard to love, to give themselves over to partnership and the sort of commitment needed for a fully functioning adult relationship. But you can’t, or choose not to see it anymore. Perhaps you’re tired of fighting, of working so hard for it. Perhaps you’re tired of waiting. 

His face turns away like you’ve struck him, and for a long moment he doesn't turn back, but when he does there’s anger almost like hate, and his eyes are wet with tears. You wish you could be cruel, laugh in his face, but your own drip from your chin as well. And anyways, it’s so shocking there isn’t any room for cruelty. 

You go gasping fish silent, until he says, “I do. It’s just not you.” The salt lie drips from his long lashes and he moves, turning away from you towards the Christmas tree you’d picked out and decorated together, the gifts for his brother you’d chosen and wrapped with him. 

“What did you want here? From this?” Maybe he means the fight now, but what does it matter compared to the whole mess and lie of this entire fraught ordeal. 

“Well…” you stand, moving for your purse on the kitchen table. There is, in everyone, a limit to the amount of pain you’ll put up with for love. You can’t ever know the limit beforehand, but once you’re there, you know, and then it’s impossible to move the line. “I figured you’d love me.”

The word out loud is shocking, never before been said. 

You hear his stuttered breath, the way your words might make him angry. Throwing this lacking of his in his face—his inability to love the person who loves him. You think you should tell him that you’ll hate him now, but you’ve never been a talented liar. You think you should ask him if it’s such a bad thing, to want his love. But you know he won’t have an answer. You know he doesn’t believe he has it in himself. 

You move towards the door, pausing at the mouth of the hall to their bedrooms. The lopsided ‘Greg’ sign tacked to the kid’s door. The ‘E’ had been haphazardly turned into an ‘O’, a ‘U’ scribbled on at the end, the slip of the shaky marker bleeding out messily onto the wood of the door at the tail end of the letter. Like the child had been hasty in his vandalism and slipped, afraid he’d be caught by his older brother. 

It makes you smile dimly. 

And below that, in a green meld of water colors and marker and crayon, depicted in a manner so lovely it could only come from the imagination of a child, a drawing of the three of you together, stick-figured and holding hands. 

Like a family. 

“We’re eating each other alive,” you whisper at the imagination family. He moves forward, his socked footsteps towards your turned back.

You’re truly crying now, unable to hold back the sob of grief, of too much time wasted and a loss of yourself you’ve yet to fathom the depth of. He’s looking at your face again, finally, and you think, let this be the last time. Let this be the end of it now so that I’ll never have to feel like this again. 

He’s crying too, and you want to be angry at him, at the lie you have to take it for. He cannot cry and not love you back. It’s not possible. 

“Is that it?” All you can manage is a half nod that dislodges the cold tears clinging to your chin. “We had a good run,” he says like an almost question, and looks at you very sadly—tiny flame of struggling hope about to die. A held breath: should I go with grace? sort of look-back. But the gleam in his eyes, like he really might care, like this hurts, like he might feel anything—there are no notions of valor left. 

No benevolence to be found in this moment. You’re very tired. “Did we?” Head cocked to the side gracelessly. If ever you could hurt him the way you’ve been hurt here, now would be the time. The last chance. 

“Maybe not.”

We were so close. We almost had it. You’re so, so tired. You could sleep for an age. 

You take your hurt and go after that, not entirely understanding what it is that’s happened here between the two of you, why you’ve wrought it so suddenly. Also, relieved. That finally, everything’s been ruined for good. That there might be rest now. 

Christmas comes, neither one of you calls, there’s nothing else left to say. 

2. LOVE.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[natti-ice]

Hi lovely!

Could I ask for a Benedict fic where him and reader get pretty messy with the his paints? 💕🥹

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni, nudity, sensual touching, kissing, implied sex (1k words)

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

You had met Benedict at a social event this past season and the two of you got on very well, any time you saw each other in passing you had to stop and make conversation. You felt at ease with him, he was so down to Earth unlike most of the uptight socialites of the city. You were very fond of him in general and it seemed he felt the same about you. Not to mention the fact you were also very attracted to him. He often spoke to you about his art and his passion for finding the beauty in life, he showed you his work book of sketches, all of random things he found beautiful even if most people don't.

Today on a casual stroll in the park, Benedict casually asked you if you would like to be the subject of one of his paintings, you had never thought of modeling before but it intrigued you. You were always curious on how people viewed you and this would show you his perspective of you, so you agreed. He brought you back to his studio and showed you some of paintings he had hanging around by artists that inspired him, then he lead you over to the center of the room where he had a large sheet of white paper spread across the floor. You assumed it was to protect his floors from any paint drippings but you were quite wrong.

"This is our canvas for today, my lady" Benedict smiles

You chuckle and furrow your brows a bit "I'm sorry what? Are you going to draw a life size version of me?"

"No, dear" he laughs softly "I'm going to paint with you. I want to use your body as a brush, if that's okay with you of course" he adds that last part in quickly to reassure you can pull out at any time. There's a sparkle in his eyes as he explains how he wants to cover your nude bodies in paint and roll around making an abstract design. "So, what do you say?" His voice is filled with hope, he desperately wants you to say yes.

You think about his offer for a moment, the thought of being naked with him excites you but also makes you very nervous. You have only known him a short amount of time but you trust him a lot, you nod with a soft smile "okay, I'm in."

"Excellent" he grins and claps his hands together once "you can get undressed while I prepare the paints." he gives you a comforting smile then turns around and walks to the back of his studio where he keeps his paint. You slowly start to undress, you feel the butterflies in your stomach intensifying as you shed each piece of clothing. Finally naked, you fold your clothes neatly and set them on a small sofa nearby. The window of the studio is cracked out letting in a soft breeze, you feel goosebumps grow on your bare skin and your nipples become erect.

A few moments later, Benedict came back carrying a tray with small cans full of paint "alright here we are-" he stops dead in his tracks when he sees you, his eyes wide in surprise as he takes all of you in "wow... you're absolutely breathtaking" his voice is so soft it's almost a whisper

You chuckle nervously, you feel your whole body start to heat up "um, thank you, sir" you wrap your arms around your body, very aware of how exposed you are. He steps closer to you and sets the tray on a small table, he picks up a can filled with red paint and holds it up to you.

"May I?" He asks for permission, you nod slightly giving him full access to your body. He dips two fingers into the paint and slowly runs them along your collar bone, it slowly starts to drip down your front as your body temperature melts the paint. He works his way down your body, streaking the red all over you, his fingertips ever so slightly graze your nipples sending a shiver down your spine. "Beautiful" he whispers softly before setting the paint canister down and began to strip his clothes off.

You watched him closely as each article of clothing flew from his body leaving him bare in front of you. He gripped your arm softly and turned you around, he slowly poured some of the paint down your back letting it cascade down your back. He presses himself against your back slightly, you can feel his breath tickling your neck as he began to place soft hot kisses along the side. He used one hand to rub the red all over your back, a gasp caught in your throat as his larges hands rubbed soft circles on your ass.

When he finished he turned you around to face him, he picked up a can of blue paint and handed it to you "now you do me" his voice soft but laced with something more sensual. You take the can and start to smear blue all over his body, trying desperately to avoid his intimate areas as best as possible even if it was staring right at you. Once he was blue from the neck down he gently took your hand and brought you down to the paper on the floor. "Lay back, darling," he instructed playfully "we're gonna roll around a bit" he chuckles before rolling on top of you, his arms wrapped around your body as he goes in for a kiss.

Things escalated quickly from there, paint began to adorn the paper as you two made love. Shades of blue and red mixed together leaving streaks of purple behind, hand prints of different colors could be seen throughout the paper. Moans filled the studio, there was also the occasional sound of paper ripping when things became too intense. When it was all said and done, Benedict framed the work and even put it up in a gallery. People always asked how he created such an abstract piece of art, he came up with a story of how he just started throwing paint at the canvas. Only you and him ever knew the truth.

Tags: @booknerdlife

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[jubburb]

》 "-ARE YOU COLD, MY DEAR?"

• @jubburb

ask: none.

sypnosis: waking up with your husband one morning and going on a walk in the snow.

a/n: ive been procrastinating this foreva, ik its short but I just want this out of the drafts so I can start writing more fics😼

warnings: female reader in mind when writing, but I'm not sure if I put any fem pronouns, just cute fluffy fluffness 😺

notes: ooc zhongli? definitely? maybe? idk.. u tell me

When fall hits Liyue, it can get pretty chilly pretty fast. The degrees quickly drop to fifty degrees and lower, previously being in around the eighties or nineties.

It's quite a sudden change. But a pleasant one, especially for tourists who come around during the seasons.

-

One quiet morning, you and your husband, Zhongli, are lazing about in your shared king bed. Zhongli was reading a book, idly playing with your hair with one hand, while you were still trying to wake up, laying your head on his broad chest.

"Mm.." You groan sleepily, reaching a hand up to rub your eye.

"Are you finally awake, my dear?" Zhongli chuckles, halting his hand that was intertwined with the tresses of your hair.

You simply nod, yawning, and sit up against his chest, feeling his hand snake around your waist to hold you closer.

"Do you have work today?" You ask, blinking a couple of times to actually fully wake up, staring up at him and he nods with a hum.

"I am, in fact, off today. What do you suppose we do?" He asks, placing the book down to give you his full attention.

"Sleep in?" You request with a chuckle, and Zhongli jokingly sighs, shaking his head no.

"Something productive, please, my dear." He says, playing with a strand of your hair once more.

"Sleeping is productive, Li." You retort, rolling your eyes, tempted to fall back into a deep slumber just to spite your husband.

There's silence for a moment as Zhongli thinks.

"-Oh, I know, what about a walk around the harbor? I'm sure nobody is awake during these early hours, so it'll be calm, quiet, and peaceful. Just the two of us." Zhongli smiles, cupping your cheek, his slightly calloused palm brushing against your soft skin.

"..Thats.." You start, ".. Not that bad of an idea."

"Knew it."

You only roll your eyes at his response, "Well, I guess we better get our lazy asses out of bed before it's too late and people start getting to work."

"You're the only lazy ass here." Zhongli chuckles with a whisper under his breath, getting out of bed before you could do anything about what he said.

"Oh you mother-"

-

As you two walk around the harbor, you did not expect it to start snowing..

The pretty white snowflakes started to dance across the sky before ultimately finding use on the ground, creating a soft blanket of snow covering the docks and pathways.

Aaaaand.. you forgot your mittens.. your hands were freezing, but if you told Zhongli, he would give you that: "i tOld yOu sO" bullshit.

Before you guys even left the house, Zhongli insisted you bring mittens, because, to quote him, "You don't even know how cold it is in the morning, love."

And of course, you just had to defy him, insisting that you'll be fine without mittens.

You really regret it now..

Even though you were clad in a comfy coat, your hands that were freezing seemed to freeze your entire body, and you were quivering every step you and your husband took as you walked around.

Zhongli looked through the shop windows, not really seeming to notice at first, but then he eventually heard your teeth starting to chatter together, and glanced back at you.

"..Are you cold, my dear?" Zhongli asks, staring at you with a concerned look.

"I-m f-ine.." You respond, your teeth clamming together continuously.

He glances down at your hands that were trembling the most, reaching his mitten covered hands hold them, and you immediately feel a sense of relief.

Zhongli smiles softly, chuckling a bit, and leaned forward to kiss your forehead, "I told you to wear the mittens."

"I kn-ow.." You chatter, before moving closer to cuddle into his chest, the two of you still holding hands, standing there for a while in the wintery streets.

Zhongli hums softly, his nose nuzzled into your hair as he smells your shampoo and conditioner, snow falling over his long brown hair and back.

You could fall asleep right there in the arms of your husband, but you'd rather get home before you get all lovey dovey, so you pull away, looking up at his handsome amber eyes.

"Let's head back, Li.." You say, and Zhongli nods, continuing to hold your hand.

He even not-so discreetly maneuvered it into the large pocket of his coat, so your hand could be even warmer as you two walked.

You smile softly, and lean your head on your husband's shoulder.

The two of you only left footsteps in your wake as you find comfort in eachother.

- signed by c♡

[eth3real-ess3nce]

PICK A ♡ PILE - THREE MONTH LOVE FORECAST

Top left (1) , Top right (2) , Bottom left (3) , Bottom right (4)

Enjoy!

PILE 1

This reading is meant for you if one of more of these apply: ♡ you have been planning your Christmas holidays (2-3 months prior) ♡ you were born in March or April ♡ life path 3 6 or 8 ♡ someone close to you (or you) is named Christina ♡ summer is your favourite season ♡ you hate coffee ♡ it's your last year of high school or college ♡ you own a cat ♡ you are from Asia or dream of visiting Asia / Eastern Asia ♡ you love Starbucks ♡ you see angel number 333 ♡ you used to love Bratz or Monster high ♡ I see you regaining your confidence, how lovely! Many of you have been thinking about making changes to your appearance & you will make these thoughts come true. You will be PAMPERED by the universe. Feels good to finally spoil yourself, huh? Totally! And because of the radiance your glow up offers you, you are going to attract multiple "knights" who will want to add to it. I see material gifts, thoroughly planned dates and tokens of appreciation in your future. Many of you will be meeting new potential love interests during Christmas holidays. Please be careful of lovebombers. Now it isn't the case for everybody of course, since it's a collective reading. But if you notice that someone is making big promises early on and you feel uncomfortable with it, listen to your gut please. For many of you, there might be a third person you don't know about. And whether you know about the third person , please avoid getting entangled in such situations as it won't end well for you..I'm saying this with love Being showered with gifts and being treated like a queen is amazing , but just be aware of the hidden agendas. In cases a third person doesn't exist, they will attempt to lure you in by pretending that you are everything you ever asked for. Keep your lovely eyes open! ✨ 💗 Zodiac signs mostly present/related: Taurus, Leo, Cancer (sun, moon, rising or venus)

PILE 2

This reading is meant for you if one or more of these apply: ♡ Life path 5 or the number 5 on your birth date ♡ you are christian or muslim ♡ you wear earphones most of the time ♡ your favourite colour is a shade of blue ♡ you have sensitive stomach or food intolerances ♡ you drop things on the floor easily lately ♡ you like to draw, you use black&white filters on pictures a lot ♡ you live near a thrift shop ♡ your name ends with an "e" ♡ you have practised art before like drama or sculpting I feel that this is my heartbroken pile. I want to start by giving you a BIG warm hug and try to offer you the sweetest, most encouraging words possible today. I'm sensing some type of betrayal here whether it's literal or emotional. You tend to overgive to people close to you, even if they don't deserve it. You are tired of feeling taken advantage of. You feel that so much is owed to you and you definitely have the right to feel this way. You have been stepped over and over again. This is the time where you will be given the decision to put an end to these energies. Some of you might be still entangled in situations where they drain your soul and your light , others might have walked away but are still trying to pick up the pieces of their hearts & heal.. It seems very difficult for you, because making the decision to prioritise yourself & your needs is something brand new to you. You never thought you were supposed to put yourself first before ; to think that your physical mental, emotional wellbeing must come first. My dear pile 2, I know you are seeking a glimpse of hope in today's reading but I ought to be 100% honest with you. Dating is not what is meant for you right now. You are going through one of the deepest spiritual transformations in your life currently and I am not exaggerating. You are still learning how to perceive yourself as someone who is human with needs and desires, and NOT as a doormat for others to step conveniently on. "But is there hope for me to find love?" Yes. I see that happening later than sooner, though. When you will be coming out of your "winter" phase in your life ; with your healed scars and with confidence you never even imagined you'd possess before. The future holds endless, limitless blessings for you, pile 2. All the power & courage you're seeking is within. Zodiac signs mostly present/related: Pisces & Sagittarius (sun, moon, rising or venus)

