#i am blinded by love and i embrace that fully

[wildsaltair]

[pseudowho]

Asking the JJK Men if it's in yet

"Is it in yet?"

feat. Nanami, Toji, TrueForm!Sukuna and Higuruma

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Nanami:

Kento stopped dead in his tracks, his cock only pressed halfway in. Embraced beneath him, cuddlefucking in missionary, you tried to keep a straight face, as if you weren't about to eep! from the delicious stretch of just half in.

Without glasses on, Kento still, somehow, managed to look over his glasses at you. His voice was mild, almost conversational, as he sought clarification.

"Is it...in?"

"...yeah, is it in yet?"

Something prickled over Kento's shoulders. He scoffed, heaving a sigh and bracing himself on his elbows. He unclipped his watch in one deft movement, laying it on the pillow beside your head.

"Ask me again in one minute. Then three. Then five."

You felt a droplet of sweat run down your soul.

"...Kento, I was just fucking--"

"--no, no, I insist. One minute."

"What are you going to--"

Kento slammed his cock into you so hard, you jolted up the bed with a shriek. If his abs hadn't held you in place beneath him, you'd have hit the headboard. Shocked, groaning from the wet slaps of Kento absolutely railing you, bottoming out until you could hardly see, you couldn't help but let out a breathy giggle.

"--c-can't...can't-- haaaaah, Kento!"

Time lost all meaning. Kento braced on his elbows, dragging his cock halfway out again with a grunt, and stopping. He glowered down at you.

"Ask me again."

You whimpered, digging your nails into his shoulders. You swallowed, trembling in anticipation.

"Is...is it, uh...in yet--"

Kento slammed into you again, creamy white lube squelching out of you onto the bed as you muffled your cries into the pillow, swearing you could feel him in your ribs.

Kento continued this for three, five, seven, nine, eleven minutes, until you were forced to admit, begrudgingly, that he and his seed were definitely in.

Higuruma:

Hiromi's eyes fluttered open. Having just released a sinful whimper from you sinking down onto his length, his brain suddenly short-circuited in fractious self-doubt and hyper analysis. In the end, nothing he could think took precedence, apart from a dumb:

"I'm-- I'm sorry? Is it...?"

Hiromi grasped your hips, pulling his shirt up and gripping it between his teeth so he could see where you were joined in his lap. He bucked up, just once, pausing for just long enough to shiver and moan at the slick, wet velvet of you. His head tipped back again with a weary sigh.

"You know," Hiromi chastised, grasping your hips to roll you over his cock, his hands strong, confident, "I'm so fucking tired, I'd have believed you. That I wasn't in."

You smirked above him, eliciting hushed whimpers and groans as you started to ride him. Hiromi allowed you to settle into your rhythm, before he berated you again.

"But also," he bickered, "how dare you, you cheeky cow, 'is it in yet', like I don't rail you blind every night with my 'is it in yet'--

You laughed, his chastisement turned punishing as he bounced you on him with glee, comedy turned feral.

"Oooo-ooohhh fuck-- love it when you-- when you think you're being funny-- love it--" Hiromi groaned, his voice muffled, his shirt hem between his teeth again as his eyes fixated on your stretched pussy sliding down his cock. You laughed, whimpering, breathless.

"I--I am funny--"

"--yeah yeah, alright, sweetheart-- keep telling yourself that--"

Toji:

Intending to hold onto your hair just a bit, Toji instead pulled you up fully, from your hands and knees. With your back to his chest, speared upon him, you squealed. You felt the bulbous tip of him bully against your cervix, and squirmed, gasping his name.

"The fuck you mean, 'is it in yet?"?"

You groaned, regretting your decision already. Toji reached up and gently slapped your cheek, until your eyes opened, and he pointed to the mirror in front of you. You could see him smirking over your shoulder.

When he saw your eyes drift to the base of his cock, slick with your arousal, deep inside you, and angled upwards so you could see the bulging underside, he smirked again, twitching his erection once, twice, three times so you could see.

Snapping your moan in half, Toji fucked upwards once, hard.

"Is it in yet?" He mocked, his breaths heavy as he fucked, and you squealed, and he fucked, laughing.

"Is it in yet? Come on baby, tell me. Is it in yet? Is it? Shit, kid. I dunno, I need you to tell me. Is it in yet? Is it in yet?"

If only he'd stop impaling you on him for long enough for you to answer.

True!Form Sukuna:

He laughed. He actually laughed. He only stopped laughing when you, sweating with fearful uncertainty, started laughing too. Then, he grabbed your face, rough in one long-nailed hand.

"What do they teach girls these days?" Sukuna rumbled, tsk-ing, batting your cheek from side to side with his palm and the back of his hand; a cat with a mouse.

"Whatever they teach you," he sighed, with your thighs spread upon his, sat on his throne, "I will offer you the chance to be untaught."

You nodded, panting as he let go of your body, and you choked out and whimpered as you slid further and further down his lower length. You felt the heavy, thickening weight of his upper length, resting against your back.

Sukuna left you like this, hands-free, to be slowly impaled as he watched, almost bored. He seemed to be waiting for something.

"Well, come on then," he drawled, his jaw leaned on one hand, with one finger lazily circling your clit, just to feel your cunt flutter around him, "beg me."

Your brain stuttered, your pussy so stuffed you could hardly think; "Beg--b-beg for...for what...my Lord?"

"Beg me to unteach you whatever drivel it is they taught you, that you should think it funny to ask your master 'is it in yet?'"

You didn't hesitate, babbling, one of his hands circling round to grasp you by the throat as you did. "P-please unteach me, my Lord, I was just being silly, just--just--forgive me--"

Sukuna hummed, his half-smile almost gentle as he began to lift you off him again, enjoying the way your pussy clenched around his lower cock as you choked.

"Lovely manners." He purred. You jolted, gasping as you felt the thick tip of his upper cock begin to squeeze into your ass. You saw stars, blinded by the enormity of him, made dumb by your own stupid attempt at comedy.

"Let's make sure you understand the perils of the situation you chose to place yourself in, hmm?"

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I’VE ALWAYS LOVED THE WAY YOU EAT ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; suguru is a morning person. he likes the serenity of it all; the quiet of the early hours, the expensive feel of his coffee pot. more than anything, he likes bringing you breakfast in bed.

word count; 4.9k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, just comfy morning vibes, fluff fluff fluff!!, suguru being a good soon-to-be husband, lots of petnames, reader is whipped (and so am i) but suguru is even worse, i need him biblically.

a/n; this is my personal essay on why suguru geto is the perfect man and wife. bon appetit !!

something smells good.

as your eyelids flutter open, and you gradually slip out of sleep’s fuzzy embrace, you are engulfed by that one thought. that one sensation.

there’s a sweet fragrance in the air, an unnamed something you can’t place. a force of love.

soft sunrays flit in through the haphazardly closed window blinds of your bedroom, cascading across the floorboards and bouncing off the walls. splotches of sunshine envelop you in a hazy kind of glow; gentle and coaxing, stirring you awake. it feels good on your skin.

indulging in a few more slow blinks, you shift to lie on your back, halfheartedly attempting to chase the sleepiness away. tangled up in silken sheets and fluffy blankets, you stare at the ceiling — but even such a mundane task feels so nice. just wallowing in the tantalizing scent drifting through the bedroom, the flurry of little kisses that the sun smothers you with. 

it’s still early, and you’re still sleepy. outside the walls of your apartment, the sun is rising to its feet, dyeing the world in warm colours; violets and blues melting into pinks and oranges, like an egg cracked open on the canvas of the sky. everything is quiet, not a sound to be heard except for the very distant chirping of cicadas from the trees outside your window. utter peace. like time isn’t even passing.

in the midst of such a precious moment, all you want is to laze around. it’s just that kind of pleasant, mellow morning; the kind that makes you wish the sun would never fully rise.

a satisfied little sigh slips from your lips. content to soak in the heavenly feeling until it passes, your eyes flutter shut — you’re just so sleepy, and the sun just feels so warm. soothing you, making it even harder to stay awake, cradling you in its hazy embrace. sunlit and saccharine.

with the morning fatigue clouding your senses, you don’t even notice the other presence in the room. 

suguru smiles, from his spot by the door — leaning against the wall and gazing at your relaxed expression, an immense fondness reflected in his eyes. taking a moment to silently admire you.

you look so content. tangled up in blankets and pillows, with your limbs outstretched and starfished across the mattress. your hair is a little messy, and you’re drooling just a smidge, wearing his shirt; it’s a couple sizes too big for you, slipping off your shoulder and exposing your sunkissed skin. as suguru’s eyes trail over your features, the fond smile on his face only grows, shifting into something honeyed and giddy. 

you’re perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect.

a moment passes. then another. suguru continues to stare, as if trying to etch the image of you into his memory. trying to prolong the moment for as long as he can. 

until, finally, he’s had his fill. simply admiring you from afar isn’t enough — he needs to see you up close, needs to hear the sleepy little tilt of your voice. so he opts to make his presence known, voice gravelly and sweet, echoing softly throughout the room.

“good morning, sweetheart.”

softly, your eyes flicker open. the familiar voice sends a tremor of something running through your chest — and suddenly, it feels as if some of the sleep clinging to your skin has been washed away. it’s a little easier to make yourself move, shifting to your side to get a better look at the source of the sound.

and the warmth that blossoms in your chest when your eyes meet suguru’s is almost overwhelming.

(god, he’s pretty.)

suguru looks perfect, in the morning. he looks like the rest of your life. hair a little messy, tied up into a lazy half-done bun, silky black strands cascading down his neck. and wearing a pair of comfy sweatpants that hang a little low on his hips, but no shirt — showing off the curve of his tiny waist, the slight twitch of his arms when he indulges in an idle stretch. 

you try to restrain yourself from ogling his bare chest and arms too much, but it’s tough. frighteningly so. with the sunlight embracing his skin, muscles on full display, he looks a bit like a sculpture. a little too good to be real.

but he is. and he’s yours. and he’s smirking at you, lazily, affectionately — eyes half-lidded as he balances the tray that’s making the room smell so sweet. just standing there, looking so unfairly gorgeous. waiting for you to muster up the energy to respond to his greeting, more than happy to watch the way your eyes soften as they trail across his features in the meantime.

“morning,” is all you can rasp, eyes closing as your cheek sinks deeper into the mattress. a bit too tired to talk to him properly, and a bit too unguarded to look at him without feeling as if your heart is about to leap out of your throat. 

he’s a little too pretty, like this. framed by the hazy sunshine, like something out of a dream. all soft clouds and gentle caresses, the scent of dried lavender, the pitter patter of rain against a windowsill. all things kind and comforting. 

you’re afraid that your heart might give out, if you look at him for too long.

suguru doesn’t seem to mind. he only chuckles, voice deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. his lips quirk up into a smooth kind of smile, and he’s quick to make his way to your side; crouching down to meet you at eye level after placing the tray on the nightstand.

a hand comes to caress your cheek. the rough pads of his fingers smooth down your jaw, gentle and doting, as if coaxing you out of hiding. as if you’re made of porcelain. suguru always treats you like you’re fragile, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

(because you are, he thinks. more precious than the expensive vanilla extract he used to make the waffles on the tray, more precious than the diamond-clad ring he’s hidden away in a drawer of the guest room. more precious than anything this world has to offer.)

a blissful little sigh slips from your lips, as you nuzzle into his palm. suguru leans forward to smear a kiss against your forehead, overcome with fondness; warm lips lingering on your skin.

the sensation strikes you as just a little heavenly. his touch is so tender, every caress so full of love. instinctual, the way his love bleeds into his touch, trickles down his veins to the tips of his fingers — smoothing along your skin. such a heavy thing, but he just makes it feel so light. 

“still sleepy?” he hums, a little teasing. eyes crinkling, voice bordering on a coo.

and it’s infuriating. the amusement that flickers through his eyes, the way you can tell he’s itching to tease you for being so groggy and tired.

between the two of you, suguru’s always been the one to get out of bed first, to your grave annoyance. and he’s so smug about it. you want to tell him that waking up so early on a saturday isn’t normal, that he’s the weird one for not being sleepy — 

but when he’s cupping your cheek so gently, all you manage is a meek little murmur of mm. one that has suguru stifling a coo, lips curling up into an adoring smile. 

look at you. his sleepy little baby, dyed in sunrays and tiny specks of dust. so effortlessly pretty, tangled up in fluffy blankets, an image so precious he almost feels like he shouldn’t be looking at it. yet he continues to do so, mesmerized.

(suguru doesn’t mind being a little greedy, when it comes to you.)

“i made you breakfast,” he continues, as you melt into his touch. an absentminded action, but almost brimming with trust; the trust you have in him to treat you well. one he’ll always, always affirm. “your favorite. wanna eat with me?”

breakfast.

something in your brain visibly reacts to the sound of the word, shooing away a little of the morning fatigue still clouding your senses. before you know it, you’ve forced yourself into a sitting position, with groggy movements and a soft groan. rubbing the skin beneath your eyes and kicking the blanket off your legs, a little clumsily.

suguru breathes out a soft bout of laughter, low and amused, as you lazily stretch and indulge in slow blinks. his hand goes to ruffle your hair, and all you do is lean into it.

“i’ll take that as a yes,” he teases, eyes full of fondness. you crack a sleepy smile at his amused tone of voice.

suguru’s hands are big, and a little rough, but still so very soft. you could spend hours tracing them — from the tips of his fingers down to the veins of his wrist, across his knuckles littered with small scratches and barely visible scars. stories of his childhood, that he loves telling you about, almost as much as you love hearing them.

you love his hands. they’re so pretty. so warm and grounding, as they smooth down your hair, unmistakably caring. the weight of them is a comfort, as his fingers card through your bedhead, scratching softly at your scalp. a sensation that makes you feel all fuzzy inside.

suguru is just so good to you.

and you’re only further reminded of that fact when your gaze trails over to the assortment of breakfast foods he’s prepared, neatly stacked on the nightstand. all your favorites, made with so much love; and it’s so evident, even just in the presentation. the freshness of the strawberry slices, the perfect amount of syrup spread over the waffles. the cup of coffee made just the way you like it.

maybe it’s the morning fatigue, or just the softness of the moment. the intimacy, so palpable you can almost reach out and touch it. or maybe it’s something else entirely — whatever the cause, you feel your eyes get somewhat glassy. 

a meek little sniffle leaves your lips, and it catches even you off guard.

suguru blinks. suddenly alert, his morning-fatigued brain trying to comprehend the sight of your teary eyes. brain spinning in circles, not sure if it should be telling him to panic just yet. something in him constricts, twists and turns, a desperate kind of yearning to protect you.

but before he can even reach out to wipe away the wetness with his thumb, you’ve latched yourself onto him.

arms snug around his waist, face tucked under his chin. fitting into him like a puzzle piece. breathing in the remnants of the cologne on his neck; a nice bergamot mix that you like, so he sprays on a little extra just for you. so close to him that you can feel the patter of his heart against you, as you soak in his body warmth. 

and his arms find their way around your form just as naturally, without him even having to think. like every bone in his body was born with a desire to cradle you close. like he was crafted in the image of someone made to soothe you. 

being in suguru’s arms is pure bliss. the most grounding sensation you know, one that never fails to calm you down, no matter how stressed or anxious you’re feeling. with his broad chest and strong arms, his bergamot-scented skin. so doting, pressing little kisses to your shoulder, trying to console you. his hair tickles your cheek a little, but it’s comforting.

”what’s wrong, honey?” he questions, voice set on a low, particularly soothing lilt. coaxing, almost cooing — a tone that buzzes with safety. his big hands go to rest on your head and back, smoothing down your spine.

”nothing,” you sniffle. feeling a little silly. ”you’re just too perfect. ‘s not fair.”

a pause. 

then, a chuckle bubbles up from suguru’s throat. something fond and delightful unfurls in his chest, a kind of relief; a feather-light amusement.

(you’re so ridiculous, he thinks.)

but you only nuzzle further into his neck, all sleepy and affectionate — and it stirs his heartstrings in a way that makes him feel rather helpless. crumbling beneath your touch. gazing at you with soft eyes, a happy little hum buzzing in his throat.

he takes you in, in all your clingy glory; so impossibly sweet. maybe he should have sprinkled some sugar on the strawberry slices, just to see if the taste could ever measure up.

”ah, is that so?” he drawls, a lazy amusement flickering through his eyes. playful. ”i’m sorry, baby. i should be the one saying that to you, though.”

but you just shake your head, arms tightening around his midriff. as if offended that he’d have the audacity to brush off your objectively correct statement, to even think to deny how perfect he is. 

and suguru raises a brow at you, in tandem, a mild protest resting on the tip of his tongue — offended at your blatant disrespect, shaking your head at his factually correct words, as if disagreeing with your own evident perfection. 

but before he can even begin to fight you on the topic, you part your lips to speak.

”thanks for breakfast, sugu,” you sleepily murmur, biting back a yawn. still a little meek, but oh so loving. ”i would die for you.”

he stills, once more. then another soft bout of laughter escapes his lungs, rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm. it makes you feel so terribly safe.

“there’s no need for that,” he assures you. ”don’t you wanna eat instead?”

to his surprise, he’s met with another soft shake of your head. so snug in his embrace that you could practically live there, only clinging to him a little tighter with a huff.

