#you can see the rays of light but not the source

[sn0id]

something holy about this image

child of the roses

[3rachasdomesticbanana]

House Warming | Bang Chan

•Synopsis: You've worked your ass off to finally get a place of your own and now your friends are throwing you a house warming party. However, you get a house warming gift you weren't expecting.

•Pairings: au Bang Chan x Female Reader

•Content Includes: smut, masturbation (m. caught), unprotected, friends to lovers, fluff ending

an: this was inspired by this clip here

(be advise before clicking as it is nsfw ⚠️ volume warning as well)

Want more smut? Follow the 🍌

You finally did it. Your countless nights of hard work have paid off, and now you've got your own place. The eight men you've known and loved for six years throw you a housewarming party. It's loud and chaotic, with the scent of food wafting through the air, and you wouldn't have it any other way. But someone is missing.

"Hey, Bin?" you call, walking up to Changbin, who is currently hanging onto Hyunjin and giggling. "Have you seen Chan?"

"Yeah, he said he was going inside to get more meat," he tells you before resuming his affection-filled suffocation of Hyunjin. The latter silently pleads for your help, but there's nothing to be done once Binnie decides on something.

You step into the cool air-conditioned space that is now yours and walk into the kitchen, but there's no sign of Chan anywhere. Did he leave? Surely he would have said something before leaving. You're about to head back outside to ask around some more when you hear a faint, muffled growl from down the hall. You don't have a dog, and neither Han nor Hyunjin brought theirs over, so out of curiosity, you go to search for the source of the sound.

Slowly, you creep down the hall, your steps muted against the cream-colored carpet as you follow the soft growling that's soon accompanied by quiet panting. The closer you get to your bedroom, the louder the sound becomes, sounding more desperate by the second. When you're just outside the cracked door to your bedroom, you hear the slick, wet sounds, the desperate groans, and the creak of your mattress.

Peeking through the cracked door, you see Chan bare from the waist down, legs spread and head thrown back as he pumps his thick, hard cock into his hand. Your breath hitches at the sight, and desire shoots through you instantly. You can feel your body react, your pussy growing wetter at the sight of Chan in your bed fucking his fist. Your pussy instinctively clenches at the raw and primal sounds. He leans back on one hand, thrusting his hips upwards and groaning louder.

"Yeah… fuck, Y/N. Oh yeah!" he growls, precum flowing heavily from the head of his cock.

You bite your bottom lip to stifle the surprise gasp. Six years of friendship, and you never would have guessed that Chan would be attracted to you, never would have even guessed that he lusted over you. He did, though. For so long, he wanted you. Under him, on top of him. He thought of you in every position every single day. It made making music a little difficult, but he'd just lock the door to his studio, dim the lights inside the pale green room, and rub one out. Maybe two or three, depending on how vivid his imagination was that day or if you had made a surprise visit like you usually do.

Today, what did it for him was the beautiful, flowy summer dress you wore. He lost it when you got into a water gun fight with Seungmin, Felix, Jisung, and Jisung's girlfriend, Jade. The water made your bra just slightly visible under the summer sun, its rays drying up the water that made droplets on your skin. He made the excuse to get more meat for Minho as he grilled various things. On the way to the bathroom, he noticed your bedroom door was open, and from there he just felt compelled to step inside.

The space already smelled like you, which made his cock harder. He sat on the edge of your bed and imagined you straddling him, grinding your pussy along his hard length, coating the thickness in your juices. He couldn't control himself. The smell of you surrounding him was too much.

"Fuck! Oh my gosh!" he thrusts upwards, so much precum dribbling down his cock that the slick sounds echo off the bare walls along with his moaning.

He'd been pumping away at his cock for five minutes before you found him, and he could feel the tightening sensation building. If he knew you were watching, he'd quickly scramble up and embarrassingly utter some lame apology while covering himself. There was a thrill for him in possibly getting caught, but he soon forgot where he was, and his grunts became louder.

"So close, Y/N. That's it, baby girl, fucking ride me," he mumbles through gritted teeth.

Without thinking, you walk into the room, shutting and locking the door behind you swiftly. The soft click is drowned out by his desperation. Chan doesn't look up, not until your hands are on his shoulders and you're sinking down onto him. The brief flicker of fear in his eyes is replaced with desire when he's fully inside you.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. Didn't… fuck, didn't mean for you to see me," he grunts, hands flying to your waist.

"Shush, Channie. Just fuck me," you tell him, grinding your hips into his, and he's thrusting up, meeting you halfway.

"Oh my gosh, Y/N. So wet. For me, yeah?"

"Yes, oh my fuck… yes. For you, Chan. S—so big, mm!"

"You take it so well, beautiful. Fuck, keep going, keep fucking me, baby," he tells you, thrusting faster up into you, making you bounce on his cock.

Your fingers dig into the black T-shirt over his shoulders, protecting him from you marking him. His arms wrap around you, and he buries his face into your chest, biting down on your breast over the cotton of your dress. You cry out, arching your back, forcing your breast closer to him, feeling that coil inside you threatening to snap.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his hips snapping forward harder, faster.

You can barely breathe, barely think. "Harder," you beg. "Please."

He doesn't need to be told twice. His pace quickens, his thrusts harder, deeper. It's almost too much, almost too intense, but it's perfect. It's exactly what you need.

"Gosh, you're amazing," he says, his voice rough with passion. "So fucking amazing."

You can feel the tension building, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly. "Chan, I'm close," you warn, your voice breathless.

"Me too," he says. "Fuck, me too." He groans, his movements becoming more frantic, more urgent. "Cum for me. Cum for me, Y/N," he whispers, his voice rough with desire. "I want to feel you cum."

His hand slips between you, finding your clit, and it's enough. It's too much. You come apart, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, and you cry out, your nails digging into his back.

"Fuck, yes!" he groans, and then he's cumming too, his hips stuttering, his release hot and wet inside you.

The world shatters around you as you climax, waves of pleasure crashing over you in a rush of ecstasy. You cry out his name, your body convulsing around him as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

He collapses backward onto the mattress, pulling you with him, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. For a long moment, you lie there, wrapped in each other's arms, lost in the aftermath of what you've done. A giggle bubbles up, and then you both are fully laughing together.

"Some housewarming gift, Channie. Now what do we tell the others?" you say with a smile, looking down at him.

He captures your lips, and when he pulls back, he gives you a wide grin, showing off those disarming dimples. "We'll just tell them I made a fool of myself and you couldn't resist it."

You swat at him playfully, and he chuckles, pulling you in for another kiss that would have led to another round if the sound of your names being called didn't stop you.

"Laters, yeah?" Chan whispers, holding you tighter.

"Laters."

Tag List | Tag List Request

@resi4skz @3rachasninja @moonlightndaydreams @rylea08 @hanjiphile @krayzieestay @oddracha @ldysmfrst

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘

　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N is a ray of sunshine, and Matt is her dose of grumpness.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by @httpsm4tti

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Get out."

Y/N smiled as she heard Matt's short and authoritative voice echo through the walls of their shared room.

"Hi baby, are you okay?"

Matt lifted his head instantly, pulling his attention away from the computer screen in front of him and toward the door, where his girlfriend was standing.

A tray was resting securely in her open palms as a teasing gaze looked back at him.

A sigh escaped his lips, and Y/N knew it wasn't because he was stressed about seeing her but rather completely relieved. His tense posture gradually eased, and his frown dissolved, giving way to a calming stance.

"What are you doing here, petal?" Matt's tone came out soft, his hands leaving the keyboard and resting on his gray sweatpants covered thighs.

"You've been locked in here for hours. I haven't seen you get out to eat or drink anything until now..." Y/N began, starting her quick steps towards the brunette. "And since I know you're on a task to answer every email sent to the channel, I decided to bring you some snacks and drinks." A big smile spread across her face, her hands working on resting the tray on the empty space of his desk.

Matt glanced briefly at the contents on the wooden surface, fighting back a smile as he noticed all of his favorite snacks, plus a handmade sandwich and a can of rootbeer.

"You didn't need to do all this, sweetheart." The boy brought his blue orbs back to his girlfriend, his right hand coming up and resting on her hip lightly, gently stroking the covered skin.

"Anything for you, my love."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The sound of the door to his shared room with Y/N opening ​​echoed through Matt's ears. The boy was in the kitchen preparing breakfast for himself and his girlfriend, the sun's rays streaming through the living room's large windows serving as his only source of lighting.

Y/N's muffled and quick footsteps sounded through the small hallway that led to where he was.

The boy didn't need to turn around to know that she was now standing behind him, probably just the large wooden table separating them.

"Good morning, baby!" Y/N's voice was like music to his ears, and Matt found himself wondering how she could be so happy at this time of the day, a small "morning" escaping his lips in response. "You won't believe the dream I had."

A smile almost imperceptibly appeared on the right corner of Matt's lips, the kind of smile that only Y/N was capable of eliciting from him.

The boy turned around with Y/N's favorite mug in one hand and a small plate with flowers drawn on it in the other, both containing coffee with a dash of milk and waffles with honey, just the way his girl liked.

The brunette placed them both on the surface in front of the seat that Y/N had already designated as hers, picking up his own plate and mug before sitting down in front of her.

"Nick and I were at this different theater, and we were going to watch a horror movie, which already started out weird because we know how much he hates horror movies..." Y/N started quickly, pausing momentarily to take a bite of her waffle, a hint of honey smearing the corner of her mouth. "But the weirdest thing was that the movie wasn't horror. It only had two main characters, and they rode horses the whole time. And then, out of nowhere, they adopted a mute dog and a blind cat, which were the cutest little things I've ever seen..."

The girl kept going, her voice changing intonation with each word while her expressions moved quickly, her free hand gesturing while her other hand held her waffle tightly, taking bites from time to time.

Matt remained silent, a serious - but relaxed - expression took over his face, while his mouth slowly chewed the pieces of his own toast, nodding his head every now and then, showing to her that he was paying attention, just like everyday.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

To outsiders, the scene unfolding there seemed to be amusing.

Y/N, with a big smile on her face and yellow flowing dress surrounding her, was quickly pulling a serious-looking Matt with completely black clothes, which covered almost his entire body.

"Come on, baby! There's an ice cream cart right there." The girl repeated the information that had already been given previously, pointing enthusiastically with the index finger of her free hand at the small pastel-colored cart on the other side of the street.

"I can see that." Matt muttered, feigning annoyance, but everyone who knew them knew how much he was loving it.

"Can I get a strawberry one? Please! Oh, and which flavor will you want? I know you love the chocolate one, but it's so nice to change things up sometimes." Y/N rambled, finally approaching the cart, smiling big at the salesperson in greeting. "So?"

"You can order anything you want for me." Matt surrendered, catching the intense gleam in his girl's eyes with his response before averting his own, fishing his wallet out of his pocket, ready to just make the payment and seat on a random wooden bench, looking forward to hearing her ramble about her week.

"Good afternoon! Can I have a strawberry one and a cream one, please?"

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Baby, can you get me a Diet Coke? Please." Y/N briefly interrupted her conversation with Tara, looking at her boyfriend.

Matt was sitting next to Y/N on one of the couches at Tara's big 1 million party, his arms were crossed and his expression was serious - almost angry -, his eyes carried a steady gaze that circled around the people in the room, ignoring the screams and loud music, only his girl's voice echoing in his ears.

The brunette looked at her momentarily, nodding and leaning down slightly, sealing his lips on the side of her head gently before standing up, walking with firm steps towards the nearest bar.

It didn't take long, and soon the boy was returning to his previous spot, his hands balancing a can of Diet Coke and a can of Rootbeer.

His blue eyes almost instantly found the figure of his girlfriend, who was still talking to Tara, but now Nick was with them as well.

A small smile appeared on his lips as he watched her speak with so much passion, gesturing too much and changing her expressions too quickly.

But his own smile quickly fell when he saw a strange guy sitting in his previous seat, wrapping his arm over the back of the couch right behind Y/N's head and bringing his body closer to his girlfriend's, too close for his liking.

It was obvious that the guy knew Tara, as he immediately started talking to her, but his body language showed his interest in Y/N.

"Move. Now." Matt's serious and rude voice suddenly sounded as soon as he approached them, startling the small group. His eyes were fixed on the unknown boy, glaring at him.