PILE 3

This reading is meant for you if one or more of these apply: ♡ you have short hair ♡ life path 9 or have 9 on your date of birth ♡ one of your parents or siblings has aries placements ♡ you traveled inside USA in the past month ♡ you own a green jacket ♡ you are an athlete ♡ your chart is water or air dominant ♡ your name or last name starts with an "M" ♡ you have trouble sleeping lately ♡ you have neon lights in your bedroom ♡ you prefer older guys (I don't blame you) ♡ one of your favourite artists is Taylor swift, Jhene Aiko, Beyoncé ♡ you have tattoo(s) on your wrists/hands ♡ you stay home a lot lately Currently, it seems that you prefer your solitude. Many of you have given up on dating, you feel defeated in some way. You are extra picky with people (as you should) , as you can clearly see through them & make correct judgements about them often. Some of you might have been practicing abstinence, you are spiritually isolated and you are single by choice. I see you living your truth and stand firmly on your beliefs, even if it comes off harsh or weird to others. You don't care. 😉 In the next three months: Initially, you will stay this way. It's very likely that for some of you a past lover might return and even offer closure. You will have reflected a lot on past mistakes that were made & since you took time off the dating pool, you will be able to make healthy choices for yourself. And also, to say "no" to what doesn't serve you. Dear pile 3, I agree it's good to be highly selective, but I see here that many of you struggle when it comes to receiving. You might be looking at those videos where girls are getting princess treatment, flowers, etc. from their boyfriends and you deeply yearn for it. I know some of you won't even admit it 😅 But it's PERFECTLY fine to desire those things. You deserve to be properly loved & cherished. Allow this into your life when the opportunity presents itself, because I assure you it will. Something passionate is in the cards for you. You won't expect it and you won't expect with whom it will happen. You might know (or get to know) this person & not like them at first, but then sparks will begin to ignite. Mark my words. I'm sensing heavy air energy from this pile, woah. (gemini, libra, aquarius) sun moon rising venus. Because of your naturally detached nature, you don't fall in love with just anyone . This time, though , your inner child finally feels safe with someone. This is what your spirit has been asking for. A love that feels like home. Zodiac Signs mostly present/related: Pisces, Aries, Leo, Sagittarius, Libra (sun, moon, rising or venus)

PILE 4

This reading is meant for you if one or more of these apply: ♡ you braid your hair very often ♡ you're reading this while you are not in your hometown ♡ you were born in 2005,2006,1997 ♡ your father is an attorney ♡ you have leo placements ♡ you come from money ♡ you have heart(s) in your bio ♡ you have dark hair and light eyes ♡ you mostly wear boots ♡ you love Green Day ♡ your venus is in Aries ♡ you have nose ring(s) ♡ your name has two A's ♡ you ate cereal the same day you read this ♡ you have a pet with green eyes ♡ you own a necklace with a crystal/stone ♡ you're half European Hello hello! I must say, this pile is scaring me a bit. So wild! 😳 and so much secrecy... 👀 Pile 4 your love lives never cease to be boring. I can hear you thinking "why am I falling in love with the wrong people" "why do i have to make difficult choices in love". I see.... There are multiple energies coming through so bear with me as I'm going to cover them all ❤️ As I said, I sense so much secrecy here. But during the next 3 months everything will be revealed. Do you have feelings for someone you shouldn't, but you keep it to yourself? You will probably either tell them or they'll know. Someone from your friend group or class has a crush on you? You will definitely discover it. Do you have an affair behind someone's back? Baby.. it will be known. Does the person you are involved with know that you don't want something serious? It's time for them to learn... I don't seek to be strict, only honest and loving with you, so this is why I advise against being reckless, okay? With your heart and others'. One of the first messages that popped up, is **warning against unwanted pregnancies** so pretty please make sure you use protection if you don't plan on getting pregnant!!! 💗 Pile 4, in the next 3 months karma will be served, whether it's good or bad. If you worry, it's not too late to change how things are. You always have free will. It's just the overall energy that I am getting. For example, if you don't want your crush to know that you like them, then they won't. BUT, opportunities will present themselves.. just sayin'! It's your choice, always. Expect those changes to occur during the next mercury retrograde (December 13th if you're reading this before that date). I advise you to be on your best behaviour, pile 4!!! I know "forbidden love" situations & mind games are giving you adrenaline and meaning in life... but it's not the time to act up if you want to be free of consequences 😳 And for those of you who know you're doing nothing wrong, I got you. Someone is absolutely infatuated with you but something is holding them back. I have channeled a few clues for you ❤️ : "dark hair" "Scorpio" "19 (could be age or numbers at their date of birth)" "Works in retail" "Initials J or D" "has a flag/scarf of their favourite football team in their room" "met at a party" "subtle ways to have physical contact with you" "had a cringe emo phase a while ago" "has randomly bought you food before" Does it ring a bell?? Zodiac Signs mostly present/related: Aquarius, pisces, Scorpio (sun, moon, rising or venus)

[ozzgin]

Second batch of gifts from grandma Ozz!

Dear 🦊 anon, I wasn't entirely sure what you meant with your request. Thus, I've brought you - quite literally - a big dog. I'm sure you know Spike from Tom and Jerry.

Dear drunk-on-christmas anon, it's nice to finally hear from you! Here's your requested stack of cash, and a little cocktail to help with your potential hangover. You mentioned whisky: this is a nice, refreshing blood orange whisky sour. 60ml whisky, 30ml (blood) orange juice, 22ml lemon juice, 14ml simple syrup. Pour everything in a shaker with ice and an egg white (or chickpea water), and mix. Very refreshing.

Dear 🌵 anon, welcome to the family. I offer you a collection of plants that will most certainly survive any kind of environment, along with the promised warm hug. Wishing you a lot of love, though you will always find plenty of it here.

Dear hand-biter spouse, here is your stash of freshly harvested limbs, all replenished. Wishing you a joyful holiday season and all the happiness in the world.

Dear 🐋 anon, it's good to be back. While you haven't asked grandma for a gift, I still made you a little festive hat to wear underwater. Enjoy your holidays!

Dear anon, here's your promised genie lamp. Stroke it carefully.

Dear @sarah22447, a merry, jolly Christmas from grandma Ozz! Here's Levi in a box. I thought you might appreciate this gift given your recent reblogs. Thank you for being a present member of the community.

Dear anon, here's an open fly. As requested. Hopefully I didn't misunderstand and end up committing a poorly timed comedic relief.

Dear sunny, I thank you for the holiday wishes. While I do celebrate Christmas in the commonly understood way, it's always lovely to learn about other people's festive traditions. In return, I offer you the sorcova. It's a Romanian handcraft and custom that happens on the first of January, where children visit door by door and offer blessings and fortune.

Dear @sephonophorae, consider it a done deal. Grandma Ozz will take care of it. Here's your certificate if you're ever in doubt: you'll always be my beloved grandson. Enjoy your holidays, kiddo!

[mochinomnoms]

Hi, there :D

I saw the hanahaki event and I found your ideas about the disease interesting so I want to place my resquest:

Type: Romantic, hurt and fluff

Reader: Female but neutral it's okay 👍

Promt: "Here, your favorite flower! Hmm? Where'd I get them? Uh, I just found them, around..."

With Silver

silver x f!reader [tags] – fluff, hurt/comfort [wc} – 2,423 prompt 13: “Here, your favorite flower! Hmm? Where'd I get them? Uh, I just found them, around…” note - hi! went over wc, it's fine. i hope i got the hurt part down? a floral inconvenience

Gardenias - They are often given as a gesture of love and affection, making them popular in wedding bouquets and romantic arrangements.

Peonies - peonies are often associated with love, romance, and prosperity. It symbolizes deep affection, good fortune, and a flourishing relationship.

You attempted to floss out something that had gotten stuck on your teeth during your last coughing fit at lunch. You hadn’t realized that whatever it was was falling out of your mouth while you and Ace argued about who would be speaking during your history presentation until Deuce pointed them out. 

“Uh, Prefect? You got—” He tapped the corner of his mouth. “—you got a little something there.”

You’d swiped at your mouth, confused from where the petal came from, until you started hacking up flowers. Now you were sitting in the infirmary room with a concerned, but slightly amused Lilia, who decided to escort you to the nurse after seeing your three gaggle of friends panic. 

Grim in particular seemed convinced that you’d been cursed and were turning into a tree as punishment for his hubris.

“There, there my dear.” Lilia rubbed a soothing hand along your back as you coughed up another flower. Gardenia flowers, evidently. “It’ll pass, happens to many people during the spring season.”

You gagged as you finally cleared your throat of phlegm and petals. Looking down on your lap, you had what was basically a full bouquet of white, full bloom gardenias. A bit moist from your saliva, but fairly pretty flowers. 

“Egh, what like seasonal allergies?” you asked, murmuring a thanks as the fae handed you the warm cup of soothing potion the nurse left you. 

“You could say that. Spring is the most ideal time of the year for youngins to be twitterpated!”

You raised a brow at Lilia, who was smirking at you cheekily. “So, you want to tell me who’s the lucky man that’s caught the attention of the school’s only young woman?”

“Huh? What do you mean? Twitterpated?”

Lilia’s smile dropped, a more pensive, thoughtful look on his face now as he hummed. “I suppose you wouldn’t know, seeing as it’s a magical sickness.”

Lilia turned to face you as he carefully grabbed one of the gardenias, twirling it in his hands as he explained.

“Hanahaki disease is an illness that typically occurs in the springtime among young individuals whose hearts are so full of love for the object of their affection that their love starts taking physical form as their loved one’s favorite flora, typically flowers. But always the most pristine, beautiful version of it.”

He chuckled at your reddening face as he continued, “It can be typically treated by confessing your love, or it will go away on its own after a while. There are a few cases where it can become chronic, but that’s rare.”

“Cool, cool, cool. So how long specifically until it goes away?”

Lilia dropped the flower in shock, turning to look at you with disbelief.

“What?” you blurted, hastily grabbing the flowers to toss them in the trashcan by the bed. “You said a while, so like a week? Two? I can even do three—”

“Why would you wait when you can get it over with, with just a few words?” Lilia looked disappointed, almost pouting as he crossed his arms.

“Take this as an opportunity to get this off your chest. That’s how the sickness feeds, even if they don’t accept and say no—”

“But I don’t want him to say no!” You whispered, interrupting Lilia mid-sentence as he saw how somber you looked. “I-I can’t. I don’t think I could handle hearing him reject me. I don’t want to ruin what we already have.”

You fiddled with your fingers as you continued, “Even then, if he says yes, what will happen when I go home? Will I just leave him here, alone? After I’ve taken a piece of his heart for myself?”

Sighing, you shut your eyes as you rubbed them, setting into an emotional exhaustion. 

“I wouldn’t want to do that to him either.”

Lilia stayed silent as he watched you lay down in the bed, arm stretched over to shield your eyes from the mid-afternoon sun seeping through the window. He reached down to pick up the flower he’d dropped earlier, twirling it in his fingers once again. 

Switching his gaze to observe you, Lilia’s eyes darted between you and the flower. Then, like a light switch flipped on in his head, he brightened as realization dawned on his features. 

“Gardenias, hmm?” He purred, suddenly giddy. 

“Hmm? Gardeni-whats?” 

“Oh, nothing.” Lilia chirped, smiling as you peaked an eye out. “The flower you’re producing. He must like gardenias is all.”

You hummed in response, making a startled noise as Lilia grabbed your hand and wrapped your fingers around the stem. 

“How about you head back to your dorm for the rest of the day? I’m sure Nurse Goethel would be happy to write you a note for your classes.”

Lilia waved at the nurse who smiled and nodded in affirmation. 

“Go home, I’ll make sure to send you a few things later this week to lift your mood!” Lilia chirped, patting your head before floating out of the infirmary with a self-satisfied smile. 

Goethel had emailed your excuse, sent you with another soothing potion for your throat before the next bell rang. By then you were already sitting on the dusty lounge couch, texting back an angry Ace, who ended up having to do the presentation by himself. 

@traaaaaaaaapola: boo u whore i cant believe u got sic specifically to not do the presentation smh @deuce♠️: dont call her a whore @traaaaaaaaapola: i mean it affectionately, u whore @deuce♠️: dont call me a whore @traaaaaaaaapola: whore @traaaaaaaaapola: kladsjaljs65&^(_)H)*H(R*F*F%DHElp;lksglka;sga’jm  @notaschooltherapist: u good? @traaaaaaaaapola: ace is not available to come to the phone rn, please try again later 😊 @notaschooltherapist: lol rip

You sighed and looked at the single gardenia in the cheap glass vase you got from Sam’s while picking up some soup for your throat. You hoped that Grim wouldn’t mind that you took some of his tuna money for it. 

The light from the setting sun shone through the window, making the white petals a silvery glow, mocking you.

You felt the tickle of petals creeping up your throat as you coughed up three more gardenias. Gagging, you stood up and grabbed the offending flowers to rinse the spit off in the kitchen. As you were placing them to join the first in the vase, a knock at the door alerted you to a visitor. 

“Ah, gimme a sec!” you called out (a bit hoarsely from the earlier fit), walking over to the entrance to greet your visitor with a smile. That was until your heart leapt into your chest as the door opened, Silver entering with a paper bag in hand. 

“Y/N? Where—ah.” Silver gave a soft smile as he noticed you in the living room. “There you are. Lilia told me you were sick, he said that you might need some help?”

That sneaky little—

“Oh! Um—ahem—sorry my throat is sore, um.” You stuttered nervously, shifting in your spot as you remembered the flowers behind you. 

Silver was still giving you that gentle smile that made your heart pitter-patter like a bird as he walked to the kitchen to unpack the bag, placing an amber colored potion on the counter, some water bottles, and more cans of soup. 

While his back was turned, you swiftly snuck the vase under the coffee table, covering it up with the raggedy table cloth. 

Once you were assured that the bouquet was sufficiently hidden, you walked over to meet Silver in the kitchen.

“Um, yeah. It’s nothing though, I didn’t realize he was gonna send you over.”

“Ah, well he didn’t really.” Silver blushed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I woke up just to hear him mention that you weren’t feeling well, I just wanted to come check up on you.” 

“Oh!” You felt your cheeks warm at that. “That’s so nice of you, thanks.”

That led you to this moment, wanting to curse whatever deity existed in Twisted Wonderland for putting you in this situation. For the last four weeks, Silver had been visiting you in the morning, noon, and evening with a fresh new honey-colored potion to accompany your meal. 

After a certain point, Silver had started falling asleep outside of your dorm, classrooms, and even the bathroom during your coughing fit. Waiting to hand you another soothing elixr. 

It was sweet. It really was. It just sucked that every single interaction with him ended with your heart pounding in your chest and gardenias popping out of your mouth like some sort of illusionist. 

Silver, in his unending kindness, started checking in more often, not realizing that he was the one making it worse. It had gotten so bad that small blooms started popping out of your ears and your head. 

Every single time you yanked the offending flowers out and threw them away in the nearest trash can or fireplace. But, it seemed that the Hanahaki sensed your animosity, because it became harder to hide. 

Everytime you locked eyes with Silver across a busy hall, the ground beneath you would bloom white flowers. Everytime you heard his voice as you passed a classroom, petals fell from the tips of your fingers. 

Even the mere mention of his name caused an entire gardenia bush to sprout next to you, which actually wasn’t the most disruptive thing to have happened during yours and Hornton’s nightly walks. 

Similar to Lilia, he recommended that you take advantage of the flowers and confess. 

“After all, why not make a blessing out of a curse? Much easier than unnecessarily prolonging your suffering, yes?”