”just wanna hug you first…” you yawn, arms squeezing at his waist affectionately. shifting in his hold until your lips find their way to his neck.

”i love you,” you mumble, kissing down his jaw and collarbone. sleepy, open mouthed pecks, trailing over the expanse of his pretty skin. ”so much.”

it tickles, a little. suguru digs his teeth into his cheek, ever so slightly, just to hold back the giggle that threatens to break out from his throat.

and it’s maybe just a little too sweet, the sensation that blossoms in his chest, something honeyed and flowery; fluttering deep within his ribcage, like a dragonfly buzzing and trying to break free. it gets him a little weak in the knees.

to distract himself from the voice in his head urging him to go get the ring in the guest room drawer right this instant, suguru scoops you up. cradling you close, as he plops down on the mattress, legs crossed to give you space on his lap.

you don’t protest, only snuggling a little closer — as if yearning to tuck yourself away within his ribcage. 

and suguru chuckles, the deep tremor of his voice reverberating through his chest, echoing in your head as you listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart. rubbing your back with a teasing smile, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head.

“i should make breakfast more often if it’ll get you like this,” he grins, basking in the warmth of your body against his. 

a little whine falls from your lips. muffled into the curve of his shoulder, against his bare skin. “it’s not about the breakfast,” you pout, looping your arms around his neck. “it’s everything you do…”

a heat rises to your cheeks, a little embarrassed at the sappiness you’re exuding. but the sun feels so nice on your skin, and the bedroom smells so good, and the whole world feels so kind. 

inhaling the fragrance of bergamot and coffee, you can only fall apart at the intimacy of the moment. 

“i’m really grateful…” you murmur, resting your lips against his skin. buzzing with a warmth that has him shuddering. “‘m just bad at expressing it.”

suguru’s eyes soften. melting into a tender hue, like that of a creamsicle sunrise sky. a dreamy look smoothes over his features, and a fond hum buzzes in his throat.

“nah, you’re fine,” he drawls, squeezing at your hips affectionately. pulling away ever so slightly, just to plant a kiss on your forehead, brushing your bangs away with a certain bleeding tenderness. “you don’t need to say it out loud. i know, anyway.”

and he does. suguru understands you better than anyone; a point of immense pride, for him. knowing you so deeply that he can practically hear your thoughts before you speak them, knowing what you need at a single glance. just from a certain furrow of your brows, or the slight tilt of a smile you’re trying to hide. 

always one step ahead, folding your laundry on days you’re feeling particularly stressed out, or giving your hand a comforting squeeze when he notices that you’re nervous. always so attentive. it’s a little overwhelming, but also so comforting — to be so thoroughly understood.

his eyes are warm. full of pure affection, a devotion so heavy it makes your heart stutter in your chest. all you can do is glance down, shyly, slumping your forehead against his bare chest. 

your voice comes out a little strangled, still raspy. a little wobbly in the wake of your adoration.

“i wanna appreciate you…” is muffled against his skin, your lips curled down into a soft pout. and suguru breathes out a flustered little breath, amused — somewhat delighted.

“you can appreciate me by eating a hearty breakfast,” he suggests, a teasing tilt to his husky voice. cradling you just a little closer, as if even the miniscule distance between you is unbearable. as if he needs your hearts pressed together to keep himself intact. “how about that, hm? or would you rather give me a kiss?”

a moment passes, and a sleepy hum slips from your tongue. he feels your lips touch the soft skin of his neck, once more; then you muster up the strength to pull back from his embrace, slumping against his shoulder with your back against the headboard. it takes concentrated effort.

and suguru chuckles, again. odd, how a man who’s normally so put-together can’t seem to ever hide his joy whenever you’re around. but suguru is just a little too weak for you — he can’t help but let you strum his heartstrings along, however you want. any kind of melody you desire.

(it just so happens that no melody sounds prettier than a joyous one, when it’s falling from his lips.)

a lovesick smile painted on his face, suguru watches as you finally dig in. and he thinks it’s precious, the strawberry juice smearing your lips, the contentment in your features as your eyelids flutter shut. a mellow kind of pride swells in his chest with every satisfied hum that you grace him with, every giddy declaration of how delicious it all is. 

there’s something about it he can’t quite explain, can’t put his finger on. something almost otherworldly, in how fulfilled it makes him feel, like he’s lived his entire life just for this moment. just for the sake of making you breakfast and watching you wolf it all down.

suguru doesn’t think there's a single better way to show his love for you than this; cooking for you, putting every last drop of his love into everything he makes. from beverages to pastries, each of them carefully chosen to suit your tastes.

there’s an intensity to the labour, something that brings him great joy. the care and excitement in something as small as the flick of his wrist when he pours sugar into your coffee, or the weight he puts on the kitchen knife while cutting the fresh strawberries he spent four minutes picking out at the market.

there’s something about it that’s just so, so tender. that earnest wish to see you happy and healthy, to make sure you never go hungry. taking care of you. it's pure, domestic, love incarnate. he’s so weak for it, so sappy, but he just can’t help it — suguru loves watching you eat his cooking more than anything.

that, and your blissful little expression is a sight to behold. sunkissed by the morning rays flitting in through the window blinds, suguru thinks you look something like an angel, soft and fleeting and so beautiful it makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. heavy thumps of blood; warmth trickling from his heart to his wrists to the pads of his fingers, as he rubs absentminded circles into the skin of your thighs.

and he thinks to himself that all the happiness he needs is right here in front of him. in this moment, with you tiredly munching on the breakfast he made, sipping slowly from your cup of coffee and savouring every last drop. smiling at him so sweetly, so positively precious that he simply can't resist leaning down to taste the caffeine off your lips. 

everything feels so wonderful, so completely and utterly right. the world feels so kind, like this. a world where all that exists is you, and him, and the sun. heaven on earth.

all of it sends a tremor running through his heart, every slight change of the scene reflected in his eyes. the soft smile on your lips, the way you lean your head against his shoulder and bite back a yawn, the expectant look in your eyes as you feed him pieces of your food with a giddy grin —

suguru thinks to himself that he’d sooner die than give it up. 

as much as he loves sleeping in, loves indulging in your warmth until the sun sits comfortably on the blue canvas of the sky, he loves this even more. loves dragging himself out of bed before the sun even has a chance to peek out beneath the horizon painted pink and purple, tired and groggy, and so disgruntled at the warmth that leaves him when he pulls away from your skin. loves making his way to the kitchen almost in a daze, moving around the open space so very naturally; fingers curling around the lid of the espresso machine, and the crinkled paper bag of pastries, and the carton of orange juice he bought just for you.

just watching the world wake up, basking in the peace and domesticity of it all. basking in the thought of you — you, with your messy bedhead and droopy eyes, always blinking up at him so sleepily when he returns to you in the morning. he loves it all.

the soft little frown that sometimes tugs at your lips when you’re still lost in dreamland, blindly and subconsciously reaching for the empty side of the bed when he gets up to stretch. the weight of your arms around his waist, hugging his back on the somewhat rare occasion that you make your way to him before he makes his way to you. the grumbles against his skin about how he always abandons you on your days off, even if he only does it so he can make you both coffee.

you, in all your glory — now resting against his shoulder as you plop the last strawberry into your mouth, closing your eyes with a blissful little sigh.

and suguru feels so lucky. so very honoured, to be the one you chose. the one and only person who gets to see you like this, when your voice is still raspy and your hair is still messy, and you have crumbs sticking to your soft lips that you're too sleepy to wipe away.

he does so, himself, with an amused little huff that’s really more of a sigh laced with adoration. thumb smoothing over your skin gently, a silent i love you hanging on the tip of his tongue. his fingers find their way to your skin so effortlessly. like they belong there, like they exist solely to trace the softness of your jaw and to cradle your cheek.

”thank you,” you beam up at him, grinning sweetly. 

and suguru knows that you mean it. he knows that you’re grateful, knows not a moment goes by when you don’t notice his affections, no matter how subtle. he thinks you're a little bit silly for worrying that he doesn't. but he thinks you're even sillier for not realizing that you deserve all of it and more, that just that sweet smile of yours alone is more than enough to make up for it.

more than anything, he hopes from the bottom of his heart that you know the opposite is true as well. that he appreciates every single thing you do, notices everything you do for him, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem to you.

you're so good to him. always have been. how could he ever bear to not repay you in tenfold?

”you’re welcome,” he smiles, soft and saccharine and genuine. his lips brush against your forehead with a soft peck, one that has your body melting into his just a little more.

breakfast passes you both by in a flurry of warmth, splotches of sunlight and content hums, until you’re lying side by side beneath the blankets once again. curled up close to each other, with you resting on suguru’s chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart. his arm rests on your back, cradling you closer.

”that was delicious,” you chirp, something soft buzzing in your voice as you bite back a yawn. stretching your limbs out lazily, a honeyed smile on your face. ”as always.”

suguru’s a little too tired to fully hide the soft grin that crawls up to rest on his lips, almost smug. awfully happy with himself, and your words of earnest praise.

“yeah? ’m glad,” he hums, looking at you with affection swimming in his eyes. ”i haven’t lost my touch yet, then.”

”of course not,” you exhale, somewhere in between a huff and a chirp. “you could start a whole breakfast diner with your skills!”

the words are teasing, a little much, but laced with a syrupy sweet sincerity that has suguru’s heart doing laps in his chest. thump, thump, thump — strumming his heartstrings along as you please, conducting the orchestra inside his ribcage. but he’d much prefer to think of you as his muse.

a low chuckle rumbles through his body, akin to a purr. buzzing right by your ear, as his fingers curl around yours, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin of your hand. ”you think so?” 

an eager nod, as you gaze up at him happily. the sight makes his lips twitch upward, and he can only hope you don’t catch the way his heart skips a beat.

smoothing a large palm over your head, he tousles your hair fondly. ”yeah?” he chuckles, again. “you'll be my first customer, then.”

the smile on your face widens. ”will i get a discount?” you ask, a fuzzy contentment in the way your eyes glimmer. ”since i’m your favorite.”

suguru grins. a husky puff of laughter seeps out of his throat, filling the air with a palpable fondness. it’s almost overwhelming, the affection that simmers in his chest, a cup overflowing. he wants to reach over and smother you in kisses, wants to coo at you. wants to tell you how irresistable you are, like this; so cute and sleepy that he thinks you could probably coax him into giving you every star in the sky.

but that can all wait for another time. he doesn’t want to break the peace of the mellow moment, the subtle intimacy that lingers in the air. the playfulness in your words.

”of course,” he simply says, indulging you with a sweet smile. ”you’ll get all the discounts you want, baby. nothing less for my favorite customer.”

suguru’s eyes crinkle, brimming with love when he hears the happy little giggle that tumbles from your pretty lips. so pretty that he can’t resist pulling you a little closer, to give you another kiss — relishing in the way you soften against him. like you could fall asleep just like this, so safe and comfortable. breathing him in.

sunlight shines in through the window blinds, engulfing you in that familiar heavenly hue. your bedroom almost seems to glow, like a hazy polaroid, a moment that feels too precious to put into words. 

you look stunning, he thinks, with your droopy eyes and sleepy yawns. absolutely breathtaking. soaked in a brightness rivaling that of the sun herself, the most precious thing this world has to offer.

and suguru thinks to himself that this might just be it. that this might be all that he needs, all that he’ll ever need — but he already knew that.

he thinks of sunrises. of soft embraces and fluffy blankets, of expensive coffee pots and diamond rings, of the way your lips curl up every time he kisses you. he thinks of the light of morning, how it always seems to devour everything else. how it makes every sliver of darkness seem so inconsequential.

he thinks of how your presence always seems to do the same. 

when suguru looks down, pulled out of his lovesick stupor by the sound of a little snore, you’ve fallen back asleep. cheek squished against his bare chest, drooling a smidge as you dream so prettily, your chest rising up and down in a rhythmic serenity.

his heart flutters. fleeting and giddy, a little dove trapped in his chest. with a sweet coo, he reaches over to caress your skin with the back of his hand, careful not to wake you — so gentle that he holds his breath, as if afraid that even a single exhale could disrupt your well-deserved rest. 

butterflies dance in his stomach, when he sees the way that makes you smile. a whirlwind of them, wings fluttering eagerly, as if attempting to fly out of his throat. he gulps them down again, but he can still feel them. just like he could when you first met.

butterflies that still haven't gone away, despite how long you’ve been together. butterflies that never will go away, as long as there are plates to fill and breakfasts to be made.

in other words, they're there to stay — forever and ever.

(suguru’s gaze falls on your ring finger. he thinks of the secret in the bottom of the drawer, and wonders what kind of breakfast he should make for you when it’s time to bring it out.)

[etherfabric]

Messages from Your Protector

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

Pile 1

The Fool, The Moon rx

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Oh my dear. I see how scared you are. I know this is nothing like anything before. But somehow also exactly like the thing you were running from your whole life. I know how unclear everything seems. How uncertain. You don't dare to move one inch.

Let me tell you now: The inch is enough. And you can take all the time you need. You can't see that from where you are, but from where I am, I can tell that time isn't important. Not at all. It doesn't make sense to you, nothing lately really does. All you had was your mind to rely on, and it's slipping away from you in ways you tried to avoid your whole life. They called you crazy, a liar, a drama queen. So you swore to always pay attention to the exterior, and only stick to the hard facts, to never be accused of that again.

And now suddenly everything turns to smoke. Nothing solid, no foundation to lean on, no former structure you recognize.

You might feel doomed, cursed, imprisoned. Imprisoned in something only you can see and feel, and not even those sensory informations seems reliable. Let me tell you, my precious lightbeam: This is your initiation. It is not for nothing. Far from it.

Not everyone is called to do this, and those who are, rarely feel "good" (in the former sense of the word) during it. It's one of the highest gifts the Universe can bestow upon you, but the process of shedding and rebuilding has phases of liminality that can't be skipped. You ask why this is happening? So you have only one thing left to use and turn to, so it becomes stronger than ever: Your faith. That crazy, invisible, unprovable thing you felt your whole life and ran from. Now it's your last resort. It seems cruel, but once you allow yourself to fully embrace it, be assured, we will bathe you in light and miracles that will carry you across this abyss. Just ask. Invite us, and we will come. The famous leap of faith is your only means of transportation right now, so to speak.

We love you so, so much. And honestly, you are doing amazing already. On our plane, your light is shining brighter than ever. We were never this close to you, and we love it. We know it doesn't feel this way all the time for you, but please listen to your intuition more. It's there to help you, not harm you. Those that judged you anytime you acted upon it are on their own, separate path. Don't let them sway you. Deep inside, you know it's something big and important, what is happening right now. You are doing amazing. We love you so much. I can't say it enough. You will get through this and be thankful. Later. Maybe you can find a smidge of that gratitude now. When you let your true opinion arise within, and dare to listen.

Pile 2

7 of Pentacles rx, 10 of Pentacles

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It's already done. The seeds are planted. This is a time of winding down, breathing in what you already have, let it enrich and nourish you. No one will come and take it away, claiming you are "too lazy" or "ungrateful" to "deserve it". Who told you this? Don't you know they were talking to themselves? To their own shadow, which they cast upon you, to not be blinded by your light? My dearest soul star. Can't you feel it, behind the worry and fear, underneath it all - the hum of completion? It surrounds you, it permeates the space between your atoms, it carries you across this cosmos.

Just imagine this gigantic planet you sit upon, its own attraction to you keeping you grounded. You belong here. You deserve everything that Life gave you. You deserve everything you worked for, and also everything you never worked for and just have, AND you deserve everything that is to come. Oh, there is a lot to come. So many blessings. You don't know even half if it yet. And that's exactly how it's supposed to be.

We don't want you to be exhausted from worry when we bring it to you. We want you to be soft and open, so it can touch your inner being - the only place where true satisfaction can take place. Look around you. The room you are in, or the environment you reside in for now. All this exists at the same time as you. Isn't that proof enough? Who else should it be for? Dare to connect to it, through whatever means sound right. Dare to delve into it. Dare to lay your hands on it, smell it, taste it, observe it, hear it. Draw pictures of it, in your mind, on a canvas, in the dirt on the ground. You are a part of all of it. You are part of the world to everyone else!

The time it takes to get you there is meant for you to enjoy what you have so far. Things will change, and the present will be another shape than the current one. So enjoy it while it lasts, until the upgrade arrives. Remember how desperate the past version of you was for so many of these circumstances? Get back in touch with them to feel their bliss and satisfaction. They are always there to help you. All the versions of you, past, present and future. They all love you in their own way, and they all are connected to you and bring their talents and wisdom as soon as you let them speak. This can be in a dream, a song, a memory, a word you read somewhere that tugs at you. Maybe a smell, or a name. Follow the thread, make space for the unraveling, and be assured we are always protecting you from what could truly be harmful. Nothing you can't take.

Admittedly, our relationship to pain is a rather abstract one compared to your incarnated self - so apologies for sounding aloof - but it carries deep truths, and is never the whole story. Promised. It will pass. You are doing so well. We love you so much more than you can imagine. For now. Soon, you will have a better idea. If you ever need our help, just call us. However feels most authentic. A thought is enough. Then listen for our signs, and dare to believe them, just like we believe in you.