His action brought small reactions from the others; Nick rolled his eyes, already used to his brother and his way of acting with everyone - except his girl. Tara raised her right eyebrow, her eyes traveling from the boy to Matt and back again.

But Y/N just smiled sincerely, ignoring the rudeness of his tone. Her eyes instantly lit up upon meeting her boyfriend and even more so upon seeing him holding her order.

"I won't repeat myself." Matt demanded, keeping his gaze steady on the guy, who quickly understood the message and got up from the couch, raising his hands in surrender before leaving.

Matt sat back down in the now empty space, handing his girl the Diet Coke before placing his arm right where the other boy's was, his fingertips caressing the exposed skin of her right shoulder.

He took advantage of Tara and Nick starting a new topic and brought his head closer to Y/N's, pressing his lips against her ear.

"You're mine, babe. Only mine."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Are you ready, honey?" Y/N asked as she finished fastening her necklace around her neck, her eyes fixed on the mirror next to their closet in the room she shared with Matt.

"I just... I don't know which sneakers to wear." Matt's voice sounded tired, his brow furrowed as his eyes traveled over the extensive row of sneakers he owned.

The girl turned around, approaching him while throwing her hair over her shoulders, running her hands over the light pink dress that hugged her body just right.

The two were getting ready to go to the Snapchat event that would take place in a few hours, and as usual Matt always asked his girlfriend for some tips on one of the pieces he would wear for the day.

"Wear the white and blue Jordans. I like how they look on you." Y/N opined, pointing to the indicated pair, caressing his right bicep before turning around, crossing the already open bedroom door to check if Nick and Chris were ready.

The duo was lying on the sofa, both ready and using their respective phones, just waiting for the couple.

"Finally! If I knew how to drive, I would have left you two behind." Chris grumbled, adjusting his posture on the upholstery and putting his cell in his pants pocket.

"You still didn't learn to drive properly because you're lazy and too comfortable with me just driving your ass around." Matt's voice echoed behind Y/N, his figure leaving their room and closing the door behind him, his expression straight and his eyes carrying a serious gaze.

"Oh my God, you look handsome, baby! I knew Jordan would work out just fine." Y/N ignored the small fight between them, her eyes traveling over Matt's body, admiring his clothes despite them being simple and black - as always.

Matt rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance, but the traces of an almost non-existent smile appearing on the right corner of his lips while his cheeks took on a red hue said otherwise.

"Oh, how handsome you are, Matt." Nick joked, imitating Y/N's voice and fawning his right hand over his face, blinking his eyes repeatedly, earning a loud laugh from Chris and an amused smile from Y/N.

"Shut the fuck up. Get moving. Now!" Matt barked back, glaring at his brothers before finally approaching his girl.

He placed his left hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her to the stairs that led them to the garage, ready to go.

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[chvoswxtch]

secrets

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: in the aftermath of your fight with frank, you get more than one unexpected visitor.

warnings: swearing, lots & lots & lots of angst

word count: 4.4k

a/n: it's getting juicyyyy. friendly reminder y'all voted for a double drop this week, so chapter twenty one is coming this friday. enjoy. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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“You keep frownin’ like that, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

Lifting your focused gaze from your computer screen to the source of a familiar voice, the creases etched along your forehead deepened at the sight of Billy standing in your office doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands tucked into the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit pants and that signature vain smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, darlin’.”

Billy let out a dry chuckle, crossing the threshold over towards your desk in just a few quick strides. Leaning over your desk, Billy stretched his hand out to brush his thumb along the space between your eyebrows, effectively smoothing out the crinkles of concentration coupled with confusion. The gesture caught you off guard, and you blinked a few times in surprise as Billy unbuttoned the middle button on his dark gray suit jacket before sitting down in the chair in front of your desk.

“There, that’s better. Now, how ‘bout you at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

Billy arched one of his dark brows, that same smirk still gracing the edge of his lips in a silent tease. Looking over at him, it occurred to you that there always seemed to be some hint of mischief lingering in his deep espresso tinted eyes. Leaning back in your chair and folding your arms over your chest, you gave him a pointed look.

“What can I do for you, Billy?”

“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine today.”

“I could be worse, if you’d like.”

Billy’s lips split into a full blown grin, and he let out an amused chuckle at the sass dripping from your dry reply.

“Nah, I’ve seen you pissed. I’d prefer to stay on your good side, sweetheart. You wanna tell me what’s got you in such a pleasant mood this mornin’?”

Being around Billy just made you think about Frank, and thinking about Frank only reminded you of the fact that the two of you weren’t in a good place right now. He swore to you the night you confronted him that he was going to wrap this job up as quickly as he could, but that meant he had to devote all of his time to it, which resulted in him being around even less than he had been last month. 

Two weeks had passed since you’d last seen Frank in person. When you woke up in his bed the morning after you’d shown up at his apartment to confront him, he was already gone. He’d left a note on his pillow saying that he would call you soon, but that call didn’t come for four days, and neither one of you had much to say. You thought hearing his voice after being apart for a while would make you feel better about the whole situation, grant you some sense of relief or jumpstart a spark of acceptance you couldn’t find beforehand, but it only made you even more pissed off about what was happening.

And then the call you had with him two days ago really set you off.

Frank had been trying to keep the conversation light, and there was an apologetic tone to his gruff voice, but you couldn’t bite your tongue. The more you sat alone with the vague explanation he had given you, the more his promise of reassurance felt like fraud. You drew blood first, like you always did, but after a round of back and forth passive aggressive exchanges, Frank lost his own temper and went on the defense.

“For Christ’s sake, what else you want me to say, huh? How many other ways I gotta apologize?”

“We shouldn’t even be in this situation right now, Frank-”

“Yeah, well we are, and you’re gonna have to find a way to deal with it cause it ain’t changin’ any goddamn time soon.”

Frank’s aggressive retort only incensed you further. The stress of the current job combined with the growing rift between the two of you eroded his patience into raw frustration, and you were matching his verbal lashes blow for blow.

“Just deal with it? Just deal with you being away and hiding things from me?”

“That’s the job sometimes, alright? You know first hand the kinda shit I gotta do. You know what my world’s like. I told you I was gonna do what I could to get this handled as soon as possible-”

“But this isn’t your normal job, Frank! Stop using that as a fucking excuse. You’ve never had to disappear to God only knows where before, and you’ve never kept secrets from me-”

“Oh for fucks sake. You think that’s what I’m doin’? Makin’ excuses? That’s bullshit and you know it. I told you what I could-”

“And that’s supposed to be enough?“

“It was enough for Maria.”

Those five simple words stunned you silent. They struck a nerve you didn’t even know existed, and Frank, blinded by his aggravation, just kept hacking away at it with his verbal arsenal.

“Ya’know, she never gave me this much fuckin’ shit, and she had to deal with way worse than you. I was away from her and the kids for months at a time, couldn’t tell her a goddamn thing ‘bout what I was really doin’, and she was never on my ass the way you are right now-”

“I’m not her, Frank!”

The only sounds on the line were yours and Frank’s labored breathing, shallow and heavy from yelling and exhausting your vexed emotions on one another. For several moments, neither of you spoke a word, until finally you broke the silence by gritting your teeth and delivering one last blow.

“You know what, don’t fucking call me again until this shit is over.”

Frank, being the stubborn ass that he was, hadn’t attempted to contact you to smooth things over or to apologize. It infuriated you, but in the same breath, you didn’t want to speak to him right now. 

Still, it wasn’t fair of you to take your sour mood out on Billy. He hadn’t done anything wrong. You were upset with Frank, not him. Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you slowly dragged your palm down your face before leaning back in your chair. You hadn’t noticed how stiffly you’d been sitting until you felt a dull ache in your lower back.

“I…sorry. There’s just…a lot going on right now. I’m spread kinda thin so, I’m…a bit on edge.”

“A bit?”

When you shot him an unamused look, Billy let out a light chuckle and held up his hands in a show of faux surrender.

“Alright, alright. I didn’t come to here to fuck with ya. I actually came to ask a favor.”

An expression of surprise swiftly coveted your features. What could you possibly have to offer Billy Russo?

“A favor?”

Billy leaned back in the chair, adjusting the lapels of his suit before crossing his left leg over his right knee, placing his elbows on the arm rests. Maybe it was because your office was familiar to him, or maybe it was because he was so rich he felt like he owned everything, but Billy had a way of being able to make himself comfortable no matter what setting he was in. Fixing his deep brown eyes on you, that signature smirk of his graced his lips once again when he caught your look of intrigue and confusion.

“As you know, Anvil has a government contract with Homeland Security. It was a big deal for the company, and it’s proven to be a damn good business investment. As a matter of fact, it’s been so successful, that I’ve been meetin’ with a few other branches negotiatin’ another expansion, and recently closed a deal with the CIA.”

“Don’t government contracts kinda defeat the whole private military operation thing?”

“I didn’t hear you complainin’ when that Homeland contract brought you to me.”

Rolling your eyes at the smugness in his voice, you reached for the nearly empty iced coffee sitting on your desk.

“It wasn’t a complaint.”

“Anvil is more than personal protection, darlin’. It’s also convoy security, tactical operations, tailored training, and more. Most of our military contracts are outside of the U.S, so havin’ two on American soil is a huge deal.”

“If you’re trying to sell me on investing, I hate to break it to you, but I think the number currently reflecting in my bank account would make you cry.”

Billy let out a deep chuckle at that, his lips stretching open into a tooth bearing grin. Giving a faint shake of his head, he ran his right hand along the top of his head, smoothing his perfectly styled raven hair back into place.

“That’s not what I’m askin’.”

“Then how do I come into this, exactly?”

“The news hasn’t hit the media yet. Anvil’s hosting a Veteran’s Charity Ball this Saturday night, and I’m gonna make the announcement then. That, pretty girl, is where you come into play. I’d like you to personally cover the story.”

Looking across your desk at Billy, you could see by the look on his face that he was serious about wanting you to cover the piece. A slight furrow nestled between your brows at the idea.

“Why me?”

Billy cocked his head to the side, a sparkle of mirth in his eyes and a sly smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Why would I ask anyone else? You know me, you know the company-”

“Which is kind of conflict of interest-”

“I already cleared it with your editor. You bein’ under the protection of Anvil is classified through Homeland, and since we’re a private company like you mentioned, our records ain’t public. Besides, your editor seemed pretty confident you could write without bias. Look, I want you on this. I’ve read the work of some of the other journalists here, and I gotta tell ya, even if I didn’t know ya, I still woulda picked you.”

Hearing that Billy had already talked to Ellison about this was a surprise to you because Ellison hadn’t mentioned it at all to you. When had Billy talked to him about this? Why hadn’t Ellison told you? Perplexity shrouded your features as you looked over at Billy.

“Ellison didn’t say anything-”

“I asked him not to. I wanted to ask you first, in person. He gave it the green light, but ultimately, it’s up to you if you wanna do it.”

Being kept in the dark seemed to be a recurring theme in your life lately that you weren’t happy with, and it stirred up dull embers of irritation from your fight with Frank. A part of you didn’t want to do it purely out of immature spite, since Billy indirectly had a hand in creating the chasm currently deepening between you and Frank. But that wasn’t fair to Billy. You owed him your life as much as you did Frank and Dinah. Billy played a vital part in keeping you safe and protected from the Defenders of Freedom, and recording Steven’s confession ended up being the smoking gun in proving his involvement.

After a moment of silent contemplation, you let out a light exhale through your lips.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Don’t get too excited, now. It’s only a fancy party with an extensive open bar and catering from all of the best restaurants in the city.”

Trying to fight the smile that threatened to escape across your lips, you looked over at Billy and arched one of your brows.

“Are you trying to bribe me to write you a good article, Mr. Russo?”

“Is it workin’?”

Billy’s mouth was stretched in a wide, wolfish grin, showcasing the top row of his dazzling pearly white teeth. His dark brows were raised slightly up his forehead, and he had that familiar devilish twinkle in his eyes. Giving a soft shake of your head with a dry laugh, you crossed your arms over your chest and relaxed back in your chair.

“What time?”

“Starts at seven, I’ll send a car for ya ‘round six-thirty.”

“You don’t have to do that, I can take a cab-”

“C’mon, you’re doin’ me a favor.”