Hornton’s words echoed through your head as you lay across your shabby couch, head smashed into the cushions as you groaned. 

As you turned to lay on your side, you noticed lush, white flowers underneath the coffee table. Crawling to investigate, you’re met with the small gardenia bouquet you’d hidden nearly a month ago when Silver first came to care for you. 

Reaching for the vase, you were surprised that they were in such great condition, considering you forgot about them and left them to suffer under the dusty dark table. In fact, the blooms seemed to have grown. 

It looked like one of those fancy Valentine’s bouquets you’d see at flower shops. 

Lilia and Hornton’s words echoed in your mind. 

Their love starts taking physical form as their loved one’s favorite flora, typically flowers.

Why not make a blessing out of a curse?

Maybe you didn’t need to explicitly confess, but perhaps getting this off your chest would help some. 

The next morning, you greeted Silver bright and early. His face of surprise was endearing as you whipped the door open, his hand raised and posed to knock.

Before he could utter a simple ‘good morning’, you shoved the bouquet of large, waxy cream flowers into his hands. 

"Here, your favorite flower!” 

Silver held the bouquet in his hands, slightly puzzled with a soft blush on his cheeks,

“O-oh, may I ask what for?”

“For helping me with my sickness all month.” You replied, clenching and unclenching your fist behind your back. “To show my appreciation and…uh—um…you know. That stuff.”

You were hoping and praying that indirectly admitting your feelings, rather than outright admitting you loved him, would do the trick.

Silver looked pleased, almost flustered as he met your eyes with his own auroral ones. 

“That’s kind of you, Y/N.” He smiled bashfully, eyes crinkling ever so beautifully. “Can I ask, where’d you get them?”

You thinned your lips before popping them and answering, “Uh, I just found them, around…"

“Interesting.” He admired the flowers, rubbing a soft petal between his fingertips. “They’re not in season this time around, they’re a summer flower…you really lucked out with these ones.”

Your heart stopped as he lifted the gardenias to sniff their aroma, whispering under his breath, “I really lucked out with you, hm?”

Like a tidal wave smashing against a rocky shore, your entire body warmed as you realized that you really were completely, foolishly in love with the man in front of you. Your heart resumed beating, harder and faster this time like a patient in cardiac arrest. Your mind felt like it flew out of your head to sing in delight. Your throat tickled as it—wait.

Your throat tickled. Your throat was tickling. 

Before you could turn to run somewhere private, like your bedroom or bathroom, you started coughing up a flurry of petals. The wood beneath your feet was slightly breaking as pinwheel shaped flowers emerged from the ground, crawling up the doorframe, as well as yours and Silver’s legs. 

The white bulbs popped up between hair strands, creating the illusion of a flower crown, and finally another large, magnificent gardenia bouquet fell out of your mouth. 

Breathing heavily from the lack of air, you shakily held your flowers as you looked up to see Silver’s shocked face. 

“D-did you just? Are those gardenias—hanakhaki.” He sputtered in realization, looking back and forth between the gardenias and you. “They came from you?.”

“I’m sorry!” You blurted out, tears starting to form as you shut your eyes, afraid to make eye contact. “I was trying to make them go away, but they just wouldn’t, and got worse and worse until I-I-I—mpft!”

Silver’s lips covered yours, effectively shutting you up mid-rant. You yelped as his arms snaked around your waist, tightening until you were pressed up against him. Whimpering into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, you wrapped your own arms around his neck, warmth spreading into your body as he let out a pleased hum. 

You two parted, though your arms still kept each other entwined in each other’s embrace. Silver’s arms tightened as he pressed your foreheads together, sighing.  

“I wish you’d told me sooner, I felt awful knowing you were sick and there wasn’t anything I could do to fix it.” 

Hiding your face in his neck, you murmured, “I’m sorry, I was just scared that you didn’t feel the same way. That I’d ruin our friendship”

“It’s funny, I thought the same thing. I wanted to wait it out, make sure I didn’t make you uncomfortable” Silver chuckled, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on the small of your back. “But peonies are your favorite, right?

Reaching down to pull a delicate, pink peony that remained in perfect condition despite being in his pocket, he continued. 

“I started coughing these up a few weeks ago, they go well with the gardenias, don’t they?”

[kingofbodyrolls]

Hello! 🌸

My name is Lissa and I’m a 93 liner, I'm a graphic designer and photographer. I have been writing for many years, but only recently got back to it. I only write for BTS, and please look at my masterlist for all my writings 🥰 I enjoy reading as much as I do writing, and I love spreading joy and happiness, and you can check out all my fic recs [here] 💞

I’m also on ao3 → kingofbodyrolls. I also write poetry sometimes, and you can check that out on my subblog @lissa-does-poems Newest work (05/01/25) (dd/mm/yy)  → Songs of the Heart - chap 4 [pjm]

Genre + emoji meaning/key: Angst = 🌩️ || Smut = 🥵 || Fluff = 🥰 || Comedy = 😂 || Yandere = 😈 || Thriller/dark = 👻 || Personal favorite = 💯 || Completed = ✅ || Ongoing/writing = ✍️

Sprout [mini series ✅💯] 21k - 🥵😂 You love your plants, you love your garden, you do not love your new neighbor. You hate him with all your might— he wrecks everything you hold dear so you do the only reasonable thing: retaliate.

→ Series masterlist

Deep Dive [one-shot ✅💯] 19.8k - 🥵🪄🥰😂 You’ve been searching for gemstones deep on the seabed— having found a broken piece of blue aquamarine. Searching for the missing piece and your new rival, you find it and much more with the blue tailed merman Namjoon while on a quest for crystals.

→  Deep Dive (part of the '7 Summers at the Sea' series)

Words on a Page [one-shot ✍️] TBA - 🥵

When it Sinks In [one-shot ✅💯] 13.1k - 🥵🪄🥰🌩️ Life as a mermaid is wonderful, especially when your merman boyfriend, Seokjin, treats you just right. But you’re beginning to recall memories that you don’t think are yours from life on land— from a past life maybe? When you do realize that the memories are in fact your own, the world comes tumbling down around you, questioning your very existence. Are you even a real mermaid?

→  When it Sinks In (part of the '7 Summers at the Sea' series)

Doughn't Go Baking My Heart [one-shot ✅💯] 16.5k - 🥵🥰😂 This Christmas season, you’re back in the kitchen, whisk in hand and determination in your heart, entering the annual holiday baking competition once again. The goal? Finally beat your long-time rival, the infuriatingly talented Kim Seokjin. But as the ovens warm and the ingredients come together, you realize it might not be just the doughs rising this year… Will the holiday spirit bring you closer, or will the heat of competition drive you further apart? 😜

→  Doungh't Go Baking My Heart (part of my Christmas 2024 event)

I will come to you [one-shot ✅💯] 1.6k - 🥰🌩️ When the first flakes of white snow fell, the world shifted, draped in a quiet, uncanny veil. Then came the air raids—a brutal, unrelenting scream that tore through the silence, and Seokjin feared he had lost you forever. He wandered through the wasteland, searching, aching, haunted by the memory of your touch—warm, tender, as if sunlight itself had lingered upon his skin, even as darkness closed in. And now, as he feels your heart beat against his, he wonders, barely daring to breathe: can this be real?

→  I will come to you (part of the 'end of the world' series)

Friendcation [series ✅💯] 142.7k - 🥵🥰😂 Going camping with your best friends seemed like a brilliant idea when you initially made the plans. But when you harbor secret feelings for one of them, what will become of you being close confined for three months? Trouble, that’s what.

→ Series masterlist

Learn to Love Again [one-shot ✅] 19.4k -🌩️👻🥵🥰 People always leave. They become beautiful stars shining bright in the night sky. When life hands you lemons, you’ve been told to make lemonade, but that is hard when your soul and heart is breaking apart. When you rescue a tiny cat and meet a handsome stranger in the cafe, you finally feel yourself healing – but when they too leave, how are you going to learn to love again?

→ Learn to Love Again

End of the World [series ✅💯] 27.7k -🌩️👻🥵 Your government has been telling you to prepare for war, just as a precaution given the recent political changes around your country. Did you listen and prepare? No. Are you paying the price now, friends all but gone, and your city burned to pieces? Yes. Survival instincts kicking in, you search for a place to rest, nourish your battered and hungry body, only to find yourself at the porch of a stranger. Will he help you, or leave you to your own demise? 

→ End of the World // A Flickering Hope // Shower drabble // Epilogue

Of Salt and Shadow [one-shot ✍️] TBA - 🥵🥰🪄

Forelsket [one-shot ✍️] TBA - 🥵🥰🪄

Perfect Strangers [one-shot ✅💯] 19.7k - 🥵🥰🌩️ When a man as warm as a crackling hearth steps into your cozy bookstore seeking the perfect gift for his friend’s Christmas party, you can’t help but offer him your brightest smile. But when he returns days later, with a spark in his eye and a bold request—to be his pretend girlfriend for this very party—you think, Why not? After all, Christmas is a time for a little magic, a little whimsy. Yet as you step deeper into his world, you discover a heart weighed down by scars from the past, a man more complex than the merry mask he wears. Still, what’s Christmas without a little hope, a touch of wonder, and a heart ready to spread the joy it knows so well?

→  Perfect Strangers (part of my Christmas 2024 event)

Coming Home [series ✅💯] 44k - 🌩️🥵🥰😂👻😈 When your best friend, Park Jimin, who you’ve had a crush on since forever, suggests you stay at his house to heal and find yourself again after a series of traumatizing events had haunted you for years, you don’t hesitate to accept. Within those walls, a safe haven is woven, where wounds can heal and memories find release. As he nurtures your shattered spirit, an unexpected intimacy unfurls, leaving the fragile barrier between friendship and deeper emotions in question - can you keep your feelings hidden?

→  Series masterlist

39,5°C (Fever) [one-shot ✅] 6.2k - 🥵🥰 When you get sick you want three things; rest all day, eat your comfort food and have as many orgasms as you can.

→  39,5°C (Fever)

Stuck in a Snowstorm [series ✅💯] 16.8k - 🥵😂 You don’t know how you ended up here. Stuck with your mortal enemy, Park Jimin, in you car – in a fucking snowstorm.

→  Stuck in a Snowstorm or check series masterlist

My Heart's Home [series ✅💯] 237.6k - 🌩️🥵🥰😂 You’d never thought you’d step foot back at the ranch– a place you used to call home a long time ago. When you are forced to go back, reconcile with your sister and a certain childhood friend that you had long forgotten, will sparks reunite?

→  Series masterlist (ft. Jungkook)

Last Night in Magic Shop [one-shot ✅] 12.5k - 🥵🪄 You find yourself down at the local club, Magic Shop, because your best friend feels like your lovelife is dry as ice. You did not plan on meeting a handsome stranger, who moves his body like an angel, but speaks like the devil. Feeling like he might match your nasty needs, you take him home, enjoying an unforgettable night filled with pleasure.

→  Last Night in Magic Shop

Whalien52 [one-shot ✅] 10.6k - 🌩️🥵👻 You’ve been working for the New World Order as an assassin for years, guarding secrets without batting an eye or asking questions. But when a striking pink haired man shows up at the headquarters stealing information, he makes you question everything. With all of humanity at stake, what will you do? 

→  Whalien52 (part of end of the world series)

To Mend What's Broken [one-shot/drabble ✅] 1.3k - 🌩️🥰 Struggling with childhood trauma, you believe you’re worthless and undeserving of love, but your fiancé showers you in love and lets you know otherwise.

→  To Mend What's broken

To Catch a Merman [one-shot ✅💯] 17.8k - 🥵🥰🪄 You don’t really enjoy your work on a trawler, but it pays the rent. When you hear some ruckus out of the deck, you go out to investigate, only to be met by an unreal sight: a blonde merman with a sparkly golden tail caught in the net, struggling to get free.

→  To Catch a Merman (part of the '7 Summers at the Sea' series)

Songs of the Heart [series ✅💯] 70.4k - 🥵🥰🌩️ When your landlord hikes the rent on your city apartment, you escape to the outskirts of town, trading the urban sprawl for the quiet hum of a modest house. But serenity takes on a different tune here—day after day, the air carries hauntingly beautiful melodies from your neighbor’s home, songs so raw and aching they seem to tell of a heartbreak too deep to heal. Worried for the unseen soul behind the music, you muster the courage to knock on their door, only to find Park Jimin—a famous singer-songwriter whose voice has graced countless hearts. But the man before you is more than his songs: an enigma wrapped in melancholy, a single father with a story veiled in mystery. As his melodies weave into your days, you can’t help but wonder: can you uncover the truths hidden in his lyrics, or will his heart remain a song you cannot play?

→  Songs of the Heart: series masterlist

IT Support [one-shot ✍️] TBA - 🥵🥰😂

Skinny-dipping [drabble ✅] 1.7k - 🥵🥰 → Skinny-dipping

Moonglade [one-shot ✅] 15.4k - 🥵🥰🪄😂 You’ve always been captivated by the sea—a love as deep and endless as the tides. But when tragedy strikes, that love turns bittersweet, and you find yourself drawn to the very thing that stole a part of your soul. Night after night, you pour your sorrows into the embrace of moonlight and whisper your pain to the stars. Then, one fateful evening, a merman surfaces from the depths—a being of myth and wonder. Will you dare to believe in fairytales and the magic of second chances? In hope, love, and the possibility of forever? Perhaps, he’s here to show you that even in the darkest corners, beauty and light can still thrive.

→  Moonglade (part of the '7 Summers at the Sea' series)

Say that Again (I Dare You) [one-shot ✅] 13.1k - 🥵 You moan in your sleep, and your boyfriend knows this, but when you keep moaning another man’s name in your sleep - and that man just happens to be one of your friends? What will Jungkook do?

→  Say that Again (I Dare You) (ft. Jimin)

Say I Do [one-shot ✅] 5.2k - 🥵 You and Jungkook tease each other at your wedding reception.

→  Say I Do

Till We Meet Again [one-shot ✅💯] 11.4k - 🥵🪄🥰😂 When your childhood friend that you had a crush on, moved away out of the blue— you never thought you’d see him again. A night swim in the ocean will have you feeling delusional, but the voice that fills your ears— sweet like cotton candy, you’d recognize that voice anywhere, it’s Jungkook.

→  Till We Meet Again (part of the '7 Summers at the Sea' series)

Please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. doing so will be considered as plagiarism and appropriate action will be taken. 

You are more than welcome to reblog, like and comment my work 🥰

[animestsstuff2]

Twitterpated

ProHeroHawks x VillainFem Reader

This lil story/fic will involve depictions of Hawks primal needs. I kinda feel with mutation quirks its pros and cons for all things and with that Hawks having a mate and a heat. Ya know he’s all twitterpated for you. This is a lil slow burn! You are a villain for the L.O.V. There will be character description but mainly on things like (light eyes glistened or hair fell over your face) otherwise up to you guys

Content warning: pretty chill first chapter just an intro really, some fighting, mention of injury, burning flesh. Potential spoilers if you haven’t watched to season 4/5 i think

Hawks stood on top of a large telephone pole knocking back his coffee as he suppressed a yawn. He was on night patrol and this was only night one. His eyes watching over night life below. It wasn’t too busy after all since it was Monday but his eyes stayed narrowed as he scanned the lit streets and shadowed alley ways. His feathers out fluttering about for something..anything to give this ProHero something to do.

He tipped his head backwards body following as his wings bristled, something was going on and it excited him. His wings stretching out as they flew him forward to where he felt it where the rest of his feathers were gathering. He made his way to a lesser part of the big city his eyes scanning the smaller houses with overgrown gardens. His eyes scanning the area when he seen it. A bright blue flashing to his left and he swooped round, landing on the roof and stepping to the edge.