Pile 3

The Star, Knight of Wands

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We are sending you support on all dimensions. You won't see it coming. It won't look like it moments before the event (or several events...) and you will be close to giving up on hope. The rhythm of the recent days was just the "right" wrong mixture of stagnation and overwhelming, sudden changes, and you are exhausted. You have lost things that you held very, very close to your heart, and you thought they belonged to your destiny.

Memories, associations, dreams, fragments of what is lost haunt you, and you try so desperately to make it fit into the picture. Sure this mean it will come back...? Well. Yes and No. Yes on the spiritual, emotional, ethereal plane - what you felt with them is just an appetizer compared to what's to come. It's a manifestation upgraded tenfold. But no, it won't be them exactly. I am so sorry for your pain - but I am not sorry for the context in which this loss happened, because I see the purpose it serves clear as day. You have to wait and see for it to unfold before your very eyes (at least the first two of them), and many fears and worries birthed from past disappointments will pop up.

Don't read those as prophecies - they are asking to be purged! So the canvas is clear for your upcoming masterpiece. It will happen at just the right time. It's not going anywhere. It is yours, and it will wait until you are ready. Promised. Your pace is just the right pace. Listen to your emotions, as untamable they might seem at times. Learn to dance with them, instead of fighting against them, and be it just one intentional second for starters. Your limits are there for a reason, and no one wants you to hurt yourself unnecessarily in the process. You deserve the reassurance and patience you need, and we hold that frequency towards you all the time.

There are judgements from people from your past still attached to what you deem true, and to which you assigned great meaning and weight in how you should be treated by the Universe, and all the people in it. You don't dare to go near them - they bite back. Like a wounded animal. Let's see how gentle you can go with them. We assure you, they will calm down as soon as they know you mean no harm. As soon as they feel you have the same patience and reassurance avaible for them you deserve. Watch the alchemy unfold, and bask in your accomplishments. This is the stuff transformation is made of. We are so freaking proud of you!

Pile 4

The Hermit, The Moon

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What you bring to the world is something not many will understand. We see your dedication, and be assured, you are on the path that was agreed upon before you came here. The unfolding of your inner voice is a marvelous endeavor without any witnesses, just yours to experience. You have never been so lonely and so rich in your whole life. And this is just the beginning.

We protect you from the harm that could sway you, but not the harm that can teach you. There are people around you who are blind to the light within, even scared when it shows up. They don't know what it means, at least not from their limited perspective they deem the whole truth. We see you trying to extend a helping hand, but this is our influence when they don't take it. You need all this energy for the next phase of transformation.

Your discipline and strategy so far has served you well, and we command you for your endurance. This is a whole new game, and you play it quite well. But be warned - this won't last forever. You might dream about what soon will finally be, to exchange it for what is right now. You will miss this once it's over. Not because the future is so grim - on the contrary. But because the beauty of inner transformation is not a constant or easily accessible one, and you either pay close attention to decipher the music in it now, or you will only have the tinted glass of nostalgia as a way back to it. What seems like a chore now will soon be the holder of self love when you look back on it. This might mean nothing to you, or even come across as accusatory, or threatening even.

We never mean harm. We are light. We are love. Just like you. What we want to invite you to is daring to be grateful to be you right now. This version of you won't last forever, so why not love it? Just for what it is?

That is why we send you this tsunami of solitude. So you and you can finally get a room and connect. Look each other in the eyes, deeply. And see how you are just perfect for each other, and exactly what you need and want. After all, this is what you chose. This is exactly your style. And it suits you so, so well.

[hoseoksluna]

THE FUN DAY, pt. I. | kth ft. pjm

pairing: idol!military!boyfriend!taehyung x f. reader (ft. best friend!jimin)

genre: fluff, angst — the sad kind

word count: 4.8k

summary: you've prepared a fun day for your boyfriend's military vacation. thank god he's here, right?

pin: f. / playlist: fun / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: suggestive but not described themes of sex and alcohol consumption.

note: i'm so EXCITED to bring you this fic that i can't wait until tomorrow to post this. everyone welcome TAEHYUNG and JIMIN to the hoseoksluna universe. i have to tell you a secret. taehyung was my first bias when i first became army. taehyungie was the first one to save me from the bunch—literally to resurrect me because in him i found all the things i used to love and fell out of. jazz, poetry, the aesthetics and arts. it is an honor to write about him and i think i will write another taehyung fic next week. if you have any ideas, drop them in my ask box and i will use them for inspiration. this fic is dedicated to my baby ruru @tkslovechild, my tatlim @jjk7k, and the beautiful anon that asked me for a tae fic while i was already working on this one. i love you all so much. enjoy this beautiful piece. <3 mwah.

𓂃 ౨ৎ .

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough to truly consecrate the hour. I am much too small in this world, yet not small enough to be to you just object and thing, dark and smart. I want my free will and want it accompanying the path which leads to action; and want during times that beg questions, where something is up, to be among those in the know, or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection, never be blind or too old to uphold your weighty wavering reflection. I want to unfold. Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent; for there I would be dishonest, untrue. I want my conscience to be true before you; want to describe myself like a picture I observed for a long time, one close up, like a new word I learned and embraced, like the everday jug, like my mother's face, like a ship that carried me along through the deadliest storm.

𓂃 ౨ৎ . — I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone by Rainer Maria Rilke

It was your love language, to dress up like your boyfriend. 

Dress pants, shirts and jackets. Linen, silk, leather. Pointed heels or oxford shoes. Grays, browns, beiges and whites. It was something that made you happy—and it was something that represented a vessel, made of unbreakable porcelain, for your love that you carried for Taehyung. 

He’s sitting in the corner of your bedroom, on a wooden stool he specifically placed at such a picturesque place. With the ivory curtains drifting along the nape of his neck, sheer enough to expose the small vase of tulips that stoop in a private longing for his touch. He fondles them often to preoccupy his mind when you take your usual long showers and he waits for the fashion shows you give him. He’s the one who says yes or no. These shoes, love. Look, they’re just like mine. And right at this moment, the wine-yellow petals are caught between his slender fingers when you come out and he doesn’t let go of them—because you’re not holding up the outfit for the day as you always are. 

For the fun day as you’ve called it. 

You’re dressed in it. Low-waisted gray dress pants with a little, tight, white shirt. Black stilettos, black shoulder purse. Your trench coat is waiting for you in the hall, hung up and lonely, but other than that you’re matching him fully. It feels as though you’re fading into him, becoming a singular being that has his DNA and his beauty, and when he beams up at you, boxy smile on full show, spine straight and tall on the stool, long fingers gripping its rim, Taehyung, with his gray suit and a white shirt, somehow validates that feeling. 

Somehow, in that peculiar Taehyung way of his. 

He extends his hands towards you, asking for your closeness. There’s a mist of murkiness that envelops him, with the saddened clouds beyond the window, standing in the place of the sun. It moves through you, this image of him reaching for you in this landscape, and you think he deserves to be painted like this. With black charcoal and a little bit of soft carmine to eternalize the blush of his cheeks—the only trace of color in the sketchbook. Your hands don’t know the art of drawing, but your heart does and while you take those necessary steps towards him, you feel the scratches of that dark pencil over that grainy flesh. 

His palms find your curves and you consider it unbelievable, the fact he’s still so big, despite the size of the stool and the height of your heels. No matter how much taller you grow, he’ll always be that tower that protects you from the blazing heat of the sun. 

He’s the epitome of autumn. No longer a boy, but a man, whose lungs are perfumed by apples, leaves, cinnamon, pumpkin spice and the slight iciness of the seasonal wind. Whose eyes witnessed the growth of your form since you were a little girl with two long braids. 

Childhood best friends turned to lovers, favored by the hanging, twinkling stars. 

You always saw him the most in autumn. Chasing you down during festivities that your mom couldn’t not be a part of, grabbing a hold of one of your braided pigtails with his already long fingers, then tickling you until you gave up. Ever so easy to catch because of the length of your hair. You knew, even as a little girl, that he was not just a part of your life, but your life itself. More than a companion, more than a friend. You dreamed about having his babies and that dream would come to life through your imagination whenever he would chase you down, years later, in the grand halls of the east wing of his grandiose family home, where nobody ever comes, just to steal a kiss or two. It was the moment you realized that you were no longer kids, even though you acted as such, but that you desired little legs to follow you in the fun of it all. 

And that kiss changed every autumn from that year on.

Stolen glances, the blush of cheeks, quivering fingers that no longer grabbed your braids. Not until many autumns later. You gave him your everything, every bit of your newly-bloomed femininity, your dream of having his babies and he folded it into the vinyls of his favorite jazz music that he would play every night whenever he needed inspiration or whenever he simply needed you. 

Newly. Not just yet as adults and no longer as kids. Somewhere in between. 

And then the duties of adulthood came. The natural process of drifting apart settled between your bodies and you no longer played in the stage between. Taehyung, the saxophone-playing jazz singer, moving foreign bodies into his personal, heart-sung rhythm. Not yours, never yours for a long time. You, working a day job that never paid enough, not for the dresses you yearned to wear at those clubs he would play at. 

But what you didn’t know was that drifting apart meant coming together eventually. 

He might have become your Turnip Head, silent and distant, but you were Sophie—and you found him. You found him while looking for something, or someone for the lack of better words, and he helped you. Over a cup of coffee he didn’t drink, at a jazz bar you always wanted to come to. Your date was a hit and miss and the guy never came, and your Turnip Head didn’t help you find your Howl. 

He helped you find himself. And from that moment on, you never drifted apart again. 

Who would’ve thought that seeking a relationship that did not resemble your dream nor your childhood would make you find him all over again. 

In autumn, too. 

Taehyung paid for your dresses, your female suits, paid for your drinks. Kissed you underneath those dimmed, brown lights before he went off to play songs that moved your body at last. Dancing alone to his songs was your dream come true until he set down his saxophone and joined you. Let his band mates play his favorite Etta James song as he took your hand and drifted upon the dance floor with you. Those who danced before this song sat down, let you have this opportunity for yourself, and Taehyung kissed you, after a long time, after many autumns had passed, right then and there. 

And both of you realized that you could never drift apart again. You could only drift together. 

You moved in together. He bought you tulips of every possible hue every week. Played you his new songs for you on the saxophone. Took you to art galleries. Took you sightseeing, sometimes alone with you, sometimes with Jimin joining you. Shared your dream about having babies with you and talked about it all the time. Tried it out, seized it many times, though the outcome both of you desired never came. Had a beautiful life with you until…

Until he thinned out into his Turnip Head form and skipped away to fulfill his country duties. 

But he’s here. Oh, he’s here. Buff and big, apples, cinnamon and pumpkin spice. Brown eyes that carry the memory of your growth, hands that clutch your hips and that hold the silky memory of your still long braids. Hands that edge around your slightly, barely puffy tummy and that don’t know that you are with a concoction of a small him and you, a divine magical realism, a dream that came true without his knowledge right after the last hours of his military vacation were up and he had to go back to serve the country. 

The reason behind this fun day. 

The day of his second vacation, the day you tell him. 

“You look just like me,” he breathes, the width of his smile never lessening, hands skipping over the space between your hips and your arms and grabbing your hands. It gets to you still, the way his eyes never look up at you, the way they never have, and you feel so sweetly small. Even more so when Taehyung stands to his feet and slides his suit jacket over your shoulders. You become even smaller, a fawn taken care of. A pregnant fawn. “And now you are me.” 

Oh, he doesn’t know just how much. Not yet. 

He sits back down and gently pushes you to take a step back. On wavering feet, like that freshly-born fawn, you waver on your feet, but Taehyung keeps you stable, leaning forward to make sure you’ve caught your balance. A wisp of his dark hair falls over his eye that he, at last, flicks up at you. And the sensation from it, it is nothing that you ever felt before. 

It is a step forward. 

It’s something that tells you: go ahead. 

You planned to tell him at the jazz bar where he kissed you for the first time as an adult and made you his. But now, now it feels more than right, amidst this strange newness that you don’t think you’ll ever experience again. 

You open your mouth, brace yourself, but Taehyung is faster. Ringing fills your ears, the atmosphere around you feels gooey—as if you’re walking through a limbo. 

“Jimin will meet us at the park.” 

Oh, yes. Walk in the park, a warm drink to go, then the jazz bar. Jimin is having his military break as well, about to sing in Taehyung’s honor, you already knew this, knew he would join you, but being in the presence of your boyfriend, the detail slipped out. 

The newness leaves. Taehyung straightens. Towers over you. The normalcy flattens over the chemistry between you and him, the atmosphere lessening to feathery lightness and when you move your arms to give back his jacket, your arms feel as though they’re not your own. 

Your smile falls. 

Jazz bar it is. 

“We should go,” you prompt, turning around, having all the balance in the world as you go fetch your purse and reapply your red lipstick. 

Taehyung watches you in the mirror, his boxy grin on eternal display, warming your heart. You think about how you can’t wait until his baby witnesses that smile for the first time—and wonder if God is molding, at this very hour, the same one upon their little face. It brings tears to your eyes, ones that you quickly blink away, and instead you focus on lining your lips with the tip of the lipstick with utmost precision. 

In your vast collection of lip liners, you don’t have a red one. Truth be told, you always feared this vibrant color. It represented a stigma you never liked—that only promiscuous women wear that color, but to you it was never that. 

It was a color that meant you lose your girlhood, your childhood upon wearing. 

And now, it is a color that announces the next era of your life: adulthood, but different, painted with motherly instincts that are of these vibrant hues. Womanhood. No longer fearful, but brave. 

Right. 

You want your baby to connect this color to you and know that you made it. You waited your whole life for their father and gave it to him in one of the autumns as a child. Without knowing, without realizing. 

That color is a legacy. 

As if he could hear your thoughts, Taehyung kisses the back of your head, halting your motions. Wraps his arms around you as he props his chin on the place he kissed—and right here, right now, you’re looking at a family portrait in the mirror. 

A living, breathing one. With lifting chests in tandem, growing smiles and a growing baby in your womb. 

Magical realism in full effect. 

And then Taehyung is off to fetch your trench coat, holding it up for your arms to slip inside its sleeves. Grabs your hand and revels in the autumn weather outside, boxy smile never faltering. Sings in the car on the way to the park, makes eye contact as he mouths the lyrics—kiss me once and kiss me twice, then kiss me once again, it’s been a long, long time—because he could never sing over that part. It’s too precious to his heart for him to do so. 

The wind accompanies you and grabs your other hand as you walk down the pathway lined with half-barren trees and a still pond. Taehyung hums the Bing Crosby song that seems to be playing on loop within his mind and it is the only greenery that spreads around through his husky voice. All else—the pond, the trees and the last of their leaves that dance around you, the shrubberies and the clouds up above—are smeared with sullen blues and grays, to which Taehyung is everlastingly immune. 

Jimin is standing by an antique coffee stand, dressed to the nines in an outfit he most definitely must be cold in. Black dress pants with a jacket that stuns you. A matching Hussar one, with golden braiding. A military piece of clothing from another time. You think it suits the fun day quite delightfully, but not as much as it suits him. The golden detail goes hand in hand with his golden hair and you think he needs his picture taken. 

“Jimin!” you call out, making his confused little face turn in your direction, and he swivels his body to face you altogether. He holds two cups of coffee in both of his hands, one for him and one for you. You melt at that and look up at Taehyung to see his boxy smile ever so frozen and beautiful, pointed at his best friend. 

When you reach him, he hugs you. His cold skin stings you and you quickly warm him up with rubbing motions against his back. Scrunch your brows in puzzlement when he doesn’t hug Taehyung nor even look at him. 

But all is swept away when Jimin exclaims in discomfort and takes a rapid sip of his boiling drink. 

“Jimin, where’s your coat?” you ask him in pity, watching him shake and moan in pain once he burns his tongue. He uses the cup to warm up both of his hands. 

“I didn’t think Paris would be so cold in October,” he explains in a hushed, livid tone, drawing the rim of the paper cup back to his lips as if he didn’t learn his lesson. Typical Jimin. “But this outfit is for Taehyung anyways, so I’ll survive.” 

He talks of him but he doesn’t look at him. Makes heart eyes at the misting coffee, instead. Like Taehyung isn’t here at all. 

Strange. 

You shake off the thought. 

“Go stand by the pond before you freeze. I want to take a picture of you,” you say, softly, pulling your phone out of your purse. Glancing up, you expect Jimin to be ready with his pose, but he’s looking at you as if you said the most outrageous thing in the world. Eyes wide, mouth downturned in horror. You laugh and place a hand on his arm. “Go, Jimin. This is a special day and special days ask for special pictures.” 

Jimin sighs and nods, despite the fact he doesn’t really look like he wants to do it. 

“Fine, but I’m keeping the coffee in my hand.” 

Your tender laughter prolongs. “Fair enough. Go pose with your little heat pack.” 

Gazing out at the pond, Taehyung is already standing there. With his brown coat over his gray suit, he coalesces with the autumnal scenery and you think he belongs there. That a statue should be made of him right where his feet are planted, for people to remember and appreciate his beauty. You snap a few pictures of him before Jimin makes his way towards the stone bannister and stops right in front of Taehyung, who towers over him. Jimin lifts his cup and smiles a little tight smile, the mist from his coffee eclipsing over him like a soft fog. Switching to portrait mode, Taehyung is gone by the time your screen clears out and shows Jimin by his lonesome self, setting his coffee cup down on the bannister and turning around for some dramatic, aesthetic shots. Taehyung laughs in your ear, catches your slipping purse and places it back on your shoulder, and what he says next gives your life a whole new meaning. 