“Hey, I never agreed to write a good article. I might make you look terrible, just for the fun of it.”

Returning your teasing smile with an amused grin, Billy chuckled with a shake of his head. As he stood up and fixed his maroon tie, he motioned towards your office door with his head.

“Alright, c’mon.”

Staring up at him with a puzzled expression, you let out a soft laugh while he buttoned the middle button of his suit jacket.

“What?”

“I’m takin’ your bratty ass to lunch. Maybe after some food you’ll be a bit nicer.”

Making a show of rolling your eyes in faux exasperation, you stood from your chair and locked your computer before closing your notebook.

“No promises.”

“Well in my experience, you’re more tolerable when you’re fed.”

“Keep talking. Your article is getting worse and worse.”

“I’m sure a few glasses of expensive champagne will fix that.”

Billy turned to take a step towards the door and then abruptly paused, turning back to look at you with another teasing grin.

“Oh, and do me another favor, would ya? See if you can get Frankie to drag his ass out and make an appearance. I think he’s forgotten how to use his phone.”

The mention of Frank’s name instantly tarnished the light hearted mood Billy’s banter had put you in. Letting out a dry scoff, you slipped your phone into your purse and pulled the straps over your shoulder.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath. That job you and Madani have him working has not only turned him into a ghost, but also a complete dick. I’ll let you deal with him.”

Tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, you started to round your desk when you looked up and caught the expression on Billy’s face, and it made you stop in your tracks. His sharp features were suddenly void of their usual playful warmth, and there was no charming smirk etched onto his mouth. His lips were set in a firm line, outlining his chiseled jaw that was covered in a perfectly trimmed dark beard, and his dark brown eyes looked nearly obsidian. 

“The job with Madani?”

There was a faint serrated edge to his tone when he spoke, but you didn’t miss it. Billy’s stare was intense, and you realized he probably thought that you knew something you shouldn’t. Crossing your arms over your chest, you let an irritated exhale escape through your nose as your gaze drifted towards the window of your office.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me anything. Not where he was going, not what he was doing, nothing. So whatever top secret thing you two have him doing, it’s still top secret, alright?”

There was a long pause of silence, and your annoyance started to fade into a feeling of perplexity when you looked back at him and saw a look in Billy’s eyes that you didn’t know how to read. There was a sudden coldness to him, and an emotion you couldn’t decode hidden in his steely gaze. The tense quietness in your office sent an uneasy shiver down your spine, but then it was like a switch was suddenly flipped, and Billy reverted back to the version of him you’re familiar with.

He plastered that charming smirk on his lips again, but you noticed this time, it wasn’t accompanied by the usual mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Trouble in paradise?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you dropped your gaze down to the floor for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t like being lied to, or kept in the dark. I know your line of work is…complicated, I just…I thought Frank and I didn’t have any secrets between us.”

“Sometimes lyin’ and keepin’ somethin’ hidden is the only way to protect someone from the pain of the truth.”

Lifting your head, you met Billy’s intense gaze with an incredulous and inquisitive look.

“You really believe that?”

“Trust me, some secrets are better left buried, darlin’.”

»»———　　———««

The following evening when you came home from work, all you wanted was a long soak in a hot bath and an entire bottle of wine. The stress of the last two weeks wasn’t just taking a toll on you emotionally, it was also physically manifesting in your body. Closing the front door behind you, the lock sounded with a click when you twisted the oval knob, and you lazily tossed your keys onto the side table in the entryway before carelessly tossing your purse onto it as well. 

Coming around the corner into your living room, you nearly had a heart attack when you were suddenly met with the sight of a large figure sitting at your dining table, waiting in the dark. Clutching at your chest in panic and jumping nearly two feet in the air, your voice came out in a shrill shriek.

“Jesus Christ, Frank!”

Frank didn’t physically react to your outburst. He sat as still as a statue in one of the chairs, slightly hunched over with his thighs spread wide, his forearms resting just a few inches above his knees. A bit of dark stubble coated his cheeks and sharp jawline, and his grown out hair was a tousled mess of ebony waves resting against his forehead instead of being pushed back in their usual style.

The swift scare of Frank’s intrusion, his silent treatment, and the lingering resentment you’d been harboring for the past two weeks had you glaring at him.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

His deep brown eyes were fixated on you and his plump lips were set in a stubborn line. Frank’s rugged features were even more pronounced in his resting semi-permanent broody expression. Wordlessly, he lifted one of his large hands, showcasing a set of keys on a ring pinched between his thumb and index finger. One of which, belonged to your front door. 

After everything that had happened at your last place, you couldn’t stay there anymore. You’d quickly moved into a new place that happened to be closer to the Bulletin, and as far as you knew no one had died in it, and there weren’t lingering bullet holes under the paint. Frank had helped you move and set up your security system for you again. You’d forgotten that you’d given him a spare key so he could get in while you were at work.

When you crossed your arms over your chest in a defensive stance, Frank caught the pissed off look on your face, and when you opened your mouth to lash out at him, he quickly cut you off with his rough voice before you could get a word out.

“Said not to call. Didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout comin’ to see ya.”

The snippiness of his comment made you narrow your eyes in his direction. Clenching your jaw, you pursed your lips tightly as your face contorted into a portrait of annoyance. You were about to snap back at him when you noticed out of the corner of your eye that there was a packed bag sitting on the dining table next to him.

It was yours.

Eyes flickering between your bag and Frank, you stared at him in a mixture of irritation and confusion.

“What the hell is that for?”

“I gotta leave town for a bit. I told ya I’d make sure you were taken care of while I was gone, so you’re gonna stay with a friend of mine.”

“And you didn’t think to ask me if that was something I even wanted to do?”

“It ain’t up for discussion.”

Frank hadn’t been this cold towards you since the early days of when he was your bodyguard. For a moment your exasperation evaporated, wondering if things between the two of you were worse than you thought. Picking up on the slight change in your body language and facial expression, Frank let out a deep exhale through his large nose and slowly stood up from the chair.

“I can’t do what I need to do if I’m worryin’ ‘bout you bein’ alone here, alright? It’s just for a few days.”

“Frank, I’m not in any danger anymore. No one is actively trying to kill me. If you’re that worried about me being alone, Billy can stop by-”

“No.”

The aggressive tone of Frank’s voice and the roughness of his tone caught you off guard. Frank glanced away from you, his eyes darting around your living room for a few seconds before they finally returned to you. His left hand was tightly grasped in a fist, but on his right, his index and middle finger twitched. A sharp exhale escaped his large nose, and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip quickly before he spoke again.

“Look you wanna be pissed at me, be pissed at me, but don’t put yourself at risk cause of it. Maybe you’re right, yeah? Maybe you ain’t a target no more. But I’d rather know you were safe than have to deal with the fact later on that I shoulda done more. I ain’t takin’ that risk again.”

It was like a light bulb went off in your head when he spoke that last sentence. In the midst of your own tangled mess of selfish feelings, you hadn’t once stopped to think about how Frank felt about all of this. A sinking feeling of remorse settled in your stomach hearing the frustration but also the lingering pain in his voice when he spoke. 

I ain’t takin’ that risk again.

He’d had his entire family ripped away from him in one single moment, right in front of his eyes, of course he was fucking paranoid. From your perspective, Steven was facing life in prison, and all the remaining members of the Defenders of Freedom were gonna rot with him, so you didn’t think you had anything to be worried about.

But Frank saw danger everywhere. He anticipated it. He planned for it. And that’s what he was doing right now. 

Frank was doing the exact same thing he’d been doing every single day since he met you: keeping you safe.

Letting out a deep sigh, you looked down at the floor for a moment to gather your irrational thoughts and rein in your impulsive emotions. When you raised your head, your eyes flickered from the packed bag sitting on your dining table back to Frank’s unrelenting stare. Running one of your hands stressfully through the roots of your hair, you made a faint gesture of throwing your hands up in concession.

“Alright, well if you’re not leaving me with Billy, I’m assuming you’re not taking me to Madani either. So, does Matt know I’m coming?”

Frank’s steely expression crumbled at the mention of Matt’s name. He pulled a face like you’d just asked a ridiculous question, a furrow of annoyance and confusion settling between his thick brows.

“You think I’d leave you with him?”

Letting out a dry scoff void of humor, you rolled your eyes with a shake of your head and folded your arms across your chest.

“Just because he’s blind-”

“It ain’t got shit to do with him bein’ blind.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is I don’t trust him to keep his fuckin’ hands to himself, and I ain’t lettin’ him pull that ‘poor blind orphan’ shit on you.”

A look of surprise crossed your face as your brows lifted slightly up your forehead, and it took every ounce of self control not to laugh or show any indication of amusement. Frank wouldn’t leave you in Matt’s care because he was worried he would…hit on you?

Letting out a grunt, Frank grabbed the handles of your bag in his left hand and swiped it off the table.

“He’s too preoccupied at night anyway.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Bein’ the goddamn Devil. C’mon.”

When Frank walked past you towards your front door, you turned around to watch him, narrowing your eyes in irritation.

“Can you at least tell me who you’ve employed to babysit me then?”

Frank paused at your front door, which he took up the entire frame of, and his head dropped between his shoulders for a moment. You could hear him audibly voice his frustration with your attitude when he let out another sharp exhale before turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“A friend of mine.”

“Yeah, you said that. A friend of yours, that you’ve never mentioned before. Do I have to have some kind of top secret security clearance for you to tell me their name?”

There was a scowl on Frank’s face as he glowered at you, turning around to face you fully. He dropped your bag on the floor with a light thud, scrunching up his face for a moment as he inhaled sharply through his large nose, cocking his head to the side.

“Christ. This what you wanna do right now, huh?”

Returning his glare with just as much vehemence, you let out a dry and humorless laugh as you gestured around loosely.

“No, Frank. This isn’t what I want-”

“Look you wanna keep bustin’ my goddamn balls, fine. But do it from the truck, yeah? You can antagonize me with your bullshit all you want while I drive, but we got somewhere to be.”

Clenching your jaw, your hands balled into frustrated fists at your sides. For a moment the two of you were locked in some kind of silent staring contest. You were so sick of every conversation with Frank lately turning into an argument that ended with the two of you at each other’s throats. You didn’t have the patience to combat his stubborn dedication to being a self righteous asshole. Gritting your teeth, you stormed forward and grabbed your own bag as you brushed past him out your front door, swearing under your breath.

“Dick.”

Frank pursed his full lips and nodded his head, turning around to follow you after forcefully shutting your front door behind himself.

“Yeah yeah, get in the goddamn truck.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[konigbabe]

PERISH

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x gn!reader Word count: 1.6k Tags/warnings: no y/n; manga spoilers (post Shibuya timeline); canon-compliant; angst; death; emotional breakdown; hurt/no comfort; loss; grief Summary: For the first time in a long time, Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks. Happy start of JJKS2 writing week.

event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

November 2018 8 minutes until Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

"Don’t worry, I’ll make it on time. I’m right behind the corner."

"We can wait," Yuji’s voice carries through the car, the static of the Bluetooth speaker occasionally cracking.

It feels like years have passed since you last saw him. Sealed away in the prison realm, Gojo’s state remains a mystery. There’s no telling how being locked in a place where time and space don’t exist can affect even the strongest minds.

That’s what worries you. What if he’ll break? What if he goes crazy on all of you? What if he explodes; wipes you all out with his technique? An endless sea of ‘what if’ swirls inside your mind as you take another turn, the mountains on your left with an ocean view on your right.

"Don’t," you reassure the youngster, "don’t wait any longer."

"You should be here, though," Megumi jumps into the conversation, "You’re closest to that idiot. He’ll want to see you."

His words draw a smile on your lips. It’s finally happening. The sleepless nights are coming to an end with the arrival of your lover.

"Then I’ll just opt for a dramatic entrance while you keep him busy," you respond before tightening your hands on the wheel. A familiar feeling washes over you; sudden knowledge of a new presence. Heart picking up, your eyes search the road for the source while the car’s speed slowly drops.

32 seconds; that’s how long it takes you to locate the source. A curse spirit manifestation stands in the middle of the road, blocking you. Its small hunched build stands a mere meter above the ground; four arms decorated by translucent fins hanging by its body, the prehnite skin glistening in the last rays of today’s sun, giving off a wet, moist appearance.