“L-Look! I-im sorry but I don’t have it right now!” Two people, a criminal and a civilian. Hawks crouched low as he watched the palm of the mans light up in blue flame. Hawks chewed his lip debating whether to step in as they hadn’t noticed him.

As a hero he should step in but as a double agent he should leave Dabi to his business. He decides on the latter giving a quick glance to the guy being threatened only to see hes already staring at Hawks. He feigns a look of care as he presses his index finger to his lips, getting up from his position he pulls a long feather from his wings. The fluffy plume now taut into a red blade. He moved to step off the roof when a hand reached round his mouth and the feeling of something sharp prod his back.

Hawks eyes widened genuinely as his body stilled. The feather in his hand fluffing out as he finally registered the person behind him. His brows furrowing as his own wings puffed out on instinct trying to grasp who this was and how they slipped by him. It was almost impossible not with his senses.

“Hey there birdy” He sucked in a breath as the sultry voice just giggled in his ear. He was no longer as sleepy as he was earlier. He opened his mouth not knowing what to say as his eyes fell back to the man only to see a blue flame lick him up. Hawks nose crinkled at the smell of burning flesh as the raven haired man spun round.

“Hey there pro” he grinned sending a nod most likely to whoever was behind Hawks. The hand was removed as the person stepped back and on instinct Hawks spun. The long feather once again pulled as sharp as a knife as he pushed the tip under the persons chin.

His hand faltered as his eyes met yours. A white cloth mask was pulled up over your nose but the bright moon made your eyes glow. His feather reduced to fluff as his mind for a moment drew blank and you only giggled at the supposed ProHero. You lifted a gloved hand up and gently pushed the feather aside. The action sending a tingle down his stomach and he straightened up. His wings were never sensitive, why now.

“Hey Angel, not a very nice way to act towards our dear friend here” Dabi’s voice broke Hawks from his thoughts as his head turned back to the scarred man who already had a cigarette in his mouth. Hawks watched as the girl before him jumped from the roof his preying eyes not missing the white that appeared when her cloak shifted from the fall. That white looked like feathers, like wings.

Hawks followed putting his bigger feather back as he sent out smaller plumes to survey the area and ensure no one was watching. His narrowed eyes watching the two villains before him.

“Did you really need to burn him Dabi? It always smells so bad” you whined as you crossed your arms moving closer to Hawks whose feathers bristled again.

“Stop whinin’ now especially after you begged me to let you come with” Dabi snapped back taking a drag of his cigarette.

“You gonna tell me what that was about? Save me n’ the commission some paperwork” Hawks asked, watching as Dabi’s mouth stretched into a humourless grin.

“Yeah? Yano, just cause the boss wants ya doesn’t mean im your buddy too” He grumbled and Hawks rolled his eyes at the mans antics.

“At least gimme a name and why you did it. You need me to kill another pro just so you’ll spill?” He hummed. His eyes flicking to the girl beside him, more specifically her hand that was reaching for his wings. He pivoted on his heel turning his body completely towards you as he grabbed your wrist tightly, narrowed eyes and slit pupils staring at you.

“Calm down Birdy. I just wanted to know if they were really as soft as everyone says” You teased sending him a wink. Hawks brows furrowed at your behaviour and just shoved your wrist away frustrated a villain was toying with him.

“His name is Ito Takashi. He owed the boss some money and wasn’t able to pay up so I took care of it” Hawks eyes glanced over to the embers of what was once a man, what once was a life and felt guilt chew at his heart. He, however, remained stoic and only rolled his eyes.

“Bit far burning him though” he observed and Dabi just shrugged as he eyed his companion. Her eyes focused on Hawks this entire time.

“Hmm, suppose I coulda used one of your little feathers to slice him huh” Dabi muttered as he reached a hand and plucked a red feather from Hawks wings. The mans bird like eyes honed in on the feather that sat in Dabi’s palm.

“I don’t think you’ll miss this one”

The blue flames swallowed it whole and Hawks suppressed the small sting in his back and rather focused his attention on the shove Dabi received from the all too quiet girl.

“What? You feel bad for the guy just cause you share the same quirk as him?” He teased as you shoved him again and slapped his arm. Hawks attention shifted as he stared at her now. You averted your gaze but Dabi only chuckled, reaching over and snatching the cloak from you. The metal broach snapping as the fabric lay on the ground.

Hawks eyes widened at the white wings that emerged from your back. They were almost the size of his own. His heart quickened as something stirred in his chest. The wings stayed tucked behind you but it was obvious how big they were for the curled far over your head and the bottom feathers lay on the grass at your feet. You were quick together the cloak from the ground and pull it back over your shoulders, clicking the broach back together as your eyes met Hawks.

“Get a good enough look little Bird?” You hummed but he could sense the anger in your tone. He relaxed his previously tense shoulders and glanced at Dabi.

“Yeah we got another you Hawks. Shes a beauty, names Angel, well obviously I can’t tell ya her real name. I wouldn’t let her wings deceive you..Shes far from holy” Dabi chuckled as he moved his attention to his phone and sighed.

“Alright Dove, crusty wants us back” Dabi turned and began waving his hand for you to follow. Your eyes finding Hawks already staring at you.

“Till next time Hawks don’t miss me too much” You chirped as you followed after Dabi. Hawks paused momentarily before taking to the sky, eyes scanning for the two villains only to find you both gone. His brows furrowed as he continued to fly over the city finding himself landing on the roof of a tall building.

A strange feeling was building in his chest as he crouched low. His eyes watching the city below but not really paying attention as his thoughts trailed back to you.

Who were you?

There was no way the commission didn’t know about you, especially with a quirk similar to his. If they did have information on you it most likely is old. The commission has intel on almost all of the criminals in Kyushu and surrounding areas, even if it was limited like Dabi’s or Shigaraki’s they would have something, so why didn’t he know about you? Why wasn’t he warned of someone like you, someone like him. The U.A student Tokoyami is one of the only other individuals Hawks knew to have a similar based quirk.

“Hmm..Angel” The name didn’t ring any bells either aside from church ones as he mulled over his thoughts, trying to distract himself from the continuing feeling in his chest.

This feeling only dragged further throughout Hawks night shift and when 8AM rolled round he was immediately through the balcony doors in his office. His body warm and feverish, feathers puffed and wings twitching as he headed out of his office, finding his assistant already at his desk with a pile of paper work. His head snapped up with a smile that dropped upon seeing the hero.

“Hawks! You don’t look so good are you okay?” Hawks waved him off. He could feel the sweat along his forehead. He didn’t need a mirror to know how bad he probably looked.

“Yeah, don’t worry just think chugging a bunch of coffees has got me all wired up. I left some documents on my desk of reports needing sorted. I’m on nights this week so i’ll leave anything for you on my desk each morning” his assistant only nodded slowly as the pro headed by and down the elevator, leaving his agency and taking to the skies as he quickly flew home.

He couldn’t strip fast enough. His boots kicked haphazardly off, next was his belt that got slung over the sofa. His gloves chucked in the hallway along with his cargos. His jacket shrugged off as he peeled his tight black shirt from his warm body and hit the shower button. The warm water that usually comforted his sore muscles made him recoil as he turned it to cold.

His forehead resting along the tiles as his wings stretched and continued twitching. His feathers unable to keep still as some smaller ones plucked themselves off and flew mindlessly around the bathroom. Hawks just sighed as his eyes closed, trying to ignore this feeling. He could be sick but he rarely ever gets sick, though its not like there isn’t medicine available to deal with this. His thoughts continued as he decided he’d call the doctors before he went to sleep. His hand running through his wet hair as his mind kept buzzing, skin stayed hot and wings tweaked.

Angel..

[captain039]

PART 2 Intertwined with a mortal

Ascended Vampire Duke!Astarion x human!reader

Bridgerton x Astarion 👍🏻

Warnings: Olden times, swearing, age gap, tension, slow burn, vampire Mates, vampire things, angst, sexual, harassment, bigger reader, fat shaming, 18+, angst, Astarions trauma, anxiety, depression, learning to touch and love, big dislike for children lmao, AOB, artist reader, manipulation

Previous part <-

After your first party of the season you were not looking forward to the next one, no lady would run away from a gentlemen, and your fathers hope was denied when nobody showed up to your door. By lunch time you sat idly on the couch hating the hopefulness in your mothers eyes before a knock came. You frowned as your mother suit up excited and went to the door. You stood by the dining room door listening in.

“Flowers?” She asked a smile on her tone. Flower? From who? Your mother came in with a big bouquet and a letter attached. You glanced over each flower deciphering their meaning. White Camellias meaning adorable, white clovers meaning think of me, some daisys representing innocence, pieces of red Salvia stood out too meaning forever mine with a few others in the midst. You glanced to the note seeing it sighed A.A. with nothing else, who was A.A.

“Who’s A.A?” You asked.

“Only one I know is the Duke Astarion Ancunin” your father said and you froze.

“Why the hell did he send flowers?!” You raised your voice shocking everyone in the room.

“Language dear, goodness” your mother said.

“Adorable innocences? Mine forever?” You said the flowers meaning.

“Darling please calm down” your mother said as you huffed.

“That ‘duke’ only wants me to warm his bed for a brief time” you scoffed your mothers face going to pure shock horror as your father stifled a laugh before your mother snapped your full name.

“Be appreciative of the gift! You didn’t get any other suitors knocking!” She yelled and the words hurt. You flinched before she realised and went to speak, but you rushed to your room with tears. You clenched your fists cursing softly as you sat down in your window and stared out. You huffed loudly hands white knuckled, you didn’t care, you’d become the most undesirable this season, then maybe you could die alone in the woods.

The next party had arrived and people were whispering when you walked in with your mother, your father staying behind. You hated it, your mother tried to force you into conversation, but failed before you saw Jen approach you.

“Praise Selune I thought you wouldn’t come back” she said and you smiled a little bitterly.

“What happened?” She spoke in a hushed tone as you gave her a look.

“Ok, shall we get a drink?” She asked and you nodded following her to the drinking table. You stood in the corner with Jen while sipping your lemonade, she talked about her husband who was still away while you just prayed the duke wouldn’t show up. You heard a rather loud happy noise and looked to your left seeing Karlach.

“Oh my precious girl!” She said grinning as she hugged you.

“Oh-“ you chuckled as the woman embraced you.

“Gods it’s been an age, how are you?” She gushed her dark red dress matching her.

“I’m alright Lady Karlach” you smiled.

“Gods don’t call me lady it makes me feel old” she rolled her eyes and you and Jen laughed.

“So give me the goss, what happened first party?” She asked standing by you and you tensed.

“That bad hey?” She said not looking at you as she sipped her champagne.

“Honestly Karlach” Jen huffed as the woman finally looked at you.

“Oh, it was bad, what happened?” She asked looking to you.

“A dance with a duke” Jen said as you stayed quiet.

“A duke! Oh go you!” Karlach gushed and you grimaced.

“Not so go you, what happened?” She asked frowning slightly.

“I ran off” you said and her eyes went wide.

“Whatever for, wait who was it?” She said scanning the dukes present.

“Wasn’t him was it?” She said pointing subtly to the older Duke Ravengard.

“Heavens no” you said and she chuckled.

“The younger one?” She asked.

“Duke Wyll is a respectable young man!” You huffed at her.

“Of course” she grinned making you roll your eyes.

“It was a certain high elf” Jen said and you jabbed her side making her smirk.

“Oh my gods, Duke Ancunin?!” Karlach said and you shushed her.

“Nobody’s seen him for years!” She said and you groaned.

“No wonder he came back” Karlach winked at you and you flushed.

“What happened, tell mumma Karlach I know people” she said and you laughed.

“He was just-“ before you could finish your body went stiff and you looked to the door, the Duke Ancunin stood there having just arrived. Your eyes met again, the same look from last time a small smirk gracing his lips as he stared at you through his eyelashes before he was talked away.

“Wow” Karlach said and you snapped out of your trance.

“Kill me” you whispered.

“That was some intense eye contact” she breathed a chuckle and you groaned quietly.

“He sent me flowers, Adorable innocences, forever mine they meant” you muttered.

“That’s a statement” Karlach said and Jen hummed.

“Oh the dancings starting soon” Karlach got excited as the music changed.

“Gods I may throw up” you said praying nobody would ask you for a dance.

“Milady” you groaned internally as Duke Ancunin was suddenly by your side.

“Duke Ancunin” you said gulping slightly hoping you could throw Karlach at him instead.

“May I have this dance?” He asked and you glared at Karlach as she pushed you forward gently.

“Of course” you kept polite as you took his hand and headed to the dance floor, a more country style dance music playing. As you began to dance you smelt his scent from the previous party, same coldness, you wondered why. You were less shaky than last time and your movements seemed to glide against his.

“You’re dancing beautifully my dear” he said as you came close to him.

“Thank you Duke Ancunin” you said with a small nod.

“I’m afraid you must forgive my previous behaviour, I hadn’t meant to scare you off” he said and you frowned.

“You are simply exquisite” he complimented and you flushed a bit, but for some reason his words didn’t stick. You were anything but that, a few too many late night cakes in your flesh, you held no soft complexion, your eyes often had dark circles under them, your hair was often a mess. Dressed up like this wasn’t you at all, you’d rather be in your room, paint over your hands, hair up in a bun, some pants on and no tight slippers. You looked to his face his smile too perfect compared to the other men who smiled at their partners. You continued to dance ignoring his words hoping he would stop talking as you just let yourself go a bit in the music. Apparently the duke needed to make a scene, you spread around as he spun you, moving people out the way as he brought you back and bent you down by the waist. You saw your mother smiling upside down before you were pulled back up, hand resting on his chest. You were in some sort of daze as you looked up to him before you gulped a bit realising you’d pushed the others off the dance floor and it was just the two of you. People began to whisper and others clapped and you felt your heart pound.

“Excuse me my duke, Thank you” you gave a quick curtesy before subtly running away as the next song began and someone swooped in your place to dance with the duke. You rushed up the stairs and panted as you held a hand over your chest and leant against the wall. You groaned quietly trying to calm your heart as you felt a tug back to the duke.

The duke barely had any reaction time as you left quickly up the stairs. Your heart pounding echoing in his ears. You’d run away again.

Next part ->

[lilakennedy]

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐝 III

Both times you encountered Galloper Thompson in the past, he found you in less than ideal situations. This time, you're determined to seek him out...Third time's the charm, after all.

so, uh.....hi. i know it's been, what? two years? but i always said this story is NOT over yet, and i am a woman of my word. so here it is!! part three and also the longest part so far!! thank you all who have been encouraging me to continue and have waited so, so patiently!! i could go on and on about why this took so long, but that's a long story. thank you all for reading, your support and feedback means the world!! ♥ happy spooky season! tagging: @foggy-milk @wildwoods-sworn @rora-dolphinheart @dromaeo-sauridae @justagirlexistinginthisworld @everythingelsewastaken135 (^ i took this list of people that have expressed wanting to be tagged in the past, please forgive me if that has changed!) gender neutral MC! once again, nothing romantic (for now) but if anyone’s crushing on the man, i hope you have fun!! :> words: 11.8k cw: death mention, injury mention, a healing injury (MCs broken arm!) some eerie visuals - but nothing major or descriptive! english is not my first language, so some of the horse-related terminology might be off! i apologize!!  ➝  pt. I   ➝ pt. II   

“Woah, No no no - !”

Your plea falls on deaf ears as the universe merely humours you for a second, before allowing the bag of flour to tumble and fall down the side of the counter. 

The fall itself causes flour to fly out of the little paper bag and leave a trail on the cupboards doors. Until finally, it lands with a dull thud, the flour exploding into a cloud of white on impact with the tiles.