“Jimin is cute, but he’s strong and sane enough to protect you while I’m gone.”

You pivot back, piercing your sight right through him, not believing those words were just flung out of him like that. Taehyung never mentioned you having a protector while being in the military and even the whole concept of it confuses you even deeper as Jimin is serving as well. He might not be in the special forces like your boyfriend is, but he’s serving nonetheless. The systems are the same, no matter the department. 

Before you can ask him what he meant by that, the sing-song tone of Jimin’s voice reaches you. He calls out your name with a bit of alarm. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You gaze back and meet his eyes in full motion—he’s already taking long steps towards you and grabbing your arm, taking your confusion to another level.  

“What happened?” he asks, his pupils thin dots that ripple through your skin with stiff, panicky electroshocks. You glance back at Taehyung to discover that he’s not standing behind you at all, but behind Jimin, clutching his shoulder. 

You blink. “Nothing.” 

Jimin lets go of your arm and inhales the autumnal air. The pond, suddenly, heaves. 

“Let’s go somewhere warm,” Jimin suggests and you agree with him with a nod of your head. Pinpricks of iciness kisses your fingertips, despite the fact you’re still holding your own cup of coffee that Jimin bought you. 

A strange feeling seizes you. 

The jazz bar is an embrace of snug heat that embraces your womb first before greeting the rest of your body. You can’t help but to touch your baby, say to her in your heart: this is your Daddy’s most favorite place in the whole wide world. And the feeling is so surreal that it washes away the strange sensation that clung to you so heavily. 

You’re the first customers to come. Jimin sighs in absolute relief and he’s standing in the middle of the dance floor, frozen in time, as he lets the warmth of the place defrost his bones. Your cup of coffee was long finished and discharged; Jimin’s drank his in long sips that took seconds to finish, too, and the whole ordeal was so funny to you that it’s given you a sense of lightness that you needed. 

Taehyung hasn’t spoken a word since you left your apartment. 

He sits at the bar stool like he sat in your shared bedroom. One leg propped on the footrest while the other is relaxed on the floor, one hand folded on the apex of his thigh, the other drumming on the bar while the band he doesn’t know is rehearsing their instruments. You take a seat right beside him and feel like the parents you’re about to become. Sophisticated, classical, sublime. 

The pretentious kind, but in a good way. 

That thought makes you smile softly until the bartender asks you if you’d like anything. You politely decline her, even though you’d love a glass of wine with the daddy to be beside you. You can’t drink, not for many months to come. You wait for her to ask Taehyung the same question, but she doesn’t even lift her eyes to his direction. She wipes down the wood of the bar and leaps away. 

Nobody fucking asks Taehyung anything. 

Amidst a hearty guitar strumming solo, Jimin notices the furrow of your brows, the downturned pout of your mouth that opens to ask Taehyung about the strangeness that keeps occurring today. But before you get the words out, Jimin calls out your name into the microphone, the vowels made sweet by the sound of his princely voice. He stands with the band behind his back, his Hussar jacket exquisitely fitting the dimmed background. He holds out his hand for you, a poignant glint perched on top of his irises, and he flattens his puffy, pink lips. 

“Don’t be sad. Tonight is for Taehyung and all sadness is prohibited,” he says with his feigned announcer articulations, the corners of his mouth rounding in a similar manner to yours, in sympathy. “We will have to kindly ask you to leave if you proceed in your sadness. Please, join me here.” 

You roll your eyes, but the smile gracing your features couldn’t be erased even with the force of the whole wide world. You stand to your feet and paddle your way to him, the heels of your stilettos clicking on the worn parquets. Jimin gives you a soft grin and places his microphone down, meeting you halfway on the dance floor and taking your hand. 

It is when he begins to sing, just for you, that you perceive that the instrumental song the guitarist played is one, which is contained in one of Taehyung’s vinyls. The ones he would play in the darkest of nights and sing the lyrics to your bare body. Tears prick your waterline when Jimin guides you into a gentle slow dance while maintaining the tones of the song with utmost perfection. 

And Taehyung is carried in every languid motion and in every vocal cord that is strained upon this hour in his honor. 

I’m in the mood for love, simply because you’re near me…

You gaze back at Taehyung, who sits still and smiles his boxy smile. Frozen and beautiful, but unbreathing. 

Still and unbreathing. 

Frozen. 

You halt your movements. 

Jimin stops the dance, ends the song with a deep hum that pulses through you along with the notion that something isn’t right, but very, very wrong. 

“I wish Taehyung were here,” Jimin says with a deep sigh, holding both of your hands, and an uncanny, perplexing feeling constricts your throat. 

Your breath shivers, vision blurry. “But he is here.” 

Jimin lets go of your hands and you lament his touch. You need to be touched because you feel yourself shrinking into a fawn most vulnerable that doesn’t know what’s real anymore. A fawn just born, pathetically ignorant of the world and of her loved ones.

“I know, but I wish he were here for real.” 

A cold sweat drips down your spine, paralyzing you. Your constricted throat dries up like a well and you can’t swallow. You can’t think, you can’t blink—your lungs can’t lift to inhale any air and they mirror Taehyung’s still ones, unbreathing. 

It is a surprise to you, the question that flows out of you. 

“Jimin, who is sitting at the bar?” 

A wrinkle forms between his brows as he sweeps his gaze over all those bar stools and doesn’t linger at the occupied space that you know is there. A perturbing energy thuds in his eyes once he returns them to yours, and that alarming potency in him rises once again. 

“Who do you see there?” he asks, carefully, leaving his mouth parted as he anticipates your answer. 

You peer back behind you and don’t find any bar stools occupied. Not single one. 

No Taehyung, smiling his boxy smile. 

No Taehyung behind Jimin. 

No Taehyung behind you. 

A sob rumbles out of you in unison with your realization that you were, indeed, very wrong. You catch your sob, covering your mouth with your fingers as your tears spurt down onto your cheeks. 

And then the memories arrive, the reality.

But Jimin ceases their flow with the warmth of his even more careful question. 

“Did you see him at the park, too?” 

You can only nod, but you can’t look at him. You stare at nothing in particular and it seems that what Jimin has ceased, he allows to stream through the pond of your thoughts, accompanied by his vocalized truth. 

“Taehyung isn’t here. He should’ve been here with us, but he had to go to North Korea. There was a conflict, remember? You know this.” 

Taehyung’s apologetic text message appears before your eyes. The letter that came first before his phone call, where he explained to you that he can’t have his vacation and visit you because he has to go and save his country. The real, known reason between the pair of you and Jimin behind this fun day. To honor Taehyung for what he’s doing. The day you wanted to share, as well, that you were pregnant. 

The aloneness has gotten to you, helped by your blessed state. Confused your mind to the point that you imagined him here when he’s not here at all. 

Jimin calls your name and you glance at him. Perhaps he can see the truth dawning on you by the way pity twists his features. He caresses your arm and leaves his hand there, his heat locking in the realization. 

“What has happened to you?” 

Another onrush of tears clouds your vision. Your spine bends. And you can’t. 

You can’t not tell him. You can’t keep it in. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Jimin’s eyes widen and it merely takes him a second to envelop you in his embrace. He coos your name, rubs your back, a whimper resonates in his chest against yours as he holds back his tears. The music falls into nothingness—and nothing is said for a time that appears to be as long as the season of autumn. 

And then, somehow, you’re outside of the jazz club, sitting on Jimin’s Hussar jacket that he put down on the cold ground for you beside him. And the silence continues until it doesn’t. 

“Does he know?” he asks, and you feel his irises gliding across the side of your face that you cannot turn. 

It’s you who’s frozen this time. 

Still and unbreathing. 

With no smiling Taehyung at your hip. 

“I wanted to tell him tonight,” you say, quietly, with your hands helplessly in your lap. “On the day of his vacation that he looked forward to.” 

Jimin sighs, the sound full of that terrible pity. “How far along are you?” 

It’s a question that brings life to your numb hands and you take them to your belly. 

“Three months.” 

A beat of silence. 

You fondle your growing baby. Jimin seems to be watching you, considering his following words, but you fear to move your eyes. Lift them in expectation to see Taehyung only to meet the half-barren trees and the leaves on the ground that have absurdly regained their vivid colors. 

Lift them to look at Jimin and meet the outcome of your autumn-long aloneness. 

“He’ll be back in a month and I’ll talk to the Sergeant and offer my own vacation. I’ll give it up so you can see him and tell him.” 

A sob lodges itself in your throat and you tilt to the side, leaning your head on Jimin’s shoulder. He, in response, leans his against yours. 

“I don’t think your Sergeant will even hear you out,” you say, humorlessly, your personal pain still prickling the flesh of your heart. 

But then Taehyung’s words wash over you. 

Jimin is cute, but he’s strong and sane enough to protect you while I’m gone.

Jimin, Taehyung’s best friend, who’s been there for him through thick and thin, long before you came into the picture. Jimin, who stuck by your side when sightseeing, and took your pictures. Who devoured dinners with you and drank a whole bottle of liquor with you when Taehyung abstained. 

Jimin, your best friend, too. 

“Will you be here for me while he’s gone?” you ask, the sob in your throat enlarging, preventing you from speaking, but you push through. “So I won't get delusional again?” 

Jimin takes your hand in his, squeezing it firmly in your lap, his thumb brushing over your little, half-swollen belly. 

“It’s the least I can do. Let’s get you home.” 

And he does. 

He calls a cab. Walks with you up the stairs, lingers at the door, watches you take off your heels—watches the comprehension of this day being anything but fun take form on your face and posture, and he hugs you. Reassures you that he will be here the whole week until his vacation is over, and even long after that. 

And you nod. Thank him. Turn your head away when he clicks the door shut behind him. Walk over to the window and stifle your tears when you see him head over to the liquor store in front of your apartment and leave with a bottle of spirits hanging from his fingertips. 

And the tears rush out, despite your efforts, when your gaze cascades down onto the windowsill and onto the vase, where white wine-doused tulips stooped in yearning for Taehyung’s touch a few hours ago. 

They aren’t stooping. They’re flaccid, dead and withered. Like the fun day you prepared.

Because Taehyung hasn’t bought any newly blooming tulips in a long while. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @jjk7k , @tkslovechild , @euphoricmyth , @cinmmongirl , @ririkookiemonster , @perfectiondazesworld , @https-mei , @bangtansonyeondanue , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk , @parkinglot-nights

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist | read part two

[cutiecusp]

Matchmaker, Operation Hearts and Flowers.

This is IT people. THE update I know a few of you have been wanting... 💍

This will feature screenshots, text, and the end for these two as you know it, for now. 💜

......

You drop your phone, not even hearing it thud on the floor of the jeep, before you wrench the door open.

Dozens of flowers edge the pathway onto your home, a few stray petals coating the stone floor.

Your eyes widen in surprise, the flowers were gorgeous, but you noticed little heart string lights between some of the arrangements.

And there he stood.

Simon Riley, with the cockiest grin on his face.

"Hey, sweetheart." He walks to you, holding a black little box in his hand, toying with the clasp with his thumb.

You are too stunned to speak. The day had drew into evening, and your house looked beautiful, decorated in your favourite flowers, and pretty twinkly lights.

"You did all this for me?" You eventually ask, your gaze never leaving his.

"Operation Hearts and Flowers is a go, Angel." He murmurs into your hair as he embraces you.

Your arms circle his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

After a few minutes, you hear a cough, and your eyes flicker over to Soap, stood against the jeep, watching you two.

You blush, and feel Simon pull away, albeit reluctantly.

Your eyes don't leave his as he slowly kneels in front of you, a flicker of nervousness furrows his brow, before he takes your hand in his.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" He asks softly.

Tears begin to form in your eyes as you understand what's happening.

"I've been carrying around this ring for weeks, making sure the moment was right. That it was what you wanted."

Your breath comes out shakily as you nod.

"It is perfect, Simon."

He smiles as he opens the box, your tears clog in the back of your throat as you realise it's the one you mentioned to Soap you wanted as a little girl, even down to the small diamond in the band.

"They say in vows, until death do us part, but I think even past that we will always find each other. I fully understand the meaning of home when I'm in your arms, and I want to spend the rest of my life being yours. Will you marry me, love?"

The world goes silent, and it's just the two of you. You look at the ring, you take in Simons features, and you give his hand a little squeeze before nodding.

"Of course I will." You reply, throwing yourself on him, almost knocking him to the ground.

You hear cheers from the house, and you see your family, Avery, Gaz, and a man with mutton chops applaud you both, the only noise you hear is them celebrating into the evening.

You press a kiss onto Simons lips, before he slides the ring on your finger.

"Is this why Avery made me get my nails done before Germany?" You ask, laughing.

Simon looks a little sheepish before nodding.

A stiff breaks the bubble you are in, and your gaze returns to Soap, camera in hand.

"Aw, Suds. Don't tell me you are a crier." You tease, before pulling him in for a hug.

"M'not. These bleedin' flowers. Allergies." He clarifies, but you catch him looking at you both proudly.

"I so need to add Matchmaker to my resume." He sniffs, before you all join the group.

You have a glass of bubbles put into your hand, as you mingle with your family, your eyes meeting Simons across the room.

Going on that blind date was the best choice you could have made, Serial killer vibes and all. ;)

......................

BONUS. (IF YOU MAKE IT THIS FAR, MEGA HUGS!)

THE NEXT DAY!

I am so so grateful for all the love on these two. They will be back, but taking a little break from these two, as we have a wedding, a honeymoon, a REUNION... Halloween, Birthday and Christmas written... ;)

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-love-letter @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Homecoming Daydream Part 3

Summary: “And you’re mine“, she sighed happily. All mine.

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader.

Genre: Romance, fluff and smut.

WC: 4.473

Author's note: This is a multiple-chapter Toto x Reader fanfic. Noted that English is not my mother tongue so there will be mistakes.

Hi guys, it’s been a whirlwind journey for me to create something such a beautiful piece of work and to actually publish it on here. Thanks for all the love and support. I love you all! And here it is the very last part of the story. I love every bit of it.

Thanks @peachapat119 for being such an amazing beta reader 🫶🏻

Part 1

Part 2

Y/n leaned forward getting a closer look at the mirror inside the bathroom as she carefully re-applied her plush, red lip. She smacked her lips together to get the right shade of red in how it should be. Slowly, she let out a sigh and took a deep breath. This was not the first time today that she needed to remind herself she is, no was getting married. The reality still hadn’t fully sunk in. Finally, they were married. She was married. Married to him. To the man, she held close to her heart and mind.

As if sensing she was thinking about him, she heard her husband’s steps in the bedroom. Of course, since she thought about him all the time, the timing wasn’t a hard feat to manage. She looked up in the mirror and was met with a smile that threatened to melt her bones into goo. Good thing he stepped up behind her to hold her upright, his warm hands encircling her waist in a loving embrace.

“Hi there, Schzat,” He softly murmured in his low voice, almost as a whisper, ones that she can not be mistaken.

“Hi,” she whispered happily, hands on top of his around her waist.

“I missed you downstairs. Is there anything wrong?”

“I’m fine, just needed to freshen up a bit.”

Toto hummed contentedly, softly swaying them to the music that drifted through the open windows. She leaned back into him, enjoying how safe and protected she felt in his arms. He placed a chaste kiss on her shoulder, before tracing the shell of her ear with his nose.

„Have I told you how incredibly beautiful you look today?“

Her smile turned into a grin.

„Only about a dozen times.“

He shook his head and tsk-ed her quietly.

“A dozen? That’s not nearly enough. Let me remedy that right now.“

He turned her around in his arms until they were face to face and she was almost blinded by the happy expression on his face. He looked almost boyish with joy.

He got that boyish look that I like in a man

I am an architect, I'm drawing up the plans

It's like I'm seventeen, nobody understands

No one understands

An angelic voice inside of her head suddenly sing along to the song that made her laugh aloud.

“You look utterly, undeniably, devastatingly gorgeous tonight, Mrs. Wolff.”

Y/n giggled.

“You really love calling me that, don’t you?“

“I really, really do.“

Toto slid his arms over her waist and back, until he reached her neck, gently cradling her head while he pulled her in for a kiss. It wasn’t their first kiss tonight, and it wouldn’t be their last by a long shot, but that didn’t make it any less remarkable.

Their kisses were filled with passion and desire, each one igniting a fire within them that had been burning since they first laid eyes on each other. Toto's hands traveled down her back, pulling her closer to him as their lips moved together in a dance of love and lust.

He could feel her heart beating rapidly against his chest, matching the rhythm of his own. Their bodies pressed against each other, fitting together perfectly like two puzzle pieces that had finally found their match.

As the kiss deepened, their breath mingled together, creating a sweet and intoxicating mixture that filled the air around them. Toto couldn't get enough of her, couldn't resist the pull she had on him. He wanted to drown in her, to lose himself in the passion that consumed them both.

And as they finally pulled away, both breathless and flushed with desire, Toto knew that this was just the beginning of a love that would last a lifetime. Their connection was undeniable, their chemistry electric. And as he looked into her eyes, he knew that he had found his soulmate in her.

Toto’s body vibrated with a moan of his own, as he matched her intensity. The sound of it made her insides flutter and liquid heat pool at the apex of her thighs. Especially since she could feel the effects of their kiss against her stomach, plump and quickly hardening.