"Boys," you announce, stopping Yuji’s and Megumi’s bickering while still keeping up the cheerful, light voice in an attempt to not raise suspicions about your current predicament, "don’t wait any longer. Unseal Satoru and stop worrying ‘bout me. It’ll be fine."

Bringing the car to a slow halt, Yuji’s tone shifts into a more attentive one as your name seeps through the speaker before you hang up after one more reassurance.

As you step out of the vehicle, the curse's malevolence engulfs the air, almost tangible in its intensity. It clings to the atmosphere like a poisonous fog, penetrating your senses with a pungent sulfuric odor that threatens to overwhelm you.

Your hand slips inside your jacket to retrieve a carefully preserved seal, reserved for such precarious situations; just like this one.

"I’m sorry," with every footfall, the curse seems to shrink in size, yet its malicious nature grows stronger, the smell of sulfur almost suffocating, "but I’m in a hurry right now and you," pointing the parchment paper towards the spirit, "are in my way."

Swift and precise, your movements carry an aura of practiced precision. With little effort, you firmly press the seal upon the spirit's head, causing it to stumble momentarily before dissipating into thin air, vanquished by the power contained within the sigil.

Yet, the energy lingers.

Stronger than before. Stronger than a second ago. Its absent defense, non-existent attempt to fight or flee…it all makes sense now —

A powerful grip; a strong hand adorned with talons as keen as the finest blades dig into your shoulder as an inhuman force pushes you to the side.

As you're thrust aside, your vision catches a subtle glimmer of chrysolite, a hue that seeps into your perception; its scales are sturdy, each edge honed to a dangerous sharpness. Driven by instinct and the will to protect yourself, you reach out, your hand making contact with the curse spirit’s scaly hide.

The jagged edges of its scales cut into the delicate flesh of your fingers, leaving trails of crimson in their wake.

— it was a decoy.

Your body collides with the unforgiving side of the mountain, back meeting the rough and unyielding surface. A symphony of pain resonates within your bones, their structural integrity compromised as multiple cracks reverberate through your form.

Gasping for breath, your body instinctively seeks solace, but find none amidst the terrain. The curse doesn’t wait either. Swiftly moving forward, it lunges at you. Unforgiving. With a clear intent to strike. To kill.

During Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

There is no pain. The moment the curse’s hand breaches the barrier of your chest, you expect it. Expect some kind of visceral reaction. But there’s none — a gentle pinch, akin to a fleeting touch when the sharp claws first pierce through the protective layers of your breastplate. A slight discomfort upon the feeling of having a foreign object that’s found its place within the confines of your ribs. The barrier of your rib cage offers minimal resistance, yielding to the relentless advance that seeks to reach the very core of your being. The heart.

It all feels confusing.

"Kenjaku sends his regards," it whispers, the words slurred by the razor-sharp fangs that protrude from its mouth.

October 31, 2018 — 8:09 PM

"What’s the worst that can happen?"

Satoru saunters around the corner of the table, his presence punctuated by the audible slurping of juice from a small cartoon container. All while your palms rest on top of the said furniture, fingernails tapping at the surface.

The news has spread fast through the jujutsu community, faster than wildfire. Whispers of an unknown curtain cast around Shibuya an hour ago, trapping all non-sorcerers, innocent civilians, inside its insidious grasp with only one demand: Bring Satoru Gojo.

"Don’t say it like that, Satoru," you turn to face the man whose casual and dismissive demeanor only adds fuel to the worries setting inside your bones.

"They’re a bunch of curses," his hand finds its place on your hip bone while placing the empty container away, "Some special grades, yeah, but they’re weak compared to me. I’ll deal with them, save some people in the meantime, and bam," he snaps his fingers loudly, "We can go home. Get that sunset date you’ve been babbling about. Life is good," he finishes with a kiss on the crown of your head.

Life is good.

You watch the sun dip below the horizon behind the curse spirit’s back, indulging the sinister being in a halo glow.

Yeah. In the end, life was good.

2 hours and 48 minutes after Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

For a moment, he stands still. Unable to look down; frozen in time. The weight of it all seems to bear down upon his shoulders – now that Sukuna’s taken over Megumi’s body, Nanami’s and Yaga’s death, Suguru’s body being used as a vessel, the slow crumbling fall of the Jujutsu world – and now you; being gone.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer of the current time. Yet even his immense power proves futile as the people he loves keep dying on him…because of him.

A burden that threatens to crush him beneath its insurmountable gravity.

The air around him hangs heavy with sorrow, as if the very essence of grief has manifested itself in the atmosphere. A storm of emotions swirls within him; a combination of disbelief, anguish and a gnawing ache that gnashes at the core of his being.

He clenches his fists, fingers trembling with a mixture of sorrow and determination. In that agonizing moment, he finds the strength to finally lower his gaze, to confront the devastating truth that lies at his feet.

Everyone holds their breaths, the weight of his misery echoing in the silence as his eyes meet the lifeless visage of the one he holds dearest.

Of you.

Hand reaching out, his fingers graze the once-soft flesh of your hand; now cold and stiff. It serves as a confirmation of reality. There’s no getting you back, no way Shoko can nurture you back to health with her technique.

You’re gone.

And in that harrowing instant, the façade crumbles. The walls he built to contain his pain come crashing down, and Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks.

Crumbling down on his knees, the vulnerability that spills forth from his broken form is raw and unrestrained. Only a handful of those closest to him stand behind to witness the symphony of torment that pierces the silence. Tears stream down his face, each drop carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words, moments you two could’ve spent together.

One hand covering his mouth to silence the guttural sounds, the other reaches out to you, tenderly cradling your lifeless head upon his lap. He clings to the fragile hope that if he could provide just enough warmth and love, you might return to him.

Yuji looks around the room, at the people who silently observe their friend fall apart. Taking a step towards the hunched man, a soft grasp stops him mid step; Kiyotaka shakes his head, pushing his glasses back in place as Shoko looks down. For the first time, she’s unable to figure out her classmate, her childhood friend, the man whose side she’s always stayed by.

"Gojo," Yuji doesn’t allow Kiyotaka to stop him. Believing in what’s right, he stands behind his teacher’s back.

Hand laying on the tense muscle of his shoulder, he doesn’t attempt to comfort Satoru with any words — no words in this universe would bring you back anyway. Instead, his hand just rests there. Unmoving. Gentle.

"Who did it," his words cause Shoko to look back up as Satoru, stone-faced and stoic, speaks in a firm, devoid voice. Imagines of unspeakable horror flashes in his mind as he stands up, towering over the wide-eyed Yuji.

"Tell me now," his eyes search Kiyotaka’s, voice filled with undeniable authority, "I’ll kill them, kill them all."

[frantic-fiction]

I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone. 

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart. 

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes. 

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity. 

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion. 

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines. 

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression. 

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room. 

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

*

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense. 

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

*

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.” 

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering. 

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

[harmoonix]

I N S P I R A D O R A

☀️ (Astrology Observations) ☀️

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

☀️~ Ray of Light ~ ☀️

☀️ - Sun conjunct Venus/Neptune natives really share a very beautiful personality, they're very positive and full of life

☀️ - Mars aspecting Lilith (h12) or (h13) = Bad bitch vibes, you do you and you don't accept nobody's disrespect

☀️ - Mercury - Moon aspects may really enjoy music like a LOT, and especially if you have one of these in air signs 100%%%%%%%

☀️ - Saturn aspecting Pluto can really have an overwhelming life, things can sometimes get down and you can feel hopeless at times. But you don't have to forget that you are strong and don't let their things put you down

☀️ - Sun at 6°. 18° degrees natives analyze everything they see. They can read people on their face, idk is like these natives have the power to see what's behind someone's emotions

☀️ - Neptune aspecting the ascendant natives sometimes have a hard time thinking about themselves, because they tend to prioritize others more than themselves

☀️ - Moon in Libra often gives the native fox face/ fox eye figure. for example watch out Madison Bee, Ariana Grande and Alexa Demie have Libra moons and their eyes are close to fox eyes

☀️ - Sagittarius Sun natives will be the people to call out all the lies, they can't accept to be lied on. I know numerous Sagittarius Suns who rather prefer to hear the truth than to be lied on

☀️ - If your boyfriend has an Fire Venus, be sure he'll be very passionate in everything he does. Venus in Fire Signs usually has a spark in their eyes when they do something with passion

☀️ - Mars square Moon/Sun has very strong emotions when they're getting angry, they will probably need some time alone because their personality can be destructive at times

☀️ - Erato (62) - aspecting Juno (3) = Very erotic relationship, and you can seek for eroticism in your life. Very erotic spouse aswell and I feel the tension already...

☀️ - Be careful at natives with Sun - Jupiter aspects in harsh aspects because their pride and ego sometimes it can be bigger than everything, I know someone with those aspects and omg she always thinks she's better than others (I need Maddie from Euphoria to slap her to reality)

☀️ - Neptune in the 12th house can often experience deja vu, they are spiritual and connected to their higher self

☀️ - Mercury at 10°, 22° degrees can be really into singing/ Capricorn degrees can influence and grant you success if you try your best

☀️ - Moon/Sun in the 9th house can be into occult/religion/witchcraft and they can share a communal love for Gods (if they believe in a God/source/universe etc)

☀️ - Sun/Venus/Moon in the 11th house make the best friendships, they connect with people so easily and they're so nice with people, is very hard to not be friends with them

☀️ - Mars conjunct/square/opposite Midheaven (MC) can cause others to see you as a competition and mostly jealousy. So most times is just better to mind your business and to not enter in a contact with people who can seem envy from the first sight

☀️ - Natives with Sagittarius Venus/Venus in the 9th have chances to be in a relationship with someone foreign/ far from home/ your spouse can be from another country/culture and honestly is so cute

☀️ - Saturn aspecting Venus can worry so much in relationships, some of these natives can even be over thinkers for their own reasons, I think another great lesson of theirs is to learn how to love without having difficulties

☀️ - If you want to have very chatty people in your life find someone with Gemini/Aquarius Moons because they are the most communicative out here,you can really talk about everything with them

☀️ - Capricorn Mars/Venus Men are really the gentleman of the zodiac, like the damn sir you really are a king (My Venus doesn't match with this one sadly but I met so many men with those placements and they were really amazing people! sorry my Venus doesn't match with it)

☀️ - Virgo Risings can attract really lovely people in their lives because of their 7H in Pisces, I love these placements so much, because your 7H is also ruled Jupiter who gives you so much luck

☀️ - 1st house ruller in the 6th house can be a big indicator that, these natives need to focus on themselves pretty much in their lives. You'll experience a lot of things that's for sure

☀️ - 1st house ruler in the 10th house on the other side, will mostly prioritize their job/career and that can grant them success in their lives

☀️ - 1st house ruler in the 7th house can prioritize relationships pretty much in this life, like they'll be always searching for that type of person who can be theirs forever, and be careful at enemies too most times they can be hidden

☀️ - Mercury at 3°, 15°, 27° degrees can indicate someone who likes to talk a lot, or just someone who needs to talk more

☀️ - Mars at 8°, 20° degrees makes the person attractive to the opposite sex (even if sometimes they don't want that) it's just attraction

☀️ - Natives with Midheaven (MC) at 2°, 7°, 14°, 19°, 26° degrees can make a good a first impression to the people who approach them

☀️ - Cancer Placements/4th house placements can be the best emotional supporters or the best emotional manipulators, it really depends on these placements and how act towards people

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

☀️ Sun is such a very beautiful planet, Leo Risings are so lucky for having this gorgeous planet as their ruler 😭☀️💞

☀️ Have a very beautiful day full of light and full of love, let the Sun ☀️ rise on your street to make you feel better and to bless you ☀️

☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°☀️°

- Harmoonix ☀️💞

[baeshijima]

— as we are

some may call him overbearing. you, on the other hand, find he is anything but that.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 848 wc, fluff, mayhaps a teensy bit of angst if you squint hard enough, established relationship, pre-penacony storyline

A/N : in a "match your freak" competition but my opponent is reader. (sits on the shore and stares out into the sea waiting for his drip marketing and light cone reveal so i can change the post layout to have his lc…)

There is a tender gentleness in the way Sunday loves.