White coats your legs, feet, the poor cupboard doors and the floor where you stand, leaving you frozen for a second while you stare down at the mess you accidentally created. A huff escapes you, but before you can even reach over to salvage the last bits of flour that still remain inside the bag, the kitchen door opens. 

“Oh dear, what happened?” 

Mrs. Holdsworth’s voice holds a playful tone to her care, seemingly getting a small laugh out of your harmless predicament. You, on the other hand, stand embarrassed and covered in flour - You had come here to offer a helping hand, not cause a mess and waste an entire bag of ingredients. 

It is a pitiful image to walk in on, seeing you stand half covered in flour, an expression of a kicked dog and the stiffest posture you could force your body into. 

With a sigh, you relax your muscles and bend down to pick up the paper bag with a sigh: “I didn’t notice how close it was to my…My arm...” 

Mrs. Holdsworth simply gives a small chuckle from the centre of her chest, clearly not bothered by the little mishap as she steps closer to help you. With her hands, she starts to gather the spilled flour from the countertop and moves to discard it into the same trashcan you had tossed the now empty bag into. 

“Will you be a doll and fetch the broom? I’ll take care of the dough in the meantime.” 

Familiar enough with the house to not need any further directions, you simply nod and make your way over to the skinny broom closet just outside the kitchen - You move carefully, not wanting to spread more flour across the entire house.

It’s midday, allowing the sun to shine in through the windows of the house, nearly deceptively hiding the true chill that awaits anyone who steps outside. The winds recently have been harsh, some trees already unable to withstand the stormy nights, but luckily the damage has been minimal. 

Rainstorms, foggy mornings and howling winds invite anyone to stay inside, to bundle up and get cozy in a safe, warm environment. Mrs. Holdsworth’s home is always special, a comforting yet magical space to forget the passing of time. Furniture and decor invite relaxation, little personal trinkets open conversation and questions about different things in life. 

Your eyes wander over the surrounding space with a content expression, before you carefully close the closet door and make your way back to the kitchen. 

The kitchen is lively, despite only you and Mrs. Holdsworth working here today. The table has baskets and bags of ingredients that are already half used up, bowls of prepared fruit and chopped ingredients, a scale stands out of its usual hidden spot on the shelves and the oven is preheating and giving a warm glow.

Mrs. Holdsworth had invited you to help her prepare a type of sweet autumn bread, and you eagerly agreed. 

Your hands wrap around the broomstick without much hassle, given that the injury inside your left hand has healed entirely at this point - The incident having happened a week prior. It feels odd to think about the time that has passed since. It both feels like it happened last night and last month.

Yet, a glance at the calendar on Mrs. Holdsworth wall confirms the passage of time. The date reads a week and two days after your unfortunate, stormy trip to Golden Hills. 

The cut your palm had sustained was nothing major, but it took a while longer to heal than you had anticipated. An injury on the inside of your palm, which you use daily, really is a doozy to heal without constantly irritating it. 

Your right arm is still wrapped in its cast, the white material slightly grey and showing clear signs of wear. The fracture will take a while longer to heal, leaving you with this cast for at least 3 more weeks. By this point, you are used to the lack of mobility and the extra care you have to take. 

Plus, having an unwieldy cast allows for easy excuses when you do mess up while zoning out, like today. The biggest downside has just been the unrelenting occasional itch beneath the plaster.

“You seem distant recently dear, what’s been occupying your mind to take you so far away all day?”

You look up at Mrs. Holdsworth, watching her dry her hands on a checkered towel by the sink. Raising your brows at her words, you turn your attention back to the floor and your broom. 

“Nothing, really.” You respond nonchalantly, the movements of the broom turning more sluggish and weak as you think of what to say. “I guess I’ve just been zoning a lot.”

You crack a smile and shrug at the older woman, not wanting her to think that anything was seriously wrong. Your smiling expression is met with an unimpressed look that holds more motherly energy than you would have liked. She’s reading you.

Her brows raise and a telling smile stretches across her face, wrinkles accenting the sides of her smile. 

“You should know by now that lying to me does not work.” Her voice holds a lighthearted scolding to it, making you cock your head to the side and rest your healthy arm against the broom, waiting for her to continue. 

She turns back toward the counter and begins closing up some jars of ingredients. Her words are underlined by occasional glances over her shoulder toward where you stand.

“First I hear from Conrad that you nearly lost a finger while helping him due to daydreaming last week, then you mix up dates that people agreed upon for training with you and you’re constantly running late, you completely missed some things I said earlier and now you take it out on my poor, poor flour.”

The smile in her voice is audible, and you can see the corners of her eyes crease with her grin whenever she glances back at you. 

“Half of those are because of my ar -”

“Hush, do not blame it all on your broken wrist!” Mrs. Holdsworth cuts you off, ”I have seen your face and your eyes, you’re daydreaming yourself away to something else!”

She turns to face you fully, her expression a fond annoyance toward your attempts to lie. Her arm reaches over to take the broom from you, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion. 

But as you look down, you notice the flour is entirely gone; Both on the floor and on your clothes. 

It takes a second for the thought to settle in: ‘Magic, right.’

Magic on Jorvik is more common than you ever would have assumed, and you have gotten used to it over the time you have spent here - But recently Magic seems to be more at the forefront of your mind than ever before, and not for reasons any of the people around you would like. 

The brooch and strip of fabric still are in your possession. In the week that has passed since you got those peculiar items, you haven’t told a soul. Partly because you want to keep it a secret for your own safety, and partly because you don’t even know what to do going forward. 

Your initial plan was to return it back to the man that had given it to you, seeing as it was mostly borrowed, rather than gifted. But with the weather changing from unpleasant to downright dangerous, you haven’t had a chance to venture out on another trip all the way into the hills.

And with this week that passed, you had time to think - And it drove you to overthink, now leaving you with a unique type of choice paralysis.

What if the items are cursed or will bring harm to you or your loved ones? Maybe you should go stand by the shores of Moorland and toss the brooch as far as your arm allows, watching it go beneath the waves and never turn back. 

But - What if you were to keep it? A souvenir of something that will probably never repeat in your lifetime, something to memorise these odd events. Something other than an X-Ray of a broken arm, that is. This train of thought always leads you to huff at your extremely sentimental take on it all, but part of you is stubborn and wants to keep this adventure close. 

And the plan of returning it to him? You aren’t even quite sure how to start this plan.  Both times you met with the headless horseman, it was because he found you. It’s likely that he can’t be found unless he chooses to be.

So with that issue, you aren’t quite sure where to begin - The idea of camping out in the hills entered your mind a few times, but Aideen knows you would get hurt again.

“Ow!!” A yelp escapes you while your hand flies up to the source of the pain by your ear. Mrs. Holdsworth had pinched you, seeing you spiral back into your own mind despite the ongoing conversation. 

You look over to her, seeing her expression holding no real harsh emotion, but instead something akin to a teasing smile of disbelief. 

Rubbing your poor ear, you pout for a moment when  she begins to talk. 

“I know that look, that’s the look of a young soul falling into fascination with something magical. I have seen that look on many people on this island, I have seen it on myself when I was still young and beginning to unravel the island’s secrets!”

She shakes her head slightly, the smile never leaving her features as you shift your weight slightly. Her eyes hold a sincerity that was not there during her earlier teasing jokes. It makes you relax as you listen to her words, cherishing the time she spends with you.

“You’re falling in love with something magical, and for your sake, I hope it is safe.”

A moment of comfortable, important silence rests between the two of you. With a smile on your face, you give a little nod, reassuring her that you are indeed safe. Mrs. Holdsworth returns the nod with the crows feet by her eyes deepening as her smile stretches just a bit wider. 

Deep down, you wonder if what you are doing truly is keeping you safe or spelling out something terrible for your future. But for now, you’ll nod.

Abruptly, she steps back and throws her hands up, speaking while turning back toward the oven. 

“Or maybe you’re just a lovesick fool that’s busy daydreaming and little old me is looking too deep into things!”

Nearly offended and embarrassed at her backtracking, you gasp out a ‘Hey!’ which causes the old witch to give a hearty laugh.

It is roughly 2 hours later when you leave the small, cozy home with some freshly baked apple bread in your bag and a piece of it between your teeth. You make your way down the path in front of Mrs. Holdsworth's house, munching away on the still warm bread.

The biting cold is a harsh contrast to the warm place you had been staying at for the earlier hours of the day, the soft smell of home cooked foods has been replaced by the scent of yesterday's rain and the hay of the stables.

Winds whisper and howl through every fence and past the corners of each building, a particularly strong gust pushing you forward as if nature itself is urging you to hurry back into a warmer place.

You merely give a hum in return, acknowledging the wind's attempts but not moving to rush much faster, still chewing bites of warm bread while you let your eyes wander around. 

Moorland is empty, for the most part. The paths abandoned while people exercise caution against the unpredictable weather, not wanting to put themselves or their horses in danger. 

Right now the weather is unruly, but bearable - Still, the winds have a habit of turning fast, catching many people off guard in these past weeks. Every small gap in your clothes invites a chill down your spine once the cold slithers its way against your skin, led by the howls of wind.

An audible shiver leaves your lips as you try to huddle further into your clothing, the final bite of the baked goods disappearing between your teeth, allowing you to bury your hands into the pockets of your coat. The cast around your right arm makes the entire ordeal a bit stiff, but not impossible.

The warm pockets of your coat are welcomed around your hands, shielding them from the cool winds and inviting you to snuggle into the fabric even further, like a turtle retreating into its shell. 

It does not take long for another, different type of shiver to run through you as your hand brushes cold metal, resting inside your left pocket. The sensation causes your steps to falter for a second, your walking speed slowing down to something more uneven while you make your way down the path that will lead you to the side of the stables.

Your hand tightens around the golden brooch resting in the deep pocket of your coat, allowing your thumb to gently brush along the symbols engraved in it. A symbol you have memorised at this point, a result of staring at the little item and trying to make sense of your current situation.

The brooch and the little tied piece of green fabric have been on your person since the day you had received them. Something about the idea of leaving them laying around where someone could find or take them struck a cord inside you - So instead you decided to always keep it with you. 

It’s a plan you cannot think about for too long, because once the worry of it being cursed creeps back into your mind, the items weigh ten times heavier against your side. Yet, you like to tell yourself that you’re keeping it so you can dispose of it when the time is right, that you are only keeping it close to you so you can throw it aside somewhere no one will find it again. 

But the truth is, you just don’t want someone else to steal it. It has become something you wish to keep safe, as if you were asked to watch over it and now you cannot just haphazardly toss it to someone else. 

Plus, you still have to take caution with the people around you - For their safety, and yours. Aideen knows what would happen if you were to spill your new story to any random person. Most would probably see it as a silly ghost story, see it as made up to garner attention. 

You twirl the piece of fabric around your fingers like a ribbon. It gets caught on your knuckles occasionally, the brooch in your palm very much limiting the movement of your fingers. 

The path beneath your boots changes to cobblestone when you reach the Moorland stables, seeing a few people rushing back and forth to finish their tasks before the weather turns too aggressive. 

A few friendly nods to the people around you, hurried steps and the sounds of a few boxes getting knocked over by the wind are all that follows while you make your way to your stable doors. Familiar scents and sounds greet you as you step inside, readying for a few hours of work.

The hay in the wheelbarrow muffles your sound of frustration as you let yourself plop chest-first into the clean pile of it that you’ve been wheeling around. Immediately, strands of golden hay stick to your clothing and hair, but you pay it no mind, given that you are already covered in hay, dust and horse hairs from the tasks you had been crossing off of today’s list. 

Despite your sore muscles and the splinter you had somehow managed to get on one of the storage doors, neither are the reasons for you deflating like a balloon forgotten behind a child’s bedroom door. No, no. Your mind has been reeling with trying to figure out how to handle dealing with a maybe-cursed object. The constant mental back and forth has been taking a genuine toll on you, as the possible stakes of your current situation dawning on you more with each passing hour. It’s like something is hellbent on wearing you thin, stretching you until something inside your spine will snap with the most unpleasant and nauseating sound. 

The idea of keeping that damned brooch makes a little voice inside your screech with absolute, stubborn terror. What if it brings terrible things to your doorstep? What if you weren’t even meant to keep it for this long? Another thing that worries you is still the idea of someone else finding it. 

Carefully, you use your arms to push yourself upward slightly, your hips and waist bearing most of your weight against the hay while your chest lifts. It takes a second of rummaging, but you manage to pull the brooch out of your pocket. With an expression of frustration and confusion across your face, you look at it. 

You cock your head to the side while you let yourself drop back onto the hay, your arm extended forward to keep the brooch in your line of sight. 

For what feels like the millionth time, you run your thumb along the metal. Your eyes intently focus on it, glaring nearly, as if to try and intimidate an answer out of the poor brooch itself. The green fabric brushes along your skin a few times as you do so. 

While you remain deeply focused on the small antique accessory, your horse is slowly but surely getting more and more interested in the tasty hay you are laying on. Reaching its neck down and stretching to its best effort, your Equine companion easily begins to munch on the very hay you are laying on, seemingly uninterested in your 50th dramatic brainstorming session. 

Could anyone blame you? What took place by the gate to Golden Hills has been on an uninterrupted loop in your mind. You remember it all so, so clearly. It is as if your own mind will not allow you to forget it. 

The wooden beams and boards of the stables around you creak with the howling winds outside. A soundscape you had gotten used to years ago, yet it still invites to shiver and glance around oneself. Alongside this eerie groan and howl, you hear your horse chewing on the hay you had been planning to place into its stall for the past 10 minutes. 

You fumble with the brooch for a few more seconds, flipping it in your hand the same way it has been flipping your daily routine on its head. Swiftly, you pocket it once more. The added weight in your pocket no longer feels alien to you. 

During these harsh conditions and downright dangerous storms, travelling all the way up to Golden Hills alone would be impossible. If you were to go, you’ll surely have to at least pass the next three or four days. 

The noise that leaves your lips is one of reluctant acceptance.

With every sunset and sunrise, you nearly feel yourself beginning to count the hours. It is odd, really. This mix of excitement and dread that flows through your veins. It becomes especially prominent when you lay down to rest, be it to sleep or just to relax for a while. Your head begins to spin with the amount of thoughts whipping back and forth inside your skull, your stomach begins to tie into knots and despite these anxiety induced symptoms, there remains the giddiness of a child prior to christmas eve.

 Your thoughts range from mildly worried, over hesitant excitement all the way down to disturbing. Most recurring being the idea of someone finding your dead body between some bushes at the side of the valley, and because no one knows of your little adventures, it would take them weeks to find you. You try not to let this thought take up too much of your mental capacity. How do you do this? Well, with a somewhat comforting, yet equally eerie fact you can’t dodge; If Thompson had wanted you dead, he probably would have done so on your first meeting. 

Now here is to hoping you aren’t about to overstay your welcome with the headless phantom. 

It is nearly comical, how the first thing you do every morning is pull the blinds and curtains aside, craning your neck at weird angles to see as much of the sky as you possibly could. Every morning so far, you were greeted with harsh winds and rain hitting your window in a relentless rhythm. But not today. 

Today your eyes scan across a slightly overcast sky, the trees of Moorland swaying in the wind much more gently than they have in the recent week. The clouds are grey, yet not as heavy. A few wisps of white clouds dance in between, too - Some spots even allow you to catch a glimpse of the sunrise.  

Something gleams in your eyes for a second and your heart leaps into your throat. Today’s the day, you think to yourself. Your grasp on your curtain tightens for a second as you give a grin at the sky, trying your best to fight the nervousness crawling under your skin. 

Throughout the day, you do everything you can to prepare for your planned trip, hoping to be more prepared this time. Your plan consists of just setting up a small tent in the mountains and …Well,waiting.