Y/n pulled back, trying to catch her breath. Toto didn’t care, he continued the onslaught of kisses on her body, trailing down the sides of her throat, following the neckline of her dress.

“Look so perfect, so beautiful, mein Engel“, he murmured, his hot breath against her skin. “Can’t believe you’re mine.“

Y/n gasped and giggled.

“And you’re mine“, she sighed happily. All mine.

Y/n looked into his eyes, seeing the depth of his love and devotion reflected back at her. She knew that they were meant to be together, that their love was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love.

In that moment, they were lost in each other, consumed by the intensity of their love. Nothing else mattered, not the past or the future, only the present moment filled with love and passion. Y/n knew that she was truly home, in the arms of the man she loved more than anything in the world.

She smiled mischievously when pulled back from the kiss and licked her lips, feeling a surge of desire buzzing through her veins. Closing the distance between them, she ran her hands up his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath her touch. Toto's breath hitched as her fingers trailed down his abdomen, causing her to smirk in satisfaction. When she looked up at him, she saw a mix of desire and amusement in his eyes.

“What are you up to, Schatz?” He asked, a hint of challenge in his tone.

She grinned, teasingly tugging on his tie before trailing her fingers along the waistband of his trousers.

"Just appreciating what's mine," she replied coyly.

Toto chuckled, his gaze darkening as she continued to tease him.

"Is that so? And why did you push me away earlier?"

She shrugged playfully, running her nails lightly across his waistband.

"I just remembered something I wanted to try."

"What's that?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

She hummed softly, pressing a kiss to his neck before sinking to her knees in front of him. The surprise in his expression brought a thrill to her as she slowly unbuckled his belt, revealing his erection straining against his briefs.

"I couldn't stop thinking about doing this last night," she murmured, her voice low and seductive.

"Thinking about what, Liebe? Teasing me?" he growled, his desire evident in his voice.

Ignoring the submissive urge within her, she confidently pulled down his briefs and wrapped her hand around his cock, eliciting a groan from him.

“I swore to give you all of mine. So this belongs to me, right?” She asked in a sultry tone, looking at him through her eyelashes.

He gazed down at her, his breathing heavy, before finally closing his eyes and nodding.

“I’m yours, Schatz. Yours, forever, If you have me.”

"Good boy," she purred, stroking him slowly. "You'll only ever come for me, won't you?"

"Only for you," he replied, his voice strained with desire.

She smiled wickedly, enjoying the power she held over him.

"Remember that, my dear husband. You belong to me, completely and utterly."

She leaned forward, bracing herself on his muscular thighs and stuck out her tongue, letting some saliva trickle off onto the head of his cock. With her fingertips, she dragged the liquid downward, over the thick pulsing vein running down the middle, until she could draw little circles on the skin of his sack. When she heard another sharp exhale from above, she stopped tracing and gripped him again, and started pumping him in lazy strokes.

"Hmm, I’ve always loved how hard you get for me, dear husband."

He twitched in her hand and her smile turned into a sly grin.

"Fuck, Schatz. Whatever you're planning on doing, you better be ready for the consequences."

The threat sent a tingle down her spine. And when she looked up, she was met with that beautiful intensity, those brown eyes wanting. When she sped up her strokes just slightly, his gaze darkened and dropped from her face to her hand, more specifically her finger. The finger that now carried his diamond ring, sparkling in the low light. Her heart fluttered unevenly in her chest. Leave it to her husband to be turned on by the physical proof of their commitment.

"All I plan on doing is pleasing my husband. How am I doing so far?"

As she continued to stroke him, she could sense his control slipping away. The way his breath caught in his throat, the way his fingers dug into the sheets beneath him. She knew exactly how to push his buttons and she reveled in the power she held over him in this moment. The ring on her finger served as a reminder of their love and devotion, but in this moment, it was just a symbol of their shared desire and passion. And as she watched him come undone beneath her touch, she knew that they were connected on a deeper level than just the physical. Their love was a force to be reckoned with, and she was determined to show him just how much she adored him in every way possible.

She watched, mesmerized as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. His jaw clenched, as she kept up her movements.

“I love it when you touch me, Schatz. But you know what I need to be truly satisfied.“

Yes, she knew. By now she was very familiar with Toto’s single-minded need to drown her in pleasure, pulling endless orgasms out of her body until she was a helpless, boneless mess.

Y/n could feel her arousal soaked through her panties. She was dying as much as Toto, she wanted to touch her self but as if he could read her mind

“Don’t you dare to do so, Liebe. Even on our wedding day, you know full-well that that’s not the place for you to touch.”

The tinge of anger in his voice only spurned her on further. She took him back into her mouth, pushing forward until he hit the back of her throat, hollowing out her cheeks and sucking gently as she pulled back. When he groaned loudly as she took him deeper, she could feel the sound vibrating through her entire body.

Toto was getting close, too. She could tell by the tension in his strained muscles, his irregular breathing and uneven pace. He leaned back to hold on to the counter behind him, and something crinkled and dropped to the ground. But neither of them was able to care.

Y/n flicked her tongue against the head of his cock and sucked again, harder this time, tightening her lips around him. She rubbed her other hand over his thigh, moving higher to cradle his balls in her palm, rolling them just slightly.

Toto’s hips jerked as he pushed back into her mouth and he let out another guttural groan. The sound drove her mad with lust as she pushed herself to the edge, the gentle climax relaxing not just her core, but also her throat, as she took him deeper and moaned.

He cursed through clenched teeth and as soon as Y/n felt his hands in her hair, she also felt him spill in her mouth, hot and perfect. She dutifully swallowed every last drop and kept licking up and down his shaft as Toto panted heavily. He finally stopped moving and cradled her head in his hands, his cock still hard and throbbing on her tongue. Then he looked down, back at her and drew in a sharp breath.

“Holy shit“, he murmured when he got back to his senses.

In one swift move, he grabbed her by the elbows and pulled her up against him, kissing her with the hunger of a man who always wanted more. She melted into him, returning the kiss and pressing herself against his still-hard erection, hoping for the second round she suddenly very much craved.

They went back downstairs after Y/n managed to fix herself up somewhat. Though Toto immensely enjoyed the sight of his wife’s thoroughly fucked up hair and make-up, he didn’t need to share it with the rest of the wedding party. She slipped into different clothes, a lighter sundress. Even without the wedding gown, she looked so gorgeous, he couldn’t keep his hands off her, only relenting when she slapped them away on the way down the stairs with a giggle.

Finally, though, they were free from all the wild guests as Toto and Y/n left for their honeymoon.

As soon as they step through the door of their hotel’s room, she attacks him while Toto hasn’t even had the chance to set their hotel’s key card and their luggage down.

“Easy there, Schatz.”

“Don’t blame me, husband.”

After a moment, she begins to suck and nibble at his throat. Toto has to fight back the growl that wants to leave his mouth. God, he’s half hard just from her mouth on his skin, and he’d say, also from having her in his arms, so who is he kidding?

Her hand goes in between their bodies, fingers wrapping around his length as she stands on her tiptoes and captures his mouth in a soft kiss. He groans out shamelessly before he deepens the kiss and slides his tongue into her mouth, tongue stroking along the roof of her mouth. She meets him halfway and closes in harder, hand still jerking him off. Her thumb draws circles on his slit, spreading the pre-cum around the pulsing head.

Y/N’s other hand travels from the back of his neck down to rest on his chest, breaking the kiss by pushing him away. Their foreheads are still fused as they come up for air.

“Toto?”

“Yeah?”

“Take me to bed,”

He smiles before he kisses her again as both his hands thread through her hair, pulling them together. She’s quick to wrap her legs around his middle and Toto does his best to walk to their bedroom without slipping and falling.

It looks like he can reach his destination without incident. He makes sure to reach out and stores in the suitcases, although it’s damn distracting with a girl sucking on his neck.

Toto manages to lay her on the nicely made bed and pushes himself up to study her features. She whines at the loss of warmth. The sound that she lets out makes him chuckle because it’s so fucking adorable. It manages to tear at his heartstrings.

He pushes her further up and lays her head onto the pillow that’s fluffy enough to almost make her disappear. His heart takes another happy leap of the night when he hears her laughing with her head almost buried by the fluffiness of the cushion.

“Y/N? Where did you go?” Toto chuckles amused, his hands battling with the pillow right beside her head, making her reappear, “Oh, there you are,”

There’s still giggling when she reaches out and swats at his chest one-handed. Toto quickly takes hold of it, brings her hand to his lips and places a kiss on her knuckles before he lets go.

Hovering above her, with her hands around his biceps, he takes another moment to look at her. Takes that moment to memorize her face. He doesn’t know why, but he has a feeling that he won’t be able to enjoy her much longer, even though he hopes that his gut feeling isn’t going to be right the sinking feeling is there, and he doesn’t know the origin of it, nor can he explain it.

Her hand strokes up and down his arm, until they wind themselves around his neck, fingers stretching lightly at the short hair on the base of it as she pulls him down, and kisses him sweet and tender. Toto’s train of thought about the bad feeling has been cut short and he gives in to the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth before he sucks in her bottom lip, which elicits the sweetest of moans from her. It’s a sound he came to cherish. A sound he wouldn’t mind hearing every day.

He smirks as he kisses lower, down the column of her throat, her hands in his hair as he trails wet kisses down to the swell of her breasts. Her husband sucks in a nipple while he twirls her the other in between two of his fingers. She keens below him, nails digging into his scalp. He alternates between them, thinks he could spend hours between her tits, and wouldn’t even think it was a waste of time because truth be told, they are fucking magnificent.

Like a man on a mission, or rather possessed, Toto works his way further down when she starts to get impatient, chuckles as he licks a trail down her stomach, leaving warm kisses on the marks he sees, making sure that she knows he’s not appalled by them. It’s a part of her and he takes everything he gets.

Y/N spreads her legs willingly. He grins at her enthusiasm, fitting himself in between them before he runs a hand up and down her one thigh while he places quick kisses on the other one. He alternates between them, always stopping short before he reaches the apex of her thighs.

There’s a short intake of breath before she lets out a whine. “Toto!”

He looks up at her, raising one eyebrow with an easy smirk, “What?” He’s being a little shit, and one day, she’ll club him over the head with one of the big books she keeps by her nightstand at home and he wouldn’t even be able to be mad about it because he brought it upon himself.

“You’re teasing,” She manages to push past her lips. It comes out a little strained as she writhes below him.

He takes his time, brushing his beard along the inner of her thighs like he has a death wish. Her glare takes him by surprise, doesn’t mean he’s stopping, though.

“I do?” He asks, feigning innocence.

“God, you’re— fuck!”

He chuckles as he sucks in her clit, has successfully cut her off and made her shut up by doing just that. He lets it out with a lewd pop as one of his thumbs rubs along her slit to her entrance, “Better?”

Looking up at her, he sees her rolling her eyes in annoyance before her hand goes to the top of his head and guides him back down. He can’t hide the satisfied grin as his tongue swipes around her clit.

“Fuck, Y/N,” He growls low, she’s getting so wet, and her slick is painting his face. It’s the fucking best thing.

The fingers of one of his hands toy with her entrance while he makes out with her pussy, his other hand kneading the flesh of her thighs. He slips in a finger, feels her opening up to him and wraps it tight. He lets out another growl that doesn’t sound human.

Y/N wriggles her hips and he slips in another finger, curving them. Her breathing is ragged, both her hands now on his head, fingers threading through his wet mess of hair as she grinds down and he curves his fingers just as he knows will drive her fucking crazy.

“Toto, oh god,”

Jesus, he loves how his name sounds when she says it like that. It’s coming out broken and on edge.

“Come, Liebe,” He manages to breathe out, mouth hovering over her sensitive nub, “Be a good girl, come for me,”

“Fuckfuck,” She arches her back, pulling his head further into her hot cunt. He looks up and catches a glimpse of her tits pressed together by her arms, her nipples stiffening as she throws her head back. Her thighs quiver around him, her pussy clenching down on his two fingers, keeping them captive.

His tongue licks her softly as he helps her ride out her orgasm and places gentle kisses on the hood of her clit. He smiles when he looks up and sees her blinking her eyes open only to beam back at him.

“God, you are fucking amazing,” He whispers lowly before kissing his way up her body, taking a little more time to worry at her nipples, because how can he not. In the background, she chuckles softly.

“I think you got it backwards,” She says playfully, and when he works his way up her throat, she wraps her arms around him tight to bring him down for a searing kiss. It’s all soft and tender, not like the heated kisses he’s used to, and maybe it’s because they are not in a rush. They’ve got all the time in the world because she’s now his wife. And yet, still, he thinks this is just too good to be true.

His throbbing cock brushes against her still-slick cunt, making her hum against his lips.

“Toto, fuck me, please,” She whines, her fingers stroking at his hair, and along the shell of his ear and how can he say no to that?

He pauses and sends her his signature grin, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, please?”

Y/N emphasizes her words with a hip thrust forward, bumping her crotch against his hard-on. He’s so gone, growling again at the feel. What he absolutely loves is how she asks for it, since she knows that he likes to hear her beg and hear her use her words.

Her husband leans down and kisses her nose, “No.”

“No?” She asks with a hint of disappointment in her voice. Her eyebrows rise to her hairline.

“No,” He confirms, pressing a kiss between her eyebrows where a frown is showing. “I’m not fucking you.”

There’s that pout that tears at his heart. Fucking adorable. He can’t help but kiss it.

“Why?”

He grins again, wider this time, “I’m not fucking you, Schatz. I’m going to make love to you.”

At that, her mouth forms an O before her lips stretch across her face. Toto leans down to kiss the wide grin before he heaves himself up onto his haunches.

She’s lying here in front of him. It’s a fucking beautiful sight.

His hands spread her thighs some more and he moves closer on his knees. One of his hands takes his cock and threads the head through her slit, up and down, agonizingly slow. It’s like he wants to memorize the sight and the feel of his wife.

Toto might have gotten lost in the feel of it because she’s reaching down with one hand, scratching at his knee with her nails, “Toto!”

“Huh?” He jerks up momentarily and huffs out a chuckle when he realizes that he’s been stalling and therefore, teasing. “Yeah, okay. Okay, fuck, Y/N. Look at you,” He rests the tip at her entrance, pushing in just a little. His eyes fly to hers and back to her cunt that stretches around the head of his cock, ready to take him in further. He’s having difficulty deciding where to fucking look. Toto decides to keep his eyes on where their body connects, pushing in a little more and watching her pussy stretching around him, watching how it greedily hugs him and pulls him in. Fuck. “So good,” His voice is strained, and he has to swallow hard, “Your pussy feels so fucking good, Schatz,”

She clenches at the praise and he has to stop his movement for a hot minute. Everything is overwhelming, his senses are on overload and he fears that if she does that a few more times, he’ll be coming before he’s even fully inside, which would be really fucking embarrassing.

Her hand is on his knee again, tickling him there, “You okay?”

Chuckling, he lets himself down to hover above her, bracing himself on his forearms, bracketing her head in between. Her arms are around his waist and on his ass, trying to get him to move forward but he’s not budging.

He kisses her, sucks and nibbles at her bottom lip, “Yeah, I’m okay. Just have to take a moment, don’t fucking move,”

Y/N giggles and he bites her lips before he shuts her up by molding his lips to hers. He kisses her hot and hungry, not leaving her time to think about anything else until he’s ready.

Toto’s still kissing her when he finally moves, making her sigh into his mouth, drinking the sounds and hums of contentment, swallowing it as his dick carves a way into her hot heat.

He drops his head, kisses and nibbles his way to her earlobe, sucking it into his mouth as he whispers sweet things into her ear, “Always taking my cock so well, Y/N. So amazing, Schatz,”

This time, when the clench comes, he’s prepared. Toto inhales sharply, holding his breath for a little before he’s able to move again.

His movement is slow. He goes deep, her fingernails digging into his back every time he hits a particularly good spot. Once he figures it out, he keeps hitting that spot over and over. The scratch on his back hurts but it’s the good kind of hurt. He’s sure she’ll leave a mark and is secretly hoping for it.

“Toto,” His name falls like a prayer when she comes again unexpectedly.

From the way she squeezes around him, it’s less hard but more intense. He has to fight to stay inside, her cunt threatening to push him out.

“Fuck, Schatz,” He growls as he molds his mouth back on hers.

There’s this hazy feeling in his gut again when she kisses her, a fear that creeps up his spine that something so perfect can not last. And it’s like he’s begging her from the way he kisses her. Toto tries to tell her without using words and tries to tell her to stay with him. With every thrust of his hips, with every swipe of his tongue, he begs for her to fucking stay.

He comes shortly after, spilling what he thinks is his fucking soul inside of her. He doesn’t move though, keeping himself on his forearms as he tucks her hair behind her ear and rubs his nose against hers. He kisses her gently, kisses her nose, her forehead.

Y/N whines when he rolls off and gets out of bed, but he only does it so he can pull at the sheets and tuck them both inside.

They settle in the bed, her head on his chest as he strokes his fingers along her spine. Her breathing starts to even out, falling into a slumber. She’s his wife.

[kvetchlandia]

George C. Cox Walt Whitman, New York City 1887

1 I sing the body electric, The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them, They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves? And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead? And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?

2 The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account, That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.