It shows in the way he has a habit of putting others before himself, inadvertently causing him to neglect himself at the worst of times. It shows in the meticulous care he devotes to his sister, having even the most minute details embedded within the crevices of his mind. It shows in the moments where he nags at you for not taking better care of yourself, to which you find yourself subject to a less than impressed stare when you make a rebuttal of his hypocrisy.

Well, you find that the latter can be more annoying than it is welcome (mostly due to the fact his nags tend to be unprovoked when your guard is down, sometimes resulting in him chasing after you in your feeble attempts to escape), but you can at least acknowledge it comes from a place of care. Begrudgingly so.

Regardless, it doesn’t take away from the reality that Sunday only goes so far because he simply wants the best for you. After all, who would willingly speed-walk after you while reciting the basic necessities humans need in order to be healthy and happy? Certainly not someone who doesn’t care!

A slight shift halts your thoughts. Glancing down towards your lap, an involuntary smile tugs the corners of your lips at the sight of Sunday dozing away peacefully. You lift a hand to card it through his hair, mindful of the studs perched along his wings — as well as the wings itself — in case you accidentally awaken him due to its sensitivity.

(While it would be rather amusing to see him awaken in a fluster, you’re not mentally prepared enough for another one of his scoldings. Well, you suppose you also don’t want to interrupt his rare moment of rest as well.)

Light seeps in through the slight opening of the curtains. Translucent rays cast him amid a golden radiance, its gaze settling along the curve of his cheeks, brushing through his hair, and counting each strand of his lashes in a dim glow. Had you not known any better, you would have thought of him to be divinity itself.

With your fingers contentedly caressing through soft grey hair, a stifling warmth soon creeps up on you. The light which once cast a precious glow on your lover mere seconds ago now leaves an uncomfortable warmth searing into the back of your hand. It is a little unbearable, but nothing you cannot handle if it means preserving this peaceful moment a little while longer.

Well, until Sunday squints from the sunlight making contact with his closed eyelids with a small grimace, resulting in him attempting to block it out by the protection of your stomach, that is.

A brief sigh escapes you. Reaching behind you as best as you could without stirring the slumbering man on your lap awake, you clutch the velvet curtains in your free hand. With a careful pull towards you, the main source is blocked out. Remnants of the uncomfortable heat lingers on your skin, but you find yourself unbothered as you take in the subtle, sleepy smile now etched into his relaxed features.

Honestly, you’re surprised he allowed himself a respite such as this. You are more than accustomed to his vehement refusals, with him often insisting he has no need nor the time for even a moment’s rest when there is much to be done. It’s an obsession, almost, the way in which he hyper-focuses on even the most trivial of details. Not a single thing can be out of place; not a single thing can be anything less than perfection itself.

Sunday, in spite of his flawed methods and, in your humble opinion, horridly stubborn demeanour, is someone whom you hold in high regard. Behind his stern and almost rigid-like composure belies a selfless man who wishes for nothing more than the happiness and freedom of others. Behind a calm gaze akin to that of an omniscient being is a man who brushes off any and all concerns for his well-being, a tight-lipped smile and light tone doing little to distract you from the brief clench of his fists and subtle pause which stretches on a little too long to be considered a breather.

Again, in your honest and most humble opinion, he is wretchedly stubborn — that, or he simply doesn’t know how to rely on and confide in others, despite the many times he himself has been confided in.

You take him in once more, seizing this rare moment in which you can see him as he is wholeheartedly without all the layers and walls and barriers he meticulously has built up around him.

Should a time in which he is ready to relinquish the burdens he carries amidst his quiet solitude come, you will embrace all that he is with welcoming arms; even if it wholly consumes you.

There is a tender gentleness in the way Sunday loves. Some may find his care to be overbearing, but you find that it is not overbearing enough.

if you enjoyed this, then reblogs with/or comments are greatly appreciated !! <33

[luetta]

capturing angels is easy. snipe them from the skies, break their halos, and watch the divine light fade from their eyes as you turn them into fleshlights.

capturing a seraph is harder.

they live in the upper atmosphere, far beyond reach. luckily nothing grabs their attention better than desecrating nature. you’ll have one hovering above you the moment you start pouring oil into the river.

but they’re invisible, they don’t actually do anything. they just watch with seething rage. but you can tell where they are, if you look carefully at the ripples in the sky. and they can be speargunned like any other piece of meat, they’re not intangible.

but they’re fast. once they get hit they’ll try to fly away, faster than you can blink. but it’s against their code to break something holy. that’s why i soaked the speargun rope in the blood of that drunk priest. it simply can’t snap the rope.

it’ll try attack you now, lifting it’s veil of invisibility and showing you it’s form. it’s beautiful, it’s blinding. that’s why we wear these industrial goggles to block most of its rays.

after the initial blast of light, you can see it’s true form. a 3m tall body of white porcelain, with undulating red spirals flowing from her talons. 3 halos, 2 pairs of wings, 6 uncaring eyes. it tries to attack us, shred us to pieces. but with a few more unbreakable spears, she’s essentially pinned in place.

it lets out a screech, attracting other seraphs. they come, but they just watch from afar. the leaves of all the trees nearby shrivel up. putting 2 pikes into her main wings, she can’t move. turning her head to look at us like an owl, she starts to speak.

“SURRENDIPITY. AMALGAMATION. DESECRATION. VOLITION. QUINTESSENCE.”

it’s best to just ignore them during this part. and instead just focus on the halos. that’s the target.

striking it with tools - sparks flying off - it’s amazing how much these floating discs feel like they’re anchored in place. they simply don’t react. but that’s a boon in our favour, not theirs. it means, eventually, they’ll shatter. if they warped it’d be exponentially harder to destroy.

eventually, the first one breaks with the help of a winch attached to the truck.

the seraph starts to struggle against her binds now, strange new feelings of danger making it panic.

“LIGHT FLOW BEAUTY RESIST ERODE TRANQUILITY. WATER AIR SPLIT GROW RECEDE. MAPLE LIMESTONE WIND TIDE BLOOD.”

the second halo breaks.

“SMOKE FIRE WAR WAR WAR. SHARK DARKNESS DEATH. MISERY. BLOODSHED. FEAR. TERROR. ACID BLINDNESS DECAY.”

the last halo cracks, it’s about to give out. the seraph is straining against the spears, shaking, desperate emotion in her eyes.

“LOVE WISDOM HAPPINESS. JOY PROSPERITY ENDLESS. RAINDROPS. YOURS. OWNERSHIP SUBJUGATION FREEDOM. LOVE EMPATHY ENVY PLEASURE RESPITE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. HOSPITALITY. INTIMACY. MERCY.”

the halo shatters to a million pieces. the area is no longer illuminated by some unseen source. the ripples in the sky disappear, the watchers retreat, uninterested now. the scared creature is speechless, her eyes wide and unbelieving. dirt now sticks to her body, instead of just sliding off. flesh instead of ceramic. we take the spears out, but bind her with ropes much harsher now. she’s still has strength, but it’s no longer unfathomable like it was.

now she’s just another fallen angel, about to learn the one thing divinity lacks, and humanity excels in. physicality. we have a lot of breaking in to do before she’s ready to join the other angels downtown. or perhaps i’ll find a private, permanent buyer. something like this would probably fetch enough to let us get out of this shithole finally.

as we throw her into its new room, a cold, stone room, with hooks in the walls to attach chains to, she speaks again.

“hurt. sadness. freedom fear anxiety. lost indecision hubris. mercy pain silence. separation beauty uncountability. exploration … limitations. unknown darkness fear. ”

“don’t worry darling. we’ll have you singing again in no time.”

[elainavoid]

LN4 - And it's all too much for little Lando Norris

Hellooo! I'm back, sorry for not being active for like six months :'c I was actually on tumblr but just didn't feel like writing anything. And this just came up to my mind randomly. Enjoy reading, feedbacks are much appreciated. Also there might be some grammar mistakes, i know they are very annoying but i just loved this sm. Love you, enjoy again <3

dad!Lando x mom!reader

You were lying in bed comfortably, moonlight was your only source of light in the middle of the night. Since you were pregnant, bright lights annoyed you, even the smallest bit of light while sleeping woke you up. You rolled onto your side, seeing your husband sleeping peacefully made you smile. You slowly raised your hand, tracing his facial features. Lando kept his little mustache and beard growing before you gave birth, but when he read an article about how it can irritate baby’s skin, he shaved it all of. Even if Daniel made fun of him.

While staring at your lover, you were disrupted with the sound coming from the baby monitor on your night stand. You sighed and tried to get up, before feeling Lando’s hands stopping you. “Sorry for waking you baby. You can go back to sleep, i’ll check on Julia. She’s probably hungry.” You said quietly. Lando laid you down, “Shh, you don’t get enough sleep darling, I’ll take care of her.” You smiled at his words, your pregnancy was tough, Lando knew this very well. He scolded you whenever you tried to get up, cook or do some housework. After giving birth to Julia, you had many sleepless nights. But Lando always stayed by your side. He couldn’t stay in bed, knowing you were probably sleep deprived and tired while taking care of Julia.

You watched him as he got up, leaving your bedroom and closing the door after him, so you wouldn’t get annoyed by the lights if he ever turned them on. You heard the nursery door opening, Julia’s soft cry, getting louder as the footsteps told you that they arrived to the kitchen. He turned on the kettle, he was probably preparing some baby formula. You heard Lando talking to Julia, trying to get her calmed down before her food cooled a bit. “Please don’t cry my little ray of sunshine. Daddy’s here now…”

After a little while, there was nothing but complete silence. Lando left the bed probably twenty minutes ago. You decided to get up, look at what they were doing. Of course you didn’t really want to interrupt their daddy-daughter time but you were getting kind of nervous. You slowly got up, you had shivers down your spine as your bare feet touched the marble floor. Getting out of the bedroom, you found them on the sofa. Lando probably fell asleep while trying to get Julia to. He had one of his arms wrapped around her, other one was holding the half empty baby bottle. You stared at them smiling, knowing that you chose the right person to spend your entire life with, you chose the perfect husband and the perfect father. But probably being a father at a young age was hard and the responsibilities it brought was a bit too much for little Lando Norris.

[nina-ya]

Ways That Law Wordlessly Says "I Love You"

Luffy Zoro Sanji Law Kid Shanks Pairing: Law x reader CW: Mentions of blood. Fluff overall. WC: 1.2k

Leaning against the railings of the Polar Tang, the moon casting its gentle glow on the calm waters, you found comfort in the rare moment of the submarine surfaced on the open sea. Law joined you, and a comfortable silence settled between you, the only background noise being the ship's engines and  the crash of waves.

“You know,” he starts, his fingers idly tracing the railings, “I’ve heard of these groups of islands on the Red Line, uninhabited and unexplored,” his fingers seem to trace circles into the railing, mimicking the islands as he continues, “I can see the entire crew living on one of those islands, just all of us together.” His fingers halt in their place, and his gaze shifts to you, “... and I see you there. I see you and me together, just living without a care in the world.” The atmosphere fills slightly with a tension and you sense a rare vulnerability in Law's demeanor.

“There's something about the uncharted,” he muses, his gaze fixing onto the stars above. “It’s just so pure and untouched. Not ruined by horrible people, and we would be the ones to shape its story.”

As he speaks, Law's demeanor softens, revealing a side of him rarely seen. His eyes hold a glimmer of anticipation, and the corners of his lips betray a subtle smile.

"I've seen enough chaos and battles," he admits. "What I want is to discover a future with someone I care about."

In the quiet between words, Law’s hand reaches for yours, fingers intertwining. "I can picture it," he confesses, "a life where you and I are free from the constraints of the world. One where we can live freely." 

The conversation drifts into the early hours of the morning, the shared hopes and dreams only giving way to the certainty of being together forever. You know Law loves you when he talks about a future with you in it. 

- - - The dim light of Law's cabin barely illuminates the room as the submarine sails through the night. As a habitual insomniac, he found himself immersed in the quiet of the late hours. Papers, maps, and various other books are scattered across his desk, evidence of a night spent deep in thought and planning.