Deep down you’re fully aware that Thompson would not just let you walk around and find him like just any other person. You had come to that conclusion a good while ago already. 

An alternative plan had been to just walk around and try to call out for him, waving the brooch around like you’re trying to lure a dog back with a treat. The mental image gave you a small chuckle at the time, but you realise it might not be the smartest idea. 

If you set up camp like planned, you could sit for hours and hope he might want that damned brooch back, leading him to decide to show up on his own accord. In your eyes, it feels like the safest and most respectful route. And you hope to Aideen that you are right. 

Your travel to Golden Hills is pleasant, your improvised camping set safely stored away in one of the bigger saddlebags you had laying around. The one person tent folds and rolls up small enough to fit, along with some snacks you had made, water and a thermos full of a nice, hot drink. You made sure to shove the thermos into the bag extra harshly, some personal grudge still lingering against the object. Tossed along with the small set is a pack of bandaids. A rolled up blanket is, somewhat haphazardly, fastened to the bag as well. The brooch remains in the pocket of your coat that you’ve thrown over multiple layers of clothes to keep warm. 

During your travels, your heart begins to race more and more as you get closer to the gate that will lead you into Goldenhills. The ride itself remains mostly comfortable, even if the occasional harsh wind has you squinting while trying to escape the flurry of leaves tossed at your face.  

And at some points, you swear, your horse is giving you very judgemental glances. As if it weren't its very own fault that you even encountered the man in the first place! You huff to yourself, feeling accomplished with your imagined little argument against your horse.

It takes a good while to reach Golden Hills, but then begins the search for a nice spot to set up camp. It cannot be anywhere that would pose too much of a risk should the weather turn too harsh, but also nowhere you’d be spotted by every single passerby. 

Your horse’s hooves carefully carry you along the still slightly muddy terrain, across all the winding paths through valleys and hills. The landscapes still leave you in awe as the crisp autumn afternoon air fills your lungs. You can’t help but enjoy the colourful surroundings, the endless patterns of gold, red and dark green leaves that make you feel as if you had accidentally stepped into a painting. 

It feels nearly serene, were it not for the rapid heartbeat in your chest as you find yourself wondering whether he is already aware of your presence.

An idea pops into your mind. The idea of just placing the brooch on a rock at the side of the pathways and leaving it be, to avoid another encounter. Despite your anxiety, this idea is quickly shoved aside, simply because your feeling of responsibility over the small item is still there. The idea of leaving it out here, where any man or animal could mar and break it…It doesn’t sit right with you. So you press onward, keeping your eyes out.

Satisfaction puts a smile on your face when you finally come across a spot that seems fitting for your little plans. Higher up in the mountainside of goldenhills, surrounded by a few old stone structures and kept mostly dry by the old, large trees stretching upwards as if to poke the clouds that loom.

Over the course of the next hour, you are hard at work. With some struggle and help from nearby rocks to use as stepladders, you fasten a high line for your horse between two sturdy trees. After making sure the rope was a comfortable length for your companion, you make sure to give them a few pats and a very much needed kiss on their big, old nose.  

Next, you begin to set up your tent with just a …Tiny bit of struggle. 

Its small size luckily makes it easier once you get a good idea of what goes where. You give a relieved sigh once you finally place the wool blanket in the bottom of the tent. You crawl over it on your knees to place it properly, and then promptly turn around to drop on your back. Your hands are folded on your stomach as you take a breather. Doing all of this with essentially one arm was tougher than it looked.

The front of the tent is wide open, the entire structure currently functioning as more of a roof than a closed tent. With your legs comfortably stretched outward as you sit up, you rest with your thermos in hand. The hot drink warms your hands as you hold it close to your face. The steam of it gently sways across your face while your eyes look out over the scenery of Goldenhills and Jorvik beyond it. In the distance, you hear animals scuttering and leaves rustling with the wind. Soon enough, the audible breeze that had combed through the trees further away has reached you now, leaving you with a chill down your arms. 

With a sip from the small metal cup in your hands, your entire body and soul begin to warm up more and more. You gently smile as you glance over to your horse, who has been utterly enthralled in eating all the grass in sight. Their tail gently sways, the relaxed posture also making you feel a bit more at ease. Maybe this entire trip would be more calm than you had expected.

Time passes, as evident by the slowly sinking sun and the clock on your phone racing through the afternoon hours. You don’t plan to camp the entire night or sleep out here. You told yourself that the latest you’ll stay is midnight, then you’d make your way back home.

With a quiet noise of struggle leaving your throat, you lean to the side, trying to reach your bag and open it with one hand. Once you manage to get a good hold of it and you’re sure it won't topple over and spill all the contents onto the ground, you reach into it. Your hand rummages for a short moment while your eyebrows furrow. Despite your short struggle you manage to pull out the small, battery powered LED lantern you packed.

The switch at the bottom is flipped and the little light comes to life, the warm white LED illuminating your improvies campsite in lieu of the sun that continues to sink lower.

You look over to where your horse stands by your right. They seem relaxed, idly looking around, ears curious and nose getting stuck into every leaf and shrubbery to inspect it. The sight makes you smile. 

As if to directly counter the gentle scene in front of you, you hear aggressive rustling. You snap your head into the direction of the sound, over to the old trees the sound seems to be coming from. Your shoulders are tense and in the corner of your eyes you can see the way your horse seems to be alert. But it all mellows back out once you realise it’s merely two birds having a short tussle up in the crowns of the trees, the flapping of wings and a few short annoyed screeches making the situation more clear. After a second, your horse also seems to be way less interested in the sounds. With a nervous, relieved little smile, you bring your hand to rest on your chest and try to get your heart rate to go back down to something more reasonable. You feel the way it’s hammering inside your ribcage, but it soon relaxes. Still, the singular harmless scare is enough to keep your anxiety at a heightened state. Your eyes flicker around your surroundings, seeing shapes and movement in the shadows that reveal themselves as leaves and their shadows once you actually look closer. Your brain is busy handing you various terrible, worst case scenarios and suddenly you feel very exposed where you sit. You scooch backward into your tent a bit.

Mrs. Holdsworth’s words come to your mind, how she had read you like a book not too long ago. How you had given her your word that you’re safe with whatever you are messing around with…

With a calming breath, you let your hand wrap around the silver thermos again, opting to take a few more sips of your warm drink to try and keep your anxiety down, trying to ignore the tension in your back. You glance over to your companion again and a dark thought comes to your mind. What if they get hurt because of your little risky adventures? An undeniable pang of worry and guilt shoots through your chest at the thoughts, your expression pulling into a frown. You carefully adjust your hold on the small metal cup and bring it to your lips.

You recall all the stories you have heard of encounters with the horseman, and in each of them one thing remains clear - None of the horses were ever hurt. The realisation brings a downright bizarre mixture of relief and horror. If things do indeed go south, at least your best friend would be fine. For a brief moment you start to wonder if others would take good care of them, but you decide to kill that train of thought quicker than your brain had decided to kill you off in that made-up scenario.

You’ll be fine. You’re sure of it. Your biggest enemy as of right now were two magpies in the trees above.

Bit by bit, the drink in your thermos dwindles down to a few drops, the wind becomes more chilly and the ground under you is becoming gradually more uncomfortable to sit on. You adjust your seated posture a bit, hoping to get more comfortable while you screw the thermos shut for the last time that night.

Without being able to hold a warm cup or sip on a steaming drink, the coldness of the evening makes itself known to your skin and bones. You haven’t checked the time in a while but it sure does feel like you have been here all night.

The brightness of your phone screen is turned all the way down, causing it to barely add light to the scenery when you do check the time - 9:55PM. A huff leaves you at that. You had been out here for quite a while. But you aren’t going to back down now! Or at least, you aren’t planning to…

It feels like another 5 hours have passed, but it has been roughly 30 minutes. Your eyes keep wandering around the dark and undisturbed scenery below the hills. You can see the light of a few ferries from up here and even the lighthouse sometimes peeks through the trees, so subtle you could miss it.

Then, you hear it - Hooves. Their sound is muffled by the leaves and soil, but their rhythm is unmistakable. You swear, every hair on your body is standing on end as soon as the sound registers, breaking into the soundscape of the night that you had grown so used to in the past hours. 

You lean forward instinctively, your heart-rate picking up once more. Could it be? Did you downright silly plan work? Did the waiting pay off?

Quickly, your eyes flicker across your surroundings, trying to spot the familiar glow, the familiar colours, the familiar and eerie sight. Trying to spot anything to confirm your expectations.

All you can do is hope the random rider did not see the utter disappointment that crosses your expression once they round the corner. 

Seated on a dapple grey horse, is a rider from the fishing village. You remember seeing them occasionally whenever you would travel all the way up to Goldenleaf. Their own expression is one of gentle surprise, clearly not having expected anyone up here. Nevertheless a small camp.

“Oh, hi there!” They speak up, a smile audible in their voice while their horse comes to a stop not too far from your little spot. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Relaxed and with a small smile of your own, you wave them off, letting them know that its genuinely no hassle or issue. Even while you are talking with the stranger, a small voice in the back of your mind is stomping its feet in disappointment. 

“Don’t worry, it’s quite alright! This isn’t the most common spot for people to sit, anyways.” You reply to their apology with a soft shrug, pointing out the bizarre choice of yours with some humour. The stranger gives an amused snort at that.

The person seems to be a bit younger than you, but not by much. A year or two, maybe. Their face is partially hidden by a big scarf, their attire clearly showing they had been out in the cold for a while. Your own brows furrow slightly when you see their slightly embarrassed expression turn into something more akin to…Concern.

“I heard that they sent out another storm warning for tonight. You, uh, might want to head down to the stables to avoid getting surprised by it, just in case.”

Their tone is genuine, their worry clear as they glance around and upward to the still cloudy skies, as if to try and predict the storm’s arrival. 

Hearing the news makes your shoulders slump. It makes sense, you think to yourself, you’ve been sitting up here all evening with barely working mobile data to connect you to the internet. A storm warning would easily have been missed by you. You internally wince at that oversight. You could have really put yourself and your horse in danger.

You give the stranger a hum of acknowledgement.

“Ah, thank you for telling me.” You begin to get up onto your feet, brushing some dried grass off of your pants as you do so. “I probably should head down, then.”

The conversation between you and the stranger continues for a minute. They offer to help you pack up your things, but you assure them you got it. The two of you discuss the recent, insane weather and the frequent thunderstorms. They share a few stories from Goldenleaf and troubles the stable had faced, and you discuss some events from Moorland in a matching tone of exhaustion at the constant weather precautions.

You can’t help but feel grateful at how kind this rider is, offering to wait until you’re done so neither of you had to ride back down alone. Yet a part of you is worried at how willing they are to help you out, making you hope they aren’t too open and kind to just any stranger out here. Despite this, the conversation remains light and you even laugh at a few things while you pack the last few things into your bag.

Unbeknownst to you, the fiery eyes of an all too familiar mare had been keeping you in direct line of sight, sharp and focused as her and her rider want to ensure your safe departure, even from a distance. The stranger at your side seems to pose no threat whatsoever, yet the mare does not move, does not turn away until you and your horse have made your way down the path toward the village… 

With all your things packed back into your bag and your horse being given a few treats for having been so patient with your recent escapades, you begin your ride down the hills.

Your newest companion, the stranger from Goldenleaf, is ahead of you and setting a relaxed pace down the winding paths. Around you the trees loom tall and imposing as if to remind you that they have been here long before you and will continue to remain here long after you.

Each dried leaf that breaks under your horse's hoof is audible, the forest silent besides the nocturnal animals that continue to move around for food and safety. All the colours you had seen earlier, the scenery akin to brushstrokes in an expensive painting, now are swallowed by the dark of night, everything falling into a dim, blue hue.

You give a soft sigh, upset with how quickly your plans for the evening were forced to change. With a torn expression, you glance back the way you came from and up at the skies. No matter how determined you are to see this through, it would be idiotic to put yourself and your horse in danger for it.

The thought itself feels ironic, labelling the storm as dangerous but not the deadly omen you are so keen on meeting again. Maybe this is your saving grace, maybe Aideen has extended you her mercy and sent this kind stranger to get you out of harm's way. Maybe you should take this as your sign to stop chasing after something that could spell your demise. 

A rational corner of your brain seems to flicker back and forth between things. It reminds you how he has not harmed you in the past, but that does not mean you are safe in future encounters. You still do not know him. You do not have any idea of what to expect from him and how you might be pushing your luck with the headless horseman.

Your expression is a slight grimace of frustration and inner turmoil, a displeased scowl on your face as you can’t help the huff that escapes you. You can’t tell if your frustration comes from the fact that you now had to remain intertwined with it all for longer, with the brooch still in your possession - Or if it stems from not being able to have your next encounter with Thompson.

Carefully, you adjust your balance when your horse has to step over a particularly large branch. It must have been torn down in the recent storms, you note to yourself. You keep your eyes on the side of the branch, trying to make sure your horse doesn’t get caught on anything. 

And that’s when you see it. So subtle in the corner of your eye, you might have missed it. There, in the distance, is a flicker in the thicket.

You turn your head to look at it better, to see it more clearly. And sure enough, it’s there and it’s moving. The dense trees, bushes and the overall uneven terrain of Golden Hills make it hard to gauge the distance, but it seems to be quite far back. 

With your breath hitching, you nearly don’t want to take your eyes off of it, scared you won’t be able to spot it again if you were to lose it now. It’s not long before your heart shoots up into your throat, your thoughts going into too many directions at once. 

Your horse is still continuing their leisurely pace down the hill, the ride in front of you also visibly relaxed on the short journey. You’re going to have to make a decision, and you have to make it fast - With every step you’re not only losing more of the visibility, but also time. 

What if it’s just a lantern and you’re doing this for nothing? The question is quickly tossed aside, simply because lanterns do not move like that. They do not illuminate like that. You swear that suddenly, the brooch weighs a ton as it rests in your pocket, the weight of it so much more prominent as you forget to breathe. Now or never. But is it smart to rush back into something you seem to have narrowly avoided..?

“H-hey,” You call out to the rider ahead of you, mentally cursing the small quiver in your tone as you try to hide your racing thoughts once they turn their torso to face you. “I forgot something up there, you go on ahead. I’ll be down in a bit!”

Gently letting your horse come to a stop, you watch as the other person does the same. Their expression shows slight surprise, slight concern, before they smile.

“Okay, well... Just make sure you make it back down in time!” 

“Of course, thank you, again.” 

You wave at them with an expression of gratitude for their help, and they return it before continuing along with their horse. You watch them for a second, watching the way they idly continue downhill, to the warm, safe stables with multiple other people and a lack of danger. For a second, you hesitate. You should just follow them. You should leave, get some food in your system, rest and leave this behind you. 

Looking back uphill to your right, you nearly cannot see the warm flickers anymore, making you picture just how far the intimidating mare must have stepped away already. You grit your teeth. 

The dirt under your horses galloping hooves is kicked up wildly, the leaves crunching and rustling as you and your companion continue at a nearly urgent pace. The branch your horse had so carefully stepped over is now leapt across with little hassle. You can feel the way the cold air becomes biting wind against your face as your horse rushes back up the hill. Between trees and rocks, traversing hills and dips in the ground with elegance and strength. You can feel the wind in your hair as you make your way up to where you had initially seen the flickering flames. 

Your heart is hammering in your chest, threatening to break your ribs with the force it seems to have, while your pulse is rushing in your ears. Somehow you simultaneously hope to find him and find nothing at the same time. But, if your sudden turn around is anything to go by, one part seems to outweigh the other, even if you’re not willing to admit it to yourself just yet.