The expression of the face balks account, But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists, It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him, The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth, To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more, You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards, The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water, The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the horseman in his saddle, Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances, The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting, The female soothing a child, the farmer’s daughter in the garden or cow-yard, The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six horses through the crowd, The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down after work, The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance, The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes; The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps, The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert, The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv’d neck and the counting; Such-like I love—I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother’s breast with the little child, Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with the firemen, and pause, listen, count.

-- Walt Whitman, "I Sing the Body Electric," pts 1 and 2 1855

[bananastarion]

Rambling headcanons about how Astarion's trauma could manifest in your relationship.

Disclaimer: I am not fetishizing trauma or PTSD here. I have C-PTSD myself, and have dated others with it as well. So some of this is (loosely) inspired by my own experiences. It's not pretty, it's not fun, but I'd say it's pretty realistic. So yeah, fair warning! Anyway, let's gooooo

Astarion isn't fazed by much, but he IS claustrophobic- having to claw your way out of your own coffin, being trapped in a mindflayer pod and being trapped in a tomb for a year straight would do that to anyone. If he is ever unfortunate enough to be stuck in a small space again, he'll go into a blind panic. He'll hyperventilate and try to force his way out any way he can, and if he can't get out in time he'll just completely mentally shut down for a bit. If you plan to pull him into a little broom closet for a sneaky fuck, just forget it ok? You will probably get your eyes accidentally clawed out.

There is a long period in your relationship where Astarion is gradually getting more comfortable with being vulnerable around you, but he's also very self-conscious about it. He doesn't want you to pity him or think he's weak. You will be tempted to give him lots of validation and praise to make up for all of the psychological abuse he endured, to reassure him that he's finally safe and free, and that you love him for more than just his body. That his problems won't ever drive you away, and that you don't judge him. He appreciates your words deeply, he wants and needs them more than he cares to admit. But at the same time, they completely overwhelm him. Finally being in a good place with a caring partner is such a stark contrast to what he's been through, that it forces him to see even deeper into the void inside him and recognize just how badly he was treated, how deprived he's been. They hit him hard in both good and bad ways, and sometimes he'll tell you to stop because he just can't handle feeling so much right now. It's best to stick to mostly surface level stuff and ease carefully into the deeper, more meaningful observations.

The sweeter your words, the more his mind races with fears that you are idealizing him and eventually you'll come to see him for what he really is- and then abandon him. Fears that he'll come to depend on your kindness only for it to be ripped away, whether by you or by circumstances beyond his control. Fears that you don't really mean it, that you're just manipulating him the way he did to others. Deep down he hopes and trusts you're sincere, but it's just so hard to accept when Cazador's voice is in his head, countering all of it. This is all so new to him, so unknown. And the unknown is terrifying. He gets frustrated that your kindness does this to him, he wants to be able to embrace your words, he's so impatient to heal and finally be over this shit already. He judges himself so harshly for still struggling with all this. Cazador's dead, he is free, he has someone who truly loves him- why isn't that enough?! Why can't he fully appreciate it, is he just going to feel broken forever? He worries he'll take too long to get over his past, and you'll get tired of it and leave. Expect to give him lots of reassurance about all of this.

He doesn't like to cry around you, but over time you will lower his guard enough that he'll stop fighting back the tears quite so much. Sometimes it's a bad dream, sometimes you say something that just hits him hard (even if it's in a good way), and sometimes he has no idea what triggered it. You tell him he can wake you up any time if he needs you, but often he chooses not to wake you and just suffers through it alone. When it happens while you're both awake, at first he would roll over and face away from you when the tears started flowing if he couldn't collect himself, and you'd just hug him from behind. But eventually he feels comfortable enough to bury his face in your chest and just let it all out. When it's really bad, he'll be trembling and hugging you so tightly as he sobs into your shirt that it's almost hard for you to breathe. The best thing you can do is just be there with him, stroke his hair, caress the tears off his cheeks. It can be dicey, but eventually you learn to read him well enough that sometimes stroking the scars on his back very gently can be healing for him. There are other times though, when this will be too much for him. Same goes for kissing. Also, don't even think about telling anyone you've seen him like this. But of course, why would you?

Don't go into therapist mode with him when he's that vulnerable, and if he decides to talk, just let him talk. Hold space for him and be there with him. Afterwards, help ground him in the present and reconnect him to his senses by pointing out things in the room, remind him that it's not all happening to him right now. Realize how special it is that he feels safe enough with you to be so vulnerable. There are times when he even breaks down during sex, and he'll say that he's fine and you can keep going, but it's for the best to stop what you're doing and check in instead. He often dissociates when he's triggered, and doesn't realize something is wrong until it's too late.

Trauma isn't always pretty, and there are times when it does strain your relationship. When he's really triggered, he might take it out on you. He'll try his best to push you away, and say terrible things he doesn't mean. Perhaps things Cazador said to him. His articulate manner of speech can be sharper than his blade when wielded against you in the heat of the moment. He doesn't believe you can love this side of him, that he is fundamentally broken and unlovable, so it's a test of sorts to prove his own fears. He doesn't necessarily realize what he's doing, he's just lashing out from a point of pure fear. Trauma is an explanation for this behavior, but not an excuse, so it's important you set very firm and consistent boundaries when he gets like this. He might not appreciate it in the moment, but he will once he calms down.

It takes some time for him to feel truly secure with you, but he's getting there. In the meantime, he's starting to get a little clingy and codependent. He's not used to having so much freedom, and doesn't always know what to do with himself when you're not around. Being in your presence is when he's closest to feeling safe and at ease, and being apart for too long can cause his mind to race, especially when he has nothing to distract himself with. It drives him crazy that it gets to him so much- he's never been dependent on anyone before, and this side of him surprises himself. He hates it, which only stresses him out more. He tries to play it off, but it's very obvious he is struggling with separation anxiety. You don't want to overindulge him, but to ease his fears you decide to get a pair of magical rings. You can make each other's rings glow whenever you want- so if Astarion is feeling lonely, he can make your ring glow and you can make his glow back. Sometimes, just that is enough to get him through a rough day without you. Once he has done some more healing, eventually he will come to enjoy his alone time in a way he's never gotten to before in his life, and as much as you enjoy spending time with him, you'll be so happy for him to finally have that.

[hellsitegenetics]

i am professing my love to the amazing OLM.

They're like the long-forgotten cousins of the more popular axolotl except they live in caves and have no eyes.

LOOK AT THEM.

these little funky salamanders are completely blind and they rely on their others senses to hunt instead. they also can detect electromagnetic fields!!!

they also very possibly live longer than any other amphibian, up to 100 years in the wild! which is fucking crazy! that is to say, they don't really age much? they become adults at only four months old.

also, in medieval times, they used to wash up on the beaches and people thought they were baby dragons. which, i mean, they fit the descriptors of an aquatic dragon, if you really think about it, so i don't blame them.

my point is we should fully embrace these cave hermit cousins as our new forever-baby dragon leaders.

String identified:

a g t t aag .

T' t g-gtt c t a at ct t ca a a .

AT T. t tt aaa a ct a t t t t t ta. t a ca tct ctagtc !!!

t a g ta a t aa, t 100 a t ! c cg ca! tat t a, t 't a ag c? t c at at t .

a, a t, t t a t ac a tgt t a ag. c, a, t t t ct a aatc ag, a t at t, 't a t.

t ac t ca t c a -a ag a.

Closest match: Strongyloides papillosus genome assembly S_papillosus_LIN, scaffold SPAL_contig0000182

[lullaebies]

Not sure if you still want Jaehaegon prompts BUT a fic/drabble of the way Aegon III and Jaehaera both grieve specifically their mothers would go insane especially with your writing. Them being both extremely codependent yet unable to talk to the other about this one thing, the suppressed guilt, the waking nightmares Aegon would surely have of Jaehaera’s beloved father having his mother eaten alive right in front of him…plus the books say Rhaenyra was so dependent on having Aegon around 24/7 after she lost all her other children, how would that manifest in him now?

Have a really nice day!!!

a/n: ahhhhh i loved writing this prompt. it had been on my mind since i got it and i finally got time to tap into it (as well as other reqs that i'm slowly chipping into!). i hope you will enjoy this dear, and thank you so much for the compliments too <3 it ended up more about Aegon's experiences but there are touches on Jaehaera's side of things. I do write TG side of things more often though so he def deserves the focus I feel!

“Even while we are in the castle, you are not to leave me. Not for a moment, Aegon,” she says, tugging roughly on his hand. 

“Mother, I—” he replies, frightened at the clutch of her grip. He first tries to escape, pull his arm away, but she holds him tighter while his legs try to match her pace. “Mother, it hurts!”

And her grip suddenly loosens. He nearly trips, on the sands of Dragonstone, the dunes he had once built castles with on this shore, with his brothers. Rhaenyra falls to her knees upon it, clutching him against her in an apologetic embrace. “I am sorry. I am sorry…” she swallows

He feels the very air of the island is awry, not the same, as her feet and dress bury into the sand. He holds her back, trying to keep her afloat, though his own throat is dry at what to say. Ser Alfred Broome and his men watching him made him both shy and chilled.

She runs a hand through his hair. “We shall see to that our home is safe, and stay safe, the two of us, yes?” 

Aegon is scared, feeling dwarved by the world, but his mother’s voice is begging, and his only offer to console her, as always, is to agree.

“...Yes—”

The earth beneath becomes hot, as the sun rises above Dragonstone, turning from yellow to gold. Its rays turn into flare, and the sand turns into glass. He screams for his mother to flee — but glass shatters, puncturing his throat as he screams.

He wakes up in cold sweat, his whole body trembling. He is alone on his side of the bed, and the wind blows harshly from the open window, but not enough to dispel the heat from his bones. As if possessed, he lifts himself up from the bed, eyes taking in the dark room.

“Aegon?” Jaehaera stands up. She had sat by a roaring fireplace, making the woods within it crack as they blacken. And for a moment, it is equal parts anxiety and betrayal, tears against the dam that are his silver lash line. His feet thunder before him, grabbing the golden pitcher of wine on their table, tossing it whole at the fireplace. Droplets from it scatter like tricklets of blood on the carpet. The fire sizzles as Jaehaera gasps, but it is not fully put out.

“It won’t disappear, it won’t disappear!” his low voice trembles. His breaths feel like fire courses up his throat, and he feels sick. On the brink of vomiting from disgust — his own home is not safe, his own body betraying him to become flame — he thinks Jaehaera too is running away from him, but soon enough, she finds a glass of water within their room to douse the remaining flame.

The room then darkens significantly. The moonlight remains, refusing to let him become blind for the end, but he closes his eyes, wanting to refuse to its will too. He is not burnt, but he feels fragile ash, left behind in the wind, falling to the floor.

In the complete silence that dominates the room, in the black escape of his closed eyes, he sees his mother, as though she has never left. He hadn’t been allowed to move an inch from her, until the very moment the beast had devoured her. The one moment he wanted to run to her, make her move. The fire devoured her, as did the dragon, but he remained behind, her shadow.

A shadow of a man remains today, too.

The utter quiet that he regains his mind in remains unbroken until he opens his eyes, doing his best to keep any tears unshed. Jaehaera doesn’t dare to move a step, her fingers curling around the empty glass of water as she watches him. His heart weakens again — he should’ve known not to be so helpless in the presence of women just as helpless as he.

Mother, I’m sorry, he wants to return to the dream, to say that to her instead. He cannot, but his wife is here.

“I…” it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t know how to begin. He doesn’t want to apologize, when he still feels his mother’s hold on him. But I shouldn’t have scared her, still, and yet again, if he does apologize, he’d have to explain why, to begin with. 

He and Jaehaera don’t speak of these things. For the better of them both, for the sake of their lost loved kin, for the sake of love not being lost again. She knows what had occurred on Dragonstone, as he knows what has occurred in King’s Landing. The histories will not forget, but they ever attempt to do so, regardless.

‘Tis be duty, for the very realm. He would say that to himself, again and again, until his own guilt creeps up on him. Reminding him so — that this is his sin, the need to cling to the daughter of the scorching sun, the last light.

Jaehaera puts away the cup, and approaches him with ghostly steps. If she had liked, she could thunder through the room. She could give him her known scowl and turn away. She could even leave with less than a whisper. Everything is imaginable, when they have went through all imaginable. As a little girl, he heard her weep more than he can count, even from the other side of Maegor’s Holdfast, but she’s no longer that little girl.

She lowers herself to her knees too, and reaches over to embrace him, guiding his head to occupy the crook of her neck. The stone floor is firm, but he feels himself sinking into her. His breaths grow wavering again.

“I’m sorry,” it finally comes out, those words and the tears, and the honest, brutal truth. “It won’t leave me,” he says. “That memory, my mother—” he stops himself, shutting his eyes hard.

It aches so deeply, and it tears him apart, him of the past and him of the future. In this present, this very moment, he doesn’t even know who he is at all. Doesn’t know how to talk, or explain, or do a thing but freeze in time, so afraid of fire.

Jaehaera holds him tighter. Her fingers move soothingly through the nearby white of his hair, when she finally allows herself to speak. “Do you remember the first time you held me?” she asks him. 

He swallows. He remembers, yes. One would expect it to be their first night, but it wasn’t. His first hold of her had been a full year prior, when she had been reduced to tears at a feast. Nothing of his machinations, but of his regents. Their planning, however, had not taken into account that that day had been the anniversary of his aunt Helaena’s death. Or perhaps they had, and only wished to overwrite the day’s meaning. 

Aegon hadn’t realized. Jaehaera had barely spoken a pip to him back then. But then she broke down in tears in the middle of the feast, and although he had been apt to ignore her from their distant rooms, he couldn’t quite ignore it then when The Queen fled the room, and everyone simply stood and watched.

None of his regents could hold him in his place, for the very principle he refuses to ever be reduced to a spectator by ‘loyal’ men. 

And so he went after her — and they were ever so clear with how she looked down the moat, and mumbled about ‘mum’. He had been there when her mother died; it connected quickly. There were no words he could dare speak. No matter how averse to touch he had been, his only way to answer her had been his arms coming around her, and letting her sob within them.

He assumed it would be a futile effort, as holding the hands of those who slowly passed from Winter Fever had been… but she cried until she fell asleep, until he had already been lulled by the night himself, and they both woke up the morning after to the sun’ touching them with only soft rays.

“I know what plagues you, as you know what plagues me,” Jaehaera tells him. “You held me when I cried for my kin and the past. You needed no explanation or clause to console me. I won’t ask it of you either,” she says. “‘It is enough reason to hold you, knowing you need to be held.”

Aegon gathers her in his arms, some will of strength returning to them. 

He can ask her to never leave his side. He can plead with her, that they have to make this home safe, to remain safe, the two of them. He can leave her with no choice but to agree, even if she is doubtful. He can — but he doesn’t think he has to. She knows, and he has reached a place where his belief in it, his own yes, is not laced with doubt.

Aegon closes his eyes, and lets himself weep until sleep overtakes him. Within his drowsiness, as his last tear falls, he can see his mother at the back of his mind, offering him a soft smile. The morning sun will wake him again, but there will be no scorching no more. His last light’s tight embrace assures it too.

[loves0phelia]

Hello

I have this writing where we read the pov of Matt and it is sort a love letter to Y/n. We read about his thoughts about her, how much he loves her and it is very poetic and lovely perhaps even a bit sad. Let me know your thoughts 😊

Letter

Summery: The request but sad ++ (oops)

Words: 809 (it's small sorry)

Warnings: spelling mistakes, and it kind of doesn't make sense in some parts

A/N: listen to LOML by Taylor Swift while reading and thank you for the request xxx

“I’ve always heard that love is blind. I used to think I understood what that meant, that I could grasp the irony of it all, given my circumstances. But then you came into my life, and suddenly, the phrase took on a new meaning—one I never expected.

It's in the way you move through my world, unaware of the light you carry in my fire-filled sight. I can’t see it, but I feel your warmth in the air when you’re near. Your presence makes me feel something I've never experienced.

You make me wish I could see, not to take in the world around me, but to truly see you—the way you smile when you think no one’s watching, the exact colour of your eyes when they light up and the way you look at me. I wish more than anything to be able to feel your love through a simple glance.

I spend so much time running through shadows, but with you, it’s different. With you, I don’t fear the darkness; I embrace it because it brings me closer to you. Your body against mine, your laughter and simply you being you pulls me to you and I can't help it. If I could, I would stay with you forever.

Sometimes, it feels wrong to be so attached to you when I promised to give my full attention to making this city a better place. Because I know that if you asked me too I would drop everything to be where you are. Even if it meant abandoning what I've built and cherished. You are worth more than anything.  You’ve intertwined yourself into my soul.  I am not me without you.

Every time I close my eyes, it’s your face I see, your voice I hear, your touch I crave. You are my calm in the chaos, the one thing that makes all the noise in my head fade into silence.

But a heartache comes with loving you, an ache that I can’t ignore. It’s the knowledge that I’ll never fully deserve you, that the darkness I carry will always be a shadow over your love. I wish I could promise you a life without fear.  But all I can offer is my heart—battered, bruised, but still beating for you through any ups and lows

You are the light in my darkness, the reason I keep fighting, even when it feels like there’s no fight left in me. And even though I know I’ll never be the man you deserve, I will love you with everything I have, for as long as I can.