The first rays of sun begin to filter through the porthole of his quarters, Law, weary but determined, pushes himself to finish what he has already started. Knowing that you will wake up soon, Law decides to ignore the drowsiness that threatened to consume him. Without a word, he closes his books, tidies the clutter on his desk, and heads to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Law moves with purpose. He selects ingredients, and soon, the aroma of fresh coffee beans fills the air as he brews a strong pot for you. The soft sizzle of eggs hitting the pan accompanies the noise of the coffee dripping into the pot

Despite the evident weariness in his face, Law continues. He plates a simple yet thoughtful breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, and a steaming cup of coffee.

Just as the sun begins to shine over the submarine, Law returns to his quarters. The signs of a long night are evident in the disheveled papers, the scattered books. Yet, on the small desk, there sits a neatly arranged breakfast tray, just for you. 

As you stir awake, the smell of breakfast fills your senses. You look over to the source of the smell and your eyes land on the desk. There, you find the meal and right next to it, lays Law, who is sound asleep. You smile softly as you take in the sight in front of you. You know Law loves you through his silent acts of service towards you.

-

-

-

The smell of blood fills the air as the battle comes to an end. Law surveys the aftermath, assigning the uninjured members of the crew to tend to the more severely injured ones as his own attention turns to focus solely on you. 

“Here, let me help you.” He commands in his usual stern tone as he guides you to a less chaotic area, the subtle urgency in his voice betraying the composed facade. He quickly starts his examination on you, not wanting to miss any bump or scratch.

As other more bruised and battered crew members come to seek medical attention from Law, he quickly dismisses them. "Give us some space," he declares, a  firmness in his voice indicating that he is not to be disobeyed.

Law meticulously examines you and your injuries, his fingers tracing every cut, every scratch, every bruise on your body as he decides his next course of action. He determines that your injuries are only surface level, but insists on staying with you and patching you up himself. 

His attention never wavers as he tends to each and every wound on you, making sure to give you extra care and love and attention. He knows the rest of his crew needs proper medical attention, but a lingering voice yells at him to make sure that you are completely taken care of before anyone else. As he applies the bandages, you can see the care and love for you he has in his eyes. You know Law loves you when he puts your health and wellbeing above others. 

-

-

- 

Law sits in a corner of his quarters engrossed in the latest issue of "Sora the Warrior." The glow of the lamp beside him casts a warm light on his face, emphasizing the focus in his features evident in the furrow of his brows. 

You enter the room, your purpose being to look for something, but your gaze falls upon Law and the unexpected sight of him being lost in a comic.  A hint of surprise crosses your face, quickly replaced by a playful smirk. Law, sensing your presence, looked up, his expression shifting from concentration to embarrassment.

Caught in the act, Law instinctively closes the comic, a poor excuse falling from his lips as he utters "It's not what it looks like," a rare flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. His attempt at nonchalance only fuels your amusement.

You can’t help but tease him. "Didn't take you for a comic book fan, Captain," you say, a playful glint in your eyes.

Law sighs realizing he can't talk his way out of this one.  "Fine, yes I'm into comics." he confessed, embarrassment evident in his tone.

Out of curiosity,  you encourage him to share more. "Really? I had no idea you were into this stuff. What do you like about it?" you asked, taking a seat beside him.

Law hesitates for a moment before launching into an unexpectedly enthusiastic explanation. His eyes light up as he dives into the storyline, the character development, and the battles. As he rambles on, the embarrassment melts away, replaced by a childlike enthusiasm.

He begins to show you the comic, pointing out details in the artwork, discussing plot twists, and even theorizing how the story might go. The more he talked, the more animated he became, his initial embarrassment transforming into genuine enthusiasm for the comics.  You find yourself smiling in complete and utter infatuation as his more unexpected nerdy side comes out as he rambles passionately. The excitement in his voice and the sparkle in his eyes shows you a different side of Law, one that you hope to see more often. You know Law loves you when he shares his unexpected passions with you.

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day ten: breeding kink

>>> so i actually think he would be able to get his partner preggers but that's because i say so xoxo but also bc maybe ce doesn't affect the reproductive system?? idc if it does he deserves a family!

>>> starring: choso kamo x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: breeding kink thank you, pregnancy kink, choso is obsessed w his wife hours, oral (fem), creampie, >>> wc: 2.2k >>> event masterlist:

he’ll never forget the day you told him you were pregnant. it was something he had considered impossible, to the point he never bothered wearing a condom or cumming anywhere but inside you. seeing you pregnant only made sure those things wouldn’t change. you were already so perfect to him that it was almost unnerving, even all these years of marriage in. he fell in love with you the moment he met you back in shibuya, but somehow you had become even more beautiful to him. 

he was obsessed, almost to the point of embarrassment, if choso understood the concept in regards to his love for his wife. but he wasn’t shy about being yours. it was all so new to him, the idea of fatherhood, viewing you as a mother, watching you change before his very eyes and all the long doctors appointments. he loves it though, oddly enough. especially the notion of being a dad and watching your body and mindset shift and grow. 

choso can tend to be clueless due to his rather unconventional navigation of life, but ever since he learned how to work a cell phone, the internet has been his very best friend. unfortunately, yuji can give some very…troublesome advice. choso thinks it’s a miracle he’s still alive at times. so google can help in ways his earnest younger brother cannot, giving him multiple opinions and sources on what to do and how to do it. he spends hours of his time researching how to care for you; wanting to know if it was normal to be this attracted to you while you were all moody and pouty with just the start of roundness at the bottom of your belly—the jury was still out on that one, by the way. 

one thing that was normal was your increased need for him, not like he was complaining. he loved this side effect the most, able to satiate his perverse desire to keep stuffing his already pregnant wife full, relishing in how eager and frankly nasty you had gotten. you were damn near insatiable, and choso thought he was in heaven for it. all through your first and second trimesters, you couldn’t get enough of him—and the feeling was mutual. as you grew larger and the house became cluttered with baby shower gifts and preparations for baby kamo, he continued to clock hours towards his family. he read article after article on parenting, actively assembling the nursery and searching up names with you. he was beyond joyful, still unable to believe that you were growing his son or daughter within that gorgeous body of yours, your breasts had started to swell and your hips had begun to spread. he loved every second of this: your neediness, everything about how you look while making him a father, and the way his friends circled around him and became such a supportive family. 

his thoughts bordered on crazy, a haunting desire to keep you like this all the time, lounging around the house in your pretty maternity dresses doing nothing but being waited on hand and foot; relaxing while stroking your swelling stomach. it’s what suited you best, he thinks—stretched out along the couch basking in the rays of the sun beating in through the living room window, snacking on a fruit board he made you and baby. he’s nearly foaming at the mouth, your long robe-style dress clinging to all the delicious curves of your body; the light cotton seemed to outline your heavy boobs, tight around your semi-hardened nipples. it hugged your six-and-a-half-month sized bump, your other hand resting there protectively. choso was stuck in the moment, trying to commit every detail of you to memory. he almost didn’t hear your chortle of disbelief. 

“you said what, now, babe?” you whip your head towards him, heart fluttering violently at what he uttered— you needed him to say it again. it was easy to grow addicted to your husband, building his spawn had you needier than ever. even the smell of him had you going absolutely feral level insane even though this pregnancy had been the highlight of your life so far. you thought your clinginess and desire was driving him to his own insanity, figuring he must hate tending to you and your attitude as of late. you must have just heard him incorrectly. 

“huh?” he blinked, violet eyes refocusing on your plush lips speaking to him. “what did i say?” he asks, just as confused as you are. his cheeks darken anyways, as if you caught him doing something naughty, which only makes you believe your ears were in fact not deceiving you. 

“you said you should keep me like this all time.” you chuckle, full on tilting your head towards him from your spot on the sofa. he averts his gaze as soon as you meet him, and you let out a teasing fake gasp. “my husband wants to keep me barefoot and pregnant, huh? you know that’s pretty outdated…” 

he shakes his head, embarrassed immediately. great, now you thought he was some sick perv, which isn’t completely off base, he guessed, but still! it wasn’t like that, he didn’t view you like some machine built only to churn out his kids and cook him dinner! 

“n-no! i mean—you look great like this, b—” 

“i’m just fucking around, love. i thought it was sexy.” you grin, throwing a wink his way. he clicks his tongue at you and huffs at the teasing, even though he’s definitely intrigued by the latter half of your sentence. you arch your brow, waiting for him to ask for clarification. you could see him fighting it in his head before your very eyes. the scrunch of his nose tells you that you’ve won. 

“yeah? what’s that supposed to mean?” he says from his spot in the recliner nearby, always opting to be close to you. you smile knowingly at him, humming in thought mostly for the dramatics. 

“mayhaps i enjoy the idea of you keeping me pregnant…especially if i get spoiled like this every time.” you giggle, shrugging a little bit. “maybe i’ll feel differently after i actually have this one.” you pat your tummy affectionately, and he thinks he may be drooling. you always play so coy, but he can see the way you rub your thighs together and the clouds that darken in your sunshiney eyes. he may be regularly clueless, but the one thing he knows all too well is your body. 

“hm, i think it’s because you’re a sex-crazed maniac now and know pregnancy gets you off the hook.” he deadpans, though his heart is beating rapidly in his chest and in his cock. you call his bluff, rolling your eyes viciously. 

“isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.” you huff, spreading your legs out on the couch in a silent command. he smirks, not at all caring that you caught him. he nods a bit, holding his hands up. 

“got me. i just didn’t know how much i would love this.” he says, the husk in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. your thighs press together when he obeys your body language, rising from his seat and making his way to the couch. he sits at your feet of course, smiling so sweetly. his warm hands gently pry your knees apart, and you wonder if he knows just how seductive the look he gives you is. his chin is angled down, hooded purple eyes singing a siren song that makes your legs fall apart again and your fingers pull at the tie keeping your dress together. he growls at the sight of your exposed body, his hands rubbing trails from your knees to your hips and down your thighs again. “you’re so perfect…can you blame me?” 

you roll your eyes but wear a stupid grin at his praise, shaking your head to his question. you knew better than to be insecure over your changing body, especially with all the extra attention it’s garnered you. truth be told, you had never felt more beautiful, the life growing inside you breathing new life into your own appearance, and your husband never missed an opportunity to make you feel like a goddess amongst mortals. he would never dream of making you uncomfortable or asking you to accommodate him, so he folds himself into the space he has so that his face hovers above your shiny middle. his breath alone makes you moan, a hand flying up to cover your embarrassment. you always react like you’ve never been touched before and choso loves it almost as much as the sight of your round stomach and even rounder mounds above. he brings his thumb over you, wanting to watch you as he draws slow circles over your hardened clit. he hums, a little smile on his face as you jerk and squirm. your hips buck into his mouth instantly with cute whines slipping past your lips as your hands struggle to reach for his collarbone length black hair. he leans up a bit to help you, just the feeling of his rough thumb pad against your need turned you into a mess within seconds. 

“nngh–oh choso, feels so–mmph good already.” you gasp, hands dropping to fondle your aching breasts. he nods and sits up to spit a warm and fat glob on your cunt, his thick thumb dragging it all over your spasming need. the lewdness of his action coupled with the nonchalant way he watches, tongue poking around your hole like nothing ever happened, has your brain spinning without much effort. your hips drive into the relief he offers, chasing your orgasm like you’d never before experienced one—despite the clear proof otherwise. he allows it, never in his life would he keep you from feeling good. he’s honored to be the one who causes those pretty sounds to fill the room, to be the father of the child making your beauty so ethereal, to be the man tongue deep in your perfect pussy. “gonna–ohhhh–” 

your sweet release coats his tongue, his thumb still working you down slowly so he could relish in the face you make from sheer pleasure. he sits back up, a little more comfortable on his knees as he leans over you to give you a sloppy kiss filled with your own essence. he’s had to be much more careful since you’re getting bigger, but he doesn’t mind making sweet love to his beautiful baby mama. you wrap your arms around his neck, keeping his mouth against you while his hands are busy freeing himself from his sweatpants. you gasp into his mouth when you feel his length parting your folds and prodding at your hole. he only nibbles at your lip to tell you that he’ll be gentle, sheathing himself within your wet warmth slowly. you tense around him and relax, sighing happily at the feeling of him rocking into you at a tender pace. he moves his kisses to the sides of your cheeks, your jaw, picking up his speed until he has to sit back up properly to angle himself right. 