Coming to a stop quite a distance behind your earlier campsite, you look around, trying to spot which direction they must have gone. Instinctively you look for any remains on the ground, any signs of those fiery hooves having made their way through here, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. Your mind goes back to the last encounters with her, and you do recall the way her flaming form seems to not cause harm to her surroundings…

With your lips pursed, you look back up, your eyes slightly narrow and your breath still to completely focus on any giveaway. Any light. Any sign. Your fingers twitch around the reigns you’re holding, anticipation in your veins keeping you tense like a bowstring.

A confused gasp leaves you once you spot another flicker of light, but…It’s wrong. You can’t pinpoint it exactly, the short flicker and flash of it having been way too short to even properly look at it but, it seems…Wrong. 

It seems too cold in its hue, too chaotic in its brightness and, horrifyingly, too close to you. 

The light that you assume to be Thompson and his mare was quite the distance away when you last saw it move through the gaps between trees and shrubbery, far enough away that it nearly feels fruitless to continue after them. But this flicker…It seems to have been just a few metres away from you and your horse. You can even feel the way your companion seems to grow somewhat anxious, which is not usually their behaviour around the headless phantom. You watch their tail swishing and ears moving around. It can’t have been him, you conclude.

You keep your eyes focused on the area you had caught the flicker in, waiting with baited breath to spot it again. With a gentle hand you make sure to give your horse some soothing pats along its neck, quietly speaking to calm them down.

Something about the situation puts a rock into your ribcage, a heavy weight dragging down like lead, resting at the base of your chest and nearly crushing your diaphragm with a cold, cold instinct of fear. It’s deadly silent for a moment, only the wind reminding you of your surroundings as it rustles the leaves.

Before you can think further about any of the things you feel under your skin, your eyes widen and immediately snap over to the light once more. This time you catch it more clearly, the way it seems to rush from behind the trees to a different spot. At first it reminds you of someone in a reflective coat, something you’d see worn near the streets of town to avoid accidents. But it doesn’t quite line up, especially given that it just…Disappears. 

Your face is scrunched up in confusion. Is it a reflection from somewhere else that looks bizarre up here? Is it some swarm of insects buzzing about that gleam and glitter? No, no it’s too bright for that, you’re sure. It can’t be a person, it doesn’t seem to be an animal. Is your mind playing tricks on you? Are your eyes seeing flickers where there are none? 

The unease is still sticking to you like wax when you urge your horse to continue forward once more, moving in a trot and trying to put distance between yourself and that specific spot. A shuddering sigh leaves your lips while your brain continues to race, trying to figure out what you had just seen. You opt to push it into the back of your mind for now, not wanting to freak yourself out over what could very well have been nothing of note. 

With newfound determination, you focus your gaze back upward to the faraway rows of trees, all but straining your eyes to find the familiar, less unnerving glow again. When you do notice it again, your shoulders relax a bit, glad that you did not lose them during that odd startle. Once again you cannot help but wonder if all these interruptions are trying to tell you something, trying to keep you away, keep you safe. 

You’re about to urge your horse to pick up its pace again and rush after the deadly duo, when you suddenly hear a voice call out from behind you. You twist your upper body somewhat uncomfortably while simultaneously stopping your horse in its tracks. Wide eyes and furrowed brows put your face into an expression of confusion and alertness. The voice was clearly audible, but the words seem to have muddled together, your brain unable to pull it apart into a coherent sentence. You stare behind yourself for a moment longer, ears and eyes focused to try and hear it again, to see something.

After another uneventful moment, you chalk it up to pareidolia of the howling winds and move onward.

Back in your earlier gallop, you rush through the autumnal forest, the cover of the night nearly threatening to swallow you and your horse whole, but you remain hellbent to reach your destination. You cannot help but wonder if Thompson and his mare are already long aware of you giving chase after them. You can only hope and pray to Aideen that they do not see your actions as aggressive or malicious. 

A satisfied gleam enters your eyes, nearly making them sparkle in the dark of night. You’re getting closer, you can see it. They must be moving at a more relaxed pace. Oddly enough, the mental image of the headless horseman and his companion on a relaxed, calm walk through the woods evokes a feeling in your chest you cannot quite pinpoint.

Thinking back to when you had last seen them, the way they interacted with each other, that sacred bond they so clearly share and the way it felt wrong to be close enough to them to nearly feel it. The thought of them, together and undisturbed in the stillness before a storm, Thompsons oddly gentle demeanour and his mares confidence - It nearly makes you want to smile. 

Any thoughts in your mind halt with a screech and the next second brings utter chaos. First you barely spot what is happening, second your horse sears upward, forcing you to lean into the movement to keep your balance. 

In front of you appears a cold, white shape, before it quickly seems to rush behind a nearby tree that’s surrounded by shrubbery. Your eyes are wide and a startled, short gasp leaves your lips at the sight. 

You huff when the front hooves of your horse hit the ground again, the thud dull and loud. Immediately, you begin to soothe them, leaning forward into their neck somewhat to ease them out of their panic as you embrace and pet them carefully.

“It’s okay…” You speak, voice hushed as your eyes continue to move around frantically. Your hands are beginning to tremble, your fingers unsteady against your horse's fur. You can nearly feel the way all the colour has drained out of your face. 

The only thing on your mind is the way that damned thing moved. How human it moved. The way it appeared out of nowhere, the way it looked so unnatural yet each movement looked nearly human, just ever so slightly uncanny. 

Your mind is running wild, wondering if you’re encountering a ghost, a spirit. You nearly call that idea silly but then you remember everything else you’ve been experiencing and suddenly the thought seems more plausible than ever.

When you try to recall what this…Thing looked like, you struggle. You can’t quite make out what its height was, your angle from atop the horse skewing the perspective slightly, and the way you startled definitely did not help. You can’t remember any expression, a face - The thought only makes you shudder. 

Your entire body feels like jello after multiple startles, yet somehow your muscles feel tense and rock solid. One more thing like that and you’d drop dead off of your horse, you think to yourself.

Whatever this thing is, it seems to be following you, maybe even taunting you. Yet it seems nearly…Innocent in what it does, startling you and then hiding again, it reminds you of a child, misbehaving and messing around, and then hiding as soon as the adults react.

Trying to keep your heart from reaching up into your throat, you continue onwards, this time at a walking pace. It’s at this point that you realise that you have entirely lost the last little flickers that alerted you to where the mysterious mare and her rider have disappeared off to. Your entire rush back up into the hills is for nothing, you realise.

Your shoulders slump and an annoyed scoff escapes you. 

“Shit.” Your voice is low, your tone defeated and resigned. You not only gave up your opportunity at a comfortable rest by Goldenleaf and getting back home before rainfall, but you risked your safety by blindly running back up the hills in the pitch black all for…Nothing. You chew the inside of your lip, feeling nearly bashful that it backfired so badly and -

“That’s a bad word!” 

You nearly topple off of your saddle as you give a short yelp. You twist your neck to the left so fast you swear you feel something pull. 

Standing to your left, barely distinguishable, is a child. His short frame is wrapped in some unnatural, ethereal white glow. The kid’s entire shape seems to be obscured by it and it’s hard to tell where the kid’s form ends and the white glow begins. The glow is subtle, all things considered, but it still faintly illuminates the surrounding leaves. 

Your shoulder slump, a cold sadness grabbing hold of your heart. A child. A ghostly, young boy who is currently grinning up at you, giggling at the fact that you just swore. His face is hard to focus on, his shape clearly not meant to be seen by the human eye, but you can still see his soft face squishing together with his big grin. 

You feel frozen. There is the undeniable urge to hold the boy in your arms, to comfort him, to bring him home to his parents, to weep. He cannot be older than seven years. The weight of that realisation makes your throat run dry, the faintest sting of tears in your eyes. What had happened to such a young kid..?

Looking down at the boy, your mind doesn’t even have the room or time to freak out at the fact that this seems to be a ghost, a real ghost right in front of you. All you can focus on is how small he is, how young he looks, how wrong it looks to see him in this undead state. 

He’s holding his hands behind his back, wobbling back and forth on his feet, still smiling up at you, amused at having caught an adult being bad. The giddy posture of his just makes you swallow the lump in your throat, unsure what to even say. The boy beats you to it, either way.

“You can’t say those things!” His voice is light, like a windchime, but slightly hard to understand and nearly muffled. You can hear the excitement in his tone, the soft giggle. Oh, how your chest is aching. “What will your mama think!?”

You can’t help but give the boy a smile, the sadness in it would be evident to anyone older, but the boy clearly misses the heaviness of your tone as you reply: 

“You’re right… Y-you got me.”  You swallow down more emotions that threaten to bubble up. You can feel the way your horse remains alert, curious but it doesn’t seem to be unnerved or tense. Somehow, that just makes you even sadder.

When you open your mouth to ask the boy what he’s doing out here, you’re cut off by the sounds of heavy hooves. Your eyes widen a fraction and in the corner of your vision you can see the way your horse’s ears move to point toward the source of the sound. 

Hesitant to take your eyes off of the small, ghostly child, you turn to look up toward the right. And sure enough, the sight makes the air leave your lungs. 

Your eyes immediately meet the gaze of the mare, and as always, it feels like she is able to peer right into your heart and soul. For a second, you wonder if she truly can. Her pace is relaxed, her head somewhat low as she seems to be in no rush. Her imposing energy nearly makes you wish you had not gone through with this plan. The entire evening, things seemingly tried to lure you away from the headless horseman, yet you pushed past it all. And now you are facing the consequences, her eyes intelligent and sharp.

Allowing your eyes to move upward, you let your gaze wander over Thompson. Your eyes stay on the ripped fabric that still hangs by his chest, knowing the missing piece is in your very own pocket. The thought makes your pulse spike, your posture tense. 

Mare and rider both seem relaxed, moving in a shallow curve to come to a stop in front of you, but facing the child. With the way they're standing, you're looking directly at the mare's side at a slight angle. What breaks the silence, is another giggle from the young boy, who is still standing off to the side. 

You can see his giddy body language continue, one hand clumsily on his face as he grins big and bright. It’s like watching a young kid play hide and seek, giggling when they are found and wanting nothing more than to continue playing. 

The mare gives a huff through her nose, her fiery mane flickering in the wind, its warmth reaching you in mere seconds of proximity. Without the rain you had seen her in last time, you are actually able to spot the way small embers fly upward in between the flames, floating up into the air like stars. 

For a moment it nearly seems like Thompson and the boy are having a conversation you cannot hear, something you are not able to catch. You notice the way Thompson’s gloved hand adjusts his holds on the reigns, his arms relaxed as he does this. 

Meanwhile, your own knuckles are nearly white under your gloves and your jaw is so tense it might just snap. Tonight has been nothing but confusing, throwing you off of your balance at every turn it seems to get. The scene in front of you is far from what you could have ever expected. 

Your gaze snaps over to Thompson when you catch movements from him, your eyes widening and your mouth tightening into a thin line as you watch the way he draws his sword from where it is strapped to his back. 

The blade glimmers in the flickering light of the mare’s flames, the sight of it making your blood run cold and your mind flare up in absolute terror and confusion. Your heart is beating loudly in your ears. Watching him wordlessly, you sit in your saddle absolutely shocked. 

What is he drawing his sword against? The child!? You!? Both seem utterly asinine, but as your mind jumps to worst case scenarios, you cannot help but hope it is you instead of the poor boy. A voice in your mind is loudly demanding to grab your reins and make down the hill as fast as possible, to get away from the deadly omen that has just drawn a weapon in your presence. But deep down, you know that if he is planning to harm you, even running wouldn’t help you. So as helpless as watching the reaper angle a scythe, you keep your eyes on him.

Forgetting to breathe, you watch the way he lowers his sword to his side, his shoulder moving when he twists the handle in his hand to adjust his grip on it. The ease with which he does this clearly tells you just how used he is to the shape and weight of it in his hand. Even though he isn’t even turned toward you, the thought makes you swallow dryly. 

You try to find answers in the mare and Thompson’s posture, but both seem neither agitated nor tense. Thompson’s movements seem stern, but not…Threatening.

His right arm is extended to the side as he slowly raises the sword, the tip of the blade pointed directly somewhere far off in the forest. Your brows furrow as all you can do is watch. Worried and confused, you look back down to the child, who seems entirely unconcerned and still oddly giddy as he looks down toward where the sword is pointed. Is this all a game to the kid? Are you… Missing something? You take note of the way the blade is not pointed at either you or the boy, so what is…? You catch the subtle way Thompsons torso seems to tilt slightly in response to the boy's laughter, his shoulders uneven as he does so. It reminds you of the posture one would have when tilting their head. 

Picturing that little gesture is all it takes for your angle of the situation to switch around. The Mare’s little huff, the way Thompson seems to be in no rush, the giggly demeanour of the child, the way Thompson seems stern but not in the way a deadly phantom would be, but rather…Like a mentor. Like a Parent.

Your eyes soften when you look down to the kid, who grins up at you one more time before hurriedly making his way down the direction Thompson was pointing toward. It’s hard to tell with the way the ghostly wisps of white obscure the child, but it nearly looks as if he’s waving to you.

With tiny, quick steps and a certain skip to his pace, the boy rushes behind one of the trees and…Disappears. You wait for a moment, waiting to see his little smiling face to pop back up…But it remains still. The boy is gone.

This…This isn’t a terrible phantom coming to punish some lost soul, this is…A shepherd. Someone guiding the poor young boy back on track, he’s… Here to pick him up. You have heard countless stories on Jorvik, talking about how this is the season for ghosts to stumble back into the land of the living. It makes sense that a young kid would be the one to waddle furthest from home and need to be taken back safely.

 The little ghost was playing around, lost in the woods, away from where he needs to be…So rider and mare came to help him back home. No wonder their body language nearly seemed fond, rather than annoyed or angered. The raise of the sword was no threat of violence, but instead how a parent would point to the doorway and urge you to come back inside after missing curfew. The comparison makes something in your chest sting. Had you…Misunderstood them entirely? Has all your worry and your panic been misplaced?

Your gaze flickers back up to Thompson, watching his back while he lowers his arms. You can see the way his shoulders slump, as if to sigh. He turns his torso back toward you, his companion adjusting her stance as well and facing you more, the reins in one of Thompson's hands. 

With practised ease, he sheathes the sword onto his back once more, the glimmering blade disappearing. The lack of a weapon in his hand does wonders to help your nerves. But watching this all unfold did quick work of a lot of your anxiety already.

You remain seated in your saddle somewhat stiffly, your eyes flickering back to the tree the boy had disappeared behind. The idea of him being gone makes your lips turn downward. 

“Where is…Where did he go?” 

Your question is hesitant and your tone somewhat hushed, unsure if you’ll even get an answer. It also sounds slightly strangled, as if a band is wrapped around your throat. With your sadness and worry for the ghostly child visible on your face you, look back to Thompson. 

He watches you for a second, his posture nearly..Sad. Thompson raises one hand in a loose fist and gently lets it rest against his chest, right at the height of one's heart. The reply feels relieving and heartbreaking as you try your best to understand it. “Home..?” You all but mouth, your voice nearly too airy to be audible. 

Thompson gives a gentle bow in confirmation. You repeat the single word again, whispering it to yourself as you glance back to the trees. 

You cannot help but wonder what it means. Home for a young ghost like that. Is it lonely? Is it full of his favourite candy that he can never get stomach aches from? Is it welcoming and warm? Are there friends for him to play hide and seek with? The heaviness of your thoughts make your eyes sting for a moment. 

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath. You don’t notice the way Thompson and his mare catch your sadness. 