Yours, always, Matt”

The small paper containing Matt’s braille written note, crumbled in his fist as he stopped speaking. His voice echoed in the large church and the only other sound that could be heard were the sniffles and cries of your loved ones. Foggy, Karen, and your family. 

His fingers tightened around the folded piece of paper in his hand once again.

As he reached the casket, he paused, his breath catching in his throat. The reality of it all hit him with a force he wasn’t prepared for. You were gone. No amount of whispered promises or desperate prayers would bring you back. 

With trembling hands, he unfolded the letter, the words written across the paper now seeming so small compared to his grief. He had poured his heart into those lines, trying to capture the love, the regret, the sorrow that consumed him. But now, standing there, he felt as though nothing he could say would ever be enough.

Gently, he placed the letter on top of the casket, his fingers lingering for a moment as if he could somehow reach you through the wood and metal as if you could feel his touch one last time.

“I love you.”

Kneeling beside the casket, Matt rested his forehead against it, his hands clutching the sides as if it were the only thing keeping him from collapsing completely. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m so, so sorry…”

The church seemed to close in around him, the walls pressing down as if they were trying to suffocate the life out of him.

Matt stayed there, his heart breaking until the silence of the church was too much to bear. With a final, trembling breath, he stood, his fingers brushing over the letter one last time before he forced himself to turn away.

He knew that he would never truly leave you behind, that you would haunt him in the quiet moments when he was alone, and that your memory would be both a comfort and a curse. But for now, all he could do was walk away, leaving behind the only woman who had ever truly seen him—the woman he would love until his last breath.

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 46)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Triggers

A week had passed since your abrupt departure from Los Angeles with your daughter Mara, spending all your savings on an earlier economy class flight to Dublin. 

You had to get away from Cillian as quickly as possible for now, to clear your head, and to decide what your next steps would be. 

Cillian, of course, had begged you to stay while he attended a few more press events and interviews, but you didn't even wait for him to explain himself to you. Immediately after hanging up the phone with Amanda, you had stormed through the hotel suite, bursting into tears silently as you packed a small bag, preparing to leave.

Over the next few days, right after you took the long journey back home with Mara, you struggled to process everything that had happened. Cillian tried to call you over and over again, but you never answered his calls. 

You wanted nothing more than to scream, to cry, to break something—to do anything that would allow you to release the intense pain that he had caused, but you knew that Mara was depending on you.

***

"It's just you and me now babygirl," you whispered into Mara's ear one evening as you tucked her into bed, trying to embrace the role of a single mother bravely. After all, you always knew that this possibility loomed in the background, even when you naively thought that you were destined to be with him forever.

You couldn't believe how blind you had been, allowing yourself to fully invest in someone who had already shown you time and time again that he couldn't be counted on.

You couldn't stop thinking about the way he had looked at you, promising you a future together, making you feel cherished and loved, only to betray your trust in the most deceitful way.

You felt a hot tear trickle down your cheek as you buried your face into Mara's soft curls. It wasn't fair. You didn't deserve this pain, this heartbreak. But, as you listened to Mara's steady breathing, you knew that you couldn't give in to despair.

"Karma is a real bitch," you then thought to yourself, seeing how Cillian and you had started out as an affair too. He was cheating on his wife with you and now you were the one who was being cheated on. 

The raw pain cut through you like a hot knife, sharp and searing. Cillian's face flashed through your mind, taunting you with the broken promises and lies that only the innocent fall victim to.

Returning to the living room you noticed a vehicle parking outside on the street in front of your little terrace house. It was a small Crolla, a car that was very familiar to you and which belonged to no other than Cillian's sister Siobhan. 

You weren't expecting a visit from her, especially not in the wee hours of the night, but you didn't mind. She was one of the rare people you could count on these days even though she was a member of Cillian's family.

Quickly, you dried your tears and went to open the door. Siobhan stood there with a serious expression on her face.

"Hey," she greeted, but even her warm voice did nothing to mitigate the heavy feeling that pressed onto your heart still. "Can I come in?" she asked, and you stepped aside to let her walk past you.

You noticed that she was carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses in her hands. "I figured we could both do with a drink tonight," she added while she placed her possessions on your dining table.

You hesitated for a moment before closing the door and joining her. "You have no idea," you sighed, leaning against the back of one of the chairs.

Siobhan gave you a concerned look before pouring you a generous glass of wine. "Oh, I think I do. I saw Amanda today and, fuck, Cillian didn't even tell me about any of this because, if he had, I would have come to see you sooner Y/N. I am so sorry," she  muttered, exasperated.

"It's okay, really. There was nothing you could have done," you shrugged, sipping on the wine like it was water. It burned your throat as it went down, but it somehow made you feel a little better.

"No, it's not. I know how much this must have hurt you Y/N. My brother can be such an idiot sometimes, but he does love you, you know?" Siobhan told you, causing you to cry and laugh all at the same time.

"If he really loves me then , why did he cheat on me?" you asked, your voice cracking with emotion.

"Because he was hurt when you knocked down his proposal," Siobhan told you, explaining Cillian's turmoil to you. "And he acted impulsively which, really, is no excuse for what he did. It's just an explanation," she told you, but you no longer cared. 

"Well, it doesn't change anything now. I'm done with him," you informed her, your voice shaking a little as the reality set in.

"But-" Siobhan started to protest, but you stopped her.

"No. This is not what I want anymore," you sighed, running a hand through your hair as Mara slept peacefully in her bed upstairs. "I am better of alone and, honestly, our arrangement still stands. He will support me and Mara financially and he will get shared care, just like I had promised him. Nothing more and nothing less,"  you concluded firmly while taking another sip of your wine, watching Siobhan frown concernedly in return.

"You know Y/N, I never gave you enough credit in the past for how mature you actually are, especially for your age. You are much more of an adult than most of my clients and you are certainly much more mature than my almost fifty-year-old brother,"  Siobhan finally shared, but it wasn't enough to stop you from hurting still.

***

The following days passed slowly, with you trying to rebuild yourself and your life. It hurt like hell, to be back in the city that reminded you so much of Cillian and the times the two of you had spent together, but you didn't have much of a choice.

He came over one day to pick up Mara just as you had agreed upon when he came back from LA. Wen he arrived he also wanted to talk to you about what happened but you refused and did not even let him through the door. 

"No Cillian. Like I said in my text message last night, all that matters now is Mara," you told him face to face now that he stood in front of your door. "You can see her three days a week, no nights for now and I do not want any contact with you unless it relates to our child," you continued with a clear, firm voice, making a strict compromise so that he could spend at least a little time with Mara until she was ready to stay at his house over night. 

Cillian nodded and seemed surprisingly accepting of your conditions.

"Okay," he told you as you both stood at the front door of the house for a minute before Cillian finally reached out and gently touched Mara's cheek. 

"Do you want to take her while I get her pram and bag?" you offered to Cillian who, again, nodded silently.  With a heavy heart, you handed Mara over to the man that you loved dearly, but who had betrayed your trust.

Cillian took Mara into his arms and looked down at her happily as she babbled at him, giggling after he spoke her name. "She has grown so much even in those few days," he remarked, his voice thick with emotion. 

"She sure has," you told him. "Now, do you have enough milk in the freezer for her? I left some there the last time I visited you last. It's all dated and labelled, just make sure you heat it up right, okay?"  you added, trying to keep your voice steady and authoritative, even though you wanted nothing more than to break down and weep.

Cillian looked up at you with a pained expression on his face. "I will make sure to do that," he told you, tears welling up in his eyes.

You nodded and turned away from him before he could see the sadness creeping up on you. "Okay Cillian. I expect her back by seven. Don't be late," you said softly before pushing the pram and baby bag on to the front porch.  Cillian took them without a word and stepped outside. He looked at Mara again, a lingering longing in his eyes, a feeling that was all too familiar to you.

You closed the door softly and leant your head against it. The emptiness in the house suddenly felt bigger, suffocating almost. But you had to get used to it now. This was your life from now on.

***

The next few weeks were tough, but you made it through them with the support of Siobhan and your mother as well as your best friend Emma who suggested a night out while Mara had her first sleepover at Cillian's house, which was something that made you panic.

You never not had Mara with you over night, it had always been the two of you, or sometimes even the three of you. But, after careful consideration and speaking with Cillian about it, you finally agreed to it with a certain hesitancy.

As you stepped out of your house, ready to meet Emma for your long-anticipated girls' night, you took a deep breath and tried to remember who you were before Mara entered your life.

The thought caused a wry smile to grace your lips and, with a spring in your step, you continued down the path towards the small car that your friend drove as she picked you up along with some other girls from her class.

They were all about your age, but none of them lived the way you did. You were a single mother living in the suburbs while they were all single and sharing a flat in the city.

They were out partying and hooking up with guys while you were home, changing diapers and reading bedtime stories. They were having the time of their lives, while you often wondered if this was all that life had in store for you.

But as you slipped into the passenger seat of Emma's small car, you felt a sense of excitement that you hadn't experienced in a long time. You were ready to let loose and have some fun, and you knew that Emma and the others would make it an unforgettable night.

"Holy shit, you are looking good," Tina, one of the other girls you still knew from school days, remarked as she climbed into the backseat, and you couldn't help but feel a little boost to your confidence. You thanked her with a smile while Emma glanced at you from the driver seat, smirking triumphantly while you pulled out your phone to text Cillian, ensuring that Mara  was comfortable and okay.

"She will be fine, Y/N. She is at her dad's house, remember? He is old enough to look after her. You need to stop worrying," Emma assured you as she navigated through traffic, making her way into the heart of Dublin, where the bustling nightlife came alive.

"I know, it's just -" you started to mumble but then stopped, letting out a quiet sigh. You couldn't deny the fact that leaving Mara behind on her first sleepover with Cillian was hard. It was unfair, you thought, that parents shouldn't experience the pang of abandonment when it comes to leaving their child behind while Tina chimed in, quickly changing the topic after Emma told you again that Mara would be just fine. 

"Hey Y/N. I am curious. Does he pay for your house and car?"  Tina asked, a hint of jealousy tinging her voice. You weren't close to her, but you knew that, especially after your public appearance at the Oscars, which had now been almost ten weeks ago, many of the girls you knew had been talking about nothing else but you and Cillian. After all, he was super famous now and you had his child and not many women could claim that status.

"Well, yes he does, because I am a student, just like you Tina," you replied, suppressing the irritation in your voice. "And we had a child together, so it seems fair," you justified yourself and feeling a little nervous about exposing too much information and stirring up unnecessary envy among your former classmates.

"I suppose you have it easy then," Tina said, still showing an envy-filled tone in her voice. "My mother never even got child support from my dad,"  she added, causing a heavy silence to fall over the car as Emma glanced at Tina sternly in the rearview mirror.

"Things are different now, Tina. Cillian is -," Emma chastised but, before she could continue, you interrupted her. 

"Can we just stop talking about my ex now and focus on our night out?" you requested, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction.

Emma nodded in agreement and changed the topic, talking about her last date and the awkward ending that it had while the girls in the back seat listened attentively and added their own commentary on the subject, making jokes and trying to make each other laugh.

You tried to focus on the conversation but couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of sadness as you thought about Cillian and the life you had once imagined for yourselves.

You had hoped to grow old together, raising Mara and making memories as a happy little family, but fate had other plans.

Your mind wandered as you entered a crowded dance club, clinging to your drink as you tried to push aside the thoughts that threatened to consume you. The beat of the music pulsed around you, vibrating in your chest as you moved to the rhythm, trying to lose yourself in the seductive sounds filling the air.

But the despair that tugged at your heart wouldn't let you go, no matter how hard you tried to shake it off.

It clung to you like a persistent shadow, a constant reminder of what you had lost, and you pulled out your phone again, texting Cillian, to see whether Mara was fine.

He quickly responded, of course, telling you that she had already fallen asleep and that he was having a great time, spending time with her. It was then, in the dimly lit club, that you realized that this was your new reality, which is when, suddenly, a young attractive man bumped into you, spilling his drink all over your black dress.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Here, let me help you clean this up," he said, sprinting away to the bar and returning with a wad of napkins and a sympathetic smile.

The unexpected kindness in his large, green eyes touched you somewhere deep within your soul, and you couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of warmth and attraction ignite between you.

"Thank you," you murmured as you took the proffered napkins, still feeling the anxious tension of uncertainty in your stomach after receiving Cillian's text about your adorable daughter sleeping soundly in his arms and it was then when he even sent you a photo of her, a gesture which you appreciated. 

Just as you looked at the phone the man nodded with a reassuring smile, his eyes sparkling with interest and curiosity as, at the same time as handling your phone, you nervously tried to dab the spilled liquid from your dress without causing further damage.

"You look like you're having quite the night here," he persisted, attempting to keep up a friendly conversation as you glanced at your phone before putting it back into your handbag. 

"Yes, I haven't been out in a while," you replied, smiling at the stranger's persistence as he still stood there, looking at you. 

"Really?" he asked. "Why?" he asked, genuinely surprised by your admission as you continued to wipe away the residual drink stain on your dress.

"Well, I had a baby -," you began to say before shaking your head, realizing that this must have been the worst pick up line ever.  The man blinked a few times, his eyebrows shooting up towards his unkempt brown hairline, but he didn't falter. Instead, he dug his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels, a friendly half-smile on his lips.

"You had a baby? For real?"  he inquired inquisitively, maintaining a friendly and interested facial expression. "I mean, you don't look a day over twenty-one," he complimented you.

"Well, I am not," you chuckled. "I am twenty-one, actually," you  confessed, feeling vulnerable and exposed all of a sudden.

But the stranger, who introduced himself as Sean, only seemed more intrigued. "Wow, you had a baby already? That's impressive," he admitted, hoping he hadn't dwelled too much.

You nodded, flustered by the attention. "It's not easy but, hey, life happens," you shrugged, determined to keep it light.

"I assume you don't have kids?" you asked, curious, wondering out loud without considering the fact that this topic might be slightly weird for a twenty-something year old man.

"No , I don't. Not yet anyway," he answered with a small laugh, shaking his head ever so slightly, causing his mop of hair to bounce wildly on his head.

"Well then, I guess I just told you way too much about me, huh?"  you asked, feeling a hint of shame creep up your neck and onto your face.

Sean smiled at you genuinely and kindly, his eyes fixing on yours, a connection forming between you two. He shrugged.

"Not really. I mean, you know, things happen and I -," the man began to say before awkwardly telling you about himself. "I am 27 and just finished a degree in engineering. I only just moved to Dublin a few weeks ago and, uhm, I am single and would really like to buy you a drink, if you let me," he stammered. "Unless, of course, you actually have a man in your life, because you had a baby and stuff, so if the father is around then forget about what I just said,"  he added, catching a whiff of disappointment in his voice.

You smiled and shook your head. "My daughter's father is out of the picture," you told him honestly, softening your eyes as you observed him moving closer to you. 

"Great, so what are you drinking?" he asked and, with that, you knew where this was going.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

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[cybernetic-side-eye]

Hey, Wolffe

i’m sorry if this is a bother/Oversharing/makes you uncomfortable.

i’ve always made myself laugh when I think about myself in relation to you, because we are so different, but the one thing we do have in common is✨ messed up right eyes✨ The only difference is that yours has a cool looking cybernetic, and mine just looks opaque and clear because I’ve been blind since birth and the retina has detached. When I was little, other kids would make fun of it and call me scary. Which I don’t know, maybe you’d find that as a compliment, but when you’re young just trying, and failing to make friends, it doesn’t feel like it. It was a long time ago but I don’t feel like that insecurity has ever really left, and I find myself sometimes still hating the eyes I have and how mismatched they are.

Do you ever struggle with the way that people physically perceive you sometimes? Or is it just reflex for you to just embrace it. If so, how? Because I’ve been trying to for the past 21 years

Being perceived as scary only helps in certain situations, but other times I just want to be seen as me. I am much more than my eyes. Learning to embrace my disability is something I work on. It doesn't come easy. Some days I feel confident and other days I feel like keeping more to myself. I had some really hard days right after I lost my eye. I was worried I might not be needed by the army anymore and I didn't want to think about what they would do with me. Thankfully it didn't come to that, but I've had to learn that I'm more than my job and more than my eye.

No matter who you are, everyone wants to be liked. That's just how it works. No matter what you look like, not everyone will like you, but there will be other people who fully embrace you as you are. Those are the people you keep close by.

Just look at @kark-trooper-echo. He looks different, but he knows his worth. He knows his family loves him, he's helping to raise his sister, he's done a lot of good in this galaxy, and I hear he might even be dating someone.

What I'm trying to say is that some days will be harder than others. Just because you feel down one day doesn't mean every day will be like that. Find the people who build you up and stick with them.

[heart-of-neptune]

What is your self reputation transforming into? (your reputation with yourself)

We know the vibes here, this is for fun, growth, and self-exploration. It is not meant to be taken seriously unless you want it to. Go into all my readings with an open mind. If you would like one about your reputation with others, please let me know.

Pile 1:

Your reputation with yourself is currently being transformed into someone who is seen as more of a leader. There are so many cards that point to leadership. It seems that you’ve always been a leader but never saw yourself as such. You are embracing this energy now and seeing yourself for who you truly are. You are your own hero. You are finally seeing your power and are feeling more confident in it. You are seeing that you are more confident than you once thought. The way you see yourself is DRASTICALLY changing. This is an extremely deep and powerful reading. I am actually feeling emotional because I feel this deep sense of relief and joy.