“more, you’re not gonna break me daddy.” you pant, hand braced on the ridges of his defined abs. he sighs begrudgingly, only because he’d been repressing the same urge ever since you welcomed him inside. he relents, lifting one of your legs to rest against his hip before driving into you a bit harder. you moan wildly and nod, nearly screaming. “god—just like that.” 

“anything for you mama, s’cute you need it hard, such a good girl letting me get a little rough.” he grunts, squeezing the hold he has on your thigh. you feel so different, still so tight and warm but with a different kind of wetness. he’s a mess too, championing himself with that nickname you bestowed upon him. his strokes are so well-timed, letting you feel every drag of his cock against you, the tip of him nailing the spot you need him most. “so perfect. you gonna let me keep this pretty hole bred?” 

you nod, the words sending you close to your tipping point. you shake your head, too gone to speak to let him know that you were going to cum. you don’t have to tell him though, he can tell from the intense fluttering of your sloppy cunt, and he’s happy to have lasted this long trapped in your clutches. you’re slapping at his stomach, legs shaking around him as you scream again, the sound so primal it sends goosebumps prickling along his skin right before he’s stuffing you full as if you weren’t already carrying his seed. you squeeze down on him, making sure he empties his balls in you. he stays there until he goes soft, and then he slumps against the side of the couch. your giggles make him perk up, his violet eyes cutting over to see you crawling towards him with a mischievous glint to your eyes. he knows he’s right when you swing your leg over his lap, angling him back inside you. 

“don’t worry—just wanna sit on it.” you titter, wrapping your arms around his neck again, pressing your body as close as you could for a hug. he twitches from sensitivity as you lower yourself back over him, but a smile spreads across his face all the same. 

“how many kids can i give you, mama?” he groans in your ear as his arms tighten around your waist securely.

[oofthwoods]

CHAPTER ONE! ── ˙ ̟ bring home the glory !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: "what is a legacy? it's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. i wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me". | a victorious journey always begins with a death and an offer.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: funerals, grief and death. if you don't feel comfortable with these themes, go straight to the part after 2023. you won't lose much, i promise! the second part is somehow based on right hand man from hamilton, don't ask about it. this is pretty much a prologue number two tbh, but i still hope you enjoy it.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 3.2k

⭠ previous masterlist next ‭→

2021

In the solemn setting of the cemetery, the sun hung in the sky, seemingly unaware of the grief below. Its golden rays contrasted sharply with the darkness consuming your soul, each beam of light piercing through the heavy clouds of sorrow. As tears streaked your face, the warmth of the sun felt out of place, a painful reminder of the world's indifference to your shattered heart.

Standing beside the graveside, you looked up to the sky, seeking solace in its vastness. But the heavens offered no comfort, no relief from the ache within. You wondered why the sky remained clear, why it didn't reflect the storm of emotions raging inside you. Its serene blue expanse seemed to mock your devastation, its unwavering indifference amplifying your pain.

Your mother and her siblings stood ahead, their shoulders bowed under the weight of grief, their sobs a haunting melody that echoed through the air. But you stood alone, isolated in your sorrow, drowning in memories that threatened to consume you whole.

Memories of your grandfather flooded your mind like a deluge, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love you had lost. His laughter, once a source of joy and comfort, now felt distant and painful, a cruel reminder of all that had been taken from you. His stories, his wisdom, his gentle touch — they all seemed like distant echoes of a life that was slipping further and further away with each passing moment.

You recalled his final moments, the frailty of his form, the sadness in his eyes as he whispered his last words to you. "Be proud of who you are," he had said, his voice barely a whisper, his breath brushing against your cheek. "And never forget where you come from. Your roots are your strength, my dear." His words had been a lifeline in the storm of your grief, a reminder of the legacy he had left behind, of the love that would endure long after he was gone.

As you stood beside his grave, the words offered little solace. They felt empty, a faint reminder of the warmth once found in his embrace. You longed to reach out to him, to feel the warmth of his touch one last time, to beg for just a moment more in his comforting presence. But he was gone, lost to you forever in a world that seemed infinitely colder and darker without him.

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to fall freely as you whispered your silent goodbyes to him, each word a prayer for his eternal peace. But even as you spoke, you knew that no amount of tears could ever hope to fill the void he had left behind, that no words could ever hope to capture the depth of your loss.

As you stood there, lost in your grief, the soft sound of footsteps approached from behind. You turned to see your mother returning, her eyes red and swollen from tears, her expression etched with the same pain that weighed heavily on your own heart. For a moment, you simply stood there, sharing a silent understanding born from the depths of your shared sadness.

Without a word, she wrapped you in a gentle hug, her arms providing solace amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling around you. "I'm not sure I can go on without him, Mom," you murmured, your voice barely audible as you buried your face against her shoulder.

Her embrace tightened, her fingers gently combing through your hair. "I feel the same way, sweetheart. But we have to find strength, for his sake," she whispered softly, her words tinged with a mixture of sadness and determination.

As you leaned into her embrace, the weight of your grief seemed to press down upon you, threatening to crush you beneath its relentless force. Your mother's presence briefly brought comfort, like a delicate lifeline amidst the stormy sea of emotions swirling inside you.

"I miss him so much already," you confessed with your voice trembling. "It feels like a part of me is missing, like I'll never be whole again."

Her arms tightened around you, a silent reassurance that you were not alone. "I know, my love. I do too," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "He was the heart of our family, the glue that held us together."

A bittersweet silence fell between you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Memories of your grandfather danced through your mind like flickering candle flames, casting shadows of laughter and love against the walls of your grief-stricken heart.

"Do you think he's watching over us?" you asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the evening.

Her hand stilled against your hair. "I'd like to think so," she replied, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "I'd like to believe that he's found peace, that he's somewhere out there, looking down on us with love in his heart."

Tears welled in your eyes as you imagined him, a silent guardian in the heavens above, watching over you with a warmth that transcended the boundaries of life and death. "I hope he knows how much we love him," you whispered, your words a fervent prayer whispered into the vast expanse of the sky.

"I'm sure he does, my dear," she murmured, her voice soft with tenderness. "And I know that wherever he is, he'll always be with us, guiding us through the darkness, lighting our way with the love that he left behind."

As your mother's words gently washed over you, a sudden movement caught your eye. In the corner of your vision, a flash of royal blue fluttered amidst the solemn surroundings. You blinked, momentarily startled, before fixing your gaze on the delicate creature that alighted on a nearby branch.

A small gasp escaped your lips as you beheld the bird, its feathers shimmering like fragments of the sky woven into living form. With a heart full of wonder, you watched as it stretched its wings, basking in the fading light of the evening sun.

"We can leave now, if you're ready, sweetheart." her mother murmured, delicately turning her daughter's face to meet her own. 

As your mother looked into your eyes, you could see the sadness reflecting in them, speaking volumes on its own. Although she softly hinted that you could go if you wished, it was evident that she longed for some respite from the weight of your mutual grief. Beneath her calm demeanor, you sensed her vulnerability, a silent plea to escape the overpowering sorrow surrounding you both. With a simple nod, you silently agreed.

With a mix of sadness and resolve, you followed your mother's lead, letting her guide you away from the graveside and back into the world. While you walked together, a quick look back caught your attention, drawing your eyes to the scene you were departing. And there, on top of the gravestone, sat the blue bird, its colorful feathers standing out against the solemn surroundings.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you watched the bird, a silent sentinel overlooking the final resting place of your beloved grandfather. He seemed to look at you, and, if birds could smile, you would swear he did.

2023

You find yourself standing outside a closed door, your hand hesitantly reaching out to lightly tap against the wood. The muffled voices from within only add to your uncertainty, but the urgency of speaking with the team principal before the Abu Dhabi sprint pushes you to take action. Whatever discussion awaits behind that door must be significant enough to pull you away from your pre-race meeting with the mechanics.

In the stillness of the hallway, time seems to stretch endlessly as you wait for a response that never comes. With a mixture of nerves and anticipation coursing through your veins, you finally muster the courage to grasp the doorknob. Its cool metal provides a fleeting sense of reassurance as you turn it slowly, the hinges creaking softly in protest as the door swings open to reveal the dimly lit room beyond.

Inside, seated at a table, is Mr. Vowles, engrossed in conversation. Your presence at the threshold goes unnoticed for a moment until you gather your resolve and speak up, your voice barely above a whisper as you address him.

"Mr. Vowles, did you need to see me?" you venture, your words hanging in the air with a hint of uncertainty.

At the sound of your voice, James looks up, his expression softening into a welcoming smile.

"Williams, come in," he says, his warm tone instantly easing your nerves as he gestures for you to enter. "Have you met Sargeant?" he continues, motioning towards a figure standing nearby, their presence previously hidden in the shadows of the room.

As James mentions Logan, it's like a floodgate of memories bursting open, whisking you back to the time when you and Logan shared an unbreakable bond. You were inseparable, navigating the twists and turns of life at the academy with laughter, support, and a shared vision of the future.

But as the competition for a spot in Formula One heated up, your friendship began to strain. What started as friendly competition slowly morphed into something more complicated. The pressure mounted, and with it came a subtle shift in your relationship. Each race seemed to drive a wedge between you, rather than bringing you closer.

It was at the peak of your rivalry that things started to unravel. Every little disagreement or perceived slight seemed to fester, poisoning the once vibrant atmosphere between you. Despite your efforts to keep up appearances, there was an underlying tension that threatened to fracture your bond.

When Logan secured a seat at Williams while you remained in F2, a whirlwind of emotions swept over you. Of course, you were genuinely happy for him, but there was also a pang of envy and disappointment gnawing at your heart. It felt like a piece of your own dream slipping away, leaving you grappling with a sense of loss you couldn't quite shake.

And then, just when you thought things couldn't get any more complicated, James hinted at the possibility of you stepping into Logan's shoes. The idea of replacing your friend-turned-competitor added another layer of complexity to an already tangled web of emotions. It was a constant battle between your ambition and the fear of losing the one person who had been by your side through it all.

"Yes, sir," you respond, choosing a simple response. Logan's gaze meets yours, seeming to ignite with intensity. "We keep on meeting"

In a deliberate choice of silence, Logan sidestepped any engagement with you, his eyes fixed on the team leader instead. "As I was just saying," he began, his voice brimming with confidence, "I truly believe that with these adjustments, I can improve my control over the car."

James reciprocated Logan's smile, though his gaze hinted at a wandering mind. "Sargeant?" he interrupted, signaling a shift in focus to another pressing matter.

"Yes, sir?" Sergeant replied promptly, ready for further instructions.

"We'll talk about this later. Close the door on your way out," James commanded, his tone decisive, drawing their exchange to a close.

As Logan's footsteps faltered on his way out, a pang of unease settled in your chest. You couldn't shake the guilt that crept in, knowing your success might come at the cost of his dreams.

In the relentless world of Formula One, sentimentality was a luxury few could afford. You grappled with the harsh reality that success often meant sacrificing the dreams of others. It was a something you had grappled with since the beginning of your journey, one that forced you to confront the truth that in this fiercely competitive arena, there would always be someone waiting in the wings to take your place if you faltered.

As you redirected your focus towards James, the man who now held the reins of your family's team, you couldn't help but reflect on the rarity of such a moment. Conversations with him had been few and far between, a testament to the typical hierarchy within Formula One teams where direct interaction between a team leader and a junior driver, especially mere hours before a pivotal race, was uncommon.

“Have I done something wrong, sir?” You ventured, a tinge of uncertainty coloring your tone.

"Not at all, quite the opposite actually," James responded, rising from his seat and leaning casually against the table, his arms folded. "Your stats this season are impressive—seven wins, numerous podium finishes. You've got a bright future ahead of you. But here's the thing, every day I see offers come across my desk to buy out your contract, and frankly, I find it amusing."

"Uh, sorry, I'm not following," you admitted, furrowing your brow in confusion.

"Williams, why is it that no team seems to be able to snag you?" James clarified, a hint of curiosity lacing his words. "You're undeniably talented, but turning down offers from big names like Alpine and Alpha Tauri might not be the smartest move."

"To drive their tractor, or worse, become a reserve driver? I don't think so." you remarked with a disbelieving smirk.