Once you open your eyes again, you remember what you had even come all the way out here in the first place. You have countless questions you wish to ask, things you want to know - But you know that this is neither the time nor place for it. With still shaking hands, you look down and look through your pocket. In the corner of your vision you can spot the way the fiery mare leans slightly closer, her snout curious, trying to see what you’re doing. Thompson also straightens out his posture somewhat, clearly also confused for a moment at your sudden, wordless search.

A small sound of satisfaction leaves your lips when you manage to pull the brooch out of your coat pocket. You run your gloved thumb over the cold, golden metal once, an unnamed feeling spreading through your chest. Nevertheless, you give a soft sigh and gently fold the fabric a bit nicer underneath the brooch. 

Both of them recognize what you’re holding immediately, and both seem to be equally as surprised. 

“I - I came to give it back to you.” You try your hardest to keep your voice even, but your nerves are still present no matter what you try. “Thank you for lending it to me.”

Thompson's hands raise ever so slightly, like he is surprised at your words. Before you can say anything else or try to read his body language any more, you let out a short, surprised sound as the mare steps closer. To your credit, even Thompson seems slightly startled by the sudden movement, so you don’t feel as bad. 

You lean away from her slightly, your heart racing at the proximity to the intimidating mare. Her snout presses into your palm that’s holding the brooch, seemingly inspecting it. Your torso leans away from her, your eyes wide as you let her do what she wishes. 

In the meantime, your horse seems entirely unbothered, simply a bit curious at best. The mare’s flaming mane warms up your skin and as you watch her nudge and sniff the brooch, you cannot help but smile a bit, the way she is acting nearly …Cute.

You don’t realise, but Thompson catches the way you begin to smile, and it seems to put him at ease a bit, watching you relax around the mare. Once she’s done, a short huff escapes her while she leans back, nearly as if she is pleased with whatever she was checking it for. 

A nervous, little laugh leaves your lips at that. You lift your hand up higher and extend it out toward Thompson, for him to take the brooch from you. 

You nearly hesitate in your movement, your hand slightly stuttering. Do you really want to give it back? Lose the last thing that ties you to the headless horseman? What if this is the last time you’ll see him and the mare? 

Before you can worry about it any further, you feel the leather of his gloves brush your palm as he takes it from your grasp, his hand so gentle you can barely believe it’s the same hands that held his sword with such ease.

He runs his gloved thumb over the golden metal, just like you did. He seems slightly surprised, possibly at the way it shines and glimmers after you cleaned it. His hand closes around the brooch and he gives you another gentle bow, this one longer than the last, a sign of his gratitude. You cannot help but wonder, would there be a smile on his face?

While giving your horse a few pats on its neck, you watch as Thompson carefully pins the brooch back where it belongs, using it to put the ripped green fabric back together, leaving it now only connected by the pins needle. It’s an odd sight, forever a sign of your involvement in his existence. A reminder, you were here. It nearly feels surreal. 

For a second, he adjusts the brooch somewhat, until he seems happy with the result and lets his hand fall back down to rest on his thigh. The sight of him gently fiddling with a brooch is nearly endearing.

His mare gently begins to step past you and your eyes never leave the two of them. Her heavy hooves sound muffled on the soil and leaves, and you mentally note that you were indeed right - She leaves no damage in her path. Once she walks past you and the distance between you and the mare becomes greater, you feel the lack of warmth nearly violently quick. A shiver runs under your skin, becoming audible when it gets past your lips.

You watch the way Thompson gently comes to a stop again, and you wonder what he’ll do next. He’s a few steps ahead of you, facing to head deeper into the hills. Then, he holds his hand out, beckoning you to follow. You see the way the mare’s gaze lands on you as he looks behind herself as well. 

Immediately, your eyebrows move up and your lips fall slightly agape. You stare at them for a moment, feeling your heart hammering in your chest at the option of joining them on a ride. Above you, you spot two magpies landing in a nearby tree, leaves rustling where they land.

You swallow nervously, your eyes falling back down to the pair that is still waiting on your answer. 

With Goldenleaf and the storm forecast temporarily forgotten, you nod, a small smile on your face as you gently urge your horse to fall into pace next to Thompson and his mare.

Immediately you feel warm again.

[minjoonapio]

🎐 Wind Breaker Chapter 159: Celebratory Toast

THOUGHTS 💭 [ ⚠️ SPOILERS ⚠️]

🧵Versions: Twitter/X | Threads | Blue Sky 📖Where to read the manga: Kodansha | Other 📺Watch Season 1 now (S2 in 04.2025!): Crunchyroll, Netflix

We’re actually getting a victory party sooner than expected!

WE ALL DESERVE THIS!! 😭the sunny & bright pages are such a breath of fresh air 😮‍💨

It took almost a month for our boys and the town to recover. I can imagine the school must have suspended classes first for the boys to heal and help repair the damages.

Oh man, look at our Class 1-1 all up and about and just being teenagers. We miss this.

And we got Nirei wearing clips again!!! He looks so cute 🥰

Wow, there are seats both on the rooftop and on the school grounds. There's so many people! It’s almost like a school festival.

Pfft our typical Ume & Hiragi shenanigans 😅 Ume’s voice will always be loud dear Hiragi.

Our dear gang friends are here 🥹Aww, look at them all shy...and nervous! I mean, this doesn’t happen everyday y’know…celebrating and being friendly with another gang. All the more for the Gravel gang.

They’re really the best for going all the way to come and help; Especially after that scary hoard of “❌" in the Bofurin group chat (the traumaaaa). Our anxiety and stress spike ever since that happened.

I immediately remembered Umemiya’s bow to the grade captains & vice captains. And now he’s doing the same thing in thanking the other gangs who helped them. The panels even look exactly the same!🥹

To be honest, I don't know what I would call this party 😅 our leader is strong but not great at coming up with party names. Haha.

From “Sakura’s first conversation anniversary” to the simple “thank you” party. To think Hiragi suggested "Welcome party" the first time this kind of thing happened, and I believe Umemiya thought "Thank You Party" would be okay after that. 🤭

We’ve been waiting for their Summer BBQ party with Umemiya’s grown veggies and now it’s happening!! Let's go!!

Sakura and Nirei are in the BBQ station...and Sugishita is not having it. I understand him though. He helped and worked hard in growing those veggies and if most of them are burnt…heck no! Sakura is trying his best, Sugishita. Have patience for your fighting partner.

And look at their SUMMER UNIFORMS!! They’re all short sleeve and white! It’s so cuuute!!

The Class 1-1 boys are growing on me. I mean, look at them being all supportive (and showing off) to Sakura. I love their dynamic. I don't know, it warms my heart when they call Sakura “The Cap” 🥰 aww

"The Cap's gotta make his move" -- what do they mean though? Why does it sound like their Cap has a crush on someone and needs to take his chances 😆 Probably they meant he needs to go enjoy and socialize (knowing how he is) rather than be stuck grilling meat.

I'm not sure about their grilling skills though. If you’ve read the special comic, y’know what i mean.

Nii sensei…you really drew Sakura like this. 🤣I feel like Sakura was pacing to and fro in his room, itching to go see everyone outside Furin and thank them.

Oh, wait. Don't tell me he also looks like this when he went to thank Shishitoren; especially in facing Togame. 🫢 I can hear the Second-in-command be like "Sakuraaa~ is that you??" the same way Kanji reacted.

Same, Tsubaki, same. I am like truly happy and proud to see Sakura hanging out, caring and talking to his friends. Look how much he pouts and blushes. He's come such a long way *sniffs*

Their reactions though from giddy to embarrassment when they heard he still sucks in playing games. Please, Nii sensei. We need an extra or one-shot of Sakura finally winning one!

Oh what’s this? Why end here? Not gonna lie, it’s like Togame is abt to confess. (I mean, throughout the arc, he’s always been “thats our Sakura!”)

Fangirling aside 😅 It seems like they’re about to reveal something especially with those reactions…orrr we’re overthinking. Maybe they're just glad to see the leaders of Shishitoren. And it's just the beginning of a beautiful friendship between these four gangs (Bofurin, Shishitoren, Roppo Ichiza, and Gravel).

Side note: If you look at the food he's holding, Choji is finally trying out a fresh Red Bean bread of the town that Umemiya shared before (Shishitoren arc) 🥹

There’s really not much to analyze here. Just pure fun and good vibes! And when it’s too fun, it feels too short 🥲 (despite it being the usual 20 pages)

We didn't get to see Ren Kaji 🎧 though and his vice captains. Kaji had a mentally draining fight so I hope they're doing okay.

I'm curious as to what’s next for the boys other than “the talk”. I'm not only talking about Chika and Umemiya's talk, but Umemiya and Sakura's.

I feel like that's something we need to have where they talk and ask each other about their fights. I'm sure our Bofurin leader wants to know how was Sakura's fight with the legendary Endo. They did leave it up to him to defeat one of Bofurin's shadows. And his fight did leave a dent on Sakura's mental and emotional state.

And Sakura would want to be clear with Umemiya what Endo was talking about. It seems Endo did say those things about Umemiya to Sakura out of spite and jealousy, but I'm sure Sakura still has questions about it; especially when Endo noticed how distant Sakura looked.

I'm guessing we will see that conversation in a flashback. I really hope we do.

Other than that, Nii Satoru sensei had a Q & A with Thai fans about the future of Wind Breaker and if my memory serves me right, we will have more info about Kiryu and Suo in the future.

I also hope for Sakura's back story soon too. I have my guesses that someone from Sakura's old town, someone familiar, will appear and trigger it.

Obviously, we don't want it now. I hope our mangaka will ease us in to the next arc. We just experienced an intense and stress-filled 59 chapters after all. So let's enjoy these light panels while we can.😋💚🎐🍻🍖

Thank you for reading! See ya in the next chapter next week! 🎐

-melo x

🧵Versions: Twitter/X | Threads | Blue Sky 📖Where to read the manga: Kodansha | Other 📺Watch Season 1 now (S2 in 04.2025!): Crunchyroll, Netflix

[thethreeeyed-raven]

first meeting

make me feel masterlist

navigation | warnings : none? | dream of the endless playlist | tags : @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom , @knight-of-flowerss , @fangsp1der-2099

“Miss Y/n!”

One of your maids entered your bedroom and had drawn the curtains. You sat up tiredly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and shielding them from the bright sun when you opened them to look at the woman.

“Yes, Prudence?” You asked her groggily.

She gave you a small smile, placing the fresh clean clothes she had folded in her arm on the chair in front of your dresser. “Your mother wants you downstairs as soon as you're ready. Your sister, the Duchess, is here for a visit.”

You sighed, already knowing what the visit was for.

“Finally! The diamond is awake!” Violet beamed with glee, taking your hands in hers and leading you to sit next to Daphne.

“Mama, I’ve just opened my eyes.”

Violet shook her head. “No my dear, you should be excited. You're the diamond of the season!”

“Unfortunately.” You whispered under your breath, causing you to receive a whack on the arm from Daphne.

“You know, I actually quite enjoyed my time as the season’s diamond, it was wonderful!” She exclaimed cheerfully.

You rolled your eyes with exasperation. “Yes, only because you got a loving husband out of it.”

“And so will you,” Daphne took your hands in hers, squeezing them with reassurance. “You just have to try.”

But I don’t want to get married…

Morpheus awoke with a light knock on the door.

If it was any other time, he wouldn’t have heard it. But he had been awake for hours. He hadn’t slept properly in a few days, only getting a couple of hours in.

“My lord?” He heard one of his most trusted maids say through the door.

“Yes, Lucienne?” He said exhaustedly.

“Your sister, Death, is here. Would you like me to tell her-”

Morpheus cut her off, suddenly wide awake now. “No. Tell her I shall be only a few moments.”

He rose from the bed, changing into a white dress shirt, and a pair of black trousers. The shirt was half buttoned because he couldn’t be bothered.

“Death.”

Death rose from her seat on the plush black couch, giving her dear brother a smile. “Dream, I have been waiting for you.”

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” Morpheus suddenly felt guilty.

She embraced him in a tight hug before sitting back down, patting the space next to her.

“It’s been too long my dear brother, how have you been?”

Morpheus sighed, he hated having to tell people things about him. “Okay, I suppose.”

Death frowned, but shrugged it off. “So, I saw you the other night at the announcement ball. You were talking with the Viscount Bridgerton.”

“Indeed I was, though I did not notice you there. Were you lurking in the shadows?”

He smirked and Death chuckled. “Like you wish you were doing?”

They both shook their heads and the laughter ceased.

“Talking of the Bridgertons, one of their ladies has yet again been named the Diamond of the Season.” Death tilted her head. “Have you spoken to her yet? You are good friends with her brother.”

“Anthony and I are simply good acquaintances, I don’t-”

“Do friends.” Death shook her head and rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. “But perhaps you should put yourself out there, maybe try and catch Miss Bridgerton’s attention.”

“I don’t want to catch anyone's attention. I’m fine as I am, alone.”

You had decided that balls and galas were now the bane of your existence.

Anthony stood off to the side with Kate, Daphne and Simon. All of them watching as you would be bombarded with men asking for a dance, or asking if you wanted a drink.

“No thank you.” You rejected once again.

You walked up the the four with an angry look. “Could you please do something about these animals? They won’t leave me alone!”

“Well you are the seasons diamond, men are going to be throwing themselves at your feet.” Kate responded sympathetically.

“Well can they throw themselves out of the window instead?!” You whisper-shouted.

Anthony have you a pointed look, getting ready to scold you until Simon interrupted him.

“Ah look who it is! Lord Morpheus.” Simon reached in for a handshake.

Morpheus reciprocated. “Good evening gentlemen, Duchess, Viscountess, and the splendid Diamond. You haven’t happened to have seen my sister have you?”

Anthony shook his head. “We haven’t, why do you ask?”

Morpheus sighed and leaned in a bit so no one else but your little group could hear. “She’s saying I need to get myself on the market, she’s been watching me all night.”

The whole time he spoke you couldn’t stop looking at him. You watched the way his jawline move as he uttered secret words and the way his eyes shone slightly in amusement.

You swallowed nervously, hoping no one else noticed your ogling, but of course, Kate and Daphne notice everything.

“Well Miss Diamond of the Season here was just saying how she would like all of the men to throw themselves out of the window instead of at her feet.” Kate chuckled slightly.

Your cheeks reddened when Morpheus turned to look at you. And then you gave him a sheepish smile.

He huffed in amusement at the remark, flashing you a smirk. “I can’t say you’re wrong.”

Why did you like the way his voice sounded? Why was he holding eye contact so intensely with you? 

“My dear guests.”

Once again, the interaction was cut short by another one of the Queen’s speeches.

“As you know, this is a ball to celebrate the Diamond of the Season.”

All eyes diverted to you for a few seconds before their attention went back to the Queen.

“So today, I have decided that the Diamond shall have a dance.”

Your eyes widened and Anthony laughed under his breath.

“I’m glad you find my suffering funny brother.” You glared at him from the corner of your eye.

“Come to the centre please, Miss Bridgerton.” The Queen beckoned you with her order and her hand.

You slowly made your way to the centre of the ballroom.

“The Diamond shall have a dance to celebrate their achievement, and they shall have their own choice of man to share this dance with.”

The Queen stood confidently with a smile, waiting impatiently for you to choose.

You looked desperately towards Anthony and your eyes frantically looked around the room.

You didn’t want to dance with any of these men, in fact you didn’t want to dance at all!

Morpheus’ eyes danced around the room, finding his sister.

Death looked at him and then nodded in your direction, clearly telling him that he should make himself known.

He simply looked away trying to ignore her, when his eyes locked with yours.

You raised your brows, silently asking him if you could dance with him.

He nodded once, letting you know that it was okay.

You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and stalked towards Morpheus apprehensively.

“Might I share a dance with you my lord?”