All the things that held you back before, weren’t a reflection of you but a reflection of things people have either said or done to you. It feels as if you’ve dropped the weight of what everyone expected of you and embraced your true nature. You finally SEE yourself. Whatever shame, guilt, trauma, or pain that was once blinding you has officially dissipated. You finally feel completely healed after what feels like years or even lifetimes of struggles. It’s this deep feeling of “I can finally see. I finally see myself. I finally see my path. I finally see who I truly am. I was always right about who I am.” You are seeing your greatness in HD quality. It’s crisp and clean. You see every detail of yourself and you are loving all of you right now. Your sense of self respect has increased tremendously. You respect your own ability to walk away from things that are not good for you long term. I see you even finding yourself attractive and seductive. You’re even romancing yourself & flirting with yourself now because you can see your true worth now. A LOT OF SELF LOVE VIBES. You have learned to love how patient you are with yourself and your creations. Something has deeply changed within you for real. I believe this is why this leadership energy is showing up so much. You loved yourself so much to the point where you are leading yourself and that has changed how you view yourself. Since embracing this leadership energy, you trust yourself more than you ever have before. Honestly, this is a beautiful reading. I am so happy for you. Whatever you’ve been doing and taking your time with has definitely been working. You’re going to be seeing more results of this as you continue to focus on yourself. Excellent job! Your entire self reputation has improved massively since you started your self-development journey. I am proud of you and you should definitely feel proud of yourself too!

Pile 2:

Your self reputation is transforming into someone who is seen as independent. You’ve always known you were independent but you’re in a place of embracing your independence more. You’ve either went from being someone who is codependent into someone who is now independent or, you’ve always been independent because you had to or both honestly because there are different aspects of life. So, you went from being codependent in certain aspects of your life to now being fully independent in all aspects of your life. This is a good thing. This makes you feel more confident in yourself. You could be an orphan (either literally or figuratively) meaning you had to do things alone which shaped you into an independent person. Even if you have parents or guardians, they may have not been involved in your development hence this independent energy. You probably have never acknowledged your independence before because you have been like this for so long that it is your natural way of being. Seeing this part of you has made you realize that you are different from most people because of how much you rely on yourself. You’ve had to be strong alone for a very long time. Realizing this has made you gain more respect for yourself and give yourself a pat on the back for how far you’ve come.You understand that you cannot do everything on your own and you’ve learned to ask for help. You are a stoic and assertive person. You have needs and you’ve learned to speak up from a young age to get those needs met. I see that you enjoy silence & that it is in silence you find your power. Silence helps you to properly process whatever is going on in and around you. You’re not someone who is afraid of change anymore. In fact, you embrace it knowing that change is the only way to move forward in life. You see the symbolism in everything that happens in your life thanks to your keen eye and ability to express yourself clearly. You have a BIG personality that not many people get to see. You’re an extremely patient person now. You may have been impatient in the past. That is no longer the case. I see that you thrive with companionship and commitment as long as it is with the right people. This is due to you being able to process things and express yourself clearly. Your independence has made you the ideal friend/partner to yourself which in turn makes you ideal for healthy relationships. I have respect for you as well. You are a force to be reckoned with. Your independence is your power. 

Pile 3:

Your self reputation is transforming into someone who is more active. Before you may have been someone who was lazy or someone who didn’t get much done. Now, you’re becoming someone who takes action and is active when it comes to what it is you want. You may also start to work out more. You’re actively taking all the steps needed in order to manifest what it is that you want to see in your reality. You’re being more grounded in your creation process. I see you becoming someone who embraces the magic within you. You’re becoming someone who is way more elegant and mature than you used to be. You may have been awkward in the past however that is changing or has changed completely. You’re seeing the mature version of you now and that’s making you more attractive to yourself. You’re embracing detachment and change & allowing yourself to let go of all the things that truly do not align with your goals and plans. This is making you more detached from the physical reality in a positive way. There is so much emotional maturity coming through for you. Big on “you’ve really grown up.” You’re really seeing yourself in such a wonderful light right now. You’ve completely released the victim mentality and said “I will not let emotions or the past control me anymore.” Good for you. I am proud of you. You still allow yourself to feel however you never let yourself stay in energy that will stagnate you. You’ve come very far in the way that you process the things happening around you and within you. You’re handling everything in your life with an extreme amount of grace and elegance now. It’s truly a sight to behold. Honestly, it’s really looking as if you’ve completely let go of the past and that’s why you’re in this new energy. Nothing from your past is holding you back anymore. You’re in a completely new life and it’s truly changed the way you see yourself. I see you standing in your power more than ever. Passionate, grounded, detached, and completely in control. You’ve become the person you’ve always wanted to be. You are seeing yourself as a success due to this. You will continue to be learning more about the new you and you are happy about this. Great job!

[themadlu]

I absolutely love Zelie!

Could you write something set right after the game ends? She is tired as hell and overstressed and Astarion tries to make her feel better?

Thanks for the ask @spacebarbarianweird! I'm so happy you like her, as I love Tiriel! Wonder if they'd get along, uh.

Premise, I have never done asks (unless it's for a writing exercise) nor I am good (capable?) of writing fluff. So beware, there's as much fluff I can muster here, with a smidge of angst.

TW: none.

Tags: end-of-game spoilers (I haven't finished it yet, so if something is incorrect sorry!), fluff (kinda?), these two love in quality time and acts of service.

Hope you like it!

The charred edges of a frayed shirt stare at Astarion from the floor. He glares at them, at what they represent, in contempt: his return to the shadows. All that unprecedented (and mostly unwilling) heroism he displayed in fighting the Netherbrain served him nothing. Nothing. Not even saving Baldur’s Gate makes him worthy of a life in the sun, it seems, because, as soon as that jiggly monstrosity fell to its death, Astarion began to burn and the hunger tore at his insides.  

On the run, again, nothing more than a ravenous monster lurking in the shadows. 

(Somewhere, his conscience reminds him that real monsters don’t have impossible little heroes shielding them from the harming light with their own broken bodies.)

The elf laughs bitterly at that, hissing when his grimace irritates the still-healing skin around his mouth. 

And yet…

Steps resonate further down the hallway with a familiarity that makes his ears twitch in recognition and his body tense in eagerness. 

…she’s here. 

Zélie opens the door of their shared bedroom (Only theirs, finally.), closing it promptly behind her to block the stray sun rays from the corridor’s windows. A funereal darkness, one that Astarion is all too well-acquainted with, shrouds the room in a still embrace. 

Astarion is almost glad that his Zélie is human when surrounded by shadows. Back then, before the blooming trust, the tense friendship, the impossible devotion, he despised the maddening woman (He was terrified of her, so inconceivably real.) The darkness was the only time he had the advantage when her pale eyes would squint in temporary blindness and not witness the violence her stern kindness did to him. How it undid the tenets of the world, one by one. 

You ruined me, darling. Look at me, a fool in a doomed love. What a ridiculous joke of a vampire you made me!

He should be prowling for blood and cursing the sun, yet here he is, smiling, trying his damn hardest not to rush into his woman’s embrace. You will return to me begging when she’s gone, what’s left of his spite whispers. He ignores it, because that part of him has never known what it means to be cherished simply for existing (It knows all about being wanted, although comparing that with whatever stolen miracle he and Zélie have makes Astarion gag.)

“Finally, darling! Here I thought I’d seen the last of you, lost among all that dreadful politicking—” his snarky quips (They are part of him and Zélie loves them, so he’s decided he’ll greet her with one every single day.) die in his throat when he properly looks at her. 

Hells, he had gotten into the habit of scanning her for possible injuries during their travels, but now the fight is over, without visible wounds or bruises, Astarion can fully see the toll their adventure has taken on her. Her eyes are tired and bruised from lack of sleep (Of course, she’s been foregoing sleep to spend time with him at night.), her face tauter than ever, skin so sallow she looks sick. Astarion presses himself against her and bristles when he feels her ribs poking his body through their clothes. 

Worry, guilt, anger grip him. His brave, little saviour looks so unlike herself. So fragile and exhausted that he fears she’ll crumble to dust should he touch her. He forgets she’s human and not a divine being sometimes, with all that practicality and stony attitude of hers. Never complaining, never relenting (He knows it well.)

You moronic creature! How dare you reduce yourself in this state.

“Darling, what—”

“Oh, hello, Astarion,” Zélie seems to take notice of him only when he’s practically caging her against the door. She’s making an effort not to slide to the floor, he can tell. 

Fucking idiot. 

“Are you well? I hope the room is comfortable enough?” she nearly slurs.  

“Am I well?” Oh, now he’s angry, “Love, what the fuck—”

“Language! No need to be rude,” Astarion feels some relief when Zélie’s irises spark with that annoyed light he coaxes out of her oh-so-well. She inhales deeply, continuing “I came to tell you that I will be late tonight, so you could come and meet me near the main city gate? There’s barely any Fists left, and lots of properties have been robbed or vandalised since there are no guards so Wyll asked me—what’s with that look now?”

The pale elf stares at her perplexed face down his nose, nostrils flaring. “Do you hear yourself, you wretch?!” Her eyes are reduced to judging slits and she’s about to chastise him, but Astarion is undeterred. “No, rather, have you looked at yourself recently? Literal corpses have a healthier…flair than you do now, darling. Myself included.” 

Zélie scoffs (Scoffs!), “Oh Astarion, I admire how far you’ve come with showing concern, really, but,” she tries to push past him, but even her martial art is worthless against his full vampiric strength, “there are things, oh you vexing elf! Things that need tending to even if I’d much rather spend the foreseeable future here with you–hey!”

Astarion feels somewhat proud of the shout she lets out when he picks her up with ease (Not so puny, after all.) She is so light something lodges in his throat (Frustration at his inability to keep her safe.) and he hopes that his renewed strength is what makes his gesture so effortless. 

No one should be this light.

She used to weigh almost the same as him, all muscle and sinew from her training and a life of comfortable abundance; now, her shirt hangs loosely around her frame. 

 Fuck. Why in the nine hells haven’t I noticed before?!

He realises he voiced his thoughts when the woman in his arms replies, “Because critical stab wounds take precedence over hunger, Astarion."

"No need to blame anyone,” Zélie says as he unceremoniously throws her on the bed. She fights not to melt into the mattress. “Astarion,” his infuriating lover speaks slower, as if he were a child, “I need to go. We didn’t save this city only to let it implode in chaos. It needs me; Wyll needs me.” 

Jealousy (Unfounded but very much present.) soars in Astarion’s chest. “Well, darling, our selfless Wyll can kindly go fuck himself and find his own lover and stop pestering mine. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of offers now he’s back in line at the next Archduke. Those horns also add a certain ragged flair that many sheltered young nobles will find irresistible.” 

Zélie rolls her eyes so much only her sclera is visible. She makes to stand up, but Astarion holds her by the shoulders with one hand, pointing an accusing finger at her with the other, “Hush, you. Is that how it’ll be for the rest of time? I am tired of seeing you hurt.” That makes her expression twitch with guilt. 

Good.

He glares at her, “Now, you stay here as the good girl I know you can be and I’ll go to the kitchens to see if anything edible is left. Hopefully, it’ll be better than whatever the wizard cooked.” Astarion forces himself to tear away from Zélie’s inviting body (He did miss her all day.), but she catches his wrist before he can step away. 

“What now?!” he snarls. “You’ve driven mad for days with your ‘Respect others’ and ‘We are a group, Astarion!’ and ‘You can’t be that selfish’, and you won’t let me—”

“The sun,” she simply says, defeated. 

Oh.

How quickly Astarion has forgotten his pathetic limitations. On a quest for tavern food, defeated by the light of day. He can’t even venture outside their room. Zélie is the only person he wants to protect and can’t even feed her when she’s fed him countless times before. He snarls loudly, balling his fists, “Fuck!”

“It’s all right,” Zélie pulls him to her, unfazed by his temperamental mood, and he lets himself fall on top of her on the bed, his mortification soothed by her closeness. 

“Tell you what,” she says, breath tickling his face. Astarion holds her cheeks, sharpened by tiredness and hunger, in his hands. He rubs his thumbs over them in small circles, as if he could make them meatier, healthier, by force of will alone. “I will go downstairs, where a Fist captain is waiting for me. I will tell her to ask Wyll if the issue can wait until tomorrow or if Jaheira or Minsc,” she grimaces in worry at the idea, “can take over for the evening. Then, I’ll see if the cook has something prepared. If not, I’ll make do with some cheese and bread.”

Astarion feels a soft dizziness spreading through him. She is talking with that calm and collected voice of hers as if nothing could ever shake or hurt them when she knows what it does to him. He tangles his fingers in her curls, messing them up (An arduous task when they already look like a harpy’s.), before cradling her face into the base of his neck.  

“Then,” his little hero wraps her arms around him, under his shirt and on his scarred back. Astarion is still unused to how careful her hands are on him, like a gentle breeze. She looks at him in search of discomfort, but she finds none. The elf hopes Zélie knows that nothing she does will be the cause of any uneasiness he may show in the future (Even she can’t shield him from all his memories.)  

“I will come back here, to this bed. We’ll eat and rest and when the sun sets, we’ll go to the rooftop to see the stars and enjoy the summer air. How does that sound?” She boops his nose with hers. 

Astarion swallows loudly, “It sounds perfect, love,” he concedes. That’s as close as anyone has ever come to convincing Zélie to drop her duties and rest. Small victories. He is sure he’ll persuade her to live a life of rest and luxury, one day. If everything goes as he desperately hopes.

He is rewarded with a content smile he does not deserve, so he kisses her soundly instead. 

____________________________________________

The night is warm, comforting even. How strange; Astarion can’t remember darkness in Baldur’s Gate ever being so welcoming. A loud munching resonates on his left, and the pale elf has to keep himself from grinning too overtly at his precious woman digging into a simple beef stew as if it were the nectar of the gods. Her cheeks puff out as she takes another mouthful, her usual composure nowhere to be seen in what Astarion hopes is another first. 

(He wishes he could have been her first at everything, just as she was his.)

Midnight strikes. He would have been in some dirty tavern or dingy brothel by now if the mind flayers hadn’t mercifully kidnapped him. He would have been truly dead if the impossible creature next to him hadn’t insisted he was worth saving.

Zélie looks at him as if he performed a miracle, “This, munch, is, chomp, utterly amazing. The best thing I’ve eaten in a long, long while.” 

“Tut, love, I resent that. And here I thought I was special,” he purrs it in offended seduction just to witness his lover’s cheeks and forehead flush in embarrassment. She looks healthier already. 

Good. 

“Oh, you, sassy, snarky…ugh,” Zélie narrows her eyes at him, then immediately composes herself. “Let me specify, the best thing I’ve eaten of any nutritional value in a long, long time.” 

Astarion laughs so loud that a few pigeons fly away in fear. “Touché, love. Well played.”

“Where did you even find this? When I checked the kitchen—”

When she checked the kitchen, the useless cook was not meant to start his shift for another couple of hours, which left her with two slices of bread and a portion of cheese so small even a rat would have ignored it. So Astarion, spurred on by his newly-uncovered protectiveness, waited for his Zélie to be busy with the Fists captain before putting his daggers to good use. It was convenient that the cook had no will to test out the elf’s gutting technique. 

“Oh, darling, I am extremely resourceful. You should know this by now,” he says with a telling smirk. 

“Right. That means I don’t want to know. Though I wouldn’t be against getting more of this,” she points at the bowl of stew in admiration, “from time to time. It reminds me of my grandfather’s cooking.” 

Astarion tenses a bit at the mention of the family she left behind for him; he waits for (No, expects.) Zélie to eventually consider the whole thing as the massive mistake it is and…leave him. Hate him. Become another person he cheated not of her life (At the very least.) but of her future. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, dear?” She asks, head tilted. She can see him even without the tadpoles, and it unsettles him in a good way. 

It feels right, to be known by her. To know her in return. 

He doesn’t want to lie to her now (She’s rubbing her annoying righteousness all over him.), so he opens his arms and she scoots against him, full belly and satisfied gaze. 

Lovely. 

Astarion gently guides them to the mattress he brought up from the bedroom and curls up around Zélie. He could laugh. He despised heroes for so long and here he was, lulling one to sleep. But she was his hero, which makes all the difference; he still doesn’t believe in the natural goodness of others, but he believes in hers, and that’s all he needs. 

And she fits against him, around his jagged edges so perfectly, Astarion would believe she was made for him if he were a religious man. 

“Sleep darling,” he coos into her ear. 

She’s already halfway to the dream realm after, but she’s ever the stubborn woman. “But the sun—”

“I don’t need sleep, love; I’ll move us downstairs when dawn comes. I’ve wasted the day in bed already,” he plants little kisses on her hair, her face, her hands. Worships her as much as he can without waking her up. 

“But that’s the issue…want to…spend time with you,” why must she make it so impossible for him not to fall for her?

Every time the elf is sure he hit the bottom of the devotion he is capable of, she pushes him further down. And she doesn’t try that hard, his pesky love. 

“Hush,” he murmurs, wrapping them in a thick blanket to keep his undead chill at bay. “Rest, idiot. I’m here. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Astarion tightens his grip on her sleeping form. “We’ll take all the time we need, love. I promise.”