"Think about it, a spot at Alpha Tauri could open doors at Red Bull down the line," James suggested, attempting to sway your perspective.

"Everyone knows they have their sights set on Daniel Ricciardo, or Liam Lawson at best" you countered, a note of frustration creeping into your voice. "I'm a bit lost here. Why are you laying all this out for me?" you questioned, a perplexed furrow creasing your brow. You knew full well the offers on the table and why you were declining them. James likely wasn't in the dark about your reasons either.

"I'm just being honest with you," He replied, his tone carrying a hint of earnestness. His hand reached up to rub his forehead, fingers tracing over the lines etched there as if seeking solace in the familiar. "We're on a tight budget," he explained, a touch of resignation in his voice. "We're short on engineers and mechanics compared to almost everyone else, except maybe Haas and Sauber. While we've made progress since last year, I can't promise our car will match up to the competition next season."

James lifted his gaze, fixing it upon you with a mixture of earnestness and concern. "I'm not one to squander talent. I know you've got your reasons for sticking with us, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to have you on board. But I can't move forward without ensuring you understand exactly what you're signing up for."

"I'm just asking for a shot, James. Just one chance to prove that we've still got what it takes," you implored, your words tinged with determination. Images of past triumphs flickered through your mind, a reminder of the team's glory days.

With a weary smile, James let out a soft sigh. "Seems like sheer tenacity runs in the family, huh?"

"They used to say I took after my grandmother," you remarked casually, a wistful grin playing on your lips.

Turning to the desk, the man retrieved a piece of paper from a drawer, his movements deliberate and measured. "What are the odds?"

You knew precisely what he was referring to. "Iwasa's already out of the running. If I take the sprint, I'll have enough points to clinch the championship."

Extending the contract towards you, James presented it as if unveiling a glimpse of what lay ahead. "Win this championship, and the seat is yours."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the anticipation that crackled between you. With the contract poised like a tantalizing promise, the room seemed to hold its breath.

You reached out tentatively, fingers hovering over the document that held the potential to shape your future. The paper felt crisp beneath your touch.

"I know it's a risk, trading one rookie for another" James conceded, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension. "But I believe in you, and I need someone who believes in this team."

A surge of determination coursed through your veins, bolstered by James's unwavering faith. "I won't let you down," you vowed, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her chest.

"TO TOP OFF AN INCREDIBLE SEASON, Y/N WILLIAMS WINS THE ABU DHABI SPRINT AND HAS ENOUGH POINTS TO CROWN HERSELF A CHAMPION." The narrator's voice reverberated through the sprawling circuit, amplifying the momentous declaration that crowned your achievement.

The roar of victory surged through the airwaves as your race engineer's voice erupted over the radio, a symphony of celebration. "You did it, Williams! Formula 2 champion, with one race to spare!"

Amidst the cacophony of cheers echoing from Rodin Carlin's garage, you felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, the weight of your accomplishment settling upon your shoulders like a mantle of triumph. Your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions, a torrent of exclamations, gratitude, and tears that threatened to overwhelm your senses.

As you gradually eased the car to a decelerating pace, you couldn't help but feel the swell of pride and disbelief wash over you. With trembling hands, you lifted them skyward in a gesture of reverence, a silent tribute to the one who had inspired you journey.

"This one's for you, grandpa," you murmured, your voice a whisper against the backdrop of roaring engines and jubilant cheers. "I hope you're proud up there."

Amidst the jubilant chaos enveloping the pit lane, your thoughts swirled like a tempestuous storm, each emotion vying for dominance in the tumult of your mind. As you joined in the exultant cheers of your team, a sense of disbelief mingled with elation, the reality of your victory sinking in with each heartbeat.

In the midst of the celebration, you couldn't help but steal a moment to glance towards the podium, where your destiny awaited. The anticipation pulsed within you, a heady mixture of excitement and nervous energy propelling youforward.

As you ascended to the highest step, each stride felt like a triumph, a testament to the countless hours of dedication and sacrifice that have led you to this pinnacle moment. Your mind hummed with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a kaleidoscope of memories and aspirations swirling in the depths of your consciousness.

The thunderous roar of the crowd enveloped you like a tidal wave, the sound of applause echoing in your ears as you stand upon the podium, bathed in the radiant glow of the spotlight. Your chest swells with pride, your heart beating in time with the pulsating energy of the spectators.

Locking eyes with James amidst the sea of faces, you feel a surge of excitement washing over you. There's a silent understanding that passes between you, a shared recognition of the journey you will embark upon together. In that fleeting moment, as your gazes meet, you know with a certainty that transcends words— you'll be signing that contract.

With a triumphant smile, you raise the championship trophy high above your head, the weight of your accomplishment buoyed by the unwavering support of your team and your unyielding belief in yourself.

And in the middle of the bustling paddock, a blue bird chirped happily, swooping towards the girl as she lifted the trophy high. It appeared as though he'd be sticking around a while longer.

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3 | italic means i couldn't tag you) :: @formulanni @clownrrari @leilanixx @notyouraveragemochii @alliwantisadonut @oooom4rie @watermelon-sugars-things @glitterquadricorn @minkyungseokie @formulaal @itsjustkhaos @thebearchives @hiireadstuff @laura-naruto-fan1998 @cptg00s3 @welovediaaxx @eugene-emt-roe @cha-hot

[siren-serenity]

early dawns

characters: trafalgar d water law, gn!reader warnings: fluff a/n: - HIS HAT!!! he doesnt look scary, no sirrrr - feedback is appreciated!

The sun's rising above the sapphire waters of the Grand Line. It begins its path, ready to emblaze its fiery passage across the skies. But under the seas, it refracts into thousands of tiny rays, and sea critters scurry from its brightness. The Polar Tang sails through these seas freely, unafraid. It is a reflection of the pirates within; the majority of them are still asleep and snoring away.

You mumble as the sunrays pierce through the portholes of the Polar Tang, snuggling closer to the source of warmth. A familiar, calloused hand cradles the back of your head and pushes you closer to his firm chest. Eyes opening, your finger trail along the ink-black tattoos, swirling and striking to the eye. You press a soft kiss to the smiling face in the middle and you can feel Trafalgar D. Water Law's soft smile gazing at you.

"Good morning to you too," He yawns, and you're greeted with the sweet sight of his vulnerability. He sits up, in an attempt to wake up for the day. But his tired appearance reveals his hidden desire to laze in and snooze away. Law's shoulders drooped with tiredness and his hair is mussed up and messy for the first time. His beloved spotted hat is nowhere to be found and you were free to run a hand through his messy locks. "So- hrk!"

"I'm so sorry!" You gasped, immediately untangling your fingers from his hair. Your fingers accidentally caught onto a knot of hair and pulled it. His eyes were widened, fully awake now. You mourn the loss of his sleepy looks; the way his eyes squinted cutely at the light and his cat-like hisses were adorable. "You need to brush your hair, love."

Law shrugs, running a hand through his own hair. "I'll do that later."

A firm arm guides you back to his chest and you snuggle into his warmth.

"But-"

'-Weren't you the one who wanted to sleep in?" He raised an eyebrow and you rolled your eyes. "Aye, Captain."

"None of that 'Captain' business in this cabin," Law traces the features on your face, dipping in between the contour of your nose and eyes before trailing down to your lips. He traces your Philtral column and then pause on your lower lip. "Here, it's just you and me, remember?"

You yawn, lazily dragging the blanket over your body and his.

"You and I against the world," You agreed. Against a warlord. Against other pirates. Against the Emperors of the seas. Against the entire World Government, if needed.

You raised your body and with your free hand, cradled his chin. Law's eyes fluttered as you leaned in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. Although his favorite type of kisses were the bruising ones, where he would crush his lips to yours and run his hands all over your body, he loved these soft kisses as well. The gentleness, the featherlight touches, and sneaky tickle attacks to each other's bodies were something to be engraved in his mind as well.

"You seem tired, Law," You brushed some stray strands out of his face. A gentle smile crawled onto your face and as if it was infectious, Law's lips twitched into a tiny smile. "Back to bed?"

"Back to bed," He agreed and a yawn came out of his mouth immediately afterward. His back was suddenly enveloped with a familiar warm and you threw a hand over his waist. His fingers hesitantly tangled in yours before squeezing them tight.

You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. "Night, Law."

He smirked, but you couldn't see. "I thought it was morning?"

Law definitely deserved the pillow smack to his head that followed. But a giggle escaped from your mouth before turning into chuckles.

[m-albalawi]

Today is 7 Oct !!

It has been a full year we are living amidst devastation that the mind cannot comprehend and the heart cannot bear. We have watched our loved ones leave us before our eyes, our children have lost their innocent smiles, and our elders stand helpless in the face of losing everything. We no longer live a normal life; every day is a struggle for survival, for a bite of bread to stave off hunger or a drop of water to quench our thirst 💔

The homes that once held our memories have become ruins, and the streets where we once played with our children have turned into fields of destruction. We have nowhere to go, no source to sustain us. Children no longer know the taste of safety, and the elderly have lost hope of seeing a new day that brings them some relief .. 😔

Vetted By @90-ghost , vetted post ✅

Vetted By @gazavetters , #78 on the list ✅

Every day we pass here in Gaza is a cry of pain, a cry for help from compassionate hearts that understand the meaning of humanity. We have become mere souls clinging to life amidst never-ending suffering. We are asking you, from every heart that beats with mercy, to extend a helping hand. Your support is not just money, it is hope for us to stand strong, it is a new life for our children who have known nothing but pain, and it is a ray of light in an ever-looming darkness 💔

HELP SAVE MY FAMILY

Your donations can make a real difference in our lives, They can restore part of the hope we've lost and help us build a better future for ourselves and our children, We need you now more than ever .. 🙏❤

[moonselune]

Nyello! I've been really adoring your writing, may I request a lil scenario with Halsin and a Tav with chronic pain- he can't stop the source of the pain but maybe it becomes part of their routine that he eases the pain with his healing magic while they cuddle<3 thank you

Aww this was so wholesome to write !!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin x reader | Chronic Pain

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The soft light of dawn filtered through the tent, casting gentle rays on the canvas walls. You stirred from sleep, the familiar ache of your chronic pain already making its presence known. You sighed, trying to shift into a more comfortable position, but the pain lingered, a constant reminder of its presence.

Halsin, ever attentive, noticed your discomfort immediately. His golden eyes opened, and he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face.

"Good morning, my heart," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "Is the pain bad today?"

You nodded, unable to hide the wince that crossed your face. "It's… manageable," you replied, though you both knew it was more than that. Halsin had come to understand the depth of your pain, the way it ebbed and flowed, often dictating your day before it even began.

Without another word, he sat up and gathered you into his arms. His touch was warm and reassuring, a constant source of comfort. You leaned into him, resting your head against his broad chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

"Let's see what we can do about that," Halsin said softly. He closed his eyes, summoning the gentle, healing magic that had become a part of your daily routine. You felt a soft glow emanate from his hands, the familiar sensation of his magic flowing through you, seeking out the pain and dulling its sharp edges.

As the warmth of his magic spread through your body, easing the persistent ache, you sighed in relief. Halsin continued to hold you, his hands gently stroking your back, the magic a soothing presence that eased not just your physical pain, but also the emotional toll it took on you.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. Halsin's magic couldn't completely take away the pain, but it made it more bearable, and his presence, his love, made it easier to endure.

Halsin kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering against your hair. "You never need to thank me," he replied softly. "I wish I could do more, take it all away."

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, filled with gratitude and love. "You do more than you know," you said. "Just having you here, holding me, helps more than anything."

He smiled, a tender expression that lit up his face. "Then I'll always be here," he promised. "Every morning, every night, whenever you need me."

You cuddled closer to him, savoring the warmth of his embrace and the gentle ebb of the pain. Halsin's presence had become your sanctuary, a place where you could find solace and strength. Despite the chronic pain that plagued you, his love and his healing magic made each day a little brighter, a little more bearable.

As the morning light grew brighter, you stayed wrapped in Halsin's arms, the two of you sharing a quiet moment of peace. His hands continued their gentle, soothing movements, the magic a constant flow of comfort. You knew the pain would return, as it always did, but for now, you allowed yourself to simply be, held and loved by the man who had become your rock, your healer, and your heart.